There was a man with a bad heart, a telephone number scribbled on a cash register receipt and a corpse on the other side of town.
But I couldn't see the connection between them until I realized that they were all tied together by the same long rope, worth $30,000.
From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous character as CBS presents...
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe.
And now with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The Long Rope.
I'd finally wound up a sour case in which I'd been kicked around, disillusioned and short-changed.
And in my book, a routine like that calls for relaxation. So I'd spent the morning sleeping in the afternoon in a Turkish bath, being worked over on the table by Nick Tekalakis,
a non-talking masseur who untied knots in more muscles than I thought I had.
He was trying to tear loose my Achilles tendon when the phone rang. It was for me. Nick wouldn't let me up, so I took it lying down.
Yeah? Marlowe speaking. My name is Sidney Vanetta, Mr. Marlowe. I've tried all afternoon to reach you.
Oh, Nick. What can I do for you, Mr. Vanetta? I've already made your reservation with American Airlines.
You're leaving on the 10 o'clock plane tonight, and you're taking with you a set of pearls for a certain buyer in Chicago.
Wait a minute, Mr. Vanetta. Maybe I can... No, maybe, Marlowe. I've checked thoroughly on you and find you entirely qualified,
which is important because the pearls are perfectly matched, set in a rope valued at about $30,000.
The buyer wants them, and I made up my mind just this morning to sell. The proceeds will go to my niece.
Lucky girl. Indeed she is, particularly since I have no respect for her as a woman.
She presumes to be a sculptress, of all things, but she's my only heir.
I'm selling the pearls simply because I know she would, and I can get more for them.
Yeah, I... Oh! Hey, Nick, wait a minute, will you? Why all the hurry, Mr. Vanetta?
First, the buyer is leaving Chicago tomorrow. Second, my heart may fail me at any moment. Thus the hurry, Mr. Marlowe.
I see. Well, I'll take the job, uh, conditionally. But suppose I come out and talk with you. Telephones are deceptive.
Very well. Come to 7241 Adams, just below Western. I'll expect you in an hour. At six. Sharp.
Side door will be open, so let yourself in. Sounds like you're alone out there.
I am. I just fired my nurse, a Miss Drew, and as stupid a woman as the earth was ever cursed.
But I shouldn't get excited about it. I've engaged a new one due here at 5.30, but who will no doubt be late.
So, as I say, Marlowe, when you get here, just let yourself in. Goodbye.
Goodbye. Well, Nick, you better hurry it up. I gotta see a man about a rope worth 30 grand.
Yeah, yeah, that's right. A rope worth $30,000.
Veneta's place on Adams was a big, fancy, and dirty gray place. 40 years ago it had been a proud, expensive house.
But now it's squatted at the back end of a rundown yard like a bitter old man too tired to move.
I found the side door unlocked and went in. The hallway was dusky and had the odor of moldy wool.
I called Veneta's name but got no answer. So I poked on in until I heard the snapping of an open fire.
It came from the library. A big chair was drawn up in front of the fireplace and there Veneta sat.
His chin sunk deep in his chest and his eyes closed. I coughed but he didn't hear me, so I stepped close and shook him gently by the shoulder.
All it took was a gentle shake. He sagged forward and poured out of the chair like stiff syrup. Mr. Veneta was dead.
I started for the phone to report the body but then I heard gravel crunch in the driveway.
Someone else was coming in that side door so I stepped out into the hall and waited.
Mr. Veneta, it's... Oh, who are you? Philip Marlowe, who are you?
Steve Temple, I'm Mr. Veneta's business agent. You're on business now? Yes, I am.
It's all the same to you. I came to see Mr. Veneta regarding some pearls. So if you'll excuse...
Yeah, the pearls can wait. Their owner's dead. So it finally happened, huh?
You're taking the news very well, Temple. I've been expecting it every day for five years.
You found him, I suppose? We had an appointment at six. He wanted me to fly his pearls to Chicago.
What are you staring at, Temple? Why, there's a bottle of medicine here. What about it?
For years he's kept this stuff beside him in case of an attack. Yet when he actually needed it, it was over here on the sideboard out of his reach.
Ironic, isn't it? Very. He fired Miss Drew, his old nurse, today and didn't expect a new one until 5.30.
Say, do you happen to know her name? No one. You mean he's engaged a new nurse? That's right. She's an hour late already.
Yeah. Well, for once that doesn't matter to Mr. Veneta. Say, Temple, are you acquainted with his niece?
Vivian Russell? Of course. She's a sculptress. She has a studio out on Fountain near Bronson, I believe.
She was to get the proceeds from the pearls. I assumed that, although nothing was ever said. She's his only heir.
Where would those pearls be now? I kept them in a wall safe behind that picture there, consistently against my advice.
Yeah, sure. Hmm, opens with a key. Where would that be? He carried it with him on his watch chain. Why?
What are you going to do? Take a look at the pearls and then have them impounded. Yeah, this must be the key. Let's open it up.
It's there, that velvet case. As big as an overnight bag. Must be some string of beads. It is, Marlow. Here, let me open it.
There. Right. It's nothing but tissue paper. Yeah, it's not too surprising.
While Temple called the police and tried to keep the details straight on a natural death and an unnatural theft, I went over the room again with a new viewpoint.
All that turned up without an easy explanation was one, a cash register receipt for a dollar thirty-four with the phone number Republic 2809 penciled on the back.
And two, the peculiar position of Mr. Veneta's medicine bottle, which Temple had already noticed.
I dropped the receipt in my pocket and told Temple to wait for the law. He gave me his home address and phone number and I promised to check in with him later and left.
The first stop was a phone booth where I dug into the nurses' registries and hit pay dirt on the fourth call.
Is this Miss Drew? Yes, we have a Miss Drew. Is she the one who worked for Mr. Sydney Veneta but was fired this afternoon?
That's his opinion. Actually, Miss Drew quit. All right, have it your way. Where can I get in touch with her?
She's right here where she's been since three o'clock this afternoon. What is the nature of your business, sir?
Never mind. You've already answered my question. But look, Mr. Veneta hired another nurse to replace Miss Drew. Is the new girl one of yours?
Absolutely not. Mr. Veneta will never get another nurse from this registry or from any other that I know of.
You're so right. He's utterly impossible to please in any way and we're through trying. Goodbye.
Well, Miss Drew was in the clear. Veneta began to focus as a pretty odd Johnny.
But I was still trying to figure why the new nurse hadn't shown up when I reached for a cigarette and brought out the cash register receipt with the phone number on the back.
So I tried it. Republic 2809. It rang but nothing happened.
I got in my car then and drove up to Hollywood and out fontan de Bronson where the only Veneta M is Vivian Russell had a studio.
It was a converted double garage with a lot of north windows. So her new close to the ground Hudson sat outside in the driveway.
The adjoining four room apartment looked cozy enough. If you like wading through chunks of marble and eating off of last week's newspaper.
Yeah, I was braced for a dowdy Amazon with broken fingernails as I rang the bell.
That's why the dainty one hundred and eighteen pounds of taboo scented blonde was clad in ten chartreuse yards of whispering silk cut like lounging pajamas caught me as flat footed as a duck when she opened the door.
Hi. Did you want something?
Yes. Yeah. My name is Marlowe. I'd like to speak to Miss Vivian Russell.
You are. So go ahead and enjoy yourself, Marlowe.
May I come inside? I have some bad news, Miss Russell.
Oh, sure. Come on in. Now, shall I sit down or just hang on to something?
Suit yourself. Your uncle, Mr. Veneta, died this afternoon.
Oh, his heart finally gave up, did it?
Yeah, but you shouldn't go all the pieces like that, Vivian.
No way. He meant nothing to me, but I'm glad his suffering is over.
The pearls are missing, too.
Really? What happened to them?
They were stolen. And don't tell me that means nothing to you because you're getting the money. Thirty thousand bucks worth.
What? Uncle Sidney intended to give me the money from those pearls? How do you know that?
I'm a private detective, he told me. He was my client.
Oh, then you're out of a job. Say, how would you like to work for me, Marlowe?
I'm serious. Now I want those pearls back, you know.
For twenty five a day in expenses, it's a deal. Now you tell me something. Who did your uncle hire today to replace Miss Drew?
The nurse. Why, I didn't even know Miss Drew had been fired.
How did you know she didn't quit? With Uncle Sidney? Try me again.
Republic 2809.
That doesn't mean a thing.
You know, Marlowe, you've got an awfully good head.
Are you speaking as a sculptress or just an ordinary chiseler?
And what is that crack supposed to mean?
You didn't know you were getting the money legally. You might have taken the pearls yourself.
Oh, stop it, Marlowe. Okay, client. Well, I'll run along. I've got work to do.
All right, but don't forget that all work and no play makes for a dull companion.
Yes, and it also makes twenty five bucks a day. I'll be seeing you.
All the way down Sunset Divine Street, I kept telling myself a bucks a buck, regardless.
But the idea that I'd been grabbed at stayed with me.
Vivian Russell had plenty of motive as a dry land pearl diver, and if that's true, she'd need a patsy just to keep her abreast of the situation.
I turned north on Vine and twisted up Beachwood Drive to 2000, the number Steve Temple had given me.
He had had two hours of playing 20 Questions policeman style, and I figured it was time to check his score.
Also, Temple was the man to fill in a few blanks on my new client for me.
His place was dark, but I got out anyway and started up the walk to his door.
I'd gone about a dozen steps into a tunnel of overhanging shrubs when I heard it.
Psst. Hey, you.
I turned as a man stepped out onto the walk and came toward me slowly.
He was tall, wiry, with a thin, arrogant face that sneered out from under an expanse of forest big enough for three sets of eyebrows.
All shaggy.
We're gonna have a talk, Mr. Temple.
Hey, you're not Temple.
Now we both know that. I'm a friend of his. What do you want with Temple?
I've got a message for him, but it's personal.
Who from?
Like I say, it's personal, mister. I'll be back later.
Come here.
I said I'm a friend of Temple's. If you got a message for him, I'll see that he gets it.
Well, okay, then.
Tell him that some of his friends are too blasted nosy.
Oh!
The guy with the forehead had a great left jab and a pair of hurtless legs, and by the time I untangled myself from the brush and got out on a walk again, he was gone.
Well, I know it was a waste of time, but I tried Temple's doorbell twice before I went back to my car.
Nothing made sense, except that somebody who knew his way around had stolen a long rope of pearls.
And somewhere in the city was a nurse who hadn't shown up on a new job.
Beyond that, it was all question marks.
I drove down to the filling station on the corner and went inside to the phone.
I started to call police headquarters, but instead dropped the nickel in and dialed Republic 2809 again, just on a hunch.
Lieutenant Ibarra speaking.
Ibarra! I didn't dial you, Ibarra.
What?
This is Marlow.
Well, you got me anyway.
Now listen, Phil, I hear you're on that Veneti case.
Yeah.
If it'll help you any, the coroner says definitely he died of a heart attack. No homicide involved.
Thanks, Lieutenant. Hey, but look, where are you now?
In a flat on the corner of Union and 59th Street. Why?
Well, is that phone number there, Republic 2809?
That's a great piece of deduction. He just called it.
Ibarra, listen, I found that number at Veneti's place this afternoon. What's going on down there?
There's a girl here named Betty Larson.
Yeah, she's a nurse, right?
No, wrong, Phil. She's a corpse. Before that, she was a waitress, just a waitress.
Somebody came to her door and killed her for no apparent reason whatsoever.
In just a moment, we will return to the second act of the adventures of Philip Marlow.
But first, Jack Benny will be along on CBS tomorrow night with one of his funniest shows ever.
In addition to his regular hecklers, Dennis, Don, Phil, Mary, and Rochester, Claudette Colbert and Vincent Price will pay a call on Jack.
And with Don Wilson still wanting a raise in pay and with Jack still trying to starve him into talking terms,
you're sure to find the situations full of the hilarity and fast-moving fun that have made CBS's Jack Benny Show the top-rating comedy of all.
Yes, remember, CBS also means Catch Benny Sundays.
Now, with our star Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlow and tonight's story, The Long Rope.
It was 40 minutes of thick stop-and-go traffic from the time I quit talking to Ibarra until I pulled up near the four stories of faded, sagging tenement on the corner of Union and 59th.
But even then, the crazy question that had been weaving in and out of my mind like a 2 a.m. drunk looking for the way to go home was still with me.
Why was the telephone number Republic 2809 bracketed by a couple of dead people who, as far as I could see, should have had nothing to do with each other in the first place?
Right there for the tenth time running, I drew a complete and unabridged blank.
But a minute later, when I climbed out of my coupe and over the bumpers of the half-dozen squad cars that were jammed into the narrow street like so many toy autos that a kid had forgotten about,
I quit asking myself riddles and started looking for Detective Lieutenant Ibarra, a quiet man who always preferred fact to fancy.
I found him in a cheap but clean uniform crowded room on the second floor, standing a few feet away from the body of Betty Lawson, a girl in a bathrobe who had once been something pretty in her early twenties.
Well, Phil, the coroner says she was shot twice in the chest of close range. Died instantly.
Is that where she fell, Lieutenant, there near the door?
Yeah, looks like she'd just gotten home and into her robe and someone she didn't know knocked on the door. The safety chain was still on when we got here. The windows lead no place.
Those chains let a door open just wide enough for the barrel of a gun, is that it?
Yeah, but how does all this add with those missing pearls and the rest of that business over on Adams, Marlow?
Not like two and two, believe me. So, Ibarra, the only question is the telephone number. Tell me, where did this Betty Lawson work?
Well, we haven't gotten that far yet.
So long, Lieutenant.
Yeah, so long. Right now we only know that she was a waitress who stayed here with her brother who was some kind of a student. They got along pretty well together. She was single too, lived here since...
Oh, wait a minute.
Lieutenant Ibarra?
Oh, yeah, Mooney. Ryan's Cafe, huh? Ryan himself runs it.
Okay. I'll check it personally.
Right. Hey, is that where she worked? The Bar of Ryan's Cafe?
Yeah, but it's funny, Phil. She lived here since early 1947. The Mooney tells me she worked that 24-hour hash house just as long, yet it's way over on the other side of town on Western.
Western and where, Ibarra?
The 2300 block should be near Washington.
Washington, which is only one block from Adams, and that starts to close the big circle.
What do you mean, Marlow?
Well, that the Veneta place is on Adams near Western. Look, Ibarra, how about letting me huddle over a cup of Ryan's Coffee before the law steps in, huh?
Oh, I got a hunch you want to check, Phil.
Yeah, yeah, that and a cash register receipt. What do you say?
All right, but play it close, Phil. Ryan probably doesn't know about this yet.
No? Unless, of course, he squeezed the trigger. Goodbye, Ibarra.
That was a half hour getting over to Ryan's Cafe on Western, which turned out to be a lot of steamed over plate glass bragging about a 40 cent hot roast beef sandwich and two foot high white shark letters.
And inside the motif was the same. Everything that Mr. Ryan sold was a bargain.
I slid onto a shaky stool opposite a cash customer who was something dirty in a torn overcoat buried deep in a handicapper sheet and coffee.
He looked up once, grinned no teeth at me, then hollered for Ryan in the kitchen, who said that he only had two hands and would be out in a minute.
But before those 60 seconds ran out, I looked around and over in a corner in a collection of trash piled next to a broom, I saw a very welcome piece of paper.
It was a brother of the cash register receipt that I'd found on Sydney Vanetta's desk, a one that had tied Betty Lawson's murder onto the rope of pearls.
I turned back to the counter just as Ryan started toward me.
He was a little bigger and a little better looking than the average ape and on his right arm on a thick coarse black hair that was long enough to braid.
It was a tattoo of a dancing girl who, if Ryan ever shaved about his wrist, would freeze to death.
What let it be, Mr. Coffee?
Yeah, and a little information. You know Sydney Vanetta, Ryan?
That screwball with a bump ticker over on Adams? Yeah, I know him. Why, what's up?
His time on earth, for one thing, he's dead.
Too bad. Should have taken it easier.
Cream? No, pearls.
What'd you say?
Nothing. Ryan, who brought that tray up to the Vanetta place this afternoon?
I did.
Sure it wasn't Betty Lawson?
I'm positive. None of the girls that go near that place. Vanetta was hard to get along with.
Now you tell me something. What are you, mister? News hound, collection man, or cop?
Getting warm, Ryan. I'm a private detective named Marlowe.
I'm thrilled. Good night.
Before I finish my coffee? Before I throw you out. I don't like too many questions.
Not even easy ones, huh? Like who murdered Betty Lawson?
Betty's dead?
Yeah. Over in her flat on 59th Street, shot twice with a.32. When'd you last see her, Ryan?
A couple of hours ago when she quit for the night. Marlowe, the cops got any idea who did it?
I don't know. Right now they're looking for a boyfriend.
They're crazy. Betty didn't have a boyfriend.
Outside of you?
Outside of me. So I'm going over to straighten them out now.
Mitchie! Mitchie!
Yeah?
Get out here and take over.
Okay.
I gotta move fast.
No you don't, Ryan. Betty's dead, remember?
Yeah, but whoever did it, ain't. Now don't try to stop me, Marlowe. You'll get hurt.
Look, Ryan, why don't you play smart and...
What's the use? Go on, start running. You won't get very far.
For the first time that night I felt sure of what I was saying.
Because even as Ryan had squared himself away to play bounce the private detective, I suddenly noticed a friendly face working hard.
Over a stale doughnut at the far end of the counter. It was Lieutenant E. Barrow.
And when Ryan tossed his apron aside, grabbed at his coat and slammed out the front door, E. Barrow turned and nodded at a short man nearby who was idly picking his teeth for the end of a book of matches.
At that the man dropped the matches into his pocket and left. Then E. Barrow moved over to me.
Didn't mean to cry to you here, Phil, but after you left we found out that Ryan and Betty Larson used to see quite a bit of each other.
Don't apologize, E. Barrow. Probably would have cost me a couple of front teeth if I hadn't noticed you.
Warm up a coffee, mister?
Yeah, please. You, E. Barrow?
No, Phil, I gotta move now. You see, I don't think Ryan did this. I told Mooney to follow him but not to pick him up.
The chances are good that Ryan's heading straight for Betty's apartment at the man that the police find out who killed his girl.
So I'm going the other way, to Ryan's house. There may be another woman in this. Jealous one.
But no rope of pearls.
No, Marlow, I don't think so. Good night now.
Night, Lieutenant.
Well, Mitzi, how long have you worked here?
A couple of days. But I don't know nothing about Mr. Ryan. I'm a married woman and I... What do you think you're staring at, mister?
Maybe something wonderful, Mitzi. Tell me, baby, do you always wear that kind of a uniform when you're working here?
Sure. Ryan says this girl should look neat and clean. It helps business. Anything wrong with that?
No, no, no. Matter of fact, it might be just the lead I'm after.
What are you talking about?
Yeah, and if I'm right, baby, the rest of this case will be a cinch. So good night and thanks. You've been a big help, sweetheart.
When I got back to the corner of Union and 59th, I took the stairs up to Betty Lawson's flat two at a time, crossed the fingers on both hands and prayed that Ibarra was right about Ryan returning to his girl's place.
When I stepped into the room of second lady, I knew that I'd never doubt the good lieutenant again because standing next to an open window and staring out at nothing was Ryan himself.
Numbed and red-eyed. I asked him one question, although his answer was only a couple of words mumbled between trembling lips. It was all I had to know.
Now everything. Betty Lawson's murder, the death of Annetta, the guy with the forehead and the missing pearls, the whole shebang was starting to fall together.
Oh, come on, baby, be home, please.
Hello?
Hello, Vivian. Look, honey, I want you to do me a favor. Get hold of Steve Temple and meet me over at your uncle's place on Adams as soon as possible. I need your help. Goodbye.
Well, Marlow, what took you so long? I understood you needed our help, but in a hurry at that.
I had quite a way to come, Temple. Is Vivian here?
Yes, Marlow, Vivian's here, and that means that we can stop counting noses. Now, why do you need our help?
To catch someone who stole once and murdered twice.
Murdered twice?
That's right. You know, it's my guess that whoever stole that rope of pearls also moved Annetta's medicine out of reach when his heart started skipping beats.
Can you prove that?
No, no, I can't, but it doesn't matter really because the guilty one also killed a party named Lawson. And when you pay for one, Vivian, you've paid for them all.
I don't follow you, Marlow. Who are you talking about?
I'm not sure, but this much is certain. Vanetta called me at five. When I got here at six, he was already dead and the pearls were gone.
I figure that whoever took them argued with them first, which makes that person, one, somebody who knew Vanetta, and two, responsible for the old man's death.
Then the new nurse couldn't possibly have been the one who stole the pearls.
No, but the new nurse could have been the one who overheard everything while standing right here.
Haven't you been able to find this nurse?
Not yet, but sooner or later, honey, I'm sure we'll catch up to him. Yes, Temple, I said him.
Nurse Lawson is a male with a lot of foreid and few ethics. The person you killed was a sister Betty, a waitress. And don't move, Temple, or I'll be glad that I was forced to put holes in you.
Temple's the one? He stole the rope of pearls?
Yeah, but this nurse Lawson who saw him do it got in touch with him, right, Temple?
It was filthy blackmail.
But you were going to stop by a filthier murder, and you almost did, because somehow or other you got the right room in the right house on Union and 59th with the wrong party. Isn't that about it, Temple?
Yes, Marlow, that's about it.
Oh, leave me alone, Temple.
Now, Marlow, you don't shoot me without going through Vivian first. Dear Vivian, Sydney's precious niece was going to have the pearls all to herself. Don't move, Marlow. It'll cost Vivian her life if you do.
I doubt that very much, Temple.
Larson.
That's right. Joe Larson, forehead in the hole. Now, you, Temple, step away from that girl or I'll tear you to pieces.
No, Larson, no, no. Now, we can still do business like you said in that note you sent me. I'll split with you.
Shut up. You forget two things, Temple. First, you tried to kill me. And second, you did kill my sister. Now, why don't you run for it? Or are you afraid? Which is it? Come on, Temple, talk.
I, I am afraid.
Well, Marlow, that just about winds things up.
Yep. Joe Larson sent up for attempted extortion and Temple...
Sent up for good.
Say, Marlow, when you called a while ago and said that you wanted Temple and me to help you, did you know then that Temple was the murderer?
No, I didn't, Vivian. Then I only knew that whoever had killed Betty Larson had mistaken her for the new nurse and that the actual nurse was Betty's brother, Joe.
Where'd you get hold of that, Phil?
Well, it started in Ryan's Cafe, Barra, just after you left. I had nurses on the brain, I guess. And when I took a good look at the waitress there, I suddenly realized that her white uniform, white shoes and white cap could easily confuse a guy like Temple, who also had nurses on the brain.
Well, I can see a killer making a mistake about appearances, all right, but I still don't understand how it is that the telephone number of my uncle's nurse turned out to be Betty's apartment.
Because a nurse did live there, honey. Betty's brother was a medical student, part-time male nurse and full-time bum.
You see, Ryan, who brought food to Uncle Sidney, knew that he needed a new nurse, and he sold him on the idea of Joe Larson, because he wanted his girlfriend's brother to have a job.
Oh, I get it. Say, I know what I'm gonna do with those pearls.
Sell them?
To the highest bidder.
Oh, no, I'm gonna break up that set.
Break up the set?
Yeah, I'd like very much to get a pair of earrings out of them. Oh, and for each of you, a set of cufflinks. Good night, gentlemen.
When Vivian got into a car aimed at toward a collection of chipped rocks on Fountain near Bronson and waved goodbye, it was nearly three o'clock in the morning.
After I said so long to Ibarra and started back to my apartment on Franklin, an idea hit me for the first time.
A pearl is the result of the irritation of an oyster, a disease.
And when you string a lot of diseases together, the result is frequently a plague.
But it's from plagues like that that I make a living.
That's what I get for reading books.
I wonder if I'll ever go anyplace where I can wear pearl cufflinks.
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, created by Raymond Chandler, stars Gerald Moore and is produced and directed by Norman MacDonald. Script is by Mel Dinelli, Robert Mitchell, and Gene Levitt.
Featured in the cast were Junious Matthews, Louis Van Roeten, Faye Baker, David Ellis, Lillian Byeth, and Ed Begley.
Lieutenant Detective Ibarra is played by Jeff Corey. The special music is by Richard O'Rant.
Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says...
A corpse that wouldn't stay dead, a pistol with a silencer on it, and a fortune in a black satchel spell death for the big city boys when they finally got together in lonesome Arizona.
Population 802.
Stars light, stars bright, and that's no optical illusion. The brilliant gleaming list of stars on CBS Tomorrow Night.
Van Johnson's the star on the Prudential Hour drama.
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Jack Benny will have Clotted Colbert and Vincent Price as his special guests.
Amos and Andy, Dashiell Hammett, Sam Spade, and Laman Abner are the next bright stars in line.
Then Helen Hayes, First Lady of the Stage starring on her Sunday night Electric Theater, followed by Hollywood's own Eve Arden in the wonderfully comic series Our Miss Brooks.
In the next closing, another bright comedy, Life with Luigi and the whole star lineup topped off by the world's most brilliant adelpates, the experts on It Pays to Be Ignorant.
Jack Benny's program will come to you over all of these same stations, and the others in this vast array of stars will be heard over most of them.
Top writers, top directors, and top stars of American show business come to you on CBS.
Now, stay tuned for Gangbusters, which follows immediately.
This is Roy Rowan speaking for CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.