When my telephone rang, it jerked me out of one nightmare and right into the middle of
another, where a woman with a secret, a worried man and a shadow out of the past met with
fear and fury in the dead of night.
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 Friend from Detroit.
There was a wood nymph dressed in nothing but a veil of dew drops.
She was pirouetting from one huge bluebell to another on gossamer wings.
And with every turn she smiled and came closer.
Just as I reached out for a hand, something happened.
The bluebells changed into old tomato cans and started to ring.
A bandy legged little man with a jackhammer went to work on my head.
I fell over a cliff and just before I landed on a red hot pile of broken scotch bottles.
Oh, I woke up.
But the jackhammer didn't stop.
I switched on the light and looked at my watch.
It was one in the a.m. and the phone on my bed table was screaming for an answer.
Hello?
Marlowe, this is Dave.
Betty's gone.
She's in trouble.
You gotta help me, Marlowe.
You gotta come over to my apartment right away.
Wait a minute, wait a minute.
Who is this?
Dave, Dave Pryor.
I run the coffee joint in the corner.
You know me.
Oh yeah, yeah, sure, Dave.
I don't know.
What's the matter?
My wife, Betty, she's gone.
You gotta help me.
Dave, it's one o'clock in the morning.
I'm in bed.
It's not like that.
Phil, believe me, I'm scared for her.
Phil, please come over to the apartment.
Two thousand beats would right away.
It's a matter of life and death.
Okay, okay.
I'll be there in ten minutes.
Marlowe, Marlowe, I thought you'd never get here.
Look, somebody fired a shot through the door and when I got back with the aspirin, Betty
was gone and I found her.
All right, wait a minute, Dave.
Hold it.
I'm not even awake yet.
Look, sit down.
Take it from the top.
Slow.
Yeah, okay.
Maybe it started this morning at the coffee joint when a fancy guy came in and talked
to Betty.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.
What do you mean fancy?
Well, a slick dress, a cufflinks, stick pin, all that.
I didn't know him and Betty tossed him off to me as a mess.
Maybe he was, but she seemed upset.
Slower, huh?
Oh, yeah, sure.
Well, tonight, about nine, another guy came in, a chunky bird with a deep voice.
Betty had just got back from shopping and I was in the kitchen.
See, when I heard a tray of dishes fall and Betty came back, why does she...
She was scared, Phil, scared, scared.
Hey!
Oh, I'm sorry.
All right.
Go ahead.
I looked out and that chunky guy was leaving.
He insisted he had nothing to do with it, that she was just nervous.
Was somebody else in the place at the time?
Let's see.
Yeah, some tribune reporter that comes in every night was up at the counter.
He was the only one.
And Betty stayed on the job till you closed, huh?
Yeah, till midnight.
But Phil, she was in a bad shape.
After we got home here, she sent me out with some aspirin.
I was only out for 15 minutes, Phil.
When I came back, she was gone.
And look, look, this bullet hole in the glass door to the backyard.
Somebody out there shot at her and maybe hit her or something.
All right, Dave, steady.
Now take it easy.
You and Betty have a gun?
No.
Why?
Well, in the first place, the bullet went out through this glass.
It didn't come in.
And another thing, Dave, who, who did you call tonight after you phoned me?
Why, nobody.
Phone directory on the dresser here is open to the bees.
Booned, a wardrobe.
Mean anything to you?
No, I didn't even realize it was over there.
I looked you up in the classified.
Mm-hmm.
Okay, come on.
Let's take a look in the backyard.
Any light out there?
Yeah, I rig one up for the barbecue.
Oh, look, Marlow, there must be something you can...
Take it easy.
Now, we'll straighten this out, believe me.
Let's see.
A line of sight seems to run somewhere between the barbecue and the gate.
No footprints, though.
Marlow.
Marlow, here by the tree, it's a hat.
Gray snap, brim, initials V.R. on the sweatband.
V.R.
Mean anything to you?
Oh, I know.
Well, sure.
That's Van Remini's hat.
He's the newspaper guy I told you about.
Tribune reporter that was in your place tonight?
Yeah.
Why should he be dodging bullets in your backyard?
I don't know.
Dave, where's Betty from?
Detroit.
When she came out here, I gave her a job.
And then you both fell for each other and got married, huh?
Yeah, two years ago next month.
And we've been happy, Phil.
We've been...
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Now, look, Dave, why did you call me instead of the cops?
Well, I guess I'm afraid she's mixed up and well in something bad.
You know, if it turns out that way, I'll have to call them myself.
Okay, Phil, but you're on my side until you know for sure.
Yeah, yeah.
All right, now you stay here, close to your phone.
Okay.
I'll check with you.
I'm a bareheaded reporter.
He can get us started if he hasn't lost anything more than his hat when I find him.
So long, Dave.
A reporter's hat, two strangers, and a bullet hole somehow ended up in the fast fade of
a hardworking kid named Betty whose husband's only claim to fame was selling the best cup
of coffee in town.
It made no sense, but as I walked up the street toward my car, I figured that through van
remedy I could get to the first answer.
I was wrong.
The first answer got to me.
A thick head suddenly sprouted arms.
One jerked me around while the other held the cold throat of a 45 against my throat.
Your car registration tag says your name is Philip Marlowe.
No kidding.
How do you suppose that happened?
But it doesn't mention your racket.
Chalmers, maybe?
Could be.
And you?
I'm a tourist.
Oh, sure, sure.
Just out to see the sights.
That's it.
One in particular.
I've got the $5,000 that belongs to me.
I don't want any interference from you or that square inside there.
You mean Dave Pryor?
I mean Dave Pryor.
I'll go back in there and tell him to cool off.
That little woman is all right.
She's just a couple of old friends, you might say.
Might I say you're the friend?
Never mind.
Unless Mr. Jitters in there kicks up a fuss, everything will be fine.
Betty knows what she's doing.
She's got a lot of talent for it.
Too much to waste sling and hash.
And remember what I said, Marlowe.
Lay off.
I'll remember more than that about you, foghorn.
Just remember to count 10 before you move, sport.
Well, there's no point in trying to outsmart a 45.
And with three steps, foghorn vanished in the night.
Also gone was a big chunk of my respect for a doll named Betty Pryor and her taste in old
friends.
Just so I wasn't jumping to conclusions, I went to my car and drove down to Hollywood
Boulevard.
At the first all-night gas station, I stopped and put in a call to the Tribune.
A guy on the desk told me through a mouthful of mangled cigar that unless Remini was at
bungalow 24 Beverly Crest Hotel covering the murder of an ex-Detroit hood, he was fired.
And he hung up.
But the one word Detroit made the call a jackpot, so I headed for the hotel on the double.
It was pink and Spanish and squatted in a grove of well-behaved palm trees at the edge
of a domesticated jungle, which gave the illusion of privacy to a string of bungalows that weren't.
But number 24 had all the privacy of a glass-faced cutaway beehive when I pulled up in the middle
of two squad cars in an ambulance and went inside.
Sprawled on the floor in front of a desk was a very well-dressed Exhibit A. Complete with
cufflinks and stick pin and presiding as usual was Detective Lieutenant E. Borah, who didn't
see me until I walked up beside him.
What are you doing here, Marlow?
I can smell blood clear across town.
What's the story, Borah?
The name is Speck Willard, a gambler from Detroit, retired out here to California a
few years back to play horses and women.
He was shot to death at about 8 o'clock tonight by a person or a person's unowned.
Another gang jam?
No, I don't think so.
It looks more like armed robbery that get out of hand.
How so?
We found a currency wrapper from a local bank that read $25,000 in an open drawer in the
bedroom.
And one of the bellhops saw a woman, unidentified so far, run out of here about the time the
coroner says that Willard was shot.
A woman?
Yeah.
Probably because he was known to be quite a night clubber and general playboy.
You wouldn't happen to know something about this woman, would you, Marlow?
Me?
Certainly not.
Now I'm after a man alive, when I hope.
Well, look, Marlow, take this nickel.
In case you should just happen to hear something, I want you to spend that on a phone call to
the police department.
Now who is it you're looking for?
A Tribune reporter named Van Remini, you know him?
Unfortunately, that's him over there, the sticky-fingered one by the window, swiping
that book of matches just now, the one without a hat.
Oh, yeah, yeah, I know.
Thanks, Lieutenant, I'll see you.
Hey, Remini, can I talk to you a minute?
Sure, what's on your mind?
I'm Philip Marlow, private detective.
Don't apologize.
What's up, Marlow?
Old girl named Betty Pryor.
Pryor?
Mm-hmm, yeah.
Yeah, she and her husband run a one-arm joint on Franklin, don't they?
That's right, Remini.
I understand Betty got into a little trouble tonight, heard about it?
Nope, wouldn't worry though.
Trouble's not new to Betty.
Yeah, that's one popular school of thought.
Incidentally, you seem to be going a long ways out of your way on this run-of-the-mill
murder story, Remini.
You're taking a long way around to the point, pal.
Get with it, I'm in a hurry.
Okay, pal, but keep it under your hat, won't you?
The gray one, I mean.
Oh, so that's how it is.
Yeah, that's the way it is, yeah.
Now, do you mind telling me what you saw in Pryor's backyard tonight?
You name it, shall I play dumb or lie?
Sue yourself.
See, my press card's just as good as your license, sweetheart.
It gets me in, gets me out again.
In my dodge, that's called reporting.
Remini, I'll squeeze the truth out of you eventually.
And sorry I can't wait.
I've got a deadline.
Anything else?
Yeah, one thing, a match.
Sure, Marlow, anytime.
Thanks.
And Remini.
Yeah?
Don't hang on too long, huh?
La Blesenja pinky.
The reporter blew out the match and looked at me steadily for a moment, and his lips shaped
a word I ignored.
Then he walked away.
I had seen enough of the book of matches he'd stolen to know it was in the star-kissed room,
a glossy glass roof, dine, dance, and drink emporium near Arthur Murray's studio on Wichita
Boulevard.
So I made like I was in for the night and watched Remini leave.
He was on his way to his car, he kept looking back over his shoulder as if he expected to
be followed.
I waited till he was out of sight, and then I headed for Wiltshire in the star-kissed
room.
But when I got there, it was closed.
Remini's car wasn't in the neighborhood, and the only thing that kept the trip from being
a total loss was a spotlighted picture, ten feet square of a sultry, svelte, chanteuse,
and a picture labeled, Carla Borden, whose come-on-in smile and almost costume was a cinch
to increase the accident rate of the block by 20%.
But then I took another look, at her name, and got back to business.
It started with a B as in phone book, opened to Boone and Bordeaux.
I found a directory, got it opened to Boone and Bordeaux, and halfway down the page was
Borden, Carla, 2840 North Lucerne.
It took ten minutes to get there and two more to find out that she had an apartment, number
17, at the end of the first floor hall.
The door was open and I started for it, but got back close to the elevator when a woman
came out and ran down the corridor toward me.
It was Betty Pryor.
Hold it, Betty!
Whoa!
What?
Mr. Marlowe, what are you?
Never mind the stall, Betty.
I've been in a long time.
Why, I don't know what you're talking about.
Now look, you left a pretty worried guy at home.
Dave, did he send you after me?
That's right.
Why can't you fools leave me alone?
Why does he have to be so stupid?
Hey, you've got a few ideas mixed up, kid.
Oh sure, I'm wrong.
I'm the one who's all mixed up.
Let go of me!
Not until I've got a couple of things straight.
Now what happened?
Did life in a hamburger stand get a little stale?
Yes, you stupid snoop!
Okay.
Dave thinks you're in trouble, I think you're in trouble, and I think somebody waved a few
bills at you and you lost your grip.
Why, you're coming!
And you're in so deep now you can't get out and it's no more than you deserve.
Now come on, we're going right back down the hall to Carla's apartment.
We're going to have a little chat, just the three of us.
No, no, I won't let you!
Come on!
Take your hands off Marlowe.
I'll show you what I've got.
My two chums, the foghorn and its.45 caliber equalizer.
Easy does it, you were lucky that first time.
Little Betty, did you get it?
No, something went wrong.
Something terrible went...
Shut up!
Marlowe isn't safe.
We'll talk after he's out of the way.
All right, you.
Get in that elevator, chum, and we'll wait right here to see you leave.
Come on!
That.45 makes you awful brave, chum.
This way we don't offend the lady by being uncouth.
You get a chance to go up in the world.
Just put your finger on a button.
Wait a minute.
Come on!
All right.
Now all you have to do is push.
In just a moment, we will return to the second act of the adventures of Philip Marlowe.
But first, the most famous neighbors in radio, the Ronald Coleman's will pay Jack Benny a
visit again tomorrow as CBS's Great Sunday Night gets underway with another star-studded
group of famous entertainers.
Amos and Andy, Lum and Abner, Eve Arden as the gay school mistress, or Miss Brooks, and
Helen Hayes as a hillbilly.
These are only four more of the ten great entertainments which will come your way tomorrow
night.
Go visiting with the Coleman's on all of these same stations on the Jack Benny Show and hear
the rest of CBS's Great Sunday Night 10 as they come one by one over most of these stations.
And now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's
story, The Friend from Detroit.
My cage on cables was 10 exasperating seconds getting to the next floor.
And I was another 10 getting free of it back down the stairs and out into the dark street
where the red splash of a taillight disappeared around a corner.
And that was all that was left of Foghorn and company.
So I turned back toward Carla Borden's room.
When I stepped across the threshold, I found that with the exception of a single bureau
that was still intact, apartment number 17 looked like it had just played host to the
vortex of a cyclone.
The bed, a chest of drawers, another bureau, a desk, everything was inside out.
And in the middle of all that was the body of Carla Borden, blood from a deep, ugly cut
on her head staining the snow white front of her Angora sweater.
I saw something else which reminded me that this was not the first corpse of the night.
A plush leather frame was shaped like an oversized lifesaver and in it was the picture of a handsome
man all smiles inscribed with love to my very best girl, Speck Willard.
It was ten minutes before I got to the bar.
I was still up at the Beverly Crest Hotel.
After I told him about Carla and her connection with the late Mr. Willard and Betty Pryor and
my connection with Dave, I stopped talking and listened.
Marla, we just learned that Willard had some kind of a $25,000 caper going with one of
his old mobster friends from Detroit named Joe Lazar.
Maybe he has something with a voice inactive below bottom.
The same, Phil.
Anyhow, it looks like they worked out a gambling deal for old time's sake.
At the last minute, Willard tried to welshen Lazar and get killed for his trouble.
Then Lazar searched the place until he found the $25,000.
No, no, no.
That part doesn't fit, Ibarra.
Why so?
Well, I've run into Lazar twice tonight.
I know he and the money are still strangers.
After what happened here with the team of Betty and Lazar getting to the singer Carla,
I figured they're still looking for it.
Also, I figured Carla was somewhere near when Lazar killed Speck Willard and that she took
the money and...
I'll call you later, Ibarra.
We got clumsy company in the hall outside.
All right, ballerina, get your foot out of that bucket and come on in with your hands
up.
Well, a man with a very long nose for news.
What brings you around, Remini?
For one thing, the fact that you got no corner on brains, Marlowe, and for another, who did
that to her?
Our mutual friend, Betty Pryor and her running mate.
I believe they were looking for 25,000 bucks.
Did she and Joe Lazar get the money, Marlowe?
No, they...
Remini, how did you know the man with Betty was named Joe Lazar?
Haven't you heard?
I'm a good reporter, Marlowe, that kind of keeps eyes and ears open and mouth shut.
It isn't until I know the whole story.
Which as far as you're concerned is precisely what?
That I happened to be...
You happened to be...
That I happened to be in Dave's restaurant early this evening where I recognized the
only other cash customer as Joe Lazar.
An auto-work mobster from Detroit.
He said something to Betty that scared her right out of a tray of dishes, so I figured
I'd find out what was going on.
I've been in on the show ever since.
Yeah, including a corny blackout up at 2000 Beechwood Drive where you lost your hat running
away from a bullet.
That's right.
And just so you don't toss and turn when you get around to going to bed tonight, I'll
fill in the rest.
I followed Betty and Dave from the restaurant to their apartment.
I watched to get rid of Dave, and then when I saw Lazar come in, I moved up close to the
window.
And stayed there.
I spotted you and threw a bullet your way.
You're very clever.
Yes, I am.
But before that happened, I heard him tell Betty that Speck Willard had talked about
a girl singer at the star kiss room named Carla Borden.
And that since he didn't know Carla on site, she could have been the lady he'd seen running
out of Speck's apartment with a 25 gram.
Oh.
Now that phone book of Dave's open to the bees ties in.
I'm so glad.
Now, Marlowe, lest we digress too far, how come this one bureau here hasn't been turned
upside down along with everything else?
I don't know.
Any more than I know why you're holding back so much from the law.
Well, maybe it's because I don't like cops, Marlowe.
Oh, black ones.
Or maybe it's because I'm in the same kind of racket as you.
Chin way out and a lot of fast talk just so papers can know what's going on an hour ahead
of the rest of the world.
Well, there's no 25,000 in here.
I got to blow.
Before Ebera shows?
Before Ebera shows.
He always arrives with an entourage, Marlowe, one that includes other news hounds.
So it's me for a fast cab in downtown on my paper with a story.
Tell on, fellow.
I'll see you around.
Hey, wait a minute, Remini.
Yeah?
I'll give you a lift.
I'm going that way myself.
Okay.
I got a story, too.
That lousy story I've got to tell a nice guy named Dave.
Come on.
All the time we drove, Remini half-faced me and smoked one cigarette after another while
he rattled on about Joel's great story he had and a lot of other things I didn't hear
because I was busy trying to find the right words with which to tell Dave prior that his
wife was no good.
So when we were about halfway to Beachwood Drive and Remini was pushing close to his
deadline, decided to get out and phone his story in from a drug store, I was glad.
So long, Marlowe.
Second after that, I know I was kidding myself because even with just silence for company,
I was still no place with the right words.
Ten minutes later when I stood in front of Dave on the steps to his house and stammered
out the facts just as I had run across them, I forgot about words, right or wrong.
I thought instead about my client, a badly hurt guy, but one who would never say die.
Marlowe, I can't believe all this.
I won't.
Tell me, where's Betty now?
I don't know, Dave.
Now, look, maybe we ought to head for police headquarters because sooner or later we're
each going to have a story to tell Lieutenant Ibarra.
Come on, my car's over here.
Oh, okay, Phil.
I guess that's the only thing to do, all right?
Yeah, I guess so.
Here, you better have a cigarette, Davey.
Oh, thanks.
Kid, we'll try to make this as painless as we.
Every what, Marlowe?
What is it?
Hmm?
Well, what are you staring at?
Front seat.
I don't see anything, Phil.
What is it?
What are you staring at?
Shut up, Dave.
Shut up.
Give me a minute, will you?
Yeah.
Yeah, sure.
Come on, Dave, pile in.
But why, Marlowe?
Where are we going?
Star Kiss Room to play a long shot.
I slapped my foot down hard on the accelerator and kept it that way right through a string
of I didn't care what color traffic lights until five minutes later when we screeched
to a stop away from the side entrance of the Star Kiss Room.
I left Dave in the front seat, piled out fast and ran a dozen yards to an abrupt halt at
the sight of something that turned the long shot I was playing into an odds on favorite.
It was the stage entrance door open a couple of inches and in front of that, an unconscious
on the hard sidewalk where it had fallen, was the clad in blue form of a private patrolman,
his pistol holster conspicuously empty.
Inside I slowly picked my way along an L-shaped corridor until I saw a shaft of bright yellow
from a flashlight that was moving away from a door marked Carla Borden.
It brought me up short and flat against the wall.
But then as the man on the other end of the beam of light moved away from me, I got a
very steady grip on the 38 in my pocket and started after it.
A minute later, he entered the main room with a club and it was there as he started across
the glass ceiling dance floor.
But I recognized a very self-confident gait of a very self-confident guy.
That made the next move mine.
Bar's closed, Remini, and don't move, buster, or I'll blow your head off.
Ah, looks like you're making news this time, good reporter.
Or isn't that package in your hand the 25 grand you just found in Carla Borden's dressing
room, huh?
The same Carla Borden you murdered not an hour ago in an apartment on Lucerne, where
you first thought the money was, where Betty Pryor surprised you before you could finish
searching, where you later returned in the role of an All-American newsboy so you could
get to that last bureau.
All right, all right.
I've heard enough, Marlow, but I'm not going to stick around for more details.
You make a break and I'll shoot, Remini.
Try it, Eagle.
Stop, Remini, stop!
Marlow, I...
Nice shooting, Marlow, but don't turn around because of where I'm standing that's dark
and where you're standing that's light.
Now, throw your gun away, fella.
Come on, toss it!
That's better.
All right, Betty, get over to that dead newspaper guy and get the money.
All right.
You'll take care of the private detective here.
What do you mean, take care, Joe?
I can't go along with murder.
Speck Willard's death didn't seem to bother you any.
Shut up, Marlow.
Speck Willard.
Joe, you...
Joe, you killed...
Yes, I killed Speck, that...
Welscher, eight o'clock tonight.
And I had to stay undercover but still get my hands on the money.
So I came to you for help.
I didn't tell you about the killing because I didn't think you'd play ball if you knew
about it.
Now all that's history now and I'll still go to your dear husband Dave and talk lots
about the kind of cheap kid you used to be in Detroit if you don't get moving.
Now, what do you say, Betty?
I say no, Joe.
I also say I made a mistake in the first place letting you use me to run your filthy errands
just so the guy I love wouldn't have to know about the kind of people I once ran around
with before I had any brains.
All right.
If that's the dumb way you want it, that's the dumb way it'll be.
Taking care of two years is much harder than taking care of one.
What about three, Lizard?
Dave!
Dave, stay back!
No, Marlow, no.
I stayed back too long already.
I stayed back while Betty has been risking her life to protect what we've got.
If you take another step, I'll shoot, kid.
I warned you for the last time.
Stay back!
No, Lizard, I won't!
You're a big and scum, Lizard!
No!
Dave, you're a kid!
Yeah, yeah.
But I'll be all right.
I'll be all right now, Betty.
Dr. Reese, Dr. Reese, please report to surgery.
Well, Mrs. Pryor, I'm pretty sure you're in a good mood.
I'm not.
Then why didn't you report to surgery?
Well, Mrs. Pryor and Marlowe, theidoctor says Dave is going to be fine in a couple of
days.
억от one on the shoulder and the other on the hip.
He certainly had courage didn't he?
Yeah, and you did all right too, Betty, mixing in this whole mess just to keep the homefires
burning.
Oh.
Tell me, what ever made you think that a guy like Dave wouldn't understand that you turned
over and you'll leave?
Well, I...
I...
I don't know Phil, I guess I wasn't very smart.
Oh, you weren't Mrs. Pryor, but you're lucky.
Because Marlowe, here I was...
And that brings me around to a loose end, Phil.
How did you know that Remini was your man?
Oh, that. Because of something I saw in the upholstery at the front seat of my car, Eborah.
Tufts of snow-white Angora, which was the kind of sweater that Carla Borden had on when she was murdered, after they struggled.
And since you didn't touch the body yourself, they couldn't have come from your suit.
No. And Remini was the only other one who had been in my car.
So I figured that the Angora fuzz had gone from Carla's sweater to Remini's suit to my upholstery.
All of which means that Remini must have been in Carla's room before I got there as well as after. See?
And then once I thought back about his getting out of my car to phone a historian, I realized that when I dropped him near a drugstore, he had also been near the star-kissed room.
Yes. That's exactly where he'd headed.
You see, Phil, Joe and I followed both of you from Carla Borden's place because, well, after Joe put you in that elevator and we ran, Joe said we had to return and wait for Remini.
He was sure to come back and finish his search.
And the whole business because Lazar, after he had murdered Speck Willard, was afraid to publicly go after Carla Borden and the money he felt was his.
Yes. He knew about me and Dave because Speck Willard accidentally dropped into our place this morning.
The expectation, baby. Yesterday morning. It's now 9 a.m. And a good time to call quits, huh?
Good night, kids.
Well, by the time I got back to my apartment on Franklin, it was half past 10 in the two bright morning.
I was sporting sandpaper eyelids and a knot in the small of my back that felt like a wet dish rag.
Oh, but once I had all the shaved down, undressed and in bed.
I forgot about that.
And I thought instead of the wood nymph dressed in nothing,
hmm, would a veil of dewdrops.
But then suddenly I stopped.
The telephone.
I got out of bed, I picked it up with both hands,
opened the dresser drawer and jammed it deep under all the socks I owned.
And then I got back to bed.
And the wood nymph in her veil dewdrops.
Hmm.
She was, she was pirouetting from one huge blue belt to another.
Hmm. Oh my.
And gossamer wings.
Music
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, created by Raymond Chandler, stars Gerald Moore
and is produced and directed by Norman MacDonald.
Script is by Mel Dennelly, Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt.
Featured in the cast were Virginia Gregg as Betty Pryor, Peter Leeds as Dave Pryor,
Harry Bartel as Van Remini and Ed Begley as Joe Lazar.
Lieutenant Detective Ibarra was played by Jeff Corey.
The special music was by Richard O'Runt.
Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says.
It was a hunt through a jungle of city streets with danger waiting at every intersection
until halfway through when the hunters became the hunted and death brought an end to the game.
Music
The Coleman visiting Jack Benny plus Amos and Andy, Eve Arden and Helen Hayes as a hillbilly.
Yes, that earlier announcement about CBS programs tomorrow night sounded great, didn't it?
Except you Philip Marlowe fans may have been wondering, isn't there a mystery show among that great Sunday night 10 on CBS?
Of course there is.
One of the great detectives in the mystery world, Dashiell Hammett's one and only Sam Spade.
Sam will be here hard-hitting, fast-moving as always.
Tomorrow night on most of the same CBS network station.
This is Roy Rowan speaking.
Now stay tuned for Gangbusters which follows immediately over most of the same CBS stations.
Music
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
Music