Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the
gutter of the prison of the grave. There's no other end. But they never learn. Let me
give you an example. I was hired to find a thief and I did a thousand miles from home.
But first I found a lush with a luger, a fresh corpse in the closet and all because the only
woman in sight wouldn't play fair. From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of mystery,
comes his most famous character and crime's most deadly enemy as we present the adventures
of Philip Marlowe. Now with Gerald Moore starred as Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting
story, The Unfair Lady. A knock on my office door was soft, almost apologetic. So when I mumbled,
come in, I was ready for something delicate and about as self-effacing as your eye a heap.
When the door swung open, I knew exactly how wrong I could be. The gentleman was maybe 40,
gray at the temples with shaggy eyebrows and a military mustache and built like a heavy
cruiser with a pair of catcher's mitts for hands. I'm Elliot Flory, Mr. Marlowe,
Mr. Ira Bjornsson's secretary. Are your services available, sir? That all depends on what you and
Mr. Bjornsson want me to do, Flory. What's the job? Specifically, sir, to catch a thief.
May I sit down? Of course. Thank you. Mr. Bjornsson is being robbed systematically of diamonds.
Are they disappearing from his Torreons or is somebody robbing his wife? No, no, no, Mr. Marlowe.
You see, sir, Mr. Bjornsson owns and operates the Bjornsson mine, the relatively new but important
deposit of Kimberlite pipe. Kimberlite which? Kimberlite pipe, Mr. Marlowe. The geological
term of the diamantivorous blue ground which yields the minerals. Oh, of course, diamantivorous.
Well, last November, sir, the 21st to be precise, you worked for Mr. Craig Norton,
the mining engineer who lived here in Los Angeles. He recommended you to my employer.
Now, Mr. Marlowe, will you take the job? I don't know. He still haven't said anything about the
stealing itself. Is it a Bjornsson representative here in Los Angeles who's coming up to mine us?
It's Mr. Bjornsson himself who's being robbed, Mr. Marlowe, at the mine proper. Oh, I see. And he
wants me to... Yeah, oh, wait a minute. This mine, this diamond mine wouldn't be in South Africa.
No, sir, it wouldn't. It's at Rizlo. It's a hamlet a hundred miles south of Nogales.
South of where? Nogales, Mr. Marlowe. It's a city in Arizona, a few hours' drive from Tucson at the
Mexican border. Now, look, Mr. Florey, I'm a private detective in the city of Los Angeles who's at home
in a barn, a back alley, or sometimes with a blonde. Not in rural Mexico. Is that clear? Oh, yes, sir,
perfectly. Also, it's something that Mr. Bjornsson anticipated. I refer to your reluctance to make the
trip, sir. To Mr. Bjornsson and Rizlo, Los Angeles is the nearest metropolis where a dependable
private detective could be found. To you in Los Angeles, Rizlo is a new world. Therefore... Therefore,
Mr. Marlowe, these papers. The first is your plane reservation, Daylook's Passage, leaving tonight
for Nogales, where you will be met and chauffeured across the border to Rizlo. You know, you tossed
that off like it was transferring from the red bus to the E-car downtown. It's less complicated,
sir, I'm sure. Now, these other papers, Mr. Marlowe, are both checks, each for $500. One is your fee,
the other for expenses, not including your air travel. Your decision, sir. Oh, well, my decision,
Mr. Florey, is that for $500 plus, Rizlo is plenty cosmopolitan for me. I'll go. You'll go. I'll go.
At eight the next morning, we dropped gently out of the clear sky over Nogales, where I was met by a
short round Mexican who ushered me into a car labeled, Beyoncé and Mines, and suggested that
I sleep for the next three hours, which was the travel time to Rizlo, 100 miles south. So,
after 30 minutes of panoramic dry, sandy hills and occasional cactus, I did. When I woke up again,
it was better than noon, hotter than the Hades, and we were parked at a filling station in Rizlo
itself, which could have passed for home if you happen to be a prairie dog. It wasn't until I had
my eyes wide open that I realized that the man leaning on the running board inches away and
staring at me like my eyebrows were on upside down was not my driver. He was shaggy hair all
around an unshaven, unpleasant face that was home to a pair of watered eyes that said he was
drinking himself to death. And when he talked, I knew it was on cheap rum. You're the new mining
engineer, maybe? Yeah, I didn't know it showed. Since you're an American, that means you gotta be
an engineer. Oh, no other Americans come out this way. I'm an American myself, you know, from Philly.
Good old Philly. That's a great town. What's for sale? Hot transits? No, no, just being friendly.
Name's Calder, MJ Calder. I'm staying over at the Granada Hotel for a while, first floor rear. Why
don't you look me up some night, any night long, about eight? I used to be an engineer myself. My
true father while I'm. Yeah, we might do that. So well, I look forward to it. So long, pal.
When my driver and I were back on the hot dirt road, I was told the Beyoncé mine was the open
pit type, a deep hole about a half mile in diameter in the middle of the Beyoncé property,
which was clearly circled by 11 miles of eight strand barbed wire fence, which was guarded by
50 ex GI and Mexicans who were under the iron fist of one Captain Juan Lufino. 20 minutes later,
when we entered the main gate and were slowly driving up a neatly landscaped white pebble road,
we had a different picture of life at the Beyoncé mines. It was the residential side,
plush and strictly Beverly Hills, and the sprawling red brick house past the green and white tile
swimming pool to the guest house beyond. Inside, I found the multimillionaire himself. It was a bald
50 perspiring and shaped like a bowling pin at 10 o'clock last night. Marlow, it happened again.
$5,000 worth of stones. The seventh robbery in as many weeks, excluding of course, the usual
trickle, the usual trickle, one or maybe $2,000 worth a month. That's stealing. Nobody can stop
the natives, the guards, visitors, everybody. But most of them we catch Marlow because in the first
place, our policing is very thorough. And second to steal our rough diamond is one thing, but to get
rid of it is something else again. Well, tell me Mr. Beyoncé, these big thefts you're concerned
about, do they all have anything in common? Yes. Two things, Marlow. They always occur at night,
and they are the work of somebody who knows my habits and has a good knowledge of the inside of
my house. The big safe is never bothered. It is always some drawer or cabinet where I am keeping
stones temporarily. I see. And Mr. Beyoncé, has anybody ever seen this thief? Last night, Helen
Austin saw what could be the man running through the grounds at about 11 o'clock. She said he was
tall with a lot of wavy hair. She said that he was not the Mexican. Oh, by the way, Marlow, Mrs.
Austin and her husband are staying in the guest house where you will be put up. It works for you,
Mr. Beyoncé. No, Kelly Austin has a mine of his own about five miles from here. Smaller than ours,
but rich. Never the less. Oh, this will be Captain Lufino. Don't mind if he appears unfriendly,
Marlow. He considers your presence here a personal insult. Come in. You wish to see me,
Senor Beyoncé? Yes, Lufino. This is Mr. Marlow, the detective. Ah, when Senor Flore came back this
morning, Senor Marlow, he spoke very highly of your reputation in Los Angeles. Mr. Flore only
talked to my friends in Los Angeles, Captain. Now, Mr. Beyoncé, you were telling me about the
Austins. Yes, they have been with us for two or three months now while their new house is being
constructed at their own mine. Their last place burned to the ground. I would suggest, Marlow,
that you speak to her as soon as possible. Also, the captain here will tell you of some evidence
that he found here on the grounds last night. No, Senor, it turned out to be nothing. What kind of
nothing, Captain? A fountain pen, yes. It belonged to one of the office workers.
Senor Barnes, did you tell him about that Nut Campbell? Oh, no. Marlow, the International
Diamond Exchange keeps us advised of the movements of the bigger black marketeers whenever possible.
Three days ago, we were told that a man named Nut Campbell, an American who was at one time an
engineer, has been operating in Mexico close to the border. Is there an accurate description of him?
No. Anything else you have to know, Captain Muffino will take care of you. Also, I am sure that the
captain will be glad to show you to your room at the guest house. Sir, it will be my pleasure to
assist Senor Marlow in any way I can. This way, Senor, please. Captain Muffino's interpretation
of assist was to hand my suitcase to a boy, point a thick thumb in the general direction of the
guest house and disappear. So after thanking him for his trouble, I went to my room unpacked,
changed into a dry shirt, which was damp again in three minutes, and then started for the suite on
the opposite side of the building, where I'd been told I could find Helen Austin. But when I was
halfway to a screen door, I stopped at the sound of a raised voice that I'd heard before. It was Mr.
Elliot Flory who was about to leave and unhappy about the whole thing. When I was close enough to
see Mrs. Austin, I could also see why. The lady was blonde, deeply tanned, just a shade off beautiful
and almost dressed in a white linen shorts with halter to match. I told you last night, I've been
behaving like a fool. Oh, am I? You just wait a bit, my dear. We'll see who the fool is around here.
Marlow, what are you doing out there? Calling on Mrs. Austin. Why? Do I need a visa, Flory?
No, no, Mr. Marlow. You don't need a visa. You don't need anything.
Come in, won't you? Elliot was just leaving. Yes, I have to be running along. I'll see you later,
Helen. I can't wait. I'll sit here, Mr. Phil, isn't it? Phil Marlow? Nice name. You know,
Phil, I don't often get to see a new face around here, so anything I can do for you would be a
pleasure. I'm sure the pleasure will be all mine, but aren't you afraid you'll catch cold? Why?
Don't you like it? I made it myself. I do most of my things, you know. The reason I started too far
behind New York to suit me, my husband Kelly says I'm clever. Better than that, Helen.
You're resourceful. You startled me. Darling, this is Philip Marlow. I know. Ira told me you were with us,
Mr. Marlow. Can I be of some help, possibly? No, not at the moment, Mr. Elliot. I'm sorry.
Mr. Austin, right now I'm only interested in knowing if your wife here can add anything to a
description of last night's stranger. Can you, Mrs. Austin? Why, no. If there were anything else
outstanding about the man, I certainly would have told Ira. No doubt. But what about the
run-of-the-mill things? His dress, the way he walked? Like most men, Marlow, we wore one pair of pants,
one shirt, and only one head. Also, like most men, he smelled of liquor. Rum, maybe?
We all drink rum here. How about joining us inside? After dinner? Long about eight? Thanks, but
long about eight, I've got to be back in Rizlo to see Mr. Colder. Ever hear of him, Austin?
Why, no. Should I have? I don't think so. He'd have very little in common with you people,
with one exception. Which is what? Rum, Mrs. Austin. He's crazy about it.
After I left Kelly and what with one healthy cloudburst ad, it would make a great Sadie Thompson,
I found Ira Bjornsson and told him that I thought last night's stranger, one M.J. Colder and Nat
Campbell could be all one and the same, and that I would like to go into Rizlo and check on just
that, which suited him fine. So after apologizing for having just let Captain Lufino go off for the
evening in his car, he gave me the keys to a battered station wagon and wished me good luck.
Four hours later when it was dark and I was in Rizlo and walking the dirty length of the ground
floor corridor of the Granada Hotel, which was darker, I had a feeling I was going to need it.
Yeah, who is it? Marlow Colder, the new man at Bjornsson's mine. Oh, fine. Be right with you.
Didn't expect you to take me up so soon. Yeah, well, you know the mines can't be
ones just as dull as the next time. That's right. What did you call me? Campbell. That's it, isn't
that? No, the name's Calder, M.J. I told you that today. Yeah, and at the time I believed you,
good old Philly included. Come on, Rummy, uncover the masquerades over, open up while you still can
talk. What do you say? Okay. Okay, ain't that a good idea? I'm not going to tell you.
Open up while you still can talk. What do you say? Okay. Okay. Ain't the biggest secret in the world.
Here, sit down. Why you lousy louse. You don't aim any better than you lie.
I had enough, I tell you. All right, we'll see. Now come on, get up. We'll start all over again
after we check you once. That kind usually has a nasty luger tucked away someplace.
All right. Now what do you know about... Hey, Campbell, that stuff over there seeping under
the closet door. The color isn't right for rum, brother. It's too red. Well, Captain Lufino.
Yeah, he said, Marlo, sure don't move. You'll be right with him. Yeah, you see, I was right,
Campbell. Your kind always has a nasty luger someplace. Marlo, I didn't do that. I didn't
kill him. Oh, yeah, sure, sure. He committed suicide in your closet and closed the door as a gag,
I suppose. That's enough. I don't try to be funny. I didn't even know he was here. I was out.
When I come back, I found him. Campbell, that line retired with a flintlock rifle. If you hadn't
parboiled your brains in fusel oil, you'd realize it. But it's the truth. I'll tell you what the
truth is, cousin. Lufino had a piece of evidence to tab you as being out of Bjornsson's mine last
night at 11 o'clock, but he passed it off as a fountain pen that meant nothing because he resented
me honing into his territory. Then he came here alone to put a pinch on you and get the credit.
Only you dropped him instead. That's a lie. And I can prove it for the best witness in Mexico,
next to Bjornsson himself. Who are you talking about? One Mr. Elliott Florey, that's who.
I was in the Cafe Quiloto last night at 11. Florey saw me there. No dice, Campbell. Florey didn't
get it from no galleys until this morning. You're pretty seedy for a big city boy. Yeah. You can
you can check the bar to enter the cafe and see if I'm not right. But right now, I'm going to put you
away so I can get out of here. Turn around, walk slow. Out the back way and down the stairs.
Go on, move. What are you going to make mineware to look like? Robbery? Don't act so brave.
You'll live because I figure you'll clear me one way or another, whether you like it or not.
Now hold it. That's far enough. Now open that cellar door. Okay. When you get out,
don't waste time looking for me. I won't be around. So long, countryman. Don't hurt yourself.
Don't hurt yourself.
Cellar was as light and wholesome as a Parisian sewer. Even with the help of several generations
of termites, it took a half an hour to break out. When I got upstairs again, it was deserted,
except for the late Captain Lufino. I went through his pockets, but they held nothing more exciting
than battered cigarettes and some small change. But under the tight sash around his waist was a small
green suede pouch containing three minute diamonds in the rough. I began to see what
Bjornsson meant by the usual trickle. Everybody, including the chief of his own guards, seemed to
be in on the act. I dropped the pouch in my pocket and headed for the Killota Cafe, where two American
bucks and a nasty snarl at the bartender brought me the fact that Elliot Flory actually had been
there last night. I had waited two hours for somebody who didn't show up and then left. That
made my neck stop the mind. So I bounced the station wagon out of town, back to Bjornsson's
house and started in. But a pair of bare shoulders above a snuggling and halter intercepted me.
Hello. You're back safe, I see. Enjoy all the sights and our filthy, stinking little town?
Not much, Mrs. Austin.
You should have taken me along as a guide. I could show you lots of interesting things.
Hmm. Like what, for instance?
Like the sky. And the moon. I like things clean and soft. I like lights and music and people.
I like you, Marla.
Save it. That buttons and bows routine is strictly your own problem. I've got work and it starts
with Elliot Flory. Where is he?
What makes you think I'd know that?
Because you two have been keeping close track of each other for some time. You're anxious to
drop it, but Flory isn't. And now he's got a hold over you and you're worried silly.
Why, you did!
Skip that too! And what I know, I can fill in a very unpleasant yarn and I will if I have to.
So come on, baby, no dramatics. Let's have it. Where's Flory?
Marla, you're a louse. But at that you're better than he is. Went over to our place the
mine about half an hour ago. I don't know why he wouldn't tell me. Just want me to keep my mouth
shut and left.
That doesn't make sense. Where's Mr. Austin?
My good husband is off somewhere checking on supplies, he says.
Okay, I'll pay a call on Flory right now. When I get back, baby, I'll have a lot of answers.
So I advise you to wait up, huh?
Sure. When you're all through with him, do me a favor, will you, Mr. Tough Detective?
What, throw him back?
No, kill him.
After she said it, she stared at me for a moment and then turned and walked away. And from the
bitterness in her face, I figured she had more on her mind than she told me about.
But as I beat it around to the driveway where I'd left the station wagon, climbed in and wheeled
out the gate, I forgot about the theories and headed for the Kelly Austin mine and a big scale
diamond thief as fast as the rutted road and loose body bolts would permit. I'd barely gotten out of
sight of Jonson's house, where from somewhere out of the truckload of shadows I was hauling in the
rear end of the station wagon, a muzzle of a gun was shoved hard against the back of my neck in
hell there.
Pull over and stop, Mr. Marlow, but don't take your hands off the wheel.
Austin, you're off your rocker. You've been working too hard.
Not so hard that I didn't get back in time to see you kissing my wife. You don't deny it,
do you?
Well, for what it's worth, you get your subject backward, but never mind that.
Don't turn around, Marlow. I'm sorry about this. I liked you when we met today.
Now, listen, we'll take this up later in detail. Right now, I'm after a guy who's been biting
into Bjornsson's diamonds, and I'm sure it's his own secretary, Elliot Flory.
Flory? Why, that's absurd.
Yeah, and what's more, he's currently after something cute at your mine.
He's at my mine, Flory?
That's what I said. Now, after I've seen him, Buster, I'll be indignant with you all night,
if you like.
You're a clever liar, Marlow, but it won't work. You're not getting out of this that easily.
I'm going to tell Bjornsson what you've done, but first, you cheap masher, I'm going to get some
satisfaction out of you personally, like this.
First, first one, one side of my head and then the other exploded like Roman candles.
I fell a long way out of the car door to the road. I finally stopped falling and started back to my
feet. I had a double handful of Mexico in my mouth. All the rest of it I could see looked big and
black and deserted. The station wagon was gone and so was my enthusiasm and the picture of Marlow on
foot in the middle of the Mexican mountain looked pretty stupid. I trudged back toward the house,
but I stopped as a pair of headlights swung out the gate and slashed down the road at me.
Came to a sandstorm halt.
Marlow, Marlow, what happened to you?
A long story, Mrs. Austin, unless you hear about it from me, the better for all of us.
What do you mean?
That Kelly, your husband, was watching when you wanted to show me the Mexican sky and the moon
up there at the house. It was just a teensy bit irate about it.
Oh, is that all?
That's enough.
What about Flory and the Mind, Marlow?
How should I know?
I got tangled up as a heavy in this corny gaslight melodrama. I...
Wait a minute, did you put that jacket on since I saw you last?
No, what's the matter?
Come over here in the light. Come on!
Right.
Sure. Now listen, Helen, you told me once sewing was your hobby.
Did you happen to make this item yourself?
Yes, Simon, what's so important about that?
I'll hunch along, shopper. If it pays off, I'll catch both a killer and a diamond thief.
I'm going to borrow your car, beautiful.
Wait a minute, I'm coming with you.
No, you're not. I've got to get Flory and stop a murder,
and that takes a different kind of speed than you've got. So long, baby.
With every jolt of the car, another Roman candle went off in my head,
but I kept the gas pedal jammed to the floor until I saw the turn-off sign for the Austin Mine,
and I cut the lights and pulled over.
It was 400 yards up the side road to the gate where a Mexican sentry and a battered sombrero
leaned against a post on a barbed wire barricade.
I skirted him and followed a path outside the fence until I found the landmark I was looking for.
There was another sombrero, and a few feet away, sprawled out, sleeping soundly from a blow on the back of his head,
was its owner. Two strands of the barbed wire had been cut,
so I crawled through and up to the edge of the big pit.
It looked black and bottomless, until a tiny flicker of light down deep inside went on for an instant,
and then went out again. That was my cue.
But I was 15 tooth-and-nail minutes playing mountain goat on tiptoe down a hundred feet,
and a hundred and fifty vertical feet of ladders and catwalks,
before I was near the bottom and close enough to hear a pick biting hard clay.
When it stopped suddenly, so did I, and listened with my.38 clenched in my hand.
But Flory had been surprised by someone from the bottom of the pit, not by me.
Austin! Austin, how did you... No, no, don't shoot Austin, please.
Why not, Mr. Flory? You found what you were looking for, didn't you? Didn't you?
Yes, yes, I did. And what precisely do you define?
That my mine has run out? That it's worthless,
that I've kept it going only with stolen diamonds?
That's right. I suspected it. Now I know. You're the one who's been stealing from Bjornsson.
You bring the diamonds here, you salt your own ground with them, and then remind them as fresh stone.
And get the full mark at price, yes. But what do you hope to achieve with this information now, Mr. Flory?
You realize that I have to kill you? No, wait, wait, I...
I have nothing against you, Kelly.
In fact, I have a proposition to offer you. You're in a poor position to bargain, but go ahead.
Now, you'll never get away with killing me... Won't I?
I got away with one murder, Bruno. He would have found out about me eventually because I made a mistake last night.
But that socked Campbell will take the blame for him.
And right now, you're just another trespasser, so make your offer. Make it good. Go on, go on!
All right. I... I promise you, no one will ever know about this.
If you'll get out of Mexico and leave hell in here with me,
you'll be dead. I'm not going to shoot you, Flory. I'm going to strangle you with my bare hands.
You ought to turn right back and let your...
Yes, schools out. Drop it, Austin. Stand still. Both of you.
No, it's too late for that.
You hit him, Marlon. You got him. I... I think he's dead.
Yeah. And I got something for you, Flory.
I hope I can get the slime off my fist.
Please, Marlon, pour yourself another here. It'll help your headache to go away.
Oh, thanks, Mr. Bjornsson. It's cooler out here than it was inside. It's better now, thanks.
I don't know. I am happy and I am sad both. You found me my teeth all right, but you lost me a friend in the bargain.
And the way we live out here, our friends are as dear as our diamonds.
Well, there's one thing about diamonds, Mr. Bjornsson. They won't go bad on you.
You're right there, my boy. It's hard to realize that Kelly Austin was our man.
Yeah, it's hard to realize that Kelly Austin was our man.
Yeah, it's hard to realize that Kelly Austin was our man. Yeah, I imagine it is.
You said it was Helen's jacket that gave you the answer. How was that, Marlon?
Well, Lufino was carrying a little green suede pouch. I thought it was his.
But actually, that was a piece of evidence that he found last night.
It wasn't until I saw Mrs. Austin's jacket of the same green suede that I realized the pouch must have been made from the scraps left over from the jacket.
I see. And since the wife sewed the jacket herself, that made the husband the logical owner of the pouch.
That's right. You know, in a way you might say Helen's responsible for the whole mess.
How do you mean, Marlon?
Well, it all adds up like this. Helen wanted diamonds bad, and her husband started stealing for her.
Things went well until they almost got caught.
That was last night, huh?
That's right. Running across the lawn, Kelly dropped the little pouch.
Lufino, who caught sight of him, followed and found the pouch with the three diamonds.
But Captain Lufino thought Campbell was the thief and went to Campbell's quarters in Rizlo to force a confession out of him.
Kelly followed him, killed him before he learned too much, knowing that the rum-sucked Campbell would take the rap.
And that Austin woman, she's got no business here in this desolation. She loves diamonds, but not in the rough.
No. She wants them around that beautiful neck of hers, with big city lights bouncing off them in all directions.
But the lady wouldn't play fair to get them.
She's packing now, and Mr. Flory has already left bag in baggage. Even Lufino is gone now.
You know, it's going to be lonely around here, Marlon. I couldn't prevail on you to stay over a while.
No, no. Mr. Bjornsson, I'm afraid not. I'd probably catch myself picking little pebbles out of every clay bank I found.
The first thing you know, I'd be stuck here too. Besides, what would Hollywood Boulevard do without Marlon and vice versa?
When the driver who was taking me back to Nogales was finally ready, and we started out of the mines, I took a long last look down into the gaping, dirty, lonely pit that was the Bjornsson Diamond Field.
And then, as we headed north and for the border, I settled back and thought about my own diamond field, the one that stretched out for fifty miles from the San Fernando Valley to Long Beach in blazing brilliance.
Yet, in its own way, I knew it was just as dirty, just as lonely, and just as tough as the pit at Rizzlow. But it was my hometown.
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, created by Raymond Chandler, star Gerald Moore, and are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald.
Script is by Mel Dinelli, Robert Mitchell, and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast were Parley Bear, Betty Lou Gerson, Hans Conrad, Paul Dubov, Wilms Herbert, and Nestor Paiva.
The special music is by Richard O'Ron.
Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says...
She had soft brown eyes and an accent, and she came to town with a job to do. But before it was done, death had struck three times. Then she was gone.
And all because of thirty drops of pigeon's blood, worth fifty thousand bucks.
Later this evening on CBS, you'll hear a voice saying quietly, a tortoise told a household pest, goodbye, goodbye. And MD said, you'll pass the test up in the sky.
Those words are a magic key to fifty-three thousand dollars in cash and prizes. Like to take a try at it?
Then be waiting for Sing It Again, CBS's hour-long funfest of music, laughter, and wonderful songs later tonight on most of these same CBS stations.
This is Roy Rowan speaking.
Now, stay tuned for Gangbusters, which follows immediately over most of these same stations.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.