Get this and get it straight.
Crime's a sucker's road.
Those who travel it wind up in the gutter,
the prison or the grave.
There's no other end, but they never learn.
This one 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 30 drops of pigeon's blood,
worth 150,000 bucks.
From the pen of Raymond Tramper,
outstanding author of Mystery, comes his most famous character
and Crime's most deadly enemy,
as we present...
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe.
[♪ dramatic music playing on piano and violin playing in background.
Now with Gerald Moore,
starred as Philip Marlowe,
we bring you tonight's exciting story,
The Pigeon's Blood.
[♪ dramatic music playing on piano and violin playing in background.
At five o'clock of any weekday afternoon,
the lobby of the started building in downtown Los Angeles
is a mess of milling office workers.
So I was ten impolite minutes peering into chattering faces
before I found my new client, Charlene Danielle.
When she called me an hour ago,
her slight French accent had been coated with worry
as she identified herself as an illustrator for a fashion magazine
with officers in the building,
and said that she needed help.
She was huddled in a shadowed far corner of the lobby
like a frightened puppy,
going through his first thunderstorm.
When I was close to her, she stepped into the light
and hurriedly took my arm.
I am glad you didn't disappoint me, Mr. Marlowe.
Come along, please, quickly.
There's a bar just across the lobby
where we can talk.
All right.
Come along, please, it's already late.
Soft, lustrous hair that was shingled
into a thousand short curls which kept running into one another,
framed a beautiful face,
and a wisp of a smile that never seemed to leave her lips
labeled her gentle people.
I couldn't quite get over it.
When we were inside the bar and seated at a table,
she was still talking,
and I was still thinking how lovely she was.
Mr. Marlowe.
Mr. Marlowe, are you listening?
Hmm? Oh, yes, of course I am.
Yes.
Now, what I want you to do is simple,
but very, very important.
It must be done at once.
Easy, easy, honey.
That's not going to help, honey.
Now, one step at a time.
What is it, Charlie?
I'm sorry.
It's a terrible man named Marty Loomis.
He lives here in Los Angeles on North Rosmall Street,
number 7710, a private house.
He is the one who had the collection stolen
from Vivian's father.
I know he is. Hey, hey, hey.
Wait a minute. Whoa.
Slow around the corners, huh?
Now, first of all, what's the collection of?
Rubies, Mr. Marlowe.
Rare pigeons, blood rubies.
Exquisite ones.
The 30 of them worth at least,
the very least, $150,000.
Hmm.
Tell me, are all the rubies as lovely as you are?
Please, Mr. Marlowe.
Okay, okay.
Who's Vivian?
My best friend.
The girl I grew up with in Lyon.
She's still in France,
but I got out before the war to Mexico and Senada.
Some friends at the Riviera Pacifico
helped me to get to California.
Vivian and her father,
Maurice Chardot, an old man now.
They lost everything.
They had family, a home, their business,
and then they had only the rubies left.
Well, it should bring us to this guy, Loomis, huh?
It does.
Mr. Marlowe, he was in France only last month,
a guest in the Chardot home,
a charming American businessman
who was going to buy the rubies.
But it just wouldn't say when.
Tell me, Charlene,
did anybody actually see him take the stones?
No, but there's no doubt that he did it, Mr. Marlowe.
He was one of the few persons
who knew where Mr. Chardot kept them.
What about the police?
Oh, no, no, Mr. Marlowe, not yet.
Only when we know that Loomis still has the stones,
when we know where the rubies are.
You see, any hurried arrest
would only mean that the jewels would be gotten with her,
gone forever.
Why isn't Vivian here, Mr. Chardot?
I told you.
He is an old man, a broken man,
and they are penniless.
The rubies were going to be sold.
That's why this Loomis was visiting with them.
Now, please, Mr. Marlowe,
can you do this for me?
Can you find out where the jewels are?
It would mean so much if we can return them.
So much.
Yeah.
Where can I find you later, Charlene?
I live at the Bradford Arms.
The telephone number is sunset 102-29.
102-29.
Now, what is your fee, Keith?
Well, I...
We'll talk about it later, huh?
All right.
You are kind.
I only hope that later isn't too far away.
For Mr. Chardot's sake?
Why, yes, for...
For everybody's sake.
Good luck.
Somehow or another,
I managed to stop at all the red lights
and go on all the green ones
and not hit anyone all the way from downtown L.A.
where I'd left Charlene
up into Hollywood and over to Marty Loomis' house
at 7710 North Rossmoor.
Parking a half a block away,
I stood looking at the rambling White House vintage 1915.
I was startled into action by a wiry white-haired old boy
in search of a match.
After a quick servicing job, I moved up to the door.
As I knocked on the massive display of aging oak,
I decided that Marlow should play the role of crooked jeweler
to ease the entrance.
When the door finally opened
and an ox in shirny blue surge answered,
I wasn't too happy with my choice of roles.
A big club would have been better.
Yeah. What do you want?
Marty Loomis. Is he in?
Who's asking questions?
The name's Becker.
A mutual friend recommended me to him.
Does Lefty know about this?
He should. Why don't you ask him?
Okay. Come on in.
Relax while I find out.
Thanks. Any place in particular?
Yeah. Flat on your back, big mouth.
And don't bother going for your gun.
I'll do it for you.
Ah. Nice 38 at that.
Now your wallet.
Lefty.
Thought you were picking up your cue fast, didn't you, Mr...
Oh, Marlow, huh? Private detective.
What were you thinking about when you bit, big mouth,
something nice and callical?
You're warm, buster.
My mistake. Where do we go from here?
You? No place.
Until I make a phone call.
Excuse me, big jerk.
Westwood 9903.
Yeah. My number?
Uh, Gladstone. 2742.
This won't take long, Marlow, than you and I can...
Oh, hello, Tony.
Oh, it's Chalky.
No, no, I looked every place.
No, honey, I tell you, the stuff just ain't here,
but something else is.
A private dick named Marlow.
Oh, I don't know.
Yeah, yeah, probably one of that stinking Slater's boys.
But you don't have to worry about Marlow.
So long, babe.
Yeah, mother Chalky.
Listen, louse, I got one question to ask you
and I want a straight answer fast.
Are you working for Zig Slater?
I don't remember.
Well, that's too bad.
You know, I might have to get nasty if you don't cooperate.
Doesn't much make any difference whether I cooperate or not.
Let's face it, huh, Chalky?
All right. Let's do it.
Just...
Big mouth.
I...
By the time I sorted my legs out from those that belonged to the coffee table,
Chalky was gone.
But in his wake, there were three things
that a very fast superficial search revealed.
My gun in the hall outside empty,
next to the door my wallet intact,
and near the overturned coffee table a pawn ticket from the Ryan Loan Company corner.
Hill and 8th.
Receipt for one gray topcoat right sleeve ripped allowing $7.50.
I dropped it in my pocket then put through a call
to one lieutenant he borrowed at police headquarters.
In a few minutes I knew that Zig Slater was a fence
who had done time twice on stolen property charges,
and at present could be found in or around a shop
on La Cienega Boulevard near Melrose,
where he sold, of all things, tropical fish.
I hung up and started out of the door of my car.
But in less than 50 feet I knew I wasn't alone.
My shadow was the shock of white hair who earlier had stopped me for a match.
It was his turn to be surprised when I suddenly wheeled,
grabbed at both his lapels and shook.
Well, there's no rumble pop.
Believe me, I just want to rearrange your marbles
so that when you start talking it comes out straight.
Now, why are you following me?
And don't tell me you need me another match. Come on.
I'm calling you because I want to warn you.
About what?
A giant of a man I just saw near your car.
In a beat-up blue surge, maybe?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's right.
You see, I live across the street, and after you gave me that match
I took my regular evening walk,
but when I got back I saw this man, this giant.
He was going to let the air out of your tires, I know,
but I'd stopped him. Yes, sir.
I yelled at him real loud and he ran away.
He cursed me first.
Now, now, aren't you sorry you shook me like you did?
Yeah, I am.
Had let you shake me back, but there isn't time, pop.
Oh, no matter, fella. I guess I can figure it all right.
I mean the way you're acting.
Must be a beautiful girl behind there someplace.
Always is, right?
Right.
Just to make sure she stays that way, you'll excuse me,
but I've got to see a man about some tropical fish.
So long, pop.
Zig Slater's place on La Cienega was three walls
lined almost solid with bubbling tanks that were home
for the kind of screwy-looking fish
that made you wonder what they could possibly see
with a bad case of DTs.
Slater was small and slight with black dotting eyes
that were too large for the rest of his face,
which was prune-winkled, shaped like a Coke bottle,
and had all the come-hither look of an octopus.
He was on the phone.
It wasn't until I was close enough to hear the number
he was after that I was glad he was having trouble.
Operator, that was the wrong number.
Because it was the same digit arrangement
that Chalky had called earlier
and prefaced Westport as well.
No, operator, I did not call 9933.
It was Westport 9903. That's right.
All three, yeah.
Stupid people.
Hello, Toby.
It's Ziggy, darling.
Where have you been?
I tried to reach you half a dozen times.
A walk, oh.
Well, look, baby.
You meet me over at...
Wait a minute.
Lost something, mister?
Uh, why, yes.
Matter of fact, I have.
One of my twin saw-tails died.
I was just admiring yours here.
I'd like to buy one.
I'll be right with you.
Huh.
Meet me at the Blue Chip in 30 minutes, huh, sweet?
Now, don't worry, I'm a little bit late.
I got a few things to do first.
Right, goodbye, baby.
Uh, saw-tails, mister, are $1.10, $1.35, and $1.80.
What'll it be?
What? They started at $1.10?
Uh-huh.
At the last place, I only paid 90 cents for a saw-tail.
Good one, too.
Then maybe you'd better go back to the last place, huh?
Well, maybe I had.
Good night, sir.
I was outside in my car and pointed toward the Blue Chip,
which was an ex-speakeasy on Santa Monica Boulevard that
had quite never gotten over it.
I knew that I had something to work on before it was time
to call Charlene.
It reported so far I had located neither the Rubies
nor Marty Loomis.
With luck, I could have words with Toby at the Blue Chip
before Slater arrived.
So 20 minutes later, when I was there and seated
at an all-alone table for two, drinking in front of me,
I looked up at the sound of high heels clicking toward me.
And the 5 and 1 half feet of blonde grew out of them
and wraparound swayed.
When I called Toby by name and she pivoted like she
was built on a hinge, I was back in business.
I don't know you.
What do you want?
If it's handy, Chucky's telephone number.
Chucky?
You're Marlow, aren't you?
Yes, and private detective, you ordered Bounce Tehran.
Now let's not waste any more of each other's time, Toby.
Where's Marty Loomis?
Oh, sorry.
I never heard of him.
Or the pigeon-blood Rubies?
Who are you working for, Marlow?
Don't you remember?
I'm one of Slater's boys.
You're a liar.
Not a double-crosser, Toby.
Well, what do you mean by that?
When you're on the phone with Chucky,
Brother Ziggy is referred to as the stinking Slater.
When Slater's on with you, it's sugar and spice
all the way around.
Which means what?
That you're not even close to being on the level
with one of them.
I discount Chucky because his kind, you hire, pay, and forget.
When the job's done, Marlow's so behaved.
He's right outside that back door.
That's a little thoughtless of you, isn't it, Toby?
A lad's top coats in hockey might catch cold.
That I'd hate to see.
I'll bet.
Now look, Marlow, once more.
What are you after?
One Rubies, two Marty Loomis.
And if I can't help you find either of them?
Then I go to Slater.
On whose behalf?
My client, who represents the real owner of the Stones.
Named what?
It escapes me, Toby.
Let's just call her a lovely lady from France, huh?
From France?
Mm.
Oh.
For a minute, I thought you were on the side of law and order.
What says different?
Marty Loomis is dead, Marlow.
Has been all night in the closet of his study at 771 Old North
Rossmoor.
What?
And just so you don't miss the point one thing more,
I found the body.
But first, outside, I found something else.
Running away, it was a girl, Marlow.
A girl with a French accent.
There it is.
["The Star-Spangled Banner"]
In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlow.
But first, for those who delight in the fast action
and faster thinking that thwart the evildoer,
CBS brings you three outstanding examples
every Sunday.
The Green Llama brings you the adventures
of wealthy young Jethro Dumont, who
uses his knowledge of the mysterious East
to combat evildoings on this side of the Pacific.
Call the police.
Summon police commissioner Bill Grant
to trail the objectionable offender
and bring him to justice.
Sam Spade?
Well, what need to enlarge upon the extraordinary exploits
of Dashiell Hammett's brilliant private eye,
hero of the Maltese Falcon and many other crime classics?
You can find these thrilling examples of mystery, adventure,
delight every Sunday on most of these CBS stations.
And now with our star, Gerald Moore,
we return to the second act of Philip Marlow.
And tonight's story, The Pigeon's Blood.
["The Pigeon's Blood"]
When Toby said French accent, it rocked me right back
on my heels.
I stood there with my mouth open trying
to reconcile death in a closet with a soft, deep brown
of Charlene's eyes.
While the blonde in front of me twisted her mouth
into a victorious smile, tender as a cobra's.
I got up and went out the front way,
dragging what was left of my pride behind me.
I had to know the truth about Charlene, so I called her.
She answered on the first ring, and I made my pitch.
I said I thought I knew where the rubies were hidden
and told her to meet me at 7710 Rosmore.
Then I drove to Rosmore and waited, and five minutes later,
a cab stopped down the street.
And she got out, so I went to meet her.
Marlow, is that you?
Yeah.
Come on this way, Charlene.
Are they here, Marlow?
In this house?
The rubies, I mean.
We'll find out, baby.
Come on.
Side door is open.
I said I wasn't sure, and I'm not.
Got a lot of things.
Watch the stairs.
You should leave to the study.
Yes.
You still with me?
I'm coming.
This is it.
OK, Charlene, now if I've been lied to,
this is the place to check.
We'll start with that closet there.
The closet?
Yes, open it up.
Go on, open it.
All right.
No, no, I can't.
You can't because you already know what's inside, don't you?
Well, I'll open it for you.
No, no, no.
Oh, I didn't do it.
I didn't do it.
You knew he was there, so he must have been in here before.
Yes, yes, I was.
I admit it.
I tried to see Lomas myself this afternoon.
I followed him downtown, but I lost him.
When I got back here, I came in and I found him like that.
I didn't know what to do.
I called you, but then I lied to you because I was afraid.
You're still afraid, so maybe you're still lying.
No, no, this time is the truth.
I swear.
All of it?
You're not holding anything back?
No, no, that's all of it.
Oh, Phil, please don't force me.
Please, you must trust.
What was that?
What was what?
I thought I heard a door close.
I must be jumpy.
I guess, may I have a cigarette?
Yeah, yeah.
Oh, you dropped something.
Why, why, it's a porn ticket.
Oh, yeah, it's my brains.
Can't you tell?
The Ryan Loan Company, corner Hill Street and 8th.
At Hill and 8th.
Don't worry about it, Charlene.
It's not mine.
Belongs to a guy named Chalky,
who had to hawk his winter wardrobe to keep himself in hamburgers.
Forget it.
You want that cigarette or not?
Not now.
Come on, Phil, let's get out of this room.
Come on, please, I...
Phil, there is someone here.
A shadow moved on that wall out the back hall.
Hey, you're right.
Now listen, you beat it out that side door.
Go back to your hotel and wait there.
I'll see who this is.
I want to stay with you.
Oh, now get out of here.
Hurry, hurry.
Be careful, Charlene.
All right, creep, crawl out of the woodwork.
Come on.
I know you're present because you left your shadow sticking out.
Right about here.
Ow!
Well, well.
Slimy little sword-tailed salesman himself.
What are you doing here?
Well, I'll tell you, Marlow, I'm just...
So you got my name too, huh?
And more.
From a short talk with a platinum blonde named Toby.
Who are you fencing for, Slater?
Her or Loomis?
Fencing?
You find things out, don't you?
Well, I didn't want to do it.
I've been going straight since I got paroled,
but legitimate business has been lousy.
When Loomis wanted you to arrange a deal, you took him up, huh?
Yeah, but right away it got too hot.
I had it all set until that blonde started cutting in on Loomis.
I don't go for that.
Nobody's got a chance on a double cross.
For instance, I know what's in the closet, see?
And Toby's the one that put him there, she told me.
Toby killed him?
Did she have the stones?
I don't know.
I guess so.
Because she was trying to make me go through with the deal.
But I turned her down.
Then I had to sap that gorilla chalkie to get away.
Ah, it's good, but it won't fit, Slater.
Why'd you come back here?
To clean up the joint.
With my record, all that would take is for my phone number,
even my initials to turn up here, and I'm cooked.
Where does Toby live?
If I tell you.
Will you give me a break?
You'll tell me anyway and faster,
or I'll give you a break on the side of your head.
Let's have a talk.
OK, OK.
3156 South Ogden Drive, Apartment C.
Now how about it, pal?
Will you forget you saw me here?
You louse, you whiny, because things got tough.
If they hadn't, you'd be getting calluses from counting money,
you're a crummy spider, Slater, so stay out of my way.
Because next time we meet, I'll step on you.
The Little Man Rolled His Big Head Up at Me and Grinned.
I looked at it a minute, then shoved it hard to one side
and walked out.
The way things stood, I figured the next move, which was mine,
had to be first a call to the police,
a report Loomis's murder, and second a fast pressure
play on a faster blonde named Toby.
But I was wrong on both counts, because I was halfway to my car
when I found out the next move wasn't mine at all.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a shadow
easing toward me under the cover of a hedge.
With the white-haired duffer again,
and the setup was just like before.
So I saw an old reason why the same maneuver wouldn't work twice.
I slowed down to give him plenty of time.
When I was sure he was right behind me, I turned fast and swung.
Had thin air.
How many times do you think you can pull that stunt, son?
OK, it was my mistake.
Yes, it was.
And don't move, because my gun goes off.
I want to ask you a few things.
I don't feel talkative.
Who are you, and what's your racket, son?
Philip Marlowe, private detective.
What's yours?
That doesn't happen to be any of your business, hon.
Let's just say I'm looking for one Vivienne Jardot.
Happen to know where she is?
Vivienne Jardot?
Sure.
Right now, she's in France.
Lyon, to be specific.
Yeah, she's in France right now, like you're in Madagascar.
Save yourself trouble, son.
Where is she?
You know, you wouldn't know the truth if it fell on you.
What's your angle, Marlowe?
Oh, come on. Let's not be coy.
It's the same as yours, a fistful of rubies.
Well, now, you don't say.
And I suppose that's why Vivienne Jardot's been following
Loomis around all afternoon.
Vivienne again.
You won't turn loose, will you?
Now listen, son.
The Jardot dame is here in town.
I happen to know she hopped off a Norwegian freighter.
I finally picked her up right here.
She was tagging Loomis, and I tagged her.
We played ring around the rosy, clear downtown.
I lost them in a traffic jam, but I picked up Loomis again
for a few minutes at the corner of Hill and 8th.
The Jardot girl, I lost her.
Wait a minute.
Did you say Loomis was at Hill and 8th?
Yes, that's right. Why?
Because I know a guy who gives six bucks
for a gray top coat on that corner.
So what?
So whoever said you can't teach an old dog new tricks
was nuts, wasn't it?
That one's called slap the pistol and bust the old geezer.
Sorry, Pop.
It had to be.
I got business that won't keep so long.
I ran my car, piled in and headed down
Wilshire Boulevard wide open.
Because anyway, I looked at it, Ryan's porn parlor at Hill
and 8th was home plate.
And the time I'd spent gathering with Pop,
there was a good chance that blood was already being spilled
on an old gray top coat with a lining full of rubies.
And when I remembered Charlene had walked out
with a porn ticket with that coat in her hand,
I got a little sick.
When I got to Hill and 8th, I spotted Ryan's place
squeezed into a four foot crevice between two tall buildings
and dark inside.
I cut my lights, parked, reloaded my 38,
and walked up the alley to the back door.
It was standing open on foot.
And inside, a flashlight was lying on a table
while moving in and out of its beam
as she clawed through a rack of secondhand top coats.
Was Charlene.
Had her feet face up on the floor with a nasty gash
over one eye.
Was a man who no doubt used to answer
the name of Ryan.
I used the door open another foot and went in.
I got as far as the glow of light before she saw me.
Phil, oh no, no, not you.
I just slugged him, honey.
You had the ticket.
You could have just.
You didn't slug him, Marlow.
I did.
Slayer.
Yeah, don't turn around.
Just toss your gun back here.
Come on.
That's it.
Well, that takes care of everybody now.
They're all here so we can get back to work.
Aren't you forgetting Toby and her trained ape?
No, Toby can't make it.
And Chalky won't without her.
She can't make it because she's dead.
I found a nice closet for her too.
Oh, I told you a fib when I said she killed Loomis.
I did that to both of them.
Because they were double crossing me.
They were cutting me out of my own deal
and they were laughing about it.
I can't stand to have people laugh at me.
It's my fault, Phil.
I didn't wait for you when I realized that Loomis
had worn the coat and not that Chalky.
I was sure that he had hidden the rubies in it for safekeeping.
So I came here and now...
And so did I in a quarter.
Then I set a little trap for the big strong man
who steps on little spiders.
Now you, which coat is it? This one?
No, no, I don't...
So it is this one.
Give it to me.
No, no, you can't take it.
Stay away from me.
Give me that.
Charlene, don't be a fool.
Let him have the coat.
No, the rubies in it are mine.
They belong to my father.
I came halfway around the world to get them
and to take them home.
And I won't give them up to this gross, ugly little man.
What did you say?
Why you...
Get out!
Slater, it's hit button.
It sure is, son.
The door here was as open as an invitation to the old-timers picnic.
I've been listening.
Now don't move now, either one of you.
I've still got some business with Miss Vivian Chalko.
Hey, come back here.
Charlene!
You missed.
That's your last chance.
Believe me, you trigger happy jerk.
She's out the door.
Stand aside, son.
I've got to get that girl.
I don't think so.
Whose car is that out there?
Yours?
Yeah, with a full tank of gas.
What are you grinning about?
OK, son, she's gone.
Girl, coat and rubies.
Get away from both of us, didn't she?
And from the look on your face, you're not quite sure whether you've lost or won.
Two hectic hours jammed with phone calls, police reports on Toby and Chalky, and a long-winded
conversation in general went by before the whole mess of dovetailed motives and overlapping
authority was straightened out to the point where Detective Lieutenant Eborra decided
to get along without us and turned me in, my white-haired pal who I blushed to discover
was a real man.
And I was just a little boy.
I was a little boy.
My white-haired pal who I blushed to discover was one Sam Harris, 20 years an officer with
the Immigration Service, loose on the town again.
In Sam's car, we threaded through the traffic.
Big night, wasn't it, son?
Yeah.
You know, Sam, you should have told me who you were and saved yourself that swollen jaw.
That's all right.
In a mix-up like this one was, a few loose teeth are better than a loose tongue any day.
All I knew was that Vivienne Jardot was an alien who jumped ship.
I didn't know a thing about those rubies until I was right in the middle of it.
She just made up the whole story, huh, about being Charlene Danielle and working here as
an illustrator?
That's right.
What are you going to do about her, Herod?
Well, son, as it works out, I'm on her side now.
How's that?
She wants to get back to France, and it's my job to see that she does.
There won't be any trouble.
You know, she's a crazy kid to try what she did alone, but she made up her mind to get
her rubies back, and she did.
Yeah.
She's pretty, too.
Or did you happen to know it?
You're not listening.
I was looking at that medal you got there on your key chain.
Pistol Marksmanship Champion, New York Service Range.
You know, Harris, when you shot at Charlene tonight, you were...
No, wait a minute, son.
It was dark, and that medal is 10 years old.
Besides, it's not polite to put a man in a spot where he has to argue with his conscience.
It's not my mistake.
Well, there's your car exactly where I said it would be, right across from the airline
passenger gate.
Someone who had to make a plane in a hurry must have borrowed it.
Amazing, isn't it?
Good night, Marlow.
See you again, Sam.
And thanks.
When Harris drove away, I walked over to my car and got in, but I didn't start up right
away.
Instead, I just sat there and thought of a plane fading off somewhere in the night.
The girl from France with soft brown eyes and remembered that I didn't even get a chance
to say goodbye.
But then I saw it.
The note stuck over the ignition key, scribbled on an old envelope and hurried pencil.
All it said was, Someday, Sherry, someday.
The Adventures of Philip Marlow, bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character and
crime's most deadly enemy, 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 Elma Lawton, Edgar Berrier, Gloria Blondell, Herb Butterfield,
and Barney Phillips.
The special music is by Richard O'Ronn.
Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlow says...
Easy money is a sucker's racket.
This time it started as a routine search for a rich girl's fiance, and the trail led to
a silent house haunted by a face at the window and blood in an open cedar chest.
But before it was over, it became a quest for a corpse that wouldn't sit still.
Oh will he be in France?
The lady took a chance.
Heal-o the Dane will show.
Who could resist romance?
You'll be hearing four short lines sung sweetly later tonight, and to some bright, lucky CBS
listener, there'll be the key to $50,000 in prizes and cash.
It's the new Phantom Voice song on CBS's sensational Saturday Night Sing It Again program, an hour-long
bonanza of prizes, music, and gaiety.
Phone calls go out to all the nation asking CBS listeners to solve gay little riddle songs.
And for those who guess these riddles, it means a chance at the $50,000 Phantom Award.
$25,000 in super prizes for solving the Phantom's identity.
$25,000 more in cold cash for answering only one more question about the Phantom.
Listen closely when Sing It Again comes to you on most of these same CBS network stations
just a little later this evening.
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.