Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gutter, the prison of the grave.
This time inside of two hours, a lavish mansion seethe with suspicion, a sealed cabin filled with gas and an artist's retreat,
and a corpse on the floor. All because one man was too good looking to be true to anyone.
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 Lady Killer.
The longer I sat in my office with my feet up on the desk and thought about it, the more convinced I became.
Paul Niles was unquestionably the handsomest man I'd ever seen. He had a face that belonged on a Greek god, only his features were better,
more finely chiseled. They looked as though they'd been molded out of alabaster from a blueprint by some inspired genius.
And the classic side view he presented made the great profile show up like a bowl full of shredded wheat.
In fact, the guy was much too good to be true in more ways than one, which had been my original impression of Niles when I'd first met him,
just two hours ago at the corner of Sunset and Cuyenga, and at his insistence had driven him around the quieter streets of Hollywood in my car
while he tried to hire me. He was scared stiff, but that was all he would admit to, and as he talked I wondered what it would be like to have a face like that.
Must become quite a problem, women cluttering up your leg.
Marlow, you're not listening to me. Unless you help me, I'm going to be killed soon, tomorrow, tonight, maybe in the next ten minutes. I must have protection.
From what? Who's after you?
A girl. Her name is Nora Kirby. She's threatened my life, and now she's here in town. She actually intends to go through with it.
I found out where she's staying. I went there to talk to her, but she was out.
Why is killing you so important to her?
Well, I don't even know for sure. It's something ridiculous.
Nora Kirby obviously doesn't think so. Let's have it, Niles. Why?
I... I can tell you that.
I see. Also, I suppose you don't want to take this to the police where it belongs, and you can't give me the reason for that either.
Yes. I came to you because I need private help, and I'm willing to pay well for it. Now, you don't have to concern yourself with the reasons.
Simply see that Nora doesn't get to me. Now, here, as a starter, here's two hundred dollars for just that.
Keep it. I only accept money from the people I work for.
You mean you won't help me?
I just want to know where I'm going before I start.
Now, wait. Don't you...
You can get off here.
Don't you understand? My life's in danger. I'm scared.
Not enough to loosen your tongue any. Here, this is as far as I go.
But tell me one thing first, just for laughs. What business are you in?
Why, I... I'm a composer. I write music.
Mm-hmm. The way you said it, it's either a front or a hobby. How do you get your dough?
I have friends, wealthy ones who have faith in me.
That's more than I can say for Marlow. So long, Mr. Niles. Go on. Out.
All right. But here, at least take my card and please call if you change your mind.
I'm desperate, Marlow. I'll pay you even more if you'll only...
Goodbye, Mr. Niles.
That was the way I'd left it two hours ago at eight.
And I'd spent the time in between trying to referee a tug-of-war in progress with the feeling I had that I'd been stuffy on one end and my undernourished bank account on the other.
And was slowly but surely getting no place. So when the break came, I grabbed at it.
Hello, Marlow speaking.
Marlow, this is Paul Niles again.
Oh.
I've thought it over. I'll tell you everything if that's the only way, because I've got to have help before it's too late.
That's better. Where are you?
In my studio, 3893 Avenue Del Sol.
3893... That's off Coldwater Canyon, isn't it?
Yes. Now get over here right away, will you? I...
Wait a minute, Marlow. There's someone here. Somebody just came in now.
What? Niles?
Who's there? Who is it? Nora, is that you?
Niles! Niles!
When Niles' phone went dead, I hung up, ran to my car and was headed for Coldwater Canyon before I stopped to think of what I'd heard on the telephone could very easily have been bait for a patsy routine.
Because I had nothing more to go on now than before, except Niles promised to tell all, that I'd got no further than gunshots.
But I was already well on one easy way to find out, so I corkscrewed my way over the mountains to Avenida Del Sol, and followed it to number 3893, which was a straight-up driveway, etched narrowly into the hill face, that ended on a gravel shelf just big enough for the red-wooden glass studio, a generous helping of imported jungle for landscaping in a circular parking space.
As my headlights slashed across the tangle of overhanging trees in the center, they trapped the figure of a woman running. She stopped, crouched, and looked back into the glare like a cat does, then darted to the darkness again. But I caught her at the corner of the house.
Just a minute, baby, not so fast on the curbs.
Let me go. Let me go.
Not until we've been properly introduced and had a chance to talk a lot of things over, Nora.
Nora?
Yeah, Nora Kirby, girl with murder on her mind.
No, no, you got the wrong person. My name's not Nora, it's Lynn. I don't know anyone like that.
Lynn what?
Lynn Horton. Lynn Horton.
Mm-hmm. Okay, Lynn Horton. What's inside that got you so panicky you can hardly stand up? Is it Paul Niles?
Yes. I gotta get away from here.
And it actually happened, huh? He was shot. Is he dead?
I don't know. I think so. How did you know about it? Who are you?
Name's Marlow. Come on, Lynn Horton. Let's take another look.
No, no, I couldn't bear it.
Can't see him through the window. Means you must have been inside.
Inside? No, no, I wasn't.
Now look, baby, you're too jittery to try to lie. Let's have the key. Come on, give.
It's better.
After you. Go on inside. Now where is it?
Yeah.
Oh, Paul.
Come on, Lynn, come over here away from me.
I can't believe it. I can't.
What's your connection with him?
I was just a friend. I tried to help him with his music.
Mm-hmm. The price on the merchandise you're wearing, you must be one of those mentioned.
What do you mean?
You got dough and it shows. We'll skip that.
Assuming you didn't kill him, you must have had some reason for showing up here tonight. What was it?
I only wanted to... Did you hear that? Someone's outside.
Yeah, get the light.
There, on the terrace. Something moved down there.
I'm going out to see what it is and listen, there's no such thing as welcome visitor just now, baby, so you stay here, understand? And don't budge.
I felt my way out the door down the stone steps toward where we'd seen the movement along the wall of the far end of the terrace.
There was no sound, nothing moved. Whoever had made the noise had gotten away clean.
So I headed back to the house and that's when I heard it.
I started after it with my shin against the first rock garden. Stop me cold.
Instead, I listened to a drive away, called myself a few unpleasant names and concluded that Lynn Horton or whatever her real name was had been quite as scared as she acted.
After I limped inside, turned on the light and reached for the phone, I stopped at the word Nora above a pretty girl's picture on a newspaper clipping sticking out of Paul Niles pocket.
It carried a New York dateline and said that Nora Kirby, convicted of manslaughter in a traffic accident, had been released after serving three years.
At the bottom of the story, scrawled in ink was the message.
Three years for something I didn't do, to get something I couldn't have.
It's not fair, Paul, I'll be seeing you.
It was signed, Nora.
I picked up the phone again and a few minutes later, Detective Lieutenant Matthews at homicide was up to date.
Okay, I'll be right out. Did you see this girl, Nora Kirby, did it, Marlo?
I said Paul Niles was expecting her to and it looks like she did.
They looked at another angle though, the woman who just beat it away from here.
The one who called herself Lynn Horton?
Yeah, yeah, that's somebody else who was snooping around outside too.
Who also got away from you. You're doing real well, Marlo.
Oh, now wait a minute. Wait till you see this joint and you'll understand.
Besides, I'm in this for curiosity only now, my paycheck got murdered, remember?
And furthermore, I... yo, I never have matches when I want them.
What'd you say?
I said I'm looking for some matches.
No, here's some.
These are the strangest matches I've ever seen.
Well, what about them?
I got a velvet cover on them.
So what, a velvet book of matches.
Hey, Matthews, do you ever hear the name Negrado?
Negrado? Yeah.
Sure, Abel Negrado. He's a big name in the music publishing business.
Made most of his fortune on records. Lives in Beverly Hills.
You know, I got a dandy hunch.
I'm gonna go have a talk with Mr. Negrado, Lieutenant, okay?
On one condition. Be careful what you say, Marlo.
And keep in touch.
Good evening. You aren't Mr. Negrado, are you?
No, I'm not. I'm Garrett Horton. Mr. Negrado is busy.
Horton?
Yes. Something wrong with that?
No. No, it's a more common name than I suspected that's all.
Will you tell Mr. Negrado I'd like to see him for a few minutes on the radio?
Yes, sir.
Okay.
I'll be right back.
Will you tell Mr. Negrado I'd like to see him for a few minutes on an urgent matter named Marlo?
Perhaps you didn't understand me. Mr. Negrado and I are in the middle of a business conference.
We can't be disturbed.
Oh, you can't be disturbed. Well, look, Mr. Horton, a man was murdered tonight
and one trail leads from the corpse straight to this front door.
Either Negrado talks to me here now or later at police headquarters. You decide.
Well, that's where you feel come in.
You an officer?
Not exactly. I'm a private detective.
I see. Well, follow me, follow me.
He led the way through what looked like the outer lobby of the Taj Mahal
and down a silk padded corridor to a set of carved doors that would have fit any round house in the country.
When we walked in, a man glanced up from a stack of papers and with a pair of eyes that belonged on a shark.
It is best to look a hole through me. Horton introduced us.
This is Mr. Marlow, private detective.
Mr. Negrado, I'm looking for a girl named Nora Kirby in connection with the murder of one Paul Niles tonight.
She either committed the murder or knows who did because she was there and saw it.
And what exactly brings you to my house?
Well, I found this book of matches near the door of the dead man's studio. I think it's yours.
It is. Go on.
Any idea how it got there?
None, whatever. And until you mentioned their names, I'd never heard of either Nora Kirby or Paul Niles.
How about you, Mr. Horton?
No, I'm afraid not.
Hey, Mo.
Oh, there's my wife.
Oh.
I'm sure you want to give her the third degree too. Just a moment.
Lynn. Lynn, darling. Come in here, please.
Lynn, this is Mr. Marlow.
How do you do, Mr. Marlow? I'm glad to know you, I'm sure.
Thanks. I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Negrado.
Your brother and I have been trying to convince Marlow here that we didn't commit murder tonight.
But he thinks we did because he found this book of our matches near the corpse.
Can you explain it, my dear?
Why, no. I can't imagine.
The man's name was Niles, Lynn. Paul Niles. Mean anything?
No, nothing.
How about Nora Kirby?
I don't think I've ever heard the name before.
Well, Marlow, that would seem to take care of the book of matches.
Not completely. It was found at the house of the dead man, remember?
We've had hundreds of these made up and passed them out freely.
I think you've taken up quite enough of our time with this absurd business, Marlow.
So now I'll ask you to leave.
I'll show you out, Marlow.
Don't bother. Now listen, Negrado, and listen closely.
I've been taking it easy so far, but somebody in this room is absolutely certain how those matches got out there.
I know that for a fact.
And I'm a private detective, don't forget.
So if you suddenly remember something that needs talking over,
I'll be in my office for one hour, but not one single minute longer.
Good night, all.
In just a moment, the second act to Philip Marlow.
But first, every Sunday afternoon, CBS brings you two outstanding programs of music.
Gems from the great composers played by the symphonette,
and the sweet, memorable songs of the outstanding modern composers and semi-classicists, sung by the choraliers.
Each program is designed especially for fine Sunday afternoon listening.
Hear both the symphonette and choraliers this Sunday afternoon on most of these same CBS stations.
Now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlow and tonight's story, The Lady Killer.
When I started back from my office on Cahuenga,
I figured that there was an even chance that the double talk I'd left in my way might stack up in the center of the Negrado living room floor like so much dynamite.
Which, if touched off by the book of matches, could cause an explosion that would jar loose a few facts about the lives and loves of the late Paul Niles.
Facts that would make finding Nora Kirby and clearly understanding her motives something less than impossible.
And twenty minutes later, when I was slouched behind my desk and listening to the staccato report of a pair of high heels clicking sharply toward my door,
I had a hunch that my theory of violent detonation was not just wishful thinking.
When the door opened without the formality of the knock, that hunch turned a sure thing because the visitor was the not quite lady called Lynn.
Mr. Marlow, I want to...
And before she could speak her piece, the phone rang and sure thing graduated to cinch.
It was another Negrado, the one named Abel.
Uh, Marlow, I suppose it's stupid of me to make this call, but frankly your visit here has left me curious.
You have a minute?
Yeah, I think so. Hold the wire, will you? I need a light.
Be with you in a second, Mrs. Negrado.
All right, but what I have to say is important, Marlow. So make it fast, will you?
Just as fast as I can. I don't think your husband has much to say to me.
Husband? That's Abel you're talking to?
Yeah. Do you mind handing me those matches, then? Thanks.
Hello! Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Negrado. I never seem to be able to hang on to matches.
That's odd. You apparently did all right on that score tonight, Marlow.
Is that the reason for the call?
Uh, more or less. Marlow, you know as well as I do that servants, getters, anyone who's ever been in my home,
could have left those matches near the body of that Paul Niles.
That's right, Mr. Negrado, anybody. Which also includes you, your wife, your brother-in-law, and others in the family I've still to meet.
What's your point, please? I'm in a hurry.
Very well. Marlow, I called to find out if you're holding anything back from me.
If this murder concerns the Negrados beyond the appearance of those matches.
I can't say.
Because there is something.
Because I don't know. Anything else?
No, there isn't. Yes, Marlow, there is.
Oh?
To be honest, I admire the way you handle a situation. What's your address? I may have work for you soon tonight.
Thanks, Mr. Negrado, but I don't think I'll be available. At least not till I get through with the job I'm on.
Which is what?
Handling dynamite while I play with books of matches. Good night, sir.
What did he want, Marlow?
Among other things, an express desire to hire me.
To do what?
Report on you, I suppose. He didn't say.
What makes you think that's what he wanted?
Addition, Mrs. Negrado. A rich old husband, a beautiful but bored young wife, and an unemployed Adonis always add up the same way.
Also, you were here in my office just about clinches things, not to mention your presence near the corpse, the key you use.
And I've heard enough, Marlow. Look, I didn't want to get mixed up with Paul. I couldn't help myself. I swear I couldn't.
He was different, Marlow. Handsome. More charm than I'd ever known in anyone.
Yeah, a real lady killer, I know. What are you getting at?
Just this. I'll pay you any price you name. Only don't tell Abel that I had anything to do with Niles.
He's a jealous man, Marlow. Insanely jealous. If he knew about us, he'd...
Kill Mrs. Negrado?
I don't know. Marlow, what do you want?
Right now, everything you know about Nora Kirby.
But I've never heard of her before tonight.
You're lying.
No, I'm not. It's the truth. Now, now what do you want?
Nothing. Good night.
You... you mean you won't say anything?
Oh, Marlow, I don't know how to thank you.
Don't try. Also, don't get mixed up about me, baby.
The fact that I won't blackmail you doesn't mean I don't like you.
And the door, Mrs. Negrado, leave it open on your way out, will you?
I'm expecting another visitor.
No, my husband.
No, just another man. The anchorman and the triumvirate I once left some dynamite with.
I won't bother explaining that. Goodbye, Mrs. Negrado.
You great big beautiful...
Oh. My name is Mr. Horton. I've been waiting for you.
Why, Mr. Marlow, something I said or didn't say at the house?
Not exactly. It's more a matter of intuition, high explosives,
and the fact that both your brother-in-law and sister have already paid their respects.
Now, what can I do for you?
I'm not at all sure.
It's the first time.
I'm only here because I noticed something very strange about the way my sister looked at you
when you spoke of the murder of this Paul Niles.
When she left the house shortly after you, did I follow her here?
All of which makes the next question, why, Mr. Horton?
Because I don't trust her.
And more important, every penny I own is tied up in a business venture of mine
that her husband is backing.
She originally met Abel through me, and if she should in some way be in trouble,
the kind of trouble that her husband wouldn't put up with, I might suffer for it in the long run,
right along with her.
Uh-huh. And by the trouble, Mr. Horton, you're referring to something specific, I tell you.
I am.
Lynn has had a very, well, a very mixed-up background, Marlow,
so it's entirely feasible that in some way she's connected with this Nora you spoke of
who killed Paul Niles.
You mean as an accomplice or even as accessory before or after the fact?
Pretty thoughts about your own sister.
Which I can't help.
I doubt that you have anything to worry about, Mr. Horton.
However, I will say this, that if Nora Kirby hadn't gotten a Paul Niles sooner or later,
you would have had plenty to worry about.
You mean that...
I mean that now is a great time for you to go home and sit on your investment.
All is well, Mr. Horton, for the time being.
The moment after Horton left the office, I came to the hollow conclusion
that although my little bombshell had exploded on schedule,
damages had been light and ajar to lose neither fact nor fancy about the late Paul Niles
and much less about the elusiveness Nora Kirby.
So my next move had to be a second trip to Avenida del Sol
and a report to Detective Lieutenant Matthews,
which is what I was about to do when it came from someplace outside,
long and loud.
I ran the length of the corridor outside my door
and then bellied down the single-fighter stairs to the street
where in the half-light of a distant lamppost
I saw the shadowed figure of a girl slip behind my car
then dart toward a storefront nearby.
I started after her and stopped at a noise behind me, which was a...
Oh, mistake!
Hey, hey, Junior, hey, come on, honey, pull yourself together.
Let's go, fellas, come on.
Oh, it's you.
You're the one who screamed?
Screamed?
Honey, you have got it, Dad. Listen, this is just Sally.
Hello, Sally.
Relax, honey.
You're lucky a cop didn't come along first.
Being drunk is one thing, the DT's is something else, I know.
Last year I was in the same shape and it took me three months to get...
Now, wait a minute, hold it, will you?
Look, I was slugged, not slipped a Mickey.
Slugged? Honest?
Slugged, honest.
If you don't mind giving me a hand, I'll get up...
Easy, honey.
Here, let me help you. I'm sorry.
I figured you all wrong.
I never thought you was slugged.
Any idea who done it?
No, no. Look, tell me, didn't you see anything before you found me, I mean?
Didn't hear a girl scream, see her run away?
Nothing at all.
Honey, you must have been out longer and you thought maybe...
Hey, look, this card here on the ground.
Yeah?
What's your name, honey?
We left them all away.
I'll tell you why, I'll tell you more than that.
You know who slugged you, honey? A polite guy.
A very polite guy who left this card here engraved in all, Paul Niles, know him?
I used to. It won't work, sweets.
Niles gave me that card earlier than I...
Must have dropped it just now. Also, Niles is dead and you...
And what?
The back of that card there in pencil. Give me that, will you?
Grey's Motel, 10-100 Santa Monica Boulevard, Mongolo 9.
Sweetheart, I may have something good here.
About who slugged you, you mean?
Better than that, about who killed Niles and where she could be found.
If I love his five for your trouble, then bless you.
As I piled into my car, I knew that putting Niles' conversation piece about having just come from Nora's place when he first met me,
together with the address on the back of his card, was taking a lot for granted.
I sold myself to playing a long shot was better than not betting on anything at all, and I kept driving fast.
When I came to a stop away from the place which was run down, spread out and quiet,
I had a feeling that what I had earmarked long shot was quickly moving up to even money.
And when I was standing next to the Motel Mongolo, Mark 9,
that feeling became fact because inside and piled in an awkward heap on the floor
was a still form of a girl the newspaper clipping had labeled Nora Kirby.
It was another full second before I realized something even more important.
On a hot night in August, there wasn't a single window open,
and Nora Kirby was huddled close to a gas heater that was on but showed no flame.
I picked up a stone at my feet, took one deep breath,
and then crashed the pane of glass, unlocked a window, and then I was in the car.
I figured it was taking the hasty way out of a murder that she no doubt had a very personal reason to commit.
I stopped figuring when I was nearly next to her.
I knew that she was still alive,
and that a man gripping a.45 in his hand had just opened the front door.
Don't make another move, Marlow, or I'll kill you.
Well, comes a switch.
Brother-in-law Garrett Horton. I never would have guessed.
You wouldn't have had to try if you'd kept your nose clean.
Now, I'm going to tell you something.
Why? Because she can die as a suicide, which the police will chalk off as logical,
since she's already wanted for murder that you no doubt committed.
Exactly. Murder I committed because there isn't anything worse one can do to a blackmailer.
So that's it, Niles.
The lady killer was blackmailing your sister.
You found out and killed him before he could cause too much trouble.
Family trouble that would end up hurting the good thing you've got with husband Abel, huh?
Yes. No, shut up and get away from her. We're going outside.
You're kidding. Marlow, Marlow, I'll shoot you if you don't start walking.
You're still kidding. Horton, you can't kill me without killing yourself.
This room is jammed tight with the gash you turned on after you brought her in here unconscious.
After you sapped her outside of my place because she was on her way to see me
and tell me that you had murdered Niles, the flash from that gun in your hand,
Horton will blow us all to bits.
Face it, brother. For you, it's all or nothing at all. Go on, shoot.
Go on, try it. Try it.
I can't. I can't.
Dr. Gorson. Dr. Gorson, please report to Ward 21.
You can see Miss Kirby now, Mr. Marlow.
She's going to be all right, but hold on.
She's going to be all right, but hold her down for a few minutes, will you?
All right, doctor, just a few minutes.
Hello, Nora. It's been a long time getting together, huh?
Yeah, but not through any fault of mine, Mr. Marlow.
I followed you from the moment you left Paul's place.
But I wanted to see you alone, so I kept waiting for my chance.
Which was canceled out when Horton spotted you after he left my office.
You ought to learn to run faster, honey.
He had to take time to knock me out and still he caught up with you.
So did you, I'm very glad to say.
Even though you probably weren't trying to save me at the time, were you?
Frankly, honey, until Horton stepped back into that bungalow
to keep me from interfering with things, I figured you were it.
I might have been, Marlow.
If Paul hadn't been killed just before I got to him.
At least I'd have hit him with something hard.
I had motive, you know.
Yeah, I read all about it.
Three years in prison for something he didn't do.
But tell me, if Niles framed you and you knew it, why didn't you go to the police?
He couldn't have been that irresistible.
But he was, Marlow. And more.
As a matter of fact, he didn't frame me in the first place.
It was my own idea.
You see, Paul was driving the car when we had that accident three years ago.
Not me.
You switched places with him? Why?
He'd already had his license revoked for reckless driving.
They'd have sent him away for ten years at least.
As against my three.
Believe it or not, at the time I couldn't think of waiting that long for him.
No?
Hello, Marlow.
Hello, Matthews.
We checked her story.
It's true enough, even if it's the kind of thing we're not supposed to be able to understand.
Of course. Paul was strictly a lady killer, remember?
Yeah, so he was. Well, I guess that ties everything in, huh?
Not quite, Phil. I just finished taking a statement from Horton.
There's one more question.
What ever made you so sure that in a room half filled with gas, a gun exploding would blow everything up?
Oh, well, that's simple. I, uh...
You what?
Well, I figured, you see. I thought that...
Yes, well, good night, Miss Kirby.
Good night, Mr. Marlow.
So long, Lieutenant.
So long, Lucky.
By the time I got back to the quiet of my apartment on Franklin, it was a little better than two in the a.m.
As I sank into an easy chair without bothering to turn on the lights,
I realized that for the moment I was tired. Tired of people.
Their troubles, their petty little jealousies.
Lady killer.
What makes one man a lady killer and another...
Oh, well.
I lit a last cigarette and I thought about the mountain of trouble a classic Grecian profiler built for Paul Niles.
I stopped thinking when the flare of the match in my hand showed in a mirror opposite me.
The mirror that also reflected the face of the guy holding the match.
Hmm.
It was a long way from being an Adonis.
Hmm.
In fact...
He was slightly on the mud fence side.
Hmm.
And at the moment, glad of it.
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe 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 Gene Bates, Paul Dubov, Ted Von Elks, Anne Morrison, Don Randolph and Edmund MacDonald.
The special music is by Richard Orrunt.
Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says...
It started with a man on trial for his life.
And an A1 citizen eager to testify.
But there it was interrupted.
And it wasn't until I found a corpse in a bubbling bath, gunplay in the woods and lots of blackmail that the real eager witness had a chance to talk.
It will be New Orleans, city of romance and drama, which sends its detectives into action on Gangbusters tonight.
The superintendent of the New Orleans Police Department himself will narrate Gangbusters' amazing story, the case of the sledgehammer sigh.
You'll also find Basil Rathbone engaged in another of his exciting, exotic mysteries.
So be sure to hear them on most of these same CBS stations.
Gangbusters and Basil Rathbone's newest mystery adventure.
In fact, stay tuned right now for the Gangbusters program.
Yes, it follows immediately on most of these same stations.
This is Roy Rowan speaking.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.