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.
This started with a terrified woman lost in a maze of memories she couldn't explain,
and waiting for outside an open window was death.
From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction,
comes his most famous character in...
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe.
Now with our star Gerald Moore,
starred as Philip Marlowe,
we bring you tonight's exciting story,
The Open Window.
California is a year round kind of place,
where each day blends into the next with a sort of sunny indifference.
But the one just passed has been a little special.
It was the cool crisp autumn weather that reminded you of the East,
where autumn meant kicking your way through needy drifts of brown and yellow leaves,
along a rutted country road that hinted of adventure at every turn.
Yeah, that's the kind of a day it had been.
But now, at a little past date, as I stood at the window of my third floor apartment,
and stared out over enough improved Los Angeles real estate
to house maybe half a million people that tonight I wanted no part of,
because the world was out there minding everybody else's business,
while I was in here minding my own.
In here everything was in order and cozy.
I could read if I want to, write a letter if I want to,
or just relax with...
Oh, no.
Your name's Philip Marlowe?
Yeah, why?
Because I had that name and Mr. Dries written here on this card.
I think I was supposed to see you.
Do you know me?
Well, no, frankly, I don't.
What were you supposed to see me about?
Who are you, Mr. Marlowe? I mean, what sort of business...
I'm a private detective.
Private detective?
Wait a minute, wait a minute. It's not that bad a racket.
Oh, now, look, why don't you come in and we'll talk this over, huh? Come on.
All right. Thank you.
There.
Sit down, won't you?
You look like a newbie. You can use a drink. You want one?
No, thank you. I just need to rest a moment.
Oh.
I've been walking for hours.
Well, now, tell me, what is it?
A man, I think. Someone's been following me.
I was followed here, I'm sure. I don't know why.
Really?
This is Los Angeles, California, isn't it?
Yeah.
I keep thinking...
That is, I feel as though it should be Vancouver, British Columbia.
Oh?
I don't know how I got here or why I want to see you, but...
I've walked until I'm nearly exhausted and I...
I found that I'd written your name and address on this card here, so I...
I decided to come and try to find out.
Well, now, tell me. Do you know who you are?
No, I don't know who I am.
Mm-hmm.
This man you're afraid of, do you know him?
No.
But I believe he knew me.
He reminded me of Vancouver and that frightened me.
I seem to remember I saw him a year ago.
Maybe it was just the day before yesterday.
See how crazy that sounds?
But I can't help it. I can't remember. I can't.
Here, here. Take it easy. Now, you better lie down on the diorama and that's it.
Come on.
There, there, girl.
Look, I think we ought to call a hospital and see it.
Stay where you are. It's company in the hall. Maybe for us. Now, just take it easy.
Hey! Hey, you, hold it! Hold it up there!
Oh, great.
Who was it, Mr. Marlow?
I couldn't see.
Don't let it bother you now, honey. It's probably just one of my clumsy neighbors.
He never watches where he's going. You know, the other night...
No, stop, please.
All right.
Whoever was out there was looking for me.
I know he was. I know it.
Now, look, honey. Isn't there something you can tell me?
Don't you remember anything?
No, I don't know.
Here. Look in my purse. There are things in it I don't understand.
Maybe there'll be some help.
Key, address on a piece of brown paper.
8400 North Virgil, Tompkins.
Does that mean anything to you?
No.
A little snapshot album with one of the pictures missing.
We may.
I'm remembering now.
It was stolen.
Good.
But I don't remember what the picture was.
Please, please try to find out who I am and why I'm being followed.
Please try to find out why I'm afraid.
All right, baby.
Now, you stay here till I get back, huh?
I won't bother anything. I'll wait right here.
Oh, I'm so tired.
I'm so tired.
I figured what she needed most was rest, and she was getting that fast,
so I dropped the items from a person in my pocket,
snapped the lock on my apartment door and left.
My first stop was the phone downstairs in the lobby,
where I found out that the missing persons bureau
had no one on file answering her description.
My next stop was 8400 North Virgil.
A half hour later, I found it.
A crumbling Stucco rooming house,
full of
knobby hills, huddled with other ramshackle houses
that years ago had abandoned any hope of beauty.
In the face of the leaky bobbing oil wells
that had invaded the neighborhood like a horde of huge greasy grasshoppers.
I walked past one of the creaking monsters in the front yard,
then down a grimy hall with door marked manager, Jacob Philpots,
below which some neighborhood wagged pencil stinks.
Wasn't funny.
Neither was Jake Philpots.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, what is this?
Speak up, Sporty, I'm very busy killing a soldier.
What's on your mind beside your hat?
Okay, comic, I want to see Tompkins.
Oh, you want to see Tompkins, do you? That's what I said.
Well, you're too late, Sporty, he's gone, flew, flew the coup.
Took the 500 barriers and shoved off two hours ago.
But where? For his hometown, I guess.
Vancouver, it's way up in Canada.
Which is a long walk, Sporty, so you better get started by...
Wait a minute, Jake. Where did Tompkins get the 500?
Well, some classy guy gave it to him.
Classy guy, and why?
Well, to get out of town and stay out. So he does.
But first he pays back all his back rent and buys me a bottle besides.
Wasn't that sweet of him?
That stuff over there? Must have hated you.
Who was the classy guy? Why'd he want Tompkins out of town?
Why do I want Tompkins? Well, how do I know?
What am I, an encyclopedia?
Hey, look, Nosy, my whiskey's getting cold, so why don't you run along?
I want to know who the guy was, and I want it now.
So you're going to start pushing us?
You want to fight, huh? Okay, put him up. Come on.
Take it easy, Buster. Take it easy. You'll beat yourself to death.
Now, let's negotiate. Prop up against the wall and I'll talk to you.
What about a price for another bottle of that stuff?
I wouldn't like to see another bottle.
That's what I said.
Oh, well, that's different. That's really nice of you, Sporty.
Not really, kid. I'm trying to poison you.
You know, what was Tompkins' racket?
Gardner, carpenter, handyman. Nothing much.
What else?
Who was the classy guy that bought him off?
Let's see. I had his name right on the tip of my tongue a minute ago.
The red-headed, flashy dresser had a sort of a...
Oh! Oh! Parmalin.
That a boy. Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's it. Parmalin.
Very good. Now, one more. Where can I find him?
Well, he says something about running the... the pearls.
You got it?
Yeah, it's a dive on Highland. Thanks, Phil Putz.
Oh, but don't thank me, Sporty. You bought it, remember?
This brand comes to $7.50 with that.
Don't kid an old kid, Jake. You can squeeze that junk out of sour potatoes.
Here's a spin. Sour potatoes!
And have a happy hangover.
Outside, the smell of the oil well as I passed it was welcome by comparison to Jake.
Which made it tough to reconcile anything I'd seen at 8400 North Virgil
with a girl asleep on the divan in my apartment.
As I drove back to Hollywood, then down Highland Avenue,
the night was still strangely quiet.
Everything seemed to come in whispers.
Even the hunch I had that the vanishing Mr. Tompkins had sold out
dirt cheap to the boss of the Pearls.
Near 3rd Street, I spotted the place.
Parked a ways beyond it and walked back.
It was one of those dumps that dealt in bad bar whiskey.
Second-rate buck and a lot of darkness.
I shook off a brace of lost weekenders on my way through.
I headed up the stairs to the offices where a block of orange light on the floor
and a two-tone conversation told me to stop, look and listen.
Alan, as they say in Missouri...
Have to show you, huh?
All right, know my will. You're not easy to get over.
I still love you and I've missed you.
So when you dropped me for your stuffy broker friend,
I did a little checking up and I found out planning.
About Cooper?
About Cooper Gerard.
I don't believe you.
Oh, but you should, honey.
You see, Norm, it's not about him specifically, but about a woman.
A woman who's all wrong, who spells trouble this deep and I can prove it.
I went to work on it tonight and things are going to be different from now on.
I'm going to win.
Buddy, I wanted you to tell me...
Get out of here, get out of here. Go on.
Wait a minute. All I want to know is where is he?
I said beat it and I meant...
Never mind, Buster. It doesn't matter anymore.
My presence is now known.
Come on in, Junior. You can hear better inside.
I doubt it. I'll inhibit the performers.
Thanks anyway.
Buddy, all I want to know is...
Try the end of the hall and left. It's usually there.
Okay. Thanks. That's all I want to know.
Hello.
What do you want, mister? Make it snappy.
Okay. Why did you pay Tompkins to leave town tonight?
Tomk...
Who are you?
Marlow. Going to answer the question, Parmely?
Why, certainly. I didn't pay him to leave town.
I paid him for some work. Carpenter work. Why?
What's the matter, Alan? Feel the whip handles slipping?
Not a bit, baby. Look, why don't you run along?
Now, I'll call you later.
Oh, here's your cigarette case.
My cigarette case?
Yeah. Take it with you. We'll get in touch later.
Okay, Alan.
Good night, Marlow.
Good night, miss...
Picasso. Not that it'll do you any good.
That's a cute kid. Smart, too, I'll bet.
All right, all right. Why are you interested in Tompkins?
There's a certain lady's interested.
And the lady's name?
Money or business.
Okay. Go on.
Miss Key. What door does it fit, Parmely?
How should I know? Have you got anything else?
Isn't that enough?
Not enough to worry about, Marlow.
So I suggest that you leave.
And in case you have any doubts, this thing goes off awful easy.
I see your point.
Yeah. And I just assumed Shooter's not,
so start down those stairs and don't look back.
I bussed for a couple of the boys.
They'll be at the bottom to help you out the front door.
Oh, and Marlow, take some advice.
I don't like your type, so don't come back.
The boys escorted me politely as far as the sidewalk
and gave me a send-off that piled me into the gutter.
It's my own fault for letting Parmely get the drop on me,
but it was farther ahead of me than I figured.
In fact, I was lucky. All I got was the bounce.
I limped back to my car, got in and started home,
but something about the trio of normal Lacasseau, Parmely
and a broker named Girard was off-center.
And Girard's connections were too strong to pass up,
so I decided to let the pale woman asleep in my apartment
go right on sleeping while I stopped at a phone booth,
found only one Cooper Girard listed,
and he had 8112 North Orange Drive.
It was a lonely house up in the Hollywood Hills.
I tried the bell and got no answer, but I knew he was there.
I slipped the enigmatic key out of my pocket
and listened to the music coming from inside.
I stuck it in a lock, turned it, just as the foot steps inside,
so I pulled it out fast and let the party
on the other side of the door do the honors.
What is it?
You're Mr. Girard?
Yes, I'm Cooper Girard. What is it?
I'd like to come in and talk to you. My name's Marlow.
I'm a private detective.
I've got a key that fits your front door,
plus a little photo album full of a girl.
Here.
Why, that's Margaret's album and her key.
You found Ohirishi. What's happened to her?
She's safe.
Come in the other room.
So her name's Margaret, huh? Margaret what?
Vesey, Margaret Vesey.
But where is she? I've been frantic. I just called the police.
She left the house this morning and didn't come back.
It's late now, and in her condition, I'm afraid that something...
What is Margaret's condition, Mr. Girard?
She was injured in an auto accident a year ago last July
up near Vancouver. It affected her mind.
But please, where is she? I must get...
Just a minute. There are some questions that I'd like answered first.
Exactly what is Margaret Vesey to you?
Well, until July 9th, 1948, when that horrible accident happened,
nothing, merely a hitchhiker.
My wife and I were motoring back from a vacation in Canada.
We picked Miss Vesey up on the road.
When the accident, Grace, my wife, was killed,
Miss Vesey seriously injured.
All I knew about her was that she was alone in the world,
so there was no one to help her.
Well, since I was driving the car, I assumed that responsibility.
It was the least I could do.
I stayed with her in Vancouver until she'd partially recovered,
and then brought her here.
She's been with me ever since.
Now, will you please take me to her?
But the story doesn't end there.
What do you mean?
Margaret Vesey's in trouble and she's scared.
What do you know about a man named Tompkins, Mrs. Vesey?
Why? Nothing. I don't know any Tompkins.
You do know a Norma Lacasseau, don't you?
Norma? Of course, Miss Lacasseau and I are quite good friends.
Mm-hmm. What about Alan Parmoley?
I haven't heard of him. He runs a nightclub, I believe.
That's right. Now, tell me, can you tell me why a third picture is missing in the album?
What's that? Let me see.
This is very strange.
Margaret cherishes every picture in this album.
She thinks that one was stolen. Any idea what the picture was?
No. I can't imagine why it was stolen.
All the pictures were simple, harmless snapshots.
I can't remember the one that's missing, but...
Marlow, what does all this mean? What's it all about?
Well, as near as I can tell, there's some kind of nasty shakedown brewing.
I don't know how or why, but Alan Parmoley's behind it,
and Margaret Veazey's caught in the middle, so it involves you too.
Come on, let's go get her. She's asleep in my place.
You didn't leave her alone. Yes, I did.
You shouldn't have done that.
Couldn't you tell from her mental state that she isn't responsible?
But today she's been moody. She's been talking about suicide.
She might... Marlow, if anything's happened...
Save it. Come on, Sherrod, let's travel.
In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlow.
But first, by the time you've listened to Johnny Dollar,
Philip Marlow, Gangbusters, and Escape,
and the CBS All-Star Saturday Night lineup,
you may be for some sleuthing of your own.
So try it with Sing It Again and The Phantom Voice.
Don't always let the other guy or gal solve the mystery.
Try it yourself with Sing It Again on most of these same CBS stations
every Saturday night.
Tune in, tune in this fall
For the show that you love best of all
Listen carefully
Here's the address
It's CBS, CBS
Now with our star, Gerald Moore,
we return to the second act of Philip Marlow
and tonight's story, The Open Window.
It took ten minutes to get from Gerard's house to my place,
I knew because he reminded me of each one as it passed.
When we turned onto Franklin where we could see my apartment house,
the word hurry stuck in his throat.
An ambulance was pulling away from a tight knot of people
standing on the concrete driveway beside the building.
And three floors above them glowing like a single ugly unblinking eye
was the window of my own apartment wide open.
Even before I could stop the car, Gerard was out and running toward the crowd.
Who was in that ambulance?
A woman, mister. It was terrible.
She fell out of that open window up there.
Did you see it?
No, nobody saw it happen.
Yes, bad brother.
They say she's been laying here on the concrete for at least a half hour
before anybody got to her.
She's been so quiet around here tonight.
Wait, tell me, was she dead?
Just about, they don't give her a chance.
Come on, Gerard, let's go upstairs.
The police are up there now.
You say the woman came here to your apartment, Mr. Marlow,
and asked you for help, is that right?
That's right, officer.
She was frightened and exhausted.
When I left, she was asleep on the divan there.
Was the door locked, Marlow?
Yeah, it's got a nightlight, Gerard. I snapped it myself.
And you left her alone, right?
Mm-hmm.
Well, take a look around, will you, see if you can find anything
to indicate that an outsider came in while you were gone.
What makes you think there was an outsider here?
Because I don't think she fell.
Margaret was a mental turmoil, officer.
She's been despondent. It's possible that she jumped.
Yeah?
How many people have you heard of that jumped out of a window backwards, mister?
I think she was pushed.
Pushed?
Yeah.
Come here, both of you, I want to show you something.
He went over to the window and pointed to five scratches
where fingernails had clawed the paint off the casing.
The one that had to be made by her thumb was the lowest.
It was true. She'd gone out backwards.
As the officer explained that to Gerard,
I stared down at the dwindling knot of people three stories below.
Then up again at the five jagged scars
ripped deep by a terrified woman's nails.
Stared at them until they screamed at me,
as a sick mind must have screamed when she fell.
Now, mister Marlow, what about this cigarette stub with lipstick on it?
Cigarette stub?
Hey, that's exactly what I'd like to know.
Gerard, where does Norma live?
Why, her Hillcrest apartment's on Sunset, but surely...
Never mind what I think. You go to the hospital and find out about Margaret.
I'm going to pay a call on Norma Lacaso right now.
She's the type to be jealous enough to...
Marlow, listen, you're making a mistake.
That cigarette stub must be Margaret's, because Norma doesn't smoke.
What? Norma doesn't smoke?
What about the cigarette case?
Hey, Buster, you better check for Lieutenant Matthews at homicide.
I'll see you later.
Hey, hey, come back here, Marlow.
The Hillcrest apartment's fit Norma Lacaso to a tee.
They were sleek, soft tones of burnished wood, streamlined in glass,
with just enough chromeron for glitter.
And when she answered a door in glossy green, lounging pajamas edged in gold,
smiled and tossed a head of hair that was almost burgundy back to her face,
I knew what Alan Parmley meant.
Loving Norma Lacaso would be hard to get over.
Hello, Junior.
Don't tell me you're joining the league, too. It's fast, you know.
Skip it, baby. I'm coming in, do you mind?
Oh, would it do any good?
Get comfortable. I'll make you a drink or something.
Hey, Norma, you know Margaret Veazey, don't you?
That peculiar girl that stays at your house, please?
Yeah, I've met her. Why?
A little while ago, she dropped three floors from an open window to a slab of concrete.
Oh.
Lay there over 30 minutes before she was found.
Oh, Marlow, that dreadful unsullied.
Don't look at me like that. I mean it. I like Margaret.
So do I.
What's more, she didn't fall. She was pushed.
Oh.
Got a cigarette?
Sure. Yes.
Here.
Thanks.
Oh, just one cigarette toss like that?
The man is a lousy.
You're supposed to pass the case and let the guest help himself.
Marlow, you're hurting me.
And I'm going to keep right on twisting until that solid gold cigarette case drops.
That's what I adore about men. They're full strength.
That's better.
Well, I...
I had to help you sell the pictures there under the bottom layer of cigarettes.
But why it's important is beyond me.
It's important to Pommelie, baby.
Had you smuggled out of his office so I couldn't find it.
Ah. Margaret and Girard at some little amusement park, huh?
Mm-hmm. Near Vancouver, probably.
Told me how he used to take her out while she was recovering from that accident.
So what?
Even the autographs all make no sense to me.
Yeah, this one's hers.
Yeah, we had fun this day.
This must be his, even the hottest day in Vancouver's history.
Now, that's it, Marlow. It's all of it.
Now, will you apologize for these wealth on my arm?
I don't get it.
Whole deal screwing.
The only way it would make any sense is if...
Pommel, where's your phone book?
Over there, under the phone.
Why? What have you got, Marlow?
Just an idea so far. Stick around.
That's the U.S. government.
War assets, war insurance, weather bureau,
biological records, yeah.
Mutual 64421.
Where are the Bureau records?
Hello, listen, can you tell me what the hottest day on record in Vancouver has been?
I mean the date. You have that information?
British Columbia? Yes, we've got it here, I'm pretty sure.
Just a minute.
What's that supposed to prove, Bob?
I'm not sure yet.
Yes, we've got it. Hello?
Yeah, I'm here. Go ahead.
The book says the hottest day up there was on July 3, 1948,
when the temperature reached 92 degrees.
Some heat record, huh?
That's a nice place, Vancouver.
I was up there one year. Yeah, thanks, friend.
The weather bureau has just lifted a cloud in my lady's mind.
Hope you did it in time. So long.
You found out something big, didn't you?
It works.
Well, aren't you going to pull a gun? They always do about here.
Not me. I've got concealed weapons.
You've also got dollar bills in your bloodstream instead of corpuscles.
You're smart, baby. So take a tip.
Stick close to home. Don't even use the phone.
You're a real nice shiny item. I'd like to keep you that way.
Thanks. I'm going to take your word, Junior.
But what does it mean?
Trouble. Just as soon as I can stir it up. Good night.
From the time Norma had gone by,
I figured my best bet was Gerard's place, but I was wrong.
It was deserted, so I took the next best, which was Alan Pommelay's The Pearls.
It was well after two o'clock when I got there, and the club was closed,
but the lights were on, the offices upstairs.
I parked, slipped around to the back and up a flight of iron stairs to a metal door at the top.
I pressed my weight against it and very gently turned the knob,
and tugged softly and it swung open without a sound.
Voices in the same square of orange light on the floor said that Pommelay's office was open again.
So I eased my gun into my hand and moved until I could see him.
A pair of jackals coming to terms over the carcass of a fawn.
Since I know your little secret, Mr. Gerard, the proposition I'm offering is perfectly fair.
What is it?
First, that you stop saying Norma Lacaso. And I mean stop.
Go on.
Second, that you deliver $5,000 here to me by the end of the week.
You must have got a lot of insurance on your wife, Gerard. Double indemnity, too. Am I asking too much?
Blackmail leaves me no alternative.
You're so right.
How did you find out that she's not Margaret Veazey?
Ha ha! A beautiful break.
When you started seeing Miss Lacasa, I began checking up on you,
and two days ago that checking up led me to the strange woman you called Margaret Veazey and the character named Tompkins.
Ever hear of him?
No.
An itinerant gardener was looking for work at your place.
Also Gerard, an itinerant gardener who knew your Margaret Veazey,
who knew her as someone named Grace.
And Grace Gerard, lest we forget, was your wife.
When he called her Grace, it scared her. She couldn't deal with it, but I could.
So I see. Where is this Tompkins now, Parmenion?
Ha ha! Don't worry about him. I sent him away. You keep his mouth shut.
He used to be a gardener on the wealthy side of Vancouver where your wife lived. Small world, eh?
Very small world. Look out!
Now, wait a minute, Gerard.
I'm not going to kill you, Parmenion. I knew something like this would happen someday.
My wife was getting her memory back. She was beginning to remember things.
To realize that she wasn't really Margaret Veazey at all.
That Margaret Veazey had died in the accident.
And tonight, I pushed her out of an open window.
Doctors practically assure me that she'll be dead by morning.
She won't be missed, and neither will you, I'm sure.
Next must be a belly, Gerard, if you move one inch.
You, Parmenion, come around here. Wait me at desk. Come on.
This time I'm glad to see you, Marlow. You're the lesser of two evils.
Well, it was a sweet story, fellas. Between you, you left out only one thing, the picture.
You got it from the little album because you needed some tangible proof, didn't you, Parmenion?
And it cinched the deal because the accident happened on the 9th of July.
But Gerard here had his picture taken with a supposed hitchhiker on Vancouver's hottest day, which was July 3rd.
Six days before he claims to have met the girl.
Picture?
How'd you manage the master stroke, Gerard? The switch in identities in the first place.
Come on, talk! We're in!
It was a mistake.
Both Miss Veazey and my wife were in the car at the time of the accident.
The car burned.
Then somehow or other later at the hospital, Margaret Veazey, who died, was identified as my wife, Grace.
And since her memory was gone, you made the switch complete and called your wife Margaret Veazey and left it like that.
You know, Gerard, I hope you make a break for it. Just once before we get to headquarters.
Let's go.
You too, Parmely, move.
All right, but you'll have a hard time sticking me, Snoop. I haven't done anything.
Oh, yes, you have. Attempted extortion as of right now, you just incited a rat!
Dr. Gray to receiving ward, please. Dr. Gray.
She's in here, Mr. Marlow.
Sure it's all right if I see her now, Doctor?
After what you've just told me, I think it's a good idea.
Her condition has changed somewhat. She's responded better than I expected, but she can use some fighting spirit and spunk.
Maybe you can give her that. We can't.
I hope so.
Don't say too long, that's all.
Hello, Grace. I'm Philip Marlow, remember me?
Yes, I think I do, Mr. Marlow.
Glad to see you.
Oh, good. I just stopped by to tell you that I have all the answers to those troublesome questions in your mind.
You don't have to be afraid of them anymore. You've got nothing to worry about now except getting well.
Thank you. Oh, Hazy back there. I can't remember where I've been.
You've been away, Grace, for a long time. Now you'll be going home soon, dear friends. Believe that.
I'll run along now and come back tomorrow when you're feeling better. Have a long talk, then.
Wait. Who is Margaret Veazey?
The girl you knew once, briefly. And what I'll never forget. I went to sleep one night on my diamond.
I don't remember.
You will. Don't think about it now. Just think about home in Vancouver. We'll be there soon, I promise.
Oh, that sounds wonderful. It's lovely in Vancouver.
Yeah. That's what the weatherman says. Good night, my dear.
When I finally got home, the air in my apartment was thick. Full of stagnant fear and stale tobacco smoke.
So I went over the window to open it up.
There I stopped because I remembered standing at that same window earlier that evening.
Standing there thinking how happy I was that the world was out there.
And how happy I was to be inside, looking out.
Then I saw again the five deep scratches on the casing.
Inside looking out, huh?
There was a guy once, a long time ago, who said something like,
No man is an island with an entire of itself.
Yeah, about 300 years ago he said that.
Any man's death diminishes me because I'm involved in mankind.
Yeah, sure.
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, star Gerald Moore,
and are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald.
Script is by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt.
Featured in the cast were Betty Lou Gerson, Ed Begley, Lillian Byoff, Paul Dubov, Jay Novello, and Harry Bartel.
The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Oront.
Be sure and be with us next week when Philip Marlowe says.
This time it was a wrestler on the skids, a quick change artist in an alley, and a girl with an eye for angles.
All met destruction because a hundred thousand easy bucks caught him in a stranglehold, which none of them wanted to break.
The next time you're in the woods, make sure that cigarette butt, that match, or that campfire is completely out.
Only you can prevent forest fires.
This is Paul Masterson speaking.
Now stay tuned for Gangbusters, which follows immediately over most of these same stations.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.