Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road.
Those who travel it wind up in the gutter of the prison of the grave.
There's no other end, but they never learn.
From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction,
comes his most famous character in The Adventures of Philip Marlowe.
Now with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The Dark Tunnel.
So, after being hitched one month, Marlowe, 30 days, where am I?
I don't know, where are you?
Out in the cold, and with enough unpaid bills, Marlowe, to choke an elephant.
Fur coat, hats, shoes, dresses, the works.
Furthermore, she tells me it's only the beginning, sweetie pie.
Yeah, well, that's tough, Louie. I'll see you, huh?
Hey, hold on. I have another Scotch, Marlowe.
Oh, no.
It's only 10 o'clock, one for the road on me, huh?
Now listen, I...
Hey, Mike, Johnny Walker, twice.
Okay. Unless, of course, I'm bending your ear too much, Phil.
Oh, how could you say a thing like that?
Look, Louie, I've had a long day. I want to go home. Fair enough.
I'm glad I bumped into you. I'll see...
Say, hold on, now. You drive west, don't you?
Yeah.
Would you mind dropping me off, huh?
No, Louie, it'll be a pleasure.
Well, skip the drinks, Mike.
Make up your mind, will you?
Well, like I was saying, Phil, first it's her mother moving in on us,
then it's both of them drinking my special stuff like it was water,
then these clothes I already mentioned.
So I ask myself, what'll it be next, Louie?
What do I get for an answer?
All right, Louie, what do you get?
Divorce, my only ally. You get my point, huh, Marlow?
Yeah, I get you. My car's around here in the alley, Louie.
Check. Well, now, divorce is something a guy wants to think about.
A thinking guy, that is. And you know, Marlow...
Hey, wait a minute, wait a minute.
That's a cute little exhibition here.
Huh? Hey, quite a scrap.
Scrap nothing. It's a few inches short of murder and closing fast.
Better break it up, Louie.
Hey! Hey, Heavy.
Kind of a hot night for this, isn't it?
What do you want, sonny?
I'd like to hold your coat.
Seems to be cramping your style. He's in one piece.
Why, you lousy long nose!
Watch it, Marlow!
Don't worry, I am!
How do we go on, muscles?
All right, mister.
Right now, he's all yours, if you can bring him too.
So long, hero.
Hey, Marlow, this kid's pleated all right.
Yeah, come on, give me a hand, Louie. We'll get him out of here.
No. Okay, fella. Come on. Up we go.
Up on your feet.
Oh, thanks, mister.
All right, do you live near here?
A couple of blocks away.
The DeWitt Arms Hotel on Western near Sunset.
Take it easy, take it easy. Put your arm over my shoulder.
We'll get you there.
Thanks.
Come on, Louie. Over to my car.
Yeah, sure, Marlow.
But maybe I better skip the lift.
I mean, my problem, the discussion we were having.
We better postpone it for a while, huh?
Yeah, I know what you mean, Louie. Yeah, it'll keep.
All right, kid, come on. Let's go.
The DeWitt Arms on Western was one of those cheap stucco and neon sign little hotels
where the lobby floor is threadbare carpet and cigarette butts.
The furniture is chained in place, and there are always the usual number of John Smiths on the register.
By the time we were there and in the dingy cramped room number 111,
it was no bigger than a cell.
I knew that the boy with the swollen face who leaned heavy on my shoulder was 25.
I answered Dwyera Clausen, and he knew that I was a private detective without a job on my hands.
Then I began to learn a little more.
That slick guy in the alley, Mr. Marlow, his name's Link, Austin Link.
He runs the new Blossom Dance Land on North Hoover.
Well, what is he to do with his Julia Thayer?
I'm not sure. It was the last place she worked just before she dropped out of sight a month ago.
I don't think I'll need this towel anymore. I feel pretty...
Take it easy. You better stay on your back, kid.
Oh, yeah.
Anyhow, Mr. Marlow, I went to the new Blossom Dance Land tonight
to see if I could pick up any kind of a lead on Julia.
Where she went, why, anything at all.
Uh-huh, and you found out what?
In Austin Link's office in a desk drawer, this newspaper clipping,
it's a month old, like Julia's disappearance.
Otherwise, it doesn't make any sense to me.
It was stapled to this picture of Julia.
Here. I guess it was used in an ad for the dance hall or something.
Hey, she's a pretty girl, isn't she?
That clipping, what's it all about?
Well, I'll read it to you.
You mind closing the window first, Mr. Marlow?
I think I'd rather have it hot in here.
Yeah, I know I would. Every jerk thinks he's Valley.
All right, go ahead, kid.
Well, the headline is,
Faye Patilio killed in car wreck and then mystery surrounds death of famed gangland woman.
Faye Patilio. Hollywood's glamorous first lady of crime in the records.
Yeah.
Says she was killed late last night when her car plunged from Lookout Mountain Road at a hairpin turn.
However, the police are puzzled by the fact that although the 40-year-old redhead was in her own car,
she was not found at the wheel but in the back seat where, according to the condition of the wreck,
she could not have been thrown.
Furthermore, no sign of any driver dead, injured or otherwise was or has been found.
I know all about that one. Now look, is that all you have to go on?
Well, not quite, Mr. Marlow. There's one thing more.
Why?
Just before Link caught me in his office and I ran and hid as far as the alley where you found me,
I overheard him talking to someone on the phone about Julia.
I have no idea who it was, but Link was very respectful,
and he was given a private telephone number, a number he was to remember, not write down.
You know what it was?
Yeah. Washington 7017.
7017.
That's it, Mr. Marlow.
That's not quite, I rather. It's only half of it.
What do you mean?
You and Julia, why you want to find her? What she means to you? Why you haven't gone to the police?
Well?
I'd rather not say, Mr. Marlow, if you don't mind.
Okay. Suit yourself.
Well, good luck, kid. When you're on your feet again, play it a little neater, huh?
You'll stay on your feet a lot longer that way.
Mr. Marlow, wait. Please.
I, uh, I want you to work for me.
I'll tell you everything.
That's better.
May help, kid. Anyway, it can't hurt.
No. Not any more than it has already.
Began back home, Mr. Marlow, a couple of years.
The story Ira Claussen told me I'd heard before.
So would anybody who'd spent more than a weekend in Hollywood.
Only the names were different.
Julia Thayer had loved Ira, and loved Julia all this in Cedarville, Oregon.
Then the snapper.
Someone says Julia's not only beautiful, but has talent.
She's wasting her time in Cedarville.
Julia believes this, packs her bag, scrambles for movie land, where...
she falls flat on her face, which isn't quite as gorgeous in Hollywood as it was in Cedarville.
Then it's no dough, lots of pride, you gotta eat to live so you get a job.
That was where the new Blossom Dance Land came in.
And when the letters quit coming on the home front, Ira started to worry.
He knew that Julia needed help.
Mr. Marlow, one followed one lead after another.
Got as far as the alley where I collected you, okay kid, I think I've heard enough.
Then you'll help me?
Yeah, yeah, I'll try. Call you later.
So, your problem's the phone number, huh Marlow? Washington, what was it?
A 7017. Hey Callahan, that's a handy book.
Newspapers need handy books, Marlow.
People clam up too much these days. I blame the movies myself.
Ah.
Hey, no such animal.
It could be a new number, didn't I mention that?
You didn't? All right. We'll try the supplements.
Get one from the phone company every month, like a bill.
Let's see.
Wallace, Washington, five thousand, six, seven, seven thousand. Yep, here it is.
Seven, oh one seven. Good. Address one six two two Ramona Boulevard,
which would be East L.A. and industrial.
Listing Southern City's ware- warehouse. Ring a bell?
A cannon. Southern City's warehouse is just one of the interests of L.A.'s answer to whatever became of the big bootleggers.
I mean Joe Staff, a very smooth, very nasty man.
Yeah, this I've heard. Now tell me Callahan, does he also happen to own the new Blossom Dance Land over on North Hoover?
He does. Now you tell me, Phil, is there a story I could use here?
Oh no, no, no story.
You know Marlow, it's just like I said. People clam up.
Yes, all right. Good night, Callahan.
If the good gray reporter hadn't mentioned Staff's prohibition background,
I would have chalked the warehouse off as the kind of nine to five place that couldn't possibly help.
But on the hunch that Staff might live in a lush penthouse atop a stockpile a la Chicago 1929 style,
I pointed my car for East L.A. and the Southern City's warehouse.
Twenty minutes later when I was there and saw a step-down Hudson outside in soft light oozing over the edges of the roof,
I didn't regret my move.
Not at least until I'd found a flat metal door and had pushed the button attached there too.
Then I began to wonder because Aladdin himself couldn't have gotten a quicker response.
Nor could his genie have been any more of a mountain than the item I drew.
Out of a nearby shadow, not the door.
Okay, Charlie, lay it out nice and neat. Who are you and what do you want?
Joe Staff. Names Marlow, occupation private detective, now you.
The handle's pork. I work for Staff.
Hey, now wait a minute. What's it to you who I am?
Chalmers is close enough to cop this thing.
Now beat it before I start thumping on your boy Wanda and turn you into something vest pocket size.
Steady, Pork. Seems to be the trouble. Who are you, mister?
His name's Marlow, Mr. Staff. He's a private detective.
He'll answer for himself, Pork. Go ahead, Marlow. What do you want with me? What's it about?
Faye Patilio.
Faye Patilio?
Shut up, Pork. Faye Patilio is dead, Marlow. So is conversation about her. Anything else?
Yeah, something else. Girl who used to work over at the new Blossom Dance Land, Julia Thayer.
Know where she is? Why she disappeared?
No, and I don't care. Why should I?
Because you used to go places with her.
Hmm. I've gone with a hundred girls, Marlow.
Ah.
Julia was no different, except for one thing. She gave me the brush.
Well, good night, Marlow. Sorry I couldn't have been more help. I won't be long, Pork.
One more thing, Joe. You mind telling me who Julia dropped you for?
Not at all. A pretty boy, Dean Cote. Julia thought he was better looking than a mink coat.
Where can I find him? Can you throw that in?
Surely. Forest Grove Cemetery, Marlow.
Oh.
He was burned to death in an accident at some cottage, poor boy.
Well, good night, Marlow. Pork here will walk with you as far as your car.
That's real friendly.
Let's go, Charlie. No funny business.
Oh, I wouldn't think of it, Pork. You got height, weight, reach, and artillery on me.
Yeah, and I'll gladly use them all. That your buggy there?
Yeah, yeah, that's it.
Well, it's been a nice stroll, Porky.
Charming. Just so it stays that way, Charlie, remember to keep away from here.
Here, the dance land, and the Silver Lake spot.
The Silver Lake, huh? Yeah, Porky, I'll remember. Every word of it.
City desk, Callahan, go ahead.
Marlow again, Callahan. Now listen on Joe Stapp. Does the Silver Lake spot mean anything to you?
It does. Yeah?
It's on the north end of Silver Lake Road, Marlow, overlooks the reservoir.
Stapp built it as a nightclub, mountain lard style, about, oh, ten years ago.
When it didn't go, he converted it into a private home.
Or I should say, a
cozy place to take the cuties for that one drink.
And know what you mean. Good night, Callahan.
The Silver Lake Reservoir was only a mile off Lower Sunset Boulevard, but the setting could have been a street in Switzerland.
A large Callahan told me about stood out among the neat little chalets that skirted the water's edge like a Sherman tank in Toyland.
Also, it was showing light from a screened in porch.
So when I was out of my car across a shaky rustic bridge that spanned the promise of a creek and moving up close,
I didn't have any trouble spotting the girl I saw inside talking earnestly into a telephone as Julia Thayer by build, size and color of hair.
About the face I couldn't say.
They wore a hat that sported enough veil and mosquito proof twin beds.
The tunnel. All right, I'll wait there. Yes, then it's possible. Goodbye.
Hello, Junior.
Who are you? What do you want?
Quite a bit, honey. But for a starter, let's say that I'm a private detective named Marlowe working for a guy who's worried sick about you, Ira Clawson.
Ira Clawson? Who's that?
Yeah, well, I'm not sure, but maybe he's the world's greatest sucker.
Now, let's level, baby. It's getting late for guessing games, huh?
I'll pay it. Oh, what's the use?
What do you want to know, Mr. Marlowe?
Too much to chat about here. The owner is no friend of mine. Come on, we'll take my car.
All right. Whatever you say. I'm tired of running. Let's go.
Will you take my arm, please? This down bridge scares me silly.
Oh, shoot. Just watch your heels on those loose planks, huh? You okay?
Uh-huh. I think I'm going to be just fine, Mr. Marlowe.
It was all the lead she needed because by the time I'd crawled out of the inch-deep, inch-wide river and was back up on the road,
Julia Thayer was in her car away fast as far as Sunset Boulevard.
So I went to the phone back in the lodge and got through to my client at the Wit Arms Hotel and brought him up to date in a hurry, including the latest question mark.
Well, of course I've heard of it, Mr. Marlowe. Matter of fact, I've been there. Why?
Well, it's where Julia's heading right now. Now, what's the location of it, Ira? Ira!
I'm still here, Mr. Marlowe.
You sound real different. I don't get it. What's up?
Very personal business, Mr. Marlowe. You see, I'm Ira Cote, not Clawson.
Dean Cote's...
Brother, Mr. Marlowe. Brother who's out to get the girl responsible for his burning to death. Julia Thayer, the cheap scum.
So Marlowe played Patsy. Oligon, the boy-girl pitch. You made it all up.
Every bit of it. Mr. Marlowe, before I needed your help, now I don't anymore. Get lost.
In just a moment, we will return to the second act of Philip Marlowe.
But first, there will be four more amateur songwriters on hand, and one of them will sell his songs for nationwide plugging and distribution,
when Songs for Sale comes along tonight on most of these same CBS stations.
Songs for Sale gives these new songwriters a great chance. Their songs are judged by a panel of experts.
Their music is sung by Rosemary Clooney and Richard Hayes.
They're made to feel at home under the guidance of the experienced showman, Jan Murray.
For an hour of fascinating fun behind the scenes of Tin Panelli, hear Songs for Sale tonight and every Friday on CBS.
Now with our star, Gerald Moore, the second act of Philip Marlowe, and tonight's story, The Dark Tunnel.
I stood there for a minute after Ira Cody hung up and tried to figure my next move, while the phone in my hand quietly buzzed, Sucker.
A pair of haywire lives was scheduled for a smash-up, and I let myself get mixed up right in the middle.
Now my only chance to do something about it was to find out fast what was meant by the tunnel.
I started out of the place, but only got as far as the front door.
You're going somewhere, cutie?
That rod makes you six feet taller, doesn't it, Porky, huh?
I don't like you, Charlie. You played a dirty trick on me.
Trick? What are you talking about?
When I slipped and mentioned Silver Lake, it made Mr. Stapp mad at me, and I don't want Mr. Stapp mad at me.
That I can understand. Now look, you feel like talking this out?
No.
Oh, listen, you dumb ape, it's for your own good.
Something's going to happen tonight that'll make your boss a lot madder than he is now.
I'm the only one who...
You're just trying to trick me again, but it won't work. Not this time.
First, we lift your gun.
Now, get going.
Take your car.
Porky, you're going to hate yourself for this in the morning when Stapp finds out?
I doubt it. You see, Charlie, it's his idea. Now get going.
Over there, Marlow, the big door.
I don't suppose Stapp would bother to tell you why he wanted to see me, would he, Porky, huh?
No. That's none of my business. Yet.
What do you mean by yet?
Oh, he might want you to tell him something you might not want to. Then it's my business, Charlie.
No.
Go on, go on. Open it up. That's enough. Inside.
Well, well, well. Real genuine warehouse, huh? Chains, tackle, even a hand truck.
Well oiled, too. Don't tell me your boss is going legit.
Never mind that junk. Just stand right there. It'll lighten this crazy door lock.
Here, Pork, try something heavier. Like this truck.
Ow! My leg! Why you...
Now it's your chin!
Good night, Charlie.
I fished my own gun out of Pork's pocket, tossed his.45 off in a dark corner,
and rolled the Hulk himself out of sight behind a stack of crates.
Then I went over to an elevator in the corner.
On the way into the warehouse, the light I'd seen earlier from the roof was still there.
So I decided to try the penthouse.
I walked quietly down a thick carpeted hall of the only door.
When I knocked, it was with a barrel of my.38.
Come in.
Well, hello, Marlow. I've been waiting for you.
A gun? Hey, how come... Pork? Pork!
Save it, Joe.
Oh, that dumb cluck.
Yeah, a big wheel like Joe's tap ought to afford better help.
Now I'm holding the gun, so I'll ask the questions. What and where is the tunnel?
A tunnel is a hole, Marlow, usually in the ground.
Deliver, Joe. It's got a lot to do with your girlfriend, Julia.
Julia? Oh, that's a hard one.
I went to all this trouble to haul you in here for the same reason.
Then I put down the gun and let's talk. It makes me nervous.
I'm not interested in your nerves. I'm interested in your talk.
All right. Now, you've got a long nose, Marlow, and poking it around,
you might find out enough to get real curious and call in the cops.
That I can't afford. Uh-huh.
So I'm gonna level with you, tell you what you want to know, just so you'll lay off.
Got a deal? I'll let you know.
All right. You wanted to know about Julia?
Yeah. Nothing like Julia Thayer ever happened in my life before.
Most beautiful thing I ever saw.
Sweet and soft. Made me ashamed of myself.
Somehow I don't hear violins.
Marlow, I'd have done anything Julia asked me to.
And all she ever asked of me was to give her up.
For Dean Cody? Yeah, Dean Cody.
Young physique that wasn't all wasteland like this.
A handsome face that'd have a boiled lobster like mine is.
She was crazy about him, fascinated, and I didn't blame her.
Until I found out he had the morals of a rattlesnake.
Keep talking. Cody was rotten, Marlow.
Dirty, clear through. Cheating on Julia every time she turned around.
I coded the standard. I tried to tell her.
Well, I made her hate you, huh? Look, Stapp, so far this is no better than a serial and torrid romance.
It's the point, the point! I'm getting to it, Marlow.
One night I thought I could convince her.
Because Cody had a date with Faye Petilio.
I don't have to tell you, she was the lowest thing in town.
They were going to a spot up on Lookout Mountain.
So I told Julia she went up there and waited.
They showed all right. Both loaded.
She saw them take that dive off that hairpin turn.
Once you got down to them, they were both dead.
Wait a minute, you told me Dean Cody was burned in a cottage.
Sure, that's what I'm still telling you.
Julia was so far gone over that louse she pulled his body out of that wreck,
hauled it all the way down to that cottage at Malibu, and then set fire to the place.
So the world would never know he's going with a tramp like Faye Petilio, huh?
Yes. How'd you like to have that kind of loyalty on your side, Marlow, huh?
Anyway, after Cody was gone...
Cody's young brother's in town, Stapp.
He thinks Julia's responsible for Dean's death and he's going to kill her.
They're scheduled to meet at that tunnel I asked you about. Now where is it?
Stapp, I asked you!
I heard you.
Tunnel's an old abandoned underpass in back of the new blossom.
But we're not going there, Marlow. We're going to sit tight and let it play as is.
Are you nuts?
Not anymore.
Julia was out of her head that night. Something went wrong when she started that fire.
She got caught in it herself, Marlow.
You mean she was burned?
Yeah. A face. It's bad.
She'll never be right again no matter how much plastic surgery.
Yeah, but there's no reason to let her be murdered.
That's a matter of definition.
You see, Julia's still in love with the memory of Dean Cody, Marlow, so...
we'll just forget it and let it play itself out.
We'll forget nothing. I got the guns, Stapp.
But you're going to drop it, aren't you? Otherwise I'll have to drop you.
Oh, fine.
Now remember you, Austin Link, knuckles in an alley.
Drop it.
That's right, nosy.
What's the word, Joe?
Get him out of here, Link. Get him out of my sight. I don't care where you go.
Come on, slick. Let's go.
Just sit on him for a few hours. We'll talk it over then.
Link was a professional.
He stayed exactly far enough behind me to be always out of reach,
but always close enough to keep me under control.
All the way down in the elevator, I watched for a chance and never turned up.
And as I rounded the corner and headed for the big door again,
I glanced at the stack of crates.
Pork had come, too.
He was on his feet behind them, a heavy steel pulley block in one hand,
his face a stupid mask of blind hate.
He slammed a block at me with everything he had.
I'll kill you!
I dropped to the floor and heard the thing connect behind me.
It had caught Link dead center.
He fell like a bag of sand.
Before Pork realized what had happened, I charged the stack of crates through my shoulder against it,
made it to the door and out from one dash.
My car was sitting where I'd left it. I heaved a sigh of relief and piled in.
Ten minutes later, I pulled up at the new Blossom Dance Land.
It was just closing.
I ran along the side of the building to the back where a yellow light above the rear door
cast an out of place halo over...
Oh, no.
Hey, you! What are you doing back here?
This is for employees only.
Yeah, well, I'm employed. Listen, do you know where the tunnel is?
The which?
I can see what you mean. The tunnel, the tunnel. It's an old underpass.
There's an entrance to it back here someplace.
Oh, that sure.
See the light over there? Yeah.
And that little cement house? Yeah, yeah.
That's it, steps lead down inside.
But why? Nobody ever uses that anymore.
Well, I'll tell you, I got a date in there with a couple of screw balls.
Oh, well, you'll be right at home.
Good night, dearie.
A baker's dozen steps led down into the thick darkness
littered with newspapers, weeds, and wine bottles, all long dead.
As I eased down inside, I heard voices low and tense
amplified by the rolling hollow echo in the tunnel.
At least I'd made it in time.
When I got to the bottom, I could see the two of them
silhouetted against the dim glow at the far end.
I pressed my back against the wall, thought about my empty shoulder holster,
and moved toward them.
You killed him, didn't you?
You're making a mistake, Ira. A terrible mistake.
No, no, no, you killed him, all right.
You and that beautiful face of yours that he couldn't resist.
Why are you hiding it behind a veil?
He used to be so proud of it.
You killed Dean just the same as if you'd shot him.
But you're not getting away with it, Julia.
I'm gonna square it up for him right now. Ira!
Marlow, how did you find this place?
I found plenty beside that. Ira, give me that gun.
No, no, you're not gonna stop me.
Even if you shoot, I'll kill her first.
It's not a fact.
Before you shoot anybody, you better listen.
Julia wasn't responsible for Dean's death, he was.
Everything she's done since then has been to protect
what little good there was left of his crummy reputation.
You're a liar. I can prove it.
Dean went bad, I were all bad.
He was a low, double-crossing chief.
You're lying, you're lying.
Tonight he died, he was two-timing Julia.
But in spite of that, she risked everything to move his body from a smashed-up car.
Then nobody would ever find out what really happened to him.
Stop it, stop it!
You're liars both of you!
I won't let you say things like that about my brother.
You don't care if he's dead, Julia.
You'll do, all right.
You've got the kind of beauty all the men go for.
And you, Marlow...
Shut up, you crazy punk.
Stay back.
Admit you're a liar, Marlow.
Admit it or I'll kill you. I swear I'll kill you along with Julia.
You'll be doing me a favor.
You haven't seen my face lately, have you, Ira?
I never want to see it.
I think you're better, kid.
Got a match, Marlow?
Sure. Here.
Look, Ira.
You...
You can't beat Julia.
I was burned, Ira.
It happened to me when I tried to hide the kind of...
Kind of rotten trash that Dean had been mixed up with.
The only reason she did it was because she loved her maybe more than you did.
Now, come on, kid, let's have that gun.
You don't want to kill anybody.
No.
I don't want to kill anybody.
Julia, I'm sorry.
Ira!
Let him go, Julia.
The hard part's over now.
He'll be all right.
I'll look in on him after a while just to be sure.
But, uh...
What about you, huh?
What about me?
I'll be okay, Marlow.
After I've done some thinking.
This shock, I...
I think it's what I needed.
Goodbye.
It's a dark tunnel, honey.
Think you can find your way out alone?
Yeah.
Yeah, I'll find a way out alone.
One of these days...
She was gone.
And I went back and climbed the stairs.
Out of the tunnel and into the night again.
As I drove slowly home, I thought of Julia.
Alone in a dark, blind tunnel with no end to it.
And then I thought of all the dark, blind tunnels that men stumble into.
Tunnels of blind love and blind hate.
Of blind submission that lets empty suits of armor conquer cities and men's minds.
Tunnels of blind worry and blind greed.
Of blind ambition, of blind...
But then I stopped because...
I was getting no place.
Except...
Into a blind alley.
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character star Gerald Moore.
Are produced and directed by Richard Sanville.
And written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt.
Featured in the cast were Laurene Tuttle, Bob Sweeney, Paul Dubov, David Ellis, Barney Phillips, and Larry Dubkin.
The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Arrunt.
Be sure to be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says...
This time greed in a green suede dress.
A diehard from Dixie and a cuckoo coin collector added up to violent death for two.
And all over a half a buck in confederate money.
Every Friday night CBS brings you stories taken from the files of parole boards of the 48 states.
With only the names changed these stories give in complete detail the events of a criminal's life up to the time he is up for parole.
Then before you hear the board's decision you can make up your mind is this man ready to be set free?
It's been hailed by press and public alike as an outstanding anti-crime show.
And you can hear it now by staying tuned because Up for Parole follows immediately on most of these same CBS stations.
Roy Rowan speaking.
This is CBS where you play Sing It Again every Saturday night at the Columbia Broadcasting System.