Now listen to me, and never forget it. Crime is a sucker's road, and those who travel it wind up in the gutter of the prison of the grave. There's no other end, but they never learn. It was ugly from the start this time. Vicious blackmail that mushroomed in a murder and all because a wild artist on a hilltop, a man in a wheelchair and a red-haired manicurist were held too tight together by one small ebony link. 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 ebony link. I'd spent a dismal day tracking down another wise guy. He thought he could see fast money over the sights of a 45, but it winded up like they all do. It was flat on his face in an alley, his life dripping into a sewer. It was what he deserved and the only feeling I got from it was that I wanted a bath bad. So I went home, but when I stepped out of the elevator and started down the hall, I knew I'd have to postpone it because leaning on my doorbell was a redhead who looked very good from a distance, but she lost ground with every step I took because the closer I got, the more I saw of a mouth shaped by indecision, of eyes that were nothing but masquerade caginess and shallow green, flashy clothes that carried the kind of bargain basement label you can't tear off. Good evening. Looking for me? Yes, your private detective named Marlowe. I am? Come on in. Have a chair, Miss. Johnson, thanks. What's your difficulty, Miss Johnson? Oh, it's not me. It's my sister up in Santa Barbara. Can you go there right away, 812 Seaview Road? Maybe you should tell me what it's all about, huh? Well, she loaned a gentleman friend of hers some money. Okay, okay, that's enough of the sister act, baby. What's the gag? Gag? I don't think I understand. Number one, there's no 812 on Seaview Road. It runs into the ocean at the 600 block. I know. I used to live there. Number two, when picking a phony name, Johnson is the second most popular in the book. And number three, baby, me hiring out as a patsy of any kind is lousy for my business. So you better... Stick him up. Oh, no. I mean it. Then I'll shoot if you follow me. Okay, kid. Just don't slam the door on your way out. She backed out fast, pulling the door closed as she went. I gave her five seconds head start and then looked in time to see the top of her hat disappearing down the stairs. But before I could follow her, the elevator gate slid open and a dapper man with a square face I'd seen somewhere before hailed me. Certainly glad I found you, sir. Remember me? Ramsey, Mr. Ivan Pack's chauffeur. Oh, yeah. He wants to see you, sir. Says it's very urgent. Yeah, but I... Well, no K, Ramsey. Where's Mr. Pack now? He's waiting downstairs in the car, sir. I'll show you. We tried your office first, but it was locked. We were afraid you might have gone out of town. You aren't going, I hope. No, no, but it was close. By the way, how is Mr. Pack these days? Still confined to his wheelchair? Yes, sir. But he gets around fairly well with me to help him, of course. What's the matter, Mr. Marlow? Looking for someone? Not exactly, Ramsey. Chances are she ducked out the back way and still running. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. This way, Mr. Marlow. Here we are. Hello, Ivan. Get in, Marlow. Thank goodness we found you. Oh, just drive around the block, Ramsey. Yes, sir. He said it was urgent. Is it really that bad? Yes, it is. Roll up the glass there, Marlow. It's best if even Ramsey doesn't hear this. Okay. That's it. Now, Marlow, I'm being blackmailed again. Huh? It happened six months ago for 10,000. This time it's 50,000. Brother, what have they got on you, Ivan? What's the lever? The lever is that I happen to love my wife, Leona, but I happen to feel as my duty as a husband to protect her reputation and shield her from heartbreak. I still don't get it. Marlow, I tell you this because you're the only person I can trust. Leona spent a year in prison back east when she was a kid, but that's nothing to be ashamed of all your life. I know, I know. Take it easy. I'm sorry. Plently, I can't afford to throw that much money away. On the other hand, if I don't pay, they threaten to expose Leona as a jailbird. She couldn't stand that, Marlow. I know. She ran away the first time this happened. She said she wouldn't be that kind of burden to me. If she finds out about this new demand, she may do something even more desperate. Blackmail's always tough. Who's doing it? I don't know. More, all we have to go on is this letter. Let's see it. Here. It's got an L.A. postmark. The stationery is a high grade that doesn't match that cheap envelope. The top of the page has been cut off, see? Yeah. Strange backhand too, huh? Hey, this demand's a payoff by 12.30 tonight. Why didn't you give me more time? I just got the letter this afternoon. Yeah. Look, Marlow, I realize what you're up against. Try, try, will you? Find out who wrote that letter. I have two alternatives. Pay him, kill him. Well, I'm no killer. I'll pay if I have to. But maybe with luck and your help, we can find a soft spot in his armor. What do you say? Well, I'll try. Don't take any bets, Ivan. Ivan said he'd be in his office all night, then dropped me off at home where I got in my own car, pulled around a big gray sedan in the driveway and hauled a small sample of the blackmail stationery into the police lab. There I got a break. Boys had it classified in 30 minutes, and after another 30, he handed me the names of two business houses and 12 hotels in the city that used it. Too many to check in the time allowed, so I called Ivan Pack and started down the list. He stopped me at the fourth hotel, which was the Beverly Crest, with the word that his wife, Leona, had spent a lot of time and money shopping in the hotel's exclusive arcade. So I drove out to the Beverly Crest, watching a big gray sedan in my rearview mirror most of the way. But in the hotel, I killed another hour drawing blanks, even at the writing room blotters, until on the way out, I got another break. The beauty shop was closing for the night, and inside, slipping a coat over her manicurist uniform was a redhead, the same redhead who had tried to sacked-track me to Santa Barbara. I followed her out of the hotel, and once she got around to the back, I stopped her. What do you want? I got curious about your sister, sister. I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have a sister, and I never saw you before in my life. That's wishful thinking, baby. You can talk here or over a desk at police headquarters, but you're going to talk. Now, which is it? Wait a minute, no coffee. All right. Okay, Marlo, sure. I'll talk. I got a sister in Santa Barbara, all right. She's a mermaid. She comes up once a year to fish for seagulls, and she wanted you to bait the hook. Come on, come on. I'm not going to straighten it out. You're smacking the middle of a lot of trouble, and it's getting deeper fast. Believe me. No, I'm not, wise guy. You're in the middle. In fact, you got trouble right behind you. Stop. By the time I had untangled from the ashcans, all I could see was the back of a big gray sedan taking a corner so fast, I only caught the last three numbers of his tag, 440. But as I stood up and dusted myself off, I saw something black and shiny. It was a five-sided ebony cuff link. I dropped it in my pocket as I went inside the hotel again. A fiver to a bellhop got me the manicurist's real name, Rhea Fleming. But even a ten-spot failed to raise her address, so I called my client again, tried Rhea's name on him. When that missed, I asked permission to go and see Leona about it. That got me 60 seconds of argument, 10 of dead silence, and finally a very reluctant okay from Ivan. 20 minutes later, I pulled up at 94 Camden Drive in front of a house sprawling in Spanish that was home to Ivan and Leona Pack. And the delicate dark girl with the shy gray eyes who answered the door was Leona herself. Yes? I'm Philip Marlow, Miss Aquia Credit Adjusters, Mrs. Pack, and told you patronize a manicurist, Miss Rhea Fleming at the Beverly Crest Hotel? Why, yes, occasionally. Is anything wrong? Oh, no, no, nothing serious at all. May I come in? Oh, of course. I'd like to ask you a few questions about Miss Fleming. Well, I really don't know her very well. Oh, I understand that. But you might know where she lives, for instance, huh? Well, I did happen to drop her off one evening at the corner of Sunset and Mariposa, I think. Won't you sit down, Mr. Marlow? Oh, thanks. Where did she live before she came to Los Angeles? I have no idea. You don't? Do you happen to know if she writes in a heavy angular backhand? A heavy... Mr. Marlow, may I see your credentials? Why, of course, if you wish. No, don't bother. It happened again, hasn't it? Ivan's received another letter and I'm... Who are you, really? Private detective working for Ivan? Oh, that's a cheap trick, I admit it. But we wanted to keep this from you, Leona. I won't let it happen to her. Now, wait a minute, wait a minute, listen to me. Ivan's doing everything possible to stop this business. Now, give us a chance. You're running away now. It would be the worst thing you could do to it. That's so terribly unfair, Marlow. We're on your side, don't you understand that? And you're in a position to help us, if you will. Marlow, is it... is it Rhea Fleming? Well, she's in on it, but not alone. She doesn't have the brains. But whoever is behind it belongs to this ebony cuff link. Ever see it before, Leona? Think hard. No. No, I haven't. Oh, it's too bad. Well, do you happen to know anybody who drives a big gray sedan? The license number ends in 440. There might be Bruce Moracek. Moracek, who's he? An artist, Ivan hired to do a portrait of me. Pictures and finished yet may never be. Bruce is too temperamental and exacting. Why did you ask about him, Marlow? Well, because I've been tailed by a gray sedan since I first started in this mess. Oh, it couldn't be Bruce. I'm sure of that. Well, we'll see. And Leona, until you hear from me again, promise you won't do anything rash, huh? Where are you going now, Marlow? Put some pressure on Rhea Fleming. Her character has all the sterling qualities of mud pie, and I think she'll crack just as easily. So long, Leona. I'll call you. In spite of what Leona had said, I still thought there might be more to Bruce Moracek than ever got on canvas. When I was out of the house and halfway to my car, I knew I'd have a chance to find out because across the street, a door flew open on a big gray sedan. Better than six feet of swarthy, but a handsome man clambered out and rushed toward me. It wasn't the lock of black wavy hair that dangled dashingly over one eye, but the fact that his hands were curled into very large fists. It gave me a definite demoross feeling about him, and the closer he got, the more certain I was that I'd have to let him have it first. And when he got within reach, I did just that. And while you're thinking that one over, chum, try this. How long have you had on that polo shirt? Speak up. All day. Confound you. But you don't have to knock me down to find that out, you idiot. No, it was faster that way, and I'm not through yet. You've been tagging me all night, and I don't like it. Now come. You wouldn't understand. Try me. Come on. I haven't got much time. All right, all right. Until yesterday, I was working on a portrait of Mrs. Pack. Yeah? She's an exquisite subject, but I quit because it became impossible. She's being so upset by something or someone, she doesn't even look like the same person from one day to the next. And that's supposed to explain why you've been tailing me all over town? I told you, you wouldn't understand. A portrait artist is not only a painter. He isn't, huh? He must be a psychologist, a doctor, even a detective, if necessary, when his subject's beauty is being destroyed before his eyes. Oh, come on. It's true. So I followed Mr. Pack to you and you to the Beverly Crest Hotel because you are up to something. I want to know about it. Naturally, it wasn't you who put the slug on me at the hotel, huh? The what? The slug. Slug. No, no, no. I saw you walk around to the back, but the time I got there, a car was driving off. I thought you were in it, so I tried to follow, but I lost it. And then I came up here. Well, let me tell you something, Morochec, for your own good and your subjects. If you're on the level, go home, and if you're not on the level, brother, you better get out of town while you still can. Good night. I looked back just before I turned the corner and Morochec was still standing where I'd left him. So I drove out to Sunset and down to Mariposa where I parked and started walking. And while I was more than an hour ringing doorbells, interviewing kids, husbands, and homemakers, and running down false leads before I finally found the mailbox labeled, Rhea Fleming, Rhea, and a brown stucco two blocks out. I hacked my way through the underbrush hugging the front house to a converted guest car in the back, number 8811. I didn't bother to knock. I just walked in. Hey, darling, I was beginning to think you'd never get... Milo, get out. Get out of here or I'll scream. I scream louder. Who's the boyfriend you're expecting, Rhea? I don't have a boyfriend. It wasn't your grandfather that piled me up at the hotel tonight, baby. It's your last chance. Who was it? I don't seem to recall the incident you refer to, Moro. Now listen, jerk, you're in a rotten blackmailing game right up your earrings. And what's more, your extortion letter went through the mail. Did you get that? That's a federal rap. You can't beat it. I'm going to see that you don't because I'm sick and tired of fooling with you. You're too stupid to realize when you're licked. I didn't know that, Marlo. Who are you calling? Cops, of course. I'm through. I'm putting you out of circulation right now. No, wait. Don't do that. I'll tell you who's with me. Okay. No, I can't. Rhea, come back here, you fool. No, no, no, no, no. Rhea. Holy smoke. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Smoke. Rhea. Rhea, who was it? Who did this? I didn't think it would go this far. I just didn't realize. I... No, I guess you didn't, baby. In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, if you like the weather here, cloudy with threats, torrid with action, showers of trouble later tonight and tomorrow, you'll find more of the same on Sundays when Danny Clover and Sam Spade go into action. Danny Clover is the thoroughly human fast-thinking detective of Broadway is My Beat and Sam Spade is the, well, who else but the Sam Spade of Dashiell Hammett's fertile, ingenious brain. On most of these same CBS stations tomorrow, you'll find Danny Clover prowling the Great White Way late in the afternoon and Sam Spade on the hunt in the evening. Now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, The Ebony Link. As Rhea Fleming's face relaxed in death, the gaping frightened people who make up every street scene began to gather. As each newcomer timidly edged forward and then caught his breath at the sight of the dead girl and in a small, tight voice asked whoever was standing next to him what had happened, only one thought kept running through my mind. The owner's blackmailer and the murderer of Rhea were one and the same. So leaving my car with an old, toothless biddy who demanded to know why I was running away before the police arrived, I piled into my car and headed for Ivan Paak's office on La Brea. I pulled to a stop just to the chauffeur named Ramsey, darted out of the building and into the family limousine, parked at the curb and pulled away fast. But since Paak was the man I wanted to see, I dismissed the thought of a not so merry chase, went to the door and knocked. Five minutes went by before my client wheeled himself out of an inner cubby hole and opened up. And another five while I brought him up to date, blow by blow, the redhead's violent death included. Murdered Marlow? Yeah. And for my money, the noose fits whoever she's working for, who is also the party that dropped me in the alley behind the Beverly Crest Hotel and this ebony cufflink and doing it. Ever see it before? Why no, no I haven't. You sure, Ivan? Sure it wasn't once holding a lot of fancy shirt together for one Mr. Morocheck maybe? Bruce? Why him Marlow? Cause he's been tagging me all night. Say tell me Ivan, how well do you know him? I met him about six or seven months ago at my club. I don't remember who introduced us. Yeah well that fits. A blackmail started just about that time. Now look, just to make it a little tighter all the way around, you can't recall who recommended him to you as just the right man to paint Lee on his picture can you? No I can't. Uh huh. But on the other hand Marlow, neither can I recall having heard anything bad about him. No. Now look, you say he's been following you all night. Just enough to do a time step. What are you getting at? Just this. Was he around the place where the girl was killed? Well, to my knowledge no. But that shouldn't mean too much because the murder happened after we had our little run-in. So he'd naturally be careful about my seeing him. Well. Besides Ivan he was going to commit murder so it's as since you'd arrive and depart from 8811 Mariposa without fanfare and I... Mariposa? 8811 Mariposa Marlow? Yeah. But that's the address I just saw on a slip of paper in Ramsey's desk. There was a phone number too. Wait a minute, your chauffeur's Rhea Fleming's address? Yes. Here get hold of my wheelchair. Sure. It's that far desk there just inside that partition. You know Ivan when I pulled up outside here I saw Ramsey leave. You know where he was going? Yes he was going to dinner. Hmm. Unless he hadn't eaten in five years I don't think that's where he was going. He lurched from the curb like it was on fire. Here you are Marlow, the top drawer on the right. Forward the bank. I see it. Yeah. 8811 Mariposa, all right. Phone number and nothing else except...except this. What did you find Marlow? A cuff link Ivan, twin to the one in my pocket. And maybe a murderer who isn't named Marochech. You mean Ramsey? Yeah. Oh no, no that couldn't be. Why not? Ramsey's been here with me for the past two hours. So you mustn't discount Marochech or anyone else just because of this cuff link in the address. Well in that case no. But I can't include Ramsey along with the late Miss Fleming as at least one accomplice on what's fast getting to be a very elaborate setup. Ivan, do you know where Marochech lives? Yes, at his studio. Look out Mountain Road just off Laurel Canyon Boulevard. Laurel Canyon. I don't know the exact address but you ought to be able to get that from Leona. Yeah. Well I'll get in touch with you later Ivan. Hello? Marlow, Leona. Now listen hard, did Bruce Marochech come up to see you after I left? Yes he did. What did he say? Well only that he'd collided with you on the stairs and that he wanted to know who you were, what business you had with me. Just tell him? Of course not. I wouldn't tell anybody anything about this. He didn't like that, huh? No, as a matter of fact that's the reason he went home. Right away? Within five minutes. He said he was going back to his studio and he'd be there all night if I needed any protection. But why? Is it because of something you found out at Ria's place? No it runs the other way, it's what I didn't find out. She was murdered Leona. She was... Ria? Who could have done it Phil? Whoever's blackmailing you I'm positive. But whether or not that's Marochech I don't know yet. Now look, what's the number of his place on Lookout Mountain Road Leona? Come on fast. 173. 173. Thank you and goodbye. I was twenty minutes wriggling through the thick Hollywood traffic to Laurel Canyon then another ten climbing Lookout Mountain Road which was an abrupt spiral of macadam that belonged in the Alps. So when I parked away from the bay window with Ruth that was numbered 173 and started up through the junior jungle that led to the front door it was exactly ten o'clock. And considering the zest of my last meeting with the artist a good time for me to be careful. So when I knocked on the heavy oak that showed splashes of yellow at the threshold I did it with a barrel of my 38. When I got no answer I tried again, louder. It was then that Marochech replied but not as I had expected because he was behind me and his greeting was a fist the size of a cannonball coming at the side of my head fast. And now Maro I'll take your gun here and if I have to use it I will. No doubt it worked before. What are you talking about? Come on Buster get off it. You act like a paint. Let's not waste each other's time. All right then inside Maro where we can get to the point fast and in privacy. Go on. All right. Detective I don't know what you want here but I'm going to find out believe me. You can skip the thumb screws Rembrandt I'll make it very plain for you. I want to know why you think you can get away with a doubleheader like blackmailing Leona and murdering your own accomplice. Any comment? Yes you're either stupid or a raving maniac. Now listen Marochech. No no you listen to me. Leona Peck is a good friend of mine Maro I'm very fond of her I'm not going to stand here and be accused of blackmailing her. And I suppose that talk of murder at 8811 Mariposa also offends her. It does. And until you mention it Maro I didn't even know Leona's trouble was blackmail. And as for a murder I think that's something of a Mariposa I have been here painting since I last saw you. Which who will swear to? Nobody. Ah. But if you will step over here you can see that this canvas is fresh. It was my chance. The second he got in front of his canvas he forgot he was holding my 38 in his hand. And as he talked he pointed with the barrel like it was a paintbrush. When I was close to him and my right foot was against one leg of the easel the time was ripe. Satisfied? Not quite. Mr. Marochech now since I'll also use this gun if I have to get up. Stand over there against that wall. Come on. You're going to get a chance to tell that story again Bruce Boy but this time to the police and I. Hey hey Marochech. What? That painting there. That's Leona right? Of course that's Leona does it look like a battleship? No comment. But also Marochech it looks like a lot more and by that I mean the answer to who's both the blackmailer of Leona and Rhea Fleming's killer. Now I think I know. Apologies and farewell buster. You're nothing worse than a sucker. But Marlo I don't understand where are you going? To Leona's place. Friend Ramsey is due there at the moment and that may mean murder again. So long Rembrandt. Once I was off the mountain back on the Laurel Canyon then over the sunset and pointed toward Beverly Hills and Leona's house on Camden Drive. I kept my right foot heavy on the accelerator and my mind working just as fast because no matter which way I added things I was still basing a lot on a little and a few important points shy of figuring the whole deal. Five minutes later when I was parked and walking toward the door of number 94 nothing was any clearer. But then it didn't seem to matter because I glanced in a side window as I reached for the doorbell. I saw Leona sitting alone on the edge of the couch like it was going to blow up any minute. A face which was frozen in the half crazed expression of the condemned man watching his executioner sharpen an axe told me that brother Ramsey was already present and probably out of my view with at least a gun in his hand. But since I'd gone this far and what I knew to be a very sorry case I decided to play a chin out and hand tight over 38 in pocket. Who is it? It's me Leona Marlo. Oh one minute Marlo I look aside. Not a bad one though. Alone? Yes. Yes come in won't you I've been expecting you. Oh. Well I just left more a check Leona. I was wrong about him being your blackmailer I mean. Of course you were that's what I tried to tell you on the phone Phil. What finally convinced you? A picture. You mind if I sit down I've been doing a lot of running around tonight. Of course. What picture Phil? Oh the one he did of you. I can't say much for it though. No it isn't too good is it? How'd it tell me the boy genius wasn't it? Yes I'm interested. Oh you should be Leona. It was a blouse you had on remember? A white one with cufflinks. Cufflinks? Mm hmm ebony ones like this. When I showed you when I was here earlier. One you said you didn't recognize. The one out of this set you must have given Ramsey as a present after Bruce Morocheck was through painting your picture. The one that says the blackmailer of Mr. Ivan Pak is you Mrs. Ivan Pak. No. You're not Rhea Fleming too. No no you're wrong Marlow. Why would I kill Rhea? For the same reason you denied recognizing the cufflink you didn't want me to get to Ramsey so you killed Rhea before she could name him when I was at the cottage. And then you still couldn't get me to Ramsey because if I pressured him enough I'd have to find out his game was cutting in on you. Because he knew you were blackmailing yourself. I heard enough. You're smart Marlow very smart but how do you think you're going to prove all this? Oh answer me. Alright Ramsey figured you killed his girlfriend Rhea we sent him flying up here from Ivan's office to demand a bigger cut or maybe all of the fifty grand. I don't know anything about it. Now that you've graduated from blackmailer murder I've been waiting and watching to him to make a move. You're wrong Marlow you're wrong. But if he hasn't Leona he must be dead here in this house probably in this room. And that Mrs. Pak you won't be able to explain away. Now where is he? Where is Leona? He's there Marlow. Behind the couch. I called Ivan Pak and told him he wouldn't have to pay the blackmail money and why. It was a long silence before he said goodbye and I went to police headquarters where an uncomfortable hour and a half went by before homicide was satisfied and Leona had signed a complete confession. So by the time I got over to my client's office on La Brea where I knew I had to go it was almost twelve thirty. The hour originally set for pay off. When I was inside and sitting next to the man in the wheelchair whose watered eyes never left my face it was exactly that straight up and down. A little clock in the corner of the room said so. General Marlow I just saved fifty thousand dollars didn't I? Maybe a little more than that Ivan. Maybe on happiness for years to come huh? Yes yes I suppose so. Leona wanted two things Ivan. Your dough and Bruce Morocheck. She didn't get either one. The ten grand you paid the first time and the money she was going to get tonight would have been a bait to catch a starving artist. I was wrong about him he wasn't interested except as an artist. Had you a chauffeur and your wife's manicurist knew enough between them to try to get a piece of that dough for themselves. Yes I owe you a lot Marlow. After all I just said I saved fifty thousand dollars didn't I? Even though I lost a wife. Good night Marlow. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Sure. Good night Ivan. Outside the night air was clear. It was cold. It felt good against my face so when I got to where my car was parked I didn't get in right away but stood next to it. What about Ivan Pack? Two people he trusted most. His wife and his chauffeur. One already dead and the other soon would be. I reached into my pocket for a cigarette and came out and stayed with a cuff link. The Ebony cuff link. Jet black. Clear through. I dropped it into the gutter where it belongs. Then got into my car and went home. The Adventures of Philip Marlow created by Raymond Chandler star Gerald Moore and are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald. Script is by Mel Dinelli, Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast were Edgar Barrier, Gene Bates, Larry Dobkin, Georgia Ellis and Ron Brogan. The special music is by Richard O'Runt. Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlow says. I was hired to find a thief and I did. A thousand miles from home. At first I found a hammy Othello, a lush with a Luger and a fresh corpse in the closet. All because the only woman in sight wouldn't play fair. There's gold in them trills when just a little bit later tonight Sing It Again comes along offering a grand prize of fifty two thousand dollars to some lucky CBS listener. Phone calls will be going out to listeners from coast to coast asking for answers to the merry tuneful riddle songs which if you solve one correctly it gives you a chance at the fabulous Phantom Voice Award. Tonight it's twenty seven thousand in wonderful prizes if you can tell who the Phantom is plus twenty five thousand in cash if you can answer one more question about him. So stay tuned to CBS for Sing It Again which comes along later tonight and for Gangbusters which follows immediately over most of the same CBS network stations. This is Roy Rowan speaking. This is CBS the Columbia broadcasting system.
