The Panama Hat

It sounded good, real good. A weekend at Malibu expenses paid with a cash bonus thrown in. That was before I knew about the henchmen, the redhead, and the corpse. These three and a white Panama hat ruined it all for me.

From the pan of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of Crime Fiction, comes his most famous character as CBAs presents... The Adventures of Philip Marlowe. And now, with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlowe, bring you tonight's unusual story, the Panama hat.

I was sitting in my office bombing the ashtray on my desk with paper clips, wondering what kind of a job a private detective gets when clients stop calling completely. I was seesawing between the picture of me as a well-staged tuxter and the more comfortable portrait of Marlow, author and English tweets, man of distinction, and the telephone brought

me to a rude awakening. Marlow speaking. My name is Isabelle Gordon, Mr. Marlowe. I must see you at once. My husband, Bruce, is in terrible danger. Could you possibly meet me an hour at the Pelican Inn?

It's a small roadside place on the way to Malibu. I'll explain everything then. Pelican Inn, one hour, Mrs. Gordon. The Pelican Inn was strictly a liquor license with chairs. And a bored piano player in one corner grinding away.

The place was empty and I was about to order a drink when the front door opened and a woman entered. She was tall and thin and right out of Harper's Bazaar. From double-appo-ankle-strap shoes to close cropped hair.

One look at her fear-crowded eyes, and I knew it was Isabelle Gordon. I got up and introduced myself. Then we went to a table and she started the talk. For two weeks now, Mr. Marlow, my husband Bruce has been receiving unsigned, threatening letters.