The Pigeons Blood

Get this and get it straight. Crimes as suck as road. Those who travel it wind up in the gutter, the prison of the grave. There's no other end, but they never learn. This one had soft brown eyes and an accent, and she came to town with a job to do.

But before it was done, death had struck three times. Then she was gone. And all because of 30 drops of pigeons blood, worth 150,000 bucks. From the pen of Raymond Tranper, outstanding author of Mystery Comes, his most famous character, and crime's most deadly enemy, as we present the Adventures of Philip Marlow.

Now with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlow, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The Pigeon's Blood. At five o'clock of any weekday afternoon, the lobby of the started building in downtown Los Angeles is a mess, milling office workers.

So I was ten impolite minutes peering at her chattering faces before I found my new client, Charlene Danielle. When she called me an hour ago her slight French accent had been coated with worry, as she identified herself as an illustrator for a fashion magazine with officers in the building and said that she needed help.

She was huddled in a shadowed bar corner of the lobby like a frightened puppy, going through his first thunderstorm. When I was close to her she stepped into the light and hurriedly took my arm.

took my arm. I am glad you didn't disappoint me, Mr. Marlowe. Come along, please, quickly. There's a bar just across the lobby where we can talk. All right. Come along, please. It's all right, Nick.

Soft, lustrous hair that was shingled into a thousand short curls would keep running into one another, framed a beautiful face, and a wisp of a smile that never seemed to leave her lips labeled her, gentle people.