The Big Book

Get this and get it straight. Crime is a suckers road. Those who travel at wind up in the gut of the prison of the grave. There's no other end, but they never learn. From the pen of Raymond Chantfer, 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 story

The Big Book. Come on, it winds it up. Boys, you got him in the wagon without any trouble, thanks to you. Well, you don't have your car here, do you, Phil?

No, Lieutenant, and haven't had lunch, are they? Mm-hmm. Maybe the police department feels obligated on both counts, huh? Maybe. Get in, Phil. Mooney, some good restaurant before headquarters, huh? Thanks, Lieutenant. How are you, Mr. Maro?

Hungry, Mooney. Okay, Mr. Maro. I know a good spaghetti, basically. Unit 18A, a dead body at number 11 West Main Street. Reported a suicide investigation. Your karma? You're not just specific anymore. Then party at number 11, West Main Street.

11 West Main. Soon around the corner. It's investigating. It's right, Lieutenant. Might save us a trip back here later, huh? Yeah. My little lunch will be a little late. Let's go, money. At number 11, West Main Street, a skid row rooming house.

A middle-aged woman who had been the ground floor rear apartment, was now dead of a bullet that had passed directly through her heart. A shabby, cramped room was packed tight with a dozen different styles, smells in the naked, light-bought dangle from a cracked plaster ceiling.

The dead woman lay in the middle of the floor as she looked about forty-five. Had gray-black hair and wore a cheap cut and dress under a faded, moth-eaten man sweater. Up to there she belonged to the backdrop.