The Feminine Touch

An iron skull was their trademark. Their business was climbing walls and it was all done on wheels at 70 miles an hour. But that was a cinch for the death cheaters until they felt murder and a feminine touch.

From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of Crime Fiction, comes his most famous character in... The Adventures of Philip Marlow. Now with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlow, we bring you tonight's exciting story.

The Feminine Touch. It was five minutes to five when I turned off Sunset Boulevard and drove between the two wrought iron gates at Nastone Wall that hinted none too subtly at the exclusiveness of the Bel-Air estates.

I followed a gently curving street bordered by dignified rows of meticulously manicured palm trees as far as number 44 or 12. There I turned onto a white driveway, moted over an acre of rigidly disciplined landscape to a house that could have doubled for Buckingham Palace, where I ground to a soft stop and got

Belair was the soul of peace and serenity, until I started across the drive to the front door. A motorcycle jet propelled by a black haired lunatic and a leather jacket with a blonde beauty riding behind him. A handlebar missed goring me by inches. I picked myself up mumbled a few choice words and went out of the door. I followed a butler through the house to an

aviary in the rear, where my client Mr. Baldwin Granville putted with a flock of exotic birds in a big wire cage. They look right at home, a penguin in sport clothes, with the yellow staring eyes of an owl.

Come in, Marlowe, but watch the gig. Just the birds are all upset. Did you hear that mechanical outburst a moment ago? Here it was almost run over by it. A jerk and a batty blonde dame on a motorcycle.