The Record Collector

The late hour Lodge was friend Frankie Carl's cutting of moonlight serenade. For late tuner-inners, this is Jack Lascoulay. The only disc jockey in captivity was born with a platter in his mouth. Run to not walk to the nearest telephone and register your request with the Lord of Lascoulay's Lodge.

If we've got it, you'll get it, because here nothing matters except what's on the platter's end. Another call, another customer. Cooley Lodge, let's goolly speaking. Hello Jack. Well, it is an Hector. It isn't Hector, but my very good friend, the record collector.

That's right. I recognize your voice. What's collecting, kid? You've been chasing that for over six months, Jim. Eh, I've been trying to get it for you. I've got my ears open for us. Good. What do you want me to play that's more in the current crop?

I like a maiden. OK. I clocked. We'll do. You know, something funny is been happening lately. What do you mean? I don't know, I'm not sure. But I'm going to make sure... Well, Jeff... ...on to Dick Palmer as Boston Blackie.

Enemy to those who make him an enemy. Friend. To those who have no friend. So I tell you... I'll call you if I do. I didn't think you knew, Inspector. That's why I came down to see you.

Blackie, you're all I need. That's what I thought. That's another reason I'm here at headboard. Blackie, let's understand something. Only one of us belongs down here. I know, but I have so many other things to do.

Oh, and I can't go do them. What do you want anyway? I came down to offer my help in case of the murder case lying around that needs a solution. Well, there isn't any lying around.