The Lady with No Name

My name is Jeff Regan. I get ten a day and expenses from a detective bureau run by a guy named Anthony J. Lyons. They call me the lion's eye. With Jack Webb as Jeff Regan investigators stand by for hard-boiled action and mystery and thrilling adventure in tonight's story of the lady with no name.

The next time you're out for a drive pick up Olive Street along about the 700 block. You can't miss it. It's a big building made out of white granite. The Cosmopolitan Building. The man who built it is doing a long run up at San Quentin for draft.

Anthony J. Lyon, the guy I worked for, rents an office in that building. International Detective Bureau, week 308. A couple of rooms with a connecting waste basket. The lion has the only desk in the office, and a typewriter that Remington dropped from their catalog back in 1915.

Well, I walked in last Tuesday at 10 a.m. The office was full of taboo. He was a tall girl, very pretty, wearing slacks and a coat that must have set the mink population back 20 years.

But she still looked cold like she'd never get warm again. The lion had one arm around her shoulders. He knew by this time that coat was the real article. There wasn't any music, but he didn't seem to mind.

Come in. Not much room to dance. We got trouble. She's your date. This is one of my operators, Mr. Regan. How do you do Mr. Regan? Now tell him exactly what you just told me.

Yeah, it's all right. May I sit down? I feel strange. Of course. Oh, yeah. Thank you. Get this, Regan. I don't know where I live. I don't know my name. Yeah? I want you to find out who I am.