Lydia Reynolds Case

The American Broadcasting Company presents... Pat Novak for hire. Sure, I'm Pat Novak for hire. Down around the Embarcadero, everybody's clawing his neighbor for a quick buck and everybody knows it.

Sure, if you call your work something else, who are you fooling? I read boats when that pays off and in between I do what I can to keep something on my hip beside the hankersons.

You'd been along with me a few days ago, you'd have known that I was ready for work. A friend of mine called Ira had an inside tip on a hot horse in the third race at Bay Meadows.

I'd gone down there to see if I could promote the news in the currency. It was a good idea, except that my horse was still running in the third when they started the fourth. All I had left in my bankroll was an empty feeling.

After checking through my pocket I went on on a highway and started back to town. I was still unlimbering my thumb when a long, low roadster pulled up beside me. It was a very expensive job, including the driver.

She was just about old enough to vote. And if she did, the candidates weren't blind. They'd have spent all their time on her corner. Is that my way, Mr.? I'd sure like to be. How do you know which way I'm going?

The scenery is good wherever it's located. The shy type. You want me to stammer? No. But you could wait until we're introduced. We'll know back clear the irony. My name's Lydia Reynolds. Novak, haven't I heard about you somewhere?

If you have, you ought to change your friends. Oh, you're sort of a lone wolf detective or something. I think I've got three votes there. What I'm gonna win. Well, if there are any of those, maybe I could use you.