Ha' Penny Stamp

Listen to Herbert Marshall as the man called X. Wherever there is mystery, adventure, intrigue, in all the strange and dangerous places of the world, there you will find the man called X. From the oil fields of Iran to the fertile delta of the Nile, the smoldering coals of ancient hatreds of militant nationalism

threatened to burst into a fiery inferno that could well be the start of World War III. And who would there be to say whether such a flaming holocaust came into being accidentally? Or was deliberately ignited as a weapon of destruction aimed at the Western democracies?

Name is 945 p.m. The place, a dark crooked alleyway near the dock area of Cairo. The fertile figure of a man moves cautiously, hesitatingly, through the black enveloping shadows of the Egyptian map. Oh, why do I do these things anyway?

I could get his throat cut out here and for what? Few measly bucks. Believe me, if it wasn't for that, I'd never do it. Where is Uncle Ahmed anyway? He said he'd meet me here.

Where is he? Where is cousin Ismail? Oh, where is anybody? Right behind the fenders. Oh, who Uncle Ahmed? It's so dark for a minute, I thought you were somebody else. You are somebody else. Quiet, Zilchmy.

It is the blade of a knife you feel pressing against your throat. It is? Listen, there is a certain man aboard the British cruiser Hellenic out in the harbor. A certain Pasha can't trust him.

He must board the Cairo part, Said express at midnight. Compartment C3. With him, he must have 100,000 pounds sterling. Repeat that. The carports hate express. Midnight. Compartment. Seed tree. 100,000 pounds. Sterling! You will see that he is there with the money.