Little Red Book

Whistler, presented by the United States Air Forces in Europe. I am the Whistler, and I know many things before I walk by night. I know many strange tales, hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows.

Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. Tonight, it's the Whistler's strange story, little red book. It was nice and it was Panama City and the few passengers from the Augusta Queen were waiting for the big freighter to resume her voyage to San Francisco. Larry Leighton was even more

reckless than some of the other passengers. Also he was bored. He'd had little success in trying to strike up an acquaintanceship with an attractive young woman on board. And now And now from the afterail, he could see her going ashore with a portly little gentleman, clad and ill-fitting white linen.

It's annoying, isn't it, Larry? What such an attractive girl can see in a manlike sex, and suddenly you decide that you must know. Assure, you follow. See them turn down an alley. You walk to the entrance to the alley.

Oh, dang, it's not a big time to say I'm sorry. Raise your anger. Stop it, Roy. You're all in this stop. I'm not so mixed up. I don't know. I talked too much after a few drinks to the wrong game.

I'll teach you how to talk to Roy Tate Julie. No keep dame for anything on Roy Tate. You understand? I'm gonna be... You freeze back into the shadows, don't you Larry? Because suddenly it's more than ease dropping on a lover's quarrel.

A moment later, the girl runs past you. You wait a moment, and then enter the alley. The man who called himself Roy Tate is quite dead, isn't he Larry? A knight flying nearby. You lean down quickly and search him.