That Cutlerville Affair

I'm the Whistler, and I know many things, or 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.

And now the Whistler's strange stoli, that cutlerville affair. The night train from Los Angeles, shattering the stillness of the countryside, had just raced over the North River Bridge, now began to wind serpent like along its mountain road bed and David Talbot, sitting in the club car, folded the evening newspaper in his lap and looked at his watch.

Then he leaned back in his chair inside a happy, contented sigh. Suddenly he tense and stared as a slender, attractive blonde and her male companion entered the car. Quickly he picked up the newspaper again to shield his face.

But he was too late. day. What day is Talbot of all people? No, this is a surprise. Imagine running into you again after all these years. How are you, Dave? Oh, just fine, no, fine.

Still looking as handsome as ever. Oh, you've never met my husband, Frank Williams. Franky, this is Dave Talbot, an old friend. Yeah, how are you, Dave? Nice to know you. Mr. Williams, yeah, make that right.

He has. Everybody calls me Franky. Dave and I used to work for Jack Dilly years ago, darling. Scaly, eh? Private eye? That's right. Jack used to say that we were the best operatives he'd ever had.

That's how. Well, what do you know? You, uh, you mind if we join you, Dave? No, please do. Oh, here you are, Nora. Oh, thank you. Oh, this is Simply Wonderful Dave running into you again.