Sit in quietly once you've made the house all shiny. Downtime can be just fine playing bangers from the 90s. Tea break. Lunch break. Maybe listen to the earth break. Sometimes it's not time for some tombola, right? It's enjoying lasagna time, chilling with a book time, or time to visit your nan time. Go on, play some other time. Put your phone down. Tombola. Open for fun. Terms apply. 18 plus. GambleAware.org. It's the Sunday Showcase on the Mutual Audio Network.
The following audio drama is rated PG for parental guidance. San Francisco in the Roaring Twenties is a city that hasn't quite shaken her old self. scratch the surface of civilization, and out pumps the hot, chaotic blood of her Barbary Coast days. Sometimes, somebody needs help bringing order back to this chaos, and that's where I come in. I work for the Federated Detective Agency.
63 Audio presents Adventures of the Federated Tech. Created by Pete Lutz and Mark Slade and dramatized from stories by Dashiell Hammett. This time, an up-and-coming young sleuth takes on the Grim Reaper for a client. in a dark alley but there's no time for me to mourn as i take up the hunt for his killer tonight's story who killed bob teal adapted for audio by pete lutz our season two finale
You wanted to see me? Yes, sit down. Teal was killed last night. The old man, the Federated Detective Agency's branch manager for San Francisco, spoke without looking at me. His voice was as mild as a smile and gave no indication of the turmoil that must have been seething in his mind. If I kept quiet, waiting for the old man to go on, it wasn't because the news didn't mean anything to me.
I'd been fond of Bob Teal. We all had been. He'd come to the agency fresh out of college two years before, and if ever a man had the makings of a crack detective in him, this lad had. I had an almost fatherly interest in him since I'd given him most of his early training. And now the old man went on without looking at me. He was talking to the window at his elbow. He was shot with a .32 twice through the heart at about 10 last night.
He was found by a patrolman behind a row of signboards on a vacant lot on the northwest corner of Hyde and Eddy Streets at a little after 11. The murder weapon was found about 15 feet away. I have seen him, and I've gone over the ground myself. The rain last night wiped out any lead the ground may have held. But from the condition of Teal's clothing and the position in which he was found, I would say there was no struggle.
and that he was shot where he was found and not carried there afterwards the old man went on to say that teal's body was lying behind the sign boards about thirty feet from the sidewalk and his hands were empty the gun was held close enough to him to singe the breast of his coat
Apparently, no one either saw or heard the shooting. The rain and wind would have kept pedestrians off the street, and the report of a .32 caliber pistol isn't very loud in the first place and would have been muffled considerably more by the storm. Thiel was on a job shadowing a man called Herbert Whitaker. I've been on it for about three days. Whitaker is one of the partners in the firm of Ogburn and Whitaker, farm development engineers.
We have options on a large area of land in several of the new irrigation districts. I handle the sales end, while Whitaker looks after the rest of the business, including the bookkeeping. Go on, Mr. Ogburn. Last week, I discovered that Whitaker had been making false entries. Of what nature? The book showed that certain payments had been made on the land.
But the bank told me that those payments had never been made. How much are we talking? I estimate he's stolen anywhere between $150,000 and $250,000. I see. So that's why I've come to see you. Can you follow my partner? Try to find out what he's done with the money? I can't have him arrested. The law is clear.
I can't prosecute my partner for stealing from the partnership. But if you could find out what he's done with the money, I could try to recover it in a civil action. Is Mr. Whitaker still in the city? Yes. I don't believe he knows that I've discovered his theft, but I'm afraid he'll find out soon and try to disappear. I'll put a man on it today. So I sent Teal out to Shadow Whitaker.
And now I'm sending you out to find him. I want to get him and convict him if I have to let all regular business go and put every man I have on this job for a year. You can get Teal's reports from the clerks. Keep in touch with me. The whole time he was talking, the old man sounded as if he might have been discussing the weather. But I knew that all that from the old man was worth more than an ordinary man's oath written in blood. In the clerical office, I got the two reports Bob had turned in.
There was none for that last day, of course, as he wouldn't have written that until he'd quit work for the night. I could hear the young detective's voice in my head as I read his words. Herbert Whitaker is a man of about 37 with brown hair and eyes. Nervous matter. Smooth-shaven face with medium complexion. Rather small feet. He stands about 5 foot 8 inches tall, weight about 150.
Fashionably but quietly dressed. Lives with his wife on Goff Street. Mrs. Whitaker is a short, plump, blonde woman of something less than 30. No children. In shadowing Whitaker, Bob had learned nothing that seemed to be of any value in finding the stolen money. Whitaker seems to be going about his usual daily business.
I have seen nothing overtly suspicious about his actions. He does seem nervous, however, and often stops in his tracks and looks around, possibly suspecting that he is being followed. On more than one occasion, I have had to leave off my surveillance to prevent being recognized.
Of special note is one of these occasions where I had stopped following him and waited in the vicinity of his residence so I could pick him up again when he returned. I witnessed Mrs. Whitaker leave the apartment in a taxi cab. I did not follow her, but I made a note of the cab's number, which is 24791. After reading over the reports, I left the agency and went down to the Packard building where Ogburn and Whitaker kept their offices.
I introduced myself to Ogburn, and I noticed almost immediately that Bob Teal's physical description of Whitaker could have applied equally to this man. Ogburn shook hands and invited me to take a chair. So, has Mr. Teal found anything? Mr. Teal was shot and killed last night. Killed? Yes. About ten o'clock in a vacant lot near Hyde and Eddie, while he was shadowing your partner. We don't know much more than that. You don't think...
You don't think Herb would have done that? What do you think? I don't think Herb would commit murder. He's been jumpy the last few days, and I was beginning to think he suspected that I knew. But I don't think he'd have gone that far, even if he knew Mr. Teal was following him. I honestly don't.
Suppose that sometime yesterday, Teal found where Whitaker had put the stolen money, and then he learned that Teal knew it. Don't you think that under those circumstances, Whitaker might have killed him? Perhaps, but I'd hate to think so. In a moment of panic? Maybe. But I really don't think he would. When did you see him last? Yesterday. We were here in the office together most of the day. He left for home a few minutes before six.
but i talked with him over the phone later what about he called me up at my place a little after seven said he was coming down to see me wanted to tell me something i thought he was going to confess his dishonesty and that Maybe we'd be able to straighten out this miserable affair. What time did he arrive? That's just it. He didn't show up. Changed his mind, I suppose. Then his wife called up around ten.
she wanted him to bring something from downtown when he went home but of course he wasn't there i stayed in all evening waiting for him but he didn't he didn't Oh, my God, I'm wiped out. Herb's gone. Money's gone. Three years of work for nothing. And I'm legally responsible for every cent he stole. God! Um, well, try to stay calm, Mr. Ogburn. My agency is still on the job, and we're doing everything possible to find both Mr. Whitaker and the money. Good Lord. I've got to get hold of my attorney.
As I turned the corner onto Goff Street, heading for Whitaker's apartment, I saw a big hulking man going up the apartment house steps, and I recognized him as George Dean. Hurrying to join him, I was disappointed that he had been assigned to the job instead of, well, nearly any other member of the police homicide detail.
Dean isn't a bad sort, but you can never be sure that he isn't holding out some important detail so that George Dean will shine as the clever sleuth in the end. I arrived in the vestibule as Dean was pressing Whitaker's door buzzer. Hello? You in on this? Uh-huh. What do you know? Nothing. I just got it. The Whitaker's apartment was on the third floor. A plump blonde woman in a light blue house dress opened the apartment door. She was rather pretty in a thick-featured, stolid way.
Mrs. Whitaker? Yes? Is Mr. Whitaker in? No. He went to Los Angeles this morning. Nowhere I can get in touch with him there? Perhaps at the Ambassador, but I think he'll be back by tomorrow or the next day. What's this about, please? Police. We want to ask you a few questions. All right. Won't you come in?
With no appearance of astonishment whatever, Mrs. Whitaker opened the door wide for us to enter. She led us into a blue and cream living room where we found a chair apiece. She sat facing us on a big blue settle. Now, what can I do for you gentlemen? Where was your husband last night? Home. Why? Home all night? Yes, it was a rotten, rainy night. Why? Mrs. Whitaker, I have a warrant for your husband's arrest. A warrant? For what?
Murder. Murder? Exactly. And last night... But I told you he was... And Ogburn told me that you called up his apartment last night asking if your husband was there. The woman looked at me blankly for a dozen seconds, and then she laughed, the clear laugh of one who had been the victim of some slight joke. And there was neither shame nor humiliation in her voice that she said, You win!
Listen. Now, listen. I don't know what Herb's done, nor how I stand, and I oughtn't to talk until I see a lawyer. But I like to dodge all the trouble I can. If you folks will tell me what's what on your word of honor, I'll maybe tell you... What I know, if anything. What I mean is, if talking will make things any easier for me, if you can show it will, then maybe I'll talk. Provided that I know anything.
This seemed fair enough, if a little surprising. Apparently this woman, who could lie with every semblance of candor and laugh when she was tripped up, wasn't interested in anything much beyond her own comfort. Dean turned to me and said, You tell it. All right.
your husband has been cooking the books for some time and stole something like two hundred thousand dollars from the partnership before ogburn got wise to it then he had your husband shadowed trying to find the money last night your husband took the detective who was shadowing him over into a vacant lot and shot him. Huh. Well. Um, cigarette? No thanks. No.
I'm gonna talk. I never got any of the money and I'd be a chump to make a goat of myself for Herb. He was alright, but if he's run out and left me flat, there's no use of me making a lot of trouble for myself over it. Here goes. I'm not Mrs. Whitaker, except on the register. My name is May Landis. Maybe there is a real Mrs. Whitaker, and maybe not. Herb and I have been living together here for over a year.
About a month ago, he began to get jumpy, nervous, even worse than usual. He said it was only business worries. Then a couple of days ago, I discovered that his pistol was gone from the drawer where he usually kept it and that he was carrying. I asked him.
What's the idea? He said he thought he was being followed and asked me if I'd seen anybody hanging around the neighborhood as if watching our place. What did you say? I told him no. I said I thought he was nutty. Night before last, he said he thought he might have to...
go away because he was in trouble. He couldn't take me with him, but would give me enough money to take care of me for a while. What was the state of mind, do you think? He seemed excited. Packed his bag so they'd be ready if he needed them in a hurry. Then he burned up all his photos and a lot of letters and papers. His bags are still in the bedroom, if you want to go through them. What? He left without taking them? Yes. When he didn't come home last night, I had a hunch he'd...
beat it without his bags and without saying a word to me, much less giving me any money. He left me with only $20 to my name and not even much that I could hawk and with the rent due in four days. When did you see him last? About eight o'clock last night. He told me he was going down to Mr. Ogburn's apartment to talk over some business with him, but he didn't go there. I know. I ran out of cigarettes.
I like Elixir Russians, and I can't get him uptown. So I called up Mr. Ogburns to ask Herb to bring some home with him, and Mr. Ogburns said he hadn't been there. How long have you known Whitaker? A couple years, I guess. I think I met him first at one of the beach resorts. Has he got any people? Not that I know of. I don't know a lot about him, really. I do know that he served three years in an Oregon prison for forgery.
But he told me he was walking the straight and narrow now. Ever see this pistol? Well, aside from the dried mud, it's Herb's. Or it's twin. Okay, that's all for now. Well, can you tell me where I stand? You're not going to lock me up as a witness or anything, are you? Not just yet. Stick around where we can find you if we want you. And you won't be bothered.
Got any idea which direction Witter could be likely to go? No. We'd like to give the place the once-over. Mind? Go ahead. Take it apart if you want to. I'm coming all the way with you people. We very nearly did take the place apart, but we found not a thing of value. Whitaker, when he'd burned the things that might have given him away, had made a thorough job of it. Will you let us know if you hear anything or remember anything else that might help? Sure. Sure.
What do you think of all that? She's a peach, huh? I wonder how much she knows. She identified the gun and gave us that dope about the forgery sentence up north. But we'd have found out those things anyway. was wise, she'd tell us everything she knew we'd find out and then make her other stuff go over stronger. Think she's dumb or wise?
We won't guess. We'll slap a shadow on her and cover her mail. I have the number of a taxi she used a couple days ago. We'll look that up too. Drugstore up the corner. Let's get some coffee, and I need to use the payphone. Not much. I've just talked to Mrs. Whitaker, who isn't really Mrs. Whitaker. Her name is May Landis, and I need a couple of boys detailed to keep her and her flat under surveillance day and night. Of course. Anything else?
Yes, get a hold of Lusk, he's my contact at the post office department, and ask him to let us know if Ms. Landis gets any mail from Whitaker. I'm going to see Ogburn later on and get some specimens of Whitaker's writing for comparison with any incoming mail. That's it. Good. I'll speak to you soon. Dean and I then set about tracing the taxi in which Bob Teal had seen the woman right away. After half an hour in the taxi company's office... Here we go.
The cab in question drove May Landis to an apartment house on Greenwich Street. Let's head over there. The Greenwich Street address was a ramshackle building divided into apartments of a dismal and dingy sort. We found the landlady in the basement, a gaunt woman in soiled gray with a hard, thin-lipped mouth and pale, suspicious eyes. Dean flashed the tin, and she stood with hands on hips facing us. Well?
What do you want? I want to get a line on your tenants. Tell us about them. Tell you about them? What do you think I got to say about them? What do you think I am? I'm a woman that minds her own business. Nobody can't say that I don't run a respectable... Who lives in number one? The odds. Two old folks and their grandchildren. If you know anything against them, it's more than them that has lived with them for ten years, does. How about number two? Mrs. Codman and her boys, Frank and Fred.
They've been there three years and... I carried her from apartment to apartment until finally we reached a second floor one that didn't bring quite so harsh an indictment of my stupidity for suspecting its occupants of whatever it was that I suspected them of. When she replied, The quirks live there. She merely glowered, whereas she'd had a snippy manner before. And they're decent people, if you ask me. How long have they been here? Six months or more. What does he do for a living? I don't know.
Travels, maybe. What does he look like? Like an ordinary man. I ain't a detective. I don't go around snooping into folks' faces to see what they look like and prying into their business. How old a man is he? Maybe between 35 and 40, if he ain't younger or older. Large or small? He ain't as short as you, and he ain't as tall as this feller with you, and he ain't as fat as neither of you.
Mustache? No. Light hair? No. Dark. Dark eyes, too? I guess so. Whitaker. Now, how about Mrs. Quirk? What does she look like? She's got light hair, is short and chunky, and maybe under 30. Sounds like Mayland is right enough. Are they home much? I don't know. Yes, you know. Are they home much? I think they're away a lot.
But I ain't sure. I know. They're home very seldom, and then only in the daytime, and you know it. Are they in now? I don't think so. But they might be. Let's go up and take a look at the joint. All right. Take us up to their apartment and unlock the door for us. I won't. You got no right going into folks' homes unless you got a search warrant. You got one? I'll admit we got nothing.
but we can get plenty if you want to put us to the trouble. You run this house. You can go into any of the flats anytime you want, and you can take us in. Take us up, and we'll lay off you. But if you're gonna put us to a lot of trouble, then you'll take your chances of being tied up with the quirks and maybe sharing a cell with them. Think that over. All right, I'll take you up.
The apartment consisted of three rooms, a bath, and a kitchen, furnished in the shabby fashion that the ramshackle exterior of the building had prepared us for. In these rooms we found a few articles of masculine and feminine clothing, toilet accessories, and so on.
I don't see anything here that might indicate a permanent abode for a married couple. No pictures, no cushions, none of that sort of thing. You're right. And look over here in the kitchen. The canisters are empty. Flour, sugar, coffee, tea, all empty. Hey, look over here. Where? On the table here. Elixir Russian cigarettes. May land as a smoke of choice. Yeah. And look over here in this dresser drawer. Will wonders never will you just look at that. A brand new...
box of 32 caliber cartridges. And it appears as if 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 are missing. Dean and I chased the landlady out at this point and told her we were taking charge of the apartment. Well... This was or is a hideout for Whittaker and his woman, all right. The only question is whether he intended to lay low here or whether it was just a place where he made preparations for his getaway.
I reckon the best thing is to have the captain put a man in here night and day until we turn up Brother Whitaker. That's safest. after dean was through with his call i rang up the old man to see if anything new had developed it hadn't he asked me how i was coming along nicely maybe i'll have news for you this evening Did you get those specimens of Whitaker's writing from Ogburn? Or shall I have someone else take care of it? I'll get them this evening.
I wasted ten minutes trying to reach Ogburn at his office before I looked at my watch and saw that it was after six o'clock. I found his residence listed in the telephone directory and called him there. Yes, I think I have some samples of Herb's handwriting here. Some letters. If you come over now, I'll give them to you. Fifteen minutes? That's fine.
I'm going over to Ogburn's, George, to get some of Whitaker's scribbling while you're waiting for your man to come from headquarters to take charge of this place. I'll meet you at the States as soon as you can get away. We'll eat there and make our plans for the night. Alrighty. Ogburn was dressing when I reached his apartment and had his collar and tie in one hand when he came to the door to let me in. I found quite a few of Herb's letters. They're on the table.
Take whatever you think you need. I looked through 15 or more letters, selecting the ones I wanted, while he went on with his dressing. How are you progressing? So-so. Heard anything that might help? No, but... I just a few minutes ago remembered that Herb used to go over to the Mills building quite frequently. I've seen him going in and out often, but never thought anything of it.
I don't know whether it's of any importance or... Mills building? That does it. Can I use your phone? Certainly. It's in the hallway near the door. It's a payphone. Do you have a nickel in change? Yes. The switch is near the door. If you want a light, do you think... But I didn't stop to listen to his questions. I was making for the telephone, searching my pockets for a nickel. And fumbling for the coin, I muffed it.
But not entirely by accident, for I had a hunch I wanted to work out. I didn't care about the mills building. It was just an excuse to follow my hunch. I switched on the light. and all was revealed. I retrieved the nickel, plus something else close by, and called up Dean of the Quirk's apartment. Yeah. George, that joint's dead. Take the landlady down to headquarters and grab the Landis woman, too. I'll meet you there. At headquarters. You mean it? Almost.
I switched off the hall light and walked back to the room where I'd left Ogburn. The door was not quite closed. I walked straight up to it, kicked it open with one foot, and jumped away, hugging the wall beside the door. Two shots, so close together that they were almost one, crashed. Oh! Flat against the wall, I let out a medley of shrieks and groans that would have done credit to a carnival wild man. A moment later.
Ogburn appeared in the doorway, a revolver in his hand, his face wolfish, coming to make sure I was dead, I supposed. Once he stuck his head out, looking for my corpse, I slammed my gun down on the sleek brown top of his head. I had Ogburn hauled away in a patrol wagon and rode along to the Hall of Justice. Dean was in the detective's assembly room.
The landlady identifies May Landis as Mrs. Quirk. Now what? Where is she now? One of the police women is holding both of them in the captain's office. Ogburn is stashed in the pawn shop to Tails' office. Let's take the landlady in for a look at him. Ogburn sat leaning forward, holding his injured head in his hands and staring sullenly at the feet of the patrolman who guarded him when we took the landlady in to see him.
Ever see him before? Yes. That's Mr. Quirk. Okay, ma'am. You can go home now. See the policewoman for a streetcar token. And you. Me? You. Let's go someplace and chat where we won't be disturbed. Now spill it. What's all these startling developments like the newspaper boys call them? First off, I knew there could be only one answer to the question, who killed Bob Teal?
Bob was no fool. He might possibly have let a man he was trailing lure him behind a roll of billboards on a dark night, but he wouldn't have died with empty hands from a gun that was close enough to scorch his coat. The murderer had to be somebody Bob trusted, so it couldn't have been Whitaker. But who would he have trusted? I follow. He would have trusted the man who'd hired him.
Ogburn. Right. So with that to go on, the rest was duck soup. All the stuff May Landis gave us only convinced me that she and Ogburn were working together. When the landlady described Quirk for us, I was fairly certain of it. Why? seen Ogburn, so you know what he looks like. Hair, build, complexion, and so on. Well, Thiel's description of Whitaker could also apply to Ogburn, and it didn't make sense for Whitaker to hold down two flats.
But if Ogburn and May Landis were tight, they'd need a meeting place of some sort. The Russian cigarettes and box of cartridges we found helped some too. Okay, all that's fine and dandy. But what wound it up for you? Seeing Ogburn again at his apartment made me remember both Teal's and the landlady's descriptions. That gave me the idea to play a hunch. I put on a little act at Ogburn's place.
chasing a nickel along the floor and found traces of dried mud that he'd picked up from walking through the lot in the rain. I've got some of it here in my handkerchief. Well, what do you know? You really ought to go into the detective business.
There are a few more odds and ends, but for motive, all I'm sure of is the woman just now, which should be enough. But I think that when Ogburn and Whitaker's books are audited, and their finances sifted, we'll find something there. What I'm strongly banking on is that Whitaker will come in... in now that he's been cleared of the murder charge.
And that is exactly what happened. Next day, Herbert Whitaker walked into police headquarters in Sacramento and surrendered. Neither Ogburn nor Landis ever told what they knew. But with Whitaker's testimony, supported by what we were able to pick up here and there, we went into court when the time came and convinced the jury. Whitaker himself took the stand on behalf of the prosecution.
Dan Ogburn and I opened our farm development business as a plain swindle. We had options on a lot of land, and we planned to sell as many shares in our enterprise as possible before the time came to exercise options. By that time, our plan was to just pack our bags and disappear. I admit I didn't have much nerve, and I couldn't forget my three years in the pen for forgery. Dan said he understood.
and told me about a pal of his in the post office department in Washington, D.C., who'd tip us off the instant any official suspicion was aroused. I felt better about things after that. So we made a neat little pile from our game, and Dan took charge of the money until the time came for the split-up.
Meanwhile, Ogburn and May Landis had become intimate and had rented the Greenwich Street apartment, meeting their afternoons when Whitaker was busy at the office and thought Ogburn was out hunting up fresh victims. In this apartment, they hatched their scheme to get rid of Whitaker, keep all...
the loot and clear Ogburn of all criminal complicity. Part of the plan was for Ogburn to come into the federated office and tell his little tale of his partner's dishonesty so that an operative would be engaged to shadow him. That operative was Bob Teal. Dan told me around this time that he'd gotten a tip from his friend in Washington that an investigation was about to be opened. All right. So, it's settled. We'll leave town next week. Each of us going our own separate way.
The next night, May told me that she'd seen a man loitering in the neighborhood, apparently watching our building. I saw him, too, and thinking he was a postal inspector went completely to pieces. I was all for bolting immediately, but May calmed me down and then Dan convinced me to stick it out another few days. I doubt the post office has sent anybody this quick. These investigations take time.
Tell you what, let's find out if you're really being followed. I'll walk along with you. We walked in the rain for an hour. Dan eventually seemed convinced and told me he wanted to go alone to the investigator. and see if he could be bribed. I waited in a dark doorway and heard the gunshot. Dan came running back a moment later in a panic, saying, Herb, my God, he grabbed me and I shot him. We'll have to get out of here.
I panicked and left San Francisco immediately, not stopping to get my bags, not even notifying May. Ogburn was supposed to leave by a different route, and we were to meet in Oklahoma City ten days later. In the meantime, Dan would go south to Los Angeles and withdraw our money from a number of banks there, and then come east and give me my share. In Sacramento the day after the murder, however—
I read the papers and understood what Dan and May had done to me. I kept the books for the company. All the false entries were in my handwriting. May had revealed my criminal history to the press and had told the police that Ogburn's gun was mine. I was framed completely.
there was no chance I'd be able to clear myself. I knew that my story would sound like a far-fetched lie because I had a criminal record. If I'd come forward before now and tried to tell the truth, the authorities would have just laughed at me.
And so at the end of it all, there was some justice for Bob Teal. Ogburn went to the gallows, and May Landis was sentenced to 15 years, but Whitaker, in return for his testimony and restitution of the loot, was not prosecuted for his role in the land swindle.
Bob was a good kid, and it had the makings of a good sleuth. I hadn't really thought about it prior to this, but now that he was gone... I realized that I was going to miss working with him and miss his youthful zeal for the job, something that tends to get beaten out of a detective eventually. But a detective can't afford to be sentimental, so I tucked my memory of the youngster away and waited for the next case to come along.
You have been listening to Who Killed Bob Teal, Episode 10 and the finale of Adventures of the Federated Tech's second season. Our cast consisted of the following players. Pete Lutz as the Tech. Joe Stofko as the Old Man. Frank Guglielmelli as Ogburn, Ian Fettergreen as Bob Teal, John Bell as Detective Dean, Rhiannon McAfee as May Landis, Jerry Elliff as the Landlady, and Jeff Moon as Whitaker.
The theme and some incidental music were composed and performed by Dr. Ross Bernhardt. Who Killed Bob Teal was written by Dashiell Hammett and was published in the November 1924 issue of True Detective magazine. This production was mixed and mastered by 63 Audio in Corpus Christi, Texas. This program was adapted by and produced under the supervision of Pete Lutz. This is Darren Rockhold speaking. Please join us next time.
When the federated text says... Next time I'm on the hunt for some stolen jewels, but the thief's real identity throws everybody for a loop. Sorry. We hope you have enjoyed season two. And we'll watch for announcements regarding our third season. Coming soon from 63 Audio. 63 audio. Now you seem to me to be a connoisseur of the best of radio drama.
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