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The Great Detectives of Old Time Radio| Daily Mystery Dramas· Staffel 18· Folge 2

The Big Story: Trap for a Killer with Reporter as Bait (EP5092)

Dienstag, 27. Oktober 2026 · 35 min

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Today's Mystery: When a series of brutal attacks leaves Los Angeles investigators searching for answers, crime reporter Sid Hughes finds himself drawn into a dangerous case. With a killer targeting tall, beautiful women and few clues to follow, Hughes proposes an unusual plan that could bring the investigation to a close—but puts his own life on the line.

Original Radio Broadcast Date: October 20, 1954

Originated in New York

Cast:
• Leslie Nielsen as Sid Hughes

• Sam Raskin

• Phil Sterling

• Billy Redfield

• Michael O’Day

• Peggy Allenby

• Madeleine Sherwood

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Join us again tomorrow for another detective drama from the Golden Age of Radio.

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THE END.

Welcome to the Great Detectives of Old Time Radio from Boise, Idaho. This is your host, Adam Graham. In a moment, we're going to bring you this week's episode of The Big Story. But first, I want to encourage you, if you're enjoying the podcast, please follow us using your favorite podcast software. And Also, I want to encourage you to check out our other podcast, and today I'm highlighting the Old Time Radio Snack Wagon, where every week we bring you a snack-sized bit of old time radio from a wide variety of genres. You can check it out at snackwagon.net. Well, here now we're getting to the last circulating episode of the big story, our original air date. is October 20th, 1954, and the title is Trap for a Killer with Reporter

as Bait.

The Big Story.

One more cup of coffee, Bob, and I guess I'll call it a night.

Time's deader than some days.

And that music on your radio. Oh, I said it's a lucky thing to sing around. Well, what's the matter, Harry? They need help pulling in the sidewalk? The class just came into the city room. Some gals have been murdered on the L.A. City College campus.

Your piece, then.

All yours. The big story. The story you're about.

To hear actually happened.

It happened in Los Angeles, California.

It's authentic.

And is offered as a tribute to the men and women of the great American newspapers. From the front pages of the Los Angeles Examiner, the story of a reporter who set a trap for a killer with himself as the base. Tonight to Sid Hughes of the Los Angeles Examiner for his big story goes the Pell Mail $ 500 award.

Los Angeles, California. The story as it actually happened, Sid Hughes' story as he lived it.

The End.

It's a seven-minute drive from the Blue Diamond Cafe at a Los Angeles City College campus on North Vermont Avenue. Hugh Sid Hughes, top crime reporter for the Los Angeles Examiner, naked in five. But Captain Frank Jarrett and the Homicide Squad are already all over the place. Also the coroner. It is not a pretty sight. The setting's quite romantic.

Small garden, a bench, moonlight. But on the ground lies the crumpled body of what, for a short while before, must have been a beautiful girl.

Her long, blonde hair is matted with blood. What happened, Frank?

She walked into this garden and got dead.

Oh, it's going to play hard to get in this one, huh?

Everything's hard to get on this one, Sid.

Looks like her skull was caved in with a crowbar.

Probably a board. Found some wood fibers in her hair.

What's her name? Where's she from? What'd she do? She didn't wear a size. Even the police must know that much.

Oh, we're waiting to read all about it in the papers. You will, under a ten-point head.

Police baffle.

Okay, Sid, I'll tell you what we know. Get off my back. Her name's Barbara Urie, a Russian dancer and ex-follies girl.

We figure about 27.

She was enrolled in night drama classes at the college, and she did parts in movies. Approximately time of death, 10 p.m., she walked home from class. The killer evidently came at her out of the dark.

That's all.

Anyone hear a scream? Anyone in the vicinity? I still say you're not talking much.

Oh, flatter me. I have much to talk about. Mind if I look around? Yeah. But go ahead.

Just let me warn you.

Don't get your fingerprints on anything, or you'll be in your own headlines. You've known Frank Barrett a long time. Ever since you were a cub reporter and he was a death star. And you know he's a nice guy who's making like a tough cop because he's in trouble. A brutal crime that's going to shock the city and he doesn't have a reason. You watch flash bulbs pop while the homicide boys comb the area. You see their faces grow longer and longer. You see the body carried out and put in the wagon. You sit on the bench and light a cigarette, tossing the match over your shoulder.

You know that's a mistake as soon as you do it. Your match could turn out to be a false lead for the cop. You swivel on the bench to pick it up. And then you see it. Hey, Price. Go home.

It's past your bedtime. I got something for you. What?

Look. Uh-oh.

Smith, I had to come over here and make a cast for this footprint.

On the small side, huh?

Yeah, it looks like a woman.

It should be Bobbers. That won't do much good.

A little more than we have that cast.

Remember, I saw it first. I get the beat.

Here's a beat for you right now. I'm going down to the county jail to question a couple of suspects.

Come on.

Come on.

He arrived down to the county jail in the number one car with Jared to be in on the questioning of the two men in custody. One of the suspects, Stephen Margate, is a 20-year-old college junior. He's in the felony tank. He feels sorry for the kid who starts raving hysterically as soon as you and Jared enter his cell. Please, please, Captain, I didn't do it, I swear.

What were you doing in the area, Stephen?

Uh, just stalling around. Do you have any night classes? No, no, I'm a regular student. I never saw her before, I swear. Where do you live? Uh, Grace Hall. Grace Hall's a long way from the Rose Garden.

You know what I think, Stephen?

She can't think I did it.

She can't. I think you were following Miss Urie. I think you followed her into the Rose Garden.

Now, that's true, isn't it? No, no.

I just go there because it's so lovely in the moonlight. If you weren't there before Miss Urie got there, Stephen, you'd be able to tell us what happened. We know you were in your dormitory until 9.15, so you must have been following her.

Why?

Did you have some grudge against him? Is that why you carried a club with you?

It's not true.

It's not true.

All I carried was a book.

A book? Yes.

She was so lovely.

I watched her every evening from my window as she came and went from class. I followed her last night.

I admit it.

But all I wanted to do was recite poetry to her in the rose garden, in the moonlight.

What?

Come live with me and be my love. And we will all.

Frank, this voice is being essentially ethical. It's observation.

You're right. I haven't transferred. You follow Jared down the corridor into another cell block that smells of disinfectant.

This is the drug tank.

The second suspect is Carl Bosco, a heavy-drinking dormitory janitor who was found wandering close to the scene of the murder. He lies snoring heavily on the concrete floor, stripped of his tie, belt, and shoes for his own safety. Wake up, man. I have some questions.

Huh? Here I go.

Where are you?

Let me sleep.

What were you doing hanging around the Rose Garden, Barco?

I was... I was looking for buried treasures.

Better give me straight answers. You may be faced with a murder charge.

The only thing I ever killed was a bottle. Did you hear anything?

See anyone as you crossed the campus? Oh, sure, sure.

Lots of things.

Lions and tigers and a 40-foot penguin.

You probably did at that.

Sure I did.

But no booze.

They were lefties. They were enemies of me. All right, get this loose. You need to clear ahead next time you see me. Some start, huh, Sid? A psycho and a drunk.

You think either of them did it, Frank?

Nope. Did you notice?

They both had big feet. When you leave the jail, said Hughes, you decide to check Bobby Urie's background on your own. At the college registrar, you discover that she lives with a drama coach, a former Shakespearean actress named Viola Dunbar.

She's out. You don't catch her home until evening.

Who is it?

Said Hughes.

I don't want any.

Open up, Miss Dunbar. I think you'll be interested in what I have to say.

Well, come in.

I'm a reporter.

I want to ask a few questions about Baba Yuri.

The police have already been here. I have nothing to say on the subject.

Please leave.

Play ball with me, Miss Dunbar, and you might get some publicity out of it.

Oh?

Oh.

Well, what do you know about poor Barbara, Mr.

Hughes?

Well, something about her background, personal habits, friends, you know.

Well, I'm afraid I can't tell you very much. She was born in Russia, went to the ballet school in Moscow, I believe, and came over here on some kind of student exchange.

She stayed.

I wonder how she arranged that. I have no idea.

I suppose she knew a lot of men.

On the contrary, she seldom went out.

Well, did she seem frightened?

I mean, did you gather she was living in fear of something or someone?

Oh, no.

I think she was simply a quiet Russian type. Quiet Russian type, huh?

Hmm. Well, thanks a lot, Miss Sandberg.

I'm going to get your promise with me.

Promise? Yes.

Because you're going to get me. I made quite a name as Roxanne in Cyrano a few years back, and then I was re-represented.

Yes, well, you bet.

What's for the next edition? But for what? Your story in the next edition isn't the big thing on your mind.

Could you?

An idea has been set staring by your interview with Viola Dunbar. An idea from left field, but it might fill in the gaps. You head straight to Captain Jarrett's office.

I was over to see Viola Dunbar, Frank, after your men left.

Yeah, she wasn't much help.

I'm not so sure.

Now, you know about Yuri being born in Russia.

Yeah, it's all in the report.

Well, here's what I'm thinking, Frank. Was Baba Yuri somehow involved in Russian politics? Did she say no to the wrong people and.

Get herself killed?

Well, I must admit that's a new approach. It helps explain the footprint.

How do you mean?

This cast here shows it to be a small shoe with a high heel, a woman's shoes. The indentation indicates he weighed 130 pounds top. But no woman would have had the strength to bash in Baba Yori's skull like that.

Take a look at the cash this time. I'm no bootmaker.

That's the very word, Sid.

Boots.

Certain types of Russian boots have high heels. A Russian political assassin might wear such a boot.

Yeah.

This is beginning to add up.

Captain Jarrett speaking.

Yes, Eddie. Where? When? When? Be right over.

Start subtracting, Sid.

What?

Another attack. Less than a mile.

From the first one.

The End.

This is Cy Harris, returning to your narrator and the big story of Sid Hughes, as he lived it and wrote it. There you are, Sid Hughes, you and Captain Jarrett, standing in a small, dimly lit park in the Hollywood district. But too little and too late, boys. While you were in Jarrett's office, dreaming up theories the killer struck against you.

The pattern is almost exactly the same as the first crime. Somebody leaps out of the dock, and for no apparent reason, that is in the skull of a tall, beautiful girl. But there's one big difference. This girl lives with a fractured skull. The medics load her into a city ambulance and care for the hospital.

Find out anything about her yet, Frank?

Holy mackerel, Sid, every time I breathe, you want half my air.

Well, don't chew on me.

I didn't do it.

I know, I know. You've got your editor on your neck.

I've got the DNA. So, who is he?

Named Fluffy Drew, secretary for a health food manufacturer. Used to be a diving champ. An all-American girl.

Well, that was my Russian angle. Never had much faith in it anyhow.

There go my two suspects.

The first time I ever saw a blank wall get blanker.

You know one thing for sure, Sid. The killer's still at large and very busy. The sensational case takes over the front pages of every paper in Southern California. You sit here, get your orders from the managing editor, live with the case until it's cracked, then get an exclusive on the killer. This means hounding Captain Jarrett 24 hours a day.

Practically creeping on his desk at night.

You're with him when he's finally able to talk to Flossie Drew in the hospital.

It won't take long, Miss Drew.

Oh, as long as we need talking, I want to stay in the car.

We're doing our best. Now, how did it happen?

Well, I worked late that night. I worked supper in the office, and then I walked home.

Do you always take the same room to the park?

Oh, no, very seldom at night. I usually stick to the lighted seats.

Did you by any chance catch a glimpse of your attacker?

Oh, just a fleeting impression. He was small, much shorter than me.

Could it have been a woman? No.

I doubt it. No woman could attack me like that.

Thanks, Miss Drew.

I'll be talking to you again.

Anytime you expect.

I think you're on the wrong track, Frank. My guess is that it's a man.

Then why the high-heeled footprints? That's the key to the puzzle.

When you know that, you've got it licked.

Several days go by.

More suspects are brought in. All have alibis. And then it happens again.

Rachel Glover, a student nurse who babysits in her spare time, is struck down from behind at 1 a.m. on Van Nuys Street in the same neighborhood as.

The Drew incident.

Rachel is another tall beauty. She's lucky to get off with a severe concussion. There you are again, Sidney, in the middle of the night at the scene of another vicious attack. The same exploding flashbulbs, the same homicide boys with their carpet sweepers, the same footprints and plaster of Paris gas. It's getting monotonous. Monotonous like a routine in a slaughterhouse. Only, Garrett doesn't look bored. Here we go again, huh, Frank?

Get behind the police line, Sid. Oh, wait a minute. Behind the police line, I mean it. No more reporters gumming things up. What are you so starved for? I heard you found a weapon this time, a hunk of two-by-four. I'm warning you, Sid. Behind the line.

Any fingerprints on the timber?

Now, look.

You've been squirming around in my pocket for ten days now, and I'm sick of it. You pop out of confidence with files, Ross.

I go to eat a sandwich, and you're between the bread.

I'm sick of a lot of things, but mostly it's reporters. Okay, all right. You're back to the wall, so I won't put you. You're hungry, hungry for an arrest, a chief suspect, a big lead.

You're desperate for something to chew on.

I know it.

Stop, but don't use me.

Sergeant, take this man across the police line and don't let him cross it again. As soon as you cool off, you're sorry you had those hard words with Captain Jarrett. He's a good police officer and an old friend, and you know the spot he's in. You're sitting in the Blue Diamond brooding over coffee and donuts when.

Hi, Chip.

Mind if I sit down?

Go ahead, Harry.

I've been elected to make a pick for you. Yeah? You know, our annual press club team day is next month. So? Well, we want to put on another musical review like we did last year. How about singing a chorus still again this year?

Oh. Oh, no.

I've sung enough living life times.

Oh, DeJuan, you are so faithful. You know, you're the only one who makes up into a real gorgeous chorus show.

Hey.

Hey.

Maybe there's something in it at that.

Then you'll do it?

No, but you've given me a great idea. Thanks, Harry.

Thanks a million. Fifteen minutes later, you're walking into Captain Jarrett's office. Frank, I just got a brainstorm that'll smoke the man with the timber out of his woodchuck. Hey, you have to get in line. We get 1,500 suggestions a day and filed them in alphabetical order. Hold still and listen. I want to masquerade as a girl and watch this speech. A live decoy for the killer. Oh, no, boy, go away. I haven't got time for bad jokes.

I tell you, it's a logical plan. We know he goes for tall, beautiful women and, well... Well, that's just how I look in female makeup. Ask anyone or something in the chorus.

If the last press club chimed in.

It gets funnier by the hour. And every hour your killer on the loose is closer to parting somebody else's skull.

Now, look, Frank.

You know the area in which he operates, all in the Hollywood district. You know the kind of gal he likes to hammer, long-stem beauty. Set me up as a patsy for him. Let him make the move. Then you and your boys close in. Yeah, but what if he gets.

To you first?

Not likely.

This time it won't be a surprise attack. I'll be on my guard every second. I used to run 100 yards under 10 flats.

Won 30 out of 35 semi-pro fights before I became a reporter. Now, the answer's still no. I don't want your blood on my hands. Losing your confidence, Frank?

Don't you think you and the whole police force can protect me?

All right, eager beaver, we'll try it. Starting tomorrow night. I'll send you a courthouse. You should use a hard-bitten crime reporter. Send the next day like a movie star is preparing for.

A screen test.

You do it for two reasons.

To catch the killer and.

To help a friend. And maybe a third. There's always an exclusive story hovering in the back.

Of your mind.

You go to a friend in one of the big studios. He takes you over to the wardrobe department where they fix you up with a snappy feminine outfit. Then on to makeup where you're made up and fitted with a wig. Finally, at 9 p.m., you meet in Jarrett's office. All right, boys.

All right.

Simmer down. Sid, you see this map on the wall?

Yeah.

That's the area we know he works. The area we have under surveillance.

You're not to go up in armor, do you understand?

Don't worry. I have men placed at strategic points. Some are hiding in cars, some are staked out at home. I'll be following in my private car. It has a two-way radio in case we want to sector the area. Can I use a gun for you, sir?

No, no, thank you. Don't be a chump.

No, I might get jumpy and use it on the wrong person. Or wing some innocent passerby with a wild shot.

Okay, suit yourself.

Anything else?

One thing.

If I sense someone creeping up on me, I'm going to start whistling like crazy.

Well, move on your first note.

Let's go.

And so you face the street. stalking a killer, hoping that he'll stalk you. Up and down, past doorways, alleys, light streets and dark, Hollywood divine, blind adventurers, back and forth, back and forth. Good exercise, but hard on the nerve. You walk, mile after mile, hour after hour, night after night.

Nothing happens.

Nobody leaps from the shadows, just masses and jerks who do get operated.

Make the usual test.

Eight fruitless nights did you just pound the pavement in your grim masquerade. And then it's Sunday, a little before midnight, and you're out there again.

You're bored and discouraged.

You wander beyond the killer's known area. You stroll down Santa Monica in the vicinity of Hollywood Cemetery.

As you cross along.

Near the main gate, you notice from the corner of your eye that somebody.

Is following you.

You're quick in your pace. The footsteps behind you also quicken. You cross into the cemetery. And then too late to remember. None of Jarrett's men have baked out there. The killer can be lurking behind any of the tombstones or monuments ready to spring out at you. And nobody's around to help. You start whispering like crazy and turn around and then it happens.

Hey, hey, hey.

No, you don't.

Let him up. We got him.

You okay?

Yeah, yeah, I guess so.

But maybe for this $ 600 wig is ruined.

He's a man.

What goes on here?

We'll be asking the questions. Come on, you. At headquarters, he gives his name as Vincent Slidell. He's just under five feet tall, but says he's a weightlifter, and this you believe. He fought with him, and he fought like a wildcat. He admits he jumped him, but denies any connection with the murder of Bobby Urie or the assault on the other two girls.

Sure I jumped him.

He tried to pick my pocket.

In a cemetery?

He was following me. I tried to give him a slip in there. You got it the wrong way around, Slidell. You were following me. Look, don't believe him, Captain.

That's his racket.

That's why he wears them screwy women's clothes.

He jostles in and.

Picks her pockets. You're wrong, Slidell. This man's a reporter. He's a decoy sent out by us to catch you.

A decoy?

You murdered that girl on the L.A. City College campus, didn't you?

What?

You're nuts. Those are mighty fancy boots you're wearing.

Well, so what?

They make me taller. They're going to do something else for you. They're going to walk you right into the gas chambers.

What are you talking about?

You see this panther, a footprint? It's a footprint we found beside the body of Baba Yor and the other two girls you attacked.

Now watch.

It fits the boots you have on perfectly.

Why'd you do it, Clyde Allen? Why? Why?

Well, look at me. Can't you see why? I'm a shrimp. All my life, people laughed at me, especially girls.

So I became a weightlifter.

But it didn't do no good. Well, they won't laugh no more.

Not them three tall beauties.

They won't.

I feed them.

I made them suffer.

Boy.

They found out.

Yeah, but not you. I guess you'll never find out.

Find out what?

That it isn't the height of a man that makes him lower than a snake's belly.

THE END In just a moment, we'll read you a telegram from Sid Hughes with the final outcome of tonight's big story. Now we read you that telegram from Sid Hughes of the Los Angeles Examiner. Psychiatrist found Slidewell legally sane.

He was tried and found guilty.

Of the murder of Barbara Urie and assault.

From the other two girls.

Sentenced to death.

Executed in San Quentin Prison. My sincere thanks for tonight's Elmell Award.

Thank you, Mr.

Hughes.

The makers of Palmel's famous cigarettes are proud to present to you the Palmel Award for Notable Service in the Field of Journalism. Protect for $ 500 and a specially mounted bronze plaque engraved with your name and the name of your paper. Accepted as a lasting memento of your truly significant achievement. Listen again next week, same time, same station, when Palmel's famous cigarettes will present another big story.

Welcome back.

All right.

Well, let's go ahead and go through the cast list. And the first one is a surprise, as Sid Hughes was played by Leslie Nielsen. And you may doubt that and say, surely you're not serious. I am, and don't call me Shirley. I'm sorry, I had to do it. I've done more than 5,000 episodes. And at last, Leslie Nielsen showed up. And I don't think he'll show up again.

Nielsen wasn't known for doing much radio, but was doing a lot of live TV programs during this era and also worked on Broadway. So he'd be in position in New York City and playing... The lead in an episode of The Big Story was a way to pick up a little bit of cash for a little extra work. Also in the cast with Mr. Nielsen were Sam Raskin, Phil Sterling, Billy Redfield, Michael O'Day, Peggy Allenbay, and Madeline Sherwood.

Let's talk a little.

Bit about the central plot point, because you listen to a series featuring Leslie Nielsen playing a character wearing a dress, and it was a drama. How plausible is this whole idea? Well, on one hand, you have Dr. Joe Webb writing over at the stories behind the big story about Sid Hughes's appearance, He was and looked like a hard-nosed, grizzled, streetwise reporter out of the movies. The idea that this tough guy could pose as victim bait for Cook seems so very out of character based on pictures of him. In addition to that, you had the fact that the LAPD had around 40 policewomen. And episodes of Dragnet often portray... police women being used as decoys. However, while Hugh's appearance might

make him an unlikely or unbelievable model for this purpose, due to the time where the crimes were committed, he did not have to be particularly convincing up close. and if the targets tended to be exceptionally large women, and the police couldn't spare any of the male officers, then maybe this could be plausible. The problem is that it didn't actually happen. According to the stories behind this big story, the episode is based on events from 1939, and the murder was of an exotic Russian dancer named Anya, and there were two other assaults that did not end in death.

In all three cases, the perpetrator fled the scene of the crime while not actually taking anything, and he was not caught by Sid Hughes dressing up as a woman. Rather, what happened was he tried his hand at burglary. decided to burglarize a house where both husband and wife and their young daughter were home. The wife was going out to play badminton with a friend and remembered that she'd forgotten something, so she went into her bedroom and found our perpetrator in there and screamed very loudly, and he, once again, fled. But he was caught by police, and they found a 2x4, which was the weapon that was used in the Sosieva murder, as well as one of the assaults. Now, contrary to the radio episode, the killer,

the wit Clinton Cook, was not a frustrated short man who never could find a woman and was taking it out on all the tall women. He actually was married. In addition, Cook claimed that he had not intended to hurt or kill anyone. He had just acted in panic. However, that didn't prevent him from being executed in 1941. And this is one of those episodes that can be a bit frustrating because, okay, so the story about Sid Hughes making himself a decoy for this killer and capturing him was false. So what exactly are you honoring here? Hence, that's not what happened. Now, obviously, Hughes did get the scoop on the story. Maybe he noticed a piece of evidence the police would have overlooked, like the footprint, and

therefore got cooperation for the police. or were able to provide them some clue later on, but this wouldn't have been particularly interesting for radio, so it was spiced up. The truth is far more simple. Now, we should also consider the possibility that the aspects of two different stories are being blended together.

Dr.

Webb writes that the real-life Sid Hughes had a sense of hands-on reporting. And so I could see him using the disguise, any disguise, in order to break a case. Even beyond the issues discussed, I have a problem buying this particular story because essentially doing this would take him out of circulation for eight days, as long as they said this went on. And while police can afford... spend that much time on an individual investigation, it's kind of hard for a newspaper to justify it. And this type of thing with all the preparations involved, as well as the time and energy of actually walking the streets, would make it really hard for him to also be able to do writing for the paper. Well, at any rate,

that concludes our presentation of the big story for now. we were able to feature nearly 50 episodes, which is a relatively small sample of the 400 episodes aired over the series' eight-year run. Now, there would be additional episodes. It would stay on into early 1955, but would become TV only for the last few years it was around, finally going off the air in 1958. Now it's time to thank our Patreon supporter of the day. Thank you to Maura, Patreon supporter since March of 2024, currently supporting the podcast at the Shamus level of $ 4 or more per month. Thanks so much for your support, Maura. And that will do it for today. If you're enjoying the podcast, please follow us using your favorite podcast software and be

sure to rate and review the podcast wherever you download it from. We will be back next Tuesday with Burton Trent, but join us back here tomorrow for Broadway's My Beat, where.

Don't sit in that chair, Sonny. Just pick a spot on the floor and stand on it. It's the floor, the floor, not the rug.

This okay, Miss Devlin?

Floors don't belong to me, Sonny. Furniture does. Let's not louse up the furniture, huh? What do you want?

Some information about a girl named Aggie Blaine.

My niece. Brother's daughter. Brother's dead. Went out without muffler and rubbers. Winter of 36. Got himself a flu that wouldn't quit. Fell over in his face next day.

Never got up. Where's Aggie?

Honey?

That's what you said.

Blew out of here a long time ago. Don't know whether she's alive, dead, or what or. Could be married to the king of Turkey for all I know.

How long ago did she leave?

Oh, been five years. Used to be a dancer, Aggie was.

Used to.

Hey, don't lean on the furniture, sonny. Pretty furniture, huh?

Huh? Yeah.

New as the day I got it. You want to sit down? We go in the kitchen. Not in the parlor. Not on this stuff.

What do you do, Miss Devlin?

Huh? Your niece used to live with you. She's gone now.

What do you do? Taking rumors?

You mean sublet, I guess?

What for?

Who needs it?

Retired, huh?

It's nice.

And all this furniture, ornate. Huh?

Oh, you mean tricky with the curlicues and the things, huh?

Yeah, all mine.

Bought and paid for.

I hope you'll be with us then. In the meantime, send your comments to Box13 at GreatDetectives.net. Follow us on Twitter at Radio Detectives. And check us out on Instagram, Instagram.com slash Great Detectives. From Boise, Idaho, this is your host, Adam Graham, signing off.

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