Lady on a Train Page #2

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I promise I'll go to

bed early, I won't talk

to any strange men...

and I'll call Aunt Martha

the first thing

in the morning, yes.

[Smacks Kiss]

I love you, Daddy. Bye.

Do you have the audacity to say

that I, Haskell of the New York

office, stole a radio?

Well, didn't you?

Really! When you said,

"Oh, the radio," and I turned,

you knew

perfectly well...

Oh, you poor man.

That eye. Tsk-tsk-tsk.

Oh, it must hurt terribly.

Oh!

It is sheer agony.

We must do something to get

that swelling down.

I know!

Something cold.

Ah! Hold this against

your eye for a few minutes

and it'll feel much better.

Against it?

Oh, it is cold!

That's right.

Yes, it is.

Very comfortable.

That's fine.

Operator, I'd like to get

the telephone number

of a Mr. Morgan.

A Mr. Wayne Morgan.

That mystery-writing person?

Is he a friend of yours?

Huh-uh. I need his help.

It's about a murderer.

I have to get in touch

with him.

Huh-huh!

Murderer, indeed.

Pardon me.

Your father told the

whole office how you uncovered

a spy in San Francisco.

He had no right hanging around

the Golden Gate Bridge!

So you had him arrested.

Certainly! He had

buck teeth just like a Jap.

That man was

a member of the FBI.

Operator,

cancel that call.

Now, you are not

going to telephone

the mystery writer.

Once again,

Roger's nimble brain

had come to the rescue.

Little did

Count Cuchini realize

that the deadly weapon...

Roger pressed into

his back... was only...

A pipe.

A pipe.

How did you know?

Mr. Morgan,

in all your books you...

Never mind!

Roger smiled.

He was quite handsome,

this fearless young man.

Handsome?

Quite.

He had, uh,

piercing blue eyes,

strong white teeth,

and a bulldog chin...

that typified strength

and determination.

No?

No.

Roger's chin,

though some people

might call it weak,

typified far more strength

and determination...

than the proverbial

bulldog variety.

Mr. Morgan, there's

a young lady outside,

the same one

that's been trying

to see you for three days.

Oh, later, Maxwell.

As Roger stepped back,

the sitting room door

behind him slowly opened.

A shot rang out!

Then the shattering

of glass.

Roger clutched his side.

Blood.

He fell to the floor.

[Yawning]

Dead?

No, wounded.

Roger raised himself

to one elbow.

He must get help.

Of course.! The phone.

Despite the pain,

Roger dragged himself

across the floor.

The phone.

He must get...

to the phone.

[Clears Throat]

My name is Nicki Collins.

How do you... do?

Where was I?

You'd just been shot

in the sitting room.

Oh, yes.

Later at the hospital,

Roger...

Mr. Morgan, you've got to

help me. It's about a murder.

Later at the hospital, Ro...

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