Kolchak: The Night Stalker

Jane: You think you get screwball letters in the Dear Emilys? I am personally interviewing guys who claim to be the Ripper. I'm up to number nineteen. Kolchak: You are being very foolish, Jane. You are being dumb, Plumm.

Kolchak(closing narration): And here's the postscript. When they drained that pond, they found nothing - nothing but some old clothes. For some reason, the police suddenly decided they wanted those... and my head. I don't know how Vincenzo will handle the charges of arson and malicious mischief lodged against me by Captain Warren, but that fire was a big one - a six alarmer. A blast furnace couldn't have done a better job. Everything gone - the house, my story, the evidence. Like they say, ashes to ashes. One thing survived the inferno, however. There's enough of it left to read the name of the maker. Peele's Footwear, London, Southwest 1. They're still there, of course, but they don't make this style shoe anymore. It was discontinued over seventy years ago. Seventy...years...ago.

Carl: (opening narration) If, by chance, you happened to be in the Windy City between May 28th and June 2nd of this year, you would have had very good reason to be terrified. During this period, Chicago was being stalked by a horror so frightening, so fascinating, that it ranks with the great mysteries of all times. It's been the fictional subject of novels, plays, films, even an opera. Now, here, are the true facts…

Masseuse: Are you a tennis player? Carl: Uh, what? No. No. Why? Masseuse: Because your shoes are so funny. Carl: I run a lot.

Carl: For reasons I have never been able to understand, Vincenzo has always confused my reporter's clever ingenuity with what he calls high-handed lunacy.