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With another hour of mystery and crime from the golden age of radio, this is Case Closed. We'll begin with Broadway Is My Beat this week and hear the Tommy Stafford murder case from April 14, 1950. After that, it's the adventures of Philip Marlowe and the Uneasy Head. That story aired June 6, 1950. Broadway's My Beat. From Times Square to Columbus Circle, the gaudiest, the. The most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat. With Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. In the sunlight of April, Broadway shimmers like an enchanted garden. It's the place where golden women glide past mirrors of chrome. You're happy because the reflection of all their smiles were for you. And nighttime comes and the sudden whirlpools of color are flung skyward from jeweled fountains. And you're happy. It's the once upon a time land you've searched for. In the morning, you wish it never happened. It's Broadway, My beat. It was 11:30 at night and I was on my way home from headquarters. I didn't make it. A squad car picked me up at 43rd street and a man told me my working day wasn't over. They were from the technical lab. They were on their way to the scene of the crime, which was on Coney island, which was where they were taking me, which is where I went to Coney island through a crowd gathered around a roller coaster to a man who was waiting for me. Hi, Danny. What's up? Guy there in the third seat of this car, dead. Danny. Huh? Stand. Who stabbed him? Mcevan out there in the faceless crowd. You don't know, huh? Not an idea. Except that somebody sat behind him and pushed a knife into him. Witnesses? No. Maybe this guy screamed. Who pays any attention to a scream on a roller coaster? Who found him? Him? Yeah. Me. I found him. And you're who? Frank Curcio. I run this ride. Here's what, mister? This guy, this stead guy sitting there. He had a half a dozen tickets in his hat band. And if he tried, I just went over to him, took a ticket. Didn't disturb him. Didn't you notice something was wrong? People react different to roller coasters. To him, I figure it's restful. I didn't disturb him until he ran out of tickets. Then I disturbed him and I found out I couldn't disturb him. And I yelled, police. That check. Mugglen told me just that. Danny, Identification on this man? Uh huh. Yeah. His wallet. Name? Thomas Stafford. Address here. Rooming house in Brooklyn. Employed as a bonded runner for one Gerald Pfaffman, jeweler. Gerald who? Pfaffman. We turn it over to the technical boys now, huh? And as we performed the rites that come after violent death, the great amusement park wound down and became still. And the distant song of the carousel was washed out to sea. And the crowd shivered against the rising mist and against the memory that death had walked the carnival. That somewhere on the midway its wing had touched. In the morning I had a call to make to the place of one Gerald Fuffman Esquire. Jewels. Etc. That's what it said on the window inside. Gerald Fuffman Esq. Was very elegant. Very. Etc. Welcome to my establishment. Make yourself comfortable. Browse, indulge. Etc. Etc. Thank you, I will. If you permit me, I could be of rather remarkable assistance. What you had in mind was it for an amant? A girl, a mother, a wife, a souvenir of 20 years splendid service in your splendid factory. That would be nice. Could you make a replica of this in diamonds? Dear boy, I can make a replica of anything. In anything. Baby shoes, a lover's broken heart, a suit of armor, etc. Etc. Take another look. I have. It's a badge. A police badge. My dear boy, I don't know quite how to put this, but I'm afraid my establishment is quite beyond a policeman's means. You put it very neat. That leaves us nothing to talk about. Except maybe Tommy Stafford. Tommy? But how could you have known? Known what, Mr. Putman? I was just on the verge of reporting it to the police. Tommy has absconded with a hundred thousand dollars worth of jewels. A pearl necklace, priceless bubbles. Oh. Oh yes. Last night at 8 o' clock he was to deliver them to Madam Sybil in Coney Island. He and his co messenger, Ed Roscoe. They never appeared at Madame Sibyl's. They vanished. Tommy Stafford is dead. But. Dead. Tommy. Tommy. Stabbed to death on a roller coaster. Oh that's horrible. So unnecessary. It makes everything so desolate. So. Etc, etc. You say Tommy and this had Draska were to deliver the jewels to Madam Sybil? Yes. She had already paid me a $10,000 depos last night. She was to pay me the rest on delivery. She phoned me that the messengers hadn't come. I told her to be patient. They would most assuredly make the delivery. I didn't know. I didn't know. Ed Draska. Do you have his address? He roomed with Tommy. You think Ed killed the boy? You think he killed him and stole the jewels? I don't know. What do you think, Mr. Faulkner? I called headquarters and told them to bring in a man named Ed Drasko. Then it was back to Coney island again at noon. Cony looked like a desert of unwound toys. I asked a man where I could find the establishment of Madame Sybil. He tried to tout me to the establishment of Madame Bernice. Who was a girl who could really read bumps on the head. But I held out for Madame Sybil. He sighed, nodded his head that way and I went. It was a wood framed shack with a couple of windows decked out in silhouettes of a man's head. A man's head with bumps on them. Each bump with a special name. The sign on the door said walk in. I did. Madam Sybil offers herself to meditation. However, she will be with you within this moment in time. That's nice of Madam Sybil. Mind if I sit down? Please. Who are you? Victor. Upon this level. This is the name by which I am known. Victor. Uh huh. Well, I'll tell you. Victory. Reflect inwardly. Seek to attune yourself to the vibration. I've already done that, Victor. You know what? I bet if you unwrap that towel on your head, it'll read Hotel New Yorker. What's your business here, Mac? Police business. You will forgive Madam Sybil, Madam Sybil was lost amongst police. Can't you tell a cop yet, Sybil? What's he want? What do you want here, mister? I understand you paid a deposit on some jewels. You paid the deposit and the jewels were stolen. I like a customer like you. You don't ask questions. You make statements. And all I do is say yes. The easiest kind of customer to have. Now we'll take it off a customer and client basis. You think this dodge is phony, huh? All right. You are. Look at him. Look at Victor. Put your towel on straight, Victor. Let me help you. Hold still. Cut it out, will you? And the grease paint. Every day he forgets to cover one ear. Ever see a man with two different colored ears? Turn around, Victor. Let him see. Okay, okay. Look, mister, I always level with the law. I'm gonna show you. What? Who I really am. Right here in this wall safe. Because I like to level. No secrets from the police, Sybil Spence. That's who I am. See the jewel, Sybil? Lay in the safe too. Want to look? Yeah, Yeah, I do. Nothing. See? On the level. How is it that you can afford $100,000 worth of jewelry, Sybil? Because I got $100,000. More than that. Nine concessions right here in Coney. I got money. There's a law. And why this corny little pitch? Reading heads. I like it. There's a law. The rest of the story. Siblings, like in the papers. I paid a down deposit. Puffman sent the jewels. He says. Hoffman says I didn't get them. Tell him, Victor. Tell the police she didn't get him. And neither Tommy Stafford or Ed Draska showed up. Tell him, Victor. Neither one showed up. Welcome back to headquarters, Danny. Welcome back from the cotton candy and the two foot hot dogs of Coney Island. After these heavenly pleasures, it must be rough to get back into the swing of things with us mere mortals. Rough? Oh, here. I brought you some pinwheels. Aw, gee, Danny, thanks. Gee, Danny, when you blow on them, don't they make a ring around the rose of your pretty colors? They're for the Tataglia children. Huh? Oh, of course. Therefore, the Tataglia children. Whose else children? For a minute you had me. Well, Tataglia, leave us lay aside our childish pleasures and get down to the affairs. At the moment, huh, Danny? If you insist, I. Yeah. This matter of bringing in this messenger, Ed Rascoe, it has not been accomplished. Why? For the simple reason that this aforesaid Ed Rascoe has taken unto himself a powder. He is not in his rooming house nor in his appointed haunts, nor is all points bulletin on him. I want Ed Drasko. Well, naturally. Number one suspect, huh? Such an open and shame. Anything else to Taglio case? No, nothing to bother our pretty little brains about this. Frank Curcio, owner and ticket taker of the roller coaster on which was found the body of the deceased. What about Curcio? Oh, airtight alibi. When he was not taking tickets, he was in a rendezvous with a dancing girl whose blue jay corn plasters had come awry. All checked. Airtight for a mere mortal. Tataglia, you excuse me. Naturally. Thank you, Danny. Clover speaking. You and me, Clover, we got a date. Victor Amalfi and you. Oh, have we? Victor, you'll wear a fresh towel. I like that. Yeah, you and me. And that Drasco. He wants we should come to his dance. Ed Drasco? Yeah, he wants to make a deal about the jewels. He said I should come alone, but being law abiding like. Where? Where's the dance, Victor? Hall of mirrors, back entrance, 12:30 tonight. I can count on you then? Detective Clover. Hello, Detective. Victor Drasco made contact with you yet? He said he'd be here. I haven't seen him. I've been Waiting here, but I haven't seen him. Tell it to me again. Why should Drasco contact you? So simple. A guy steals a hundred thousand dollars worth of jewels, double crosses his employer, kills his buddy. The jewels are hot, he can't get rid of him, so he makes a deal with the madam and me. 25 grand. Why did you call me? Well, like I try to impress you on the phone, I'm honest. I'm double crossing a killer. I call in the cops. You'd like it some other way. Yeah. I thought this hall of mirrors was closed. There's someone in there. Maybe Drasco. Come on. You first. Picture. Yeah, yeah, I know where the lights are. You better follow me, Detective. A guy can get lost in here. Is that you, Victor? Or a mirror? Now there's six of you. I'm the third one from the left. Come on, Victor. I'm right beside you. Drasco must have brought a gun. We're standing here like ducks with an advantage. How does he know which of us is real and which one? A reflection. What are you waiting for, detective? He's shooting. When are you gonna pull your gun? Yeah, I'll do that. But, Turpin, what'll I shoot at? That way. That way. The shot came from right there. Shoot. Shoot. Hey, you're good, Detective. I think you got it. Wait a minute. Okay, let's go over there. That broken mirror. Someone lying on the floor. Yeah, Drasco. Yeah, that's Drasco, all right. How do you know? I saw him at the jewelry store. Hey, you're really good, Detective. One shot and you kill a man. The case is over, huh? Wait a minute. What's to see? Oh. Oh. Looking for the jewels. They on them? They're. They're on them, huh? It's. It's all over, huh? For Drasco. But he lied to you, Victor. No jewels, huh? No jewels. How do you figure it, Victor? A man dies for a lot of jewelry he didn't have. There's this about Broadway. It measures emotion, computes sensation in terms of neon and Mazda. On Broadway, all that glitters is gold. When light screams, it goes well On Broadway. When darkness flares, not so good. But the death of Ed Rasco in a hall of mirrors, that was something else. That measured up almost as good as the violent death of Tommy Stafford on a roller coaster in Coney Island. And the gleam of $100,000 worth of missing jewels. That was dazzling. Worth at least a sack of confetti. Carnival time. That's what it was. Carnival time. Or as Sergeant Gino Tortaglia Put it, Danny, you add this all together and it comes out a three ring circus. With three rings. Yeah. Meet the clown. Turtle. What are you talking, Danny? You're a hero. You kill a thief or murderer, thereby solving a previous murder. In the book that makes you a hero. Clown is for laughing at whom. Maybe Draska didn't mean to be killed. What are you talking? You find him with his gun in his hand. Previous to that, bullets were flying amongst the mirrors in your general direction. At a time like that, you're going to stop to ask yourself, should I or shouldn't I? I was eager to take. If I hadn't been so eager, a man would still be alive. I a man we could talk to so we could be sure. Danny, before you go any further with this selfish torture, explain to me this business of eager. If I played it smart, if I'd shown myself, maybe Drasco wouldn't have been so quick with his gun. I could have waited to take him. By the way, where is his gun? In technical for a routine check. Registry, fingerprints and all the so forth and so forth. The technical does with a gun. Yeah. The list of the missing jewels is enough. It is out, Danny. Which brings me to the tidbit of the day. A tidbit which will bring a smile to your gloom, a ray of sunshine to your. Just a tidbit to Taglia. Of course, we are just in receipt of information, Danny, that a tall Otis is honoring the tank in the Coney island precinct with his presence. I can't tell you how happy that makes me. Wait, let me finish, Danny, before you make another bitter remark. It seems that on a routine perusal of the belongings of said Paul Otis was found on him a diamond brooch which answers to the description of a diamond brooch on the list of the missing jewels. See, Danny? See how wrong you are to doubt me when I am just what the doctor ordered? Stop banging the cell door. The hangover hurts, huh, Paul? You gotta give me time to get used to being in jail. You'll close the door gently next time. Yeah, sure, sure. My name's Clover, Danny Clover. Clover. You're telling me that because you're gonna third degree me, huh? So when you rubber hose me, I can yell stop. Danny Clover. Yeah. All we're going to do is chat. Yeah, yeah, I know, chat. You want a cigarette, Ball your kind with truth serum in it. Yeah, yeah. You cops. Okay, no cigarette. Where'd you get this diamond brooch, eh? You hurt my head with questions like that. Where'd you get it, Paul? Nowhere. I'm suspicion of robbery and I'm stuck with it. Murder. Let me out of here. Let me out of here. Paul. Let me out. Paul. Let me out of here, please. I got a crazy man. Listen to me, Paul. Listen to me. Okay, okay, I'll. I'll listen. But did you. Don't. Don't get close to me. Yeah. Don't touch me. Paul, a man was supposed to deliver this brooch and some more jewelry. A man named Tommy Stafford. He never showed up. He was murdered. I'm listening. I'm listening real good. Go ahead. Go ahead. Tommy Stafford. You know him? No, no, no. How about a man named Ed Drasko? Edrasco? You know, Ed Draskill, Paul? No, I don't know Ed Drasko, but I'm listening. Look, last night you were picked up in Coney, not too far from the scene of Tommy's murder. You had this brooch with you. A brooch that Tommy had a little while before he was killed. What's the story, Paul? After work, I was in a bar with a girl and drinking. And I opened my eyes and I come upon this dream. I am all of a sudden in a tank with broach without girl. What girl? Who is she? Be Morris. Hula type. The type that Hulu's on the midway show on Coney. B. Morris, huh? Okay, Paul. No, no, no. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You're getting too close. Open the door. Get me out of here. I'm crazy, man. I had to pull him away from the cell door. When he was aware that my hands were on him, he screamed again, ran to a corner and with his finger drew a symbol on the air. I took it as a symbol to keep the evil beasties away. It worked. Someone opened the door and took me away from Paul Otis in the early afternoon light. The midway at Coney is a tattered circus poster peeling off an alley wall. The color is drained from it, and the attractions don't care if you do or don't. Back of the fat man who wanted to guess my weight was another man who wanted me to go back with him into an Arabian night for only two bits, two dimes and a nickel quarter of a dollar. Back of him were six tired harem girls on a platform yawning through recorded type music from a Coney type loudspeaker for the price of admission. He pointed out B. Morris, the one with the biggest yawn. I found a chair inside the tent and waited for her. The shield tells me you were asking for Me? Well, now that you see me up close, you can run along, huh, sport? Here, sit down. Talk to you. It thrills you to talk to an artist. An artist like me, huh, sport? Go on, sniff my birthday. Go on, just talk, Bea. Let's talk about Paul Otis. Him. What's the matter, sport? You jealous of poor. Tell Auntie Bea all about it. Just talk, Bea. Let's talk about Paul Otis. Him. What's the matter, sport? You jealous of Paul? Tell Auntie B all about it. I'm a policeman. I want you to talk to me about Paul because we're holding him for murder. Murder? Paul? You must be kidding. Paul hasn't got enough protein to raise his voice, let alone murder. Murder? The murder of Tommy Stafford, the messenger boy on the roller coaster. Why would poor little Paul want to kill a poor little messenger boy or a diamond brooch? Maybe to impress you. Maybe those would be good reasons. Except Paul hasn't got it in him to think him up. Maybe. Ought to know be we found the brooch on him along with the bottle tops. In his pocket we found a diamond brooch. You know him so well, Bea. Where would Paul get a thing like that? I'll tell you. I'll tell you for free. Maybe he got it the same place I got these diamond earrings. Look at him, Fred. Bite him. To him. Come on. Real, genuine, 14 carat diamond. They're on the missing list, Bea. The earrings and the brooch missing from two murdered men. Where'd you get them? This'll make you open your mouth real wide. They were left on my dressing table in a dirty little white box. Eerie, the whole thing. Any, sport? You didn't wonder where they came from? Who asks where diamonds come from? We do, Pete. Policemen do that. Let's go where it's cool and quiet and official and talk like at headquarters. Danny, huh? Here, Danny, I brought you a nice piece of chicken caccador. I built it from my lunchbox you should gnaw on instead of your fingernails. I'm not gnawing on my fingernails. Literally, no, but figuratively. I can see your brain. Devour him to the hub. Go ahead, take the chicken. You eat it. Thanks a lot, Danny. Oh, hey, Danny. Now what with chicken on my mind, I forgot to tell you. Forgot to tell me what? To tell you. I got the report back from Technical about the gun. Quick, huh? All right. What does technical have to say? Here, you. You hold the chicken. I'll read it to Lieutenant Detective Danny Clover from New York Police Department, Ballistics Division. Subject gun type of 38 caliber. Police? Positive. Registry? None. Fingerprint. Prince Nunn. Signed, Marvin Mikva. New York Police Department. Ballistics Division. Huh? Signed, Marvin. No, no, the part about the prince. Huh? Oh, oh, oh. Fingerprints? None. Hey, Danny, how could this Drasco have his mitts on the gun. Then leave no fingerprints, huh? Danny, you got a good question, Gino. Here, take your chicken back. It was the best question of Tartaglia's brilliant career. How could Draskow have shot at me. And left no fingerprints on the gun he held in his bare hand? It was a good question because it could contain within itself a good answer. It could answer why Paul Otis and Bea Morris had stolen jewels on them. It could answer the murder of Tommy Stafford. And maybe even the death of Ed Drasko. And for the answer to a question that already has an answer. You go to a clairvoyant. To someone who reads head bumps like Madame Sibyls in Coney Islands. To her prop boy, Victor Amalfi. Madame Sybil offers herself to meditation. However, she will be with you within this moment. It's a detective. Salaam, Detective. Same to you, Victor. Where's Madam Sybil? Like I told you, in the back room, meditating. If you're here as a client, you'll have to wait for the madam. If you're here to pass the time of day, likewise. You're two times wrong, Victor. I want you and Sybil for murder. You make a hobby of this. You point a finger, say you're a murderer. And this makes a murderer, huh? You got one yesterday, Clover. How many you need to make you happy? You and Sybil. All right, I'll humor you. Whom is whom we have murdered? Tommy Stafford. Maybe at Drasco. Maybe Drasco. You need an aspirin, kid? A hundred thousand dollars worth of jewels for a measly down payment of 10 grand. Good profit. $90,000. And all it cost was the murder of two messenger boys. I could get you by carbon cheap at the price hun, Victor. So easy you take Stafford on the roller coaster, stick a knife in his back. Sybil takes Drasco somewhere else, puts a bullet in him. Or did you do with the jewels, put him in the safe after I left? Let's take a look at the safe, Victor. A little thing. One little thing. I read in the papers you got two birds with stolen diamonds in their mouths. Diamonds the madam bought, never got. You must know about that, Victor. You planted them. You planted them on Paul Otis and B. Two people whose business it was to be near the scene of the crime. It almost Worked. Now, let's look at the safe, huh? First you have to get by Victor. Detective, that ain't gonna be easy. Let's try, shall we? Victor. Are you all right, Mr. Clover? Yeah, real fine. Welcome from the beyond. Civil tonight? The Zodiac said, kill Victor. I'm glad it was Victor. I'm glad it wasn't you, Mr. Clover. When I pointed the gun. I never pointed a gun before, Lucky. Yeah. Okay, Sybil, give me the gun. What for? Ballistics will want to match it against the slugs in the body. But you saw me shoot Victor. The gun. All right, all right. Here. You saw me. I killed him. What do you need the gun for? Ed Drasko. I'm not real sure, understand, Sybil, but I'm waving a finger at you. This is the gun that killed Ed Drasko. Are you talking about you killed Drasco? The paper said you killed Ed Drasko. You did, Sybil. It figures that way. Drasko was dead even before I walked into the hall of mirrors. Because his fingerprints weren't on his gun. You can't make fingerprints by resting a gun in the open hand of a dead man. Not trying to trick me. So it figures. Civil. Like I said, it did. It was you shooting up the hall of mirrors. Not trying to hit anyone. Just shooting it up so I'd take a shot in the dark and just happen to kill Ed Drasko. Mr. Clover, brother Jewel said that in the safe. It weren't in there the last time we opened it. Let's see now. Open the safe. Go ahead, open it. No. No. You can't have them. Take it easy. No, they're mine. I kill them. They're mine. Stop fighting. It's no use. They're not mine, are they? Let's go civil. Daytime never lingers on Broadway they shut it off by lighting the spectaculars. Then Broadway's happy. It leans into the night and screams. You turn a corner and run toward it. It's right there waiting for you. Start screaming too, kid, because it'll explode right in your face. It's Broadway. The most violent. The lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway. My beat. Broadway's my Beat. Stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. With Charles Calvert as Tartaglia. The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. The musical score was composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. Included in the cast tonight were Byron Kane, Betty Lou Gerson, Sylvia Sims, Jerry Hausner, Jack Crucian and Peter Lee. Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gut of the prison of the grave. There's no other end. But they never learn. From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous character in the Adventures of Philip Marlowe. Now with Gerald Moore starred as Philip Marlow. We bring you tonight's exciting story, the Uneasy Head. Hey, flattery, you running a body, neglecting the regular clientele. Okay, okay. Everybody relax. Remember them. Also serve. Will only stand around and wait. I'm calling them like I see them. Now you try again, chum. Another shot. Yeah. Say, Slattery, you happen to know a guy named Sammy Archer? I was supposed to meet him here at 6. That was an hour ago. There you are, chairman. Another shot, yours friend. Rye. Wander on the side. Rye. And a little help. Flattery. I asked you a question. Listen, chum. I sell whiskey, I sell gin, I sell beer. Pretzels I give away. But only pretzels. If you're busting with questions, try Louis, Louie. And a punk in the corner there, the guy with the patent leather hair. Louie welcomes visitors. Now you want to pay for this drink? Oh, wouldn't miss it for the world. Mind it for me, will you? A round boy. I'm gonna forget on the lady. Your name Louie? That's me. Flattery tells me you might have some information I want. Could be. What race? Don't want any dope on ponies, Louie. I'm looking for a guy. A guy like Holt Archer. Sammy Archer. Do you know him? No. What's the matter? You welch on a bet? No. Well, thanks anyway, Louie. I got something good at Beaumont. If you heck, we'll be here twice. Wait. Once around. Coming up now. No luck, eh, chum? I thought maybe Louie could help you. He knows everyone in town. Yeah, well, here's the Sammy Archer, a guy I never met. El salon, chum. Yeah, yeah. Don't go away mad. Oh, not a chance, Slattery. After all you. Hey, what kind of scotch was that? Tastes. Tastes like boiled cabbage heads. Slattery, what did you a drink? It was dope. Are you no good too, Tim? For a long time, a hundred years maybe, I felt good. The temple was beautiful. Chinese beautiful. Everywhere. Lacquered woodwork that had the deep bottomless luster of a pigeon blood ruby. And a thousand shelves filled with 10,000 smiling ivory Buddhas. And the lovely streamlined dancing girl beaming in a white silk Mandarin robe. Waiting my pleasure. But then suddenly, the hundred years ran out. The lack of woodwork was a bar. The boulders, lines of whiskey bottles. A white silk mandarin gown and apron the lovely dancing girl, Slattery. Easy. Easy now. Yeah, yeah. Try this. It'll bring you around. Yeah, yeah. Thanks a. Oh, it's you. How dumb do you think I am? Slattery. Hey, hey, hey. Easy. No. No way. You got it wrong, chum. I didn't sleep with that Mickey. Come on now, lay back. You're gonna be okay. How long have I been out? Oh, about an hour. You're in the storeroom behind the bar. Now just take it slow, Mr. Marlowe. How do you know my name? Well, I checked your wallet when you folded, chum. I saw you with a big shot private dick from Hollywood. I gave you my vote. Really? Oh, yeah, yeah. I heard all about you, Mr. Marlowe. The time you nailed that lousy Paul Miles who was hitting all the bars for some old time protection. Yeah, but you were. You should have said who you was. Oh, hey, Slattery, got any idea who got to my drink? No, it must have been the bird next to you. Rye and water on the side, you know. Here, come on, help me out. Yeah, sure. Oh, that is, you know. There we go. No, no, never seen him before. He shoved off when you went to see Louis. But he looked like Slattery. Think. Oh, well, he smoked a cigar. Yeah, he had kind of a red face and was wearing a camel hair overcoat. Oh, yeah? Yeah, he was nervous. He kept playing with a book of matches. He tore them out one at a time and then he bent them up. Bent them up, huh? Yeah. You don't know his name, where he hangs out? No, zero, chum. Except that Louie heard him ask someone about how to get to palm springs. But Mr. Marlow, I do know about Sammy Archer. You do? Yeah. I didn't want to Talk up before Mr. Marlowe because I didn't know you, Slattery. Where can I find Archer? Well, you ain't putting him on the spot for someone? No, no, nothing like that. He called my office today. Said he had some kind of a business deal with a guy he didn't trust. Wanted me to meet him here at the bar, get the details and play bodyguard. Now, come on. Tell me, Slattery, who is Archer? Where can I find him? He's a second story man, Mr. Marlow. He's a. You mean that? Yeah, yeah, he knocks off fancy places. Beverly Hills. Most of the time he's strictly a prowler. Oh, fine. Well, you could probably Tag him over. 31 West Grand. He's got a basement apartment there. But look, you. You ain't gonna be careless about the dope I gave out. Are you now? Don't worry, I'm not gonna work for him, Slattery. I still hand pick my clients. Well, then why are you going there For a lead, Slattery? A lead on a nervous guy in a camel hair coat. You see, I also hand picked my enemies. 31 W. Grand Ave. Was a dirty stone tenement propped up by a dirty stone stoop. A cracked pavement led to the basement apartment which showed a fuzzy slice of yellow light where the door was cracked open inches. So when I knocked, I was ready for almost anything, just as long as we on the seamy side. But I didn't expect it to come from overhead. You're wasting your time, big boy. When Sammy leaves his door open, you shouldn't bother knocking. You mean he's out? No, I mean he's in. And he's got the blind staggers. I know I heard him falling over the curly sir. But go ahead, see for yourself. If you'll pardon Appearances, the big sclab. The lady was right. A tinny radio led me to the basement room where I found the two scarred wicker chairs and a single end table on hand, turned over, drawers open and overflowing, pieces of discarded clothing everywhere. And in the middle of all that, sprawled along the edge of a threadbare couch that was weak in the springs, Sammy Archer. He was facing me, eyes closed, and wearing a faded blue bathrobe two sizes too big for him. And next to one hand that rested on the floor was an empty gin bottle sitting on a clipping torn out of a fashion magazine. On one side, an ad for a Bendix Automatic washing. On the other, a picture of a diamond tiara, a jeweled crown, which the caption said belonged to Mrs. Bessie Dunsmuir of Palm Springs, California's most celebrated hostess. Now it was a good time to awaken mine host by shaking. Well, hey, Sammy Archer. Come on, pull yourself together. I should have known better. You can't wake a dead man by shaking him. Especially when he's got a knife buried in the middle of his back remedy. Speaking. Bill Marlow. Remini. Hiya, Phil. Tribune. Got time for a few questions? Now we're up to our ears with the Dunsboro story. What do you got, Phil? Beauty, Beast, a traffic accident. Skinny guy with a golf ball complexion and the name Sammy Archer. Ever hear of him? Sure. A two time loser out of Jollyhead Jewelry, teamed with a French named Christy Roach. Roach, huh? Say, tell me, Tony, what is he. Hey, wait a minute, Remini. What did you just Say about Nun's Muir. Oh. Oh, that. You catch PM Sheets? No. Someone got away with a precious tiara last night. Was insured for 100 grand. They tag anyone for it? Not yet, but they're working on it. Seems that a gardener left her Palm Springs last shut at the same time as a crown of diamonds. Gardiner, huh? Yeah, I was working under a phony name. Well, this. This Christy Roach. What's he look like? Oh, big red face. Where's a cigar? Front center. Thanks. Now I'm really getting someplace. That means what, Phil? Two feet from the corpse. Remini, there's a textbook on gardening. Corpse? What corpse? Where are you? Marlow? 31 West Grand Avenue. Where somebody stabbed Sammy Archer to death. Now listen, Remini, if you sit on this a while, I think I may be able to wrap it all up for you After a quick trip to Palm Springs. Why? I use ass of the law. What's your angle, Phil? A very personal one, kid. Like what? Like a Mickey that shredded the lining of my stomach. I don't like that kind of treatment. It's bad for the ego. I'll call you later. Goodbye. The trip to Palm Springs was two and a half hours of hard driving through sterile wasteland. And there was plenty of time for me to add what always came out to the same thing. Sammy Archer, posing as a gardener, swiped the Duns Muertiara to pedal through Christy Roach, whom he feared. But Roach had double crossed him in a permanent sort of way, taking care of me. And then headed for Palm Springs. Yeah, but there I got stopped each time. Why Palm Springs? Less, of course, Archer's apartment turned inside out meant that the tiara was still hidden someplace in the desert hamlet. And that really would make it a cinch to find. Yes, sir? I'd like to see Mrs. Bessie Dunsmuhle, please. My name is Philip Marlow. Police or gentlemen of the press are no longer welcome. Good evening, sir. Steady, Jeeves. I have information about the tiara. Now tell that to your mistress or you'll only be able to look down that long nose through one eye. This way, sir, if you please. The interior of the Dunsmuir shanty was strictly colossal. From a foyer the size and shape of the Union Station to a plush leather lined den that was about as cozy as a. As a parking lot. And Mrs. Bessie Dunsmuir herself fitted perfectly. Because as the renowned party giver glided into the room, I saw enough jewelry on her arms, ears and neck that match Tiffany carrot for carrot. She listened intently while I brought her up to date. After that she ushered me into an uncomfortable chair, rang for long nose and then asked the sensible question. Mr. Marlowe, this Sammy Archer, what does he look like? Well, he was thin, Mrs. Dunsmuir, and Sandy hair. Does that fit your ex gardener? Precisely. Now perhaps we're actually going to make some progress. The police here haven't and. Come in, Martin. Oh, I'll let cure Mr. Marlowe. Oh, no, thanks. Thank you, Martin. Mrs. Dunsmuir, did you ever notice a red faced man who smokes cigars hanging around talking to Watcher, perhaps? No, I never did. Did you, Martin? No, Madam, I don't believe I did. Excuse me, madam. Good evening. Dunsmore Edwards. Who's calling please? One moment, sir. Mr. Endicott, madam. Endicott? I don't seem to know any Endicott. Hello? I'm sorry, Mr. Endicott, but I don't seem to recollect boss, you. Well, yes, yes, of course. I'll see you tonight. Here. Goodbye. What's wrong, Mrs. Anderson? Oh, just some more trouble over the estate. Ever since my husband passed on three years ago, we've had a mountain of trouble with his investment. I see. Well, about the tiara, Mr. Marlowe. Do what you can about locating it. You'll be rewarded handsomely by the insurance company. If you're successful, I'm sure they stand to lose a hundred thousand dollars. Yeah, but can't you tell me anything about Archer? I'm afraid not. I don't believe I ever said more than two words to him. Now excuse me, Mr. Marlowe, and thank you for your interest. Martin, please show the gentleman out. Outside. I chalked the Dunsmuir interview off at face value. Proof positive that Sammy Archer and the sticky fingered ex gardener were one in the same. Then I headed for town on the first public phone, which was at a mobile gas station. There I swapped a $10 bill for a pocket full of quarters and started calling people back in LA who might know more about Christy Roach. The kind of connections he could have in Palm Springs. But after four near misses I quit and stepped aside to let a big man with a beefy face that belonged on an English bulldog take his turn. However, he had other ideas and he pointed them out bluntly with a shiny automatic. I wonder if you could help me, Sonny. I'm looking for a diamond tiara. You gotta be kidding. I wear a fedora beside it. Right there. I have news for you, sonny. While you were gabbing into the tube there, the station attendant left closed shop, went into the bar next Door out of earshot. So. So we're alone. And that means I'm gone to do very little. Stay right there, Marlow. Where? Where? Where? Christy Roach, Red face, cigar and all. Glad to see you. Shut up. Come on, we're getting out of here. Without our buddy then? Don't worry about him, Milo. He'll keep that way. Maybe a lot longer than you will. In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, every Wednesday night, cbs, the Network of the Stars brings you Groucho Marx in his dizzy quiz. You Bet yout Life. Pretty Here. You Bet yout Life, starring Groucho Marx. This Wednesday night on most of these same CBS stations, as well as Dr. Christian and that bright new musical show, the ABCs of Music. Now with our star, Gerald Moore, the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, the Uneasy Head. From the way Christy Roach had brought his gun barrel down on the bulldog scalp, I know he met it when he jammed the same gun into the small of my back and marched me to my car. He didn't relax until we were driving down a dark side street toward the center of town. Well, kid, you jumped right out of the frying pan into the fire. You should have taken that first hint. I tossed you the mickey. Yeah, that was. That was real cute, but it was too subtle. Christy. I didn't really peg you till I found Sammy Archer. Oh, it's too bad about Sammy. That was more or less about a mistake. Oh, sure. You only intended to cob your initials. The knife slip. No, no, no, no, no. No slips, kids. At the time, I thought Sammy had tried to pull a fast one on me. But I found out later he was just stupid. He had a great thing, and he was just too dumb to see it. As for you, turn east the first chance you get. And don't run any stop signs, you understand? Where are we going? Oh, no place in particular. Just so it's nice and quiet, you know. You don't know when to quit, Marlow. So now you're just one of the loose ends I've got to tuck in before I clean up my business here. Take it easy on the corner. You told me to turn east the first chance. I also told you to mind your man. Busting my wrist isn't gonna help my driving much. It'll be worse the next time. I've got a lot of ground to cover yet tonight, and I want it smooth. That's too bad, because it's. There's a bump coming up fast right now. We picked Up a tail. Take a look. Cops. Yeah, cops call it laughing boy. You're the skipper. We race him out of town or do I pull over? Pull over. Pull over. Don't know what that beep is, but play it straight, kid, because if it comes to shooting, you'll be the first to drop. Hey, can't you read, buddy? You're on a one way street. You're telling me, Dan. Only you're going the wrong way. Yeah, I know. Well, you see my friend. What about him? Well, he's in a hurry, officer. I was taking him as far as the corner there. He said it was okay to come this way. I didn't. I'm a stranger here. Also, you're a big boy now. You should make up your own mind. You're so right, Mac. If you're in a hurry, you can go. But you better get out and walk. Thank you. Your friend here is going to be tied up for quite a spell. All right, let me see your license. Maybe the limb of the law and I should have nailed him right then and there. But there were still too many loose ends and I wanted Christy Roach to clear them up for me. So I watched him walk out of sight while I listened with half an ear to a lecture on blind drivers. Well, it was a small enough price to pay for the service rendered, so I thanked the officer for the ticket and then headed back to the filling station. And a bulldog with a headache who might be in a movie. But when I got there, I found he hadn't waited around. After that, I checked the neighborhood and was 15 minutes getting to first base, which turned out to be the bar of a French restaurant across the street run by one Monsieur Jean Corre, a high octane number who apparently had overheard a phone call earlier. I immediately notified the police. Nothing, they said. Believe me, my friends, the lolliest gendarme in Paris would have more sense. An important clue. Never, I tell you. Our police. Mr. Coray, can I see you a minute? I. But of course, monsieur. What is this? Well, it better be in private, huh? It's about the Dunsmuhle case. Ah. Step this way, monsieur. All right. You naturally are a detective. Naturally. Now, look, I understand you overheard a phone call. Oh, yes, about an hour ago, a suspicious man called the Dunsmuir place from here. What he looked like? Ah, I am desolated, monsieur. I do not know. You said it was an important clue. I assume it was important. In a case as big as this, anything may be important this small. You made your point. You made Your point? Go ahead. Yeah, he had. He made an appointment. I only overheard, Monsieur. The telephone is back this way in the alcove, out of sight. I was passing by right here when I heard a man ask for the Dunsmuhr residence. He talked to his party and made an appointment. I couldn't hear where or when, so I went on about my business. But suddenly a memory exploded like a bomb in my head. Bessie Dansmuhleu, the owner of the stolen tiara. I rushed like this, monsieur, to the phone and. Oh, my pardon. And. But he was gone, monsieur. I called the police at once. The rest I can fill in. Now. Tell me something else, Mr. Corre. Did you happen to notice a man with a cut on his head around here a while ago? A cut? Yeah. Why, yes. One who looked as ugly as Satan himself. I saw that you were in the washroom. Ah, you mean you suspect. Well, not exactly, no. But he's connected. Where can I find him? You ask me, monsieur. He was sick. I tried to help him, but he refused and left. You have no idea where he went? No. But wherever it was, I'll wager he was too wobbly to get there. Monsieur. All right. In that case, I better make a quick call. Hasn't had a new husband for two whole years, my dear. I can't imagine how she keeps up that elaborate front of hers. Why, do you know it? You what, Madame? Hang up the telephone at once. I insist, Vitimont. I beg your pardon, in the name of the police. Monsieur is a detective. I demand you clear the line. I've paid my nickel and. Never mind. Skip it. But I would like to know about those bent matches on the floor. What do they mean, monsieur? I better skip the call and get going fast. You've been a big help, Cory. Maybe I can get you the quarter guerre. The bent matches that littered the floor under the phone meant that the man who had made an appointment to meet with Bessie Dunsmore had been the fence, Christy Roach. And to top it off, she'd lied about it. Didn't make any sense, but I added it to the rest of the question marks and made a beeline for Bessie's mansion. I parked a block away from the place, walked back and let myself in through an iron gate at the side, wound up in front of a car, half hidden in a clump of hibiscus bushes. A man was leaning in the open door with a match in his hand, reading the registration on the steering post. It was the bulldog I'd seen first. The gas station, when he Saw me, his hand dived under his jacket for a gun, but I was on him before he could get it out. You do for another dose of the same, buster. Unless I get some fast answers, the time for games is over. And even a private detective can run out of patience. You're a private dick. Yeah, You. I don't get it. This car here belongs to the guy who helped you fence Christy Roach. And if he's inside, I got. Roach didn't help me. And you've got to do nothing until I find out about you. Who are you? Temple Front. Temple Amblin Insurance Company. Oh, no. We're covering the missing tiara, only something's haywire. An insurance investigator. Yeah. Yep. I'm not gonna make it, fella. My head. You better get in there and. And stopped. When he passed out, he sagged against me like a sack of wet wash. I stretched him out on the grass and after one look, knew there was nothing more I could do. I went over to the house and quietly tried locked doors all the way around until I came to an open one. In the butler's quarters, a bed lamp was on. So I braced myself for another meeting with Martin. When he came to, the door, was in his night shirt. As soon as enough of his chin was showing, I swung. It was a distinct pleasure. I stepped over him and went through his rooms and on up the long hall of the main part of the house. I finally located Bessie in the leather lined den. She was alone, but judging from the rate she was burning up, the jittery cigarette in her hand, she expected trouble at any moment. Marlow. How did you get in here? Why are you here? Just checking up on a lie, Bessie. Lie? I don't know what you're talking about. A late day tonight, incidentally. He's due any second now. His car is outside on my ground. Yeah? Yeah. Surprised? What's so important about that? Now, look, you better tell me all about it, Bessie. No. Get out of here. Get out. Later. Right now this setup is so full of holes, even the truth is leaking out. First, roach the fence, figuring Sammy Archer, the guy who swiped your tiara, was pulling a fast one and he changed his mind and got a new angle. Second, you brushed me off because actually you're afraid of finding the tiara. And third, the insurance company that's covering your loss is suspicious. It's cruel, but it can only add one way. Like the tiara that was stolen from here yesterday is worthless. Are you insane? It is famous, fabulous. Worth a king's ransom. Yeah. The original Maybe not. The cheap duplicate may be fuzzy on the details, but the big picture's easy. You dismantled the original and sold it. Probably quite a while ago. But not before you made a duplicate to keep up appearances so gossips wouldn't know you were going broke. Also, you kept up the insurance on it for the same reason. And the duplicate was stolen. People knew you'd been robbed, so you were forced to claim the insurance. But you knew that if the fake was recovered legally you'd be prosecuted by the insurance company and disgraced. Sure, Christy Roach knows that too. He's coming here for blackmail, isn't he? Why else? Come on, Bessie. You might as well. You might as well. Might as well what? What are you looking at? A cigar butt. There on the floor. Burned a hole in your rug. What happened to make Roach drop a cigar, Bessie? Where is he? I don't know what you'll. Stay away from that desk. I mean it, Bessie. Next time it's for keeps. Now stay back. Where is he? In the closet there. I didn't know what else to do. You are right. About the blackmail? About everything. I had to kill him. He'd have wrecked my life. Yeah, just your way of life. That was top heavy anyway. I guess so. But I thought I had to have it that way. Well, at least I'll give them all a big laugh on the way out. Bessie Dunsmuir is a great entertainer. Bessie Dunsmuh, the world's greatest hostess invited the police and reporters out herself. The fake tiara was found in the back of Roach's car and she wore it cocked over one eye for the benefit of the press, the photographers and her friends. By the time that party was over, it was almost dawn. Bessie was right. The papers came out and the giggles began. But Fred Temple, drinking coffee under a head full of bandages, didn't see much to laugh at. It's pathetic. Something awful sad. There someplace. Model. I agreed. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, Even a phony one. The adventures of Philip Barlow bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character. Star Gerald Moore are produced and directed by Norman McDonnell and are written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast were Verna Felton, Wally Mayer, Lou Krugman, Ben Wright, John Dana, Edgar Barrier and Charlotte Lauren. The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Orant. Now, a special announcement for Philip Marlowe fans next week. Philip Marlowe will be heard Wednesday night at 10pm Eastern Daylight Savings time. Be sure and be with us again next week on Wednesday evening when Philip Marlow says. This time there was an innocent aboard, a noisy corpse and a quiet killer. But before I knew which was which, I'd mixed with all three while going 70 miles an hour. Now that warm weather's here, many of us will be doing more driving and more walking. It's the duty of every motorist and every pedestrian to take every precaution so that we may cut down on the terrible injury and death toll exacted by traffic accidents. These accidents don't just happen, they're man made. Somebody causes them. Make sure that you're not responsible for a traffic accident. Walk and drive carefully. The life you save may be your this is CBS where Philip Marlowe will come to you on Wednesday night. The Columbia Broadcasting System. That's Case Closed for this week. Visit relicradio.com for more. More Broadway is My Beat, Philip Marlo, all of the other podcasts and our Shoutcast stream. There's lots to listen to there, all for free. Thanks to your support. If you'd like to help support this and all of the shows, visit donate. Relicradio.com or click on one of the support links on the website. Thanks to those who have thanks for joining me this week. Be back next Wednesday with another hour of mystery on Case Closed.