← Down These Mean Streets (Old Time Radio Detectives)
Down These Mean Streets (Old Time Radio Detectives)
Episode 627 - Mohr Bang for Your Buck (Philip Marlowe, The Whistler, & Suspense)
02:06:12
“Get this and get it straight!” We’re celebrating Gerald Mohr - the radio actor who brought a two-fisted intensity to Philip Marlowe - in honor of his birthday on June 11. He was one of the best stars of the era, and his performance makes The...
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Gerald Moore
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. The story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. The Adventures of Sam Spade Detective the Adventures of the Saint Starring Vincent Price. Bob Bailey in the exciting adventures of the man with the action packed expense account, America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator, yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Hello and welcome to down these Mean Streets with more Old Time radio detectives and crime solvers. This week we're saluting one of the greats of the Old Time radio era, Gerald Moore, whose voice opens this podcast each and every week with his opening salvo. Narration from the Adventures of Philip Marlowe. Moore played Raymond Chandler's private detective on the air from 1948 until 1951. And though Marlowe had been played on radio previously by Oscar winner Van Heflin, Moore made the role his own. Gerald Moore as Philip Marlowe is on my Mount Rushmore of Radio Detective stars alongside Howard Duff as Sam Spade, Bob Bailey as Johnny Dollar and Dick Powell as Richard Diamond, Private Detective. But Philip Marlowe was just one role Gerald Moore played on the air. He also did detective stints as Archie Goodwin in four episodes of Nero Wolf opposite Sydney Green street. And he recorded an audition show to play Johnny Dollar. He logged dozens of appearances on the Whistler and he showed off his comedy chops on the Jack Benny Program, My Friend irma and our Ms. Brooks, where he had a recurring role as the amorous high school French teacher Monsieur Leblanche. Today we'll salute Mr. Moore with a pair of his Philip Marlo adventures. The Easy Mark originally aired on CBS on January 29, 1949, and the Long Arm from February 7, 1953. We'll follow those with a pair of shows where Gerald Moore plays characters on the wrong side of the law. First lady with a Key from the Whistler, originally aired on CBS on April 2, 1950. And then a Good and Faithful Servant, an episode of Suspense where Moore co stars with Jack Benny. It's the story of a mild mannered department store clerk who pulls off a $50,000 robbery and who's pressed into an encore performance when some other employees discover his secret. But first it's off to Los Angeles to prove prove that crime is a sucker's road with Gerald Moore as Philip Marlowe. We'll kick things off with the Easy Mark right after these messages. I'd like to tell you folks about Kraft's Golden Cheese Food Velveeta Velveeta is such good eating. Just taste that grand rich yet mild cheddar cheese flavor. And Velveeta is so good for you. It's rich in important food values from milk itself for swell tasting snacks, for good hearty sandwiches, for thrifty, easy hot dishes. It's smart to keep stocked with Velveeta. Get it tomorrow in the handy quarter pound package or in the economical two pound loaf. The cheese food of top quality Velveeta is made only by Kraft. Your best bet for hot breakfast is Quaker Oats. The giant of the cereals is Quaker Oats. Delicious, nutritious, makes you feel ambitious. The giant of the cereals is Quaker Oats. Yes, if you want to be a star in sports and school activities, make your hot cereal Quaker Oats. Because Quaker Oats helps grow the stars of the future. You get more growth, more endurance from oatmeal than from any other whole grain cereal. Remember, Quaker and Mother's Oats are the same to every woman listening tonight, I want to say a special word about making every dinner or supper you serve taste better. I want to urge you to start serving Roma Wine with your meals. It's simple, the cost is very, very little and it works magic in making food more enjoyable. You can serve Roma wine with any meal or any time in any kind of glass you wish. Serve it chilled, try different kinds of Roma wine until you find those you enjoy most of all. Try hearty red Roma California Burgundy or the delicately delicious Roma California Sauterne. The cost is mere pennies a glassful, but you will find even a pickup supper tastes like a banquet. Get Roma wines today and if your dealer is temporarily out of them, please try again soon. Just ask for R O M A Roma Wines, America's largest selling wines made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. I dedicate this program to the fight against crime. Not merely crimes of violence and crimes of dishonesty, but but crimes of intolerance, discrimination and bad citizenship. Crimes against America. I was hired to find a blackmailer, and I did. But first I found a badly beaten Adonis, a Jezebel with an accent and a man who had been an easy mark for murder. From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous character as CBS presents the Adventures of Philip Marlowe. And now with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlo, we bring you tonight's exciting story, the Easy Mark. I'd spent a dull day on a duller subject, which was don't get caught with your income tax return down at midnight, March 15, after calling time for a thick steak designated to bolster the stamina of a private detective, but nevertheless non deductible, I reluctantly headed back to my office, where I found both my conscience and the long form 1040, still waiting, which meant there was no way out. The dull day was going to stretch on into the night. But then I got a break because my telephone rang and the call was from one Mrs. Corey Gilbert, a prospective client who wanted action. In a hurry, Marlow, You've got to move fast. I just found out that my husband, Ross, will be at 3806 Melrose Avenue in 20 minutes. And I know that means trouble. Well, just for size, Mrs. Gilbert, how do you spell trouble? With a capital B, as in blackmail? There's no time for details now. Just get to that address and find out who Ross is meeting with. Only hurry, Marlow, please. Well, hurry after. What? Mrs. Gilbert, I've never met your husband. Remember? Oh. Oh, yes. Well, he's tall, dark eyes, dark hair, very handsome. And the blackmailer? Short, stocky and repulsive. I suppose I've never seen the blackmailer. All right, Mrs. Gilbert, where can I reach you? Well, I live at 439 and a half, Ogden Drive. The phone number is Gladstone 8195. 8195. All right, Mrs. Gilbert. I'll call you. Thanks. Oh, and Marlow? Yeah? Hurry, will you? You see, I. I love my husband. I was a little more than 20 minutes finding the address on Melrose when I finally pulled up and parked away from the place. I figured being late didn't matter because number 3806 turned out to be an unfinished house set deep in an acre of building materials. I was about to head for a telephone and get an explanation from a confused lady named Corey Gilbert when a lot of noise from what would someday be a living room changed my mind. Then I knew that my client had the right address after all. Because there, in the pale light of a slice of moon, taking the last of an awful beating from a thin man with a thick beard and a lot of muscle, was Ross Gilbert. Dark eyes and dark hair, like she said, but no longer very handsome. Killer. Don't hit me again. Stop worrying, Gilbert. I'm almost through with you. Except for this. A present from Nanette. And just one more from Nanette. That last punch stacked Ross Gilbert onto a pile of rough lumber like he was another one by 12. As he slowly scraped to the floor, unconscious, thick beard dusted himself off, lightly jerked at his tie and stepped out of the opening reserved for a future front door. I started over to help Ross Gilbert. But then I remembered that my client wanted to know who her husband was meeting and why not, how hard or fast he could swing. So I decided for the time being to play it quiet. When Thickbeard got into his car, I got into mine. I followed him all the way to Beverly Hills, where he pulled to a stop in front of the Camden Arms Court. I parked, lights out, and watched him strut up a flagstone walk and knock on the door of a bungalow, number four, which was dark. When he knocked again, and it stayed dark, he took an envelope out of his pocket, wrote something on it, and jammed it into the mailbox. Then he got back into his car and started away fast. I walked up to the bungalow and helped myself to Thickbeard's empty envelope. On one side, scrawled in pencil and smudged, was the telephone number Sunset 316 76. On the other, payment delivered. Okay. Plumber. Plumber, huh? I shoved a message into my pocket, struck a match and started looking for a name on the front door. But then a cab pulled up and a moment later I had helped. I can be of some assistance, perhaps. Yes. I. I was just. Oh, Nanette. Oui. Nanette Lamarque. But I do not know you, monsieur. No, no, you don't. I. I think if you will stop staring and begin talking, we will do much better. You argue. Philip Marlowe, a friend of plumber's. He asked me to deliver a message for him. Do I go on? Of course, Mr. Marlowe. But please, come inside. It is so much nicer there. Nanette was so right about it being nicer. Inside. There were lights, and that made it easier to see that the lady with the thick fur French accent and the gorgeous waistline was something that could have mustered her own foreign legion. She was narrow green eyes and open red lips, topped by a lot of close cropped, soft brown curls that kept running into each other. And for a dress, she was wearing about a quarter of a mile of draped chiffon that in the right places fitted a little closer than her own skin. When I told her what I claimed had been a message from Plummer himself, she purred her thanks and started to mix me a drink. When I brought up the subject of blackmail, she stopped abruptly, spilling a bottle of perfectly good Kentucky Tavern all over the table. Blackmail? What do you mean, Mallow? Extortion, honey. The malpractice of getting a lot for knowing a little. It's not nice. You are swinging wild now, Mon cher. Maybe. But if it doesn't bother you, I'll stay right with it. Because I'd like to know why you and Plummer, who have such an easy mark, insist on throwing rocks. What easy mark are you talking about? A tall, dark and used to be a handsome guy named Ross Gilbert. Ross Soda Marlowe? Yeah, but don't make it too sweet, honey. I can't take it that way. Nanette will be very careful not to make it too sweet. There. Tell me, mon cher, when did you last see Plamer? Before tonight, I mean. I'm not sure. I think it was at the fights over at the Legion Stadium last week. How do I get my drink? Oui, mon cher, you will get your drink in your face. Liar. Tell me, Frenchy, is that Pearl handle 32, considered the very latest along the Champs Elysees. You have lied to me, mon ami. You see, Plummer only arrived in Los Angeles the day before yesterday for the first time in his life. All right, I made a mistake about seeing Plummer at the fights last week. Now why don't you put away the gun and we'll talk about Ross Gilbert. Ross Gilbert is a man I hate with all my heart. A man I could kill right this minute. And that Marlowe goes for anyone connected with him. So now get out. Oh, without even so much as an au revoir? I reserve au revoir for my friends, Marlow. Good night. Hello, Marlo. Mrs. Gilbert. Is Ross all right? Ross isn't here, Marlow. What happened to him? He ran into an ugly beating at that address on Melrose. Something nasty from out of town named Plummer is responsible. Ever hear of him? And or an imported jezebel called Nanette Lamarck? No, I haven't. But what about Ross? What's wrong with him? Nothing that a pound of beefsteak and enough liniment can't cure. But before we Worry about Ross, Mrs. Gilbert, one more thing. It's a phone number I found on the back of an envelope that belonged to Plummer. Number is Sunset 31676. What? Somebody you know? Yes, someone I know very well. It's the telephone number of my ex husband, Emory Marsh. Emory Marsh, huh? Fancy dress designer on Wilshire. That's right. But what's he got to do with all this? Emory only met Ross once in Mexico. A party at Ensenada. Yeah, well, look, Mrs. Gilbert, why don't we postpone collecting Ross until I find out a little more. Where does your ex husband Marsh live? In Santa Monica. But there's a good chance that he's still at his place on Wilshire. He does most of his work at night. Well, then Wilshire Boulevard's my next stop. I'll try to make it a quick one. Goodbye. Emory Marsh's place on Wilshire was an expensive shop with a single velvet lined show window that was home for a beautiful mannequin wearing an evening gown that was drop at the first sneeze. And after I spent five minutes thumping on a plush leather upholstered portal, a light finally clicked on someplace inside and a moment later, Emory Marsh opened the door. He was tall, 45, sandy haired, and looked less like a dress designer than I did. So after following his tweet back into an inner sanctum that was combed plywood behind Chinese modern furniture, I decided to play it almost straight. Now, Mr. Marlowe, what can I do for you? Well, it's a little too early to tell. I'm a private detective, Mr. Marsh. And I'm working for your ex wife, Corey Gilbert. Corey? Mm. Is she in trouble, Mr. Marlowe? No, no, close to it. Tell me, Mr. Marsh, when you were last over to Nanette Lamarque's place at Camden Arms, when was that? Nanette Lamar? Yeah. I've never heard of her. Nor a man named Plummer. Nor a man named Plummer. Who are they? Well, in the order I tossed them out. A mademoiselle with a touchy temper and a thug who needs a shave. I don't understand. How do they concern me? Well, maybe they don't. But your telephone number turned up on Plummer. Both Plummer and Nanette are tied onto a man who at this moment is probably picking himself up off the floor of an unfinished house at 3806 Melrose Avenue. His name, Mr. Marsh, is Ross Gilbert. Gilbert? Yes, that's right. What do you know about him? Very little. I only met him once at the Riviera Pacifico. Riviera Pacifico? The hotel at Ensenada in Mexico. Matter of fact, it was the same night that he met Cory. Which didn't make you very happy. No, you've got it wrong. Corrie and I were already divorced. The three of us meeting was nothing more than an accident. And when Ross and Corey parlayed that accident into marriage, were you still smiling? Better than that, Mr. Marlowe. When that happened a month ago, I was grinning. You see, until then, I had been paying Corey $1,200 a month alimony for two and a half years. And Corey gave all that up for love. And Ross Gilbert, huh? Ross Gilbert isn't Exactly. A pauper, Mr. Marlowe. No, I guess not. Blackmailing a pauper doesn't add up. What did you say, Mr. Marlowe? I said, putting the bite on somebody who has nothing is like sucking a lollipop with a cellophane on it. You get action, but no results. You see? Now tell me, why does the word blackmail come home to roost? Mr. Marsh, you wouldn't happen to know who the guilty party is, would you? No, Mr. Marlowe. And what's more, if I did, I certainly wouldn't keep that sort of thing to myself. Oh, no, I don't think you would. Well, thanks anyway, Mr. Marsh. You've been a big help. I'm glad. And if I can be of any further help, don't hesitate to call on me, Mr. Marlowe, please. I won't, Mr. Marsh. You can depend on it. All the way from Wilshire Boulevard to Mrs. Gilbert's place on Ogden Drive, I kept wondering who wanted how much out of Ross Gilbert and why. About 20 minutes later, when I pulled up in front of the house, I started concentrating on my client, who had to be the woman standing next to a green coupe in the driveway and waiting in double time. Corey Gilbert was long fled blond hair draped over shoulders that at the moment looked like they were carrying the weight of the world. But she was prettier worried than most women who always keep it gay. Mr. Marlow? Yeah? Mrs. Gilbert? Yes. Your husband's shown up yet? No, Marlow. What do you suppose is. Take it easy. Maybe we better have another look at 3806 Melrose Avenue, huh? Whatever you say. Shall I drive? If you've got a license. Yes, Mr. Marlowe, I've got a license. Well, okay, let's go. The way we took off in Corey's Nash, I wasn't sure whether her license was for driving a car or an airplane. And while she kept a date, three and a half AAA on the accelerator, she talked about her husband and why she was worried. By the time we were near the place, I knew all about the party in Ensenada, their whirlwind courtship, and what a fine guy, Right. Ross Gilbert was. When we got out of the car and started over the last hundred yards toward the unfinished house, I'd learned everything Corey knew about the blackmail angle, which wasn't very much. It started last week, Marlowe, when we got back from our honeymoon, Ross wasn't himself at all. He was worried. He forgot how to laugh. He argued with me over any and everything. Where does the blackmail come in? I don't know. He wouldn't tell me what was wrong. Then this evening, just before I called you, I overheard him talking on the telephone. That's when I caught the word blackmail. And this address. Now, maybe Ross will be able to fill in a few of the blanks for us. Oh, he was over here in this room on a pile of lumber when I. Ross. Plumber. Must have done a lot more damage than I figured. Ross. Ross. Take it easy. Take it easy, baby. Marlo, what is it? Is he. Is he? I'm afraid he is. Cory. That man. That man, he beat him to death. No, Cory. That round hole in Gilbert's chest wasn't made by a fist. Where I stand, it looks like a.32 caliber bullet. In just a moment, we will return to the second act of the Adventures of Philip Marlow. But first, for some new wrinkles in the mystery field, look on the face of Mr. Jack Benny, eminent producer of the mystery comedy the Lucky Stiff, which opened in New York today. Although Mr. Benny stars are Dorothy Lamour, Claire Trevor and Brian Donlevy, Jack's face is covered with new wrinkles because he couldn't be in New York to sell the tickets himself. He's remaining in Hollywood to appear tomorrow night on CBS on the Jack Benny show with Mary Livingston, Don Wilson, Dennis Day, Phil Harris and Rochester. So be sure to listen. And now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlo and tonight's story, the Easy Mark. Corey Gilbert's face went sickly white and a mouth twisted on the brink of hysteria as she stared at the dead man. I turned her away from it and led her to a window. She did the fastest job of pulling herself together I'd ever seen, and I went back to the body. On the way, I noticed a folded scrap of paper on the floor. It was a page torn out of a desk diary, but all that was written on it was the address of the unfinished house we were in. I looked down at what had once been Ross Kilburn's setup. Didn't make any sense. A victim of blackmail had been beaten up by a total stranger and then a little while later, murdered. Somebody had killed a goose that was laying the golden eggs, and it didn't figure in any direction. Well, I just about decided to go through his pockets when a sound from Corey changed my mind. Marlo, come here, quick. What is it, Cory? There's someone out there. I saw a shadow. Mort, get away from the window. Marlow. There. Running. What? It's a woman. Yeah, and quite a woman. What do you know? She's crossing the street now. Who is it? Marlow. Who is she? Character is French as Melanie's 1890. Only she's more like nitric acid than cellar dressing. Cory, her name is Nanette Lamarg. She's getting in that car. Aren't you going to stop her? No. I've got a line on Ms. Lamarque. I can find her. But she was hiding here. She could be the one who shot Ross, couldn't she? Easily. In fact, right now she's the odds on favorite. But she's also cagey. And we'll have better luck if we get her on home ground where she'll talk. Besides, there's a big chunk of this business that doesn't follow. What do you mean? Well, look, the murder came out in reverse. Ross was paying off, so he should have been the killer instead of the corpse. Which means there's more than blackmail involved. I don't know what you're talking about. All I know is he's dead and that woman killed him. Maybe. Come on, Cory. Let's get out of here. Where are we going? Well, first you take me back to my car, and then I got a job for you to do. What kind of a job? I found this page ripped out of a desk diary. Probably Ross's. I want you to go through all his things and find that diary for me. There might be something else in it that'll give us a connection. All right. Where are you going? Gotta pay a call on Nanette. Only this time I'm bringing my own welcome mat. I think I'll need it. After Corey dropped me off, I called Lieutenant Ibarra at Homicide, reported the body. And then I got into my own car and drove out to bed. Beverly Hills again to the Camden Arms Court. Annette's bungalow had lights on. I parked down the street and made tracks back through the landscaping to a side window. Annette was playing pinup girl on the arm of a divan. She watched someone pace back and forth across the room. When I got close enough to hear what was being said, that someone turned out to be Corey Gilbert's first husband. Emory Marsh Gilbert was shot to death. But I've got to know the truth about one thing, Ms. Lamarque. My entire life's work is at stake. Can't you understand? All right, Monsieur Mash, do not break out into tears. I will tell you. Plummer is merely a private investigator I hired to locate Ross Gilbert for me. Now, are you happy? No. Why did such a person have my telephone number? That's What I want to know. I'll be ruined if I'm involved in this mess. My reputation means everything to my business and, well, things aren't going too well just now. If I'm connected with a scandal, I'll be wiped out. Well, stop worrying. I saw you with Ross Gilbert three or four times before he disappeared. So I gave your name to Plumber as a possible lead to Ross. That is all. Why did you want to find Ross Gilbert? That, mon ami, is none of your business. You found out what you wanted, so good night. All right, I'll go. But can I count on you to keep my name out of this? Listen, I am counting on me to keep my own name out of it. And I will be very busy doing that. Good night. I plastered myself up against the side of the house and watched Emory Marsh leave. He looked anything but happy over the result of his interview with Nanette. But I figured I had the benefit of experience to work with and less to lose than he had. So I waited until he was out of sight. And then I stepped up to the door, braced myself and tried my luck. You again. Yeah, and I want to talk to you. Get your foot out of my door. Oh, get out of here. Get out. Not until we've had a nice, quiet chat. Nanette and I think we'll take up where Emory Marsh left off. What? Look, just who exactly are you, Marlow? Your boy Plummer and I are distant fraternity brothers. But there the similarity ends. Just another chief private detective. Ooh. Okay, baby, if that tough stuff's the only language you understand, we'll talk that. Oh, stop it. Leave me alone. Now get over there. Sit down. Oh, you. You ape. I'd be nice to me if I were you, Nanette, because I just love to see a rope around that lovely neck of yours. And what's more, I can almost put one there. You're in a mess, right up to your accent. So start making answers, beautiful, and keep them straight. First, why did you put Plummer on Ross Gilbert's trail? Because he double crossed me. That is why. Double crossed you? How? He ran away from me. He was mine. All bought and paid for. You understand? Not exactly. When I met him, he was flat broke. I bought him every decent stitch of clothes that he had, gave him everything he needed to be a gentleman because we were going to be married. And then he ran out on me and took everything with him that he could lay his hands on. Go on. Nobody does that to Nanette Lamarque. Nobody. So you hired that licensed thug plumber to Find him and beat him half to death, right? Exactly. Well, go ahead, baby. The story doesn't end there. Tell me the rest. The good part about how you waited until plumber got through with him and then you went down to that unfinished blueprint out of House and Gardens and killed him. No, no, that is not true. I did not do that. Why, I could not. It's no bigger lie than the rest of it. Why does that pearl handle. 32 of yours, Nanette. And don't reach for it. Just tell me, what do you want with. I want to see if it's been fired. Now where is it? Call it, Jack. Oh, fine plumber. Ms. Lamarque might not like for you to see her gun. Oh, I thought you would never get here. Who's this character, Ms. Lamarque? Another private detective. Marlow by name. No kidding. Well, we got a lot in common, haven't we, Jack? Yes. Yes, we've each got two arms and two legs and the name is Phil. Oh, that's the way it is, huh? Well, listen, Jack. You got no business here in the first place, but two says I'll chop you down. You're even cheaper than I figured. Why you put away that big nasty gun too? Because I got you cold. That envelope you stuck in Nanette's mailbox tonight had a slip of paper inside. One of your old clients, huh? What? What are you talking about? Can't you guess? Hey, you want to see it? Well, yeah. Yeah, let's have a look at that. Okay, take a good look. Come on, drop the gun, plumber. Come on, drop it. All right, now fold up. There's your bargain basement, Detective Nanette. You didn't get your money's worth, did you? Now, shall we take a look at that pearl handled gun of yours? It is over there in my bag. Thanks. Mm. Clip's full. And that smell sure isn't gunpowder. Of course not. I did not kill Ross. Why, I was not even inside of that building where he was. Yeah, I know, but you. Wait a minute. Say that again. I said I was never inside that unfinished house where he was found. When I drove up, you were already there, so I left. Yeah, yeah, I know. And plumber's gun is, uh, huh, Fully loaded. Hasn't been fired either. Baby, you've just given me a great idea. An idea that I do not understand. Never mind. I'll explain it to you later. And incidentally, you better be around right now. I've got to find out one more thing and then maybe I'll pop this whole shebang wide open. Mr. Marlow. Good evening, Mr. Marsh. Lucky to find you're still working, huh? Late hours are a habit with me these days. Come in. Thanks. Uh, Mr. Marsh, I've come back for that help you offered me earlier this evening. I see. Well, the offer's still good. Fine. I think your ex wife, Corey, is lying to me. She claims you didn't know Ross Gilbert. That you only met him once at that party in Ensenada. But you did know him, didn't you? Why, yes. As a matter of fact, I did get acquainted with Ross slightly. We had dinner together a few times. Uh huh. And you really did favor his marriage to Corey because it freed you automatically from that alimony load you were carrying? That's correct, Marlow. But I don't. And it's also correct, isn't it, that you couldn't afford to go to court to have your alimony reduced because that would let your snobbish clientele know you were going on the rocks. Yes, that's also true. And maybe it's true that you actually engineered the marriage and it backfired on you. Very smart, Mr. Marlowe. Just keep your hands at your side. This might go off. Yeah. Oh, yes. Well, I expected a reaction, but not quite so soon. Too bad. I'll trouble you for your gun now that you've got it all figured out. Yes, Marlow, I engineered that marriage. Corey was attracted to Gilbert, but he was broke. I knew that would scare Corey off if she found out. So you and Corey made a deal. Particularly with Ross. He wanted to marry Corey. You supplied the cash for his courtship, right? Yes. Only he wouldn't stop there. He kept demanding more. Sure, that figured from the start. Ross wasn't being blackmailed. He was the blackmailer himself. And that made you worse off than before. So you killed him. You're so right, Mr. Marlowe. And remember, the price for two murders is the same as for one. So you've really left me no alternative. I'll give you an alternative. Emery. Corey. One thing you didn't count on. I really loved Ross Gilbert. Well, I guess that winds it up. Corey. Emery's in the hospital and Nanette and Plummer are both in the clink. Too bad I only hit Emery in the hand. I never could trust my aim. It's always been bad in a lot of ways. It was good enough tonight, baby. Lucky for me you showed up when you did. Say, what made you come to Marsha's place anyway? Well, that page from the desk diary paid off, Marlow. Only we made a Mistake? It didn't come from Ross's diary. It came from Emory's. I finally remembered his handwriting. Now you tell me something, Marlow. Yeah? How did you know Emory was guilty? Oh, well, he made the oldest slip in the book. When he was talking to Nanette. I overheard him say that Ross had been shot. Emery had no way of knowing that Gilbert was dead or how he'd been killed unless Nanette told him. And for a while I thought she had. But then I found out that she couldn't have because she'd never been inside the house where we found Ross. So it had to be Emory. Sure. I see. Well, Marlow, what does a gal say at the end of a night like this? Thanks or something? Just thanks will be enough. I gotta do my income tax. Can I give you a lift? No, no, I'll walk a while. I've got some thinking to do about marksmanship. But call me sometime later on, will you? Just to see if I'm shooting in the right direction. You can count on it, Corey. Thanks. Good night. I watched her for a moment as she walked down the street all by herself, deep in her own thoughts. And it looked to me like she was playing it strictly square. I almost wanted to follow her. The first time in a long time. I felt like I wanted to get to know a client better. But March 15th can slip up awfully fast. And that long form 1040 was still unfinished and waiting for me in my office. So I decided to go back and work on my income tax and plan it strictly square too. After all, that's really the easiest way in the long run. Yeah, I keep telling myself. The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, created by Raymond Chandler, stars Gerald Moore and is produced by Norman MacDonald. The script, by Meldanelli, Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt, was directed by Ralph Rose. Featured in the cast were Sylvia Sims, Laurette Philbrandt, Ken Harvey and Paul Duboff. The special music was by Richard Oron. Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says there was a man with a bad heart, a telephone number scribbled on a cash register receipt and a corpse on the other side of town. But I couldn't see the connection between them until I realized they were all tied together by the same long rope worth $30,000. Next Wednesday evening, February 2nd, CBS will bring you a moving, powerful drama of a reporter who took an assignment he eagerly sought only to find it came too close to home. Its title is Mind in the Shadow. Its star is Eddie Albert, and its story tells how the Reporter set out to reveal the shocking facts about our mental hospitals and then learned that his lovely young wife might have to enter one. Based on actual documentary evidence of conditions existing today. You'll find Mind in the shadow of a revealing story of something which could happen to you here. Mind in the Shadow, starring Eddie Albert. Next Wednesday evening over most of these same CBS network stations. Now stay tuned for Gangbusters, which follows immediately over most of these same stations. This is Roy Rowan speaking for cbs, Jack Benny's new address Sunday night on cbs, the Columbia Broadcasting System. 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. It happened in a place called Bay City, where I was unwelcome to a fat fry cook with a secret and a dep. A gambler. But for the long arm of the law, I was poisoned. It happened like this. From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous character in the Adventures of Philip Marlow. Now with Gerald Moore starred as Philip Marlo, we bring you tonight's exciting story, the Long Arm. I got my Sunday best on going strutting with Miss Laura Bell. Oh, fine. Every time I take a shower, I've noticed in it. All right? Okay. Hello? Mr. Philip Marlow, please. Yes, speaking. One moment, please, sir. Bay City is calling. I have your party, sir. Go ahead, sir. Thank you. Hello? Is that you, Marlow? Yeah. This is Ernie Parch. Phil at Bay City. Parch? Yeah, you remember me, don't you? No, I can't see. Oh, yeah, yeah. Ernie Parch. You're the guy who saved my life when the Bay City law left me beat up and bleeding all over the city dump. Right? Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's it. Oh, yeah. Marlo, please, listen. What? I'm in an awful jam. Like what? I just got out of jail yesterday. A year and a day jail, Ernie. Yeah, yeah, A very neat frame, Phil, but, oh, not half as neat as the one they're trying to hang on me now. This one's worse. You remember my wife, don't you? Grace Paul, Blonde. Yeah, yeah. What about her? She's dead, Marlow. Oh, no. She was murdered. They're gonna try to pin it on me. You'll come right away, huh? Look, Ernie, I'm poisoned in Bay City. You know that. Please, Rake. Thurman would give a year's pay just to watch me break an arm. Five if I drowned. But, Marlow, you don't know it was Thurman who had you messed up for sticking your nose into Bay City politics? No, no, but I can sure second guess it. It was tough cop tactics all the way. You mean you won't help me? Yeah. Well, Ernie, really. I'm sorry, kid, but you better get yourself an honest lawyer. And Bay City. You know better than that, Phil. Who'd have the guts to knock heads with the police in this town? Especially when they got a custom tailored pigeon like me standing by with one wing already clipped. Phil, I tell you, it looks like I murdered Grace. Yeah. Now look here, Phil. I saved your life once, okay? What's your address, Ernie? It's 38 Orlando Drive. Bay City was a snug seacoast town some 20 miles southwest of LA and about twice that distance from being on the up and up. Its string of gambling houses were politely winked at by some elements of the law and its gamblers in turn politely winked back while the polling money passed from sucker to sleep. Get a crooked cop. But Bay City also was home to a lot of honest fishermen, retired real estate brokers and another element of the law, good cops. Which side Detective Lieutenant Rake Sturman was on, I'd never been able to figure. He only added one way. All cop, morning, noon and night. The kind who made any private detective feel a little less welcome than a leper. Well, an hour after dark, I pulled up and parked well away from 38 Orlando Street. Five minutes later, I was watching a nervous Ernie Parch wear out the carpet in his shabby living room. It was at Art Minnelli's place, Phil, about a year ago. The little casino. It's out north on the edge of town. I've had a few drinks with some of the guys who worked at my gas station. One thing led to another and finally we were out there trying to pyramid 50 bucks into 50,000. That's when the cops came in, huh? Yeah. Yeah. Or one of those pre election raids that look good in the papers. You want a drink? No, no, thanks. But look, that raid couldn't have gotten you a year and a day, Ernie. No, no. But the gun they found in my top coat pocket could have and did. Yeah. 38 I'd never seen before in my life. Plant, huh? Yeah, plant that. I could only figure two ways, Phil. Either someone at Art Minnelli's place just happened to choose my pocket to drop his gun into, or someone just happened to drop it in on purpose. Someone who was sweet on Grace and wanted me out of the way. Now, look, you're sure you know what you're saying, Bernie? I'm positive. 366 days in prison with only one miserable letter from her convinced me. That and a word I got at Gumbo's Place late this afternoon. Gumbo's Place? Yeah, yeah, Gumbo Shanty. The chicken joint run by a fat fry cook named Lou Gamborski. Grace worked there. I. I stopped in just before I ran into Lieutenant Rake Sturman. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. What do you mean, ran into Sturman? What happened? Well, Phil, I. I was on the street getting into my sedan, you see. Yeah. I picked it up from a guy who was using it while I was away when Sturman pulled up alongside of me in a squad car and he. He started to tell me how much he liked seeing ex cons back in Bay City. What interrupted him? Oh, a call on a police radio. But before he left, he promised to drop around here sometime tonight and chat a while. And before that? At Gumbo's Place, I found Grace. Now, wait a minute, wait a minute. You've had enough, Ernie. No. You found Grace and what? We had a fight. She admitted running around, said I wasn't worth waiting for, but she wouldn't say who was. I slapped her hard. All right, take it easy. Grace is dead now. Murdered, remember? Yeah. Yeah, she's dead. And they're gonna tag me for it. Maybe. Now, tell me what happened after you left Gumbo's. I ran into Sturman, like I said. Yeah. Then I drove around for a couple hours to cool off. When I got hold of myself, I. I came back here and found her strangled at bed in that chair. Phil, it was horrible. What'd you do about it, honey? I. I'm not sure exactly. Yeah, I changed my mind. Thanks, Phil. No, I. I decided to get her out of here. It was just getting dark, so I. I waited a little and then I carried her down the rear stairs and I put her in my car in the backseat. I put a blanket over her. She's still there, Phil. I was gonna drive the car away, but, well, I guess I lost my nerve. What am I gonna do? Phil? Sturman might be here any minute. Then you gotta help me. You must have. Ernie. Ernie, that won't do it. I'm sorry. All right, kid. Are the keys in the car? No, no, no. I got him here. What are you gonna do? I don't know, but you get out of here. Do something. But what? Anything. Go to a movie. Act as relaxed as you can. Do anything. Except come back here for at least two hours. Now, go on. All right, Phil, whatever you say. I'll go to a movie. Yeah, right now. Right away. Thanks, Phil. I know you'll get me out of this. Ernie Parch's vote of confidence made comfortable listening for both of us. When he was gone and I was down the rear stairs and out to his car and the alley, keys in hand, I realized that it stopped right there in the back seat. Then, in the light that spilled from a nearby unshaded window, I saw I was going to have company. Sharp, pointed elevator shoes. Careful. Blue flannel and patent leather hair over a pasty face. All of it no more than five and a half feet and held together by a hand painted tie that sported a dapper knot the size of a cantaloupe. Good evening. I wonder if you could help me. I'm looking for any parts at 36 Orlando Drive. I couldn't find any number on this house. Is it? Yeah, but Parch isn't in. He just left. Oh. You know where he went? No, no. It's all right, Carter. I only want to talk to him. My name is Art Manelli. I'm a friend of his, an acquaintance. You? The same. He went to a movie. Mr. Manelli. I saw the pictures. So I'm going home. Back to San Diego. I live there. Oh, good. San Diego means US101 to the south and right past my next stop. I came in a cab. Or don't those keys in your hand there say that you're leaving? I mean, I don't want to appear presumptuous. Or wait for a taxi. Or wait for a taxi. Shall I get in or do you want to slide over to the driver's seat from here? I want to slide, if that's all right with you. Perfect. Then tell me, Mr. Cruise Shutter, you had business with Ernie? Personal business. You, Mr. Minelli? Yes. I wanted to see Ernie about a good location I have in mind for a new gas station. You know about such things? No, no, and I don't think you do either, Manelli. Unless, of course, the pumps can be converted into roulette wheels. Oh, you know who I am, eh? Yeah. I also know it's a little strange for you to show up at Ernie's place the day after he gets out of the state pen for a frame that took place at your little casino. What are you getting at, Mr. Crew Shutter? An outside chance that you yourself were responsible for that frame that you're anxious to see. What, if anything, Ernie intends to do about it? Lights red, crew shot in. No fool. Now tell me, why would I want to frame Ernie Park. I don't know. Could be, Manelli, that you did it accidentally. You know, a little gun hidden in a big hurry. Or it could be you had a tighter reason. Huh? Like what? Like Grace Far very pretty girl. You're out of your mind. Yeah, sure I am, Manelli. Just plain nuts. So why don't you get out here? It's up a night saying taxi cab. It'll be safer. All right, just as you say. Hey, me and my lift going toward the highway. Sure he is. I. Well, come on, Norm. We're riding the back seat. No, I got stuff in there. Close that door and beat it. Oh, okay. Happy Bikes. Go. What stop, Mr. Crew Shutter? What kind of stop? Run, Manelli. I'm a bootlegger. Never got the word, believe me. Oh, but I do. The light green, Mr. Cruise Shutter fell off. I went three short blocks. Then I got out of the traffic and drove as far back to Orlando street as a vacant lot that was only a block away from Ernie's. Thereafter, I wiped the wheel, the gear shift, everything else I touched. Clean of prints. I left the sedan as is and walked back to where I originally parked my own car behind the wheel of my coupe. I spent the next 20 minutes finding gumbo Shanty where Grace Buffett wouldn't Daddy Long Legs standing knee deep in the Pacific Ocean and circled at the waist by an imitation ship's deck for summertime outdoor eating. A gang plank led up from the street level, and when I'd gone about half the length of it, I saw something at the door ahead shaped like a bowling pin topped by a chef hat, encompassed by a yard and a half of Hickok belt that said this had to be fat fry cook Lou Gamborski, returning the reversible sign from open to closed. Sorry, mister, I'm closing early tonight. Food's all gone. All right. How about a drink? I only want a quick shot. Gumbo. Gumbo. You're a stranger here now. You know the name. Well, it's written overhead in four foot letters. I keep my eyes open. Okay. Morning. Make it fast. I want to hit that A. You live here? Yeah. What do you want, Scott? Anything with it? Little information. Oh, about what? Girl who works for you. Great parts. I don't know anything about it. Not even for five. Number? Make it ten. Okay, ten and the drinks on the house, huh? Okay, mister. Grace Paunch is five foot two, eyes are blue. Also, she quit work at six tonight like she does every night. Period. Uh huh. Here's to you. Now tell me where's she been going? Where Lernie's been in stir. For another 10. Yeah, for another 10. On one condition. No more lousy poems, Gumbo. Just few straight facts, huh? Sure, sure. Another drink? No, no, no, thanks. Where's she been hanging around? Little casino. That's Manelli's joint, huh? Yeah, Manelli's place where a lot of people hang around. What is it? What are you staring at, Gumbo? A window. I thought I saw someone out there on a dick looking in. Probably seagulls. Forget it. Now look, I'd like to know. Sure, sure, it is. Someone getting away in a car. Oh. Any idea who it was? I said any idea? I heard you. Now go on home, mister. Get out of here. Take it easy, big guy. You got 20 bucks? Give it. Yeah, there's your lousy 20 bucks and the drinks on the house and good night. After one question, a guy in that car that just took off, was it Manelli? I'll repeat myself. Good night, mister. Okay, let it go. A good night, Gumbo, but just for now. I wasn't going to get any more out of Gumbo, so I went back to my car, pointed it north toward the edge of town and a little casino where I figured I might get lean on Manelli's whereabouts 30 minutes later when I was there, out of my car and standing in front of what looked like an oversized concrete blockhouse, alone on a parking lot the size of the Coliseum, I figured different. A huge sign out front, red Closed for all Orations Will reopen soon. Bigger and better than ever. Gambling in Bay City was obviously on the qt, like an artillery barrage. By the time I got back to 38 Orlando street, nearly three hours had gone by since I'd last seen Ernie. As I started up the steps toward the light in his living room, wasn't happy over the lack of information I had for him. But when I opened the door and saw it was waiting for me, that didn't matter. In one huge, beefy, freckled hand, there was the usual police department.38 revolver. Hello, Chief. The ice cold gray eyes, the thick, broken nose, the nasty curl of the lips all belong to Bay City's toughest homicide detective, Lieutenant Rake Sturman. Hello, Marlo. I've been waiting for you too long, kid. Why, I would have baked a little cake if I knew I was going to have this much time. Where's any part? Sturman? He's under arrest, kid. We found his life's body. He's under arrest for murder. You know what else, kid? No. What else, kid? So are you. In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlow. But first, Fred Allen's Crack that it's no wonder comedians can't find work when singers Go comical has had a fast reply from Bing Crosby. Bing has invited Fred to be his guest on his CBS show this Wednesday night. You can get right into the very middle of the argument on most of these same CBS stations where Bing Crosby show is every Wednesday night. Be sure to hear Fred Allen's visit to Bing show this Wednesday following Groucho Marx and you bet your life. Now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, the long arm. As Lt. Sturman moved toward me, he curled the thick fingers of his left hand into a fist. I braced myself, but the blow never came. Instead, he shoved his face up close to mine and his mouth twisted into a one sided grin that was as full of fun as a set of thumb screws. Well, you finally came through for me, didn't you, kid? I don't know what you're talking about. I've been waiting a long, long time for you to pull something in my town, Marlow, where you can't run back across the line and hide behind the skirts of your cop friends over in la. You're having yourself a pipe dream, Sturman. Lieutenant Sturman. And don't forget it. Real sorry, Officer, do you mind explaining what this is all about? That's one of my rights as a citizen, you know. Even in Bay City, as far as I'm concerned, can killers ain't got me right now. Tell me you had nothing to do with Grace Parch's murder. So I can tell you why you're a stinking liar private detective. I suppose private detectives have no rights either, huh? None. We found the girl's body in a car parked at a vacant lot. And somebody overlooked a couple of fingerprints, which I'm gonna match up with yours, Marlo. How come you're so sure? Because we pulled Ernie Parch out of the movies five minutes after we found his wife. Jailbirds sing in Bay City, Marlow. We don't horse around with him. Come on, let's go. Wait a minute, boy. You pushed too far on the wrong track. There's an angle here you ought to know about. There's always an angle with you, ain't there, bright boy? Yeah, but you're gonna like this one first. In that car you're so proud of, you're gonna find Prince from Warner Manelli. Gambler. That's right. One who stays in operation when everybody else in Bay City is closed up. You better find out whose toes you're stepping on down at City hall before you find out. We got problems in our town, people, but that's not one of them. If you got something intelligent to offer, spill it without wisecracks. All right. Ernie Potts was framed a year ago in Minnelli's joint. No doubt on Minnelli's orders. Why? Cause Grace Pottsch was a pretty girl with the end for gamblers, that's why. All the time Ernie was in the cooler, she was running down to Manelli's place and I got a witness to prove. Also makes her the kind of little cheap tramp that gets out of hand. Go on it. Ellie showed up here tonight with no satisfactory reason for it. What's more, you warned Ernie Parts just this afternoon that you were keeping an eye on him. Even if he wanted to kill his wife, he's not stupid enough to have done it tonight. From an Ellie standpoint, it was a perfect time. You see, because you guys would go for it just exactly as you have. You think we're stupid. Didn't that? Do you? Now, look, I. I know you got no use for me stuff, but you're a cop, after all. As long as somebody's got to take a rap, it might as well be the right guy. You know what, sweetheart? What? Your fairy story makes average listener. Just average. Nothing else. Now get going. Too tired to take what I know I'd be given. Once Rex Termin got me inside the Bay City headquarters, I made my decision fast. There were three steps in the front porch, the wall, and he was right behind me. I took the first two, then turned and grabbed. He sailed over my shoulder, and I heard him lying flat on his back on the sidewalk as I rounded the corner of the house. I crossed the backyard, bolted the fence and put 100 yards of alley between us before I even stopped to think. Then I went back to my car, drove down to the water again in Gomborski's chicken shanty. Place was dark and locked up tight. I went around to the back where his living quarters were and listened. Crocodile slithering over the floor inside would have made the same sound. I pushed the door open and went in. Was Gamborski all right? But you couldn't tell it from his face. That had been worked over long and hard by an expert. He didn't know I was there until I touched him. Get away. Get out of here. Who gave you the Beating Gumbo way off. Will you please? Have I took enough already? All right, come on, get up. That's it. Look, Gumbo, you told me one thing about Art Minnelli. That Grace Parch went to his joint a lot and you spotted somebody outside the window and you clammed up. I come back now and I find you like this. Isn't it obvious you're wasting your time trying to protect him? Shut up. Shut up and get out of here. Listen to me, you poor SAP. Can't you see you're going to be living with us from now on? Every time he gets the jitters, he'll give you another going over to match this one. Well, he really gets jumpy, buster. And then he'll do worse than that. Don't you get it? Listen, mister, let's guess him. And I know what'll happen if I open my yap again. I'm just not gonna take that chance. Don't you realize we'll never lick Minelli if we don't fight? Leave me alone. Leave me alone. I'm not saying nothing. You understand? Nothing. Not one word. Now get out. Go on, get out. All right, you miserable suck. I'm through talking to you. You'll think the other guy gave you a light massage by the time I'm through with you. Well, it's. What? You've been patient and stay where you are. I don't want to kill you, mister, but I will unless you beat it. I'd rather face that than talk. You're getting in too deep, aren't you, Gumbo? There's nothing else I can do. You're nothing to me. I know which side my bread's butted on. Yeah, but you made one big mistake already. What do you mean? You left yourself wide open for this coffee pot. Sorry, fucker, I don't have much time. Drop the gun. Come on, drop it. That's better. Now just tell me one thing and I'll leave you alone. All I want to know is where I can locate Altinelli. Right now he's at his club, at their little casino. You're lying. I was down there. It's closed. It's being remodeled. I'm not. I'm not lying. All right. You need some more rubbing. Okay, okay. We got a suite of rooms downstairs under the club. They're not being done over. That's where he lives. He ought to be there now. But you gotta protect me. Sturman and Manali will kill me up. That's all I want to know. Salon Gumbo at the first phone booth I came to, I stopped, looked up a Bay City number and made a call, which took five minutes. Then I went on to the little casino. I parked on a side street, then went down the ramp to the underground garage in the rear. There was a. There's a door between two ornate bronze urns, Alibaba size. And I started toward it on a hunch. I stopped and studied the decoration on one of the urns. I finally found it, a small hole in the side. I took my handkerchief out and stepped it into the hole. From somewhere inside the apartment, I heard a chime ring. I got my gun out, then tried the door and it opened into a long, lush hallway draped at the far end with a heavy gold curtain. I waded through a green carpet deep enough to mow up to the curtain and pulled it aside. Minnelli sat at a wide, glossy desk, methodically filing his nails, his eyes staring straight at me. You got this far. Come on in. Don't tell me you're all alone here, Manelli. No, I got 500 dancing girls. Smart guy. What's on your mind? You act like you were expecting me. I knew somebody was coming. There's an electric eye in those brass jugs out of the door. Anybody passes it, rings that chime. There. Satisfied now? What's with the gun? Put it away. In a minute, maybe. Seen Lieutenant Sturman tonight? Why should I? You've been rubbing elbows with Homicide. I didn't kill anybody. No, I guess you didn't. I've got a good idea who didn't. Ernie Partch, of course. Nuh, no. No chance. Was your business partner, Lieutenant Rakes? Terman himself. And five will get you 10. He's got big news for you. Yeah. Hey, Rake. Steady, Marlow. Don't move. Well, look what crawled out of the woodwork. I'll get his gun, Rake. Sit down, Manelli. I'll take it myself. Yeah, that's better. I don't budge, either one of you. Wait a minute. What is this? Shut up. You said you killed Race Parch, but you were in love with her. We used to meet her right here in this room. Yeah, that was before she found out a couple of things and began to put the pressure on me. We got in a brief today and I lost my head. Now shut up. Okay, Marlow, let's have it. How'd you dope it? How? Gamborski took a beating tonight. Just because he mentioned Minelli here. With a little more pressure, he mentioned someone else. You, Sturman. And why would you shut Gamborski up about Minnelli. Unless you and Manelli were connected. That connection was all I needed. Uh huh. Right on the button, sweetheart. For all the good it'll do you. Listen, I don't get this. I don't understand. You don't have to anymore. You're through. What are you saying, Rake? You know too much about me, Manelli. You know it all. Wait. You can't do this. Yes, I can. In fact, Marlo here gave me the idea. Even worked out all the motives, so it's easy. I. I came here to arrest you for Grace Parch's murder. You. You resisted and I had to shoot you. Isn't that a shame? But. But about this Ernie Partch. I intended to hang it on to him, Manelli, but he's nothing to me. I don't care if he lives or dies. But you, you're. You're getting too big for your britches anyway. So this is better. And I get three birds with one stone. Grace, Manelli, and you, Marlow. Before you start pulling the triggers, Thurman, you better ask your boys, huh? A couple of them are waiting for you behind that gold curtain there. You're a liar, Marlow. The electric guy would have tipped us off if anybody else came in. I blinded that eye with my handkerchief on my way in. Right, Lieutenant Thurman. Darnie. How long you been there? What? Long enough. Better drop it, Lieutenant. I don't take orders from you, Sergeant. You do tonight. Chief himself sent us out. Yeah, I took the liberty of going over your head, Lieutenant, just before I came in. Under the circumstances, you'll understand why. You better drop it, Lieutenant. Drop it. Okay. Now come on, you two guys too. Come along quietly. Sure, sure. Always glad to ride with old Rake's termin anytime at all. Just as long as there's a couple of policemen in the same car. Before it was all over in the Bay City Police Headquarters, everybody from the Mayor, the dog catcher had put his two cents in. And I'd given the same answers to the same questions at least 50 times. All about crooked cops and Rake Sturman in particular. But finally, hours later, I was free to go home. As I drove through the quiet streets, I was still thinking about cops. This time, the other kind. The underpaid, overworked cops that pound the city sidewalks day and night. You know, the guys who do everything from telling kids the way to the grocery store to untangling the rush hour traffic. Yeah, and I thought about each one of those cops who someday chases a hopped up gunman down a blind alley and doesn't get home that night or any night ever again. Then I forgot all about Rake's Tanner, because after all, he was just one bad one in a multitude of good ones, an insignificant sore on the long arm of the law. The adventures of Philip Marlow 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 Barney Phillips, Ted Osborne, Sydney Miller, Tom Tully and Bert Holland. This special music is composed and conducted by Richard Durant. Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says it could have been perfect. Snowbound in a mountain lodge with a girl who was falling in love. But also present were a widow sick with rage, a bitter old woman and a jealous man. All with reason. They hate me more than anyone else in the world. Two all star bouts are promised on CBS this Wednesday night. Bing Crosby faces Fred Allen across the CBS mic to battle it out on who's funnier, singers or comedians. And in the second attraction, Gracie Ellen and a smashed vendor team up against not so gorgeous George Burns and a guilty conscience. This Wednesday also brings you Groucho Marks, his ad libs and his teams of opposites on you bet your life. And to Dr. Christian's story about two redheads in love. Fun, action, variety. They're all yours with Dr. Christian, Groucho Marx, Bing Crosby and Fred Allen and George and Gracie on most of these same CBS stations this Wednesday night. This is Roy Rowan speaking. Now stay tuned for Pursuit, which follows immediately on most of these same CBS stations. This is cbs where Wednesday night is Bing Crosby night. The Columbia Broadcasting System. And now stay tuned for the mystery program that is unique among all mystery programs because even when you know who's guilty, you always receive a startling surprise at the final curtain in the Signal Oil program. The Whistler S I K N A L Signal. Signal Gasoline Signal. The famous Go farther Gasoline invites you to sit back and enjoy another strange story by the Whistler for extra driving pleasure. The signal to look for is the yellow and black circle sign that identifies signal service stations from Canada to Mexico. And for Sunday evening, listening pleasure. The signal to listen for is this whistle that identifies the signal oil program. The Whistler. I I am the Whistler. And I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. And now for the Signal Oil company. The Whistler's. Strange story. Lady with a key. It was almost midnight when Joe Cannon drove his car into the parking lot, got out and walked around to the entrance of the Linden, a small restaurant and cocktail bar on the highway a few miles south of Los Angeles. The Linden was a place he often patronized, especially when he had a deal on. Most of Joe's enterprises were arranged in cocktail bars, restaurants, almost anywhere. But a legitimate business office for Joe was seldom involved in a legitimate deal. Inside, Joe nodded at the bartender, then strolled over to the jukebox. Hi, Joe. You haven't been around lately. I've been pretty busy, Pete. How will it be? A bottle of beer and a sandwich, you name it. Right. Hey, hurry up, will you? I'm on my way to San Diego. Yeah, sure. Okay. Pardon me. Yeah? Well, I couldn't help overhearing you tell the bartender that you're on your way to San Diego. Well, you see, I was on my way there when my car broke down. I can't get it till tomorrow, and I just have to be in San Diego by morning. And I was wondering if I take you with me. Oh, would you, please? I'm sorry my trip has to do with business. My boss wouldn't like it if I mixed business with pleasure. Oh, but please. It's awfully important to me. I wish I could help you, baby, but I can't. I see. Well, I'm sorry. So am I. It's okay. Forget it. The girl walks away. Walks to a booth at the back of the bar. She's attractive, isn't she, Jo? And the mink coat she's wearing is the real thing. You're almost certain of that, yet you have a feeling there's something phony about her. That she had some reason other than a stalled automobile for asking you to drive her to San Diego. You listen to the tune on the jukebox for a moment, then walk up to the bar. As you slide onto a stool, Pete, the bartender, places the sandwich in the bottle of beer before you. Cute dish, huh? What? The name. Oh. She asked you for a ride south. How'd you know? She already asked that couple back there, the one in the booth next to hers. They turned her down. You turn it down? Yeah. I don't like her story. I don't know. I think she's on the level. She used the phone a little while before you came in. Talked to a couple all night. Garages, that's all. For me, she'd be very pleasant company, Joe. Hey, you know something? Maybe I was too hard on the little girl, huh? That drive to San Diego three hours can get awful, though. Sure. I'll be right back, Pete. Pardon me, miss. What? Oh, I. I changed my mind. I'll take you to San Diego if you still want to go. Oh, I certainly do. It means a great deal to me. Can we. Can we start right away? Soon as I finish my sandwich and clear up a little business with the bartender. Would you like a drink or something? Oh, no. No, thank you. If you don't mind, I'll wait in your car. Oh, sure. It's in the lot. Far side, black, 49 Nash. I'll be out in a few minutes. You watch the girl as she hurries out. Then, turning, you catch a glimpse of the couple seated in the next booth. A young man, a woman, grinning at you. You shrug, walk back to the bar and finish your sandwich. Then the bartender joined you. You taking the dame? Yeah, yeah. Oh, here you are, Pete. Thanks. When you be back? Tomorrow night. Imports. Mm. From Tijuana. I'm picking this stuff up in San Diego tomorrow morning. I figured another shipment was about due. Handling it, same as always. Yeah, yeah. Now, look, you can tell Harry I'll meet him here with it tomorrow night, okay? Okay. Usual cut. Well, I haven't kicked yet, have I? Like I was telling. I know. Hey, Bart. And I'm looking for a girl, blonde, sort of tall, wearing a mink coat. You see her in here? No, no, no, I haven't seen her. How about you, mister? No. No. Okay. Thanks. He must be looking for your girlfriend, Joe. How come you told him she wasn't here? I. I don't know. Maybe I just don't like his looks. Yeah, well, I had a hunch about that dame. I think I'm gonna play it safe, Cancel her ride to San Diego. Yeah, yeah, yeah, maybe you better. I'll see you tomorrow night, huh, Pete? What time will I tell Harry? Well, I should be back here by 9 if the stuff is ready to pick up. Now, look, let me use your phone, will you? I better call San Diego now and make sure the stuff came in from Tijuana. In a matter of minutes, you've completed your call to San Diego. Then you step out into the parking lot. And as you walk toward your car, you hear footsteps. Catch a quick glimpse of a running figure. By the time you reach your car, he's disappeared into the shadows. You open your car door and get in. The girl isn't there. Suddenly you catch sight of something on the seat beside you. You recognize it instantly. As the girl's handbag. It's open, and one glance tells you it's full of bills. 50s, hundreds. 1, 2, 3, 5, 6. Oh, brother. You don't wait to count it all, do you, Joe? This is more money than you've had in a long time. You want to get away before the girl returns. Miles later, along the beach road, you stop, remove the bills, toss the girl's handbag into the sea. You finish counting the money. $5,000, Joe. Quickly, you slip it into your inside coat pocket, hurry back to the car. The night air is chilly, so you decide to get your overcoat from the back seat. As you open the car door, reach inside, your hand freezes in midair. Sudden terror grips you as you stare down at the floor. A girl. She. She's dead. Tonight's $20 signal gasoline book goes to Nancy Mason of Los Angeles, California, for this limerick. Now all gather round while I tell why the gas that I use is so swell. Takes you farther for less. The brand you can guess. It's spelled S I, G, N A L. Signal. Signal, Signal Gasoline. Your car will go far we go, brother, gasoline. Tonight's limerick writer certainly won the spelling bee when she said, S I G N A L is the gas for mileage that swell. But in addition, you can expect performance. That's grand, because performance and mileage go hand in hand. Both are the result of the extra efficiency today's great Signal Gasoline extracts from your motor. So there's no need nowadays to choose between economy and driving pleasure. You'll be thankful for both when you get a tank full of Signal, the famous Go farther Gasoline. The events of the past few hours seem like a nightmare, don't they, Joe? You're meeting with a girl in the cocktail lounge, her sudden disappearance leaving her handbag containing $5,000 in your car. Then a few minutes ago, you found her dead on the floor in the back of your car. For a moment, you're too stunned to move, to think clearly. And then quickly, you jump into your car, race down the highway. Several miles later, the panic begins to leave you, and you realize you must despise of the body. As soon as possible. Your hands suddenly grip the wheel in terror. The police, Joe. Automatically, you press down on the accelerator, and then you realize your mistake. You slow down. Kind of hyping it up back there, weren't you? What? You in a big hurry? Oh, well, I guess I was driving a little fast, huh? I ought to give you a ticket, mister. Well, it's late. There's hardly any traffic. I guess I was speeding without realizing it. Uh huh. Well, I'll let it go this time. Oh, thanks. Just a minute. What's the matter? You heading for Mexico? No, no. San Diego. You sure? Let me see your license. Okay. You struggle to remain calm. Keep your hands from shaking as you turn your wallet over to the officer. Hope that he doesn't look into the back seat of your car. You wait for what seems hours before he returns the wallet to you. Well, okay, go ahead. But take it easy from now on. And watch that speedometer. I'd hate to find your car up the road with a dead body in it. You watch the police car disappear into the darkness and you heave a sigh of relief. That was close, wasn't it, Joe? You mop your forehead as you drive on down the highway. When you find the spot you're looking for, you pull over to the side of the road, carry the girl's body into the brush and leave it. Then you're on the highway again. And for the first time since you found the girl, you feel safe. You reach over, open the glove compartment to get a pack of cigarettes. Your hand comes to rest on an envelope. Envelope. You take it out, see the name Ann Whitney written on it, finger the bulky contents and decide it's a hotel key. You're puzzled, aren't you, Joe? Curious too. But you realize you can't take any more chances. You crumple the envelope in your hand, toss it out the car window, drive on to your hotel in San Diego. Have a reservation. Sir? Yeah, I phoned from Los Angeles. Cannon's the name. Joe Cannon. Oh, yes, Mr. Cannon. I've put you in room 301. Nice room. I'm sure you like it. If you'll sign the register, please. Say, it's a quiet room, isn't it? I can use some sleep. Oh, it is quiet, sir. Had a tiring trip? You can say that again. I know. Night driving tires me out completely. And that trip from Los Angeles down here, well, it's so dull. At least I find it so. Don't you? Dull. And not always, no. You sleep until afternoon, then awake, completely refreshed, unworried. You dress, go downstairs, buy a newspaper. It's all there, isn't it, Joe? The story of the murder. The finding of the dead girl's body by the highway, strangled to death. Her name, Mary Cartney. You wander into the hotel coffee shop, take a table in the corner, read on. According to Giles Winthrop, well known Los Angeles art dealer, Ms. Courtney had been his secretary for the past year, Mr. Winthrop also informed police that Ms. Courtney had left his office two days ago and failed to return. Last night. He had discovered she had taken $5,000 from his office safe. Well, pardon me. His seat taken? No, no, it's. It's all yours. I. You stare at the short, heavy set man who slides into the seat across the table from you. It's the same man who came into the bar last night in Los Angeles. The one who asked you if you'd seen the tall blonde in the mink coat. The murdered girl the papers have identified as Mary Cartney. You banked that five grand yet, chum? I. I don't believe I follow you. Sure you do, chum. Don't try to tell me you haven't got the dough. I saw you pick up the dame's handbag. She left it in your car. Now look, beat it, will ya? I don't know what you're talking about. Reading all about it in the papers, huh? You see where they got your disposal? My description? Yeah. Here, allow me. I see your paper. Yeah. Police report. No trace of the money was found on the girl's body. Oh, Here it is. Mr. And Mrs. Alton Grinview, 1134 Park Drive, Long Beach. Identified Ms. Courtney from newspaper photographs as the same woman who asked them for a ride last night in a bar on the outskirts of Los Angeles. They informed police they'd overheard Ms. Courtney accept a man's offer to drive her to San Diego. The man is described as dark haired, about 30 years old, attired in a light sport coat and gray trousers. Heard enough, chum? There's a little more. I've heard enough. I'd say you were in kind of a tough spot, huh? Now, why don't you come along with me? Say, up to my room where we can talk this over, chum. Why should I? You wouldn't want me to tip off the cops, would you? Okay, let's go upstairs. You'd forgotten about the couple sitting in the back booth of the bar last night, hadn't you, Joe? And now this man sitting across from you wants to talk something over. You follow after him as he leaves the coffee shop. You're certain he's Mary Carney's murderer? That he was the man you saw running away from your car last night while it was parked in the lot next to the the Linden Bar. That your sudden appearance prevented him from getting the handbag containing the $5,000. You slip the newspaper back into your pocket without finishing the article. Upstairs in the man's room, he takes a Gun from his pocket, places it on the table, within easy reach. Okay, chum, let's get down to business. I know you got the five grand. You can keep it. That's chicken feed. What I'm interested in is the package. Package? What package? Mary Cockney had it with her. A painting, an original Donetti. It's worth a hundred grand. I don't know a thing about it. I never even heard of it. Liz, I'll get back to you in a minute, chum. That's a call I've been expecting. While I'm taking it, you better remember where you put that painting. Hello? Yeah. Oh, yeah, Mr. Roberts, this is Merkel. Sure, sure, everything is set. I'll have the painting. I promised you I'd get it, didn't I? The interruption gives you time to think, doesn't it, Joe? And suddenly you remember something. The envelope with the name Ann Whitney written on it. The envelope you found in the glove compartment of your car. You're certain it contained a hotel key. You wonder why the dead girl, Mary Carney, was mailing it to an accomplice named Anne Whitney. Whether the key has any connection with the valuable painting. Sure, Mr. Roberts, sure. Tomorrow morning at 10. Oh, look, since we've never met, you better pick the painting up here at my hotel room. It's a lot simpler that way. Okay. See you tomorrow. Now, chum, let's get back to you, huh? I told you before, I don't know anything about a painting, but. Yeah, but I did find. Find an envelope in the car. Hand it over. I didn't want any evidence around after I got rid of the girl's body, so I threw the envelope away. And you didn't even open it. It was a hotel key. I, I, I couldn't be mistaken. I could feel the key, the tag. But you tossed it away. I can find it again. I know where I throw it. All right, chum, let's go. I hope for your sake you. And so once more, Joe, you're on the highway. This time driving north, back toward the place where you tossed the envelope out your car window. And a plan is beginning to take shape in your mind. You glance at the man sitting beside you, then down at the gun in his hands pointed directly at you. He's not taking any chances, is he? Just drive carefully, chum, and in the right direction. Sure. Say, you don't mind clearing up something for me, do you? What? Why'd you kill Mary Codney? Why didn't you wait till she turned the painting over before you. I didn't intend to kill her. I was only trying to scare her, but I. I guess I pressed just a little too hard. She was double crossing you? Yeah. Yeah. She grabbed the painting and ducked out on me. He was gonna contact Roberts himself and cut me out of my share of the 50 grand. 50 grand? That's right. And now that I filled you in on the details, let's keep the conversation at a minimum, huh? Sure. Suits me. Yes, it suits you, doesn't it, Joe? You want the time to think things out. Shortly before you're within a few miles from the place where you drop the envelope. And then up ahead, you see a side road. You slow down, you turn your car into it. I thought you said you tossed that envelope off the highway. I did. It's not far from here. I thought we better park the car somewhere along here under the trees while we look for it. All right. Stop the car. Sure, sure. As you slam on the brakes, the sudden stop throws him against the windshield. An old trick, Joe, but it works. The jar stuns him for an instant. The gun in his hand clatters to the floor. Quickly, you scoop it up. Okay, get out and start walking. I said start walking. Over there under the trees. Now, look, chum. Look, let's talk this over, huh? Nothing to talk about. Keep moving. I'll cut you in on the 50 grand. We'll split it. I want the whole 50 grand for myself. You'll never get away with it. That's where you're wrong. I heard you tell this guy Roberts over the phone to drop into your hotel room tomorrow. So what? So he doesn't know what you look like. I'll be there when he shows up. I'll turn the painting over and I'll. How do you know you'll find a painting? The key, buster. That hotel key I threw away last night. I've got a hunch it'll lead me right to it. All right, this is far enough. Yeah. All right. So. So what do you gain by bumping me off? You're too dangerous to be floating around on the loose. You know too much about me. You might tip off the cops. Sorry, chum. You wipe the gun free of fingerprints, drop it on the ground next to the body and hurry to your car. You drive back to the highway, find the spot where you drop the envelope and park. You've got to find it, Joe, before nightfall. And that doesn't give you much time. You look around, walk up the side of the road for several hundred feet. And then you see it. The envelope addressed To Ann Whitney. You rip it open. It is a hotel Gui Jo. And you're sure what you read on the tab gives you the answer to everything. Room 7 11, City Hotel, Los Angeles. Early that evening, you stroll into the lobby of the City Hotel in Los Angeles, buy a paper and drop into a chair near the stairway. You glance at the familiar headlines of the Mary Cartney murder and then sit back and pretend to read. But you don't read beyond the headlines, do you, Joe? Instead, you're on the alert. Your eyes sweep the lobby from one end to the other. You've got to play it safe. You smile as you pick out the house detective lounging against the desk. You're certain the murder of Mary Cartney is the least of his worries. You've got to be sure of one thing before you go upstairs. That room 711 is really Ann Whitney's room. You hurry out of the lobby and into the drugstore on the corner. Will you make a phone call? City Hotel. I'd like to speak with Ms. Ann Whitney, please. Room 7 11. Just one moment, please. Well, I'm sorry, sir, she doesn't answer. Do you wish a page? No, thanks. Well, do you wish to leave a message? No. Tell me, do you have any idea when she'll be in? Oh, she didn't leave any word. I'm sorry. I'm not sorry, baby, one bit. If you had to wear heavy winter clothes right on through spring, you wouldn't feel very peppy, would you? Well, that's just how your car feels about tired old winter motor oil and gear lube now that spring is here. Yes, if you want to put spring into your driving, it's high time you are treating your car to a spring changeover at a signal service station. First step is to drain your motor and refill with signal premium compounded motor oil, the extra duty signal oil that does so much more than just lubricate. Next step is fresh signal gear lube for transmission and differential and a signal double check lubrication for the chassis. At the same time, your signal dealer will be glad to check those other points that need attention every 5 or 10,000 miles, such as front wheel bearings, oil filter or air cleaner. Say. A car just can't help feeling peppier after a spring tonic like this. So for extra driving pleasure all summer, see your signal dealer this week for a signal spring changeover. It's working perfectly, isn't it, Joe? And you're certain the key in your pocket, the key to Ann Whitney's room will lead you to the painting worth $50,000. And you won't have to share any of it with Mary Cartney's murderer. He's dead. You've killed him. And you're sure no one can connect you with his death. And now you've only to pick up the painting, return to San Diego, turn it over to Mr. Roberts and receive the money. You stroll back to the hotel casually. Ms. Whitney isn't in her room, the hotel operator said. But you're in no hurry, are you? You know she'll never return because she's dead. It's all clear, isn't it Joe? You're certain that when Mary Carney decided to double cross her partner Mirko, she registered as Ann Whitney and hid the painting in Hotel room 7 11. You move across the hotel lobby, then up the stairs. Finally at the door to room 7 11, you slip the key into the lock. You turn it, step inside. Everything is going perfectly, isn't it Joe? It should take only a few moments to find the painting. You turn on the lights. This what you came for fella? Who are you? Lieutenant Stroman, Homicide. Mr. Sergeant Andrews. Oh, well, it must be some mistake. You see, I. Where'd you get this key? Well I, I, I, I found it. You made a bad move coming here, you know. Been waiting for someone to show up. Waiting? I don't know what you mean. I, I. Girl named Mary Cartney was murdered last night. The hotel clerk here identified her as the girl who checked into this room several days ago under the name of Ann Whitney. Oh, now look, I don't know what this is all about. I also told us the girl took the key to this room with her when she left. When we found this stolen painting here, we had a hunch that Mary Cartney's killer would have her key to 7 11. And our hunch was right. He did. Wait a minute. I told you I found that key. You're under arrest for the murder of Mary Cottony. But I didn't kill Mary Cockney. I'm trying to. Hey, now wait a minute, will you? Well, this is a lot of money to be carrying around. Let's see that money, Anderson. Well this clinches it. You killed Mary Cartney. No, I didn't. Oh yes you did. The serial numbers of these bills. Check. Serial numbers? That's right. Mr. Winthrop furnished us with the serial numbers of the bills Mary Cartney stole from him. It tells all about it right on the front page of that newspaper you're carrying. You should have read it before you walked in on us. Come on, let's go. Let that whistle be your signal for the Signal Oil program. The Whistler. Each Sunday night at this same time, brought to you by the Signal Oil Company, marketers of Signal gasoline and motor oil and fine automotive accessories. To all you friends who have been sending in Limerick, Signal has asked me to say thanks for the spirit in which you've played the game. Next Sunday is the last time limericks will be used on the Whistler because Signal will soon announce something new and important that you'll all be interested in. Featured in tonight's story were Gerald Moore, Francis Robinson and Larry Dobkin. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen with story by Edward Bloodworth, music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. The Whistler is entirely fictional. And all characters portrayed on the Whistler are also fictional. Any similarity of names or resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Remember, at the same time next Sunday, another strange tale by the Whistler. F I T M A L Signal. Signal Gas. For me, Marvin Miller, speaking for The Signal Oil Company, this is Signal. CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System Autolite and its 98,000 dealers bring you Mr. Jack Benny. In tonight's presentation of suspense. Tonight, Auto Light presents a story about a man who worked for 30 years to prepare a most unique personal retirement plan. The story is called A Good and Faithful servant. Our star, Mr. Jack Benny. Hello there, Harlow. Well, the legislative luminary. How are you, Senator? My car is giving me trouble, Harlow. Your car? What's wrong with it, Senator? Well, it gets going slower than a loser leaving office. It rides rougher than a tax debate and uses more gas than a three day filibuster. Well, it may be spark plug trouble, Senator. Spark plugs should be checked every three to 4,000 miles. So see your nearest Autolite spark plug dealer. His exclusive Autolite plug check indicator will quickly show the exact condition of your spark plugs if they're worn out or wrong for your style of driving, he'll recommend resistor or standard type ignition engineered auto light spark plugs for smoother performance, quick starts and gas savings. Sounds like a propitious proposal, Harlow. How do I find this auto light spark plug dealer? Why, just phone Western Union by number and ask for operator 25. She'll quickly tell you the name of your nearest auto light spark plug dealer where you can get the finest spark plug service money can buy. And remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Autolight. And now with the performance of Mr. Jack Benny Autolight presents transcribed A good and faithful servant. Hoping once again to keep you in suspense. I know you've been through a lot, Mr. Fenton, but if you could just try to recall anything else about the appearance of the tomb. Lieutenant, couldn't this wait? Fenton has spent 14 horrible hours locked in a vault. And while I admire his spirit and pluck in bearing up as well as he has, I'm just trying to get something to go on. Mr. Waterman, do you want your money back or don't you? The welfare of my employees comes first, Lieutenant. First, last and always. And you're insured, Ms. Fenton? Don't answer if you don't feel up to it, Fenton. I don't mind, Mr. Waterman. I'm anxious to cooperate. Now, as near as I can remember. Make sure you get this, Florence. As near as I can remember. Of course, I had only a flash before they forced me into the ball. Yeah, we understand, Mr. Fenton. I had the impression of one being tall but not too tall, and the other one was shorter. But not too short. Exactly. And they were wearing masks. Rubber masks. One had a Lionel Barrymore mask, and I think the other was Dick Tracy. It was quite a shock to see him. Aha. The Brinks gang, Lieutenant. The Brinks Gang to A T, maybe. Mr. Cartwright, would you come over here, please? Mr. Cartwright, is it the practice to keep large sums of cash on hand overnight at the store? Well, yes. The store does a tremendous cash business, Lieutenant. Tremendous. And yesterday was Dollar Day. Thank you. Mr. Cartwright, how does it happen that Fenton was alone in the cash room when the bandits entered? Did he customarily close the vault for the night? Not customarily, no. When I'm unavoidably called away from the store. Well, does this happen often? Well, very seldom, Lieutenant, very seldom. But it happened yesterday. Two men walked in, put you in the vault and walked out with a big hunk of money at precisely 5:56. Mr. Cartwright opened the vault this morning at 8:02. Correct, Lieutenant. We won't know how much they got until I can make an audit. And if there's any question, Lieutenant, of corroborating Fenton's story, I need only to say that he's been with Waterman's for 30 years. A good and faithful servant. More exactly, Mr. Waterman, 29 years, 11 months and 29 days. I was due to retire tomorrow before this unfortunate circumstance arose. Oh, nonsense, Fenton. You retire tomorrow. And if there's any question, Lieutenant, of Fenton's character, his honesty, his divorce. Yeah, sure, sure, sure. You can go home, Mr. Fenton. Better get some rest. If you want to duck the reporters, go out this back way. Well, what do you think, Mr. Waterman? Entirely up to you, my boy. Entirely. But in these days of doubt, of confusion and dishonesty in high places, in I believe your simple story of courage and devotion to duty will be AN Inspiration everywhere. Mr. Waterman, I am ready to face the press. They were all very nice to me. The reporters, the police, Mr. Cartwright, and especially Mr. Waterman. All that money missing. 50,000. Yet his only concern was for many. I thought that if I could afford it, I'd like to buy him some little token of gratitude. Then I thought again. In my desk at the office there was a secret compartment and in that compartment was $50,000. I guess I could afford it. Yoohoo. Mother, I'm home. Good morning, Harold. I hope you haven't had breakfast. I've kept it hot for you. You're not going to ask me how it went, Mother? Oh, I heard over the radio. But I wish there'd been some way of doing it, that it wouldn't have kept you out all night. I wasn't out all night, Mother. I was in a vault. I know you were, Harold. And if you keep on, you're going to end up with that same sinus strip your father used to have. Oh, Mother, it was a perfectly dry, warm. Oh, never mind. Eat your cereal, Harold. You'll feel better. Mr. Waterman told me to take the day off, Mother. I'm not going in until tomorrow. That was certainly big of him. After all you've done for them. How much did you get? 50,000. It's in my desk at the office. In the drawer with the false bottom. In your desk. Will it be safe there, Harold? Well, no one will be looking for him. Harold, you don't think you'll have any trouble getting the money out of your desk? I think things will work out all right. See, according to my plan, it. Harold. You see, I told you from the beginning you weren't strong enough for this type of thing. The next Morning it at 8:43, I punched in at the store, figuring 308 working days a year. That made 9,240 punches. It was a little strange to think of this being my last. I walked through the store to the elevator, past lingerie, ladies gloves and perfume, the way I always went. But this morning was different. People looked up when I passed. They spoke to me. They knew who I was. Even the brunette in perfume smiled at me. I almost stopped, but I Couldn't think of anything to say. In the elevator, one of the girls asked me how I felt. Still scared, I said, and they laughed. They wouldn't have laughed any harder for Mr. Waterman. I got out at 8, my floor, and as I went into my office, Ms. Prentice, Mr. Cartwright's secretary, Terry, looked at me. 23 months and two days she'd been looking at the top of my head. But this morning, she looked at me and she smiled. I guess I smiled back. Good morning, Mr. Fenton. Good morning, Ms. Prentice. It wasn't much, but I felt it could have been a start. I was almost sorry this was my last day. Fenton. Fenton, did you hear me? Yes, Mr. Cartwright. I heard you, Mr. Cartwright. All right. A big workload piled up yesterday when you took off, and we haven't anyone new coming in until tomorrow. Not that I want to overload you on your last day. An honest day's work for an honest day's pay, Mr. Cartwright. Oh, good. I'm still trying to find out how much was taken in the hold up. So you're on your own. I think I can tell you almost to the penny, Mr. Cartwright. I'll make my own check. Now, about the work, I. Oh, good morning, Mr. Waterman. I was just. Well, Fenton, back at the old Esk, eh? And I just didn't feel right away from it, Mr. Waterman. Hey, I got a surprise for you this afternoon, Fenton. Going to make a little ceremony out of your retirement. A. A ceremony good for store morale, right, cartwright? Oh, absolutely, Mr. Waterman, absolutely. And about that request of yours you made last week, Fenton, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if we can swing it. Oh, you're too kind, Mr. Waterman. Oh, my boy, when you work for Waterman's 30 years, you've got something coming to you. No, really. I ate my usual lunch that day. The Thursday blue plate special at Elmo's Grotto. 70 cents, plus the usual 10% tip. 7 cents. With the usual 20 minutes left in my lunch hour, I headed for the with a nickel bag of peanuts. The squirrels were going to miss me. No, no, Mr. Waterman. You've had three already. Give Mr. Cartwright a chance. Sit up, Mr. Cartwright. Sit. That's it. That's it. Excuse me. Would you mind if I join you, Mr. Fenton? Why, Miss Prentice, of course. I mean, of course not. Sit down, sit down. Thank you. Move over, Mr. Waterman. He does look a little pompous, doesn't he? Which one is Mr. Cartwright? There, with the small mustache. He bites. And is there a Ms. Prentice. Well, there is. But I believe she is, well, nesting. Well, how long have you been feeding them, Mr. Fenton? They seem so friendly. 30 years, Ms. Prentice. My favorite animal. You give a squirrel a nut and does he eat it? No, he runs away and stores it in a hole. We could all benefit from their example. And now that you've stored your little nest egg, you're retiring, Mr. Fenton. Well, you might say that, yes. You're quite a fascinating character, Mr. Fenton. Me? I'm. I'm sorry I didn't know you sooner. You know, the whole store is talking about your ordeal in that vault. Oh, it wasn't so bad. In fact, I've always rather liked the vault. What an odd thing to say. Well, chick on, Ms. Prentice. That's French for each to his own taste. Oh, you've been abroad, Mr. Fenton? Me? Oh, my goodness, no. Oh, but you will now that you're retiring. No, no. I've got my eye on a little cottage by a lake and woods. Lots of squirrels there and no time clocks. You and your wife, Mother. Oh, I hope you get it, Mr. Fenton. Thank you, Ms. Prentice. I wonder what the robbers are going to do with all that money. I wonder. Five to one. Shall we go back and punch in Ms. Prentice? She let me walk all the way back to the store with her. And in the elevator, Mr. Bixler Sporting Goods winked at me funny. For 10 years, I'd had the feeling Mr. Bixler didn't like me. There was quite a gathering in the cashier's office when we arrived. All the executives from Mr. Waterman's down and the editor of the store paper wandering through Waterman's. I'd sent an item to him last summer. Mr. Fenton of cashier's department, spending his two week vacation at home. But he never printed it. Well, come in. Come in, Fenton. We've been waiting for our, shall we say, guest of honor. Me, Mr. Waterman. You, Fenton. We have a little ceremony which I hope to conclude before the lunch hour was over. Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Waterman. Think nothing of it. This is your day, Fenton, in your day. Oh, going to get a shot of the two of us wool? Yes, sir. Mr. Waterman, over by the door. If you don't mind, I'd like it sitting at my desk. I feel more well secure there by your desk. How's this? Got it? Good, good. And now, Fenton, we all say farewell to a good and faithful servant. One who has given 30 years of his life as a contribution to, however small, to making Waterman's the great institution it is today. Well done, Harold Fenton. Thank you. A modest man, but conscientious. His regular comings and goings passed almost unknown to many until his ordeal of two days ago, locked all night in the vault by brutal and rapacious thieves. A night in which, in his own words, he relived each and every day of his 30 year service. As to Waterman's greater devotion hath no man was nothing really. And now his labor's done, his burden born, Fenton will live up the rest of his days in ease and comfort because he has arrived at the retirement age of the Waterman Pension Plan, by which he will receive$31.68 a month.$31.68 a month for as long as he lives. Thank you. And now, a little surprise for Harold Fenton. A week ago, in a letter to me, our good and faithful servant asked that on his retirement he be given permission to purchase for his home his old desk. Actually, Mr. Waterman, I. I don't know what I'd do without it. Oh, Frankly, I put in a lot of thought on this simple request. I weighed the factors in my mind. On the one hand was Fenton's 30 year service. On the other, Mr. Waterman. On the other, he was already receiving his pension of. Well, his pension. However. Please, Mr. Waterman. However. Fenton, my boy, I decided to go you one better. One better. Not a new desk. Nothing so unsentimental, Fenton. Instead of allowing you to purchase the desk, I'm giving it to you. Phew. All right, boys, right in here. Take the desk wherever Fenton here wants it. Now, back to work, everybody. Month end clearance today. Whoops. Easy, man. Don't drop it. Easy. Bend in, my boy, in the years ahead, when you're seated at your old desk, think of us, won't you? I certainly will, Mr. Waterman. I certainly will. Autolite is bringing you Mr. Jack Benny in a good and faithful servant. Tonight's presentation in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, suspense. Well, Senator, did you take my advice? Why, yes, Harlow. My Autolite spark plug dealer turned my worn spark plugs out of office and elected a set of ignition engineered Autolite spark plugs. A wise move, Senator. Those Auto Light spark plugs are designed by the same Autolite engineers who design the coil, distributor, generator and all the other important parts of the complete ignition system. Used as original equipment on many leading makes of our finest cars, trucks and tractors, they're world famous for quality and performance. And my auto light spark plug dealer nominated auto light resistor spark plugs for my Car Harlow. Ah, you're on top now, Senator. Because auto light resistor spark plugs represent one of the greatest advancements in spark plugs for automotive use in the past 20 years. They offer proven advantages such as double life gas savings and smoother performance. And they're specified as original equipment on many leading makes of our finest cars. What's more, the auto light resistor spark plug is just one of a complete line of ignition engineered auto light spark plugs for every use. So, fellow citizens, be sure vote for auto light. Right, Senator. Friends, take a tip from me and see your nearest auto light spark plug dealer this week. And remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Autolight. And now, Autolight brings back to our Hollywood soundstage, Mr. Jack Benny in Elliot Lewis's production of A Good and Faithful Servant, a tale well calculated to keep you in susp. Retirement agreed with me. I walked to the park to see my friends when I felt like it. Leisurely lunch at Elmo's Grotto when I felt like it. And when the need arose, a little gardening. Mother and I were very happy. You've done enough for one morning, Harold. Your back will go out again. All through, Mother. Just cleaning off the spade. What were you planting this morning, Harold? Mother, if anything should happen to me, knock wood. Knock wood. Right in between the beets and the radishes, there's a very rich patch of dirt, Sir. Aren't we going to get our little cottage by the lake? I have to go in town today, Mother. I might just inquire around. Oh, good. You know, Mr. Waterman is really a very sweet man. The Waterman pension plan. I just wish I could tell him how happy it's made me. I hadn't told Mother, but Ms. Prentice had called that morning. Mr. Cartwright wanted to see me that afternoon at the office, she said, and she asked how I was. What would have happened if I'd asked her to lunch? I almost did, too. In the cashier's office at the store. Ms. Prentice smiled when she saw me and I smiled back. In fact, we struck up quite a conversation. Oh, Mr. Fenton, how are you? Fine, just fine, Ms. Prentice. Retirement agree with you? Yes, yes, indeed. Fine. You notice we haven't filled your old job? No. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Haven't been able to find another man of your type of. Well, well. Is that you, Fenton? Come on in here. Coming, coming, Mr. Cartwright. Sit down, Fenton. Sit down. Thank you. Just trying to clean up accounts on the robbery. Fenton, what was your final tally again? 50,000. Almost exactly, Mr. Cartwright, you're way off. That doesn't check with my audit at all. I'm quite sure of my figures. Well, then you're wrong, that's all. My check shows they got away with 82,000. 82,000? Right. Now, if you'll just sign the necessary statements corroborating my order. I can't do that, Mr. Cartwright. And just why can't you? Don't you take my word for it? Frankly, no, Fenton. Look, you're retired. It's nothing to you one way or the other. You just made a little mistake in your figures, that's all. Mr. Cartwright, are you asking me to help cover up a shortage in your accounts? All right, Fenton, I'll lay it on the line temporarily. I'm a bit short involvement with a woman, and you wouldn't understand. I most certainly wouldn't. Look, I'll make it worth your while. Shortages are found out Sooner or later, Mr. Cartwright. All right, if that's your attitude. Let me tell you something, Fenton. I don't like the smell of this robbery of yours. I don't like it at all. What do you think of that? You're implying that I made off with $50,000 belonging to Waterman's? I think it's highly possible. And how are you so sure it was 50,000? Supposing me for one instant capable of Such a thing, Mr. Cartwright, wouldn't I be much too clever to put my head in a noose by covering up for you? Fenton, if I was talking to an honest man, wouldn't he have taken my story right to Mr. Waterman? Hmm? I'll give you five minutes. Either sign my audit, or I go to the police and accuse you of stealing $82,000. Think it over, Finn. No question about it. Mr. Cartwright's dishonesty might be a bit awkward for me. My instinct about the man had been thoroughly sound. I had disliked him for 16 years. Well, there was only one safe way out of it. Well, Mr. Cartwright, if you need money. Yes? Why don't you rob the vault? Actually, it isn't hard at all. Well, how did you. How do I get away with the money? I'm sorry. I never reveal professional secrets. Well, then you'll have to help me, Fenton. Lock me in the vault and you get away with the money. Me? Sure. Then we're both in the clear for good. Help me out, Fenton. You mean I'm going to clear out the vault a second time? You'll never regret it. Regret it? The fact is, I. I'd rather enjoy it. We Settled on the following Friday. Friday nights the stores stayed open till nine. And there were having a big white sale that day. The money was already stacked on Mr. Cartwright's desk when I got there. It was a juicy hall. I didn't see Mr. Cartwright around, but. Hello, Mr. Fenton. Ms. Prentice. But. But the money. I. I was listening when you and Mr. Cartwright made your plans. Mr. Fenton and. And. And he caught me and forced me to help him. You understand, Harold. I mean, Mr. Fenton. Harold, times like these draw people together quickly, don't you think? Oh, I do. I really do, Ms. Prentiss. Helen. Thank you, Helen. Ms. Prentice, Mr. Cartwright mentioned a woman in his life. You're not the one, Harold. Of course not. Excuse me. I just thought. You remember the office party last Christmas? Oh, that. Well, that was just because he was under the mistletoe. And if you'd been under it instead of Mr. Cartwright, really well. Oh, Fenton, you're here. Good. Anybody see you come up? It doesn't matter, really. Mr. Cartwright. Might even be better that way. Then you and Ms. Prentice can say that I left minutes before the bandits arrived. You're right, of course, Harold. Thank you. Are you ready, Mr. Cartwright? I brought some wrapping paper for the money. Even brought along a handle with care sticker. That's the Fenton touch, you know. Get on with it, will ya? No need to be nervous. There. Neat. I spent eight years in wrapping and mailing. All right. You know what to do with it, Helen. I know. Just a minute, Mr. Cartwright. I'm to take the money, remember? There's been a change, Fenton. We rewrote the script. You think that's wise to fly in the face of my experience? Now look, Fenton. Winner, children. You lock us in a vault and take off with the money, you think we'd ever see you again? Well, you're questioning my honesty. I'm sure Ms. Prentice will vouch for me. We're rather good friends, Ms. Prentice. Helen. Unfortunately for you, Fenton, Helen's on my side. Now, if you wouldn't mind getting into the vault. Me? Me? In the vault? But this is a loaded gun, Fenton. Get in the vault. But you came back for a second helping, that's all. The confederate got away with the money, but I courageously slammed the vault door on you and went for help. But will they believe me? I imagine they'll find 50,000 somewhere around your house. They'll believe me, Helen. I see. I'm sorry, Harold. It's a nasty trick. But we're nasty people. You should have stuffed squirrels. Just one thing, Fenton. How did you ever get that 50,000 out of here? The first time. How? Well, I didn't, Mr. Cartwright. You didn't? Then where is it? It's still in the vault. I don't believe it. Oh, it's quite cleverly hidden. It took me most of that night. I was locked in. Get in there and show me. I'm sorry, Mr. Cartwright. Get in there. No. I went through a lot for that money, Mr. Cartwright. 30 years. I just as soon you shot me. Helen, hold the gun on him. I'm going in and look. Well, don't be long. What if somebody should walk in? I'll be able to see if he's lost. Lying. Just watch him. You see anything? Not yet. I don't think it's possible. Open the door so I can get some more lights. Must be true. Crime changes people. I had never lied. Yet I lied to Cartwright. I never used violence. Yet I got behind Helen and I. I guess I'll go home. Mother will be wondering what's happened to me. Some more cereal, Harold? I don't think so, Mother. Thanks. What time is it? 8:10, son. They would have opened the vault at 8 this morning. The police should be here any minute. Are you sure those two will implicate you, Harold? It seems likely, Mother. The gun would be hard to explain. And I think Ms. Prentice will turn on Mr. Cartwright. After a night in the vault? Yes, she's just the type. I'm sorry, Mother. I guess I just don't know much about women. It's all right, son. You think they'll be hard on you? Not very. I haven't spent any of the money. The insurance companies always look kindly on such cases. There they are, harold. How long? Two years, Mother. Maybe less. Maybe even one. It's still a long time. A long time after 30 years in Waterman's? Hardly. I'll get the door. Suspense presented by Autolight tonight's star, Mr. Jack Benny. This is Harlow Wilcox speaking for Autolite. World's largest independent manufacturer of automotive electrical equipment. Auto Light is proud to serve the greatest names in the industry. They are members of the Autolite family, as are the 98,000 autolite distributors and dealers in the United States and thousands more in Canada and throughout the world. Our family also includes the nearly 30,000 men and women in 28 great autolite plants from coast to coast and in still other Autolite plants in many foreign countries, as well as the 18,000 people who have invested a portion of their savings in Autolite. Every Autolite product is backed by constant research and Precision built to the highest standards of quality and performance. So remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Autolight. Next week, a story of revenge. The desperate effort of a murderer to destroy the man who had committed him to prison. The story is called Concerto for Killer and Eyewitnesses. Our star, the Director of Suspense, Mr. Elliot Lewis. That's next week on South Spence. Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with music composed by Lucian Morowic and conducted by Lud Gluskin. A Good and faithful servant was written by For Suspense by Richard M. Powell. Portions of this program were transcribed in tonight's cast, Norma Varden was heard as Mrs. Fenton, Doris Singleton as Helen, Gerald Moore as Mr. Cartwright, Joseph Kearns as Mr. Waterman. High ever back as Lt. Miller and Charles Calvert as Mr. Wolf. For the location of your nearest Autolite spark plug or Autolite battery dealer or your nearest authorized Autolite service station, phone Western Union by number and ask for operator 25. Switch to autolite. Good night. This is the CBS Radio Network. We just heard Gerald Moore in the Adventures of Philip Marlowe, the Whistler and Suspense that will do it for this week's show. Thanks so much for joining me. I hope you'll be back next week for more Old Time Radio crime fighters. In the meantime, you can check out Stars on Suspense, my other Old Time Radio podcast. New episodes of that show are out on Thursdays. If you like what you're hearing, don't be a stranger. You can rate and review the show on Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen. And if you'd like to listen and support to the show, you can visit buymeacoffee.com meansts OTR. I'll be back next week with more Old Time Radio detectives. But until then, good night and happy listening. Now here is our star, Vincent Price. Ladies and gentlemen. In a prejudice filled with America, no one would be secure in his job, his business, his church or his home. Yet racial and religious antagonisms are exploited daily by quacks and adventurers whose followers make up the irresponsible lunatic fringe of American life. Refuse to listen to or spread rumors against any race or religion. Help to stamp out prejudice in our country. Let's judge our neighbors by the character of their lives alone and not on the basis of their religion or origin.