← Down These Mean Streets (Old Time Radio Detectives)
Down These Mean Streets (Old Time Radio Detectives)
Episode 641 - Black Magic? Whoa, Man! (Nick Carter, Blackstone, Michael Shayne, Bold Venture, & Richard Diamond)
02:13:55
With Halloween right around the corner, we delve into the spooky side of sleuthing with mysteries involving voodoo, curses, and other hexes. Nick Carter’s new client believes her physician practices black magic instead of medicine in “The Drums of...
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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. Welcome to down these Mean Streets and more old time radio detectives and crime solvers. It's the spookiest time of the year with Halloween only a few days away. And to celebrate I've lined up a collection of old time radio mysteries where our heroes do battle against black magic, curses and voodoo. Not exactly the typical fare for streetwise private eyes, but they'll use their smarts to thwart some supernatural suspects. First up, we've got Lon Clark as Nick Carter, the pulp novel private eye who starred in one of radio's longest running detective shows. We'll hear him in the Drums of Death or Nick Carter and the White Witch Doctor. It originally aired on Mutual on March 25, 1944. It it costars Helen Choate as Nick's girl Friday Patsy Bowen and it features a script written by science fiction author Alfred Bester, one of many Nick Carter radio adventures he penned in the 40s. Our hero is hired by a woman who suspects her new physician doesn't practice medicine but instead practices voodoo. Then it's a tale starring Blackstone, the magic detective. Harry Blackstone was a real life master magician and illusionist and his career inspired a pulp magazine and this radio series where a fictionalized Blackstone used his tricks of the trade to solve mysteries. Ed Jerome starred as Blackstone and we'll hear him today in the Riddle of the Seven Zombies. This is a pretty interesting series where each episode not only features a mystery solved by magic but but also an explanation of how a real magic trick works. Now technically magicians aren't supposed to reveal their secrets, but I think we can give a magic detective a pass here. Next we head to New Orleans for the new Adventures of Michael Shane starring Jeff Chandler as the reckless red headed Irishman. In this syndicated episode, Shane is pulled into a mystery when a woman hires him to check on her father, a man so afraid of death that he's locked himself in his home. He may have good reason to be afraid as the man he fears is widely believed to be immortal thanks to mysterious powers. It's a great episode and like so many shows in the New Adventures of Michael Shane. It takes advantage of the New Orleans setting with local color and some nice dialect and accent work from the supporting cast. One of those cast members is Betty Lou Gerson, whose voice may be most recognizable from her performance as Cruella De vil in Disney's 101 Dalmatians. Ms. Gerson also pops up in our fourth show today, a syndicated episode of Bold Venture, the mystery series starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. The married pair of Hollywood legends play Cuban hotel proprietor Sleet Shannon and his sidekick Sailor Duvall. And in this episode, they're both targeted by a voodoo priestess, a woman whose preferred weapon is a poisoned dart. And finally today, we'll hear Dick Powell as Richard diamond, private detective in an episode called Little Chiva. This one originally aired on ABC on March 23, 1951, and it finds radio singing gumshoe catching a plane to Haiti. A plantation owner there is in fear of his life. After a series of strange accidents on his farm and a mysterious illness that's plagued both him and his wife, he drops dead in Diamond's office. So the detective picks up the trail and begins an international hunt for a killer, one who may use voodoo as his method of murder. This series rarely took Richard diamond outside of the Big Apple, so it's always interesting to hear him as a fish out of water in a new setting. It's a pre Halloween showcase of some spooky sleuthing. We'll kick things off with Nick Carter right after these messages. Autolite Original factory parts and Autolite service stations work as a team to help you maintain carefree, economical performance for your car. So, friends, when your car's electrical system needs attention, drive into your nearest Auto light service station or the dealer who sells your make of car and ask for original factory parts and auto light service. Money can't buy better electrical equipment than Auto Light. And remember, Auto light means spark plug ignition Engineered spark plug Auto light means batteries stay full battery. Auto light means ignition system, the lifeline of your car. 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Remember, more independent tobacco experts, auctioneers, buyers and warehousemen smoke Lucky Strike regularly than the next two leading brands combined. So when you choose your cigarette, remember that Lucky's fine tobacco puts you on the right level, the lucky level, where you feel your best and do your best. Feeling low, feeling tense. These taste words are common sense. Smoker, lucky to feel your level. Best smoker, lucky to feel your level. Best to make every day more enjoyable, treat yourself often to refreshing, delicious. Wrigley Spearmint Chewing Gum. Here's a taste treat you can enjoy indoors, outdoors, at work or at play. The cool, long lasting mint flavor refreshes you. The smooth, steady chewing helps keep you fresh and alert. Adds enjoyment to whatever you're doing. Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum. Healthful, refreshing, delicious. I dedicate this program to the fight against crime. Not merely crimes of violence and crimes of dishonesty, but crimes of intolerance, discrimination and bad citizenship. Crimes against America. What's the matter? What is it? Another case for Nick Carter, Master detective? Yes, it's another case for that most famous of all manhunters, the detective whose ability at solving crime is unequalled in the history of detective fiction. Nick Cotter, Master Detective. Tonight's curious adventure, the Drums of Death or Nick Cotter and the Mystery of the White Witch Doctor. And so, gentlemen, you will find enclosed to compete those here on the criminal in question, plus all the evidence needed for a conviction. Yours very truly, et cetera, et cetera. Wait a minute, wait a minute, Nick. Not so fast. Yours very truly. Okay, what now? What else do we have to take care of? Patsy, the only unfinished business I know of right now is this bunch of letters from that Mrs. Galley. Oh, yes. What was it this Mrs. Galley wanted me to do? She's worried about her doctor, Nick, and she wants to consult you. No, let her consult another doctor. If she doesn't like the one she's got now, throw her letters out. Patsy, let's go celebrate having our old business all cleaned up. Well, I would, Nick, except that the letter we got from her today Throws a new light on her problem. What did she have to say today that was so vital? She says she's afraid of her doctor. Afraid of him? Oh, hum. Mrs. Galley's that old wealthy dowager I met at somebody's tea a few weeks ago, isn't she? That's who she is, isn't she? She's probably a crotchety old hypochondriac whose hobby is doctors. That isn't it. And now that she's seen every physician in town. She wants to start in collecting detectives. Does she say why? She's afraid of whatever doctor she's going to now? Yes, she does, Nick. She says he's. He's a witch doctor. It was very kind of you to come, Mr. Carter. I hoped you would. I confess I wasn't too eager, Mrs. Carl. Until Ms. Bowen told me about your last letter. I. Well, perhaps it's silly to believe in such things as voodoo and black magic nowadays. But I don't know what to say. Suppose you tell your story and let me be the judge. Well, there isn't much to tell, Mr. Carter. I was. What's that? Only the wind, Mrs. Galley. It's nothing. I'm so unnerved. Well, here's my story. Last week, my nephew, Walter Galley, told me about a wonderful new doctor he discovered. Dr. Congo. I wasn't feeling well and the name interested me. So I went to see him. Good morning. Is Dr. Congo in? Good morning, madam. Yes, the doctor is in. Can't say I remember a doctor's office in Vanderbilt Square before. You're new here, aren't you? Have you come to see Dr. Congo, madam? Naturally. Do I look like an insurance salesman? Have you an appointment? Mrs. Galley is the name. Mrs. Galley. My nephew made an appointment for me. Oh, yes. Mrs. Galley. Will you step this way, please? Dr. Congo's expecting you. Thank you. Wait a moment. What's that noise? Drums, madam. Drums? What drums? If you'll step inside, Mrs. Galley, you'll find out for yourself. Very well. Drums indeed. What nonsense is this? Good morning, Mrs. Galley. I presume. I'm Dr. Congo. Good morning, Dr. Congo. I want. Golly, what a story. Go on, Mrs. Galley. Why did you scream? Because I saw. I saw. Yes, what did you see? A white savage. What? From his neck to his toes. Dr. Congo was an ordinary man. He was wearing striped trousers, formal cutaway jacket, wing collar, ascotie. He was beautifully dressed. But his face. Yes, his face was hideous. Shaven skull. A horrid grinning mouth showing his teeth. Which had all been filed to a point. And he had a bone through his nose. Like a cannibal? Yes. At first I was stunned, and then I thought it might be a joke. My nephew Walter was playing on me. I sat down while the drums throbbed. I'm sorry I screamed, Dr. Congo, but you gave me quite a start. I usually do that to my clients. Mrs. Galley, what kind of a doctor are you? A witch doctor. You're fooling, aren't you? On the contrary. But it's unbelievable. We only talk about things like witchcraft nowadays. I am not joking, Mrs. Galley. I've spent 15 years in the heart of Africa studying voodoo. My face, the drums, the African witchcraft apparatus in this room. All are a necessary part of my profession. Profession? Yes. I am a professional witch doctor. And as such can guarantee miracles that modern medicine would never dream of. Ridiculous. I don't believe you. Really? Pardon me, Mrs. Galley. I was just ordering my men to begin the voodoo drum incantation. None of my clients believe me at first, Mrs. Galley, but I convince them. Now, if you'll allow me. What are you doing with those scissors? I merely removed a lock of your hair. Now, in spite of yourself, you are officially one of my patients. And I warn you, my fee is high. Well, you're wasting your time, sir. I don't want to be a patient of yours, and I won't pay any fee. I'm leaving. Good day, Sir. One moment, Mrs. Galley. Dr. Connell, let go of my arm. You don't understand me, Mrs. Galley. And I'm afraid you don't understand voodoo. This lock of your hair places your health in my hands. Your life or death are mine to do with as I desire. And my fee for this visit is $10,000. Preposterous. Get out of my way. $10,000, Mrs. Galley. Now listen closely. Three times you will hear my Congo drums roll no matter where you are. If you have not seen, when you hear them for the third time, you will die. Good morning, Mrs. Galley. Then, Mr. Carter. I ran out of that office. I. I'm 65 and not as strong as I was. But I was frightened. I realized he was threatening to kill me with voodoo. And we don't believe in that nowadays, do we? Not as a rule. Three drum rolls, he told me. And if I don't pay for the third one, I die. Stuff and nonsense, I said. And then that very night, when I was alone in his room, I heard the distant and roll of Congo drum. Golly. Now, Mrs. Galley, you must calm yourself. I'm sure it's only your nerves. We don't believe in witchcraft. Today. You got to believe me, Mr. Carter. I've already heard Dr. Congo's drums beat once. Perhaps you only think you did. Mrs. Galley. This Dr. Congo is playing on your nerves. Hysteria can make us think we hear anything. Oh, no, no, no, no. I'm sure I heard. Wait, nick. That wasn't Mrs. Galley's imagination. I heard it too. And so did I. Patsy. It's the second time. It's not just my nurse. You saved me from Dr. Congo. Mr. Carter. If you can't, I'm lost. His voodoo will kill me. Help me. Help me. Mrs. Galley, you mustn't let this get you. I never believed in witchcraft before, but I do now. What a joke, honey. Mrs. Galley, please. Please, I'm. Thank you. Mrs. GALLEY. What a joke. Auntie. Voodoo. Slap her face, Betsy. What? Quick. Snap her out of this. Okay, you say so. Mrs. Galley, listen to me. I'll take over this case, so don't worry. Now, where can I find your nephew Walter? He's usually in the Bubble Bar Cafe at this house. Oh, Mr. Carter. Is that Dr. Kong? Go get me. I. Nick, she's fainted. Call her maid and tell her to put her to bed. We've got to get out of here. You go back to the office. I'm going to look for Mrs. Galley's nephew. But Nick, what about Dr. Carlo? Isn't he the one you want to see? No. I have a hunch this case hinges on Walter Galley. This Babble Bar Cafe is a pretty tough looking dive for a place with such a fancy name. Hmm. Nobody here but the bartender and that piano player. Well, it must be too early in the evening. Good evening. Hiya, pal. What'll it be? Information. Huh? I'm looking for someone. Who? Walter Galley. Oh, him. Walter ain't come in yet. Hang around. He's due any minute. He live around here? Yeah, across the street. River Apartments. I see. He owes you money too, huh? How's that? Don't play dumb, pal. Galley's clipped us all. Somebody's always coming around looking for him. Pal. I'd give plenty to get back what he owes me. He's no good. How's chances of collecting? Zero, pal. Zero. Yali claims he's got a rich old Anne who's gonna leave him plenty when she kicks off. But I don't. For the lover. What is it? What's the matter, man? Turn around and look. Oh. Good evening, Mr. Carter. Ah, Dr. Congo, I presume. Quite right. What's that thing he's got for a face? Don't you find it inconvenient walking around wearing a bone through your nose, Dr. Congo? No, Mr. Carter, I don't. It's my business. And what's your business with me? You see this African spear I'm carrying? Yes. I'm going to present it to you. And why? Merely as a warning, my impulsive friend. A warning? Yes, a warning. Keep away from Walter Galley and his aunt. Or the next time my drums roll, they'll be beat for your death, my dear witch doctor. Then, just to punctuate my warning, here's the present. I promise you. Take it. Watch out. He just missed you with that spear, mister. Keep it for a souvenir. Bartender, I'm going after that man. Hey, Dr. Congo. Dr. Congo. Down that side street. Congo thinks he can scare me off with that voodoo nonsense. Congo. Congo. He's cutting across the street up there. Well, let's see if he can outrun me. Hey. Hey, look out. Watch me. Oh, Nick. Nick, are you all right? Oh, Nick. Oh, what happened? Huh? Oh, yes. I remember now. Oh, is that you, Patsy? It's me, all right. Oh, that was close. What happened? I got here just as that car almost ran you down. Well, whoever it was tried his best to get rid of me. But why? Probably because I was chasing Dr. Congo. Dr. Congo? Yes. Paid me a visit when I was looking for Walter Galley. At the Bubble Bar Cafe. Yes. Congo threw an African spear at me. I chased him out into the street. Good. Heck, probably had an accomplice waiting with a car for just such an emergency. Oh, Nick, they might have killed you. They certainly tried hard enough. Must have jumped a mile trying to dodge that car. Nick, listen, I came down here looking for you. What's happened? Mrs. G's maid phoned the office just as I got there. She was hysterical. She could hardly talk. What happened, Pessy? Mrs. G. Has vanished. Oh, Ms. Carter, I'm so glad you come. Mrs. G has disappeared. How do you mean Mrs. G disappeared? She refused. Spirited away, monsieur. By witchcraft. It's horrible. She simply vanished. When did you see Mrs. Galley last? After you leave, I put her to bed. She has the hysteria. You remember? Yes, I remember. She does not rest. She cannot sleep. She scream and laugh. So I tell her I will get her the oatmeal. And I'm in the kitchen when I hear her scream upstairs. And they never said me. She does not stop. She's. How you say? Cut off. I enter the bedroom and. And what? You must look for yourself, monsieur. I do not go into this room again. All right, all right. Where is It. I know. Come on. Okay. Oh, Nick, do you really think Dr. Congo made Mrs. Galley vanish? I don't know what to think yet. But those voodoo drum. We heard them when we were here before. Yes, we heard them. Is this the bedroom? Yes. Mm. The room looks all right. Nothing upset. No sign of a struggle, Nick. But look on the bed. The bed. Oh. What is it, Nick? Looks like dust. Dust? Forming the outline of a human figure. If there's any truth in voodoo, Patsy, that's what's left of Mrs. Galley. Oh, Nick, this is awful. Now, steady, Patsy. Steady. But. But this must be real witchcraft, Nick. No human agency could do this to Mrs. Galley. The drum. The Congo drum. Let's get out of here. If I hear those drums again, I'll scream. They're horrible. You better get ready to hear plenty more, Patsy. Right now we're going to pay a visit to Dr. Congo. This is Vanderbilt Square, Betsy. Look for Dr. Congo's sign. Do we have to come here, Nick? We do, Betsy. I want to have a look at Dr. Congo's office. Nice old residential section. It's awfully dark. Yeah. No lights in the houses anywhere. Nick. There it is. The doctor sign. Oh, yes. Yes. Congo. WD probably stands for witch doctor. All right, Patsy. Come on. Oh, Nick, I'm scared. Certainly you don't believe in voodoo, Patsy. I never did before. But Dr. Congo seems to have changed my mind. Maybe. Would you rather wait in the car? What, desert you? I may be scared, but I'm no coward. That's the girl, Patsy. Chin up. I'm trying, but it makes my teeth chatter too loud. Well, here we are. A nice side window. Going to have a peek inside? No. Going to break in. What's that? Just a gadget, Patsy, for unlocking locked windows. Oh. Now we turn the catch. And there we are. I'll go first, Patsy. Okay. All right. Let me give you a hand, Patsy. All right. There. And here we are in the den of the witch doctor. What are you looking for? Any clues that'll help us. Rather do it by daylight. But this flashlight will have to serve. Hurry up, Nick. I want to get out of here. Sorry to interrupt Mr. Carter again. I believe. Just paying a friendly call. Dr. Congo interested in Mrs. Galley's unfortunate disappearance, eh? You know about that, huh? Naturally, my voodoo did it. Mrs. Galley was too stubborn to pay the fee she owed me. I would advise you to raise your hands, Mr. Carter. You see, the young lady understands. The native archer is eager to shoot. He'll not miss next time. What do you want, Congo? I Thought it was obvious. Money. And I'm going to get it in spite of you. Because unfortunately, you're helpless, Carter. You cannot fight my voodoo. And no law court will convict me of murder by witchcraft. The police will laugh at your evidence. At my evidence? I wonder. You can wonder on your way home, Mr. Carter. This way out. And let me warn you never to return. Or you'll not go out alive. Come on, Nick. One last word. I've already spoken to Walter Galley on the phone. He refuses to pay the money his aunt owed me. Walter has no money. Ah, but he can raise plenty at a moment's notice. On the inheritance he'll receive now that his aunt is dead. That's true. If his aunt is dead, you had better use your influence on him, if you have any. And persuade him to pay before it's too late. Another threat, Dr. Congo? Listen, Mr. Carter, I do not make empty threats. You've already seen the power of my voodoo. In the case of Mrs. Gailey. And I'm not joking now. My black magic is already cutting away Walter Galley's life. Unless he agrees to pay what I ask. In a very short time, he too will rot to dust. Good night, Mr. Carter. Nick. I. I can't believe it. He let us go alive. Yes, Patsy. This time Congo overplayed his hand. And I believe a visit to Walter G's apartment will prove it. Mr. Galley. Mr. Galley. Mister Galley. No one home. Then we'll just go in and wait. This looks like an easy lot in the moment. I'm almost afraid to go in. Too late, Patsy. We're in already. Come on. Radio playing all the lights are on. We must have just stepped out for a moment. Yes, looks that way. What do you think about Dr. Congo's threatening him? Let's look around. Wait a minute. Ought to turn off that radio. There. That's better. Wonder where Galley is. Maybe he went to pay that money to Dr. Congo. Perhaps, but I doubt it. Nick, look. What is it, Betsy? Look at that couch beside the radio. It. It's covered with dust. Yes, I see. It's shaped like a human figure. Exactly like the dust on Mrs. Galley's bed. Then Congo killed Water Galley, too. The evidence seems to point that way. But how can Congo do this, Nick? By voodoo. So Congo says. Beat a few drums, melt a wax figure. And your victim rots to dust. And there's the dust on the couch. Then you believe it, too. I didn't say that. Patsy, listen. The drum again. Oh, Nicholas, drop this case. We can't fight the supernatural. We don't understand it. It's like trying to stop the wind. Trying to stop the wind? Of course, Patsy. That's the one last explanation I was looking for. I should have thought of that myself. What? I mean, this case is solved. Give me a moment to write a note here at Galley's desk. A note to whom? To Dr. Congo. My dear Dr. Congo, you are right. I have no case for the police. I have just discovered that both your victims committed suicide. Signed Nick Carter. That's a peculiar note. What does it mean? Dr. Conger will understand it. But, Nick, it couldn't be suicide. Mrs. Galley and Walter vanished. No bodies were found. Dr. Conger will understand what it means. Betsy. Oh, Nick, you're just deliberately mystifying me. No, Patsy, you'll understand, too later. But right now, I want you to deliver this note to Mrs. Galley's maid. Her maid? No questions. Now deliver it and hurry back to the office. Because very shortly. We're going to hear Dr. Congo's drums beating again. And this time they'll be beating for Nick. Nick, over here. Patsy, you deliver the note? Yes. What in the world are you doing? Just setting up my motion picture projector. Oh, Nick, this is no time for movies. The police were at Mrs. Galley's. News about her disappearance is getting around. Why? I understand the whole social set's going crazy. That's exactly what Congo wants. If you fail on this case, Nick. Everyone will be afraid not to pay Congo. As I said, that's exactly what Congo wants. Said he was after money, didn't he? Who do you think Congo will attack next? The drum. Congo's drum. There's your answer, Betsy. You mean he's after us? Exactly. I know it got a quicker response than I thought it would. Betsy, put out the lights. Quick. Now what? Now the projector. There, you see? I've got it set in the shape. Why, that's wonderful. It makes it look as if we were standing in front of the window talking. Those shadows on the curtain look as natural as light. Right. Now get over to the side of the room. Now, wait from in front of the window. But. No buts. Follow instructions. We're playing against the killer, Patsy. You mean Congo? Yeah. Down on the floor. Lay flat. I wish you quiet. What am I supposed to do? Wait. And when you hear shots, scream. Scream? You heard me. But who's going to do the shooting? Our old friend Nick. Are you all right? Quiet. Everything's all right. All they shot was the movie projector. In about 10 seconds now, they'll be coming in here. To check up on the results. Nick, did you say they. Now listen. Just as soon as you hear the door slam, turn on the lights. But, Nick. Don't argue, Betsy. Okay, now quiet. That apparently took care of them. Yes, I think that we. Light, Betsy. As you see, you're covered with this gun I hold in my hand. Nick Carter. I told you, Walter, he was. Shut up. Put up that tommy gun you have there laid on the table, Dr. Congo. But, Nick, that's Mrs. Galley. I thought she was dead. That's what you were supposed to think, Patsy. And the chap with her is her nephew, Walter. But I don't understand, Nick. Very simple, Patsy. This clever pair created Dr. Congo. A phony witch doctor played by Walter Galley. Their motive? Blackmail. And they pretended to be their own first two victims. I see. So they could disappear. And then spend their entire time playing Dr. Conko. And also so that their fates would terrify future victims. Into paying Dr. Congo's exorbitant fees. Without any protest. You are indeed clever, Mr. Carter. Very clever. Then all that voodoo was make believe. Phony? Yes, Betsy. As phony as the shadows on our window shade. With this precious pair attacked as phony. Is the make makeup that turned Walter into a witch doctor. That's why I wrote that note, Patsy. About having learned that both disappearances were really suicides. I knew then that I'd seen through their whole scheme. But those mysterious drone beats we heard even outside our own window. Let me show you how that was done. Let me see. Oh, yes. Here it is. You see, Patsy? A simple gadget attached to the outer frame. A windmill connected to a small drum. When the wind blows hard enough, the drum beats. Watch. I'll spin it. So that's what scared me. That plus your imagination. It was imagination you two counted on most, wasn't it, Dr. Congo? You concocted the voodoo tale. Planted your own clues. And then vanished. The rest you left to human nature. Right. Why did they call you in, Nick? Why didn't they let well enough alone? They were playing for high stakes, Betsy. They thought they had a perfect record. And if I failed to break it, their victims wouldn't fight back. But the phony Dr. Congo was far too eager to let us escape. That was the second important clue. The second? What was the first? Mrs. Galley claimed she was in Congo's power. Because he'd cut off a lock of her hair. Remember? Yes, but isn't that according to voodoo tradition? Certainly. But it couldn't work with Mrs. Galley. Why not? No. Patsy, you disappoint me. Look at Mrs. Galley now. You're close enough. I see Mrs. Galley wears a wig. Of course. Fancy. And a lock of hair cut from a wig would hardly put the wearer of the wig under the spell of even the best witch doctor in the world. Well, for the love of. Look here, Carter. We can't stand here all night with our hands in the air like this. No. What are you going to do with us? Oh, sorry to treat you two this way, but I don't like visitors who bring tommy guns to my office. I was a fool to let you go when I had you in my office, Carter. You were all kinds of a fool, Galley. Or do you prefer to be called Dr. Congo? You hadn't been in such a hurry, your plans might not have been quite so apparent. And if you hadn't been so obvious in sending me to see Walter Galley in the middle of the night when he hadn't had time to raise the money to pay you even if he wanted to, I shouldn't have been quite so sure what your schemes were. Your eagerness to begin collecting from your victims was your downfall. All right, but the next time. That's what they all say, my friend. But there won't be any next time. Nick Carter plays for keeps. This has been another of the strange adventures of Nick Carter, master detective, which are brought to you regularly at the Same Time by WOR Mutual. And now, Philip Clark, who played Dr. Congo in our story tonight, has a message from our government that I want you all to hear. Go ahead, Phil. A friend of mine asked me the other day, why do we need to save waste paper? And how come the supply of paper is limited? Well, the answer to that is obvious. An army needs men and lumberjacks, among others. Join the army. Fewer trees are cut down. Consequently, there's less paper made because there's less wood pulp available for making it. But that same war that cuts down the available supply of paper demands an ever increasing quantity of paper for many vital war needs. Paper goes into cartons and containers for food, weapons and equipment needed by the armed forces. Paper is necessary for many of the actual weapons of war, such as incendiary bombs, bomb fins, wingtips, airplane signals, parachute flares, ration containers and ammunition containers. And the American home is the greatest potential source of waste paper. Every kind is needed. Bags, wrapping paper, newspaper magazines, old containers and so on. So if you're not already doing so, start today salvaging all the waste paper you possibly can. Then sell it to your junk dealer or donate it to some charitable organization. But don't throw away a single scrap of paper. Make it help us win this war. And now, Nick, what about your story for next week? Well, it's about a gang of super crooks who had stolen a very valuable invention and came kidnapped the old inventor and his beautiful daughter to hold them as hostages. And even though I accidentally knew in advance what was going to happen, I was too late to stop them due to an unfortunate accident. But Nick more than made up for it the way he went after those crooks. Within 24 hours he succeeded in capturing the gang and rescuing the professor and his daughter. Yes, Betsy, but it was fast and furious while it lasted. Scubby and I were in hot water right up until the end of the chase. What do you call the story, Nick? I've called it the Professor's Secret or the Mystery of the Z Rays. That's all until next week. So long. So long everybody. So long to you both Nick and Patsy. In the strange adventure you have just heard, Nick Carter was impersonated by Lon Clark. Patsy by Helen Choate. The story was written for Nick Carter by Alfred Bester. Original music was played by Lou White. The entire production was under the direction of Jock McGregor. Next week at the same time, listen to another curious experience of Nick Carter entitled the Professor's Secret or Nick Carter and the Mystery of the Z Rays. This story is a cat copyrighted feature of street and Smith Publications Incorporated. The Return of Nick Carter is produced in the studios of W and is broadcast over most of these stations every Saturday evening at seven o' clock Eastern War time. And don't forget that the adventures of Nick's adopted son, Chick Otter are broadcast over most of these stations Mondays through Fridays at 5:30pm Eastern. War time. This is mutual. The Magic Detective, starring the world's greatest living magician, Blackstone. He tells you the story of the riddle of the seven zombies. And right after the story, Blackstone will reveal the guarded secrets of the world's greatest living magician. And now stand by for Blackstone, the Magic Detective. Do you believe in zombies, Blackstone? Do we, Rhoda? I certainly do. You certainly sound sure of that, Rhoda. I am. Why? What do you mean? I've seen a zombie, Alan. Oh, you're just kidding. No, she's not. See that drum there on the wall? That shabby old one? Yes, I see it. What about it? Listen. Why, it's beating all by itself. That drum saved me from being killed by the zombies, Alan. Rhoda, you sound serious. I am. Certainly. I can tell when you And Blackstone are kidding. But this time I'm not sure. Well, I'll tell you the story, Alan. Maybe you'll believe it, maybe you won't. I don't know what to believe myself. It all started down in San Domingo where Blackstone and I were on scene. That's quite a collection of old magic equipment you found belonging to that old magician, isn't it, Blackstone? Most of it's pretty worthless, but there are a few good things. What are you planning to do today? Oh, I know. I thought I might walk up to that old castle on the hill and look around. It looks fascinating. I wouldn't do that if I were you, Rhoda. The natives say the place is haunted by zombies. Oh, come now, Blackstone. You can't expect me to believe in mythical zombies. Nobody's ever known very much about zombies. There may very well be such lost souls. I wouldn't mess around with them if I were you. Oh, I'm not afraid. I'll be gone long. If I'm not back by noon, you'll know the zombies have got you. I started out early and arrived at the castle. It was partially ruined and I had a marvelous time prowling around through seemed assertive. And yet at times I had a feeling that someone was following me. A feeling that I wasn't alone. I can't explain it exactly. Well, I went around one corner of the building and there sat an old man with long white hair flowing over his shoulders. I wasn't even surprised to see him. He looked sort of right sitting there. He had a drum in front of him. Hello. Hello. I was just looking around the castle. I hope you don't mind. Well, I'm not gonna hurt anything, you know. Why don't you answer me? You might at least speak to me and tell me to get out. It scares me to have you just sit there. Why isn't he. Say something. Go away if you want me to, but say something. It's no use to speak to you. He hears not, neither does he speak. Did no one tell you that you should not have come here. Well, I didn't mean to trespass. I just thought I'd look around, that's all. I do not like to have anyone looking around my castle. Well, I'm sorry. I'll just. What's that? What's the mute beating the drum for? Here comes another village. This one I see, comes into the castle in direct line at the mute's visual. He is beating on his drum to call for the zombie guards. Oh, look the rocks are opening. Yes, they are opening. Those are the coffins of the living dead. Visible is coming near. He is a stranger to me. I do not like strangers. But my zombies will attend to him. And they would have attended to you had you come in the usual way instead of sneaking in behind Zimla the mutant. What? People are coming out of the caverns in the rock. Not people. Zombies. That man. You've got to say that man. Those zombies of yours are surrounding him. That is what they are supposed to do. They're rushing toward that cliff. He can't save himself. He can't fight them off. Oh, you've got to do something. He'll be killed. They're at the edge of the cliff now. Oh, the man's fallen off the cliff. It always happens this way. What are you signaling like that for? Listen to the guns. Now they're beating faster. The zombies have turned from the edge of the cliff. And they're coming back. They're coming back. Oh, let me go. No. You are the first who has ever seen the zombies at work. And you shall not live to tell. After my zombies have rested, they shall take care of you. You shall not live to go and spread the word of their work. Are you ready now for the zombies to finish with you? Now let me go. Oh, no. That would not be fair to my zombies. It is a long time since I have given them a pretty girl to kill. They will be happy. They will do my bidding for many years to come. Don't signal him. Don't signal to the dead drummer. Oh, no. No. Oh, no. Oh, no. I'm not the drum. But how else can I call forth my living dead servants? Here they come now. The rocks are opening. They're so white. They moved so slowly, as if they were asleep. But they are strong. Soon you two will plunge over that cliff under the rocks below. Another sad accident to someone who carelessly lost their footing on the cliff. They're coming near. They're coming near the zombies that surround him. Let go the zombies. Not for long. I'll give the signal for Zimba to speed the drums and they'll go back to their commons. He's signaling, but the drums is still beating slowly. The zombies are pushing him ahead of him. Help. Help. Oh. Fallen from the. And the zombies are going after him. They're falling, too. And the drum. It hasn't been the signal to call them back. It will never call them out again. Rhoda. Oh. Black donut. Black donut. I'm so glad you came. Tell Me. How much of that is true? All of it. The zombies. I saw them, Alan. I felt their cold hands on my arms. I saw them. How did you get there? Blackstone. Remember? Rhoda said you if she didn't come back by noon, it would mean the zombies had got her. But she was just joking. That's what I thought too. But she didn't come back. I got worried. And then some of the natives came down to the village bearing the body of a man who had fallen off that cliff. He was dead. And the natives had said that he came running out of the castle and fell over the cliff. And that they had heard drums beating slowly. And after he had fallen, the drums beat fast. They claimed they had seen figures who had turned back as the drums beat at us. I had a feeling that there was some connection to between those drums and the death. And also rotors vanishing. I had found a mechanical drum in the effects of the old magician. And I took it with me, substituting it for the one the death mute generally played. And the mute couldn't hear that the drum didn't speed up when he beat it faster. Do you really believe that those people were zombies? Oh, Alan, I don't know what to believe. There were people there. I know that. Maybe they were zombies. Maybe they were poor souls who had lost their minds. Maybe they were servants who were drugged. I don't know. All Eden must know is that the magic gun. And so another mystery was solved by magic. Yes, Alan. Now, Alan, here's a trick with a box of matches, a box of penny matches that are really magical. I don't see anything magical so far. You will in a moment. Now, let's slide the drawer open and see which is the top side. That's the top side. I. I see the matches. Good. I'll take a few out and push the drawer shut again. Now, let me. About how full would you say the box was? About half full. I saw the matches too. Half a box is just about enough. I don't think I could magnetize anymore. What do you mean, magnetize them? Matches are made out of wood, not magnetic. I see that you two aren't up on modern science. Very well. Watch. First I turn the box over. So now the drawer is upside down. Clever girl, Rhoda. Now, what will happen if I remove the draw by the masses will fall out of it, of course. Your plan for the top of the class. Alan, even though you're wrong, we magicians have learned how to defy the law of gravitation. Now watch. Well, You've taken the drawer out upside down, but the matches don't fall from it. Well, maybe they're glued in. Oh, but they can. Allan, didn't you hear Blackstone rattle the matches a few moments ago? Why, so he did. And I'll do more. I'll pick up a loose match the table here, put it up underneath the inverted drawer. But it stays there like the rest. Exactly. Now here's another loose match up into the drawer. The magnetism grips it and stays. I'll try one more, only I'm afraid it'll be one too many. Huh? Yes, the heavy gold. Say, those matches weren't stuck. It must have been magnetism that held them. Well, think it over, Rotor, and if you you can't give a better answer, I'll be back to tell you how it was done. Well, Blackstone, I've examined the matchbox and those matches. That there's nothing wrong with any of them. You've examined all of them? Well, I've left them older, most of them. What about this one? That's just a broken match. Most every matchbox has a few. But this is the one that did the trick. First, let's put those matches into the box. All right. And now for the short match. Here's where it was originally. Rola. We're wedging it across the center of the drawer and it's just long enough to fit. And it holds the matches in place even though they are loosely enough to shake. But why didn't Alan and I see that wedge when you open the drawer with the topside up? Because I only opened it halfway. I turned the box over before I drew the drawer completely out. And then the matches stayed and you even poked a few more up into the drawer. Yes, but at last I pushed up one too many. Yes, I remember in the match itself because I knocked the wedge loose so they would fall. There are the matches all over the table, all demagnetized. And here is an Xbox ready to be examined. Just try that trick yourself and you'll learn how good it is. I hope you like that trick. Ladies and gentlemen, and until next time, this is Blackstone saying good magic and goodbye. Be with us next time when the world's greatest living magician, Blackstone, tells us the story of crime in the stars and explains more tricks that you yourself can perform. Listen in again to Blackstone, the world's greatest living magician. Look, dog girl, I've got to know where it goes. Last night someone ran me down. Later on they killed an old man who tried to tell me Something. My nerves are like radar and they're sending out all kinds of danger signals. I'm on somebody's list. Whose list? Dog Girl. Come on, queue. The New adventures of Michael Shane, Private detective Michael Shane, reckless redheaded Irishman back in his old haunts in New Orleans, ready as always to risk his neck for Law Order and an occasional dollar. Listen now as we bring you the new adventures of Michael Sh. Hello? Michael Shane, private detective. Speaking. Mr. Shane, I have a job for you, but I can't pay you very much. Keep talking. I'm listening. My name is Marina La. I want you to come over to 1612 Wentworth Street. I meet you on the porch. On the porch? Yes. That is why I call you. My father has marked all the doors and windows. He's in the house, sitting in the dark, waiting. Waiting for What? For dead, Mr. Shane. Now we return to New Orleans and a new adventure with Michael Shane. So I was on my way across New Orleans to see Marina LaRue, whose papa was waiting for death. The 1612 Wentworth street was a couple of minutes by cab in ordinary times. But these were not ordinary times, so it was taking me a half hour to walk it. Yeah, this had been a bad month for little Mike. Police headquarters had suspended my license for 60 days for being a stunk. But even stunks have stomachs and creditors. That last buck in my wallet was so lonely it was getting psychoneurotic. So license or no license, I wasn't letting Marina LaRue get away. Just like she said, she was waiting on the porch and she was some baby doll Creole from way back and round and ripe like a candle. No busting, it seems. Only I'd been living on shredded wheat and canned milk for so long. All Marina Larue meant to me then was ham and eggs and pork chops and maybe pile a mode, Mr. Shape. Yeah. Oh, I'm so glad you're here. I'm half out of my mind. I don't want to call the police if nothing is really wrong. Hey, hey, slow down. Slow down, you. Your father's inside the house? Yes, he has been in there for the last eight days. Just sitting in his room in the dark, like I said, waiting for death. What's the matter? Is he sick? No, he's as healthy as you are. I. That's why I don't understand. Tonight he won't even let me in the house. He's locked all the doors and the windows that. I don't know what to think. Well, I think we ought to tap a Brick against one of those windows and have a talk with Papa. Yes, but first I ought to tell you that I. I break windows and talk to papas who wait for death. For something more than the sheer joy of it. For something like 20 bucks a day. You. You understand that? Of course. I told you I pay you. Okay. I always like to begin business on a friendly basis. Ah. Where's that brick? I broke the window, reached in and unlocked it, and then slid over the the sill. The house was as black as a mug of GI coffee. I found a light switch and clicked it back and forth. But nothing happened. And I let the girl in through the front door. Come on in. What happened to the lights? I don't know. Where is Papa? Yeah. Papa. Papa. I started lighting matches and we wandered through the house. Papa, where are you? A single flare of light cast crazy shadows against the walls of the ceiling. You got the screwy feeling that the house itself was alive and watching you. Except for our footsteps, there wasn't a sound. Where Are you my era? Yeah, yeah. There was a sound, all right, coming from the next room down the hall. I felt a nerve deep down inside me start jangling like a burglar alarm. I knew that sound, like I know my heartbeat. We were at the door of the room. I struck another match, and the girl saw he was hanging like a pig in a butcher shop, tied to the chandelier. His head lolled on his shoulder, and his eyes stared up with a nothing at all. Then suddenly, the girl's sobbing ended as though somebody had clamped a hand over her mouth. When she spoke, she sounded like a stranger. Strike another match a little close to his. Wasn't one look enough so I can match? Okay. He's for heat. Yeah. Funny mark. Looks like a brand or something. A coiled snake. I should have known. I should have known. That's why he was so frightened. That is who he was waiting for. And Tommy. Kyle. Hey, kid, snap out of it. Hey, what's wrong with you? What are you talking about? Who's Carell Kyle? I didn't say. I didn't. Hey, hey, hey, hey. Call the police. Tell them my father committed suicide and then go away. I did what the lady said. I called the cops, collected my 20 bucks and beat it. Because if the police found me working without a license, they might send me to bed without supper. With 20 bucks, I was once again a man of distinction. So I took a cab downtown. On the way, I debated whether to sample Antoine's elegant crawfish or Galatois savory Bouillabaisse. I settled for Charlie's Hashem beer. Charlie was an ancient, moth eaten character who kept a basement bar on Beale street just so he'd have somebody to talk to. And there weren't many customers tonight. And he stayed close to me, polishing the mahogany and looking annoyed. New Orleans, how queen, huh? Yeah, that's what they said. How quaint. What are you talking about, Charlie? Tourists I'm talking about. Six of them came down a while back from Peoria, they said. Just looking, they said. How quaint. Call me another one, Charlie. Yeah, okay, okay, Mike. Quaint they think this is. I should have told them how my place used to be. About the cockfights we had right there in the center of the floor by candlelight. And the 12 ladies from Natchez doing the can can. Peoria. Charlie. Huh? Did you ever hear of anyone named Anthony Carell? Charlie, I'm talking to you. I heard you, Shane. Well, you better stick to looking through hotel transoms and forget Anthony Carrell. Why? Because it's something out of the past. Something that hasn't got any place in this world. What are you talking about? You see, according to the story, there's something special about Anthony Carrel. Special? Yeah. He ain't like you and me, Shane. You see, Anthony Cairo ain't never gonna die. That tickled me. I finished my drink, wave goodbye to old Charlie. Yelled something about getting Carell's formula and putting Peruna out of business. And then I was on my way. Yeah, it was better outside. And I decided it was a nice quiet street. Great place to start a cemetery. As it turned out, I was just the kid to start one. I didn't hear the car behind me. All I saw was the cab on the next corner. Cab driver was leaning against the open door, waiting for me. I stepped off the curb and a couple of headlights and I was rolling on cobblestones watching a red tail light disappear in the distance. Next thing, the cab driver was bending over me. You okay, pally? Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Hey, take me home, will you? That sure was close. No, I just got careless crossing the street. Careless? I was watching, pally. That car followed you for maybe two blocks. Waiting to get a chance at you, huh? Yeah. Somebody in this town don't like you very much, pally. The cabbie drove Pally home. Between my evening of hilarity and my nose dive in the gutter, I felt kind of rocky. As soon as I got in the room, I flopped down in bed and bid the world good night. But the world wasn't finished with me. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh, Mike, this is Charlie. Oh, yeah, Charlie, Listen to me, boy. Something funny's going on. Yeah, yeah, funny. They're trying to scare me. But old Charlie's been around too long to scare. Ah, good for old Charlie. You come on over now. I'll tell you what they're up to, boss. Uh huh. Yeah, you come on over right away. Okay, okay. You know where I bunk? In the room behind the bar. Just knock on the front of Allergen. Yeah. Get here quick as you can. Sure, sure, sure, Charlie. Sure. The last thing I saw before I fell asleep again was the luminous green dial on my bedside clock. 3:47, it said 10:20. When I saw it again, the room was lousy with sunshine. I was brushing my teeth and trying to avoid my reflection in the mirror when I remember Charlie calling me. I found the phone number of his joint in the book and I called him. Only it wasn't Charlie who answered. Yeah, I want to speak to Charlie. Who is it? Just let me talk to Charlie. Sorry, Mr. Charlie isn't here. Where is he? They took him to the morgue an hour ago. He's dead now. Back to New Orleans. To the new adventures of Michael Shane. From the beginning, it hadn't made much sense. Marina LaRue calling me to break into her father's house. Him hanging from the chandelier with a snake brand on his forehead. And now old Charlie dead. I went down to the morgue. The attendant took me to the basement of where Charlie was on the table. Lieutenant Burns of headquarters was just taking a peek. Nasty. A redhead. Yeah, yeah. Neck's a bum sheep for a butcher. Lane, what's that on his forehead? Looks like a brand. Like a coiled snake. It probably banged his head. It's nothing. You want it? Hey, look, Shane, what are you doing around here? You're not forgetting that your license is suspended? That guy can get in here without a license. Look at Charlie. All he had was a license to sell bad booze. You're not doing any work for anybody. Just keeping in training. Come on, be a good boy, redhead. You've only got a couple of weeks to go. Then it'll be legal for you to start bothering us. Burns, tell me about Anthony Carell, who sometimes called the. The deathless one. Oh, my back. Don't tell me that's going around again. What about him? Ah, that's what I love about this town. No matter how modern it may look on the outside, underneath it's still a jungle. Still dancing the Voodoo drums. Voodoo? Yeah. Every so often, some scared sucker comes in and whispers in our ears that Anthony Carell is still alive and terrifying the countryside. When we ask a for one teeny little bit of proof, the little sucker vanishes in a puff of smoke. Anthony Corell. Oh, redhead. You can do better than that. Yeah. When I got outside on Jackson street, it did seem kind of silly. What was so silly about that car trying to run me down last night? What was so silly about Charlie? Under a white sheet in the basement of that mor? I had enough questions in my head to start a quiz show with not enough answers to win a yo, yo. I know a good place to ask questions, though. And I had to start asking questions fast. Something was happening. Something big. And it was happening to me. I took a cab out to the brownstone house on Wentworth street where all this began. Come on. You're going to have to open up sometime, baby doll. Ah, please go away, Mr. Shay. In a little while. Marina, honey, please. I'm in warning. Have some respect. Sure. I'll take off my hat inside. What do you want? Why are you so scared? I'm not scared. Tell that to the little nerve in your cheek. It's twitching overtime. Look, I want to know about Anthony Carell. No, please, no. Yes, please, yes, it's o'. Shay. And I was rather glad when I saw you come out of the. Yeah? Yes. Really. I was having trouble forgetting you, Michael. Dog Girl, turn off the warm water. I'd love to, but I can't. How about Anthony Carell? Whether you bother with something that does not concern me. That's just it, dog Girl. It concerns me clear up to here. Last night somebody tried to run me down. Later on, they killed an old man who wanted to tell me something. Look, I've been in this business a long time. My nerves are like radar and they're sending out all kinds of danger signals. I'm on somebody's list. I'm not one of those storybook detectives, doll girl. I've got to know when I'm fighting. I cannot help you. You've got to. No. Okay. Mind if I use the phone? Who are you calling? The Daily Bulletin. I got a pal working in the City Room. I'm gonna tell him Marina LaRue of 1612 Wentworth street says Anthony Carell was responsible for the death of her father. Bulletin. Let me speak to Frazier in the City Room. Give me the food. No, you can't do this. They kill him in fighting for my own neck, honey. Hello? Hello, Frasier, It's Mike Shane. Hey, I think I got a story for you. Tell you what. Goodbye, Fraser. Okay, doctor. You I tell you and you go out, try to do something about it the way men have done for a hundred years. And if they find you at all, they find branded into your flesh the cold snake, the mark of Anthony Carrell, just as they found it on all the other. Who is this guy? Anthony Carrell? You have heard of Madame Lorette? Madame Lorette? Sure. Wasn't she supposed to be some kind of big shot in the voodoo racket around New Orleans? She was the voodoo queen more than a century ago. Yeah, in the 1820s she married another voodoo worshipper. A man already old, who comes New Orleans from a. He was the greatest of them all. His name was Anthony Kael. And this guy who's causing all the trouble today, he's his descendant, huh? They send on you full. Don't you understand that he's the same man. That couldn't be. Why do you think we're all in such terror of him? He cannot die. Do you know what that means? He cannot die. His food has been wanted, cars he was riding in have been shot at once. The house he was staying in was dynamite. His men stood at every door with guns. Within less than a week, the plotters were dying one by one. And on their foreheads the snake branded Antoni Kai. That's crazy. That is the story, Mr. Shane. Believe it, don't believe it. As you wish. What does this big shot look like? No living man has ever seen his face. There are no pictures. And who takes care of him? The Carroll clan. One generation after another. Today there are only two left. One, three. They do Anthony Carroll's work, collect his tribute. One and three. Where do they live? I don't know. I don't know. I've told you everything I know. What else you want, Mr. Shane? What else you want? What else do I want? A little while ago you said you had trouble forgetting me. Well, come here, doll girl. I don't want you to forget it. After I left, when I left Marina, I went to the library and spent half the day looking up the old history books of New Orleans. Madame Lorett and Anthony Carell were in every one and every book agreed that madam had died in 1845. There was no mention of Anthony Carell ever having died at all. I called an old guy I knew over at the Bureau of Records. I told him I was looking for the death certificate of one Anthony Carell. He laughed over the phone, asked me if I was falling for that old story. Three hours later he called me back. Yeah, King, this is the Bureau of Records. Well, you were right. There is no death certificate for Anthony Carrel. I had a couple of drinks after that. Then I started walking the streets. My head throbbed. Felt like a guy trapped in a nightmare trying with all his might to wake up out of it. Around midnight I found a small part near Jackson Square and sat down on a bench trying to think of an answer. May I Sit down, Mr. Shane? Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Hey, how come you know my name? Oh, you are a very famous man, Mr. Shane. Known particularly for your tenacity. Cigarette? Thanks. What do you want? Mr. Shane? It's very unfortunate that you saw fit to interest yourself in Anthony Carrell. Oh, why? Because now I must kill you. I felt the bullet smash against me. But at first there was so little pain. That same crazy feeling of maybe it's a dream came back. I lunged for the guy, trying to get hold of his gun hand. It's like wrestling with an octopus. He was soft and wet skinned and a neat little fella. He more comfortable. Cologne. It was slipping out of my reach. I jumped up and started running. Said the first prayer that came to my mind. Catholic, Hebrew, Episcopalian, who cared? I saw a row of shrubbery. I dived in. And that bullet had been real, all right. My side was beginning to ache like a whole mouthful of sore teeth. My friend with a gun came so close to the brush I could smell his sweet stinking cologne. I remembered a couple of other prayers and something must have worked. A siren started sobbing. The blues far off. And the guy beat it. He climbed into a little black coupe parked at the curb. Pulled away. But he was playing it very safe. There was a long stoplight at the corner and he waited for every second of it. A nice, law abiding, perfumed young man. There was a parking lot half a block down the street. I ran for it. As I ducked in, I saw the light on the corner. Change the black coupe to down Canal Street. I hopped into the first car and turned on the ignition. A sleepy eyed attendant came out of a little shed and I kicked the starter. Got your ticket, mister? Hey, come back. Come back. I wasn't so law abiding. I went down side streets like somebody lit a fuse. Just like in the movies. Except my side hurt. My shirt felt sticky and warm, sick to my stomach. When I was sure no cops were following me, I cut back to Canal Street. And pretty soon I saw the black coupe again. Still obeying all the laws. Now we're on the outskirts of town, along the wharves that reached out into the gulf, the black coup picked up speed. I picked up speed. No, it was a long ride through a little country road to stretch through the bayous. Once I managed to slip my hand into my shirt, made the happy discovery. My wound felt a lot worse than it really was. Yeah, and I had another good break. In the dashboard compartment I found a pint of bourbon. It had hardly been touched. Oh, I touched it good. It was almost as fine as a blood transfusion. Then before I knew it, the black Cooper turned into a driveway. I went on a few hundred yards, pulled up onto some trees and turned the lights off. It was a battered weather beaten farmhouse standing all by itself in the middle of nothing. The windows were boarded up. Everything about it said nobody home except the black coupe. I snuck around. The back screen door was open. I walked across a porch and almost knocked over a row of butt milk bottles. I tried the back door. Door was open. Oh no, I wasn't having any. You didn't have to be a quiz kid to know what this set up. I started back across the force. I reached the screen door. And then I stopped. Only sound in all the world was a mosquito buzzing like mad in the darkness. Hey, Shane, where you going? I realized I'd said that out loud. And it giggled to myself, rubbed my head. It was hot, that bullet hole. Maybe I was already getting delirious. Yeah, but where was I going? Back to little New Orleans. For what? The cops wouldn't listen to me. To them I was just a big nosed redhead out for a quick buck. And my sweet smelling friend had slipped up twice. Now I went back to town. He'd come after me again and he was just about due for the jackpot. There was no place to go except inside the house. I picked up one of the milk bottles. Me and my homogenized blackjack. I went back to the door, pushed it open, went into the kitchen. Everything dark. I could just make out some dishes on the sink. Place smelled of bad greasy cooking. And I found another door. Now I was in a short hallway that led to a flight of stairs. Not a sound at all. I'd even been glad to hear that. Mosquito. Stairs. Stairs. I started up a step at a time. Slow, easy, slow, easy. And when I was close to the top, there was something about the darkness that looked wrong. Real close to me. I smelled sweet cologne. I spun around and started down the stairs fast. But it was all wasted. At the foot of the stairs. A cigarette glowed in the Dark. I was boxed in real nice. The guy downstairs. Dad spoke first. So this is Mr. Shane once? Yes, this is him. Philippe. Juan and Philippe. The brothers Carell. And where is old man Anthony? You have come for Anthony? Well, he is in the last room at the end of the hall. But I don't think you will reach him. I think you are going to die on those stairs. Keep coming up the steps, Mr. Shane. Yeah, yeah, sure. How's that? I lunched at him. There was a swirl of cologne. I brought the milk bottle down hard. One crumpled on the floor. Nice as you please. Behind me, I heard police coming up after me. I raced down the hall. I tried the first door. Locked the second door. Oh, locked. The third door was unlocked. I open it and slammed it shut behind me. I snapped the lock. Oh, friend Falif, who kept the door breaking through. I guess the first thing that came to my mind. I picked up a chair and smashed it through the window. Then I ducked into a corner as the door flung open. F came into the room holding his gun. He headed straight for the broken window. He stood looking out of it into the darkness for a long time. Won't get away, Mr. Shane. His back was to me. I started for him. His side was throbbing again. My throat was so dry you could have struck matches on it. Something must have worn Felipe. He started turning around. I brought the milk bottle down hard. He staggered, fell to his knees, got up and started clawing at my legs. I went into a deep purple fog. When I came out of it, Felik was very quiet. The milk bottle was broken into a thousand pieces. I. I sat down on a chair. It felt about as peppy as a Floradora girl. Then I remembered Anthony Carell. The man who couldn't die, was down the hall. I went over to Philippe and dug around until I found his gun. He groaned a little bit, but that's all. I went back out into the hall. The last room at the end of the hall. I started toward it. Then, in front of the door, I saw Juan. I. I will not like you in this room. He wasn't able to stand up. He was on his knees in front of the door and his mouth hung open as though he didn't have the strength to close it. For five generations, he has been our strength. With him, we've been able to rule everyone. I will not let you destroy him. Then I saw the gun in his hand. I saw him try to raise it. I shot three times. He collapsed in a heap. Even while dying, he wasn't gonna let me into that room. As I reached for the knob, with his last strength, Juan flung his arm up and wildly tried to block me. What was there in that room that a guy would die like this just to protect? I reached for the knob, raised my gun. I entered the room slowly, looked around. Then I realized why Juan and Philippe had tried so hard to keep me out of here. Then I realized why Anthony Carell would not die. Why he could not be killed. There was no Anthony Carrell. The room was empty. Yeah. Yeah. That was the story of Anthony Carell. He'd lived and died in his own time, just as any man. But the Carell clan, knowing the power of fear, had made it appear that the old man was still alive and kicking. I wonder how many people go through life being a afraid of empty rooms. Well, as soon as I got back to town that night, I went to the emergency hospital and had myself pasted together. Then I called on Marina LaRue. I told her all about Anthony Carrell. When I finished, she didn't say a word. Just came over and looked at me a long time. And she kissed me. After a while, I began to realize that trip to the hospital was wife that way. Moreno is so much better than penicillin. Bold Venture, Adventure, intrigue, mystery, romance. Starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall together in the sultry setting of tropical Havana and the mysterious islands of the Caribbean. Bold Venture. Once again, the magic names of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall bring you Bold venture and a tale of mystery and intrigue. The thing to consider when you've got to sleep. Is the bed not narrow? Is the pillow deep? And you wake up in the morning. Breakfast in Havana with cereal. Do they serve a fresh banana? I offer these suggestions so that you will know that if you're ever in Havana, the place go is a hotel known as Shannon's Place. Nice bed for your body, good food for your face. That's a philosophy that should be spread around, King. True, Lady Sailor, but in Shannon's Place tonight there are not many philosophers. You turn on the neon sign outside, King? Yes, Mr. Slade. Are you happy now, Sailor? You convinced me to put up a neon sign out front. He said customers would flock to the place. How do you like that? A new neon sign with the biggest arrow in Havana. King, Go out and make sure that arrow is pointed in the right direction. You better do it, King. We're too close to the harbor to take chances. There'd be a lot of wet tourists if here comes a dry one. Yeah, looks warm too. Hello. I'm looking for Mr. Shannon. I'm Mr. Val. I handle his business. Is there something I can do for you? Ow. I'm Slate Shannon, Mrs. Ramsey. I've heard you have a boat. That's right. The Bold Venture. And I've heard it's for hire with me in it. I'm cabin boy. I'll give you $200 to take us to Zapata Swamps. My husband owns a tobacco plantation there. There'll be my husband, me and Dr. Barton. Sounds all right, doesn't it, sailor? I don't know, Mrs. Ramsey. Looks like she hasn't finished talking yet. There's only one thing more to say. My husband always wished to be buried on a hummock in Zapata. See, I told you to listen, Slade. My husband's in a coffin. My husband's dear. Is that you, Alice? Yes. What are you doing in our rooms, Lynn? Your husband invited me. He got lonely waiting for you. Asked me to play cribbage with him. I did. His favorite game. A game for the old. Where is he? Asleep in the next room. It was too much for him, the game being without you. He tires easily these days, doesn't he, Alice? That's a wife's observation, not a doctor's. You always refresh my reasons for adoring you. Thank you, Lynn. The way you keep calling me doctor when you know I was branded for malpractice. The way you let me pretend to the natives at the plantation. The times you've let me put my hand on your lips. Thank you, Lynn, for saying it so gently. Well, it's all arranged, Mr. Shannon agreed. I made a condition, though. What was it? That my husband would be dead. There's a knife in the desk drawer, Lynn. Will you get it for me, please? Anything you ask here, Alice. Thank you. He died quietly. You're a doctor, Lynn. Take care of the details. I don't want to keep Mr. Shannon waiting. How much farther to Zapata, Mr. Shannon? That's the Isle of Pines, right off the starboard bow. About an hour more. Is Ms. Duval able to handle this boat too? Uh huh. She'd rather sit on the forward deck and talk to Dr. Barton. Now, Mr. Shannon, do I bother you talking to you like this while you're steering? No, go ahead, talk. The thing that bothers me is that all this time you haven't said what I wanted you to. I don't understand. It suddenly occurs to me that you're a widow. Yes. And you don't grieve. My husband was an Old man. I'm sure he's been given his share of tears sometimes during his life. Was he ill for very long? Before he died, he died suddenly. I put a knife in his heart. Yes, that'll do it to an old man every time. We're going Back to Havana, Mrs. Ramsay. Oh, no. The reason for not going is in the back of your head. It's only a small gun. As long as it's a little one. Cut your engines, Mr. Shannon. Do it. Thank you. Please, after me. What's the big idea turning off your engine, slave? The customer's always right. Look over my shoulder, Sailor, and see what you can see. Don't bother, my dear. Mrs. Ramsey is holding a gun at the back of his head. Are you ready, Lynn? Yes. Help him, Mr. Shannon, with the coffin. It's heavy, so it will sink. You can lift an end of it. Now. Carry it over to the side. You're a sea captain, Mr. Shannon. Would you like to say a few words? I'm sorry for him. And so are we all. Now give him to the sea. Take us to Zapata, Mr. Shannon. I can make your life on my plantation Very pleasant, Mr. Shannon. Ms. Duvel. You'll see. What more could we ask for, Slate? A home in a swamp jungle. Drums for dinner, music. A hostess with her husband in the deep blue sea. What more? Ah, we're living, baby. For as long as you wish it. Oh, you already picked out a couple of hummocks for us. Make mine with camellias. What's a hummock? A mound of dried earth in Zapata Swamp we bury our dead in. As long as Sailor and I behave ourselves. No funeral parties, huh, Alice? Exactly. You're to make no attempt to tear yourselves away from me. No attempt to communicate with a vama. Nothing gained, nothing ventured, I always say. What? Don't let it throw you, Mrs. Ramsey. Sailor learned that making daisy chains at Vassar. Please understand me, you two. I murdered my husband because I like it without him. I won't have it spoiled. Don't try to escape from me, because all it will bring you is an ugly dying. I like it the way Sailor said. How'd that go again, Sailor? Nothing gained, nothing ventured. There's more to it, but I forget. Senora Ramsay. What are you doing here? Fuego. Get back to your quarters. The drums of my people, they have not made you wonder, senora? Where is Senor Ramsay? How did you know? How could you know a thing like that? To us, the natives. To us, the workmen, such things. Come on, the black wings of a bird in the sound of sand washed by the sea. Our master is dead, signora. Because he was old. Because you had hate for him. No. She killed him. That one standing there. Hey, what is it? She killed him. Put a knife in him. Out of jealousy, out of rage. Believe it, Fuego. Believe it. Calm yourself, Signora Ramsay. She's crazy, Fuego. She's trying to. You, too must bring calm to yourself, senorita. Or if you have killed our master, you are forever the child of Zapata Swamps. You think you can get away? Now, you two try. Try. You know what else they taught me in girls school? Slate. They told me the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. They were joshing me, huh? No, sailor, that's on the level. The shortest distance between the house and the boat was a straight line down the pier. Why didn't we take it? Remember, Fuego, the bitter native made a lasting impression. I got a feeling he and his boys would have spotted us walking hand in hand down a moonlit pier. There's a footbridge over the swamps. We cross it. Cut back along the coast of the pier. Get the boat. You dribbled a crystal ball and that's what you came up with, huh? The doctor told me about it. Laughed when he told me. I wonder why. Oh, he's a chuckler, that one. Wait. Ah. There's the bridge, sailor. Through the clearing, just like he told me. Now you know why he laughed. Yeah. A misstep, sailor, and we land in the swamp. That stuff pulls you in up to your shoulders. Closes your mouth. No swamp's going to do that to me after you kidding? Yeah. Why do you always pick on me to be brave, sailor? It sways, doesn't it? I said it sways. Well, don't talk. You might say a heavy word. You can talk now, sailor. We made it. You and your footprint. What kind of talk is that? Something in my shoulder. Slate. It stings. It even hurts. What? Let me have a look. Dart. Native dart. I'm gonna pull it out. Hold on to something. You'll do. Oh, colorful, isn't it? Colorful feathers. Colorful. Hey, that color is me. Come on, we're going back to the house. Are you crazy? I'm all right. Just a pin prick, that's all. Natives have a way with pin pricks. I'll carry you back. Take the office, sailor. If you don't, you may never hear it again. You did exactly right by bringing her back here, Mr. Shannon. How do you feel, sailor? I'm all right. It's only a scratch. We should have cleared out while we had a chance. You know you might die from that scratch, Ms. Duval. Slate, do something about her, will you? You sure you feel all right? Sure I'm sure. I've had worse jabs than this from a sewing machine. She's just trying to frighten us with all this. I'll get it for the lady. Stranger. Give it to her. Have Native come to apologize? He brought this for Mr. Val. It's just what I need to cuddle up with a rag doll. Let me see it. Throw it away, Mrs. Ramsey. Slate, why? Because the rag doll looks like you? Because there's a pin stuck through it. So what? Maybe it was made by a forgetful seamstress. Voodoo sailor doll like that means now. Forget it. Now back to Boldventure, Our stars, Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, and the second act of our story. Look, Doctor, just paste a bandage on me and go away. Slate will take care of your bill. Alice will take care of it. He's a chuckler. Slate, I told you, don't worry about it. Don't worry about us. Thing. Excellent advice, Mr. Shannon. I couldn't have given better myself. Then you mean Cell is going to be all right? Did I say that? What are you building for yourself, Doc? You think I'll make good copy for the medical journals? What's to laugh? They might name a disease after me. I was only laughing, Mr. Wall, because in your medical circles, my diagnosis would be worthless. They snubbed you, huh? Pointed fingers at you. Deeper than that, Mr. Shannon. They ousted me for malpractice. You still want my opinion? Tell him no, Slate. A doctor that can't even endorse a cigarette? Tell him no. He's all we've got, Sailor. The dart that was thrown into the lovely shoulder of Ms. Duval was immersed in a native poison, brewed by the natives, held close by the natives, almost sacred to them. Gee, I'm flattered. Sacred poison's just for me. You'll grow weaker by stages, Ms. Duval. The drowsiness you feel now, the first symptom after that, a lassitude, a lethargy. No, it won't happen that way. You'll see to it, huh? Barton, it's out of my hands. It's a native poison. And the antidote is a native one, too. You can get it. And die for my trouble. No, that's reserved for Ms. Duval. For killing Alice's husband, the Master Ramsay, remember? Get out your death doll, Ms. Duvall. Hug it close to you. It may Bring you comfort. You do it so gently, Slate. The damp cloth on your lady's brow. Quiet. She's asleep. So gently. I envy her. I told you, she's asleep. Keep quiet. Good. The things I need to say to you should be whispered. Whisper them to me. Outside. Anywhere you want. Right here in the hall where I can hear. Sailor. She calls out to me. She's dying, Slate. Before long, she won't even be able to shape your name on her lips. Arthur. Dime. Alice. What's so important indeed. Whispering to me. Look through this window. The plantation. From that cliff there to the east, it stretches out below you like. Like a kingdom. An empire. Gives you goosebumps, huh, kid? Go there, Slate. Look at it. Let it lie at your feet because it's yours. Gaining on me, Alice? What good is a dead girl to you, Slate? She could make a nice memory. I could wipe the memory out of your eyes, off your mouth. Yeah. Yeah, you could. How do I get to that cliff? Len will take you there on horseback. A kiss to seal the bargain, Slate. Now, don't rush me, kid. Let me look over the farm first, huh? How do you like it, Mr. Shannon? Look down and consider it. Yeah, quite a plantation. But it really doesn't impress you, does it? What's to impress? Up here, all I can see is swamp and tobacco plants. What does a man do here? Take a hot bath in the swamp and roll himself a cigarette in a grocery bag? Don't shake a finger at it. You might inherit it. Did you slip that long, thin ear of yours under the door, Barton? Alice is susceptible to you. What about you? It's a shame about me. I love Alice. You. Uh. Let's dismount, Mr. Shannon. There's something I want to show you. All right. Oh, yeah. Oh, boy. Now, what do you want to show me, Mr. Shannon? What's on your mind, Doc? I love Alice. You exciter. I learned by mail. What do you want to show me, Doc? Yes, down there. See to the left, those unpainted huts? The natives live there. All I see is swamp. There, behind that small rise there. Mr. Shannon, you're out of your mind. I love her. I love her and. Take it easy. I'll kill you. You've got to die. You sure you love her, Doc? But you didn't have to die for. You should be lying down, Ms. Duval. What? You look drowsy. You should be lying down. What do you want here? Don't exert yourself. Can I do something for you? Yes. Yes, you can. That water pitcher there on the Table. Why don't you get it? Don't you have strength enough? You're kidding. See it. It's just that I'm not used to drinking water from a glass. You're going to die, Ms. Duvel. I'm sorry. For you, this place is a paradise. But there'll only be Slate Shannon to enjoy it. Slate been giving you the business, dearie, has he? Slate. Yes, go on, Ms. Duval. Slate. He'll take care. Hello. You there. You with the drum. What's the matter? Don't you like to talk to a man on a horse? All right, how about now? To a man not on a horse. Now, look, the only reason I rode down here was. For what reason? I've been looking for you, Fuego. For what reason? To save a girl's life. Soon she will belong to Death. You can help her. And why? She had nothing to do with killing Ramsay. It was his wife. And that doctor. The doctor. There's no use asking him. He's dead. It was seen that of you and the doctor. I'm trying to make you understand. The Master Ramsay was good. Look, you've got to believe me. Sayla had nothing to do with Ramses dying. Chonga Rika. Hey, what is this? They call your boys off. You could die now and the swamp would never return you. Now you will go with us, Fuego. What are you doing with Mr. Shannon in? Stay. Okay, okay, Fuego. I got the idea. What happened to you, Slade? Your workman worked me over. Let me hold you, Slade. I told you not to try to leave. Get away from me. All right, where's Lin? Dead natives. Me slipped out of my hands. That's good for us. It makes it all so simple. Lynn was going to be a problem. Now Lynn isn't anything. You're hurt, Slate. I can take care of your hurt. Just sit over there and relax. You'll see how well I can take care of you. You'll see. I. I heard voices. I came in here to see if they were mine. Sailor. Sailor, Your face is burning up. Slate. You're Slate? Sure. Sure, it's Slate. Are you gonna be all right? You should be lying down. Here, I'll carry you to the couch. Don't go away from me, Slade. Why would I want to do that? Shut up. Don't go away from me, Slade. Don't you know that girl is dying? Shut up. Oh, this is the first time you've touched me, Slate. And I like it. I like it. Don't you know what's happening to us? Please, Slate, don't take your hands away. Those natives. We're prisoners here. What did you tell them? I told them you killed your husband. They didn't believe you. Look what they've done to you. And to her. And to you. You can't get out of here either. You're crazy. I can go out there. Go ahead. All right. You see, Slade? What's wrong, Alice? You afraid of knives tossed at you? It's a native game. Mumbly pegged. But they think she killed my husband. Maybe I changed their minds. You fool. You could have had it all. You could have had me, this place, everything. I'm choosy. So kill me. They'll do it here, Alice. Here's what came through the window. A stuffed doll. Your face. Your clothes. With a pin in its heart. I'll get a gun. Gun. Wreck. Key. Where's the. I need the key. He hit it. He kept it from me. Let me think. I've got to think. I know. I remember. I know where it is. Here. I'll kill them. All of them. Out of my way, Slater. I'll kill you where you stand. You'll die. You'll die. I'll kill you like I killed him. No, no. Not the name. Right through the heart. Slade Shannon. Whatever you're going to do to me, Fuegor, I want to be with Sailor. This we know. That is why I have come. To cure her. To give her this. So that you may go away from here together. Slate. Sailor. Sailor, what are you doing out here on the patio? You know you should still be in bed. I can't stay in bed. I feel too good. Being home did that to you, huh? Your taking care of me did that. What's that you got, Sailor? A doll. Look at it. Looks like me. How cuter. I did over a few features. Where'd you get it? Made it out of some hay, an old coconut shell and a burlap bag. Hey, what's this sticking in his heart? A safety pin. For what? To keep you safe. Come here. Slate H. Fell would never know you'd been sick. Welcome home, Sailor. And so our two stars, Humphrey Jeffrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall have brought to a close our latest Bold Venture story. Special music was composed and conducted by David Rose. May we invite you to listen again next week at this time for another exciting adventure starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall together in Bold Venture. The makers of Camel cigarettes present Dick Powell as Richard diamond, private detective. How mild can a cigarette be? One puff won't tell you. One sniff won't tell you it takes day in, day out smoking to find out how mild a cigarette is, how well it agrees with your throat. Make the sensible cigarette test the thorough test. Smoke only camels for 30 days and see just how mild a cigarette can be. Here transcribed is Richard Diamond Private Detective Starring Dick Powell it was about 2 o' clock in the afternoon. It was cold out and it had been raining. When it got a little warmer, it would probably snow. The whole city was covered with a heavy sheet of ice and the steam heat in my office gurgled and clouded up the windows. I was feeling pretty good. I was warm. I'd had one client in the past week and my bank account was on its way to recovery. And a good breakfast in the drugstore downstairs had made me comfortable and drowsy. I put my feet up on the desk, leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. Mr. Diamond. Mr. Diamond. I must have been napping and didn't know it. I hadn't heard the door open. But there he stood, framed with the the door, resting his weight on the jam and looking across the room at me with tired eyes. Mr. Diamond? Yes? What can I do for you? My name is Abel Gunther. I want to hire you. All right, Mr. Gunther. I charge a hundred a day in expenses. I don't think I can pay it. I can pay you some, but I don't think I can pay you that much. Well, that's my fee for you or Rockefeller. I got expenses. I see. Well, I'll keep looking. I need help. Perhaps you could recommend someone. You'll pardon me for saying so, but you don't look too well, Mr. Guenther. I'm pretty sick, Mr. Dam. Maybe you'd better sit down and tell me what your problem is. I can't afford the money. That's all right. Tell me about it anyway. I think I had better sit down. Yes, you better. What's wrong? You got the flu or something? No, no. I'm afraid it's a little more serious. Would you really like to hear my story? I think I really would. I'm a farmer, Mr. Diamond. My home is Haiti, near Saint Lazer. Haiti? Yes, the West Indies. I. I was born there, raised there. My parents died when I was 13. I have a wife. She's there now. And she's the main reason I have come here. Seeking help. My wife is dying. I must get help quickly, before it is too late. I have a farmer. He kept talking, telling me about his life on Haiti. He told me about his farm, a fairly good sized farm. By his description. He told me how in the past two years, things began to go wrong on his farm. And soon all the farmers in the area were also having trouble. The cane fields would burn every year. Then it was the cattle. One by one, they became sick. Then my wife and now me. And you don't know what's wrong with either of you, huh? Yes and no. My Christian religion fights it. But my life on Haiti has taught me deep respect for it. Respect for what? Voodoo, Mr. Diamond. Oh, I. I know just what you're thinking. But a doctor in Haiti has examined my wife and can find nothing wrong. Well, I don't particularly believe in anything like that, Mr. Gunther. But if you do, why have you come to me? I said I have a healthy respect for it. I don't entirely believe it. Some of the things I've seen make it difficult to disbelieve. I came to you because I suspect a possibility of something more. Immediately after my wife was taken ill, I received an offer for my farm. A very low offer from a Saint Leger banker. I investigated. Found it had been made in the interest of one Arthur Cotswold. Arthur Cotswold? Katie's biggest planter. Oh. How about the other farmers? They received offers, like mine. Being the oldest farmer, the rest looked to me for guidance. I told them to wait. Then I came here to hire someone to look into the matter. Would you like some water? No. No, thank you. I'm all right. Anyone else become ill besides you and your wife? Yes, several others. I. I have $368 in my ticket home. The money is yours if you will go to Haiti and enjoy investigate. Have you been to a doctor here in New York? No. Mr. Diamond. Here's directions how to get to my farm. My servant, little Chiva, is there. No one knows. I can't. Mr. Gunther. Mr. Gunther Levinson, Homicide. Hello, world. Oh, Rick. Yeah. Better get up to my office. I've got a dead man for you. Are you kidding? That's what Gunther told me. Voodoo. Voodoo, Smoodoo. That's what the man said. Now, steady, boy. Oh, stop it, Walt. You know I don't believe it, but you're going down to Haiti. Well, somebody's got to tell a wife. The local authorities can do that. Hey, now, what's the matter? The local authorities in Haiti. Why didn't Gunther go to them if he thought there was something phony about the setup? You want an opinion? If you can strain one out. Well, Gunther probably didn't go to the Haiti authorities because he knew they'd think Just what you're thinking. Okay, so I'm crazy. Well, Gunther died in my office. He came a long way for help and the poor guy wanted to give me his last $368. So I'm going to Haiti. I'll send you a zombie. Walt promised to send a wire and care of the authorities in Saint Leger as soon as he got an autopsy report on Mr. Gunther and I headed to the airline's ticket office. By 8 o' clock that evening, I was in an airlines flagship at 12,000ft heading for the West Indies and Haiti. The trip wasn't bad. We landed in Miami, where I grabbed a cup of coffee and then climbed aboard a clipper for Port au Prince. At Port au Prince, I took a bus to Saint Leger and from there a beaten up taxi to the gunther farm, about 10 miles into the country. As we neared the farm, I could see a crowd of people standing around in front of the house. And as I climbed out of the cab and approached them, they turned and their hushed conversations were suddenly stilled. I didn't know what it was. No one said a word. But something was wrong. I could feel it. I walked through the crowd of the house and stopped cold as the door opened. Who are you? I'd never seen anything like him. He was a native, and he ducked his head as he stepped out of the door to face me. He was a good 7ft tall, or maybe more. It must have weighed close to 300. He stood on his bare feet, his long muscled arms hanging loosely at his sides, and looked at me with dark, shining eyes. Me, little Cheever. Who are you? Oh, me very little. Richard Diamond. Mr. Gunther hired me to come here. You from New York? Yes. Mr. Gunther couldn't come back. He'd die. That's right. How did you know? You come in? Sure. What are all those people doing out there? Their friends, madam. She died too. Little Chiva led the way into the bedroom where Mrs. Gunther lay on the bed, covered with a fresh white sheet, her eyes closed in death, her face drawn and tired. Little Shiva told me she had died the day before, about three in the afternoon, and a cold chill ran up my back. I remembered her husband lying on the floor of my office about 3:00 in the afternoon. The day before. What do you do here? Mr. Gunther wanted me to find out why the cattle are getting sick, why the fields are burning, why he and his wife became ill. Bad voodoo. Well, he thought it might have something to do with a man named Cotswold. He big man. What are those drums for? Madam and Mr. They voodoo. Good voodoo give blessing for spirit. For madam and mister. You see, little chief of the Mr. Mr. Gunther wanted me to help him. He paid me money to help him and died asking for help. I'm going to try and do what I can. The madam and Mr. Good People teach little Shiva. They take little Shiva when he's small boy and make good life. You good man, Little Cheever help you Right then I inherited little Jeeva. And if there was going to be any trouble, the giant serpent would certainly help to make up the difference. The first thing I wanted to do was contact the local authorities in Saint Leger. A little Cheever told me my man was one Inspector La Planche. A very fine person. Mr. Gunther, I'm sorry, is dead. How'd everybody know he was dead? On Haiti, things of such nature are never a secret. The natives know voodoo. Being a stranger to Haiti, Mr. Diamond, I expect you to be a skeptic. But you believe in voodoo? Let us say I have been in Haiti too long not to believe. Gunther thought the whole thing might have something to do with a man named Cotswold. I would suggest you forget Mr. Cotswold. Then I suggest you give me a good reason to forget him. Mr. Cotswold is a very big man on Haiti. The largest plantation owner in the West Indies. And a self made man with a considerable temper. Well, thanks for the advice, Inspector. But supposing I come up with something incriminating. If Mr. Cotswold has breached the law, it would certainly be my duty to arrest him. But I am not considering the arrest more the necessary steps that would have to be taken to prove the guilt. Dangerous steps, Mr. Diamond. One might trip on those steps and break his neck. Yes. You like the middle of the road, huh? It is much easier to see what is ahead. It's possible to get run down from behind. I do as much as I can to prevent that possibility. Example? My suggestion. You forget, Mr. Cotswold. I left the philosophical inspector and went outside where little Shiva had been waiting. Every time I looked at Cheever, it was like a little kid spotting the Empire State for the first time. He smiled a mouthful of white teeth as he said, the inspector, he say, forget Mr. Cotswold. That's right. What do you think, little Shiva? I think I do what you want. You know what I want. You want go see Cotswold. Think I'm crazy? You're not afraid. You're not strong like little Cheever. But little Cheever think of all the men he know you would fight hardest. I Don't like to fight, little Cheever. Little Jeeva know that we go see Cotswold. Little Cheever led the way up a long, narrow road, surrounded on both sides by high sugarcane fields. Somewhere from not too far away, I heard the drums start again. Little Jiva stopped, looked off to the north. He began moving his shoulders slowly, keeping time to the steady rhythm of the drums. He began to sing softly. Say Papa nuki papase. O he O he. Say Papa nuki papase. What does that mean, little Jiva? It means in your language, it is our Papa who passes. Papa. Papa Dambala. The great source Voodoo. Yes. Later I must leave you. Today is Wednesday. This is the day of Papa Dambala. O he o he Se papa nuti papasa. He continued his little chant until we reached the beginning of a long, high fence running along next to the narrow road. Shiva leaned down and swung a gate open. Then we walked up the path that led through the Cotswold property until we reached the house. There, sitting back between two huge trees, was the Cotswold mansion. I walked up to the front door alone. Mr. Diamond? Yes, Shiva? Watch out for Mr. Jocelyn. He guard Cutswell. Thanks. I'll do that. What do you want? I want to see Cutswall. You do, eh? What are you doing here, little Cheever? I wait for Mr. He found himself a new governor. Walt. You must be that fellow Diamond. I must be. Well, come in. Mr. Cotswold's been expecting you. He introduced himself as Jocelyn and led the way into a large panel study. And I met the big man himself, Arthur Cotswold. The drum stopped. Today is Wednesday. It belongs to the great God Damballa. So I understand. Most days of the week are significant in voodoo. Will you have a drink, Mr. Diamond? No, thank you, Jocelyn. Mix me as gin and tonic. Yes, Mr. Kotu. Thursday and Saturday belong to Yuselia Frida, the goddess of love. I'll have to remember that. I know why you are here, Mr. Diamond. I'm glad you do. For some reason, Gunther and the rest of the miserable farmers think I'm responsible for their trouble. Of course you're not. I simply tried to help them. With their cattle sick and their crops gone, I had my banker make them an offer. Have any of your cattle taken sick? None. Pretty strange. Haiti is a strange land. Now, you're not going to start talking voodoo. You're a stranger, Mr. Diamond. There are many things that you would not understand. And I would certainly not try and convert you. I appreciate your interest, but I intend to find out why Gunther and his Wife died. This point I would most certainly give you advice on. Go home, Mr. Diamond. Leave well enough alone after I come up with an answer. Mr. Diamond, I am not a patient man. I have gone out of my way to give you some healthy advice. Heed it. For your sake. Heed it. No, thanks. I'll let you know what I find out. You persist in this investigation. I always persist. In fact, I'm the persistentist. Before we continue with Richard diamond, here are a few words about smoking enjoyment. The things we look for most in a cigarette are mildness and flavor. You'll find both of these things in Camels day after day and pack after pack. No other cigarette has Camel's rich full flavor. The flavor of costly tobaccos, properly aged and expertly blended. And no other cigarette gives you this proof of mildness. In a coast to coast test of hundreds of people who smoked only camels for 30 days, noted throat specialists reported not one single case of throat irritation due to smoking Camels. Make your own 30 day camel test. Not just a puff, not just a sniff, but normal smoking for about a month. You'll enjoy every puff and you'll know without question how mild Camels are. How well they agree with your throat. Yes. And you'll see why more people smoke Camels than any other cigarette. How mild, how mild? How mild? How mild? How mild can a cigarette be? Make the camera Camel 30 day test and you will see. Smoke Camels and see. And now back to Richard Diamond, Private Detective starring Dick Powell. I left Arthur Cotswold cooling his fit with a gin and tonic. Went back to Cheever and he led me back to town. On the way, I got an idea. When we arrived in town, I sent little Shiva back to the Gunther farm. Then I went in to talk to Inspector Laplanche. Inspector had received a wire from 1 Lt. Walt Levinson, 5th Precinct, New York Police. Well, I had no idea the New York police were interested in this affair. They're always interested when someone drops dead. Now here's something pretty interesting, Inspector. Mr. Gunther died of a disease known as Brucellosis. Commonly known in cattle as Bang's disease. Ever heard of it? I am not a medical man, Mr. Diamond. Well, it's undulant fever. Both Gunther and his wife probably caught it from their sick cattle. What do you intend to do? I think those cattle were infected deliberately. And the cane fields burned purposely. If the cattle were infected deliberately, there must be some of the Brucellosi still around. And I'm going to find it. Maybe at Mr. Cotswold's I think you better issue a search warrant and come with me, Mr. Diamond. The middle of the road, remember? I think you'd better forget the middle of the road, Inspector. Unless you want me to get in touch with the authorities and have you held as a material witness in a murder case. I. I will issue the warrant. I kind of thought you would. I will issue it. But you certainly do not think it will be enough to get you into the Cotschwold house. No, but it'll make it legal. I sent little Cheever back to collect some of his friends. They're going to help us get in that house inspected. I will have no part of violence. Oh, they won't even be with us. It would be easy to search the Cotswold place if Cotswold was out fighting a fire. Fire? Just a harmless fire, Inspector. But far enough away so that Cotswold will think it's his cane fields. Oh, well then I will certainly issue the warrant, Mr. Diamond. As long as we are going to do everything open and above board, I. We'll certainly issue it. Welcome back to the gutter, Inspector. The view isn't much, but you can't miss where you're going. Let's go get little Chiva. What are all those natives doing at the Gunthors? I don't know. Looks like something's wrong. We piled out of the car and pushed our way through the crowd of natives. Inside the house we found what was wrong. Lying in the middle of the room was little Cheever. He was almost dead when I knelt beside him. I. I talked to friends. They light fire for you. Thanks, Cheever. Now Damballoedo take me. He's been stabbed. Nearly cut him in two. They got him from behind. Never would have faced him. You stay. You see what it is a ritual. It means taking the spirit from the head of the dead. He wants you to see it. You stay. You believe Voodoo? Alright, Shiva. I'll stay. Now, who did this to you? Nazi and back. He's dead the next few hours I'll never forget. The inspector knew what was coming and he wanted no part of it. So he waited outside. I don't know whether I can describe it, but I'll try. And even though I saw it with my own eyes, I still don't quite believe it. The natives came into the house and picked up little Cheever. They placed him on a bench and the ceremony began. Some of them had already obtained the necessary items used for waitiloa nanteti yom mort. They included several live pigeons. Olive oil 30 pieces of fat pine wood, a pair of chickens, some coarse cornmeal and a saddle blanket. And a large white. Little Shiva's body was covered with a blanket. And then the pigeons were killed and cooked without seasoning. The corn meal was roasted, then placed in the white plate. The 30 slivers of pine wood were lighted and carried by the natives like candles. Then one of the natives took the white plate with the meal in one hand and the pot with the chicken in the other and approached the fire, chanting a strange dirge. Africa. I nearly ran out of the screaming mimis. As he finished the last line of the chant. The dead body of little Shiva sat straight up with straining eyes, bowed its head and fell back. You look a little pale, Mr. Damon. Well, I can't understand why. Probably because my blood's hiding in my feet. What do you think of voodoo now? Let's forget it, shall we? I haven't got the money for a good rest home. We are close to the Kochwa lass. Good. Let's park it here and wait until the fire starts. The inspector and I sat in the car and waited while the moon climbed up over the clouds. And the drums in the distance tangled my nerves into complete knots. After about an hour of waiting, a dull glow to the south started the expected commotion in the Cotswold household. And we climbed out of the car. Fire, Mr. Cutwell. The cage hit the servants. Hit every man out there to fight that fire. It had worked. The inspector and I stayed to the shadows until the last man went running out of the house. Then we went in. We worked as fast as we could. We took the place apart. And I must say, the timid inspector had really gotten out of the middle of the road. He tore the place apart like he'd spent most of his time on a wrecking crew. I have not found a thing. No, the house is clean. There's a barn. Then let's go. We went out of the house and headed for the barn about 50 yards away. The drums were louder now, and the dull glow of the fire had nearly vanished. It was obvious that the inspector and I had to work fast. He took one end of the barn and I took the other. We worked toward each other. Just about the time I was ready to give the whole thing up. Diamond. Diamond. Inspector. You find something? This happened. That's not enough. This bottle hidden under this box. Well, it's more like it. Let's get it back to town and have it analyzed. That won't be necessary, Mr. Diamond. Cotswold. It was Cotswold and he had three things on his side that made the situation very uncomfortable. His bodyguard, Jocelyn, and two guns. They stepped through the open door and moved up to us. I see you found my secret, Mr. Diamond. This is the stuff you've been infecting the cattle with. And this is what killed the Gunthers. That's correct. You see, you should have really taken my advice and returned to the States. You'll be held for murder, Cotswold. Who will convict me, Mr. Diamond? No evidence. No one to testify. I'm surprised at you, Inspector. I thought you had more sense. Sometimes a man finds his pride and does the best thing. You know, of course, I can't allow either of you to live. We had a hunch. Now, tell me something. Who killed Little Cheever? He was getting to be a nuisance. I had Jocelyn here attend to the matter. What's that? Diamond? Mr. Goswell. Look. Well, now, I want to tell you. I'd seen a lot that day, but that was just a little too much. The howl had come from the open door. And standing in it, framed against the yellow moon. It's him. It's the receiver. No. No. But there he was. And he looked even bigger as he shuffled toward the two men, his arms swinging at his sides like two giant sledgehammers. He was going all the way. He hadn't just come back from the dead to sit up. He was taking a walk. Get away. Get away. You're dead. Shoot him. Shoot him. But Jocelyn was too terrified to even raise his arm. The big native reached out, grabbed him with both hands and crushed him like an egg. For a minute, I was too stunned to move. Then when I saw Cotswold bring up his gun, I threw the bottle. It stopped him long enough for the big native to drop Josten's limp body and charge in like an idiot. I had some stupid reason for wanting Cotswold alive. So I tried to head Cheever off. Ever tried to stop a freight train with both hands out? He brushed me off, and I crashed into the wall just as he grabbed Cotswold. He picked him up, raised him high over his head and threw him the length of the barn. Diamond. He's coming over here now. Look. Look. Look, old boy. It's me. It's me, Diamond. Little Cheever. Please. I. Me. Not Little Cheever. What? I should have guessed. Should have guessed what? What is this? This is Big Cheever. Big Cheever? Oui. Me Little Cheever's brother. Me pay back for kill. Little Cheever. Oh, good gosh. I never thought. Thought I we me Big Cheever come. I take you back to Gunther house. Little Chiva say you good man, I be your servant. Well, if you don't mind, I just think I'll head back for the States and lie in a warm tub of mud for the next six months. I. Oh, tell me something, big Chiva. What do you want? You don't have a big brother, do you? Dick Powell will return in just a minute. More doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette. According to a repeated nationwide survey, doctors in every branch of medicine, doctors in all parts of the country have again been asked what cigarette they smoked again. The brand name most was Camel. Yes, according to this survey, more doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette. Friends, try Camels and discover for yourself the reasons behind Camel's great popularity. You'll enjoy Camels rich flavor and cool mildness. Pack after pack and week after week. How mild, how mild, how mild, how mild, how mild can a cigarette be? Make the Camel 30 day test and you will see. Smoke Camels and see. Here's Dick Powell with a special message. Thank you friends. Nothing can boost your morale like a gift. Especially if you're in a hospital bed. That's why the Camel people send gift cigarettes each week to hospitalized servicemen and veterans in this country and overseas. This week, Camels are on their way to veterans hospitals, Rutland Heights, Massachusetts and Lyons, New Jersey. U.S. naval Hospital, Quantico, Virginia, and to all hospitals operated by the Far east command of the U.S. air Force. Now, until next week, enjoy Camels. I always do. Men, has your pipe got your tongue? Well, switch to Prince Albert, the National Joy Smoke. Pa's Choice tobacco is specially treated to ensure against tongue bite. Yes, and it's crimp cut too, for smooth burning and cool smoking. Get Prince Albert. Rich, flavorful and with a delightful natural fragrance. It's America's largest selling smoking tobacco. Listen next week for another exciting transcribed adventure of Richard diamond starring Dick Powell. This is your FBI. The official broadcast from the files of the FBI follows immediately. Stay tuned. This program came to you from Hollywood. This is the American Broadcasting Company. We just heard Nick Carter, Blackstone, Michael Shane Boldventure and Richard diamond that will do it for this week's show. Thanks so much for joining me. I'll be back next Sunday with more Old Time Radio detectives. But first I hope you'll tune in this Wednesday for the annual down these Mean Streets Old Time Radio Halloween special. It's one of my favorite shows of the year and I hope you'll tune in for a trick or treat bag full of comedy thrills and chills, all designed to get you in the Halloween spirit. If you like what you're hearing on the show, don't be a stranger. You can rate and review it in Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen to. And if you'd like to lend support to the show, you can visit buymeacoffee.com meansts OTR. I'll be back in just a few days with our annual Halloween Spectacular, but until then, good night and happy listening. Now here is our star, Vincent Price, ladies and gentlemen. In a prejudice filled 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.