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Pepsodent presents Philip Marlowe, Hollywood's famous private detective created by Raymond Chandler.
Philip Marlowe, tough, cynical private eye of murder my sweet, the sardonic, case-hardened detective of the Brasher doubloon, the lady in the lake, and the big sleep.
You've seen him in action in all of those top-flight mystery pictures.
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There was a rough desert wind blowing into Los Angeles that evening.
It was one of those hot, dry Santa Annas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair,
make your nerves jump and your skin itch.
On nights like that, every booze party ends up in a fight,
and meek little housewives feel the edge of a carving knife and study their husbands' necks.
Anything can happen when the Santa Anna blows in from the desert.
I closed up my office early.
I got tired of reading Philip Marlowe, private investigator, backwards on the ground glass of my office door.
So I opened the door and closed it from the outside and locked it and went out to get a beer before I went up to my apartment.
Uh, fill her up again, Mr. Marlowe?
Marlowe. Marlowe. Marlowe is a fish.
Yeah, I know.
Hey, hey, you bartender, come in on the right.
Drunk again. What'd you expect in this business, autograph hounds?
Make it snappy, you hear?
Be right with you, sport. I gotta draw this man a beer.
Crying out loud, these stumble bums who come in here.
You got another customer back, is...
Hey, bud, you seen a lady in here lately?
A lady?
Tall, good-looking, brown hair, a print bolero jacket and a blue silk dress.
No, sir.
Nobody like that's been in.
All right, straight scotch, fast. I left my engine running out there.
Yes, sir.
This slick-looking, sarcastic guy stepped up to the bar and drank his scotch whole.
And he stopped. The drunk was grinning at him.
And then without changing his grin, the drunk swept a gun from somewhere so fast it was just a blur coming out.
Made a couple of hard snaps and a little smoke curl. Very little.
All right, you other guys, don't move.
So long, Waldo.
All right, don't move, you two.
Poor Waldo. But I made his nose bleed.
So long, boys. Drink up.
All right, get on that phone, kid. I'll get his license number.
Holy smoke. Holy smoke.
Not too late. He drove away with this dead guy's car.
Maybe he ain't dead.
He's dead, all right. Where's your phone? This is for the police.
Where's your phone? This is for the police.
The Prowl Car boys were there in about five minutes. Waldo was out of business, all right.
And nothing in his pockets told who he was, but he had about $700 on him.
I told the cops what I knew, including about Waldo's tall, brown-haired pretty girl in the bolero jacket.
It was about 9 o'clock when I stepped out of the elevator in my apartment house...
and almost walked right into a tall, brown-haired pretty girl in a bolero jacket...
waiting for the elevator on my floor.
Oh, excuse me. Just a minute, lady.
I said, excuse me. I'm in a hurry. Now, if you'll be good enough to step out...
Look, you better not go outside in those clothes.
Just what do you mean by telling me what... This isn't to make. You're in trouble.
Trouble? Yeah, the cops are looking for you in those clothes.
But I haven't done anything that... I'm in room 41 across the hall now.
I never collected an etching in my life.
All right, I'll go with you. I'll go.
I got to my room and rustled up some scotch and soda and brought the girl her glass.
She had a small automatic in her hand. It jumped up at me.
And her eyes were full of panic.
I put down both glasses on the table slowly so that I wouldn't be misunderstood.
Look, sister, maybe this wind has got you crazy, too.
Don't move. Be careful. Don't move.
A man just got shot in a bar down the street.
Before he got it, he'd been asking about a tall, pretty girl with a bolero jacket like yours.
What did he look like, this man?
Tall, 5'11", slim, dark, dark brown eyes, a lot of glitter, dark suit...
...white handkerchief in the breast pocket.
And he must have seen you earlier tonight to know how you were dressed.
Am I getting anywhere?
He used to be my chauffeur.
You had an appointment with him, didn't you?
Why?
Listen, he asked for you, didn't he?
Yes, I had an appointment with him.
He'd stolen something from me when he left three days ago.
I was going to buy it back from him.
Why didn't you tell the police?
I couldn't tell them.
It was valuable, wasn't it? Valuable enough for Walter to steal?
$15,000.
Ah, it's peanuts.
But it wasn't the value, it meant something to me.
The man I love gave it to me, and now he's dead.
He was a flyer shot down over Germany.
I'll go back and tell my husband that. He probably hired you.
He did? How much is he paying me?
And where is this husband of yours?
He's at a meeting.
This late at night?
He's a very important man. He's a hydroelectric engineer.
I'll have you know that my husband is one of the...
Don't skip it. I'll take him out to lunch sometime and have him tell me himself.
And about Waldo, whatever he had on you is dead stock now, like Waldo himself.
You mean he's dead? Waldo is dead?
Yes, sister, he's dead. Dead, dead, dead. Lady, he is dead.
I scream and I'll give you two black eyes.
I'm not going to scream.
Who would that be?
There's a dressing room behind that door. Hide there.
Now, don't argue with me, do it.
All right, all right.
And I went to the door making a loud yawning sound.
The backs of my hands were wet.
I opened the door without a gun. That was a mistake.
I certainly knew the gun I was looking into.
A 22 target automatic that had already killed one man that night.
And I knew the bald head and the flat shiny eyes and the face like a poisonous lizard.
Baldi put the muzzle of his gun lightly against my throat.
I backed into the room and Baldi kicked the door shut.
You alone?
Look for yourself.
I'm asking, not looking.
I'm alone.
You and that dumb bartender saw me dust off Waldo.
What did Waldo do to you? Who's asking?
Just making conversation.
He strolled on me on a bank job we did together.
Got me four years of Michigan pen.
How is he?
Dead.
I'm still good, drunk or sober.
Tell me why I came here, pal.
You heard the bartkeeper and me talking.
I told him my name, where I lived.
That's how, pal. I said why.
Skip it. The hangman won't ask you to guess why he's there.
You're pretty tough at that, ain't you?
Bet you're slamming off, pal.
All right, but you could get that gun out of my neck and try somewhere else.
Oh, yeah, sure. Is this better, the switching around?
Just so it isn't my neck.
Save when, pal? It's your party.
I leaned against the gun.
The door at the dressing room showed a crack of darkness. The crack widened.
I began to shake a little.
The girl came quietly into the room, but there was white all around her iris.
She was scared. She had her gun in her hand, but I was sorry for her.
Dead sorry. She tried to make the door scream.
Either way, it'd be curtains for both of us.
You scared, mister? You worried about any little thing?
I couldn't talk. The girl floated in the air somewhere behind Baldy.
And her horrified face was drifting toward us.
My mouth was as cold and dry as yesterday's toast.
Well, kid, how's it feel?
You ready yet? Go on, say the word.
Well, don't take all night about it if you're gonna do something about it.
Why not, pal? I like this.
Suppose I yell.
Go ahead, yell. Go ahead.
Put up your hands!
Look!
Oh!
Thanks, sister. Thanks. That... that buys me.
Everything I have is yours now and forever.
Is he dead?
You flatter me no end, lady. I only punched him.
Why not get out of here while I call the cops down on this killer?
Yes. Good night. Good night.
Hey, wait. Wait.
Leave that Balera jacket here. It marks you for the cops.
Oh. Yes. Here.
Okay. See you again?
Why?
Oh, I don't know.
No, I guess not. After all, who might it be, the rival of a dead flyer?
I'll see that the police get Jesse James here.
Good night, lady.
Yeah? You mean me?
Yes. Please.
Oh. You. Again, huh?
Get in. I must talk to you.
You want to know what happened at headquarters, huh?
Yes.
Well, I went down there with the law and gave them the story.
I left you out of it.
Oh, thank you.
You saved my life, so no one knows a thing about you.
Well, incidentally, neither do I.
Well, my name is Mrs. Frank Bossoli.
212 Freeman Place, Olympia 24596.
Is that what you wanted?
I guess so.
Well, there it is.
And why did you really come back?
I wanted my pearls.
Pearls?
Yes.
Pearls, too, huh?
All right. Tell me about the pearls.
We've had a murder and a beautiful mystery woman
and a sadistic killer and a heroic rescue.
Now we will have pearls.
I was to buy them back from the man called Waldo.
Well, I saw everything that came out of his pockets,
and there weren't any pearls.
Could they be hidden in his apartment?
Well, it's possible.
Waldo lived on the same floor you do in this apartment house.
And why didn't I know him? At least by sight.
He moved in last week. He managed to get a sublet.
Great. A sort of an amateur magician on the side, huh?
It's... it's getting rather late.
Yeah. What about your husband this hot, mysterious night?
He's still at his meeting.
You could have brought him along.
You could have sat in the back seat working out a problem
in hydroelectric swap.
While what?
Well, I didn't have any answers.
They wouldn't sound cheap or just ridiculous.
They're from the sophomore class and rape our teeth.
Had an unlet cigarette in my hand,
I threw it out of the window.
I took a hold of her and kissed her.
She sat very still.
I was shaking when I let go of her.
Her voice trembled a little when she spoke.
I meant you to do that.
I wasn't always that way.
Only since Johnny Dalmas was killed in the war.
He gave me those pearls.
41 of them perfectly matched with a diamond propeller clasp.
I'd have loved them if they'd been wooden beads
because he gave them to me.
I loved Johnny.
The way you loved just one time.
Do you understand that?
Hmm.
What's your name?
Lola.
Lola, how did you explain a $15,000 pearl necklace
to your husband?
I told him they were imitation, then I bought them myself.
How did Waldo latch onto them and what they stood for?
Well, my husband was in Argentina.
Waldo and I'd go for long drives.
I was restless and wretched because of Johnny.
Sometimes Waldo and I had a little drink together,
but that's all.
But you confided in Waldo about those pearls.
I was a fool.
And when your husband came back, Waldo stole the pearls
and offered to sell them back to you or he'd tell Papa.
I was a fool.
And now you think the pearls are upstairs in Waldo's apartment.
I suppose it's a lot to ask.
No, sweetheart, huh?
I've been paid.
I'll go look.
Wait here.
Was it gone long, Lola?
No.
Well?
No.
No pearls?
No pearls.
Oh.
There was a man in Waldo's room.
A man? Who?
You know a man named Leon Valsanos?
Not by name. I don't know.
Mexican, South American, about 45, small,
iron gray hair, very neat,
fawn-colored suit, wine-colored tie.
No, I don't think I know such a man.
Is he the one in Waldo's room?
Yeah.
What does he have to say?
Very little.
In fact, nothing.
He's dead.
You are listening to the Adventures of Philip Marlowe,
starring Van Heflin,
with music composed and conducted by Lin Murray.
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We continue with the adventures of Philip Marlowe,
created by Raymond Chandler and starring Van Heflin,
who appears by arrangement with Metro-Golden-Mare,
producers of the Technicolor musical Fiesta, starring Esther Williams.
I sat with Lola Barsley in her car,
listening to that jittery, infuriating desert wind
gallop around in the midnight streets.
I just told her about the Latin-looking man
I'd found in Waldo's room in a very dead condition.
I held her hands until they stopped trembling,
and I gave her the few remaining details.
He had a gun and a shoulder holster,
but someone had strangled him before he could use it.
Someone? Waldo?
Maybe. You see that convertible coupe two cars ahead of us?
It's been there for hours.
It was there before I parked here to wait for you.
Leon, the man in Waldo's room, came in that car,
but according to the key containers he carried, that isn't his car.
Whose car is it? Does it matter?
Well, it belongs to a lady, according to the tag on the keys.
A lady?
Well, anyway, a woman, if you're gonna split hairs.
Eugenie Kolchenko.
Hmm? In West Los Angeles?
Never heard of her.
Oh. All right, well, you go home now.
What are you going to do?
Drive that flossy convertible around,
wave at my friends, impress people.
You run along now. Me, I've got another date.
Phone rings
Door opens
Yes? What is it, please?
Miss Eugenie Kolchenko?
Yes? What is it?
Did you lose or misplace a pigeon-grey convertible coupe?
What are you saying?
Now, don't be alarmed. I found it and I brought it home to you.
Come in, please.
It is a reward you wish. Shall we say...
Snap out of it, dragon lady. Who was he?
Who was who?
The little guy, Leon. You loaned your car to him. He's dead. Who was he?
Oh, no, no.
Oh, yes, yes.
Eugenie.
Darling, darling, come here, please.
What's the matter, honey? Who is this man?
I came about in Miss Kolchenko's car.
What about her car?
The gentleman who borrowed it couldn't return it on account of he isn't alive.
He's dead. Darling, he's dead.
Well, that's putting it more bluntly, of course.
Dead, huh?
Completely.
Who are you?
Philip Marlowe, private investigator. My card.
Mm-hmm.
You told the police yet?
Never do at once what can be deferred pending negotiations.
Aesop.
I might negotiate.
Oh, peachy.
What do you know, Marlowe?
A man named Waldo was shot in a bar tonight.
I happened to have the inside as to who he was.
And when I visited his apartment tonight, I found this Leo Valsanos dead.
He wouldn't have had $500 in 20s on him, would he?
No, but this Waldo had over $700 on him when he was killed at that cocktail bar, mostly in 20s.
Oh.
Is there a basis there for negotiations yet?
Very well, Marlowe.
I'm a married man.
There were certain unpaid bills for some stuff Miss Kolchenko here had charged to my account.
But you told me I might charge to your account.
All right, so I wasn't very bright.
That might be the understatement of the decade, but go on.
I had the unpaid bill safely in my briefcase.
Somehow this Waldo had a chance to steal the briefcase.
I hired Leon and gave him $500 to buy back those bills from Waldo.
Instead, Waldo took Leon's dough and was forced to kill Leon in the process.
Then he went out to keep another date and accidentally walked into an old pal hostile enough to blow him down.
And someone still has those bills.
And I'm in for a divorce suit.
The man who shot Waldo got away in Waldo's car with your briefcase in it.
Yeah, that could be.
The cops caught him.
Oh.
And the police have the briefcase.
Maybe.
But the police are interested in solving crime, not in tossing mud for the benefit of sensation eaters.
Look, I've got a friend or two at headquarters. Let me see what I can do.
It's worth $500 to me.
Well, then that's what it'll cost you.
Well, good luck. And thank you, Mr.
Marlowe. Philip Marlowe, remember?
My name is Frank Barcellay.
Bar... Barcellay.
Oh.
What does that mean?
The big hydroelectric engineer?
Yeah. How did you know?
My voices tell me.
Who?
Darling, this man is minutiously insane.
It's the heat, Miss Kolchink. It's the Santa and it's the desert wind.
May I use your telephone?
Someday I must tell you about Ibera.
It's all to the earth, Ibera, Detective Lieutenant over at Central Homicide.
I phoned Ibera from Miss Kolchinko's house and told him where he could find a well-dressed cadaver named Leon
and furnished a few small details.
I gave Ibera time to check my tip and then I went down to see the good lieutenant
and told him why I'd been up in Waldo's room, only to find Leon instead of a certain lady's string of pearls.
Pearls, eh?
Well, I thought Waldo might have them up there.
Whose pearls were they?
A lady's.
Go on.
Or they might have been in Waldo's car that Waldo's killer drove away in.
Mmm, yeah.
What yeah?
They might have.
Also a batch of unpaid bills charged to the account of a certain Frank Barcellay?
Yeah.
Uh-huh.
Well, now, the police aren't interested in domestic scandal.
They want to prevent or to solve crime, right?
So?
So I've got $500 for the police fund if those pearls and those bills are returned to their rightful owners.
Greet you, kid.
No, no, it's a valuable necklace.
Sure.
There's your necklace.
That's it.
41 pearls, perfectly matched diamond propeller clasp.
That's it. That's the one.
Take it away, Marlon.
On the level?
Mmm-hmm.
Just tell me straight what it's all about, all I ask.
Sure, sure.
You know, Waldo was blackmailing a wife with the pearls and her husband with the bills.
A guy by the name of Barcellay.
Well, Barcellay sent Leon to get the bills from Waldo.
Instead, Waldo killed Leon, then stepped out and happened to get shot by that guy at the bar.
Now, if Barcellay's name stays out of the paper, I get $500.
And that goes to the police fund.
We'll keep him out.
Well, now, I'm not in this case for money.
I just want to get back the bills and the pearls.
As you say, Marlon, the police aren't in business to sling mud.
Well, you can deliver the pearls to the lady yourself, if you like.
No, no, no, Marlon.
You better take them to her.
You see, except for the diamond propeller clasp on them, they're, uh...
they're phony.
Phony? But...
All but the clasp, Marlon.
All but the clasp.
Well, I stared at Iberra.
So the flyer, Johnny Dalmas, the great lover, had given Lola a string of fake pearls.
Well, I didn't know how to tell her, but I called her up and told her to meet me at the beachcombers at 2.
I was gonna slip her the bad news slowly.
I'm glad you asked me to meet you here, Mr. Marlon.
See, I... I had to have someone to talk to.
Go ahead. Go ahead, talk. I'm listening.
Now, Mr. Marlon, now more than ever, I must... I must have those pearls.
Why? Money trouble?
Oh, no, no.
It's just that everything's gone wrong.
And this morning, my husband told me where to separate.
Oh, I'm sorry, Lola.
But if I had Johnny's pearls, it would be a link with the past and with Johnny and all he meant to me.
It's how a woman feels, Mr. Marlon.
I wouldn't blame you for not understanding.
Maybe I do, though.
So please, Mr. Marlon, please, you'll try to find my pearls.
Lola, look, I...
Even if it isn't all of them.
Any part of them, any single smallest one of them.
It'll be Johnny's.
Look, will you meet me here again around 4 o'clock?
I'll be here.
Okay, I'll see what I can do.
There was only one earthly decent thing I could do.
I took Lola's glass pearls to a jeweler and I had them.
I took Lola's glass pearls to a jeweler and I had him take off the diamond clasp
and put it on one of those strings of so-called simulated pearls
that they sell you for three bucks, tax included.
And I went back to keep my 4 o'clock date with Lola at the beachcombers.
Well, Mr. Marlon, anything new?
Yes, the police found some pearls in Waldo's car.
They found my pearls?
No, no, not exactly.
Not exactly?
Waldo was getting set to jup you, Lola.
He had the diamond clasp of your necklace attached to a string of cheap imitations
and then he sold the real pearls.
Oh, how...
These are the imitations here?
Yes, but it is my clasp.
The clasp is real.
Is that all right?
Yes, it's the clasp that Johnny D'Almos gave me.
Of course, of course it's all right.
That's well.
Thank you so much, Mr. Marlon.
Don't forget it.
I won't.
Not ever.
Well, is this goodbye?
Yeah, I think so.
You'll never get over Johnny D'Almos, Lola.
If anybody ever bothers you again, though, well, let me know.
Name's Philip Marlowe.
I drove almost to Malibu and then I parked and walked out on a rock cliff
jetting into the Pacific Ocean.
Then I reached in my pocket and dug out the string of Bohemian glass pearls
that Lieutenant Ibarra had found in Waldo's car.
I cut the knot at one end and slipped the pearls off one by one.
One by one, I flipped them into the water.
I was so happy to see them.
One by one, I flipped them into the water.
The gulls swooped down on them and then flapped up again, screaming indignantly.
The phony pearls had fooled Waldo and Lola Barsley, but they couldn't fool a seagull.
I said to myself, to the memory of Johnny D'Almos, just another four-flusher.
I listened a while to the wheeling seagulls.
All at once I realized that the wind had died, the Santa Ana had blown itself out.
The red wind was done. It was over.
You have just heard Van Heflin starring in the first of a new mystery series,
Raymond Chandler's The Inquisitor.
Brought to you by the Lever Brothers Company, makers of Pepsodent.
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Its lingering minty flavor is so fresh and inviting,
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over all other toothpastes in a recent nationwide test.
They said new Pepsodent tastes better, makes breath cleaner, and makes teeth brighter.
Remember, new Pepsodent gives you more invigorating irium foam.
It sweeps dulling film away.
No wonder it's the three to one favorite with families all over America.
Get new Pepsodent with irium for your family right away.
Tonight's story on the adventure of Philip Marlowe is based on Red Wind,
written by Raymond Chandler, creator of Philip Marlowe,
the screen's most famous private detective.
It was adapted for radio by Milton Geiger.
Heard with Van Heflin was Lorraine Tuttle as Lola Barcelli.
And this is Wendell Niles inviting you to listen again next week at this same time
to another exciting story on the adventures of Philip Marlowe,
starring Van Heflin with a distinguished cast.
This is NBC, the national broadcaster.
This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.