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starring Van Heflin. Philip Marlowe, the screen's most famous private detective,
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Now the Adventures of Philip Marlowe, starring Van Heflin.
The moment Old Man Jeter came into my office, I made up my mind not to vote for him if he ever ran for president.
He was tall and thin with straight compressed white lips.
He wore a neat pinstriped flannel suit with a small rosebud in the lapel.
He carried an ebony cane and he wore spats.
He looked a smart sixty and unless his ulcers got nasty, I gave him another fifteen years, which was pretty big of me.
He sat down, speared me with those barbed gray eyes, and came right down to business.
Mr. Philip Marlowe, I believe?
That's right.
My name is Wadsworth Jeter.
How do you do, Mr. Jeter?
You're a private detective?
Well, why not?
Frankly, sir, I'd expect the Hollywood Detective's office to be somewhat more glamorous or rather more elegant, shall we say?
Well, if I know Vance has a branch office here on the fourth floor, if you're shopping around here...
No, no, no, no, you'll do, I'm sure.
My rate is twenty-five bucks a day, plus expenses.
Money is no object.
Except when you don't have much of it.
That seems to be the motivating philosophy where Miss Harriet Huntress is concerned.
Who or whom is Miss Harriet Huntress?
A rather standard, rather obvious gold digger who wishes to marry Grover.
Hmm. You want to tell me who Grover is?
Grover is my adopted stepson, my late wife's son.
Go on.
Next year he will inherit a million dollars left him by his mother.
Which explains Miss Huntress' interest in Grover.
Precisely.
Look, Mr. Jeter, am I being hired to smear Miss Harriet Huntress?
Not at all. Merely to disillusion Grover about her.
Yeah, well, that's the same thing. I think you'd better find yourself another boy.
There's more.
Okay, let's hear it.
Do you know a man named Marty Estelle?
Sure. He's a big time gambler out on Sensex Strip.
Why?
Mr. Estelle claims my son Grover owes him fifty thousand dollars.
Well, then Grover'd better pay up if I know Marty Estelle.
But suppose my son doesn't really always tell the money.
Does he or doesn't he?
Mr. Estelle supplied photostat copies of Grover's notes with Grover's signatures.
I thought they might be forged, so without Grover's knowledge, I took them to a handwriting expert named John Arbogast.
A sort of detective.
No.
He's not sure. He wants more time. I'd like you to take over the case.
Harriet Huntress in all?
Miss Huntress, as you may know, is associated with Mr. Estelle.
Well, that's incidental. I'll handle the forgery case and not the slander job.
Now, where does this Arbogast have his office?
On Sunset, near Aiva.
Okay, I'll look it up.
Miss Huntress?
She lives at the El Milano on North Sycamore.
I'll look her up, too. Arbogast and Huntress, in the order named.
There was no snooty secretary to prevent me from walking right into John D. Arbogast's extremely fat presence on Sunset, near Aiva.
He was an enormously fleshy gent with a thick neck that was in folds like a concertina.
He wore a wrinkled dark suit that needed cleaning and some reweaving where it had some small holes in it.
Arbogast just sat and stared at me with the whites of his eyes because those three holes that needed reweaving were bullet holes.
And John D. Arbogast was dead, very recently dead.
I left in a hurry, and as far as I could tell, nobody saw me come, nobody saw me go.
My next stop was the Swank El Milano Hotel on North Sycamore.
Just a second, mister. Something you want?
Yeah, yeah, who are you?
I'm the house detective.
Well, I'm looking for a Miss Harriet Huntress.
Miss Huntress ain't seeing anyone.
You can tell her it's Marty Estelle.
Are you Marty Estelle?
I'm from him.
That's different, ain't it?
That's none of your business, is it?
Well, whatever you're up to, you're not playing it very smooth.
Well, some days I feel like playing it smooth, and some days I feel like playing it like a waffle iron.
Well, if you must know, I'm one of the boys. Philip Marlowe, private eye. Here, it's my card.
Well, that's another story. I'll phone up to Miss Huntress.
Yeah, say I'm from Marty Estelle, and make it convincing, huh?
How much convincing?
Oh, well, how much do those cigars your smoking cost you?
Twenty-two fifty, box of fifty.
That much convincing?
Well, that's cute. You and me are going to get along. I'll phone Miss Huntress, but you go right on up.
Room 814. I just know it'll be all right.
The
Harriet Huntress was too tall to be cute, too beautiful to be really cheap.
Her green eyes were wide set, and there was plenty of thinking room between them.
There was a dusky red, like fire seen through a haze.
The green eyes were that much green ice that she sized me up in the doorway.
Well, what's the big message, Sonny?
I'd have to come in. I never could speak very well in public.
Come in.
Never could speak very well on a dry throat, either.
There's the scotch. Help yourself.
Thank you.
So, you're from Marty Estelle?
No, not strictly, not even loosely.
Not at all, in fact.
What's your racket?
No racket.
Marty would love to know you used his name.
I'm shaking in my shoes.
You're some kind of detective, aren't you?
Yeah, probably. Philip Marlowe.
He's a good scotcher.
I'm glad you like it.
Now, what's your business?
All right.
How much will you take to give up Grover?
You look smart, but you talk stupid.
Old man Jeeter's pretty tough, his idea that you get nothing, you get smid.
I don't see it that way.
How much?
How about $50,000?
How about $500?
How about talking about the effect of the rain on the ruba?
Now, look, sister, suppose we skip the footwork,
considering the sobering fact that a man named John D. Arbogast
has already been murdered in this little case.
Does that have anything to do with me?
I don't know.
He was hired to analyze some notes Grover gave Marty Estelle.
He was killed just after I took over the case.
Do you think Marty Estelle works that way?
You know him better than I do, does he?
Have you told the police yet?
No, I thought I'd see if I could make a deal with you first.
I'm going to tell you something.
My people were nice people who never got involved in murders.
Old Jeeter ruined my father.
My dad shot himself and my mother died of the shock.
I'm going to fix Jeeter for that someday,
even if I have to marry his son to do it.
And after it's stepson, really, there's no relation at all.
It'll hurt Jeeter just as hard.
And the kid will have a million dollars next year.
I could do worse, even if he does drink too much.
You wouldn't want Grover to hear that now, would you?
No.
Turn around and have a look, gumshoe.
No!
I turned fast. He stood about four feet from me.
Big, blonde, powerful.
Whiskey in his brain and blood in his eyes.
I can say anything I want around Grover. It's all right with him.
Isn't it, Grover?
That's right, Harry.
He's trying to break his dust, Grover.
What do you think of that?
I think maybe I better break him up.
That's what I think of that.
She laughed and that made me mad. I turned a cow at her.
It was a dirty look. It was the look of the month.
That was a mistake. The big guy hit me.
I went over sideways.
It wasn't a hard punch, but my head hit a desk.
Going down on the desk got the decision.
It gets dark fast in Southern California, but seldom that fast.
When I came out of it, Grover, the blonde sucker puncher and Harriet Huntress were gone.
But the bottle of scotch was still there, so I took that for souvenir and stuffed it in my pocket and floated down the elevator into the street.
It was dark by the time I got back to my apartment on Hobart Avenue in Hollywood.
I turned on the light, and there stood a big guy, another big guy.
This was National Big Guy Week.
This one had a big nose, the dead color of wax.
And he had a.22 caliber Colt Woodsman pointed straight at me.
Close the door and reach. Come on.
I turned a little to close the door. I got my hand under my coat.
Then I turned back to wax nose fast. I had my luger out.
We stood there facing each other.
Wax nose didn't seem at all impressed with my automatic.
I just came to tell you to be smart.
You're looking at a luger, mister.
I know. Men of distinction carry lugers.
Me, I pack this small bore because I can shoot.
If you think you can take me, go to it.
Hello, what's the game?
Maybe you can take a hint, and maybe you can't.
Maybe or maybe not. What is it?
Lay off, old cheaters boy.
When I wouldn't think of contradicting anyone who uses a Colt Woodsman.22
with the front sight filed off, must think he's pretty good.
I am good.
Yeah, and that's why I say, okay, pal.
We'll see.
Speaking of.22s, do you know anybody named John Abagas?
I meet such a lot of people.
Well, this one was fat and shot three times with a.22.
I don't remember shooting no fat guys today.
So long, chum. Remember what I told you.
Lay off, grover. So long, chum.
Yeah. Swear.
Oh, shut up.
Yeah.
Mr. Marlow?
Oh, Mr. G there.
Well, your son or your adopted son or your stepson or whatever he is
poked me in the jaw today.
He is both my stepson and my adopted son.
Well, both of them poked me in the jaw.
My word, where?
In Miss Huntress's apartment.
You spoke to her? What did she say?
She wants 50 grand and no dice.
Now for the 500. Just as a gag.
Just as a gag? Mr. Marlow, you're a fool.
Mr. Marlow, perhaps you underestimate the importance of this matter to me.
Listen, Mr. G there.
There are some very unusual angles to this case.
For example, a gunman just stuck me up in my own apartment
and told me to stay off of this case.
What?
I don't see why this case should get so tough.
Good heavens.
Listen, Mr. Marlow, my chauffeur Waldo will pick you up in my limousine.
I want to talk to you.
All right.
Tell Waldo to park on Hobart facing Franklin.
He'll be around for you in 20 minutes.
Good. Just give me time to drink my dinner.
Bye-bye.
I sat next to Waldo, the chauffeur, as he tooled the big Geter limousine through Hollywood.
Along the glitter of the Sunset Strip, out past Beverly Hills toward Bel Air.
A Covello drive we swung left for a couple of hundred yards
and left again aiming for a driveway flanked by 12-foot wrought iron gates.
Then something happened.
Someone was standing in the glare of our headlights.
Waldo swore and slammed on the brake shelf.
You stupid, go and get out of the driveway.
The man stepped toward us.
In the next minute, there was that same Colt 22 staring into my face again.
All right, this is a heist.
Get out of the car, both of you.
Look, waxnose, haven't you had enough fun for one night?
Fuzz off, bum.
Cut up and get out.
I'd have to think some more on that, Buster.
I'm warning you, I'll let you have it.
Don't be a goon, you're going to...
All right, you asked for it.
Hey!
Holy...
You shot the guy.
Yeah, I shot him.
With this.
All in fun.
Yeah, some fun.
If there's the work.
Geter's house is right ahead.
You sound as if you just shot a nickel in a pinball machine instead of a man.
Now listen, turn off those lights and let's get out of here, but fast.
You are listening to the Adventures of Philip Marlowe starring Van Heflin.
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Music
We continue with the adventures of Philip Marlowe, starring Van Heflin,
who appears by arrangement with Metro Golden Mare,
producers of the romance of Rosie Ridge, starring Van Johnson.
Music
Waldo and I drove back to my apartment again,
leaving Waxnose lying dead in the Jeter driveway.
We went back to my place to start all over again,
over what was left of my purloined scotch.
Yeah, this is good scotch you've got here, Marlowe.
A inch bottle.
Not this.
Sure. I'm benched it from the apartment of Harriet Huntress.
Well, bottoms up.
Waldo, do you think that gunman was there to scare young Grover into
realizing Marty Estelle means business?
Could be. I always drove Grover home around that time.
It just doesn't sound like Marty Estelle to pick that sort of a helper.
Well, sure. Maybe that's why he picked him.
Because it didn't seem like Marty Estelle.
Yeah, that's good thinking, Waldo.
Dartmouth, 37th. Ra, ra, ra.
That would be either the cops or Mr. Jeter.
Hello.
Mr. Marlowe?
Yes, Mr. Jeter. And the reason we're not in your study now is
lying outside of your front gate.
What's that you're saying?
Somebody jumped us outside of your gate and Waldo shot him dead.
Good Lord.
Now, listen, Marlowe, come here at once. Do you hear that? Once.
I'll send Waldo, Mr. Jeter.
I want to see you. You.
Waldo will tell you all about it, Mr. Jeter.
Marlowe.
Good night, Mr. Jeter.
After Waldo the chauffeur had left, I went back to the El Milano hotel.
Hawkins, the house stick, was all smiles and open palms.
I placed no confidence in his smile and the $20 bill in his palm.
Harriet Huntress again? What's the matter?
Just take me up to her apartment, that's all, huh?
Yeah, sure. Right this way, fella.
Hawkins took me to the eighth floor, room 814, and opened the door.
There was someone in the room, waiting.
Here's company for you, Mr. Estelle.
Beat it, Hawkins.
Yeah, this is the guy I was telling you about, Mr. Estelle.
Come in earlier today. He said he was from you.
Beat it.
Oh, sure, sure.
Come on in, Marlowe.
I came to see Miss Huntress, not you, Estelle.
First of all, Harriet's not home.
I came to tell her what happened outside of Jeter's game.
Hmm, so you keep informed.
I can't wait for any longer. Gotta get back to the casino.
Well, then, what did you come back for, Marlowe?
I'm looking for the Jeter boy.
After what happened to him tonight, he needs somebody to walk behind him.
You think I'd play games like that?
All I know is we were shot at.
I asked you a question.
I answered it to the best of my knowledge.
What knowledge, for example?
Well, for example, you hold $50,000 worth of Grover's notes for gambling debts.
I've got $50,000 invested in the kid. Would I be likely to bump him off?
Ah. That makes sense, all right.
I always make sense.
I'm a bully for you.
When I have 50 grand invested in a guy, I'm up to find out all about him.
Like about old Jeter hiring a man named Arbogast to work for him.
Ah?
Arbogast was shot today. You knew it.
I know because I had you followed.
You didn't tell the lower, Marlowe.
That could be very hard on you.
Well, it could.
Does that make you and me friends?
A little blackmail, huh?
Not much.
Well, call it a tattletale grail mail.
From now on, do you stop bothering Miss Huntress?
Yeah, you win, Marty.
Well, that's all. I've got to go.
Well, I'll just wait around for bed, okay?
Well, Harriet Scott is in that cabinet there.
Thanks, I'll roll up my pants and go waiting in it.
You know, Marlowe, I like you.
You're cute.
So long, Chavez.
Marty Estelle was right.
He wouldn't kill anybody who owed him money and was soon to come into a lot of it.
Now I was in bed with the police for not reporting Arbogast's murder.
Well, I looked around Harriet's apartment vaguely, walked into the bedroom, and stopped.
Because mixed with the fragrance of good perfume and good cosmetics was the plain, ordinary, homespun odor of gunpowder.
I walked across the room and yanked open the closet door and stepped back.
There, just as big as life, but as dead as they ever come, was young Grover Jeter.
And at Grover's feet, among the graceful shoes in Harriet's closet, was a tiny pearl-handled automatic.
I felt bad about that.
Because I guessed that the dainty holes, the bullets from that dainty gun, would fit the two dainty holes over Grover's heart.
I put the neat little pistol in my pocket.
I thought old man Jeter ought to know about his son.
I thought.
I didn't expect to find Waldo, the chauffeur, and Harriet Huntress with old Jeter in Jeter's big study, but there they were.
Why, Mr. Marlow, I had about given up hoping to see you tonight.
Well, I changed my mind about coming out again, Mr. Jeter.
Hello, Waldo.
Hi, Marlow.
Didn't expect to see you here, Miss Huntress.
Didn't you?
Did you expect to see me here?
Never mind that, Marlow. I want to know where my son is.
What do you mean, Mr. Jeter?
He's missing. That's what I mean.
Oh.
He's missing and no one knows where he is.
I know.
Eh?
What's that?
Where, Marlow?
Miss Huntress, where did you and Grover go after Grover took that sucker punch at me in your apartment?
We went out together in a taxi.
During the ride, I had a change of heart.
I didn't want Grover or Grover's money. I told Grover to find another playmate, and I got out in Beverly Hills.
Grover went on in the taxi.
Where did you go?
Back to my apartment.
Later, I got out my car to come down here and tell Mr. Jeter I decided to forget the whole thing.
And for him to call off his dying novel, Sleuth.
A dying will no longer buy a novel of any description, but that is beside the point.
You said you knew where Grover is.
That's not beside the point, is it, Mr. Marlow?
He's back in Harriet's apartment.
Why didn't let him in? How on earth couldn't he be?
Hawkins, your house detective, let him in.
The last I saw of Grover, he's dead.
Oh, what? What's that?
Dead. Dead. Shot with a small caliber gun.
I can't believe it. I can't.
Grover's dead?
Miss Huntress, this 25 caliber pistol was on the floor at Grover's feet.
Can you take it?
Look it over, will you?
Blind.
You're murderous.
I'm not.
You're cold-blooded murderous.
Oh, stop that!
Stop it, both of you. It could have been suicide.
Suicide? Well, yes. That's a possibility, of course.
I see you like that idea, Jeter. But it wasn't suicide.
Then she did it. The murderous, the scheming contemptible...
It was murder, and it's fairly obvious who did it, Jeter.
Eh?
Marty Estelle is my guess.
Well, guess again, Waldo.
Estelle had $50,000 invested in Grover.
He wouldn't kill a golden goose like that.
And Waxnose didn't do it because he was dead, thanks to Waldo here.
That leaves her. She did it.
There had to be a motive and an opportunity.
Well, it was her apartment after all.
Correct, Waldo, but Grover was Jeter's adopted stepson.
More like a real son he was to me. A real son.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. But did you lovely people know that in the state of California,
a man can inherit from an adopted son who has money and who gets dead?
Did you know that, Mr. Jeter?
Why, what do you mean?
You're inheriting Grover's million dollars would be a motive for killing him, wouldn't it?
Mr. Marlowe!
That was the motive, Jeter, and it was Waldo's job to find the opportunity to murder Grover for you.
All right, Marlowe, that'll be all for you.
Well, Waldo, the darkness gun fan, huh?
Drop that gun, Waldo.
Shut up.
I said drop it!
Hey, that's nice shooting, Harriet.
My hand, my hand.
Now, Pop will put a little band-aid on for you. Waldo?
Waldo, you could have gotten into my apartment wearing that chauffeur's uniform.
You could have gone into the garage entrance and up the back way.
Sure, and when Grover let him in, he backed Grover into the room with his gun, but he shot him with yours.
How much was Jeter going to pay you for this job, Waldo?
Don't talk, Waldo. He's bluffing.
You're telling me he's bluffing.
Nice kids, these college boys.
Tell me, was it Dartmouth or Dannemora, Waldo?
Shut up, Copper.
You killed John Arbogast to throw suspicion on Marty Estelle.
Then you hired Waxnose to fake a holdup on Grover.
Why?
Again to throw suspicion on Marty Estelle.
To make it look as though Estelle was trying to scare Grover into paying his gambling debts.
If I hired Waxnose, why would I have shot him tonight?
Because you like to kill people, Waldo.
When I was brought out here tonight, Waxnose thought I was Grover in the car.
He began to fake his holdup.
But you just couldn't resist taking one of your snappy snapshots at Waxnose, could you, Waldo?
Shut up.
Could you? Next, Mr. Wadsworth Jeter.
Look here, Marlo. You can't accuse me of...
Doctor, be sick. Call a doctor.
It's his heart. If Jeter dies, it's your fault, Marlo.
Okay, Waldo. Tell you what I'll do, Waldo.
If Jeter dies, he doesn't have to pay me my fee. We're even.
Okay, Waldo? Harry Danger, listen, go call a doctor.
And while you're there, call the law, huh?
Jeter didn't die. His heart was as good as mine, if you want to make anything out of that.
The law had Jeter and Waldo cold, and I mean cold.
Me? Well, I went out a couple of times with Harriet, as I sat home with her a couple of times drinking her scotch.
It was nice, all right, but I didn't have the money or the clothes or the manners.
Still, I was sorry when she went to New York to live.
She had absolutely the best scotch I ever tasted.
Maybe because it was free. I don't know.
You have just heard Van Heflin starring in the mystery series Raymond Chandler's The Adventures of Philip Marlo,
brought to you by the Leaver Brothers Company, makers of Pepsodent.
Van Heflin will return in just a moment.
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Its lingering minty flavor is so fresh and inviting, families prefer it by an overwhelming average of 3 to 1 over any other toothpaste they tried.
In a recent nationwide test, these families 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 3 to 1 favorite with families all over America.
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Tonight's story was adapted by Milton Geiger from the story Trouble is My Business by Raymond Chandler,
creator of Philip Marlowe, the screen's most famous private detective.
The original music was composed and conducted by Lynn Murray.
This is Wendell Niles inviting you to listen again next week at the same time
to another exciting mystery on the adventures of Philip Marlowe starring Van Heflin with a distinguished cast.
This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.