It was a hunt through a jungle of city streets with danger waiting at every intersection
until halfway through when the hunters became the hunted and death brought an end to the
game.
From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous
character as CBS presents...
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe.
Now with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The
Grim Hunters.
The morning paper had headline prices rising.
My bank statement in the afternoon mail had worn balance falling.
And I had wasted the evening on behalf of a client who ran out on me when I tried to
collect.
All of which added up to the end of the day and me unhappy in my office at 10 p.m.
With one hand on my checkbook and the other one raised in almost solemn mode.
I Philip Marlowe, private detective and too often public servant, hereby resolved to one
way or another jockey my budget into something close to equilibrium.
And from this day for...
Hello, Marlowe speaking.
My name is Helen Palmer Marlowe.
I need your help badly.
Yeah, but look...
I'm up at 8700 Magnolia Terrace in the Hollywood Hills.
Now please drop whatever you're doing in front of the police.
I'm going to call the police.
I'm going to call the police.
I'm going to call the police.
I'm going to call the police.
I'm going to call the police.
I'm calling the police.
I'm calling the police.
Oh, man, I'm suppose to have the phone already.
I'm supposed to have the phone already.
Oh, no.
Yes, that's exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.
No.
No.
No.
I must have let go of the phone, grabbed my hadn't code open and closed the office door,
piled into my car outside and raced up into the Hollywood Hills because...
The next thing I remember after Helen Palmer's scream was swinging off North Bronson Drive
under Magnolia Terrace but a minute later when I screched to a stop away from number 8700,
I scrambled out from under the wheel and started on the run for the front door.
I was no longer sure of anything.
Because the house in question, a stock southern mansion,
complete with Stableboy's statue in a gravel driveway,
which according to the book should have been as dark and as quiet as the inside of a coffin,
was anything else but.
And when I got to the oversized bronze door knocker and dropped it hard,
I was beginning to doubt that I had the right address.
Can I be of some assistance, sir?
I don't know.
I'm looking for a woman named Helen Palmer who called me at my office.
Said she needed help.
And a second after that she...
Screamed, huh?
Tell me, sir, what is your name and occupation?
In that order, Philip Marlowe, private detective.
Good for Helen, good for...
Happy, aren't you?
What's going on here? What is this?
Why, it's a party, sir.
A scavenger hunt.
It looks like Helen Palmer's the way.
Now, wait a minute, laughing boy.
I had a call that was interrupted by pistol shots and I...
All just part of the play, sir.
Yeah, Helen Palmer had to bring back one private detective.
Yeah, you see Marlowe,
each list aside from the usual hard to find objects had a human being on it.
That's right.
I had to bring back a Hoover vacuum cleaner salesman.
And believe it or not, he's already sold our good host,
Thaddeus Crowe, the deluxe model.
Yes sir, he did it bad.
You see, Mr. Marlowe,
Helen Palmer wasn't permitted to actually hire you.
That's why she had to pretend to be in trouble.
With the net result that I nearly broke my neck getting up here.
Mr. Grover, where is Miss Palmer?
I don't know for sure, Marlowe.
She called just a bit ago and said that she only had to catch on to you
and one other item and be back after that.
That would make her the winner, Mr. Marlowe,
because none of us did better than half our list.
By the by, you don't happen to have the breech lock of a 57 millimeter
Adatang gun with you.
At the moment, no.
Nor do I have time for scavenger hunters.
Not even when they most cordially invite you in
with a finer serve and a party style Southern fried chicken imaginable.
Come on, Mr. Marlowe.
No, I'm sorry.
Come on, come on, come on.
It's delicious chicken.
Well, okay, the chicken did it.
The inside of Thaddeus Grover's house was also stocked Southern mansion
from a giant cut glass punch bowl belonged to my mother, sir,
first lady of Atlanta, Georgia, sir,
to a wide and winding colonial staircase.
It left you expecting the descent of Scarlett O'Hara at any moment.
There was one strange note in the soft Southern surroundings
piled three feet high in the middle of the room
with the crazy quote results of the evening scavenger hunt,
including a wooden cigar store Indian,
a pair of Hickok suspenders from the local fire chief,
one red motorcycle, a stuffed owl, a set of antlers and more.
And behind all that, my counterparts,
the bring him back alive items from each list,
a streetcar conductor in uniform, a waiter bald and under 40,
a schoolteacher redheaded and over 50.
But I was the center of attention.
Thaddeus introduced one after another of the guests
to the genuine 100% non-shrinkable private detective.
And now, Mr. Marlowe, sir, a very special friend of mine.
At 31, sir, the president of Sample and Claiborne,
best building contractors in the city of Los Angeles.
That's so very interesting, Mr. Grover.
Moreover, Mr. Marlowe, Sample made it right to the top
in the past two years.
Ever since old Joshua Claiborne got killed falling off a scaffold.
He did?
Of course, between you and me in the gatepost,
some folks say it was suicide.
Oh, Larry! Boy, how do you...
I'd like you to meet Mr. Marlowe, private detective.
Mr. Marlowe, Larry, Sample.
How do you do?
Hello, Mr. Marlowe. Glad you're with us.
Thaddeus has Rhonda calling in yet.
Last time I heard from her was when we split our list in two,
and she headed out after a Latin American rumba team.
Well, if she went after a boy, she'll bring her back.
That's Rhonda Langley we're speaking of, Mr. Marlowe, Larry's lady friend.
The nicest person I know, except, of course, my fiance, Helen.
Helen is in Palmer, my patron, Mr. Grover.
Yes, sir, one and the same, sir.
Well, we said we have a lot of fun, even if we don't make much money.
Yeah, you certainly... Mr. Grover, did you say money?
Most surely did, boy. You know, dollars and cents.
Yes. Well, gentlemen, you'll excuse me, please, but I do have to run.
Good night, Mr. Sample. All right.
And Mr. Grover, sir, it's been a distinct pleasure, sir.
I bid you good-bye, sir. Good-bye, sir. Your card!
When I got back to my office, which I had left lights on and unlocked,
my telephone was ringing.
At this late hour, gullible me took faint hope
that it could be a client who might still save the day.
When I picked up the receiver... Marlowe?
I let go of that straw fast. Marlowe?
It was Detective Lieutenant Eborra.
Marlowe, do you know a girl named Helen Palmer? Helen...
Hey, Eborra, don't tell me there's a pair of somewhat flat feet
on the lady scavenger hunt list.
Very funny, Phil. How do you know her?
No, not beyond a panic telephone call
that ended in a make-believe scream and a couple of pistol shots.
All designed to bring me running to a party at 8700 Magnolia Terrace.
Mm-hm. Well, that adds all right,
because the only items not checked off a list
are a night watchman's badge and one detective private,
which must be you, since your name is circled in the classified directory
here in this phone booth. Here in what phone booth?
Where are you, Eborra? At a closed billing station
on Van Essof, Hollywood Boulevard.
Wait a minute. Why is a girl's list there with you?
Because it's clenched in her right hand, Phil,
and she's folded up on the floor of this booth.
Dead. Oh, no. Two bullet holes in her back.
Oh, yeah, but, Eborra, her call was a gag.
The shots weren't. Anyhow, it looks like a stick-up
since the lady's purse is gone and a winer we picked up...
Who? A winer we picked up saw what he calls
a curly-headed guy with short legs do it and run.
Also, the winer says that the murderer had been hanging around
for a couple of hours like he was looking for a well-to-do prospect.
Yeah, I know, but it's still kind of strange, me getting that call, I mean.
Well, I'll drop around at headquarters tomorrow morning, Lieutenant,
if you need any statement from me.
I think you'd better make that tonight, Phil,
at the 8700 address. I'm sending Mooney up there now.
Oh, but wait a minute, Eborra, you don't need me,
and I do need business. If you think I'm going to get it by...
Well, huh? Phil, let's say that I'd appreciate it
if you'd show for a few minutes, okay?
No. Well, okay, a few minutes.
Just so long as you appreciate it. Goodbye.
Driving back to Magnolia Terrace, I used Detective Lieutenant Eborra
as an oversized whipping boy for the day's disappointments.
So when I finally break to a stop behind a half-parked squad car,
which meant that Police Officer Mooney was already on hand,
I was about back to normal.
But then in the next quick moment, I forgot all about Eborra,
because in the shadows ahead, sneaking away from a side entrance
to number 8700, looking as guilty as Lucretia Borgia
leaving a corner pharmacy, was a young lady, brunette and beautiful.
She hurried directly to a gray Nash, parked in the rear,
and without looking back, climbed in and took off.
Following her had to be more fun than conversation with Mooney.
Ten minutes later, the lady came to a stop in front of a dark,
politely landscaped cottage on North Ogden Drive.
Another two, she was inside and the light was on.
I got to the front door and leaned against the bell.
A card over it said that this could be one Rhonda Langley,
Mr. Larry Sample's girlfriend.
That same card also gave another name, Helen Palmer,
the lady dead in the home booth.
I rang again.
When the door opened, it was the brunette still beautiful.
Only this time, something had been added.
In her right hand, a 45, ugly and pointed straight at my head.
What do you want?
One straight answer, Miss Langley.
Why did you run away from 8700 Magnolia Terrace
and a cop with routine questions?
Wait a minute. Who are you? How do you know my name?
I'm a private detective, labeled Philip Marlowe,
item number 8 on the late Miss Palmer's list.
I know about you because I've already been to Thaddeus Grover's party.
Now after you put this gun away, we'll get back to my question.
Why'd you run? Come on, talk, lady, now, before I yell, copper.
Well, all right. Come in.
Thanks.
Mr. Marlowe, I don't think Helen Palmer's murder was any run-of-the-mill robbery.
You don't think what?
I stayed just long enough to hear the policemen say Helen had been killed.
Oh. When I got to your welcome, Matt, I was greeted with a 45.
Talk some more, Miss Langley, real plain like, huh?
All right, give me half a chance, will you?
I didn't say anything to the police about this
because I don't want to do any damage before I'm sure about a few things.
Like what?
Like the kind of a mess that Helen was in.
Mr. Marlowe, I need help. I've got to know some facts.
Please, will you work for me? I'll pay you anything.
Well, at this point, let's call anything 25 a day in expenses, huh?
What about Helen and the mess you spoke of? How much do you know?
Very little. Only that I think Helen was blackmailing somebody.
Somebody who was at the party tonight.
Like Grover, your boyfriend Larry Sample?
I don't know. Oh, you've got to believe me, Mr. Marlowe.
Well, all right. For the time being, I will.
Now, first of all, how'd you latch on to this blackmail?
Well, yesterday morning, I accidentally overheard Helen talking to someone on the telephone.
She spoke of a payoff that was to be made at Thaddeus' party.
I don't know who she was talking to, but she warned the person not to try anything rash.
As in murder?
She didn't say, but she did say that she'd already airmailed a letter to her lawyers in San Francisco
that would protect her from any harm.
And she laughed about the scheduled scavenger hunt and hung up.
Mm-hmm. You said nothing to her about this, huh?
Well, no, I was afraid...
All right, the letter to San Francisco. Did you see her mail it?
Well, I mailed it myself earlier in the day along with one of my own.
I didn't think about it until after her call when she pointedly asked me
if I'd remembered to mail a letter. My letter, that is,
which she knew that I'd written to an aunt I have in Passaic, New Jersey.
Well?
Well, that's the whole story. If you want me, I'll be over at Thaddeus' place.
Thaddeus?
Yes. He was in love with Helen.
Yeah. Maybe she was returning that love with blackmail.
What do you think, Rhonda?
I don't know. The thinking is now your job, Mr. Marlowe.
When I left Rhonda Langley and started back to my cause as a bona fide private detective with clients,
I wasn't sure whether or not I was happy about the whole thing.
A second later, at the sight of a man in the dark ahead, half crouched behind a tree,
I quit deliberating the point and got ready for trouble because
the one I could see, the gentleman in hiding, had both the curly hair and very short legs
that Ibarra had mentioned as a sign of Helen Palmer's killer.
I kept walking straight until I was abreast of the tree, then I pivoted sharply,
took one step toward him and swung!
Come on, brother. Why, you dirty...
You haven't got the time. Believe me!
Enough, brother. Enough, will you? Leave me alone.
Sure. Sure I will. After you start talking. Now, get up!
Okay. Okay, don't hit me again. I'll talk. I'll tell you everything.
Hey. Hey, look there. No! No, don't!
Oh, that lousy nut.
In just a moment, we will return to the second act of the adventures of Philip Marlowe.
But first, you can do a lot of singing for $14,500, so they say.
And tonight, some CBS listener may be able to speak with authority on this subject,
because $14,500 is what's waiting for whoever can solve the mystery
behind the new Phantom voice on CBS's great Saturday Night Quiz Game,
Sing It Again.
Listeners from coast to coast will be quizzed by telephone about the new Phantom's identity,
and they'll also be given a chance to win one of the other famous prizes
for solving the riddle songs which feature Sing It Again's hour of Saturday Night fun.
Here's Sing It Again on most of these same CBS network stations tonight and every Saturday night.
Now, with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe,
and tonight's story, The Grim Hunters.
When the shots crashed out of the darkness, the life ran out of the little man like Eve
from a kid's balloon.
I couldn't figure exactly where the shots had come from, and I stopped trying
when a pair of spiked heels clicked fast across the concrete driveway between me and the house.
Then a motor started, and a second later, a car roared by with Ronda Langley at the wheel.
I yelled at her to stop, but she went by, and ran out in the street after her
and yelled again at the retreating car.
But she ignored me.
When another car came around the curb behind me, I tried to flag it down,
but the driver didn't even slow up.
So I just stood there while the two cars twisted out of sight down the winding street,
leaving nothing but silence and a lot of unanswered questions hanging in midair.
I walked back to the corpse, went over it carefully,
but there was no identification, nothing but a gun to indicate how he fitted
into the screwy mosaic of murder, scavenging, and blackmail.
I went inside to call Ibarra, and five minutes of tracers, relays, and busy signals went by
before I finally got through to him with my news about Helen Palmer's killer.
What? Where are you, Marlow?
In our house on Ogden Drive, 4310 North.
It was shared by Helen Palmer, my new client, Ronda Langley.
Uh-huh. Did she kill my suspect, Marlow?
Could be. She left here in a big hurry.
Another thing, Ibarra, there's more behind this business than robbery.
Like what?
Like blackmail.
Maybe so. We just found a Palmer's Girl handbag in a trash can.
Nothing left but a lipstick and two letters.
Incidentally, one is addressed to your client, Ronda Langley.
That figures. They shared the house, so Helen happened to pick up the day's mail.
What's the other letter?
It was one returned for insufficient postage.
They forgot that air mail is six cents these days.
A return? Wait a minute, is that letter addressed to a law firm in San Francisco?
No, it's addressed to Sophie Kilbirdy.
Sophie Kilwho?
Kilbirdy of Mosaic, New Jersey. Why?
Ibarra, listen, Helen was blackmailing somebody,
and she covered herself by mailing a letter to her lawyers in San Francisco.
If that letter was returned for insufficient postage and the blackmail victim knew it,
he'd have no qualms about killing her, right?
Sure, but the letters were in Helen's purse.
Don't you think she'd have known her protection was gone?
Phil, I'm going to put out a pickup call on your client.
And you get on down here so we can go over this mess one step at a time.
Where's here?
Still at the gas station in Van Ness off Hollywood Boulevard.
Okay, Ibarra, how long are you going to be there?
Just until Thaddeus Grover shows up to identify the body
and give me some answers personally about that scavenger hunting through tonight.
What about this curly-headed corpse I've got here?
Have you gone over him?
Yeah, yeah, nothing but a gun, some small builds on him.
Then he'll keep. I'll expect you in a few minutes.
Okay, so long, Ibarra.
When I put down the phone, I was convinced that a big switch was due any minute
because finding those letters in Helen Palmer's purse
made a lot of sense in one direction and not a bit in another.
I could have made more heads and tails by flipping a ball bearing
than I got out of the facts Ibarra had given me.
Just then, the shadow of a man slid up the walk.
I heard a pair of feet mount the stairs, too, at a time.
It was the Wonder Boy executive I'd met at the party.
Better hold it right there, Sample.
What? Marlow?
Why the gun?
So the same thing won't happen to me that happened to the dead little guy outside?
Another murder? Marlow, where's Rhonda? Is she all right?
She left here as fast as an eight-cylinder motor wide open could move
just after it happened.
Then it was Rhonda I saw.
On my way over here, a speeding car almost crowded me off the road.
It looked like Rhonda's, but I wasn't sure.
And Marlow, she was being chased by another car, a fast one.
Chased? Are you sure?
Yes. The first car missed me by inches when it swung around a curve.
I don't know yet how she made it.
Then a second car came along and passed the curve,
but it stopped, backed up, and then took the same road Rhonda had taken.
You think she got away?
I don't know.
Well, come on outside, Sample. I want you to take a look at this.
By the way, how long have you known Rhonda?
About a year.
She's a brilliant girl, Marlow.
Came out from the East and I gave her a job as my secretary.
She's more than that now, huh?
I'm in love with her, if that's what you mean.
Yeah, yeah.
Oh, here it is.
Well, Marlow, I know this man.
That's Nate Murdock.
He used to be a foreman with our firm.
He left and went back to Atlanta right after Claiborne's death.
Atlanta?
Isn't your host Thaddeus Grover from Atlanta?
Yes, he is.
Oh, brother. When did you see Grover last?
Well, the police asked him to go and identify Helen's body.
He left the party while the officer was still questioning the rest of us.
Yeah, and on the way he could have taken time off to drop by here,
kill Murdock and make a try for Rhonda, too.
Come on, let's get to the phone.
But why, Marlow? Good heavens Grover's our friend.
He and Helen were engaged to be married.
All right, so it doesn't make sense.
But his fiancee and his short friend from Atlanta are both dead.
And Rhonda's burning the tires off a car to keep out of reach.
Those are the facts.
It'll make sense later.
Now call Grover's place and hurry up.
Yes.
That's where she intended to go when she left here to console him, no less.
Scavenger hunt my Aunt Minnie.
Hello? Hello, is Mr. Grover there?
No.
Well, has Miss Langley arrived yet?
Oh, it's the maid, Marlow. Rhonda had...
What's that?
She's coming up the walk now?
Hold the line a minute, please.
She just got there, Marlow. What'll I tell her?
Tell her to leave again. Tell her... No. Where do you live?
4406 Ardmore.
All right. Tell her I said for her to wait outside in the back of the house
until you can get over there to pick her up.
Take her to your place and I'll pin Grover down.
Right. Where are you going now?
To see Lieutenant Eborah, and I can get there faster than I can call him on the phone.
Good luck, Sample.
Sample was repeating my name over to Grover's maid on the phone as I left.
And a few minutes later at the mobile gas station off Hollywood Boulevard,
I found Eborah looking sardonic in the blinking light
from a flying red neon horse above his head
as he flipped through a stack of papers on top of an oil drum.
It's about time, Marlow. Where's that client of yours?
Now, wait a minute, Eborah. I had her pegged all wrong.
She's a pigeon. Has Thaddeus Grover been here yet?
Just left. He's quite a character, that guy.
You didn't let him get away alone?
Yes, he was... What do you mean, get away?
Eborah, there's a big connection between Thaddeus Grover and Murdock,
the guy who killed Helen.
Now, Grover might have hired him for the job,
and now he's trying to get Rhonda.
Now, Marlow, how does that figure...
It doesn't, but to help me, Eborah, that's the way it is.
Grover was heading for his friend Larry Sample's house
and he left, happened to know where Sample...
Holy smoke, that's exactly where I told Sample to take the girl.
4406 Ardmore.
That's great, Marlow. They'll all be together in one place.
I'll pick up a whole crew in right now.
You're gonna pick up the pieces, you mean?
You think there'll be a showdown?
Any minute, Eborah, it can't miss.
Okay, so we'll take some firepower along.
Hey, McCallum!
Gray! Let's go.
Come on, Phil.
Look, Eborah, maybe Sample hasn't gotten home with Rhonda yet.
I'll go up to Grover's and try to head them off, okay?
Okay, Marlow.
But if you get them before I do, bring them in.
And no alibis. I'll see you.
Eborah was grim as he climbed in his car and drove off fast.
I headed for my car, then as I turned,
my arms swept the scavenger lists Eborah had left on the oil drum
off onto the ground.
When I picked them up, Rhonda Langley's name was on top.
Her list was as goony as the others, but near the bottom
was an item strangely familiar to me,
which hadn't been checked off.
It was a cancelled ticket from Woodhaven Ballroom.
All at once I realized why it was familiar.
The sign I'd been half conscious of on top of the big squat building
across the street read, Woodhaven Ballroom closed tonight.
On a hunch, I dug for Helen Palmer's list.
Eborah was right.
Everything but a night watchman's badge and one detective private
had been checked off.
That gave me half of the switch I knew I had to show up.
I ran to my car and headed for that southern mansion
in the Hollywood Hills,
the end of a very complicated frolic.
And with every turn of the road, I gave myself another whack
for being such a nearsighted sucker.
When I got there, the big house on Magnolia Terrace was dark,
except for a light in the servants' quarters.
I stepped down the block, walked back,
and gaged around to the patio where the garage, the hot house,
and the big-sized barbecue loomed only as shapeless lumps of shadow.
I stood still and watched.
Then I saw him move, walking slowly,
gun in hand along the fence toward the hot house.
I started to tell him quietly,
just as he found out what he was looking for.
Oh, you're clever, my dear.
But it's all over now.
I know you're in there, so come on out with your hands up.
Oh, no, you're hanging yourself from murder right now, Larry Sample.
I've got all the proof I need.
I don't know what good it'll do, you runder.
I'll never pay you a cent for it, you blackmailing tramp.
I'll kill you first.
And that protection letter you wrote to your lawyers was returned, darling.
I found it accidentally in Helen's purse tonight at the party.
So no one will know.
Now come on out, or I'm going in after you.
I wouldn't try that if I were you, Sample.
Marlowe's due here any minute now. He called me and told me.
That was I, dear.
You?
I used his name when I talked to the maid.
Oh, I should have done this myself in the first place
instead of trusting that stupid Murdoch.
Are you going to come out of there?
No, and I've got a gun.
You can't see me, and I know it.
But your white dress makes a perfect target, you little fool.
Drop it, Sample.
Ow!
No, no, no!
Now let's have that gun.
Marlowe, I'm so glad you got here.
No, no, he's not dead.
And he won't be, from bullets.
Give me your gun, too, huh? Come on.
I was too scared to use it anyway.
Thanks.
Now sit down and shut up.
We're going to wait for Lieutenant Ebar, then you're both going to the pokey.
What?
Listen, you, I don't go for blackmailers, male or female.
Even the cute ones are ugly, lady. Very ugly.
Oh, no, Phil, wait. You've got to understand something.
Two years ago, Larry Sample killed his partner, Joshua Claiborne.
I knew it, but I couldn't prove it.
So I pretended I could and blackmailed him.
Don't you see, if he paid off or tried to kill me,
that would be proof of his guilt.
And he did, Marlowe.
Mm-hmm.
Why should you pull a stunt like that?
I'm a divorcee, Marlowe.
Langley is only my married name.
Okay, so what?
My maiden name was Claiborne.
Claiborne?
I'm Josh Claiborne's daughter.
And I can prove that. Is that reason enough?
Whoa, why didn't you level with me instead of labeling Helen a blackmailer?
Helen was already dead, and I needed your help desperately.
I thought I had to lie to get it. Okay?
Yeah. Okay, baby.
Anyone care for more coffee?
How about you, Lieutenant?
Oh, no thanks, Mr. Grover.
Well, Marlowe, you got it all to come out even, anyway.
Frankly, that's more than I expected when I left you at that gas station.
Yeah, yeah, we were lucky, Barra.
I, uh, guess I owe you an apology, Mr. Grover.
Oh, Chuck, that's all right, son.
It was a shock to me to be accused of poor Helen's murder, but...
Well, it's over now.
Yeah.
Uh, you said it was the scavenger list that set you straight.
How'd you figure that, boy?
Well, there was a Woodhaven ballroom ticket on Rhonda's list,
so she had to go there for the ticket, you see.
I sample knew that.
And he told his killer, Murdock, coincidentally,
he hired to murder Claiborne two years ago,
that the girl who went to the Woodhaven ballroom was his target.
But Helen happened to go there after the night watchman's badge.
Which he could have picked up any place in town.
Yeah.
What a terrible coincidence for Helen.
That that was all that saved my life, really.
That's right, honey.
Murdock made the mistake, and when he and Sample discovered it,
they made another try at Rhonda's house.
But I caught Murdock there, so Sample shot him before he could talk.
And when I left, he followed me in his car.
I knew they were after me, and I thought for sure they'd killed you, Phil.
That's why I ran.
Yeah.
That threw me for a loop.
And Sample came back to make sure that Murdock was dead
and sold me a great big bill of goods at the same time.
Ah, it's a terrible, terrible thing.
Yes, Mr. Grover, it is.
Lieutenant, I want to thank you personally for your participation.
Thank you, thank you very much.
Well, I've got everything I need, so I'll say good night.
Yeah, me too.
Oh, Phil.
Yes?
Shall I mail you a check?
Why, yes, I think...
No, no, no, wait a minute.
Yes?
You know, honey, with your knowledge of postal rates,
why don't you just deliver it in person, maybe, huh?
Love to.
Count on it, Mr. Marlow.
Good night.
I drove down from the Hollywood Hills with a check warming my wallet
and the echo of a soft invitation warming my imagination.
You know, that was quite a party at Grover's house.
Scavenger hunt.
People determined to have a good time even if it killed them.
You know what?
It did.
I know another game.
Associations.
It goes like this.
Grover's party.
Rhonda Langley.
Rhonda...
Date.
Hmm.
I wonder if she likes baseball.
The Adventures of Philip Marlow, created by Raymond Chandler,
star Gerald Moore, and are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald.
Script is by Mel Dinelli, Robert Mitchell, and Gene Leavitt.
Featured in the cast were Ellen Reed, Mary Shipp, Jack Moyles,
Richard Benedict, and Lorette Philbrant.
Lieutenant Detective Abar is played by Jeff Corey.
The special music is by Richard O'Runt.
Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlow says...
They were born on the same hour on the same day of the same parents,
and they were identical in beauty and talent.
Only one was deadly and the other was not.
And I couldn't tell which was which until I found a green purse,
a fresh corpse, and a pair of dancing hands.
If you happened to miss Jack Benny's hilarious show last week
featuring the Ronald Coleman, you missed the last treat of the year.
But Jack will be back again tomorrow on these same CBS network stations
with his entire gang, including Mary Livingston, Phil Harris,
Rochester, Dennis Day, Don Wilson, and the Sportsman's Quartet.
Invite some friends over, sit back, and enjoy the Jack Benny show tomorrow.
This is Roy Rowan speaking.
This is CBS where 99 million people gather every week
to create the Columbia Broadcasting System.