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.
This one began with a bedlam and got worse as I bumped into a burglar, a bookie, a Boswell, and a body in a big shot named B.
And before it was all over, everyone had lost his head because the headless peacock had moved.
From the fan of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of Mystery, comes his most famous character and crime's most deadly enemy as we present...
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe.
Now with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The Headless Peacock.
Today had been eight noisy hours of international complications, local vintage.
But it started when a Frenchman from Beverly Hills who spoke no English hired me to find the Filipino houseboy he thought had stolen the family's silverware to sell to a prosperous downtown Chinese.
However, it had played differently since the Frenchman had been wrong all the way.
And both the houseboy and the silverware had turned up in the cool of his own basement, where the servant had gone to do his polishing in comfort.
Which was hardly the end of things because even now as I slumped behind the desk in my office exhausted, the accused Chinese who was highly insulted was on hand together with a nasty pet terrier tucked underneath his arm to tell me all about it.
And just to top that off, the door was suddenly flung open and Bedlam really set in.
Because the new arrival, who was maybe 28 with green eyes and sparkled and an almost pretty face, was also a redhead with demeanor to match.
And it was obvious that one, she wanted to hire me. Two, she was in a hurry. And more important, she re-
She-
Hey! Just a minute!
Hold it, both of you. Now Mr. Tang, I've had enough. Here on your way out, take this. It's the Frenchman's address in Beverly Hills. The mistake was his. See him.
Goodbye, sir!
Thanks, honey. It was going to be me or that windbag with Terri any minute. What can I do for you?
Plenty and all of it in a hurry. Sit down and listen hard, will you, Marlo? My name is Dennis, front part, Artie.
Oh, which is short for what?
The whole thing. It's really Ruth, Dennis. R-D, see?
Oh, that's cute. R-D, Artie. What's the problem?
It's a guy I love, Marlo. He's tall, blonde, and his name is Gordon Holzer, and he sells shoes. But don't laugh, because when he connects, he does it by the carload.
Also, I figure he loves me and at the moment is in lots of trouble.
Why?
Because when I came in on the train late this afternoon, Gordon wasn't on hand with the usual brass band. He wasn't at my apartment either.
But a note was. Said he had to work late at the office. I waited an hour and then gave him a ring.
They told me he wasn't in, hadn't been for two days. Next, they called his home. He has a bungalow up on Vista Del Mar, 7700 North.
Mm-hmm. And when you got no answer, you started to worry, huh?
Yeah, so I went up there. Gordon, of course, wasn't around, but somebody else was.
Somebody small on the natty side, with no more eyebrows than a goldfish. He belonged to a new sedan, long and black.
Did you talk to him?
Oh, better than that. We wrestled. Have you got a cigarette?
Oh, yeah, here.
Thanks.
It's all right.
See, Marlo, this guy was snooping around the place, so I decided to find out a few things. I made believe I had a gun in my pocket, and I told him to put his hands up.
Oh, fine.
I've been trying to find out what he was up to for a while.
Which brings us to the wrestling, huh?
Yes. When I mentioned Gordon's name, he knocked me down. But he wasn't very big, so I managed to hit him once with my bag before he got away.
Also, I ripped his coat pocket open, and here, this fell out. It's a newspaper clipping, a picture of a fat hunk of jewelry that was once stolen from someone named Isaac B.
Stolen from Isaac who?
B is in Z.
Oh.
Look, it's a peacock with the head broken off.
Oh, the tail is loaded with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. What does it mean?
What does it... Marlo, that's the reason I'm here. I don't know.
If you'll turn the clipping over, you'll see that the theft must have happened quite a while ago because the ad on the back features a Christmas special.
Tell me, you figure that Gordon stole this from Mr. B?
No, I don't.
Well, then why'd you come to me instead of the police?
Well...
You what? Come on, Artie, let's have it all, huh?
Okay.
That's better.
I don't suppose it's smart not to tell you anyway.
Gordon isn't all shoe salesman.
He's part lunatic when it comes to the horses.
You know, the right pony a day keeps the doctor's bills away.
I thought I'd cured him. Now I'm less than sure.
So you figure that maybe he got in too deep while you didn't know about it, and now he's trying to even things up by playing with stolen property. Is that it?
I hope not.
But even if it is, I still want to help him. Now, here, here's $100, Marlo. If you go to work for me, yes or no?
Yes, on one condition.
If I find out the facts and pass them on to you, until and if he turns up crooked, then I drop it. Agreed?
Agreed.
The lady left, and in that hour that followed, I was on my own in the files of the Hollywood Times.
I learned that Isaac B was a 70-year-old eccentric with curly hair, a bulbous nose, no chin, a million dollars, and a mansion on West Adams Boulevard.
He had a Napoleonic complex and was a great philanthropist, as long as the grant in question would perpetuate the name of Isaac B.
About the headless peacock, I learned little, except that it had never been recovered, and that the gems in the tail were of an unusual cut and would be hard to peddle.
So it was 8.30 when I finally dropped the oversized bronze knocker monogrammed I.B., after which a man about 40 with a sallow complexion and a voice as delicate as spun glass opened the door, halfway.
Yes, sir?
I'd like to see Mr. Isaac B, please. Name's Marlow.
And your business?
Personal. I'm a private detective. And you?
Me? Why, I... I'm Everett Rance, and I'm Mr. B's biographer, but also Mr. Marlow. I act as his aide.
Now, if it's about money for some cause, you'll have to follow the usual channels and write to Mr. B and get...
You can stop right there, Boswell. I'm not after money, just information.
About what?
A piece of jewelry that was stolen from Mr. B, a headless peacock.
The peacock? You know of its whereabouts.
I didn't say that. Now, do I see Mr. B or no?
You, you young man. Open up, Ranson. Bless him, either.
Yes, sir.
We'll sit over here in the foyer.
How cozy. Thank you, Ranson. Mr. B, my name is Philip Marlow.
Yes, yes, yes, yes. I heard, a private detective, the peacock and all that. Well, what do you have to say?
Not very much. I understand the peacock was stolen from you some months ago.
Why, yes. Yes, shortly before Christmas. It was one of Mr. B's favorites.
Priceless as both a museum piece and for the $100,000 worth of jewels.
We all know that, Ranson.
Yes, sir. Shall I, shall I go now, sir?
No. That busted me for the young people's club. I want you to take it with you before you leave tonight.
I'll show you the inscription change I want made the first thing in the morning.
You can keep it in your apartment until then.
Yes, sir.
Yes, now Marlow, get to the point. Quickly, please.
All right. Mr. B, a client of mine.
Whose name is what?
Miss Ruth Dennis, if it matters, is worried about a boyfriend.
Which concerns the peacock in what way?
I don't know. Unless you can tell me something about a natty little man who's short on eyebrows.
Eh?
When last seen he was carrying a newspaper picture of the bird. Mean anything?
No, no, no. Is that all you know about the theft, Mr. Marlow?
Just about. That and the name Gordon Holzer and a bungalow on Vista del Monte, near Franklin.
Holzer, Holzer, bungalow. What are you talking about, Marlow?
Shots in the dark, Mr. B.
Oh, shot.
When they miss, they miss a mile. Good night, sir.
Outside in my car as I started away from the curb, I glanced into the rearview mirror
and saw the reflection of a sedan that was also just beginning to move.
A sedan that was both very long and very black.
I kept to the quiet streets and stayed under 30 until I'd gone about two miles,
and then at the next intersection, a busy one, I made my move,
which was a sudden spurt into thick traffic via a wide left turn
that produced screeching tires and frank opinions.
You stupid jerk!
I swung around the block once, made it back onto the quiet street
just in time to catch sight of the sedan going by fast.
I followed it and 20 minutes later, when it braked to a stop in Beverly Hills
in front of a hat shop marked Lester's, I did the same.
I piled out of my car and walked quickly toward what I thought would be the natty man without eyebrows.
But when the door of the sedan opened, it was a woman, blonde and beautiful,
who ran to the door of the shop, unlocked it, and hurried inside to where a telephone was ringing.
There was an alley beside the building and I ran back to where I could see inside.
There were five telephones side by side in a phony front cabinet that spelled bookie,
and on the wall above a publicity picture of a natty man without eyebrows,
sitting in the middle of a bunch of zany hats.
Beautiful blonde was talking on one of the telephones,
and when I moved closer, I was happy to hear her address the party at the other end of the line
as none other than Gordon Holzer.
He's on his way up there now.
Where are you?
Oh, returning home. That's fine.
He's still in the mailbox? Good.
Of course, Mr. Holzer, you decided to pay that 15,000 for sure this time, haven't you?
You know, Mr. Lester wouldn't want you to disappoint him.
I moved out of the alley quietly and went back,
entered the shop through the front door, which was still open.
Beautiful blonde was just hanging up the phone when I stepped into the light.
What?
Good evening.
Who are you? What do you want here?
A new hat, something chick chick. Any suggestions?
Yes. Get out of here. This shop is closed for business.
Bedding included?
This.
Why, sir, there must be some mistake. This is a hat shop.
With five hidden telephones and a boss man who collects pictures of headless peacocks for a hobby?
What? Are you?
Sorry, baby, I don't buy it, not even as a conversation piece.
So shall we start all over again, huh, baby?
Well, yes. Why don't we?
And we're this to keep us from changing the subject.
A heavy service 45, honey.
Looks a little bulky in that dainty hand, don't you think?
It'll look worse when it explodes in your face.
Now, who are you?
By name, Philip Marlowe.
By occupation?
A private detective.
And just to keep the interview rolling, I sleep in pajamas, tops and bottoms alike,
love Chinese cooking, pressed almond duck in particular,
and don't prefer blondes.
Don't you take another step around, you girl!
You big bum! I don't know why I didn't shoot.
I do. But lest we lose the question and answer period, your turn. Name.
Patience.
Oh, no.
What's the rest of it?
Hancock. A very fine Virginia name, Mr. Marlowe.
Anything else?
Yeah, there is.
What's your connection with Mr. Lester, Gordon Holzer and the headless peacock?
If it's any of your concern, I happen to be Mr. Lester's business associate.
But believe me, when he gets back from Pasadena, he...
You mean just what you said. The man I'm looking for is in Pasadena.
Don't look!
Thank you, honey child.
The interview is now closed because as of this minute, I'm off to the home of the Rose Bowl.
Good night, Patience.
I was going to Pasadena like Patience Hancock was going to join the Campfire Girls.
But as long as the little Virginian wanted it that way, I couldn't see any reason not to play ball.
So after I called my client and brought her up to date, blow by blow,
I headed for 7700 North Vista del Mar in what I figured was a business transaction, headless peacock included.
I parked away from the place which was Cedar Shingles under Healthy Ivy in a single lamp at work in the living room.
Then I walked up to where I could see that a man, blonde, tall and alone and hat coat and frightened face was about to leave.
When the door opened, I took that as my cue to switch 38 from shoulder holster and announce myself.
Well, what do you want with me?
Words, Mr. Holzer, lots of them.
You see, I work for a...oh, Mr. Holzer, that man on the floor there behind you, that natty little man without eyebrows,
seems quite still as in shot to death.
He is, but I didn't do it. Honest, I didn't.
Now let me out of here. I got to go.
You start running. Come on, Holzer, I'm not all champ. Get back inside.
All right, but I can explain this.
Oh, sure, sure, it's easy.
Like one, you lost too much money playing the horses through this dead bookie here who used to double as a milliner.
And two, to square yourself with him, you got mixed up with a hundred thousand bucks worth of headless peacock.
And three, Mr. Holzer, as of just now, you had an appointment with said milliner which body on the floor here says got out of hand.
And you can't add anything?
Like how you got the peacock away from Isaac B. and what took you so long getting around to peddling it?
I don't know any Isaac B. nor did I...
Or did you what?
Outside the window. Somebody's moving.
Yeah, somebody with a gun, Duckholzer. It's going to be lights out.
Watch out, he's going to shoot!
In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, Sunday afternoon, a perfect time for music.
Sunday afternoon, the time of the week when almost everyone takes time for relaxation.
Combine Sunday afternoon with music and relaxation.
And you have the symphony and the choral ears, two outstanding CBS musical programs.
Most of these same CBS network stations bring you both programs every Sunday.
Relax and enjoy them tomorrow.
And now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe.
And tonight's story, the Headless Peacock.
It had come one, two, three.
A corpse on the floor, shots through the window, and Gordon Hoser out the back door while bullets made lights out.
And Marlowe on the floor, the smart move.
It made this the time to call the law, so in case the character with a gun was still hanging around outside.
I left the lights off, humbled my way to the phone, dialed 116 in the dark.
A minute later, I had Detective Lieutenant Matthews on the wire.
So you got a corpse, huh, Marlowe?
Give it to me again, will you? Who, where, and why?
A guy named Lester, supposed to be a hat designer in Beverly Hills, was taxed up better as a bookie.
He was shot to death here at 7700 Vista del Mar.
Whose place is that?
One Gordon Hoser. He has his name on the mailbox.
Hey, got a motive, Marlowe?
That's a theory. Could be that Lester put on too much pressure trying to collect 15 grand Hoser Odum from bad bets on the ponies.
There's more, but it'll keep till you get here, Lieutenant.
Okay, Marlowe, a couple of the boys are on their way now. I'll be over myself later. Stick around, will you?
Yeah, okay, goodbye.
Marlowe, you promised me you wouldn't call in the police, but I heard enough to know you just finished talking to them.
Didn't you, you two-faced cheat?
You bet I did, cutie. What's more, when you hired me, I...
I'm not through. I want to know something else. What are you doing here in the dark, and where is Gordon?
All right. In that order, first, the lights are out to keep me from being shot in the back.
And second, your boyfriend Hoser left on the double because I was about to find out why Lester's body is here on Hoser's living room floor.
Lester's body?
You heard me.
You mean that little man is in here, dead?
Very much so. And don't burn yourself out on that shock surprise routine.
Marlowe, I swear, I... Okay, turn on a light and show me. Where is this corpse, if any?
Maybe. Don't forget, the last time lights were on in here, the room felt like the receding end of a shooting gallery.
I didn't see any firing line when I came in.
Yeah, that's a point. But there are two ways of looking at it.
Will you turn on a light, or will I?
Okay, okay. We'll play it your way.
Yeah, take a good look.
Oh, Marlowe, it's him, all right. Same little man.
Artie, you knew I was coming over here. You knew the setup, and I was close to winning an argument with Hoser.
And somebody broke it up by shooting through that window straight enough not to hit anything, even though Hoser was a perfect target.
Add it up to yourself, baby.
Oh, it wasn't me, Marlowe. Please believe me. You do, don't you?
Let's look in this bag of yours first, Artie.
Give me that.
In a minute.
Well, it's one thing in your favor, no gun. Could have dropped it in the shrubbery on your way to the door, of course.
Here's what I really want, anyway.
My keys? What do you want them for?
I'll tell you later. That's the boys in blue, and just in time.
Where are you, louse? In time for what?
To hold onto you as a material witness.
I've got work to do, and I want to get it done without you screaming at me all the way.
Oh, I wish I'd never hired you. I wish I'd never heard of you.
And another thing, if you're playing me for a patsy kid, that's only the beginning.
You'll need a deep well full of wishes before it's over, so come on, behave yourself.
I told the two Prowlcar cops no more than I'd already told Lieutenant Matthews, except that Artie should be held because she was Hoser's girl.
That plus the small lie that I'd cleared with the lieutenant to leave as soon as help showed, and I was out the door,
into my own car, and pointed toward Artie's place, which was on Tamarind.
I figured there was a good chance Hoser would head there first, and if I moved fast, I might catch up with him before the police did.
Artie's place was dark, which could mean anything under the circumstances, so I dug in my pocket for the keys I'd taken from a purse,
and started for a door when footsteps behind me changed my mind.
Mr. Marlow, Mr. Marlow, say this is a stroke of good luck finding you here.
That depends. How'd you manage it, Mr. Ransom?
Why, Mr. B. has had me trying to locate you since about an hour after your interview this evening.
I checked everywhere and finally looked up your client's name in the phone book, got this address, and well, here you are.
Yes, yes, I know. Why have you been after me? What's all the excitement? And make it fast, I'm in a hurry.
Yes, you see, your call this evening intrigued Mr. B. and me very much, and after you left, we naturally began discussing the theft of the peacock again.
Naturally. Look, Ransom, get to some point, will ya? I got things to do.
Oh, certainly, Mr. Marlow. Well, sir, the point is that in going over in our minds the days preceding the theft,
we both recall the man named Holzer or Holter or something very close to that.
He came to the house one day claiming to represent a certain philanthropy.
He was a fake, of course, and we never saw him again, but it was less than a week later that we discovered the peacock was gone. Stolen.
What'd this man look like, you remember?
What assuredly do, he was bald, about 50 and fat.
No, no, it couldn't possibly be the same man.
Oh, oh, you found Mr. Holzer then?
Once, briefly, there's no resemblance.
Oh, I see. Well, I don't know how I'm going to break the news to Mr. B. He's upset all over again. I can't tell you how much that headless peacock means to him.
Try saying a hundred thousand bucks.
Mr. Marlow, have you run across anything else tonight other than that newspaper clipping that would seem to be connected with the pin in any way?
I, um, I can arrange a reward, you know.
No, nothing, I'm sorry. Well, good night, Mr. Ransom. If anything comes up about headless peacocks, I'll call you as soon as, as...
What is it? What did you find?
A note stuck in the door.
Oh, maybe I should take a few...
No, no, no, no, I can handle it, really.
Dear Astarte, I didn't realize how fast things got out of hand.
I must have lost my mind.
I'm going to undo all the wrong I've done, and I'm getting out.
Love, Gordon. Yes, I should have listened to a smart girl on the first night.
Why, why, Mr. Marlow, the fellow sounds desperate.
He's got a right to. That natty little man I mentioned earlier tonight is dead, murdered.
Oh, great Scott, but, but then, Mr. Marlow, then how can this man possibly undo all the wrong he's done, as he says in that note?
That beats me, but one thing is sure.
As hands my little client a nice clean slate, which makes my next stop the police.
I'll see you, Mr. Ransom, and happy peacock hunting.
I got in my car and drove back the way I'd come, to Gordon Hose's house on Vista Del Mar.
The prowl car was gone, but Lieutenant Matthew Sedan was angled in against the curb, the red spotlight still on.
I parked and went in.
The lieutenant, his hands jammed down in his pocket, stood with two other plainclothes men near the shattered window,
while a photographer worked over the corpse on the floor.
Artie was nowhere in sight.
Matthew spotted me as soon as I walked in and bored down on me with all the frivolity of a heavy cruiser.
Marlow, I thought I asked you to stick around.
Yeah, yeah, you did, but I got an idea that wouldn't keep.
Yeah, did it prove anything?
Not for sure. Where's the girl?
Which one?
You mean there's more?
Oh, yeah. That redheaded fireball Artie Dennis you already know about.
Yeah.
The other one is a southern belle named Patience Hancock.
Oh, yeah.
Yeah, yeah, belonged to Lester.
Yeah.
He was a lot of snooping around outside trying to find out what had happened to him,
and when we gave her the word, she blew her top.
I got both of them locked up.
Good. Say, did you get any facts out of Patience?
Yeah, plenty.
Oh?
Oh, your bookie theory was right, Marlow.
Thank you.
All we got to do now is find Holzer, wrap this up.
Yeah, I'm not sure it's as simple as that, lieutenant, but it's the next step anyway.
Come on, let's take a look out back, huh? When he left here, that's the way he ran.
I already looked. It's a blank.
Oh, really?
It's a door that leads out to the alley. Here, this way.
All right.
And you see? Nothing.
Must have beat it through here and out to the street.
You wouldn't happen to know where...
What's the matter, Marlow? What are you staring at?
Oh, that window there in the house right across the alley.
See the one with the lights on and the shade drawn?
Oh, yeah. Some old geezer sitting in there.
So what about it?
The silhouette of his head on the shade, Matthews.
I won't forget that profile as long as I live.
Corduroy hair and a light bulb nose.
That is Isaac B. in that room or...
Holy smoke, wait a minute.
Hey, what are you doing?
Put the gun away!
What's the idea? You crazy?
You shot down on the ground.
Yeah, yeah, and the old guy in there didn't bat an eye.
Didn't even turn his head at the sound.
That gives me a big idea and we're gonna check something fast. Come on!
We ran back inside and as I picked up the phone,
Matthews found out for me that the house across the alley
faced on Common Avenue.
Then I dialed Isaac B.'s home number and when I finally got a sleepy hello,
I asked him a question.
The answer he gave boosted the odds on my hunch into the sure thing class.
When I hung up, Matthews unhappily agreed to play along.
And with one of the playing clothes men went around to Common Avenue
to cover the front of the house across the alley.
I went out to the back way again, 38 in hand, crossed the alley,
climbed up on a brick wall and moved toward the window.
It was 18 inches open.
I eased one edge of the blind aside and looked in.
A life-size bronze bust of Isaac B., I've heard mentioned earlier,
sat on a table in front of the window.
And beyond that was Gordon Holzer backed against the wall
and staring in stiff fear at a pistol clenched in the hand of the biographer,
Everett Ransom.
Don't shoot. I made a mistake. I admit it.
You certainly did, Mr. Holzer. A much greater one than you realize.
But I want to return this now.
I've brought the peacock back to you. Don't you understand?
Yes. Yes, but I'm afraid you don't.
I got careless a few weeks ago and left the shade up one night
when I took the peacock out of hiding to admire it.
And you watched the whole thing from your dark bedroom window,
which is directly across the alley, didn't you?
Yes, I knew it must be valuable.
When I got in the jam yesterday, I broke in here and stole it.
But I'm sorry, and that's why I brought it back.
And now I...
Don't move. Don't move, Mr. Holzer.
You see, two facts must never be revealed.
One, that I stole the headless peacock from Isaac B. a year ago.
And two, a little matter of murder.
You killed Lester?
Yes, I killed Lester.
I waited for you to come home, and when that Lester showed up
and went into your house, I mistook him for you.
He was a very nosy little man. I had to kill him.
You shot through my window so I could get away from Marlow,
because you couldn't afford to let me talk to him.
In fact, you can't let me talk to anybody, ever.
That's right, Mr. Holzer.
Luckily, I found out you'd be coming here to my place to return the peacock,
because I was with Marlow when he found you on O to that girl.
He knows a lot about this, Marlow does.
But by the time I'm through, neither he nor anyone else
will be able to figure out what really happened.
Look, I'll go away. I'll...
No, no, Mr. Holzer, it's too late.
This way, I'll have to restore that gorgeous thing to Mr. B.
But I'll be something of a hero for catching the thief and the murderer.
I'm sorry, Mr. Holzer, but after all, you did bring this on yourself.
You're quite a moralist, aren't you, Ransom?
Marlow!
Get back, Holzer, get out of the way!
Drop it, Ransom!
Turn loose with the gun!
No use, Ransom!
Come on!
Get off me!
Nice going, Holzer. He's out.
And I've... I've got his gun, Marlow.
Here. Here it is.
I'm gonna stand real still, talk real quietly from now on out.
Good enough, Marlow?
It's quiet, but it'll help.
From what I've seen of Artie Dennis, brother, you're gonna be a lifer anyway, but not with the state.
Hey, hey, it's cold out here. Come on, give me a hand.
Thanks for getting me out of the pokey, Mr. Marlow.
You rat.
No, I figure it's safe to turn you loose now, Artie.
Uh-huh.
Gordon's gonna have to stay in here a while, I guess.
That's right.
But that won't be so bad. At least he'll be where no horses or women can bother him, till I can get to him again.
Won't be for long. It's got a lot in its favor, you know.
I hope so.
I still don't understand how it all worked out. I was in jail, remember?
Hmm.
How did you peg Ransom?
Well, I saw the profile of Isaac B. on a window blind.
Didn't move, even when I fired a shot.
That convinced me that it was a bust of the old boy.
So I called him up at his home, and he told me that Ransom had a house on Common Avenue,
which put it right across the alley from Holzers.
From there, it all fit.
Hmm. Well, why didn't Ransom kill Gordon when he fired those shots through the window?
Oh, that. He still hoped to recover the peacock for himself at that point.
But he didn't know where Gordon had put it, so he couldn't afford to kill him right then.
Oh, lovely.
You know, Marlow, all in all, we're pretty lucky, Gordon and I.
Yeah. Try to keep it, will you, baby?
Keep it that way on everything but the horses.
Oh, you can make book on that, Misty.
Mm-hmm.
Good night, Phil.
Good night, baby.
I watched her as she walked away.
She looked up at the barred windows where a very willing guy was learning a lesson he needed badly.
Tossed him an okay with the fingers of one hand.
You know, it made me feel good because I was sure she meant it.
It was the kind of a kid who could make it stick.
Then I drove home and all the way I thought about the crazy assortment of people that had become involved because of the ponies and their headless peacock.
I was still thinking about it over a glass of milk in my kitchen when I glanced at the newspaper on the table, opened the sports page.
Oh, it was like magic.
My eye was drawn to a box in the corner and down the morning line for tomorrow's races until it stopped at the name Lucky Peacock.
Oh, it was perfect.
A hunch.
A hunch that couldn't miss.
Lucky Peacock was a cinch to win by a head.
Or maybe he'd lose by a head.
Or maybe he'd...
Yeah, well.
It's no use, Marlo.
Tomorrow you go to the races.
The Adventures of Philip Marlo bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character and crime's most deadly enemy, star Gerald Moore, and are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald.
The script is by Mel Dennelly, Robert Mitchell, and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast were Joan Banks, Howard McNear, Eve McVeigh, Jack Moyles, and Peter Leeds.
Lieutenant Detective Matthews was played by Larry Dobkin. The special music is written by Richard O'Rant and conducted by Ivan Ditmars.
Be sure and be with us again when Philip Marlo says...
This time I took a beating and gave one. The man who lived in the dark was afraid. Someone I never got to meet was murdered and a knife-wielding crab was destroyed.
All because a girl who hated the water took a boat ride in old Mexico.
One step to curing a disease is recognizing it and treating it. Hate is a disease, recognized by those who refuse to spread the doctrine of hate by speaking against a fellow American because of his color, race, or religious creed.
The treatment to cure the disease of hate is to accept or reject people on their individual worth and to speak up wherever you are against prejudice and for understanding, to do your part to build a truly united America.
This is Roy Rowan speaking.
Now stay tuned for Gangbusters, which follows immediately over most of these same stations.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.