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 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.
From the pen 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.
It was a rare morning clear and clean. You know the kind that knocks ten years off your age and makes you taste the sunshine and your orange juice?
It was a day to be spent on an open road to someplace new and exciting.
But a phone call I'd received had reduced my open road to Carmelita Avenue and nothing more exciting than Beverly Hills.
The house I stopped at was one of those you enter through a tunnel of dank overhanging foliage on a flagstone path grown green with damp moss.
A low thick wall to fail with tiny barred windows hidden from the sidewalk.
I pressed the bell and a moment later a sallow housekeeper opened the door with what seemed to be our last ounce of strength.
She squinted at my card and beckoned me inside.
I followed her down a dusky corridor to a heavy closed door where she signaled me to wait.
The air in the house smelled thick and stale.
When she came out again she held the door open for me and motioned me into a room full of darkness that became nearly complete when the door clicked shut behind me.
All I could see was the vague form of a man in smoke glasses propped up on a bed across the room.
There's a chair beside you Marlowe if you care to sit.
Oh thanks.
You're a Westbrook importer you may have heard of me.
No I don't think so.
Well no matter.
Marlowe I have a peculiar problem.
I want to know why my wife Ona was on a boat day before yesterday off the coast of Mexico.
Think you could find out?
Well if that's all you got to go on I doubt it.
No there's a little more.
Ona and I planned to take vacation together but when I was confined with this illness we decided she should go on alone.
Oh then your illness is the reason for the midsummer blackout huh?
Yes if I expose my eyes to light at any time in the next few weeks the doctors promise me plenty of pain and virtual blindness.
It's temporary but tedious to mend.
That's why I need a capable man with sharp eyes.
To look into what specifically?
The paradox of my wife aboard a boat.
She has a phobia about them.
The mere thought of being on a boat makes her panicky.
She drove to Ensenada Mexico earlier this week but believe me her plans did not include boat rides.
Well tell me how did you find out she was on one?
Is she right?
No she hasn't written me at all but that's not unusual for her.
A friend of mine got back yesterday from a fishing trip down there.
The day before his boat passed another with a girl aboard.
He got a good look at her and was so sure that it was Ona that he hailed her.
The girl turned and ran inside.
It bothered him to the extent that when he got home here he called me to find out if Ona was in Ensenada.
Is that all?
That's all. He didn't get the name of the boat.
Look you want me to go all the way down there just to find out if the girl he saw was Mrs. Estabrook?
Right. What is your fee Marlow?
Fifty bucks a day plus expenses. That's the minimum if I take the job.
I don't think I will. When business gets so bad I have to do divorce work I'll quit and write my memoirs.
I'm sorry but that's the way it is.
Sit down Marlow. Ona and I have had our share of difficulties true.
She's quite a few years younger than I and used to be a dancer.
But generally speaking we're happy.
Specifically what?
I'm worried about her here.
There's money in this envelope and a recent photograph of my wife.
And there's more of both if the need arises.
Incidentally what kind of a day is it outside?
Gorgeous.
Then you can drive. It's only 250 miles.
Yeah. By the way how has the importing business been lately? Legitimately speaking.
You do have a suspicious mind don't you?
Only when the situation calls for it and this does.
However I can understand an imagination working overtime here in the dark Mr. Estabrook.
So I'll take your money and go on down to Ensenada and see if anything is wrong.
But look I'm giving you notice beforehand.
If it turns out to be family laundry or nothing more I drop it.
You're a reputable man. Just see that I get my money's worth Marlow and you can keep the change.
I'll expect to hear from you.
When my eyes adjusted to the dazzling glare outside I looked in the envelope and picture of an impish dark haired woman and five one hundred dollar bills.
For the first time I realized what Estabrook had meant by keep the change.
But it didn't help my attitude even a little.
By two o'clock I was on the road south. A late lunch in La Jolla with an old friend or routine baggage inspection at the border.
Then seventy twisting miles of lonely road brought me to Ensenada.
Just as the Mexican sun dropped into the sea.
I drove past the piers and canneries at the edge of town.
Then along the curving shore to the only hotel elegant enough to meet the demands of the woman I figured on Estabrook to be.
After I'd gotten a room and cleaned up I went to the desk and asked for it.
She was registered and had number seventy four and at the moment was out on the patio.
All of which sounded ridiculously normal.
And I thought again of an imagination at work in a dark room back in L.A.
I thanked the clerk in crippled Spanish and turned in time to catch the end of a long cold stare from a pair of frog like eyes.
That bulged out of an otherwise handsome head on a man in a gray gabardine suit.
I didn't think my language had been that bad.
But when Popeye followed me out onto the patio I wasn't too sure.
There was no mistaking owner Estabrook.
She sat alone at a table in the far corner.
A tall minted gin drink in front of her.
So I put on my best tourist type smile and walked over.
Well, owner Estabrook, is this a pleasure? Enjoying your visit?
Well, yes, very much. But I don't think I...
Know me? Of course, you wouldn't remember.
My name's Marlow. Phillip Marlow.
Oh, no, I'm sorry Mr. Marlow.
You were a dancer, weren't you? Before your marriage, I mean.
Yes, I was a dancer. But you'll have to excuse me now. I'm expecting a friend. I hope you don't mind.
Well, just one thing then Mrs. Estabrook.
Would you mind telling me why you were on a boat day before yesterday?
A boat? Why do you ask that?
Because you hate boats. You have a phobia about them.
And yet you were seen aboard one just two days ago. How come?
Well, I... Oh, how clumsy of me. I spilled the drink all over my skirt. Excuse me, I'll have to change.
That maneuver was as subtle as a bulldozer at work.
When she spilled her drink, it was done desperately and fear sent her running for the exit.
I turned to follow her as she left the lighted patio and headed down a dark arcade.
But a gray gabardine suit and a pair of Popeyes slid out of her chair and beat me to it.
I waited until their footsteps faded, which said they'd turned a corner.
Then I started after them. It was strictly follow the leader, but I didn't realize how many were playing the game until a knife point stung at the skin at the soft part of the back about kidney high.
Stop, senor, and don't cry out. Don't even say ouch.
I turned and saw a mottled red face ugly on a squat long arm body.
The ivory-handled knife in his hand could have clipped my spine in one easy thrust.
You got a car here, senor? Come on, I speak English good. You got a car?
Yeah, I got a car. What's it to you?
I am high above. The crab. It sluts to me.
What's your pitch, buster? Come on, tell me.
Martinez says for me to keep a sharp eye on things to be sure something is not wrong. It looks to me like something is wrong with you, senor.
Who's Martinez?
You're going to play possum, senor? This one is your car, huh?
All right, yeah.
Okay, I take first your one. Now, please to get in. You're going to drive.
Believe it or not, you're making a big mistake, crabby. Besides, what if I don't want to drive?
You better want to drive, gringo. Or I kill you right here. Go on, drive. Handle it.
Okay.
See, stop here. And now we get out.
It's nice and quiet here on the beach, no?
Walk over there to that old adobe wall. We're going to have a talk there.
It's going to be dull, buster. We've got nothing in common.
Please, senor, don't make it hard on me. I don't know why you got to come and mix everything up again when time is running out. Why did you come?
I needed new huaraches.
Look, senor, you think I'm ugly?
You're no beauty, crab. Let's face it.
See, and I can act even uglier. Maybe I could go on the radio and make a big hit, no? Or maybe I make a big hit on your face. Don't try something, senor, or I kill you with your own gun.
Now, the truth. You spoke to the senor about the boat. Why?
I forget.
Who are you, senor?
Private detective named Marlow.
Oh, a private detective. Who are you working for, Dolph Bentley?
I never heard of Dolph Bentley. Who's he?
You're lying. The senora knows him. I heard her say Dolph Bentley won't make it tonight.
He's lucky.
See, I tell you something else. He better not make it. Martinez is going to do business with one man only tonight.
Now, you want to say something? No? Then I'll say it. You take what's going to be left of your face, Bentley, until you get out of here, senor, and don't come back. Understand?
Wait a minute.
Wake up.
Stop the crap. Who are you? Oh, it's you. I'll kill you.
Take it easy with you. You're in good hands now, Marlow. I'm a fellow American. You know, you're pretty lucky, you know that?
Oh, sure. Yeah. Where'd my pal go?
Oh, him? Oh, I chased him off. You know, it's a wonder he didn't put a knife in you. These fellows are mean with knives.
This guy was no slouch with a gun, bud, either. Hey, where'd you come from, anyway?
Well, down the beach a ways. I just finished working on my boat, and I was taking a walk, and I heard the commotion, came over to see about it.
This guy was beating you up, so I yelled and started for him, but he ran.
Oh, is that right? I'm glad somebody stopped him. Thanks very much, Mr. De...
Roman. Lou Roman's my name. Yeah, I'm pleased to meet you, Marlow.
Thanks. You know me?
Uh, well, yes, I took the liberty of looking in your wallet to see the devil that robbed you. It doesn't seem so, though.
Yeah, I guess I got here just in time. You're a private investigator, I see. Working on a case now?
It's debatable. So far, the case is working on me. I'd like to find a guy named Dolph Bentley, though.
Dolph Bentley? Yeah, yeah. The guy who beat me up had the idea that I was... Ooh, I was hired by Dolph Bentley. Did you ever hear of him?
No. No, and I come down here every year to fish, too. I know a lot of folks around here, but I never heard of that one before. Why are you after him?
Well, he's tied up in some way to the crab who seems to work with another guy named Martinez, who in turn is gonna do some business of some kind tonight with somebody other than Dolph Bentley.
I don't know, and it's all connected for some screwy reason with the woman who took a boat ride the day before yesterday.
Well, what about that? The woman being on a boat, I mean.
Oh, well, she can't stand boats. She's afraid... Oh, my head!
Wait, wait. Here. Thanks. I better get you some first aid right away. That's a good idea.
Holy smoke, my car! Man, now relax. Relax. It's right over there. Come on. Let me help you out. All right. Easy now. Easy. That's it now. I'll drive you.
Where are you staying? At the hotel? Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Roman. I'm still dizzy. Easy. I got you.
I gotta get back there. I gotta find that girl, because she's up to her head doing a very nasty mess.
Listen, Marlow, if I can help in any way, let me know, will you? You know us Americans have to stick together in a place like this, right? That's it. Come on. Let's go.
Lou Roman, a Hale fellow, was indeed well met. He found my gun and drove me back to the hotel.
A long hour had gone by since own Astor Brook had run from the patio followed by the pop-eyed character in the Gavardine suit.
I tried a room check with the desk again and from there spent 30 minutes peering into corners and balconies and getting nothing but indignant glares from Mexican lovers.
So I left the building and started through the grounds. I worked my way from the stables up into a secluded garden deserted by all but a bombed statue of Montezuma.
When I passed him, groaned. In the dark at my feet lay Haiba the crab. His muddled face twisted into a tortured grin of agony.
And sticking straight up just above his belt buckle was the white ivory handle of his own knife.
Crab, crab, who was it? Who got you?
I am sorry what I did.
Never mind that. Who did this? Do you know?
It's Dolph Bentley.
Now get a doctor.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no. I tell Martinez that Dolph Bentley is.
Crab.
Yeah.
In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe.
Philip Marlowe. But first, when you're 65, if you have worked in business or industry, call any office of the Social Security Administration for information about your old age and survivor's insurance.
The account number that appears on the Social Security card identifies your wage account.
The amount of retirement and family insurance that may be payable is set by this account.
Now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, the Mexican boat ride.
Even as the life trickled out of the ugly little man called Aiba and his face which had been knotted tight in pain went slowly limp and he was still.
I knew that I'd have to get next to Dolph Bentley before the importance of owner Estabrook aboard a fishing boat off Ensenada would make any sense.
Also, I knew that there was a good chance that said Mr. Bentley and the gentleman in gray gabardine known to me as Popeyes or one and the same.
So I started back for the hotel.
But halfway there, I stopped at the sight of a figure ahead scampering toward an all alone taxi parked near the main entrance.
It was owner Estabrook. I took off after her when she was in the cabin away before I could get close enough to do any good.
I tried the next best thing which was the Sombrero doorman nearby who I figured might have heard the address she'd given the driver.
Yeah, but what I didn't figure was that the doorman might not habla much English.
The senor Estabrook.
Yes, senor. Her enters libre a minute.
Yeah, yeah, that's right. I know that. Now look, where did her go? Which way in the libre?
Libre.
Uh-huh.
Oh, un momento, senor.
Libre, libre.
Oh, no.
No.
Amigo, I don't want a taxi. No libre.
No libre.
None whatsoever.
Ay, chico, no quiere.
Now please, come here. Let's back it up a little, huh?
Senora Estabrook in libre, right?
Sí, senor.
Okay. Now, where did she go? What direction?
Que dirección?
Oh, ahora comprendo.
De senor.
Yeah, de senora. Que dirección? Comprendo?
Sí, senor. Senora Estabrook go to the pier, the fishing's pier.
Which one? Which fishing's pier?
Oh, cuál pier?
The small pier, senor. The little one near the big cannery, the fishes' cannery.
That's all I want to know. Gracias, amigo, and... Uh-oh.
Senor? Senor, what are you seeing?
I'm not sure. But even if I were, I wouldn't be able to explain it to you.
Buenas noches, pal. Thanks a lot.
I had been seeing at the silhouette of a man huddled close to the ground and slinking out from a hotel along a high hedge that led back toward the statue and the body of Aiba, a man who I knew could be the elusive Popeyes.
I followed the walk that was close into the hotel until I was on a line with a hedge. Then I started after him fast. I still had a good two yards to go when he heard me and pivoted, so I swung first.
Why, you dirty...
Roman, wait a minute. Hold it.
Gee, it's me, Marlowe. I'm sorry. Holy smoke, I thought you were someone else.
Gargantua, maybe? Oh, brother.
Oh, I'm sorry.
What did you hit me with, Marlowe?
Everything I had. I figured you were Dolph Bentley, and as such, Roman, I didn't want you to get away with murder, literally.
Murder? Hey, not that girl you mentioned, Marlowe.
Oh, Nesterbrook? No, no, no. The corpse is that item you sigged away from me over in those ruins. Somebody got to him with his own knife there near the statue.
Ah-ha, then I was right. I did see someone move over there. Why? Well, yeah, a couple of minutes ago, Marlowe, I was on the balcony outside of my room at face of the garden here, you see, and when I saw you run to the main entrance, I had a feeling that you might be in trouble again, so I came on down here.
Well, then what happened?
Well, I was about to call out to you when I heard some noise over there near the statue. It was a man. He was running away fast, heading toward those stables. A man wearing gabardine, maybe tan, maybe gray.
Maybe Delft Bentley. Thanks, Roman. You've been a big help. When you get back to the hotel, tell them about the dead man, will you? I gotta run.
The stable was a robust left field, as pegged to home plate from where we'd been standing. So by the time I got there, I was out of breath and facing nothing more important than thick darkness, a lot of hay, and a couple of horses who couldn't sleep nights talking things over.
Until I moved around a corner past the stalls and close to the half-open door of a shack, marked both cabina telefono and the equivalent in English that showed a single unshaded light, and under that a man standing alone next to a telephone, writing something on the back of an envelope.
He was wearing a gray gabardine suit, and when he lifted his pop eyes from the paper in front of him, I knew the next move had to be mine, 38 and all.
Let it go, buster, keep your hands close to your sides.
Just as you say, senor, I'd be a fool not to obey you.
Yes, sir, right, a dead fool. So keep that in mind while we chat, won't you, Mr. Bentley?
Bentley?
Uh-huh.
How did you find out who I am?
It was easy. All I had to do was listen to a dying man's last two words when I asked him the name of his murderer. He said, Dolph Bentley. Any comment?
Yes. You know a lot, senor.
Don't resent it, friend. I learned it all the hard way. Don't move, Bentley.
I was only changing my position, senor.
Which you'll be prone if you try it again.
Now, what do you know about this whole mess and an American girl named Ona Estabrook, who I figure is no mobster?
Nothing, senor.
You're a liar, Bentley. Which brings me to the point. One, why the pressure on the girl, and two, what's so important about her taking a ride on a fishing boat?
Come on, brother, it's getting late for a murder to start talking straight the first time out.
All right. I'll start with a question. Senor, how does all this concern you? You gain a percentage if the smugglers are not interfered with, perhaps?
We were talking about the girl, remember?
Yes, I remember. But you see, senor, I have little to offer on that score.
How little?
A single observation. In your country, senor, people who do not mind their own business are called nosy. Here in Mexico, we have another term, asno.
Which means what?
Jackass, senor, who unlike the cat, cannot see in the dark.
But can try his best, Bentley.
No gun, senor.
Okay, amigo, no gun but this. Asno.
When Bentley met the floor and went out cold, I sagged to one knee.
Stayed that way until the air rushing into my lungs quit sounding like sandpaper over a drumhead.
Then I got back to my feet and turned on a bracket lamp on the other side of the room.
I opened Bentley's jacket, slipped his.32 automatic out of its shoulder holster, emptied the clip and stopped dead at the shimmer of light dancing on polished silver that I hadn't expected.
It was a badge below his shoulder holster and pinned to his vest.
Republic of Mexico, Department of Customs, Captain.
I made a dive for the envelope near the telephone on the back that was writing in thick pencil, which I finally figured to mean fishing pier near Canary 2 a.m.
Inside, nothing. On the front, further proof that I'd never met Mr. Dolph Bentley at all, but instead it tangled hard like with one Captain Juan Descartes intelligence section custom building, Mexico City, Mexico.
I'm trying to revive Captain Descartes. The truth rammed into my mind. Owner Estabrook had rushed off for the pier near the cannery that Captain Descartes had noted is a good place to be at two o'clock in the morning, which was less than 20 minutes away and a great time for me to get to my car and the pier.
It won't work, senor. You're a bright boy. Thanks.
Do you like the job on the car, senor? I think it shines well for the eight pesos you owe me.
Nobody asked you to bother Junior, but I'll see you later. Right now I gotta run, huh? For eight pesos, one dollar you can ride, senor. I'll replace the distributor cap.
What? Come here, you. But, senor, it was very dirty all over inside, too. The steering wheel black as can be. Look, I ruined my best drag cleaning it.
That's tough. Now give me that distributor cap or you'll be the saddest pair of dark eyes between here and the Panama Canal. Senor. Oh, never mind. Here. You'll pay me the dollar?
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just put the cap back where it belongs. Quick, will you? I'm in a hurry. Well, come on. Let's go, let's go, let's go.
The precious sixty seconds ticked off before I was out of the parking lot and driving fast toward the fishing pier near the cannery, where I knew I was finally going to get next to Dolph Bentley and if I made it in time prevent another murder.
When I screeched to a stop away from the pier, piled out of my car and ran the length of the oil soak planking to where a single boat was making ready to cast off, I saw one of the two persons aboard the small catch was owner Estabrook.
The other was Lou Roman, a hearty American fisherman. When I stepped aboard, our hunch hit me right between the eyes. I pulled my gun and pointed it an inch above his waist.
What are you doing here, Marlo? I might ask you the same question, Roman, or do I call you Bentley from here on out? Marlo, you know, now he can't kill me. Now I don't have to be afraid of him anymore.
Oh, Marlo, thank goodness you got here in time. Yeah, hooray. The Marines have landed in the form of a private island.
Right it out, Bentley, and don't move. Oh no, what do you mean by being afraid? What's your connection with this fisherman here?
It was an accident, Marlo. A mix-up in our baggage. Lou Roman and I both happened to stop for customs inspection at the border at the same time and our suitcases were switched.
I didn't notice it at the time, but when I got to the hotel I discovered the mistake and went to Roman's room to correct it.
But instead you found Bentley here posing as Roman, right? Yes. He killed him, Marlo. He told me he did.
That's a dirty lie, Roman's all right. He's in Chicago. No, he's not. He's dead. You killed him. Some place between here and Tijuana, Marlo.
He said I'd get the same treatment if I opened my mouth. Then he's the one who forced you to go out on that boat yesterday. Stay back, Bentley.
Yes. So that people wouldn't be suspicious he made me appear at the hotel in the patio there at the restaurant.
Why didn't you run? Well, I couldn't. He wasn't around. Another man was. A horrible man with large eyes that never left me.
Yeah. So why don't you drop it, Marlo? No sale, Bentley. You see, I know that the horrible man with the large eyes can't be one of your henchmen.
His badge says so. What badge? He's an officer, Marlo. Yeah, captain owner. Give up, Bentley.
You had better. There are too many men ready to take you. Descados. Where'd you come from?
Oh, I had been here quite a while, but your story was so interesting I just couldn't interrupt.
When Marlo took you for Dolph Bentley, Captain Descados, you played along because you didn't know who he was, is that it?
Yes, senora, and I did not find out until I heard Bentley call Marlo a private eye.
You're not mad at me, Captain, huh? Even though I bungled your plan to capture Martinez, and not to mention our little meeting at the stables.
Senor, do not say that you bungled the job of catching Martinez. It was more a matter of priority. Por favor, senora, the tacos.
Of course. Here you are. Gracias.
You see, senor Marlo, I am certain that one day I will catch Martinez, but not at the cost of letting a murderer kill again.
But senor Marlo, there is one thing that puzzles me. The murder of the one known as Jaiba.
Oh, Martinez Henchman. Well, you see, Captain, he knew that a man named Dolph Bentley was mixed up in this because he'd overheard Ona and her keeper then call Lou Roman talking about him.
He wanted to know more. Also, he couldn't figure who I was.
So he beat you up?
Correct. Bentley, of course, only saved my life because it was an easy way to find out just how much Jaiba did know, after which he got to him. Enough?
Not quite, senor. There is still one thing. How did you know that Lou Roman was actually Bentley?
On a hunch, Captain. And by positive identification from you, Ona, when we were on the boat. But now it's my turn. I got a question for you, honey. Have you had enough vacation?
Uh-huh. As a matter of fact, Marlo, I wired my husband just before we came in to eat.
Oh.
I said the change didn't your world would be good to be home tomorrow to stay, love always. Well, Captain, will you pass the tacos, please? They're awfully good, really.
It was late the next afternoon and Ona Estabrook was already gone when I checked out of the hotel. Said goodbye to Captain Dos Cartos and headed north for the border where two hours later I stopped for customs inspection in my baggage.
It was dark and I was only 50 miles from Los Angeles before I realized exactly what that inspection had meant. Because it was then for the first time that I noticed the little cowhide suitcase on the seat next to me, which should have been mine, was tagged differently.
The name and address of a man who lived in Long Beach, California. I got there, I kept driving. I knew I could ship it to him and ask for mine in exchange when I got home.
Oh yes. I'd had just about enough for a while.
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character and crime's most deadly enemy star Gerald Moore and are produced and directed by Norman McDonnell.
Script is by Mel Dinelli, Robert Mitchell and Gene Leavitt. Featured in the cast were Mary Shipp, Harry Bartel, Nestor Paiva, Bill Boucher, Ralph Moody, Bill Shaw and Jerry Farber.
The special music is written by Richard Aron.
Be sure and be with us next week when Philip Marlowe says...
It started with death on my doorstep and got worse when I lied to a sympathetic bull, was pistol whipped by a gorilla with dimples and fought with a kitten on the keys.
And it might have gone on that way all night if I hadn't been helped by the king of the beasts.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.