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.
The lady tourist was a schoolteacher out after Glamour and she got it.
But only after she learned that in Hollywood the three R's could be read and done in a dark room.
Right and found in a dead man's pocket arithmetic that added up to murder times two.
From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous character in...
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe.
Now with Gerald Moore starred as Philip Marlowe we bring you tonight's transcribed story, The Rustin' Hickory.
It was hot in my apartment, even at ten o'clock at night.
The sultry wind blowing through curtains at the far side of the room didn't help a bit.
It was the kind of night that made me wish I was something else, a butcher, baker, candlestick maker, anything.
After a long hot day spent in the downtown courts of law listening to the petty arguments of a petty Lawsony case, I was tired of petty people.
The paper I had picked up on my way home wasn't helping any.
Ten killed in an air crash. Mental cruelty, says local songbird.
I made myself another highball, lots of ice, easy with water, and picked up the paper again.
It was still more of the same.
Cy Nestick killed in office on Sunset Strip.
Cy Nestick.
He'd hit the papers before.
Bookie, B-minus, picture producer, general racketeer.
Somehow I wasn't too surprised he was on the receiving end for a change.
My drink was good for ten more pages of equally dull reading, and I was set for the next in line when the phone rang.
Mr. Philip Marlowe?
It was the first attractive voice I'd heard all day.
Mr. Marlowe?
And you know, I thought she might be fun.
My name is Joan Rustin, and I'm only here in Hollywood from Burnby on a vacation, and I wanted to have some fun.
You know, see the nightclubs and the stars and that sort of thing.
Hey, hey, wait a minute. Joan.
I don't want trouble, Mr. Marlowe. At least to bother you.
Hey.
Yes?
Let's back up a little, huh?
Your name is Joan Rustin. You're from Ferndale, Nebraska, which you're right, I've never heard of.
Also, you're a schoolteacher. That much I got.
But the rest about the sights, the last part, the trouble.
Oh, but don't you see? They're the one and the same.
I wanted to step out. Nightclubs, movies, stars, glamour.
But it didn't end up like that because he was shot and then I didn't know what to do.
Who was shot?
His name's Aubrey Nicholl. He's the man who took me out to show me the club.
Anyhow, after it happened, I ran.
Why?
Why? The publicity, of course. Mr. Marlowe, I'd lose my job. You see, I'm a schoolteacher.
You said that, honey. Now look, where are you, Joan?
The Juleproom. It's a bar on Sunset and La Cienega Boulevard. You'll come right over, huh? Huh?
Yeah, I'll come right over, huh.
Goodbye, Joan.
Hey, hey, Mr. Marlowe.
Yeah, but where are you?
Over here in this booth. Hurry.
Okay, hurry it is.
Hello. Now tell me why all the secrecy and your... Oh.
And what? What are you staring at?
You. I expected braids, Joan. Horn rims, calico maybe.
Not ice blue satin drape plunging and...
Yes?
Yes.
Start at the top, honey, and slow this time, huh?
Well, yesterday I met this man, Miss Aubrey Nicholl, I mentioned. Oh, he's really nice, Mr. Marlowe.
He's a photographer. He has a darling place up on the Sunset, uh... Sunset Strip.
You want that out of your picture taken?
Uh-huh. I wanted something, well, something glamorous.
That's easy.
Look, look here what I got. Oh, by the way, I ordered a drink for you. A Scotch drink. Here.
You like Scotch drinks, don't you?
Yeah, I, uh... Scotch drinks are my favorite drinks, Joan. Thanks.
You're welcome. Now isn't it wonderful? The picture, I mean.
I'll say it is. I'd never say school teacher.
No, that's the idea. Just like a model in a fashion magazine, isn't it?
Aubrey took it from inside his Photoshop while I was outside on the street looking in his window.
You know, like a smart career girl just strolling along the avenue.
And see how he faded out the background? That way I'm the, uh, the focal center.
Focal center. Isn't that nice?
Oh, yes it is, yeah. But look, Joan, the rest of the story, now, the man was shot. You don't want publicity, remember?
Oh, yes, yes, of course. Well, we made a date, Mr. Marlowe, for tonight.
I was to be at his place, his shop on the strip at 8, which I was.
But when I got there...
He was gone.
Well, oh, he might just as well have been for all the attention he paid to me.
He had something on his mind. Acted as though he didn't even expect me.
Why, I had to mention his picture here twice before he got it out of the drawer for me.
But then, oh, just like that, he changed. Said if I wanted glamour and nightclub, why not?
Oh, by all means, why not?
And off we went to Cyrano's, no less, and sat at a table with two men and a woman who was actually Urmgard Fury.
Actually who?
Urmgard Fury, the starlet. Don't you read the papers?
Oh, golly, her picture's been in every theater section and magazine for the last six months.
Of course, she hasn't made a movie yet, but she probably will soon.
Wait a minute, wait a minute, Urmgard Fury, she has red hair, a figure, lots of each, huh?
Oh, that's right. Oh, and so sweet to talk to.
Well, believe it or not, when we were in the powder room and she couldn't find her lipstick, she used mine.
Now, that's really democratic.
Look, Joan, there was a shooting, you remember that.
Now, you were sitting at a table with three men and this Urmgard Fury?
That's right.
Well, go on, what happened next?
Well, when Miss Bury and I got back to the table, Mr. Lacey and his band were gone.
And then a minute later, Aubrey excused himself to make a phone call.
And then?
And then a waiter brought me a note from Aubrey which said I should go back to my hotel and wait there until I heard from him.
Then it happened.
Look, Joan, if I'm going to help you on this, you've got to tell the whole coherent story.
Well, suddenly there were some shots, maybe from outside, and people were yelling. It was terrible. I was scared to death.
And I ran outside. People were crowded around someone. It was Aubrey. He was dead.
What did you do then?
I took the first taxi. I could get to my hotel there at Beverly Crest.
I started from my bungalow but didn't go inside because there was a man hanging around.
I'd seen him before someplace and I didn't like his looks. He turned away and he called to me.
Well, he was awful, Mr. Marlowe.
Awful looking like a frog, maybe? Sloping shoulders, bulging eyes?
Yes, and when... Mr. Marlowe, how do you know what he looked like?
Promise not to tell.
Promise not to... Oh, Mr. Marlowe, he's here, isn't he?
Mm-hmm. Been watching us for quite a while.
Oh, holy smokes, and I didn't get away from him. Oh, Mr. Marlowe, I had nothing to do with his shooting.
What can I do? I simply can't be mixed up in this terrible business.
Oh, please, Mr. Marlowe, I'll pay you anything, only get me out of this, please.
We'll talk about that later, Joanie. Now, look, when we get up, keep talking and don't look away from me.
Then when we're outside and around the taxi stand there, duck away from me fast and get in close to the building and stay there until the frog man is gone.
And head for your hotel bungalow and wait there until you hear from me. Now, you got that?
Oh, yes, but I don't understand why he's going to leave us.
You will, if our little coup works. Come on.
It played easier than I'd expected because, like a good shadow, the frog man gave us a small head start, which was all I needed.
The second Joan darted away from me. I moved quickly up to the first cabin line, opened and slammed the rear door fast,
said goodbye out loud to Joan, who was not in the back seat, then flipped the driver five, winked hard and practically shouted a very far away address at him.
When he lurched in the curb, I stood there and waved a minute. It was still supposed to be Joan.
Then, even as I saw the frog man down across the street, pile into his own car and take off after the cab,
I walked slowly back into the bar where I had another scotch drink and did some fast checking on the current location of Aubrey Nichols,
which was the Dawson Memorial Hospital. Then I started outside for my car after stopping en route at the booth
where Joan and I had been sitting to pick up a pair of gloves and glamour portrait.
My new little client had left on the seat. The school mom had been upset indeed.
Dawson Memorial Hospital, Dr. Chambers? Yes, one moment please. Go ahead. Yes, sir.
Oh, I want to know the condition of a patient who was brought in here a little while ago, Mr. Aubrey Nichols.
I'm sorry, sir. We're not allowed to give out such information. You'll have to inquire the superintendent's office.
I wouldn't bother, Phil.
Well, Detective Lieutenant Matthews, good evening. Good evening.
Nichols is dead, Marlow. We did not get a statement from him.
That's too bad. Any idea who did it?
No. Have you?
Uh-uh. I didn't even know him. I had a client of mine.
Yeah, Mr. Smith.
That's right. That's remarkable. Mr. Smith, he asked me to inquire about his condition.
Uh-huh. Well, it happened about an hour ago in an alley behind Cyranois.
Aubrey Nichols was a photographer up on the strip, but pretty much of a phony. A big front boy, strictly.
That's all there was to it, huh?
Walk down here with me a little.
Oh, sure, sure.
We figure there may be some connection between this shooting and Cy Nestor's death this afternoon.
Nestor also had an office on the strip.
What do you figure the tie-in is, Martin?
A man named Ham Lacey. Have you heard of him?
Yeah. He was one of Nestor's number one boys in the racket, right?
Yeah, something like that.
Of course, officially, Ham Lacey is known as the vice president of Nestor Enterprises, Inc.,
also production manager of that second-rate movie studio Nestor owns.
Well, anyway, Lacey, another man, and Aubrey Nichols, were at Cyranois tonight with a starlet named Erm God Fury,
and another girl we haven't been able to tag yet.
Now, tell me, Phil, it's quite what?
Wait a minute, Lieutenant, when Nestor was killed, did it look like the usual mob tactics?
No, no. Nestor was beat up by fists. Not sapped, not cut up with brass knuckles.
Hmm.
His death was caused by a blow to the temple from a poker that was standing next to a phony fireplace
in which he could have hit his head when he fell.
Well, probably not Lacey and associates, huh?
Probably not. He's got an alibi.
Yeah?
Hmm. Besides, we already got a fair line on who did it and why.
We found a note in Nestor's pocket, signed D. Tobin, which threatened Nestor with a beating if he didn't stay away from the undersigned's wife and send her back home at once.
Nestor, you may or may not happen to know, had this Erm God Fury or something on the contract to him, saw lots of it.
So, again, the two deaths more or less tied together.
Yeah. You've already talked to, oh, by the way, her name is Erm God Fury.
No, no, no, I ain't talked to her. I figured I'd wait till I knew a little more.
Also, I didn't figure Nickel would die without saying anything.
No.
Well, now it's your turn. We found this negative in the alley near Nickel's body.
This is a night shot of the Sunset Strip and nothing more.
Means anything to you?
No, why should it? Look, I told you before, Lieutenant, I never even met Nickel.
Yeah, and I listened, didn't I?
I noticed.
But now let's level a bit, huh, Phil?
Who your client is and what he or she has to do with this is one thing as long as we're both on the same side.
But playing dumb when it might count is quite another. Now, once more, Phil, huh? The picture.
Still zero, Lieutenant. On a bright. Anything else?
Yeah, yeah, just to save you a little time, Phil.
Yeah, let's do.
Erm God Fury's address, 441 West Bedford Drive, Beverly Hills. You got a pencil?
441 West Bedford Drive.
Now, play it close. Be sure to call when you think it's time.
And if you're wondering about why all this help from me, try this.
What you know and won't tell, plus what I know and will tell, might do the trick. Say goodbye to me, Phil.
Goodbye.
Yes?
Miss Fury, my name's Philip Marlow. I must talk to you at once.
About what?
Your husband. I'm a friend of his and he asked me to get in touch with you. It's because of what happened this afternoon up on the strip.
Oh? Well, what's wrong? Is Dave here in town?
Yeah, yeah, he is and he's in trouble. You see, the police are after him and I...
Alright, hold it, mister. You've said enough.
Huh?
What are you? Copper reporter.
Oh, now, wait a minute, Miss Fury. I've already told you I'm a friend of Dave's.
Whose name happens to be Douglas. Mr. Douglas Tobin. Keep that in mind when you try this next time. Good night.
Uh-uh, not so fast, baby. The mistake was mine, but I still want to talk to you.
Said there were a lot of men.
No, but...
Now, beat it before...
And God?
Before I forget myself.
What's the trouble, and God?
Oh, no trouble, Hamilton, darling. This gentleman was just leaving. He had the wrong address. He, uh... He made a mistake, didn't you, Mr. Marlowe?
Yes, yes, a blunder. A thousand apologies and, uh, good night, Mrs. Tobin.
For what it was worth at work, at the mention of the name Tobin, Ham Lacey spun around like it was built on a pivot, and his eyes that were narrow slits with all the come-hither look of a cobras never left me.
As I slowly walked away from him and passed the yellow convertible he'd just driven up in, license number 6969X, California, and on out to the street, all of which only meant that Lieutenant Matthews was probably right about there being some connection between Sinester's murder and the death of Aubrey Nicholl.
When I opened the door of my car and started to climb in under the wheel, the voice in the night helped not at all.
If you don't do as I say, I'll kill you.
Okay, okay.
Now get out.
Take it easy.
All right. Now close the door and turn around. You're back to me.
Now look, if this is a thick up busty, you can save us both a lot of time.
Shut up!
I'm not a hold-up man. Now, move over there, close to those trees. Go on. I'm gonna ask you a question. All right, that's far enough. Now, what have you got to do with Helen?
Helen who?
Helen Toe... Urmgard Fury, that's what she's known as now. What have you got to do with her? Tell me.
Very little, Mr. Tobin.
Tobin? You know who I am?
And so do the police. Why don't you call it quits while you're still in one piece?
Oh, no, no, not quits. That's what you want, what all of you want. Me arrested and out of the way in jail and maybe out of the way for good. No, no. But that won't be. Helen's mine and you're not gonna harm her.
Careful, Tobin, you're getting excited.
Yes, excited, excited enough for this.
No!
In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, a thrill a minute, high tension suspense from the word go, dramatic excitement that builds and builds until it explodes in a smashing climax.
That's Inner Sanctum, the great mystery show that's another of CBS's top notch Monday night programs.
You'll find Inner Sanctum, one of the most entertaining spots in your Monday night listening schedule.
And remember, Lux Radio Theater is back for its 15th year of great dramatic presentations.
Inner Sanctum and Lux Radio Theater every Monday night over most of these same CBS stations.
Now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, The Rust and Hickory.
When the whirling ten wheels of light slowed down to being street lamps again, Douglas Tobin had pounded shoe leather on enough sidewalk to be safely out of sight.
But it took a full minute of rubbing the bruise where his pistol had glanced off my head before I finally remembered that it was a good time to call Joan.
I looked back at Urmgard Fury's house first and saw the lights still on, the cream colored convertible still parked in front and all apparently quiet inside.
So I limped as far as the phone booth on the corner.
I warned my client that the trick we pulled on the frog wouldn't hold up forever.
But instead I found out just how far this side of forever had collapsed.
Yeah, hello. Hello. Hey, what number is this?
Well, a shamus. You got the right number, shamus.
What are you doing there? Where's Joan Rustin?
Oh, the babe's here, but she ain't in much of a mood to talk. Incidentally, thanks for giving me this free time, Dibby.
What are you talking about?
That fast shuffle you tossed me, Dibby. That now you see her, now you don't gag with the taxi.
That old shell game operator like me, that one was a stuff to see through, it was a glass bottom bogey.
All right, all right, you get your diploma in the morning, but listen, if anything happens to Miss Rustin, I'll break you.
Skim it, skim it, Dibby, you're wasting your breath. It's already happened. See you around. So long.
Oh, my...
Joan, Joan, come on, baby, come on, snap out of it.
Oh, stay away from me.
Hey.
Get out of here, you ain't leaving me alone.
Hey, hold it, it's me, Joanie Marlowe.
Marlowe.
Yeah.
Oh, Marlowe.
Come on, honey, what happened? Are you hurt, Joan?
That man, the one with the gruff voice.
Yeah.
He forced his way in here, Marlowe. He was looking for something. I tried to stop him. I was going to scream, but I... I guess that's when he put the bite on me.
That slug, baby.
Well, anyway, he hit me hard. And I've never been treated that way before in my whole life.
You've never been buddies with murder before either. Come on, honey, get up off the floor, huh? Easy now.
There. Hey, he turned your place inside out, too, didn't he? What was he after, Joanie?
Oh, I don't know. He just told me to quit stalling and hand it over. I didn't know what he meant, so he shoved me.
Then he pulled out all the books there and tore up the rugs.
He was looking for something small and flat like a... Wait a minute, wait a minute, sure.
The cops found a negative near Elbry-Nickel tonight, but it was worthless.
There must have been another one, an important one. And Lacey and Froggy, you no doubt as hell, they must think you've got it.
Me? Well, that's impossible. All I had was my picture, and well, I don't even have that now.
No, but I do. Out in my car, and it gives me a great idea. Come on.
Where, Marlo? I don't get it. What's my photograph got to do with this?
Maybe plenty. You see, when Elbry printed that picture of you, he faded out the background almost completely. You remember?
Uh-huh. That's a stunt in fashion photography to make a subject stand out.
But in this case, Joan, I figure it was played strictly in reverse.
How do you mean? That Elbry took you to Cyrano's tonight on business, big business, and you were holding their merchandise for them all the way.
Oh. Here, let's take a look.
Oh, Marlo, my pretty picture frame.
Better this than your pretty head latest, sweetheart. Believe me.
Uh-huh, yeah. Here it is.
Look, see? A negative the size of a postage stamp.
I'll bet old flashbulbs the ten dollar bill this baby's really loaded.
Ah, Marlo, I'll bet that baby's loaded, too.
What are you talking about?
The gun in that man's hand there behind you.
Oh, fine.
Wait, wait. Easy, Marlo. I'm not looking for any more trouble. I just want to be sure that you'll help me first.
You're a private detective. I searched you before, so I know.
I'm in a jam. It's worse than I figured. The cops are after me.
For murder?
No kidding. I can't understand it, Sylvan. All you got is a motive deep enough to swim in and you've been dropping clues like Hansel and Gretel dropped pebbles.
All right, all right, but I didn't do it.
Well, I beat up Sy Nester, sure, but he was going with Helen. My Helen.
I hated everything and everybody in this phony town because they took her away from me.
They even changed her name for her, Urmgard Fury. But I didn't kill Nester. I swear I didn't. You've got to help me, Marlo.
With that 38 and your fist, are you asking or telling?
Oh, I'm asking, brother. Here, here. Take it. Take the gun. I'm in a fix and I know it.
Okay, hothead. I'm already in debt for hiding Matthew's key witness here. Think I'll look keeping his chief suspect on the wraps, too.
Yeah. Oh, maybe I'm a sucker, but I believe you.
All right, where do you hang your hat?
The country cottage is number seven. It's kind of a motel court on Melrose.
Number seven. Now go there and stay out of sight. And I mean stay out of sight.
Yeah, okay. Thanks, Marlo. Say, I'm sorry I batted you down tonight.
That makes a lot of difference to the lump on my head. Go on, Tobin, beat it.
Okay. Okay.
I'll keep in touch with you.
Where are we going, Marlo?
Call a friend of mine. We need a big enlargement of a small negative.
Chronicle. Marlo Lab. Sherman speaking.
Hi, you're Shermie. This is Phil Marlo.
No kidding. Gee, how busy is Phil? Long time no see.
Yeah, I know. Now look, are you busy? I got a job that's right down your alley, Sherman. It's important.
What is it, Marlo?
Well, it's a 35 millimeter negative. I want it blowing up to about half as big as a house.
Okay. Bring it in.
I can't. I've got to check a couple of other things at the same time.
Now look, Shermie, can you meet me at the Aubrey Nickel Studio on the strip in about 10 minutes back door?
Wait a minute. Back door? How come the back door fell?
So we can kick it in without attracting too much attention. Shermie, I'll see you in 10 minutes.
I piled Joan into the car, drove down the strip and once passed Nickel Studio, which was a nut.
Joan had posed for a picture in front of the place and directly across the street behind her, just as I knew it had to be,
was a neat plastic sign reading, sign Nester Enterprises on the diminutive but glossy imitation Swiss chalet,
where Nester's body had been found.
We turned double back through the alley and found Sharon bobbing up and down like a nervous gopher.
Five minutes of not so subtle persuasion got us past the lock and inside Aubrey Studio where something else checked.
The walls were practically papered with pictures of Urmgaard Fury taken from every conceivable angle, including some that were not.
Things were beginning to make a lot of sense.
Marlo, is this all right? Coming in here, I mean, sort of uninvited and all.
Breaking and entering, lady, you can get five years for it. I sure hope you know what you're doing.
Yeah, this must be the dark room. Yeah.
Now here's the negative, Shermie, do your stuff.
What do you really expect to find on the film, Marlo?
A murderer, baby. It's got to go one of two ways.
Douglas Tobin for jealousy or Ham Lacey for ambition.
Aubrey Nickel caught one of the two in the background when he took your picture.
And he was familiar enough with all parties concerned over there to think he could put the screws on somebody.
How's it coming, Shermie?
He'll be out in a minute. 15 by 20, okay?
Yeah, it's good. If there isn't a man in the background, I'll lead it.
Better get the salt and pepper, pal, because it's nothing but a car.
It can't be.
Oh, brother, that's more than a car, Shermie.
It's a yellow convertible that belongs to Ham Lacey.
Look, you can even see the license, 6969X.
696R? Now how do you suppose...
What's the matter, Marlo?
I just thought of something. Without this picture, both Tobin and Lacey are suspects.
But with it, we have proof Lacey is implicated.
That means Lacey thinks he has Tobin sitting in the perfect frame, right where he wants him.
Oh, Marlo, listen.
Now look, you two get out of here. Go back to the paper.
I've got to get Tobin fast and let him know.
Look, baby, you're no doubt terrific in the third grade.
But some things they don't even teach in college are going to pop any minute, so I'll take it from here, huh?
Stick with Shermie, honey. I'll call you.
Go wait, Lacey!
I made it from the strip down to Melrose and then east to the cluster of dusty lean-toos
that were bare-thrown as country cottages in something under ten minutes.
Parked down the street and cut back through the alley on foot.
I got to the door of cottage number seven with about 30 seconds to spare.
Now, now, now, wait a minute, mister. You got me wrong.
Oh, no, I haven't, pal.
You can tell me you didn't knock off sign, Esther, and I'll believe you.
Nobody else will.
I've got you right where I want you.
Now, wait a minute.
Because of your note found in Esther's pocket.
You're the jilted boyfriend, the hick from back home,
who came to Hollywood with murder in your heart and knocked off the guy who stole your wife.
Now, look, yeah, and then you went after the cheap photographer who gave her her star.
And after that, you knew you couldn't escape, so you blew your brain out.
And by the time I leave here, that's the way it's going to look.
Not tonight, Ham.
Yeah, stand still, Lacey. Toss the gun over on the bed.
Go on!
That's better.
So you figured Aubrey was lying about having a picture that pegged you as sign Esther's killer, didn't you?
You figured Aubrey saw something but had no proof, so you shot him.
But you were wrong, Ham. He had all the proof we need.
Oh, my God, look out!
Oh, who's out there?
Oh, Phil!
Joan, Joan, are you all right?
Jerry, I hit her. She's the one who killed sign Esther. I tried to tell you that.
I followed you here to tell you, but instead I saw her with a gun pointed at you.
I grabbed the first thing I saw, this broken rake handle, and I hit her with it.
I hit her awfully hard, Phil.
But she isn't moving. You don't think she's...
Dead?
No.
She's probably thinking over the big lesson you just taught her with that stick there.
What? What's the matter?
Hey, Teach, you know what that rake handle's made of?
What? It's hickory, isn't it?
Yeah. What else could it possibly be but a hickory stick?
All right, Marlow, all right. Nobody can hear us now. What is it?
Well, it's that Miss Rustin here is a schoolteacher, Matthews, and it's imperative that we keep her name out of this.
Oh, well, we can arrange that.
Oh, good. You know, Matthews, it's funny how one step leads to another.
Yeah?
Ham Lacey never would have gone so far as to kill Nestor on his own.
But when he learned that Ermgard had done it, he saw an opportunity to turn the whole situation to his advantage.
He and the girl agreed to frame Tobin and then go along as a team.
You know, of course, that that's just your theory.
Just a minute. What do you mean?
Now, sit down over there and be quiet for a change while Miss Rustin and I wind this up.
Matthews, listen...
Now, quiet, please.
Pulling rank, huh?
Phil.
Now, Miss Rustin, in solving this case, you were...
Just a minute. She didn't solve the case. I...
Miss Rustin, if you hadn't solved it, and right when you did, you'd be talking to this guy exclusively via Ouija board from now on. Let's face it.
Oh, what a corny pitch.
Now, tell me, Miss Rustin, how did you peg Ermgard Fury?
Well, when we got the picture of the yellow convertible, I remembered that I'd gone to the powder room at Sarah Knows with Miss Furey to freshen our makeup, but she couldn't find her lipstick.
She emptied her purse looking for it, and she finally had to borrow mine, you know.
Oh, how democratic.
I said that.
So now you own it?
Now, tell me, Miss Rustin, how do you figure the lipstick figured?
Oh, I find it lipstick. I happened to notice in one of the things from the purse a keychain with car keys on it and an identification tag in the form of a little license plate.
Oh, and the numbers were...
6969X.
That's right.
And since Hamly, she had an alibi and those keys were in Miss Furey's bag, you figured it was her who'd been driving.
It was she who'd been driving, yes.
Isn't this revolting?
Yeah, she. She wanted to kill Nesta because he wouldn't turn loose of her, so she could claw her way on up to the bit of top.
And when she found him unconscious, it was easy.
How literary.
Well, that's that, I guess. Thank you very much, Miss Rustin. I hope your stay in our town has been...
Oh, what's the matter?
Tony, baby, don't cry.
I just started the most dreadful thing. I've had a wonderful time. I went to Sarah Knows.
I had a movie star on the head and I helped solve a murder.
But I'll never ever be able to say one single word about it to anybody in Ferndale, Nebraska.
Darn it all.
It took a few minutes to put on a new touch of mascara and get the pink off her nose,
but she was smiling again when we said good night to Matthews and stood on the steps at headquarters
and looked at the glittering lights of Hollywood.
There was still plenty of time for supper and even a dance or two, and she wanted to go.
But suddenly from somewhere there was a smell of autumn in the air,
of dry leaves on the ground and ripe red apples from the peaches.
She shook her head wistfully and spoke of an appointment she had bright and early next Monday morning.
It's a very important appointment, Phil.
So I took her to a hotel and said good-bye.
All the way home, for some reason, I kept wondering,
what ever happened to Skinny McDonald?
The only kid in school who could shoot a better spitball than Marlowe.
Has it really been that long ago?
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe star Gerald Moore and are transcribed and directed by Norman MacDonald.
Script is by Mel Dinelli, Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt.
The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Aron.
Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says...
There was a tapestry found under a tomb. They were all after it.
The worried import of the man with half a face, the Englishman in an L.A. slum,
and the lady wearing a green veil.
But before it was over, none of them had it, and two of the four were dead.
Now, stay tuned for Gangbusters, which follows immediately over most of these same CBS stations.
This is Roy Rowan speaking.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.