This time she had hair spun from a red sunset, skin as smooth as warm honey in a generous mouth,
but laughed without moving. She was beautiful, except for her cold green eyes.
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, star of The Son of Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The Green Witch.
Once upon a time, Halloween had been a day and a night on which mortal man had tiptoed over the face of the earth,
holding cold hands with fear and starting at each new shadow which the harvest moon cast.
There's still another twisted, grotesque goblin searching to drink dry a human soul.
I read that in a book once, read something else too.
The Vigil of Hollow Mass is a genuine spook show.
It definitely started downhill with the Romans, as did almost everything else.
Until now, Halloween has come to mean gate-sealing trick-or-treats,
and of course the malpractices of soaking and chalking everything in sight.
So today, unless you're really on your toes, or under twelve, then I'm neither,
the 31st day of October 1949 could easily have appeared as just that and no more,
until a worried man named John Bishop entered my office.
I said trick-or-treat, and so he unfolded a hundred dollar bill and came right to the point.
Mr. Marlowe, four days ago a man I once knew broke out of an Illinois prison.
My testimony in court a year ago sent him to that prison.
Now I'm afraid he's coming after me for revenge.
His name is Dale Estes and I want you to protect me from him.
Is he here in L.A., Mr. Bishop?
I'm not certain. However, this morning a friend of mine told me of a man in a shabby brown tweed suit
who asked about me but wouldn't identify himself. That's all the description he could give.
Here, Mr. Marlowe, here's a picture of Dale Estes. It was in last Thursday's paper.
It's a prison identification picture.
When you change the clothes and remove the number, it doesn't leave much.
No.
Tell me, Mr. Bishop, what do you want me to do?
I want you to locate this man Estes and keep him from killing.
Police will do that for nothing.
Nothing plus a lot of noisy publicity and I don't want.
Because in the first place it won't help my real estate business any and also I...
It's somebody you'd rather not have worrying about you, maybe.
Yes, Madeleine Hughes, my fiancé.
Please, Mr. Marlowe, will you try to find Estes at once?
As soon as possible. Before tonight.
Why, what happens then?
Our masquerade in the Pacific Palisades Country Club. It's a lonely spot out there.
Well, why go to the masquerade?
Because if I didn't, Madeleine would know there was something wrong.
She'd worry and I'd defeat my purpose.
Now, Mr. Marlowe, all I can give you to go on are three things.
First, Dale Estes was once an able-bodied scene.
Second, he liked Spanish food. He could eat it three times a day.
And third, he'd gladly give up both to watch a prize fight.
He'll kill me, Mr. Marlowe. I know he will.
Maybe the magic of Halloween night has something to do with it, I don't know.
But when I started looking for an escaped convict who might possibly be some place in the sprawling city of Los Angeles with murder on his mind, things began to change.
First, it was ten-year-old girls planting around in their mother's high heels, lipsticks, and affectations.
Then, gangling boys screaming home from school via the great mischief route.
That much was fun. Then it got dark everywhere.
The kids went home and took their laughter with them.
And I went looking for Dale Estes.
I seemed to meet people who wore everyday faces that I was sure could be Max.
People like the old lady who ran a Spanish restaurant located off a crooked alley below the street level.
It started with her at the entrance to a damp, cold cave.
No. No, señor. I did not ever see any man like that picture.
But if I were you, I would look for him no further.
There is death in his face, señor. I know.
The mayor has got worse and filling my imagination even the scarred,
brute face on the sweating hulk in the distant dusky corner of the third gymnasium I tried.
Seemed to belong less to a twentieth century man and more to a prehistoric brute out of some dark, long ago jungle.
Nah, nobody like that ain't been watching me today. Nobody ain't been watching me at all for as long as I can remember.
And finally, after two hours along the Santa Monica fishing piers,
a hundred withered pounds of ancient manor in a staring out the sea had more to say.
Yes. Yes, I know, Estes. Estes was standing next to me when the boiler exploded that night off Newtoth Whale.
He was killed. But I told the skipper all about that once already.
His name was Estes, too. And so was the first mate, Dale Estes. Everybody's name is Estes.
Hello?
Marlowe, Mr. Bishop. I haven't run across anything.
Marlowe, listen, he's been seen again. Estes.
What?
Yes, or at least a man in a shabby brown tweet. This time near my office.
Marlowe, get over to 3130 North Havenhurst Drive as soon as you can.
3130, huh?
Yes, it's a costumer shop. Alberto Zingaro.
Zingaro.
I'll meet you there. Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Alberto Zingaro, a customer, had at least a tangible name and occupation.
He shopped with tatted awning grimy windows and scarred wooden door, all immodestly marked with the proprietor's name and handsome 12-inch high gold letters,
with a card dangling from the front doorknob reading, back in ten minutes, Mr. Alberto Zingaro.
There was nothing left for me to do but wait until from someplace within arms reach the conversation was declared open.
You have a match, please?
Yeah, I guess so. Here.
When I raised a cup flame toward a smiling face, sporting a mid-July sunburn topped by blonde, crew-cut hair, I got ready for trouble. It never came.
Thank you. Good night.
Uh-huh.
Marlowe?
Yeah.
Marlowe, is that Mr. Zingaro going off?
No, just a guy out of matches.
Oh, well, I wonder where Zingaro is. He said everything to be ready and waiting for both of us. Me, his metastopolis, and you.
Just a minute. We said nothing about me going to that masquerade, Mr. Bishop. Not a word.
Mr. Marlowe, please. I'm sure Estes is going to try to get me tonight.
Yeah, I know, but when you want.
Gentlemen, good evening. I'm sorry to be late, but there was a costume that had to be delivered.
Mr. Zingaro, this is Mr. Marlowe, the gentleman I called about.
Oh, yes.
You'll be able to fit him all right.
Hmm, I don't know. It depends, Mr. Bishop.
On whether or not I'll stand still.
Marlowe, please, I'll pay you anything.
I know, but I...
Okay, fine. Wonderful.
Zingaro, open the door.
I am, I am.
Now, where is that light switch?
There. There.
And now, here is your costume.
This? This is my costume?
Yes, yes, yes. You like it?
You do.
Oh, no. No, it's pretty grotesque, even for Mephistopheles. Beast wings.
My finest creation. It will surely bring you the first prize at the masquerade.
A fiery bear's head, horns and all.
It is as false saw the devil, the lord of darkness.
And look, hunched high on your back, a black wing.
You pull this cord here, and the wing flaps.
And that's for you, Mr. Marlowe. Now, let me think.
Something you can whip up quickly, Zingaro.
Now, look, Marlowe, I'd appreciate it if you'd stop on your way to the club and pick up Madeleine.
It's yours, your fiancé?
Yes, pick her up at my place. 2341 Face Law.
2341.
Gentlemen, I have just received today, Mr. Marlowe, tonight,
Count Alessandro Cagliostro, 18th century imposter, criminal, and lover par excellence.
That's me.
All in all, it was another hour, and I was just about rid of the afterglow of today's goblins when
I finally pulled up and parked in front of John Bishop's neat red wooden glass square in suburban Pacific Palisades.
When I was out of my car and walking toward the thin stream of light that
leaked out of the front door, which was open inches,
the Halloween goblins started coming back fast.
They whispered to me of what I might find across the threshold ahead.
It took only a fingertip to weave the door open.
Then inside in the middle of the living room floor, a framed picture of a girl face up,
a glass over it smashed into a huge starburst and around the edges, a trickle of blood.
Ah, but the girl was beautiful, hair spun from a red sunset,
skin as smooth as warm honey, a generous mouth that laughed without moving.
Still, except for her eyes, they were green, the green vinyls clear and wide and deep.
They laughed too, but the sound you felt somehow wasn't nice.
You approve, Mr. Marlow? Mr. Marlow?
Eh, oh, well forgive me, it's the first time I've seen a green witch.
Well, it's Halloween, remember? Of course I know I'm missing the blacked out teeth in the bushy arc.
My picture, what happened to it?
Oh, it's probably the wind.
But if I may, Count Alessandro Calostro awaits your pleasure.
Oh, Count Alessandro, oh, oh that's you.
Yeah, that's me.
Oh, how nice. And how handsome is that man?
Oh, as long as it was you were an old friend.
Your arm, please, Count dear.
The green witch is ready. Do we drive or fly?
The green witch is ready.
Satan himself couldn't have done a better job than the West Palisades Tentaclub.
The building which was long and pasted too close to the edge of the cliffs
that plummeted 200 abrupt feet to the churning sea below was flooded in a thickly green light,
while skeletons in the trees hanging in the restless wind by their narrow necks
danced a shadowy jig to the accompaniment of the crashing surf.
A long narrow path which ran along the cliff edge leading to the country club entrance
was labeled Dead Man's Walk and every 50 feet a life-size dummy of an infamous man
perched on the balustrade and stared blindly out the sea.
Somehow, you couldn't quite laugh.
However, inside life was more pleasant.
The lights were brighter, the costumes five-parts fun to each part fear,
and Madeline was a little prettier than possible.
And when she marched me up to a grand dame who was dressed as Marie Antoinette
but who was wide enough to have also passed for four of the ladies-in-waiting,
I couldn't make my eyes let go.
Oh, Mr. Marlow, Your Excellency, as a lady of perception, committee,
I welcome you to our club.
I said I welcome you to our club.
Oh, excuse me. I mean, thank you.
I mean, I'm sorry. I was looking for a friend, a beef with wings.
Oh, that one. John's over there with a punch bowl.
Over there, a giant-sized rum bottle for a costume.
Quite appropriate, my dear.
The only demon the gentleman on the inside knows is rum, believe me.
And if he'd only, all barge-based newcomers.
No wonder Marie Antoinette was executed.
Oh, look.
That man in armor, the one with the hump on his back heading for the veranda.
He's here every two.
The gentleman's the notorious duke of Gloucester, those historical hills.
He looks perfectly ridiculous with that beach boy complexion.
Yeah, and crew cut.
Madeline, you haven't powdered your nose yet, huh?
But it doesn't need it.
Oh, yes it does.
Honest, honey, besides, I need a breath of fresh air.
I feel faint.
Oh, okay. Bye-bye.
Don't run, demon, all around the town.
If I fall down and break my crown, I'll, I'll, I'll bear every spill of drop.
It doesn't rhyme.
No, no.
Hello.
How are you?
It is not.
I just fell down and broke my crown.
What?
Hey, Duke.
Yeah?
Duke, I'd like to talk to you a moment, please.
What?
Talk to me?
What?
Who are you?
I can't tell you, man.
Pretty good, quite deceptive.
Yeah, well, maybe I can help you.
For one thing, I'm an international villain of sorts, but another just a nice run-of-the-mill guy.
The kind who'd never refuse a stranger a light, remember?
What?
Oh, are you the guy?
Yeah, the guy you asked for a light when he was standing in front of Albert Zingaro's costume shop.
And before you can start talking about a smaller world we live in or start lying about how natural your appearance was there, let's have the truth.
Come on, tin pants, was it because of Dale Estes?
Dale Estes?
Uh-uh, you slipped.
All right, what's the difference?
Yes, it was because of Estes.
I know that he's an escaped convict.
I also know he's the one way I can get Madeline away from that worthless Mr. shall I say bishop, or would you prefer the full name, John Estes?
Bishop and Estes are related?
Yeah, like in Brothers.
Oh, thanks, Duke. I'm much obliged.
Hold on.
Where do you think you're going?
Keep your hands off, Iron Man. Your face is hanging out, you know.
You'll not interfere, not if I have...
Get your hands off!
I dropped the Duke of Gloucester, his face twisted and hurt surprised, and his suit of phony armor landed on a flagstone path like a truckload of tin cans with him in the middle.
He was still clanking as I left him and went back to the ballroom where I spotted my client, a beast with wings with a punch bowl again,
making himself even more hideous looking by pouring punch down a slit in his neck under the long paper mache chin.
When I got close enough to him, his son sawed me like I stuck a pin in him.
What?
What do you want?
You're getting pretty jumpy, Bishop, you better take it easy.
I'll say you're getting a little thick tongue. Don't you think you're riding the punch bowl too hard?
That's really none of your business, is it?
Certainly is. This is my business too. You hired me to protect you against Dale Estes.
But you didn't say one word about Estes being your brother. How about it?
Well, I didn't think it was necessary.
How'd you find out?
From your sunburned friend with a crew cut, a hunchback, an armor.
He's been checking up on you because he doesn't think you're worthy of Madeleine.
Oh, that's so. Where's Madeleine now?
Having a broom battle, maybe. I don't know.
Broom? Oh, yeah. I better go find her.
Now listen, I think things are going to be all right. You can take it easier from now on.
I'll give you that idea, Bishop. Nothing's happened so far. Maybe nothing will.
I'll check with you later.
Oh, don't tell your sir I simply must tell you. It's a spree.
Now, Fred, what's got you funny, don't worry.
Well, sorry there. The bottle, you know, a demon rotten.
Well, he just told me that one of our wax statues out of the terrace is bleeding.
Oh, is that terrific?
Yeah.
Wait a minute. I saw. Now, nobody believes me, but I'll tell you anyway, it's bleeding real blood too, and that's too much.
It's all right to have decorations, but using real blood is going too far.
Well, you're going too far, Harry, with a punch as usual. You better leave it alone or God will get you before they have to.
No, wait, wait. Please, nobody believes me. I just... Hey, you believe me, pal.
Got a wax tummy bleeding? Not really, Harry.
Well, you should because I saw it the one way down at the end by the stairs. The white and the brown sweet soup.
Bleeding real blood out of a gash in the cell.
Brown sweet soup.
Always dreadful.
Wait a minute. Did you say brown sweet soup?
Did I say brown sweet soup? Yeah, brown sweet soup. But that's nothing. The real blood is the important... Hey, you believe me.
Yeah, come on.
Okay, come on. It's right over there, pal. Behind those bushes over there. Come on, you'll see. Nobody believe me when I...
Well, where is it?
Hey, it's gone, somebody, when I moved it on me.
Oh, no.
Well, listen, listen. It was right here, popped up against the railing. It had a half-boiled out over his face, but I could see the gash in his neck from the light, pal, on the top of the stairs.
Come on, Harry, let's get... Hey, wait a minute, bottle. You can be right.
What do you mean? What's wrong?
It's right here on the rail. Don't tell me those stairs go all the way down to the water?
Oh, yeah, yeah, but you're an awful climb, better than 200 feet, because there's a little boat landing down there.
My guess is there's more than that down there now, Harry boy.
The bottle of rum slurred at me out of the pecoes in his label until I started down, then he insisted on following.
The stairs chopped from solid rock along a natural path that wound over the face of the cliff were steep and rough and slick.
From whips of fog it moved me swiftly across them like wet, nervous fingers.
But the bottle behind me was enchanted just enough to flip him, kid, with every step and still manage to keep his footing.
Halfway down we saw a crumpled hack, only a piece of it, what we found at the bottom, in the winking yellow light of the lamp on the boat landing.
He had struck on his face after plunging down 200 battering feet of jagged cliffs.
All that was left of the man in a bronze-weed suit.
The rum bottle costume beside me was still intact, but the little man inside of his liquor was wearing thin was beginning to come apart.
That's real funny, some joke on the rest of it all because that's no wax dubby.
Oh, that's a real man.
It was a man.
I didn't see him very well.
Put yourself together and give me a match, Harry boy.
Yeah, fall like that can do a lot to a man's face.
Hey, this guy looks familiar to me.
From the back here he looks like John Bishop.
He should, it's his brother. I wonder if they should figure things out from now on.
Huh? Why do you have to go in there?
What's the matter?
Shut up, will you?
I didn't hear.
Yeah, somebody's coming down the stairs. Get over there out of sight and keep quiet.
As I made for the foot of the stairs I looked up in time to see a hunchback monster in armor half hidden in the writhing yellow mist stuck back from the edge.
I eased myself down the stairs with the Duke of Gloucester again asking for another punch on his front-hand jaw.
So I took the slippery steps two at a time as far as the first blind corner where I found out that he beat me to it.
That's even the stuff, mister. Not for long, bud.
I'll kick your head off next time.
I knew you meant trouble, now I know what kind.
That's enough out of you, stand still.
What, a gun? I know you don't.
You killer.
A sudden lunge in the dark caught me off guard and my 38 went spinning away into the night as he turned and ran.
I was a dog in the night coupled with a useless three-minute search for my gun was all he needed.
By the time I got up to the clubhouse terrace again the Duke was gone.
I was met instead by the ever-merry Marie Antoinette only this time without giggle.
What on earth is going on out here anyway?
Funny, baby. Did you see that phony hunchback the Duke of Gloucester?
See him? Come on, I said he did.
He practically ran over me shouting something about a phone call.
Oh, when I see that group's right in the dark.
Where'd he go, inside?
Don't you boys know it's dangerous?
Later, baby, later. Right now I want to know.
Hey, wait a minute. That bracelet there on your wrist, where'd you get it?
Well, it's the band of the ladies auxiliary of the West Palisades Minutemen.
The what?
The City's government club.
Look, do all members have a thing like that?
Of course. It's got the club crest on it either.
The ladies have bracelets and the men use it to...
I know what the men wear. I just saw one.
If it means anything like I think it does I'd better find Madeline Hughes, but fast. Have you seen her?
Madeline? Well, now let me see...
She's the witch, the witch, the green witch.
Oh, yes, yes, yes. Well, the last time I saw her she was walking down to the fountain with that wonderfully horrible metastopolis.
Oh, she and John Bishop, Bishop are a perfect couple tonight, don't you think?
But I think right now it would scare you cross-eyed, sister, but thanks for the tip. I'll see you.
I ran past the old black spools guarding the terrace railing and over to the gate where the flagstone pass started.
And I walked as fast as I could without stirring up echoes down into the little sheltered alcove where the fountain was.
There I saw them standing close together beside a pale marble bench half hidden in the shadows.
A beautiful green-eyed witch and a horned nightmare with huge, leathery wings hulking over her.
Will you listen to me?
John Bishop, you're drunk. I've never seen you like this before.
Well, I've got reasons. Dale is here in town right now.
Who?
Yes, that means one thing. He's found out about us. He knows what we did to him.
Wait a minute, I didn't lie in court about him, you did.
But you didn't object when you found out. Instead you celebrated by getting engaged to me.
All right, John, are you sorry? I played it the way I saw it. I've got me to worry about.
But he went to prison with the idea that you loved him, Madeline.
It's like he was trying to get his hands on enough money to keep you happy when the cops caught him.
Okay, I'm expensive. If he couldn't afford me, that's his problem.
And his love, Madeline. Whose problem was that?
John, tell me why you do it. John!
I'm not John, Madeline. I've already taken care of John.
I'm Dale, and you really are a witch, Madeline.
So I'm going to strangle the life out of you like you did me.
Cut it out, S.D.
I'll stay back here. Take one more step and I'll plug you.
That's a laugh, S.D. because it won't be any good you're trapped here.
Yeah, well, I'm going to get you nosy. And then her.
After that all I got to do is walk across the dance floor in there and out the front door.
And in this rig I won't even be noticed.
You won't make it, sucker?
No.
We'll drop, will ya?
Your gun's jammed, sucker. Now watch.
Dirty little lousy. Here, take it.
My shoulder and arm went numb from the bullet.
And I could feel my shirt front getting warm and sticky as I tried to follow him.
But the flagstone path was ten miles long.
And my legs were melting.
I saw him go to the ballroom door and I made it over to the side of the building for support.
But I knew I'd never catch him.
I looked in the window and I saw him start across the floor.
A garish horned beast with wings shoving his way to freedom.
The old milling mob of plants and demons.
I was blasting out. I knew it.
I tried to yell, to stop it, but the crowd inside was going crazy.
Laughing and cavorting around the beast with wings.
Clawing at him. Holding him, shoving him back from the door.
I saw him fighting and then go down as the horde of screaming creatures blows over him.
And then everything went black.
Marlow? Marlow! Are you awake, Marlow?
I won't stay long. I just want to thank you for saving Madeline's life.
Oh, the Duke of Gloucester, huh?
Well, I'm really just Bruce Wiley.
The doctor said...
Doctor? What is this? Where am I?
Santa Monica Hospital, Marlow.
You were shot, remember, four hours ago at the Halloween party?
Oh, yeah. JLSD. You got away, huh?
Got away? No, he didn't.
I just came from police headquarters where STs confessed.
Want me to tell you about it?
Yeah. As far as I'm concerned, I dreamed it.
Well, STs killed his brother, John Bishop, out on the terrace before the dance began.
He traded his brown suede suit for Bishop's Mephistopheles costume so he could move around inside.
Yeah, that's right. Almost was caught there by little Harry, the rum bottle, remember?
But when the coast was clear, ST threw the body over the cliff and went in to dance in Bishop's Mephistopheles costume.
Fine, Madeline, yeah.
Now, look, I know this already, but after he shot me, it was a cinch to escape. That's where it gets fuzzy.
What happened then?
Brother, as handsome a piece of irony as I've ever seen.
The Mephistopheles costume that Bishop wore.
Don't tell me.
Yeah. Well, first prize.
That's all.
The crowd wouldn't let STs leave until he received the award and unmasked.
Oh, it's quite a scene.
Police I called when I thought you were a killer showed up to take him away.
Then we found you and Madeline out on the terrace and brought you here.
And a happy Halloween to you, too. How's Madeline?
Fine, thanks to your efforts. She's waiting outside now. I'll send her in, huh?
Mm.
She's awake now, Madeline.
Oh, okay. I don't like only bruises.
Oh.
Hello, handsome.
Hello, beautiful. Your throat's bruised.
It could have been worse. You figured it out just in time.
Oh, Bale even had me feel his voice was so good. How'd you manage it?
You know, the cops was wearing a wristwatch band from the Palisades Minuteman Club.
They gave me the switch.
When I knew it was Bale in the costume, I figured his only reason for impersonating his brother would be to be...
And you didn't even have a gun on you, Teddy Anonin. That took a lot of nerve, handsome. Right?
Don't mention it. Would you get the lights as you leave?
Not so fast. You heard some pretty bad things about me tonight, and probably thought I'd be few as you were very old.
As a matter of fact, I did. You got that kind of face. You can't spell.
You better be careful with it, baby. Now, will you catch the lights on your way out, please? I...
Just a minute. I'm going to tell you something, Bruce. I've been so scared in the middle of the night, and I've been thinking things are going to be different from now on.
Yeah? Who's next, Bruce Wiley?
I haven't decided. But whoever he is, Marlo, he'll be the only one, and he'll know exactly where he's going. Does that help?
I'll have to see it happen first, baby.
Okay. I'm going to wait for a while, but I'll be back. Watch for me next Halloween, handsome.
I'll be the last one to wake up.
When Madeline left, sleep left with her. I got out of bed, went over to the window, and looked out.
The sky and the ocean was still dark. But over in the east, the first glow of dawn was starting on the horizon.
The goblins flew screaming into the mist until next Halloween. At that moment, something moved across the fading moon.
Something that looked very much like a beautiful witch, with hair red as a sunset and cold green eyes.
Then I saw something else on the white sand of the beach, the scotted witch's costume in green, and beyond it, just for a moment.
I thought I saw Madeline leaning against a rock, looking out to sea. I never found out if it was Madeline or not.
Because then the sun came up, and she in the costume and the light were gone.
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, star Gerald Moore, and are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald.
The script is by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Features in the cast were Eve McVeigh, John Boehner, Paul Freeze, Joe...