And get it straight.
Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gutter of the prison of
the grave.
This started with laughter on a bright morning in a battle over a chicken.
And got better as it went along.
It could have lasted a lifetime, but it didn't.
It stopped on a gray morning with a little wishbone broken.
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 Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, the
Little Wishbone.
Sometimes the sun doesn't shine at nine o'clock in the morning.
Sometimes everything's just gray.
The sky, the buildings, the streets.
The faces going by, gray in a man's mind.
And when I parked in front of the politely landscaped second square on Sunset Boulevard
and got out of my car, I knew that this was just such a morning.
And that was right as it should be because what I had to tell her, what had to be said,
belonged in gray to the chilling half-life that leaves everything and everybody something
less than real.
A half-life that may be a moment before birth and maybe a moment after death.
Yes, sir?
I'd like to see Miss Jones.
Miss Cordelia Jones, please.
I called.
My name is Philip Marlowe.
Oh, oh, yes, Mr. Marlowe.
I'm Mr. Early.
Come in, please.
I, um, the police told me what happened, sir.
I'm sorry.
Yeah, thanks.
May I see you now, please?
Yes, of course.
It's the last door down on the road.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be one on the right-hand side, this way, Mr. Marlowe.
The plush carpet that ran the length of the corridor was also gray.
And that fit to with the morning and with what I had to tell Miss Cordelia Jones.
But it didn't fit with another morning, three weeks ago, a morning that was bright
inside and out.
And it didn't fit with Jonesy.
Ha ha, not Jonesy.
The stranger in the butcher shop, the customer with the enchanting green gray eyes.
The girl who wanted the same stewing chicken I did.
And in no uncertain terms.
Oh no you don't.
Oh yes I do.
Oh no you don't.
Possession by a friend.
It's nine cents for the law.
And that young lady is just what I'm holding.
Namely one wing, one neck, both legs.
Give me that.
No, I got here first.
Oh no, you didn't Mr. Marlowe.
Say.
Ah, but neither did you Miss Jonesy.
Ah, it was a tie.
A photograph finish.
Now who really needs this scorned little bird the most?
Me.
Me either.
I am the one who needs.
We're not all talking together.
Now you first Miss Jonesy.
I, I, I'll be the judge.
Fair enough Mrs. Ward.
Your honor, early this morning I was inspired.
I woke up thinking about chicken cacciatore.
Chicken cacciatore.
What do you think I was thinking about?
I was thinking about the man.
Mr. Marlowe, no interruptions now.
Now young lady, you woke up thinking about chicken cacciatore.
Go ahead my dear.
Oh I see.
The chicken cacciatore, you need chicken.
And since I cooked for one I need a small one.
Oh, I see.
I see.
I see.
I see.
I see.
I see.
And you Mr. Marlowe.
The same Judge, honest to goodness.
From inspiration do I also cook for one.
How may?
Not even spoken for.
You?
Uh uh.
Well good.
Then that does it.
How does what?
Solves the problem.
Tonight you have dinner together.
Oh no it could be.
We don't even know each other.
Why this Mr. What do you mean again?
Marlowe, Phil Marlowe.
What's yours?
Jonesy, believe me.
But don't stare at me.
I'm not going to stare at you.
I'm going to stare at you.
I'm going to stare at you.
I'm going to stare at you.
I'm going to stare at you.
I'm going to stare at you.
I'm going to stare at you.
I'm going to stare at you.
You're the first part I answer to Jonesy.
Oh dear.
Now you know each other.
You look well.
It's me, Jonesy.
Oh no.
I, 6100 North automobile.
8 o'clock.
Don't be late, Aaron.
Send the bird out please.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Hey.
Hey Mr. Marlowe.
Uh yes Mr. Schwartz?
You can put the chicken down now.
You're the only ones in the shop.
Well, that's the way it started.
And it's gone along at about the same pace
as the chicken cacciatore, which is the best I'd ever eaten.
But only because I could look at the lovely chef while I ate it.
That's a wonderfully gabby evening that I didn't want it to end.
But end is here.
The lunch the next day and the day after.
Oh, yeah, don't you think we're something, all right?
I'm a professional artist around the edges.
She painted beer cans, the like, for an ad agency downtown.
So her place on Cherimoya was half studio, half apartment, and all cozy.
You know the kind of cozy that makes you want to curl up the second you walk in?
Always makes you hate to leave.
But leave you did because Jonesy liked to go places.
Jonesy liked to do things.
Liked to play miniature golf and badminton, and, uh, of course, bowling every Wednesday night.
Okay, small on the front it is, but the lady still has one car left.
All right, let's see it.
Here we go!
Ha ha ha ha ha!
Hey!
Oh, I was trying!
Bill, boy, you're rude.
Buddy, you're whipped!
Now, tell me, am I great or no? Whip?
Maybe. Real great.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, before we start through the observatory proper,
and tonight, the spiky trip to the moon...
Oh, the ball and the dirty double-crossing deal.
Bill, stop it.
I'm talking about you. You call my office, fool, dear, tonight.
You say, let's just look at the moon.
You silly.
What's the Mulholland drive?
You bet I expected Mulholland drive. Yeah, park car and all.
Oh, come on, Jonesy, we can still get out of here.
You...
Have you two quite finished your little chat?
Quite. I, uh...
We're sorry. We'll be very quiet, we promise.
Thank you.
Come on, Bill. You'd better stay with the others.
Okay, we'll stay with them.
Something breaking you up, Junior?
Yeah. Young love, my friend. Always dying.
Now, excuse me, but I don't think I can listen to a charming guide anymore.
Good night.
Bill, are you going to join the rest of the group?
Bill, that man going through the door...
Huh?
Who is he? What did he do?
That he was leaving, that young love always broke him up. Why?
Because I... I don't know. I guess I thought he was somebody else.
But come on! This guy's crazy.
He wouldn't listen to a man.
Or the moon over Mulholland Drive.
Bill, be tactful, boy. Lady appreciates it.
We'll speak to the guy. Come on.
In her own most inimitable style, Jonesy was crazy.
But there, too, I went right along with her.
Because in those three weeks, I passed up a half a dozen jobs for every one I could.
Never sucked my chin out very far when I did go to work, and all in all,
tried my best not to behave like the high school sophomore who suddenly realized
that spring can mean something more important than baseball.
But I was a little bit of a wimp.
We were at her place one night. The evening's plans had called for me to sit as a model,
from the wrist down exclusively.
All I had to do was hold a bottle of Johnny Walker in the pouring position while she sketched it.
But I just couldn't get with things.
Bill, you're fiddling again.
Yeah, and I'm not going to get any steadier. How much longer, Jonesy?
A minute. Just don't think about it.
It's about tomorrow. Sunday.
What are we going to do?
Loads of them.
What happens first?
I come over here.
Breakfast, no doubt.
That's the hotcakes, bacon and eggs, coffee and lots of cigarettes.
We can...
I don't think I've skipped anything.
Come to think of it, I have. Grapefruit broil.
We'll start with that. Then the eggs basted, and then...
You're impossible. I'm helpless.
What next?
After you've gorged yourself on me.
Yeah, well, after I've gorged, we'll get into my car and take a ride.
Say, Laguna Beach?
Oh, no, not there, Phil. Not Laguna.
You what?
What is it, Jonesy? What's wrong with Laguna?
Nothing, Phil. I...
It's just that I don't like it there.
There's some artist calling me a no.
Go ahead, then.
And it's where I couldn't make a go of at once.
I'd rather not go back. I'd rather go someplace else.
Any time. All right?
Sure.
Yeah, I thought it was something more serious, Jonesy.
I mean, not that your work doesn't count, but...
You're a detective without office hours, huh?
Yeah, I guess so.
Do I go back to the bottle bar?
Uh-uh.
You don't move an inch down.
Unless it's close.
You know?
Give me that stuff.
Pencils, board, paper, all of it. We'll put it over here and I...
Oh, my God. I'm pretty sure.
Oh, I'm sorry.
You're not a guy.
Yeah. Oh, no damage done.
I don't think.
Glad it wasn't your watch.
That's broken.
Hey, baby, that's kind of cute.
Miniature ice skates, huh?
For my kid brother.
I think we were going to be a great skating team when we grew up.
Really?
And the four-leaf clover?
Oh, well, Wishar. Way back at college.
A girl.
Hey, hey, kid.
Tara Hart's entwined. How about that?
Also back at college. And then he'll be here.
Okay. And this thing?
Hmm?
Here, where the piece is broken off near the chain.
What was that?
Well...
It was a wishbone.
Oh, when I lost it.
You put the bracelet on my wrist, please.
I must remember that I got to finish this sketch.
It's due first thing Monday morning.
Do you mind?
You mean I got to pose for the morning?
No. No, thanks, Bill. I...
I can finish it alone.
I... I'll look for you tomorrow morning at 10.
All right?
All right.
Good night, Jonesy.
All the way home, I floundered some place
between pouting poor Marlow,
the girl he goes for keeps secrets from him,
and plain male pride.
Goodbye, Jonesy.
You'll live your life, and I'll live mine.
But by the next morning, I told myself on the switch,
some things just weren't my business.
I wasn't a private detective,
which Jonesy was concerned.
It would all work itself out.
Life would go on.
And it did.
Breakfast was wonderful.
Royal grapefruit and food.
And the ride to what turned out to be Santa Barbara, perfect.
So in the days that followed, no more was said about it,
and nothing unusual happened.
Until the following Friday night,
that was the night before last,
we were in a square then to the local daughters of something
out of the lodge.
The exercise would do me good, she said,
and I was learning in a hurry.
I thought.
No!
No!
You'll live!
You'll live!
It's not going right to her!
Oh, you big hog!
Look at your feet!
Forget your part, Pop, just for tonight!
Help!
That laughter died in her throat when we swung into a grand right and left,
which abruptly brought her up against a tall fat man
with a circle of sweating face that offered cold, black buttons for eyes.
Almost no nose and thin, pale lips that were twisted as far away from a smile as far from it.
Without saying a word to me, she ran from the floor door to check room,
and I started after her until suddenly I remembered the face that had just swiped in.
It was the man who had laughed at young love that night at the observatory.
The man jones me as thought she'd known.
I turned back just in time to see him walk off the other side of the dance floor,
calmly leave the building by a side entrance, which was all the queue I needed.
Hey, hey, you, hold it, I want to talk to you.
You want to talk to me?
Yeah, who are you, friend?
And let's not bother with the routine we played at the observatory.
Oh, yes, I remember you now.
Good, what else do you remember?
Come on, the girl in there, I want answers, Mrs. They mean a lot to me.
Yes, so I see.
So you saw before and now start talking.
All right, that's just what I planned.
I'm going to go to the observatory.
I'll see you there.
I'll see you there.
I saw before and I'll start talking.
All right, that's just what I planned to do.
You can tell her that for me.
And also remind her that I was on the corner of Thurdenoak, too, on Armistice Day.
Thurdenoak, Laguna Beach.
Laguna Beach?
Yes, and if you don't mind, give her this, will you?
Gold wishbone, a charm.
A charm that can't miss for me because both ends are in my hands, see?
I'll take it apart as I make my wish.
I can't move.
Now they're pieces, Mr. Big Talk.
Turn them to the lady and tell her that I'll be heard from again tonight.
Good night.
Yeah, they'll hear from me again, too.
I'm not holding that.
Now listen, Beth, if our tax checks people don't stick together,
we haven't got a chance against their mothers.
Why would you say...
Oh, wait a minute, customer.
For your best.
Yes, sir.
Your check?
Yeah, but first, miss, there was a girl.
What's your height?
Dark hair, pretty green eyes, green dress, tough like...
Oh, yeah, wait a minute.
Are you Mr. Marlowe, miss?
That's right. Did she leave a message?
Yeah, she said to tell you she was going, but not home, just going.
Just going?
Yeah, just going for good.
Oh, I want your hat and coat now, mister.
Yeah, my hat and coat.
I'm sorry.
Jonesy was gone.
With no other word than that.
And she wasn't coming back.
I'd spent what was left in the night looking for her,
checking from one place to another, but it was no good.
The next morning early when I tried once more at a studio in Popham,
all I found out was that she'd never return.
I decided there was one place left to look.
A street corner in Laguna where over a month ago
something had happened that wouldn't lie to.
I got in my car and headed south, and all the way down for once
the Pacific surf looked cold and hostile.
And the dreary desolation that hits all beach resorts out of season
had settled on Laguna like a sick hangover.
I finally found the intersection of Third and Oak.
It was two sleepy drugstores, a dying bar, and a pottery stand closed for the winter.
Nothing else.
The only sign of life was a black-sweated old man on a bench
whittling listlessly at a piece of gnawed gray driftwood
that matched his hands with perfection.
It looked as though he'd been there for 20 years.
So I decided to give him a try.
What's that you say, you know, fella?
I said things are pretty dull around here, huh, Pop?
I don't know.
Generally somewhere there's something happening.
People come, people go.
Like you, you've all got things on your mind.
Uh-huh. They ought to come and go more often, Pop.
You picked a dead corner, huh?
Well, I don't know about that, now.
Seems like this corner gets a good share of life.
Oh? I bet you nothing's happened on this corner in the last six months worth talking about.
You're wrong, son. It's run the gamut.
For instance, last August a baby was born
over in front of the drugstore there in a taxi.
Mrs. Wright, Gail Wright it was.
Old Cy Lemley, the drugist, delivered a fine job, too, an eight-pound boy.
And, uh, on the other end of life?
Yeah, that too.
A fella named Peters.
He was a kind of belated war casualty, you might say.
How do you mean?
Well, he went through the First World War without a scratch,
and then he got himself killed by a hit-and-run driver
right over there in front of the tavern,
and it happened just a month ago.
On Armistice Day.
Hit-and-run. A man dead.
Yeah, about two o'clock in the morning, they say.
To this day they haven't caught up with a driver that...
Say, what's the matter, son?
You're white as a sheet.
I felt like I'd been hit hard below the belt.
I don't remember what I told the old man.
All I could think of was jealousy on Armistice Day.
A hit-and-run death and a slimy maggot
breaking a wishbone charm between fat fingers.
But my next step was mechanical.
I started checking rooming houses,
located strictly to artists, and the third one paid off.
More than I expected.
Cordelia. Yes, I remember Cordelia.
Come in.
Thanks.
And she did have a room here, Mrs. Winkle.
Yes, she did.
Now, what was it about Cordelia, Mr. Marlow?
Well, I am a friend of hers, Mrs. Winkle, a good friend.
I'm trying to locate her.
I see.
Well, Cordelia left quite suddenly in the middle of the night,
Mr. Marlow.
Left a half-finished canvas behind, too.
Beautiful thing.
Yes, sometimes artists have to spread their wings and fly.
Even in the middle of the night?
Ah, yes.
I used to do myself when I was younger, heaven knows.
Tell me, Mr. Marlow, is anything wrong about Cordelia?
Why do you ask that, Mrs. Winkle?
Because the morning after she left,
it was the armistice day, I think.
A man came here asking about her, a fat man.
Did you know him?
No, and from what I read in his face,
I don't think I'd like to.
Look, Mrs. Winkle, I got to find out all I can about that guy right away.
He means trouble for Jonesy, uh, Cordelia.
You see, she...
Well, what I mean is...
Don't bother explaining. I think I understand.
As it turned out, this fellow used the telephone while he was here.
His name is, uh... Oh, let me think now.
Orland, uh...
Something weak and sniveling like this.
Big... Big... Bigly.
That's it. Orland Bigly.
He made a reservation at the Beekman Plaza Hotel in Hollywood.
Bigly. Beekman Plaza, huh?
Okay, now look, did you tell him anything about Jonesy leaving like she did?
Oh, goodness, no. I said she planned on leaving.
I even told him what we had for breakfast.
He just smiled. It was pretty.
Then he went away. That's all I know.
Thanks, Mrs. Winkle. Thanks a lot.
Good luck, Mr. Marlowe.
Good luck, she said.
Sure.
Oh, the good luck Marlowe and a girl named Jonesy had coming was burned out on a street corner at 2 o'clock in the morning a month ago.
But we still had a chance.
But I could only talk to Jonesy.
All the way back to L.A. I worried because...
For that I had to find her first.
I was halfway down the hall of my apartment when I heard it.
My phone.
I ran to the door and tactically ripped it off the hinges before it stopped ringing.
Hello?
Hello, darling.
Jonesy! Jonesy, where are you?
Oh, that doesn't matter. I just called to say goodbye to her.
I couldn't leave without that.
I don't think you're going anywhere. You're going to sit tight until I get there.
No, it's no use, Phil. I'm in a bad jam.
I should have told you all about it long ago, but...
Well, it's too late now.
It's not too late, baby. I just got back from Laguna. Honey, I know all about it.
Look, look, you're in love with a good private eye, you remember?
Don't run, baby. That's not the answer.
There isn't any answer, Phil. There never was for us.
Jonesy, please, will you shut up and listen to me for a minute?
I can't, Phil. I've thought it all over. My mind's made up.
I'm going to have to get out of this mess my own way.
Honey, we've got to talk. Come on, where are you?
Please, Phil. Can't you see I'm having an awful tough time with this pinch, as it is?
Jonesy, baby, look...
Don't make it tougher on me. I'm sorry for it, Phil, but...
Thanks for the buggy ride, Mr. Swell while it lasted.
Baby, baby, you can't run. Don't try it.
I know that, but I...
Goodbye, Phil.
Okay, Jonesy.
We'll make it the hard way.
Since I couldn't stop Jonesy from running, I figured I could at least stop the guy who was chasing her.
So I called the Beekman Plaza and found out that all in Begley was still registered.
I got in my car and started to the hotel, but then I got another idea.
There was a good chance that a sleazy, blackmailing crumb like Beggy carried a record of his own.
Anyway, it was worth a try and would pay off better now than a beating.
So I went to police headquarters instead where Detective Lieutenant Matthews was his own sympathetic self, as usual.
So, you got some citizen all staked out, and now you want to find out if he's a crook, huh, Marlon?
What is this, something new in crime detection?
Now, look, Matthews, I'll come down some quiet Tuesday and we'll make all the jokes all afternoon, but right now...
Now, wait a minute, if you're going to dip into police files, I would like to know a little bit more about it, huh?
No jokes.
All right, the guy goes by the name of All in Begley, fat dog, 6'1", about 40.
Could be anything from a badger to a bum check artist.
Right now he's shooting in England, includes me.
So I find him in the files and want an exclusive on him for 10 minutes, then he's all yours.
Yeah? And what's the hooker? Why are you included?
Because of a brunette named Jones.
Oh, Jones, huh?
Yes, Jones.
I'd like to make it Marlowe's someday.
Don't fool, Matthews, this time I'm serious.
Okay, Phil, okay, help yourself.
You'll find about 3,000 fat guys in there, you know, 2,000 of them with dark hair.
Go ahead and start, I'll send in one of the clerks to give you a hand.
Matthews' guess was close.
But with the clerks' help and hard work, we narrowed the field down to a few hundred cars and started through.
Streetlights had been on outside for an hour before we finally found it.
40 pounds lighter and sporting a mustache, but there was no doubt about it.
James Alland, alias Jim Allo, alias Alland Biglo, was now Alland Begley,
with charges that ran from petty thievery in Louisiana to one that even got Matthews on the ball.
Begley was wanted for murder in Rhode Island.
What are we waiting for, model? Let's go get him.
When we piled into the squad car and headed up Sunset Boulevard, I began to feel good again.
For the first time, Jonesy had run away at the square dance.
When we turned up Whitley, Matthews cut the siren and two blocks above the boulevard, we stopped.
Around the corner from the Beekman Plaza was a two-story frame hotel
held together by countless coats of cheap paint only.
And inside a line of empty sweet air bottles said it took something more than ordinary ventilation
to keep the musty smell from getting thick enough to chew.
The jittery nighthawk managed to tell us that Begley had room 212
and left his mouth hanging open while Matthews sent him outside.
Marlow, you mentioned ten minutes alone with him. You still want it?
Yeah, it's important to me, Matthews.
Okay, if somebody's got to go up and get him, might as well be you.
Look, the boys will cover his window from outside and both ends of the hall from the landings.
If it gets tight, just whistle and duck. Go ahead.
Went upstairs to the second floor where the only light was a red bulb
at the far end of the hall marked fire exit.
Just then, midway down, I saw a figure backing out of the door.
A fat figure who was having trouble with a lock.
He turned and three fast steps caught me before he realized I was there.
It was all him, Begley. When he saw me, he stopped and began slowly backing up.
You? What do you want? What are you doing here?
Where is she, Begley?
I don't know. She ran out again.
I saw it off anyway. I'm not going through with it. I changed my mind.
Sure you did? Come here, you!
You lousy murdering pig, Begley! Get up!
How did you know that? How'd you find out?
Police filed a bulletin from Rhode Island.
You mean you...
Yeah, that's right. I'm hot. I had to have dough.
That's the only reason I tried to shake the kid down.
But listen, you got me now, so let's make a deal.
I'll keep my act shut. Not one word about that hidden one.
You'll let me out of here.
Bad chance, you slimy bug.
Okay, sucker. I've killed him more than once. But you won't stop me!
Okay, you guys, move it! Move it! Bill!
Bill!
Nice going, Marlow. You got him.
Light on his face where he belongs.
Hey, where you going?
Find Jonesy, Matthews. I gotta talk to her.
Hey, it's them.
Yeah?
There's a brunette here in this guy's room. You better come in.
Well, you hear that, Marlow? Brunette.
Well, let's go. Looks like he can do your talking right here and now.
Come on, boy.
I went along with Matthews, all right.
But it didn't work out like expected because what I had to say to Jonesy then just couldn't be said.
Not in a cheap hotel with a bunch of tough cops standing around it.
I had to wait. Wait for the hours of a long night to pass.
The night I spent pounding the sidewalks through milder back streets while I tried to get hold of myself.
But all that had been twelve hours ago. Now it was morning.
Now I could look at her again.
Yeah, and now as I followed Mr. Early down the gray carpet hall to a door, I figured I could tell Jonesy all I wanted to say.
She's here, Mr. Marlow. In here.
Thanks.
Well, Jonesy, I guess you didn't understand that the two people are in love. They share everything.
You didn't give me a chance, Jonesy.
You see, I found out Bigley was a killer after you'd already gone to his hotel to get him.
You're a crazy kid. You should have trusted me, Jonesy.
You played it straight.
Because no matter how you added up, we had something worth waiting for.
Well, as you said, thanks for the buggy ride, baby. It was great.
Oh, here's your little charm. A wishbone.
Sorry it's broken.
Goodbye, Jonesy.
Is there anything else I can do to help, Mr. Marlow?
No, no. Nothing. Thanks.
Good day, sir.
Hillcrest Mortuary, Mr. Earle is speaking.
The Adventures of Philip Marlow, 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.
Featured in the cast were Gene Bates, Bill Johnstone, Jane Morgan, John Danaer, Edgar Barrier, and Anne Morrison.
The square dance was called by Paul Pierce.
Detective Lieutenant Matthews is played by Larry Dubkin.
The special music is composed and conducted by Richard O'Rourke.
Be sure to be with us again next week when Philip Marlow says...
This time a tobacco chewing engineer, a redhead running a bulldozer and a leprechaun on a drag line, all added up to death at an unfinished trestle.
And there could have been more, but then I found out which one had actually submitted the lowest bid.
The Adventures of Philip Marlow, starring Gerald Moore, comes to you every Saturday evening at this same time transcribed.