Get this 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 time I was in the country where the night should
have been nothing but peace and quiet. But a pair of angry eagles changed all that. One
was solid gold and too close to a battered corpse. The other weighed 160 pounds and was
too quick with his fists. It happened like this.
From the pen of Raymond Tranver, 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 exciting story, The
Angry Eagle.
Hello.
Mr. Philip Marlowe, please. Clover Lake, California calling.
This is Marlowe.
Hello, Marlowe. Babe, Dernie, remember me, light heavy contender in 39?
Oh yeah, sure, I remember you.
Good.
Still at that bar in Southgate?
No, no, I'm back in the game.
Ah.
Trainer this time for Welderweight, that's good. His name's Danny Eagle and he's another
Barney Ross, believe me.
No kidding.
Yeah, but he's in trouble. Come on out, will you, Phil? Clover Lake's only 20 miles. You
can be here by six. Just outside of Malibu, up on the hill.
What's your boy's trouble, babe?
Uh, plenty. And it could end up being his life. Now step on it, Phil. Oh, and listen,
you're a sports writer from Detroit, not a private detective. You got it?
Got it. Leaving now, babe.
It was an hour's drive to Malibu Beach in a film colony where the convertibles outnumbered
the hardtops five to one. And another 30 minutes up into the mountains along a steep spiral
of macadam which at every turn made more of the Pacific below and less of Malibu, until
finally I was at the top.
My right, there was a dirt road which a freshly painted sign said led to Clover Lake Training
Camp, private. Raleigh Lance owner. I drove on into what turned out to be a converted
summer hotel-marked office. A couple of buildings that had been stables and maybe two dozen
cabins spread out over a sloping green acre that led to a cliff's edge and the lake some
hundred feet below.
I pulled in and parked in a gravel semicircle which was close to a roofed-over boxing ring
where a lot of muscles and sweatpants was making a punching bag sound like a machine
gun. I saw babe Derny coming toward me in ducks and white t-shirt with an angry fighting
eagle as in Danny on it. It was more a bay window and less hair than last time, but still
the same quick smile under a nose that spread over half his face and extended hands that
could have passed for a catcher's mitt.
Hiya, Phil. Glad you didn't take any longer. Things are worse.
Oh?
Yeah, Dan's been standing an hour ago and he's burning up. I told Lance and his wife
where they both could go and I think he's going to personally see to it that they get
this.
Now wait a minute, wait a minute. Who's this Lance?
Oh, Raleigh Lance. He runs this place, Marlo. Strictly the big time, big shot manager. His
seed at the fights has to be A1 whose license plate the lowest number he can get. Yeah,
half-pointing French cuffs and built up heels. He's got ten fighters there, Danny's one.
And the wife?
Oh yeah, Myra. A lot of curbs, a lot of wall paint, never enough clothes on.
Know what you mean.
Well, also not much to keep her busy and Lance hasn't got time to run around down in Malibu.
Which means sheep's eyes are the boys, huh?
Yeah, Danny Eagle included. Not that the kid ever did anything about it, mind you. Figured
she was just being friendly. Come on, let's move on down by the lake like I was just showing
you around.
Hey, Jersey.
Yeah?
You can quit now. Do a mile in the shower.
Okay, Big. See you later.
Anyhow, Phil, this morning, Lance and the missus had a beef when the big shot got mad,
read Myra off and called Danny and tried the same thing on him.
Didn't take, huh?
No.
So the boss canned him. Kid went back to his cabin and started kicking the fixtures around.
That's when I called you. He's got a lot of temper, Phil.
Yeah, but what do you want me to do?
Help me get him out of here before he tangles with Lance. He said he wasn't going to get
off the ground until things were squared away and he...
Oh, hold it.
What now?
Over there near the edge of the cliff. Friend of Lance's, just weather wax.
That old man?
Yeah, he's seed to look at or listen to, but he owns about every piece of land around here.
Rich, retired, and has just learned about prizefighters, calls him Gladion.
Gladion.
Also, he's got a mud-fenced-faced daughter. He's real anxious to pass on.
Yeah, also, he's coming this way.
Oh, hello there, son.
Yeah, don't encourage him. It's his specialty.
Well, well, babe, my boy, what shape are you in tonight?
Oh, well, not quite fighting trim, Mr. Weatherwax. I was just showing Mr. Marlow here around
the grounds. He's a sportswriter.
Sportswriter?
Yeah.
Well, glad to make you a acquaintance, Miss Marlow.
Thank you.
Yeah, sir. When I think about what I've missed all these years, not following the ring...
Mr. Weatherwax, excuse me, but we're in a hurry. I want Mr. Marlow to see the lake before
it's dark. We'll see you dinner up at the lodge later, huh?
Yeah, yeah. I'll look forward to that.
Goodbye.
Yeah, bye, sir.
The original windbag. But, Marlow, like I was saying, I gotta have your help.
What can I do now? The kid's through, babe.
Sure, but look, Phil, I know other managers. I also know the makings of a champ when I
see them, and Danny Eagle's got the stuff.
And?
Okay, I like him. Phil, you gotta get next to Lance. If he thinks you're doing a feature
on him, he'll be your best friend in a couple of hours. Little Napoleon.
Uh-huh, and when I'm buddy-buddy, I steer him away from ordering his muscle man to play
pretzel with Danny while you're trying to get him out of here, is that it?
That's right. I already planned it that you're coming up here, so all you gotta... Hey, look.
Huh?
Up at the lodge on the porch there. That's him and Myra going in the office.
IQ.
Mm-hmm.
Okay, but first tell me one thing, babe. Does Danny know about me?
No, no. He'd turn against me if he did. He likes to settle his stuff his own way. That's
why you gotta get to Lance. In or out of the ring, it still takes two to make a fight, Phil.
Yeah. All right, babe, I'll do my best.
Yeah, Philip Marlowe, Detroit Daily News. Wonder if there is such a paper.
Eh, it doesn't sound too bad.
Listen, Myra, I don't want any more trouble with you, but I'm fed up.
Oh, fine.
You're fed up? You? For that funny? You dragged me up here and expect me to...
And try real hard to understand this. I dropped 10 grand, 10,000 berries last night on that
punk Steve Rocker. I'm not very happy.
So you want a fighter who stinks. What's that got to do with me?
I don't know, but if you'd let him alone, he wouldn't have looked so tired in there.
Of all the cheap cracks you've ever made, that's about the...
The what? Go on, say it. You never flirted. You never played up to it. You were only being
friendly. Go on, spit it out, why don't you?
Don't think I won't. When we're alone...
Oh.
Excuse me, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was looking for Mr. Lance. Raleigh Lance?
That's me. What do you want?
My name's Philip Marlowe, Detroit Daily News, Mr. Lance.
Oh. Oh, yes. Come in, Mr. Marlowe. There was a note here on my desk.
I should expect you for an interview. Glad to see you.
Oh, thank you. I don't believe I've...
Oh, my wife, Mr. Marlowe. This is Lance.
How do you do?
Hello. From Detroit, you said?
Yeah, yeah.
How are things at the Beaver Club? That's quite a spot, I hear.
Oh, yeah, quite.
I used to go with a reporter there. He told me about some wild parties at their press club.
Busy Beaver Nights, they used to call them.
Yes, busy Beaver Night. Lots of fun.
I'll bet.
Myra, Mr. Marlowe and I'd like to talk a while, so...
So, I'll be running along. It's a pleasure, Mr. Marlowe.
Thank you.
Goodbye, Raleigh. I'll see you later.
Yeah.
Well, Mr. Marlowe, have a chair. Have a drink?
Yeah, I will. Thanks.
Quite a spot you have here, Mr. Lance.
Make it Raleigh, fella.
All right.
That's okay, but you're not up here to write about a training camp, are you?
Of course I... I know background counts, but...
Well, like this drink, the soda helps, too.
But the scotch is the thing, huh?
Health?
Same.
Ah!
Yeah, yeah, you're right about that scotch.
Mr. Lance?
What is it, Kelly? I'm busy now.
Where's your father, Danny Eagle?
Did you give him his walking papers?
No, big turn he stopped me, Mr. Lance.
Said he'd give Danny the word himself that Eagle had him.
That fat pug! Who does he think he is?
Well, he said he just didn't want trouble, Mr. Lance.
Besides, he said Danny was taking a walk.
Yeah? Well, I'm going to give him the air, too.
I've got enough enemies without some lousy trainer who's on my own payroll.
Pardon me, Mr. Marlowe, I'll only be a couple of minutes.
Sure, sure.
Help yourself another drink.
We'll talk later after dinner, about eight.
Oh, and here, catch.
Best cigar made.
Let's go, Kelly.
Uh-huh, best cigar.
Seats marked A1. Yeah.
Hey.
Huh?
Don't go away mad.
My hubby always runs out on people.
Even private detectives.
Slips, huh?
Busy beaver night, indeed. I made it up. I never even heard of Detroit.
Why'd you bait the trap?
Lance, the jealous jerk, has threatened to hire a detective a half a dozen times.
After all this fuss over Danny Eagle, you were about due.
Well, shall we walk? It's a nice night.
Let's leave it that way, huh?
What do you mean?
Isn't Danny enough for one day?
Listen, mister, you're starting off with two left feet. I was friendly with Danny Eagle, period.
And Steve Rocker?
The same. Only Steve was a little dull.
A mind dedicated to comic books. All fighters.
Not according to his last buff.
Yeah. Rocko moves like he was drugged and collapsed in the third, so it's my fault.
Oh, the big shot is quite a loser.
And don't bother with your next question. I can feel it coming. Why have I stuck?
Yeah, well, it belongs here someplace.
Well, I've stuck because...
Well, because I thought that each battle was going to be our last.
Sooner or later, he'd have time for me.
He's a busy guy, Myra.
So was King Solomon, but he always had room for his wives.
True, true.
I thought this place was going to be our answer.
Just the two of us, plus the peace and quiet of the country.
It was Malibu on hand for a change of pace.
So what happens?
Still busy, huh?
Yeah, so busy that he spends eight hours a day with Jess Weatherwax,
a guy he never heard of until he started this camp,
but a guy who thrills to hear the lives and loves of Rolly Lance.
And that leaves me with his daughter, Clementine, if I don't talk to the fighters.
Clementine, whose shoes are number nine, with an IQ to match. Good night.
Wait a minute, Myra. Where are you going?
Going as far as my cabin and an old-fashioned cry.
Or maybe just an old-fashioned. I don't know which. Good night.
When Myra pivoted on a spiked heel and stomped off into the dark,
I knew that I had to move fast because when next she and hubby met,
the fact that I was a private detective was going to become public domain.
And from there on out, I'd be of little use to babe Dernie
and if Lance's muscle playmates caught up to me of no use to anybody.
I located Danny Eagle's cabin among half a dozen others
peeking out of a thick grove of pepper trees, showing light from a half-open door.
Hey, anybody home?
Inside there was a closed valise on the edge of the only bed
and on the dresser some money, a package of lemon lifesavers and a tie clasp.
A gold one with a gold angry eagle on it that said Danny was still around.
Then he got the talk for himself.
I think you're in the wrong cabin, mister. I haven't vacated yet.
Well, don't you think it'd be easy all the way around if you did, Danny?
Right now I'm not looking for the easy way, mister.
I've been walking and thinking about that. That and a pair of people I don't like.
A pair I want to square myself with.
Mr. and Mrs. Raleigh Lance.
Oh, it was purely a case of mistaken identity.
But it served as a reminder that it still took two to make a fight.
And that the only chance I had left was to get next to Raleigh Lance
and keep him away from Danny Eagle.
I spent a half hour going from the lodge to Lance's empty cabin at the dining room
and every other place where I thought he might be.
Finally I remembered Jess Weatherwax, the one-man fan club with my located backup at the office.
Oh, hello there, son.
He was peeling off his coat and getting ready for canasta with something uncombed
and built like a length of pipe.
Who had to be daughter Clementine.
What can I do for you, son?
Mr. Weatherwax, have you seen Lance?
Why, no, Mr. Marlow. We just came in.
You deal, dear.
Is it important?
Very.
Daddy.
Oh, excuse me, child. Mr. Marlow, my daughter, Clementine.
How do you do?
Very fine, thank you. Mr. Marlow, daddy told...
Marlow! Hey, Marlow, is that you in there?
Oh, it's Babe Dern.
Excuse me.
Phil, come with me quick.
What's wrong?
Lance is dead, Marlow.
What?
At the edge of the lake on the rocks.
Accident?
I don't know.
Come on, Phil.
In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlow.
But first, the confusion created by Gracie Allen has never been more clearly,
more hilariously defined than it will be this Wednesday night
when a writer for a national magazine comes to interview her.
For the writer also meets some of Gracie's friends
who present highly conflicting stories which Gracie does not untangle.
It's another merry mad mix-up which could come only from George Burns and Gracie Allen.
So be listening this Wednesday on most of these same CBS stations.
Now with our star, Gerald Moore, the second act of Philip Marlow,
and tonight's story, The Angry Eagle.
Sharp lakeshore stones like countless fighters' fists
had hammered all the life out of Rolly Lance.
And as we stared down at him, the circle of light from the electric lantern
and Babe Dern's hand began to dance over the corpse.
I took the lantern and turned him away from the twisted body at his feet
and sent him back up the path to camp.
I found a phone and quietly called the police.
After that I took another quick look at all that was left of the little big shot.
I went up the path myself and got as far as the jagged hole in the rail
where Lance had gone through.
I had just enough time to see a few things before I was met by Myra,
just like she'd been before, except for a handful of nervous fingers
that just couldn't leave our neckline alone.
I saw Babe. You told me about Rolly. Is it true?
It's true, all right. Your husband's dead.
Babe just left, so you must have been on your way here when you ran into him.
How come?
I had a date to meet my husband for a chat.
Why here? He didn't strike me as being the romantic type.
He wasn't. Neither was he the type to talk where he could be overheard,
especially when he was cornered.
What do you mean?
I put Rolly's back against the wall tonight.
I finally got hold of a way to make that inflated ego turn loose his favorite trinket.
Meaning you?
Yes.
While about an hour ago I found out that Rolly was crooked.
Fixed fights?
Yeah. When I left you, I went to our cabin for a drink.
But the liquor was all gone.
Lance kept spare bottles in the back of his closet, so I went to look.
Found what?
A briefcase. It wasn't Rolly's, so I opened it.
It was $35,000 in it.
And a note congratulating him on his coaching of Steve Rocker.
Rocker was drugged in that last fight, Marlo.
Rolly sold him out, and I can prove it.
Oh. That's what you two were going to hash out over here, huh?
The price of your silence, which was divorce.
And no strings.
He told me he wanted to think, then he was going to give me his answer, but now...
Hmm.
It's all unnecessary.
You're so right.
Myra, come here.
I want to show you something.
See? Here on the ground.
What are you...
No, I don't see anything.
Somebody put up quite an argument right here before Lance went through the railing.
Oh, yeah.
And here's something else.
Oh. What's that, Marlo?
A gold tie-class baby with an eagle on it.
Danny?
Yeah. Danny Eagle.
This changes things plenty, huh?
Danny?
I can't believe Danny would murder Rolly.
Well, you better start believing it and get back to your cabin and stay there with the doors and windows locked.
You think he might go for me, Matt?
You are half the beef.
Now that he's gone this far, chances are good he's got something nice thought up for you, too.
Unless I'm making the king-size mistake and you and Danny turn out to be a team.
Are you crazy?
It could figure both ways, baby.
So I'll keep it in mind until I get something more to do with it.
Meanwhile, like I said, take care of yourself.
I dropped the tie-class into my pocket and started looking for its owner who could be number one candidate for a noose.
I decided to try Danny's cabin first, but when I got there it was dark with everything just as I'd left it.
Until I turned to go.
Someone was framed in the door.
It was the gentleman farmer and novice fight fan, Jess Weatherwax.
You're looking for something special, are you, Mr. Marlowe?
Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.
I figured you would be what with being a reporter, because I know there's been some kind of a ruckus here tonight.
How did you know there was trouble here?
Well, I happened to be passing by a certain phone a few minutes ago and I heard that trainer, Babe Dernie, calling the police.
Oh, okay, as long as you know that much you may as well know the rest.
Somebody shoved the boss of this place out through a railing into a hundred feet of thin air. He's dead.
What, Lance Murtied? By one of his own men? Oh, no, I don't believe it. He's a good manager. His boys loved him, every one of them.
You should be so loved, especially by a guy like Danny.
Danny Eagle?
One another. And that's only half of it. Your good manager, Mr. Lance, was a fight fixer.
One who'd even drug his own stable to be sure he didn't lose. He was as crooked as a hyena's back leg.
He prearranged boxing fights?
That's putting it mildly. His own wife, Myra, pinned that on him just tonight.
She didn't go into detail. She didn't have to. She had enough proof to make it stick because she was getting a divorce on the strength of it.
Oh, I find it mighty hard to believe all this, Mr. Marlowe.
Here's something else. I'm not a reporter. I'm a private detective.
You're a private detective?
Yeah, called in by Babe Dernie because he was worried. Now I am.
Anyway, here's what I'm getting at. If you're really sincere about liking your violence according to the markers of Queensbury rules, you can do me a big favor.
Well, what can I do?
Keep an eye on Myra Lance for me.
Uh-huh, yes.
I left her in the cottage. Danny Eagle may be only half finished with what he started.
I'll do my best. You can count on that, sir.
Okay, I'm going up to the office of the lodge now and find out if anyone saw Danny leave the grounds. I'll see you.
Oh, hello there, Mr. Marlowe. Did you get enough story material from the box fighters?
A couple of novels, Clementine. You alone here?
I am now. My daddy and I were playing canasta, but he left a while back. Went off without his coat, too, see?
Ah, I know. You've been here in the office ever since, huh?
Why, yes. Why?
Maybe you can help me.
Gladly! But you've just got to help me first, Mr. Marlowe. Have you got a cigarette paper?
A cigarette paper?
You know, the Makins. I'm trying to roll me a cigarette, but it ran out of mine. I found my daddy's tobacco and then I absolutely emptied his coat pockets here looking for a paper, but there wasn't any. You wouldn't happen to have it.
No, no, no. I'm afraid not, Clementine. Here, have one of mine. In fact, have two.
Now, my question. Did you happen to see Danny Eagle go out to...go out?
Out to what, Mr. Marlowe?
Huh? Oh, never mind. Listen, Clementine, did this thing come out of your daddy's coat pocket, too?
That old ticket stuff? Yeah.
Out of that little pocket in the big one on the right side, it was...
Well, Mr. Marlowe, what's wrong?
I don't know, but I'd better find out right now.
As I ran out of the office and passed the empty rope ring toward where the cabin stood, I was full of the conviction that Clover Lake training camp was due for a second corpse any minute.
Only this time I knew that some fast adjectives I myself had tossed off and not a hot-headed fighter were playing cause and effect.
As I made for the door of the Lance cabin, there was no help in the fact that my volunteer guard, Jess Weatherwax, was nowhere in sight.
I called Myra's name twice and still got no answer. So I stepped back to go to work on the door with my shoulder when the lock turned from inside.
What...what is it, Marlowe? What are you doing here?
At the moment, Myra, baby, I'm counting lucky stars, the kind that kept you hale and hearty in spite of me and my big mouth.
I'm...I'm afraid I don't know what you mean.
I mean I almost spilled all, including the clincher which was where you could be located.
All this, mind you, to the guy who no doubt was in it with Lance right after it was Adam Zappel.
The fact that you're still breathing means that he must have given up and beat it because as a topper I sent him here to guard you.
You...what's the matter? Aren't you even curious?
Why...why...yes, sure, of course.
Sure am I, Marlowe. Don't move.
Oh, no.
You have a talent for stupid audacity, young man.
Myra's still breathing because up to the point where you knocked on this door she still didn't realize my connection.
But when you showed up I couldn't take a chance. I was forced to bring this gun into things and wait behind the door.
Now obviously you both know.
I was so relieved you still had strength enough to open the door, Myra. I stepped in shin first and was happy about it.
Well, I...I...I was afraid to warn you.
I'll let you all move, weatherwax. What'll it be?
I have no choice.
What?
You'll have a lot of bodies to crawl out from under Buster.
Oh, it won't be too hard. Danny's already framed for Raleigh's murder.
Framed by whom?
By Raleigh Lance himself. Such a simple little plan. I worked it out as I worked out everything else around here.
Just for the record, how was it supposed to go?
Once Myra knew about Raleigh she became dangerous to me. She had to be killed. So I told him how to set up the whole thing.
You know, you're really enjoying yourself, aren't you?
Frankly, no. But I just don't intend to take the rap for my late partner's stupid clumsiness.
Oh, but this has gone far enough.
Oh, no, it ain't...
Dave, look out! He's got a gun!
Duck! Myra!
That boy Billy, he lost his gun. And I still got a good right hand.
My boy ain't gonna be framed for nothing!
Dave, stop it!
I'm gonna fix this guy good!
Lay off, Dave! Will you? Lay off! Lay off, I tell you! Lay off!
Okay.
You gotta tell us the rest. Come on, where the wax talk? What actually happened on the path to the lake?
Well...
Well, Lance set up the frame on Danez, I told him to, by planting that eagle tie clasp at the weak spot in the rail.
And then he made a lot of marks on the path, like they'd been a fight.
Go ahead.
And after that he went over to kick the rail loose. He tripped and he fell.
All because of those shoes of his with the hard, slick soles and built-up heels. Silly little man.
Well, it wasn't long until the boys from the sheriff's office arrived with a good doctor, a lot of open notebooks, and an endless supply of questions.
But finally all the pieces were fitted together.
Very surprised Danny Eagle, who had done a lot of thinking, was back from a second long walk.
And the whole thing had boiled down to me, alone at the bedside of a heavy-jawed trainer.
Who had a happy look on his ugly puss for the first time that night.
My boy's gonna be champ now, Marlow, thanks to you.
Oh, thanks to you, babe. We were almost down for the count when you showed up. Hey, how's the shoulder?
That's nothing. Hey, look, tell me something. How'd you back old Weatherwax into that corner?
Oh, well, I found a ticket stub from his coat pocket with the number A2 on it.
And Weatherwax claimed that he'd never seen a fighter who met Lance until the camp opened up here.
But that stub proved that just a month ago, he sat right beside Lance.
Yeah, that's right. Lance always had seat A1 at the arena.
Check. In short, Weatherwax was a liar who dropped his guard.
And in this racket, you do that just once and you're out.
Yeah. Hey, see that the eagle keeps his guard up, will you, babe? I'm gonna be betting on him from now on.
Don't give it another thought. Good night, Phil.
And I didn't give it another thought.
Neither did I think about an arrogant little guy whose phony heels and twisted mind had dumped him into his own trap.
Or about a fat gambler who traded in perverted victories and rotten, hopeless defeats.
Instead, I thought about the sun coming up over the hills and a nice big platter with a hammer on it.
And then a good solid eight-hour sleep. Nothing else.
You know, sometimes I think I have no soul.
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, star Gerald Moore,
are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald and are written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Leavitt.
Gerald Moore can currently be seen starring in Republic's The Blonde Bandit.
Featured in our cast tonight were Joan Banks, Barney Phillips, Wilms Herbert, Howard McNear, Elliot Reid, Frank Gerstel, and Anne Morrison.
Special music is composed and conducted by Richard Arante.
Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says...
This time a nervous breakdown in a driving rain, a cape with a high color, and a tiny sliver of glass led me from the ballet and a beautiful dancer to the edge of a cliff and death.
A few months ago our newspapers and magazines were full of articles and pictures showing the progress we've made during the first half of the 20th century.
That progress, brought about by the American way of doing business, means that today we enjoy the highest standard of living of any nation in the world.
We can keep our standards high and we can increase the benefits for all of us by continuing to produce efficiently under a free economic system.
This is Roy Rowan speaking.
Now stay tuned for Pursuit, which follows immediately over most of these same CBS stations.
This is CBS where Burns and Ellen are heard every Wednesday night. The Columbia Broadcasting System.