Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road. Those who travel it wind up in the gutter
of the prison of the grave. This time a nervous breakdown in a driving rain, a cape with a
high collar and a tiny sliver of glass led me from the ballet and a beautiful dancer
to the edge of a cliff and death. It happened like this.
From the pen of Raymond Tramper, 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
high collared cape.
Nothing like a drink and a good book on a rainy night. Man, what a night. Oh no. All
right. Don't sprain your finger.
I'm most sorry to intrude on you this time of night, but I may have waited too long already.
Yeah, well look, Miss, my office hours are nine to...
My poor Andre. I felt something dreadful was going to happen to him and now I'm sure of
it. You must find him for me. The poor man...
Lady, wait a minute. Hold it, will you? Who is Andre? And for that matter, who are you?
I am Vivian Ordway, prima ballerina, ballet du monde.
Prima ballerina?
The empress stary of the company, my dear, dear old friend, my teacher, the man who's
been like a father to me, that is Andre. Andre Le Duc. We must help him at once.
Well listen, Miss Ordway, why don't you...
I'm sorry, Mr. Marlowe. I feel for some time that Andre was on the brink of losing his
mind.
Yeah, I can understand it.
You see, he's a genius. Tormented by a thousand frustrations, he will never dance. He is in
crippled, but he is consumed with a passion for dancing and drives himself to express
his genius through the clumsy feet of Herta.
Yeah, well that's very interesting. You've no idea, but I don't see why you came to me
tonight, Miss Ordway. What can I do?
Help me to find him. Yesterday, something else happened to Andre. I don't know what,
but it upset him. Then today at noon when this awful rain started, he disappeared and...
Oh, good heavens.
Huh?
Five past eight.
Yeah, what about it?
I'll be late for the performance. Here, take this ticket and please come to the theater,
Mr. Marlowe. I beg you. I'll pay you anything you ask. Only promise me you'll come.
Well, I...
Please, please.
Okay, Miss Ordway. I'll be there as soon as I can.
The ballerina swept out of my apartment like a frightened whirlwind. As I got dressed all
over again for an evening ballet, which I needed like a cute appendicitis, I saw that
the ticket she'd left was number 27J at the Great Arts Theater, showing Ballet of the
World, sponsored by one Mrs. Imogene Wyatt. Now I got to the lobby half soaked near the
end of the second act when an icy usherette shoved a program at me and hush hushed me
inside. The audience was a small cluster of arty diehards down front, which left me and
27J feeling like Midway Island. My client, Vivian Ordway, was the whole show. When I
saw the finale coming, I slipped down a side aisle near to the wings, just in time to catch
a beef at the stage door between a long, wolf-faced intruder and a pudgy doorman.
I ain't here, Scully Haskell, but even as she was, you wouldn't get in. She left strict
orders. You're finished. Now get out and stay out.
Okay, but let me tell you something. I broke my back getting publicity for that damn studded
widow in this outfit. Imogene Wyatt's going to be sorry she fired me. I'm going to see
for it personally.
Get out of the theater, Scully.
You're nuts. You and this whole troupe are stuck up grasshoppers.
Mr. Marlowe's here. Come in this way to my dressing room.
Tell me, have you heard from Andre LaDoubville?
No, no nothing, but I did remember something that may help. Andre once mentioned that he
had a friend here in Los Angeles, a Mr. Baker, who lived at the Windrub arms, the Windrub
hotel, the Windrub something. Come in, Mr. Marlowe.
Thank you.
Andre may be there. I'm grasping at straws, I know, but if his mind is gone and he is
lost, I'm so afraid for him.
Oh, now take it easy, honey. Take it easy.
Vivian, is there news of Andre?
Oh no, George, nothing. Mr. Marlowe here is going to find him for us. He's a private detective.
Oh, I see. Wonderful. I am George Melikoff.
Glad to know you.
Vivian, I'll be at the hotel. If I can help, please do call on me. And oh, my dear, you
shone as beautifully tonight as the full moon.
Hi.
We mere stars were hardly visible beside you.
Fast man with a compliment, huh?
He's very sweet.
Yeah, what hotel did he mean?
The Wilshire Gardens, most of the ballet theater.
Oh, how about you, Miss Otway?
I have a house, a studio on Lookout Mountain, 857.
857, can I reach you there?
No, no, I am going to wait here in the theater. If Andre should remember and come back, I'd
want to be here. He's a very sick man.
After I left the theater, a quick check in a phone book showed a Winthrop Arms apartment
hotel on Havenhurst Drive. It's just below Fountain Avenue. When I got there, I found
the name Baker stuck over the mailbox to apartment 1A. Went inside and up to the door.
Yes?
Andre Ledoux?
What do you want?
Were your friends at the theater worried about you?
My friends? I have no friends.
George Melikov's worried about you?
George Melikov, my friend, is worried.
So is Vivian Otway.
Vivian?
Uh-huh.
Oh, that dear child. What will become of her now?
What do you mean? What's happened?
Who are you?
Miss Otway sent me to find you. She's waiting for you at the theater.
Waiting at the theater? Why? Why? The ballet is finished.
What's that?
Miss Imogene Wyatt withdraws her support completely. There is no more ballet du monde
and penniless. And all our work has been for nothing. I tried to reason with her, but
Wyatt was hateful, hateful. Afterward, I drove here on the dark street. The rain slashing,
clawing at me.
Andre, where is your friend Mr. Baker? This place is packed in mothballs.
He is in Europe. It is all right that I am here. He sent me the keys long ago, said I
could use his apartment in his car. I came here to be alone, to think my head aches.
Andre, what time was it when you left Mrs. Wyatt yesterday? Do you remember?
I can't remember. Only that it was dark, very dark, and it was such a difficult drive.
Tomorrow, she will notify her lawyer to alter the papers and order that invoice. I wish
she were dead. You hear me? I wish that Imogene Wyatt was dead.
What was that?
Stay where you are.
What is it? Do you see anything?
No. Now look, Andre, about your headache. Wouldn't you like to see a doctor?
No, no, I'll be all right. I am all right. Understand?
Yes, sure, sure. Do me a favor for your own sake. Stay here tonight, inside. I want to
check a couple of things and then I'll be back.
Yes, I'll stay. Where else would I go?
Now?
When I left, I was convinced that if the ballet impresario hadn't already slipped his trolley
another slight bump would do it. But two things bothered me. So first I walked around to the
window again, but a neat trace of an eavesdropper had been washed away by the rain. Item number
two was the strong imprint the drive home in the rain had made on Andre's troubled mind.
I wanted to know why. The garage was under the building on the far side. The door was
unlocked and a small light burned in the back. I finally found the car, asleep close to the
ground. Hudson registered to Orland Baker and found it for the first grim discrepancy.
The left headlight and fender was still streaked with rain marks, but the right had been wiped
clean. When I reached in and switched on the lights, that cinched it. The glass in the
right headlight had been replaced. It was brand new.
Hey there, what are you up to?
Just testing my friend's car. I may borrow it. You the attendant?
That's right. You in here last night thinking around with this here car?
No. Maybe it was Mr. Ledoux. He had it out last night.
Oh, it wasn't him. That was somebody else. I heard a noise. See, when I come out of my
back room, this guy beat it. He took off like a scared turkey. He had a big black cape on
with a high collar flapping in the wind.
Better watch it old timer. That stuff's getting your eyesight.
Looks like a cape to me. Well, I looked around but I didn't see no harm done, so I went back
to my room.
What time was all this?
Oh, way past midnight. Maybe one, two o'clock. I didn't pay much attention.
By the way, Mr. Careful, a nip.
No thanks. I'd like to use the phone. You got one?
Oh, sure. Sure. Sure. Back in the corner. I'll show you.
I'll find it.
The call is personal. Do you mind?
Me? I shall say not. Help yourself, sonny. I'm too old to even be curious.
My first call was to a death sergeant in the police traffic bureau. When I identified myself
and asked about a hit and run accident, possibly on Fountain, sometime before midnight yesterday,
there was a pause while he checked the record. And then...
On the button, Mr. Marlow. We identified him by his Blue Shield medical car.
One Lyle Kretschauer, apparently stepped out from between parked cars on Fountain Avenue
between Orange Drive and Roxbury, was struck by an unidentified vehicle at about 1110 last
night. Condition serious. Now, what do you know about this, Mr. Marlow?
I'll get in touch with you later, Sergeant. Thanks.
Checked out from between parked cars.
Great, that's the address.
It's Philip Marlow. I want to talk to Vivian Oudway.
Oh, hang on a second, Mr. Marlow. She's right here.
Okay.
Have you found him? Is Andre all right?
Yeah, for the present. But listen, Vivian, I've got to talk to Imogene Wyatt. Where does
she live?
Mrs. Wyatt.
Yeah.
Beverly Hills. Let me think. 21 Cami Hotel.
21 Cami. Meet me there right away, will you? I may have a couple of rough answers for you,
baby.
But I'm still in costume.
That doesn't matter.
All right, I'll put something on over it. I'll be there just as soon as I can.
Between slick streets and visibility zero, it was a solid half hour drive from the Winthrop
Arms out to the swank cameo terrace. When I pulled up at number 21, I wondered what the
wealthy widow had spent her money on. The house was so small, it must have been shingled
with $20 bills to meet the zoning restrictions. I just started up the soggy gravel path toward
the door when it came. As I started to run for the house, a green convertible I hadn't
noticed before roared to life suddenly and disappeared on a side street. But I didn't
have time to worry about it. Inside, I found Mrs. Wyatt on her dining room floor, fighting
a losing battle with the distance to the telephone.
I was going to ruin it all. Now, Andre let them put me...
She was dead. I looked through the rest of the small and now silent house in a hurry,
but found nothing more constructive than the rear door wide open. I got back to the living
room just in time to see my client, Vivian Ordway, bizarre in a short frothy ballet skirt
and long white hose standing in the front door.
Something's wrong, isn't it?
That's one way to put it. How'd you get here, Vivian?
In the cab.
Who do you know that drives a green convertible?
A green... Scully Haskell, a publicity man, but why?
The guy I saw on a beef at the theater tonight.
What's happened?
I mean, Gene Wyatt was just shot to death. That puts two items of business up on deck.
First a check called Andre LeDoux.
Andre? Why Andre?
On the off chance that he can drive faster than I can. After that, a personal call on
Mr. Haskell. You can fill that one in yourself.
Marlow, Andre couldn't have. He couldn't have done...
We'll see. Now hang on tight, baby. Let's get it over with.
In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlow, but first, the great international
comedian Beatrice Lilly will be Bing Crosby's guest on CBS this Wednesday night. The CBS
Bing Crosby Show always guarantees enjoyment. So be listening when B. Lilly joins Bing on
most of these same CBS stations this Wednesday night.
And now with our star, Gerald Moore, the second act of Philip Marlow, and tonight's story,
the high colored cape.
It made a cockeyed picture. A beautiful ballerina miles away from the stage yet in full colored
ranch costume and gaping through tearstreet grease paint at sudden death. It was a good
time for me to start checking out. Andre LeDoux, the high strung impresario, was first.
If he was still at the apartment, I could cross him off as having done it personally.
Hello? Hello, who is it you want?
Sorry, wrong number.
Marlow, he was home, wasn't he, Andre? I mean, you couldn't suspect him. Marlow, why, Andre,
the sweetest man in the world.
Take it easy, honey. I didn't say LeDoux did it. And his being home doesn't say he didn't.
People sometimes pay other people to do their dirty work for him, you know.
Just what are you trying to say?
You hired me to find LeDoux and I did. But also I found he was suffering from shock and
has been since last night when Mrs. Wyatt told him she was going to fold the show.
Fold the show?
Yeah, yeah. And that Vivian would ruin him.
And half a dozen more, I could name.
You're so right. So you've all got plenty of motive.
But what about Haskell? We know he hated Mrs. Wyatt. Isn't revenge motive? Revenge and the
fact that you saw his car. Why do you insist on defending him?
I don't. Only there's another angle. It's called hit and run. And I know that it ties
in tight with LeDoux, Mrs. Wyatt, and the actual killer.
Hit and run. I don't understand.
Well, neither do I yet. Now look, do you know where Scully Haskell lives?
No.
Where does he hang out?
Sometimes at the bar at the Wilshire Gardens Hotel.
Okay, I'll try it. Now you go back to your place up in the hills. I'll find it when I
got some answers. Now hurry up and get out of here, will you? Somebody might have heard
the shot and called it... Somebody did hear the shot. Go on, get out.
Yes, but Marlowe...
No buts. Go on Vivian. Get in the cabin. Go straight home. Do your crying there.
All right.
Good. I'm trying to... Hey, hey Vivian, you forgot your car. Vivian, you...
Oh no, baby. You forgot your cape. For a long second, I just held it tight and stared.
High Elizabethan color, enough gathered cloth to rig old iron sides. It could have been
what the garage attendant thought he had seen running away from the car LeDoux had used.
But the garage attendant could have been mistaken too. I told myself that leaping high to conclusions
was strictly for ballet dancers. I jammed the cape into a small bundle and left via the
service centers just as the police siren up. I took the great circle route back to my car,
tossed the cape on the seat next to me and drove fast to the bar at the Wilshire Gardens
Hotel.
It was a kind of flattering pink mirrored place where the hors d'oeuvre had long ago
replaced the pretzel, but Haskell wasn't in sight. And the only person around who could
possibly be of any help to me was the delicate George Millicott.
Mr. Marlowe, have you seen Vivian? I am beside myself with worry.
She's all right, Millicott.
She's not. I know. It is Monsieur LeDoux that she still worries about him.
Yeah, him and a little bit more, George. Now tell me, you know where I can find Scully
Haskell?
Well, yes, I do. He was just here for a drink.
Where'd he go?
You're being very brusque, Mr. Marlowe.
Being very what?
You're brusque.
Bru- yeah, well, now look, George, without grand jetting out of your satin loafers, get
this, there's been a murder and Vivian's ended up to a pretty fluff skirt.
A murder? How is Vivian concerned?
Come on, butch, let's get out of here.
Where are we going, Mr. Marlowe?
Out to my car where we can talk. A rain stop, come on. Over here.
You, uh, you said somebody was murdered. Who was that?
Mrs. Wyatt. She was shot and it might have been Haskell.
Because she discharged him?
Maybe. Or maybe something more complicated, like a hit and run accident that belongs to
a dude that somebody wants to cover. Does that make any sense to you? Here's a car.
No. Should it?
No. What's more, it shouldn't to Vivian, either.
What are you getting at?
There isn't time to explain. Call it thinking out loud. Thinking about this cape, for example,
that belongs to Vivian. And about the testimony of a whisky garage attendant. All of which
makes me hope real hard that Haskell's the boy.
Or thinking out loud.
Yeah, maybe. Now look, where can I find Haskell?
The Paradise Court Motel on Vine. He has a bungalow there. Number three.
Oh, thanks. Thanks. Now, if you're really worried about Vivian, George, go on over to
a place on Lookout Mountain Road. She's not in good shape. Here, take this cape with you.
You...
Ooh. What? Why, you cut yourself. Your finger's bleeding.
On a sliver of glass, George. At last, it could have come from a broken headlight, huh?
From a broken what? What are you talking about, Mr. Marlowe?
The benefit of the doubt, George. It keeps getting harder to give it away. Bring this
back to Vivian, will you? Tell her she left it at Mrs. Wyatt's, and then I'm positive
Haskell's our man. So long, George.
Well, that you, Nancy?
Not quite. The name's Marlowe. I want to talk to you, Haskell.
Don't waste your breath, skip chaser. I'm broke, and I'm gonna stay broke until the
first of next month. After that, you can get in line. Who you funny for, the finance company?
Imogene Wyatt's dead, Haskell.
What did you say it... What's a gun for?
You lousy temper. Get back.
Hey, wait a minute. I saw you at the theater tonight.
And I heard you, which puts me out in front. Now, do we talk, Haskell?
About what?
Mrs. Wyatt's murder. You were sloppy.
And you're off your nut. I didn't shoot her. I didn't even...
Slips, huh, kid? Oh, I know she was shot. Doesn't prove I
did it. Come on, why'd you kill Mrs. Wyatt?
I didn't... How'd you know she was shot?
Because it happened just as I got out of my car and started toward her place. I was going
up there to read her off. The shot scared me away. Use your head, Marlowe. I was sore,
but I didn't kill her. No, but interference on that hit and run you were covering was plenty
of reason. What are you talking about, hit and run?
Hit and run. Don't move, Haskell.
Nuts. Come on in. I said don't move.
Congratulations, handsome. That's just what I had in mind.
Close the door and stand still. Sure. Now what? The name's Nancy Connick.
Occupation? Ex-friend of the unconscious. Don't look
so worried, handsome. I'm on your side. I had something in mind exactly like that left
across you just threw. Is that cold? Yeah. What's your beef?
I took this louse to a party with me last night and he got so stinking drunk that I'm
still apologizing to people. He was with you last night?
Mm-hmm. Me and a couple of fifths of Burden. From 8.30 till 5 a.m. down on Malibu.
He never left? Not for a second. The loudmouth was positive.
He could get along without him. What's that got to do with you?
Too much. Tell Haskell I'll be in touch, will you? I gotta run.
What are you looking at? Just a program from the ballet, isn't it?
Yeah, yeah. Haskell has them all over the place after
all they did. Yeah, sure, sure.
So? Oh, so like I said, Nancy, I gotta run.
It was 15 stop and go minutes from Haskell's place to the Hollywood Hills and another five
screeching up the paved snake that was Lookout Mountain Road. Finally, I was there out of
my car and running toward number 857, which was a collection of windows and a rustic log
frame half jutting out into space. Around in the back there was a wooden sun deck. Below
it on either side, huge rocks that line the edge of the cliff. Directly below, only the
dark bottomless canyon. On the end of the porch near me, there was
a long flight of stairs. I started up one careful, noiseless step at a time. My hand
tied around the 38. Suddenly in the weak light of the thin slice of moon, I saw Vivian Ordway,
a back to the flimsy porch rail, a face an ugly knot of terror. Only inches away from
her and brandishing the gun he used to kill Mrs. Wyatt was the half crazed answer to everything.
A delicate jaw, a mellocuff. It's too late, Vivian. Marlow knows this
cave was what the garage attendant saw. And do you know how? Because of a stupid little
thing. A sliver of glass that was caught in it, which came from the broken headlights
that the wearer of the cave replaced. The wearer who was covering up Andre Ledoux's
hit and run accident so that he could have the pig where he wanted him.
You're wrong, George. Marlow was after Haskell. He thinks Haskell killed Mrs. Wyatt.
He only hopes that. And he'll find out one way or another that the beautiful ballerina
is guilty. Then he'll be forced to come back here after you.
But George, I'm not guilty. Of course you're not, Vivian. I am. The
cape is mine, not yours. You only used it tonight. That's the only thing he doesn't
know and never will. Because you will have killed yourself after confessing to me.
No, no. It's the only way, Vivian. You or me. But it's always been that way, hasn't
it? Even in the ballet, where one or the other of us had to be starved. Too bad it wasn't
I. Yeah, crying shame, mellocuff. Get away from that rail, Vivian.
He's going to the other end of the porch, Marlow. He's going to jump with the ground
there. Mellocuff, no!
Oh no. It's a greater leap, even for a ballet dancer.
Let's get out of here.
A long time at police headquarters, but finally all concerned have made their statement. Marlow
was more or less satisfied. And André Ledoux never knew he'd hit anyone who was clear to
hit and run. That left me and the ballerina driving to a friend's house, where she was
going to spend the night. Phil, I know you must have had enough of questions
and answers, but... But?
Yes. The reason George killed Mrs. Wyatt. Well, you see, Vivian, it started last night
when George went to see André Ledoux because he was so bitter about his partner's show
being cut down. And that was when he saw André returning from Mrs. Wyatt shaken up in half
days. And with a broken headlight and other signs
of having hit someone, huh? Yeah, yeah. And from there, George thought
fast, covered it all up, found out exactly what had happened from this morning's paper,
probably, and waited. Ah.
When you hired me tonight, he must have followed me to Ledoux's and overheard André tell me
that Mrs. Wyatt was going to pull out. Oh, so he went to her, tried to stop her,
and couldn't, hm? Yeah. Anything else?
Oh, yes. One thing. Oh, that's the house door, if you'll be the white one.
Oh, okay. What made you hurry back to my place from
Haskell's motel when time meant so much? A hunch, honey. As I was leaving Scully Haskell's,
I saw a stack of ballet programs on a table in his living room.
Cover on it was very interesting. Features you and the picture of George, majestic
in his high-collared cape. So that was it.
Yeah, yeah. That was it.
Good night, Vivian. Oh, will you call me tomorrow sometime, please?
I'll call you tomorrow, Vivian. Good.
Ah, it's a nice night, Phil. And so good to be alive.
Well, good night. And I drove straight home in the quiet, empty
aisle through the quiet, empty streets, thinking all the way about ballet, which to me had
always been something very delicate, you know, for the long hair, strictly the awty side.
And I thought about the people I'd met who were connected with it.
The ballerina with a lot of courage when courage counted.
The high-strung Andre Ledoux, Haskell the muscle man, and George.
Vicious as anything I'd ever met on Skid Row. And I was still thinking about them when I
got out of my car. But then for the first time, I noticed a little
envelope on the seat next to me. Had my name on it.
Inside was a ticket for tomorrow's matinee. Same seat I had before.
Yeah, well, I figured I'd go. You know, those leaps they do, they're pretty good.
We call them Andre, Andre. No, that's George.
Yeah, they're pretty good.
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character,
star Gerald Moore, are produced and directed by Norman McDonnell and are written for radio
by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Featured in our cast were Georgia Ellis, Edgar
Elliott Reed, Lou Krugman, Wilms Herbert, and Michael Ann Barrett.
The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Aron.
Be sure to be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says.
This time it was a fishy horse play from a redheaded beauty wild about ponies past a black
beaded sailor who bled to death on a racing form. To a neck-and-neck finish over a
wandering seahorse worth fifty thousand bucks. And you know what? I was a jockey.
Remember, every Wednesday night, CBS brings you Groucho Marx with his wonderful quiz,
You Bet Your Life. It's one of the brightest, most spontaneous, most genuinely funny shows on the air.
So be listening this Wednesday night on CBS. This is Roy Rowan speaking.
Now stay tuned for Pursuit, which follows immediately on most of these same CBS stations.
This is CBS where Burns and Allen are heard every Wednesday night.
The Columbia Broadcasting System.