Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road.
Those who travel it wind up in the gut of the prison of the grave.
There's no other end, but they never learn.
From the pen of Raymond Trantler, outstanding author of crime fiction,
comes his most famous character in...
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe.
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe
Now, with Gerald Moore, star of Philip Marlowe,
we bring you tonight's transcribed story,
The Cloak of Kamehameha.
A message that was delivered by a repulsively wide awake boy
missing at 2 Fonkrow Centre.
Arrived at 6 in the AM and had come in two parts.
The first scrawled in black ink and a wrinkled piece of paper said,
Marlowe, get hold of a taxi cab.
Close at the drive of yourself and at exactly 8 o'clock this morning,
come past 8840 North Ogden Drive.
Signed Pollard Schindler.
The second half had made more sense.
It was printed in neat letters on neater green paper.
And under an engraving of Benjamin Franklin read 100 silver dollars.
Payable to the fair on demand.
So at exactly 8 o'clock I was behind the wheel of a hired cab,
leather jacket, peak cap, toothpick and all.
And within a haight taxi distance of number 8840.
Mr. Pollard Schindler, a round man in square clothes
with hair cut to match was not late.
Yes sir, cab.
Of course.
Why do you think I'm shouting my head off?
I want to go to the International Airport.
Do you understand?
The International Airport at Inglewood.
Okay, okay, Inglewood. International Airport it is.
Marlowe, the meter.
Quick, put the flag down.
Every minute I'm being watched.
Huh? Oh yeah, watched by who Mr. Schindler?
I don't know.
Now listen carefully Marlowe.
Later you're to go to the Holly Moana Hotel
and wait for a young lady named Lene Collier.
Uh huh.
Then at the hour she designates you go to her house,
number 44 Diamond Head Circle and pick up the cloak.
Now wait a minute, Holly Moana, diamond, what is it?
The hotel isn't by any chance in Hawaii is it?
Didn't I mention this in my note?
Oh you didn't.
Oh did you mention picking up a cloak?
That just proves I haven't been myself ever since yesterday.
Yesterday I received this anonymous letter that's postmarked Honolulu.
All it says is Kamehameha's cloak of golden feathers
will bring no less than death.
Oh great.
Marlowe, have you ever been to the island?
Yeah twice, once on business and once pleasure.
Then surely you've heard people speak of King Kamehameha.
Yeah I think I do.
He was back around the 1780s right?
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Big organizer, Kakarawahu, by driving the defenders over the cliff
that divides the island in two and the...
In the Pali.
Oh yeah, Pali.
Now Marlowe, the feathered cloak that Kamehameha wore
was about a hundred square feet and every inch of it
a golden yellow feather.
And valued at more than half a million dollars.
Hey, how come?
The feathers.
Oh the feathers, yeah.
They are from the now extinct black mammobird, Marlowe.
There was only one yellow feather on each bird.
Well I could explain why they're now extinct.
But don't tell me that all this is a game of Kalyar to Marlowe to Schindler
with a cloak that belongs to the museum.
Oh no Marlowe, it isn't with the cloak you speak of.
But Lani Kalyar has another one.
Less valuable of course.
It's one quarter the size.
But it also belonged to the king.
And it also is made of the priceless feathers.
And is this her property to have it a whole legal like?
Yes, Lani is wealthy.
Bough 25 winter fashionable schools here in California.
And as a result cares more about fun and pretty clothes
than she does priceless heirloom.
I can't understand that.
So, for fifty thousand dollars I have bought the cloak to resell
to a New York millionaire for almost twice that sum.
He loves the island lord.
Marlowe, I was right. I'm still being followed.
Drive faster?
No, do nothing.
Exactly as I want it.
Now whoever it is will follow me, not you.
And when I am in Honolulu, they will still follow me.
Well I take care of the business on hand.
Yes, and there's a reservation for you on the next plane.
So, after you leave me and collect your cab fare,
which will be five hundred dollars, you drive away.
Then later Marlowe, get back here.
Abort your plane and under way.
And tonight when I've got the cloak?
Take it back to your hotel room at the Hale Morana and sit on it hard.
Because unless I am a complete success as a decoy,
you will have your share of trouble too, I'm sure.
But Marlowe, from what specific direction it will come, I do not know.
I got the five hundred bucks to cover expenses
for my Honolulu trip and was told to keep the change.
Back in my apartment I packed, got another cab,
and I went to the International Airport in Inglewood,
and settled back to think about the crossroads of the Pacific.
There I was wrong.
Because in the next minute, and those that followed,
everything was done the hard way.
First we ran out of gas, then got tied up in a traffic jam,
and after that got stopped for speeding.
All of which added up to me at the airport just in time
to watch my plane take off without me.
A few minutes later when I told the Cherubic clerk in a gray flannel
an insipid smile that my name was Philip Marlowe
and that I wanted a reservation on the next flight
which was leaving in an hour, things got even worse.
You can't be Philip Marlowe, sir.
That is not the Philip Marlowe who was on flight 21 that just left.
You have a reason for saying that, huh?
I most certainly do.
Ah, I see.
Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I'm the one to blame.
I most certainly do.
There were 36 seats on that plane, sir,
and when she took off, all 36 were full.
I know, I know, I checked them myself,
and I don't make mistakes.
Well, bully to you boys.
But I happen to be both Philip Marlowe
and the man who was supposed to be on that plane.
Also, Buster, I'm just about out of patience.
How do I get on the next plane or don't I?
Come on, I can't stand indecision.
You what?
Well, Mr. Marlowe, I think it can be arranged.
That's better.
As a matter of fact, I'm almost sure of it.
An hour later, the last of California had slipped over the horizon,
and there was only clear sky ahead.
Oh, I began to relax.
My mind drifted pleasantly.
Boston, Hawaii, and pudges.
Warm, white beaches.
Lovely whole land.
When I opened my eyes again, Diamond Head was in front of us,
and majestic in the red glow of the evening sun
gave all of the lush Moana Valley I could see.
The texture of thick filter.
We landed like the airport was made of marshmallows.
And a half hour later, I was in the lobby of the Holly Moana Hotel.
It was cushioned rattan and Philippine mahogany over cool tile.
And everywhere laughing sunburned people wearing anything
from Catalina swimsuits to prefabricated hula skirts.
So smiling both inside and out, I worked briskly to the reservation desk
and told a good looking Hawaiian in white flannel
that I was Philip Marlowe.
But at his reply, I stopped smiling both inside and out.
But sir, your reservation was taken two hours ago.
There must be some mistake.
Some mistake?
You are Philip Marlowe of Los Angeles, sir?
Yes, so right.
And look, I've been through this before today
because of what I thought was an error due to...
Due to what, sir?
Nothing.
Yeah, I'll talk to you later.
There was a large circle of mirror on the wall behind the clerk.
And even as we had talked, I caught the reflection
of a beautiful tanned girl in a cocoa brown suit,
white pearls and no stockings.
With the mention of my name and then a take
that made her long blonde hair whip straight up.
When she saw me watching her, she pivoted sharply on a spiked heel
and hurried toward the lanai under the banyan tree
where there was Hawaiian music and a lot of different looking people
drinking at glass-top tables under a three-quarter moon.
I stayed near the reservation desk long enough to light a cigarette.
Then I followed her.
She was seated away from the lobby entrance
and on a hunch that she just might be Lani Kaliya.
I started for an empty table next to her.
But a middle-aged Chinese and gay Gabbardine,
Panama to match, slipped into the chair that I was after.
So I forgot about being subtle in addressing her
as Mrs. Kaliya introduced myself as an old and dear friend
of Pollock Schindler's.
One Leland Dunn.
Well, this is a pleasant surprise, Mr. Dunn.
But tell me, how did you know what I looked like?
Pollock Schindler's accent doesn't hamper his vocabulary, Miss Kaliya.
He used the right adjectives, believe me.
I'd love to, but I can't, Mr. Dunn,
because Pollock Schindler never saw me in his life.
All our business was done by telephone.
Okay, my mistake.
I'm Philip Marlowe, Lani, and I want to know when we rendezvous
at 44 Diamond Head Circle for the cloak of Khmeimaya.
The cloak?
Look, you're no more Philip Marlowe than you are Leland Dunn.
And if you need a reason, it's because I just left Philip Marlowe upstage.
Now, look, baby, there's only one Marlowe.
That's me. I can prove it.
I'll bet you can. Forged papers and all.
I've already been warned to watch for impostors,
so quit wasting both your time and mine and get out of my way.
I've got things to do.
Now, wait a minute, Lani, listen.
What for? Proof that you're actually Khmeimaya himself?
No, thanks, mister. Goodbye.
Now, I had two clues.
One, an obvious party would assume the name of Philip Marlowe,
and the other, Lani Kaliya.
Less obvious, but more intriguing.
So, figuring the road company Marlowe would keep,
I followed Lani.
By this time, I was getting into a long yellow convertible.
Before I got to her, she lurched in the curb,
so I ran across the street to what I thought was a taxi.
But I was wrong.
Because it turned out to be a chauffeur limousine
and being helped in by a small, swarthy item of dubious lineage
in a wrinkled cotton uniform.
It was the Chinese in gay gabardine in Panama to match.
Who had been sitting near us on the lanai.
What counted more was that he obviously sensed my problem.
You'll wish to follow the girl, sir?
Yeah, you know, it's a lover's patch, you know what I mean.
I think so.
Jolo, quickly.
Yes, sir.
You know where she is going, sir?
I'm not sure. Maybe Diamond Head Circle.
Maybe it's beating, sir.
Oh, well, then let's make it Diamond Head Circle.
Was there a faster way there, a shortcut?
Oh, yes, there is.
Jolo.
Bigay.
You know?
Which means what?
Never mind Diamond Head Circle,
drive fast to the factory instead.
And do not move, Mr. Marlow.
Marlow?
Oh, heavy artillery.
Okay, fool man, Choo, what's with the factory?
You're out of the way until the cloak of Kamehameha is mine.
Which won't work, believe it or not, clever one.
There's another Philip Marlow who at the moment is a lot closer
to that collection of fancy feathers than either of us.
You're lying.
This stupid bit for freedom.
I bet they will not get you any...
Jolo, a truck, look out!
Look out!
As we hit, I slanted his gun and jerked the handle of the door and jumped.
When I got to my feet, I was on the sidewalk and bruised,
but better off than a china boy who was draped over the back of the front seat.
A crowd that included a towering Hawaiian policeman
who promptly told my host to shut up.
Gathered in a hurry, so I ran for a cab,
gave the driver ten bucks the address I wanted and took off.
The street on which Lanny Calya lived was a neat curving strip
that rose sharply from sea level up into the shadow of Diamond Head itself.
We were there in less than ten minutes.
Finding number 44 was something else.
Another thirty minutes disappeared before we finally parked away from the place
which was glass and cona wood tucked deep behind a thick grove of date palms.
I told the driver to back down the hill without using his motor
and I slipped into the grounds.
Okay, I'll tell you what happened.
I thought it was the trunk of another palm stepped into my path fast.
Stop where you are.
At the top, which was over six and a half feet,
there was a shock of flaming red hair.
The whole frame was half covered in dirty yellow shirt
once upon a time, white ducks and battered brown sandals.
Who are you?
Someone with an appointment to see Miss Calya. Why?
You belong to this place?
Yes, and this place belongs to me as well.
All of it, Miss Calya, is mine.
I'm going to get you out of here.
Malahini.
Malahini, Greenhorn tourist, a kind that I hate.
A kind that's ravaging all that's beautiful,
stealing the islands from those they belong to.
Take it easy, Red.
I'm not here to stick your pretty island in my pocket when you're not looking.
I want his words with Lonnie Calya.
You're like the rest of them, trying with cunning and deceit
to turn your head away from these shores
and toward the mainland where you come from.
I won't stand for it.
I know what you're thinking.
You're a good man.
I won't stand for it.
Why don't we break this round table up and get to the house?
I'm in a hurry.
All right, all right.
But I'm sure that Lonnie will be on my side.
So sure, in fact, that we really shouldn't disturb the flower.
Should we?
Should we, Malahini?
In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe.
First, this Wednesday night, Fred Allen will be Bing Crosby's special guest
on Derbingle's CBS half hour of laughter and music.
Earlier this Wednesday, the winner of the $1,000 prize
in the Dr. Christian prize contest
will also be announced by Gene Herschel,
star of CBS's Dr. Christian show.
And don't forget that Groucho Marx and Burns and Allen
will also be here on most of these same CBS stations this Wednesday.
Now with our star, Gerald Moore,
the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story,
The Cloak of Kamehameha.
A red-headed lunatic with a slow, soft voice
and fast, hard fit took me by surprise.
I wanted to flatter my back before I realized he'd so much as move.
That time I got to my feet and took after him.
He was sprinting for a bamboo thicket and had a 30-yard lead.
That's all he needed to lose me completely.
When I finally untangled myself in the jungle,
I came out on the road.
But then I heard a motor behind me,
so I dove for the underbrush again just as the heavy car roared by.
I had seen it before.
In fact, I'd been in it.
It was the limousine that belonged to the Chinese.
The back seat was empty, but the half-cash chauffeur, Jolo,
was crouched behind the wheel like his life depended on it.
As I walked back toward the house, I saw that a door was standing open.
It was spilling a shaft of yellow light across the dark grounds.
I started up the walk when it came.
A second later, Lani Kaliya burst into the path of light
and ran for the open door.
I went after her, caught her by one arm and spun her around.
No, let me go!
What happened? Why'd you scream, Lani?
Back there... back there in the pond, I heard a noise
and when I came outside, I... I found him there.
Found who? Come on, show me.
All right. I talked to him just a few minutes ago.
Yeah?
I gave him the cloak. Now it's gone.
He's dead. He's dead with a knife in his back.
There. Look, there in the water.
Oh, brother.
Who is it, Lani? Do you know him?
Yes. Yes, that... that's Philip Marlowe.
The skin on my neck crawled as Lani tagged the thing in the lily pond with my name.
It was face down in the shallow water and three inches of crooked steel
and the ugly curved handle of a criss stuck straight up between his shoulder blades.
Somebody had made a very grim mistake,
but it took five minutes of argument and a thorough checking of all the credentials I carried
to convince the badly frightened Lani.
I dragged the body out of the water and up onto the grass.
Then I went through a hole in the ground.
What did you find?
A card from the Hawaiian Island Art Products Company Limited,
number 12, Harbor Street.
You mean anything?
No. No, I've never heard it.
What's that on the back?
Flight number and departure time of the plane I was supposed to take out of Los Angeles.
Wherever he is, he's been one jump ahead of me all the way,
right up to your lily pond here.
Tell me, was anyone with him when you gave him the cloak,
a half cast and a show of his uniform?
No, no, he was alone.
I gave him the cloak just as Schindler had instructed me to.
Now listen, Lani, there was a down at the heel redhead here just before you came out.
He claimed to be a friend of yours.
Yes, that must have been Lawrence Colquhren, the poet.
They're making him write it these days, huh?
Lawrence wrote one great poem years ago
about two lovers who leap to death over the valley
to keep from being separated and their souls turning to birds.
It's still very popular here in the islands.
Yeah, what happened?
Lawrence got the habit of drowning himself in gin.
And now the natives call him Papuli.
Papuli?
The crazy one.
Yeah, well, that's closer.
He's always hanging around.
My mother wanted me to marry him at one time,
and now that she's dead, he thinks he should look after me.
Okay, Lani, let him keep thinking so.
What do you mean?
I mean, you can use a good watchdog right now.
So when Colquhren comes back, make him park on your doorstep.
You stay inside and be careful.
Well, a guy named Philip Marlow getting knives in their backs.
I've got a few things to do myself, but fast.
All right.
I'd like to borrow that souped-up convertible of yours.
Where are you going?
Number 12 Harbor Street
in the Hawaiian Island Art Products Company, Limited.
Harbor Street was a narrow, twisting alley
two blocks below King Street.
The social saw gas over the derelict Pacific
quietly pounded and died.
Built with the damn crevices between warehouses.
However, number 12 turned out to be a practically blank wall.
There was one small window high up,
a door with a heavy iron grill over the glass
on which Hawaiian Island Art Products Limited,
I.K. Lee, President, was painted in small black letters
and a thin passageway blocked by an iron gate
at the side of the building.
A light burned inside, but the door was locked.
So after I'd ruined my shoe shine and skinned all my knuckles,
I managed to climb over the gate and edge down the passageway
to the rear, where I could hear water running.
Some marvellous poppy playing in the centre of a walled garden
as oriental as the Forbidden City.
I eased across its rigid dainty fence to an open door, peeked in,
and then reached for my gun,
because sitting inside of the sleek white mahogany desk
was the Chinese in the Panama.
Who is it?
Well, this is a somewhat unexpected turn of events.
Please, be careful with that gun, won't you?
You be careful, Lee, and you won't have to worry about the gun.
Tell me something, why'd you break your neck
to get Kamehameha's cloak?
You know what'll happen if you try to sell it?
My good man, I can sell that cloak every day
for the rest of my life, a few feathers at a time.
Yeah? The world must be full of feather collectors.
Oh, it is.
I manufacture the beautiful feather lace
that islanders wear on their heads.
And while the bird is extinct,
the desire for its gleaming feathers is not.
One or two golden mammo feathers in each lei,
and instead over mere $100 apiece,
I can get double that, or triple.
Now, do you understand, Mr Marlow?
You know, you got things a little mixed up, haven't you, Lee?
Me, sir? How so?
Your boy Marlow is dead at Lani Kalia's place.
Oh, that. No, that was Mr Blake,
an easily accessible gentleman.
I hired a main street in Los Angeles.
He only pretended to be you for obvious reasons.
Ah, the interceptor feather cloak, huh?
Yes. I've known all about Paula Chandler's plans
since their inception.
I followed every move he made.
In fact, it was I who caused all your trouble
on the way to the airport this morning
by means of a bribe to your driver.
Too bad you won't be able to keep your nest lined
with Kamehameha's bathrobe after all, Lee.
Because I'm going to walk out of here with it
all big chunks of your face.
You name it, where's the cloak now?
I gather from this that you do not have it, Mr Marlow.
That's what's known as a shrewd observation.
And that Mr Chandler, as I suspect, has tricked us both.
You're stalling, Lee. I'm warning you. Start talking.
Oh, that is all I wanted to find out.
Jolloh, I don't do...
That is judo, Mr Marlow.
Almost like magic, isn't it?
Jolloh can break your back if I tell him, Mr Marlow.
You behave.
Chandler has the cloak, no doubt about it.
So I must find him at once with no interference from you, Mr Marlow.
Jolloh, you have his gun, so lock him inside.
I may need him later.
There was something I had cast under my spine.
The edge of his hand, my legs were paralyzed.
It felt like the practice dummy in a school for chiropractice.
It rejoined my body when I moved.
I didn't move until I felt the movement of my legs.
I waddled my feet and looked around.
I saw a small high window from the street.
A chair, a desk with a lamp, and a picture of a friend in bamboo on the wall.
I looked back and looked hard for a long time until I realized what it meant.
The answer to the whole thing was contained in that bamboo frame.
I had to get out and get out fast.
I unplugged the lamp, plastered my back against the wall next to the door,
and tapped on the lampshade to intrigue Jolloh into coming in.
It worked.
When the knob turned slowly, I threw the lamp up at the window.
The crash brought the door open with a jerk, and the jerk stepped in with my gun in his hand.
What's going on here, Mr Marlow? Where are you?
Right here, Jolloh.
Now, get up. I've got some magic to show you.
A trick I learned in Kansas called the haymaker.
I ran down the hall of the street door and out to the car.
There was no traffic problem at that hour, so I jammed the gas pedal at the floor
and held it there right through the heart of Honolulu
and up the twisting road that led to the mountains back in the city.
The echoing roar of the motor is a tunnel through the forest,
lining the road that was finally replaced by another roar.
Wind.
The unending gale that shrieks through a precipitous pass 3,000 feet above the city.
The Polly.
I swung the car to the side of the road and ran the rest of the way,
out to where the rocks rose to a knife edge
that dropped a sheer thousand feet to the valley floor.
Then I spotted them.
Lonnie lying at the cliff's edge and standing over her,
his red hair ripped by the wind with a mad island poet,
drunk as a lord and flapping around his shoulders like a tear of huge gold wings,
was the cloak of Kamehameha.
No, no, no, no, no, don't weep, Marlow.
I offer you the freedom of the birds.
Come, Lonnie.
No, no, let me go, Lauren. You're mad.
Oh, no, Lonnie, you're the mad one.
To think you could sell your treasures and leave the island.
Your destiny is near.
No, no, stop it. Stop it, you murderous lunatic.
I tried to warn Schindler, but the fool kept on.
I killed his courier, the man you gave the cloak to,
and I'd kill a thousand times again to keep you here with me.
No!
You belong to the island, Lonnie, like this cloak and I.
We must never leave.
No.
Come, come, it will all be over soon,
and our souls will turn to birds
and live forever in this paradise.
No, stop! Stop!
Marlow, help me!
Stay back! Don't interfere!
Stop, Lonnie!
No!
Marlow! Marlow!
I know, I know. Are you all right, Lonnie?
Yes. I'm all right.
Marlow, look.
The cloak.
Yes.
Pockren must have lost it as he fell.
The wind brought it back to me.
It's strange, Marlow, but I don't want to touch it ever again.
I know, I know what you mean. I'll carry it.
Come on, Lonnie, let's get out of here.
Nothing like ham and eggs and good black coffee in the morning sun
for a big one for getting an ugly night.
Right, my friend?
Oh, you're absolutely right.
That's all right.
More coffee, Phil?
Oh, thanks, Lonnie.
So, Lee was picked up by the Honolulu police, huh?
Sure. I had it all set up.
He spent some time in prison.
And Jolo, too.
By the way, he was still unconscious when he got to him.
What in the world did you hit Jolo with, Marlow?
Enthusiasm, mainly.
And that's when you got away and came up to the Pollywood.
Phil, how did you know it was Lawrence and Where He'd Be?
Well, it's all tied with that one popular poem that Cochran had written, Lonnie.
That anonymous letter you got in Los Angeles, Mr. Schendler,
was a line from that poem.
Oh, um...
Cabey ham me has cloak of golden feathers
that bring no less than...
How did you find it out, Marlow?
Well, you see, when I was locked up in Lee's factory,
I saw a full copy of the poem on the wall in a little bamboo frame.
When I came to that line, you just quoted,
it stuck out like it was printed in neon.
See, for me, that Peg Cochran is the killer.
Going on that hunch, I try to look at things from his angle.
He was a murderer, sure to be caught, desperately in love,
insanely possessive of everything he thought belonged here on the island.
And he was an unbalanced lush as well.
The rest of it figured, that's all.
I see.
And when he was cornered, he went back to the one important thing that he'd ever done.
Exactly, Lonnie, he was lost.
So he identified himself with the hero of his poem
and took that as the only way out.
It's amazing. Yeah, truly an amazing thing.
Yeah, it's a terrible thing too, Mr. Schindler.
Well, we all got what we went after, didn't we?
Each of us, even Lawrence Cochran.
After Schindler left to catch a plane to the mainland,
Lonnie said aloha and left to get ready for our date.
I sat on the lanai of the hotel and watched the sweep of the Pacific
from Diamond Head to the hills across the harbor.
The white sand of Waikiki to the green shallows over the reef,
to the purple depths beyond.
As a warm wind whispered through the palms,
from somewhere I heard the soft strum of a ukulele.
It suddenly occurred to me, what does aloha really mean?
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe,
bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character,
star Gerald Moore, are produced by the
Norman MacDonald and are written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Leavitt.
Featured in tonight's transcribed cast were Wilms Herbert,
Lynn Allen, Jack Crouchon, Dan O'Hurley, Byron Cain, and Peter Leaves.
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 a dead witness, a hundred thousand dollar bribe,
the eyes of a beautiful dreamer and a corpse in a tool bin.
We're all tied tight to the same thing, a fox's tail.
This is Roy Rowan speaking for CBS the Columbia,
a broadcasting station in the United States.
This is Roy Rowan speaking for CBS the Columbia, a broadcasting system.