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Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gut of the prison of the grave.
There's no other end, but they never learn.
Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum, the refreshing, delicious treat that gives you chewing enjoyment, presents for your listening enjoyment Raymond Chandler's most famous character in The Adventures of Philip Marlowe.
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Now with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlowe, the makers of Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum are glad to bring you tonight's exciting story, The Pelican's Roost.
Hello, Marlowe speaking.
Phil, thank heaven you're home tonight.
Lynn?
Yes.
Lynn Russell?
Uh huh.
Oh baby, when did you get back to town?
Yesterday. Phil, listen, I'm at Eugene's. It's a beauty salon in Wilshire just west of La Cienega.
Yeah.
Come over here right away, will you?
Me? To a beauty shop?
You've got to help me get out of here.
What's the matter kid, got your head caught in a dryer?
Phil, please, I'm serious. I'm scared. There's a guy waiting for me outside and when I leave here, I'm afraid he's going to try to kill me.
Now look, this isn't just for laughs, huh baby?
Phil, this time I'm not fooling. This man's crazy. His name's Ward Erling. I had a few dates with him once. He was in an accident three months ago, just before I left on my cruise.
He's supposed to be in the hospital right now, but he isn't. He's here, just waiting for me to leave.
Yeah, but Lynn, I-
Look, I'm not asking a favor, Phil, I'm hiring you.
Okay baby, it'll take me fifteen minutes to get there.
Oh, thanks, Billard. I'll wait till I see you walk by.
I drove out to Wilshire Boulevard and kept telling myself that I could trust Lynn Russell. Why? Because I like her.
She was a glossy brunette, born with all the natural equipment of a top model and a covey of oil wells in her own name.
She rushed at life, but she'd always been smart enough to stop short of real trouble.
Well, it was nine thirty when I got to the section of Wilshire's Miracle Mile that housed Eugene's Beauty Shop.
I drove by, saw no one outside, so I pulled into an alleyway, parked, and walked back slowly.
As I passed in front of the show window, I winked at a gilt mannequin with purple hair.
And when I heard the door open behind me, I stopped and lit a cigarette.
Lynn Russell hurried by without a word, ran to a cab at the corner, and drove away.
Yeah, that was all there was to it.
I turned around, headed back to my own car, and got as far as the handle on the door.
I fell against the car as the blow came again.
Made syrup of my legs. I oozed down onto the pavement and stayed there.
I know you. You're Marlow, the private detective.
Okay. So I'm Marlow.
Let me tell you something, Marlow. I've spent three months flat on my back because of an accident that wasn't an accident.
I'm gonna get even with her, you understand? I don't care what it costs.
Palmer Sloan or anybody else can hire a dozen like you, and it won't stop me, so stay out of my way.
I climbed up my front fender hand over hand, got back on my feet.
Time to clutch a glimpse of a new convertible, emerald green, with what must have been worn early at the wheel.
Well, it was no use trying to follow in the condition I was in, so I headed for Lynn's place with all my windows open.
The cool air helped.
I pulled up in front of a wrought iron arch labeled garden court bungalows and followed a flagstone trail back to number four, which was Lynn's.
I felt almost normal again until I saw her front door.
It was standing half open framing a man against the dark interior who was trying his best to see inside.
This time the advantage was mine, and I took it!
Take your hands off me!
Get inside!
Oh, just a minute!
Get in!
Turn on the lights!
Lynn!
I doubt she's home.
Miss Russell is not in the habit of sitting around in the dark.
Oh, you know her habits, huh?
I do.
And you?
I know she has bad taste in men.
I wonder if I should resent that.
You don't qualify.
What are you to Lynn?
When she wants someone to help her lift a martini glass, she calls on me.
We've been going on like that for years.
Just tell me your name, Junior, and he's off on a small talk.
My name is Sloan, Palmer Sloan.
Now it's your turn, Mr. Mussels.
Never mind.
Lynn!
Lynn!
By what right are you snooping around like this?
Just who are you, anyway?
Here.
Here's my card.
Lynn hired me tonight.
Oh.
So you're Marlow the detective?
Yeah, yeah, Marlow the detective.
Any idea where she is?
It's important.
None whatever.
I had a date to meet her here, which never means very much to her.
Why did she think she would need you tonight?
Because she was afraid of a guy, one who gave me a crack on the skull,
and incidentally doesn't think much of you either.
Ward Erling, ever hear of him?
Erling?
Yeah.
Well, yes, but Erling's still in the hospital.
He met with an accident, you know, something about brakes slipping on a car,
and he was crushed.
Accident's not what he calls it, and he's got a gun, just for emphasis.
What's his connection with Lynn?
Oh, help yourself, Marlow, it won't mind.
Get your snoot out of that glass and answer me.
She discovered him, like all the others.
I'd sculpted her two years ago, and the cowboy, Tex Harrison,
early last year was that fellow with the racing boats and so on.
They are hobbies, fun and games to Lynn.
She's got too much energy, far too much.
What's the difference with Ward Erling?
Well, he fell in love with her.
It was charming.
And then he wouldn't be brushed off, told off, or bought off.
She tried them all.
So?
She left, ran out, took a cruise.
He wanted to marry her, simply wouldn't take no for an answer.
Imagine that.
Those two belong together like scotch and kerosene.
You know, you sound a little like you're in love with her yourself.
Maybe I am.
Oh.
But I know my quaint little position in her life.
I'm her errand boy, Marlow, nothing else.
You don't care how dirty your hands get?
What do you mean?
Skip it.
Now look, errand boy, her life's in danger.
Right now I've got to find Ward Erling in a hurry.
Any good ideas?
You might try the four bell jump in Santa Monica.
What's that?
It's a...
That's where Lynn dug that character up originally.
He's a musician?
If you want to call it that.
Some do.
He was the piano player and leader of a small and for some reason successful combination
that's still there so far as I know.
Yeah, and one more thing.
Lynn left here in an awful hurry.
She must be looking for you and I might later too.
I'll go home wherever that is and wait.
Why not?
Oh, it's 210 in the Beekman Plaza.
210, huh?
And if my apartment doesn't answer, try the bar.
When I pulled onto the parking lot at the four bell jump,
the first thing I saw was the nose of the emerald green car Erling had been driving
peeking out from the side of a building.
I checked it and found out it was registered to one William Freeman.
Now that meant nothing so my next stop had to be inside.
The club was a low ceiling mixture of dusty fishnets,
the smell of bad bar whiskey and noise.
The band had just finished the set, climbed off the stand and drifted out to join the customers.
I saw the name Howdy Bub Freeman stenciled on the bass drum.
It was a flyweight who carried most of it on an oversized head
equipped with a pair of protruding yellow eyes.
Stuck out even further when I followed him out to a back room.
Hey, Bub.
Yeah?
Is that your car around the side, the green one?
Yeah, brand new. Nice, huh?
Too nice to loan out.
Better come again.
Where's Ward Erling? I thought he was the piano man here.
Ward he used to be. He's in the hospital now. Had a bad accident a while back.
Who says it was an accident?
What? It was an accident. I say so.
Of course it was. I saw it. The brakes slipped in his car.
It rolled down an incline, pinned him against a wall.
Is that so? Who says he's in the hospital?
I do.
Hey, look, what's your grift?
You're a liar, Bub. Erling borrowed your car tonight.
Man, you're dragging me. I'll see you around.
Come back here!
Look, look, I got no beef with you, mister.
Where can I find Ward Erling?
Why don't you go off somewhere and drop dead?
Where is he? Come on, little man, before I shake it out of you.
You look like you shake off a lisi. Where's Erling?
Wait a minute. I don't know. I swear I don't.
I don't care if he used my car. I didn't know it.
He's a bring downer, spook.
Keep going.
He blew his cork over some society dollar.
Practically wrecked our combo. We've been working five years to build up.
Also, it broke the heart of one very sweet kid.
Maxine's so gone, she'd scrubbed floors for Ward and he couldn't see it.
And disgusted with him.
Maxine who?
Where can I find her?
Now, look, little man, do I shake some more?
Maxine Magesta.
That's better.
She's inside, at the end of the bar, blind in a blue dress.
Take it easy, will you? She's a good kid.
So am I. We'll get along fine.
I'll see you, bud.
One little beef for you, mister.
Scotch.
Oh, that one's taken. Lady will be right back.
Oh, I'm sorry.
Water or soda?
Water.
There you go.
Thanks.
Hey, Larry.
Your phone's broken. I didn't get my nickel back.
Oh, you want me to freshen up that drink, Maxine?
No, thanks, Larry. It's fine.
Uh, Maxine.
Yeah?
Maybe you can help me.
Maybe?
Uh, no, no.
No, what I mean is I'm looking for Ward Ehrlich.
Try under a rock.
You know, you sound a little bitter.
I'm as bitter as a slot machine these days. What's it to you?
Well, I'm an acquaintance of Lynn Russell's, named Marlow.
You know her, Maxine?
I've seen her. At the jam sessions we used to go to.
She used to show Ward off to her little groups like a prize pup.
Sure you got a peg right?
You know, she tried hard to shake that...
Listen, she's the got rocks type who'd sink a yacht just to watch the bubbles.
And that's only...
Only what, Maxine?
Never mind, skip it.
Good night, Mr. Marlow.
Wait a minute, wait a minute.
Don't I get to buy you a drink?
Some other Tuesday. Good night.
I watched her as far as the door.
Decided to go after her, and then I caught the bartender giving me a very cold eye.
Didn't thaw any, so I downed my drink and saw him high-spirited.
It looked like my welcome was wearing thin, so I went outside and sat down in my car...
and tried to figure out who was covering up what.
But I only got as far down the list as Palmer Sloan.
It had come from the back room in the club.
I was a poor third and getting to him, a waiter and a white apron and a fat sax man both beat me.
Over here, manny. Here.
Hey, it's Bob.
Bob Freeman.
He catch what's wrong with him.
He's been stabbed.
Yeah, there, in his neck.
An ice pick.
Bob, Bob, who did it?
No use, fella.
He was gone before he hit the floor.
Whoever did that to him got him dead center.
Music
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Now with our star, Gerald Moore, the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's exciting story, the Pelican's Roost.
Out above Freeman was face down and dead.
The ice pick that had killed him poured it straight up, rigid like an accusing finger.
To the right of the dead drummer's sprawled legs was the pat saxophone player, his face shiny with a fine sweat of fear.
And to the left, the waiter who had found Freeman's body.
For a backdrop, there was the doorway crammed with astonished faces and the funny kind of cracked voices people always have at a time like that.
I closed them out. The waiter objected.
No, no, wait a minute, mister. What are you doing that for? We gotta call a cop, sir.
Hey, you ain't the cop, are you?
No, I'm a private detective. Name's Marlowe.
Well, that ain't good enough. We gotta get the law about this.
Shut up, Dave.
What?
Mr. Marlowe will tell you anything you want to know. My name's Lager, Manny Lager.
But Freeman was a good friend of mine.
Even if he's the reason Ward Ehrling went to the hospital?
What'd you say?
That from my corner, Freeman dead only adds one way.
He put Ward Ehrling in splints to keep him from wrecking the band by running off with Lynn Russell on a 90-day cruise.
Oh, yeah, sure. To get even, Ehrling put an ice pick in his neck.
Dost it right from his hospital window.
You, uh, you don't keep up with the news, do you, Lager? Ehrling left the hospital this afternoon, probably by way of the fire escape.
Ward is out?
Out. And so the accident was the kind that's planned well in advance.
I know because we've already had a chat.
Then you mean that Ehrling did this to get square? Did he kill Freeman?
It could be. But there's another angle.
Yeah, an angle named Palmer Sloan. That society louse that didn't want his girlfriend mixed up with anything as degrading as a musician.
That's it, ain't it?
Maybe. Ehrling was after Palmer Sloan, or Lynn Russell. He never mentioned Freeman.
Yeah, but where's the tie? Howdy, bub didn't fall on that ice pick. How does it figure?
Playing the sheet music was bub and Palmer Sloan working together.
Palmer knew that Ehrling was on the loose. He was afraid Bumber'd spill, so he quieted him with that. Right, Mono?
No, no, I think you're wrong. Both of you. Look here. I found this on the floor near the window.
This wouldn't belong to a man, Mr. Marlow, not even to Palmer Sloan.
Let me see that. A mascara case.
Yeah.
Could be the very personal property of Lynn Russell.
Yeah, her and a couple of million other dolls. You can't hang around that. Every gal carries mascara.
Hold it, will you, Legay? There's a trade name on this case. Eugene, Wilshire Boulevard, Beverly Hills.
So, what does that prove?
May prove you wrong, Legay. I'll see you, boys.
Hello.
Marlow Sloan, have you heard from Lynn?
No, Marlow, I haven't, and I probably won't, so please let's not call here every hour.
Save it for the country club, Palmer, and get a good grip on this.
The drummer at the four bell jump's been murdered. Looks like our not so sweet friend did it.
Lynn? Oh, you're out of your mind.
Yeah, I'm out of my mind. Now, tell me, if she did this, have you any idea where she would head?
No, Marlow, no, I don't. Her boat is tied up. Her car is in the garage for repairs.
Okay, suppose she didn't take a car or a boat. Would it be by...
Hey, wait a minute, Sloan, what was that about a boat? Is it a yacht, maybe?
Not exactly, Marlow, it's a cabin cruiser. Anchored off the Santa Monica pier at the moment.
Santa Monica, Sloan, that fits. What's the name of it?
Crest of the Wave, why? What makes you think she'd go out there?
Well, among other things, a crack a lady made early at night.
A lady named Maxine Magesto loves water, and hates Lynn Russell. Bye-bye, Palmer.
I made it to the fog-veiled Santa Monica pier in less than ten minutes.
Then was another five getting out to the breakwater that joined the end at right angles to form a...
protecting L for the 50-yard boats moored within.
Boats that ran from the kind of sleek yachts that good girls stay away from to a leaky rowboat...
with a rusted outboard labeled faithless.
And all were moored in a series of slips connected up front by a narrow, wet catwalk...
that did not have a guardrail.
Except for a quiet old man with his pipe in past, the end of the pier was deserted.
No light showed on any of the boats.
When I'd gone along the catwalk as far as the crest of the wave, a neat chrome-finished 50-footer...
had a clammy, uncomfortable feeling that said I was too late.
But that disappeared in the next minute when I spotted Maxine Magesto standing alone on deck...
a blonde hair damp and flat to a drawn, glistening face.
A face that didn't brighten at the sight of me.
Marlo, what do you want here?
Lynn Russell. Have you seen a Maxine?
Lynn? No. No, I haven't.
But you are waiting for her.
No, no, why would I... I mean...
You mean you always come out here nights?
It's good for a girl's hair, is that it, baby?
Marlo, stay out of this, please.
So you can get to her alone?
No, Marlo, so I can get to her alone.
Oh, fine.
I mean that, Marlo. This thing goes off real easy.
Now where is she, Maxine?
I don't know. Oh, Ward, I knew you'd come here after her.
Never mind that. I want Lynn Russell, Maxine.
Why? Why, darling? Oh, Ward, aren't you through with her yet?
Didn't you do enough to your... she and that Palmer and...
Stop it. Just tell me where she is.
Keep those hands up, Marlo.
I had an itch. I'll ask permission next time.
Ward, Ward, listen to me.
What difference does it make where Lynn is?
She doesn't love you. She never did.
You were a five minute intermission.
But us, we were different. We were in love, Ward.
We had every...
I'm only after one thing, Maxine.
Now where is she?
Ward, please forget her.
Come here.
Get my arm.
I'm gonna break it unless you tell me what I want to know.
The guy who runs the hamburger joint on the other side of the pier
saw her here, Maxine.
For the last time, where is she?
All right, stop it.
She... she doesn't...
All it can do is move.
Nice going, Adonis.
You got your answer, didn't you?
Yeah. Just like I'm gonna get Lynn Russell.
Hooray. State will be overjoyed.
What's that supposed to mean, detective?
Something like Lynn Russell just killed Howdy Bub Freeman?
You're a liar.
Really?
It doesn't matter.
If it's true, I'll just be a little harder on the fine lady.
How hard can you get, kid?
Hard enough.
Howdy.
Howdy, come now.
Here we go.
Up to a sitting position.
Too much blood to the head is bad now.
Come, laddie, up we go.
Oh.
There we are.
I'll be fine in a minute.
Oh, there's quite the blow there.
Yeah.
Hey, take that light out of my eyes, will you?
Oh, who are you?
Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.
I noticed you out on the pier earlier.
The name is Spoon, Elvin the Spoon, but they call me Scotty.
That figures.
Oh.
Scotty, tell me, where's the Pelicans Roost?
Was it a nightclub or what?
Nightclub?
Oh, no, no.
It's far from that.
How far? What is it?
The Pelicans Roost is the old fishing pier.
In Santa Monica?
Eh?
A collection of rotting wood at the foot of Second Street?
Eh, but what business could a man have there, laddie?
The dirtiest.
Thanks for your help, Scotty, are you?
Wait a minute.
What be it?
Something you dropped?
Yeah.
Yeah.
Something I dropped while being dropped.
A mascara case I never really looked at before.
Laddie, you seem so puzzled.
Uh-uh, not puzzled, Scotty, just dumb.
Loddie here has been jumping to the wrong conclusions
and all because he didn't take a good look at this and...
And what?
And the color of a girl's hair.
So long, Scotty.
Thanks again for your help.
May get me to the Pelicans Roost on time.
The nickname for the cockeyed assortment of barnacled pilings
that complained with every surge of the sea
and complained again with the undertow that always followed was no misnomer.
At least a thousand sleeping pelicans called it home.
And now as I moved out along these splintered lopsided boards
that here and there gave way...
I...
I tried to be careful
not to wake too many of the birds and stir them to flight
because that would give me away.
But the heavy clinging fog and the waves crashing over the jagged jutting rocks below
were on my side.
I made it out to within 20 yards at the end of the pier without being seen.
There I slipped my 38 out of my shoulder holster and went forward
a slow foot at a time
until I saw Lynn Russell
alive and alone huddled near a slick oily piling
a face in her hands, a body trembling with her tears.
But I didn't see it was the man who would come up beside me and take an aim.
Oh, my hand!
How dumb can one man get, Marlow?
A beating on the sidewalk, a beating on the boat, and now this.
Third time's a charm, Adonis, haven't you heard?
Phil, Phil, your hand, it must hurt terribly.
Don't waste your sympathy, Lynn.
The gentleman here thinks you're a killer.
He thinks you knocked off Howdy Bub Freeman
because you and Bub planned my accident
and you were worried about Bub talking too much.
Phil, how could you believe that?
Oh, it was real easy, Lynn.
You had the motive and that plus a box of mascara
that came from your beauty shop just about sold me.
I don't understand. What about the mascara?
Well, it was found near Freeman's body.
But it wasn't until a few minutes ago that I found something else.
The mascara is brown and that fits a blonde, not a brunette.
What are you trying to say, Marlow?
My guess is that Maxine Majesta's that blonde.
She happens to use the same brand as you, Lynn.
It's a good guess, Marlow.
Maxine.
Swell guess.
I did kill Bub.
We both planned your accident ward.
Bud because he didn't want you to ruin everything you two work so hard for.
And I because I...
I because I'd rather have you in the hospital than with her.
Stay back, Maxine. He has a gun.
So do I, but I'm still ahead.
You see, Marlow, I got here before you did. I've been watching them.
He had all the chance in the world to shoot, but he didn't.
And he won't.
And that's why you only got shot in the hand. He's not a killer.
He only has a killer's temper.
And he's just learned that revenge is hollow unless you are a killer.
Don't, Maxine.
Shut up, both of you.
You killed Bub?
Yes, I did.
He was afraid you'd find out everything.
He thought his only chance was to tell you what we did
and put the blame heavy on me.
You scum.
You put me in the hospital, nearly killed me just to keep me for yourself.
Yeah, it's called love.
Stupid, wasn't I, Ward?
Selfish.
And I lost.
But if I can't have you, nobody...
Oh, fuck you.
She hit those rocks. We've got to get her.
Not a chance.
Wouldn't do any good if we did.
Bring that gun, Erling.
Marlow, I...
Never mind this speech.
Go on back to the hospital. Get out of here.
Yes.
All right, Marlow.
It was midnight when I called the Santa Monica police
and when all the paperwork was done, it was 3 in the a.m.
Lynn and I drove by the old pier and sat looking at the rotten timbers.
Tried not to talk about the poor kids somewhere underneath them.
Lynn.
Yes, Phil?
How do you feel about everything?
I don't.
Just numb.
Maybe that's the best way.
Numb, anesthetized, insulate our hearts, our sensibilities.
That way nothing can get to you.
Yeah.
Then just as we think we're all snug and cotton wool,
life explodes, the insulation, the heart ends, the anesthesia, and...
we're back grabbing at brass rings.
Phil, I...
I want to go home.
Okay, kid.
But remember,
there may not always be a way home.
MUSIC
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keep some healthful, refreshing Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum handy.
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MUSIC
The adventures of Philip Marlowe, presented by Wrigley's Spearmint Gum,
bring you Raymond Chandler's most famous character and star, Gerald Moore.
Philip Marlowe is produced and directed by Norman MacDonald,
and written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt.
Featured in the cast were Lillian Bief, Larry Dobkin,
Georgia Ellis, John Danaer, David Ellis, Paul Dubov, and Jack Krusian.
The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Arouf.
The makers of Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum hope you enjoyed tonight's adventure of Philip Marlowe,
and that you're enjoying Wrigley's Spearmint Gum every day.
MUSIC
We invite you to be with us next week when Philip Marlowe says...
This time it was a big city, dirty from a trigger-fisted thug in yellow suede shoes.
A lady's heart dropped in the gutter in a corpse, in a Hollywood duplex.
But in the middle of it all and setting the pace was a sweet little girl from Pumpkin Center, Kansas.
This is Bob Stevenson speaking, and this is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
MUSIC