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.
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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 transcribed story,
The Glass Donkey.
Hello, Philip Marlowe.
Oh, this is Matthews, Phil.
Hi.
Listen, Phil.
Yeah?
Didn't you once go around with a brunette named Helen Lofton?
Helen Lofton? Sure. Still do now and then.
Why, Lieutenant? Monday your night off?
Not so you'd notice, Marlowe.
When was the last time you saw her?
Oh, maybe a month ago.
Hey, what is this? You sound real official.
Yeah, I know. Sometimes I don't like it any better than the next guy.
Look, Phil, did Helen have any big problems on her mind at that time?
Just me.
Hey, wait a minute, Matthews. Is Helen in trouble?
Not now, but she was in lots of it three hours ago.
At about five o'clock this afternoon, somebody put a bullet in her neck, Phil.
Oh, no.
Down here at the morgue.
If you think of anything, let me know, will you?
Might as well have hit me in the stomach with a hammer.
Helen Lofton, a good-to-look-at girl with soft black hair and clear hazel eyes,
gets a big charge out of life.
But Helen is, I mean was, a great girl.
And she'd always had enough sense not to waste time on the kind of people
who put bullets in other people.
For a long few minutes, I just sat in my apartment and felt sorry.
But then I began to want to get my hands on whoever had pulled the trigger.
By the time I got downtown and walked into the morgue attendant's office,
that urge had become a big hot lump in my chest.
Ah, Mr. Marlowe.
Hello, Chester.
You're a stranger around here lately.
You got a Helen Lofton? I'd like to pay my respects.
Yeah, can't stop you, boy.
Lofton, huh?
Oh, yeah, she's still on the table.
You'll have a little company back there, Lieutenant Matthews.
Oh, he's still here?
Oh, he's been in and out all evening.
Hey, can you find your way all right?
Yeah, thanks, Chester.
I didn't expect you in person, Marlowe. You could have called.
Got something to offer on the Lofton girl here?
Yeah. My services, Matthews.
How much did she mean to you, Phil?
Enough to make this real personal.
What have you got on it, Matthews?
Nothing.
A neighbor reported the shot.
Found Helen's body spilled down some stairs at the side of her house.
Was a.32 at close range.
No reason, no motive, no leads.
Unless you can call this a clue, which I don't.
Let's see that.
Yeah, it could be the hind leg of one of Helen's glass donkeys.
You know, she collected them.
Oh.
Well, it was on the stairs near the body.
Hey, look, Matthews, you don't mind me sticking my two cents in this, do you?
It'll do me a lot of good.
No, I don't mind.
Just keep me posted, huh?
I drove out Sunset Boulevard then north on Camino Avenue to the neat little house where Helen had lived.
Sat very quietly back under some big magnolia trees.
Someone had drawn the blinds on the two front windows and it made them look like...
Like a pair of closed eyes.
I walked around to the side door on the stairs where they found her body and that's when I noticed the light on inside the house.
The door was unlocked so I went in.
Light was coming from the bedroom and when I got to that door I saw a girl.
Blonde with hollican horn rims moving stiffly.
Like a lost some namulist.
I watched her drag one slow finger the full length of the dresser.
When that was over I...
I said...
Hello?
Who are you?
I was a friend of Helen's.
Philip Marlow.
You?
Lila Hughes.
You...
You startled me. I thought I was alone in here and...
After all that's happened.
Yeah.
Did you...
Did you know Helen pretty well?
Yes.
I was just about her only girlfriend.
You see...
We worked together in the same office and had the same boss.
I...
I guess they're going to want me to do something about all of her things now.
Yeah, yeah, it's real tough.
Everything in the house is just another reminder.
Even this little sherry decanter.
Here.
But that's Helen's.
Hey, it's all right. Sit down. Drink it.
At least it'll do you good.
Look, Lila, I gotta know why this happened to Helen.
It doesn't make sense. Can you help me? Any idea at all?
No.
No, the police have already talked to me about it.
Please, Mr. Marlow.
I know this is unpleasant for you, but I need some answers.
It's been over a month since I saw her last.
Who's she been going with lately?
I don't know. Helen never said much about her dates.
Who's your boss?
Mr. Maffey.
Oh, she dated him a few times, but so have I.
Surely you don't think Mr. Maffey...
No, no, no. I just want to talk to him, that's all.
It's Norman Maffey.
Maffey Real Estate Company on Wiltshire.
He lives on Ogden Drive, 3848.
Thanks, Lila.
Well, I'll be on my way now.
Hey, look. Maybe you better come too, huh?
Let all this go until tomorrow, when you're feeling better.
Yes. I...
I guess you're right.
I turned out the light and snapped the lock as we left,
then walked the sad little blonde as far as her coop,
got her address on Beechwood Drive and saw her off.
After that, I went to my own car, but before I got in, I...
I looked back at Helen's house once more and tried to shake the empty,
loose ends feeling it had given me.
I was snapped out of that mood in a hurry.
A man with a half an acre of ford had just twisted out of sight behind a tree trunk in the backyard.
I started for him and he broke and ran toward the wall in the alley.
It was a six-footer. He rolled across the top and fell over.
When I got there, he was up and gone.
He hadn't had time to get out of the alley, but it was empty.
Which could only mean he was laying for me.
Come here, you!
You don't, mister. Not this time.
Anyway! Oh!
The fashion in the neighborhoods is no softer than trash anyplace else.
When I finally got clear of it, the ford was gone.
I figured all I had to show was one of his patch pockets, which I still had clenched in my hand.
But there was something else.
Glittering on the ground was what had been in that pocket.
A little glass donkey with a hind leg missing.
On the way back, I stopped once and tried to call Matthews, but he was out.
So I drove on down to Ogden Drive as far as number one.
Drove on down to Ogden Drive as far as number 38, 48.
A gray at the temple's type in blue flannel opened up.
Yes?
Mr. Maffey? Are you a reporter?
No, I'm a friend of Helen Lofton's.
Also, I'm a private detective named Marlow.
I'd like to talk to you.
A private detective?
Who hired you, Mr. Marlow? Who were you working for?
Myself. Like I said, Helen was a friend of mine.
Hmm. Well, I, uh, I'm quite busy, Marlow, but, uh, come in.
Uh-huh.
Come back this way, to the den.
I've already been interviewed by the police.
You may be again. It's not quite like being vaccinated, Mr. Maffey.
Now, just why have you come here to see me?
Because I intend to find out who shot Helen.
What makes you think I'd have the remotest idea?
Nothing special.
She worked for you, didn't she?
So do several other people.
You dated her?
Yes, I did.
She was a very attractive girl.
But that was no reason for me to kill her.
There was no reason for anybody to kill her.
Mr. Maffey, suppose I was to tell you that I'm acquainted with your wife.
Oh, so that's it.
You cheap blackmailer. Get out.
Then you do have a wife, huh?
Now, look here, Marlow. You don't have to be sly with me.
I'm not hiding anything.
Ask me what you want to know and get out of here.
Come, Mrs. Maffey doesn't object when you dine and dance, the office help.
Because we've been separated for several years.
Separated, but not divorced, huh?
That's right.
She lives in San Diego and we have as little as possible to do with each other.
My bank takes care of our only mutual interest.
She refuses to give me a divorce.
Did you tell the police all this?
They didn't ask.
Did they happen to ask where you were this afternoon? About five?
As a matter of fact, they didn't.
I wasn't being treated as a suspect then.
And I don't intend to be now.
Okay, Mr. Maffey, where were you?
Now, look, I'm a private detective.
Remember, I'm not even taking notes.
All right, Marlow, all right.
I've been having business troubles lately.
A lot on my mind.
I was out driving in my car, trying to relax.
Can't prove it, can you?
No.
Probably not.
I don't expect to have to try.
All right, tell me something else.
Do you happen to know anything about a man with a very high forehead, a young guy,
maybe 30, about six feet tall?
Yes. Yes, I do.
Helen went out with a fellow like that recently.
What's his name?
Victor... Samara, I think.
Why?
Well, I ran across him tonight, and I didn't like his... his attitude.
Sure, that's it. I'll bet on it.
What?
What are you staring at?
This ashtray?
No.
That little ducky in front of a bedding window.
Thanks for everything, Mafia. I'll see you.
The ashtray on the table behind Mafia's desk had been made of baked clay in the shape of a sombrero,
a keepsake from old Mexico that kicked hard at my memory.
At least it was a thought well worth the price of a phone call to Tijuana.
So I drove as far as the first payphone, which was at an all-night mobile gas station,
got a handful of change, and while my car was being gassed,
put the call through to my old friend, Senor Mike Donahue,
who had given up reporting in Chicago for editing south of the border.
We are ready on your call now, sir. Go ahead.
Hello, Mike.
Hello, old pal. Hasta la vista. What's cooking? You coming down to see me?
Later on. Listen, Mike, I'm trying to find out about a glass donkey.
A which?
A donkey made of glass, a souvenir mule. It's got silver shoes and a silver halter.
Oh, one of those things. That silver works strictly at Tijuana product, you know.
Yeah, I know.
Petal them at the highlight games down here.
Out by the betting windows?
That's right.
Can't buy them anyplace else, Mike.
No, not that I know of. Why, you want some?
No, I've already got one. Well, thanks a lot, Mike. You've been a big help.
Hey, wait a minute.
What's the matter?
As long as you're on the wire gum shoe, maybe you can help me.
How?
I got a big front page mystery spread if I can get a little more dope.
Ever hear of a babe around L.A. named, let's see, Mrs. Norman Maffey?
Mrs. No... Mrs. Norman Maffey?
Yeah.
Holy smoke, I'll say so. What, Mike, what's the story?
Well, the boys just found her body out here on a side road at the edge of town.
Yeah?
Been dead a couple of days. Probably happened Saturday night.
Saturday night?
Yeah. The hotel identified her about ten minutes ago. She was run over.
Run over? But Mike, you said it was a mystery story.
Yeah. You see, the tire tracks out there is still good. It was no accident, Phil. It was murder.
Somebody went a long ways out of their way.
Yeah. Yeah, Mike, somebody sure did.
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Now with our star, Gerald Moore, the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's exciting story, The Glass Donkey.
When I hung up on Mike Donahue in the news of Mrs. Maffey's violent death on a lonely road outside of Tijuana,
I postponed trying to figure it all out until I had called Lieutenant Matthews at homicide,
but asked him to meet me at the bar I was at.
Ten minutes later Matthews was sitting opposite me and chewing on a cold pipe while I filled him in.
Oh, now easy, Phil. I'm a slow and steady boy. Now question, who killed Helen Lawford?
Answer, whoever killed Mrs. Norman Maffey.
Why? Where's the tie?
The Glass Donkey I just told you about. It came from Tijuana.
So?
So I figured that whoever sent it to Helen was, one, a friend who knew she'd get a kick out of a trinket like that,
and two, sent it before he or she decided to kill Mrs. Maffey.
Oh, and therefore said friend had to get the Glass Donkey back because if traced it would place the killer in Tijuana
where sooner or later Mrs. Maffey's body had to be found. Is that right?
That's so very right. And all that brings us back to only one thing. Mrs. Maffey's killer also got Helen Lawford.
Was forced to.
Yeah, yeah, it could be. But look now, Phil, the tough one.
What'll it be, chum? You look lonely. Forlorn, maybe?
Two beers.
Two beers, huh? Any special vintage?
Yeah, the kind with Sajan on top. Goodbye, comic.
Okay, okay. No offense, Sajan.
Oh, what was I s... Oh, yeah, I was saying, for the tough one. Now, who killed Mrs. Maffey?
Mr. Maffey.
The motive?
Ah, yeah, the best motive. He hated his wife. Also, Matthews, when I talked to him, he was real vague about his whereabouts lately.
And for a clincher, he did know Helen Lawford well enough and long enough to send her a cheap trinket as in Donkey made of glass.
Now, are you impressed?
A little, but you're holding back, ma'am.
I'm what?
No, no, not on me, on yourself, Phil. Look, I know you. You don't usually leap at conclusions and over facts. That isn't your style.
I'm trying to tell you, Matthews.
Two beers, with such. You know, I told Kelly about that crack you made, mister, and he said...
Skip it. Here. And goodbye again. We're busy.
Yeah, I'll say. Too bad we ain't got table cross. You could've impressed me, chum, writing down big numbers.
You tipper, I'll break your arm.
Now, look at Phil. Could you be a little bit prejudiced about this guy?
I...
Stop, Phil.
Yeah. Sure, I'm prejudiced. I just don't like Norman Matthews, Tuffy Kisser, and something else.
I might as well admit I keep skipping that guy with a mile high forehead and a boyfriend named Vic Samrow because I don't exactly know how he figures in.
I'm too impatient to wait around for the answer. Uh-oh.
What is it, Phil?
A game, Lieutenant Call, speaking of the devil.
Oh, don't look now, maybe?
It's forehead, Matthews. He was in the next booth catching it all. He's at the front door now, see? But he isn't running yet. He's just paying his check.
Lieutenant, how about trying that cigarette machine over there while you talk to me like I was still here, huh?
Not yet.
I'll take the back entrance out to the sidewalk. You'll know if I need help.
Matthews underplayed his part neatly, and I got out the back door to the street where I spotted Samrow some 50 yards ahead, walking slowly toward an empty car, a new green Nash that was parked close to mine.
But then suddenly he started running like he had just backed into a blowtorch before I knew it, he had piled into his car.
When I was in mine and after him, the street became that much narrower. It was a truck the size of a battle wagon lurched out of a side alley without so much thinking about a full stop.
You stupid clown!
What was that, Sonny?
You heard me, muscles!
Sonny, you have a nasty touch.
Yeah?
You had a couple of funny ideas about driving. All right there, fellow, read it and wait for back.
Yeah, and the big letters spell police. Now get back in your cab there and wait. We'll chat in a bit.
Oh yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Officer, only this truck was in a row.
Oh, the row was worse than mine.
A muller that still leaves us a big blank to fill in.
Yeah, but while we're trying, Lieutenant, do you mind if I drop in on Mr. Maffey again? Alone, I mean. I'd like to try pinning the leg of the ducky on him.
All right, Phil, but be careful, huh? It's fragile, you know, made of glass.
Yes, what? Oh, you again.
Yeah, do you mind if I come in again, Mr. Maffey?
Frankly, I do, Marlo. I don't feel very well tonight.
Your wife was murdered, Mr. Maffey.
My wife? Murdered?
Still mind if I come in?
Where did it happen, Marlo? In San Diego?
Marlo, I asked you where it happened.
In Tijuana. Ever been there?
Yes, of course. Marlo, what are you looking for?
Just looking. When were you last there, Maffey?
I don't know. Maybe a month, six weeks ago.
Not Saturday night, huh?
No, not Saturday night. Marlo, what are you...
Maffey, did you ever send Helen Lofton a present?
See here, who do you think you are? And exactly what are you looking for?
A wastebasket that isn't empty. You keep a very tidy place, Mr. Maffey.
Which has what to do with my wife being dead, Marlo? Are you out of your mind?
Maybe, but also maybe not. Maybe I'm real smart.
Maybe I've come to the right place to look for an empty package
and a piece of wrapping paper that would be addressed to Miss Helen Lofton
in your handwriting in postmarked Tijuana, Mexico.
Tijuana?
A large piece of wrapping paper in a large package stuffed with excelsior.
It was once home to a glass donkey in which you had to get back from Helen Lofton before she got it.
Or if you were too late for that, kill her and then get it back before anyone else knew about it.
Does that still leave me out of my mind, Maffey?
Absolutely.
We'll see. After we try the backyard and your incinerator...
Now, wait a minute!
You know, the law says you can't light it after 10 in the a.m., Maffey.
If you're the one stamped guilty, you wouldn't want to arouse suspicion.
Stop, Marlo. This has gone far enough. You're not the police.
Which means I don't need any more of a search warrant than this.
I caught him right.
He plopped to the floor face down like it was made of wet wash.
When I rolled him over and was sure that a return engagement was still a long way off,
I cut the lights, then went through the house and out into the kind of backyard that you had to call a garden.
Beyond all the moon-bathed beauty and half-hidden by a fountain that was backed up by an ivy trestle was what I wanted.
A short, squat, scarred, ugly incinerator.
The door was metal cold and inside I found more encouragement.
Another paper that was jammed three feet deep and had burned.
I started tossing the stuff out, counting more on the feel and sound of wrapping paper than anything else.
Once I stopped short, but it was only a grocery sack.
The second time I stopped short, I had a better reason.
Marlowe, you're wasting your time there.
Well, Mr. Victor Semrall.
Yeah, or as you put it, the guy with the mile-high forehead.
I wouldn't get touchy, Semrall. You were swinging the dock ahead, remember?
I'm sorry about that, Marlowe. I didn't know we were both on the same side, Dad.
Both on the... Take it easy, Victor. You wouldn't try to set me up again, would you? Why the sudden change of heart?
Because now I know that you're in the up-and-up, Marlowe.
I overheard you talking to that police lieutenant and also the Mexican newspaper man.
Well, bully for you, eavesdropper. But also you ran. Why?
I was afraid you'd turn me over to that lieutenant.
Marlowe, listen. From the start, I've been trying to find Helen's killer.
That's why I've been following you. I found that glass donkey in her porch and...
Well, to get right to the point, Marlowe, I can tell you that the one who killed Helen and Mr. Grappick...
The shot that had come from the Shadow driveway close into the house spun Semrall in a half circle.
And by the time he'd corkscrewed to the ground, I had my.38 in hand.
And it covered the distance across the garden.
I was too late to do anything, except identify the figure I saw take off in the sedan as Mr. Norman Mathey.
This was some help.
Not to victim Semrall back in the garden.
He had managed to crawl as far as the small pond that surrounded the fountain.
There he had died.
One hand half submerged in the dark, cold water.
The other clutching his chest, blood soaked and...
And discolored another way.
I must have stared at it for a full 30 seconds before it suddenly began to add for me.
Add fast to the only backyard left in the spot where I could get to Mathey and maybe stop a third murder.
Lila Hughes' place on Beechwood Drive.
It was all the push I needed.
When I pulled up away from the place and got out of my car and ran for the back, only 10 minutes had gone by and I was glad of it.
Because standing next to an open, still smoking incinerator...
...the adhesive charred paper in his hand that I knew was the remains of the rapper I'd been after...
...was Norman Mathey.
Opposite him, a gun in her hand, was Lila Hughes.
The shy, shy blonde.
Lila, you're crazy insane.
Well, I saw you shoot Victor Semrall.
And you must have killed...
Of course it was me, honey. I killed him.
I killed Helen. I killed your wife.
If you tell about her, I'm not sorry. I'd do it again.
Lila, I...
How could you plan an ugly ruthless...
I didn't plan anything, darling. I ran into her by accident.
Tijuana's a small place. We started sociably.
We had a few drinks, a drive to the outskirts in my car, and then talk.
Talk of you, darling.
I knew I could have you with her out of the way.
Helen was no threat. You gave her up so there was no one else to stand between us.
And, honey, you hated your wife.
What do I...
But nothing. It was all very simple, darling.
Helen... Well, Helen was different.
You see, I had to kill her.
That piece of wrapping paper there that you just snatched from me.
The paper I sent Helen a little gift in.
That's the reason, Norman.
I did have to kill her.
And now you do have to kill me, too.
Don't you, Lila?
Oh, no. No, darling. Now the killing's done.
I did it all for you, darling. Don't you understand?
You devil. You she-devil.
Oh, Norman, dearest, you don't know what you're saying.
Honey, I tell you, I did all this for you. Remember that, darling.
How can I ever forget it? Don't move, Lila. Don't breathe.
Drop your gun there at your feet.
No. No, I think I'll use it again.
Even if you shoot, I'll use it. We belong together, Norman and I.
And we're gonna be together.
No.
She... She's dead.
Well, well, she...
She did think she could shoot.
Even if you did, didn't you?
Yeah.
That's what she thought, all right, Matthew.
Call the police.
They know where they can find me.
Hello?
Matthews, Phil, now where have you been?
You know better than to just walk off this floor.
Yeah, yeah, Matthews, I... I'm sorry.
I've been out walking. What do you want to know?
The one blank, Phil. What sent you over to Lila Hughes' place?
Oh, Victor Semerow. His hand was burned. Blistered red.
Like you've been fishing around in a hot incinerator.
Yeah.
That and what he had to say to me about us being on the same track.
Lila Hughes was the only other one who was both close enough to hell
in the center of that glass donkey and at the same time
even remotely connected with Matthew.
Uh-huh. Any idea what sent Semerow to her backyard?
I guess. His attack all night was to follow me.
When he tried to pick my trail up again after running from the bar,
he thought Lila Hughes' place might be the answer.
Turned out he was right. Real right.
Yeah, he must have seen her around her incinerator lighting it
and then decided to get to you when he couldn't reach in after the wrapping paper.
Yeah, something like that.
With, of course, her taking off after him.
Anything else, Matthews?
Uh, Phil.
Phil, you weren't in love with Helen Lofton once upon a time, were you?
Uh, no.
No, no, Matthews. I wasn't in love with her.
Yeah.
Well, so long, Phil.
And, uh, look, I'm sorry about Helen, I mean.
It's a crying shame.
Yeah, yeah. Good night, Matthews. I'll, uh...
I'll come down to headquarters in the morning.
Yeah.
A crying shame.
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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 Leavitt.
Featured in the transcribed cast were John Stephenson, Michael Ann Barrett,
William Lolly, Bill Johnstone, Vivi Janis, and Vic Perrin.
Detective Lieutenant Matthews is played by Larry Dobkin.
The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Arant.
The makers of Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum
hope you've enjoyed tonight's adventure of Philip Marlowe
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We invite you to be with us next week when Philip Marlowe says...
This time it got off to a swashbuckling start at a pirate's cove.
A map to a fortune in black pearls ran past a beautiful island girl,
a conniving Malayan merchant, and stopped at a wild man from Borneo
dead in a rusty hulk, all in the quiet outskirts of Los Angeles.
Bob Stephenson speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.