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. There's no other end, but they never learn.
From the pen of Raymond Chandler, 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 transcribed story,
The Quiet Magpie. That's a lot, a deliberate dirty lot. Council, will you restrain the
defendant Mr. Callaway from making another such outburst? Proceed Mr. Deaton. Thank you,
your honor. As I was saying, ladies and gentlemen, in further proof that Vincent Callaway murdered
his father, Homer Callaway, in cold blood, the state has established that a violent hatred
existed between them. A hatred that crystallized through the years as Vincent Callaway grew from
a pampered coddled only child into an indolent wastrel of a man, content to lavish on himself
the profits from the Callaway Oil Company, his father's business, without once lifting so much
as a finger in the firm's behalf. That's not true. Council for the defense will advise his client
that the court will not count on it's another interruption of this sort. Thank you, your honor.
A hatred, ladies and gentlemen, that reached explosive proportions when Vincent Callaway
recently took as his bride an ex-showgirl. A woman with a long and tarnished history
of flagrant fortune hunting. A woman whom he flaunted in the face of his father's expressed
wishes and deep desires to the contrary. Further, the state has proved that just two days prior to
his murder, Homer Callaway had decided definitely to change his will. Why? Why other than to eliminate
his son from its benefits. The court requests that the prosecution confine itself to the facts.
Continue, Mr. Deaty. Very well, your honor. The facts are eloquent enough. Homer Callaway was
murdered before his desired changes in his will could be executed. Next, we learned that on the
night of the murder, a desperate effort was made by the killer to cloud the real circumstances of
the crime by setting the scene to look as though Homer Callaway had surprised a common thief,
robbing his private office. This clumsy attempt was at once proved by police officers to be
completely faked. The motive was robbery, all right, but on a grand scale. Now, ladies and
gentlemen, let us proceed to tighten this web of proof around Mr. Vincent Callaway. Let us show
beyond any doubt that it was he who had killed his own father. There was no doubt about it. Vincent Callaway was losing the fight for his life.
DT, the crisp tab-collared assistant DA, was cutting into ribbons. When they called Felix Lomond to the
stand, I turned around and took a good look. Because it was Felix Lomond who had telephoned me earlier
and hired me to come to the trial and be on hand when he testified. He was a tired little man with
a jaded cherub face who got up and walked unsteadily down the aisle of the bailiff's table. He acted like
a man on the verge of collapse. Are you all right, Mr. Lomond? Yes. Yes, yes, I believe so. Raise your
right hand. Do you solemnly swear the testimony you're about to give to be the truth, the whole
truth and nothing but the truth to help you guard? I do. State your name. Felix Lomond. Take the stand.
Now, Mr. Lomond, will you please tell this court what your association with the late Homer Callaway was?
Why, yes, sir. I was Homer's best friend for many years. I was his personal advisor and confidant until I...
Mr. Lomond, the man's ill. Get the doctor. No, no, no, that won't be necessary, sir. It's nothing, really.
I have a friend here, Mr. Marlowe, Philip Marlowe. He'll help me. Is there Mr. Marlowe here?
That's the way it played. My client was helped to his feet and as I half carried him out of the room,
I heard the judge adjoining court for the day. All the way down to my car, Felix Lomond stayed as
limp as a damp bedsheet. But the minute we drove away, he began a recovery that couldn't be credited
to the fresh air alone. When we got a few blocks west on Wichita Boulevard, a smile spread over his
cupidowl face like warm syrup over a waffle. That's a good restaurant. Pull in there, Marlowe.
All right. I feel like a piece of pie. Now look, Mr. Lomond, now 10 minutes ago you were dropping
dead in the courtroom. How you feel like a piece of pie? What is this? Come on, let's go inside
where we can talk. All right. My performance at the trial was a fake, a delaying action, Marlowe,
a bid for time. Oh. And believe me, we need all the time we can get. To do what? To save young
Vincent Calloway's life. How about this booth? Oh, yeah, sure. So you think he's innocent, is that it?
Why? I have known Vincent since he was just a boy. He's no killer. Couldn't be. It's completely
alien to his nature. Well, from what I heard in that hard-boiled court today, you'll need a little
something more tangible than that, Mr. Lomond. I've got something. Do you want to see the dinner menu,
gentlemen? No, just a big piece of cherry pie and a glass of milk for me. Just coffee, then.
Now, Mr. Lomond, tell me, according to the D.A., Vincent had plenty of motive. Oh, he hated his
father, all right. We all did, one time or another, Marlowe, and got hated right back, too. Homer was
that kind, dry, hard, lonely, lived on work and nothing else. But the rest of that motive stuff...
You mean about the will? Exactly. Vince expected several years ago to be cut out of his father's
will. He was resigned to it. So that's out as a motive for Vince. Well, aren't you forgetting that
was before Vince married a very expensive little plaything? Maybe she changed his economic
philosophy. Now you're getting warm, Marlowe, but you're still a little off. How do you mean?
The girl's name is Joyce. Yeah. I'm sure she couldn't change Vince that much, not die
them to murder. But I'm also sure that Joyce herself would try anything. Well, that's where
you come in, Marlowe. Something's fishy, my boy. Extremely fishy. Yeah, well...
Excuse me.
That's fine, thank you.
Now, tell me, what's fishy, Felix? Are you trying to say you think Joyce is a killer?
I don't know. I don't know, but I do know that item one, Vince was worried about her for some
reason a few days before his father's death. So? So, when this mess broke, I checked up on her myself.
Followed her home a few times. That's at 2313 North Ogden. And item two, I saw a man hanging around
the place. A fellow with two gold teeth right in front and dark, five o'clock shadow, kind of
whiskers. I followed him once. Know where Angel's Flight is? Sure. That's where I lost him. But I
learned that his name is Stoner. Stoner, huh? What about item three? Blackmail. I don't know how or
where, Marlowe, but it's there. Oh, and Vincent's caught in the middle, good and tight. Yes. We've
got to find out about this fast. I wish I could go along, but Joyce knows me too well, and that
Stoner has spotted me also, I'm afraid. So, I guess it's up to you. Okay, I'll get started. I can reach
you where? Home. Dad's stone 3962. 3962. And Marlowe, I'm just an old fuddy-duddy, but that boy
Vince means a lot to me, and time is awfully short. Give us your best, will you?
I left little Felix Loman ordering a big piece of cherry pie and went outside.
It was almost dark. I decided to try Joss Calloway on the North Ogden Drive Sector first.
I finally located number 2313, which was neatly hidden in a series of obtuse redwood angles
surrounding the rose-tinted glass front door to an extravagant duplex. I was about to push the buzzer
when the door closed at the side of the house, so instead I stepped back into a dense clump of handy
landscaping and waited. It was a man, and enough light filtered along the walk from the streetlamp
to show his heavy dark beard even after a fresh shave. The light also blitted off a pair of gold
teeth front and center that he whistled through as he passed. Whatever had happened inside obviously
hadn't worried Mr. Stoner much, but it began to worry me. I decided to take my chances on picking
him up later. After he'd gone, I went up to the door again and the girl who walked through the
entrance hall and taught me. Looked as soft and as glossy as a well-brushed kitten. Maybe she was
her yellow shoulder-length hair or the flowing folds of the black velvet hoaxes gown. In either
case, it was even better with the rose-colored glass door out of the way and the unmistakable
scent of taboo in its place. Yes, what do you want? You're Joyce Calloway? That's right. I'm Marlow,
Mrs. Calloway, Phil Marlow. I'd like to come in and talk to you a minute about your husband.
Vince? Vince. What about him? It'll keep long enough for us to go inside, huh? Well,
well all right. Come on in. This is my apartment.
Now, what is it? Well, first I'd like to congratulate you. The moral support you didn't
give him today was real great. He was busy shopping the drugs and the
drugs. He was busy shopping the drop-in at your husband's murder trial. Why you!
Okay, baby, I asked for it. I didn't go because Vince said that he didn't want me to.
Now get out. And the next time your lousy district attorney's office wants to find out something,
you can tell him to... Just a minute. I'm not from the D.A. I'm strictly freelance.
The moment I'm interested in a small matter of blackmail and how a man named Stoner ties in.
I don't know what you're talking about. You'd better get out of here. Now listen, baby,
I'm tired and it's late. I want to know about Stoner. I don't know any Stoner.
Okay, let's make it easy. He's a bird with a heavy beard and two gold choppers and I just saw him
leave by your side or about five minutes ago. Does that help? You're crazy. There's been nobody
else in here to knock. Now get out of here. Sure, sure. You know, Joyce, you're either awfully dumb
or awfully scared. I don't know which, but neither one is going to pay off for you. I promise.
Starting an Angel's flight and working west, it took three solid hours of scraping through
the scum on Bunker Hill before I got a lead on a guy named Stoner. And another hour went by before
I actually found the swayback three-story rooming house he called home. The scaly front porch was a
clutter of big rusty bird cages and the mangy inmates of which complained as I eased the rickety
front door open and pushed my way into a moldy smell thick enough to chew. A ragged row of tin
mailboxes said Stoner's room was second floor rear. So I started up. I got as far as the landing when
I heard a voice in the hall above. I went on slowly until I could see. It was Stoner. He was back to me
talking on the whole phone. I got my 38 in hand and listened. Yeah, well, well, listen, Joyce, don't
worry. I'll take care of him. Yeah, I'll be watching for him. Yeah, I mean, just like I said, only
remember, it's not good for us to be seen together now. So be careful. Yeah, yeah. Okay. Goodbye, Joyce.
You didn't start watching fast enough, Stoner. Who are you? I'm Marlow, the guy little cutie pie
just tipped you off about. Don't move those hands, Stoner. I'd just love to collect that mouthful of
old gold you're wearing. You're no cop. What are you gonna do with me? What's your angle? I'm gonna spill
the truth out of you, Goldeen. To keep an innocent guy from taking the rap for a murder, you and his
own charming wife cooked up. What makes you think I'm connected with that? Maybe I've got eyes in the
back of my head. Not so? You ain't got eyes in the back of your head, because if you did, you'd duck.
Oh! See what I mean, Marlow? Thanks, pal. Let's get out of here.
In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlow, but first, although the intention of the entire
world is now focused on the critical situation in the Far East, there are still tragic remnants
of another war in Europe. There are still hungry people, children who need clothes. There is still
sickness and the ever-present misery and poverty. Now as before, it is your job to help these people,
help them through your generosity, through care. One ten dollar care package can feed and clothe
an entire family in France, in Italy, in Germany. Send hope to these destitute peoples of Europe
by showing you care through care. Now with our star, Gerald Moore, the second act of Philip
Marlow and Torrey, the Quiet Magpie. The feeling of being hit from behind becomes more or less
routine. There's an explosion against the back of your head. Your backbone is suddenly electrified
and your legs melt, and a chunk of the floor rushes at you from a cockeyed angle. Where it connects,
there's a second explosion and you start down that long black corridor. Very sick, dear stomach.
Yeah, it's routine all right, but that doesn't make it any easier every time it happens.
I rolled over onto my back in that musty hallway at Stoner's Rooming House and forced my eyes open.
As I did, I felt a stinging pain like a pinprick in the center of my spine.
Then as things started back into focus, I saw a beer bottle gripped in a fat freckled hand that
belonged to a fat freckled face that peered into mine. I started the conversation just before I
could get the pinprick in my back. Well, well, well, look what the cat has dragged in. And who are you,
chum? A jeweled tea man. You need... Oh, oh, my back. What's the matter, chum?
A little gold ornament. Oh, you must have rolled onto it, chum. Yeah.
And whoever slugged me must have dropped it. What is it? It looks like a bird or something.
Yeah, a magpie in flight. Looks like it broke off or something. Probably a pin from some babe's
handbag or bracelet or... Oh, it's yours maybe, huh? Well, if it was alive, it might be. Birds are my
specialty or ain't you noticed? Oh, you're the landlord here? That's right. So now back to you.
Who are you, chum? And how come you fold it up in my hallway? Well, it's a long story and I won't keep
you from your birds with it. Hey, hey, wait a minute. Now, don't let the Audubon pitch throw you, chum.
I've got a couple of hobbies. Like sticking your nose in other people's business? Like bending noses
that get stuck into my business. So clear out, chum, and stay out or you'll see what I mean.
Okay, sure. Whatever you say, bird lover. After all, this is your nest. So long.
I figured it would play smoother if I left my tail between my legs and waited for him to return to
his birds and beer. So outside, I let 10 precious minutes go by before I made my move.
Then it was around to the back of a lopsided rusted fire escape and introverted
an open window to Stoner's room. There I hoped something would tell me where he was going to meet
Joyce Calloway. But after wasting another 10 minutes, it turned up nothing more than the two
words, gate L, scribbled on the back of an old envelope, which could have meant airport, train
station, or bus depot if they meant anything. I went for the whole phone I'd overheard Stoner use
and put through a call to my client Felix Lohmann to bring him up to date.
Oh no, this is splendid. Why, from what you see, Vincent Calloway is practically a free man.
Now, now, so I understand. Stoner and Joyce Calloway were going to blackmail Vincent,
kill Vincent's father so that Vincent would inherit a fortune and thus be a more profitable
target for blackmail. Is that it? Yeah, more or less, with of course everything backfiring when Vincent
was arrested for the murder. But look, Mr. Lohmann, we'll add and subtract later. Right now,
we got to catch up to him. Yes, but where? You said Stoner got away. Yeah, that he was heading
for a meeting with Joyce Calloway. See, I got one thing to go on. I found out that Stoner was
in a meeting with Joyce Calloway. See, I got one thing to go on. I found the words gate L scribbled
on an envelope. Do you have any idea if it would mean a train depot or a bus? Gate L? Yeah. Marlow,
is that what you said, gate L? Yeah, yeah. Does it mean anything to you? Of course, gate L, Marlow.
There is at the oil refinery the side entrance on Lafayette Street. Holy smoke. Say, Lohmann,
what's the address of that place? It's East L.A., isn't it? Yes, 1100 South Cooper between Kendall
and Lafayette Street. It covers a square block. Uh-huh. Now look, Lohmann, do you have a gun there
in your place, I mean? A gun? Yeah. Why, yes, I do, Marlow. Well, good. Get it and go over to the
refinery right away. I may need someone who knows the inside, the names and numbers of all doors,
windows, and pipes. You got that? Yes, but why not the police? Because they come with bells on.
We can't take a chance. All right, just as you say. I'll be waiting for you. Good. I'm closer than you
are there at Angel Flight. Goodbye, Marlow, and a million thanks for what you've done already.
Why, without you, we'd... Yeah, yeah, we'll talk about it later, Mr. Lohmann. Goodbye.
And to me, hello. Oh, fine. Now, don't move an inch, chum. You'll get this beer served bottling all.
Now, nosy, what made you come back? Buried treasure. You see, it's up here, I know. One of your little
birds called me. Now, shut up. Remember, smart bloke, you're an housebreaker, and anything I do to you is
okay with the law. Now, what's with you and Stoner? Why, do you keep a diary? No, a neat bank balance,
and all of it comes from cutting in on the right thing at the right time. So, once more, chum,
what's with you and Stoner? Well, you see, we went to the same prep school, and I promised the headmaster
I'd always keep an eye on... Okay, Snoopy, you arse for it!
A light gut. I think it right, bird boy. Bomb aim goes with a bump temper.
It's only just beginning, sweetheart. It's blackening you like a pit. When I get my hands on you,
you're going to be sorry. Hear that? Well, talk up. Talk up. Come on, yellow belly, let's hear from you.
Come on. Okay. So, it's eye and seeker. No. Hey, I am bird boy, and you're it.
Now, listen to the birdies sing, chum.
It was a 20-minute drive from Angel's flight to the Callaway oil refinery in East L.A. and all the way
through the wide deserted streets of the city's heavy industries called home. After three tries,
I found the sliding gate marked L. On one side of it, and folded up like a marionette on its day off
was the night watchman, unconscious, blood oozing from a small cut on the side of his head.
And I was in the middle of the night, and I saw the door open. I was in the middle of the night,
and I saw the door open. I was in the middle of the night, and I saw the door open.
And inside, thousands of square feet of pavement dotted with a dozen different kinds of massive
black metal oil tanks that were ringed with fat pipes and skinny ladders, and in the pale glow
of a half-moon looked like the kind of distorted stuff bad dreams are made of. I slipped my 38 out
of its shoulder holster, pulled into the narrow shadow of a long low building, and slid a careful
step at a time toward a center structure that was shaped like a giant fishbowl on stilts.
And then I heard it.
It had come from someplace just under the fishbowl.
As I ran, I was ready for what would be left of Felix Loman.
I started to curse myself for ever letting him come on ahead on his own.
But when I was close enough to where I could see, I quit calling myself names.
Felix Loman was there all right, but very much alive.
Alive and holding on tight to a smoking revolver that was still pointing down at the crumpled form of Stoner at his feet.
Stoner, who was very dead.
Marlow, Marlow, she's up there. She has a gun, Marlow.
Lock up on that platform behind those pipes.
Hold it, Loman, get down.
But Marlow, you must...
Get down. She's got cover up there. We haven't.
I don't care. You rotten scheming woman, you are going to pay for all this.
You're going to die even as you kill Vince's father.
No, no, please, I didn't. I didn't kill him.
Yes, yes, Mrs. Calloway. There's no other way out for you.
It's too late for you and your lies.
No, no, no, please, I didn't kill him.
It's your end, Joyce Calloway, and end you deserve.
Oh, my dear fool, she'll get you, Loman. You louse.
My shoulder.
It'll be your life, Loman, if you don't drop that gun.
Well, dear client, what's your answer? You're dropping it or do I shoot again?
No, no, I'll drop it.
I'll resist.
Okay, Joyce, come on down.
Get a good look at your husband's benefactor.
Who incidentally murdered Homer Calloway, murdered his accomplice, Stoner, here and tried to murder you.
My shoulder.
Now, for a smart guy, you're pretty stupid, Loman.
You should take better care of your cufflinks.
That gold magpie shines in the moonlight, especially when you extend your arm to shoot people.
Here.
Here, Loman's the mate, the one that broke off in the hallway at Stoner's place.
That much of you can still be patched up.
All right, Mr. Milo, now that Vincent's lawyer has heard it and the police have written it down,
the press have printed it, how about me? I don't follow it.
For instance?
Well, Felix Loman killed Homer because Homer no longer had any use for him.
But with Homer out of the way...
And Vincent in this place, Felix would be set. Your husband, he could fool.
Yes, but the way the whole thing boomed...
Oh, that was just bad luck. You see, he staged a robbery at Homer's office just to throw the law off.
Well, it didn't. More than that, it almost nailed Vincent.
Still with me?
Oh, the second house over here.
Oh, I see.
What was the blackmail? How come?
Well, that was Felix again. And out of a whole cloth.
You see, if Vincent lost his trial, Felix lost everything he killed for it.
So using Stoner, he had me playing follow the leader.
Like Stoner pretending to have just left my place when you arrived.
That's right. That and Stoner setting everything up nice and neat.
You see, he was on the phone all right, but when he knew that I was there, he pulled the switch.
And very carefully planted the name Joyce.
He did?
Uh-huh. And last of all, Stoner being killed by Felix no longer had any use for him
and had a lot of reasons to fear him in what was supposed to be self-defense.
Get it?
Get it.
He gives you a little to go on and then a lot more each time you get there.
Yeah. At the right moment, he brings you in with a phone call
that tells you to come at once to the refinery.
Oh, if you want to help Vincent.
Oh, how close I came.
Yeah.
Well, thank you, Mr. Mando.
Correction. Thank Mr. Magpie.
He told me that Felix was the one who dropped me in the hallway at Stoner's, remember?
Oh, yes.
That made adding the rest easier.
Yes, but how fast you add when it counts.
Well, good night, Mr. Marlowe. Thanks again.
By the time I pulled up in front of my apartment on Franklin,
the black in the sky had started to melt into a slate gray.
And my eyes ached for the long sleep that had come.
Well, I sat there for a minute.
I lit a cigarette and I thought about birds.
Did you ever stop to think how some people remind you of birds?
For instance, the landlord.
If ever I saw a vulture in pants, he was it.
And my client Loman, a hawk with horn rims.
And George, a powder pigeon.
And then there's Marlowe.
I wonder what kind of a bird I am.
A dead pigeon.
The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, star Gerald Moore,
are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald and written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt.
Featured in the transcribed cast were Harold Derenforth, Lynn Allen, Wilms Herbert, Charles Lung, Bill Johnstone, and Ralph Moody.
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 an eager young kid took a beating in an alley.
A lobster face began to boil and a pair of month old corpses got together.
All because a woman in a dark tunnel kept a secret that didn't belong to her.
Most of us approve of saving for a rainy day, but these days it's hard to have enough left over to save.
It's easy to put off the saving until tomorrow, and that tomorrow never seems to come.
The best way to make yourself save a little every payday is to join the payroll savings plan where you work,
or the bond a month plan where you bank.
Money invested in United States savings bonds today will make possible many dreams for tomorrow.
So arrange to save with United States savings bonds.
Remember, automatic saving is sure saving.
Every Friday night CBS brings you stories taken from the files of parole boards of the 48 states with only the names changed.
These stories give in detail the events of a criminal's life up to the time he is up for parole.
Then before you hear the board's decision you can make up your mind.
Is this man ready to be set free?
It's been hailed by press and public alike as an outstanding anti-crime show,
and you can hear it now by staying tuned because Up for Parole follows immediately on most of these same CBS stations.
This is Roy Rowan speaking.
This is CBS where you find song for sale every Friday night at the Columbia Broadcasting System.