 The Adventures of Frank Race, starring Paul Dubov with Tony Barrett as Mark Donovan. The war changed many things, the face of the earth and the people on it. Before the war, Frank Race worked as an attorney, but he traded his law books for the cloak and dagger of the OSS. And when it was over, his former life was over too. Adventure had become his business. The Adventures of Frank Race. Race for the Adventure of the Silent Tongue. There's a single row of cells in every state penitentiary where there is never any laughter. In these cells, the lights burn with a feverish brightness day and night, because there is no sleep. No rest, this side of the big sleep. Murderer's Row. This is the death house. The grimness of the place is hard to describe, but even gave Mark Donovan the creeps as we walked along behind the silent guard. You know, Race, a guy must be nuts to wind up in this place. Here they hold a wake for you before you're even dead. I guess a man must be pretty sick mentally before he can commit murder, even if he is legally sane. Tell me something. How come they're letting you see this mighty Quinn? Are they going to fry him tomorrow night? Yes. I'm in the nature of a last request. Apparently Quinn has no family and no friends who would risk the visit. No, but he still has the two million bucks met Ahmed Kastick. He's kept it well hidden, though. The police haven't found a trace. Neither is the insurance company. Will he send you to pump the guy before he goes? No, Marcus. Marty Quinn sent for me himself. He knows I've been on the case. Hey, you'll join a pretty penny if he tells you where the loot is, huh? No. If he was going to talk, he'd have talked before this. I'm afraid he has something else on his mind. Here we are. Your friend will come. Grab a seat on the bench, Mark. Yeah, sure. I'll have to frisk you, Mr. Race. Prison regulations. Certainly. I'm not armed. All right. Come on. Here's your cell, Mr. Race. The warden said you can have three minutes. You're not to touch the prisoner and nothing is to pass between you. I understand. Hello, Race. Excuse the looks of the place. I didn't want to waste money decorating on such a short lease. Marty Quinn. He didn't look like a murderer. He looked like an egotistical ham actor unless you knew about his record with a submachine gun. Even now, there was a touch of cockiness about him as though he had an unseen trigger within reach. It was a defiance that lingered in spite of a split pants leg and a shaven head ready for the brine-soaked sponge that would carry the high voltage into his brain. You look uncomfortable, Race. Sit down. Time is short, Marty, but I get to the point. You want to talk to me? I told you once before. I don't know anything about any money. I hope you didn't call me here to tell me that you didn't shoot the armored car guards. It's a little late for that. No. I killed him all right. I'm not expecting to get off. I ask you to come up because I like you. I think you're a guy I can trust. Can I? That depends on what you want. If it's a legitimate request, the answer is yes. All right. Marty Quinn ain't my real name. I'll begin there. This might surprise you. I used to be on the square. Had a business once. Grocery store and cold springs on the Hudson. Go ahead. I've got a mother and two daughters still living. Girls are grown up now. They ain't seen me or heard from me since they were kids. They don't know nothing about me. Fortunately for them. I'm glad you said that. Because I want to keep it that way. They're innocent. They don't have to be hurt, do they? I hope not. Well, since they've grown up, they've tried to find out about their old man. Hired detectives, things like that. I guess it's natural. But I want it to stop. Before somebody turns up the truth. You catch. And you can stop it for me, if you will, before they get hurt. I got a safety deposit box at the Hawthorne Fidelity Trust. No. Don't let your eyes light up. There's no dough in it. Pardon me for hoping. I want my kids to think I'm dead, race. I will be, so that won't be a lie. But I want them to think that I died in South America of some place on an engineering job, say. Can you understand that? I can almost sympathize. Maybe you think a guy like me couldn't love nobody. But I did. My old lady and the kids. There's something in that box that'll convince the old lady I sent you. They'll believe this story. What is it you want me to take to them? Just a pair of baby shoes, race. I had them covered with bronze. Both of the girls wore them before they could walk. It was the only thing I took to... to remember them. Well, that's all that's in the safety deposit box? Yeah. Somebody else got that hold up dough, I told you. If I had it, wouldn't I want my kids to get it? Not that they'd touch any of that kind of money. They were raised right. How do I get into the box? And where do I take the shoes? I signed a release that'll get you the box open for you. The warden is holding it with a key. My real name was Marty Parsons. My old lady is Ella Parsons. And the girls are Ruth and Carolyn. They're still in Cold Springs. This is the last favor I'm ever going to get to ask anybody, race. The last and the biggest. Will you do it? Yes. Yes, Marty. I'll do it. The Hawthorne Fidelity Trust Company turned out to be a conservative and reputable bank. The kind Marty Quinn or Parsons usually entered the hard way accompanied by the ringing of gongs and the firing of guns. It was a busy bank on a busy intersection and I instructed Mark Donovan to keep driving around the block until I came out. A lovely thing who could have been in any floor show on Broadway accompanied me to the vault and I took possession of the bronze baby shoes. Smothered in impulse, that's the clerk if she had a telephone and lived with her mother had made my way back into the street. Looking for a lift, mister? Well, that's very kind of you but I have a friend in a car circling the block and... I think you'd enjoy riding with me. It seemed to be my day for beautiful girls and I was pondering my unexpected good fortune when I suddenly became aware that the offer of a ride was not an offer but a man backed by a pistol the girl was holding in her purse. The green sedan there. Get in. You frighten me. I might be arrested for hitchhiking. If you don't move, you may pick up a ride to the morgue. If this baby was fooling it didn't show her deep brown eyes. There was something smoky about them like fire smoldering under autumn leaves. She prodded me with a gun and I climbed into the back of the sedan. Behind the wheel sat an old lady in a bonnet. There was another young girl in the car too and she looked like the one who made Whistler Whistle. Since we're making a tour of the city together permit me to introduce myself. I'm Frank Race. You know who we are. Yes, I take it that you're Marty Parsons' eager relatives. Which one are you? I'm Carolyn. And you must be Ruth. I'm delighted. You won't be delighted for long. Isn't anybody going to introduce me to Grandma? You have something to introduce, Mr. Race. Hand it over. Not just yet. I promise to make delivery in cold springs and I always try to keep my promises. We want those baby shoes and we want them now. Never mind, Ruth. I can handle this. We're giving you a fair chance, Mr. Race. If you want to get out of this car and walk away, just give me the shoes. If you don't, I'm perfectly capable of taking them. You won't like that. Oh, but you're ruining my act. I have a story to tell, a great dramatic performance that goes with the delivery of these shoes. There's been enough talk, Carolyn. Granny's right. Get them. You've heard the consensus, Race. That smoky look came into her eyes again. I dug the shoes out of my pocket and the girl named Ruth leaned over from the front seat and grabbed them. The shoes caught Carolyn's glance for a moment and I grabbed at the handbag and the gun. It was a foolish play. I had Carolyn tied up effectively but Grandma didn't get rattled at the wheel on the side of my head. All right, Carolyn. Open the door and shove them out in the street. You may be able to dump them under the trolley cars. I came out of a pink and green world all my own and returned to Earth with a severe headache. Whoever coined the line about the patter of baby feet never got that patter across the side of his skull from a grown-up baby with brown shoes. My curbside siesta tied up traffic and horns were blowing but they couldn't drown out the angelic voice of Mark Donovan. Come on, come on, race. Get with it. Come too. Come on, pal. Oh, Marcus, what's that on the side of my head? It looks like a built-in golf ball. A red one. Where were you when I came out of the bank? Where was I, he says? I was waiting for the lights so I could turn the corner but you come out and get the glad item or something and right under me very eyes you leave me flat and piling a car with her. It all comes back to me now. She introduced me to her grandmother. When you drove away. But I wondered if Dame slugged you. Trying to neck with her right in the same car with her grandmother. Marcus, that isn't quite why I got slugged. We weren't necking. Oh, don't kill me that. I was right behind you and saw through it a real window. All of a sudden you reached out and you put your arms around the dame. Please give me credit for a little more subtlety, Mark. It so happened the lady had a gun pointed at my midriff. Oh, please. A midriff is something that they no longer put in the middle of ladies bathing suits. Oh, look, you better get up and let the city go by its business. Come on. Help me to the car. I'm still a little groggy. It'll drive me down to police headquarters. I'll bet you've got a pip of a story to tell him. Yes. And a pip of a story to tell the insurance company. I'm afraid I just let two million dollars slip through my fingers. On the way to police headquarters, I briefed Mark on the story Marty Parsons had told me in the death house. The actions of Carolyn and Ruth and Grandma had taken it out of the confidential stage. I brought him up to date on all that had transpired up to the point I had blacked out. Oh, brother. He really fed you a line, didn't he? Yes, but he also cleared up a point. He was lying about somebody else getting away with the money. He got it all right. And now the dames have their mitts on it, huh? I'm afraid that's it. Yeah, but Ray's a pair of baby shoes. You couldn't stuff two million bucks in them unless it was a million dollar bills. And there ain't no such thing. Where is it? Only one I ever saw had a picture of Mickey Moss in the middle of it. No, the money couldn't have been in the shoes. As a matter of fact, I felt inside of them they were empty, but they tie in some place. I wish I knew where. Maybe the cops can't help it, Dan. Oh, here we are. Inspector Libas, one of the finest cops in the country, was my favorite contact at police headquarters. Mark and I ran up to his office and waited while he chewed his cigar nervously and poured methodical orders into the telephone. Make sure they set up roadblocks and all highways leading into town. But check the cars going out, too. Get all the available men back on duty right away. I want to double the watch and all rail terminals and bus stations and triple it in the airline. Get Somers and Drake over here right away with the car. I want them with me. Hello, Ray. Hi, how are you? You seem pretty busy, Ed. Plenty busy. There was both a favor, Ray, and get out of here if I didn't see it. You should be glad to see me. I think I have a lead for you that may turn up the money Marty Quinn or Parsons picked up on that armored car stickup. You'd better have a lead, Frank, and it better be a good one. It's fresh, very fresh. I saw Marty in the death house last night. Yeah, I know you did. That's why I want you to get out of here before I'm forced to pick you up. The order should come through from the commissioner any minute. Pick me up, Ed? Why? Because you were the last man from outside the prison to see Marty, Ray. You were admitted to death row last night. And just an hour ago, a few hours before the time schedule for his execution, Marty turned up in the cell block with a machine gun in his hand. He's on the loose race. He killed four guards and escaped. We'll return to the Adventures of Frank Race in just about one minute. Now back to the Adventures of Frank Race. Marty Quinn's escape had touched off a king-size manhunt with a good chance that I might wind up in the middle. Just as he finished dishing out the information, Inspector Liebes had another phone call and Mark and I took the ring as a signal to get lost while there was still time. We made our way to the car and headed cross town. Oh, brother, I thought that cop was going to toss you in a clink but fast. Just give me a break because we're friends. He knows I had no part in that escape. Somebody must have been awful careless to let that Marty character get his mitts on a chatterbox. It wasn't an accident. That break was planned, well planned and perfectly timed. Yeah, so how do you know? Because that's why he sent me in after the shoes. That box was checked by the police when Marty was taken in and they passed up the shoes because they seemed irrelevant and personal. He wanted them, though, and he knew that I could go in and take them out without question. If he tried to get to them after the break, he'd be nailed. Makes sense. Uh-oh. Race. What? Take a look in the mirror. I think that heap behind us has been there since we left police, I caught it. Uh-huh. I guess Liebes put a tail on us just to make sure he can pick me up if they force him to do it. No, I don't think so. That ain't the kind of car cops use. Let me try shaking him, huh? All right. Take the next street through the factory district. Yeah, right. Yeah, that does it. We're tagged, all right. There he comes. Slow down and see if he goes past. Yeah. I'll scoot up that ramp between those trucks. It's coming by. The ramp, quick mark. Your cheek is bleeding, Mark. Yeah, broken glass. We better duck through this factory before it comes back. Right. Marty's on the loose, and I'm the only one who can identify his women. From now on, Mark, we'll be trying to catch them and he'll be trying to kill us. When a cold-blooded murderer is after your life, the safest place to be is in police custody. But when you're on an assignment with $2 million to recover, you have to play Clay Pigeon. I sent Mark into the underworld to see what he could pick up via the grapevine. Then I went home to my apartment to wait. I didn't wait long. May I come in, Mr. Race? It was Ruth Parsons. And standing there in the dim light of the hallway, very decollete and taffeta, her beauty took your breath away. I had to keep reminding myself that with this baby, it mightn't be a temporary condition. She might take your breath away for good. I could use a drink. I'll pour, Duchess. Hmm. Your apartment's an excellent taste, Race. I might have known. Here's your drink. Not that it's what you really after. I don't blame you for doubting me. But you're wrong. What happened before was a mistake. Nevertheless, you made an impression on my head. But not on your heart. She lifted her head as she said it. And the look in her eyes could have grown palm trees in the living room. She drifted into my arms, and everything took time out. Hmm. Now, if that didn't make you believe me, maybe these will. The brown shoes. I told you they'd been a mistake. I came to give them back to you. Why? Because the man who sent you after them isn't really my father. He was lying. So are you, baby. You expected to find something in these shoes, but you didn't. What is it? There's no tongue in the right shoe, Race. What happened to it? It was missing from the shoes when I picked them up. If you got it, you'd better say so. Unless you want to lose your best friend. Well, then Granny have Mr. Donovan. Unless I get the tongue to that shoe, he's going to have an accident. If he does, you'll have one too, Ducky. Oh, let go of me. I'll let you go after you leave me to Mark Donovan. The hideout was an old barge tied to the end of a deserted wharf. I preceded Ruth Parsons down the ladder so she couldn't make a break on the deck and herald our approach. It turned out to be another bad guess on my part. As she came down the ladder, I reached up for her, pushed out with her foot and caught me between the eyes. Nice work for you. All right, Race. Walk into the cabin and don't make a sound. I walked, and I didn't see his face until we were under the glow of a shaded gasoline lamp in the cabin. Then the face was all too familiar, the thick lips, the red racist scar that ran from one ear down under the chin. A visage I had seen often over a period of years on reward posters. A man wanted dead or alive, Bernie Donatello, only two notches away from the dubious distinction of being public enemy number one. You've got the look of a guy who thinks he's gonna collect some reward money. You're gonna be disappointed. You're holding a friend of mine. Where is he? You'll go bye-bye together in a little while. Don't be impatient. He wouldn't tell me where the tongue was, Bernie. Don't worry about that. Marty had it. I choked it at him while you were gone, the dirty double-crosser. It was here in the barge all the time when he tried to get away with it. What about Granny and Carolyn and get out of the country? What about Granny and Carolyn? That's up to you. You want to split your half three ways? Or you want to come with me and pool the works? I'll go with you. You make a charming sister and an even more charming granddaughter, Ruthie. You really fell for that family story Marty gave you, didn't you? Never mind that. He still got one fork coming into the river. Go on, race. Push me through the door into the main cabin. Carolyn and Granny were sitting there a single candle on a box between them. What's got on the floor is neck broken. Mark was curled up in a corner unconscious. It's about time you got back with him. We better be getting out of here. I'll get things ready in the car. Never mind, Carolyn. There we are. You too, Granny. What's going on here? That should be obvious. You better go for that gun, Carolyn, if you still have it. Look out! Get the candle out, Ruthie. Get a light. Carolyn was hit. I found her in the dark after her screaming got the gun. I moved away from the corner. Mark was in to draw their fire. It may not be necessary, Ed. I think I can clear the case. I need a little information. Like what? Was Bernie Donatello ever arrested for rum-running in the old prohibition days? I'm going to dump him right into your lap if your next answer fits. It's about Marty Quinn. Was he ever connected with the counter-fitting ring? That's all I wanted to know. Quinn is dead, but I think we can pick up Donatello and the money tonight. Will you play ball with me, Ed? Order a speedboat and I'll meet you at the police dock. His hunch to yours better pay off, Rhys. I think it will. Look, what makes you think the door's near Cold Springs? Marty made me think so. He lied to me when I saw him in prison. He was an egomaniac like most killers. He thinks people who work on the right side of the law are stupid. I don't get it. Part of his warped psychology was to throw in a clue with the lies, just to give him a bigger kick out of getting away with the money. Mentioning Cold Springs was the clue. And that sounds like a long shot to me, Frank. Think so? If Quinn was a counterfeiter at one time, he'd know engraving, wouldn't he? Yeah. That's what was on the baby's shoe tongue, an engraved map on the bronze showing where he buried the 2 million. That could be. And Bernie Donatello is an old rum runner, figure stone and operate a speedboat. That's why you didn't catch anything in your dragnet after the armored car heist. You overlook private boats on the river. I got a hand at it to you, Rhys. Hudson is a big river. Just the same, I'm gambling on the psychology of a warped mine. When we get opposite the town on the river, cut the motor and drift downstream along the bank. 2 AM, Rhys, and this is about the 10th time we've drifted down river. They've got a show sooner or later, Ed. All right. Well, start her up, and we'll go up a mile or so again and make another drift. Hey, wait a minute. Hold on. I hear something. It's running without lights, just as we are, or we'd see it. That isn't common at 2 AM, Ed. Oh, it isn't. Hey, there it is in the moonlight, see? About a quarter-mile down just off shore. He's turning in. Yeah, there's a cove down there. We passed it before. I'll start up and we'll grab him. Not yet. I want them to lead us to that money. If we get them first, he'll ditch that bronze tongue, and we'll never find it without excavating half the river bank. Some place to put dough in a river bank. We'll just keep drifting. By the time we get near that cove, the teller should be working with a pickin' shovel. High up here. We're about 50 yards above the cove. We can fan out as we crawl through the brush. You both got guns? Yeah, sure. Yes. Let's go. Hold it a minute. Hold on. Bernie's digging in all right. Place the lights down. That's it. He's got it. Let's rush him. Go. All right. All right, Bernie, up with your hands. He can't toss my light. Drop that gun. No, but you make clay pigeons out of Carolyn and Granny. It's a capital offense, baby. It was dark, race. You can't be sure. Help me, and I'll do anything you say. I'm sorry, baby, but you got a blind date with the power and light company. Yes, sir. There's a chair all reserved. Here's the dough, all right, race. Good. I'll turn it over to the insurance company. Oh, baby, baby, look at that cabbage. Mmm. Hey, look, would you guys don't eat one favor before you lock it up? Oh, that's it. What mark? Just, uh, let me spread it out on a page, huh? And once, just once, I want to run through it barefoot. Ha, ha, ha. I bet I can run through 2 million bucks faster than anybody in the world. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. The Adventures of Frank Ray, starring Paul Dubov with Tony Barrett as Mark Donovan comes to you from Hollywood. Others heard in tonight's cast were Eve McVeigh, Joy Terry, Michael Ann Barrett, Frank Gerstle, and Tom Charlesworth. This series is written and directed by Buckley Angel and Joel Merkott. The music is composed and played by Ivan Ditmars. Be sure to be with us again this time next week for another dramatic chapter in The Adventures of Frank Ray. Art Gilmore speaking. This is a Brucell's production.