 Being a private investigator means two things. You can be sure you'll run into trouble and you can never be sure you'll get out of it. Well, there's not much you can do about it, I guess. Except, like Julie always says, Walk softly, Peter Troy. Now Peter Troy investigates the vanquished Venus. Julie has everything, I guess. Figure like a folly's girl, eyes that can make you dream of faraway places. The most luscious lips you ever saw. And she can take dictation at 120 words a minute. She also has a set of rules specifically designed to keep erring private eyes on the straight and narrow. You'll meet her again because she guards the outer office of my sanctum with all the devotion of a Tigris at bay. But for the moment I want you to think of another girl. A girl who'd take you gently by the hand, lead you headlong into a bubbling cauldron of real trouble. Her name was Mary Strube, only you'd know her as Leona Laramie. The brother where Mary went, applause was sure to follow. Thank you. And very soon, ladies and gentlemen, the judges will decide the name of the lucky lady who will be crowned Miss London Town of 1962. Now please stand by, and in a moment the judges will announce the winner. It's a foregone conclusion, Colligan. Leona Laramie will win this contest hands down. None of the other girls come anywhere near her for looks and boys. The judges don't even have to swap ballot tickets. Leona's got it in the bay. And if Amalgamated Studios let her, she'll go on and win the Miss Universe contest next year. Leona's got everything. What a girl. You can say that again. It's your decision, Mr. Colligan. Thanks. Well? What do you think? Leona Laramie, eh? Uh-huh. Come out, Miss Leona Laramie. Well, what is she? Miss Leona Laramie. Mr. Colligan, sir. Yes, what is it? What's going on back there? There's been some trouble. What sort of trouble? Something happened to Miss Laramie. Yes, she's dead, sir. Art? She's dead, sir. Someone's killed her. So Mary's Strube alias Leona Laramie never got to collect her fabulous prices. They found her backstage lying in the dark corner. Someone shot her straight through the heart. Now I could hold in on this case, not by any client, but by Inspector Morris Caswell of New Scotland Yard. Apparently he didn't come to me for advice either. He came to shoot questions. And why? I won't tell you. And Leona Laramie's cute little gold embossed address book. He found my name and my telephone number. Mr. Clayton, straightforward answer. Try that's all I want. Teach you don't have to say a thing till I get a lawyer. Well, thanks for your complete confidence in my innocence, honey boy. Now come on, Troy. I want the John name doing an error address book. Well, you're not going to believe me if I say it on now, are you, Inspector? No, I thought not. Come on now, Troy. I never met the lady in question. I can either believe that or I can hold me off of the Huska right this instant. Yeah. Inspector Leona Laramie really wasn't Pete's type. You ever see the girl, Julie? Well, no. And Troy wears trousers, doesn't he? She was his type. You have that address book on you? I have, may I? And I left a marker at the spot. That is your name and your phone number, isn't it? Oh, come on now, Troy. Look, I'm sorry. I never met the girl. Don't be quiet. Look, I never... All right. All right. Am I a suspect? You could be him. And for the time being, let me just... I know, I know. Don't go taking any trips out of town. Goodbye, Inspector. Goodbye, Troy. Oh. Pete. I never met the girl. I believe you. Well, thanks. But your name wasn't her address book. How did it get there? Well, that's something I'm going to find out, honey. Oh, now, Pete. Why don't you just let the inspector... Now, take this time before I forget it, eh? All right. You ready? Mm-hmm. Elaine Delorme, Grosvenor 8838. Mm-hmm. Gustav, Chelsea 6653. Gilded Jason, Mayfair 2937. Have you got him? Uh-huh. Now, memorize those names and phone numbers before you grab the book back. And they could give us some sort of a lead. You can forget Gustav in Chelsea. Mm-hmm. All right, Grosvenor. Very good one, too. When my errant boss has the money to pay me my wages, I go there for a hairdo. Oh, good. Mm-hmm. Pete, why go to all the trouble of following up the others? I've got an unpleasant feeling that... Look, honeybun, Caswell thinks the late Leona Laramie was one of my girlfriends, right? Mm-hmm. Well, I know that isn't so. Unfortunately. So? So, obviously, she took my name down for business reasons. And I think Leona wanted to hire herself a private investigator. And if she wanted the services of a private investigator... She could have been in some sort of trouble. Which, in turn, could give us some sort of a motive for a murder. Brilliant. I think so, too. So, what's the next step? Well, we ring up our good friend at the Metropolitan Telephone Exchange and we get him to find out the addresses of Helene de Lorne of Grosvenor 8838, Gilded Jason of Mayfair. What was it? Uh, 2937? Yeah. Mm-hmm. You're not a policeman, Mr. Troy. No, a private investigator. Then... Mr. Lorne, my name and phone number were found in Leona's address book. Obviously, she wanted to hire me for some reason. If I could just find out what... Will I say something funny? Oh, no, but I think there must be some mistake. Why should Leona want the services of a detective? She had no real worries or troubles. You're certain of this? Well, of course, I was her closest friend. No worries or troubles, eh? Definitely not. And why does she end up with a bullet in her heart, Mr. Lorne? I don't know. Oh, I think it was a case of mistaken identity, Mr. Troy. I think the killer was after someone else and fool Leona. Well, I think it's a tragedy. Yes, it certainly is. You got her address? Yes. 57 Carla Mewes, Chelsea. Oh, she lived there alone? Yes, but you will not find the name Leona Laramie on her postbox. Her real name was Mary Strube. Strube? Yes, she thought Leona Laramie sounds more exotic, you understand? Yeah, I had the figures. Listen, could you give me a list of her immediate friends? Certainly. Beside you is my telephone number index. You'll find a list of names and numbers in it, Mr. Troy. They're my friends, and they were also Leona's friends. Copy them if you wish. Oh, thank you. That's quite a list. I have quite a number of friends and acquaintances, Mr. Troy. Are you looking for any particular number in there? Oh, yes. As a matter of fact, I am Jason. Gilda Jason. She lives in Mayfair. Jason? Yes. No, no, Fred, I can't help you. I don't know any Gilda Jason. Well, Mr. Lorne, if you'd like to help... Of course. You could copy out those names and numbers in your book and put them in an envelope and send them to my office. Certainly. Well, thanks a lot. I'm sorry to have bothered you. Oh, you didn't want to ask me any more questions? No, but if I think of anything... Please, go around. Well, thanks again and goodbye for the... Peter Troy, huh? Nice. Hello, Gustavs. This is Alain Delorme. I should like to make an appointment to have my hair set this afternoon, please. Two-thirty, excellent. And will you be sure to have Miss Gilda Jason attend to me? That's right. Gilda Jason. She always looks after me. No, good Bartlett. It's not here. Corrigan, it must be. It has to be. We've searched this place from top to bottom. Gilda must have taken it off Leona's body. She's the only person who had the opportunity. The big boy himself could be pulling a double cross. He wouldn't dare. Well... In any case, Gilda Jason has disappeared, hasn't she? Isn't that proof enough that she's got it? Oh, I suppose so. So now we've got to find Gilda. I think that... Who's that devil? Police. They've already been here looking for her. Who then? I think we'd better find out. I'll keep you covered just in case. Yes. I'm looking for Miss Gilda Jason. Is she at home, please? Gilda Jason. Yes. I'm afraid you must have made some sort of mistake. No, I checked with the janitor downstairs. Well, I'm afraid I can't help you. You see, I've just moved into this apartment. Do me a favor, will you, please? A favor? Yes. Tell your friend with a gun I can see his reflection in the hall mirror. Well, now if you don't mind, I'll come in. All right. Now, just as soon as you tell your playman to drop his gun. Otherwise, I'm liable to pull the trigger on this one. Cortigan. All right, all right. Well, now that's better. Place isn't quite a mess, isn't it? Spring cleaning or... You're just plain looking for something. Who are you? Troy. Peter Troy. Troy Investigations. A snooper. Sticks and stones. What do you want? Miss Gilda Jason. As you can see, she's not here. That's right. Now it's my turn to ask questions. What are you fellas looking for in here? Come now, you're not being very cooperative. Are you friends with Miss Jason? Troy, why don't you get out while you're still in one piece? Because I hate puzzles and because I'm looking for a killer. Troy, it's your turn to drop the gun now. Why? Because there's someone in that window behind you. No, come off it. It's one of the oldest gags in the book. No one's going to be secretary. Well, you can't say I didn't warn him. Colligan, you better go over to the window and let Gustav in. I heard the window pane explode behind me. I felt a sledgehammer blow on the side of my head. I saw the floor coming up to hit me just before I blacked out. Million years passed and while they were passing I was living through a nightmare. Someone's name seemed to keep crashing through my mind and telephone numbers lit up like neon lights. I saw Helene Delorme smiling at me. My ears I could hear Inspector Caswell's voice droning on and on. I mean, that wasn't part of the nightmare. That was real. It took me quite a time to realize it was coming out of it and that I was still alive. He has the luck of the married devil. All right, she should be stern, cold, dead. In the market? Luckily, the bullet hit his head and not somewhere vital. Pete, Pete, are you all right? Can you hear me? Yes, I can hear you, Julie. Are you all right? No. Tell that fellow with the pneumatic drill to lay off. It's not a soundtrack. This place is as quiet as the grave. I don't mention that word. Now, are you going to do some talking? What did you get here? The janitor reported a gunshot to the police. What happened? Well, I came to visit a lady. Hilda Jason? Yeah, that's right. Instead I found two characters ransacking the place. One of them was armed. Third, Mr. Sneaked Up Outside that window over there in the fire escape. He didn't wait to open the window before he pulled the trigger. Good job he didn't. The blast must have defected the shot of action. I mean, who were the men? Well, I didn't get their names. Oh. But Miss Jason had already disappeared. Yes, I could have told you that. We'd already checked. She hasn't been here since Leonel Laramir was killed. Neither has she been to a place of work. Where's that? My hairdresser's. Gustav of Chelsea. Gustav? Yes, and we very much like to know how a hairdresser's assistant can afford to live in a Mayfair apartment. Gustav, that's the name. What are you talking about? Just before I passed out, one of the characters mentioned a man's name. It was Gustav. He was the one outside the window, the one that shot me. Don't be absurd. Inspector, tell you... Hilda, you better look after your wandering boy. I think he's a little delirious. Oh. Come on, Peter. I've got your car. Oh, Troy, just before you go. I'd like a description of those two men who were in this page. One of them might seem before. The other one called him Corrigan. You know any celebrity named Corrigan? Well, there's an entrepreneur called Corrigan. Oh, yes, that's right. I've seen his picture in the papers. He organizes beauty contests. Beauty contests, eh? Like the one Leona Laramie entered. Now, Troy, you'd better keep out of this. Ah, so you know more than you're telling, Inspector. I've got a personal stake in this case now. I don't like guys taking potshots at me through windows. How much do you know, Troy? I'm very little. I'm adding to it all the time. Look, I've had a man on your tail. He saw you going to Helene Delorme's place. You find out anything there? Not much, except she's a liar. Oh. I saw three names in that address book you showed me. Helene Delorme's, Gilda Jason's, and Gustaf's, together with their phone numbers. Now, Helene Delorme said she'd never heard of the Jason girl. But in her phone index, there were two phone numbers beside the name Gustaf. She goes to the same headroom. Are these two numbers, Troy? One was Gustaf's and Chelsea. The other number was, uh... Mayfair 2937. Gilda Jason's number. Exactly. So how come she has Gilda's phone number in her book when she says she doesn't know the girl, huh? Hence, I came straight round here. Oh. Hence, I nearly stopped a bullet. Now, how about you fitting a few of the pieces together and expect her in? Well, we've got a name for our friend Gustaf, Troy. His real name's Emile Delorme. Delorme? That's right. He's Helene's husband. Well, Delorme operates one of the biggest diamond smuggling syndicates in the world. And we've been on his tail for months. A recent raid joined forces with Joseph Corrigan and a newspaper man called Harry Bartlett. No. London's headquarters. And from here, they distribute the gems to just about every part of the world. How? They have carriers. Beauty queens. Leona Laramie, for instance. That's right. Of course. A trip round the world is part of the prize. Right again. When we found Leona's body, Troy, it was minus one of her high-heeled shoes. I see. And hidden in that shoe... Diamond's probably been... And the Jason girl? She was the last person to see Leona alive. And those two fellas, Corrigan and Bartlett, were here searching the place for that shoe. Gilder must have stolen it. So you figure things out from there, Troy, because that's as far as we've got. Good evening, Gilda. Good stuff. I've been waiting a long time for you. How did you know I was here? You thought you obvious, my dear. Corrigan and Bartlett searched your apartment and found nothing. I, on the other hand, did not bother to look for a poor Leona's shoe. I knew it wouldn't be there. Instead, I hunted for some clue as to your whereabouts. I found it in the West Paper basket. Good stuff. Please. A discarded copy of the classified section of the London Dairy Tribune. In me flats to let column, I found some addresses ticked off. I just checked on them. Here, they told me that a young lady answering to your description had rented this place a few years ago. Good stuff. If you want the diamonds... Oh, yes. I want them, Gilda. But I also want some sort of an explanation. It was Leona's idea. She was getting scared. I knew that. That's why she had to die. You killed her? Oh, yes. This sound of the tumultuous applause from her admiring audience muffled the sound of this shot. I find that ironic. She said she was getting out. She asked me to come with her. The diamonds hidden in her shoe? We had to have money. It's another diamond I worry about, Gilda. It's the fact that you double-crossed me. I knew about Leona. But you were a deep shock to me. Look, I've worked for you for years, Gustav. You and your wife. And all that time... Which makes it all the more hurtful, my dear. I trusted you. Now I must really set you up as an example to the others who work for me. What are you going to do? Now what do you think? No, please. You had such a good job, Gilda. Personal hairdresser to the various beauty queens who went abroad. All you had to do was to keep your eye on them. So easy. You merely had to make sure they handed over the stones to our various contacts abroad. But you became greedy. No, I just want to get out of the... But no one ever gets out of this business, Gilda. Not alive, anyway. I tell you, I don't know what you're talking about. Gustav is merely my hairdresser. And he left here only 15 minutes ago, Mr. Delorme. No. My secretary was watching the place. She saw him come in here. She was mistaken. He's her hairdresser too. She recognized him. Gustav of Chelsea, Emile Delorme, Diamond Smudler, the one and the same person. Now you'd better do some talking because unless I'm very much mistaken, the police are going to pay you another visit very soon. The police? That's right. Mr. Troy. How would your husband doing here? What did he want? He held as an accessory to murder. Oh, no. For your information, the police dug a bullet out of some woodwork in Gilda Jason's flat. The bullet fired at me by her husband. Now that matches the one taken from Leona Laramy's body. Can you understand what that means? Yes. Good. But I had nothing to do with her death. In this country as an accessory, you get the same punishment as a killer. Now I'm getting impatient. He said he'd found Gilda Jason. Where is she? 34 Cochran Streets in Johnswood. All right. Oh, one last thing. How come my address cut Leona's notebook? She worked for my husband. Oh, I know that. She was frightened. She wanted to leave us. But she knew Amy Gustav never allowed anyone to leave his employment. Obviously, she wanted to hire a private investigator as a bodyguard. My husband found your name in her notebook and that made him think she was ready to run away. So it was my name in Leona's notebook that was her death warrant. But what happens to me? You've got to give me some protection. Lady, in my book, you're just one great hire and your killer husband. The only thing you didn't do is pull the trigger. Tell your story to the police. Oh, no. Wait. Maybe you'll find out that I... He killed me. Just as he killed her. Amy truly is sorry about this, Gilda. Truly is sorry. Gustav, give me another chance. Please, one more chance. Tell me where the diamonds are. Oh, I'll find the diamonds anyway. You have no imagination. But they are in this room somewhere. You look off on my shoulder towards the window, eh? So they're somewhere over there. Good. They won't be difficult to find. Well, good-bye, Gilda. Please. Better open this window, Gilda. I only winged them. He picks up the gun he made while I go cooking your goose. Open the window. Yes. Oh, thanks. Who are you? Troy, Peter Troy. Your girlfriend, Leona, was going to contact me. Don't try anything, Gustav. My next bullet won't just graze around. Believe me, we're quits now. We both fell for the same gag. I don't understand. Police will tell you all about it. Police? Yes. I'm afraid you've got a lot of questions to answer, Gilda. Off-hand, I'd say that was them now. Go let them in. Miss Jason, where are the police? Troy, I thought you wouldn't be too far behind, Inspector. They can give you the tip, too. Well, here with Gustav or Chelsea or Emile de Lorne. Whichever you please. Slightly the worse for where. You have nothing on me. Oh, tell them, Inspector. Are you all right? I heard a gunshot. Pete. All right, Constable. Let her through. She's Mr. Troy's secretary. Pete. I heard the gunshot from the street below, and I was... I'm okay, honey bun. Go, Pete. Troy, I want a statement from you. I'll dictate it to my secretary. Now, Inspector. Pete, will you never learn? Take a statement, please, Julie. Pete. On the night of June the 18th of this year, I, Peter Troy, draw investigations with... Now, you're not paying attention, Julie. That's right. I... Oh, gosh. Walk softly, Peter Troy. Tried and convicted on a charge of murder together with a whole heap of other things. His wife, Elaine de Lorne, was sentenced to 10 years penal servitude. Corrigan and Bartlett both landed seven years apiece. Gilda Jason. Well, the judge went easier. She turned Queen's Evidence, gave the crown the complete lowdown on a meal de Lorne's diamond smuggling operation. That's for me. Well, I probably went to bed for a couple of days. I don't care what anyone says. The bowl of the plaza furrow across your temple is just no good for the Constitution at all. It took 48 hours with that guy with the pneumatic gill to finish digging a hole in my head.