 Hello, Yukon 28209. Yes, this is Candy Mattson. Eat that baby on the tree. Uh, fix those dolly tracks. And look out without cable, it's hot! Mallard, what in the name of the San Francisco Police Department are you doing up here on Telegraph Hill? Working candy in the name of the San Francisco Police Department. Here? Were these people who were making the movie? Yeah. How about that? Me, a lieutenant in homicide, and I'm assigned to riding herd on these Hollywood characters. Oh, it's better than murder. I'll take murder any day. What are you doing around here? I did some shopping at speedies this morning while I was pinching the avocados. They told me that there was a Hollywood gang over by Coyt Tower shooting some scenes for a movie with the San Francisco background. They might just as well have stayed in the studio. They brought their own lawns, prop trees, fake bushes, the works. If it ever snowed up here on Telegraph Hill, they'd have brought some of that along too. You've never worked in Hollywood, Mallard. Only God can make a tree, but Hollywood presumes to improve on them. What are they doing now? Just getting ready to shoot a scene, I think. They've been rehearsing it all morning. What's it all about, you know? As far as I can figure, it's a story about San Francisco right after the gold rush. Look at all the costumes. Very authentic. Looks like they'd been shipped around the horn. By the way, Mallard, do you know who's in the picture? Some lush tomato named Cherry Dana and the Colorad boy Buff Arnold. Arnold? Did you say Buff Arnold? That's right. Why? Oh, forgive me, Mallard, dear. I knew Buff Arnold when he didn't have a place to house him. He professed to carry a very warm torch for me. Ah-ha. So that's why you so casually dropped by. An old flame, huh? Don't be ridiculous. I didn't even know the guy was here, let alone stealing pictures. A likely story. All right. Quiet, please. Let's have quiet. Quiet. This is a take. Oh, set, Mr. Dix. We're ready. Good. Okay, Cherry. We'll roll this one. Take a chance on it. Just remember to keep up against those trees. We don't want any shots of those modern buildings below the hill. I'll remember. Where is my old pal Buff Arnold, Mallard, dear? By me. Judging by what's been going on, he's not in this particular scene. All right. Stand by. Roll him. Scene .7, take 10. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Cut! Cut! Oh, where's that coming from? Come out on the bay, Mr. Dix. Find thing a present-day steamer whistle in an 1850 picture. Hold it. Ames. Yes. Let me know when the fool ship is tied up. We won't shoot the scene until it's docked. Yes, sir. Darn it. I was hoping I'd see some action. I'll give you some action. Come on. Walk around with me, can't he? I'll show you all the sights. Sites like what, for instance, Mallard? Oh, all the lights they brought up here. I must have a thousand of them. Undoubtedly to wash out the wrinkles on the leading lady's face. And talk about props? They must have taken a whole freight train to get them up here. Oh, they have to have them. For instance, look, right up there. Where, Mallard? Up there, above, in that tree, hanging by their necks. Oh, Mallard! Don't jump like that cupcake. There are only dummies hanging from those ropes. Three of them. They look so realistic. I must admit they really do. I understand they use them in a scene where they recreate a lynching in Portsmouth Square. Recreate, did you say? Yeah. Maybe you're right. Take another look, honey, by a good look at the one in the middle. What are you trying to... Fry me, for lord. That one in the middle is no dummy. You're no dummy either, boy. Mind how many times have you looked up there? Just a couple of times. But the last time I looked, the one in the middle wasn't an ex-human being. With that, I tossed the whole thing in your lap, Mallard. I promote you back to homicide. Oh, why didn't these characters stay in Hollywood? It's a bit of a shame, isn't it? Cluttering up our lovely Telegraph Hill trees with gently swaying corpses. Come on, Mallard. Let's give the director a slight touch of apoplexy. The National Broadcasting Company presents Candy Mattson, Yukon 2, 8209. It's funny how sometimes when you're lazy and want to do nothing except live the good, pure life, trouble comes up and belts you over the head with a vengeance. Well, that's the way it happened to me. I'd just finished a deal. It took me three weeks to crack. I made some good money out of it, banked it, and sat back to relax. When I heard about the movie company on location on the other side of the hill, my curiosity got the better of me. As of that moment, my contemplated relaxation was at an end. Period? Paragraph. I literally walked right into trouble because there was Mallard and cut down. Okay, Mr. Dix, have a good look at him. Do you recognize the gentleman? I recognize him, yes, but I don't know him. He was one of the extras we used at a scene yesterday. Did he come up from Hollywood with you? I'm pretty sure he didn't. I think he was hired here locally. Wait a minute. Who's this young lady? I don't want any outsiders in on this. Oh, fret your little head, Mr. Dix. Aside from being a material witness, she's a well-known private investigator. Ah, excuse me, I didn't know. That's all right. No need to apologize. Some of my best friends are movie directors. Uh, who would keep the roster on your personnel? My assistant, Bill Ames. Is he around? Well, I'm right here, Lieutenant. Oh, good. Can you give us any dope on this, fellow? Oh, golly, uh, I'm afraid not. I've seen him, but I wouldn't know his name from Adam. How about the payroll? When do you pay off the extras? Ah, that's a thought. Will you pay off at five o'clock tonight? Why don't we come back then, Mallard? We can check off the names against the pay vouchers. There's one thing extras like to do, and that's get paid. The name that doesn't show up is our friend, the corpse. Okay, well, let it go like that. What do you pay off? Room 873, Montfair Hotel. Make sure everybody's there unless they want a little trouble thrown at them. Uh, I'm sorry, Mr. Dix, you can go on with your shooting now. Oh, no, no more today. It's too unnerving. Ames, knock it off. Call will be for eight o'clock tomorrow morning sharp. Right, Chief. Uh, break it up, everybody. Eight o'clock tomorrow morning in costumes, and that means eight o'clock. Understand? Not morning. You mind waiting here for Mama Catty? I want to put in a call to the coroner's office for a wagon. Sure, that's all right. Go ahead. I'll only be a few minutes. Uh, Mr. Dix, pardon me. Yes? Can you tell me where Buff Arnold is staying? What, uh, what do you want with Buff Arnold, young lady? I used to know him when he was playing bit parts in Hollywood. Oh, did you, uh, work in Hollywood? I did a little time down there, sitting around in agents' offices. You know, uh, you're a sharp little cookie. Say, all of a sudden I've got an idea. I'll bet. No, no, no. On the level, believe me. I have a small part coming up that would fit you to a tee. Good-looking gal, wise, supposed to work in her father's store, selling supplies to the miners. Can you, uh, act at all? I used to shoot a fairly sharp mess of dialogue. Do you live close by? Right over there. One block. Penthouse on the top. Hmm, all the better. As soon as your policeman friend removes the deceased there, uh, why don't we go over to your place and, uh, look at the script? You know something, I've got an idea. That's the idea you had the idea about. Okay, I'll look at the script. But for your information, Mr. Dix, I'm interested only in playing a part in your picture. Mallard came back and I told him what had developed with Dix. He shot me a look that had more question marks in it than a government income tax form. I assured him I could handle the situation, and he left with the body still clad in its 49er prospectors outfit. Dix issued some final orders, took me by the arm, and we strolled over to my place. Ah, charming, but positively charming. Thank you. What a gorgeous view. How long have you lived here, miss? Oh, now isn't that silly. I don't even know your name. Madsen. Candy Madsen. Candy Madsen. Never have I heard a name match a personality so completely. I'm Reginald Dix. Just call me Reg. You say Reg. Would you like a drink? Oh, squinted, soda highball. I think I can scrape one together. This is absolutely enchanting. I'm going to ask to make all my pictures in San Francisco from now on. I don't think you'd go wrong. Of course it'd be a little rough if you were making a picture with an Indian background and needed shots of the Taj Mahal and the Himalayas. Oh, simple. I'd change it to the Ferry Building in Twin Peaks. Very good. Are you all right? Thank you. I can use this after that messy discovery up there on a tree. Well, here's to crime. That's a charming toast. Now then, about this part you were speaking of, I don't even belong to the Screen Actors Guild anymore. Oh, mere detail. I'll call the studio tonight and have them arrange your membership. As simple as that. I think if some of your bright boys got together, you could win the war in Korea without half-trying. Ah, let's not be snide, my dear. Excuse me a moment, someone at the door. Certainly. Whoever it is, though, send them away. Yes, Master. Hi. Hi. Now that we've established our highs, is there something I can do for you? I'm Cherry Dana. Is Mr. Dick's here? Oh, well, yes. Would you wait here, please? I'll not wait here. I want in. Now just a minute. There you are, Ed. You have a short memory, haven't you? Cherry, what are you doing here? I'm having a conference. So I see. I hate to mention it, but this happens to be a private home, Miss Dana. I'll have to ask you to leave. Don't be boring. You lured my director up here, and I'm going to see that some little local wench doesn't put the squeeze play on him. Why, you pamper brat. Get out of here right now, or I'll show you how a local wench can back up words with action. Oh, now hold on here, both of you. Cherry, I resent this intrusion just as much as Miss Madsen does, I'm sure. Oh, Bet, what about me? You said you were going to drive me back to the hotel. Oh, very well. It slipped my mind. I'm sorry, Candy. I dislike scenes of this sort. We'll discuss our business later. Good. I find now that I'm extremely interested. Good afternoon, Miss Dana. I'll see you later. I was so mad I was boiling. If I'd been a thermometer, Quicksilver would have been streaming out of my ears. I did the most natural thing, took a shower, and little by little I simmered down. Actors and actresses are like anybody else. Most of them are darn nice people just trying to make a living, but one ham, like Cherry Dana, can ruin the picture. Just as I was getting dressed, the fairy-building siren blew its top, indicating 4.30. I had to step on it if I was going to be at the Montferrat 5 in time for the payroll sequence with the extras. So I stepped on it and found myself in a minor mob scene outside room 873 at the Montferrat Hotel. Mallard spotted me, grabbed me by the arm, and took me inside the room. I really didn't expect to see you, Candy. Hmm? Why not? I thought perhaps you were discussing contract terms with Dex by now. Big Hollywood star and all that. Oh, Mallard, cut it out. All right, ladies and gentlemen, as I call out your names, step up fast and sign the voucher. Anderson, Robert, Apperson, Lou, Bennett, Burt, Beverly. I studied the faces as they stepped by the cashier's table set up in the room. They were all types. Anyone could have been a villain, a dancehall girl, a hero, an angel, who were just plain extra. The roll call droned on in the background. The whole thing took about 10 minutes. And suddenly we were alone. Ames, the assistant director, the girl who had done the actual pain, Mallard and myself. Well, that's it. Who's missing, Ames? You're in for a bit of a shock. How do you mean? Nobody's missing. Everybody listed on our payroll, checked in and was paid off. What? That's right. Did you recognize every person who had been paid off? I'm pretty sure I did. Well, this is a fine kettle of nothing. We have an extra who's working in the picture, and yet he isn't. So he ends up hanging by his neck from a tree on Telegraph Hill. Who was the Joker? The Joker, the one you can play wild. Are you sure they're all paid? Well, positive. Double-check with their guild cards and signatures. Isn't this cute. Oh, excuse me, please. Hello? Yes, this is Ames. Oh, oh, yes, Jerry. What? He's what? Great, Scott. The matter, Ames. What is it? Why does his sheet? Dicks. He's just been found shot to death in his room. From San Francisco, the national broadcasting company is presenting Candy Mattson, Yukon 2-8209. Reginald Dicks, well-known Hollywood director, shot dead in his hotel room. We were looking for developments, and we got them, but not the kind we expected. Mallard led the way up to the suite that Dicks had been occupying on the top floor. There was a mob around the door, and my boy Mallard soon dispersed them and instituted some semblance of order. Dicks was sprawled out on the balcony in a bay and an ever-widening pool of blood showed that he'd been hit in the chest. Cherry Dana was pacing the room, smoking a cigarette. Ames stood in the middle with his jaw flapping. And who should be in the room, too, but my old pal from my days in Hollywood? Buff Arnie. Candy. Candy Mattson. What a place for a reunion. Yes, isn't it? How are you, Buff? Ill. Terribly ill. If I have to step into the other room, I hope you'll understand. Reg is a great friend of mine. Sure. Sure, let's go in the bedroom. You look sort of green. Besides, I have a few questions I'd like to ask you, Buff. It's a deal. Anything to get out of here, let's go. Wait a minute, Candy. Who is this guy? Buff Arnold, Mallard, the fellow I was speaking about. Where are we going? In there, he doesn't feel too good. The closest he's ever been to blood is a bottle of ketchup and color. Okay. Well, let him out of your sight. I have a flock of questions and need a flock of answers. As you say, Mallard here. Don't get carried away yourself. This the bedroom? Yeah. Buff, you seem to be doing all right. A lot different than what I knew in Hollywood, Candy. You look swell, Buff. Too darn swell. What do you mean? You bring back too many memories. You look mighty good yourself, Candy. You're no longer a plump little kid just out of high school. You're downright pretty, gal. In the good old days, I'd have jumped through hoops to hear you say that. Got any hoops, Candy? I'll say it again. No soap. Maybe we could revive some of those memories, Candy. Not a chance, Buff, boy. Things have changed. Hollywood and everyone in it, including you, were a part of a dim, sad past. And instead of just plain Buff, that's a re-Buff. Very cute. I haven't heard the gag poll since yesterday. Mm-hmm. Tell me, did you hear about the body that was found on Telegraph Hill this morning? I sure did. Now poor Reg. I told him this picture had a jinx on it before we left the studio. Little things had happened right from the start. Like what? Well, in the first place, I wasn't even supposed to be in the picture. They were going to give it to some new kid as a build-up. A week before the first day of shooting, he haven't disappeared. He hasn't been heard from since. Then he shoved me into the breach. Then the assistant director tripped and fell off a catwalk, broke both legs. He had to be replaced. Anything else, Buff? Yeah. About that time, Cherry Dana whipped herself in a batch of temperament and walked off the lot. Held up production a week. Then the luggage for San Francisco was re-routed somewhere else. Never has caught up with this. Now the body this morning and... dicks just now. Certainly sounds like a jinx. By the way, how do you and the great Cherry get along, Buff? Fine, fine. I try not to see her except on the set. Come here, Candy. Just let me hold you in my arms once, just once. I want to feel someone who's truly genuine. You're still just a little boy, aren't you, Buff? Okay, Arnold, I'd like to... Well... pardon me. I hate to break this up. But I want to talk to you, Mr. Arnold. That was a fine time, Mallard picked to walk in. And then I got to thinking, maybe it was a fine time. It was due to have a little fire set under him. As I walked out into the other room, the boys and blue had arrived, and they were swarming all over the place. Ames was no longer present, neither was Cherry Dana. I wasn't going to give Mallard the satisfaction of an explanation, so I eased out the door and went down to the lobby. I asked where Ames was staying, and went back up to his room, 6.72, a knock on the door produced results. Just a moment. Oh, Miss Matson, something you wanted? Yes, may I come in? Yes, I was just lying down. This thing about Reg has knocked me for complete loop. It seems to be quite a shock to everybody. You've been with Reginald Dix for a long time, haven't you, Ames? Off and on, yes. A good number of years. How about La Dana? Cherry? Well, I've known her extremely well, even before she became a top flight star. Can you give me any idea who might have had it in for Dix? If you can, you better spill. The truth will come out sooner or later, Ames. Oh, it doesn't, things of this sort. I've only one little thing I can tell. I've already told it to your lieutenant friend. Oh, and what's that? As I got back from Telegraph Hill, I dropped by Reg's suite. I wanted to talk about tomorrow's shooting. As I drew near his door, I heard loud arguing. Arguing? Who were the opponents? Reg and Cherry Dana. Mm-hmm. And what were they arguing about, Ames? You? So that's it. Tell me, is Cherry the kind of woman who would turn killer on an impulse? It's hard to say. She has a terrible temper. Mm-hmm. Does Buff Arnold fit into the picture in any way? I don't know. He's a sly one that Arnold. He places cards in strictly a commercial manner. May fit into the picture? He and Reg were never too friendly. I see. Oh, thanks, Ames. He'll leave now. You'd better lock your door. The way things are going, you might wake up to find yourself dead. I went up to Cherry Dana's suite, but I drew a blank there, no answer. So I went back to the scene of the murder, Dick's rooms on the top floor. Mallard was just leaving. He shot me a look that would have knocked out a North Korean tank at a thousand yards and started to brush on by me, but I would have none of it. Now, just a moment, boy blue. I'm going to be one level. Just because Buff had his arms around me is no sign we were playing a scene from Romeo and Juliet. I don't think I've seen that close a grip even in professional wrestling. Oh, cut it out. Would you turn up in there anything at all? No, not a thing. Can't even find the murder weapon. Got any ideas? Lots of them. We've already taken Miss Dana into custody. I had a hunch it was leading in that direction. Incidentally, did you ever hear of a Christopher Sema? He's been a bookie around town here for several years. Christopher Sema? No. Can't say I have one. He was the boy who was hanging from the tree. According to our files, he dabbled in everything from gambling to blackmail. Sema. Sema, that name rings bells somehow, Mallard. One other thing. This isn't personal, you understand? Yeah. But stay away from Buff Arnold. We've got our eye on him, too. Little things were suddenly clicking back in my mind, awfully vague, but the old processes from years before were coming to life, ever so slowly. Mallard had work to do, plenty of it down at the Hall of Justice, work in which I was included out. I went outside on California Street, watched him get into a squad car with two of his men, and I waved him a goodbye. That was when I had another idea. Vicks is sweet. Cops were through with it. The body had been removed. But I had a hunch that was the key to the situation. Knowing the manager of the Montfair, I had trouble at all to get a key to Reg's suite, and that's where I headed, up to the top floor. I let myself into the darkened room, closed the door behind me, with the lights of the city way below, seeping through the balcony window. I found a place in back of the setee and sat down to wait and think. The balcony window being opened, the roar of the city traffic underneath came gently through and helped my thinking. That's when it hit me. Sema. Several years before I had served there was an actress named Vivian Sema. The same face as that of Cherry Dana. Now the clouds were beginning to lift, and at the same time the door opened in the suite and the silhouetted figure of a man entered the room. Okay, buff. Relax. What? This is Candy. Come on over here by the setee. Hurry. I'm expecting company. What are you doing here, Candy? You've got the wrong page of the script. That's my line. What are you doing here, buff? Honestly, you've got to believe me. I let my lighter here this afternoon. I was afraid the police would find it. Naturally, I can't afford any bad publicity. Ruling my career. I believe you, buff. You always were fine with that career, weren't you? Don't answer. Just keep quiet. What's up? A guy named Sema, if I'm right. Who's this? Reginald Dixon Wycombe. Wait a minute. I think I hear someone coming along the hall. The door slowly opened. And closed again. The dim light from the hall showed the form of another man. Then the dark figure moved slowly but surely across the room. It stopped for a second or two. I felt listening for something. Then moved again to the balcony, out onto the balcony, and whoever it was grabbed the ledge above, hoisted his feet up onto the iron grill work and hung on the city. That's when I acted. Okay, Aimee. Stay right where you are. In that position. What? You think I'm a fool? I was just around the outside on that ledge. Quick, buff. Go down the hall and get out of the fire escape. Cut him off. Okay. Where are you going to do it? Go out on that ledge after him. Better come back, Aimee. You're cut off at both ends. Oh, no, I'm not. Not with this gun I've got. That's the same gun you killed Dix with, isn't it? Very clever hiding it up on this ledge out here. No wonder Mallard and his boys didn't find it. Look out there on the city, Aimee. One misstep and you go off into space. Think it over. You better come back. Not on your life. I'm coming after you. I'm down the other end, Candy. Good. Now we've got him. Yes. Yes, you have. Obviously, this is the end. Perhaps you don't know what it is to love. Perhaps you don't know what it is to be scorned. I do. Painfully so. This is the end. But I'm not going to go alone. You're going with me, Miss Matson, like this. No. No, the recoil. It'll knock you right out of there. Oh, it was just a matter of jealousy. The same thing you developed when you walked in on Buff Arnold and me. Okay. Okay. So I was burned up. Tell me more. Was the name Seema that did it, Mallard? Do you know what that is? All right. I'll play quizzes with you. What's the name Seema? Seema is Ames spelled backwards. You see, that was Ames' real name. At one time, he had married Cherry Dana under the name of Seema. When she began to be big in picture, she divorced him, but he carried the eternal torch. Was it worth it? Of course not. Because she collected men. Reginald Dix, not because she loved him, but because she was fading in pictures and because Dix was the only one who could keep her in front of the public. Logical. But what about the Seema hung up in the tree on Telegraph Hill? There we have the plot. The Seema up in the tree was Ames' brother, a ne'er-do-well. The night that Ames arrived in town here, he looked up his brother, got a bit tight and told him what he'd done, caused the original leading man to disappear, a platform breaking his legs. In general, he did everything he could to sabotage the picture. Then he pulled the strings to get himself named as assistant director, so he could be near Cherry. Love and jealousy. Now learn, I'll get to that in time. Cherry had vaguely promised that she'd remarry Ames. When he saw his own brother was going to blackmail him, he went crazy. That's when he strung him up with the dummies in the trees. From there, it was just a step to knock off Reginald Dix and have a clear track for himself. I'll go back to what I said to begin with. Why did these characters from Hollywood have to come up here to San Francisco and louse up our scenery, as well as our police department? How the heck with your police department? That's the last time I'm going to climb around a ledge hundreds of feet in the air. Not so strange. Buff Arnold was out on that ledge, too, wasn't he? Oh, Mallard, sometimes you make me... That reminds me. I have a date tomorrow night. Sure, with Buff Arnold. No, no, that's tomorrow morning. I'm driving him down to the railroad station. Date for tomorrow night? With you, Mallard, dear. We're going to see a Roy Acuff movie. Oh, candy. Roy Acuff. Monarch of all the cowboys. Yeah, Monarch of all the cowboys. I'll see him with you. And if that isn't love, I don't know what is. Listen again next week at this same time. For excitement and adventure, just dial... Candy Metzen, Yukon 208-209. Heard tonight were Hal Burdick as Reginald Dix. John Grover as Ames the assistant director. Mary Milford as Cherry Dana. Kurt Martell as Buff Arnold. And included in the cast was Ken Langley. Henry Leff plays the part of Lieutenant Ray Mallard. The program stars Natalie Masters as Candy and is written and directed by Marty Masters. Sound effects are created by Bill Brownell and Eloise Rowan is heard at the organ. The characters in tonight's play were entirely fictitious and it resemblance to actual people is purely coincidental. Tonight's engineer was Clarence Stevens. The program came to you from San Francisco. Dudley Manlove speaking. This is NBC, the National Broadcasting Company.