 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. Now we join Frank Race for the adventure of the House Divided. San Francisco in September with the marina mellow under blue skies and a warm sun. I happened to be on Chestnut Street when I was assailed by the one aroma that can take my mind off anything else in the world, that of hot fresh baked bread. It took only a moment to spot the source and I made a fast pivot toward the door of an old-fashioned bakery. There were several customers at the counter and I was forced to wait. Then a hand touched my arm. See, you're Frank Race, ain't you? Why yes, I know you, don't I? I'm Tom Crowell. Crowell, of course, I remember you. I used to work for Manhattan Insurance Company. I was with you on the Lambert keys. You saved my life with some pretty fast shooting. What made you leave the insurance company? Well, I'm not as young as I used to be, Race. I got tired of traveling, so I turned private eye for whoever wants to hire me. I'm on a job right now, and I think I'm in a jam. Jam? Yeah, it's this package. I think I'm being followed because I'm carrying it. That's why I ducked in here. I thought I'd go out the back way into the alley. Yeah, I picked a bad one. No back way, no alley. Which means that if they've spotted me, I'm stuck, but good. 4-to-1, kind of rough odds. Call it 4-to-2, Crowell. Well, I was hoping you'd see that, Race, but... There's one of them now on the sidewalk. A sward heavy-set figure in a well-fitting Donegal tweed. The opaque stare of a bobcat on the prowl. A man on the sidewalk eyed us for a second or so, then slipping a hand inside the lapel of his jacket, he started for the bakery door. A second bird of prey followed him. As they came inside, I moved away from Crowell and stepped up to the counter. What can I do for you, sir? I'll just take a couple of these chocolate egg-clares you have here. How much? That will be 30 cents. Would you like a bag for them? No, thanks. I'll just keep them in my hands. Care for one of these, Crowell? Better have one, Crowell. You take the load or go and we'll take that package you carry. Yes, sir. What do you want in here? Shut up. Let's have the package, Crowell. I don't get any ideas of going for the heater. I've got mine in my hand already. We're all very busy with our hands, aren't we? You boys have yours loaded with guns, mine are loaded with chocolate egg-clares. I think I'll give you one! He jerked toward me, murdering his heart, chocolate egg-clair in his eyes. I sidestepped and he groped for me, getting in the way of his companion, a moronic individual with a face that could have doubled for a suet pudding. But this one had ideas, so as he started to draw, I started a left hook that caught the bobcat flush enough to floor both of them. Right, come on, Ray. Let's get out of here. The shots had come from the street, full of black sedan parked at the curb. As Crowell slumped against me, I jerked the pistol from his holster. I triggered two bullets at the sedan, then swung around just in time to greet the bobcat's pal as he scrambled off the floor. He started again, clutching a broken shoulder. He sat staring at me with an expression of hurt-wondement. While the sound effects in the distance, there was evidence that the local constabulary might be joining in. So the black sedan was riding it off as a lost cause. The inside of the bakery presented quite a tableau. The woman who waited on trade stood staring across the counter as though she'd just seen a movie star. Scattered about on the floor were the remains of my two chocolate egg-clares, plus the pair of tough boys also somewhat scattered about. It was a victory for the righteous, but at the moment anyone could have had my share of it, knowing as I did that Tom Crowell was dead. Well, so to wander and worry tight, huh? Hello, Mark. What goes with the package? Trouble, Mark, all the way. I met an old friend this afternoon, Tom Crowell. Worked with us on the Lambert case. Crowell? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I remember him. Planted a couple of slugs and pinky wallets just about the time Pinky was lining up to do likewise to you. Well, Crowell was all right. He isn't all right any longer. He was killed this afternoon just because he happened to be carrying that package. Oh, you're kidding. I wish I were. What's in the package? Haven't the slightest idea? Look, he's got a name on it. Victoria Maynard. 127 Windermere Lane. And it sounds like a fancy neighborhood. How'd you get hold of this? I was with Crowell when he died. He was shot by four thugs. The only thing I was able to do for him was to keep him from falling too heavily. And what about cops? How'd you get away with the package? I decided I wanted the privilege of delivering Crowell's package for him, so I didn't wait around. Yeah, so what are you doing with the .38? It's the pistol Crowell carried. Rather good weapon. But I thought I'd pick up this luger of mine. The way this business shapes up, I may need it. Windermere Lane. A short thoroughfare wearing a set of iron gates like a lawn yet. Number 127 looked perfectly at home in such a setting. The thick set mansion with awesome lawns. For the butler who answered my push at the bell, I mentioned the name Victoria Maynard and I said I had a package. I was asked to wait in a small oak paneled study. Gosh, I'm glad you got here. I was... Wait a minute. You're not... You asked for Victoria Maynard. You said you had a package. I do have a package. I brought it here because Crowell couldn't. He was shot and killed this afternoon. He was... you don't mean that. Who killed him? Gunman. You're a friend of his. You were with him when he died? Yes, to both questions. And now you might tell me something. What's in this package? Would you wait here a few minutes just long enough for me to change? I'd like you to take me out somewhere so we can talk. I said yes. I'd wait. And she left the room. I spent the time looking at some choice first editions. Once the door was opened and an old woman looked in at me. A very old woman with a fragile figure and the glare of a drill sergeant. She gave a little snort and went away. Then, in another 20 minutes, the girl came back. Have you had lunch? As a matter of fact, no. I haven't either. It's not far from here. We'll take my car. I thought we'd better come here because... Well, they... they might be at the house. Hold it a second, will you, baby? I have the slightest idea what you're talking about. Before you try to explain it, are you Victoria Maynard? Yes. My friends call me Vicky. And who might be at the house? If it's that little old lady, I can understand your trepidation. She looked at me as though I'd been caught with the family plate. That's my great aunt, Helen. I don't know anyone. Race, you were Crowell's friend. Does that mean you're also a private detective? I'm an investigator, but I usually work for insurance companies. Would you work for me? I need someone badly. I'm being blackmailed. What did Crowell have to do with it? That package you brought to me, it contains negotiable securities. Crowell was acting as my go-between. Paying off on blackmail is a fool's game. It's something beyond my control. If I'm going to represent you, I'll have to know the story and all of it. All right. I suppose that's sensible. As you might have surmised, I'm very wealthy. I've had everything, including Wellesley and a tremendous coming-out party. But... I'm an adopted child. Nothing wrong with that? There is in my case a lot wrong with it. I just learned that my real father was an ex-convict. And I suppose you learned it the hard way from blackmailers. That's right. And they have all the facts. Believe me, they have all the facts. Anything you pay such people is a complete waste of money. Just the same. They're going to be paid. I don't care what it costs. You're making a rash statement that could cost you everything you have. Even that. If they were to spread that information about me, they wouldn't take it, that's all. The people I know, the family, it even happens that I'm engaged, to my uncle's son, my foster cousin. Can you imagine what this would mean to him? It wouldn't have to mean anything if he were the... I know. If he were the right kind of guy. Well, it happens that he is the right kind of guy, but I still don't want him to know. And if you can't understand that... I can understand it. I'm sorry. What about your father? Your foster father? Now I've given you the details enough. I'd like you to contact a man called Sealy. Jet Sealy. Pay off, boy. I still want to know why was Crowell killed? I don't know. Where do I find this Sealy? I have his phone number at the house. I'll give it to you when we get back. Sealy may call here before you contact him. What shall I say? Tell him to call me. I'm at the St. Francis. Come on in. I'll give you that number. I still think you're foolish to let go of any money because of this affair. I already made one payment, race. I can't stop now. Here, we'll take this side door. She led me to the oak panel den. Here, in front of the fireplace, a wrecked in a leather chair sat the little old lady who had looked in on me before. The sight of her seemed to startle Vicki Maynard. Ad Ellen? Were you waiting for someone? Ad Ellen? Aren't you well? Race. Race. She seems... Look. The girl was staring in horror. Her gaze held by a dark stain on the flagstone hearth. Her fluid sat in a stain the size of a steak plate. Her gaze held by a dark stain on the flagstone hearth. Her fluid sat in a stain the size of a steak plate. And then, even as we watched, the old lady's body shifted in the chair, swayed sideways and... Race! We'll return to the adventures of Frank Race in just about one minute. Now, back to the adventures of Frank Race. He's gone on his murder. Vicki Maynard's face already drained of color, stiffened into stark lines as I mentioned this. Race. What shall I do? Call the police. There's no use calling them. Doctor, no use at all. And when the police get here, I wouldn't try to hold out on them. Hold out? If I were you, I'd tell them about this blackmail setup. No. This is murder, baby. You don't fool with it, not if you're smart. And holding out on the police is never smart. Well, Aunt Ellen, Race, you know that. You and I left this room together. That's right. So when I tell this to the police, they're going to want to know who I am and why I'm here. Tell them the truth. You're an investigator working for me. Investigating a lost insurance policy left by my father. Investigating a lost insurance policy left by my father. That's the truth, Race, about the insurance policy. My family knows about it. I'll do my best for you, baby. But I can't tell direct lies. It wouldn't be healthy for either of us. All right, Race. I know you'll do your best. She left me and went to a phone. I had to look around. But whatever the weapon had been, it didn't seem to be in the room. Presently, the police arrived headed by Lieutenant Grimsby, accompanied by several reporters wearing the expressions of beagles and a scent. In the midst of the confusion, there appeared a man who would have made the perfect model for your average all-American football player. When he took Vicki in his arms, I pegged him for Larry Mainer, her foster cousin and fiance. Where do you stand in this chicken? I don't know, Larry. I can't even think. You didn't see it happen? I was out. And that seems to be the only thing in my favor. And if it weren't for Race, I don't know what I would have done. Who's been in the house today? No one else but Mason. With his deafness, he... Well, he just told the police he didn't see or hear a thing. Has Dad been here yet? Not yet. I drew away from them and went to the door. But before I could leave, Vicki ran up to me. Race, you were wonderful with the police. You gave me every break in the world. But I'm scared. There's something about this that... There always is about murder, baby. Just hang on. We'll see what turns up. If Sealy calls, I'll tell him to contact you. Is that all right? It's all right on one condition. What? Go back to the hotel and wait for Sealy's call. You let me handle him my way. All right, Grace. You do it your way. When you get lost, you get lost. I was figuring we might get the train out of here today. Sorry, Marcus, but we're stuck. Maybe for several days. No. Hello. Frank Race, there. Yeah, yeah, he's here. Hang on. But you... and this guy don't sound like no pacifist. Hello. That's right. I do. You care to come up here? Are you kidding? If I do any talking, I'll pick the spot and the time. Whatever you say. I'm a stranger in town. How about a cab? No cab, rent a car, charge you to the game. All right, so I rent a car. Make it a coupe. You know where Goff Street is? I'll find it. I'll park on Goff between Francisco and Bay. Be there 12.30 tonight. Lift up the lid of your trunk so I'll know you. You know something, Chum. That guy didn't sound like no law-abiding citizen. Blackmailer. Hmm. And I suppose you're going to sashay out that I'd meet Noel by yourself, huh? Not this one, Marcus. I'm taking you along if I have to stuff you in that trunk. Goff Street. Between Francisco and Bay. A short block of apartment housing. We parked the rented coupe and I got out to raise the trunk lid. Any signing up guys yet? There's a car coming up now. Keep out of sight. Right. I'm race. Come here. There were two of them in a Buick convertible. Each with a face that matched the shadows around them. I moved over to the car. Get in. I'd rather do my talking right here. What do you want, a written invitation? Get in. Mark, explain the facts of life to these gentlemen. I'm over here, boys, on the driver's side. I walked around while yours was both looking at race. Both of us came around me and it's 38. Maybe you recognize that 38, Sealy. It belonged to Tom Crowell. I don't get this. What's it all about? Keep your hands quiet and get out. On my side, both of you. I'll open the door. Sure. We'll get out. This punch sent me to the curb but I had my feet ready as he leaped and he went back against the car. I was up as he came in again and a left hook plus a looping right. Bloody asshole. Nice work if you can get it. But he ain't all the way unconscious, right? I don't want him unconscious. How about your man? You're kidding. Can you imagine he tried choking me? No. There is a boy who's going to need some body to help me get this one on his feet. I'll get on my own feet. Sealy, it's pretty late. There isn't a person at sight. Which means there's no one to stop me from lacquering you to a frazzle if you don't talk. Stop lacquering. I ain't saying a word. Let me start on him. No, no. I guess I just can't work that way. Beat it, Sealy. Come on, Mark. Let's get out of here. Look at that crumb. I didn't like the look he'd give us when we pulled out. Hold on, Mark. This looks like a dead end. It is unless we want to end up in a drink. I'll turn around. Hey, that rig up ahead, he's swinging around a block. It's the Buick. Must be Sealy. Got a Tommy Gun race. I'll try jumping a sidewalk. Boy, that was close. I meant that I didn't think we'd make it. I think we shook him. Good. Let's take a lesson from this little escapade, huh? Don't never go easy on guys like that Sealy. Way too narrow. Back to the hotel, I guess. As we enter the lobby of the St. Francis, I found myself being paged. I followed the bellhop to the bar to wear a well-dressed man of about 55, sift and old-fashioned. Hey, sit down, race. I'm Sanderson Maynard, Bicky's uncle. And by the gender, drink for this gentleman. What will it be, race? I'll follow your example. And I may say that this is somewhat of a surprise. It shouldn't be. Maynard Clan seems to be in somewhat of a situation. And from what I hear, you're a good person to turn to under such circumstances. Mind telling me where you heard that? I get around. I'd like you to work for me on this affair, race. I'm already working for your niece. It's all in the family. I'm afraid these things don't always work out that way. I'm very fond of it, Bicky, race. First of all, and I, we're very close. We're brothers. A lot in common. Even had duplicate apartments when we were youngsters. I'd like to take over now for Bicky. I want to help her all I can. What makes you think she needs help? Bicky likes to have a good time. And she's been short of ready cash lately. I've had the feeling she might have run into some sort of trouble. Why'd she hire you? I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that. It would be sensible to tell me. Just for Bicky's sake. See, I'm not worried so much about the murder. I'm not worried about the murder. I'm not worried about the murder. I'm not worried about the murder. I'm not worried so much about the murder. The police now have reason to believe it was done by a housebreaker. They didn't believe that while I was there. They are flexible people, Ace. They know when to change their minds. Now, getting back to Bicky. Sorry, Mr. Manor, you're pushing an unsuccessful sale. I never work for two principals at the same time. It looks like we ain't going to get much sleep tonight. Must be after two o'clock. It's the next driveway. Stop the car. Yeah. What do you know? So this is 127 Windermalane, huh? They got enough ground for a nine-hole golf course. That driveway must be a mile long. All right, what do we do now? We walk that mile of driveway down to the house. You know, Chum, this is quite a grade. But we dropped 20 feet since we left the street. Here, it's this door. This door is locked. What do we do now? We get in somehow with as little fuss as possible. Well, we will just try this window. Don't seem like anybody hideous. No. Doesn't seem to be any reaction. Look, is this the room where the old lady was knocked off? This is it. Throw your flash on that fireplace hearth. All right. What am I looking for? Oh, I get it. The stain, huh? Hey. Oh, that is a stain. They must have used... What's the matter? I thought I heard something. Still hear it? No. I guess I'm dreaming things. Come on, we're going upstairs. You know, this room is kind of like the one we just left. Except that it's empty. An exact duplicate. Which proves something I've been suspecting for the last hour or so. That I've been played for a patsy. I don't get it. This room wasn't empty when I saw it last. It was exactly like that in the room below. Oh, that's fine. So what goes? So I operated under an illusion of having been in only one room. Well, actually, I'd been in two. When I first came into this house, I came through the front door from the street level. And I was led into this room. I left it with Vicki Maynard. We stayed away about an hour. When we came back, we found the old lady dead. Apparently murdered in the same room we'd left. And that's what I told the police, giving Vicki Maynard an excellent alibi. There's no evidence that looked the same, but actually belonged to a different room. That's why this room is empty. She's been trying to... Did you say something, Mark? What happened to the light? You'll have to depend on the moonlight, Rice. Your friend is on the floor unconscious. Vicki, what have you done to him? Why did you have to come here, Rice? Why couldn't you just let things go as they were? I guess I'm the curious type. What's that you're having in your hand, a pistol? I thought you were working for me, Rice. I don't want Crowell all the way. He left a wife and a teenage kid. Since you caused his death, it's my belief that they should collect damages from you or from your estate, because you may not be around very long, baby. You said yourself that Crowell was killed by Gunman. Gunman, who were working for you. You were hijacking those securities because you needed money. They really belonged to your great aunt, Victoria E. Maynard, with the E standing for Ellen. I caught that phase of it in the papers tonight, baby, and you had a feeling that I might do just that. Which was why you had Sealy try to eliminate me. You're quite an actress, Vicki. That blackmail story was a peach. There's no use, Rice. You've got to die. And I might as well... Let go! Let me go! Drop that gun! I will not! Sorry, baby. You're holding me. Wouldn't be hard to take. That's the trouble with this whole case. Kiss me, Rice. Say you're working for me. Be a lot simpler if I could just forget Tom Crowell. But you see, baby, I never work for two principals at the same time. The Adventures of Frank Rice starring Paul Dubov with Tony Barrett as Mark Donovan comes to you from Hollywood. Others heard in tonight's cast were Michael Ann Barrett, Chris Kraft, Tom Holland, William John Stone, and Gunner Peterson. This series is written and directed by Joel Murcott and Buckley Angel. The music is composed and played by Ivan Dithmarz. Be sure to be with us again this time next week for another dramatic chapter in The Adventures of Frank Race. Art Gilmore speaking. This is a Brucell's production.