 Standard of California, on behalf of independent Chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the West, invites you to let George do it. One chance at the world, another adventure of George Valentine. Personal notice. Stanges my stock and trade. If life is a continual dance with someone else calling the tunes, you got a job for me, George Valentine. Write full details. Dear Mr. Valentine, it's a great homecoming after you've been away several years to find your wife waiting for you. Dead. But that's what happened to me. She died a week before I got to town. The chaplain said maybe I was crazy to even come back here. But now that I did, I'm glad. Because my wife was murdered, Mr. Valentine. And what do I find? The guy who killed her still sits at home eating squab and drinking champagne. Well, that's what you said in your letter, Mr. Evans? Murdered. It's what I meant. And the name's Nard. I'm not used to being called Mr. Okay, Nard. Your wife's name was Verna. That's right. Well, the newspapers indicated Verna Evans was hit by an automobile when she was walking across an intersection up by the edge of town. Yeah. A week ago, Saturday night. And it said the driver was exonerated. Sure. Dismissed with a couple of words, like she was. About the size of a death note is way back on page seven. But did the article say who he was? But no. No. Probably knows the editor. That's why. It was Mr. Farrell Paulson. Now what do you think? Look, Nard, I know that Mr. Paulson's important. He's a big man. And the kind that doesn't like to have his name in the paper. I'll say he doesn't. Not unless he's kissing a baby or something. But I also know that the police in this town don't play favorites. And I know they must have looked into this case thoroughly. I was afraid that that's what you'd say. I went to the police. They said the whole story was in the papers. So I went to Mr. Paulson himself. You'd think he'd at least feel sorry about killing a woman, but he wouldn't even see me, Mr. Valentine. Not even see me. Oh, he wouldn't, huh? Hey, look, Nard, tell me a little more about yourself, would you? In the letter you mentioned Chaplin. Have you been in the Army? Prison. Oh, I see. You're pretty young, aren't you? Twenty-three. How long were you there? Good behavior. Only two and a half years. What for? Assault with a deadly weapon. Want to tell me about it? No. Why should I? It's over with. I paid for it. Okay, okay, Nard. Being bitter never helps you, Nard. I try not to be Mr. Valentine. I know I shouldn't be. I know Verna wouldn't want me to be. But it's not so easy when things like this happen. We were always so close. Married women were just kids. We started our own little business, laundry and cleaning. I even worked out some new machines, fast presses. You know, we had big plans. But I haven't even got that anymore. What do you mean? She had to sell out while I was away. I told her not to, but... I guess she had to eat somehow. Groffay Lundry's got everything I own. I... I don't know why I'm telling you all this, except... I haven't got a penny to pay you with. Who says I'm going to do anything I need pay for? You mean you won't help me? You mean I get the brush from you, too? Sorry, Gilbert. It's just tough. That's all. The world is not against you. Maybe it looks that way to you, but it's not. Sure, sure. That's what the chaplain kept saying. I believe them, too. All I'm trying to tell you is I'm going to do something about it. I'm going to prove it to you. I'm not trying to evade my responsibilities. That's what you're thinking, Mr. Valentine. Or my conscience. All right, Mr. Paulson. I believe you. It's just that I... I'm trying to plan what you're going to say to him a little more carefully. I beg your pardon. You were driving your car last Saturday night. Were you alone? Yes. Feeding? No. Drinking? No. Now what happened? The police have this case. They have every bit of information. There's no sense in why... Okay, okay, Mr. Paulson. Your client, the young man, the husband, he's not trying to cause any further trouble, is he? Oh, no, Mr. Paulson. He's happy that you... Oh, I know I shouldn't have said it that way. I didn't mean it that way. The accident wasn't my fault. I slammed on my brakes, but she was running across the street, and... I bet he'd like to kill me. I don't like myself very much either. It wasn't your fault, and yet you don't just feel upset. You feel guilty, too, don't you? Why? See here, I have to get back inside. It wouldn't be you've held something backward, even from the police. No, no, no. Of course not. What's your name again? Valentine. Yes, yes. Perhaps we'll meet again, Mr. Valentine. Lieutenant Riley, what homicide got to do with Werner Evans' death? And how did you know what we're here for, anyway? Paulson called me. But as regards your first homicide has nothing to do with it. Just Riley the sucker. Good old Riley everybody's... Just what are you talking about? Oh, never mind, never mind. Wait a second. Uh, Hewitt. Hewitt, this is Miss Brooks and Mr. Valentine. Well, how do you do, Hewitt? I'm Nards' cousin, Miss. I'm sure pleased to meet you. Oh, Hewitt, what brings you down? Nards' staying with me, you see. I guess he doesn't like to go back to their old apartment. We don't mind having him. It's the least we can do. Now, remember what I said, Hewitt. And remember, it's got nothing to do with you blaming yourself. How can I help it? I mean, at least we could have had her over once a week, regular. But Saturday night was the gin-rummy clubbing. Well, the wife did her best getting her for meals. And I saw Verna several times helping her sell that cleaner stuff to Johnny Grofer. I said, don't blame yourself. Now, just try and think about what I've been telling you so you can help. No. No, all you've been saying is a lot of police department stuff. Huh? I know how you'll work. I'm not actually saying this guy Paulson did any fixing or anything. But I am saying I know what Verna was like. You guys better make up something better than that for Nard. That's all I'm saying. So long, Lieutenant. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Police department stuff. What's the matter with people? What do they think we do? Sit down here plotting against everybody? Oh, oh, remember your blood pressure, Lieutenant. Well, that's what you're here for, too, isn't it? To say, Riley, what's the big idea of brushing the poor kid off? Big, hard-hearted police department. Oh, don't mind me. I've had a bad morning. That's all. Stand at the beginning, will you, Riley? Yeah, sure, sure. Traffic referred the case to me because I was the one who sent Nard Evans up three years ago. I was a sergeant then. Oh, the assault with a deadly weapon. Oh, it sounds worse than it was. Nard was just a kid when after a couple of sailors with a tire iron because he thought they insulted his wife. Well, he deserved to be punished all right. A man can't let his temper fly anytime he wants. But he was really just a heart-headed boy who loved his wife too much. Oh, he idolized her. She was cute, too, blonde, not too bright, but very nice. And that's why traffic referred this case to me. Hey, clear up that one, will you? Well, point A, Farrell Fulsons, not at all to blame for the accident. You sure? Not according to my evidence. Point B, Verna Evans was. What? Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. The heart-hearted police department thought it might be better if Nard didn't know the truth. That's why we gave the kid the stall this morning. That's why we had his cousin in, hoping he might be able to ease the blow. The blow? What do you mean, Lieutenant? The accident happened last Saturday night out by the edge of town. Crowded highways, crowded roadhouses. Come on, Lieutenant, come on. Well, we don't know whether she was with anybody or not, but we do know she had been other nights the same week. About a dozen witnesses in a joint called Springer's Shack remember seeing her. Then some guy took her arm and she went outside. Tried to walk across the highway when Paulson and a lot of other cars were coming and, well, Paulson couldn't help himself. What else, Riley? Well, the kid's beautiful, wonderful wife could hardly stand up straight. Wow. Hello, Nard. I thought you'd go on home over to your cousin's. No, no, I... Well, I had to know what was going on. I came back up here. Your office was locked, but... Yeah, well, let's go inside, kid. We can... No, no, no. Tell me right now. What did you find out? Well, Nard, Mr. Paulson isn't guilty of anything and the police didn't mean to give you a brush off. They just didn't seem to think you'd understand. I think they were wrong. What do you mean? Well, Miss Brooks means... I understand that you're being imprisoned. Well, it was pretty hard on your wife, too. Bernard? What are you trying to tell me? Nard, the other night that accident was just unavoidable. Bernard had been out. She'd been having a good time. She'd... Well, she'd had a few. You're lying to me. Bernard never drank in her life. They looked over the evidence ourselves, Nard. Statements from people who saw her. There's no question about it. You're lying to me. You're trying to hide something. You take it easy, kid. Now come on inside. No, Nard, I don't want it. You don't want it. It's going to help. Nard, please. You're all like the rest of them. A guy's a jailbird. Give him a kiss. Nard, he's... I'll show you what it feels like. He's your payment for doing nothing. No, no. Wait a minute, Nard. No, no. Let him go. Oh, George. Maybe that sock got some of it out of his system. Oh, darling, your cheek's bleeding. That's okay. Here, give me the key. Hey, wait a minute. Wait a minute, Booksy. He said the office was locked. But I don't remember locking it. Huh? Not the outer room. Now, you see, it's not. What in the name of... Yeah. Farrell Paulson. Oh, darling. Yeah, here's the gun with a silencer. And, Booksy, I guess he's about as dead as six bullets will make a man. We'll return to tonight's adventure at George Valentine in just a moment. Good evening, car owner. Did you know that the most severe wear in your car's engine starts the moment you cut the ignition off? It's caused by condensation of acid-laden moisture on vital parts. The result is corrosive rust, which is responsible for 80% of engine wear. But there's a sure way to stop this high-cost corrosion. Use premium quality RPM motor oil. RPM contains special compounds that prevent rust. One compound in RPM is an adhering agent which keeps a moisture-proof film on the cylinder walls of your engine. And RPM stays on the job preventing rust, even though your car stands idle for days or weeks. No wonder RPM is first choice in the West. It's the oil that stops 80% of engine wear. Ask for RPM at standard stations and at independent chevron gas stations where they say, and mean, we take better care of your car. Now back to tonight's adventure of George Valentine. You meet a boy just out of prison whose wife was killed a week before. Yes, Verna Evans was struck by an automobile driven by a Mr. Farrell Paulson. The police tell you that Mr. Paulson was not to blame, that the only reason for the accident was the difficulty Mrs. Evans was having with her own navigation. The boy, Nard, quite understandably, refuses to believe such a thing about his wife and socks you when you try to tell him about it. So, like George Valentine, you have a pretty sore jaw. And it's not helped any, but the fact that you've now found Mr. Paulson dead in your office. Well, stop looking at me, Valentine. I didn't say Evans killed him, did I? People always point at the cop and say, there he goes, accusing somebody. My, my, my, aren't we touchy today? Oh, well, it's just that I can't say Oh, well, it's just that I can't help kicking myself for being so gooey-hearted this morning. Gooey-hearted. Maybe if I told Nard the fact straight out, but no, no, no, no, I had to protect his dream about his wife. Hey, look, Riley, I had the feeling Paulson hadn't told his whole story yet. Something bothered him. Subconscious, maybe. Yeah? Well, try this on your subconscious. My boys ran the gun down. Yeah? Yeah. It was bought this morning from a hot shop on 3rd Street. Purchased or signed his name, John Smith. But he had brown eyes. Five foot ten, about 160 pounds. Complexion, a little pale. Nard Evans? Yeah, two with tea. Well, I've got to put out an all-points form. Okay, Riley. But while your cops are looking for the boy, I'm going to go out and find him. Come on, Brooksy. Excuse the gate crash, you mister were in a hurry. You're going to grow faint laundry, don't you? Yes. Well, I'm looking for Nard Evans. Have you seen him? Who? Yes, you have seen him, haven't you? And you're scared to death. Why, why would I have seen anyone named Nard Evans? Oh, I've played you for just a long shot, but I guess you're not. Nard's a boy who thinks the world's against him. I thought he might have been here to file a complaint. You bought some machines or patents or something from his wife, a fast presser. I remember now, but there certainly would be no reason to complain. Yeah, for a long shot you sound more and more like a sure thing. Now come on, when was he here? There's a murder involved. It was 15 minutes ago. George, after the murder. Keep talking. Well, he was talking wildly, made a lot of threats. He had the ridiculous idea that his wife had been put upon. I guess she was. I guess that's why you're so scared. Are you implying that I spindled the girl? See, you know she came to me alone, she did. Absolutely alone. It was her idea to sell. She needed money, she said. And you were glad to oblige. Mr. Groffay, did Verna Evans impress you as the kind of girl who'd spend a good deal on parties or maybe liquor? Well, I don't know, perhaps. Perhaps, yes, now that you mention it. Why? That's a good question, Mr. Groffay. Why a lot of things? Like why believe everything we hear? Sure, that's us, Mr. Springer Shack. Been here for 25 years, me and Pa. Well, I guess it's your husband we want to see, Mr. Springer. He was one of the main witnesses in that Evans accident. You know, the girl who was hit by the car when she walked out of here last Saturday night? Oh, yes, yes, I know. Poor little thing. Well, tell me, is your husband... I said is your husband a... You don't have to yell, Mr. I'm so used to trucks backfiring, I can hear myself think by him. Well, Pa'll be here any second. Been taking a nap in the house, I'll back. Mrs. Springer, do you remember Verna Evans? Well, not much. See, I'm busy on the cash register and cooking, too. We're mostly a restaurant, you know. Yeah, but it gets a little noisy around here on Saturday nights. Well, we got two jukeboxes. Sure it does, Mr. No, Pa was the one told the police about, well, you know about the condition she was in. What sort of condition was she? Pa's pretty strict. He wouldn't serve her more than the one drink and she didn't touch that, she couldn't. Why not? I guess other places aren't so particular. She'd been filled up, lady, before she ever got here. Huh, huh? Oh, Lordy, I don't know. Some folks thought so, some folks didn't, but Saturday nights, Mr. Well, you better just ask Pa. What's that? I... I said you better... Hey, that wasn't a fight. Come on. Around this way. Look out for the puppies. Springer spandals, but they're really aerodails. Take care of them. That was a shotgun. Mr. Springer, Mr. Springer, can you hear me? Hey, Mr. Springer, who did it? Can you hear me? Who did it? That... that... That... that... Evans... That was the Springer! You were out there, Lieutenant. You saw Mrs. Springer. She doesn't lie. And we told you what she said about just one drink. A traffic can't come up with any other boys where Verna Evans was seen drinking. Just a lot of corroborating stuff on her, weaving around in that one place. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. The doctors had let us know in a couple of minutes. They're already re-examining the body. You know how many orders it takes to get an exhumation? Oh, never mind, never mind. What I keep thinking about is poor old man Springer was the girl's big accuser. He threw the first rock. From Nard's standpoint, he called his wife names in public. Motive. Lieutenant Riley. Lieutenant Riley. Oh, there we are now. Excuse me. Yeah, yeah. Sergeant Johnson. A couple of patrol cars located at Evans Boy. What? They're getting cornered upstairs of a garage on 73rd Street. He's daring them to come on up after him. They say homicide has a hold on it, waiting for instructions. The Evans Boy is armed with a shotgun. Okay, Johnson, tell him. Riley, Riley, get in there and ask the doctors to hurry, will you? And tell those guys to keep the kids surrounded until we get there. He's up here, Lieutenant. There's a room over the garage, stairs are inside. Yeah, okay, Sergeant. Oh, hello, Stuart. That's my shotgun, he's got Mr. Valentine. Came home from work and found he'd been there and it was missing. I live over in the next block. Anybody trying to go in yet? He says he'll shoot if we stick our heads in. Says make him an offer and let Hewitt here deliver it. I guess Hewitt's the only one he'll trust. Gosh, I feel like a heel. I'd like to help, but I've got a family to think about. I know what he's like when he's like this, when he loses his temper. You ever let go of the tear gas, Lieutenant? No, no, just stand back from the door. I'm going to have a talk with him first. George, no. Really, no. Angel, relax. Okay, Valentine, all clear. Is that you, Hewitt? No, it's me, Valentine. You've got two seconds to get out before I blow your head off. Tough, aren't you? The jailbird. The guy who used a tire iron on two sailors. Keep your buttons on. I haven't got a gun. Keep your buttons on. I can shoot yours off. You bet I can't. Yeah. Yeah, you really have got the world against you. Now, haven't you? Everybody hates you, Nod. The police, me, Johnny Groff, fate, the whole world. I'm not kidding, Mr. Valentine. Get out of here. You're the only one I'll talk to. Nod, did you ever hear of a man named Springer? Who's he? Now, listen, kid, I got news for you. I asked the police to exhume the body of your wife, Bernard. What? Why are you trying to approach him? Listen to me, will you? The doctors can't tell about alcohol after a day or so. But they could tell about something else that was in her stomach. A drug, a dope. What? Drugs, dope. What Paulson's car hit her when all those people saw her in Springer's shack, she acted like she'd had a few too many. Now, she could have been made to act that way by a drug. I guess so. So what? Listen to me, Nod. A couple of years ago, you went to prison. You told your wife not to sell that fast pressing machine thing of yours. But she needed money. Yeah, yeah, I know all that. Werner was young. She could have been persuaded to sell. Only when she found out later she'd been taken that Grofay was really making hay out of his purchase she got frantic. Her last week she tore around. Seeing people, maybe. Seeing men, maybe. There's always wise guys to put on the wrong and take... Sure, sure. But who was in a position to persuade Werner? I don't know what you're talking about. Who was in a position to collect a rake off from Grofay? Who told me he'd seen Grofay with her? When Grofay was so careful to say she'd been alone. Who would have gotten scared to death because he knew how rough you could be? Cut it out, will you? Get out of here and pull this trigger! Who could have gotten panicky and frugged her and shoved her out on the highway and put scared to death pulse and saw something funny? Scared to death of Paulson and Springer too because he might remember his face from being a springer. Mr. Valentine, stop it! I'm warning you! Only Springer remembered her name. That Evans fella, he said. But he never met you. He could have meant... Hewitt Evans! No, no, you're nuts! Get out of here! And the reason I know I'm right is because you want me to get out of here and Hewitt to come in. So you jailbird can kill him! I didn't know about Springer. I went to your office and found Paulson dead. I tore out after Grofay. I tore all over town and everywhere there was cops. And Hewitt hid me. Later on he brought me over here. I never got wise until I saw that here there was a shotgun and it had been fired so you could smell it. He stole the gun I bought in the pawn shop. He picked me for a patsy. There were extra shells. He wanted me to shoot it out and get killed by the police. Well, I ain't gonna blast a hole in them. Get out of here, Valentine! I'm gonna... You know... I told you a long time ago that my wife didn't drink. Yeah, kid. Yeah, you did. I guess I figured if you had that much faith in her, maybe somebody ought to have some faith in you. Now, you still want to kill him? Here's... Here's the gun, Mr. Valentine. George. What do you suppose Mr. Paulson came up here to the office? What do you suppose he was gonna tell us? Oh, I don't think he'd actually been hiding anything he'd seen at the time of the accident, Brooksy. He didn't actually see Hewitt Pusher. Just a suspicion, a tinge of doubt. And, well, all of us feel it's so much easier not to get mixed up in things. I know. Like it's so much easier to make a flat-footed accusing statement like Mr. Springer must have about Bernard Evans. People are so careless and selfish when they tell things they see, when they tell things they've been told. They forget that somebody might suffer. Somebody might be robbed of his chance at the world. Well, not Evans has a pretty good chance now, Brooksy. You see, I think that... George, I love you. For a happy vacation trip, and indeed, for your everyday motoring, take a tip. Go on Chevron Supreme gasoline. It's blended perfectly to give your car's engine ping-free power under every driving condition. Faster starts for cold engines, quicker pickup and traffic, and extra power on hills with never an engine knock. Ping-free power means more economical motoring, you know, for a knocking engine is a strained and laboring engine that's wasting both power and fuel. So, make sure you get Chevron Supreme a premium-quality gasoline. Remember, it's climate-tatered according to the West's different altitude and temperature zones, gives your car its best performance wherever you buy it. In fact, you can't buy a better gasoline for today's high compression engines. Ask for Chevron Supreme at standard stations and at independent Chevron gas stations where they say, at mean, we take better care of your car. Next week, when we find George Valentine trying to solve a new riddle on a country of state, we'll hear... I did see him, George. Right over there, it's through the fall. Okay, Angel, let's take a look. I'll turn on the flashlight. Okay. Hey, wait a minute. Look at that book, see? Oh, no. He didn't even reach his car to get away. That makes two of them, Angel. And our job is to see that somebody doesn't make it three. Tonight's adventure of George Valentine has been brought to you by Standard of California. On behalf of independent Chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the West, Robert Bailey is starred as George with Francis Robinson as Brooksy. Wally Mayer appears as Lieutenant Riley. Let George do it was written by David Victor and Jackson Gillis and directed by Don Clark. Also heard in the cast were Walter Burke as Nard, Ted Funels as Paulson, Clayton Post as Hewitt, Bob Griffin as Groffay, and Martha Wentworth as Ma. The music is composed and presented by Eddie Dunstetter, your announcer, John Heaston. Listen again next week, same time, same station, too. Let George do it. This is the Mutual Don Lee Broadcasting System.