 The National Broadcasting Company presents the Adventures of Sam Spade, Detective. Hey, sweetheart. Sam, would you mind telling me where you are? Not at all, Effie. Not at all. Let's see. I'm at the ill rigged and the rabbi tile-seed grog. I don't understand it, Sam, but I think I caught the word grog. Oh, you're shrewd, Effie. You see, I'm on the inside and the lettering is printed on the outside. Now, if you'll wait, I'll go outside and read it the right way and then come inside and tell... Never mind. I've already guessed. You're a George's elite bar and grill. Trat. Sam, after me, you promised me you wouldn't. I am. Me? I promised? Me? You did, Sam. You promised faithfully to stay away from bars. You know how hard television is on your eyes? Have you got your glasses? One in each hand. Fill them up, George. Oh, Sam, I heard that. What will people think? Another name. Just a little of the hair of the dog that bit me, Effie, but don't worry about me. Although it's true I have been dogging it and have been hounded from tree to tree, I am frisky as ever and will be in to unleash my canine chronicle, namely, the dog bedcaper. Or, he who lies down with dogs gets up with murder. Or, condensed for easy reading... NBC, William Speer, radio's outstanding producer, director of mystery and crime drama, brings you the greatest private detective of them all, in the adventures of Sam Spade. Here I am, Sam. Effie, did you ever write poetry in school? Well, well I was known as Emily Dickinson of Central High. I thought you had a touch of internal rhyme scheme there. I doodled a little poem about you today. Really? Well, re-doodled. There was a detective named Spade with oodles of brains in his head. Clever, clever. But when he took up drinking, he forgot about thinking. Now give me the punchline. And Effie has stayed quite unpaid. Well, a little rough but cute. Did you get the idea, Sam? Never could make any sense out of poetry. Ready? He's getting close to Christmas, Sam, and I just... Pencil points? I use my life pencil and I don't really have enough money to buy any. Hey, Effie, I have no head for figures. From Samuel Spade, license number 137596. Subject, the dog bed caper. Oh, Sam, I hope this is going to be all about dogs. I belong to the tail waggers, you know. Yeah, yeah. And I've read all the books by Jacqueline... Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I just think... Go on, Effie. Strangely enough, you will not meet a single dog in this story. Actually, this narrative has little indeed to do with our four-footed friends or their beds. I've changed the title now except that it's already gone out for publicity. Dear Dundee, it all started with a phone call to my secretary, Miss Effie Perine, a doll, requesting my inimitable services at the investment counseling firm of Cameron Incorporated. Clearing everything off my desk, two shoes with feet in them, my own, I went over. The firm of Cameron Incorporated was obviously not for the push cart, Sam. Plush, ankle-deep rugs, imported drapes, and the receptionist. She had a plushness all of her own. I said hello in my plushiest voice, and she liked it. She said so. Oh, I like the way you said that. Say it again. Life is too short to go back even for a moment. The past is a dead thing, the present dying, only the future alive and vibrant. However, hello. Is there something? There is. Could I ask a question? Why not? I will rephrase the question. What time do you stop working this evening? Around six. Care to have... Why not? There's a little bar around the corner, okay? Why not? Why not indeed? Bring your own money? Well, come anyway. Your name? The list. Mine, Sam Spade. Who's Mr. Briggs? He called me. Major Briggs? Why, he's our chief accountant. I just happened to have my door opened. Did I hear someone inquiring about me? This is Mr. Spade, Major Briggs. How do you do, Major? It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Spade. I'm the man who called you, you know. I'm grateful, sir. Now, what is it I can do for you and Mr. Cameron? Oh, it's not for me that I called. I happened to worry in the world, and it's Miss Cameron. Oh. Old Cameron's been dead for many years now. I see. Whatever she wants, Mr. Spade, do a good job. We are all counting on you. Will you please announce Mr. Spade, Miss Roberts? Certainly, Major. If you'd excuse me. Nice to have met you, Major. Miss Cameron? Yes? Miss Spade's here. Send him in, please. Your own, Sam. Have fun. Think I might? Why not? That girl had the most beautiful double entendre in town. Well, to get on, Adela Cameron was a career woman, around 29, although the tailored suit made fine detective work difficult. No makeup, severe hairdo, and in spite of all this, chic. In fact, as we shook hands in a most business-like manner, I had the feeling that something warm might well spring up between us. Something like a warm mutual dislike, maybe. But something. Most men simply cannot be told anything in confidence. They gossip. That's a switch. I don't appreciate your humor, Mr. Spade. I accept your apology. I will tolerate you because of your reputation. All right. I'm going to give you a very difficult job to do. Hey, Miss Cameron. What is it, Major? I'm sorry to interrupt you, but Courtney Pierce is on the phone. Mr. Spade, this is Major Briggs, our chief accountant. We've already met, Mr. Spade. And now, Adela, Pierce wants us to unload his short-term governments and buy American cattle. He's divvied in crazy. Amcat's declaring one in January, and he wants it. Well, let him do it. Well, I just want to protect your interests. You know what will happen to Amcat after February? They'll drop 10 points, and he'll blame us. I went through this with your father when you and Greg were... That's right, Major. Well, tell him we advise against it. But if he persists, ask him for a release and writing. That's what I thought you'd do. That's the way your father would have handled it. I just want to protect your interests, my dear. That's all. I know, Major. I know. I just want to protect your interests. But don't worry about us. You know, we're not children anymore. All right, my dear. Where were we? Oh, you were giving me a difficult job. Oh, here. Here is the business address of Mr. I. J. Barco. He's a wealthy manufacturer, a client of ours. I want you to find out everything about him, especially anything unsabery. Sorry, I don't do divorce or blackmail cases. Mr. Spade, this is not a divorce investigation. All right, what is it, then? Why do we want a client shadowed? I believe is the expression. That's it. Because we believe he is investing money through us for some racketeers. If that were true, we would, of course, have to drop him. But we don't want to lose his business just on suspicion. I see. Find out anything you can about him. I'll give you $50 a day in expenses one week guaranteed. Will you consider the job? I have considered and taken the job. By the time I'd reached the door, she had already forgotten me and was hard at work on some papers. Outside, I planned to dally a few moments an idle chit chat with Celeste. But before I had the chance, I was accosted by a husky young chap whom I'm afraid was a Princeton man. What were you talking about in their spade? Oh, you had the advantage, sir. Who are you? Gregory Cameron. Now, come on. What was Adela telling you? Well, if you step to one side, you can walk around me and ask her. Look, don't pull that cagey private detective routine on me. I pack a little weight myself. Well, pack it somewhere else, sonny. I asked you a question. I expect an answer. There's your answer. Any more questions? He didn't feel much like talking, Ben. And I was so irritated, I walked out without saying goodbye to Celeste. When I reached the street, the white-haired old gentleman Major Briggs hurried out behind me. Mr. Spade, please don't think too badly of that boy. I've known him from the cradle. He's in a difficult emotional state at the moment. Yeah, sure, sure, sure. As far as I'm concerned, Major, it never happened. Ah, you're a kind man, Mr. Spade. I could tell that when I first saw you. You're just the sort of man Miss Cameron needs. Well, I hadn't looked at it that way. If you require anything, don't hesitate to ask me. I've been with this company 40 years before those two children in there were born. And I know how difficult life can be at times. I just want things to go well for them. I'll do my little part, Major. Bless you, son. Bless you. I started to work. The card Adela Cameron had given me revealed that my quarry, Mr. I. J. Barko, was of all things a manufacturer of dog beds. I sat down on a hydrant to think this over and then followed the scent of horse meat on over to his factory on South Dolores. It was built in the shape of a large dog house and outside stood a billboard with a message, a survey of independent dog tracks, kennels, and canine core proves that dogs choose Barko beds two to one. I had to get a look at Barko himself and so ruffling up the hair in the back of my neck, I trotted into the building, sniffing and wagging my tail in a very friendly manner. It was very easy to see, Mr. Barko, after I lied a little about my connections. What was that name again? Señor Don Jose Martinez Sada Morales, but you may call me Sam. And you represent a group of retail outlets in South America. Oh, I do indeed. We have our eye on your dog beds, Mr. Barko. Well, now, let's take a look at our catalog here. Now, say you had a great day and you'd want something regal like this Louis XIV. Have you seen a more beautiful bed? Well, not lately, but Mr. Barko. Down, boy, down. Now, here's a number that's very big this season with English bulldogs, a chariot and natural wood finish. Lovely, huh? Pariva. And, of course, if it's an Irish chariot, here's a purely gagged present for his sense of humor. A Murphy bed. A Murphy bed. Get it, Sam? Irish chariot. See, see. Well, of course, we wouldn't ask a dog to sleep in a Murphy bed. Mr. Barko, I'm afraid I don't see anything here I like. What's this? Do I understand you, sir? You are refusing this small speck of comfort to the one unselfish friend that man could have in this selfish world? Well, I'm not refusing anything. The unselfish friend who, if fortune drives you forth and outcast into the world, homeless will ask no higher privilege than to be at your side to guard against danger. Mr. Barko. Faithful unto death, thereby your graveside will be found the noble dog. My graveside? His head between his paws, his eyes sad, but watchful, faithful. We shook paws, and I felt his nose to be sure it was cold. It was, and I left. I took a car and took up a station outside the Barko factory. About four o'clock, he hurried out, jumped into a long, low vehicle shaped like a dachshund and mushed off. I followed. An hour later, I was phoning my first report to Adela Cameron's secretary, Celeste. You went to the city hall. What'd you do there, Mr. Spade? License bureau, marriage, not dog. Really? Where'd he go then? Grocery store, where he bought one bottle of olives, one bottle of vermouth, and one bottle gin. I wonder what he's going to make. What recipe is that? Now he's in an apartment house on Postry, just across from the drugstore I'm in, and judging from the groceries, intends to stay a while. He has laid in provision. Uh-huh. Well, I guess that's all we wanted to know. What? Miss Cameron just told me to call you off the case. You'll still get your guarantee, though. Major Briggs will send you check. Well, that doesn't make sense. Damn orders is orders. All right, all right. What about tonight? I'm afraid not. Some other time. You mean... you mean it's all over? The half-daring, half-shy kisses on the Oakland ferry? The warm, passionate spring nights at Fisherman's Wharf, eating abalone? The... Hello? Well, puzzled as who wouldn't be, I walked slowly back to my car. But before I had a chance to get in, I saw I.J. Barco hurry out of his apartment house. But he didn't enter his car. He came right for me. Spade! Spade! Just a minute, Spade. So sorry, my name is Don Jose Martinez, out of Morales yet. Don't kid me, Spade. I'm not as stupid as I acted today. Look, I know why Adele Cameron is following me, and you don't. And you'll never find out. Any more than the other four detectives did. I was the fifth choice? I shall speak with my agent about this. I'm going to tell her in person that this foolishness has to stop. If it doesn't, she'll live to regret it. One more thing. I presume you're going to follow me. Well, I'm turning right on market and heading out to 1217 Ridgewood Place. You shouldn't have any trouble. And with that, he spun on one heel and trotted to his car. He took off, but when I went to my car, it wouldn't turn over. And when I lifted the hood, I found out why. All my spark plugs were gone. I picked up a new set at a service station, looked up Adele Cameron's address in the phone book. It was 1217 Ridgewood Place. And a good half hour later, I got there. Barco's car was out in front. No one answered the door, but it was open. Adele Cameron was a crumpled heap on the living room sofa. Oh, Sam, it's... All right, all right, Miss Cameron, let me look at you. Are you hurt? No. No, I'm all right. It's him. Where? The bar. I hurried into the bar and was met with a strong odor of scotch. A bottle of it had been broken. And holding the neck of the bottle in one hand was I. J. Barco. He was on the floor. His hands slowly opened. His hands rolled out, and he died. You are listening to the weekly adventure of radio's most famous detective, Sam Spade. Two of tonight's Sam Spade in just a moment. Meanwhile, here's news of other goings-on on NBC. There's no doubt about it. It's The Big Show. Not just any big show, but THE big show. Brought to you every Sunday night over most of these NBC stations. An hour and a half of the very best in comedy, music, and drama. The stars this Sunday on The Big Show include Fred Allen, Margaret Truman, Douglas Fairbanks, Danny Thomas, Mindy Carson, and many more. All presided over by the glamorous Tallulah. No wonder it's The Big Show. Saturday night on NBC means mystery with the man called X, a man without a name who travels the world over on missions of intrigue and peril. Herbert Marshall stars as the man called X, tomorrow and every Saturday evening on NBC. Welcome back to The Dog Bed Caper, tonight's adventure with Sam Spade. It took three bullets in the chest to finish off I.J. Varko. He'd apparently been standing there pouring a drink. Varko broke the bottle as he fell. I couldn't find any other signs of violence or any guns. I went back to Adela Cameron. She was beginning to calm down. I don't know who did it. I just don't know. Well, it couldn't have happened more than a minute ago. And you were in the house, weren't you? No. No, after I left my office, I... went to the store for some things, then came home. When I was driving down Ridgewood, I heard some sound. And you thought they were a car backfiring? How did you know? I've heard this script before. Don't you dare accuse me of killing that man. It's not what I think that counts, but what the police accuse you of. Sam, I heard those sounds. I came in the house when I went into the bar. You didn't notice Varko's car out in front? Oh, I suppose I did. I don't know. I don't remember. Who are you calling? Homicide. Sam, Sam, wait a minute. Just a minute, please. Wait for what? I want to tell you some things. All right. Go on. I kind of get the feeling I was hired to put the finger on the dog's best friend. That's not the way it was. The last thing in the world I wanted was for him to be killed. Murdered, I mean. All right. What did you want? I'll tell you the truth. Why, I really had you watching Varko. I'd be curious. We handled his investment account. My brother, Gregory... We ran into each other. I heard. Well, Greg took $150,000 of Varko's money and invested it without my knowledge in the television company. I hear that medium's making money. But it turned out this company was just a front for some men who wanted to build a gambling syndicate up north. You mean your brother didn't know that? He knew, but there was supposed to be big money in it. He was going to give Varko a good profit and take the rest for himself. And Varko found out and threatened suit or something. He never would have known, but the deal fell through and the gambler said the money was gone. Then he asked about the investment. What could Gregory and I tell him? What did you? Unfortunately, the truth. We said we'd make up the money with interest, but he only gave us 90 days. We couldn't get it by then. So you didn't shoot him. Your brother did, eh? No, Sam. No, he couldn't have. I know, Greg. He'd have more sense. In my brief meeting with him, I didn't think he had any sense. Just one more thing before I call the police. Sam, Sam, don't call them. Help me get him out of here. Somewhere... No dice. Sam, Sam, don't let my whole life be over. Stop it, stop it. You set me on Varko to find some blackmailing material, yes? Yes. And then why did you suddenly call me off the job tonight? I didn't. Your secretary said you did. I didn't. I didn't tell her anything of the sort. Can I have that phone now? So I called you, Dundee. Before you arrived, I looked through Varko's pockets for something to do and came up with a picture of him and a girl. Taken outside our marriage chapel in Las Vegas. The girl was Celeste. Cameron incorporated plushie secretary. Several years younger and two shades less voluptuous. Her address 627 Finley was supplied by a now hysterical Adela Cameron. No one answered Celeste's door, but I heard a shower going inside, so I took the liberty of entering. Persona non grata. Come out and see. No false moves now. Keep that towel right where it is. Am I doing here detective work? And I must say I've already found out a great deal. I did expect some interest in you, but if you recall, I told you not tonight. It's my only night off. What a difficult scene. All right, we knock off the cute touches and get down to business. You were married to I.J. Varko. Right or wrong? Wrong. Wrong, it's right. You were married in Las Vegas at the chapel of the Flamingo Hotel on the towel. I was only married one day. My parents had it annulled. I was underage. Well, you don't have to worry about him anymore. He's dead. Shot three times at close range. In Adela Cameron's house. Not by you, of course. Although on the other hand, as you would say, why not? I didn't do it. Suppose you spilled. He wanted me to marry him again. Why? Well, I... I know all about the money that Cameron's misused. He found out Greg and I were in love. I should have known. He said he'd forget about the entire 150,000 if I'd married him for six years. 25,000 a year, that's a good price. How can you talk like that? Practice, I guess. So, Gregory had another good reason for killing him. He didn't, Sam. I know he didn't. Did you ever stand up in court? I don't think so. Suppose we say you called me off Barco's tail so Gregory could get at it. I didn't. I called you off because I was supposed to meet I.J.'s apartment tonight and give him his answer. I couldn't do it with you there. Flimsy, flimsy, but it might hold. It's the truth. I was going to see him, but I changed my mind. Any particular reason? Well, you saw him. Would he be the kind of man I'd marry? You did once. Well, it looks bad for Greg. Someone at Cameron Incorporated knew Barco was going to be at Adela's house. Pam, you do me a favor. Maybe? Give me an hour. Then I'll go wherever you want. I'll tell you anything you want to know. Why an hour? Because if I'm going to live with myself, there's something I have to do. Well? Please, Pam, if you do, I'll give you some information you might want. For example? There was someone at Cameron Incorporated who knew that Barco was going to Adela's house. She must have known I was going to wait outside in Taylor, but she didn't. Because without once looking over her shoulder, she emerged from her apartment house, slithered into her car, and led me directly down to the railroad station. She met a man in the waiting room, threw her arms around him, whispered something in his ear, and they hurried out to track seven. There was a transcontinental train getting up steam. She kissed him, and he climbed quickly up into a pullman named Aurora Falls. And almost as quickly, I climbed in the other end. We met in the middle. What are you doing here? I came to take you off the train, Greg, before you made a big mistake and left town. Now, look here. Let's not go through the intercollegiate tough talk again. Are you coming off, or am I going to carry off? You're going to carry me off? And I did. Celeste was gone, and he revived when he hit the cool air. I led him out of the station as unobtrusively as possible. Then we went down a side street to where my car was parked. That's where he began to show signs of life. Spade, look, you're all wrong. Guys got a right to leave town when he wants to. I'm going to sue you from here to the city hall and back. Shut up and get in the car. Celeste just told me about Barco. You don't think I did that, do you? As I get it, you and Celeste were leaving town together, right? Yeah, she told me to go on, and she'd come later. That was unwise of both of you. Come on, get in. Spade, I didn't kill Barco. Nobody said you did. Now, if you kindly get in the car and give me an address I want, and you know, we'll go see who did kill I.J. Barco. He gave me the address I wanted and said I was crazy. I told him why I wasn't, and he began to see the reason of it. Never have I gone to pick up a murderer with more distaste. When we knocked at the door, I had a gun in my hand, but it wasn't necessary. Come in, Mr. Spade. I knew you'd be along sooner or later. I don't like what I have to do, Major. Major, it can't be true. It just can't be. Come in, Gregory. My boy, come in. A little Madeira first before we start to talk. Madeira? How can you talk about wine when a man's accusing you of murder? Oh, I don't think it's so unreasonable, Greg. After all, I did kill the unfortunate Mr. Barco, and this might be the last Madeira I shall ever have. Mr. Spade. Thank you, sir. Greg? I don't want any wine. Spade, he's out of his mind, and so are you. I'm afraid not, Gregory. Oh, that was a vintage 1900 Madeira you wasted, Greg. Twice as old as you. Stop it. Stop it. I'm sorry about what happened, Greg. I would have spared you and your sister this unhappiness if I could have, but destiny was against us all. You knew he was going to Miss Cameron's house, didn't you? Yes. Just before I left for the bank with the weekly deposit, he called for Miss Cameron, and I took the call. I told him she was gone, and he said he was going to her house. It was to be an ultimatum. The money in 24 hours or exposure, but you didn't have to kill him, certainly not. It was a crime of passion. I take the weekly deposit to the bank every Friday, and I always carry a gun. Silly me carrying a gun. Never had to use it, but the bonding company requires I carry it. Well, I went directly from the bank to Miss Cameron's house. I wanted to help her face Barco. Was she there? Oh, no, Mr. Spade, she'd apparently stopped downtown to do some shopping. So I faced Barco alone. I asked him point blank to give these young people more time, but he just laughed at me. He said the only time they'd get would be in jail, so... It happened. Well, I hadn't intended to, but I became angry. Suddenly found the gun in my hand, and the thought crossed my mind. My life is just about over, and yours, Greg, is just beginning. It was easier to pull the trigger than I would have realized. Oh, Lord. A moment, dearer, Mr. Spade. Thank you, Major, but no. Well, allow me to present the bottle to you as a gift. I'll get my hat and coat. Greg, my boy, I'm sorry. You're sorry. Major, I wish I'd never been born. Period, end of report. I wish I hadn't either. Hadn't what? Been born. That poor, poor man. Yes, our racket. It is, it is. And poor Gregory. You'll have to go to jail for... something, too. He will, Aunt, he will. How about typing it out? I hate to, but I guess it's my duty. Three chimes mean good times on NBC. There's no cover charge at Duffy's Tavern. Just keep your dial on this NBC station this evening, as Archie, the manager, played by Ed Gardner and his remarkable friends, serve up another blue plate special of grilled English language, fresh laughs, and whimsy a la mode. Another Friday fun favorite is the delightful life of Riley, starring William Bendix as the beleaguered Chester A. Riley. Let me see. Murder is all in place. Gunshots indicated. Dundee is grammar-edited. My astuteness emphasized. And you've learned your job well, Effie. Oh, I'm glad you're pleased, Sam. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. What's this? P.S. Dundee, hands-off Celeste Robert. She's mine. Effie, what's the meaning of that? Well, well, you are going back to see her, aren't you? After the way she threw herself at you? No. Do you think she's my type of woman? Oh, Sam. I think every woman's your type. Every woman but me. Now, Effie, come here. Would I have you working in this office if you weren't my type? Yes, not. Well, then let that thought be your comfort. The world can have all the Celeste Roberts at once. As far as... Oh, I can't go through with it. You see, Sam, you can have if you want to. But in the end, I know you'll come back to me. I never doubted it once. Oh, Sam. You don't know how much you mean to me. Yes, I do, Effie. Three weeks back salary. Oh, you! Good night, Sam. Good night, sweetheart. The Adventures of Sam Spade are produced, edited, and directed by William Spear. Sam Spade was played by Stephen Dunne. The reentuttle is Effie. Script for tonight's adventure by John Michael Hayes and Dick Powell. Musical Scoring by Lud Glaskin, conducted by Robert Armbruster. Join us again next week, same time for another adventure with Sam Spade. Hear the magnificent Montague, then visit Duffy's Tavern on NBC.