 Personal notice, dangerous by stock and trade. If the job's too tough for you to handle, you got a job for me, George Valentine. Write full details. Are y'all set for another visit with Valentine? Ready or not, here he comes. And is he loaded? Now, don't get me wrong. I don't mean in the true sense of the vernacular, nor is he poting a Tommygun. He's just up to his chin in bliss. You know why? He's going on a vacation. Now, whether you think this is the proper time of year to take a vacation, or whether you think he deserves one, is of no consequence to George. He just got tired of letting George do it, packed Brooksy and his bags into the car and took off for his favorite seaside spot. Now, at first glance, this may look a little on the dull side, but stick around. It's only the beginning. Fish stew. George, are you sure this is the right road? It's so dark all I can see is fog and sand. Yeah, I know, and they're both the same color. Now, don't worry, I can tell them apart. I tell you, Brooksy, the Italians call it your bino, and the French call it bouillabaisse. But this stuff here tastes so much better than what they... I know, and Miss Gallagher just calls it fish stew. You've only told me about it ten times. Well, now look, everybody else in the world gets a vacation. Why can't I? At least once a year, can't we go off somewhere and have some fun? George, I'm not complaining about a vacation. I think it's wonderful, no mysteries, no letters from people getting murdered. I mean, it's so silly just picking up and going someplace you happen to be once where they have fish stew. Oh, but, Angel, you haven't tasted it yet. Besides, I wrote to her, didn't I? I still like to know why she didn't answer. Miss Gallagher? That's right. Why look on the gloomy side? Maybe she's in poison or her own cooking. Oh, darling, if I sound like a gloomy... What's the matter? Road sign. I guess I'd better part of my nose, hadn't I? Spit, one mile. Yep, almost there. Fog's clearing a little, too. Mmm. It comes the moon. Looks cold, doesn't it? Sandy, spit, I don't blame you. Even the name of the place is crazy. But it's quiet. Nothing ever happens here. Nobody ever comes here. Aren't there any tourists or summer visitors? Not many. You've seen the roads. Just sand fleas and seagulls, mostly. Oh, a few artists or hermits, maybe. But I think most people are afraid of this kind of country. Too lonely. Just miles and miles of sand dunes. Yes. George, I take it all back. I think I'd like something warm and friendly, like a fish stew. Place looks totally different, you know, in the daytime. I mean, when the sun's up. Well... Oh, hello. I was looking for... She's not in. Yeah, I was going to say Miss Gallagher. Obviously I'm not her, am I? My name's Dr. Crowell. I'm not in. Good night. Well, uh, you see, we're down to visit. She might not remember, but Mr. Valentine here wrote for reservations, only she didn't answer. I'm not surprised. Probably wouldn't answer if you were standing in the same room. What? She don't take in guests anymore. I'm the only one left. The way things are going, I won't last much longer. Well, what's happened that changed? Am I wrong? Sure, sure, you're not here for hospitality, are you? Like all the rest just nosing around. Well, I'm not going to show you no gold cup. Uh, gold cup. For my money, it ought to have stayed buried another 300 years. And Gallagher, along with it, her and her big secrets and mysteries. Yes, and you too. You should all be dead. Now, that's what I call a fine example of seaside hospitality. I think George better give up the idea of fish stew, or he'll end up dead as a mackerel. All of which makes me think that I'd better clam up and let you hear something that's not a fish story. Now, let's see how George and Bruxy are making out. I don't think this little safari to the sea is going to turn out to be much of a vacation. And neither does Bruxy. Nothing ever happens in Sandy's pit. Ah, the guy's nutty. Just warm fires and good food. What I want is a vacation. You know, once a year, get away from all the puzzles and excitement and mysteries. Oh, cut it out, Angel. It doesn't mean anything. Only, what do you say about a gold cup? George. Never mind. Listen. What? Yeah, a party going on down the street. I thought everybody was a hermit in this town, like Dr. Crowell. Great party. Sure do, Mr. Lewis. White boys in space. Come along, Clyde. At least nothing so very wrong can be going on here with people that happy. It's your house tomorrow night, eh? No, it's my house. It's such fun to get together, isn't it? A night, Miss Gallagher? Sure is. Night, Miss Gallagher. Come on, Clyde. At least there's a Miss Gallagher. Yeah, come on. Hey, where is she? Well, she lives back this way, so she must be coming... No, she's disappeared. Another couple, a big blonde and her husband. Where are they now? Well, you might have noticed where she went. Her house is out this other way, but... Miss Gallagher? Nobody here but us vacations. Wait here, Angel. She must have gone this way. I'll catch up with her. Miss Gallagher? Miss Gallagher? Hey, what do you think you're... Oh, excuse me, Mac. Sorry. No, no, no, my fault. I didn't see you hiding there. What? I don't get you. Me? I'm just tying a shoe, that's all. Who are you? Don't make it easy. I'm just a visitor, that's all. Yeah, let's not kid each other, Mac. My name's Mercy C. Clyde Mercy. Mercy Carnivals. Have you heard the name in better days? I even used to do a muscle act myself, see? So don't bother with no double con. Hey, hey, what makes you so anxious? My name's George Valentine. Just going through town, that's all. Oh, oh. That's your... that's the way with me, too. Just visiting, that's all. The little wife's in training here. Long-distance swimmer, you know? That's a dead little place. Nothing ever happens. You won't have much fun. I was just on my way for a little stroll on the beach before I turned in, you know? It was a silly idea, anyway, I guess. Huh? Oh, yes, there. Right here. Did you see her? Did you see where she went? Please. Or did you pull another stupid thing? Baby. Oh. Hello. Hi. Let's get home, baby. Time for us to be in bed. Well, good night, Valentine. Nice to meet you. What happens here? Come on, Angel, down the beach. Yes, I'm Liza Gallagher. That's right. Well, we didn't mean to scare you. You know, the climate must make people jumpy around here. Miss Gallagher, don't you remember my name? I was just going for a walk on the beach, but you didn't see anyone else, did you? Clyde Mercer here. Look, Miss Gallagher, what's happened to this place? In the old days, people didn't go in for parties. And afterwards, they didn't go sneaking off at this time of night to go in for... Huh? Well, I'm sorry, but I thought I heard. Know about the old days. What do you mean? I was here last year, don't you remember? George, wait. There is somebody. Stand still. Please don't move. Mr. Lewis, it's Todd Lewis. Don't let him see us. Lano gave the party. Yes, yes, he's a sculptor. There. Does he always go walking up the beach with a clam shovel at this time of night? Is that the secret? Did he go off to dig clams? He pretended he was going to bed. That's what he told everybody at the party. Well, he could be going to that other house out there, that big, empty, lonesome place at the end of the point. No, that's rented by somebody named Brown from the city. But he's only here weekends for his health. He has a bad heart, Mr. Brown does. Besides, he wouldn't notice if anybody came walking past this place up the beach. Notice what, Miss Gallagher? George Valentine. What? That's who you are. I remember now. It was Brown who was sort of a detective. Well, yes, but... The post office. The post office sent you, didn't they? It was because I didn't report the fire. Hey, wait a minute. And now you've come to... you've come to arrest me. Miss Gallagher. She's fainted. Miss Gallagher, please start at the beginning, will you? If you feel all right and I've convinced you I'm not a post office inspector. Yes, yes. I'll show you the gold cup. It's a relief to tell somebody. About a fire in the post office? Yes, yes, because I'm the postmistress, too, in this town. Use the back of the grocery store. Oh, so that's it. And there was a fire, oh, just a little tiny one. No one else ever knew about it. But that's when I found the cup. I keep a sack out for people to mail things and everybody sends packages, sends shells or paintings or even wants that Mr. Lewis sent a whole bust of general grant in concrete, too. Hmm, you must sell a lot of stamps. Oh, I didn't do anything dishonest. It's just that somebody dropped a match or a cigarette, I guess, and this one package got burned and I couldn't tell who was sending it. You know, the return address. It was all charred. But it was going to a jewelry buyer in the city. I know that because I re-wrapped it and sent it on. Only, pull down the blind first, will you? Hmm. Oh, here. Now look, if this cup was in that package you sent on then how can you show it to us now? Wait. There, you see? I'm going to cast out of it with some of Mr. Lewis's clay. It's sort of a funny shaped cup. It was found someplace here on Sandy Spit. It must have been because someone was sending it. Found it buried in the sand. They must have. This is just like the original? Oh, yes, you can even see the markings. Oh, that's what I meant. I don't read Latin so well, but it's a good 300 years old, I guess. Spanish. It's Spanish. I looked in a book. I mean the design and everything. Solid gold like that. You know how much it weighed, Mr. Valentine. Don't mind. I get the idea. Think that size. Somebody went digging for clams or fishing for a stew and made a fortune on the haul. And this is a vacation, George? Oh, Bruxy, who wants to just eat on a vacation? Who knows? In the morning you and I might do a little digging for buried treasure ourselves. Who really found that cup, Mr. Lewis? The $64 question. I don't know about a subtle as a hammer, I just ask you. And somebody's a liar? Well, would you tell? Or would you tell where? Or would you let people follow you to the right place? Nah, nah. You or the boy wants yourself. Okay, okay. Some rich guy named Brown from the city owns this property. Oh, that bird was never out here? No, no. Property lines don't mean anything with treasure's concern. Finders, keepers. Not out there, see? A guy like that. He's my choice. Hey, come on. Let's give him a thrill. He's that carnival guy, isn't he? Clyde and Mercy? Right. The one with the blonde wife? Don't talk so loud. Wins behind us. Got around to the other side of this dune? Carnival. Clyde's a big time failure. I don't know how I ever snagged a babe like her, but shh, easy, easy. No, brother. Not enough we got a treasure hunt. We have to play games, too. Well, where'd you come to the beach for if it's not to have a little fun? Come on. These people all take it so seriously. Here, now wait until this will wake him up. Well, it hands up, Clyde. We want the gold in your teeth. And don't pretend you haven't found something. Yeah. Clyde's not laughing. He didn't scare him at all. He's too dead. Say, I wonder what inside information Clyde had on that buried treasure. Must have been pretty good to have someone rub him out for it. Or is that the way it happened? Well, let's give a listen to this first, and then maybe we'll find out. Oh, back to George Valentine. Sandy spet, a place for fleas and seagulls. But if your name is George Valentine and it's your vacation, you want to go there because of Miss Gallagher's fabulous fish stew. And then, like everybody else, you get curious about the treasure, an old Spanish gold cup that someone found buried in the sand. Only now you've found something else in the sand. The body of a man, Clyde Mercy. Murdered. Sure, sure, you don't need a diagram for that. Look, clamshell. Hey, don't touch that. All right. But it's what somebody used to smash his head with. Yeah, put up a little fight, though. Must have hit him several times. I told you people took this treasure stuff too seriously. Did Clyde here? Oh, sure, sure. Worse than anybody else. Yeah, you see his wife, the blonde, she's in training for long distance swimming or something. She'd go trotting off in a white bathing suit every morning, and then she was gone. This little guy had to sneak out into the dunes and start his daily prospecting. Each quick hope springs eternal. I wouldn't be so sure. Clyde here found some gold. What? Yeah, his hand here. Look. Holy smoke. Hanging on to it for dear life. That's right. Gold coin. Spanish. About the same date as that cup. I always yelled at himself. Yeah, we understand, Mrs. Mercy. No you don't. How could you? People like us. My third husband, you know that? When I met him, I thought he was such a silly looking ape gawking at me in a bathing suit. Here, have a drink. It'll make you feel better. I married him for his money. Do you know that? That's the funniest part. He used to own a carnival, see? I thought your husband was broke. Well, he lost it naturally. It wasn't any good. Me and my big mouth, of course, I told him so and yelled at him, and he just got broker and broker. Until all I could think about was digging for buried treasure, huh? Sure, you got the idea. Saps. We're all just saps going around. Oh, I'm sorry. What did the sheriff say, Mr. Valentine? Oh, nothing yet. Just that this forsaken place has a population of 73. 73, the sheriff says. 75 counting us. You want to bet the sheriff will be a lot more interested in finding out about the treasure than who killed Clyde. Look, Mrs. Mercy, why don't you go on home and stop crying? I know, I know. Stop crying. Clyde's dead. If there's anything more I can do. Of course there isn't. I'll go swimming. That's what I'll do. What do you think I am, a baby? Oh, come on, Angel. Let's go back in and talk to Mrs. Gallagher about it. They're out in the back. Dr. Crow, wait. Don't get in such a lather about things. Hello, Ms. Gallagher. Oh, Mr. Valentine, he's gone. He took his bag and just ran out. I told him to wait for you. What are you talking about? A phone just came from Mr. Brown's house. Brown? Rich guy out at the point, Angel. He's sick, remember? Oh, no, no, that's not what I mean. Dr. Crow couldn't tell who the voice was, but of course that doesn't mean anything to him. He doesn't believe in mysteries and treasures. Never mind, I get it. Brown's only home on the weekends. Yeah, I remember. So then who called the doctor and why? The house is just up around to the right there. Overlooking the beach. Yeah, sure. Just wait a minute. What is it, George? Hurry up, please, Mr. Valentine. I was just looking at a piece of paper. Taxi slips, see? Oh. Now somebody's been here all right. Been here pretty often, too. Look, another one over here. There's still another one. And those little slips, they tear out of the middle. That's right. And one of them's so fresh, it isn't even damp from the sold air. Come on, step on it. Put the shutters up, but the place is always locked up tight. This path here? Most of the time, he uses the door back here by the shed. Wait a minute. Mr. Lewis. What are you doing out here? Well, now that's a question I was gonna ask you. Eh? Well, I'm trespassed, naturally. No, no, I just saw a man hurrying in here from across the dunes, carrying a bag and wondering what was up. That was Dr. Crow. Sure, but, Miss Gallagher, you wait here with Miss Brooks. Will you come on, Lewis? There you are. Hi, George. Hey, what's she so upset about this time? I don't know. Hey, the door's open. Uh-huh. Backway goes to the tool shed, I guess. Front door just lets sand in in this country. Yeah. Oh, but that's not all. Yeah. Lying on the floor of the hall. Come on. Yeah, look. Doctor's kit beside him. Now, wait. Don't touch him. He's not dead. I don't see any marks on him. Don't touch him. Huh? Who's that? It's Dr. Crow. Let him lie just the way he is. Wait a minute, doctor. But this guy on the floor, who's— It's Mr. Brown's house, so I guess it wouldn't be too far-fetched if this guy were Mr. Brown. Boy genius. I don't need your help, gentlemen. The ambulance is on its way. Just telephone. Yeah, but who hit him? Who slugged him? Be quiet. What happened, Doctor? Heart attack. Yeah, I was— He'll be all right. Just needed a little shot, that's all. Was it all right if I asked him a couple of questions? No. I'm no specialist, but he's sick. Now go play your Captain Kid game someplace else. Okay, okay. I guess he wouldn't answer the questions anyway. You know, Mr. Lewis, you seem to be around every time something happens. You're the one that I saw out walking last night with a clam shovel. Everybody here's got one. There's a hundred of them, several in some homes. Any one of them could have been used as the murder weapon. Oh, sure, sure, and they all look the same. Only, uh, there's none here. I can't find Mr. Brown's clam shovel. And yet there are clam buckets the rest of the stuff. There ought to be one, shouldn't there? Wait, I'll take a look at the outside lock. Yeah, it hasn't been touched. The ones in front of the house haven't been either. Okay, so if there was a clam shovel in there and somebody wanted to use it, they'd have to have a key. So you eliminate the mystery, don't you? It's the person with the key you used the shovel that's missing. In other words, Brown himself. Hold it, will you? Yeah, here, Angel. Did you get ahold of that taxi driver? Yes, the driver remembered all right. Now watch this. Go on, Brooks. He says he drove Mr. Brown out just half an hour before we came. Yoo-hoo! What did she tell you, Mr. Valentine? It's Mr. Brown who found the treasure all right. Mr. Brown even paid the driver not to tell anyone he was coming out here. I mean, during the times when he was supposed to be in the city. Today, George, the driver told Mr. Brown all about the excitement here. Over the murder and the treasure and everything. Oh, simply everybody knows now. And he said Mr. Brown suddenly looked very ill. He didn't want to talk about it. He seemed frightened. Then he went in and had a heart attack. Well, that's it. What more do you need? It's been him all along. Yoo-hoo! She's out there swimming. Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, Brown found the treasure. Poor little Clyde stumbled into what he was doing. Come here, Mr. Mad... Mr. Brown will have to tell where the treasure is naturally. They'll make him. And I guess all the rest of us can... Okay, okay. We'll all be rich. It's all over the shouting. Come on, Angel. Yeah, George. What's the matter? Gold makes people do funny things. But I guess there's more than one kind of gold, isn't there? What? She has beautiful hair, doesn't she, Lisa? Huh? Oh, that Mrs. Mercy. Yeah, that's one kind of gold. White bathing suit and all. George, I don't understand. And then there's another kind of gold, like Mr. Brown has, the kind in the bank. Oh. Are you trying to say a rich man wouldn't be likely to commit crimes and then be so surreptitious if he'd found a buried treasure? Mm-hmm. But he might be surreptitious about something else. Mr. Valentine. Hello. Oh, there, if you lot's better. Water's wonderful. Hello, Mrs. Mercy. Uh, this is the only good place around here to swim, I guess, isn't it? Down here by Mr. Brown's diving platform. Oh, sure. Do it all the time. I've been training. Uh-huh. Well, when a man is struck several times when he's fighting for his life, do you think he could be greedy enough to still hang on to a piece of gold? What say? Please don't talk about Clyde. Why not? Your third husband who was getting broker and broker. You left him every day, didn't you? To parade in front of the window of the man who would often leave his job to be here. What? Say what's eating you. The gold coin. Clyde fought for his life. His hand would have been open. The coin would have dropped out. So somebody put it there after he was dead. And certainly that wasn't the one who found the treasure. Why put the finger on himself? So there must have been another motive. I don't get you. All right, take a package being burned in a post office sack. Somebody could drop a cigarette or match and it might burn just the right part of the package. But it would be a lot easier to do the burning first and then put it there from his gallery to find and be curious about. Again, there must be a motive. I'm going up to the house. I think you're crazy. This is Mercy. You should have put another shovel in there so that Mr. Brown wouldn't see his was gone and catch on to what you've done. Mr. Brown's not here. He's in town. So Mr. Brown wouldn't realize what you were really like. He would realize you'd murdered your husband and have a heart attack because of it. No, I didn't. Heart attack? No, he didn't. It's not true. Oh, lady. You give yourself away every minute, don't you? Yeah, the lady who killed her husband so she could hook a man with gold. Only ironically enough, Mr. Brown had a heart attack. Oh, no. No. Don't worry. Don't worry. He can still marry somebody. But it won't be you. Sure, that's right. He's not dead. You are, sister. Oh, George. That cup and the coin, the treasure. Oh, there isn't any, Angel. Don't you see? Mrs. Mercy just used it to set up a perfect murder. This is Sandy Spit, remember? Just a place for fleas and seagulls. Stick around. I'll prove it. Now that we know who bumped off Clyde and why, I still have a question. When is George going to get around to having some of that fish stew he's been yapping about? This I got to see. Just like this, you got to hear. More, Miss Brooks? Doctor, don't interrupt. Well, anyway, Mr. Brown wasn't mixed up in it at all. It was just Mrs. Mercy. He confirmed that finally when he got over the shock of finding out what she was like. You see? We're gone, George. Lobster. Look at that. Pieces of lobster. Right, young man. White fish, too. Oh, love white fish. Yeah, man. But she started the whole treasure fever cup in a coin. Mail the cup. Made sure Miss Gallagher would see it and spread the excitement. Oh, dear. Oh, Gallagher's all right. She's back on the job now. Pass the bread. Yeah, sure. You know, the idea was a good one. Evidence of Clyde having been killed by the person who found the treasure. The police would never think of his wife as the murderous. 73 suspects. A crime blamed on greed. Sure, good idea, but it didn't work. Women should stay where they belong. Isn't that so, Liza? Stop it. At home, you mean? Yes, I think so, too. I couldn't help noticing you and Miss Gallagher, doctor. You seem so happy now, so different. What's that? What's that? Me and who? Now, don't get any wrong notions, young lady. Valentine here, he understands woman's place is in the kitchen. Sure, sure. That's all that Doc wants, ain't you? You see, I do understand. I'm a fish stew man myself. You have just heard Murder on Vacation, another Let George Do It adventure. Robert Bailey was starred as George Valentine with Virginia Greg as Bruxy. Our story was by David Victor and Jackson Gillis with music by Eddie Dunstetter. Now, this is yours truly inviting you to another visit with Valentine when you will again hear what happens when you Let George Do It.