 Personal notice changes my stock and trade. If the job's too tough for you to handle, you got a job for me, George Valentine. Write full details. Greetings, Mr. Lover, and welcome to another Let George Do It adventure. To say that this story is intriguing would be putting it mildly. Unless, of course, you can figure out who, what, where, why, or when Tongalani is, was, or ever has been. Now I'm not doubting for one moment your talent for sleuthing. But since George Valentine had such a rough time with the problem, why not save yourself the trouble and listen to how he did it? Tongalani. The sandy whisper of palm trees is in your ears. Tongalani. The voice of soft water on a coral beach. And the world and the past are as distant as waves on a far-off reef. Tongalani. The voice of moonlight, of despaired hopes fulfilled. Of life begun anew. Tongalani. The voice of love itself. Henry! Hey, yes dear. Yes. What is it? What on earth are you doing? Nothing. Nothing here. I was just figuring out the bills. Doing what? What bills? If you're messing up the bank accounts again, I... Well, I just thought you might like some help with them. Since when do I need any help with addition? What on earth's the matter with you? Change it. I'm a little tired, that's all. Why? Every other day of your life you've dug in the roses at this hour. Well, I've already finished digging in the roses. No, you haven't. You sneaked in here. I didn't sneak, anyplace. You did. I saw you. It's one o'clock and you ought to be out with your precious roses. Digging, digging, digging until it's time to go back to the office. But instead you sneak back in here like a... I'm sorry, dear. I'm just tired. I just wanted to sit down for a while. You came back here to snoop on me. Oh, Henry. I'm sorry. But when we have guests, I should think you'd be able to put out a little bit of effort. No, no, it's my fault, dear. I just thought since they were your guests, not mine, you'd want a chance to...to... Who is this Mr. Valentine, am I? Oh, he's nobody. Just someone I met. Miss Brooke seems very nice. Yes. You noticed that, wouldn't you? Oh, now, Jane... Don't be quiet. They'll hear you. But I did want Mr. Valentine to have a chance to meet you. Why? Well, for heaven's sake, you're my husband, aren't you? Oh, have you forgotten? Oh, dear, it's after one o'clock already. Mr. Solder? Oh, why yes, Mr. Valentine. Right in here. I was just seeing if Henry wouldn't join us for... Oh, hello, Mr. Valentine. Miss Brooks. Hello, Mr. Solder. We've been out admiring your rose garden. Oh, yes, it's my little hobby. Well, thank you, but if you'll excuse me now... Oh, well, stick around, Mr. Solder. We've barely had a chance to meet you. And your wife has talked about you so much. She had? Wow. Oh, well, I don't understand. Well, Henry, it's just... No, no, no, no. Please, no, excuse me. I'm not a very interesting person, I'm afraid. A jean can tell you all there is to know about the roses. Besides, I barely have time enough to change my clothes to go back to the office. I'm glad to have met you. Excuse me. Goodbye. You're listening to Let George Do It. Our adventure will continue in just a moment. Now back to Let George Do It and George Valentine. Tangalani. Oh, Tangalani. No, no, no. Take it easy, Mr. Solder. Did you see how he looked? How he ran out of here like a frightened little rabbit. Well, yes, but your husband's hardly the criminal type. All this mysterious talk about Tangalani when you first got in touch with me. Oh, I didn't think it had anything to do with crime. But the way he's been acting... Tangalani, George, don't you think you ought to tell her what we found out? We've been married 25 years. He's never done anything except dig in his precious garden until I can't stand it. I know, I know. He's 47 years old. I've been everything that a wife should be. He'd have been helpless without me. He doesn't make friends easily, you know. He doesn't do anything easily. In fact, he seldom does do anything. That's why it made me so upset. Mrs. Solder, stop it, please. I know how you feel, but listen to me. Now, you wrote me a letter. Your husband's up to something. You want to know what it is. I never in my life thought I'd have to go to a detective, let alone on a matter involving... I know, I know. I'd have to be mixed up in anything more dangerous than rose thorns. Well, I started with this word, Tangalani. You were worried about it. I looked it up as a location, a place, and there isn't such a one. He was saying it in his sleep over and over again, and he's so different these days. I know, but Tangalani's not a place, Mrs. Solder. So we checked that all. And the word doesn't seem to mean anything in anybody's language. Check number two. So we went to work on some of the other leads you gave us. His business. You investigated his... Your husband's made a lot of money in his business. Even if he hasn't made friends or made you happy. But there's never been a manufactured product called Tangalani or an advertising slogan or anything. The way he'd disappear for hours at a time. And when I asked him about it, he almost fainted. I told you that, didn't I? And he's lying. He's never lied to me in his life before. Yes, Mrs. Solder, you told me everything, and I investigated everything. Wait a minute. There. It's Mr. Richter. I asked him to stop by a minute to meet you. Who? Emil Richter. He's about the only close friend Henry's ever had, I guess. They met a couple of years ago. But of late, Henry's been just as strange to him as he has to everyone else. Mrs. Solder, I don't have to see anybody, not anymore. Well, Henry's practically drunk, Mr. Richter. And he used to come to dinner nearly every week. I've never talked to Mr. Richter about my worries, but I thought if you could question him, he might know something that we... Here. Hello, Mr. Richter. Come in. Please come right in. Afternoon, Mrs. Solder. I got your note. I understand you want me to meet somebody by the name of Valentine. What on earth is it all about? Yes, that's right. Me, but not today. Huh? Oh, hello. Where's Henry, Mrs. Solder? Look, I'm sorry, Mr. Richter, but I won't have time to talk today. Do you mind? I'll give you a ring. Explain it later. But I asked him... If it's all right with you, we'll skip it, Mr. Richter. Perhaps another time. Well, sure. But please do give me a ring. I'd love to know what it's all about. Yes, thanks a lot, friend. Goodbye. Mr. Valentine, really? Lady, you listen to me. I wouldn't have taken your case if I'd known what it was in the first place. Now, you showed me some of these notes in your husband's handwriting. Were they all folded like this, incidentally? I didn't touch them, but I thought you might find... Romantic flapwrap, escapist stuff, dreams of the South Seas. Can life begin at 47? But all right, because I'm curious, I run down the leads you give me. Tangalani, and the name of some jewelry company you found checked in the phone book. We went to that company, Mrs. Solder. Your husband had written or did something from them with that same name engraved on it. Name? Sure, of course. Tangalani is a name. Symbolic one, probably. Not a real name, I guess. But the locket it was to be engraved on was real enough. No. Yes, it was three months ago. Mr. Solder paid 500 bucks, and the locket he ordered was shaped like a heart. Tangalani, shaped like a heart. Mr. Valentine, there must be some other explanation. And that's not all. We found his car, like you said, when he was supposed to have been here at home. Yes. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he's always late. It was parked in an alley behind the Pacific Museum, and a cop says it's been there before. Museum? Where people sometimes meet other people, Mrs. Solder, and it's been parked in front of Pan-American Airlines, too. Where? But in the museum there was a guy who had seen her, a nervous middle-aged woman waiting for him. No. No, I won't believe it. You've got to believe it, lady. I caught a glimpse of our mysterious Tangalani myself getting into his car. Oh, he says he has to work late at the office. Your husband has a girlfriend, Mrs. Solder, a girl he dreams of and calls Tangalani. That's the big mystery. Oh. Yeah, I know. I don't like it either. But now you know why I don't want to go on any further. Oh, you suspected that yourself, didn't you, Mrs. Solder? You just hoped we'd find something different. But what will I do? He wouldn't run away and leave me. 25 years, I've taken care of it. I'm afraid it's your problem now, Mrs. Solder. No, I couldn't believe it. Anybody but Henry. He's so dependent, afraid of his own shadow. Don't bother, Mrs. Solder. We'll let ourselves out. But who is she? Who is that awful woman? I suggest you talk it over with your husband. Yes. Yes, I will. All right, come on in, George. I feel so sorry for her. Put an ad in the paper and you become Dorothy Dick's. So we made somebody unhappy. Let's go home. Yeah, all right. Remind me to turn down the next five cases. George, that's the wrong door. I know it. It's the room Mr. Solder was in before. He'd been writing something. What? Didn't you notice ink stains on his hands? The loose pen on the desk. Here we are. But you told Mrs. Solder we were through. Well, maybe I'd like to meet this Tangalani. Yeah, here's some more of that stuff he writes to her, lying flat under the pad. Here. Tangalani, the whisper of palm trees is in your ears. Tangalani, the voice of love itself. And that bald-headed little heel ought to be George. What's the matter? This is not a letter, not even a note. Look at the end of the paragraph. It says End of Chapter 12. In the next chapter, Tangalani and her middle-aged lover, Tangalani's nothing but a character in a book he's writing. Give me that. But, Bruxy, we saw her. We ran down the leads. There is a real woman that Solder's seeing. Come on, Angel. We're going to work fast. Not in this house. This is the kind of cute situation that's just full of dynamite. Henry, what on earth? I thought you'd already left for the office. No, no, just picking up some things, dear. You, uh, haven't been into this desk drawer, have you? Me? Why should I waste my time in your precious desk? Why? What's the matter? Well, nothing. Nothing. I just, um, how did you visit with Mr. Valentine and Mr. Brooks Workout? Ha, ha, ha. Beautifully. Oh, but I won't bother with them anymore. There's no need to. You know, they said stupid people. Do you know they spent hours telling me a ridiculous story about a man who ran away from his wife? Did they? Oh, really, dear, I don't see it. Oh, never mind. You'll never see the point to anything. Go on, get back to your office. The sooner you go, the sooner you're back so you can dig, dig, dig in that precious rose garden. Oh, by the way, that reminds me, there's a sack of quick lime out in the tool shed. What? Yes, the gardener must have made a mistake. I didn't order. Did you? No. No, of course not. Well, that's not important. Stupid mistake, I guess, that's all. Well, goodbye, dear. Goodbye, Henry, dear. Stupid mistake. But you and Mr. Valentine made it. Not me. You are listening to Let George Do It. Our adventure will continue in just a moment. Now, back to George Valentine. Tangalani. The name of a woman or the name of a book, which is it? So far, it seems to be both. And if your name is George Valentine, you know that you'd better straighten it out before Mrs. Solter is made any more unhappy than she is already. But there are other reasons for working fast. You suspect there are things you don't know that there is more to this than meets the eye and you might be right. In fact, you don't know it, but you're 150% right. All I know, Mr. Richter, is that you're in the book business publishing. I'm trying to tell you, Mr. Valentine, that we haven't seen much of each other lately. Henry Solter's avoided me. Oh, I used to go out there quite often. I still do. Let's get the preamble and double talk, Mr. Richter. Henry Solter has a girlfriend. That right? He what? Henry. What's so funny? You've seen him. Don't you think it's funny? A more prosaic moral man never lived. That's what his wife tried to believe. I'm afraid Jane wears the pants in that family. But I'm afraid she also wears the only color or imagination or ability to meet people. You're lying, Buster. I beg your pardon. Look, I know I'm intruding on the personal affairs of personal friends of yours. You think Henry Solter isn't the type to kick over the traces? Well, neither did I. But I've proved to myself that he's doing it. He likes to dig in his roses. It drives Jane crazy. All right, maybe you don't know anything about the real woman and Solter's life, but you do know about the book, don't you? Book. Pangalani, Mr. Richter. While we were waiting for you to come back to your office here, we asked around quite a few questions. Henry Solter had never written anything in his life. Not even his wife thinks he had. But we know different. We saw some of his manuscript. He's been writing a book secretly. Yes, that's right. Go on. No, you go on. You're his publisher friend. You're the only one he might confide in. You tell us. Well, it's not a very good book, but it's been good for him to write it, I thought. Keep talking. Some kind of escapist junk, isn't it? Possible for a man to start his life over that kind of thing. A dream. A dream. Everybody has a dream, Mr. Valentine. I've even encouraged it. Egg demon to do it. Why not? It's a book. That's all. A man gets bored with roses after a certain number of years. And bored with his wife. I don't think the Solter's have ever been very happy together. But if you're suggesting the woman in the book is modeled after a real life person, I'm not suggesting anything. Of course. Well, anyway, he started the thing over a year ago, timidly, sophomorically. It's been our little secret, that's all. Each week he carefully folds up his little pages, mails them from his office, then I lock them up, very hush-hush, and the next time I see him, I give him my criticism. Wait a minute. Mails it in a business envelope? Yes, I think so. Why? Good heavens, there's nothing wrong with this, you know. Someday it may even be good enough to publish. It's not as though anyone were plotting a murder or anything. Okay, I hope you're right. Thanks. Mr. Valentine, wait. See you later, Buster. Come on, Angel. Where's your husband? He went to the office after you left and hasn't come back. Ask Tongalani. I'm not his keeper. I wouldn't lay any bets on that. What are you doing here? You told me about that awful woman. You mean you told me. Mr. Valentine, I'm terribly upset. All you're doing is making it worse. Never mind the tears, lady. I've taken all I can stand. Now just show me those notes of his that you found. Love notes to Tongalani. But I already did. Get away from that. I just want to check them for size. They should be eight and a half by eleven. Standard paper size for manuscripts. But they're not, are they? See? What? Some of them are shorter, some narrower. Cut down from eight and a half by eleven, I suppose. Sure, sure. Tongalani, I love you. And it's cut right there, so I won't see the next paragraph. It probably followed. I haven't the slightest idea. You could have cut these, couldn't you, Mrs. Salter? Right out of pages he'd written. So you could show them to me and I wouldn't know it was only part of a book. Book? Oh, Mrs. Salter, there's no time to play dumb. I'm not playing anything. You investigated. I did that. Yeah, yeah, sure. I went where you sent me. But his car was at Pan American Airlines. No. No, I didn't tell you that. All right, all right. So that one was luck. But that locket with the name Tongalani on it wasn't. And the jewelry company you referred me to. Mr. Valeroy, I'm not sure. Three months ago he paid $500 for that locket. By mail. Well, you could have ordered that, couldn't you? I'll bet you write checks and keep the bank accounts in this family anyway. So if you didn't order it, then why didn't you notice the big withdrawal he made? Oh, you don't know what you're talking about. You saw that woman yourself. He's been meeting her at the museum. Oh yeah, sure. I caught a glimpse of a woman getting into his car. And the museum man in the cop confirmed it. But you could have said all that up. Middle-aged woman, the man said. You're middle-aged. The car seemed to confirm his presence. But who else would have the keys to it? Well, you naturally. Stop it. Stop it. I might be wrong with the solder, but you hired me for a sucker, didn't you? Your husband could no more have a girlfriend on the side than he could fly to the moon. So why did you hire me to investigate and confirm the fact that he did? Lady, you and I are going to... George, wait a minute. I called Mr. Solder's office and I talked to his secretary. She says Mr. Solder hasn't been there all afternoon. He left here. He did. I'm sure he's just... Hold it. I'll get that. Hello there, Mr. Valentine. Hello, Mrs. Solder. Is he... Mr. Rectair. No. No, he's out. I got a little worried after you left me. I tried to reach Henry. He hasn't been in his office all afternoon. We already know. But where is he? I tried his club. I tried every place. He hasn't been seen since lunch. All that talk of yours, I didn't even take seriously. But good heavens, you don't actually imagine he's run away someplace, do you? No. No. No. Mrs. Solder. She'll be all right. She just fainted. Here. Here, smell this. Come on, now. I suppose Solder's got a good deal of money, hasn't he? Little malice guy was pretty successful at business. Even if his only happiness was in dreams. Why, yes, Henry's even wealthy. What are you talking about? Well, Mrs. Solder's using me. Using Henry's dreams in me to set up a perfect murder. Murder? You'd better call the police, George. She's all right now. What happened? Henry. Sure, Mr. Richter. Where is it? What better way to be able to tell people your husband ran away with a strange woman and disappeared? She'd get nothing but sympathy. Like the sympathy I wasted on her before. Sympathy and money. Get away from me, all of you. Henry went back to the office. Be quiet, please. I want to tell you how people fall letters. You what? What are you talking about? Mrs. Solder, you made a slip. Those manuscript pages of your husbands you clipped. Those mysterious notes from, he kept them flat in his desk. Stop talking about them. Then he took them down and mailed them from his office in an ordinary envelope. Is that right, Mr. Richter? Well, yes, of course. Mrs. Solder, you shouldn't have admitted that you hadn't made the full marks on them. Because that means you got your hands on them after they'd been to the publisher. But I... Sure, think fast, Mr. Richter. Because that means you're tied into this, too. It certainly does not. There's no time to argue now, Buster. How could you have got those choice selections unless it was from you? Now, see here, I'm worried about my friends. And you said you egged them on, didn't you? The poor little aspiring writer. I suppose you practically told him what to write. I won't listen to any more of this. That's not true. You and his wife encouraged him to go hog-wile with that dream until you had just what you wanted. A neat conspiracy for murder. Don't stand still. I'm not trying to go any place. Let go of me! Yes, you are, Buster. You're going someplace right now! Don't! Don't! A meal! A meal, darling. Yeah, Mrs. Solder. I didn't have any reason to hit him. But my clues weren't worth much. A meal, darling, is a lot better. A meal and I, of course. But what of it? Henry's nothing. He never was. I've hated him for 25 years. Always so obliging. Trying so hard. Saying everything was his fault. Like a millstone around my neck. Oh, he's that now, all right, Sister. George, what did they do to him? What did they do to that poor little... He's run away, didn't you know? With Tongalani! My little Henry! Henry! Stop that, Sister, and tell us what you know. Ask Amy, you'll ask him. How should I know? He's the one who's... Who's what? I... I won't say anymore. George, what's the matter? You said too much already, didn't you, Mrs. Solder? What are you going to do? Telephone the one place for your husband that you didn't send me. Back to the conclusion of our Let George Do It adventure in just a moment. George, what on earth are you gonna... Just a chance, Angel, just a chance. But you got the police and they haven't found him yet either. There's that quick line, Mrs. Solder bought, but it hasn't been used. Hello, hello, Stepan, how are you? But it was Mr. Rector. Did he have time to do it? Didn't he act like she'd done it? The same way she didn't faint until she thought he'd done it? Doesn't make any sense either one of them would have done it the same day we were here to play soccer? George. I don't know, I tell you. But they kept encouraging Henry. And our being here would have encouraged him plenty more. Poor little dopey guy, the sap, the joke, the dreamer. Only just suppose when he wrote that book. Hello, hello, hello. Hello, Mr. Valentine, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I'm the passenger agent for Pan American here in San Francisco. Yeah, well did the other guy tell you what I wanted? Yes, and the man you described is here, Mr. Henry Solder. What George, what? He's just checking in his suitcase. He has a ticket for Honolulu, the empty heaters, some more, some place. Only look, this man's Solder, what's wrong with him? Wrong with him? Sure, he's all excited, like a kid. Says he's going to look for something called Tangalani. To find a Tangalani? Well, what in heck is a Tangalani anyway? He did go, he did run away. Well, they drove him right into it, didn't they, Angel? Egged him one. Only they were blind in both eyes. Never even occurred to them he might get the courage to carry out his dream. South seas of bust. And if we hadn't come along, he might never have been frightened into taking the big leap. Or given the courage. Only if we hadn't come along, he would have carried out the plan to kill him. Look, Angel, instead of giving up his money, his position, everything to run away, now he can hang on to all of it and set sail for the palm trees with a clear conscience. What'll happen to his wife and Ricky, George? Well, that's for the police to figure out. But I looked up the penalty for conspiracy to commit first-degree murder. Angel, they'll be locked up for years and years. The little guy's rid of them forever. I wonder if you ever find a Tangalani, I mean. What are you looking for, happiness? But a woman. Do you think he'll ever really find the one he dreams about? Oh, I don't know. He's 47. Not much to look at. I hope he does. I suppose a smarter man would get an earlier start. Maybe look closer to home. I mean, don't you think, George? Or am I being too subtle? Not at all. It's a pretty name. Tangalani. Sure, very pretty. I'm 47 and I've saved up enough money to go to the South Seas looking for a mate. All right, take it easy, Angel. Wouldn't sound very good anyway. Tangalani Valentine. You have just heard Tangalani, another Let George Do It adventure. Robert Bailey was starred as George Valentine with Virginia Gregg as Bruxy. David Victor and Jackson Gillis wrote the story 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.