 Personal notice. Stanges 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. Standard Oil Company of California, on behalf of independent Chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the west, invites you to let George do it. Juniper Lane, another adventure of George Valentine. I am writing this most tiredly, I fear. Christmas has come and gone in the new year, too. But perhaps the trembling of my hand will explain it. I could not write before this or drop by. The two faithful guardians of my confinement, the butler and the maid, will bear witness to the degree of my suffering. A suffering that is so prevalent among us here in Juniper Lane. Yes, I shame facetly admit that my writing to you has been delayed by a common cold. And so, my good Aunt Bess, please accept my apologies and know that the pair of brown wristlets, which you so thoughtfully knitted for me as a Christmas gift, were most gratefully received. What's all that, Brooksing? That's what the letter says, George. Those old-fashioned things like a glove with no fingers. Keep your wrists warm. Oh, yeah. Well, who wrote this letter? What's the signature? There isn't any. Heading? Isn't any? Well, pretty simple, I guess, just a mix-up of mail. One thing I know, I'm not Aunt Bess. Oh, I thought you'd enjoy it, that's all. Now we can get back to our own knitting. The next letter... Hey, hey, hey, don't tear that thing up. Why not? The envelope. Let me see. George Valentine, proper address. So whoever wrote this thank-you note also wrote to me. Then got the envelopes mixed. Absent-minded professor, maybe. He sounds sort of stuffy. Yeah, that's probably a man, all right. And the words he uses, he's sure not young. Butler and maid. Might be wealthy. Now, a guy like that wouldn't be writing to me unless it was pretty important, would he, Brooksie? Maybe something dangerous. Maybe frightening. Come on. What? But George, you don't even know his name. I'm not thinking about him, Angel. I'm thinking of crossed envelopes. Of who must have got the letter that was intended for me. Aunt Bess. That's right. We have to find her. Think how she'll be a feeling when she opens a morning's mail. A little old lady who knits wristlets. And who lives in a place called Juniper Lane. Sure is Juniper Lane, bud. What'd you think it was? Barclay Square? Well, at first we didn't even realize it was right here in the city. It was bounded on the north by Industrial Street, and the south by noise. Gas works to the east, and the west is too smoky. Yeah, yeah, I get the idea. Is Juniper Lane just one block long? It's a dead end. Dead at both ends. Now, you own the only store on this street. The rest are all brownstones. So maybe you've heard of somebody's Aunt Bess. Everybody's Aunt Bess. What? Bess Barthwa, the good Queen Bess, used to run a millinery shop. Always claimed she made a hat for Queen Mary. Well, go on. Yeah, great little lady, lives at the head of the street, number one. Aunt Bess owns Juniper Lane, Mac. Well, come on, Bruxy. Let's visit the Queen B. Mr. Valentine, Felix McCoy, this cigar man has been with us for years. He's so kind to the children. Yeah, sure. Kind to his mother, too, I bet. But look, Miss Barclay... I'm sure you have nice points. Everyone does. Miss Barthwa, what we really came to see you about... And you, too, my dear. You, too. In the world outside, it is different, I'm told. And that's very tragic. And I weep about it sometimes. I can't help it. But somehow the tears come out happy in Juniper Lane. And then I find myself laughing. Miss Barthwa, all I came here to ask you was if you... How could you understand about Juniper Lane? You've never seen the tree, have you, George? What tree, Miss Barthwa? Why, the Juniper tree, of course. It used to be on the street, but now it's on the window. I put it there. On the window? Yes, of course. I'll show you. It's much nicer. There! I painted it there on the glass. It's the greenest tree in the city. That's what I'm told, though I've never been there. There were lots of trees on this street long ago. Miss Barthwa, it's a beautifully painted Juniper, all right. But may we talk about your knitting? Knitting wristlets? It's happened again. I might have known when you came in asking for Miss Barthwa. But I like to pretend I have friends, too. That I am important, too. And though I don't really want to be. It's my sister who knits, Mr. Valentine. It's Beth. She's the wonderful one. Well, may I see her, please? Of course. She's in here. Oh, I'm sorry. But this is her bedroom. She's not even awake yet. No, no, my dear. It's quite all right. Beth is dead. Wow, she was sleeping. It's difficult to keep her mind on things sometimes. George, what was it? Is there anything? Her neck. She's been stabbed. The knitting needle. I saw that just a few moments ago. I thought she was asleep, too. Oh, I'm so glad you came, Mr. Valentine. I've been all alone here just staring at the Juniper tree. Just wondering what to do. Clues. Clues. What do you mean, clues? Oh, take it easy, will you, Lieutenant? What time did the doctor say she died? Some time before midnight last night. But look here, here. Her room's at the head of the stairs. And the front door down there's always left open. And in this neighborhood yet. So anybody could have walked in and picked up the needle there? Yes, yes, and the whole street was here last night. The whole street playing homage to Good Queen Beth. What do you mean? I mean, paying rent. The old bitty, sapphire collecting rent from everyone who lives in this. Valentine, I never even heard of the street before. This relic, this down at the heels. Yeah, the kind of a place you get unsolved crimes, I know. Yeah, there's nothing to go on. And that wacky sister, Miss Botwell, sitting in there, won't talk about anything except how nice Old Bess was. How nice he is. Hey, Riley. You know what wristlets are? Eh? Well, there's nothing to go on except one thing. Nobody to help us except one person. Yeah? Who? My letter, Riley. Don't forget it. My letter. And it's my hunch we better find the guy who wrote it. In this closed mouth bunch of... Oh, look, look, we've already gone through Bess's mail looking for that letter you should have got. Let's find the guy, Riley. He must have wanted help. He must know something. And all we have to do is look for somebody around here who got wristlets for Christmas. George! Oh, it's no use, Angel. Queen Bess always gave everyone in Juniper Lane wristlets for Christmas. George, come here. Down these steps. Basement apartment. Yeah? Listen. Listen to the man, George. That's all you are. Holding out your trays, my good and faithful servants. Now, don't you answer me. No, don't you ever answer me. Without food you won't speak. You'll never speak. Rusty, dumb, the butler of my bidding. You're laughing at me, aren't you? I'm laughing at... Oh, I don't blame you. I blame you. The butler in the thank you letter. Remember? Come on. Well, and to what do I owe the honor of this intrusion? Income tax, census, the Fuller Brush Company? The name's George Valentine. Oh, I'd have thought giving you up, Mr. Valentine. Come in, come in. Your letter got crossed. But you are the one who wrote to us. Troubled you, young lady? Well, there's nobody here. We heard you talking to... Oh. Printing presses. Two old-fashioned printing presses. That permit me the butler and the maid. Well, newspapers all over the floor. The Juniper Lane shopping news. But look at the date. July 2nd, 1916. The last beautiful days of Pompeii. Look at the artwork on the heading. There were trees on our street, then, you see. Stores and children. Even a newspaper published by a young fool. Stevenson's Sprote editor. That's you, huh? Stevenson's Sprote part-time printer of greeting cards, occasional racing sheets of Bill's Dew for the Queen. My two faithful servants here. Oh, stop looking at me that way. I talk to them because I'm lonely. You talk to yourself when you're driving a car, don't you? Yeah, okay, Mr. Sprote. I'm sour, I'm old, I've been sick, that's all. Why did you write to us in the first place, Mr. Sprote? We didn't get your letter, you know. So that's it. Mr. Valentine, do you know what it's like to be a conscience? To be alone? To helplessly watch the steady march of raccoon rule? Look, don't get carried away. Just tell us what. Oh, yes, yes, yes, the murder. That's all everyone's talking about. The Queen is dead. The Queen was a naïve, tyrant, blood-sucker, hypocrite, out to make as much money out of Juniper Lane as she could. That was what my letter was about. So you can help us. You do know something about it. About the danger of Aunt Bess being killed. Of course, of course I do. A copy of what I wrote you here someplace. Of course I can help. Oh, here. Now, you listen. Dear Mr. Valentine, you must hurry to prevent a crime. There is a woman in Juniper Lane who is hated by everyone, who is in constant danger of being murdered. But there is one man whom I know for a fact has been planning her death for years. At all costs, he must be stopped before it is too late. That man is me. We'll return to tonight's adventure of George Valentine in just a moment. A man doesn't have to lift the hood of his car to keep it running. Naturally, he can put some gas in the tank, forget all about the vital parts under the hood, and his car will run all right for a while. But if you want both safety and savings for your own car, it's wise to have your station man look under the hood regularly. At standard stations and at independent chevron gas stations, the underhood checkup is part of their protective service. That's when they catch a worn fan belt or a leaky radiator hose, things that might lead to major repair bills. Another example is regular oil check. Maybe nine times out of ten they'll tell you your oil is at the safe level. But when fresh new oil is needed to avoid costly engine damage, that's when protective service pays its own way many times over. A few minutes of your time tomorrow for an underhood checkup may save you hours of delay and expense the day after. So why not stop at an independent chevron gas station or at a standard station where they say and mean, we take better care of your car. Now back to tonight's adventure of George Valentine. Juniper Lane, a few good people, a few bad, a little excitement Saturday night. Oh yes, and if you live on Juniper Lane, you get a pair of knitted brown wristlets once a year. Doesn't sound important, does it? Well, if your name is George Valentine, you're no longer asking questions and looking for wristlets and wondering about this one-block-long street lost in the middle of the city. Now you have begun to find out. And according to Lieutenant Riley, you found out quite enough. Well, it's plenty good for me, Valentine. Plenty good for me. Well, of course, Mr. Sprote had the opportunity. Mr. Sprote, see, not only had the opportunity, he had the time and the inclination. And besides, he told you he was going to kill Ann Bess and that letter to you that got lost, didn't he? Yeah, that's what he said all right. He's not saying much now. I am Mr. Sprote. The man is supposed to be cautious of what he says at a time like this, isn't he? But fairly obviously, I'm your man. And I assure you, it doesn't make much difference what happens to you. Oh yes, yes. Now, look, friend, you hated that old dame, didn't you? She cheated me, Lieutenant. Out of the only business I ever loved, my little pretentious neighborhood shopping news that went broke in 1916. She made it go broke. She couldn't stand anyone else making money but her. Good Queen Beth. Ever hear anyone else call her that but Felix McCoy? I suppose he's made a little money. Yeah, we know all that. Nobody else has. It's a street full of has-beens. The Queen was always there to loan money. And to pull the draw strings or boost the renter, twist somebody's arm. Juniper Lane. Like a bunch of rats biting each other. The only one who not infected, who can still see the tree, is Miss Barthwell, her sister. But she has to paint the tree on her window. All right. All right. Best Barthwell ruined you and you did something about it. Come on. We can fill out a confession down at headquarters. No, I don't believe I'll do that. I didn't kill her, you know. You what? You didn't. But you've been saying you've been as good as a... Lieutenant, Lieutenant, I may have. It's just that... Well, I might as well have. I've been brooding about it for years. You wanted Valentine to stop you from doing it, you said? Well, of course I wanted him to stop me. Have you ever known what it feels like to commit murder? There, you've just admitted. Or to feel like you want to do? Have I? Oh, brother, may I say... Wait a minute. Hold it, Riley. Let me, will you? Now, Mr. Sprout, you're not quite sure what happened last night, are you? Oh, please, I'm very tired, but I'm not really... You're all mixed up. You've thought about it so long that you're not quite sure whether you did or you didn't do. I wish you'd take me down and get it over with. To make you feel better for wishing her dead? There's no concrete evidence against you, you know. A man doesn't like to admit to this kind of confusion, but, well, you can't honestly remember last night, can you? No, I've been drinking a bit. But who else, Mr. Valentine? What if I don't think I really did it when all's said and done, who hated her as much as I... Well, don't just stand there, Valentine. Let's keep looking. Juniper Lane... Miss Bartz, well, please, please, you still haven't once mentioned a single thing that happened here last night. But how could I, Lieutenant, when I wasn't even here? What's that? Poor Stevenson's cold has been so bad, you know. I never could enjoy those people tramping in and out, looking unhappy. Wait a minute. You were with Mr. Sprout last night? Of course. To take him a good book and perhaps play a game of pinocchio to cheer him up a bit. He's really my only friend, my only close friend here. Faces have changed. But he never once mentioned that... He didn't? How sweet of him. He only mumbled a word or two. He was so tired. Though I tidied up a bit and put his bottle away, and then I read the book myself. Until what? Oh, no later than one or two o'clock. Oh, well, really, there's nothing wrong in it. A woman of my age. And the doc said she died before midnight. Oh, Valentine. Now the barn door's really wide open. My, what a nice expression. Wait a minute. My letter, Riley. It was sitting there on the hall table. Anybody walking in or out of the house could have seen it, right? Seen it and maybe capitalized on what we know was in it. Yeah. Sprout's worry about killing her? Sure. Blame it on him and he'd make a good fall guy. Only howling the name of... Come here. The bills. Those collections Bess was making last night. They were by her bed. Yeah. I checked them against the police list of the neighborhood and there's only one name that's missing. There's no bill for. Yeah. If his bill is missing, then he might have been the last one up here. Who? Felix McCoy. What did I say wrong, Lieutenant? That Felix McCoy was Bess's husband? So why should she send him a bill? Oh, really? Sometimes it's very confusing. Your sister was actually married to that small time... so long ago that no one remembers. She never even took his name. I hate scandal, don't you? Oh, Mother McCree. They did admire one another in a business sense. I haven't even remembered their marriage for years. Now you've made me think about... Take it easy, Miss Barthwell. And made me think about her being dead now. I hadn't thought about her being dead yet. Like all the greenery that used to be along. Juniper Lake. That's pretty late. He's probably in bed by now. Well, this outside stairway will take us to McCoy's apartment. It's on the second floor. You know, George, it would make a lot more sense if it's a person like Felix McCoy. This property Bess owned around here must be worth a good deal. Oh, look. Look. There he is. You can see him through the window. Sleeping like a baby. George. The door just opened over there. It's hard to see. I can't... There's somebody standing there, moving toward the bend. Get into this place. Now can he door's locked? George, there's a knife. He's gonna stab him. Stand back. It's too late. There's the knife. Slow down. Well, I'll be... Well, look what bounced back at us, Valentine. All right, all right. You don't have to keep your knee in my stomach. Oh, hurry up. Thank you. I'm not going any place. Not this time, you're not, Mr. Sprout. Felix dead? Yeah, Riley. Well, this time I won't be begging for confessions. Come on, come on. Gear it up. Take it easy, Riley. He didn't kill him. Yeah? What's that, Mr. Valentine? Felix looks like he's been dead for several hours. Only... shot to death. Yeah, Riley, this gun was lying here on the floor. Whoever did it pumped all six shells into Felix, then pulled up the blank. June up a lane. The whole place is crazy. Yeah, that's been bothering me, too. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I mean like Sprout in there with Miss Brooks. He knew where we were, yet he came up here to stab Felix. Felix was best his husband long time ago, but I suppose it still sticks. I'm not sure I like the way it ties together, but it doesn't at all points to Miss Bartlett. Sprout, come on in here. Go ahead. Sit down, Mr. Sprout. Now, now look, my fanatic friend. You hated Aunt Bess, but you didn't hate Felix here, did you? No, he didn't. Come on, come on, answer me. You came wandering up here to kill him. Now, you didn't care whether you were caught or not. Why? All right, I'll tell you why if you'll answer just one question. Who were you with last night to lap to one o'clock? What's that? Were you with somebody in wide awake playing pinnacle? Why, yes, I... Or did you fall asleep earlier after a drink and maybe somebody brought you a book? Well... Look, it's no use, Mr. Sprout. You don't even know where you were supposed to have been. You haven't even heard the story she made up yet. That alibi she made up for herself. Lieutenant. You're not helping Miss Bartlett anymore. You're a big noble guy. You knew there wasn't any evidence on the first murder, so you figured if you got caught for the second one, you'd hang for them both. My life is worth very little, Lieutenant, but if you were sure in your own mind, you'd be the hero who got rid of the wicked witch of Juniper Lane and her shakedown husband. Only I've got a job to do, my friend. I have nothing to say. I'd like to talk to Mr. Sprout alone, Riley. So go on over to Miss Bartlett's place, will you? I'll meet you there. Okay. Okay, I've got it. All right. Now, what can either one of you expect me to say, Mr. Valentine? Miss Bartlett is my friend, my only friend. I wouldn't waste any time with any of that Juniper Lane stuff, Sprout, that brooding about murder. What's that, Mr. Valentine? Well, Lieutenant Riley swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker. And why? Because it would never occur to anybody that a guy would be crazy or smart enough to stab a body that he'd already shot. Well, what are you talking about? Just stay where you are. To start out with, you mixed up a couple of letters. Only you mixed them on purpose. You wanted me to walk into this thing to meet poor Miss Bartlett to get the setting that Juniper Lane will argue that doesn't exist except in her mind and in the stuff you fed me. I don't understand her sister better. Best was an old biddy. Probably no better and no worse than a lot of other people. Felix here was a tramp. But even he had his points. But they had dough, didn't they? Yeah. That's what it was all about, Sprout. All hard dough. I said stay where you are. This is a gun you're looking at, Mr. Remember it? The gun we found here, so don't come any closer. Okay, step one, you killed the old biddy. The next ear was a half-forgotten husband. Step two, you killed him. You don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing you can prove. Step three, you killed Felix again and he got caught. So the whole thing will hang where you wanted to hang on the next ear to the money. Best is sister. No, her noble, her only friend would get that money about the time as Barthwell went to the chair or an asylum. Stand still, I said. Who else would she leave her money to, but someone who tried to save her? I've heard enough, Mr. Valentine. You picked a nice little lady for a fool, Guy. So peculiar she could never defend herself. I suppose you're different. I'm in better physical shape than you might think, Mr. Valentine. You won't be if you get one step closer. I'm warning you. There's no evidence. I'll get you. I've got a knife here. Yeah. It was just a guess until now. Until you did something no man in the world is brave enough to do. You kept walking straight toward the gun that did away with Felix McCoy. When only his murderer would know the gun's harmless. That all the sick shells had been fired. All of you, all of you, all of you. But the other end of the gun worked all right. Didn't it, Mr. Sprote? Quite sure. Quite sure. Please, Ms. Botwell, that alibi for Mr. Sprote wasn't true, was it? It's the only thing that doesn't fit. It wasn't very nice of me to lie. But he asked me to. Yeah, sure, we understand. Do you? You're so much younger than I am. You have so much more time left to understand about the world. The world is just the same as your street, Ms. Botwell. No, it isn't. There's no place like Juniper Lane. It must be perfect. And everyone in it must be good. That's why I lied for Mr. Sprote. Is it wrong for a lonely old woman to fool herself? I know that I've painted that tree there myself, Mr. Valentine. But if you stand right here, the tree is on the curve. And if you stand over here, it's farther down the street. Sure. All the trees you want in Juniper Lane. Well, you stick to making believe, Ms. Botwell. It's nice. Sometimes during winter driving, maybe you have the feeling that your car has lost its pep. Last summer, it ran beautifully. Now, it starts hard, acts logian traffic, drags on hills. Maybe it's the gasoline you're using. But just try Chevron Supreme gasoline. It's climate tailored. Based on year-round weather reports from your driving area, this premium quality gasoline is tailored to meet seasonal variations. And it is further tailored to meet the requirements of the west's different altitude and temperature zones. Try a tank full of Chevron Supreme tomorrow. Right away, you'll notice how much better your car responds. You can't buy up in traffic ping-free power on hills. In fact, you can't buy a better gasoline for today's high compression engines. Get Chevron Supreme at standard stations and independent Chevron gas stations where they say, and mean, we take better care of your car. Tonight's adventure of George Valentine has been brought to you by Standard Oil Company of California on behalf of independent Chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the west. Robert Bailey is starred as George. Let George Do It is written by David Victor in Jackson Gillis and directed by Don Clark. Virginia Greg appeared as Bruxy, Wally Mayer as Lieutenant Riley. Bob Griffin was heard as Sproot, the reentuttle as Miss Bothwell and Herb Butterfield as Felix. The music is composed and presented by Eddie Dunstetter, your announcer, John Easton. Listen again next week same time, same station too. Let George Do It. This is the Mutual Downly Broadcasting System.