 This time, she had hair from a red sunset. Skin as smooth as warm honey in a generous mouth, but last without moving. She was beautiful, except for her cold, green eyes. From the pen of Raymond Chancellor, outstanding author of crime fiction comes his most famous character in The Adventures of Philip Marlowe. Now with Gerald Moore, scientist of Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The Green Witch. Once upon a time, Halloween had been a day and a night on which mortal man had tipped sword over the face of the earth. Holding cold hands was here, and parting at each new shadow was the harvest moon cast. There's still another twisted, grotesque goblin, thirsting to drink dry, a human soul. I read that in a book once. Read something else, too. The vigil of hollow mass is a genuine spook show. It definitely started down here with a Roman. It did almost everything else. Until now, Halloween has come to mean gate-ceiling trick-or-treat. And of course, the malpractice of sloping and chalking everything in sight. So today, unless you're really on your toes, you're under 12, and I'm neither. The 31st day of October, 1949. But easily it appeared as just that and no more. Until a worried man named John Bishop entered my office. I said trick-or-treat, and so he unfolded a $100 bill and came right to the point. Marlowe, four days ago, a man I once knew broke out of an Illinois prison. My testimony in court a year ago sent him to that prison. Now I'm afraid he's coming after me for revenge. His name is Dale Estes, and I want you to protect me from him. Is he here in LA, Mr. Bishop? I'm not certain. However, this morning, a friend of mine told me of a man in a shabby brown tweed suit who asked about me but wouldn't identify himself. That's all the description he could give. But here, Mr. Marlowe, here's a picture of Dale Estes. This was last Thursday's paper. It's a prison identification picture. When you change the clothes and remove the number, it doesn't leave much. I know. Tell me, Mr. Bishop, what do you want me to do? I want you to locate this man Estes and keep him from killing you. Please, we'll do that for nothing. There is nothing plus a lot of noisy publicity, and I don't want. Because in the first place, it won't help my real estate business any, and also I... Well, I... If somebody would rather not have worrying about you, maybe. Uh, yes. Madeleine Hughes, my fan say. Uh, please, Mr. Marlowe, will you try to find Estes at once? As soon as possible. Before tonight. All right, what happens then? Our masquerade, the Pacific Colisees Country Club. It's a lonely spot out there. Well, why go to the masquerade? Because if I didn't, Madeleine would know there was something wrong. She'd worry, and I'd defeat my purpose. Now, Mr. Marlowe, all I can give you to go on are three things. First, Dale Estes was once an able-bodied senior. Second, he liked Spanish food. He could eat it three times a day. And third, he'd gladly give up both to watch a price fight. He'll kill me, Mr. Marlowe. I know he will. Maybe the magic of Halloween night has something to do with it. I don't know. But when I started looking for an escaped convict and might possibly be someplace in the sprawling city of Los Angeles with murder on his mind, things began to change. First, it was ten-year-old girls planting around in their mother's high heels, lipstick, and affectations. Then gangling boys screaming home from school via the great mischief rust. That much was fun. Then it got dark everywhere. The kids went home and took their laughter with them. And I went looking for Dale Estes. I seemed to meet people who wore everyday faces that I was sure could be masked. People like the old lady who ran a Spanish restaurant located off a crooked alley below the street level. It started with her at the entrance to a damp, cold cave. No. No, Senor. I did not ever see anyone like that picture. But if I were you, I would look for him no further. Can he get any face, Senor? I know! Mary's got worse until in my imagination even the scarred, brute face on the sweating hulk in the distant dusty corner of the third gymnasium I tried. Seemed to belong less than a 20th century man and more to a prehistoric brute out of some dark, long-ago jungle. Ah, nobody like that ain't been watching me today. Nobody ain't been watching me at all for as long as I can remember. And finally, after two hours along the Santa Monica fishing pier, a hundred withered ponds of ancient mariners staring out to sea had more to say. Yes. Yes, I know Estes. Estes was standing next to me when the boiler exploded that night off New South Wales. He was killed. But I told a skipper all about that once already. His name was Estes, too. And so was the first mate. There, Estes. Everybody's name was Estes. Marlowe, Mr. Bishop, I haven't run across anyone. Marlowe, listen, he's been seen again. Estes. What? Yes. Or at least a man in a shabby brown tweed this time near my office. Marlowe, get over to 3130 North Havenhurst Drive as soon as you can. 3130, huh? Yes, it's a costumer shop. Alberto is in Garrow. See you there. Goodbye. Bye. Alberto's in Garrow, a customer, had at least a tangible name and occupation. The shop was tatted on and grabbed me windows and scarred wooden door, all immodestly marked with a proprietor's name and hence some 12-inch-high gold letters. With a card dangling from the front door in our reading, back in ten minutes, Mr. Alberto is in Garrow. There was nothing left for me to do but wait. Until, from some place within arms reached, the conversation was declared open. Do you have a match, please? Yeah, I guess so. Here. When I raked a cup of plain toward a smiling face, sporting a mid-July sunburn topped by blonde, crew cut hair, I got ready for trouble. It never came. Thank you. Goodbye. Uh-huh. Yeah. Marlowe, is that Mr. Isengarrow going off? Yeah, just the guy I had a match in. Oh. Oh. Well, I wonder where Isengarrow is. He said everything to be ready and waiting for both of this. Me, his metastopole, isn't you? Just a minute. We've said nothing about me going to that mass grave, Mr. Bishop. Not a word. Mr. Marlowe, please. I'm sure Estes is going to try to get me tonight. Yeah, I know, but when you want... Gentlemen, good evening. I'm sorry to be late, but there was a costume that had to be delivered. Mr. Isengarrow, this is Mr. Marlowe, the gentleman I called about. Oh, yeah. You'll be able to fit him all right. I don't know. It depends, Mr. Bishop. And whether or not I'll fan still. Marlowe, please. I'll pay you anything. I know, but I... Okay. Fine. Wonderful. Yes, Isengarrow. Open the door. I am Marlowe. Where is that light switch? Oh, yes. There. And Marlowe, here is your costume. This? This is my costume? Yes, yes, yes. You like it? You do. Oh, no. No, it's pretty grotesque, even for a metastopole. It's a beast with wings. My finest creation. It will surely bring you the first prize at the masquerade. A fiery beard head, horns and all. It is as far as I can see. And Marlowe, please. Mr. Isengarrow. Mr. Isengarrow. Mr. Isengarrow. Mr. Isengarrow. Mr. Isengarrow. Mr. Isengarrow. Mr. Isengarrow. A fiery beard head, horns and all. It is as far as I can see. And look, horns are high on your back. A black wing. You pull these cords here. And you wing, flop. And that's for you, Mr. Marlowe. Something you can whip up quickly. Isengarrow. Now, look, Marlowe, I would appreciate it if you'd stop on your way to the club and pick up Madeline's. To choose your thing. I'll say. Yes, pick her up at my place. I have just received today, Mr. Marlowe, tonight, Count Alessandro Cagliostro, 18th century imposter, criminal and lover par excellence. That's me. All in all, it was another hour and I was just about rid of the afterglow of today's goblin when I finally pulled up and parked in front of John Bishop's neat red-witened glass, square and suburban, pacific salad stage. When I was out of my car and walking towards the thin stream of light that leaked out of the front door, which was open inches, the hollowing goblin started coming back fast. They whispered to me of what I might find across the threshold ahead. It took only a finger tip to weave the door open. Then inside, in the middle of the living room floor, a framed picture of a girl, face up. The glass over it smashed into a huge starburst and around me it is a trickle of blood. Ah, but the girl was beautiful. Hair spun from a red sunset. Skin as smooth as warm honey. A generous mouth that lasts without moving. It was a step on her eyes. They were green. The green animals were clear and wide and deep. They laughed too. But the sound you felt somehow wasn't nice. You were cool, Mr. Marlowe. Mr. Marlowe? Eh, oh. Well, forgive me. It's the first time I've seen a green witch. Well, it's Halloween, remember? Yeah. Of course, I know I'm missing the black guy's keys and the bushy-up. So I think, what happened to him? Oh, it's probably the wind. But if I may, Count Alejandro Caliostro awaits your pleasure. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, that's you. Yeah, that's me. Ah, nice. And, um, how handsome is that man? Oh, as long as it was you were an old friend. Your arm, please. Count this. The green witch is ready. Do we drive or fly? Satan himself couldn't have done a better job in the West Palatade's country club. The building which was long and pasted too close to the edge of the cliff that plummeted 200 above feet to the churning sea below was flooded in a thickly green light. While skeletons in the trees hanging in the restless wind by the narrow necks danced the shadowy jig to the accompaniment of the crashing surf. A long, narrow path which ran along the cliffside bleeding to the country club entrance and labeled dead man's walk in every 50 feet a light-guided dummy of an infamous man perched on the balustrade and paired blindly out of the sea. Somehow, it couldn't quite last. However, inside life was more pleasant. The lights were brighter than costumes, five-parts, one-to-eight-parts here and Madeleine was a little prettier than possible. And when she marched me up to a grand dame who was dressed as Marie Antoinette and had to have also passed for four of the ladies in waiting I couldn't make my eyes let go of her. Oh, Mrs. Marlowe! Your excellency! As a lady of concern to me, I built a view to our club. I said I'd open you to our club. Oh, excuse me. I mean, thank you. I mean, I'm sorry. I was looking for a friend. A beast with wings. Oh, that's one. And with a punchbowl. Over there, a giant-sized rum bottle for a costume. Quite appropriate, my dear. The only demon the gentleman on the inside knows is a woman, believe me. And if he doesn't, he's all partnation punnish. Now, when the Marie Antoinette was executed he'll let men in armor, the one with the hump on his back heading for the veranda. He's here every two. Ladies and gentlemen, the notorious hulk of Gloucester. The most historical hugh. You look perfectly ridiculous with that beach boy complexion. Yeah. And crew cut. Madeline, you haven't potted your nose yet, huh? But it doesn't need it. Oh, yes it does. Honest, honey. Besides, I need a breath of fresh air. I feel faint. Oh, my God! Oh, please! Oh, please! It's my 12 dollars to break my clown. I'll bet I'll ever spill a drop. It doesn't rhyme. Oh, no. How are you? It is not. I just fell down and broke my clown butt. Hey, Duke. Yeah? Duke, I'd like to talk to you a moment, please. What? Talk to me? I can't tell you, man. Pretty good. Quite deceptive. Yeah, well, maybe I can help you. One thing I'm an international villain of thought, but another just a nice run of a mill guy. The kind who never refused a stranger a life, remember? What? Oh, are you the guy? Yeah, the guy you asked for a life when he was standing in front of Albert Zingaro's costume shop. Before you can start talking about how small a world we live in or start lying about how natural your appearance was there, let's have the truth. Come on, Tim Pants, was it because of Dale Estes? Dale Estes, I... Uh-uh, you slipped. All right, what's the difference? Yes, it was because of Estes. I know that he's an escaped convict. I also know he's the one way I can get Madeline away from that worthless Mr.... shall I say Bishop? Would you prefer the full name, John Estes? Bishop and Estes are related? Yeah, like in Brothers. Oh, thanks, Duke. How much of blood? Hold on! What do you think you're going to keep your hands off, iron man, your face is hanging out, you know? You'll not interfere. Not if I hit your head, huh? When I dropped a Duke of Gloucester, his face twisted and hurt the cards and his pseudophony armor landed on a flight-stone path like a truckload of tin cans with him in the middle. He was still clanking as I left him and went back to the ballroom where I spotted my client, a beast with wings with a punch-ball again, making himself even more hideous looking by pouring punch down his slip in his neck over a long paper mache chin. When I got close enough to speak his name, he spun toward me like I'd stuck a pin in him. What? Uh, what do you want? You're getting pretty jimpy, Bishop, but I'll take it easy. I'll say you're getting a little thick tongue, don't you think you're riding the punch-ball too hard? That's really none of your business. Is it? It certainly is. This is my business, too. You hired me to protect you against Dale Estes. But you didn't say one word about Estes being your brother. How about it? Well, um, I didn't think it was necessary. How'd you find out? I mean, a sunburned friend with a crew cut, a hunchback, and how am I? You've been checking up on you because he doesn't think you're worthy of Madeline. Oh, that's so. Mm-hmm. Where's Madeline now? I think a broom battle, maybe. I don't know. A broom? Oh, yeah. I better go find her. Now, listen, I think things are going to be all right. You can take it easier from now on. I'd give you that idea, Bishop. Nothing's happened so far. Maybe nothing will. Oh, I'll check with you later. Oh! Oh! Don't tell you so. I simply must tell you. It's a swing! Oh, Fred. What's that? Your funny bone, Marie? Well, sorry, there. The bottle, you know. A demon bottle. Uh-huh. Well, he just told me that one of our wet statues out of the terrace is bleeding. Who is that to you? No, sir. Wait a minute. I saw. Now, nobody believes me, but I'll tell you anyway. It's bleeding. Real blood, too. And that's too much. It's all right to have decorations, but usually real blood is going too far. Well, you're going too far, Harry, with a punch to use, you know. No, no, no. Nobody believes me. I just... Hey, you'll bring me power. What, a wax tummy bleeding? Not really, Harry. Well, you should, because I saw it. The one way down at the end by the stairs. So why doesn't the Browns' real poop bleeding real blood out of a gash instead of always dead food? Wait a minute. Did you say Browns' sweet soup? Yeah, I said Browns' sweet soup. Yeah, but that's nothing. The real blood is the important. Hey, you'll believe me. Yeah, come on. Okay, come on. It's right over there, pal. Behind those bushes over there. Come on, you'll see. Nobody believes me when I do. Well, where is it? Hey, it's gone, somebody. Well, I moved it on there. Oh, no. Well, listen, listen. It was right here, popping up against the railing. It had a half-bolt out over his face, but I could see the gash in his neck from the light there on the top of the stairs. Hey, let's get... Hey, wait a minute, Fottle. You can be right. What do you mean, what's that? It's right here on the rail. Well, tell me, do those stairs go all the way down to the water? Oh, yeah, yeah, but an awful climb better than 200 feet. There's a little boat landing down there. I guess this is more than that down there now, Harry Boy. The bottle of rum slid at me out of the pink hose and his ladle until I tied it down. Then he insisted on following. The stairs chopped some solid rock along a natural path that wound over the face of the cliff with teeth and roughened slits, some whips of fog that moved me quickly across them like wet, nervous fingers. But the bottle behind me was enchanted just enough to flip a kid with every step and still managed to keep his footing. Halfway down, we saw a crumpled hack, only a teethet of what we found at the bottom and a loose and yellow-lighted lamp on the boat landing. He had struck on his face after plunging down 200 battering feet of jagged cliffs. All that was left was a man in a brown, sweet suit. The rum bottle tossed him beside me with filling packs, but the little man inside was looking at what he was wearing. Then he was beginning to come apart. That's real fun! Some joke on the rest of the bar because that's no waxed up in there. Oh, that's a real man. It was a man. I didn't feel very well. Put yourself together and give me a match. Get him away. All like that can do a lot to a man's face. This guy looks familiar to me. From the back here, he looks like John Bishop. He sure does, his brother. I wonder if Bishop figured things would be okay for now on. Huh? Hold it, hold it. What's the matter? Shut up! What are you doing? Yeah, somebody's coming down the stairs. Get over there out of sight and keep quiet. As I made to the foot of the stairs, I looked up in time to see a hunchback monster and armor half hidden in the writhing yellow mist stuck back from the edge. I found the stairs. With the Duke of Gloucester again asking for another punch on his son's hand jar. I took the slip-recepts through at a time as far as the first blind corner where I found out that he beat me to it. What's the long bud? I knew you meant trouble, now I know what kind. That's enough, how do you stand still? What? A gun. I know you don't! Punch in the dog caught me off guard and my 38 went spinning away into the night. He turned and ran. The fog in the night coupled with a useless three-minute search for my gun was all he needed. By the time I got up to the clubhouse terrace again, the Duke was gone. I was met and said by the ever-married Marie Antoinette only this time without giggles. What's going on out here, anyway? Funny, baby. Did you see that phony hunchback the Duke of Gloucester? See him? Oh, I certainly did. He practically ran over me shouting something about a phone call. When I see that group running around... Where'd he go? Inside? Don't you boys know it's dangerous? Later, baby, later. Right now, I want to know... Hey, wait a minute. That place over there on your wrist. Where'd you get it? Well, it's the band of the ladies of Jetery of the West Palisades Minutemen. The what? The City's Betterment Club. Look, do all members have a thing like that? Of course. It's got the club crest on it here. The ladies have braces. And the men... I know what the men wear. I just saw one. If it means anything like I think it does, I'd better find Madeleine Hughes. But fast. Have you seen her? Madeleine? Well, now let me see that. She's a witch. The witch. The damn witch. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Well, the last time I saw her, she was walking down toward the fountain with that wonderfully horrible methodophiles. Oh, she and John, this is Bishop Herb. Perfect couple tonight, don't you think? But I think right now it's clear you're cross-eyed. But thanks for the tip. I'll see you. The rent has to roll. White fools got in the terrace railing and over the gate where the flags don't pass started. And I walk as fast as I could without staring at echoes. Down into the little sheltered alcove where the fountain was. There I saw them standing close together beside a pale marble bench, half hidden in the shadows. A beautiful green-eyed witch. And a horned nightmare with huge, leathery wings helping over... Look at this and the meanies. Don't lick up your drug. I've never seen you like this before. Well, I've got reasons. Day was here in town right now. What? That means one thing. He's found out about us. He knows what we did to him. Wait a minute. I didn't lie in court about him. You did. But you didn't object when you found out. Instead, you celebrated by getting engaged to me. Oh, right, John. Are you sorry? I said it the way I saw it. I've got me to worry about. But he went to prison with the idea that you loved him, Madeline. In fact, he was trying to get his hands on enough money to keep you happy when a cop's quarrel. Okay, I'm expensive. If he couldn't afford me, that's his problem. And his love, Madeline. Whose problem is that? John, tell me what you're doing. John! I'm not John, Madeline. I've already taken care of John. Aren't they old? And you really are a witch, Madeline. So I'm going to... I ain't going to lie for you. Like you didn't mean to. I'll have to. I'll stay back. You take one more step and I'll plug you in. That's a laugh. That means because you won't be any good. Well, I'm going to get you, nosy. And then her. Now, to that all I got to do is walk across the dance floor and they're not the front door. And in this rig, I won't even be noticed. You won't make it, sucker? No. Oh! Hey! What are you? You're gun jam, sucker. Now what? Are you lousy? Here. Take it! An arm went numb from a bullet. And I could feel my shirt front getting warm and sticky. I tried to follow him. But the flagstone path was ten miles long and my legs were melting. I saw him go to the ballroom door and I made it over to the side of the building for support. But I knew I'd never catch him. I looked in the window and I saw him start across the floor. A garish, horned beast with wings shoving his way to freedom. A milling mob of prancing demons. I was prancing out. I knew it. I tried to yell and stop it. But the crowd inside was going crazy. Laughing and comforting around the beast with wings. Glowing at him. Holding him, shoving him back to the door. I saw him fighting and then he went down as the hold of free musicians flows over him. And then everything went black. Oh, a Duke of Gloucester, huh? Well, I... I'm really just Bruce Wiley. The doctor said... Doctor? Yes, where am I? Santa Monica Hospital, model. You were shot, remember? Four hours ago at the Halloween party? Oh, yeah. Yeah, let's see. You got away, huh? Got away? No, he didn't. I just came from police headquarters where S.T.'s confessed. Want me to tell you about it? Yeah, as far as I'm concerned, I dreamed it. Well, S.T.'s killed his brother, John Bishop, out in the terrace before the dancing. He traded his brown sweet suit for Bishop's nephrocephaly's costume so we could move around inside. Yeah, that's right. Thomas was caught there by little Harry, a rum bottle, remember? Mm-hmm. But when the coast was clear, S.T. threw the body over the cliff and went in to dance in Bishop's nephrocephaly's costume. Fine, Madeline. Yeah. Now, look, I know this already, but after he shot me with a cinch to escape, that's where it gets fuzzy. What happened then? Brother has handsome a piece of irony as I've ever seen. The nephrocephaly's costume, that Bishop wore... Don't tell me. Yeah. Well, first try. That's all. Now, Cron wouldn't let S.T.'s leave until he received the award and unmanned. Oh, it's quite the same. At least I called when I thought you were a killer, showed up to take him away. Then we found you and Madeline out on the terrace and brought you here. And a happy Halloween to you, too. How's Madeline? Fine, thanks to your efforts. She's waiting outside now. I'll send her in, huh? Mm-hmm. She's awake now, Madeline. Oh, okay. I don't wake on a group. Oh. Hello, Hanson. Hello, beautiful. You're first group. Yeah, that could have been worse. You figured it out just in time. They even had me through the voices so good. How'd you manage it? No, the cops was wearing a wristwatch band from the Palisade Minuteman Club. They gave me the switch. And I knew it was Dale in the costume. I figured it's the only reason for impersonating his brother. And you didn't even have a gun when you cut him on him. That took a lot of news, Hanson. Right? Don't mention it. Would you get the license you leave? That's all right. You had some pretty bad things about me and I. And you probably thought at the few of you very old. Matter of fact, I did. You got that kind of faith. You can catch those. That'll be careful with it, baby. Now, uh, we can catch the lights on your way out, please. Wait a minute. I'm going to show you something first. I've been so scared in the middle of my life. And I've been thinking, things are going to be different from now on. Yeah? Who's next? Bruce Whaley? I haven't decided. But whoever he is model, he'll be the only one. And there's no exactly one. Does that help? Now, let's see it happen first, baby. Okay. I'm going away for a while, but I'll be back. Watch for me. Next Halloween. Thank you. Yeah, will you catch your lights? I'll catch the lights on the way out. When Madeline left, sleep left with her. I got out of bed, went over to the window, and looked out. The sky and the ocean were till dark. But over me, the first glow of dawn was totting on the horizon. And the goblins flew screaming into the mist. Until next Halloween. At that moment, something moved across the fading moon. Something that looked very much like a beautiful witch. With hair red as the sunset. And cold green eyes. And I saw something else on the white side of the beach. The scotted witches' costume in green and beyond it, just for a moment. I thought I saw Madeline leaning against a rock, looking out the sea. I never found out if it was Madeline or not. Because then the sun came up. And she and the costume, and the night, were gone. The adventures of Philip Marlowe, bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, star Gerald Moore, and are produced and directed by Norman McDonnell. Scripted by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Features in the cast were Eve McVeigh, John Boehner, Paul Fleece.