 Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gut of the prison of the grave. There's no other end, but they never learn. Brickley's Spearman Chewing Gum, the refreshing delicious treat that gives you chewing enjoyment, presents for your listening enjoyment Raymond Chandler's most famous character in The Adventures of Bill F. Marlowe. To make every day more enjoyable, treat yourself often to refreshing delicious Brickley's Spearman Chewing Gum. Here's a taste treat you can enjoy indoors, outdoors, at work or at play. The cool, long-lasting mint flavor refreshes you. The smooth, steady chewing helps keep you fresh and alert. Adds enjoyment to whatever you're doing. Brickley's Spearman Chewing Gum, healthful, refreshing, delicious. Now with Gerald Moore, starred as Phillip Marlowe, the makers of Brickley's Spearman Chewing Gum are glad to bring you tonight's exciting story, The Girl from Pitchfork Corner. Sure, I'm sure what I'm saying, what I'm saying. Do I look like I'm wearing blinkies? Now for the third and last time, so I can go back to Mark in his form. Nobody's been in that seat, mister, since we left LA, nobody, nobody. You sure you got the right stall? Yeah, yeah. Card J, lower 12. Your J, upper 12, right? Right, right, right, right, right, right, right. Well, that's life for you. Now look friend, friend, let's go around again. His name is Latimer, Honolatimer. I don't know what he looks like, but he's supposed to be heading to San Francisco. Now maybe you heard somebody call him, page him, something. Uh-uh, uh-uh, nobody called no one except that pool cue conductor with the brass buttons and the sandpaper voice. Hey, you checked him? You checked him? Yeah, twice, twice. Now look, lower 12 is vacant as far as he's concerned, right? And no Honolatimer in the club car, the diner, are they? Hey, no, wait a minute. He tried to wash room. Yeah, same story. Ah, man, man, it looks like your entry was scratched, that's scratch. Uh-huh, also looks like Glendale is where I get off. So long pal, good luck with the ponies. Hey, no, hold it, hold it, don't tell me that Latimer bird is the only reason you're on this train. The one and only. Look, if you run across a pony called, not on hand, play it heavy, huh? Yeah, sure, but not to show. Not to show, not to show. Good night, friend. I waited on the platform at Glendale until the chrome streamliner had glided out with car J, lower 12, still empty. Then I got a cab back to Union Station in L.A., picked up my own car and headed for 1312 North Bronson Drive in Hollywood. And the woman I'd never seen named Donna Rollins. She had hired me by special delivery letter that afternoon. Chris, $50 bill and clothes, they're in. To be sure that one Honolatimer was going where he'd said he was going, that had been my job. Well, the place on Bronson was the kind of imitation Mount Vernon architecture where Washington couldn't have slept a wink. The lady that answered the door was about as colonial as Bebop. Yet she was a full lap behind the other extreme known as glamorous Hollywood type. Just as nice looking anybody, with freckles, brown hair and a soft bun and dressed in a white blouse that didn't plunge an inch. What is it? I'm Philip Marlowe, Miss Rollins. I'm afraid you're entitled to some change. May I come in? Change? What do you mean change? You're $50. It's a lot of money for a one line report on a little man who wasn't there. Miss Rollins, do you hear me? Yes, yes, Mr. Marlowe. I don't like to seem abrupt, but I'm very busy. Excuse me, please. You seem to have lost interest in Mr. Latimer in a hurry. You know when you sent me the letter this afternoon. Yes, please, Mr. Marlowe. There isn't time for talk. I've already told you I'm very busy. Good night. Okay, baby. Good night it is. I backed my nose off the front door knocker, chocked Donna Rollins off because another woman who had changed the jittery mind and walked a dozen yards back to where I'd parked my car. The crisp $50 bill was still burning a hole in my pocket. When I was in behind the wheel, I was still worried about taking so much for so little. Until I flicked my headlights on and the slash of white picked up something I hadn't expected. Donna Rollins, a coat thrown over her arm, a face stamped with fear, was running away from the house like it was going to blow up, headed for a taxi cab parked close to a corner. I started my car to follow her, but I never made it, because a hot rod decided all at once to park in front of me. The adolescent climbed over his door and came toward me with strictly brash high school sophomore with dialogue to match. Of course, the cab was gone. Well, Pappy, nice going. Your bumpers pleaded my twin pipes. Well, what are you calculating doing about it? If you were five years older and five inches taller, I'd pleat you, Pappy. Now come here. Oh, hey, let me go. Not until I speak my peace. You son of a gun to get those two cars apart in less than two minutes, because I don't calculate on being gone any longer. Is that crystal clear? Yeah, yeah, sure, mister. Sure, I'll fix it up double quick. You'll see. I practically got it done now. Okay? I don't know. We'll talk about it again in two minutes. I had no idea what Donna Rollins had been running to or from, but the fact that she was gone while her front door was still open made her house the first place to check. I found the living room nothing more or less than I'd seen at my first peek. Plush, but empty. The bedroom beyond was the same. White satin drapes spilling onto a wall-to-wall jet black hook rug, and on the far side of the room sprawled over an also white ottoman, a very beautiful blonde girl, very dead. She'd been shot twice in the back sometime in the last hour, and there was no identification in any of the pockets of the expensively tailored gabardine suit that she wore. In a handbag, the story was the same. Yeah, it looked like Donna had had good reason to run, but that I had a better one for calling the police. Or taking her messages. Hello? I want to talk to Donna. She isn't in, message? Yeah, he has a message. I want you to find her and get it as to me, please. Hey. Hey, I can't hear you. Are you still there? Yeah. Now, hold on. His phone booth leaked. Okay. Who are you? Friend of Donna's. You said you had a message. Yeah, so I did. But? But I think you're off an anxious fellow, too anxious. No, no, wait a minute. Don't get touchy. I'm a friend all right. Skip it. Friend. Not a chance, Junior. Neven's one, two, one, two. We may get together yet. Los Angeles City, Biddling. Fire Department. Battalion Chief Kegler, please. One moment, sir. Battalion Chief. Phil Marlow, King. Oh, hi, Phil. Look, can you get me some dope and a big hurry? It's important. Well, sure, Phil. Name it. What firehouse went out on a call less than a minute ago? Can you look it up? Well, I don't have to. It's here on the board in front of me. Engine Company Five, Phil. San Fernando Valley. But it's only a small brush by... I don't care about that, Keg. Where does Engine Company Five live? Where in the Valley? Can you give me that? Well, I think so, Phil. I've seen it was my own outfit for 14 years. The corner of Ventura Boulevard and Witzit. But, Phil, what do you want to... I'll call you later, Chief. We'll talk it over then, huh? Thanks. Goodbye. I was playing a long shot. But any kind of a leader in a deep-freeze voice who had a message for a girl who left a corpse in her bedroom was worth checking. So over the time being, I skipped calling the police and left the place lights out, door closed, but not locked. Then I found my car where the hot rod pilot had left it. Started for the San Fernando Valley in the firehouse called Five. 20 minutes later, when I was there and out of my car, I came face-to-face with my second break. The only payphone within a half block of the Engine Company was at an all-night, open-air hot dog stand. And the attendant on hand, the girl with a kind of arched eyebrows, had left her looking constantly surprised. Had an A1 memory. I most certainly do remember the party you're talking of, Mr. most certainly, and for two especially good reasons. Like what, honey? Like top and bottom, hair and shoes I'll refer to. The former, red, like this ketchup here. And the larder, suede and yellow, no less. And he was the... Yes, excuse me. Well, let's be quick. My dog, Betsy, you pick it with your own thingy. Yeah, with my own dainty fingers. Really, Chris, you say the same thing every night. It gets to be very... Betsy. Betsy, pardon me, dear, but this counts. Do you know who this redhead in yellow suede shoes is? His name? Oh, no, I never saw him before. Oh, fine. Well, thanks, baby. Don't mention it. By the by, I do know where he went, if that means anything. Baby, it means a lot. Where? Tell me. With the old Mexico club here in Studio 3, he works there or something. Anyhow, I know he made a call to Herbert Ring, the gambling big shot, and called him boy. And Ring runs up. Thanks, sweetheart. Here's ten for your trouble by Chris and you old hat. Say it. Goodbye. The old Mexico club was phony south of the border from authentic Latin American rumba team. I'd seen builders Mr. and Mrs. Buck and Wing a month ago at the policeman's ball through a life-size painting of a bullfighter who had his cape thrown over the wrong shoulder. Heh. With strictly second rate all the way down and back up the line of the proprietor himself, Herbert Ring. An almost smooth, almost big bookmaker whom I knew slightly. I found him at a corner table, huddled over a glass of milk, listening hard to none other than the redhead with the gaily colored feet. When I stepped up to them, the conversation broke off sharply. Well, well, well, hi, Phil. What's new, boy? Ah, nothing much, herb. Outside of a job I just landed. A girl named Donna Rowland. Donna Rowland. Quiet, Larry. Excuse us, sir. Won't you, sit down, sit down. Mr. Marlowe, uh, uh, Larry. How are you? I'll be at the bar, boys. Heh, heh, heh, heh. He's not so friendly, Phil. The evasive type, if you know what I mean. Yeah. The evasive like, uh, Honolatima, maybe? Honolat... Who's that, Phil? Now, listen, herb, I'm trying it straight. Donna Rowland's new, what's it like? I forget. Your angle? Right now, curiosity and a cough, no more. Oh, somebody's dead, huh? Where? I forget. Heh, heh. Round two, Herbie. Heh, heh, heh. Yeah. Okay, Phil, you've got as much good sense as you have nerve. Thanks. I'll try it straight for a while. A certain party has me over the barrel. Tonight's the payoff. I plan on making it. That's all. Blackmail? And you're almost happy about it? Oh, oh. Now, look, herb, you're expecting me. Oh, you're thinking like an honest man. Now, turn it over. Huh? I'm stuck, so I pay once. Blackmail's your name for it. We call it smart money. And smart money is what we deal in. You follow? Almost. But this certain party, is it Donna Rowland? Marlow, after what I said about your good sense. Oh, yeah, how straight can you get, huh? Heh, heh, heh, heh. Leave it alone, Phil. Goodnight, boy. I watched them go as far as the bar and pass Larry, who quietly fell and stepped behind without so much as the command healed. And when they both disappeared into a door marked private, I decided I'd had enough of old Mexico. I got out to my car and pointed it back to Donna Rowland's place for the only reason left. I didn't know where else to go. Half hour later, when I was there, I was glad it had played that way because number 1312 North Bronson was not dark as I'd left it, but lights on, front door, wide open radio going in for a topper, a gentleman of maybe 35, in tweeds and a sunburn mixing himself a drink. The evening paper opened on a nearby coffee table. What? Good evening. Oh, you startled me. You a friend of Donna's? Yeah, yeah. She in? No, she... Say, who are you? You barge in here, close the door, make yourself... I told you I'm a friend of Donna's. Oh, that's odd. So am I. A study boyfriend. Shall we try again? All right, the name's Marlow. I'm a private detective working for Donna. Donna hired a private detective? Why, what's wrong? Take it easy, Mr... Mr. Sattler, Doug Sattler, now please, now Mr. Marlow, come to the point. I had a date with Donna. Yeah, well, from the way she left here, I don't think she's going to keep it. Why not? Why shouldn't she? Well, for one thing, if you don't know already, there's a body in the bedroom there. But somebody's dead in there? Yeah, very dead. Let's have a look, huh? Maybe somebody you can identify. It's a woman, Mr. Sattler, a blonde. She was shot. Well, who is it, Sattler? A friend of Donna? Oh, it's Donna. To make every day more enjoyable, treat yourself often to refreshing, delicious Wrigley Spearman chewing gum. A lively, full-bodied, real mint flavor cools your mouth, moistened your throat, freshened your taste. And the chewing itself gives you a little lift. Helps you keep going at your best. So for real chewing enjoyment, that's refreshing and long-lasting, always keep Wrigley Spearman chewing gum handy. Healthful, delicious Wrigley Spearman gum will make every day more enjoyable. Now with our star Gerald Moore, the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's exciting story, The Girl from Pitchfork Corners. The thing in the bedroom was no prettier than it had been when I first found it, only now it had a name. Donna. Donna Rollins, my client. And as Doug Sadler stared at it and repeated the name as long hands began to twist each other and its forehead got sticky, that finally took him by the shoulder and turned him around away from it. His glistening gray eyes avoided me and instead darted at the corners of the room frantically like a pair of scared mice looking for a place to hide. Donna, dead like that? I just can't get it through my head. Why? Why? Now let's try the easy ones first, like who, huh? You mean you know who did this? It's not exactly the handcuffs, Dave Sadler, but I got a prospect. Come on, let's go in the other room. You can probably use a brace. Yeah, thanks. I need a drink. Yeah, I think it's a girl, a cute one with dark eyes and a double row of freckles across her nose. Freckles? Yeah, also she has brown hair and a bun and a mouth that probably like to smile once. I wasn't doing much of that when I reported to her tonight. You reported to her? Now wait a minute, that's impossible, Marlowe. Why? She was right here in the apartment. Furthermore, she said she was Donna Rollins. I can't understand this, any of it. Hey, wait a minute, take it easy with that stuff. I said a brace, not a bottle. I need it. See, I know the girl you've just described. Hmm? Her name's Beverly Cheskin. Cheskin? And the reason for killing? If she did? Jealousy. Maybe you better draw me a picture. She's a crazy, unreasonable kid from the sticks, Marlowe, from Pitchfork Corners, Kansas. From where? That's right, Pitchfork Corners. The rest of it's just as fantastic. Oh, what's the rest of the story? Last summer, my car broke down. I was stuck there for a week. She worked in the only drug store in town. I was just about the first guy she'd ever seen in something beside a straw hat and overalls. She fell for me, and well, I kind of let her on. You know how it felt, Will. I should. I've been hearing the same story since I was in the third grade. Oh, sure, sure. Rest of it, no doubt, goes right down the same cob. Your love let her seal with a kiss. You finally got around to breaking it to her gently about Donna. She wouldn't believe you and before you knew it, she dropped everything and came to the big city, huh? Yeah, two days ago. Yeah. You make it all sound pretty silly. It's no sillier to me than that corpse in there. Okay. It's hard to believe she'd actually commit a murder, Marlowe. She does have a temper. She's just pulled her life out by the roots. And you know what? They grow deep in places like Pitchfork and Warner City. Boy, didn't you care. Of course I did. Crazy little fool. I tried to reason with her in my life. Never mind, never mind. Let's get on to the sophisticated part, huh? About Donna and one Mr. Latimer, for instance. Latimer? Who's that? Oh, how about Donna and Herbert Ring? I don't know any Herbert Ring, either. But Donna had a lot of business friends I didn't bother with. Why? Well, you should have. Doing business with Herb Ring means... Means what? What's that? Where'd you pick up off the floor, Marlowe? An old envelope. I'm a stick of neatness. Where's Beverly staying, Sadler? I don't know. She called me once, but she wouldn't tell me. I haven't seen her. Where'd she reach you? My hotel at Greenwood Arms. Marlowe, what are we going to do? About Beverly, I mean. Right now I'm going to try to find her. You can stand it, Sadler. Stay here and stay sober. A crumpled envelope I'd found that didn't belong on Donna's floor had come from the Sunflower Motor Court. Qualified as a lead only because the name might appeal to a sentimental kinsman a long way from home. Well, it took the night man at the place five fumbling minutes to discover that Beverly Cheskin actually was registered. Five more to remember that she got a call just before I showed up. Had left in a big hurry and had crossed the street towards Sands, which was the U-Drive car lot done in Tired Green. So was Sands. Sorry, honey, but you're out of luck. Ain't a buggy left on the lot. I'm too out there late up. I don't want a car, Sam. I got my own across the street. I'm looking for a girl. What you doing it in here for? Because her name is Beverly Cheskin. Beverly, say now. Disco incident. For a little thing by that name, what you're saying? Freckles and all. Don't say freckles out here much. Made me kind of homesick. Yeah, but did she rent a car from you? No, she did. Brand-new Nash. Class one. She didn't give it to her. She might've keyed up, you see. Figured that LA traffic had put the wild on her until I found out it was love. Love? What do you mean? Why, she asked me what was the shortest way up to Vista Point. Heh, points to get it, son. I'll be very honest, not yet, no. Well, Vista's Mexican for view, oh, senor. Heh, points just to Hootenhalle east of the observatory. See the whole Dern Valley and all of the same up there. Oh, that's where she's headed, huh, you're sure? We're wrecking most romantic spots around. Dangerous road, though, more ways than one. But you ain't getting me, but you know all about it. Well, not all, but I'm willing to find out. Thanks, Sammy. That's all right, don't break the neck across the street, son, as you wait. Leave that heap right where it's set, Thomas. It won't be nitty-nitty. I won't take your word for it, Larry. It better. You and me'd have a nice talk. Tell him we have nothing in common. No, it's different. The name aren't a latimer, for instance. Sorry, some other time I got a date. Come with me. I said we're gonna talk, Mr. cool cucumber. I have to warm you up to it the hard way. It's okay with me. You know, Larry, there's something wrong with a guy who'll wear yellow suede shoes like those. He must be slow in his reflexes. I imagine I'll be seeing you as I hit it for Vista Point two ugly facts stood out clearly. First, the only person Beverly Cheskin would rush off to Vista Point 4 with Doug Satley. Second, he had to be a liar because he called it just as soon as my back was turned. And they both added up to the same thing in other cops. A road up from the valley floor was a narrow strip of crumbling concrete as full of twists as I heard worm. But near the top it leveled off in a series of ragged terraces, grossly overrated as the lovers rendezvous. I pulled off the road, hit my car near a scrub oak, and drove the rest of the way up on foot. A cold wind lashed at the manzanita as I worked my way up to the crest. The half moon played unpredictable tag with low clouds. So I followed the shadow of a stone wall out onto the jutting point, but the mountain fell away on three sides into a black gorge. Finally I spotted them. Doug Satley and the freckled kid from Pitchfork Corners banding close together at the edge of oblivion. I was in love with you, Doug. Doesn't my being here prove that? When you called me at the motel, I came up here as fast as I could, even though I knew what you'd done. Oh, Doug, why did you have to kill her? Why? Because she double crossed me on a business deal. A blackmail deal, Beverly. Blackmail? That's right. Donna knew plenty about certain men in this town, big timers who'd pay thousands or kill to keep others from finding out about them. Doug, how could you? It was risky I had to pose as somebody who didn't exist, Mr. Arnold Latimer, and pretend that he was the one who had all the information. I demanded 50 grand from a guy named Ring and set Donna up as the go-between. Then, as Latimer, I was supposed to go to San Francisco on the train and wait for Donna to come with the money. But I'd have waited the rest of my life. She intended to keep it all for herself. But you killed her, Doug. Was it that important to you? You still don't get it, do you? I know now that there's no chance for us, for you and me. No chance at all, ever. I'm going through with the deal alone, Beverly. I'm going to get that money. But I've got to do something else first. I heard enough. I reached my 38 nades along the wall to them to where I knew I couldn't miss. I made a mistake, Beverly. I dropped an envelope in Donna's place and Marlowe found it. He knows I lied, but I can still say I did it to protect you. Protect me? What do you mean? He'll be up here eventually, but all he's going to find is a stupid kid from Hitchfork Corners who murdered her rival in a bit of jealousy and then couldn't face it. I was counting on the wind to cover any noise, and it did. That's why I was caught flat-footed by a sharp pain. I crouched down as Herbert Ring stepped out of the brush across the clearing a thin-barrelled gun in his hand. Don't move, sister! I started moving again. His ring rolled a mobile with his foot. He was dead. That's the only pay-off for me. It's too bad you had to be here to see it made, sister, because I can't afford a witness. I'm sorry, I really am. But it's no worse than he was going to do to you. Ring, duck, Beverly! I think God let Ring go and reach for it. Just relax. And Larry, that louse, he was supposed to... Yeah, it's a little late for tips, Herb. You should have hired a better class of help. Go fry your head. Nobody's perfect. Even you... Yeah, where'd I slip? Too much volume when I talk to Sam? Yeah, that's right, Bobbuff. I tagged you there, and listened. So you knew where to come and you heard the rest of it up here and you did. They'd take it, Herb. It's not gonna be easy getting it down this hill to a dock. Are you kidding, Shamas? I ain't movin' any place if you know any pretty words. Go say them to the lady. She's the one who needs them. They'll go over biggin'. Bitch, you fork. The words. Not then, anyway. I let her figure it all out for herself and she was still at it when we got to police headquarters where we told the whole story to homicide and start to finish. And finally, when a coroner's crew went up to Vista Point to take Satelyn Ring to the morgue and a gaunt police secretary with calluses on her mind, hammered out the reports, I went over to Beverly, the little country girl who was looking through a dingy window at the dingy backyard of the city. Don't you ask any more questions, Mr. Marlowe? I'd just like to repeat that it comes out the same each time. You can't blame them, you know. Well, I'm not going to hold you. You can leave tomorrow and go home. Yes, I know, but I'm not going back. I'm going to stay here in Los Angeles. Be sure, baby. It's a big place, lots of people. Awful of people. Not if you think about them one at a time. Yeah. We'd like to talk to you again, Mr. Chesson. Will you come in, please? Well... Good night, Phil. Can I... call you one of these days? You better. Starting tomorrow. She smiled. And the freckles on her nose all ran together. Yeah, it was a lovely sight that knows. I watched her walk into the lieutenant's office and then I went out, got in my car and headed home. And as I drove, I thought about hep cats, and I thought, you know what, it worked. That way there's no difference. They're all people. Yeah, I had a hunch I was going to be planning on that phone called tomorrow. Remember, friends, to make every day more enjoyable, treat yourself often to refreshing, delicious, Wrigley's Spearman chewing gum. There's lots of cooling, real mint flavor in every stick. And chewing Wrigley's Spearman helps keep you feeling fresh and alert. You feel better, work better, get more fun out of doing things. So indoors, outdoors, wherever you go, keep some helpful, refreshing Wrigley's Spearman chewing gum handy. To make every day more enjoyable, treat yourself often to delicious Wrigley's Spearman chewing gum. The adventures of Philip Marlowe presented by Wrigley's Spearman gum bring you Raymond Chandler's most famous character and star, Gerald Moore. Philip Marlowe was produced and directed by Norman McDonnell and written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast where Sammy Hill, Peter Leeds, Wally Mayer, Hugh Thomas, Anthony Barrett, Vivi Janice and Harry Bartell. Special music is composed and conducted by Richard Arant. The makers of Wrigley's Spearman chewing gum hope you enjoyed tonight's adventures of Philip Marlowe and that you're enjoying Wrigley's Spearman gum every day. We invite you to be with us next week when Philip Marlowe says This time I spent the night in an ancient Spanish castle with an overworked Count Goding atum, a caretaker with blood on his mind in a seven-footer called Peter the Cruel which was one thing, the other was worse. They all lived in the 16th century. Bob Stephenson speaking, this is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.