 Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road, and those who travel it wind up in the gutter the prism of the grave. This time a peddler of pulp for love, a blackmailer with muscles, a south of the border chiseler, a simpering prude, and a corpse in a bedroom. All had one thing in common. Each was a woman. It happened like this. From the pen of Raymond Trantler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous character in... The Adventures of Philip Marlowe. Harold Moore starred as Philip Marlowe. We bring you tonight's exciting story, The Lady's Night. The moment the sauce is boiling furiously, which is right now, add one full cup of tomato paste gradually and stir vigorously. Okay? One full cup of tomato paste. Oh, no. No, not now. I'll be a minute. I said I'll be... Oh, no. So add tomato paste cup and all. Okay. Okay, I'm coming. Who is it? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to but you... Kay Vanaman. Yes, darling, staunch friend Kay. Am I welcome? Me and my small western union, Joe? Oh, sure, sure. Come on in. Come on in, honey. We're going to the kitchen. Oh, it's not Marlowe playing chef again. What is it this time? Well, sauce a la marino. What's on your poor little rich girl's 14 carat mind tonight? You. It's Tuesday. Tuesday? Yes. This is meeting night in my crowd. The greens committee at the country club, the Beverly Hills male choir, the veterans of this and that. So, no men left. Seps staunch friend Marlowe, huh? Look, Kay, baby, just because I... That is it. That did I know it by heart filled. Just because brave private detective once saved rich Uncle Enoch's niece Kay, baby from lots of trouble. But which he was well paid. There's no reason why they've got to go on seeing each other. Well, Mr. You're wrong. There is a reason, a big fat one. I like you. Lots, especially on Tuesday. I can't tell you how happy that makes me now. Look, I'm not being too bold. Am I? I did call, you know, three times. You weren't home all day. It didn't discourage you. If I can't have you, I'll take the doorstep. Tuesdays. On Tuesdays. Now, about this sauce a la. Who do you call it? What do we do first? Fish out the cup or wait for it to melt? Well, it all depends if we want to. Hey, are there things sticking out of your pocket? Real telegram or prop for gag? Oh, no, no, no prop, real thing. I met the boy in front of your door. Open it up, will you? My hands are greasy. So I noticed over there, self-reliant. It's called soap and water. Well, read it, dear. Straight like, huh? Okay, straight like. Strive to read you all day, very important. We hit the tulip room. Sunset strip at eight tonight will tell you to ripple your feet. Dye means everything. Gigi, arms big. You know her? Give me the towel, will you? Yeah, I think... Sure, she's the demon editor for Passman House. Who publish what? Magazines, torrid love, great passions. You know the shop girls in psychopedia. Well, now tell me, shop girl, where'd you meet editor Gigi arms big? At a cocktail party about a year ago. She's quite a character, sleek to look at. And listen to him? Oh, someplace between a career woman and a marine sergeant. Credit good? Excellent. Uncle Enoch once shook hands with her. And that's better than done in breadth. Hey, where are you going? The Don Jacket and professional demeanor. Both are going to the tulip room. Oh, Phil, come on. But you're not. Phil, that's not fair. This is too... And the sauce alamorino needs one measuring cup removed. A delicate woman's touch from here on in. Bye-bye, Kay. You're a staunch friend indeed. The tulip room was one of those extra chic spots, you know, curled up at the foot of the Hollywood Hills. Where the velvet and the matredee's tone of voice made you sure you had egg on your vest. But that plus the crew cut glamour girls who lined the boots and shrilled darling, no matter what was said, made finding my prospective client that much easier. In severely tailored bankers' gray flannels, she stood out among the neighboring naked shoulders like a wart on a cue ball, as did her voice, which once it had gone through the introductions came right to the point. Malo, my problem is simple. I want to find a woman in a hurry. Her name is Henrietta Lawrence. She's a good hack writer who disappeared. I know not why. Health. Likewise. Now, here it is. One, two, three. A couple of weeks ago, Henrietta Lawrence showed up in my office from someplace like Seattle, or Portland, I forget which, and handed me an outline for a three-installment serial story that was excellent, according to our standards. Three days ago, she brought in the first two installments also excellent. But the day before yesterday, when the third installment was due, I was sitting in my office winter when this happened. She only got as far as a front door. What happened? I don't know. She saw somebody going by slowly in a car. Scared the daylights out of her, and she hobbled for a cab. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Did you say hobbled? Yeah, she limps. Youth is a cane. Anyway, she piled into this cab and took off. Haven't had a word from her since. I'm worried, Malo. She's a nervous thing, the kind who'd go to pieces. Little one's fast. So I want you... P.G. Ornsby. Oh, as I live and breathe, is still my career, darling. How are you? Busy, Jeanette, busy. So I see. And what's the handsome gentleman's name or am I supposed to get? It's Dracula, darling, where I countin' the white throats. Goodbye. Oh, G.G., you're priceless. Goodbye, Jeanette. This is business strictly. Well, I was only being friendly. Excuse me, darling. Happy business. Oh, what they let loose after, darling. Anyhow, Malo, I want you to find this girl. She may be in an awful jam. Now, what do you want to know? Well, description might help, G.G. Okay. Henrietta's about 35 on the drab side. No makeup, no jewelry. Each time I saw her, she was wearing the same thing. A plain brown coat, a plainer brown hat, low heels. All in all, a sex appeal of a tumbleweed. Last I'd rest your head on her? The only one. The Brace Hotel for Women Room 7. It's over on Fontaine, near La Cienica. But she hasn't checked back there in two days, either. The giggling flower of the old South desk clerk I talked to on the phone today hasn't the slightest idea where she is. But I figure for you, she might, Malo. She probably got a face like a wet hemp. Her name is Clarice. Well, we'll try it. Where can I reach you, G.G.? At my home in Brentwood, Sunnyside 9, 1011. 1011? Yeah, I'll stay next to the phone. Really, do your best, will you, Malo? Okay, G.G. It'll be my best, all right. Don't worry about it. I'll call you. Are we alone? Is the switchboard closed? What? Well, yeah. Good. You see, I'm a private detective named Malo, Clarice. A private detective? And you know my name. Oh, we find things out. Oh, how can poor little old me help you? Well, it's about Henrietta Lawrence, the girl with the cane. She's in trouble, and I think it's a man. So do I. Who? Well, I don't know. You sure? Positive. She was always so quiet, so mysterious. It was enough to make her body curious. So one night, I followed her. She went to Annie Stringer's Hollywood Health Club. That's her lady's Turkish bath over on Santa Monica Boulevard in Dohani. Well, maybe she ducked in there because she knew you were following her. Oh, no, I was very careful. Besides, she had something to say to a woman there. I know I saw him talking in the doorway when I went by. Couldn't see who it was, though. No man, huh? No. But I keep my eyes open when she comes back. Oh, you do just that. Keep them wide open, Clarice. They're lovely eyes. Good night, honey. My client was wrong. Clarice did not have a face like wet hemp. It was more like a batch of biscuits, but the body curious had provided a lead, as far as the corner of Santa Monica and Dohani. And into the white, antiseptic-looking reception room of Annie Stringer's Hollywood Health Club, women only. There I forgot about Clarice hemp and biscuits alike and thought instead about something a whole lot tastier, like the girl who was leaning on a corner of a desk marked information while she made pencil marks on a chart. She looked up when I closed the door and started toward me. But when another door in the room opened and a woman who was built like a sack of cement poured down on me, she turned back to a chart. Yes, sir. I help you. I'm Annie Stringer. We don't have a men's section here, if that's what you wanted. No, it was something else, Miss Stringer. Annie will do. Names my stock and trade. Something else like what? Henrietta Lawrence. I'm looking for her. Who are you, mister? What's your name? Philip Marlowe. I'm a friend of Henrietta's from Portland. They told me over at the Brace Hotel that Henrietta might be at your place. You see, someone had seen her come in here once. Henrietta Lawrence. Well, name doesn't mean anything to me, but... Mommy, Mrs. Gordon wants you to come beat her a while. All right, he'll be right there. I don't recall anyone by that name, Mr. Marlowe, but you might check with my receptionist there. Take care of the gentleman, will you, Mona dear? Very well, honey. I'm coming, Mrs. Gordon. I'm... I'm sorry, Mr.... Marlowe, Mona dear, Philip Marlowe. Marlowe? Well, I don't recall any Henrietta Lawrence ever having been with us, but... why don't we check the registration card that my desk can be sure? I might be mistaken. All right, she's a woman about 35. She wears no makeup, but... Never mind. I know her, amigo. What? Just listen. You see, Mr. Marlowe, the cards here list everyone who ever visits the club. Why do you really want Henrietta Lawrence? Well, I'm a private detective with an interested client. Who has money, amigo? Yeah, it could be. What's your connection here? Receptionist. And good friend to Annie, her... competent, you might say. All right, say it. Meet me in the alley behind the hardware store across the street in a half hour. We'll close then. Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Marlowe, but we don't seem to have any listing of Henrietta Lawrence, but perhaps... No, never mind. Thanks just the same. Well, you're quite welcome. Don't give me a waiting, amigo. I killed most of the 30-minute-weighted and all-night beannery a block away where I drank bad coffee and listened to a... special monologue, Moetris, which was worse. And at exactly 10.30, I stepped into the street and walked to the alley behind the hardware store. Move cautiously, taught a dark shadow of the building until I hand the grip like a bed trap snap shut on my upper arm, while another locked my wrist high into my back. One inch, Mr. Marlowe, and I'll break it off and hand it to you. I was a lady wrestler, understand? Oh, do I still call you Annie? Remind the wisecracks, but in a long day and I haven't got patience. Now, what's your angle, flat foot? This! Slip, baby, in more ways than one. Start talking. All right, all right. Henrietta came from Seattle, not Portland. So now some advice. Forget Henrietta Lawrence, Chalmers. You can't do her any good. You're a liar, Annie, and you know it. Wasting your breath, Chalmers. Let's bluff any hot air. Yeah? I suppose that goes for the letter, too, I suppose. Letter? You slipped again, kid. What about it? You don't know what letter I'm talking about, but Mr. Marlowe, Henrietta Lawrence does. So tell her to call off the bloodhound or that letter will go right to the cops. They'll know exactly what to do with it. Get going. Kate! I'll blow the tongue of your head off, go on, eat it while you can still walk. Go. All right. But I'll be around, Marlowe. So don't forget the message I gave you for Miss Lawrence. In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, the kindly physician of River's End, Dr. Christian, will meet the spirit of George Washington in a most unusual way this Wednesday night when Dr. Christian tells his story on most of these same CBS stations. An elderly patient who claims to have a personal message from George Washington comes to Dr. Christian's office and presents him with one of his most perplexing cases. Dr. Christian, starring Jean Herschelt, is a regular Wednesday night feature. Now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, The Lady's Night. Hey, watch Danny string her lumber out of sight down the alley. And she turned, tossed me, and I told you so, smile and lit a cigarette for me. Here. Well, I guess it's a good thing I chucked that scurry, made routine and followed you after all, wasn't it? Look, I've already said thanks. So go ahead, get real corny, rub it in, Marlowe pinned by a woman. That was no woman, Philip. It was the late gargantua's cousin. Yeah, I was also outnumbered and surrounded. By the way, where's your gun, T? I don't have any gun, just a lot of love and curiosity about what you were doing out here in the alley with a creature like that. I was taking a judo lesson. By correspondence, maybe? What was all that about a letter? Well, for my money, the way things stack up, G.G. Ohmsby's top writer, one Henrietta Lawrence. It's being blackmailed by Annie Stringer, and that letter is Annie's protection. Goes to the cops of anything. Take it outside, quick. What? What's the matter? Marlowe, not another word. Yeah, yeah, my date, Doc. Well, you're the one, it's important. All right, but don't forget you're a sucker for a hammerlock, so watch it. Will, are you alone? Over here, Mona. Are we alone? Yeah, yeah, we're alone. Good. It is worth my life what I'm going to tell you. And we like me alive, no? Look, what is it? Mona, you know something about Henrietta Lawrence? See, more than enough. There's a certain letter. Oh, you know about that, huh? Sure. I know where it is and what it says. Bless you, baby. Where is it? I want that letter back. Nice. Nice? See, and I would love to give it to you for nothing, but... But what? But my poor mother, she needs an operation. My father, the mortgage, and her aunt, too. Your little sister wants music lessons. Ah, come on, kid. How much? How much is a life of Henrietta Lawrence worth, field deer? To me, to you, to Henrietta Lawrence. Her life, huh? I'll see what I can do. You better do real good, amigo. It's a very serious thing. I take a great risk. Any stringer is stupid, but she's also strong like a bull. Come to my apartment. 8310 North Ardenmore, number D, one hour. D, huh? OK, I'll be there. Good. And please, amigo, you don't hold feelings against me, not for this. You know, business is business. Place is place, you know? Maybe we can mix them in an hour. What are we waiting for, you feel? How do you like that? It was as touching a little scene as I've ever witnessed. Skip it, Kay. This deal is lively. Get rough before it's over, and I've got a call to make. Let's go. And I was dumb enough to warn you against a hammerlock. The kid that the hammerlock that that kid holds is like a pal on the head. Can I go with you just for laughs? Yeah, yeah. We're going to call on my client. You're scramming. Come on. Molo, Gigi, got a line on Henrietta, but you're not going to like it much. What do you mean? How does it go, Molo? Trouble is, she's got blackmail. I don't know what the hook is, but I have word of one of the bargainers. It's plenty serious. Who's doing it, Phil? A female mastodon named Annie Stringer is the big wheel. I got on to it through a letter. A letter? Yeah. Annie wrote her protection letter. It's got all the dirt in it and goes to the cops if anything happens to Annie. It's a standard routine. There's a double crossing little Spanish number named Mona. I'm supposed to meet her again in an hour at her place. Phil, we must get that letter. It's no sense, Gigi. Mona's not bright, but she's sly. It's liable to be expensive. That doesn't matter. OK. Anything I can find. What does that mean? I've heard, though. Where was she? Well, we better check them. Look, can you take the one out in Beverly Hills? I'll get the others. All right. North, Ardmore, 8310, apartment D. I'll meet you. When Gigi hung up, I sent Kay to check the airline office in Hollywood for a woman carrying a cane and a big load of trouble, telling her to call me at the downtown agency within half an hour. And I hit itself for the office on 6th Street. Halfway down it began to rain. You know the kind of dismal, misty drizzle that makes your clothes smell like blankets at a fire sale. I spent a fruitless half hour peeking into corners and trading descriptions. And finally, when Kay called in a negative report from the Hollywood office, it was high time to beat it out to my appointment with Mona. The rain had put enough dazzling sheen on the pavement to make the going slow and slick. But I got out to 8310 Ardmore not over a minute late. The apartment D was the last on the right and completely dark. As I walked out, I found myself following a set of feminine footprints rapidly filling with water. Besides, each left print was a little round hole. By the time that registered on me, I was already a door and can hear a crying inside. I didn't wait to knock. Mona, Mona, it's me, Marlo. Pete's sake, what happened to you? When I came in, she grabbed me and beat me with it. I was a king, not that it makes any difference now. Hey, your apartment's a rush. She got the letter, huh? See, she got it in so much my food. Later, later. Right now, I want to know what that letter said. You can forget about me paying the Mexican National debt for it. I want it free and fast. Come on, what's Annie got on Henrietta Lawrence? Right. What? Somebody's outside there. Oh, it's Gigi. Come on in, Gigi. Try and hold it, hold it. Take it easy. You're a lousy housekeeper, sister. What happened? Your hat dance, get out of control? Now, wait a minute, wait a minute. Henrietta scooped this Gigi. She was here and got the letter herself. She what? Yes. We were just talking about the letter when you came in. Now, let's get on with it, Mona. What's Big Annie's pitch? Supposing I won't tell you now. Then I'll have you in the pokey for attempted extortion before you can say Pancho Robinson beautiful. Come on. When? OK. That's better. Well, you and me go out there. I don't know what Henrietta Lawrence means to these drag on here, but she's a murderer. Why, you lying little tamale tosser, that's impossible. Henrietta's a fine girl. You know what you're saying, Mona? Sure I do. I read the letter, didn't I? Henrietta Lawrence killed a woman in Seattle four years ago. And he saw her do it. She had names, dates, places, everything. I can't believe it. I just can't. She's such a swelled person. Look, she even left this, the final installment of the story for me in that Wilshire ticket office. Well, we do, Phil. We got to help her. OK. It's neither she nor Annie counted on Mona here reading the letter. The best way to help her is to try to keep her from committing another murder. Are you crazy? What are you talking about? Come on, Gigi, get with it. The letter was worthless, except as Annie string his protection. Yet Henrietta went to all the trouble of getting it. Why? So she could shut Annie up, and there's only one way to do that. Killer, holy mackerel, I didn't even think. You should, senora. You got nothing else to work with, drop. Stop it, stop it, both of you. You're all crazy. Better stay clear of it from here on, Gigi. Go home and wait for me. OK, Phil, whatever you say. Call me as soon as you can. Sure, sure. All right, come on, Mona, let's go. Me? Yes. Oh, no, amigo. The letter's gone, and so is Mona's interest. I'm very tired of you, Gigi. Now, listen, you. You cut yourself in on this right at the Asambrero. You know Annie, so you may be able to help me. It's that. I'll spend the night in a cool added-up sweetheart underlay. You're so forceful, amigo. Come on, let's go. Well, Annie's not in her apartment, and she's not around the health club. What's next, Mona? Where else would she be? Search me, amigo. Thank you. Has she had any appointments lately that didn't fit with her regular routine? Well, she went out on Fountain Avenue in a big hurry a couple of days. Fountain Avenue? That's where Henrietta's been staying in a hotel out there. The Brace Hotel? That's it, on the nose. Is Annie dumb enough to go there now tonight? Sure, she's stupid, and her strength makes her reckless. That's it, let's go. Come on, Mona, it's you on the first floor. Hey, there. You again, Mr. Marlowe. Yeah, it's me again, Clarice. Now, I'm looking for that Miss Lones, number seven. Well, you're sure in luck, Mr. Marlowe. She's in now. She came back about half hour ago with a friend, the biggest woman I ever saw. Annie, it's true. I'm sure you were right. Yeah, come on, let's get back there. Mr. Marlowe, you can't go back there. Your man in this hotel is for women only. Now, look, sis, you've got a pass key there, haven't you? Come on, this entire night from start to finish has been for women only, getting sick and tired of a present company included. And where's number seven? Phil, Phil, this is it, right here. Henrietta, unlock it, Clarice, fast. Get back. Dead. A knife. Yeah. Go ahead and scream, Clarice. Get it over with. Well, where's Miss Lones? She no doubt left by the window here. It's still open. Only five feet to the ground and a clear set of footprints in the wet dirt, cane marks and all, just like... Just like what, Mr. Marlowe? I started to say like the ones I saw earlier. Sure, the last entombment of the story, the letter at Mona's, the airline ticket. Now she's out of it slick as a whistle. Clarice, call the cops. Here, give them my card, I'll get in touch. Where are you going, Mr. Marlowe? Break the unpleasant news as gently as possible to my client. Phil, what about me? What will I do now? Just keep looking at Annie, a beautiful chiseling, double-crossing jerk. Maybe I learned something, but I'm not going to count on it. Phil. Gigi had a lot of lights on in a glossy Brentwood house. As I walked up the wet curving flagstones to a door, I could see her inside, pacing slowly back and forth. An impatient cigarette in one hand and a stiff brace of brandy in the other. Whatever Gigi arms we really thought or felt about Henrietta Lawrence then, I couldn't tell. But I was sure that before I left, she was going to despise it. Phil, I've been waiting for you to phone me. I... something bad, isn't it? I can see it in your face. We found Annie Stringer's body, Gigi, in Henrietta's hotel room. What a dirty, dirty shame. And Henrietta? Gone. But she won't get far, not this time. The circle gets smaller every time she can't keep on killing. It's got to stop someplace. Yeah, I suppose so. But I'm sorry for her, Phil. I hope she got a plane ticket tonight and is miles away by morning. I hope she gets a break this time. She didn't buy a ticket. She's not even running. And she won't get that break. You talk as if you know where she is, do you? Mm-hmm. You've been to Seattle, haven't you, Gigi? Of course, but not for years. You lived there. You were a writer before you became a publisher. Why? What is this? You knew Annie Stringer long before tonight, too, Gigi, huh? What are you driving at, Marlowe? But your real name is Henrietta Lawrence, that you killed a woman in Seattle once, changed your name, and got away, but there was a witness. And a couple of weeks ago, purely by chance, that witness, Annie Stringer, ran into you, recognized you as Henrietta, and grabbed that the chance for blackmail. Stop it, Marlowe. So you had to bring Henrietta Lawrence back to life just long enough to get rid of the witness. But first, you had to get a letter she'd written and also have someone who'd tell a straight story to the cops. So you hired me, planted the right leads along the way. Get away from that desk. Don't try it, Gigi. You can't win, so at least lose gracefully, will you? This was in one of my books. No one would believe it. You're right. I can't win. It's all true, Phil. Where was the loophole? It started only as a hunch, but everything fit. I got it from the cane you used, Gigi, at Mona's place. The cane marks were on the left side of your tracks. Outside the hotel window, they were on the right. Anybody who really has to use a cane couldn't do that. Such a little thing. As a matter of fact, it was. Look, Marlowe, you're the only person between me and that break. I got more money than I know what to do with. I can bid high, really high. You wouldn't be for sale, would you? No, baby. Just for hire. Get your coat, Gigi. We're going down to headquarters. Getting the whole business down on police stationery one orderly step at a time. The process is full of, well, it's full as the fiscal report of the First National Bank. So twice as long to whip up. But finally it was all over. I was on my way home to my bachelor apartment. And then I remembered something. Never mind explaining what took you so long, darling. You're here now. Dinner is ready and waiting. The martinis are ice cold. Just come on in and close the door. Yeah. The adventures of Philip Marlowe bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, star Gerald Moore, are produced and directed by Norman McDonald and are written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast were Jeanette Nolan, G.B. Hunter, Constance Crowder, Lillian Bayef, Gene Bates, and Michael Ann Barrett. The special music is composed and conducted by Richard O'Rant. Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says. This time a friend with millions, a myopic chemist and a long-haired piano player, were thrown into a panic because a brilliant young lady with a gun was taking a big step in the wrong direction. CBS wishes to remind you that Laminabner's wonderful down-to-earth cracker barrel humor is heard every week on most of these same CBS stations. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.