 Hello, Yukon 2A209. Yes, this is Candy Madsen. Come on, Mellard. Stop pouting. Enjoy yourself. It's earlier than you think. Moderate Christmas time is delightful. Carmel is most enchanting. Salinas I enjoy. But to haul us way over to some unexplored cannibal country is too much. Did you hear that, Rembrandt? Cannibal country, he calls it. Man it, me boy. This may come as a shock, but San Juan Batista was founded by the Franciscan fathers in 1797. I remember it as though it were yesterday. Don't let him bother you, Ducky. Mellard can't stand this wonderful air. He misses the gas fumes of the big city. That's not that candy, but I do want to get back. Relax, Max. You had a chance to take two days off to make the most of them. What's the name of this town again? San Juan Batista. You'll love it, Mellard, dear, really. The mission, all the old buildings still standing. No, you'll adore it, honestly you will. Look, Rembrandt, old friend, I may like a thing, but I'll be hanged if I'll adore it. As you will, minion. How much farther, can't it? We're just entering the town now. I thought we'd take a look at the mission first. Okay. Hey, this is a cute little town at that. That's my boy. I knew you'd warm up once I got you over here. You know, strictly from a police angle, you might be interested in knowing that Joaquin Murrieta visited here more than once. So did three-fingered Jack. Shootin' arn, I'll get the varmints. Take it easy, hop along. We're approaching the mission. For golly sakes. It's a big one. Isn't it beautiful, Mellard? And don't you get a whole flood of thoughts going through your head when you look at it? Ah. With a little imagination, one could almost see the native Indians walking back and forth, coming into town for the evening vespers. I only hope the mission's open. Let's find out. Good idea. I'll see one of those fathers around the front, Candy. I can ask him. Thank you, Ducky. Yes, let's go. Good afternoon, Father. Mm-hmm. Oh. Oh, good afternoon, young lady. Can you tell me if the mission is open this afternoon? Oh, yes, most certainly. Do forgive me if I appear somewhat startled. I was picking these red berries, and I failed to hear you drive. I'm sorry, Father. Oh, that's quite all right. I fear my thoughts were wandering. Pardon me. May I introduce Mr. Watson? How do you do, Father? And this gentleman is Lieutenant Mellard. Oh, are you, sir? Lieutenant? No, not military, Father. I'm with the San Francisco police. The police? No, Father. We're not here on business. I was wondering. I thought for a moment that Father Phillip might have reported me. Reported you? For what, Father? At lunchtime, I made a frightful mistake. By error, I ate his apple. Right under his very nose, too. Oh, pardon me. I am Father Paulino. I'm very happy to know you, Father. My name is Candy Madsen. I have some free time. I would be pleased to show you about. May I? We'd be delighted, Father Paulino. I think we can start with the yard. It gets dark so early this time of year. Father Paulino, Father Paulino. Hi, it's Miguel Torres. What could be wrong? Oh, Father Paulino, it is there. Miguel, my son. What is it? What has happened? Oh, the most awful thing you ever hear of. Vicente. He just shoot himself. Merciful heaven. Is he badly hurt, Miguel? Oh, I think... I think he is dying, Father. No, no, no, no. The poor boy. Where is he? At his house. Excuse me, Miss Madsen. I must leave immediately. Would my car be of any help, Father? The car. Yes, thank you. From Studio A in San Francisco's Radio City, the national broadcasting company presents Candy Madsen, Yukon 2-8209. Tragedy in the sleepy little California mission town of San Juan Batista. But it wasn't the first time. If you look around the side of the mission, you'll see that the place marks the mass grave of 12,000 Indians who died in a smallpox epidemic years ago. San Juan has seen knifings, too, and other shootings. It had lived a rowdy life in the dim years gone by, and obviously the rowdiness was still alive in a minor sort of fashion. We got in the car, and with Miguel directing us in broken English and Latin gestures, we made our way out on a dirt road about three miles outside of town near the granite quarry. We finally pulled up in front of a one-story wooden house that must have been built before the turn of the century. We went inside, and there was the prone form of a Mexican boy of about 21 or two. There he is, Father. Is he all right? I don't know, Miguel. I'll have to see. He's gone, isn't he, Father? Yes. May his soul dwell eternally in peace. He is dead. Miguel, listen to me. His flesh is cold, yes, but his soul still lives. Do you understand what I'm saying, my son? Yes, Father Paulino. Wait a moment. Mallard, here where he was shot. The sentry knocked himself off. He certainly did it the hard way. You're not kidding. Miss Mattson, would you mind very much if we brought the body back in with us to the mission? I'm afraid we can't, Father. Would you step over here? I have something to tell you. Certainly, Miss Mattson. You were a look of concern. Is there something wrong? I'm afraid there is, Father Paulino. What do you mean? It looks very much as though this wasn't self-inflicted. What? You don't mean that? Miss Mattson, are you sure of what you're saying? Reasonably so, Father. You see, a gun held at close range leaves powder marks. The sentry's wound is as clean as a whistle. Well, I... I don't know what to say. I'm sorry, Father, but that's why we can't remove the body. We'll have to call the sheriff's office in Hollister. Can you tell me where I can find a phone? Yes, there's one at the mission. If you don't mind, I'll stay here. Father Paulino was right. He had work to do. The ecclesiastical kind. And he did it in a simple and impressive way. San Juan Batista, with a population of a little over 600, and we run plop into a murder. Mallard said he'd go back to the mission and make the call, and left. 45 minutes later, the under-sheriff of San Benito County drove up with Mallard. He asked the standard questions, but learned nothing. We went over the house with a fine tooth comb, but we came up with a blank. There being nothing else to do at the moment, the men put the body in the sheriff's car and he drove back to Hollister, and we returned to the mission. Would you care to take a stroll about the garden who's Miss Matson? It's most peaceful, makes a wonderful place for clear thinking. Well, yes, Father, I'd love to. Mallard. You go ahead, Candy. I promise the sheriff I take a look around town for him. Oh, sure. Want to come along with me, Rembrandt? Yes, I believe it will, if you don't mind, Candy. No, no, not at all. One thing before you go, you will be my guests for dinner, won't you? That's the most gracious of you, Father. What do you think, Candy? I think it would be charming. OK, we'll see you back in a little while then. This is a tragic thing, Miss Matson. The sentry was a splendid lad and a good Christian. I know how you must feel, Father. I never could understand why there must be things of this sort in the world, not only between individuals, but countries and nations as well. It is hard to comprehend the more I try to reason, the more confused I become. About Vicente, Father, who do you suppose could have done it? I don't know. I really don't. How about Miguel? What? Oh, no, Miss Matson. Why, he and Vicente were like brothers. Brothers sometimes quarrel, you know. Not in this case. Miguel is a good boy. Why, he works here at the Mission. You'll pardon me, Father, but in my business I find I have to be doubtful at times. What is your business, Miss Matson? I'm a private investigator, Father. Oh, very curious. Yes, I suppose it is, but in a sense you're a policeman too, Father. I? Yes. You police the soul, don't you? Ride herd on the thoughts and actions of men? Why, yes. I'd never thought of it that way before. Yes, in a sense, I suppose I do wear a badge. I wear the badge of righteousness, the star of God. Father Polina was a wonderful man. As we walked about the Mission gardens, he spoke of many things, but in parallels, all connected in some way with the killing of poor Vicente. The time passed swiftly, I was so engrossed in listening to the kindly voice of the man, and before I knew it, Mallard and Rembrandt had returned, and it was time for dinner. He still did the cooking and waited on the table. Dinner was a masterpiece of simplicity, and if it hadn't been for the tragedy of the afternoon, I would have been enjoying a serenity I'd never known before. Did Vicente live out there all by himself, Father? Yes, the house belonged to him. He's a descendant of one of the original families of San Juan. His great, great, great grandfather owned one of the largest branches in California. It stretched from here to the Pacific Ocean. And that's a lot of property? Indeed. You see, it was given to him by the King of Spain under one of the original Spanish land grants. I understand there still are some in existence. Yes, I believe there are, but they've all been chopped up and sold in much smaller parcels. Did Vicente work, Father? Oh, yes, he was a good worker seasonally in the artichoke fields and the lettuce fields. In the off-seasons, he did odd jobs about the town. Speaking of town, Father, do you know a woman named Rose Taylor? Why do you ask that? Do you? Yes. Why do you mention the name? There's a little bar down the street. Yes, I know the frailties of mankind. The fellow who runs the place says there's been talk about Vicente being kind of loco over the Taylor girl. I'd heard something of the sort, too. I was going to speak to him about it on Sunday. How long has she been here, Father? She arrived about two months ago. I'm afraid she's been a disturbing influence on our little village ever since. Did you talk to her, Mallard? No. Where does she live, Father? In a small cottage over on Second and Polk Street. I think we ought to take a little walk over there, don't you, Mallard? Right, is right. Cupcake, I dropped by her place before dinner, but she wasn't in. Oh, you know where it is then. That's good. Please don't think it's rude, Father, but it's something we have to follow through on. I understand, Miss Mattson. We got up from the table and went outside the mission. We pulled our coats closely about us, and little jets of steam came from our mouths as we breathed the crisp evening air. We'd only gone about a dozen steps or so, and we were stopped by a voice from behind. Please say your Rita Mattson, Senor. Well, it's Miguel. What is it, Miguel? Is something wrong? I hear you're talking inside. You are going over to see Senorita Taylor? That's right. Oh, please, no. This Senorita Taylor, she is a good girl. She would not hurt anyone. That's not what Father Polino seems to think. Oh, the good Father, he does not know much about the outside. All his life, he live in the mission. He is, how would you say, is secluded? The good Father may be secluded, Miguel, but I have a strong hunch he knows more about what's going on around here than anyone in town. Oh, but please, you believe me? Senorita Taylor, she is a good person. Look, Miguel, you want to find out who killed Vicente, don't you? Oh, she, she... Well, that's what we're trying to do. Now, you be a good boy, Miguel, and don't get yourself all in the stew. We left Miguel and walked over a couple of blocks to Second and Polk Street. We found the cottage and saw a light in the front window. Mallard knocked, and what opened the door would have been a delight on any movie screen, if you like your beauty the hard way. Rose Taylor, it was obvious, could raise an awful lot of havoc with the local Swains. Something you wanted? Yes, we'd like to talk to you for a moment, if you don't mind. Yes, I do mind. I'm kind of busy. I'm sorry, Miss Taylor, but you'll have to un-busy yourself. This is the police. Police, always the police. Why can't you let me alone? You've been in trouble before. Nothing serious. Might be this time. You know a kid named Vicente? Yeah, I heard what happened. These crazy kids. They have a yen for knifings and shootings. Don't they just? This is Lieutenant Mallard. He tells me he was by here this afternoon, and you weren't in. That's right. I went into Salinas to do some shopping. We can prove that, can we? Absolutely. Well, well, what have we here? A very cozy little 32 revolver, and also nicely cleaned and oiled. You always keep it this immaculate, Miss Taylor? Certainly. When some character gets too much tequila under the belt, you don't know what's going to happen. And a suitcase on the bed. Are you getting ready to go somewhere? Wait. If you're trying to make out that I knocked off Vicente, you're just whistling Dixie in four flats. Look, a telegram. If you'll take the time and the courtesy to read it, you'll find that my sister in Los Angeles is a very sick girl. I was going down to spend a week or so with her. What is this, a convention hall? Come in. Buenos noches, senorita. Miguel, beat it. I'm busy. I am sorry. I am sorry. I have a message for senorita Matzen and for you, senor. Father Palino sent me. A message? What is it, Miguel? The sheriff in Hollister just called on the telephone. He said to tell senor Maler that the bullet that killed Vicente was from a .32 caliber gun. From San Francisco, the national broadcasting company is presenting Candy Matzen, Yukon 2-8209. Well, now, a .32 slug had killed Vicente and Miss Taylor owned a .32 gun. It looked practically tailor-made. However, I've seen coincidences like this before that have gone up in thin smoke. Maler'd plucked the rose and asked her to return to the mission. And right there, I got me a king-sized idea. I excused myself, went to the little bar, and from the owner, I found out where the local banker lived. Five minutes later, I was in his living room talking to him, a gentleman named Banta. Yes, it's terrible. I only heard about it a half hour ago. Vicente was a splendid lad. That's what I've heard. Well, the reason I'm here, Mr. Banta, is to inquire about his financial status. You any banking at all? Oh, yes. Up to about five or six weeks ago. Uh-oh. Can you tell me more? Well, he had a savings account of approximately $2,800. Suddenly, he began making withdrawals. $200, $300 at a time. Yesterday, he made another withdrawal. He'd left a total of $400 in his account. Well, what do you know about that? He said he was having trouble with his crops this year, the rain and all that. Mm-hmm. What about Miguel Torres? Now, that's a very strange thing. He had an account of $900. That's practically gone, too. I assumed he was helping his friend Vicente. I smell a very well-shaped rodent. Name of Taylor. Thanks, Mr. Banta. You've been a great help. Things seem to be taking shape. It looked like the old story of a no-good playing both ends against the middle. Both ends being Vicente and Miguel. The no-good rose Taylor. Scattered pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall in place. Father Polino. At first, I couldn't believe it. And I wondered what his reaction would be. Next step, the bartender at the village pub. I walked in and caught him at a good time. The place was empty. Good evening. What can I do for you? A package of cigarettes, please. Sure. How are these? No, no, the others, if you will. All right. There you are. Anything else? Mm-hmm. Information. What do you want to know? Miguel Torres and a kid named Vicente. Did they come in here often? Who are you? Private investigator here. My merit badge. Yeah, that's a new one, the lady cop. Ah, the world is ever-changing, Buster. Now the answer. Yeah, they used to come in, but once a week. Usually on Saturday nights. Drink much? Nah, good kids, both of them. When were they in here last? Well, let's see. Yeah, night before last. Any arguments? Ah, they're so self-spoken, those kind of guys. It's hard to tell. But now that you've mentioned it, I think there was a bit of a rhubarb going on. Who was taking the lead? Torres. I gather he was sort of griped about something. Not too loud, not much fire. That's when it gets dangerous. And they weren't drunk. Nope. And I can spot a lush at 40 paces. They each had a beer and left. Thanks, Mr. Here, buy yourself a cup of Christmas cheer. Well, thank you. Click? Another piece of the puzzle in place. And all roads led right back to the mission. With the exception of the late Vicente, we had the full cast of characters front stage center. And a neat little bit of intrigue it was, too. As I drew near, the warm lights of the mission were streaking through the windows, contrasting greatly to the thoughts that were going around in my head. I walked in. Father Paulina was sitting over his desk, his head buried on his arms. Mallard was leaning back in a chair, watching Rose Taylor, who in turn was smoking a cigarette and pacing the room. Rembrandt was reading a copy of the National Geographic. All heads snapped to me as I entered. Why a cupcake? Have fun? Of sorts. What's new here? Well, waiting for the sheriff from Hollister. He's gonna book the tailor lady on suspicion of murder. That way he can hold her. I think I have somebody else for him to hold. Father Paulina? Yes, Miss Madsen. I think you know what I'm about to say. Yes. Yes, I think I do. Where is he? In the next room. I'll call him. Miguel, my son. See, Father. Come in here, please. See? Miss Madsen wants to talk to you. You're here in the mission now, Miguel. You're standing right under the cross. You can't lie. You killed Vicente, didn't you? Yes. Why? I love her. I give her everything I have. My love, my heart, my money, everything. She tells me that she is mine, all mine. That we will be married. Right here in the mission by the good Father Paulino. Then last week, I find she is also making the pretend love to Vicente. I almost went crazy. You told Vicente to stay away. See, that is right. But last night, when we were standing across the street from Miss Rita Rose's house, Vicente was there. And as they say good night on the front porch, she kissed him and pat his cheek. Just as she did to me. And so you shot him this afternoon. With a 38. And when the sheriff called, you told us it was a 32. Knowing that Rose also had a 32. See, that is right. But you would never get me for it. Mellard, Father, come on. Don't let him get away. There he goes. Up on that wall. Miguel, stop. You can't run away for the rest of your life. I have no life, Father. Miguel, watch out. You're going to... No. Am I dying? Yes, Miguel. You see, I told you I had no life left. Did Beth, you hear them, Father? They're ringing, Miguel. Time for the company. You would pray for me, Father Polino? Merciful Jesus, all knowing, all seeing. Look down upon us this night so close upon thine own natal day. This boy I'm holding in my arms. Miguel Torres. He has trespassed upon thy commands. In thine infinite mercy. I seek his forgiveness. Thank you, Father. Thank you. Yes, Contenpache, may his soul rest in peace. Where is she? The tailor woman. I'm right here, Father. Look upon this boy I'm holding here. The second death in a matter of hours. And all because of you. I know. In the eyes of the law, you are helpless. You pulled no trigger to cause the death of a sentry. Miguel fell off a wall to his death. But it was because of you. I... I realize that now. Do you? Really? Yes, Father. And perhaps in this hour of dark tragedy, something has been salvaged after all. This is the yule tide. The anniversary of the birth of Christ. In his infinite wisdom, the almighty is charitable. Rose Taylor, seek his forgiveness. Leave San Juan Martista. I'm sure Miguel and the sentry have wanted that way. Start anew. Lead a penitent life. It is not too late. Tell me, child, do you recall Mary Magdalene? I do, Father. Need I say more? No. Someone help me with Miguel. We will carry him back to the chapel and finish the component there. I will follow. Thank you. There's a remarkable man, can't he? More than you know, Melody. Peace, honor, goodwill toward man and woman. In these troublesome times, there is a brilliant shining example of what we have to hold on to. You know, I wish there was a Father Polino in every country of the world. We'd have more time for raising kids than for killing them. My point exactly. Dear, let's get back to San Francisco. I have a special star to put on my Christmas tree tonight. Through all the Father Polinos that ever lived. Listen again next week at this same time. Just dial Candy Metzen, Yukon 208209, and a very merry Christmas to you all. Featured in the story were Hal Burdick as Father Polino, Lou Tobin as Miguel Torres, and Jane Bennett Connell as Rose Taylor. Henry Leff is Lieutenant Ray Mallard and Jack Thomas plays Rembrandt Watson. The program stars Natalie Masters as Candy and is written and directed by Matty Masters. Sound effects are created by Bill Brownell and Eloise Rowan is heard at the organ. Our engineer was Clarence Stevens. The characters in the story were entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people is purely coincidental. The program comes to you from San Francisco. This is Dudley Manlove speaking. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.