 Blair of the Mounties! We present episode 27 in Blair of the Mounties, entitled The Feminine Touch. Being the first of a series of stories portraying the adventures of Inspector Blair in a new sphere. After a few years spent in the farm, Blair tires of rural life. Being still a comparatively young and active man with an established reputation for success in the detection of crime, Blair takes the advice of influential friends and sets up as a private investigator in London, and so the scene changes to the great city where Blair lived as a boy. As our story opens, we find him entering the cozy apartment in Westminster, where his wife, Marjorie Blair, awaits him. Hello, darling. Hello, Marjorie. Had a hard day at the office? Hard day. Had rather good, my dear. I spent the morning reading the paper. Then this afternoon I went with Cameron to hear the hard-wick case of their size quarts. Not a very profitable day. Oh, dear, don't begin to say you made a mistake in coming to London. Oh, no, nothing like that. But I must say this private detective business doesn't look very promising just the present. London seems so distressingly peaceful. Oh, but, my dear, everything's going to be all right. You've got to define reputation and look at the important people you've been in to consult you. Yes, but unfortunately, mostly about things I couldn't undertake. I can hardly go chasing about digging up evidence against unfaithful husbands. Of course not. It would be too disgusting. But then there was the counters of one... Yes, he wanted me to find a dog she lost. Think of the roar of laughter at the yard if they heard I was looking for a wretched poodle. You see, dear, my line is criminal work. Murders and robberies and so on. I've got a special eye. Oh, yes, I do. Well, I'm going to offer up a special prayer that somebody will commit a simply horrible crime very soon. Something rarely baffling. But you'll find the murder in no time, darling. And then you'll make lots of money. Why, Marjorie, what a bloodthirsty person you are. Let's change the subject. What have you been doing today? Oh, shopping. You simply never guess what I've bought for you. Not cigars, I hope. Oh, no, not cigars. I've bought you some socks. But I've got loads of socks, Marjorie. Oh, I know. But you need something different, more stimulating. Stimulating socks, eh? Well, let's have a look at them. Well, there you are. Aren't they lovely? Why? Why, my dear, you don't seriously expect me to wear those things? Why not? I think they're beautiful and they just match your eyes. You mean to say I've got eyes that color? I think you're horrid. You don't like the cigars I buy you. You don't like the socks I chose. I suppose I'm rather a useless person. Oh, well, I wouldn't say that much. Why, not say it once as you're getting tired of me. Well, now, Marjorie, don't be ridiculous. You must admit that I've helped you in your business. Didn't I find you the best secretary in all London? Of course, dear, Miss Peck's very efficient. If only she wasn't so... So what? Well, you see, dear, Miss Peck is what the Americans would call decidedly homely. The word has a different meaning over there. You mean she's rather plain-looking. I suppose you'd like an empty-headed flapper who'd make eyes at you. Well, no, dear, but... Personally, I don't approve of good-looking girls in an office. It's too disturbing to the masculine mind. Oh, now, well, I wonder who that is. It's Inspector McCray to see you, sir. Hello, Mac. Come in, Mac. Well, how are you, laddie? And, uh, how is the good way, the night? Oh, I'm all right, Mr. McCray. But what a surprise to see you. Won't you stay and have dinner? Yes, you're just in time, Mac. Oh, no, I haven't time. I'm on a murder case. A murder? Who is it? Well, did you not hear that Virginia Stewart, the actress, was killed three hours ago? Virginia Stewart? Good question. Any arrest, Mac? Well, yes. It's that that I came to see you, though. I don't see what you mean. Well, it's like this. We arrested Clement Wilson an hour ago. He's charged with a murder. Clement Wilson? He's a big theater man, isn't he? Aye, that's the man. On what grounds do you make the arrest? Well, it was on the evidence of the man's servant at Miss Stewart's house. He testifies that he had the shot and saw Wilson run out of the room, throwing a revolver away. Miss Stewart was found dead, and the gun was Wilson's own gun. Hmm, seems pretty conclusive. Where do I come in? Simple enough, my lad. Wilson's lawyers want a detective for the defense. All the boys at Scotland Yard are strong for you, and so the chief recommended you. Well, that's awfully decent of him, and you too, I'm sure, Mac. Not a word. The lawyers are Welburn and Spence. You can see them in the morning. But you'd better go down and talk to Wilson first. He's often nervous. What is he? Well, Willey's at Vine Street. We got him at his club. I told him you'd be coming to see him. All right, I'll get down there at once. Have a dink, Mac? No, no, I have to go. See you in the morning, Jimmy. All right, Mac. So long. Goodbye, Mr. McCray. Good night. Oh, darling, a case. I'm so thrilled. Yes, but the case's all right. I've got to go, Marjorie. Oh, it's all right. You've got a minute or two. Anyway, Mary's getting the taxi. Did you know that's Virginia Stewart? Oh, well, not exactly. She lives in that big house near the park. Miss Parrot knows her well. Clement Wilson was engaged to be married to Virginia Stewart. He's got parts of the money. Well, that's fortunate. And listen, dear, I'm sure he never killed Virginia Stewart. Hmm, I hope you're right, but I doubt it. Duncan McCray's a mighty good detective. When Scotland Yard makes a quick arrest like that, it means a pretty tight case. Oh, funny for them to recommend you. Oh, it's quite usual. Very good of them. I suppose they'd rather have an experienced policeman on the other side than one of these private inquiry agents. Oh, I see. Then it's just a matter of... Yes, in a way. Crimes are a very serious thing in England, Marjorie. A case of murder, robbery, a blackmail. Somebody has to pay. And it's nearly always the right man. But they might have made a mistake, dear. Yes, that's right. A chance and a hundred. Why, Joe, what a break if it should be. All my life, I've been on the other side, an officer of the law. And now I'm what I always wanted to be, for the defense. Yes, and I'm sure you're going to get this man off. No, I don't know about that, Marjorie. I suppose I'm a little sentimental, but just think of it. My first case in London. You see, this is my home. I was born and brought up here. Twenty-four years, I've been away except for the war. And yet, London hasn't changed a bit. What time is it, dear? Close at nine, dear. Big Ben will strike in just a few seconds. All right. Is the taxi, sir? Well, I must go. You get off the bed, Marjorie. I may be out all night. Good-bye, dear. Good-bye, Jimmy, and good luck. I'm glad to see you on this year's kites, Mr. Blair. Thanks, Pollock. Where is he? This way, sir, he's in here. Talk as long as you like. Good evening. Who are you? My name's Blair, Mr. Wilson. Oh, another policeman. Haven't you done enough questioning? I tell you I... No, no. Another policeman this time. What? Then who are you? Mr. Wilson, I've been detained by Welben and Spence to act on your behalf. I'm a private detective. Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry. They told me about it, but I've forgotten the name. You must excuse me, Mr. Blair. I'm well... I've been rather upset. Yes, quite natural. Do you mind a few questions? No, of course not. I suppose it's necessary. Yes, I'm afraid so. I'm going to ask you a very leading question. Did you kill Mr. Stewart? Why, that's funny. The police officers who questioned me, they asked me everything but that. It's the only thing that matters. Yes, well, I'm asking you now. Did you kill her or didn't you? I kill Virginia? Of course I didn't. She was all the world to me. I wouldn't kill anybody. Good heavens, don't you see? Yes, I see. But you don't believe me. In this business there's a question of proof and not a personal belief. If it means anything to you, I don't believe you did it. But what's the use? They've got me. Don't you understand? No, don't start that again. It's incredible. The man must be mad. Do you know this man, Jennings? Hardly at all. I've seen him, of course, at Miss Stewart's house, that's all. You realize the charge against you rests largely on this man's evidence? Of course I realize it. The whole thing fits together so damn doubly. Oh, I haven't a chance in the world. Listen, if you're going to persist in this hopeless attitude, what's the use of me trying to help you? I'm sorry. I suppose it is rather cowardly. What? Well, what do you want to know? About this gun of yours. How did it get to the scene of the crime? It's quite simple, really. I lent the revolver to Miss Stewart some months ago. She was nervous about burglars. I had no use for the gun, so I let her have it. Was it loaded when you let it to her? No. Did you ever use that gun? Never. It was a present from a friend. I never used firearms in all my life. Does anybody know you lent the gun to Miss Stewart? Nobody but Miss Stewart herself. Don't you see how ridiculous it all sounds? Why, no jury on earth would believe it! Never mind that. Let's take our case. The point the police take most seriously is the anonymous letter found in the pocket of your overcoat. Indeed. Yes, just consider that a minute. It's a letter from an unknown writer addressed to you. It accuses your fiancée, Miss Stewart, of unfaithfulness. Yes, so I understand. What do you mean? You read the letter, didn't you? My dear man, I never saw that letter until the police questioned me about it. You never saw it? No. You mean to tell me that you had a letter in your pocket addressed to you, postmarked in London the night before, the envelope torn open, and you told the police you'd never seen it? Why, that's absurd. Absurd? Yes. I suppose it is. I can't help it. That's the truth. Don't you see how hopeless it is? Oh, I wouldn't say that. But if your story is true, it would mean that you're the victim of a deliberate frame-up. And that's all to the good. I don't see anything good about it. Perhaps not, but believe me, it's much easier to deal with than it is to explain away accidental circumstances. I hope you're right. You must think me an awful coward, but this thing was a terrible shock to me. Everything happened so suddenly. Thanks for coming. It's nice to talk to someone who's sympathetic. You'll let me know if anything turns up. Sure. Try and take it easy, Mr. Wilson. See you tomorrow. Goodbye. Hello, Miss Peck. Good afternoon, sir. Good afternoon. Get that evidence copied? Oh, yes, sir. Read me that statement of Jennings, the man's servant. Thomas Jennings, servant to Miss Virginia Stewart. States on examination. Oh, skip that. Come to the part where he heard those two quarreling and then the shot. Oh, yes. Here it is. At 6.15, he heard Mr. Wilson's voice distinctly. It was raised as if in anger. Shortly after that, he heard the sound of a shot from the drawing room. As he ran through the hall, he saw Mr. Wilson, leaving by the front door. Also saw him throw some object into the shover. It's the police later found to be Wilson's revolver. All right. Now where's the photograph of that anonymous letter? The envelope, I mean. Well, here it is, sir. Right. Now just think this thing over a minute. The police arrest Wilson shortly after the murder. They find this letter in his overcoat pocket. Wilson is known to have a violent temper. The letter supplies a motive for the murder. It's one of the main points in the case for the prosecution. It's a strong point against him. All right. Look at the other side. In spite of that evidence, Wilson says he never saw the letter till the police showed it to him. What do you say to that statement? It couldn't be true. It's impossible. Really? Read that address, Miss Peck. It's addressed to Mr. Clement Wilson, manager of Royal Theatre 719 Gresham Square, London West. Miss Peck, I've been working on that ever since midnight last night. See anything wrong with that address? Well, no. And yet the answer to the whole crime is in those few words. Wilson was telling the truth. He never saw that letter. It wasn't intended that he should. And yet it was sent through the mails to his address. And the police found it on him. It's not logical. No. Just the same, it proves Wilson is innocent. If we can find the man who wrote that letter, we'll have the real murderer. You have heard Episode 27 in Blair of the Mountains. Listen for the next episode in this series, which is the second and concluding part of the Feminine Touch.