 Personal notice, dangerous by stock and trade. If the job's too tough for you to handle, you got a job for me, George Valentine. Write full details. Bay of California, on behalf of independent Chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the West, invites you to let George do it. Christmas in January, another adventure of George Valentine. For a picture, lady? Oh, hello, buddy. Hey, how much is that one? This one? Yeah. The painting in the building? It's a street in Paris. Looks more like Oswego. And now it's somewhere on the left bank, I presume. You see, the painter lives in there. And never mind the travel notes, Jack. Just how much, huh? Well, I'm afraid it's probably a good deal more than you could afford, sister. Uh, buddy, you see that big white convertible out there at the curb? Huh? Well, is it yours? Oh, well, I didn't mean exactly that. What do I got to do? Wear tights? What's the name? Charity du Frayne. I'll buy you a seeing-eye dog. Oh, Mr. Frayne, well... Oh, I'm awful, sorry. Gosh, I've even got pin-ups of you myself. Holy smoke. I guess I've seen every one of your pictures three or four times. Well, then you should pay more attention to details, like my face. Now, come on, fan club, how much, huh? Huh? Oh, the picture? Well, look, if it's for your own house, I mean, you would, uh... Who sent you to this place? Don't flatter yourself. It's a junk shop. And don't worry, I won't tell anybody. I want to buy a gift. That's all. Oh, I see. Well, uh, if you're giving it to someone you like, I... I know what kind of a picture it is. I'm giving it to somebody who should use it as a winding sheet, I hope. Oh, I get it, yeah? Yeah, it's very appropriate. It's, uh, $250. Here, Jesse James. If you'll wait just a second, I'll wrap it up for you so nobody'll notice the price. I'll wrap it myself, thank you. I brought my own stuff. This, buddy, is gonna be something real special. You know who it's for? An octopus. You know what it's for him for? A Christmas present. Yeah, in January. Yes, that's... That's my dear charity. As wholesome and appetizing as a tube of ant paste. Oh, but she adores me. Worship is the proper word, perhaps. She's like a yo-yo to which I hold the streak. Yeah, sure. But, uh, look, she got out of the car, Mr. Wick, and walked into the shop. My dear Mr. Valentine, you will keep your eye on the doings of Miss Charity to frame. How about that, Miss Brooks? Did he just watch the doings, or did he let his eye wander to what's already been done by her beneficent creator? Well, I was right there with him. She's very attractive, but I... I'm trying to tell you what she did, Mr. Wick, if you'll just let me. She's like a drum buoy, either one of you. The only drink worth drinking. Because, like a woman, a drink should be stimulating to the senses, but easy to see through. Jokes! Where's that bottle of drum buoy you brought to town from the hovel? Uh, my country place, Mr. Valentine. Well, no thanks, really, Mr. Wick. Why should I, though, boss? I've been busy with the lights. Look, Mr. Wick, I'm... I'm trying to give you a report, would you? Of course you are, my dear man. Of course you are. You heard her call me, an octopus, you said. Yeah, isn't that wonderful, do you? Yeah, I guess so. You mean one of them things... Don't you wish you had thought of it? Jokes is so prosaic when he calls me names. He used to be a mule skinner's apprentice, I believe. I was a male noice. I was studying to be a pharmacist. Yes, yes, yes. Let's not bore the people, Jokes. Just run and fetch them a brandy. My name is really Anthony. Of course, dear boy. They understand Mr. Valentine knows a Jokes when he sees one. Now hop. All right, boys, I'll see what I can find. My companion, isn't he delightful? The jester, a court fool. And I'm tied to him like a millstone. I've been ill, you know, so my wife hired him to fetch and carry. And then when I was helpless and at his mercy night and day, she ran away. Makes a rather charming story, don't you think? I call it the Frau's Revenge. Yeah. I didn't even know you were married, Mr. Wick. Oh, miserably. Don't you ever read my column? Good heavens, man, let me inform you. It's the sort of rounded anecdote Walcott would have adored. She was my secretary, you see, in years past, until in my bestial fashion I decided I could save a good bit of expense if I married her and stopped her salary. However, fate in his hairy-handed way... Never mind, never mind. I've heard enough vocabulary for one day. I'm a busy man, Mr. Wick. Don't check over my report, okay? Forget it, goodbye. I could recite your stupid report by heart, Mr. Valentine. I asked you to observe the suspicious actions of Mr. Frank. Look, she only bought a picture. I wouldn't have taken the job if I'd have known you just wanted me to snoop. An original oil painting of a Paris building in street. Now tell me, there was a lamp in the background, wasn't there? And two children rolling a red horn. Well... Well, yeah, yeah, that's right. Of course I don't suppose you noticed the name. The artist's signature. Well, it was kind of a funny painting. It didn't mean anything to me. Something like, uh... patrulla. That's all I mean. What? Oh, yeah. Yeah. Mr. Valentine. Oh, my poor little yo-yo will be spinning so fast. She won't know what it is. What on earth are you talking about, Mr. Wick? It will all be in print, dear one. I'll never give away the end of a story before it's written. Tell me, tell me, do you think green lights will look well on a blue Christmas tree? A what? Mr. Valentine, you have your check. Goodbye. Out of the hovel tonight, it's Christmas, didn't you know? Yes, in January. Now get out of here, run along. I'm a busy man. Not so fast, Buster, not so fast, please. What's the big joke in this picture deal? What kind of a stunt are you up to? You dragged me into being a party to something I don't love anymore? Curious, curious, curious. Life and death, Mr. Valentine. The death of pride. The world is a yo-yo, didn't you know? For a man like me. So read about it tomorrow in my obituary column. Christmas in January, yo-yo's paintings. What kind of a loony character? Autrillo, George, that's it. And he painted Paris streets and buildings. And you said she bought it for $250. Yeah, that's right. An original painting by Autrillo. Would you like to find out just what kind of a snide story Mr. Wick is getting ready to write that I'm afraid we helped him to write? Now look, don't rub it in. What don't I know besides everything? Come on, we're going to a real art store, George. Because you want to bet the lead of his story will be all about Miss Charity Dufresne buying a fraudulent painting? Well, darling, a real Autrillo should sell for at least $15,000 or $20,000. And not just on Christmas. $17,250. Yeah, well, look, friend, we already know that. We found it in a catalog of one of the other places we went. There's lots of new interest in Autrillo right now, you know. But that shop we told you about, it must sell fake paintings, isn't that right? It must. It does. It copies and imitations. But it doesn't always bother to mark them as such. Well, like the one you saw. All right, but Brooks, he looks. So the dame bought him a fake painting for a gift on a fake Christmas. She doesn't like him anyway. On a fake what? Oh, well, never mind. Enough people are confused already. But look, Angel, I don't understand why that should make the old goat so happy. How am I telling him about it would give him any hold over her? Mr. Valentine, I too am an ardent reader of Francis Xavier Wick, his column, his books. He has a passion for what he calls the rounded anecdote, I believe. Well, I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, but mine is the gallery which owns the original of that Utrillo painting, you know. The real one. Of course. That's why we came here out of curiosity to confirm that price of $17,000. Yes, and you leave in greater curiosity too, young lady. And I'll be worse off than you are. Because I sold that real Utrillo for just that price and sent it out not two minutes before you walked in to a man who phoned the old goat himself to Francis Xavier Wick. What? He said he wanted it wrapped as a Christmas gift. He was going to present it to a woman named Charity de Frayne. Oh, Broxy, we're out of order. Curiosity killed a cat. George, that woman's coming back. Mr. Valentine, Mr. Frayne seems to be busy right now. She's on the whole telephone talking to an art dealer back in town. Oh, yeah, well, we only came out here to the hovel to find out... Oh, you're quite welcome. There have been guests coming and going all evening. It's Christmas here, didn't you know? How could we forget? Mr. Wick was ill at the real Christmas time but, of course, he can't celebrate it unless he can get out of bed, unless he can dress up as Santa Claus. Oh, well, that explains part of my... Unless he can give presents and receive them in person. Wouldn't be Christmas without people, would it? Wouldn't be anything without people, would it? Around him all the time. His court, his fools, his... Oh, well, come in, come in. Join the party. The great man has just served the curse. Perhaps you'd like some. Join me in a creme de maths. Maybe you'd rather have him locked. Oh, wait a minute. Look here. We know we're prying. We only want to find... You came out to warn Mr. Wick what he was up to, of course. Well, I'm sorry. She's already found out. She's crying with embarrassment and she's at the telephone trying to buy the most expensive painting in the gallery for Mr. Wick. She's... Oh, it makes less and less sense. You see all the paintings around here? Mr. Frayne has bought many of them. Real ones. Thousands and thousands of dollars of gifts to him in years past. So this year, she got caught trying to give him a pony, that's all. I'm not sorry for her. I get it. She hates him. But why does she give him things at all? Hey, what's he do? Blackmail people? Oh, blackmail. Mr. Valentine, he tortures people. I say, have you seen him anywhere? You served the drinks and then went out for a minute and I've got to be running back to... Mr. Culler, of course I haven't seen him. I've been here for an hour myself. I haven't spoken to me. I'm sorry, Mrs. Wick. I didn't know... Hold it, hold it, please. You're Mrs. Wick? Well, who did you think I was? A dear, dear friend like Mr. Culler here? Like Charity of Frayne? Mr. Valentine, do you know what this man gave my husband tonight? A Cadillac. If you don't mind, Mrs. Wick... Oh, yes, it embarrasses him. It embarrasses all of them. Well, come in here under the Christmas tree. If you can stand the hideous green light, I'll show you the biggest pile of loose... Oh, Mrs. Wick, forget it. Will you please? I'm not into... Christmas in January. Christmas for Santa Claus. Diamonds, cigarette lighters, statues, paintings, money. And all from torture, Mr. Valentine. Ah! Be quiet, Mr. Frayne. Lying on his face, the side of the door. Wick! Francis! Let me, I'll give you a hand. If I could turn him over, he must have painted. Wait a minute, wait a minute. Yeah. Yeah, we'd better move him. But if his pulse means anything, Santa Claus Wick is dead. We'll return to tonight's adventure of George Valentine in just a moment. Did you know that 60% of all auto repairs can be avoided? Yes, 60% when motorists follow one simple rule. Bring in your car for chassis lubrication every 1,000 miles. When you get a chassis lubrication for your car at your standard station or independent chevron gas station, at regular intervals, you're money ahead. These men service more than 50 different wear spots that can cause trouble and neglected, and they take the time to do it right. It's a car saver service that assures longer car life and a smoother, cushioned ride free of squeaks and rattles. And note this, if your car has an automatic transmission, you'll get the correct, factory-approved fluid for lubricating this precision-made unit. So avoid repair bills. Keep your car young. Every 1,000 miles get chassis lubrication service at an independent chevron gas station or a standard station, where they say and mean, we take better care of your car. To tonight's adventure of George Valentine, Francis Xavier Wick, the columnist, the gossip, the collector of rounded anecdotes. The man who this year was celebrating Christmas in January. And why? Apparently because he likes to collect presents, too. He wouldn't miss Christmas for anything. Well, if your name is George Valentine, you wouldn't either. Yes, by now you've learned enough about the man in the Santa Claus suit to know that his vast collection of friends and retainers are not exactly loyal to him. In fact, one of them has just murdered him. Murdered, George? Well, there's no blood, Angel. No marks on the back of his head under the couch. Mr. Keller, I'll do that. Whatever you say. It wouldn't be surprising if he were murdered, I suppose. People all around him, always with him, and yet easily the most disliked man in the world. You should know, Mr. Keller. I understand you gave him a car tonight as a gift. I'd rather not incriminate myself if you don't mind. Well, I don't like to disturb the mask and whisk his... George! Yeah, it's face. It's not Mr. Wick at all. It's the court jester, the fool. Poisoned. Look at his face. But where is Francis Xavier Wick? But I saw Wick, I tell you, before he put on that ridiculous costume. Or rather, he had just part of it on. When was that? A half an hour earlier, I suppose. I don't know. It was before Mr. Frame got here. What about the other guests? The people who brought all those other presents? They'd gone. They'd already left. Just who are you, Mr. Keller? What are you doing here? What? Good heavens, man. I'm a banker, but that doesn't have anything to do with it. For some reason you give huge gifts every Christmas to Mr. Wick. Just like Mr. Frame, like the others. Well, stop harping on it. It's a fact, that's all. I'm certainly not going to explain it. Why should I? I didn't try to kill the man. Well, somebody who was left in the house must have... All right. But it's Dukes who's dead, not Wick. And you can't even tell me when they changed parts, when Dukes started playing Santa Claus? No, no. What of it? Charity to Frame told you where we all were. And now confirm it. Yeah, right here, Mrs. Wick. The little summer house. The studio. Out where he does his writing. All right, come on. I'll get your breath. What's the matter? I found him. You what? My husband. He's unconscious. I'm fine, I said. I'm fine. I'm fit as a grave digger's shovel. Oh, twisted my ankle when I fell, that's all. Now stop pawing at me, Janet. You're my wife, not my secretary. All right, stop talking, you two. The door out there's open and there's blood on the floor where you were. Blood is from my head. Very high quality. I fell because I was struck and I was struck because the worm turned, that's why. The worm? Mrs. Brooks, all my life I've pampered myself by having a retainer. Someone night and day, like Janet here. Might as please. I've never been a well man, and besides it amuses me to watch Lackey's work. Wester, why don't you... It was Dukes who hit me. You cretin, who else would it be? Oh yeah, Dukes. Go on, go on. I was wearing a Santa Claus suit, as I recall. Where is it? On him, you say. He called me out here to the studio, he knocked me out. A child could deduce that he took my suit. Now you wake me up saying he's dead. Well, well, well, so be it. Wretched rash intruding fool, farewell. Thou were taken for thy better. Well, don't stare at me. I'm disappointed in him, that's all. And we shouldn't judge the worm just because he turned. The temptation was just too great, I suppose. There's over a hundred thousand dollars' worth of gifts in there under that Christmas tree, at the brand new car outside to make a getaway in. Can you blame him for wanting to step into my shoes? Okay, okay, Mr. Wake, two and two is four. He knocked you out and tended to take your place so he could collect the last couple of gifts and get by the servants on his way out. Only who poured those drinks, George? I didn't, I assure you. Dukes did. It must have been he. That's when I came into the house and I was so upset because he wouldn't even speak to me. I thought it was you, Francis. He passed around drinks and wouldn't even speak to me. And I suppose you wept copious tears into your usual crammed amount. Well, it logically would have served drinks to cover not talking. And they were left standing. I remember that too. He left them for quite a time to open a present. Anyone could have touched them. Well, what's the matter with you? I was thinking what a beautiful story it will all make, particularly the ending. Well, laugh out of the other side of your face, Busty. Somebody wanted to kill you and didn't succeed. Exactly what I mean. That's the most fascinating part. Read my column tomorrow, young man. Oh, I'll give you something to read. You too, Mrs. Wake. There were only three people who could have tampered with a drink. You, Mr. Keller and Charity Dufayne. They both hate Francis. I'm sure either one of them... And Keller and Charity both agree they were together all that time. Oh, George. Yeah, that's right. You heard me. They gave each other alibis. Listen, that must be the police car coming. I'd better get over to the main house to... Janet! Why? Police will be here in a second. She won't go far. Besides, I want to straighten this guy before they come. Oh, you mean you're going to carry me back to the house? I don't want to miss any fun, and my ankle... $100,000 worth of gifts from people who hate you. But it isn't blackmail because you give them gifts, too. And you make them play a farce like this Christmas in January. Mr. Valentine, I'm so pleased that you figured me out. People are contemptible. I despise them. Oh, yeah, famous people, rich people. You like to watch them suffer. I know where their bodies are buried. Keller, Charity, all of them. Blackmail? No. I've never threatened anything. We just exchange gifts. And the most contemptible and amusing thing about people is their willingness to believe that I ever would write what I know about them. They're afraid. They never know. And so they really are blackmailing themselves. I think you must be the most horrible man who ever lived. Skip it, Bruxy. Come on. He's cleared it up. Let's go. Mr. Valentine! No, Valentine, wait. You're not going to leave me. Why not? Oh. Because somebody still wants to kill you? What? Well, that doesn't bother you, does it? You were laughing about it a minute ago. Ridiculous, of course not. But now see here, with this anchor... You're comfortable. Just relax. Police will get around to you later on. No, Valentine, no. You don't... See you in the morning. Read my column for the last chapter. Oh, Bruxy, this is one case that I don't particularly care if I ever... What's the matter, George? I don't know. Just the police car on the driveway, that's all. Oh, I'm way, way wrong. That guy's quicker than I am. What? Let me run a minute. Here. George, there's somebody. All right, Mrs. Wick. George, look out! She's got a gun! Drop that thing, lady. Drop. That's better. Leave me alone. You get out of my way. Going back out there to that studio with a gun, huh? He can't do things like that to people. He can't treat them. What? You mean he can't treat you like that? I don't care about me. George, look at her eyes. Mrs. Wick, Mrs. Wick, listen to me. You're going out there because you think he killed Jukes, isn't that right? You don't know how he could have done it, but somehow you think he must be responsible. You said yourself the other two had alibis. And if you knew that you didn't do it, then you assumed that he has to be behind it, like he's behind everything else in the world, sticking in pins. Let go of me. I've got to know what... Well, come on, then. I'll take you there without the gun. We'll wrap this up before anybody else gets hurt. Francis! George, he's on the floor. What's the matter with him? Perfectly all right, young lady. Francis, your white is a sheep. Well, don't go pawing at me again. This stupid man running off... I'm not stupid any more, Buster. But here, get up. Come on now. You're all right. All right, one thing at a time. Jukes killed himself. What? All the police will be there. There'll be all kinds of evidence, fingerprints on the glass. You figured that out, too, didn't you, Wick? Isn't that the story you were going to write? We're laughing about? Valentine, I shall write my friends in Scotland. Good God, buddy. No, no, wait. Why on earth would Jukes kill himself? Mrs. Wick, do you drink green creme de ma? What? Oh, well, yes, but... Jukes took over Santa Claus' beard and ordered to get away with a sack full of loot, right? He'd already slugged your husband here. Well, how do you think he felt when you walked in the door? George, I don't get it at all. Mrs. Wick, it was only a matter of minutes before he knew you'd recognize he wasn't the right guy despite the pillows and beard. So maybe the ex-pharmacist got a little desperate. You never drank your drink, by the way, did you? I remember you holding it. I mean, it was poison. You mean, he was trying... Janet, will you let the man talk? His syntax is excruable, but his logic... It's all a yes, but it's a good one. The connoisseur here likes dromboi. Like women, it should be stronger the senses, but easy to see through. Oh, quote. But Jukes had no about that. Playing Wick, he'd make his own liquor, dromboi. But he left the drinks for a few minutes, you said. And the drinks were in by the Christmas tree. George, what in the name of the world are you talking about? By the Christmas tree, Brooksie. And when he picked one up, he picked up the wrong drink. The creme de month meant for you, Mrs. Wick. But we can check, we'll find out. But how could he mistake a green creme de month? I know, I know, yeah, dromboi is almost white. But there were only green lights in there on that Christmas tree. Don't you know what happens to anything green when it's matched by a green light? The color cancels out. It turns white. Bravo, Mr. Valentine. A very well-rounded story. White Christmas in January. Yeah, and much to my regret, there's probably nothing I can hang on to you, Mr. Wick. All right, come on, Mrs. Wick. Oh, no, you don't, Janet. He doesn't have to order you around, you know, not anymore. What? Janet. Maybe he wouldn't have to pick on other people if you could control him, the people he despises so much. Janet, come back here, don't leave me. You know, he'd already figured this crime out. So a few minutes ago, why did we find him so scared? Why? Janet, will you do as I say? The acid-bath man who's had a lacky attend him night and day all his life, always people, people. Janet, Janet, don't listen to him. Haven't you ever wondered about that, Mrs. Wick? And why his hatred of people? You've been his wife, but I'll bet you haven't even noticed. He never gave you a chance to. All you'd ever have to do to gain the upper hand is just walk away from him. I must go back. Look, he's a case. Can't be without people. Terrified of being alone. Remember that. Okay, Mrs. Wick, go on back. You can have him. George, I don't envy her the job. Yeah. Well, he's rounded out his own story, hasn't he? Letting a cease at your queer pair of clay feet. Well, he won't give Christmas parties anymore, I bet. George, that color business. I mean, well, it proved to be true and everything, but you're so unobservant, generally. How did I get it? You really want to know? Well, Bruxy, in there by the Christmas tree earlier, I haven't noticed something, that's all. Something about you. Me? Yeah. Then later on it clicked. The color of your eyes. What that light did to the blue in them. Oh, George, really? Wow. I never see you noticing. Well, I do. I like to look at you. George quite often is about to cry. Is that all right? Oh, darling, you know something? I'm not even going to tell you that my eyes are really hazel. Listen to the difference. In a few seconds you will hear Geiger counters measuring automobile engine wear. 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Tonight's adventure of George Valentine is brought to you by Standard Oil Company of California on behalf of independent Chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the West. Robert Bailey is starred as George with Virginia Gregg as Bruxy. Let George Do It is written by David Victor in Jackson Gillis and directed by Don Clark. Larry Dobkin was heard as Wick, Lee Patrick as Janet, Shirley Mitchell as Charity, John Daner as the Salesman and Ted DeCorsia as Keller. The music is composed and presented by Eddie Dunstetter, your announcer, John Heaston. Listen again next week, same time, same station to Let George Do It. Let George Do It is heard overseas through the worldwide facilities of the Armed Forces Radio Service. This is the Mutual Don Lee Broadcasting System.