 Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road, and those who travel it wind up in the gutter, the prison, or the grave. This time a platinum wrist watch, a body on a lonely strip of beach, and a case of heart failure in a Beverly Hills garage all added up to blackmail, 25 years old, and a killer who would never be caught. It happened like this. From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous character in... The Adventures of Philip Marlowe. In just a moment, tonight's story, but first, a message from the Ford dealers of America. The whole country's talking about the great 1950 Ford. Listen to what Mr. Carl Moore of Kingston, Pennsylvania, one of more than 420,000 delighted owners, says about his new Ford. I leave my car out on the street a lot in winter, but you'd never know it to look at my 50 Ford's paint job. It's still as new looking as when I bought it. I'll never stop wondering how Ford can sell a car that stands up so well for so little money. And speaking of getting a lot for a little money, my Ford gives me up to 22 miles to a gallon of gas. Yes, it's hard for Ford owners to keep the good news to themselves. The news about the economy of the big new Ford, from its low initial price to its high resale value, from its low cost of maintenance to its thrift on gas and oil, Ford is a real economy buy. But prove it for yourself. Your neighborhood Ford dealer has the facts on Ford economy, and he'll be glad to have you test drive the big 1950 Ford in your own way. And now we bring you tonight's exciting story, the anniversary gift. We turn left at the next corner, Cabby. Okay. Boy, it's Beverly Hills in the sunny afternoon. It's really something, ain't it? Wide streets, classy homes. Boy, these jokers got it made, some life. Some life. Nothing ever gets to them to bother them except the income tax, maybe. Here it is, mister. 8834 Beverly Road. What a joint. Yeah. Wait for me, huh? Sure, sure, mister. The door was answered by a girl of about 16, a tall, slender girl with dark eyes, too deep for her years. Oh, come in, won't you? I believe dad's expecting you. She led me across a living room as dignified as the lobby of her bank to adore the children. If you'll wait here in the library, I'll tell dad you've come. The library of Stanley Turner, my new client, was as somber as his living room, except for one thing. Over a fireplace that half filled one wall was a life-sized portrait of a woman, a most beautiful woman. Could have been a painting of what the girl who had just left would look like in another 25 years. I was still staring at the picture when Stanley Turner came in. That's a portrait of Margaret, my wife. We lost her one week ago today. I'm sorry, Mr. Turner. Well, we'd been expecting it for over a year. The doctors had warned us, but even when you're braced for a blow like that, it... Yes, I know what you mean. It was her heart, Marlowe. She was coming home from a shopping trip in Westwood last Tuesday evening when it happened. She had her own car and was just pulling into the garage here when the attack seized her. Catherine, my daughter, and I both heard her car hit the garage wall. We ran out and found her. The doctor did everything possible. Wednesday morning, she was dead. I'm sorry. It's all right, Mr. Turner. I must tell you all this because the reason I called you here has to do with Margaret's death. I don't understand. I've got to get Margaret's watch back. A what? A watch? Yes, a wrist watch. It's... Well, I'll try to explain. I loved my wife very deeply, Marlowe. Now that I've lost her, the most important thing in the world to me is the preservation of her memory. Can you understand that? It's natural that you'd cling to things that remind you of her, Mr. Turner. Now what about the watch? It's lost. Somewhere in Camino Beach. You know where that is? Yes, a few miles below Redondo. Yes, that's right. The day Margaret died, I had taken her watch with me to have it repaired. I went down the coast on some business and on the way back, I stopped at Camino Beach for lunch. A place called the Trade Winds. You had the watch with you when you went in? Yes, in my overcoat pocket. I came out and got in my car and was halfway back to my office before I realized it was gone. I've got to get it back, Marlowe. How much is it worth? In cash, about $500. Now it's worth 20 times that. What's the watch like? It's a Benris Platinum set with emeralds. I gave it to Margaret on our 20th wedding anniversary. There's an inscription on the back to Margaret from Stanley with eternal love. I know that watch is somewhere in Camino Beach. Can you find it and bring it back here to me? There's nothing more you can tell me. Unfortunately, that's all there is. I'll do my best, but I can't guarantee a thing. The cabbie waiting outside drove me back to the gas station on Wilshire where I picked up my own car fresh off the grease rack and headed for the ocean and the sunset. It was getting dark by the time I reached Camino Beach. A rickety, salt cake little town jumbled in between the highway and the surf. My first stop was the Tradewinds Cafe, a waterfront shack on spindly lakes standing knee deep in a smelly backwash. It only took 10 minutes to find that there was nothing there for me. After that, I drew a blank at each of the three hawk shops in town. Wand up an hour and a half later, no farther than the sidewalk curb where I watched a traffic cop brand my tire with his parking marker. Plant a heavy foot on my bumper to steady his bike and light a cigarette. I am. Is your car... Yeah. What is it? Am I over parked? Nope, not yet. Just borrowing your bumper a minute, mind? Of course not. Got a lot of scratches already. Say, that's a fancy chalk label you put on the side of that tire there. Z, the Mark of Zorro, huh? No, the Mark of Ziegler. That's me. Just a little thing I worked out there at a personal touch to my business. You're a stranger out there, aren't you? Yeah, from LA. Saw you coming out of the pawn shop there. You don't look like the type. Well, I'm not as long as my luck holds. Actually, a friend of mine lost a wristwatch here in town. I'm trying to locate it. Pretty good watches? Yeah, good enough. The really tough part is that it has a very big sentimental value. I've tried all three of the pawn shops in town, but no dice. You know, if I had a friend who'd lost a good watch, I think I'd check in at Sean's Bicycle Shop on Third Street. Well, thanks a lot, Ziegler. Don't mention it. Oh, uh, incidentally, I wouldn't bother to tell him who sent me down if I was you. So long. Hello, anybody there? Hello, Sean? I'm, uh, interested in a lady's wristwatch, Mr. Sean. Just how does that bring you to a bicycle shop? Look, we both know your offense, so let's not waste time on that. The watch I'm after is platinum set with emeralds and has an inscription on the back. To Margaret from Stanley with eternal love. A bright sentiment, I'm sure. Have you seen the watch? No. Look, Sean, either I beat your tongue as limber as the St. Bernard's ears, or you'll accept this $20 in exchange for some straight information. Peacefully. Now, take your choice and take it fast. $20. Kind of a choice as that. But I don't have the watch, Buckle. But you have seen it. Oh, five, six days ago, fellow brought that watch in here, wanted to know what it was worth. I said $500, he laughed in my face. Who was this guy? You mentioned something about $20. Oh, yes. Here. All right, now give. Oh, it's better. His name is Chip Manichee, and summers he works in the concessions in the pier, and winters he's nothing more than a beachcomber. Lives in a little room out in the pier behind the shooting gallery, and that buckle is your $20 worth. It'd better be, Shane, or I'll be back for my change. The amusement pier was deserted. When I finally found the one-room shack tacked on behind the shooting gallery, it was dark and quiet. I knocked once, got no answer. So I pushed a wad of rags out of a broken pane of glass and the door reached in sight, and then snapped a lock and went in. With a light from the one-naked overhead bulb, I started through the room. On a packing crate that passed for a dresser, I found a weak old newspaper clipping that said the body of one Leon Stice of Camino had been found on an isolated beach Wednesday morning, shot in the chest, no apparent reason. Stice was survived by his wife, Nancy, of 320 Front Street. I got real busy wondering why a bum like Chip Menachie saved old newspaper clippings of murder stories when a noise outside turned me toward the open door. What are you doing in my place? You went home, so I came in to wait. You want a cop or something? No, I'm no cop Menachie. The name's Marlowe. Maybe we can do business. I'll get you. I collect old watches. A mutual friend sent me Menachie. I'm interested in ladies' watches, particularly maybe something in platinum with emeralds. Okay, Pally, what's the proposition? Nothing until I see the merchandise, now how about putting it on display? I can't hear you, Pally. Come on, now where's the watch? Don't wash me, Mr. Don't wash me. Get you nowhere. Make me a proposition. Ten grand? Ten thousand? You must be out of your mind. Yeah, we'll see who's out of their minds. That's a very valuable watch. Maybe you better get out of here and add it all up again. Yeah, maybe I'd better at that. But, uh, Menachie, don't go away, because I'll be back. I won't go away. I know when I'm sitting on top of the pile. As I walked away, a hunch kept whispering to me that the body of a guy named Leon Stice found on a lonely beach was somehow tied in. So I decided to pay a call on his widow. I drove down Front Street to number 320. But there was nobody home. As a matter of fact, the only sign of life on the entire block was a red neon pelican and a blue neon martini glass above the door of a bar across the street. So I walked over and went in. A couple of questions later, I found Nancy Stice sitting alone in the back. The offer to buy a drink was the only introduction I needed. Sure, you can buy me a drink. Hey, Charlie! Okay, Nancy. I, uh, I'm an old friend of your husband's, Nancy. I just heard. That lass didn't have no friends. Yeah, Nancy, what's up with you, mister? Uh, no, um, here, keep it. Mud in your eye. Nah. I got nothing against Leon Stice. Except 25 years of living with him in a Camino Beach rattle or nothing. That's all. Any idea why it was killed? For the role it was carrying. After what you just said, that makes no sense. That's the way it was. I didn't get one red cent of it. I was all gone when I found them. Did you tell the cops he had money on him? Nah. I ate cops. Yeah, sure. Uh, where did Leon get this dough? He told me he ran into an old acquaintance who was staking him. Some guy named Martin Vogel who used to live here in Camino Beach years ago. Martin Vogel was staking him? To what? Leon said him and Vogel was going in business together. The cash was in advance. Oh, sure. He was going to be such a big shot. What kind of business, Nancy? Just between... Just between you and me, the only business that crummy mind of his would work on was blackmail. Take it from me. Hmm. Now, how about another drink for his grief-stricken widow? I'll, uh, leave a buck on the bar on my way out. In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, a brief message from the Ford dealers of America. From coast to coast, Ford owners agree the big new Ford brings you more for your money. More in comfort, more in performance, and more in economy. But only through personal experience can you appreciate the restful ease of Ford's famous midship ride and the luxurious comfort of Ford's non-sag foam rubber cushion front seat. Only by driving this great car can you enjoy its smooth power and solid rotability. And only by getting the facts about Ford's economy can you understand that so powerful, so smooth-riding, and so beautiful a car can cost so little to buy. To run and to maintain. But see, hear, and feel how much the new Ford gives you. Find out how much it saves you. Yes, before you buy any car at any price, it will pay you to stop by your local Ford dealers, take the wheel of the 100 horsepower V8, or its companion in quality, the 95 horsepower 6. Once you've driven it, you'll agree, the new Ford is the one truly fine car in the low price field. Now we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, the anniversary gift. I left the Pelican Club, got into my car, and started for the local law on the chance that I could learn something more about the new question mark I'd picked up named Martin Vogel. Ten minutes later, I parked my car under the cracked globe that oozed sick purple light over a weather-beaten sign, Camino Beach Police. A fat sergeant huddled over what could have been the original teletype machine. When I presented my credentials, he jabbed a fat finger at a dirty glass door, marked Captain Elvin Bush, chief of detectives. Inside, a small, old man, neat in a clean white shirt, groomed silver hair and a gentle smile, was strapping on a shoulder holster when I put my license on his desk. When I stopped talking, he got up and extended an almost delicate hand. I certainly hope we can help you, Mr. Marlowe. Martin Vogel, you say? Yes, it might have been a long time ago, Captain, maybe even 25 years if he was mixed up with the police at all. Do your records go back that far? Oh, yes, by the apocryte load. And I mean that literally, Mr. Marlowe. You see, in Camino Beach, police files, fixtures, furniture are somewhat lacking. City appropriations only go where they show. Public bird bass, statues of the mayor. Oh, here. This bottom crate here. Mark, let's see. 1921 to 1930. Figure he was arrested along in there, this Vogel? Yeah, if he was arrested. Dusty, isn't it? Well, the cards are alphabetical. And I see, Riker, Rooney, Stimple. By the way, Mr. Marlowe, what's your angle? I'm not sure, Captain, Svensson, Underweatherman. Vogel, Martin. Got it, eh? Yeah, picture and all. Bring it over here in the light. Yeah. Martin Vogel arrested Camino Beach Hotel May 28, 1923 on Warren from Chicago, Illinois, police. Returned to Chicago, sentenced to five years and state penitentiary for embezzlement. Arresting officer, patrolman, Elvin Bush. Hmm, picking him up myself, did I? Well, I've locked up a lot of people in the last 35 years. Yeah, I guess you have it. Holy smokes. Huh? What? That can't be. What is it, Mr. Marlowe? You look kind of pale. There was no mistaking it. The time-yellowed picture of Martin Vogel made it plain. Vogel and my client, the distinguished Mr. Stanley Towner, were one and the same. That meant that Towner had lied to me and, more important, had no doubt killed Leon Stice, who was blackmailing him because he knew he was Vogel. I left Captain Bush piled into my car and pointed it back for the amusement pier, where one way or another I was going to get Chip Meneshi to fill in a few remaining blanks for me. Marlowe, Meneshi, I want to talk business. Okay, Marlowe, looks like I doped it right. I thought you'd come back. Now get up. Now listen hard. I want the watch and the story that comes with it. I told you my price, it's still ten grand. You're bluffing, Meneshi. You know the watch means money, but you don't know why. Yeah, Mr. Wisenheit... All right, now come on, talk. Okay, okay, quit. I'll tell you what you want. I took the watch from Leon Stice. I found him dead on the beach. It was crunched in his fist. And the dough you're spending? Was in his wallet. Come on. Now sit over there, hands in your lap. School isn't out yet. What more do you want, Marlowe? How do you tie the watch in with Stanley Towner? What makes you think I did? The fact that I was sent here to Camino Beach and the fact that you were ready and waiting for somebody. Well... Okay, okay. I was lucky. When I read about Stice and the papers, I also just happened to read another article. An article, you might say. A rich man's wife who got a heart attack in her car just she pulled into her garage. Woman called Towner. Front name Margaret. Wife of Big Shot Broker, also called Towner. Front name Stanley. I went from there. I was trued. Yeah, genius. Okay, now give me the watch. Come on, let's have it. All right, get your mitts, sir. Here. Now you're real happy muscles, happy... Pops. Hey, menace, wait a minute! By the time I got to the door, he was halfway across the boardwalk to his car. But Captain Bush and his sergeant were ready and waiting. When menace was next to the gun, he kept in his glove compartment the spotlight on the squad car, slashed through the dark, found him and froze him in a position. We've got you, menace. You'd better quit. Menace, do you hear me? No, you listen, copper! The windshield sprang into little pieces. That's got him. Come on, Becker. That's him. Captain Bush and Becker were next to the body and had lifted it off the steering wheel. Then I moved quietly along the side of the building as far as the squad car. There, I turned and started back towards them. Hey! Hey, what happened? Oh, it's you, Captain. What brings you around here, Mr. Marlowe? A guy in town told me that somebody named Chip Menace might give me a lead on Martin Vogel. You won't be able to now. That's Menace. What? We wanted him for a week-old stick-up murder. Stick-up murder? The same. Hey, Becker! Did you find the money on him? Right, some 300 bucks, Captain. Good. Well, he's a better cop of the wagon now. Check. Funny thing, Mr. Marlowe, one fingerprint did it. Oh, how's that? That guy on the beach, Leon Stice, found his empty wallet and sand next to him. It had an eyes and glass front over his driver's license with a thumbprint that wasn't his. But it was Chip Menace's, huh? We got on to Menace because he was spreading a lot of door around. Today, Becker got down here and lifted one of his prints. That's sensitive, huh? Yes, that, and a shot he just threw at me. Strictly a stick-up killer who got caught. Marlowe, about this Martin Vogel, you still want to let it go that the Beverly Hills police are going to get in touch? I think so. Good night, Captain Bush. The ride back to Beverly Hills was an uncomfortable hour and a half, cold and empty. I was glad that I had things to do to stop and start and shift gears that kept me from thinking too much about a lot of things and a lot of people I wish I'd never heard of. People like Stanley Turner, who I had every reason to be against, but who I was starting to pull for. Stanley Turner, a man who had started all over again after a single mistake made 25 years ago. A man who had fought to build good things like a comfortable home, a marriage to, to a woman in a painting, a 16-year-old likeness named Catherine. But Stanley Turner, who was also a killer on a lonely stretch of beach far from home, destroying something rotten who would destroy him, a killer that nobody knew about, except me. Well, I pulled into the driveway and parked behind the car that had been Margaret's. As I got out, the light of the garage went on and the side door of the house opened. I felt almost wrong dropping my hand around the 38 in my side pocket. Good evening, Mr. Marlowe. You have the watch? I had quite a tussle getting hold of it. I imagined you wouldn't. Menace is dead, Mr. Turner. Menace? Who is Menace, Mr. Marlowe? The reason you hired me? The man who called you and dangled this bait? Yeah. You were right. It's a beautiful watch, Mr. Bogle. Bogle? You know about it? Yeah, they keep police files a long time. I know about everything, except why you didn't go after the watch yourself. I was afraid. Afraid to show yourself in the town where somebody might remember you, huh? The town in which you had committed a murder, is that it? Yes, yes. That's it exactly. Dad? Dad, is that you down here? Yes, dear. Me, Mr. Marlowe. Why don't you come into the house? It's so late and it's chilly. You'll catch your dad the cold out there. Yes? You know why, dear. Now go back to bed. Good night, dear. Good night, Mr. Marlowe. I will, Catherine. Good night. Do you mind if we go along to the police at once, Mr. Marlowe? I'd rather she didn't know right now. Tomorrow is soon enough. And, uh, can we take your car? Yeah. The lights go off out here? Yes. The switch is on the garage wall over there. Okay. Get in. All right. You know, Mr. Turner, I'm sorry about Catherine and the way she's going to be hit, but... hit by this thing? The switch is there on your right. Mr. Marlowe. Yeah. It was a very nice house. Mm-hmm. Mr. Turner, you certainly loved Margaret a lot, didn't you? Completely, Mr. Marlowe. And her memory, too? Why do you ask? Something that makes me awfully happy. Mr. Turner, you didn't kill Leon Stice. Marlowe, what are you saying? That you never lost your wife's watch at Camino Beach. She lost it herself. Lost it when she struggled with Leon Stice just before she killed him for your sake, for you and Catherine and everything you've worked for. No, Marlowe, no, you... Yes. Margaret had a bad heart. She knew she didn't have long to live. Also, she knew that Stice was blackmailing you at figures, Turner. And what also figures is that you'd rather pay for a murder that you didn't commit than to have Margaret's name soiled. Yes, I would, and I will, because you can't prove any of this. Your marriage, the car in which she died on what you said was her return from Westwood. Which it was? No, not according to a funny little chalk mark I just saw on one tire, it wasn't. A little white Z that a policeman named Ziggler in Camino Beach makes to check on parking time. And we can go on from there. Your confession won't mean a thing. But Marlowe, it will, it will, it... No. Oh, I guess it won't. I guess you can't hide the truth very often, can you? No. Only once in a great while. And then, strangely enough, only when it seems like the right thing to do. What do you mean? Why did you stop the motor? There's one thing I haven't told you yet. The way things worked out in Camino Beach, Mr. Turner. The police there think that men as she killed Leon Stice and they're happy that way. They never heard of you or your wife. And I don't see why they should now. I mean that nobody really knows the whole story. Nobody. Except you, Marlowe. Nobody, Mr. Turner. Good night. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. Good night. Back in just a moment, but first, a word from the four dealers of America. Tonight, there are more than 420,000 enthusiastic 1954 donors and it seems as though most of them are talking about this car. Listen to what Judge Richmond B. Keatsch of Washington, D.C. has to say about his new Ford. I was so satisfied with my 49 Ford that I decided to get a 50 as soon as they became available. I've been more than pleased with the 50. Truthfully, I see no cause to pay more when a Ford gives me all the performance, quiet and comfort a man can ask for at such a reasonable price. The Ford is wonderfully easy to handle, particularly in traffic. Yes, ask any Ford owner how he feels about his big new Ford and he'll tell you it stops for performance and for comfort. But prove it for yourself. Drop into your neighborhood Ford dealers and test drive this truly great car. You'll be amazed when you discover how little it costs to buy, to run and to maintain. Do it tomorrow. Test drive the big new 1954. Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says... This time I was in the country where the night should have been nothing but peace and quiet. But a pair of angry eagles changed all that. One was solid gold and too close to a battered corpse. The other weighed 160 pounds and was too quick with his fists in or out of the ring. The adventures of Philip Marlowe bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, tonight's star, Bill Conrad, are produced and directed by Norman McDonnell and are written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast were Sammy Hill, John Daener, Gene Bates, Ralph Moody, Larry Dobkin, Harry Bartel and Edgar Berrier. The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Orant. This is Roy Rowan speaking for CBS The Columbia Broadcasting System.