 The Adventures of Frank Race, starring Paul Dubov. The war changed many things, the face of the earth and the people on it. Before the war, Frank Race worked as an attorney. But he traded his law books for the cloak and dagger of the OSS. And when it was over, his former life was over too. Adventure had become his business. The Adventures of Frank Race. Now we join Frank Race for the adventure of the Divers Loot. London, under a heavy rush of cumulonimbus clouds, scutting thunderheads that looked as though they might knock off your head at any moment. I just left the embankment and was hurrying across Westminster Bridge when... Hey, Race! Race, wait a second! It was Mark Donovan running to catch me if for some reason the sight of a New York taxi driver of foot in London seemed incongruous enough to raid a grin. All right, I give up. What's so funny? Just because a guy has to lop like a high-boat bank, the hell would come up with you? Sorry, Mark. I was just thinking how different this is compared to ramming a cab along 42nd Street. It ain't so different. Just had to hack my way through a jam. It was worse than going for the X's on fight night. Goddamn, you're a foul disgrace. Slow down. You're wheezing like a sump pump. You oughta be. I even... Hey, I almost forgot. I've been polis, Marathon, because a guy wants to see us. The boy's now already named Rhodes. Lawrence Rhodes? Yeah, yeah. Very Pip-Pip and Cheerio. He wants to see you pronto. Orphuses in 8on Square, you know. I can't take on another assignment. We should be getting back to New York. But I'll see Rhodes anyway. Everything about Lawrence Rhodes was thin. His weight, his hair, the wispy line of his very blonde mustache. He looked as though he might be the operator of an exclusive ladies' shop. Actually, he served as British representative for Acme and Dendony. And during the war, he'd cracked a Normandy beachhead as leader of a tough commando unit. Decent of you to come race. We feel it's imperative that we have an American in on this since it's an American venture to begin with. Well... When it's a case of children losing their lives... Oh, forgive me. What were you saying? I was going to say that... What's this about kids losing their lives? A little French lad killed aboard the salvage vessel. Rhodes, I'm afraid you're going to have to start this from the beginning. Of course. Old habit of mine. Assuming people have previous knowledge of what I'm talking about. Forgive me. All this stems from a salvage operation just across the channel. But before we discuss it further, I want you to meet someone. He left me for a few minutes and came back with a husky-looking man of about 50. The man he introduced is Charles Menafee. Mr. Menafee can tell you much more about this matter than I can race. He's in charge of the operation. It's a cleanup job. My company secured the contract for dragging the harbor off Sherbourg. We've been picking up the residue of stuff that was sunk there during the war. Particularly after D-Day. I happened to be on the vessel in question when this affair took place. Besides the mishap to the boy, we lost a diver by the name of Joe Donner. Just disappeared leaving nothing but broken signal and airlines. How old was the boy and how did he happen to be aboard? He was 12. A waterfront kid that had been made a sort of a mascot by the men. Apparently they smuggled him on the vessel for this voyage. It was all pretty much of a mix-up and no one seemed to know anything about it. That brings up an important point, Grace. ACME is indemnifying Menafee's company against oil liability. And if this youngster died on that vessel, then we'll assume our full obligation. But we should know, if he really did die on the boat, your opinion on the report will decide that for us. What sort of accident was it? That's the peculiar part of it. The thing probably can't be called an accident at all. You see, the boy was shot to death. Menafee and I left Rhodes office together and stood talking on the street while waiting for cabs. I was to fly across the channel that evening. He would meet me in Cherbourg on the following day. And as we planned this, a car sidled up to the curb. A gleaming new sedan with the rakishness of a destroyer. Stopped directly alongside us and a quiet boy spoke from the rear seat. Don't you guys try rushing off anywhere? You'll develop more holes than a bum alibi. And the look of him, he might have been an usher at your sister's wedding. He even had the carnation on his lapel. With the manner of a maestro handling a rare fiddle, he lifted the submachine gun he'd been holding in his lap. Get your hooks behind your heads and get in here with me. Should be an enjoyable ride. It's a beautiful car. A most beautiful car. Ain't bad for a foreign job. Okay, Connie, but take it easy. We don't want to have to brush off any nosy cops. Now you're being discreet. In this country, the objective people who carry artillery. We carry what we like anywhere we go. Nothing like self-confidence. We haven't met before, have we? I never forget a face. We ain't met. I'm Frank Race. My friend's name is... I know your friend's name. It's Menafee. Hadn't realized I was so renowned. How about your identity? Me? I'm Freddie Troy, an independent voter. I run a little business of my own. How is business? Don't pay like it used to. Especially over here. You guys gotta take what he can get. Well, from the looks of this car... Menafee, I'll give fair dives at the owner of this car and the slightest idea as to who's driving it at this moment. You're a real hip personality, Race. Do you mind telling us what this is all about? No, I don't mind. I'm taking you out to the country for a ride. A real old-fashioned ride. But what for? Some people in Sherbrooke, they think you're in the way. So I'm taking care of you. And when I take care of somebody, I do it right. He let his own words send him a little. Just enough to relax the vigilance that had been in his attitude. For an instant, the nose of the submachine gun wandered upward away from Menafee and myself. So I lunged! I didn't have to yell at Menafee. He was already on top of the driver as the floor was strained. Now look what you've done on me, you! All right, Troy, now here's a little payment in kind! Race, the machine gun! I'll get him! Knock them cold. Are you all right, Race? I think so. You deflected that gun up with just in time. He'd have killed a dozen people. Where's Troy? Troy? He must have got lost in the crowd. Well, conditions are getting better in London. Last time I was here, I had to dodge bombs. This time, it was just machine gun bullets. Cherbourg is still a disabled war veteran, showing gaunt open spaces and bombed out buildings as mute testimony of the travail she endured. I met Menafee again at the Creone, one of the larger hotels. With him was a man and woman he introduced as Jim and Sandra Whalen. Jim Whalen worked as Menafee's head driver. He must have seen too many George Raft pictures judging from the way he persisted in twirling a keychain all the time we talked. The woman, slim, young, red-headed, rated seconds on any man's glance. Tend to have anything yet, Race? Nothing. But I have marked Donovan out looking for leads. You haven't met him. He stops when it comes to prying out clues. I want you to know I'm suspending all operations for the time being. The local police seem pretty well stopped by it. Before I was sat in the lobby and watched it begin to rain outside. A condition to turn the city gray and dismal looking. It's a coming to the effect of the weather. Menafee and Jim Whalen presently left to take on a few drinks. Sandra Whalen immediately crinkled her nose at me. It's about time we had a chance to talk to each other. I get pretty tired of hearing nothing but diving and salvage. Oh? What would you prefer to discuss? You and me. Somehow I get the feeling that that could become rather complicated. Oh, I'm counting on it. Do you mind? What's the matter, bored? I was until you came along. But I'm not bored now. I'm not bored at all. Sorry, Ducky. There are certain conditions under which I never move in and this seems to involve all of them. Oh? Well, you better tell me about it. You see, I've always been led to believe I was rather attractive. You're most attractive. But there happens to be a guy in the background. A guy by the name of Jim Whalen. Who also happens to be my brother. Your brother? If you doubt it, go and ask him. I'd look pretty silly doing that. No, I'm more than willing to take your award for it. And now, would you begin all over again? Begin what? Those ideas you were advancing. Those very provocative ideas concerning us. Uh-uh. I've given you too much of a lead, as it is. Let's not waste time with regrets. Isn't there another spot, perhaps a little music? I know just the spot. Come on, we can slip away before they get back. Cherbourg no longer seemed gray and dreary. For me, it had suddenly assumed the atmosphere of a Mardi Gras, a mama's parade. But at the door to the hotel, there came an interruption. Going somewhere, Rhys? That's rather obvious, isn't it? Sandra, this is Mark Donovan. Hello, Mark. I don't play music for going somewhere, but I'm afraid I got to part you two nice people. Get lost, Mark. I'm sure that whatever you have in mind can wait. Look, Rhys, you will probably want to flog me from here to Paris, but it won't wait. It's a red-hot break. It's got to be handled now. Go with him, Rhys. We can make it later. Shall we say tomorrow evening? You're a very understanding person. I'm a very persistent person. See you later, Rhys. Marcus, this lead of yours had better be good. It's good, Chum. Let's go. Where? Spot call about the book. It ain't there. Crillion. Creole. Like I said, it ain't the Creole, but it has its points. It definitely has its points. Ain't this something, Rhys? Makes you forget all about the rain outside. Who are we going to talk to? And a table in the corner, a guy in a dame. He's the American I was telling you about. Don't want to give me the knock down to him. Look, I know you just left a pip, but ain't this girl something? She was wearing a black suit and a beret. She had dark eyes and honey-colored hair. She was smoking a cigarette and a long holder, and she looked like something Renoir would have put on canvas. We went over and Mark made us know no one another, identifying the girl as Annette. The man is Phil Benson. We had drinks and began a casual conversation. Benson turned out to be a paving contractor dickering with the city of Cherbourg for some of its road rebuilding work. That's kind of tough. They don't want to give it to anyone but a Frenchman. I don't blame them in a way, but I could certainly save them a lot of money on know-how. Annette, Mark Donovan tells me you know something about what occurred on that salvage boat last week. Yes, Rhys. I know something. Wouldn't want to tell me about it, would you? No, Rhys. I will only speak of what I know to the men who's in charge of the boat. Is it a question of money? Frankly, yes. I could get it for you. No. No, I will only speak to that man himself. The man called Menafi. All right. We'll make it tonight. Sweet Jay at the Creone at eight o'clock. Is that all right? Yes, Rhys. That is all right. Sweet Jay at the Creone happened to be the apartment Mark and I were occupying, and I had Menafi there at 7.30. He came in with a serious face and a morose attitude, took a couple of drinks to bring him to the point of unburdening his mind. It's Sandra, Rhys. I don't suppose you have any idea that she and I are engaged. Engaged? No, I didn't have any such idea. Sandra didn't say anything about it this afternoon. Yes, Sandra is like that. She's restless and always on the lookout for excitement, but I have hopes that she'll settle down. Of course. I'm sure she will. That must be our caller. Hello, Rhys. Come in, then. This is Mr. Menafi. Hello, Annette. Rhys says you have some information for me. Yes, Mr. Menafi. I have three things to tell you. First, that I consider you a murderer. Second, that I am the mother of a dead child. And third, that I no intend to kill you with this pistol. Annette! We'll return to the adventures of Frank Rhys in just about one minute. Now, back to the adventures of Frank Rhys. Menafi was down, but I couldn't tell how badly he'd been hurt. I was too involved with a twisting, writhing woman whose intent was to send more bullets into his body. Let me go! Let me go! You little idiot, you're not solving anything by making a play like this. Give me that gun! I'm sorry. You left me no alternative. Now, if you're smart, you'll get out of here. Your police don't like people who use guns. You're not going to hold me? No, get going. There you are, Rhys. Merci. Rhys, better stay put, Menafi, till I get some help here. Doesn't seem too bad. You saved my life by grabbing it the way you did. She had me fooled right down to the ground. Where were you hissed? It seems to be near the shoulder. Here, I'll pack it, then I'll get you a doctor. No, no, doctor. I'll take care of this myself. You've got to have a doctor, Menafi. It would be terrible. No! I'll take care of it myself. Bring in a doctor and you bring in the police. I've had enough publicity on this thing. We're likely to need the police. That girl might try this again. You can take care of that for me. Now, find a persuader that I'm not at fault. I'm doing all I can to clean up the situation. But no doctors. No police. There was no doubt, but that Annette would be in hiding. The next morning, Mark and I looked up Phil Benson, the roving, paving contractor. Yeah, I know where she is. But why should I tell you guys so you can make trouble for her? Look, don't be a dub. We ain't going to give her no grave. Rhys wants a helper. That's right, Benson. I'll give you my word. All right. But I wouldn't want to give her a bum-steered. She's a widow going through a bad time. And I'm nuts about it. He took us to a small flat over a wine shop on a back street. Here, Annette received us casually, as though nothing unusual had happened. But the moment I mentioned Menophee, her eyes filled with storm. You may as well know. If I get another chance at him, I shall try the same thing again. But why? You're not sure that he caused the death of your son? My son died on that man's boat. For me, that is enough. Take it easy, will you, baby? Rhys is only trying to find out what really happened. He's only trying to help you. I can promise that Menophee won't go to the police if you'll agree to let him alone. Yeah, then, baby, why don't you relax and learn to live again? Give a guy like me a chance to make things different for you. Oh, let me alone. I don't want to talk about it. You've got to talk about it, baby, for my sake. You know how I feel about you. Just give me time to make one of these paving deals, and, well, things will be different, that's all. Oh, please, let me alone. She stalked out of the room, and I realized the futility of trying to deal with a woman stricken as she had been. Benson looked stopped. If I could only get a break, so I could take her away from here. Are you having any luck? Not with the city of Sherbrooke. They just don't listen to me. And I could do their cement paving cheaper than anyone on the continent. It looks as though I've got about as much chance as a plug bullseye. Stick with it, Jim. Things will work out. They have a way of doing that. We'll see you later, Benson. Hello, Sandra. Aren't you going to invite me in? Of course. Or are you reluctant to receive a lady at this late in the hour? Can I fix you a drink? I've already had a drink. I've already had several drinks. Well, you're a big girl now. They shouldn't hurt you. I thought we had a date tonight. Date? You know we did. Well, something came up, something I couldn't avoid. Men if he talked to you, didn't he? Told you I was engaged to him. Well, aren't you? He told me he talked to you. You know, you had me fooled. I didn't think you'd let a thing like that slow you down. A lot of things slow me down. That's just one of them. Big, virtuous men, aren't you? Well, I hate virtuous men. That should simplify everything then. It should, but it doesn't. Because after I decided I hated you, I couldn't stop thinking about you. So I got drunk. You make a very lovely drunk. Do I race? Then I dare you to do something. I dare you to put your arms around me and say that. You think I'm not tempted? Go on, race. Put your arms around me and say I make a very lovely drunk. I'll make you another drink instead. Sit down, Ducky, you're a little unstrung. As a matter of fact, I'm getting a little unstrung myself. You're a fool, right? I know it. At this moment, I'm probably the biggest fool in Sherbrooke. In fact, I'm surprising the very devil out of myself. I'm keeping this light, Ducky, just enough glory juice to give a taste. You think Men if he's worth being loyal to? Well, he isn't. He isn't worth it at all. Yeah, refresh yourself, then you'd better go home. Do you know why Men if he subended salvage operations? Do you know why he's not letting anybody get aboard that boat? I haven't the slightest idea, Ducky. Because they have gold aboard. A fortune in gold. Gold? That sounds a little fantastic, Sounder. They found a plane on the harbor bottom while they were grappling. A Royal Air Force plane that had been shot down during the war. You've been carrying gold to occupy France to pay agents who wouldn't work for paper money. Yes. Yes, they did that during the war. Well, that's why the child's dead. He happened to be aboard that day and someone shot him to keep him quiet. And that's why that diver turned up missing. Joe Donner. Doesn't matter, Sounder. If it did, why didn't Men if he just take the gold and clear out? Because he can't find it. That's the joker. It's somewhere on the boat, but he can't find it. Either the boy or that diver hit it before they were murdered. So he's looked everywhere for that money. But he's been looking for the chest it was found in. Well, if I could get a board... Just how drunk are you, Sounder? Um, I'm pretty drunk, Grace. But I'm not too drunk. I'm not too drunk. If you could get a board, do you think you know where it is? Maybe I do. Let's go out to that vessel, Sounder. Let's go out. Just for the ducks of it. Can you see well enough to hold your course, Mark? The kid and I ain't seen my way. I'm feeling it. Oh, what a night. There she is. Cut the engine. We're gonna bump. What a break. We hit almost alongside the ladder. Get the bow around, Mark. All right. All right, Sounder. Watch your step, will you? Take a stairway to Buckingham Palace. Gosh, we made it. There's a lighthouse. Come on. You know, we could be walking right in or something. Here's something rough and tough. We can stop right now, pal. You've already walked into it. It was Freddy Troy, the killer I'd met in London. When the light-shafting passed an open bulkhead, I could see that under one army cradle, a bag of some sort, while at the same time, he held a gun on us. Well, well. If it ain't the chum I met in England, you go around buttoning all kinds of things, don't you? You don't seem as well equipped as you were last time, Troy. Then it was a Tommy gun, now it's just a 45. That's enough for this jab. Get back against the wall. Ray, he's gonna shoot us. How'd you guess it, sister? That's far enough, punk. You mean me? Yeah, you. Now, folks, I'm sorry, but... Mark, how'd you get that hand in your pocket? It wasn't reaching for cigars, junior. You had to do it. It was him or us. Oh, lady, you can put music in them lyrics. Oh, look, that bag. He dropped it, and it's spilling gold coins. We'll have a look at that later. First, let's see if we can do anything for Troy. Okay, Ray, but I'm afraid we're just wasting our time. Mark was right. It was a case of too much sea and too much darkness. So we turn back to the lighted cabin. And here... It's the watchman. He's dead. Shot by Troy. Oh, I guess I won't have to feel so bad. Grace, Grace, look. Look where the coins have been hidden. What do you know? In a fire hose. But this is only part of it, a small part. Oh, we're too late. They've been carrying it away. Yes, they've been carrying it away. But I've got a small hunch that I know. Where we might find it. They were both at the flat. And I got the feeling that he'd been talking to her again about going away. From the look of her, she hadn't been too responsive to his words. Hello, Grace. What is it you want this time? Money, Annette. A lot of money. Money that caused the death of your child. Money that killed my boy? Yeah, but who would have it here? Bensonwood. Wouldn't you, Benson? Me? What are you talking about? I'm talking about a paving contractor calling himself Bensonwood. Who's really a deep-seed diver by the name of Joe Donner. How long have you known this man, Annette? Only a few days. Since John... Yes. He came to you so he could keep in touch with what was going on. It makes a grim thought, Benson, according to the kid's mother after what happened. You're crazy. You tripped yourself in a couple of ways. For one thing, no real paving man would say cement when he actually meant concrete. But you were authentic enough when you mentioned a bullseye today. Because that's the term a lot of divers use for the eyepieces of men. You and Freddie Troy were in this together, weren't you, Donner? You were the diver who brought up the chest of coins, which you knew would be confiscated by the government. So you took advantage of the excitement and hid the stuff, and you murdered that boy because he happened to see you. Then you made it look as though you'd been killed yourself, so you could hide out and pick up the coins later. Oh, please. If you could prove this. Ask him to open that bag he has at his feet, Annette. I'm not opening anything. I'm just going out of here. Don't go for that gun. Annette, I know you got one, but don't go further. I'll... Oh, Haze, you... You stopped me. You let him get away. He won't go far, not in France. And the bag still here, baby, didn't get the hand. I could have killed him, and you stopped me. And right now, you hate me for it. But after a while, you'll be glad I did. After a long while, you'll be very glad. I'm in love with Tony Barrett as Mark Donovan comes to you from Hollywood. Others heard in tonight's cast were Lillian Bayef, Wilms Herbert, Paul McVeigh, Michael Ann Barrett, and Herbert Butterfield. This series is written and directed by Buckley Angel and Joel Murcott. The music is composed and played by Ivan Ditmars. Be sure to be with us again this time next week for another dramatic chapter in the Adventures of Frank Race. Art Gilmore speaking. This is a Brucell's production.