 The Adventures of Sam Spade Detective brought to you by Wild Root Creme Oil Hair Tonic the non-alcoholic hair tonic that contains lanolin. Wild Root Creme Oil. Again and again, the choice of men who put good grooming first. Long you sound almost human. It's not Bernadine. Tell Bernadine about your compliment. Made out as best I could. I don't want you to think that I begrudged you a vacation. After all, you have worked hard. You did deserve it. Sam Spade, is that all you have to say to me? I'm not putting the blame on you after all. It is a state law so I can hardly accuse you of letting me down at a time when I needed you most. You might at least ask me if I had a good time. I'm sorry if your conscience bothered you. Well, it didn't. I had a divine time and I met all sorts of interesting people. Mostly men. You don't say. What else? Well, it was this desert ranch, you know, with a lot of, uh, buttes around. You, uh, mentioned those. No, Sam. No, no, no. They're the result of erosion. Those outdoor types. They go to pieces. Sam, are you pulling my leg? Not over the phone, Effie, but stay where you are. I'll be right down to look at your snapshots. And when you have the time, I'll dictate my report on the missing news hawk caper. Dashel Hammett, America's leading detective fiction writer and creator of Sam Spade, The Hard-Boiled Private Eye, and William Spear, radio's outstanding producer, director of mystery and crime drama, join their talents to make your here stand on end with the adventures of Sam Spade. Presented by the makers of Wild Root Cream Oil for the Hair. Wild Root Cream Oil. That's the famous name to remember men next time you buy hair tonic. And look what Wild Root Cream Oil does for you. It grooms your hair neatly and naturally. Wild Root Cream Oil also relieves dryness and removes loose, ugly dandruff. Yes, men, Wild Root Cream Oil is your shortcut to really handsome hair. So be smart. First chance you get, get Wild Root Cream Oil Hair Tonic. And again, the choice of men who put good grooming first. And now with Howard Duff starring as Spade, Wild Root brings to the air the greatest private detective of them all in the adventures of Sam Spade. Virgin River. Can I have the pearl of the west? Uh-huh. And did I mention the beauts? Oh, well, they're very interesting. The result of erosion. Yes, and it's authentic too. Fay Hamlin's ranch. You mean a working ranch? Yes, you see that way you get into the spirit. My job was to feed the chickens. And that's how I met him. One of the beauts? Oh, Sam, he's a very cultured gentleman. Culture smelcher. What's he do for a living? He, he, he cures stammering. You don't say. What's his name? Charlie Shank. Charlie Shank. He's the founder of the Shank Institute of Articulative Correction, which I should learn. Articulative Correction. Where is this institute? Oh, I have the address here. Um, general delivery, beaut Montana. You're sure you didn't help him break parole, Effie? Oh, no, oh, no, no. We just went on long walks together. Where to? Oh, different points of interest. Like, uh, like Wolf Canyon. Figures? Uh-huh. He invited me on this camping trip, a trip. Honorable, of course. But I couldn't go out on account of my sunburn. Oh. We were awful, awful. I still got it, you see. And then, then he went back to Butte. He had to leave in such a hurry. He couldn't even say goodbye. Wow. It was a pity too because an old friend he hadn't seen in years came looking for him. Just a few minutes later. With a warrant? No. No, he was an attendant in a nearby hospital. Mental? Oh, yes. Very intelligent. He read me some of his poetry. Maybe you've heard it. Um, a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou. Yeah, wait a minute. Isn't that the ruby out of Homer Cayenne that was written by a guy named Fitzgerald? Well, of course. That's his pen name. Quite a pen name. Yes. But he's paid his debt to society. And the other time it was a bad beef. Oh, nice. You told me all about it. Yeah. Well, I'm glad he cured you of stammering anyhow. Ready? Oh, yeah. I've got a brand new notebook. Work you know. Life goes on. I've got a brand new notebook, Sam. I'll just turn over a new leaf. Not a bad idea, dear. Uh, date July 18th to Mr. Alex M. Youngblood. Try that again. Mr. Alex M. Youngblood, P.O. Box 317, San Francisco, from Samuel Spade. License number 137596, dear Mr. Youngblood. I need a vacation myself. You need trolley shank. Ah. It's on Tarte. Fortunately, until I met you, my only experience with any of the men and women who make your newspaper run had been with one of your corner news boys who shortchanged me two times within as many days. I have not read your rags since. But your name looked imposing, and so did the $300 to Mr. Alex M. Youngblood, P.O. Box 317, San Francisco, from Samuel Spade. It looked imposing, and so did the $300 check upon which you had written it. Per your instructions, promptly at 4 p.m. on the 15th inst, I muched through the litter of your city room toward a door marked AM Youngblood publisher, managing editor, and city editor. I wondered if you were ambitious, frugal, or three men. I did not know that you had good taste until I saw the trim, 20-ish, and toothsome secretary in your outer office. Hello. You're new here, aren't you? Well, I'm not exactly here. I'm just here to see Mr. Youngblood. Oh. The name is Spade. Samuel Spade? Sam, except for my most intimate friends. Well, my advice to you, Sam, is to beat a hasty retreat. He's in a foul mood. Oh? Why, is he blind or older than he fails? I refer, of course, to your spectacular charm, Miss... if I may call you, Miss. Please, this is neither the time nor the place. My name is Phyllis Watson, and my phone number is in the directory, if you're really interested. I could be. Thank you. And if a man answers, tell him you're my French teacher. We. You better go in now. If you're late to an appointment with him, you're through. Do you have any more words of wisdom? No, but I hope you can do something to improve his state of mind. He's been awful lately. Good luck, Sam. Thank you, Phyllis Watson. Come in, come in. There. One minute past four. You must be Mr. Spade. That's right. You're almost late. Sit down, Spade. Cigar. No, thanks. Well, don't expect me to offer a drink. You aren't a drinker, I hope. You don't listen to the radio, do you? Well, you will not drink in this office. Nothing here but a cooler filled with water from a clean, gurgling, laughing mountain stream. You sound like a reformed drunk, Mr. Youngblood. What's that? Well, it was good many years ago. If you don't mind, I'll just paste up the weather report for my morning edition before we talk. Oh, you do that, too, huh? Yes, obviously. And with good reasons. I remind myself that I was once a copy boy. And I find a splendid way to, at least once each day, to lower myself to the level of the working man. There we are. Very hot in Phoenix, I say. Mm-hmm. Just what do you want to detect it for, Mr. Youngblood? I was coming to that, Mr. Spade. Sorry? Now, first let me warn you that your assignment is a highly confidential one. They all are. In this case, a man's life may be at stake. The situation? My newspaper, at my order, under my guidance, has launched a campaign against crime. Not aimed at the petty criminal, but at the easy-living leeches at the controls of the rackets, the hoods in banker's clothing, the mansion house parasites who direct the pickpockets a second-storey man, the housebreakers, who gamble away half a million dollars a year and pay in compensation for the fraction of that amount. Yes, I understand. I understand. You're after the boys on the safer side of the fences. Nicely put, Spade. Thank you. The long and short of it is this. The author of the expose series, Ray McCully, my top crime reporter, has been missing for two days. I want you to find him. What makes you think he's still alive? Good heavens, Spade. Why must you suggest that he isn't? Because if I were a mansion-housed parasite in danger of being unhoused by a newshawk, I'd see said newshawks standing in a cement block on the bottom of the bay. I will accept that only when no stone has been left unturned. Every straw and every haystack has been searched. Every... Nook and cranny? Yes. Sounds as though you need at least one police force, Mr. Youngblood. Now, why don't you just... No, no, no, no, impossible. We've already had a brush with the police over the expose. I'll not be dictated to at this stage of the game. I started this investigation, and I'll finish it alone. Well, it's a pretty big order, Mr. Youngblood, but time's a tough. I'll see what I can do. Good. I hereby turn over to you all the resources and power of this smiley newspaper. When one of my reporters is in trouble or danger, sir, I will spend every penny of my fortune, if necessary, to deliver aid and soccer to his side. You then gave me Ray McCully's expose stories to date. I saw why you, his family and friends, and his creditors could have been worried about. They were hot. One followed a stolen car from the time of the heist through the alteration of the body color, tire brands, license number, motor serial number to the time it was shoved onto a used car lot. They named names all the way through. And another did the same to the firm of Otter, Badger, and Moll furriers and alleged manufacturers of coats from clouted pelts. Ray McCully had dropped out of sight right after that story had been published. So I left your office hoping that I'd reach the address of Otter, Badger, and Moll before closing time. I did. The plushy showroom was occupied by a dozen attractive fur-bearing models, female, but waxed. The live models, male, were wearing padded shoulders, pointed shoes, and coats tailored for underarm artillery. They would have looked more natural at Madame Passard's waxworks, burnt from the burglar section. Hey, oh, hey, what'll it be? Something for a little woman? Where do I find Mr. Otter? Are you the Lord? Leo sent me. He's in his office. Come on. Oh, wait a minute, wait a minute. Don't crowd me. You say you want to see the boys? They're nudging me with a rod. In there. Hey, move. Okay, okay. Hey, boss. Yes, Woody? Here's Joe here to see you. Leo sent him. Well, nudge him in, Woody. No nudging, Woody. Well, well, well, so Leo's sending a man to see me. I wonder why. If you'll calm this character here out of my hair, I'll try and tell you. Sit down, Woody. Thanks. You're new in town. Yeah, that's why Leo sent me a local muckraker named Ray McCully interviewed you. Leo interviewed Leo, but it didn't get printed yet. Leo wants to find him. So do I. How can I help? Well, he walked out of here, went to his hotel, wrote the story and mailed it in. That's the last anybody's seen of him. Leo was just sort of hoping that you'd already taken care of him. Not yet. That's all I wanted to know. Thanks. Just a moment. Yeah? Leo's sending you out alone? Why not? That's a tough boy that McCully's got plenty of protection. That's what you need. What kind of protection? Go along with him, Woody. Who me? You're Woody, aren't you? Look, look, Mr. Otter, I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but the way I see it, this is a lone wolf type caper. Hey, what's the matter? Hey, you think I'm too good for you? Well, Woody, I wouldn't say that. Good. It's settled then. Take care of him, Woody, and don't mix it up with any of Leo's boys. If he's out to get that rat McCully, he's our friend. I was beginning to wonder who Leo was. I'd grabbed the name off a calendar on the wall, Leo's van and storage. I didn't know whether he was the Leo Mr. Otter didn't like, and I hoped I wouldn't find out. The best way I could think to keep from finding out was to shake Woody. On the way uptown, I walked him past four police stations, crossing Market Street. I pushed him straight into the arms of a traffic cop who begged his pardon and let me off with a warning. At the Blue Bottle bar and grill, I gave Joe the bartender, the Mickey Finn sign, but Woody liked it. He ordered another. Then he said he knew a place on Columbus where the drinks were even better. It was called Leo's Place. I wondered if that meant anything. Hey, oh, hey. Who me, huh? I want your drink. Would you like this joint? Yeah, sure. It's fine. We're not getting anywhere, though. You really take your work serious. Me, when I go gun for somebody, I go where I'm least likely to succeed. You live longer. Yeah. Woody, what do you know about this guy McCully? You're here to push. He says he's a rat. Yeah, but he said he's got plenty of protection. Who's furnishing it? Well, you see those... Boy, you know, boy. Look at what you're smoking. What I saw was not disappointing. She was wearing a skin-tight black satin with a plunging neckline and the new look only in places where it didn't matter. But she still looked enough like your secretary, Phyllis Watson, to be out of place in Leo's Place. She didn't stay there long. She made a beeline through the kitchen to the rear exit. I made a beeline right after her. Woody was breathing down my neck. As I started up the rickety outside stairway at the back of the building, I stopped the landing and turned around to face it. See you later, Woody. I didn't wait to see if he made it all the way to the bottom of the stairs. I was more interested in what was going on at the top. A door had opened and Phyllis stepped inside. The man who let her in looked like Ray McCully. My name is Spade. Your boss hired me to find you. Private Dick. Yeah. Can I talk to you for a minute? Sure. Go on, son. Oh, what's the matter? You're not acting glad to see me. This is the guy, Phyllis. Yes. Alex hired him this afternoon. There you see now. Uh, what do you want me to tell youngblood? You're not going to tell anybody anything! It caught me right behind the ear. The last thing I saw was that plunging neckline as Phyllis rushed forward. I didn't know whether she was rushing to my rescuer to get in a few licks of her own. Five seconds later, I didn't care. The design of the linoleum slammed up at me. I had just time to wonder why of all the people who were looking for Ray McCully, I had to find him. And I was out. Boing. Maced for my pains. The makers of Wild Root Cream Oil are presenting the weekly Sunday adventure of Dashel Hammett's famous private detective, Sam Spade. If you want the well-groomed look that helps you get ahead socially and on the job, listen. Recently, thousands of people from coast to coast who bought Wild Root Cream Oil for the first time asked, how does Wild Root Cream Oil compare with the hair tonic you previously used? Better than four out of five who replied said they preferred Wild Root Cream Oil. And no wonder. Wild Root Cream Oil grooms the hair neatly and naturally, relieves annoying dryness and removes loose dandruff. What's more, non-alcoholic Wild Root Cream Oil is the only leading hair tonic that contains soothing lanolin. So ask for Wild Root Cream Oil Hair Tonic. Again and again, the choice of men who put good grooming first. By the way, smart girls use Wild Root Cream Oil too and mothers say it's grand for training children's hair. And now, back to the missing news-hawk caper, tonight's adventure with Sam Spade. I was lying on the floor in a room with nothing in it, but a sink, an army cot, a square of dirty lanolin, and a body. I staggered to my fate, ran some cold water over my head and took a closer look. It was Ray McCully. He was a very dead, crusading reporter. He'd been stabbed clean through with a long-bladed kitchen knife and set on the handle property of Leo's place. I went through his pockets and his wallet, a press card, a police card, union card and 10 genuine, crisp, new $1,000 bills. I gave me a line on a killer. He was crazy, so was I. I left it on him too. Folded up in his vest pocket, I found two newspaper clippings, one from the Chronicle and one from your paper. It was very hot in Phoenix, according to both papers. But according to your weather report, the temperature in Needles, California was 135 degrees. That needled me. So did the slip of paper I found on his shoe. The number nine and a date had been stamped on it with a rubber stamp. The date was the same as that of the weather reports. I turned it over. It said Ruthie's Booth Manson Bowling Alley. I crowned as a panatella. Uh, thanks. I'm just shot. Uh, I got a nice line of notions. So have I. No, I mean the dolls, the Hollywood dolls. You know, for the bed, only a dollar plus tax. Very reasonable. Say, what's on your mind? Uh, Leo sent me. Oh. Are you going to collect the slips hereafter? Well, not tonight. You see, I'm sort of a troubleshooter. Leo's checking up on some of the numbers that didn't come out right. Listen, I'll tell him to his face. I don't want any part of those wrong numbers. And that's who bought this one. Let me see. Oh, last Thursday. Oh, number nine. How can I forget? He put $500. And honest, if he's been around once, he's been around a hundred times to see if it paid off, did it? What's his name? Mr. Spinelli, he buys a slip every day. And if you ask me, he's learned a system because he's been winning, you know, dimes and then a dollar and then $5. And then when he come in with $500 on number nine and only dropped dead, did it win? Dead. Wait, I'll look on the sheet. Hey, somebody else was in just this afternoon. Give me that address, hurry up. What's right around the corner on Manson, 810. Say, maybe that's his system, 8 and 1. Don't that add up to nine? Hey, what's the matter? Where are you going in such a rush? Are you Mrs. Spinelli? Yes, please. I have so much trouble. Is your husband home? Oh, my poor man. Oh, I'm sorry. How did it happen? Who are you? I'm a detective. Maybe I can help you. May I come in? It took quite a while to gain her confidence and after that it took still quite a while to piece together the grief-sticken grumble of words that poured out of it. When I got it down in the form of a statement, I asked her to read it over. Item, statement by Mrs. Arturo Spinelli. All the time he played those numbers. I told him they're just a bunch of gangsters who don't let you win. Then he met this man McCulley, a writer for the newspaper. My husband says this man chose him how to win. He wins and wins. Then he goes to bank and takes out all our savings. I begged to him not to do it. But no, no, he was greedy. And this McCulley poisoned his mind. Sure, he won. He brought the money home in his hand. $10,000. I don't want it. I'm scared. I took it while he was sleeping with wine and gave it to the men. I tell him all I want is the 500. He tried to tell me we do good. We help catch the big gangsters. I say we don't want to do so good we get murdered in our beds. So he says, hey, but if I change mine here at this I don't change my mind. Because already my husband he is dead. As home stand. No, I don't change my mind. She signed it and I left her alone with her grief. I wasn't working for you anymore, Mr. Youngblood. You hired me to find your reporter and I had. And I wished I hadn't. The rest of it I did for myself. You weren't in your office when I got there but Phyllis was. I found her behind the city desk in the act of dropping the morning's weather report into the slot. I grabbed it out of her hand. Where's your boss? At home, I guess. We'll talk in his office. Sam, I can explain how I have to be. You're going to explain plenty before I'm finished with you. What's the matter with you? Plenty. I'm stupid. I was stupid to take this job and I was stupid to play it cagey with you. I should have beaten the story out of you before the trouble started. It's a little late in the day now but not too late to send you up for McCully's murder. You're insane. Ray McCully was... I'm the only one who ever tried to help you. And I'm the only one who can place you in that room not ten minutes before the murder. I told you I can explain why. He had troubles and dimes and dollars every day in the policy racket. Only he had the bad luck to win. There won't be any more lucky dead people like him if I have to make a patsy out of you to stop it. It won't stop it, nothing will. Ray talked big and brave like you, now he's dead. Yeah, with ten thousand bucks dirty money in his wallet. I won't let you say things like that. Ray was an honest reporter, too honest. He thought young blood meant what he said about that cleanup campaign. Yeah, he did. He wanted to run this town by himself, clean up his competition. collecting material on the numbers racket, he still thought Youngblood was on the level. But that was before he stumbled on to the thing about the weather reports. Yeah, yeah, that was a new one. The old Dutch Schultz mug used to add up the stock market quotations. If they cheated, they knew their customers weren't good enough at arithmetic to prove it. But who knows how hot it is in Phoenix unless they live there. I don't know what you're talking about. Listen, that's how the number game works, sweetheart. The suckers pick a number from 1 to 10, see? The operators tally up the slips, and the least popular for that day has to win. The weather report doesn't have to pass through the copy desk, and with Youngblood pasting it up with a few strategic corrections, it was easy to make their winners look as if they were on the level. But of course, you had no way of knowing that. You only watched them do it day after day. You know, I couldn't understand why he did those things. It seems silly falsifying a weather report, but it didn't seem as if it could do any harm. What did you meet McCully for? To get your cut of the 10 grand Spinelli was killed for? How dare you. I went there to warn him about you. Who killed him? I don't know. You're lying. All right, I'm lying. But I can prove that Ray was on the level. I've got the proof right here. The whole story he wrote on the numbers racket, even naming Youngblood as the head of it, his own publisher. I went there to get it. I was going to take it to another newspaper. Why didn't you? I can't tell you that. You don't have to. Mrs. Spinelli was confused. Grief craze. She had to put the blame on somebody, and when she did, she got her revenge the only way she thought she could. She may have been right about that, but she killed the wrong man. Why didn't you tell me you knew who killed Ray? I wanted to give you a chance to tell me yourself. I'm glad you didn't. And that, Mr. Youngblood, is the crop. I'm sure you appreciate the fact that I gave the double scoop to your paper. Like Mrs. Spinelli, I have my own ideas of vengeance. Besides, it may up your circulation a little, and you can certainly use a little extra money for your defense. By the way, who's Leo? Period. End of report. But Sam. Yes, Evie? I thought Mrs. Spinelli killed Ray McCully. The vacation helped. You're absolutely correct. Mrs. Spinelli killed Mr. McCully, if you'll pardon the expression. Why did she kill her husband? I was wrong. The vacation didn't help. You mean she didn't? She killed McCully to avenge the murder of her husband. You mean Mr. McCully killed Mr. Spinelli? Effie, stop. I'll go mad. Oh, you need a vacation, Sam. Look, type that up. The clatter of the keys may stimulate you to further cerebral activity. I beg your pardon, Sam? Brain work. Now, shoot. Oh, brain work. Oh, you know best. Tonight, men, or first thing tomorrow, get wild root cream oil and see what wonders it does for your hair. Notice how easy it is to apply. Notice what a neat, natural job it does of grooming your hair. Notice, too, how effectively wild root cream oil relieves annoying dryness and removes loose, ugly dandruff. No getting around it. Once you try it, you'll never be without it. So tonight, or first thing tomorrow, call at your drug or toilet goods counter for wild root cream oil. Get the big economy bottle and the handy new tube that's easy to pack when you travel. Also, ask your barber for a professional application of wild root cream oil hair tonic. Again and again, the choice of men who put good grooming first. Absolutely right. The typing cleared my mind. It's all clear now except for one thing. Well, let's clear that up right away. Why did Mrs. Spinelli kill her husband? She did not kill her husband. Oh, I'm sorry. I meant, why did Mr. McCully kill Mr. Spinelli? Kelly did not kill Spinelli. Who's Kelly? McCully. McCully's real name was Kelly? Now, let's start all over again. Disregard everything we set up until now. Make your mind a complete blank. All right, Sam. In the first place, McCully did not kill Spinelli. That's what I said. It was his wife, wasn't it? Now, wasn't it, Sam? Oh, stop teasing me. Sam, why do you look at me like that? Effie, Mr. Spinelli was killed by one of the policy racket hoods to get back the 10 grand he won on the numbers game. Then how did the money get into Kelly's pocket? McCully's. Why do you insist on using his alias, Sam? Effie, Effie, that was a tip of the song. I mean, look, Mrs. Spinelli took it to him because she was afraid her husband might be killed for it. Then why didn't they take the money when they killed him? Because Mrs. Spinelli had already taken it. Then she did kill him. Go home, Effie. I'm sorry I'm so irritable to you, but I thought it's... Well, it's been so long since I've been here, you know, Sam and I... Oh, there, Angel, Angel, you're just tired. Vacations have a habit of doing that, too. After a week or two in the office, she'll be all rested up again. You act as though you thought my mind were affected. Come here. Sam, now don't, my son's burning. Oh, it hurts. It's nice to have you back. You look good, too. All tanned and healthy. It's great. I think my nose is peeling. Well, don't peck at it. Good night, Sam. Good night, sweetheart. The Adventures of Sam Spade, National Hammett's famous private detective, are produced and directed by William Spear. Sam Spade is played by Howard Duff. Loreen Tuttle is Effie. The Adventures of Sam Spade are written for radio by Bob Tolman and Gil Dowd, with musical direction by Lud Gluskin. Gil Dowd directed tonight's broadcast in William Spear's absence. Join us again next Sunday for another adventure with Sam Spade, brought to you by Wild Root Creme Oil. Again and again, the choice of men who put good grooming first. This is Dick Joy, reminding you to... Get Wild Root Creme Oil, Charlie. It keeps your hair in trim. You see, it's non-alcoholic Charlie. It's made with sooth and lanolin. You better get Wild Root Creme Oil, Charlie. Start using it today. You'll find that you will have a tough time gaping all the gals away. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.