 by transcription the adventures of sam spade detective brought to you by wild root cream oil here tonic the non-alcoholic here tonic that contains ladle in wild root cream oil again and again the choice of men and women and children too wigginson school for girls sort of a special course in homicidal apaculture apaculture? there were apes involved? Effie, where is your Latin apis? Say, be honest, I'm for pertaining to bees. Oh, bees, of course. It was a bee caper? It was a bee keeper caper. Oh, that's funny, sir. That's a honey. Effie, put these words down in your little book. Honey, sweetness, hives, combs, et cetera. Never mention them again. What? Keep things humming, sweetheart, and I'll be right down to drone my way through my report on the queen bee caper. 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And now, with Howard Dubb starring as Spade, wild root brings to the air the greatest private detective of them all, in the adventures of Sam Spade. Billy, this jargon, this passoire. What do you think it's about time we spoke like educated people? You know best, Sam. Every time I visit one of our institutions of learning, I find out something I didn't know. Oh, Sam, that's incredulous. You just know everything. Yeah, I guess I do when you come right down to them. The bee, for instance. Bees are a genus of insects of the hymenopterous order. The what? Hymenopterous. Living in society is composed of one queen, or perfect female, a few males or drones, and an indefinite number of undeveloped females or neuters, which are the workers. That's me, I suppose. A neuter. Well, that's for you to say. Coy. And you know what else about the bee? What, Sam? Confidentially, it stings. Date July 10, 1949, to Miss Elizabeth Collie, Miss Wigginson School for Girls, C. Cliff Drive, San Francisco. I wonder about girls sometimes. And that's bad, if he's bad. From Samuel Spade, license number 137596, subject the queen bee caper, dear Miss Collie. I was singing a medley of sorority drinking songs as I opened the wrought iron gate, walked up the garden path, passed those cast iron deer, and presented myself at the big brass bell pole beside that massive panel door that stands guard between the outside world and yours sheltered in me. A little housemaid wearing dimity let me in and led me to your office. I sat on your chins-covered sofa and looked at your drapes for their thriving beehive motif, and waited for you at my back half-turned to the open door. Hello, how are you? Miss Collie? No, I'm not Miss Collie. No, of course not. No, I was just hoping. You're Mr. Spade, aren't you? Laurie Thomas, I'm Miss Collie's assistant. Nice day, yes. Don't bother to move. I'll lean over you. Put this report on her desk. Sure. Miss Collie will be here in just a minute. Thanks. It's all warm in here. Next time we're a mailman's uniform in a 50-year-old stoop, you'll find the temperature is exactly right. Yeah, I mean, yes, ma'am. Here you go then. Oh, Laurie, there seems to have been a misplacement of some of the hockey. Would you check on it, please? Oh, surely. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Spade. I'm Elizabeth Collie. You may sit down. Yes, ma'am. And Mr. Spade, I'll be painfully frank with you. A thief is at large in my school. Well, you probably have a good answer, but I'll ask it anyway. Why not call in the police? I have a good answer, Mr. Spade. My girls come from San Francisco's finest and wealthiest families. Miss Wigginsons has had an untarnished reputation for more than three generations. As headmistress, I must handle this matter with the utmost discretion. Frankly, I already know the thief. Are there any questions? Well, only one timid one. Who is it? I regret to say a faculty member is to blame. Glory Thomas. She was in here a minute or two ago. Oh, really? Well, why, Miss Thomas? You find any of the loot stashed away in her room? Well, no. No, not exactly. I haven't recovered any of the stolen articles, but I'm sure Glory's responsible. I'm certain she's the thief. You're just sure. I thought perhaps you might establish definite proof against Glory. You mean you want me to frame her? Oh, no, Mr. Spade. You misunderstand me. I don't think so, Miss Collie. Oh dear, I was afraid this would happen. I told Ursula, but then I... All right, I'll ask. Who's Ursula? Mr. Spade, I think I can trust you. It was Ursula who instructed me to call you. Ursula Kavanaugh. You know the name. The Ursula Kavanaugh inherited all the real estate, lives in Kavanaugh's penthouse, hasn't set foot out of there in 20 years? Yes. Mrs. Kavanaugh is our school's benefactress. She is, of course, on the board of trustees. She is, moreover, a dear personal friend. Oh, sure. Oh, yes. We were classmates together here many years ago. Ursula's quite unlike myself. Married well, though we don't know. Rather aggressive. Frankly, she wishes to have Glory Thomas discharged, but her connection with the dismissal was not been known. Now, I don't suppose I can ask you to take the assignment now. I'm a detective, Ms. Carly, not a frame-up artist. I had to have my name called up from the lobby, and then two elevator trips later, I faced her on her penthouse terrace. Ursula Kavanaugh looked like a 1910 stock company lead out of Charlie's aunt, smoking a black Italian stokey and gripping a cane like a chilelli. Two men were on the receiving end of her black snake whip of a tongue. A youngish guy, stockbroker type, and an individual in a morning coat who looked practically nude without a butterfly net. Oh, you're a fool at an incapable galorect. I lost all patience with you ages ago. Not only are you incompetent, but you're also dishonest. Don't mind telling you that when the board of directors meets on Thursday, I intend to instruct them. Well, really, Ms. Kavanaugh, I've tried not to discredit you in any way. I endeavor in every detail to fulfill my responsibilities as manager of this... Don't cater up, please. Auntie, I think you've got Jeremy and me all wrong. Now, the truth is... The truth is, Gerald, you're both a pair of thieving scoundrels. Now, get out, Jeremy, before your weasel face ruins my digestion. Very well, madam. I remain at your service. Ah, no back, no stunk. And as for you, my dear nephew... I think I'll puddle along, Auntie. I ought to get back to the office. Control your little impulses, Gerald. I admire a little larceny in any man, but not at my expense. I was beginning to think I'd become invisible in that rarified penthouse atmosphere. She hadn't even blinked at me while Jelonex slinked back to the lobby and Gerald toddled along to his office. The terrace was a riot of bloom. I don't know much about flowers, but she must have had them all there. Off to one side, a little man in a blue smock put it around a wooden structure on a stand. I'd become aware of bees humming amidst the flowers when she finally spoke to me. Your time's paid, aren't you? Sam, ma'am, the fun-loving spade. Take your photograph out of the other detectives. Look like you got spunk. Why'd you come here? Curiosity. I met Glory Thomas out at Miss Wigginsons. I liked her. I wanted to see the type that would strong armor out of a job from a safe distance. Spunky. Come over here, Mr. Spade. I want to show you something. Pigget. Yes, ma'am. That'll do for now. Work at the other end of the garden for the time being. Yes, ma'am. Oh, Pigget, my gardener and beekeeper. Most taciturn individual. You know what this is? Well, I didn't, but now I can see it's a bee hive. Yes, my own bee hive. Fresh honey from a tea and fruit cake every afternoon. Fine old tradition. Observe this hive, young man. Honeybees are the most intelligent of all insects, surpassing even the ants. And why? Because one female controls a community of many, many thousands. I am against it. Yes, Mr. Spade. The queen bee vanes supreme. The males are drones. Quite useless. The female workers perform all necessary labor. No waste motion. No dissension. Well, some of my best friends are drones and I just can't stand the work. I think you understand me, Mr. Spade. I wish Gloria Thomas removed from San Francisco for an excellent reason. My nephew Gerald Long, the young man who just left here, has developed absurd romantic notions about him. Yeah, so you want the romance busted up, but if you try to break it up openly, your nephew might get stubborn and even marry her. On the other hand, by framing her as a thief, you ward off the affair until you can figure out some other dirty tricks. I knew you'd out this tabby, Mr. Spade. I admire bluntness in moderation. Well, what do you say to joining forces with me? Just one thing, Mrs. Kavanaugh. Nuts. Next morning, I put through a call to Dickinson's school for girls. It had been my intent to talk to you, Ms. Collie, to tell you I'd left my hat in your office, but somehow I found myself talking to Gloria Thomas. And somehow our talk resulted in a cocktail date of a 10 o'clock scholar bar and lounge. I shouldn't have come, of course. Oh, uh, exam papers to grade, no doubt. Stacks and stack? So, velvet-type hands. Well, what's this on them? Stain. I teach our girls chemistry, among other things. How about me taking on a night school class for the other things? You're crazy. You don't need any education. No, I can always use the postgraduate course. You're really crazy, Sam. I needed this. Well, make an annimate. Maybe. Gerald won't object, huh? What's that mean? Who you've been talking to, that hateful old woman? Mrs. Kavanaugh wants to put the boots to you, Gloria. She called me a neframian. I could kill her. Oh, easy now, Gloria. Don't talk to me. I thought I could take it. I thought I could be patient and wait while Jerry ironed everything out. But not now, though. I hate that selfish, domineering old woman. I hate her nephew, and I hate you. Well, that'll do to start with, honey. Now let's get down my list. I hate to... Oh, let me go. I've had all I can take for one night. Wait a minute, Gloria. I was... Oh, you forgot your bag. Hey! She disappeared around the corner as I came out into the street of starting to rain. As I stepped off the curb, I slipped and turned my ankle. As I limped onto Montgomery Street, I saw her disappearing into one of the tall buildings on my side of the street. It could have been the Kavanaugh Towers. I stepped a half into the lobby thereof a few minutes later. As I came in, Jeleneck, the manager, was getting off the elevator. He swatted himself several times in the neck and then went into a door marked private. No place of glory in the lobby. I looked in the bar. She wasn't there, but Albert Pigott, the beekeeper, was having a stinger. Who? Now I'm beginning to feel good. I feel... Hey, who's this? I know that. Why, it's Mr. Spade. Sit down, Mr. Pigott. I don't have time just now, Mr. Pigott. Sit down, sit down, sit down. Easy, easy. I'm... I'm fired. Have you heard? I'm fired. Just a worker out of work. Turned out by the queen bee. Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Pigott. I imagine Mrs. Kavanaugh wasn't too easy to work for. I told her to keep away from the bees when I wasn't there. Well, she's gone and disobeyed me. One of the workers must have stung her. She's got a temper, you know. Ooh, why must there smash the eye where there stick bees wherever we're all over? And then she fired me. When was this, and why did she fire you? Oh, about, oh, just now, maybe a half an hour ago. I knocked, and then there wasn't any answer, and then I let myself in. Oh, dark. I couldn't even see her. Heard the bees, of course, but couldn't do. Ooh, I'm sorry. And I said, Mrs. Kavanaugh, you disobeyed me. And in this voice, this awful voice, she said, Mr. Pigott, you're fired. Get out. This awful voice from the dark. And Mr. Pigott's mind. You never before just Pigott this and Pigott that. And I said, hey, where you going? I didn't bother to stop at the desk to get myself announced. I took the passenger elevator, then operated the penthouse. Roll of air to myself, no hand. Nobody answered my ring. The door was unlocked. I went inside. Across the VMP apartment of the terrace, the rain had just stopped, and the sunset cut a sudden shaft. First I heard it, the humming of swarming bees. And I saw the overturned beehive. And I saw Ursula Kavanaugh sprawl back in his chair as stickin' Italian stogie in the floor. All of the bees clustered greedily over the food cake and honey set out on the table. I wondered if those most intelligent of all insects had the answer to Shakespeare's question. Oh death, where is thy stim? 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By the way, smart girls use Wild Root Cream Oil too, and mothers say it's grand for training children's hair. Get Wild Root Cream Oil. Again and again, the choice of men and women and children too. Now back to the Queen Bee Caper, tonight's adventure with Sam Spade. This is Cavanaugh's place right now. I wish to talk to me. She can't. It might be a good idea if you'd come over here, Ms. Collie. Mrs. Cavanaugh's dead. Mrs. Cavanaugh's dead. And since you're her oldest and closest friend, you came on over, Ms. Collie, but meanwhile, Matthew Gerald Long arrived, also Piggit, whom I called down with a bar and who sobered up with remarkable rapidity on hearing the news. Gerald was shaken up by his great-aunt's demise. We waited for the family doctor to arrive and watch Piggit entice the bees back out of the hive. You turned up soon after and tried to soothe Gerald's nerves. The hotel manager, Jelenek, also flooded in. The doctor diagnosed cause of death as shock from formic acid. The secretion bees injected into the bloodstream with their stingers. We all sit around thinking our various thoughts as the doc voiced this verdict. Piggit was the one who voiced an epitaph. She really knew nothing about bees, you know. The queen bee was all important, she thought, but there's always a rebel in every hive. The queen bee is always deposed sooner or later. The worker bees go on and on, but the queen bee can't reign forever. After that, we all left and went our various ways. Poor old Piggit shouldn't have said that, when he must have been a lot drunker than he seemed. Because he was found next morning in his garden in Marin County beside his overturned bee hive, a victim like his late employer of fatal bee stings. Don't wait with us. Don't threaten me, Mr. Long. I've been bullied long enough. I don't intend to lose my position here now, Mrs. Kavanaugh's gone. I've taken all I could stand from her and I don't intend to let you walk all over me. I'll do whatever I think needs to be done, Jelenek. Well, if you're trying to ensign... I could not use as much trouble as you caused me, maybe more, with what I found out about you now. Get out of here. Go on, be there before I break... How did you get in here, Spade? The door was open. Well, if you're here to collect any kind of bill, I want to know what services you rented. Nothing's rented yet. But I figured you might like to know that Ann Ursula was murdered. Murdered? You can't say that. Not my hotel. Shut up, Jelenek. You need proof to back that up, Spade. I've got it. Pigot. What? Pigot's dead. How do you know? His doctor just called me. Yeah. Well, that's why I know your aunt was murdered. I've just been out to Marin. Had quite a session with that doctor. Oh, where's your proof, man? Who'd want to kill her? Well, I... Oh, stop it. Practically everybody who knew her. Really? Now, I must protest this... this respect to the memory of the... Shut up! Go on, Spade. Go on. Start getting specific. Well, specifically, Pigot's doctor, because of what I suggested, examined the dead man again, found the mark of a hypodermic, plus the fact that a concentrated solution of formic acid killed Pigot. Pigot's next door neighbor said he'd been stung as often as 10 and 12 times a day. That meant he'd build up a certain immunization to beasting. Are you suggesting that someone murdered him with an injection of the commercial formic acid? I thought I'd made that fairly clear. And what would the motive be? To keep him from talking about his employer's murder. I see. Well, is that all? Yeah, I'll accept that his neighbor told me somebody answering your description called on him this afternoon. Mike. Oh. Yeah, Spade, look here, I can explain that. Hold on me. Hello. Gerald, hello, darling. I've been doing it for about an hour. I just got a check supplies in the camera lab, and then I'll be home and show you what a cook I am. You better be bringing up... I'm sorry, just a second. Here's Gerald. For you, Gerald. Your wife. Oh, I... Hold on a second, honey. Spade, look here. Now you can't drag her into this thing. Why don't you get married? Yesterday afternoon? Husband and wife. No testifying, huh? Well, I don't think I'll need your testimony. Jellonex Fates fell four inches into his Ascot ties. He heard himself lose exclusive Hush Money rights to the above information. Pausing only to enjoy a hearty laugh at his discoverer, I went on to my next and final court of call, Ms. Wigginson School for Girls. This time, there was no girlies tittering as I entered, Ms. Collie. No dewy young ambizons clutching hockey sticks in their grubby little hands. For a very good reason, as you told me. My girls are dismissed for the day, Ms. Spade. Because of poor Ursula, of course. Really disrupts our routine, first our weekly half-day holiday yesterday and now today. Yeah, I'd like to talk to Ms. Thomas in the chemistry lab, she is, I think. Very well. I'll take you to her. She knows nothing about our first meeting. I've talked to her. Oh, well, in here. Yes? What do you want? Thought we might talk. There's nothing to talk about. Well, we could talk about this hypodermic new. Put that down. I'm using it for an experiment. Or, uh, how about a formula? H-C-O-O-H or C-H-2-O-2? What? That's formic acid. Mm-hmm. Ms. Collie, you said yesterday was a half-day holiday. Did Ms. Thomas stay here in school? Well, I know. She rarely does on Wednesday afternoon. That's why Mrs. Kavanaugh had a visitor, didn't she, Glory? Did she? After you ran away from me. All right. I did go up to see her. I was so mad about what you told me. I intended to hand in my resignation and give her a piece of my mind and I... But she was dead when I got there. Oh, Glory. No. And I just got panic-stricken and ran. Yeah, murder's a pretty scary thing. Murder? What do you mean, Mr. Spade? Mrs. Kavanaugh died from a hypodose of formic acid. Somebody familiar with chemistry would use that method. Then... then that could mean... The acid could be made up in this lab. The hypodermic could be this one here. I didn't kill her. I didn't. You say you were scared. You were so scared you ran all the way to City Hall and married her nephew. So you found out? Jellyneck found out first. He intended to squeal the old lady, but she was dead when he got back. He knew her will. This inherited Gerald to be married without her auntie's approval while she was still alive. We married after she was dead. But that didn't matter. After I saw you, I told Jerry, if he was any sort of man, he'd marry me will or no will. He did. And yet this morning, he drove over to Marin County to see Old Pigot. You think he was trying to shield me? I tell you, she was dead when I got into that room. I don't know anything about Pigot. One moment. I believe I recall it, Mr. Pigot. Then Ursula spoke to him when she discharged him. Glory, you must be mistaken about the time you entered that room. She couldn't have already been dead because... Yes, she could have and was. The killer was almost caught by Pigot. She hid behind the curtain in the dark and spoke to him. Miss Cavanaugh was already dead, but... I see. Mr. Pigot thought it was Ursula's voice, but it was yours, Glory. No, it was yours, Miss Collie. What? You committed both murders. You had access to the murder weapon. You had the half-day holiday to do it in. Mr. Spade. Even at that moment, the finishing school's school mom had to say, Mr. Pigot. Well, I'm not sorry for it. Ursula misused her power shamefully. And now the queen bees deposed again. You're brighter than most men, Mr. Spade. You too understood the significance of Mr. Pigot's remarks last night. Yeah, I could have been a little brighter, a little sooner. You helped give yourself away when you asked me if I'd called you earlier yesterday afternoon. Why, Sam? How could she? Well, Kavanaugh bullied her since childhood. Then you came on the staff and your ability scared her. The queen bee being deposed and whatnot. When Kavanaugh wanted your frame, she saw a chance to get rid of both of you. She hoped her murder would look like an accident, but if it was recognized as murder, you'd be the logical suspect. Oh, you're much too clever, Mr. Spade. Let's get it over with. Yeah, let's. It's up to those drones at homicide from here on in. Period and a report. Sam. Yes, Evie? How come Gerald went out to see Mr. Pigot? Well, Gerald didn't care about the will, but he didn't want a boot of fortune out the window either. Glory hadn't told him she'd seen his aunt, so he called on Pigot to find out when Pigot last saw Andy alive. Go type that up. I am completely well, and when you return, we shall Indian rattle. Certainly, Sam. And now, listen to this. Shopping notes. 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