 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 Six Week Cure. Reno, Nevada. A simple city like any other American city. But one made notorious for its gambling clubs and for harboring the sickest people in the world. The temporary home of would-be divorcees taking the Six Week Cure from the ills of marriage. You could see their strained white faces on the streets and in the restaurants and the clubs. The faces of women not quite sure what had happened. Not quite sure why they were here. Not quite sure where they were going tomorrow. You know something, Race. All my life I've been hearing about gay divorces. But the babes around here do not look so gay to me. There's nothing gay about a marriage that doesn't work, Mark. For most of them, this is the bitter end of a sweet dream. That's never fun. Well, leave us not stay around to be poor parents, huh? You got your business free insurance company all cleared up. Leave us get back to New York. What's your rush? We can take a little vacation. Some great fishing in the mountains here. Oh, no, you don't. No, you don't. Not with me. I remember the last time. I got more hooks into myself when I got into the fish. Besides which, I wind up eating nothing but bread. Because it is the only food we have which don't have bones in it. All right, Mark, because you win. Besides, I'm not so sure that you'd go fishing. What do you mean? There is a dish sitting at that table over in the corner, and she has been making passes with her eyeballs ever since we come in here. And she ain't no trout. Where? It's Olga Petrov. You know, she's coming over. I most certainly do know her. Olga, Olga, baby. Grace, oh, Grace, I wasn't sure it was you. Olga Petrov. If there's a better ballerina in the world, I've never seen her. She moved with infinite grace, and your heart left your body to walk beside her on stage or off. It's been so long, Grace. Paris. Just before the Germans took over. You left without saying goodbye. Boris was jealous, remember? And with good reason. I was beginning to fall in love with you. That's nice, Grace. That's very sweet. Oh, oh, excuse me, Olga. This is Mark Donovan, my very good friend. Hello, Mr. Donovan. By the way, how is Boris? He's fine. He's here with you? He's here, Grace, but not with me. Don't tell me that you're... Yes. I'm here for what you so quaintly call the six-week cure. Divorce. I'm really very sorry to hear that. Where are you staying, Grace? Well, we're really not staying. We came in on the plane this morning to settle the claim. We're going right back. Grace, please stay for a little while. I am in trouble, desperate trouble. A dude ranch ten miles out on the highway. There are accommodations open. Mark will drive us out. We can talk it over on the way. What went wrong, Olga? I know you didn't take your marriage lightly. I guess I am a war casualty, Grace. Even at this late date. The ballet is ruined temporarily in Europe. They can't support it. Not on the scale Boris demands. They can barely find food. I know. Olga, you know Boris. You know how he likes to live like an emperor. He found somebody to finance a tour. Patron of the arch? I would hardly say that. He was financed by a man named Joe Rockland. Big Rocky the hood? Financing a ballet company? That's right, Grace. Big Rocky, as you call him, is in love with me. And he's forcing you and Boris to split. I wish that were so. If it were, we could run away. But it isn't. She's a woman. Another woman? Boris must be blind. He isn't in love with her. At least I don't think so. But she's very wealthy. That's an attraction Boris cannot resist. Wanna tell me who she is? Fran Maitland. Wilson Maitland's wife. But she's still married. She's here too, Grace. Getting a divorce. We are all what you call She started to cry and I put my arms around her. She wasn't meant for tears, not this baby. Her perfume was taboo, exotic like everything else about her. Even if Fran Maitland had all the money in the world, Boris Petrov was a chump to give this up. I'm sorry, Grace. All I know about dancing or life, I learned from Boris. He has been all things to me. I don't relish the thought of being alone. I know. And you're gonna find it difficult to be alone with big Rocky after you. Very difficult. The bar triple X dude ranch was very much on the sedentary side so far as the guests were concerned. The most strenuous activity seemed to be the lifting of cocktail glasses. But there was nothing sedentary about the owner of the ranch, Ma Wescott. She was pressing 70 by doing it the hard way. This gentle old lady, believe it or not, could sit on a Mustang like Roy Rogers. She could also pilot her own helicopter. Understand you're something of a flyer too, Mr. Ace. I've never been checked out in a helicopter. It's good for keeping the herds inside. Most ranchers think I'm crazy though. It's something new in range riding. They'll come around, Mrs. Wescott. Maybe you'd like to come with me someday and see how big this ranch really is. Any time. Get you away from these crazy females for a while. Women ought to be without their men, folks. It makes you mean. Ma, I've been luckin' all over for you. It's my son, Buzz. What do you want? Oh, that fool woman, Mrs. Bri, ain't back my ride yet. She must be lost. Someone ought to go find her. You were supposed to go with her. Well, I had other things to do. Sure. Shinin' up to that Fran Maitland. Now, I told you to stay away from my guests. Now, don't go yelping at me. Old girl's quite a character, ain't she? He spoke from just behind my left shoulder, but I didn't have to see his face to know him. Joe Rockland, Big Rocky. Hardly the type to be calling anybody else a character. I turned and looked into those small black eyes. He was wearing a bow tie. And if it had been the kind that lit up, it would have spelled murder done cheaply. You gettin' into divorce racing? I'm not married, Rocky. Ordering several kinds of divorces. Sometimes a guy gets his arm broke. That's the kind of divorce from usin' it anymore. And sometimes a guy gets tired of livin' and signs off. You could call it a divorce. What you say and what you mean aren't the same. I got a smart race. I sort of feel there ain't no reason for you to be an arena. I'm a friend of Olga Petrovs. She's playing a tough hand. I want to stick around until the cards are counted. Boris and me can take care of that. I don't remember inviting you to my wedding. I'm coming anyhow. Just to make sure there's no shotgun pointing at the bride. So you really did come for a divorce. The tough guy. Well, from now on I'm your lawyer. Gonna handle the whole thing for ya. Startin' with a broken arm. Afraid you're even gonna supply the arm, Rocky. Let me call a race. All right, go. Now get outta here. Let's see you again, Philly. I'm sorry, everybody. We're old friends. He gets playful. You think you're pretty good, don't ya? Big man. Tough guy. Just like my husband. Sorry to evoke unpleasant memories, Mrs. Mrs. Towner. Mrs. Robert Towner. But you can call me Sylvia. Because you're just like him. Just like my big, tough husband. What's your name? Race. Frank Race. Share with yourself, aren't ya? Just like Robert. Well, you're just a man. Just another heel. I'll be rid of him in another week. What do you think of that, huh? Congratulations. I'm lonesome. I don't like to be alone. I'm almost 30 and I don't like it. I gave him 10 years. Now I'm alone. You could go back to him, Sylvia. Ever think of that? I don't think of anything else. But I can't. You know why? He doesn't want me back. Because I had him arrested for hitting me. And I should have killed him. You better come outside. People are staring at you. Who do I care? Come on. Now get a grip on yourself. Take your hands off me. Stop it. You're getting hysterical. Take your hands off me. Let go. I never want to see another man again as long as I live. Oh, hello, Boris. Olga told me you were here. Olga told me a lot of things, too. What are you setting her up for? We are getting a divorce, that's all. That should not disturb you. You were very fond of Olga. Of course, you may have some rough competition this time. Don't be a fool, Boris. That girl never looked at anybody but you. You've been her whole life. She will find another life. Just as I will find another one. With Fran Maitland, your new life might be more interesting than you think. More interesting and less peaceful. Is that so, Mr. Race? I hadn't seen her come around the end of the ranch house. But suddenly she was there. A striking woman of 35. Everything about her was reckless. Her face, her figure, the way she wore her clothes. I had met her once before investigating the losses and jewelry. And once met, Fran Maitland was not easily forgotten. Let's hear your theories about life with me, Mr. Race. It might brighten my day. I've been bored. That's your trouble, baby. You get bored too easily and it takes a new man to snap you out of it. Are you volunteering, Race? For assignments like this, I never volunteer. I do not like your attitude, Race. I do. I love it. I'm finding you more and more intriguing, Race. Don't try too hard. I don't fit into your collection of oddities. I'm not an artiste like Boris. And I can't match Buzz Wescott's drawl. What do you mean by that, Race? I'll tell you what he means. He means I've been riding with Wescott while you've been chasing after Sylvia Turner. She's younger than I am, Boris, darling. But she doesn't have any money. Her husband won't settle a dime. Well, I can see you two lovebirds have a lot to discuss. Excuse me. Mark and I had only one interest, keeping an eye on Olga Petrov. And we avoided the rest of the guests until night came. It was Mara Wescott who broke up a dull evening for us by taking us for a ride in her helicopter. I do this every once in a while at night. Check up on Russeling. You know, I don't see how he can spot him from up here. You've got a powerful spotlight. Just have to shine it down when I see something suspicious going on. Can see part of the herd up ahead there. You see him in the moonlight? Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. When we get over him, we'll lie at all. Hey, what a gimmick, huh? You think the Texas Rangers would give up their ponies and learn to fly things like these instead, huh? I'll hang right over him now. Turn on that light. Where'd you race? Sure. Look at that. He ain't scared or anything. I've seen a light from way up here. Mark, there used to a thing called the sun. It comes up every morning. Yeah, yeah, you're right. The horse is... Yes, and he saddled. Hey, stand up by something. What is it? I don't know, but we'd better go down and find out. Ma Westcott set the helicopter down and we walked around the herd to where the horse stood. The animal was nuzzling the thing we had seen on the ground. It was the body of a woman. I knelt over her. A pointed branding iron had been stabbed through her throat. It was Sylvia Turner and she was dead. It was Frank Race in just about one minute. Now, back to the adventures of Frank Race. Sylvia Turner had had her last drink and her last heartache. Mark stood guard over the body while Ma Westcott and I flew back to the ranch house to call the authorities. There wasn't much to be done, so I went to the cottage to turn in. Don't go in, Race. It's a nice night. It was Rocky again. But this time he wasn't playing it on the physical side. He was using science, the science of a deadly automatic. It produced the desired chemical reaction. It dispelled my inclination to ignore him. I figured we might take a little walk down the road and I got a car there. We could take a spin in the night air. Who knows, might give you pneumonia. Or lead poisoning. That's a possibility. You're a cinch to catch a fatal disease. Like Sylvia Turner? I got a theory about her race. I think you killed her. I think I can clear myself. No. You and Sylvia had quite a beef today. You were trying to get romantic and broad daylight and they might have scratched you up a bit. Boris told me. You spent quite a yarn. It gets more interesting. Go ahead. She rides off. You wasn't around all afternoon, so it figures you followed her. I was in my cottage. Yeah, but the cops won't know that. You blew your top and killed it. You ought to change your brand whatever you're smoking. You can't sell that to the police. I ain't finished. I'm coming to the best part. You went for a plane ride, and who spotted the body? You. That is something a guy always does to cover up. Only after the call for the bulls goes up, you get nervous. So you hop into your rented car, which I have down by the road. You drive out to a lonely spot. Then you take this automatic, which also happens to be yours. I just lifted it, and you blow your brains out. Neat? Very neat. But there's one weak point. Yeah? What? Your chin! Give me that gun! You're here! Missed again. Come on, let it go! Into the bushes, Rocky! Grace, what is... Somebody with a long range rifle trying to get into the act. Keep low. Give me the gun back so I can blast. Who's back? Mind, keep low and stay happy. Whatever it is, took a party. It wouldn't stay around. Lights are going on in the other cottages. You're right. Now you can get lost, Rocky, and don't come back. You, my friend, are a real sweet pal. What's wrong, Marcus? Leave me out in that cactus with a dame who was in no condition to be company for me. And I'm coyote, sir Arlen. Well, thanks for lovely evening. It was fully as interesting here. Rocky had me set up for an obituary that would have blackened the family escutcheon. Talk English. You think Rocky croaked the dame? I don't know. Anybody could have done it. There are too many people and too many reasons. Even Robert Towner is a possibility. Sylvia's husband, he might be around some place, but he's very unlikely. Why? Because he'd have no reason to be taking rifle shots at me or Rocky. I've got to find out who was behind that rifle, who they were shooting at and why. You know something? We toss this crown into our mixed master. We could whip up a dilly of a cake. Mark, tomorrow we start a mingle with the guests. Sooner or later, one of them will make a mistake. The next morning a tennis match got underway and I found myself teamed in the doubles with Fran Maitland. Our opponents were Olga and Boris Petrov. Nice recovery race. These are tough opponents. Watch it. Got it. Very good, Fran. And I get this race. That was a beautiful shot. That's the set for us. Congratulations. You are still very good, Ray. We had a win. I don't think I could leap that net as easily as you and Boris do it. It seems to me it's time for a little liquid refreshment. I'll go back to ski shooting in the future. It's less strenuous. Who is that on the horse? He comes like the pictures of the Pony Express. It's Buzz Westcott. Looks like there's something wrong. Hold on. You may have better come help me. We've got to get a wagon. What's happened? It's at Mr. Rockland. I found him out on a range. You've been shot. The bullet had gone through Big Rocky's back. And if he had known who fired it, it was knowledge he'd never pass on. He was dead. But his demise filled in one bit of information. He, and not I, had been the target of the long-range rifle of the night before. How long you reckon he's been dead, Ray? I should say, since early this morning, about 5 a.m. Anybody who's conscious of that hour deserves to be shot. How can you say such a thing? Have you no heart? Well, gosh. All right, Sven Golly. This is no place to be choosing upsides. You fought with him yesterday. Did you not, Ray? That I did, Boris. And I may fight with you today if you don't get out of the way and keep quiet. Look at this wound, Westcott. I won't bother it. Entered the back between the shoulder blades and came out through the stomach. It follows a downward course. Does that have a significance, Ray? Yes. It means that the shot might have been fired by somebody mounted. Might have come from the top of that hill there, too. That's possible. Here comes Marl. Must have told her at the ranch. All of you. Get off the ranch and get back to the ranch and stay there. Mrs. Westcott, there's no point in blaming anybody for this until we... I ain't blaming anybody but myself, Mr. Ray's. I never locked this guest business and I'm closing it down today. Now I want everybody off the place by sundown. Now wait a minute. I reckon I got something to say about that. Well, you just reckon again. This ranch is mine until I die and I ain't close to that yet. You don't like it? You can clear off through the rest. Now load them on the wagon and follow me. I'll go with you, Mrs. Westcott. I don't need an extra hand, Mr. Ray's. You can go back with your friends. I don't want you to put them off the ranch just yet. If you do, the murderer may never be caught. That's none of my affair. I ain't the sheriff. No, but you're a suspect. Mind explaining that? The shot that killed Rockland was fired from a point above and behind him. It could have been fired by a rider or from the top of a hill. It also had been fired from a helicopter. I'd have to have a reason, wouldn't I? Your son might have been the reason. You told him to stay away from the guests. Sylvia Towner fluctuated between loneliness and hysteria. Maybe Buzz was getting involved with her. That wouldn't make me kill Mr. Rockland. It's always easy to tie up a second murder if you have a motive for the first. Sort of got me crowd, haven't you, Mr. Ace? I don't like it, but that's the way it is. All right. I'll meet you halfway. Everybody can stay for 24 hours. Listen, Ray, see you off your rocker. What do you want to go riding the night for? Just setting yourself up like a clay pigeon. It's the only way to play it. We have a much time. You go into the house and just drop a hint that I've discovered something that may force a move. Yeah, like the move Big Rocky got. He rode out of here too when he'd come back very unhealthy. Yes, he did, but... What's the matter? Rode out of here. Did he ride out? There was no horse near him and it was too far for him to walk. I don't get it. He was packed out, Mark. He was killed here and carried out there. Get your flashlight out. Open that corral gate. Yeah, yeah. Look. What are you looking for? There's just a chance. I'll show you if I find it. One side, boy. Come here, fella. Come here. All right, Mark. Hold the light close. Yeah, yeah. No. Try that drone there. Yeah, sure. But if you don't need to tell the... Yeah. Here it is. Look. All right. It's always got a straight good going on him. So what? It isn't dirt, Marcus. It's blood, dried blood on his hide. And now I know I'm a steak. What's that? I was looking for one murderer and there were two, or rather there were two. You mean Rocky was one of them? Yes. He killed Sylvia to keep her away from Boris. He was safe. There were other suspects with good motives. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But who? Bob Rocky? We'll know within the hour. You're still going to spread a little propaganda in the ranch house. All right, sure. Tell him that Rockland wasn't killed on the range. Tell them I'm checking the scene of the murder. Yeah, but, race, you don't know where... Yes, I do. Rocky was killed in his own cottage. That explains the course of the bullet. He was in bed asleep and the murderer fired the rifle from the window above the head of the bed. All right, John, let's go to Redmond. I'll stake myself out in his cottage. Go past the word. Race? I'm here, Fran. Couldn't we have a little light? We don't need it, baby. It's more romantic this way. Besides, I found what I was seeking. What did you find, Race? I dug a rifle slug out of Rocky's mattress. It was clever of you to change the linens. What made you suspect me? Rocky was a rough customer. Your infatuation with Boris was wearing thin. You wanted to dump him. That didn't gel with Rocky's plan, so he made threats, but you beat him to the gun. I'm a determined woman. You should get to know me better. I don't think I'd get to know you for very long, though. My divorce settlement is quite liberal, Race. I might make you forget a lot of things. Money and me. That should be a tempting combination. Money and you are tempting. But I imagine there's a rather forbidden pistol in your hand, isn't there? Yes. I tried to be more clever the last time. The rifle seemed to be a rather unlikely weapon for a woman to use. Not for you, Fran. You made a mistake. You mentioned ski-tuning as one of your favorite pastimes. Why don't you move out of the shadows, Race? They give you a better shot? That might make it quick and painless. I have some bad news for you, Fran. Mark Donovan steered you here deliberately. And right at this moment, he's outside the window drawing a bead on you through the screen. That's right, Sister. Oh, you... Oh! Help me. Take it easy, Fran. I only met the winger. That's all you did. She's fainted. She'll lift a stand trial. Why are you... She'll get that alga-dame out of her pickle. I wonder, Mark. Boris has nobody to run to now. So he'll stick to her for a while. It'll give her a chance to be miserably happy for a little longer. Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean. But, uh... Race, will you tell me something? I should be delighted, old boy. Look, look, look. Why did a nice thing always marry Heald? That is one of the mysteries of life, Mark. One of the major mysteries of life. The Adventures of Frank Race, starring Paul Dubov with Tony Barrett as Mark Donovan comes to you from Hollywood. Others heard in tonight's cast were Lynn Allen, Charlotte Lawrence, Alice Drake, Michael Ann Barrett, and Tom Holland. This series is written and directed by Buckley Angel and Joel Murcott. The music is composed and played by Ivan Dittmarz. 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.