 Adventure, intrigue, mystery, romance, starring Humphrey Volgaard. Together in the sultry setting of Tropical Havana, and the mysterious islands of the Caribbean, magic names of Humphrey Volgaard, all of mystery and intrigue. Mr. John Bradford's place is back down the beach. Is that a way? Thank you very much. You've been most kind. Oh, you can't miss the Bradford home. It's whole front wall facing the ocean is made out of glass. You'll find it. I'm sure I will. Thanks again. Good morning. See, I told you so, Slate. Take a walk on the beach early in the morning. You meet all sorts of interesting people. Now take her, for example. Who? Her, that woman walking toward us. It's interesting to think about people like her. For instance, why is she wearing a fur coat on a hot day like today? Mink yet? Wait a minute, Sailor. What? She looks dazed. Something's wrong with her. Well, that mink, it should happen to me. Hey. Watch it, lady. You'll walk right into us. Pardon me. Pardon me. Pardon me. Something wrong? Can we help you? Grab a state. She's playing. I got her. Here, put your arm around my neck. I'll carry you over to the shade. You'll be all right. Don't worry about a thing. Put it down here, Slate. Help me. Who are you? Where do you live? We'll take you home. Help me. I'll look in her pocketbook, Slate. Maybe she's got some identification. Here's a wallet. Look. She's Velma Bradford. Well, go get our jeep, Sailor. We'll. Slate, look. Here in her purse, a knife. There's blood on it, Slate. Help me. Help me. Don't you understand English, Sailor? Get the jeep. What's your name, Mrs. Bradford? Someone here who can take care of you? John, my husband, he does things for me. He'll know what to do. There were those other times I got like this. He knew just what to do. Ring the bell, Slate. No. My key, it's in the purse. Just open the door. Maybe I can have a little time alone before John sees me like this. My key is in the purse. Here it is, Slate. You found it. It's your problem. What to do with it? Funny, funny, man. Hey. Come in. All of you, please come in. You and your ideas, Slate. I stick a key in the door and up pops a policeman. You and you type welcome out, Miss Al. We will discuss me and the other things inside. Please. Who are you? What are you doing in our house? You are the Senora John Bradford. What are you doing in our house? I asked you, Senora. Back up, Miss Al. Mrs. Bradford isn't well. We found her wandering on the beach. She'd lost her. Inside will be caused you to tell me. The ocean breeze plays ping-pong with my sinuses. Please. You were saying me, Senor Shannon, how it is that of all the people in the world, it is you and the Senorita Duval who are at this moment with this woman. Did I say you all that? All I remember I said was we found Mrs. Bradford wandering on the beach, dazed and sick. We looked in her purse, found something in it, besides her identity. Show it. If I've done something evil, I want him to see it. Easy, honey. Here it is, the salve. A knife with new blood upon it. Thank you for it. And now I have something to show you in the bedroom. Come. You will lead the way, Mrs. Bradford. If I did that man who lies in his blood as John Bradford, your husband, Senora, the man who sits quietly in a chair and shakes his head at us sympathetically, you can identify him too, Mrs. Bradford. Leave the girl alone. She never saw me before. I told her when you opened the door to me, all I know about this family was wrapped up in the husband John. Hey, you're the guy on the beach who asked how to get here. I killed him. No more sick wife. No more acting tender to me. No more treating me like a man who overloads me. Help me with our shenan, Ms. Doval. Help me with it till we get her to the police hospital. She's really sick, Lissal. Be gentle with her. It is the motto of my department, Ms. Doval. Be gentle with murderesses. Who knows whom and when they will kill again. Come, help. I brought you flowers. Sweet fairy, what would you bring me if I were really sick? I'll whisper it to you sometime. How'd you get in here, Larry? I told the cops outside the story again. I was a friend of your husband's. I am too. Now that he's dead. Now that you've killed him, Larry, let's not mix that up with anything else. I want you always remember that you killed him and I'm confessing that I did it. It'll work out, darling. You've got a record of mental illnesses. I'm cured. Yes, but there's the record. They can't do anything to you. A mental institution for a year or so... It won't be any longer than that, will it, Larry? All that money. The processing plant. Mine. You're glad, aren't you? What your husband did to me at Puente Pondry? A thing worries me, Larry. That man and girl you talked to on the beach, Shannon and Mr. Val. I asked him how to get to your house, as if I'd never been there before. Don't worry about anything. Try to get some sleep, Elma. It's been a hard morning. Mr. Slate, he walk on the sugar-white sand Hold a lady sailor by her delicate hand To man who ask directions, they quote Then wander at lady who walk in mean coat Look in her purse, silver knife they find Blood on the blade is enough to blind Bring lady home, police open the door Her husband, he dead on the carpeted floor You think she killed him, sailor? You ask like you don't believe us. I put a question on the table. You want to pick it up and answer it or you just want to let it lay there? The sailor believes she killed her husband. She believes she killed him. Who am I to fight an organization like that? If you ask my opinion, Mr. Slate... Now go ahead, King. You think Mrs. Bradford killed her husband? What I think is that in the darkness that swirls and mists in the brain of such as this lost woman, there are many images that have been dreamed and for which the wish of fulfillment is so strong that sometimes what has not happened is believed to have happened simply because the dream wish was so strong when it does happen. Yeah. Yes, sir, you're right. I never heard a man so right, so clear in his opinions. One more question and it'll tie it up for me, King. You think Mrs. Bradford killed her husband? Slate, what's the matter with you? You asked King a simple question. He gave you a simple answer. He said, uh... Hmm... He said... Yeah, what'd he say, bright girl? What'd he say? I don't know, beats me. I will put it another way. I, uh... No, you save it, King. Take good care of it. Kick around a delicate thing like that and it'll... Shannon's place, Shannon speaking. The sky blue trailer in Paradiso Cove. Come to it, senior. You selling used trailers, not in the market, kid. I got a jeep, a boat, a guitar playing quiz, kid. Who needs a trailer? You will need me who is in it. Pedro Montez. You will need me tonight to tell you about me, about sponges, about coral reefs that vanish, about the woman you found wandering on the beach, about... Ah, who can wait for the finish? Be right over, Pedro. Don't wait up for me, sailor. Guy on the phone got a thousand and one things to tell me. You are, senior Shannon. That's right, and you're... Pedro Montez, coming quickly. Por favor, sit down. Ah, what's all this about, Pedro? Senior, this will take a long time to tell. Sit. Now, let's get with it, Buster. I don't hike all the way down here to sit in a bucket inside a trailer. What's on your mind? It is of the murder of senior John Bradford. Now, what about it? This thing, what happened earlier this morning, goes back a long time to the fishing for sponges. Senior, I am frightened for what happened at 20 pottery and what happened until negrity. You would not believe... Sailor! What's the trailer looking for me? Uh-uh, happened to you. Hell, you'd see what this gunbot just did to you. Leave me alone, will you, sailor? You've been up my battered head for two hours now. Soft skull like yours takes time to mold back into shape. Besides, when I'm through with it, it'll look much jazzier. Here, let me plump up this flat part some more. I'll take your hands off it. I came with that. Didn't you recognize the man who beat you up, Slade? I told you it was dark. He came from behind me. But he talked to you first. Couldn't you recognize his voice? He talked in a whisperer. Could you recognize a man who whispered in your ear in the dark, sailor? I'd never forget him. I cherish him always. Hey, look what we got. We got an inspector. You come to issue a license, aren't Slade's beating up headless earl? I come for single Shannon's dirty thumb. Huh? Tell me it's just that I'm in shock, sailor. Your soil thumb, please, on this ink pad. And now, on this paper. Thank you. And here is a tissue to wipe the thumb clean. You short on fingerprints. It headquartered for sale. Oh, I've got oodles and boodles of them. But none that matches the prints on the gun that killed Pedro Montez. But now I have. Lucky me, huh? What are you talking about? The man was killed last night. Look at this photograph through my magnifying glass on your head. Is it not remarkable? Al Shannon's prints are exact same as prints on the photo of murder gun? Let me look, too, huh? Oh, the salad proves nothing. All you got is. All I got is a murderer. Lucky me. Unlucky you. Don't bother to banage his head anymore, senorita. In a short little time, this murderer will feel no pain. Free Bull Guard and Lauren Bacall and the second act of our story. The police tonographer who takes confessions of murderers is a thing for wind in the hair. Wind, huh? In her summer dress, she knows what side her tortillas butted on, huh, Salzi? The police tonographer is a he, senorita. When he comes in in a minute, you will see he is a he, honest. I'm happy for him. He's going to get wind in his hair. But whose confession will he be taking while he's sitting in your lap? Yours, Shannon. While at the Spanish-speaking typewriter on the desk there, fire from me. What'll I be confessing to? The murder of Pedro Montez. First, it is known that you were at the trailer of Pedro Montez at Paradiso Cove. Second, the gun that killed him is muddy with your fingerprints. Third, is why did you kill him? And we got a three act play complete with retribution for a murderer, you. I told you before. He called me. Said he knew something about Mrs. Bradford about a coral reef, about sponges. Sponges? That is curious. Mr. Bradford, whom his wife murdered, was a tycoon of sponges. Fished for them at Puente Padre and squeezed that money into his pockets. Gawley, that's an interesting footnote to the events of the day. Mind if I write it down in my memory book, Lissalle? Go on, Shannon. You are fascinating all of me. Well, I really warm up, kid. I'll drive you crazy. Pedro mentioned Puente Padre in another place, Teen Agri. Something frightened him there, he said. Well, maybe there's a connection. Maybe whoever killed Pedro knows something about Bradford's murder that a sick wife can't confess to. Maybe. Pardon me. Pardon. I wish to go to the windows and think about it. I think, and I think, and all I get is I got my back to you. Let's escape to Puente Padre, huh, server? Slate, you got out of your mind. Puente Padre. That's where we're escaping to. Hear that, Lissalle? I said. They're hole in my head. Don't make me ashamed of you, Shannon. Shannon swears it after you, fugitive. Wheelchair lady? Me. They teach you good, eh, Velma? Put you in a wheelchair, roll you out on the prison hospital porch so you can sleep in the sun. I told you, honey, there's nothing they won't do for a sick girl. Why did you stay away so long? A thing came up. What thing could keep you away from me? Call Shannon. Remember Shannon? I warned you about him, Mary. The boy slipped away from the police, took his boat to Puente Padre. The gas station on the docks points with pride to his tab. To anyone who asks. And him, a murderer of my buddy Pedro Montez. Mary, he'll do no such thing, honey. Because I'm flying down to Puente Padre, get their way ahead of him. Fix it so he can't do anything, except lie in state in a mortician's parlor. Kiss me goodbye, honey. I'm late for work. Oh, Slade, I love you. This is the best idea you've had this year. You like this night swimming, huh? Nuts, boy. That's why we came all the way to Puente Padre, huh? Good dip. The salt water's better for a gargle. We came here to see people at that sponge processing plant. It won't open till morning. Hey, sailor, watch this overhand side stroke. Still good as new, huh? Lifty. You know what they call me in pepita? Conny-taro. You know what that means? Fish head. That's right. I'll tell you something else, sailor, when it comes to... What are you looking at? That man poised on the rocks over there with a spear. Doesn't he make a beautiful silhouette? Oh, it makes you so hysterical about a spear, Fisher. They're just characters without enough IQ to thread a worm on a hook. Those guys, sailor, watch it. That crazy fool, he tried to spear us. Stay here, sailor. I'm going after him. Wait for me. Oh, forget it. He had a dinghy with an outboard motor in the other side of those rocks. Did you recognize him? How could I? He was standing with his back toward us and then turned. But I know a thing, sailor. Maybe we're going to find out why we wanted dead in Puente Padre. You, senor, and senorita, have been issued into my office so early in the morning. I give you hello. But what is it that you wish? The man at the gate said your name was Pollo, and that you were the manager of this processing plant. The biggest processing plant of sponges in this section of Cuba, a tribute to the genius of the lamented Mr. Bradford. And his manager Pollo. I give you thanks. How do you accept? Been with Mr. Bradford for a long time? Since before five years. Since before this plant was constructed as a tribute to the genius of the lamented. And Mr. Bradford's body, huh? I accept the compliment. Not only that, I will prove it to you. Come to the wall. This picture on the wall, the arm about my shoulder, belongs to Mr. Bradford. This is for a reason. I financed the exposition which led him to the discovery of the sponge plant. And for this he made you manager of his sponges? Si, senorita. Pollo is happy to state that Pollo. There are two other men in this picture, Pollo. In the background, see, these two guys know him. By standards, I have assumed, my business was with the lamented Mr.... Uh-huh. The shot looks like it came out of a newspaper. Did it? Si, of the newspaper of Santiago de Cuba. It was taken at a party at which I bade farewell to the late lamented Mr. Bradford. Before he took my boat and his genius to discover... Thanks a lot, Pollo. Wasn't he just spongy, Slate? A real educational tour, Slate. A spongy and 20-part van. Now we're sitting in a newspaper office in Santiago waiting for an edit. So you recognize the picture of those two men with Bradford. So... You recognized one of them, didn't you? Sure. The guy who asked directions on the beach. The guy who was at Bradford's house sitting in an easy chair when we brought Mrs. Bradford home. And that doesn't tweak you, huh? What's to tweak? And I'll tell you who the other man in the picture was. Pedro Montez. The guy I was supposed to have murdered. Did you just get a tweak? I have found the information you have asked for, senorita. Please, come into my office. This is the print of the picture, no? Yeah, that's it. I have pulled the files on the news story. The story concerns Senor Bradford who went looking for sponge beds. And what about the other two men? Senors Montez and then Americano Larry Nolan. They were with him on the expedition. This was learned when Senor Bradford returned three months later, Bradford said these two men were drowned. Uh-huh. Tell me one other thing. Did you ever hear of a place called Tinagri? A fable. A coral reef 20 miles up, one day Padre that is said to appear and disappear into and out of the ocean. Has anybody ever seen it? Some say they have, but I have not. What I do not see is not for believing. That is why I'm a great editor. What are you going to do when we get our boat back to Havana, Slade? Up to LaSalle and tell them the whole story. Larry Nolan, huh? Killer. I figure it that way. Mrs. Bradford is taking his rap. I take yours? Oh, she got a crazy ax sailor. Maybe it's real, maybe it's not. I don't know. It's real enough for our purpose. Well, Larry Nolan, welcome aboard, killer. Thanks. I've been aboard all the time. If I had known you're going to be so friendly, I'd have crawled out of my hole before me and my gun. Three hours aboard this tub is enough to make a man homesick for land. We'll give you some land when we get back to Havana, Nolan. Did I skin you with that spear, Shannon? I haven't looked. I looked, nothing. Bradford left you on to an angry reef, didn't he, Larry? You and Pedro Montez left you to drown. Can you imagine a man doing that? Just because he struck it rich and was afraid we'd horn on him. But she got off the reef before it sank again. Got back to Havana, bided my time. Mrs. Bradford helped me to bide it. She's quite a helper. Like the idea of killing your husband like anything. Little Pedro Montez could have loused it, huh? So he had to go. You and him. You still got to go, Shannon. You and her. You two kitties are going over the side. Slate's a corny tower, but it's 30 miles to shore. He's not that good. You either. Me either. Jump if you don't want to get bloody. Let's go, sailor. Just because you say so, Slate. Well, okay, Slate? Sure. Take it easy with that overhand side stroke, honey. We've got a long way. Keep swimming, sailor. I'll see you in a little while. I forgot to give something to Larry Nolan. So with a key, Larry. Shannon. Come and get it, baby. My gun. Try this. Right. Hands out of the pocket, Buster. No guns allowed. I can't find you in my light. Sailor, where are you? In back of you, knucklehead. How'd you get on the boat? Swam underwater after you, climbed on after you. What were you doing during the fight? Gaping. Now, come on, sailor. I'll take you home. What were you doing in the South Seas in Perpet? Oh, it was beached there. Did you like it? Who wouldn't? The natives made me a moro-tiki. Oh, is that how you got to be one? A moro-tiki is a blood brother. That's quite an honor. A conitaro, a moro-tiki. That spells blood brother fish head. Come here, Slate. Anything in the South Seas that beats that? Well, or that? Slate, I'm talking to you. Slate? Oh, numb, huh? Hold still, honey. I'll bring you back to life. Come here. And so our two stars, Humphrey Bulgard and Lauren Bacall, have brought to a close our latest bold venture story. Special music was composed and conducted by David Rose. May we invite you to listen again next week at this time for another exciting adventure starring Humphrey Bulgard and Lauren Bacall, together in.