 Good evening, creeps. It's mystery playhouse time. Tonight, a whistle-blower-strain story is kept and run. Night for San Francisco, almost too quiet. The fog, drifting in from the Pacific, had hung laterally over the city streets at first. Then settled down heavily, thicker and thicker, blotting out everything. There was something ominous about it, even to an old San Franciscan like Hillary Gaines. And although he wouldn't admit it even to himself, he was wavering. Mildred's nervousness when he'd stop by to pick her up made it worse. Here it was, he kept telling himself, the moment they've both been waiting for, planning for, anticipating for so many months. The moment when she'd make the break with her husband once and for all. Pack her bag, and go away with Hillary. Yet something felt wrong somewhere. Maybe it was the fog or the stillness. All right, Hillary. I guess we're ready. I'd put your bags in back there. Did you leave the note? Yes. You ought to be home any minute. Probably in a bar somewhere. Come on. Let's go. Oh. Well? What's the matter? I don't know. Oh, now wait a minute. Mildred dear. I have the same disheveling somehow. I'm afraid, Hillary. Oh, don't be ridiculous. Afraid of what? Just him. I don't know. Neither do I. Come on, come on. Now get in. You better roll up that window. The fog's beginning to roll in. Just had a case of nerve. You're excited. I don't know. I keep feeling something's going to happen. Something has happened. You've left that no good husband of yours. You've played nursemaid for six years, and now it's over. Yes, it's over. What a way to end it. Sneaking off like this, leaving a note on the dining room table. What's wrong with that? Well, I might have been more of a broadboard. Oh, forget it, Mildred. You don't owe him a thing. No, I guess I don't. Maybe I should have had it out with him. Told him I was leaving him. Then what a divorce. Do you think we're doing the right thing? Oh, for the love of Mike Mildred, we've had this out a dozen times. I don't want to go over it all again. I'm sorry, dear. I didn't know I was going to feel like this. You're still not sure, huh? Okay, if you're not sure you want to go through with it. If you want to go back to that no good heel, I'll take you back. No, no, Hillary, I don't want to go back. Then what do you want? Can't we do it some other way? As long as you don't know what you want. You're going back? If there ever is a next time, make sure you know what you want. Blasted fog, I can't see. Low down, Hillary. What time is it? It's five to seven. What time does George get home? Oh, seven usually. We might make it. Now that you're going back, I just as soon he didn't see that note. Oh, good heavens, I forgot all about it. It's probably home by now. I know it. Oh, Hillary. Say we killed him on purpose. Chance on a hit-and-run charge and to face the police and the prying neighbors. And try to explain that it was pure coincidence that caused you to run down Tommy Hardwick, a few blocks from his home. Pure coincidence that you happened to be riding with his wife, Mildred, at the time. Yes, it flashes through your mind during the few seconds you and she stand there in the fog looking down at him. And you think it over carefully as you lead her back to the car and take her home. You'd better sit down for a minute. Did it really happen, Hillary? Did we do it? Did he dance? Take it easy, dear. It's got to be all right. It doesn't seem real. Looking down at him lying in the mud. You may as well face it. There's only one way out. Somebody must have seen it. No one saw us. Now listen, we've got to play it straight. What? Here's what you've got to do. And his way home. He's over an hour late now and he has a telephone. Headquarters. Something wrong? Mind if I come in? Good job, Mrs. Hardwick. Sometimes I think I ought to be in the haberdashery business or something. Did you come to here and tell me that? No, I came to tell you that...that... Can you take it? Tell me. He was killed tonight by a hit-and-run driver. Killed? Yeah, a man and a woman. What? I'm sorry, Mrs. Hardwick. Believe me, I'm not going to rest until we hook those two and throw the book at them. A man and a woman? Yeah, and a club coupe, we think. Having about eight blocks from here. They ran into him in the fog, stopped, got out, looked him over, then got back in the car and drove away. Someone saw them? Yeah, two people saw them. A lady in the apartment on the corner heard this crash and saw them out of her window. Couldn't tell much in the fog, but she gave us something to go on anyway. Why doesn't she...? She was in the shower. What about the other one? That's what makes us think there's something haywire somewhere. She saw them stop, pulled up alongside a parked car. They ran back, checked the body, and then drove off. Ten seconds later, the lights in the parked car go on, and it drives off too. Oh! Yes, it surprised me. Our prized witness was still sitting in that parked car all the time and he hasn't showed up yet. But don't worry, Mrs. Hardwick, there isn't much we can do about your husband, but we're sure going to nail that guy and his girlfriend. Yeah, we'll make the inquest business as easy as possible for you. I'll call you tomorrow. Thank you, Mr. Knoll. Okay. I know how you feel. By the way, I'd call up a friend or something. It's a bum time to be alone. Thanks. Good night, Mrs. Hardwick. Good night. The street was wet. Probably got tire tracks. Well, it worked. They know everything. Wait a minute. That woman in the shower, she couldn't have seen much in the fog. But what about me? Yes, the guy in the parked car. How will we ever find him? Don't worry about that, baby. He's probably going to find us. The man in the parked car is a problem, isn't he? It's obvious he saw everything. He was close enough to even see your license number in the fog. Close enough to hear what you and Mildred said to each other before you drove off. For the next day or two, you can feel the sword hanging over you and you tense yourself waiting for it to drop. But strangely enough, nothing happened. The inquest goes off without a hitch. The woman in the shower offers nothing in addition to her original statement. You have a dent in your fender repaired, managed to find four secondhand tires, and you dispose of the ones on your car. A few more days pass. You begin to relax a little. Perhaps the man in the parked car has reasons for keeping out of it. Being involved as a material witness. Yes, maybe that's it. Then a week later, you're sitting at your desk at the office when... Baldwin? I don't know anybody by that name. What does he want? He says it's about insurance. I'll tell him I have plenty of insurance. I did. He says it's extremely important. Confounded? Wait a minute. What kind of insurance? Just... I see. Send him in. I apologize for intruding, Mr. Gaines. I realize you're a busy man. Oh, thank you. To set you straight, Mr. Baldwin, I'm already insured up to the hill. My lawyer advises me uncovered for all possible contingencies. Of course, of course. My card, Mr. Gaines. I've been connected for some years with the Valley Indemnity, a most reliable company. And in addition to the coverage the company offers, I do a little underwriting on the side. You see, although the insurance business is one of our oldest and most venerable professions, we have yet to devise a policy which covers all risks. What do you mean by that? The human factor, Mr. Gaines, is one that no one has ever been able to reduce to statistics. And consequently, is a risk no company can afford to underwrite. Oh, will you please be specific? Well, you're obviously a man under pressure, Mr. Gaines. I daresay you're in need of the type of coverage I'm offering you at this very moment. You see, I'll protect you from loss resulting from, well, shall we say, hasty and unwise decisions. Now, see here. Just a moment, Mr. Gaines. To be specific, the decision you and Mrs. Hardwick made the other night at 15th and Maple Street, I happened to be there at the time and I said to myself, now there's a man who needs insurance. I see. And what's the premium? I thought you'd understand. Of course, I'll write up our customary public liability policy. That's about $30. And the premiums on the other coverage run rather high, Mr. Gaines. Yes, I expect they do. Shall we say $470? That makes it an even $500 in all. And how long does the coverage last? Well, I've been thinking for some time about changing my connections. They tell me there's lots of opportunities in South America. When are you leaving? Very soon, I hope. So do I. All right, Mr. Baldwin, I'll buy your policy. And I hope you're not kidding about South America. How much do you want this time? $2,000. I won't pay it. You would pay it, however, if you had my assurance that this is the last time? Yes, I expect I would. Very well. You have my word. I'll drop by this afternoon for the cash. Now, an oil well is one of the most profitable of investments, Mr. Gaines, and I'm sure you'll find this venture a wise one when you consider the future, of course. Oh, by the way, I expect to be leaving next week. $2,300. Congratulations, Mr. Gaines, your part owner of the house. This is mine. It's too bad in a way that I've had to postpone my trip to South America until Friday, but so much the better for you. My office. Now wait a moment, Mr. Gaines. I'll kill you. I knew you'd come to that eventually, so I made provision for it. You see, I've written a complete account of the unfortunate affair at 15th and Maple Streets to be opened and read publicly in the event of my death. You've thought of everything, haven't you? I'm pleased to think so. Now, I think it would be rather unwise for you to make another unfortunate decision, don't you? Especially in view of my projected trip to South America. You're helpless, aren't you, Hillary? There's no way out now. You change inwardly as the thing goes on. What was anger and outrage have turned into fear. Mr. Baldwin's periodic visits have made quite a dent in your assets, haven't they, Hillary? Today isn't far off and there'll be nothing left to pay him. If you could only get your hands on the account he's written, the protection he's provided for himself. Yes, you'd kill him if it weren't for that, wouldn't you, Hillary? Then at last you get a lucky break. I know where it is, Mildred. I found out where it is. What? The account he's written. The thing that's going to be opened if he dies. Where is it? In a bank on Market Street. I saw him today and followed him. In a safe deposit box, I'm sure of it. What good does that do us? He keeps the key on it. I was standing in the crowd when he took it out of his pocket and went in the gate. Huh! Hillary, you're not going... Never mind, Mildred. Let me make that decision. I made that decision already, haven't you, Hillary? You've known for weeks that there was only one way out. And the moment you saw him walk into the safe deposit department in the bank on Market Street, you decided to take the chance. You follow him home a few days later. Note the garage where he keeps his car. Watch him if he walks the block and a half to his apartment on the other side of the street. That's important, isn't it, Hillary? He lives on the other side of the street from the garage. You were careful to notice he wasn't recognized as sight by the guard at the bank and gathered that he hasn't been in the city long enough to be known. That fits too, doesn't it? So it's all planned carefully when he calls you a few days later. Now, first of all, Mr. Gaines, I want to impress on you that I have my reservations. I'm leaving Monday for South America. Yes, of course. Now, there are a few matters I'd like to clear up before I leave. I must submit your insurance policy, of course. And then... Then there's the matter of the radium. Oh, it's radium this time. Yes, an exploration company I'm incorporating. I'm sure you'll be interested, Mr. Gaines. I'll call on you sometime tonight. Look, if you don't mind, I'd rather call on you. Will you be home tonight? I expect to be home later in the evening. What time? About 10 or so. A reason for this, Mr. Gaines. Yes, a very important one. I'll explain when I arrive. I... Apartment 308. All right, Baldwin. I'll be there. 10 o'clock. No clock. You're sitting in the coffee shop across the street from the garage in which Mr. Baldwin leaves his car. You thank your lucky stars for the weather. The fog has rolled in again, making it difficult to see clearly more than 100 feet. Promptly at 9.45, you see his car roll into the garage entrance. And two minutes later, you're sitting at the wheel of your car waiting for him to come out. Suddenly, you recognize him as he comes out the plump figure, the rolling walk. You wait until he gets halfway up the block, about to cross, and then... Good thing you stopped, though. I'd hate to see you pull hit and run after it was all his fault. Huh? Oh, these dumb pedestrians. What was that? I don't have to take your name, of course. I'll have to check. Will I be held for much? No, don't worry about it, mister. I saw the whole thing. Guy stepped out from behind a parked car in the middle of the block. No, we won't have to hold you. Wasn't it, Hillary? You can't help wondering about the unbelievable stroke of luck that night as you set Baldwin's driver's license before you and practiced his signature over and over again. Ten times a hundred, a thousand. Finally, you're ready now for your visit to the safe deposit box tomorrow. Excuse me, please. Pardon me, sir. Yes, sir? Uh, George Baldwin, box 1438. Okay. Sign here, please. You got your key? Yeah, yeah. 1438. Now, let me see. I got a note here. A what? Give me a minute here. All right, here it is. It's about the rental on the box, three and a half, two on the 15th of last month. Oh, well, I'll take care of it right away. Must have slipped my mind. Okay. That's great, please. Yeah, thank you. Can you take any one of those boots over there? Oh, thanks. I'm going to be opened in the event of my death. On the night of May 10th, I witnessed a hit-and-run accident at the intersection of 15th and Maple Streets and which flank heaven. Aren't they, Hillary? It isn't hard to find answers for the routine questions they ask you at headquarters. You obeyed the laws of the letter, didn't you? Stopped immediately, did everything you could for the victims, cooperated with the officer? You're sure now that they can't touch you, now that the letter marked to whom it may concern is gone, the wallet and the keys disposed of. Mr. Baldwin has been paid off, hasn't he, Hillary? The only currency he understood. But a week later, when you drop by to see Mildred, you find her a little skeptical. Hillary, you shouldn't have come. You know we agreed it was best to stay apart until Mr. Baldwin... Don't worry about Mr. Baldwin, Mildred. I told you he won't be back. But how can you be sure? He's a chronic liar. Everything he's told you, everything he's told you... I told you he's true. I had it out with him once and for all. No, I don't believe it. He'll be back. He won't stop until you've given him every penny you have. Mildred, please, forget Mr. Baldwin, will you? How can I? He's ruined everything. Who's that? I don't know. Answer it. I'll be in the bedroom. Mr. Nolan. I'd like to talk to Mr. Gaines, if you don't mind. But Mr. Gaines... He's here. I saw him come in. Tell him it's time I got all evening. Hillary! Talk to you. What's the matter? Just checking further into the death of Mr. Baldwin the other night. What? I thought you'd be surprised, Mrs. Hardwick. At Gaines, we found something in Baldwin's pocket that might interest you. Here. That's an insurance policy. The report said you claimed you didn't know him, Gaines. This policy's made out to you. I guess I didn't recognize him. Sure. Well, I... A little funny thing. He puts his car in the public garage, locks it, walks out, gets knocked over a half block away, and his keys are gone. Somebody got to him and took him, huh? Somebody who wanted the key to his safety pocket box. Oh, wait a minute. You have no right to make a mention. They know it was there because there was a notice in his pocket saying payment on the box was overdue. And what's that going to do with me? As a matter of fact, we checked the box, found that according to the timestamp on the bank slip, someone impersonating Baldwin visited the box. Sixteen hours after Baldwin died. Not for money, understand? He left that. He was after something else. Now, if you were in my shoes, Gaines, how would you add up that column of figures? How? He was shaking you down, wasn't he? Well, wasn't he? Okay. You have the right to act dumb if you want to, but you better talk fast to a smart lawyer, Mr. Gaines, because when you add a motive like blackmail to an accidental death, you get first-degree murder. We know the guy. We've been checking his record during the past few months, and we got a good idea he hit you for the biggest bite of all on the night he was killed. You see, a blackmailer is like a hit-and-run artist. The big bite comes just before he skips. And, oh, there was something else in Baldwin's pocket, Mr. Gaines. A ticket on the next ship to South America. Mr. Whistler? Well, this is how to get away from him. Good night. Sleep tight.