 The adventures of Sam Spade, detective. I hope to last for there's something terribly wrong with my typewriters. Looks okay to me. Those old models stand up, F. They don't make them like that nowadays. I could hope they don't. Somebody shot it. SQP again. No, the alphabet is all right, then. It's just the one key. One missing? No, but it's Sam. This one right here, Sam. Look it's the... the app and Sam. App makes sense. You want to eat it for this one? Come on in. Sam, wasn't I smart? I got the answer right away. The answer to what? That's what she referred to, Sam, as the whole castley-ribble. SQP to be exact. Well, I was tired. Of course you were. And besides, I was right here where I can see it, right off the window. The neon sign, Sam, over the missing drugstore. The ability, quality, purity, and a blink. Wasn't I smart? Wasn't I? I thought you were. But that isn't quite the answer. Well, then, what is that? All right, two Detective Lieutenant Dundee, homicide detail, San Francisco police from S. Spade, Leistner 137596, subject, the SQP caper. The minute she walked into my office, I smelled trouble. But it also smelled like $50 an ounce. She was small and brumette. Her eyes were large, appealing, and moist. But her pitch was disappointing. And now I realize that what he really came to San Francisco for was to be with her. This isn't the first time, Mr. Spade. There have been others. I don't know who this woman is, and I don't care. This time I intend to do something about it. They're registered at the Belvedere Hotel, and I want you to go with me and... Uh, just a moment, Mr. Spade. Yes? I think I know what you're leading up to. You want a detective to go with you and be a witness so you'll have grounds for the force, is that it? Yes. I can't go on any longer with a man I can't trust. Oh, it's so humiliating. Mr. Spade, please, I do sympathize with you. Honest, I do, but I can't take the job. After I've poured out my heart to you, expose myself. Oh, now, please, it's not as bad as that. It happens every day. It's just that I don't take the force, Kate. But I do know a detective who might help you. You'll be much better off with it. But I'm sure I'd feel much better with you. Uh, maybe after the force, Mrs. Spade. Patricia, my friends call me Tom. All right, Pat, I'll see what I can do. Still getting on? Uh, Tiny's still around, Judy. Tell him Sam's spade. Who is he, Mr. Spade? A friend of mine. House detective at the Belvedere, but he likes to pick up an extra fee now and then. Sam? Tiny? Sam? Tiny? Sam. Roger. Who? Look, uh, Tiny, I'll stop if you will. Oh, oh, Sam? Yes. What's with you? Yeah, I've got a guest in your register. Pierce, Donald, Mr. and Mrs. Oh, yeah, yeah, sure. I gave you the high sign on here. Pierce, yeah. Checked in alone, but registered for both, Sam. Said the wife would be along later, but it's okay, she finally got here. Yeah? Well, his wife is in my office now. Huh? She wants to crash the party. Oh, I get it. Want the job? Well, Sam, I can't take it for a private fee. It's against the house rules, you know. Oh, do that. But wait, wait, wait, Sam. I go off duty in half an hour. Maybe I could do it in communicado, huh? Send her around, Sam. Okay, tiny. We'll do it. Will he help you, Mr. Spade? Yeah. Ask at the desk for tiny stints of cyber. Don't let that put you off. He's an all right guy. Oh, thank you, Mr. Spade. You've been very kind. Goodbye. Good luck. Sam, what happened? Why did she leave so quickly? For the same reason, you shouldn't have let her in in the first place, Effie. It was a divorce job. Oh, but Sam, she looked so refined in all. And being the first of the month, I thought you might take exception. I do. Well, she'll know best, Sam. But it seems to me you might welcome a little change, our man. I know you'll feel it underneath you, but if it's my safe words and between nine and midnight alone, you could... Effie, there are two words for that kind of work. What, Sam? Never mind. Hey, Detective Agency. Oh, just a moment, Mr. Stover. It's Tiny Stover, Sam. Oh, I think he's crying. I'll take it. Tiny? Hello, Sam? Yeah. What's up, Tiny? That dame you said over here. Listen, I better not take time telling you. Get over here. Room 418, come in the side entrance and walk up. What happened? I cannot tell you over the phone. Just get over here, Sam, and hurry. It's me, Tiny. Sam, open up. Come in, Sam. Sort of ease in, will you? He's lying in the way of the door. The first thing I saw as I squeezed through the narrow crack of the door was the brunette that had visited my office that afternoon. She was handcuffed to a chair, and a gag had been stuffed into her mouth. Tiny's frightened eyes shifted uneasily from her to the body on the floor. What kind of a cape are those, Sam? You'd better tell me, Tiny, what happened? Who handcuffed her to the chair? I did. I... We broke in just like it says in the book. Only there was no dame here, just him. He starts to jump to life, and I grab him. The next thing I know, he's got my gun. I try to twist it out of his hand. The next thing I know, bang. He's right where he's laying now, and he's dead. The next thing I know, the dame is grabbing for the phone and screaming that I murdered him. That's when I decided I'd better shut her up for a while so you and me can compare notes on this thing. First, we better get some notes to compare. Listen, Pat, I'm going to pull his gag out of your mouth, but if you start screaming, it's going right back in. Get it? Now let me out of these... These handcuffs! We'll get around to that. Now, first, I want to put you straight on something. I know that Tiny here went over this on the level, which is more than I know about you. So if there are any angles in this cable, besides the story you told in my office, let's have them now before the cops get here. All right. I lied to you. I never saw this man before in my life. Shut up, Tiny. Go on. I was hired by a man named Christopher. He advertised for a photographer. He said he specialized in photographs for legal evidence, and this man Lombard's wife wanted... well, she wanted a divorce. I didn't want to do it at first, but the pay was good, and he said it was good experience for newspaper work, which is what I want to do, so I took it. Why didn't you tell me that in my office? Those were his instructions. He said that's the way they did it, and any detective would understand. And I was sure you did when you wouldn't take the job. Hey, wait a minute. I don't get it, Sam. Is she some nut or something, or is she just dumb? I guess I'm just dumb. No comment. Let's get some facts. Your name? Patricia Vane. My friends call me Pat. That part of my story was true. I studied photography at Berkeley. Yeah, yeah. Now, this guy that hired you. Well, he is an office in the Fidelity Building. Where all the divorce lawyers are. Full name? Calvin Christopher. It says on his office door, Public Relations Council. That's who made 42 in the bag. You won't swallow Miss Yarn, are you, Spade? Diney goes sit down. I didn't say nothing. I... Check. Now, Pat, this is your story. You and Diney came in here together. Lombard jumped you. Diney grabbed him. There was a scuffle and a gun went off. Yes. I just opened my purse to take my camera out. Where's the camera? I don't know. In the excitement. Oh, that looks like it. Over there. Over there by the phone. Be careful. There's some exposed film in it. It might have a clue. What did you shoot? Oh, some fishing boats. And one I sneaked of Mr. Christopher himself. And some action shots of what just happened here. Do you think the police will confiscate my camera? No, I will. I saw it first. Hey, Sam, where you going? I'm going to do some fishing. Sam, you can't leave me holding the bag. You got me into this. You want to get out, don't you? Okay, keep me in the clear. You'll have somebody working for you. I felt like a cat, Diney, but there was nothing I could tell you that they couldn't tell better as I witnessed. So I left them there to face you and your homicide boys alone. My first stop after leaving the Belvedere was Ledkin's lightning photo finishes when I must across town to the Fidelity building. It's set on the door, sure enough, room 842 Calvin Christopher, Public Relations Count. What can I do for you? You, uh, Calvin Christopher? I am. I'd like to ask you some questions. Detective? You hired a girl named Patricia Vane to take some pictures in the Belvedere Hotel, right? Well, I know. I advertised for a photographer but so far no applicants. What do you need a photographer for, Mr. Christopher? All you'll respect is none of your business. There's nothing illegal in advertising for a photographer. If I had employed one, I would tell you so. That's a straight answer. Then your story is that you did not employ Ms. Vane and that you have no knowledge of her. That is my story. The girl's story is that she was here in this office and even snapped a picture of you. That film is being developed now. Still want to stick with that statement? Uh, look, friend, you do not have to be acquainted with the person in order to have your picture taken by her. I know that, but if your picture shows in that film, I'll know your line. Mind if I use your phone? Thanks. Uh, Dundee, Sam Spade, that girl you're holding in the pier, Steph, Hotel Belvedere. Tiny Stover gave you the rumble. He did, didn't he? Not yet, Sam. Well, you're getting it now. Step in room 418. Gunshot. I'll meet you there. And I did. I won't dwell on that part of the lieutenant there. You were cross with me and I didn't blame you. Pierce's body was still there and it was still dead, but there was no brunette, no house stick, no gun and no bullet wound. The medic called it death from natural causes. Heart attack. But the worst was yet to come. When I rushed down to Ludkins to get those pictures just to prove to you that I wasn't completely out of my mind, there were no fishing boats, no pickets, no Mr. Christopher and no struggle. Nothing but pictures of a complete set of dental x-rays. There was a date on them, 7, 14, 48, and some initials. SQP. The United States Armed Forces Radio Service is presenting the weekly adventure of Dashel Hammett's famous private detective, Sam Spade. QP. Seem very familiar somehow. Society of quail prevention. Mm-hmm, too neat. After you and your boys had cleared out, Dundee, I went back to room 418. I wondered who had fired the shot that both Tiny and the brunette believed had killed Mr. Pierce. I didn't find out, but I did find a 38 slug in the floor under the rug pad. The fibrous material had been scuffed by somebody's foot to hide the bullet hole. Tiny had been reaching for the phone as I left. According to the operator, there had been no flash on her board in 418. That meant that whoever had stopped them had done so in a matter of seconds. I didn't know whether it had been done with a kiss, at gunpoint, or with a plant instrument. And I doubted anybody would have knocked Tiny out because he was too heavy to carry down eight flights of stairs. I checked Tiny's room on the first floor. It had been ripped to pieces by somebody who obviously had been searching for something no bigger than, say, a roll of film. About there, I decided to go and pay my respects to the lateness of Pierce. I'm Converse Effie. You never remember me, do you? Was it in connection with the Columbarium? No, we decided against it. Oh, which was your dear departure? Pierce. Donald Pierce, late afternoon, took out the bell that they're called. Dear, he's still on the slat. I mean, he's not quite ready to be viewed. Would you like to see the floral tributes? They're truly lovely. Who made the arrangements? A truly lovely tribute. Small but perfect. A heart-shaped wreath with their initials intertwined. D.P. from F.P. Yes, that isn't S.Q.P. No, sir, the middle initial is usually omitted. That is, if desired, in the 3253. Of course, I'll go, sir. I, Joe, I do remember you. The detective, Mr. Spade. Good heavens. Power play in regard to our Mr. P. I'm not sure, Mr. Atric, but maybe you can help these X-rays. Could you check and see if they're his? Why, surely. Oh, dental X-rays. Needn't spend the time. No, yes. No tea? I completely dance your subject. For a good ten years, I would say. Oh, pardon me. Something, madam. Oh, yes, you'll just wait. Do you know Mr. Spade? Oh, they told me at the hotel. Very fortunate that you're here, Mr. Spade. Well, I'll go and see how things are that stage. I'll see you later. Oh, these awful things that people must go through when death comes. No, it's not pleasant. Are you married long? Two years. We were married in prison, you know. Why? I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise to me. We both knew it could happen at any time. You mean you've been sick quite a while? Yes, coronary intrusion. Not trouble, then. Then you agree that's what killed him? I agreed. Do you have any reason to think otherwise, Mr. Spade? Well, I think you know more about it than I do. His physical condition? Let's start with yours. How are your teeth? I don't understand. These are your X-rays? What? Oh, it happens. No, this is a man's mouth. Where did you get these? What are they supposed to mean? I think they mean blackmail. Teeth and fingerprints are two of the best I've ever been to be clinched. These initials, SQP, could be Sandra or something pierced. They're yours? No. Do the initials SQP mean anything to you? Well, only if I thought, of course, it was prison. So what? San Quentin Prison. San Quentin? Oh, I've been stupid. That's what you meant, married in prison. Of course, I thought you knew. Donald was head of the prison dental laboratory there for 11 years. I sat down and gaited at her. She went on telling me how she'd been his assistant at the prison, how he'd had to quit because the prison routine was too tough for his heart condition, and how he'd batter a tearful farewell because he didn't have any prospects and couldn't ask her to marry. Then practically the first day he arrived in San Francisco, he wired me to come here immediately and we'd be married. A relative had died and left him $20,000 and Maul was coming in. He wouldn't even have to work anymore. He could retire. That was wonderful because he really wasn't well enough to work. They're not listening to me. What are you thinking about? $20,000 from a relative then. Never explained it any better than that, huh? No. The man came, the lawyer, I guess it was. I suppose he brought the money because Donald took it to the bank next morning. Where were you? Donald sent me out of his room, but I was afraid to go too far away. He was so excited and he'd be feeling these angina pains. I just stayed outside in the hall sneaking. I couldn't hear anything they said, but then the door opened and the man stood there and said, Don, I had no idea your kicker was so bad. Someday somebody's going to say boo to you and he'll drop dead. That's what I figured, Mrs. Pierce. I think your husband was murdered. He was literally frightened of that. I had almost all of it now. Just the name and the number were missing and I thought I might have them in my office under SQP. There was a light showing in my outer office as I came down the hall. It went out as I turned the door knob. I've got a gun. That's you, Pat? Oh, it's you, Sam. You were so long, I thought you never... Hey, hey, don't do that here. Come on, honey, don't give up like that. Here. Like this. What happened? I'm so tired. My ankle, I think I broke it. I jumped out of the car. Let's see. I think it's just a sprain. The rest of his car? We were in the back. He slowed down on the ramp. There was something stuck in my mouth. I couldn't make a sound. What's funny? I'm sorry, baby, but you seem to have spent the entire day bound and gagged. I'm sorry. Go on. Oh, after you left us in that awful hotel room, he came in and he was furious. Wanted to know why we had spoiled everything while letting the gun go off, even though Mr. Stover explained that it was only accidental. And then he started laughing and said he was only fooling and he would take charge. So Mr. Stover left. And then Mr. Christopher held a gun on me and took me down the hall to another room. He pushed me in there and then he tied me to a chair and put the gag in me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, honey. So he let you cool off in there until it got dark enough and late enough to get you downstairs and in the car without attracting too much attention. You say he was heading over the bridge to Oakland, huh? Yeah. Why are you shouting so? I guess I'm just excited. And I was, but not over Pat's story. It was something I'd just seen. The shadow of a man against the frosted glass of my office door. I went on talking. I hoped loud enough for him to hear every word I said. Pat, I don't know how to tell you this. It's going to make you feel bad. But sooner or later, you'll have to know about it. This guy named Calvin Christopher. That isn't his right name. And in just a minute, I think I'll have that, too. He gave you a phony pitch about a photography assignment and what he had in mind from the beginning was to use you as a murder weapon. Me? A murder weapon? You and whichever detective happened to go there with you. You see, Pierce was a blackmailer. He'd been a dentist at San Quentin and who did he run into one day here in San Francisco but an escaped con whose teeth he had worked on and of whom by happy chance he had a complete set of dental x-rays. This con bought the x-rays from him for 20 grand. He's still at large and thinks he's safe now that Pierce is dead. But what he doesn't know is that Pierce took snapshots of the x-rays before he turned the originals over. The cameras got switched and I have the x-rays right here. Look at him, sweetheart. What are you... He came in shooting. I kicked the lamp out and answered him. There were all shots in the dark but mine came closer because he had a profile against the light. My third shot was the lucky one. It knocked the gun out of his hand just like in the westerns but I was too tired to feel proud. Snap on that light, Pat there's a phone over here, will you? Stand over away from that door, Christopher. By the way, what is that name? Graziani. Don't bother to smile. Lieutenant Dundee. Dundee, come over to my office and pick up Victor Graziani, 39, Caucasian, San Quentin Lifer, broke out July 14th this year. You owe me $11 for damage done to my office. End of SQ paid. Oh, I'm sorry, detective agency. Oh, yes, just a minute. He's right here. It's Mr. Tiny Stover, Sam. Hello. Sam? No, Tiny here, can I call you back? SQP. Seymour Kelly's pool room. Look, Tiny, don't even you realize that Kelly isn't spelled with a Q? Since when, Sam? Kelly is without a Q. Must be wrong, he's talking up now. This shot's coming up. Good night, Tiny. Tiny, I'd like to go around again with you, but this airtime costs plenty. As you'll know if you ever get your own radio show, which, if you did, would be sponsored by the makers of SP, stupid pills. Hey, Sam, you should have seen it. Seymour just made a three-cushion shot with a handcuff on. Good night, honestly, Tiny. Anything for me, Sam? Just go tight that up, sweetheart and have it back in exactly 34 seconds. Sam, you shouldn't accept divorce cases. Effie, it was not a divorce case. You actually mean we required the usual partial recap? Partial recap? The dental x-rays would have shown that wouldn't they? Effie, you're not happy here. What? You have no one to talk properly to. Have you ever thought about, uh, maybe, uh, Tiny Stover? A lonely man, Effie. All these evenings free. Forced the pool rooms for the version. Come away from all that, uh, snooker. Oh, Sam. I could fix it up for you with Tiny. Sam, so sweet. Come here, sweetheart. Has anyone ever told you how lovely you are? You know what always happens when you get me mixed up. I just... Sam, no. My earrings. Let you stay out another week. Forget it. Good night, Sam. I thought it was Effie.