 Personal notice, Stange is my stock and trade. If you feel like the night throw is assisting in a high wind, you've got a job for me, George Valentine. Write full details. Standard of California, on behalf of independent chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the west, invites you to let George do it. The man under the elm trees. Another adventure of George Valentine. Dear Valentine, you may not remember, but you and I had a very interesting talk once in the smoking car of the streamliner, at least as far as Mayville Junction we did. Anyway, that's why I feel I can call on you now as a friend. I live with my little sister, Mrs. Letitia Packler. She's got too much money, more than's good for any woman. She can't control it. I can't control her. And unless you help out, there's going to be a big loud crash at the end of the line. Now, I've warned her that you might be coming to visit as a friend, of course. Hey, wait a minute. Hold it, Brooksy. What's the guy's name? Oh, Hanigan. Del Hanigan. Remember him? People you meet on train. Well, anyway, it says, So Letitia or no one else will suspect the real reason you're here. You see, the big trouble is my sister likes to make friends too. Only the wrong kind of friends. The kind that ought to be in prison. Sincerely, Del Hanigan. The name still means nothing. And it's for Mayville Junction, I'm darned if I ever... Oh, George, it's the college town. Just because their football teams weren't as good as the money... All right, Angel, all right. Let's go boula-boula, even if it is at Mayville College. You must be Mr. Valentine and Miss Brooks. Yes, that's right. Well, you're so much earlier than I expected. Look at me. I'm all over cake flour. There's going to be a picnic, you know, the faculty welcoming committee. Oh, but I'm so glad to meet you. I'm Tisha Packler. You're a little... Oh, how do you do? And this is Skinny Adams. Skinny lives with us, you know. Young man, I didn't see you salute the flag. Huh? Well, I'm not in uniform. I'm keeper of the flags. What? Flags at the college. I used to be on the ground and flowers committee, but I'm not anymore. Doctor said I couldn't. But what I'm really interested in is chemistry. You look like a serious man, young man. You realize that I actually saw brother's love of nitrogen themed? He said to me, Adams... Oh, Skinny, please, they don't want to hear your stories now. Besides, if you're going to feel strong enough for the picnic, you better lie down, hasn't you? I'm sure Del's put up the beach umbrella over your hand. Oh, all right, all right, Tisha. I know what's good for me and what is... Uh, see you later, Mr. Adams. Who is he, Mrs. Packler? Skinny? Well, uh, 12, uh, about 12 years ago, he was an assistant to something in the chemistry department. He was ambitious, but not very successful. And then there was an explosion in it. Well, it affected him. Oh. Hmm. Doctors say that he's borrowed more than his time by now. Can't stand in a strain or undue shock or too much heat. Well, why isn't he in the hospital? Well, good heavens, the college gives him his pension and he has his choice. And after all, they say I take better care of him here in the boarding house than they could. Now, you come right inside. Now fix your lemonade while I finish baking my cookies. Say, where is Delbert, Mrs. Packler? Oh, he's down at the ice plan getting some salt for the ice cream freezer. He and the other rumor. The other rumor? Mr. Stevenson, he travels in jewelry, you know, but I've boarded him a week. Mrs. Packler, your brother didn't tell us about your husband, either. Excuse me. Tom passed away, you know, spent six months, but I still get a little shocker. Oh, I'm silly. Oh, no, no, no, it's just silly of me. It's just, well, I... Well, on a holiday, people can't help wishing for the things that have passed. Can they? No, no, I guess not. But holiday, today, and you mentioned a picnic. Hand me that cookie cutter. Oh, it's the welcoming, that's all, for the faculty. None of us are really connected with the college, but you see, next week's registration and that's how all of us in this town make our living. Off the college, folks. Oh, we parade, turn out the town band and have potato races. I see. I guess we just try to pretend that we're part of it. To pretend that there's some excitement in our lives and that it isn't true that nothing ever really happens in Mayville. Hot, hot, suspender, whether I call it, but now down to facts. Who's going to win the Coast Conference? USC or is Washington going to end up... Yeah, well, what do you say we hold up the sports page, Mr. Hannigan? You wrote us a letter and you said your little sister had more money than is good for any woman. My friend, she's got 40,000 smackaroos. How do you like that? Oh, where'd you get it? Life insurance. That crazy, no good husband of hers. Dumb, that's all he was. Got himself killed dragging his own shotgun backward through a fence. You see what I mean? Uh-huh. I see you didn't think much of him. Well, he paid the premiums. But a waster, that's all he was. Never turned to liquor work. And Tisha slaved herself up to the elbow. She still does it. Bored students who can't play the builds, nursing all the characters, like that scientific earbender back there in the hammock by the meadow. A girl like my sister ought to get out more. She ought to travel like I do. See the world. But she makes the wrong kind of friends, you said. The kind that ought to be in prison. The kind that leads to crashes at the end of the line. Now, just who is it you're so worried about? The other rumor? My friend, you guessed it. Stevenson. Rick Stevenson, he calls himself. He's been here one week and he's buttering her up already. Buttering her up? Sure, sure. He knows his stuff all right. First, he goes to work getting next to that guy, Adams. But he's really aiming at Tisha. Don't you kid yourself. Okay, okay. So the board is making passes at your sister. So what? My friend, that man's a phony. A foreflush, shall I tell you? Listen, chest hardware, he says he's here. Uh, uh, what? Jewelry, selling fraternity pins. If he knows a difference between a DU shield and a brass door knocker, I'll eat my hat. I've been around, I can tell. I'm a dick myself. Well, Mr. Hanigan, supposing he is giving out a phony line. Your sister's old enough to watch out for herself, isn't she? What do you expect us to do about it? Well, for guy's sakes, snoop around, nail something on the nose he fortune-under so he can run him out of town. He's after Tisha's money, I tell you. Well, what of it? So are you, aren't you? Huh? Yeah, isn't that the real idea? Now, uh, how do you think she should spend it? Close up the boarding house and the two of you traveling first class, maybe her paying the bills? Well, at least I'm her brother, at least I'm thinking of her place. What's the matter, my friend? You saw her, because I got you down here on something that don't look so important? No, no, no, I kind of like Mayville. Only when it comes to listening to stories, I think I'd just as soon hear them from little skinny Adams. Listen to me, will you? Ah, I actually saw Chinsky, the biochemist, and Vallas' love of nitrogen. George. And I saw too. He found it. But still trying to bend people's ears. Hey, you know, Angel, we're in the midst of a bunch of nuts. George, look at his face. It's so red. A man in his condition shouldn't be lying out here in the sun. George, of course. The umbrellas come down. Yeah, better wake him up. You okay? Mr. Adams? Hey, hey, hey. Huh? Is he here? You haven't been standing there, have you? What? What do you mean? I haven't been saying things, have I? No, no, of course not. We just came out. Don't you lie to me. I can always tell when a student is lying. Have you know that I've got every one of my senses? I was hurt in explosion, I think, but I can see. Oh, the things I see. And I can hear better than you can. Oh, you were just mumbling, Mr. Adams. Say anything about the elm tree? The elm tree? Oh, come on, come on. Something I've seen. A man under the elm tree. No. Oh, okay. That's good. Hey, now, who did that? What? Yeah, that umbrella, that umbrella was up when I went to sleep. I know it was. Oh, now, take it easy, Skinny. The cats probably just slipped down. Don't get your dander out. Hello, you two. I'm Rick Stevenson. Yes, so I gather. Well, my name is... I know, I know. I've heard all about you, Miss Brooks. Here for the holiday, huh? Yeah, that's right. We sort of like a quiet college town. Relief from the city, isn't it? Okay, come on, Skinny. It's 12 o'clock. Are you sure, Rick? Is that late already? We're just going to wait on the porch there for the town parade out on the side porch. Maybe you'd like to join us. Well, thanks, Mr. Stevenson. We'll be with you in just a minute. Well, whatever you say. George. But see, about an hour in the sun might kill a man like Adams Mightnett. Well, it certainly would make him very sick. Here. Slide up that beach umbrella, will you? What? Yeah, go on, go on. Put it up again. Go ahead. All right, I'll try. There. George! Yes, Angel. It's all you can do to force that catch. It couldn't slip. Somebody pushed it down. George, they're all outside now. Yeah, okay. Thanks, boy. Look, what if Mr. Stevenson guesses that we've been in his room? Oh, well, I'll worry about that later. He tried to close it, will you? Yeah, okay. They smoke this fire, Angel. We've got to work fast on the few sparks that we know about. Well, I agree. Somebody's trying to turn wealth and faculty into Memorial Day. Oh, but it seems so impossible, that poor, harmless man. Yeah. I don't see why anybody would want it. Savannah, what is it? A letter was in the pocket of Rick Sportjack. Suspender weather has one benefit. Federal state's life insurance company. It says, well, it's just a note. It says Stevenson on February 14th. The company paid $40,000 to Mrs. Packler. Husband died in hunting accident. Suggests you look into it. Rick Stevenson must be an insurance investigator. Let me see that. Yeah. Yeah. It is a clipping in the same envelope. It's an old one. Mayville, Herald, March 21st. Our town was grieved to hear of the unfortunate death of Mr. Tom Packler. His shotgun was accidentally discharged as he was crossing a fence near his own back property line. Just half a mile from his own house. Tom died in the meadow he loved so well under the familiar canopy of the... Pooxy. What? Under the elm trees. We'll return to tonight's adventure of George Valentine in just a moment. What do you think you'll be wearing when cool autumn days turn up? Maybe a tweed suit or a woollen one? A next winter and overcoat? And a raincoat during the wet spring? 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Or is it he's apparently so dangerous to someone that an attempt has been made on his life? In the other rumor in Mrs. Packler's boarding house, Rick Stevenson. First he seemed to be only interested in Mrs. Packler's money, but now Rick seems to be an insurance investigator interested in her husband's death. Well, if you're anything like George Valentine, you know there's a lot more going on in little Mayfield and talk about ice cream and football. Won't you have some more, Miss Brooks? Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Packler, from really. You know, last year I ate six dishes of ice cream and still went out to the picnic kick to football father than the coach did and won the Sacrae's to her, remember? No, Sacrae's, Tom Packler carried you all the way. He did not, just because he listened to you ramble on and trying to make yourself important, make people listen to nothing. All the famous scientists you saw that nobody ever heard of. Brawler's slaw, Chinsky, the Friselli. You know Valentine Tisha's husband was the only man in town too lazy to stop this, this wreck of a hasper's from him. Delbert, please, you've been drinking. Oh, gosh, what's the celebration for if you can't take a look? Under the elm tree. What's that? What's that, skinny? Come on, Professor, I think you and I better take a little stroll outside before it rains. Yes, thank you, Mr. Keydonson. Well, what on earth the matter with everybody? Miss Brooks, there's still an hour before the picnic. Mrs. Packler, I think we'd like to take a little walk ourselves if you don't mind. Of course. Yes, I have a couple of things I want to pick up down at the drugstore. Oh, OK, George, see you later. At last, Angel. Too much thunder in the air for me. Young man, you're going to fall in beside us. Better salute that flag. Uh-oh. I'm still keeping flags. The wreck of the hasper's is still good for some job. Why, of course, you are, Miss Gratton. Sure, sure. First thing I noticed about the old house here was that flag hanging up there on the balcony of your room. It used to be on the ground and flowers so many for a while. Before that, maybe I was only an assistant in the chemistry department. Hey, but wait a minute. You know what I noticed about your flag? Well, go ahead, take a look at it. The blue field, Mr. Adams, it's in the wrong direction. Your flag up there is backwards. Oh, yes. Yes, sir. Excuse me. I'll run up and fix it for you, Professor. No, no, no. It's my job. Poor guy. Well, at least we're alone again. Come on, Angel. Okay. George, what do you want at the drugstore? The telephone. One that's in a booth instead of a public hallway. I'm going to talk to the police. About Tom Packler's death, six months ago? That's right. Lieutenant Riley in the city can run a fast check for me. The insurance companies angle everything about it. Come on, we'll cut across the back of the house. Okay. Well, if Rick Stevenson is their investigator, they certainly must suspect that it wasn't just a shotgun accident. You are so right, Angel, or he wouldn't be here. Besides, the clipping said Packler died under those elm trees. And Skinny's got a secret about what he saw under the elm trees. Murder may be here. Well, you can just see the trees from his hammock at the edge of the meadow. So, George, somebody's taking down that umbrella must have been in an attempt to get rid of him before he tells what he knows to Stevenson. And it's not hard to get rid of him. Not any harder than getting rid of a helpless little child. George, wait a minute. What is it, Angel? Well, wouldn't this be the Packler's woodshed? Yeah, sure. I guess so. Well, this piece of wood. It's the same color, the same shape. The same as those things on the front of the house, the balcony railing. The post that hold the railing up. And to reach the flag, you'd have to lean against the railing. George! Come on, Angel. Oh, look. George, you can see it from here. Oh, why didn't we notice it before? The corner post is missing. Stay out here, Brooks. Yes, George. Watch for Skinny on the balcony. I gotta stop him. Oh, I... I'm sorry, Skinny. Did I hurt you all right? Hello, young man. Look, I had to stop you. If you'd leaned against the railing, the corner support is off. It's loose, see? Now, Skinny, listen, listen carefully. Someone was trying to make you fall, have an accident, kill you. Now, you know something, and you've got to tell me. You saw something out under the elm trees. What did you see? My ring today. Oh, Lord. George. Look, see, you're gonna guard this guy with your life. I've got work to do. Okay, Angel, how is he? He's asleep, George. Did you get Lieutenant Riley? Yeah, from the drug store. Riley has a man checking local police insurance company. The man will get in touch with me here. Well, what about Rick Stevens? I don't know, I didn't see him. Out nursing is George swearing at me, I guess. George, this time we ought to be able to tell who did it. I mean, putting the flag backwards and fixing that ring. Whoever's trying to get this guy is taking advantage of circumstances. Same as with the umbrella. So if we ask around, all we'll get is conflicting stories and denials from the guilty one. Wait a minute. It's Tisha. Hello? Yes? What's that? Who? Who did you... Oh, dear. Tisha. Tisha, what is that? Well, I don't know. It's long distance. I don't know who they want to talk to. It's the police, I think, but it must be the wrong number. George. No, no, no. Give me that. Oh, no. Give it to me. That calls for me. It's nothing important, really. It's just... Yes? Hello? Oh, yes. Oh, this is he speaking. You did. Oh, I get it. Yeah. Thank you very much. Yeah, I guess that winds it up, doesn't it? Well, Tisha... Tisha, where did you go? Tisha! Hmm. So Stevenson is in touch with the police, too. Angel, I think maybe now we can stop being suckers. That call was for me. Yes, that's right, operator. I was disconnected. Well, hurry it up, will you? Get my party back. Police in the city. Well, hurry it up. I'm sorry, Skinny. We'll have to lock you up. But you'll be all right. Golly, George, what is it? I'll tell you later, Angel. Where's Del Hanigan? I don't know. Oh. Hey, we're too late. That wasn't thunder. Around this way, Brooksy. The place Pakler kept his guns. Yeah. Well, the shop must have been here, in the root shed. Rick Stevens. Here comes the rain. Well, George, whoever killed him must have left here just a second ago. Maybe he was back at the shed when we... I need a screen door. And it's back in the house now. Okay, come on, Angel. From here on it's easy. There's only one person it can be. Hello, Mrs. Pakler. Getting dry? I was... I was out for just a moment. The clothes on the line. There aren't any clothes on the line. Please, please get out of the kitchen. I have to take the cookies out and wrap them for the picnic. Please, they'll get cold if I don't. Let go of me. I'm sorry, Mrs. Pakler. But let's call me a detective. Okay, you'd better sit down. Now, why did you do it? He found out. Stevenson found out. He was coming to get me. After he talked on the phone, and he came looking in the wood shed, the place where your dead husband's guns were, where the shotgun that killed your husband was. Stop it! What's the matter? Were you afraid Mr. Stevenson would find that shotgun, examine it for evidence or something? I don't know. He was coming to get me, and I had to kill him. Why, Mrs. Pakler? Well, I was putting his fresh linen away yesterday when I found an envelope. Insurance company. Note about me. Clipping about Tom's death. Yes, we know. I'd guessed before he was up to something. So many questions about me, and he wasn't a jewelry man like he said he was. He spent so much time getting close to poor little skinny items. Asking him questions. Poor little skinny items. That's a strange way for you to talk. Oh, may the Lord forgive me, but skinny hasn't much longer to live anyway. I couldn't have killed him by the accident. Sure. Sure, like the umbrella, or the flag. Because you were afraid he knew something, weren't you? Me, he did. Under the elm trees. He kept saying it, man. He was sooner or later, he'd tell Mr. Stevenson. He'd tell him he'd seen me shooting my husband. Oh, my husband was no good. He was a nag. No. He was no good. No good at all. Mrs. Packley, I don't know what it was skinny saw way out under the elms, but it couldn't have been much. What? What's that? He brags about retaining his senses. Well, if ever there's a man in this town who'd have learned how to hang the flag, he's the one. But when it was backwards, I had to tell him so. He couldn't see it. Don't you understand, Mrs. Packley? He'd been out there dozens of times admiring it, but he couldn't see that far even. What? What do you mean? I mean there was never any real evidence against you concerning your husband. You did commit a perfect crime. Perfect except for a guilty conscience. But Mr. Stevenson... I know, I know. The note that said Stevenson, Mrs. Packley's got some money. Husband dead suggests you look into it. Well, Rick Stevenson just had a friend at the insurance company. That's all. A friend who tipped him off. No. You didn't need to shoot Rick. Nobody's ever guessed you killed your husband. George. Rick Stevenson was exactly what your brother guessed he was. A confidence man, Mrs. Packley. Out after a widow's money. George. You know, there's one thing I still don't understand. Oh, what's that, Angel? I mean, skinny did see something. The elm trees, he kept saying. Bruxy, maybe I got that one figured out, too. All poor skinny wants is for someone to like him or people to listen. And all day he's been acting as though he had a secret as though he'd cooked up a surprise. Well, my idea... Surprise? Surprise? No, no, no, no, no, Mr. Valentine. I just finally learned something. You know, people don't like to listen to people unless people tell people what people want to listen to. Oh, is that so? Even if you have to make it up. Oh, Rick. Yes, indeed. Now, there was this man I saw once out under some elm tree. Oh, come on, come on, come on. I don't know that part of it. Yes, but it's football season in this. Yes, but who? Who did you see? Well, Miss, that time I saw Newt Rockney standing under the elm. Here we are with summer already gone, according to the calendar. So maybe it's a good time to take another look at your annual budget. One place you won't want to skimp is in buying protection for your car's engine. In the long run, it would lead to a costly repair bill, especially since it's a proven fact that internal engine rust is responsible for 80% of engine wear. This damage is caused by acid-laden moisture, which attacks cylinder walls and other vital parts the moment you cut the ignition. And here's where RPM motor oil comes in with a sure-helping hand. Premium quality RPM contains compounds that keep a moisture-proof oil film on all vital parts. With RPM on the job, rust can't get started, even though your car stands idle for days or weeks. So to protect your engine with long-range economy, start using RPM motor oil tomorrow. Now, wonder its first choice in the West. It's the oil that stops 80% of engine wear. Ask for RPM at standard stations and at independent chevron gas stations, where they say, and mean, we take better care of your car. Next week, as we find George Valentine and Brooksy calling on a new client who has written for help... Oh! Oh, George! Yeah, Brooksy. That guy writes me a letter and suddenly he's dead. Oh, golly. You can still get the smell of a gun being fired in here. Of course I dare. It smells like it had been fired just a minute or two ago. Hey, but wait a minute, Brooksy. Take a look at the pistol. What? Why, there isn't a shell missing? George, what do we do? What do we do? All we have to do is find out how a man can be shot dead without a bullet. Tonight's adventure of George Valentine has been brought to you by Standard of California, on behalf of independent chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the West. Robert Bailey is starred as George with Francis Robinson as Brooksy. Let George do it is written by David Victor and Jackson Gillis and directed by Don Clark. Also heard in the cast were Ed Begley as Dell, Myra Marsh as Tisha, Howard McNeer as Adams and Fred Shields as Rick. The music is composed and presented by Eddie Dunstetter, your announcer, John Heaston. Listen again next week, same time, on the same station to let George do it. This is the mutual Don Lee Broadcasting System.