 Get this and get it straight. Crime is a suckers' road. Those who travel and wind up in the gut of the prism of the grave. There's no other end, but they never learn. Wrigley's Spearman Chewing Gum. The refreshing, delicious treat that gives you chewing enjoyment. Presents for your listening enjoyment, Raymond Chandler's most famous character in The Adventures of Billa Parlo. To make every day more enjoyable, treat yourself often to refreshing, delicious Wrigley's Spearman Chewing Gum. Here's a taste treat you can enjoy indoors, outdoors, at work or at play. The cool, long-lasting mint flavor refreshes you. The smooth, steady chewing helps keep you fresh and alert. Adds enjoyment to whatever you're doing. Wrigley's Spearman Chewing Gum. Healthful, refreshing, delicious. Now with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlowe. The makers of Wrigley's Spearman Chewing Gum are glad to bring you tonight's exciting story. The Iron Coffin. Dear sir, Colin, I wouldn't touch your proposition with someone else's 10-foot pole. Period. Further, more. Hello? Would you connect me with Mr. Marlowe, please? This is Philip Marlowe, the private investigator. This is Philip Marlowe. Oh, I'm so glad I caught you. Mr. Marlowe, you've been very highly recommended to me by a very dear friend and a... I want to employ your services for a case. All right, who are you? I'm Catherine Newbold. It's about my daughter Irene, or more exactly, about her fiance. I want you to find him for me. It's 26, dark complexion, about 5 feet 10. Well, just a minute, Mrs. Newbold. It's a little early for descriptions. What's the nature of his disappearance? Mr. Marlowe. Yeah? I'm afraid I just can't explain over the phone. I'm at the boys' place now. Would you come over here? It's 4, 2, 2, 0 and a half, wrong. 4, 2, 2 and a half, huh? You see, Bennett is lost, and Irene's gone to help him, and she may get lost too. Well, how do you mean that, Mrs. Newbold? Lost where? Back somewhere in the 16th century. After she hung up, I spent a few minutes trying to decide if I should take along my 38 or a butterfly net. But in spite of what I thought she'd said about the 16th century, I was convinced that Mrs. Newbold was a genuinely worried woman. I'd sold myself on that by the time I hit Bronson Avenue. When I finally found number 4220 and a half, I began to unsell myself fast. Said 4220 and a half was a sagging second floor of a weed-ridden tile and stucco heap on the alley, in the back of a dead delicatessen. The windows were heavily shuttered behind rusty iron grills, and the heavy door was set at the top of a narrow flight of unreliable wooden stairs. Mr. Marlowe? I'm Mrs. Newbold. Hello. The looks of this place on the outside are... Holy smoke. It's rather bizarre, isn't it? Yeah, to say the very least. But these are Bennett Varago's rooms. He's a student. Of what? Alchemy? This place is immune to zeal. Everything in here must date back to the... Yes. To the 16th century. That's what you said, yeah. That's what I meant. Mr. Marlowe, two years ago, when my daughter met Bennett, he was a nice, normal boy with a great enthusiasm for history. Uh-huh. He's brilliant. I liked him, and Irene, of course, fell madly in love with him. But then... Then what, Mrs. Newbold? Then it began to change. He was working awfully hard toward his doctor's degree, when suddenly he seemed to hit a snag. How do you mean? Well, he became obsessed with a particular period in history, Spanish history. Well, that's not so unusual. That's how guys become specialists. Oh, but it's more than that. His interest was much more than scholarly. It became a morbid fascination. Oh. Look at these relics, Mr. Marlowe. Yeah. At first, Bennett only studied them. But in the last year, he began to live with these things, exclusively. More and more until... until he left a month ago. And now, well, I just don't know. You know, my guess is the boy needs a psychiatrist, not a private detective. Where's he now? Well, I'm not sure, but this morning a note came from Irene. It was mailed in Santa Barbara two days ago. The day she left. She might be with him. Yeah, but you said you had an idea where they might be. I do. See this book? Yeah. It's a castle. Constructed in the year 1540 by Peter the Cruel of Lerman, near the present city of Val de Morro, seized in 1562 after a violent struggle by the Count of Castile, Dominique Varago. Yes. And look here. I found this old newspaper clipping in that book there. It's about that very castle. It says it was torn down in 1887 by an eccentric millionaire bachelor and rebuilt stone for stone on an isolated part of the California coast known as Point Esterel. The man who spent his entire fortune on this single project was Philip Varago. For Pete Singh. And that's where they are. They must be. Well, considering what we started with, I looked it up, Mr. Marlowe. Point Esterel is just above Moral Bay, about 200 miles north of here. Will you go up there and find out what's wrong? I'm awfully worried. I told her the transplanted castles from Spain were not exactly my cup of taquilla. But between the cheque she handed me and the look in her eyes, I figured a drive along the beach might do me good. Well, I made Santa Barbara by four and six thirty I was watching this early Pacific surf hurl itself with a huge granite lump called Moral Rock. Far the north I got, the manner the ocean became. A hulking bank of solid black clouds offshore made a hollow mockery out of daylight savings time. And 20 miles beyond Moral Bay, I had to turn out my lights. My rough calculation, the castle was another 10. But when 11.7 had turned up on this pedometer without so much as a single battleman didn't view, I decided to turn my lights back on again and stop with some local advice. My first chance was a combination motor car, restaurant, and mobile gas station. Labeled Summit-like California, El Chester Point Exit of Prop. Howdy, friend. Bad night to be out on the road, huh? What do you have? Yeah, a cup of coffee. Okay. Driving on up north? No. No matter the fact I'm looking for that old Spanish castle that's along this coast somewhere. Yeah? Yeah, yeah. Got any idea how I can get there? You got business here? Yeah, I might have. Why? Just wondered. Not a good place, mister. Folks in these parts like to forget a tear. Oh. What's wrong with it? Nothing, maybe. Then again, well, it was built 60 years ago by a madman, mister. Brought it over here from Spain, complete, even to the furniture. So I hear you. They say it belonged to his ancestors, and he brought them to every one of their bodies. Their coffins are down there under that castle right now. 13 of them. How do you know? I talked to an old timer once. We helped put that place together. Seven men died on that job, and you know what he told me? One of them coffins is iron, and it's eight feet long. Ah. He made a great fullback here. Fill it up again, will you? It ain't funny. They say his name was Peter the Crew. Now look, Chesty, you're not lathering yourself up into a ghost story for tourists, are you? You asked me, and I'm telling you. All I asked you was how to get there. You see that light out there? Cross the bay and pass the breakwater. Wait until you come around again. There, see it? Yeah. That's up on the summit, a point of sterile. Well, the castle's just a mile past that. There's not much of a road in, but you can make it. Okay, thanks. It's right down next to the water, in a nasty, jagged little cove. All together, it's three miles from here. Much of lads. There's something else you might keep in mind. Like I said, I don't hold a ghost. But I know for a fact them coffins are sealed in a crypt under that castle. But they don't stay put. They get thrown around. Folks have heard them thumping. Good night, friend. A highway dropped down close to the quiet bay, which was sheltered by the breakwater. At a hundred yards out, a white sailboat that's mass-pointing straight up at the stars. It made a strange contrast to the pounding surf a mile beyond where I found the turnoff to the castle. It beat a year's depreciation out of my car in ten minutes. But finally, at the top of a small rise, I saw it, the Spanish castle. It was a grim gray mess of crooked walls and twisted towers that crouched on the shore like something that had crawled up in the bottom of the sea. When I pulled to a stop in front of the main gate, I saw there were lights in one of the lower rooms. I started in, and then I saw something else. A girl running down the path taught me. You're... please, wait! Oh, you've got to help me. Somebody's going to be killed. Killed? In there, in the castle? Yes. Oh, hurry, please. All right, come on. Heaven, I saw your headlights. I'm glad I found you, Miss Newbold. How did you know? I guessed right. What do you mean? Your mother was pretty sure I'd find you here. I'm private detective Philip Marlowe. What's this about somebody being killed? It's Bennett. He's almost out of his mind, Mr. Marlowe. He's gone down to the crypt under the castle. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't. He's killed down there, just like the others. Like what others, Irene? All the other varagals, all his ancestors. He is a cruel killer. Oh, now just a minute. Come on. I must sound crazy too. Maybe I am. This horrible place. Oh, baby, baby, take it easy. This is the age of rocket planes and bebop, remember? Not in here. Here's the 16th century. Oh, settled now. And tell me what's really going on. I am. The day before yesterday, I was just as skeptical as you are. That's why I came here. But now, Mr. Marlowe Bennett Varago is fighting a battle that's been going on for 400 years. A battle with a monster called Peter the Cruel. The one in the oversized iron coffin downstairs? Yes. Come on, baby, show me. What I could see in the light of the four candles and the holder I picked up I didn't like. She led me first down a long flight of stairs. Then for a maze of ponderous arch pillars that made the catacomb seem cozy by comparison. Finally, we stopped in front of a heavy door with an iron ring in it. I hold it open and almost fell in. We were at the top of a deep circular room, carved from solid bedrock. Stairs that must have been designed by a reckless mountain goat followed the curving wall down to the bottom. There, in the light of a torch, stuck in a bracket. A man was working frantically over a big trapped door set in the center of the floor. It was Bennett Varago. I told Irene of the back upstairs and waited, and then I started down. Philip Marlowe, I'm a friend of Irene. She told me I'd find you down here. Get out of here. I refuse to be responsible. I'll be responsible for me, fella. I'm used to it. Are you sure you can't use some help? You look pretty tired. I'm exhausted. I'm not going to stop until I've settled this business once and for all, and I won't tolerate any interference. Do you understand? No. Interference in what? I'm going to spend the night in a crypt under this door. I've got to know the truth. Listen, if you're really Irene's friend, please take her away into town. That poindexter's place, she's not safe here. Nobody is. Every document I found verifies it. Verifies what? Mr. Marlowe, I'll show you on one condition. Give me your word that once I'm in there and the door's closed, you'll leave here and take Irene with you. Well? Okay, Varago, it's a deal. Show me. All right. Take that crowbar and help me get this open. Okay. Tonight I broke the seals that were put on this door 30 years ago. At that time, the coffins were in three straight rows. And now? I know what I'm going to find. It's happened before. Hey, Buster, this thing is heavy. It'll never open. It's me inside by yourself. I'm going to bring you a row of heads and shoulders. Give me your gun and a bullet. Drop it with your bar. I got it. Well, Varago? Stay back. Don't move until I get the torch down there. Now. Look. All slimy with pale moss. A rotten stone floor scarred with deep fishes. And the coffins that had been in three neat rows were scattered in crazy confusion. But that wasn't enough. In the middle of it all with the iron one, eight feet long, standing right straight up on end. Now maybe you'll believe me. Varago, listen. Wait a minute. Maybe you better think this over. You gave me your word. You haven't no kids through those coffins around like that. Now you're beginning to understand. Get out, Marlo. Get out fast. Heaven only knows what might happen here tonight. To make every day more enjoyable, treat yourself often to refreshing delicious Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum. The lively, full-bodied, real mint flavor cools your mouth, moistened your throat, freshens your taste. And the chewing itself gives you a little lift. Helps you keep going at your best. So for real chewing enjoyment that's refreshing and long-lasting, always keep Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum handy. Healthful, delicious Wrigley's Spearmint Gum will make every day more enjoyable. Now with our star Gerald Moore, the second act of Philip Marlo and tonight's exciting story, The Iron Coffin. I kept telling myself that Varago wasn't in any danger. That this was 1950 in spirits from the 16th century to the standard. A ghost of a chance against a determined man. But I couldn't quite believe it. And things didn't get any cozier as I watched the man with the obsession to send into the crypt. A candle in his hand, casting a crazy chorus of shadow dancers against the dripping wet walls. After the trapdoor crash shut, I kept holding on tight to the 20th century and things that made it tick. And that helped until I was back up to the basement level. A moment of your time, please, senor. A tangle of gray black shaggy hair fell all around the grisly old face that could have scared a Halloween master. And the rest of them fit from a bill that included almost no shoulders, eight long scrawny arms and an outfit that was medieval. I did not mean to alarm you, senor. Yeah, you couldn't miss. It's so dark in here. You're Ramiro? Yes, Ramiro. I, senor, went upon the master of this house even as my father did and his father before him. Always, senor, Ramiro has been in service in this castle. Always since Peter the cruel. You mean you came over here from Spain you were imported with this castle? Yes, yes, indeed. It had to be that way, senor. No one else but Ramiro knows the castle. Every stone, every fixture, every sound in the night. By senor there where you stand, Ramiro stood on that fateful day in the year 1562 when Dominique Varago, the Count of Castile sent in Peter the cruel to his death. It was an awesome occasion, senor. The story of that day lives in my mind as though I had been poisoned. I here and see it all. Here and see the fantastic spectacle in this very room. The place lighted by flaming torches. The prisoner was Peter the cruel. His legs bound in heavy chains and waited with an iron foil. The Count of Castile to this day proclaimed the tyrannical rule of the prisoner before me at an end and I do further proclaim that the prisoner Peter the cruel be hanged wearing the shackles and weight of a common thief and when his body is dead I order it cut down and filled in an iron coffin. The chains must remove. Only by right of the royal blood of our fathers do I allow his remains to be placed in the family crypt below this wall. Now, Peter the cruel, you have heard this sentence. How do you speak? Fusion is a black day. A black day for you, Dominique Virago, for Castile, for Spain, for in spirit I... And that, senor, baby, hang him and bury him below us. That is why I stopped you here. To warn you. Well, tell me, Ramiro, your ancestors whose side were they on? The counterfeit of the cruel. Well? That Ramiro served only one man, senor, the master of the house. Even as I today serve only one man, the master of the house. Good night, senor. He glared at me for a long moment with sickly yellow eyes. Then he stepped back and was gone. Now a few minutes later I found Irene Newbold and told her what had happened and a Virago's wish that she spent the night at Poindexter's place. When I saw her make one valiant try to keep from going to pieces, I picked up a coat and bag, held her firmly by the arm and walked her fast outside into my car. It kept her thinking for a while. When we arrived at Poindexter's, I promised to awaken her at dawn for the return trip to the castle. She thanked me and went to her room when a few minutes later I went to mine. After three hours of cigarette-filled and this had gone by, I slipped outside and watched the summit light that winked at me every third second. I didn't wink back. On the side of Elchester Poindexter standing at the cliff's edge ahead, looking toward the bay below and the long, wide wash of the full moon didn't help any. How do, Mr. Marlowe? Trouble sleeping? Yeah, your local ghostmate good. He keeps propping my eyelids open. And you don't feel after much smart jokin' either, huh, Mr. Marlowe? Yes, I'm worried about Virago. And you should be. That Peter the Cruel was certainly a powerful party. Oh, nuts, the Peter the Cruel is another answer there's got to be. But you said Virago. Yeah, I meant Virago. Virago in his own mind. He won't even look for another answer. He'll keep fighting ghosts until the boys in the white jackets with caught orders called for him. And then there's Irene. And Mr. Marlowe, you were sayin'? Hey, Poindexter, look out there. We were off on the road before. Isn't it the road I took to the castle? Sure. Only sailboat around here. Spring tide certainly has her dippin' from us tonight, huh? Certainly has. There are me and a lot of other things, including the fact that our boy who's chasing ghosts is going to be killed by something very real. If we don't get a move on, come on, come on. We're all going to the castle in a big hurry. Are you sure you're right? I can't believe the answer. That's simple. Doesn't matter, Irene. Simple or not, it can still kill. Come on, Poindexter, we're going to run for it. Now, you catch up to us, Irene. We're going ahead. Poindexter followed me as I ran into the castle. And down the stone stairs to the basement and along the passageway that led to the spot above the clip where I first met Marlowe. But we both slammed to a stop at the site of something I couldn't expect to find this side of the Dark Ages. It was Romero again. Only this time, minus his apron and long winter underwear and plus her head-to-toe black coat of mail with a shiny steel helmet spike on top, tucked underneath his arm. And at one hand, a latin that swung to and fro with his cackling. And the other, a long-sawed, vintage lady of the lake. They're not there fighting down there. In the clip, a brago. In the last of the bragos. And built the cool pit to have his revenge. Get out of the way, Romero. Come on, Poindexter. We've got to get this door open. No! No, stop! Get out! How's Poindexter? I don't know yet. Watch that jerk in the fancy dress. If he gets up, yell. Come on, Poindexter. We've got to get this door open. It's coming. Look. The crypt is filled with water just like you said. Benefit. Benefit. Heaven, you're all right. There I go. Here. Take my hand. Reach for it. There we are. Couldn't have lasted another minute. The water came through the cracks on the floor. And the coffins. They flowed it. That's right. That bumping against the sides of the crypt makes the sound you people have heard. Yes. And when the water subsides again, the coffins will be scattered all over. Oh, Bennett, darling, you see, it's no angry spirit. Yes, but why the water, Mr. Mahler, and why does Peter the Cruel's coffin always stand on end upright? Where does the water come from? The sea. The sea. There's an unusually high tide tonight. Spring tide, they call it. Right Poindexter? Right. Happens when the sun and the moon are in either direct conjunction or opposition. You see the castle so close to the ocean and the crypt so deep that the water seeps in as the tide rises. Oh, I see. And as for Peter the Cruel, he settles upright because the old boy was buried in his coffin with his bondage chains still wrapped around his feet, according to legend. Ask Ramiro there. I'd be glad to tell you all about it. Senor, senor, if he's more than legend, it is true, true so that no- Oh, shut up, Ramiro. And enough of you and your stories. Mr. Mahler, how did you know? I mean... what got you here in time? How did you think of the spring tide, Mr. Mahler? Well, it was a sailboat anchored in the bay, Irene. You know, when I first saw it, its mass pointed straight up at the stars. But when I saw it again, hours later, it was dipped forward sharply because the anchor chain had been pulled tight by the rising tide. Well, that gave me the hunch I needed. The hunch we needed, Mr. Mahler. Thanks a lot. I'm glad to be out of the 16th century and you know something. Why? I think I'll stay out. Well, it was another hour before we left the strange relic of another day. An hour in which everybody found himself thinking of Peter the Cruel, of the Vengeful Spirit. Oh, well. The tide took care of him. Oh, dear. And all, all... Yeah, well, as I was saying, that's the beauty of reality. Yeah, you can figure everything out. Oh, hello. There it is again. Oh, it's nothing. It's probably just a wig. What? Figure? Ramparts? Hey. Oh. Well, that's Ramiro. Hey. Or is it? Remember, friends, to make every day more enjoyable, treat yourself often to refreshing, delicious Wrigley's Spearman chewing gum. There's lots of cooling, real, mint flavor in every stick. And chewing Wrigley's Spearman keeps you feeling fresh and alert. You feel better, work better, get more fun out of doing things. So indoors, outdoors, wherever you go, keep some healthful, refreshing Wrigley's Spearman chewing gum handy. To make every day more enjoyable, treat yourself often to delicious Wrigley's Spearman chewing gum. The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, presented by Wrigley's Spearman gum, bring you Raymond Chandler's most famous character and star, Gerald Moore. Philip Marlowe is produced and directed by Norman McDonald and written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast were Irene Tedrow, Lillian Baya, David Ellis, Jane Avello, Parley Baer, Barney Phillips, and Edgar Barrier. The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Arant. The makers of Wrigley's Spearman chewing gum, hope you've enjoyed tonight's adventure of Philip Marlowe and that you're enjoying Wrigley's Spearman gum every day. We invite you to be with us next week when Philip Marlowe says, This time a dying man's last wish led me from a gunman with orders to stop me past the battered corpse in a crumbling mansion to a ruthless redhead playing for keeps. And when it was over, the one in the middle got away with everything, except the dying man's last wish. This is Bob Stevenson speaking, and this is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.