 Mystery House, that strange publishing firm owned by Dan and Barbara Glenn, where each new novel is acted out by the Mystery House staff before it has accepted for publication. Mystery House. Here we go, Danny Boy. Wait, don't Danny Boy me or I'll get even rougher than certain characters in tonight's script. My goodness, you are in fine shape. Yeah. You must have taken this script to heart. You tickly stool. I'll be good now. Well, let's see now. All our scripts are all passed out. Everybody got one. We're all set. Yeah. Well, then let's have a fill in on the background for tonight's story. There's not much to tell except that it has a new angle. A doodler plays an important part in this one. Oh, yeah. One of those people who scribble on telephone books. As I remember it, there's a lot of writing in this novel. That's right. And maybe that's why it's called Drop Me a Line. Did you get that, Tom? Got it, Mrs. Glenn. But before I go into that, how's about listening to some lines like this? Drop Me a Line. Tonight's story opens in the nightclub office of Race Wiley. Unannounced, a visitor has just walked in. Bertie Carmichael, who did you bribe to get in here without being announced? You know I can pay off, Race. I've learned some things in my association with you. All right, sir. You're in. Now let's have it. I don't have time to waste even on millionaires. That's why I'm here. Even though I'm rich, I can't buy happiness. Yeah, what's the matter, Bertie? Has number 10 run out on you? You and your weddings. You get more laughs than the comic strips. This isn't funny. This is murder. Murder? In the Carmichael mansion? That's a new one. Usually your brides never get farther than gentile blackmail. What's the matter? What's candy done? Done? I don't know. She's disappeared. She's been... Well, I'm positive she's dead. What are you trying to hand me? I was at your wedding last night. I never saw a healthier gold digger. That's why I'm here, race. You know everything that went on at the wedding. And after? Well, it's all over, Bertie. I did the job you wanted. You paid off and now we're square. Outside of that, I don't know what's thing. I know, but you've got to help me now. No dice, Bertie, old boy. Murder's out of my line. I've got to know what happened to candy. So what? I'm a gambler, Carmichael. Not a dopester. I like them when they win, but losers bore me. I've done business with you before, race. I'll pay off. And all I want to know is what your boys did with candy. My boys. Cut it out, Bertie. My boys take orders from me. They don't get ideas of their own. Not when it comes to knocking off customers. It's their loyalty to you that makes me... Yeah, yeah, yeah. You think the boys that rub out candy just be... Ha, ha, ha. Ah, could act them like a juvenile. Well, she was your girlfriend. Sure, she was my girlfriend, Bertie. But I got hundreds of them. And confidentially, Bertie, I don't marry him. Forget the wisecracks, race. This is going to look bad. Look bad? You've been looking bad ever since you started taking on wives like a hardboot takes on horses. But this is different. No wife of mine ever died before. Well, what if candy is dead? You're used to losing your women, one way or another. But I can't stand the police investigating this. If I had a reasonable explanation... If one of your boys admits this, I can get them off with a couple of years. Ah, no. None of that. I'm not letting any of my people take a rap for somebody else. Race, I've been trying to give you a chance to admit this, so we could fix it up. What are you talking about, you miserable little... The evidence. Everything points to you. Points to who? Well, to your trigger man, Gabby Spiotti. What? Ah, look, Bertie. The police will be sure to arrest him, race. You don't want that, do you? What's your game, Carmichael? What's the sudden interest in my welfare? Well, I don't like to admit it, but the trustees of my estate, if I get mixed up in one more public scandal... You mean the trustees are gonna cut you off, huh? They've warned me the family business can't afford... Ah, what's that to me? Just this. If I'm cut off without an income, you'll lose one of your best customers. So you want me to line up a fall guy for you? Not for me. For you. I want you to find out who killed Candy. Right now, before the police get in on it. What's the percentage for you? If Candy died because she was two-timing me, because she ran away from me on a wedding night. Ah, so that's what your claim happened. Well, yes, of course. But don't you see, if there's some way I could avoid being implicated, that's why I need you. You think I'd frame this on one of my boys? I don't care who takes the blame. One of your men did it, but if you can make it look like somebody else... Anybody but you, huh, Bertie? I had nothing to do with it. No, of course not. Race. Look, please. I'll pay you any amount, anything. You'll pay, brother. You'll pay. Don't worry about that. Then you will do it. Will you help me? I'll be at your place in half an hour. Come in, please. You wish to see Mr. Carmichael, no? Well, who are you, Sister? Ah, I'm Mrs. Lucia, the French teacher for Mr. Carmichael. Yeah, very nice, very nice. Bertie still knows how to pick him. I do not understand all. I said you're a classy chassis with a confection complexion. Whoever put you together, baby, wasn't blindfolded. But you are laughing at me. These are making me slang. Slang, yeah. But no laughs, baby. Oh, no. You're not the kind of female that I can laugh off, baby. He's the one I know. Oh, so you know me, huh, sweetheart? But, of course, Bertie, Mr. Carmichael, do you expect to know? No, yeah, I mean, yeah, but I could be talked out of it, honey. Oh, no, no, Mr. Ace. Belfi will be here. There, you see? Hello, all right. Mr. Ace, hey, just now, please. Hey, Bertie, you didn't tell me about this. What? Oh, uh, Michelin. Uh, she's teaching me French. Oh, yeah? Well, I'll say this for you, Bertie. You can start. Please, raise, let's get started. I'm nervous as a devil this morning. The butler just found Candy's body. Oh, no. Look. All right, take it easy, Bertie. Hold on to yourself. But Candy, she was so beautiful. Look. Look at her face. Acid. You wouldn't know it was her. Acid must have been sewn at her. It's all over her hands and legs. Burned right through her skin. But acid wouldn't kill her. No, but look at her throat. You mean? I mean her throat's been cut. Whoever did it must have figured the acid would eat away the scar. But why? Why? I don't know, Bertie. Maybe so the police wouldn't be able to figure out what the murder weapon was. Gabby. Gabby. Yeah? Can't you see? Come on, get in. The darker it is, the better. It was hard to work. It's so black. Yeah, you all done? No slip-up? You know better than that. The cops won't be able to tell it from an accident. That car is really busted up. Okay. How about the battery? A cinch. The way I pile up that crate, it looks like the battery just naturally fell out and spilled all over the body. Oh, you didn't make it too good now. You know, the cops got to recognize Candy. Just like you told me. Her pocketbook, driver's license, everything's all set. Only, I still don't figure your angle, right? Okay, don't worry about it. The dough in this is better than any roulette wheel you ever gimmicked. But you're taking an awful chance. Everybody knows you was hooked up with Candy Nugent. Supposing they get the idea you've done her in there? Ah, no. When they find her, she'll be here on this deserted road in Bertie Carmichael's car and with that letter in her pocketbook. But what's the letter prove? Just a note from Heine Luger? A note, yeah. But not just to drop me a line note. A letter that tells Candy to meet Heine the night of her marriage to Carmichael. Don't think the cops won't fall for that. I hope it works. That night like better than to see Heine fry. Especially for something he didn't do. The rat. Yeah. And Bertie Carmichael pays us to get rid of our competition. No, Bertie. We must study the French. Just once more, Michelin. No, no, no. The French. Oh, all right. Dans les premiers. Dans les premiers, je dois moi de tout. All right, break it up. Oh, race. What's the idea of walking in here? Who let you in? Never mind that. We got business to transact. Business that won't wait for formalities. You mean it? Everything is taken care of? It's all set. The cops have got Candy now. I had an anonymous phone call planted in the bull's race right out there. But it's time they got it all figured out that Heine Luger was the killer. Are you sure, race? Luger has some smart lawyers. We know he didn't do it. Oh, do we? All I know is I had nothing to do with it. If there's any slip-ups, the police won't ask me any questions. But they might want to talk to you. What you said? You know what I said. I got the body out of your house now. Pay off. From here on, it's your party. You've got to stick by me. What is it? Pay up, Bertie. Let's not make it complicated. What is this? I do not understand what you speak to each other. Well, don't worry, baby. Your boyfriend here will be all right. Unless he tries to welch on me. No, race. I'm more than willing to pay. What if there's a slip? You should have thought of that before you called me in. But what is the matter with you two? Nothing wrong with Bertie that you couldn't cure, Michelin. He's got things fixed up now so he can marry you. First, he notifies the police that his wife is missing since her wedding night. And the cops find that Candy's dead. What more do you want? Stop that, race. Michelin doesn't understand. Oh, no. Accent, don't fool me. Oh, Mr. Grace, you say such bad things. Race, I'll pay you half now and the rest of the plan works. No, you'll pay all of it. That letter's a cinch. But Tiny was an eye-writing. Don't worry about it. That letter was written by the greatest forger in the business. Any expert will swear at Tiny's handwriting. Besides, I had him put in a couple of Candy's doodles in pencil, you see. Doodles? What do you mean? You know the way she's always drawn stuff when she was talking on the phone or when she was thinking. We are eye-remembered, too. Little scrolls, she draws on everything. We eye-remembered them. Michelin, how did you know so much about it? I don't have youthful garden. I need to ask if Candy will bring us all together. Yeah. Now, you're satisfied, Bertie? The letter's not only in Tiny's handwriting. He's got Candy's trademark on it. Just as if she put it there herself while she was thinking about meeting Tiny that night. You're clever, eh? I still say half now and half later, when the guilt is pinned on Tiny Logan. Oh, no, no. He's so not strong. Take your hands off me, race. I'll call him. No, go ahead. Go on, call the police. No, no. Eh? Well, maybe you're right, Frenchie. Maybe that isn't the way to treat your boyfriend. Here's my check-race. Now, get out of here. Get in brave when a woman does the talking for you, eh, Bertie? Yeah. Well, don't forget. This is only half. Hmm. You won't get a chance to forget. I'll see to that. If anybody stops and asks you who you are, leave them to tell them. And Brenda Braddock. I get it. That's right, honey. There's so many showgirls walking in and out of Bertie Carmichael's house. Nobody else stopped you. I know, right? Don't worry. That's right, baby. Now, just make sure that he sees you, then begin out like everything for the door. You know the way out? Oh, sure, sure, right. See you later. Yeah. Good luck, honey. The door ain't locked. Quiet now, kid. And so long. Who's there? Who is that? Who is that? Candy. No. No, it can't be. You can get rid of me. Did you, Bertie? Was she killed or wasn't she? We'll find out in the second act of tonight's story. But first, let's consider something else. The second act of Drop Me Aligned. The scene is race Wiley's gambling club. The girl race sent to Bertie Carmichael's house has come back to report the race. You should have seen it. Little look, honey. His face and when he yelled candy. I thought I'd laugh out loud. Yeah, you're sure now he called you candy? Well, of course I'm sure. He was scared stiff. Good, good. Before we're done with him, we'll have him payin' out a grand a week just for protection from ghosts. I gotta hand it to you, race. Yeah, well, you're not bad yourself, honey. Come here, baby. You still like him when he comes from me. Mmm. Nobody kisses like you do, race. Yeah. This is better than collecting alimony from that goofy Carmichael, ain't it? I always say a case settlement is better. Ah, yes, sure. Yes, sure. Oh, that was a great idea. That was gettin' a body from the morgue that looks something like me and then throwin' acid all over it. And poor Bertie. He really thought it was you. Wait a minute. Hello. Yeah. He is. Okay. Sure, let him come on in. Come on, get out of here quick. Bertie's on his way in. I'm scared. But where? Quick, in the closet right there. Be quiet now. Well, if it isn't my bosom buddy Bertie. Hello, race. Well, if what's the matter, Bertie, you look worried. Worry? I... Eh, who let you in? I am so sorry. It seems no one would like to let me in, so I come in through the window. Mr. Lean, you shouldn't... On your way, Frenchie. This is no place for you. Oh, both you are wrong. It is not a business, Melta. That's right. Sweetheart, strictly business. No place for you. But it is. You see, now I am Bertie's secretary. I must help him with all his business matters, no? No. Now start moving. Let her stay, race. She can't do you any harm. I just came to pay the other half of the money for what you did. Oh, thanks. Eh, what's the matter, Bertie? You ain't looking so good. I... I haven't been feeling well lately. I think I need a rest. I have advised Bertie to pay. Is that not good, no? Yeah. Yeah, Frenchie, that's not only good, but that's smart. Oui. It is, as I thought. Yeah. What was that? Oh, nothing. Nothing. Pay him the check, Bertie. And, uh, if you please, Mr. Rice, I will have a piece of paper. I must write some notes. Paper? Yeah. Oh, here, this will do. Very nicely. Yeah, okay. Now, Bertie, the check. We'll call everything square, huh? Here it is, Rice. Okay. Uh, wait a minute. This is dated ahead two weeks. That's right. I have to do it that way, Rice. My allowance, you know. Let's get this settled now. Cash on the line. I know you've got it. It's impossible. I can't do it any other way. What do you mean you can't? You will... It is better this way, Mr. Rice. Huh? What do you know about it? It is better not to allow the suspicions of the thrice, is it not? What do you mean? To get the cash we must ask the thrice thieves. That would not be so good for you. Eh, Mr. Rice? Eh, okay. But the check better be good. And just to make sure... Oui. And never mind. Just make sure I get the money. Don't worry, Rice. You'll get it. French girl. She has something up her sleeve, right? And I don't like it. I can't get easy, baby. That's why I called Gabby in. What's the matter, boys? Not much. Not much. That gal picked up that paper I was doodling on. That's a nothing... What are you talking about? What's this doodling? Well, you know the way candy is. It has to be drawn something with a pencil all the time. You mean like what you had to put on that letter from Heinie Luger? Yeah. She's got to do something. That French girl. Don't worry about her, baby. She's not smart enough to pin anything on you. But she picked that paper up right here in the office. Anybody would know that man I'd been here. What if she spills it? Don't worry. She won't spill anything. Oh, Rice, how can you be so calm? She knows. Look, baby. Look. I know something, too. What do you mean? What do you hold that magazine up the light for? This magazine was on the desk under the paper that Micheline and you used to write on. You see the impression here of your own doodling? There's no writing there. Of course not, dummy. The writing was on the paper she took with her. But the pressure of the pencil goes through the paper onto any soft surface underneath. You see it? See there? That's your doodle. Oh, yeah. No, I get it. That's right. Now look at this. Words written by your friend Micheline. What did you say? It says what a dope birdie is. What? Well, then... Yeah, this Micheline's a smart babe. She wanted to get that piece of paper with your doodling on it. She figured it meant you were still alive. So she pretends to write a note. But why that? Why that stuff about birdie being a dope? Well, she just wrote the first thing that came into her head. Figured I'd never see it. But she gave herself away. What? I still don't follow you. Oh, it's a cinch, baby. What a dope, she writes. Well, do you think a real French dame would write that? You mean Micheline is a phony? That's right, genius. Micheline has a racket of her own. And she figures a tizzle in on it. Unless we stop her. Well, that's where you come in, Gabby. But first, there's a little job for you, Candy. Here. Hey, what's this? My life and death with birdie Carmichael. By Candy Nugent Carmichael. Well, who wrote it? Take a look at it. Well, it's nothing but a stack of old letters. Who's gonna read that? Nobody, beautiful. And that's where you come in. Now, look. Here's the name and address of the Chief Trustee of Birdie's estate. Now, go on up there and tell him you've decided to sell your life story to the Daily Sentinel, and you want to check some facts on Birdie. Well, what if he wants to read it? He won't. If you handle it right. Now, get on up there, baby. Gabby has a job to do too. The radio, lady. Mr. Carmichael bought it for you, I guess. Oh, radio? Oh, you must be mistaken. I'm accompanying Mr. Carmichael on his vacation. He would not give me a radio now. You want to take it back? Sorry, ma'am. I got orders to bring it here, and that's what I'm doing. Oh? There you are. All right. Well, what are you waiting for? He's not ready to go, all right? Radio's all right, but... What? Help! Help! Come here. You're going for a ride. Don't try screaming, baby. It's going for a little ride. Right inside that radio crate. I guess I didn't hit her too hard. She's been picking up a fuss most of the way. Okay, it's a good thing you didn't hurt her. I want to talk to her. Let her out now. Wait a minute. Well, Frenchie, do you have a good ride? Oh, Frenchie, you! What's happened to the French accent? Never mind that. What's the idea of Shanghai'ing me? Want me to shut her up, Ray? No, let her alone. She can't do any harm here in my office. That's what you think. Wait till the cops get here. We'll see how smart you are. Cops, is it? You've got as much to lose with the cops as I have, baby. You wouldn't call the cops, now, would you, Frenchie? Oh, wouldn't I? It just so happens, Mr. Racewily, that I did. I stole one of your pet little ideas. I wrote a letter and dropped it through a hole in the radio crate before your gorilla got it out of the house. I had a hunch I was going to meet you again. Sure, you invited the cops to drop in on me, did you? Oh, you little... Well, go ahead. Shoot me. That'll help a lot when the cops get here any minute now. They might even hear the shot. Go on. Shoot. That'll just fix everything for you. Let me have her, Race. No cops will hear what I'm going to do to her next... Now, lay off her, Gabby. Lay off. We're in a spot. Maybe she has tipped off the cops, and maybe she hasn't. But we're taking no chances. I'll open the door. Geez, huh? Here comes Candy! Race! Race! Hey, Candy, what's the matter? The cops? No. It's Bertie Carmichael. He's right behind me. Bertie? He was in a trustee's office when I got here. No helping, Race. I didn't see him until all of a sudden there he was, and then a race. What's the matter with you? What are you scared of? That run? Well, he was like a madman when he saw me. I swear he's going to kill me if he can't choose me. Don't worry, nun. I'll take care of this guy. No, no. Get out of the way, Gabby. This is one guy I just love. Oh, no, you go. Leave that girl alone. Don't worry about me. Get the gun for him. It's all for muscle-bound. All right, Race. You too, my beloved wife. Stand up. I said stand up. There's still some bullets in this gun. Take it easy, Bertie. I told you, gun crazy. Shut up, Mrs. Carmichael. I'll do the talking in this family. Oh, Bertie, you're terrific. Did you get my note? What? Did you get her note, Bertie? You heard it, lady. She dropped you a line while my late friend Gabby here was kidnapping her. Surely you got the note, Bertie. Shut up. I don't know what she's talking about, Michelin. You told me to check with the trustees before I left town. Didn't they tell you? Well, tell me what? I was a spy. You're a what? The trustees hired me to see what I could find out about the kind of friends you had, Bertie. They didn't like your marriage to Candy Nugent for one thing. Now, don't tell me you were on the level, Frenchie. Oh, French-teaching act was a phony. Don't believe her, Bertie. She's all phony. Shut up, Candy. We're licked. We might as well get ready to face the cops. All right. Bertie, keep it going. They might take advantage of you. Uh-uh. Now, that's where we're going. We'll need friends. A, uh, Bertie, do me a favor, will you? That depends, Ray. What? Well, just this. Drop me a line sometime. Will you, pal? I want to hear how you get along with number 11. I always was a sucker for romance.