 The Adventures of Sam Spade Detective, brought to you by Wild Root Cream Oil Hair Tonic. The non-alcoholic hair tonic that contains lanolin. Wild Root Cream Oil. Again and again the choice of men who put good grooming first. Hey sweetheart. Oh, bank book, Sam. Well, you must advertise in the lost and found rather well. But it's your bank book, Sam. What? Spade, account number four. It's a forgery. Somebody's trying to pin something on me. Lock it up and don't touch it until I get there. Oh, alright. Did you make a lot of money on this one, too? Got the check right in my pocket, five hundred bucks. Oh, Sam, we're making more money than a movie star. Well, almost. And all honestly, too. Six hundred last week and five hundred this week. Yeah, how about that. Life gives a three-page spread to I spy molten. But we mustn't let it turn our heads, Effie. No. We gotta stay in there pitching. I'll be right down to pitch my report on the Adam Fig Capers. Dashel Hammett, America's leading detective fiction writer and creator of Sam Spade, the hard-boiled private eye. And William Spear, radio's outstanding producer, director of mystery and crime drama. Join their talents to make your hair stand on end with the adventures of Sam Spade. Presented by the makers of Wild Root Cream Oil for the hair. You've heard the saying, you never know until you try. Well, you'll never know how handsome your hair can look until you try Wild Root Cream Oil. See for yourself how neatly and naturally Wild Root Cream Oil grooms your hair. Note how effectively it relieves annoying dryness and removes loose, ugly dandruff. You can get Wild Root Cream Oil hair tonic in either the big economy-sized bottle or the handy tube. Or you can ask your barber to use it on your hair. But by all means, try it. Don't delay, get it today. Wild Root Cream Oil. Again and again, the choice of men who put good grooming first. And now with Howard Duff starring as Spade, Wild Root brings to the air the greatest private detective of them all in The Adventures of Sam Spade. So watch these expenses, Evie. There's always something. Yes, but this will be saving. It saves confusion and saves fretting. This gadget here? What is it? It's a mineral butt. What a butt? It's for busy men like yourself, Sam, so you don't have to burden your mind with petty details. See, it has this dial on it right here. And you drop these little cards in this slot. You don't have to worry about that. That's for me to take care of. Oh, good. Then when you come into the office and supposing you have an appointment with Mr. Jones at two o'clock, and you forgot about it, you just dial two o'clock and the little card pops out. And it says Mr. Jones on it. How do I remember to dial two o'clock? Oh, well maybe it's in the instruction book. But anyway, now go ahead, Sam, please. The card's right in there. Now dial two o'clock. Go on, Sam. Let's see. Just like a telephone, Sam. Now what do I do? Well, give it time, Sam. It's sinking. Must have forgotten. Uh, Jones, Mr. Jones, do you think it's dead? Sam, I don't understand it. It was working perfectly. Well, I'll take it straight back first thing in the morning. You'll have to. It'll never find a way itself. You've got your book, sweetheart. Yes, Sam. I don't understand. It was working perfectly. Well, it's all right, honey. It doesn't matter. October 5, 1947, to Hillary Exxon Esquire from Samuel Spade, license number 137596. Oh, honey, it's only a memo robot. Subject, the Adam Big Caper. Dear Mr. Exxon, October 2nd in San Francisco was one of those days that you see blown off the calendar by a gust of wind in the movies to denote the time is passing. It was a day for scraping off the minutes with a fingernail file and wondering whether the display ad I'd paid for in the classified section of the phone book wasn't just a waste of money. It certainly wasn't the day. I'd expect the leprechaun to walk into my office. He said his name was Adam Fig. He said he was the butler at Exxon Manor in Los Nidos. The limousine, Mr. Spade, is waiting to take you away. We mustn't keep them waiting, must we? Of course we mustn't. Who mustn't we? Why, Mr. Hillary, of course, sir. Oh, Mr. Hillary. And old Mr. Exxon. The old gentleman is very ill. Dr. Feige's office is down the hall. Turn to your right, second door. Well, I assure you, sir, that Mr. Exxon is the best at medical care. Your duty will be simple to prevent his death. Do I donate blood or just frighten away the evil spirits? It isn't quite that, sir. Someone is trying to kill Mr. Exxon. He's a very sick man, and I'm sure he'd prefer dying from natural causes. Uh-huh. I get $25 a day and expenses. Here is an ample amount in advance. But you should, sir, that the old man is a nasty, cantankerous, villainous, crooked, intelligent man. $500? Please, Feige, you're talking about the man I love! Los Nidos was at least an overnight caper, so on my way out, my lovely and charming secretary, Miss Perine, handed me a brown paper bag which contained A, one pair of socks, darned, B, one shirt, ironed, and C, the apple, which he always polishes for me the night before. We arrived at your large southern-style mansion two hours later. Feige! Oh, Feige, where the devil have you been? To the city, sir. I can't find the keys to the liquor closet. Where are all the maids? What happened to that cook we hired yesterday? Who is this man? And why is he wearing that necktie? This is Mr. Spade, sir, the detective. Oh. Oh, uh-huh. I'm Hillary Exxon. Come in, come in, please. Go on upstairs, Feige. See what that girl is doing to my father. I don't believe she's in this at all. Very good, sir. In here, Mr. Spade. Pardon the condition of the house. The old man has been firing the servants again. Your father, you mean? Yes, yes. Every time he gets shot at, he fires all the servants. He gets shot at pretty often? About once a year, in the fall. You always hire a detective? No. Oh, dear. I'm not keeping you up, am I? No, no. Excuse me, please. It's much worse this time. I can't get any sleep guns going off in the middle of the night. The whole household disturbed. When and where was he last shot at? Yesterday morning at about half past one. I dug the bullet out of the woodwork myself for 38 caliber embedded in the doorframe that leads to Ms. K. Wood's room. Oh, that's his nurse. Was she with him at the time? No. No dad sleeps like a baby full of sedatives. She sees to that. Shot come from outside? Yes, yes, but we found nobody on the grounds. No traces of anybody. I don't know whether dad knows who shot at him or not. He's such a closed mouth, old devil. You don't take care very much for your father, do you? To be frank, Mr. Spade, if hating weren't such an effort, I would despise him. He is without a doubt. Well, listen, listen. There, there. That's just a sample. Well, come on, come on. Let's see what's eating him now. I'm quitting, Mr. Exile. I can't stand another minute yelling, screaming, throwing things at him. You must have done something to set him off. I didn't. This is Mr. Spade, Ms. K. Wood. Oh, Detective. I'll make you happy. I don't know that I'm a private detective, Ms. K. Wood. Mr. Spade, I only hope you can prevent a murder. If there's any way at all that I can help, I... Thanks. I'll see you downstairs after I've talked to the old man. You'd better go in alone, Spade. Oh, Ms. K. Wood. Do you have a throat spray downstairs? I seem to be congested. Facing ammunition. Who are you? You're a total stranger. Come on in. Don't be afraid, son. Come on over where I can look at you. It's hard to keep my eyes open. Oh, I mustn't do that. I mustn't do that. Oh, so you're the detective, eh? That's right, Pop. You want to take a little nap or something. I'll come back later. Oh, what did I say just now? Come back later? No, no, no, no. There's no reason for you to come back later. I'll say everything I have to say right now. The shot woke me. I didn't see anything. I don't know anything. I've got a million enemies. I can't remember the names of any of them. Why don't you try to remember? I could have them checked. Wasting your time, sonny. In my day, I've wiped out a hundred men and I'll outlive anybody who's gunning for me now. You must be proud of your past, huh? Proud. Sonny, a past like mine is the finest thing an old man can have. I've swindled my partners and betrayed my friends. I've turned state's evidence just to see my associate get sent up for 20 years. And they say my wife died under peculiar circumstances and I got rich offer insurance. Now I'm done talking. Oh, do me a favor, son, please. I've got to get a half hour, 20-minute sleep room. You'll keep them out, everybody. Please, will you? Sure, sure, pop. Go ahead, go on, sleep. Oh, thank you, thank you. He closed his eyes, rolled over and fell into a heavy sleep. I stood there a moment, looking down at the frail, wasted old body. Then I cased the room. And digging the bullet out of the door, Hillary had done a good job of ruining any chance there might have been approving the directions had come from. I strolled out on the balcony. It was a pretty night. I lit a cigarette and took it in. Then I heard the door open and closed, softly behind me. Nurse Keywood was at your father's bedside. She was filling a hypodermic from a small vial of bluish liquid. He didn't awaken when she jabbed it into his arm. Then she saw me standing in the doorway. She hastily dropped the medicine vial into her uniform pocket and came around the bed to meet me. Oh, Mr. Spade, oh, thank heaven. Why, when I saw you standing there in the half-night, I thought you might be there. Thought I was who? Why, the man will fire the shot. It was a man? Well, I don't know. I didn't see it happened. I just assumed that... You shouldn't have done it. I warned you, sir. Eleanor. Oh, we're disturbing him. Let's talk outside. Okay. Good to breathe something beside sick room air. I thought you got used to things like that in your profession. Why are you so unfriendly, Mr. Spade? Nurses are human. Aren't detectives. Try me, sweetheart. I know what you're thinking of me. But after a week in this horrible house, that poor man, he's frightened. He's really frightened. What of? By the shots. Thirty-eight caliber or hypodermic? Surely you don't think that I... He's supposed to be under sedatives. The doctor's orders. Sorry, sweetheart. It's my job to suspect everybody. Can't you forget your job? Even for a moment? Sure. Sure. If you don't mind the fact that I know you're a liar, that I'd make book you didn't come here primarily as a nurse, and what's worse, your act's not even convincing. Is it that bad, Sam? Yeah. Almost bad enough to be good. Come here. Oh, I hate you. It was a very satisfactory love scene for both of us. For reasons of her own, Barbara wanted to keep me out of that sick room for a while, and she did. For reasons of my own, I wanted to get that medicine pile out of her uniform pocket, and I did. Then, as suddenly as we had fallen into love, we fell out again. After she'd gone to her room, I went back to my sentry duty around the house. Under a light on the front veranda, I examined the bottle from which Barbara had taken the injection for your father. It was labeled Sodium Thanatol, and it had been dispensed by a firm called Ibis Chemicals Limited in Cairo, Egypt. Until the house, high and frenzied, I started running toward Barbara Kaywood's room. I slammed the terrace door open and found a light switch. Barbara was sitting upright in the center of a bed. Her face jerked up so abruptly that it seemed a neck had snapped. She flexed both hands to her chest and fell face down among the bedclothes, staining them with her blood. No weather I went through, over or around the screen that stood between her room and the old man's. I circled Exxon's bed. He lay on the floor on his side facing the window. I went outside. A thirty-eight automatic lay on the ground a few yards away from the building. I put that into my pocket and listened. No shadows moving, nothing. Then he was on me before I could be sure he wasn't a medium-sized tree. Break your back, lead the way. The warm stuff in my cheek might have been the thing's blood or mine. It gathered me up and bent me back at my throat. Then I remembered that hands are stronger than fingers. I started with these thumbs. Then his huge body began to twitch. He was holding his fingers and sobbing like a baby. I pulled him up to his feet, poked him in the back with a flat of my hand. I followed him through and opening in the hedges and down a long pitch-dark lane for the lights of a squat brick house set on the top of a slight rise. As we approached to the door open the light screamed out onto the porch. That tall man framed him a doorway was the last person in the world I expected to see. Oh, Marcus, you brought him. Oh, master, very delight for service but have much pain in fingers. Always complaining, Marcus. Welcome, Mr. Spade. Come in, my dear fellow. Come in. I've been expecting you. By blackmailing me. And if you don't, Romet Exxon could have you booked for forgery. Blackmail, definition of character? My, my, my, my dear fellow, please. This is the most painful. But if I had but the original letter I could destroy it and go back to the filth. Oh, the filth. What happened to it? That fig, that stinker stole it. He burked on my home. Are you taking part-charts at all, Exxon? Oh, don't be a fool, man. I want Exxon to stay alive. I must find out some part of his life which will have an exchange value that will cancel out what he has on me. By the way, old thing, you've met Miss K-Word, but the present moment, she's milking me for $150 a day. She's supposed to go to the old man, by whatever means necessary, into talking about his past, and that information she has to bring to me. That ought to be easy. Exxon brags about his past. Now, so far, I've learned that Hillary Exxon stole two heifers of the livestock show in Abilene in 1906. I feel for you, Captain. I wouldn't get much on the current market, would it? My dear fellow, I've a proposition to make to you. Should you ferret out anything that would be of value to me, I'll reward you handsomely. Well, maybe something can be arranged, Captain. Good, excellent. May I have your word on that? Well, there isn't much time, Captain. I'd better trot on back. No, show you the door, sir. Now, let me warn you, Mr. Spade, if you're un-good, should you ever hear the thunder-vibers' wings? Run. Flee. I assured him that I would heed his warning, bat him goodnight, and start it back down the lane in the direction of Exxon Manor. Business was going on as usual. There were no shots this time, only the screen. When I got to Barbara's room, you and Adam were standing at a bedside trying to quiet it down. Well, Mr. Spade, is this the way you guard the house against intruders? Where have you been? Ask Adam. What does he mean by that thing? I'm sure I don't know, sir. I've not left the house. What happened here? Oh, she woke up screaming. She said someone had come into the room and torn off her bandages. A nightmare, of course. Please. Please, I want to talk to Mr. Spade, Lord. Oh, please, please go. Adam, you go too. Please, Hillary, you go too. Good. Some questions I want to ask you, sweetheart. I don't know. But look here, Spade, look here. She's just had a terrific shock. She shouldn't be questioned. The code of detective transcends that of the medical, Mr. Hillary. Perhaps he should have a few minutes alone with Miss Cawood. Oh, very well, very well. The guy, I suppose, is no better. Remember what the doctor said, Miss Barbara, not too much exertion. What happened, Barbara? Well, it could have been a dream. Somebody was standing over me in the darkness and peering down at me. And then he started to rip off my bandages and I screamed. And one thing came into the room and he turned on the lights and he was gone. It could have been a dream, Sam, and I could have been crying at the bandages myself and in my sleep. But you weren't. It wasn't a dream. I've been talking to Captain Sherry. And then I thought... Oh, well, how much do you know? That you've been feeding the old man truth, sir. I'm beginning to talk in his sleep. How much talking has he done? Well, plenty. How much have you told Sherry? Well, just as little as possible. Why? Because, Sam, if we can keep that old man alive and out of jail long enough to sell what we know to Sherry for what it's really worth, we'd be fools not to do it. What makes you so sure you'll stay alive long enough to collect, sweetheart? Well, because... You're going to help me, aren't you, Sam? So I helped her. But not for the reason she fought. I made a lot of noise leaving her room and going to mine. Going back, I didn't wear any shoes. I slipped into a clothes press in her room so quietly that even she didn't hear me. I left the door slightly ajar and waited. Time passed and I was stiff from standing still. It happened at about 3 a.m. The glare of his eyes told me the threat of a gun in my hands meant nothing to him. I jumped to his side, twisted the knife away from him, picked him up in my arms and carried him, kicking, clawing and swearing back to his bed. He lay there, breathing hard. Then he smiled. You're a smart one, sonny. You had me figured out the first time you came in here, didn't you? Not quite, Mr. Exxon. The gun under your window was the clincher. All the time, I got tired of shooting into door frames. Look, you're dying, Mr. Exxon. There's no use trying to make up stories now. Yeah, right, sonny. I knew that nurse would sit up in bed after I fired tonight and then I let her have it right through the screen. Why? You know, she was doping me up and sneaking in here at night and listening to what I was babbling about. Maybe you weren't saying anything important, Mr. Exxon. 18 years ago, I killed my wife. I wanted to carry the secret to my grave. I did it then. Mr. Spade, what's happened? He's dead. He's dead? Did he say anything, sir? Did he confess anything? You must tell me if he said anything. I didn't hear him say a word. Well... Hmm, hello, Mr. Spade. Charged with a certain texture, a significant quality. There's a certain smell, yes. Ah, and you can inhale it, sir. Journey thou to Nairobi on the Felt. Tarry seven days and you will collect the fabulous Golden Skull of Wizami, King of the Bojamas. Aha! Marcus! Unhook the hookah. Pect the marmalade. We are off to the Felt. Just then a flock of birds broke across the horizon screaming. There must have been thousands of them, but not Ivers, Mr. Exxon. Vultures. I suppose if you're going to pay any attention to almonds, it's a good thing to know your birds. Period. End of report. Right now I have something to say to every man who doesn't use a hair tonic. To every man who says I don't believe in it or I don't need it. That all depends on what you mean when you say hair tonic. If you mean the old-fashioned greasy kind that leaves your hair smelling like a perfume factory, you're absolutely right. But remember, wild root cream oil hair tonic is nothing like that. Wild root cream oil is an entirely new kind of hair grooming preparation. There's not a drop of alcohol in wild root cream oil, and it contains soothing ladolin that's like the oil of your skin. Most important, wild root cream oil grooms your hair the right way, neatly and naturally. Never leaves your hair sticky or greasy. Get the big economy-sized bottle and the handy new tube that's economical, easy to pack when you travel, and grand for the bathroom cabinet. Don't delay. Get it today. Wild root cream oil hair tonic. Again and again, the choice of men who put good grooming first. Sam, the memo robot worked after all. I told you it would. Yeah, it just takes a little time, sweetheart. Oh, read the card, Sam. What's that? You see? You'd know you were supposed to see Mr. Jones at two o'clock. Isn't it wonderful? Well, this card doesn't even mention Jones. What does it say, Sam? Well, it says, uh, Journey Thou to Friskens Drugstore, wager $5 an IRA W and a third at Belmont Park. Oh, Sam, it's psychic. Terry, but a moment. Yes? Thou wilt lose five bucks. Oh, good night, Sam. Good night, sweetheart. The Adventures of Sam Spade, Dashel Hammett's famous private detective, are produced and directed by William Spear. Sam Spade is played by Howard Duff. Lerene Tuttle is Effie. The Adventures of Sam Spade are written for radio by Bob Talman and Gil Dowd, with musical direction by Lud Gluskin. This is Dick Joy, reminding you that next Sunday, author Dashel Hammett and producer William Spear join forces for another adventure with Sam Spade, brought to you by Wild Root Cream Oil. Again and again, a choice of men who put good grooming first. Smart girls use Wild Root Cream Oil, too, for quick good grooming and to relieve dryness between permanence. Mothers say it's grand for training children's hair. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. Thanks for watching.