 The Adventures of Frank Race, starring Tom Collins. The war changed many things, the face of the earth and the people on it. Before the war, Frank Race worked as an attorney, but he traded his law books for the cloak and dagger of the OSS. And when it was over, his former life was over too. Adventure had become his business. The Adventures of Frank Race. The Adventure of the fourth round knockout. If it ever came to a war between Brooklyn and the rest of the world, I'd be tempted to bet on Brooklyn. Whatever they go for there, they go for with spirit, whether it be the Dodgers or boxing matches in one of the small local clubs. Mark Donovan, a native son, had dragged me over to one of the clubs to see a young heavyweight on the way up the ladder. I bet you never expected to see a fight like this, Race. Look at him there in the corner. Race is a face. Go on! Kill him, Miss Ron! Freddy, kill him! Here's a rough customer. Freddy? Just to be a long shaman before Mike Lang picked him up. I might use the push of care before he became the fight manager. Well, I'll admit I never saw a fight like this one before. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Markers of Queensbury? No, no. Who's he? I'll tell you later. This is station WBKL, the voice of Brooklyn, coming to you from the ringside of the Red Hook Stadium. Fourth round of the main event between Freddy Natchez and Joe Kenny. Freddy has had things all his own way tonight. He's moving into the center of the ring and Kenny's back fiddling. Oh, Freddy moved in fast and caught Kenny with a straight left jab. Kenny is back on the ropes and Freddy's pounding him with right and left. Go on, and a la panza, Freddy! La panza! Kenny twists away. He's mighty tired, though. Freddy's shuffling after him. He intends to finish it in this round. And another right and left to Kenny's midsection and a left to the side of the head. Freddy's had that right hand cocked. He's looking for a Sunday punch opening in there. Well, Kenny ducked away and flicked the light left into Freddy's face. Didn't see much of a punch, but Freddy's backing up a little. He's falling. Freddy Natchez is down. The referee's counting. Five, six. Come on, get up, you bum. Take it easy, Mark. He told a fight. Who's he kidding? Let's get out of here. I want to go back to the dressing room and see Mike Lang. Oh, boy, we'll leave you sore. Let us in, son. You said it'd be out as soon as the doctor got finished with Freddy. Doctor? What's that pelucanita doctor for? It was hardly hit. It didn't seem as though he was, but... I don't know, Mark. It was a funny fall. That wasn't no fall. It was a dive. Went into the tank like Esther Williams at the... Hello, Mike. Tough break, fella. Yeah, yeah, Mark, yeah. That double crossing. I like to go in and slug him myself, but... What's the matter, Mike? Come on, don't take it so hard. He's dead, Mark. Freddy's dead. Dead? Well, it didn't seem like much of a punch, Mike. It wasn't. That isn't what killed him. He was poisoned. Poisoned? That's all the doc says. But I don't know. I don't know how. Well, who was around him before the fight? Nobody. Nobody but me. It was the only one with him for the last four hours, the time he climbed into the ring. I'm afraid I'm in a jam. Did Freddy have any enemies, Mike? Who doesn't? I mean, is there anybody in particular who might have wanted him out of the way? Was there anything unusual about this fight? Well, it was a lot of betting, race. Too much for a small club boat. It means that somebody might have made a big killing. Yeah, but who? It wasn't one of the big plungers. Most of them bet on my boy. Any particular gambler around here goes for nothing but sure things? Uh, Benny Slote, but he's clear on this one. I saw him bet a grand on Freddy just last night. Race, uh... I know you get big dough for your work, and I ain't got that kind of money, but... You're a friend of Mark's that's good enough. Well, what are we gonna do, race? Let's look up the sure thing, boy, Benny Slote. You know where he lives? Yeah, sure. He's got kind of a mansion up in the hills off Grand Central Parkway. You better drive me up there. Benny Slote. I seem to connect that name with recent headlines, Mark. Yeah, yeah. He got a big splash, something about the fixing of favorite of the track. The horse lost, and they say Benny reeked in a hundred Gs. Oh, here's Ravine Road, Nana. But I locked the door on your side, race. Locked, why? Pretty narrow road on the sharp turns. Yeah, see what you mean. Yeah, I know the road pretty good, though. Used to drive Benny around a lot before he got that foreign guy so nuts about. Canary yellow job. Sounds like he makes gambling pay well. Oh, brother, you can say that again. Hey, turn my rear vision mirror up, will you? Right. Is that okay? Yeah, yeah. The guy behind us has his brights and a spotlight going to a blind and... Oh, perfect. Vision's mandatory on this run. The man on the spotlight seems anxious to pass us. All right, you can't. It's a narrow, too. I'll let him by when we come on straightway road. He's waiting, Mark. He's coming around us. Hey, they got you! I'm going to get that guy. Say a few words to him myself. Be able to follow his tail light as soon as we make up some crowd. There's the light now. Yeah, we can. Curbs on there. I see it. There's the car. Good. I'm going to porch right on his baby's tail until he stops. The light's deceptive, Mark, but that car seems to be bright yellow. Hey, it is. That must be Bunny's slowest job I told you about. It seems to be slowing down. Yeah, he knows what talent I'm probably scared stiff. You're stopping. That's all we... Brother, here's where I read the riot act to this character. I'd like to add a few words of my own. You need to get none of his car. I probably want to hear what we have to say first. That's pretty dangerous driving you did back there, friend. What was your hurry? Yeah, Benny, what's the idea? You want to kill somebody with it? Never mind, Mark. Never mind when a guy... I guess we have nothing to say to Benny Sloat after all. Yeah, but, Grace, we followed this guy over a winding road doing better than 60. We were less than 30 feet behind him. He's alone in the car. I know all that, Mark, but just the same. Benny Sloat's dead. Oh, Grace, maybe we ought to call in the cops. No, they'll come in soon enough. I'd like to clear Mike Lang before any arrests, man. All right, you're the boss. Benny Sloat's house now. Why don't you come in, would you? No, you make the rounds of the gambling hangouts. See if there's any talk floating around about the fight, the gambling part of it. All right. I go back to my apartment and wait for a call from me. Mark drove off and I studied the exterior of the house that sure, a Thagan's built. It was an excellent taste. Twenty of glass and brick. Much bigger than it seemed at first glance. I decided to see if the interior matched. Yes? One look at the woman in the doorway was enough to tell me who had provided the aspects of good taste in the life of the late Benny Sloat. Fashions from Paris are taken care of at dress, but they didn't come close to what nature had provided for the filling. Here was a woman no man could ever whistle at. It takes breath to whistle. May I help you? Is this the Sloat residence? Mr. Sloat isn't home. No, he's as close as he'll ever get, though. May I come in? Well, I... I'm not selling anything really. I just wanted to discuss a dead man I found at the room. Come in. She snapped the light on as we went into the living room, but the room wasn't empty. Two glasses were on the coffee table in front of the fireplace and a slightly balding man was sitting stiffly on the divan. Uh, Mr... Race. Frank Race. Mr. Race, this is Mr. Honigman. A pleasure, Mr. Race. Hello. Mr. Honigman was just leaving. Uh, yes, yes, I was just leaving. May I send you the statements in the morning, Miriam? Mr. Honigman is our investment counselor, Mr. Race. No very instant business. Oh, rather dull, really. Facts and figures. Most people just aren't cautious enough to handle their own affairs. Does anybody have a match? Uh, allow me, Miriam. Look out, you clumsy fool. There. It's out. No harm done. Bend yourself, Honigman. No. The whole book of matches just flared up in my hand. It's a bad habit falling the cover over behind the matches. Yes, stupid of me. Well, good night. Good night. Good night, Honigman. Now, Mr. Race. I was driving along your road with a friend. A man in a yellow car almost drove us off the road. My husband? An exceedingly heavy man, about 15. Not heavy. Fat. And 55. But you, you're... 22, Mr. Race. We followed Mr. Slote. When he reached his car, he was dead. I could still use a light for this cigarette. What makes you so emotional, Mrs. Slote? I asked you for a light, Mr. Race. Of course. Here you are. You'll forgive me for being so old-fashioned about dead husbands. Thank you for the light. You're welcome. Now shall I mix as a few martinis and get some dance music on the radio? You needn't be sarcastic, Mr. Race. My husband's death is not unexpected. And it's neither a shock nor a loss. Why not unexpected? Well, he's had a very serious heart ailment for many years. Well, I could do it. But I don't think so. You see, I've had a sneaking suspicion that's grown a bit stronger since I came in here. What do you mean? I think your husband's been murdered, Mrs. Slote. Just as pretty natchez was murdered in the ring a few hours ago. Oh. You ought to put on some fresh makeup. Your pale. Your hands shaking just a little. Isn't that understandable with my husband dead? He was dead when I let your cigarette a moment ago. It must have been his heart, Mr. Race. What motive? Motive? Well, let's take yours, for instance. Mine? You obviously hated him. Yeah, I'll take your word for that. Benny made my life miserable. I had orders to stay away from other people, men or women. I wasn't even allowed to let anybody into the house unless he was home. Including Honigman. Oh, Honigman different. Not the romantic type, huh? Benny was a jealous fool. I think that's a story you'd better tell the police. I think I can convince you that that isn't necessary, Mr. Race, if you'll give me the chance. There's something I'd like to show you. What? It's in this drawer over here. Does this convince you, Mr. Race? An automatic pistol. Well, that's always convincing. I'm not going to have you involving me in this, do you understand? An automatic demands a lot of respect and complete attention. Mine was distracted momentarily by a movement outside the window. You needn't look for help, Mr. Race. This house is quite isolated. I know it is. You said your husband had enemies. Do you have a choice fewer of your own? Why? It's very important to know in the next few moments. Do you know how to use that cannon you're pointing at me? I assure you. I'm an expert. Tell me I have a demonstration. Do you think you can hit that lamp? Put it out quickly. What are you getting at? I'm not sure, but I think I'm trying to save your life. Don't look now at this man outside in your garden. No, don't turn. He has a rifle, I think. Harry Connors. I don't know if he's going to shoot you or me. But you is after it might be to your advantage to get rid of that light. We'll return to the adventures of Frank Race in just about one minute. Back to the adventures of Frank Race. Miriam slowed fire to split second before the man outside the window to let go of his rifle. And I dived to the first sound, dropping her to the floor behind the van and away from the window. We found each other in the dark. Are you all right? Yes. That was a good shot. Crawl behind the sofa. What are you going to do? Wait until your Harry Connors comes in and see if he hit anything. That's him. Will you gamble on something? What? There's no point in risking a shooting match in the dark. Give me time to crawl partway to the door. That's all you've got at the window. All right. Miriam. Miriam. I hear you in there. Answer me. Miriam. Well, nice work, Miriam. All right, turn on the light. He was going to kill me, wasn't he? He certainly didn't come courting you, young widow. Now, suppose you tell me who Harry Connors is. Because he's coming to one of me, get very busy around here again. Harry and I were engaged before I married Benny. He introduced us. Well, how did he come to know Sloat? Harry used to make bets for Benny when Benny didn't want other people to know his money was up. What was the last time? Just before Benny and I were married three months ago. They had a fight. About to getting married? Yes. Harry said he'd kill both of us. Well, he's ought to keep happy, his promise. Or maybe finish the last half. You'll pardon me while I ruin your draperies. What are you going to do? My entire friend will hurry up and tuck him away in a closet for a while while we enjoy a nice drive in the cool night air. Where are we going? To call my friend Mark Donovan. Pay a visit to a fighter named Joe Kenny who knocked Freddie Natchez out of this world. Is Kenny's joint right here? Good. You and Mrs. Sloat take a few turns around the block. I want to talk to Kenny alone. Right, right. Yell if you need me, huh? Yeah. Benny Sloat sent me. Come in. Look, Benny wants me to front for him and not just kill him, tell him I'm not gonna do it, that dirty double crosser. Benny doesn't want you to get excited. Excited? What's the matter? Was he too yellow to come up here himself? I don't want to be mixed up in this poison murder. It ain't my line. Well, something went wrong. Yeah, you can say that again. I'm set up to take a dive in the sixth. And then Freddie curls up and dies on me in the fourth. Well, Benny says you'll get your money back. I better get it back. Every cent I had after 11 years in the ring. I'm too old. I was willing to make one killing. But not the kind Natchez got. All I wanted was dough. All right. Just don't talk and you'll break even. I'll talk all right if anybody starts to finger me at the inquest. Benny's too smart. We're all supposed to be betting on Natchez. But I know how he switched his action to me placing his dough against mine and everybody else's. He'd bet $1,000 on Natchez. Yeah. I should have gotten wise right then. Benny wouldn't bet one lousy grand on a sure thing. You know him better than that. What do you? What do you mean? You're not one of Benny's boys. I never saw you before. You're a cop. No. You're a cop. You're trying to frame me. I'll take it easy. No, you ain't getting me. He came at me like a fool. He was an old fighter and his reflexes were just to travel slow but he could hit. He cut me one out of the heart and my knees buckled. But I caught him behind the knees and dumped him to the floor. I ground my heel into his shin as he got up. He jerked forward slightly and I planted one low in his stomach and I let him have an elbow on the side of the jaw. And I pounced on him as it fell. All right, now Kenny, don't move or I'll break your wrist. All right, cop. You got me. I told you I'm not a cop. I'm investigating for Mike Lang, Freddie's manager. All I wanted is to save his neck. You on the level? Yeah. Now can we get back to a normal conversation if I let you out? Okay. You said that you knew that Benny switched his action to you and cleaned up by betting on your win. Well, Benny's dead. Huh? He's dead? Yes. And the key to his murder, Anne Freddie's, is the man who placed the bets for Benny. Now who was it? Well, I don't know for sure. I don't even know his name. But there was one guy. What did he look like? He was about five... Here, look out! Ah! Did you get anything out of Joe Kenny racing? Somebody shot him while I was talking to him. Holy cow. Look at you. You look like someone's been used new for a drunk. Hang on a minute. Where's Miriam Sloat? I wanted to make a phone call for you all night cafeteria on the corner. And so did I. Well, we'd better find him. I want to run back to a house checkup on Harry Connors. Connors was the reason for my phone call. I thought I'd see what I could dig up about him. What'd you find out? Well, he was a betting commissioner for Benny Sloat, see. But you know what he used to be? Hmm. He used to be a pharmacist. Now, ain't that interesting? Since Matt isn't probably Benny, we're poisoned. Very interesting. Oh, Mr. Capitieri. Well, I can see the phone booths through the window. It seems to be empty. What a wish it would. Now, she comes from around the corner. Looking for me? Yes. Who did you call before? Bill Honigman. You met him at the house. Oh, yes. I thought you might want to examine my husband's books or ask Honigman about his recent business dealings. It might be a good idea. First, I think I'll call on Freddie and Matt's wife. Under the circumstances, I'm sure she won't be sleeping. Can I give you any information? It's time for you to have another cigarette. Somebody shot him while I was talking to him. Anybody, anybody at all your husband saw it just before the fight, Mrs. Mattes? No. Only Mike Lang. But Mike wouldn't hurt Freddie. I know it wasn't him. You know it and I know it, but the coroner's jury won't. You've got to think. Well, somebody wanted Freddie to throw the fight, but that was earlier in the day. Besides, Freddie said it was just a joke. A joke? Yes. He was a real estate salesman, wanted to sell Freddie a house. Did Freddie act strangely before the fight? Different from other times? No. He wasn't so nervous like he sometimes got. Any reason why not? Well, he took something to calm him down. He even took a nap. What did he take? Some kind of a pill. He got it from the real estate fella. He must have took one himself, because Freddie asked him if he took vitamins, and he said no, he had a nervous stomach. And then he gave Freddie one of them and told him if he took it just a couple of hours before the fight, he'd feel fine. And it worked, huh? Yeah. It was fine when it left. Thanks. Thank you very much, Mrs. Mattes. Fine, though. Fine though killed my Freddie. Come on in. In a moment. You stay outside, Mark. But don't wait in the car. I'll stand over there in the bushes. Well, race, are you coming or not? Be right there. I'll catch you going. Where's Mr. Donovan? He had to leave. I didn't hear the car. He probably carried it to avoid waiting the neighbors. You go out of your way to make it obvious you don't like me. But I do. Well, I give very much. Well, you don't show it. Yeah. I feel so alone, race. I need somebody to hold me and baby me a little. That could be an invitation. Other men wouldn't like to have me in their arms, race. She came closer by race for her. For a crowded city in the desert islands, she'd have been the perfect companion. Hmm. There'll be more for us, won't there, race? We'll meet again, won't we? Away from all this. Of course we will. After Benny's funeral, we can meet nights at the cemetery and hold hands as we sit on his tombstone. You. You? Careful now, Miriam. There's a gentleman present. Honigman. I'm sorry. This is embarrassing. I got here and nobody was at home. I must have dozed off. Were you spying on me? No, no, I dozed off. Mr. Honigman left evidence of his presence in the entry hall, his raincoat, hat, rubbers. I catch cold easily, Mr. Race. I know it must seem silly to you when there's no sign of a storm. Race, look. The closet. Harry must have been... He's gone. I noticed that when we came in. Aren't you going after him? The police can pick him up later. Well, I hope he's innocent. I'd hate to see him... Stills in the middle of out here. That's nice. Even if you aren't engaged anymore. Or maybe you will be again with Benny gone, huh? You. You were engaged to Harry Connors? Yes, Honigman. Didn't you know? He threw him over to marry Benny Sloat. Of course, Benny was older and fat, but he did have money. Maybe she'll go back to Harry now. Yes. Maybe she will. Of course, he might marry somebody else with money. Temporarily. Some fellow who might have made a big killing on a betting transaction. That's possible. I'm sure Mrs. Sloat's romances don't interest me. Mrs. Sloat, don't you mean Miriam? You're on better terms than that. Now, tell me, Mrs. Sloat, wasn't Harry Connors your investment consul before Honigman took over? Yes. Why? Because Connors used to place your husband's bets. And if Honigman took over the job, he's the one who placed Benny's bets for the fight last night. Are you accusing me of killing Sloat? Yes, and that is... Then you're a fool. Because whoever killed them also killed Joe Kenny. And I can prove I was in my hotel when Kenny was killed. Who told you Kenny was killed? Miriam told me when she called to ask me to come over here. Oh, that's too bad. Because I didn't tell Miriam until after she had called him. Honigman, you fool. Miriam, I didn't know I... Fortunately, I didn't rely on you, Honigman. No, Mrs. Sloat still has her automatic. And this time it won't be the light bulb I hit. Before you pull that trigger, Miriam, I might warn you. You're in for a deafening silence. I opened your purse and never began while we were driving back in the car. What? Why? Drop it! It... it was loaded. Oh, my arm. Honigman, you let him get away. Not far. I said... That's it, a guy like that trying to say no to me and my enrich. Can't get over it, though. You never heard, man. That thing there. Wildcat. But that sissy little guy, Honigman. Just the victim of a wild love. He wanted the money and sweet Miriam. I can figure how she shot Kenny, but... How did she poison the others? He's the type who has a pill remedy for everything. Only he had a few special ones made up for special people. Slow dissolving capsule with a delayed action. Possibly sorry. I still don't see how you're pegging off. You don't look like a guy who takes chances. Yeah, but he was. It always shows in some way. With him, it was the way he carries matches. We didn't follow his usual behavior pattern. What do you mean? We bent the cover behind the matches and they caught fire. A careful conservative person wouldn't do that. Oh, what do you know? You better call the police, Mark. And call Mike Lang, too. Tell him he can go to sleep now. Be sure to be with us again this time next week for another dramatic chapter in the adventures of Frank Race. Art Gilmore speaking. This is a Brucell's production.