 The Adventures of Frank Race, starring Paul Dubov, with Tony Barrett as Mark Donovan. 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. Now we join Frank Race for the adventure of the candy killing. Railroad station, you could see the full length of the main street. Three short blocks to where your gaze stubbed itself on a brewery that glowered in the stare of an inquisitive moon. It wasn't much after eight, yet only 15 or 20 cars lined the curb. Most of them taking up space in front of a busy spot labeled Finney's pool room. All right, so what now? Since we ain't going to need a cab in this boy. Oddly, there's the McKinley Hotel across the street. Let's go. Okay. Look, will you tell me something? Why would anybody want to live in such a whistle stop? My family seemed to find a reason. You see, Mark, I was born here. I had opened my big gap. Why don't you tell a guy these things? I haven't seen the place for 15 years. You know the saying, Marcus, you can't go home again. You leave a place with a picture of it in your mind. You go back after a gap of years, it's never the same. It's always smaller, grayer, meaner. Yeah. So this is the hotel, huh? Oh, brother. I bet there's a cribbage board in every room. Yes, gentlemen. We'd like a room. And you might tell me if you have a Clifford Raymond registered. Raymond? Yes, room 213. Thanks. Mark, you register for us. We'll see if Raymond is in. Hello, Cliff, I thought I... Cliff, what's the matter with you? Come in, race. Come in quick. Something horrible has happened. He looked at it. Something had hit him high on the left side of his face. Even Madison Square Garden doesn't produce many eyes to match this one. Close the door, race. I gotta sit down. Better let me do something for you, Cliff. I guess so. Even over sideways from weakness all the way to the floor, I swung toward the bathroom to soak some towels. But it was a foot that stopped me. A woman's foot, a foot and an ankle. With the rest of her on the other side of the half-open closet door. All the wet towels in the world wouldn't have helped this girl. Her purse, billed open, lay alongside her. It held a powder puff and lipstick. There was also a few coins in a folder of matches that I picked up. The matches had come from some spot called the Circle. Dead, isn't she? Yes. Race, I gotta get away. We better talk it over, Cliff. Running is never the right answer. I can't stay here, race. Somebody will come and if I... I'll talk to you, race, but get me out of here, will you? It wasn't easy getting him downstairs through that cubicle of a lobby. But he was game enough to act the part of a drunk and I kept telling myself he was a decent sort of Joe a likable girl for a wife and a couple of cute kids. I had to keep inoculating myself with this line of thought because if Cliff Raymond had killed that girl I was building myself into a high-geared accessory after the fact. A felony. And when felonies are connected with murder, the chips come high. This is my quarries. I'll get the back. I gotta lie down. I better get you to a doctor, Cliff. No. Just drive me around while we talk. Okay, okay. What was that girl, Cliff? Candy Manson. Did she live in town? Yeah, yeah, she lived here. Somebody shot her. I figured that was it. Seems to have happened in your room. I don't want to talk about it, race. I'm afraid you're going to have to talk about it, Cliff. I'll try to look at it sensibly. You arrange to meet me here so we can discuss a job I'm on for intercontinental underwriters. I find you in a hotel room with a girl who's been murdered. If I'm going to help you, I must know what happened. I don't know what happened. I just walked in the room and someone hit me. But you knew the girl. Yeah. I might as well admit it. I've been in love with her, race. That's why I wanted you to meet me here so I could see her. Funny how a guy'll do things like that, isn't it? Funny. A guy like me with a wife like Felice. Oh, funny. Take it easy, take it easy. How long have you been in lexicon, Cliff? Three or four days. Oh, I'm quite a well-known figure around town. What am I going to do, race? What about Felice and the kids? You're going to give yourself up right now. Police headquarters. A stubby brick building next to a rundown theater. We were turned over to a man with eyes that made me think of drill tips. Garrison, chief of police. He listened to us without interrupting and his first question was addressed to me. What's your stake in this? I'm an investigator. I'm also an attorney licensed to practice in this state. Until Mr. Raymond decides otherwise, I'm his counsel. Sounds all right, race. We'll check on it naturally. Naturally. And by the way, who's editing the chronicle now? Still one of the Tedrow family? Who else? Lance Tedrow. Now you might tell me something else. Who runs a spot around here called the Circle? You kidding? I lived in lexicon once, but it was years ago. There's a lot I don't know about this place. Jim Traffton runs a circle. Why? Just a thought. I may want to see him after I've seen Tedrow. Lance Tedrow. He and I had kicked around together in high school. Jim Traffton had been one of the gang too. Finding the Tedrow house again brought me a nostalgia that was almost an ache. Big, old-fashioned, lawns like putting greens. The Tedrow place. Frank. Frank, this is great. I couldn't believe it when they told me you'd called. Let's pour a few for old-time's sake. I'll take a rain check on that, Lance. I only came for a few minutes to ask you to suppress some news. Suppress some news? I imagine you already know about the Manson Girls murder. Oh yeah, I got two of the boys working on it now. Cliff Raymond's a friend of mine. I'd like to keep the news out of the Chicago papers. It would mean a lot to me. He has a nice wife, a couple of cute kids. It's not hard to say yes to that. I'll have to break it locally though. Of course. Okay, now I said yes to you and you're going to say the same about those drinks. Not tonight, Lance, but I'll make it tomorrow. No kidding. Back at the hotel, I found a note propped on the dresser. It was signed by Mark Donovan and said, I put up with this wallpaper for an hour. You'll find me shooting pool at Finney's. And that's where he was. Involved with a couple of cue sharks intent on enlightening his monetary assets. Oh, hi, Resh. I thought time used to get around. I was just thinking of the same thing. Let's go. Suppose you don't want to go. The latter would have spoken hadn't been playing pool. He stood leaning against the counter. A grin separated his lips, but he was no Rotarian. And with a me at two companions who were obviously voting the same ticket. All right, me, I said suppose you don't want to go. Hey, what's it to you? Stay with your game, chum. Got a couple of bets on it, ain't you? All right, I'll pay you off the bets. How about mine and your own business? Yeah, this happens to be my business. Take my advice, chum. Stay with the game. Your boyfriend's come with us. I saw Mark Lance around. Watch his eyes go back to the pool cue he'd been holding. Simulating a shot, he slowly pulled the cue through the fingers of his left hand. Uh, maybe I ought to stay, race. I figured it clean up on this game. Now you're playing it smart, chum. Nobody ever went wrong taking advice from... Come on, Rick! It wasn't quite that simple. The pool cue had been put the laughing boy out of action, but his partners moved in. I took a couple of hard ones, gave one back, and we broke through the streets. You know, race, I'll never forget that guy's kissing. He was so busy being tough, he leaves himself wide open, telling you he won't straighten up for a month. You're quite a man with a pool cue. Yeah, nach. Look, what goes anyway? I thought this was your hometown. Cliff Raymond's in a jam, Mark. The girl's been murdered, and I think he's being framed for it. That scuffle was probably the first move to brush me out of the picture. In the little old hometown? What do you know? It can be a tough town on the wrong side of the tracks, Mark. It's always been that way. Well, where are we going now? To find a place called the Circle, I have a feeling it'll present a fancy front of some kind with an inner sanctum dedicated to the goddess of chance. You first went into a restaurant, a pretty swank establishment for a town the size of Lexcon, and it didn't take long to spot the portal to the gambling section, an unobtrusive door guarded by a lot of bulk in a dinner jacket, a lot of bulk with a face like an obstacle course. But before I had a chance to try diplomacy on him, the portal opened and a man came out, a man I recognized as Jim Traffton. I'll be back in a few minutes, Eddie. Hello, Jim. Well, I'll be a joker wild. Frank Race. After all these years. Do I want to talk to you? You go on inside and stay there till I get back in a little manner to take care of on the outside. Go to the bar. You'll find my sister there. Maybe you'll remember her. Vaguely, she was with the younger set, wasn't she? Yeah, by about ten years. Go ahead, Frank. I'll see you. An immense room with the hush of a cathedral. There were perhaps 30 or 40 people actively engaged in the pursuits of chance. We drew glances from only two or three of them. Very discreet glances that asked no questions and volunteered no answers. Holy cow, what a joint. Traffton seems to be doing all right. Guy could use snowshoes on his carpet. Look, what do you say I just kick around a place and see what I can pick up? Okay, Mark. There were three empty seats at the bar. One of them alongside a pair of legs delightfully designed for display. The rest of the lady matched the legs and that was enough for me, so I sat down next to her. Sorry, it's taken. It wouldn't be, but I could mind it for the man, couldn't I? Oh, I don't think he'd mind too much. Then he's either very drunk or very old. Well, he's neither one. He just happens to be my brother. Jim Traffton? You've been reading my palm. No, Jim and I are old friends. I just saw him outside and he told me you'd be here. I'm Frank Race. Jim and I went... Frank Race? Wait a minute. I know all about Jim and you. When I think of the crush I had on you, hey, let me get a good look at you. Maybe I could stop for a relapse. While you're looking, you might tell me something. Why? Does Jim know Candy Manson? Candy Manson? Why? She's been murdered. You're not serious. Deadly serious. What kind of girl was she, June? Sweet kind of crazy, maybe, but sweet. What are you talking about, Chick? Well, I'm talking about... Jim, Jim, do you... Do I know about Candy? Yeah, I know. I know something else, too. Three characters just cracked the jail wide open, killed one of the guards and turned loose the guy they were holding for Candy's murder. I didn't wait, not even for Mark. I just headed for the door, but I'd barely hit the street when... Just a moment, you! It was Garrison, chief of police, crawling out of a black sedan. He stood in the gutters, swayed for an instant, then leaned against the car, and the light from the Mark key I could see he'd been shot. Can I get one break tonight anyway, running into you? All right. Get up against that wall. Take it easy, chief. I had nothing to do with that jailbreak. No. Let's see if you're still saying that 30 minutes from now. He lurched clear of the car, and I caught the glint of a pistol in his hand. He was a man enraged, feverish, half out of his head. I started easing back toward the haven of the circle's doorway. You heard what I said. Get up against the wall. Make one more funny move, I'll blast you. You're off base on this, chief, but I'm not going to argue with you. I'm just going to... We'll return to the adventures of Frank Grace in just about one minute. Now, back to the adventures of Frank Grace. It was only chief Garrison's condition that kept his bullets from plowing into my body. Weakness from his wound acted on my behalf, causing it to fall just as he began firing. I leaped back to him, kicked the pistol aside, and bent down to help him. Let me alone. Just let me alone. I'm going to get you into that car and then see if I can talk some sense into you. Give me a lift, Marcus. We'll get him into the back seat before that crowd gets out here. This guy's heavy. Come on. Look, who is he anyway? He's the chief of police. Get in and drive us away quickly. Yeah, you're okay. Hey, Grace, where are you going? For a ride, Jim. See you later. I've ducked in the head of the police department. This should only get us some one-to-tend at hard labor. That microphone on the dash mark, tell them to go ahead. Grunt it, sort of. How on? You won't get away with this. Chief, just listen to me, will you? When I have brought Cliff Raymond in... It's just a flesh-arm suspect on Crest Road. He's till the bridge. He ducked into Larkin's old barn with his moan. He ain't going to get away. You sound kind of funny, Chief. That won't bother you. Gun it, Mark. Turn left to the next road. Yeah. What's the patient now? We're heading for Crest Road on Larkin's farm. Chief, you've got to listen. Somebody's trying to frame Cliff Raymond for that killing. He'd look guiltier than ever. You heard what your prowl car said. One man alone running across a field. I'll bet that's Raymond on his own. Go ahead. Make it good. I want you to give me the right to talk to Raymond. I'll persuade him to give himself up. Think about it. He voluntarily surrendered in the first place and I talked him into it. All right. You're dealing the cards, Rhys. I'll play him your way. Well, there's a prowl car over by the barn, but where's the cops? They're probably both out after Raymond. Hi. How about it, Chief? Can you make it that far? Tell him to wait till I get there. I'll do it. Stay with the Chief, Mark. I've got to make it before it's too late. One doing no good. That guy's holed up in there and we're going to have to kill him to get him out. You're sure it's Cliff Raymond? Positive. Tomkin's got a good look at him. Then he'll come out peacefully. Here's the Chief now. What about this Angelo? It's Raymond all right. He's got a 45. Oh, it's on your own head, Rhys. I'm not worried. He'll come out. Cliff Raymond had holed up in the loft of the large barn, taking advantage of hay and heavy timbers for concealment and protection. I went into the barn slowly, talking to him all the way. Nothing happened until I'd almost reached the ladder going up to the loft. It's just for enough, Rhys. Okay, Cliff. I'll stand here and talk to you. I have only one thing to say. I'm not letting those people take me not alive. Cliff, listen to me. I'm convinced that you're being framed. With a little time, I think I can prove it. But you'll have to take it on the chin in the meantime. The answer is no. They're going to say now that I broke J. I haven't a chance racing you know it. Let me decide that, Cliff. That's the way your wife would want it. Yeah. That's the way she'd want it. The news didn't go to Chicago, Cliff. I arranged that for you. Now, how about it? Come on out with me. Stand trial if you have to. All right, Rhys. I'll come with you. But remember this. If you're wrong, you're sending me to the death house. Hello, Rhys. Care for company? In this case, there's nothing I'd like better. Rather early in the day for scotch and sodas, isn't it? Believe it or not, it's necessary therapy. Late last night, I took a man's life in my hands. Now I'm not so sure I know what to do with it. Cliff Raymond? Yes. I hear you talked him into giving himself up. I'm beginning to think I might have been a trifle hasty. A little too full of the old college try. What's it all about, Rhys? I haven't seen the papers yet. Jealousy? That's the answer I keep getting. Cliff Raymond thought he was getting an exclusive on Candy Manson. That's what somebody else seemed to want, too. That's why she was murdered. When Raymond walked into it, he was slugged. But why? Why all this after-effect? Why didn't the killer just let everything lay? I've been wondering about that. What trouble you've been getting? That could stem from the fact that Cliff and I were seen leaving the hotel last night. I know the clerk spotted us. Ralph Bowers? Little fellow? Sandy-haired? That checks. And so do the possibilities. He could have seen the killer go in and out, too. I think I'll pay this Bowers a visit. Probably won't be on duty now. Care to help me find him? Hmm, June Traffton. Private Islet. At the Hotel McKinley, we were told that Bowers had quarters in the hotel basement. That he'd very likely be in at the moment. He went down to a corridor with all the warmth and cheer of a cold storage bin. This must be the door. Shall I knock? Go ahead. Well, no problem of entry here. Just a tap in the thing. You better be the one to go in, Grace. Doesn't seem as though there's anyone here. Maybe Bowers... What? Can you stand the sight of violence, baby? Well, up to a point. Why have you... Merciful heavens. He'd been shot through the face right alongside the nose, and it wasn't pretty. The woman stood it for a minute or so, then all her warm color began to drain. Grace, if you don't mind... You want to get lost, baby? I think I'd better. You'll find me at Jim's place. I felt I had to look around. So far, I hadn't turned up a single ingredient that could remotely be called a clue. I went over every square foot of the room, even working on hands and knees, and finally found the bullet embedded in the wall alongside and almost under a light fixture. A two-calibre slug. I dug it out of the plaster and dropped it into my pocket. At the same instant, the door opened. Wow! It was the laughing boy of the pool hall, gripping a 45 that looked like a bazooka and wearing the new look, a snarl. It was a moment when the luger under my armpit offered no comfort in the least. You're just naturally a nosy guy, ain't you? Happens to be my business. I got news for you, Chum. As of now, you're going out of business. Come on. There were three more of them in the corridor, and it suddenly came over me that this was no charade. They were taking you down a sub-seller. Nothing like the right acoustics for this sort of thing. Funny, huh? We'll see how lippy you can be in a minute or so. Open the door, Nick. Get the light. A yellow glare lighting up a tomb. That's the way that light and that sub-seller looked to me. The laughing boy gave me a shove, and I started down the steps in front of him. This was his mistake, because in the middle of the steps I suddenly sat down, letting them spill over me. I had the luger out now and got a line on that light. What are you doing, June, drinking him straight? For the first time in my life. But after seeing poor little borrowers, I thought I had it coming. Why was he murdered, Rayce? You too much. I'll take a scotch and soda, bartender. You look a little must up. Trouble? Nothing that'll have a lasting effect on me. I've been thinking about this race. It might be a good thing for your client. He couldn't have killed Bowers this morning, not while he's in the county jail. Doesn't work out that way. Judging from the condition of his body, Bowers could have been killed last night at the time Cliff Raymond was out on their jailbreak. There's nothing like solid comfort. And why not? You ain't been around all day, so I thought I'd stretch out on his bed and catch up on my read. And for a small town newspaper, this one ain't bad, Joe. You got a beautiful account of that kid's killing? Here, I will read. Listen to this. Might as stalk the corridors of the McKinley Hotel last night claiming the life of Ken Dacey Manson, local secretary and winner of last year's county-wide beauty contest. Miss Manson's body was discovered in the rooms of Clifford Raymond, now held on suspicion of having committed the crime. The victim was wearing a simple skirt, a matching wool sweater. Her poise, which had been spilled open, contained only a lipstick, a powder puff, a folder of matches from a well-known local night spot, and a sum of 13 cents. Very well-rendered markets. Well, wait a minute. Don't rendered mean torn apart? Any cause? Jim Traffton. Once you should call him right away. He's forming a citizens committee to stop these moieties. Once you're at his office at four. I'll make it if I can, but I want to go down to the paper and get some information from Lance Tedrill first. I called my home and they said you were waiting here to see me, Frank. Yes, Tedrill. Oh, you got Jim and June with you. Yes, we do. I thought you were coming to our meeting. Coming here seemed more important to me. I hope these people appreciate your newspaper, Lance, that account of Candy Manson's death was great. Thanks. I did it myself. It gave me the solution to her murder. You're kidding. When did you first go to Cliff Raymond's room and see Candy Manson's body? Soon as Chief Garrison notified me of the crime. Which was after Raymond and I had notified the chief. I guess so. You wrote in your account that the girl's purse held a lipstick, a powder puff, a folder of matches, and 13 cents. A reporter's memory. Took a look around and wrote that several hours later. You wrote it from memory, all right. It must have been the memory of having been there when she was murdered. Because I picked up that folder of matches when I found her and carried it away with me. That's a lot of fluff. What could you do with a story like that? The story might be fluff, Tedrill, but this isn't. A .32 caliber automatic fired recently. I found it here in your desk drawer while you were away. Both Candy Manson and Ralph Bowers were killed by a .32. And Chief Garrison has the bullet that got Bowers. I'm betting they match up. So you found a gun. You found a .32. I'm all right, June. We'd better get Tedrill's arm bandaged. He's going to need it to write a confession. The Adventures of Frank Ray, starring Paul Dubov with Tony Barrett as Mark Donovan comes to you from Hollywood. Others heard in tonight's cast were Gloria Grant, Barney Phillips, Jack Krushen, Bill Crawford, and Tom Holland. This series is written and directed by Buckley Angel and Joel Murcott. The music is composed and played by Ivan Dittmars. Be sure to be with us again this time next week for another dramatic chapter in The Adventures of Frank Ray. Art Gilmore speaking. This is a Bruzelles production.