 Here's Dick Powell as Richard Diamond, Private Detective. My name's Diamond and I'm in business for a very simple reason. I like money. No sure I could do better, but I don't believe in straining myself. I might make a few bucks more, but so what? You work harder, your back gets weaker, and you take that extra couple of bucks and spend it for a brace to keep you from foiling in the middle. No, I got a little one-room office that leans out over Broadway, and I'm very happy. Sometimes I get a case that lasts a week, a hundred bucks a day in expenses, and I make enough to pay the rent. Take my girl, Helen Asher, to dinner a couple of times and rest my feet on the desk like a prosperous businessman. I'm in partnership with a shill called Human Nature, and with him on my side it just figures that people are going to get in trouble, like the character who's ringing the doorbell of an apartment on the east side. He's built just right for more trouble than he can handle. Hello, Mrs. Moran. You say that like you're really glad to see me. I'll let you know as soon as we can talk business. Did you bring a rubber hose along? Why? Are you going to be hard to get along with? This time, yes. Where's your husband? He went out. I tried to convince him the window was the quickest way to the street, but he's old-fashioned. He took the elevator. You're drunk. You can't get a bit out of me. Want a drink? Just get the 500. I don't want to be around when your old man gets back. You couldn't afford that, could you? No, and I don't think you could either, baby. Now let's stop buying games, Mrs. Moran. I've got a big, fat surprise for you, Mac. Keep it in small bills. That's not funny. That's your surprise. Yeah. You don't get the money. You get something else. Stop yelling. You'll have the whole building up here in a minute. There'll be up anyway, Mac. A gunshot makes people curious. Now, wait a minute. You don't have to pull a gun. I don't have to do anything. And I'm breaking myself of one habit right now. I'm through paying your dirty blackmail. Now you know I got my orders. If I don't collect, someone else will be around. Come on, give me the gun. This is the time. I need a drink. Well, here's to nothing, Betty, old girl. Oh, thanks. The wife of William Moran kills... Well, I have to call Mr. Moran. No sense to lose a good source of income. Yeah, come in. Do your laundry in your office? Free soap. Pull up a chair, Mr. Moran. William Moran. Nice pair of argyles. Send some down from Singsing. Have you read the morning papers, Mr. Diamond? I haven't had time. Took some throw rugs down to the laundry mat before I started on the socks. My wife died last night. What did you eat for breakfast? Pancakes and eggs. Why? You must eat a whole pig when you're not in mourning. How did she die? She was shot to death. Couldn't she get two people for her pyramid club? She was being blackmailed. It's usually the other way around. The victim shoots the blackmailer. The other man behind this blackmail ring. What makes you think there was more than one? I received an anonymous phone call this morning. It was from a man who said he was a friend of Mac Grayson. He made it perfectly clear that he was going to continue with the blackmail. You know what they had on your wife? She was a very wealthy woman, Mr. Diamond. Before she married me, she was rather... ...wild. Well, they get that way sometimes. There were some letters. Why don't you go to the police? As far as they're concerned, the case is closed. You want to turn to suicide, and that's that. I want to get the people who drove my wife to suicide. Okay, Mr. Moran. But if you wanted me to try and dig up your blackmailers, my fee is rather high. I want to start sending my laundry out. Money is no object. That's the nicest thing you could have said. A hundred dollars a day and a fifth of plasma. Plasma, Mr. Diamond? A hundred proof. I never know what I'm going to run into in a case like this. I may bleed a little. You can reach me at Evergreen 4-5021. I'll write you a check. It's a good thing and a very arty complex. Do you know anything more about this man who called you this morning? Only that he said he was a friend of Mac Grayson's. Oh, there you are, Mr. Diamond. This should be enough of a retainer. Oh, yes. And that's all you know? I'm sorry I can't be of more help. You've been a brick. I'll get the rest from homicide. Thank you and goodbye, Mr. Moran. Goodbye, Mr. Diamond, and good luck. Oh, I'm sorry I knocked down some of your washing. Uh, there. Well, I'll be hearing from you. Well, that's the way it goes. One minute you're washing socks, the next you've got enough money to stick out a claim on every night spot from Mott Street to Harlem. Unless a particular blackmail ring likes to kill private detectives. I had a hunch that the assignment might run into overtime, so I put in a call to a lovely redhead named Helen Asher. Francis the butler answered, and I told him to pass the word long that I might be late for my date. I hung up before Helen could get on the pipe and start screaming at me like a wounded eagle. I locked the office, went down to Fifth Precinct, and an old friend, Lieutenant Levinson, he was in charge of the homicide detail and could tell me about the late Mrs. Moran and her victim. When I walked in, Sergeant Otis was polishing his billy. Hello, Otis, the lieutenant in? Well, Richard Diamond, the all-American gumshoe. Oh, you're just jealous because that club you've got is a better shape than your head. Lieutenant, Diamond's out here. Okay, send him in. Tell me, Shamus, how does one get to be a great big private detective? Seven box tops? You have to observe things, Otis, my boy. For instance, one look with your shirt and I can tell you've been eating well for a week. Why don't you either get it cleaned or stick it in a pressure cooker? Hello, Walt. Now, wait a minute, Rick, if you've got a body somewhere, take it to another precinct. I'm a little short right now, but maybe I can dig one up. What a thing. Yeah, that was a swell one. Is this just a social visitor or am I a dreamer? It's about the Moran suicide. You handle it? Uh-huh. One of the neighbors called us. They're both deader than Otis on a double date. What about the Grayson guy she knocked off? Cheap, uh, couple of convictions. Oh, don't tell me Moran's been to you with that blackmail story. Yeah, yeah. He seems to think Grayson was working with someone. Rick, that guy pestered us all morning, but there's no proof of blackmail or anything else, except two people got killed. Give me a quick rundown. I don't know why you're interested. I think Moran drummed up the blackmail theory just to cover that his wife was running around with another man. Well, I'm interested because Moran gave me a fat 200 bucks in advance to get me in the spirit of the thing. Well, if you want to be bored, here are the photographs of the deal. Here is Mack Grayson. Bullard entered his chest just below the 10th rib. Guns are 32. Same one that the Moran dame used on herself. Enough powder burns on his shirt to show that she was standing pretty close when she gave it to him. She'd have to be enough to miss him. Ah, you can see she was lying about 10 feet from Grayson near the bar. Huh? She probably needed a stiff shot before she knocked herself off. That's the highball glass on the floor near her head. And that's the 32 she used, about six inches from her right hand, and only her prints on it. Powder burns on the girl? Sure, all over a temple. We did the paraffin test on her hand, too. She fired the gun, all right. Did Grayson have any friends? We never tied him up with anyone, except an old wino that hangs out on Skid Row, a dump called the Para Club. Named Wilbur Truett. Mm-hmm. Now, well, thanks, Walt. Now, look, the dame killed the guy and then shot herself. What more do you want? I'll let you know. Now, wait a minute. I know that gleam in your eye. I always get a sour stomach from it. You've got something you'd better tell me. Oh, you're a cynic, Walt. Have you, uh, have you talked to this Wilbur Truett? We questioned him this morning. Got a tail on him? Sure, but he won't take us anywhere. Now, what are you cooking up? Well, maybe you think there's something, too, Moran's blackmail story. Oh, don't be an idiot. Then what are you tailing Truett for? Because I can't take a chance. Blackmail's a federal rap, and if Moran keeps stirring up trouble, I want to be able to prove he's nuts. Now, you look here. I want to know what's on your mind. I'll send you a letter. Oh. Otis! Yeah, Lieutenant? Get in my bicarbonate. And shut up. Bye. Goodbye. I went through the squad room and out into the hall. I used the payphone by the door and put in a fast call to my client, William Moran. I had a hunch that Moran's $200 retainer in my pocket gave him and a priority on it. Yes? Mr. Moran. That's right. This is Diamond, Mr. Moran. I've got a lead on someone who knew Mac Grayson. Well, that's fine, Mr. Diamond. Who is it? The guy who hangs out on Skid Row, named Wilbert Truett. Have I heard of him? Oh. Well, he might have been the one who phoned you this morning. I think I'll go down and find out. Good. Oh, as long as I'm on the case. Goodbye, Mr. Moran. I left the fifth precinct and headed for Skid Row. If you've never seen the street, it's a liberal education in the misery of human beings. Even the sun winds up with a hangover if it shines on the place too long. The Parrot Club was a suller with a low ceiling and a drink of wine for 10 cents a glass. The smell of stale alcohol was so strong that if you opened the door to air the place out, the walls would probably cave in. I found Wilbert Truett sitting at the bar with a dirty towel around his neck. He held the towel and the glass of wine in one hand and with the other he pulled the towel, lifting his hand and the glass up to his mouth. Ha! You must have been an engineer. I learned this little stunt in grammar school, Bucco. I started missing my mouth 30 years ago, so I used this towel as a sort of alcohol pulley. It cuts down the element of risk. Hate to spill a drop. You know a guy named Grayson? It's the Shakespeare Bucco. I am completely exhausted after a night of revelry and my hand waves like it was flagging down a caravan of whiskey trucks. Look, friend, after one or two pick-me-ups, I am perfectly capable of lifting the glass by myself. And come nightfall, I'm in excellent condition to entertain my little friends. Oh, swell. Most cowards let their little fellows frighten them and they end up in Bellevue, but I like them. They worried me at first, but when they found out how much I drank, they began to show the strain and the shoe was on the other foot, so to speak. Oh, no. They tried to frighten me the first night, but I just kept right on with one bottle after another and it finally drove them to drink. Now my deities have hallucinations. We are rapidly building up a thriving community. What were you saying, Bucco? Something about the evils of self-indulgence, but in that case, I will let you buy me a drink. No, sure. Later, bring the bottle. You just gave me cold chills. If I lick your hand, it's only a sign of fond endearment. Okay. Now, do you know a guy named Grayson? I knew there was a cat. Are you a cop? No. In that case, I trust you. Besides, you are holding this lovely bottle. God, Grayson. First a small glass of truth serum. First Grayson. I can't stand to look, so I will turn my back on the bottle and tell you what I know. Mr. Mac Grayson, a very unsavory character who reached a sudden demise last evening, dealt in smutty pasts and made them pay off by milking his victims. He has only one friend, Mr. Leo Fink. Now, please, I'm beginning to spit out wads of cotton. Where does this Fink live? Oh, you are indeed a heartless roll. I was once. You won't buy any chance of spying from the purity league? You get the bottle when I find out where Leo Fink lives. 11, 20, 2nd Avenue now, please. Now, there you are. Don't struggle with the cork, Bucko. I have just acquired the strength of an uncropped Samson. And as I gaze upon this ruby goblet, I am reminded of the fact that you are not the first to come seeking the whereabouts of one Leo Fink. Huh? Play it back in English. Ah, a thug with a disagreeable habit of twisting my ass cut. Approached me not 10 minutes before you came in seeking the same information. Did you give it to him? I had to. One more pull on my tie and dissipation would have been a thing of the past. Thanks, Wilbur. Here, buy yourself another jug. Oh, bless you. And good morrow, cousin. Here's to my love. Oh, true apothecary. Thy drugs are quick. Thus, with a kiss, I die. I left Wilbur with his first love and walked out on the street. I grabbed a cab and headed for Leo Fink's address. All the way over, I kept thinking how wonderful fresh air really was. When we finally got there, I paid off the cabbie and looked at my watch. It was 4.30 and the city was turning soft and mellow as the sun started giving up behind the tall buildings. I got that lousy feeling again when I looked across the street. A prowl car was parked at the curb and it looked like homicide's private limousine. Something was wrong. I went up to Fink's apartment in a hurry. Yeah? Ah, what do you want, Shamus? Well, good afternoon, Sergeant. I'm taking the census. How long ago did you die, sir? Very funny, Diamond. Otis, who is that? Diamond. Who else? I didn't ask for a quick quiz on well-known personalities. Let him in. Yell at them. Shame on you, Otis. You'll never make an eagle scout. Hello, Rick. What do you want? I bet he's dead. You'll bet who's dead. You know who's dead? Sure, I know who's dead. Who do you think is dead? The guy I came up here to see. Well, who did you come up to see? I think it's the guy who's dead. Don't you know? No, I ask you. Well, I'm telling you. You told me nothing. Look, why are you up here? Because I'm looking for a guy. What guy? I think it's the guy who's dead. Who's dead? Oh, he's on third. Don't you know? I think I know, Lieutenant. You shut up. Of course I know. All right, all right. If you're going to hold out on your old power. Wait a minute, wait a minute. How did we get into this thing? Otis, here's your pi-carbonate. All mixed. All right, now let's start again. Walt, who's dead? Oh, let's not have two bodies up here. The guy's name is Fink. Leo Fink. Why don't you say that in the first place? Because I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. Walt, Lieutenant Levinson. Now, what are you doing up here? Oh, I came up to see Leo Fink. That's all. Well, he's in the other room. If he spills anything, don't believe it. He's been dead for ten minutes. That's too bad. He knew Mac Grayson. Yeah, how did you find out? That sweet old gentleman you sent me over to, Wilbert Truitt. Oh, you got something out of him, huh? What else did he tell you? Nothing, but we stuck up quite a friendship. I'm going to go back over and see what another bottle of wine will do to his memory. I'd better haul him in. Well, don't do it, Walt. Don't do it. I can find out things a lot quicker. Shh, I got a system. Okay, but keep me posted. I've got to clean up here. How did Fink get it? Two bullets in the head. No idea who gave it to him. They used a luger, I think. Hey, have you questioned Otis? Oh, go on. Get out of here. Walt, tell me, did you check the prints on that highball glass next to Mrs. Moran to find out whether they were from her right or left hand? Now, what difference does it make? I'll let you know. Now, you wait a minute. No, I can't. I'm behind schedule now. Bye. Oh, Otis! I went downstairs in a hurry and started back to Skid Row and Wilbert Truitt. I turned a corner and had a quick change of heart. That's fine, Ralph Shameless. Wow. Look what I picked up. All right. Get in this alley. Why don't you put that cannon away? It shows up like a pair of gums at a dentist's convention. Turn around and get going. I can run if it would help. Take your time. You haven't got too much of it left. Stop nudging. You've got a cold barrel. Don't you like it? No, but it helps. A lesson in the manly art of self-defense. Next time, don't get so close with a gun. Well, what do you know, a luger? Okay, so, I'm a Butterfingers. You've got the gun now. What are you going to do? I've got a mean streak and it shows up when someone tries to kill me. I'm going to ask a couple questions and if you don't answer them, you'll wish you'd picked on an octopus. Now, get up. Oh, you're a big one. Now, who sent you after me? I don't know. Who sent you after me? Honest, I don't know. Wait a second. All right. The guy told me on the phone his name was Jones. Sure, first name's John. Wait, wait. I know it's a phony, but he was recommended. Yeah, but this one I collect after the job. Where? I thought you had gotten over that stubborn streak. Okay. He ate a clock fairy to Staten Island. He's going to slip me two bills. And you don't know his right name? No. Did you know Mac Grayson? I heard of him, but I never met him. Are you as handy with the 32 as you are with that luger? Huh? Forget it. Next question. Who killed Leo Fink? That's a pretty big one. He did it differently. Who killed Leo Fink? I'll take the beaten. Well, I gotta hunch this luger of yours will check with ballistics. Come on, homicide still up in Fink's apartment. No, it's... What did you say? Okay. I hustled Louis up to Walt and left him handcuffed to Sergeant Otis. They deserved each other. Louis said he was going to be paid off at eight o'clock and my watch said it was a quarter after seven. That gave me 45 minutes to check at homicide and catch the ferry to Staten Island. The fingerprint man at the fifth precinct put the prints from the highball glass under a microscope and told me what I wanted to know. My hunch had been right. So I grabbed a cab and 20 minutes later I was paying for my ticket at the ferry landing. A thick wet fog was beginning to roll in off the river and by eight o'clock it was hard to even see your watch. Someone was playing a piano in the lounge as the ferry began to move slowly across the river. I didn't know who I was looking for but I figured if there was going to be a payoff it would be outside. I leaned against the rail and took out a cigarette. Got the match, mister. Yeah, yeah, right here. Thanks. Lousy night. Yeah. He wasn't my man. When he struck the match I could see his dirty work clothes and his factory badge. I started down the other side of the boat. Finding a killer in that fort was like looking for your car keys to the ship. I reached the bow of the boat and right then I knew I was about to score. I get a tight feeling in my stomach when I start closing in on danger. I spotted the dark outline at the rail so I pulled my hat down and walked up beside him. He was hunched over with his arms resting on the rail. Terrible night. It'd be awful if you had to find someone in this fog. Not if he found you first. I like the name Louis Osgood. Have you heard of it? I like the name Moran. Who are you? Just an employee. Diamond? Yeah, you get a gold star. Well, what do you want? Have you found the blackmailers? Now stop playing Alice in Wonderland. I just pushed around your hired goneth, Louis Osgood. He had enough to say to put you away for a long time. He couldn't have. He didn't know my name. Didn't know your name? Who murdered your wife? You or Louis Osgood? Why do you say murder? The police said it was suicide. Well, I got news for you, Buster. Homicide just changed its mind. I checked and found out that the highball glass near her head was covered with prints from her right hand. What does that prove? It proves that to take her own life, she'd have to have fingers a foot long. The prints on the gun were also from her right hand. You're going to tell me that your wife shot herself while holding a highball glass in the same hand? That's not my problem, Mr. Diamond. Well, I think it is. If Louis Osgood didn't shoot her, that leaves just one suspect, you. Now let's take a walk back to the cabin. I want to keep an eye on you for homicide. All right. This is where I leave you, Mr. Diamond. Hey, come here! I hadn't thought he'd make a break, but as long as he had a gun and knew how to use it, I could understand why he did. I got my gun out and took off after him. I expected him to go over the side and in the fog, and he'd have a good chance. But when a guy gets cornered, he does funny things. I never would have spotted him, but he threw open a door and framed himself in the light from the inside. I must have caught him because I saw him start to fold and stagger through the door. I took my time getting there. A wounded man with a gun can get pretty mean sometimes. I went forth with a motion of the boat, and I could hear the sound of the engines. He'd gone down in the engine room, so I dropped to my knees and went in after him. A long, polished ladder led down to the big diesel's below, and I knew I'd hit him with the first shot because there was a bright red trail of blood leading down the ladder and behind the churning machinery. Moran! Moran, come on out! You can't get out of here! I don't like being slapped around, and I'm going to see that you get yours! I'm not afraid of the world and keeping himself hidden. The catwalk circled the engine room, so I pulled an old stunt. I took a wrench off the wall and tossed it down the metal ladder. I watched for his gun flashes, and when I spotted his position, I got down on my stomach and called along the catwalk until I was directly over his head. He was sitting in a lot of blood, and he didn't look like he had long to go. Come on, Diamond! I know your job here! Surprise! Look at the birdie! What? Don't try it! I shot my wife. I came in just after she shot Grayson. She was standing at the bar with her back to me, mixing a drink. She dropped the gun by Grayson's body, so I picked it up to shot her. I wiped my prints off and put hers on it. Why did you do it? I hated her! She had money. I found some letters and turned them over to Mack Grayson, the well-known black meeler. I wanted him to drive her crazy until she drank herself into a sanitarium and I never guessed she'd kill Grayson, but when I did, I saw a chance to kill her and make it look like suicide. You should never have called me. The police were satisfied. I had to find Leo Fink. He knew what hired Grayson, and he was going to blackmail me. So when I dug up the little wine of that new Fink, you hired Louis Asger to bump Fink and me. Is that right? Hey, hey, Moran! Oh, well, it was a dull conversation anyway. Lousy night. The captain came and helped me carry him up to the deck. Back at the ferry landing, I called Walt Levinson and told him the whole story. I didn't wait around. I just hung up in the middle of his lecture on good behavior and started walking. A stiff breeze was kicking up and pushing the fog back where it came from. After a good round of murder, a guy likes to relax. And I knew just the place to curl up and get my fur brushed. I grabbed a cab and headed for 975 Park Avenue, the only girl in the world who looked better than her $10 million bank account. Oh, good evening, Mr. Diamond. Hello, Francis. Is Miss Asher in? Yes, sir. She's in the library. Thanks. Get me a glass of milk, will you, Francis? Milk. Oh, yes. Right away. Hey, that's a beef flat. Sailing, sailing over the bounding main. Move over. You were supposed to have been here at 8 o'clock. Oh, what's an hour if you tack it on to the end of the evening? I'm glad you've been keeping out of trouble. I can't stand it when you wander in all beat up. Mm-mm. You smell nice. What kind of clone is that? Gunpowder, 38. What? Oh, nothing. What cess you were playing? Oh, a new song. Again. You were just dandy. Well, you know I don't play well. I just pick. You should be glad you don't play the guitar with those beautiful nails you'd saw it in half. You're ridiculous. Oops. Oh, that wasn't a beef flat. Rick. Who do you love? I won't tell. Rick. I love you, baby. Then let's get married. Hey, these are pretty good lyrics. Now stop that. Again. This couldn't happen again. I hate you. This is that once in a lifetime. This is that moment divine. You never sing when I want you to. What's more, this never happened before. Though I have waited a lifetime for such as you to suddenly be mine. No comment. No. Mine to hold as I'm holding you now. Mine to. Hey, what's the matter? Don't go. You want to sing? Go ahead. Well, what did you have in mind? I won't tell. You're not being original. That's my line. Oh, I'm mad. Come here, come here. No. Come here, huh? Mm-hmm. Helen. Mm-hmm. Still mad? No. Mm-hmm. Well, let's get you mad again. It's so much fun making up. Mine again. What's the name of the song again? It never happens again. I'm mad. I'll go ahead. Here's your milk, Mr. Diamond. Oh, my goodness. You never warned me. You've just heard Richard Diamond, private detective starring Dick Powell. Helen was played by Virginia Gregg, Lieutenant Lovenson by Ed Begley. Also in our cast were Wilms Herbert, Tarla Avery, Herbert Butterfield, and Jack Petruzzi. Music was under the direction of David Baskerville. Richard Diamond is written by Blake Edwards and directed by William P. Rousseau. Now this is Eddie King inviting you to be with us again at the same time next week when we will again bring you Dick Powell as Richard Diamond, private detective. This program has come to you from Hollywood. Now NBC brings you a three-way cavalcade of grand comedy with Phil Harris and Alice Faye, Fred Allen and Henry Morgan, all following in fast succession the most of these NBC stations. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.