 And Peter Chambers, transcribed and starring Dane Clark. Private investigator, duly licensed and duly sworn. Peter Chambers. You're a private eye. That's your business. Anything else? That's for laughs. It's one of those dark brown nights, dirty with rain. You're home and you're doing calisthenics with a scotch bottle. It isn't so much that you enjoy a drink, but after all, you're a private eye. You might get waved out of the league if you didn't keep in practice. You're contemplating a warm shower and an early go to bed when Peter Chambers. That's your service, ma'am, if it's service you want. Oh, I'm glad I'm so glad I was able to reach you. Oh, I'm glad you're glad, lady. What is it, please? My name is Doyle, a rooming house at 801 West 53rd. That's quite near. Perhaps 10 minutes from where you are. Now look, miss, I'll put tonight. Tonight? Oh, lady, it's murder tonight. It's pouring rain. I know it, sir, but this is kind of an emergency, sir. Oh, better be. $100,000 in cash. She's got $100,000 up the oven. Hello. Fine night to be making a house call, but the emergency, the lady said, and it certainly sounded like the emergency had bust wide open. You're fighting the rain, making tracks for a rooming house at 801 West 53rd. And then you're there, and you shove at the buzzer. You get no answer, and you turn the knob, and you're inside. Inside is a spacious downstairs room, a flight of steps going up. There's a phone on a corner table, and its receiver is dangling. And there's a lady seated in front of it, about 40, red-haired, buxom, quite attractive if you're thinking of large times. She's wearing silk lounging pajamas with shoes to match, and she's out, like the proverbial light. You go to her quickly, and you slap her back to life. All right, there. Come on, come on. Easy, does it, lady? You coming around now? All right? You slugged me, but good. Miss Doyle? Or is it Miss Doyle? Yeah, Miss Doyle. What are you doing here? Who are you? Peter Chambers, you were talking to me on the phone. Good. Look, I'll be with you in a moment. Please don't go away. Here's a new gimmick. You find an unconscious woman, and when you bring her around, she shoots off like a rocket, come on, Agra. Well, screams to a private detective are like spurs to a racehorse. You fly up the stairs, and you find Mary Doyle in a room with an open door. And there's a lady on the floor, quite rigid. And near her, a small instrument of large consequence, a nickel-plated revolver. Dead. She's dead. They shot her. There's the gun. Don't touch that. The gun. Just leave that lie. Now, what's all this about? Just a minute. Well, what are you looking for now? A little black bag. A little black bag. What's that got to do with this whole? It's $100,000 in cash money, and it's gone. Look, one thing at a time, lady. Who's the corpus delicti? Albert Dino. And who that? An opera singer. Middly. She was here in this country for a year. Oh, Albert Dino. Great soprano. What was she doing here? She didn't like hotels. I run a very correct theatrical boarding house here. The best. Albert Dino. We were good friends. Look, you better go downstairs and call the cops, and you and I will pick it up after bed. All right. All right, sir. Whatever you say. So now you go for the gun. Only you lift it with a pinky through the trigger guard. But all your careful care is wasted, because there's an interruption slightly from mayhem, and the mayhem is directed at you. You get it, right, people? You still got the gun. You got me with my hands up in the air. So what's our next move? What are you doing here? What kind of a boarding house is this anyway? Let me tell you. I'm sure I can come up with a good answer if I think about it. And now you get another interruption, but this one's of the opposite gender. She stands in the doorway, blue-eyed, red-lipped, blonde, and statuesque. And you'd be wildly interested if it weren't for a slight matter of murder. You with the gun? What's between you and Mr. Brown? Who wants to know? My name is Joan Bradley. Well, I do a low bow, Miss Bradley, except I've got to keep the gun pointed at our friend here. Mr. Brown? Well, Mr. Brown, are you maybe? Bill Craig, to me, a hood from Louisiana, hiding out from a grand jury investigation. Mr. Brown? Just a little miss. Never mind him. I'll take a look at this, Miss. Olga Dino? Very dead and very murdered. No. You live here? Yes, sir. What do you do? I'm a lady magician. Who else lives here? Mr. Brown, Olga, Ralph Hardwood, me, and Miss Doyle. That all in the entire house? Being renovated. That's all she could accommodate at this time. OK. Now, my name is Peter Chambers. And right now, I'm in charge here. Yes, Mr. Chambers. Is Ralph Hardwood at home? Yes, he is. All right then, my dear lady magician, a favor please. Yes. Make yourself disappear. And tell Mr. Hardwood to stay in his room, and you, you stay in yours. We'll come to you in due course. All right, sir. If you say so. And now you're alone again with a corpse and Mr. Bill Craig, sporting around under the name of Brown in the theatrical boarding house in New York. Bill Craig, tall, rugged, shrewd, and rotten as a wormy apple. Any questions, paper? Oh, a lot of them, pal. As you know, I'm hiding out from a little heat in New Orleans. So I'm here as Bill Brown, retired actor. That's a cry. I don't know. Maybe it ain't. But what's with jumping me and tussling for that gun? Simple. It's my gun. Hey, that's a pretty frantic admission for a wise guy. That figures to be the heat of that de-heated our lady here. I got the same figure. So? It's my gun period. Took a look at my suitcase a couple of minutes ago. My gun was lifted. And I'm coming down past this open door, see the dead dame, see you with a gun, and it begins to add. Maybe I lost my head. But I can't use trouble, brother. And how I can't use trouble? Where were you this evening? Took in a movie. Lousy one, cops and robbers. When'd you get back? About a half an hour ago, asked Miss Doyle. I called down for coffee maybe five minutes after I got in. You know anything about a little black bag? Yeah, sure. Know what was in it? A hundred thousand cash bucks. How do you know? Everybody in this house knows. Look, Bill, you didn't kill this dame, did you? No. But I got a hunch that whoever did use my gun to make it look like I did. This, uh, Joan Bradley, did she know about that little black bag? I told you, everybody knows. Am I wasting my time with you for? I can get the same information and she's prettier. It's your time, people. You get Bill Craig back to his room, admonish him that a run-out powder would be a clean admission of guilt. And then you mosey along to Miss Joan Bradley, who keeps growing on you by leaps and bounds. Come in, Mr. Chambers. Make yourself at home. Hey, you're awfully pretty. I wish I had the time. So do I. Really? Well, you're sort of pretty in yourself. Well, let's make a date then. For when? As soon as this thing is over? You twisted my arm, Mr. Chambers. That's sort of like the way you twist arms. OK, then. Let's get back to cases. What's with the little black bag? Oh, well, we were talking about it at dinner today. All of us. Where? Here, downstairs. Miss Doyle was serving. All right, all right. Let's have it, huh? Well, it begins with Algadino. Fine, sweet woman. About how old? Oh, about 45. She had $100,000 in a vault. And tomorrow morning at 9, she was taking the ship to return to Italy. They were going to be married on board ship. Who's the, uh, they? Olga and Ralph Hardwood. Same guy that lives here? Yeah, they met here. Young English actor. So? So she drew the money out of the vault today. She was taking it with her, and she had it in that little black bag. Everybody in the house knew about it? That was Olga's sweet trusting. That was the way she was. Never had a bad word for anybody. Never a bad thought. She felt that the money was just as safe here as in the bank vault, but Mary, Miss Doyle, kept after all day. Kept after or how? Mary Doyle insisted that Olga hire somebody, sort of a custodian bodyguard, somebody properly trained and equipped to act as custodian until tomorrow morning when they got to the ship. She kept after all day. And by nighttime, she probably convinced her. Meaning what? Meaning me. I don't understand. It'll be explained to you. There'll be lots of cops here shortly. Uh-huh. Meet Chambers. Come on down here. Downstairs, the place is crawling with cops. Detective Lieutenant Louie Parker, a friend and gentleman, is in charge. Louie is involved in the interrogation of Miss Mary Doyle and a fine-looking young man who turns out to be Ralph Harwood. You turn the gun over to Louie, and you bring him up to date on your end of the affair, and then he returns to his questioning. Well, two things we got established definitely. The dame is dead, and that bag of loot ain't in the house. That's definite. Now, you, Harwood? Yes, Lieutenant. That Algadino was 15 years older than you. Was it love or was it money? Love, Lieutenant. Were the dame 15 years older than you? Oh, she was younger than any of us, Lieutenant. All right, with the left tent. Let's not make with the metaphors, huh? Were you out of the house tonight? Yes, Lieutenant. I was visiting my sister. Got back about three quarters of an hour ago. After the rain started? Yes, sir, after the rain started. Miss Doyle? Yes, Lieutenant. What about that Joan Bradley? Was she out too? She was at a rehearsal. She returned about 15 minutes before I called Mr. Chambers. Everybody was out in the rain tonight, huh? Except me. You're sure there were no strangers around here? Very sure. I wasn't out of the house for a minute. Cassidy, get the rest of them down there. Soon the whole quorum will be gathered. Pete, come over here. You and me alone. So what do you make of them? I don't make a thing yet, Lieutenant. Crazy artists carrying their loot in a bag, begging to get knocked off. It figures that Bill Craig's gun was a weapon. Oh, I'm sure of that. Three bullets out of the gun, three in the dame. But he's already produced a license for it, so don't give us no office to hold him. Not yet. You think he'd kill for 100 Gs? You know, he's pretty much of a big shot. Never tell it with them, any of them. Well, how do you make it? Well, the facts we've got, Mary Doyle is calling you. But somebody doesn't want a bodyguard around. So she gets conked on the cranium, put out a commission, and that alga gets knocked off, and the bag of loot is stolen. Gets taken out of the house. Our murderer returns before Miss Doyle recovers consciousness, joins the rest of the boys and the girls. Then you show up, and the deal busts wide open. There's the rest of them. Let me go and make a speech. Speech away, Lieutenant. All right, ladies and gentlemen, I'm going downtown to the lab to see what the science boys may have dug out for me, but my cops stay here. Is that understood? Sure. Yes, Lieutenant. All right, nobody leaves. It's clear. What about me, Lieutenant? Sooner you leave, the less trouble you will likely to get into. No, no, Lieutenant. You're abiding to sound like a Lieutenant. No objection to my mosing around a little, is there? No objection provided you report your findings to Papa. And I'm Papa. Yes, sir, Papa. Well, bye now, everybody. Try to act like good little murderers. Well, now, the first step in the mosing around apartment. Anybody hear the shot? Oh, that would have been quite impossible, Mr. Chambers. How do you know my name? Miss Doyle told me. Let Miss Doyle tell the rest. Why would it be impossible to hear a shot, Miss Doyle? Because I've been soundproofing the house. It's a theatrical boarding house. Yes, yes, yes, yes. Step number two, are all of you dressed as you've been dressed, say, for the last couple of hours? Yes, of course. Of course we are. Good. Now, step number three, get your shoes off. All of you. Oh, really? Look here, old man. It's a rather high-handed procedure, don't you think? Shoes off all of you under the supervision of the good officer here, Mr. Cassidy. Now, come on, come on, off, off, off, off there. And lay them there on the table. Good, that's good, very good. And what now, sir? And now you all go upstairs, each of you to your respective room. Come on, come on, off you go, my bare-footed brigade. Come on, let's go, let's go. Really, a most high-handed procedure. And so, under the rather astonished eyes of the park's policemen, you do the old Sherlock. You examine the shoes, you feel them, you touch them, you bend them, and you put them back. Then you wriggle into your raincoat, and you wave goodbye to the tester and gentleman of the law. See you around, fellas. And remember, Lieutenant's orders, nobody comes, nobody goes, except me. And now you're walking in the rain, trying to think. An idea is beginning to glimmer in your mind, and you're waiting for it to catch fire. Then a block away, you see a subway station, and a fire in your head is started. You jog down the subway steps, but you're not going anywhere. You've got no train to catch. And downstairs, you see an object of interest, a tall section of public lockers. You go near and insert your dime, but you don't check a thing. Then you prance up the stairs, and you make for the nearest haven and a couple of drinks. But this time they have a purpose to ward off pneumonia because you're wet through and through. And then you're back in the boarding house, and you're greeted. Well, well, well, the return of Sherlock Holmes. Parker's got them all downstairs again, but none of them are wearing their shoes yet. My orders. Look, my dear friend, I like my murder suspect's wearing shoes, if it's all right with you. It's not all right with me, not yet, Lieutenant. Boy, when a private eye goes nuts, it's a matter for the patty wig. Look, I'm just trying to put two and two together, Lou. You certainly got a crazy way of adding poison. I'm attempting to produce the murderer of Al Godino. Well, produce a way, detective. Pray don't let me interrupt. Well, sir, first off, we've got motive. 100,000 motives, all green, and all stuffed into a little black bag. Right. Also, we've got a small but select group. Ranted. So when do we produce some iron? Gently, Lieutenant, gently, gently. Come here. Dig these shoes. Jay, I'm a hipster. I dig these shoes the most there. Notice, they're all damp. What did you expect them to be dry? It's pouring out, remember? Contain yourself, Lieutenant. I am contained. All right, let's get back to the beginning. Mary Doyle called me on the phone. Purpose to protect Al Godino's little black bag. Yeah, and the killer heard her and had to act fast. He slugged her, then knocked off the opera singer, then clipped the bag all before you got here. How long did it take? About 10 minutes. OK, so what's with the damp shoes? Joan Bradley's figured to be damp. And mine, didn't they? Didn't mine? Why don't you see him? No, no, no, he's right, Lieutenant. His figured to be damp, too. And so did Bill Craggs. They were all out in the rain. But not Mary Doyle. What? You weren't out of the house, were you, Miss Doyle? That's what you told the Lieutenant, remember? Not for a minute, not you. What are you trying to say? I'm asking you to explain why were your shoes wet. No, look, you. You're not going to push me around with your smart aleck private cop politics. Maybe the shoes are wet. So what? I got a leaky pipe in the kitchen. The floor is damp. Oh, well, it's a hot one. Explanations for wet shoes. Look, your shoes are wet from the rain. That's a lie. Were you out in the rain, Miss Doyle? Absolutely not. Oh, yes, she was. Can you prove it, Pete? Certainly I can prove it. But she's the one that called you, the one who was most worried about that opera singer and her lute. Strictly a cover-up, Lieutenant. Let me do a right side up for you. First, she knocked off Algudino up there with the door closed in a soundproof room. And then she called me. Lie, lie, lie! You be good, lady, or I'm going to have to put you under restraint. Let me get you straight, Pete. According to you, she sort of conked herself on the head. You found her like that, supposed to be uncut. And she made shortly the outside door unlocked so I could get in. And you got here during that 10-minute period from the time she called. That's when she got her shoesies all wet. You're going to have to prove those statements, Mr. Wise Guy, because I'm going to sue you. I'm going to drag you into court and teach you a lesson. It's about time one of you guys got a lesson. Shut up, lady. Will you please shut up? Now, wait a minute, Pete, about the shoes. She could have changed them, couldn't she? No, no, she couldn't. They're lounging shoes that go with her outfit. If she changed her shoes, she'd have to change the entire get-up. She simply didn't have the time. Remember, 10 minutes. So? So she wiped the shoes as best she could, which left them damp. She had to work fast in those 10 minutes. While you were down the lab with your bright boys, Lieutenant, I was out in the rain, figuring angles. What did you come up with? A subway station. What? There's a subway station up block from here. Downstairs, they've got a flock of those dime, parcel checkboxes. Now, that figured to be the closest drop. Remember, she was in a hurry. So she checked the little black bag. That's a lie. Checkboxes have little keys. I've got no key. Search me. Search the house. There'd be no key here. Backing down, huh? Figured I'd break down onto your phony third degree. You want to know why? Why what? Why there's no key here? Yeah. Why? Tell me why. Because I've got it. See? Right here, in my hand. What the heck is all this about? She used the oldest gag in the world. Probably thought it was new because she dreamed it up. They all do. Who all do? Amateur criminals. Sure, she didn't keep the check key on a person. Too risky. Instead, she put it in an envelope and she mailed it to herself. The old mailer room. It's a lie. Miss Doyle, you made one mistake. Under certain circumstances, mail can be intercepted. And that's exactly what's been done. See this key? That's the final bit of evidence that's going to fasten you to the electric chair for murder. The rest is easy. A bit of expert prodding from Parker and she breaks down and they cart her away. The police open that panel of lockers and find a little black bag. In downtown, she confesses that she mailed the check key to herself, care of an aunt in Brooklyn. And one hour later, you and Miss Joan Bradley are at your place munching corned beef sandwiches and drinking beer. You've kissed her a couple of times, but you've gotten very little response. So you ask why? Because when my mind is troubled, I can't concentrate on kissing. But what's troubling you? That malarkey about intercepting the United States mail? Malarkey is precisely correct. Mary Doyle was a type who would fight back until you had her convinced. Even if they found a bag in that locker, they still have to tie it up with her. So I had to dream up a ruse to convince her. But where'd you get the key? That wasn't the key. It was a key, but of exactly the same type, out of exactly the same group of check boxes. I went there, I paid a dime, I checked nothing, and came away with the convince. Very good, very good indeed. Thank you. And for all that work, not even a fee. Well, everything isn't measured in dollars, my sweet. You've got all the right answers. Come here. Your mind's still troubled? No, sir. Not at trouble in the world. Can you concentrate now? Try. Find out. He has one more thing to say. Quiet, please. Man at work. And there you've had crime and Peter Chambers. Dane Clark was starred as Peter Chambers. Crime and Peter Chambers transcribed was created and written by Henry King. Bill Zuckert was heard as Lieutenant Parker with Bryna Rayburn and William Griffiths. It was directed by Fred Way. And this is Fred Collins inviting you to tune in next week same time, same station for Dane Clark in crime and Peter Chambers. This is the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.