 Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gut of the prison of the grave. This time a wrestler on this kid is a quick change artist in an alley and a girl with an eye for angles all met destruction because a hundred thousand easy bucks caught him in a stranglehold which none of them wanted to break. From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction comes his most famous character in The Adventures of Philip Marlowe. Now with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The Stranglehold. Crime all over themselves for a purpose sometimes for relaxation and most times for no reason at all. Take professional wrestling. I watched in the ringside while two got gancho and helps them sort of their features in mock agony and bulged muscles at each other on a mat surrounded by tears of onlookers screaming through their half-chewed popcorn. While the fans' usual howls of blood booed the decision who did the departing contestants and waited for the next comic act laughingly called the main event. I went again over the letter I'd received two hours ago by messenger from one manny Faber. It had included a ringside ticket to LA wrestling arena, a check for $200 and the request that I catch as much as I could stomach of the match between John, better known as Peachy King and Jules Caesar, the Emperor of Brooklyn after which I was to come to Faber's house for instructions that involved John Keen plus a hundred thousand bucks of manny Faber's money. So I watched a little closer as something that looked like a Sherman tank in a toga and leather sandals crowned with an olive reef, lumbered into the ring and sneered at the crowd. And since I'd long ago given up wrestling as a sport, I turned to the fan next to me wearing a derby on the bridge of his nose, waved a cloud of cigar smoke aside and got some information. Oh, Caesar, you get your money's wiped out of him all right. Hey, what about this John Keen? How does he stack up? Ha ha, Peachy, you kidding me, the bombs. Stinko, no show, off, off, bring down. Look, look, they're fixing the ring up for him now. Get this. What's that flowery? Yeah, your peach blossoms. These two peach blossoms are all over his corner. With stuff, two years ago the stuff was okay, but now it's tired, you know what I mean? Hey, he won't even put on his show a little left. He's still called a champ, isn't he? Champ? Him? Ha ha ha! He won't even be a left anymore. He's afraid of getting his pretty nose wet. Shut up, Rob. Ah, he's still time up a nut. Here comes Walker. Yoo-hoo, Peachy! Ha ha! With that profile, you ought to be a living croik instead of a wrestler. Yeah, hey, what's that on the back of his robe? Are you kidding? That's a big peach, of course. Embroided in gold on black silk. How do you like... Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Hey, look, I hear them robes cost him a thousand bucks a piece. He thinks they make him hot stuff with the theme. Maybe they do. Who's the brunette in there talking with him? Ah, should I know? There's always something like that. I look quite fine. Will you make it talk so much? Gucci was well on his way to the mat again for fall number two. The brunette, I noticed, was leaving too. And at the end of the exit tunnel, we came outside by side. You got a match? Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Thank you. It's a mess, isn't it, huh? What's a mess? The way things are going inside there. Peachy ought to change his line of work, don't you think? Oh, what did Peachy do? A laugh so far. What's it to you? You said something to him that knocked him for a loop, baby. What was it? A personal matter. Well, how personal? Oh, about like that. Thank you, and step down, Phillip Marlowe. Then you'd better step out, too, or I'll whistle for a John Don. Ninety-nine, nosey. So saying she flashed a couple of daggers at me from a snapping black eye, spun on four and a half inch red patent by the heel and was gone. So I drove up to Hollywoodland and the house of 2,000 Beachwood Drive where I was to meet my client, Manny Fever. The house looked like a two-room cottage from the street, and it ran for three stories down the backside of a hill. All I did was touch the bell when the door flew open. You're Marlowe, am I right? Come on in, Marlowe. I'm Manny Fever, head of Fever Transcriptions Incorporated. Produced radio shows, you know. So you saw him, eh? You saw that big, crooked, fourth-flushing, stupid, mat-pounding master Don that calls himself Johnny Peach Keen, huh? Yeah, I saw him. Oh, have a chair. Oh, thanks. Well, what do you think? You just summed it up. What's that got to do with your 100,000 bucks, Mr. Fever? You haven't seen the late editions? No. They're full of it. Peach Keen is suing me for 100 Gs for slander. How can you slander a guy like Peach Keen? It's impossible. I know that, and you know it. But does a court of law know it? No. In fact, they're going to make it stick. No, how'd it happen? I'll tell you. A very sweet guy named Frank Gaynor. Yeah, I know him. He's a sports commentator. Yes, yes. He's been doing five a week on my label and going big. But three days ago, what we've been expecting for months has finally happened, rest his soul. A week ticker. And just like that, he dropped dead on the street. Heart failure. Yeah, I read about it. Well, Frank always kept five broadcasts ahead. He made tape recordings in his own little studio. So I've been running his last five shows as a final tribute to him. Well, what happened? Yesterday, the whole 15 minutes of his broadcast was devoted to ripping apart John Peach Keen. Here, listen. I've got the tape here on the machine. This is one part. A blight on the sports world. And furthermore, I have proof that John Peach Keen has sold out to the highest bidder in small-time gambling circles in his last three matches. Now, I know for a fact that he has become so blatant in his underhanded dealing that even as dubious a business as professional wrestling cannot stand the stink. And officials have threatened to buy him from the ring. Strong stuff. I can't go beyond the doubt that John Peach Keen has falsified medical reports to evade tough competition. And that he eventually... Yeah, it goes on like that, Marlowe. Some of it opinion, most of it fact. And it's the facts that my lawyers tell me I've got to find the proof for or be a dead duck. That's why I asked you to come up here. Oh, excuse me. This is probably Ruth, Frank's wife. Nice show people once. Oh, hello, Ruth. Come in, honey. Hello, Manny. I haven't been able to find a thing yet. I can't imagine where Frank got his information. Oh, Ruth, shake hands with Mr. Marlowe. He's the detective I told you about. Mrs. Gaynor, Marlowe. How do you do, Mr. Marlowe? I'm Mrs. Gaynor. Manny, here's the key to Frank's private studio at 6122 Sunset. It might be a good place for Mr. Marlowe to start. Yes, all his files and equipment are there. Frank didn't like to work at home or at my plant on the strip. He wanted his own private setup. We looked there, but maybe we missed something. Okay, I'll see what I can find. Oh, by the way, do either of you happen to know a good-looking brunette connected in some way with Peachy? No, but he's quite a ladies' man, I understand. Why, Marlowe? That's just a hunch. I saw him talking to one at night, a fireball. It may mean nothing. Well, I hope you'll be able to locate the proof of Frank's statements, Marlowe. We've got to find it for Frank. Also, it'll break my heart to pay a hundred grand to a no-good meat-heaver named Peachy Keen. Thomas Faber, I keep in touch and left. I found Gaynor's little recording studio tucked into the second floor corner of a small office building on Sunset. Unlocked the heavy soundproof door and went in. The room had a busy, cluttered look, as though Gaynor himself had just stepped out. A row of filing cabinets and a desk that sat along one wall and opposite them was the glassed-in booth with the tape recorders and microphone by which the solitary sportscaster had canned his radio programs. I dug through the files and found a folder labeled John Keen, that hailed only a sketchy history of the wrestler. Some publicity pictures and a few clippings, one of which rated it a long, second look. Because it was topped by a picture of the same brunette I'd seen at the ringside. It was captioned, Colin Bennett Leaves for West Coast. I started to read the story when there was a sound at the door behind me and the lights went out. Don't move, Mighty. I'll kill you on the spot if you do. Up against that window, you make a perfect target, you know. Don't try anything cute. What do you want? A little more than I'm getting, it's what. I'm entitled to it, I am. The service is rented, you might say. I can't help you, Busty. You've come to the wrong man. No, but not to the wrong place, I, Mighty. So, first things first, like I always say, dinner on, Mighty. Yeah, it's not it. Well, I'll tell you again. Sleepy boy. What's wrong is a limey showing up here to put this... Oh, put the slug on me. Limey? Who was it? Why did he slug you? Good questions, Faber. Hey, does the name Colin Bennett ring any bells? Colin Bennett? No, no, I never heard of it. What? Marlowe, I remember that name. I'm sure Frank interviewed her once. Colin Bennett used to be Mrs. John King. Peachy's ex-wife? Yes, I'm positive. Why, is she mixed up in this? I don't know. Limey slugged me, apparently. He took a newspaper clipping about it when he left. At least it's gone. Marlowe, no, he was after. He said he wanted more than he was getting. Hey, but look, paper made this call. What do you want? To tell you that he'll be out checking on a few things himself. That's all. By the way, Ruth, any idea where this Bennett dame might be found? No, I haven't, Marlowe. I think she was staying at some woman's hotel on Vermont Avenue when Frank interviewed her at that time. But that was over a year ago. Maybe she's a lady of habit. I'll try it anyway. Thanks, Ruthie. There were three exclusively female hotels on Vermont. The second one I called had a Colin Bennett registered. So I went out to my car and they beat my aching head to the Victoria Plaza ladies-only hotel. The lobby was done in ivory and pink with desk clerk to match. And the nameplay tagged as Mr. Seymour Pratt. I started over, but stopped when I spotted about an acre of peach-colored suede coat wrapped around John Peachy Keen himself, lumbering up the stairs at the back of the lobby. Mr. Pratt saw him at the same time and darted from behind the desk like an angry canary after a rhinoceros. Just a minute, you. This is the ladies' hotel. So what? I got to see the one in 212. Not this way, you don't. Why, it's after midnight. If Miss Bennett wishes to come down to the lobby, that's her affair. But no men are allowed upstairs after 10 p.m. Okay, okay. How can I get in touch with her? Use the house phone naturally. Over there in that booth. I'll go right back to the board and plug you in. I'll be with you in just a moment, sir. Ducky, I'll wait. A call for you, Miss Bennett. Good listening, huh? Now, see, here, you know perfectly well you're not supposed to come back to this desk. This is for employees only. What about eavesdropping? Is that for employees only, too? Well, how dare you choose him? Save it, Seymour. The guy in the booth there is a professional wrestler. If he finds out you're listening in, he'll tear your arm off and beat you to death with it. Let me take over here. Give me the airplane. No, wait. Come on. Give it to me. Okay. Now, sit there like a good boy. Keep the key open and your trap shut. Well, no surprise. Where are you now, John? In the lobby in the phone booth. You better come down, Carla. No, John, I'm tired. Will you call me tomorrow? Wait a minute. What do you mean by that crack when I was in the ring? Just what I said. On a nice big slice of that 100,000 you're getting from Manny Faber. You're crazy. What makes you think I'd give you one lousy penny? You will, gladly. You see, John, I know all about those visits you made to the Lyceum Theater. A lot of us come back to LA, hasn't it, darling? Why, you sneaky... Oh, shut up. After the life you led me for four years, you big ape, I'm entitled to all I can get. And that'll be plenty. So I advise you to run right back now and tell your friend that I know all about your little scheme. And talk it over good, John. I'll be waiting to hear from you. All right. I'll do it just that. And you're sure going to be sorry you stuck your nose into this one. Very interesting. Are you quite, quite finished now? Yes, and you were a big, big help, Mr. Pratt. Oh, there he goes. Peachy, suede coat and all. So long, Seymour. In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, Horace Highton, his famous youth opportunity program have joined Charlie McCarthy and Edgar Bergen, Red Skelton, Jack Benny and the other top-ranking entertainers who make CBS Sunday nights a must. Enjoy these 30 minutes when Horace Hight takes over on most of these same stations Sunday night this fall. Tune in, tune in this fall for the show that you love best of all. Listen carefully. Here's the address in CBS, CBS. Now, with our star Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe in tonight's story, The Stranglehold. When Peachy Keene slammed out of a phone booth, he was burned to a crisp. He stomped out of a woman's hotel via the back door that opened out of the parking lot. And when I got there, it was already out of sight. I stopped in the shadows to figure out which way he'd gone, but skipped that as the back door opened again. This time, it was Carla Bennett. She ran across the lot, hopped into a new green convertible and got as far as switching on the lights before still another character pranced into their headlight beams like a veteran ham making for upstage center. Hey, Ms. Bennett, wait. I got to talk to you. I couldn't tell where the first one came from. I only heard it. It brought the little man up on his toes and arched him like a drawn bow. I saw the flash of the second one. It came from the alley and crumbled it into a pile. A moment later, a more reward, and I ran to where I could see but a pair of taillights swisting onto the side street. It was all the good it did me. I went back to the body of the little man as Carla Bennett climbed out of her car. She was white and shocking, and the headlights and makeup was garish and belonged on a clown. The back alley Harlequinade was suddenly very grim. He was shot in his direct in front of me. Who's the little guy, Carla? I don't know. I never saw him before. You know my name? Yeah. We met at the wrestling arena earlier tonight. You remember? Marlowe, private detective. Now, come on, Carla. Let's have it. What's his name? I don't know. I'll tell you. Okay. We'd better find out fast. Let's take a look at his wallet. No. It's none of my business. I'm getting out of here. Wait a minute. He wanted to talk to you pretty badly, baby. Very likely about a hundred grand. If I were you, I'd stick around. You've got awfully big ears, Mr. Marlowe. Yeah. Better to hear phone conversations. What? This guy's an actor. He's got an equity card. His name is Seth Kenio. You mean anything? Not to me. Unless... Unless what? Unless he happens to work at the Lycian Theater? As you said, Carla Vordville's back in town, and that brings up another point. You better... Hey, what's going on out here anyway? I thought I heard shots. You did, Pratt. They came from the alley there. Oh, so it's you again. I might have... That man... That man there on the ground. Good heaven, just... Is he dead? Yeah, he's murdered. Oh, no. Help! Help me! Murder! Help! That jerk! I'm getting out of here. Not alone, you're not. I'm going with you. Listen, big ears. I can take care of myself. Will you be his...? That's not the point, sister. I still want to talk to you. Get in. I go out that way to the street. Not too fast. All right. Since you're running, things where are we going? The Lycian Theater. On the way, you can tell me why your ex-husband, Pucci, has been hanging around there. I don't know why. Who's a friend he's been seeing? Was it cameo? I don't know that either. Now, look, for Pete's sake, do I have to draw you a picture? A man was shot down right in front of you. Doesn't that convince you? The buckling the same opposition made me and believed me this is no time to hold out, not in this league. I'm not! All right. Well, that stuff you overheard on the phone was pure bluff. I accidentally ran into John a couple of days ago near the stage door of the Lycian. He acted funny like he was waiting for somebody and very nervous about it. You didn't see who it was? No. I waited until three girls and two men had come out one after another, but they were cagey. I couldn't tell which one John was waiting for. Then I heard about this slander suit of his and I figured something was screwy. You took a swing in the dark tonight and connected, huh? Good and solid. When I told him on the phone to go back to his friend, I knew he'd be just stupid enough to do it and that's why I came out so fast. I wanted to follow him and find out who else was involved before I got in too far. You're already in too far, baby. You got more nerves and good sense, even for a hundred grand. You know, believe me, ask Cameo. If there's a theater park here, we'll walk over. Look, tell me something big here. Suppose Seth Cameo did work here. What's it gonna prove? Well, it depends on what we find to go with it. He was killed to keep him from upsetting the apple card. One way he could have done that would be to have proof of what Frank Gainer said in his broadcast about Peachy. Sure, but fitting a brothel actor at the Lyceum into that slot doesn't make sense. No, but, yeah, there it is. It's Cameo's placard. We were right. Yeah. Seth Cameo, the one man all-star cast. See Lionel Barrymore, Betty Davis, Harry Drucker, Humphrey Bullgarten, Cagney, many others, and these men played in a split-second changes by the world's most versatile one-man cast. Sure, he was a mimic. A guy like that would have died like slots of him. So? So maybe Seth Cameo was the boy who slugged me in Gainer's studio. He was careful to turn out the light first and he threw that limey gybe at me to toss me off the track. And what's more, he... Uh-oh, we got company. Where? There's a little geezer over there. What are you doing here? Here's clothes. Last show's been over for hours. I know, you're the night watchman. That's right. Now, you better move along, kids. No lighter, no handset. Just a minute, Pop. There's Seth Cameo. Does he have a limey number in his bag? Why don't you come back tomorrow and ask him? Well, that's tougher than you think, mister. How about it? Does he do a limey? A limey? Well, no. Cockney. English. No, don't think so. Might have. One time, though. Been in the business for years. Good man, too. He's got a scrapbook or something in his dressing room, you know? Well, yeah. Yes, he has. Got a box there with every bill he's ever played on in it. Most actors do. But theater's all closed now, fella. Well, you've got a key, haven't you? Look, Pop, it's important. We've got to find out right away. No, Pop, I'm sorry, sir. They can't do it. Look, it's real important. Take a good look. Very important. Ten bucks. Uh-huh. Yeah, yeah. Oh, I guess it wouldn't do any harm if you just want to look. Look. The old man said to turn into his pocket like he wouldn't admit it even to himself. And let us in the stage door down the stairs and put his flashlight along the dark hole where he set Cameo's dressing room. He unlocked it, reached in, and turned on a tired little lamp, and pointed out a box on a trunk near the back. We picked our way over to it through a jumble of costumes of the period pieces of the turn of the century. The box was lined with sentimental posters. And inside was a man's life. And stacks of programs and playbills. It began with a crisp, current appearance and then ran back through all of Seth Cameo's dusty yesterdays. It didn't take long. Maybe five minutes. Here. This is it, Marlowe. Exactly what you're after. Let's see that. Profanum Theta Cancer City, September 1940. Seth Cameo of London in Piccadilly Circus made it to your name in Limehouse. Sure! This is it, baby. Seth Cameo and Limey were one and the same. And where does that get to? Yeah, it gives me an idea. It gives me one, too. You found what you wanted. Now let's put everything back like it was and get out of here. In a minute, Pop. I want to check something else. Now, look, sonny, this is dead against all rules. I'm getting jittery. Wait a minute. Hold it. I heard something upstairs. Did you lock the outside door, Pop? Oh, come now, fellow beast fort. That's an old stunt that beast won't work. That door's got a snap latch and... Shut up. I heard it too that time. There is somebody up there. Yeah, you're right. It can't blame it. I was afraid of something like this. Now, look, you two. You stay right here and don't touch nothing to like it back. In here. I'll go see what it was. Better switch off the lights. Call it. The bricks are laying against us. What do you mean? All this after-hours theater business can't be coincidence. Well, they came upstairs. There's trouble in his mind. Oh. You ask for a pay off, baby. And that's what you're going to get. Only the bank won't handle it. Let the morgue in. Hey, you! What you doing here? You're the night watchman around here. Oh, my Lord. It's John. How'd you get in here? Yeah, but you can't. No pun intended. Into the girl that's in here. Take it easy. Take it easy. Now, you go on. Get out. Don't lie to me. Grandpa, our car is parked at Drucker's. Keep your head. Keep your head. I don't care if she could be. Now, where is she? Come on. I mean business. That isn't here. Don't you give me none of your sass, son. You just clear it out there. Oh, my. Crazy old fool. You got the watchman. You better clear it out, Carla. He'll be down here in another minute. Now, look. Go up that way and cross the stage. Go to 2,000 Beachwood. It's the one place peachy won't go. Many favors. And stay there till I call. You understand? Come on. Beat it. We're here. Go on. Be careful. Be here. Carla moved off into the darkness. I saw at the other end of the hall the inquisitive beam from the flashlight poking me at the dark corners as keen ease down the stairs. I got my gun into my hand, plastered my shoulders against the wall beside the open door and waited. It didn't have long to wait. I heard him stop in the hall outside and then the beam of the flashlight crept over the floor and up to the wall. Then slowly, carefully circled the door frame. Carla? I heard him move in closer. Then the barrel of a snub-nosed revolver inched into the room. I know you're in here, Carla. I waited until I could see the big fist wrapped around the gun. Then I brought my 38 down hot. His gun flew to the floor and I swung again for his head. That's the only blanket lunch for me. I enjoyed the vicious. The one punch he'd landed had shaken me to my shoelaces. The wreckage of costumes, props and a lifetime of old theater programs were scattered over the room like big moldy snowflakes in the crazy ankle-high glare in the still-burning flashlight. As I sagged down under, I tried to catch my breath. I saw something that brought me right back to my feet again. An illustrated program from the King's Theater in Buffalo that gave me a new slant on the whole mess. It billed Seth Cameo as the man with a thousand voices, the perfect mimic. The act that had followed him for a 30-week run was a girl whose face I knew well. I ran out of the theater into the nearest cab stand where I sent one driver to get the police over to the theater with another. I headed for Manny Faber's place on Beechwood and what I was positive would be another murder. When I got to the front door, I knew there was no need to hurry. It was all over. Come on in, Marla. I've got news for you. It was Carla with a gun in her hand. And on the floor in the corner, her face tight with pain, was Mrs. Ruth Gainer glaring, hater but me like a wounded panther. There she is, Marla. I recognized her as soon as I saw her. She's the one Peachy was waiting for outside the Lyceum Theater. They've been working together all this time to frame that slander suit against Faber. Yeah, yeah, I know. But I didn't expect to find you like this. What happened? She knew I recognized her and pulled this gun on me. Won't she use that Seth Cameo, no doubt, huh? Uh-huh. She was going to use it on me, too. But I was way ahead of her. She's only in love with John Peachy keen, but I was married to him for four years and you don't live with a professional wrestler that long without picking up a few tricks. They called you the weaker sex. What is it, Ruthie? Your elbow? Is it broken? Let me alone, you two-bit flat foot. I'll call a doctor and get you fixed up. For one reason only, I don't even like to see a black widow spider suffer. See, Miss Bennett? No, thank you, Mr. Faber. Well, I don't blame you. I've got no appetite either. You know, Marla, I always liked Ruth and I thought she liked me. Long as you represented a buck, she did. And I've got to admit that she and the wrestler were clever, though. That stunt almost worked. She was clever. John Keen is 225 pounds of solid jerk. Yeah, it was all her idea. She was in love with Peachy and when Frank died, she saw great opportunity. Especially without mimic being in town. Sure, Seth Cameo is an old friend of hers. She and Peachy wrote a highly slanderous script. She got Cameo to record it on Frank's machine imitating Frank's delivery. Yes, and I broadcasted and stabbed myself in the back. Exactly. And we'd never found out any of this if... a couple of other characters hadn't tried to cut in. First, Cameo, who felt he'd been cheated when he learned the job he'd done, was worth a hundred grand. Ruth had to shoot him to keep him quiet. Second, little Carla here. Marla, please. With me, it was just good, healthy spite. Spite, huh? What's stronger, baby, spite or dough? Well... See what I mean? Good night, Mr. Faber. Good night. Come on, Carla, let's go. She didn't go home directly. We went on our beachward drive high into the Hollywood Hills, in a park where we could look out over the sparkling, sprawling city. And then we talked about Carla, her life, relative values, the city below us, and the dark hills above. And then, as we watched the first faint glimmer of dawn rise in the east, we both realized something, not original, not very complex, and certainly not sophisticated, but very gratifying. And the final analysis, the best things in life, we both agreed, are still free. Know what I mean? The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, star Gerald Moore, and are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald. Script is by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast were Vivi Janus, Ted Von Elts, Charlotte Lawrence, Barney Phillips, Tony Barrett, Peter Leeds, and Junius Matthews. The special music is composed and conducted by Richard O'Rawn. Be sure and be with us next week when Philip Marlowe says... I didn't know it, but I was caught in a smokeout that led from a search for a lady in black, past murder at a highway in, the gunfire in a crumbling warehouse, and all for a girl, already dead in the morgue. This fall you hear them all on CBS, Red Skelton and Charlie McCarthy and Edgar Bergen have joined the parade to CBS on Sunday evenings. And be sure to hear the contented hour with Dinah Shore tomorrow and every Sunday over most of these same CBS stations. This fall you hear them all on CBS. This is Paul Masterson speaking. Now stay tuned for Gangbusters, which follows immediately over most of these same CBS stations. CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.