 Standard of California, on behalf of independent Chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the West, invites you to let George do it. The Seven Dead Years, another adventure of George Valentine. Personal notice, dangers might stalk and trade. If you're crowded against a wall and you can't punch your way out alone, call on me, George Valentine. Write full details. Dear Mr. Valentine, for almost seven years I've been haunting a man who killed his own wife. I can't prove that he did. And all of a sudden I can't afford to spend any more time floundering around. Next week he's going to collect $200,000 because I failed. And that's something that's keeping me awake nights. I've dealt with plenty of crooks in my life. Crooks in my life and didn't need anybody's help. But this is different and I don't mind admitting it. How about giving me a ring? It's signed Samuels. Samuels? Well, I'm overwhelmed, Bruxy. Why? Who's Samuels? Oh, just about the shrewdest insurance investigator in the game. But I thought he was retired off somewhere in the Florida Keys, fishing. Well, according to this letter, all he's doing is staying awake nights. Oh, seven years, huh? Now all of a sudden, time is running out for Samuels. Why did he put it just that way, Angel? Say, what do the words seven years mean to you? Seven years, Rich. Seven lean years. Seven years it might take a salmon to make seven honeymoon trips up the Columbia River. All right, without making funny, Bruxy. Seven years also means the legal period after which a man or woman is declared dead. It's pointedly called the Enoch Arden Law. Oh, well, then this Samuels is in a race against time. And if he isn't such a hurry, it'd be a shame if we wasted time on this end, wouldn't it? This man, McLean, killed his wife and got rid of the body. I know it. Well, according to all this, Mary and McLean just wrote a suicide note and disappeared. And if the husband is walking around enjoying good fresh air, the police must have given him a clean bill of health. It's okay for the police, but not for me. Oh, it makes you so hard to satisfy. This McLean dame gets in short for $200,000, then conveniently vanishes from the face of the earth. Besides, whenever I meet up with a crook, my belly turns over twice, and this guy McLean has been giving me a nervous stomach for seven years. Seven long years. Well, as I get it, Mr. Samuels, you're retired. If the insurance company is willing to pay the $200,000, I don't see why... It's a matter of pride, Miss Brooks. When I first turned into the report on the McLean's, I said it was a phony. It's the only case in my career I feel wasn't washed upright. I think I know what's bothering you, Samuels. Do you? Yeah, the body. It was never found. Yeah. The hardest thing in the world to do is to get rid of a body. And don't look so amazed, Miss Brooks. That's the truth. Oh, I wouldn't know. Well, you can't burn it. If something's always left over, buttons, bridgework, teeth, then you can't drown it. It comes up to the surface some time or another, and you bury it, somebody finds it when they're digging post holes. Well, Samuels, if you've been searching for the corpus delicti for seven years, I don't know what I can do. Take a look at this ad in the paper. Wanted by Sculptor, male professional model must be exceptionally muscular and broad-shouldered to pose for heroic figure in important civic memorial, Frank McLean. Oh, is this the same McLean we've been talking about, Mr. Samuels? Yeah, he has a house and studio a few miles out of town in Roxbury. Wait a minute, wait a minute. Let me get this straight. I go out there... I'll pay you for it out of my own pocket. It's worth it to me. And while I'm not posing, I'm supposed to go up in the attic or dig out in the garden to find a corpse. It's not going to be anything as obvious as that. I've been at it seven years trying to find out what he did with his wife. He knows my face as well as his own. I can't work on this deal anymore. That's why I want you. Well, George, you do have the shoulders for it. Okay, Samuels. I don't know how I'll look, his antlers holding up the world or a Spartan youth, but I'll give it a try. I take it, Mr. Valentine, you pose for other well-known sculptors. Oh, yes, of course. But back east, New York, I just got in town and saw your ad. I see. Oh, darling. Yes, Nana. Is that my ad? My very favorite model, Valentine. Oh. No, Nana, we won't work anymore today. Here, Valentine, you might be interested in seeing some of my work. Sure, fine. Now, here's something in bronze I did in 1936. I call it age. All I see is a little girl asleep. She's a dead little girl, which makes her older than any of us. Oh. Well, that's one way of looking at it. You'll have plenty of time to see my other stuff, but here, here's what I'm working on. Looks like quite a project, Mr. McLean. He's going into the town square at Porchester to memorialize the hundredth birthday of that little hemlet. Aside from artistic merits, it has to be able to withstand the passage of time and the critical comments of migratory birds. Is this where I fit in? Yes. You'll be the figure of man in capital letters. You're reaching upward for ultimate perfection. As you see, the figures of health, love, and spiritual attainment are already finished. The statue in the middle will be eternal life which Nana is going to pose for. Well, when do I start working? Take off your coat and your shirt. Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. I have a very definite conception of this man's physique. After all, to the good people of Porchester, he's supposed to symbolize all mankind. Well, that's quite a responsibility. How do I shape up? Um, turn around. Well, well, what have we got here? All of mankind, lady. Yes, and with hair on your chest. This is Nana. As I said, Valentine, she's going to portray eternal life. In the meantime, she abuses the privilege of being the eternal feminine. Hmm, you love to make with words, darling, but you ought to know by now that you can't insult me. Certainly not till after we're married. That will be all for today, Miss Kenyon. Same time tomorrow. My aunt, we business like. Well, beware of him, Mr. Valentine. He's a creature of moves. Goodbye, darling. So long, Mr. Man. Your fiance is a very charming girl, Mr. McLean. Her charm is only an added attraction, and she knows it. Now you and I better get started, Valentine. Stretch your arm up toward the skylight over there. Like this? Yes, and hold the pose. How long do I have to stand like this? You're not getting tired. I haven't even finished making my rough sketch. Don't we get time out for a cigarette, McLean? What kind of people have you been posing for anyway? We've just been working a short while. Oh, sorry, but I can't hold up my arm like this anymore. Oh, it was beginning to weigh a ton. Whom do you think you're fooling? How stupid do you think I am? Well, that's a question that invites all kinds of answers. I had to find out. You're not a professional model. If you were, you could have held your arm like that much longer without getting tired. I guess I wasn't very good. Samuel sent you here, didn't he? Well, you can tell that human bloodhound he's still wasting his time. Okay, I'll deliver the message, friend. But I doubt if he's going to be convinced. Would you mind turning around while I put on my shirt? You know, darling, McLean could be right about Samuel's having a blind spot and obsession. Yeah, but before I tell him what a flop I was, as a model, I'd like to try something. Such as? Well, first of all, let's take it for granted that Samuel's is right. It's possible to get rid of a human body. Well, then maybe there never was a body. Oh, in other words, Mrs. McLean is very much alive somewhere. Yeah, it could be, Angel. Waiting for seven years to pass, so McLean can collect that dough and join us somewhere in Europe, let's say. Oh, that's a pretty wild notion, George. Two people separating for seven years like that? Yeah, but a very profitable separation. They'll be getting roughly $30,000 a year for it. Okay, say we even buy that. What do you propose to try? I like this hypothetical situation. You're my wife. Oh, not to be hypothetical. You love me very much. Oh, Jack. Love me enough to endure seven years of hiding and separation so we'll have enough to live on for the rest of our lives. All right, supposing. Then you read in public print that I have intentions toward a gorgeous model by the name of Nana Kenyon. Now, what would you do? I'd come halfway around the world and scratch your eyes out, and that wouldn't be hypothetical. Especially with a payoff at hand so McLean could disappear with all the moola and the luscious Nana. Are you going to get this world-shaking piece of gossip into the paper? Leo mentioned the bulletin. His column is syndicated in 650 newspapers. Nana is pretty colorful. Some pun. Besides, Bruxy, Leo owes me a favor. I'm a patient man, Valentine. I've waited for seven years. I can stand it a few more days. But how do you know this item in mentions column is going to pay off? I don't know. But Mrs. McLean is alive and has the usual feminine instincts. It'll work. You sold on this theory of yours. I still say McLean got rid of the body. But how? Where? That's what I've got to find out. You'll be coming into that money next Tuesday. Yeah. Let me have that picture in description of Mrs. McLean. I want to get it around where it'll do the most good. Now, let's see. Five foot four, 125 pounds, brown hair, scar on left cheek, middle finger of left hand severed at first joint. Very complexion. Mr. Valentine, I've got to see you a minute. I think you owe me 50 bucks. Oh, George, this is one of the cab drivers I spoke to at the airport. Mike Coslenko, wasn't it? Yeah, I wanted a bust in Coslenko. Did you see Mrs. McLean? Well, if it wasn't, she's got a twin, scar on her cheek and all. Oh, wouldn't she show up? Where'd you take her? She got off the plane early this morning, coming on one of them DC-6s. Well, you sure took your time getting here. I had a hauler guy all the way out to the racetrack and wait for him. I tried calling you, but your line was busy. Okay, okay. Where'd you drop her off? What was the address? She didn't give me no address. I took her out to Roxbury. Where's McLean? I let her off on the corner of Sycamore and Dean. She looked boiling mad. Come on, Brooks. See, we got to move fast if we're going to keep Samuel's from being right. What do you mean, George? Well, if this is Mrs. McLean, she's an uninvited guest. After all these years, I'd hate to have to go looking for her body. We'll return to tonight's adventure of George Valentine in just a moment. Meanwhile, a word about protection. Most motorists quite naturally believe that automobile engines wear out faster when they're running, but that's not true. Your car faces its biggest wear test when it's standing cold. Well, that's when rust caused by condensed moisture inside cylinders can start to work. And that's where RPM motor oil helps you avoid a repair bill. RPM special compounds keep a protective oil film on all engine parts all of the time. Whether your car is running hot or standing cold, RPM clings stubbornly to vital wear points. And consequently, rust never has a chance to get started in your car. No wonder it's the two-to-one choice of Western motorists. Next time you need oil, ask for rust-fighting RPM motor oil at any standard station or independent chevron gas station where they say, and meme, we'll take better care of your car. And now back to tonight's adventure of George Valentine. It's something you knew all the time. After seven years without the well-known corpus delicti, a person is declared legally dead. So you're not particularly surprised when an over-conscientious insurance investigator, now retired, hires you to find the body of one Marion McLean missing just about that long. Then, surprise. She comes waltzing back into town, Vegas life. If you're like George Valentine, sensitive to root shocks like this, you pay a visit to the studio of Frank McLean, sculptor and husband of said lady. I know I'm going way out on the limb, McLean, but I was told your wife is here in Roxbury. Oh, who told you Valentine? Another ghost? My wife is dead. Or hasn't Samuel's told you? Dead or alive, this was a frame-up from the beginning, McLean. I'm still going to prove it. The ghost you mentioned happens to be a very earthy character. A cab driver with a nice earthy name like Koslenko. Yeah, one of the Boston Koslenkos. He claims he picked up your wife at the airport early this morning and dropped her off here on the corner of Sycamore and Dean. Your Koslenko boy is wasting his time driving a cab. He should be holding séances. Come Tuesday, my wife will be dead. Exactly seven years. You keep track of time very carefully, don't you? What do you do? Check off the days on the calendar? I may have an artistic temperament, but I'm practical enough to know what you can buy with $200,000. Any other questions, gentlemen? The same one I've been asking all these years, McLean. Now, let's say Valentine is right in your wife's show this morning. What'd you do with her? Poor Samuels. How does your mind work? Now you're saying I killed Marion today. How about your theory that the hardest thing in the world to dispose of is a human body? I still say that. Well, unlike you, Samuels, I'm a reasonable man. My life is an open book. Go on, look around anywhere you like. I do want you to be happy. Okay, okay, you can stop being Glyb McLean. You said we have your permission to look wherever we want. That's right. What's on your mind, Valentine? Well, something that comes to you when you think about it hard enough. Like all simple things, you might walk right by it. It's so obvious. Well, don't look so startled, gentlemen. Mr. Valentine loves to be cryptic. You'll get to the point. I can't wait. Children know the principle very well. When you play hide-and-seek, the one place you're least likely to be discovered is where you just got through trying to hide. What do you mean by that, Valentine? Samuels, I understand you had the cellar dug up when Mrs. McLean first disappeared. Yeah, and there was nothing there. Well, there may be this time. You know, kid stuff. Sorry you didn't find anything in the cellar, Valentine. You had such a fascinating theory. Yeah, well, there's still a lot of places around here to look, McLean. No, to be sure. But do let me be the gracious host and mix you all a drink. Well, a party? I'm glad you dropped in, Nana. We're playing a little game. Buddy, buddy, who's got the buddy? Well, aren't we a little old for parlor games? Samuels here doesn't think so. Yeah, and my child at heart. You know, Mr. Valentine, I almost didn't recognize you with your shirt on. Yes, that mole on his left shoulder does something for him, doesn't it? I see you noticed that too, Miss Brooke. Oh, we've gone to the beach together many times. Here you are, everybody. Thank you. Here's to you, Samuels, and a happy retirement. Thanks. I see you've done a lot of work on your masterpiece for the Portchester Town Square. It's almost finished, Valentine. We're just missing the figure of the man. I understand the figure in the middle. Eternal life is supposed to be you, Miss Kenman. My solitary contribution to American culture. Oh, come on, Valentine. Let's get going. If I were you, Miss Kenyan, I'd sue somebody for libel. That figure is nowhere near as glamorous as you really are. Thank you for the compliment. I'm sure you didn't mean every word of it. Goodness, Frank, you certainly poured this drink with a heavy hand. I could use a little more soda. So could I. Wait a minute, I'll join you. I didn't think these were too bad, did you, Miss Brooke? Oh, no, everything's just... Now, if we could only get Samuels to think fast... No, that would be too fast. Uh-uh, not for me, Nana. All right, so, mate, if it isn't soda you want, what is it? You've been around, Nana. Yes, I've been around. I didn't think my travel scars were so prominent. Well, let's be corny and say it's something stronger than both of us. Something we can't resist. The eternal feminine and the equally eternal masculine. You handle words real nice, partner. Oh, I'm real smart. I bet I could even remember an address if I had to. 420 Montrose. If you ring the bell and there's no answer... Yeah? There just might be a key under the flower pot on the back porch. Oh, maybe this was a wild goose chase, but it's not now. Where? What are you doing here, Miss Brooks? Oh, well, Mr. Valentine couldn't make it, Nana. He asked me to convey his deepest regrets. And there was that key under the flower pot. Why that? Oh, what you were going to say. What have you got there? Give me those tickets. I'm just admiring them. I've always dreamt of a holiday in South America. I said give them to me. Tickets for flight 114 next Wednesday. The day after Frank McClain collects the insurance on his wife. The tickets bought right here at the airport in Roxbury. I'm not going to ask you again. Let me have those tickets. It may not mean anything at all. But it's worth checking. Just who bought these tickets and why? Sorry, but you're not leaving here. No fair, Nana. You didn't say put them up. I'm not finished with you yet. That's better. I like to be warned. Now I can forget I'm a lady. What are you doing? You remember selling these tickets, don't you, mister? Seats four and five, flight 114 Wednesday. Oh, yes, I remember it very well. Oh, good. Would you be able to identify the man if you saw him again? Man? But it wasn't a man. It was a woman. Oh? That's why I do remember it so distinctly. Oh, you mean she had all the reasons why men would look at her twice? I didn't think of it quite that way, Miss. I meant the little scar on her cheek. Scar? Wait a minute. Is this the woman you sold the tickets to? The one in this picture? Well, yes, that's her. Mrs. McLean bought those tickets. If Mrs. McLean bought those airplane tickets, Bruxy, that means for sure she's back here in Roxbury. And not just on the testimony of one of the Boston Coslencos. Well, what do you make of it, Samuels? If McLean and Nana got those tickets from her, you can bet your life you didn't just hand them over on the silver platter. Not so her husband and his lady fair could go flying down to Rio. Hey, look, Bruxy. Yes, George? I think Nana must be a chasing spirit by now. Drop by her place again and let her out of that closet. Oh, must I? Yes, you must. And bring her out to McLean's. For one thing, she's got to answer some questions about those tickets. Now, there's a cool cookie for you, that McLean. Imagine him using the same tickets as his wife bought. I probably figured that was one way no one would know his plans. Or he was going after he collected on the insurance. Well, I'd better be going. See you later, Bruxy. Hey, you know something, Samuels? And what's that? If McLean wanted to get rid of his wife, he wouldn't necessarily plant her right there on the home ground. He wouldn't risk taking her anywhere else. Like I always say, the hardest thing in the world to get rid of is... Yeah, I know, I know. But we were all over the place. I wouldn't know where else to go looking tonight. Wait. There's one place we didn't look, huh? On the back part of that property is an old well. All overgrown with shrubbery and stuff. That's why we passed it by. Go on. I looked there seven years ago, and if your idea about hiding things where people look before is... Okay. What's keeping us? Sure you got enough rope up there, Samuels. Plenty. This well looks deeper than we thought. Be careful. Can you use your flash? Better wait until I get find it down. Yeah. Samuels, the rope! Come up here in a minute, Miss Brooks. Lucky didn't bring the whole rope down with him when he fell. You know if there's any water down there? No, I don't. Well, let me give you a hand. Wait until I get a hold of that tinsel who sneaked up behind and slugged me. He's near the top, I think. I'll help you. Come on now, fella. Okay, darling. Oh, with reservations. I feel as though I've been dragged not too gently through a meter high. Now, somebody walked up behind me in the dark and let me have it. Yeah, I found Samuels lying here when I went out to look for you two. Uh-huh. Now, let's get inside and see McLean. Hey, Valentine, maybe it's time to do something about that well-groomed pan of his, like you said. You took the words right out of my mouth, friend. I've just come to a very interesting conclusion. I was wondering about that 1,000-watt look in your eye. Yeah, Brooksy. To do some real profound thinking, there's nothing better than lying around on the bottom of a well. It's real nice and cozy, folks, to have everybody around like this. We might even toast marshmallows if I didn't have something more important on my mind. As a rule, I don't believe in petty tantrums on the part of grown men. But I owe somebody a fractured jaw. Now, look here, Valentine. What Samuel said about me sneaking up behind you. That's you, McLean. Step aside. I'll let the teacher give you permission. What brought this on, George? I do believe he's going to hit somebody. Yeah. You, Samuels. Hey, what's the matter with you, Valentine? You got nuts? Yes, you, Samuel. George! Okay, Valentine, I'm coming at you and I'll ask questions later. Fine, fine. I was waiting for an excuse to do this again. Careful. All right, come on. Get up, get up. Nice work, Valentine. I've never seen my studio put too better use. Shut up, you. Come on, he's mad at everybody. George, what is this about Samuel? Yeah, what's the idea? What did I ever do to you? You tried to kill me. Nobody slugged you except yourself to make it look good. What do you mean, George? Bad slip of logic, Samuels. You were McLean's personal nemesis. If he were getting really desperate, he'd want to get rid of you, not me. He'd make good and sure you were dead. That's crazy. Why should I want to knock you off? I hired you. How could Samuels possibly have anything to do with Mrs. McLean's disappearance? Samuels, you know where that woman's body is, don't you? You know it tonight when you suggested I go plumbing the depths of that abandoned well because you were too fat to do it yourself. You're way off the beam, Valentine. You were afraid I'd find out too sooner or later, and you weren't going to take any chance. Ah, look. With me dead, you could blackmail the real murderer for a long time to come. I see. I still remain the suspected murderer. Don't be so glib, Bob. You're exactly that. When will somebody get around to making sense here? I'm getting used to being the suspected murderer, Nana. But still I say, where is the body? You know, you've got to produce that to prove their vows of murder. Samuels knows where it is, don't you? You caught on a little quicker than I did. That's because you've been living with this case for seven years. Well, I don't like being ghoulish, but do you really know where Mrs. McLean is, George? Take a look at this impressive group of statuary. My best effort yet. Statues, George? The one in the middle, particularly, Brooks, the eternal life. You yourself said it didn't do its model, Nana, justice. And no wonder. There's only one thing Mrs. McLean has in common with Nana. They're both women of about the same size. There's no telling where that weird imagination of yours will lead you, Valentine. You don't need imagination, McLean, just the plain observation that Samuels had, too. You were in such a hurry to make a plastic cast with your wife's body in it that you forgot one little defect that might have been overlooked after seven years. What's that? I mean specifically the middle finger of your wife's hand. It's severed at the first joint, and the plastic cast preserved it that way. No. I couldn't have forgotten that. I couldn't... Yes. Ironic as it is, McLean. There's death inside the statue of eternal life. When you shop for meat, you're confident of getting good quality because you know you're protected by health department regulations. But how can you be sure of quality when you're buying a battery for your car? The National Society of Automotive Engineers established protection for you when it established three rigid battery tests. Atlas batteries excel in all three of these tests required by the society. Next time you look at an Atlas battery, notice the certified capacities embossed on the back panel and the number of plates. So for a sure starting battery with greater capacity through a longer service period, make sure it's an Atlas battery. You can get one at any standard station or independent chevron gas station. Certified Atlas batteries and expert battery service are two reasons why independent chevron gas stations and standard stations say and mean we'll take better care of your car. Next week, when you tune our way for another adventure, George Valentine, you'll find George faced with a new problem expressed in a letter that has just come to his desk. Dear Mr. Valentine, I'm a freshman at Weston State University. I'm majoring in botany and I've suddenly found that flowers can smell of murder. Please give me a chance to tell you the whole story. I live in Quonset Hot Number 8, University Road, signed Louise Durain. Next Monday night, a new case for George Valentine, the flowers that smelled of murder. Tonight's adventure of George Valentine has been brought to you by Standard of California on behalf of independent chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the West. Led George to it stars Robert Bailey as George with Francis Robinson as player. Tonight's story was written by David Victor and Herbert Little Jr. and directed by Don Clark. Also heard in the cast where Louis van Rooten as Samuel's Jane O'Vello as McLean, Louise Arthur as Nana, Don Diamond as the cabbie, and Bob Bruce as the clerk. The music is composed and conducted by Eddie Dunstetter, your announcer, John Easton. Listen again next week, same time, same station to let George do it. This is the Mutual Downly Broadcasting System.