 Stand by for crime. Chuck Morgan again. You know, being a newscaster in a station like QOP is quite a responsibility. No matter whether you're liked or disliked, whether you're agreed with or disagreed with, you feel a sense of duty. Especially when you know your listening audience is extensive. That's why when this tip came in about that accidental death, I thought I couldn't pass it up. Wouldn't be fair to the people who paid me or the people who listened to me. The tip said that the accidental death wasn't accidental at all, but murder. It occurred at a remote section town in the Southern Express Railroad. If I drive up there, I get some interesting copy from my broadcast. Well, it so happened that Carol Curtis, my blonde secretary, and I had nothing better planned for the weekend, so we wound up the old jalopy and headed out into the desert. You know, darling, I think it's a wonderful idea going to Las Vegas for the weekend. Yes. I have a new gown. I'll wear it tonight. It's a strapless black taffeta with golden broodry. Think you like it? Chuck Morgan, you haven't heard a word I've said. What was that? I said, you think, what are we stopping here for? That signboard over there. Can you read it? Signboard? Why, yes, it says Squalling Indian for heaven's sakes. What does that mean? Well, maybe it means there's an Indian over there who keeps squalling. Come on, we better get started. Wait a minute, Chuck. You're taking the wrong road. Las Vegas is up that way. Who cares about Las Vegas when there's a squalling Indian over the hill? Chuck Morgan, you turn this car around right now. You promised me we were going to Las Vegas. No, I believe my exact words were, and I quote, glamour plus. Let's drive out into the desert this weekend up toward Las Vegas. Why, you fiend, you tricked me. You know I've always wanted to go to Las Vegas. Stop this car at once and let me out of here. What about my new dress? You don't know what it means to a girl to buy a new dress and then have no place to wear it. You stop this car at once and let me out. Well, what are you doing now? Stopping the car. What for? We're a million miles out in the desert. It's so hot I can hardly breathe. The least you can do is keep moving. Glamour plus, you said you wanted me to stop the car so you could get out. What? I said that? Don't be silly. You know something, glamour plus? What? You're really pretty good looking when you're mad. Oh, is that so? Well, let me tell you something. There are plenty of men who would... What was that? It sounded like a shot. Yeah, there's a puff of smoke up there in the hill. Probably a hunter. Chuck, he's shooting at us. Yeah, aren't tires anyway. Glamour plus, you're really going to get your wish. You ever work a jack handle before? Of course not. There's a first for everything. Out you go. I didn't want to alarm Carol so I acted as though it were a regular routine for me to have my tires plugged full of holes by unknown snipers. Carol sat in the shade of the car and made sarcastic remarks about my integrity while I sweated with a tire iron. And finally dislodged the bullet that had deflated the inner tube. It looked to me like a 30-30 special, which proved nothing. Well, I got the spare in place and we headed down the road toward Squallingenden. An hour later we came to our destination. It was the most desolate looking place I've ever seen. A cluster of yellow painted buildings partly shaded by two cottonwood trees. The double tracks of the Southern Express ran by the front door. Well, this is just great. This is simply bangy. Shall I change to my new strapless gown with a golden broad ring hour? Glamour plus, will you do me one small favor? What? Shut up. Why the idea? You're on serious business and if you... Here comes someone. Hello there. Looking for anyone special? We're looking for anyone. I know how you feel. Pretty desolate looking place, isn't it? Come on inside. It's much hotter and I can at least offer you a cold drink. Oh, that sounds good to me. How about you, Carol? Yes, sure. I can hardly wait. My name's Jim Gainesley. I'm the signal maintainer. Oh, here we are. Hi, honey. We got visitors. Oh, how wonderful. Visitors are always welcome here. This is Betty, my wife. Hello, Betty. Nice to know you. This is Carol Curtis, and I'm... You're Chuck Morgan, the news commentator. I'd know that voice anywhere. My golly, that's right. You are Chuck Morgan. How about that? Well, I didn't think my broadcasts were heard this far away. Oh, we don't get you around here, but I used to live in L.A. Jim and I've only been here six months. Don't you find it terribly lonesome? Oh, Jim and I are never lonesome if we're together. It isn't as bad as you think. There's another family living in that house over there. Ted and Jane Maynard. Ted's the boss of the work gang. Hey, but how about that cold drink, I promise? Great. And I think I'd better explain to you why we happen to drop in on you so unexpectedly. Well, sit down and make yourselves comfortable first. All right. Now you're here. We want to encourage you to stay as long as possible. Very nice of you. Here's that cold drink. Here you are. Carol? Thanks. Take this one. Thank you. By the way, that man that was killed up this way last week... Oh, that was a real tragedy. Either of you or the Maynards get to talk to him? No, none of us even saw the chapter until it was over. Then, well, there wasn't much left to identify. Then we never found out who he was. No, I understand that an inquiry was conducted, but nothing came of it. Where did the accident happen? In the cut, about half a mile up the track. Apparently, the man had been walking along the tracks, heard the train and climbed the embankment, then slipped and fell. There's a torn-out place at the top of the embankment that makes that theory almost a fact. What's your interest, Mr. Morgan? Well, it's remote. I had a friend who looked me up in L.A. two days before the accident. He's a geologist. Said he was coming up this way to look at some unusual rock formations he'd heard about. And you haven't heard from him since? No. Checked a couple of places without any luck. Oh, I'm probably borrowing trouble. Chances are he'll be calling me at the office tomorrow. Listen. It sounds like a train. Now, that just could be, grammar-verse. There are a couple of tracks outside. It's the Golden Streak Streamliner from L.A. to Chicago. Right on the nose, too. For a minute, I thought it was coming into the room. She's doing 90 when she passes here. And the same when it goes through the cut? Oh, a little better. There's a slight downgrade there. No wonder there was nothing left of the man who was hit. How about you two staying overnight with us? There's plenty of room. And when the sun goes down, it really gets cool. Sure. That's a great idea. Would you like your company? I'll help you carry your gear in. Chuck, you promised. Sorry, grammar-verse. Thanks. We'll accept your offer. But there's something I want to say to you first. Oh, what's that? I don't think that man being killed was an accident at all. I think he was murdered. Jim and Betty Ainslie weren't as startled by my murder theories. I thought they would be. Seemed more amused than anything. They were worrying enough to go along with the gag, however. Apparently feeling that to do so would assure them of our company overnight. Jim and I brought in our bags from the car. They gave Carol a room in their own cottage and assigned me another. Beyond me was a cottage occupied by the Ainslie's neighbors. I took off my hat, coat, tie, splashed some cold water over my face, then strolled over towards the mainage. Their cottage looked exactly like the one occupied by the Ainslie's, except that the low drooping branches of a huge cottonwood shut it off from view of the rest of the buildings. I knocked and waited. There wasn't any response. So after a moment, I tried the lodge. It opened. I went in. Anybody home? If anyone was home, they weren't admitting it. Standing in a corner near the bedroom door was a rifle. I crossed the room quickly, picked it up, opened the breach and sniffed. The gun had been fired recently and it was a 30-30 special. Drop that gun. Wait a minute. You must be Ted Maynard. Never mind who I am. Drop that gun, I said. Sure, okay. Don't go getting any ideas with that revolver you're holding until you find out who I am. Ted, who's this? I don't know. Some stumble bum thought he could get away with my rifle. Why don't you plug him? If you've found him trying to steal something, you've a right to. Take it easy. I'm Chuck Morgan. My secretary and I are staying with your friends, the Ainslie's. Who told you there are friends? They did. Well, aren't you? How could you possibly live in a remote spot like this and not be friends with the only neighbors you have for miles? Try it sometime and you'll find out, especially with two jerks like those Ainslie's. Well, Ted, what are you going to do about it? I don't know. I'm going to check with Jim and Betty Ainslie to find out if he's telling the truth, that's for sure. Let's flag down number nine and turn him over to the conductor for the sheriff at Vegas. Maybe the heat was giving me hallucinations, but it seemed to me that these two were creating a situation out of thin air for no apparent reason. They were nervous, on edge, desperate, but more important, they were scared and trying to cover it up. Maybe that's a good idea. Hand me that rope, Jane. Crazy though it seemed, they were planning to go ahead with their plan. Well, I hadn't driven the way up here to be trussed up and dumped aboard a train on some phony charge of robbery. All right, why are you... Let go of my wrist! Let's talk this over and see if we can add up the score. What are you going to do? Push it up the embankment in front of the stream line the way you did that poor devil last week? You won't get away with it this time. You were seen coming up here, you know? Yes, I know. Seen by someone with a 30-30 special who plugged a hole in one of my tires. You can't prove that. Can't prove what? That it was a 30-30 special. I cannot only prove it. I can identify the gun it came from. I have the bullet in my pocket. Then...then if you can do that... Hey, hey, what's going on here? Thought I heard a commotion. You did. Your friends here accused me of trying to steal a rifle that belonged to them and threatened to flag down number nine and turned me over to the conductor. Oh, forget it, Mr. Morgan. Ted and Jane are just jumpy. Look, come on back to the house. Maybe you'll have dinner ready in a few minutes. We'll have time for a couple of drinks. Yes, but what about this? Give Ted back his cap pistol and forget the whole thing. Later on this evening, he'll be over crying on your shoulder asking about news of the outside. Now, don't worry about it, Mr. Morgan. Everything's going to be all right. Maybe everything was all right as far as Germainzley was concerned. But it wasn't all right for me. There's something cock-eyed about this setup. It had brought four people in a dead man. A dead man would have been pushed in front of a train and ground into nothing. Who was he? What had he been doing out here in this remote settlement? And what connection did he have with these four people? Questions. Lots of questions. And so far, only one answer. I was sure the man had been murdered. I could prove it. But I couldn't prove who committed the murder and who the murdered man was. It wasn't even a corpse to make things easier. The night fell, and it became cooler. We sat in the Ainsley's kitchen and ate dinner by the light of two oil lamps. Then I noticed a picture of Jim Ainsley on the wall dressed in a naval uniform and remarked about it. Were you in the Navy Gym? There was a picture up there. Oh, the one on the bookhead? Yeah. That's my brother, Mike. Most people make the same mistake. Well, you do look a lot alike. Is he in the service now? No. He was killed in action off Korea. Oh, that's tough. That was tough losing, Mike. That's all the family I had. We lived in Chicago. That's where I met Betty. She'd come on from LA with some kind of convention. You were married in Chicago? That's right. I had this chance to come out here, and Betty liked being near home, so I grabbed it. On our first weekend off, we're going to go to LA. Jim's ever met my folks. Oh, here's Ted and Jane. Hi, kids. Come on in. Hi, everyone. Say, Mr. Morgan, Jane and I want to apologize for our actions this afternoon. In case you must think we're pretty stupid, boy, hello. We really wouldn't have put you aboard that train even though you have submitted. See, Mr. Morgan, what'd I tell you? How about a cup of coffee, kids? Oh, by the way, this is Carol Curtis, Mr. Morgan's secretary. I don't believe you've met her. How do you do? How do you do? Now, how about the coffee? Oh, swallows. I like them. Smells good to me. Me too. Well, now I had to answer. This crazy pattern was beginning to straighten itself out. I knew who the dead man was and who had murdered him and why. All I had to do was prove it. The plan had already begun taking shape in my mind. I had to get back to Los Angeles and I had to get back there fast because it was in Los Angeles that I could start the machine going and would bring one of these poor people up to the bar of justice charged with murder. The conclusion of Stand By for Crime. Carol and I got back to Los Angeles shortly after 10 p.m. I left her to her apartment and drove over to KOP. Pappy Mansfield, owner and manager of the station, was still in his office. I told him where I'd been and what I wanted him to do. He wasn't much impressed. Oh, you're out of your mind, Chuck. Heat must have sold to that thick skull of yours and softened up your brain. Now go on home and go to bed. Okay, Pappy, so you don't believe me. Then you don't mind if I sell the story elsewhere. Story? What story? You haven't got any story. I will have before the night's over if you'll give me some cooperation. Well, I tell you, Chuck, it's unreasonable. You can't prove there's been a murder without a body? Yes, I can if the murderer confesses to his crime. Well, how about it? No. Okay. Then I'll peddle my wares somewhere else. Not while you're on my payroll, you don't. Then, as of now, I'm off your payroll. I quit. Hey, Chuck. Yeah? Come back here. I thought you'd see it my way. Oh, you did? Well, get this, smart boy. I'll make your telephone call for you, but the name of this radio station isn't going to be mentioned unless you come up with a real... Pappy and I have been through this sort of thing before. It was old routine. I threatened to quit or he threatened to fire me and then we'd agree to go along together. So I knew I could depend upon him and it was a comforting feeling. I got the information I wanted from the morgue in the KLP newsroom and then headed back for the desert. It was after two o'clock in the morning when I reached Squalling Indian. There was a light and she mainsless cottage. Otherwise, the place looked deserted. How's you, Mr. Morgan? It's me, Jim. You can't think you weren't coming. Come on inside. Right. Yeah, where's Miss Curtis? She hadn't enough to stay in town. You wife in bed? I has. And the maids? Well, they stayed till about midnight hoping you'd be back. Ted said if he heard your car, he'd be over. Gosh, Mr. Morgan, what's it all about? Well, I got the information I wanted. Oh, hello, Ted. Come on in. Mr. Morgan just got back. Yeah. I heard his car. So you brought your rifle along, Ted, expecting trouble? I intend to be prepared if there is any. Well, you can put the P-shooter away. You won't have any use for it. I'm keeping it. Suit yourself. That's funny. Must be trouble along the road someplace. Hello, Squalling Indian. That's right. Oh, Morgan. Yeah, he's here. It's for you, Mr. Morgan. Oh, thanks. Hello. Oh, hello, Pappy. What? I don't know. I suppose I could go up there and take a few measurements. Sure, sure. Glad to. Call you back. Right. Okay. So long. That was Pappy Mansfield, owner and manager of Station KLP. Oh, wait a minute. How could he be calling on that phone? It isn't even connected with outside lines. Pappy Mansfield, my friend, can do anything, if he thinks it's important enough. Well, gosh, Mr. Morgan, what's so important? What's he want you to do? I'm going up to the cut and take a few measurements. I think the information I'll be able to phone back to Pappy will be all that's needed to sew up this case. On what case? Oh, look, Mr. Morgan, want me to go with you? I could run you up on my scooter. No, you two stay here. There might be another phone call. I won't be gone long. So I started alone, walking up the tracks. There was a crescent moon hanging on the horizon. This and a sky full of stars shed faint light, bringing out and grotesque relief the shape of the giant cactus in the yucca trees. Up ahead, the cut loomed vaguely, a slit on a ridge that gave a backbone to the desert where it slipped down into the salt sink. A cold wind looped through the cut and penetrated the thinness of my jacket. Once, I looked back. I saw that the lights in Jim Ainsley's cottage had been extinguished. Well, this was it. Either I had a crazy theory or I was going to turn up some of the best news stories of the year. I didn't expect the thing to happen when it did. I expected it to come from another direction and in another form. I reached the bottom slope of the embankment that formed the cut and turned off the tracks. When I heard a sound like the clanking of stone against metal, I whirled. There was a quick step behind me. Something switched through the air and then... All the stars in that beautiful sky crashed around my head and the crescent moon shot out of its orbit and left the world to darkness and to me. I don't know how long I'll lay there, but after a while, the moon got back into position and the stars returned to their velvet canopy one by one. I watched them for a while, thinking how beautiful they were, wishing the Carol Curtis were in hand to enjoy their splendor too. Then it occurred to me that it was strange I didn't have to turn my head upward to see these stars. The answer was simple. I was already looking up. I was lying on my back. I tried to move and found I couldn't. That answer was just as simple. My hands and feet were tied. Worse than that. They were tied to the railroad track. No, it wasn't a bad movie. It wasn't a corny novel of 50 years ago. It was real. It was happening to me. Chuck Morgan, wise guy news commentator. And now came the payoff. The climax to this lousy drama. The train, the streamliner rushing across the desert at 90 miles an hour. It's headlights stabbing into the sky. It's a personal whistle blasting out. Shattering the desert stillness into a nightmare of sound. This couldn't be happening. I was watching one of those movies that used to give me goosebumps when I was a kid. In a minute the audience would see that the train was on another track. I could feel the vibration of the onrushing demon in the rails. I saw it frantically. The raw edge of the rail flange began to rub the rope thin. I worked wildly, jerking my wrist back and forth forgetting in this concentration for the moment the train forgetting it until a beam of light flashed into my face. A red beam. I looked up. The signal tower, a hundred yards down the track and turned red suddenly. The streamliner was slowing down coming to a stop. Suddenly the ropes around my wrist parted. I untied my ankle, stood up, chafing my wrists. The streamliner's headlights showed me, the man standing at the foot of the embankment. He had a rifle in the crook of his arm. You're not as lucky as you think, Morgan. You're still going to shovel up what's left of you after the train passes. Hello, Ainsley. I didn't think you'd come up with anything so corny as tying me to the rails. Why didn't you drill me with the rifle you stole from Ted Maynard and call it a day? Because I don't like corpses hanging around. They talk too much. Oh, of course. I should have remembered. Before I knock you off, suppose you tell me how much you know. Gladly. Anything to stall for time until the train crew gets up here? The train crew ain't coming up here. She only stopped because I got the signals crossed. You'll be underway again in a minute. I'm not too good at this sort of thing. Naturally not. You're better at signaling from the deck of a battleship. So you do know, huh? Yes. I've known for quite a while. You're Jim Ainsley's twin brother, Mike. You were married to Betty before you went to Korea. After you were reported missing, Betty married Jim. You came back, found your wife married to your brother, and killed him. It was Jim who was hit by the streamliner last week. Hello, Pappy. Oh, no, Jim Ainsley, but it always works out. Take my gun. Yeah, give me my gun. Are you all right? Glamber push. Take a look at those stars. Aren't they beautiful? Probably a guest it was Pappy Mansfield who was responsible for the streamliner stopping and squalling in then. Not the fact that Ainsley lost up the signals. Pappy never did trust me when he thought I was getting myself into a jam. Carol and I had left squalling in then in a cold light of an early dawn heading for the main highway. Naturally, Carol was full of questions, but this time I had all the answers. Let's begin at the beginning, Chuckie Boy. What made you suspicious in the first place? Well, either fact that Jim or rather Mike Ainsley said he recognized my voice. Didn't he? No, how could he? He lived in Chicago all his life. My voice couldn't reach that far. Betty had heard me in LA but her husband picked her up too quickly on it. Oh, but how did you know that Jim was Mike? Well, Jim or Mike offered to help us bring in our gear from the car. The word gear in place of luggage is strictly a Navy term. And then there was the picture of the sailor boy in the wall. That's right. Which Mike called a bulkhead. Navy again. Well, well, well. Now, who shot the hole in our tire? Ted Maynard. You see, Ted and Jane knew or at least suspected that Jim was a murderer. They were scared stiff. They knew if the Ainsleys realized their suspicions, the same thing would happen to them would happen to Jim. Well, how about Betty? Betty had to go along with the gag too. Although, I think she did it by choice. She really loved her first husband, huh? Hmm, that's right. So when Ted saw us heading this way, he shot a hole in our tire, hoping we'd find out he did it and have him arrested and taken away from there. Glamour, Puss. You have an astute mind. Oops. Here we are. Back on the main highway. But, Chuck, why are you turning right? LA's back that way. Glamour, Puss. Las Vegas is this way. You're still going to have a chance to wear that black strapless tapeter with a golden embroidery. Oh, Chuck. What's wrong? What's the matter? I left it in LA.