 The Adventures of Sam Spade Detective, brought to you by Wild Root Cream Oil Hair Tonic. The non-alcoholic hair tonic that contains lanolin. Wild Root Cream Oil. Again and again, the choice of men and women and children too. Hey sweetheart, shaman spade. Shaman, not Sam. An old Indian word signifying wise man. And it's true, Effie. I'm a lot wiser man than I was yesterday at this time. Really, Sam? Really, little pampous. Put on some more paint, a few turkey feathers, and your best open-toed markers. Where are we going, Sam? Why, to Ted's TV for a rousing repast of ground corn and dried buffalo meat. Oh, well. Don't quibble, Effie. Get the wig warm ready, sharpen my tomahawk, and lay out my herringbone breech clout. I'll be right in to dictate the shark gaga, the shanagma, the Indian caper. Into the sky, blue water. You sure you're not making this up? Oh, no, Sam. Oh, no. He was a scourge of Indian lawbreakers. A scourge, huh? Even so, you have two minutes to think of a better name. Oh, Rippling Strain? Not Viral enough. Um, Crunching Mussels? Two, uh, two Virals. What is that stuff you've been getting me, anyway? Two, uh, Lieutenant L. J. Myron, San Francisco homicide detail. Better take it back. Copy to Chief Black Cloud of Santy Dakota Indian Reservation. Oh, murder. Attention, federal Indian agent from San Jospe. San Francisco license number 1-37596. Uh, subject, the shark gaga gaga, uh, the, uh, shark gonna, uh, call it for now, the Indian caper. And quiet to you. I was sitting in my office quiet. I was sitting in my office doing absolutely nothing when something interrupted me. First, it was a buckskin smell, then the soft tread of moccasins, followed by the sound of a rattle. His, uh, beaded clothes were wrapped in a rich-looking embroidered blanket, and his multi-coated headdress reached to the floor. His face looked like the model for the Indian head nickel. How? Who? My name, Chief Black Cloud. How do you do, Chief? You, Shaman Spade. Uh, Sam. Shaman Indian word for wise man, prophet, seer. Sam. Newspapers say you good scout. Well, they exaggerate so, you know. Chief, need to hire good scout for a job. Well, uh, shall we talk? You come for power in Chief's consulate. Now, where's that? Say, Mark Hotel, fourth floor. I see. You have reservation. Well. You ride with Black Cloud. He have iron pony on street, made by a great Indian chief, Pontiac. Now, he actually had a consulate at the St. Mark, fourth floor. Outside the door of his room, two braves were standing, arms folded. One of them was the first Indian I'd ever seen with hair on his chest. We entered the room, Indian file, of course. The chief had apparently brought in his own decorator. The walls were covered with hanging animal skins. A weathered canopy of fat hit the ceiling, and on the floor, genuine hand-woven rugs. No expense had been spared. In one corner of this room stood a full-sized teepee. Two squaws shuffled out of it. What else? The young one glided forward and handed the chief a long Indian pipe. Shamans paid this fairest Indian made of all. Only person in world important to Black Cloud. Name little white lilac. How do you do a little white lilac? It's nice to have you here. She wise educated girl. Graduates Smith College. Oh, squaws out. Squaws out. Squaws no good at powwow. Well, you know best, Chief. Now, we powwow. You get paid well. Chief Black Cloud own 130 oil wells near Tulsa. Oh, Oklahoma, huh? Not Oklahoma. Indian land. Union mean nothing. Union temporary thing. I see. Indian here long before white man. This is true. And Indian will be here long after white man. All right, Chief. All right. Chief Black Cloud come to San Francisco Village five days ago for powwow with big engineer. Anybody I know? His name, Clarence Hobart. Engineer for Arundel and Amoskeek. Consolidated engineering company. Fine Indian name. We have powwow four days. Hobart disappear. And you want me to find him, is that it? Chief, tired of San Francisco. Want finish powwow. Get back to Santee Dakota Reservation. Clarence Hobart. Okay, I'll see what I can find out. Good. One moment, shaman babes. Chief have something you guard for few days. What's this? This beaded wampum belt. Ancient relic of Nipmuk tribe. Nipmuk. Here in Tipi Semmark, too many light finger chamber maids and bellboys. You want me to hold on to this for you? Yes. Wampum of great sentimental value. Woven by ancient wise man Tony Luca. Tony Luca. Tells interesting story in history of tribe. Guard it well. Haven't lost a wampum yet? Is that all, then? One more thing. We smoke pipe of friendship. I smoke. Here. Now you smoke. To friendship. Now I know what happens if the bag of lucky strike doesn't bite. I left Chief Black Cloud's fourth floor lives. There was only one brave standing outside the door. The hairy chested Indian was probably taking five. A wampum belt was about three feet long, made up of hundreds upon hundreds of little colored beads. They were woven into a picture pattern, very pretty. The interesting story undoubtedly could have been translated instantly and told fascinatingly by Red Rider. But then he has a smart horse. I put the wampum belt in my pocket and headed to the offices of the Arundel and Amaski Consolidated Engineering Company. Final Indian names. I'm proud about Clarence Hobart. They referred me to his partner, Anderson Watts. Hobart disappeared? I'm sure. Why you couldn't lose him if you wanted to? He's as white as a barn door. Well, Chief Black Cloud seems to think he is missing. When I look here, are you going to take an Indian's opinion over mine? I might. Or just because he doesn't show up for an appointment doesn't mean he's disappeared. Why, one day would we run a cat and lever project in New Orleans? Yeah, some other time. If Hobart hasn't disappeared, where would he be? Anywhere in the world. A man's unpredictable. Brilliant engineer, but moody. Every now and then he goes off alone to scheme up some fantastic thing like maybe cutting off the gulp stream and turning Cuba into an iceberg. I like it. He always comes back. Disappear? No, no, not Hobart. Yeah, well, can you give me his home address? Here you are. Try it if you like. But I'm sure he's not there. I called this morning and nobody answered. Honest engine. I left this utterly charming man and started for the address he had written down. I was taking the shortcut through the alley on Sutton Street when I heard the rattle of beads and a naked brown arm of considerable size reached out of the murk. I grabbed for it, but he slipped out of my grasp and sped swiftly and silently up the dark alley into the fog, leaving me with a handful of Max Factor No. 8 Iroquois makeup. I continued to Hobart's house without further incident. Found it just off Chinatown. Mr. Hobart? Oh, I thought you might be somebody else. Who else? Take your foot out of the door. Just let's talk a minute, shall we? Want me to call the police? I don't think you will, Mr. Hobart. All right, out with it. What's on your mind? My name is Sam Spade. I'm a private detective. There's an Indian named Chief Black Cloud who's worried about you. I'm old enough to worry about myself. Now, stop bothering me. Go away. Look, I'm going to tell the chief where you are, you know, because that's what I was hired to do. Confidentially, I've been on a two-day drunk. You know how it is. Who, me? Tell him to phone me tomorrow. I'll talk to him. It is your day off. I just wanted to show you something. Happy, first do me a favor and put this wampum belt in the safe, will you? A wampum belt? Genuine Indian art. Oh, it's beautiful. Tells a story. You know what? It'll go beautifully. Oh, Sam, I forgot. There's a girl waiting in your office. Well, good. Sam, don't you want me to show you? And there was indeed a girl in my office that was Little White Lilac, Chief Black Cloud's fairest Indian maid of all. Only, uh, heaped big chains had taken place. She still had the Indian color, but gone was the headband, gone the buckskin dress, gone the squatting score, the Saint Mark teepee. Little White Lilac stood revealed in the thin disguise of a modern white woman's cocktail dress complete with pale-faced 20-carat perfume. It was a transformation worthy of a high-priced medicine man. But more surprises were to come. Hello. How? I've been waiting for you. Yeah, well, a big brave just returned from hunting party. You can drop the teepee talk. I'm civilized. Well, okay. What's on your civilized line? Chief Black Cloud gave you a wampum belt. I want you to give it to me so I can destroy it. Well, I, uh, I gave my word to keep it, and I accepted the promise of money for its protection. Now, you wouldn't want me to be an Indian gift. I mean, violate my ethics. Sam, if I must tell you, Chief Black Cloud is insane. Not if he keeps you around. Must we have these juvenile references to my personal beauty? Juvenile? Well, sorry. Uh, you are Indian, aren't you? Of course. I am a nipmuc. Nipmuc. That wampum belt is secret to undreamed of wealth, greater than the fortunes of the ten richest families of this country. Chief Black Cloud is wealthy from oil, but that belt make him more powerful than the Bank of America. You mean he could take my car back? You think this is a joke, don't you? Well, I love the way you tell it, though. He's going to use it to destroy modern American civilization, to pay the white man back for what he did to the Indian. I see. He wants to start a giant Indian revolution. And you want to destroy the wampum to save all this? Exactly. And now you'll give it to me, won't you? Uh-uh. What happens in the next chapter? Sam, you have to believe me. Why? Why do you think the chief is here conferring with an engineer? He wants to get at that wealth. Hobart's going to make him wealthy? Now, really, a little white lily. Isn't this all a little white lie? Sam, if I take you to Hobart, and he confirms what I've said, will you believe me? I might. Come on. She took me by the hand and she led me out of the office and up and down several streets until we arrived at a frowsy-looking brown snow. We headed, still holding hands, and came to rest in an apartment that looked just recently occupied. I guess that's what it looked like because you couldn't tell much. It was being lit by either one 10-watt frosted bulb or by fireflies. This is the place. A little, uh, dim in here, wouldn't you say? I like dim places. Uh, yeah. Uh, where's Clarence? I'll get him in a minute. First, Sam. Uh, yes, Clarence. You've been so nice. Uh-huh. I want to find some way to thank you. I'll wait for you, Valkyrie. I can start by kissing you. Hmm. Please. Hmm. Sam. Oh! The kiss was great. In fact, it blew the top of my head off. After this, there was a free fireworks display followed closely by a giant roar that sounded like Niagara Falls with a cold. It was a short feature followed by a long period of dark black silence. When the curtain came up again, I was lying in an alleyway. I was stiff and cold. My head dropped with pain. My brain was a jumble. My suit was torn and dirty. My patience was at an end. And my anger with little white lilac knew no bounds. I, uh, went out of the office and changed clothes and get a drink. The phone was already ringing when I opened the door. Sam spayed. This chief black cloud talking from St. Mark D.P. Yeah. What's on your mind, chief? Ten minutes ago, Bell Boy delivered to chief black cloud box. Inside box is scalp of engineer Clarence Hobart. I hung up the phone, fell into my chair, snapped on the lights, and fell out of it again. My office had been massacred. The place had been ransacked thoroughly and looked like the morning after a Comanche smoker. And you guessed it. My safe had been drilled open. The ancient and valuable Nip Muck Wampum Belt was gone. At this point, I decided what chief black cloud needed was a detective. Now, here's important news on good grooming. If you want the well-groomed look that helps you get ahead socially and on the job, listen. Recently, thousands of people from coast to coast who bought wild root cream oil for the first time were asked, how does wild root cream oil compare with the hair tonic you previously used? The results were amazing. Better than four out of five who replied said they preferred wild root cream oil. Remember, non-alcoholic wild root cream oil contains lanolin. It grooms the hair naturally, relieves dryness, and removes loose, ugly dandruff. So if you want your hair to be more attractive than ever before, get the generous new 25-cent size of wild root cream oil. America's leading hair tonic on sale at all drug and toilet goods counters. It's also available in larger economy bottles and the handy new tube. Get wild root cream oil. Again and again, the choice of men who put good grooming first. By the way, smart girls use wild root cream oil, too. And mothers say it's grand for training children's hair. The Chagogog Manchogog Chabonagon Gamog Caper. Tonight's adventure with Sam Spade. I found Chief Blackclout sitting cross-legged and looking disconsolably down into a small cardboard box. Both scores, including little white lilac, were on one side of the room grinding corn. Lilac looked through me as if I didn't exist. I sat down next to the chief, looked into the box and recoiled. No real, no imitation. 20th century scalp and the red hair was certainly Hobart. Scalp comes with note. Let me see. Note written in Algonquin dialect. I translate. Honor Chief Blackclout. Return to Sente Dakota Reservation and die proper death fitting to old man. Here you will meet violence unto death, even as this man did. What's the point across? Look, Chief, it isn't that I'm scared, which I am, I've heard some things about you that don't sound too good. You hear what? That you want to start an Indian Revolution to settle an old score with a white man. Who tell you this? The fairest of them all, little white lilac. She tell you? I've never talked to her. She not only told me all that, but she... Spade, when did little white lilac tell you these things? She came to my office today. That's a lie. I never left this hotel. Little white lilac with me all day. Why you? Never out of sight. Enough. Go away. Kalanuka speak with tongue of truth. Little white lilac I have grown from baby. She also speak with tongue of truth. Somebody lie. Now, Chief, I know what I'm talking about. Chief does not need help of double-tongue man. Return Wampum Belt to me. I pay you. All right, I'll... Well, Chief, heard enough lies. Return Wampum Belt. Wait a minute, I got a small but biting bit of truth to relate. Somebody stole the Wampum Belt. Wampum Belt gone? Somebody broke into my office, drilled a safe and took it. You stole it? It was stolen from me. Return Wampum or you not live until sundown. I'll return it if I can find it. Then you can pay me off and we'll call it even. Lakers of Wild Root Cream Oil are presenting the weekly Sunday adventure of Dashel Hammett's famous private detective, Sam Spade. Here's important news on good grooming. If you want the well-groomed look that helps you get ahead, socially and on the job, listen. Recently, thousands of people from coast to coast who bought Wild Root Cream Oil for the first time were asked, how does Wild Root Cream Oil compare with the hair tonic you previously used? The results were amazing. Better than four out of five who replied said they preferred Wild Root Cream Oil. Remember, non-alcoholic Wild Root Cream Oil contains lanolin. It grooms the hair naturally, relieves dryness and removes loose, ugly dandruff. So if you want your hair to be more attractive than ever before, get the generous new 25-cent size of Wild Root Cream Oil. America's leading hair tonic, on sale at all drug and toilet goods counters. It's also available in larger economy bottles and the handy new tube. By the way, smart girls use Wild Root Cream Oil too. And mothers say it's grand for training children's hair. Get Wild Root Cream Oil. Again and again, the choice of men and women and children too. All back to tonight's adventure with Sam Spade. I walked outside muttering frightful white man's applications. Cutting through the hotel parking lot, I suddenly noticed the chief's iron pony made by Pontiac. There was a leather bag and a seat sort of an Indian overnight case. And sticking out of it was a blood-stained tomahawk. This was of decided interest to me and so were the rest of its content. Somebody had a giant engineering project to put because there were order receipts for such things as two LSTs, four underwater hydraulic drills, a diving bell, a dredging barge, and a steam dairy. Yeah, back again, Mr. Watts. You're looking for the missing Clarence Hobart? Not anymore. Well, I knew you'd realize the futility of it. I found him. And I trust you found him in Goodhouse. Old Hobart's a bug on Hell. Why once, but we were in Cleveland. I think he's dead. It was the Ohio River Bridge, Jay. Hobart dead? Scout, anyway. Mr. Watts, what was Hobart working on with the chief? Well, I don't know exactly. Well, let's go look at his desk file and see if we can find out. In a bottom drawer under a lot of miscellaneous papers, we found a large, manila envelope marked black cloud. It contained some topographical surveys of an area containing a lake. On the back of one of the surveys was written in fine print a series of 37 letters that looked like a whole group of Indian words strung together or a code or just doodling. It started out chagaga, something or other. I left Mr. Watts sitting in his office with tears in his eyes, a new roll for him, and made my weary way back to my place of business. Matthew was standing in the middle of the office with a shocked look on his face. Pick things up. And again, by the way, what are you doing here? It's still your day off. When you were here last time, I wanted to show you something that was so anxious to get to that girl. All right, I'm here. Now, look, what is it? A new sway cut. Well, I suppose it'd be... Effie. What? What's that you're wearing as a belt? Don't be mad, Sam. I just had to. Chief Black Cloud's Wampum Belt. You didn't put it in the safe. Give it to me. Don't be mad. Give it to me. I'll be gone for half an hour, and then I'll come back and take you out to the best dinner in town. Only four steps down the hall, and somebody hit me from behind. I rolled, and he went with me. We fought a quick, quiet, and decisive fight. And at the end of it, I held him in an arm lock and let him back into my office. Come on, if I could call it. Come in with me and take notes. Oh, I am. What's on your mind? I'm nobody, and I got nothing on my mind. Spring, you're one of the braves that guarded the chief. Yeah. And you're a phony Indian. Lousy makeup, and Indians don't have hair in their chests. All right. My name's Britt Hammond. I'm a cow poke. I should have stayed where I belong out on the ring. Well, why didn't you? Well, once I said I'd do anything for that gal, now I wish I hadn't. She brought me here. Why? Oh! Whether they had something to do with Barrett Treasure, she was going to give me a big cut. Where is it buried? I don't know. She was going to tell me. Got a homicide and left him in there safekeeping. While there, I got the latest flash. They found Clarence Hobart dead and fleshed scalp down to the waterfront. There were no clues except the blow in the back of the head and lipstick on his mouth, which is enough for me, having been through the same course myself. Then I proceeded to the St. Mark IV floor. The white lullock met me at the door. You can't see the chief. Why not? He's asleep. One side. And the chief sees what I've got here. Wake up screaming his wampum. You have it? And with that, she pounced. I pushed her off, but she came back and got a hold of one end of the wampum and tried to pull it away from him, with disastrous results. The wampum came apart, and in a second was nothing but hundreds of beads rolling different directions all over the place. In fact, it was no more. What happens when chief comes a lot? Chief cannot sleep. Well, I brought back your wampum, but now it's all over the floor. Wampum belt destroyed? Yes, it's destroyed. You stupid old man. You talked to chief? Yes, stupid. You had the world in your hand. You didn't know it. You wanted it all for yourself to tear down the earth. It could have been used to live. What are you saying? To live the way I'm supposed to live. Now nobody will have it not even you or that fat engineer who wanted it. Little white lilac shut mouth. I've been shutting my mouth all my life. He stood there, anger and betrayal in his eyes, and his hands dropped, and he turned away with tears streaming down his face. It was then that the fair Indian maid went for him at the night, and that was like you to step in with a pale face weapon. Listen to this. Not only dad, but the whole family goes for America's favorite hair tonic, Wild Root Cream Oil. Wild Root Cream Oil grooms your hair naturally and naturally. Relieves dryness, removes loose ugly dandruff. Get a family size bottle or handy tube today and ask your barber for a professional application of Wild Root Cream Oil Hair Tonic. Again and again, the choice of men and women and children too. Little white lilac. Yeah, well I know he usually hit one, but don't feel too badly, Chief. She helped kill Clarence Hobart. Now, Chief, believe anything. Yeah, Chief, why did you want an engineer? Design woven in wampum describes location of hidden Nipmuc pressure. Many, many years ago, Nipmuc tribe live in valley of the Berkshires. Discover only gold vein in east. Mine gold and keep for decoration. Kennebec Indians want gold. Start out on warpath. Nipmuc Indians bury gold. Move village. Divert stream into valley. Make lake. Gold there today under water. Where is it? That secret chief keep locked in head. Chief, once head, you will plan for gold. Now, you forget. Make pilgrimage back to ancient ancestral camp and die. Send me bill. Chief, leave village of San Francisco for good. Standard power. Vanishing race. Testing the days of the cold and the wind chester are gone forever. But the day of the ramming is still with us. Go to it and type this up. Get in chief Black Cloud's bag. A little white lilac planted it there. If anything happened to the chief, she as the only other living Nipmuc would inherit the one pump. Well, she could have gotten the money by just waiting. Oh, shut up. Sam, notice anything about the report? Yeah. You got the name of the caperite. The chagaga. Oh, what is it? Chagagaga man chagagaga chabun among the mug caper. You've been going out with an elocution feature. Oh, Sam. The Adventures of Sam Spade. Dashel Hammett's famous private detective are produced and directed by William Spear. Sam Spade is played by Howard Duff. Lorraine Tuttle is Effie. The Adventures of Sam Spade are written for radio by Bob Tolman and Gildow. Musical direction by Lud Gluskin with score composed by Renee and Pierre Garagin. Join us again next Sunday when author Dashel Hammett and producer William Spear join forces for another adventure with Sam Spade. Brought to you by Wild Root Cream Oil. Again and again, the choice of men and women and children, too. This is Dick Joy reminding you, too. Get Wild Root Cream Oil, Charlie. It keeps your hair and trim. You see it's non-alcoholic. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.