 Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gutter the prison of the grave. This time a fireball too handy with a target pistol led me down a rocky road past the sleazy money grubber to a curly-headed corpse and it might have gotten worse if I hadn't slowed down at the hairpin turn. It happened like this. From the pen of Raymond Tranver, 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 Hairpin Turn. Hey, stop it. Put down that gun and listen to me. Stay back, Uncle Enoch. How do you like that? And if you could think just half as straight as you could shoot, I'd have nothing to worry about, but you can't and it's high time you realize that... Oh, there's the house buzzer. Somebody's up at the house, Uncle Enoch, and this is mild night. Oh. Well, all right. I'll answer it. I'm expecting a man from the office. But as soon as I've finished with him, you and I are going to have a talk, young lady. Do you understand? I said... Oh, what's the use? Yes? I'm Philip Marlowe to see Mr. Vanneman, Enoch Vanneman. I have an appointment. Oh, come in Marlowe. I'm Enoch Vanneman. Oh, glad you're here. Step this way, will you? We don't talk in the study. Okay, Mr. Vanneman. I, uh, why should I? I thought... Those, uh, those were pistol shots? Yeah, that's, uh, Kay, my niece. Sounds like a squad of Marines. You know, she's a champion pistol shot. She's converted one of the garages into a target range. Well, I seem to recall a city ordinance that says... Yeah, I know all about that ordinance, Mr. Marlowe. Save your breath. Oh, just like that, huh? Precisely. Sit down, please. Thanks. Breaking a city ordinance is a perfect example of all the crackpot things that headstrong young fool insists on getting mixed up in. And you want me to get mixed up with the crackpot, huh? Yeah, she has no more sense in her choice of male companions than she does in her hobbies, and she's a very rich girl. Now, look, if this is a body-gutting assignment, Mr. Vanneman, I want to tell you... Well, Kay has been going with a man named Cliff Lace, an unsavory type, at least. Professional horse player, I think, and it was quite an affair. Was quite an affair? That's right. She threw Lace over for a new love recently. A fellow I've never met. She's serious, but refuses to tell me anything about him. So Cliff Lace doesn't like the idea because, from his standpoint, a very good thing has slipped through his fingers. Oh, he's going to do something about it, huh? And I don't know. But since about the time they broke up, a man's been snooping around the grounds here, Marlowe. Really? He's about 40, short, greasy-looking. He has a flabby kind of face with fat lips and a large black mole on the right side of his nose. Hey, I may know that character, Mr. Vanneman. I'll have to check to be sure. Marlowe, I want to know who he is and why he's been hanging around here. Also, I want to find out all there is to know about Kay's new man. Tell me, how old is Kay, Mr. Vanneman? She's 26. That's her picture there. Oh, well, blond fireball. Look, Mr. Vanneman, if she's 26, maybe her love life is none of your business. It is my business. I'm her guardian and I'm very fond of her. But she's reckless, stubborn, and erratic. Yeah, well, money's great, but it'll never replace the old-fashioned parent. Well, it's also a big responsibility, you know. No, not firsthand, I don't. It leaves one open to every crooked scheme in the book. Hey, look, Marlowe, I've written my personal phone number on this card. You can reach me there privately at any time. All right, Mr. Vanneman, I'll see what I can find out. I got in my car and I crossed the two acres of tailored floor of the Vanneman's called Front Yard. I could see in back the squat windowless brick building topped by a skylight that housed the target range. Then a minute later, I drove out through the big Bel Air gate in the sunset boulevard just as Kay Vanneman street-passed me in a sleek new nash. I was sure I knew already who the sneaky little man who'd been hanging around was. The description of flabby face, fat lips, and mole fit tight on a guy named Mutt Pomeroy. He'd somehow been issued a private detective's license and somehow managed to keep it. He was just about as ethical as a stab in the back. I remember he had an office in a fire trap on Bronson, so I made that my first stop. Climbed a flight of dark, smelly stairs to a tired door marked Pomeroy Private Investigations. Well, there was no answer, so I tried the door. Somebody beside Mutt had been there ahead of me, turned the place inside out. It was a shambles. I spent five minutes going over his files scattered like leaves in November and was still at it when the door behind me swung shut. Loose something, chum? Hello, Mutt. What's the big idea of tearing up my joint, Marlowe? Hey, hey, you know better than that. I wouldn't touch the stuff you keep on file without rubber gloves. Real funny. If you didn't do this, then who did? I came in and found it just like this. One of your clients must have gotten a little careless. You're full of them tonight, aren't you? Yeah. What do you want here, Marlowe? I need a little help, Mutt. No kidding. Okay, chum, sit down. Glad to help out a brother sleuth any time at all. Now, what's your problem? Why are you so interested in the Vannerman place? Oh, the Vannerman place. Yeah. Quite a chunk of real estate they got there. I know. What's the fascination? A little simple investigation for a simple little lady. For purposes of conversation, what'll we call her? How does Estelle suit you? Estelle? Look, Marlowe, you got in free. Take the scraps and be happy. Okay. But as you put it, the Vannerman's own quite a chunk of real estate. We might subdivide. You might like to tell me how this Estelle ties in. Yeah. Yeah, I might at that. Chum, she's worried about a guy. And from what I've seen of that jet-propelled blonde named Kay Vannerman, she's got plenty of reason to worry. Guy's name wouldn't be Cliff Lace, would it? Cliff Lace? Mm-hmm. I don't remember, Marlowe. Okay, Mutt, how much is it gonna take? Well, now that's hard to say. I'll have to let you know. You see, I've got an angle on my end, too. My little client swears up and down there's no other woman involved. But, you know, the Estelles are always the last to know. You're beginning to smell, Pomeroy. And just how do you fit, Marlowe? I'm helping a guy worry about a girl. Well, that's real nice. And when your clients worry, the wrinkles make dollar signs, so you're always right. Is that it? Thanks for everything. I'll see you around, Mutt. Well, if you don't go away mad, Chum. Oh, of course not. That's why I'm leaving now. I took a friend at the phone company all of ten minutes to locate Cliff Lace's address for me, which turned out to be a snug bachelor's nest bungalow style at the foot of the Hollywood Hills, numbered 4,300 Cheramoia. I parked, started for the front door, and on the way, passed an open window where the silhouette of a man at a telephone was cut into neat slices by a Venetian blind. But his voice came through in one piece and you couldn't miss it. You see, Estelle, I know almost all about you. Oh, yeah, I got your name earlier tonight from a mutual friend, Mr. Mutt Pomeroy. I think it's about time we got together for a little business conference, huh? I'll write there at the plaza in, say, two hours. You'll still be registered as Ruth Bridges. Good. Goodbye, Estelle. When he hung up, he moved over to a bottle of Johnny Walker scotch. I waited until he'd helped himself and then I went to the door. Yeah. My name's Marlowe, Mr. Lace. I'd like to talk to you. What about? Whatever it was you were looking for when you ran psych Mutt Pomeroy's office tonight. Do I come in? Yeah, yeah, of course. All right. But I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Oh, come on, we both know that's a lie. Let's forget it and go on from there, huh? Just a minute. Do a cup. Oh, but I'll call him at the drop of a hat. Make it easy on yourself. Shit. What's Mutt Pomeroy to you? Bagger worms. I want to know who he's working for. The fact that you had to break into his place to get information should let you out, so who is it? What makes you think I know? Because you found what you were looking for. What's Estelle's last name, Cliff? You do get around, don't you, Bryson? Yeah, yeah, I do. Only sometimes, not fast enough. Look, Buster, when a chance at the door, somebody's got his finger caught in a buzzer. Yeah, that's right. Okay, I told you I didn't... I stopped by to deliver something, Cliff, an ultimatum. I'm telling you for the last time... I don't care what I have to say to you all shot from the rooftops. Drew washed up, now get out of my life and stay out. Good evening, Miss Vanneman. I don't know you, Slim, but keep out of this. Look, look, Donny, don't... Now you listen, I'm in love with boys nearly, really in love this time. I intend to marry him, and I won't have you. Marry boys nearly? Don't be ridiculous. Cliff, I'm warning you. Love, you'll get this. You'll never marry boys nearly. That's one thing I'm sure of. I know a lot more about him than you do, darling. Believe me, when the time is just right, you're gonna hear from me again, but love. Why, you filthy... If you try to do anything to hurt boys and me, Cliff, Lace, I'll help me, I'll kill you. I mean it. Sometimes she's gonna throw that temper at me just once too often. Oh, you're kidding, Lace. Ever see her use a target pistol? Ah, she's too smart to tromper on ace. Don't count on it, mister. I'm not worried. Uh, where were we, Marlo? We were looking for some answers, which I just got. Good night, Lace, keep your head down. The way things were breaking, I was sure if I didn't get to the woman named Estelle before Lace did, I wasn't gonna get anywhere. So I spent the next hour folded up in a phone book, running down the list of respectable and semi-so hotels with the word plaza, either four or half. Finally, a flute-voiced night clerk in a mid-Victorian number called the Royce Plaza confessed that they had a Ruth Bridges, which was the name that I'd heard Lace mention. She was registered for Santa Monica, but at the moment out, I was convinced that she was really Estelle, my Pomeroy's client. I drove over to the hotel, invested five bucks with a night clerk, picked up a newspaper and waited. Halfway down the sports page, a prim brunette came in who would've been pretty without the overload of nervous strain stamped on her face. As she crossed the deserted lobby, the clerk gave me a nod, so I called a name caught up with her at the foot of the stairs. You... you called me? Yeah, if you could spare me a minute, Miss Bridges, I'd like to talk to you. What do you want? My name's Marlo, I'm a private detective. A private detective? Move over into the corner, you know that boy on the desk is going to sprain his neck if we don't. But what do you want with me? Well, I suppose we start off with your real name, Estelle. What's the rest of it? Neely, maybe, huh? How did you know that? It's taken me all evening to get it. That's the only way it figures. It's right, isn't it? You married the boy's Neely? Yes. I miss his boy's Neely, but what business is that of yours? Well, that's what I'm trying to find out. You hired Mutt Pomeroy to check on your husband because you're worried about him, right? Why? Boy's is in trouble. Well, he's in a jam, that's all. Is it money? No, Boy's does very well. He's in real estate in Santa Monica. Oh, maybe with the law, huh? Yes, yes, I'm afraid so. He's been acting so strange, he wouldn't talk to me or anything. I just had to find out what was wrong. I see. Well, look, what's your connection with Cliff Lace? Well, I don't know any Cliff Lace. Oh, come on, baby. Tell you a little easier. Try again. Cliff Lace. I know you call him tonight, and he called you. All right. He... He wanted to talk to me about... about Boyce and... and some girl named K. Vanneman, but... he's crazy. I know he is. Boyce does not mix up with another woman he couldn't be. I hope I meet your husband soon, Mrs. Neely. I'd like to punch him in the nose. What do you mean? Not Pomeroy was right. The Estels are always the last to know. Look, do me a favor. Will you go up to your room, go to bed, and get some sleep? You're gonna need it. All right. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. Hey, uh, Buster, where's the phone? Oh, right over there, sir. Good book? Uh-huh. Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah, great. Chandler's new one, you know. Chandler? Chandler? Where have I heard that name before? Hello, Mr. Vanneman K. there? No, she's not Marlowe, and listen. I want you to forget whatever else you're doing and find her immediately. Well, what's the matter? She left here about 15 minutes ago in a fury. Where was she going? I don't know for sure. She left shortly after you did tonight. Then she came back about an hour ago. I know. I know. I ran into her. Well, what happened this time? She got a phone call from Cliff Lace. Something was said about him now being in the driver's seat. Whatever that means, she was furious. That's not good, Vanneman. Believe me. Well, it's worse than you think. You've got to stop her. Because when she left here, Marlowe, I'm quite sure she had her target pistol with her. I hung up the phone right after my car and headed back to Cliff Lace's bungalow on Cheramoya. But K had a 15-minute head start, and at that hour, in her frame of mind, the drive-in from Bel-Air was a hop-skip and a jump. The only hope was in Lace himself being smart enough to know that he'd overplayed his hand. The street was deserted when I pulled in and parked down the hill from the place. I got to the front door and found it unlocked. I eased it open and went in. The living room was dark, but there was a light on in the bedroom, and I started for it. Before I saw the bulk of a figure leaning against the dark side of the frame. Come on in, chum. Make yourself at home. What are you doing here, mutt? Easy, Marlowe. There's no hurry. Not now, there's not. School's out, chum. Where's Lace? In sign. It was nice, clean, accurate, and exactly dead center. He never knew what hit him. In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, for a moment, let's look at the headlines on CBS's entertainment for tomorrow night. First, East is East and West is West. So, Jack Benny on his way to New York hasn't yet heard that the subway fare is a dime. Second, Charlie McCarthy already in New York rewrites Henry Fonda's tough-talking navy officer in Mr. Roberts. And third, Andy of Amos and Andy released from bail, jail, and Abigail gets into new hot water. Besides these, you'll also find headliners Eve Harden, Red Skelton, Horace Height, and all the other great Sunday night shows on most of these same CBS stations tomorrow night. Now, with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, the hairpin turn. A small neat hole front and center in his forehead said that Cliff Lace had been shot to death. And everything from jealous motive to target pistol method pointed directly to K. Vanneman. But that was still a long way from proof and there was much pom-roy on hand. The kind who always figured only one way to the right of the dollar sign. Now, let's not jump to any dumb conclusions, Marlowe. Like what? Like the look on your kisser that wants to know what I'm doing here. That I can explain. I got Cliff Lace's name from you and a sawback to the right guy gave me a rundown on him and an analysis, you might say. So I figured he was the guy who frisked my office to find out who I was working for. He must have tagged me out of the Vanneman place, followed me down to my joint, then turned everything inside out until he ran across something that added for him. Something like the name, Estelle Neely, maybe? You move fast, don't you, Marlowe? Yeah, when there isn't too much crowding. I've got most of it already, pom-roy, so spill. Spill? I don't know what you mean, Marlowe. I mean that Estelle Neely hired you to find out why her husband was worried. That's an answer, all right. It was called Other Woman. So? Estelle didn't even suspect anything about another woman. And you didn't tell her what you found out because it was Kay Vanneman, a guy with a million bucks, right or wrong. Suppose you're right, Marlowe. What are you getting at? A possibility that you could have done this. Kill Lace? Why? Because Lace was playing the same game that you, uh, chum blackmail. Your motive was money and so was his. Plus the fact that he didn't like Kay giving him his walking papers. So when he wouldn't come to terms with me, I'd kill him, is that it? Can you prove otherwise? No, I can't. But other things can, Marlowe. Things, yeah. Like that lipstick smidge cigarette in the air straight behind you. It's not my brand. And I don't drop hair pins on the carpet when I kill. Do I go on? Or were you just trying it for size because you hate to think that a gorgeous item like young money bags could be it? Right or wrong, Marlowe? You know, leveling with you, Pomeroy takes the kind of talent that can cash a $7 bill at a bank. Who you calling, Marlowe? The cops, it's the custom. Wait, wait, look, don't be a sap. What'll that get you? A killer, maybe. Yeah, from there on a pat on the head, a well-done from the law gets smart, chum. Shielding a murderer is a lot healthier for the bank account than nailing one every time. Get your hand off the phone. Now, Marlowe, listen to me. Get it off! Okay, go on, louse it up, boys, scouts. Who knows, maybe some bright day you might even run for Alderman, Marlowe. Without your votes, I'm sure. Come on, Sergeant Becker. Phil Marlowe, Sarge, there's a DOA waiting for you. 4,300 cherimoya, name's Cliff Lace. Occupation questionably, we shot. Any idea who did it, Marlowe? Yeah. Poor little rich girl named Kay Vanaman, or her sweetheart, one Mr. Boyce Neely. Who lives in Santa Monica? Yeah. Where's the fit? I don't know. How long ago was this lace killed, Marlowe? 30, 40 minutes, why? Neely's clear. We picked him up at his own home better than two hours ago. He's in a pokey now. What'd you get him on? Hit and run, a month ago. It's alleged that he knocks an old lady out of a crosswalk and into a hospital without even stopping to watch her bounce. Some anonymous tips to phone the dope in around six tonight. Said the repaint job on Neely's car would prove it. It did. So that just leaves his rent amount, babe, huh? Yeah, I guess so. But you know, Becker, this... Hey, Marlowe, come here quick. I'm the backyard there. It's Kay Vanaman. I'll call you later, Becker. We've got company. Get the lights. Tom, Roy, and stay down. Don't worry, Marlowe. The driveway alongside the house is the only way out. All right, watch it from the front. I'll go through the kitchen and out the back door. I'll play it close. But remember, Tom, Roy, nobody gets trigger happy. Don't worry. Kay! Come on, baby. You're cornered back there. Talk up. Who's that? Philip Marlowe, the guy you saw here with Cliff Lace earlier tonight. I'm also a private detective who's working for your uncle and trying to keep you out of trouble. Now, let's have the target pistol, baby. Come on, throw it in. I can't. I don't have one. Uncle Enoch says different. He told me you left the house with it. I told you, I don't have one. All right, come on out. But slowly, hands high, no jokes. I always lose my sense of humor right after murder. After? Yeah, yeah. Lace was shot to death. Never mind the carefully arched eyebrows. You're in too deep, honey. You don't think I had anything to do with Cliff Lace getting killed, do you? Oh, no, no. It's all one great big coincidence, huh? Why don't you... I said, why don't you leave? Well... How about it, Mr. Marlowe? Go ahead. I won't try to stop you. If you're guilty, you won't get very far. Well, all right. All right, Palmer, what's on your mind? A partnership, chump. Based on what, chump? Based on the fact that I saw you kill Cliff Lace. That? You what? Yeah. I saw you standing over the body with a smoking gun. Come on, come on. You don't think you can really make that stick, do you? No, but it would keep you busy explaining for a while long enough for me to wind up my business. Well, Marlowe, what'll it be? You and me as partners doing business with old Enic Vanneman on behalf of the niece I'm sure he'll want to protect or me in business for myself. Well, which? It'll be partners, Palmer. Okay, chump, let's get inside and clean up. The lady was kind of careless around the edges. Hey, hey, the split. How far does it go? 50-50. Fair enough. Fair enough. After you, Phil. Now, get that cigarette butt and the hairpin on the copper there, then tell Sergeant Becker that you were jumping the gun about the Vanneman girl because you just found out that she was at home all night. I'll check the rest of it. Okay, mutt. Where's the cigarette butt and the hairpin? Hey... What were the hairpin? Why'd you say... Marlowe, quick. Get the light. Someone's up front. Don't shoot. It may be the law. In skirts? Look, get in that car over there. It's a babe and five will get your tender. She answers the name okay. Oh, that jerk's going to be a Lulu to protect. Yeah. Well, we better go in. Hey, the hairpin you dropped into your pocket, Marlowe. What's so special about it? Oh, nothing. It was just a hunch I had. Forget it, Marlowe. I want to see it. Okay. Here. Get a good look. Partner. It was a fast 20-minute drive back out the Bel Air and the Vanneman place. All the way I worried hard that the hunch I was playing was right and that I was going to be too late to do anything about it. When I was there, parked halfway up the Pebble driveway out of my car and rang toward the fluorescent light in the sound of a woman's voice that filtered through the heavy iron mesh over an air vent in the windowless target range. I slowed to a walk. I switched to 45 from parking at the right hand and then I moved up to where I could both see and hear. Kate Vanneman was huddled in the far corner. Her eyes crowded with fear and riveted on the dainty but lethal 22 automatic that Cliff Lace's murderer pointed straight ahead. Estelle Neely had her back to me, but with the grill that was designed to stop bullets between us, there was nothing I could do. You've got to listen to me. Please listen before you do anything crazy. I swear, I never knew that boys were married. I'd never have gone with him if I'd known. You're a liar. No, it's the truth, I tell you. It started like the other spun and no questions asked, but then I fell in love and it never occurred to me that he might have been married. Stop it! I don't want to hear anymore. I've already killed once for boys. The guy I turned into the police for something he did a month ago. You turned your own husband over? I did that so they'd put him away out of your reach. You'd never wait for him. You'd go your own merry, merry way a week after he was in jail. He'd be glad to come back to me after five years of living in a cage like an animal. And he'd never suspect that I was the one who had fought. I hired a private detective, Matt Pomeroy, and made sure that he knew I never even suspected that boys could have anything to do with another boy. Then boys would never realize it was you who turned him in because you had no motive. Matt Pomeroy would be your witness to that. I killed Cliff Lace because he traced me from Pomeroy and then found out that I was the one who told him about boys. He would have blackmailed me forever. And I'm not sorry. Nor will I be when I kill you. Now sit down, Miss Vannerman. And listen carefully. I couldn't shoot and I knew that it would be disastrous to yell but I had to do something in a hurry. I moved up quietly to the door. It was locked. I'd only left one chance of skylight on the roof. The building was low and a lawn chair nearby was all the help I needed. When I was up and over to the skylight there was no mess underneath. I still hadn't made it because from that angle I could see K but only hear a sound. Now you know just what kind of a woman is going to kid you. But why me? I told you. I don't care what you told me. It was you young and beautiful that started all this. All this is almost over now because the other detective that Marlowe knows that I killed Lace. You've got a hairpin there I saw him from a window. I saw him pick up the hairpin, Miss Vannerman. No stay back. The black hairpin that couldn't possibly belong the hairpin that said Marlowe knows that I killed Lace. So I'm through and I know it. But before they get me... No, just out. Well, fireball, any appropriate wisecracks? Wisecrack? Not for quite a while Marlowe. I'm too... Still it was the usual hour and a half of questions and answers with client followed by the same questions and answers with police before I finally closed the door on Enoch Vannerman's Marlowe Halls and started down past the manicured shrubbery too where I'd left my car. Outside the night was cold and clear. As I walked I looked up at the vastness overhead and wondered. Wondered why I had the kind of job that made me no more than a houseboy with gun for a rich guy with a badly spoiled niece. And I stopped wondering when I was at my car and no longer alone. I just wanted to say thanks before you left, Phil. I would do my best to stay out of trouble from here on out. You know why? No, why? Because I want to be good enough for the right guy who may come along someday. A guy like you, I mean. Oh? Thanks, Phil. I'm very grateful. Yes, well... My job's all right, nine times out of ten. The adventures of Philip Marlowe, bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, star Gerald Moore, are produced and directed by Norman McDonnell and are written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Features in the cast were G.B. Hunter, Jane Avello, Olive Deering, Ralph Moody, Tony Barrett, and Charles Russell. The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Orant. Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says... It happened in a place called Bay City where I was unwelcome to a fat fry cook with a secret and a dapper gambler who smoked oversized cigarettes. But where to the long arm of the law? I was poisoned. Philip Marlowe has a new night, ladies and gentlemen, Tuesdays. Yes, starting February 7th, the adventures of Philip Marlowe will be heard every Tuesday night at 9.30 Eastern Standard Time. Be sure and listen. Remember, Tuesday night, Marlowe night. And one week from tonight at this time, you'll find one of your favorite radio families, the Goldbergs. Yes, Molly, Jake, Sammy, Rosie, and all their friends are moving from Friday nights on CBS to Saturdays starting next Saturday. This is Roy Rowan speaking. Stay tuned now for Gangbusters, which follows on most of the same CBS stations. This is CBS where the Goldbergs and Arthur Godfrey's Digest will now be heard every Saturday night at the Columbia Broadcasting System.