 Crime and Peter Chambers, created by Henry King, transcribed and starring Dane Clark, a private investigator, duly licensed and duly sworn. Peter Chambers, you're a private eye. That's your business. Anything else, that's for laughs. The guy on the customer's end of your office desk, no laughs here. This one is strictly business. He's a round little man, balding on top, pudgy in the middle. He's got eyes like a vulture and a cranky voice. Mr. Chambers, you've been highly recommended to me. You're supposed to be number one in your bracket. He chuckles with a phony heartiness, and the eyes crinkle up vultures' eyes with an extra set of bags under him. The upper set are dark bulbous circles from lack of sleep. The lower set are worry bags, purple and networked with wrinkles. I'm out on the rid of habeas corpus, Mr. Chambers. Yeah, and on a murder act. They haven't got a thing on me. Just a minute, pal. Let's get some of our facts ironed out. Your name is Charles Avon. You're a drugist here in New York. You're married, and you've got no kids. Correct. Life's name is Nancy. I live in 1688 Gramercy Park, North. All right, now let's get to the meaty part. You're accused of the murder of one Alan Lewis. You used to be a clerk in your drug store. That's right. Please claim you killed him Monday, which is yesterday, yesterday evening at his Park Avenue. Park Avenue. Yeah, so they claim. Oh. Did you kill him, Mr. Rayvon? Absolutely none. And my job? Is to find out who did kill him so that I don't have to carry that burden around, too. What's the other burden, Mr. Rayvon? Well, there are two sides to every question in my business. All right, we'll skip that temporarily. Now, let's see, the cops hold you in for the murder of your clerk. Ex-clerk. He hadn't been working for me for a year, living off the fat of the land. Why, they pick on you, Mr. Rayvon? Because I was supposed to be there last night, at eight o'clock. That's when it happened to him. And also, I am supposed to have a motive for his murder. Well, did you have a motive? Well, if a guy's been blackmailing you for a year. Blackmail. But what do you have on you, Mr. Rayvon? Well, now, I don't know that I... Well, let's have it. Well, narcotics. Narcotics? We had a deal going sort of with the narcotics. The lawyer knows all about it. I want to know. Well, I was looking for easy money and doing all right. This Alan Lewis, he learns about it. He was working for me, understand? And he started holding me up. And so last night, when he's murdered... I came there to talk with him, but he wasn't home. That's all he wasn't home. Then last night, the police picked me up and I don't even know what they're talking about. Who's your lawyer? Richard Evans. Dick Evans. You know him? Yeah, I know Dick. Mr. Chambers, you've got to help me out of this jail. Not the narcotics pal. No, no, the murder. And it'll cost you 5,000 simoleons. Well, that's fair enough. Cash on the barrel head. I don't trust guys like you. Okay, but I don't have it on me. If you'll accompany me to the bank. Hey, I can't say I admire my choice of companions. You're an insulting one on the job. Let's go, Mr. Ravon. We'll discuss it on the way. You get to the bank and you're paid and you kiss him off like you'd kiss off a King Cobra that just became a client. But if the guy's not guilty of murder, it's your job to prove it. That's what you're being paid for. So you get rid of him. And you go downtown to the offices of B. Richard Evans. Regal, legal, eagle. Hi, honey. Mr. Evans in. Oh, I'm in. Oh, I see. Come on. I've been expecting you. Hi, Dick. How things going? Fine, fine, P.D. Come right on in. Okay. Dick Evans, boy lawyer. Black hair, beak nose and cyclone cellar voice. Two-tone personality, split at five o'clock. Tricky is a slippery bath mat before the deadline, but afterward, wide open and roaring. A wielder of martinis, like a good farmer with a pitchfork. What brings you, Mr. Detective? Charles A. Von Dick. How easy was it getting him out on that writ? Easier than getting stepped on in the subway. Cause why, counselor? Because the prosecution doesn't have a thing on it. Well, they got motive. Motive isn't murder, Mr. Chambers. Well, how'd that guy get it, that Alan Lewis? Two bullets. One ripped through his right shoulder, rather unimportant. And the second one pasted it in over his right eye. Very important. Prosecution got the gun? No, sir, they don't. All they got is motive, period. They gave him a nine-hour grilling, and all they could come up with was motive. Okay, okay, okay. Now, what about the other charge? What other charge? An narcotics. Now, I'm going to plead him guilty on that. He ought to get a light sentence because without Alan Lewis, they've hardly got a case. Well, here comes motive again for the death of Alan Lewis. Well, the police know all about that. How much good has it done? By the way, how do they know? Who told them? Frankie Tokers. Frankie Tokers. Male or female? Female, but good and female. You're going to like that when you come to it. I like it already, just from looking at your face. Have another slice of motive, Mr. Chambers. This one's on Frankie. She was engaged to Alan Lewis. That's motive? Not yet, it's not. But this is. She's the beneficiary on his insurance policy for $30,000. Plus, she's the one who informed the police that the Lewis boy was putting the touch on Avon for the blackmail. Well, how'd she know? Her boyfriend confided in her. Oh. Well, how'd she stand suspect-wise? Oh, she's got an alibi, don't they all? Frankie Tokers. A very gorgeous number. It sings at the rumpest room with an equally gorgeous blonde partner with whom you will kindly have no crock. Why? Because that one is sort of reserved for me. Do you have this Frankie Tokers phone number? Got it written down somewhere. Name, address, and phone number. There you are. Thanks. Yeah, yeah. Cute little trick. That's Frankie. Miss Tokers? This is Miss Tokers. Uh, Collins from the insurance company. There's been a slight complication. May I come to see you? Oh, uh, well, when? Oh, right away, the sooner the better. Well, all right. I should be here most of the afternoon. Ah, good. I'll see you shortly then. Bye, Miss Tokers. So you leave the lawyer and you go visit the lady. This is supposed to be the part that Private I enjoys, but don't make book on that. Because most of the dear ladies turn out to look like bats on a vacation from the Belfort. This one happily doesn't. Miss Tokers? Yes, I'm Miss Tokers. Miss Collins from the insurance company. Oh, yes. Please come in. Frankie Tokers. She's wearing a hostess gown, a metallic number, and gold. Imagine that wrapped around a dream-bunched figure. Frankie Tokers. Tall with a noble face and wide dark eyes. They glint like brandy bottles under bar lights. You don't fool around with a kid like that. Um, Mr. Collins. I'm sorry. My name's not Collins, Miss Tokers. And I'm not from the insurance company. My name's Chambers. Peter Chambers. I'm a private detective. And they tell me that you're on a spot. Get out. Now, just a minute. Get out. Get out. I tell you. Look, look, look, lady, I think you've got me pegged wrong. Please, oh, please. Explain the situation. Tears come up in the blackberry brandy eyes. Naturally, you put your arm around her. Just as naturally, she puts her head on your shoulder. A sobbing brunette close in the arms of the private detective. There you have the classic situation. But you've been paid 5,000 bucks to find out who killed Cock Robin. So reluctantly, you break it up. No, no, no. I know how you feel, Miss Tokers. You love the guy, but he's dead. Not true. I hated him. You were engaged. We married, weren't you? That was going to end when I found out what he was really like. And whose idea was that $30,000 life policy with you as beneficiary? His. His, of course. But that was going to be finished, too. Mr. Chambers, I couldn't tell the police. But I will tell you. Why? Because I want you to help me. Look, sister, you didn't kill him, did you? No, no, no, listen. Listen, last night, the night he was killed, I went there. I was going to tell him off and finish it off completely. What time? 9 o'clock. It was between shows. I'm a singer at the Rumpus Room. Yeah, I know. Anyway, when I got there, there was no answer. I kept ringing, but there was no answer. And I was worried. I went back to the club and I called on the phone. No answer. Then I called the police and told them that there was trouble there. I didn't say who was calling. No, no, hold up just for a minute. First, why the police, just because the guy's not home, and second, how did you know there was trouble there? Because I knew that he had an appointment with Mr. Charles Avon for 8 o'clock. And it was going to be a long talk. And I knew what the talk was about. What was it about? About more money. More blackmail money. Oh, I see. It figured for a trouble party, huh? Yes. And when the guy didn't answer at 9 o'clock, was your idea that the trouble had exploded? Exactly. And one hour after the phone called the police were at the club, investigating the murder of Alan Lewis. I told him everything I knew about the narcotics that Mr. Avon was dealing in and about Alan's blackmail, and about how he was going to raise the ante at this meeting between them. Well, that answers why Charles Avon was picked up. But what about your alibi? I fixed that up with my singing partner. I arranged for her to say that I'd been with her all the time in our dressing room. But I'm scared, Mr. Chambers. I'm sick scared inside of me. Help me. Please help me. Oh, Miss Tokers, I'd hate it if you did put those slugs into Alan. I didn't. Oh, I didn't. She's asking for it. And you answer. You take her face in your hands, put your lips on hers, and you leave them there with excellent results. But then you quit. You crash out of there and you're heading for police headquarters. But you detour for Charles Avon's drugstore. Good to see you again, Mr. Chambers. I was thinking I might want to drop into your home tonight. Would you be there perhaps later on? No, but my wife will. Oh, you don't know her. She's here right now. I'd very much like to have you meet her. Nancy? Yes? Peter Chambers, the gentleman I told you about. My wife, Nancy Avon. She's a small blonde, too young and too pretty for Charlie Boy. She's wearing gold rimmed black lens goggles and you can't see her eyes. She's smooth skinned and good looking. But jumpy. Nervous as a lion tamu's lost his whip. Did you wish to speak to me, Mr. Chambers? Very much, but I don't have the time now. May I speak with you later? Of course, but I'm leaving for home now. Well, may I call you there? Well, it's a little upset. It's made the day off, but if you wish... I wish. I wish. See you later. Bye, Mr. and Mrs. Avon. And so you're riding your broom again, making time for police headquarters and then you're there. Well, Pete, what do I owe the honor? Charles Avon, Louis, I've paid up clients. So maybe you think you can do more than cops can do? I doubt it, but I can try. Detective Lieutenant Louis Parker. Homicide. Fixed, set and sturdy like a brand new refrigerator and just about as enthusiastic. But a good cop. And mostly a good friend. What's pitch? I'm being paid $5,000 to find out who put the chill on Alan Lewis. Well, $5,000 to do what we do anyway, huh? Brother, yours is one business. Okay, what do you want? Help. That's hot. You're getting 5 Gs. What do we get? Well, any information happens to fall my way. And no buy line, you get all the credit. You buying? What do you want, kid? Well, I'd like to see the inside of Alan Lewis' apartment. I'll buy that. In fact, I'll go with you. You got a cop staked out there? Nobody's staked out there. I've got better things to do with cops than having to sit around getting fat. Okay, what else? Anything else? That's not too terribly confidential. Not this case, Pete. We got us a nice, fat group of nothing. Well, then that's it, Lieutenant. Let us go look at apartments. Alan Lewis' joint turns out to be the usual bachelor's flat fitted out to please the ladies. Parker snoozes in the bedroom while you poke around like a critical matron seeking dust in the upholstery. In the library, a book sticks out like a sore thumb in a working pickpocket. You pull it out and an envelope rips to the floor. You pick that up and examine it. It's lit on top and it contains a letter. It's addressed to Mrs. Nancy Avon, 1688 Grammyshe Park, North New York City. You don't stop to read the letter. You stick it in your pocket and you're ready to leave. Then Parker comes into the room yawning. Ugh, you finished your luck. All done. Let's get out of here. Oh, by the way, I assume you guys gave this place a going over. Yeah, most of last night. Been through this apartment with a fine tooth comb. Yeah, a fine tooth comb. Hey, is that a crack? No, no crack intended, Lieutenant. Leave us, leave. Yeah, leave us. Outside, Parker goes off and you're left alone. Frankie Toker's place is nearby and... Well, maybe you're looking for excuse to go back. Hello, Mr. Chamber. Oh, may I come in? Please do. You bring her up to date. You take the letter out of the envelope and you'll read. Dear Nancy, finished is finished. Now you've got it in writing. I don't see the sense, but if you insist, you can come over Monday at 7.30. You can't stay long as it happens I have a date with Charles for eight o'clock, yours, Alan. The date matches. Monday, yesterday. The night he was killed. That letter puts her right in the middle, doesn't it? Say, do you know anything about these two, Nancy Avon and Alan Lewis? She was sweet on him and he encouraged her. Charlie Avon didn't even know it was cooking, but she was planning to divorce him. And then Alan Lewis cooled off. You mean, when he met you? He'd have cooled off anyway. That's the kind of guy he was. Real loyal. Shot through with integrity. Well, how'd you take it, you know? He told me. She was plenty worked up over it. Okay, Miss Tokers. Frankie. You cross your fingers and if I'm lucky, you're out of a jam. Oh, I'd appreciate that. Would I appreciate that? You'll figure your next stop for your last stop. 1688 Gramercy Park North. Oh. Oh, Mr. Chambers. Please come in. Mrs. Avon. She's dressed in Chinese type lounging pajamas and she's not wearing the dark lens specs. You look at her eyes and a chill goes through you like winter's suddenly gotten into the marrow of your bones. Wild eyes. Quick moving, darting, half mad eyes. The pupils dilated almost to the rim. Something, Mr. Chambers. A few questions. Questions? Why questions of me? Well, I've got a hunch I've stumbled on something the police don't know. Like what? Like you had a thing going with Alan Lewis. Your husband, you hope, didn't know about it. But I... There are letters. You saved them. Right, Mrs. Avon? Yes. You were there last night? Yes. I'm sorry, Mrs. Avon. Now, where's the gun? Do you have it? You say the police don't know. Perhaps... I mean, I have money. Look, I'm one of the dumb ones. I'm allergic to bribery. Now, where's the gun? I have it. It's hidden here. Hidden in the apartment. Will you get it, please? Yes. Yes, I'll get it. It's my own gun. You wait while she goes for it and you don't like it. But you haven't got the time to work it out now because she's coming back and she's carrying the thing. A chunky, nickel-plated item. And she's holding it, business end forward. You get a scratched hip and a hole in your pants. And you're all ready to slug her, but you don't have to because she slides down in a faint. You get the gun away from her, find Brandy, pour a lot into her, and a little into yourself. And finally she starts coming too. I... I fainted. You certainly did, lady. I'm ill. I'm under the care of a psychiatrist. Gunshot, the sound of gunshot. One shot and I pass out. Even if I do it myself, I pass out. What happened last night? Almost like it happened here. I was there before he was and when he came, we argued. I'd brought the pistol. I was wearing my gloves and I shot him. And then I fainted. When I came to, I saw he was dead and I got out of there. Just a minute, just a minute. You say you were there before he was? How'd you get in? I have keys. You get her to an easy chair and you call down to Parker at headquarters. You put in a request for a lot of the law. And also for Mr. Charles Avon. Pretty soon the place is crawling with cops and you point a finger and two Lieutenant Parky you say, I give you a murderer, Lieutenant. But you've got it wrong. You're mistaken. No mistake. It's just where my finger's pointing. I give you, Lieutenant, Mr. Charles Avon. This guy's nuts. A lot of things he is, nuts he ain't. Here's a guy who comes in and hires me for $5,000 for something the New York City police can do much better and for nothing. You're stealing my lines, Chump. But the guy's not crazy. He's got a purpose. He's also got a large contempt for the earnest of the police, which I haven't. Start making sense, Peaty Boy. Read this. You toss the letter to Detective Lieutenant Parker and the room is as quiet as a cemetery until he's through reading it. So? I found that letter from Mrs. Avon to Alan Lewis. I found it in Lewis' apartment. Wait a minute. We gave that place an extra special going over. That letter wasn't there, pal. You don't have to convince me. Convince Charles Avon. That baby goes and sees the wrong movies. He's got no confidence in cops. No way. Question. The letter wasn't there. But I found it there. So it adds up to plant. Somebody planted it there. I wanted it found there. Somebody wanted to implicate Mrs. Nancy Avon. Who? Who had access to her mail? Huh? Friend, husband. That's who. No. Why do you think he hired me so I could bumble around and find a few things he wanted me to find? Like frustrated love, like that letter, like maybe a confession from Mrs. Avon, which I got. She confessed? Doesn't mean a thing. Let me do it chronologically. Will you do it any way you like, pal? Nancy Avon goes there at 7.30 to keep her dated. She brings her gun because the young guy's giving her the air. She waits for him. He comes. They argue. She shoots him and she faints. One shot. But the guy had two bullet holes in it. Correct. But here's how he got the second. Charles Avon's got a hate for both of them, for Alan and for Nancy. Alan's been blackmailing him, plus the wife of Sweet on Alan. He's been steeping open her mail and he knows she's going to meet him last night, so he follows. He follows, hoping against hope for action and action happens. And then he gets in there. He sees Alan bleeding from the shoulder wound and the wife in a faint on the floor. He picks up the gun, finishes off Alan, wipes the prince off, puts it back in her hand and vamooses. She comes too, sees the dead Alan and she gets out convinced that she killed him. And then we pick up Charlie on the strait of Miss Toka's story, but the lawyer gets him sprung on a rift. Right. So this morning, he goes to Lewis' apartment and he sticks that letter where it can't be missed. No, no, I... Real contempt he has for the efficiency of cops, hasn't he? Anyway, he hires me so I can clean up some loose ends and lay the whole deal in the lady's lap. The minute I saw that letter, I know it was a plan. It happens that I've got respect for cops. They'd never missed that kind of evidence. One great big catch. I know what you're going to say. What? How did he get in there twice? Once to croak the guy and once to plant the letter. Correct. Mrs. Avon had keys. Mr. Avon made duplicates. He figured he'd have use for them sooner or later. Well, he used them all right and by now he's exposed of them, but he hasn't disposed of the keymaker. Meaning what? Meaning that when a guy swipes his wife's keys to make duplicates, he doesn't go far. So you can demonstrate to Mr. Avon about the efficiency of cops by producing and with dispatch. The neighborhood keymaker who did the job and that. That will put the final finger on Mr. Charles Avon. No, no, I didn't. All right, Mr. Avon. That does it. Charles Avon goes white and topples and when he gets up, the manacles are around his wrist and he's babbling his brains out. Lawyer or no lawyer, this time he's going to get locked away for good. Nice work. Great job, Biddy. Congratulations. Well now. Appreciation from a detective lieutenant to a private eye, that's sweet music indeed. But you start breaking out of there because you're heading for Frankie Toker's place. Appreciation from Detective Lieutenant Parker, good enough. But appreciation from Miss Frankie Toker. Well now. And there you've had crime and Peter Chambers. Dane Clark was starred as Peter Chambers. Crime and Peter Chambers transcribed was created and written by Henry Cain. Bill Zuckert was heard as Lieutenant Parker with Leslie Woods, Edgar Staley, and Lawson's Irby. It was directed by Fred Way, Mrs. Fred Collins, inviting you to tune in next week's same time, same station for Dane Clark in crime and Peter Chambers. Hear the Oppenheimer story on Heart of the News tonight on the NBC Radio Network.