 Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road, and those who travel it wind up in the gut of the prison of the grave. This time a friend with millions, a myopic chemist and a long-haired piano player, but thrown into panic because a brilliant young lady with a gun was taking a big step in the wrong direction. It happened like this. From the pen of Raymond Trantler, 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 Big Step. Yes, sir, Mr. Marlowe, I always figure shoes are just like faces. How's that, champ? Well, they make it old and they make it wrinkled, but they're still okay as long as I got a shine on them. Yeah, it keeps that writing condition, huh, champ? Yes, sir. Hey, let me just spank up this one again, huh? Sure. Oh, come in. Mr. Marlowe? Yeah? Oh, excuse me, I didn't know you were busy. That's all right. Okay, champ. I guess it doesn't. Here you are. Oh, thank you, Mr. Marlowe. I'll see you tomorrow. Right. Well, now that my shoes have a new lease on life, won't you sit down? Miss, uh... Canter. Mrs. Betty Canter. Oh. I'm a waitress at the Shelton Cafe. I need your help, Mr. Marlowe. There's something you could do for me. You free to take a case. Well, I'm free, depending on the case. What is it? Well, today, this friend of mine, Shirley Vitale, comes into the restaurant while I work. Yeah. She takes her usual table, and while she's waiting for her order, she starts reading the paper. Well, it's all quiet so far, Betty. Yeah, but just when I'm bringing in the tomato juice, it happens. She sees something in the paper that scares her. Scares her bad. What was it, Betty, do you know? I don't know. She mutters something, and then she runs out of the place. Her face was gray like ashes. Later, I got to worrying. I called her at home, then at the lab where she works. Even her husband's studio. No luck. Now, wait a minute, Betty. I don't quite get the connection. You and Shirley Vitale, I mean. Oh, I don't know her social. We're only chummy at the restaurant. She's been eating there for years. Well, that's her basis for friendship. Well, about six months ago, I was in bad trouble. And Shirley came through with 200 bucks when it seemed like more money than I'd ever seen. Yeah. It kept me and my husband together. So, you see, she means a lot to me. I see what you mean. Well, look, Bet, what was this about a lab? Well, Shirley's a technician. She works as an assistant to a chemist named Softman. Abraham Softman, out on Melrose someplace. What about Shirley's husband? Do you know him? Gilbert? Oh, yeah. He comes in with her a lot. He's a piano composer and a real nice guy. He lives for his work. He's unknown now, but he's a real genius, Shirley says. Oh, sure, sure. She'd do anything to keep him and his music going. Yeah, well, tell me, this friend of yours saw something in a paper you said that scared her. Now, that's all you know, huh? Yeah, and I want you to find out why and help her. Here's 50 bucks, Mr. Marlowe. That's what you charge, ain't it? Uh, more or less, yeah. By the way, Mrs. Cantor, where's your ring? Oh, I sometimes take it off when I'm working. You do, huh? Yeah. Well, perhaps when you're hawk it to raise 50 bucks? Look, Betty, I'm a careless guy. You, um, you better hold the money, huh? Oh, but, Mr. Marlowe... Where did the Vitellos live? Well, hurry, Betty, remember, where's the address? Well, it's 3140 Veteran Avenue. And in case you wanted, Gilbert's studio is Benedict Canyon 510. Thanks, Mr. Marlowe. And you call me at Empire 1 7087, huh? And Betty Cantor was gone. I got in my car and drove out to Veteran Avenue. You know, she was a pathetic little creature. And with a little effort, she could have that touch-and-glow look. Oh, well. 3140 was one of those small but neat houses that grow like mushrooms overnight on the post-war California landscape. And it was locked, dark, and quiet. I went around to the back and started on the windows. The third one opened when I tried it. I climbed in, turned on some lights, and made the grand tour that ended in the den. The only indication that anyone had been there all day was a current issue of the LA Star crumpled in the wastebasket. I pulled it out and started through it. At age five, I found a hole where a two-column story had been clipped out. And then somebody was at the front door. I started tauted but changed my mind with the sound of a key and the lock. Instead, moved back into the den and washed. I heaved it, belonged on a gopher, wearing a batted fedora and inch-thick glasses above a fur-colored coat peaked in. Gave the place of myopic once over and headed straight for the den. So I stepped out where he could see me. I have never seen you before. What are you doing here? You tell me first, Pop, I'm bigger than you are. I'm Dr. Abraham Softman. Softman? Oh, the chemist Shirley Vitella works for. Is that why you have a key? Yes, she leaves unfinished. She leaves work here for me to pick up. It's a convenience for both of us. But now you. You can also explain, maybe? Well, a friend thinks your assistant's in trouble. I'm trying to find out. The name's Molo. Aha! I suspected now I am right. What? Shirley came to the laboratory late from lunch today and very much upset. And soon, right in the middle of our most important crimson test. Your what? Our crimson test. Oh, yeah. Without one word to me she left. Never does this happen before. In all the five years she has been my loyal right hand. Well, tell me, what's the nature of your research, Dr. Softman? We are developing new commercial dyes. Oh, such a beautiful crimson we have now. Really? Shirley knows as much as I do about all of it. Mr. Molo. Hmm? Was it you who opened the desk drawer there? No. I didn't notice it till now. Two boxes of 32 caliber ammunition. Nine shells gone from the top one. She kept a gun there. I've seen it before. That's gone too. What kind of trouble needs a gun, Mr. Molo? Oh, I could think of a few. And they all say we better locate Shirley and soon. Now look, Doc, I want to ask you... Just one moment, please. Maybe you will know if this means anything. I found this under her work table after she left this afternoon. Is it maybe something? I don't know. Let me see. Empty reservation envelope from Federal Airlines. L.A., New York, departure 11.35 tonight. Made out to Ruth Britton. Who's that? I don't know her, but she must be something to Shirley. Perhaps this Ruth Britton is the trouble. Well, the airline number's here. Where's the phone? It's out there in the other room. There on the table. Yeah, I got it. Hudson 28610. Federal Airlines, Agent Frederick Stowe speaking. Frederick, do you have a Ruth Britton listed on your 11.35 flight to New York? Oh, just one moment now, sir. I'll check. Oh, no. Yes, yes, we do. Yeah, well, I've got a locator. Do you have an address or a phone number there? Oh, no, sir. I do not. And even if I did, I'm afraid I could... Look, Freddie Boy, Freddie Boy, this is important. I need that information. I'll describe it to me. What does she look like? Oh, dear, I'm afraid I can. I must absolve the ticket. I'm the only agent on duty, but I just can't seem to think where I... Try, will you think? I am. How do you expect me to remember 75 or 80 faces every day? Now, listen, I... Good heavens. Don't you think I get confused? Yes, I do. Every time nine or 10 jerks come in here at once, all wanting tickets at the same time. Never mind. Skip it. Frederick Stowe. No luck, Doc. No luck. Do me a favor, will you? What is it? Stay right here and wait for Shirley if she comes back. Hold her. I'm going to look up my husband, Gilbert. The first stop was a news stand. I bought an L.A. Star, turned to page 5, and found that the missing story was on a man identified only as Denneke, who'd been hit by a taxi on Temple Street at 8 a.m. The only reason it rated two columns was that before he lapsed into unconsciousness, he told the ambulance group in the citizen's emergency hospital that he knew he was going to die and wanted to clear his conscience by confessing a crime he'd committed. It ended with police standing by. I drove on into Benedict Canyon, wondering what kind of a bridge it was going to take to span the gap between a female chemist and a downtown traffic accident. I was still wondering when I got to number 510. All I could see of Gilbert Vitello's studio over the brush around it was something pseudo-Spanish that had been stuck onto a piece of vertical real estate by an optimist in the early 20s. A path had been opened from the driveway to the house and as I walked to the door, piano music from inside got louder, but not better. Even in the long hair circle, that stuff needed a haircut. Hey! Hey! Vitello, break it up a minute, will you? What's the meaning of this outburst? I'm working and I won't be interrupted. Who are you? What do you want anyway? Make it easy, Mr. Vitello. My name is Marlowe. Betty Cantor sent me here because she's worried about your wife. The waitress worried about Shirley, why? Well, she's in some kind of trouble. Have you seen her tonight? No, no, no, not since this morning, but that's not unusual. I often work late. My music is very demanding. Now, what gives that waitress the idea that Shirley's in trouble? Your wife's reaction to a newspaper story has scared the wits out of her. About a taxi hitting a man named Denick. I mean, anything to you? Denick surely worked with a fellow by that name once, I believe, but why would that story frighten her? Well, I was hoping you'd tell me. Do you have a gun? A little 32 pistol is at home. Why? It's gone. See here, what's this all about? Tell me! Tell me the truth and be quick about it! Oh, shut up! All right! My wife was shocked by that item on Denick her. She isn't at home, she isn't at Salfman's lab and hasn't been all afternoon. And what's more, she's got a gun. That's all I know except for one thing. Who's Ruth Britton? She's a friend of Shirley's from the east. She's been visiting relatives out here. Why? Nothing. Maybe Shirley's got a plane reservation for her. That's all. Miss Somalo, if that's all you have to offer, why don't you get out of here so I can go to work? I'm quite certain that Shirley was actually in trouble. She'd come to me, if I help. And incidentally, tell Betty Carter to take some, some, some vitamins or something. She's becoming a troublesome busybody! You know, there was a quality about Gilbert Vitello that made me want to sock him on the temperament with the heavy end of his grand piano. But when I started down the path to the driveway, I forgot about him. Because a pair of headlights slashed through the foliage like a giant scythe. I ran to where I could see and watched a girl in a brown suit get out of her sleek new huts and then start toward the house. And she saw me. She backed away then threw me one scared look and darted into a side path like a jittery cotton tail. I followed as fast as I could, but it was home ground. I heard in 20 yards I was outclassed. I lost her at the corner of a sagging shed and stopped to listen for her footsteps. I heard something else. But not in time to duck. Oh! Mala, what happened, Mala? I heard a car come in with a car. Oh, shut up, shut up! Well, Shirley, she slugged me. I don't believe it, you're lying. Okay, I'm lying. What it's worth to you, Die Hard, your wife isn't kidding. She told me personally with a blunt instrument. Play that knee flat, Jack. Did you get something? Lumps. Oh, look at that. How about you, Dr. Suffman? No, nothing. Come in, come in. Yeah. No, no one has come here. You found out something? Have they heard of a guy named Denika, Doc? Me? Here, Maurice Denika? Five times in the past three years, Maurice Denika in Chicago has beaten me by introducing a new dye substance or a new process just days ahead of me. Five times this happened. He's a dye chemist, too. Very brilliant one. I admire him. But why do you ask me... Listen, this is beginning to fit like a rubber glove. Denika's in a hospital right here in L.A. He may not live and he wants to confess to a crime. Here, look. What? Read it yourself. When Shirley saw that story, it threw her into a panic, and now it only figures one way. Your assistant's been selling your new developments to Denika before you released them. No, it is not true. Shirley would not do this thing, not to me. Okay, Doc, we'll see. Now, look, why don't you go back to your lab and wait? I'm going to the hospital now and do some more fast addition. If it comes right, just don't forget you're a scientist, will you? Oh, I would not forget. Now, you remember something, Mr. Marlowe. Two plus two does not always make four, especially when you are adding up human hearts. In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, Wednesday's wonderful on CBS with Dr. Christian Groucho-Marx, Bing Crosby, and Burns and Allen all coming your way over most of these same CBS stations. This Wednesday, Brother Bob Crosby visits Bing. Gracie Allen stumps the income tax experts. Groucho will be on hand with his ad libs and teams of opposition. And Dr. Christian makes a wily grandmother stick to the truth for once. So be listening this Wednesday, won't you? Now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe. And tonight's story, The Big Step. It was 20 stop-and-go minutes through the snarled early evening traffic over to the citizen's emergency hospital. All the way, I kept hoping that Denika's confession wasn't going to have anything to do with Shirley Vitello. But when I was there, standing next to Detective Lieutenant Matthews and filling him into date, I racked that hope up under wishful thinking. Morris Denika had already come, too. Yeah, Marlowe, about a half hour ago. He didn't say too much. How much? Only something about this woman you mentioned, Vitello and her formula for some kind of a bleaching agent. Then he went out again. Hey, look, this Vitello girl who currently adds up to something very dishonest. What does she look like? Oh, blonde, about 5'4", maybe 30. Wearing a dark brown suit and all that? That's right. She been around? Yeah, I spotted her here in the hall about 45 minutes ago. I claimed she was a reporter, but she didn't make any small talk with the other news hands. I got a little suspicious. Just then Denika came, too, so I went in there. I came back out. She was gone. Look, you know who we can pick her up? No, I don't, Lieutenant. Doesn't look so good for her. She could be pretty desperate right now. Like a quick trip to the country. Oh, like worse, she's got a gun, Matthews. And now with Denika starting to talk, very little hope left. I better be going. Where? Just going, just going, Matthews. I'll keep in touch. Wait a minute. We have a big organization, Mr. Marlowe. We're equipped to handle all kinds. We could do almost as good a job as you. Just keep that in mind, will you? Yeah, yeah, and I'm glad you said almost. So long. I got back into my car and pointed it toward the Vitello Place on Veteran Avenue again. Because I didn't know where else I could possibly pick up Shirley's trail. I felt like an uncomfortable emptiness was in the pit of my stomach. You know, like the guy who stands on a street corner and watches an ambulance in turn scrape up a traffic victim. He knows he didn't have anything to do with it, but that knowledge doesn't make him feel any better. Shirley Vitello was headed for trouble, bad trouble. And the pathetic little kid, Betty Cantow, who came into my office and started the whole thing, could get hurt in the process. Then I parked in front of the place which, from inside, a desk lamp showed a circle of light the size and color of a lemon lifesaver. And the front door was open inches, as though somebody had left in a big hurry. I walked on eggs as far as the door and nudged it. And I saw it. On the table in a far corner of the room, a note propped up against the lamp and nothing else. I thought I'd told it. Don't move! I'm behind you and I've got a gun. Oh, fine. 32 caliber out of the desk drawer, no doubt. No doubt. Marlowe, why are you mixing into something that's no business of yours? I'm a private detective working for your friend Betty Cantow. She's worried about you, Shirley. Marlowe, what's done is done. Betty can't help me. You can't help me. Nobody can help me. I stole Softman's work and I sold it to Morris Deniker. I didn't count on a deathbed confession. Why'd you do it? I love my husband and he needs money to go on with his work. No. He'll put sin on this with you, huh? Oh, no. No, he isn't. He thought my wages were high, that's all. The note I left there on the table makes that clear. Also it... Also what? It says goodbye. I love him, Marlowe. When I'm gone, he'll have enough money to carry on. Keep the studio. That means so much to him. And nothing can be taken away from him. I've seen to that, legal-like. Just what do you mean gone, Shirley? How far is gone? A long way, Marlowe. All the way. Suicide? Oh, no, Shirley, you can't be mad. Marlowe, let's not talk anymore. Don't bother about that phone. It's only Gilbert. How do you know? When I pulled up outside here after I came from the hospital, he was home. I didn't want to speak to him, so I drove on until I came to a phone booth. Then I called here and told him to meet me at the Saffron Bar. It's an old hangout of ours. You wanted to leave a note for him, but didn't want to face him, is that it? Yeah. He'll keep calling on and off for quite a while before he comes back here. I figured it would be better that way. I didn't want him chasing me. This sea air might give the big lug a cold. It always did. Well, Marlowe, it looks like it's about time to put you away for safekeeping. I don't think so, Shirley. I think the phone is about... No! Next time, Marlowe, it'll be more than a vase, but just as fragile. Now, the closet's seat aligned and strong. It should hold you long enough. Get in, Marlowe. Go on. Okay. And it is, baby. But first... What? The step you're about to take, Shirley. Yeah, I know all about it. It's a big step, isn't it, Marlowe? We'll save your breath. I wouldn't be any happier in prison or running away, believe me. Not a bit happier. Go along, Marlowe. Nobody's home. Shirley Vitillo was mixed up about a lot of things in life, but that doesn't include closets, because the one she put me in was strong. The lining she calls Cedar must have been hand-me-down armor plate from a retired battle wagon. So all in all, I was 45 minutes alternately kicking and resting while the insistent telephone marked the five-minute intervals for me. But finally, it was the wood around the lock that gave way! I was out. Hello? Hello, sir. Who's this? Marlowe Vitello, and save your questions. Do you hear what I have to say? Marlowe is my wife. She was supposed to meet me here at the saffron bind. I said save it. Now, listen. Your wife's out to kill herself. No, Marlowe. No! No! Yes, tell me, did you two have a favorite spot out near the ocean? I don't see what that has to do with it. I don't care whether you see or not, did you or didn't you? Yes, yes, the Redondo fishing pier below Santa Monica. Good. Now keep listening, Vitello, and do as I say. Come straight home. But, Marlowe, it's surely... Do as I say, Vitello. I'm back here and sit tight with fingers crossed. I worry about the pier. Goodbye. When I was broken, I picked up the phone again, dialed 1-1-6, got through to police emergency operator and from there to Matthews, who was still at the citizen's hospital. I told him to pick me up in a squad con, and this 10-mile drive to the Redondo fishing pier, where surely Vitello was going to kill herself. Then I got outside and waited the four longest minutes of my life, until finally Matthews screeched up to a halt. When I piled in, we took off, siren wide open. It'll be less than a minute now, Marlowe, pier's only a couple of blocks away. Good, better have Mooney kill that siren, Lieutenant. Jack, we want to come in quiet, Mooney. Okay, Lieutenant. Well, there she is, and power's out on the pier. Yeah, Mooney, pull up here, will you? We don't want to scare her into something. What? That crowd there, halfway out on the pier. Yes, so there is. You better drive right up, Mooney. Looks like we're too late, Phil. We were too late, at the center of a circle of the morbidly curious who always stand in gap. We found a lying face down in the greasy planks of the pier dead. She shot herself through the heart and the gun, and the same 32 she'd used on me was lying next to her. Two bullets gone. I explained the extra shot to Matthews. Uh-huh, okay, one bullet fired up at her, placing the other one here. Well, I hope you're satisfied, Mollo. What do you mean, satisfied? I mean, single-handed. You had to leave the cops out of it, didn't you? You had to go up to Veteran Avenue all by your lonesome, didn't you? Now, you wait a minute, Matthews, I was only trying to... Oh, nuts. Hey, Mooney, where's the nearest phone? Over there, Lieutenant, across the street, the Triple Legal Café. The patrolman here's already called an ambulance. All right, tell him she can be moved. Come on, Mollo, I want to turn in a first report on this. Mooney, pick us up at the café. Right, Lieutenant. Okay. So, Shirley Vitello was stealing formulas for those dyes from her boss and selling them to this Morris Deniker. Yeah. Always rosy until Deniker walked out in front of a taxi early this morning. That put him close to death and in a mood to talk. Also, put Shirley Vitello on the spot. Hey, is that the place you want to phone from? Yeah, yeah. Look, one thing more, Mollo. A girl's motive all the way through. She left her husband, he left his work. Yeah, her too? Yeah, after his work. So, since he didn't make any dough, she stole to keep him going and close to her. There's the phone, Phil. Come on, will you. I may need you to fill in the blanks for me. Mollo, I said... I heard you. I heard you. The phone can wait, Lieutenant. Come on over here. What? I want to talk to that piano player. Piano player? What about? The tricky way he has of playing blue skies. What? Hey, bud, that's all right. You got a mean left hand there. Yeah, I open in Carnegie Hall next week. Don't miss me. I'll try not to. It's just horrific what you do with that tune, you know? It's my own particular arrangement. Nobody else's, huh? Oh, nobody. I've been working on this arrangement for a week. That's all I wanted to know. Hey, Mollo, what are you getting at? The phone, I've heard enough. Where'd you say it was, Matthews? Over there at the left of the bar. But, Phil, what time is it, Lieutenant? What time is it, Lieutenant? Five after 12. Mollo, what is it? A switch, a switch, Matthews. A switch? Yeah, one that'll knock your badge off. Will you get a load of this? Listen, Frederick, I'm the party you called before about the reservations for Ruth Britton on the 1135 for New York. Oh, yes, I remember you. Never mind. It's police business, Freddie. Did the plane leave on schedule? Of course it did. But Miss Britton didn't make it, and she didn't bother to call and cancel her reservation. Thanks, I've heard enough. So far, so good, Matthews. Yeah, which means what? The Saffron Bar in Hollywood. Which means what? Shirley Vitello didn't commit suicide, Matthews. She was murdered. Okay, Phil. Where's your man? Right there. That table against the wall. Come on, Matthews. Sentimental rocks. Degredation. Abomination. I don't think it's as bad as all that, Gilbert Old Boy. Marlo, you were caught the most insensitive of all people. What would you know about music? Just for the record, he's not a cop. My question still stands. What do you know about music? As a matter of fact, not much. But you know I'm fascinated by what they're doing with instruments these days. Really? What are they doing that might fascinate you? Well, for example, take that picture where the score is done by only one instrument, a ziffer. What's more, it doesn't sound like a ziffer. To a trained ear, a ziffer is a ziffer. You mean you can't make one instrument sound like another? Well, for example, a guitar like a piano? Don't be ridiculous. Wait a minute, wait a minute. It's not so ridiculous. Why, only tonight I heard a guitar that sounded just like a piano. Real tricky arrangement it was, too. Sounded... You're joking. Oh, no, no. You must have heard it, too. It was while we were talking on the telephone. The telephone? I talked to you? Sure you did. You remember? My, my... You said you were calling from here, the Saffron Bar, but the conversation was being scored by the pianist at the Triple Eagle Cafe at Redondo Beach. A real tricky arrangement in more ways than one. I didn't mean it was, too. All right, what's the rest of it, Phil? He didn't want to quit his work and spend the rest of his life hiding in some forgotten corner of the globe. Which was her plan? Yeah. As I figure it, once Shirley knew she was finished, she decided they should both run for it. He was in on what she was doing all along. In the suicide note? That was part of her plan. Leave puppy here and innocent with the money she got for shenanigans. Then frame her own suicide, a trail that would lead us to the Redondo Pier, her hat and coat, floating in the drink. After a couple of days of searching, we say the tide probably carried the body out the sea. Close case. That's right. In the meantime, she's following New Yorker's Ruth Britton and is heading on from there. Hubby here to join her at a later date. Yeah, finally. Hubby double crossed her and shot her so he can sit tight with the money right here. That's it, Matthews. Please, please, give me another chance. Oh, shut up. Wipe and dry Matthews and take them away. Go along with Matthews. I didn't even bother about my car, I was in front of the Vitello place. I'd had enough of the kind of person who'd hitch his wagon to a star, only if the twinkly saw on the horizon was the reflection of a dollar sign. Oh, yeah, they were a pair, all right, the Vitellos? A pair who finally canceled each other out. You know what? I'm glad of it. 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. Featured in the cast were Gene Bates, Paul Dubov, Vivi Janus, Edgar Berrier, and Peter Leeds. Detective Lieutenant Matthews is played by Larry Dubkin. The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Orant. Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says... This time I tangle with a married Scotchman, a phony English lord in a beautiful blonde corpse in a freight house, all because of a butler who walked on his knuckles. All about tying a metal string around your finger today to remind yourself to file your 1949 income tax return as soon as possible. The 15th of March isn't several miles down the road the way it used to be. It's almost at your front door. And you'd certainly get a scare if you came home one evening to find it sitting right smack in your living room saying smugly, well, you forgot to file your income tax return. What now, little man? So why not set aside tonight as income tax night and file your 1949 return? This is Roy Rowan speaking. This is CBS where Burns and Eleanor heard every Wednesday night the Columbia Broadcasting System.