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About this Episode
A collection of gripping detective stories featuring sharp-witted investigators, puzzling crimes, and clever resolutions. Each episode showcases the art of deduction and the thrill of the chase.
Hosts & Guests
Transcript
President Barack Obama. Virginia, we are counting on you. Republicans want to steal enough seats in
Congress to raid the next election and wield unchecked power for two more years. But you can stop
them by voting yes by April 21st. Help put our elections back on a level playing field and let
voters decide not politicians. Vote yes by April 21st. Paid for by Virginians for fair elections.
And Doug, there's nowhere I wouldn't go to help someone customize and save on car insurance with
Liberty Mutual. Even if it means sitting front row at a comedy show. Hey everyone, check out
this guy and his bird. What is this your first date? Oh no, we help people customize and save on
car insurance with Liberty Mutual together. We're married. Ah, need a human, him to a bird. Yeah,
the bird looks out of your league anyways. Only pay for what you need at Liberty Mutual.com.
President Barack Obama. Virginia, we are counting on you. Republicans want to steal enough seats
in Congress to raid the next election and wield unchecked power for two more years. But you can stop
them by voting yes by April 21st. Help put our elections back on a level playing field and let
voters decide not politicians. Vote yes by April 21st. Paid for by Virginians for fair elections.
The National Broadcasting Company presents the Adventures of Sam Spade Detective.
Sam, say to guess who I can see. Me, sweetheart. Sam, where have you been? I don't know what to tell him. Tell who?
The reporters, everybody. They also use the first part of a detective in the history of San Francisco to get rich
I'll explain. Oh, it's Sam. When I think of all the back salary, I'll be getting the first coat.
Easy, girl. Easy. Prepare yourself. Sam? Yep. The $50,000 is not available to employees of the
network or sponsor, which unfortunately I happen to be. But, cheer up, girl. Think of the taxes we'll
save. Now, make everything fast. I'm on my way. Meanwhile, purple me this. You ready? All right, Sam.
Why does a man who is going to blow his brains out set his mental clock ahead for our?
Ah, but it does. Marlon Ponder, sweetheart. I'll be down in a trice.
1951 model with an intellectual type report to challenge serious thinkers everywhere to it.
The Biddle Riddle Caper.
For NDC, William Sphere, radio's outstanding producer, director of history and crime drama,
brings you the greatest private detective of them all in the adventures of Sam Spade.
Oh,
I don't like the phone.
Hey, I think I just can't get anywhere with it. Never take on a third down,
chirup. Give it another try. No, you say I'm mentally through. Well, you know that.
I just give up. Sam. Well, there's funny little bumps on your teeth.
That's what happens when somebody hits you with a microphone, sweetheart.
Now if you look closer, just above the marks, under my eye,
clearly and distinctly in reverse, of course,
the three letters of a network known far and wide
for its hospitality to unemployed private detectives.
Not here, girl.
Always a pencil. Who knows? A sponsor may be listening.
Ready?
To Mr. Tracy Abbott,
rake cotton hotel, copy the Dundee at homicide,
from Samuel Spade,
license plate,
license number one, three, seven, five, nine, six.
Subject, the Biddle Riddle Caper.
Dear Tracy,
it had a nice conventional side.
This one, a nice conventional phone call,
telling me to drop up to room four or two
of the rake cotton around three in the afternoon.
But when I got there,
I found that over the nice conventional number on the door
was hung a temporary sign reading Olympic radio productions,
Tracy Abbott, editor, director, and producer,
bidding farewell to the nice conventional
part, I made bold wind of the door.
Edit 548 of solid Hollywood was
whalcing at what I took to be a musician,
composer, or some such.
We open cold money like this.
Now, killer at large.
Bangin' with the thing.
See.
Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum.
A great big wonderful cord, everybody, check?
Check, and then the teaser.
Quote, don't go away you out there.
Stick right close to that radio set of yours.
Because the next half hour might put $50,000 in your pocket.
Yes.
$50,000 will be paid by the sponsors of this program
for information leading to the rest and conviction of a killer at large.
Tonight, that's just a thing to cord.
Tonight, the murder, a tremolo tremolo.
Tonight, the murder of Carol Stevens.
Then Saturday, phopom, pom, phom, pom, pom, pom, pom.
Check.
What's that?
Simple crash.
Do it again.
Don't need it, check.
Check.
Big wonderful lush, that's a word lush, with scope and sweetened power.
I got it.
I got it. Well, I'll get as much as I can with eight-piece scopes.
Sweet importance. Got a sound important. Check.
Check. Oh, oh. I'm Sam Spade, Mr. Rabbit.
Oh, yes. Yes, Spade. Glad to see you. Please sit down.
In the only other hand, you'd better stand up. No time to lose.
You have 24 hours to find a man for me.
Well, that's pretty short. Notice how...
The Spade killer at large is real.
We keep a sensitive finger on the pulse of the people.
Well, that's nice. We deal in real facts.
Real people. Real crimes and real criminals, Jack.
Just how do you do this? How do you accomplish all this
on the radio budget of today?
Now, you see, before you stay, the mechanical marvel,
which makes this possible, the tape recorder.
You're familiar with the tape recorder?
Oh, more or less. Check.
Tomorrow night at 9 p.m. TST,
with the aid of the tape recorder, we shall reconstruct one of San Francisco's
more sensational unsolved crimes, the murder of Carol Stevens.
You mean the burlesque dang for years ago?
Two years, eight months, and 29 days.
You remember what you bought it?
Let me see. She turned up dead on the floor of her apartment, didn't she?
Jack, victim of the well-known blunt instrument.
In this case, a bronze bookend carrying the base relief of Abraham Lincoln.
Much ado, much ado, headlines by the art of parade of witnesses,
but no arrests, spirit.
Fine, I want about me.
Our show's spade is made up of the simple, honest,
the spontaneous statements of the witnesses themselves.
We're set on this one except for one man, the most important one in the case, of course.
Oh, who's that?
Jimmy Biddle, the door man at the Broadway burlesque.
At the time, the Stevens girl was killed.
No, her, some say he loved her.
Top suspect until he came up with an alibi.
Our advance men have combed the city for two weeks trying to find him, but no luck.
So he's born to him?
That's what I thought until this morning.
You mean you heard from him?
I heard from someone who said he was Biddle.
He also said he knew who killed Carol Stevens.
And he wanted the 50,000.
Right.
I mean, check.
Oh, fair enough.
Well, that's what you advertise, isn't it?
Not two people who hang up when you get curious.
If it was Biddle, I've got to record his story.
I want him here by eight tomorrow night, check.
Well, since you keep bringing it up, check.
Yes.
You can make it up for a hundred bucks.
At homicide, I case the files on the Stevens thing.
San Francisco's answer to the black dad,
a cheek killing of a cheek day
and a cheek apartment
that used a lot of expensive news for him.
He's taken a last turn under the blue spot
around 1030, left the theater, and hustled straight home
because at 11 sharp, according to the neighbor across the hall,
someone had tried the Abraham Lincoln bookend on Carol for size.
She hit the floor just as the 11th of a clock news came on.
Biddle's alibi had to be good, and it was.
It came as a matter of fact from the greatest little alibi factory in town.
Biddle was drinking old fashions with Joseph P. Norghard,
the well-known criminal lawyer at the time of the killing.
So I tried it over to Norghard's office on Marcus Street,
found him tied up and settled down in the waiting room
next to a dimlet-eyed youth and a neon-striped suit
who looked like he made a living sticking up crap games.
It was filing his nails.
Buddy.
Yeah, buddy?
You, uh, you sure you've been in the right office, buddy?
Positive, buddy.
Well, I just thought I might save you some trouble, I thought.
Sam's stayed in it.
Oh, smart kid.
I tried.
I still think you'd be wise to blow.
Well, this is quite a turn you, dude, buddy.
Study nice with Richard Woodmark.
Sam, I told you I want to save you a bad time.
You're a nice guy.
Thank you.
That'd be a lot of things you can do around town
to make a buck without coming in.
I wanted you lifted out of that chair.
I'm not going to do it, Mr. Norghard.
And that's why I look at you.
I'll get with you later.
Bye, buddy.
The guy who busts a lot of Norghard's office
was bloody, floured, and frightened.
Penstrap gave me a last veil for look
and cycled out into the hall after him,
which was nice because I was running out of punchlines.
Luke, I thought I told you to.
Hello.
Mr. Norghard.
I am?
I'm sorry to barge in my name's Spade.
I'm a clever detective.
Of course you are.
And a hungry one.
Well, we're polite in here, too.
Why do you say that?
You're the fourth today.
Huh?
I'm about to prepare a mini-aggressed statement entitled,
what I know about the Steven's case,
or you too can make $50,000.
Like a copy?
You know, I can't remember when I've been treated so nice.
What do you know about the Steven's case, Mr. Norghard?
It's all an homicide file.
On the faithful night, I ran into Jimmy Bittles
that was coming out of a bar in Chinatown.
He did the skids.
But he used to be a useful friend,
so I asked him up to my apartment for a drink.
Causing?
At a minute's cheer, made him an old-fashioned,
loaned him five bucks and hustled him out.
Huh?
30 laps time, 45 minutes from 10.45 to 11.30 pm.
And that is all I have to say at this time.
Have you seen Bittles since?
Not since the investigation.
I don't know where he is now.
I don't know who killed Carol Steven.
Period.
Paragraph.
Do you think Jimmy knows who killed him?
Maybe.
Well, he says he does.
Oh.
Where did you see him?
He's hungry too.
We worked the same bloodline.
I'm sorry, I said that spade.
Who are you working for?
Olympic radio productions.
Killer at large.
Yes?
They will be coming to the studio tonight.
Record a statement for them.
Uh-huh.
I, uh, I wonder if I ought to tell them what I really think.
What's that?
About Bittles.
There's no point in talking around it anymore.
I think he killed it.
Oh, that's a neat trick if he was ranking your liquor at the time.
Well, I think he did it after he left my place.
Two things place the time of death.
The medical examiner's report, which could be off as much as three hours.
And the neighbor who thinks he heard the girl fall as a news came on.
How reliable is that?
Well, I usually think of those things during an investigation.
But they didn't think hard enough.
You, uh, you say you talked to Bittles.
He called my client.
Why?
He had 50,000 good reasons according to him.
You know, funny things happen when they'll get into it.
Bought people don't stay.
Bought lost people get found.
Yeah.
Well, that's all you all I know, Spade.
If you have no more questions.
I just want more.
Who's the little weasel on the pen strike?
You mean Luke?
Yeah.
Well, I put him out there to scare off the hungry ones.
Nothing to do with you.
And the fat character he's sailing has nothing to do with me, though.
You really want to know?
I love to.
He's a pastry cook.
I'm representing his wife in a divorce section.
Think she's Casanova.
Pressure cooker, eh?
Shaving Norgard, Pinstryth, and a flabby pastry cook
and a look-up later section of my hat band,
I took off of Bittles' last-known address
of boarding house on Pacific Avenue.
There I held hands with a land lady long enough to learn
that A, she hadn't seen Bittles since a few weeks after the murder.
But B, when last heard of,
Bittles had gone on from the burlesque thing
to something even more extremely female.
According to the land lady.
Names Rosalie.
Understand he's bookin' on the line at the Pacific Ballroom.
Red hair, blue eyes, and boom, boom.
You get me?
I got you.
Pacific Ballroom, eh?
Would you do that last again?
Boom, boom.
Yeah, just checking.
Thanks, Mrs. Land lady.
Yeah.
Hello?
Hi.
A lot of lucky girls.
When you look like your name on a beer Rosalie.
Oh, you're a psychic.
You got to take it?
Hey, let me know when they're used up, huh?
Don't worry.
Hey.
You know, you're a pretty good dancer.
I, for Murray, class of 1906.
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.
Oh, me, I, uh, I didn't come here to dance.
Oh.
I'm lookin' for Jimmy Biddle, you know?
Yeah, I know.
He will cop.
Not exactly.
Oh, that's the difference, copper, no cop.
You'll find him one of these days.
Where?
In the bay, maybe.
Or the mord.
He knows it.
That's a funny pride.
He knows it, and he can't do anything about it.
It's got him.
Rosalie, baby, look, I know.
That's enough about Jimmy.
That's dance, huh?
That's what you're paying for, isn't it?
Well, come on.
Where is he?
You're wasting your time, I swear.
I won't sell him out.
I'm sure with him, but I won't sell him out.
Ah, yeah, you need to take it.
I saw it over to the soft drink fountain,
and mulled a problem over a coat from inner to toe.
There are ways of dealing with dames like Rosalie.
Some of them are a little cruel,
as this one was going to have to be,
but time was of the essence.
I kept out a sight for 20 minutes or so,
watching her dancing in the arms of a moon-struck plumber,
and sidelined to her phone booth.
The Pacific Ballroom does not permit telephone conversations
while the girls are working.
When I said it with the police,
the plumber was turned over to a new candidate
Rosalie came to the phone.
Well?
It's the same spade Rosalie I was dancing with you a little while ago.
What is it?
I, uh, I found Jimmy Bittles' apartment.
Well, what's the matter here?
That's right.
That's bad.
I'm afraid so he wants to see it.
Oh, okay.
I'll be right over.
He didn't stop for a while,
just part of zigzag clothes
with a mob of the main door
and finds a new cat of the crew.
The driver must have been an old fan of hers,
because they were almost out of sight
by the time my cat got rolling,
and that's the way it was across Market Street
and all the way out there next to the Marina.
Her cat was pulled up in front of an apartment
on Jefferson Street,
and she just got now when we slid in behind her.
Hi, are you want to go up together?
But you said you...
I'm sorry, honey.
I know it was a dirty trick,
but now that's no way to do it.
You shut up.
A gold card holder by the doorbell,
list of the tenants as WR Smith.
Mr. Smith was evidently not home.
A lady manager in the apartment next to his was,
an after the usual license showing
and more than the usual sweet talk,
she came up with a key.
Middle wasn't wealthy,
but he wasn't hungry either.
President Barack Obama.
Virginia, we are counting on you.
Republicans want to steal enough seats in Congress
to raid the next election
and wield unchecked power for two more years,
but you can stop them by voting yes by April 21st.
Help put our elections back on a level playing field
and let voters decide not politicians.
Vote yes by April 21st.
Paid for by Virginians for fair elections.
And Doug, there's nowhere I wouldn't go
to help someone customize and save
on car insurance with Liberty Mutual.
Even if it means sitting front row at a comedy show.
Hey, everyone, check out this guy in his bird.
What is this, your first date?
Oh, no.
We help people customize and save
on car insurance with Liberty Mutual together.
We're married.
Need a human, him to a bird.
Yeah, the bird looks out of your league anyways.
Only pay for what you need at Liberty Mutual.com.
Liberty, Liberty, Liberty, Liberty, Liberty.
Okay, man.
Let's talk shop.
And hopefully they got the moms to tune out.
So I can tell you to get jewelry
with Zales Mother's Day specials up to 50 percent off.
It's a no-brainer.
Exclusions apply for details.
Visit zales.com slash promotion,
dash terms, dash and dash conditions.
A clutch signed for in the next room.
Sent to it after 10.
I wondered why I went in to take a look.
Maybe I was psyching, like the girl said.
There was a tape recorder against one wall.
The same kind I'd seen in your office, Tracy.
But a microphone and a roll of tape have used up.
Holding the microphone with one hand was Jimmy Dittle.
In the other hand, a 38.
He wasn't heard as I'd told her.
He was dead.
You are listening to the weekly adventure
of radio's most famous detective, Sam Spade.
This Sunday, there's another outstanding
production by Thierry Gild on the air.
It's a one-hour adaptation of the thrilling tale
of intrigue and post-war Vienna, the third man.
Joseph Cotton and Senior Hassel star in this theatre
gild on the air broadcast.
And Sunday, over most of these NBC stations
also means the big show.
An hour and a half of the finest in comedy,
music and drama.
Tululu will be your hostess,
and just listen to a few of the stars.
Fred Allen, Marlene Dietrich, Danny Thomas,
and Fran Warren.
There'll be many more, too,
so tune in this Sunday and every Sunday
for the big show.
And now, back to the Biddle Riddle Caper,
tonight's adventure with Sam Spade.
In accordance with chapter five of the private detective's
manual entitled How to Keep Your License,
I called homicide and gave him the facts and figures,
then went back to the study.
Jimmy Biddle was surrounded by pops like part one
of the quote of Brian Puzzle.
I carefully reached over his shoulder
and pressed the button on the tape recorder.
My name's Jimmy Biddle.
The DA will remember me.
We saw a lot of each other during the week after Carol
Stevens hit the deck and her apartment three years ago.
I'd just about this time and night.
I fooled him then.
I could probably go on fooling him,
but I'm tired of it.
I'm tired of living this way.
So here it is.
I knew Carol Stevens well.
I was crazy about it,
and I was jealous, too.
That's why I killed her.
I thought I could go on and on,
playing hide and go seek for the rest of my life,
but sooner or later this kind of thing gets too heavy
to pack around at you.
You gotta get rid of it.
One way or another.
Here he is.
End of report.
I roused to the land lady again,
and we went over the room together,
a helpful type land lady.
And she contributed a thousand odd bits of gossip
about Jimmy Biddle,
only one of which struck me as interesting.
She'd come in this morning.
She said the clean is apartment,
and among other things had wound
and set the eight-day clock on the metal,
the same clock,
which was now exactly four hours fast.
Looking closer at the paper quarter,
I saw a small label
pasted above one of the knobs,
reading Morghaz and Reed recording technicians.
Next scene,
the manufacturing section of Sensen Street,
a five-story building,
all dark of this hour,
except for light in the office on the second floor back,
which happily turned out to be D1.
Burghaz!
Reed!
Anybody?
Hello.
What do you want?
Well, a pastry cook.
I'm sorry, we're closed.
You see, office hours nine to five minutes.
No, wait a minute, just a minute, pastry cook.
I'm not a pastry cook, sir.
My name is Morghaz.
I am one of the progressers here.
Just a moment, sir.
Sorry.
Sorry, it was getting cold out of the hall.
That was a your murder, sir.
I am.
And I don't care who you are.
I know all about it, sir.
I know it wasn't a practical joke.
What wasn't a practical joke?
That tape.
You can march right back to the man you're working for
until he can't buy me off.
Is that clear?
Not very.
There's no use denying it.
I saw you in his office this afternoon when he...
When he threatened me...
I called out on a fire estate and planned to see my buddy
in the pinstripe suit hit the bottom.
The alley praised that he was blind at one end
so Luke took off for the street.
I caught him in one leg.
He stumbled fell,
smacked his head against the brick wall of the alley
and took the cuff.
I was frisking and went a pile cop
who heard the shots moved up.
I convinced him I wasn't rolling a drunk
and left him to run back upstairs.
Morghaz.
Morghaz.
I'm going to get you to a hospital.
Why are you saying spade?
I don't work for no regard.
Right now I'm trying to hang a murder rat on him.
Told me it was a practical joke.
A gag.
Fine.
Tape.
Jimmy.
Bigel.
Tape.
Jenny ran to the machine from you
and made the tape himself, right?
Yes, he did.
He...
Norghaz.
What about Norghaz?
Tried to beat me into it.
Beat me.
Beat me.
Who wouldn't give it to him?
Give what?
I...
Tape.
You hold up.
I...
I...
He tried the point of the death if he passed out
and so do this already bubbling stew
we had a crucial typewriter.
While waiting for the ambulance,
I cased it and found nothing
and stuck up his favorite into it and began to type.
Poor quick brown foxes
have jumped over four lazy dogs
when the sound changed.
I looked closer and then
tackled a messy job.
I always lead to my secretary.
I hate to play with typewriter ribbons
but this wasn't a typewriter ribbons.
Since said ribbons had come to an end
then I was taken away at a piece of sound tape.
Come on, Rosalie.
I don't want to talk about it.
Come on, my feet are even more tired
than they were an hour ago.
Okay, you first.
All right, now.
I'm sorry.
I thought you were lying when you said Jimmy was hurt.
Well, that's not going to that now.
He was blackmailing Norguide, right?
I don't even know who Norguide is.
You know Jimmy was shaking someone down, didn't you?
I never know where he got his money.
I just know it was dirty money.
He'd laugh and say he was living high
but that's a little...
He never mentioned Norguide?
No, I just thought he was going to make
$50,000 in an radio program.
Did he say how?
Singing.
I thought he was kidding
when he showed up with that tape recorder.
He only wasn't kidding.
Then what?
He wanted to be alone, he said.
He was going to make an audition
and said it to a sponsor.
That's where he made the mistake.
He sent it to the wrong sponsor.
They figured he'd hit Norguide for the biggest touch of all.
Thought hearing it might make him dig deeper.
So we recorded his statement.
Send it to Norguide for a sample.
But there was something he didn't think of.
What do you mean?
He should have studied up on his tape recorders, baby.
With a pair of scissors and a good technician,
Jimmy's eye witness account
turned into a first-class confession.
The final place of the little little was
as you will recall, Tracy and I
could on one of the sound stages
of a nation's leading network.
Whereas you will also recall
you were visually transcribing
the testimony of various witnesses
on the Carol Stevens' tape.
I got them, they all never know.
A fairy was as big and legal looking as ever.
Perjuring himself once more
into one of your microphones.
I walked out of the twin dragon
on Grand Avenue.
As I remember it now,
Biddle was across the street.
He apparently recognized me, though.
Oh, excuse me.
Would you find us what?
Hey, no idiots.
You're ruined.
I'm sorry, Tracy.
Oh, we'll have to start it over again, Mr. Norther.
Would you mind if I record a few remarks?
Spade, please understand my position.
Biddle's confession has changed everything.
I know.
The killer is not at large.
Yeah, yeah.
Twenty-four hours we spent recording the show.
Now it'll all have to be done over again.
Sorry.
These people at this hour, listen, Tracy.
All right, Spade, what is it?
I'm only trying to help.
Now where is Biddle's confession?
On the machine there, we're going to
double it onto the main tape.
Good, now be a good lad
and show me where your sight is stopping, huh?
Right there.
Okay.
What is this, Spade?
This is going to interest you, Mr. Norgard.
Now, let us turn to the tape,
keeping our eyes on the spool
as it slowly feeds Biddle's last state.
My name's Jimmy Biddle-Five.
The DA will remember me.
We saw a lot of each other during the week after
Carol Stevens hit the deck
in a repartement three years ago.
At just about this time of night,
I fooled him then.
I could probably go on fooling him,
but I'm tired of it.
I'm tired of living this way.
So here it is.
I knew Carol Stevens well.
That was crazy about it.
And I was jealous, too.
That's why I...
There's a riddle for you, Norgard.
He said the girl guide
quoted just about this time of night,
unquote.
At the clock struck three times.
We know she died at 11.
What happened to the other eight times?
Spade, this is no time for...
Be patient with me, Tracy.
What about it, Norgard?
How do I know that the man was crazy, maybe?
No, no, no, no.
He wasn't crazy.
Stupid, but not crazy.
So I'll only take this spool of tape off
and put this one.
What's that?
This is the part that was cut out.
Got it from the guy who did the splicing job for you,
thinking it was a practical joke or something.
And, you know what you're saying?
Yeah, but Biddle says it better.
The last thing we heard was,
I was crazy about it,
and I was jealous, too.
That's why I killed her.
Only he didn't say kill her.
Just...
That's why I...
Standing outside in the whole way of her apartment
tonight, she died.
I'd seen her leave the theater with a guy I recognized.
My father's home to her place.
Her day argument, everything,
but I had no idea he'd kill her until...
I heard her hit the floor.
Door busted open and he came out,
looking like a crazy man.
He didn't even see me.
He just ran down the back stairs
as fast as he could go up.
I went in and saw her line on the floor dead.
I could have killed him, then.
But I thought of something better.
He's good pay.
The cash comes right on time.
But I'm tired of living this way.
So there's the story.
The man who killed Carol Stevens.
I can't believe it.
This is as far as Bill's got.
Since Norguard had dragged a fan
Mike and slammed it into the recording machine.
And the robot, which followed,
he also slammed it into my face,
which is why I carried the imprint
of the nation's number one network
just below my right eye.
So that's about the crotch, Tracy.
Norguard and Pinstryte now lie cheek by
Jowl in the jail hospital trying to think
of an honest lawyer, old defendant.
While you, Tracy,
with a third round of interviews before you,
are considering causing out Carol Stevens
and doing the shooting of Dan McGrew.
Period.
End of report.
Dan, go unfortunate.
Unfortunate?
You have a desperate thing about the class
it was four hours down.
Why sweetheart, that self-explanatory.
The clock said four, you see.
But it was 12.
They live in dead an hour,
which makes it 11.
Carry one one,
subtracting four from at least seven.
And assuming it'd been there an hour before that makes six.
Dan, what brings us logic?
Yes, I tell her to clean.
Efe, on this program, we do not plug rival product.
Now go and pipe that up while I figure this out.
Soot, soot, soot.
Three chimes mean good times on NBC.
There's mystery and music every Saturday on NBC.
For mystery tomorrow, Herbert Marshall
stars as the man called X.
The man called X is a man without a name
who travels the world over combating the forces
of international espionage and intrigue.
For music tomorrow, your hit parade brings you
the top tunes in the land,
played by Raymond Scott's orchestra,
and with vocals by Snuffy Lanson and Eileen Wilson.
Thank you, dear one.
I see by the pearls in your brow
that you have not as yet solved the matter
of the missing chimes.
Oh, why no God set the clock ahead
when he shot Jimmy Bevel?
Oh, how to approach this.
You realize Nordard cut a hunk out of the tape
removing Bevel's eye witness account
setting him up as a suicide, right?
The cat!
Don't make me change my grip there.
Low-biddle by his own statement
made the recording at the time of the murder
of Carol Stevens to win 11 o'clock.
Now, in cutting out the crucial word,
Nordard also had to cut out eight chimes.
This he realized would be noticed.
So he set the clock ahead to make the number of chimes jied.
Ha!
Chimes jied.
Chimes jied.
Nice ring.
Sam, we'll be all right with you
if I just say I understand when I really don't.
Sure, sweetheart.
I'll just type an answer to the phone
and you'll use your speech and your head.
And together we'll end up...
I know, with...
Good night, Sam.
Good night, sweetheart.
The Adventures of Sam Spade
are produced, edited and directed by William Spear.
Sam Spade was played by Stephen Dunn.
Lorraine Toddle is Effie.
Scripts for tonight's adventure by Harold Swanton.
Musical Scarring by Lut Blusken
conducted by Robert Armbruster.
Join us again next week, same time,
for another adventure with Sam Spade.
Enjoy the Magnificent Montague
and Duffy Savern on NBC.
And Doug.
There's nowhere I wouldn't go to help someone customize
and save on car insurance with Liberty Mutual.
Even if it means sitting front row at a comedy show.
Hey, everyone, check out this guy and his bird.
What is this, your first date?
Oh, no. We help people customize and save on car insurance
with Liberty Mutual together.
We're married.
Need a human, him to a bird.
Yeah, the bird looks out of your league anyways.
Only pay for what you need at Liberty Mutual.com.
Liberty, Liberty, Liberty, Liberty, Liberty.
Okay, man.
Let's talk shop.
Okay, hopefully they got the mom to tune out.
So I can tell you to get jewelry
with Zales Mother's Day specials up to 50% off.
It's a no-brainer.
Exclusions apply for details.
Visit zales.com slash promotion,
dash terms, dash and dash conditions.
