Sam Spade - The Cheesecake Caper

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The adventure is a Sam Spade detective.

Sam Spade detective agency?

Oh, murder.

Oh, Sam.

Have you had a hard day?

Murderous?

Nine this morning I grinned through 25 poses, caught them all but dishes of all 25 varieties

of sand and succulent soup on meal in a can.

Really Sam?

Then I was imprisoned in a flush chair for two hours of the glass in my hand.

No.

Yes.

A friend against bug, the whiskey that smells like old eyelids.

Sounds interesting.

It wasn't.

They wouldn't let me touch it till after.

And for the rest of the afternoon I've been pulling up my trousers.

Or a series of legart shots which will bear the legend.

Spade, Prana and San Francisco detective, says,

McGonnie goes grip tight as the godhead for me.

Oh, Sam.

How thrilling to be Prana.

Maybe so, maybe so.

But fame is a sometime things, sweetheart.

Just a flashball in the pan.

As you will agree, when you have heard my report on the Cheesecake Capers.

My ought to be in fact, you find beautiful.

Oh, Sam.

It was at the talk of the Capers.

Yes, and as if the fella that was a snap.

Does that make you shatter?

Oh, Sam.

Well, have you gotten any photography jobs?

No.

All right.

Then we just save 30 seconds.

Well, have you gotten any photography jobs?

No.

All right.

Then we just save 30 seconds.

And by the way, Miss Frames, the physics crew that 9 out of 10 private secretaries

have the pencil ready when the boss comes in.

Why do you always have to be number 10?

Well, I'm going to be 10 here.

Here's the pencil.

All right.

Better.

Two homicide divisions of San Francisco police department attention.

Lieutenant Kelsey from San Francisco Spade, license number 17596.

Subject for Cheesecake Capers.

There are Kelsey.

Cheesecake.

Down.

Cheesecake, to me, was something that caused 25 cents in the olikot side of a menu up until now.

As a matter of fact, the Cheesecake fame didn't make itself felt until some time after the beginning of this,

which was a phone call at high noon, just as I was wondering where I'd eat.

Sam Spade.

Mr. Spade, I've got to see you right away.

What are you doing?

I thought to go to lunch.

I'll tell you later.

I've got to see you first.

Right now.

All right.

Do you want to come to my office?

No.

I'm at Barney's grill.

You know what that is?

I know where that is.

Order a sandwich.

Nobody's sent for you.

You see it?

You just come in for lunch.

I just go.

Let me get this straight now.

Are you hiring me?

Yeah.

Yeah.

50 bucks in the fridge, please.

Well, I got it.

But remember, you don't know nothing about it.

See?

You just came by for lunch.

Wednesday is when I have saw Broughton at the state of Pancake in Plenty.

It's the fennel that's been only that very morning that my secretary missed having for him.

It looked at my figure of what she is usually an orderly fond.

It made certain remarks to the effect that a few of my pounds needed to devalue it.

So I decided on a sandwich.

The business crowd had to arrive, so I started to offake in food, ordered my sandwich,

and waited for something to happen.

Well, thank you.

Huh?

You remember me, State Fiddle Roy?

Yeah, afraid so.

That's how I heard you were in Cleveland.

Yeah, but I'm in San Francisco now.

Well, Cleveland's gain is our loss.

I like it here.

Maybe they had a hot spell in Cleveland, huh?

He'd never bother me much.

Yeah, you ought to be used to that by now.

Let's talk about this, State House.

Please, I'm eating.

Yeah, yeah.

So I know this, State.

You like body, huh?

It's good as the next time, yeah.

I mean, you're coming here all the time.

Reagan.

You ain't here on business now, are you, State?

I'm sure, Freddie.

Sure.

Yeah.

Yeah, making a little deal.

Yeah, who went?

Bonnie.

Corn Beep on Roy.

Hey, sir.

One corn beep.

I'm so mad.

Poor.

The cook lost it up, sir.

You said, why?

This year's week.

That's all right here.

No, no, no.

I'll fix it up.

I said, wait, sir.

Right now, how about a cup of coffee?

And I'm all set.

Hey, Danny.

Yeah?

You said you were going off duty.

Yeah, I know.

I've just finished it up a couple of orders.

I'll get my cap.

Never mind that, huh?

Come on, Danny.

I'm parked out front.

I hate to get wrong with cops.

Yeah.

Okay.

Just tell the boss I already told the boss.

Get going.

So long, State.

Just stay there and enjoy your bandwidth, sir.

Yeah, so long.

The waiter had thought of the guy who called me.

A white face young kid sweating with his white thigh up under his left ear.

They walked outside and got into a car park in front of the restaurant.

Of all things, a limousine with a livery shoulder.

The lights to the front doors had pulled away.

They got the license number and called the Department of Motor Vehicles.

The car belonged to Mike Scheldon, known to the voters of the North Beach section as Uncle Mike.

A whitehead, jolly-faced gentleman of dubious means, and still more dubious methods,

who had something to do with politics.

What he had to do with a weasel like Freddie Moore, I might as well as a poor waiter boy at Barney's,

was something to fund it.

I cycled back to my booth and attacked the corn, beef on wheat.

My teeth instead of going all the way through the sandwich, which is the way I like it,

struck something firm and unyielding.

I pulled from the cream the lettuce and the bread a waxed favor envelope.

Inside was a $50 bill and a small photograph of a barn.

Danny, the waiter, it scribbled three words in the corner of it,

finding this girl.

You can't put some more coffee, sir.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Bring the pot with you.

And the waiter.

Yes, sir.

This Danny, the kid who was just here, what his last name?

Danny?

It's a western, anyway.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Where's he with, you know?

Well, I'm not sure.

I think he has an apartment out around the Arkansas Street somewhere,

but I'm not, you're a funny kid.

Yeah, what's funny about him?

Well, I mean, working as a waiter and a jolly-like this one, his sister had all that dough

living in that knob, he'll apartment in all of you.

What's his sister?

Monica Weston.

You must have heard of her.

You used to be a dancer at some joint over a North Beach.

Well, I don't get around much anymore.

Well, you saw the paper, didn't you?

She was in the paper?

Yeah, committed suicide.

Danny nearly went off his rocket.

Wait a minute.

Wait a minute.

Look, is this here his sister?

Oh, let me see.

No, no, no.

Monica was a redhead.

This here's a blonde.

I'm going to get you that coffee while it's out there.

I examined my sandwich for further clothes.

I found nothing except corn thief, so I put it back together and began to eat it

while I scrutinized the picture of the blinds.

A nice-looking girl in her 20s knows scars, but marks popped either anything else

to set her apart from roughly 25,000 other blinds in San Francisco.

There were a couple of points, though.

The picture was about two inches squared, showing her head and shoulders,

and her hand was up to her face, which she was surprised at something near the camera.

On one of the fingers was a ring, which I couldn't quite make up.

In the back of the picture were the letters L-P.

Now, this is probably the credit stamp of some professional photographer.

I abandoned my sandwich, thumbs through the yellow section of the phone book,

and stifled a cry of frown, as I discovered a firm of Leonard and Perkins'

photographer for an office on Bush Street where, port width, I went.

I'm sorry, Mr. Spade, I don't think we did that to you.

You're sure that's not your mark on the back of Mr. Leonard?

We'll pause it here.

Anyway, that's not the kind of work we do.

Looks like an outdoor flash shot.

Oz is all studio stuff.

Funny trimming it down like that.

Yeah, this is probably a standard 8x10, someone just called the center out of it.

Thanks very much.

Bye.

So, I went to the telephone book again, but instead of looking for the L-Based P,

as the fundamental method of the firm, I looked for them in the middle,

since both ends of the photographer's credit stamp were trimmed off.

And I ran across an outfit called Cow Tictions on Harrison Street.

Yes, sir.

I'd like to speak for pride, please.

There's three of them.

Mr. Murphy, Mr. Silvary and Mr. Brennan, take your take.

I'm Murphiel, don't.

He's out.

How about Silvary?

Tied up with Mr. Brennan.

Where they tied up?

First audio rights.

That's the main studio.

Do not enter.

The red light is on.

Heaven for fun.

No, no, no.

Wow, we are loving doing it.

I have seen photographers at work in my time, but not like this.

I saw now why they were tied up.

They were fit to be tied.

In the middle of the studio, there was a massive equipment that looked like a cross

between the Paloma telescope and an atom smasher, with what seemed to be a stretched out

of cordy and on the bottom.

All of it pointed at something lit up by a floodwice and a small table.

I guess, sir.

I'm sorry.

But what seemed to be a stretched out of cordy and on the bottom.

All of it pointed at something lit up by a floodwice and a small table.

I got a close eye, but it was.

Brennan and Silvary were photographing a plate of pork and beans.

Now for crying out loud.

Look at that pork.

What is the matter with that pork?

What?

What's the matter with it?

It just lies there.

What do you expect it to do, Jimmy?

Excuse me, fellow.

It's all right.

Why did we hire you?

You didn't.

I only wanted one.

Don't pay attention.

John, now come on.

Focus, focus.

Now look at you.

Why waste the shot?

You know what he said?

The pork's got to have...

Get up and go.

Get up and go.

Yes, go.

I don't look stuck in with it.

I look married to those beans.

What do you want me to do, frankly, with orange juice?

Oh, what spell is that?

I don't want any orange juice.

You're so good, Silvary.

You know what they're going to run under the shot, don't you?

No spars, no England, pork, and beans.

Married in the can.

Can I be best, man?

What?

Okay.

What do you want?

I'm only Sam Sprey at a private attack.

You're trying to locate this girl.

That girl.

Ever seen it?

Sure, sure.

Where?

Well, this is our shot.

Look, you remember how a cheesecake job the other night, look at this.

Oh, yeah!

A cheesecake job done at the railroad.

Yeah, that was for Norby's, Nifty Nylon.

You mean this girl's a model?

No, no.

No, no.

She walked in front of the camera just the wrong time.

Oh, our stuff is shot.

We had her shoot it over.

Yeah, we had a model with a pair of Norby's Nylon's on C.

Uh, well, no brand of stocking.

And the idea was to stand her up next to a tree and coming down at the depot.

That's it, dear.

And then what we tried to do was get a shot of a fixing a garter leg.

A garter, you know.

Yeah.

Sure, fine.

And with a lot of admiring glances from the crowd.

From our brand new idea, real frame, real station, real teeth.

Human documentary.

That is, yeah.

So our sets up the camera and a model makes with a garter.

And I wish that they get the crowd die, and we set off the flash.

But the day in here was in front of the camera.

However, it was not hurtful.

Oh, that was an awful night.

Yeah.

We saw a fly we'd give her the shot.

Great.

Well, what's the name?

I don't know.

Did she come by?

Yeah, a couple of mornings ago.

I gave her the print and the negative food.

Got me other copies of them?

Well, I don't know.

Take us a while and check the file.

Oh, it's there.

Yeah.

Let's do that.

And if you find anything, here's my phone.

Yeah, yeah.

Now, as I was seeing about that for a shot.

Again, with a fork.

Your fork is your fork.

There is nothing you can do to save it.

I glamorize it.

I glamorize it.

I glamorize it.

I glamorize it.

I glamorize it.

I glamorize it.

No, I bought an afternoon's paper and went back to the office to take the load off when it

faded and mull over the latest kind of events.

I mulled, decided to contact any western.

My client found his phone number in the book.

And was about to crawl and the phone went off in my hand.

Sam Spade.

This is Danny Weston.

The waiter at the night.

Yeah, yeah, I know.

He's about to crawl.

Don't.

Don't call it an understanding.

You don't know me.

I never saw you.

Wait a minute.

Now, I've been chasing that blind or afternoon.

You've got your 50 bucks to choose.

Sam Spade standing there with a gun at your side.

Got off of that break.

Okay.

I'm going to talk about your system monitor.

Maybe there's wine.

You're stuck in my quarantine sandwich.

And don't let putty throw a scar at you.

Hello.

Hello, Danny.

So, that left me with a set of grim suspicions.

The 50 dollar bill and no plan.

I put my feet up in a desk and open the paper.

Then I put my feet back down in the floor.

And the front page was a picture of my blonde

with a caption over it reading.

You know this girl.

I took the other picture out of my pocket and compared them.

They were the same except for one thing.

The picture in the paper was taken by the waiter.

The waiter at the door.

The waiter at the door.

The waiter at the door.

The waiter at the door.

The waiter at the door.

The waiter at the door.

The waiter at the door.

The picture in the paper was taken on a slab in the city more.

While putting my shoes back on, I read the article

under the picture of my blonde.

It was simple and now she turned up in the bay

and in the yard harbor an hour before with a board in her back.

The paper said nothing about identification.

It didn't have to.

Knowing you was either a lieutenant.

I realized if there had been anything on the body

to identify if the picture wouldn't have been in the paper.

Now the picture is finished.

Ah, this is spade.

You got anything on that front of the blonde?

But we're still on the pork and beans.

Yeah, we're profit for now.

We didn't check the files.

And if you find the print, sit on it or put it in a safe or something.

Understand?

But the pork and beans will have to wait until we find

who put the lady in the bay.

I had a pretty good idea who put the lady in the bay.

But why and how to prove it was something else again?

So I turned back to the picture, got out my 15 cents

to a magnifying glass.

And took a closer look at the ring in her hand.

It seemed to be black shaped like a shield

with a gold center that looked like a dagger in a mask.

Five telephone calls later.

I found the company that made it for an honor society

at the University of California.

So in gold office?

Yes, that's right.

Do you publish the pictures of the members of the mask

and dagger society?

We sure do.

Who is it?

My name is Spade.

I'm trying to locate one of the members of the society.

You got the yearbook files in your office?

We're back to 1895.

Well, good.

Get out the book from about 1949.

Well, y'all be over in a half hour.

We found her in the class of 1941.

We found her in the class of 1941.

Her name was Helen McKelvie.

What is this?

I understand him as Helen McKelvie lived here.

No.

No, I never heard of this.

Oh, wait a minute.

I'm not going to hurt you.

You're the land lady here, aren't you?

But you're not.

I don't know when to McKelvie.

Well, the city directly lists her at this address.

You must be in the state.

I don't think so.

I don't know anything.

I said it.

Sit on.

Do you get it off your mind?

There you are.

I do know anything.

Oh, look.

That's not going to help any.

I told you. I'm on your side.

For you.

Sam State.

I'm a private detective now.

You know where Helen McKelvie is right now, I suppose.

Yes.

I didn't.

Well, I'm trying to find out who put her there and why.

Then what?

I'll hang it on by can.

That's why I'm here.

Now, tell me, what have Helen have there with Mike Scheldon?

Come on.

Well, I don't know much about it.

She was a lovely girl.

She's treating you.

She knows to keep things through herself most.

Hmm.

What kind of thing?

She was doing some kind of political work in the North Beach District.

You think she was working for Mike Scheldon?

Oh, it was very stupid.

I've never tried to defeat him.

He throws his wackets in his gambling.

And Helen knows what else he was involved in.

Have a nice day.

She's a good host.

Seriously.

The fish in the leaflets and telephone call.

I say.

I kept telling her she was wishing too hard.

With the help of those.

And the thing.

The last election time.

She's in the week in hospital.

But it was all used to show them those two things.

And powerful.

Well, he never even heard of it.

I can guarantee you didn't know of my sight.

I know.

And then my sweetest strange thing happened.

I arranged because it's been the weekend with my sister.

She's been out a while too.

She came back Monday.

She was excited.

At last she had a weapon against Mike Scheldon.

What did she mean?

I don't know.

But it wasn't just Scheldon.

It was his whole organization.

And she sounded crazy.

Like she was going to tackle a mile by herself.

Then what?

You should have asked her to send him out for some hotel.

She wouldn't save where.

I was worried about her.

I looked her resume after work.

That's when I found this clip in it.

Mm-hmm.

Last Thursday's chronicle.

Did it help?

Police, a motive and showgirl suicide.

Investigation and circumstances surrounding a suicide of Monica Weston.

Nightclub dance.

I moved into a third day without producing a reason why the girl apparently took her own life Friday night

by leaping from a southbound plane.

Plane.

I took off the headquarters where as you'll recall, Kelsey.

We went over the pile on the showgirl capers.

You'll also recall.

We came up with nothing.

It wasn't in the newspaper.

The girl had apparently climbed aboard the train of third and thundered.

He's down the aisle at the end of the car, where a porter left the door of him,

and pulling himself off on a straightaway stretch near South City,

where the train gets it up around 70 miles an hour.

She'd been pretty, unaccountably prosperous and hardly a candidate for suicide.

But nothing had turned up on her background to set her up as a candidate for murder, either.

So that's where it stood.

Two dead young ladies and a missing cheesecake photograph and more of these nifty myelons.

Feeling this is enough for a day, I went back to my apartment.

I tossed my hat on the bed and started to form myself a drink.

I never want to do that.

Huh?

Oh, Freddie.

Dump step pushing the hat on the bed.

That's not so bad, Freddie.

Well, I expect to go home to a cold, emptier apartment and I find you.

How about a drink?

Oh, thanks.

I didn't come to this.

Oh, how'd you get in? Walk under the door?

Oh, in a game mood, ain't you?

I'm a cheerful guy.

Had a busy day, you speak?

Oh, ran a few errands.

Say, you know, there's an ugly rumor running around town, Freddie.

They're saying Uncle Mike Sheldon played sucker for this moniker western day in the tree.

He was shaking him down and he got fired up at what would the election coming up and off.

Yeah?

It's a fact.

And they say she didn't commit suicide at all.

Well, where'd you hear that?

In Union Square, while I was feeding the pigeons.

You don't know what I'm kidding, huh?

You think I'm kidding?

Oh, wait.

You know what happens to boys who play with guns, Freddie?

Shut up.

Come on, go on, answer.

Hello?

Speed.

Yeah?

Still very account pictures.

Listen, about that cheesecake shot.

Oh, no.

Well, I don't take on.

So I didn't mean it that way.

Well, no.

No, no.

I'm talking about the cheesecake shot down at the temple.

Well, I'm honey.

The girl is only a good friend.

It's all your imagination.

It's not my imagination.

We found the print in the files and it's here.

The secretary just pulled a boner.

Whatever do you mean?

Ah, someone named Mike Sheldon called

and she told him that we had it.

Now, he's always waiting here to pick up.

No, no, no.

Listen to what I'm doing.

I'll be right down.

Sorry, Freddie.

I don't know.

You ain't going nowhere, Freddie.

Look, Freddie.

This girl, she's all worked up about nothing, I hear.

He's in the kitchen, man.

You want to know what you were doing, Freddie?

What?

OK.

1.30 p.m.

went to a photographer's garden.

3.00 p.m.

Then after four to a room and house on Bay Street

and from 5.30 to 7.00 p.m.

at headquarter.

Feeding the kitchen, sir.

You're just likely, well, Freddie,

your imagination's running away.

Come on, have a drink.

Now, I told you, I don't want a drink.

Take it!

The bottle was half-throwed

but it seemed like you're good investment.

Freddie took it just over to left the ass side

and sat on the floor.

I dragged him into the closet block

and took off the towel texture.

All right, all right, I'll have a cure away.

We lose the new farm, no England theme account.

Don't come sniffling for me.

Where's the picture?

Oh, hello, Steve.

Oh, come on, John.

Now, focus down.

Let's get going, everything.

The themes.

Two days worth.

Hey, what's the big idea?

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Paul has accidentally hit it with my elbow

I'll buy a new candle tomorrow.

Where's the picture?

On the table, Ed.

I brought it over to the flood light and looked at it.

The blind was in the foreground,

blocking out the model of the garden.

But the shop wasn't entirely worth,

since directly behind her about to get on the train,

looking squarely into the camera,

was Monica Weston, the dead showgirl,

and with it,

where these white men are flying,

was you know who?

Now, wait a minute, you can't find him.

Get up.

All right, hold it, boys.

I ducked out of a circle of light as they came in.

Sheldon first and three others.

The gun in my hand may be feel better,

but not much better.

They closed the door,

and the room was picked stocking in,

except for the spot of light in the center.

Okay.

Okay, Steve, where is it?

I know you're in there, Steve.

You're a little late, Sheldon.

We sent it to headquarters.

Well, I think you've got it right here.

She had a negative, you know.

Mail them around like postcard.

I'm not worried about the others.

Come on now, let's have it.

Here, what I said, Spade.

Yeah.

Come and get it.

Okay.

I'll hold it, boys.

Okay, Spade.

I'll come and get it.

Go, Go, go, Long sweet,

being kind of sure we didn't spill any more books.

They'll probably because of the white standing with the Pig.

I broke my way, stories of the Lord,

never being in the show like a flash,

somebody whamming to their stuff,

the stuff going on,

like a finger in Japanese,

somebody, a saddle man over there,

what?

One, one.

Somebody whammy for the third and the stealth for all of it.

Hey!

I swear I got a ginger company and battle maneuver.

Hey, you all right?

Come on, watch!

I'm not hit the door and I'll rush.

All that is except sheldon whom we found

and we finally got the lights back on.

Trying to untangle himself from A, the floodlights,

and V, the table that had held the four convenes

and C, 50 feet of light table.

So very air was sitting in the middle of everything

sobbing softly.

Three bread and a race.

Four hundred and fifty-fourth worth of glass.

And a last can of nuts, bones, fork, and bees.

Now!

And I've got the lights back on.

I have an answer.

I have to be fair.

But she is capable.

That's what Michael Sheldon is.

I am in a fairly solid evidence, right?

And of course, this is fairly solid ammunition.

A variant and a report.

Uh, if, uh, make an extra copy of that

for Denny Weston, if and when he ever comes out of that

holy document, when Sheldon started making the threat.

Oh, I've got the least notion you were in such a peril.

I've been waiting to death.

The peril didn't start until the next day, sweetheart.

The next day?

Well, that's when Brenness looked at me,

squinted and said, uh, you know, I was, guys,

got just the face for Brannigan's bug,

the whiskey that smells like old island.

Oh, how awful!

A fate worse than that, sweetheart.

How about that is all behind me.

Wow, directly in front of you is, of course.

Goodbye.

Yes, sir.

I'll have it right away.

The mom, Sam.

Yeah.

What was she trying to do with a picture of Uncle Mike

with the other girl at the station?

Do you mean why didn't she go to the police

like any normal human being?

Uh-huh.

And, by the say, actually, it was really a sincere

performance.

Here, it looks like she was trying to work up a partnership

with the dead showgirl's brother.

Maybe put the squares on Uncle Mike and forces

that come across with names, numbers, and salaries

of the numbers of his graph machine.

Besides, uh, she was a woman.

Oh, yeah.

A mad, unpredictable, or logical creature.

Hmm.

Oh, Sam.

F.E. Perrieve, a non-alcoholic secretary that contains

Lallon.

Well, that's better than Brannigan's dog.

The whiskey that smells like old island.

Sheerans of fine and brotherhood, girls,

yeah, and I'll be seeing good night, sweetheart.

The adventures of Sam Spade stars horrid office,

spade with Lorraine Tuttle as happy.

This is the United States Armed Forces' radio service,

the voice of information, and education.