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About this Episode
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Transcript
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Certified plant genius here.
Most people see a busy plant shop,
but I see a perfectly balanced ecosystem.
Thanks to genius from global payments.
Inventory, tracks, payments, seamless.
Reviews in one place?
Absolutely genius.
From sold-out crowds worldwide to running the shop,
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Big league reliability for your business.
That's genius.
The National Broadcasting Company presents
The Adventures of Sam Spade, Detective.
Sam Spade Detective Agency?
Me, sweetheart.
Oh, you.
What's the matter now?
Oh, nothing.
You just up and leave, and don't say where you're going.
I'm only your secretary, and I'm a last one to know bottom.
Everybody else in town knows more than I do,
I wasn't here.
Enough, enough, enough, wait a minute.
How did everybody in town know about it?
I was in the newspaper, that's all.
In the society column, no laughs?
Really?
Well, imagine that.
Flora Bell, Felix Colum.
Florida.
Mr. Spade, the notorious private detective,
is vacationing at West over as a guest
of a promising young architect, Garrett Welch.
No, Tori is yet.
Well, at least they spell my name, right?
I suppose you had a great time.
Well, it was exciting.
What did you do?
I just talked over old times, after a little hunting,
little shooting.
Did you buy anything?
F, watch your language.
I am.
I see your shot.
Well, so was I.
However, if you have nothing to do,
hang around the office, and I will be down with several pages
from my diary, telling about the whole affair.
I've titled them, The Civic Pride Caper.
For NBC, William Spear, radio's outstanding producer,
director of mystery and crime drama,
brings you the greatest private detective of them all,
starring Stephen Dunn, in the adventures of Sam Spear.
F, E!
Oh!
Here I am, Sam.
Well, I thought you'd gone chicken and run out on me.
You're part of this organization.
You're going to bear the better with this suite,
along with the rest of us.
I know, but I always seem to get the bitter.
Friday's when the suite should be given out.
Don't quibble.
Don't quibble.
This is an nasty job we have here.
We might just as well sit down and get over with.
Care for a drink?
You might need it.
No thanks.
I don't need false bravery.
Lucky you.
Hell, are you ready?
No, but we might as well start.
Well, you know best.
They fill it in to Garrett Welsh Room 212 Fairchild Building,
Westover, California.
Front Samuel Spade License number 137596.
Subject? The Civic Pride Caper.
Dear Garrett.
I've never been in Westover before,
and I found it on the service at least
an attractive bustling little city.
The streets were clean,
and the girls were sunkissed and friendly.
And to that, $150 you sent me by mail,
and you can imagine with what pleasant feelings I arrived.
I found the Fairchild Building easily enough,
and Room 212.
Well, I couldn't miss it.
There were sounds of vigorous activity coming out through the transom.
And when I opened the door, two men were engaged in a fight.
One was big and one was little.
I didn't know which one was my client,
so I automatically reached for the big guy.
Come on!
What do you think you're doing?
What's it all about?
Ask him, he'll tell you.
All right, what's the story?
I was being fouly and unreasonably attacked by this misguided citizen.
I oughta kill you. That's what I oughta do.
That's what everybody oughta do.
Oh, still.
Who you?
Why?
Oh, let him go.
Let him go.
Beat it, Carson.
Wait until you can catch me alone in some dark alley.
Don't think I won't. Don't you think I won't?
I'm sure you will.
I'm going to catch you every place and every time I catch.
Well, I take it your name is Garrett Welch.
It is, it is.
And I want to thank your friend.
Nothing.
You rescued me from a rather unhappy breeding.
And your mouth is kind of cut out.
There's nothing.
Nothing I can't take care of.
Drink?
I have never touched you.
You.
You might have noticed I've already had a few drinks today.
Well, it helps me forget.
And it also keeps me from thinking.
Hey, y'all.
No thanks.
My name is Spade. Why did you send for me?
Bodyguard?
No, no, no.
Let them have their fun.
I don't mind.
Maybe I even deserve it.
Look, you're paying for my time.
Why don't we get with it, huh?
Oh, sure.
Why not?
Come over here to the window.
Hey.
Look out there.
Right.
The far corner.
Oh, you mean that building?
Pile or rubbish is a better description.
Or what happened?
Fire?
No.
It just collapsed one night.
Last week.
Huh.
There were more than 3,000 people in it at the time.
Five of them were killed.
And how many injured?
That's too bad. How did it happen?
It just collapsed.
Another drink?
No thanks.
Pardon me?
It was a municipal auditorium built to honor the war debt.
It costed over a million dollars.
But I was the architect.
Oh.
I was picked by the townspeople for the singular honor of designing the fond memorial.
Well, now they have something to remember.
What'd you do wrong?
Nothing.
Nothing.
Somebody cheated in the building of it.
Somebody didn't follow my plans.
I don't know who it is.
I don't know who it was.
Or just where to place the blame.
So, you're a private investigator?
What can you do?
Get you some black coffee and ask you some questions.
He gave me a list of everybody in town who had something to do with the building.
First off, I called on a man named Howard Kessley, whose construction company had the contract
for erecting the auditorium.
Kessley lived in an elegant house on a well-guarded estate.
And after they took my gun away from me, they let me in.
I waited in a room tastefully decorated with original oil paintings and oriental rugs.
And eventually a football hero-type man walked in.
You from the insurance company?
No, I'm a private detective, same-speed.
We're working for.
Garrett Welch.
Huh.
That's a life.
Funny.
Well, what do you want?
Look, you built that auditorium.
Have you any idea where it fell down?
Maybe it just got tired.
I don't know.
Aren't you interested?
We're looking at it now.
Who's we?
My company engineer.
That Garrett Welch, an architect.
You should have had somebody who knew what he was doing.
Do you have any copies of the building specifications that I might look at?
Sure.
I got nothing to hide.
You can go back and tell Garrett Welch that the best thing he can do is get out of town.
He tries to knock him off and succeed.
Here.
There's a copy of the plans.
Look at it all you want.
You'll find I did what I was supposed to do.
I got my gun back from the guards and left with the building specifications tucked under my arm.
They didn't mean a thing to me, of course.
I'd only asked for them to see whether he'd refuse to show them.
But out of curiosity, I enrolled them just for a look before dumping them into the ash can.
And I noticed something.
The last page was signed and approved by the city building inspector.
A man named Albert Mitchell.
Well, well.
I don't usually receive callers at this hour, but you're a little better looking than the ordinary callers.
Come in.
She was slim and all-burn-haired, more an insulin smile that was interesting,
and a clinging silk thing that was interesting.
She looked me up and down, and she took so long at it.
Okay.
Okay, what is it, magazine?
The gas meter?
Or did you just lose your way?
I'd like to talk to Albert Mitchell.
Oh, he's a dull conversationist.
You wouldn't have any fun.
Well, I wasn't exactly looking for laughs, Mrs. Uh, you are, Mrs. Mitchell.
More or less, right now or less.
So they're water.
What?
And you drink.
Oh, thanks, but I took the pledge last Halloween.
What did you want to talk to Alaba?
Well, what else, the auditorium that collapsed?
Well, he stepped out for a while.
Why don't we just make ourselves comfortable?
Uh, you have a standard answer when I'm on duty, thanks anyway.
Duty?
You were cop?
I've never seen you around this town before.
I'm a type investigator.
Sam Spade.
My name's Kitty.
Uh.
You don't have to worry about Al Bustin in, honest.
I don't think he'll be back this week.
That's what I thought, you holding open house and all.
What's the matter, the pressure got too heavy for him?
Look, Sam, they had a hearing a couple of days ago.
It was all decided.
Nobody was to blame.
I think Al went fishing or something.
Where is he?
How should I know?
I'm only his wife.
But you know what they say about a man who runs?
Yeah.
So I don't you stick around.
You don't look like a coward to me.
Well, when it comes to redheads, I really am.
So long, Kitty.
But.
Oh, by the way, if Al does ever show up,
tell him I took a room at the embassy hotel.
I'd like him to call me.
I won't tell him a thing.
Come back here, you coward.
Hey, Sam!
Sam!
I went down to the wreckage of the auditorium.
It was late and the streets were quiet and deserted.
I walked through the twisted shell of the building,
striking matches and looking around.
I didn't know what I was looking for,
but apparently I wasn't the only one visiting the scene of the crime.
I was standing just inside the gutted remains
of what was once the lobby when it happened.
Gunfire cuts into the back of the building.
I ran toward the noise,
and when I turned the back corner,
I saw a cloud of plaster dust
where the shots had apparently been fired.
There were no people or cars inside,
but on the sidewalk on hands and knees was a man.
There were rats, rats,
double-crossing dirty rats.
Save me.
Don't let me die.
Please.
He grabbed my legs and tried to pull himself up.
His face was a gargoyle of pain.
I reached down to help him,
but he slipped back to the sidewalk dead.
Bore bullets had gone through his back.
A billpole fell out of his pocket.
It was loaded with identification,
and everything said Albert Mitchell,
age 40,
occupation building inspector.
You are listening to the weekly adventure
of radio's most famous detective, Sam Spade.
Are you a parent who feels guilty about screen time?
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Three chimes mean good times on NBC.
This Sunday,
Theatre Guild on the Air presents
an exciting one-hour adaptation
of the Broadway stage comedy Light Up the Sky.
Starting in this Theatre Guild production,
our Joan Bennett,
Sam Levine, and Thelma Ritter.
And on Sunday,
you're invited to another
hour-and-a-half broadcast of the Big Show,
starting Eddie Arnold,
Jack Carson,
Eddie Cantor,
Olivia DeHavilland,
Martha Ray,
Meredith Wilson,
and many more.
Your MC, of course,
is the glamorous
and unpredictable,
Tallula.
And now, back to the civic pride,
Caper, tonight's adventure
with Sam Spade.
A good many other people
had heard the sound of Albert Mitchell's
assassination,
so long a crowd had gathered.
Among them were several
millions of the law.
They took two people in tow,
the dead Mitchell,
and the live Spade.
The Westover Police Department
had themselves a fine time over me.
It seems I was hired
out of town killer,
and therefore eligible
to be questioned all night.
They worked hard at it,
but in the morning,
they had to admit defeat
and release me.
I think they only did it
because they didn't want to pay
for my breakfast.
By then, I was pretty mad.
And at 10 o'clock,
I walked into the mayor's
office and demanded an interview.
I got it.
The whole thing, Mr. Spade,
was regrettable.
But after all,
you are a stranger here.
And when a man is killed,
and someone happens to be
in on the scene,
questions have to be asked.
Your honor, I'll let it pass,
and the interests of law enforcement.
Good.
You are our report on you
from San Francisco,
gives you quite a reputation
as an investigator.
Do you have any theories
that might help us in this murder
of Mitchell?
Well, I could hazard an expert
guess that it's tied in
with a building scandal.
The auditorium collapsed.
By the way, what's being done
officially to fix the blame for that?
The City Council held its investigation
of the unfortunate affair last week.
And as far as we can determine,
no one is directly responsible.
No one?
No, come, come, your honor.
Are you questioning our civic procedure?
Well, maybe you're right.
Maybe we've been too easy going.
We're all neighbors here.
Yes, I'm conducting an investigation
for a client,
who certainly has a right to know
what's going on.
And so far as a good many citizens
seem to feel he's to blame.
Oh, yes, Mr. Welch.
Well, he's not to blame.
No one is.
You must pardon my abruptness, Mr. Spade,
but the events of the past week
have been a little more...
Yes, yes, I know.
Tell me.
Albert Mitchell, as building inspector,
must have approved the building
of the auditorium.
I was here reliable, man.
Yes.
Wait a minute.
You don't think...
I think he was killed by somebody
who wanted him to keep his mouth shut.
How about the contractor, Howard Kessley?
Kessley?
Born here, brought up here.
He's built about one-third
of the structures in Westover.
Every one of them
except the auditorium is standing today.
No, I don't think you can build up a case...
I'm just examining the possibilities.
Oh.
You have to begin with the people
who had something to gain from this thing.
Where there's graph, there might be murder.
Where are the purchase orders
for the materials used in this building?
That was the first question I asked.
I was told they were destroyed
with all the other useless paperwork
that accumulated from the construction job.
Oh, great. Great.
That certainly makes it convenient for somebody.
Mr. Spade, I don't wish to...
and I can't believe that you apparently do
that this town's population is...
is crooked and rotten.
So if I come across any information
that will help clear the good name of Garrett Welch,
you can be sure that I'll be happy
to bring it to your attention.
Until then, I bid you good day, sir.
I could understand Mayor Sullivan's desire
to protect the fair name of his city,
but I had to take a meaner view
of at least one Westover citizen.
I found out where Albert Mitchell did his banking
and misrepresenting myself as a collection agent
applied into his holdings.
Let me see, Mr. Humboldt.
I really shouldn't give out this kind of information,
but in your case,
when you have a claim against the estate,
I'd... oh, yes, here it is.
He has $300 in his account.
That's all.
What kind of deposits did he make?
Oh, just pay text, mostly.
It was a $7,500 a year, man.
Every Friday, he deposited $150.
Any deposits larger at any time?
Oh, yes.
Four deposits of $5,000 each in the past year.
Well, what do you know?
As I recall, Mr. Mitchell, saying there were payments
from the state he inherited.
Thank you, Mr. Carter.
You'll hear from my company soon, I'm sure.
Yes.
Oh, what was the name of your company again for my records?
A malgamated whistle.
Oh, yes.
A preferred.
Oh, yes.
Carl.
That inheritance gag was right out of the coffalver investigation.
An inheritance is paid in a lump sum,
practically never in full payments of $5,000 each.
I didn't know whether Mrs. Mitchell was receiving,
but I decided to find out.
When I knocked at her door,
I was always quiet inside,
but a second after, my knock,
I was a burst of sorrow.
When she came to the door,
there were two rather impossible-sized tears
blowing down her face.
For widows' weeds,
she wore a black dress, tight,
satin, and low-cut.
Oh, Mr. Spate,
I'm in no mood for talking now.
Oh, just for a moment, may I come in?
I guess so.
I'm really kind of alone and lost.
What is it you want?
I must apologize for intruding on your bereavement, Mrs. Mitchell.
I'm not usually as callous.
Oh, that's all right.
But I'm not sure I can help you, anyhow.
I'm so broken up.
What is your camper?
What?
Whatever you use to make those tears.
All right.
So I can't really cry.
I never have, but it's expected of me.
All right.
In that case, I sympathize with her.
What do you want?
Get your dear departed husband,
made $7,500 a year,
and deposited $20,000 in eight months.
I want to buy it.
I don't know anything about his money.
All I know is that the bank told me he had only 300 left.
What do you do with it?
He's spent it on other women.
No, I see.
So the artificial tears do make sense, I guess.
No. No, you don't understand.
It's not that simple.
It's funny, Sam, because I really mean it.
Oh, I know how stupid I look in these clothes,
and I did use camphor on my eyes,
because I wanted to cry.
I wanted to cry for all the good days
and the good years Alan I had.
But the baddie is kept getting in between,
and I couldn't do it.
I like you better all the time, kitty.
I know you were real pretty, now turns out you're pretty real.
I really loved him, and he loved me.
But we kicked it away,
because we both wanted more excitement than this town
or his salary could give us.
There was no place to go.
We just didn't get along.
He was outspending his money on other women
being a big shot.
I can't blame him, though.
I helped make him do it.
What about the money?
He got it for falsifying the auditorium inspection papers, didn't he?
Well, he didn't get it for inventing television.
Who paid him?
Sam don't ask me anymore.
Well, you do know where the 20,000 came from, don't you, kitty?
Don't, Sam, I'm scared.
Now, what you want to do?
You ought to come back to San Francisco with me.
Let me help you get a job there.
You can make a fresh start.
You're not kidding.
I'll give you my word.
I ought to have my head examined for trusting you, but I'm going to do it.
I got that money from the Central Cement Company for, quote,
an advisory capacity, unquote.
You know, who owns the Central Cement Company?
Hard, justly.
War, but not quite.
His brother.
Last night, when I was showed up in town, he was gunning for trouble.
Why?
He said they were going to make a fraud guy out of him,
and that he wasn't going to take the blame for anybody.
That's what he said.
But I think he ran out of money, and wanted to make a touch and exchange
for disappearing again.
For good.
I'm using kissley, Shana.
I'm already his brother.
I can't think, and I don't know anything else.
Now, do I get to San Francisco?
I'll be back for you.
All right.
But make it fast.
And don't leave me here, because if anything happens to me, Sam,
it'll be on your conscience.
She walked to the door with me and kissed me on the cheek.
And it was nice.
No more than that.
It was nice.
Next up, the central cement company officer,
statement of Howard Kissley's brother Ralph.
I'll explain it to you in simple terms.
We supply and cement for a lot of buildings in this part of the country.
When you want to build something, you submit a bid.
When you want to know what kind of a bid to submit, you ask an expert.
Mitchell was our expert, and we didn't expect it to work for nothing.
You mean Mitchell tipped you off as to what other firms were bidding?
I'll call it anything you want. It's done all the time.
I found Garrett Welch, my architect client,
slumped over his desk, much the worst for drink,
and it took a good half hour with coffee and wet cloth
to bring him around to something resembling normal.
I was...
I was proud of that building, Mr. Spade.
As proud once as I am ashamed of it now.
I spent four years at a prominent American college
and two years of apprenticeship with a great architect.
To prepare myself, to come back here and make this the most beautiful city in the way.
Well, you must have watched him build it.
What went wrong?
That's a point.
I wasn't here.
They sent me to Chicago to study.
And I bid for it.
What they really wanted was for me to be out of the way.
Who are they?
The City Council.
Oh, my bother.
Just tell me how much I owe you and we'll just forget it.
Nobody's going to undite anybody for anything.
Well, somebody's responsible for the building and for Mitchell's murder, and we'll find him.
We?
Yeah. If you lay off that bottle for a while and work with me, maybe we can do it.
All right.
All right. No more booze.
I'll stop being sorry for myself and start getting mad.
Hey, where are you going?
I'm going to start at the top.
I'm going to try to get the mayor to help.
You say you've turned up something, Mr. Spade?
A lot of something, Your Honor.
I've fared it out copies of the purchase orders for the materials used in that building.
They were generally inferior and below the quality required by sound engineering and the law.
Oh, you can't mean it.
I do.
You can inform your district attorney that in a matter of two or three days, I will move for an indictment of several people in this community for gross criminal negligence.
Now, I want to know whether or not I'll have your full cooperation.
There's no question of that.
I'll cooperate with you fully to prosecute me.
Thank you, Your Honor, and good day.
Just a minute.
Yeah.
About Howard Kessley.
What about him?
Do you still consider that he is subject to suspicion?
The families of the five people who died in the ruins would think anybody who was concerned in the building project was subject to suspicion.
Mr. Spade, you know about politics.
Certain people contributed campaign funds and got me votes.
Kessley.
I've been in a difficult position.
I've been weak perhaps.
Maybe I haven't wanted to look too closely at certain possibilities in this horrible affair.
But I promise you I won't stop now.
It doesn't matter what happens.
My first duty is to the citizens of this town.
Well said, Your Honor.
Just tell the same thing to the other members of the City Council.
Tell them that if I kick the lid off this garbage can, it's going to make Westover smell pretty bad.
You'll hear from me, Mr. Spade.
I guarantee you.
In the course of the next two hours, I told the same story to the newspaper.
The police, a couple of soda jerks, a waitress, and almost anybody else who would listen.
And before the day was out, the result started coming in.
Garrett Welch's office and my room at the embassy hotel were both ransacked.
Somebody started shadowing me and I had a mysterious phone call offering me money to get out of town.
I refused and hung up.
During that day, I stayed mostly out in the open and conspicuous parts of town.
But when night fell, I knew I'd need to watch my step.
Garrett Welch and I hold up in his office with a door locked and my gun out on the desk.
Around 11, we got a little action.
Less speaking.
Yeah.
Yeah, okay.
It's for you, Spade.
Hello?
Sam, this is Kitty Mitchell.
I'm in trouble.
What kind?
Three men were just here.
They said I gave you some purchase orders.
I don't know anything about them.
But they said if I didn't get them back from you by midnight, they'd kill me.
Who were they?
I don't know.
I don't know, just men.
If you've got them given to me, Sam, I don't want to die.
Look, hang up, call the police and ask them for protection.
Sam, I'm afraid.
Why don't you give me the papers?
Get in a taxi, Kaden.
Come up to Garrett Welch's office.
We'll talk it over.
I'm afraid to do that.
Why you'll have to?
I can't leave here.
I'm waiting for somebody.
Who?
I'm not sure yet.
Somebody threatened Mitchell's wife.
She's coming up here.
I think we have enough to do.
Take care of ourselves.
Who's that?
I want you to answer it.
Now step to one side.
I'll keep you covered.
Okay.
Don't make one wrong move.
I'm not going to spade.
I came here to talk.
Kessley?
Yes.
Who's with you, Kessley?
Nobody.
I'm alone and unarmed.
Come in.
I'm watching you from behind, Kessley.
I know what I just came to talk.
All right, talk.
Spade, you allegedly have information as to why the auditors
are killing five people.
Suppose I do.
Well, I came to make a deal with you.
We're not making deals.
I think you'll like this one.
I'll give you all the positive information you want for one thing.
Namely, the 48-hour hit start out of town.
Why should we give you that?
Because nobody, at least of all myself, thought the building would collapse.
It's true I used inferior materials, but I had to.
What does that mean?
There's a man in this town.
What the heck?
The door was suddenly locked.
The door was locked.
The door was locked.
The door was locked.
The door was locked.
The door was locked.
The door was suddenly kicked wide and ablaze the bullet
flew across the room.
Kessley's mouth opened and shocked.
His knees buckled and he pitched forward, bouncing off the desk of the floor.
A tall silver-haired gentleman was behind the guy.
That caught him so the high spun him around.
The gun fell out of the pan of welsh and I were on him in a second.
All right, all right.
I've done all I'm going to do.
I'm hurt.
I'm wounded.
Well, your honor.
You're better off in Kessley.
Kessley didn't want to do it.
But I had something on his brother and told him I'd send him to jail.
We saved $100,000 on the cheap supplies we used in that building.
Yeah.
When I showed up, Kessley was afraid he was going to take a rap alone.
He was afraid he'd end up like Albert Mitchell, right?
Yes, yes.
I killed Mitchell.
He wanted more money.
You killed him.
Get it.
Kitty, don't put it down.
She had come in while we were talking and picked up the gun.
Mayor Sullivan had dropped.
Her one shot hit him in the chest and she let the gun slip through her fingers and just stood there.
And you know what?
She cried.
Real tears.
Period and of report.
I am.
What an awful tragedy.
It was indeed, of course, in a few minutes.
The place was full of police and we turned her over.
What do you think is going to happen to her, Sam?
I'd rather not think about that, Effie.
Now, how about typing it up?
Three times mean good times on NBC.
There's fun this Sunday with two of your favorite families, the Blandings and the Harris's.
Mr. and Mrs. Blandings stars Carrie Grant and Betsy Drake in the title roles as the owners of the famous Dreamhouse.
And the Phil Harris Alice Face show brings you Phil and Alice with more of their mary antics plus Frankie Remly, Brother William and the entire cast.
You're invited this Sunday.
Here it is, Sam.
All right, I'll take your word for it. I'm not going to read it again.
Why did the mayor come in and shoot the building contract from the front of witnesses?
Why, you threw away everything you worked so hard to steal.
Why?
That is a good question, Effie.
I'll save by the knock.
Come in.
To Sam's face office.
It is?
I'm Lyle Rook.
You expect me to believe that?
I'm Western editor of Radio Television Mirror Magazine.
Well, you know best.
I just wanted to tell you that in our annual awards poll, Nationwide, the American listeners of chosen Steve Dunn as their favorite detective.
Steve Dunn, not me?
Quiet to him.
So here, sir, is your citation.
You may want to frame it.
Put it up in your office.
Why?
Thank you.
Goodbye.
Wow.
Steve Dunn.
You're the man to play you on the radio, Sam.
Oh, he's handsome.
Well, do you love him better than you love me when I'm burning up with passion for you?
Are you really burning up, Sam?
Well, I'm beginning to smolder a little.
Come here and tell me about me.
Well, I don't know much about it, Sam.
Not as much as I'd like to know.
Well, I'm sorry.
Sorry, I don't have a teacher's permit for the state of California.
Can I say?
Good night, sweetheart.
The adventures of Sam Spade are produced, edited and directed by William Spear.
Sam Spade is played by Steve and Dunn.
Lorraine Tuttle is Effie.
Also in the cast were Shirley Mitchell, Jack Crucian, Sidney Miller, Paul Freeze, Herb Rollinson,
and Lou Merrill.
Scripted for tonight's adventure by John Michael Hayes.
Musical Scoring by Ludgluskin, conducted by Robert Armbruster.
Join us again next week, same time for another adventure with Sam Spade.
Tomorrow, enjoy the exciting man called X on NBC.
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