Sam Spade - The Terrified Turkey Caper

The National Broadcasting Company presents the Adventures of Sam Faye Detective.

So it's time to talk to Uncle's.

Here's our sweetheart.

Oh, it's very good.

Look, Uncle's, thanks all over the floor.

Hey, it's in the wrong.

That was just business going on as usual doing all the patients.

Oh, what was it all about?

They tried, if they just tried to put my feathers and cooked my goose.

Oh, thank you, too. How could they?

Oh, they were a mean lot.

A mean lot?

Hey, Illinois.

Every jiblin' in place and on a feather ruffle.

Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?

Oh, it's heavenly.

Mama had a tasty dinner.

Say it's second.

Come, day five.

Time to jazz.

Hard-sighting.

I love it.

Come clean, if you.

I love two glasses.

Ah!

Everyone was there.

Covered by these dwarves, Mrs. Flask.

I was at the front when we didn't show up, so.

Did you have a Thanksgiving dinner?

Sure.

At the helping hand rescue mission, where there's plenty of free parking and never a cover charge.

For further details, consult a report which I will presently be down to dictate on a tasty chronicle of foul plays.

That purified turkey caper.

For NBC, William Spear, radio's outstanding producer, director of mystery and crime drama,

brings you the greatest fiber detective of them all.

In the adventures of Sam Faye.

Sam Faye!

Oh, you're awaiting for it.

Paven Thanksgiving dinner at a rescue mission.

Mama, could the president do well?

That's your mother's for me.

I tell her I'll be over to blank wish phones with her tonight.

And, to her tone for my social indifference, here's a little something I've brought for you.

Oh, yeah.

He said no.

That's beautiful.

What is it?

A blender box.

A blender, what?

Bust, as in step to the rear of.

Oh.

What in front of you do?

You said it's a gun.

All the founding fathers used it in favorging for feathered food when they subtle this abundant cognac.

And it's mine.

To do is what you will.

Oh, where is it, James?

And so, boy?

Yes, it is.

That was a good favorite show.

I had opened it.

Oh, yes, but I don't know.

Me as well.

Did you mean the founding fathers?

Don't be.

They snows out of 24th, 1950.

Two detective-recented IC Kelsey Homicide Detailed San Francisco Police.

From Sam Faye, license number 137596.

Subject.

Perky.

Dear Kelsey.

This was a big week for the cranberry pickers, the butcher, the sage makers, and the stomach pill people.

But for private detectives, it was sickly from hunger.

My office door opened only twice a day.

Once to let me in and once to let me out.

And when on Wednesday, I heard a knock on the door, I went into a pericism of delight.

Come in, come in.

Come in.

Hungry boo.

Hungry is dead.

Hey, I'm.

When I ran out of languages, I got up from behind the desk, walked to the door and opened it.

Standing there was a small, middle-aged man with a pink, bald head.

His blue surge suit needed trepid, and he was nervously fingering a strawberry birthmark under his left ear.

Mr. San, your state.

I am.

Like me, I.

There hasn't no interest.

You may have several, but not in the corridor.

It's not in my lease.

Okay.

I'll tell you.

Go, go, go.

Well, you'll have to excuse me, Mr. Sada.

I've had so few delays with past detectives.

I find it hard to begin with.

Perhaps I shouldn't have come at all.

Goodbye.

No, no, wait a minute.

Maybe I can help you.

Wait.

Do you see?

I.

Oh, what?

You won't believe me.

Nobody knows.

I really haven't.

Oh, now wait.

Wait.

I'll believe you.

All I ask is a chance.

Now, let's start with your name.

Oh, what my name?

Yes.

Yes.

Yes, my name.

To begin with, you won't believe me.

Oh.

But I shouldn't have hired.

Yes, I can.

It's on the registration book of the old columnist hotel in the 1943 phone book.

And on my old driver's license?

Well, I can know it before I can verify it.

Yes, of course you will.

It's, uh, it's come.

Well, that's not so hard to believe.

Oh, you haven't hired the rest of it.

It's come.

Apparently.

Well, you see, I told you you wouldn't believe it.

I couldn't go.

No, no.

Let me be the first to believe you.

Now, Mr. Red.

Tom, what's your problem?

Oh, dear.

Get up even harder to explain.

Well, now that I don't believe.

But, uh, take a breath and jump into it.

Yes.

Laila, Tom, Turkey, and that guy with a pill in me for Thanksgiving.

Well, I had asked for it, and I had gotten it.

And I sat back wondering who had gone to all the trouble.

The plane is funny, Joe Connor.

I was looking at my hand to see if there was any itching powder on it,

where he'd shaken it when my phone rang.

I lifted the receiver, swung around on my swivel,

and gazed out onto the street.

It was Al Kucho calling, a private eye

whose reputation was shadier than a mushroom cellar.

Hiya, sweetie.

Wow.

Haven't seen much of your lately spitty,

and you have to get together.

Yeah, well, so long.

Wait, wait, wait.

I'll tell you why I called.

I've had a pest in my office, keeps coming back.

I think she's a turkey, somebody wants to dress.

I brushed him, but your name came up,

and I just wanted to warn you.

He might be in the sea.

I'm confused, Al.

I never knew you'd turn your back on a butt.

Oh, I don't want any of this one.

His buttons are loose.

My advice to you was to bounce you.

Wow, we've never traded advice before, Kucho.

Why not?

Well, after all, we're in the same racket.

If we can't help each other.

Oh, sure, Al.

Sure, I appreciate it.

Give me a ring.

We've got to get together sometime.

Well, I got a free night with Jimmy Parking-Needer.

Yeah, I was.

Huh?

Oh, yeah.

I have Parking-Needer.

That's your letter, sweetie.

I turned back to the desk, and what I saw in front of me

was an empty chair.

Tom Turkey had taken wind.

I got up and walked to the window.

And a minute later, I tried to come out of the building downstairs

and start to cross the street.

And then I saw something else.

A large four-tonne truck was tearing down the street,

taking up speed.

Instinctively, I shouted a warning.

And at the last second, Tom Turkey settled

from in front of a truck and disappeared into the alleyway.

A truck lowered up the street.

Non-it's side was planted in gold letters.

Pains, you drive it.

There was nothing to say.

It wasn't coincidence.

It's near Miss Smith's house.

But somehow, I found myself in free.

I wanted to hear more of a little guy's story.

He said the old colony hotel.

I'm away on stuff at the library.

I found an old 1943 phone book.

And look, he was listed.

Thomas Turkey, it said.

Out of curiosity, I rang the number.

Hello.

I wonder if you can help me.

I'm inquiring about a Mr. Turkey.

Turkey.

This home is number no more.

I know.

I've never called for him for years.

Come on now.

Yeah, I know.

I know a woman named Robert once.

Mrs. Robert.

About Turkey.

Could you remember what he looked like?

I don't.

Hey, Manning.

What Turkey you look like?

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Small man around 50.

Nice telemanic.

Strawberry under his left ear.

Strawberry under his left ear, Manning.

Uh-huh.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Strawberry under his left ear.

Well, thank you, Madam, for your information.

And thanks to Manning.

Well, you're welcome.

But I don't know what you're going to do with it.

Oh, Manning.

Turkey's dead.

For you guys.

Ai, for you guys.

Carrie is an curiouser.

I thought, They have described the man who came to my office 20 minutes ago.

And now, He's been dead for years.

I continued on to the old colony hotel.

Rum, 75 cents is Ben.

Thom's room is 114.

Baby?

Sam's safe.

Oh, come on, mister, save me.

I am sober, anyway.

I was gonna take a really good эти.

Well, I'm not sure I do yet. Tell me with that fucking accident.

Oh, I don't think so, no. They only three kids before they kill me.

Somebody kind of pushed me into the trailer, and then a weird chance for us to move.

Drop off a dirty home, just in case.

Are you sure?

Oh, who are they? And why would they want to kill you?

I don't know. I'm sure. Don't know.

Look, let's pack. Pack? Pack.

I dialed your old phone number, and the people who answered said you're dead.

Oh, I've lost a few people, so tell me about them.

Yeah. Well, do you still want me to work for you?

Oh, yes. Yes. Please.

Well, you'll have to tell me more than I can.

I just have to tell you everything.

Oh, it's hard to talk about Mr. Spade.

It's not easy to admit to someone you've been a foolish man.

See, I just tell Mr. Spade, I was quite tired of the life I'd led.

Proper, dull, and unflute, so except in life.

My business was very, so was my life and real.

This has a traditional ring.

And when they can make it short, I decided one way.

When did I go to work? I parked my car in the middle of the bay bridge,

where the suicide boat left it, and disappeared.

Where did you go?

Oh, all over the world.

I took a job on a boat. I did.

On a boat, and then I settled in St. Paulo,

with you under another loan.

Now you're back, why?

Maybe I got lonely, maybe I got wise, or maybe...

Maybe I said I paid enough for my mistakes.

Let's just say I'm back.

I want to do it with him, really.

Have you seen him?

I checked into the hotel, and looked on the left,

so I wasn't dead.

I was back from St. Paulo.

I wanted to come back to have a sister with me.

But I told her I wouldn't bother her unless she wanted to see me.

But she could come back in here.

That was a week ago.

And you haven't heard from her?

No, no, it's almost right away.

These attempts on my life began.

I see. Now I've got to rebuild.

Before you run, one eight-month row.

Oh, she's picking her leg all again.

Black, and we have a problem.

Come on, let's go.

No, no, I'm not going to see her until she asks.

Well, look, you're going to my apartment.

Nobody will bother you there.

And you're going to see him, really?

That's right.

Oh, thank you.

Thank you, Mr. Stage.

You do better with me.

I think I'm really ready to set my leg down.

I deposited time in my apartment with instructions

to open the door for no one but me.

And then I proceeded to 31-18-month row in a high-rent district.

I was issued through a company portageau by a Japanese maid

who told me to wait in a study heavy with my Haganay.

In a moment, two people came in.

The woman who wore a black vest, silver pendant,

black shoes, and a complexion, the color of Applemates.

She was Miss Henry at a black and-or Mrs. Tom Turkey.

An aunt turned out to be Leander Loose.

The ladies' attorneys, business managers, and connect the partner.

You say you have something important

to discuss with me at the state?

I do.

I hope you don't mind not asking me to come loose to do that.

Not at all.

Hello.

Mrs. Turkey, I just talked to your husband, Tom.

Mr. Fade, if you please.

I say something.

A rather feeble apprentice at comedy, Mr. Fade.

Well, I wasn't trying for less.

You were, Mr. Turkey, aren't you?

I was.

You undoubtedly still are.

I'll be expected to hear another one of these cruel jokes about my name.

If I'm getting time, Mr. Fade, someone with all

is going to stop Tom.

They'll send him, crush him, slice him.

This season, they're going to kill him.

They are not going to kill him.

He's already dead.

He's not dead, Mrs. Turkey, and you should know it.

I should.

Yes, he sent you a letter saying he was back in San Francisco

and wanted to see you.

Mr. Fade, Mrs. Dawn absolutely far enough.

Not quite.

What about the letter?

I know.

What's no such letter?

I see.

Well?

Thank you for your time.

I'm sorry about it.

You were bad judgment in coming in the first place.

Yes.

Maybe you're wrong.

There was full court in this song place with Dennis,

and it stuck out like a fox drill in flight.

The only thing to do was to go back to my apartment,

get Tom Turkey in confront necessity

with her husband in the flesh.

When I get back to my apartment building,

I spotted in rapid succession, one in ambulance,

two of police cars, and upstairs,

outside my half-open apartment door, I spotted three.

You.

I've been expecting you.

What's going on, Chelsea?

There he is, Sam.

Who's that bold-headed man moving around your apartment?

That's McCracken, the numerical examiner.

Checking his stiff on your rug.

I stepped around you, Lieutenant, and pushed the door all the way open.

I saw McCracken kneeling over the body

and a couple of men from homicide taking photos.

I moved into the room feeling nothing good.

A little guy had given me a job,

and while I was jacking with his wife,

somebody got to him.

And in my apartment, when I had sessions,

McCracken stood up and I looked down at the body.

Then I looked again.

Who I saw wasn't Tom Turkey at all.

It was the late quiet at eye.

Al Kucho.

You are listening to the weekly adventure

of radio's most famous detective,

Sam Faye.

You fly to fans of Sam Faye

as mystery on Saturday evening two on NBC.

Tomorrow, the man called X sets out

on another mission of danger

and intrigue in some far-off corner of the earth.

Herbert Marshall sighs as the man called X.

A man without a name who travels the world over,

protecting his country's interests.

He lives by his wit and his business is danger.

He's the man called X,

tomorrow over most NBC stations.

For top Sunday listening,

it's another broadcast of the big show on NBC.

This Sunday, your stars include Fred Allen,

Jack Carson, Mindy Carson, Ed Archie Gardner,

Ed Wynn, and many, many more.

And to Lula is your MC as usual.

This Sunday, it's the big show on NBC.

And now back to the terrified Turkey Caper,

tonight's adventure with Sam Faye.

While the men from Homicide were taking pictures

that set for their URI load tenants,

we're going round and round on the question,

if I didn't kill a man found in my room, who did?

Andrew was sufficiently impressed with my insult, Chelsea.

Not to hold me for the murder.

We barbed to each other and I left.

Thinking back to the truck that had almost run tricky down,

I went to the Haines U Drive truck rental garage.

Here, what is?

What do you want?

I'm a detective. Could you give me a list of names

for everybody who rented a truck for you during the past few days?

Sure.

He handed me a big registration book

and I read every name for the past week.

For the first five days, they all seemed to be

nice, normal, abnormal names.

And then, under the rentals for the 84,

I was the name of John Smith.

John had given his address to a 7,200 trinny.

And I had to know that trinny only goes up to 200.

The dispatcher said that Smith had returned the truck

about three hours before.

And he remembered him as an ugly,

heavy-sept and rough voice character

who looked like an ex-long shornman.

They already washed the truck so the fingerprints were all out some.

Smith?

Mr. Fratergang.

Look, I'd like to speak with Mr. Tert.

Mr. Black, if you don't mind.

Come in.

Come in.

This way?

Into the dam.

Right.

Well, I was sure you'd look into this for a little more

and realize that it was just a blind alley.

A hope for some kind.

Where's Miss Black?

Oh, she's upstairs, lying down.

The whole upstairs, up set her in there,

she has not to be disturbed.

I think the widest cause of action for you,

Mr. Spade, is just to let them out of us.

You can't let our murder just drop Mr. Lose.

The police wouldn't hear it, huh?

Murderer.

Who?

An unflocked private detective named Al Kuchel.

Oh, what does this have to do with him?

He had a blast.

He called me earlier today and said that Tom Turkey

was a crackpot, a little man with delusions.

He tried to top me off taking his case.

He sounds like a perceiving man.

Well, he didn't perceive ending up in my apartment

with a bullet in his head.

Well, that's too bad.

But I still don't let Tom Turkey in my apartment

for safekeeping.

And when I returned, he was gone and Kuchel was dead.

Well, that explains it so far.

Obviously, this detective knew that Tom Turkey was a foamy.

And?

Turkey killed him.

It can figure that way.

And a number of other ways.

Mr. Spade, I have no desire to sit here

and sing subtleties with you.

And yet, no one has demonstrated that the real Tom Turkey

actually exists alive.

Now, until you do have something more concrete

and less mythological, this black request

that you do not come around opening up old rooms,

you've made an eloquent point.

That's only one thing.

Yes, I can.

When did Tom Turkey disappear?

I mean, what month?

What day?

It was, oh yes, 1943, November.

But I'm not sure the exact day.

I think it was in the third week.

Could it have been on Thanksgiving?

Very possibly.

Very possibly.

Very possibly.

I returned softly to my office

and did a little rapid mental arithmetic

and came up with a number seven.

From November 23rd, 1943,

to November 23rd, 1960,

was seven years for the day.

And I pondered this.

What did a number seven mean to the life

or death of Tom Turkey?

I just hit upon the answer and was crying,

Eureka, when my office door opened,

I'm not.

And a visitor came in on and out.

He was ugly, heavy-set,

and looked like an ex-long shormon.

I waited to see if the voice checked.

You sprayed?

Who shall I say his call?

Here.

Captain John Smith.

And here's my calling card.

The first.

The first bullet grazed my shoulder

and tore the padding out of my coat.

The second bullet hit the water cooler

and it crashed over water and all on top of me.

The third bullet hit I wasn't sure

at the time because I couldn't

see much in through my head like a plate.

When I opened my eyes again,

I expected to see St. Peter checking my ID card.

But all I saw were the dust balls under my desk

and applied, dating himself in a pool of water,

spreading slowly over the floor.

I was blood on my hand,

but it came from a glass cut.

I was in shambles, but alive.

Captain John Smith had shoved off,

obviously thinking his bullets had done their work.

I'm on the side.

Lieutenant Kelcey.

Don't tell me if you found anything more about Pontrici?

That's no time.

Frankly, I'm beginning to wonder if there is such a guy.

Well, Lieutenant Kelcey.

A few minutes ago, I'd be real about a name.

Believe it or not,

a Captain John Smith just tried to kill me in my office.

Oh, go on.

Sam, I find it hard to think.

You find it hard to think, period.

Really, Sam?

Did you get it?

No, over at my office is a wreck,

and there's a whole blast into my wall,

big enough to put a basket ball in.

Well, what do they use for the looker?

I figured dumb dumb bullets.

Some dumb?

Well, that's illegal, ain't it?

Kelcey.

Doesn't it strike you as significant?

But every attempt on Pontrici's life has been vicious?

Has this someone not only wanted to kill him,

but also mutilate him?

Yeah.

Yeah, and I let you mention it.

Somebody probably wanted to make identification difficult.

Even dead?

They didn't want anybody to know who he was.

Now, listen carefully, Kelcey.

This is real deep.

Tom Turkey disappeared on Thanksgiving of 1943.

A person has to be missing seven years before he can be legally dead

and is insurance collected.

Now, if someone had Turkey insured,

they could collect the day after this Thanksgiving.

If Turkey didn't show up before.

You mean somebody's trying to kill him for the insurance?

I would say so, Kelcey.

I would say so.

Now, hurry up and final.

When I put down the pole and I heard a heavy pounding.

For a minute, I thought it was in my head.

Until I turned the face the door and standing there

with a small pilgrim with bandy legs in black stockings,

pantaloons, white-collar coat, and silk pipe hot.

Hey, Luria.

It wore silver buckles and what it was pounding on the pole

was an 18th century wonderbuck.

Hey, Luria.

Have I got the right place?

For all hand, I'd say so.

If you're looking for Captain John Smith, he'd go flip.

Polka hot, it's just expected any minute.

Don't you go trying to confuse me.

I'm cool, Turkey.

What's on your mind?

Well, I'm looking for a fellow named Dan.

No, I'm so thirsty, I forgot.

So I'm spainting.

Yeah, that's it, that's it, that's it.

Oh, you broke your water bottle, huh?

Yeah.

Good, good.

That stuff's poison anyway.

Have a Luria, have a Luria.

Say yes.

Do you have anything to have any herb cider around?

For sure.

That's about kind of thirsty, you know.

Any type of corn squeezing?

Here, quite a bit.

Yeah, whatever.

Yeah.

Good, huh?

A little more.

You know what that, huh?

Huh.

A little more.

Hey, follow me.

But before we go, do you suppose we can have a little something

for the road?

It's pretty cold.

I gave him a little, but not too much,

because I didn't want him to lose his way.

He worked me right down the market street,

so we could look in the liquor store window.

He said, excuse him, a comfortable feeling.

You know, there was so much good in the world.

And then we turned right a few blocks

until we came to the health and health mission.

Of course, it's great fun to ban a special holiday food

and comfort for the unfortunate.

And on the student front of it,

there was a brass band sending out signals to the vicinity

at any minute that great things the Thanksgiving would begin.

The band members and other volunteer workers

were all vests of silver.

But things couldn't see.

My pilgrim led me to a dark corner of the club room

and sitting there on a happily was none other

than Tom Kirby.

Hello.

Hello.

Tom, what happened to my apartment?

What did you run away?

I was just saved.

You told me not to ask for the door until you came back.

There's somebody not going to door,

and you, so I opened it.

And you opened it.

Tom, it was one of the male couture.

Yes, they kept it.

The other man was a thief, ugly looking shadow.

And when they saw I was alone,

they started arguing about what?

Well, they kept it so that now that he'd brought the ugly lender,

he wanted his money out.

The ugly man pulled the gun and then started to find out

that I stood back the door.

But when I was halfway downstairs,

I heard a shot and kept on running.

Well, how couture is dead?

Oh, man.

I thought so.

This was the only place I could think of to hide.

Oh, and holy other files out there,

mixed up in the murder,

too many of us have taken back.

And we're here.

Hey, tell me,

did your wife ever have any insurance on you?

Something.

Before I got a wage she gave,

a $50,000 policy,

but, oh, that's what it's like by now.

Maybe, maybe.

Did it have a suicide cause in it?

A suicide?

Yes.

Right. No.

No, it didn't.

I remember.

Yeah.

Yeah, you'd like to talk to him.

I gotta wouldn't you?

I want you to a phone number.

Call her up and tell her what you are.

You know, I don't think I could.

I'm too far.

You've got to do something to help yourself.

If you don't mind,

then you might be a cold turkey.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Just look out.

All right.

I'll do it.

I went and made the call.

When he returned,

he said that a man had answered.

He said Henrietta would come down and take Tom up.

He didn't want to wait,

but I sat on him.

The pilgrim brought us a dish of turkey dinner

saying he couldn't stand food.

And we months to sell.

In a little while,

a limousine pulled up in front of a nation

with someone in back whom I couldn't see.

That's your first step out

and came in inquiring for Tom Turgie.

It was Captain John Smith himself.

When he saw me,

a look of shock surprised

came over his on the handsome face.

Hoping to catch him off down

and find him.

I gave that up.

It was the liveliest thing that has happened

with a helping hand mission in years.

I mean, yeah.

Good house, dude.

Money was even changed again.

When I heard the odd suddenly go against me,

I realized I'd better come up with something.

You did, my man.

And I did.

The bantelite pilgrim

saw this wonderful white in my hand.

And I swung.

This got my cousin on the wing.

I looked up.

The passenger from the limousine

was just coming in.

Yeah, what's the meaning of this?

It means, Leander Loose.

That you're not going to

cause Tom Turgie up for your

if I'm getting insurance policies.

I knew you.

It is.

It's dumb sick anyone.

Period and the report.

Sam, I'm sorry.

Well, it's just plain as a cranberry

stain on your dress, huh?

Loose the tenderly at his business manager

had her power of attorney.

And secretly,

he kept making the payments

on Tom Turgie's insurance policy.

Oh, and then he called us,

Sam, I knew you had it.

I was just a man of interest.

Sometimes you're a lightning-murring

frightened man.

How good might that up?

Three chimes mean good times on M.D.C.

There's fun and laughs with the chimes

later tonight when Ed Gardner

stars in Duffy's tavern.

As usual, Duffy won't be there,

but Archie the manager will definitely

be on hand to serve his

blue-flake, special of grilled English language.

This Sunday, the big show comes

your way again.

Timurler will be your hostess

and the big show.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Have fun.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Once again, Timurler will be your hostess

and the stars include

Fred Allen, Jeff Keishen, Edwin merkreath

Wilson, and many, many more.

It's the big show Sunday on M.D.C.

terrible!

terrible!

terrible!

terrible!

terrible!

terrible!

terrible!

terrible!

We have a Thanksgiving paper without a captain, John Smith, that wouldn't be right.

That's a coincidence, isn't it?

Well, if you promised not to tell any.

Oh!

His real name was Michael Giuseppe Gabbonsky Smith.

I call him John, for sure.

You're so kind.

Are we going over to your mother's for cold turkey snacks?

Well, I don't know, but I don't think there'd be enough for her.

Oh?

My cousin didn't, he couldn't find a little boy.

Our mother's phone is over the farm, isn't it?

He was going inside the turkey, and then he's right out.

Effie, is there no way to curb that tongue of yours?

It's a joke.

There's one way.

Well, come here.

Oh?

Oh, good night, Taylor.

Good night, sweetheart.

The adventures of Sam Spade are produced, edited and directed by William Spear.

Sam Spade was played by Stephen Dunn.

The room title is Effie.

Scripts for tonight's adventure by Larry Roman and John Michael Hayes.

Musical starring by Ledgluskin, conducted by Robert Armbrister.

Join us again next week, same time, for another adventure with Sam Spade.

Join us again next week, same time, for another adventure with Sam Spade.

Here's the magnificent Montague, then visit Duffy Sathern on N.D.C.