Hello, UConn 28209. Yes, this is Candy Matson. Do you have a little unsolved murder in your home? Got some blackmail you want to unload? Are you the victim of some vulgar extortionist? I know a girl you should meet. She may not be the greatest private eye in the world, so what if it does cost you three or four hundred dollars? She sure is sweet. She's Candy Matson. Like to meet her? Hello? Candy Matson? Well, I wasn't sure when I looked in the mirror this morning. Had a rough night, eh? Oh, there have been rougher ones. Look, voice, before you get caught with my receiver down, who are you and what do you want? As to who I am, you'll find out very shortly. What I want is you. How romantic, and over the phone yet. Let me finish. What I want is you to lay off that cable car business. Oh, that. Well, I'm afraid I can't. You see, I was sitting beside him when they discovered his transfer had been punched sort of permanently. That's how things happen with me. I get into the craziest routines. You see, I used to be a model. I've been told I have the proper displacement for such a career. But I found there wasn't enough money in it. A girl has to maintain a nice apartment on Telegraph Hill, keep enough clothes to highlight the displacement I mentioned, and also eat, doesn't she? Sure. So I turned private eye. You meet a better class of people, mostly named Rigger or Mortis. Now, take this cable car deal. It's positively fantastic. But after all, this is radio, isn't it? Like to hear how the whole thing happened? Leave us trip along to Act One. I wanted to get downtown that morning, but I couldn't take the F car on Stockton. They were ripping up about 87 streets, which is par for the course. So I walked down Telegraph Hill and up to Mason. That's where the Bay and Powell cable car stops. All aboard. Come on, Lana, show that shapely ankle. You got to make the fan mount by Witzenthal. The car was loaded, and so was the character next to me. I tried to budge into the seat between him and a fisherman's wharf dowager, but I couldn't quite make it. I'd forgotten my shoe horn. Say, pardon me, but would you mind reading your Wall Street Journal over that away a bit? I'd like to sit in here. Oh, if you insist. A knight of old. He budged his hips a quarter of an inch, and I slipped in, ready for my rocket ride over the hill and down into town. The trip, as usual, was uneventful. Three smashed fenders and several choice words I'd never heard before, but I wrote them down. By the time our prairie schooner reached the turntable at Market Street, the crowd in the car had thinned out, but Buster was still beside me, his head buried in common and preferred. Market Street. I started to get down. Hey, lady, take your boyfriend with you. We're heading back up the hill. Boyfriend? Oh, Sue. He looks like the advance man for Lewis and Clark. How do you like that? He fell asleep over his stocks and bonds. I looked again. Hipsy wasn't asleep. Hipsy was stone cold dead on Market. What a twist. I, who always went on the prowl for a whodunit, got one literally tossed into my lap. He just hadn't gone out of this world serene like. Oh, no. There was a steady slurp, slurp of blood trickling down his vest just north by northeast of the equator. After a half hour wait full of questioning by homicide legman, I knew my morning shopping tour was rained out. And after all, I was only going to buy an emerald clip to match the glint in my eye. Well, that would have to wait. I knew the next step. I grabbed a cab home. I wasn't long in waiting. Right on cue. And if it was the right cue, it would be Lieutenant Ray Mallard from headquarters daintily pressing his cuticles against my apartment buzzer. I was right. What? I've been expecting you. Come on in, Mallard. You've been expecting me? Why, Candy? Naive little rover boy, you. Have a drink? No, no. I'm not in the mood. Just make it a double. Come on, Mallard, let's be civilized. Take off your hat. It is off. Oh? Candy, for once I'm puzzled. You're just saying that. Yeah, because it's true. I've checked and rechecked. No matter how many loose ends I tie together, I still get no connection between you and Dwight Ellsworth. Dwight who's worth? Ellsworth, your extremely limp traveling companion on the cable this morning. Mallard, I can give you an angle on that. Yeah? Yeah. I didn't know him from Adam. Level? Straight. Oh, look, honeypot, this mediocre dialogue is getting us nowhere. What did you haul your size 11s in here for? Oh, frankly, I don't know. Here, fill it up, will you? You're not just going around in circles, Mallard. You're going around in doubles. Yeah, yeah. Like I've said before, Candy, you've got a pretty view from here. Oh? Wait till I turn around. I mean from your window. Look at that chip down there, just docking. Hmm? Down there. Down there. There's romance for you. Probably just in from the far east. Here's your drink. Oh, thanks. You know, it is sort of romantic. Don't you think it'd be fun to jump on a tramp like that and whisk off to the South Seas? Hmm? On a honeymoon? No. That's what I thought. South Seas. Mallard. Don't call me Mallard. Why not? We're just playing for ducks, aren't we? Oh, very crisp. Playing for ducks. No, Candy, we aren't. Not in this case. We've got a dead man in our hands, a rooty toot toot shot right through the heart. You were sitting next to him. Sure, sure. Go on now. Get out of here. What? You heard me. Lift your hindquarters and get back to headquarters. Candy, I don't like that look. You've got something on your mind. Yeah, yeah, yeah, but you wouldn't recognize it if I told you about it. Ah, one word of warning. Don't dabble. You're in deep enough. Got it? Got it. Here's your hat. Grab it. So long, Mallard. See you around a jailhouse sometime. Bye, Faux Fums. Twas then I smelled a big fat fee. That great big kind of attractive Mallard. He missed the boat. Oh, he saw it, but he missed it. It was that ship he saw docking. That was the first time I came out of the dark since my tuna-ville ride down the hill in the morning. I needed help, so I called an old friend of mine, if you can call that help. Rembrandt Watson was his name. He was a photographer and other things. He spent most of his life in the dark room dabbling with bottles. His negatives and prints were sharp. His thought processes, not quite. But he'd given me assistance in the past, so I called him. Rembrandt Watson speaking. Photography, portraits, and camera work. Yes, Rembrandt, I know. Also available for gardening, janitorial service, and babysitting. Rembrandt, it's candy. Especially at the Opa 21. Who? Candy? Now you're tuned in. How dare you, baggage. I was experimenting with candy. I was experimenting with a new type of formula. Ninety proof for a hundred. A hundred. And candy, it works beautifully. There's a delightful little pixie in a pink ballet skirt in my living room. Well, leave her there and get over here immediately to my place. Take a cab. I'll pay for it. I'd much rather have a handsome carriage with a brace of chestnuts. You've got them in your head. Now just do as I say and get over here. Float in, Rembrandt. Cadbury. Where's the man to take me cloak, gloves, and topper? You're wearing a sport coat and slacks and you know I have no man. And therein lies your basic trouble, my dear. You have no man. No, Rembrandt. Every man should have a woman, every woman should have a man. It's the incontrovertible law of the universe. Candy, you should have a man. You? Sure. I'm no longer a man. I'm Sprite, transcending the world. Well, stop transcending a moment and come down to earth. We've got a job to do. How poetic. How idyllic. We've got a job to do. Uh, for money? Eventually. Oh, one of those. Very well, my dear. Bring me up to date. I don't really know if I can or not. Good. Then I shall leave and return to me formula. Oh, no. What I mean is the whole story's so fantastic you'd never believe it. I might. Try me, Candy. Well, I get on a cable car and sit next to a character reading the Wall Street Journal. A strange coupling. A cable car and the Wall Street Journal. Yeah. And when we get to the end of the line, my friend next to me is dead. Happily, the ride down the hill frightened him to death. Uh-uh. He looked like a used punchboard. He had a neat little bullet hole through his heart. Candy, my little ballerina friend in the pink skirt is more believable than what you just told me. I told you it was fantastic, but none the how it happened. Now sooner or later, Mallard is going to come out of his fog. And when he does, I'm going to be out of a fee. A fee that so far doesn't exist, my pretty. It will if my hunch is right. Now here's what I want you to do. Go down to the Chronicle and get all the back files you can on Southern Island Steamship Company. The Chronicle? A pleasure. And I have some questionable companions there who indulge in formulas. Stay away from those companions and just do as I ask. Very well, my dove. I go, but entirely against my will. And where will you be? Around town, Rembrandt. I've got to do some legwork. Let me assure you, Candy, you have just the right equipment for it, too. What a joint. I'll bet they mount slit gullets on the walls instead of deer heads. Well, come on, Candy. Get your tools out and screw up your courage. Yeah, Miss, what'll it be? Nothing right at the moment except information. Information water both free. What do you want to know? Well, I'm looking for the purser off of Dwight Sonia. I hear he does his shore duty in here. That's right. Name Campbell. That head on the table over there belongs to him. Thanks. Hello, sailor. Hey, Campbell, wake up. Oh, leave me alone. Come on, snap out of it. Who are you? What do you want? I'm a sailor. I'm a sailor. I'm a sailor. I'm a sailor. I'm a sailor. I'm a sailor. I'm a sailor. I'm a sailor. What do you want? My name is Candy Mattson. I want to ask a question. I'm only drinking. No way. Not until I find out what I want to know. Dwight Ellsworth was murdered this morning. What? I thought that would bring you to. Well, that's the nicest news I've heard since VJ Day. What do you want to know? Where did his brother live? That stooge. He's got about as much spine as a water eel. Never mind. I want to find him. He seems to keep his whereabouts as secret as an atomic stockpile. The whole family ought to be knocked off. He lives out in Seacliff, 25 Dashill Road. Good. A bartender by my friend Little Reward and one for yourself too. Well, so far so good. Oh, how did I know about Campbell the purser? Well, you see, I have quite a few friends, most of whom my pal Mallard doesn't approve. So I grabbed a cab and navigated the driver out towards Seacliff. It was so foggy I couldn't see the meter. But I paid him anyway, gave him a neutral tip, and dismissed him. There it was, 25 Dashill Road. An austere looking cabana. One that dared you to ring the front doorbell. I dared. I had the awful feeling I should have been around at the side door delivering hand laundry. Good evening. Well, except for the fog, yes. Is Mr. Ellsworth in? Yes, he is. But I'm afraid I must ask you to leave. There has been a death in the family. I know. That's why I'm here. Come in, please. Thank you. Walk this way, please. Oh, I'm afraid I couldn't, even if I lived to be a hundred. Mind your tongue, young lady. You're in the house of an Ellsworth. Oh, toyty toyty. The old babe had delusions of grandeur. Well, no need to get uppity with me. I've mingled with royalty. I once played a bit part in a Rita Hayworth picture. But this old gal was really something. She couldn't have been more than 45, yet looked like something out of the Barrett of Wimpole Street. She ushered me into a large ceiling living room, and there on the divan was my boy. His head lowered into his hands and quite obviously touched. Quite obviously. Roger, this young lady is here to see you. I don't believe you mentioned your name. Missy Matson. Matson? Are you in shipping, too? Of a sort. Oh, this is my wife, Miss Matson. You'll pardon me if I don't seem hospitable, but my brother was murdered this morning. I know. I was sitting next to him when it happened. You were? Don't talk to her, Roger. I don't trust her. This whole thing is a threat of some kind. No, it's not a threat. It's a business proposition. I'll come right to the point. You see, I'm a private detective. Oh, one of those persons. Put your nose back down, Mrs. Ellsworth. I want to get this show on the road. Yes, I'm a private detective, and I'm in a spot, too. The police think I'm connected with the case in some way, so I'm here for a double purpose. I'm listening, Miss Matson. Roger, I forbid you to speak with this woman. Too late, Mrs. Ellsworth. Now, this is it. I'm in this business to make money. Give me a check now for $300, and I'll find out who killed your brother, and I'll also clear myself. Roger, I'm warning you. Naturally, you want to see the killer of your brother brought to justice, don't you, Mr. Ellsworth? Don't you? I... Yes, yes. Here, I'll make a check out right now. Thank you. Just make it out to Candy Matson. Payable today. A lovely collection of guns you have, Mr. Ellsworth. You hunt much? Oh, yes. Yes, my wife and I are quite fond of shooting. She's an excellent shot. There you are. Thank you. I'll be in touch with you sometime tomorrow. Mr. Ede didn't say a word. She just stood there against the fireplace and shot sparks through me. After I waved the check in the air a few times to dry the ink, she showed me to the door. Very clever, aren't you? Taking advantage of a weak-willed man. I wonder who made him that way. Don't cash that check. I mean it. Don't cash that check. Mrs. Ellsworth, $300. I need the money, badly. I need some new rolls for my player piano. I buzzed back downtown. I wanted to cash that check in a hurry. I knew of only one person who would give me the crisp green at that hour of the night. Uncle Charlie, the honest miller who ran the chase room. Uncle Charlie, in the strict sense of the word, was a gentleman. So with a tender little pat on my cheek, he cashed the check and I went up Telegraph Hill and home. All of a sudden, my eyes did a couple of inverted loops. All my lights were on. Who's in here? All right, speak up. Oh, Candy, the light of my life. Come join our party. Oh, Rembrandt, you gave me a scare. You don't scare easy either, Candy. Got something on your mind? Oh, Mallard, well, how ducky, a midnight soiree. What goes on here? Well, the chicken you had in the icebox is delicious. Was delicious. Looks like you've done everything but eat the bone. Your vintage is superb, too, Candy. Have a little formula? No. Now, come on, what gives? That's my line, Candy. What gives? You're in on something and I want to know about it. Oh, Mallard, believe me, it's nothing. I'm just trying to parley a couple of hunches. Tall hunches. Look at all those clippings on the South Sea Island Steamship Company. What are they for? I meant to tell you, Candy, I had remarkable success down at the Chronicle. There's everything you want on that steamship line. Oh, Rembrandt, did you have to tell the whole world? Candy, you chide me unnecessarily. I merely had the clippings on the table when Hawkshaw here walks in on me. Okay, Candy, take it from there. I can't tell you yet, Mallard. Nothing makes sense yet. I've got about four loose ends that need tying off. I'd only put two men to following you. I'd save myself a lot of grief. Two days, that's all, Mallard. Just give me two days. I think I'll have it for you. All right. But don't forget, the boys down at Kearney Street headquarters don't love you the way I do. Two days, no more or less. I gotta go. Thanks for the foul, chicken. Ah, very gay. Here, Rembrandt, here's $50 for you. Fifty? My word. What's all this talk about a recession? Go on and take it. Go someplace and stabilize the economy. I whipped through the old newspaper clipping. It was all there. Fire at sea on Ellsworth ship. Two seamen lost off Ellsworth ship near Honolulu. South Sea Island line ship loses rudder and storm. On and on it went over a period of three years. I threw the papers back on the table. Helped myself to some of Rembrandt's formula. Turned down the lights and went out on the porch. The day was dark except for an occasional path of light from a passing freighter. I sat down to think and think. Then, quick, quick, just like that, two little tumblers and my mind fell into place. Only one thing to do and that was to do it the hard way. The next morning, just as the ferry building siren was announcing eight o'clock to downtown San Francisco, I got Rembrandt on the phone. Candy, what on earth are you calling me for at this hour? Can't help it. There's work to be done. I did my work last night so extremely well that I'm just going to bed now. Sorry, you'll just have to delay your sack time. Meet me at the corner of Mason and Union in ten minutes, right where the cable car stops. Now what are we going to do? We're going to take a cable car ride. What? One of those bouncing jerky little contraptions? Not the way I feel this morning. Oh, yes you are. Mason and Mason in ten minutes. All right, Rembrandt, get on. This is the silliest thing you've ever done, Candy. Maybe, we'll see. Dwight Ellsworth was already on the car when I got on here and alive. How could you tell? He mumbled something when I asked him to move over. It was logical, although I once remember stumbling into a corpse who mumbled for hours after it'd been liquidated. And Rembrandt was in one of his rambling moods, so I let him alone. The car pulled over Mason Street, down Washington, and then swung onto Powell and up the hill. Now I watched the buildings and apartments carefully. There was a little red brick building, now a big apartment house, a woman's residence club and so on. Then over the hill, more apartments and the possibilities petered out of bush. Well, only one thing to do, canvas all those blocks between Washington and bush. Okay, Rembrandt, off the car. Strangest corpse I ever did see. What'd you say, Candy? Off the car, come on. Now what? I just want to get to bed. Well, not for a long time, boy blue. Now here's the pitch. You take this building and I'll take the next. We'll alternate as we go along. Ask if a tall woman with a horsey face and dressed something like Queen Victoria ever lived around here. Oh, Candy. I know it sounds wild, but it's got to be done. A horse with a tall face and dressed something like... Oh, Rembrandt, look at me. Get that smoke out of your brain. A tall woman with a horsey face and dressed something like Queen Victoria. You got it? Got it. Okay, get going. It was slow and tiresome. And the answers I got. A tall gal dressed like Queen Victoria? Oh, sister. That was about par. Nope. Nobody like that ever lived here. Are you positive? A dame who fits that description? Yeah, I'm positive. The morning wore on and so did we. We were over on the other side of California Street now, so we stopped and had a bite to eat. I had pickles with mine and Rembrandt had olives on toothpicks in a glass. And again, we picked up the hunt. My heart was suddenly making with a rumba. There, just on the other side of Clay, in front of a three-story red brick house was a police squad car. There was a little knot of people gathered around. Daintily lifting my crinoline, I did a male patten down the block and up the front steps. I didn't have any trouble finding the room. The door was wide open and there was a body on the floor. Four representatives of the law were buzzing back and forth. One of the buzzees was mallard. Well, my little ambassador of violence. Why is it you're always around the extremely dead, Candy? I've got no time to brandy the ad libs, Mallard. Who is it? I don't know yet. No identification. Let me see. Oh, a pen pal maybe. I was right. I knew it. Knew it? Knew what? You're right. He was a pen pal. He wrote me a check last night for $300. His name is Roger Ellsworth. Very interesting. Must be open season on Ellsworth. Okay, Candy. Time you filled in in the blanks. Start. Wait a minute. I want to look at the window over here. Mm-hmm. Mallard, there are a couple of younger Ellsworths living around town here. I'm sure you'd like to see them stay healthy. Yeah? Get out to 25 Dashill Road and pick up an old crone also named Ellsworth. Five will get you 20. She's the one you're after. All right. But you get back to your place and stay put, understand? I want to have a more illuminating chat with you. Oh, Mallard, I'm just like putty in your hands. The moon was coming up over Diablo and spraying a path of silver on the bay. Still no Mallard. I wondered what could be wrong. Well, this was it. This was the showdown. Have you seen a tall face with a horsey woman? Oh, Rembrandt. Candie, I'm so mad at you, I could... Oh, what's the use? Now what's the matter? What's the matter, she says? I've been roving all over Powell Street ringing doorbells. Where did you go, you traitor? Rembrandt, I'm sorry. In the excitement, I forgot all about you. What excitement? There's been another murder. In a moment, there's going to be another. I'm looking right at you, Candie. Oh, cool off. Find some formula and stop snorting steam. What was that? Your window, Candie, just shattered. What? Wait a minute, that window didn't shatter by itself. Quick, get the lights, Rembrandt. Now duck down here. What sort of a silly game are we playing now? This isn't a game, believe me. Candie! Candie, are you all right? Yikes, it's the gumshoe. Yes, I'm all right. Where are you, Mallard? Over here, two houses over. We've got your girlfriend trapped on the roof next to you. Don't move and stay covered. Okay. All right, Mrs. Ellsworth. Are you coming down peacefully or do we have to play cops and robbers? I'm not coming down until I get that Candie Maxxon. She did it. She forced me to kill my own brother-in-law. Have it your own way. Okay, loosen her up a bit, boys. Better than the Fourth of July. Keep your head down, Rembrandt. Oh, is that what was that? Ready to come down, Mrs. Ellsworth? No, I'm not. That hateful woman. She's ruined my whole life. All my life. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. My whole life. All my plans, just because of her snooping and crying. She's going to die, I tell you. It was a miracle, Candie. You must have moved slightly just as she shot at you. Oh, well, it was too close, I can tell you. She's dead. Oh, decidedly. I think she was dead before she hit the ground. That one shot got her. We went out to her house and she was just driving off when we got there. We traveled her up to North Beach, lost her for a block, and then spotted a car at the top of the hill here. We arrived just as she was getting on the roof next door. Okay, now you tell me your little dream. Well, it was that ship docking that set my wheels going around. The name Ellsworth started burning in back somewhere. You saw the clippings we dug up. The South Sea Island steamship lines were slowly being sabotaged. I did some checking and I found that the insurance companies weren't going to renew. Yeah, I don't know why I didn't tie that in sooner. Oh, it's just that you have too many things on your mind, Mellord dear. I went out to the place on Dashiell Road and when I left, I was pretty sure the old girl had knocked off her brother-in-law. Why? Well, for several reasons. One, she was a venomous old witch. Two, you've never seen such a collection of guns in all your life. And her husband admitted she was a darn good shot. I also saw one little pot gun that was very interesting. It had a silencer on it. Uh-huh, that was the one she used on you tonight. And also the one she used on Dwight Ellsworth from the window of that apartment where you found her husband. How do you know? Go back there. You'll see a nice little bullet hole in the curtain with burned powder all around it. Now, don't tell me that you... Yes, I'm telling you that she rented that place knowing that her brother-in-law always went downtown on a certain cable car. She waited that morning until we were riding by and she punched him. I have now heard everything. And the reason? Dwight Ellsworth, rather than fighting the insurance companies, had decided to sell his steamship line. But the old gal thought she'd beat him to the punch by knocking him off. The steamship company would then fall into her husband's hands. Ah, what about her husband? Well, after he gave me the check and I left, they evidently had a fearful row and she spilled the beans. Somehow she lured him down to that place on Powell and gave him some lead poisoning too. And that's all there is to it. Candy, I wish you'd have told me all these things earlier. We might have been able to save the life of Roger Ellsworth. No, it wouldn't do any good. Because if she hadn't killed him, I was going to. What? Mm-hmm. While I was waiting for you to get here, the phone rang. It was Uncle Charlie the Honest Miller. That no-good Roger Ellsworth. His check bounced like a brand new golf ball. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. What's so funny, Mallard? Listen in again to the further adventures of Candy Matson, girl sucker. Well, that's the way it goes. Sometimes you win, sometimes you don't. In this case, nobody did. Except Rembrandt. He'd docked his dark room with $50 worth of formula. And that's the kind you use on negatives, either. Let's say, murder on a cable car, Dwight and Roger Ellsworth done in, as well as the old gal. One check, it bounced. It really does sound fantastic, doesn't it? But I told you this was radio, didn't I? Oh, wait a minute. Maybe I did come out ahead of that. On the way out, Mallard leaned on and kissed me. The first time it ever happened. You know, at times, it's kind of fun to be in the arms of the law. Listen again next week at the same time. For excitement and adventure, just dial... Candy Matson, UConn 28209. Heard tonight were Helen Cleve, Jack Cahill, and Harry Bechtold, Jack Thomas as Rembrandt, and Henry Leff as Mallard. The program stars Natalie Masters as Candy, and is written and produced by Monty Masters. This has been a presentation of NBC, the national broadcasting company.
