Personal notice, danger's my stock and trade. If the job's too tough for you to handle, you got a job for me, George Valentine. Write full details. Music Standard Oil Company of California, on behalf of independent Chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the West, invites you to let George do it. Music The Old Style, another adventure of George Valentine. Music Mr. George Valentine, dear sir, my name is Jeremiah Stark. Perhaps you've heard it in connection with crime, with the study of crime that is. I am, by vocation, an antiquarian, the owner of a modest curio shop on South Lane. But by our vocation, Mr. Valentine, I've become rather an authority, if I do say so myself, on those desperate and terrifying deeds which men have committed in the past. Mr. Valentine, I've only this morning stumbled into a mystery so intriguing that I am at a complete loss to solve its riddle. Perhaps you can, or perhaps someone must die. Sincerely, Jeremiah Stark. Music Huh, it's certainly a curio shop, all right. Antique bedsteads, snuff boxes, old porcelain. Everything but a Venus with a clock in her stomach. I don't know, George, there's Diana on a hat rack. The kind of place you buy your relatives' presents. You mean if they happen to be spiders or bats. Hey, wait a minute, Angel. There's stuff on this counter here. A knife, a piece of rope, and there's stuff in the glass case. This is the actual Bowie knife that figured so prominently in the Sykes Jefferson killings in October 1912. There's a card on each item. 1893, Hangman's Noose. This broken wine goblet was exhibit A in the State of Illinois' trial in early 1903 of Eric Stockworth. He killed his wife, you know. She was a dancer. What's that? The old Sarah Bernhardt Theater, stage doorman. He died too, of course, but it was 14 years in the solving. Well, so you're the authority, huh? Yes, Mr. Valentine, Jeremiah Stark. Here, let me show you. If you look closely, you can still detect traces of the original blood. Oh, no, no, never mind. Thanks. Fascinating case. In the old style, the grand tradition. Yes, well, it's quite an exhibit you've got, Mr. Stark. Just the one counter here for the choices items. I'm rather discriminating, you know, regarding my hobby. But, of course, alongside of you, Mr. Valentine, after all, murder is your business. Well, it's not my pleasure, Mr. Stark, so let's have it. What's your problem? Oh, of course, of course. Well, to begin with, this morning I received an item in the mail. I have no earthly idea who might have sent it, mind you, but, Mr. Valentine, it too is in the old style. What do you mean? What is it? Here, here it is. The little box. Hmm, little old-fashioned flowers painted on it. And you have dusted my heart with your dainty smile, made sweet my soul with your own sweet glance, painted lids of our lives only shield our shy love, so lift them and murmur that I have a chance. Yeah, it's a little on the sentimental side. But what's in it? Go on, go on, open it, open it. A music box, of course. It's plain, let me call you sweetheart. All right, so what? So you got a music box in the mail with a little corn painted on it. Mr. Valentine, people from all over send me things, send me souvenirs, mementos of death. Great friends you got. I have no friends. People send me little items for my collection, my hobby. But you said in your letter that someone must die. I don't understand what this music box has to do. Now please, please, would anyone send such an item without giving their name, with no note, with only a crudely printed address? Well, now I can't. And, Mr. Valentine, you have seen for yourself every other item I have. There's a tag with a date, the historical date of each supplet murder. Well, look here, here is the puzzle, the bottom of the music box. Underneath is a tag, you see it, a tag with a crudely printed date, just a date, that is all. But the date is tomorrow. Here's the paper it was sent in. A memento of a murder to come, huh? It's the same printing as the wrapper, all right, isn't it? No name, no indication. The wrapper was postmarked here in the city, George. Mr. Valentine, there's only one possible clue I can suggest, a man, a man who betrayed more than the usual interest in this box. What man, when? About noon he came in, I remember, big, bulky, wearing a brown overcoat, and he happened to glance at this counter. The man looked at the music box, he examined it, then he noticed the date, and Mr. Valentine, that man left this store as though he had seen a ghost. Why didn't you stop him? I tried to, I was busy with another customer. He was a tall man, graying a bit, sad looking man, sensitive. Had you ever seen him before? Yes, just two days ago in Joe Murphy's barbershop down the street. Murphy might know his name, though of course I don't. Ah. You know, Mr. Valentine, I had the peculiar impression of this happening before. When I read the poem on the music box, it struck me as funny, but I don't know why. Is the clue, that's all I remember. Well, Brooksy, so far it strikes me as crazy. Why, Mr.— Take it easy, Mr. Stark, that doesn't mean I won't go chasing after your one clue. Crazy or not, I don't want any murders to happen tomorrow. Mr. Elmington, that's his name, always wears brown overcoats, the best material. Been coming in here for haircuts the past ten years. Yes, it's Mr. Elmington, that's the man Stark means. Hey, hurry it up, will you join the old lady who'll chew my ears off? I'll be with you in just a minute, sir. Yes, Mr. Valentine, that's the man Stark refers to. Elmington, huh? Not the usual type in this part of town. He made his wad and moved out. Still faithful to the old barber, that's all. What else do you know about him, Mr. Murphy? Where could we find him? Telephone book, probably. He don't talk much. Why? Well, look, Joe, we're not trying, we're just trying. He made his money manufacturing barrel hoops, if that'll help you any. A long way from music boxes, isn't it? Yeah. Okay, thanks a lot, Joe, we can find him. Just a minute, Mr. Valentine. Joe, for God's sake! Be right back. Did you say music box? Yeah, a particular music box. Plays Let Me Call You Sweetheart. Has a poem on top. Yes, of course it does. You mean you saw it down there in Mr. Stark's curio shop, too? No, but I know it. The music box belongs to Miss Castor. Miss what? Who's Miss Castor? My manicurist, Mr. Valentine, Emily Castor. A very beautiful young girl, a real lady. Huh? And George, how did it get to... You know, I thought you were in here for something serious. Yes, yes, and that's when Jeremiah Stark noticed Mr. Elmington in my shop here a couple days ago. The music box. All right, clear this up, will you, Buster? What's the gag? Well, you saw it, didn't you? That's when Miss Castor got it a couple days ago. Delivery boy brought it to her here. She had no idea who sent it, but I remember she was manicuring Elmington's nails at the time. A sallow-faced man was waiting. Helped her open the package. Got a big kick out of it. Jeremiah Stark, he was under the towel half asleep. George, Mr. Stark said he had the impression that it's happening before, there being something funny about the poem, and if he was half asleep... Of course it's funny, don't you think so? You'd have dusted my heart with your dainty smile, made sweet my soul with your own sweet glance. Miss Castor, she nearly died of laughing. They all did. Oh, my sweet soul, she said. What corn, she said. On whose foot, I said. That killed them. I got the biggest laugh of all. Well, what's the matter? What's serious about it? Joe, I really don't know. Just a thing somebody sent her for a gag. On whose foot, I said. Sure, I got the biggest laugh of all. Yeah, yeah, Buster. But how did the music box get back into the mail and over to Stark's place? What did she do with it? Huh? I figured she just threw it in the first cornfield. Uh-huh. Well, where is she? Where is Emily Castor now? There you got me. Just out having fun, I figured. What do you mean? Well, she hasn't been to work all day. You don't think there's anything wrong, do you? Here we are, Angel. Second door is Emily's. Here's the landlady's key, George. Oh, George. Yeah. Dead, all right. Stabbed. It must be he. Brown overcoat. Tall. Green. Sure. It's Mr. Elmington's body, all right. John H. Elmington. Wealthy, honest, no enemies. Manufactured barrel hoops. That's for us to jump through, of course. Just the facts, Lieutenant. Facts? What facts? We've been at it three hours, and what have we got? Hurry up the pictures, will you, boys? But you said he was married. And not too happily, which does begin to explain as being killed in the room of a manicurist. I don't know how long this has been going on, but... How long would it have been going on? Oh, if that isn't just like a man adding two and two to get five. Okay, okay, Mrs. Vines. When I told you already, she only seen him on Mondays, and he took her to the races, Mr. Lieutenant. So there, that much I do know. And now, if you think anything goes on at the races but horses, then you're sadly mistaken. Oh, now, look here. We're really not drawing any conclusions or pointing any fingers, either. But as her landlady, you'd know. Emily is a girl who likes to have a good time, isn't she? If an unhappy man with some money like this, Mr. Elmington, wants to take her to the races sometimes, do you think she's crazy? Baby, I don't know. Who's her regular boyfriend? That's what I mean. She doesn't have many. Only been in town three or four months. Nobody's steady. She isn't the type. All right, all right. But who? Well, there's one man, a little older, sort of nearsighted. Then there's a boy called the Duke. Oh, he's a real live wire. He says the funniest things. But that's all there is, except the occasionals. And I tell you, any girl is crazy if she don't go to the races. Mr. Lieutenant, I've taken the knife. Okay, if we move the body off the rug? Yeah, sure, Doc. Go ahead. Overcoat's clustered under him. Thought maybe. Yeah, there's something in his pocket. Look out, it'll drop. George! Yeah, music box, the tune, poem on top. George, it's the same box. Is it? Angel, things are finally beginning to make sense. What's the time, Johnson? Huh? Five minutes to midnight. Why? Because there's a tag on this box and it's dated today. And there's been a murder. Today? But George... I know, Angel. The other tag on Stark's box was tomorrow. Well, in a few minutes it'll be tomorrow. Come on. Oh, my head. He struck me. There's a head. All right, now take it easy, Mr. Stark. Yeah, this is it, Valentine. An old vase. Must have been smacked down on him from behind. Yeah, Angel. George, the first music box is still back there on the counter and the tag is just the same as it was, too, dated tomorrow. You mean now it's today, Angel. It's ten minutes after twelve. Stark must have been attacked just after midnight, just a second before we got here. Oh, it's a great case, Johnson, the old-fashioned style. Huh? Yeah, and the grand tradition. We're up against a killer who keeps his promises. I wonder how many more music boxes he's sent around town. We'll return to tonight's adventure of George Valentine in just a moment. When was the last time your car's battery had a drink? One of the biggest reasons automobile batteries fail is simply because of lack of water. That's why it's important to get regular battery check where they specialize in protective service at standard stations and independent Chevron gas stations. They'll make certain that water in the battery is kept at the right level. They'll inspect the battery cables for signs of wear or corrosion, take a hydrometer reading, make sure terminal posts and clamps are clean and tight. Remember, a battery kept in A1 condition helps your car start faster, helps keep lights bright, helps the radio and heater to do their best. So why not ask for a battery check tomorrow? It's another protective service available at independent Chevron gas stations and standard stations where they say and mean, we take better care of your car. Music And now back to tonight's adventure of George Valentine. A little old fashioned music box, but the only trouble is there seems to be more than one. And so far there's been more than one attempt at murder. Mr. Elmington is dead. The man who started this case, the man whose hobby is collecting mementos of death, has very nearly collected death himself. Just sitting here making out some bills, that's all I was doing. Sure, sure, like a sitting duck. And the vase you were hit with, Mr. Stark, was grabbed right off the counter there behind you. If we hadn't come in here so fast after midnight, you'd have been a dead duck. It was the desk, I think, the roll top. What's that, Mr. Stark? The top of the desk here took part of the blow too, you see. That's what saved me. I was leaning over, I'm nearsighted. Be thankful for your infirmities. Well, you're all right now. Yeah, but your head must be soft to start with, sitting here alone at night when you'd already received a music box. But it was for my collection, it had nothing to do with me. You thought it didn't have anything to do with you. How could it? Why would anyone want to kill me? I have no enemies, no debts, no money to steal. Don't ask us to make any sense out of it, Mr. Stark. You're the one who likes mysteries and riddles. Well, I grant you, but I prefer the type that are already solved. Oh, sure, sure, the old style, all neatly laid away in a glass case with clues and motives. But this is like some of those cases, the terrifying type without rhyme or reason. Now, it must have been the same man who attacked us both, Mr. Elmington and me. Yet we have absolutely nothing in common. We've never even been introduced. You don't have to rub it in. We know we're up against a lunatic. Who else would send music boxes with dates on them? Wait a minute, Johnson, wait a minute. Maybe it makes both rhyme and reason. At least there's a poem, isn't it? And at least we know now why Elmington acted so funny when he was in the store here today. Yes, he must have already received his music box, and when he saw the one here with a different date. Sure, Brooksie, he tore out of here and up to the girl's place to ask questions, maybe. Only he got killed for his trouble. Um, you say you're nearsighted, eh, Mr. Stark? Well, yes. I need correction in both eyes, but the left would be... He doesn't have any steady boyfriends, but there's one called Duke, and one man a little older, sort of nearsighted. George. Hey. I beg your pardon. Miss Emily Castor, there's something you had in common with Mr. Elmington, isn't it? An interest in the same girl, the manicurist. Well, come on, you are the one the landlady was referring to. No, Mr. Valentine, I... I mean, yes, in a way. But you wouldn't exactly call it an interest. I've only escorted her out a few times. Yeah, yeah, it's a pattern, all right. Duke, come on, who's he? Duke? Yes, Duke. He's the other one, isn't he? The other boyfriend? Oh, really? I don't believe I've ever heard his name. Well, come on, think, will you? Landlady wasn't any help. What's he look like? What's the rest of his name? Forget it, Lieutenant, there isn't time. The girl's good-looking. There's liable to be hundreds of boyfriends. Johnson, I'll buy we're up against the crackpot. Sure, fine, Duke, find everybody. But it's the music box, as we're after. So get every cop in town after Emily Castor. Sure. Find the girl and quick. She's the one we know got a music box first. Now, you want to make any bets she's dead? Valentine, do you happen to know did Emily Castor have her manicure stuffed yesterday? What's that, Johnson? A pair of manicure scissors. Her initials, E.K. Where'd you find them? They just turned up in the police department's old lost and found. Oh, excuse me. Hey, wait a minute. Joe, where you going so fast? Mr. Valentine, Miss Brooks, good evening. Well, you see, I was just... Never mind, Joe. When did your manicurist lose her scissors? What? Her manicure scissors. You know, they had her initials on them. Yes, I understood, but... Why, I don't remember her losing them. Uh-huh, so it is, Elite Angel. She didn't lose them until yesterday, the day she disappeared. Mr. Murphy, did you ever see one of her boyfriends named Duke? The police have already asked me. I had never pried into her personal life. Never dated her yourself, huh? My own employee? I wouldn't presume to. Why? Why do you ask? Why do we ask anything? For instance, what are you doing out so late, leaving your quarters here in such a hurry? Well, I was just... just coming to see you, Mr. Valentine. Yeah? I found this left at my door tonight. See? A music box. All right, Valentine, all right. So everybody's getting one. Maybe you'll get a music box yourself someday. But how many music boxes are there? And we're not protecting the girl, are we, Johnson? And where's Duke? We haven't even found him yet. Forget it, there isn't time. Listen, if you just check the place the music boxes were made or sold, if we only knew how many there may be in town... There isn't time. It was your idea. Get in the car. Find the girl, you said. Well, don't get your hopes up, but we found the newsboy who turned in the manicurists until lost and found. He found them in the lobby of an apartment building. Well, this is the last chance, top floor. Any building that hasn't got an elevator. I ought to have the rent reduced. Probably did 50 years ago. What a joint. Nobody knows anybody. No janitor. Place hasn't even been swept out since McKinley's election. At least the family dropped the scissors here. Maybe she was someplace in the building. Hold it, there's only one door. One apartment. Yeah. Yeah. I'm sure she's been in there for a long time. I'm sure she's been in there for a long time. Hold it, there's only one door. One apartment. Yeah. One door with cloth stuffed in the keyhole. On the outside. Cloth stuffed in the crack under the door, too. Put out that cigarette. Here goes. And you're wasting your time. Come on, hit this one. A man. The body of a man. Every time we go looking for that dame, what do we find? A dame? No, just men. The bodies of men. As if that ain't tough enough. Listen. Just listen to it, will ya? This guy didn't die from gas, Johnson. He was shot. Shot a long time ago. He's been dead for hours. Yeah. And he's a young guy. Wears flashy suspenders, a real fancy tie. Huh? What are you talking about? Johnson, we have now found the Duke. Lieutenant, come here. Huh? And Joe, Mr. Stark, you both stick around. Look at this, Lieutenant. More cloth stuffed around the street window, and the windows nail shut. All right, so the murderer planned to turn the gas on this guy Duke and shot him instead. That's a radiator, friend. This place has steam heat, no gas. And this overturned chair. And a bunch of neckties standing by. Some of them still knotted. Torn. Say, look here. Lipstick on one of them. Yeah, someplace around here. Wait a second. Top floor, isn't it? I looked in the closet once, but maybe... Yeah. Yeah, here we are. It's been banged into place. What about that chair? No, no, the one right here. Sure, it's the one she used, and it kicked over. Escape door to the roof, Johnson. It's in all these old buildings. Hey, hey, look here on their edge. Blood on these splinters. Breaks. Sure, of course. She just got out of here a few minutes ago. Lieutenant, Lieutenant, what's going on here? Never mind, never mind, Stark. Brace my leg, Johnson. This trap door is heavy. There we are. Okay, come on. Boy, it's windy up here. Yeah. Okay, swing your flashlight. Hey, you on that stack over there by the edge? Oh, yeah, there she is. Turn it off. Turn that light off. Stop that thing. I'm down. I'm down. It's her, all right, Mr. Valentine. It's my manicurist, Miss Castor. Only what in the world is she... Yeah, I know, Joe. Turn the flashlight on your badge, Johnson. Huh? But come on. No, no, stand still. The flashlight on your badge. She knows me, Mr. Valentine. Knows my voice. Miss Castor. Miss Castor. No, no, Joe. Stand still. You too. Oh, but that girl over there... That girl over there is so scared she's out of her mind. Stand still, Joe. She must have finally clawed her way out here when she heard us coming upstairs to Duke's apartment. Must have thought we were somebody else. The same guy who left her there with Duke's body, left her tied up in that chair with those necktie. Mr. Valentine, she's not moving. Maybe you... No, no. She's frozen there, you idiot. Let her keep watching us. Maybe it'll finally sink in. We're all right. And if we're lucky, there won't be any more deaths, any more music boxes. What do you mean? I mean Duke has a sallow face, doesn't he? Pale. Well, yes. I've noticed as I've shaved him. So he's the last one. Everybody's accounted for, Elmington. Elmington was getting a manicure, the sallow-faced Duke he was waiting, and Jeremiah Stark, he was under the towel half asleep. Well, I know, but... Everybody who was in your barbershop, Joe, the day the first music box came, to Emily. The night the police were at your place, and you never told them about the music box you said you received. Why not? Mr. Valentine... Because that one was Emily's, wasn't it? The first music box, the one that started it all, started you killing people. But I... The boys in the barbershop, the boys with more nerve, who took her out. She was a lady. I didn't do those things, Mr. Valentine. I love her. And she probably never even suspected how you felt until you sent her up here with her scissors and stuff to give Duke a manicure. Ah, that's sure. Who else would she take orders from but her boss? Then you followed along and locked her in until you could finish the other boys. What was the big plan? Were you going to come back here and jump off the building together with her? Big romantic deaths? Only we moved too fast for you. Mr. Valentine, I'm here, aren't I? I'm here on the roof. Sure, you're here, buster. I'm here and you're not touching me. And if you grab, I can run. If she sees me coming... Nobody's gonna hurt anybody, Joe. Stand still, Lieutenant. You won't stop me, not before Emily and I do. Go, Joe. I like you. I wouldn't hurt you. No, come on, Johnson. Let him go. It'll be a big romantic death and people will laugh their heads off. What? Oh, what a sucker they'll say. What a jerk. It'll be in the newspapers and everyone. Joe, you killed me. Stop that. The poem, the poem. I can see it on the front page. Silly little flowers all around it. You have dusted my heart with your dainty smile, made sweet my soul. Oh, my sweet soul, they'll say. That Joe Murphy's a cuck. I laughed, didn't I? I laughed at the poem too. Sure, because you had to, because you sent it. Corn on whose foot you sent it killed them. You got the biggest laugh of all and no wonder. A guy like you dreaming about a blonde manicure. Stop laughing. I'm not a gal, but what a laugh you'll get this time. Stop laughing, stop laughing, all of you. Stop it, stop it. I'll kill you. I'll kill you. Hey, I got him, I got him. Oh, good work, Valentine, getting him sore and up to rushes. The girl, can you see her? Is she okay? Yeah, she saw what happened. She's crawling from the edge. Poor kid. She's been near this same abyss for months and never knew it. George, I wish I'd had a chance to meet Emily Caffey. Oh, she's not your type, Brooksy. Besides, she'll need a week or two in the hospital to get over that scare. Oh, the poor thing. Hadn't she ever suspected how Joe felt about her? No, no, just her boss, that's all. Quiet, polite, didn't talk much. Only the longer she was there, the higher he put her on a pedestal, the crazier his dream got. Until he finally got up courage and sent her the music box. Yep, and then she laughed, and the boys laughed, and the dream blew up. And just because of that, all those murders. No point trying to explain a guy like Joe, Brooksy. What he happens sometimes, too much loneliness, too much under his lid. Makes you wonder, doesn't it? But she shouldn't have laughed. Well, she shouldn't have. I know some girls like to go out a lot and have a good time and be happy and everything, but, well, she shouldn't have laughed. I mean, listen. You have dusted my heart with your dainty smile, made sweet my soul with your own sweet dance. Now what fun you've got. What if it is sentimental? Why should people be so self-conscious nowadays about sentimental things? Well, don't look at me that way. I'm not left. I'll say you're not. Oh, the old style, huh? Play that again. It may be very cold or rainy where you are, but you may be sure your car doesn't mind what the weather's doing, so long as you use premium quality Chevron Supreme gasoline. Based on year-round weather records, it's blended for each season and for the West's different altitude and temperature zones. So to get the best out of your car all winter and wherever you drive, go on Chevron Supreme gasoline. With the first tank full, you'll notice right away how much better your car performs. Faster starting on cold mornings, smoother pickup and traffic, powerful pin-free performance on hills. You can't buy a better gasoline for today's high-compression engines. Try Chevron Supreme tomorrow. Get it at independent Chevron gas stations and standard stations where they say and mean, we take better care of your car. Tonight's adventure of George Valentine has been brought to you by Standard Oil Company of California. On behalf of independent Chevron gas stations and standard stations throughout the West, Robert Bailey is starred as George. Let George Do It is written by David Victor and Jackson Gillis and directed by Don Clark. Virginia Gregg appeared as Brooksy, Ken Christie was heard as Lieutenant Johnson, Ed Begley as Joe, Bob Griffin as Stark, and Frank Hale as the landlady. The music is composed and presented by Eddie Dunstetter, your announcer, John Heaston. Listen again next week, same time, same station, to Let George Do It. This is the Mutual Don Lee Broadcasting System.
