Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gut of the prison of the grave. This time a bride-to-be, a corpse in a plush bungalow, and a southern drawl behind a gun all had one thing in common. They moved through the same deep shadow. It happened like this. From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous character in... The Adventures of Philip Marlowe. Now with Gerald Moore starred as Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The Deep Shadow. Hello. Mr. Philip Marlowe, please. This is Marlowe. My name is Harvey Kettering and I'm to be married in four hours at nine sharp. Well, congratulations. I hope you'll be very happy. But my bride is gone, disappeared. I need your help. Now look, if you've been left waiting at the altar, I can't... No, no, no. It's nothing like that. She's in trouble, Mr. Marlowe, I'm sure. Oh? Shirley loves me. Now I'll pay anything you say, 200, 300, anything. Only get out here fast, please. Wait a minute. Where is here? 3840 Sunswept Drive. It's a studio city just across the hills from Hollywood. 3840. Take Laurel Canyon. Now look, Mr. Kettering, I... Please, Mr. Marlowe, please. Okay, okay. All right, Mr. Kettering, I'll see you. The address he gave me turned out to be a healthy chunk of old Spain. A whitewashed house that spread out for at least a hundred yards under a pink-tiled roof. As admitted by a butler with owl eyes, no shoulders, and a small bay window, and we played follow the leader of a cool marble ankle-deep Persian rug in inlaid Philippine mahogany. Finally, I was ushered into the ballroom, which was big enough for a highlight match. It was decked out for a wedding from the champagne buckets and dead over ice lobsters to a pink rose-covered canopy at the center. And in the middle of it all, chained smoking while he worried, was my new client, Harvey Kettering. Mr. Marlowe, I'm afraid there isn't a moment to lose, so I'd better tell you what I know quickly. But let's step outside on the patio. All right, Mr. Kettering. Mr. Marlowe, last night, Shirley and I went... What's her full name, Mr. Kettering? Doyle, Shirley Doyle. Oh, yes, here. Here's a snapshot of her. She's 25, blonde, and as you can see, Mr. Marlowe, very attractive. You're so right. You started to tell me about last night. Oh, yes. We were out together at a nightclub, the Blue Chip. Unventurable of ours? Oh, yes. Now, we'd never been there before, yet I think that's where it started. What do you mean, started? Well, when we were leaving the place about midnight, I called a cab. I was just giving the driver Shirley's home address, the Moorpark Court Apartments, when suddenly she told me to get in and told the driver to start at once. You know why? No, I thought perhaps she'd seen somebody coming from the club, but when I asked her about it, she said it was just her nerves, since tomorrow was her wedding day. I see. Then today she was supposed to call, but she didn't. At two, I called her. Talked to her? No, she was gone. But I talked to the day maid. She said when she arrived, she brought in a note that had been left outside Shirley's door. There's one of those lever message pads in a box on her porch rail. She said it seemed to upset Shirley terribly. Mr. Marlowe, what are we going to do? Now, look, have you been over there to Shirley's place? No, I haven't. Got a key? Yes, I do. All right, Mr. Kettering, you have the key, so let's go. What shall I do about the guests, the men? Nothing right now. We may be lucky. There are only three rooms, Mr. Marlowe. What do you suggest we do? Well, first let's look for that note. She may have left it here somewhere. You try the bedroom. I'll start with the wastebasket. Full of papers. All right. Just a few seconds, Mr. Marlowe. Yeah, sure. Endicott Clinic, 321 North Rosemarie. Say, Kettering, what does Shirley do for a living? Oh, she was a receptionist, Mr. Marlowe, at a medical clinic on Rosemarie. Well, that figures. Oh, Mr. Marlowe. What? Mr. Marlowe, I found it. The note the maid spoke of, it's the same paper written with a soft pencil like the one attached to that box outside. It was on her dresser. Give it here. Let's see it. Dear Shirley Doyle, guess who I ran into last night? Frances Dragato. Suggest you meet me at the corner of Ventura and Woodside Boulevard at 10.30. Not signed, huh? Is Frances spelled with an E? Yeah, yeah, the girl's name. I've never heard Shirley mention the Frances Dragato. And a public street corner wouldn't be much of a place to check five hours after people met, would it, Mr. Marlowe? No, I suppose not. Mr. Marlowe, what have you got? What is it? Oh, a page torn out of the classified directory listing of theatrical agencies. Line through by pencil made down a C. The last one crossed out is Capital Artists. Yeah, that makes Drake Talent Agency next. Well, she never had anything to do with show business, Mr. Marlowe. What do you think it means? I don't know. You going to check with the Drake Agency? No, my first stop's going to be where you were last night, the blue chip. I know the owner, Eddie Shaft, and Eddie knows an awful lot, including things that aren't always exactly his business. He may be able to help us if he wants to. Shall I come along, Mr. Marlowe? No, no, you go home, Kettering. I'll try to deliver your bride before nine. All right. Shall I pay you now? No, we'll let it go, C.O.D. I haven't the slightest idea what I'm going to run into. The snapshot of Shirley Doyle my client had given me reminded me of the kid you went to school with. You know, she had the kind of well-scrubbed look you knew was quick to smile, but I knew that she could be in a lot of trouble if she was tied in at all with the dapper Eddie Shaft. After dark, the blue chip was one of those cozy, soft lights melting on thick drapes kind of places. Made you forget all about the stiff prices for limp food. But now, at a little better than five in the afternoon, under wide-eyed, unblinking work lights, let all the cushion come hither of a union hall. In one corner, a skinny musician with a golf ball complexion was working over a clarinet. While in the middle of a dance floor with no more diameter than the hole in a candy lifesaver, a girl was standing on a piano stool. She was smoking and looking straight ahead at nothing. A red-shingled hair, promise of a nose and plunged neckline tagged her as the singer on the posters outside. One Miss Corky Netherlands. The place is closed, soldier. Glad you told me. Never would have known. Never mind the routine, soldier. Just come to the point, what he wants. Just a few words with the boss. Eddie around? No. No, he's not. How about his bungalow in Coldwater Canyon? You mean it hasn't hit the papers yet? What's the connection between Eddie and the headlines? Soldier, Eddie was stabbed to death sometime this morning. You've got to be kidding. Sometime between nine and eleven, the cops say. Well, so long, sir. Hey, wait a minute, wait a minute, Corky. You have any idea who did it? No, except that maybe it was a dame. Any description on it? The law isn't gabby about things, soldier, believe me. If you don't, try Eddie's bungalow yourself and find out. Now hush it up, will you? Oh, yeah, and Mooney, don't forget to have that fingerprint crook over his other car on that back porch rail. Okay, Lieutenant. How can they start the body dance on us? Yeah, I guess so. We're not going to get any smarter staring at us. Hiya, Matthews. Oh, hello, Phil. What brings you up here? Curiosity, I was in the neighborhood. What's the setup? I hear it's supposed to be a woman. Could be. Where do you hear this? Singer over at the Blue Chip, Corky Netherlands. Oh, her. Yeah, well, she's clear. She was home right up until noon and she can prove it. This happened a little before noon, an hour or so. But it was a woman, all right. What makes you so sure? Oh, Phil, fresh lipstick on a glass and a cigarette, a kitchen knife for a murder weapon, et cetera. Also, some long-nosed neighbor saw a girl. Said she was young, maybe blonde. She wasn't sure. Saw her run out of here a little after 11 this morning. All this adds up to somebody in particular, huh? Well, it should, Phil. Norma Maietta. Who? Norma Maietta is her name. She was Eddie's dearest. You see, it should add, but it doesn't. She left town last night for Chicago on the 1 a.m. plane. We checked it. Of course, Eddie Shaft went with a lot of girls. Excuse me. That's so right. We just got hold of that night cashier over at the Blue Chip. Yeah, what do you say, Monique? Shaft took 50,000 bucks in small bills out of the office safe last night. Oh, what time? About 2 a.m. Had it in a large Manila envelope. Yeah, nothing even close to Manila envelopes turned up here, has it? No, Lieutenant, but that gives us another angle to shoot at. All right, Monique, pass the word to the boys. Okay, Lieutenant. Look, Mono, just a passing thought. What? You sure you're just curious? You sure you don't want to play one-on-one makes two with me? Yeah, yeah, I'm sure, Lieutenant. Well, look, I'll see you. I'll give you a call if I... Mono, wait a minute. Yeah? Look, I know all about your professional ethics, you know, relations between client and private detective. We won't go into that. We're going to go into something else very briefly, Phil. You know, the law on many points is quite clear, Mono. Clear like what, Matthews? Clear like the status of an accessory before or after the fact in a murder case. And like aiding and abetting a criminal. Like a lot of things you know all about, Phil. Keep them in mind, will you? Okay, Matthews, yeah, I'll see you. Since the lieutenant hadn't mentioned Francis Drogato, I didn't see why I should. All of which made it a good time for me to cross my fingers and check the name which had been on deck on the list in Shirley's apartment. The Drake Talent Agency. The place which was on Sunset Strip was strictly coy, colonial, from a miniature Mount Vernon front to an oversized mirror-polished brass knocker on the front door that said my tie was crooked. And I was sure that the gentleman who answered the door noticed it. It was impeccable. In cocoa brown gabardine, white high at the throat, tabbed shirt, and also cocoa brown silk tie. And at the bottom there were thick-soled cordovans with leather laces. At the top a crew cut over jet black horn rims. He took the glasses off and long soft fingers toyed with one stem while he talked. Yes, sir? My name is Philip Marlowe. I'd like to talk to Mr. Drake. I'm Mr. Drake. What was it you wanted, Mr. Marlowe? Well, I'm not exactly sure. You see, I... Hey, Drake, this picture here is Corky and other ones, right? The third one over, yes. She's a client of ours. But this picture isn't what you came to talk about, is it, Mr. Marlowe? What's her home address? I beg your pardon? Come on, quick. It's important. And confidential. This isn't a lonely hearts club, Mr. Marlowe. Skip it. I was playing a long shot when I knocked on your door, Drake, but now it's paid off. So tell me, any stranger call for Corky's address today? I don't know, and the secretary's already left. Look here, Mr. Marlowe, what's this all about? Murder, Mr. Drake. A messy one. Now, do you give me the address or do I start after it myself? Well, I don't know, but... Come on, answer up, Drake. The towers, an apartment hotel and an eye bar. Now, one last thing. Don't call her after I leave unless you want to whip their hand-stitched lapels and cops. In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, you might think that after several years with Gracie Ellen, George Burns had seen everything, done everything, been everything. But this Wednesday night, you'll find George in a brand new role, that of a Flora Dora girl with costume and complications by Gracie Ellen. The Burns and Ellen Show is heard every Wednesday on most of these same CBS stations, along with the Bing Crosby Show and the Groucho Marx program. Now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe in tonight's story, The Deep Shadow. I left the glossy Mr. Drake and his glossy little agency with his mouth hanging open and drove down to Hollywood Boulevard to I-Varne from there up the hill to a five-story air-conditioned monolith with Venetian blinds called The Towers, which offered about as much sanctuary as the Yankee Stadium. I parked heading downhill and walked in across the buzzing green and silver lobby draped with pale pink curtains and blase women to the elevator and rode up to the third floor. Corky Netherland's apartment was the fourth down the hall to the right, and quiet, but the door was ajar two inches. So I rapped hard enough to swing it all the way open. The answer sounded like a cry for help from the bottom of a well. When it came again, I went in and it took me a few seconds to realize that the noise was coming from my closet. And when I got it open, Corky Netherland's reeled out looking like she'd been through a threshing machine. She was here. She was after the money. Who was after what money, Corky? Who? Something's happened. I didn't know her, but she...there she is. Shirley! Miss Doyle, wait a minute! Mr. Doyle! It was Shirley Doyle. She'd been hiding inside near the door. She grabbed a handy oversized ashtray and let it fly at us and beat it. I made it to the hall just as the elevator door closed, so I took the stairs and raced it down to the lobby. I got out on the street in time to see Shirley with a large vanilla envelope in one hand piled into a sleek new Hudson and take off. I ran to my car to follow her, but that was as far as I got. I was stopped cold by a nasty little gun in the hands of a southern accent behind a pair of strictly Hollywood dark glasses. Be a good boy, honey, and hold it. Now look, sister, who do you think you are? What are you... I'll ask the questions if you don't mind. Why are you in such a fuss over the girl who just made off with her? I was trying to get her out of a jam, believe it or not. Well, now isn't that the dauntless coincidence you ever saw? So am I. Only you want to catch her and I want her to get away. I guess that's life, isn't it, honey? Yeah, in the raw, in the raw. You said it. We got big business together, her and me. And it sure don't include you. Just a minute. This ad's like you could be Francis Dragato. Francis who? Dragato. Me? Yeah. Oh, that name's much too fancy for the likes of me, honey. I reckon we can break it up now. So why don't you just give me the keys there in your hand? My keys? Come on, give. That's a good boy. Now, don't try anything silly. And don't fret, honey. I'll leave your car two or three blocks down the street here. Look, maybe you ought to go back upstairs and console little sugar child up there. Maybe take her to a movie or something. You know, the cooler off. Well, that's a nice fresh thower. I'm loaded with them. Yeah, you're loaded. Try me again sometime. So long. Dames. Someday I'm going to get a case where there's no dames connected. Either directly or indirectly. Parking my car three blocks away, that's fine. Fine. Just fine. Hey! Hey, going up! Flower, please, sir. Three. Did you catch her, Marlow? Did you get her? No, no, she got away. Which leaves you and me cocky to make cozy conversation about that mention of dough you slipped on when I let you out of the closet. Come on back in the room, honey. What money? Now, look, you worked for Eddie Shaft as a singer in his club, but what else was Eddie to you besides boss? Just a minute. I don't see what business that is of yours. It's easy, it's easy. He was murdered. The cops have already talked to me, soldier. I'm clean. Those negotiations can be reopened at any time. But one thing, if you don't want to get caught, you can tell them anything about dough, and yet they're very interested in 50,000 missing bucks. That 50 grand was right here in the apartment, wasn't it? Well, you can't blame a girl for trying, Marlow. No, not unless she tries too hard. Now, what does the name Francis Tregado mean to you? Francis Tregado? Okay, skip it, skip it. Where'd you get the dough? Eddie gave it to me to keep for him. Why you? I thought Norma Maeda had the inside track with Eddie. Not after he fell in love with me. Oh, no, that's not good enough, baby. There was a double cross. Where was it? Now, look, Corky, you might as well be smart about it, huh? All right, I didn't kill him. But if you can get that dough back for me, I'll split it with you right down the middle. I'm listening. That club of his is dying on its feet. The blue chip's going broke. Eddie and Norma Maeda raised $50,000 to keep it going. But Eddie decided to get out from under. He got rid of Norma by sending her to Chicago on a trumped-up deal. And he put all that cash in one lump and gave it to me to hold. We were gonna run out together. Only somebody got to him, nailed him, and that left you holding the bag with 50 grand in it. That's nice. Except then a girl who belongs in this mess like a great-grandmother belongs in a high hurdle race stepped in and took it away from you. With the help of a Southern accent and dark glasses. Who are you calling? A friend of mine at Homicide. Why, you... Stay down and shut up. So far you've been lucky, Corky. Don't push it. Dillon Matthews, Homicide. Marlo Matthews, listen, on that Eddie Shaft case. Yeah, what about him? I got a couple of things you might be of help to you. Now, look, item one. That missing 50 grand is being sought after by a Southern accent and dark glasses. A woman? Yeah, she pulled a gun on me. Item two. The name Francis Dragato. It ties in. D-R-A-G-O-T-T-O. Ring any bells? Dragato. That's what I said. Yeah, wait a minute. Oh, yeah, yeah, I remember, yeah. Yeah, but it's nothing, Marlo. It's ancient history. Dragato I know was a third-rate burglar shot and killed resisting arrest down the Sandbar district about five years ago. Way back when I was a proud car sergeant. Look, what about this... Tell me, Dragato have a wife? No, no, I think there was a daughter around. Name Francis? I don't remember that good, Marlo. Look, what is this Dragato business anyway? Well, so far it's a hunch. That's what I thought. Climb off of it and get down to facts, will you? Who's the dame after that Eddie Shaft money? Where did you run into her? I lost her on Ivar. That's not what I asked you, Marlo. I know that's not what you asked, but anything else would be a breach of my client's confidence. All right, look, Marlo, I'm real serious. I'm going to give you just one hour to notify your client and get down here and spill. After that, I'm putting on a call to have you picked up for withholding evidence. Matthews ain't kidding this time. You didn't say goodbye. That's quite a tightrope you walk, Marlo. Yeah, sometimes. You're good, and I'm a girl of my word. You get that money back for me, and it's 50-50. You're my only chance. Don't kid an old kidder, baby. You're a girl of two words, double and cross. Good night, Corky. Well, I found my car all right a half a block from Sunset Boulevard. It took 20 minutes to get from there to the Sandbar District. It was downhill all the way. It was a neighborhood squeezed and cramped in by a solid wall of massive factories and as fested as the bottom of a bent garbage can. At the corner of River Street and Third, I found the house. Three sagging rotten stories of tenement that squatted in the eternal shadow of a huge gas tank like a sick, dirty old man. The proud gleaming giant of City Hall was only seven blocks away. It might just as well have been 70 miles. I went up to the door and knocked, and finally it inched open just far enough for a face the color of dishwater to peek out. She hissed at me for a minute through the gap where her front teeth should have been, and then told me she was Ma Hargis, the manager, motioning me inside. The living room looked like something swept out the back door of a down-at-the-heel museum. So, you want to know about the Dragotas, huh? Yeah, they lived here, didn't they? Maybe. Maybe not. Cops got the old man about five years ago? It's possible. Hmm. What became of his daughter? She was Frances Dragoto. Why? What are you being so cagey about, Ma? Because a bird that asks questions has got an angle, always. The one who knows the answer has got a price, huh? Always. Hmm. Okay, how far will a couple of bucks go? From here to the door. Two bucks won't even buy a buzz on beer these days. All right, we'll make it five. Here. Oh, that's better. Well, Dirk Dragoto and his kid Frances had the second floor here for 15 years. His wife died of TB the first year they was here. Oh, she was a smart one, that Frances. Had a head on her. She always said she was going to get off the sandbar someday and be somebody. Oh, I told her she'd never make it. It's too far, mister. Kids down here get dirty. And it's the kind of dirt you can't wipe off. It gets inside of mine. Oh, yeah. Tell me, what happened to her? I don't know. When her old man got it, she left and I never seen her again. Not to this day. Probably left town and wound up working the gin mills in some other place. Except for five bucks worth? Well, you've bought sight unseen, sonny. Tell me, you got a picture of her? Yeah. As a matter of fact, I have. Good. She was 17 at the time. It's kind of fuzzy, but you're going to see... Hey, wait a minute, Mar. Are you sure this is Frances Dragato? Say, she lived in this dump for 15 years. I'm sure, I know. She looks like somebody else. Girl who was supposed to get married tonight. I got another picture of Frances here someplace. Wait a minute, now. A better one. Let me see now. Yeah, here it is. This was took down on Oliveira Street, one of them stands. Oh, that's her best friend there with her, Norma Maietta. Norma Maietta? Norma was a tough lily. Folks drank all the time and let Norma run wild. Oh, fine. Frances Dragato and Norma Maietta are friends. I'll say. Them two was quite a team. I'll bet. I always wanted to do something for them girls, but... What can you ever do in a hole like this for anybody? You've just done it, Ma. Here's five more. Buy yourself another light bulb. Throw a party with the change. So long. The eyes of one young woman and the chin and mouth of another, side by side, smiling into a camera, had cleared up a lot of questions. But there was one more that needed an answer fast. I called Matthews from the first phone booth I came to, brought him up to date in a hurry, and then asked him to check Norma Maietta's place, if that was blank to meet me at the Moore Park Court Apartments, which was the only other likely place I could think of. I crowded traffic lights all the way out, but he and Sergeant Mooney got there almost as soon as I did. I led them back to Frances Dragato's well-lit cottage, the one she'd taken and her new name, Shirley Doyle. Mooney went to cover the back while Matthews and I moved in up front. Your hunches are paying off tonight, Marlow. Oh, yeah, they're in here all right. Come on over this way. The window's open. We could catch a little conversation first, you know, it might help. Yeah, if you keep quiet, we can. I'm doing Chicago. Thanks for your help, Frances, dear. Yeah. I had to get this money, now more than ever. You've got it, Norma, for goodbye. Now that stuffed shirt you're gonna marry, you'll never know where you really came from or who you really are. Did you get that? Oh, and one more thing, dear, before I go. Yeah? I killed Eddie Shaft this morning. You what? Heard enough, Matthews? No, no, no, hold on. Shaft, when he put me on the plane for Chicago, I figured something was fishy, so I got off and I came back. And I found out he was selling me short for that little jerk Corky Netherlands. We had an argument? I killed him. Then I remembered seeing you leave the blue chip last night. I needed someone like you to get the money for me, Frances. Yeah, there's your tie-in. I couldn't afford to be seen here in L.A. when I was supposed to be in Chicago, not with a murder on my neck. But you were seen by that man who chased me at the hotel. Who, Marlow? He's still looking for a southern drawl in dark glasses. You're the only one who knows the truth. That's what she thinks. I'm not gonna let you involve me in a murder, Norma. Getting that money was one thing, but I'm not gonna be mixed up in a killing. I don't care what it's causing. I'm gonna kill the whole thing. You're a fool, Frances. I got a good alibi for one murder. It'll work for two. Let's go, Matthews. Yeah, fast, come on. You're not gonna stop me now, Frances. Nobody is. And who's that? All right, hold it, girls. We're police. You're not taking me! I'm gonna get you back, Matthews. Mooney, stop her! Hey, stop! Drop it, lady. No! Come on, Marlow. I think she's dead, Lieutenant. She wouldn't stop. She was shooting at me, but she's a woman. All right, Mooney. That gun in her hand, she was a killer and nothing more. Yeah, I suppose she was. If you asked that kid inside, she could tell you what made her that way. Oh, well, let's get out of here, Matthews. I can't thank you enough, Mr. Marlow, for bringing Shirley, that is, Frances, back to me safely. Oh, believe me, Mr. Kettering, it was a real pleasure. And you, Lieutenant Matthews, for your cooperation on withholding the publicity aspects of this horrible thing. Oh, no, it's okay, Mr. Kettering. Glad to help out. We're going to be married, you know, right away. Shirley told me the story and wanted to postpone the wedding, but I wouldn't hear of it. Good. After all, I'm not marrying her for the past. I'm marrying her for the future. Best wishes, Mr. Kettering. Yeah. Well, tomorrow when Shirley's calmed down, give her my congratulations, will you? Well after a long cup of coffee and a lot of conversation about people with Matthews, I finally got in my car and headed home to my apartment on Franklin Avenue, which isn't the best street in town, but it is lined with palm trees instead of garbage cans. And the sun hits it all day long. Yeah, but that reminded me again of River Street, the deep perpetual shadow that hangs over it, a dirty shadow that Marhaga said could never be rubbed off, a shadow that spawns the noma maestas of the world. I was still thinking about it while I got ready for bed. I knew Marhaga wasn't 100% right. I'd seen the exception of the rule, but she was 99% right, just enough to disturb my sleep. Oh well. One guy can't change things, can he? The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, star Gerald Moore, are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald and are written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Gerald Moore may currently be seen starring in Republic's The Blonde Bandit. Featured in tonight's cast were Lillian Bief, Joan Banks, Verna Felton, Yvonne Patey, Jeff Corey, Jack Crouchon, and Tom Holland. Detective Lieutenant Matthews is played by Larry Dubkin. The special music is composed and conducted by Richard Aron. Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says... This time I started with a Romanian from left field, got misled in the Philippine jungles, chased an English accent, cleared a Venice, and wound up at a Shinto shrine with a friend from Siam, all without ever leaving Los Angeles. Dr. Christian, the kindly physician of Rivers End, has the most unusual case placed in his hands this Wednesday night on CBS. His patient, a 16-year-old girl who's in love with an older man, and the man, Dr. Christian himself. CBS cordially invites you to hear this Dr. Christian story, The Rainbow Trail, on most of these same CBS stations this Wednesday night. This is Roy Rowan speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
