Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gutter of the prison of the grave. There's no other end, but they never learn. 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 Collector's Item. Hey, turn the corner, Cabby. Don't lose him. Don't worry, mister. There they are, up ahead of that new nash. Uh-huh. And the white panama hat shows up through the back window of that cab like a signboard. Besides, I've been doing okay so far, ain't I? We stayed in this tail for 20 minutes now. Yeah, but I've been tagging the guy under that hat for six hours. Six hours? For a movie, a Turkish bath, three bars, a restaurant, and two museums. Close the gap a little, huh? Whatever you say, mister. The lava will spot us. How much longer you gonna keep this up? What difference does it make as long as your flag's down? Big difference. My old lady be awful sore if I don't get home tonight. And this father-in-law, the leader routine looks like an enduring one. What difference does it make to you? I mean, it's just a little bit of a shock. It's not the first time you've been on the road like this. My old lady be awful sore if I don't get home tonight. And this father and leader routine looks like an endurance contest. Take it easy, Cabby. At 10 o'clock tonight, a certain big deal will be closed, and then we can both forget about that guy up there and go home. Big deal? What kind of big deal? I ain't nosy. I just don't want no trouble. You'll get no trouble. It's approximately legal, ain't it? Legal is Confederate money. Confederate? Nah, just a minute. I got a living, darling. I'm serious. So am I. Serious is a rare coin dealer. Oh, a new misfitters. Yeah, yeah, that's right. Well, what do you know? I collect and deal in that pennies myself. Small world. And the guy up there in a hat's trying to loss up a sale, ain't that it? Roughly, yeah. Keeping an eye on him till the deal goes through at 10. He's a screwball in a deep suit. Hey, the light's changing. He's gonna be caught. Hey, you want us to slow down? No, no, no. Pull up behind him. It's okay. Right. Hey, mister, look. You see that? Yeah. The pen in my hat, it's gone. Yeah, when I drive ahead, his brakes disappear. Pull up beside him, quick. Can you see? Yeah, the seat's empty. Oh, what a pair of chumps. They've been chasing nothing but a hat propped up in the back of that seat. No kidding. Gee, you sure look natural, didn't you, mister? Oh, nuts. Let me out. Now, look, you get to the other driver. Find out where he dropped this passenger off and anything else you can. Here. Here's 30 bucks for your trouble. Wow. For that kind of dough, my wife can go ahead and get some. Call me at the office, mister. Just ask for Joe Joplin. Ah, keep your shirt on. You get there. Come on, Rayardi, be there. Be there. You'll go off like a Roman candle. Come on, be there. Hello. Hello, Rayardi speaking here. Marlo, Rayardi, I got bad news for you. Huh? A boy, Seth Appleboro, pulled a backwoods gag on me and I fell for it, flat on my face. He shook me. I don't know how long it happened, but... But I do. I know exactly how long ago. Appleboro was here. He was? He was in my shop. He's a madman, that madman. Swoy would kill me, but he didn't. What happened? It was after the coin, of course. He got tough, but I got more tough. I'm not born the day before yesterday. I was forced to ruin a beautiful Renaissance vase on his stupid skull, but at least I got rid of him. So I say, Fooey on Seth Appleboro. Oh. I beat him up myself. Myself, you hear? And I throw him out. He's finished. So at ten, I shall sell the coin to Pierre Bolman as a range, and that will be that. Well, glad to hear it, Rayardi. To send the check to... Just a minute, Mr. Marlo. Huh? Who's there? Who's back there? Who is it? Rayardi. Hey, Rayardi, what's the matter? No. No, wait, wait. No, listen, don't. Rayardi. Marlo, you... Rayardi. Rayardi. Rayardi! I ran out of the phone booth, hailed the first cab that came along, and headed for 113 Marion Avenue. Rayardi's shop was a narrow cell with tattered green shades drawn over dingy windows. The front door was locked, so I went around to the alley where I'd left my car earlier. The back door to Rayardi's was half open. Rayardi sat on the floor, his legs spattled out, his head slumped against the bottom drawer of his desk like... like a drunk, too tired to look for the way home. Beside him on the floor was all that was left was the reason for it. A small open box lined with blue velvet and labeled... Unique, Confederate States of America, half dollar. One of four struck at New Orleans Mint 1861. Only piece of this series now in existence. Source, Colonel J.J. Appelboro Collection, 1880. But the box was empty. The four bits worth of Confederate money was gone. I picked the phone up at my handkerchief and called the cab company office. Two minutes later I had Joe Joplin. Yeah, I got that other drive okay, mister, but I couldn't pry much out of him. Even the hard way, I tried. He left that southern drawl off at the Wilshire Gardens, Villa 9. And he got orders to take the Panama Hat on a ten dollar drive around town. That's all? That's all he knows. He told us some kind of joke. Wilshire Gardens, number 9. Okay, Joe, thanks. I called homicide, told Lieutenant Matthews where he could pick up the body, and before he could order me to stick around, promised to fill in the details later and hung up. After that I got in my own car and drove to the Wilshire Gardens Hotel, Villa 9. What finally came to the door and he could open a cautious two inches. Had a mop of renegade hair the color and shape of tumbleweed. The body is gone as a piece of barbed wire and two sick gray eyes. I tried hard to hide under a pair of scrub brush eyebrows. Seth Appleborough wasn't glad to see me. State your business, sir. What's more, I'm a busy man, I'm not well, so be brief. Okay, we'll start off with murder. Murder? Now see here, sir. We'll follow that with a missing confederate half a buck. How do I come in peaceful like or do I knock the door down? Don't go riling me up, Yankee, or you won't get in at all. What's your name? Philip Marlow. My business at the moment is trying to square things with a client I let down very badly. Client? Then you must be referring to that low down unscrupulous carpet bagger Leon Reati. You're a little confused, aren't you? Reati's from Italy. From northern Italy, sir. And a crooked unprincipled carpet bagger. You said that. The kind who strips the south of our treasures, who pillages and loots and... What? A gun? What's the meaning of that firearm in your hands, sir? I haven't got time for another civil war. Now get away from that door. I'm coming in. You carpet bagger. Now let's knock off the nonsense. Appleboro, where's the half a buck? Where indeed? My poor old fool of a grandpappy, the Colonel, sold it. Sold it for practically face value, sir. Just to keep body and soul together on the plantation back in 1880. And what he was given for, it wasn't worth dirt compared to what that fine old piece of confederate money really was. All right, all right. Where is it? Come on, hand it over. I don't have it, sir. Not yet. But by ginger I'm going to get it. And when I do, it's going home where it belongs, you hear? To the south. You better go to the couch and take another pull on your mint julep, Buster. You look bad. My head. And I want that coin. I'm not kidding. That Reati crowned me with an iron pot. But that won't stop me, sir. I'm not going to stand by and let that rare old half dollar be desecrated any farther. I'll prevent it being sold to any rich doddle and oath of a collector who has the audacity to live in Sherman Oaks if it's the last thing I do. And you, you sir, you won't stop me either. Shut down it! Hold it. That cracked pot. Oh, my head. I should have known. Win, lose or draw, I'm turning you over to the police right now, Appleboro. Charges murder and larceny and it's too bad, but you're essentially to beat both raps on a goofball, please. You, big boy, put down the phone and drop your gun. Oh, rebel reinforcements. Drop it, I said. Oh, friend indeed. Providence is still smiling, sir. Yeah, sure. She's hilarious, Mr. Appleboro. Right, big boy? Don't you see the humor of the situation? The stranger had a flat saucer face, a sour grin in her left hand like a, like a trip hammer. I'd done my best to roll with a punch, but I'd still caught enough of it to jar my brains loose. When I finally got up again, Villa Nine was empty. It took a while for that to soak in, along with another fact. I was up against a team, Appleboro and Saucerface. Also, it was now 9.30, which gave me just half an hour to get to Sherman Oaks for what had to be the next scheduled meeting. The Boneman Mansion on Clooney Drive from Giant Iron Gate out front through overgrown grounds and up to the entrance looked a lot more like the prop room at the Metropolitan Opera than anybody's residence. When I lifted the brass ring in the brass lion's mouth and let it fall, I got another surprise. She had deep hazel eyes with long lashes, close-cropped copper-colored hair, and packed full green suede dress that put no strain on the imagination. A bare shoulder's made you think of toasted marshmallows. Hello. Hello. You, you wouldn't be Pierpont Boneman, huh? And you must have had some reason for knocking, other than window shopping. Yeah, yeah. My name's Marlow. I used to work for Leon Reardy before he was murdered tonight. Is this supposed to concern my Uncle Pierpont? Yeah, I think it does. The fuss that's being kicked up about four bits worth of Confederate money, you'd think that it was a chest of Easterling sterling silver. Only four bits. Yes, I'm afraid he is vitally interested. Come in, Marlow. Wait here. Alright. Uncle Pierpont, come here. What? What? Well, what's the matter, Christine? There's a man here to see you. Mr. Marlow, you'd better talk to him. What do you want? Oh, you. What is it, Marlow? It's about the half a dollar, the one you intend to buy from Leon Reardy, Mr. Boneman. Oh, yeah, yeah. Well, what about it, man? Reardy was murdered tonight. That murdered, you say? If that's true, he hasn't had time to hit the ground yet. What's your game, sonny? You must have some kind of a game. What is it? No games. I'm telling you Reardy was shot and the coin stolen. Are you sure about that? Are you positive? No mistakes? Are you certain, Marlow? I couldn't be more certain if it was tattooed on my forehead. I heard it happen and saw his body over an hour ago. What do you think of that, Uncle Pierpont? Marlow looks at dead bodies, too. I think it's puppy fuck. Yep. What do you think, Chris? Wait a minute. Let me tell you what I think. It's more to the point. I came here because I'm also certain that the man who killed Reardy is the man who took the coin. He'll show up here in the next few minutes posing as Reardy and try to sell you that half a buck as planned. I want you two to help me get him. You know, Marlow, I think you're bombed. Now look, baby, I've had quite a... Hold on, hold on now. There's just one teensy thing wrong with your little scheme, Marlow. You see, ten minutes ago, Leon Reardy, or someone who said he was Leon Reardy, was here. I gave him $37,000 cash as agreed and he gave me this. The only one of its kind in the world. The 1861 Confederate half dollar. The 1861 Confederate Half Dollar In just a moment, we will return to the second act of Philip Marlow. But first, there are songs for sale and one of them may turn into the nation's newest hit as you listen in to CBS on Friday night. This hour-long program of melody is called Songs for Sale. And during the hour, you hear four songwriters with unpublished music as they present their tunes to a panel of veteran top flight songwriters. At the end, the panel picks out one song to be published and plugged. And you'll hear the reasons they give for their choice. Be listening to Songs for Sale tonight on most of these same CBS stations. Now with our star, Gerald Moore, the second act of Philip Marlow and tonight's story, The Collector's Item. The Collector's Item When the wobbly screwball collector clinked the $37,000 50 cent piece on the table top in front of me, his eyes flashed on like a pair of unfrosted light bulbs. And something close to frost started to collect in the upturned corners of his mouth that smiled like the cat that had just eaten the canary. Cage, bird seed and all. There was little doubt about it. That the generic and Pierpont Bowman was what an eccentric would call eccentric. And he was very unconcerned with the murder of Leon Reati. And very fuzzy about what Reati's impersonator had looked and sounded like. I'm afraid I can help little on that score, Mr. Marlow. Only had eyes for the coin. And what a coin he is. Why, sir, you know... Mr. Bowman, you've got to remember something. Height, build, color of eyes, hair, voice. Yeah, yeah, yeah, voice. Was it a Southern accent? Think, Mr. Bowman. Southern accent? Yeah. No. No, Mr. Marlow can't say if it was or not. My hearing isn't all it used to be, you know. But Christine here, now maybe she can... No, no, no, no. Christine wasn't in the room. I answered the door myself. But I did see him come up the walk, Mr. Marlow, from my room upstairs. He was tall, about your height. Or no, perhaps a night shorter. And he wore a gray suit. No, no, no. Darker than gray. Sort of light blue shade. Oh, that's great. Yeah. Thanks a lot. Before I start reaching for a butterfly net myself, I think I'd better get back to Seth Appleboro's place on Wilshire. Why there? Surely if he's the gilly one, Mr. Marlow, he won't wait to be apprehended. Not on purpose, no. But when I last ran into him and his buddy-buddy sauce of face, he was fighting an acute case of vertigo. Might have collapsed since. And besides, I don't know where else to go. Oh, but sir, why must you go anyplace? The police will attend to that Mr. Appleboro. Now look, Mr. Marlow, here on the rim of the corner... Mr. Boneman, this may mean nothing in the new Mismatica League. But I went to work for Leon Reati to protect him, a job I didn't do. Also, losing clients this way is bad for my business and conscience. Good night, and happy gathering coins in May. Mr. Marlow, wait, please. Please, Mr. Marlow, let me see you out and explain something. Be just a minute, Uncle. Now what is it? I'll pay you $500, Mr. Marlow. Not Confederate dollars either, to see that Uncle gets his money back and that the coin is returned to that Mr. Reati's estate. What? You're against the deal? Why? Because it's the hundredth one in the past two years. You hate to see the money you'll one day inherit go to a bunch of screwballs, huh? Why, you foul-minded... Hey! I've got news for you, Mr. Marlow. It's not my inheritance I'm concerned with, it's my uncle. In spite of this mansion and all the junk in it, that $37,000 was every cent he had left. Okay, kid. In that case, two points. One? I had the slap coming. Two, I'll do my best to back up everything to where I came in. Good night. Good night. And Mr. Marlow? Yeah. I didn't enjoy slapping you. She said it like she meant it. Twenty minutes later I was back at the Wilshire Gardens where I found Villa Nine as dark and quiet as the bottom of a well. I had just about decided to quit playing long shots labeled I hope he passed out on his front doorstep when from a nearby clump of pepetries I caught a glimpse of a shadowed figure moving toward me one slow step at a time. I knew that I was spotted in strictly sitting ducks so I tried the only possible out. General nonchalance, I backed the pepetries long enough for the not-so-stealthy hunter to get within hunting distance. Been a good evening to you, Brother Appelboro. Sir, get up and start talking. What? Well, source of faith. Thought I had your partner. Hey, you've gone wrong, Hastie, and you're still doing it. Appelboro's my partner like you look good in tights. The name is Locke, Fred Locke, Treasury Department. Treasury? You mean you're after Appelboro? Uh-huh. I sapped you because from the gab I overheard I figured you were nothing but a lone wolf shooting with a coin. Oh. Appelboro, friend, his big game. He's wanted on half a dozen counts. A lot more important than this Confederate half a buck. Yeah, but he must have gotten away from you because I... He did, he did. Jumped out of my car a couple of blocks from here. But how do you know about that? Who are you? Oh, my name's Marlow. I'm a private detective, license included, winner here. I know that Appelboro got away because he's already been up to the Boneman place where he poses my client, Leon Riotti, who incidentally he killed so he could sell the Confederate lucky piece up there for 37,000 bucks. Quite a hunk of change. Well, uh, sorry we crossed our wires, Marlow, and thanks for the word. Don't worry, he won't get far. Us team men will see to that. Keep in touch with the department if you find out anything, will you? Sure. Oh, uh, say Locke? Yeah? Yeah, well, listen. Just a hunch. Oh, like what? Like you're a cockeyed liar! Like treasury men don't call themselves team men! Any more than private detectives call themselves private eyes! Right. Now, Locke, let's try inside your jacket. Now, let's get rid of this non-treasury department luger. And two, check my wallet and see if at least Fred Locke is your real name. It's my name, it's my name. Yeah, surprise it is. Out of imagination, team man. Come on, get up and start working on a few other questions like where Seth Applesworth is at the moment, and exactly which that guy in his was bluffs. Well, do we keep this up all night? No, no, no, I'll tell you, I'll tell you everything. Okay. Now, first the setup. Come on. Yeah, yeah. There were two of us. Me and Adam. No! No! He had come from the street that was just beyond the perpetrators and slammed into Locke front and center, folded him up like he was built on hinges. By the time I was out of the impact area and had my 38 in hand, the only target I had was a pair of tail lights blinking out of sight in a funnel of dust. Fred Locke was blood-smeared dead and made an ugly centerpiece for the little ring of startled faces that began to converge. I stepped back and became just another sight seer. When a small bald man with a large white eyebrow and lots of worries stamped on his face began to do his lamenting out loud, he was the Wilshire Gardens Hotel Manager and didn't care much for public spectacles on the home grounds. Oh, my goodness. One minute that Mr. Appelboro unconscious in his car and the next this man and he's shot to death. Wait a minute, wait a minute. Appelboro's unconscious in his car? Where? At the other end of the grounds. There's a nasty cut in the spores. One of the guests just found him there. I was just about to call a doctor. Never mind the doctor. Show me the way. Come on. Come on, come on, Dixie boy. Breathe deep. Who? Oh, you again? Yeah, me again. And you're up here drawing a couple of untidy murders. Now snap out of it. Oh, my. It's no use. He doesn't even hear you. That's all right. While it's this peaceful, I think I'll check on this drooping flower of the old South. His wallet should do it. Do what? Whether or not he gave me a straight pitch. Yeah. What do you know? Membership card, Sons of the Confederacy, New Orleans chapter. Here, let me see. Oh, that's his picture all right. Sure is. Well, when the police get here, they... Hey, look. Yeah, what is it? His wristwatch was smashed against the dashboard. So it is. He must have held his hand up to protect his head when he fell forward. Yeah. Now look, friend, the name's Marlow. When the law gets here, tell them they can find me at Sherman Oaks, the Pierpont Bowman residence. Oh, now wait a minute. You can't leave me here with all this on my hands. The police are going to want to know what this is all about. I'll try and have an answer for them. But first I got to ask a crazy collector a not so crazy question. Why, hello, Mr. Marlow. I was hoping you'd come back. No flowers and candy, honey. This isn't a social call. Then what brings you here? Your uncle, is he still up? Yes, but he asked not to be disturbed. Come on. I got a picture I want him to look at. What kind of a picture? A man, possibly the man who sold him the coin tonight. Now where is he? In the gun room. Nobody will scream bloody murder if we bother them. That's the subject on hand. You mean you found out who killed Leon Rearty? No, no. I found out someone else has been killed. Come on, huh? Over that coin? Who was it, Marlow? Guy named Locke. We'll get to the fine print later. Is this the room? Yes, but I'm going to head... It's just the man I want to see. Oh, Mr. Bowman, I hear you. Well, it's quite a blunderbuss. Look, point that somewhere else. Oh, so it is. But don't let it worry you, Mr. Marlow. This Harkibus hasn't been fired in 300 years. That's great. Let's not spoil its record tonight, shall we? Here, have a look. Fine workmanship. Later on. Right now, Mr. Bowman, I want you to have a look. This picture, it's Seth Appleborough. Is this the man who sold you the coin, the one you couldn't remember? No, no. Not the party. Now, on this gun, Mr. Marlow... Uncle, we've had another murder. Oh, oh my, that's too bad. But what's all that got to do with me? I'm not sure. But Mr. Bowman, if Appleborough wasn't the one who sold you that hot half a buck, it must have been an item named Locke. The saucer face buddy-buddy I told you about before. The one who sapped me at Wilshire Garden. Very interesting. And perhaps tomorrow, Mr.... Uncle, please. Go on, Mr. Marlow. Well, there isn't much more. When I left here and I went back for Appleborough, I ran into Locke. I mixed it up and I was just about to get him to talk when he was shot out from under me. What? Appleborough did it? He shot Locke? No. He couldn't have. Oh, why not? Because Appleborough was out cold in his car at the time. Then all you really know is that Appleborough didn't kill this Locke. Oh, I know a little more. I also know now that there's a third interested party mixed in. Who? You, maybe. Uncle? Why, me? Sure. You could have killed Rayardi via hired flunky like Locke. Sold yourself the coin. After all, you broke it's been done before. You're mad. It's insane, Marlow, the idea. To think that Uncle would hire the likes of Fred Locke, Wyatt. Slips, Christine. You shouldn't have known Locke's front name was Fred, should you? I never mentioned it. What? Christine, you mean that... I mean that nobody moves. Christine. Oh, fine. There is one gun in here that's no relic. It's been fired something less than 300 years ago. Yeah, to be exact, less than an hour ago at the Wilshire Gardens when you used it to keep Locke quiet, huh? You, Christine, you're the third party Marlow was talking about. You hired Fred Locke and Appleborough. Had nothing to do with it, Mr. Bowman. It was your niece's partner, Fred Locke, who killed Rayardi in his shop and stole the half a buck. After that, he followed me to Appleborough's place in Wilshire Gardens. There he KO'd me and Appleborough both. Then came out here and sold you the coin. Posing as Rayardi. Correct. You can both go to the head of the club. Not yet. One question, teacher. Why did Locke go back to Appleborough's? Couldn't have been just Locke that I found him there. It wasn't. He was afraid Appleborough had seen him kill Rayardi at the shop. He had to know for sure. Your turn, Uncle. Why did you do it, Christine? I was sentimental, Uncle. I wanted at least the last of your money as a keepsake. And now that I've got it, I want one thing more before I leave. That half dollar in your pocket. Hand it over. Come on. It's worthless to you, Christine. You can never sell it again. Every collector in the world will be on the lookout for it. Don't you think I know that? Then what do you want with it? The pleasure of getting rid of it. I hate it. Like I hate every piece of junk you've squandered your fortune on. The fortune I'd have inherited some day. I'm going to throw it in the first deep river I come to. Hand it over. No, you don't, Christine. Drop it. Drop it. Now, sit in that chair while you can. You may end up in another one. The police arrived. They always do. And after a long hour of questions and answers, there were only two of us left. Pierpont Bowman, standing close to a window, tears crowding his eyes. The fingers of his right hand nervously toying with a confederate coin. And me. Thinking about Leon Reati and Fred Locke. And Christine. It was the old man who finally broke it up. A rotten thing. I left after that. So I don't know if Appleboro got the coin or not. You might check if you're ever running through the New Orleans Museum. The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, bringing you Raymond Chandler's most famous character, star Gerald Moore, are produced and directed by Richard Sanville and written for radio by Robert Mitchell and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast were DJ Thompson, Anthony Barrett, Shepherd Menken, Tom Tully, and Jack Crouchon. 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 an old man dead in a flop house. A sot who carved wood. A fallen lady with a knife, a gold locket, and a snake with big ears. All led me to a soft spot in the killer's hard heart. Every Friday night, CBS brings you stories taken from the files of parole boards of the 48 states. With only the names changed, these stories give in detail the events of a criminal's life up to the time he is up for parole. Then before you hear the board's decision, you can make up your mind. Is this man ready to be set free? It's been hailed by press and public alike as an outstanding anti-crime show. And you can hear it now by staying tuned because Up For Parole follows immediately on most of these same CBS stations. Roy Rowan speaking. This is CBS where you play Sing It Again every Saturday night. The Columbia Broadcasting System. The Columbia Broadcasting System.
