Stand by for crime. Hi, Chuck Morgan speaking. I'm a newscaster and radio station KOP here in Los Angeles. Like most newsmen the world over, I found it smart to have contacts in as many government agencies and as among as many strata of society as possible. You get tips on stories that way that might otherwise be on the wires the day before you become aware that it happened. My contact with the local police is Lieutenant Bill Meggs. Bill is more than a contact, he's a personal friend which is an added help. He's never given me a bum stare. So when I reached my office a couple days ago my blonde secretary Carol Curtis told me Bill had called and wanted me to meet him at a certain address in Sereno, a small town north of Los Angeles. I smelled a good yarn. What's it about Glamour Puss, did Bill say? No, he just said if we came out it would be worth our while. Did he say we? No, but I did. Bill expects me. Oh, and what makes you think that? Well because he always expects me to be along when you go after a story. I see. What's at this street address where he wants me to meet him in Sereno? I don't know. Has there been a murder? I don't know. How long will Bill be there? I don't know. Are you a parrot? I don't... Oh, funny man. Well how can you expect me to answer your questions if I don't know the answers? I don't know. Now you've got me saying it. Get on your hat and shoes and we'll go see if Bill knows the answers. Sereno is a small town about 20 miles north of Los Angeles. It's a residential community for workers in LA industries. There are a few large estates but mostly the town is inhabited by small homeowners who take pride in their lawns and gardens and tree shaded streets. It was in one of those quiet streets that we found Bill Megs. He was parked beneath a huge pepper tree, slouched down behind the wheel smoking a cigarette. We swung in behind him and walked up to the open window of his car. Hello Bill, how's things? Oh hello Chuck. Hi Carol. I suppose you two get in back and let's have a little talk. Okay sure. This sounds like something important. Okay Bill, let's have it. Well last night a man named Gladstone Smith was murdered. It took us quite a while to identify the body. His face was badly smashed. Either of you ever hear of Mr. Smith? No I haven't. Is that an important bill? Nope. Works in the city hall here in Sereno. He's an auditor in the tax department. Wait a minute. If he lives in Sereno and works in Sereno, what are you doing on the case? You're in the LA force. The murder was committed in LA. However, that's one of the reasons I asked you to come here. How's that? Well you can do a lot of things I can't do because you're not restricted. Now take a look around June and tell me what you see. Nothing very exciting. A pleasant street. Small, neat homes. Trees. Lawns. Shrubs. Nothing unusual. Well there's a filling station on the corner. That's unusual. Well Bill asked you to. You both missed it. You know what I see when I look around? What's that? Well I see security. I see comfort and relaxation after a hard day's work. I see pride in the things that a man lives for. I see freedom from fear and want. I see a piece of America that everyone should look at and be glad exists. Well, well, well. Is this our Bill Megs talking? Sure it's corny. Go ahead and laugh. I'm supposed to be a hard-boiled cop. I wouldn't say this to anyone but you two. As I thought up to now you might have enough imagination to go along with a gag. Well that's putting it on the line. Okay Bill, what else do you see? Well I see the confidence and trust that the people who live in these houses put in cops like me. I see a community where people should be able to walk along a dark street at night without fear of violence. I'm beginning to get it Bill. Don't stop now. No for heaven's sakes. I'm beginning to see things myself. Good. All right here's the deal. A resident of one of these small homes is murdered. His face is smashed beyond recognition. Just an ordinary guy. Nothing to set him apart from his neighbors. He's been an accountant for 25 years, has a family, owns an automobile, pays his bills, belongs to a lodge, attends PTA, goes to church. So last night he becomes a corpse. Why? Well there's an answer and it's got to be a good one. Now wait a minute. You're talking like a cop again. Let's get back to the sentiment. You want to do more than find this murderer. You want me to play it up big, make a terrific story out of it so that the other people in this community and all other communities where decent law abiding people live could be reassured. That's about it. Chuck, you've always fancied yourself as a half-baked detective. Why don't you snoop around the neighborhood and see what you can pick up? Listen, I resent that crack about me being a half-baked detective. Because I am. All right, I'll go along with you on a bill. But it seems to me there's one thing you've overlooked. Yeah? What's that? Suppose I snoop around and find that Mr. Gladstone Smith has been having a romance with his neighbor's wife or he's been stealing funds from the city or something worse. Then where will your great big sentimental theory be? I've already told you this murder was committed in my district, Los Angeles. Would it help matters any if I told you that I know who murdered Mr. Smith? Well, when Bill Meggs announced that he knew who murdered Gladstone Smith, I didn't know how he was throwing us a curve or not. It wasn't like him. But one thing I was sure of. There was a whole lot more behind this murder caper than he was admitting. He had a long-range plan that somehow involved me and the publicity I could give the results. Well, that was okay. But before committing myself, I wanted the answer to a few questions. Wait a minute, Chuck. Before you say anything, I have a question I want to ask you. Okay, Glamour, let's go ahead. Bill, if you know who murdered Gladstone Smith, why haven't you arrested him? That's a good question. Because the man who murdered Gladstone Smith is a sneaking little cur named Spider Morelli. Well, that's a good answer to a good question. Why? What difference does it make what his name is? If he murdered Gladstone Smith... Because, Mammoth, Spider isn't the man that Bill wants. Spider's a paid murderer. He kills for money, not motive. Bill wants the man with the motive, the man who hired Spider. That's it. And he thinks that I, under the guise of a newsman looking for a story, can find that man. That's it. So we'll just drift around the neighborhood, talk to Gladstone Smith's friends, and see what we can pick up. That's it. Bill, do me a favor, will you? Sure, Carol. Stop saying, that's it. And there's one other thing. If the man who hired the sneaking little cur to murder Gladstone Smith gets suspicious of what Chuck is up to, which he probably will, then he's going to hire the sneaking little cur to murder Chuck. Did you think of that? Sure I did. Well? Well what? Well, what if Chuck is murdered? Well, then Chuck will be dead. Now, don't worry, Glamour, because Bill isn't going to let that happen. Oh, by the way, Bill, Smith's family has been notified, I suppose. No, they haven't. Huh? We haven't told anyone about this thing yet, so you'll have to work fast. But the family should be notified, Bill. Yes, they should. I thought I'd let you two handle it. Let us? Uh-huh. Bill, you're supposed to be a friend of mine, aren't you? Well, yeah, sure. I've known you for years, Chuck. Why? Get lost. It wasn't an easy task that Bill had handed us. Ordinarily I would have balked, but I was still convinced he had an underlying motive that he couldn't let us in on at the moment. Well, Carol and I found the Smith home, a block from where we'd met Bill. It wasn't unlike any other house on the street, except that the small, well-cared-for lawn was enclosed by a white picket fence. We went up the flagstone walk and banged the front doorbell. Yeah? Hello, are you? No, I'm sorry. You wouldn't be Mrs. Smith. Is she in? There isn't any, Mrs. Smith. If you want to talk to the lady of the house, I'm your pigeon. What are you selling? We're not selling anything. Are you related to Gladstone Smith? Yeah, I'm his daughter. Flo is the name. Why? May we come in? We'd like to talk to you a minute. What about? Oh, okay, I guess it's all right. Come on in. Well, what's the old man been up to now? I'm afraid we have some unpleasant news for you, Flo. Yeah, what is it? Your father's dead. My father's dead? No kidding. And you call that unpleasant news? Well, that's the best news I've had in years. What, the old man dying, squeezing nickel? He was murdered. Murdered, huh? Well, now that's something I'll buy. That's the one if someone didn't do the job long ago. You mean there's a lot of people who had a reason for murdering your father? Sure, everyone who knew him. Including yourself? Yeah, including myself. Seems to me you're talking rather strangely for a girl who's just lost her father. Does it? Then you should have lived with my old man. He was mean and he was stupid. Stupid? I'll tell you how stupid he was. Last week he paid the real estate tax bill, paid it to his own office, and it bounced. How do you like that? It bounced. Oh, brother, did Barney get a laugh out of that one. Who's Barney? Oh, he's my boyfriend. The guy I'm going to marry. I should think you'd have married him long ago just to get away from your father. Ah, the old man wouldn't let me. He said Barney was too old. He used to get a big bang out of reminding me he was still boss. How old are you, Flo? Seventeen. But don't get me wrong, Buster. I've been around. Yeah, yeah, I can see you have. Around the wrong places and the wrong people, I'm afraid. Well, I suggest you don't do anything as rash as to marry this Barney until the juvenile authorities have a talk with you. Also, I suggest you don't leave town until the police have learned just which one of your father's friends or relatives hated him enough to commit murder. Well, it seemed to both Carol and me that Bill Meg's dream of a quiet, peaceful, law-abiding community had come to an abrupt ending. The Smith family was an example of the type of people who lived along these tree-shaded streets. It was a toss-up with a grammar person I felt more sorry for Bill or more disgusted at Gladstone Smith's charming daughter when we left that house. Well, anyway, a green coupé was parked at the curb, and Pappy Mansfield, owner of KLP, was sitting in it. Hey, you two. Come over here. Hi, Pappy. Pappy, what are you doing out here? Oh, I just happened to be in the neighborhood, saw your car, and thought I'd find out what you were up to. Yeah, you didn't happen to see Bill Meg's first, did you? Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I did. Did Bill tell you why we were here? Well, partly. How'd you like Flo? Do you know Flo? Known her for years. She's a stinker, isn't she? That's putting in Marley. You know, Pappy, I smell something, and I don't like the odor. First, Bill Meg's tells us a sentimental story about a beautiful community with flowers growing around doorsteps and birds twittering in treetops. Now, just calm down, Chuckie boy. Bill knows what he's doing. You know that. Do I? Now, look, I don't mind being a fall guy if it pays off with a good story, but this is going too far. Now, this will pay off, too. Bill's got a good idea. His hands are tied, so let's give him some help. He called me because he knew I was a friend of Gladstone Smith, and he wanted you to know something about the man's character before you made the next move. Gladstone Smith is a... was a friend of yours, Pappy? I've known him ever since he adopted Flo. Seventeen years ago, I gave him a character reference. What? Flo's adopted? That's right. She's a living example of heredity over environment. She began giving the Smiths a bad time from the minute she could walk. When she was five, Mrs. Smith died. And Gladstone's friends urged him to turn the kid over to one of the societies who handle such cases, but Glad felt she was his responsibility, so he kept her. Well, I'll be doing it. He did everything he could to give the kid a break. Good schools, the companionship of his friends' kids, summer camps, everything. But it didn't do any good. Just about broke Glad's heart. Well, then Mr. Smith isn't a louse his daughter claims. Glad? Why, Glad Smith was one of the finest men who ever lived. I'm proud to have known him. You'll find out that all his friends feel that way when you get to talk to them. When we get to talk to them? Are we going to talk to them? You are. Carol isn't. She's coming back to the office and work up a human interest angle on this yarn. Oh, I am? Yes, you am. Chuck, the next man you're to talk to is B.L. Darcy. Who's he? He's the tax collector of Serino, the man Glad Smith worked for. So, what am I going to talk to him about? Tell him Glad's been murdered. Ask him questions about Glad, about his work, about Flo. You'll find out why we want you to talk to him, and you'll get a more surprising reaction than you did when you talked to Flo. Now, the conclusion of Stand By for Crime. Well, this was a switch on my usual procedure, and I wasn't sure I liked it. So what if I didn't? Pappy Mansfield was my boss, Bill Meggs was my friend, and Carol was all in favor of letting me continue to stick my chin out. So I drove over to White Oaks Avenue and found the address of B.L. Darcy given to me by Pappy. It was one of Serino's small estates, a comfortable ranch-style house, set on two acres of well-landscaped ground with shrubs and shade trees. No one answered when I rang the front doorbell, and I walked around back and found a man in shirt sleeves burning some trash in an incinerator. He was in his middle 50s, well-dressed, present appearing. Hello there. Looking for me? If you're B.L. Darcy, I am. That's right. I'm Darcy. My name's Morgan. Chuck Morgan, newscaster on KLP. Oh, sure, sure. Listened to you a lot, thank you. What can I do for you, Mr. Morgan? I guess you haven't heard about Gladstone Smith's death. Glad Smith dead? That's right. Finally caught up with him, eh? A pity. What caught up with him? He had a heart condition. Been favoring himself for years. Oh, no, no, it wasn't his heart, or at least the police don't think so. They believe Smith was murdered. Murdered? Glad Smith? Well, that's a hard one to believe, Mr. Morgan. Who would want to murder harmless old Glad? Well, that's what the police are trying to find out, and I'm trying to work up a story on the case. Do you mind if I ask a few questions about Smith and his family? No, not at all. Just wait until I stuff the rest of these papers in the incinerator. Sure. There we are. Let's walk back to the house and I'll buy you a drink. What kind of a man was Smith, Mr. Darcy? None better. Quiet, unassuming, credit to his job. Sit down here in the patio, Mr. Morgan. I'll go make us a drink. No, no, I'm afraid I'll have to skip the drink. Thanks, just the same. What member of your department will replace Smith as auditor? You could work up a good case there without half trying. Harry Thomas has been after Glad Smith's job for years. Now he'll get it. What kind of a man is he? Different type than Glad, but equally as reliable. No, Mr. Morgan, I'm afraid you'd be wasting your time if you tried to make a murder out of Harry. He isn't the type. Well, I think I'll have a talk with him anyway. Thanks for your time, Mr. Darcy. Glad to be of help. Anytime you want a favor, just call on Barney Darcy. Well, I'll do that. Wait a minute. Yeah? Barney Darcy. You're not the Barney who's going to marry Gladstone Smith's daughter, Flo. Why, yes, I am. We'll be married as soon as Flo comes of age. Anything wrong with that? I went away from BL Darcy's in somewhat of a daze. Mr. Darcy had put it right on the line. What's wrong with me marrying Flo Smith, he'd ask. What was wrong with a 55-year-old man marrying a 17-year-old girl? It happens all the time among some of our best families. Somehow, this deal didn't ring true. I drove down to the Serena City Hall and found Harry Thomas. He was a little wizened-up man, maybe 40, maybe 50. He was willing, almost eager to answer my question. Glad Smith dead? Say, that means I'll get an automatic promotion into his job. Been waiting for this day for years. Well, don't you think it's more important to think about finding the murderer of Smith at the moment than it is your promotion? Sure, I'll do anything I can to help, but we've all got to go sometime, you know, Mr. Morgan. Yeah, that's right. But the method of going is sometime more important than the going. And how about your boss, BL Darcy? You like working for him? Oh, sure. Barney's okay. Works hard, never misses a day. Fair to everybody who works in his department. Yep, Barney's all right. Did you know he was planning to marry Flo Smith when she comes of age? No, just talk. The kid's infatuated. Barney's a handsome sort of guy. His wife died last year. He's lonesome. Probably gets a bang out of the kid's interest. Well, he told me an hour ago he intended marrying her. That's so? That's right. Well, that's his business, if that's the way he wants it. Yeah. By the way, are the tax books open to the public? Tax books open to the public? Hmm. Well, that's a funny question. Nobody ever asked it before. Why, sure, I suppose they are. You want to look at them? Yeah, I'd like to see what kind of an auditor Gladstone Smith was. I'd asked that question on Impost. I didn't know what I was trying to prove. Anyway, Harry Thomas showed me the books, and I began going through them haphazardly, not knowing what I was looking for. But all of a sudden, finding something. It was there in the third book I looked at, and the only reason I found it was because the book fell open to a certain page when I picked it up, as though someone had been looking into the same book not too long ago. Well, ten minutes later I was back at the Gladstone Smith house, talking to the charming Flo. Where's the blonde babe? Should she give you the brush? Never mind that. I want to see the tax check your father wrote that bounced. Oh, you do, huh? Why? Just go get it. I'll explain later. Oh, you will. Look, jerk, who do you think you're ordering around? Play it for all it's worth, Flo. I happen to know you can't show me that check because there is no such check. What are you talking about? Didn't I tell you I saw it with my own eyes? Prove it. You gave that check away to protect the murderer of your father. Are you nuts? Okay, just to show you what a knucklehead you are, I will prove it. It's right over here in this desk. The old man kept all them things in this drawer. Well, Flo? It isn't here. Hey, what kind of a game are you trying to pull anyway? Look, I don't like you. I don't like your looks or the sound of your voice or nothing, so get out. Get out before I call the cops. Sure, Flo. Sure. I found out what I wanted to know. So long. Well, I was beginning to see the light at last. So I called my office, told Glamourpus to tell Pappy and Bill that everything was going fine, and put a sub in on my seven o'clock broadcast. At nine o'clock that night, I parked on a street running parallel to White Oaks Avenue and tore my pants climbing a fence into Barney Darcy's backyard. The house was dark, but I waited ten minutes before making a move. Nothing happened. So I sneaked up to the incinerator and carefully opened the door. Then something did happen. There was a quick step behind me. And suddenly, I was lying on my back looking up at the stars, trying to recapture full consciousness and failing. Away, way off, I heard voices. Nice going, Spider. He didn't see a thing. You want us to finish him off here, Boss? No, get him out of here. Downtown. Same place, same method. Okay, Boss. Look, Boss... You'll get your money as soon as the job's done. You got it before, didn't you? Okay, Boss, okay. Help me lug this guy out of the car. He's heavy. It was just about then that the reeling stars came into focus. They were blotted out as a figure leaned over me and put his hands under my shoulders. I reared up into Corvus' neck. You dirty spider, hit him! Get away from him! I can't, he's choking me! This'll fix him! Oh... This time, I didn't have the reeling stars to look at. I was out like a candle dipped into a bucket of water. The next time I knew I was lying on the floor of the backseat of an automobile with my hands tied, I could tell by the sounds of traffic we were in downtown L.A. I began working at the ropes, but there wasn't a chance of getting loose. The car made a sudden left turn. I got up to my knees. I saw we'd entered an alley. The headlights of another car suddenly appeared at the other end of the alley. And a moment later, headlights appeared behind us. Spider cursed and rammed on the brakes. The back door to a building stood open on our left. Spider saw a chance to escape, and I saw a chance to stop him. I looped my bound wrist over his head and yelled, All right, spider, this is the end of the road for you, you lousy, let me go! Not a chance, spider. You couldn't get out of this back of Darcy's and you can't now. Chuck! Yeah, fine friend you are, Megs. I might have been killed. You wouldn't have been killed. You haven't been out of our sight for the past ten hours. Are you all right, Chuck? Yeah, sure he's all right. He's just mad because he thought he was going to be murdered because he's got a hole in the seat of his pants. Well, the thing wound up about as Bill Megs had planned. He'd had a tail on Barney, Spider, Flo, Harry Thomas, and myself ever since the caper started. They'd overheard the conversation near the incinerator, so all three members of Serena's police force had closed in on B.L. Darcy, the man at Spider, and had driven me off. Bill wanted Spider for himself, which is why he let the rat back into Los Angeles. I went home, changed my clothes, and went to the hospital. Then I met Carol, Bill, and Pappy at Nicodell's for dinner before doing my 11 o'clock broadcast. So you had the whole thing worked out beforehand, eh, Bill? No, I wouldn't say that. I talked to the Serena police. We suspected Darcy, but we also suspected Harry Thomas, and we figured Flo was mixed up in it somehow. We didn't have any proof, which is why it was necessary to bring someone in from the outside. That's why I suggested you. You're not a cop, and we wanted to keep this as a secret. Serena's a nice town. Was Flo mixed up in a check? No, she wasn't putting on an act when she discovered that the canceled check was missing. You see, it wasn't a check that had bounced. It was a check that would prove that B.L. Darcy was guilty of juggling the Serena tax books. Well, just how do you figure that? Because Gladstone Smith had occasioned to check the books one day, Pappy, probably for some other purpose entirely, and found that his own taxes were in arrears. This bothered him because he knew he'd paid the bills. He went home, dug out his canceled checks, and found the one that paid the bill. He must have said something to Flo about it. She thought he was talking about a check that had bounced. Sure. Flo thought it was a good joke, and she mentioned it to Bonnie Darcy. So Darcy knew that Gladstone had to be liquidated, or his little racket would be exposed. So he hired Spider. There's a lot of other things that made me suspicious about this Darcy. A man as well off as Darcy wouldn't be burning his own rubbish in the middle of the day, especially a man who had the reputation of never missing a day at his office. So you went back to the incinerator to find out what he'd been burning, hoping to find a fragment of Smith's canceled check. That's it. So Darcy and Spider will probably go to the gas chamber. The charming Flo is taken over by a welfare society, and Harry Thomas gets to be tax collector. That's it. Hey, wait a minute, Chuck. That's my line. What's your line? That's it. Oh. Okay, Bill, it's your line. Here comes Vince with the check. Bill will take it, Vince. That's it, Bill.
