Stand by for crime. Hi, Chuck Morgan again, newscaster and radio station KLP here in Los Angeles. You know, murders become such a commonplace crime that it takes one of unusual violence, a fiendishness to really make an impact on the public. We had one of those especially fiendish murders in LA not long ago. A young couple parked up a Moholland drive. Their murdered bodies had been found horribly mutilated, mutilated in fact beyond recognition. A police car had happened along five minutes after the tragedy and found a man standing over the slashed bodies with one hand on the door of the car. His name was Eddie Flores, a parolee. He seemed dazed when the cops approached him, but he snapped out of it when they accused him of the crime. He slugged one of the cops, managed to evade the other, and got away by jumping over a steep embankment and disappearing into the brush. By Wednesday, Eddie Flores still hadn't been taken into custody. On Thursday morning I arrived at my office around 11 o'clock. I found Carol Curtis, my blonde secretary, waiting for me with a look of concern and a gorgeous face. What's the matter, Glamourpus, have a hard night? Yeah, I had a hard night wondering why you didn't take me to dinner after your 11 o'clock broadcast like you promised. All that, will you see, Glamourpus, I had something to... We'll talk about it later. All right. Right now there's a female waiting to see you in the outer office. A female, is she good looking? Well, what do you care if she's good looking or not? Good looking girls are always easier to talk to, that's why I hired you, Glamourpus. Oh, is that... oh, what was that you said? I'd better get you. Who is she, why does she want? Oh, Chuck, do you really think that I'm... Yes, now who is she? Oh, you're so romantic. Well, hold on to your hat. She's Eddie Flory's girlfriend. Eddie Flory's girlfriend? Come on, what are we waiting for? Chuck, wait, she's a nice little thing and I... The nicer the better. Rather, with a direct quote from Eddie Flory's girlfriend, help my seven o'clock broadcast. But Chuck, if you'll only listen... Hello, I'm Chuck Morgan. I understand you know where Eddie Flory's is hiding out. Chuck, I didn't say that. Anything you care to say, Miss... Constance. Emily Constance is the name, Mr. Morgan. And to answer your first question, yes, I do know where Eddie's hiding out. You do? Holy smoke, what a break. Look, I'll tell you what I'll do, Emily. If you tell me where he is, I won't say a word to the police until after my seven o'clock broadcast. Isn't he wonderful? Miss Constance, if I were you, I'd tell him to drop dead. Shut up, Glamourpus. Besides that, Emily, I'll pay you $1,000 in cash and you have six hours to shift Eddie to a different location. Well, thank you very much, Mr. Morgan, but the $1,000 doesn't interest me. However, I'll be glad to tell you where Eddie is hiding. You will. Emily, before you say any more, let me tell you about this man. You won't have to, Miss Curtis. Thank you just the same. I know a lot about Mr. Morgan. I never miss one of his broadcasts. I know he's fair and honest and tries to help people like Eddie who's falsely accused of something he didn't do. No, no, not another one of those. Here I go again. I'm sorry, Mr. Morgan. If that isn't true, I'll... You're on the right track, Emily. Stick with it. The big lug is putting on his usual act. It inflates his ego. Now, you tell him your story exactly as you told it to me. Glamourpus, I don't know why I didn't fire you months ago. And I don't know why you didn't take me to dinner last night. Oh, but that's something we'll talk about later. Okay, Emily, tell him. There isn't much to tell except that Eddie didn't murder those two people. If you'll only see and talk to him, you'll know I'm telling the truth. Would you do that, Mr. Morgan? No. In the first place, Emily, if I knew where Eddie Flores was hiding, I'd be duty-bound to tell the police. In the second place, the evidence is too strong against the boy. And in the third place, he jumped his parole, which is practically an admission of guilt. Well, don't give up, Emily. He'll weaken. If he doesn't, we won't have any story tonight. I can understand your feelings, Mr. Morgan. That's why I... I have a proposition to make. A proposition? I wish I had the words to convince you that Eddie is innocent, but only Eddie can do that. That's why I'm willing to take you to him. If after you've talked to him, you're still convinced he's guilty, then Eddie will let you take him to the police. It's a good deal for everybody, Chuck. It's Eddie's only chance. And win, lose, or draw, you have a good story. Hmm, makes sense. Still... I have one more offering to make, Mr. Morgan. Yeah? What is it? Eddie knows who owned the car in which the murdered couple were parked. Well, as Carol said, win, lose, or draw, I'd have a story if I took Emily Constance up on her proposition. So, directly after my seven o'clock broadcast, I headed for the address Emily had given me. It was no wonder the police hadn't been able to pick up Eddie Flores. He was hiding out in the last place I or anyone else would expect to find him. In an apartment in Longwood Towers, the swankiest and most expensive apartment house in Wilshire Boulevard. It didn't make sense because Eddie had been working part-time in a tree nursery, earning less than 50 bucks a week. But anyway, I survived the lofty looks of the uniformed doorman and the uniformed elevator boy and found apartment 1121. Oh, hello, Mr. Morgan. We've been waiting for you. Hello, Emily. Quite a place your boyfriend picked up for his hideout. It cost 500 a month in advance. It took every cent Eddie and I could scrape together, but we knew no one would look for him here. And you don't expect to be here for more than a month. We hope that Eddie will be leaving tonight. Oh, here's Eddie now. Eddie, this is Mr. Morgan. Hello, Mr. Morgan. So you are Eddie Flores. Well, Eddie, you're about 15 years younger than I thought you'd be. How old are you, son? Twenty-one. Twenty-one. And already a parolee. You're off to a bad start, Eddie. Do you know why I'm a parolee, Mr. Morgan? Why should I know or care? That's why I asked Emily if she'd try and get you to come here. I agree there's no reason why you should know or care why any parolee did time. But when one of them affects you personally, I think that should change the complexion of things. I don't get it. Well, let's look at it this way. I'm a parolee. I try to get a job. I have to explain about my past. What happens? Everyone turns me down simply because I've been in jail. They don't even want to know why I was there. They aren't interested. Is that fair? Maybe you got something there, Eddie. A guy's got a couple of strikes on him after he's done time and tries to go straight. Just why were you in jail? I was in college at the time, studying forestry. One night, a bunch of us went to a roadhouse and had a few. A guy named Bob Talmadge owned the car we were in. He'd been drinking straight shots. The rest of us didn't know that. Bob hit a man on the way back to school and almost killed him. All of us got a year for it. I see. It was when I got out on parole and tried to get a job that I realized how much the world is against a man who's done time. You think that I'm in a position to give these parolees a break? Well, yes. You've got a reputation for things like that. Now, wait a minute, Eddie. Take it easy. It seems to me you're getting off the subject. You said nothing yet to convince me you aren't guilty of those murders. What were you doing up in Mulholland Drive, anyway? I... I was taking a walk. You were what? Please believe him, Mr. Morgan. Eddie's interested in forestry, in nature. That's all he cares about. He spends all the time he can out in the woods. Even at night? There's a lot to interest a man in the woods at night, Mr. Morgan. Even if the woods consist of the brush you find up on Mulholland. Okay, okay. So you were taking a walk. What happened? I came to this parked car. I thought I recognized it. I stepped off the road for a closer look and found the bodies. I was standing with my hand on the car door when the police arrived. I got scared. I knew I didn't have a chance. That's why I ran. Why did you know you didn't have a chance? Because the car belonged to Max Royster, and last summer during vacation I got a job driving for him. When I found out what he did for a living, I tried to quit. He had some of his boys beat me up. Are you talking about Max Royster, the numbers-wracker king? Yes, that's right. I even had a motive for wanting to see him dead. But he isn't dead. It wasn't Max who was murdered. I didn't know that. The bodies were so badly mutilated. Oh, yeah, yeah. That's right. Eddie, your story is cockeyed enough for me to almost believe it. Oh, thanks. But look, Mr. Morgan, whether you believe it or not, I'm giving myself up to the police tonight. Why? I've only waited this long because I wanted to talk to you. Everyone's against me. I hoped I'd have you on my side. When I went out of there with mixed feelings of doubt and certainty, I was more than halfway convinced that Eddie was telling the truth. If he turned himself in to the police, within the next half hour, as he promised to do, I'd be practically sold. But what could I do? Devote some time to trying to sell the public on the idea that jail birds should be given a break? What would that prove? Eddie Flores didn't need me. He needed a smart detective who could prove him innocent of murder. Well, I got back to the station about 10 o'clock. Pappy Mansfield, owner of KOP, and Carol were entertaining a guest in my office. It's about time you got back. Where you been? Where the den? Carol, didn't you tell Pappy that I... No, I was going to, and then something happened to change my mind. Something happened to change your mind? Oh, wait a minute. Chuck, this is Peggy Melbourne. She's a friend of Max Royston. Hello, Mr. Morgan. Peggy's got a story to tell you, Chuck. Better listen. I'm listening. I bet I can guess where Mr. Morgan's been during the past hour or so. He's been talking to Eddie Flores. That where you been, Chuck? What makes a young lady think that's where I've been? Because I know Eddie, and I know it's exactly the sort of thing he'd do. He worked for us, for Max for a while. He used to listen to every one of your broadcasts and talked about them all the time. He used to say that if a guy ever got into a jam, Chuck Morgan would be the man to see to get him cleared. I see. Go on. Well, the kid was an actor. He had us fooled for a long while. Said he was studying forestry or something. Then one day we found out he was stealing our receipts. He and Max had a fight. Max beat him up. A sort of dog-eat-dog routine, huh? It was then. It isn't now. Max quit the racket three months ago. He's going straight. We're going to be married. Well, well, Max, he's quit the racket. Chuck, there's a scoop for you. Quit isn't the word to describe it. Retired would be better. Why, I'll bet Max Royster has enough. That's not fair of either of you. A man tries to go straight, and he gets a reaction like this every time. What's wrong with a numbers game? Is it any worse than betting at the racetracks or playing poker or investing in the stock market? No one's forced to buy a number. Well, the only thing I can think of that's wrong with a numbers game is that it's illegal. So you think that Eddie Flores has sold me a bill of goods, huh? Oh, sure. He knew he couldn't stay in Hayden forever, so he picked the one man he hated and tried to frame him, making you the goat. That's not an unusual experience, the judge. Quiet, Clamifus. Now look, Peggy. There's something about all this that smells to high heaven. Either you or Eddie Flores is an awful liar. Right now, I don't know which one of you is putting on the act. Would you believe it if I told you Eddie Flores gave himself up to the police a half hour ago? No, he's not that much of a sucker. What if he has? He hasn't. If he told you that, you were a fool to believe him. I know that little weasel better than anyone. Well, let's find out. Police headquarters? This is Chuck Morgan. Get me Bill Meggs, will you? Hello, Bill. I suppose you know about Eddie Flores turning himself in. What? Well, how about one of your substations? Well, no in a minute, huh? I see. Well, okay. Are you positive? No, that's right. Fingerprints don't lie. Okay, Bill. See you. Well, what was that all about? Did Eddie give himself up? No, Eddie didn't give himself up. And they've identified the body of the man who was murdered. Well, who was it? Max Royster. Well, sucker Morgan had gotten himself behind the eight ball again. And his glamour person remarked it wasn't unusual. The trouble was that most times before I'd seen an out and had taken it. This time I couldn't see anything but a lot of ribbing from Pappy and Carol for the next few weeks. Which would be tougher to take than my regular weekly beatings. Which is why the next morning, after confirming that Eddie Flores hadn't checked in at police headquarters, I told Carol to get into a pair of slacks and take a ride with me up to Mulholland Drive. Well, what I can't figure out is how Bill identified the corpse of Max Royster. From what you told me, his face was mashed to a pulp and old identification marks removed from his clothing. You're too used to thinking I'm the only smart man in town, glamour person. Bill's smart too. Oh, don't be so modest. First he identified the automobile. That took a little doing because Max had used an alias when registering the car. Once he had that problem unraveled, all he had to do was check Max's fingerprints with those on file at headquarters. Not bad. Chuck, do you really believe that Max had given up the numbers racket? Sure, I believe everybody. That's why I'm always getting myself in one of these jams. And here we are. Here we are where? This is a turn off where the murder took place. Oh. Come on, let's get out. Oh, what a wonderful view from up here, Chuck. Yeah. That's Hollywood over there. All the glitter and glamour of... Chuck, do you ever wish I were a movie star? You are. You're Adele Juergens. I quit fishing for compliments. Let's get going. We've got work to do. Work? I didn't know we were coming up here to work. Hey, what kind of work are you talking about, I hope? Look, glamour person, why don't you take the car and go home? I'll walk back. Oh, Chuckie boy, I'm sorry. What do you want me to do? We're going down into that canyon and look around. Now, don't ask me what we're looking for. I don't know, but I'll recognize it when I see it. That makes sense. No, wait, I didn't mean it. Let's go. Well, I'm certainly glad you told me to wear my slacks. This is no place for nylons. Did you think that was the reason I told you to wear your slacks? Well, if it wasn't... Oh, you cute kid. Well, let me tell you something, Chuck Morgan. I look just as good in slacks, is it? Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, glamour person, I was only kidding. Yeah, funny man. What? What's the work for? We found it. You mean we found what we came looking for, but didn't know what it was, but we'd recognize it when we saw it? Yeah. Well, I don't see anything. What is it? A rock. A rock? Now, look, you told me not to make gags and... Hold it, glamour person. This is a special kind of rock. It's a pretty jagged hunk of granite, isn't it? Hmm? See those dark stains? Oh, Chuck, that could be... Yeah, it could be blood. And this could very well be the weapon that the murderer used to bash in the faces of Maxie Royster and his girlfriend. What is it? Chuck, glamour person! Chuck, someone's shooting at us. Yeah, get behind this boulder. Hey, that was too close for comfort. We crouched there for at least five minutes while the marksman had fun, chipping off hunks of boulder close to our heads. After a while, the shooting stopped. I cautiously stood up to take a look around. A police car was coming around a curve in the mountain road. About a mile ahead, but closer to us, someone with a rifle was getting into a parked car. Glamour person and I started up the side of the canyon. By the time we reached the road, both the rifleman and the police car disappeared. We walked over to where the rifleman had been parked. Look around for empty shells, glamour person. They're always good evidence. Well, what are we going to do if we find some? We turn them over to the police. Then we'll go find the rifleman. We'll seize his rifle. Turn that over to the police. Okay, okay, I'm laughing. Well, there aren't any empty shells that I can see. No, but here's something. What? A perfectly formed footprint in this damp spot on the ground. Well, what does that prove? Nothing yet. I'll just dig it up with my knife. And if it holds together until we get back to town, we'll have something that'll make Bill Meggs happy. Now, how in the world is a dug-up footprint going to make Bill Meggs happy? Because Bill will compare it with impressions of the footprints he found on the scene of the murder. If they check, then we'll know that the man who was shooting at us is the same man who committed the murders. So? So, we'll know. Uh-huh. Well, look, we'll know that... Oh, skip it. Come on, let's get out of here. Okay. Well, we drove back to town. I dropped Carol at the studio and drove over to headquarters. I turned my footprint over to Bill Meggs and ran into another blank wall. The murderer of Max Royster had been thorough in more ways than one. The police hadn't found a single footprint at the scene of the crime. Well, anyway, Bill promised to make an impression of the footprint I'd brought him. And I also turned over the blood-stained rock, asked him to dust it for fingerprints. On the way back to the studio, I got started off in a line of thinking that I couldn't shake off. He was still with me when I went on the air at seven o'clock. After the broadcast, I checked through the telephone directory, found the address I wanted. And by seven twenty-five, Glamropus and I were headed for North Beachwood Drive up in the Hollywood Hills. So, where are we going now? You'll see. Now, don't tell me it's another one of those, I don't know what we're looking for, but we'll recognize it when we see it. No, this is one of those, I know what we're looking for, but I don't know what we'll find when we get there. Let's get out. I feel like I'm playing blind man's bluff. Very good, Simony, very good. And here's the house. No lights. That's bad. Well, come on, let's get on with it. It was a rather large, stucco house, almost completely hidden by shade trees. We went up the walk and onto a vine-covered porch. I struck a match, found a doorbell button and pushed it. Nothing happened. We waited a few minutes, then went around to the rear. There was another porch here. This one was screened in. Overhanging tree branches made the place as black as ink. I lit another match, tried the screen door. It was unlocked. We stepped cautiously inside. The match in my hand went out. Wait a minute, climb up this till I find another match. I feel like a thief. Jock, look out! Jock, help! Well, we walked into another one. I was out like a light. Eons of time later, I heard Glamourpus calling me from a great distance. Jock, are you all right? Jock, are you all right? Jock, speak to me. What? Oh, my head. Glamourpus, where are you? I'm right here. How do you feel? Great. What happened? You were slugged and I was practically choked to death. They tied us both up and left us here. Where's here and who are they? We're somewhere in that house and I don't know who they are. All I know is that there were two of them. Two of them? Look, for the past five minutes I've been trying to get my nail file out of my purse. It's in my hands behind my back right now. Glamourpus, you're a genius. Let me back up to you. We scuttled around on the floor until I could get the ropes about my wrist across the edge of the nail file. It was slow work, but finally a strand of rope parted. A minute later I was free and I was loosening Glamourpus. Let's get out of here. This is no place for us. No. We've come this far. Let's finish the thing. What are you going to do? Light a match first and see where we are. It's just a room. There's a door over there. Come on. Okay. We crossed to the door. Listened a minute. Heard nothing. Then dried the lock. The door opened inward. Across this second room was another door. A shaft of light showing beneath it. We started toward it when suddenly... Chuck, listen. Yes, I hear it. Look. Someone on the floor. A man and a woman. Both bound and gagged. It's Eddie, Flores and Emily. Quick, Glamourpus. Help me untie them. We made short work of untying Eddie and Emily. Eddie's shoes were off, but they were on the floor beside him and the first thing he did was to put them on. Thank heaven someone found us. Are the police with you, Mr. Morgan? They were going to kill us, I'm sure of it. You poor kid. No, we're alone. Who took your shoes off, Eddie? They did. That was last night. They brought them back this afternoon. There's an easy answer to that. Listen. It's the doorbell in the other room. Hello, Peggy. May I come in? It's Pappy. Mr. Mansfield, what are you doing here? Well, I got to thinking about things and I wanted to ask you a few questions. That's all. What kind of questions? When you were at the station yesterday, you acted as though you didn't know Max Royster was dead. So? Good old Pappy's figured it out. Well, it seemed to me that if Max was missing, for even a day you'd know about it. As a matter of fact, that's the reason that I... I see. Don't shoot now, Joe. I want to hear what else Grant has to say. Okay, Peg. I wouldn't shoot at all if I were you, Joe. You two didn't think that I came here alone, did you? The police are all over the place. I was at this point, I thought I'd better get into the act. But Pappy was kidding about the place he'd be shot down like a clay pigeon. I wasn't willing to take that chance. I opened the door a crack and almost hit the back of Joe, who was standing near the door holding a gun which was aimed at Pappy. Pappy was near the front door. Peggy was over on one side of the room, partly turned away from me. This was going to be easy. All I had to do was bang the door open and it would knock Joe silly. We don't scare that easy, Grant. If the cops are with you, why didn't you bring them inside? Because first we wanted to hear you admit that you shot Max Royster and his girlfriend and then bashed in their faces with a sharp rock. You did it because Max had thrown you over for the girl he was with that night. You thought you had a perfect opportunity to frame Eddie Flores for the job. Too bad, Grant. You're a nice old coot, but you know too much. Let him have it, Joe. No, you don't, Joe! I don't, Pappy! Pappy hadn't been kidding when he said the police were all over the place. They were. They swarmed in like ants when the payoff came. Pappy had put on a real show. He knew Carol and I were inside because he'd seen my car at the street. He persuaded Bill Meggs to wait out on the porch until he, Pappy, had talked a confession out of Peggy, the old goat. Still, by the time we got back to the office, I was a bit sore. Yeah, sure, sure. You did all right, Pappy, but you were certainly taking a chance with Joe's gun pointing down your gullet. Now don't get sore just because Pappy stole some of your thunder, Chuckie boy. I'm not getting sore. I wasn't taking any chance, Chuck. I saw you standing behind Joe. Oh, don't try to pacify him, Pappy. You did the whole thing yourself. He did not. I found the rock with Peggy's fingerprints on it, and I found the footprint. Footprint, huh? Yeah, the footprint. The footprint was planted up there by Peggy. She poured water on the ground and made a mud pack. This is Southern California, you know. It hasn't rained here for months. Peggy was wearing Eddie's shoes. That's right, Carol. We've got to give the devil his dues. Give the devil his... Okay, I give up. It was Pappy's show all the way through. Do you mean you're going to give all the credit to Pappy? Why not, sure, why not? Why not? But Chuck, it was you who talked to Eddie, and you found the rock, and you who got your brains beat out. You're a laughable puss. You're wonderful. So are you, Chuckie boy.
