All language subtitles for Ellery Queen - 21.The Adventure of the Hardhearted Huckster.eng

This tobacco executive is about
to discover that humiliating people

can be dangerous to your health.

Who killed him?

Was it the unscrupulous
advertising genius?

Quicksilver
shouldn't be in television.

The long-suffering assistant?

Her husband's a Navy man, away
from home 10 months out of the year.

The loved-starved secretary?

Why don't you try to find out
who tried to kill me?

The beautiful creative director?

Punch, power -- it moves!

Or was it someone else?

Match wits with Ellery Queen

and see if you can guess
who done it.

[Saloon piano music playing]

Be quick on the draw...
with Quicksilver cigars.

Yes, sir, hit the pleasure
bull's-eye every time...

...with Quicksilver cigars.

That's Quicksilver every time
for real cigar-smoking pleasure.

Really sensational, Mr. Long.

Punch, power -- it moves!

It has visual impact, Mr. Long.

Shows the product.

It's exactly what we need
to get the sales back on the track.

Bull!

Whack!

Okay, let's wrap it up.

Silly gimmicks!

I'll tell you what we need.
We need impressions!

Millions of impressions.

Print. Radio.
That's what reaches the people.

Television is just
a frivolous, expensive playtoy.

But the television sets
are selling like hotcakes.

Nonsense!

I don't know anybody who owns
one of those silly little boxes.

Oh, but, Mr. Long...

You know, that's why they passed
you up and put me in charge, Manley,

because I'm not gonna waste
Quicksilver's budget

on some experimental playthings.

You're right, Mr. Long.

Quicksilver shouldn't be
in television.

And you, Crabtree,

you'd better come up
with something better than this

or your whole agency is out!

Lowell Thomas.

We need somebody
like Lowell Thomas.

-Yes.
-You're right, sir.

I've come up with a new idea.

It needs a little polishing.

I've a stockholders meeting
tomorrow.

Now, I want something on my desk,

and I want it good, and want it
out there at 3:00 this afternoon.

3:00?
But that's not enough time.

Time?

Time is money, Horace.
Make every second pay.

That's how I got to the top!

Four hours' sleep --
that's all I need.

Three at night,
and one hour before lunch.

It takes 17 minutes
for me to eat at my desk,

and I don't squander two hours
for lunch like some fellas I know.

Now, at 3:00, in my office,
and it better be good,

or you'll all be looking for work!

Right. We'll be there. And you're
really gonna love this new idea, sir.

Uh, Mr. Long...

Do you have room
for a passenger in your limousine?

Well, I think I can make room
for a lovely lady such as yourself.

I thought you and Rita
were sharing a cab.

Yeah. Yeah.
That's what I thought.

Looks like our television plans
have laid a goose egg.

Temporary setback.
Doesn't mean a thing.

This is the medium.

Just Long isn't ready for it yet.

Did you get what you needed from
the station manager, Mr. Flannigan?

Yowza, sweetheart.
Another socko column tomorrow.

Get this.
Flannigan Flash...

"Cops-and-robber shows

will never be accepted
by the general public on television

because nobody wants to see
violence in their living room."

What's this great idea you've got
for the 3:00 meeting?

I'll think of something.
I usually do.

Frank Flannigan!

Hiya, Jer.
Got any uptown dirt for me?

What's the matter?
Have I got gravy on my tie?

Do you know you have
a professional-sounding voice?

-Me?
-Yeah.

You ever think
of doing a radio show?

-Radio? You're pulling my leg.
-What are you driving at, Jerry?

Look, Horace,

he does the most popular
newspaper column in town, right?

I mean, he gives the needle
to everybody, from the mayor

right on down to the chorus girls
at the Roxy, right?

-Okay, but I still don't...
-Human interest! Personalities!

Instead of having him write
about all those people,

we actually have him interview
the celebrities live on radio.

Give 'em the heat on the air
like he does in his column.

But I'm a newspaperman.

You're already a newspaper legend.
We're gonna make you a radio star!

I doubt if we can come up
with a better idea before 3:00.

Let's do a work-up on it --
meet in at your office, 1:00,

have lunch,
put some hair on it.

Frank, we'll meet you 1:00
at the Quicksilver Building,

and take care of those tonsils.

But I don't think you understand.

See, I just want to know
if a cigar can be hollowed out

to make a blowgun
for a poisoned dart.

You see,
I'm writing a mystery story.

I'm sorry. The Research Department
doesn't have that kind of information.

Excuse me.

But...

Try Advertising.

If they can't help you,
try Public Relations.

Better yet, try some other
tobacco company.

Hiya, Junior.

What brings you
to Quicksilver Tobacco?

A little research. But nobody
seems to want to help me.

Never fear -- Flannigan's here.
I'm in tight with all the big brass.

Matter of fact, they're sponsoring
my new radio show!

-Radio show?
-That's right.

If they can meet my terms.
Come on.

Hiya, Florence.

Tell everybody
that Frank Flannigan's here.

Oh, Mr. Flannigan.
Mr. Crabtree phoned.

He won't be able
to make lunch today.

Oh?

Tuesday. Cold-plate special.
Hiya, Florence.

FLANNIGAN:
I thought we were eating out.

Oh, that's Mr. Long's lunch.

He always eats alone in his office
right after his nap.

Very rigid schedule.

Yeah, well, tell Horace that I'm here
and ready to talk turkey.

I believe Mr. Manley's already eaten.

-Already eaten?
-Uh, Flannigan...

He brings his lunch.
He has to be careful what he eats.

-An ulcer, you know.
-Maybe I better just run along.

-But wait a minute.
-See you tomorrow, Florence.

WOW!

That's the fastest lunch
I've ever seen!

-What is he, a man or a machine?
-Oh, those are yesterday's dishes.

I wash them up and keep them
in a cupboard in Mr. Long's office.

Oh, yeah, I get it.
Saves the waiter a second trip.

-I think I'll just grab a hamburger.
-No, I'm sure they said lunch at 1:00.

Yes, Mr. Sheldon.
I'll tell him.

Mr. Sheldon says for you
to go ahead without him.

-He's being detained.
-I'll see you later, Flannigan.

Now, hold it, Junior.
Flannigan never welches on a lunch.

Have you ever had the linguini
at Mama Maria's?

-No.
-Come on. I'll even pick up the tab.

Oh, Mr. Flannigan!
Glad you could make it.

Hi, Manley. I was beginning
to think something was wrong.

Crabtree and Sheldon
both said they couldn't make lunch.

This is Ellery Queen.
He's sort of my copy advisor.

Look, I've already eaten, but...

Well, I'd like to join you.
We can discuss our project.

Good. I've got
a few sensational ideas myself.

Fine.
Oh, I've got to leave these for J.B.

Excuse me.

He's having lunch.

Well, he can read these
while he's eating.

What do you mean, copy advisor?

Not so loud, Junior.
I'm trying to get you on retainer.

I don't want to be on retainer.

MANLEY: Yes, I'm sorry, Mr. Long.
Have a nice lunch.

He wouldn't even talk to me.

Would you mind?
When he's finished?

I'll see he gets them, Mr. Manley.

Look, Horace, I've got a few ideas
we can run up the flagpole.

-Feel free to jump in any time.
-MANLEY: Well, fine.

Don't get me wrong, hey, Jim.

Winston Churchill's
a nice enough fella,

but you just can't understand
those limeys on the radio.

Well, all this is subject
to Mr. Long's final approval.

-Any calls, Florence?
-No, Mr. Manley.

Did Mr. Long
get to see these figures?

Well, he was in such a vile mood

that I thought I'd wait
until he called me into his office.

Well, he must see them.
Please, take them in there right now.

QUEEN: Mr. Manley,
thank you very much for lunch.

Thank you.

FLANNIGAN: I suppose we'll
work out the financial arrangements

after we get a firm go-ahead, huh?

[Florence screams]

Please, don't touch anything.
I'm afraid he's been stabbed.

Tell those lab guys
that I want them up here right away.

What do you make of it, Ellery?

The waiter
brought the tray in at 1:00.

Looks as if Long went in
to wash his hands after he ate,

and somebody stabbed him.

-I'd say it was somebody he knew.
-Well, how do you figure that?

Come here, Dad.

There was still soap
on Long's hands,

which means he was stabbed
while he was washing them.

-Okay.
-But look at the mirror.

Now, he had to have seen
whoever came up behind him.

Right.

But he was stabbed
in the back.

Now, if it was somebody
he didn't know,

or somebody
who didn't belong in the office,

he would have turned around.

I'll buy that.

-That's strange.
-What is?

The watch.

It's the right time.
What's so unusual about that?

But, Dad, the crystal
is facing away from the body.

Nobody puts
their watch back that way.

Hmm.

Dad, this is Florence Ames,
Mr. Long's private secretary.

Hello. Did you see anybody
come into this office?

The waiter, at 1:00.
No one between 1:00 and 2:00.

Well, that's not quite true.

Horace Manley came in
for about 30 seconds,

and that was just after 1:00.

-I mean, except for that.
-And you never left your desk?

Well, of course,
I went to the powder room.

Other than that?

And I did go to the storage room
to get coffee.

Then, anybody could have come in.

The victim, you've been
with him for some time?

Several years.

He brought me with him

when he came to Quicksilver
six months ago

as advertising manager.

Over Manley's head, that was.

Yes, I think it was
a big disappointment for him.

Where did Mr. Long
keep the letter opener, Miss Ames?

-Mrs. Ames.
-Mrs. Ames.

He always kept it on the desk,
right next to the pencil caddy.

He was a man of meticulous habits
and strict routine.

Thank you, Mrs. Ames.

We'll need a complete statement
from you later.

Yes, Inspector.

Hiya, Inspector.

I just phoned the Gazette
with another Page 1 Flannigan scoop.

Ellery, Manley was
the last person to see Long alive.

I'd like to talk to him.

Well, his office
is right through that door.

How convenient.

Oh, now, hold it, Inspector.

Manley's the guy
that's gonna put me on the radio.

Flannigan, I want
to show you something.

Well, look! Look!

I know this is gonna be
difficult for all of us, but...

Could I have a word with you,
Mr. Manley?

In just a moment.
I'm almost wrapped up here.

Crabtree, I want you
to handle the contract.

-Day after tomorrow at the latest.
-Consider it done, Horace.

Rita, I want your best design --
appealing, dignified.

-Masculine.
-Right...

-Mr. Manley.
-In just one minute, please.

Max, I want you
to really punch up the copy,

award-winning-caliber stuff.

I'll think Pulitzer Prize.

Oh, it's 10 to 3:00, Mr. Manley.

You're gonna be late
for your appointment.

-Dad?
-Yes, Ellery, what is it?

The one thing I require in a secretary
is that she be accurate.

-You're five minutes past.
-Oh, I'm sorry.

Mr. Long always kept
his watch five minutes ahead,

a habit I picked up.

I hate to throw a pall
on this meeting,

but I'd like to remind you
that a murder has been committed.

Excuse us, Inspector,

but we have a minor
advertising crisis to cope with.

I guess this means
you won't be doing my radio show.

Yes, Flannigan,
the radio show is out.

Sure, I get it.

Just because Long's dead,
all bets are off.

No, you don't get it.

We're gonna pull out all the stops.

We're gonna do
The Frank Flannigan Show.

On television.

But, Inspector,
I'm late for a meeting!

Mr. Manley, your next meeting
could be at the police station.

That's ridiculous. Long was alive
when we left for lunch.

Your son can vouch for that.

Oh, no, no, no, no.
I didn't actually see him.

-No, but I did.
-Well, I'm sorry, sir.

We only have your word for that.

You could have dumped
the lunch down the toilet.

If you ask me, he never ate it.

It's no secret that I hated Long.

But if you arrested everybody
that hated James Bevin Long,

you'd have
to get yourself a new jail.

Besides, Florence
had the best opportunity.

Florence? Why would Florence
want to see Long dead?

Long's appetites
weren't limited to power.

I always thought that those naps
before lunch were...

...unnecessary.

But Florence is a married woman.

Her husband's a Navy man, away
from home 10 months out of the year.

-Are you implying that --?
-I'm not implying anything.

But Florence could have been
alone in the office with Long

at the time of the murder.

Let me ask you something.
What did Long keep in his safe?

I haven't the foggiest idea.

I suggest you
ask Florence about that.

Oh, I intend to.
Where is she?

She's in the studio.
Now, look, Inspector,

unless you're gonna press
formal charges,

I've got to get back and do my work.

If one of you lovely
young gentlemen with muscles

could come over here
and move this desk for me, please?

Now, bring the desk upstage.
Upstage.

Shove it onto the mark.
Push it onto this mark.

That's good.
Oh, you're it, aren't you, darling?

Thank you very much.

Well, what do you think of it?
Isn't it marvelous?

It's beginning to take on
a certain ambiance, don't you think?

You're going
to be wonderful in this.

You have that lovely face,
don't you?

Of course you do.
Excuse me.

-Hey, you wanna neck?
-What?

You must excuse the young'un,
Ma'am. He's a might feisty.

PUPPET: The stool, toots.
You're sitting on it, and we need it.

Oh, I'm sorry.
Do you want to rehearse?

-Unless you got any better ideas.
-Mrs. Ames?

-Yes, Inspector?
-Cheese it! The cops!

May we speak to you privately?

Sure.

-Is this cozy enough?
-Just like home.

Almost.

Mrs. Ames,
we have reason to believe

that you haven't been
exactly frank with us

about your relationship
with your boss.

Was it anything more
than just professional?

-Inspector, I'm a married woman!
-I'm aware of that.

I was Mr. Long's secretary
for several years -- nothing more.

I'm surprised you'd listen
to malicious gossip.

I'm willing to listen to anything

that has any bearing
on this murder investigation.

Mrs. Ames, do you know
what was in Long's safe?

No, I do not.

And as for your insinuations, I think
you should talk to Rita Radcliffe.

If you ask me, she was using
more than her creative talents

to hang on to her job.

Rita Radcliffe and Long?

Even Mr. Long's chauffeur
knew about it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Manley's
waiting for these figures.

I'm gonna have
another talk with Manley.

You better check
with that chauffeur.

I saw him in the parking lot
when we came in.

Excuse me. Excuse me.

Were you Mr. Long's chauffeur?

Yeah, sort of.

I work for the company.
I was assigned to Long.

Now I'm assigned to Manley.

Between you and me
and the lamppost,

it's not gonna be as interesting.

You a newspaper reporter?

No, no.
My name is Ellery Queen.

I'm helping the police

in the investigation
of Mr. Long's murder.

Yeah?

-Yeah.
-No kidding.

Well, if you ask me, it was a dame.

Oh. yeah?
Why do you say that?

You see things in the rearview mirror,
if you know what I mean.

Do you know
a Miss Rita Radcliffe?

She was one of 'em.

Many's the time I transported
her pulsating platitude

to a rendezvous with the boss.

-A real ambitious tootsie.
-Ambitious?

The Radcliffe tomato wanted
the Quicksilver Tobacco account.

But she works
for Crabtree Advertising.

Sure, but she's got plans
to set up her own shop.

Long was gonna give her
the Quicksilver account?

Nah.

The smiling cobra
was just stringing her along.

He turned her down flat
in the limousine this morning.

She was really steamed.

Threatened to stop his clock,
if you know what I mean.

I think I do, yeah.

What were her exact words?

Let me see.

She said, “I'm gonna kill you
for this, you... blank.“

Blank?

I forget the word.
It's a new one.

-I'd never heard it before.
-You moron!

You wouldn't understand any word

that had more
than two syllables in it!

I ought to squash you like a bug!

Excuse me.
I got to gas up.

I'm sorry, Ellery.

You don't mind
if I call you Ellery?

But that weasel
has been out to get me

ever since I tipped Mr. Long

that he's been cheating
on the gas and repair bills.

What did he say about me?

Oh, he said you wanted
to take over the Quicksilver account

and open up your own agency.

Ellery, the advertising game
is a jungle.

Besides, J.B.
wasn't happy with Crabtree.

Anyway, it was only an idea.

Well, the chauffeur also said
that you threatened to kill J.B. Long.

But that was only a joke!

I mean, J.B. was a tough guy.
He admired tough talk.

A girl has to play a man's game
in this business, you know.

Miss Radcliffe, where were you
between noon and 2:00?

Well, let's see.
I got back at Crabtree's around noon,

and then Jerry called one of his panic
meetings over the Flannigan show.

We kicked that till around 1:00.
Almost 1:00.

And then we each separated and
went back to our individual offices

to work out the details.

Mm-hmm.
So, you and Max Sheldon

were with Jerry Crabtree
from noon to 1:00.

That's right.

Did anybody see you
in your office from 1:00 to 2:00?

That was lunchtime.

I was in my office alone
with the door closed.

No, I don't think
I spoke to anyone.

Ellery, you don't think
I killed him, do you?

Mr. Sheldon,
have you got a moment?

Yeah, for the famous writer
Ellery Queen, I've got a minute.

Don't tell anybody,
but I'm one of your fans.

No kidding. I was just gonna tell you
that I'm a fan of yours.

You wrote the movie script
for "Macedonian Falcon," didn't you?

Mm, a lot of water
down the pipe since then.

Oh, you were terrific!
I always wond--

Well, why you're
not doing movies anymore.

It's no big secret.
The sauce.

I drank my way through three studios
in less than half a year,

so now I write about
crunchy, crackly candy bars.

It's a living.

Is this the script
for the new Flannigan show?

Yeah.
I don't like anyone reading my stuff.

-I'm sorry, Mr. Manley.
-Being sorry is no excuse!

Look, I demand accuracy.

If you can't do it,
I'll get somebody who can!

I'm sorry.
I'll do it over.

Mr. Sheldon,

on the day of the murder,
was there a meeting

at the Crabtree Agency
roughly between noon and 1:00?

Yeah, Rita, Crabtree, and me.

Did you see either Rita or Crabtree
from 1:00 to 2:00?

No, I went back
to my broom closet to create.

Excuse me, I've got
to go scrounge up some paper.

-Oh, it's been a terrible day!
-It's okay.

I want you to go home,

and I want you to call me
when you get there, okay?

All right.

Manley picks up the letter opener,

and in a fit of rage,
gets himself a promotion.

And the lunch?

He ate it when he went
back in his office.

-In 30 seconds?
-Well, who else have we got?

Well, Dad, there's Florence.

Now, I checked
with the Navy Department,

and her husband's
an officer on an aircraft carrier.

He's due back from sea duty
next week.

If there was hanky-panky
between Long and Florence,

that could be a motive.

[Telephone rings]

Yeah.

Velie, where are you?

I'm at the morgue.
The medical examiner just finished.

Did he establish the time of death?

Yes, sh.
Between 12:00 and 2:00 pm.

That's as close as he can call it.

Did the autopsy reveal
the contents of the stomach?

Yeah, roast beef, potato salad,
custard, and coffee.

-Stay there for a copy of the report.
-Yes, sir.

-Long had lunch.
-Which the waiter brought at 1:00.

So there goes
your theory about Manley.

Well, back to the old drawing board.

Maybe we better have another talk
with Florence Ames.

[Knock at door]

INSPECTOR:
I guess she's not at home.

I can hear the radio.
The lights aren't on.

-Is the young lady at home?
-What's it to you?

Look, Pop, this is
a respectable apartment house.

-You got a key to this apartment?
-Sure, sure.

Say, what's all the excitement?
She's probably just sleeping one off.

-Sleeping what off?
-I empty the trash 'round here.

-I know when somebody drinks.
-Open it up. I'll take responsibility.

Yes, sir.

[Radio playing]

Oh, boy.
I hate to see this.

[Switches off radio]

Dad, she's been drugged.

Hello.
This is Inspector Queen.

Get an ambulance and a doctor

over to 953 East 34th Street,
Apartment 2B.

Looks like attempted suicide.
Probably barbiturates.

Let's look for a note.
This thing's beginning to add up.

Lucky you got here
when you did, Inspector.

I've got her stomach emptied,
and she'll be all right.

Thanks, Doc. This may wrap up
another murder case for us.

I wonder where she kept
the barbiturates.

Maybe over here.

So, little Florence
pulled a Dutch act, huh?

Now, what are you doing here,
Flannigan?

Listen,
every ambulance driver in town

knows he can make a fast sawbuck

by calling Flannigan
when there's a hot story.

Did she leave
a note confessing?

We haven't found one yet,
not that it's any of your business.

-Oh, Inspector, don't be that way.
-Dad, I think I found something.

Addressed to James Bevin Long.

A woman's handwriting.

I don't like to read
other people's mail.

Then I'll read it.

[Florence groans]

FLANNIGAN:
Well?

INSPECTOR:
They're signed "Florence."

I'll spare you the purple prose.

FLANNIGAN:
Florence and Long?

That's got
to be the romance of the year.

Take it easy.
You're gonna be all right.

INSPECTOR: My guess is
these were in Long's safe.

Florence's husband
was coming home.

Long was holding these over her.

She had motive, opportunity...

I think we've found Long's killer.

Mrs. Ames,
you've had a narrow escape.

I think I know why
you took those barbiturates.

Want to make a statement?

No barbiturates.

Yes, I'll...
I'll give you a statement.

Someone tried to kill me.

My husband was away.

I was lonely.
It just happened.

If only I hadn't written
those letters.

He threatened to show them
to your husband?

When I found out
about Mr. Long's other women,

of course I wanted to quit.

But he wanted me to stay
and spy on Mr. Manley.

He was really very insecure.

I got the picture.
Your husband was coming home.

Long refused
to give you back the letters.

You went to his office.

You pleaded with him.
He laughed at you.

Suddenly, the letter opener
was in your hand!

What a story!

No, no!

Why don't you believe me?

Why don't you try to find out
who tried to kill me?

Mrs. Ames, why would anyone
try to kill you?

I don't know.

But somebody
put those drugs in the vodka

and hid those letters
here in my apartment.

INSPECTOR:
Oh, come on, Mrs. Ames.

If someone tried to kill you --
and I say "if" --

you must know something
you're not telling us.

You were very upset when you
left the studio this afternoon.

I noticed you
were talking to Max Sheldon.

Mr. Queen, this isn't easy to admit,

but lately, with all the pressure,
well, I...

I've developed
a little drinking problem.

Max recognized the symptoms.

He's in Alcoholics Anonymous,
and he was trying to help me.

Anyone else know
about your drinking?

Dad, do you think we could provide
Mrs. Ames with police protection?

No.

At least until we
get things sorted out, huh?

Dad, it's obvious somebody
did try to kill Florence.

There were enough barbiturates
in that bottle of vodka

to knock off
the Giants football team.

In the bottle, yes,
not in her stomach.

It's a play for sympathy.

She's trying
to throw us off the track.

Dad, if we hadn't found her,
she'd be dead right now.

Who knows
how much she swallowed?

If you wanted to commit suicide,
you'd swallow the pill,

then wash it down.

-Why put the drugs in the vodka?
-That's exactly my point.

She's trying to divert suspicion
away from herself.

Ellery, you're too gullible
when it comes to women.

And another thing, Dad.

If she did find the letters
in Long's safe,

why didn't she burn them?
It doesn't make sense.

She had motive, opportunity,

and the boodle from Long's safe
was at her place.

I should have booked
her last night.

Inspector --

The press room is on the third floor,
Flannigan.

Inspector, I've got an idea
that's super-rific.

You throw Florence in the slammer,
then come on my show tonight

and announce that you've
got the killer behind bars.

I had Victor Mellow lined up
to talk about his latest picture,

but we'll work him in after you.
What do you say?

Are you out of your mind,
Flannigan?

This is my case, and I'll arrest
somebody when I'm ready.

As far as that show of yours
is concerned,

if you think I'm going on television
and let you make a monkey out of me,

you've got another thought coming.

Well, if that's the way
you feel about it,

I'll get the commissioner.

He knows
what good press relations are.

INSPECTOR:
Out!

[Door slams]

Hiya, Max.
Nearly finished?

Yeah, it's another lollapalooza.

Oh, Max,

I don't believe you're writing
for The Frank Flannigan Show.

This page looks more
like a movie script to me.

What's to write for, Flannigan?

A couple of introductions.
He'll ad-lib the rest.

So, you caught me in the act.

I'm changing one of my old
movie scripts into a live TV drama

(or We Quicksilver Playhouse.

-A new show?
-With any luck, it will be.

Crabtree's pushing it,
and Manley's ready to go.

Look, they got big plans for TV,

and I'm trying to crawl up
on the bandwagon.

Let me tell you,

it's a great feeling putting
honest words on paper again.

You didn't come here
to talk shop, Ellery.

What's the plot line?

Somebody tried to kill Florence
by spiking her vodka.

Yeah, I know that.

No, don't tell me
you think it was me.

I've got a hunch
Florence knows something.

Or saw something that might
point a finger to Long's killer.

Or maybe she's just trying
to cover up for someone.

Maybe she doesn't realize
what she knows.

So?

So, you know
she had a drinking problem.

I saw you have a very heavy
discussion with her yesterday

out in the lobby.

Ah, now!
Now I get the scenario.

I killed Long,
and then in the second reel,

I rub out Florence
to cover my tracks.

No.

It won't play, Ellery.

Poor character development.

I've got no motive.

No?

Max, you were trying
to get back in the big-time

by writing television
scripts for Quicksilver.

When Long turned
thumbs-down on TV,

then that left you
with crumbly, crackly commercials.

Okay, so I was glad
somebody stuck a shiv in Long,

but I'm not the only one who knew
that Florence hit the sauce.

No?

Look, Queen, I've been there,
the whole route.

Need a little bracer to carry you
over the rough spots.

You keep a bottle
in your desk drawer,

maybe another one
in the glove compartment.

You drink vodka
so nobody can smell it.

You think nobody knows.

Let me tell you,
everybody knows.

That's why I was gonna help her.

Everybody at Crabtree
used to joke about it.

Look, if you're looking for a heavy,
try casting Jerry Crabtree.

Crabtree? What would
Crabtree gain from Long's death?

15% of a million-dollar ad budget.

Just before
the meeting in his office,

I heard Crabtree
on the phone with Long.

I think Crabtree tried
the Flannigan radio idea with Long

and got turned down.

I think Long told him
he was gonna lose the account.

-All right. Pastrami on rye.
-Here.

Uh, excuse me.

-Oh, ham and Swiss yours, right?
-No.

May I talk to you for just a second?

Oh, hey, look, buddy,
see, it's lunch hour.

I got to keep moving, you know?
I make a living on tips.

You delivered Mr. Long's lunch,
did you?

Uh, right. Tuesday.

Cold plate special,
mustard on the side.

So, look, you want
the ham and Swiss?

-It's all I got left.
-No. No, thanks.

Did Mr. Long say anything to you
when you brought him the lunch?

Oh, sure.
Big conversation.

He said, "Put it on the desk,"
like always, you know.

That's all?

Yeah. Well, what do you expect?
I mean, he was in the john.

See, I heard the water running, so
I figured he was washing his hands.

Hey, look, I'm not making any tips
standing around here.

Hey, thank you very much, sir.
Thanks a lot.

But, Dad, there's a piece missing.
Somewhere.

I wish I could figure out
what it is.

Are you gonna watch
the Flannigan show tonight?

I've got better things
to do with my time,

like finding
James Bevin Long's killer.

Dad, do you still think
Florence did it?

Now, let's not re-hash that.

[Intercom buzzes]

Yeah, Grace.

Mr. Crabtree is here
and would like to see you, Inspector.

Send him in, please.

Inspector...

I don't want to take up
too much of your time.

What can I do for you,
Mr. Crabtree?

If it's a parking ticket,
you better call your alderman.

No, actually, I'm here out
of concern for poor Florence.

Poor Florence?

Florence Ames.

She has terrible problems.
She needs all the help she can get.

I'm sure the authorities
will see to it

she gets the best of care
wherever they send her.

What makes you think
we're going to arrest Florence Ames?

Well, I can't help thinking
that if you do arrest her for murder,

tonight's TV show would be

a perfect place
to make it known to the public

because of the tie-in
with the sponsor.

Every cloud
has a Quicksilver lining.

Extremely well-put.

You could have had a brilliant career
in advertising, Inspector.

Mr. Crabtree, I understand

that Long was gonna change
advertising agencies.

Ridiculous!

Mr. Long was perfectly content with
the way we handled his operations.

I mean, the Flannigan show
tonight should be a big hit.

Everybody's talking about it.

Yes, but Long didn't want
to get into television.

He didn't always know
what was best for him.

As you know, Mr. Queen,

I was at the agency
when Mr. Long was killed.

According to our information,
your meeting broke up around 1:00?

No, I remember distinctly
that Rita, Max, and I

worked straight through
to nearly 2:00.

Really?

Much closer to 2:00.

[Intercom buzzes]

Yeah, Grace?

Inspector, the commissioner
is on the phone.

Just a second.

-Would you forgive me?
-Oh, not at all.

I've got to get back to the studio.
Fare thee well, gentlemen.

Bye.

Yes, Commissioner.

How are you?

Oh, that's good.
What can I do for you?

Oh, sure, sure, sure.
I guess so.

If you want me to go
on the television show, I'll do it.

You're welcome.

Dad, you were shanghaied.

If Flannigan wants a scoop,
I'll give him one.

I'll strangle him right on the air.

Ellery, what am I gonna do
on a television show?

Look, if you could prove
that Florence Ames killed Long

before air time...

Oh, good grief, what am I saying?

Good evening, America.

This is Frank Flannigan,

your rough and ready correspondent
from the New York Gazette.

Hey, go easy with that stuff!

I don't want to look like a sissy.
I got my image to think of.

Without makeup, your image is
gonna be a very pale shade of gray.

Look, ease off, will you?

Let me go over my script.

Don't worry! I wrote it all down
on these big cards.

Are you kidding?
I don't need those cards.

I've got a memory
like a bull elephant.

Let me ask you something, Vera.

Should I sit like this...

...or like this?

What's my best side?

They're both good, F.F.

Yeah, that's what I was thinking.

Have you seen anything

of Inspector Queen
or Victor Mellow yet?

No, but I'm sure they'll be here.
Just relax.

Now, will you cut that out!

Okay, now, the cooking show
starts in two minutes,

followed by the weather,
then you're on, Flannigan.

Hey, hey.

Are these lights always this hot?

Hey, Flash, if you can't stand
the heat, get out of the kitchen.

You sure he hasn't called?
Inspector Richard Queen?

-No, sir.
-It's not like him to be late.

[Continues]:
Oh, boy.

That reminds me.
I haven't eaten.

-What?
-Huh? Oh, nothing.

Where is he?

He'll make it, Flannigan.
Don't worry.

Well, he better get here quick.

I'm gonna put
Victor Mellow on first.

Just get him in here
as soon as he shows up.

Oh, boy.

Good evening,
Mr. and Mrs. America.

This is Frank Flannigan,
your rough and ready reporter

from the New York Gazette.

Who's that?

That's you, Flannigan.

That's the way
you look on television.

You're kidding!

Where'd I get that fat, white face?
I look like a dead squirrel!

Vera!

Where have you been?

It's almost time to go on the air,
and there's nobody here but me!

I've been over watching
the butter commercial.

I brought you some coffee, F.F.

I don't want any.

I'm losing my marbles,
and you're bringing me coffee!

I'm sure you'll want this coffee, F.F.

It's the kind of coffee
you drink in the office.

Vera, you're a good secretary.

I just spoke
to Victor Mellow's agent,

and there's been
some kind of mix-up.

Victor's going to be interviewed
by John Cameron Swayze,

so he won't be here.

[Spits out coffee]

Have some more coffee.

That's funny.

Something wrong with the set?

No, it's the timing.

She put that pie in the oven
before the commercial.

Now it's baked.
It's all ready to eat.

Oh, Mr. Queen,
it's only a 15-minute show.

There isn't time to bake a pie.

There's another pie
that's already baked,

and she changes it
during the commercial.

Oh, I see.

Of course!

Well, have you figured it out?

If you've been watching closely,
you've probably worked it out, too.

Was it Florence?

Max the copywriter?

Or did Jerry Crabtree stab Long?

How about Horace Manley?

Or did Rita Radcliffe
make good on her threat?

Or was it somebody else?

No, it wasn't Flannigan,
and the waiter didn't do it.

I'll give you a hint.
It's later than you think.

Junior, where's your pop?
I need him in a hurry!

That was Inspector Queen.

There's a tie-up
on the Triborough Bridge,

and he's gonna be late.

He can't do that to me.

One minute, Mr. Flannigan.

Junior, you got
to fill in for your pop.

I don't know anything
about television.

There's nothing to know.

I'll do all the talking.
You just say things like "Yes. No."

No.

There's nobody else.

-30 seconds and you're on.
-Please, Junior, I'm begging you!

Well...

Super-rific!

Hey, Tim, looks like we got some kind
of last-minute change out here.

You better get ready to wing it.

Okay, and cue commercial.

[Saloon piano music plays]

Be quick on the draw...

with Quicksilver cigars.

Yes, sir! Hit the pleasure
bull's-eye every time...

...with Quicksilver cigars.

Now, stay loose, Junior.
Don't fade on me.

And now,

the Quicksilver Tobacco Company
presents

The Frank Flannigan Show!

Okay, two, and cue Flannigan.

Good evening, America.

This is...

Frank Flackle...

...your rough and...

...and...

...rough and ready reporter
of the New York Gazette

with the first of my
hard-hitting inquiries into topics

of urgent interest
to viewers across the country.

My first guest tonight
is Inspector Richard Queen.

Ellery Queen,

the famous mystery writer

and authority on crime.

Well, Mr. Queen, I understand
the New York police

are about to make
a big breakthrough

on the James Bevin Long murder.

I understand
that at this very moment,

they're about to arrest
the dangerous dame

who committed this dastardly deed.

No.

No?

Well, according
to my exclusive sources,

I understand
the crime has been solved.

Well, actually, I think
I know who killed J.B. Long.

You do?

Well, would you tell our viewers
who the police are arresting?

Um...

The police aren't arresting anyone,
at least not yet.

But you have a theory.

Would you tell our viewers
your theory about it?

Well, sure.

Just follow me
for the next few minutes.

Uh, you remember?

The waiter brought
Long's lunch in at 1:00,

and the autopsy showed

that he'd eaten
before he was stabbed.

Well, sure.
That was in the Gazette.

Right.

All right.
Stay with him.

Several people
had motives to kill Long.

Jerry Crabtree was afraid
he'd lose the account.

Rita Radcliffe even threatened
to kill him that morning.

And Max Sheldon
might have killed Long

to get the advertising budget
over to television.

They held a meeting
at the Crabtree Agency

from noon to 1:00.

But after 1:00,

none of them can account
definitely for their whereabouts.

Horace Manley was alone
in his connecting office

from 12:00 to 1:00,

and Florence sat alone
outside Long's door.

And they both had motives.

But Long was killed
between 1:00 and 2:00, after he ate.

That's where it gets interesting.

Let me show you
a layout of the offices.

ELLERY: This diagram
should make everything clear.

[Ellery writing on chalkboard]

This is the layout of the offices.

Now, Long's body was found
here in the bathroom.

The access was either here
through Long's door

or here through Manley's
connecting door.

Now, we well assume
that Long was killed after 1:00

when the lunch tray
was brought in.

The waiter didn't see Long--

But they found
the lunch in his stomach.

He had to eat it.

ELLERY:
Oh, he ate the lunch, all right.

But it wasn't the lunch
the waiter brought in.

He was dead by the time
that tray arrived.

See, the murderer
was in the bathroom.

With the water running
so as to disguise his voice,

it was the murderer who called out,
"Put it on the desk."

That's only a theory, Queen.

Well, let's just see, Mr. Crabtree.

When I examined Long's watch,

it was backwards in his pocket
with the crystal facing out.

Someone must have handled it.
Why?

While I was watching
the cooking show,

it occurred to me --

there were two meals.

Now, Long always slept
between 12:00 and 1:00.

Sometime after he fell asleep,

somebody came into his office
and set his watch ahead to 1:00.

Now, remember,

Long always ate the same thing
each day of the week.

It was part of his routine.

The clean dishes from yesterday's
lunch were in the cupboard.

The murderer had already
brought in a cold plate special,

knowing that that's
what Long ate on Tuesdays,

and he put it on one
of the clean plates in the cupboard,

and he set it on the desk,
and he woke up Long.

Long looked at his watch.
He looked at the food.

He thought it was 1:00,
and so he started to eat.

Actually, it was just
a few minutes after noon.

When he finished eating, he --

I'm pretending
that this is the bathroom,

just for the purpose
of demonstration --

he went in to wash his hands.

That's when the killer stabbed him.

The plot's too complicated, Queen.
Save it for one of your books.

So, let's say Long
was really murdered around 12:30.

Now the first lunch
is in his stomach,

the killer cleans off the plate...

...puts it back in the cupboard.

Now...

The waiter comes in with
the second meal at exactly 1:00.

The killer was in the bathroom
with the water running,

calls out, "Put it on the desk."

The waiter sets it up on the desk,
crosses over to the cupboard...

...takes the clean dishes
from yesterday...

...and he leaves.

The murderer was in the bathroom,
dumps the second meal in the toilet,

puts the dish in front of Long,

and everybody assumes
that Long has eaten

what the waiter brought in.

Preposterous, Queen!

Long was alive after 1:00
when I went in to see him.

Sorry.

That alibi only worked when we
thought that Long had lunch at 1:00.

Florence mentioned earlier that
you brought your lunch in a carton.

That's how you were able to bring
the first cold-plate special in.

Everybody else had an alibi
at the time that Long was killed,

but he was already dead when
you popped in and out of the office.

You killed him.

VELIE:
Get him!

Not so fast, Manley.

It was foolproof!

Even you and Flannigan
showed up to give me an alibi!

I don't understand.

What went wrong?

Well, you tipped your hand
when you tried to kill Florence.

It was easy enough to plant
the letters in her apartment,

but why try to kill her?

I couldn't figure that out.

And then I remembered something.

When I took Florence's pulse,
her watch was five minutes fast.

That's true. Mr. Long always
kept his watch five minutes ahead.

I was the only person
who knew that.

Well, you must have
let it slip to Manley.

Yes, I -- I think I did.

He'd set Long's watch back

to the exact right time
after the murder,

not five minutes fast.

Now I see why I was a threat to him.

Velie, take him down and book him.

Yes, sir. Let's go.

Get Flannigan for the sign-off.

We're running a little late, folks.

But there you have it --
another Flannigan scoop.

The J.B. Long murder wrapped up
live on The Frank Flannigan Show.

This is Flannigan in the flesh
signing off for Quicksilver cigars.

See you next week,
guys and gals.

You handled yourself okay, Junior.

I told you it'd be
a smasharoo first show.

Well, the late Inspector Queen.

How did you like the premiere?

-Ellery was fine.
-Thanks.

It was marvelous!
Absolutely marvelous!

Congratulations, Frank.
Looks like you got a winner there.

And, Mr. Queen, you were brilliant.
Unorthodox, but brilliant.

You really think it went okay, huh?

All you got to worry about is
what you're gonna do next week.

Telephone. The special line.
It's for Mr. Crabtree.

Oh. Of course.

Hello. Crabtree here.

Yeah, put him on.

Next week, Vera, see if we
can get General Eisenhower.

I've got a Flannigan hunch he's gonna
try for the Democratic nomination.

Uh, Frank?

It was the chairman of the board of
the Quicksilver Tobacco Company.

Really excited, huh?

He wanted to know
why you were smoking a cigarette

on the Quicksilver Cigar show.

INSPECTOR:
Did he like the show?

CRABTREE:
Loved the show, hated Flannigan.

I still think a newspaper man
on television, nifty notion.

Maybe we can get Ed Sullivan.

Ed Sullivan?

Old wooden face?
That zombie wouldn't last two weeks!

Maybe a variety show.
Dancers, singers, jugglers...

Enjoying your smoke?

You call that a cigar?

It tastes like the inside
of a lumberjack's boot!

Come on, Dad.

Let's go home.

We can still catch
I Love a Mystery.

On the radio.