Original subtitles

(dramatic music)

(roulette wheel spinning)

(players chattering)

(dramatic music)

- [Dealer] This gentleman over here.

You are the winner, sir.

Collect those chips.

- [Winner] All right, sir.

- [Dealer] All right, ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.

(dramatic music)

(gun firing in distance)

(motorcycle revs)

(dramatic music)

You're our winner again.

And try it again, ladies and gentlemen.

Everybody wins here.

(dramatic music)

- Hey, Rafferty, this is getting to be a habit.

It's about time you told us who did it.

- You take care of your job and I'll take care of mine.

- I sure will.

It don't pay to be lucky in this town.

(dramatic music)

(typewriter clacking)

Hello, gorgeous, what's cooking?

- The boss.

And now it's your turn to fry.

- What's the beef?

- He doesn't like the way you're playing up this crime wave

and he thinks you're riding Rafferty too hard.

- Ah, that's the trouble with Pete Rafferty.

He gets fatheaded when nobody's riding him.

I wish Michael Shayne hadn't moved to San Francisco.

(intercom buzzes)

- Yes, Mr. Bronson?

He just came in.

Yes, sir.

Go on in, Timothy Rourke, and get your spanking.

- We'll see who spanks who.

All right, let's have it fast.

I got a story to write.

- I have just had a call from Detective Chief Rafferty.

- That's my story.

- You're a competent reporter, Tim,

when you stick to reporting.

But I don't like this sensational stuff you've been writing.

- What, are you afraid of the truth?

- Not at all, but we have a regular staff

to write the editorials.

I've had complaints from the Chamber of Commerce,

the Better Business Bureau, and other civic organizations.

The wire services are picking up your stuff

and featuring it throughout the country.

They're giving the city a bad name, frightening people away.

- And we mustn't hurt business.

No, it's better to let the gambling syndicate take over

and move in their hoodlums.

- We've always had more or less gambling.

- Now it's more.

Look, there's big money backing Brenner

and they swing a lot of political weight.

The public has got to be jarred awake

and made to realize what it's up against.

- Rourke.

Bear in mind that I am the managing editor

and I will decide upon the policy of this paper.

- All right, have it your own way.

Now, let me give you a tip.

- About what?

- Malicious in the third race at Jamaica.

(door bangs shut)

And if you're gonna fire me, I want two weeks' notice.

- How was it?

- Not so hot.

I've got a hunch I won't be around here very long.

Minerva, be a sweetheart, will you,

and get this wire off to Michael Shayne for me?

- Of course.

- And look,

save the want ads for me.

(dramatic music)

- Miss Higgins, come in here a minute.

That's not the story I okayed.

How'd it get in the paper?

- Well, I don't know, sir.

- Rourke faked the story for my okay

and then sneaked this in somehow.

The edition got on the street before I caught it.

Make out a closing check for Rourke and I'll take it to him.

I don't even want him coming in here after it.

- Yes, sir.

Uh, will that be all?

- Clean out his desk and bring everything in here to me.

- Yes, sir.

(tense music)

- Perfume.

Tabu.

Fragrant Delight.

Lipstick.

Bet she was a blonde.

(tense music)

(knocking at door)

Come in.

Why should you be the exception?

(dramatic music)

- Tim, you've been hurt!

Did Walter do that to you?

- What makes you think Bronson did this?

- Well, he was furious about that story

you slipped past him this afternoon.

The first edition was on the street before he caught it.

- So to help matters along, you come up here?

If Walter Bronson found his wife in my apartment,

he'd blow his top.

- He doesn't know where you live.

- He could find out easy enough at the office.

- How did this happen?

- A guy named Brenner didn't like my story.

- The head of the gambling syndicate?

- So he sent a couple of his hoodlums along

to deliver his criticism.

- Did they tear up the apartment?

- No.

I think this was done by a cute blonde

looking for some affidavits.

You better run along.

- Tim.

Why don't you be nice to me?

- You seem to overlook one little minor detail.

You have a husband.

I don't like Walter Bronson, I think he's a stuffed shirt,

but I'm not fooling around with his wife.

- Maybe you'll change your mind.

After what you've been through, you need a nurse.

They say the patient often falls in love with the nurse.

(purse thuds)

- Hey what do you got in here, an anvil?

Are you gunning for anybody in particular?

- Don't be absurd.

That's Walter's pistol.

- What's it doing in your purse?

- Well, if you must know,

I was afraid he might try to kill you.

He frightened me with his raving.

I've never seen him so angry before.

I knew where he kept his gun, so I slipped it in my purse.

Make yourself comfortable.

I'll get some water.

- A .32 automatic.

There've been three murders committed with a .32 automatic.

- That isn't the only .32 automatic in the world.

- No, and you're not the only blonde in the world either.

- I wish I were.

To you.

Relax, I'll bathe your face.

- Never mind, I'm all right.

- Look, why don't you give up this one man crusade?

It can't get you anything but trouble.

You know, Walter can make things tough for you.

- Don't worry about me, I'll get along.

Does Walter know you've been dropping all that money

in those gambling joints?

- What's that got to do with what I'm talking about?

- Plenty.

(gentle music)

(monkey chittering)

(gentle music)

- Well!

Telegram for Mr. Shayne.

Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought you were Mr. Shayne.

- Very funny.

Your sense of humor shouldn't happen to a comedian.

- You two have habits in common.

Whenever I see a peanut, I think of Mike Shayne.

(telegram rustling)

- Well, it's from Tim.

"Crime wave rampant."

(laughs) Boy, does Tim love to use two-bit words.

"Three murders and more expected.

"Jump onto your white horse and come to the rescue.

"Urgent. Tim." (chuckles)

Take a wire, Phyll.

Very happy where I am.

Tired of picking bullets out of my teeth.

Want no part of any crime wave.

- Yes, sir.

And should I put fresh violets on your desk every morning?

- You'd better get to work, Miss Hamilton,

and stop insulting your boss.

- Yes, sir.

- Hey Phyll!

- "Crusading reporter near death.

"Timothy Rourke desperately wounded."

Oh, Mike, how terrible.

- "Shot by an unknown assassin.

"Has not yet regained consciousness."

Got some plane reservations.

(dramatic music)

- Just a minute, no visits allowed.

- Who says so?

- Chief Detective Pete Rafferty.

Who are you?

- Mike Shayne.

And Tim Rourke's my best friend.

I'm going in to see him.

Come on, angel.

- Are you close relatives?

- Oh, I'm his best friend.

How's he doing?

- We're not supposed to discuss our cases.

But he has a fighting chance.

- Mike, who do you suppose

would want to put Tim out of the way?

- I got a pretty good idea.

We're gonna find out for sure.

Uh, let me know when he regains consciousness, will you?

You can reach me through Will Gentry, Chief of Police.

- Your name?

- Michael Shayne.

When he wakes up, just tell him I've come.

He'll understand.

Here comes what is known as a local anesthetic.

- The police are handling this case

and we haven't asked for any outside help.

- I don't feel like fighting with you, Rafferty.

All I want is the person responsible for that.

- So what does everyone.

What do you suppose the detective bureau's for?

- I've often wondered.

- Please, you must be quiet.

- Yeah, okay, okay.

(loudly) Now, listen, see, keep out from under my feet!

And when I have a man in protective custody,

nobody crashes in.

- You should be grateful that Mike is here

to solve another case for you.

- Oh!

(door bangs shut)

(Mike laughs)

- Now, look, you drive by the Courier office

and see what gossip you can pick up.

Minerva Higgins knows everything that goes on

and she's always had a soft spot in her heart for Tim.

- Where are you going?

- I'm going to drop by Tim's apartment.

You meet me there.

- [Minerva] Mr. Bronson isn't in.

- That's good.

Mike Shayne asked me to see you.

- Oh, is Mike back in town?

- He came as soon as he heard about Tim.

- Poor Timothy.

I feel terrible about that.

He was playing with dynamite

and I warned him he'd get himself into trouble.

Mr. Bronson gave him definite orders that day

to stop his sensational crusade.

- Did he?

- No.

He sneaked in a final blast at the gambling syndicate.

He knew it would be his last story and he went all out,

naming names and everything.

Uh, this is the story that started the explosion.

- Could I keep this and show it to Mike?

- Certainly.

Um, there's something I wouldn't tell anyone else.

- [Phyllis] Yes?

- Mrs. Bronson is carrying a torch for Timothy.

- Are you sure?

- Of course I'm sure.

I don't like to gossip,

but a woman is a fool who looks at a man

the way she looks at Timothy

and expects another woman not to notice it.

She drapes herself all over his desk and

we've try not to pay any attention.

Uh, except to be courteous.

But she is a beautiful blonde, you know.

(tense music)

- Looking for someone?

- Yeah, maybe it's you.

Maybe you're a friend of this guy, Rourke.

- Maybe.

- Maybe you came to find some affidavits he had hid out.

- Could be.

- Some people are looking for those affidavits.

Hand them over.

- Who am I dealing with?

- Never mind about that!

(thrilling music)

- They ain't on him.

We should have given him more time.

- Maybe he'll feel talkative when he wakes up.

- What's going on here?

(tense music)

Help!

Help, police!

Help, police!

- Hey, c'mon, we better scram!

(dramatic music)

- Well, now you look natural.

Mike Shayne, can't I leave you for an hour

without you getting yourself beaten up?

- (chuckles) Seems like old times.

I guess I was getting soft.

- Are you hurt?

- No, no, just my vanity.

A couple of pals were looking for some affidavits

they thought Tim had.

- Say, listen, Mike Shayne,

if you get yourself a cauliflower ear,

I'm going to leave you flat.

- I stopped in to see Gentry on the way over.

He said Tim took a terrific beating.

They found the fingerprints of two women

here in the apartment.

One of them had ransacked the place

and the other one had a drink with Tim.

- Minerva says Mrs. Bronson was carrying a torch for Tim.

- Something to think about.

- Tim had a row with Bronson

and this is the story that caused the blow-up.

(dramatic music)

- Oh, Tim should've known they'd start gunning for him

when he named names and said he had affidavits.

That guy Brenner wouldn't be too happy about that.

- What's going on here?

- Who are you?

- I'm Mr. Henty, superintendent of this apartment building.

- Fine, you're just the man I want to see.

- But who are you?

- Detective.

You see any strange women around here

the night Rourke was shot?

- I saw one.

And what a blonde!

She came in the side entrance.

- Would you recognize her again?

- Oh, I only saw her back.

But, er, I think I'd recognize her.

- Why do women bother to make up their faces?

- Oh, no.

Not you again.

- Hello, Pete.

- Why the call for the riot squad?

- I had a little misunderstanding

with a couple of gentlemen.

Didn't amount to anything.

- Come on, Shayne, spill it.

Who were the guys and what was the argument?

And if you're withholding any evidence on me,

I'm going to make you sweat.

- You said you didn't want any outside help.

Get your own evidence.

Besides, Rourke sent for me

to make a confidential investigation.

- Some day you're going to go too far, Shayne,

and you're going to stick out your neck

and I'm gonna jump on it with both feet!

- He doesn't seem to like you.

- I'll bet you think we're bitter enemies, don't you?

- Aren't you?

- Yeah.

(laughs) Nah.

No, we kid around like that all the time.

Doesn't mean a thing.

Now, look, you're going to be very valuable to me.

I'm going to want to talk to you later on.

I'll see you later.

(door thuds shut)

- Someone really took this place apart.

- I think I'll drop in and have a cup of tea

with that guy Brenner.

- Mike, can't you be satisfied with one beating a day?

- You stay here till I get back.

And don't open the door to anyone.

Angel, can you do something for me?

- Yes, Mike, what?

- Er, clean the place up a little, will you?

- Yes.

- Hey bud, what's going around here?

- I want to see Brenner.

- Brenner? (laughs)

You got an appointment?

- Do you need an appointment?

- Certainly.

Certainly, go on, beat it, scram!

Get going, go ahead, get outta here!

Oh!

(man crashes)

(door clicks shut)

- Brenner?

- I didn't hear you knock.

- I didn't knock.

Let's get down to cases.

You're Brenner and I'm Shayne.

I want the blonde who blasted Tim Rourke.

- And if not?

- I'll bust a lot of things wide open.

- I don't know who it was.

Wish I did.

Whoever it was put the heat on me, plenty.

I can't even open for business until things quiet down.

I had no reason to have Rourke rubbed out.

I just made a deal with him that afternoon in this office.

- You're lying.

Tim never sold out in his life.

I read the story.

Guy's a heavy winner at your club

and a blonde knocks him off.

I want that blonde.

- I don't know who she is.

I can't know about every blonde who makes a midnight pickup.

- If Tim could dig up that stuff,

you ought to know what goes on in your club.

I'm laying it on the line, Brenner, I want that blonde

and anyone who stands in my way is gonna get hurt!

Oh.

The affidavit collectors.

'Course they're not working for you.

Or would you fool me and tell me the truth?

- Frisk him.

- Back your monkeys off me.

- All right, boys.

Back up.

- How come Bugeye let him in?

- Bugeye is now Shuteye.

He's a sucker for a left.

I suppose your understanding with Rourke

was to have these two gorillas beat him up.

All right, they'll pay for that.

And if you had any blasted, you'll burn.

Don't stick your nose outside this door

unless you want to get it shot off.

(door creaks)

(door bangs shut)

- Hey, he can be plenty tough.

- Yeah?

We've taken care of tough guys before.

- Thanks, bud.

- You're welcome.

(knocking at door)

- Who's there?

- Open the door, angel, it's Mike.

Hi, beautiful.

- Hey, wait a minute.

What, no black eye?

- (laughs) No, it was a day off for the strong-arm boys.

They only work five days a week now, you know?

Union regulations.

Anything happen while I was gone?

- [Phyllis] Well, yes and no.

- What do you mean yes and no?

- No one tried to beat me up,

but I was down in the lobby

and I noticed a letter in Tim's box.

Mr. Henty wasn't around, so I swiped it.

- Postmarked the afternoon of the day Tim was shot.

- Smell it.

- Hmm, perfume.

I wonder if she was blonde?

(knocking at door)

(door slams)

- Look here, young man!

I'm responsible for things around here

and I don't like the way you're making free

with Mr. Rourke's apartment!

- Well, an investigation takes time.

- But you can't take the place over!

And besides, I'm quite sure that there was a letter

for Mr. Rourke down in the lobby and it's missing!

- Missing?

- Yes.

- That's fine.

What kind of a place is this?

Don't you realize that letter

may have been of vital importance?

It might have been the very clue

that would have solved the entire crime

and you let some crook sneak in and steal it!

Why, I don't know what's liable to happen.

You might even be charged with criminal negligence!

- Well, I can't be everyplace.

It's too much for one man.

And I can't be down in the lobby all the time.

- All right.

I'm going to overlook it for the time being.

We'll see what develops.

- Thank you very much.

- It's all right.

I like to give everyone a break.

You know, there may be some information in this letter

that'd give us a lead.

If Tim could talk,

I know he'd give me permission to open it.

- Of course he would.

If there's nothing in it

that has anything to do with the case,

you can forget you saw it.

- Yeah.

No signature.

"If you're interested in buying some information

"for your paper, call Capital-8024."

Information's what we're interested in.

(phone buzzing)

- Office.

- Capital-8024.

This may be the break we've been waiting for.

(rotary phone dialing)

- Capital-8024 doesn't answer.

- Get me information.

(rotary phone dialing)

Hello, information?

Police business.

Give me the name and address of Capital-8024.

Yeah.

Thanks.

Madge Rankin, 614 Hillside Drive.

Think I'll pay her a little visit.

- I don't mind going along.

- Well, er, frankly, angel,

I think I'll get along better by myself.

- That's what I'm afraid of.

- Oh, angel, this is strictly business, believe me.

- Oh, I believe you.

(frogs croaking)

- No use wearing yourself out on that doorbell.

Madge isn't home.

She had a noisy party Tuesday night.

I haven't seen her since.

- That's funny.

I had a date with her.

- Maybe she forgot.

- I don't think so.

She told me she'd be here.

- You can wait in my place, if you like.

- Oh, thanks, that's very nice of you,

but I'll wait outside.

- Okay.

(dramatic music)

(sirens blaring in distance)

(knocking on door)

Come in.

Well!

You changed your mind but fast.

- Your friend Madge has been murdered.

- Madge?

Murdered?

- Look, I'm Mike Shayne, a private investigator.

The cops are going to be boiling in here any minute.

You could be a big help to me.

- Why should I?

- Why not?

(siren blaring nearby)

Doesn't cost you anything.

You might help me solve a murder.

(siren blaring)

(car doors slamming)

(frogs croaking)

(door slams)

- I wonder why Shayne asked information for this address.

If Henty gave me a bad tip,

I'll shake his teeth out.

Holy smoke!

Hey, we've run into a murder.

Now, don't touch anything until I get the boys over here.

I'll phone from next door.

Tom, you watch the front and you go around the back, huh?

- Yeah.

(door bangs shut)

(knocking on door)

(door slams)

- Police business, I'd like to use your phone.

- Sorry, we don't have one.

- Oh, thank you.

Oh, Mike Shayne!

I might have known it!

- (sighs) Mike, tell him to go away.

We don't want any.

- Don't talk like that, honey.

He's a big shot detective.

- Now, don't give me that!

What do you know about this murder next door?

- Murder?

- [Mike] What murder?

- Do you know who lives next door?

- Well, of course, Madge Rankin.

- Oh. - We're good friends.

- Tom.

Take her in to look at the body for identification.

(door bangs shut)

- Well, tell me what's happened.

- As if you don't know.

Go on along with him.

- Must I, Mike?

- Sure, that's Pete Rafferty, you have to mind him.

- All right, lady.

- All right, Shayne, start talking.

- What will we talk about?

Business or shall we make it personal?

- That's not funny.

We'll talk about that murder next door.

- Well, I just got in town this afternoon.

Do you think I murdered her by radar?

- Now, you know something!

You asked information for that address.

- Well, sure, uh, Helen doesn't have a phone,

so she gave me the number next door.

Nobody answered when I called

and I'd forgotten the address.

- Oh, it was just a coincidence.

You just happened to pop up next door to a corpse?

- You know, Pete, it's the funniest thing.

Whenever anybody has a corpse

they don't know what to do with,

they always dump it in my lap.

- Oh!

(door bangs)

(frogs croaking)

Call over the car radio for a Homicide detail.

- Right.

- Well, was it Madge Rankin?

- Yes, it was Madge.

I never saw a dead person before.

Gave me the creeps.

- Take it easy.

- Poor Madge, lying there dead all that time and...

I thought she was out having a good time.

- Well, I'll talk to you again.

Just stay put so I can find you.

Well, Shayne, where's that letter

you took out of Rourke's mailbox?

- Why, Peter, how can you say such things?

- Henty said you stole a letter

just before you made that call.

- Did anybody see me as steal a letter?

- When any evidence is missing and you're around,

I know who's got it.

- That is merely supposition on the part of the witness.

It has no weight as evidence.

(frogs croaking)

(car doors slam shut)

(motor revs)

(frogs croaking)

- [Cop] What do you want?

- Oh, I was looking for a friend.

- A man or a woman?

- A man.

- Maybe he's in there.

Come on.

Chief, here's a dame who was snooping around next door.

- How did she know where you were?

You always tell her

before you go to visit another girlfriend?

- You know how women are.

They follow you around, spy on you. (chuckles)

- Mike Shayne!

- Sometimes they talk too much.

- Oh, shut up!

What were you going to say?

- Who, me?

Oh, I had nothing to say.

When Mike and I promised to look you up,

we had no idea we would interrupt a police convention.

- There was a murder next door.

- How awful!

- Oh, don't give me any more of that runaround.

I want what evidence you have

or I'll hold you on suspicion of obstructing justice

and maybe a federal rap for intercepting mail.

- Look, you had three murders

and Tim was almost killed before I came.

What did you do about it?

You wouldn't know a piece of evidence

if I walked up and introduced itself.

- All right!

All right, come on down to headquarters.

Perhaps I can persuade you to sing a different tune.

- Mike--

- Oh, it's all right, honey.

Take it easy.

Can't hold me long on suspicion

and you'll enjoy hearing him apologize.

- Me apologize?

Why, you--

- Now, Pete, Pete, careful, careful!

Ladies.

No naughty words.

Come on.

- Have the boys stick around till I get back.

I'm taking this bird down to headquarters for an audition.

- Okay, Chief.

All right, boys, come on.

- Did Mike Shayne get all the information he wanted?

- If there's anything else he wants, he knows the address.

- Say, listen, sister,

if you have any ideas about Mr. Shayne,

you can forget them right now!

- Who are you, his mother?

- Mother!

Don't you mother me or I'll rock you to sleep.

- You can't talk to me like that.

I'll have you know I'm a lady.

- Really?

(knocking at door)

- (sighs) More cops, I suppose.

I'll be combing cops out of my hair for a week.

Oh.

Hello, Dilly.

- I was driving by and saw the police cars outside.

What happened?

- Madge was murdered.

- Good heavens! When?

- Well, it...

- Police.

Did you know her?

- Why, yes, I knew her.

In a casual sort of way.

- Do you know anyone who might have had a reason

to knock her off?

- Well, of course not.

I told you I didn't know her very well.

- What's your name?

- Dillingham Smith, but I tell you, I--

- Address?

- El Montalvo apartments.

- Are you married?

- Well, yes, but my wife's out of town.

- Where is she?

- [Dilly] Well, I don't know.

We got a little misunderstanding.

You can't pry into my private affairs!

- Well, if you'd rather talk down at police headquarters,

it's okay with me.

- All right.

I know nothing about the murder.

But go ahead, have fun.

- All right.

Come on.

- You boys might as well go on to bed.

I don't feel talkative tonight.

(door thuds shut)

Hello, Pete.

Did you finish the routine investigation of the murder?

- Why don't you get wise, Shayne?

The police department is much bigger than you are.

- Was the victim shot through the heart

with a .32 automatic from close up?

- I thought you didn't know anything about the murder.

- Had to be that way.

- Why?

- And you call yourself a detective.

You don't even see that the pattern for all these murders

was the same.

Tim was the only one who expected it

and it saved his life.

- Ballistics prove that no two murders were committed

with the same gun.

- Well, I suppose you think

there couldn't be an answer to that.

- Never mind what I think.

Just turn over what evidence you have

to the proper authorities or I'll sweat it out of ya.

- No dice, Pete.

I'm going to conduct this investigation in my own way.

- All right, if you want to make it tough on yourself,

go ahead.

- There's, uh, nothing like a good old habeas corpus

to spring a guy out of jail.

- I don't know why I even bothered to get you out.

- Oh, angel, look,

I told you I was just putting on an act to fool Rafferty.

- You've said that before.

- Did I?

(car door slams)

Boy, Dilly Smith must really be in the chips.

It costs dough to live in a place like this.

- I can't put my finger on anything definite,

but there's something about that man

that didn't seem to ring quite true.

- Yeah, I know what you mean.

Let's go talk to the doorman.

'Morning.

- Oh, good morning, sir.

- Special investigator.

- Oh, you got the wrong man, sir, I swear you have.

I never slipped those crooked dice in the game.

- Oh, the FBI is handling that investigation, I think.

I'm in the market to buy some information.

- Oh, you've come to the right market, sir.

You've come to the black market. (chuckles)

Selling information is what I's most fond of.

- What can you tell me about Dillingham Smith?

- Uh...

He and his wife moved in a short time back.

But I hear they're just oozing in money.

- Mrs. Smith a brunette?

- No, sir.

You never seen a blonde like that lady.

Why, she's shines in the dark.

- Anything else?

- Uh, she sent a trunk to the railroad

two or three days ago and I ain't seen her around no more.

(door clicks open)

- Mike, there he is.

(door bangs shut)

- Call you a cab, sir?

- No, thanks, I'll walk.

- I'm going to tail him.

Call Will Gentry and ask him to bring

a fingerprint man over.

See if he can find a print to match anything

found in Tim's apartment.

(payphone dings)

(rotary phone dialing)

- Hello, Will?

This is Phyllis.

Mike wants you to do him a big favor.

(laughs) No, he's not in jail again.

Not yet.

He needs a check on some fingerprints

without going through regular police channels.

I'll meet you here at the El Montalvo apartments.

- Oh, I, um...

I'm terribly sorry, I--

- Can't you walk without tripping over your feet?

- Oh, I'm really awfully sorry.

It was very clumsy of me, I...

- This ain't a stick of peppermint candy

you feel in your back.

- Don't tell me, let me guess.

- Funny man, huh?

I've got a gag that'll kill ya.

- Yeah, I see what you mean.

- You get in the front seat, pal.

This is your party.

(car doors slam)

(car rumbling)

- Well, uh, now that we're all nice and cozy,

how's about letting me in on what this is all about?

- Don't be inquisitive.

Stay happy as long as you can.

- (laughing) Bing's a card.

He's always handing me a laugh.

- Yeah. (forced laugh)

Oh, very funny, that's what I like.

Murder with a smile.

(car rumbling)

- Okay, chum, let's get down to business.

Tim Rourke popped off about some affidavits.

Maybe they don't mean nothing to Hank Brenner,

but he wants to see 'em.

- Sorry, fresh out of affidavits.

- That ain't the only thing you'll be out of.

Hank said to treat you nice if you play ball.

If not, we was to use our own judgment.

- I don't suppose it'd do any good to tell you

I don't know anything about the affidavits

you're talking about.

- That's right, it's the affidavits or else.

- Look, I can't deliver something I haven't got.

It's not gonna do you any good to bump me off.

- Who said anything about bumping you off?

We're only taking you down to see Brenner.

He wants to talk to ya.

(tires screeching)

(car crashes)

(car doors slam)

See if you can start the engine.

(motor revving)

It looks like we're gonna have to

thumb our way back to town.

- That's right.

(car rumbling)

(jalopy rumbling)

- Sorry, boys, all filled up.

- Not here, you fool!

- Hello, Will.

- Hello, Mike.

Looks like you're getting close to something.

- Where have you been?

- A couple of Brenner's friends picked me up.

We couldn't get along, so I walked home.

What do you mean I'm getting close to something?

- Well, the fingerprints of the woman

who claims to be Mrs. Dillingham Smith

are the same as the fingerprints of the woman

who ransacked Tim's apartment.

- Huh.

Now, tell me, why should Dilly Smith be writing letters

to Walter Bronson, managing editor of the Courier?

- I don't know, it's got me stumped.

- Well, it's got me going around in circles.

There's too many blondes in this case.

I'm having blonde nightmares.

Hope I never see another blonde as long as I live.

- May I have that in writing?

- With options.

(Will chuckles)

(match striking)

Say, Gentry, you will be sure Tim's well-guarded, won't you?

Brenner and the gambling syndicate are sorta concerned

about those affidavits he popped off about.

They might try to get to him.

- Don't worry, I'll see that they don't.

- Those boys are plenty tough, I know.

Now, let me see.

We've got a line on the woman who searched Tim's apartment.

Did that happen before or after he was shot?

- Oh, I don't know.

There's no way of telling.

- She ties in with Dilly Smith.

Dilly Smith writes a letter to Bronson.

That ought to add up to something.

- And don't forget, Mrs. Bronson is a blonde.

- So was Madge Rankin, the woman who was murdered

to keep her from talking.

Dilly ties in there, too.

- Dilly gets around.

- Plenty!

(Will chuckles)

How about putting a tail on him, Will?

I can't be everywhere at once and

I can't work with Pete Rafferty.

- I wish you two boys would try to get along

and stop needling each other.

- What would I do for entertainment?

- Huh! (coughs)

- Hello, Minerva.

(door slams)

How's my favorite heart trap?

- Don't give me that line, Mike Shayne.

I'm no whistle-stop.

Uh, have you seen Timothy?

- Yeah.

He's still unconscious.

They say he has a chance.

Is Bronson in?

- No, he hasn't come in yet this morning.

- Look, Minerva,

I'm going to ask you to do a big favor for me.

I want you to listen in on his telephone conversations

for a day or so.

- That's out of the question.

I never did anything like that in my life.

- You want to find out who would wash out Tim, don't you?

- Of course.

But surely you don't think--

- I'm not accusing anyone.

But I'm just not overlooking any angles.

- Good morning, Mr. Bronson.

- 'Morning.

- Er, Mr. Bronson.

- Don't bother me, I'm busy.

(door bangs shut)

I said I'm busy.

- So am I.

Why did you object to Rourke's following through

on his expose of the gambling situation?

- I fail to see how the editorial policy of this paper

is any of your business.

- The person who shot Rourke didn't like that stuff either.

- Are you intimating--

- I'm intimating nothing, I'm stating facts.

Did you, uh, get to Rourke's apartment

before or after he was shot?

- I did not go to Rourke's apartment at all.

- You started for there.

- I changed my mind.

I decided to see him the following morning.

- Did you find any affidavits among the papers in his desk?

- I've explained all this to your police department

and Rafferty has all the papers from Rourke's desk.

Now, get out before I have you thrown out.

- This letter was among the household bills and I opened it.

- [Walter] We'll talk about that later.

- Looks like you had a little accident.

- Well, I--

- I told you to get out of here.

Must I have you thrown out?

- Don't you know excitement's bad for your blood pressure?

(door thuds shut)

- Who was that?

- I don't know.

- Who's the blonde?

- Mrs. Bronson.

Did you enjoy your visit?

- It was worthwhile.

Don't forget about the phone calls, Minerva.

I have a hunch something's going to pop before long.

(intercom buzzes)

- Being a lady,

I can't tell you just exactly what is going to pop

at this moment.

- Keep your chin up.

Remember, this is for Tim.

Play along with me.

- Okay, Mike.

You wanted to see me?

- What do you mean letting people walk in and out

of my private office?

This is not Grand Central Station.

- He followed you in and

there was nothing I could do about it.

- Would it be expecting too much to ask you who he is?

- [Minerva] Michael Shayne, private detective.

- A private detective?

- I understand Timothy Rourke sent for him

just before he was shot.

Will that be all?

- Yes, you may go.

So that's why he was snooping around here,

trying to worry me.

These private detectives are all a bunch of phonies.

(intercom buzzes)

- Yes, Mr. Bronson?

- Get me Crestview-64728.

- Yes, sir.

(rotary phone dialing)

(telephone ringing)

- Hello, Brenner talking.

- Just a moment, please.

Mr. Bronson calling.

(intercom buzzes)

- Hello.

Hello, Brenner?

Yeah, Bronson talking.

Michael Shayne, a private detective,

is trying to blackmail me for 25,000.

- Yeah?

Play along with him.

I know how to handle those babies.

- All right.

All right, I'll do as you say.

You've gotten me into a fine mess.

I can't afford a scandal!

(door clicks open)

Miss Higgins, run an ad in the personal column

of today's paper.

Just the two words: Yes Colt.

- Yes Colt.

Yes, sir.

(paper rustling)

(car horn honks nearby)

(payphone dings)

(rotary phone dialing)

(telephone rings)

- Hello, Walter Bronson speaking.

- If you're interested in buying a .32 Colt automatic,

serial number 421-893,

before the police run a ballistic test, listen carefully.

I won't repeat and don't bother to have the call traced.

I'm calling from a public phone booth.

(knocking at door)

(gentle music)

- Well, what do you want?

Back for round two?

- I came to apologize for last night.

- Skip it.

Come on in and sit down.

- I can only stay a minute.

(gentle music)

- Will you have a cup of coffee?

- No, thanks.

- You know, Mike Shayne,

he must be quite a guy.

- Oh, he is.

And in my opinion, he's the best detective in the world.

- (chuckles) Well, he's not a nice playmate

if you have a guilty conscience.

You better not try any two-timing.

- Don't worry, I won't.

By the way, I'm not familiar with this town.

Could you recommend a good beauty shop?

- Well, I always go to Madame Renee.

I'll give you her card.

(gentle music)

I've always been satisfied with her work.

- Thanks a million.

- Have they any line on who might've killed Madge?

- Not that I know of.

They can't seem to find a motive for the murder.

- Maybe she stepped out with some other woman's husband.

Those things happen.

- That man, Dilly Smith.

He said he had trouble with his wife.

Do you suppose...

- Oh, I don't think so.

Dilly wasn't interested in Madge.

(door bangs shut)

- I saw Bronson leave.

Did you get anything?

- I don't like doing this sort of thing.

It's like peeking through a keyhole.

- Oh, so Bronson thinks I'm the one

who's trying to blackmail him.

- Well, for a while, Michael Shayne,

I had my doubts about you, too.

- Oh, everyone has his doubts about me now and then.

Even Phyllis. (chuckles)

Dilly Smith has a .32 Cold automatic to sell.

Get me Chief of Police Will Gentry on the phone, will you?

(rotary phone dialing)

- Chief of Police Gentry, please.

Michael Shayne calling.

(telephone rings)

- Hello.

- Just a moment.

- Hello, Will.

We can start to roll.

Pick up Dilly Smith and

turn him over to Pete Rafferty's department.

Have them check the serial number

and run a ballistics test on the gun they'll find on him.

Check it against the slug they took out of Tim.

- Okay, Mike.

But how about breaking down and telling me

what this is all about?

- Oh, it's just as well

you don't know too much at the moment.

Get me Pete Rafferty, will ya?

- Okay.

(clicking telephone)

Switch this call over to Rafferty.

- Shayne burns me up more than anyone I know.

I'd give him a thousand dollars if I could get him

in a spot he couldn't wiggle out of.

(telephone rings)

Hello, Rafferty speaking.

- (faking accent) Hello, Rafferty.

I got a hot tip for you.

That private eye, Mike Shayne, is on his way

to the 300 block on Mariposa.

He's up to no good.

If you're smart, you'll put a prowl car on his tail.

- Who's speaking?

Hello?

Hello!

Come on.

- I would certainly never make a good detective.

I'm too sane.

- Oh, you don't have to be crazy.

But it helps a lot.

(both laugh)

Thanks a lot, Minerva.

You did your good deed for the day.

These directions are very clear.

(dramatic music)

- Hope he didn't beat us here.

(dramatic music)

There he is.

(playful music)

Wait a minute.

Wait a minute, he's slowing up.

(dramatic music)

All right, tail him.

(dramatic music)

(guns firing)

Hold it, you!

(dramatic music)

All right, put 'em in the car!

- Nice work, Pete.

Lucky for me you happened along.

- Hey, what's going on?

I don't get all this.

- Well, you saw 'em shoot at me, didn't you?

- Sure, I saw him, but I still don't get it.

- I was driving peacefully along

and he deliberately ran me into the curb.

- If you were so peaceful,

what were you doing with those two thugs

in the back of your car?

- [Pete] Yeah, how about that?

- Well, Shayne was trying to blackmail me, I...

I had them along for protection.

- Oh, well, that's different.

Well, now we're getting somewhere.

Shayne, it looks like you finally stuck your neck out.

- Don't you think we'd better talk this over

down at headquarters?

- And maybe you think we won't? (laughs)

You fellas drive straight to headquarters and I'll tail ya.

- Shayne, can't we talk this over privately?

I'll get you the money.

- We'll talk for the record.

You and your pals are in this thing up to your neck.

You heard what Rafferty said, let's get going.

(dramatic music)

- Sit down.

All right, Shayne, let's have it.

Start talking.

- Let's talk for the record.

- All right, any way you like.

We always try to be obliging.

Hey, get a stenographer.

- I understand some of your men picked up a fellow

named Dilly Smith.

- They did?

I mean, what if they did?

- Well, he had a gun on him.

Might be interesting to know the results of the tests

they ran on it.

- Ballistics.

Say, they found a gun on a guy named Dilly Smith.

Give me a report on that test.

I don't know how you know so much

about what goes on in my department.

Yeah, go ahead.

Yeah.

Yeah.

I don't know how you guessed it, Shayne,

but Rourke was shot with that gun.

- I'm always a jump or two ahead of you, Pete.

You ought to know that by this time.

Have a peanut.

- No.

(peanut clatters)

What do you got to say about this, Bronson?

- About what?

- About Rourke being shot with a gun

registered in your name?

- Well, I...

- I'll bet you tried to double-cross your accomplice,

Dilly Smith.

And he phoned in the tip about you.

- Somebody phone in a tip?

- Well, why do you suppose I was on your tail?

- Oh, I thought it was because you liked me

and didn't want to see me get hurt.

Hey, uh, Pete,

would you send somebody out for some more peanuts?

- Yeah.

If you'd like it soaked in poison.

You're in a tough spot.

You better tell the truth

and not try to cover up for anybody.

You knew that gun was red hot.

Now, tell us how it came to be in your possession.

- Okay, I'll tell you the truth.

I found that gun outside the apartment

where the reporter was shot Tuesday night.

I saw you drop it, Mr. Bronson,

when you came out the side entrance

with that blonde dame and got in your car.

- That's an outrageous lie!

- Shut up, Bronson.

Go ahead.

- Well, I picked up the gun and took the license number

of the car.

I didn't know what it was all about

until I read in the papers the next day

that the reporter had been shot.

- So you decided to keep the gun

and blackmail Mr. Bronson, huh?

- That's right.

Oh, I know I can do a stretch for that,

but it's better than being mixed up in a murder rap.

- And, uh...

How does Mr. Shayne figure in all this?

- Him?

I've never seen him before.

- The man's obviously trying

to protect Shayne for some reason.

I was not near Rourke's apartment.

- You started for there.

And in no very friendly frame of mind.

I checked the time you left the office.

You didn't get home until quite late.

- Must I account for every minute of my time?

- Might not be a bad idea.

Especially in view of the fact that Mrs. Bronson

showed such a friendly interest in Tim.

- I will not submit to having my wife

insulted in this manner!

And I'll hold you responsible if you allow it to proceed.

- Mrs. Bronson is a blonde.

And a very attractive blonde was seen

going in the side entrance to Tim's apartment.

- Does that prove anything?

- Not necessarily.

Why don't you ask Mrs. Bronson to prove

that her fingerprints don't match those

of the woman who had a drink with Tim the night he was shot?

- She's my wife, I...

I wanted to protect her.

- You mean you found your wife in Rourke's apartment?

- Yes.

I was very angry with Rourke

over the story he sneaked into the paper without my okay.

There was no one in the lobby when I arrived.

I knew the number of the apartment, so I went right up.

(tense music)

(door slams)

(tense music)

(Mrs. Bronson crying)

Muriel.

Good heavens, what are you doing here?

What's happened?

- I didn't do it, Walter.

I swear I didn't do it!

- But why are you here?

- I liked him.

I wanted to persuade him to give up that foolish crusade

and keep his job with you.

- Who shot him?

- I don't know.

I started into the kitchen and was struck a blow on the head

that knocked me unconscious.

And then I found him like this. (sobs)

- We've got to get out of here.

(dramatic music)

It was a horrible situation and I couldn't think clearly.

I didn't know whether Rourke was alive or dead.

My only thought was to get her out of there

without being seen.

I didn't dare risk taking her through the lobby,

so we slipped out the side entrance.

I didn't know that she'd taken my pistol with her

until we returned home.

Then she discovered that it had disappeared from her purse.

- Did you believe her story?

- Why, certainly.

- You mean you wanted to believe it.

You were afraid she was the blonde

that committed those other murders.

- That isn't true.

I'm interested in the gambling syndicate,

but I wouldn't countenance murder.

- What about your plan to have me bumped off?

- That was Brenner's idea.

- Well, you see, Pete?

We opened up the laundry bag and found a lot of dirty linen.

Now, what about that blonde wife of yours?

- Well, what about her?

- She's the woman who searched Tim's apartment.

- Well, that's news to me.

Maybe she was two-timing me and

he had some letters she wanted back.

- Maybe that's why you were hanging around the apartment

the night you say you saw Bronson drop the gun--

- Look, I don't know what she's been doing.

She walked out on me four days ago.

If you don't believe me, check with my apartment.

- I have.

Oh, hello, angel.

Any luck?

- Well, I guess we've got this case in the bag.

I'll have them pick up Mrs. Bronson.

She was the last one to see Rourke alive

and she had the pistol with her.

Arrest these two men.

Bronson was an accomplice or an accessory after the fact.

Smith was a material witness and a confessed blackmailer.

Well, the newspaper boys have been clamoring for a story.

I'll give 'em a story so hot

it'll make their hair curl. (laughs)

- Uh, you know, Pete, if I were you,

I don't believe I'd break that story just yet.

- Huh?

Why not?

Hey, are you trying to fix it

so you get a payoff out of this?

- Oh, Pete, you hurt me.

You're so suspicious.

- Well, I've got a right to be suspicious.

I would have dug up all this stuff myself.

- Of course you would have.

It's just, I think there's one more angle

we might check into.

- Well, all right.

I'll go along with you.

But don't try to make a monkey out of me!

- What, and share my peanuts?

- Oh!

(knocking at door)

- Hello, Mike.

Oh, I see you brought a chaperone.

- Yeah, a couple of 'em.

- Well?

What do we do now?

Play games?

- No, Helen.

We're all through playing games.

- What did you mean by that crack?

- Murder isn't a game.

We want the blonde who murdered three men,

Madge Rankin, and shot Tim Rourke.

- Do I look like a blonde?

- Not now.

But you gave Phyllis the name of the hairdresser

who dyed your hair from blonde to brunette

when things got too hot for you.

- Well, is it a crime for a woman to have her hair dyed?

I thought you were a regular guy, Mike.

I didn't think you'd try to pull a dirty frame like this.

- You left a fingerprint on the card you gave Phyllis.

It matched that of the woman who searched Tim's apartment.

And by the way, also that of Mrs. Dilly Smith.

Dilly's down at headquarters now

and he's being very cooperative.

- None of that proves that I committed any murders.

(Helen crashes)

- (sighs) I've been wanting to do that for a long time.

Ever since the other night.

- You know, if you ever get a cauliflower ear,

don't look to me for sympathy.

- Don't worry, I won't.

I dish 'em out, I don't take 'em.

- Ah, this is for you, Petey.

- Well, I guess we got the murder weapon, all right.

- All right, wise guy.

Run a ballistic on that gun.

It hasn't been fired in years.

- You know that you were pretty smart

when you threw away the old barrel after each murder

and slipped in a new one.

But you didn't know that a gun leaves a distinctive mark

on the ejected shell as well as on the bullet.

You should've picked up your empty shells.

(Pete exclaims)

- Oh, take it easy, take it easy!

She's not going to get away.

You got a man out in back.

- You know, I can understand the rest of it,

but why'd she murder Madge Rankin?

- I don't know.

Maybe she got wise to the setup

and threatened to blow the lid off

if they didn't cut her in.

- You're right, Shayne.

She knew too much.

- You might have gotten away with it, too,

if you hadn't slipped a new barrel in Bronson's gun

and tried for blackmail.

- That was Dilly's idea.

Should've got rid of him, too.

- Well, I hope this winds it up.

I'm getting dizzy.

Come on.

- Sure good to see you with your eyes open again, Tim.

- Ah, there's a lot of life left in the old hulk.

- I must ask you to leave.

You were only supposed to stay a minute.

- Okay, beautiful.

We'll stick around town for a while, Tim,

drop in now and then.

See ya.

- Hey, Tim, notice anything strange about Mike?

- [Tim] No, what?

- This is the first time he ever got through a case

without being laid out like a rug.

- Listen, let me tell you one thing.

Nobody lays Mike Shayne out like a rug.

(door bangs)

(playful music)

- Get me the admission desk.

Send another bed up to Room 216.

Up in OS by Jaf - 22/02/2024