Crime and Peter Chambers.
Created by Henry Kane, transcribed and starring Dane Clark.
A private investigator, duly licensed and duly sworn, Peter Chambers.
You're a private eye. That's your business. Anything else, that's for laughs.
This one figures for laughs, a lot of laughs. Because you're making yourself comfortable on a bar stool and you're asking for...
What'll it be, Mac?
Milk.
Milk?
You heard me, pal.
Yes, sir. Milk it is.
It's a great big beautiful bar. The Peacock Room. And down at the far end sits a blonde.
Quite a blonde. You like the beige suit and the scarlet blouse and the long beige gloves.
And the swell of the blonde hair on her shoulders. You like the queer cut of her eyes, up swept at the edges and the green from where you sit.
You like the curved red wet lips and the clean line of the eyebrows. But best of all, you like the glass of milk that's sitting there in front of her.
What's with the milk today, Mac?
Search me.
You want to chase her? Maybe heavy cream, homogenized?
Do me a favor, pal.
Yeah?
Go be funny somewhere else. Will you please?
Sure, Mac. No offense. You know how it is. Milk.
The bartender toddles off and the blonde, pushing off her bar stool, toddles forward. Toward you.
Sitting as she was with the bar hiding half of her, you've been wondering about her legs. Now you cease wondering. No complaints.
Are you Peter? Peter Chambers?
That's me, lady. Doing a workout in the latest bottle-fed formula.
On my request.
Yes, ma'am. And if I'd have known it was you who was requesting it, I'd have really gone to town. Double milk.
I want to talk to you. Somewhere alone.
No objections to that. We're somewhere alone.
My place. How's that?
Fine. If you'll tell me where your place is.
Hotel Baldwin. Suite 518.
Good enough. We go now?
No. No, I'll go first. You come there about five minutes.
Oh, real mystery-like, huh? Well, I suppose that's the kind of business I'm in.
One slight, unimportant bit of information.
Yes?
What's your name?
Abigail. Abigail Christenberry. See you later, then.
You fiddle with the milk, giving her five minutes.
Then you hustle out of there and make for the Hotel Baldwin.
The elevator takes you up to five, and you're at Suite 518.
Well, Mr. Peter Chambers.
You're in a fancy sitting room.
Abigail Christenberry looks just the same.
Beige suit, scarlet blouse, beige gloves, only...
in these more intimate surroundings, she looks twice as good.
Will you have a drink, Mr. Peter Chambers?
I will, Miss Abigail Christenberry. Only if it's milk, I pass.
No, I think the milk routine is getting boring, though it had its purpose.
Do you like scotch?
Scotch I love.
Good. Scotch, then, for both of us.
She sets up the drinks neat.
Whiskey in a shot glass and a tall glass of soda on the side.
One combination for you, one combination for her.
Then you're sitting opposite her across a coffee table,
and you're both sipping your drinks and sort of, um...
staring.
So, just to shake it up, she drops a little bombshell.
I've changed my mind, Mr. Chambers.
You've changed your mind about what?
About retaining you.
There's no longer any need of your service.
Fired before you get hired.
Everything happens to the private eye.
Here you are served for your trouble.
Hundred dollar bill.
Well, that's most generous of you, dear lady.
Now then, good afternoon, Mr. Peter Chambers.
And a very good afternoon to you, Miss Abigail Christenberry.
So, with the hundred dollar bill clutched in your little hot hand,
you go back to the office and attend to business.
You could have refused a scene note,
but a lady's got to pay some kind of a penalty
for having a guy sit around drinking milk at a cocktail bar.
Anyway, you dismiss her as some kind of a gorgeous crackpot.
But she doesn't stay dismissed,
because you're home that evening experimenting with imported Swedish herring
and well-buttered pumpernickel bread when...
KNOCKING
Evening, Pete.
Well, Louis Parker. May I come in?
Detective Lieutenant Louis Parker.
New York City Police Homicide.
Good cop, good man, and good friend.
Spending the evening in, Peter?
I was hoping to, Louis, but in my business...
Drink, Lieutenant?
No, thanks. I got gas.
Honka herring, maybe?
Same gas.
Got a little heartburn, too.
How's about some bicarb?
Look, you know a dame by name Abigail Christenberry?
Oh, not half as well as I'd like to.
Well, you ain't gonna.
Why not?
She's dead.
Dead?
Abigail Christenberry dead.
And my boy, they've got you tagged for it.
Me?
It's my case, Pete, and you'll notice I come alone.
Now, if you've got an out, brother, I'd be the happiest guy in the world.
Out? What the heck do I need an out for? I didn't kill her.
Well, Pete, the maid comes to Suite 518.
It's about 7 o'clock.
This Abigail is under the bed in a kimono with the back of her head belted in,
her face mashed up, but bad.
You wouldn't know it was a face.
What's that got to do with me?
First off, we find your name and address in her pocketbook.
Well, that's evidence.
Gives us a peg, so we hang our hat on it.
Glasses on the coffee table have fingerprints.
We've got your prints on file downtown.
We match them. They match.
Well, is this evidence of murder?
There's more, fella.
More?
The medical examiner says she got it between 4 and 5 this afternoon.
We describe you to the elevator operator,
and sure enough, you were there at about 4.30.
Look, Louis, I can explain that.
Can you explain this? Can you explain her diary?
Diary?
For the past eight months, it's about a guy named Pete.
That's all. Guy named Pete.
About how cute he was, about how in love they were, and then what a louse he is.
How he's strictly working her for money,
and finally that she's scared of him because he's threatening her.
Now, we call that evidence. What do you call it?
Evidence. Circumstantial, but evidence nonetheless.
Pete, were you there at 4.30?
Yes.
Well, give me your side of the story.
Did you know the dame?
Yes.
Stop agreeing with me. Come on, talk it up. Let me hear.
Listen, lieutenant, listen.
This morning at the office, I get a phone call, a dame, no name.
She tells me she's got a case for me to meet her at the Peacock Bar at 4 o'clock.
All right, so you go to the Peacock Bar.
What do you do there?
I drink milk.
Milk? Oh, now look, this is Louie Parker.
You're talking... A milk drinker, you ain't...
Look, it was a way we'd identify ourselves.
She'd be drinking milk, I'd be drinking milk.
Anyway, she talks to me.
She wants a five-minute head start, and then I'm to meet her at her hotel, Suite 518.
And?
I get there, it must be, oh, at 4.30.
We have a couple of drinks, and then she bounces me.
She says she changed her mind.
And that's your story?
That's it.
Then you better get your hat. We're going downtown. I'll have to book you.
Look, Louie, why do you have to...
Because we got affidavits, Pete, from all the help in the hotel.
Affidavits? Well, what do they say?
They say that Abigail Christenbury did not leave her apartment today, all day, not once.
It was crazy, but it could jam you.
If Louie takes you downtown, the DA's machinery jolts into action.
With what they can prove, the grand jury will squirt an indictment at you faster than you could fall off a ferry boat.
And suddenly, you got it.
What is it, Pete? I hope it's good.
Louie, look, you found my fingerprints on a shot glass of whiskey and a tall glass of soda.
Right.
And opposite that, there was another shot glass of whiskey and another glass of soda, and somebody had been using them.
Right.
But you found no fingerprints on that second set.
Now, how do I know that?
How do you know?
Because the story I told you is true. The dame was wearing a suit and gloves.
And she didn't take the gloves off.
Yeah.
If the dame hadn't been out all day, like they told me, and she's found the kimono with her face bashed in, why should she be wearing gloves?
That's the only logical explanation for her lack of fingerprints, isn't it?
That's very good, Pete.
I'm glad I came alone. I'm glad I had confidence in you.
All right, now what?
Now we go down to the Peacock Bar, so I can straighten you out on some of the truth.
Peacock Bar, it is.
You slip on your holster and you clip your gun into it, and then you're riding cross-town in Parker's car.
On the way you ask questions, and Parker supplies the answers.
Abigail Christenberry, a very rich widow worth millions.
No family at all except one guy, a brother named Timothy York.
Timothy York, huh?
Yeah.
And he inherits the millions, is that it?
He inherits, all right, but he's clear, Pete.
He works for an ice cream company, but he worked all day.
He even had his lunch sent in.
There's an office staff of 30 people who can back it up.
What kind of a guy?
Well, he's a mousy little type.
Pretty old, too. Maybe 65.
A rather young wife, no children.
But we've already cut him out as a suspect.
He just couldn't have done it. Physically impossible.
30 full-grown witnesses.
Here's your peacock bar.
Yes, sir, gentlemen, what'll it be?
Scotch on two.
Hello.
Well, the milk drinker. Hiya, Mac.
Hi.
Oh, my friend drinks milk.
Good way to cushion yourself for a bend to drink milk in the afternoon.
Go on, tell them about the other milk drinker.
Other milk drinker?
Yeah, the dame.
The beige suit, scarlet blouse, beige gloves.
Dames?
We get a million of them.
Oh, no, this was a special one.
Beautiful blonde.
She was sitting up there at the bar.
She came and talked to me.
She was drinking milk.
I'm behind this bar from 10 to 10, 12 hours.
You go out of your mind if you start picking out dames.
It's like a rancher with 100 head of cattle.
You can't pick out every cow.
Try. It's important.
Well, I'm trying, Mac.
Believe me, but it ain't no use.
I'm sorry.
OK, let's get out of here.
So you're back in Parker's car trying to swallow that helpless, hopeless feeling.
Where to now, kiddo?
Figure I ought to visit Timothy York.
He's been visited.
Well, let me try.
Sure, kid, it's your party.
And you stay downstairs.
Like I said, it's your party, Pete.
It's a nice enough house, apartment 9G, and you stick your finger in the buzzer.
Little guy opens the door.
Little old guy that looks like he's falling apart, skinny as a pencil.
Yes, what can I do for you, sir?
Timothy York?
The same.
Chambers police.
But the police have already been here several times.
They once more can't hurt.
True enough.
Come in, sir. Please come in.
Hey, nice place you have here.
Thank you.
How about your sister, Abigail Christenberry?
Know any of her friends?
No, we were never very chummy, Abigail and I.
Is that the taxi man, Timothy?
No, dear.
A woman comes into the room.
She's blonde and she's beautiful.
She's got a clean line of eyebrow and red wet lips
and green eyes upswept at the edges.
Your hair begins to crinkle and you can feel the sweat break out on your body
because according to Parker, you're looking at a corpse.
The lady who comes into the room is Abigail Christenberry.
Timothy, I thought you said it wasn't the...
Sir, are you the taxi man?
No, the milkman.
Timothy, what's he talking about?
He's from the police.
Police again?
Timothy, will you please close my suitcases in the bedroom?
They're stuffed so full I can't do a thing with them.
Certainly, dear.
And now that we're alone, Mrs. York, remember me?
Peter Chambers?
Peter Chambers? Never heard of you.
Ever hear of Abigail Christenberry?
Of course. Abigail Christenberry is my husband's sister and she's dead.
How would you know this?
From the police. They've been here several times.
I see. Now what's with this stuff about suitcases?
I'm leaving for Florida. It's been planned for a long time.
I'm leaving tonight. Right now, as a matter of fact.
The cops know about that?
Of course. And they've absolutely no objection.
I've been completely cooperative with them and they have no need of me.
They have the address where I'm going if by chance I am needed.
Your husband going?
No, he's not. He's saving his vacation for much later on.
Then we intend to go to Switzerland, to the Alps.
Now, is there anything else?
That's all. Tell your husband goodbye for me.
Back in the police car, you bestow a kiss on the damp and untranquil forehead of Detective Lieutenant Parker.
Hey, what's that for?
For having confidence in me and for having patience and for playing ball.
Okay, ball player. Who's up now?
You.
How do you make that, Pete?
Mrs. Timothy York is coming out any minute. She's on her way to Florida.
I know.
Only she's not going.
Who's stopping her?
You are.
Oh, now what?
Look, look, look. When she comes out, you pick her up and bring her to one of the precinct station houses.
Prefer the questioning or anything else you want to dream up.
But just see to it she's detained.
You sure you know what you're doing, Pete?
I'm positive. Just play along with me a little longer and we're liable to knock one right out of the ballpark.
Mrs. Timothy York comes out and Parker does the old pick-up. Suitcase and all.
She gets hustled down to the nearest station house, gets racked up for further questioning, and then you and Parker are rolling again.
Okay, fellow, what now?
What time is it, Louie?
It's almost ten.
The Peacock Bar.
Again?
The Peacock Bar, Louie.
Now, look, if we keep hitting that joint, both of us are liable to wind up low.
We're not going in this time.
No? What are we going to do? Sit and stare through the window and watch the others drink?
We're going to wait for that bartender. He says he quits at ten o'clock.
And then?
And then he and I are going for a ride or a walk or something.
But wherever we go, I expect you to be close by.
And if we go in somewhere, I expect you to be sitting around in your nice little police car just in case an emergency pops.
He stops the car near the Peacock Bar. You ship your 38 from the holster to your side pocket.
You get out of the car and you wear out the sidewalk in front of the fancy tavern until high shoulders come strolling out.
Okay, dimples.
What?
What do you want?
The lump in my pocket is a gun, and I'll use it if you make me.
Sure, sure.
You understand about guns?
Yeah, I understand.
Fine. Now, where are you heading?
Home.
How do we go?
Where you heard me.
We walk.
It's nearby.
You walk to a nice looking apartment house and up one flight he unlocks the door, and you don't wait.
Just as soon as he clicks the light on, you smash the flat of the gun against the side of his face.
You give him a lot of feeling.
It opens a hunk of his face, but he's a big guy and strong, and he comes back swinging.
Maybe he's good, maybe he's lucky, but he catches you one on the chin that lands you up against the opposite wall.
But you're still holding the gun.
And then you hear the click of the switchblade, and you see him throw it, and you roll over, and that knife makes a gong of the wall.
You reach for it, and you sit there like a cock-eyed arsenal, a gun in your right hand and a knife in your left.
And you see him come at you, and there's no other way.
You aim it low, catches him in the thigh, and knocks him over.
The rest is easy.
Ah.
Okay, pal, it's talking time.
What?
What's your name?
Ryan.
First name.
What's it tell you?
Look, Ryan, it's murder we're fiddling around with, and when you fiddle with murder, you play it rough, like this.
Now let's do it nice, huh?
Yeah.
What's your first name?
Peter.
Peter.
Just like mine, huh?
I don't know what your name is.
That's a lie. Now let's play the name game some more.
Let's try Mrs. Timothy York.
I never heard of her.
That's not what she says.
Why?
Just in case you think she's on her way to Florida, give her another think.
But, oh yeah.
She's in the pokey, pal, talking her brains out.
Why do you think I've come after you?
She sent me.
She did her?
She says it was all your idea, that she says that you're number one.
She's using a method. If you are number one, you get the chair, and she gets off light.
Now whose idea was it?
Hers.
Hers, the dirty...
He spills the story like he's leaking words.
Then you go down for Parker, and you bring him upstairs.
And you also bring him up to date on current events.
Meet Mr. Ryan, Lieutenant.
Peter Ryan.
That's the Peter that was mentioned in Abigail's diary.
The bartender?
Yeah, dimples over here.
Our rich widow, Abigail Christenberry, sort of got stuck on him.
But then he got tired of her, especially after he met her sister-in-law, Mrs. Timothy York.
Who murdered Christenberry?
Mrs. Timothy York.
But she figured out a real cutie.
Like how?
Well, they knew about Abigail's diary, where she mentions Pete.
So they look up the classified directory on the private detective,
which is often confused for Fall Guy.
And the first Peter they come to is me, Peter Chambers.
And they elect you the patsy.
Correct.
First, Mrs. Timothy York kills Abigail, mashes her face in, so I won't know the difference.
Then she meets me at the peacock on that note deal.
Then I'm to follow her right into the trap.
She uses the stairs, coming and going, so no one sees her.
But me, I use the elevator.
Everybody sees me.
Which puts you at the scene of the crime, which leaves your fingerprints all over the place,
and which confuses you with the Pete in Abigail's diary.
And the dead Abigail is in the bedroom, dead for at least a half hour, with her face all smashed up.
Then after you get bounced out, Mrs. Timothy York blows the joint, using the stairs again.
And nobody can connect her with the crime.
And you think Mrs. Timothy York is really Abigail, and you can't tell the difference,
because the real Abigail is now minus a face.
Sure, and with Mrs. Timothy York in Florida, I'd be in it up to my neck.
Yeah, but if these two knock off Abigail, what do they get out of it?
Mr. York inherits.
Mrs. York planned a trip to Switzerland with Mr. York.
Mr. York would never have come back from there.
He'd have tripped on an alp or something.
Then she'd get all the loot, and she'd hook up with dimples here,
and they'd both live happily ever after.
So your namesake gets booked downtown, and Mrs. York gets booked downtown.
And they both accuse each other, which gives the cops a double confession.
And then you and Louis Parker are sort of celebrating on the late shift at the Peacock Bar,
and Parker is saying,
Oh, Pete, old boy, how did it come to you?
Oh, you're a good friend. That's how it came to me.
You gave me a chance to run around a little bit.
I saw Mrs. York, which I couldn't have if she'd beat her for Florida.
And the minute I see her, I realize I'm in the middle of a frame job.
Mrs. Timothy York, who told me she was Abigail Christenberry.
And you tied that up with a bartender that forgets one of two milk customers in the same afternoon.
He remembered me. How could he forget her?
So the moral of the story is, don't lose patience and don't lose confidence in a friend, even if you're a cop.
It's got another moral, Lieutenant.
And that is?
Don't drink milk at a whiskey bar.
Not unless you've got an ulcer.
Ha ha ha.
Ha ha ha.
Ha ha ha.
And there you've had Crime and Peter Chambers.
Dane Clark was starred as Peter Chambers.
Crime and Peter Chambers transcribed was created and written by Henry King.
Others in the cast were Bill Zuckert, heard as Lieutenant Parker, Elaine Ross as Mrs. York, and Joe DeSantis as the bartender.
It was directed by Fred Way.
This is Fred Collins inviting you to tune in next week, same time, same station, for Dane Clark in Crime and Peter Chambers.
Thank you.
Crime and Peter Chambers has come to you through the worldwide facilities of the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.
The United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.
The United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.
The United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.
The United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.