Stand by for crime.
Hi, Chuck Morgan, KOP newscaster talking.
Well, it was June here in Los Angeles, which meant that the countryside looked just about as it does the other 11 months of the year.
You know, the seasons pass you by out here with seldom enough change to let you know what's going on.
So in June, I always get a nostalgic feeling for the sight and smell of a countryside,
which would justify the immortal lines of James Russell Lowell when he wrote,
And what is so rare as a day in June, then if ever come perfect days?
Which is why when I arrived at my office on this particular June day and found Pappy Mansfield,
the owner of KOP and my blonde secretary, Carol Curtis, waiting with a surprise announcement, I was ready to listen.
Morning, kids.
How about, Chuckie Boy?
Morning, Chuck.
Say, Pappy, about that wetback story, I...
Well, what goes? You two been swallowing canaries again?
Chuck, how would you like to take a trip back to New England?
It's June back there, Chuck.
Eh, well, that figures. It's June here, so it must be June back there. What's it all about, Pappy?
Do you remember that spy who was arrested in San Diego three weeks ago, the one who had been handing over information on airplane construction to the Russians?
Dr. Alexander Gadhir.
Naturally, that story was almost as hot as the Klaus Puchs yarn.
I ought to remember Gadhir. I interviewed him three times.
Think you'd recognize him if you saw him again?
Ha! Couldn't miss.
Gadhir's escaped, Chuck.
Escaped? No kidding, when?
About a week ago. Three days later, he was captured. He's being held now in the pocket, Burlington, Vermont.
So?
So you're going back to Burlington to identify Gadhir.
Why, me?
Well, it's all part of an elaborate plan cooked up by the FBI and our own secret agents.
You see, the man they're holding in Burlington isn't Gadhir at all.
Isn't Gadhir? Now, wait a minute, Glamopus, what are you talking?
Wait a minute, you'd better let me fill him in on this, Kurt.
Yeah, will you stop letting him, Glamopus?
I won't. Go ahead, Pappy.
Thanks. The FBI has information that the spy ring is a rendezvous all the way from Washington up through New England with the last one at Burlington.
Yeah?
Burlington's population contains enough people of foreign extraction so that most any kind of an accent would go unnoticed.
Also, it's a big enough place, catering a good deal to tourists, so that any infiltration of strangers wouldn't be noticed either.
I see. Burlington's pretty close to the Canadian border, too. It's not about 60 miles, but those are details we can go into later.
Gadhir escaped while being taken to Washington. Our agents believe he's being smuggled into Canada.
They also believe they were so hot on the trail once that the spy ring picked one of their members who looked like Gadhir and let him be captured.
Now, this would take the heat off for a day or two until the mistake was brought to light, which would get Gadhir time to reach the border.
Pretty cute. So I'm to fly to Vermont, tell the cops that Gadhir isn't Gadhir, and then come home again, right?
Well, there's a little more to it than that.
Oh, quite a lot, in fact. One thing, I'm going with you.
You are?
Well, aren't you glad?
Yeah, yeah, sure.
Oh, I'm not convinced that you meant that.
Quiet, glamour-post. What's the rest of the story, Pappy?
Well, when you tell them Gadhir isn't Gadhir, they'll apologize and let him go.
Then they'll follow the man who was posing as Gadhir to where Gadhir is hiding, and that'll be the end of Gadhir, check?
I think you'll find it won't be quite as easy as that.
Well, do you want to go? It'll be a hot story if you're in on the capture of the real Gadhir. I've arranged with the network for a TC broadcast.
Of course I want to go. When do I leave?
In an hour. Your tickets, hotel reservations, and instructions are in this envelope.
In an hour? Why, that'll hardly give me time to pack. I said that'll hardly give me time to pack. Oh, Pappy, you wouldn't...
Chuck, don't you want me to go with you?
Don't start crying, glamour-post. I wouldn't go anywhere without you and your note.
Your tickets and hotel reservations are in the same envelope, Carol, so stop worrying.
At TWA Constellation, set Glamour-Post and me down at LaGuardia Field, New York, the next day at 3 o'clock.
Fifteen minutes later, we were aboard an Eastern Airlines plane bound for Boston. Glamour-Post was like a kid just let out of school.
Chuck, isn't it exciting? We're 3,000 miles away from home, bound for adventure, and it's June.
Yeah, but it's still June back in LA.
Oh, but here it's different.
How?
There's new life everywhere. Things are growing and, well, things are growing.
Sometimes I think you're growing nuts.
And sometimes, Chuck Morgan, I think you haven't got a romantic bone in your whole body.
Yeah, you do, dear. Come here, you.
Chuck, let's do this.
Never mind, yeah, she's probably envious.
We landed at Logan Field in East Boston, 445. A taxi took us through the Sumner Tunnel down Beacon Street to Arlington and the Ritz Carlton Hotel.
Pappy reserved rooms for us. Mine overlooked the beautiful public gardens.
I stood looking down at them for a long time.
I took a deep breath and turned away just as someone knocked at the door.
Thinking it was Glamour-Post eager to be out for some more adventure, I opened it and found the most beautiful girl standing there I'd ever seen.
With the exception of Glamour-Post, of course.
Ah, hello.
Hello. May I come in?
Of course, by all means. To be sure, Miss...
I'm Beth Hammond. Your Mr. Mansfield probably told you about me.
No, as a matter of fact, he didn't, but don't let that bother you. Can I fix you a drink?
Oh, no, no thanks. I don't drink. I'm a pilot.
Well, that's... You're a what?
A pilot. If Mr. Mansfield didn't mention me by name, he probably spoke of Hammond Airlines.
Hammond... Oh, yeah, that's right. He chartered a plane from them to fly us to Ber...
Now, don't tell me that...
That's right. You don't mind flying with a female pilot, I hope?
No. This is... No, on the contrary, it's just that...
That it's unusual. Is that the word you're groping for, Mr. Morgan?
Yes. And will you call me Chuck?
Okay, Chuck. Thanks.
Most people have the same reaction when they learn they've hired a female pilot.
So I always present myself first and offer them a chance to back out if they want to.
No, no, no, no, no. Don't you even think about such a thing.
Splendid. My brother and I own the airline and I have umpteenth flying hours to my credit and...
Uh-oh. Think fast, Chuckie boy.
Oh, hello, Miss Curtis. Come in, won't you?
Miss Curtis? What in the name of... Oh.
Miss Curtis, I'd like to have you meet Miss Hammond. Miss Hammond, this is my secretary. Miss Curtis.
Hello, Miss Curtis. Hello. I don't want to seem too personal, but...
Miss Hammond is the pilot of the plane Pappy chartered to fly us to Burlington tomorrow?
Oh, she is.
Good old Pappy. I mean, Pappy thinks of everything, doesn't he? I mean...
I know what you mean. Well, are you ready to dictate those letters?
Letters? What letters?
Oh, I'm sorry. I should have known you'd be busy.
Busy? No, wait.
I'm sorry too, but the letters really can't wait. They're terribly important.
Of course, I understand. I'll see you both tomorrow then. Eight o'clock sharp at Pier 13.
Pier 13?
Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mention it before. We'll fly up in a seaplane.
That way I can put you down on Lake Champlain right at Burlington's front door.
Well, that's wonderful. Well, we'll see you tomorrow then at eight.
Right. Goodbye, Miss Curtis. See you tomorrow, Chuck.
Right you are. Goodbye.
Chuck?
Hmm? What?
Oh, don't give me that what stuff. Why was she calling you Chuck, Chuck?
Now look, glamour...
I don't like that, Dame. She's too good looking.
Glamour, Puss. Can I help it if a woman happens to...
She had a wicked gleam in her eye. She called you Chuck, which was forward.
And she was rude to me.
Oh, I give up.
I don't. Spiring or no spiring, I'm cancelling that charter right now and hiring another.
Glamour, Puss didn't cancel the charter. I didn't let her.
So the next morning at eight o'clock a cab dropped us at Pier 13 on Atlantic Avenue.
And we found Beth Hammond waiting for us there with a speedboat.
She was dressed in a pilot's uniform and looked lovelier than ever.
Hello there.
Hi.
You're ahead of time. You will take your luggage. That's the plane out there.
Are you sure you know how to fly it, Miss... What was the name?
Hammond. Beth Hammond. And you didn't worry, Miss Curtis. I have umpteenth flying hours to my credit.
Yeah? How many is umpteenth?
A lot. Now look, Glamour, Puss. Either you're going to get some sense into your head and begin acting like a lady or I'm sending you back to L.A. with your beef.
But Chuck, I'm only trying...
I don't mean that. Make up your mind.
Oh, right. I'm sorry, Miss Hammond.
That's better. Okay, Jim, you grab hold of our luggage, huh?
Thank you.
Glamour, Puss felt better and so did I when we got into the air.
We skimmed the Custom House tower and headed northwest.
In no time at all we'd flown over northeastern Massachusetts, cut across the southwestern corner of New Hampshire,
and picked up the silvery trace of Lake George in New York State.
Directly ahead, serving as a boundary between northern Vermont and New York, was Lake Champlain.
I was beginning to regret having blessed her, Glamour, Puss, and was thinking up some kind of an apology when something happened.
Chuck, something's wrong.
That sounds that way.
Any trouble, Miss Hammond?
I don't know. It sounds like a clogged gas line.
Oh, a clogged gas line? Oh, I knew that woman was to be trusted.
Chuck, are we going to crash?
No, no, no. Don't get excited, Glamour, Puss. This is a seaplane, remember?
Right down there is Lake Champlain. We can set down as light as a feather.
Yeah? Well, I don't like it.
Don't worry, folks. We'll be all right.
Sure, we were all right. I knew that, as far as crashing was concerned.
But I had to agree with Glamour, Puss. I didn't like it either.
We hit the water with hardly a splash and taxied close into the shore, almost at once a motorboat put out from a tiny inlet.
The only unusual thing about this was that the shoreline was a veritable wilderness.
What would a motorboat be doing here?
There were four men in the boat. Three of them carried objects cradled in their arms.
Cradled is right. They were submachine guns.
Now, what the...
All right, big shot. Sit right where you are.
Chuck, she's got a gun.
Yeah, and it's pointed right down your gullet, Mushmouth. One move and you get it.
Mushmouth? Chuck, did you hear what she called me?
Yeah, I heard her, Glamour Puss.
Well, aren't you going to do something about it?
Yeah, he's going to do something. Get over and open the door, big shot.
Yeah, of course, of course. I'm glad to accommodate you.
Chuck, for heaven's sakes, are you going to...
You talk too much, Mushmouth. Keep it up and the next one takes a hunk off your ear.
Everything OK, Beth?
Everything's swell, Fred. Take them off.
OK, you two. Get down into the boat.
Let me help you, Carol.
Chuck, this is awful. We're being kidnapped.
I think we'd better do as the man suggests.
You're a smart cookie, big shot.
Too bad we didn't have time to get better acquainted.
Well, maybe it isn't too late.
Sorry, good-looking. While you're going, you're not going to have time for anything, sucker.
Now, the conclusion of Stand By for Crime.
Well, the men in the motorboat hadn't been sent out as a welcoming committee by the mayor of Burlington, that's for sure.
The three submachine guns kept at the same focal point as we climbed down from the plane.
The focal point was us.
The man Beth Hammond had called Fred nodded to his seat, then looked up at the female pilot with the umpteenth flying hours.
OK, Beth, take it away. I don't want to be waiting for you at the island.
Take good care of our guests, Fred. I'll see you around.
The motorboat swung away and headed for shore.
With the three submachine guns, a constant reminder, this was no practical joke.
We went up a path and came to a shack that was completely concealed in some heavy timber and went inside.
The man called Fred pulled out a chair and sat down across the rough table from where I'd been ordered to sit.
Well, everything came all fine, quite according to plan.
You must confess you were neatly led into our trap, huh, Morgan?
Yeah, yeah, OK, I confess it. Now, what's this all about?
A fair question. I'll get right to the point. How about $5,000?
Now, that's a good round figure. Who do I have to murder to get it?
Nobody.
Nobody at all. All you have to do is turn around and go back to California.
Now, please bear with me if I seem a bit dense, but just why do you want me to do that?
Isn't the reason obvious?
No.
We don't want you to reach Burlington with the information you have.
Now, look, one of us is way off the beam. Just who do you think I am?
You're Chuck Morgan, newscast on KOP in Los Angeles. Young lady with you is Carol Curtis, your secretary.
Well, you got me pegged, all right. Now, what's this information I'm supposed to have?
Come on, Morgan. You're not as naive as all that. Well, how about it?
I tell you, I haven't got any information.
I see. Harry, I think Mr. Morgan needs to be convinced that we mean business.
Now, look...
That's enough for now, Harry. Do we understand each other now, Morgan?
Yeah. Yeah, I think I'm beginning to get a nickling of your plan, but there's still just one trouble.
And what's that?
I haven't got any information.
Our investigators reported we'd likely have trouble with you, Morgan, so I won't waste time orphan you more money. Harry.
Hold it.
Well, Morgan?
Just how do you figure you're going to get away with this? When that plane doesn't land at Burlington, you're going to...
Oh, be a fool. The plane will land at Burlington and there'll be two people in it. Two people named Chuck Morgan and Carol Curtis.
How fantastic can you get? How long do you think you can get away with that masquerade?
Long enough to accomplish our purpose, I think. Like most people, you underestimate the efficiency of our organization.
Well, now that you have the facts of the case, do you want to change your mind?
Look, I couldn't if I wanted to.
Okay, Morgan. I had hoped you'd be reasonable. This sort of thing is distasteful to me. Work him over, Harry.
Harry worked me over all right. He had a special technique. I didn't lose consciousness for at least five minutes.
I had no way of telling how long I was out. But sunlight was streaming through one of the cabin windows, making a pattern of moving leaves on a plank floor.
I lay there, tied hand and foot, studying the moving pattern for a long time, trying to recapture all my senses, trying to figure this thing out.
After a while, I looked around and saw I was alone. But a moment later, a door squeaked. Someone came cautiously into the room.
I lay without moving, pretending to be still, unconscious.
Chuck, Chuck. Oh, what have they done to you?
Glamourpus, how did you get away from that big gorilla?
Well, even big gorillas are susceptible to a come-on smile.
Do you mean that you...
I mean that he's lying in the other room with a lump on his head as big as a grapefruit, made with a poke he didn't know I was holding.
Glamourpus, if I ever kid you again about being scared, you can hit me over the head with a poker. Untie me, will you?
That's what I'm doing. Turn around here.
Oh, take it easy. Where are the other men?
In the shack behind this one. There's a radio transmitter there, I think, and there's something else, too.
What?
An automobile.
No kidding. Any chance of us getting it?
Or they might be. As soon as I get you loose, you can take command. After all, it's the man's place to take command.
It was at times like these that I realized Glamourpus was more than a beautiful blonde who played straight man for me.
She had what it takes.
We went out the front door and sneaked around the cabin. The car was there, parked beside the radio shack.
It was our only hope, and a slim one.
I stood there, wondering how we could lure the men inside the shack, outside, and away from the car,
and thinking there wasn't much chance. And certainly it was done for us.
Fred! Hey, Fred! Come here!
It's the gorilla. I guess I didn't hit him hard enough.
You did fine, Glamourpus. Here come two of them.
The fourth must still be inside.
Yeah, but it's our only chance. Come on.
We took off of that automobile like a couple of jackrabbits, praying the keys would be in the ignition.
We reached the car just as the fourth gorilla appeared in the radio shack's doorway.
He didn't have his machine gun with him, which was fine with me.
Into the car, Glamourpus!
Away from my girl!
My knuckles were sore for days after that one.
I heard the car motor start, and I knew we got a real break because the keys were there.
Then things happened fast. There was a yell from the direction of the cabin,
but Carol had the car underway and I was in it.
We were a good 50 feet along the wooded road when the first burst of the machine gun fire came.
Apparently the marksman was too excited for effective shooting because a bullet sailed merrily overhead.
Then Carol jerked the car out of sight around the curve and we were safe.
At least for the minute.
Keep it up, Glamourpus. You're doing swell, honey.
Jock, I'm scared. You drive.
Not until we get a lot further away than this. Come on, give her the gun, baby.
What if they have another car?
What if they have? With you at the wheel, they haven't got a chance.
Please, Jock, just because I hit them there with the poker...
Now, now, don't start bragging. Drive.
I'm not bragging. I'm just too scared to hold the wheel steady.
All right, Glamourpus, all right. I guess we've got enough of a lead.
If we had time, I'd kiss you.
Maybe I'd better anyhow.
So we changed places.
And a half hour later came to a gravel road. We turned north on this.
Apparently the gang back at the cabin only had one car and we were in it.
At least there were no signs of us being followed.
But they had the boat and they had the radio transmitter.
But you gave me an idea. At the first farmhouse we came to, I stopped.
What are we stopping here for?
You see those telephone wires running into that farmhouse?
Well, I'm going to make a call.
Who are you calling and why?
Unless I'm greatly mistaken.
There's going to be a reception committee waiting for us at Burlington.
And I want to be sure we're prepared for it.
But, Jock, I don't understand. How could you...
I've got time to explain now. I'll give you the details when I get back.
Keep the motor running.
Well, I made my phone call and got through to the party I wanted.
Then Carol and I headed north again.
I told her what my idea was and she told me I was smart to figure it out.
And I told her she was a brave good girl.
And we both agreed we were wonderful.
By that time we'd reached the outskirts of Burlington.
Burlington, Vermont's largest city and probably one of the most beautiful cities in New England.
As we drove along the quiet, tree-shaded streets,
it was hard to believe that foreign intrigue of the worst sort was running amuck beneath the peaceful scene.
We reached the city hall and police station and pulled up near the park in front.
As we did so, a young couple, a tall, distinguished-looking man,
and a police lieutenant emerged from the police station.
It was perfect timing.
Carol and I got out of our car and we all met on the sidewalk.
Hello, Miss Hammond. We meet again.
I beg your pardon.
Don't recognize me, eh? Well, I can't blame you for that.
Carol tells me your boyfriends were quite successful in changing my appearance.
But how about Carol? Do you recognize her?
How could she forget me, mush-mouth?
I haven't the faintest idea what either of you people are talking about.
Officer, will you please ask me...
Just a minute, Miss Hammond, if that's your name.
Is this the man that you just got through telling the police is not Dr. Gadhir?
How did you... I mean, I still don't know what you're talking about.
Oh, yes you do.
You and your friend here just told the police and the FBI that you were Carol Curtis and that your friend was me.
You were shown the prisoner and stated positively that he wasn't Dr. Alexander Gadhir.
Oh, it was an ingenious plan, Miss Hammond, cooked up by you and your ring of spies to gain Dr. Gadhir's freedom.
Because the tall man standing next to you is no phony as the police thought. He's the real Dr. Gadhir.
My plan is still going to work. Run, Dr. Gadhir!
Dr. Gadhir isn't going to run, Miss Hammond. There's a policeman standing on the steps with a rifle aimed at Dr. Gadhir's head.
And there are other policemen all over the place waiting to pick up your pals who are going to try and help you affect this escape.
I don't believe you. You're lying. The plan couldn't fail. It was too foolproof. You're lying, both of you!
Look out, Chuck! This time I know exactly how to treat this babe.
Let me alone! You sure? Keep your hands off of me, you swine!
I'll take that gun, sucker.
Well, the Burlington police did their job well. Besides Beth Hammond and her friend, they picked up five other agents who were planted around the station, ready to lend a hand in helping Gadhir escape if it were necessary.
But they did better than that. One of their planes scoured the east coast of Lake Champlain until they spotted a motorboat that looked like the one I described.
It contained Fred and his gang, which added four or more to the total take of enemy agents that day.
A glamour person and I spent the night and the next day in Burlington, and I did my broadcast.
Two days later, we were back in LA reporting to Pappy Mansfield.
Well, that was nice going, kids. But what I can't figure out is why those two who were posing as you just didn't go up to Burlington and tell the police that Gadhir wasn't Gadhir without bothering to try buying you off.
Well, there are a lot of reasons, Pappy. In the first place, they didn't know how much time they had. In the second place, if they could have bought me, it would have been far less risky.
You see, the fact that Chuck would recognize Gadhir as Gadhir and not a phony was the information that character Fred was trying to buy from Chuck.
Chuck figured it all out when he was unconscious.
When he was unconscious?
Oh, she means, of course, after I returned to consciousness, don't you, glamour person?
Yes, of course.
Oh, I see. Well, tell me, what are you two so sweet to each other about all of a sudden?
Pappy, I want to tell you that Carol is one of the bravest girls I've ever known.
One of the bravest?
I mean the bravest.
And I want to tell you, Pappy, that Chuckie Boy is one of the, well, I mean, the smartest man I've ever known.
Well, my, my.
Say, Chuck, how do you figure that spy ring knew all about our plans?
Oh, because they're spies, Pappy. That's their business.
Now, don't ask me how many agents there are here in L.A. and who they are because I don't know.
You talk to the cops or the FBI or somebody.
But all I know is they have some beauties among them.
Ah, that Beth Hammond for one, what a dish.
Chuck Morgan.
But glamour push, she was beautiful. She had to be.
What do you mean she had to be?
For glamour push, she was supposed to be the secretary of Chuck Morgan, wasn't she?
And isn't Chuck Morgan's secretary the most beautiful girl in the world?
Oh, Chuckie Boy, you cute. Oh, what a line you've got. And I love it.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha.