Alfred Hitchcock Presents s01e09 Episode Script
The Long Shot
My last quarter.
I've been frightfully lucky this evening.
Now if they were to invent a machine that I could play using orange seeds and cherry pits I'd be perfectly happy.
All the foregoing will immediately seem justified, appropriate, clever.
And even dignified, when I tell you that tonight's narrative is about a gambler.
It is called "The Long Shot.
" If you like to bet when the odds are high and the risks great you'll appreciate our hero's philosophy.
But if you prefer to put your money on a sure thing listen to this friendly tip about a highly touted product.
A week ago Thursday, it was in a New York bar called Happy Jack's.
On the bar was a classified ad section of a newspaper.
On the newspaper was a glass of beer.
And behind the glass of beer was a tin-horn horse player named Charlie Raymond.
That's me.
I'd had a terrible run of luck at the track started out the season with $5,000 dropped down to train fare and made the fatal mistake of trying to get healthy in one fell swoop on a three-to-one shot named Cinnabar.
Cinnabar, Rondelay and Sully's Girl and making his bid now is Battle Flag.
Battle Flag coming up fast on the outside.
It's Cinnabar and Battle Flag.
Cinnabar is fading.
Cinnabar is dropping back.
It's Battle Flag, Cinnabar and Rondelay.
Battle Flag, Cinnabar and Rondelay.
At the finish, it's Battle Flag by a neck! Then Cinnabar, Rondelay and Sully's Girl! I was on a goat like that a couple seasons ago at Jamaica.
You can't win them all.
Yeah? Just a minute, I'll see if he's here.
It's Dutch Schroeder.
Tell him I left.
He just left, Dutch.
Yes, he'll be by in a few minutes with the money, probably.
Yes, I'd wait right there if I was you.
All I had in the world was a $20 bill some odd change, and a pair of zircon cuff links.
And I was in hock to Dutch for $4,200.
In half an hour Dutch would be suspicious.
By tonight he'd be hunting me.
"Londoner wanted.
"Englishman will pay $150 and expenses "to fellow countryman, preferably Londoner "in return for services as driver on motorcar trip to San Francisco.
"Phone.
: Murray Hill 3-8098.
" The perfect way to get out of town.
And about the only job in the world I was qualified for.
After all, I'd spent the best part of a disreputable life in London and would be there still if it hadn't been for an unfortunate misunderstanding about my signature on a check.
Hello? I'm inquiring about the advertisement in tonight's newspaper.
Yes.
My name is Walker Hendricks.
How do you do, sir? My name is Charles Ffolliot Raymond.
Charles Ffolliot I take it you're a Londoner, Mr.
Raymond.
Very definitely, lived there all my life.
Except, of course, for Eton and Oxford.
That's capital.
How about coming round to my hotel for a whiskey and soda in about an hour's time? I'm at the Weldon.
A whiskey and soda? Nothing I'd like better, sir.
Goodbye.
So you know the old town, Mr.
Raymond? Like the back of my hand, sir.
Whereabouts did you live? I had bachelor quarters in Vigo Street.
Vigo Street? I'm not sure I know it.
It's a turning off Sackville Street, runs into Regent Street.
Yes, I place it now.
And you want to go to San Francisco.
Any particular reason? Are you at all interested in horse racing, Mr.
Hendricks? No, I can't say I am, particularly.
Been to Ascot of course.
You are, I take it? Quite.
Bay Meadows is opening next week.
That's a race course just outside San Francisco.
Nothing like Ascot, I'm afraid.
Naturally.
You do know London? You're not making this up? Mr.
Hendricks, I could take you on a Cook's tour from Kensington Gardens to the East India Docks with my eyes shut.
You won't have to go that far, Mr.
Raymond.
I lived in London all my life.
Care for a cigarette? Thank you.
Perhaps you wondered about my advertisement.
It was a bit unusual, yes.
I'm extremely depressed with America, frankly.
Never in the world would have come here if it hadn't been for urgent business in San Francisco.
I don't believe I could face the prospect of a trip across this country alone and I hoped to find a fellow Britisher in the same fix.
Simpatico, you know.
Lots of chat about jolly old London.
Greatest city in the world, right? No question about it.
Excuse me.
Hello? Yes, the advertisement.
Yes, I know.
I'm dreadfully sorry, old man, but I've just hired someone.
So bright and early the next morning we were off to San Francisco.
My simpatico companion and I.
When he said chat about jolly old London he meant chat about jolly old London.
Spent much time in Soho, Raymond? I never lived there, if that's what you mean.
No, I mean, do you know the restaurants, and so on? Oh, yes, there was one called the Moroccan No, what was it? The Algerian Cafe, on Dean Street, wasn't it? Yes.
The Algerian on Dean Street.
Do you remember the sign on the wall behind the counter? Sign? Yes.
Very funny.
Anybody caught gambling or playing for money will be thrown in the gutter and never picked up again.
Of course, of course.
It's still there, old boy.
Really? Yes.
Do you remember the proprietress, what was her name? Big French woman.
Celeste! Celeste is still there, too.
I saw her not long before I left.
Really? Yes.
I was under the impression she died a few years ago.
You don't say? Why, how could I have- Her daughter.
She had a daughter, looked exactly like her.
You probably met her.
Dear old Soho.
Now let's see just beyond the Algerian in Dean Street Dear old Soho.
We talked about the other quaint little place in Dean Street.
And a dozen more like it.
Complete with haunts and habits of the regular customers.
Soho was only the beginning.
After Soho came Bayswater and Fleet Street and Bloomsbury and Mayfair.
All day in the car, during stops for meals.
At night at the hotel.
His one aim in life, apparently was to become the only walking guide to London in the world.
This dear, simple Britisher who had dedicated himself, heart and soul, to a city.
You've seen that remarkable man in Covent Garden, Raymond? There are many remarkable men in Covent Garden.
Quite.
I mean the one who does the balancing act.
Balancing act? Greengrocer or something, isn't he? Greengrocer.
Oh, yes, you mean Jim the Porter.
Balances 100 baskets on his head in the middle of traffic.
Right.
100% correct.
I try.
Perhaps you'll reward me with a little advance on my salary.
Certainly, old man.
$50 be enough? Fine, thank you.
I thought I'd go down to the bar for a nightcap.
Good idea.
Give me two minutes and I'll join you.
I had hoped for a short vacation from jolly old London, but no luck.
We'd toasted the Queen three times and my employer was expounding to the bartender on the inferiority of American taprooms to British pubs when business picked up.
A sound member of the racing fraternity and an old friend.
Tommy DeWitt.
You're in trouble.
You've been on the phone to New York, huh? Just talked to Dutch.
$4,200, he says.
He'll get it.
I need time.
You want to make it fast? How? Palmetto track next week.
A sure thing.
How sure? It's on ice right now.
$500 will get you $10,000 on the parlay but it's got to be $500.
No less.
What's with that? Thank you.
I'm driving it to San Francisco.
Dump him.
We'll leave for Florida tomorrow.
Has he got any money? You're sure this can't lose? This, death, and taxes.
I'll call you here in five minutes, tell you where to meet me.
If he leaves, call me in Room 582.
Right.
The roll he'd flashed looked like over $500, maybe $1,000.
There was a stack of official-looking papers, letters and birth certificates.
Tax receipts and affidavits and finally, the money.
Twenties, tens and fives.
More than enough, bless his good old British heart.
The papers probably had something to do with his business in San Francisco.
No harm in finding out what it was.
"We wish to thank you for the patience you have shown "in the matter of your late uncle's estate.
"Since you are completely unknown personally "to either relatives or legal counsel in the United States "it is necessary to establish your identity.
"Therefore, we must ask you to present yourself at our offices "with the documents requested in our previous letter.
"The legacy of $200,000 "may then be released to you without further delay.
"Cordially, Matthew Kelson, Attorney at Law.
" Everything was there every certificate, every affidavit.
And the man who brought them to Kelson's office, as Walker Hendricks would be heir to $200,000.
When do we start? We don't.
The deal's off.
The money wasn't there.
But I tell you it's a sure thing.
Are you ready to turn in, old man? We've got a long day ahead of us.
It's almost 600 miles to Kansas City.
The trouble with this country is it's too big.
Keep the change.
How much longer before I'm in San Francisco? Four or five days.
Barring accidents, of course.
Denver.
What's next after Denver? Nothing much until Salt Lake City.
Salt Lake City.
I have an aunt there, you know.
No, I didn't.
I thought you didn't know anyone on this side of the Atlantic.
I don't count Aunt Margaret.
Never seen her, don't intend to.
She's a sister of my mother's, married a man named Stoddard.
She's probably an American by now.
Probably a crashing bore, too.
An aunt he had never seen.
A perfect opportunity for a test run.
So at Salt Lake I found a newsstand which sold The London Times.
And that kept Hendricks occupied while I slipped off for a try at the odds.
Yes? How do you do.
Are you Mrs.
Margaret Stoddard? Yes.
I was just passing through on my way to San Francisco.
I'm Walker Hendricks.
I can't believe it.
Is anything wrong? I suppose I should have expected this with your Uncle Gerald's will coming up in San Francisco but it's almost like meeting a man from Mars on my front doorstep.
Do come in.
Thank you, Aunt Margaret.
It was a complete triumph.
A laboratory test made-to-order.
If there was any doubt in my mind, it disappeared there and then.
I could have told her I was born in the Tower of London and she would have believed me.
Some more tea? No, thank you.
It's English tea, Walker.
I've had it sent from London every month for 30 years.
It's wonderful tea, but I'm afraid I have to leave.
I'm sorry, Walker.
There's one thing that puzzles me.
Why would Uncle Gerald want to leave me all that money? Well, if Gerald were living he wouldn't admit it.
He and your mother were very close as children.
And I think that after all these years this was his stubborn way of saying "I'm sorry.
" Thank you for the tea, Aunt Margaret.
I'll be turning up on your doorstep another one of these days.
It was lovely to see you, Walker.
Come again soon.
Bye.
So that was it.
Everything I needed was back at the hotel in that briefcase.
It's 521 miles from Salt Lake to Reno.
I talked him into making it in one jump.
I had a special reason.
We had to hit the Nevada desert at night.
Near Elko I turned off Highway 40 on a dirt road and 15 or 20 miles out in the desert.
I pulled over to the side and stopped.
What's up, old man? I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid we're lost.
Lost.
Nuisance.
You see, this looked like a rattling good short cut.
No harm done, old man.
Just turn round and drive back to the main road.
I've tried that.
But we keep going round and round in circles.
We're in quite a spot, aren't we? Well, what do you suggest? I think we'd better spend the night here.
If you're too cramped in the car, you could always sleep outside.
Rather primitive, don't you think? If we keep driving round in the dark, we'll use up our petrol.
Many people have been lost in the Nevada desert and never heard from again.
Good heavens, we can't have that, can we? Do you think it will be safe? Safe? No buffaloes or Indians, I mean.
No buffaloes or Indians.
What's up, old man? There's a light over there.
I think I'll drive over and find out where we are.
I'll come with you.
And if it's a hotel I'm going to get a room with a nice comfortable bed order up eggs and bacon, toast, lightly browned on one side only and a pot of tea, no tea bags- I'd bought the ticket, put the ante on the line.
The next move was the attorney's office.
Everything was there.
I was all set.
But the thing I felt before hit me again.
It was all so pat, so neat.
Laid out before me with the orderly geometry of a spider web.
Maybe it was a hunch.
In my business, you listen to hunches.
Maybe I was just nervous.
I bought Nevada papers by the bushel at an out-of-town newsstand.
Not a line about finding a body.
Of course not.
They'd never find him.
I made sure of that.
Or had I? But I had to make the move, one way or the other.
Heads I'd do it, tails I wouldn't.
It came up heads.
Yes, sir? I'm Walker Hendricks.
I phoned for an appointment.
Yes.
Mr.
Kelson is expecting you.
I'll tell him you're here.
Mr.
Hendricks is here.
Yes, sir.
Mr.
Kelson will see you in a moment.
Won't you sit down? Thank you.
Mr.
Hendricks.
How do you do? Welcome to San Francisco.
I'm Matthew Kelson.
How do you do? Nice trip? It was long, anyway.
You have a big country here.
And it's a long trip across it.
It is indeed.
Well I suppose you're anxious to put this business behind you and get back to England.
Shall we begin? By all means.
I have the documents here.
Here we are.
And this is the correspondence, mostly with your office.
I think you'll find everything there.
They seem to be in order.
Good.
Mr.
Kelson how long do you expect it will be before I mean, after all the red tape.
The money? Yes.
I'm afraid there won't be any money.
I'm sorry.
I don't understand.
Really? If there's any problem at all I'm sure you'll find everything right here.
Not quite.
We got one more to add to it.
Walker Hendricks' death certificate.
Murdered by person or persons unknown.
That is, up until now.
They found the body.
You're all through, mister.
Sgt.
Mack.
San Francisco Homicide.
I should have known better.
Long shots are for chumps.
You want to tell us about it? There isn't too much to tell.
My name's Charlie Raymond.
I answered Hendricks ad in New York.
Looked like a shoo-in.
So easy.
I drove over him in the car.
Buried his body 1,000 miles from nowhere.
Way out in the middle of the Nevada desert.
How'd they ever find him? Nevada desert.
You ran over him with the car.
Don't you know the details, Sergeant? What's the matter? The Nevada cops getting sloppy with their reports.
We haven't had any reports from Nevada, Raymond.
And no one found a body in the desert.
Then how did you know I killed him? Why did you walk with a limp when you came in here? Because Hendricks walked with a limp of course.
I see.
Come on, Sergeant, how do you know I killed Hendricks? You didn't.
Walker Hendricks, the real Walker Hendricks was shot in New York, and tossed into the East River.
We got a tip it was a con man called English Jim who did it.
English Jim is the man who walked with a limp.
He obviously hired you to keep him up to date with how things were in London.
You see, it was English Jim we expected to see here today.
It seems he only made it as far as the Nevada desert.
Thank you for putting us straight, Raymond.
We've had our danse macabre.
But as you know, someone must always pay the piper.
Fortunately, we already have such a person in fact, several of them.
These philanthropic gentlemen wish to remain anonymous.
But perhaps the more discerning of our audience will be able to find a clue to their identities in what follows, after which I'll be back.
Thank you.
Our unknown benefactors will bring us back again next week at this same time.
Why don't you tune in and see what little surprises we have dreamed up for you? Good night.
I've been frightfully lucky this evening.
Now if they were to invent a machine that I could play using orange seeds and cherry pits I'd be perfectly happy.
All the foregoing will immediately seem justified, appropriate, clever.
And even dignified, when I tell you that tonight's narrative is about a gambler.
It is called "The Long Shot.
" If you like to bet when the odds are high and the risks great you'll appreciate our hero's philosophy.
But if you prefer to put your money on a sure thing listen to this friendly tip about a highly touted product.
A week ago Thursday, it was in a New York bar called Happy Jack's.
On the bar was a classified ad section of a newspaper.
On the newspaper was a glass of beer.
And behind the glass of beer was a tin-horn horse player named Charlie Raymond.
That's me.
I'd had a terrible run of luck at the track started out the season with $5,000 dropped down to train fare and made the fatal mistake of trying to get healthy in one fell swoop on a three-to-one shot named Cinnabar.
Cinnabar, Rondelay and Sully's Girl and making his bid now is Battle Flag.
Battle Flag coming up fast on the outside.
It's Cinnabar and Battle Flag.
Cinnabar is fading.
Cinnabar is dropping back.
It's Battle Flag, Cinnabar and Rondelay.
Battle Flag, Cinnabar and Rondelay.
At the finish, it's Battle Flag by a neck! Then Cinnabar, Rondelay and Sully's Girl! I was on a goat like that a couple seasons ago at Jamaica.
You can't win them all.
Yeah? Just a minute, I'll see if he's here.
It's Dutch Schroeder.
Tell him I left.
He just left, Dutch.
Yes, he'll be by in a few minutes with the money, probably.
Yes, I'd wait right there if I was you.
All I had in the world was a $20 bill some odd change, and a pair of zircon cuff links.
And I was in hock to Dutch for $4,200.
In half an hour Dutch would be suspicious.
By tonight he'd be hunting me.
"Londoner wanted.
"Englishman will pay $150 and expenses "to fellow countryman, preferably Londoner "in return for services as driver on motorcar trip to San Francisco.
"Phone.
: Murray Hill 3-8098.
" The perfect way to get out of town.
And about the only job in the world I was qualified for.
After all, I'd spent the best part of a disreputable life in London and would be there still if it hadn't been for an unfortunate misunderstanding about my signature on a check.
Hello? I'm inquiring about the advertisement in tonight's newspaper.
Yes.
My name is Walker Hendricks.
How do you do, sir? My name is Charles Ffolliot Raymond.
Charles Ffolliot I take it you're a Londoner, Mr.
Raymond.
Very definitely, lived there all my life.
Except, of course, for Eton and Oxford.
That's capital.
How about coming round to my hotel for a whiskey and soda in about an hour's time? I'm at the Weldon.
A whiskey and soda? Nothing I'd like better, sir.
Goodbye.
So you know the old town, Mr.
Raymond? Like the back of my hand, sir.
Whereabouts did you live? I had bachelor quarters in Vigo Street.
Vigo Street? I'm not sure I know it.
It's a turning off Sackville Street, runs into Regent Street.
Yes, I place it now.
And you want to go to San Francisco.
Any particular reason? Are you at all interested in horse racing, Mr.
Hendricks? No, I can't say I am, particularly.
Been to Ascot of course.
You are, I take it? Quite.
Bay Meadows is opening next week.
That's a race course just outside San Francisco.
Nothing like Ascot, I'm afraid.
Naturally.
You do know London? You're not making this up? Mr.
Hendricks, I could take you on a Cook's tour from Kensington Gardens to the East India Docks with my eyes shut.
You won't have to go that far, Mr.
Raymond.
I lived in London all my life.
Care for a cigarette? Thank you.
Perhaps you wondered about my advertisement.
It was a bit unusual, yes.
I'm extremely depressed with America, frankly.
Never in the world would have come here if it hadn't been for urgent business in San Francisco.
I don't believe I could face the prospect of a trip across this country alone and I hoped to find a fellow Britisher in the same fix.
Simpatico, you know.
Lots of chat about jolly old London.
Greatest city in the world, right? No question about it.
Excuse me.
Hello? Yes, the advertisement.
Yes, I know.
I'm dreadfully sorry, old man, but I've just hired someone.
So bright and early the next morning we were off to San Francisco.
My simpatico companion and I.
When he said chat about jolly old London he meant chat about jolly old London.
Spent much time in Soho, Raymond? I never lived there, if that's what you mean.
No, I mean, do you know the restaurants, and so on? Oh, yes, there was one called the Moroccan No, what was it? The Algerian Cafe, on Dean Street, wasn't it? Yes.
The Algerian on Dean Street.
Do you remember the sign on the wall behind the counter? Sign? Yes.
Very funny.
Anybody caught gambling or playing for money will be thrown in the gutter and never picked up again.
Of course, of course.
It's still there, old boy.
Really? Yes.
Do you remember the proprietress, what was her name? Big French woman.
Celeste! Celeste is still there, too.
I saw her not long before I left.
Really? Yes.
I was under the impression she died a few years ago.
You don't say? Why, how could I have- Her daughter.
She had a daughter, looked exactly like her.
You probably met her.
Dear old Soho.
Now let's see just beyond the Algerian in Dean Street Dear old Soho.
We talked about the other quaint little place in Dean Street.
And a dozen more like it.
Complete with haunts and habits of the regular customers.
Soho was only the beginning.
After Soho came Bayswater and Fleet Street and Bloomsbury and Mayfair.
All day in the car, during stops for meals.
At night at the hotel.
His one aim in life, apparently was to become the only walking guide to London in the world.
This dear, simple Britisher who had dedicated himself, heart and soul, to a city.
You've seen that remarkable man in Covent Garden, Raymond? There are many remarkable men in Covent Garden.
Quite.
I mean the one who does the balancing act.
Balancing act? Greengrocer or something, isn't he? Greengrocer.
Oh, yes, you mean Jim the Porter.
Balances 100 baskets on his head in the middle of traffic.
Right.
100% correct.
I try.
Perhaps you'll reward me with a little advance on my salary.
Certainly, old man.
$50 be enough? Fine, thank you.
I thought I'd go down to the bar for a nightcap.
Good idea.
Give me two minutes and I'll join you.
I had hoped for a short vacation from jolly old London, but no luck.
We'd toasted the Queen three times and my employer was expounding to the bartender on the inferiority of American taprooms to British pubs when business picked up.
A sound member of the racing fraternity and an old friend.
Tommy DeWitt.
You're in trouble.
You've been on the phone to New York, huh? Just talked to Dutch.
$4,200, he says.
He'll get it.
I need time.
You want to make it fast? How? Palmetto track next week.
A sure thing.
How sure? It's on ice right now.
$500 will get you $10,000 on the parlay but it's got to be $500.
No less.
What's with that? Thank you.
I'm driving it to San Francisco.
Dump him.
We'll leave for Florida tomorrow.
Has he got any money? You're sure this can't lose? This, death, and taxes.
I'll call you here in five minutes, tell you where to meet me.
If he leaves, call me in Room 582.
Right.
The roll he'd flashed looked like over $500, maybe $1,000.
There was a stack of official-looking papers, letters and birth certificates.
Tax receipts and affidavits and finally, the money.
Twenties, tens and fives.
More than enough, bless his good old British heart.
The papers probably had something to do with his business in San Francisco.
No harm in finding out what it was.
"We wish to thank you for the patience you have shown "in the matter of your late uncle's estate.
"Since you are completely unknown personally "to either relatives or legal counsel in the United States "it is necessary to establish your identity.
"Therefore, we must ask you to present yourself at our offices "with the documents requested in our previous letter.
"The legacy of $200,000 "may then be released to you without further delay.
"Cordially, Matthew Kelson, Attorney at Law.
" Everything was there every certificate, every affidavit.
And the man who brought them to Kelson's office, as Walker Hendricks would be heir to $200,000.
When do we start? We don't.
The deal's off.
The money wasn't there.
But I tell you it's a sure thing.
Are you ready to turn in, old man? We've got a long day ahead of us.
It's almost 600 miles to Kansas City.
The trouble with this country is it's too big.
Keep the change.
How much longer before I'm in San Francisco? Four or five days.
Barring accidents, of course.
Denver.
What's next after Denver? Nothing much until Salt Lake City.
Salt Lake City.
I have an aunt there, you know.
No, I didn't.
I thought you didn't know anyone on this side of the Atlantic.
I don't count Aunt Margaret.
Never seen her, don't intend to.
She's a sister of my mother's, married a man named Stoddard.
She's probably an American by now.
Probably a crashing bore, too.
An aunt he had never seen.
A perfect opportunity for a test run.
So at Salt Lake I found a newsstand which sold The London Times.
And that kept Hendricks occupied while I slipped off for a try at the odds.
Yes? How do you do.
Are you Mrs.
Margaret Stoddard? Yes.
I was just passing through on my way to San Francisco.
I'm Walker Hendricks.
I can't believe it.
Is anything wrong? I suppose I should have expected this with your Uncle Gerald's will coming up in San Francisco but it's almost like meeting a man from Mars on my front doorstep.
Do come in.
Thank you, Aunt Margaret.
It was a complete triumph.
A laboratory test made-to-order.
If there was any doubt in my mind, it disappeared there and then.
I could have told her I was born in the Tower of London and she would have believed me.
Some more tea? No, thank you.
It's English tea, Walker.
I've had it sent from London every month for 30 years.
It's wonderful tea, but I'm afraid I have to leave.
I'm sorry, Walker.
There's one thing that puzzles me.
Why would Uncle Gerald want to leave me all that money? Well, if Gerald were living he wouldn't admit it.
He and your mother were very close as children.
And I think that after all these years this was his stubborn way of saying "I'm sorry.
" Thank you for the tea, Aunt Margaret.
I'll be turning up on your doorstep another one of these days.
It was lovely to see you, Walker.
Come again soon.
Bye.
So that was it.
Everything I needed was back at the hotel in that briefcase.
It's 521 miles from Salt Lake to Reno.
I talked him into making it in one jump.
I had a special reason.
We had to hit the Nevada desert at night.
Near Elko I turned off Highway 40 on a dirt road and 15 or 20 miles out in the desert.
I pulled over to the side and stopped.
What's up, old man? I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid we're lost.
Lost.
Nuisance.
You see, this looked like a rattling good short cut.
No harm done, old man.
Just turn round and drive back to the main road.
I've tried that.
But we keep going round and round in circles.
We're in quite a spot, aren't we? Well, what do you suggest? I think we'd better spend the night here.
If you're too cramped in the car, you could always sleep outside.
Rather primitive, don't you think? If we keep driving round in the dark, we'll use up our petrol.
Many people have been lost in the Nevada desert and never heard from again.
Good heavens, we can't have that, can we? Do you think it will be safe? Safe? No buffaloes or Indians, I mean.
No buffaloes or Indians.
What's up, old man? There's a light over there.
I think I'll drive over and find out where we are.
I'll come with you.
And if it's a hotel I'm going to get a room with a nice comfortable bed order up eggs and bacon, toast, lightly browned on one side only and a pot of tea, no tea bags- I'd bought the ticket, put the ante on the line.
The next move was the attorney's office.
Everything was there.
I was all set.
But the thing I felt before hit me again.
It was all so pat, so neat.
Laid out before me with the orderly geometry of a spider web.
Maybe it was a hunch.
In my business, you listen to hunches.
Maybe I was just nervous.
I bought Nevada papers by the bushel at an out-of-town newsstand.
Not a line about finding a body.
Of course not.
They'd never find him.
I made sure of that.
Or had I? But I had to make the move, one way or the other.
Heads I'd do it, tails I wouldn't.
It came up heads.
Yes, sir? I'm Walker Hendricks.
I phoned for an appointment.
Yes.
Mr.
Kelson is expecting you.
I'll tell him you're here.
Mr.
Hendricks is here.
Yes, sir.
Mr.
Kelson will see you in a moment.
Won't you sit down? Thank you.
Mr.
Hendricks.
How do you do? Welcome to San Francisco.
I'm Matthew Kelson.
How do you do? Nice trip? It was long, anyway.
You have a big country here.
And it's a long trip across it.
It is indeed.
Well I suppose you're anxious to put this business behind you and get back to England.
Shall we begin? By all means.
I have the documents here.
Here we are.
And this is the correspondence, mostly with your office.
I think you'll find everything there.
They seem to be in order.
Good.
Mr.
Kelson how long do you expect it will be before I mean, after all the red tape.
The money? Yes.
I'm afraid there won't be any money.
I'm sorry.
I don't understand.
Really? If there's any problem at all I'm sure you'll find everything right here.
Not quite.
We got one more to add to it.
Walker Hendricks' death certificate.
Murdered by person or persons unknown.
That is, up until now.
They found the body.
You're all through, mister.
Sgt.
Mack.
San Francisco Homicide.
I should have known better.
Long shots are for chumps.
You want to tell us about it? There isn't too much to tell.
My name's Charlie Raymond.
I answered Hendricks ad in New York.
Looked like a shoo-in.
So easy.
I drove over him in the car.
Buried his body 1,000 miles from nowhere.
Way out in the middle of the Nevada desert.
How'd they ever find him? Nevada desert.
You ran over him with the car.
Don't you know the details, Sergeant? What's the matter? The Nevada cops getting sloppy with their reports.
We haven't had any reports from Nevada, Raymond.
And no one found a body in the desert.
Then how did you know I killed him? Why did you walk with a limp when you came in here? Because Hendricks walked with a limp of course.
I see.
Come on, Sergeant, how do you know I killed Hendricks? You didn't.
Walker Hendricks, the real Walker Hendricks was shot in New York, and tossed into the East River.
We got a tip it was a con man called English Jim who did it.
English Jim is the man who walked with a limp.
He obviously hired you to keep him up to date with how things were in London.
You see, it was English Jim we expected to see here today.
It seems he only made it as far as the Nevada desert.
Thank you for putting us straight, Raymond.
We've had our danse macabre.
But as you know, someone must always pay the piper.
Fortunately, we already have such a person in fact, several of them.
These philanthropic gentlemen wish to remain anonymous.
But perhaps the more discerning of our audience will be able to find a clue to their identities in what follows, after which I'll be back.
Thank you.
Our unknown benefactors will bring us back again next week at this same time.
Why don't you tune in and see what little surprises we have dreamed up for you? Good night.