Chapter 1: What is the main topic discussed in this episode?
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The National Broadcasting Company presents The Adventures of Sam Spade, Detective.
Transplay Detective Agency.
Me, sweetheart.
Sam, where have you been? I don't know what to tell them.
Tell who?
The reporters, everybody. They all say you're the first private detective in the history of San Francisco to get rich honestly. Uh-huh. Oh, and Sam, when I think of all the back salary I'll be getting, the fur coats.
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Chapter 2: What is the premise of The Biddle Riddle Caper?
Sam, I just can't get anywhere with this.
Never kick on a third down, Cherub. Give it another try.
No use, Sam. I'm mentally through.
Well, you know best.
I just give up.
Sam? Hmm?
What are those funny little bumps on your cheek?
Go ahead, guess.
Snowbox? Cake?
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Chapter 3: Who is Jimmy Biddle and what is his connection to the case?
The place had the well-fixed man-about-town look, right down to the last crystal martini glass in the portable bar in the living room. Next to it was a mahogany desk, in which were sundry checkbooks and deposit slips indicating Biddle had found a prosperous widow or had been doing rather well at Canasta. A clock shined four in the next room.
Since it was after ten, I wondered why I went in to take a look. Maybe I was psychic, like the girl said. There was a tape recorder against one wall, the same kind I'd seen in your office, Tracy, with a microphone and a roll of tape in it, half used up. Holding the microphone with one hand was Jimmy Biddle, and the other hand, a .38. He wasn't hurt, as I'd told her. He was dead.
You are listening to the weekly adventure of radio's most famous detective, Sam Spade. This Sunday, there's another outstanding production by Theatre Guild on the air. It's a one-hour adaptation of the thrilling tale of intrigue in post-war Vienna, The Third Man. Joseph Cotton and Sena Hasso star in this Theater Guild on-the-air broadcast.
And Sunday over most of these NBC stations also means The Big Show, an hour and a half of the finest in comedy, music, and drama. Tallulah will be your hostess, and just listen to a few of the stars. Fred Allen, Marlene Dietrich, Danny Thomas, and Fran Warren. There'll be many more, too, so tune in this Sunday and every Sunday for The Big Show.
And now, back to the Biddle Riddle Caper, tonight's adventure with Sam Spade. In accordance with Chapter 5 of the Private Detective's Manual entitled How to Keep Your License, I called Homicide and gave him the facts and figures, then went back to the study. Jimmy Biddle was surrounded by props like Part 1 of the photoprime puzzle.
I carefully reached over his shoulder and pressed the button on the tape recorder. My name's Jimmy Biddle. The D.A. will remember me. We saw a lot of each other during the week after Carol Stevens hit the deck in her apartment three years ago. At just about this time of night. I fooled him then. I could probably go on fooling him, but I'm tired of it. I'm tired of living this way. So here it is.
I knew Carol Stevens well. I was crazy about her. And I was jealous, too. That's why I killed her. Thought I could go on and on, playing hide-and-go-seek for the rest of my life. But sooner or later, this kind of thing gets too heavy to pack around in it. You gotta get rid of it. One way or another. Period. End of report. I rousted the landlady again, and we went over the room together.
A helpful type landlady. She contributed a thousand-odd bits of gossip about Jimmy Biddle, only one of which struck me as interesting. She'd come in this morning, she said, to clean his apartment, and among other things, had wound and set the eight-day clock on the mantel. The same clock which was now exactly four hours fast.
Looking closer at the tape recorder, I saw a small label pasted above one of the knobs, reading, Morgas and Reed, recording technicians. Next scene, the manufacturing section of Sansom Street, a five-story building, all dark at this hour, except for a light in the office on the second floor back, which happily turned out to be D1. Morgas? Reed?
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Chapter 4: What clues lead to the discovery of Carol Stevens' murder?
Anybody? Hello. What do you want? Well, a pastry cook. I am sorry. We're closed, you see. Office hours nine to five. Now, wait a minute. Just a minute, pastry cook. I'm not a pastry cook, sir. My name is Murgis. I am one of the proprietors here. Just a moment, sir. Sorry, sorry. It was getting cold out in the hall. Oh, so you're Murgis, huh? I am. And I don't care who you are.
Chapter 5: How does Sam Spade gather evidence for the case?
I know all about it, sir. I know it wasn't a practical joke. What wasn't a practical joke? That tape. You can march right back to the man you're working for and tell him he can't buy me off. Is that clear? Not very. There's no use denying it. I saw you in his office this afternoon when he... when he threatened me. Get down! What is it?
I called out on a fire escape in time to see my buddy in the pinstripe suit hit the bottom. The alley, praise be, was blind at one end, so Luke took off toward the street. I caught him in one leg. He stumbled, fell, smacked his head against the brick wall of the alley and took the count. I was frisking him when a prowl cop who'd heard the shots moved up.
I convinced him I wasn't rolling a drunk and left him to run back upstairs.
Marcus? Marcus! Yeah?
Hmm. I'd better get you to a hospital. Who are you? Sam Spade. I don't work for Norguard. Right now I'm trying to hang a murder rap on him.
Told me it was a practical joke. A gag. What? Tape.
Jimmy Biddle. Tape. Jimmy rented the machine from you and made the tape himself, right?
Yes. He... He... Norgaard. What about Norgaard? Tried to beat me into it. Beat... Beat me. Wouldn't give it to him. Give what? Tape. No, no, no.
He tried to point to the desk as he passed out, and so to this already bubbling stew, we had a crucial typewriter. While waiting for the ambulance, I cased it and found nothing, then stuck a piece of paper into it and began to type. Four quick brown foxes had jumped over four lazy dogs when the sound changed. I looked closer, then... tackled a messy job I always leave to my secretary.
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