Chapter 1: What is the premise of The Adventures of Sam Spade?
The National Broadcasting Company presents The Adventures of Sam Spade, Detective.
Sanford Detective Agency?
Miss Perrine?
Who did you think it was, Sam? Not a heart?
You don't know what a hot guest that is, cherub.
Really, Sam? Mm-hmm. You think I'm the femme fatale type?
In a black velvet gown with a veil, what chance would I have?
Sam, you've given me new hearts.
Deservedly so, wonder girl. And in femme fatale, you have hit upon what might be called the keynote of the saga, which even now I am itching to tell you. A saga? More, a tale, Effie, well calculated to keep you in... Oh, no, we'd better put that another way.
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Chapter 2: Who is Jawara Hal and why is he significant?
Much. He has the wild dream, the night host of what you call halal the nation. Halal the... You have told others of Ahmed's visit to you?
I have told no one of Ahmed's visit to me for the simple reason that he... Hold.
Huh? Do not file upon one falsehood another. Ahmed has to you pay the visit, this I know. Oh? Now, if you'll be so kindly, I will join you in dream.
Now, wait a minute.
Why don't we... You do not want to talk with Shalimar?
Well, I just think we ought to clear up this misunderstanding.
No.
What do you have? At Agam the Sultan and she, Scheherazade, the book would have gone on for 20 more volumes. It was all there, the veil below the eyes, the jacket and long satin pants, plus a superabundance of what sultans look for when they are employing a harem.
I fumbled around putting I don't know what into a couple of martinis, found more milk for Freddy's saucer, and then sat all three between us on Aunt Adelaide's lazy suit.
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Chapter 3: What leads to the introduction of the Veil Lady?
Scheherazade, we are not doing till three weeks yet. The costumes are all packed up still, and I am missing no ballerinas. Not again, golden apple princesses. One and two, and one and two. And anyway...
As she wiggles and waggles, she shimmies and shakes. You never, never saw anything like this, folks. So hurry, hurry, hurry. Direct from a Turkish harem, little Fatima, the girl with the double jointed... Jack. Yeah, Jack?
You sure she's in there, Jack?
Wait a minute, Jack. Yeah, she's in there, man.
Thanks, ma'am.
All right, folks, step in a little closer. She shakes, she shakes...
Sorry, but I can't help you a bit. This here Turkish bat is 100% stag.
Homeward bound, I was walking down Grant Avenue when I passed a little shop near Pine Street. Gold lettering on one corner of the window spelled out, Hatchadurian J. Pappas, importer, Curios.
What do you do, sir?
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Chapter 4: How does Sam Spade handle the situation with Ahmed McClatchy?
If it kicks back, you get it, and the other ten laugh.
You think you could talk me out of it, huh?
Why, that's the last thing in my mind. I'd never... Everything happened at once. As near as I can recall, it began when Cloak and Dagger backed onto Freddy's tail. Freddy yowled, spun like a top, and C&D off-balance put his other foot on Aunt Adelaide's lazy Susan. Hardly a place for a big off-balance man to place his only remaining foot.
About then, I kicked him in the stomach, grabbed at a gun, which skidded into a corner, and we went over and over for a while. C&D tore at my suit with his claws and teeth. I beat his head with an ashtray, and Freddy sat quietly in the corner and washed himself. At length, tiring of the ashtray, I beat his head on the radiator. Do it!
And dear cloak and dagger gave it up with a long, unhappy sigh. I must say, this is a dress-up affair. Get out of my way, head waiter, or I'll walk right over that white shirt front. Please, I can't. Have they been served anything yet? The drinks are just coming on.
I wait, I wait. And now, now, my countrymen, before we introduce our guest of honor, Sir Jawara Halbara, our beloved prime minister, I suggest we rise and toast our country. To Kashmir, may she...
Go ahead, Pope Consul. Don't let me interrupt. Please, not here. The standard remark is, what is the meaning of this? Aren't you going to ask me? I'm supposed to be dead. Is that what's throwing you?
Mr. Spitz, please. The toast is about to be drunk. Where's my drink, Pope Consul? Gentlemen, gentlemen. There was at one time a costume in our country for the host to exchange glasses with the guests of honor. Permit me to want a hard one.
And the moral of this story, if there is one, is when danger threatens, don't hire a bodyguard. Buy a cat and a lazy Susan. Period. End of report.
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