Chapter 1: What is the main premise of The Mad Scientist Caper?
The Adventures of Sam Spade, Detective. Brought to you by Wild Root Cream Oil Hair Tonic. The non-alcoholic hair tonic that contains lanolin. Wild Root Cream Oil. Again and again, the choice of men who put good grooming first.
Sam Spade, Detective Agency.
This is mad scientific detective number 137596.
Sam, no matter what anyone says, I'll stand by you. You're nothing of the sort.
Not scientific?
Of course not. You're two-fisted.
Well, thanks, Effie, and that ain't all, Effie. I was actually mistaken for a convolutional melancholiac.
Oh, Sam, are you all right now?
Wrong diagnosis, Angel. It turned out to be melancholia catatonicus.
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Chapter 2: How does Sam Spade respond to the mad scientist's claims?
Pull down the blinds, check the corridors for men in little white coats, and set a bottle in the window if the coast is clear.
Oh! I'll be right down to dictate my report on the mad scientist caper.
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Effie!
Come in, Sam. The coast is clear.
Where are you? Why is it so dark in here?
Well, I had to put the lights out. The blind's stuck. I couldn't get it down.
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Chapter 3: What is the significance of Penetron in the story?
Now, let me look at you.
Don't look at me like that and stop whispering.
Oh, Sam. Did you get me all upset like that just for a joke?
It's no joke, sweetheart. You really sick? Yeah, just sick of some of the types I made in this business.
Oh, Sam.
Uh, date, uh, July 25, 1948, to Detective Lieutenant Dundee, homicide detail, San Francisco Police, from Samuel Spade, license number 137596, subject, the mad scientist caper.
I worry so.
Ah, dear Dundee. He, uh, looked like a mad scientist, and that's exactly what he was. His eyes had a wild gleam in them, his hair was a wild tangle, and he was wearing a wild assortment of clothing that looked as if they'd been slept in in shifts.
He leaned across the desk at me and said... They have stolen my secret formula.
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Chapter 4: Who is Raymond Fox and what role does he play?
And Commissioner of Patents Watson, B.C., dear Mr. Fox, your application for patent on formula designated under the trade name Penetron is hereby rejected. Ah, you see. Both formula and trade name, together with descriptive material identical to yours, have been registered by Mr. Albert Grierson, Grierson Enterprises, San Francisco.
Very truly yours, George Sherman, Acting Deputy Assistant Commissioner.
There, there, there. You see?
Uh, yes. You don't need a detective, Mr. Fox. What you need is a good patent lawyer.
Lawyer? I have one. A legal ball of fire named Roscoe Manning. You know this scoundrel?
Yeah, he's got an okay reputation.
And I am paying for it. $3,000 in retainers. And now he tells me he can do nothing. Insufficient evidence, he says.
What is this outfit, Grierson Enterprises?
A snare and a delusion with rented furniture, unscientific ventilation, and dirty work at the switchboard.
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Chapter 5: What evidence does Sam Spade uncover about Grierson Enterprises?
Oh, please, just tell me you're selling magazines or collecting salvage or just anything. My card. Oh, detective. Mr. Grierson hasn't done anything, has he?
That's what I want to find out. My client says he swiped his secret formula.
Oh, not that maniac. You don't look the type. You know he's mad, don't you?
Maybe yes, maybe no. Personally, I'm crazy about money. Mad money, pin money, or dirty money. Your employer didn't happen to leave any line around, did he?
No, but he has a charge account at a bar downstairs in the building when it's nearly 5 o'clock. Could you cross-examine me there?
I thanked her as gallantly as I could under the circumstances. She said, wait here, I won't be a minute. And while she was gone, I made a quick frisk of the office. The file cabinet was empty.
Griason's desk contained nothing but two unsharpened pencils, tobacco crumbs, a rubber band, some rusty paper clips, an old gas bill, a glass ampule, broken, labeled sodium denadrine for intravenous injection, and a business card from one Roscoe Manning, attorney at law.
I stuck the card in my pocket, went back to the switchboard, and in less time than it takes to tell, I was calling her Lois and she was calling me Sam over cocktails for two.
That's all I know about it. I didn't think anything about his taking his correspondence out of the files. He often took work home with him.
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Chapter 6: How does the mad scientist's backstory impact the investigation?
It's in the air.
You mean Mr. Grayson the crook? Well, what does that make me?
Worry that out on his time. Drink up. She looked as if she were telling the truth. Though with women, especially blue-eyed women, that doesn't always mean anything. If she had anything more to tell, she obviously wasn't ready yet to tell it. I asked her to come up and listen to my Herb Jeffries records. She said my apartment needed a woman's touch. I handed her a broom.
She hit me on the head with it and left. And so did Ben. Up the times and phoned my client. He wasn't in. Then I phoned a guy I know who sometimes knows about things and asked him what sodium denadrine was. He said it was a sedative and or a truth serum, a mental type drug. I wondered what Grierson had been using it for during office hours. I also wondered what else he'd been spending money for.
I phoned another guy who knows about other things, and he called me back with the name of Grierson's bank, Golden Gate Trust. An hour later, to my surprise, I actually had something to go on. Because in the past six weeks, checks totaling $50,000 had been deposited to Grierson's account, all drawn on the Citrus Exchange Bank of San Anselmo, and all bearing the signature of one Carl Birdwell, M.D.,
He wasn't hard to find.
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Chapter 7: What twists occur during the confrontation with the characters?
Guard! Now, wait a minute, doctor. What's the matter? Is this one acting up? Take him back. I sent for the cystectomy. This is the wrong man. You're crazy. Come on.
Let go of me. I'm not a patient here. I'm a detective. Yeah, and I'm Sherlock Holmes. Come on, now, back to the violent war. Come on, lay off. I got an office in San Francisco. I can prove it. One, three, seven, five, nine seconds. Okay, Dr. Watson, but come on, come on.
And in more time than it takes to tell, due to the guard's jujitsu, I was disrobed, straight-jacketed, and rolled into a wet sheet. A full-fledged inmate of the Mary F. Hotchkiss Hospital for the mentally deranged, which is exactly where I belong for having taken Mr. Fox's 25 bucks.
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Tonight's adventure with Sam Spade.
I have been shot, stabbed, slashed, pistol whipped, and sapped into unconsciousness. But until you have spent a night rolled up in a wet sheet, Dundee, you don't know what punishment is. You feel hot and cold at the same time, too miserable to sleep, too exhausted to stay awake. And after four hours of it, you just give up and join the crazies pushing up the daisies.
There's only one thing I can say in favor of the Mary F. Hotchkiss Hospital for the mentally deranged. They get the patients up early. By 6.30 in the a.m., I had been rolled out of the sheet. By quarter of seven, I had thawed out enough to be taken out of the straitjacket by an orderly. I was glad to be out of it because it was very heavy, and that gave me an idea. I picked it up and swung it.
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Chapter 8: How does the episode conclude and what are the final revelations?
Did you say Grierson sent you?
I didn't say that.
I'm afraid you'll have to be absolutely specific or I can't help you.
All right. My client is an inventor who claims that Mr. Grierson stole a formula from him, got a patent on it, and stands to profit to the tune of about a million bucks. The last two items check. I don't know whether Grierson's a crook or not. He's into you for 50,000 bucks, so you might know.
Uh, this inventor. Pale eyes, contracted pupils, big mop of hair.
That's a fair description.
Fox. Raymond Fox. He's a patient. Escaped from this hospital. That man, Mr. Spade, is a homicidal maniac. If you'll jog your memory, you may recall the case. Sacramento, 1935.
Wait a minute. Chemistry professor, lab explosion?
That's the case. Two of his colleagues, whom he irrationally suspected of stealing the formula for the explosive he used to blow them up.
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