Original subtitles

(theme music plays)

(playing "Call to the Post")

WALTER WINCHELL: July 4, 1930.

Independence Day.

40,000 patriots jammed Chicago's Arlington Park

for the Stars and Stripes Handicap.

Arnold "Spats" Vincent was among those 40,000.

So were Eliot Ness and his Untouchables.

They were there to take Spats Vincent.

They waited only for the delivery of a piece of paper--

a list of the names of officials in high places

who were ready to do business with the crime cartel.

It gave the Untouchables their first real crack

at the immaculate Spats Vincent,

who, for years, had kept himself

neatly beyond the reach of Ness and his men.

(bell ringing)

ANNOUNCER: And they're off and running.

It's Sun Beau and Golden Prince going to the front.

Jockey is third ahead and Pigeonhole for the length.

Then comes Silverdale, Blue Larkspur, Caruso.

Hot Toddy trails.

Now it's Pigeonhole taking command,

drawing out a length and a half.

Around the turn, it's Blue Larkspur,

Sun Beau and Misstep head to head.

Into the stretch, it's Blue Larkspur taking command,

with Misstep and Sun Beau.

It's Blue Larkspur, Misstep and Sun Beau

right behind them into the turn.

But it's Blue Larkspur holding it, winning by a...

WINCHELL: Spats Vincent was holding

$30,000 in winning tickets, but he was never going to collect.

♪♪

Hold or I shoot!

(two gunshots)

(grunts)

I failed.

ANNOUNCER:

"Come and Kill Me."

Starring Robert Stack as Eliot Ness.

With special guest star Dan Dailey.

And narrated by Walter Winchell.

(grunting)

WINCHELL: Arnold "Spats" Vincent was dead,

murdered by a steel needle

expertly thrust through the heart.

There was only one man powerful enough

to put out a contract on Vincent.

A man named Stryker.

Ness had the scream out for Stryker.

Ness's only chance for nailing Mr. Big depended on a young man

with the fighting skill of a murderer.

You've got calluses on the side of your hand

the same as your friend.

Where did you get your karate training?

Look, we've got all the time in the world.

Now, let's start from the top.

What's your name?

Where do you live?

All right, you won't tell us anything,

suppose we tell you a few things.

We don't need your name to send you up for life.

You took Spats Vincent from us.

You're gonna give us the man who pulled the trigger on Spats.

Give him the phone.

Make your call.

Go on, you're entitled to it.

No, thank you, Mr. Ness.

Lab just called.

Every stitch of the handmade clothing those boys wore

came from identical sources.

Suits, ties, shoes, everything.

Yeah?

That's it.

There wasn't a laundry mark, a label, nothing.

Figures.

No wallet, no identification cards, nothing.

Nothing in fingerprint, nothing in R&L.

Eliot, you boys are too polite.

Let me at him.

Be a waste of energy, Jim.

Picked him up, Captain Johnson.

He's in number four.

Want to bring him out for us?

Right.

Hello, Mr. Stryker.

I got your invitation, Ness.

What do you want?

Come in.

Is this the man that gave you the contract on Spats Vincent?

Look at him!

This the man who paid you to kill Spats Vincent?

Lock him up.

Come on.

He changes his mind, Stryker, I'll invite you again.

You seemed somewhat agitated on the telephone, Mr. Stryker.

Why wouldn't I be?

Ness has him.

So what?

(pigeon cooing)

How can you be so sure?

He's well-schooled.

Al right.

But we play it safe.

We take care of this one.

We take care of him now.

We do nothing now, Mr. Stryker.

Absolutely nothing.

He's a robot.

Paper?

Yes, one, please.

Thank you.

Did you read about Will Rogers today?

No. Oh, but I will.

Yeah.

WINCHELL: Throughout the days and nights of interrogation,

the dead man's picture commanded a box on page one

of every leading newspaper in Chicago.

Nobody came forward.

On July 12, at 2:20 p.m., John Doe was buried

in a pauper's grave in Potter's Field.

You know how Potter's Field got its name?

No.

That's what Judas's 30 pieces of silver bought.

After his death, they-they used the field to bury strangers.

Remember that from Sunday School?

Know why a boy's last words would be,

"I have failed"?

♪♪

♪♪

NESS: 11 days and around-the-clock watch

and what do we end up with? A lily.

According to the lab, that's not just any lily.

That's an anthurium lily shipped in from Hawaii.

Here's the Agriculture Department's list of

every florist in Chicago who handles that particular flower.

-How many? -294.

All right, let's go.

WINCHELL: It was on the third day, and on the North Shore,

that the Untouchables found their man.

Oh, it was late Wednesday.

No, it was, uh, last, uh, last Tuesday that she came in.

I-I remember how she wanted my guarantee that I was selling her

the best anthurium lily in the shop.

Did you get her name or address?

Oh, no, no, this was strictly a cash transaction.

How she counted out that cash-- pennies, nickels and dimes--

I hated to take her money.

Can you remember anything about her?

What'd she look like?

Oh, she was a pretty little thing.

Yeah, she was about, uh, about five-three

and, uh, much too skinny.

Remember anything else, Mr. Foster?

Anything at all?

Yeah, yeah.

She was about, uh, oh, I'd say about 17.

And, uh, she had this, uh, long, auburn hair.

And these, these large, gray eyes.

Yeah. I remember.

Large, frightened, gray eyes.

Thank you.

WINCHELL: Within 24 hours, the Untouchables

summoned Mr. Foster to the Chicago morgue.

NESS: I'm afraid we weren't the only ones

who staked out that grave, Mr. Foster.

Won't you look at her, Mr. Foster?

What can I tell you?

Butchers.

Would you look at her hair, Mr. Foster?

See if you recognize that.

Same color.

Same length.

My daughter has hair like that.

Close it.

WINCHELL: A young girl had been brutally murdered

because she left a flower on an unmarked grave.

(phone rings)

The picture brought an anonymous call.

The girl in the sketch was Linda Parish.

She lived alone, parentless, friendless,

except for a sometime- boyfriend, Jimmy Chavis.

Mr. Chavis, federal officers.

Yes, but there must be a mistake.

There's no mistake, Mr. Chavis.

We have a search warrant.

Where's your wife, Mr. Chavis?

Oh, my wife don't feel so good.

She's lying down.

MRS. CHAVIS: What is it, Julius?

My name's Ness, Mrs. Chavis.

We're here to ask about your son.

Son?

No.

I have no son.

Son named James Edward Chavis

was born to a Julius and Catherine Chavis,

April 14, 1910,

1139 West Cicero Avenue.

There's a birth certificate, in case you've forgotten.

Jimmy is away.

He's away for a long time.

I told you my wife is sick!

You have questions, you ask me.

I have a lot of questions to ask you, Mr. Chavis.

Where do you work, Mr. Chavis?

I am too old to work.

What do you do for a living?

I do odd jobs, around.

Must be very odd to afford this house.

I take in sewing.

No, Catherine.

You don't talk.

All right, let's save a little time.

Chavis, your name used to come up regularly

in racket investigations.

A runner for the organization, took any job they gave you.

Six years ago, you moved here to Maywood.

Since then, you've been clean. Too clean.

Three years ago,

both the first and second mortgages on this house

were paid in full on a single payment.

How, Mr. Chavis,

or did you make your score three years ago?

Is that when your son turned assassin?

Is that when he committed his first murder?

There's nothing, Eliot.

Not a shirt, book, photograph, nothing.

They sure did a good job of clearing him out.

Maybe.

Tell me, Mrs. Chavis, how would you like to see your son?

There he is.

Aren't you gonna look at him, Mrs. Chavis?

(inhales)

(sobbing)

No, Catherine, he is not our son.

No!

(sobbing loudly)

If he's not your son, Mr. Chavis,

why is your wife crying?

There is a dead boy lying there.

What do you expect her to do?

Laugh?

WINCHELL: The gamble that a mother's love

would prove stronger than fear had failed.

The body of Jimmy Chavis would be returned to its grave.

Ness knew he would have to find his answers,

if any were to be found, elsewhere.

A run-through of the employment offices in the Chicago area

led Ness and his men to the Lake Michigan waterfront,

but none of the dockhands knew Jimmy Chavis.

One of the dock bosses, however,

responded to a description.

All by hisself, all the time, you know?

Never sneaked off for a smoke with the other guys,

just worked.

Well, that's fine with me,

but you always wonder a little about a guy like that, you know?

He good at his job?

Yeah, big, strong, knew how to lift.

You know, with the legs.

Never got tired.

What about lunch break? He must have talked to somebody.

Nah, just wolfed it down

then walked around the ships all by hisself

until it was time for me to blow the whistle to go back to work.

Go home at the end of the shift, huh?

At the end of his shift.

He had a special deal here, he and another guy.

Used to work six-hour shifts, instead of eight.

Knocked off work at 2:00.

Why? Who set it up?

One day, I get a chance call.

Put these guys on the payroll.

So who asked questions? I put them on.

But I did ask the kid about the short shift.

You know what he told me?

He said he was going to school. Yeah, school.

-What school? -I don't know.

But, every day after work, he used to wash up real good,

clean his nails, put on a suit, and off he'd go like a bird.

What do you mean, 'off he'd go like a bird?"

Did he drive? Somebody pick him up? What?

Nah, took the regular city bus like the rest of us do.

Where's the closest pick-up?

Two blocks down, on Washington.

Thanks.

Hey, listen!

I could use a dozen like him.

Worked his head off.

I had a regular run on 33.

Been retired more than a year now, though.

The bus company told us that, Mr. Bennett.

Still, I thought you might remember him.

The waterfront, Washington Street, a 2:00 pick-up.

2:00 pick-up?

Was always well-dressed, got off shift early, neatly scrubbed.

Oh, sure. I remember that one.

Stuck out like a rose in a weed patch

around all the rest of them there dock workers.

Nice young fellow, though.

Quiet, never missed a trip.

Six days a week.

For a whole solid year, never missed a trip.

Tell me his stop, where he got off?

He didn't.

He rode clear to the end of the line.

Thanks, Mr. Bennett.

DRIVER: End of the line. Everybody out.

All right, let's start walking.

Walk where?

Every mile of Evanston.

(Mrs. Chavis sobbing)

When are you going to leave us alone?

Look what you've done to her already.

Look.

We didn't do that, Mr. Chavis.

Come along, please.

We'd like another look at the attic,

and we'll need the both of you.

Must we?

Yes, you must.

Must we?

Catherine, we go.

Look, Rico, it's exactly like that picture.

Could be a coincidence.

Hello, Louis, Rick.

Hello, Mr. Bayless.

There's nothing coincidental about that.

WINCHELL: The man at 71 Drury Lane was identified

as Dexter Lloyd Bayless,

a respected member of the community

who lived in the Evanston house alone.

The Untouchables could find nothing

to link Bayless to the organization,

to Arnold "Spats" Vincent, or to the man called Stryker.

The two young men were identified

as Louis Mallet and Rick Tarro,

factory employees of South Chicago.

Mr. Bayless was about to acquire new neighbors.

The house opposite the Bayless mansion

was acquired as a stakeout headquarters.

At the request of the United States Attorney's Office,

Agent Rossi's sister and her family agreed

to move in as protective cover for the Untouchables.

Kind of nice to have such a suburban-looking sister

with a readymade family.

What about a tail?

That man is too smart, this town is too small.

Eliot.

Oh, this should be an interesting stakeout.

WINCHELL: The stakeout revealed

that the Bayless household operated with the regularity

of a crack regiment.

Bayless lived alone.

Bayless himself left the house at 10:00,

three mornings a week,

invariably returning between 2:00 and 2:30.

After one solid week of surveillance,

at 10:10 in the morning, Ness made his move.

Rossi and Hobson stood guard, in the event

that Mr. Bayless would make an unexpected return.

With Ness were Youngfellow, the Untouchable's ace bug man,

and Rossman, who could open everything

but the pearly gates.

It's like the lock on a bank vault.

You can figure it out while we check the outside?

Figure out the U.S. Mint by then.

WINCHELL: Everything within view revealed a tidy, gentle man

with an appreciation for beauty.

A man with a love of cultivated flowers.

Among them, a rare type of lily.

At 10:33 a.m.,

Ness, Youngfellow and Rossman entered the Bayless home.

They had to work fast.

They had to work clean.

I can bug the base.

It's a dying Gaul.

So?

Go bug a doorknob.

WINCHELL: They didn't know what they were looking for.

They didn't expect what they found.

There was only one thing they could be sure of.

Every arrow they had followed since the murder

of Arnold "Spats" Vincent pointed right here.

How's it coming, Bill?

We'll be able to hear his heartbeat if he has a heart.

Let's try the basement.

ROSSMAN: How does Spats Vincent

and Nate Stryker figure into all this?

I don't know.

(Ness sighs)

I know we're gonna have to open up more

than just that front door upstairs.

(orchestra playing classical music)

What's he have against Paul Whiteman?

(rhythmic tapping of cane on recording)

There goes that cane again.

Here they come.

(music stops)

(whirring of recording)

(cane taps and door opens on recording)

BAYLESS: Well, should we go down to the classroom, boys?

Down the classroom?

We checked every foot of that basement.

You should have checked the inches.

WINCHELL: Friday, August 22, 3:42 p.m.

Class is about to begin, Eliot.

♪♪

I trust you boys have done your homework.

WINCHELL: The school of death had convened for the day.

A school designed

to make assassination a polished performance.

A school whose every graduate earned the degree

Assassin, PhD.

♪♪

Come and kill me.

Remember, you must know every muscle in the body for karate.

You must know every muscle in the heart to kill.

WINCHELL: The theory of the kill was one thing.

The practice, another.

The master schooled his students thoroughly in both.

(clank, thudding)

(panting)

(panting)

(panting)

BAYLESS: Turn on the lights.

(panting)

(Louis laughs)

(Rick coughs, then laughs)

(men panting)

Well... well, did we kill you, Mr. Bayless?

No, Rick, but I got both of you, right through the heart.

(Rick laughs)

All right, boys, school's out.

(gun chamber cocks)

Eliot?

School's out.

NESS: Here we go.

♪♪

Yes?

Mr. Lloyd Bayless, you're under arrest.

Eliot Ness.

Has one of my neighbors reported a still in this house?

Charge is murder.

(laughs)

Probably a hundred counts.

You only have to prove one.

Easy.

Spats Vincent.

I said you have to prove one.

We will.

All right, Officer.

I'll go quietly.

Not yet.

I have a search warrant.

You don't need that.

You're perfectly welcome; come in.

Come in.

After you, Mr. Bayless.

You have a search warrant.

Help yourself.

I suggest that you start in the music room.

I have a wonderful Renoir in there.

The Lady with Chrysanthemums.

I've already admired it.

You're very neat.

Well, since you've taken the grand tour on your own,

Mr. Ness, what can I do for you?

Show me your classroom.

My classroom?

Tuition's rather high,

judging from the $10,000 deposited to your account

at the Security Bank of Evanston the first of every month.

You see that El Greco?

It's priceless.

But there are men who will pay a price for such a prize.

I am one of them.

You should check my accounts on the fifth of the month.

They're overdrawn.

I know, Mr. Bayless.

I know a lot about you.

I also know about your two students.

The offspring of small-time hoods

who moved to town four days

after the murder of Arnold "Spats"” Vincent.

They're in custody now, along with their families.

Louie and Rick haven't completed your course yet, Mr. Bayless.

They can be made to talk.

Will you have a cup of tea?

No, thanks.

A cup of tea goes will with some nice little cakes

this time in the afternoon, Mr. Ness.

I didn't come here for tea, little cakes,

or charming conversation.

Now, show me that classroom or I'll bring my men in here

and put an ax through every wall in this house.

We're not gonna stop to remove your paintings, Mr. Bayless.

That won't be necessary.

One more stomp, and he's on his own.

I wish we had bugged that classroom.

What do you use for hot water?

Our working heater is down below.

After you.

♪♪

♪♪

Diamond Joe Nova.

Diamond Joe Nova, age 46 years,

height five foot, six inches, weighed 160 pounds,

carries a gun in his left-hand coat pocket.

Talks with decided stammer, Diamond Joe Nova.

School's over.

Who do you work for Bayless?

Take your pick.

Between 1916 and 1922, who'd you work for?

Oh, guerilla fighter,

Irish Rebellion.

Ireland?

No record of a passport.

Mere formality, Mr. Ness.

Oh, what a wonderful group those guerilla fighters were.

And what a darling war.

Darling war.

Shrapnel finished me for combat,

so I wandered around Europe for a while,

and then I discovered art again.

And then in the south of France, I discovered a direction.

Direction that brought you to Chicago?

What do you do?

You have expensive tastes, and the ability to kill

is your only negotiable talent.

You open a school of death.

Every society has had its core of killers.

The last war, the English had the Gurkha,

the Russians had the Cossacks,

the Germans had the storm troopers.

The people I work for also have need for a core of Killers.

What do you use for targets?

They're not shooting at people.

Permit me.

What about the young men who do your killing for you?

The murderers you turn out.

Oh, I turn them out solely as the need arises.

Replacements for the field.

(gunshot)

But one of your graduates had learned his lesson well,

a Mr. John Doe.

You'd simplify our records if you tell us his name.

In the seven years I've been here,

I've graduated only 16 students.

I don't seem to recall a John Doe.

Tell me, Mr. Bayless, is it difficult to teach how to kill?

To kill on command, it is.

Without question,

without reason.

Like they killed Spats Vincent?

When you've played the game long enough...

All right, let's go.

Over here, Mr. Ness.

Here I am.

Why don't you shoot, Mr. Ness?

Afraid to expose your position?

Come on, Mr. Ness.

Come and kill me.

I'm gonna take you alive, Mr. Bayless.

You're breathing faster, Mr. Ness.

I can hear you.

Oh, please, Mr. Ness,

not that schoolboy device,

throwing something across the room.

You're quite right, why hurry it?

It's something for a hunter to have his prey within range.

And big game.

You're confusing hunter with hunted.

(rustling)

There are a hundred ways to kill you, Mr. Ness.

A hundred ways.

Bayless, listen to me.

16 graduates make you a multiple accessory to murder.

You know when your career's over.

Bayless,

give me the top man, the man who pulls the trigger.

Might help you.

♪♪

♪♪

WINCHELL: The master of death died August 22, 1930.

His school of death died with him.

Eliot Ness and the Untouchables had succeeded

in destroying the most vicious tentacle of organized crime

in the city of Chicago.