All language subtitles for Blonde.for.a.Day.1946.WEB-DL.1080p-MH (1)

(dramatic music)

(roulette wheel spinning)

(players chattering)

(dramatic music)

- [Dealer] This
gentleman over here.

You are the winner, sir.

Collect those chips.

- [Winner] All right, sir.

- [Dealer] All right, ladies
and gentlemen, place your bets.

(dramatic music)

(gun firing in distance)

(motorcycle revs)

(dramatic music)

You're our winner again.

And try it again,
ladies and gentlemen.

Everybody wins here.

(dramatic music)

- Hey, Rafferty, this is
getting to be a habit.

It's about time you
told us who did it.

- You take care of your job
and I'll take care of mine.

- I sure will.

It don't pay to be
lucky in this town.

(dramatic music)

(typewriter clacking)

Hello, gorgeous, what's cooking?

- The boss.

And now it's your turn to fry.

- What's the beef?

- He doesn't like the way you're
playing up this crime wave

and he thinks you're
riding Rafferty too hard.

- Ah, that's the trouble
with Pete Rafferty.

He gets fatheaded when
nobody's riding him.

I wish Michael Shayne hadn't
moved to San Francisco.

(intercom buzzes)

- Yes, Mr. Bronson?

He just came in.

Yes, sir.

Go on in, Timothy Rourke,
and get your spanking.

- We'll see who spanks who.

All right, let's have it fast.

I got a story to write.

- I have just had a call from
Detective Chief Rafferty.

- That's my story.

- You're a competent
reporter, Tim,

when you stick to reporting.

But I don't like this
sensational stuff
you've been writing.

- What, are you
afraid of the truth?

- Not at all, but we
have a regular staff

to write the editorials.

I've had complaints from
the Chamber of Commerce,

the Better Business Bureau,
and other civic organizations.

The wire services are
picking up your stuff

and featuring it
throughout the country.

They're giving the city a bad
name, frightening people away.

- And we mustn't hurt business.

No, it's better to let the
gambling syndicate take over

and move in their hoodlums.

- We've always had
more or less gambling.

- Now it's more.

Look, there's big
money backing Brenner

and they swing a lot
of political weight.

The public has got
to be jarred awake

and made to realize
what it's up against.

- Rourke.

Bear in mind that I
am the managing editor

and I will decide upon
the policy of this paper.

- All right, have
it your own way.

Now, let me give you a tip.

- About what?

- Malicious in the
third race at Jamaica.

(door bangs shut)

And if you're gonna fire me,
I want two weeks' notice.

- How was it?

- Not so hot.

I've got a hunch I won't
be around here very long.

Minerva, be a
sweetheart, will you,

and get this wire off to
Michael Shayne for me?

- Of course.

- And look,

save the want ads for me.

(dramatic music)

- Miss Higgins, come
in here a minute.

That's not the story I okayed.

How'd it get in the paper?

- Well, I don't know, sir.

- Rourke faked the
story for my okay

and then sneaked
this in somehow.

The edition got on the
street before I caught it.

Make out a closing check for
Rourke and I'll take it to him.

I don't even want him
coming in here after it.

- Yes, sir.

Uh, will that be all?

- Clean out his desk and bring
everything in here to me.

- Yes, sir.

(tense music)

- Perfume.

Tabu.

Fragrant Delight.

Lipstick.

Bet she was a blonde.

(tense music)

(knocking at door)

Come in.

Why should you be the exception?

(dramatic music)

- Tim, you've been hurt!

Did Walter do that to you?

- What makes you think
Bronson did this?

- Well, he was furious
about that story

you slipped past
him this afternoon.

The first edition was on the
street before he caught it.

- So to help matters
along, you come up here?

If Walter Bronson found
his wife in my apartment,

he'd blow his top.

- He doesn't know
where you live.

- He could find out easy
enough at the office.

- How did this happen?

- A guy named Brenner
didn't like my story.

- The head of the
gambling syndicate?

- So he sent a couple
of his hoodlums along

to deliver his criticism.

- Did they tear
up the apartment?

- No.

I think this was
done by a cute blonde

looking for some affidavits.

You better run along.

- Tim.

Why don't you be nice to me?

- You seem to overlook
one little minor detail.

You have a husband.

I don't like Walter Bronson,
I think he's a stuffed shirt,

but I'm not fooling
around with his wife.

- Maybe you'll change your mind.

After what you've been
through, you need a nurse.

They say the patient often
falls in love with the nurse.

(purse thuds)

- Hey what do you got
in here, an anvil?

Are you gunning for
anybody in particular?

- Don't be absurd.

That's Walter's pistol.

- What's it doing in your purse?

- Well, if you must know,

I was afraid he might
try to kill you.

He frightened me
with his raving.

I've never seen him
so angry before.

I knew where he kept his gun,
so I slipped it in my purse.

Make yourself comfortable.

I'll get some water.

- A .32 automatic.

There've been three murders
committed with a .32 automatic.

- That isn't the only .32
automatic in the world.

- No, and you're not the only
blonde in the world either.

- I wish I were.

To you.

Relax, I'll bathe your face.

- Never mind, I'm all right.

- Look, why don't you give
up this one man crusade?

It can't get you
anything but trouble.

You know, Walter can make
things tough for you.

- Don't worry about
me, I'll get along.

Does Walter know you've
been dropping all that money

in those gambling joints?

- What's that got to do
with what I'm talking about?

- Plenty.

(gentle music)

(monkey chittering)

(gentle music)

- Well!

Telegram for Mr. Shayne.

Oh, I beg your pardon, I
thought you were Mr. Shayne.

- Very funny.

Your sense of humor shouldn't
happen to a comedian.

- You two have habits in common.

Whenever I see a peanut,
I think of Mike Shayne.

(telegram rustling)

- Well, it's from Tim.

"Crime wave rampant."

(laughs) Boy, does Tim
love to use two-bit words.

"Three murders
and more expected.

"Jump onto your white horse
and come to the rescue.

"Urgent. Tim." (chuckles)

Take a wire, Phyll.

Very happy where I am.

Tired of picking
bullets out of my teeth.

Want no part of any crime wave.

- Yes, sir.

And should I put fresh violets
on your desk every morning?

- You'd better get to
work, Miss Hamilton,

and stop insulting your boss.

- Yes, sir.

- Hey Phyll!

- "Crusading
reporter near death.

"Timothy Rourke
desperately wounded."

Oh, Mike, how terrible.

- "Shot by an unknown assassin.

"Has not yet regained
consciousness."

Got some plane reservations.

(dramatic music)

- Just a minute,
no visits allowed.

- Who says so?

- Chief Detective Pete Rafferty.

Who are you?

- Mike Shayne.

And Tim Rourke's my best friend.

I'm going in to see him.

Come on, angel.

- Are you close relatives?

- Oh, I'm his best friend.

How's he doing?

- We're not supposed
to discuss our cases.

But he has a fighting chance.

- Mike, who do you suppose

would want to put
Tim out of the way?

- I got a pretty good idea.

We're gonna find out for sure.

Uh, let me know when he regains
consciousness, will you?

You can reach me through
Will Gentry, Chief of Police.

- Your name?

- Michael Shayne.

When he wakes up, just
tell him I've come.

He'll understand.

Here comes what is known
as a local anesthetic.

- The police are
handling this case

and we haven't asked
for any outside help.

- I don't feel like
fighting with you, Rafferty.

All I want is the person
responsible for that.

- So what does everyone.

What do you suppose the
detective bureau's for?

- I've often wondered.

- Please, you must be quiet.

- Yeah, okay, okay.

(loudly) Now, listen, see,
keep out from under my feet!

And when I have a man
in protective custody,

nobody crashes in.

- You should be grateful
that Mike is here

to solve another case for you.

- Oh!

(door bangs shut)

(Mike laughs)

- Now, look, you drive
by the Courier office

and see what gossip
you can pick up.

Minerva Higgins knows
everything that goes on

and she's always had a soft
spot in her heart for Tim.

- Where are you going?

- I'm going to drop
by Tim's apartment.

You meet me there.

- [Minerva] Mr.
Bronson isn't in.

- That's good.

Mike Shayne asked me to see you.

- Oh, is Mike back in town?

- He came as soon as
he heard about Tim.

- Poor Timothy.

I feel terrible about that.

He was playing with dynamite

and I warned him he'd
get himself into trouble.

Mr. Bronson gave him
definite orders that day

to stop his sensational crusade.

- Did he?

- No.

He sneaked in a final blast
at the gambling syndicate.

He knew it would be his last
story and he went all out,

naming names and everything.

Uh, this is the story that
started the explosion.

- Could I keep this
and show it to Mike?

- Certainly.

Um, there's something I
wouldn't tell anyone else.

- [Phyllis] Yes?

- Mrs. Bronson is carrying
a torch for Timothy.

- Are you sure?

- Of course I'm sure.

I don't like to gossip,

but a woman is a fool
who looks at a man

the way she looks at Timothy

and expects another
woman not to notice it.

She drapes herself
all over his desk and

we've try not to
pay any attention.

Uh, except to be courteous.

But she is a beautiful
blonde, you know.

(tense music)

- Looking for someone?

- Yeah, maybe it's you.

Maybe you're a friend
of this guy, Rourke.

- Maybe.

- Maybe you came to find some
affidavits he had hid out.

- Could be.

- Some people are looking
for those affidavits.

Hand them over.

- Who am I dealing with?

- Never mind about that!

(thrilling music)

- They ain't on him.

We should have
given him more time.

- Maybe he'll feel
talkative when he wakes up.

- What's going on here?

(tense music)

Help!

Help, police!

Help, police!

- Hey, c'mon, we better scram!

(dramatic music)

- Well, now you look natural.

Mike Shayne, can't I
leave you for an hour

without you getting
yourself beaten up?

- (chuckles) Seems
like old times.

I guess I was getting soft.

- Are you hurt?

- No, no, just my vanity.

A couple of pals were
looking for some affidavits

they thought Tim had.

- Say, listen, Mike Shayne,

if you get yourself
a cauliflower ear,

I'm going to leave you flat.

- I stopped in to see
Gentry on the way over.

He said Tim took a
terrific beating.

They found the
fingerprints of two women

here in the apartment.

One of them had
ransacked the place

and the other one
had a drink with Tim.

- Minerva says Mrs. Bronson
was carrying a torch for Tim.

- Something to think about.

- Tim had a row with Bronson

and this is the story
that caused the blow-up.

(dramatic music)

- Oh, Tim should've known
they'd start gunning for him

when he named names and
said he had affidavits.

That guy Brenner wouldn't
be too happy about that.

- What's going on here?

- Who are you?

- I'm Mr. Henty, superintendent
of this apartment building.

- Fine, you're just
the man I want to see.

- But who are you?

- Detective.

You see any strange
women around here

the night Rourke was shot?

- I saw one.

And what a blonde!

She came in the side entrance.

- Would you recognize her again?

- Oh, I only saw her back.

But, er, I think
I'd recognize her.

- Why do women bother
to make up their faces?

- Oh, no.

Not you again.

- Hello, Pete.

- Why the call for
the riot squad?

- I had a little
misunderstanding

with a couple of gentlemen.

Didn't amount to anything.

- Come on, Shayne, spill it.

Who were the guys and
what was the argument?

And if you're withholding
any evidence on me,

I'm going to make you sweat.

- You said you didn't
want any outside help.

Get your own evidence.

Besides, Rourke sent for me

to make a confidential
investigation.

- Some day you're going
to go too far, Shayne,

and you're going to
stick out your neck

and I'm gonna jump
on it with both feet!

- He doesn't seem to like you.

- I'll bet you think we're
bitter enemies, don't you?

- Aren't you?

- Yeah.

(laughs) Nah.

No, we kid around like
that all the time.

Doesn't mean a thing.

Now, look, you're going
to be very valuable to me.

I'm going to want to
talk to you later on.

I'll see you later.

(door thuds shut)

- Someone really took
this place apart.

- I think I'll drop in
and have a cup of tea

with that guy Brenner.

- Mike, can't you be satisfied
with one beating a day?

- You stay here till I get back.

And don't open the
door to anyone.

Angel, can you do
something for me?

- Yes, Mike, what?

- Er, clean the place
up a little, will you?

- Yes.

- Hey bud, what's
going around here?

- I want to see Brenner.

- Brenner? (laughs)

You got an appointment?

- Do you need an appointment?

- Certainly.

Certainly, go on,
beat it, scram!

Get going, go ahead,
get outta here!

Oh!

(man crashes)

(door clicks shut)

- Brenner?

- I didn't hear you knock.

- I didn't knock.

Let's get down to cases.

You're Brenner and I'm Shayne.

I want the blonde who
blasted Tim Rourke.

- And if not?

- I'll bust a lot
of things wide open.

- I don't know who it was.

Wish I did.

Whoever it was put the
heat on me, plenty.

I can't even open for business
until things quiet down.

I had no reason to
have Rourke rubbed out.

I just made a deal with him
that afternoon in this office.

- You're lying.

Tim never sold out in his life.

I read the story.

Guy's a heavy
winner at your club

and a blonde knocks him off.

I want that blonde.

- I don't know who she is.

I can't know about every blonde
who makes a midnight pickup.

- If Tim could
dig up that stuff,

you ought to know what
goes on in your club.

I'm laying it on the line,
Brenner, I want that blonde

and anyone who stands in
my way is gonna get hurt!

Oh.

The affidavit collectors.

'Course they're not
working for you.

Or would you fool me
and tell me the truth?

- Frisk him.

- Back your monkeys off me.

- All right, boys.

Back up.

- How come Bugeye let him in?

- Bugeye is now Shuteye.

He's a sucker for a left.

I suppose your
understanding with Rourke

was to have these two
gorillas beat him up.

All right, they'll pay for that.

And if you had any
blasted, you'll burn.

Don't stick your nose
outside this door

unless you want to
get it shot off.

(door creaks)

(door bangs shut)

- Hey, he can be plenty tough.

- Yeah?

We've taken care of
tough guys before.

- Thanks, bud.

- You're welcome.

(knocking at door)

- Who's there?

- Open the door,
angel, it's Mike.

Hi, beautiful.

- Hey, wait a minute.

What, no black eye?

- (laughs) No, it was a day
off for the strong-arm boys.

They only work five days
a week now, you know?

Union regulations.

Anything happen
while I was gone?

- [Phyllis] Well, yes and no.

- What do you mean yes and no?

- No one tried to beat me up,

but I was down in the lobby

and I noticed a
letter in Tim's box.

Mr. Henty wasn't
around, so I swiped it.

- Postmarked the afternoon
of the day Tim was shot.

- Smell it.

- Hmm, perfume.

I wonder if she was blonde?

(knocking at door)

(door slams)

- Look here, young man!

I'm responsible for
things around here

and I don't like the
way you're making free

with Mr. Rourke's apartment!

- Well, an investigation
takes time.

- But you can't
take the place over!

And besides, I'm quite sure
that there was a letter

for Mr. Rourke down in the
lobby and it's missing!

- Missing?

- Yes.

- That's fine.

What kind of a place is this?

Don't you realize that letter

may have been of
vital importance?

It might have been the very clue

that would have solved
the entire crime

and you let some crook
sneak in and steal it!

Why, I don't know
what's liable to happen.

You might even be charged
with criminal negligence!

- Well, I can't be everyplace.

It's too much for one man.

And I can't be down in
the lobby all the time.

- All right.

I'm going to overlook
it for the time being.

We'll see what develops.

- Thank you very much.

- It's all right.

I like to give everyone a break.

You know, there may be some
information in this letter

that'd give us a lead.

If Tim could talk,

I know he'd give me
permission to open it.

- Of course he would.

If there's nothing in it

that has anything
to do with the case,

you can forget you saw it.

- Yeah.

No signature.

"If you're interested in
buying some information

"for your paper,
call Capital-8024."

Information's what
we're interested in.

(phone buzzing)

- Office.

- Capital-8024.

This may be the break
we've been waiting for.

(rotary phone dialing)

- Capital-8024 doesn't answer.

- Get me information.

(rotary phone dialing)

Hello, information?

Police business.

Give me the name and
address of Capital-8024.

Yeah.

Thanks.

Madge Rankin, 614
Hillside Drive.

Think I'll pay her
a little visit.

- I don't mind going along.

- Well, er, frankly, angel,

I think I'll get along
better by myself.

- That's what I'm afraid of.

- Oh, angel, this is strictly
business, believe me.

- Oh, I believe you.

(frogs croaking)

- No use wearing yourself
out on that doorbell.

Madge isn't home.

She had a noisy
party Tuesday night.

I haven't seen her since.

- That's funny.

I had a date with her.

- Maybe she forgot.

- I don't think so.

She told me she'd be here.

- You can wait in my
place, if you like.

- Oh, thanks, that's
very nice of you,

but I'll wait outside.

- Okay.

(dramatic music)

(sirens blaring in distance)

(knocking on door)

Come in.

Well!

You changed your mind but fast.

- Your friend Madge
has been murdered.

- Madge?

Murdered?

- Look, I'm Mike Shayne,
a private investigator.

The cops are going to be
boiling in here any minute.

You could be a big help to me.

- Why should I?

- Why not?

(siren blaring nearby)

Doesn't cost you anything.

You might help me
solve a murder.

(siren blaring)

(car doors slamming)

(frogs croaking)

(door slams)

- I wonder why Shayne asked
information for this address.

If Henty gave me a bad tip,

I'll shake his teeth out.

Holy smoke!

Hey, we've run into a murder.

Now, don't touch anything
until I get the boys over here.

I'll phone from next door.

Tom, you watch the front and
you go around the back, huh?

- Yeah.

(door bangs shut)

(knocking on door)

(door slams)

- Police business, I'd
like to use your phone.

- Sorry, we don't have one.

- Oh, thank you.

Oh, Mike Shayne!

I might have known it!

- (sighs) Mike,
tell him to go away.

We don't want any.

- Don't talk like that, honey.

He's a big shot detective.

- Now, don't give me that!

What do you know about
this murder next door?

- Murder?

- [Mike] What murder?

- Do you know who
lives next door?

- Well, of course, Madge Rankin.

- Oh.
- We're good friends.

- Tom.

Take her in to look at the
body for identification.

(door bangs shut)

- Well, tell me what's happened.

- As if you don't know.

Go on along with him.

- Must I, Mike?

- Sure, that's Pete Rafferty,
you have to mind him.

- All right, lady.

- All right, Shayne,
start talking.

- What will we talk about?

Business or shall
we make it personal?

- That's not funny.

We'll talk about that
murder next door.

- Well, I just got in
town this afternoon.

Do you think I
murdered her by radar?

- Now, you know something!

You asked information
for that address.

- Well, sure, uh, Helen
doesn't have a phone,

so she gave me the
number next door.

Nobody answered when I called

and I'd forgotten the address.

- Oh, it was just a coincidence.

You just happened to pop
up next door to a corpse?

- You know, Pete, it's
the funniest thing.

Whenever anybody has a corpse

they don't know what to do with,

they always dump it in my lap.

- Oh!

(door bangs)

(frogs croaking)

Call over the car radio
for a Homicide detail.

- Right.

- Well, was it Madge Rankin?

- Yes, it was Madge.

I never saw a dead
person before.

Gave me the creeps.

- Take it easy.

- Poor Madge, lying there
dead all that time and...

I thought she was out
having a good time.

- Well, I'll talk to you again.

Just stay put so I can find you.

Well, Shayne,
where's that letter

you took out of
Rourke's mailbox?

- Why, Peter, how can
you say such things?

- Henty said you stole a letter

just before you made that call.

- Did anybody see me
as steal a letter?

- When any evidence is
missing and you're around,

I know who's got it.

- That is merely supposition
on the part of the witness.

It has no weight as evidence.

(frogs croaking)

(car doors slam shut)

(motor revs)

(frogs croaking)

- [Cop] What do you want?

- Oh, I was looking
for a friend.

- A man or a woman?

- A man.

- Maybe he's in there.

Come on.

Chief, here's a dame who was
snooping around next door.

- How did she know
where you were?

You always tell her

before you go to visit
another girlfriend?

- You know how women are.

They follow you around,
spy on you. (chuckles)

- Mike Shayne!

- Sometimes they talk too much.

- Oh, shut up!

What were you going to say?

- Who, me?

Oh, I had nothing to say.

When Mike and I
promised to look you up,

we had no idea we would
interrupt a police convention.

- There was a murder next door.

- How awful!

- Oh, don't give me any
more of that runaround.

I want what evidence you have

or I'll hold you on suspicion
of obstructing justice

and maybe a federal rap
for intercepting mail.

- Look, you had three murders

and Tim was almost
killed before I came.

What did you do about it?

You wouldn't know
a piece of evidence

if I walked up and
introduced itself.

- All right!

All right, come on
down to headquarters.

Perhaps I can persuade you
to sing a different tune.

- Mike--

- Oh, it's all right, honey.

Take it easy.

Can't hold me long on suspicion

and you'll enjoy
hearing him apologize.

- Me apologize?

Why, you--

- Now, Pete, Pete,
careful, careful!

Ladies.

No naughty words.

Come on.

- Have the boys stick
around till I get back.

I'm taking this bird down to
headquarters for an audition.

- Okay, Chief.

All right, boys, come on.

- Did Mike Shayne get all
the information he wanted?

- If there's anything else he
wants, he knows the address.

- Say, listen, sister,

if you have any ideas
about Mr. Shayne,

you can forget them right now!

- Who are you, his mother?

- Mother!

Don't you mother me or
I'll rock you to sleep.

- You can't talk
to me like that.

I'll have you know I'm a lady.

- Really?

(knocking at door)

- (sighs) More cops, I suppose.

I'll be combing cops out
of my hair for a week.

Oh.

Hello, Dilly.

- I was driving by and saw
the police cars outside.

What happened?

- Madge was murdered.

- Good heavens! When?

- Well, it...

- Police.

Did you know her?

- Why, yes, I knew her.

In a casual sort of way.

- Do you know anyone who
might have had a reason

to knock her off?

- Well, of course not.

I told you I didn't
know her very well.

- What's your name?

- Dillingham Smith,
but I tell you, I--

- Address?

- El Montalvo apartments.

- Are you married?

- Well, yes, but my
wife's out of town.

- Where is she?

- [Dilly] Well, I don't know.

We got a little
misunderstanding.

You can't pry into
my private affairs!

- Well, if you'd rather talk
down at police headquarters,

it's okay with me.

- All right.

I know nothing about the murder.

But go ahead, have fun.

- All right.

Come on.

- You boys might as
well go on to bed.

I don't feel talkative tonight.

(door thuds shut)

Hello, Pete.

Did you finish the routine
investigation of the murder?

- Why don't you
get wise, Shayne?

The police department is
much bigger than you are.

- Was the victim shot
through the heart

with a .32 automatic
from close up?

- I thought you didn't know
anything about the murder.

- Had to be that way.

- Why?

- And you call
yourself a detective.

You don't even see that the
pattern for all these murders

was the same.

Tim was the only
one who expected it

and it saved his life.

- Ballistics prove that no
two murders were committed

with the same gun.

- Well, I suppose you think

there couldn't be
an answer to that.

- Never mind what I think.

Just turn over what
evidence you have

to the proper authorities
or I'll sweat it out of ya.

- No dice, Pete.

I'm going to conduct this
investigation in my own way.

- All right, if you want to
make it tough on yourself,

go ahead.

- There's, uh, nothing like
a good old habeas corpus

to spring a guy out of jail.

- I don't know why I even
bothered to get you out.

- Oh, angel, look,

I told you I was just putting
on an act to fool Rafferty.

- You've said that before.

- Did I?

(car door slams)

Boy, Dilly Smith must
really be in the chips.

It costs dough to live
in a place like this.

- I can't put my finger
on anything definite,

but there's something
about that man

that didn't seem
to ring quite true.

- Yeah, I know what you mean.

Let's go talk to the doorman.

'Morning.

- Oh, good morning, sir.

- Special investigator.

- Oh, you got the wrong
man, sir, I swear you have.

I never slipped those
crooked dice in the game.

- Oh, the FBI is handling
that investigation, I think.

I'm in the market to
buy some information.

- Oh, you've come to
the right market, sir.

You've come to the
black market. (chuckles)

Selling information is
what I's most fond of.

- What can you tell me
about Dillingham Smith?

- Uh...

He and his wife moved
in a short time back.

But I hear they're
just oozing in money.

- Mrs. Smith a brunette?

- No, sir.

You never seen a
blonde like that lady.

Why, she's shines in the dark.

- Anything else?

- Uh, she sent a
trunk to the railroad

two or three days ago and I
ain't seen her around no more.

(door clicks open)

- Mike, there he is.

(door bangs shut)

- Call you a cab, sir?

- No, thanks, I'll walk.

- I'm going to tail him.

Call Will Gentry
and ask him to bring

a fingerprint man over.

See if he can find a
print to match anything

found in Tim's apartment.

(payphone dings)

(rotary phone dialing)

- Hello, Will?

This is Phyllis.

Mike wants you to
do him a big favor.

(laughs) No, he's
not in jail again.

Not yet.

He needs a check on
some fingerprints

without going through
regular police channels.

I'll meet you here at the
El Montalvo apartments.

- Oh, I, um...

I'm terribly sorry, I--

- Can't you walk without
tripping over your feet?

- Oh, I'm really awfully sorry.

It was very clumsy of me, I...

- This ain't a stick
of peppermint candy

you feel in your back.

- Don't tell me, let me guess.

- Funny man, huh?

I've got a gag that'll kill ya.

- Yeah, I see what you mean.

- You get in the
front seat, pal.

This is your party.

(car doors slam)

(car rumbling)

- Well, uh, now that
we're all nice and cozy,

how's about letting me in
on what this is all about?

- Don't be inquisitive.

Stay happy as long as you can.

- (laughing) Bing's a card.

He's always handing me a laugh.

- Yeah. (forced laugh)

Oh, very funny,
that's what I like.

Murder with a smile.

(car rumbling)

- Okay, chum, let's
get down to business.

Tim Rourke popped off
about some affidavits.

Maybe they don't mean
nothing to Hank Brenner,

but he wants to see 'em.

- Sorry, fresh
out of affidavits.

- That ain't the only
thing you'll be out of.

Hank said to treat you
nice if you play ball.

If not, we was to
use our own judgment.

- I don't suppose it'd
do any good to tell you

I don't know anything
about the affidavits

you're talking about.

- That's right, it's
the affidavits or else.

- Look, I can't deliver
something I haven't got.

It's not gonna do you
any good to bump me off.

- Who said anything
about bumping you off?

We're only taking you
down to see Brenner.

He wants to talk to ya.

(tires screeching)

(car crashes)

(car doors slam)

See if you can start the engine.

(motor revving)

It looks like
we're gonna have to

thumb our way back to town.

- That's right.

(car rumbling)

(jalopy rumbling)

- Sorry, boys, all filled up.

- Not here, you fool!

- Hello, Will.

- Hello, Mike.

Looks like you're getting
close to something.

- Where have you been?

- A couple of Brenner's
friends picked me up.

We couldn't get along,
so I walked home.

What do you mean I'm
getting close to something?

- Well, the fingerprints
of the woman

who claims to be
Mrs. Dillingham Smith

are the same as the
fingerprints of the woman

who ransacked Tim's apartment.

- Huh.

Now, tell me, why should
Dilly Smith be writing letters

to Walter Bronson, managing
editor of the Courier?

- I don't know,
it's got me stumped.

- Well, it's got me
going around in circles.

There's too many
blondes in this case.

I'm having blonde nightmares.

Hope I never see another
blonde as long as I live.

- May I have that in writing?

- With options.

(Will chuckles)

(match striking)

Say, Gentry, you will be sure
Tim's well-guarded, won't you?

Brenner and the gambling
syndicate are sorta concerned

about those affidavits
he popped off about.

They might try to get to him.

- Don't worry, I'll
see that they don't.

- Those boys are
plenty tough, I know.

Now, let me see.

We've got a line on the woman
who searched Tim's apartment.

Did that happen before
or after he was shot?

- Oh, I don't know.

There's no way of telling.

- She ties in with Dilly Smith.

Dilly Smith writes
a letter to Bronson.

That ought to add
up to something.

- And don't forget, Mrs.
Bronson is a blonde.

- So was Madge Rankin,
the woman who was murdered

to keep her from talking.

Dilly ties in there, too.

- Dilly gets around.

- Plenty!

(Will chuckles)

How about putting a
tail on him, Will?

I can't be everywhere
at once and

I can't work with Pete Rafferty.

- I wish you two boys
would try to get along

and stop needling each other.

- What would I do
for entertainment?

- Huh! (coughs)

- Hello, Minerva.

(door slams)

How's my favorite heart trap?

- Don't give me that
line, Mike Shayne.

I'm no whistle-stop.

Uh, have you seen Timothy?

- Yeah.

He's still unconscious.

They say he has a chance.

Is Bronson in?

- No, he hasn't come
in yet this morning.

- Look, Minerva,

I'm going to ask you to
do a big favor for me.

I want you to listen in on
his telephone conversations

for a day or so.

- That's out of the question.

I never did anything
like that in my life.

- You want to find out who
would wash out Tim, don't you?

- Of course.

But surely you don't think--

- I'm not accusing anyone.

But I'm just not
overlooking any angles.

- Good morning, Mr. Bronson.

- 'Morning.

- Er, Mr. Bronson.

- Don't bother me, I'm busy.

(door bangs shut)

I said I'm busy.

- So am I.

Why did you object to
Rourke's following through

on his expose of the
gambling situation?

- I fail to see how the
editorial policy of this paper

is any of your business.

- The person who shot Rourke
didn't like that stuff either.

- Are you intimating--

- I'm intimating nothing,
I'm stating facts.

Did you, uh, get to
Rourke's apartment

before or after he was shot?

- I did not go to
Rourke's apartment at all.

- You started for there.

- I changed my mind.

I decided to see him
the following morning.

- Did you find any affidavits
among the papers in his desk?

- I've explained all this
to your police department

and Rafferty has all the
papers from Rourke's desk.

Now, get out before I
have you thrown out.

- This letter was among the
household bills and I opened it.

- [Walter] We'll talk
about that later.

- Looks like you had
a little accident.

- Well, I--

- I told you to get out of here.

Must I have you thrown out?

- Don't you know excitement's
bad for your blood pressure?

(door thuds shut)

- Who was that?

- I don't know.

- Who's the blonde?

- Mrs. Bronson.

Did you enjoy your visit?

- It was worthwhile.

Don't forget about the
phone calls, Minerva.

I have a hunch something's
going to pop before long.

(intercom buzzes)

- Being a lady,

I can't tell you just
exactly what is going to pop

at this moment.

- Keep your chin up.

Remember, this is for Tim.

Play along with me.

- Okay, Mike.

You wanted to see me?

- What do you mean letting
people walk in and out

of my private office?

This is not Grand
Central Station.

- He followed you in and

there was nothing I
could do about it.

- Would it be expecting too
much to ask you who he is?

- [Minerva] Michael
Shayne, private detective.

- A private detective?

- I understand Timothy
Rourke sent for him

just before he was shot.

Will that be all?

- Yes, you may go.

So that's why he was
snooping around here,

trying to worry me.

These private detectives
are all a bunch of phonies.

(intercom buzzes)

- Yes, Mr. Bronson?

- Get me Crestview-64728.

- Yes, sir.

(rotary phone dialing)

(telephone ringing)

- Hello, Brenner talking.

- Just a moment, please.

Mr. Bronson calling.

(intercom buzzes)

- Hello.

Hello, Brenner?

Yeah, Bronson talking.

Michael Shayne, a
private detective,

is trying to blackmail
me for 25,000.

- Yeah?

Play along with him.

I know how to
handle those babies.

- All right.

All right, I'll do as you say.

You've gotten me
into a fine mess.

I can't afford a scandal!

(door clicks open)

Miss Higgins, run an ad
in the personal column

of today's paper.

Just the two words: Yes Colt.

- Yes Colt.

Yes, sir.

(paper rustling)

(car horn honks nearby)

(payphone dings)

(rotary phone dialing)

(telephone rings)

- Hello, Walter
Bronson speaking.

- If you're interested in
buying a .32 Colt automatic,

serial number 421-893,

before the police
run a ballistic test,
listen carefully.

I won't repeat and don't
bother to have the call traced.

I'm calling from a
public phone booth.

(knocking at door)

(gentle music)

- Well, what do you want?

Back for round two?

- I came to apologize
for last night.

- Skip it.

Come on in and sit down.

- I can only stay a minute.

(gentle music)

- Will you have a cup of coffee?

- No, thanks.

- You know, Mike Shayne,

he must be quite a guy.

- Oh, he is.

And in my opinion, he's the
best detective in the world.

- (chuckles) Well, he's
not a nice playmate

if you have a guilty conscience.

You better not try
any two-timing.

- Don't worry, I won't.

By the way, I'm not
familiar with this town.

Could you recommend
a good beauty shop?

- Well, I always
go to Madame Renee.

I'll give you her card.

(gentle music)

I've always been
satisfied with her work.

- Thanks a million.

- Have they any line on
who might've killed Madge?

- Not that I know of.

They can't seem to find
a motive for the murder.

- Maybe she stepped out with
some other woman's husband.

Those things happen.

- That man, Dilly Smith.

He said he had
trouble with his wife.

Do you suppose...

- Oh, I don't think so.

Dilly wasn't
interested in Madge.

(door bangs shut)

- I saw Bronson leave.

Did you get anything?

- I don't like doing
this sort of thing.

It's like peeking
through a keyhole.

- Oh, so Bronson
thinks I'm the one

who's trying to blackmail him.

- Well, for a while,
Michael Shayne,

I had my doubts about you, too.

- Oh, everyone has his
doubts about me now and then.

Even Phyllis. (chuckles)

Dilly Smith has a .32
Cold automatic to sell.

Get me Chief of Police Will
Gentry on the phone, will you?

(rotary phone dialing)

- Chief of Police
Gentry, please.

Michael Shayne calling.

(telephone rings)

- Hello.

- Just a moment.

- Hello, Will.

We can start to roll.

Pick up Dilly Smith and

turn him over to Pete
Rafferty's department.

Have them check
the serial number

and run a ballistics test on
the gun they'll find on him.

Check it against the slug
they took out of Tim.

- Okay, Mike.

But how about breaking
down and telling me

what this is all about?

- Oh, it's just as well

you don't know too
much at the moment.

Get me Pete Rafferty, will ya?

- Okay.

(clicking telephone)

Switch this call
over to Rafferty.

- Shayne burns me up
more than anyone I know.

I'd give him a thousand
dollars if I could get him

in a spot he couldn't
wiggle out of.

(telephone rings)

Hello, Rafferty speaking.

- (faking accent)
Hello, Rafferty.

I got a hot tip for you.

That private eye, Mike
Shayne, is on his way

to the 300 block on Mariposa.

He's up to no good.

If you're smart, you'll put
a prowl car on his tail.

- Who's speaking?

Hello?

Hello!

Come on.

- I would certainly never
make a good detective.

I'm too sane.

- Oh, you don't
have to be crazy.

But it helps a lot.

(both laugh)

Thanks a lot, Minerva.

You did your good
deed for the day.

These directions are very clear.

(dramatic music)

- Hope he didn't beat us here.

(dramatic music)

There he is.

(playful music)

Wait a minute.

Wait a minute, he's slowing up.

(dramatic music)

All right, tail him.

(dramatic music)

(guns firing)

Hold it, you!

(dramatic music)

All right, put 'em in the car!

- Nice work, Pete.

Lucky for me you happened along.

- Hey, what's going on?

I don't get all this.

- Well, you saw 'em
shoot at me, didn't you?

- Sure, I saw him, but
I still don't get it.

- I was driving peacefully along

and he deliberately
ran me into the curb.

- If you were so peaceful,

what were you doing
with those two thugs

in the back of your car?

- [Pete] Yeah, how about that?

- Well, Shayne was trying
to blackmail me, I...

I had them along for protection.

- Oh, well, that's different.

Well, now we're
getting somewhere.

Shayne, it looks like you
finally stuck your neck out.

- Don't you think we'd
better talk this over

down at headquarters?

- And maybe you think
we won't? (laughs)

You fellas drive straight to
headquarters and I'll tail ya.

- Shayne, can't we talk
this over privately?

I'll get you the money.

- We'll talk for the record.

You and your pals are in
this thing up to your neck.

You heard what Rafferty
said, let's get going.

(dramatic music)

- Sit down.

All right, Shayne,
let's have it.

Start talking.

- Let's talk for the record.

- All right, any way you like.

We always try to be obliging.

Hey, get a stenographer.

- I understand some of
your men picked up a fellow

named Dilly Smith.

- They did?

I mean, what if they did?

- Well, he had a gun on him.

Might be interesting to know
the results of the tests

they ran on it.

- Ballistics.

Say, they found a gun on
a guy named Dilly Smith.

Give me a report on that test.

I don't know how
you know so much

about what goes on
in my department.

Yeah, go ahead.

Yeah.

Yeah.

I don't know how you
guessed it, Shayne,

but Rourke was
shot with that gun.

- I'm always a jump or
two ahead of you, Pete.

You ought to know
that by this time.

Have a peanut.

- No.

(peanut clatters)

What do you got to say
about this, Bronson?

- About what?

- About Rourke being
shot with a gun

registered in your name?

- Well, I...

- I'll bet you tried to
double-cross your accomplice,

Dilly Smith.

And he phoned in
the tip about you.

- Somebody phone in a tip?

- Well, why do you suppose
I was on your tail?

- Oh, I thought it was
because you liked me

and didn't want to
see me get hurt.

Hey, uh, Pete,

would you send somebody
out for some more peanuts?

- Yeah.

If you'd like it
soaked in poison.

You're in a tough spot.

You better tell the truth

and not try to cover
up for anybody.

You knew that gun was red hot.

Now, tell us how it came
to be in your possession.

- Okay, I'll tell you the truth.

I found that gun
outside the apartment

where the reporter was
shot Tuesday night.

I saw you drop it, Mr. Bronson,

when you came out
the side entrance

with that blonde dame
and got in your car.

- That's an outrageous lie!

- Shut up, Bronson.

Go ahead.

- Well, I picked up the gun
and took the license number

of the car.

I didn't know what
it was all about

until I read in the
papers the next day

that the reporter had been shot.

- So you decided to keep the gun

and blackmail Mr. Bronson, huh?

- That's right.

Oh, I know I can do
a stretch for that,

but it's better than being
mixed up in a murder rap.

- And, uh...

How does Mr. Shayne
figure in all this?

- Him?

I've never seen him before.

- The man's obviously trying

to protect Shayne
for some reason.

I was not near
Rourke's apartment.

- You started for there.

And in no very
friendly frame of mind.

I checked the time
you left the office.

You didn't get home
until quite late.

- Must I account for
every minute of my time?

- Might not be a bad idea.

Especially in view of the
fact that Mrs. Bronson

showed such a friendly
interest in Tim.

- I will not submit
to having my wife

insulted in this manner!

And I'll hold you responsible
if you allow it to proceed.

- Mrs. Bronson is a blonde.

And a very attractive
blonde was seen

going in the side entrance
to Tim's apartment.

- Does that prove anything?

- Not necessarily.

Why don't you ask
Mrs. Bronson to prove

that her fingerprints
don't match those

of the woman who had a drink
with Tim the night he was shot?

- She's my wife, I...

I wanted to protect her.

- You mean you found your
wife in Rourke's apartment?

- Yes.

I was very angry with Rourke

over the story he sneaked into
the paper without my okay.

There was no one in the
lobby when I arrived.

I knew the number of the
apartment, so I went right up.

(tense music)

(door slams)

(tense music)

(Mrs. Bronson crying)

Muriel.

Good heavens, what
are you doing here?

What's happened?

- I didn't do it, Walter.

I swear I didn't do it!

- But why are you here?

- I liked him.

I wanted to persuade him to
give up that foolish crusade

and keep his job with you.

- Who shot him?

- I don't know.

I started into the kitchen and
was struck a blow on the head

that knocked me unconscious.

And then I found him
like this. (sobs)

- We've got to get out of here.

(dramatic music)

It was a horrible situation
and I couldn't think clearly.

I didn't know whether
Rourke was alive or dead.

My only thought was to
get her out of there

without being seen.

I didn't dare risk taking
her through the lobby,

so we slipped out
the side entrance.

I didn't know that she'd
taken my pistol with her

until we returned home.

Then she discovered that it
had disappeared from her purse.

- Did you believe her story?

- Why, certainly.

- You mean you
wanted to believe it.

You were afraid
she was the blonde

that committed
those other murders.

- That isn't true.

I'm interested in the
gambling syndicate,

but I wouldn't
countenance murder.

- What about your plan
to have me bumped off?

- That was Brenner's idea.

- Well, you see, Pete?

We opened up the laundry bag
and found a lot of dirty linen.

Now, what about that
blonde wife of yours?

- Well, what about her?

- She's the woman who
searched Tim's apartment.

- Well, that's news to me.

Maybe she was two-timing me and

he had some letters
she wanted back.

- Maybe that's why you were
hanging around the apartment

the night you say you saw
Bronson drop the gun--

- Look, I don't know
what she's been doing.

She walked out on
me four days ago.

If you don't believe me,
check with my apartment.

- I have.

Oh, hello, angel.

Any luck?

- Well, I guess we've
got this case in the bag.

I'll have them pick
up Mrs. Bronson.

She was the last one
to see Rourke alive

and she had the pistol with her.

Arrest these two men.

Bronson was an accomplice or
an accessory after the fact.

Smith was a material witness
and a confessed blackmailer.

Well, the newspaper boys have
been clamoring for a story.

I'll give 'em a story so hot

it'll make their
hair curl. (laughs)

- Uh, you know,
Pete, if I were you,

I don't believe I'd break
that story just yet.

- Huh?

Why not?

Hey, are you trying to fix it

so you get a payoff out of this?

- Oh, Pete, you hurt me.

You're so suspicious.

- Well, I've got a
right to be suspicious.

I would have dug up
all this stuff myself.

- Of course you would have.

It's just, I think
there's one more angle

we might check into.

- Well, all right.

I'll go along with you.

But don't try to make
a monkey out of me!

- What, and share my peanuts?

- Oh!

(knocking at door)

- Hello, Mike.

Oh, I see you
brought a chaperone.

- Yeah, a couple of 'em.

- Well?

What do we do now?

Play games?

- No, Helen.

We're all through playing games.

- What did you
mean by that crack?

- Murder isn't a game.

We want the blonde who
murdered three men,

Madge Rankin, and
shot Tim Rourke.

- Do I look like a blonde?

- Not now.

But you gave Phyllis the
name of the hairdresser

who dyed your hair
from blonde to brunette

when things got too hot for you.

- Well, is it a crime for a
woman to have her hair dyed?

I thought you were
a regular guy, Mike.

I didn't think you'd try to
pull a dirty frame like this.

- You left a fingerprint on
the card you gave Phyllis.

It matched that of the woman
who searched Tim's apartment.

And by the way, also
that of Mrs. Dilly Smith.

Dilly's down at headquarters now

and he's being very cooperative.

- None of that proves that
I committed any murders.

(Helen crashes)

- (sighs) I've been wanting
to do that for a long time.

Ever since the other night.

- You know, if you ever
get a cauliflower ear,

don't look to me for sympathy.

- Don't worry, I won't.

I dish 'em out,
I don't take 'em.

- Ah, this is for you, Petey.

- Well, I guess we got the
murder weapon, all right.

- All right, wise guy.

Run a ballistic on that gun.

It hasn't been fired in years.

- You know that you
were pretty smart

when you threw away the old
barrel after each murder

and slipped in a new one.

But you didn't know that a
gun leaves a distinctive mark

on the ejected shell as
well as on the bullet.

You should've picked
up your empty shells.

(Pete exclaims)

- Oh, take it
easy, take it easy!

She's not going to get away.

You got a man out in back.

- You know, I can
understand the rest of it,

but why'd she
murder Madge Rankin?

- I don't know.

Maybe she got wise to the setup

and threatened to
blow the lid off

if they didn't cut her in.

- You're right, Shayne.

She knew too much.

- You might have gotten
away with it, too,

if you hadn't slipped a
new barrel in Bronson's gun

and tried for blackmail.

- That was Dilly's idea.

Should've got rid of him, too.

- Well, I hope this winds it up.

I'm getting dizzy.

Come on.

- Sure good to see you with
your eyes open again, Tim.

- Ah, there's a lot of
life left in the old hulk.

- I must ask you to leave.

You were only supposed
to stay a minute.

- Okay, beautiful.

We'll stick around
town for a while, Tim,

drop in now and then.

See ya.

- Hey, Tim, notice anything
strange about Mike?

- [Tim] No, what?

- This is the first time
he ever got through a case

without being laid
out like a rug.

- Listen, let me
tell you one thing.

Nobody lays Mike
Shayne out like a rug.

(door bangs)

(playful music)

- Get me the admission desk.

Send another bed up to Room 216.

Up in OS by Jaf - 22/02/2024