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Radio-play Transcript
The Adventures of Inspector
Stagg
"A Window Into the Soul"
Transcribed & Edited by
E.O. Costello
| National
Broadcasting Company transcription "The Adventures of Inspector Stagg" East Coast broadcast Saturday, July 2, 1938, 1830 Gnu York time over the Red Network [GRAMS: Train bell] Announcer: Ladies and Gentlefurs, that bell means comfort and convenience, the kind of comfort and convenience you can always find along the thousands of miles served by the Interstate Public Service Company. But this bell... [GRAMS: Telephone bell] Announcer: That ringing telephone bell means mystery! Adventure! [GRAMS: Telephone bell, then telephone being answered] Det. Sergeant Orrin F.X. Brush: Constab'l'ry 'tective Bureah, Sergeant Brush speakin'...yeah...yeah...when dat happen...oh, hey, that's fast work...what's it look like...yeah, somethin' like dat, ain't no question...yeah, all right...yeah, he's here, me 'n him will get right on it, sure. [GRAMS: Telephone being hung up] Det. Inspector Franklin J. Stagg: Who was that, Sergeant? Brush: Const'ble over onna Casino Island beat. Up at th' Grand Hotel. Seems they gots a problem wit' a cheetah over dere. Stagg: Oh? What kind of problem? Brush: Way I heard it, th' cheetah's problem is dat he's gotta spot in th' middle of his back. A big, red one... [MUSIC: Opening bars of Saint-Saens' "Danse Macabre"] Announcer: Interstate Public Service Company presents "The Adventures of Inspector Stagg," based on the characters created by E.O. Costello and M. Mitchell Marmel. [Music fades down] Announcer: Now that summer's here, millions of Americans are eager to get away for a few weeks of relaxation. But getting away can be a problem. There's the problem of getting things packed away, there's the problem of getting the car gassed up, and there's the problem that thousands of other people are doing exactly what you're doing, and when you're doing it. And finding a hotel or motel room along the way can take a lot of worry. By the time you get to where you're going, you're hot, tired, and in no mood to have fun. Put all of your worries behind you. Let Interstate Public Service take care of bringing you and your family to the beach, or the mountains, or the parks this summer. In thirty-two states and two Canadian provinces, the trains of Interstate Public Service stand ready to whisk you away. Relax in our brand-new air conditioned cars. Enjoy a tasty and inexpensive meal in our newly refurbished dining cars. And if you're on a long trip, you can turn in for a sound night's sleep in a sleeping car. No matter when or where you travel, you can always be assured that you'll arrive fresh, and in the mood to get out there and play. So remember, for summer fun, go rested, go relaxed...go Interstate! [Music bridge] Announcer: Detective Inspector Franklin J. Stagg was once the Chief of the New Haven State Police, until a revolution broke out there, destroying everything he had, including his wife and doe-fawns, hung by the cruel executioners of the new regime. Stagg escaped, but was forced to start his life all over again in the far away Spontoon Islands of the North Pacific. Helped by his trusty assistant, Detective Sergeant Orrin Brush, Inspector Stagg works to overcome his tragic past by doing what he does best...fighting crime and bringing evildoers to justice! Tonight's story is called..."A Window Into the Soul." [Brief musical bridge] [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine footpads on gravel] Brush: It wuz onea them hot days we gets 'round here in th' Spontoons, 'round 'bout this timea year. Me, I grew up 'round here, don't affect me none. But th' Inspector, he don't take heat good. Them bums back in New Haven, they worked him over real good, busted his hoof, an' did things t'his fur'n all. Bottom line, he don't feel too good in dis kinda weather. [GRAMS: Sound of walking stick, irregular step of cervine hooves on gravel] Brush: So it didn't s'prise me none dat Stagg wuldn't movin' too fast. Even wit' th' water-taxi over from Meetin' t'Casino, th' heat wuz gettin' t'him. [GRAMS: Heavy breathing, gulping] Brush: Y'wanna stop a minnit, sir? Stagg: No, no thank you. The sooner we get indoors, though, the better. Brush: Th' desk clerk of th' Grand, he said he'd meet us in th' hotel bar. Bit cooler in dere, I t'ink. Stagg: I appreciate that. We might be able to ask some initial questions of him there. Did you bring the camera and a Murder Box? Brush: Got th' camera right here, sir. Murder Box, there's one bein' brought over from th' Casino Island station. Const'ble will have it dere fer us. Stagg: Well, that's good. Ugh, blast this heat, anyway. [GRAMS: Sound of walking stick, irregular step of cervine hooves on gravel] Brush: Yeah, it was a scorcher, all right. Even yers truly was kinda happy t'get outta th' heat. [GRAMS: Sound of door opening, clinks of glasses and subdued talk] Brush: Th' bar at th' Grand wuz doin' a pretty good bizness servin' up cold stuff. Me 'n th' Inspector, we got ourselfs a glassa water each. Lotta ice, betcher life. Anyhoo, in comes onea th' flunkies that runs th' joint, a lil' mouse. He don't look real happy, but then 'gain, I ain't gotta body lyin' aroun' coolin' off in onea my rooms, neither. Assistant Manager (rather softly): Thank you very much for coming, sirs. This has been most distressing. The management, it does not like... Brush: Yeah, sure, who wants dat kinda t'ing, hanh? Don't look so good in th' brochures. Hot 'n cold runnin' bodies in each room. Stagg: Thank you, Sergeant, that will do for now. Perhaps you could tell me, sir, what has happened. If it's not too much trouble, perhaps you could tell it to the Sergeant and myself right here. Um...after another glass of water, perhaps? Assistant Manager: But of course, Inspector. [GRAMS: Sound of paws clapping softly] Assistant Manager: Waiter! A pitcher of ice water for the Inspector, please... [Brief musical bridge] Brush: Anyhoo, givin' th' quiz t'th' flunkie wuz good fer th' Inspector. Few glasses of wadder, he wuz lookin' a bit better. Th' flunkie spilled it fer us. Seems th' joint had had a paira cheetahs stayin' here. A Mr. and Mrs. Spotteswoode. They sure weren't on no honeymoon, neither. Gettin' kinda loud an' personal-like at each other. Not wit' each other, at each other. Stagg: How bad were the altercations? Assistant Manager: Well, at one point, we had to call in Dr. Meffit... Brush: That's Doctor James Meffit t'th' likes a me an' you. High society doc 'round these parts, has th' lock on all th' high end pill-rollin' round here. Which includes th' folks stayin' at th' more posh joints. Also doubles in brass as th' medical examiner, which wuz how we wuz gonna be seein' him real soon. Stagg: And this was...? Assistant Manager: About two nights ago, Inspector. Things were relatively quiet last night. The desk clerk saw Mrs. Spotteswoode leaving the hotel at approximately 10.30 this morning. Mr. Spotteswoode called down to the kitchen approximately a half-hour later, to order lunch delivered to the suite. A roast beef and cheese sandwich, and a bottle of Nootnops Red. The lunch was delivered at approximately a quarter past eleven, but the kitchen got a call a few minutes later. Brush: What, th' Nootnops weren't th' right vintage? Or wuz it corked? Assistant Manager: Well, Sergeant, he did complain about the meal. He said that the sandwich was cold and the Nootnops warm, and he demanded that the meal be taken away, and a fresh meal to his order brought. Stagg: And this was done? Assistant Manager: Oh, yes, sir. We took a champagne bucket and filled it with ice, and took a fresh bottle of Nootnops and iced it. We also toasted the bread and grilled the meat, to make sure the sandwich was quite hot. Stagg: And this new meal was delivered when? Assistant Manager: Just after 11.30, Inspector. Stagg: I see. The sandwich didn't get cold? Assistant Manager: Oh, no, Inspector. The Spotteswoodes' suite is on the second floor, you see. Room 209. Stagg: Ah, I see. And then what happened? Assistant Manager: I was just preparing to end my shift, about ten to noon, and I was talking things over with my relief, when I could hear two sharp banging noises from overhead. Almost immediately, we received a telephoned complaint from the guest in room 207 that she had heard two gunshots from the room next door. I hurried upstairs immediately, of course. Stagg: How long did it take you to get up to room 209? Assistant Manager: I would say no more than two minutes, Inspector. I took the stairs, you see. In any event, the main door to the suite was locked, but I unlocked it with my passkey. The main room in the suite was empty. I checked the bedroom and the bathroom, but both were empty. That left the solarium. Brush: Th' what, now? Assistant Manager: That is a smaller, additional room in some of our suites, Sergeant. Our guests use it for reading or writing when the main room is occupied. Stagg: So you entered the solarium? Assistant Manager: Not immediately, Inspector. It, too, was locked, but I was able to use my passkey. However, there was something jammed against the door from the inside, and a room service waiter and I had to push against the door, hard, to move it. It turned out to be a chair. I suppose it had been placed under the doorknob. I could see Mr. Spotteswoode slumped against the desk, and there was a large, red stain on the back of his jacket. That's when the waiter and I left the room. He guarded the room while I telephoned your office. Brush: So, ain't nothin' been touched? Assistant Manager: No, sir. Would you like to go upstairs, now? Stagg: Yes, I think we're ready. Is the waiter still there? Assistant Manager: Yes, along with one of your constables. [Brief musical bridge] Brush: Th' waiter told us a few t'ings. He'd been th' one that had served up the dead guy's lunch. Waiter: Surly so-and-so he was, too. Lookin' around, makin' sure no one was behind me. Maybe he didn't want to tip two people. Heck, he didn't tip one, either. Stagg: But you delivered the champagne bucket containing the bottle of Nootnops, and the dish... Waiter: Yeah. Just grabbed the tray, went back into the solarium, and slammed the door, locking it. All alone with his nice, hot sandwich. China dish with a silver food dome on top. The kitchen had even heated the plate, too. Not that he noticed. 'course, he's a bit past noticing, now... Brush: He wasn't kiddin', neither. I collected th' camera an' Murder Box from th' constable, an' me 'n th' Inspector, we looks in on th' solarawhatsit. It wuz a smallish kinda room, facin' west. Th' afternoon sun wuz comin' in t'ru th' winder, so I guesses that's how it gots its name. Slightly busted chair just inside th' door. Th' featured 'traction was a dead mel cheetah, kinda sprawled over th' writin' desk. Nasty red splotch all over th' back of his jacket. That's one spot that cheetah ain't gonna be changin', neither. Stagg: Hmmm. Look over by the window, Sergeant. Right under it. Brush: I looks. Sittin' real pretty unner th' window wuz a cute lil' pearl-handled .32 revolver. A dame's gun. I starts takin' a bunch of pictures of dat, while th' Inspector looks over th' body. [GRAMS: Sounds of camera shutter clicking, three times] Brush: He got any other marks onnim? Stagg: He has what looks like some iodine on his face. That's probably from his altercation a few nights ago. But the only obvious wound he has is in the back. Curious, though. Brush: Wazzat? Stagg: I'm looking around at the walls, here, and I don't see bullets or the like. Mr. Spotteswoode appears to have only one wound, and judging from the way he's slumped, there's no exit wound. But there's nothing to indicate a second bullet. No gouge in the wall or such... Brush: Hunh. The flunkie said there wuz two shots. I gots a few good happy snaps of th' gun, you want I should have a closer squint addit? Stagg: Certainly, Sergeant, what do you see? [GRAMS: Sound of revolver being broken open.] Brush: Hunh. Weird. Stagg: What's that? Brush: One spent cartridge, five live ones. [GRAMS: Sniffing sound] Brush: Yeah, this gun's been fired recent, too. Stagg: Odd, indeed. You'd better take some pictures of the body, so we can be ready when Doctor Meffit gets here. Brush: I shoots a whole lotta film all 'round th' joint, when th' Doc shows up, wit' a pair of big, strong guys. Didn't wanna do no liftin', not wit' his striped trousers an' jacket an' all. High-society docs don't do dat sorta t'ing, see? Anyhoo, he gets th' muscle boys t' move th' body, an' he has a few once overs onnit. Stagg: What strikes you about the body, Doctor? Meffit: You mean other than his surprised expression, Inspector? Stagg (chuckles softly): Well, yes. Meffit: One bullet, through the back. Probably hit the aorta just above the heart, with all this blood about. Death was probably very quick, I suspect. Not immediate, but quite quick. Stagg: Can you tell me anything about the range? Meffit: Hmmmmmm. No obvious powder marks on the back of the jacket. I'll test for that back at the shop, then? Stagg: Please do, Doctor. I'm told you saw this gentlefur a few nights ago. Meffit: Oh, indeed. Disgraceful, really. Got into a bit of a brawl with his wife. She got him with her claws across his face, as you can see. No stitches, mind you. He ducked just in time, but there was a great deal of blood about. Brush: Lotta it bad, I betcha. Meffit: Indeed, Sergeant. The late Mr. Spotteswoode had told me that his wife was a very emotional femme. Obviously not the first time they had come to blows. Anything else I should test for? I'm told he had lunch shortly before he died. [GRAMS: Sound of silver food dome being lifted] Brush: Sheesh. Lookit this. All that yowlin' over his lunch, an' he didn't even touch it. Stagg: Indeed? Brush: I shows th' Inspector an' th' Doc. Bottle ain't been touched, still had its cap on. Sammich didn't look touched, neither. No bites or nothin'. Stagg: Roll the late Mr. Spotteswoode for prints, Doctor. We can compare them to what Sergeant Brush and I find in the room... [Short musical bridge] Brush: Not a whole lot, really. Stagg finds two t'ings on th' desk. One wuz a note dat th' stiff wuz writin' when he got whacked. Last few lines wuz smudged pretty good, but... Stagg: The note is addressed to Mrs. Spotteswoode. Or, I should say, now the Widow Spotteswoode. Quite crisp in his denunciations, I see. Mostly revolving around this other document... Brush: Dat other t'ing wuz an insurance pol'cy. Few weeks old. Gist of th' note wuz dat the dame had upped th' insurance amount. Way upped it. An' didn't tell her hubby none, neither. Brush (long, low whistle): Phew. Twenny-five long in case o' death. Nice work if ya kin geddit. Stagg: It would appear the late Mr. Spotteswoode had taken exception to the amount placed on his life. He obviously drew some conclusions. Brush: Yeah, like he wuz wort' more at room temp, hanh? Stagg: A rather brusque way of putting it, Sergeant, and...hmm. Pardon me, Sergeant. [GRAMS: Sound of irregular step across carpet.] Brush: Th' Inspector limps over, an' points adda busted pencil, lyin' 'bout mebbe six feet from where I seen th' gun. Took some snaps, an' then popped it inna bag, an' had a look-see. Stagg: Hmmm. About one half of a marking pencil. Broken rather sharply in half. Brush: Hey. There's annuder chunk, here. Stagg: Yes. Same pencil. It's the same colour and all. Odd. Why is it damp? Brush: Carpet unner it is damp. Lil' spot. Stagg: Curious. Where would that come from? The carpet is soaked, but only in a small spot. There's no leak in the ceiling. Sergeant, has it rained today? Brush: You kiddin'? We could use some. Stagg: Well, then, why is part of the window ledge damp? See, there's a few pools of water...there, there and there. And another damp spot just to the left of the window. Brush: I looks. Yeah, he wuz right. Didn't see it when I wuz lookin' at th' heater. Took a few snaps of dat. Then I opened th' winder... [GRAMS: Sound of window trying to be pushed up.] Brush: Or tried to, anyhoo. Stagg: Locked? Or stuck? Brush: Lessee. Locked. I takes a pawkerchief, an' clicks th' lock. [GRAMS: Sound of lock latch being clicked.] Brush: So, take two. [GRAMS: Sliding sound of window being opened up.] Brush: An' quickly finds out I needs take t'ree. [GRAMS: Rapid sliding sound of window falling.] Brush: Hey! I catches it, just 'fore it goes smackin' inta th' ledge, an' I lets it down, easy. An' tries again. [GRAMS: Sliding sound of window being opened up, then rapid sliding sound of window falling, then sound of Brush grunting.] Brush: Gah. Stupid winder. It's busted-like. Figger a good joint like dis wouldn't have no busted winder, wouldja? Stagg: Well, hold it open, Sergeant, for a minute or so...hmmm. You can see one...no, two spots of damp there, on the outside, where the dirt on the ledge has been disturbed... [GRAMS: Two sounds of camera shutter clicking] Stagg: Hmmm. Quite a way down, too. Probably fifteen feet or so. And no building for many feet opposite. Brush: Yeah, but th' glass in th' winder ain't busted none. How's somefur gonna shoot in, wit' th' winder slammin' down like dis? [GRAMS: Window closing shut, faint clicking sound heard] Brush: Oh, well, ain't dat nice. Self-lockin' winder. Stagg: Yes, well and truly broken, that. Brush: Sir? I don't geddit. Stagg: What do you mean, Sergeant? Brush: We gotta stiff in th' room, see? Door's locked, *an'* there's a chair bracin' it. We gots a winder ya can't keep open, an' its locked. So how'd the stiff get t'be a stiff? Stagg: Yes, a "locked room" puzzle, Sergeant. One where there's no obvious way for the murder to have committed the crime and either come in or leave. Brush: So, howya solve onea dem cases? Stagg: It's like perpetual motion machines, Sergeant. Brush: Hanh? Ain't no such t'ing. Stagg: Exactly, Sergeant. I had a case...well, a number of years ago. A rather clever fur tried to sell the government a perpetual motion machine. It seemed to work, but one of the ministry officials was of a cynical mind, and asked me to look into the matter. The inventor wouldn't let anyone touch the machine, of course. So I had him run it, at full speed, for about a week. Eventually, of course, the machine wound down and stopped. Brush (chuckling): What wuz th' gag? Stagg: Compressed air cylinder, a small one, hidden inside the casing. Sent a small puff of air to keep things going. But not, of course, forever. Needless to say, the ministry did not buy the plans. Brush: So, ya figger t'ings ain't what dey seems, here? Stagg: To be sure, Sergeant. You're quite correct, things look decidedly queer here. I think your gut instinct is right. Perhaps we'll know more after we talk with the merry widow, hmmm? [Musical bridge] Brush: Th' desk clerk gives us th' low-down on what dis cheetah dame looks like. Streamlined number in blonde head-fur, dey tells us. Dame like dat, dat ain't gonna be no hard job fer a const'ble t'locate. An' it wuldn't. A uniform spots our lil' kittie shakin' her dice at th' Sun King Casino, so we heads on over. [GRAMS: Background noise of casino, chips, roulette wheel, subdued crowd voices] Casino official: We have detained the lady in a side room for you, Inspector. Do you need anything else? Brush: Th' Inspect'r t'inks fer a few secs. Stagg: If you please, could I have a pitcher of water -- no ice -- and three glasses? Casino official: Certainly, Inspector. Right away. [Crowd noise fades away] [GRAMS: Opening and closing of door] Brush: Th' dame's in dere all right. Pacin' back an' fort', lookin' fit t'be tied. Clerk wuldn't foolin' none wit' th' description. Shortish blonde hairfur. Cold-lookin' blue eyes. Dressed real nice. Lady-like by 'bout two inches in all th' right places. Don't t'ink she wuz in th' mood fer no compliments, tho. Spotteswoode: S'matter, you jerks don't like a lady getting hot with the dice? Stagg: I'm sorry, Mrs. Spotteswoode, but we do not work for the casino. Spotteswoode: What, are you free-lance thugs, then? Stagg: No, ma'am. I am Detective Inspector Stagg, and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Brush. We are with the Spontoon Islands Constabulary. Spotteswoode: So. How many boxtops did that badge run you? Brush: Yeah, but I gots a decoder ring wit' mine. Now siddown. We gots a few questions fer ya. [GRAMS: Sounds of three chairs scraping over the floor] Spotteswoode: Look, I dunno what game you're playing, but I'm on the level out there... Stagg: This doesn't concern that, ma'am. This concerns your husband. [GRAMS: Sound of cigarette lighter, and smoke being exhaled] Spotteswoode: What about him? Is he mewling over that tiff we had a few nights ago? What a kitten. I could show you a few places where he's had his claws out. Not that I'm going to. Brush: Naw, he's a lil' past mewlin' right now, see? On accounta he's dead. [Very brief musical bridge] Brush: Th' dame wuz a lot colder than th' wadder dat some fur brought inta... [GRAMS: Sound of tray of glasses and pitcher being set down on table] Brush: Gives her a break, but I sees a paw shakin' a bit wit' th' cigarette. Yeah, she's shook up a bit. Spotteswoode (a bit subdued): So. When did this happen? Brush: T'day. Spotteswoode: I can guess that, flatfoot. Can you narrow it down a bit? Brush: I looks at th' Inspect'r. He pours t'ree glasses, one fer each of us. I takes th' hint. Brush: Well, y'know, we're tryin'-like t'get some times fixed, y'know? Like, mebbe, yours. Spotteswoode: Do tell. Brush: Where wuz ya t'day? Spotteswoode: Spontoon Islands. You want me to narrow it down a bit? Brush: Well, ain't you helpful. Spotteswoode: Ain't I, though? Brush: Whendja leave yer hubby? Spotteswoode: About ten thirty or so. Brush: Wherdja go? Spotteswoode: Out. Brush: Out? Spotteswoode: Yeah, it's my nanny's day off. Brush: Cut th' comedy, sister. Or I might start gettin' ideas. Spotteswoode: What with, flatfoot? And how come your pal with the hatrack isn't talking? What, is he the strong, silent type? Brush: Listen t'me, wouldja? You own a gun? Spotteswoode: Yeah, a tommy gun. I have a holster strapped to my thigh. Brush: We can do this easy, or we can do this hard, sister. Spill it. Spotteswoode: If you insist. [GRAMS: Sound of glass being picked up, and water splashed.] Brush: Th' dame gives me a shower-like, t'anks t'th' glass of wadder my boss gave her. I'm itchin' t'give her a dosea Headache Maker onner bonce, but Stagg holds my arm. Th' dame curls her lip at me... Spotteswoode: Canines. Brush: ...and slides on out. [GRAMS: Door opening, door closing with a bang.] Brush: Well, I'll be a... Stagg: Nicely done, Sergeant. Thank you. Brush: Whuh? Aw, now don't start... Stagg: I'm not, Sergeant. I got what I wanted from this interview. Brush: You wha? Stagg: Number one, a clear indication that Mrs. Spotteswoode did, in fact, have an altercation with her mate a few nights ago. Number two, another clear indication that there were ill-feelings between the two. Number three, that she is a very cool, calculating feline. You saw how she handled the news of her mate's death. Number four, and most important, she gave us her right paw print. Brush: That last point t'rew me, until I looks at th' table. One empty water glass. Stagg hands me his pawkerchief. Stagg: My apologies, Sergeant. But I had every confidence Mrs. Spotteswoode would take a dislike to you, with the obvious result. Bag the glass, Sergeant, and we'll lift it for prints back at the office, along with the gun... [Musical bridge] Brush: I gets goin' wit' th' powder back at th' office. Surest t'ing you knows, a nice paw-print set on th' glass. Bit more surprisin': th' gun has a set of paw-prints onnit. An' guess what. Th' two sets match. [GRAMS: Telephone rings twice, sound of telephone being picked up.] Stagg: Constabulary Detective Bureau, this is Inspector Stagg speaking...ah, good afternoon, Doctor...yes, I see. Hmmm, rather expected that. And that. Ah! So that is true, then. Hmmm. Very helpful, Doctor, thank you. If you wouldn't mind...ah, of course, thank you for expediting that. Yes, thank you again, Doctor, good-bye. [GRAMS: Sound of telephone being hung up.] Stagg: That was Doctor Meffit. Rather a nice little budget of information. No powder marks on the jacket, so the shot was fired from a little distance, at least. One bullet, and one bullet only, lodged in one of the ribs after bursting the aorta. Tests on the sandwich, by the way, indicated no obvious poisons, and the stomach contents were empty. Brush: Skipped breakfast, hanh? Stagg: So it would appear. I would imagine he would have been rather hungry by noon, wouldn't you? Brush: Mebbe it wuz why he wuz so cranky 'bout th' service. Stagg: Perhaps. In any event, the report is coming over, along with the bullet. If you have finished lifting the prints from the gun, send it, and the bullet, over to the lab to see if they can give us a match on the ballistics. Hopefully, that can be done rather quickly... Brush: It wuz. Doc Musine...he's our lab rat...he drops what he's doin', an' helps us out. Does th' whole routine wit' firin' th' gun inta th' sand an' such. An' guess what? Yep. It's a match. I'm likin' dis. Yeah, I'm likin' dis a whole lot. I volunteers t'go out an' bring in th' kittie fer a lil' close Q&A. Yeah, real close. Wit' toys, too. Aw, an' we hadda bust up her dinner, to, at that fancy-schmancy L'Etoile joint at Shepherd's. Mebbe she wuz celebratin'. Mebbe not. Too bad. [GRAMS: Sound of a struggle, then sound of a body being sat hard in a chair.] Spotteswoode: Lemme go, ya little gorilla, or I'll scratch your eyes out. Brush: Siddown an' shaddap. I gotta few questions fer ya. You own a gun? Spotteswoode: I told you before, cop, that... Brush: I'm askin' again. An' I ain't sayin' please. Now, ya kin tells me now, or we can find other ways of gettin' some info... Spotteswoode: What, you gonna smack me around some? Feh. I've had that before. Brush: Nah, I don't mix bizness wit' pleasure, see? I'm talkin' 'bout a few telegrams back home. Now, howzabout a straight answer? Ya gotta a gun? Spotteswoode: Okeh. Yeah, a .32. Brush: Where is it? Spotteswoode: My train case back at the hotel. Brush: You sure 'bout dat? Spotteswoode: Aw, skip the hide the ball routine. Brush: Okeh. [GRAMS: Sound of bagged gun being put on table.] Spotteswoode: Where'd you get that? Brush: Kinda funny, see? Just a few feet from where yer mate wuz found, dead wit' a bullet in his back. Spotteswoode: So? He knew I had the gun. He's the one that gave it to me. Brush: An' you sorta returned th' favour-like? Spotteswoode: Wh...what do you mean? Stagg: What Sergeant Brush is leading up to, Mrs. Spotteswoode, is that that is the gun that fired the fatal bullet. And it has your paw prints on it. Spotteswoode: How would you...oh...the glass. Brush: Yeeaaaaaaah. Th' glass. Yer lil' temper got th' best of ya, didn't it? May not have been the first time, hanh? Spotteswoode: But... Stagg: Where were you after 10.30 this morning, Mrs. Spotteswoode? Spotteswoode: I was out...I mean, walking around, window-shopping. Stagg: Did you purchase anything? Spotteswoode: N-no, I didn't. Stagg: How long did you window-shop, ma'am? Spotteswoode: Well, I...I guess about two hours or so, I went to the Sun King and had lunch around 12.30, 12.45, and then I went to the floor and shot some craps. Brush: Good at shootin', aintcha? Spotteswoode: Look, you can't...don't...there's no way you can pin this on me. Brush: Oh, no? Yer gun. Yer prints. An' no one t'say where ya wuz when yer mate got shot. Oh, yeah. An' the insurance... Spotteswoode: What about it? Brush: You fight wit' yer mate over that? Spoteswoode: Yes, but I...no, for God's sake, you can't think that I killed him. That's preposterous... Brush: I looks at my watch. It's about 9, an' I sees th' Inspect'r is gettin' sorta tired. Y'know, I'm gettin' soft in my old age. Bit younger, I'd be up all night, havin' a lil' Q&A witcha. I figger, tho, a lil' night on a hard bed'll do ya some good. Some anti-beauty sleep, toots. You do some t'inkin', kay? [Musical bridge] Brush: Lucky fer us, Stagg didn't need t'go far. Normally, he has a place few blocks away, down on Printer's Lane, a lil' room wit' no winders. But that ain't no place on a hot night like dis. But Luchow's, dat's just a few steps from the Constabl'ry HQ. Luchow's, see, is a diner joint. An' it's run by a cheetah. Only she ain't no sub-zero type like Spotteswoode. Naw, Rosie Baumgartner, th' dame dat runs th' joint, she's soft in gen'ral. An' when it comes t'Inspector Stagg, she's gotta real soft spot, iffen ya know what I means. [GRAMS: Quiet knock on door, then another quiet knock on the door.] Brush: Dinner, that's over 'bout eight-t'irty, tho th' coffee urn's up until 'bout eleven, wit' pie and sammiches 'till eleven, fer them gummint guys dat's werkin' late. All seven of 'em, an' dat's countin' me 'n th' Inspect'r. Anyhoo, it's Rosie herself dat sees us, an' she opens up fer us. [GRAMS: Door opening with small bell jangling.] Rosie Baumgartner: Good evening, Inspector. Good evening, Sergeant. Please, come in... [GRAMS: Door closing with small bell jangling, then the sounds of two sets of footpads, and one set of irregular hooves with walking stick, walking along the floor.] Rosie Baumgartner: Don't stay out here, Inspector. It's much cooler back in your room... [GRAMS: Door opening, three sets of walking as above, and sound of door opening, with faint whirr of fan.] Brush: Rosie's gotta room fer th' Inspector fer nights like dis. She knows he don't take th' heat so good, an' he needs all th' help he kin git. Nice room. Gotta desk fer him, a bookcase, a closet, an', perhaps real important-like tonight, a nice, soft bed wit' a fan blowin' on it. Dere's a bowl settin' in fronta th' fan, wit' water innit. Rosie points at th' bed, an' takes th' bowl. Rosie: Franklin, dear. Take off your jacket and hang it up. I'll get some more ice for the fan. Would you like something before you go home, Sergeant? Brush: Yeah, sure, t'anks. Any iced coffee in th' house? Rosie: Fresh pitcher for both of you. I'll bring it. Stagg: Ah. Here's the usual three shillings, then, Rosie. [GRAMS: Sound of coins clinking, then door opening and closing] Brush: Rosie sorta gives a smile. See, th' Inspector, he insists on payin' fer his food an' such. He don't want no trouble fer Rosie, see? But me, I seen what she does wit' th' dough he gives her. It don't go inta th' register, but inta th' poor box down th' street at St. Anthony's, his church. My boss, he keeps t'ings real quiet 'bout Rosie. So he t'inks. Kinda funny, since don't hardly no one ain't in th' know 'bout it. Ya seen it in his eyes, when she's round him. But she knows t'handle him real gentle-like. His whole t'ing, wit' his family an' all, whadda mess. Now see, dat's how Rosie, she's real different from dis Spotteswoode dame. I seen th' look in *her* eyes, just now, too. Yeah. Real different from dat dame. [GRAMS: Sound of shuffling hooves, then door opening and closing] Brush: Anyhoo, my boss goes out t' the W.C., an' changes inta some silk PJs. Better fer sleepin' in this kinda heat... [GRAMS: Sound of door opening, with shuffling hooves, footpads, and a slightly rattling tray.] Brush: ...an' he comes back. Rosie's got a tray in one paw, wit' th' iced coffee an' a bowl of ice onnit. Th' other paw is gentle-like leadin' th' Inspector inta th' room. He goes along like a good lil' fawn, an' then sits down on th' bed. Rosie puts th' bowl in fronta th' fan. It's gotta heap o' cubes innit, fer the fan t'blow over. Plus a few fer our drinks. I sits at the desk, while Rosie sits down inna chair a few feet from th' bed. Fer appearances, y'unnerstand. I sips at my drink. He, tho, he raises his glass, then stops, an' looks attit, th' glass, I means. Rosie: Something wrong, Franklin? Franklin? Stagg: Hmmm? Rosie: Something wrong with the iced coffee? Stagg: Eh? Oh, no, no. Just looking at the glass, that's all. We've had a few adventures with them today, as Sergeant Brush could tell you. Rosie: Ah! Well, the electrician came today and finished installing the Kube King. Brush: Whazzat? Rosie: The ice maker. It's like the ones the hotels have. Had to find a good place for it to hook up to the water, and to keep the noise down. Stagg: Er, noise? Rosie: Don't worry, Franklin. It's not near your room. No, just the noise from the cubes shifting in the bin. Anyway, it beats using an ice pick on a block of ice. Brush: Yeah, I'll bet. Th' Inspector, tho, he sorta sips at his drink, absent-like. Hard t'say what's on his mind when he's like dat. So I finishes my glass, an' t'anks Rosie. I leaves quiet-like, an' sez good-night t'th' on-duty waitfur out front, 'fore goin' home. [Musical bridge] Brush: I'm home, in bed, wit' my mate. It's 'round mebbe t'ree in th' mornin' when th' phone gives out, next t'th' bed. [GRAMS: Phone ringing once, then getting picked up in a fumbling manner] Brush: I gets a lotta practice answerin' it fast, so as not t'wake up Kiki. It's th' operator. M'yrt (via filtered microphone): Heyas, Orrin. Mister Stagg wants to talk to you. Ring you back at your den number? Brush: Yeah. Yeah, t'anks M'yrt. [GRAMS: Phone being hung up. Distant sound of phone ringing, then getting louder. Phone being picked up.] M'yrt (via filtered microphone): Here he is. Go ahead, Mister Stagg. Brush: Mornin', sir. Stagg (via filtered microphone): Good morning, Sergeant. I'm sorry to intrude at this hour, I... Brush: Ya been thinkin' 'bout our lil' cheetah dame? Stagg (filtered): Yes. Quite so. Have you a notebook handy? Brush: Always one here on th' desk, sir. Shoot. Stagg (filtered): Very well. There are a few things I'd like you to do as soon as possible. I'd prefer them in this order, though it's not essential that they be done that way. First, see if we have in the armoury a .32 caliber handgun like the weapon that killed Mr. Spotteswoode. Brush: Kay, shouldn't be no issue. Stagg (filtered): Second, I want you to search the area that would be outside, and underneath, Room 209. Six feet side to side and about 20 feet out. Brush: Six, six an' twenny. Gottit. Stagg (filtered): Third, I want you to test the inside of the window ledge for gunpowder residue. Brush: Test...th' inside? Stagg (filtered): Yes. Brush: Okeh, gottit. Anyt'ing else? Stagg (filtered): One last thing. If at all possible, I'd like you and Doctor Meffit to be in Room 209 some time between nine and nine-thirty later today. Explain to Meffit that I would be greatly obliged if he could take the time to assist us. Brush: Yeah, sure. I'm onnit, sir. Stagg (filtered): Thank you, Sergeant. I'm sorry again for waking you. Brush: Naw, don't sweat it. Now ya gots me int'rested. See ya later... [GRAMS: Telephone being hung up.] Brush: Mebbe I shouldnta said t'him "don't sweat it." Way he takes heat, ain't a nice t'ing t'say. Well, he knows I don't mean no neverminds aboudit. Anyhoo, I didn't go back t'bed. Like I says t'Stagg, now he's gots me int'rested. [Brief musical bridge] Brush: Yeah, we had a .32 in th' toy box, okeh. Just 'fore six, I had M'yrt ring up Meffit. Even a doc like him gets early hours. He plays ball. He's good folks, Meffit. So dat leaves my lil' chores. I should knows bedder than t'be surprised by th'Inspect'r, but, well, he done it 'gain. Comes th' witchin' hour, me 'n th' doc are in 209, in th' solawhatsit. [GRAMS: Sound of walking stick, irregular step, sound of door being opened.] Stagg: Ah. Good morning to you Sergeant. And thank you for giving me some of your valuable time, Doctor. Meffit: Of course, Inspector. I take it you want me here because of the inquest? Stagg: Yes, that's correct. At a minimum, I want you to understand the testimony that I believe I'm going to give to the coroner's jury. Meffit: That you "believe," Inspector? Stagg: There are a few more facts I need. From the way Sergeant Brush is swishing his tail, I can see that he may have them. Brush: Yeah. Like you needed 'em. Stagg: The physical is always better than the theoretical, Sergeant. What can you tell me? Brush: Kay. I rooted 'round, outside, in th' bushes an' such. 'bout nine feet out, straight out, I finds this... Meffit: A pencil stub? Brush: A busted half of a markin' pencil. An' yeah, it's a match fer th' chunk we found inside this room. By th' way, you didn't ask me none, but I dusted both halves fer prints. Stagg: And they were clean. Brush: Yeah. Wiped clean. Now ain't that interestin'. Stagg: Highly suggestive, taken in conjunction with another fact. And the windowsill? Brush: I points t'one spot, right near th' edge. Surest t'ing ya know, one spot, right dere, near th' centre. Got photos of dat, a sample, an' photos of th' pencil. Meffit: So, you mean the fatal shot was fired...from the windowsill? Stagg: Literally, yes. Meffit: In broad daylight? I mean, there's no evidence of a ladder or such, and we're rather high up. Brush: Yeah, plus, th' winder was busted. We all knows dat. Stagg: Did Mr. Spotteswoode? Brush: Dat question floored me. Didn't t'ink of dat. Stagg clumps over t'th' phone. [GRAMS: Phone being picked up, hook being jiggled.] Stagg: Yes, good morning, this is Inspector Stagg, in Room 209. I would like to see the assistant manager, if he could spare a moment. I would also like him to bring up, as quickly as he can, a bottle of Nootnops Red. Iced, please, in a filled champagne bucket. Yes, thank you. [GRAMS: Phone being hung up.] Brush: Meffit sorta twitches his tail, an' looks at Stagg. He's got somethin' cookin' between his ears. Me, well, mebbe I'm dense. But I don't see nothin'...until th' flunkie comes in. [GRAMS: Door opening.] Assistant Manager: I came here as quickly as I could, Inspector. Is this what you need? Stagg: Yes, that's very helpful, thank you. [GRAMS: Sound of bucket being placed on desk.] Stagg: Oh, one other question, if I might. Had the Spotteswoodes lodged any complaints with the hotel? Assistant Manager: Quite a number of them, Inspector. They were difficult customers. Stagg: Any complaints about the solarium, here? Assistant Manager: Yes, sir. They complained about the window, that it couldn't be kept open to let in air at night. Stagg: And who, specifically, lodged the complaint? Assistant Manager: Errr...well, I believe it was the late Mr. Spotteswoode, sir. Will there be anything else, sir? Stagg: You may need to remain here. I'm afraid I'm going to have to make some loud noises in a few minutes. Assistant Manager (apprehensively): Oo-hhh? Brush: Y'know, I been lookin' at the windersill. Ain't much room fer a gun dere, lessin' ya propped th' window open. An' I don't t'ink no pencil's gonna do dat. An' how's th' gun gonna fire? Meffit: Of course. *With* the pencil! Brush: Th' Inspect'r sorta nods. I gives him th' .32, an' he takes a markin' pencil outta his pocket, bit like th' one we found. He opens th' winder... [GRAMS: Sound of lock being disengaged, and window being pushed open] Brush: He sorta uses one elbow t'hold it up, an' then slips th' pencil in th' trigger gard, a bit at an angle. Pencil's jammed in dere, an' he sets th' gun down on th' ledge. Gun is propped up a bit, in th' middle of th' sill, wit' th' muzzle pointin' right at where we finds th' body. Meffit: Hmmm. That's as maybe, Inspector. But if you let that window go, you'll get off a pretty quick shot.. No time to get back to the desk and do some writing. And I doubt that pencil, as the Sergeant said, will hold up. Stagg: Quite. [GRAMS: Sound of window being slowly closed, lock engaging.] Brush: But I didn't find nothin' other than th' pencil chunks. So how's he propped open th' window? Where's th' evidence? Stagg: We saw the evidence, Sergeant. Just before it disappeared. You have some photos of the traces... Brush: Yeah, but I dunno what th'... [Musical sting] Brush: Oh. Oh! So *dat's* why Spotteswoode was all het up 'bout his Nootnops... Stagg: Go on, Sergeant. Brush: Th' damp spot on th' rug. Th' lil' pools of wadder on th' windersill. Th' spots where th' dirt was mussed up. Stagg: You were wondering why I was looking at my iced coffee last night, Sergeant? Brush: Yeah. Yeah, I wuz. Stagg: What kind of machine does the Grand have to make ice? You must need a lot of it, especially at this time of year. Assistant Manager: Well, it's what they call a Kube King, Inspector. It can turn out thousands of ice cubes an hour. Stagg: Very efficiently? Assistant Manager: Oh, indeed. Stagg: And all of them identical and regular? As opposed to chunks produced by an ice pick against a large block? Assistant Manager: Well, yes, sir. Stagg: And that champagne bucket, the one you just delivered, contains ice cubes like those Mr. Spotteswoode demanded, and received, about twenty-five minutes before he was shot? Assistant Manager: Well, yes... Brush: Buildin' blocks. Stagg: Yes, Sergeant? Brush: Buildin' blocks. Like my cubs has. So *dat's* it... Meffit: Good heavens. [Music under Brush's next two text blocks] Brush: So, th' Inspect'r goes over t'th' bucket, and picks out a buncha cubes, mebbe eight or so. He goes back over t'th' winder, an' opens it up... [GRAMS: Lock being disengaged, window being slid up] Brush: ...real careful-like, he takes the ice cubes. Yeah, they're all nice an' square. Makes fer nice drinks at a bar. Or for holdin' a winder open for a few minutes. He makes two stacks, four cubes each, an' careful-like, lowers th' winder on 'em. He then takes th' .32, like we seen before. He makes a lil' adjustment in th' pencil, and lays it on th' sill. All ready. He looks at his watch. We all does. We then steps outta th' room, and goes 'cross, outta th' mebbe line a' fire. An' we waits. Nine minutes, forty secs later... [Music abruptly stops] [GRAMS: Faint shifting sound, loud gunshot followed almost immediately by a loud bang.] Brush: We all goes back in. Winder slammed shut, an' locked 'gain. There's two ice cubes on th' carpet. One chunk a'pencil lyin' on the sill, right in th' middlea some ice bits. Dunno where t'other one is, but I gots a good guess. Oh, yeah, an' one .32 gun flipped over, right unner the winder, on th' floor. Meffit an' Stagg goes over t'th' desk. Yeah, it ain't hard t'see what's happened. Meffit: Hmmm. About six inches down and to the right of the chair. Had I been sitting there, I'd have had my right elbow shattered, I think. Rather good, considering you don't have exact information as to how the late Mr. Spotteswoode placed the gun. Assistant Manager: Oh, heavens. Stagg: And that will be my testimony, Doctor. Death either by misadventure...or suicide. [Musical sting, followed by musical bridge] Brush: So, Meffit t'inks yer pretty close t'what happened. Stagg: Don't you? Brush: Hey, I seen whatcha done... Stagg: Well, I believe I've reconstructed the events. The rest is conjecture, but I think I have a rough idea of the chain of events. Brush: Yeah? Stagg: I imagine, at one point or another, relations between the Spotteswoodes had seriously deteriorated. The incident with the insurance policy seems to have been something of the final straw, something that made Mr. Spotteswoode exceptionally angry, and perhaps suspicious of his wife's motives. Whether or not he provoked the fight, the one that gave him the injuries Doctor Meffit treated, I think it fit into the plans he developed. Brush: Settin' up th' dame fer a fall. Stagg: Indeed. He knew that Mrs. Spotteswoode would be out on the fatal morning, but out for an indeterminite time. Something of a gamble that she would be somewhere where no one could pinpoint her whereabouts exactly. This might explain why he was so upset with the hotel's initial service of his beverage. Ironically, their second try suited his needs admirably. Brush: Yeah. He had lots t'choose from, an' dat bucket woulda kept t'ings a bit cool, cooler'n just a glass fulla ice. Stagg: I think that's right. So, he set things up as we reconstructed. Brush: Wait. Why th' chair? Stagg: To prevent, I think, any interruptions. Suppose Mrs. Spotteswoode had come back, and had seen the setup. Brush: Yeah. Yeah, I getcha. Stagg: My guess is that Mr. Spotteswoode figured the chances were small that he would be wounded, still smaller that he would be seriously wounded. He sat down and composed a note, one that might incriminate his mate if his plan carried out. Brush: Heh. Th' gun would help, too, dontcha t'ink? Stagg: Yes. He must have used a pawkerchief to handle the gun. And wipe the pencil down before inserting it into the trigger guard. Now, let's assume a few different hypotheticals. Suppose the gun had gone off, but it had been kicked back out the window before it had shut. Your conclusion? Brush: Th' dame had chucked it out th' winder after tryin' t'shoot 'im, or after she winged 'im. Stagg: Exactly. It would be difficult to prove otherwise. Her word against his that she was present...and her paw prints were on the gun. Now, let's assume, as happened, that the gun lands inside. Brush: Th' dame shot, then dropped it. Same result. Mebbe a paraffin test works, mebbe it don't. Stagg: Still enough to get Mrs. Spotteswoode in a great deal of bother, any way you look at it. Brush: He didn't figger none on gettin' one in th' back, did he? [GRAMS: Rustle of paper] Stagg: Let's look at the insurance policy, Sergeant. The exclusions, to be precise. Brush: I don't gotta look. Lemme guess. Suicide exclusion, right? Stagg: If Mrs. Spotteswoode had been convicted of assault or murder, she would not have collected. If the end result was a verdict of suicide, also no payment. And a verdict of death by misadventure is a probable ticket to protracted litigation with the insurance company. Brush: Holy mackerel. Th' dame ain't th' only one as cold as...well, as cold as ice. Stagg: That's the thing about suicides, Sergeant. Very often, they're a window. A window into the soul. [Music, and then end.] Announcer: The smart businessfur knows that first impressions mean everything when on a business trip. You have to appear ready and relaxed, fit for anything that can happen. But driving to your business meeting means you don't have time to think things over, to prepare. The smart businessfur knows that the best way to travel on business is by the sleek, streamlined Electroliners of Interstate Public Service. Thirty-two states and two Canadian provinces every day are served by these quiet, electrified wonders. On a short trip, a businessfur can sit back and go through his papers. Perhaps even relax with a tasty and inexpensive meal that won't bust an expense account. For longer or overnight trips, there are sleeping accomodations that will leave you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for whatever commerce throws at your way. So remember, for business or pleasure, go rested, go relaxed...go Interstate! The Electroliners of Interstate Public Service. [Music: "Danse Macabre" under the announcer] Announcer: You have been listening to the Inspector Stagg adventure "A Window Into the Soul," written by E.O. Costello. Sergeant Orrin Brush was played by Jackson Beck, Inspector Stagg by Parker Fennelly, Doctor Meffit by Don Ameche, Rosie Baumgartner by Georgia Ellis, and Mrs. Spotteswoode by Grace Matthews. Musical arrangements were by John Urie, and the program was directed by Walter D. Reimer. Tune again this same time next Saturday for another case in the files of "The Adventures of Inspector Stagg." This is Ken Fletcher, speaking for the Interstate Public Service Company. [Music: "Danse Macabre" closing bars] Network announcer: This is the National Broadcasting Company. [Chimes: G-E-C] Network announcer: Stay tuned for "The Sky Shark Adventures," based on the stories by Stu McCarthy, coming up next over most of these NBC stations. Transcribed & edited by E.O. Costello |