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Murder Calls Again

The Fat Man

Murder Calls Again

Oct 13 1950













BARKEEP (1 line)




8:00 - 8:30 PM 


ANNCR: Here comes.....THE FAT MAN, in "Murder Calls Again", starring J. Scott Smart - and presented by the makers of CAMEL Cigarettes.


1ST ANNCR: How mild can a cigarette be?

2ND ANNCR: In a coast-to-coast test of hundreds of people who smoked only Camels for thirty days, noted throat specialists reported not one single case of throat irritation due to smoking Camels!

1ST ANNCR: Test Camels yourself, in your "T Zone" -- T for throat, T for taste - and see why more people smoke CAMELS than any other cigarette. 


2ND ANNCR: There he goes...lighting up a Camel...he's stepping on the scales..


VOICE: Weight 234 pounds...


VOICE: Fortune - danger.


VOICE: Who is it? 

FAT: The Fat Man.


FAT MAN: Some folks say there's nothing new under the sun. I guess they never heard of flying saucers or radar. They're right about some things.. for sure ....like being born, falling in love and sudden death. Certainly, there's nothing new about dying....and nothing new about justice, and that's what I try to deal out when sudden death is.......murder.


FAT MAN: When the thermometer starts doing nip-ups in the high nineties, that's the time I get out of Manhattan. And it can do this in a New York Indian Summer even in October. I decided to beat the heat that week-end by driving through Connecticut along the coast route. An hour out of New York, I ran into Sherwood Beach and the Walton Arms, a summer resort type hotel. After registering, I got into something comfortable and stretched out beside the hotel pool. I had a long cool drink in my hand -- and not a thing on my mind behind my sun glasses -- when the cutest trick I've seen in a swim suit since Gloria Swanson came up to me...


DELLA: I -- I beg your pardon!--

FAT MAN: Not at all, sweetheart. It's a pleasure. 

DELLA: You're Mr. Runyun, aren't you? Brad Runyun, from New York? 

FAT MAN: That's how I signed the register. But I didn't think anybody knew I was here. 

DELLA: The chambermaid told me who you are. She said she recognized you from your pictures. 

FAT MAN: She did, huh? What tabloid does she read?

DELLA: Oh, never mind her! It's me ... I need your help! 

FAT MAN: Oh? In what department? (RATTLE ICE CUBES) Care to join me in a drink, by the way?

DELLA: No, no, I haven't time. I'm scared, Mr. Runyun. I'm scared to death.

FAT MAN: Of what? 

DELLA: Of being murdered.

FAT MAN: Yeah? By whom? 

DELLA: By - by my husband.

FAT MAN: Sounds interesting. Why do you suspect him?

DELLA: Because .... we're on our honeymoon.

FAT MAN: Wait a minute. That answer comes from nowhere - oh - by the way - what's your name?

DELLA: Redfield. Della Redfield. Oh, I know the whole thing sounds ridiculous and while I love Cliff, I wouldn't have married him if I'd known his first wife was murdered on their honeymoon - and Cliff was charged with her murder. 

FAT MAN: I take it he was acquitted?

DELLA: Oh, yes! But now I - I...that's all I can tell you now! (FADE) I'll see you later.

FAT MAN: (BREAK IN) Mrs. Redfield, wait - (SIGH) Oh, well. Finish your drink, Runyun. Pleasure before business.


FAT MAN: (NARR) As I sat back, I wondered about Della Redfield and why she had scrammed so suddenly. Ten seconds later I knew why. A husky young guy in swim trunks and beach robe stood over me, his tanned face dark with suspicion and anger.


CLIFF: Who are you, Mister? What were you saying to my wife? What was Della telling you?

FAT MAN: Easy, sweetheart. Take your foot off the gas.

CLIFF: Quit stalling. I want the truth -- or I'll -- I'll --

FAT MAN: You'll what, pal? Make both of us look foolish in front of all these happy people? 

CLIFF: I don't care about them.

FAT MAN: You're Cliff Redfield, aren't you? 

CLIFF: Yeah. Who are you?

FAT MAN: The name's Runyun. Brad Runyun.

CLIFF: From New York? The detective? 

FAT MAN: That's right. Your chambermaid tell you? 

CLIFF: What's that?

FAT MAN: Skip it. Your wife's afraid you might kill her, Redfield. 

CLIFF: So she told you! What did she want you to do?

FAT MAN: I don't know. You frightened her away before our conversation could get really interesting.

CLIFF: Did she tell you all about Rosalie? 

FAT MAN: Who is Rosalie?

CLIFF: My first wife. She --- was murdered on our honeymoon two years ago. Here, read for yourself.

FAT MAN: Newspaper clippings, huh? (BEAT) Mmm. San Diego, California. Clifford Redfield of San Francisco, on trial for murder of wife. Hung jury. Case dismissed. Charge still hangs over you, huh? 

CLIFF: Like a ton of dynamite.

FAT MAN: When did your wife find out about this?

CLIFF: Today. Someone sent her those clippings -- plus this note. Here.

FAT MAN: Thanks. (READS) "Save your life before it's too late. Run! Run for your life." Hmmmm. I can see why she's upset. Why didn't you tell her before?

CLIFF: I couldn't. I couldn't tell her. After the trial, I moved to Chicago and met Della there. I wanted to tell her the truth, but somehow I could never do it. 

FAT MAN: Well, what is the truth?

CLIFF: You mean -- am I guilty? Of course not! I didn't kill Rosalie - and I love Della. Help me, will you, Runyun? 

FAT MAN: What do you want me to do?

CLIFF: Find out who sent Della these clippings and, this anonymous note. Find out who did it. I'll take care of the rest myself.


FAT MAN: (NARR) After Redfield blew, I studied the newspaper clips. Rosalie Redfield had been shot in a San Diego hotel room. Not a single clue, except a piece of string that meant nothing to anybody. The case against Redfield was circumstantial, but damaging enough to bring him close to the gas chamber. I returned to my room, changed into something decent and then went looking for Della Redfield. I found she'd gone riding, so I ambled down to the bridle path. As I leaned against the fence, a mousy-looking female out of a Helen Hokinson cartoon spoke up beside me..... 


LUCILLE: It's really a lovely day, isn't it?

FAT MAN: Yeah. Very nice. 

LUCILLE: (WISTFUL) On a day like this, I wish I could ride like those people... But I've never had the courage for it. 

FAT MAN: It isn't a question of courage in my case. The horses simply organized and refuse to carry me.

LUCILLE: Oh, not really! 

FAT MAN: Well, I couldn't blame them if they did. (BEAT) Are you looking for someone? 

LUCILLE: Why, yes, I am. I was told... Oh, here she comes.


FAT MAN: Della Redfield, eh? A friend of yours?

LUCILLE: Oh, you know her? The truth is... oh, my goodness!

FAT MAN: Yeah. Her horse is running away.


FAT MAN: And unless someone catches up with her--

LUCILLE: (BREAK IN) There goes somebody after her! 

FAT MAN: Her husband!


FAT MAN: And he's stopping her. Right out of 1920 Western---I saw it on television last week --

LUCILLE: That poor child.. I must see if she's all right. 


CLIFF: (FADE IN) Darling, you're safe now. There's nothing to worry about. No need to be frightened.

DELLA: I might've been thrown. I might've been killed!

CLIFF: Della, no. It was just an accident. It could've happened to anybody. 

LUCILLE: Are you all right, child? Do you need any help?

CLIFF: (CURTLY) Never mind. Della, let me help you. 

DELLA: Don't touch me. (FADE) I don't want any help from anyone. Just leave me alone!

CLIFF: Della! (TURN AWAY) Della -- wait!

FAT MAN: Let her go, Redfield. Don't make things worse. 

CLIFF: But I've got to make her understand. It was an accident. 

FAT MAN: Was it? Look at this bridle.

CLIFF: Good lord!

DELLA: No wonder ....

FAT MAN: Yeah. A funny kind of accident. The bridle's been cut with a knife.


FAT MAN: (NARR) Redfield gulped and turned away. The mousy little woman had already hurried inside the hotel. She'd vanished from the lobby when I reached the reservation desk. I persuaded the clerk to let me take a gander at the register. I went down the guest list until I came to a name from San Diego --Wilbur Tweedy and wife, Room Two-eleven. Then, acting on a hunch, I went calling....


LUCILLE: Yes? (SURPRISE) Ohhhh .... -- it's you. 

FAT MAN: Yeah. Mrs. Tweedy? 

LUCILLE: Yes, of course. But what do you --

TWEEDY: (BACK) Who is it, Lucille? (FADE IN) Just what seems to be the trouble here?

LUCILLE: I -- I really don't know, Wilbur.

FAT MAN: I can explain, Mr. Tweedy. May I come in? 

TWEEDY: Just a moment, sir. I don't know you from Adam. 

FAT MAN: That's not my name, but your wife's already met me.

TWEEDY: (SPLUTTER) What's that? What's that? 

LUCILLE: (HASTILY) Down on the bridle path, Wilbur. I just told you all about it! 

FAT MAN: I'm glad to hear that.


FAT MAN: Now we can all talk about it. My name is Runyun.

TWEEDY: Now see here --! 

FAT MAN: I'll do the talking, Tweedy. Do you recognize this handwriting? 

TWEEDY: Where did you get that note, Runyun?

FAT MAN: Then you did send it to Della Redfield...and these c1ippings, too.

TWEEDY: Yes, I sent them. I don't have to deny it.

FAT MAN: Why did you try to frighten Mrs. Redfield? 

TWEEDY: Not frighten her -- save her. Save her life! 

LUCILLE: Wilbur, please. You'll only get into trouble.

TWEEDY: I'm not afraid to tell the truth. I believed Redfield was guilty two years ago. I still believe it! 

FAT MAN: What makes you so positive about it?

TWEEDY: I was on the murder jury. I held out for the death penalty until the end. I'd do it again today!

LUCILLE: Wilbur, don't. You sound so vindictive.

TWEEDY: I know what I'm doing, Lucille! Please stay out!

FAT MAN: Your wife's in it too by now, Tweedy. She went looking for Della Redfield -- or did she tell you? 

TWEEDY: You said nothing about that, Lucille. Why not?

LUCILLE: I -- I only wanted to reassure that poor girl. You could be wrong, Wilbur.. You could be wrong about her husband.

TWEEDY: I'11 thank you not to meddle, my dear. You and Walton are both alike. Both sentimental fools about this case. 

FAT MAN: Walton? Who's that?

TWEEDY: Sterling Walton, of course. The owner of this hotel. He knew Cliff Redfield's wife in San Diego.


FAT MAN: (NARR) Wilbur Tweedy suddenly decided to clam up after that. It was like questioning a store window dummy -- so I went back to the lobby. A few minutes later I was in Sterling Walton's private office. Walton was fortyish, casually and expensively tailored, with an affability that seemed more than professional...

WALTON: Well, Mr. Runyun what can I do for you? No complaints about our service, I trust?

FAT MAN: No, the service couldn't be better. 

WALTON: Splendid. Have you been down to the beach yet?

FAT MAN: No, I haven't. Just to the pool. 

WALTON: Well, some folks like the pool. Others prefer the ocean.

FAT MAN: If you don't already know it, Mr. Walton, I might as well tell you. I'm a private detective. I'm here on a case. 

WALTON: Now look here --- if any scandal's involved --

FAT MAN: That's what I'm trying to prevent -- and maybe something worse than scandal. I'm working for Cliff Redfield.

WALTON: Cliff Redfield.... Why?

FAT MAN: Look at these clippings -- and this note. (BEAT) Redfield wants me to find out who sent them to his wife.

WALTON: You mean someone sent them anonymously?

FAT MAN: That's right.

WALTON: Why, that's shocking. Absolutely shocking. 

FAT MAN: Well, I've already found out who did it. One of your guests. Wilbur Tweedy of San Diego.

WALTON: Tweedy--? Oh, Runyun, no!

FAT MAN: Yes, I've already seen him about it. He said you knew Redfield in San Diego. 

WALTON: Of course I did. I've always been fond of Cliff. We were in the service together -- demolition work. I was quite close to him and Rosalie.

FAT MAN: You think he killed his first wife? 

WALTON: Absolutely not. It's unthinkable.

FAT MAN: Tweedy's convinced he did -- and Tweedy heard all the evidence as a juror. 

WALTON: I don't care what Tweedy heard -- or what he says. Cliff Redfield isn't a murderer.

FAT MAN: Have you told his bride that? 

WALTON: Of course not. They're on their honeymoon. I certainly wouldn't want anything to disturb it. 

FAT MAN: Well, it's been disturbed in a great big way.. I suggest we go see Della Redfield. Maybe you can put her mind at rest, Walton.

WALTON: Very well, let's go.



FAT MAN: How long have you been running this place? 

WALTON: Exactly a year now. I came east a year ago.

FAT MAN: Rosalie Redfield was shot in a hotel room, wasn't she? 

WALTON: Yes, she was. The gun was never found.

FAT MAN: What made the state think young Redfield did it? 

WALTON: Cliff and Rosalie had quarreled. A lover's spat, really. Fairly common on a honeymoon, you know.

FAT MAN: Could be. I wouldn't know.

WALTON: But to think it would turn Cliff to murder....well, it's preposterous. And what's more --


WALTON: Good heavens, what's that?

FAT MAN: Revolver shot. End of the hall.

WALTON: Why -- why, that's the Redfields' suite!

FAT MAN: C'mon.


WALTON: Runyun, do you think Cliff --

FAT MAN: I don't know. Just get that door open. 

WALTON: All right.


WALTON: Great Scott!

FAT MAN: Yeah. 

WALTON: Is she ---?

FAT MAN: Yes, Walton. She's dead.


FAT MAN: When I drove up to Walton Arms that morning, it looked like a happy place for a pleasant week-end. But when you're in my particular branch of the arts, you learn pretty fast that your first reactions -- to people or places -- is far from conclusive. This philosophy applies to cigarettes, too, and here's Hugh Conover, an authority on these things, to tell you about it.

1ST ANNCR: The snap judgement of a single puff can't prove very much to you about a cigarette. Smoking is something you enjoy day after day -- and the way to test a cigarette is day-in, day-out smoking.

2ND ANNCR: Make the sensible cigarette test. Smoke only Camels for thirty days and see how mild, how flavorful, how thoroughly enjoyable Camels are. The T-shaped area that includes your Throat and Taste -- your "T-Zone" -- will tell you all you want to know. You'll find out about the cool, cool mildness and rich, full flavor of Camel's costly tobaccos -- and you'll discover why more people smoke Camel's than any other cigarette!

1ST ANNCR: In a coast-to-coast test, hundreds of people smoked only Camels for thirty days. They smoked an average of one to two packs a day. Each week, noted throat specialists examined the throats of those smokers and reported not one single case of throat irritation due to smoking Camels.

2ND ANNCR: Make your own Camel thirty-day test -- the sensible test -- and see how mild a cigarette can be!

SINGERS: How mild, 

How mild,

How mild can a cigarette be? 

Make the Camel thirty-day test and you'll see!

Smoke Camels and see! 

1ST ANNCR: And now here again, is the Fat Man.


FAT MAN: For a moment Sterling Walton and I stood looking at the dead woman sprawled on the floor, shot through the heart. I made a fast search of the hotel suite, but there was no trace of her killer. Walton had been silent all thru my search - but now --

WALTON: I shut the door, Runyun. I don't want this to get out. This isn't Della Redfield, you know.

FAT MAN: I know. It's Wilbur Tweedy's wife, Lucille. 

WALTON: What could she be doing in this room? And who would want to kill her? 

FAT MAN: Those are questions for the police to get answers to. As far as I'm concerned -- I .... 


DELLA: Cliff? - (SURPRISE) Oh, I thought...what are you doing in my room?

WALTON: Sorry, Mrs. Redfield. Please close the door. 


DELLA: I still want to know what...(SHOCK)......ohhhhh! 

FAT MAN: Yeah. She's dead.

DELLA: But - but why? Why in here?

FAT MAN: Well, that'll take some checking to find out. Where were you just now, Mrs. Redfield? 

DELLA: I -- I'd gone to the doctor's.


DELLA: For a sleeping pill prescription. The nurse said I was wanted back here right away. So then I --


CLIFF: Della -? Say, what is this?

FAT MAN: Come on in, Redfield. Close the door. 

WALTON: Yes, Cliff. We'd like to keep it quiet.

CLIFF: Keep what quiet --? What are you ....


CLIFF: Oh, I see

DELLA: She's dead! She's been murdered!

CLIFF: Who is she? What's she doing in here? 

FAT MAN: Her name's Lucille Tweedy. Don't you know her? 

CLIFF: Why should I? I never saw her before in my life. 

FAT MAN: How about on the bridle path just an hour ago?

CLIFF: Oh.....oh, yes ... yes ... - I remember now.

FAT MAN: Just for the record, she's the wife of Wilbur Tweedy. He voted to send you to the gas chamber, and he's also the one who sent you those clippings.

CLIFF: The man must be crazy. 

FAT MAN: I think his wife came to talk to Mrs. Redfield about it - and got shot for her pains. Or maybe she was just the wrong target. 

DELLA: I -- I've been thinking that, too. Maybe the bullet that killed her was meant for me. 

CLIFF: Ah, now, Della -- 

DELLA: No, Cliff, don't!


DELLA: Don't try to follow me!


CLIFF: Della, wait!

FAT MAN: Better take her advice, Redfield. Better wait and talk to the police. 


FAT MAN: (NARR) While Redfield and I waited upstairs, Walton went down to his office and called the local gendarmes. Redfield was quieter than a cigar store Indian, so I walked around, poking into this and that. By the time the one-man police force turned up, all I'd found was the piece of string under an open window, just like in the murder of Cliff's first wife. In three hours the chief found out nothing -- but Cliff Redfield, who said he hadn't phoned his wife at the doctor's office, was under suspicion again. After the bluecoat had gone, I went back to talk to Redfield...but when I reached his door...

CLIFF: (BEHIND DOOR) Get out of here, Tweedy. You're an older man, but that won't stop me from---

TWEEDY: (SAME) From doing what, Redfield? From trying to kill me?

CLIFF: (SAME) Why, you little weasel -- I'll--- 


FAT MAN: Break it up, you two, break it up.

TWEEDY: (CHOKING) Get him off me, Runyun!

FAT MAN: Cut it out, Redfield. Cut it out...


FAT MAN: Cut it out!

CLIFF: (RESIST) I'll break his neck if he..(PAIN)..all right, all right!

FAT MAN: That's more like it. Still in one piece, Tweedy? 

TWEEDY: I -- I think so. (STIFFLY) Thank you.

FAT MAN: Don't mention it. How'd this brawl get started?

TWEEDY: I came to see this young scoundrel about my wife. 

CLIFF: Look here, Tweedy ---

TWEEDY: My wife's dead, isn't she? Murdered in this room! 

CLIFF: -- if you keep on insinuating I'm responsible for your wife's death--- 

TWEEDY: Who else could be to blame? Tell me that!

CLIFF: Why, you miserable little worm -- I'll--- 

FAT MAN: (EFFORT) Cut it out, Redfield.

CLIFF: Get out of here, Tweedy. Go on. Beat it. 

TWEEDY: I will. But I'm not satisfied with the police investigation. I won't rest until I know the truth about Lucille's murder. 

CLIFF: Get out! And don't come back.


CLIFF: Now what do you want, Runyun?

FAT MAN: I thought I'd talk to you and your wife.

CLIFF: (BITTER) I'm not sure I have a wife any more. She's not here -- and I don't feel like talking. Now leave me alone, Runyun.


FAT MAN: (NARR) Although I still wanted to talk to Della Redfield, I figured a quick Martini down at the bar wouldn't hurt my deductive processes. It was the cocktail hour, and the week-end visitors were swarming like happy honey bees. My decision turned out to be a good one - because at the end of the bar.....


DELLA: Oh....hello, Mr. Runyun..

FAT MAN: Hi, Mrs. Redfield. What're you doing down here? 

DELLA: Mr. Walton said he'd get me something for a headache.

FAT MAN: You're in the right place for it.

DELLA: My head's splitting - but Mr. Walton said the bartender..... Oh, here he is now. 

WALTON: (FADE IN) Here it is, Della. Oh, hello, Runyun.

FAT MAN: Hi. (TURN AWAY) Bartender, a Martini over here.

BARKEEP: (OFF) Yes, sir.

WALTON: Drink that right down, Della, and you'll feel better.

DELLA: I -- I hope so. Here goes. 

WALTON: It gets rid of headaches in five minutes. 

FAT MAN: Ordinary headaches, maybe. But what do you think can make Mrs. Redfield feel better? 

WALTON: Well, I've done my best, Runyun. I've told her Cliff's absolutely innocent. 

FAT MAN: And she doesn't believe you?

DELLA: I -- I don't know. I feel so mixed-up -- I wish none of this had ever happened!

FAT MAN: You think your husband really tried to kill you?

DELLA: I -- I don't know. He - he could have. 

WALTON: But he came into the room after you did, Della. 

FAT MAN: That doesn't mean much. The window was open. The killer could've slipped down the fire escape.

WALTON: I can't believe Cliff's guilty. He couldn't've killed Mrs. Tweedy by mistake.

FAT MAN: Her husband thinks he did it.

WALTON: For what motive? 

FAT MAN: Redfield threw him out before I could find out. Your husband's not too happy now, sweetheart. 

DELLA: I know. (MISERABLY) I love him -- and yet I can't help thinking... I'm sorry you ever invited us here, Mr. Walton! 

WALTON: Now, please -- please don't feel that way. Things will work themselves out all right. 

FAT MAN: Well, they usually do, but let's hope not too many people get hurt in the process this time.


FAT MAN: (NARR) Neither Walton nor Della Redfield had anything helpful to tell me. They left soon after, and two Martinis later I went on my way. I wanted to talk to Wilbur Tweedy again, but he was nowhere around and it was another hour before a bellhop told me he'd seen Tweedy dressed for swimming. It was dark and there was no one in the pool at that hour, so I headed for the beach. The night sky was spangled with stars. Down on the sand, a figure suddenly loomed up out of the darkness...


CLIFF: (STUMBLE) What the--? Who is it?

FAT MAN: Hello, Redfield. Been swimming?

CLIFF: Oh, it's you, Runyun. Yes, I've been in. 

FAT MAN: Alone?

CLIFF: No, with the Mack Sennett bathing girls. 

FAT MAN: Okay. Foolish question, foolish answer. 

CLIFF: What brought you out here, Runyun? 

FAT MAN: I'm looking for Wilbur Tweedy.

CLIFF: That so? Why so interested in him? 

FAT MAN: I'm still working on your case, sweetheart.

CLIFF: No, you're not. You found out who sent those clippings. That's all I wanted to know. 

FAT MAN: It's not all I wanted to know. I've got a curiosity streak three yards wide. There's still plenty I want to find out. 

CLIFF: Such as?

FAT MAN: Such as who killed Lucille Tweedy? 

CLIFF: I can tell you who'll get blamed for it. I've had one murder pinned on me. Now there's another. But this time--- 


FAT MAN: More trouble. 


CLIFF: That's Della! C'mon, Runyun!


FAT MAN: Did you know she was out here, Redfield? 

CLIFF: No! I had no idea where she was!


CLIFF: There she is! (UP) Della, what is it?

FAT MAN: There's something on the sand at her feet.

DELLA: (FADE IN) Cliff...thank goodness you're here!

CLIFF: Darling, what's wrong? What's happened? 

DELLA: Look.... Look ....

CLIFF: Tweedy! Wilbur Tweedy!

DELLA: His body washed up on the shore at my feet.

FAT MAN: Yeah, and I can see why ... This poor guy's drowned. 

DELLA: And just after his wife ... how could it have happened?

FAT MAN: Accident, maybe. Or suicide. We'll let the coroner find out ... shall we, Redfield?


FAT MAN: (NARR) The coroner was also the local undertaker. He conducted an autopsy on Tweedy while the one-man police force was out on a traffic case -- so I was free to ask questions. What I found out sent me back to the Walton Arms and Room Two-eleven -- the room the Tweedys would never enter again. I was going through their luggage when the door opened suddenly ....


WALTON: Runyun--! What's the meaning of this? 

FAT MAN: Just doing a little checking. Any objections?

WALTON: You know you can't do anything like this ... unless you have a search warrant.

FAT MAN: Just working on a hunch, Walton. I thought Tweedy's death might have been suicide. He treated his wife pretty shabbily when she was alive. I thought maybe his conscience might've acted up. But I was wrong. 

WALTON: You mean his drowning was accidental?

FAT MAN: No. Murder. 


FAT MAN: The coroner found fresh water in his lungs. That means he was drowned in the hotel pool. Then his body was dumped in the ocean.

WALTON: You can't mean it! Why -- why, if it's so--- 

FAT MAN: Then you've been wrong about Redfield, huh?

WALTON: I hate to say it -- but what other conclusion can I reach?

FAT MAN: The alternative I reached, Walton. That Redfield's innocent -- and you are guilty.

WALTON: I'm -- what? Are you serious?

FAT MAN: I don't joke with anybody with three murders to his credit. You killed Rosalie Redfield, too.

WALTON: This is absurd! I was nowhere on the scene when Rosalie was killed. The same way today! 

FAT MAN: Sure. We were together when Lucille Tweedy was shot. But I found a piece of string afterwards. A piece of string was mentioned in the newspaper clips about Rosalie's murder. 

WALTON: What kind of nonsense is this? What string--! 

FAT MAN: Part of a booby-trap, Walton. You did demolition work in the service. You know how booby-traps work. Opening the door fired the gun. The string jerked the gun out of the window. You picked it up when you went downstairs to call the police. This time I'll call the police.

WALTON: No, you won't! Get your hands up!

FAT MAN: Oh, so I was right, eh?

WALTON: Yes -- but you'll never prove it!

FAT MAN: This letter in the Tweedys' luggage does that.

WALTON: What letter?

FAT MAN: Your invitation asking them to be your special guests this week. It proves you framed the whole thing. You knew how Tweedy would react when he saw Redfield here. Unfortunately the wrong woman was killed when she blundered into your trap.

WALTON: You don't think you'll tell anybody this, do you? 

FAT MAN: (OFF) You think you'll stop me? 

WALTON: Yes! I loved Rosalie - and Redfield took her away from me. I failed to destroy him the first time -- but this time --

FAT MAN: (OFF) This time you've talked your head into a noose. 

WALTON: No! Tweedy guessed the truth - so I had to kill him. But I'll frame Redfield for your murder. You've proved useful after all, Runyun -- 


CLIFF: Runyun, grab him!

WALTON: What the - ? (STRUGGLE) Let go my arm!

FAT MAN: (EFFORT) You can have it back in two pieces, pal.

WALTON: (PAIN) No, no.....don't! -- Now listen --

FAT MAN: Okay. Thanks for the gun. Now stand still.

WALTON: You tricked me! You and Redfield tricked me! 

FAT MAN: As a matter of fact, when I saw that door knob turning, I didn't know who was behind it. 

CLIFF: I was just passing by when I heard your voices. 

FAT MAN: Yeah, lucky me. Redfield, go find your wife and tell her the truth. You've got a honeymoon to catch up on.


2ND ANNCR: (OVER MUSIC) The Fat Man will return in just a moment.


1ST ANNOUNCER: What cigarette do you smoke, Doctor?

2ND ANNOUNCER: That question was asked of one hundred thirteen thousand, five hundred and ninety-seven doctors -- doctors in every branch of medicine, doctors in all parts of the country. 

1ST ANNOUNCER: What cigarette do you smoke, Doctor?

2ND ANNOUNCER: The brand named most was Camel! Yes, according to this nationwide survey, more doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette!

1ST ANNOUNCER: Friends, make the sensible cigarette test -- the Camel thirty day test! Not just a sniff of one cigarette, not just a puff of another. Smoke Camels for thirty days and see how mild, how flavorful, how thoroughly enjoyable Camels are!

SINGERS: How mild, 

How mild,

How mild can a cigarette be? 

Make the Camel thirty-day test

And you'll see... 

Smoke Camels and see! (OUT)

1ST ANNOUNCER: (BEAT) Now here's the Fat Man with a special message.

FAT MAN: Many of the men and women who have served our country in the Armed Services are now in hospitals. Each week, the makers of Camels send this most deserving group gift cigarettes. 

ANNCR: This week's Camels go to: Veterans' Hospitals, Muskogee, Oklahoma and West Roxbury, Massachusetts... U. S. Army Station Hospital, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas...U. S. Naval Hospital, Beaufort, South Carolina.


1ST ANNOUNCER: Tonight's program starred J. Scott Smart as the Fat Man and was directed by


1ST ANNCR: Clark Andrews. The music was conducted by Bernard Greene.


ANNCR: (IN BOOTH) If you smoke a pipe, pack it with Prince Albert! Notice how smooth and even it burns - and how cool it smokes. That's because P.A. is crimp cut! Yes, P.A. is specially treated to insure against tongue bite. Get rich, naturally fragrant Prince Albert -


ANNCR: America's largest-selling smoking tobacco. 


ANNCR: Listen next week when Camel Cigarettes again present that fascinating and exciting character The Fat Man, in the adventure called Murder Makes A Will. 


ANNCR: THIS IS YOUR FBI follows immediately. Stay tuned.