08x26 - The Case of the Gambling Lady

[bunniefuu]

(theme song playing)

(crowd chatter)

MAN:
Seven cards for the bank.

(indistinct,
overlapping chatter)

MAN: Money down.
Hands up. Here we go.

(overlapping, indistinct
crowd chatter)

MAN: Money down.
Hands up. Here we go.

MAN:
Seven cards for the bank.

(indistinct,
overlapping chatter)

- How are you doing?
- Oh! Irene!

Well, who were you expecting,
honey, the FBI?

I wasn't expecting anyone.

Oh, good. I'm glad
to hear you say that.

I was about to go beddy-by,
and then I thought, uh...

-our bumping into each other...
- MAN: Place your bets.

...accidentally this afternoon
might lead to fun after all.

Fun? How?

Well, it's, uh, closing night

of the Paris Follies
over at the Pine Tree Lodge,

and I sure don't want
to go over there by myself,

but together, it, uh...

Of course, uh...
(whoops and laughs)

If you're having
a winning streak,

I don't know
that I want to break that up.

No. No winning streak.

In fact, I'm about even.

What time does the show start?

: , about minutes
from now.

Come on. Cash these in
and be my guest.

- Okay, it might be fun.
See you at the door. -Okay.

(indistinct,
overlapping chatter)

Couple of hundred-dollar
traveler's checks okay?

We'd be quite happy to cash
a personal check, Mr. Barnes.

Yeah, and have my wife find out
I've been up here. No thanks!

(woman laughs)

Mrs. Ogden?
Aren't you Mrs. Ogden?

Oh, yes, I'm Mrs. Ogden.

The man over there would like
to speak to you

before you cash in your chips.

The man with the horn-rimmed
glasses by the slot machine.

- Oh, thank you.
- All right.

MAN: Money down.
Hands up. Here we go.

Excuse me?
Did you want to see me?

Yeah. Say, that's a...

nice little sum
you got there, Mrs. Ogden.

hundred dollars,
if my, uh, count is correct,

and I think it is.

You've, uh...
you've been watching me?

Yeah, with a great deal
of interest.

Why?

Well, I thought maybe
I could buy in on the action

if it's all the same to you.

Uh, may I, uh...?

Well, why do you want my chips?

Well, I thought maybe
it would bring me some luck,

like it has you so far,
Mrs. Ogden.

But I haven't won anything.

Well, I happen
to believe different.

$ . There you are.

Oh. (laughs)

You know something?

I got an odd feeling
that your luck has just run out.

(coins clinking)

Myrna, don't you want
to cash in...?

Go get her
and bring her back.

(engine starting)

Mrs. Ogden, the game's over.
Hold it right there!

I did keep an eye peeled
like you told me to, Mr. Cerro,

but as far as I could see,
she was playing on the level.

Did you notice anybody?

Anybody who could have
been with her?

Well, this blonde,
a real cool number--

she came up and spoke to her,
but it sounded like

they knew each other
from before,

not like
they were working together.

The blonde called her,
uh, Myrna.

Is that any help?

Oh, yeah, that's a lot of help.

There are only , Myrnas
in California,

if that's where she's from.

How much did she take you for,
Mr. Cerro?

Well, the boys
aren't through checking yet,

but it's about ten grand.

Phew!

You can say that again!

Okay, b*at it.

Yeah.

(crowd chatter)

Well?

(sighs)
A real cutie, that baby.

The license number's issued
to a rent-a-car joint in Reno.

You got anybody
watching the place?

Yeah, but she'll never show.

She can turn that car in at
any one of other branches,

or just ditch it someplace.

She signed in
as a "Mrs. Richard Ogden,

Kalmia Street,
San Francisco."

That won't do any good, Tony.

There's no such street
in San Francisco.

Well, there goes our dough!

Over my dead body.

All I want is ten minutes
alone with her.

Yeah, how do you figure
on arranging that?

Maybe through these.

Let me see those a minute.

(scoffs)
Just what I thought.

chip wrappers just like ours,

only the paper's
a different color.

Where'd you find these?

In the parking area
where her car was

before she went into that, uh,
hit-and-run routine with me.

Take a look
at the printing on the side.

"Warren Novelty Company,
Hollywood, California."”

(bell ringing)

I really appreciate this, Perry.

Hmm. It seemed easier to drop by
on my way to the office

than have you come all the way
downtown.

No, I meant the property
settlement with Myrna.

I realize, it's not
particularly your cup of tea,

but since did you help
set up the company,

and also settle the patent
infringement case for me,

I just naturally
turned to you again.

And besides, I figured

that if anyone could help keep
this company intact,

it'd be you.

I can't take any credit
for that.

Two years of marriage,
no children--

you're giving Myrna far more
than she's entitled to.

The only problem that remains
is how to persuade her

to let the money be put
into a trust fund

in lieu of a cash settlement.

It must be put in trust, Perry.

Otherwise,
it will be gone in a month.

Besides, I figure
it's the least I can do,

having struck out as a husband.

You didn't strike out, Peter.

Compulsive gambling's a disease,

like compulsive drinking
or kleptomania.

It's a problem for a
psychiatrist, not a husband.

Well, even so, I could have done
a little bit more to help.

Instead of those knock-down,
drag-out scenes,

with both of us losing
our temper.

I just might have used a little
more patience and understanding.

- Excuse me, Mr. Warren.
- Yes. What is it, Ethel?

There's a man outside who
insists on seeing you right now.

Oh, what does he want?

ETHEL:
I don't know.

He says he's an investigator

from the County Department
of Licenses and Permits?

You better see him, Peter.

Maybe your dart-throwing permit
has lapsed.

(Warren laughs)

I'll contact you after I've
talked with Myrna's attorney.

I'll be here all day, Perry.

Mr. Leonard, Mr. Warren.

Sorry to bust in on you
like this, Mr. Warren,

but I'm on kind of
a tight schedule.

My credentials.

The signature, in case you can't
decipher it, is Jacob Leonard.

Now, what can I do for you,
Mr. Leonard?

Answer a few questions
I've been told to ask you.

But before I ask,
maybe I'd better tell you,

I'm working in cooperation
with the DA's office.

You see, I used to be with
the Nevada Gaming Commission,

and when anything
on gambling comes up,

why, uh, they toss it to me.

Gambling? Am I supposed
to be mixed up

in some sort of gambling,
is that it?

You, uh, recognize that,
don't you?

Yes, it's one
of our poker chip wrappers.

Yes, with the company name
printed on it.

Besides plain chips,

you manufacture fancy ones,
don't you?

Yes, for private parties

and people
that want something special.

Well, what is all this about,
Mr. Leonard?

And where did you find this?

In Nevada...
and what it's about,

I was hoping you could tell me.

No, I can't, but if you, uh,
can see your way clear

to clue me in
a little further...

(laughs)
One further clue.

The dark-haired lady
at the roulette table--

you recognize her?

Well?

(phone ringing)

Excuse me.

Yes?

No, I'm busy right now.

Can I call you back?

No, Peter! Now!
I have to see you now!

They may have followed me
from Nevada.

They may be here any minute!

Gamblers, and I don't know
what they'll do.

k*ll me, maybe.

Please, Peter, please!

You're the only one
I can turn to.

Please, come to the apartment.

I drove all night
just to see you,

to talk to you. Please.

I'll get there as soon as I can.

I'm sorry.

That's all right.

The dark-haired lady?

WARREN: Oh, yes,
the dark-haired lady.

Am I supposed to, uh, know her?

You don't?

(Warren laughs)

She's very pretty, Mr. Leonard,
but I'm afraid I don't, no.

(laughs)
I see.

Well, thanks a lot.

You're still not going
to tell me

what all this is about, eh?

Well, since it obviously
doesn't concern you, Mr. Warren,

can you think of any reason
why I should?

No, no, I can't.

See you around.

Myrna?

Myrna?

Myrna, you in there?

Myrna?

Myrna?!

(door opening)

Hello, Peter.

Hello, Myrna.

I heard the bell,
but I was in the shower.

I'm sorry
I missed you at the office.

Missed me?

Yes, I-l called back
to tell you not to come over.

Turned out to be a tempest
in a teapot.

Sounded more like a hurricane
than a tempest.

Gamblers following you,
probably trying to k*ll you.

Myrna, I would like to know
the story, huh?

What do you care? I told you,
everything's all right now.

I care because
you're still legally my wife,

whether you like it or not,
and also,

because I told a whopping
big lie trying to protect you!

Myrna, I would like
to know the full story!

Well, if you must know,
I wrote a check on your account.

It was a pretty big one--
$ , --

and then they found out
we were separated.

They being
the Nevada gamblers, huh?

- Yes.

They tried to stop me
from leaving, but I-l got away,

and I... I was in a panic,
and I drove all night,

and then I called you.

And then I started thinking.

$ , isn't very much money,

not in Nevada, so I called them,
and I asked them

if I could pay it back
in installments,

and they said I could.

So you see, it was a tempest.

If I didn't know you so well,
Myrna,

I just might believe that.

Are you accusing me of lying?

Put it any way you like!

Could it be
that they caught you cheating?

You can ask me that,
knowing me as well as you do?

I think
you'd better leave, Peter,

while we're still
on speaking terms.

Speaking terms or not,

I'm going to get
to the bottom of this, Myrna!

- Now, if you weren't cheating,
what was it then? -Let me go!

- Why were you so scared, and how
am I involved? -Let me go!

I'm not gonna let you go
until you tell me the truth!

I'll tell you nothing!

Aah! Ow! Aah.

(grunts)

-(knocks)
- Okay, Myrna, you got round one.

But I'm gonna stay right here
until you're ready to talk!

(sighs)

(hisses)

(gasps)

(sighs)

Hello, Ethel?

Mr. Warren.

If anything urgent comes up,
I'm at Mrs. Warren's apartment.

Yes, well, I'll... I'll call you
when I decide to leave, yes.

Oh, oh, by the way,

did Mrs. Warren
call the office after I left?

She did.

Well, thanks.

All right, Myrna,
let's make a deal.

If I promise not to blame you,
not to do anything,

will you tell me what happened?

Myrna!

Myrna?
-(doorbell rings)

- Oh.
- Well, Mr. Warren.

-(sighs)
- We meet again.

By any chance, Mr. Leonard,
are you following me?

No.

I was looking for Mrs. Warren.

She's not here?

Doesn't appear as though she is,
does it?

No.

No, I can't say that it does.

Any idea where she might be?

No, I don't.

And you still don't recognize

the dark-haired lady, hmm?

Neighbors say it's your wife.

Suppose I say that it is?

Well, my suggestion would be

that you come down
to the D.A's office.

You have some explaining to do.

All right. Let's go.

MASON:
Before you tell us what happened

at the District Attorney's
office, Peter,

let me ask you something.

What made you lie to Leonard?

Myrna's phone call--
she sounded like she was

in some kind of a bind,
and I wanted to give her

a chance to explain
before I put the finger on her.

I didn't mean failing
to identify the photograph--

that's understandable.

But why did you tell Leonard
she wasn't in the apartment?

By then she'd told you
everything was all right.

I didn't believe her.
I still don't.

You admitted at
the District Attorney's office

that you'd lied?

About the photograph, yes.

But I never said anything
about the phone call

or her being in the apartment.

Look, I got to see her, Perry,
especially now

that I know what's involved.

Could that be counterfeit
gambling chips?

How did you know that,
Mr. Drake?

Well, I've heard rumors
that some of the Nevada clubs

have taken a b*ating
the past few weeks,

so Leonard asking you what kind
of chips you could manufacture

sort of added up.

Well, the clubs' losses,

according to the Assistant
District Attorney,

a man named Cantwell,
who talked to me,

the amount was close
to $ thousand.

- That is a b*ating.
- And the authorities suspect,

I take it, that you've been
counterfeiting the chips

and that Myrna
has been passing them.

Of course, I told Cantwell
th-the whole idea was cock-eyed.

Why would I risk a business
that nets $ , a year for me

to take a flier on some...
fake gambling chips?

What did Cantwell say to that?

(scoffs)
He... He asked my permission

to examine my books
and to search the plant.

Of course, I said I couldn't
do anything like that

until I checked with you first.

I see no reason why you
shouldn't give him permission.

But how is it
he's handling the investigation

instead of the police?

Well, I gather the people
in Nevada feel

there'd be less publicity.

That figures, Perry--
if there's anything

the wise boys there hate,
it's having it known

they've been played for suckers.

Yes, and more often than not,

if they've been
played for suckers,

they take care of it themselves.

Then that's why Mrs. Warren
was so frightened?

It would appear so, Della.

You'd better get busy
on this, Paul.

Find out how the racket
was worked,

names of the gamblers
who were fleeced,

where they took
the photograph of Myrna,

and where they found
the poker chip wrapper--

everything you can run down.

Could mean going to Nevada.

That's all right.

In the meantime, Peter,

if you're going back
to talk to Myrna,

I'd like to go with you.

(doorbell rings)

Myrna?

Myrna!

Myrna?

Myrna?

Are you in there?

Well, it looks like you made
the trip for nothing.

- She's not here? -No, but
she couldn't have gone far.

Her mink coat's in the hallway.

Why don't I wait here
until she gets back

and then I'll give you a call?

All right then.

Either call or bring her down
to the office.

Right.

Make sure it's one
or the other, Peter.

I must talk to her.

Al right.

♪♪

Myrna?

MYRNA (over phone): They may
have followed me from Nevada.

They may be here any minute.

Gamblers. And I don't know
what they'll do--

k*ll me, maybe.

Please, Peter, please.

You're the only one
I can turn to.

♪♪

IRENE:
Anybody home?

Hi!

- Long time no see.
- Hello, Irene.

Is, uh, Myrna home?

No, she isn't.

Oh.

She didn't get back, then?

Apparently not.

- Back from where?
- Tahoe.

I ran into her up
at the Sierra Tahoe yesterday.

In fact, we were going
to a show together,

until she skipped out on me
to come home, I thought.

Well, apparently
she went someplace else.

Did she... say anything to you
about being in trouble?

Why? What makes you ask that?

Oh, just something that happened
this morning.

Well, she'd hardly
confide in me.

We're only friendly neighbors.

But, you know, now that I stop
to think about it,

something sort of strange
did happen.

What do you mean "strange"?

Well, like I said, we were going
to see a show together,

and so she was going to go
cash in her chips--

--she was, uh, playing
roulette-- but before she could,

this odd-looking little man
got a hold of her.

Now, what he said or did to her,
I don't know,

except she took off out of there
like she'd seen a zombie.

This "odd-looking little man,”

do you think you'd know him
again if you saw him?

Yeah, I think so.

Sure, I'll play ball
with him. Why wouldn't I?

Right.

Well, Mr. Drake, Mr. Big
in Reno says you're okay,

so you're okay.

- Sit down.
- Thanks.

Why nose around here?

After all, several of
the other clubs in the area,

they took a worse b*ating
than I did, or so I'm told.

Well, yours was
the most recent, Mr. Cerro,

and $ , isn't exactly hay.

Mm, you can say that again.

All right. What do you
want to know?

Well, the woman who was passing
the counterfeit chips got away,

I was told.

Yes, almost k*lling my friend
here in the process.

How'd you get on to her
in the first place?

Well, that's Ned's department.
You want to tell him about it?

Well, we were watching
for a hit, after the others.

So when one of the croupiers
reported a woman

playing in an unusual way--

betting high and handsome
for a couple hours

then leaving the table
for a half hour or so--

I pretty well knew.

Hm. What's so unusual
about that?

The normal heavy gambler,
Mr. Drake,

never leaves the table
till he's finished playing.

Oh. So you think that the woman,

in those various half hours
or so,

was replenishing her supply
of counterfeit chips.

Yeah. Cashing 'em in at the rate
of about three grand

for each time out.

Well...
how come you or the cashier

or somebody didn't spot
the chips as fakes

-when she cashed 'em in?
- Because they weren't.

- DRAKE: I don't get it.
- The roulette table, Mr. Drake.

That's where she was getting rid
of her chips.

An hour's heavy play,
winning a little,

losing a little,
it didn't matter much,

and she had 'em all mixed in
with the house chips.

But even so, I should think
the croupier would have noticed.

Here, Mr. Drake, let me
show you something.

Now, at least half
of these chips are phony.

Let's see you pick 'em out.

They all look alike.

Mm, they are alike.

Perfect counterfeits?

Not so tough to do, Mr. Drake.

Plastic like that
you can buy anywhere,

so all you need
is a stamping machine

and somebody with the know-how
to make a matching pattern.

(scoffs)
Well, if it's that easy,

why hasn't it been done before?

It seems it has been
at the other clubs.

Yeah. No wonder they're mad.
Oh! The, uh, photograph

you took of the woman
at the roulette table,

have you identified her
through it yet?

Photograph? What photograph?

Well, I thought you
took a picture of her

and also found a paper
wrapper for some of her chips.

You find any wrappers
when you followed her?

No. All I found

was that my skull wasn't
as tough as I thought it was.

Then you still don't know who
or where the woman is?

No, and we couldn't care less,

as long as she don't
come back here.

(phone ringing)

(sighs)

Chips, please.

Hi.

Hello, Mr. Drake.

Buy you a drink
when you're through?

Sure.

(quietly):
Who's your friend?

Tell you later.

Here. Hold these for me,
will you?

I'll be back in a few minutes.

(indistinct,
overlapping crowd chatter)

Just a minute.
The boss wants to see you.

MAN: Money down.
Hands up. Here we go.

What'll you have?

Huh? Oh, uh, whiskey, rocks.

Two, please.

How come you're here,
Mr. Warren?

Well, I'm trying
to backtrack on Myrna.

I thought I was doing that.

You following up something
she told you and Perry?

No, we didn't get a chance
to speak to her at all.

When we got to the apartment,
she was gone.

What brought you
to this particular spot?

Neighbor friend of hers--
Irene Prentice,

the blonde
at the roulette table--

she said she was here
last night, so I thought

this place would be a good place
to pick up her trail,

or at least find out
who terrified her and why.

Perry know you're doing this?

No.

I didn't think so.

Thank you.

You know, walking barefoot
into a cage full of rattlesnakes

is considerably safer

than nosing around
an operation like this.

I'm willing to take the chance.

Well, I don't suppose
I can talk you out of it.

How come
you brought Miss Prentice along?

Well, Irene said Myrna ran out
of here in a state of panic

after she spoke to some man.

And she's supposed
to point this man out to you?

Mr. Warren, do you realize

you both can end up
in a ditch someplace?

Mr. Paul Drake!
Mr. Paul Drake!

- Yeah, over here.
- Oh, Mr. Drake, long distance.

You can take it on the telephone
over there.

- Oh, thank you.
- Thank you.

- Be right back.
Mm-hmm.

(Drake sighs)

This is Paul Drake.
You have a call for me?

Oh. Hi, Perry.
How'd you find me?

Through your office, Paul.

Something's happened
you should know about

before you get in too deep
where you are.

Myrna Warren's been m*rder*d.

Here in her apartment.

No, I don't know when.

Jacob Leonard, the investigator
who called on Peter Warren,

was with me
when I found the body.

Yes, Leonard's
already notified Homicide,

and he agreed to let me call you
so you wouldn't be running blind

into what might be
a hornet's nest.

Well, I'm not the only one
running into a hornet's nest.

Peter Warren's here.

No, he doesn't.
He's trying to find her.

Paul, send him back
on the first plane.

When the police discover
he talked to her this morning

and was possibly the last person
to see her alive,

they're going to want him...
here, not in Nevada.

Fine.

It's a funny thing,
isn't it, Mr. Mason?

When I took Warren down
to the DA's office,

he said he hadn't seen his wife.

(overlapping crowd chatter)

Oh, uh, the fellow
who was with me here--

did you see where he went?

No, sir, I didn't,
but I'm sure he'll be back.

He hasn't finished his drink.

Peter, I'm sorry.
I couldn't help it.

They told me
if I didn't go out there

and bring you back in here,
they'd...

It's all right. I was
coming in here, anyway, Irene.

There's a couple questions
I want to ask Mr. Cerro.

Oh, yeah, and his friend here.

His friend's name
is Ned Beaumont. Ask away.

Now wait a minute!

There's a couple of pertinent
questions I'd like to ask first.

These chip wrappers,
Mr. Warren--

are they from your company?

Yes, they're my company's
wrappers. Where'd you get them?

How do you like that, Ned?

Not only does he take us
for ten grand,

but he's got the gall
to come back here the next night

and ask us where we got
the wrappers for 'em!

What makes you so sure

that I'm responsible
for those wrappers?

Oh, nothing.

Just that your company's name
happens to be on 'em.

The dame passing
the phony chips, your wife.

Why wouldn't I be sure?

How'd you know she was my wife?

He tell you?

Yes, he told me. So what?

Well, now, that brings us to
the jackpot question, Mr. Cerro.

Did he tell you who she was
before or after he k*lled her?

Peter!

Myrna's dead?!

You, shut up!

What about
what he's saying, Ned?

(knocking)

- Who is it?
- Paul Drake.

What do you want?

I'd like to speak to Mr. Warren.

Warren?

Just a second.

Come in. Come in.

Who's this chap Warren
you're looking for?

Just someone I know.

Well, what gave you the idea
he was in here?

A man I met outside said

he saw him come in
with a blonde.

Oh? (laughs)

Why don't you go
through my desk?

I'm sort of partial to blondes.

(Cerro chuckles)

I guess the man made a mistake.

I, uh, guess he did.

Why don't you try the casino?

I'll do that.

(crowd chatter)

Put that thing away, will you?

It makes me nervous.

You're not going to sh**t us?

Whatever gave you that idea?

The rod is just to buy
a little time, that's all.

Well, Mr. Warren,
you say your wife was k*lled?

- Yes.
- Tell us about it.

Why don't you have Beaumont
tell you about it?

Never mind Beaumont.
I'll get around to him later.

First, you.
Now, what's the story?

She was k*lled this morning
in Los Angeles

in the bedroom of her apartment.

Her skull had been crushed
by a blow from behind.

You mean
she was lying there dead

all the time we were talking?

Shut up, you!

And you found her, then, right?

Yes, I found her
about three minutes

after I saw him
leaving the apartment.

Hmm? Well, Ned?

Yeah, he saw me, all right,

but I wasn't
coming out of the apartment.

I never got inside.
Nobody answered the doorbell.

How come you were ringing it
in the first place?

BEAUMONT:
You said I was to check

on the company
where the wrappers came from,

and when I did, I found
that Warren had a wife

answering the description of
the brunette passing the chips,

so I thought I'd have
a little... talk with her.

Talk? You were pretty mad
at her last night, as I recall.

What were you gonna do-- pay her
back for almost k*lling you?

Don't you realize
you can lose us our license

for getting mixed up
in a m*rder?

Maybe you'd like me mixed up.

And what does that mean?!

When we split up
at the LA airport this morning,

you said you were going
to your sister's place.

When I called in the afternoon
to see if you wanted

to fly back with me,
she said she hadn't seen you.

You were pretty mad
at the brunette, too, Tony.

Could it be you got to her
before I did?

Why, you...!

Marines to the rescue.

Nobody here needs rescuing.

How'd you figure out
about that panel?!

Mr. Bentley, who happens
to be an investigator

for the State Gaming Commission,

knows about the button
under your desk.

How do you like that?

BENTLEY: I know something else,
too, Cerro.

A few minutes ago,
I got a long distance call

from Jacob Leonard, who used
to be with the commission.

He's working
with a Lieutenant Anderson

of LA Homicide on the death
of Mrs. Peter Warren.

Lieutenant Anderson,
pending issuance

of a warrant
for first degree m*rder,

has asked us
to detain their suspect.

And who is that--
me or my associate?

BENTLEY:
Neither of you. The warrant's

being issued
for Mr. Warren here.

I know I should have told you

about her being in the bedroom,
Perry, but,

well, I let her down
so badly--

accusing, quarreling with her--

when I should have been
helping her.

I felt
I could make it up to her.

A crazy idea, at the time,
I'll admit,

but I knew you'd have
to telephone the police,

and then
I wouldn't have a chance.

Fresh scratches on my face,

and telling Leonard
that I hadn't seen her

and lying to the Assistant
District Attorney.

(laughing) Oh, they wouldn't
have let me out of their sight.

Trouble is, Peter, Hamilton
Burger, who'll prosecute,

has a different explanation
for your actions.

He believes you and Myrna were

in the counterfeiting plot
together,

and that when she became
so frightened,

she was about to make
a clean breast of things,

you k*lled her.

Well, then, how does he explain

my coming to Nevada
to find her k*ller?

A smoke screen to make people
believe you were innocent.

Our immediate problem, however,

is whether to waive extradition
or to fight it.

All right, Perry,
let's waive it!

Let's see if Mr. Burger

can make his explanation
stand up in court.

In your opinion, Doctor,
Mrs. Warren d*ed

within seconds
after being struck?

Within micro-seconds,
Mr. Burger.

To all intents and purposes,
death was instantaneous.

BURGER: Then there would have
been no time for an outcry?

DOCTOR:
No. Not possibly.

Now, as to the m*rder w*apon,

which has so far
not been discovered,

Doctor, from your examination
of the wound,

were you able to reach any

conclusion as to what type of
w*apon might have inflicted it?

Well, a rod-like laceration
some three inches in length

above the central area of impact
strongly suggests

the w*apon was a revolver.

BURGER:
And the three-inch laceration

would be the imprint
of the barrel?

DOCTOR:
Exactly.

Now, in addition
to the latent fingerprints

left there by the defendant,

did you find anything else

in that apartment,
Lieutenant Anderson?

An open handbag,
a linen handkerchief.

Yes, uh, that's it.

Would you describe
this handkerchief

to the court, please?

It's monogrammed PW, and
it's stained with human blood.

BURGER: When you say "human
blood,"” Lieutenant, that means

that you're able to identify
the stains on this handkerchief

because of work done
in the police laboratory?

Yes, we found it was type AB,

the same blood type
as that of the defendant.

All right, now,
the blood-stained handkerchief,

the opened pocketbook--

what else did you examine
at the police lab?

Well, later,
the Coroner's Office reported

traces of blood and flesh

beneath the right-hand
fingernails of the deceased,

and we typed that
in the lab, too.

BURGER:
With what result?

We found it to be type AB,

the same blood type
as that of the defendant.

I see.

Now, Lieutenant Anderson,
let me ask you this.

Did you notice
anything at all unusual,

perhaps, about the appearance
of the defendant

when he first arrived here
from Nevada?

On his left cheek,

there were three
partially-healed scratches.

BURGER: The defendant denied
to you that he knew the woman

shown in this photograph
playing roulette?

Yes, when I talked to him
in his office.

Afterwards,
he admitted he'd lied.

Oh? When was that?

About a half hour or so later,

when I found him
in his wife's apartment.

By then, of course,
through her neighbors,

I'd identified her
as Mrs. Warren.

BURGER: Now, at that time,
did Mr. Warren give you

any explanation for his being
in his wife's apartment?

Yes. He said he wanted
to ask her about the photograph.

And did he say that he had
asked her about it?

He said that she wasn't there.

BURGER: Now, after he said
that she wasn't there,

what did you do, Mr. Leonard?

I brought him down to the office
of your assistant, Mr. Cantwell.

But that wasn't the end of your
connection with this matter,

was it, Mr. Leonard?

You mean running

into Mr. Mason that night,
ringing the apartment doorbell,

our going in
and finding the body?

Yes, and I also mean something
that happened after that.

You mean the next day?

Lieutenant Anderson and I
went down to Warren's plant.

I wanted to determine

whether the equipment
that he was using

was capable of counterfeiting
gambling chips.

I found that it was.

And what else did you find
at Mr. Warren's plant?

Anderson had a search warrant.

I went through Warren's desk.

In one of the bottom drawers,
under a pile of papers,

I discovered two paper-wrapped
stacks of gambling chips.

I see.

Are these the packages
you're referring to?

LEONARD:
Yes, these ink dots are

my identifying marks.

I opened one of them.

Inside were gambling chips
marked "S-T."

The S-T, of course,
standing for Sierra Tahoe Club?

LEONARD:
You'll have to ask somebody

who knows for sure, Mr. Burger.

I'm not asking you if this chip

is counterfeit or not,
Mr. Beaumont.

I am simply asking you

if it resembles the chips used
at the Sierra Tahoe Club.

Well, does it?

I respectfully decline to answer

on the grounds,
it might tend to incriminate me.

BURGER:
Incriminate you?

How could answering
that question

possibly incriminate you?

BEAUMONT:
I respectfully decline to answer

on the grounds,
it might tend to incriminate me.

This is perfectly incredible.

Mr. Mason, be my guest.

I see no point in attempting
to question Mr. Beaumont

in view of his present attitude.

Mr. Bentley, you've told us

of photographing Myrna Warren
at the roulette table,

of finding an empty chip wrapper
in her rented car,

of buying chips from her

in an effort to determine
if they were counterfeit...

but you have not told us

what made you single her out
as a suspect.

Just her general behavior.

Why were you at the
Sierra Tahoe Club that night?

Did you know
she was going to be there?

Don't tell me you're going
to refuse to answer

on grounds
of possible incrimination.

No, I was gonna tell you
I was sent there

by the Nevada Gaming Commission.

Why were you sent there?

You'll have to ask
the commission that, Mr. Mason.

Because you don't know or
because you're not telling?

You'll have to ask the
commission that, too, Mr. Mason.

You know, there's something
very strange

at the Nevada end of this.

Something both Beaumont and
Bentley are trying to cover up.

We have the whole weekend
to work on it,

but where do we start?

Perry, couldn't you subpoena
somebody

from the Gaming Commission
and make him talk?

Not without some difficulty.

And just possibly
there's an easier way.

You think finding out what's
strange in Nevada

will lead you
to the real k*ller?

I know who the k*ller is, Paul.

BOTH:
You do?!

Yes, but the difficulty is in
proving it.

Della, put in a call

to the office of the Nevada
Gaming Commission.

How about my friend
in Reno, Mr. Big?

Good idea, Paul.

Give Della his name and number.

All set, Mr. Mason?

Now look, even though
you are "Mr. Big" around here,

I don't have
to sit still for this.

I got a right
to a lawyer, at least!

You're apt to need
an undertaker, Cerro,

if you don't sit still.

And we have a lawyer,
Mr. Perry Mason here.

And what he asks, you answer.

Mr. Beaumont said you told him

not to answer any questions in
court, Mr. Cerro.

Now, why did you do that?

Was it because you were afraid
he might be forced, under oath,

to reveal that you were involved
in a scheme

to pass counterfeit gambling
chips?

You had to blab, huh?!

Yeah, Tony. I'd advise you
to blab, too,

while you still got a chance.

Okay, I was involved.

Why? Why were you involved?

Why? I'll tell you why.

A year ago when I opened my
place, the other clubs sent

their pros around
to try and break me.

They took me for grand
at the crap table one night,

almost grand another night,
and a dozen or so smaller bites.

I was almost on the rocks,

then I saw a chance
to get myself clear

and pay the other owners back
for what they did to me.

Your chance being someone
with counterfeit chips?

Yes, which he said he made.

Some for my club,
some for the other clubs.

They were so perfect, I couldn't
tell them from legitimate ones.

He said if I financed him
for $ , ,

he'd pass the fakes and cut me
in on the take - .

You made out all right, Tony.

Half of what the other clubs
lost adds up

to close to $ , .

That's a lot of malarkey.

They were just boostin'
their figures.

My half came to about grand.

Then your partner
shortchanged you.

We audited their books, and they
lost what they said they lost.

Mr. Cerro, this "partner,”
who is he?

Warren, the man
you're defending.

That's not possible.

You'd never seen him nor he you
until two nights ago.

Are you sure
this "man" who brought

the counterfeit gambling chips
around wasn't a woman?

Whatever gave you that idea?

I did some checking on you,
Mr. Cerro.

For five years you ran
a gambling casino in Haiti.

And during that period,
you married and later divorced

a woman named Irene Prentice.

All right, I did hold back
certain things

when I testified Friday,

but, well, I just didn't think
they'd help.

What were these things you
held back, Miss Prentice?

Well, that I had once been
married to Mr. Cerro,

and, uh, that I, uh...

And that you went
to him with a scheme

to pass counterfeit chips?

Oh, no! Oh, no,
that was Myrna Warren's idea.

She told me about it,

so I introduced her
to Tony... Mr. Cerro, I mean,

and they took it from there.
That's all I know about it.

Then your encounter with Mrs.
Warren the night she fled

from the Sierra Tahoe Club was
purely accidental?

Yes.

And your going back to the Club

the next day with Peter Warren
was also accidental?

Well, no, not exactly.

I, um, let him talk me into
going back

so that I could see
what he was up to.

By then, of course, you knew
Myrna Warren was dead?

Oh, no. No, if I'd known that,
I would have called the police!

Your investigation of the losses
suffered by the various clubs

indicated a blond woman was
passing the chips?

Yes.

And you suspected a connection
between her and Tony Cerro?

That's why
I was watching his club.

That's why I was surprised

when a brunette apparently was
passing the chips there.

That didn't figure.

So you photographed her in
an effort to identify her?

Yes, and sent it and the Warren
Novelty Company chip wrapper

I found in her car
to Mr. Burger's office.

MASON: Believing that Mr.
Warren might be making

the counterfeit chips?

There were
no counterfeit chips, Mr. Mason.

You mean the ones that being
passed were genuine?

Yes.

How could that have been?

Some six months ago a truck
carrying gambling equipment

to a Reno wholesaler overturned
and b*rned on the freeway

just outside of Los Angeles.

The entire consignment, which
included boxes of gambling chips

for many clubs, was officially
certified destroyed.

But you think some of those
chips were not destroyed?

That's right, Mr. Mason.

Maybe Tony Cerro can tell you
about them.

No, I don't know where
the chips came from!

But I can tell you this.

Irene was the one who came to me
with the scheme to pass them.

MASON:
That would be Irene Prentice?

Yes. She was the one who
actually passed them.

When the heat came on

and Bentley started hanging
around my place,

she came up with the idea
of framing Mrs. Warren.

She gave her the chips
to play with,

and planted the wrappers in
her car.

What was your part in this?

Well, just to catch Mrs. Warren,

let her get away
and then report it.

That way it'd look like I'd been
taken like the others,

and the heat would be off.

Yes, I gave her the chips.

I told her they were
counterfeit,

but she didn't care.
She was hooked on gambling.

And if it had worked
the way it had been planned...

Didn't it work
the way it had been planned?

Wasn't m*rder the culmination
of that plan?

A plan to prevent her
from revealing it was you

who gave her the chips?

Oh, no. Oh, no,
I didn't k*ll her! I didn't!

Then who did, Miss Prentice?

Who did k*ll her?

Well, I don't know!

I think you do!

Who brought the chips
to you in the first place?

Who sent you
to Cerro for financing?

Who suggested
framing Myrna Warren?

It was Jacob Leonard, wasn't it?

This is crazy!

She's just sh**ting wild,
trying to get off the hook!

This is the report made

to the Los Angeles Department
of Licenses and Permits on

the truck accident
Mr. Bentley told us about.

It certifies the truck's
consignment

of gambling equipment was
completely destroyed by fire,

It bears your signature.

Let me show you something else.

Records of deposits in five
savings and loan associations in

Orange and San Diego Counties,

each for $ , and each in
the name of J. Leonard,

and doubtless there are more.

Why couldn't you have left well
enough alone, Mr. Leonard?

Why couldn't you have left
m*rder out of it?

All right, but I didn't k*ll
Mrs. Warren.

How could I have?!

She was alive when I talked
to Mr. Warren in her apartment.

He'll tell you that!

And then we went right down
to the DA's office.

And I was there
the rest of the day.

How do you get around that,
Mr. Mason?

By something you overlooked.

What was that?

The scratches on
Peter Warren's face.

You had to pretend not to see
them, because asking about them

would have made him admit his
wife was in the apartment.

Then you would have had
to question her.

Which was the very last thing in
the world

you wanted to do because
Mrs. Warren was dead!

No, that's not true!

But it is!

Now, you reach
the apartment first,

you warned her not to talk.

You watched while she did her
best to convince her husband

nothing was wrong,
and then you k*lled her.

You went out
through the bedroom window,

around to the front
of the apartment

where you rang the doorbell.

If it weren't for those
scratches,

you might have
gotten away with m*rder.

She would have told him
everything

just as soon as I left.

I couldn't have that.

I just couldn't have that.

Not only is the Gaming
Commission grateful to you

Mr. Mason
for clearing things up,

but so is Tony Cerro.

That's the carte blanche
invitation

to enjoy his club, no expense.

He still being allowed
to operate?

Oh, yes, under supervision.

As soon as he pays back the
other club owners' losses.

Should take about two years.

Then the Commission'll decide
what to do about his license.

It's a very practical solution.

We're very practical people.
Tell me something.

Those two stacks of wrapped
gambling chips

that Leonard found in Mr.
Warren's desk, he planted 'em?

Planted by Leonard and found
by Leonard at the same time.

Where'd he get
the wrappers for 'em?

He was very shrewd.

He simply bought a number
of the Warren Novelty Company's

regular poker chips
and used the wrappers.

As simple as that, huh?

Well, enjoy yourself.

(coins clinking)

How did he do that?

He's one of the world's
expert gamblers, Della.

That's why the Nevada Gaming
Commission employs him.

I understand there are
Australian engineers

who figured out a way
to b*at this machine,

but Bentley's got
to be way ahead of them.

I wish somebody would show me
the trick.

I always get the lemons.

Well...

(theme song playing)