The location of the pistol indicates it could have fallen
from the hand of the dead man, but
there is also the possibility that it might have been placed there by a murderer.
You gentlemen, as students of criminology
must determine which is correct.
For our next class, will you please report...
whether these clues indicate...
homicide or suicide?
Class dismissed.
You sure make a swell corpse, Knockout.
Thanks. I guess it just comes natural.
Should you find tonight's problem difficult, will you please remember...
there is no situation that science and skill cannot master.
Oh, yeah? Suppose you're about to make an arrest and the suspect pulls a gun on you.
- Yes? - What good is science and skill then?
Shall we demonstrate? Take it, please.
Now draw the gun and threaten me.
- Now? - Whenever you're ready.
Any other questions, uh, gentlemen?
- That's good enough for me.
Mr. Moto, my watch is gone! Somebody must have stolen it!
- One of us detectives must be a crook. - Whoever heard of a crooked cop?
One moment, please.
When did you last notice your watch, Mr. Lee?
I'm sure I had it five minutes ago.
Oh, so? And what time is it now, Mr. Wellington?
Well, uh— Seven minutes to 10:00, Professor.
Your watch, Mr. Lee.
I'll take care of this guy. I'm from the pickpocket detail.
- Come on, light fingers. - Wait, please.
You can undoubtedly explain your sleight of hand?
I got a terrible failing, Mr. Moto.
I just can't help takin' things that attract my eye.
- Gee, he's a kleptomaniac! - Thanks, pal. Thanks.
You must control your, uh, taking ways, Mr. Wellington...
or your first case as a detective...
will be the arrest of yourself.
That's just the reason I come here to take this crime course.
You see, whenever I lift somethin', my conscience smacks me right in the kisser.
And I says to myself, "Knockout, you gotta take this thing back "
But I can't, because I forgets where I got it.
But now things are gonna be different...
because if I study to be a detective...
I could get clues on myself and solve my own larceny.
To recognize one's faults requires intelligence.
To admit them requires courage.
Congratulations, Mr. Wellington.
- Thanks. Thanks. - Class dismissed.
- Oh, Mr Moto. - Yes, Lee?
I thought you would like to know I got a letter from Pop yesterday.
- You did? - Mm-hmm. He sent his best to you.
Thank you. And how is your honorable father...
enjoying his home life in beautiful Honolulu?
He seems fine, but he kind of worries about me.
You see, I'm really supposed to be studying art here at the university.
But, gosh, I wanna be a detective.
I understand. My parents wanted me to be an acrobat.
But don't worry, Lee. I shall write to your father...
and I shall tell him that you are my most promising student.
Gee, thanks, Mr. Moto.
- Come on, Mahoney. Step on it. - Okay, Lieutenant.
Here we are, Mr. Moto. Are you ready?
This is Lee Chan, Lieutenant Riggs.
I invited him to join us this evening.
Lieutenant Riggs is the head of the homicide squad.
- Hiya, Lee. - Glad to meet you, Lieutenant.
I know your old man well. He's got plenty on the ball. Eh, Moto?
- We are but floundering amateurs in contrast. - Come on. Let's go.
Gosh, we must be doing 80. Are we going to a murder?
No, just a simple little case of assault and battery.
Get a load of these. Right at the ringside.
Swell.
Hiya! Hiya! Hiya!
Hello, boys.
- Hello, champ. - Hello, boys. How are ya?
- Clipper McCoy been around? - He just went in. Ticket, please.
Looks like another sellout, Gabby.
Oughta be with the buildup I gave it. Call me up, Clipper, when you need a publicity man.
- No, thanks. I don't do much advertising in my line.
- Hello, boys. How are ya? - Hello, Biff. Who's gonna win tonight?
Well, I ain't paid much attention to it.
- As far as I'm concerned, they're both pushovers. - Mmm.
- Nice, modest boy you got there, Nick. - He's the champ, ain't he?
What's the smart money saying tonight, Clipper?
Five-to-four on a decision either way. Tame going for a long shot player like you.
Maybe not. Ten grand says Stanton won't come out for the fifth.
- You're drinking too much, Nick. - I got a hunch. That's all.
Hey, wait a minute. Gerry Connors is Stanton's manager.
He has been known to listen when somebody wanted his boy to take a dive.
And miss a shot at the title? Don't be a sap.
- You wanna cover the 10 grand? - I'll lay it off, but the best I can get is 3-to-1. Okay?
- Sure. - And listen, Nick.
I hope this hunch of yours isn't the kind you can put a frame around.
Clipper, you'd suspect your own grandmother.
Yeah, but you're not my grandmother.
Wanna bet on it?
Somebody's dumpin' a lot of dough on Stanton kissing the canvas in the fourth.
- These just came over the office Teletype. - Let me see it.
Ten grand in St. Louis, 20 in Detroit and 15 in Pittsburgh.
They're sure loaded for bear.
You wait here. I'm gonna phone.
- Well, if it ain't little Penny. - Now, now, boys, be respectful to Miss Kendall.
After all, 50 million women read what she says about the "ducky-wucky" fighters.
Is it true that wrestlers make better husbands than prizefighters?
Good evening, morons. You'll all seem in your usual dazed condition.
Gonna write a thrilling résumé of what the well-dressed fighter will wear?
It's not a bad idea. Let's see.
Frankie Stanton left the ring tastefully wearing black under both eyes.
You'd feel pretty bad if Bill Steele forgot to duck, wouldn't you?
Ah, but you don't have to duck when you're doing the swinging.
- Well, here's my good-luck Penny. Hiya, baby. - Is everything all right, Bill?
- Sure. I feel great, honey. - I used to like the fights until I fell in love like a sap.
- Now every punch you take hurts me more than it does you. - Oooh!
Forget it, honey. I can take care of Stanton.
I just heard Nick Crowder's bettin' Stanton won't answer the bell for the fifth round.
- Who told you about that bet? - Only a dozen guys.
- You and Crowder ain't teaming up on my boy, are you? - I don't play that way.
That's why I quit your stable.
Let me see your hands.
Here he comes now. Give us a statement, Gerry.
- How's Stanton feelin'? - How's his bad eye?
Stanton's eye's okay. You can say that my boy expects to win.
And if he loses, we've got no alibis.
The boys are saying that Nick's betting against me.
- Somebody's ribbing you, kid. - Yeah? What makes you so sure?
Nick's no sucker. He's not gonna go against a natural like you.
They're just trying to get your goat. Forget it and go out and show 'em what you've got.
I'm gonna kill that guy Steele. But first I'm gonna mess him up...
so that newspaper sweetie of his won't recognize him.
- That-a-kid. - I'll flatten that bozo.
- He's out!
- Hello, Mr. Benton. - Hello, Riggs.
Hey, Benton, who do you like?
Well, I like Stanton. But it would hurt Linda's feelings if I bet against Steele.
- I'm satisfied with Stanton. How much do you want? - Oh, five dollars.
- Come on. Make it 10. - That's plunging for me, but, well, you've got a bet.
Okay. He's president of the corporation that owns this joint.
- Oh, so? - He's got more dollars than I got fingerprints.
But he never bets more than a few bucks.
One reason possibly why he remains rich.
Gosh, that's a pretty girl sitting with your friend.
That's his daughter, Linda. She's got her nose so high in the air...
she'd drown in a rainstorm.
Show him that left.
- I'll be rooting for you, Bill. - Thanks, Linda. Hello, Mr. Benton.
- Good luck, Bill. I've got $10 on you. - You're a cinch.
And here's Bill Steele coming into the ring with his manager, Tom McGuire.
Moving to the rosin box.
Good evening, Miss Benton. I suppose you're betting on Bill Steele.
Well, naturally. By the way...
I see you're making him your special assignment.
My permanent one, I hope.
They ought to match those two dames and let 'em fight it out.
Quite an interesting commentary on our present civilization.
The fair ladies still swoon at the sight of a handsome gladiator.
Yes, sir. I'd still be single...
if I hadn't gone to the policeman's ball one year in a tiger skin.
And here comes Frankie Stanton, that rough, tough Boston boy.
Yes, sir, ladies and gentlemen, it's gonna be a rough, tough battle.
Uh-oh Frankie's got a bad cut over one eye there
but Gerry Connors, his manager, has told me that it won't make any difference.
- Hold everything. Here comes the champ, Biff Moran.
Ladies and gentlemen, introducing to you...
the heavyweight champion of the whole worid—
Biff Moran!
This is the main event of the evening— 15 rounds of boxing!
The winner of this main event will meet the champion of the worid.
here eight weeks from tonight!
Introducing, at 179— Bill Steele!
At 185— Frankie Stanton!
Why all the gloom? You look as though your boyfriend...
had already gone to sleep on the canvas.
Cheer up. Give him that good old moral support.
Get a load of Miss Benton over there. The young lady positively radiates with happiness.
Sure. And the more the blood splashes, the happier she'll get.
I'm the kind of a girl who likes a man without adhesive tape and iodine.
Snap out of it. Bill Steele's got this fight in the bag already.
I hope you're right. Nick Crowder's betting Bill wins by a knockout.
- And Nick doesn't exactly throw his shekels away. - You said it, sweetheart.
- Nick, that's a screwy bet, even for a guy like you. - I got a hunch.
And I'll mother it for you, Nicky boy.
I got another hunch you'd be good at it too, sister.
Keep your hands up and watch that guy.
Go in sluggin', Bill. Don't let him get set and you've got him.
- Come on!
Come on! Get in there and fight!
Go on! Hooray!
Come on! Throw 'em into his body!
Bring 'em up, Bill! Work on that eye!
Come on! Straighten 'im up! Use your left!
Come on!
Throw 'em into his body. Throw 'em into his body!
Hello, Connors. Everything okay?
- Sure, sure. - It better be.
Some of the boys have got an idea Stanton may take a dive.
They wouldn't like that.
- Don't worry. - I won't.
I'll let you do that.
That's the stuff.
Work on that eye. It's nearly open.
Nobody can see through ketchup.
Keep that left up like I told you. If he opens up that eye, he's got you.
I don't need more than one eye to slam that lug around.
There's Knockout Wellington.
Yeah. I better have a couple of the boys from the larceny detail watch him.
He's liable to take the water bucket.
Hey, buddy, where's this seat at?
Right here, sir. I'm sorry, mister. You're in the wrong seat.
Wrong seat? No, this is my seat here.
- I'm sorry, sir. - Well, I have my ticket right here in my—
Now I know I had my ticket there because I bought it.
- I'm sorry. This seat belongs to this gentleman. - I don't care if this gentleman—
Well, I beg your pardon.
I'm sorry. I made a mistake.
There you are, sir.
Go on! Hit him!
Come on! Come on! Get in there and fight!
Bring 'em up, Bill! Work on that eye!
- Come on— - Come on! Mix it up! Come on! Come on!
- Look, kid, take it easy. Let them do the fighting. - I'm sorry, Lieutenant Riggs.
- Come on! - Go on, Bill!
Bring in that right! What are you waitin' for? Some fight, eh, Moto?
Very exhilarating.
Come on, boy!
Keep it up. Keep it up.
You got him goin' now.
Clean the dirt off them gloves.
Looks pretty good for your boy, Mac. Think he'll take him this round?
I'm shooting the works. It's this round or never.
Let me see that eye.
- That looks pretty bad. - I'll close it up. I'll slap some collodion on it.
Now get in there. And remember, this is the round.
- Come on! Get in there! - Come on!
The winner!
Oh!
Boy, that Steele sure carried a sleeping powder in that right hand of his.
And fast. I never even saw it land.
- Neither, apparently, did Mr. Stanton. - No.
I knew you'd do it, Bill.
Oh, you were wonderful, Bill! Will I see you later?
Sorry, Linda. I've got a date.
- Our next champion, Mr. Benton. - I hope so.
- I'll see you later to collect on my hunch. - Don't worry.
I'm not leaving town.
Prizefighting is a very strenuous sport— on the spectator.
I could have bought a couple of hats with that 10 I dropped to Benton.
What'd I tell you? Like I said, if Bill used that short jab I taught him, he was a cinch.
In the second round, he comes out of his corner fightin' like this—
Never mind. We saw the fight.
May I congratulate you on your excellent taste in overcoats, Mr. Wellington?
- It's a beauty, ain't it? - Oh, it's a marvelous piece of material...
and, uh, exquisitely tailored.
- To whom does it belong? - Why, it's mine.
Oh, so? I didn't notice you wearing it when you arrived at the ringside.
Then I must have went and stole it.
May I suggest a search for the clues to the real owner, Mr. Wellington?
- Okay, Professor, I'll have a report on it in 24 hours. - Please.
Lieutenant Riggs, the doctor wants you in Stanton's dressing room.
What's the trouble, Doc?
- This boy is dead. - What?
Dead? He can't be dead, Doc. You gotta do something.
- I've done everything possible. - He was the best fighter I had.
He'd have licked Steele in a rematch and been the next champion.
That's tough luck, Connors, but take it easy.
Pardon me, Doctor. You have determined the cause of his death, I suppose?
There is evidence of strangulation such as usually follows concussion.
He probably struck his head hard when he fell.
But I was under the impression that the ring floor was padded with cork.
About, uh, two inches, I believe.
Accidents like this have happened before, you know.
Yes, but then you attach no importance...
to the discoloration around the injured eye?
Why, no It's just the usual result of a violent blow.
And then it is usual, too, that the discoloration...
increases after death?
Hmm That is strange.
Perhaps some foreign element was introduced...
into the cut over Mr. Stanton's eye.
- You mean he was poisoned? - Gee, Mr. Moto, who do you think did it?
I can tell ya. I thought that knockout was a phony.
That's the only way Steele could have stopped my boy!
If a man has been murdered, it's the likes of you would know about it.
You and Steele wanted a shot at that title, and you didn't care how you got it!
- Shut up, you two! Now listen to me. - Pardon me, Mr. Riggs.
But I'm certain you want to have this analyzed.
- What is it? - Oh, just a small piece...
of dried collodion.
How about that? You're the one that swabbed that stuff over Stanton's eye.
Sure, I'd murder my own boy.
I'd throw away a crack at a million-dollar gate.
Why did Steele quit your camp? Because you wanted him to throw a fight.
- That's a lie. I kicked him out! - Break it up! Break it up!
Let the gentleman continue, Mr. Riggs.
Much information can be obtained through tongues loosened by anger.
You're right. Come on, boys. What were you saying?
Oh, now you're dumb.
Where's that collodion you used in the ring?
Why, uh, over here.
All right, Mr. Moto, I'll have this analyzed, but I don't think there's any case here.
A sock in the eye ain't homicide. Maybe his ticker went bad on him.
- Who knows? - No one except the coroner.
- What do you think, Doc? - Under the conditions, an autopsy might be best.
All right, all right. I'd hate to think I paid 12 bucks to be witness to a murder.
But you started this. If there's any case here, you're in it till we finish.
Oh, so? I'm too honored, Mr. Riggs.
Hello. This is Lieutenant Riggs speaking. Get me the coroner.
You know, since I've been rubbing you...
you got skin just like a baby.
I ain't hurtin' you, am I, Mr. Benton?
- You know, I don't know me own strength. - Sure, sure.
Hand me the phone, Knockout.
- Hello. - This is Benton speaking.
I'll send over my check for 10,000 in the morning.
That's okay. Too bad you guessed wrong.
Nick says you was expectin' him, boss.
Not wastin' any time on the payoff, are you?
I'm taking the champ to training camp in the morning. I thought I'd pick up the dough tonight.
- No hard feelings, is there? - No, not yet.
Thirty grand's a lot of money, Nick.
I might get a little sore if I found out you pulled a fast one.
You laid the bet off, didn't you?
You'd think it was his own dough he lost the way he's beefing about it.
I didn't have time to lay the bet off. So I'm the only guy that lost.
That's too bad. Well, so long.
And thanks a lot for the sugar.
What are you taking it so hard for, boss? I've seen you lose more fish than that before.
You're wrong, Sammy. That 30 grand is only part of it.
I'm responsible for 20% of the syndicate's losses on those out-of-town bets.
Oh, gee. I forgot about that.
Ten, 20, 35, 60, 90.
A hundred grand.
What a shellackin'. It's funny, ain't it...
how guys in six different cities make the same screwy bet that Nick does.
Yeah. Very funny.
Say, boss. Do you think that—
I don't know. Maybe.
You ordered Steele to work on Stanton's bad eye!
Of course I did. That's what any manager would tell his fighter.
What about the collodion Connors used on Stanton's eye?
Pardon me. The collodion shows no trace of poison.
Are you positive this is the same bottle you used in the ring?
Sure it is.
- Nick Crowder took you for 30 grand on that fight! - Sure.
So I killed Stanton for the pleasure of losing a bet.
Don't make me laugh.
You still insist you won $30,000...
on a mere, uh, hunch?
Yeah, just a hunch.
I told you everything I know.
McGuire did tell me to work on that eye, but I would have anyway.
Look. Look, I'm trying to help you. The grand jury's downstairs working on this case.
So what? I don't know anything about that poison, and that's all I can tell you.
Scotty, we've got to do something to help him.
It seems the manly art of bashing beezers has suffered a large and unbecoming black eye.
Well, somebody's got to be the goat.
Yeah, for a bunch of crooked gamblers. Scotty, I tell you, they're ganging up on him.
Arrested, indicted, suspended.
You know he's a clean boy with a great future. Look.
I don't want him to fight I'd be happy if he never stepped into a ring again.
But when he does quit, it's not gonna be with all this over his head.
Penny, there's nothing we can do about it...
in spite of the way you feel about Bill.
But all I ask is that the Chronicle put up his bail.
- 25,000 bucks? - Look at the news value.
"Chronicle Campaigns For Clean Sportsmanship."
Think of the circulation angle. I'll sell Bill Steele to the women readers.
We'll make this a campaign against the gambling syndicates—
men like Clipper McCoy and Nick Crowder.
Oh, Scotty, if you'll turn me loose on this, I'll have this town so deep in tears...
that they'll be using canoes for taxicabs.
Get me the publisher.
Hello, Charlie. I wanna see Bill Steele.
- Sure, Penny. Just sit down a minute. - All right.
Well, so long, Pete.
Well, hello, Penny. I was just going to call you at your paper.
Mr. Benton just posted my bail.
Well, it was Father's check, but don't forget it was my idea.
- Well, that's swell. - I'll say it is. Now I can train for the Moran fight.
Say, what are you doing here anyway?
Oh, I don't know. L— I just love jails.
You feel so happy when you walk out of them.
You said it.
I suppose you'll print the story of Bill's release in your paper.
Well, I've been scooped on it, but it's still my special assignment.
Oh, we'd better hurry.
You know, Father's waiting to drive us up to camp.
- Our country house is just a few miles from where Bill trains. - How nice.
- Can we drop you off at your office? - No, thank you. I have a car.
- Okay, Penny. Good-bye. - Good-bye.
Good-bye, Miss Kendall.
Through the kindness of Lieutenant Riggs...
I am happy to exhibit a photograph of one of the boxing gloves...
used in that fatal prizefight.
You will notice the picture clearly indicates the poison stain on the glove.
Yeah, yeah.
It shows the usual corrosive action of a hydrocyanic or a virus agent.
Most, uh, classically phrased.
Please study the picture carefully.
I will then request the results of your observations.
- I don't have to look at that. I got it all figured out. - You have?
Sure. Haven't I been working on this thing for the past six weeks?
- Who did it? - Nobody. I couldn't get no clues...
so I called it suicide.
Thank you.
And what are your deductions, gentlemen?
I think Connors put the poison in Stanton's eye.
It got rubbed off on Steele's glove when he hit him.
What motive could Connors have in killing his own fighter?
- Well, the—Well, uh, he, uh— I never thought of that.
I believe McGuire rubbed the poison on that glove between rounds.
He was the closest to Steele during the fight.
- George is right. McGuire was in the ring. - McGuire didn't do it.
- One of the seconds had a motive. - Connors is the man for me.
Quiet, please, gentlemen.
All of your theories are very interesting.
However, I regret that you've overlooked one most important fact.
I fear I must remind you that the basis of all deduction...
is careful observation.
Will you please come nearer to the desk?
Let us perform a little experiment using white ink to represent the poison.
Now, if the poison had been rubbed onto the glove...
a stain similar to this would have resulted.
You'll notice the two stains bear no resemblance whatsoever.
I get it, Mr. Moto.
You mean the poison on the murder glove was shot onward from outside the ring.
A most excellent deduction.
Please demonstrate your theory.
What do you think of that?
Now I gotta reopen the case again.
Class dismissed.
Good night, Mr. Moto.
Mr. Moto's theory is swell.
Only I can't seem to figure out how it works.
In the first place, if this was Steele's corner...
how could the murderer squirt the poison from over here?
I don't know, unless he had a hose.
He couldn't have had that, because we would have seen him.
And besides, I got no more time to solve this case.
I've gotta go up to Steele's camp.
Old man McGuire hired me as Bill's new rubber.
That camp's the place to look for clues.
I bet if I went with you, we could solve this case.
- No kiddin'? You think so? - Sure.
- But do you think you can get me in? - Leave it to me.
Come on. I got my car.
How do you like that?
Some cop in that classroom stole my coat.
Forget it. There's no one there now.
You can investigate tomorrow.
- Some wagon, huh? - Gosh, it's a beaut.
- You left your motor running. - I know.
I always leave it running on account of I can never remember where I put the keys.
Hey! Hey! Come back with my car!
Police! Police!
Lieutenant Riggs, please.
Hey, look out. That stuff might explode.
Nothing will explode, Mr. Riggs...
except my theory should the test prove negative.
- Well, what's the dope? - Our light-fingered friend, Mr. Wellington...
has stumbled on something important.
The coat he, shall we say, stole, from a Mr. Howard...
is stained with amarone—
the same poison that killed Mr. Stanton.
Say, we're getting hot, Mr. Moto.
The guy that's gonna feel the heat is John Howard. Come with me to the police station.
I'll have the Detroit police question the tailor who made this overcoat.
And meanwhile, I'll put a tracer on every Howard in the country! Come on. Let's go!
This is some car. How fast will it go?
I haven't had it long enough to find out. But hold your hat. Here we go.
Hello? Hello, Sheriff. There's a car heading your way doing about 75.
Seventy-five? I'll fix 'em.
So the champ says to me— He says, "The next time you fight that guy...
remember, he telegraphs his left."
And what happened?
The guy knocked me out with his right.
Don't try to run. I'm gonna give you a ticket.
- What for? - Speeding. Where's your driver's license?
- I've been robbed. - That makes two tickets.
- But, Officer, you can't do this to us. - Why not?
- Well— - Ha! I can't, huh?
Well, I'll show you.
- Listen, Officer, we're in a hurry. - Well, I'm not.
Don't try anything funny. I got you covered.
- Please, don't shoot. We haven't done anything. - Oh, is that so?
What do you call speeding, driving without a license and stealing a car?
- So that's how I got this crate. - Go on! Get outta here.
Go on. Go on.
That's Kid Grant, Biff's new sparring partner.
Looks as if the sparring partner is getting all the workout.
I can step in the ring and stop Bill Steele right now.
Anyway, what's the use killing myself for a fight that may never come off?
Listen, I'll have Steele in there the night of the fight.
I'm telling you, you better be in shape. He's training for the battle of his life.
That's just what he'll get now that I got Connors training the champ. Give him an eyeful.
- All right. - I'm giving this fight the greatest publicity buildup—
radio, billboards, skywriting, throw sheets.
It's on everyone's lips— from the mouths of babes to the drooling of ancients.
I can see the headlines already—
"Champ Kayoed By Killer Steele"
Yeah? By the time that happens, you're gonna be too old to see.
You ready?
Time.
- Well, how's that? - Terrible.
- What do you want? - The lowdown on Moran.
- I gotta set up the betting odds. - You just saw what happened.
- And the same thing will happen to Steele too. - You won't lay a glove on him.
I'll give 3-to-1 he flattens you inside of eight rounds.
- I'll take some of that money. - Nice layout you got here.
- We like it. - Must've cost you some dough.
- So what? It comes easy. - Sure.
- When a guy gets hunches at a hundred grand a hunch. - I only took you for 30.
How about those bets you planted all around the country? I got hooked for 20% of that too.
- I don't get you. - You're not kidding me, Nick.
I know you got somebody to spread that money in Chicago, St. Louis...
Kansas City and a lot of other spots too— the same bet, that Stanton wouldn't go five rounds.
I wouldn't shoot my mouth off too much if I was you.
I guess you have a lot of things to talk about. We better be going.
Right. Listen to me, Moran.
Don't kid yourself about Steele. You might regret it.
- Ha! - I'll depend on you to have him ready.
- He'll be in the pink. - Yeah.
You trained Frankie Stanton too. Well, I wish you luck, champ.
Hey, Joey. Tail those guys.
- Did you get that, Gabby? - Did I? There's what we've been lookin' for.
Nick laid off 100 grand in bets all over the country so it wouldn't knock the odds down.
- If we can only prove it. - Let me do it I'll grab a plane tonight.
Go to my office and get your expense money. I don't care what it costs.
All I want is Bill Steele in that arena against Moran.
I can see him comin' down the aisle now.
- Wire me the minute you get any information. - Okay, boss.
"Medium height. Medium build.
Medium complexion."
I'd have to be a medium to find Howard from a description like that Detroit tailor gives me.
This whole thing is driving me goofy.
There's a guy by the name of Howard in this town.
There must be. I know, 'cause there's his overcoat.
He went to Detroit to buy that overcoat, then came back here to bump off Frankie Stanton.
But nobody ever heard of him, and nobody but that dumb tailor ever saw him.
I'll find that guy if I have to turn this whole town upside-down.
Homicide Bureau. Riggs speaking.
Lieutenant Riggs? I've been murdered!
It's Gabby. He's been mur—
What do you mean you're murdered?
- I demand protection. I'm a pay tax— a tay pax— - Give me that phone.
Hello. Riggs? Tom McGuire.
No, no. He's all right. Just scared out of his pants.
Somebody took a shot at him.
We'll be right up. Somebody took a shot at Gabby Marden up near Steele's camp.
- Oh, so? - Gabby? Is he hurt?
Nah. They missed him.
And I presume Mr. Gabby did not hesitate long enough...
to obtain any description of the marksman.
Nah, he never saw him. It was another mystery man, just likeJohn Howard.
- Perhaps it was John Howard. - Huh?
- Who's John Howard? - The guy who'll save your boyfriend Steele...
from doing a stretch in the pen— if we can find him.
What are we waiting for?
Send a police boat to the foot of Lake Street right away. Right. Come on.
Of course, none of you people knows anything about the attack on Gabby.
You were out doing roadwork when Gabby was shot at.
I know that 'cause Miss Benton tells me she was followin' you on a horse.
She would.
I don't expect you two to give out with anything.
The same goes for you boys.
Gabby, maybe you et something that gave you bad dreams.
Listen, I oughta know when I'm shot at.
The gun went bang. The bullet went zing. I ducked.
Yeah, and now you're full of embalmin' fluid.
That's very funny. Now—
Oh, you like chocolate, huh?
I've often noticed that a dog and a human are very much alike.
Each will go to any length to obtain something he desires
or to destroy something he believes dangerous.
Uh, undoubtedly...
- someone considered you dangerous, Mr. Gabby. - Why?
Because you know something about the Stanton murder.
- What did you say? - Look here, Gabby. There's only one way to protect yourself.
- That's to tell the whole truth. You know why you were shot at. - Get to the point, Mr. Benton.
Gabby and I overheard a conversation this afternoon between Nick and Clipper.
Clipper was accusing Nick ofhaving placed some heavy out-of-town bets on the fight.
The bet was that Stanton wouldn't come out for the fifth round.
Gabby and I decided to make a quiet investigation.
We didn't get far You know the rest.
It might prove interesting to trace those bets.
- Oh, what a story to put under a banner headline. - As long as you're printing it...
add that Benton also had a bet of 10 grand on that fight.
- Oh, so? - Holding out on me, hey, Benton?
- Is he telling the truth? - Yes, but I never mentioned it because I guessed wrong.
My bet was a legitimate one on Stanton to win the fight.
Okay, I'll check that later.
I'm goin' into town to get a line on those bets.
Get this. Don't anybody go where I can't find 'im, or he'll end up in a cell where I can.
Maybe you'd better lock me up. I don't wanna get shot at again.
You're perfectly safe. The investigation you started is in my hands.
- I know it, but does the guy that shot at me know it? - He's gonna know it!
Mr. Benton, you'd better come along with us. We may need your help in checking those bets.
Hey! Which one of you is Lieutenant Riggs?
- I am. - Well, I'm Sheriff Tuttle.
I got your phone call, but I couldn't get here no sooner.
Say, I got a couple of suspects for you.
I picked 'em up in a stolen car right down here on the road to the camp.
- Yeah? Where are they? - Right here.
Come on. Step— Come on.
Gee, Wellington, look. It's Mr. Moto and Lieutenant Riggs.
Oh, what a laugh we'll have on the sheriff now.
You better be careful of them. They're pretty tough customers.
Oh, that's swell. I like 'em tough.
- Hello, Mr. Moto. - Hiya, Lieutenant.
Hey. They seem to know you.
And they have good reason to. I assure you.
I congratulate you, Mr. Sheriff...
on capturing two extremely desperate criminals.
And I suggest that you keep them in safe custody until called for.
- But Mr. Moto— - Shall we leave for the city at once?
Yeah. Yeah, sure. We're wastin' time.
- Wait a minute, Mr. Moto! - Come on, you two. Go on.
Say, what's the idea of leavin' those two in the jug?
My friend, the usual way to avoid trouble is to lock it out.
In this case, we lock it in.
Oh, yeah.
If that idea of Benton's is any good...
I know a couple of guys that are gonna sweat plenty.
Hello.
- Ready with St. Louis. - Okay, put him on.
Sure. I covered 20,000 bucks in the Stanton fight, 21/2-to-1.
The guy's name is John Howard.
Yeah. Fifteen grand. I paid him off here in Cleveland.
That's all I know about it. Who? John Howard he said he was.
John Howard? Yeah, that's the guy.
I paid him 20 grand.
Came to Detroit and collected the day after the fight.
No. No, I haven't seen him since.
John Howard. John Howard.
I've heard that name till I'm goin' cuckoo!
Detroit, St Louis, Cleveland.
That guy covers more mileage than a six-day bike rider.
Yeah? Now it's Kansas City.
All right, let's have him.
He took me for 10 grand.
What? Sure. He told me, if I wanted to get in touch with him...
to wire him at the Edgemont Hotel.
Right here in town? Ho-ho! Boy, oh, boy!
At last we got a lead. The Edgemont Hotel. Come on.
Isn't it strange that the man who gambles like a prince...
should live here, like a pauper?
He's probably just using this joint as a hideout.
- Well? - I'm lookin' forJohn Howard. What room is he in?
- He don't live here no more. - He leave an address?
- Yeah. County morgue. - What?
You— You mean he's dead?
We found him in his room. The doc said it was heart failure.
Well, how do you like that?
We finally spot the guy. Then he lays down and dies before we can make the pinch.
Well, I guess that's the end of the case.
- Perhaps only the front end, Mr. Riggs. - Huh? I don't get you.
Mr. Stanton's death was also apparently natural...
until the autopsy revealed to the contrary.
Like that fortunate gambler, Nick...
I, also, have a hunch.
Yes. I'll order a postmortem.
May I suggest that you also check Mr. Howard's fingerprints?
Yes. Yeah, sur— Huh? Oh, fingerprints.
Oh, yes. I was just thinking of that.
His name's not Howard. It's Whitey Goodman.
- Remember him? - So that's who he was.
Whitey was an ex-con. He was out on parole.
Oh, so? May I see the record, please?
Death was due to heart failure, all right.
But the heart failure was caused by a poison known as—
- Don't tell me. I know. Amarone. - Right.
Thank you.
There's no argument about it, Joe.
Goodman— I mean John Howard, or whatever you want to call him...
was just the fall guy in this case.
He made the bets for a second party and then got bumped off after he collected.
How can I be sure Steele isn't that second party?
Oh, I admit the overcoat points to Howard having killed Stanton...
but there's nothing to prove that Steele didn't knock over Howard.
I'm sorry, gentlemen.
I don't deny the facts you present...
but I still feel them insufficient for lifting Steele's indictment.
But we're not asking you to do that.
All we want is for you to have the boxing commissioner lift Steele's suspension...
and let the fight go on tonight.
That's all you want, huh? With the man under indictment. What for?
If the fight is permitted to occur...
I hope to produce the murderer before it's finished.
You mean the fight will bring him out in the open?
If I were sure of that, I'd sell tickets myself.
To reveal a snake, one must overturn the rock.
Get me the boxing commissioner.
- Okay, Biff. - Sure I am.
All right, Steele.
- Who do you think you're shoving? - Save it.
Wait till tonight to knock his block off.
You never saw the day he could whip the champ.
All right! Lay off, or I'll run you both in.
There's a law in this town against fightin' outside the ring.
- What's the idea of stalling us? - How about a statement on Steele?
- Coroner gonna be the referee? - Didn't I tell you to stay outside?
Nobody's givin'any statements around here except me, and I ain't got nothin'to say.
- You can't treat the press like that. - Why all the secrecy?
That's what I'd like to know. Who pulled the strings to get this fight on tonight?
I plead guilty, Mr. Crowder.
You see, some people save strings. I pull them.
I suppose you got a good reason for sticking your nose into this.
Oh, yes. A very good reason.
Mr. Riggs and I have promised the district attorney...
to arrest the murderer tonight at the ringside.
Why wait till then?
This is Mr. Moto's party. I don't know what he's got on his mind.
All I know is I got a nice pair of braces for the guy when he points him out.
If it's one of us, make the pinch now and get it over with.
You appear strangely anxious, uh, Mr. Clipper.
Aw, say, listen Doc, there's a fight goin'on tonight.
Will you examine my boy so we can get outta here?
Come on, Steele.
Calm down, Bill. Your heart's pounding like a trip-hammer.
That's the way I'll pound Moran tonight.
Oh, you're gonna use a hammer this time?
- Oh, yeah? - Break it up. Wait a minute.
Put your hands down and keep 'em outta your pockets.
Open that door and go down the hall to the service elevator.
I suppose you know kidnapping is punishable by death in this state.
So is buttin' in other people's business. Go on! Get goin'!
If I should decide to resist, you wouldn't dare to shoot me.
The noise would attract attention.
- You wanna get goin'? - Yes, sir.
- Where did that shot come from? - Down the hall.
There's an open door.
What happened?
Oh, just a little scuffle.
- Well, are you hurt? - No, thank you.
- Do you know who he was? - No.
But I think we have a mutual acquaintance.
Thank you, Lena.
Evening, Lieutenant.
I sure hope your bluff works, Mr. Moto.
In poker, the man with the poor cards...
very often wins on a bluff, doesn't he?
And sometimes he gets shot tryin'.
I wish I knew who sent those mugs after you.
- I think I know. - Who?
The murderer.
I've got the men placed as you ordered, Lieutenant.
Okay, Smitty. This place is so full of bulls, it looks like a rodeo.
I can't figure out why Mr. Moto left us here in the clink.
I don't know, Wellington. Pop used to leave me in jail once in a while too.
Guess they figure it keeps us out of trouble.
If you ask me, I'd say it's professional jealousy.
That's it. He's afraid we'd catch the "homicider."
What would you do with the murderer if you did catch him?
What would I do with him? I'd hold him until the cops came.
And if he tried to take it on the lam, why, I'd shoot him.
Watch out! It might go off!
It wouldn't hurt you even if it did. Lookit.
You certainly had me scared for a minute. Look. Look at that!
- That's the murder gun. - Wow!
Take it. Take it away. Put it down. It's full of poison.
- Where did you get it, Wellington? - Let me see now.
This is one time you've got to remember. That gun's a clue to the murder.
- I'm tryin' awful hard. - Come on, Knockout. Come on.
- Come on. Come on. - It's no use.
Say! Sometimes I remember things when I get hit on the chin.
No foolin'. Take a poke at me and see, huh?
Go on. Hit me hard.
What do you think I got, a glass jaw or somethin'? Hit me.
No, no, no. Here. Do it like this.
Get the idea?
I think I get the idea.
That's the technique. Now throw another one.
Can you remember now?
What's goin' on in there?
Ah! Breakin' up the county's property, huh?
You'd better be savin' your energy for that there rock pile.
You've got to let us out of here. We just made an important discovery.
Show him the gun, Wellington.
- Put that thing away. - Don't be afraid.
- It's only a water gun. - It's full of poison.
Poison? Well, throw it out the window.
- No, no. Give it to me. - Look, Mr. Sheriff.
- You've heard of the Stanton murder? - Sure.
- Well, that gun's the one that killed him. - With a water gun?
How do you know, and what are you doin' with it?
He found it, and there's some of the poison we shot out of it.
Hmm! Say, it appears to me you know a heap about this Stanton case.
- I'm one of the detectives working on it. - So am I.
Have you boys been drinkin'?
Of course not. Now look, Sheriff.
Let me show you just how Stanton was killed.
- Yeah. - Get over there, Wellington.
- Now, here's the prizefight ring. - Yeah.
- This is Stanton. - Yeah.
You're sitting over here, and your name is Connors.
'Tain't at all. It's Tuttle. SheriffTuttle.
Connors was Stanton's manager, and you're just taking his place.
Oh, I guess that's all right.
- Now, uh, let me have the water gun, Sheriff. - Nothin' doin'.
Look, Sheriff, you're playing the most important part in this whole thing.
But I can't go on if you won't help me.
Don't you realize the publicity you'll get if we crack this case open?
Well, if you put it that way.
Here you be, but remember— no tricks.
Thanks. All right, Wellington. Move the sheriff into position, will you?
- Keep your eyes on the arena. - Yeah.
- Remember, the victim is about to meet a terrible fate. - Yeah.
- The fight is on. The men weave about. - Yeah. Yeah.
I'm the murderer. I can't get a bead on Stanton because the men are moving too fast.
- What do you do? - I move over to here.
- At last, I see an opening I point my gun. - Opening. Point.
- Then I shoot— splash! And make a getaway. - Shoot. Yeah.
Hey! You let me out of here!
Sorry I can't finish the case for you, Sheriff.
- But I'll let you know when I do. - You'll go to Alcatraz for this!
Bert! Oh, Bert!
What a crowd! What a crowd! I certainly worked to put this one over, boss.
The fact that it's a championship fight had nothing to do with it.
Maybe it helped. I wish we could have a murder for every fight.
I gotta go down and show the gentlemen of the press how to spell the word "colossal."
And I'm going down to see Bill.
You've been seeing him quite often, haven't you?
Well, why not? He likes me.
He's young, good-looking and the next champion of the worid.
Listen, Linda. I shouldn't have to tell you anything about this game.
- You've grown up in it. - And love it.
No. You only love the glamour and excitement of it.
Why, I've seen boys like Bill come and go for years.
I built them up from chumps to champions...
and I've seen a lot of them end up just where they started.
Of course, Bill might be the exception...
but I hate to think of my little girl taking a chance on it.
Darling, you are breaking my heart.
- Anyway, go down and wish him good luck for both of us.
- He's still my choice for the championship. - And mine too.
- Be careful, Bill. - Don't worry, honey.
You're just nervous. I can take care of myself.
Yeah? That's what Frankie Stanton thought.
Lay off. Penny, you'll have him all upset.
When you get in that ring, I want you to forget all about Frankie Stanton... and her.
Don't think of anything but that "champeenship," and you'll win it.
Okay, Tom.
Well, good luck, Bill.
- Keep your chin up, Penny. - Yeah?
Keep yours covered up.
Uh, just a minute. If Bill wins tonight, he'll be champion.
- That's what you want, isn't it? - Naturally.
- And you don't care if he gets half killed doing it. - Maybe you'd rather see him lose.
I can't stand to see Bill hurt— in the ring or out of it.
All you care about him is that he's the coming champion.
When Tommy Callahan was champion, you were just crazy about him.
You dropped Tommy when he lost the title to Kid Burke...
and you went around with Burke till he got knocked out.
You wouldn't give Bill a second thought if he looked like that.
- Would you? - You're darn right I would.
Semifinal coming up!
Trainin' on beer and blondes was your idea. Now take your beating.
After tonight, you and I are through.
Maybe you'd like a little short-end dough against your boy.
- Maybe I would. - What do you mean, short-end dough?
The odds are 2-to-1 Steele wears you down in five rounds.
Wait a minute.
Don't you start pullin' any of that "five round" stuff tonight.
I'll stop that palooka in the first round.
What happened to Frankie Stanton ain't gonna happen to me.
You never can tell.
Some of these days, I'm gonna plant this right on that guy's chin.
Save it till you get in the ring.
You just haven't got what it takes.
Now try again and put a little more English on it.
Hey, wait a minute, buddy!
Try this.
And here comes Bill Steele.
Hold everything. Here comes the champ.
The champ looks a little overweight tonight
but he can put up a whale of a scrap in any kind of condition.
- Got your poison on tonight? - Sure. Right here.
Now a fighting pose, please.
- All right Hold it - That's enough.
All the players in our little poker game seem to be present, Mr. Riggs.
Things oughta start happening any minute.
This is the main event of the evening.
Fifteen rounds of boxing for the heavyweight championship of the worid.
Introducing, at 179, the challenger—
Bill Steele!
The heavyweight champion, at 194—
Biff Moran!
The referee— George Blake!
Let's go!
Look out for the splash when Moran hits the canvas.
Come on, Biff!
Take nine, Bill!
- Gabby, Bill's hurt! - Aw, he just can't take it! The big palooka!
- Come on, Bill! - Come on!
- Fight, Bill! Fight! - Break it up! Break it up!
Bill! Bill!
Oh! Bill!
Bill's just letting Moran carry the fight.
- Biff hasn't laid a glove on him. - You better watch that referee then.
Somebody's giving him an awful beating. Ha-ha!
Excuse me, Miss Benton. McGuire wants you to come down to Steele's corner.
Thank you.
You can't let him whip you, Bill!
- It's for the championship! - That's all you care about.
- You've got to stop it, Tom. - I know what I'm doin'.
Oh, please! Before he's badly hurt.
He's all right. Now go and sit down, or I'll have you put out.
- That goes for you too. - But you sent for me.
That's the first I heard of it.
Keep your shoulder up, kid He's swingin'high.
He'll crowd you, so roll with the punches.
Good evening, Miss Benton.
Oh, Good evening, Mr. Moto.
Oh! Oh, Bill! Come on!
Oh, come on, Bill!
- Come on, Bill! - Give him that ol' left hook!
Anybody come out?
Clipper McCoy. He went upstairs in the elevator.
- When he comes down, keep an eye on him. - Right.
Hey! Hey!
Darn it. I knew we'd be late.
- Anybody in there? - Sir?
- We want two good seats down front. - Sorry. We're sold out.
He's sold out. Do you know who we are?
Sure. A couple of guys that ain't gonna see the fight.
Why—
Say, I know a place where we could sneak in. Come on.
What did I tell you? You hit him with everything but the time clock...
and he comes back as fresh as a daisy.
Aw, shut up. I'll get him this round.
Come on, Bill!
Oh!
Get up, Biff!
Out!
The new heavyweight champion...
- Bill Steele! - Bill did it!
- He did it, Mr. Moto! - Yeah, but we're not doin' so good.
I told you, if Bill got into that ring, he'd be champion.
- Let's go back and congratulate him. - Pardon me, please.
But we hope to catch the murderer within a few minutes.
You'll be safe if you remain here.
You mean you know who he is?
- I think we do. - Linda, if the criminal is loose in this crowd...
the safest place for you is upstairs in my office.
I don't want to see you and your daughter get hurt. Stay right here.
You can't endanger her life You've got to let me take her upstairs Come along!
Wait. I insist that you remain.
Thank you, Mr. Benton.
Your own actions have proved that you are the murderer.
And you almost committed murder trying to prove it.
Permit me to correct you. I removed the bullets early this evening.
When I announced that I would reveal the murderer tonight
I knew he would try to prevent me...
so I took the precaution of, uh, looking under the ring...
among other places.
I deeply regret the necessity of using a father's love...
for such a purpose.
All right, Benton.
Hey, Max! Louie! Stop that guy in gray!
Out of my way! Gangway!
Hey!
- Did Benton come down this way? - Yeah. He just took the elevator away from me.
Hey, Mike, Jimmy! Watch this elevator. Grab anyone that comes out.
Cover the front stairs. You take the back ones. Come on.
- Stand right there. - Wha-What do you want?
I found out this morning that you welshed on a bet in Chicago for 50 grand.
L— I made that good.
Sure, with the dough you gypped me out of on the Stanton fight.
You're crazy. I bet on Stanton and lost. You know that.
That was just to cover up. You're a smart guy, Benton.
It took me a long time to catch up with you.
Give me a chance. I was in a spot.
- I'll get the money. I'll pay off. - This is the pay-off.
Well, I was afraid Benton would do something like this.
This is not suicide, Mr. Riggs.
It's most unusual to shoot oneself in the back.
And without a gun.
Well, I'll be—
Every time we solve a murder, somebody murders the murderer.
Now we gotta find him. Come on.
Wait, Mr. Riggs. He will soon return—
by the only way he could have left.
Yeah.
We caught this guy comin'out of the elevator with a gun in his pocket.
It is most unfortunate you were so impatient, Mr. Clipper.
The law would have dealt with Mr. Benton quite effectively.
Well, come on! Say something!
Let's go.
Take him outside.
Say! Now I remember where I got the squirt gun.
Could it have been in the pocket of the overcoat...
you acquired at the ringside?
That's right.
Gee, Mr. Moto. This is the clue that will convict the murderer.
Yes, but, uh, the murderer is already convicted... and executed.
Mr. Benton's $10,000 bet on Stanton...
was merely a clever cover-up.
His large out-of-town bets were on Steele.
And, uh, to ensure those, he poisoned Stanton.
Then he had to silence. Mr Howard, the go-between
who placed his bets.
But how did you first become suspicious of him, sir?
When Mr. Gabby alone was fired upon...
although Benton possessed the same dangerous information.
But, uh, for the actual discovery of the clues.
I wish to express my appreciation to two members of this class—
Mr Horace Wellington and Mr Lee Chan.
That-a-boy there, Knockout!
And, uh, now, I regret deeply...
that this term has come to an end.
I must leave you, gentlemen. My plane takes off at—
Here's your watch, Professor.
This course has sure done wonders for me.
Now I can remember where I get the things that I swipe.
Then you will undoubtedly remember this wallet.
Why—Why, it's mine.
Oh, no, Mr. Wellington.
It's the one you took from Mr. Lee Chan.
Gosh!
Class dismissed.