Fred Sears Murder Case

Dick Powell as Richard Diamond, Private Detective. My name's Diamond, and I'm along the big street as a guy who manages to keep his nose pretty clean and still make a few bucks while I'm doing it.

Oh sure, it gets a little grimy, but you've got to expect that. I'm a shamas, private eye, gumshoe. To the guy who hasn't ever been worried because he'd ripped over a corpse in his breakfast nook, I'm known as a private detective.

And to some guys, I'm known by a lot of other names. Not the kind you'd find in the book on manners and social usages. But there are times when you might turn up on your desk calendar under the heading of what I must do today.

Who hires me? How do I make a living? Well, maybe this will give you an idea. Fred, why don't you eat your toast? It's getting cold. Why don't you stop worrying about the temperature of my breakfast?

breakfast. I'm trying to read the paper. Anyone ever tell you how charming it is to have breakfast with you every morning? Yeah. My ulcers. I'd like to go shopping today. Will you leave me some money? Fred, did you hear me? Mary, I'm reading. Well, stop reading and listen to me for a minute. I need some new summer clothes and I want

to go shopping today. Here. Here's ten bucks by yourself a beating, sir. Oh, that's It's very funny. I need more than ten dollars. I want five hundred. And of a bathing suit are you going to buy me?

I'm not going to buy a bathing suit. I need some new clothes. Where do you put down that paper and listen to me? Well, I see you made Jimmy cello's column again, my darling. What? What prominent socialite is fighting with her wealthy husband and crying on the shoulder of a big-time playboy after the arguments.