Marlowe had spent a week wading through moldy beer joints and cheap hotels looking for a missing dancer, who was eventually found dead in a coal cellar. After that, he decides he needed to take a long, easy weekend someplace where the surf meets the sand, say, Ensenada. Without so much as a second thought, Marlowe throws some clothes in a bag, phones the Riviera Pacifico for reservations, and charges out the door, where he runs head on into a funny man with a studious face coming in. The man says "Oh, I'm awfully sorry. Why, why, you're Philip Marlowe". Marlowe says "Yeah, I know". The man says "My name is Darwin. I represent the law firm that handles the interests of Julius Spangler". Marlowe says "Did you say Julius Spangler? Now listen, I had a run-in with that screwball Spangler less than a month ago. A man was knocked down a flight of stairs, I got shot at, and the house was set on fire. Julius called it a practical joke and laughed himself silly. Goodbye, Mr. Darwin". Darwin says "Hey, but that sort of thing is all over now, Mr. Marlowe. Mr. Spangler is dead. He died last week in Brazil, the result of a hunting accident, and he has named you in his will". Marlowe says "He's named me? You mean I....". Darwin says "Precisely. You're one of Mr. Spangler's heirs. I shall read the will tonight at eight o'clock in his home on Catalina Island. I trust you'll be present". Marlowe says "Not on your life. It's me for Ensenada and nothing's gonna stop me". Darwin says "There are only five other heirs, and the estate runs well over 500,000 dollars". Marlowe says "Oh?". Darwin says "Almost any way you split that much up, Mr. Marlowe, it comes out something more substantial than a weekend at Ensenada".