← Down These Mean Streets (Old Time Radio Detectives)
Down These Mean Streets (Old Time Radio Detectives)
Episode 678 - Same Sleuth, Different Voice: Michael Shayne
01:34:25
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Get this and get it straight. Crime is a sucker's road and those who travel it wind up in the gut of the prison of the grave. The story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. The Adventures of Sam Spade Detective the Adventures of the Saint Starring Vincent Price. Bob Bailey in the exciting adventures of the man with the action packed expense account, America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Hello and welcome to down these Mean Streets and more crime solvers from the Golden Age of Radio. Today we kick off a new season and we start a new Spotlight series. Our focus for the next five weeks will be on radio detectives who were played by multiple actors on the air and up first is private detective Michael Shane. Shane first appeared in a series of novels written by Brett Halliday before jumping to the big screen in 1940. Lloyd Nolan played Shane in seven films produced by 20th Century Fox and Hugh Beaumont, the future Ward Cleaver of Leave it to Beaver, took over the role for five films produced by prc. After that the character made the jump to radio and there were three distinct runs of Michael Shane's radio adventures. The first series starred Wally Mayer, who would later star on the lineup and who played Lieutenant Riley on Let George Do It. Co starring with Mayer was Kathy Lewis, one of radio's best actresses. She played Shane's girl Friday, Phyllis Knight. The pair had great chemistry and a light hearted flirtatious banter as they solved the case of the week. The series was set in San Francisco and Shane was on good terms with the police, specifically Inspector Faraday. This series of Michael Shane adventures aired on Mutual from 1944 until 1947. The second Shane show was a syndicated series starring Jeff Chandler, who may be best known to some radio fans as the bashful Mr. Boynton on our Ms. Brooks. This series was set in New Orleans and it Shane was a lone wolf, extremely tough and equally quick with his fists as he was with his gun. There was no Phyllis Knight to be found in this show. Instead, Shane usually ended up falling for the woman who hired him, where he came across a femme fatale over the course of the story. This Shane had an uneasy relationship with the police and several episodes mentioned that his license has just been reinstated after being revoked. Provoked for some shady behavior. Finally, ABC aired a Michael Shane series for just under a year from 1952 until 1953. A few actors rotated in and out of the role, including Vinton Hayworth, who we'll hear today. His portrayal falls somewhere in between Mayer and Chandler certainly tougher than Mayer, but nowhere near as intense as Chandler's take on the character. You can compare and contrast the various Michael Shane in these three radio mysteries. First up is Wally Mayer in an episode known as Mr. Dixon's Life is in Danger. It originally aired on Mutual on September 17, 1945. Next, we have Jeff Chandler in the syndicated mystery the Case of the Blood Stained Pearls. And finally, we'll hear Vinton Hayworth as Shane in the Case of the Queen of Narcotics, originally aired on ABC on April April 3, 1953. Along with Vinton Hayworth, you'll hear Dick York, the future star of Bewitched, in a supporting role. Michael Shane is on the case, three of them, to be specific. And we'll kick things off with Wally Mayer right after these messages. Stop tooth decay and unpleasing breath. Yes, stop tooth decay and unpleasing breath that breeds between the teeth. 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That's why post 40% Bran Flakes have become America's largest selling Bran Flakes. Every one ounce serving of post 40% Bran Flakes provides brand to help prevent irregularity due to lack of bulk in the diet. They're so delicious tasting and so good for you too. Tomorrow serve America's favorite brand flakes. Post 40% bran flakes. Ed Stevens of Long Beach, California is the Whistler fan who receives a $20 Signal gasoline book this week as a token of our appreciation for sending in this limerick. There once was a driver named Abbott whose car took off like a rabbit. Signal Ethel said he is the fuel for me. From now on I'll make it a habit. Signal Signal Signal gasoline. Your car will go far with go farther gasoline. If, like our friend Abbott, you like pickup that's quick as a rabbit, then Signal Ethyl is a gasoline for you. But flashing pickup, mind you, is only one of the improvements you'll discover when you power your car with this super fuel it. In addition, you'll enjoy Signal Ethel's extra power that makes cars fairly fly up hills and makes passing safer. And you'll be amazed at your engine's contented ping free purr for Signal Ethyl is scientifically engineered to bring out the very peak of performance your car is capable of regardless of age. So why not discover how much fun driving can be? Next time, treat your car to a tank full of the gasoline that's passed with more gold. Next time, fill up with Signal Ethel. I dedicate this program to the fight against crime. Not merely crimes of violence and crimes of dishonesty, but crimes of intolerance, discrimination and bad citizenship. Crimes against America the Adventures of Michael Shane, Private Detective. The people who make 76 gasoline and triton motor oil union oil company present the adventures of michael shane, private detective starring wally mayer and kathy lewis. Our detective friend, Mike Shane solves most of his cases by a combination of clues, shrewd thinking and daring action. But he's also a great student of criminal files and case histories of famous crimes. This morning, Mike is at his desk, deep in study of the latest exploit of another well known detective, Mr. Dick Tracy, when suddenly Mike's useful and very ornamental associate, Phyllis Knight, opens the Office door. Mike. Mike. Huh? Yes. Angel, Hide that funny paper. There's a client in the waiting room. Oh, just when I was getting to the. Come on, come on. Okay, okay. Show him in. Mr. Shane will see you now. Mr. Carter. This is Mr. Shane. Mr. Nelson Carter. I'm glad to know you, Mr. Carter. Won't you sit down, sir? Yes, yes. Thank you very much. Mr. Shane. I'll have to be very brief. I'm an attorney and I'm on my way to see a client. It's. It's about him, about Mr. Dixon that I've come here. Mm, I see. The situation is so fantastic. Really. I'm afraid Mr. Dixon's life is in peril. I fear for him. I really do. Is it a case that the police department should handle, Mr. Carpenter? Well, no, no, I. I don't see how the. Mr. Shane. Three days ago, when Gregory Dixon walked into my office, I. I screamed in terror. I almost fainted. Fainted? But, but yes. Two months ago, we had buried Mr. Dixon. Oh, you had buried Ms. What? Yes. Oh, yes. It was a perfectly proper funeral. Well, I thought I was seeing his ghost. We'd received word that Mr. Dixon was killed in an accident down in Mexico, in Yucatan. Imagine. Imagine my consternation here. He walked into my office while I'm administrating his estate. Uh huh. That would make anybody do nip ups. Yet you say you buried him. Oh, it was a mistake. A horrible mistake. Somebody died in Yucatan. They thought it was Mr. Dixon. The coffin was shipped to Mr. Dixon's cousin. We held a funeral and I was appointed administrator of the estate. But just a minute, sir. You started off by telling us Mr. Dixon's life is in danger. Yes. His heirs have received his bequests. Now they'll have to refund the money. And, well, with all respect for Mr. Dixon's relatives, I must say several of them are extremely unsavoury. Well, that's no reason for thinking that they will try to kill him. Well, I think there's every danger they will. Mr. Shane, one of his cousins, came into my office yesterday. He was. He was absolutely furious because he was cheated out of his inheritance. He asked me about Mr. Dixon's health and how long I thought he might live. And so you want us to protect your client? Yes. Now, I'm going out to his house right now. I. I'd like you to come along and talk to Mr. Dixon. Well, I would rather prevent a murder than solve one. Then you will come with me? Yes, Mr. Carter. We. Well, well, Carter, you're an old worrywart. A good attorney, but an old worrywart. Now, now, Mr. Dixon. You don't appreciate the serious danger, do you? Mr. Shane and Ms. Knight feel that I am a man about to be murdered? Well, we really don't know, sir. You see, I can understand Carter's feelings. He doesn't want to have to probate your will the second time. Every time you die, you make more work for the poor man, Clarence than you heard. Yes, I was coming in from the garden. I'm Clarence Fisher, Mr. Dixon's cousin. How do you do, Mr. Dixon? How do you do? Of course, Carter may be right. I'm worth considerably more to you, Clarence, dead than alive. I can talk like that to Clarence. He's got a fine sense of humor. Not like his cousin Howard. Howard is sober as a judge with a toothache. Assuming Mr. Dixon's life is in danger, who would be the most likely suspect? Why, several. Before I left the office, I made a list of Mr. Dixon's beneficiaries. Well, if you care to read it now. I thank you, sir. Clarence Fisher. Oh, that's me. Oh, yes. Bequest, $10,000. Howard Connell, 20,000. William A. Wilkinson, 25,000. And a farm at Redwood City, various charities, 200,000. Mm. I see. Apparently, Mr. Carter's modesty made him omit his own bequest to the tune of $25,000. Well, but after all, surely I couldn't be a suspect. You know, there's one thing which puzzles me and which non you gentlemen has explained. Mr. Dixon is here, alive and well. But who is buried out in the cemetery? You know, I've wondered about that myself. You see, when I was down in Yucatan, I fell ill of a fever. I'm still about 30 pounds underweight. It ruined my eyes, and I had to get glasses. But that's beside the point. When I got up from my sick bed, I found my wallet had been stolen. So had most of my papers. I assumed the thief was later killed. Suppose. Suppose somebody down in Yucatan received orders to kill Mr. Dixon. Suppose the person who did the killing or ordered the killing now realizes that a mistake was made. Yes. He may try again. That's a grave thought. And no pun intended. May I ask who received the coffin here? Mr. Dixon's cousin, Howard Connell. Actually, the body was not buried. It was interred in the mausoleum. We followed the instructions in Mr. Dixon's will. Say, you brought up a good point, Phyllis. If we could find out whose body's in that coffin, it just might be a clue. We might even find out if the man had been murdered, and if it were murder, we would know definitely that Mr. Dixon is in real danger. Well, then I suggest you have the body exhumed, if that's possible. It is possible, Mr. Dixon. I'll ask the Inspector of Homicide to use his influence with the coroner's office. Sometimes dead men tell very interesting tales, You know that? I can think of a lot of things I'd rather do, Mike Shane, than visit a mausoleum. Yes, but we'll make it as short as possible, Angel. Now, let's see. According to the superintendent, and should be down this next corridor. All right. Hello. It's a shame, Ms. Night. Oh, hello there, Coroner. Mike, I'd like to know what's going on around here. What's wrong? Take a look in the coffin there. There's no body in it. You're right, Angel. Nothing but gunny sacks and granite. Mike, Shane and Phyllis have dropped in at police headquarters to talk over their problem with the inspector. With them is Nelson Carter, their client's attorney. The whole situation is completely screwy, Inspector. A man is reported dead. His coffin arrives from Mexico. He has a funeral, his property's divided. Two months later, the fellow turns up alive and kicking, and his coffin is filled with gunny sacks and granite rocks. It's a new one on me, kids. Unless this Gregory Dixon would think he was dead, then why would he come back at all, Inspector? He almost lost all his money and property. Well, I don't see you need worry. Mike Dixon is alive. There's no corpse in the coffin. Nobody's dead. No, but it's got our curiosity up, Inspector. Mike and I do handle other cases with besides murder. This time we've drawn a completely wacky mystery. Well, you can make light of it, Ms. Knight, but since finding that empty coffin, I'm more convinced than ever that there's something diabolical afoot. All right. Diabolical What? It's only three days since anybody knew Mr. Dixon was still alive. Several of the heirs would stop at almost nothing to hold onto their inheritances. You said that before, Mr. Carter. Now, let's see. You gave me a list of the bequests. Which man stormed into your office yesterday? The one who wanted to know how long you thought Dixon might live? Yes, that was Wilkinson. William A. Wilkinson. Oh, yes, yes, yes. He's listed here for $25,000 in a farm near Redwood City. He's living there right now. He was furious because he'll have to turn the farm back to Mr. Dixon. And then this Howard Connell, he's down for $20,000. What about him? A cousin of Mr. Dixon. He gambles, plays the horses, will do anything to keep out of work and can't hold a job anyway. Well, I suppose we might interview those men. Though I don't know what we could ask them. No crime's been committed. Well, you won't be able to get hold of Howard Connell. He left for New York after Mr. Dixon's funeral. Well, we might start him with a little talk with Clarence Fisher, the cousin we met in Dixon's house. If I were doing it, Mike, I know where I'd begin. Yeah? Where, Inspector? Well, you say Cousin Wilkerson lives on a farm near Redwood City? Yes. Well, it's a very pleasant sunny day outside and twice as pleasant down country. I know a tidy little inn on Kings Road, west of Redwood City. They serve swell hamburgers. And there's a cute little Irish waitress with a green apron. Say no more, Inspector. Say no more. You've sold us one trip to Redwood City. If you don't mind, Mr. Shane, we'll sit and talk under this apple tree. I got to keep my eye on Alec, the hired Henry. Laziest man you ever seen. Whatever you wish, Mr. Wilkinson. Oh, an old fashioned hammock. That's for me, Mark. Yes, sir. When I got Carter's letter about Dixon being alive, I couldn't believe my eyes, so to speak. Sort of upset my plans for the future. By the way, it's sort of a warmish day. You folks like a drink? You Phil, huh? Not now, thanks. Maybe some water later on. Oh, we'll make it. Apple cider water here doesn't taste right to me. Dixon just got done putting in pipe water, Bricked up the old well over there and went modern on it, so to speak. Uh, what'd you folks say you came down here about? Uh, we didn't say, sir. Mr. Carter seems to think Mr. Dixon's in some sort of danger. Now. We'd like to ask you if he has any enemies who might. Carter, I told that lawyer yesterday. Well, I guess maybe he repeated it to you. Mr. Shane, you can see this is a very nice little farm, and I was expecting to make myself a piece of money off it, so to speak. Handing it back to Dixon now is going to hurt. Like pulling it, so to speak. Maybe you could buy it back from Mr. Dixon. Did he make much use of the farm? Spent all of his weekends down here, and I haven't got the cash to buy it from him. Mr. Wilkinson, you say that Dixon bricked up the water well, yes. He did it a couple of months ago. Left it in an unsightly mess. Alec cleaned it up for me. Dug a new rose garden and shoveled the dirt down in the well. Quite a number of stones missing from the coping around the well. Mike, I know what you're driving yet. Yeah, you and I, angel, have seen those stones before. The identical size and shape in a coffin in a museum. Water. Water. I'd broken through. Mike. Mike, can you hear me? Mike, have you found anything? Yeah, yeah, plenty. A body. Germany. Germany. Christmas. Mr. Wilkinson, this is bad. Awful bad. Oh, stop Your Joe and Alec. You make me nervous. Mr. Wilkinson, do you know whose body this is? How do you suppose I could tell? Mike, there's a ring on one of his fingers. Yeah, yeah, I see it. A gold ring. The band's in the shape of a snake. There. Let me look at it. Mean anything to you, sir? No. This hole in his head means something to me. He was murdered. Mike. We better get hold of the inspector. Yeah. Yes, we're heading back to San Francisco and pick up the inspector. And then. Yeah, then we're going to have another talk with Mr. Dixon. Say, when I suggested that you kids take a little run down country, I didn't expect you to come tearing back to me with a body. Oh, and now that we found it, the question is, whose body is it? Yes, and until we know that answer, we're not going to spill the news to Dixon. Remember that, angel. All right, we've got to tiptoe very cautiously. There's Dixon out in the garden talking to Mr. Fisher. Yes. Look, Inspector, if you don't mind, I'll do most of the questioning. We've got to approach Dixon downwind. Suits me. Well, Mr. Sheen, Ms. Knight. I was wondering what had become of you. We brought along a friend of ours, Mr. Dixon, the inspector of Homicide. Inspector of Homicide? Yes. You see, if anybody should succeed in killing you, this is the man who will lose his. Glad to know you, Inspector. And may your slumbers be unbroken. This is my cousin, Clarence Fisher. Hello. Howdy. How do you do? Suppose we go into the house so we can sit down? Okay, sir. Mr. Dixon, we just got back from a little drive down to Redwood City. We talked with another of your cousins, William Wilkinson. That's so hates to give up the farm, doesn't he? Oh, very much. He's put in a new rose garden. We noticed that the old water well behind the house is been bricked up. Oh, really? Wilkinson changing things around. A suit, huh? Then. Then you didn't Fill in the well yourself. Me? Why, no. Why should I? Mr. Dixon? Yes? Did you have any people visit you down on your farm from the past few months? Oh, a few. Howard Connell, Clarence here Wilkinson, Old Fuss, Budget Carter and a few others. I see. Well, sir, if I'm to properly protect you, I'd like to know what those people look like. Do you have any photographs? Photographs? By the hundreds. I've got a scrapbook of snapshots. It's right over there on the wicker table. This what you want? Oh, that's perfect. How about this group picture here? Oh, that's me wearing the straw hat girl. Yeah. Girls. Joan Brooks, the man behind. I. I can't remember his name. No, I can't either. Some chap who was on his way to Canada. The last fellow on the far right is Howard Connell. Howard Connell? He's the cousin who's gone to New York, isn't he? That's right. Last time I saw Howard was when he drove me to the airport when I went to Mexico. Does he live in San Francisco? Right next door. I'm living in his house till he gets back. And when will that be? Well, I can't say. He left for New York right after Dixon's, well, funeral. The last letter I got from him didn't mention when he'd be back. Hmm. He was one of the beneficiaries under Mr. Dixon's will. I should think he would stay here in town. Not Howard. He's always on the move. No telling where he is. Now, here's another photo of you in the scrapbook, Mr. Dixon. A close up. You're wearing a large, rather peculiar looking ring. Why, yes. Yes, I lost that ring some time ago. Lost it? Hmm. Have you any idea where? Why, no. It just slipped off my finger one day. No idea where I lost it. But I don't see why that matters. It doesn't matter. Well, thanks very much for letting us see the pictures, Mr. Dixon. And now we'll be running along. Oh, but Mr. Shane, you were hired to protect me. You're always running off somewhere. We're working on the case, sir. I assure you. In fact, we're going to police headquarters right now just on your account. Now, this is the way I dope it out, Inspector. Check me if I'm wrong. Okay, first of all, we may be up against a colossal conspiracy. The attorney Carter comes to Phyllis and me and says Dixon's life is in danger because Dixon was reported dead and now turns up alive. And his heirs hate to part with their ill gotten Gains. Then we find that Dixon's funeral was a fake. Yeah. We find his coffin filled with stones from Dixon's own water well. And we find a murdered man hidden inside the wall. That murdered man, Inspector, I'm convinced, is the real Gregory Dixon. The fellow who says he's Dixon is an imposter. Yeah, I know what you based that on, Mike. The fact that the ring in the dead man's finger is the same ring we saw in Dixon's photograph. Correct. But perhaps the ring really was lost and the person who later found the ring is the man you hauled out of the well. That's possible, Inspector, but I'd like to go one step further. I'll say that the man who caused himself, Gregory Dixon, is actually Howard Connell, Dixon's cousin and beneficiary. I was beginning to suspect that myself. Connell very conveniently disappears on a trip to New York. Nobody knows exactly where he is or when he's coming back. But Dixon's relative ought to be able to recognize the fake. Unless they're all in on the deal, too. That may be, too. But there was a strong family resemblance between Dixon and Connell. I noticed it in those photographs. That's why the story about Dixon falling ill, losing 30 pounds, having to put on glasses. An alibi in case anybody began to suspect. Okay, but who killed Dixon, Phil? Who threw his body down the well and bricked it up? Both Wilkinson and Connell denied they closed the well. Yes, Sergeant? Mr. Shane's call to Redwood City's waiting, sir. Thanks. Take it on this phone, Mike. Thanks, Inspector. Hello? Hello, alec. Calling me, Mr. Shane? Yes. I want to ask you a question, Alec. How long have you worked for Mr. Wilkinson? Why, about a month or so. Mr. Wilkinson hired me when he took over at the farm. And when you were making the new rose garden for him, Alec, did you dump all that dirt down the well? Yes, sir. The well was bricked up. Anyway. I didn't see no harm. That's all I wanted to know. Thank you, Alec. Well, Wilkinson told us the truth. Yeah. The well was bricked up when he got the farm. Well, then Dixon, I. I mean, Connell lied to us. Practically everything he told us was a lie. Angel. Well, Inspector, what do you say? You make out a pretty strong case, Mike. But we don't have any real proof that Howard Connell killed Dixon and then took his place. Don't worry. We'll get the proof. Okay, I'll take your word for it. Mike, let's go out and pick up Conn. Mr. Carter. Mr. Shane. Inspector, I just telephoned For? You phoned. Why? What for? The very thing I hired Shane to prevent. It's happened. What are you talking about? You don't mean to tell me. Yes, I do mean to tell you. Mr. Dixon is dead. At the home of the late Gregory Dixon. Mike Shane, Phyllis and the inspector have found another body. The body of the man whom they were about to arrest. The dead man lies sprawled in the bushes directly beneath an open window on the second floor. Well, I don't know. He fell from the window. We heard him fall. Mr. Wilkinson, what are you doing in San Francisco? I just got here from Redwood City. Carter and I came out to talk to him. Inspector, take a look at the man's head. Yeah, I see. Deep gash in the back of the skull. He must have hit his head on a rock. Hold on, hold on. Here's something else. A revolver in his coat pocket and a sheet of paper. It's a note. A typewritten note to the authorities. I cannot go on. You know the truth by now. I killed Gregory Dixon. Then a typewritten signature. Howard Connell. Connell? Then it's true. I can't believe it. Good heavens. So he committed suicide. All right. Suppose you all tell us what happened. Starting with you, Mr. Fisher. Well, I was next door in my house. Wilkerson and Carter rang my doorbell and asked if Dixon, I mean Connell, had gone out. Yes, we'd been pounding on his door and got no answer. Yes, I was sure he was in, so I came over with him and let them into the house with my key. Wilkinson was all excited. He said he had some terrible news. He said the real Gregory Dixon was dead and we'd all been tricked. How did you know that, Mr. Wilkinson? Yes, we just discovered that for ourselves. But you never told us. I. Well, when I saw that body from the well and the ring on his finger, I recognized it. You told us it meant nothing to you. I know. I just couldn't believe it. I wanted time to think it out. Then I drove up to the city and told I thought Wilkinson was crazy. I phoned Dixon, I mean Connel, and told him we were coming right out. I still couldn't believe it. That's why I jumped all over you, Mr. Shane, for letting the man get killed. I didn't know it was suicide and that he was a fake. Believe me, I didn't. Uh huh, uh huh. But to get on, what happened after you three were in the house? Well, Wilkinson was trying to tell me his discovery and Carter was arguing with him. Connel wasn't downstairs, so I went up and called him. He shouted from the bedroom that he'd be down in a minute. And I went back to the living room and started asking Wilkinson questions. He told me about the ring. Yes. We kept waiting and waiting. The living room windows were open, and I complained about the cold wind blowing in. Fisher went over and started to close the windows. He shouted. And we heard Connell crash to the ground. I saw the body falling past the window. Connell must have known he was trapped. He couldn't face us. Those open windows on the second floor, are they in Connell's bedroom? Yes. Now, let me get this straight. All three of you men were in the room when Connell fell? Yeah. Chelsea. Okay. Now, if you gentlemen don't mind, I'll ask you to step indoors for a few minutes. We want to examine the ground around here before you trample all over everything. All right, kids, I know what you're thinking. Yes, one or more, or all three of them are lying. It was not suicide. It was deliberate murder. Right. Mike, that bedroom window is less than 20ft from the ground. Tell 10 to 1 that fool wouldn't kill a man. If Connor was really planning suicide, he wouldn't take that chance. He'd do it properly. And he wouldn't be so cagey about writing his signature on the note on the typewriter. Well, I can't believe he got that deep gash in the back of his skull from hitting one of these rocks. They're not much bigger than pebbles, if you ask me. Angel, that gash was made by the butt of his revolver. One terrific blow, then the gun was stuck in his pocket. Kids, I'm worried. We know it's murder, but hang it. Were those three guys swearing they were all in the room together? We're gonna have a devil of a time proving a case against any one of them. Yes, yes, but remember the old rule, Inspector, when all suspects have alibis. None of them have alibis. We've just got to get in and do some good head work. Well, while you're about it, maybe you can explain one thing to me, huh? Explain what, Phil? Look. These rose vines. Rambling rose vines cover the whole side of this house clear up to the roof. You see? And yet, when you look at Connell's suit, there isn't a single tear or a snag. There's not even a broken rose petal on his clothes. Well, that could be because he jumped or was thrown clear of the vines. How could his body fall right against the foundations of the house? Wait a minute. Wait a minute. The upstairs windows and the downstairs windows both open outwards. That's it, angel, you've hit it. You're darn right she's hit it. Absolutely, Inspector. Now, we've got some business indoors. He was killed. Murdered. Why, that's impossible, Mr. Shane. We were all here in the living room. We all saw the body fall. Of course you saw it fall. But Howard Connell was already dead. And he did not fall from the second floor. He did not fall. I'll show you what happened, gentlemen. Now, when you three men were here in the living room, these windows were open. They were open outwards. The body was laid across the tops of both halves of the window. When Mr. Wilkinson complained of the cold, Mr. Fisher closed the windows. That took the support away from the body. And you saw Connel fall past the window. Why, that's idiotic. I'd have seen the body. You did see it, Mr. Fisher. You put it there. You killed Connel with the butt of that revolver. You murdered him because you had helped Connel impersonate Dixon. You were in the deal with him. No. No, he tricked Me, too. No, Mr. Fisher, you told us that you'd gotten a letter from Howard Connell in New York. Connell never went to New York. He was right here. All right, all right, I admit it. I killed Connell. When I discovered he'd murdered Dixon, he murdered my cousin. That sounds like a very lame attempt to plead the unwritten law. But that was not your reason. You killed Connell because you knew we were closing in on him. You knew Connell couldn't take it. You knew Connell would confess and that he would tie the noose around your neck, too. But. But I'm afraid that you've done a perfect job of that yourself, Mr. Fisher. Well, how about it, Inspector? Why so quiet, angel? What are you thinking about? H? Oh, I was just thinking about that whole fantastic scheme. What a cockeyed motive. Yeah, but it almost worked. Phil Connell and his cousin Fisher saw a way to get a hold of all of Dixon's money, instead of just the amounts he intended to leave them in his will. First, they had to kill Dixon, get his estate distributed and bring Dixon back to life. All the heirs and beneficiaries would then have to return their bequests to him, and Connell and Fisher would have the whole estate for themselves. Well, I've heard of killing a man for his money, but never bringing him back to life to get his inheritance. When I see a case like that, I'm almost glad I haven't got any money. Poor but honest and alive. Mm. Money is the root of all evil I'll still take plenty of the root. The correct quotation, honey, is the love of money is the root of all evil. Oh, yes. It's the love that causes the trouble. Oh, love. Well, I'll take plenty of that, too. Tune in again next week at 8 o' clock for another adventure with Michael Shane, Private Detective, starring Wally Mayer and Kathy Lewis, with Joe Forte as the inspector. Tonight's story was written by Richard DeGraff and based on the character created by Brett Halliday. Music was composed and directed by Bernard Katz. This is John Lang saying good night for Union Oil Company and reminding you once again to get your application for your Union Oil credit card. This. This is the mutual don lee broadcasting system. I'd have sworn someone was standing right behind me. I started to turn, and I heard something come down over me. I tried to duck, heard a ripping sound and blood running wildly down my arm. A knife. I tried to grab the arm. I couldn't reach it. The knife was coming down again. The New Adventures of Michael Shane, Private Detective. This is your director, Bill Russo, inviting you to listen to another transcribed episode with Michael Shane, that reckless redheaded Irishman back in his old haunts in New Orleans. We call it the Case of the Blood Stained Pearl. Okay, okay, I'm coming. Open up. Open up. Hello. Come on, open up. Next time, why not bring along an axe. Close it off. Quickly. See? Quickly. Ma', am. Where's the key? I want you to lock the door now. Look, I want you to lock the door, Mr. Shaney. Let's just snap a double lock for now and hope for the best. Hey, hey, where you going? I want to look down on the street. I'm sure they followed me. A crafty, scheming lot will tell you that. Hey, who are you talking about, Pop? My friends, that's who. My dear, faithful friends. Faithful friends. They boil me in oil to skin me alive. Cut me to ravens to find out the height. Look, you better slow down. You're gonna burn out a berry. Scallions, scallywags, cartroads, leeks, beetles and chicken inspectors. What are these friends of yours trying to find? None of your business. You just keep that nosey horse out of our fairs. Hey, hey, hey. Remember you came to me. Oh. Oh, yeah. Oh, it's just. It's all so infuriating. Makes my blood boil, swear it does. Three dear friends. For six years, we've shared the same little houseboat, same skimpy fare. We've watched 2,000 sunsets, we've talked 10,000 hours of the night away. And now, Mr. Shane, what are your rates? Forgotten a man's life and possessions. I kind of think I might be a little too rich for your blood, old timer. Oh, a little too rich for my blood? You do indeed. Well, well, well, Mr. Shane. Look, I suppose you've come to that remarkable decision just by looking at me coat, dispatch pants, cardboard. My shoes. Too rich from AR huh? Let's shed a tear for me poor old man. Pete, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Feelings? Why your feelings? I come here on business. My life's imperiled. My possessions are in jeopardy. Despite your outrageous rates, I'll pay you out of my meager safe. And just what are these possessions you want me to protect? Wait, wait. Hey, hey. Leave those window shades alone. It's time. Stock love as an issue. Here. Start with nothing. Absolutely nothing. And now, Mr. Shane. Now this is what I want you to protect. The contents of this little leather bag. Yes, here's what this pitiful old man wants you to protect, Mr. Shane. Yes, this is what they killed me for. In the palm of my hand, I hold three pearls worth a million dollars. In a moment, we will return to Mike Shane and the case of the blood Stained pearls. It had started like any other day. A widow named Mrs. Karpolis had hired me to track down one of her boarders who'd run away with her copper samurai. And I fear the good widow's heart. A guy had called to ask my rights for getting divorce evidence against his blonde wife. And then an old man named Peters came in. The kind of old guy you might see in Jackson Square sleeping on the grass with a newspaper over his face. Only this old man had a million dollars worth of the biggest pearls I'd ever seen in my whole life. Well, how do you like them, Mr. Shane? Well, you. You could use them for snowballs, Mr. Peters. Where'd you get them? I found them three weeks ago in Little Cove along the Mississippi. Not so many years ago, this part of the river was one of the favorite haunts of pirates. Aquafitt. This might have been part of his treasure. Lost in the sea Watch. Washed up by the tides. Yeah. Give them back to me. Give me here. Give me here. You've held them long enough. Yeah, they're all yours, Pop. Hey, did you ever have them appraised by a jeweler? I wouldn't trust them out of my sight. Even my own friends would kill me for them. Well, how do you know they're worth a million bucks? I've gone to the library looked up pearls in all encyclopedias. I've compared them with the descriptions of the very finest. There is no comparison. Mine are the most beautiful pearls of them all and they take them from me. Imagine that, my own friends. Now, if you were smart, you'd sell them to a good jeweler and forget them. Never. I'll never sell them. What could anyone give me half so beautiful as these pearls themselves? Yeah, I bet you a million dollars all stacked up real neat is kind of beautiful. Besides looking at an encyclopedia. What's that? For all you know, these pearls came out of a popcorn box and you're all upset about nothing. Oh, you think so? You think so, eh? Nothing. Well, all right, let's go to a jeweler. I saw one down the street. Oh, yeah, Mr. Mind you, I won't sell them no matter what the price. But let him look at them, Mr. Shane. Let him tell you what they were. Well, Mr. Forrester? Well, go on, tell this Mr. Shane what they were. He thinks they might have come out of a. What was it? A popcorn box. Tell him, Go on, go on, tell him. I've never seen anything like them. Mm, they're priceless. Ah, you hear, Mr. Shane? You hear? You hear? Now give them back to me. Give me here, give me here. Yes, of course, my beautiful little ladies. Now Mr. Shane knows your worth. Yes, now he won't mock you anything. What would you say they were worth, Mr. Forester? Well, I wouldn't even try to give you an estimate, Mr. Shane. Thanks, Mr. Forester. Come on, Pop, back to my office. Okay, Pop, have a seat. Now, you take me seriously, Mr. Shade. These people who you think are trying to take their pearls from you. I don't think, I know. They kill me for it. Yeah, yeah. All right. You say you live with them on a houseboat, huh? Yeah, off Pier 22 on River Highway. And did you tell them about the pearl? No, of course not. But I know they're spying on me continually. Excuse me. All right. Yeah? Mr. Shane, this is Foster. The tuna. Yeah, I. I thought I'd better call you as soon as you got back to your office. Why, is the old man still with you? Yeah. Then don't let an hood's talking to you. What's that? I didn't want to break his heart. I could see what the pearls meant to him. And as long as he never tries to sell them, well, why should we hurt him? You mean they're paste, Mr. Shane, nothing but paste. At the very most they are worth $5. Well, how do you like that Shane. I wish you'd hurry. I don't have all day. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, thanks. Thanks for calling. Goodbye. Now, Mr. Shane. Now we can talk business. I've already gotten the business, but go on, Mr. Peters. So old man Peters hired me to protect his $5 worth of imitation. I overcame the real Shane long enough to tell him he could pay me at the end of the month. By which time I was sure he'd be out of my hair. He left the office, and I forgot about him. Then one night, he caught me in one of my less happy moods. The office rent was two weeks overdue. Three of my checks had bounced. I was stretched out on my couch, feeling jollier than words can say. And the phone started ringing. Yeah, it's me again. Peters. Look, Peters, I wish you'd stop calling me. I called you a detective. Are you? Anyhow, I'm threatening falling day and night, and you wish I'd stopped calling. Oh, what is it now? I know who's been following me. I saw today for the first time. Look, this is not good. It's bad for you and it's bad for me. You. You come up to my office. I'm gonna break it to you gently. Break what to me? You just come on up, Pop. Don't you want to hear who's for? You'll tell me when you get here. We'll trade little. Okay, Pop. Okay. Do you always have to knock like that? Look, if you break the glass, you're gonna have to hock all your pearls to pay for it. Come on in, Jane. Hey. Hi. Hey. Hey, Pop. What's wrong? Old man Peters was dead before he hit the floor. I don't know how he ever lived to reach my office. There were four bullet holes in his back as he fell, his left arm flung out wildly, his left fingers doubled into a fist. I bent down to see what was in that fist. It was his most priceless possession. A bag of phony pearls. Before calling the cops, I put the pearls in my pocket. Because now I was gonna make it my business to find out who'd killed the old man. After the cops finished questioning me, I really felt beat. I went home to my hotel room, arranged my weary bones around the lumps in the mattress, drifted off to sleep. Then I had to drift right back again. Yeah? Yeah. Yeah. Hello. This is shane. This is Mr. Tompkins. Yeah, Tompkins. The watchman down at the office building. Oh. Oh, yeah. I thought I better call you. What happened? Somebody broke into your office a while ago. Huh? When was this? Well, must have been between my rounds. I heard something. I came and looked. Everything short was torn to pieces. Fine, fine. I hope they didn't get anything of value, Mr. Shane. No, no. That's what makes it so wonderful to be poor. Good night. I hung up and started going back to sleep. Just before I made it I suddenly started thinking about the little bag of phony pearls that was right now in the rear pocket of her pants hanging over my my dresser. All of a sudden I wasn't nearly as sleepy as I thought. I reached my cigarettes under my pillow and then I heard the tiniest sound. Someone was trying to fit a key into my door. The tiny grating sound continued. A couple seconds more and the door would open. I started for my gun on the dresser. I heard the lock snap back. I ran to the dresser. Dog. I stumbled over a chair. I heard a quick move in the hall. I could. Grabbed the gun and raced to the door. All was empty. Nothing but closed doors with numbers on it. The only sound was a guy in one of the rooms whimpering in his sleep. A nice peaceful scene. Five seconds ago I'd been close enough to death to smell it. Who had it been? Who had old man Peters been afraid of? That was an easy1. His three pals on a houseboat. I remember how I'd laughed to myself when he told me they'd kill him for time. The first pearls. Funny thing, I wasn't laughing anymore. I had the pearls now. In a moment we will return to Mike Shane and the case of the blood stained pearls. It all started when a little old guy named Peters came to my office with a wild story of three pearls worth a million dollars. Forrester, a jeweler, said they were worth five bucks the outside. Yeah, they were paste. Anyhow, somebody thought enough of the pearls to kill the old man. Now I had them. And somebody was trying to kill me. The next morning when I went down to my battered old office I found a telegram among the ruins. Would like to see you this evening regarding the death of our friend George Peters. There was an address. It was dark by the time we got there. The cab had worn out three maps and his smiling disposition. Five miles out of town, right in the middle of nothing. A rotting wooden here sticking into the water maybe 20ft at the end of it, a battered old tug. That'll be 275. Okay. Here you are. I'm sure sorry I dragged you out this far. You ain't half as sorry as I am, friend. Oh, wait for me, will you? I'll Be right back. Drop dead. Hey. Hey. Wait. Hey. Ra. In the darkness, the lights of New Orleans seem a thousand miles away. I started down the wooden pier. They were light somewhere on the tug. There didn't seem to be anything living around here except the mosquitoes. I hopped out of the tug, started looking for somebody and I heard someone singing. I followed the sound, found a stairway leading down into the hold of the ship. The old guys were sitting on orange crates near a big pot bellied coal stove. The one who was singing looked like Moses. Must have looked complete with a flaming red beard. Thank you, Brown. Just hearing it makes me feel a little better. Who are you? What do you want? I'm Michael Shane. Shane, Mr. Shane Brown. Mr. Brown was just singing crow, Mr. Peters. Peter. Favorite song. Old George never got tired of hearing it. What can we do for you, Mr. Shane? I got a wire asking me to come down here. I sent the wire, Mr. Shane. Where'd you come? My niece, Mr. Shane. Why'd you send for him, Eve? To hear his side of it. His side of it? Mr. Peters died in your office, according to the papers, Mr. Shane. Well, that's right, Eve. Papers also say they can't seem to find a motive for the crime. He wasn't wrong. See, they found his wallet and spa. That's all they found. Oh, is there something else to find, Mr. Bryant? You see. Yeah, I think you better go, Mr. Shane. But I've got some questions to ask too. Last night, somebody. Long, long trail. Hey, will it tell this guy to shut up? Get out, Mr. Shane. Get out of my sight. I can take a hit as well as the next guy. Besides, there was something in old Brown's eyes when he turned on me. Or maybe it was the crazy red beard. Anyhow, all of a sudden I wanted to be in the open air again with the cab gun. There was nothing between me and New Orleans but a long, long trail. A winding like the man said. I started hiking down the road. Must have walked two miles before to the gas station. It was all locked up for the night. But there was a phone booth outside. I called for a cab. Then as I hung up, I'd have sworn somebody was standing right behind me. I started to turn. I tried to duck. I heard a ripping sound. A knife. I tried to grab the arm instead. My fingers closed around the blade. I felt the blade cutting into the flesh. There wasn't any pain, just a warm wetness. I couldn't reach the knife. I found his wrist with my teeth. A bit down. Hard. Hard. Knife hit the ground. Then I grabbed for the guy. My fingers closed around a handful of hair. He tore himself free. Running off down the road. I just flopped down on the ground. After a while, I lit my cigarette lighter to take inventory of the wreckage. There was some mess. One hand looked like second quality hamburger. The other hand was okay. It still held a fistful of hair. Red hair. Yeah. I'd just given Mr. Brown's beard a trim the hard way. The cab showed up about an hour later. Instead of going to the city, I headed back to Pier 22. I was just groggy enough and mad enough to want the rest of the red beard. I marched down the gangway again. But this time there was only Eve putting a coffee pot on the stove. She heard me and she turned. But Mr. Shane. Where is he? I'm gonna kill him. Where is he? You're hurt. Look at you. Never mind. Now. Just tell me where I can get my hands on that bearded old goat. You gotta let me help you now. Here, sit down, please. Yeah, yeah. My dear Betty, only for a minute. Let me get your coat off now. Good heavens, Mr. Shane, just look at you. Nice old man, you Mr. Brown. Hey, hey, easy with the coat. Take the arm right with you. Mr. Brown didn't. Yeah, he sure did. I've got half his red beard to prove it. I was afraid something like this was going to happen. I don't know what to say. You better say with Mercurochrome and bandages. Hey, didn't think it was this bad myself. Fail. I think they'll hold you till you can get to a doctor. Yeah, yeah. Regular Florence Nightingale, aren't you, Eve? I mean, I bet you Florence never wore blue jeans and a green sweater. You still look pretty weak, Mr. Sheen. I'll get you a cup of coffee. Yeah, good idea. Course I like my mama's way better, huh? When I got hurt, she used to kiss it better. I'll get the confidence. I was talking about Mama. How much sugar? You really got a one track mind, Eve. Two lumps. Well, as long as you don't want to discuss Mama, let's get back to old man Brown. Where is he now? I don't know. I haven't seen him since you left. Here's your coffee. Thanks. It's a good heart. You know, I'm glad you're not in on this. In on what? This whole business. Peters, Pearls, Brown. I don't understand you. Of course you don't understand. It takes a particular kind of woman to understand. Now, I've been in this racket so Long. I can spot a wrong name like that. That's remarkable. Oh, nothing remarkable about it, Eve. They'll say something or look at you in a certain way. You get to know you. You get to feel. Drink your coffee. It's getting cold. Mr. Shimon. Yeah, yeah. Everything they do, the perfume they wear, the way they dress, everything's a fruit promise. You fall for the promise and end up in the gutter. I understand people like that, honey. But you don't understand people like Mr. Brown, do you, Mr. Shane. What's yet I understand? Bag of pearls explains everything. Brown with his ferocious red beard. Know what he was? Milkman in Chicago. He should have stayed there. Trapped in a dull, monotonous job year after year. Finally pensioned off so he could crawl into a corner and die. My uncle and poor Mr. Peters, they were like that too. Wasting the last precious years, but always dreaming of escape. I didn't hear anything down there. Escaping this old house. Boot on the Mississippi boot. Ever been in? I had to buy. Was worth it. Look, I don't. Three old men were. Can't imagine how fond they became of each other. Something wrong, Mr. Shane? Sick stomach. What? What? Your faith in me was a little premature, Mr. Shane. I poisoned your coffee. I started for the gangway and then the gangways. Subdivided like something under a microscope. And there were two gangways, then there were four, and then there were gangways everywhere. I hung onto all the railings, tried climbing all the stairs. And then barring my way, was Eve's uncle, Mr. Johnson. Only it was a whole row of Mr. Johnsons. They were all holding ancient guns. I remember rushing past, brushing through the cold air. I remember falling to my knees just as I heard all the ancient guns go off. Last thing I saw in all the world, the headlights of the taxi cab I told to wait. My last thought was, how funny. Most taxicabs had only two headlights, but this one had half a million. Well, he looks like he's coming out of it, Doc. Yes, he's a lucky boy, Shane. You must have cornered the market on four leaf clovers. You had enough poison in you. Take it easy, Mr. Shane. You're gonna be all right. Who's this Eve talking? Eve. Double crossing Danger. Oh. The cab driver who brought you here gave us the address. Now, look, you go to sleep, kiddo. I'll pick him up. Oh. Oh, wait for me. Hand me my pants, Doc. Mr. Shane, I absolutely won't be responsible for what pants. After what I've taken from those three, I wouldn't miss a payoff if it took my last corpus. But, Mr. Shane, will you hand me my pants And Inspector? Yeah? Since I'm the guy that ran through the meat grinder, would you let me finish it off my way? What do you mean, Shane? On the way out to the house fort, I want to pick up a jeweler named Forrester. So we picked up Forrester. The poor guy was so scared to hear us pounding on his door at 2 in the morning. I thought he'd never lived to make the house both. It was almost three when we got there, but Eve and Brown and Johnson were still up, sitting around the red hot coal stove like they'd been expecting us right along. Eve jumped up as we clattered down the gangway. Mr. Shane. Mike, you're all right. Yeah. Yeah. That coffee, it was better than tonic. You ought to bottle it, Eve. You really have something there, Mr. Brown. Your beard doesn't look quite so flowing tonight. Okay, Inspector, take over. I'm arresting all three of you on the charge of murder. Before you take them away, I want to show them this. Yeah, kiddies, here's a bag of pearls. I had them on me all the time. Mike. Now here's what you killed old man Peters. Shut up. You and all that corny talk about friendship. The three old buddies sitting in the sun. Yeah, blood brothers. Until one of them found a bag of pearls. Then it was his blood. Don't you say that. I'm not through, baby. I'm just full of surprises. Like they say in the minstrel show, honey, you ain't heard nothing yet. Here's what you killed old man Peters for. A million dollars worth of pearls. Mr. Forrester. Yes, Mr. Shane, tell him what these pearls are really worth. Fighting a paste. They're not worth $5. You hear that? That's what you shot the old man in the back for. A bag of ponies. And here's where the ponies are going. Right where poor old Peter should have thrown them in the first place. Right into the stove. Right into the fire. Don't be the senior. Hey, Father, what's wrong? The fire will destroy them. You stupid fool has got to save them. Hey. Hey. Get away from here. Get out your bird. A million dollars. In a moment, we'll be back with a thrilling climax to tonight's Michael Shane Adventure. Someone finally pulled Forrester's arm out of the fire. While we waited for an ambulance, Forrester blubbered out the whole story. How he'd killed Peters for the pearls. How he'd come into the hallway of my hotel that Night and would have killed me for it. How he'd have killed a thousand times for such wonders as those priceless jewels. Now I'd destroyed them. I didn't hear much of it. I just flopped down, let my head fall on my chest. All that had happened was finally catching up with me. Then as the inspector started up the gangway, I. What is it, Shane? Here, Inspector. Give these to the museum or something. The pearls. I don't understand. Well, the way Forrester acted when we picked him up tonight got me to wondering. I thought, why take a chance? So all I threw into the fire was a cloth bag. Shane. You know, there are times when I almost wish you'd joined the force. With all my other troubles, that's all I'd need. Okay, kid. See you around, Mike. Yeah. Yeah. Mike, huh? Feeling better? Yeah. Feel beautiful. You thought we killed Mr. Peters for the pearls? We thought you killed him for him. We love the old man so much. That's why we tried to kill you. You know, Eve, you can be arrested for that. If I want to press charges, that is. Do you want to? Beast? It wasn't all wasted, Beast. I met you, Mike. Yeah. Yeah, big deal. Well, I better be going. I'm pretty beat. Must you go, Mike? Cold air this time on. It'll cut right through you. And if I stay, what would you do to keep me warm? I'll make you a nice pie. Coffee? Yeah. Good night, kid. This is your director, Bill Russo. Michael Shane is written by Larry Marcus and based on characters created by Brett Halliday. Music is composed and conducted by John Duffy and Michael Shane is portrayed by Jeff Chandler. The Adventures of Michael Shane is a Die Shop production, transcribed in Hollywood and distributed exclusively by the Broadcasters Guild. Next week, Mike Shane, against his will, gets involved in an exciting story of romance and intrigue. I hope you'll be listening, Sam. The name is Michael Shane. Occupation? Private detective. Residence, Miami, Florida, but will work anywhere, anywhere there's excitement and adventure. This week's episode took place in Miami, Florida on February 25, 1953. The Adventures of Michael Shane presented by the American Broadcasting Company, starring Vincent Hayward and based on the bestselling detective story character created by Brett Haladay. And here to tell you about this week's episode is Michael Shane. Bounding through the night there rides a vicious, fiery white horse, nostrils spouting flame, sharpened hooves pounding a staccato tattoo of misery and pain. Wild eyed, he promises pleasure. But the only pleasure that comes from riding this steed is the sweet release of death. For this horse bears the name of the queen of narcotics? Heroin. Hi. Hi, Mike. Oh, hi, Lucy. See you got here in time. Hurried over as soon as I got your call. What's up? I don't know. Inspector Gavin called me to grab you and hurry over here to the hospital as fast as we could. Did you bring your notebook? Yeah. Pencils. My shorthand may be rusty, though. Oh, We're. Goodbye, Ellen. 4:31. Hi, Mike. Lucy, Come on in. Hi, Inspector. What have you got behind the screen? Little guy named Klein. Owns the candy straw on your street. Oh, yeah? Yeah. No, I'm. What's wrong? Knife war. And he's lucky to be alive. Oh, who did it? That's it. He won't tell us. Wants to talk to you. Come on, Mike, let's go. For me? There you come to. Here you are, Ms. Klein. You wanted to see Michael Shane. And this is Lucy Hamilton, his secretary. How are you, Mr. Klein? I'm in the hospital. How can I be sick? And they don't like you to talk too much either, Mr. Klein. Only about what happened. I'm going to talk about what happened, but you've got to get out of the room first. Look, Mr. Klein, you can't shove the police department. I'm a very sick man. Don't upset me, please. I want to talk to Mr. Shane alone. The girl can stay too. You're a very nice girl. How come you're not more tan? Well, I. I don't get out in the sun much. It's very healthy for you. Look at me, I'm tan all over. Take my advice. Get out in the sun. So, Inspector, what are you waiting for? All right, all right, I'm going. I'm going. Goodbye. Goodbye. I'll see you outside, Shane. Dr. Stener, please report to. What happened to you, Mr. Klein? Well, first, Mr. Shane, I don't want the police should arrest the boy who hurt me. Not unless you feel they got to. When you find out why. Well, you know he nearly killed you. But I'm alive. You know who he is? Yeah, I know who he is. It's my son, huh? Yes. Yes, Mr. Shane. My boy Ralph. You know him? You met him. Tell me, you think he could do such a thing? 17. A baby. Yeah, a baby with a knife. Mr. Shane, you believe he would try to kill his own father? Mr. Shane, I lie here in bed. I. I make jokes. All the time I make jokes. But inside I want to be dead. Do you have any ideas, Mr. Klein, why he could have done this? Who knows? Who knows what goes on in the Mind of a boy. I think he's sick somehow. Sometimes he comes. Comes home sad, not talking, tired. I say, this is not my boy. My boy is a happy one. Then he goes to his room. When he comes up, he's happy again. But this is not my boy either. Because it's a sick happiness. He laughs at everything I say. I say business is bad. He laughs. I say, maybe it's going to rain today. He laughs. It's a shame. So sad. Happy. This is not my boy. What terrible sickness must a boy have to try to kill his father? What? What happened? Mr. Cline, he comes home. He asked me for money. I gave him a dollar. He says it's not enough. I give him two dollars. He says, still not enough. I tell him he should work. He'll have enough. He tells me that I'm no father. He gets mad to knife into me. Mr. Shane, what happened to my son? I don't know, Mr. Klein, but I'll try and find out for you. Why should a boy, 17, need so much money? A hundred dollars, he said. And he wouldn't tell me what for. Do you have any ideas? No. He got mad once. I took a phone message for him. Oh, what sort of a message? Nothing. Nothing to get so mad about. A man called and said he wanted to see him right away. Well, the man's name, do you remember it? No, I don't know. Rosal, Rachel? I think something like. Yeah. Rogel. Ro. Yeah. You know the man, Mr. Shane? No. No. Now, don't you worry. We'll see what we can do. Now, you. You take care of yourself, Mr. Klein. Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Shaw. I. Forget it. And you. You. You get pain, young lady. Betty, you should be healthy. Well, I'll try, Mr. Klein. Goodbye. Goodbye. Mike. Who's Ragell? Narcotics. Lucy. Oh. Used to be a dope pusher. So. Supposed to be going straight now. Owns a funeral. Mike, you think the boy. Yeah. Hooked Rochelle. Must be in business again. Get them while they're young. Once they're on the hook, let them squirm, try and get off. That's no good. And the symptoms the old man described the kid's emotional highs and lows. It's crazy laughing. Yeah, I did all ties in. Yeah. Where are we headed for now? To a funeral, Lucy. To a funeral. You meet all sorts of unsavory characters in this kind of business, but you reserve a special section of hate and vengeance inside of you for one particular type. The filth of the underworld who make their living from the misery of Others a misery they've created. The dope pet, the pushers who make hotheads, junkies, bums out of thrill seeking kids. You head up Alton Road across the Fifth Street Causeway, and soon you're at Rochelle's funeral parlor. Mike, no one's here. Someone must be around. Let's. Let's look now. A door. Let's see where it goes to. Well, bye. Let's come back some nice sunshiny day. Let's get it over with now. Come on. Come in. Ah, come in, my friends. Come in and sit down. Thanks. Your lights need fixing. It's too dark in here. Or are you ashamed to have people see your face, Roel? Oh, say, I remember you. You should. Rozelle. We've tangled before. Yeah. Mike. Shane. What do you want? What are you looking at? You, Rogelle. I thought you went straight. So what do you think I'm doing in this business? What do you think I'm in it for? Laughs? No. Cover. Cover for what? You're crazy, Shane. I'm straight like a corkscrew. You're back in business, aren't you, Rochelle? Yeah, the funeral business. I mean dope, narcotics, morphine, marijuana, heroin. Name the rottenness, Rochelle, and I'm sure you have it. Proof? Not yet, but I'll get it. Is that what you came here to tell me? No. Then what are you doing here? Came here to tell you to lay off a kid by the name of Ralph Klein. Never heard of him. You're a liar. You heard what I said. I don't know the kid. I don't know anything. I don't know anything yet either. I'm starting to look. When I find what I'm looking for, Rochelle, I'm gonna haul you in. One hand tight around your neck. I'm scared. You gave me your warning, Shane. Now I'm going to give you one. Don't try pinning anything on me, or you won't live long enough to bet on tomorrow's first race of Phelps. I don't bet on horses, Rogel. Just human beings. You know something, Shane? There ain't none. They're all crawling little bugs fit for nothing except to be stepped on. Keep your philosophy, Roger. I'll keep my mar. Just let's get out there. Ready? M. Remember what I told you, Rogel. Don't worry, Shane. I'll never forget. Not as long as you live. Call it instinct. Call it whatever you want. You're sure Steve Roelle is hip deep, back in the dope record. But you need proof. Proof to send him Away to kill the source of supply. I would get that. Proof he didn't talk. Maybe the kid will. It's time you talk to the old man's son, Ralph Klein. You start off at the candy store on your street. It's closed. A few questions bring you a few answers. Ralph Klein has been spending his spare time in an empty store three blocks up the street. You drive up there and find a crudely shattered sign popped up in the last doorway. A social club. Doesn't look very social to moonlight. Well, don't judge a book by its cover. That coin phrase. Yeah, who is it? Ralph Klein in there. Who wants it? Friend of his. Yeah? Who? Tell him. Mike. Shane. Go away. I want to come inside and talk to you. I don't want to talk to you. Would you rather talk to me or the police? Where's the girl? Lucy Hamilton, my secretary. Hi. Mind if we come in? Social club. Broken down chair. Record player. Who pays the rent here? Rogel. Never heard of him. Is that what he told you to say? If anybody asks, I never heard of him. Never heard of him. Never heard of him. Now get out of here and leave me alone. What are you afraid of? Maybe he won't sell you any more dope. I don't know what you're talking about. Just leave me alone. What are you on, Ralph? Morphine? Marijuana? Heroin? Nothing? Get out of here before I. For you. What, kid? I'm not your father. I'm not an old man. He ratted. He ratted on. He ratted on his own. No, he didn't. More of a man than you are, kid. Didn't tell the police anything. He just spoke to me. He told me to protect you. He didn't ask if I thought you deserved it. He's your father. You must. Bro. Get out of here. Leave me alone. I'll leave you alone. Just a minute. Come here. What do you want? What do you want from me? Just. Yeah, your arm. I want to take a. Don't let me go. I thought. Daddy's got a knife. I see it now. Will you be a good boy? Come here, Lucy. Take a look at this. Needle holes. Needle holes in his arms. Yeah, needle holes. You can go now, kid. I've seen enough. You're on heroin, aren't you? The big horse in the veins. A main liner. You're hooked, aren't you, kid? Come on. So I. Who do you think you are? Telling people how they can live? And you're living, kid. Think so? A charge makes you happy? Real gay happy. Really happy. So happy. You nearly killed your father. I told him I needed a body. Did you tell him what for? He wouldn't understand. Understand what, Ralph? Tell me. See if I understand how wonderful a thing can be. So wonderful that you'd even kill to get it. Kill your own father, an old man who figures you profit pennies. How many pennies does it take to make on a castle of toast? About. Lots of it. But he has money. Yeah, I'm sure he's very rich. That's why he runs a candy store. Listen, I need money to get what I want. My father has money for us, so he's rich. Whether it's ten dollars or a hundred, a thousand or a million, if you have enough money to buy what you want, you're rich. If you don't, you're poor. And I don't want to be poor because there's things I want to buy. There's things I gotta buy. Half of. Heroin, Ralph. Heroin. Happiness. Call it whatever you want. So you think you're buying happiness? Do you know what you really feel? Can you explain it to me? Sure. Yeah, sure. You're a kid, see, like any other. You do everything every other kid does. But inside of you, always, there's something that tells you you're different. Somehow. You're different. Maybe you're even better than the others. Only nobody knows it except you, see? Then one day you're leaving school. Guy comes over to you. He gives you some cigarettes, free. Well, you know what they are. You've heard about him. First you're afraid. Nobody's gonna say you're afraid. So you try em. Well, you get sick. You get real sick and you wonder, what's the big deal? And then it happens. The charge hits you. You start floating big. You're a big man. Oh, you're so big. You know you're big. Your friends know you're big. The sun's shining. The great big ball of a sun are just shining nice. Now you're part of the world. You're as big as Eisenhower, as Porton, as the King of England. Oh, man, man, man. But you left marijuana, Ralph. You went on to heroin. After a while, you smoke enough, you don't get the charge you need more. So the man who comes at the candy store to the school, he says, says, try horse kid. You're ready for the big time. Heroin. Big horse. Big white horse. Carry it anywhere on his back like seven league boots. No time, no space, no place. You can't be no one better than you. He says. You try again. Again. You get sick. And then the charge hits. You're in the back of this big white horse, see? It'll take you anywhere. Gallop, gallop, gallop. Shiny white horse. You're like a knight in armor. And you're hooked. Hooked. You've got to have more. Yeah, all the time, more. And then you've got to take your charge in the vain. The main line. The main line. Man, man, man. Fly, fly on the back of that white horse. But if you don't get it. Oh, you got to get the stuff. Oh, don't, don't you see? You got to. Oh, but if you don't. If you don't, then that white horse, he crawls inside you. His hooves are sharp. He rides around inside of it, tearing you to pieces with his hooves. Just tears. Pieces right out here. Cut you inside. And it hurts. It kills you. Kills you like no pain ever was before. It's sharp, terrible. Like there's a knife inside of you trying to cut its way out. Stabs, and it cuts and it hurts. Even when you scream out loud, the pain doesn't go away. I. You think maybe after a while I'll get used to this. It won't hurt so much. But you're wrong. The pain always comes back. And each time it comes back, it comes back stronger and stronger. Break out in a sweat, and each drop's like a drop of acid burning its way through you. Palms, your hands feel as though hundreds of tiny needles are stuck in them. They just won't come out. You try to rub them, start the blood moving again, but you just can't stand anything touching you. You want to tear your clothes off. You want to run, run away anywhere. You can't run away from that pain. It's with you wherever you go. It's in your body, in your brain, every breath you take. Now, could my old man understand that? Could I tell him that? Could I tell him how I have to have this stop? And you need it so bad you'd even kill to get it? Kill, cheat, steal, lie. Anything I got, I gotta do. You understand? Do you understand? Yeah. Yeah, kid. I understand. Ralph. There's a. There's a federal hospital in Lexington, Kentucky. What are you talking about? The junkie ward? Is that what you're talking about? You want me to kick this stuff? You want to take the horse away from me? Oh, you don't know. You don't know. That's where you're wrong, my friend. I do know. You see, Ralph, crooks are my business. I've seen guys like Rozelle come to move into a district and turn a bunch of kids like you into thieves, hoods, gunmen, just because they've got you hooked. So? So? So? So I've seen these kids end up in the electric chair, the gas chamber and the lucky ones. All because they were riding on the back of that same white horse. You're on now, Ralph, you gotta take your choice. How are you going to end up? Mister, what choice do I have? What choice? Do you think it's easy to get off the back of that horse once you're on? Mister, I know. I know. I know when I feel a pain ripping inside of me, I gotta stop. I gotta stop, and I'm not strong enough. I feel a pain. I say, no, no, no. I don't want it. But I need it. And I'm afraid of it at the same time. I know I take the shot, the pain goes away. I know every time it goes away. Soon it'll come back. Come back stronger than ever. It'll take a bigger shot, a bigger jolt to stop the pain. I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm just a kid kidding. I'm scared. I hate it and I love it. I don't want it, but I need it. I can't afford it, but I get it. Mister, what happens to kids like me? That depends on you. If you're strong enough, you can lick it. And if you're not strong enough? Mister, if you're not strong enough, if you're like me, what do you do? You die. Go crazy. People who believe in you can make you strong. Believe in. Who believes in me? Who can believe in a junkie? Your father believes in me. I could believe in you. Do you want to fight it, kid? Do you want to make the break now? What'll it be? It'll be what I tell him. Mike. Michelle. How do you do? How did I get in here? Through that door. Quietly. Quietly, like I do everything. No. Don't move for a gun, Shane, or I'll drop you. Now. Did you tell him anything, Ralph? No. No, I didn't tell him anything, Mr. Rougeau. Nothing. Nothing. Good. Good. You're a good boy, Ralph. You're proud of your handiwork, aren't you, Roger? Sure. Sure. Real proud. And this here, Ralph, he's my boy. Do anything I tell him to, won't you, Ralph? Won't you, Ralph? Yes, Mr. Rochelle. Yes, Mr. Rochelle. Because he knows if he says no to anything I say, he gets no more of the stuff. He doesn't get to ride that big white horse anymore. Isn't that right, Ralph? Yes, Mr. Rosel. Yes, Mr. Rogelle. You see how well trained he is, Shane? Just like a puppy dog. Just like a little puppy dog. Her. Ralph, show him. Show them how you like how. Like a puppy dog. Yeah, bark. Bark for them, Ralph. Mr. Rocheau. I said bark. Mr. Rochelle, please don't make me. I bark. Chunky. Bark. Mr. Rock. Louder. Louder. Puppy dog. Please, Mr. Ro, please. Louder. Or no more horse. Good puppy dog. Easy. Even though sick. Now, puppy dog, pick up that knife from the floor. Come on. Come on, fast. What do you want me to do, Mr. Roche? Take it. Yeah. Now, that's Mike Shane in front of you. You know why he's here? He wants to take you off this stuff. No more shiny white horse to ride. Now, I'm gonna stand here and watch you cut him to pieces. Teach him a lesson. Teach him not to try and take your horse away from you. Listening to your master's voice, Ralph. You thought you were escaping. When you took dope, it made you feel like a big man. A real big man. But if Rogelle tells you to bark, you bark. If he tells you you're a snake, you crawl. If he tells you you're a rat, you squeak. If he tells you to kill, you kill. Do you kill? Mr. Rochelle, please listen. Come on, puppy dog. Come on. No more charge for you. No more high flying. Get to work on him with that knife. Yeah, like you did on your father, Ralph. Kill him, kill me, kill whoever Rochelle tells you to. Sure, you'll be unhappy when you don't have a charge thinking about it. But Rochelle will give you more. More and more until you're dead, shot, killed or crazy. And all for what? Ralph, did you really get that much happiness from this stuff? No, no, no. Don't listen to him, puppy dog. Cut him. Cut him with a knife. No, no, no, no. Get away from him. Get away from me with that knife. Are you crazy? Crazy? Yeah, I'm crazy. Crazy. I don't want that horse. I don't want him killing me. You. You turned him loose in me. Yo, Michael. Get away. Did he get you, kid? No. Give me the knife. Here. Take it. Did I kill him? Let me see. No, al. Still alive. I'm sorry. No, I'm. I'm not a fokito. No, bud. Okay. Lucy, get your phone outside. Call gavin over here. Right, mike. It's gonna be rough, kid. Hard to get out of the habit. I know, I know. I'll pray to make you straight to do it. Do you think God listens to prayers of guys like me? I don't see why not. He helps anyone who wants to be helped. Mr. Shane, do you think I can see my father before I go away? Sure. Sure. And you know something? He'll be real glad to see you. In a little while. Well, Gavin comes tight lipped, angry. You know something he doesn't. But soon as he knows as much as you thought, Rochelle, his dope ring, how the high school kids were trapped. Gavin's not too gentle as he hauls Rochelle away to the prison ward in the hospital. You and Lucy go back to visit Mr. Klein in the hospital. Ralph standing next to you. Ralph smiles at his father, tells him he's sorry he's he's going away for a while and everything will be fine when he comes back. You look at the smile and notice how hard it is. And you know it's because somewhere inside of that boy, a white horse with sharp hooves is hurting him inside. The American Broadcasting Company has presented the Adventures of Michael Shane. Be with us again next week at this same time over these same ABC stations for another exciting episode in the Adventures of Michael Shane starring Vincent Hayworth as Shirley Shane and Dorothy Donahue as Lucy. Others in this week's cast were Dick York, Louis Soren, Rock Rogers and George Petrie. This week's adventure was written by Lewis M. Hayward. Music was arranged and conducted by Joe Viviano. The Adventures of Michael Shane, based on the best act of story character created by Brett Halliday is a very an end right production in association with ABC and comes to you from New York. We just heard Wally Mayer, Jeff Chandler and Vinton Hayworth as Michael Shane. That will do it for this week's show. Thanks so much for joining me. I'll be back next week with more radio detectives. In the meantime, you can check out Stars on Suspense, my other old time radio podcast. New episodes of that show are out on Thursdays. If you like what you're hearing, don't be a stranger. You can rate and review the show on Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen. And if you'd like to lend support to the show, you can visit buymeacoffee.com/stsotr. I'll be back next week with more radio sleuths. But until then, good night and happy listening. Now here is our star, Vincent Price. Ladies and gentlemen. In a prejudice filled America, no one would be secure in his job, his business, his church or his home. Yet racial and religious antagonisms are exploited daily by quacks and adventurers whose followers make up the irresponsible lunatic fringe of American life. Refuse to listen to or spread rumors against any race or religion. Help to stamp out prejudice in our country. Let's judge our neighbors by the character of their lives alone. And not on the basis of their religion or origin.