← The Great Detectives of Old Time Radio| Daily Mystery Dramas
The Great Detectives of Old Time Radio| Daily Mystery Dramas
The Road to the Valentine Matter (EP4795s)
02:44:36
Today we take a look at the evolution of E. Jack Neumann's story that became the five-part Johnny Dollar serial. Jeff Regan: The Man in the Church Regan is hired for a simple job of delivering $5,000 to a man, but finds himself wanted for murder....
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Limu Game OO and Doug Limu and I always tell you to customize your car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual. But now we want you to feel it. Cue the emu music. Limu Save yourself money today. Increase your wealth. Customize and save. We save. That may have been too much feeling. Only pay for what you need@libertymutual.com Liberty Liberty Liberty Liberty Savings Very unwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company and affiliates. Excludes Massachusetts Remember those endless summer days that felt like they just last forever. Sunrays kiss your skin. Grass tickles your toes as you bite into the creamy popsicle melting in your hand. Pure unbothered bliss. Capture more sun drenched memories with the Orange Vanilla Dream Hydration Multiplier from Liquid iv. This nostalgic vanilla flavor with notes of candied orange can help keep you hydrated while savoring your favorite golden hour moments no matter how hot your summer gets. Just one one stick of liquid IV and 16 ounces of water hydrates you better than water alone. It's three times the electrolytes of the leading sports drink with eight vitamins and nutrients for refreshing on the go. Hydration. Live your summer dream with Liquid IV Tear Pour Live more. Go to liquidiv.com and get 20% off your first order with code INDIVULGE20 at checkout. That's code INDIVULGE20@liquidiv.com Sam welcome to the Great Detectives of Old Time Radio from Boise, Idaho. This is your host, Adam Graham. In a moment, we're going to bring you our second Listener Support and Appreciation Special. But first, I do want to encourage you, if you're enjoying the podcast, to follow us using your favorite podcast software and our listener support campaign continues. You can become one of our ongoing Patreon supporters for as little as $2 per month by going to patreon.greatdetectives.net well, we're bringing you something a bit different today. In years past, we brought you Twice Told Tales where we take a look at one version of a radio script and how it was reused on another. This is different. I could, I suppose, call it Four Times Told Tale, but don't let that scare you or put you off. And I know some people might think hearing the same exact story four times in a row doesn't sound very interesting. I think I'll skip to the next episode. Well, let me explain a little. This is actually going to be a look at a yours truly, Johnny Dollar serial that was written by E. Jack Newman under the pseudonym John Dawson. What makes Johnstone's Yours truly, Johnny Dollar serials. Interesting is that they are rarely a case of take one script, pat it out and there you go. Plus, Crutchfield did a few scripts that were like that, but E. Jack Newman tended to take elements and ideas from from different scripts and combine them into the Johnny Dollar serial. In addition, you'll get to hear how different actors and creative teams handled these particular stories. So we're going to be bringing you Jeff Regan, Nightbeat, Yours truly Johnny Dollar with John Lund, and then the yours truly Johnny Dollar serial with Bob Bailey. So now from October 12, 1949, here is man in the Church warning. The following ZipRecruiter radio spot you are about to hear is going to be filled with F words when you're hiring. We at ZipRecruiter know you can feel frustrated, forlorn even, like your efforts are futile. And you can spend a fortune trying to find fabulous people only to get flooded with candidates who are just fine. Fortunately, ZipRecruiter figured out how to fix all that, and right now you can try ZipRecruiter for free at ZipRecruiter.com Zip with ZipRecruiter you can forget your frustrations because we find the right people for your roles fast, which is our absolute favorite F word. In fact, four out of five employers who post on ZipRecruiter get a quality candidate within the first day. Fantastic. So whether you need to hire four, 40 or 400 people, get ready to meet first rate talent. Just go to ZipRecruiter.com Zip to try ZipRecruiter for free. Don't forget, that's ZipRecruiter.com Zip finally, that's ZipRecruiter dot com Zip My name's Regan. I work for Anthony J. Lyon International Detective Bureau. They call me the Lion's Eye. Jeff Regan, Investigator. Starring Frank Graham as Regan. With Frank Nelson as Anthony J. Lyon. So stand by for mystery and suspense and adventure in tonight's story of the man in the Church. You'll find the Cosmopolitan building on 7th street near Olive. A pile of white granite holding up a brass clock that hasn't kept time since 1932. That's the year Anthony J. Lyon, the guy I work for, took out a 30 year lease on suite 308. You can't miss it right after you get off the elevator. International Detective Bureau. Good bargain counter if you want to buy your trouble wholesale. Right after the SC game last Saturday, I walked in. The lion was at his desk. He had a sparkle in one eye and a Jeweler's glass in the other. And even though he tried to cover up, I could tell he was looking at a $50 bill. Oh, oh, oh, you, Regan. I. I was just noticing the engraving on this bill. Intricate. Fascinating work of art, really. Grant took a good picture. Yeah. Didn't he, though? Ulysses Simpson Grant was one of our greatest presidents, Regan. So you're starting a collection? I've already started one. This is my first showing. All right. Who's the new client? Client? Oh, I didn't get this from a client. Really. Rather an old friend. Just a little errand. Yes, I called you in because I want you to do a favor for a friend. Last time we did a favor for a friend, he turned out to have a record as long as a rolled up kite string. Oh, Pencoll's not like that. Not at all. Yes, Charles Pencoll. Our. My friend, he. He wants a bonded licensed operator at his place at six o' clock tonight. Capitol Hotel on Aliso Street. And just what does Charles Penco Capital Hotel, Aliso street want this bonded licensed operator to do at 6 o'? Clock? Now see here, Jeffrey, there's no need to take that attitude. All Pinball wants is someone to deliver a cash amount of 5,000 bucks. You took another job without asking any questions, didn't you? What do you mean, ask questions? When a man who lives in a two bit hotel on Aliso street needs a license operator to deliver 5,000 bucks, there's questions to be asked. Well, I ask questions. Well, then give me some answers. All right, all right. Oh, I lied to you a little about his being an old friend. He isn't that really. But the man asked for help. I couldn't turn him down. He. He touched me in some way. Jeffrey. Here. There was a look about him. Gentle. Saw a fifty dollar. I tell you, Mr. Pencold was a distressed soul when he came in to see me. If you could have seen him. So disturbed, so helpless. It was our opportunity to help a brother in distress. Charles Pencoll is our brother, Ricky. Come on, answers. Start talking. All right, all right, I'll tell you what I can. Ben Cole has a problem, but it's in strictest confidence I told him I'd give him our best operator. You, Jeffrey. But I had to swear I wouldn't divulge details, even to you. But I promise it's nothing illegal, just a simple little job. My word, Jeffrey, if you're lying to me again. I'm not. Go see this man, Jeffrey. Take one look at him, you'll see. I'm telling the truth now. I. I told him you'd be there. The reputation of the agency is at stake. You took his 50 bucks? Yes, I took his 50. And we're on the hook. Yes, we're on the hook. Okay. Okay, fatso. I' see him. Just see him. But you stay right here. Stay here? Why? Because if this ball has a curve on it, I'm coming back here to ram that $50 right down your throat. Well, the lion had put on a good act, and I went for it again. Maybe it was because I figured he lied so much he'd accidentally have to tell the truth once in a while. Or maybe it was because he looked different when he was describing Charlie Penco. Anyhow, it was dark on Alisa street and it was trying to rain when I found a white blister over the sidewalk that blinked out capitol hotel rooms. $1 and up. I walked through a lobby that smelled like last year's laundry. Nobody was behind the desk, but I spun the register around and picked up a Charles A. Pencole in room H. It was upstairs, in between a broom closet and a fire escape, but I didn't have to knock. A tall, big bone man with a lot of gray hair had the shorter one by the lapels. You've been out of touch. Yeah, Johnny, I've been out of touch. But I know how to handle a punk like you. Now, listen to me. Get in my way once again and I'll break you in half. Welcome warning. You all right, big shadow. Don't try a gun. You drop the heater, buster? I should drop it. Got a lot of friends, Charlie? They always show up just in time. I remember you too, mister. I remember you. Get out of here. Go on, get out. Remember this? I remember all of this. You're a pretty good soldier. What's your name? Regan. Oh, yes, Some thanks. Thanks, Regan. I'd have used that thing. You know, we try to keep our clients alive until we've earned our fees. Clients? I'm from International. And if you're Charlie Pencol, you're a client until 50 bucks is used up. Oh, yeah, sure, sure. Come on in. Reagan? Yeah. Make yourself at home. Isn't much. Wire bed and the neon sign outside. I've had better. Regan. Yeah. Hey, you want a drink? Why not? Probably got a lot of questions to ask, Regan. I'll answer them fast. Yeah. Here you are. Thanks. Suppose you start with the punk Johnny Largo. Look, he hasn't got anything to do with you and me. He's a separate fuse. Sure, he's used that.38 before. You know him? I've seen him in the mug files. Well, I can handle him. I want you to handle something else. What's the look for? I've seen that kind of suit before. Did 10 bucks come with a. Yeah. Just got out of San Quentin. Did 18 years. It's over. Time served. It shows. Hey, you don't do that much vacation standing on your ear, Reagan. It's hard to get any exercise in that 10 by 8 room. And the nights, too. They're always a couple of million years long. You got somebody to worry about. Somebody like Largo? No, no, I tell you, he's nothing. In 29, he was a truck driver who had big ideas. He's still got them, but he's got nothing to back him up with. All right. You got somebody else to worry about. Yeah. Guy's name is Sidney Chambers. Owe him some money. You sure you want a detective? I can pay Chambers, but I can't see him. I'm gonna be busy. You're bonded. I can trust you to carry the money? Messenger boys are bonded, sir. It's a simple job, Regan. That's why I'd only pay the lion 50 bucks to have it done. There you are. 5,000 right there. Go ahead, count it. I'll take your word. Where do I find you, man? Sidney Chambers will be at the planetarium in front of the entrance. He'll be in a black suit, wearing a white carnation. The briefcase. And just like that, I walk up and hand him five grand. Just like that. How do you know I won't feel like taking a trip? I don't. But then I still haven't got anything to worry about. You got that much money? No, Reagan, I got me and Charlie Pinkel. Never let anybody put anything over on him. What about the state of California? It was a bummer. Oh, sure it was. Good night. I left him sitting there. He looked as happy as a Eubanki with a fever blister. Maybe the line was telling the truth. So I put the five grand in my pocket. But it felt hot, like a dynamite stick with a short fuse. It was 10 minutes to wait. When I parked in front of the planetarium, a little guy in a black suit was standing at the entrance looking at his watch. I was afraid he was going to get trampled. But the briefcase and white carnation saved him. Doors will be closed at 8 o'. Clock. Always wishing. You listen to the nice lecture. Going to the lecture? It's all about a trip to the moon tonight. Oh, is it? Well, I don't think I'll go in. I'm expecting a friend. A friend named Charlie Penco. What? Penco? You gonna meet him here? Yes. But you can't be Penko. You're much too young. That's right. I'm not pin call. I don't understand, Mr. Regan. Oh, Mr. Penko promised me faithfully he'd meet me here tonight. Parents didn't you name? No, I'm Sydney Chambers, but I. You got the briefcase to collect some money in. Did you bring it? Did you really bring it? How much? Expecting. Why, $5,000 and not a penny less. Oh, yeah. Well, say now, say now. It certainly is. It certainly is. It most certainly is. Yes, Indeed. Thank you, Mr. Regan. If I hadn't seen him pat his bulged pocket, I'd have gone on home and played canasta with my landlady. When I saw him drive away, I began to get a slow feeling like all my troubles were already started. So I crawled in my car and followed him. I was still following when he pulled up in Palos Verdes and parked in front of a little house stuck up on a hill all by itself. Had that same feeling when I cut my engine coast to a stop and sat there thinking about nothing. I watched a light go on somewhere in the back of the house. I was just putting my cigarette out when the place lit up like a. I pulled my gun and started for the door, but I wasn't fast enough to see. Stop. That black hoop that was in the alley. I found Chambers wrapped around the dining room table. He was holding on to that briefcase and the five grand was still there, but he'd never get a chance to spend it. He was all used up. Anthony J. Lyon speaking. You better have something good to say, fatso. Regan, where you been? I've been looking all over. You know where I've been. I called the Capital Hotel, but no one answered. Listen, Regan, I don't want you to take this job. I took it three hours ago, and now I need those answers. Answers? You told me Pen Cole had filled you in on the background of this thing. Well, it's time you shared secrets with me. Regan, I. I can't tell you anything. You'd better. But I didn't get anything from him. Regan, I. I made up that stuff about a personal problem just to get you to take the job. All for 50 bucks. There's no time for that now. You said it. After you left, I got worried. So I looked up Pencold. He's really Good Time Charlie Pencole, an old time racketeer. And he just got out of San Quentin. And somebody's already dead. What? Now, get this. I'm calling you from a house in Palos Verdes. It belongs to a little guy named Sydney Chambers. I made the delivery and decided to follow him home. Just as I got here, somebody blew his fuse. What happened to the 5,000? The killer stealing it's still here. Still there. Good. I thought that'd get action now. Hold on to it. International will keep it safely until the police. Go ahead. Reagan? Reagan? Hello? You still there? I was still there, but I wasn't listening to the Lion. I was looking at the traffic cop standing in the doorway. He was looking at what was left of Chambers, at the money spread all around, and then at me. I began to feel helpless, like a fiddler without a chin. I'll take your gun. Go ahead. Finish your call. I won't listen. It isn't important. Dead, huh? You got anything to say, mister? Huh? Nice gun. Yours? Yeah, it's my gun, but. Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure. Just been fired. Those bullets won't match up with the ones in him. You got this all wrong. Money, too. Well, well, Weapons, motive. I'll be in plain clothes this time tomorrow. Look, the guy who did it's making time right now. You'll be surprised the kind of drivers we have around Los Angeles. I'm working Palace Verdes. I stop a minute, I hear noises like guns, and I just cruise around on my bike where I think I hear the noise and I find. You. All right, killer, move. My turn to make a call. I leaned into his gun, spun around and knocked his wrist down. The bullets went wild and I hit the light switch. Come back here. Come back. That gave me time enough to get through the door. He lost me when I ran up the hill and back of the house toward the oil derricks. But I knew we'd keep right on looking. And so would every cop in Los Angeles. I had as much chance as a snowball and a Turkish bath. None of it made sense. I delivered Penco's five grand of a little guy named Sydney Chambers. Before I knew it, a question mark in a black coupe blew out Chambers light. But he left that five grand scattered all over the place. And an eager cop who likes double breasted suits tagged me for the job. Well, when I broke away from that cop, I knew I'd have to get some answers. I made my way back downtown and dropped into the Capitol Hotel. Any key fitted? Room H. It was as clean as A bookie's stall when a long shot comes in. No Charlie Pimco, nothing. The newspaper clipping on the dresser with an ad on how to handle your muscles on one side and part of a society column on the other meant nothing. But the knock on the door had possibilities. Charles, are you in there? Are you asleep? She was a tall, gray haired woman in a fur coat. She didn't look like Penco's kind of company. Oh, I'm so sorry. I. I thought this was Mr. Pencald's room. He's left town. Maybe I can be a. No, no, I'm sure you can't. I just made a mistake, that's all. I'm sorry I bothered you. I'm terribly sorry. Well, just a minute. Relax. You can see her later inside. Come on in, boys. Come in. I wanted Charlie, but you'll do for now. You got a parade permit, Largo? I don't need one. This is going to be a quiet little party. You and me and my friends this time. Don't they talk? Sure. Sure, they talk. Boys, there's a friend to Charlie Pinkle. Hi. You see. All right, friend. The Charlie Pen calls. We had all the introductions. Now let's have a putt. You took my gun away tonight. I told you I'd remember you. This is gonna be fun. Hold em. Here we go with feel was. He's getting. It's getting heavy. Don't let him fall, Sam. I'm just getting a good start. Well, it was almost morning when I started to come around. I was still in room H. Some cold water and a trip to the drugstore didn't make me feel any better. But I had some answers to find. The morning papers were full of the brutal murder of city employee Sydney Chamber. He'd run on to tell how he worked in the hall of Records. My name was in the article. They'd matched the bullets and my gun. Didn't figure the homicide had wanted some answers and I didn't have any to give him. I started with that clipping I'd found in Penco's room. Wasn't much, but it had names. Something about a Meredith Gibbons and a Donald Townsend getting married. There was an address in the phone book. Sherman Oakes. Nice house on a nice street. Good morning, darling. I didn't expect you so. Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were Donald. My name's Regan. I'd like to see Meredith Gibbons. Why? Why, I'm Meredith Gibbons. Please come in, Mr. Regan. Thanks. I'll have to apologize for the appearance of the house. I'm packing and all. I'm being married this afternoon. Yeah, I read about that. Oh, Mr. Regan, I'll have to apologize again. I. I don't believe I know you. No, you don't. Look, I won't take a lot of your time. I'm a private investigator. I'd like to ask some questions. Private investigator? Well, certainly, Mr. Regan, but I don't know. Hey, darling. Oh, Donald, you're here. Morning, sweet. Donald, this is Mr. Regan. He's a private detective. He wants to ask me some questions. Oh, well, glad to meet you, Regan. What's this all about? Probably nothing, just a lead. Look, do you people know a man named Penco? Penco? Oh, no, no, I think it's important. His name's Charles penco. No, no, Mr. Regan, I don't. I'm sorry. Neither do I. All right. Does the name Sydney Chambers mean anything to you? Oh, sorry again, Reagan. Nothing again. I. I can't think so. Well, I'm marrying her. Oh, Donald. No, Mr. Regan, I've never heard that name before. You're looking for these men? One of them's dead. Oh, which one? Chambers. He was shot last night. Oh, dear, I've got to find Penco. Well, I sure wish we could help you more. But tell me, rigging, why did you come here? I found this clipping about your marriage in Pencoll's room. That's funny. Truly, Mr. Regan. I never heard the name before. Donald, you have so many things to do today. Oh, Mother, I want you to meet Mr. Regan. He's a detective. This is my mother. How do you do, Mr. Regan? It was the same gray haired woman I'd met the night before in Charlie's room. Had to hand it to her, she didn't raise an eyelash. She looked right through me, like she was meeting me for the first time. I didn't give her away. There was something in her eyes that said. Don't. Mr. Regan, I know you'll excuse us, we have so many things to do. Perhaps Mother can help you. Sure. Yeah. Bye, Reagan. I hope you find your man, Mr. Regan. They look like a real nice pair, Mrs. Gibbon. They are wonderful children, Mr. Regan. Wonderful. You know what I have to ask him. Yes, I know. Man's been killed. Sit down, Mr. Regan, please. Thanks. That. That lovely girl who just walked out of the doors. Charles Pencoll's daughter. Oh, yes. Charles married my younger sister in 1929. She never knew what Charles did for a living. She was in the hospital, Mr. Regan dying. Charles was in Court. And when his sentence was pronounced, his. His daughter was born at a hospital in Glendale. That'd be Meredith. Yes. Before Charles began his life sentence, he. He took what money he had left and established an irrevocable trust fund for her and for me. It was his plan. I adopted illegally. He promised that he'd never write a bother in any way. And he hasn't. Oh, after so much heartache for a real mother. He was trying to do one decent thing. It worked out. Oh, yes. He kept his word. He was paroled last week. I read it in the papers. And you went to see him at his hotel. I met you there. Yes, I went to see him last night. The parole officer gave me his address. A little man had been here last week on some pretext or another, and I was worried. I thought he was a friend of Charles who. Who might want to make trouble. Nobody else knows about this adoption? No, no, no one, Mr. Egan. No one at all. Just. Just Charles and I. My sister, well, she had the baby under my name. I see. I. I read the morning papers. The little man, the one who called on me last week and acted strangely, was murdered last night. His name was Chambers. I read about it in the paper. Yeah, that's right. And the police are looking for you, Mr. Regan. Oh, please, I. I can't ask you to continue being a fugitive. I know you didn't kill him, but if there's any way I. Any way at all, Mr. Regan. Oh, listen to me. Meredith can't become involved in something like this. If there's any way to keep her out of it, Mrs. Gibbons, I'll do it. Oh, thank you, Mr. Thank. When I left there, I had a pretty good picture of the whole thing. A check with the Civil Service Commission did the rest. As far as Chambers park fitted in. Besides working at the hall of records from 1932 on, he'd worked at the city morgue before. And before that, the county hospital was an orderly. And before that, a private hospital in Glendale. But that still left Johnny Largo on stage. The lion had part of it when I found him at the office. Regan. Who'd you expect? Never mind. Anybody see you? You're hot. Boy. You know how I got that one? I know, I know, but those things will happen. Where's it? Five grand. A cop on the Palace Verdes division is looking at it. Huh? Don't you read the papers? They're looking for me. They want. They want to talk to me about a murder. Oh, and I wanted to see how that much money looked all at once. What have you been telling Homicide? That I don't know anything about it. Well, maybe I better make a call. Oh, now, look. Look, Jeffrey, we've got to find out who tagged Chambers. It's the only way we can square ourselves with Homicide. You afraid of that jailhouse copy? Please, please, I. I had another one of my attacks today. Oh, knowing you were out there somewhere in this vast city, haunted because of my indiscreetness. Jeffrey, I've done you wrong. You're gonna drown in those tears. Oh, now, please, please find out who killed that poor man Chambers. Square yourself with the police. Make a clean breast of everything. Well, then you start giving me more answers. I'll help you in every way I can, Jeffrey. All right. Where does Johnny Largo tie in with Charlie Penco? Largo? Oh, it's an old time feud. I went through the 1929 morgue piles. Largo tried to kill Pencole over some money or something. He claimed Pencole held out on nothing else. Nothing else? Why? You got a lead? What does Largo do now? He runs a joint in Gardena that fronts for a roulette wheel. Hey. Hey, where you going? To try my luck. By the way, what happened to your face? It got stepped on. Somebody had big feet. Yeah, six of them. Bye. I knew I was coming into the home stretch. I made Largo's place about 3 o' clock that afternoon. But I was too late. Three squad cars were piled up in front and the morgue wagon was there. I checked with the driver, looked inside and saw that their customer was Largo. He was extremely dead. It was easy to see Penco was making the rounds. First, Chambers, second, Largo. He figured to have one more stop. And I found it. That black coupe was in front of St. Anne's Church in Sherman Oaks. Inside, Meredith, Gibbons and Townsend were kneeling at the altar. There were a lot of people watching. But the one I was interested in was the guy in the dark suit. He was standing in the back. Hello, Regan. I came to get you, Charlie. Yeah, I figured you would. They don't like murder in this state, no matter what it's for. The state doesn't know Chambers was trying to buy that kid up there out of her life. So to keep your daughter from knowing who her old man was, you hired me so you could get a line on Chambers following. Kill him. He was just a name on a phone to me. You had to tag him for me. It's the only way to treat him. Somehow he knew she was my kid. He had all the facts for blackmail. He waited 18 years to trap me. Largo was just a sideline. He was. Until he found out I'd killed Chambers. You see, he was following me that night in Palos Verdes. So you treated one blackmail for another. Yeah. And no way out. We better go. Pimco. Yeah. Now just a minute. Rigged. I want to see a walk. She looks just like a mother. Freaking. What's the matter? Logo through some that connected. Here. Put your arm in back of me. Hold me up, Ricky. At least till she gets by. I don't want to ruin anything. Please. Donald. There's Mr. Regan. He came to our wedding. How nice. Yes. Hello, Reagan. Thank you for coming. Oh, we're so happy. Did you ever find the man you were looking for? Yeah, I found him. I'm glad. We're so very happy today. We sure are. I. Mr. Regan. Do I know you? Friend. He. He looks familiar. No, no, You. You don't know me? Not at all. Good luck. Thank you very much. Come on. Okay. Penco. Thanks, Regan. Oh. Get me out. There were four of Largo slugs in him. He died in the ambulance. Homicide knew about the old feud and that satisfied them. Why? Penco killed Johnny Largo on those two hoods. But they were bending their eyebrows trying to figure out why Penco killed Chambers. I didn't figure it was up to me to explain it. The next morning when I came into the office, somebody was just leaving. The lion had one arm around her shoulder. Oh, no, no, just part of our service. Glad to be of help. Oh, Regan. Oh, Mr. Regan. Hello, Mrs. Gibbons. Oh, I just came by to thank you. To thank you for everything. I didn't know that people could be so understanding. I. I didn't know. Thank you. Thank you so much. Fine figure of a woman, Regan. Fine figure of a woman. And what else does she want? Oh, she just came to thank us, that's all. Yeah. Reagan, you don't think that after all that's happened. Yes, I do. That certainly doesn't show a very good opinion of me. How'd you get the address? Well, I gave her a call. Give me. Now, you don't really think. I said give me. It's just a small check. A gesture of her appreciation. Regan, that's dope. You got paid for this once. Yes, but this was a bonus for the rest of it. After all, International has expenses. This is a legitimate. Oh, well, maybe this time you're right. Jeff Regan, Investigator is written by E. Jack Newman, directed by Sterling Tracy and stars Frank Graham as Regan with Frank Nelson as Anthony J. Lyon. Original music is by Dicker. Hi, my name is Danielle Maltby and I'm an RN based in Chicago. I've always worn figs. FIGS has been a huge part of my journey in medicine, and not just because they make the best scrubs, which they do. Trust me, they're a brand that truly shows up for healthcare professionals. When I traveled to Western Kenya with the Luala Community alliance, figs donated scrubs for providers working on the ground. Figs are the most comfortable, most stylish scrubs out there and I've tried every style and every color, so believe me when I say you can't go wrong. My current faves the Rafela jumpsuit and the Salta underscrub. Literally the easiest, comfiest, best looking outfit. Figs come in a ton of colors, styles and sizes and I hope you check them out. You won't be sorry. And now listeners of this podcast can get 15% off their first order. Head to Wear figs.com and use code FIGSRX at checkout. That's Wearfigs.com code FIGSRX. Welcome back. Well, this was pretty early in Frank Graham's run. The similes were dropping like nobody's business in this one, and they were still trying to find the right balance in the relationship between Regan and the lion. But this was still an enjoyable episode with a good guest appearance by Bill Conrad and a pretty good mystery. For our next episode, we're going to fast forward about a year and a half to a very different series in Nightbeat. The original air date on that one is March 4, 1951, and the title is Big John McMasters. Tonight, Nightbeat returns to the air for a special broadcast honoring the men and women of the working press who, day in and day, day out, find and write the newspaper stories that keep us informed and entertained. And so to them, this special Night Beat salute night be Hi, this is Randy Stone. I cover the Night Beat for the Chicago Star. Stories start in many different ways. This one began on a nightclub with jazz music and laughter and ended in a church with organ music and death. Night Beat, starring Frank Lovejoy as Randy Stone. On my job, you sort of come to terms with the night. You have to, because that's where you learn the lessons of the day. Lesson 1 the night is for sorrow, the day, regret. Lesson 2 you can't hide in the darkness, for the night has a thousand eyes. Lesson three to a hundred. Don't go looking for the dawn with a gun, because it Might come up like thunder and leave you dead on the doorstep. Sob stories fill the night. Unhappy love affairs, girls gone astray, bookkeepers who stole from their tills, men who died drunk and friendless. Last night I decided to pass them up and stroll under the bright lights and listen to laughter. So I picked out a couple of fancy bistros on the Gold coast and started the rounds to watch champagne flow and eavesdrop on the happy stories of success, promotion, love and friendship. But it didn't work. Like an iron filing, I was drawn to the magnet of unhappiness. It happened in the Pelican Club. He was sitting alone, tall, gray haired, rugged. A face full of some 50 odd years, I guess. And full of some other things no one could guess with three drinks at the bar before I made out who he was. A man who was once big in a way that only prohibition made them big. Mind if I sit down? Who are you? Randy stone, Chicago star. McMasters. Well, you're the first one. What? First one who's recognized me. Ah, well, only from your pictures. It was a long time ago. Time. I know more about time than you or that old guy they always have around on New Year's with a beard and a hay cutter. I just thought there might be a story somewhere. Sure, sure. Sit down, sit down. I'll tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a guy who had everything. Money, friends, a future. And a bunch of old women made a law called the Volstead Act. You remember it? Yeah, yeah, but I wasn't thirsty at the time. Well, a lot of people were. Everybody, in fact. You see, the law was always supposed to be for the other guy, not for them, that there were no other guys. So this fella I'm telling you about got on the bandwagon. He bottled millions of violations of the Volstead act, made a lot of money and a lot of trouble. Am I boring you? If you are, I asked for it. But you're not. Well, the trouble got him a lot of jail. 19 years old, started in 1931, ended just two days ago. I see. Now this guy's out and he's going to stay clean. And they can pass a thousand stupid laws and he's not going to fall for any of them. He's going to do everything the way it says in the books and live happily ever after. How's that for a story? There's a good moral, but no drama, no suspense. Good. I hope it's real bad because I don't want you to print it. Yeah, Stone, I'm flattered that you recognize me, but I paid back 10 days for every one I took. All I ask is that you just let me alone in the papers. Okay, McMaster. As far as I'm concerned, you made your last copy in 1931. Stone, it's nice to come out of prison and have the first guy you meet not like you. Let me buy you a drink. Tried to be happy and gay after that, and I tried to help him, but there was a sadness about him that stood in the way. I wanted to ask more questions about times and places, but I didn't. Why is it when you come across the best stories, you fall all over your conscience? I know I couldn't print anything about John McMasters. Yet I was still thinking about him an hour later at police headquarters while batting the breeze with Lt. Fairly White. The lieutenant was on his way out to cover a hotel shooting and I went with him. It was a showy place with glass doors and ebony handrails. The night manager was staining his alpaca jacket with nervous sweat. Please, please be as quiet as possible. I. I don't want it to sound like an elf's convention in here. Just tell us what happened. We're pussyfoot throughout this. I don't know where to begin exactly. Somebody phoned down. It happened on the fifth floor. Said the there was a shooting. So I went up there, but I couldn't hear any shooting or see any. You rarely can after it's over. That's rather obvious what I meant. Just tell us, was there a shooting or wasn't there? Well, did you think I'd call you men all the way out here if there wasn't? You think I'm a crank or something that I like to have loud policemen stamping through the lobby, Excitement. Where was it? Where was what? Look, I'm gonna ask you a question. I want you to answer in a single declarative English sentence. Now you're ready. Now look here, I'm not a child and you mustn't treat me like one. Where was the shooting? In room 521. All right, come on. Don't you want to know who it was? Oh, a man named John McMasters. We found McMasters lying on his bed. The Rumpels silk counterpane was slowly changing from chartreuse to a bright crimson. Two bullets had ripped ragged holes in him through flesh and bone. His face was a shade paler and a line sadder. But when Lieutenant White questioned him, he was just as self contained as ever. Hello, John. A long time. Yeah, Curly, you were just a flat foot then. I was only the small fire department. You were strictly stuffed for the commissioner. He did a good job. Yeah. How'd it happen, Jeff? This cleaning my gun. You lose it, John? You're not supposed to have a gun. Oh, you know the inner law, Curly. We sometimes didn't hit it off. Where is the gun? I swallowed it. I want to say. Huh? No, I don't want to say. I don't know what makes you guys like you are, but I know it won't do any good to try and beat it out of you. Hey, Doc. Yeah? Get the ambulance ready. We'll take him to the police hospital. No, you don't, Lieutenant. I've served my time and I'm clean. Being shot at, even in this state, doesn't make you a criminal. Now, take me to a general hospital. Sure, I can get a warrant. When you get it, come and see me. Bring me some ice cream, Lieutenant. I've always liked ice cream. English coffee. I didn't have a chance to exchange a word with McMaster, so I followed him to the hospital. They put him in a room while he was waiting for them to set up an emergency operation to take the bullets out of him. Lieutenant White let me slip in alone for a couple of minutes. Well, scribe, you got yourself a story after all, didn't you? Well, not much of one. McMaster's a good reporter. Should find out a lot more. Like who shot you and why? Well. Well, I shot myself, and just for something to do. Look, McMasters, I'm not as old as you or as informed in the ways of crime, but I have a fair idea of how tough it is to come out of prison and start all over. Want you to know I'd be willing to help you. If there's any place that you need help within the law, just forget a story. I have a job that says I'm supposed to bring in stories. Sure, but that isn't what I mean, Stone. It's just the way I said earlier tonight. It's a pleasure to meet someone like you. And if there was anything I could tell you, or any way you could help me, you'd be the first to know. Let's put it this way. I have nothing to say to you. Now. Come and see me tomorrow. Maybe I'll have a story for you. Today was a riddle. His way of life, his long prison term, had equipped him with a certain stoicism that was almost impossible to penetrate. I can only stand and wait. At least I Thought so. At the moment, Lieutenant White was standing in the corridor when I came out. Find out anything, Randy? Nothing. Curling. Look, Randy, you're not pulling professional immunity on me, are you? I'm telling you the truth, Lieutenant. Hey, do me a favor. Hold my badge and my ID card. Now, what's this for? Why not carrying those? I'm a policeman. When I don't have them, I'm just a citizen. Now, this isn't for print, but in that room on that bed, Ally's quite a man. You couldn't fight it. Everyone who had contact with John McMasters felt the same way. Despite his background, despite his code, despite his record, there was quite a man. It occurred to me I should know more about him. So I went back to the Star offices and poked around on the morgue file. His folder started 1912 and was sat with yellowed clippings all the way through 1931. The clippings didn't mention a family or much else except a lawyer associate, a man named Julian Glass. When I found out all I could from the clippings, I went back to his hotel to see if I could wangle another once over of McMaster's womb. No, no, no, I'm sorry. Reporter or not, it simply can't be done. The police left explicit orders. Yes, I know, but is there anything you need these days like a new sport coat or a couple of golf clubs? Mr. Stone, do I look corruptible? Well, excuse me. Yes, madam? What did you want? Mr. McMasters? Room, please. Oh, well, I'm sorry. Mr. McMasters was taken to the hospital shortly ago. What happened to him? Somebody shot him. He's still alive? I wouldn't know. Why don't you call find me? Ma', am, I can tell you about John McMasters. Who are you? Oh, Mr. Stoney's reporter. He's still alive at the county hospital. And as far as I know, he's under excellent care. Thank you. Would you mind telling me what your connection is with McMasters? I have no connection. Goodbye. Oh, just a minute. You must at least know him. Young man, you either get out of my way or I'll call a policeman. And she could do it. So I stepped aside a let her walk out of the hotel. But I followed not far behind her. She was middle aged, gray haired and well dressed and she got into a good looking car and I got her number. Then I called one Lieutenant White. Randy Stone. Lieutenant, can you give me a rundown on the license number? Oh, no, not this. The files are all locked. But you know where the key is. How about it? Oh, what's it for? Can't go into the mines for a story I'm working on. If you help me tonight, maybe I'll help you someday. What would your reporters do without us? All right, give it to me. It's Illinois 137596. Illinois 13. All right. Call back later. Stone. I knew it would take some time for White to run it down, so I made my way back to County Hospital for a checkup on McMaster's condition. The reception does seem reluctant and referred me to the head nurse who sent me to the surgical od, who took me to the chief doctor. He told me to look into a crystal ball. He's gone and we have no idea where. How could he be gone? We started to give him a transfusion, he jumped up suddenly, knocked down two male nurses, grabbed his pants and ran out of the hospital. Simple as that. I thought he was in a critical condition. He was. Now he's in mortal danger, running around town hemorrhaging from two bullet wounds. Well, all right. Give him an hour, maybe two at the most. To live. John McMasters is a walking dead man. NBC is bringing you Nightbeat, starring Frank Lovejoy as Randy Stone. Take it from me, cats aren't the only animals who have a corner on curiosity. Consider also the species Randostonas, reporter type animal. The test when the next big shot of the Roaring twenties, minus a quarter two of blood from bullet wounds, walks out of a hospital in the middle of the night. Reporter walks to. Well, call it curiosity or just say I liked what I'd seen of the guy. All I know is I didn't want Big John McMasters to bleed to death walking around town. So I went out looking for him. And because I thought he might go to a friend's, I looked up his only known friend, another man of the same courier, Julian Glass, attorney at law. He lived not in a glass house, but in Cicero. The crummy, a half of a yellow duplex. Young man. The drugstore delivers what I need most. A telegraph office. What I dread most. Obviously, you represent neither concern and therefore you are no concern of mine. Wait a minute. Are you Mr. Glass? I am he. And I am drunk and disheveled and it's three o' clock in the morning. I'd like to talk with you. May I come in? You may not. This isn't exactly the hour for making calls, but I did stop by and pick up something to take the edge off. Eh, it's bonded inside. Perfect. Your apology. There you are Mr. Glass. Ah. Now then, we'll make a bargain. As long as this lasts, you will last. Speak. I'm looking for a man. Ah. The entire world is looking for a man. Just one man. A man may so blindly presume who will break off these shackles that bind us and lead us forth into eternal justice. Yes, yes, sure. But that's not the man I'm talking about. I'm a friend of John McMaster's. You. You come from that place. Signs are not on you. The pallor's not with you. No. Oh. You lied. I didn't say that I was a convict. I'm a reporter. McMasters is out of prison. I'm a. Did you know he was in an accident tonight? Or he was attacked. I don't know which. Anyhow, he was shot. And an hour ago, he left his hospital bed. I thought he might have come to you. What made you think that? You're the only man I know who might be his friend. Has he contacted you tonight? He has not. Is he here? He is not, Mr. Glass. If he isn't hospitalized soon, he'll die. Why is the phenomena of death so persistently alarming? So you die? They all die. Usually from a bullet. Well, Mr. Glassware, you've impressed me with the urgency of his situation. John McMasters is not here, nor has he been here, nor has he contacted me. Well, I was just trying. I believe you. Your concern for him is a distressing irritation. What's the reason for it? As I said, I'm his friend. I like him. I think he deserves to live. You his friend now? His friends, for the most part, are gone. Like the years. Like Homburg Hatz, the Charleston and Lime Ricky. Ones who are left broken and tired with old faces. Faces like mine, like his. They should be gone too. Another age. Is he. Are you sure you're his friend? I once thought so. He once thought so. But now I. I haven't enough strength to be his friend. Oh, Mr. Glass, I. Hello, people. Who's your friend, Julie? Mr. Glass to you. All right, Mr. Glass. Now, tell me, who's this? This is Mr. Stone. Mr. Stone, this is Mr. Engel. Marty Engel. I'm an associate of Mr. Glass's. Mr. Stone. I haven't seen you around before. Obviously, you just met Mr. Glass, or you'd never, never offer him a drink. I wouldn't? No. You see, I sort of look after Mr. Glass. We're old friends. I was his office boy once. Then a no republic. And when I finally got my degree I became his partner, more or less. Isn't that right, Mr. Glass? Marty, don't have to do this in front of Mr. Glass. And since Mr. Glass has fallen on some bitter days, shall we say, I've undertook to assist him. Perhaps I can help you. I don't think so, Mr. Engel. Then would you be good enough to leave? Marty, shut up. Mr. Glass, give Mr. Stone his bottle. Go ahead. Here. There you are, Mr. Stone. You were just leaving, weren't you? Julian Glass stood helpless. The look in his eyes held the same sort of sadness I'd seen in McMaster's eyes. But they were different too. They held a weakness. The strong, sad eyes were somewhere else in the city, walking alone. And the lifeblood was slowly draining from the body that sparked them. I wanted to find McMasters more than I wanted anything in my life. So I went to the only other source I knew, the license number that belonged to a gray hair woman with a kind face. Lt. White had done his duty. Granny, I shouldn't do this sort of thing. Come on, come on. Tell me about the license number. Pleasure plates. Car owned by a pony named Constance Gardner, age 22. This city address. There's the 900 block at Sheridan Road. What number? Look it up yourself. I did what I'm not supposed to do already. I drove out there with a feeling that I was racing death. I was in the 900 block, right in back of the Shawnee County Club. A nice big colonial house in a nice neighborhood. The sky was beginning to quiver and shake off the blackness of night. I parked in front, wondering whether or not I should ring the bell. And then I saw a light in the back at the kitchen. Everybody seemed to be staying up that night. Oh, come in. You must be the man from the floor. No, no, I'm afraid not. My name is Randy Stone. I'm from the Chicago Star. Oh, you reporters do work all hours. But we aren't being married until 7. Are you Constance Gardner? Yes, but you want to talk to Bob, not me. He's the one who's rich and famous. I'm nobody. I think I want to talk to you, Ms. Gardner. Well, all right, Mr. Stone, but I have so many things to do to. Hello. Say good morning to your bridegroom. Bob. Bob, you shouldn't be here. It's bad luck or something. Oh, Mr. Stone, this is my fiance, Bob Meredith. Bob, Mr. Stone's from the papers. Hi. Hi. Mr. Stone, I want to interview you. Now? Now, looking at her, wouldn't you say I'm the luckiest man in the world. I'm glad to meet you, Meredith. And congratulations. Thanks. Constance. Constance, you simply must hurry up. Why, Bob, what are you doing here? You know it's not right. Mother, I want you to meet Mr. Stone. He's a reporter. Mr. Stone, this is my mother, Mrs. Gardner. How do you do, Mr. Stone? It was the same gray haired woman I'd met in the hotel. If you were hours before. And I had to hand it to her. She looked right at me like she was meeting me for the first time. We shook hands. Hers was steady and firm and her eyes didn't leave mine. But there was something in her look that pleaded. Don't. Mr. Stone. Perhaps Mother can help you. Excuse us, please. Surely. I'll have to get rid of Bob and get some things done. Of course. That's my cue. So long, Mr. Stone. Gonna cover this wedding? Well, if I don't, one of the other boys will. Nice to meet you. Bye. You look like a real nice pair of kids, Mrs. Gardiner. They are, but I doubt if that means anything to you and your newspaper. Well, you were trying to reach John McMasters at his hotel tonight. You obviously have some connection with him. I don't care about that or the story that goes with it, Mrs. Gardner. I'm only looking for him. Is he here? Of course not. He's in the hospital. You told me that yourself. Well, he left the hospital. He walked out. He's wandering Chicago somewhere right now. In a serious condition. Oh, no. No. He must have had a good reason for doing such a thing. I want to find him and take him back to the hospital. Mrs. Garden, if you know where he is or what he's doing, tell me. I only want to help. Please. He may be dying. I believe you, Mr. Stone. You have any idea where he could be? There's something you should know. Something that shouldn't be written in the papers. Please. That lovely girl who just walked out of this room is John McMaster's daughter. In 1931, I adopted her and raised her as my own. No one knew about it. John promised he would never write us or bother us in any way, and he's kept his word. But you were trying to see him tonight. Why? Two days before he was released, a man came here. He said he knew Constance was not my real daughter. He said he wanted money to keep it quiet. He'd expose her. Did you pay this man off? No. Contacted John and told him. He said not to worry, that he'd take care of it. He got shot tonight trying to take care of it. And he's out right now, still taking care of it. Who was the man? Well, I don't know, Mr. Stone. I never saw him before. He just said that John would know who he was. Oh, was he big, tall, short? He'd been drinking heavily. It seemed cultured. Julian Glass, a lawyer. He'd know about the trust fund and the adoption. He probably handled it all. Julian Glass was a drunkard, true, but he didn't strike me as a blackmailer. I was thinking of his friend Marty Engle. As I drove out to Cicero as fast as I could. Three squad cars were already there. And then I noticed with a sinking heart that a hearse was also there. I was too late. A milkman filled in the details. It was awful. It happened so fast. Suppose you tried tell it fast. I. I'm delivering my milk when I see this tall guy with a gray hair come staggering up to the steps, sort of pale. He pounds on this door here. Mr. Glasses? That's right. A young guy with a briefcase opens the door. The police say his name is Marty Engel. Yeah, Go on. The young guy, sort of wise like, says hello. You come to pay off, huh? And the big guy says, yeah, Marty. And he opens up and Engel goes down, but he ain't dead yet. And then Julian Glass reels into the picture, and he falls in front of Engel's gun. Just as he pointed at the other guy, Glass stops. Two slugs and he goes down. Then what? The big guy finishes off Engel. Then he goes over and looks at Glass. He sort of sighs, maybe a tear. And then he walks out. You try to stop him. You think I'm nuts with two guys dead already Was terrible. Terrible. I need myself a drink. That's what I need. I need myself a drink, and I don't mean milk. It was pretty obvious that Julian Glass did have the strength to be John McMaster's friend. After all, he died for him. The police had already thrown a cordon around the neighborhood for the man three witnesses had described as the killer of Marty Engel. As for me, I got out of talking distance right away. It was easy to see. It had taken McMaster's half the night and most of his strength to get to Marty Angle. But I was certain he still had some strength left. The sun was up by the time I drove out past Evanston, around the lake into Wilmette and stopped at St. Vincent's Church. The ceremony was just about over. I stood in the back as Constance Gardner and Robert Meredith were made man and wife. The Name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost. I now pronounce you man in White. They turned around and started down the aisle. That was when I noticed a tall gray haired man leaning quietly against the door. Hello, Stone. What are you doing here? Covering your daughter's wedding. The glasses. I know you were smart guy. And that you'd find out about everything. They don't like murder in this state, no matter what the reason. Marty Engel is trying to buy that kid of mine out of her life. He found out who she was when he worked for Julie Glass. I had to stop him. Poor Julie. He did all he could. But I better get you to a hospital. No, I want to stop. Just don't hold me. I'm. Don't let me fall. Right here and Ruana wedding. Thank you. Hold me up, please. Sure. Congratulations. Thank you very much. Thank you. Kumar. Oh, Bob, there's Mr. Stone. Oh, yes. Hello, Stone. Thanks for covering it yourself. You can tell all of your readers I'm the happiest bride in the world. And quote me, please. I'll do that. Oh, Mr. Stone. Do I know your friend? He seems familiar. No, you didn't know me at all. I. I'm sort of an associate of Mr. Stone's. I was glad I could be at your wedding. Oh, I'm glad too. Well, I told you you'd have a story this morning, Randy. You're going to print it? Nope. Thanks, though. Like I said, you're the. You're the kind of a guy I'm glad to meet. Big John McMasters died in a taxi cab on the way to the hospital. And there's no maybe about whether it was better that way or not. So I'm writing a story. It's all about laws that made criminals and laws that made them not criminals. It's kind of a wandering piece of copy that doesn't really get anywhere and never really solves anything. But it doesn't mention any names because I don't think that'd solve anything either. Maybe Julian Grant Glass was right when he said they're all gone now. And the ones who are left are broken and tired with old faces. And they should be gone too. I wonder what he'd have to say now that he's gone with them. Copy Boy Night Beat, starring Frank Lovejoy is produced and directed by Warren Lewis. Tonight's story was written by John Michael Hayes and E. Jack Newman, with music by Frank Wirth. John McMasters was played by Bill Conrad. Frank Lovejoy may soon be seen in Warner Brothers. I was a communist for the FBI. And now, here again is our star, Frank Lovejoy. Someone once said the guy meets so many interesting people in the newspaper business, and somehow they all turn out to be newspaper men. Well, in portraying a reporter on Nightbeat, I've met my share of the press, and I'd like to double that quotation in spade. Tonight, I want to congratulate the new president of the National Press Club, Carson F. Lyman, and salute Frank Rogers, Washington correspondent of the Los Angeles Daily News, who was elected secretary of that organization. There are a great bunch of folks, these guys and gals of the working press, and I'm proud to be permitted to portray one of them. Good night. Night Beat came to you From Hollywood in 30 seconds. Here, Marlena Dietrich in A Foreign Affair on NBC. Hi, my name is Danielle Maltby and I'm an RN based in Chicago. I've always worn figs. Figs has been a huge part of my journey in medicine, and not just because they make the best scrubs, which they do. Trust me, they're a brand that truly shows up for healthcare professionals. When I traveled to Western Kenya with the Luala Community Alliance, Figs donated scrubs for providers working on the ground. Figs are the most comfortable, most stylish scrubs out there. And I've tried every style and every color. So believe me when I say you can't go wrong. My current faves, the Rafela jumpsuit and the Salta underscrub. Literally the easiest, comfiest, best looking outfit. Figs come in a ton of colors, styles and sizes, and I hope you check them out. You won't be sorry. And now listeners of this podcast can get 15% off their first order head to wear figs.com and use code FIGS RX at checkout. That's wefigs.com code FIGS RX. Welcome back. Well, who knew that Jocko Madigan had a cousin who was a lawyer? I could not help but think Jocko Madigan the whole time and that I wonder if that was intentional in any way or that was the type of character they wanted because Tudor Owen was capable of doing a lot of different voices. It's kind of interesting that in both Jeff Regan and Night Bait, William Conrad plays the gangster role, but he is really able to give so much more in Nightbeat, which I think does speak to the fact that he was so appreciated on Nightbeat and got such great material and always delivered just great pathos. This is, of course, also such an unusual episode of Nightbeat because the series had been off the air for several months. And this was an interesting one to come back on and really emphasize the humanity of Randy Stone. And he is one of the most selfless characters that we featured, and he really does get a chance to feature in that and again, continue to play really well off William Conrad. Well, now we're going to fast forward a couple of years to when this story came to your course. Truly Johnny Dollar, with John Lund in the lead role. The Original air date April 28, 1953 and here now is the San Antonio matter. This is the story of the 1. As a maintenance supervisor at a manufacturing facility, he knows keeping the line up and running is a top priority. That's why he chooses Granger. Because when it drops, belt gets damaged. Grainger makes it easy to find the exact specs for the replacement product he needs, and next day delivery helps ensure he'll have everything in place and running like clockwork. Call 1-800-GRAINGER, click granger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done. Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum. The refreshing, delicious treat that gives you chewing enjoyment presents for your listening enjoyment. John Lund as Johnny Dollar. Ed Quigley. Johnny, are you free? You mean, am I available? Yeah. What's up, Ed? Remember Mark San Antonio, the bootlegger? Yeah, sure. What about him? Well, somebody shot him this morning. Shot him to death in St. Petersburg, Florida. Oh, yeah? Great. Eastern Fidelity set up a trust two years ago for San Antonio's daughter. They'll want a full report before they come across. I see. They know who killed him yet, or why? Not a thing, Johnny. Just that he's dead. When can you leave? Soon as I can get a plane. Good. The makers of Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum bring you John Lund in a transcribed adventure of the man with the action packed expense account, America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator. Yours truly, Johnny Doll. Wrigley Spearmint Chewing Gum refreshes you. Wrigley Spearmint Chewing Gum gives you real chewing enjoyment. Yes, for chewing enjoyment plus refreshment, it's Wrigley Spearmint Chewing Gum. The lively, delicious flavor of Wrigley Spearmint cools your mouth, helps keep your throat moist, and gives you a nice little lift. The good, smooth chewing of Wrigley Spearmint helps keep you feeling fresh and alert. Adds enjoyment to whatever you're doing. So for chewing enjoyment plus refreshment, treat yourself often to Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum. Healthful, refreshing, delicious expense Account submitted by special investigator Johnny Dollar to home office, Great Eastern Fidelity and Life Insurance Corporation, Sixth in Jordan Avenue, Hartford, Connecticut. The following is an accounting of expenditures during my investigation of the San Antonio matter. Expense account item one, $162.03, transportation and incidentals. Hartford to St. Petersburg. I arrived exactly 10 hours after I received the call from Ed Quigley. The rainy weather there was as bad, if not worse than the weather I just left. I checked in at the St. Petersburg Hotel, shaved, showered, had a meal and started in. My first contact was a police officer, Lieutenant Benjamin by name. A big, swarthy man who seemed to know what he was about. I. I don't quite get this, Dollar. What's your part? Just that my insurance company would like a report on everything that's happened. Oh, you mean a report separate from what we have? Yeah, that's about it, Lieutenant. Well, it's their dough. They can spend it any way they want to. What can I do for you? Well, maybe we can help each other, Lieutenant, if you'll sort of let me tag along and see what's what on the case. We'll see. Well, San Antonio bought a big place over on the south end of town 11 years ago, just after he was released from Alcatraz. He's lived there ever since. Quiet, minding his own business, keeping his nose out of trouble. Yeah, so I understand. As long as a man does that, even a man with a background like San Antonio. Long as a man does that, we don't bother him, he doesn't bother us. Well, today was the first peep we ever got out of him. What happened? Seems at 6 o' clock this morning, he phoned into the station and said that somebody was watching his house. Prow car went out to have a look around. He told the officers that two men had been hanging around the front of his house, but they got away just before the car showed up. He give a description? Yeah. Both about 6ft, dark, wore dark overcoats and hats. San Antonio didn't recognize either of them. The officers put the description on the air and tried to find them, but they didn't have any luck. Now, San Antonio wasn't the kind of a bird to get excited about a couple of guys taking out his place. He pretty well knew how to take care of himself and handle trouble. Yeah, but you say that he hadn't been in trouble or asked for any around here. That's right, too. And I'm sure he didn't want any either. So his call was treated like any other prowler call. We investigated, didn't find anything and promised to keep our eyes open. Mm. The cook came on duty about 8:30. She went in the kitchen, made him some breakfast, took it up to his room, and she found him dead. He'd been shot twice with a Luger. Lab has the slugs now. It was a close range job. Well, then the surest bet is the two men that San Antonio reported watching his house. That's about it. Wish we could find him somewhere. What about the cook? She just worked there days, fixing his meals and taking care of him. San Antonio must have been past 60. He was 67. I guess he was beginning to show a little tread. Man who's lived the kind of life he has and done the things he's done is bound to show some wear and want some rest sometime in his life. According to her, he spent his days painting. Painting? Yeah. Mark San Antonio. Every room in the house covered with pictures he's done these last few years. Oil's pretty good, too. And when he wasn't painting, he was listening to records. All kinds of heavy stuff in the way of music around the place. Now, you hardly figure a bootlegger like San Antonio thinking of anything like music and art. Hardly ever. Yeah, and all the time he was in action, running booze up in New York and getting himself in trouble with the tax people. He was bound to step on a lot of toes and get himself a lot of enemies. The kind of people who wouldn't forget you. You talked to him much? Oh, yes. Now and then. I'd meet him on the street or in a store. He seemed pretty gentled up. How'd he live? Apparently he saved something from the old days. A house he paid for in cash. The bank of New York. Used to send him a statement every month. I suppose he had some arrangement with him. Well, that's about it so far. I see. Well, I sure appreciate the information. Okay. When I get any more, I'll let you know. Crime lab's still working on some of the stuff in his room. Maybe we'll get something there. Say, do you mind if I talk to that cook? Oh, that's your privilege. $. Her name's Olson. She's staying at the San Antonio house during all this. Okay. San Antonio's daughter blew into town this afternoon. She's at the house, too. What did she have to say? Oh, nothing. She. She didn't even know Mark San Antonio was her father until your insurance company told her. Didn't know? No. No, she's been living in Philadelphia all these Years with an aunt. All very legitimate. The girl's been using the name Randall. Edith Randall. Yes, sir. How do you do? You Mrs. Olson? Yes, sir. My name is Dollar. Mrs. Olson. I'm from the Great Eastern Fidelity people. You suppose I could speak with Ms. Randall? Oh, I don't think so, sir. She's not feeling well. All of this been quite a shock to her. I see. Well, then I guess my trip out here tonight was for nothing. Will you come tomorrow, Mr. Dollar, please. Mrs. Olson? Ms. Olson. Yes, Ms. Randall. Who is it? It's Mr. Dollar. He's from the insurance company. Insurance company? Yes. I'd like to talk to him, Mrs. Olson. The woman who stood at the base of the iron grill stairway was tall and dark eyed. She came toward me smiling, showing a frank, wide, happy mouth. Young kind of face that could have been 20 or maybe 30. Mrs. Olson excused herself and we were alone. I wanted to talk to someone who might be able to give me a little more information about all this. It's all quite new to me. Well, I'll tell you what I can, Ms. Randall. Yes, I'm sure you will. From what? A Mr. Hurth and the insurance officers told me on the phone I'm to be quite well off because this man was murdered here today. You mean Mr. San Antonio? Yes, Mr. San Antonio. They tell me he was my father. To awaken one morning and discover you're not one person, but an entirely different person. I mean, I'm the daughter of a famous racketeer who's been murdered. You seem to me like a very nice person. And so do you, Mr. Daller. Will you tell me all about this, please? Well, just our part of it, Ms. Randall. Let's see, you're 26 now, is that right? That is. Well, 26 years ago, your father was on trial for income tax evasion. Just before he was convicted, he set up a trust fund with my insurance company to provide for you. He's been paying money for your support and education all these years. According to the condition of the trust, the rest of the money reverts to you now. Comes to well over $50,000. That's all there is to it. Yeah, except for this. You mean my father. So strange to say that my father's murder. Mm. I suppose I'm grateful to my father. I suppose I should be grateful. I can't say that I'm particularly sorry about his death any more than I would be if any human being died violently somewhere. How strangely life treats us sometimes. How very strangely. You know, you've Somehow made me feel comfortable in this house. May I offer you a drink? It was strange for me too, because I felt comfortable in the house. Over the drinks, we talked of Mark San Antonio. I told her what I knew of his life, of his activities up until the time he'd been sent to Alcatraz. She told me how she'd been reared far removed from anything that might have connected her in any way with the San Antonio name. Altogether, it was a revealing conversation for both of us. She'd never imagined any part of the kind of life her father had lived. And I never imagined that it was possible for anyone to get away from a man like San Antonio. To the road, Johnny. All right. How long will you be in St. Petersburg? Till all this is straightened out. You mean you'll be here until they find out who killed him? Mm. How about you? I really don't know. I really don't even know why I came here exactly. Yes, I do. I wanted to see him. See what he looked like, what kind of a life he led here. Did you see him? No. I suppose I can if I want to. But I have seen what kind of a life he had. He was just an ordinary man, wasn't he? Have you noticed the pictures he's painted? Mm. May I ask you something? Well, yes. How do you feel about him now? Is this for your report? For myself. Since you've been here in these last two hours, I've begun to think of him for what he was. My father, I mean. I'd like to know why he was killed and who did it. Will I see you again? I hope so, Edith. Yes, I hope so. Very much. So do I, Johnny. I left her at the door that night with a warm sensation inside of me. Something I certainly hadn't expected in the routine business of investigating a murder case. The next morning, I was back at the house talking to Mrs. Olson. She gave me all the information she could remember about San Antonio's activities up until the time of his death. Same information she'd given the police. All of it accidentally, but lacking in any possible clue as to the identity of his slayer or slayers. I had breakfast with Edith there and then went back downtown to spend a solid 12 hours in the company of Lieutenant Benjamin, who had still not located or identified the two mysterious men. However, there were other developments. Say, this may be something. Oh? San Antonio's partner in the old days, Pallie, was murdered in Newark last night. Timmy Pallalelici? That's the one. Any details? No, just that he was shot to death With a Luger. When the slugs taken from San Antonio's body were compared with those that killed Pallise and were proved to have been fired from the same gun, the case took on new proportions. Every available bit of information regarding the 2x big shots of the 20s was located read and re read. It meant activity in such cities as St. Louis, Chicago, New Orleans, and in Buffalo, but no new information as to the identity of the killer. Johnny. Hey, what is it? You're shaking. Hold me. Hold me, please. I suppose I'm being a terrible fool about it all, Johnny, but they've been after me all day. Cheap little things. A newspaper syndicate wants me to write my exclusive story as the daughter of Mark San Antonio. Fairy princess, daughter of racketeer. Hey, hey, now, take it easy, honey. Even Hollywood called. Some producer saw my picture in the paper and offered me a contract. He says he has a script already. Come on. Come on now. Come on. Oh, try. Women are fools, aren't they? I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have shown up at all. Then what would I have done, Edith? And what would I have done? Mix yourself a drink, Johnny, and I'll put on a new face. It had become apparent to me in the five days I had known her and the five days that she'd known of her father, that she'd grown to love him or the memory of him. She stated it very simply. Everyone needs a father. If you find out you have one or had one, really, well, you love him. We were walking up the gravel path of the house when she said that. I suppose I was thinking of how nice it would be to kiss her at the door when I heard someone behind me. I twisted, trying for the gun in my inside pocket, but there was nobody to shoot at. At least nobody I could see. Why me? Why me, Johnny? Why? Edith died right there. And I lowered her to the ground. Friends, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, you'll enjoy chewing Wrigley's Spearmint Gum. Chew Wrigley Spearmint while you're working. The lively, full bodied flavor of Wrigley Spearmint gives you a refreshing little lift. The smooth, pleasant chewing of Wrigley Spearmint Gum helps keep you feeling relaxed and satisfied. Makes your job seem easier. Chew Wrigley Spearmint Gum in your home, when you're out walking or driving, when you're enjoying sports and other activities. Wrigley Spearmint Gum tastes good anytime. And the natural chewing aids digestion and helps keep your teeth bright and attractive. Yes, Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, you'll enjoy chewing Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum. Healthful, refreshing, delicious. And now, with our star, John Lund, we bring you the second act of yours truly, Johnny$10. Ten seconds after Edith Randall died in my arms, I was stumbling down the gravel path that led from the house to the road. It all happened so suddenly and violently that I can't say that what I did from there on, or what I felt was entirely rational. All I know is that a car was parked at the deep end of the gateway and two men were just climbing into it. Hey. Hey, you two. Stop. Stop. Get out of there. Slow it in here. Get out with your hands up. I'm hit. I'm afraid to move. Get out. Come on. I'm coming. I come. All right. You too. Come on. Come on. No use on him, mister. He's used up. You got him real good. I need. Stay where you are. Mr. Dala. Mr. Dalla. What is it? What's happened? Don't phone the police, Mrs. Olson. Only get over here right away. Who are they? What is Oliver. Go on, do what I tell you. Hurry. All right, Mr. Dalla. All right. You pretty tough fella. What's your name? Who's. He was my brother, Giovanni. Listen, tell it to me. Tell it to me right now. There's no policeman around to cover you. Nobody but you and me. If you don't tell it to me now, you'll never tell it to anybody now. Tell it. Talent. Never. Never. I. Dagger first. I had one bullet left in my gun. I set the barrel back against his temple and pulled back the hammer. I think I really meant to go through with it. And for the first time, I noticed that my shoulder was covered with blood. My head began to ring and I had to let go and straighten up. That was not the thing to do. Oh, hello there, Dollar. Huh? Oh, Lieutenant. Quite a night, this one, huh? Yeah. Oh, you stopped one. Boy, you were sure curled up when we got there, Edith. I'm sorry, Dollar. I thought I might have been wrong. No, you weren't. How long am I slated for this place? Well, the doctor says you can get out when you want to. Feel like talking. They were just there and they shot her. That's it. Which one? I don't know. They were together. That's enough, isn't it? Sure, sure. Same Luger that killed San Antonio and Pallie. Just trying to pin it down a little more. We can't get much out of the one that's left. Let me Ask him some questions. Lieutenant, Easy. I know how you feel about her. Just lie back there. Now, did he say anything at all? No, nothing more than his name and his brother's name. Found papers on him that say that from New York Police. New York are looking him up right now. So far they haven't been able to find any connection with San Antonio. People like San Antonio and Valerie, she make enemies. But that girl doesn't figure. And those two flew here from New York just to get her. Yeah, yeah. Dollar, you talk to her a lot in these last few days. What'd she say? Nothing that has anything to do with this. You know yourself she didn't even know who her father was till he got killed. That could have been an act. No, it wasn't. I knew her well enough to tell you that. Yeah, well, why would they gun her down? Why? The trip that Rico boy you're holding in the jail hospital has the answer. Get it from him. We will, $. We will. Oh, there's someone here. Just a minute. Sure. Oh, Dollar, Huh? Maybe I spoke too soon. Rico died five minutes ago. As far as my investigation of the San Antonio case went, could have ended right there. The Luger found on the dead Rico brother was the same gun that had fired fatal bullets into all three victims. I got my release from the hospital and late that afternoon walked into Lt. Benjamin's office. $, I don't get it. Don't get what? Here. This just came from New York on the Rico boys. Oh. Came to this country when they were 18 and 21. Both of them were naturalized citizens. Records? Not a thing. No trouble ever. Oh, that's funny. What else? Well, that's about it. Police there can't seem to locate their old man. He disappeared a week ago. Lived on the east side somewhere. He a naturalized citizen too? Oh, that's another funny thing. He's taken out his papers and was due for examination with the immigration people this week. They're looking for him too. When are you leaving? Tomorrow afternoon on the one o' clock plane. Well, come on, I'll buy you some dinner. We had to together and talked about the case. It had been a strange one. The deaths were useless, the motives unknown. The killers weren't even associated with their victims. I parted company with Lt. Benjamin and went back to my hotel to trouble it out with sleep. About 11 o' clock, I had a phone call. Johnny Dollar. Hi, Dollar, this is Ben. Oh, what's up? Old man Rico just walked into the city morgue. He wants to take his two sons back to New York for burial. Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the coroner's office when Lt. Benjamin led a small, wizened old man into the room and sat him down on one of the chairs. Gave him a glass of water, offered him a cigarette. Old man refused. No. No, no, no, signora. No. Oh, thank you. Mr. Rico, this is Mr. Dollar. Hello, Mr. Dollar. Mr. Rico. I read of you. You killing my boys. You saw. Yes, they tried to kill me. Yeah, I know. I know. Too bad. Why? Mr. Rico, it is simple. You was in the way. I don't mean about me. I mean about Edith Randall and Tolici and Mark San Antonio. Why I take the water now, Please. Why? Do you know why? See and tell me. They're all dead now. I'm still alive. Pietro Rico was held in custody for the immigration officials. He refused to talk about his sons or any of their activities. He just stayed in his jail cell, silent, non committal to all visitors, including the chaplain. I don't suppose we'd ever have gotten the story of it except that the will of Mark San Antonio disclosed that before her marriage to him, his wife's name had been Maria rico. More questions, Mr. Dollar? No, I've got some answers. Mark San Antonio's wife was your daughter, wasn't she? Wasn't she? She. Is that all you have to say? I no talk well, And I do, Mr. Rico. Because your daughter had a daughter. A lovely, wonderful daughter that your two sons killed. I happen to know that girl. She had to die too. Why? Paralyse and Antonio and her, they had to die. Or bad. All of us are bad at one time or another. Who made them die? You see? Who gave you the right? I'm the father. When a daughter marries a bad man, only bad can come of it. He came to our village many years ago and he took her away. He and the men of Paralici. Help him. It live with me all this time. I live only to destroy him. For that I destroy him and the other man and the girl through my sons. Why the girl? She could not have been of good from a bad man. Vendetta, was that it? If you like vendetta. He was a bad man who did bad things. Bad man. I smoke now you get a cigar. The disposition of old Pietro Rico is up to the immigration authorities. I didn't stay around St. Petersburg for all the complex examinations. Would have to be made to test his sanity. I had enough of St. Petersburg. Expense account. Item 3. Hotel and board, $79.30. Item 4, hospital. $168.13 Item 5 Same as Item 1 Transportation back to Hartford. Expense account total $573.49 Yours truly, Johnny do remember friends Wrigley Spearmint Chewing Gum refreshes you. Wrigley Spearmint Chewing Gum gives you real chewing enjoyment. The lively, full bodied flavor of Wrigley Spearmint cools your mouth, freshens your taste, sweetens your breath. The smooth, pleasant chewing of Wrigley Spearmint helps keep you feeling relaxed and satisfied. Makes whatever you're doing more enjoyable. Yes, for refreshment plus chewing enjoyment, treat yourself often to Wrigley Spearmint Chewing Gum. Millions enjoy it daily. Get a few packages and always keep some handy. That's Wrigley Spearmint Chewing Gum. Healthful, refreshing, delicious. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar brought to you by Wrigley Spearmint Chewing Gum stars John Lund in the title role and was written by E. Jack Newman with music by Eddie Dunstetter. Featured in tonight's cast were John McIntyre, Joe Kearns, Jeanette Nolan, Virginia Gregg and Jay Novello. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar is transcribed in Hollywood by Jaime Del, the makers of Wrigley's Spearmint Chewing Gum. Hope you enjoyed tonight's story of Johnny Dollar and that you're enjoying delicious Wrigley's Spearmint Gum every day. This is Charles Lyon inviting you to join us again next week at this same time when from Hollywood, John Lund returns as yours truly, Johnny Dollar. This is the CBS Radio Network Flora this is the story of the one as head of maintenance at a concert hall, he knows the show must always go on. That's why he works behind the scenes, ensuring every light is working, the H Vac is humming and his facility shines with Grainger's supplies and solutions for every challenge he faces. Plus 24. 7 customer support. His venue never misses a beat. Call quickgranger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Welcome back. This one is interesting and you can see in many ways it's an entirely different story. The big similarity is that it involves an old bootlegger who has a daughter who he has protected from being involved in his rackets. But the story takes a very different turn. There's a strong emotional element to it, but it is also very steeped in the more grounded procedural approach. But good performances all around with a solid emotional outing for John Lund. Now let's go ahead and take a look at how this plays out in the course of the serialized version. This one and we will play all five parts aired from October 31 to November 4, 1955 here now is the Valentine Manor. This is the story of the 1. As a custodial supervisor at a high school, he knows that during cold and flu season, germs spread fast. It's why he partners with Grainger to stay fully stocked on the products and supplies he needs. From tissues to disinfectants to floor scrubbers. All so that he can help students, staff and teachers stay healthy and focused. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click granger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done from Hollywood. It's time now for Johnny Dollar Bry Vickers, New Britain Mutual. Hi, Roy. How'd you like to try some Creole cooking? Okay. What's up? One of The Bell Hops, St Agnes Hotel in New Orleans, had quite a time last night. He opened the safe and walked out with $7,500 in cash and a diamond necklace worth a cool 25,000. So help me, Roy, I didn't know bellhops had so much fun. That isn't all. He also stole a station wagon belonging to the hotel manager. Not to mention the manager's wife. What do you want back? Mainly that necklace. It's the property of one of our clients. She was stopping at the St Agnes and had it stowed in the hotel safe. Any line on the bellhop? Not a trace so far. The wife? Don't be funny. Can you hop a plane down there and see what's happened for us? Sure, Roy. Tonight and every weekday night, Bob Bailey and the transcribed adventures of the man with the action Packed expense account. America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator, yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Expense accounts submitted by Special Investigator Johnny Dollar. To the New Britain Mutual Insurance Company, Hartford, Connecticut. The following is an accounting of expenditures during my investigation of the Valentine expense account. Item one. $175 and no cents. Airfare and the incidental cost it takes to get from Hartford to New Orleans. Once there, I was more than surprised to discover the police had wound up the whole case. The prodigal bellhop, along with the 7,500 in cash, the diamond necklace, the station wagon, even the manager's wife had all been recovered. Everything and everyone, tearful, but intact. I reported this development to all parties concerned, phoned the airport for a reservation back to Hartford, which they said would be the following afternoon, and then looked around for something to do. I found a spot on Burgundy street that seemed to be less crowded than the others and settled down for the evening. That's where it happened. He was Sitting alone. Tall, gray haired, rugged. A face full of some 50 odd years, I guess. And full of some other things no one could guess. It was three drinks at the bar before I made out who he was, who he had been. A man who was once big in a way that only Prohibition made them big. This seat taken? No. Mind if I Sit down, Mr. Valentine? Well, you can't be that old. How old? Old enough to recognize me. Recognize you? From your picture. Long time ago. Time, I guess I could tell you more about that than anybody. You a cop? No, I'm an insurance investigator. You were a cop once? Once. Can I buy you a drink, Mr. Valentine? Damned enough. Sure. You're doing better than the boys in the force. I've been living in New Orleans for three months now. Nobody's calling me. Any reason why they should? No. No, there isn't. But then no one's ever figured out a way to stop a policeman from making a visit when he wants to. That's true. The funny thing, there's a lot of policemen I've liked in my day. Visiting policemen, that is. On certain days. You're too young to remember much about it. $But a long time ago, a bunch of old women made a law called the Volstead Act. Sure, Prohibition. Everybody heard about it, including the old women who passed the law. You see, this law was supposed to be for the other guy, not for them. Anyhow, a lot of people started bottling up violations of this Volstead Act. You tired? No, not a bit, Dan. Well, it got me a lot of money. In a lot of trouble. 13 years for income tax evasion. Finally ended just three months ago. And I came here to live happily ever after. Funny. No, New Orleans is a nice, quiet place to live. Better still, no one's bothering you. That's the way I want to keep it. And they can pass a thousand stupid laws and I'm not going to fall for any of them. Everything the book says, everything in order. How's that sound? Pretty good. Do you believe it? Yes, I do. Then I've got my point over. I'm flattered that you recognize me. Document. I paid back 10 days for every one I took. Now all I ask is that you don't ask the police to bother me, okay? As far as I'm concerned, Dan, you didn't even have the dinner I'm about to buy for you. $. It's nice to come out of prison and be recognized by a nice guy. Where we go? Jimmy Moranz. That's where we went. And it was a Swell dinner, only Dan Valentine didn't eat much of it. He tried to smile and crack wise, but there was a sadness about him that stood in the way. I wanted to ask him more questions about those days back when, but I didn't. We dropped into a couple of other places. The Absinthe House, Joe Gloriosos. We listened to some jazz and drank Sazeracs and walked along Canal Street. Finally we shook hands and said good night. Expense account item 2, $26.26, hotel board and miscellaneous. The next morning I packed my bags, checked out of my hotel and was about to take a limousine out to Mobilon Airport. Oh, Mr. Dollar? Yeah? A message for you. Oh, thanks. It was from a police officer on the New Orleans force, an inspector to. Could I drop by before I left town? I went right over and met Debaca, a tall, lean, gray haired man with 30 years service who kind of puzzled me at first. Thanks for coming by, Donna. Sure. Sit down. What's up? The bellhop take back his confession on that necklace theft? No, no, this is something else, Donna. Dan Valentine. Oh, you met him about 6:30 last night. You had two drinks with him and he went over to Moran's and had dinner. He went to two other places. You left him at 11:30. Yeah. I also brushed my teeth when I got back to the hotel. But I bet you can't tell me what color my pajamas are. Now, take it easy. Just take it easy. Maybe I'm saying this bad he doesn't know it, but we've been keeping an eye on Danny ever since he showed up. New Orleans? Just so happened you were with him last night and you did business with us here yesterday afternoon. So we want to know if you had any business with Dan Valentine. Don't be funny, Inspector. Okay, okay. Now don't get huffy. Let me put it this way. Dan came to New Orleans three months ago, bought a house out in Jefferson Parish. He hired a housekeeper, bought himself a little car, took up fishing every afternoon or just walking. Nothing wrong with that. No, of course there isn't. We liked it fine. The boys in the car drive by now and then. Look at them. Just look. No questions, no knocking on the door. When we see Danny in town, we turn the other way. Just look. You see? Sure. Now, he doesn't have any visitors. No old pals from Chicago or New York or Detroit come to see him. He lives alone and he likes it. That's what he told me. You're his first visitor now. I just wondered. You wondered wrong, Debaca okay, okay. I had to ask about it. You know how it is. Yeah. Excuse me. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Right on cue. Your pal just stopped a couple of bullets, huh? Danny Valentine. Come on. According to the uniformed officer who had put in the call, a newspaper boy had found Valentine lying on the sidewalk and around the neighborhood one of the residents had carried him inside. The ambulance crew stood by the bed as we came in. Valentine was lying on his back, the white chenille spread under him changing to a deep red. Two bullets had ripped ragged holes in one shoulder through flesh and bone, but he was just as self contained as ever. I got the idea you were going to stay out of trouble, Dan. I didn't know I was in any trouble. Are you dollar okay? You went to the police after all. No, the inspector called me in about you, Dan. But let's forget that for now. How'd this happen? This cleaning my gun. You're a loser, Dan. You're not supposed to have a gun. Oh, you know me and the law, we sometimes didn't hit it off. Bart, where is the gun? What gun? The gun you were cleaning when you were walking down the street and shot yourself. I swallowed it. Now look. Somebody's taken a couple of shots at you, Dan. Nobody can tell us anything about it but you. So far, we don't want you murdered. Well, okay, boys, get the ambulance back. Wait a minute, wait a minute. You're hurt. You're going to the police hospital. No, no, I've served my time and I'm clean. Being shot at even in this state doesn't make you a criminal. $ yeah? Dan, do me a favor, would you phone a private hospital and have me taken there? Go ahead, Johnny. Take it easy, Dan. I did as he asked. A crew from one of the large private hospitals was out there in a matter of minutes. And an hour and a half later, Dan Valentine was operated on and the bullet successfully removed from his shoulder. I waited around until he was taken to a private room and Inspector Debaca waited with me. Darling? Yeah? Why don't you go back to Hartford? This isn't any of your business. I know. My plane takes off at 4. I'll be on it. Why are you waiting around here? Oh, to see how he is, I guess. Your pal of yours. I just met him last night, you know that. But you're waiting around. Yeah. You want me to tell you why you're waiting around? You want to make sure he's okay. You met him last night. And outside of what you ever read or heard about him, you don't know him from a load of coal, but you want to make sure he's going to be all right. Well, so do I. Because in that room and on that bed lies quite a man. That about summed it up. No matter what he had been or what he had done, Dan Valentine was quite a man. It was the same thing that had caused me to go over to him the night before and start a conversation. The same thing that caused me to believe his plans for living a quiet life in New Orleans. He came out of the the anesthetic a half hour later and he sent for me. Hi. Hi. They say it's gonna be okay. Oh, sure, sure. This is nothing. I just wanted to thank you for giving me a hand. De Baca could probably help you more. All you have to do is tell him who shot you and why I shot myself and just for something to do. Look, Dan, I have a fair idea of how tough things were for you and how tough they can be now. But Inspector Debaca understands it, too. He'll do everything he can to help you. But you have to help him. Dan De Baca's a good boy. You're right. You'll tell him who shot you. If there was any way he could help me, I'd let him know first. I'll handle this myself. Guess you'll want to be getting your airplane. Yeah. Good luck, kiddo. Same to you. I went back to my hotel, picked up my bags and took a cab to Mobilin Airport. My plane had developed engine trouble and there was gonna be a five hour delay. I killed time at the bar and in the restaurant and just standing around looking at the field at night. By that time, the newspapers carried the story of the attempt on Dan Valentine's life. It was as skimpy as the story Dan had told himself, and it troubled me. Mr. Dollar? Yeah? Long distance call for you from Hartford. You can take it right in there. Oh, thanks, Johnny. Dolly. Roy Vickers, Johnny, at New Britain Mutual. Glad I caught you. Just waiting for my plane back to Hartford. Now, this story about Dan Valentine's and all the papers up here. Have you read it? Yeah. I was in on it in a way. Somebody shot at him today. He won't tell who. Says he'll handle it himself. Can you find out, Johnny? I don't know. Why? We carry a $50,000 policy on him. Somebody's trying to kill him. We'd like to know all about it. You mean I can stay here and work on this? Yes. Okay, Roy. Johnny Duller, this is Charlie debaca down at headquarters. You left a call for me? That's right, Inspector. Thought you went back to Hartford. What now? The company I represent happens to hold an insurance policy on Dan Valentine. They asked me to stay here in New Orleans and look into this attempt on his life. How'd they hear about it so fast? Well, it was in all the papers and on the wire services. Valentine's always been news, ever since Prohibition. Yeah, a guy like him would be. But you know as much as I do, darling. No leads yet. He's still quiet about the whole thing. Just like a mouse who won't open up except to see he'll take care of it himself. Maybe it'll help matters when he finds out the insurance company's interested. You know something? What? I don't think me, you, the whole force, the insurance company or anybody else can keep that bird alive unless he helps us. Expense account submitted by special investigator Johnny Dollar to the New Britain Mutual Insurance Company, Hartford, Connecticut. The following is an accounting of expenditures during my investigation of the Valentine matter. Expense account continued, item three. Three bucks. One telegram to Roy Vickers in Hartford requesting a copy of the policy code contracts between New Britain Mutual and Dan Valentine, plus the name and location of the beneficiary and any other debt on the case. After that, I walked over to the police station and looked up Inspector debaca. Sit down. Thanks. I don't quite get this, Dollar. What's your part? Well, the insurance company would like a full report on everything that's happened, that's all. You could give them that on the back of your thumbnail, couldn't you? Not quite inspect. Oh, you mean a separate report from what we have? Something like that, yes. It's their dough. They can spend it any way they want to. I guess if there's any reason for them canceling the policy on Valentine, they'll do it. The fact that somebody shot at him a couple of times and came near killing him is one thing. The fact that he won't open his mouth about it is another. They're looking for a way out. I didn't say that. They just want to make sure about everything, that's all. An insurance policy is a contract mutually beneficial to both parties. Both parties have to keep the line of that contract. They don't figure Danny Valentine's running around shooting himself. Insurance money, Inspector. They don't figure anything. Well, now that you've been official, be unofficial. What's your idea? Well, Valentine's got a legitimate policy with the company. They don't want to see him killed, they tell me to investigate the shooting. Actually, they're telling me to see to it that he stays alive and. Well, that makes sense. Good luck. If you'll sort of let me tag along on the case, I'd appreciate it. Well, we'll see. What's the matter now? It just occurred to me. Valentine bought a house out in Jefferson Parish three months ago, a couple of days after he was released from federal pen. He's lived there quiet, minding his own business, keeping his nose out of trouble. Yeah, as long as a man does that, even a man with a background like Valentine's. As long as a man does that, we don't bother him and he doesn't bother us. Well, so. So what happens? Yesterday you meet him and have a couple of drinks with him. Hello, goodbye. Boom boom. He gets shot twice by somebody somewhere. You a bad news boy. Now, that's as wild as you can get. We had nothing together except the drinks. You sure? I'm sure. Well, I'm thinking about it just the same here. Be back in a minute. The bulky, thick folder Inspector de Baca shoved across the desk at me was marked Valentine, Daniel. It started in 1915 and was fat with yellowed clippings all the way through 1942. There was a pretty good history of Dan Valentine and the age he lived in. He was born in Ireland and had fought in the Irish rebellion. He was regarded as both hero and scoundrel. For his own good, he came to America somehow. He started out on the wholesale drug business. And understandably, it was an easy step to making prohibition alcohol and an even easier step to make prison on an income tax evasion charge. The folder mentioned a wife and a daughter who seemed to have successfully avoided most of the newspaper headlines that had involved Dan Valentine. There was One picture of Mrs. Valentine taken in 1928. That's about as far as I got when de Baca came back into the room. Not alone. Interesting stuff. Very, Inspector. Very. Well, here's something more interesting. My men have been covering the neighborhood where the shooting happened yesterday afternoon. This man's a witness. This is Mr. Dollar. He's an insurance investigator. It's Willie Blakely. Oh, how do you do, sir? Hope you can help us, Willie. Well, I can try. Mm. I. I really didn't see too much. You see, I was on my milk truck, and I saw this fella, this. This big fella walking down the street. What's his name? Dan Valentine. Yes, sir. Well, he was just walking, like for an early morning walk. And then I Saw this car come around the corner and there were a couple of men in it. What kind of car? I think it was a Buick sedan. I'm not sure. It was a black car. You happened to get the license number? No. All right, go on. Well, sir, this Mr. Valentine, he looked up when he saw it coming and he stopped. You know, kind of funny. No, I don't know. Tell me. You know, like he was surprised. Do you think he was surprised at who was in the car? Yes, sir, that's it. He sort of smiled. Not a hello kind of a smile, sort of a sad smile. Didn't wave. Just stood there. I couldn't see the men in the car by then, so I don't know how they were looking at him. Did you see them as they rounded the corner? Yeah, just a couple of fellows, dark coats and hats. Would you know them if you saw them again? I don't think so, captain. Okay. Two men? Yes, sir. So this is Mr. Valentine. Stopped and looked at him and given this kind of smile, he recognized him. You think? Oh, yeah. And then I heard a noise. You know, something like, whack, whack. And Mr. Valentine fell down and a car drove off. Did Valentine go for a gun? No, sir. What did you do then? Well, I got out of there. Why? I didn't know what was happening. I didn't want to get hurt. You didn't even try to help him? No, sir. I was scared. I didn't know what that whack whack was, sir. It took you all this time to tell us about it? Sorry, Captain Darling, you got something to worry about. That noise he was talking about didn't sound like regular gunshots or he would have said so. Silencer. What else? Inspector debaca continued to question the witness trying to ascertain more details about the shooting, the car and the men inside the car. Four hours later, when I left, he was still at it. Some more expenses. Item 4. $2 and a half cab fare from police station to hospital. I thought I'd drop in and take a chance on Dan Valentine coming across with some information. Sorry, no visitors. It's pretty important. I'm a friend of his. I'm sorry. When can I see him? That's hard to say. Mr. Valentine's condition is not too good. What? Well, nothing to be alarmed about. He lost so much blood that he's in a weakened condition. The doctors ordered a transfusion. You can phone in later if you like. Excuse me. Yes, ma'. Am. I should like to see Mr. Valentine, please. I'm sorry. I was just telling this gentleman that's impossible. How is he? He needs rest. The doctor feels he'd be better off without visitors at the moment. Thank you. I had a feeling about the gray haired, well dressed woman and I hurried out down the long corridor outside the hospital. I was just in time to see her take a cab that had been waiting at the curb. I managed to hail one myself and we tagged along Canal street behind her until she paid off the driver in front of the Roosevelt Hotel. I was right behind her when she stopped in the lobby and got a key to room 1016. I gave her five minutes, then I knocked on her door. Yes? Hello, Mrs. Valentine. My name's Johnny Dollar. Anne Valentine looked at me for a long time. I had to hand it to her. There were no tears, no frowns or screams. Just a wide, frank look from a woman who by any man's standards had once been beautiful. I haven't been called by that name for many years. You're a reporter, of course. No, I'm not. I'm an insurance investigator in a policeman's office. Today I saw one of the few pictures ever taken of you at this hotel. I'm registered under the name of Ann Ward. Ward is good enough for me. Mrs. Valentine. May I come in? Yes. Now, what is it you want, Mr. Dollar? Possibly the same thing you want to keep your husband alive. I believe that's up to the doctors, isn't it? Not quite. If he was shot at once and he won't help the police find out who did it, there's a reasonable chance he'll be shot at again. Do you know who did it? Well, who it might be? Look, the police have found a witness who describes two men as having done the shooting. Can you add anything to that, Mr. Dollar? I haven't seen Dan in over 13 years. I haven't written to him, talked to him or contacted him in any way either while he was in prison or these last few months he's been out. I see. It was his idea. But he must have had a reason. He did. Our daughter, she believes that Ward was her dead father's name. Do I make myself clear? Yeah. I read about the shooting. I caught the first plane here because I thought I might help Dan. My daughter thinks I'm on a little vacation by myself. You don't believe me, do you? Well, in view of what you've just said about not having written to him for 13 years, that was the way he wanted it. I was never ashamed of Dan. Never. He was ashamed of himself. And how his activities might affect us. He gave me everything I ever had out of life in New Salem. That's where we live and live very well because Dan saw to that part of it before he went to prison. We are considered very proper people, Teresa and myself. Dan sacrificed a great deal for that consideration. I think that you sacrificed a great deal yourself, Mrs. Valentine. When I go back to the hospital to see him tonight, he'll probably tell me to pack my bag and go home. That there's nothing to worry about. But there is something to worry about, isn't there, Mrs. Valentine? He won't talk about it and you won't talk about it. And both of you know all about it. Oh, Mr. Dollar, you're a very young man. I'm sorry if I sound like I could help you. I can't. Please go. I went back to my hotel and had some dinner. Then after a while, I put in a phone call to the hospital and found out I could talk to dan Valentine between 7:30 and 9. About then, a special delivery came for me. It contained the information I wanted regarding the policy on Dan Valentine. I noticed that the beneficiary was a dual affair. Wife and daughter, Anne and Theresa Ward. I had to check with Inspector debaca just once more. No luck. He had been unable to identify or locate the two killers described by the witness. He was trying to trace the car. 7:30 on the dot. I was at the hospital. The reception desk seemed reluctant to talk and referred me to the head nurse who happened to be out to dinner, who referred me to the surgical nurse who took me aside and told me to find a crystal ball. Mr. Valentine's gone. We have no idea where. How could he be gone? We started to give him a transfusion. He jumped up suddenly, knocked down one of the male nurses, grabbed his clothes and ran out of the hospital. Just as simple as that. I thought he was in a serious condition. Keep your voice down. He was in a serious condition. Condition and it's going to be critical pretty soon. Running around town, bleeding from two bullet wounds. If you want to keep him alive, Mr. Dollar, you better find him and find him fast. I thought over what Dan Valentine had told me in the hospital earlier about taking care of the matter himself. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized he was going to do just that. Even if it killed him. Johnny Dollar. This is Ann Ward, Mrs. Valentine. Have you heard anything about Dan? Nothing, Mrs. Valentine. The police are looking everywhere for him. I went to the hospital tonight and they told me he walked out. He might die. Mr. Dollar. I know. Mrs. Valentine, did you tell anyone I was here in New Orleans? If you mean, did I mention it to the police, no. Thank you, Mr. Daughter. That was very kind of you, but it makes me mad that I didn't. Mrs. Valentine, I know you don't want anybody to find you're related to him because of your daughter. But I also think you could help the police in this situation. You could help them find Dan and put him back in the hospital. Mr. Dollar, would you come over and talk to me, please? Please? Expense account submitted by Special Investigator Johnny Dollar to the New Britain Mutual Insurance Company, Hartford, Connecticut. The following is an accounting of expenditures during my investigation of the Valentine matter. Some more expense. I believe this is item five. Yeah. Four bucks. Four drinks for myself. When a next big shot of the roaring twenties like Dan Valentine carries a $50,000 life insurance policy and walks down the street one day and gets himself shot and refuses to disclose who fired the bullets, I have to do the worrying for the insurance company. When he decides to leave a hospital bed minus a pint or two of blood, I have to worry some more. I needed those drinks. You can just say I liked what I'd seen of the guy and I didn't want him to walk around New Orleans bleeding to death in here, please, Mr. Dolan. The wife, who hadn't seen or heard from him for 13 years, looked pale and wan. It was obvious that the strain was beginning to tell on her, although she tried hard not to show it. Doesn't it ever cool off in New Orleans? Sometimes. But I'm not here to talk about the weather, Mrs. Valentine. You know that. Yes, I know. Well, don't just stand there and give me the tears, then. If you've got anything to say, say it. If you know anything that'll help, let me know about it. You're perfectly right in being angry with me, Mr. Dollar. I honestly don't know where Dan is. Well, do you know why he'd get up out of a hospital bed and endanger his life? I have an idea he might have wanted to see somebody. Who? I don't know. The two men have shot at him, Perhaps. I just don't know. We aren't getting anywhere, Mrs. Valentine. Look, I'm gonna talk to you frankly. Why did he come here to live in New Orleans? Well, you live in New England with your daughter, Teresa, obviously. Dan thinks a great deal of you and her. He's given you everything, provided for you with all of his troubles. Spent 13 years in prison. I Can imagine his thoughts about you and her while he was in there. And yet he comes out and lives 2,000 miles away from you. He didn't want to interfere with Theresa in any way. Sure. But it seems to me he'd want to look at you. At her, certainly. Even if it was a matter of living in Boston and taking a bus to New Salem and standing on a street corner one day to watch the two of you cross the street. That sound reasonable to you? If you put it that way. Well, look, there's some reason he picked New Orleans. Some reason he didn't give himself the little gratification of just looking at you and Teresa. Why? Why here? I'm sure I don't know. And why is he running around now? I can't answer that either. But it must have something to do with you and your daughter. Obviously, you're the only ones he ever cared about. Well, I honestly don't know. Well, and I. I can't help you. And I can't help myself. Or him. You mentioned his having a reason to be in New Orleans. Maybe. What? There was a man named Webster. Conrad Webster. He was a member of the Illinois Bar once in those days. Did a great deal of work for Dan and friends of Dan. I think he lived here. Wait a minute. I've seen that name. Yeah, on copies of the insurance policy. A man named Webster had the power of attorney. He bought the insurance. There's a trust in there for your daughter. Yes. Conrad Webster was an old friend of Dan's. I don't even know whether he's alive now or not. Drank a great deal later on. I think he lived here. Was he the kind of friend Dan would go to if he needed help? Yes, I think so. All right. What are you going to do? It's just something to look into. I'll try and find Webster and maybe I can find your husband. Thank you for coming by. I needed somebody to talk to. What? I hope he stays alive, Mrs. Valentine. Item seven. Sixteen dollars. The money it cost me to find out the location of Conrad Webster. I started at his last known address, followed a series of bars, and finally got information from a bartender that led me to the crummier half of a decaying duplex on Gentilly Street. Everything was quiet for Gentilly Street. Young man, the drugstore delivers what I need most. The telegraph office what I dread most. Obviously, you represent neither, and therefore you are no concern of mine. Wait a minute. Are you Mr. Webster? Conrad Webster? I am he. And I am drunk and disheveled. And it is 3 o' clock in the morning. I'd like to talk with you. May I come in? You may not. This isn't exactly the hour for making calls. But I did stop by and pick up something to take the edge off. It's bonded inside. Inside. Now then, you were going to apologize. Here you are, Mr. Webster. Now then. As long as this lasts, you will last. All right. I'm looking for a man. The entire world is looking for a man. Just one man. A man they blindly presume will break off these shackles that bind us and lead us forth into eternal justice. Yeah, yeah, sure. But that's not why. An ironic anticipation. I'm talking about Dan Valentine. You are? Yes. I'm a friend of his. No, you don't come from that place. The pallor is not with you. You lie. I didn't say I was in jail with him. And where else would he have made friends these long years? He's out of prison now. He's been out for three months. And I'm aware of that. Did you know he was shot at yesterday? Three hours ago, he left his hospital bed. I thought he might have come to you. Is he here? He is not. Do you know where he is? I do not. Mr. Webster, if Valentine isn't back in the hospital pretty soon, he'll die. Why is the phenomenon of death so persistently alarming? So he will die. They all die. Usually from a bullet. And that's what's going to happen to him. Two bullets. He stopped yesterday. Do you understand me? Acutely. Acutely. You've impressed me with the urgency of his situation. But Dan Valentine is not here. Nor has he been here, nor has he contacted me, nor. Nor do I know where to contact him. All right, Mr. Webster. All right. I guess I believe you. Your concern for him is a distressing irritation. What is the reason for it? I'm an insurance investigator and it's my job to keep him alive. More than that, I like him. I told you I was his friend. I think he deserves to live. You, his friends? No. You are too young to be his friend. His friends, for the most part, are gone. Like the long years. Like homburg hats and the Charleston and Lyme Rickey. The ones who are left are broken and tired and faded with old faces. Faces like mine. Like his. And we should be gone, too. Another age is here. This is my sadness. As for yours, Dan Valentine should never have lived in that age. Or this age. He was meant to be an explorer, A pioneer who conquered a wilderness not A racketeer who conquered a west side. Are you sure you're his friend, Mr. Webster? I once thought so. He once thought so. Now I haven't strength enough to be anyone's friend. What's your name? Johnny dollar. Good night, Mr. Doll. The look in Conrad Webster's eyes held the same sort of sadness I had seen in Valentine's eyes. But they were different too. They held a weakness. The strong, sad eyes were somewhere else in the city, walking alone, probably looking for two gunmen. And the lifeblood was slowly draining from the body that sparked them. I went back to my hotel and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come. I was still rolling in toss at 7:30 the next morning when orange juice coffee in the morning paper came up. A nationwide syndicate had picked up the new development in the Valentine shooting and gone to work on it. Among other names they mention in giving a resume of Valentine's career were his wife and daughter living in New Salem under the name of Ward. Hello, this is Johnny Dollar. I just read the morning paper, Mrs. Valentine. Oh, yes. I'm sorry it broke for you this way. That's very kind of you to say so. Maybe it's for the better anyhow. For years I've been wanting to tell Teresa who her father is, what he's like. I'm going to call her later today, tell her where I am, explain why I'm here. I think she can take it. You're doing pretty well yourself. Thanks again. Any word yet? No, no, we still can't find him. Mr. Webster. Did you find him? Yes. He wasn't much help. The New England paper said that Mrs. Ward was out of town. Sooner or later they'll find out what town Mrs. Ward is in, I'm afraid. Well, maybe you'd better get another hotel. Use another name. Yes, all right. I'll wait to hear from you, Mr. Donner. Yes, thank you. I put in another call to Inspector Debaca and asked him about developments. Valentine was still unlocated. They were covering drugstores and doctor's offices where he might seek assistance. The two unidentified men who had shot him were still unidentified. The police weren't able to dig up any more witnesses or get any line on the car. By four in the afternoon, Mrs. Valentine had still not called me to report a new address. I got worried and went over to the Roosevelt to see what was what. I was surprised to see Inspector Debaca in the lobby talking to the bell captain. All right, son. If you remember anything else, call me here. Yes, sir, I sure will. Hi. Hi, Dolla. Well, you want to talk first? You want me to. All right, I'll talk first. Mrs. Valentine's been staying here under the name of an award. You knew that. Yeah. Why didn't you say anything to me? She asked me not to. Doesn't make any difference now anyhow. That boy over there called us a little while ago. He said that Dan Valentine came in here this afternoon, went upstairs, came back down 15 minutes later with Mrs. Valentine. They both left together. Yeah. He must have seen the stairs in this morning's paper and guess she was in town. That's the way I see it. Well, we're right back where we started from and I'm about sick of it. We're a little better off. Two people are easier to find than one. We found them all right at 7 o' clock that night, and it was easy. Three squad cars were already drawn up in front of the little hotel. And I noticed with a slight sinking heart that a hearse was there Also. Dan Valentine and his wife were dead. Johnny Dollar. What is all this? Johnny? Who's this? Roy Vickers, New Britain Mutual. What happened to Valentine? He was gunned down last night going into a hotel with his wife. No, the police here are turning the city upside down trying to get a line on two unidentified gunmen. Well, couldn't you keep him alive? I couldn't even find him. Well. Well, this is no time to be yelling at each other. I just left his daughter. Huh? She filed claim already through that lawyer, Webster? No, no, she didn't even know anything about him until the papers broke the story. Well, I. I'm sorry. I got annoyed for a second. Do what you can, Johnny. He'll want a full report. Sure, Roy, sure. Expense account. Submitted by Special Investigator Johnny Dollar to the New Britain Mutual Insurance Company, Hartford, Connecticut. The following is a further accounting of expenditures during my investigation of the Valentine matter. Item nine. $7 for dinner. I had it with Inspector Charles Debaca, New Orleans Police. He was a haggard, tired looking man. About that time all of us were. You want some more coffee? No, no thanks. Two men, both about 6ft, wearing dark suits and hats, medium to slight builds. One possibly 35, the other possibly 40. A lot of our ties up with a description of the two men who. Who plugged Valentine earlier and earned him a place in the hospital. Yeah, we got more of a chance this time, though. Be some other witnesses. Somebody asked to tell us what kind of a car they had and what direction they went. One thing, they weren't using silencers anymore. No, but they did a professional job. I think Valentine knew him. Climbed out of that hospital bed to go out looking for him. Sounds reasonable. How do you figure the rest of it, Inspector? Valentine saw the newspaper story and knew his wife. He went over, got her, and I take it they were going to check into a new hotel. When their friends showed up, she just happened to get in the way, huh? Sure. Why'd anybody want to shoot her? Why would anybody want to shoot him? Well, because no matter what he was now or how he was playing it, he still lived pretty hard way back then. Man who's lived the kind of life he has and done the things he has is bound to make few enemies. He'll remember. No, I think it has something to do with his family. I agree with you that Valentine probably made enemies all over. But he wasn't the kind of man to get excited about any of those kind of people. He pretty well knew how to take care of himself and handle trouble. That's why he was out looking for them. You sound pretty certain. It seems to me that if Valentine had been expecting trouble from some of the old timers, he'd have carried a gun. You got a point. But then again, he was pretty gentled up. You know how he spent most of his time painting, huh? That house he bought out in Jefferson Parish is covered with pictures he's done since he's been out. Oils. Pretty good, too. When he wasn't painting it, he was listening to music. You'd hardly think of Danny Valentine taking up the arts. Hardly ever. Well, I'm gonna make a call and get busy. Yeah. Inspector? Yeah? Any objection to me going out and looking around that house? It's your privilege. Personally, I'm gonna look around town for a couple of gunmen. Anyone out there now? His cook. Name's Yachino. Nice woman. Okay, I'll keep in touch with you, Inspector. Do that dollar. Now, what? You forgot to tell me you looked up the old family lawyer, Conrad Webster, the other night. I was trying to find Valentine the same as you. Well, if you happen to run into Webster again, you tell him to drop in and see me, huh? He's missing. I didn't know what to say to that, so I left him standing there and went back to my hotel. And shaved, changed clothes and tried to go over the whole thing in my mind. I did phone into the police station and find out that the slugs that had killed Valentine and his wife were from an Italian make pistol. A Rumbero, 37.5 caliber so far, untraced. Expense account item 10, cost of cab from my hotel to Danny Valentine's house in Jefferson Park Parish. Yes, sir. How do you do? Are you Mrs. Iachino? Yes, sir. Who are you, please? My name is Johnny Dollar, Mrs. Iachino. I'm from New Britain Mutual Insurance Company. I'd like to talk to you, if I may, about Mr. Valentine. Yes. Not right now, Mr. Dallas. Some other time, huh? Well, if you prefer it that way, Mrs. Iachino. But it's been a hard day here. I mean, Mr. Valentine's death and his wife being killed with him. All of these policemen in and out of here and now Ms. Ward and all. Ms. Ward? His daughter? Yes, she's here. Arrived two hours ago. She's stay here. Could I see her? You come tomorrow, Mr. Dalla, please. Tomorrow. Mrs. Yachino? Yes, Ms. Ward? Who is it? Mr. Dollar. He's from the insurance company. Insurance company? Yes, I'd like to talk to him yet. You know, Theresa Ward stood at the base of the iron grill stairway, tall and dark eyed. And I saw that like her mother, she had a quiet intensity about her face that made it beautiful. At the same time, ageless. She smiled politely at me. I could only stand there without speaking for a long moment, looking at her. Then Mrs. Iachino excused herself and we were alone. I wanted to talk to someone who might be able to give me a little more information about all this. It's all quite new to me. I'll tell you what I can, Ms. Ward. My name is Valentine. Isn't it really? Valentine? Yes, it is. Well, suppose we correct that mistake right now. Sure. There's nothing wrong with Valentine. From what? A Mr. Vickers from the insurance office in Hartford told me I'm to be quite well off because of this man that was murdered. You mean Dan Valentine? Yes, Dan Valentine. Tell me he was my father. Who told you? Oh, reporters at home. And your insurance company. Mother told me my name was Ward. Poor thing. Must have been difficult for her over the years, keeping the secret from me. Yes, she told me she thought it was the best thing. She. Well, the same as he did. Tell me about my father. Was he a bad man? Oh, as good or as bad as the Volstead act made people. I only met him a couple of times. To awaken one morning and discover that you're the only daughter of a famous racketeer who's been murdered. Look, Ms. Ward, if he had anything to do with the way you turned out, with what you seem to possess within yourself, I'd say offhand that whatever he was or did he thought of you? Are you flattering me? I'm not trying to. You seem like a very nice person. And so do you, Mr. Darling. Will you tell me all about this, please? Well, let's see. You're 21, isn't that right? Yes. Just about 15 years ago or so. Your father was on trial for income tax evasion. Just before he was convicted, he set up a trust fund with my insurance company to provide for you. It's been paying money for your support and education ever since. According to the terms of the trust, all of the money becomes yours. Now that your mother and father are dead, it comes to well over $50,000. That's all there is to it. Mm. I suppose I'm grateful to him. I suppose I should be grateful. I can't say that I'm particularly sorry about his death. Any more than I would be if any other human being died violently somewhere. But about Mother's dead, honey. I miss her very much already, Mr. Duller. She was holding up pretty well until that point. Then she let go. I held her in my arms and I talked to her. I told her what I knew of her father's life and death. She told me how she'd been reared so far removed from anything that might have connected her in the least way with the Valentine name. Altogether, it was a revealing conversation for both of us. Mrs. Iachino brought us some food and wine. How long will you be in New Orleans? Until all of this is straightened out. You mean until they find out who killed my mother and father? Yes. How about you? Oh, I really don't know. After the funeral, I suppose I'll go back. But I wanted to see him. To see what he looked like, what kind of life he led. He was just an ordinary man, wasn't he? Have you seen these pictures before? No. This is my first time in the house. Look like Italian landscapes to me. Very good. Must have been something he had with Mother. She was from Italy. May I ask you something? Yes. How do you feel about him now? Is this for your report? For myself. Since you've been here these last two hours, I. I've begun to think of him for what he was. My father, I mean. I'd like to know why he was killed and who did it. Will I see you again? I hope so, Terry. Yes, I hope so. Very much. So do I, Johnny. I left her at the door that night with a warm sensation inside of me. Something I certainly hadn't expected in the business at hand. The next morning, I was back at the house. Talking to Mrs. Iachino, she gave me all the information she could remember about Valentine's activities, all of it accurate, but lacking in any possible clue as to the identity of the two men who had killed him and his wife. I had breakfast with Terry there and helped her with funeral arrangements. Then I spent a solid 12 hours with inspector de Baca, who had still not located or identified the two mysterious men. However, there were other developments. This may be something, Johnny. Oh, Conrad Webster's been found. Huh? Up by lake. Punch Train just identified him. He was shot to death with a 37.5 Italian gun. Yeah, Just like the one that killed Dan Valentine and his wife. It later developed that the slugs taken from Webster's body, when compared with those that had killed the Valentine, were fired from the same weapon. The case took on proportions. Every available bit of information regarding the 2x big shots of the 20s was located, read and reread. It meant activity in cities like St. Louis, Chicago, Detroit and New York, but no new information as to the identity of the killers. I went back to the house. Johnny. Here, here, here. What is this? You're shaking. Sure, I suppose I'm being a terrible fool of mad and all, Johnny, but they've been after me all day. Cheap little things. Newspaper syndicate wants me to write my exclusive story as the shadow daughter of Dan Valentine, fairy Princess of Arakate. Take it easy. Take it easy. Even Hollywood called a producer. Oh, Johnny. I shouldn't have come here at all. Then. What would I have done, Terry? And what would I have done? Mix yourself a drink, Johnny. I'll go put on a new face. It had become apparent to me in the short time I'd known her that she'd grown to love the memory of her father. Also, that the pressure of all that had happened was beginning to take its toll on her. We were walking down the gravel path away from the house. She was quiet at D. I suppose I was thinking how nice it would be to kiss her. I twisted, trying for the gun inside my pocket, but there was nobody to shoot at. The two men who had fired the guns were already out of sight. I was alone with Terry Valentine, who was hanging on the gate. I caught her before she fell. I mean Jackie. She was dead before I could answer. Johnny Dollar. Hey. What are you doing at the Valentine house? Get a car out here, quick. Inspector, Terry Valentine's just been shot. Two guys showed up. Slow down. One dollar. This happened a few seconds ago. Ambulance no good, Deaca. She. She died in my arms. Do you think they're still around there? They must be. I'm going looking. Now, wait a minute. Wait a minute. This is a police matter. You stay put. I'll have a car then. Five minutes and you can. Johnny, I heard that. You're gone. Now. Look, you're all wound up. Don't do anything. Expense account submitted by Special Investigator Johnny Dollar to the New Britain Mutual Insurance Company, Hartford, Connecticut. The following is an accounting of further expenditures during my investigation of the Valentine matter. Dan Valentine, ex gangster and of course, your policyholder. But then his wife was killed too. Then his lawyer, then his daughter. The girl that I. 30 seconds after Terry Valentine died in my arms, I was stumbling down the gravel path that led from her house to the road. It had all happened so suddenly. I can't say that what I did from there on, or what I felt was entirely rational. All I know is I hadn't heard a car leave the area. Which meant the two killers were still somewhere nearby. Then in the dim light, I saw the car. A man was climbing into it. Hey. Hey. Stop. Stop or I'll shoot. Stop. Get out of there. Get out of there and get your hands up. I'm a hit. I'm afraid to move. Come on, get out. Come on. I'm coming. I'm coming. You two, come on. Come on. It's no use on him, mister. He used up. You got him real good. I need a doctor. Help me get to a doctor. Stop right there, Doctor. Stand still. You pretty tough fella. What's your name? Sisto. Sisto what? It's good enough for you. I need a doctor bad. Listen. Tell it to me. Tell it to me right now. If you don't tell it to me now, you'll never tell it to anybody. Tell it. No. Tell it. I need doctor. Tell it. I die first. Johnny. Johnny. What is this? Who's he? He's gonna kill me. He's gonna kill me now. You better give me that gun, Johnny. Estate'll take care of him. Thanks. I should have done it. I wanted to do it. I know, son. Come on, let's get out of here. But I didn't get out of there. I waited around while they dug the body of the other man out of the smashed up car. And while they carried the still lymph form of Teresa Valentine away. She was the third member of the family who had died violently within three days. I'm sorry about it, Donna. Inspector. I was hoping I might have been wrong, that she wasn't dead. Oh, you weren't wrong. Which one shot her, huh? The dead One or the one we still got in the hospital? Oh, I don't know. Both of them, I guess. You don't feel like talking to it? I'm just trying to pin it down. What about him? Can't get much out of him so far. He's in pretty bad shape. Let me ask him some questions. Inspector, I'm no police officer. I don't have to obey any rules. Take it easy, kid. You were about to do that once and we'd be holding you for murder if you'd have gone ahead. I know how you feel about Theresa Valentine. Has he said anything at all? Nothing. We found papers on him and the other one. That makes him brothers Sisto and Darby Chianti in New York. So far, it doesn't seem to be any connection with the Valentines. But people like Valentine make a lot of enemies. But that girl doesn't figure. Yeah, I know. You talked to her a lot these last couple of days, Johnny. What'd she say? Oh, nothing that had anything to do with this. You know yourself she didn't even know her name was Valentine until her father got shot at. Yeah, that could have been an act. And you could have been 20ft tall. Just trying. Trying? With that punk you got upstairs in the hospital. We will, Johnny. We will. Just pardon me. Johnny, you're bad news. Maybe I spoke too soon. Why? Sisto Chianti died five minutes ago. Expense account. Item 10. 10? 4 bucks, car rental. I went out to the Valentine house once more. Oh, Mr. Dolan. Hello, Mrs. Yachino. Please, come in. So many policemen, so many reporters have been trying to close the house. Sure, I know how you must feel. I mean, about her. What of these Chianti brothers? Well, we don't know much about them yet. The New York police are still doing a rundown on them. Don't let me stop you, whatever you're doing. I'll just look around, if you don't mind. All right. Oh, one thing. Yes? Did Mr. Valentine make any provision for you? Yes. He thought of me. A thousand dollars. Whatever he was, the man I knew was kind and good and his sins had been forgiven him. I spent two hours or better going from room to room looking at the oils that Dan Valentine had painted. Pastoral scenes, happy scenes, gay scenes. All of them with colorful Italian backgrounds. I was thinking about that when I walked into Inspector De Bacca's office late that afternoon. I don't get it, Johnny. Don't get what? Here. This came from New York on the Chanty Boys. Oh, they came to this country when they were 18 and 21. Both of them were naturalized citizens. Lived with their father. Records? Not a thing. No trouble ever. What else? That's about it. New York police can't seem to locate their old man. Disappeared about a week ago. Lived on the east side. What's about him? That's another funny thing. He's taken out his papers and was due for an examination with immigration people this week. They're looking for him, too. We went out and had dinner together and talked about the case. It had been a strange one. The deaths were useless, the motives unknown. I parted company with Inspector Debaca and went back to my hotel to trouble it out with sleep. About 11 o' clock, I had a phone call. Johnny Dollar, Mrs. Debaca. Old man Chanty just showed up at our city. Morgan wants to take his two sons back to New York for burial. Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the coroner's office while Inspector Debaca led a small, wizened old man into the room and sat him down on one of the chairs. Mr. Chanty, this is Mr. Donner. How do you do, Mr. Chanty? I read about you. You killing my boys. Is it so? Yes. They'd killed four other people. I know, I know. But why did they kill the Valentine family? Mr. Chatty, why did they kill Conrad Webster, the lawyer? Do you know why she. I know. Then tell me. They're all dead now. I am. I'm still alive, Mr. Dollar. He refused to talk about his sons or any of their activities. Debaca held him to answer to the immigration officials. He remained in his cell, silent and non committal to all visitors, including the chaplain. I appeared before the coroner's jury the following morning and was cleared of any charges. Pietro Cianti still had said nothing and he looked at me as though he was going to keep on saying nothing. Mr. Chandi. I see you, Mr. Dora. More questions. Dan Valentine's wife was your daughter, wasn't she? Wasn't she? All right, you don't have to admit it. I have a copy of the marriage license right here. It came from New York this morning. She was my daughter. Is that all you have to say now? I no talk. Then I will, Mr. Chanty. Because your daughter, Mrs. Valentine, had a daughter herself, Teresa. A lovely, wonderful girl that your two sons killed. I happen to know that girl. I might have been in love with her. I don't know. But I do know she had to die, too. What? This Conrad Webster, Mr. Valentine. And my own daughter and granddaughter. They had to die. All bad, you see. I order it. You ordered it? And who are you? God? I am the father. When a daughter marries a bad man, only bad can come from it. The granddaughter was then bad. He come to our village many years ago. Take her away. He and the man Webster help him. It lived with me, the stealing of my own flesh and blood. Only this time it grow inside of me. I am old, but I keep on living. Only so I can come here and find him and destroy him and her and the daughter and the lawyer man who help him. And I destroyed them through my sons. A whole family. Vendetta. Was that it? If you like vendetta. He was a bad man who did bad things. Bad man. I smoke. Now you have a cigar. Away. The disposition of old Pietro is up to the immigration department. I didn't stay around New Orleans to learn the results of all the extensive examinations that would have to be completed to test his sanity. I'd had enough of the town expense account. Item 11, $140.20. Hotel and board. Item 12, $28. Car rental. Miscellaneous. That includes flowers to the Valentine Family. Family. Item 13, same as item 1, $175. Transportation back home. Expense account. Total $1,290.38. Remarks? Whenever I close my eyes, I can see a lovely girl standing at the bottom of a long curving stairway. Smiling. Because I'm in the room. That's all. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Remember, please. There'll be another exciting story for you beginning next Monday night. Monday, the Lorco diamond matter in which a trip to Algiers makes. Come with me to the Kasbah. Sound like an invitation to a Sunday school picnic. Join us, won't you? Yours truly, Johnny Doll. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar, starring Bob Bailey is transcribed in Hollywood. Written by John Dawson, it is produced and directed by Jack Johnstone. Heard in this week's cast were Lillian Byeff, Betty Lou Gerson, Barney Phillips, Will Wright, Forest Lewis, Marvin Miller, Jay Novello and Jack Bos. Be sure to join us on Monday night, same time and station for another exciting story of yours truly, Johnny dollar. Roy Rowan, Spe Ram this is the story of the 1. As a maintenance supervisor at a manufacturing facility, he knows keeping the line up and running is a top priority. That's why he chooses Grainger. Because when a drive belt gets damaged, Grainger makes it easy to find the exact specs for the replacement product he needs. And next day delivery helps ensure he'll have everything in place and running like clockwork. Call 1-800-granger. Click granger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done. Welcome back. Well, there are a few notes here. You know, it's interesting that both the 30 minute and the serialized version feature Jay Novello, although in different roles as the father in the San Antonio matter and the lawyer in the Valentine matter. The Valentine Manor combines ideas and plots from the previous stories and combines them together while adding its own unique span. There's a great performance in this from Virginia Gregg and of course, Bob Bailey, but it also reflects very clearly some different storytelling approaches. I think that the biggest thing I would say about the Valentine Manor is that it is a much more emotionally charged story and there are some subtle changes, such as this is the only version in which the gangster's wife is alive, but she killed. Which means that Teresa not only is dealing with the loss of the father that she never knew, but also the loss of her mother, who's been there her whole life. And then you have the final part, which is far more intense than what you get in the San Antonio matter. I mean, that opening is one of my favorite old times radio openings. Even though I know if you try to make the chronology of how this happened in the episode make sense, it does begin to seem a little bit absurd. Like Johnny compulsively answers the ringing telephone while chasing the people who shot down a woman he cared about greatly. But it works dramatically. I love it dramatically. And the whole tenor is just so much more intense. I think the confrontation with the sons, and even when you get to the part where Johnny is confronting the father, it was much more understated. In the San Antonio matter, the material Bailey is given to work with is great. I mean, the what? The way that he delivers that line, who do you think you are? God is. You know, it's original to the Valentine Manor and again, it just makes it such a powerful story. And you can argue over which approach was better, but to me, the Valentine Manor leaves more of an impression. But then again, your mileage may vary, but it definitely shows a difference in how Johnstone would approach a story versus Jaime Delvai in terms of what he was going for and what went out on the air. So it's a fascinating comparison and it's just interesting to see how elements from Night Bait and the other stories were kind of weaved in and mixed together to create this overall feel while still making it work within the confines of the five part Johnny Dollar story. I did also have an experience just listening to this because I've listened to the Valentine Manor several times and I'd never noticed before, but in the first time that de Baca is talking to Johnny, he says that Valentine, all he does essentially is go fishing every day. And then towards the end of the story he says, well, Valentine spends all of his time painting or listening to music. No mention of fishing, which may be an indicator to the this is still relatively early in the serial run. There may have been a bit of rushing and that's one of those sort of continuity things that could be missed when they were trying to make these stories work as five parters on the radio program. But at any rate, I hope you found this a fascinating comparison and enjoyed finding out how how these particular stories mix together. But now it is time to thank our Patreon Supporter of the Day. Thank you to Rob, Patreon supporter since May of 2024, currently supporting the podcast at the rookie level of $2 or more per month. Thanks so much for your support, Rob. And that will do it for today. If you're enjoying the podcast, please follow us using your favorite podcast software and be sure to rate and review the podcast wherever you download it from. We'll be back next Sunday with our final listener Support and appreciation special. But join us back here tomorrow for the Adventures of the Falcon. Where you get in here? Oh, the superintendent. I was a friend of yours. Good for you. I'm glad you make yourself at home. You know, mine might take me off my shoes. Not a bit. I like to see people comfortable. You ought to get some better reading material. There's a racing form you overlook. No, I didn't last week. I'm terribly sorry, Miss. Hall. Peggy Hall. I need finishes. And I'm the one to be sorry I put my shoes back on. Why be formal? No, Mr. Warren. You're a welcome change from most of the private detectives I know. You know many? One in the family after Hall. Have you hear of him? Unfortunately, he's my husband. I went here to say he'd never do good. He didn't. It's a wonderful recommendation. That's what I thought. I think my husband's playing around. Well, what do you want me to do about it? Find out who the girl is and what their plans are. You bucking for a divorce? How about your husband? Won't he fight him? No, I don't think so. I don't think so either. Oh, look, Sergeant, I'm busy. I hope you'll be with us then. In the meantime, send your comments to box Thirteenreatetectives.net Follow us on Twitter at radiodetectives and check us out on Instagram. Instagram.com greatdetectives from Boise, Idaho, this is your host, Adam Graham, signing off. This is the story of the One As a maintenance supervisor at a manufacturing facility, he knows keeping the line up and running is a top priority. That's why he chooses Grainger, because when a drive belt gets damaged, Grainger makes it easy to find the exact specs for the replacement product he needs. And next day delivery helps ensure he'll have everything in place and running like clockwork. Call 1-800-granger. Click granger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done.