 Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle, The Gaudiest, The Most Violent, The Lonesomeest Mile in the World. Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. On the flow of October dusk, the sounds of Broadway are softer, fall gently on the ear. Through loudspeakers, the autumn songs filtered by electronics and darkening twilight. The voices that keened against day quiet her now, and the walk is slower. The direction not yet decided upon. The in-between time, the time for the conjuring of images, remembered and sought for. And night hits, night mushrooms in the street rocks. So start running, kid. Refuge waits in a neon doorway. And night has a good hold now in the street of the Rooming House, where autumn wind quick strokes the light of street lamp across scarred brownstone, across the faces of kids clustered in their night game. Upstairs from that, a room where I was, a detective Margaretman, and a woman dead of the deep knife in her. It's a place to die, huh Danny? It's a room the way it's furnished. No extras, just the necessities. The bed, wash stand, chest and drawers, hot plate behind the screen. You find out who she is? Yeah, Super told me. Said she answered the room to let sign this window around noon, paid a week's rent in advance, gave her name as Mrs. Ruth Nelson. Around 55 to 60, I'd say, Danny. Her hands worked hard. This dress she's got on mission salvage type. What could a woman like this do that it makes someone stick a knife in her? The suitcase in the bureau, Margaretman, you've looked at it? Not yet. Open it, look at it. Yeah. A couple more dresses like the one she has on. There's some nice underclothes. Tortoise shell comb, hairpins. There's some papers here in one of the pockets. Take a look, Danny. Release and discharge from woman's state prison farm. You notice a date here? The time this lady was let out of the stair? Yeah, today, this morning, 8 a.m. Hits this room at noon, lives in it a while. Same night, dies in it, gets killed in it. A day she must have marked with a red circle on the calendar. Let's look around some more, I know. And it becomes this, violence in a narrow room and the two men who move through it. And this, night and dust in corners and far away behind a crack in a window that cuts it in half, a rind of yellow moon hung on a drifting cloud. City and pay light and dust and death. To make notes on it, give it to Detective Muggerman and get out. Get out and go where the bed is. Give yourself up to it and go after this night's version of sleep. And finally give that up too, because then it's morning. Back to headquarters, check in. Then the long ride upstate to the woman's prison farm. And in the warden's office, the woman who shakes your hand and takes your hat touches at her graying hair and points at a leather chair for you. His name's Miss Fembriss. And now we can talk. It's about Ruth Nelson, Miss Fembriss. Ruth Nelson? I don't understand. She was released yesterday. I was in this morning's papers, I thought. What was? She was found murdered last night. Oh, that's ironic, isn't it? It is. I would say so. A woman who spends 30 years in a penal institution is finally... 30 years? Is finally released and is murdered. Why? What happened? We only know that she was here at the prison farm, Miss Fembriss. She was murdered and we want to know why. Oh, this is an impasse, isn't it? You want to know why and I want to know why. What shall we do now? She's here for 30 years on what charge? Murder. She did a thing to her husband with an ax. You see, is there anything you know of anything, Miss Fembriss, something that happened here in your... Institution. Nothing. I knew Ruthie quite well. A model detentione. She left yesterday with silk underwear that the girls bought for her. I'd like to see your institutional records on her, Miss Fembriss. Sick call, do you mean that sort of thing? No, I... That's about all you'll find, Mr. Clover. There was a fire 20 years ago here in this spot. On Halloween night in 1932, somehow the prison farm got burned down. Much before my time, but I understand it was awesome. However, records of detentiones before that date are very incomplete. Again, however, there is only one other person who has been here for 20 years, so it doesn't make much difference. Does it? Does it, Mr. Clover? Then there's nothing you can tell me that would help to... Does it, Mr. Clover? No. And there's this you should know. I tell you now because it's the progression. Ruthie had a visitor a few days ago. Oh, I'd like to... I know. Here. Visitor, Louise Downey. Address, 595 East 74th Street. Nature visit to arrange a place of residence for Ruth Nelson. May I have a card, Miss Fembriss? Yes, please. Take it. Miss Louise Downey? Yes, sir, we have Miss Downey this year. I'd like to see her. I'll be happy to put a note in the box if you can. And from the police. It's important that I talk to her. Or can I find her? You try to place a business? Whenever she stays away for two, three days at a time, it's a place of business. Which is what? Secretary, confidential secretary, for the Jonathan Hart, you know. No, I don't know. Which address exactly? The address the man has given you is marble column soft glowing in the moonlight dedicated to Upper Fifth Avenue. And the night stillness is very special. Mansions in autumn type. And slender shadows moving on lace. And the butler open door makes a sudden spill of light on granite stoop that stands erect from coarser pavement. And he poses the question of identity on a share the secret basis and you've given the answer. And from fleeting instant his aplomb is stunned. But he recovers, bid you patience, closes the door and shuts the light spill from you. And wait against autumn night. And in a while the door is opened again and you're ushered into a room where carpet flows against your ankle where there are hangings of brilliant silk mist reflected in antique mirrors reflective gold. And leaning against the mantle a fellow entweed and flannel drink in one hand and a woman's hand in the other. You like it? What? Jonathan, he doesn't like it. Of course he does. How could he possibly not? Look, I don't... Jonathan wracked his noble brain for the proper pose and attitude for the receiving of a policeman and this is what he came up with and you hate it. I think it's... You hate it? That settles. Let go of my hand, Jonathan. Thank you, dear. Except your drink, dear. Jonathan does this for kicks, you know, kicks and small gifties. He figures it gives our life stature. What was it today, dear? Saddles or Jaguar? I'm sure the fellow isn't interested one bit. Of course he isn't interested one bit. What are you interested in, Mr. Clover? Louise Downey, I was told she worked for you. Is she here? What about Louise could possibly interest you on a soft autumn night like this? She visited a woman in state prison a few days ago. Oh, that Louise. She's a deep one. Deep. Isn't that how you'd describe a Jonathan, dear? No, not quite. I think I should put it... Louise... Your glass is empty, Jonathan, dear. And there's loads of champagne. So fill your glass and sip. This is your house. Show the man you're of noble breed. You were saying, Mr. Clover? Yesterday morning, Louise Downey visited a woman who had just been released from prison. Last night, we found that woman in a rooming house. Dad, murdered. Louise did that? Killed a jailbird? Jonathan, dear. It's not impossible, Vicki. Nothing's impossible once a fellow or girl sets his or her mind to... What was my thought? I lost my thought. I asked you to something. Is Louise Downey here? Hasn't been near us for days, and I've missed her dreadfully. My checks to sign, creditors impatient, my correspondents unanswered. And my back has cricks in it where she's been negligent in her other duties as masseuse. Cricks here, here. Make an effort, Mrs. Hart. Try a real heart to understand what I said to you. A woman was murdered. So exciting. Nothing as exciting as happened to you and me in days, has it, Jonathan, dear? There was something. But not here, not now, Vicki. Think of it. My social secretary a murderous. A girl I've been this close to right under her thumb and fingers. The confidences I've shared with her. Shared with a big heart of a murderous, a killer. We don't know that she's a killer. You know it, Mrs. Hart? Well, it's a natural assumption. A woman dead in the rooming house, you here? Louise not here? You have any idea of where she might be? Not in the slightest. Describe her for me, Mrs. Hart, so that we... Oh, I'll do better than that. I'll give you a picture of her. Jonathan, dear? Yes, Vicki? In my desk, that snapshot of the three of us, you, me, Louise, a tennis. That's it, dear. Now, unsheath my scissors. That's it. And bring them to me. Oh, well done, dear. I'll just cut out the part you need, Mr. Clover. Easy. Easy, girl. There you are, Mr. Clover. Louise Downey. Take her. She is yours. And somehow a buzzer is rung and the butler appears and shows you the way out of the splendor of it all, nimbly, efficiently, and with the sight of the mouth, yawn at the end of it. So out into the streets and the squad car ride to headquarters and the all-points bulletin on Louise Downey, friend of murdered woman, Louise Downey, now missing. And check out and have the blue plate special by the magazine and home again. And the article in the magazine proves statistically that everything is better everywhere. There's a cure for everything. Fight it, but you drow as anyhow when you come to the spot where everybody is rich, really. Drows. What do you want? Found her, Danny. Found who? What are you talking about? Louise Downey. Louise Downey, the private secretary. The girl who wanted to give a home to a convict. Louise. Where'd you find her? Central Park by the lake on her face. Listen to that. I'll meet you there right away. Don't forget it. They already moved her downtown to the morgue. Thought you'd sleep better if you knew where she was. Good night, Danny. This is Detective Danny Clover. Very few forest fires are set off by lightning, not more than one out of ten. The rest are started when someone carelessly tosses a cigarette from a car window or when a hiker traveling through the woods forgets to follow simple safety rules in regard to fire. Make it a point to remember those rules when you're in wooded areas. They'll prevent tragically wasteful forest fires. The new day is the new dream on Broadway and the new wilderness. It's the dumping ground of odds and ends and beginnings and leftovers. In a million billboards, trade name your loneliness and have slogans for the kind of happiness you ought to have. And each doorway has a promise suitably geared to mood, thirst, and credit rating. Name it and it's yours because Broadway has everything. Light and darkness. Crowd and corner. Skyscraper and gutter. The dream. Whatever you're looking for. It's the place to hold it close. And at police headquarters, the new day is an old door opening. Danny? Ah, good morning, Sergeant. Come on in. From me, Danny, to you. Unwrap the newspaper. My Gino. Claret wine from sunny California, Danny. The partake one is your whim. A gift from Mrs. Partaglia and me. You should share in what happened to us last night. What happened? Last night, about four, Mrs. T. woke me, made me get into my warm robe and slippers and took me by the hand into the backyard. There we sat and watched the leaves fall from our tree by moonlight. Till 4.30. What's the wine got to do with it? At 4.30, Mrs. T. takes me by the hand into the kitchen and takes out wine. This we sip between toasts to our friends. The mostly you, Danny. Well, thank you, Gino. So we figured instead of us sipping you should have the full benefit. Enjoy the bottle of wine, Danny. I don't know what to say. Now, don't well up on me, Danny. To work, shall we? If you please. Run down on background on dead girl Louise Downey. From effects found in her room, we learned that she had once registered with an employment agency as a secretary and through them finally located her last job. The one with Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Hart. What else? What else is the various effects a girl of 28 surrounds herself with to fight the battle of life. Her fumes and books and things for every occasion where. And this, Danny. A second, let me separate the chip from the chaff. Here it is. A page torn from the yellow section of the phone book. Yeah, a page of private investigators. That's interesting. Well, that's about all, Danny. Enjoy the wine. Oh, I will, Gino. Thank Mrs. T. for me, too. There are strange and dark currents running rampant into my Mrs. Have you thought of that, Danny? Many times. Now, if you'll pardon me, Gino, I've got some calls to make. And begin the calling of private investigators, men who listed their wares, quick results, strictly confidential handling, armed escorts, photographs, shadows on a 24-hour basis, and the seller of shadows who in big type posed the question of the day, why worry? And in smaller type offered the formula at reasonable rates, I solve your problems. Ask them had they had a client, Louise Downey, and be told by an investigator who had given the city and its surrounding boroughs 45 years of faithful, dependable, unselfish service? No. Louise Downey, the girl fished out of a lake? No. She should have come to him, though. He could have helped. Unselfishly helped. And the fellow who offered to come and talk over your problem with you was that was his policy, free estimates. And the chap who had married a client, retired and now owned the hotel he had worked. And in the W's, the man... That one, Mr. Waterfield. Go to an office, Herb Waterfield. Private investigator had subleased from a dentist. Find him lolling, swiveling in a dentist's chair, thumbing a national geographic. We're slated to the doctor. Let me keep the chair. Added Randall, of course. There's something psychological to my clients. They walk in, they see the chair, throws them. They expect pain, all they get from me is hotney. Makes them open up wide, real wide. Like Louise Downey? Yeah, like her. Only that dead girl lied to me. I thought she was as honest as a day as long as she lied to me. Oh. Uh, you're going to tell me about him, Mr. Waterfield? The lady died. Lied. She didn't tell me Louise. She told me Mary. Mary Hughes. What else, she told me. What else? Figured. Rest wasn't a lie. I figured. You want to share it with me? No, that's me. Share. Real share. She came to me, let's see. Yeah, three months ago, July, she came to me. Said, you find people? Find me, my mama and my daddy. She called them mother and father. Maybe 28 years old, she misplaced her mama and her daddy. Well, go on. Yeah, it seems it went like this. At 16, she ran away, didn't give a thought to the old folks at home. Now, she had a good job and she felt sorry wanted to make it up to him. Find them, she says to me, and I'll pay you. Or did you find them? Yeah, you could say that. She gave me an address in Pittsburgh where she lived with the folks while maturing. While ripening into womanhood. I went there, nosed into here and there of Pittsburgh. I found out her folks was dead. The parents' use was dead. Killed normal beel acts then eight years ago. And you came back and you told her that? That's all. That's not all. Found out what else about her? Found out she was a adopted child. Found out when she ran away, she ran away to New York to marry a fellow. The man she married, you know who he is? Who he is, where he is. Just in case he has a need for my type sometimes. They're in the file under G, Charles Gifford. That's self-attentive. This thing in the magazine on pygmies has me spelled out. Under G, G for Gifford. Gifford, sure, that's me. You've been recommended. What can I do for you? I'm a police officer, Mr. Gifford. Name's Danny Clover. Glad to know you Danny. Glad you let me up personally. Glad, you know why? Because you're a law enforcement officer, you deserve special consideration. Now I got a little car down here in the back the lot, 1949. What about your wife, Mr. Gifford? Wife. You're on the wrong used car lot, Mr. Clover. I'm not blessed with one of the little darlings. Your ex-wife then, Mary Hughes. A lot of miles and bumpy roads back, Danny. What about her? You seen her lately? What's this all about? Murder. Murder? You ask and I'll answer. I got a reputation for being square and straight from the shoulder. I'm going to show you why. Ask away, Danny. Tell me about your marriage. She was a fireball out of Pittsburgh, PA, where fireballs really come from. A little on the youngest side, 16, but I was only 23 at the time. One look and then we both knew and then we got married. Go on. We got married, sent her step-parents in Pittsburgh a wire. They show up about five hours later and break us the news. Wow. Wow what, Mr. Gifford? The parents sit us down and say, Mary, it's time for you to know where you came from. Mary and I nudge each other and smile. We're being already married, but they go on anyhow. Mary, they say have no secrets from yourself or your husband and you will have a long and prosperous marriage. Then they drop the bomb. I'll just go right ahead. Bomb. Mary, they say your true mother killed your true father with a heavy axe and you were born in prison and that's where you came from. Mary cried. I ran for the nearest lawyer and got an old. All right. Let's go back. Have you seen your ex-wife lately? Haven't seen her since we got an old in 1940. Talk to her though. When? Keep shooting them at me, Danny. Six or eight months ago. Saw her picture in a magazine, phoned her up. Just to say hello, huh? Look, Danny, her picture was in a magazine on account of she's beautiful, rich and married and her house looks it. Now, I'm going to level with you, Danny. I phoned her up because I needed a loan or some dough. Did she give it to you? Yeah. Yeah, she did. It was a little difficult getting through to her at first, but when I did it was a lot. I merely explained to her I needed 10 Gs to buy some cars. The check was in the mail the next day alone. After 12 years, you call her up and she sends you $10,000. Alone, Danny, I'm going to pay interest. Take a look at this picture, Mr. Gifford. This is your wife? Nope, but I've seen this girl before. Oh? Yeah, she was in a couple of weeks ago looking over cars. We got talking. She told me the story of her life. I told her the story of mine. The story you just told me. That's right. She opened an aboveboard with potential customers. She didn't buy a car, though. Good evening. What is it? Don't you remember me, Mr. Hart? I was here yesterday. You were? Let me see now. Yes. Yes, it was. It was yesterday. Please come in. You forgive the informality of this evening the butler went to the football games day. His school was playing. Oh, this way. I suppose the butler's team while in it got looped. Butler's our human. Vicki. Vicki, dear. What is it? We have a guest. I'm not telling you about Jonathan. It's better with three anyway. We can... Oh. Hello. We can't, Jonathan. I'm sorry. Good evening, Mrs. Hart. The busy evening, Mr. Clover. What is it you want? You know about our finding Louise, don't you? You found her? Where is she? She's dead, darling. I forgot to tell you. It was in the papers, but I forgot to give them to you. Dead? Why? She was murdered. There's some mix up here. I'll explain it to you. Yesterday, Mr. Clover, you said it was an older woman who was married, not Louise. A convict of some sort, so it couldn't be Louise. Face it, darling. Strike a nice pose. Pathetic. For the death of the social secretary. Vicki, you take it so calmly. She was very nice. All right, dear. We'll find another one. Nice, sir. All right. See, Mr. Clover, you really didn't have to bother. No bother. Still, I like that girl. Jonathan. Yes, Vicki? Go pour yourself a drink. Yes, Vicki. You know why she was killed, Mrs. Hart? Oh, love affair, jealous suitor, a mugger, what? Blackmail. That figures that way anyhow. She was being blackmailed, Louise? But you have to be naughty to be blackmailed. She seemed so prim to me. How about you drink two, Vicki, and Mr. Clover one, too? No, thanks. You may drink them all, dear. Cheers. One and all. I'm not getting through to you, Mrs. Hart. Don't try. I've already told you about this evening how busy... Louise was blackmailing somebody else. This somebody else resented it and killed her. Jonathan, dear. Yes? Don't overdo it. That tragic look. I said we'd get another secretary younger. All right. Mrs. Hart, you told me yesterday that Louise Donnie did a lot of things for you, personal things, signed your cheques, things like that. Things like that, Mr. Clover. It's the nature of her profession. Some time ago she signed a cheque for you for $10,000. Cheque made out to your first husband, Charles Gifford. I said that... Did you once have another husband, Vicki? I was very young, darling. I was called Mary Hughes then, and I was very foolish. And my marriage lasted only a very short time. Oh, lasted only 12 hours. You know about it, don't you? All about it. Well? Well, what? Louise should have left it alone, Mr. Clover. She didn't. So you killed her. She should have left it alone, or I should have had more sense than to let her sign that cheque, either one. Probably the last. You get a phone call from a stranger, and you have a cheque signed for $10,000. Louise hired a private detective and found out why. About your husband. About your mother. Let's not call her my mother, shall we? I never saw her until... I never knew her. I didn't owe her the respect of the word mother. But you killed her. I lived nicely. You can see that. Jonathan here... What? I'm not talking to you, darling. Oh, sorry, dear. Jonathan here isn't any trouble. He's got a lot of money, and he gives me what I want. My pictures get into magazines how happy I am, how respectable I am. Suppose I did get out that I was born in jail of a murderous mother. It's going to get out, Mrs. Hart. No, it will. But I thought I could prevent it. Well, it didn't work out. Well, let's go, Mrs. Hart. Will you... Will you want a rap, dear? Yes. Yes, I think I do. Let me help you with it. There. Well, will you be long, Vicki? Very long. Have a very nice time. Broadway is rearing on its haunches now and wearing its comedians face. And Broadway will reach out and tickle you under the chin and make clacking noises, or bang you across the mouth and get hysterical. Either way, you feel no pain because it's a street that never does. It's Broadway, the gaudiest. The most violent. The lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway. My Beat. Broadway's My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover, with Charles Calvert as Tortaglia and Jack Krushen as Muggevin. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Mary Jane Croft was heard as Vicki and Jane Avello as Jonathan. Featured in the cast were Irene Tedro, Harry Bartell and Paul Freese, Bill Anders speaking. Later this evening, you have a date with Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle. Now, you don't have to swing through the trees to keep up with the Wonder Man. Just relax and let Tarzan's story for tonight titled Cathedral of the Congo with the atmosphere and excitement. Also tonight on most of these same stations, here are the case of the twice parked car on gangbusters, a saga of an automobile with an alibi taken from actual police records. And don't forget, Jean Autry will be along tonight too, as well as that Full Hour Steve Allen show with all its fun, all ahead tonight on CBS Radio. Stay tuned now for the Vaughn Monroe show, which follows immediately over most of these same stations. And remember, the comedy treat that can't be beat is Jack Benny Time, Sundays on the CBS Radio Network.