 Everybody knows a taxi driver likes being over-tipped, but you can't blame him for not liking being tipped over. This is another in the adventures of America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator, Johnny Duller. At insurance investigation, he's only an expert. At making out his expense account, he's an absolute genius. Expense account, submitted by Special Investigator Johnny Duller. To Home Office, the Nutmeg State Liability Underwriters, Hartford, Connecticut. The following is an accounting of my expenditures during my investigation of the disappearance of 12 Apex cabs. Or who took the taxis for a ride. Expense account, item 1. $3.10. Train fare, Hartford to New York. Item 2, $1.10. Dinner en route. Item 3, $18. Club car. Expense account, item 4. $1.30. Cab fare from station to garage and offices of Apex Taxi Company. I naturally waited for an Apex cab, but could have saved my time. The driver told me nothing. Except that the man who came rushing out of the Apex office when we pulled up was the big boss, Mr. Gordon McKessick. Thanks, driver. He's just the man I'm looking for here. Thank you, sir. Hey, McKessick! Wait a minute, wait a minute, will you? I'm Johnny Duller from the insurance company. Oh, oh good. That's different. Just in time. Come along. Where are we going? Come on. Tell you in the car. Just had a call from the police. Another one of my cabs had been stolen. They found the driver slugged and unconscious and I got to get out of there. I tell you now, I'm going crazy. This is going to stop. It's not only driving me out of business, it's driving me out of my mind. The police have done their best and Lord knows I have too, but I'm about ready to give up. This makes 12 of my taxi cabs disappear off the face of the earth. It's fantastic. I can't believe it. Hold it, McKessick. Do us both a favor, will you? Huh? Play cucumber for a few seconds. Oh, remember, the insurance company I represent has plenty to scream about, too. What I need is some facts. I haven't got any facts. And if this keeps up, I won't have any taxis. They're gone, that's all. 12 of them, that's all there is to it. Any idea of a motive? Some new kind of car theft? That's what the cops say. Okay, what's your idea? Robbing the drivers? You don't have to steal a cab to rob a driver. It's ridiculous. All right, then. What else could it be? Competition? Sabotage? That's my guess. Competition. So far it's only a guess. I'd give anything to know. So would the insurance company. Anything. They'd even give up my happy young life. 13th and East River. And there's the crowd. Humanity's strongest magnets. Blood. Stand back. Officer. Officer. Look, here's my ID. This man is McKessick, the victim's boss. How about getting us through that crowd? Well, all right, but I don't know. The right side of his face don't feel much like talking. It's caved in. Stand aside now. Come on. Move, move. Come on, dollar, let's move in. Okay. Okay, Mr. Dollar, here you are. Hey, are they all right? Is this one of your men, McKessick? Yeah, George Brandon. Been with me four years. All right, good. Brandon. Brandon, listen to me. Who did it? Do you know who did it? Try hard, will you? I never saw him before. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, Brandon, only one. What did he look like? Come on, boy. Hey, little guy. Talk funny. He talked funny? How, Brandon? How? An accent? Hey, hey, come on, boy. Well, that's it. Clear the way for the ambulance. The ambulance. The ambulance turns out to be the wrong kind of a wagon. Spence account, item five, $28. Transportation the following day visiting hospitals in the homes of the other 11 Apex drivers who had lost their cabs. During the course of this, I contracted a severe case of what GIs used to refer to as Jeep seat. Out of 11 interviews, I got three clues. One, that up until last night's killing, the cab nappers had worked as a team. The little dark guy with an accent as described by the dead driver, Brandon, and a 300 pound accomplice wearing a seersucker suit, a Panama hat, and a complexion akin to a perspiring blob of leaf lard. This heavier of the two heavies, it seemed, never actively participated in any of the rough stuff, merely assuming the role of director of operations. Clue number two, that in each instance, the driver's uniform camp was also stolen, which indicated to me merely that the getaway driver was very much interested in looking like a cab driver. Finally, clue number three, from the most disgruntled of the driver's interviews, the fact that the fleet owner, McKissick, had spent three years bootlegging another four bookmaking and had spent some very short vacations getting away from it all in prison, which naturally led me back to McKissick's Apex garage and office. I'll tell you, McKissick. So far, I have just hit the ABCs. Later on, I'll get to the XYZs. Look, darling, I'm getting fed up with double talk. What I want to talk about is a double life. Yours. What? I once broke a leg jumping to a conclusion, so don't get me wrong, that's not what I'm doing. But a less experienced investigator might immediately assume that a man like you, an ex-bootlegger, ex-bookmaker, ex-jailbird, just might be stealing his own calves for the insurance money. Now, wait a minute. Don't get that way, or I might also get the idea that you have a killer instinct. My record's my own business. It was okay with the hack bureau. It was okay when that company sold me the insurance, so it'll have to be okay with you because you're stuck with it. Nobody's calling you guilty. Okay! Okay, all I'm telling you is this. I want your calves off the street until this thing is cleared up. That's big talk, little man. When the day shift comes in at 430, tell them to park their calves in the garage. And you can tell your dispatcher the night shift isn't working tonight. Bad enough to have my competition running me out of business. Now the little helper from the insurance company shows up to finish the job, huh? I'm not trying to put you out of business. I'm trying to keep you in. Well, it don't sound like it. No cooperation from you, no insurance. I'll have it canceled as fast as I can get to my phone. How about it? Okay, dollar. I can't do anything about it. But if I were you, I wouldn't be caught hanging around here by any one of those drivers you're putting out of work. Some of them play rough. You can always depend on a cab driver for being on time when it's time to knock off work. By 5 o'clock, the garage was full of taxis and carbon monoxide fumes. By 530, it was devoid of humanity. And a night watchman I'd met before stood guard outside the lock gate. At 6 o'clock, a visitor dropped in on him, followed almost immediately by me. Senor, it is so important that I find it. It contains everything I have in the world, almost. Oh, my money, even my personal... What's this, Fenny? Oh, Mr. Dollar. Yeah, yeah. Well, a young lady claims she lost my purse, Senor. I hired one of your taxicabs this afternoon and left my purse in it. It's so important that I get it. Yeah, I told her to call lost and found in the morning. But, Senor, what will I do tonight? Why were trying to figure that out? Did you join me in a drink? Why would I like that? Her name was Marita Guastella. She was a dark type. So I took her around the corner to a dark salon. On the way in, we passed four grumbling apex cab drivers shooting hot looks at me over cold beers. I arranged her in a booth so I could keep an eye on them, in case their intentions were no good. And an ear on her story, which I knew wasn't. This is my first trip to America. I came from Spain two weeks ago. This afternoon, I was shopping on Fifth Avenue, and that is when I took the cab from 49th Street to the Sherry Netherlands Hotel. 49th, Sherry Netherlands. What time did you take the cab? I'm not sure exactly. With help. It was exactly ten minutes after four. I remember now I looked at a clock. And what time did you arrive at the hotel, Marita? Why are you writing all this down? Just trying to help you find your purse. But I do not want to put you to any trouble. I am perfectly willing to search for the taxes myself. Honey, the city of New York has gone to a lot of trouble to save you that trouble. Every driver has to keep a record of every trip. Where he picks up his passengers, where he drops them, and when. He puts it on a big card. So all we have to do is find out which card has your trip listed on, then we'll know which cab. Then we'll go to the little cab, and probably find your little purse. All right? It is very good of you, Senor. If you would not mind the trouble. Sometimes bothering with this kind of trouble I wanted a martini. Expense account, item six. Four dollars, bar tab. Tip to waiter, one dollar. And here's a tip to young ladies who are pretending that they just came from Spain two weeks ago. Don't want to bird bath martinis and put them away in one gulp. The drinking taste of Spanish ladies is more the sherry type. And martinis are hard enough to get used to in two years, let alone two weeks. Oh, who knows? Maybe she was just in a hurry to get to the Spanish olives. One thing was fairly apparent, though. She seemed to be in a hurry to get something out of one of those cabs and not by way of the lost and found department. The least I could do, both as a gentleman and an insurance investigator, was to accept her phony-sounding story and take her back to the garage. I arm and arm the sometimes-Senorita around the block, passing the time in a conversation not exactly based on her mother's favorite recipe for a Rosa con pollo. As we passed the office portion of the apex cab building, I gave up looking into her eyes and saw something that was open even wider, the garage gate. What is it? The watchman. He's gone. Perhaps he just stepped inside. Uh-uh. Look at the stains on the sidewalk. Blood. Bridewell. Just believe me. Bridewell? Who's Bridewell? I do not know. Who's Bridewell? Please let me go. Marita had twisted away and was high-tailing it up the street. I went stamping up the ramp in the direction of the source of the screen. On the way up, I hit the light switch. In this racket, even big boys should be afraid of the dark. The first portal, I slowed my run into a pussy-foot pace and edged around the corner, sliding my back along the dispatcher's counter. I got halfway down. The corner of my right eye picked off a pair of high black shoes, night watchman type. Heels on the floor, toes pointed up, sticking out from behind the end of the counter. I didn't have time to get a look at the rest of them. Something so round, so firm and so fully loaded gave me a cold steel kiss under the left ear. Pray to yourself to favor, sir, the remaining absolutely still. Now, now you may turn around. Would this be Mr. Bridewell? Good indeed, sir. What about the night watchman? I have no fears for him. I am fortunately accomplished in the administration of First Aid. But a good deal of practice. I've seen to it that he's resting comfortably. I'll bet. Well, Victor, my boy, I trust your search was successful. Successful? Eh, somebody feed us to it. All in cabs has been searched. Nonsense, my boy. How can you tell in so short a time? How about picking a look for yourself, fat boy? You couldn't possibly have picked over all of them. Proceed to the search quickly. In the meantime, perhaps our friend here is the proprietor of the search that preceded us. In this case, practically anything could happen. Yes, any could. Knowing that should encourage you to mind your menace. Now, sir, will you accompany me to my hotel where we can discuss this further? With you holding that thirty-eight caliber steel-engraved invitation in your hand, I'd be a perfect cad to refuse. In just a moment, we'll return to the second act of yours truly, Johnny Duller. But first, your armed forces are constantly searching for new methods and devices for national security and better peacetime living. Today's serviceman is a skilled professional who works with advanced techniques and equipment. If you're interested in science and technical subjects, your armed forces offers you a great opportunity now. Find out how you can join the world's greatest scientific enterprise, the Armed Forces of the United States. Now, with our star, Charles Russell, we return to the second act of yours truly, Johnny Duller. And tonight's story, who took the taxis for a ride? Looking for some stolen taxi cabs and wound up in a hotel room looking stupid. Not wishing to make this a permanent effect, I put my mind to work and the fruits of its labor went something like this. Whoever had been stealing those cabs, and I figured I was face-to-face with one of them now, had not been stealing the apex rolling stock for the cabs themselves, but for something evidently hidden in one of them. From here on in, there was only one way to play it, by ear. And it was easy because the pasty-faced 300-pounder draped in a double-breasted seersucker tent was doing all the talking. Back in 1912, when I was expelled from Oxford University as a result of an unfortunate association with an unscrupulous proctor, I arrived at this decision, sir. It's sometimes not profitable to be on the apparently right side. I make myself clear. Well, in a roundabout way, I think so. Now then, I am thus fully acquainted with my position in regard to this matter of the Scarlet Madonna. But you, where do you stand? I'm running a one-man escort service for Marita Guastella. Marita? So? The lovely but unwise Marita has taken under herself an accomplice, has she? Well, as long as you're allied with her, you and I must meet across purposes. Well, I'm open to suggestion. Good. The girl is nothing more than a penniless adventurer, as a common thief. But I, sir, may be able to tempt your trenchant loyalties with some very fetching turf. Well, Victor? This is our man, all right. I knocked it out of that night watchman when he came, too. This is him. That's got to work. Now, here, here, Victor, this is not the time for violence. The gentlemen and I are about to discuss terms of mutual profit. Oh, we're not, sir. You were discussing. I was listening. You'll find that I can be concise when the situation demands that I be. Shall we start with a figure of, say, $5,000? I got nuts. Let me work him over. Victor, you can't remember that I deplore violence. Well, young man, what do you say? Nuts to your $5,000, Mr. Bridewell. Good heavens, man. Have you lost your mind? What do you think the Scarlet Madonna is worth to you? Well, so far, it's been worth one man's life, 12 taxicabs. On a used car lot, that comes to more than $5,000. $7,500 there. Keep coming. I'll see you here now. There's not only a limit to my generosity, there's a limit to my patience. How else do you expect to realize such a heads of profit? I haven't made up my mind. Perhaps I can help you. Here are the problems you face. The Scarlet Madonna is no ordinary gem to be disposed of through the ordinary channels. You serve the pharise notion of the importance of the jewel. I've got a hunch I can retire for life, huh? In a very short life it might be. To be a pity if your blood were mixed with that already shed through the centuries over the Scarlet Madonna... I don't waste time with that story, fat stuff. We haven't got all week. My purpose in this repetitious recitation is bona fide. The bloody history may convince our friend, the no one since the year 1256 has been able to share for any appreciable length of time the company of the Scarlet Madonna. Hey, hey, hey, tell him about the pirate. Well, that was the year it was fashioned. We won the vestments of John V. Sensen. In March 20 of that year, he was ordered by Alexander IV to hasten to the province of Tuscany to aid in the routing of the heretics. The pirate. There, John was murdered and robbed of this jewel. And since that date, it has never ceased its bloody journey through history, England, France, and Spain. Don't forget the pirate, fat stuff. Thank you, Vic. For your helpful interest. Indeed, it is true. During one of its bloodier experiences, it was woven into the beard of an Alsatian pirate, from which it fell when his head tumbled into the basket beneath a guillotine. That would kill me. You see, mister? Don't go losing your head. I'm trying not to. Like Bridewell, if this rock is so hot, how come you're willing to risk your pudgy little neck for it? Victor and I are only the temporary middlemen for this infamous death. You aren't yet. Am I to understand that you refuse? Well, I must say, you tell a very good story. But the answer is still nothing doing. I told you, fat stuff. You were wasting your breath on the sky! Oh! Well, Victor, that's enough. You know, get up, young man. Keep that monkey over here. I'll yell the roof off this joint. Yes, no, that won't be necessary. Now, put your hands up, please. Now, Victor, look through his pockets. Not that anyone would be foolish enough to carry the scarlet Madonna. Okay, now. It's not easy. Oh, you'll trick your teeth. Don't try it. Come on. You know what, we got here. Insurance stick. No, Victor, one gun is enough. Not for me, it ain't. You must be from the company and sure on the rock. Oh, no, Victor. I am thoroughly familiar with the policies covering the scarlet Madonna. What's the gentleman's name? Johnny Dollar, from Hartford, Connecticut. And right now, thinking there's no place like home. I'm leaving. No, not alive, you ain't. We can't let him out of here. He's right Hartford. Put down your weapon, Victor. He's been trouble enough. Hunter, now you don't. Oh, yes, I do. Back off, buster. Now, Victor, I must insist. Let him get away. Oh, you fuffer! Let go of him! Insurance is best together, whatever. If he knows where the jewel is, he's more good towards the lives of dead, more valuable than needed. The elevators weren't fast enough. I hit every fourth step down eight flights of stairs to the lobby and out into the street. Johnny, Johnny, I must see you. Marita, well, it saves me looking for you. You just tag right along. Taxi! Yes, sir. After you, lady of Spain. Thank you, Johnny. You're welcome. Johnny, what did they do to you? A gentleman named Victor hung a right hand on me, complete with signet rain. Oh, Johnny. Oh, never mind that hanky. I'm not in the mood to be dabbed at. I'm so sorry. Johnny, what did they tell you? Oh, no, you don't. First, I want to hear what you have to tell me. Then we'll compare your stories. Wait. There's not much to tell. This scarlet Madonna is rightfully and legally mine. My only crime was to bring it into this country illegally for customs. I met Bridewell and that horrible Victor on the ship. When I got to New York, I realized that they were following me. I was terrified. Is that all believed? I was in a taxi cab, and they followed me in another. It forced us to occur. But I hid the jewel in the upholstery of the taxi, and I jumped on him flat for my life. Oh, I remember that it was an apex cab. I've been trying to find the exact one ever since. So apparently, are they? How'd they find out? They run after me that night. They searched me and all of my belongings. Then when I started my search, they realized what I was doing. Looks like anybody can catch the brass ring on this merry-go-round. Please, Johnny, tell me that you will help me to recover the Madonna. Look, gorgeous. All I'm trying to catch up with is a dozen stolen taxi cabs. But you are not just going to leave me flat. With that figure? Impossible. I took Marina to a small hotel, got her a room, and, uh, while she was taking a bath, I stole her clothes and left her, locked in that strongest of midtown prisons, nudity. The first joker I went looking for back at the apex garage was the unfortunate night watchman. I found him sitting up and taking nourishment out of a bottle, and nursing an egg on his head that would have hatched an ostrich. Yeah. I tell you, I've been worried about you. Yeah, yeah. Thank heavens you're all right. Well, thanks to you. No. What do you mean, sir? I mean, why'd you tell that sort-of ape who slugged you around that I searched these cabs in here last night? Well, I didn't mention you, sir. I told him it was the boss. McKissick. Huh? Yeah, yeah. McKissick? Where is he now, do you know? He just came by. I believe he's next door in his office. Thanks. Yeah, yeah. Oh, McKissick. This case is developing more suspects than a garlic breath and a crowded elevator. Oh, that's funny. First you. All right, you had your chance. Now we're on the rate of money. The rate of money in it. We had started. I found the scarlet Madonna clutched in McKissick's dead hand. For a scarlet Madonna, it was mighty green. It was an emerald about the size of a pack of cigarettes that's been flattened out in your pocket. A Madonna figure was carved in bar relief on one surface. As I stood over the body of McKissick looking down at the green gem in my hand, I realized where it got its crimson name. For on the floor, out lying in my hand was a spreading pool of scarlet blood. Well, sir, we meet again. Yeah, so it seems. May I offer you my congratulations at the same time request that you hand over the scarlet Madonna? Being unarmed, as you are, you're not welcome to it. Well, perhaps I have something more persuasive than a weapon. I'll look at them if you'll back up against the wall. Very well. Authorizing me to the legal possession of his infamous, his hateful, incursive instrument of greed. I'll explain that it's been my odious duty to retrieve it for its rightful owner, the Stilwell Museum in London, from which it was stolen by Victor and his first-file lady in waiting, the exotic marita. Insurance investigator. You, where do you come from? What's your outfit? Yes, I thought I'd let you back on your heels. I'm from London. Pity we didn't have each other's interests classified earlier. We might very well have, shall we say, collaborated in this matter. Yeah. I'm sure there's an unvoiced question lurking on the tip of your tongue. My association with the best of Victor. Well, at this point, I didn't want to insult you. I think nothing of it, my boy. Due to a fortunate similarity in voice and physique for your recovery sector, Mr. Sidney Greenstreet, I find myself automatically listed as undoubtedly the villain of peace. In this case, as many others during my fantastically successful career as an insurance investigator, I was able to align myself with the basic source of the villainy environment. Further, I pray that you will not accuse me of being associated with any of the physical violence which have punctuated this case. In short, this Victor fellow occasionally slips through my finger. Well, all I'm trying to find is 12 lousy taxi cabs. Well then, your troubles are at an end, my boy. I shall write out an address. Fine. And there you shall find them on harm in the warehouse, hard by the East River. OK. You'll forgive me, I'm sure, if I tell you that in this case it is but another small milestone in the glorious path my strewn with superior accomplishments in solving those minor mysteries evolved by the niggardly minds of the sniveling criminals who would offend the sanctity of that guardian of the peace of the public mind. Insurance company. Amen. Expense account, item seven. A $1.95, one evening gown which was hard enough to find but would probably be even harder to wear at that price, purchased in an all night salonda mode on 136th Street. This dress I gave to Mr. Bridewell to take with him when he went calling on Senorita Marita Guastella prior to turning her over to the police. Expense account, item eight. Six dollars and ten cents. One bottle of, you know what, with which to gargle a half good, half bad taste left by this case out of my mouth. Expense account, item nine. Transportation. No, come to think of it. You can forget this item for a while. I think I'd better stay here in Manhattan and rest up a bit. Expense account, item nine. Uh, four hundred dollars. Advance. Entertainment and things while resting on my laurels or possibly Mr. Bridewell's laurels. But anyway, resting. Expense account total, eleven hundred dollars. You fill in the sense. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Truly, Johnny Dollar is produced and directed by Norman McDonnell and stars Charles Russell with script by Paul Dudley and Gil Dowd. Featured in the cast were Herb Butterfield as Mr. Bridewell with Paul Dubov, Lillian Bayef, Lou Krugman, Junius Matthews, Jan Arvin and Jack Prussian. The special music is written and conducted by Leith Stevens. Be sure to be with us again this week when another most unusual expense account is handed in by yours truly, Johnny Dollar. The great hit tunes of early 1939, Deep Purple, Penny Serenade, I Cried for You. How many more can you remember dancing to, romancing to? You'll hear them in smart new 1949 arrangements when your hit parade on parade comes along immediately over all of the same CBS station. Alan Boxer speaking. This is CBS, The Columbia Broadcasting System.