 The Columbia Broadcasting System presents a thrilling new adventure series starring Dick Powell. I'm an insurance investigator. My name is Johnny Daller. What? You heard me, Johnny Daller. And I can pad an expense account with the best of them. Yep, I'm a freelance insurance investigator, and I live in Hartford, Connecticut. At least that's where I pay rent. My work sees to it that I really live anywhere, except at home. I'm free, white, with 34 and so forth. If you're interested in buying me Christmas presents, I take a size 42 suit. Shirts 15 and a half collar, sleeve length 33. My hat size is 7 and 8, except when I wind up a successful case, then it runs about 7 and 3 8s. At insurance investigation, I'm just an expert. At making out my expense account, I'm an absolute genius. Expense account, submitted by Investigator Johnny Daller. To Home Office, East Coast Underwriters, Terminal Building, Hartford, Connecticut. Attention, Austin Farnsworth, General Manager. The following is an accounting of my expenditures and the investigation of Milford Brooks, the third for your company. Expense account item one, cab fare to your office and answer to your original call, 75 cents. Tip to driver, $1. Expense account item two, shoe shine, 25 cents. You'll remember I got my shoes scuffed when I unsuspectingly walked into your private office. Milford, no, you must have a boy. Get my boy. Dollar. You're always in that window. Don't do this job. No, no, no, you don't. Let go of me. Let go of me. No, no, there are better ways of making a big splash in life. Don't worry. Nice try, sonny. Now pay attention to the teacher. Didn't know I had it on me. Oh, goodness gracious, dollar. Did you have to hit him so hard? I hope we haven't killed him. He's in too strong, you know. Don't worry. There. Now, now, Mr. Farnsworth, would you mind telling me on whose head have I the dubious pleasure to be sitting? That, sir, is Milford Brooks, the third. His policy with his company is in the amount of $2 million. Wow, yes. And the boy seems bent on committing suicide. Dollar, I want you to stop him. What do you want me to do, threaten him with death? Anything, anything. The conditions of his policy are such we would be forced to meet with a claim in the event of his suicide. Oh, I say, dollar, sitting on his head that way, aren't you in danger of smothering the boy? Smothering him doesn't worry me, but these crew haircuts don't make very comfortable cushions. I'll move down a little. Now, there. OK, OK. So far, I know this kid is insured for $2 million and that his policy pays off on suicide. What else? One half hour ago, Milford Brooks walked into this office and changed the beneficiary in his policy. Then, sir, he proceeded to demand, not request, mind you, but demand a loan of $500,000. Quite a touch. When I explained to him that there were no provisions for a loan in his policy, he threatened suicide. Which would cost you $2 million? So all we have to do is keep him alive, huh? And he's managed to make that no small problem. His choice of a new beneficiary is downright frightening one of the most notorious gamblers in the East. His name is Hatcher, Harold Hatcher. Ouch. Oh, do you know him? Sure. That kid's been a post office pinup boy for a lot of years. Well, that's the situation. I'm engaging you to protect Milford Brooks' future. Dollar, I want you to protect the boy. Give him something to live for. You know, an interest in life. An interest in life? Well, let's see. Oh, I know here. This should help. What's that you've got there? It's what's commonly referred to in the more successful of bachelor circles as my little black book. Well, now, let's see. Ruby? No, no. Her favorite expression is a drop dead. Bernadine? No. She'd be the new beneficiary by midnight. Oh, dear. Now, here, here. Here's the one, Butter. Say, Farnsworth, would you mind passing me that phone? The one with the long cord? Oh, no, no. I still bust it. My little friend here is showing signs of life. Here you are. Maybe you should let him breathe a bit more. Don't worry, don't worry. He'll be all right. Hello. Oh, hello. I want to call New York. Yeah, yeah. Hudson 24292. Dollar, you're not thinking of taking this boy to New York, are you? Well, I'm going there myself. You want me to keep an eye on him, don't you? Now, don't fret, Farnsworth. All is not lost. You do worry me, sitting on his chest that way. Hello? Hello, oh, Butter? This is Johnny. Yeah, I'll be in town tonight. I want to see you. And look, here's what I want you to do. Yes, yes, it's all right to say over the telephone. Now, I want you to reserve a table at the hatchery in my name for 10 o'clock tonight. Will you do that? OK, I'll see you at your apartment in a few hours. Well, honey, I can't make it any earlier. I'm sitting up on a sick friend. OK, goodbye. I'm not sure that I agree with your methods. Huh? Ow! What's the matter? Did he hit you? Hit me? He bit me. Expense account, item three. Liquor, $18. Keeping Milford Brooks the third peaceful seemed to be the immediate problem. And a bottle of rare old brandy seemed to be the immediate answer. I poured most of it into him. And by the time he started to tick again, he'd gone through the unusual process of going to sleep sober and waking up enchanted. I loaded him into my car, and we headed for New York. As we passed through New Haven, he opened one eye, looked up, saw the Yale Bowl, and gave three cheers for old Eli. Ray, Ray! Old Yale would sure be proud of you. Why anybody would want to insure you for $2 million is more than I can figure. My daddy loved me very much. And my mother loved me very much. Now that's nice. And not only that, but I love somebody very much. And not only that, but I hate somebody very much. That's interesting. You know something? Next to one of a guy. I hate you more than anybody else. Oh, here, lover boy, it's a cocktail hour again. Time for your bottle. Rolling along the Merritt Parkway, I felt very much alone with my thoughts. And believe me, they weren't very pleasant company. The way it stacked up for me, Brooks had built up a fat gambling debt with Harold Hatcher and had been forced into making him his beneficiary. The suicide threat that he was holding over the insurance company was a little tougher to figure, unless he was trying to finance a trip for himself to get away from the man with a murder motive, Hatcher. My hungry little mind nibbled away on those unsavory morsels of food for thought all the way to Butter's apartment. Hey, where are you taking me? I want to go to New York. If you don't behave, Buster, I'll punch your ticket. Johnny, darling, welcome to New York. Well, that's as fast as ship I ever had. Quiet. Well, where did you find this? In a box of cracker jack. Let us in, dear. I don't know about you. Some men bring me flowers, some bring me candy. What do you bring me? A boiled owl and a Brooks Brothers suit. Pleased to meet you. Let's trot him into the bedroom, honey. Look more at home in the bathtub. I need to pull down the cupper. All right, now come on, Buster. Lie down. Charm, charm, charm, charm. Ah, that kid's liquor sure can hold him. How long have you been playing nursemaid to this bottle, baby? Get behind that bar, sweet, and I'll tell you all about it. Sure. Horrible examples don't seem to bother you, do they? If you knew how that guy has been bothering me. What did he do to you? Well, let's just say he put the bite on me. Oh, gosh, the river sure does look pretty tonight. Bourbon and soda? Now, please, anything but brandy. I've been sniffing that second hand all the way from Hartford. Butter, see that big boat out there? Oh, I sure would like to be on it with you sailing off to faraway, romantic places. Get with it, darling. That's the 125th Street ferry. Oh. Here's your drink. Come on now. Tell Butter all about it. So friend Bourbon and I proceeded to tell her all about it. It wasn't easy. Everything about it kept flagging down my train of thought. The longer she looked at me, the less I wanted of Milford Brooks III. And the more I wanted of beautiful Butter the first, and only. She was a sympathetic listener to my story until I gave her the answer to her first and only question. And where do I fit into all this? Well, baby, I thought you understood. My job is to give this poor, misguided boy something to live for. That's you. Well. Now, honey, hold everything. Don't go getting your corn all popped. You, you misunderstand. I really mean it. I thought if he'd just got a look at you and realized that things like you exist, why, you'd make any man glad to be alive. Come on now, Butter. Melt a little. I wouldn't let anything happen to you. You know that. Did I hurt you? Oh, no. I'm getting used to it. People have been taking pokes at me all day. I'm sorry. That's better. You want some more bourbon? Uh-uh. I want some more you. Well, help yourself. Honey, it's getting late. Let's make this the last drink. What time is it? No, it's 20 to 10. My reservation at the hatchery is for 10. Here. Thank you. Cigarette? Oh, empty. Some more out in the other room. I'll get it. I'd love to get you on a slow boat to China. Johnny. Coming. He's gone. What? Well, he can't be. But he is. The window's wide open. Oh, the fire escape. What a smart guy I am. Trading three drinks of bourbon for $2 million on the hoof. Oh, that's the biggest bar check I ever picked up. That's a big bar check for anyone to pick up. As a matter of fact, it's a bigger bar check than you've ever heard of anyone picking up before. And that should give you an idea of what to expect in the second act as you follow this new CBS series starring Dick Powell in the title role, yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Well, nobody could say I wasn't working fast. I'd only been in town for an hour, and I'd already succeeded in losing Bill's books a third. I spent another hour of his all too short life expectancy unsuccessfully shaking down the neighborhood for him. And then feeling very much like a bloodhound that had flunked his sniffing exam, I went back to Butter's apartment. Oh, sure, plenty of luck. All bad. Is there anything I can do to help? A kiss for luck. What are you going to do? Nothing. Just a little phone call. This is Johnny Dollar. Give me missing persons. Any particular one? Don't be a wise guy. Lieutenant Fisher. Yes. Fisher, this is Johnny Dollar. One man, my mind, and if I'm not careful, my professional reputation. The guy's name is Brooks, Milford the third. Got anything on him? Hold on. All right. Don't look at me like that. Wasn't all my fault. Dollar, we haven't found him yet, but we think we know where he is. Huh? The Hudson River. At 11.15 tonight, his top coat, complete with identification, was found taking a ride on the 125th Street ferry. Anything else? Nothing much. Package of matches was found under the coat monogram. You don't happen to know anybody whose initials are HH, do you? HH? It's always Horace Hyde. Thanks, Fisher. I'll check back with you later. I'll be here. HH, Harold Hatcher. Are you mumbling about bad news? Looks like about $2 million bucks worth. They found Milford's coat on the 125th Street ferry. You and your faraway romantic places. Very funny. I'll see you later, honey, and maybe about 11. Expense account item four, nightclubs, $28. Harold Hatcher's hatchery was in a cellar under a hotel, but the prices were high enough to raid a pet house. The club was draped in too much satin. It's lady customers in too little. The decor was French provincial. The music was Brazilian, and the food was from Dixie. The drinks looked weak, and the waiters looked strong. All in all, the joint was a sight for sore eyes, for making them sore. The only pretty thing in the place was a blonde. She came strolling up to my table, her hips unconsciously sending subtle little messages back to the rumba band. She opened her mouth, slid her tongue over her lower lip, and let a few warm, soft words slide out. Looking for someone? Well, you'll do until the real thing comes along. Salon. Thanks. I won't have a drink. I didn't ask you. My name is Janelle. Janelle? Wow. That's a nice name. I understand you were asking about Mr. Hatcher. And I asked if he was in. The waiter said he wasn't. Do you know him? More than someone. What do you want to see him by? A mutual friend, Milford Brooks. I know most of the quiet, closed boys around here, so you want a cup. You don't look like the type that would be a society friend of the Brooks family. So what are you? I'll adore that one. Does Hatcher around? He might be. Then come on, where's his office? At the top of those stairs. Can I expect any trouble getting in? You won't have any trouble. How do you know? Because Harold sent me down here to look you over. Oh. I think you're all right. So I've won myself the good housekeeping seal of approval, huh? Keeping a house with you would meet with my approval. I ran for my life at a slow walk up the stairs. When I located the door to Hatcher's office, I knocked once in wet end. Thanks. Oh, I'm Johnny Dollar. I was hired by East Coast underwriters to protect the interest of a kid named Milford Brooks III. Now, what's that supposed to mean to me? You know him, don't you? Well, he isn't exactly one of my boozen buddies. How much money does he owe you? Now, we've got him on the books for a few, Bob Wine. They picked up his top coat tonight on the 125th Street ferry. He wasn't in it. It might have been suicide. It might have been a knockover made to look like a suicide. What's your choice? What do you get off asking me about my choice? Where were you between 11 and 1130 tonight? What's it to you? I thought you might like to rehearse some answers. The law will be asking some questions real soon now. I don't know why I should tell you, but I was driving around in my car getting some air. Oh, now you'll have to do better than that. They found one of your match folders under Brooks' coat. You're out of your mind. Let me ask you. The kid owed me a couple of hundred thousand. You think I'm going around knocking off my own assets? Hatcher, I don't know whether you're stupid or bright. Don't worry about it. I know. What about that insurance policy? What insurance policy? Now, look, Hatcher, we're big boys. We both know that changing a beneficiary in an insurance policy is a legal transaction. That means witnesses. That means it isn't secret. What are you talking about? That you and East Coast underwriters and I all know that books made you the beneficiary in his policy and that you stand to come into 2 million bucks when they fish out his body. I don't know anything about it. Motives don't come much bigger. I'm telling you, this is all news to me, and you and nobody else is going to make me move off that story. I feel the same about mine. It doesn't take a genius to know that Brooks didn't love your $2 million worth. There's only one logical reason for his making you the beneficiary. You forced him into it. Who'd believe anything else? Who cares? They'd have to prove it. Brother, that can't be done. Now, how would you? Yeah. OK, Rocky, thanks for the news. Take the inspector into the bar and buy him a drink. I'll be right down. Dollar, did you turn me in? They're here, huh? Yeah. No, I didn't turn you in. I'm not a cop. Here, have a cigarette. Thanks. Here's a light. Well, come on. Maybe they just want to sell me some tickets to the policeman's ball. For a guy in a hot spot, Hattie was certainly a cool customer. I followed him out of the office, down the stairs, and back into the club. Janelle was sitting there, right where I'd left her. And I thought to myself, now, there's a gal who should never sit down. She looks so pretty standing up. Janelle, buy Mr. Dollar a drink. I have to go play 20 questions with some fellas in the bar. Sure, baby. Anything you say, anything. I'll see you, darling. Yeah. How'd you make eye? Well, you can never tell about a guy like that. He's a smart boy, strong, silent type. Wouldn't talk, huh? A real close-mouth act. About what? Oh, just a little doodad. $2 million life insurance policy. Wait a minute. A young Brooks kid? That's right. I knew it. Tried to tell him he'd get into trouble, but he wouldn't listen to me. Oh, you knew about it, huh? I suppose you also know what was behind it. Sure, Milford owed him some money. A lot of money. It's in writing. What kind of writing? The personal note that Brooks was going to get back if he made Harold beneficiary. Oh, where is this note? Oh, I look like the kind of girl who'd put the finger on her boyfriend. You look, though, like the kind of girl who'd do anything if you wanted to. Thanks. I'll give you a slight hint. It's in his office. You'll find it in the inside pocket of one of his suits in the wardrobe. What are you waiting for? I'll watch the bar. Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all. Whatever her reasons, Mr. Harold Hatch's little female playmate was trying awful hard to send him up on a murder app. And I was going to try awful hard not to let her down. Back in Hatch's office, I found myself alone in a room with a telephone. And being a guy who can never resist a free call, I unleashed the magic wonders of the AT&T. Quiet, butter. I've only got a few seconds. It seems that's all you ever have for me. Now if you think about it. Now look, Angel, Angel, just another hour. I'll get you a nice present. I don't care. Life presents a gloomy picture ever downward toward the tomb. Having wasted those few precious moments of an already misspent youth, I decided I'd better get on my pony before Mr. Hatch has showed up. I found Milford Brooks's personal note in one of Hatch's suits, all right. As a matter of fact, I found something in all his suits. A great big glimmer of light. Expense account, item five. Taxi fare, $10. I left the office in a hurry. Janelle at her table and Hatcher at his bar. I got out of the club and into a taxi park to half block down the street. There, I waited until my favorite suspect left the hatchery and piled into another cab and off we went. On a chase, it would have made Ben Herl look like a plowing bee. We skittered over to Lexington and headed uptown. At 72nd, the cab turned right and pulled to a stop. My driver was on his toes, and his toes were on his brake. We stopped two, half a block behind. You want us to wait, huh? Now, here you are. Keep the change. It was a garage that belonged to a residence on the parallel street a block away. The living quarters upstairs were dark enough to look interesting. I indulged in a bit of gin-teal breaking and entering. Entering that old barn didn't take much breaking. I crept up the stairs. It sounded like they were left over from an old ghost story. And so did the first voice I heard when I stopped halfway up. We've got to be careful, especially about that Johnny dollar. Are you sure he didn't follow you? That voice sounded awfully dry to be coming from a guy who supposedly had spent most of the night snoozing in the bottom of the Hudson River. It was Milford Brooks III. Get up on your feet, Brooks. Now, wait a minute, I hear. I started this thing slugging you, and I might as well finish it the same way. Leave him alone. Now, pull in the claws, Angel. And sit on his lap. Get off of me. I should have known better than to get mixed up with a low-class female like you. Why, you punk. Now, hold it. We pushed the lady around enough, Brooks. Tell me to be careful, will you? Why didn't you think of that before you let him here? Wipe your nose, little boy. Now, don't you go getting fat-headed, gorgeous. Neither one of you are exactly what I'd call masterminds. When you planted that match folder on a little boy blue bloods top coat on the ferry boat, you both should have been more careful. You think so. You bet I think so. If I were planning a piece of evidence to incriminate Mr. Harold Hatcher, I would have left the cigarette lighter. I found one in the pocket of every sooty owned back there in his closet in the club. It wasn't hard to figure out that that guy never carries a book of matches. What do you want? I'm only interested in one thing. Saving the insurance company $2 billion. And Buster, I think you've done it for me. Dollar, I am. This is insurance fraud. It has been, ever since you put on that fake suicide attempt, trying to start $500,000 out of the company. Dollar, wait a minute. Ah, come on. We're leaving. You heard it. I said, wait a minute. He wants to talk. Yeah. Everybody wants to get in on the act. How did you get here? When the police in this town think maybe a guy's jumped off a ferry boat and nobody's seen him do it, they check the counters on the turnstiles at each end. In the case of Brooks, as many people got off, that boat has got on. Now, that makes sense. They'd hardly hold the guy because somebody lost the top coat. How did you know we were here? You know me, baby. You never go anyplace I don't know about. OK, Brooks, you felt like talking. Now I feel like listening. Get it up. Well, I don't know what you mean. I know what you mean, Hatcher. One, he gave you a big fat $2 million motive for murder. And two, he did his best to make it look like you did murder him with that broken down match cover plant on the ferry boat. It's just that simple. And you, baby? Harold, please. You put him up to it, didn't you? You cheap little mussel trying to get rid of me, will you? No. Calm down, Hatcher. You don't need any gun around here. They're tame. Well, maybe I'm not. Since so many people have gone to so much trouble to hand me a nice, easy way to make $2 million, maybe I'll just go ahead and make it. I'll show these amateurs how these things are really done. Come on, Brooks. Would you like to go for a nice, cool, half a ferry boat ride? No, Hatcher. No. Look, it's her fault. I'll give you anything you want. You're wrong, sonny boy. You're going to give me everything. No. No. You can't. Let me out of here. Brooks bolted for the door. Hatcher snapped a shot at him. And I hit Hatcher with a do or die tackle from behind. The gun flew out of his hand. No, you don't. I beat him to it and swung it straight into his skull. Half the people in the room are lying there bleeding. Brooks from gunshot, Hatcher from gun butt. Janelle and I stood there panting. But believe me, not for each other. We stood that way until the police arrived. Dollar, it's beyond me. I sent you out to protect the life of a very important policy holder. And now where are we? Standing in a hospital corridor worrying about whether he's going to live or die. As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Farnsworth, you're only half right. I'm just standing in a hospital corridor. Oh, dollar, you're heartless. Well, if you'd been bitten where he bit me, you wouldn't care if he lived or died either. I'm getting out of here. Well, where are you going? It'll be explained in my expense account under Ms. Lainey's expense. Don't fall over when you come to an item for $318. $318 for what? Not for what, Farnsworth. For whom? Expense account total. And it all adds up to a little matter of $1,182.23. Which you may say, Mr. Farnsworth, there's a lot of money for one man to spend in two days. But you must bear in mind that the amount of stake was $2 million. And you know the price of stake these days. It might comfort you to know that I just returned from the hospital. Brooks was strong enough to make a full statement, which you will find enclosed. This in itself should prove sufficient to establish evidence of a template fraud against your company, allowing you to immediately avoid his policy. It boils down to one sentence to wit. Brooks and Janell wanted to get rid of Hatcher so that they could live happily ever after. Knowing those two, they never had a chance. And oh, yes, that Ms. Lainey's item, the one for $318, it was a bracelet for a certain party who made this special investigation for me very special. Or if you want a receipt for this item, I'll send you a lock of her hair. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar. So with the final signature on his expense account, Dick Powell as Johnny Dollar has just closed the books on his first adventure in this new CBS series. The script for tonight's broadcast was written by Paul Dudley and Gil Dowd. And the music was created and conducted by Dick around. The entire production was under the direction of Tony Leader. Be sure to tune in again next week when the expense account covers special investigation Singapore, another unusual adventure starring Dick Powell in truly Johnny Dollar. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.