 My name's Regan. I work for Anthony J. Lyon, International Detective Bureau. They call me The Lion's Eye. Wednesday at 9 and CBS brings you 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 Little Man's Lament. They called it Margate Mansion, but the name didn't fit. It was a pile of old cement and cracked stucco held up by a half a dozen tired palm trees. The people inside didn't fit either. A crusty old lady who talked backwards, a redhead with an urge to travel fast. But it was Junior who won first prize. He was half Einstein and half Hollywood playboy. Only when this boy played it was with poison. It started on a Tuesday. I was headed down Taft Avenue on the way to the Laundromat. I had a date with a washing machine and a blonde cashier named Gloria. That's when a cab pulled up beside me and the lion hopped out. He was blowing sparks out of a fat cigar. I could tell by the 50 cent smell that we had a new client. Oh, Jeffrey, Jeffrey, my boy, I'm glad I caught you. Get back in the cab, fatso, I'm busy. But I have to talk to you. I was just going up to your apartment. Have a good time. I'll be out all day. Now, Jeffrey, is there any way to talk after all I've done for you? After the many opportunities I've given you to help your fellow beings in distress? I've worked three weeks without a rest. I've got to wash my socks. Wash your socks? You can talk about a thing like that when I'm here to present you with a golden opportunity? An opportunity to demonstrate our humanitarian sentiments? A chance to lift one who's in trouble? How much did you lift from him? A hundred bucks, and it's not a him, it's a her. Oh, it's really a simple job, Jeffrey. Very simple. I've just been over there. Lovely old house, fine old family. The bar gates, flower of the old south. Gone to sea. Well, yes, but you know how it is with descendants of old families. Fresh young growth choked back by the weeds of the old family stock. The fresh new plants smothered by decay and ruin. Try Vigaro. Reagan, you don't seem to understand. We've been retained by Mrs. Margate. It's about her nephew, Hillary Margate. Strange youth, very strange youth indeed. If Mrs. Margate needs protection from him, I tell you it's a very serious matter. Well, so's my laundry. Reagan, will you listen to me? There's another choice? Yes, see Mrs. Margate, root out the facts. Get her a gardener. She doesn't need a gardener, she needs you, and don't give me any more trouble. Okay, okay, sweetheart. Here. Wait a minute, what's it? My laundry. Put the shirts and socks in a washing machine, put two bits in the slot, and stay away from the blonde, she doesn't like cigar smoke. Reagan, this means you will see Mrs. Margate? Don't try to be coy. You knew I'd see her the minute you stepped out of that cab. I walked up vine and turned right past Franklin. All the places up there are old, but Margate Mansion was old when William S. Hart was Gene Autry. A bunch of turrets made out of wood that termites wouldn't look at. But I was looking at what was standing in the front bay window looking at me. Red hair and wide eyes and a complexion like skim milk. She was what answered the door when I twisted the old fashioned bell. Hello, I saw you from the window. I saw you seeing me. Come in. Come in, please. Thanks. I hope you don't mind the disorder. I'm afraid I don't... Your name? Reagan. Oh. Sit here, Mr. Reagan. Please don't mind the dust on the sofa. No one nice ever comes, so it doesn't matter. I like you. I want you to stay. It shows. You're not married or anything like that, Mr. Reagan. Nothing like that. Oh, that's nice. I'm not married either, Mr. Reagan. I heard it was Mrs. Margate. Oh, that's my aunt. I'm not married at all. Mr. Reagan, you didn't just come to see my aunt. I've got a lot of time. Oh, I've been foolish again, haven't I? Sometimes I get so mixed up. I'm... Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait, wait, wait. Yes, Mr. Reagan. What's your name? Gweatherlin. Mrs. Margate's niece? Yes. Hillary's your brother? Yes, Mr. Reagan. All those questions... Business. Business. International Detective Bureau. Your aunt's on the line for $100 worth. A detective? Well, that's polite for it. Oh, you shouldn't have told me that. You shouldn't have told me that at all. Suppose you tell me some things. I'm mixed up, Mr. Reagan. I can't tell. Gweatherlin! That's my aunt. Did I hear the front door bell? Don't say anything. Don't tell her. I did hear the front door. Well, Gweatherlin, who is this man? He's... Reagan. Reagan? Oh, you're the man they call the lion's eye. I've been expecting you. I'm gardening. I should have figured. It was... I have a green thumb, as they say. Follow me. Go to your room, Gweatherlin. Yes, auntie. Gweatherlin? Yes, auntie. I'm going. She went all right, like a rabbit at a Greyhound race. Only I wasn't sure this rabbit could stay ahead of the dogs. But right then, I had another problem, keeping up with Mrs. Margate. It wasn't the way she walked. It was her talk that wouldn't make... Go to the garden. My niece and my nephew, the problem is the way heavily on my heart, Mr. Reagan. Oh, this way. Family collapsing and falling to ruin. Just three Margates left, myself and the two children, Gweatherlin and Hillary. Only 52 years old with such responsibilities. Hillary? No, no, myself, of course. 52. But Hillary is the real problem. You follow me? Right behind you. What? Oh, yes, out this door. The garden. There. Do you see that pool by the date palm? Uh-huh. Fish, carp, Mr. Reagan. He concocts things. Hillary brews things. Poisons. One day, he fed something he had brewed to Hillary F. Margate Sr., the carp, and he turned bright green. Hillary? The carp. We found him next morning floating belly up, stock bright green. Hillary F. Margate Sr., the carp. We named our fish after the dear departed members of our family. Nice custom. Yes. Hillary poisoned the carp when he was only 146 years old. The carp. Yes, yes. Come along. Hillary was only a boy at the time. Such a problem, Mr. Reagan. Oh, here. My vegetable garden. Have an onion, Mr. Reagan. Delicious. Yeah, yeah. Look, Mrs. Margate. Eat the onion, Mr. Reagan. George. George. George is my gardener. I'm over here, Mrs. Margate. Oh, well, you can go out back and cut the weeds, George. Mr. Reagan and I have some private matters to discuss. Yes, ma'am. Excellent, ma'am, George. Excellent. And be sure you get them all, George. We must be rid of the weeds. Yeah. Okay, ma'am. Now, we're alone, Mr. Reagan. The onion, go on, eat it. As I was saying, Hillary, that boy is such a problem. Yeah, as you were saying. Yes, yes. Good, aren't they? Mrs. Margate, what is it you want me to do? Do what I want you to look after Hillary. I was told you wanted protection. Well, it's the same thing, isn't it? No. Hillary needs a nursemaid. That's not our line. No, see here, Mr. Reagan. International Detective Bureau has already agreed to handle my case. Mr. Lyon himself accepted my check. He'll accept anyone's check. But he promised to help. Well, then talk to him. I'm talking to you. I'm explaining. You're explaining nothing. You've given me a lot of double talk and I have a feeling that's all you want to give me. That makes sense. All right, all right, all right. You're going to force me to say what I hoped never to say to anyone. Not anyone. My life is in danger. I can believe that. My tea. Yesterday, I noticed the odor of almonds. I'm listening. I didn't drink it naturally. Naturally. Naturally. Hillary brewed that tea, Mr. Reagan. My nephew. Now you've said something. Where is he? Ocean Park, the shooting gallery. Shooting gallery. Yes, he's strange. Very strange. He brews things, collects guns, practices shooting. You won't like him. I suppose I'd go talk to him. Well, you'd better. As I've said, Mr. Reagan, I don't wish to be murdered. I headed the car down La Brea to Olympic and then out to the Ocean Park Pier. It was afternoon business, popcorn and sailor style. The shooting gallery had one customer. A kid in a corduroy sport coat with a face like a cantaloupe out of season. He was taking shots of the little swinging targets. You didn't need the family album to figure him for Hillary Margaret. I walked over, but he didn't take the gun from his shoulder. Leeks. Come again? Leeks. Scallions. My name's Reagan. Allium Ascolonica, Mr. Reagan. Onions. You've been eating them. So? This suggests you're the private detective by my aunt. Bullseye? You read palms, too? I fancy myself an amateur detective, Mr. Reagan. I seldom miss. I notice. As a matter of fact, Mr. Reagan, I'm interested in hiring you myself. Oh, that's a switch. I think there's going to be a murder. Anybody I know? Yes. My aunt. Who plays the heavy? The heavy. Who's gonna kill her? I am. Practicing? I don't need practice, Mr. Reagan. Even experts get the chair. Possibly. All right, Junior, let's start making sense. Very well, Mr. Reagan. My aunt is a domineering autocrat. Actually, I should hate to kill her, but I feel I must to protect myself, you understand. From what? You know, I dabble in poisons, Mr. Reagan. I am empoisoné, as the French say. Poisoner. When I was 15... I heard that one, yeah. Hillary F. Margate's senior, the carb. Oh, he died a horrible death. My regrets. I get to the point. Ours is an evil household, Mr. Reagan. The last of the Margates, a decaying race. My aunt, for example, and Wethelman. I'm better. Then you understand that something must be done. This is an urgent matter, Mr. Reagan. It would be wise to take my case. One Margate for a client's too many. Very well, Mr. Reagan. But you want information. Perhaps I'll give it to you tomorrow. I'll phone you. As they say on the radio, you may save a life. Possibly your own. It made a real funny joke the way he said it. Only I wasn't laughing. And neither was he. I got in my car and started for town to tell the lion he'd been underpaid. All the way in, I kept getting a picture of a mechanical rabbit going around a track. I tried putting Wethelman's face on it. And Mrs. Margates, then Hillary's. The others didn't fit. Wethelman's did. I was still thinking about it when I parked on Hill Street and got out to walk. And that's when I put another face on the rabbit. My own. The guy who fell in behind me and started following was no greyhound, but he had squeaky shoes that slowed down when I slowed down. We stayed together for a block, and when I turned left toward the office, I wondered if he was an amateur. I found out when I sidestepped into an alley and pulled him in after me. All right, Busser, this is where you get off. Hey, say what the devil. Come on, come on, who hired you? Let me go. Give me some answers. I... Talk. You want muscles, huh? Muscles? All right. I got him. He had him all right. And he knew where to use him. He had a bald head, and he used that too. Right in the middle of my stomach. I shouldn't have bent double, but I did. It was a setup. The next blow sent me around the fender of a truck parked in the alley. I went to my knees. When I came up, it was too late. The bald head was gone. But someone else was there. Mr. Regan. It was Gwethel and Margate. Mr. Regan, you should be careful. You all right? He was following me. No, Mr. Regan. No, he wasn't. I was going to your office. He was following me. She was ready to talk, but the fog in my head wouldn't let me listen. I got her around the corner into a bar. She waited until the waiter brought the drinks. You're too broad and straight, Mr. Regan. And if I may say so, this is a lovely tomato you are scorching into my humble parents. You said so. And may I say, Mr. Regan, I'm also partial to redheads. An account of my first love was a redhead. She played second flute in our orchestra. Sure. Keep the change. That was when I was with Stokowski. Ah, the Hollywood bowl, how well I remember. Me and my fiddle. We made together beautiful music. Me and the fiddle, you understand, not the redhead. She gave me nothing but the cold shoulder and account she was hot for a guy that played bass. Come on. You told me this story yesterday. You don't wish to hear the story of my life, Mr. Regan? Well, it was the same way with Mr. Stokowski. The artist is lost in the world of today. All right. Now we can talk. I don't know, Mr. Regan. Who was following you? It doesn't matter. I'm used to it, Mr. Regan. Who was the mug? It doesn't matter, Mr. Regan. It's too late anymore. I thought... You thought what? I thought you'd help me, Mr. Regan. I was on my way to your office. Why? It's going to be trouble, Mr. Regan. Serious trouble. What says so? Everything. Hillary, my aunt. They're all acting so strangely. And those people who come to the house... People? Who? I don't know. But the man who was following me is one of them. Something strange is going on, Mr. Regan. Something terrible. You still haven't told me anything. Don't you see? It isn't anything I can tell you. It's a feeling. A terrible feeling. Everything's wrong. I've got to have facts, lady. I don't... Wait. There's one thing. Yeah? The gardener. Mr. Hendricks. George? Yes. My aunt knows him, Mr. Regan. Better than just a gardener. Something else. What? George has been in prison. I know he's been in prison. I heard him say something once on the telephone. To who? I don't know. So much I don't know. That makes two of us. You don't believe me. You've got to believe me. Something terrible is going to happen. Sure. Hillary's going to kill your aunt. Hillary? That's not it at all. It's me. They're going to kill, don't you see? They're going to kill me. After that, I couldn't get anything out of it that made sense. I loaded her in a cab and then walked over to Pershing Square to feed the pigeons. Maybe something would come to me. Nothing did, except the pigeons. After a while, I went over to the examiner moored to look up George Hendricks. There was nothing, not a word. But the lion has ways of finding those things out, so I went back to the office. The lion had information, all right, but not the kind I expected. Regan! Regan, where have you been? I've been calling every saloon in the city. You got the wrong one. I often wonder why I hired you. Okay, that's a way to steam. I'll tell you why, because you were supposed to be on the Margate case, that's why. What do you think I've been doing? I know what you're going to be doing. You're going to get out to Margate mansion right now and fast. They just found Hillary Margate in his room. He's been shot through the head. This is CBS and you're listening to the story of the little man's lament. Tonight's adventure with Jeff Regan, investigator. Here's a special word for those of you who are interested in setting up a retirement fund. One that will permit you to have some of the good things of life before you're too old to enjoy them. Join the payroll savings plan where you work and invest in United States savings bonds. Under this plan, your firm sets aside whatever sum you name from each paycheck and uses the money to buy savings bonds for you. Buy United States bonds and keep them. And now, back to tonight's story of the little man's lament and Jeff Regan, investigator. Nothing made sense. There were three Margates, the old lady, her nephew Hillary, and his sister, Gwethelin. And all three of them wanted to hire me to stop a murder. Then the lion tells me Hillary Margate has just been shot. Well, one thing was sure, with three people to work for, one of them was bound to turn up dead. I put the lion to work looking up the gardener, George Hendricks. Then I hopped in the car and headed out to the Margate place off Franklin Avenue. By the time I got there, it was turning dark. Out front, a black and white mash said, police in big letters. But when the old lady opened the door, she acted as though she'd never heard of police. Oh, Mr. Regan, please come in. I'm sorry you didn't get to meet him. Hillary, strange boy. I met him. You did? Well, this way, Mr. Regan. Well, it's no matter. It was inevitable. Hillary's uncle, my husband, before he died, warned me something like this would happen. He was a young fool, Hillary. How did it happen? Happen? With a gun, of course. How else could one shoot oneself except with a gun? In here, Mr. Regan, we won't be bothered by them. Sometimes police can be so nosy. Do sit down. We shall have tea. With or without arms? I know what you're thinking, Mr. Regan, but I'm sure it had nothing to do with it. What did? Just a moment, Mr. Regan. There's someone at our door. Well, Gretlin? That you'd want me to tell Mr. Regan about Hillary. Yes. Good idea. Mr. Regan, I'll let Gretlin tell you. She was here at the time. Oh, she was a lovely woman. Gretlin's mother, my late sister. Well, go ahead, child. Go ahead. I got home about five. Better sit down, child. No, no, no. Not there. Here. Yes, Auntie. Well, Mr. Regan, Hillary was in the gun room reading. I went in to talk to him, but he ordered me out of the room. He said he didn't want to be disturbed. He was concentrating. Go on. I left the room. A couple of minutes later, I heard a shot. When I went back, he was there. Hillary. On the floor, dead. Then you called the police? I told Auntie. She called him. They've been so nice to the police. They promised not to disturb me any more than necessary. Wasn't that nice? They're, um, in his room now? With Hillary, dear Hillary. You won't need me anymore. I think I'd better be going. Yes, of course. Gretlin, see Mr. Regan to the door like a good girl. Yes, Auntie. And come again sometime soon, Mr. Regan. We should have tea together. Thanks. This way, Mr. Regan. Mr. Regan, I've got to talk to you this way quickly. It's on your mind. It's about Hillary. Something he did tonight. Like what? When he came home before he was... before that. He had a book. A big book. He was reading it when it happened. Why would he read a book and then shoot himself? He got me. What was the title? I don't know. But when the police came, the book was gone. Where did he buy it? I don't know that either. I'm sure it's important, Mr. Regan. I'm sure of it. You don't think it's important? I don't know. I reach for answers. Sometimes I come up air. I know something else, Mr. Regan. It's about George. George Hendricks, our gardener. Yeah? He disappeared this afternoon after it. Go on. And he sent for him when the police arrived, but he wasn't in his room. The police were angry. They think he might have done it. And you think so too? I'm not sure, Mr. Regan. I'm not sure of anything now. She turned and ran into the house and left me with a lot of night air and cool breeze. If Hendricks had taken a powder, the police would check that angle. That left me with a book, a very big book. I walked down Franklin toward my car. Up ahead, I saw a small man in a black suit locking up a shop door. Over his head, a sign said Franklin Avenue Bookshop. That did it. I caught him before he closed up. I beg your pardon. You know a Hillary Margate who lives up the street? Yes, I know him. Why? Was he in today? He's a regular customer. Was he in? Yes or no? Yes. Did he buy a book? No. You sure? Positive. He asked for a volume we didn't have. What volume? I don't remember the title because we didn't have it in stock. It was a textbook. Textbook? Yes, on horticulture. Plants. Plants? Does that mean something to you? Yeah. It could explain why the Margate family has gone to seed. I'm just crazy, but it was beginning to untangle. I headed for my car up the street. Before I touched the starter, I found out I had company. All right, Regan Drive. The gun in my back told me he meant it. One look in the mirror told me he was George Hendricks. Well, you're calling him, where to? Your apartment. I want to talk. Have a cheer, Regan. Meet your house. Thanks. I talk. You sit and listen. I can stand. I say sit down. It's your party, Hendricks. There's been an accident at the Margate house. I heard. Hillary Sharan, sir. That right? You think different? Changed my mind. You can kill him, Regan. Who said you did? I never could get used to confinement. Oh. San Quentin? Sandstone. Sandstone and a soda. Tell me more. Listen, Regan, the police don't like guys with a record. What was your rap, Hendricks? Checks, something like that forgery. So why tell me? You're moving in my direction, Regan. I don't like it. Is that why you ran? There's something else. Yeah? The name. It isn't Hendricks. It's Margate. What's that? Freehold Quincy Margate. No wonder you changed it. There were several reasons. Yeah, old South family. Listen, Regan, you got to believe me. I didn't kill Hillary. I didn't have anything to do with it. You know a big guy, bald head with a stupid face? Morley. He works at the Margate place, part time. What's his job? Flunky. He works in the garden with me. When he isn't tailing the girl? Leave me out of that part of it. Well, do I answer that? Yes, but watch what you say. Regan. Regan. Yeah, just got here. What's the matter? Is someone with you? You're a genius. Well, I just found out about Hendricks. You guessed it. You mean he's there? Go on. Listen, that's not his real name, Regan. He's a Margate. Freehold Quincy Margate. Age 46, height 511, weight 180. Get to the point. Well, about that prison record. Quite correct. It was eight years ago. Charge. Narcotics violation. Yes, but be careful. He'll hear you. No, he won't. He just went out the door fast. I had what I needed. I averaged 50 down Franklin and pulled up in front of the Margate place 10 minutes later. It was dark and it looked empty, like a beer can after a picnic. I found an open window and crawled in. It was the gun room. And that meant I didn't have to go much farther. But somebody changed my mind for me when the door suddenly opened. And a hunk of orange lightning stabbed in my direction. I ducked in the chair next to be toppled over. I couldn't wait for the next one. Let me go. Drop it. Yeah. That's better. Now some lights. That book Hillary was reading. I'm in a hurry, baby. You already know, don't you, Mr. Regan? All right. I didn't see it closely. It had pictures of plants. Like the ones in your backyard? Yes. I didn't know what it meant until... Until Hillary got it. And then you were too scared to talk. Why? Hillary didn't poison my aunt's tea. They only said he did so they could kill me and then blame him for it. That way they'd be rid of both of us. Yeah, but Hillary caught on too quick. That's why they killed him, Mr. Regan. Oh, don't let them know. I know. It won't matter now, baby. I circled around the house in a hurry. Empty. Then I tried the garden. That's when I saw it. Fifty yards behind the house. A strange light at first. Then something red that began to grow. Then smoke and more smoke. I ran for the back of the garden in the flames. She saw me coming. Stand back, Mr. Regan. Maybe tomorrow, Mrs. Margate. I want you, Regan. Stand back. You hired me, remember? Take one more step, Mr. Regan and Molly will kill you. You figured he'd be around. Put that gun down, Molly. The smoke's getting in your eyes. No, no. Shoot him, Molly. Shoot him. You're too late for that. I drove across the column of smoke and caught his arm as he tried to find me with that gun. I got to him first. I owed him something for what he'd give me in that alley and I paid him back with interest. The old lady just stood there and glared at me. The fire reflecting in her eyes. It took me 10 minutes in my best sport coat to stop the blaze. But the price was cheap. Because where the fire had been was a nice pile of exhibit A. It looks just like an ordinary plant, but the police call it marijuana. Somebody spotted the smoke and called the fire department. The police were right behind them and loaded the last of the Margates into the wagon. And it was like Gretz said, she was scheduled to turn up poison and I was supposed to testify that Hillary had done it. Only Hillary caught on too fast and they gave him a bullet for his trouble. And after I finished up at headquarters I went to the office and filled the lion in. He was disappointed. And this fella, the police picked up at the depot, this Hendricks. He wasn't the culprit we were looking for. He was under the old lady's thumb like the rest of the family. She blackmailed him into growing this stuff. With his record, he couldn't afford to squawk. He couldn't afford to squawk? How do you think I feel? You got a check for a hundred bucks, didn't you? Well, yes, I did. She did pay you, didn't she? Well, you see, Jeffrey, that is, she gave me a check when I first went out there for $100. You said that. Well, I didn't think anything of it at the time, but, well, you see, her brother-in-law... You mean... Well, that is, Hendricks did have a prison record for the narcotics violation, but, uh... Well, it seems upon examining the records more closely, there was an earlier sentence for, uh... Bad checks. Oh, yes. It seems to run in the family. I don't get paid this week. Go on. Quit me. Take a man when he's down. Oh, stop it. You know I never withhold payment when I have it. Right now, I don't have it. Maybe next week... If you wait two weeks, it'll be Thanksgiving. What's that mean? You can have the end of the turkey I've been getting. Jeffrey, you're not being kind. Remember my heart. I'll try. Oh, thank you, Jeffrey. Thank you. Now, here's $0.25. For what? Go over and pick up your laundry. I forgot to wait for it. Jeff Regan, investigator, is written by William Frug and William Feifield, directed by Sterling Tracy, and stars Frank Graham as Regan, with Frank Nelson as Anthony J. Lyon. Original music is by Dick Aron. Jeff Regan, investigator, is heard each week at the same time over CBS. Bob Stevenson speaking, and inviting you to be with us again next Wednesday at 9 for more suspense and mystery and adventure with Jeff Regan, investigator. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.