 The most popular sport on Boston's Charles River is rowing in one-man skulls. Or rather, it was the most popular sport, that is, until they took to beating on one-man skull. Mine. This is another in the Adventures of America's Fabulous Freelance Insurance Investigator, Johnny Dollar. At insurance investigation, Johnny Dollar is only an expert. At making out his expense account, he's an absolute genius. Expense account submitted by Special Investigator Johnny Dollar to Ms. Melanie Carter, Pinkney Street, Meakin Hill, Boston. The following is an accounting of my expenditures during assignment as your representative, investigating list of your relatives who might be interested in murdering you for your insurance. Or, who'd like to rock the old doll to sleep? Or, the unnice niece and the charming young rat who put the few in the word nephew. Expense account item one, $5.98, airfare, Hartford to Boston. Item two, three and a quarter, cab fare, Logan Airport to your residence on Beacon Hill. This is Mr. Dollar, the insurance man from Hartford. Electric latch, unlock the door, you're flat, and I step through. Straight out of this century into the last, it was another world, the remnants of which you see today in antique shops, including those Chinese wind chimes that tinkled over by the window. And you, its tiny and aged queen, set across the 19th century room in your modern throne, that chromium and black leather wheelchair. What's the matter, ma'am? Oh, nothing, nothing. You just remind me of someone I once knew. That's all. I was so... Come sit down over here. Thank you, Miss Carr. I take a few harm, Miss Carr. Oh, yes, yes, indeed. You probably expected a younger woman. Maybe, but certainly not one any more attractive. Oh, hold on to that gallantry of yours, young man. It's very difficult to find these days. And a very precious treasure to women. Miss Carter, since you seem to know my name, I guess there's not much use in my telling you that I'm the investigator recommended by your insurance company, Royal Life. Oh, yes, they sent me a telegram saying you would be here. No telephone? No. No telephone. You see, Mr. Dali, I was once a very happy young lady. Yesterday was very good to me. Today and tomorrow. Who knows? And why take chances? What little life I have left I want to enjoy. That is why I've sent for you. That means somebody told you I was an early American insurance investigator? No, no, my dear. It's just that experience is such a good teacher. Mr. Dali. Many years ago, my husband was murdered for his insurance money by his very own brother. Would you hand me my smelling-soul? Yes, surely. They were. Well, faith was very quick in passing judgment on the case, because the brother was killed by a runaway horse as he was leaving the scene of his terrible crime. I not only received my half of the insurance money, but also the half that would someday have gone to him. Oh, and now you feel that your life may be in danger for the same reason. Oh, well, whether my life is actually in danger is not the most important thing. It is my mind that beneficiaries to all of my insurance, and as the company may have told you, it is a lot of insurance. Are my niece and my nephew the children of that murderer. You see, I adopted them after their father's death. That blood is bad. And I want you to make sure that I am not engulfed by it. So, with the two names and addresses you gave me, written in your precise copper-plate handwriting, I set out to give the once-over lightly to the two people you were afraid might someday give you a once-over not so lightly. Move number one. A quick trip up the financial pathways worn bare by credit bureaus, income tax investigators, and other types of snoops. I learned that thanks to your generosity, both your niece and your nephew had just enough to live graciously on, and thanks to your frugality, no more. Move number two. A quick trip to Cambridge. The address of your nephew, Charmers Carter. A stylish firetrap near Harvard Square. A maid let me in and summoned her mistress. Her entrance was announced by the jangling of a stack of bracelets and bangles running up her arm. So sorry to keep you waiting, darling. What was it you wanted? Uh, how do you do? Mrs. Carter? Oh, yeah. And I'm Crystal Carter. Oh, I say that's a beautiful suit you're wearing. It's not Boston, I can tell. No, New York. $185. Right off the ranks. Mrs. Carter, the maid tells me your husband isn't at home. I know. He isn't? Well, when do you expect him back? He always calls me before he comes. Why? I want to talk to him. That's why. Business, you know that old stuff. Oh, business. Who can have any fun? Business. Who are you, anyway? Sit down. Oh, my guy who suddenly knows what the old fashioned ice man must have felt like. Huh? Oh. Who are you, I ask. Mrs. Carter, I am what is known in the investment business as a finder. My job is to find money for people who have bona fide projects but who are short on cash with which to develop them. Oh, that sounds like a lovely job. It is. When you find the money, you're working a percentage. Now, right now out in California, there's a little man who some time ago bought a lot of oil rights covering a big piece of property. It's right near a new hall where there's been a lot of gushers coming in. He's got the property. I'm looking for the money with which to develop it. I hoped your husband would be interested. Oil? There's a lot of money in oil. Well, of course he's interested. I'll call him right away. Before you do, maybe I'd better tell you. What I'm looking for is a lot of money. Uh-huh. So unless your husband has a lot available, it'll be no use. Well, I... He can get it. I'm sure he can get it. He's often told me all I needed was one big chance. Maybe this is it. I know where to reach him on the phone. Where can he reach you? The chance to make a lot of quick money melted the love light right out of Crystal Carter's eyes. And if anything, the money look that replaced it was even wilder. She moved fast. By the time I got back to my hotel, there was a message there telling me where I could find her husband, Charmers. And her directions took me back into a taxi. Back across the Charles River and moved number three to the Vaishor Trotting Club, a fancy little track where millionaires who like the smell of stables see how fast they can make horses trot. Charmers Carter was up there among the rest in spirit, if not in prosperity, sitting in a low-flat grandstand watching the afternoon workouts, knowingly holding a stopwatch in his hand and keeping one eye on a blazed-faced filly who was kicking up the dust in the racing oval and one ear on me. May not know, Mr. Carter, the best thing about an oil investment, the first 27% of your income from it is tax-free. What? Say that again. That's right. The first 27% tax-free. Hmm. Dollar, just how much money do you need? About 120,000 should do it. 120,000, huh? All right, I'll see what I can do about it. What did you say about 120,000, Carter? George. When you get your hands on 120,000, Charmers, don't forget the 500 you owe me. Move number four. A quick trip back across the one-more-river I seem to have to cross, the Charles, to a pompous little apartment on Bay State Road where I found your niece Sophia. Very pretty, but very stuffy. Your proposition interests me. However, I would naturally first have to check everything very closely with my business advisor. Oh, naturally. This first visit is only to find out whether you are interested and whether you do have money immediately available. Immediately? Yes. I see. Very well. I think it can be managed. Then having made those moves, I was in a hurry to move you out of the way, which led me straight back to your flat on Pinkney Street, Beacon Hill. And there, once again, I bumped into what I've learned to expect in my racket, the unexpected. Your apartment door was slightly open. Your wheelchair was empty. And from outside, I saw you across the room, standing there, talking into something that earlier in the day, you had very deliberately told me you didn't have. A telephone. Look up a plant in the antique store across the street and waited for your visitors. They were charming, just the sort of folks you'd expect to see on Beacon Hill, dropping in for a spot of afternoon tea. They were the kind of guys who never wear wristwatches, handcuffs being rough on watch crystals. I gave him a short lead upstairs and pussyfooted up behind him. Oh, one of these days, my right eye is gonna wind up shaped like a keyhole, with my left ear shaped like a cauliflower from pressing against door panels. Yeah, what's on your mind, Grandma? How worried I've been about that family of mine. Well, things are even worse now. What's that? Yeah, what's up? Well, I want you to understand that it wasn't that I didn't have complete faith in your ability to protect me. But I finally turned to my insurance company, hoping to save a few dollars. They sent a scoundrel named Dollar from Hartford to protect me, mind you. And do you know what he did? No, what did he do? No, what did he do? Well, just to make sure this dollar fell off, I called a private detective and had him followed when he left here. Good. And that detective told me that Dollar went to Sophia and my nephew, Chalmers, and is trying to entice and to kill me for my insurance money, so they can buy some phony oil stock he's trying to sell them. Huh? That guy sounds like a big operator. Yeah, that guy sounds like a big operator. Well, whatever he is, I want that young man out of the way. Grandma D, you don't really mean out of the way. That's exactly what I mean. Joseph, I see something I don't like very much. What is it? Some shadows moving around to the edge of the front door. Well, what are we waiting for? I wasn't a match for one of those guys, let alone two. And Rocky, Big Sir Echo, not only repeated everything Joe said, he repeated everything Joe did. Take this! Yeah. Don't let him get away! Mr. Dollar, unless you're in a big hurry to get measured for a cement suit, don't start no funny business. Don't worry. I feel about as funny as a funeral. My own. Well, I hope you've learned your lesson. Although, don't you think for a minute it's all over. This'll teach you honesty is the best policy and cheaters them a prosper. Take it easy, Grandma D. This boy will not ever bother you again. Come on, Buster. Yeah. Come on, Buster. Yeah. Go on, Buster. In just a moment, we will return to the second act of Johnny Dollar. But first, this fall, you'll hear them all on CBS, and you'll hear from the top mystery writers, as well as top stars like Jack Benny, Bing Crosby, and the Lux Radio Theatre luminaries. One such master of mystery, Raymond Chandler, and his world-famous private eye, Philip Marlowe, will be heard from later tonight on most of these same CBS stations. Be sure to hear this latest, hard-bitten, wise-cracking adventure of Philip Marlowe later tonight, won't you? Tune in, tune in this fall for the shows that you love best of all. Listen carefully, here's the address. C-B-M-C-B-S. Now, with our star, Charles Russell, we return to the second act of yours truly, Johnny Dollar. People are taken for a ride, at least it's a free one. However, Joseph and his friend Rocky didn't feel that way. So, expense account, item three, a buck twenty, cab fare, up Tremont Street toward Boston's south end. The three of us sat packed in the back of a taxi with me in the middle, and just as we passed King's Chapel burying ground, Rocky and Joseph suddenly felt the urge to be alone with me. Hey, David, crank up your window. We wish to be in private. Oh, as it happens, I can't, the crates fell off. Yeah, you and your lousy cab. Yeah, you and your lousy cab. But step on it! There were also things to step on in Joe's lousy hotel. Up in his room, they gave me the hot seat of honor on the edge of the bed, stood over me, one on each side, and issued me an invitation, but not to dance. We think you are a smart guy, Dharma, and we want a piece of your action. What are you talking about? Yeah, Joe, what are you talking about? You just keep your muscles handy. I do the thinking, and you do it. Okay, so go do it. Huh? Do it. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's see. Where was me? Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Like I was saying, Dharma, you've got a good racket, and we want a piece of your action. Okay, Joe, what do you think my action is? Last time, buddy, I've been around hustlers all my life, so you ain't full of me. You set up the old lady to get knocked off, just like she said. In the meantime, you get all the people who will collect their insurance nice and ready to sell them some no-good oil stock. Your hands are clean, except for a Bush League swindler. The most you could get out of that is from three to five years, and that's the only change you're taking. Joe, you're a genius. Well, let me ask you one thing, though. Why should I go to all that trouble? Why shouldn't I just sell my hot oil stock to the old lady in the first place and save all that extra trouble? Huh? That's weird, guys like you are smart, and guys like me. You've got your reasons. You ain't kidding, nobody. We like the way you operate, and we want in. Oh, I guess I've found myself a pair of partners. Good. Shake. Yeah, shake. No, one at a time. Joe? Rocky? Oh, I'm sorry. This is great. Yeah, Rocky and me have been taking Grandma for a few bucks now, and them protecting her from them squares. She's a payday. But I never thought it would turn into anything as big as this. Just out of curiosity, how'd you guys meet Grandma in the first place? We was doing a little social break and then one night it turned out to be her house. Yeah? She got the drug brand, they see. We seen it air in a wheelchair, pushed her into the bedroom, and went to work. Yeah, yeah, went to work. And the next thing we know, she's standing there pointing a whole shotgun at us. Yes, yes. What? Creeped up a snow shotgun. What? What are you doing? It's a very historical musket. Oh. Stupid look. And she told me. Let's see, where, where was we? Oh, yeah, anyway, that's how we met her. She made us a day out here. She wouldn't call a cops if we'd then return. Besides, she paid us for it. We ought to have a bottle set up. Yeah, what for? Well, all we gotta do is wait till the nephew of the niece knock off the rainy. Why not have a drink while we're waiting? Oh, well, now, hold everything. That's not the way to do it. How come? Yeah, how come? Now, look, if we sit here, we blow a big chance. The chance to get rid of whoever murders the old doll. We see who do it. We turn them in. They're out of the way, and the insurance money goes to the other one. Then I go to work on them. Eh, eh, eh, yeah, yeah. You see what I mean, Rocky? That's why guys like him have got more brains than guys like me. Yeah, more brains than guys like me, too. And spade. Okay, Donna, what do we do? I was in a bad spot, but I'd put you, Andy Carter, in a worse one, hoping to attract any bad apples that might be hanging on your family tree. Then all of a sudden, you decided I was a worm and eliminated me as your number one protector. Among your spoiled family fruit, there was nephew Chalmers, fishy-eyed and money-hungry, his wife Crystal, who was no killer to look at, but who could be sure of her with a gun in her hand. Then there was Sophia. She was stuffy, but strangely reminded me of a precocious young lady who strangled her mother so that she might wear her evening gown to her high school senior prom. So, when Joseph, expert in giving a fellow's eye a coat of many colors, asked me, what do we do now, I honestly didn't know. The best answer I could come up with was get back to where we could keep an eye on your address on Pinkney Street. But when we got there, Pinkney Street was blocked off by blue uniforms and reinforcements were still arriving. Hey, what's going on? There's one thing, the saint of policemen's ball. Look, how well do you guys know to the Boston police? They're some of their best quiz masters. They failed to make us talk. Okay, you better let me go ahead. Don't worry. They looked Joseph at the cops coming down out of her house. What do you mean now? Looks like the job is good, sir. I'd better get up the hill and find out for sure. Don't forget, partner, we're watching. Don't worry. What's going on? Am I going to make the front page? Yeah, you might. What's it all about? Some dame, a friend of the commissioners, called for protection. I thought it was a murder. It is. By the time we get here, the dame up there is colder than Sunday morning beans. How do you like that? Hey, when you're writing this story, my name is Fred Mosher. Oh, yeah, Fred Mosher. I used to play basketball for the Boys Club of Boston. When you're writing this story, I'm going to put my name in it. The wife will get a kick out of it. Well, I've got to get back to headquarters. Headquarters? Hey, officer. Fred, come here. Listen, I'll see that you get your name in the paper if you do me a favor. Act like you're arresting me, will you? A couple of friends of mine are just down the street. I want to pull a gag on them. Sure. We're the without handcuffs. Anyway, just grab me by the elbow and throw me in that squad car. I'm going to tell the boys of Joseph and Rocky that I had just successfully dissolved a partnership. At the corner of Arlington and Boylston, I swapped the patrol car for a cab. And what do you know? I headed back across the Charles River to Cambridge. I'm sorry they made wise me to answer the door. I'm all... Would you mind, Crystal, walking just a few more steps ahead of me? It'll make you easier to follow. You just stop worrying about my husband. He had to go out for a while on his business. I told you before he always falls, before he comes home. In case I worry about the brakes. How long has he been gone? I wish you'd stop worrying about Charles. Well, wait a minute. Now stop it. Get a grip on yourself. Wait a minute. Watch it. What do you want, too? Oh, dear! Stop it! Stop it, I say! Oh, it's you, darling. A finder, huh? Just what are you trying to find? Now, wait a minute, Carter. Charles is saying Kevin's your body. He forced his way in. He's from New York. I am not. I'm from Hartford. It's only my suit that's from New York. Why, you despicable cad! I've a good notion to thrice you to within an inch of your life. I was certainly in no position to ask any questions around there, so I hit him a shot and a whiskers and left. I think I went back across the Charles River to Bay State Road and niece Sophia's pompous little apartment. Nobody answered, and I broke rule number three in the book of how not to get your head split open when nobody answers the door. I picked the burglar's friend type lock and went in. At first I set off a new polite kind of burglar alarm, but it was only a grandfather clock tolling out 10 p.m. as the moonlight bough me smack in the kisser. The first thing I saw out the window was my friend the Charles River, over which I'd made more crosses than the X-man in a tic-tac-toe tournament. My tongue was as dry as that was wet. The second thing I saw, thanks to my fountain pen type flashlight, was an open drawer in a kidney-shaped desk. Sophia Carter was no housekeeper. The white paper lining inside it was dusty, except for the portion that held the vacant outline of a junior miss size revolver. Then the lights went on. Auntie, what are you doing alive? Oh, you should be dead, didn't you? Will I not see? Yeah, I sure do see. But you'll be dead if I pull a list. I don't walk in on a man with a gun in his hand. It's a matter of courage. When I don't throw a flying tackle on a girl with a gun in her hand, it's a matter of etiquette. And when I don't get rough with an old lady holding a gun in her hand, it's a matter of knowing that your age or reflexes are gone, you're going to talk out of things. With me holding your gun hand straight up overhead, I hope nobody's at home upstairs. Give me that. Let me go! Let me go! Don't you kill me. Don't you try to kill me. Sophia was when she came to my flat this afternoon. Oh, which must mean that Sophia is the body in your flat tonight. The body I thought was yours. I know she was. She's been threatening to kill me for years. Now, what's that you've got in your other hand? No, look, you can't. No, look, you can't read it. No, no, no. What I ripped out of her hand was a very old note written on very old paper. And reading it, what with the clawing, it read like a voice from out of the past. The voice of that 82-year-old woman's long-dead husband, Halib Carter. To my beloved niece, Sophia, in these last remaining moments of consciousness, I tell you this, my wife Melanie has made repeated attempts upon my life. This time, I'm afraid she has succeeded. Also, crushing the light from your father and my brother beneath the wheels of her carriage as he rushed to my rescue. Well, I guess this means that Sophia had this letter and has been holding it over your head for years. Yes. It's been blackmailing me. Blackmailing me. Blackmailing me. Melanie, it was your conscience that first called me into this case to protect you from your relatives. It was your conscience that hired that private detective to protect you from me. And it was your conscience that got you mixed up with Joe and Rocky to protect you from the detective and me. Then again, it was that same old conscience that called in the police to protect you from your gangster friends. Now, there's only one more thing I hope. What's that? That that same conscience will prevent you from making an undignified surrender. My arm. Thank you. You're the man. Expense account. Item four, 15 bucks, pipe and slippers. A piece meant the charmers caught a nephew of the accused. To give him a symbol that all I was really trying to find was a way to straighten out his home life. Item five, $50. A personally autographed check in lieu of his name in the paper to patrolman Fred Mosier so that the wife would still get a kick out of the publication of his name in a payable two line of said check. Expense account. Item six, $15. Gift to Joseph and Rocky. One roll of tickets on the River Queen. Sightseeing boat, which gives daily round trip tours of the Charles River. Maybe they'll do me a favor and fall in. Item seven, $5.98. Airfare, Boston to Hartford. Expense account total. What's the use? Where you are now, Aunt Melanie Carter. You're never going to be in a position to pay. I won't even bother to sign it. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Truly Johnny Dollar is produced and directed by Gordon T. Hughes and stars Charles Russell. Script by Paul Dudley and Gil Dowd. Be sure to be with us at the same time next week when another unusual expense account is handed in by yours truly, Johnny Dollar. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.