 My name's Regan. I work for Anthony J. Lyon Detective Bureau. They call me The Lyon's Eye. Jeff Regan Investigator starring Paul Deboff is Regan with Frank Nelson as Anthony J. Lyon. So stand by for mystery, suspense, and adventure. In tonight's transcribed story, this may hurt just a little. It began with a toothache, The Lyon's toothache, and a dentist, a laughing dentist. But before it wound up, there was a girl in white, a couple of patients with bad teeth, and a dead man. The dead man was the one who never got open his mouth. It was around half past Tuesday when I wanted into the Lyon's office. Anthony J. was sitting behind his desk. In his hands, a towel and a couple of half-melded cubes of ice. He was taking the towel from around his jaw. Oh, hello, Jeffrey. I've been waiting for you. Trouble Lyon? This, the towel and the ice cubes. No, no trouble at all. Just a toothache, but it's gone now, Jeffrey. We got a client. Well, yes, Jeffrey. Just what I was going to say. Okay, out with it. Well, you see, I was feeling under the weather, the bicuspid acting up again, and so, well, I called a dentist. And that's when the toothache began to get better. No, no. In fact, it was terrible. I was suffering the tortures of the damned. Well, Jeffrey, I finally got in touch with this man, Dr. Beauregard. Beauregard? Yes, Jeffrey. Jolly, Charlie Beauregard. Easy credit terms. In no money down, Jeffrey. Oh, no. Well, Jeffrey, business hasn't been going well. Remember our last fee turned out to be stolen money, and then there was the rate of credit. Okay, Lyon, get out with it. You called Jolly, Charlie Beauregard the friendly credit dentist, and he said what? Well, that's what's so remarkable, Jeffrey. When I said I was president of the Lyon Detective Agency, he said could I send a man right over? And you said it was your tooth? Yes. No. I said, of course, Dr. Beauregard, right away. And he said it was important, but he'd rather not talk about it over the phone. It had something to do with $100,000. That's when you got really your toothache. Oh, well, Jeffrey, think of it. $100,000. To have a toothache when a man's discussing something like that is sacrily. Okay, Patrick, I'll go see Jolly, Charlie Beauregard. Yes. One more thing, Jeffrey, while you're there, open up a charge account just in case. Well, Lyon got out of pad and pencil and started calculating how many teeth you could have filled for $100,000. I headed for the main office of the friendly credit dentist. It was on Broadway in a building old before the invention of dental floss. And Jolly, Charlie had a suite on the second floor. In case you didn't catch the number in the building directory, five neon signs told you to come right up and it wouldn't cost you a nickel. The last neon sign showed a smiling character waving what looked like forceps with the word welcome flashing on and off. I checked the gold in my fillings and walked in. Won't you be seated there? The doctor will be right with you. She was blonde and soft and smooth and slender and she smiled once. A long lingering helped me make up my mind for me smile and the total effect was like a shot of nova came between the eyes. She drifted out and I sat down and thought about it. I was still thinking about it ten minutes later when she came back up. Do you have an appointment, sir? No, but the doctor's expecting me. May I have your name for you? Jeff Regan. And may I ask who referred you to it? With all those neon signs? Please, I do need the information from my record. Tell him Mr. Lyon referred me. He'll know. Mr. Lyon? Like in zoo, only with a Y. Thanks, Mr. Two minutes after that, Jolly Charlie himself came up. Mr. Regan, do come right in. I have everything ready for you yet, sir. Just step this way and we'll get right down to business. After you, Mr. Regan. Just sit right down here, Mr. Regan. We can only take a minute. Just a minute. Don't worry about it, Mr. Regan. We used the very latest method here. Filling is a very simple thing here. Hey Doc, you got the wrong idea. No, just sit still. This is going to hurt. Look Doc, look Doc. You may close the door, Mr. King. Listen, listen, listen. Listen here, you know what? Mr. Regan, we have to take every proportion, don't we? We don't want Mr. King to know you are underpatient, do we? Of course we don't. You have a detective must travel in a coke of secrecy, I know. This has got nothing to do with my teeth. Oh, I know that, Mr. Regan. You're the lion's eye. I talked to your boss only this morning. In fact, he called me. Isn't that a coincidence? Of course it is. You always answer your own questions? Now, here's the case. You're going to be interested because it's a very interesting case. Of course you are. You see, Mr. Regan, I'm being sued for $100,000. And that's a lot of money. Of course it is. I mean sure. This young man is suing me for damaging his mouth. He's a singer. He claims he can't sing anymore because of some work I did on him. But he hasn't got a case. Oh, the country's got a wonderful case. But I just can't afford to pay him $100,000. Where do I fit in? Well, it's like this. I did do some work on a young man, but I don't think I did what he says I did. Is that clear? Sure, sure. I took a couple of fillings, a little bridge work, cleaning job, but no extractions, no surgery. That's the part that puzzles me. Go on, Charlie. That's all. I'm stuck. Unless, of course, you visit this young man and straighten him out on a few things. Wait a minute. You want me to strong arm for you? That it? Well, not exactly. I simply feel the young man is lying about something, and I want you to get him to say so. Wrong guy, laughing boy. Hire yourself a gunsel, not me. No, no, Mr. Regan. Don't get excited. I'm going to give you an open field. You handle it the way, anyway you like. Just talk to this boy and see what he's up to. If you don't want to go any further after that, just come to me. Say so. No obligations. Now is not fair enough. Of course it is. What's his name? Robert Warney, lives in Hollywood. I have all the data, my records, and Mr. Regan for merely talking to this young man, I'll pay a fee of $100. A nice fee. Of course it is. Of course. If in your opinion, Robert Warner's an honest man, the case close. I'll simply have to make the best settlement I can. Can't afford the bad publicity you understand. Yeah, I understand. Well, call me when you get anything. Well, now that wasn't bad at all, was it, Regan? Jolly, Jolly, give the patient quick, sure attention. Yeah, thanks, Doctor. Oh, just one more thing, Mr. Regan. Yes? You will be on time for your next appointment. Good day. Robert Warner, the man who was suing Jolly Jolly, turned out to be just off Gower and Franklin. Big House, sliced up into four apartments. His was ground floor left, and I rang. What answered was curly haired, handsome, and wearing horn-wrapped glasses. Yes? Robert Warner? That's correct. Who's calling may I ask? Jeff Regan, you got a minute? Excuse me. It's important, sir. It is? Doctor Beauregard sent me. What? Beauregard. You'd better leave. No, wait a minute. I'm not his lawyer. Better get out, Mr. Regan. Uh-uh. In. Now, sit down, Warner. We're going to talk. I said you'd better get out. I said sit down. I hate to be difficult. You're suing Beauregard for a hundred thousand. You know that. Your voice. You can't sing anymore because of him. If you're here to make trouble- I'm here for one reason, Warner. If you're telling the truth, you're a rich man. If not, you're in trouble. It's that simple. But I am telling the truth, Mr. Regan. My voice, I- I was a singer. I had a career until- Until what? Until I went to him. I had a cavity in my tooth. He treated me. He told me to come back again. Like a fool I listened to when I went back. Again, again, and again. Then what? I can't sing anymore, Mr. Regan. Don't you realize what that means? That's my life. Just stick to the story, Warner. Oh, he- He said something about the roof of my mouth being too small. He performed an operation. That's all there was to it. Except for one thing. What's that? I paid him $200 in dental bills to destroy my voice. Take it easy, Warner. You got an attorney handling the lawsuit for you? Why? Well, yes. What's his name? It's not important. Doesn't matter. I said what's his name? McLeaney. He's in Hollywood. You're going to see him, Mr. Regan? Got any good reasons why I shouldn't? Mr. Regan, that- That's not all this- This fine Dr. Boregaard has done to me. Go on. Well, it- Something more. Something terrifying. Get to the point. Come. Look outside my window. Across the street. A truck. A man, Mr. Regan. The man in the truck. He's been there for a week. Ever since I brought the suit against Jolly Jolly Boregaard. Have he served muscular about 28 black hair thick face? Tell you he's been watching me for a week. What else do you know about him? Nothing. I-I don't know anything. You never spoken to him? Man, that big Mr. Regan, you think I dare? Okay, okay, Warner. Control yourself. I'll talk to him. Mr. Regan, you'd be a fool. Let me decide that. Don't go out there. You don't know what he might do. I left Robert Warner crouched by the door and walked slowly across the street toward the park truck. The big muscle bound man didn't move from behind the driver's seat. His eyes stayed focused on the apartment building. I stopped by the side of the cab. Got a minute? I said have you got a minute? Go away. You might get ice-train watching that window. Please be a nice guy. Go away. You don't want to talk about it? No. Between him and me and her. I don't want to talk about it. You know the kid inside? Sort of. We're going to get better acquainted. He did something to you? Look, Mr. Why are you asking me all these questions? Can't you see I'm busy? And the citizen got a right to park his car and look. I ain't hurting nobody. But you're thinking about it. Maybe you're right. Maybe I was. Maybe I'm wrong. See ya. The man behind the wheel of the truck didn't look back. He swung the thing around the corner and on the back was painted Mill's Lumberyard. I made a note of that and got in my car. Next stop, the law office of a man named McClaney, Hollywood. The sign on the door said McClaney, McClaney, McClaney and Fitz. I found a secretary who told me the McClaney I wanted was Howard and he was busy. I said I was busy too and walked in. Secretary was right. Howard McClaney was busy. When I walked in, he was just starting on a new case. Well, well, come in. You're just in time for the party. What party? Yours and mine, of course. Here. Thanks. Tell me, friend, what do you say? My name's Regan for a starter. That's good. I'm Howard. Eddie's a woman chasing brother and Sam Heath. Handles income taxes. What does Fitz do? He's a reformed mortician. What can I do for you, Regan? Just have a talk with your client, Robert Warner. The one who's suing Jolly Cholly Boregott for $100,000. What a case. What a case. Maybe I better warn you, I'm working for the doc. Not his lawyer or detective. Regan, nothing you could say would spoil this one. It's a beauty. It's, uh... That good, huh? Regan, it's perfect. The kid has the old man tied up 90 ways and I'll get this. He goes to Jolly Cholly. He pays cash. Warner's an honest guy with a good voice and bad teeth. Warner spends five visits with him, and he comes out with a bad voice and good teeth. What could be better? That opening shots. Oh, even the doc's record. I had a man get photo sets of everything. X-rays, number of visits, work done. All Fitz. That couldn't have been easy. The blonde, Regan, the blonde. The one old doc's got working for him. My man slipped her a 10 spot and she forked over every record in the place. Sweet kid. Well, that's all? Well, there's just a matter of waiting around for the 100 grand. Who knows? My client and I may get generous and settle for 75,000 cash. Well, then I guess that takes care of me. Sorry, Regan. Some bottles just come cracked that way. Thanks, Howard. See you around. Don't mention it, Regan. I'll give you a call next time there's a client looking for a fast divorce. I left Howard McLean eat conheaded for the hall. The elevator buzzer was a big brass knob that didn't bring any elevators. I watched white lights, red lights flick on and off and didn't get a tumble. That's how I happen to notice the door to the broom closet slightly ajar. That's how I happen to see the tips of three fingers sticking out and how I happen to move over to the door to the broom closet and take a look. A man who fell against me handed my feet was big and burly and dark haired. He was the truck driver who'd been tailing Robert Warner. Dead. The lion and I were hired to check into a $100,000 lawsuit against Jolly Charlie Beauregard, the friendly credit dentist. I met his blonde receptionist. Then the kidder was suing him. Then a truck driver. Then the attorney handling the case. The truck driver was the one who wound up dead. I called Lieutenant Bowles at Hollywood division and waited for him to come keep me company with the corpse. He did ten minutes later with three other men. He got the dusting powder and photographic boys busy and listened to my story. Ten minutes after that they reported back. They had everything they needed except for one slight detail. No identification, no wallet, no letters. Breakin, what kind of a case did you bring me out on? Whoever killed him also took his wallet. Identify the dead man and you identify the killer. Simple, Bowles. Reakin, the optimist. Now suppose you tell me what killed him? I gave you a lead, didn't I? The dead man was a truck driver. Eh, what about the lawyer you mentioned, McClaney? Even now he's probably sitting in his office less than 25 feet from the scene of the crime sipping soda through a straw. And I'm going to go have a talk with him. Good idea, Bowles. He's probably got an alibi. He said the truck driver was tailing McClaney's client, the one suing the dentist. Unless he's a truck driver, he's not the one suing the dentist. Unless you're lying, these people fit somewhere, right? That's your theory. Breakin, I don't like your attitude today. I don't like it at all. You stick around. I'm not through with you. I'll be in the lobby making a phone call. If you want me, Lieutenant, just dial. That's the way it was with Bowles, the friendly type. I headed down to the lobby of the office building. An idea was buzzing around somewhere in my head and I had to get it out. The boss, Anthony J. Lyon, was the man to get it out with. Me, Lyon. Jeffrey. What's wrong with your fatso? Oh, it's my wife. Did you talk to Dr. Beauregard? Sure thing, Lyon. Did he say he could arrange an appointment soon? Well, as a matter of fact, we didn't get around to... Jeffrey, not the seething hot man of torture. Jeffrey, you must do something at once. I'm dying. There's one in Lyon ahead of you. What does that mean? I checked with Beauregard. He was being sued for $100,000. Then I went to see the kid who was suing him. Jeffrey, can't you spare me the details? Wait a minute. This is where you come in. There was a truck driver tailing this kid, the one suing the dentist. I found the truck driver in a closet. I know just how he feels. Lyon, he's dead. And he's luckier than I am. Okay, okay. You'll get sympathy. But first you've got a job to do. Call Mills Lumberyard. That was the name of the truck he was driving. Find out which truck driver is overdue. The man we're trying to identify is heavy set, black hair, blue eyes, deep voice, false teeth. Oh, lucky fellow. Well, he weighs about 200, maybe 5 feet 10, but that's a guess. You get that? Yes. Okay, I'll check back with you. Get that truck driver's name. Just one thing. What's that? When I'm serious. Get busy, Lyon. You may have time to earn just one more fee. Like Bolls had said, somewhere there was a connection between the dead man and the $100,000 lawsuit. Somehow the dead man was linked to an attorney and a dentist. There was just one catch. The cops didn't know who he was or what killed him. My client was the dentist and I headed for his office in a hurry. Did you have another appointment this afternoon? This one's ad-libbed. The doctor in? Well, Dr. Beauregard is busy with a patient. But then, if you don't mind waiting, perhaps we might squeeze you in. You don't have to ask me twice. How long have you worked here, Miss... King. Louise King. I've been with the doctor almost six months. You remember a patient named Robert Warner? Yes. Yes, I do. He's the one who's suing the doctor, isn't he? He's the one. Tell me, Louise, how many times did Warner visit Beauregard? Well, I'd have to check the records for that, Mr. Regan. I'm sure they'd give a complete... You mean the records you loaned to Warner's attorney so he could photostat them? Oh, Mr. Regan... Don't play coy with me, Louise. Warner's attorney told me his man got every record he asked for. He had them photoed and returned them to the files. It cost him $10. Mr. Regan, I didn't mean anything. Sure, sure. The $10 looks good to you. $10 pays for enough evidence to win a $100,000 case. Oh, Mr. King. Well, it's Mr. Regan. Well, indeed, just the man I'm looking for. How's that? The phone my private office just rang was for you, Mr. Regan. Now, isn't that odd? Anyone should phone you here. Of course it is. Maybe not. Well, you can't find out unless you answer it this way, Mr. Regan. I followed Beauregard to the phone. It was the lion. He found out plenty from Mills Lumberyard. The dead man's name was Jack Mattson. He'd been working for him less than a week. Originally came from a little town in New Mexico, three wells, population 360. But that wasn't all the lion had to say. Lieutenant Bowles had phoned him and said he wanted me down at the morgue to identify the body. I hung up and called Bowles. He gave me plenty to think about. The autopsy showed Jack Mattson, the truck driver, had died of arsenic poisoning. I hope it wasn't bad news, Mr. Regan. In a way, Doc, it was the police. The police? Oh, there. No, no, no, that is bad news, isn't it? They want us down at headquarters, all of us. All of us? You and me and your assistant, Miss King. But, but, but, but, Mr. Regan, I have patience waiting. The police, Dr. Beauregard. Yes. Yes, yes, of course. I'll get my coat. And tell Miss King to get hurt. Yes, Mr. Regan. Oh, one more thing, Doc. Why are you doing that? You mind if I look through your files? My, my files. No, no, no, Miss Regan, you go, go right ahead. Beauregard hurried off to the next room. I heard him telling Louise King to get her coat. That gave me time to dig through the doctor's files, his personal files. I found something and checked it against a wall map of the USA. I needed one thing more. It was a thick and official looking book, and I checked the index in the back for the letter A. It fits. Every piece of it, and I had the answer. Less than half an hour later, Doc Beauregard and Louise King and I met Lieutenant Bowles in the morgue. With him was Howard McClaney, the attorney, and Robert Warner, the complainant. It was a nice group study, especially when you considered one of them was a murderer. All right. Call you people here to identify a body. A man was murdered less than two hours ago, and it's my hunch that one of you, if not all of you, know this man. Harry? Yeah, Lieutenant? Show him. Okay, Lieutenant. Over there under that sheet is a dead man. Who's first? I don't know. All right, all right, somebody got to start it. You know this man, step up and say so. Take a look, make up your minds. One by one, they moved over to the slab, looked, grimaced, then moved back quickly. First the lawyer, McClaney. Then the kid, Robert Warner, he said it was the same guy who'd been tailing him, that's all. Then Louise King, the dentist's assistant. Then Jolly Charlie Beauregard. It was the first time I'd seen the doc without a smile. Then Bowls turned to me. Okay, Regan, you're next. I found him, remember? Take a look just to be sure. Okay. I know him. What? What? Regan, are you playing tricks with me? His name is Jack Mattson. He worked the Mills Lumberyard. He's from a town in New Mexico, three worlds. Regan, have you been lying to me? I found out after he was killed, Bowls, and I kept my mouth shut for one reason. Like what? I saw the name of the company the truck driver worked for. It was painted on the back of the truck. Warner must have seen that too, but he didn't say anything. No, no, I didn't. Honest, I didn't see it. You kept your mouth shut, Warner, because you were into something. Because when the truck driver turned up dead, you knew you were in too deep. That's not true. I'm not in any... A $100,000 lawsuit against Jolly Charlie Beauregard. That has nothing to do with... With murder? Don't con on it, Warner. Jack Mattson was killed because of $100,000. He was killed because he found out the lawsuit was a phony. That's fantastic, Regan. This is the good of cases I've ever seen. Lieutenant, what's this all about? All is MacLennie. What's with this lawsuit, Regan? I'll show you. Doc, you admit working on the kid, Warner? Yes, yes, I didn't, Mr. Regan. But I'm sure I didn't do the things he said I did. Except... Except that your records show otherwise. Your records show you did perform oral surgery, and you can't prove you didn't. Your word against his and the records. Oh, yes. Yes, that's exactly it. Then suppose I tell you the records are phony. Doct it up. Fixed, though, that every job you did on Warner was made to look twice as complicated. Made to look that way with Warner's permission. No, you're lying. I... I didn't kill that man. I didn't... I didn't say that, Warner. But you have an idea who did. Our little girl named Louise King. You can't prove that, Regan. Regan, you're making charges. Have a little patience, Bulls. Jack Mattson was from Three Wells, New Mexico. Dr. Bullregard's personal files show his employee, Louise King, is from Trembled, New Mexico. I checked that on a map in the Doc's office. The two towns are less than 30 miles apart. That doesn't prove anything. Have gone, Regan. Jack Mattson was Louise King's hometown boyfriend. When I talked to Mattson in front of Warner's house, he said, it's between him and me and her. It didn't mean anything at the time. The her was Louise King. No. I never heard of him before. He came to Los Angeles to see his girl. He thought she was two-timing him with Robert Warner. So he tailed Warner and tumbled to her lawsuit gimmick. When he decided to go to Warner's attorney and tell him the truth, Louise King killed him. He's lying, Lieutenant. You had access to Bullregard's supply of arsenic. It's used to kill the nerves in the tooth. I checked that. You knew how to use a hypodermic. You tricked Mattson into talking to you in the broom closet. You gave him the needle and took his wallet. If they couldn't identify him, he'd never connect with you and you could go ahead with the lawsuit you and Warner planned. I didn't have anything to do with it, Mr. Regan. Oh, so our canary can warble again. Yeah. It was her idea. All her idea. She told me she could fix the records. All I'd have to do is quit singing. You say my voice was ruined. Shut up. She said I'd get $50,000 that way. It seemed so easy. Easy. It was perfect. If Jack Mattson, a nice guy looking for his girl, hadn't walked into it, Mattson was fool enough to be in love with Louise King. Get away from me. Miss King. You won't touch me. I won't let you touch me. Mr. Regan, stop her. She's got the hypodermic needle. The hypodermic needle. Drop it, Miss King. Drop it. Come back here. Let go of me. Let go of me. That's enough, lady. Oh, she tried to kill me. Do you see that? She tried to kill me. Oh, Doc, you're okay. She was going to kill me with that needle all along. Oh, no, no, Doc. Not you. She wasn't trying to defend herself against five men with a hypodermic needle. She was trying to save the state the cost of gas. Louise King got up and went quietly. Robert Warner wasn't far behind her, but at least he could count on seeing daylight sooner than she would. Doc Beauregard and the attorney Howard McClaney and I went up to the Doc's office for a drink. McClaney left about six, but the Doc kept me cornered with stories of bravery above and beyond the call of dentistry until close to seven. That's when the door to Doc's private office burst open. So here you are, you scoundrel. Anthony J. Bring in you dirty rat. Me waiting back at the office alone with my aching bicuspid, and you just sitting here. I might have known you wouldn't do anything about my tooth. Doc, this is my boss, Anthony J. Lyon. Lyon Doc Beauregard, the friendly credit dentist. No money down. I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Lyon. I have heard a lot of nice things about your bicuspid. You want? I've been telling the Doc how you suffer. He's interested in your case. Really, gentlemen? Really, you told it? An interesting case, isn't it, Mr. Lyon? Of course it is. And I think I have just the thing that'll cure it. You have? Step right up here in the chair. Oh, Doctor, I'm in terrible shame. The tooth has been bothering me all day. Ever since I phoned you this morning, you don't know the agony I've been through. The oldie! Stop roaring, Lyon. Doc's going to fix you. Fine. Just fine. He is. Good. I hope that drill doesn't hurt too much. Looks wicked. Ready, Mr. Lyon? Anything to get it fixed. Yeah, hoping wide. That patient that was just carried out had exactly the same thing wrong, didn't he, Doc? I don't care if he was carried out. I've got to be brave. I've got to get this tooth out of him. Get started, Doctor. It's killing me. Okay, hang on. It's going to hurt me. Wait a minute, Doc. By the way, Lyon, here's the Doc's check for $100. Oh? Let me see that, Jeffrey. Oh, my. 100 beautiful plans. It will come along, Jeffrey, my boy. Let's get out of here. What about your tooth? His tooth? You're aching bicuspid. Bicuspid? Well, what do you know? It doesn't hurt anymore. What's so darn funny? Okay, here's the other hundred regens. Thank you. Jeffrey, why is he giving you another $100? Oh, it's simple, Lyon. I just bet the Doc our fee, double or nothing, I could cure your toothache quicker than he could. Jeff Regan Investigator is written by William Frug, produced and directed by Sterling Tracy and stars Paul Dubov as Regan, with Frank Nelson as Anthony J. Lyon. Original music is by Dick Caron. Jeff Regan Investigator is transcribed each week at the same time over CBS, Dick Cutting speaking, and inviting you to be with us again for more suspense, mystery, and adventure with Jeff Regan Investigator.