 I always say, if you take a trip halfway around the world, you've got to expect you'll get your ticket punched. This is another in the adventures of America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator, Johnny Duller. At insurance investigation, Johnny Duller is only an expert. At making out his expense account, he is an absolute genius. Rent account submitted by Special Investigator Johnny Duller, to the Constant Sun Trading Company, Cairo, Egypt. And may I say, this is an unexpected pleasure. The one thing I didn't expect him up into during this case was somebody to pay the bill. It started out being my answer to a fire alarm run 12,000 miles away by an old wartime friend. It wound up being a game of who gets killed first with a bunch of guys who suddenly declare themselves a small peacetime war. The difference of opinion arose over a little hassle I might call the expiring nickel and the Egyptian jackpot. Trans account, item one, $2,200. Air transportation from little old Connecticut to big old French Indochina, or specifically, in Hartford to Hayfony. That's where I got off the plane to take a breather. But after smelling the air and getting hit in the face with a bucket full of lukewarm raindrops, I got right on another plane bound for my destination, where I'd been summoned by an urgent cable. Al Cuttow. We took off on instruments in the downpour of a drenching monsoon. It was like climbing up a waterfall, blindfolded. We got chased up to 20,000 feet, clear up into the penthouse by a batch of blackhearted thunderheads laced with lightning. And there we stayed, sucking oxygen for nine dreary hours. And waiting for the moment we'd get off our island in the sky. Transportation from airport to the address of old Brando at Summonby, a place you'd never expect to find trouble. In church. And what a church. Two quons of huts on Chowrangi Road. A couple of dozen wooden benches. A retired USO Hammond organ. And most important, it's pastor. A guy I'd met when I was calling the CBI theater, my home away from home. Chaplain Joe Blessing. Johnny, it's good to see you. Long time, Joe. Too long. Well, you haven't changed a bit. You were passing out those SL slips, unhappy GIs. Now you did decide to stay on your after all. Yeah. Yeah, I decided the East Indian brand before needed a little more saving than the kind I used to know back in Magnolia, Tennessee. Come on in the office, Jimmy. It was good of you to come right over. You must be wondering why you did. Well, your cable did start a worrier, too, Joe. You know, when an ex-soldier gets the trouble call from a chaplain, something's really wrong. What's up? Sit down. Sit down. Johnny, tell me, how'd you like to do some work in my department? Wait a minute. I wouldn't know where to start. I'm asking you to save a man's soul and to save another man's life while you're doing it. Why me, Joe? Why did I ask you to come all the way from Hartford, Connecticut? Well, Johnny, the ways are devious. There wasn't time for me to do anything else. Huh? If I'd gone through the proper channels here, if I'd become involved with all the inevitable red tape, I... Well, there just wasn't time. Johnny, there's a man in Carol waiting to be executed at dawn day after tomorrow for a murder he didn't commit. And here in Calcutta. And here in Calcutta is a man who not only witnessed that crime, but has in his possession the evidence that can save that man from swinging. Uh-huh. Who is this man on the flying rope van? Lionel Brooke Nichols. He's the president of a vast enterprise called the Constance Sun Freedom Company. Now, Johnny, I wasn't ignoring the fact that you worked for a living. I'm sure that if you're successful, you can name your own price. This is not a smoke-realism, Johnny. But Mr. Brooke Nichols has nothing but money. I didn't realize that such big man got into such big trouble. Oh, he didn't get into it all by himself. Huh? Oh, no. Now, this particular big man had the bad luck to have a fun-loving cousin who'd like to see him out of the way and the faster the better. Name of? Miles Atkinson. Uh, he must be some sort of big wheel in the Egyptian government. That's all I know about him. Except that the gain control of the Constance Sun Company, he would move heaven and earth to see Brooke Nichols dead. Well, I don't care what he does with the earth, but, uh, I guess I can't stand by and let him mess around with your heaven. Now, let's get out of cases. What about this dude here in Calcutta, the witness with the evidence? Well, his name's William Briggs. He's a very sick man, Johnny. No one that he might die soon, and it looks like he might. He's had a sudden rush of conscience to the mouth. He wants to talk. Evidently, he's decided that since it's too late to save his body, he'd better do a quick job on his soul. And I nourish him the Cairo, if that isn't told. I'm sending a young assistant of mine who'll take that job off your hands. I think you'll like him, Johnny. Now, I want you to get Briggs to the right official. Arrangements have been made for an ambulance to meet you in Cairo. And, well, we've chartered a cargo plane to take you there. Now, the pilot says he can get you there by tomorrow night. Well, I spent so much time in the air getting here that it shouldn't make any difference. But, uh, why a cargo plane? One of the passenger planes. They have nice, soft seats. Oh, Johnny, the airlines refuse to transport a leper. Evan sure has some good salesmen on the road. And Chaplain Joe Blessings is one of the best. Before I knew it, a big horizon's unlimited plane was lifting off the runway at Calcutta. And I was in it. Sitting on a suitcase, it looked like I'd never have time to unpack. The invalid Briggs was forward, being better down under the gentle hand of Chaplain Joe's assistant. Frankie. That is done. And I give up me Saturday afternoon at Belmont Park for this. You're in luck, Frankie. Think of all the losers you miss betting on. Mr. Dollar, you have the philosophy of a man who has never enjoyed the exquisite thrill of losing his last $2 upon a horse to withdraw the improvement of the breed. Young man, you've never heard of the blue grass branch of the Dollar family? Kentucky, sir? Mr. Dollar, sir, if it were not for a sighting horse from Kentucky named Breezy Boy, who ran a very poor ape at Rockingham, I would not only be a Kentucky Colonel, I would be a Kentucky general, passing the time of day with my esteemed co-general, three-star... Hennessy. Yes. That's it. Whose briefcase? Briggs. He wants you to take care of it. And what's that? What's in it should be in a holster. How do you know? Mr. Dollar, I got a set of fields. Besides, I looked. It's a Luger. A Luger, huh? Yeah. Oh, if that, I'd say we are now in possession of the evidence. The murder weapon in person. Exhibit A. Who? Still loaded. With Exhibit A making an arsenal out of my right-coat pocket, we touched wheels at Bombay for three hours in fuel and then hiked back up for the run across the Arabian Sea. We made landfall high on the coast of Saudi Arabia and the freight of the cuff shoreline led us on to the Queen of Sheba's old hometown, Haughton, where we sat down again for service, airplane and personnel. Frankie and I got our sick man Briggs out into the shade of a hanger figuring he'd use a breath of fresh air. But he didn't find it in that sun-baked hellhole. A grubby little ground crew burned up four valuable hours taking their own unsweetened time servicing the ship. That left us just eight hours to get Briggs and his evidence up to Cairo and left me almost enough time to save Mr. Brooke Nichols from taking the rope ride. Estimated time of arrival, midnight. Time of execution, 6 a.m. And I've learned that British officials are hard to wake up. Pilots stood the ship straight on its tail and made a fighter takeoff getting out of there. We were 40 minutes out of Haughton, about 5,000 feet above the Red Sea when we ran into what I've learned to expect in my business, unexpected. Good, you gentlemen, tell me where I pay my fare. Well, for... Where did you come from? Hey! A walk on like this I have not seen since Minty. It's all right, gentlemen. You can top your eyes back in. You've seen a woman before. Oh, I've never scooped one up out of the sky before. Could it be she's an angel? What are you doing here? I... I'm afraid I'm what you'd call a stowaway. How'd you get aboard? When the plane was empty, I locked myself in the popper room. I'm sorry I had to do it this way, but I have to get to Cairo immediately. The next airline flight doesn't go up to 11 tonight. I should have right to the capital. I haven't turned around to dump your back. Don't. I'm perfectly willing to pay my way. Don't worry. We can't spare the time. Mr. Duller, there are only certain things which make air travel a pleasure to certain people. With me, that is a stewardess, and I would be glad to brief her about her duty. Uh, you go check the patient, Frankie. I'll check Ms. Stowaway. Uh, that's what counts from always being only an assistant. I noticed that to a man in the stretcher when you took him off. Who is he? Never mind. What's your name? Nate Sabian. Uh, what's so important? You've got to get to Cairo this way. Sorry, Mr. Duller, that's a secret. It's also a secret how you get into that tiny little dress you're wearing. I'm glad you like it. A dress, yes. Secrets, no. When I find myself in an airplane with a stowaway, I smell trouble. That trouble used to now cost $85 an ounce. Now, listen, Saviour, sharp talk for a cocktail. There's no wasted hair. You must think I'm kidding. This is serious. You're flying across international boundaries. Now, who are you? I told you, Nate Sabian. Here. Here's my passport, and here is money. How much? Okay. We'll call a sort of bond to ensure your good behavior. $500. All that for good behavior? That's also nice. So is this airplane. If you don't like it, jump. She didn't jump. And after seven and a half more groaning hours, I was glad of it. Nate Sabian was all one. All beautiful. All in a pretty nice relief from watching the time run through my wristwatch. She spent most of the trip sharing my suitcase with me. But once I looked up at her, when she was silhouetted against the window, posed against that moose-druck Egyptian sky, it was almost worth a trip the way she looked wearing those stars in her hair. Just about then, a vague glow in the horizon took over where my conscience left off. We were coming in a Cairo, and the problem of landing 50,000 pounds of airplane replaced the problem of landing 120 pounds of woman. I never learned how to hold back a sigh of relief when I hear those big tires take all in the runway. I saw another one when I saw an ambulance standing by at the parking ramp. By the time the loading platform was pushed into place and the door opened, the ambulance was backed up ready to receive breaks. Oh, are you the chap bringing the mister breaks in from Calcutta? Yeah, that's right. Never want to stretch her, he's on one. Oh, right, sir. We'll fetch him off then. Come along, Roscoe. Are you ready to go, Frankie? Mr. Duller, watch your language. That is not the thing to say about Mr. Briggs. Why don't you look at home in that ambulance? No, then. Oh, congratulations upon the trip, Governor. Thanks. Take the other end, Roscoe. I'll hoist the poor chap out of there. Here we go now. Hey, I better check with a pilot, Frankie. Give these guys a hand, will you? They may need it getting down that ramp. Anything that moves me to the end of this is a pleasure. Mr. Duller, these guys ain't just clean ambulance drivers. In just a moment, we return to the second act of Johnny Duller. But first, whatever you're planning to do over the Labor Day weekend, be sure to plan to listen over most of these same stations tonight to a wonderful new show on CBS. It's Horace Heights' original Youth Opportunity Show, a full half hour of fun and excitement. You'll get the thrill of a lifetime hearing talented young Americans get the chance of a lifetime. Don't forget, Sunday night with Horace Heights, the Horace Heights' original Youth Opportunity Show, starting tonight on CBS. Now with our star, Charles Russell, we return to the second act of yours truly, Johnny Duller. I made four steps toward the cockpit when I heard Frankie Yell and a half a step back toward the door when I heard the shots. By the time I got to the top of the ramp, the ambulance was about 20 yards away. It pitted against that distance with two overlapping thoughts. One, the way to stop or at least slow it down was to puncture the rear tires. Two, the tool at hand was that loaded Exhibit A Luger that should have been in my pocket. It wasn't there. I looked around, didn't see it. I thought I knew where to find it. Come on, come on, open up. I'll put this fire extinguisher through that door and if your head isn't in the way, I'll get that neck. Wait a minute. Don't use the same hiding place twice. It could be that I wasn't hiding. And it could be that that purse is now holding a Luger. Give me it. Now all I need is to hear you say you don't know how it got there. I don't know how it got there. That does it. Come on, you're coming with me. Come on, get going. Ouch, you don't have to do that. What I did have to do was dig up some transportation. It turned out to be a taxi whose driver had slept through the excitement and therefore was the only one at the hack stand. I think he was still asleep when I gave my unwilling companion an un-gentlemanly shove into the rear seat and we left. Nobody in full control of their faculties could drive the way he did. He knew he had a horn, but somebody had forgotten to tell him about brakes. All I had to go on was the direction in which that ambulance had taken off, straight toward Cairo. So that's where we went, straight toward Cairo. Come on, whatever your name is, sit up and start your story. My name is St. Fabian. Well, I couldn't be less interested. What I want to know is where those friends of yours take the bridge in Franklin. I have no friends. I can believe that. I mean, those thugs are, where are they? I don't know what you're talking about. I don't be coy. Even those mugs in that ambulance add up, that's all. Doesn't take any brains. You're all working for the same guy. What same guy? Miles Atkinson, a guy that's trying to keep witness breaks in his evidence from saving Brooke Nichols from hanging. About five and a half hours. You're being stupid. Maybe so. All I know is somebody got away with the witness, and I find the evidence sharing your purse with your eyebrow. I found it on the plane. Somebody must have dropped it. Don't give me that. You can probably recite the serial number. Okay. You want the murder weapon? I'm going to be a real nice guy, just long enough to give it to you. And then I'm going to give you to the police. They have a nice little game they play with combinations like that. This girl keeps telling me her name is Faith Fabian. How do you do, Inspector? I've looked forward to this. I'll bet. My name is Johnny Dollar. I'm looking for somebody who knows the Brooke Nichols case. Well, you certainly keep it the right place. I know about the Brooke Nichols case. Well, that's what I'm here about. You can bust that case wide open, Inspector. Brooke Nichols is innocent. Now, here. This Luger is all the evidence we'll need. Thank you, Mr. Dollar. One thing you'll still have to help me find, though, is a man named Briggs. He was an eyewitness to the murder. I brought him all the way from Calcutta, and somebody put the snatch on him at the airport. Not only that, they grabbed the guy who was helping me. Oh, yes. Yes, that would be the obstreperous young gentleman you call Frankie. Oh, you know where he is? Oh, yes, indeed I do. Then he's all right? Yes. If you could call a man all right when he's just been arrested for the murder of Mr. Briggs. Murder? Yes. Mr. Briggs was shot in the ambulance and took him from your plane. Hey, what is this? This is a very good time for both of you to remain perfectly still, Mr. Dollar, after you raise your hand. There's Mr. Fabian, you needn't bother. There's hardly enough of that rest to conceal all of you, let alone weapons. Thank you. Mr. Dollar, this is what a romanticist would call a poetic injustice. You see, this fluga, the evidence, as you call it, happens to belong to me. But that's the murder weapon. Who are you, anyway? Chief of inspectors, Miles Atkinson. Miles Atkinson? Oh, no. Oh, yes. I fly 5,000 miles from Calcutta to put you in the hands of the police, and you turn out to be the police. Yes. Bloody convenient, isn't it? Not for me, it isn't... Yes, steady, old boy. You know, this gun was probably the most fortunate purchase I ever made in my life. First it killed a man who was in my way. Then, because it disappeared, it made it possible for me to establish false evidence, ostensibly proving that my esteemed cousin, Brooks Nichols, was guilty of the murder. And now his death, by hanging, will place in my hands the controlling interests of the constant, sudden trading company. Quite a bargain. Thank you, Mr. Dollar. Not you, the gun. Which I shall now put to its final use. And after it is disposed of you two, I shall dispose of it. That was the prettiest confession I've ever heard. I'm surprised that a chief inspector and bargain hunters have sell himself out so quickly. What do you mean by that? That the confession was complete, voluntarily made in front of witnesses, and that we are leading with it and that you are coming with us. Hey, fight, baby. Take it easy. No sense going out of make for a hot bullet. Mr. Dollar is right. I warn you, the one who moves first dies first. Very well. Hey, one step closer, Miss Fabian. I'm not afraid of you. All right, you are full. Now take it. What is this? No use, no bullet. No, you can't stop me. Now you won't. And ladies, they so far, now it's boys' time. He did throw the gun, but not at me. At the single light fixture in the middle of the ceiling. And when that one out, so did Atkinson. Out through the door. And the case was on. It was no joke. He knew where the light switches were, and he knew what racing passed them, and he switched them off. It was like night flying without benefit of the carrots in my diet. Chasing him down those long empty echoey corridors and up the stairs to the roof. At the door to the roof, I threw on our brakes by throwing him on our feet. He was soft, and it was dark, but I was scared. I figured Atkinson might have picked up a weapon on the way. And that turned out to be an underestimate what he had picked up was a fire hose. Through the door, we got hit by a big fat boat of liquid lightning. A couple of hundred pounds of water backed up by a couple of thousand pounds of pressure. It felt like a sermon swimming upstream to spawn. Over at the edge of the roof, braced against the low parapet, was Atkinson using all his weight to keep the writhing nozzle from clipping him around. He was just one man on a fire department. I'll move around the other side. Try and throw that water off him. Get over that bound. See it? That wheel over there. The end of the hose he ate on. Turn off the water. Come on. I see it. I'll get it. Dropping away to a dribble, the hose suddenly snapped its muscle up to its hardest as the driving surgeon water went through it. No! And before Atkinson began to self-untangle from the canvas and rubber snake, it snapped him over the parapet, off the roof, and high into the night. Hey, speech! Turn off that water. This baby had fired a hose through Mr. Chief Inspector Atkinson off the roof. And he made a hole in one. Right through that gallows down there. The same gallows from which Brooke Nichols were supposed to hang in a few hours. That's horrible. Let's move away from here. Hey, wouldn't that? That's not like you. After all, you're the gal who turned that water up instead of down. You wanted it done right. Why didn't you send a plumber? I wouldn't ask you if you met it that way or not. Or if I'm concerned, it cannot turn out just jolly this way. And while I'm at it, I'd like to thank you for taking such a brave chance with my life downstairs in the office. Oh, really, Mr. Dollar, I knew that gun wasn't loaded. I unloaded it myself back in the powder room in the airplane. That's before you accused me of trying to steal it, remember? The next time I take a shower, I promise to wash my mouth out with soap. But now I figure it's also about time you came clean. Really, now, who are you? I'm sorry. My name is still St. Fabian. All right, you've made a sale. Your name is St. Fabian. What's your interest in this case? No interest at all. It's just part of my job. They do hire people to police the police, you know. I happen to be one of those people. Do you want to see my credentials? Your credentials look all right to me, baby. We got off the subject, off the roof, and into the problem of getting Brooke Nichols off the end of a rope. After going through those motions, and that gal made all the motions, including retrieving young Frankie from the pokey, I kissed St. Fabian goodbye, just for luck. And, receiving no interest on that investment, we headed back to the airfield. By the time that fireball Egyptian son poked its top rim over the left over GI issue hangers at the east end of the field, the plane was serviced and planning to pry open the sky. Came the time to board ship, came a visitor. Mr. Dullerabouts. Yeah, about right here. Oh, splendid, splendid. I am Lionel Brooke Nichols. Congratulations. I suppose you know you saved my life. You know, with a lot of self, yeah. Well, I should like to make it up to you somehow. Is there anything I can do? Well, uh, besides paying my expenses. Oh, naturally, naturally. Send your chip to the constant son trading company. You'll be paid post-haste, but beyond that. Well, uh, could do something for the guy who got me out here. Back in Calcutta, I have an old army buddy named a chaplain Joe Blessing. He runs a church. Oh, splendid, splendid. I suppose I could donate a stained glass window or, uh, anything you think yes. Did you say anything? Yes, anything. Okay. Well, look, chaplain Joe Blessing doesn't need a stained glass window because he hasn't got any place to put it. What he does need is a new church, a real one with steeples and all that. Oh, oh. All right then. Very well. Done. Expense account, item three. Same as original entry. Transportation from the land of the Spinks to the land of the free by way of Calcutta, where I delivered a happier, though wiser, Frankie, received the blessings of chaplain Joe Blessing and ordered a custom-made lightweight pearl-handled blackjack in blue suede and inscribed to fate Fabian with the hope that you will never fail to supply the black to go with its blue, love, JD. Ah, well, I guess that's all. Well, if expense account total... Oh, wait, there's one more. Expense account item four. $10. Paid the Cassidy's pawn shop, Hartford, Connecticut, for a purchase of one-hawk air metal. After all that flying, I thought I deserved one. Now, uh, expense account total $5,350. If you don't think the founder of your company is worth that, kindly suggest someone who might. Yours, um, truly, Johnny Dollar. Johnny Dollar was produced and directed by Gordon T. Hughes and stars Charles Russell, with script by Paul Dudley and Gil Dowd. Feature of the cast were Georgia Ellis, Jack Edward, Parley Bear, and Paul Dubog. The special music is written and conducted by Lee Stevens. Be sure to be with us again when Johnny Dollar returns to the air after a short vacation. Listen on Saturday, October 1st, when another most unusual expense account is handed in by yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Next week at this time on many of these same stations, Steve Arden will bring you the madcap adventures of America's favorite school mistress, our Miss Brooke. Miss Arden, who has been heard later on Sunday evening for more than a year, is moving to this new time, and CBS cordially invites you to hear her and her famous brand of comedy to make sure consult your local newspaper listening next Sunday for the new time when you'll hear Eve Arden and our Miss Brooke. Now stay tuned for your hit parade on parade, which follows immediately over the same CBS network station. This is Roy Rowan speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.