 My name's Regan. I get ten a day in expenses from a detective bureau run by a guy named Anthony J. Lyon. They call me The Lion's Eye. With Jack Webb as Jeff Regan, The Lion's Eye stand by for hard-boiled action and mystery and thrilling adventure in tonight's story of The Gambler and His Lady. You'll find it in Hollywood on Taft Avenue. Four-story apartment building in the color of a rainy afternoon. They call it the Havenwood. It sagged in the middle like a tired Frankfurter. That's where I live. Apartment 3K. Two rooms with a pull-down bed and a pair of windows that stick when it's hot. Oh, the view isn't much. Six strands of telephone wire in the head of a shaved-off palm tree. Beyond is the city, L.A., spread out on the map like a raw egg with a broken yolk. Oh, the town's all right, I guess, if you can afford the sedatives. The Lion likes it. He set himself up as a receiving clerk for trouble and I worked for him. It was about eleven-fifteen Tuesday night when my phone began making itself felt. Turned out to be the Lion breathing hard. It figured he was running his fingers over a green bag. Send me a record. What's the matter? You sound like you're out in your bag. How do you sleep? Who's sleeping? I'm working and that's what you're going to be doing. Try me tomorrow. Well, marry her off. She didn't pay us fifty bucks for that. How much? She'll tell you. I want it from you. I don't know at all for sure. Don't you ever check into things? I do the details. Yeah, you'd drag a wet rag over the 15 if the ink stays on. We got a client. That's insulting. How would you know? Give me the name. Mrs. L.A. Yeah? And? What for? I want to be sure Do you care? I put on some clothes, picked up my car and moved out to Venice Boulevard. The good humor men were all gone and I had the street to myself. Twenty minutes later I came to a stop beside a garbage can near San Pedro. Behind it stood the Pierpont Hotel. A two-deck pile of wood left over from the sinking of the Spanish Armada. There was a black and dirty white sign outside set rooms 50 cents weekly and monthly rates. The names Eleanor and Georgia Bascom showed in the mailbox and gave a room 210. I climbed a flight of stairs and walked down a hall that looked like a passageway in a pyramid. It was dark and it took my cigarette lighter to turn up the numbers. 210 finally showed and I wrapped on the door. A bush of black and gray hair pulled it open. It was wearing a red kimono and an impatient look like a tax collector in January. She was pushing 50 and looked tired. Yes? I'm Regan, international detective. Oh yes, the lions. I've been waiting for you. Come in. I'm Mrs. Bascom. Eleanor or Georgia? Georgia's my daughter. I want to apologize for getting you out here this time of night, Mr. Regan, but it's urgent. The lion said that the girl's the problem. Yes. How old is she? 22. Who's the man? How'd you know there was a man? What other kind of trouble would she go after? She's a good girl, Mr. Regan. She always has been. Until now. That's what I want to know. She's old enough to call her place. That's not the advice I'm paying for. Where'd you get the 50? It took a lot of saving. All right, give me his name. Louis Desmond. Gambler, card sharp, bookie, all around Conman. He's got a card room out toward Gardena someplace, the Five Aces Club. What is your daughter's seeing? Oh, it's this place. The way we have to live. She's tired of having nothing. I've tried, but she's looking for a change. I'm taking a wrong turn. I'm not sure yet. The other girls have it real tough. They go to work. Well, we had a little trouble with the family once. It shows up if someone starts looking. When can I talk to Georgia? You'll have to work that out yourself, Mr. Regan. What does that mean? She put some clothes in a suitcase and left earlier this evening. That's why I had to call you so suddenly. Where'd she go? Louis is a real bum, Mr. Regan. You talk like you know him. We've met. I want to know just what's going on. If Louis is forcing her into anything crooked. She forces he? A fur coat makes a young girl do a lot of things. Yeah. Oh, here's a picture of it. You may need it. Not very good, but only when it's got. I'll make it work. That's about all, Mr. Regan. Get in touch with me as soon as you get something. Okay. Oh, Mr. Regan. Yeah. As you can tell, I'm the kind of person who sometimes gets hysterical over things, but I'm also the kind who demands results. You sound like a radio commercial. It was after midnight when I followed the fog out for Mon toward Gardena. The yellow lights were pressing, but they were doing about as much good as a pint of bourbon at a Schreiner's convention. I wand around the flatland for a while before the Five Aces Club turned up by a bend in the road. It looked like a blue wart with a neon sign. There was a front door and a back one and a couple of pairs of shoulders standing at each. A little guy in a pinstripe gray was figuring the size of the wallets going in. Louis Desmond's office showed at the top of the stairway and I moved for it, but a muscle looking down on six feet was playing frontman. He put a knotted hand on my arm and when he spoke it sounded like a gear factory doing double time. Slow down, pilgrim. The room you're looking for is the other way. Yeah, well, this one says office. That's that trouble with you guys who read. Can't take hints. Spell it out. Not until I see Louis Desmond. What's your business? I'll tell it to him. You own some dough? No, I don't. Denny ain't interested. He will be. Where's son Junior? Get him up on me. What's all the noise, Pathean? Sightseer without a ticket. My name's Regan. Cup? Maybe. You want me to bond some Donna stairs, boss? Maybe. What do you want? Talk. That's always a waste of time. Not if it's about Georgia Bascom. Come on in. Never saw you around here before, Regan. No, I can't afford it. Oh, don't say that. Some people go out of here with more than they can in with. Yeah, you. Guess you're right at that. The gun? No, thanks. What about Georgia, Regan? You tell me. It doesn't add. You came to see me. She's got a worried mother. They're all like that. Now, this one figures you're doing a little forcing. Oh, you'd know more about that. Give me a clue. Blackmail, maybe. You're a kick. Arthur Godfrey'd love to get a hold of you. I come too high. Let me give you some good advice. Go home and pull a blanket over your head and say it's all a bad dream. You know, you talk a lot, mister, but you don't say much. What's the hold on Georgia? Right wise, guy. I mean, come over here, baby. You know this girl. I've seen a picture. Georgia, this is a people named Regan. He come to rescue you. But what for, Mr. Regan? Fifty dollars. My mother gave you that to come and take me back? Something like that. But I can't go. Why not? Well... Go ahead. Show him, baby. Look, Regan. Three carrots. With a wedding band to match. On what dice table did you pick those up? Stop the noise, Regan. Congratulate the lady. Not on a bad mistake. Listen, Shamis. Oh, never mind him, Louis. He doesn't matter. When did the first come? Louis said soon. Tell Mama we're married and not to worry. We're going away for a few days. And senorita for some gambling and fishing. You won't enjoy it. Sure I will. You'll be an LA. The alley behind the Five Aces Club hadn't been dusted in a week. My brown flannel suit fixed that. Well, I picked myself up and made it for the car. Moving north on Vermont, I tried to add a couple of things. There was a funny smell in Louis's office when I first walked in like rope on fire. Somebody had been there before me who smoked Q-bebs. Desmond worked on cigars. Georgia held a king-size palmel. Well, whoever it was still played it coy. About one o'clock, I started raising a small campaign with a lion's door knocker. His dream must have been a real good one because it took him ten minutes to get to the door. He was wearing a nightgown. He looked like a poor imitation of the Fisk tire ad. All it was missing was the candle. Regan, I told you not to bother me until after 10 a.m. It's no bother. Get out of here let a man sleep. Your dreams will be bad. What do you mean? You just lost a client. What's the matter? The money, Fody? Georgia Baskham married Desmond. There's nothing I can do about it. Well, think of something. Say you married her first. You're out of your mind. Oh, it's a bad idea. Get a good one. Yeah, I already have. What is it? You give Mrs. Baskham her case back. Well, you can't do that. Try me. Think a minute, Regan. She's come to us for help. A lonely woman with no place to turn and trusts her trouble to international. You got that 50 spent? It's not the money. It's the moral obligation. Oh, stop it. Well, you don't give blood anymore since you found out somebody paid for it. You're getting out alive. You're the only guy in town who can turn a shaving cut into a bankroll. That's enough. Let's do it this way. You go over to Mrs. Baskham and give her the load down. Let her decide if she wants you to carry on or not. We sure go to a lot of trouble for a 50. I need a lot of new stuff around the place. Well, it's close to Christmas, right to Santa Claus. I left the lion looking for a fountain pen and I drove out to Venice Boulevard in the Pier Pot Hotel. The place still looked the same. A black nurse was parked at the block a motor going. A couple of cats were doing a duet on a garbage can. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and I started down the hall for 210 walking really easy to keep the boards from creaking, but somebody else didn't care about the noise. There was a gun where the silencer working in Mrs. Baskham's room. I pushed the door in, but by then all I could hear was silence. The light showed an open window with a fire escape and the wind was blowing the curtains. Mrs. Baskham lay face down on the bed real still and the holes in her blanket were turning wet. The lion really lost a client that time. Well, it didn't take San Ducci and the boys long to get there. The fingerprint man and the photographers went to work in the room. San Ducci picked me. He had a grouch on like a fat lady in an upper birth. What do you mean? Pretty far from home. How'd I get around? Who is she? Name's Eleanor Baskham. I know that. What'd she do? Where'd she come from? I don't know. What were you doing out here? She called in the lion. Her daughter ran off with Louis Desmond. Oh, he in it? How far? Ask him. Mrs. Baskham wants you to bring her daughter back. She wanted to know if the girl was moving into a racket. Was she? I haven't found out. I should have known better than to ask a detective. Why didn't she call us? She was behind in her taxes. What do you do, Private? Sit up nights figuring ways to make my job harder. You threw with me? No. Who killed the ring? I don't know. Bad choice of words. Don't check a blacknash parked at the street. Got a license number? No, I haven't. Thanks a lot. Look, I'm no medium. I didn't know she was marked. Any other big ideas? A few. Well, keep them to yourself. They're all wrong. Now get out of here. Yeah. Say, San Ducci. The lion can handle another client now. So what? Want to sign up? Slept. Coffee and warmed over biscuits at the drug store took care of breakfast the next morning. Then I checked the phone book. Louis Desmond's home address turned up on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills and so I drove out there. Was on a corner. Two-story colonial place with white colors and green shutter. The doorbell sounded like a second chorus at the Hollywood Bowl. The Japanese maid let me in and I waited in the anti-room. That's when I caught that peculiar smell again. Somebody had just been there, was smoked those Q-bebs cigarettes. Well, a couple minutes later, a tall blonde fighting 30 stepped up to me. He smelled like she just crawled out of a bottle of Platinum. It was a bright morning, but she had the kind of look that had you wishing for an eclipse. Well, what do you want? Louis Desmond. Sanctus taker? No. What's he done? I don't know yet. Where is he? I don't know where he is. He didn't come home last night. Lots of work at the office. Card room out in Gardena. Lots of work out there. He didn't say. He doesn't tell me everything. Should he? Depends on what you think of your marriage vows. Who are you? His wife. Want a drink, mister? Sure. What'll it be? Yours? Perfect. You pour. I don't know when to stop. All right. Here you go. To marriage. It's a mess. Never touch him. Interfers with my drinking. Who smokes the Q-bebs? Is that what that stuff is? Yeah. The little guy walked in here looking for Louis and smelled up the place. But. Oh, hello, Patsy. Just in time for a drink. Company? Yeah. Oh, what's your name, fellow? He knows. You learn hard, don't you, Regan? What's going on? He's an I. So what? So he gets a bounce. He's my friend. Beat it. Shameless or I'll split you. Stay right where you are. This is my house and I'll entertain who I want. With the boss's liquor? I've got some, right? Well, figure out what they are and try them on a boss. I don't like you, Patsy. Beat it, people. Get your paws off of me. Come on. Get them off. Stop it, Patsy. Stop what I said. You hit him pretty hard, lady. No, I didn't. His head's soft. Well, I left her picking up pieces of glass and I drove back toward Hollywood. I was moving east on sunset trying to make some sense out of Desmond's domestic life. When I spotted that black sedan again, it was doing a real bad tag job on me. I pushed the pedal closer to the floor, but the sedan had better gas. It caught me going around a bend past Beverly Glen and started pushing me. Oh, it was a great place for a boulevard stop, but none showed. All it did was a reflection in my rear view mirror of the driver in the black sedan. It was feminine and the voice spelled out Georgia Baskham. That's when she moved in for a closer look. Coming to the story of the gambler and his ladies, tonight's adventure with Jeff Regan, investigator. Listen, this is good news. Good news for you if you're between the ages of 20 and 26 and a half, married or single, a high school graduate and want to fly for the United States Air Force. Yes, the Air Force Aviation Cadet Program is offering you the opportunity to become a pilot officer in the mightiest Air Force in history. You can be one of the Air Force's men of renown, and there's more offered than the pride you feel in being a member of America's flying team, or after your 52 weeks of training, you'll graduate as a second lieutenant in the Air Force with an income of more than $300 per month. Remember, the Air Force offers you what had offered General Jimmy Doolittle, General Carl Spatz and General Hoyt Vandenberg, now at 42, the Air Force Chief of Staff. Call it your local Army and Air Force Recruiting Station tomorrow. Apply to become an aviation cadet. And now back to the story of the gambler and his ladies and Jeff Regan, investigator. Well, things were moving as fast as the last reel in a Western movie. The lion sent me out to see a lady who was having daughter trouble. Georgia Baskham had done a tie-in with a gambler named Louis Desmond. Only it looked real permanent. She was wearing his wedding ring, and the mother ended up carrying a couple of bullets and homicide moved in. That's when I met a blonde at Desmond's house who said she was Louis' wife. Well, I was working on the mess when a black sedan with Georgia at the wheel ran me off the road and the slugs began to fly. I peeled myself off the side of the hill and I got in touch with the police. Sanducci took over and invited me to the headquarters for some more talk. They put me in a little room with pale green walls and sat behind a big desk chewing a dead cigar. It was taking me all in like a Hoover vacuum cleaner on a dirty rug. Well, how do you feel, Regan? All right. You shouldn't. Why not? Looks to me like from here on in, you're a marked man. I'll get along. It'll be really interesting to see how. All right, now look, have you got something to say? Maybe. Well, let's hear it. Relax, Regan. You're not going anyplace. You can't hold me. I was the one who got shot at. Well, it's enough. I work out a way to hold you for creating a disturbance. It won't work. Listen, you, the bullets we pulled out of your upholstery match the ones in Mrs. Baskham. So what? So we figure she was knocked off because she knew something somebody didn't once said. We also figured that applies to you. Well, it gets you nothing. All right, Regan. Play it your way this time. You'll come running back when the haters close in. Don't make book on it. Well, if you got to get yourself knocked off, don't mess up our city streets. Yeah, I'll be real careful. Oh, and, uh, wear a dark suit that save our morticians a little trouble. Is that all? Yeah, go on beat it, sir. Oh, Regan. Yeah. A buffy little father. What's that mean? Your father's mustache. Well, it was late afternoon with the time I walked out of headquarters. The sun was still working, but it was cold. The cab driver with a lot of conversation drove me to my place over on Taft. When I opened my front door, I smelled it again, those Q-bebs. A small face was sitting on my sofa, sucking on him. It belonged to a guy who had a stand on a box to see over a fox carrier. When I shut the door behind me, ground the cigarette into an ashtray and turned on a nervous look like a pig in a football factory. You'll land lately that me in, Mr. Regan. I hope you don't mind. I have to talk to you. We met before. We did? I don't remember. Just me and your cigarettes. Huh? Oh, you mind if I smoke? You just finished one. Yeah, yes, yes, so I did. May I have a drink then? Just a small one. All right. I generally don't drink, but tonight I thank you now. I barely know where to begin. Well, you better figure it out. You haven't got much time. Yes, yeah. Well, start with a name. Is that necessary? Yeah, it is. Loper, Max Loper. I'm a businessman. What kind? What kind? Oh, furrier. Yeah, I'm a furrier, Mr. Regan. All sorts of furs, ermines. Nice. Generally, I prefer sable, but it depends on the woman, you know. What does Georgia get? A big pardon? Let it go. I'm not the man I used to be, Mr. Regan. My fortunes have changed. Yeah, yeah, changed. I, I think I better have that cigarette. Save it for later and start making sense. Well, I need help. Why come to me? Well, Mrs. Baskham thought enough for you to ask you to help her. You see, I know Mrs. Baskham. That is, I knew Mrs. Baskham. Her death was so sudden. It was forced. Yeah, so the paper saved, but Mr. Regan, I want you to know I didn't do it. Who said you did? Well, nobody yet, but I didn't do it. Look, why tell me? There's nobody else. I can't help. Try the police. No, no, no, that's what I can't do. I want you to prove to them that I wouldn't do a thing like that. Loper, what's your tie in with Desmond? But Desmond, why, there is no tie in. You were at his card room. I smelled your cigarettes there. You got nothing, I guess, and you went to his house. Mr. Regan, that's got nothing to do with it. I think different. But you're wrong. All wrong. Convince me. I didn't do the murder. That's what I want you to tell the police. Who didn't? I don't know. Well, now I think you do. Come on. Who killed George's mother? It was her stepmother who was killed. Give me some more. Oh, you got me all confused. I guess coming to you for help was a bad idea. Something was. I'll find somebody else who doesn't ask so many questions. I better go. No, no, not yet, little man. You've got too many answers. Take your hands off me. Mr. Regan, I never used one of these, but the theory is simple. Just pull the trigger. If you can find it. Don't urge me. Open the door. Go on. Now step away. See you later, Mr. Regan. He made it to the staircase and then the noise came. A couple of bullets blew up the spiral and caught him in the chest. He stopped in midair for a second like a yo-yo on a straight and then he toppled over and rolled down. By the time I got to him, he was all used up. McCall and the homicide brought some of the boys out and they took care of them. A fat guy with a head like a plunger took him pictures for a paper and a girl with a leaky fountain pen got the story. Took about an hour and a half to clear my place. But the minute the crowd moved out, the lion moved in. He had a sheet of paper in one hand and his face was lit up like an old maid at a cocktail party. This concerns Louis Desmond and Georgia Baskam. Are you interested? Yeah. Desmond's got a wife and her name's not George. No, it's Stella and she's a ripe candidate for a drunk tank. What else do you know about her? She's jealous. Well, there's no record any place of a divorce or of a marriage between Georgia and Desmond. That whole set up's a phony. Tell me why. Georgia's father, named Peter Baskam, was a furrier and he was once in on a fur job with the same Louis Desmond. Go on. The old Baskam ended up with a bullet in him and Louis with a pile of dough. How did it work? I can't find out everything. You got to do something. You know, a Max Loper? Never heard of him. You got an address on this Georgia. Well, Arena Hotel, Room 406 and Catalan Off Willship. All right. The way I figured an insurance company might be real interested to get hold of her. No, the gas chamber's got priority. We figured the swindle first, collect the fat bonus, then let the city handle her any way at once. Call me when you get it all sewed up. What are you going to be doing? Resting at home. I'm all worn out. Yeah, well, that figures you've been doing a little thinking. The Lorraine Hotel, six stories of plush carpet and gold paint. It was night when I got there and the neon was on. The buzzer brought the door open and Georgia Baskam stood there carrying an overcoat. She had her purse under her arm and it figured she was leaving. When she saw me, she turned on a surprise look. Oh, Deregan. Moving out? Just a little errand. It'll keep shut the door. Now, see here. Well, that's a lot of nerve. Don't let it bother you. They're bigger things like what a fur job you and Louie are working on. What are you talking about? And a little murder. Throw your purse on the sofa. I will not. Come on, lady. It's getting heavy. Now open the closet door. Come on. You're satisfied. I'm not much on fashions. Read them to me. Three airmen, three sable, 10,000 apiece, more max loafers. Yeah, well, you can't wear them all. You got a friend? I don't need one. All right, sis. What is it? Nothing. That's your version. You could be wrong. When's you marry Desmond? Last week. Bad answer. He's got a wife named Stella. Bigamy, he'll get him in trouble. That's his problem. No, it's yours too. If the courts can prove you knew. All right, I didn't marry him. Then why the wedding ring? Hey, you ask a lot of questions. Yeah, I do. Why don't you get out of here? Louie's not new on fur jobs. He knows how much work it is to palm him off. You're talking to yourself. Loper never got to outlive a double cross. What are you going to do with that? Nothing. Homicide will work it out. I didn't kill anybody. You'll work up a sweat proving it. Louie did it. Honest. He killed my stepmother because she knew how the job work. He gave it to Loper too. He would. Are you friends? Must be raining. The worms are coming to the top. Hello, Louie. Regan's got it figured out. I was just stalling him till you got here. Sure, Georgia. I know. Honest, Louie. Honest. I didn't mean to say you did the knock off. We'll talk about it later. Better finish it now. You're not going to be around. We'll see. They got a spot all staked out for you up north. Isn't that interesting? Regan, I got a set of instructions for you. I want you to be real nice and follow them. What's in it for me? You killed me, James. I'm holding all the cards. You want to rake in the pot. I better get going, Louie. We shouldn't be seen together right now. Slow down, baby. I got something for you, too. Louie, I... Big mouth. I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Look, you didn't have to hit her more than once. She got off easy. Everybody's got 32 teeth. Desmond moved us out of the apartment down the hall. Georgia was beginning to sob, but Desmond wasn't impressed. He held the gun under his coat and walked behind us careful like an elephant on a crate of eggs. The button brought the elevator and the three of us went in and then it started down. When the door swung open on the first floor, a whiff of bourbon came floating and packing a 32. Louie turned white. Still it. I told him if he kept messing around, he was going to have trouble at home. Want to give me the gun? No. What's your name, girlie? Georgia. Were you in love with Louie? I... I don't know. Well, go find out. You want it now, Regan. It's empty. You know, lady, you fixed nothing. What do you mean? Well, you're going, you'll all be together again. Fast like a dollar dinner. The coroner's office sent out some boys for Georgia and Louie and Sanducci picked up Stella. Desmond had himself a pretty good thing. Do a tie in with a furrier and move the furs across the border with nobody making a fuss. All it was slow work, but 10,000 a week's pretty good pay. And it was real safe. Loper wasn't going to say the furs were even stolen until they were turned into money. Of course, he never got to say it at all. Everything would have been all right if Stella didn't see green every time Louie saw blind. Well, the insurance company thanked us for what we did to expose the fraud. The lion was unhappy. He said they should have shown their gratitude with something more lasting. They gave it to him, a 1949 pocket calendar. Web is featured as Jeff Regan with Herb Butterfield as Anthony J. Lyon. It's CBS at the same time next week for more hard boiled action and mystery with Jeff Regan Investigator, written by Larry Roman, produced by Sterling Tracy, included in tonight's cast were Mary Lansing, Marvin Miller, Pat McGeehan, Lorette Phil Brandt, Jack Petruzzi, Yvonne Petey and Sydney Miller. Original music for this program is by Milton Charles, Bob Stephenson speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.