 Broadway's My Beat from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. The dawn mists of November are drifting, slow swirling, clinging to street lamp. And Broadway's stone and stillness, the dazzle of time, night has slipped out of Broadway's fingers. And there's bewilderment now, the puzzled study of empty hands, and the dregs of night, the sleepwalkers, and pulling at their sleeves solitude. Run from it, beat on a door, find it closed, run again, and suddenly between darkness and light, the roar of truck, the hurdle of morning newspapers to pavement, and stop running. Give up. There's proof day will come. Autumn dawn, five o'clock, in downtown and east from Broadway, the street lined with November trees to the private library of the Bentley Foundation, where Detective Muggevin was, and a woman lying wounded against a litter of books. When she got shot, she must have stumbled around, Danny, falling against that book rack, knocked it over. Who found her? Custodian. Came in here with his mop and pale and dust rack, grabbed a diamond of the cash box and called it in. It unsettled him, he says, says he can't work a lick today. I told him I'd fix it with his boss. She's in bad shape, Muggevin. Have you... Yeah, I called for the ambulance, Danny. Be here any minute. Don't worry about it. Know who she is? Yeah, Custodian filled me in. Amelia Lane. She was working here as librarian when he got this job. Told me she was kind, thoughtful, never yelled at him once. Had a stretch to hear her sometimes, he said. Said the staff gave her a birthday party around six months ago, or fiftieth. Said the cake was chocolate with marshmallow frosting and shaped an open book. You and the Custodian got along real well, huh? Yeah, a nice guy, Danny. He was real sorry about Miss Lane. He said people had to die this way. It shouldn't be Miss Lane. She's not dead. Well, he told me she would be. He said he just had a feeling because she was such a nice lady, a good lady. He said good people like Miss Lane don't happen often, don't last when they do... Ambulance, Danny. Yeah, go open the door for them. Hi, Gino, come on in. Your midday snack, Danny. Wax and cream cheese on toasted bagel. I told you I didn't want it toasted. What do you know about fancy locks and cream cheese eating? Coleslaw? Coffee? A tootsie roll. A tootsie roll? I thought it would be nice. Thanks, Gino. What else have you got? The cream and sugar's already... I know, I mean about work. Oh. Well? I got it right here. In the case of Amelia Lane, wounded librarian. She was shot by a 25 caliber weapon held at close range at about 11 last night. According to Dr. Sinski, and as he put it, life and death are a thread. Go on. Amelia Lane has been a librarian for the Bentley Foundation for 12 years. A spinster, lives alone, has a room at the Marlin Hotel for women on Upper Broadway. What else? From friends and acquaintances questioned at said hotel, Miss Lane is a woman of settled disposition and ready with a kind word to who needs it. And? And is this, nothing of note found in her belongings. She was wearing a pin with Greek letters on it, fraternity or sorority. And a clothed flower corsage on a simple frock as befitted one of her station. Yeah, I saw all that. Our boys found this, however, Danny. A list of those who withdrew or returned books to the Foundation yesterday. Six names. Give the top three to Muggerman, Gino. Tell him to check them out. I'll take the others. That's it, Danny. So eat already. Then squad car through November City, and the swift images scattered in its wake. The girl on the safety island who held up a thumb leaned her smile close to you when you stopped for the traffic light. Girl in off shoulder summer dress and concession to autumn, fur neckpiece loose draped about her throat. Lost then in quick ricochet of sunlight off chrome as light changed as you moved away. Other images, hurry and ebb of crowd. The seller of chestnuts who scurried his cart out of your path. And finally the side street, the first name on the list, Abby Forrest. You look, I don't know, startled. Is that it? Well, Miss Forrest, I did. It's how young I am, isn't it, that brought that look to your face. How young I am in this fuzzy cardigan. The bare legs and the bobby socks and the saddle shoes. That's what did it to you, wasn't it? A woman was shot yesterday, Amelia Lane, librarian at the Bentley Foundation. I'm 17. I think you should know. You brought some books back to the Bentley Foundation yesterday. Think of it, 17. Miss Forrest. I don't have enough to understand things. Understand why you looked at me like that and why you're here. You think I shot that old lady? When were you there? When did you check those books in? I'll try again. You think I shot that old lady? Just tell me when you were there. Between home economics 1A and elementary psychology. I have these two hours off from the university, three days a week. From 11 to 1, all to myself. And think how I used them at Bentley Foundation, poking into dusty old tomes. And I'm just a freshman. You were there between 11 and 1? And Miss Lane was very helpful and asked how things were going for me. And I told her soon, soon I'd hold out my hand and there would be the rich intellectual to kiss it and ring it and ask for it in marriage. And she blushed and I laughed out loud and she shushed me. Poor little old lady. If you see her, tell her I said that. Can you remember? Or shall I write it down for you? You'll remember. You look very intellectual. Dr. Levering? Yes? I'm from the police, Danny Clover. I'd like to talk to you. I've only this brief time till my next class, the student papers to go over. It's about Amelia Lane. Oh, I see. Now please come in. That chair, please. The university knows that you've come to me about Miss Lane? I don't think so. I asked some of the students outside. One of them told me you were here in your office. Permit me gratitude for your discretion. You will understand, of course, how quickly scandal blossoms and flourishes at the university. If you had mentioned me in the same breath with Amelia Lane, the notoriety. I didn't. Let's let it go at that, Dr. Levering. Oh, you're pardoned. What about Amelia brought you to me? You know she was shot. You know she's dying. I read of it this morning. Yeah? It is difficult for me to muster a deep sorrow for Amelia. Why? I have my own, my private grief. My wife, the wife of 30 years, Mrs. Levering died of a lingering illness less than a month ago. I am a widower. I am alone. And I have only this for solace. The romance languages I teach, the compassion of my students when the grief overcomes me. Let's not dwell on it, shall we? All right. I have known Amelia since we were students together at Teachers College. That was many years ago. She was a plain girl then, but sensitive. We went our separate ways. I got my doctorate here in the romance languages and at the Bentley Foundation 12 years ago, I found her again. And she was still quite plain and older and more sensitive and more helpful than I had remembered her. Obscure reference material was always at the very tip of her tongue. That is Amelia. What time were you at the library yesterday, Dr. Levering? Let me think. Four in the afternoon, right after my last class. Strange. What is? Simply this, Amelia, plain, colorless. How did she incite so much passion and violence that someone tried to kill her? Strange. Then the man moved away from me. Took a stance directly under a diploma, turned, looked at me. He formed a smile, raised his hand slightly, dropped him. As if the school bell had suddenly run in the middle of something not too important. Class was over and I was dismissed. Third name on the list, Michael Brady, address Greenwich Village. One flight up and four doors down through a corridor embellished by art students in a trap with a red crayon pencil. Hi. Hello, is your name Michael Brady? That's right. Won't you sit down? I'm glad you came. Yes, I've been working. I needed a break. Rather I needed an excuse for a break. I see. Is there something I might do for you? It's about a woman named Amelia Lane. About her? She was shot with a date last night. Is she dead? No. Please take me to her. You were at the library yesterday. Please, is it so important that I go to her? All right, let's go. It looks cold out. Yeah, it is. I'd better put on a jacket. She's not going to die. We mustn't let that happen. We must do everything we can. What are things being done? That's very good. I need her badly. I tell you this because it's a very true one. Yesterday when I saw... What time was this? In the afternoon, about four. When I saw her then I told her just what I'm telling you. It would be pretty melancholy if anything happened to her. Yes. You see, I'm at the university. I met Miss Lane during summer session. I was doing a paper so I went to Bentley. She was very kind to me. Helpful. Nothing must happen to her. The car's right over there. So much she knew where knowledge was. Beautiful things in books. Are you in love with Miss Lane? I love her. She is a person to love, you know. No, I mean... She calls me Michael. And to me, she's Miss Lane. Get him. Mr. Clover. Yes? Once I told her I loved her in a way I couldn't explain. She put her finger to my lips. How old are you, Michael? Eighteen. Please, let's hurry. Which room is it? Just down the hall. When she gets better and you can get to know her and see what kind of a person she is, you'll see what I mean. Then here. How is she, Dr. Sinski? In a gentle delirium. She's been saying that for the last hour then. Is that any names? No, just... Hello, Miss Lane. It's Michael, Miss Lane. How do you feel? I told Mr. Clover that you must have the best of care and that when you get better... Wait a minute, son. This boy is a relative then? A friend. Michael Birdie. Miss Lane is dead, Michael. Oh, I'll miss her dreadfully. Listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. This Tuesday night, starting at 8 p.m. New York time, CBS Radio stops the entertainment in its tracks and begins the biggest election night reporting job in history. Make CBS Radio your election headquarters to receive up to the second all the color, all the trends, all the mounting totals. CBS Radio's Great Conventions Reporting Squad will be on the job from the initial returns until the president-elect is elected. Remember this Tuesday night, starting at 8 p.m. New York time, you have a date with history at CBS Radio Election Headquarters. At the touch of November evening, Broadway picks up the tempo. The daydreams made at lunch hour were about nighttime and the time is starting to happen. This way, run up the steps from the subway, down the street, grab a partner, join the dance, and the riot happens. You play musical doorways against the skirt of laughter and trumpet until somehow you lose. Someone took your place and you're all alone. So, like the cigarette, take the ten minutes for coffee, try all over again. And the reflections of evening had died down the street from where I was, the cube of silence reserved for hospital zone and within its corridors a boy and Detective Mugman. You're OK, Michael? I'd like to get some air. Oh, sure, let's go out here in the balcony. It's pretty chilly. I'm not cold. Michael? Yes, Mr. Clover? Michael, did you kill Miss Lane? You were right there when she died. You saw what happened. She was trying to talk to me and she died. No, Lieutenant doesn't mean that, Michael. He means that you shoot her yesterday. I understand why you have to ask me that, but you must look at it from my point of view. All right. It's very simple. It's terrible she's dead from my point of view, I mean. I'd be awfully stupid to do anything to hurt myself, wouldn't I? I mean... Yeah, let's get with it, Sonny. What do you mean? She's dead and I'm very unhappy. Sure. Let's talk a little bit more about her, shall we? I'd like to. Were there any times when you were along with her, away from the library, I mean? Yes, often. Well, tell me about the Michael. Often, when my class is permitted, I'd wait for her in front of her apartment. Did you ever meet her inside, Sonny? Certainly not. Go on, Michael. I'd meet her. I'd walk with her. When it was fine, I'd walk with her all the way to the library. There was so much to see to talk about. Much to... You say you're a college boy, Michael. Yes. What college? Well... What college, Michael? You see... You ever been to a doctor? Not if I don't want to. You pretend a lot, don't you, Michael? Sometimes. Well... Yes. It's...it's difficult to know sometimes. Take it easy, Michael. This is happening, though. Miss Lane is dead. Later, though, much later, I need that time. Much later, I'll wait for her and we'll walk. The things we planned... What things? She talked about Europe to me and said the names to me. Seville, Venice. So I went and got the tickets. What? Yes. That travel agency. You know the one. The big one in the White Building, 43rd Street. I got the tickets. She told me they were there for me to get them and I did. Several days ago. I got them and I gave them to her. But she never mentioned anything to me again. About the places. You think he's dreaming this one, too, then? I'm going to find a... Yeah, sure. I'll introduce Michael to Dr. Sinski. Good night, Michael. Good night, Mr. Clover. And that does it, doesn't it, Miss Lawton? Your tickets, your reservations, your pensions, your Firenze. Yes, pardon. I'll be disengaged in a moment, sir. Oh, sorry. Go ahead. Thank you. Italy will ravish you this time of year, Miss Lawton. It's so off-season. Well, arrivederci, Miss Lawton. Buona fortuna and a jolly south wind to you. That was Miss Tracy Lawton of the theatre. Have you ever seen her on the stage? No. Sensible man. I sold her Florence, you know. She tried vainly to hold out for Rome. I persuaded her Florence. Too competitive in Rome for a no talent like Miss Tracy. Doesn't interest you, does it? No. Tell me what does. I'll just stand here, toss in suggestions from time to time. For your sort, permit me. I suggest Mozambique. Forget it. I'm from the police. You say it in a tone that implies you're not finding an excursion. The boy was in here a couple of days ago. He picked up some tickets for Miss Amelia Lane. Oh, I remember him well. He asked for a travel poster for his room. The Athens one. I gave him Athens. Amelia Lane, do you remember? She's dead, you know. Murdered, I read. Yes, I know. How imbecilic of me. Of course that's why you're here. Now, you know too. Now maybe you'll tell me. I helped her plan a honeymoon, you know. And she was what? Fifty? Gone. An autumn honeymoon. And I've whispered all the right places. Paris, of course. Venice. Seville. And the latest French liner, which sails tomorrow evening. And she bought them all for two. And paid cash. And had that boy pick it all up. Was she with anyone one of you? No, no, no. She was quite alone. She said she wanted the thing to be an exciting surprise for her fiancée. A wedding gift. From her to him. She tell you who she was going to marry? I never really believed there was anyone. You think there was really someone to marry her? You know, I'm glad. I'm glad she had that dream. Even if it came true only partially. Walk away from him and hit the night street. And consider the possibility that for Amelia Lane, librarian, it had been a dream. The voyage to the missed places. With lover and husband who never existed. Except in pages of novel. Except in youth memory. Except in long ago summer image. But the fact of violent death. That had happened to her. From a mixed up boy maybe. Maybe from the man ahead of you who lurched into alley. Or from someone who sat quietly at a window and savored. And night street becomes the night room. And frayed rug. And the sleep coughing of the tenant upstairs. And the radio loud across the area away. And finally night is lost in river. In the morning, make the coffee. Read the headlines. Go to work. In your office at police headquarters, Detective Muggevin has been waiting for you. Morning, Danny. Hi. I got an extra container of coffee there on your desk. I thought maybe you were... Oh, thanks. I've been scrounging around, Danny. I think I... You checked the people on that list of suspects? Oh, nothing there, Danny. Ran them all down. Everyone with an alibi for the time of Miss Lane's murder. I checked, cross-check, rechecked nothing there. You were going to say something else? What? Well, I think I've got a lead. Miss Lane's savings account. Two weeks ago, she had almost 12 grand saved up. A week ago, she had nothing. She drew it all out. I saw her signature on the withdrawal slip. Anything else? Yeah. Yeah, this. Let me carry it around with me. This pin we found pinned to Miss Lane's dress. It's a frat pin. Now, I begin running around to fraternities. It's very happy in fraternities this year. Get off it, Muggevin. And finally, I come up with an old frat boy, frat expert. He recognizes the pin. He said it was a local frat maybe 20, 25 years ago. Not social, cultural. Honorary students of culture. The students of romance languages. Well, are you going to say something, Danny? Yeah. Thanks for the coffee, Muggevin. Dr. Levering. What is it? I want to talk to you. Yes? Can we go inside? I don't believe it. Let's go inside, doctor. Hello, Miss Forrest. I asked you something. What are you doing here, Miss Forrest? You're a man really interested in me, aren't you? Last time I was cardigan. This is jazzy your outfit. You'd better leave, Miss Forrest. Don't talk to me like that, Doc. I'm only 17 and I'll cry. I asked you something. What are you doing here? I'm just a freshman. The professor here knows all the answers. What am I doing here, Doc? I'll tell you, Mr. Clover. Mother was right. Men talk. Abby, what were you going to tell me, Miss Dr. Levering? Miss Forrest is a student in one of my classes. I, uh, go on, doctor. We're going out. That's right. I wrote Mother not to wait up. Please, Abby. Now, Miss Clover, what is it? Still the same thing, doctor. Still about Amelia Lane. If I had had anything to add to what I've already told you, I would have let you know. Isn't he sweet the way he talks? I think you'd better go now, Abby. Go? What do you mean? I'll meet you later. Meet you where? Yes. I'll meet you. Okay, Doc. You want to? I've got to call my roommate, though. I'll call her from the outside. She's probably just leaving, Doc. I better call her. I told her to bring my bags here after she packed them for me. Hey, Doc! What's with you? We're not married yet. Little fool! You're talking to me, Doc. You remember me? Where were you going, Miss Forrest? I might be changing my mind about it any minute. Abby, I'm sorry, Abby. Sure. See, Mr. Clover? He's got a lot of torch left under all that, Professor. You were going to get the captain to marry you on the boat? Answer him, Doc. Yes. Yes, that's right. Honeymoon and Paris, Venice, Seville? Sure. Been to them all, but not like this. I'm going to show Doc a time. I know places tourists don't go to. What's wrong with it, Clover? I'm a widower. I'm lonely. This girl is youth. Make a judgment, Clover. Tell me I'm wrong. And I'll tell you, I don't care. The difficulty is, Doctor, your life's not your own anymore. What are you talking about? You killed Amelia Lane. Now your life's public property. You did that, Doc? It'll be all right, Abby. Not if you killed her, it won't. Mr. Clover... Miss Lane thought you were going to marry her, Doctor. Yes. Yes, she did. I better go home. Oh, please, Abby. Get away from me! No, no, you don't understand. Get away from me! Get over there! Over there, Doc! What are you going to tell me? Tell me, and I'm getting out of here. Just that I'm sorry. And ridiculous. You see, Mr. Clover, that child was the reason. Amelia and I were going to marry. Then last week, Abby came to my office for some help with her studies. It was a quiet autumn evening, and she curled up in the big chair, and everything seemed far away. And Abby is very beautiful, you know. Then when Amelia gave me the tickets for our honeymoon, suddenly I thought it would be wonderful to be in Seville with somebody young and lovely. Abby. So I did two ridiculous things. I asked Abby to go with me. She said she would. Then I went to Amelia. Listen, Mr. Clover, I had to kill her. Her tickets, her money, I needed them. Abby, if I hurt you... Forget it, Doc. Mr. Clover? Go ahead. Thanks. When the night turns into Broadway, the street plumes into flame, flings reflections hard into the shadows. It's Blair that ebbs and screams again, and faces darting, wavering. Lost forever. It's Broadway. The Goddiest. The most violent. The lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadway. The Way Is My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover, with Charles Calvert as Tortaglia, and Jack Krushin as Muggevin. He is produced and directed by Elliott Lewis, with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Barbara Whiting was heard as Abby Forrest and her Butterfield as Dr. Levering. Featured in the cast were Norma Varden, Sam Edwards, and Edgar Berrier. Bill Anders speaking. Tomorrow night, Don't Miss Miriam Hopkins in the role Gloria Swanson made famous on the screen, the queen of the silent films in Sunset Boulevard. Here it is acted for Playhouse on Broadway and starring Miriam Hopkins. Tomorrow night on most of these same stations presented by CBS Radio. Stay tuned now for Juan Monroe who bottles immediately over most of these same stations. And remember, Eve Arden as our Miss Brooks teaches you how to laugh Sundays on the CBS Radio Network.