 Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle, The Gaudiest, The Most Violent, The Lonesomest Mile in the World. Broadway's My Beat, with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. The summer evening flows gently over Broadway, and the carousel sounds of the streets carnival begin. The brazen trumpet screams, calling the believers to the basement sanctuaries at a dime of prayer. The barkers of the night shout their spills into passing ears, and the rustle of perfumed silk rides the June wind. You're shoved and pushed and mauled, and there's no bitterness because the taste of night melts in your mouth. You ride the rides, walk the midway, toss the hoop to win the Cupid, and you try not to notice the plucking at your sleeve. But finally you turn, your palm is crossed with violence. You hold on to it until the man in the tweed jacket and the gray flannel slacks takes it away from you, gives death back to the other man, its owner, sprawled across the silk sheets of his bed, the blood from his bullet wound draining the sleep out of him. And because blood like that can stay in the reputation of an exclusive apartment hotel, the man in tweed makes a suggestion. I offer it in all modesty, Mr. Clover. I mean a suggestion. This can be... What Mr. Tracy, what can it be? Handle discreetly, of course. You can do that. You have the power, the know-how. Keep it out of the papers. Treat the frightful mess with velvet gloves. Anything else? Nothing more I can think of at the moment. Not that I can bring to mind at the snap of your fingers. That's good. Now you can do something for me. Understand me, Mr. Clover. Managing this place is all-consuming. I spent years at school here and abroad learning the quirks, the ins and outs of the profession, the very... Oh, land education. Maybe you can spell out for me the murdered man's name. Did I forget to introduce you? Pity. Fell over there on our bed was once Frank Dunn, a bartender of all things. A rather crude chap I thought. But genteel enough to pay the tab in this slick joint of yours. They do bartenders like Dunn well at the trade winds I hear. The club on West 52nd? I wouldn't know where the place was. Do you mind? Tell me more about Dunn. Well, he appealed to the female of the species, shall we say. They called on him constantly at all hours. Tonight? Difficult to say. But do you not detect the faint odor of a lingering perfume? The aura a woman leaves? Pardon. I'll rid us of that. Never mind. I'll get him. Hello? Hello? Frank is... Frank just stepped out. Could I give him a message? Why do you answer for Frank? Does he not wish to speak with me? Who is this? Who shall I say is calling? No. No, there is something. This is not the way Frank would have it with me. Hello? Hello? This is the police operator. Trace that call. And the call was traced. Drugstore on 43rd and Broadway. A phone booth there. The third one from the left as you pass the Chiron Reducing Display. Only who knows who's been using the phone, the clerk and the white coat asked me. You don't have to have friends in Washington to use the phone, mister. You need a dime, that's all. Anyway, what was she? A spy or something? So that's all he had worked to do. He left. So did I. It was a short walk up to 52nd Street in the nightclub that's known as the Treadwinds. Outside a beach boy in a custom-made loincloth said Aloha and pointed inside. And inside a beach girl said Aloha and offered her nose to be rubbed, which came with a cover charge, the price of admission to Tropical Paradise. And it was. Even to the tropical birds playing tropical games and singing their sad songs in huge cages of gilded bamboo. And a fan-shaped wicker chair in the corner was Trader Milt Barker, wearing yellowed linen, his eyes bleary with the grandeur of it all. Until he saw me. Grab yourself a wicker and take a load off. What a place you have here, Milt. Wait till you see the floor show, Danny. It does a routine on a bed of hot coals. Do you try the authentic cuisine yet? You like fish? I got cold huma, huma, nuka, nuka, hapawa. That would set you crazy. You sit still. I'll slice you some from the middle. Sit down, Milt. So I'm sitting. I'm sitting, so... Bought a bartender here, Frank Dunn. Frankly, he ain't showed up yet tonight. You commit something? He's been murdered. Kismet. Pure kismet. Wait, Danny. The way the department figures, it took a murderer to do it. Yeah, I guess. How'd he go out? Shunt. Like I say, kismet. What are you talking about? A guy like Frank, it figures. It just don't make me surprised. Come on, Milt, talk to me. What's in your mind? Well, he served smiles with the tall, cool ones. When Frank wiped the bar in front of a female patroness, it had a meaning all its own. Keep talking. Well, Danny, a guy like him. Well, Dane would be embarrassed leaving less than a fin or a phone number for a tip. Did he cause any trouble here? Frank? No. An operator with a head on him. Wait until the male escort was occupied elsewhere then. Well, Frank would drop a small onion in a cocktail glass in such a way that patronesses would leave teeth marks on the bar. Like, for instance... Well, for instance who? Louis Hathaway is current, Danny. You know, the dame who is Mrs. To Edward Hathaway, the guy who manufactures hardware. You know, Hathaway's hardware, nails, all that. Yeah, tell me more about Mrs. Hathaway. She's current. That's all I know, aren't it? Come on, Danny. Eat some of my cuisine. I'll make you a regular lava lava. And so, as the surprise pink spotlight dimmed slowly in her milk paradise, I heaved a sigh for the regular lava lava that would never touch my lips and bid a fond farewell to the land of the Huma-Huma-Kukanuka-Apawa. At the Park Avenue apartment of Mr. and Mrs. Edward Hathaway, a maiden gray silk and high spiked heels told me they were out for the evening. She tightened a black shoulder strap to inform me that the Hathaways never informed a person in what glamorous places they were boozing it up. This usually took till dawn. I said I'd come back in the morning. She said sometimes a person didn't know what side his evening was buttered on and kicked the door shut with her heel. I guess I didn't wait the polite and proper interval after dawn because the girl who opened the door to me this time was still yawning. Another thing, the long night had left no scar on her kind of beauty. Can it wait? Whatever you want, can it wait? You're Louise Hathaway? Sleepy, Louise. Tired, Louise. If you weren't a stranger, you could rock me back to sleep, I need it so. I'm from the police, Danny Clover. Oh, you're the one Celeste told me about. Celeste the maid. What do you think of her? She thought much of you. Come on in, tell me about it. Celeste's in bed. I let her stay because we dragged her out of it when we came in, couldn't find the keys. You know how it is. But I'll drag her out again because you build a lovely city here, officer. Lovely and fair. And at night it glistens. Frank Dunn, was he a part of the night? You just played the only sad note there is, officer. Frank wasn't in it, not anywhere. Why do you play a sad note like that to me? Because he's dead, murdered. I don't think I'd ever let you rock me to sleep. You're cruel. Frank, what about him? I wouldn't know about him, wise man. He was so bad and I tried to... Frank winked, grinned, splashed whiskey on my dress. That's all, huh? Just a clumsy bartender. So much more you'll never know. Once I was at the trade winds having dinner with hubby mine and there was a phone call for me and I took it and it was Frank calling me from the bar. And hubby mine didn't know why I suddenly turned happy. He had sense enough not to ask. And you felt about Frank? I don't know, I don't care. I always made him tip Frank a lot of money and take him with us after he was through work. Well, it's going to be cheaper for hubby mine with Frank on. For me? For me? It's such a high price, I don't mind telling you. Will you wake your husband, Mrs. Hathaway? I want to talk to him. He's awake, you can talk to him. It is factory. He's always hardware incorporated. Always the first man there. Sleeps an hour after I've kept him up the night and off to the factory. Off to make a bed of nails for me. Just stay here in case we want you, Mrs. Hathaway. So you can talk more to me about Frank? It'll be a pleasure. Deep and fair. A pleasure. Anytime. That'll be all, Mr. Garvey. All right, sir, who are you? You're my name at the gate, Danny Clover. From the police, aren't you? That's right. I just came from your house, Mr. Hathaway. My house? What's the big idea? What did you want there? I had a chat with your wife. My wife? You don't go to my house, police, but no more. You understand that? You don't bother Louise. You want something? You got a ticket to sell? You got something that gives you worry? You come to me. Louise, don't get bothered by police. She gets bothered, Hathaway. Anytime the department feels the need. Yeah, you think so, huh? You get bothered too, Mr. and your wife are involved in... Murder. Call your lawyer, Hathaway. Look, now... The death of Frank Dunn bartender at the hands of person or persons unknown. Your hands, your wife's hands, both... I thought you were kidding. I'm not kidding. Louise is a kid. I got a young wife, Clover. Wild sometimes. Country kid come to the city wild. And not excusing her, understand? I like to watch it. Frank Dunn. She didn't kill him. Why should she kill him? What could he do for her? Give her a double martini? A couple of those go a long way. Look, Frank Dunn was a joke passed over the bar to Louise. Louise is married. So that settles that. All right. Who killed Frank Dunn? I'll tell you this. If he would have put a finger on Louise, I'd have killed him. One finger on Louise. I told her that time and time again. Who? Lily. They think it's smart. They got to have cocktails at five. They go in by themselves. Who's Lily? Lily Prokosh, a dopey dame who writes poetry, wears glasses that goes like this. Lily Prokosh. Prokosh? Yeah, accent talk. Why do I find her? Lily. Sometimes I pick up Louise at Lily's place in the Village Hotel. Yeah, I know where it is. Good. You're a good mother, huh? Couch. I dreamed. Lily? It was painful. I opened my eyes and the knife was in me. Here. You say open your eyes, Lily. It is still the dream. I can feel my body. Can't move. Operator, get me in the house, Doctor, quick. Help me. Help me. Wait a minute, Operator. I'm listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. This combination is your open sesame to Sunday Night Musical Delight, CBS Guy Lombardo Time featuring the sweetest music this side of heaven, and the Mario Lanza Show. Enjoy Guy Lombardo's music. Enjoy vocals old and new by Mario Lanza. Mario's singing sensation called both the new Caruso and the hottest singer in a decade on most of these same CBS stations. The nice thing about Broadway, the good thing, the reason why you run the rest of the way until you get there is that Broadway never lets you down. It's all things to everybody. For the gourmet, the foot-long wiener with a seated roll. For the musically inclined, the rosette of loudspeakers over the slightly used record shop. For the art lover, the windy corner. And for those who just like to walk and be amazed right back at you. Walk it or wait it out. The day's 24 hours long, kid. Take that dream along. It'll happen to you. One way or another. But where I was going, there was no dream. Only the reality of a girl lying there frail against the decor of plump upholstery. The expensive drapes, the built-in silences, the lifeless girl, the stab-to-death girl. And talk to a man about it, the practiced talk over the telephone as the policeman speaks of death by formula. Apartment 612, huh? Yeah, I got it, Danny. The door to the suite was open when I got here. The girl's name is Lily Prokosh. Okay. One who called Frank Dunn when I was in Frank's apartment. I'm pretty sure that, Gino. Anyhow, corner, lab boys, the works. I'll talk to you later, Gino. Lily, it's me. Oh. Come on in. Oh, that's all right. What happened to my eye? Lily! What happened to you, Lily? What did they do to you? Are you somebody to her husband or brother? I live across the hall. It's the first time I've ever seen her this close. The first time I've ever knocked on her door. I had a little speech. I was going to tell her what my name is. What do you know, brother? I listen for her every day. Yesterday, when she came in, I saw her. What time was that? About 6 p.m. Did she go out again? No. I know because I spent all that time making up my mind and knocking the door. Tell her I was a neighbor and what my name was. That's all you can tell me about her. Yes. Lily. Lily, listen to me. My name is Harry. Harry Lin. Totaiglia. Totaiglia. Oh, it's you, Danny. In the way I was standing here in the corner day dreaming. I'm not surprised I did not hear you come in. Dreaming? Because of the talent I discovered only last night in our little 6-year-old girl, Aida. Tell me about the talent. Oh, Danny, the way my little Aida plays the piano. Hmm. Plays good, eh? Not only good, Danny, but she plays the piano underhand. What? And by ear, by ear. Gino. Yeah, Danny. Did you run down that stuff I asked for on the phone? Goes without saying. Danny, this is the only comment. It's not important. What did you get, Gino? Yeah, well, Lily Prokosh, a writer of things that rhyme. Gathered material nightly for her rhymes in the trade winds at the bar stool facing the station of the also deceased bartender, Frank Dunn. Hmm. At the time, a squad had said Frank Dunn to literary tease. Last night came home at 6 an hour after the established time of Frank Dunn's murder. Nothing else? Only that the knife handle was wiped clean. I kept after the boys, Danny, but that's all I could dig up. Yeah. Underhand? Yeah, Danny. Ah, you should see little Aida. I'd like to. I really would. You sure to invite me some time, would you know? I see the wicker chair is still open-milled. Hey, Danny, sit in it, kid. Two nights, I see you each time. So what has due this sudden harvest of Danny Clover? Not that the trade wind ain't humored, but to what is due? You know a girl named Lily Prokosh? Her name's not registered with me, Danny. Unless for a reason. Is there a reason? Paul Girl, blonde, harlequin glasses. Spoke with a little bit of an accent. The one who wrote lousy sonnets on my napkin? She was a poet. The one who always comes in here with Mrs. Hathaway? That one, Danny. Well, what about it? You tell me, Lily Prokosh and Frank Dunn. Hey, yeah. Yeah, what? The other day. What are you talking about? The other day, yesterday, the day Frank met his kismet. She was in here with Mrs. Hathaway. About 5.30, asked for Frank. I told her he wasn't to work yet. I started to tell her where Frank lived, but she said never mind. Then what? Yes, she lived. Left Mrs. Hathaway with a martini at half-mast. The poet walked out. To see Frank? Yeah. She bumped Frank, huh? A doll like her. What do you know? And then start all over again. Back to the room where I'd first seen Frank Dunn with his blood on the monogram sheets. Back to the room where this particular set of violence had to shape itself and touch once more the things that had belonged to a man who had been well-loved. The gold money clip with his initials written in chipped emerald, the gold cigarette case, the gold key chain, the silk robe that hung in the scented closet, and on none of these things the mark of an identity, the whisper of a killer's name. And all of it with a man in tweed at her elbow, commenting, snickering, fingering the imagined price tag. I think it must have cost one of them a good deal of her rainy day savings. Put it down. Dead, don't touch. Is that it, Mr. Clover? Exactly that. There's an etiquette about these things. I've been wondering, Mr. Clover, my brow is furrowed with wonder. I know this. Hardly touches me, though. Sorry, Tracy. I've been wondering why you asked me to partake with you of this. What shall I say? This is an occasion. What was the occasion of my doing it to you? Yesterday when you showed me Frank Dunn. Oh, or that. You mean when I didn't reveal to you who had been visiting the bartender at his siesta before death? Now's a good time for revealing. Sorry, but it slipped my mind. There's nothing the police can do about a mind like mine. Is there, Mr. Clover? Correction, there is. Who was here, Tracy? Who was here? It was Anna. Who? That foreign thing with the wind in her hair and the mist on her eyeglasses. Lily Prokosh? I've heard her announce herself that strange way on the house phone. She stayed long enough with the bartender to read him her newest poem, but they had an interruption. You can reveal that, too. It'll cost me a dear little savings plan I had in mind. The interruption, who was it? An awesome thing. Never been here before. Knocked on the bartender's door was waved away, it seems. Tapped on my office door. Asked if I had a deck of cards. Wanted to play away love's bitterness. Sympathised. Played against her. 140 cents. Would have won more, only... Only what? In the midst of a deal, I had a call from the bartender to get the Prokosh thing away by freight elevator. I did. When I got back, my card-playing lady was gone. You won 40 cents from her? That ought to make a girl like that unforgettable. Ever seen Louise Hathaway, Mr. Clover? I have in society columns. And that evening, she played cards with me. She's precisely what you say. Unforgettable. And walk the night streets and try to figure out what Hathaway called on Frank Dunn and not being able to see him content herself with playing cards with a hotel manager. Why had she gone to see Frank? She knew her friend Lily Prokosh was there. A lot of whys. And keep on walking east from Broadway to Park and up to the 70s and stop in front of the Canopy Department House. Pause, smoke a cigarette, then go in. And on the second floor, ring a bell. And you can tell me all over again. Thanks. Who is it, Edward? That cop. Yeah, me. See, Mr. Clover, I stayed as put as put can be. I'm glad you did. That'll make it easier. What are you two talking about? Oh, we've got secrets, Edward. Yeah. About Frank Dunn. Oh, Danny, Edward knows all about that. Look, Louise and I were playing chess. Yes, huh? You know a lot of games, don't you, Louise? All the ones that are fun. Did you have fun losing 40 cents or something? What's he talking about? What am I talking about, Mrs. Hathaway? Louise. Stop it. Darling, listen to me. Let me handle this. Take your hands off me, Edward. Louise. You knew Lily was with Frank Dunn. Why did you go there, Mrs. Hathaway? Why? That's right. Lily was my friend. I didn't want to see her getting any trouble. I told you to let me handle it, Louise. You'll trouble now. Let me handle it. Take your hands off me, can't you understand? Take your hands off! Oh, I'm sorry I lost my temper. I didn't mean to slap you. Hardware, man. Fat man. Bald man. Nothing, man. Jump. Jump, Edward. Louise, don't make me lose my temper again. Why don't you jump for the man, Edward? You do everything else I want you to do. For the man, what you did for me, Edward. Oh, crazy. What are you talking about? About murder. About murder, Edward. You once told me something, Mr. Hathaway. You said you'd kill anybody who laid a finger on your wife. Yes, he told me too. Over and over again. That's why you always followed me, Edward. That's why you followed me to Frank Dunn's apartment house that night. Shut up, shut up. And Frank wouldn't even look at me. He sent me away, Edward. And you killed him all because I spent an hour playing cards with a hotel manager. I was never with Frank, Edward. Never. But you killed him for me. Go ahead. Jump for the man. I followed you. I always followed you. I couldn't stand that you're going to see that man. Take the hardware man away, Mr. Clover. You too. What? For killing Lily. You couldn't have, Frank. Lily was luckier. So you killed Lily. Oh, no, Edward did that for me, too. Didn't you, Edward? No, I didn't. I followed you to Lily's. Her door was open, wasn't it? I saw Lily after what you did to her. Well, you don't know what you're saying, Edward. Listen to me. You love me, Edward. I'm going to have to sign a confession, Louise. What I just said about following you to Lily's, I don't have to admit that. Sign my name to it. I could deny I ever saw it. I'm going to have to sign a confession, Louise. What I just said about following you to Lily's, I don't have to admit that. I said it. I don't know whether I will or not. I'll have to think about it. I love you. Honestly. Truly, Edward. I love you. Jump, Louise. Jump. Jump. Broadway's quiet now. It's the four o'clock in the morning hour. The hour without color. But in a while, Dawn will dip down and they'll be fury again in the crowd. The restless wandering. The puppet dance. The running after nothing at all. It's Broadway. The gaudiest. The most violent. The lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway. My Beat. Broadway's My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover with Charles Calvert as Tartaglia and Jack Krushin as Muggevin. The program is produced and directed by Lillipro Kosh. In tonight's story, Mary Jane Croft was hurt as Louise. Her Butterfield as Edward, Joe Granby as Milt Barker, Edgar Berrier as Neil Tracy and Gladys Holland as Lillipro Kosh. Just once around the clock aboard the second hand for Singin' Again, an hour of comedy, music and cash for the CBS listener who can identify the phantom voice. Jan Murray as your host, Judy Lynn, Allendale, the Riddlers and Ray Block supply the music. Phil Anders speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.