 The Columbia broadcasting system presents yours truly, Johnny Duller. The next half hour has its baggage packed to take a trip with America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator, Johnny Duller. At insurance investigation, he's just an expert. At making out his expense account, he is an absolute genius. Expense account submitted by special investigator Johnny Duller. To home office, honesty, life insurance underwriters, terminal building Hartford, Connecticut. Attention, Austin Farnsworth, general manager. The following is an accounting of my expenditures in the investigation of policy holder Milford Brooks III for your company. Expense account item one, 75 cents, cab fare to your office and answer to your original hurry call. Tip to driver, one dollar. Expense account item two, 25 cents, shoe shine. You remember, I got my shoes scuffed when I unsuspectingly walked through the private door to your office. Duller, grab him. He's trying to jump out that window. Let's go. Get off. I'll show you. Oh, no, you don't do this. Hey, let me call you. Get away. I had a nice try, sonny boy, and I'll pay attention to teacher. No. Class dismissed. Well, Mr. Farnsworth, why didn't you tell me what you had waiting for me? I had to warn my boxing gloves. Duller, this was all a complete surprise to me. Well, just in case you're a little chum on the floor, there wakes up in a hurry. I think I'll close the window. Now, my goodness, Duller, what are you doing? I'm sitting on his head. I don't care if this guy tries killing himself again. I just don't want him to try and kill me. After all, we haven't even been introduced. Duller, that happens to be one of our largest policy holders. His life is insured with this company and the amount of two million dollars. Oh, now I can see why you're so anxious to keep him from putting a dent in the sidewalk. Precisely. He'd also put quite a dent in your company's bank account. By the way, Duller, aren't you in danger of smothering the boys sitting on his head that way? Maybe. Now, tell me, what's this guy's name and what's his story? That, sir, is Milford Brooks III. As I said, we have him insured for two million. His mother and father left him with a paid-up policy for the sole purpose of enabling his heirs to pay the inheritance taxes on his estate when he dies. Unfortunately, due to the kind of life he's been leading, Brooks not only hasn't any heirs, he hasn't any money. He blew all his cash? That's right. Now he's trying to get some out of us by threatening to kill himself. And that policy pays off on suicide. In a mortuary, he'd be a millionaire, huh? Please, Duller. Sorry. Go on. One half hour ago, Milford walked into this office and changed the beneficiary in his policy. When that was done, he proceeded to demand, not request, mind you, five hundred thousand dollars in cash. Oh, sir, that's quite a touch. When I explained to him that there was no loan provision in his insurance policy, he threatened suicide. He said I could either give him the half million cash or pay off the two million on his policy. So all you have to do is to keep him alive. And he's managed to make that no small problem. The man he named as his new beneficiary, just before he made his demand for the cash, is well, it's downright frightening. Why? Who is it? One of the most notorious gamblers in the east. His name is Hatcher. Harold Hatcher. Oh. You know him? Yeah. Say, that kid's been a post-arvest pin-up boy for a lot of years. Well, there's the situation, Duller. I'm engaging you to protect Milford Brook's future. Yeah, what there is of it. The way this lad operates, you think he had but two lives to give for his country. He's not only set himself up to get knocked off by somebody else, he's just dying to do the job himself. Well, it just means that you'll have to work twice as hard. Oh, it also means something else. What's that? That you'll have to pay me twice as much money. Oh, you'll get your money. The situation demands sacrifice, I'm afraid. But to protect the boy, Duller, give him something to live for and interest in life. Let's see. I know. Here. This should help. What's that you've got there? It's what's commonly referred to in the more successful bachelor's circles as my little black book. Now, let's see. Ruby? Now, her favorite expression is drop dead. Bernadine? Now, she'd be the new beneficiary by midnight. Oh, here's one. Here. Hey, Farnsworth, would you mind passing me that phone, the one with the long cord? No, no, not at all. My little friend here is showing signs of life. Here, here you are. Maybe you should let him breathe a bit more. Ah, don't worry. He'll be all right. Hello? Hello, I want to call New York. Person to person. Miss Theodora Butts. Yeah, that's right. And you'll get her at Hudson 2-4292. Duller, you're not thinking of taking this boy to New York, are you? Well, I'm going there myself and you want me to keep an eye on him, don't you? Don't fret, Farnsworth. All is not lost. You do worry me, sitting on his head that way. Hello? Hello, Butter? Butter, this is Johnny Dollar. I'll be in town and I don't want to see you. Look, here's what I want you to do. Yes, yes, this is all right to say over the telephone. I want you to reserve a table at the hatchery in my name for 10 o'clock tonight. Will you do that? Okay, I'll see you in a few hours. Huh? But I can't make it any earlier. I'm sitting up on a sick friend. Okay, goodbye. I'm not sure that I agree with your methods. What's the matter, Dollar? Did he hit you? Hit me? No, he bit me. Expense account, item three. Liquor, $18. Keeping Milford Brooks the third peaceful seemed to be the immediate problem. And a bottle of rare old brandy seemed to be the immediate answer. I poured most of it into him, loaded him into my car, and we headed for New York. As we passed through New Haven, he opened one eye, looked up, saw the ale bowl, and gave three cheers for old Eli. Oh, look, look, look. Yeah, all right, all right, all right. Old Yale would sure be proud of you. Why anybody would want to insure you for $2 million is more than I can figure. Well, my daddy loved me very much, and my mother loved me very much. Not only that, but I love somebody very much. And not only that, but I hate somebody very much. I tell you, I want to know something. Like someone or the guy I hate you most of anybody else. Yeah, lover boy, it's cocktail hour again. Time for your bottle. Rolling along the Merritt Parkway, I felt very much alone with my own thoughts. And believe me, they weren't very pleasant company. The way it stacked up for me, Brooks had built up a fat gambling debt to Harold Hatcher and had been forced to make him his beneficiary. The suicide threat that he was holding over Honesty Insurance Company was a little tougher to figure, unless he was trying to finance a trip for himself to get away from the man with a custom tailored murder motive, Hatcher. My hungry little mind nibbled away on those unsavory morsels of food for thought all the way to Butter's apartment. Where are you taking me? I want to go to New York. If you don't behave, Buster, I'll punch your ticket. Johnny, darling, welcome to New York. Fastest trip I ever made. Quiet. Well, where did you find this? In a box of crackerjacks. Come on, let me in. Oh, I don't know about you, Johnny. Some men bring me flowers and some bring me candy. What do you bring me? A boiled owl in a Brooks Brothers suit. Oh, I'm pleased to meet you. My name is Brooks, but I haven't got any brothers. Lucky them. Fix the pillows on the couch, will you? Look more at home in the bathtub. Come on, Buster. Lie down. Oh, I'm choked. This kid's liquor sure can hold him. He's passed out. How long have you been playing nursemaid to this bottle, baby? Leave me into the bar, sweet. Let's get away from this buzz saw. I'll tell you all about it. Sure, come along. Horrible examples don't seem to bother you, do they? If you knew how that guy's been bothering me. What do you do to him? Oh, let's just say he put the bite on me. Oh, the river sure does look pretty tonight. Like a brandy? Well, anything but. I've been sniffing that second hand all the way from Hartford. Oh, make it a brow root beer. Hey, butter. See that big boat out there? Mm-hmm. I sure would like to be on it with you. Sailing off to faraway, romantic places. Get with it, darling. That's 125th Street Ferry. Here's your root beer. Come on now. Tell Butter all about it. First things first. Now that I've got a dad's old-fashioned root beer, how about giving me one of Mom's new-fashioned kisses? And then I'll tell you all about it. A few seconds later, I proceeded to tell her all about it. And it wasn't easy. Everything about her kept flagging down my train of thought. She was a sympathetic listener to my story until I gave her the answer to her first and only question. Where do I fit into all this? Well, baby, I thought you want to stud. My job is to give the poor, misguided boys something to live for. That's you. Well, he should live so long. Now, butter, wait a minute. Well, don't butter me. Now, don't get excited now. You misunderstand. I really mean it. I thought if he just got a look at you, realized that things like you exist, you'd make any man glad to be alive. If you can't stand it, I'll take him away. But I sure need you, butter. Come on, baby. Melt a little. I wouldn't let you get hurt. You know that. Did I hurt you? No, I'm getting used to it. People have been taking pokes at me all day. I'm sorry. Oh, that's better. Want some more root beer? Uh-uh. I want some more of you. How about another kiss? Well, help yourself. Don, I'll get it, Johnny. Okay. And if a man answers, hang up with him. Oh, don't worry. Hello? Yes, this is Hudson 24292. Well, that depends. Who's calling? Oh, just a moment. It's for you, Johnny, of Mr. Farnsworth. Huh? Oh, okay. I'll take it. Thanks. Say, uh, while I'm talking, be a good girl, will ya? And take a look at Milford and the other room. And while you're at it, get me in the root beer, huh? Oh, sure. The service is good, all right. Hello, Farnsworth? Yes, dollar. I'm glad I got you. How'd you get this number? It's the one you called from my office. I remembered it. I have a photographic mind. I hope you haven't got a picture of what I'm thinking. What do you want? I want to know how Milford is. I mean, is he still alive? Of course he's alive. Good, good. Do you suppose I could talk to him? I mean, do you think he'll talk to me? Well, the last time I saw him, he was sound asleep. I'll take a look. Hold the phone. A butter. Hello, Farnsworth? Yes, yes. Do you have any aspirin there at your house? I have coarse dollar. Why? Well, you better take a handful. Milford Brooks III just took a powder. I'll call you back. You let anything happen to him and you'll need the aspirin. I've already got a headache. When Milford left, he took my girl with him. In just a moment, we'll return to the second act of yours truly, Johnny Dollar. But first, we want to remind you that it was 437 years ago, next Sunday, the famed Spanish explorer, post de Leon, began his search for the fountain of youth. By sheer coincidence, the man who's still looking for it, Jack Benny, will be heard on CBS next Sunday at 7 o'clock Eastern Time. Now, back to yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Well, nobody could say I wasn't working fast. I'd only been in town for an hour and I had already succeeded in not only losing your $2 million baby, Milford Brooks III, Mr. Farnsworth, but in losing my $2 million baby, Theodora Butts. I tried to put myself in Milford Brooks' $40 shoes but they wouldn't fit. You can't outthink a maniac. The best I could do was figure either that he was on his way to commit suicide or that Harold Hatcher, the man who now stood to collect $2 million in the event of Milford's death, had snatched him out of Butters' apartment. With birds of that type flocking together, Butters stood a good chance of being a dead duck. I spent an hour unsuccessfully shaking down the neighborhood for them. I questioned cab drivers, harness bulls, spar tenders. Then I decided to ask for help from higher up and I don't mean that I said a prayer. Expense account item four, five cents, phone call. He said quarters. Give me missing persons. Any particular one. Don't be a wise guy, Lieutenant Fisher. Hello, Dollar. What did you lose? Practically everybody. Let's start with a girl. Theodora Butts. You mean you lost your girl? Why don't you call Dorothy Dix? Don't waste time being clever. Just check your reports, will you? Hold on. Okay, well try this one. Brooks, Milford III. Bullseye. Brooks, Milford III. He hasn't been reported missing and we haven't found him yet. But we think we know where he is. Oh, this kind of a question I always hate to ask. Where? The Hudson River. At 11.15 tonight his top coat complete with identification was found taking a ride on the 125th Street ferry. Anything else? Nothing much. Package of matches was found under the coat monogram. You don't happen to know anybody whose initials are HH, do you? HH? Well, it's always Horace Hype. Thanks, Fisher. I'll check back with you later. I'll be here. Expense account item five, nightclubs, $28. Harold Hatcher's hatchery was in a cellar under a hotel but the prices were high enough to rate a penthouse. The club was draped in too much satin. It's lady customers and too little. The decor was French provincial, music, Brazilian, and the food was nowhere. The drinks looked weak and the oiders looked strong. All in all, the joint was a sight for sore eyes, for making them sore. The only pretty thing in the place was a blonde. She came strolling up to my table, her hips unconsciously sending subtle little messages back to the rumba band. She opened her mouth, slid her tongue over a lower lip, and let a few warm, soft words slide out. Looking for someone? Well, we'll do until the real thing comes along. Sit down. Thanks. No, I won't have a drink. My name is Janelle. I understand you're asking about Mr. Hatcher. Yeah, you know him? More than somewhat. Are you Mrs. Hatcher by any chance? I might be. Does that mean you might admit it or that you might talk him into it someday? I'll ignore that. What do you want to see him about? Mutual friends, Milford Brooks. I know most of the quiet clothes boys around here, so you aren't a cop. You don't look like the typhoon to be a society friend of the Brooks family. So what are you? I'll ignore that. Is Hatcher around? He might be. Oh, come on. Where is his office? At the top of the stairs in the back. Can I expect any trouble getting in? You act like you just saw a bee pictured. Harold is doing his best to act like an honest businessman these nights. You won't have any trouble. How do you know? Because Harold sent me down here to look you over. I think you're all right. Oh, so I've won myself the good housekeeping seal of approval, huh? Keeping house with you would meet with my approval. I ran for my life at a slow walk across the dance floor. Edged my way through a cluster of tables and went up the back stairs. When I located the door to Hatcher's office, I knocked once and went in. Come on in. Thanks. I'm Johnny Dollar. I've been hired by honesty life insurance underwriters to protect the interest of a guy named Milford Brooks III. What's that supposed to mean to me? You know him, don't you? Well, he isn't exactly one of my boozing buddies. How much money does he owe you? We've got him on the books for a few grand. Why? They picked up his top coat tonight on the 125th Street ferry. He wasn't in it. It might have been a suicide or it might have been a knockover made to look like a suicide. What's your choice? Where do you get off asking me to make a choice? Where were you around 11.30 tonight? What's it to you? I don't know. I just thought you might like to rehearse a few answers. The law will be asking you some questions real soon now. I don't know why I should tell you, but I was driving around in my car getting some air. You better do better than that. They found a match holder under Brooks's coat. It had your initials on it. You're out of your mind. The guy owed me a couple hundred thousand. You think I'm going around knocking off my own ass heads? I don't know whether you're a stupid or bright, Hatcher. Don't worry about it. I know. What about that insurance policy? What insurance policy? Now, look, Hatcher, we're big boys now. We both know that changing the beneficiary of an insurance policy is a legal transaction. That means witnesses. That means it isn't secret. You mind telling me what you're trying to say? That you and the honesty insurance company and I all know that Brooks made you the beneficiary in his policy and that you stand to come into two million bucks when they fish out his body. I don't know anything about it. Motives don't come much bigger. I'm telling you, this is all news to me. You or nobody else is going to move me off that story. I feel the same about mine. It doesn't take a genius to know that Brooks didn't love you two million dollars worth. There's only one logical reason for his making you the beneficiary that I can see. You forced him into it. Who'd believe anything else? Who cares? I'd have to prove it. And, brother, that can't be done. Now, how would you like... Wait a minute. Yeah? Yeah. Thanks for the news. Darling, did you turn me in? Oh, they're here, huh? Yeah. No, I didn't turn you in. What's the matter? You got a good story, Hatcher? You're not worried, are you? Yeah. Have a cigarette. Thanks. Oh, I got to like... Work the first time. Yeah. No, I'm not worried. I'll be out in 48 hours. You'll be lucky if you're out in 48 years. Okay, boys, come on in. The homicide boys invited Hatcher down to headquarters. He accepted and invited them down to the bar for a no-hard feelings drink. They accepted. I walked back down the stairs into the club. The place hadn't changed. Same stale customers, same stale music, same stale air. And the same lovely Janelle sitting at the same unlovely table. Hello. How'd you make out? Oh, I left before they started playing 20 questions. But I wouldn't worry. You've got a smart boy in the bar there. In some ways, maybe. What'd he hand you? A big round zero. Wouldn't talk, huh? About what? Oh, just a little do-dad. A two-million-dollar life insurance policy. Wait a minute. That young Brooks kid? Yeah, that's right. Oh, I knew it. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen to me. Tried to tell who what? Hatcher. Did he get into trouble about that policy? It just looks funny, him being made the beneficiary. You knew about it, huh? I suppose you also know what was behind it. Alfred owed him some money. A lot of money. It's in writing. What kind of writing? It's a personal note that Brooks was going to get back if he made Harold beneficiary. It's up in his office. Hey, you must be awful close to Hatcher. I'm the close, friendly type. I'll have that drink now. You've earned it, beautiful. She had earned it, and I had a hunch as to why. If ever I saw Gal busy putting his skids under her boyfriend, she was. Even if she helped send him up on a murder app, I would have bet a quick 50 that she'd tip him to the police. It's happened before that the boyfriend is the murdering type, and it's a nice, neat legal method of disposal. Janelle had me back up the stairs and into Hatcher's office. I sent her back down to watch the bar to divert Hatcher in case he decided he'd forgotten something. Brooks' personal note made out to the gambler was easy to find, lying neatly in the middle of the top desk drawer. But I found something even more interesting when I went through his wardrobe closet. I began to see a glimmer of light, and then encouraged by not too much thinking on my part, it turned into a veritable bonfire, which I hope wouldn't be too hot for me to handle. Honey, if I were a judge, I'd be ready to sentence a ghillie party. Good. Waiter, the check. Where are you going to the police? Bright girl. I'll see you later. Expense account, item six. Cab fare, $1. Tip to driver, $1. Once out of the hatchery, I walked to the corner, got into a taxi, and waited. In just a few minutes, my favorite suspect came out of the club, jumped into a taxi, and the chase was on. We nuzzled our way through the traffic over to 2nd Avenue and headed downtown. Then he took a right turn on 45th Street over to Lexington and headed uptown. But they didn't lose us. At 72nd, the cab ahead turned right and pulled to a stop. My driver was on his toes, and his toes were on his brake. We stopped too. Half a block behind. You want us to wait? Oh, here you are. Keep the change. There's a garage that belonged to a residence on the parallel street a block away. I made out of for sale sign on one of the big doors. The living quarters upstairs were dark enough to look interesting, so I indulged in a bit of genteel braking and entering. Entering that old barn didn't take much braking. I crept up the stairs. I sounded like they were left over from an old ghost story. And so did the first voice I heard when I stopped halfway up. Oh, we've got to be careful, especially about that Johnny Dollar. Are you sure he didn't follow you? That voice sounded awful dry to be coming from a guy who supposedly had spent most of the night snoozing on the bottom of the Hudson River. It was Milford Brooks III. Get up on your feet, Brooks. Now, wait a minute. I started this thing slugging you. I might as well finish it the same way. Leave him alone. He's mine. Pull in the claws, Angel, and sit on his lap. I'll kill you. Look, I'm the last guy in the world who enjoys physical violence. Give or take. But believe me, you two are coming money close to changing my whole character. Now settle down before I really lose my head. Get off of me. I should have known better than to get mixed up with a low-class nobody like you. Cut. We've pushed the lady around enough, Brooks. Tell me to be careful. Why didn't you think of that before you let him here? Wipe your nose, big boy. Now, don't you get go-getting fat headed gorgeous? Neither one of you is exactly what I'd call a mastermind. When you planted that match folder underneath the top core on the ferry boat, you both should have been more careful. You think so. You bet I think so. If I were planning a piece of evidence to incriminate Mr. Harold Hatcher, I would have left a cigarette lighter. I found one in the pocket of every suit he owns. Back there in his closet in the club. It wasn't hard to figure out that that guy never carries a book or matches. What do you want? I'm only interested in one thing. Saving the insurance company $2 million. And Buster, I think you've done it for me. Wait. Look, Dollar, this is insurance fraud. It has been ever since you put on that fake suicide attempt. Trying to extort $500,000 out of the company for you and Janelle. Wait a minute. Wait a minute, Dollar. So much for the company. Now, something a little more personal and a little more serious. Where is my girl? Well, she's all right, Dollar. I couldn't help it. I had to get out of that apartment. She caught me leaving. I had to take her with me. Where is she? Well, I didn't mean to hurt her. I was afraid she'd yell. Are you miserable? I'll tell you where she is, Dollar. I put her in the cab and sent her to the emergency hospital. Yep. Oh, no. No, Dollar, please. Please don't explain. I might give you the beating. Harold Hatcher. How did you get here? New York City, the world's most efficient police force, remember? When they think maybe a guy's jumped off a ferry boat but he's seen them do it, they check the turnstile counters at each end. In the case of Brooks here, as many people got off that boat as got on. Yeah, that makes sense. They'd hardly hold a guy for murder just because somebody else lost a top coat. How'd you know we were here? You know me, Janelle. You never go any place that I don't know about. Okay, Brooks, you felt like explaining now I feel like listening. Get it up. I don't know what you mean. I know what you mean, Hatcher. One, he gave you a big, fat $2 million motor for murder and two, he did his best to make it look like you did murder him with that broken down match cover plan on the ferry boat. Why? Well, they wanted to get rid of you and live happily ever after. The big mistake they made was in trying to shake the insurance company down for some ready cash. And you, baby. Harold, please. You put him up to it, didn't you, you cheap little musler? No, Harold! Calm down, Hatcher. You don't need a gun around here. They're tame. You don't know me very well, Dollar. I'm gonna teach all of you amateurs a lesson. Now these things are really done. Come on, Brooks. No, no, no, Hatcher. You can have everything I've got. For a second, it looked like Hatcher was gonna take everything. But I hadn't gone that far to see Brooks knocked off with me as a witness. Hey, maybe I wasn't gonna be a witness. Maybe I was gonna be a victim, too. When that thought hit me, that's when I flew across the room and hit Hatcher on a do or die flying tackle from behind. Hatcher went down shooting. I went down kicking and a lucky boot knocked the gun out of his hand. I beat him to it and swung his feet into his skull. Half the people in the room are lying there bleeding. Brooks from a gunshot, Hatcher from the gun butt. Janelle and I both stood there panning. But believe me, not for each other. We stood that way until the police arrived. I hate being in the hospital, but I look awful. Butter, honey, you looked lovely and white. This patch on my head? Johnny, they had to cut a big hung of my hair off to put in the stitches. Oh, that awful man. Well, it'll make you feel any better, baby. That awful man got taken care of. He's upstairs in the same hospital. Well, Johnny, it didn't show you. No, Butter, I didn't have to. Harold Hatcher saved me the trouble. They don't know yet whether Mr. Brooks is going to live or die, but it doesn't make much difference to me. Or to the insurance company. He signed a statement admitting attempted fraud. Serves him right hitting a lady on the head. Johnny, what am I going to do? My hair will look awful. It'll take months for it to grow out. Now, don't worry, Butter. I'll buy you something to cover it up. I know a guy over on Fifth Avenue who claims he makes something that looks prettier on a woman's head than her hair. Expense account item 7. $640. Ladies hats to cover the lump on ladies head. Expense account item 8. $20. Tip to nurse for reminding Butter on the hour every hour that accidents will happen. Expense account item 9. $7. Mileage, driving back to Hartford. Expense account total $1182.23. Which you may say, Mr. Farnsworth, there's a lot of money for one man to spend in a day and a half. But you must bear in mind that the amount at stake was $2 million. And you know the price at stake these days. Signed, yours truly Johnny Dullar. Listen in again next week when CBS brings you Yours Truly Johnny Dullar with Charles Russell as Johnny. Yours Truly Johnny Dullar is written by Paul Dudley and Gildout with music by Mark Warner and is produced and directed by Richard Sanville for CBS The Columbia Broadcasting System.