 I get ten a day and 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 Pilgrim's Progress. The Cosmopolitan building, 7th Street near Olive, downtown L.A. The mess of granites thrown together by an architect who must have taken his degree on the rock pile of Leavenworth. It's up on the third floor, room 308, right next to a credit dentist who shares his office with a collection agency. On the other side, there's a school for models, and the lion's got sore eyes trying to see through that cloudy glass. International detective bureau, Anthony J. Lyon, president. He's also vice president, secretary, treasurer. I work for him. Well, the office isn't much, but there's enough elbow room for a client to write a check. I went to the office Friday night, about 5.20 answering the lion's call. He was sitting behind the desk, sucking on a quarter cigar. He looked real pleased, like a fat lady locked in a cream puff factory. Man I know had a baby. Plumber named Broman or Groman or something like that. A muzzle top. Canceling arrangements you got for the night. I got something for you to do. Got your car. It's in the lot. Dass it up, you're taking a trip. Or two. Calabasas. A man wants to see you. I got no friends out there. A friend of mine named Hendricks. He counts his money with an adding machine and his fingers always swollen. What's the problem? I don't know. He didn't say. He just called and told me to send out a man. How much did he give you for a retainer? When an important man like Hendricks calls, you don't insult him by asking for money. Oh, stop it. Well, you're the kind of guy who would steal pennies out of parking meters. That's enough, Regan. If one of them turned up empty, you'd sue the city. Here's the Hendricks address. Now get out there. All right. Regan. Yeah? Remember do a good job and I'll give you Thanksgiving off and I'll pay you. With what, cranberries? Well, I hit it out Beverly and then up through Hollywood. You know it's only November, but Santa Claus is breaking out all over the boulevard. I fought my way over Cohinga Pass and by the time I was dodging station wagons on Ventura, it was dark. Calabasas is a place with a couple of service stations, a hot dog stand and a few road signs full of buckshot. The Hendricks place turned out to be about five miles down a road that the Indians built for hauling firewater. I guess they couldn't keep the cork in. But the house itself was strictly prohibition stuff. Big pile of slate roof and leaded windows. It looked dark and lonesome. I figured somebody had their holidays made. It was a big fat guy. He was holding a six foot gun in the shape of a straightened out tuba. He came closer and I could see his hat. It was a high one with a buckle on it. He was dressed in black and he had buckles all over him. I figured that I'd be needing too much Quaker Oats. What's the matter Phil? Gonna run a little shoot and make you nervous? That's a big gun there. Shoots, muskets, balls. Good for Indians. Well, I'm no Indian. Well, I wasn't aiming at you. Well, that gun wouldn't know the difference. It's a blender bus. Great weapon. Is it? I'll show you. Now, you're proper up on a crutch. Fooling with that thing and we'll both need one. Shut up. Let's be quiet. Load the barrels. Lots of powders. Look, why don't you give that thing back to the museum? See, that's it. More powders. Gotta use lots of this black powder. Master, you need black coffee. Give me that thing before it blows up in your face. You broke a window. It's alright. It was only the attic. You live here? Of course not, pilgrim. I'm Miles Standy's. Well, where's the rest of the party? It's all inside. Talking to John Olden. Yeah, sure. You just think I'm kidding, don't you? Pilgrim, you just haven't got the Mayflower spirit. No, you drank it all. It's just cider. Nothing better on a cold New England night. Thanksgiving's not for a week. Come on. Get off it. Hark. What's the matter? Put that down. I'm not gonna shoot him. He's the friendly type. Brother Regan. Yeah? If that will follow me, please. Now, you too, huh? I beg your pardon? Okay, okay. Well, so long, pilgrim. Yeah, keep your potter dry, Standy. I'll see you on premise rock. Okay, this way, Brother Regan. Now, look, son, son, you work here. My name is Phelps. Why don't you lock that guy up? I'd be outnumbered, sir, for 21 pilgrims. Bad winter. Do they make you wear those corduroy knickers? Knee bridges, sir. It was Priscilla's idea. You need a union. I need more shapely legs through here. Now, that's quite a place you got. Well, it's better without the decorations, sir. How do you keep from stepping on these pumpkins? It's only when they use them for bowling that it's difficult. Come on, fill me in. What's this all about? Thanksgiving, sir, 1621. Okay, this room here, sir, go right in. Okay. I'll shut the door. Shut it. Mr. Hendrick's around. He's not here. Come over, sit down. Who are you, Priscilla? Don't. Please don't say another word of that silly rigmarole or I'll start screaming. Well, I could use a little yell myself. I'm Agnes. I'm Mrs. Hendrick's. Or Agnes. It doesn't make any difference. That's to my friends. Didn't I say sit down? Yes, you did, and I didn't. So you don't like the party, huh? I'm not much of a puritan, Mr. Regan. Well, that great Dane says the masquerade was your idea. Oh, that's stupid. This goes on all weekend, Mr. Regan. It's called a turkey shoot. So that's it. Who gets the bird? The pilgrim fathers, my husband's friends. They ought to be shot, every one of them. Yeah, well, I'm not from the SPCA. Oh, wait a minute, Mr. Regan. I like you. That's not the point. I won't bore you. Your husband might. Him. He's crazy, Mr. Regan. Crazy is the things he does. Shooting, drinking, spending money. A hard life. I don't know how I stood it for as long as I have. My lawyer says I'm the most patient woman in the world. Yeah. Well, thanks for the conversation, Mrs. Hendrick. Why did my husband send for you? I don't know. Yes, you do. You do know. Tell me. I don't know. Please. You don't realize what kind of a man my husband can be. I never met him. You don't know how much I need help. How lonely I am. Well, where is he? I'll tell you if you promise to come back to me. No, I'll write you a letter. He's out in the shed on the side of the patio. Thanks. I wouldn't act this way if I weren't so frightened. You don't know what it is to be frightened all the time. No, but I'm learning. I wish you'd stick around, Mr. Regan. Well, thanks, Mrs. Hendricks, but the pin feathers are a little sharp. Mrs. Hendricks went back to her worrying, and I wound my way through the house looking for the back entrance. My legs got tired before it finally showed on the other side of the pantry. It poured out into a flagstone patio as big as the Palladium. A walk took me to a shed. It was a two-story redwood place that must have made a loud noise on the gas register, and a long side fenced in with chickenware was a whole population of turkey. Well, I went into his shed. He was a round-faced guy with pink skin, was leaning over a barrel of cider. He wore a blue silk smoking jacket with gold initials E.H. on the pocket. When he caught my footsteps, his head bobbed up, and he gave me a deep look like he was trying to see the back of my eyeballs. Yes? I'm Regan, international detective, girl. Oh, I've been expecting you. I'm Hendricks. Yeah, I know. Why the fireworks? Huh? Oh! None for miles standish in his blood nefarse, huh? Just having fun at the party, you know? Big party we're having. Yeah, well, the neighbors will complain. Ah, neighbors. None for miles around. That's why I like it out here. Have trouble finding me? You ought to put up signs. Sign? A glass of cider, Regan. Carefully. I'm not thirsty. Yeah, that's not what it's for. Strong kind. Oh, go on Thanksgiving soon. Get the spirit. No, I can hold out till Thursday. Suit yourself. Excuse me. Yeah, there's gonna be quite a party here, you know? Your wife's got a different version. Oh, you spoke to it? Yeah. You were told to come out here to see me. I got sidetracked. It's not good for a man in your position. All right, Hendricks, why am I here? What'd she say to you? I forgot. Regan, you're making me angry. Now look, mister, you didn't get me out here to make a pilgrim out of me. Hey! No, no, of course not. Fine woman, Mrs. Hendricks. We've been married for years, you know, happily. Fine, fine, little woman. So she makes me a little nervous at times. You like the sound of guns going off? Ah, she shouldn't get so excited. Boys just having a little fun. It's only once a year. What's wrong with that? Come on now. What's the job? Oh, didn't the line tell you? He said you would. Oh, well. Nothing to be so mysterious about. They've just got a package I want you to take. Here it is. A turkey. You got me all the way out here to play escort to that bird? Well, I just want to be friendly. Yeah. Now go on, go on, go on. It's a long way back to LA. And you want to be there for Thanksgiving? What's the difference? I got the turkey. I can celebrate any time. 60 miles to do a delivery job on a dead bird. Well, I wandered back to my car and I listened to the crickets and the gunshots tried to outdo each other. I dumped the turkey into the back seat and I started the car down the drive. I just toned it around the bend when the headlights caught a pair of buckle shoes and black knee britches. Miles Standish was lying face down on the dirt and there was a wet shine on his side. It was breathing hard. Blunderbus was lying beside him and I figured that he blew out the wrong end. I would have gone for the Hendricks phone and a doctor, but I got a good look at the holes in him and I headed for a hospital instead. Blunderbus may have been kicking up a fuss, but the holes in Miles Standish were 20th century. How about the size of a 32? Well, I turned him over to an emergency hospital and I put a call into the sheriff's office. I gave the story to Lieutenant Robinson and I headed back toward town. At the lion's place, the lights were still on so I figured he didn't have company. I wrapped him the door and he flung it open before the echo could die away. He had a carving knife in one hand and he was wearing an apron. His eyes were big and he had an eager look like a college couple on Mulholland Drive. Bregan, you're back. Well, now that takes a big brain. I've been waiting for you. You know I had a chance to go to a classy party tonight. Russian caviar and champagne and favors to all the guests. No, I didn't go. You lost your crash suit, huh? I said to myself, is it fair to go out and have a good time while my employee is working real hard for international detective? And the answer came out yes, but the party was called off. Well, as a matter of fact it was, but I wouldn't have gone anyway. Where is it? Where's what? The package from Hendricks. You've changed your plans, big shot. You're getting a bundle of trouble instead. What do you mean? Turkeys aren't the only thing they're knocking off out on that ranch. Somebody's handy with a 32 and he's found a target. You've been drinking? Check the county emergency hospital. They'll show you the holes. I send you out on a simple little job and you come back with a crazy story about a shooting. You're out of your mind. Now listen, you, there's a big smell out in Calabasas. What about my turkey? The sheriff's office are going to have a lot of questions. You got the answers? I don't know anything. I was mine as a way. Well, then find out something. Check into the guy who shot. Find out who he is, what he does and what he was doing out at Hendricks. Where are you going? I'm going to deposit. They tell different stories about their wedded bliss. Hey, Reagan! Yeah? Where's my turkey? It's too rich for your blood fat, so stick to chicken. I left him standing there with his apron hanging out. Miles Standish might get enough wind through that extra hole to say who shot him, but more likely not. Anyway, with the bucket load he had, he would have sworn it was the last of the Mohicans. But there was an angle of that Hendricks woman, even if it didn't show. So I walked up the street to where my car was nuzzling a lamppost. The turkey and I weren't just going to wake up a newspaper, obviously something changed my mind. A newspaper. It was wrapped around a bundle and the bundle was under a guy's arm and the arm was shutting the door of my car. Now, good evening, Pop. Oh, hi. Going somewhere? Sure, sure. Find a place to sleep, that's all. Want a cigarette? Say, I don't mind if I do. Thought you was a bull for a minute. You mind if I take two? No, help yourself. A brother smokes, too. And not much in the streets these days. That's bad all over. Something ought to be done. No, stick around, Pop. No, no, son. You give me smokes. I don't hit you for cash. It's the rule I got. I'll make the touch. What's that? What's in the newspaper? Russia. Inside. Funny paper. Yeah, sure. Take it easy, boys. The guy's got a right to his privacy. You weren't sleeping in my car. Oh, so that's it. Yours, huh? Small world, ain't it? Yeah, come on. Let's unwrap it. It's Thanksgiving, Mac. Ain't you heard of Thanksgiving? I'm going to plug my ears. Give it. Now please, Mac, show me the spirit. What's in my life, both drumsticks? Stop it, you're breaking my heart. I mean it, Mac. Let me have it. I'll break the wishbone for you, sonny. I will. You ain't got no use for all that meat, have you? Yeah. Oh, you have, huh? What's so long, Mac? Hey, wait a minute. Hold it. I let go of my arm. That was a pretty dance, but you should have changed your shoes. What's that? You didn't get those buckles in the bread line. Oh. Now come on, change the record. Who are you? That's none of your business. Let go of me. I said talk. I will not. You're from the Hendricks place, aren't you? You're from the... Thank you, Philips. That's all right. Got the bird. Sure. Let's go. Yeah. Nighty-night pilgrim. You were listening to the story of the pilgrim's progress. Tonight's adventure with Jeff Regan, investigator. Commissions are still available in the Army Nurse Corps. Graduate registered nurses between the ages of 21 and 45 may qualify for service with this fine organization. If you are interested in joining the Army Nurse Corps and believe you qualify for a commission, apply to the Adjutant General, Washington, D.C. And now back to Jeff Regan, investigator and the story of the pilgrim's progress. Well, none of it made sense. The lion sent me out to pick up a turkey on the Hendricks ranch in Calabasas. And the Mr. and Mrs. were having an old-fashioned turkey shoot and all the guests carried blunderbuses and dressed like pilgrims. Only it wasn't just the turkeys who were acting as targets. One of the pilgrims ended up with some 32 caliber holes in them. And then the Hendricks lackey and a buddy shoved a gun at me and stole a lion's bird. Well, I picked myself up and I went home. A heavy man was doing a heist job in my icebox. He was pouring himself a glass of milk to wash down a sandwich he was munching on. Hi, Regan. You're right ahead. Help yourself. Yeah, yeah, thanks. I didn't know how long I was going to have to wait and I was getting hungry. Is the restaurant just up the block? I like it better this way, homemade. Fix you a sandwich? Pretty good devil in hand. Come on, let's close the box and open your mouth, buddy. Why not? We had a date, remember? Robinson, Sheriff's office. Yeah, that's what I figured. You don't mind me coming in like this, do you? What if I did? I'd leave. Sank to the other home, you know. You can throw me out even though I got a badge. Let's cut away the fat, mister. What do you want? Answer this to a couple of questions. What were you doing at the Hendricks' place? Picking up a turkey. Well, that's a new one. Now, look, you ask him. I'll answer him. Never mind the feature page. How long have you known the Hendricks? Never met him before. Wrong answer. What do you mean? We found this out at the Hendricks' house. The page torn out of the yellow directory with a red circle around International Detective. Now, that doesn't say a thing. Maybe yes, maybe no. I'm still scratching around. It'll ruin your manicure. You know, Regan, you don't seem to realize the seriousness of this. That pilgrim you dragged in died. That's what I figured. We don't like unsolved murders messing up our record books. Well, then you're wasting your time here. I got lots of it. I don't come up for pension for 12 more years. What was that pilgrim's name? He gave me Miles Standish. Sounds like a fake. Don't count on it. I once knew it. John Smith. Give me the real name. I don't have it. He's another town boy, but we'll track him down. Now, straighten out something for me, Regan. How long did you say you knew the Hendricks? Look, I gave this to you once. Nothing's changed. How come we find a $5,000 check in that choker's pocket made out of cash and signed by Hendricks? Go ahead, answer it. Just don't make a date. You may not be available. Yeah? Mr. Regan, this is Mrs. Hendricks. I must see you right away. Who did you say? Mrs. Hendricks. You remember? Charlie? No. There's no Charlie here. You must have the wrong number. Sort of annoying, isn't it, Regan, when you get a wrong number late at night? Well, it happens. Sure, sure. It does happen to me once. Anything else you want? Another double-hand sandwich. Hitchin's closed. Pretty rotten hospitality. Well, you weren't asked. Okay, I gotta move anyway. See you later, Regan. Keep the mud off your shoes. Three, three, four, oh. Mrs. Hendricks is Regan. I just called you. Well, I couldn't talk. What do you want? Can you come out, Mr. Regan? Right away. You're still lonely? Things aren't going well. Well, murder's like that. I've got to talk to somebody. Won't you please come? Give me a reason. I can tell you some things now I couldn't mention before. Like why your husband wrote a $5,000 check to the dead man? A check? I thought there must be some mistake. What do you mean? My husband couldn't try to check that large. He doesn't have any money of his own. It's all in my name. All right. Put a lantern in the window, lady. I'll need some light. Well, I hit it out there fast. But when I raised a racket with a brass knocker, nothing happened. I tried a window and a couple of scratches later I was in the hall. The place looked empty like the Rose Bowl on January 2nd. I found Mrs. Hendricks' room where I talked to her and stepped inside. The decorations were different. Robinson. Mrs. Regan, I got something for you. It better be good. You're going into overtime. What do you mean? Bring some boys out to the Hendricks' place with a wet rag. Somebody blew out Mr. Hendricks' fuse. Well, I backed out of the room and I made it for the bar trying to turn up a bottle. In the corner, something else turned up instead. Another dead body. The turkey fell from his buddy had stolen from me. Somebody really eager had done a carving job on it. Before it was even cooked, they torn it apart like they were looking for something. Well, it was morning before the sheriff's boys cleaned up the Hendricks' mess and we got back to town. Robinson had a few more questions, but I was still short on the answers. Ballistics had one, though. Same gun did the job on both Miles Standish and Hendricks. That's all. Homicide was getting places in a hurry, like a snail hauling a piano. Well, the lion was waiting for me outside the sheriff's office and he pulled me to the side. His eyes were lit up like a pinball machine and you could tell he'd caught the scent of a green bag. They treat you okay, Regan? Yeah, good enough. No rough stuff. Nothing that shows, no. Speaking of where in luck, I've been turning up things. We've been playing the wrong horse. That figures you're good at picking losers. Hendricks is a piker, a social climber. He's a dead one. I'll send him flowers, but I'm telling you he could only write checks for five Gs. With a big bounce. Somebody else in this thing can write bigger ones. Well, let me guess who. Mrs. Hendricks. That's who I tell you, Regan, at Page to keep up your connections. How high can she go? The sky is below sea level. What else you got? Standish is a phony moniker. That's grammar school. Real name Jeffrey Kelly, age 42. He's a wholesale jeweler. He had a little business with Mrs. H. $250,000 worth. That's going to run up his taxes. He can handle it. What did he do for her? I drew a blank, but he deposited her a certified check at the bank yesterday morning. How does Phelps figure? I don't know. Well, who's the little man in the big overcoat? I can't do everything. You got to do somewhere, too. Yeah, sure. Now find Mrs. Hendricks. Offer her the services of international detective at our usual nominal rate. But don't underplay it. Now get busy. Where are you going? Home to bed. A man's got to get some sleep. Well, the time was ticking out, but the game wasn't over yet. I figured I'd have a fast finish, and the lion had a pretty good idea about catching some shut-eye. So I moved for the office and the stretch out on the couch. But through the glass, I could see there was a light on. The company was inside. Crestview 2045. Phelps, no luck. I looked all over. I told you I tore the place apart. Nothing's here. I'm trying my best. Stop harping. All of them must be someplace else. Okay, okay, right away. Leave a nickel, Buster. Huh? Oh, Regan. You're looking for something? Yeah, you, pilgrim. What else? Plymouth Rock. Come on, punk level it. It coax me. All right, because you've been crying for this. Now, what now? Well, it felt good to watch the big guy fall. He folded in like a steeple in an earthquake. When his head bounced in the lion's car, but it figured he was due for a long sleep, so I went through his pockets. Stubs from the prize fights, the gun and a pocket knife. I dumped him to the safe. It was a pass to the Don's game on November 25th. He must have swiped debt from his boss, so I filed that in the lion's desk for future reference. But this guy Phelps had taken orders from somebody besides Hendricks. I just heard him do it on the phone. So, when I turned up an old envelope with 832 North Palm, stretched in the back, I crossed my fingers. He'd been calling a Crestview number, and the phone book said that I had a lead. North Palm was in the Crestview exchange area. So I called for the cops to sweep up Brother Phelps, and I climbed back onto my broomstick. I drove out through Beverly Hills. I wound up in front of a big Spanish house with potted $10 bills on the driveway. There was a new Nash sticking out of the garage, and I walked around to take a look. But honest, John, it beat me to it. Now, stick around. I want to talk to you. Stand back! Stand back! You like cars, don't you? Maybe you want a hot rod. No, you don't. Get away from me! Hey! Now, it was the little turkey fan that I'd last seen in an overcoat. Phelps buddy. He took out of there like a cow and deer season, so I let him go. No license. Well, I took a look around the car he'd been sniffing, but nothing showed except the registration. It said Mrs. Agnes Hendricks. I went to the house and rang the doorbell, and she answered. Oh, it's you. I'm Mr. Regan. All right, I'll ask myself in. Yes, come in. Who are you expecting, John Alden? No, I'm glad to see you. You know, I don't like girls who break dates. Oh, that. Yeah, that's one thing. I couldn't help it. I couldn't wait for you to come all the way to Calabasas. You got impatient on the count of a body in the house. You're so immature. Yeah, after I tripped over him in your room. I didn't do it. Did I say you did? You've got to believe me. Relax. I look like a jury. You've got multiple vision. Oh, Mr. Regan, I was so frightened. I didn't know which way to turn. We've been through all that woman driver routine. You don't like your husband. You wanted to get rid of him. But only in Reno. All right, now let's get back to page one. You gave 250 Gs to a jeweler named Kelly. You bought a rock. What? A rock, Plymouth rock. It's got to be. Why'd you do it? Who'd you buy it for? Myself. My lawyer said I should get it for myself. He likes you pretty, huh? No, no, it was a community property thing. He said I could keep my husband from knowing how much money I had when he asked for a divorce settlement. Only hubby got wind of the deal. I guess so. You're making sense. Only why did he write a check to Kelly? Well, it was a small one. It must have been for a paced imitation, don't you think? It's not my business. Keep dealing. I mean, maybe he planned on switching them and getting my real one. Well, that's been done. But he actually did it. Because all through this, there's been a diamond in the place where I always keep it. All right, you got a strong boy, Phelps. Had him out looking for the real diamond. What? And the other guy, the old man, was out in the garage. No. Phelps tore up my office, phoned here to you. Mr. Regan, please. Now, look, there's been two guys killed. Mr. Regan. Good evening, pilgrim. Where's your overcoat? Stand still, please. Yeah, my foot's in a crack. Mr. Regan, this is... Oh, can it, will you? I've seen him act one part already. It's true. Mine is the only name that's real. This is my house, Mr. Regan. Lawyer? Yes, I came here to see him, Mr. Regan. I just got here before you did. Be quiet, Agnes. Well, I got it all now. You won't keep it. Phelps took his orders from you. It's a waste of testimony. You started this. Spotted the gem switch. Figured a cash in. You're losing your chip. Shut up, will you. I got aces. Hendricks outfoxed you. You never found the real diamond. I've in a hand draws blood. Mr. Aldon, don't... You keep out of this, Agnes. She's not in it. You are... That's all, Regan. All right, come on. Drop it. Drop it. Go over there. I... I guess I hit him with the paced one. Huh? Look, the diamond. It broke. Yeah. It was just luck. I have the other one, too. I thought Aldon was honest. I came to tell him I found it in my husband's cider. Well, that tears it. Come on, Priscilla. That docks the Mayflower. Well, the whole thing folded in like an elephant on a pogo stick. Yeah, the lawyer did it all right, both of them. When he spotted what Hendricks was up to with that diamond switch, he moved in, but not for his client. The jeweler, Miles Standish, alias Kelly, got bumped because he was the only one who could tell the real diamond from a phony. But Hendricks got wise to the muscle act, and so he got shot. Well, the lion was real happy the way it worked out. Dame with the nerves wrote him a check. So he invited me out to Thanksgiving dinner. He offered me any part of the turkey that I wanted. I told him, but I got it anyway. The 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 and Jackson Gillis, produced by Sterling Tracy. Featured in tonight's story were Mary Lansing, Marvin Miller, Paul Freese, and Paul Dubov. Original music for this program is by Milton Charles. Bob Stephenson speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.