 My name's Reed. I get ten a day on 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 investigators stand by for hard-boiled action and mystery and thrilling adventure in tonight's story of the too many Mrs. Rogers. 7th Street, near Olive. That's where it stands, downtown L.A. Cosmopolitan building. A big chunk of granite poking its way up through a parking lot. That's where you'll find International Detective Bureau. Suite 308. A good bargain counter if you're shopping around for trouble. Anthony J. Lyon, the guy I work for, pays the rent. Can't be very much because sunlight and those office walls have never said hello. The Cosmopolitan building. An air shaft runs right up the middle of it. Suite 308 is wrapped around that ventilator like a donut around a hole. Figures at the weather bureau ought to run a separate survey on that office. Because we get all the blow-by from the Acme Incense Company, three doors down the hall. Los Angeles smog had come in second best if they knew about it. Well, it was last Tuesday, the day that Cleveland won the penance that I walked in. The lion was there pecking around on that same old Remington. Somebody broke in the period key, but he didn't seem to mind. He talks in commas anyway. I don't know who he was writing to, but there were a couple of cereal box tops at his elbow and a contest blank. He was writing something about why I feed my children your breakfast food. The lion's a bachelor. Regan, how do you know in Battle Creek, Michigan? Jack Armstrong. I may win this contest. Here's one for you to fill in. No, I don't eat breakfast. This is different. I got as a case. Here's the address. Hinkle and Hinkle. Well, they make pills. It's a funeral parlor, one of the best in town. I'm healthy. I want you to be very careful how you talk to these people. Who, the customer? Hinkle and Hinkle, father and son. They got a fine establishment, and all the best people go to them for the final right. I'm fresh out of shrouds. They got problems, Hinkle and Hinkle have. What's the trouble? Hop over there and they'll tell you. I'd rather get it from you. Regan, I can't do that. Why? You've read our business card. Anything told to an international man is in the strictest confidence. I wrote that and won't double-cross a client. That's a new twist for you. What do you mean? Every day you dump these phony cases in my lap and I go out on them. All I do is play tag with homicide. You won't get caught. A lot of canned tuna felt that way. You know I take care of you. That's what I don't like. Hinkle and Hinkle are expecting you right now. Jump in your car and get over there. What do I say to them? Just say hello. They'll pick it up from there. You know, someday I'm gonna quit. If you do your stuff... So what? You'll still wind up at Hinkle and Hinkle. Now the place was on Hope Street near Washington Boulevard. You couldn't miss it. A two-story building painted a battleship gray that sort of crouched at the curb. It had a square pimple for a door and flanked on each side by a brass angel. They were a dirty green color. I figured that one of the Hinkles could have been a little more eager with a metal polish. The glass door was draped with white satin and it fluttered as I walked in. The hall was quiet. There was enough marble inside to make the Bank of America jealous. Another angel, this time with the wings folded back, was pointing toward the reception room. I followed directions and moved on. It smelled like the bargain matinee at the Roxy. Over in one corner was a vase of tired-looking flowers trying real hard not to be cheerful. A little guy in a black-sirred suit was floating around the room with an atomizer filled with perfume. The whole place was about as inviting as a maiden aunt's kiss. A little man didn't even look at me. He just kept squirting. He couldn't put the perfume people out of business but I figured he had them working nights. Your name, Hinkle? As soon as I finish. That might take months. That's a big bottle. Don't you just adore this scent. What's the matter? Aren't the flowers working? They're paper. Now then, sir. I asked first. Yes, I am Jason Hinkle. Aren't there two of you? Gerald? Did you call Pa? Just showing this man the other Hinkle. Oh, hi. Now then, I believe the two will find we can make all the necessary arrangements. Save the commercial. Nobody's dead. Oh, that's too bad. This week we're having a special at a great reduced rate. I figure I got a few more years. Now look, didn't you want to see me? Oh, you from Atlas? Who? Atlas Casket Company. We have plenty on hand. Penicillin has practically ruined our business. My name's Regan. I'm with International. Oh, of course. You're the lion's eye. I'm glad you got here. We'll tell him me, and we'll both be happy. Hey, Pa, he don't look so tough. Well, you do, Buster. You scare me. I'll bet I could break in the middle. Never mind, Gerald. I'd have to apologize for him. He lit, wait. You'd have to, to carry that header on. Just say the word, Pa. Gerald. Now, Mr. Regan, if you will step in the back room. All right. I have to be careful about Gerald. He's just a junior partner. You ought to be the silent one. He didn't learn to talk till he was almost nine. I paid him for sex. Drink, Mr. Regan. No, thanks. I stopped drinking that stuff in 32. Oh, you mean the formaldehyde label. Yes, I have to hide it from Gerald. All right. Now we've been through the family album. What's the job? Ah, do you know Mrs. Rogers? The phone book's full of them. Mrs. Rogers has been most unfortunate. Poor dear woman, they were married such a short time, and they were ecstatically happy. Her husband died? Mm-hmm. She lost him three days ago. Hinkle and tinkle are handling the last rite. Poor Mrs. Rogers. She's so young. You want a shoulder to cry on? Mrs. Rogers wished her husband taken to the family plot in La Jolla. We are finishing the limousine, and she's requested someone to accompany her. I'll try a poor man for her. They like to travel. This whole thing has most unusual aspect. Mrs. Rogers thinks she needs protection. We could send Gerald. She'd still need protection. No, Mr. Regan, she wants you. Is she paying for this? I believe Mr. Lyon has her check. Okay, that all you got to tell me? Mr. Regan, we only handle the debt. Well, they don't need protection. That's what they said about King Tut. Hinkle gave me her address. It was over near Westlake Park. It was one of those new modern apartment houses painted in elephant pink. It was around six o'clock when I rang the bell. While I waited, I tried to figure this protection angle. I thought maybe I could talk her out of it and wind up the whole thing right here. I kind of figured that she was just upset and needed a man around. When she opened the door, I knew I was right. You could see she was in mourning. She was wearing black lipstick. She was tall and thin with long blonde hair. She made Mr. Peabody's mermaid look like a beginner. Right then, I knew that this case was about as much on the level as the city of San Francisco. She needed protection, all right, but so did I. When she said hello, it melded all over you like honey on a hot biscuit. You're standing in a draft. Now it's a warm night. Well, come in. You were Mrs. Rogers? That's right. My name's Regan. The man from International. You're more than I paid for. Well, prices are coming down. Come over here where we can talk. I got a big voice. You act like you're afraid of me. Well, I didn't think it showed. Oh, yes. You're just exactly what I wanted. I used to be with an escort bureau. Well, then this should be part of your service. I'll bet the bureau went broke when you quit. No, but I left them in a hole. Relax, Mr. Regan. It's early. Look, lady, we can play musical chairs some other time. What do you want? Why worry? You're getting paid? Yeah, but this kind of stuff won't buy food. I'm lonely. Do your act in the Coliseum. It'll be a sellout. You're practically a crowd. That's what they say about three. No, it's just you and me. With a dead man in between. Never mind Victor. He's my problem. Not anymore. Come on, lady, this is a fat blister. Let's break it. So damn, Mr. Regan. Maybe that's what happened to Victor. All right. If you don't want to play my game, let's play yours. That's why you hired me. You know about my husband's coffin. Uncle's having a sale. Who's next to him now? The limousine will be here in the morning at 8 sharp. We're going to La Jolla. Hinkle knows that much. And that's all you need to know. All I need are all I get. Light up, lady. I don't like the dark. It's a simple job. You go with me on the trip. Not enough. All right, I'll give you a bonus. How much? $1,000. Just a whisper. That's $10 a mile between here and La Jolla. I get car sick. Now what has to get there besides Victor? A star's half fire as big as the moon. That good? I need sunglasses to look at it. Why didn't you tell me? I want that ring to get there on a finger. Don't worry. I have a fence. Victor's will said he must be buried with it on. Oh, yeah. You've got tears in your eyes. That's what he wanted, and that's what he'll get. Other people know about that ring. Victor wouldn't want to lose it this late in the game. I'm the nurse, ma'am. That's right. When I said I'd do to Victor in human 1946, I promised him. The trip to La Jolla? I'll see you tomorrow morning at 8 until I get out. That bonus still good? If that ring gets to La Jolla? I'll see that it does. Aren't you afraid somebody might steal it? No, lady. You'll ride with me. Well, I began to get an uneasy feeling, like a steer on the way to Kansas City. I left Helen Rogers and walked outside, and there wasn't much traffic. It was a warm night, and all the canoes in Westlake Park were full. I headed for an all-night coffee spot on the corner. I'd have taken one more step. I'd have been in the back seat of a new Nash convertible with a top down. There was a brunette with long black hair in the driver's seat. She was thin and figured to be tall, at least she was wrapped around the wheel. There were two things different. She had bright red lips, and her hair was black. She was wearing a dress the color of a boulevard stop, and she flipped the right door open. One look at her, and you knew that Dallas was wrong about their women. Want a lift, soldier? No, I only got a weekend pass. How do you time? You can go AWOL. No, I'm bucking for Sgt. Get in, and I'll tell you about the atomic bomb. Short ride? No, I think alone. Okay, I'll buy the gas. Well, it has to, Mr. Regan. I've got a credit card. I don't tell me you're lonely. You're in trouble. What kind? Bad client. Why? You should be working for Mrs. Rogers. That's who signed the check. I'm Mrs. Rogers. Blonde's got a license to prove it. Yuma, 1946. I've got priority in Mexico City, 1942. No divorce? I think there was a poor boy scout. He could only tie one knot. He went for the chorus line. And played for Keith. But I loved him. Helen didn't. How do I know? I don't care if you do. All right, what do you want with me? I'm his wife, his first one, his real one. We had some sort of life together before the scenes changed. It's my job to bury him. That all? That's all. The corkscrew, straighten it out, sis. I'm telling you the truth. You left out one item. Tell me that that sapphire's got nothing to do with the affection. It has. That's what the other Mrs. Rogers said. She's a liar. A blonde one. She'll run out of bleach. You're trying too hard. I'm telling you, Regan, I'm not going to sit by and do nothing. I believe you. You're letting your fingernails grow. La Brunette's name turned out to be Catherine Rogers. She gave me her number, but I wasn't buying. I felt kind of confused, like a polar bear in Palm Springs. Catherine didn't have any more, so she let me open a corner, and I doubled back to the first Mrs. Rogers place. It was about 20 minutes later when I rang Helen's bell. No answer. The door was unlocked, so I went in. The room was dark except for the neon sign outside the bedroom window. I could see Victor Rogers' coffin banked up with flowers. The biggest blossom was already wilted. It was Helen. She was lying on the floor and her fire was out. I went back to the living room to call homicide, and I smelled taboo perfume. She made a real good reflection in the mirror behind me. This one was a redhead. She had long hair. She was tall and thin enough to slip under the door. She had a little hand, but her finger could reach the trigger of the gun that she had in my back. I couldn't tell too much about it, but if I'd known her in college, my homework would have suffered. Don't make it, Dave. You're not going to make it. She'll wait. It may be forever. Hang it up. Did you do the job on the blonde? Maybe. Too many going for that sapphire. Maybe. Which one are you? Rita. Where'd he find you? South America. Different places, different girls? That's it. You'd make a good advancement for the United Nations. Just the female department. All right. When'd you win your letter? Havana, 1944. You're right in the middle. No, you are. The Andrews sisters did all right. I want to do it with you. I'll sing off key. That's all right. It's a style. No music. You're not listening hard enough. Well, South America took it away. When I came out of it, I was all head, like tap beer in a cheap saloon. The room was full of homicide. They must have got a hotshot call, because they were all there. All I could see was the seats of their pants. It was about the shiniest pair, and I knew it was Sergeant Sanducci. He was standing over me with a notebook. The way it was sucking on that pencil, I figured he must have been a lollipop man in his youth. Everybody was there, all the newspapers, the fingerprint men were dusting everything. I had about as much chance as a Christmas tree salesman in July. Sanducci leaned into me. Borderline anemia? Oh, kind of tired. Yeah. Anybody would get tired lugging a heavy gun. What gun? It's 38. It pushed a hole in that blonde. That's not mine. Who cares? The hand is yours. That's where we found it. Hey, Sanducci, let me show you a picture of the eye. Yeah, go ahead. Look happy, Regan. I got a bad smile. Oh, we'll retouch it. Good. Now, look like a killer. That's enough. Oh, come on. Let's see your teeth. Feed it, punk, or you'll spend the rest of the night picking yours up. Okay, Regan, now why'd you do it? You tell me. I'm working. You're out of your mind. I blow a hole in it and crack myself in the head? I'm working on that, too. Well, work on a redhead named Rita Rogers. I'm going steady. She wrapped me. It's her gun. Your forehead is wet. Work on a brunette named Catherine Rogers. She's grubbing around, too. I told you I already got a date. You? You couldn't see a frame in a picture gallery. You walk in and find a warm blonde in a deep freeze. You're lying there with the murder gun in your hand in your yelling party. What were you doing here? I was on a job. Yeah. The lion sent me over to Hinkel and Hinkel. Two needle pushers out in Washington. They sent me over here. I was supposed to go to La Jolla with that blonde. On lion's time? I said it was a job. She was taking her dead husband down to the family plot. She was worried about a sapphire ring. Look at the coffin you'll see. We already did. Well, what'd you find? Air. The coffin was empty. You are listening to the story of the too many Mrs. Rogers tonight's adventure with Jeff Regan, investigator. Commissions are still available in the Army Nurse Corps Reserve. If you're a graduate registered nurse between the ages of 21 and 45, you may be eligible for a commission in the Army Nurse Corps section of the Regular Officers Reserve. These commissions are still available, and those who meet the highest standards and qualify with this fine organization may elect active or inactive status. If you believe you qualify for a commission in the Army Nurse Corps Reserve, apply to the Adjutant General, Washington, D.C. And now back to the story of the too many Mrs. Rogers and Jeff Regan, investigator. Well, I had about as much chance as a snowball in a turkey's bath. The lion sends me to a funeral parlor run by two guys named Hinkel and Hinkel. They bank me off to a blonde Mrs. Rogers who wants protection taking her husband's body to La Jolla. He's being lowered with a star sapphire on his finger. Everybody's scrambling for it. But Victor Rogers was a collector of long-legged ladies, and the blonde turns out to be just a single in the crowd scene. There's two other Mrs. Rogers, a brunette and a redhead. You can't tell one from the other without a program. The next thing I know, the blonde is dead. I'm holding the murder gun in an alibi as full of as many hoses as a piece of cheesecloth. There's no star sapphire, no body in the coffin. The sand duchy of homicide is pounding away at me. Well, the police finished in the blonde's apartment. The prints were lifted and the gun was wrapped. It was sand duchy all the way. Come on, Regan, say why. You're pressing. I just work hard. You got nothing. You'll be saying that in the chamber. You're bluffing. How you figure? The setup's so strong even you can smell it. I got silent. Well, you're not taking me in. But who said I was? Okay. We'll be around for you when we're ready. Retirement will set in first. I'll sign for another hitch. Look, if you've got to keep beating your head against the wall, come over to my place. What for? It's brick. I left sand duchy still chewing his pencil and headed back for the office. I knew homicide wouldn't let the matter drop, so I wanted to see if maybe the lion could do me any good. I didn't have any suffer, but somehow I'd lost my appetite. When I walked in, the lion was still working on that contest blank. He was keeping late hours. The only reason he doesn't go to his hotel room is he can get the reduction in his weekly rate if he doesn't sleep in the bed. Regan, where you been? Dating sand duchy. You're in trouble. Yeah. How many times have I told you to watch our staff? Well, you never checked before you sent a guy out on a job. What have you got? She's beautiful. What else? She's dead. That's no way to run a business. You got your advance. I was thinking of public relations. Oh, stop it. Well, you're somebody mentions dough and you're there with a basket. That's enough. Let's drop this case. Not until the wind dies down. I'm still with the old one. The case is closed. I'm opening it. You'll do your toll. Now listen, big shot. You wheezed me in on that hook. Now let's see you work backwards. Regan, you're getting out of line. Get a trace on Catherine and Rita Rogers. Who are they? A brunette and a redhead. What else? Victor Rogers' wives. What about Helen? His record broke on I do. Now get going and clear this thing up. Would you like to give it a whirl? Regan, don't you like working for me? I'll answer that when we both got more time. Well, I left the lion. I picked up a cup of coffee and a sandwich and went home. And I tried to figure the mess. A guy with three wives drops dead and is going to be buried with a fortune on his finger. All the hens start clawing around. That figures. One of them gets the axe. I happen to set up for a party. That figures. But what doesn't is why is the coffin empty? Somebody pulls a knock off to grab a sapphire and takes the stiff with it. I was getting nowhere like a pickpocket in the newest colony. The next morning I was back on embalmer's row. Henkel and Henkel. I went inside. The little guy in the black suit and his son were standing in the entrance hall. Old Henkel came toward me kind of slow, like an aunt with a super chief in tow. You're back so soon, Regan. Everything all right with Mrs. Rogers? Your business is picking up. I don't understand. Needed to I. You fell it in. Now there's no use taking that belligerent attitude. Now listen, you. I played patsy long enough. Hey, Pa. Shall I mash him? You heard Gerald, Regan. I'll get your paws off on me quick. We're backstage now. Your grease paint's off. I don't know why you came back here. We don't know anything about it. That's your version. Look, Regan, I'm going to try to let you down easy. So pay attention. You were called on a routine job. We played our part. Now you play yours. Take that trip to La Jolla. We're going to need a bigger car now. I told you all I know. Now beat it. I'm a side want somebody. I'm going to give them you. You're on a treadmill. That's all right. It's slowing down. I'm tired of this small talk. Regan, now get out of here before I sick Gerald on you. Is that all you've got to offer? That's it. Now blow. Next time I'll bring homicide. Just won't give up, will you? Gerald. Yeah. How do you want them, Bob? Broken two? You handle it. I'll be in the back room. Fist or gun butt, Bob? Gun butt. Won't still. You should be glad Bob didn't say fist. It's harder. See? I dreamed about you last night, Regan. Must have been something you ate. I dreamed I broke you in two. You're still walking in your sleep. You say funny things, Regan, but your face don't go with it. Get away from me, you big ape. I seen a clown in a circus once. He had a big red nose like this. And he didn't have no teeth. And he had little teensy eyes way back in his head. You make a swell clown now. I was getting nowhere like a sky rider in the high wind. Gerald must have got tired. He stood over me grinning like a Notre Dame gargoyle. I tried to get up a couple of times, but it would have been easier to get to Ohio on a pogo stick. I kept wondering if he'd ever quit when the front door opened and Catherine, the brunette, and Mrs. Rogers came in. She had a 32 on her hand and she leveled it at Gerald. Stop it! We're going to the circus. Stop it or I'll kill you! All right. You hurt her. What about the circus? Come here, you. You ought to be a place for you in the sideshow. I had tired waiting for you to come to me. Yeah, thanks. Shall we go where we can talk? What do you want? You. So did Junior here. My hands are softer. Your gun isn't. You can hold it. It's not good enough. Still don't trust me? No. We'll go in your car. Oh, it gets better. We'll go to your place. Okay. You won't be sorry. Why? Because I'm going to help you, Regan. You just did, lady. We left Hinkle and Hinkle and drove up Washington to Vermont and then north toward Hollywood. Above Beverly, we had to detour for the freeway coming and made me kind of mad. I'd been detouring since the beginning. Well, she didn't say much and I tried to figure. Last time I saw her, she gave me a choke act about being the only one who ever loved Victor. The next thing I knew, I was set up like pins in a bowling alley and Sanducci was going for 300. We pulled to a stop in front of my place and went in. Inside, there was a couple. She wasn't invited, but the red-headed reader, the South American bombshell, was lying on my bed. Somebody had set her off. She was dead. This is the kind of help you mean? Hi. I didn't know she was here. Oh, come off it. You're not Bergman. I didn't. She's past convincing. I'm talking to you. So am I. Regan. No, go, lady. You knocked her off, got me over here, worked the gun into my hand. No. You did the first job, too. You let me out of your car, doubled back to Helen's before I got there and fogged her. No, no, you're wrong. Right me. I... I did double back to Helen's apartment and got there before you. Looking for that sapphire? Looking for a showdown on Dick's barrel. It was my job. You said that before. We argued. Pulling hair. I didn't touch her. Go on. When I left, Rita was coming up the stairs. She didn't see me. I stepped into the shadows and watched her go into Helen's apartment. It began screaming. I looked in and saw Rita kill her. Then I heard someone coming in red. That'd be me, huh? Yes. Moving in to play patsy. Then I heard the police thought you did it. That's right. So I looked for you. Tell that to homicide. I will. You make it sound good. It is. Cleans up one, but you're not through. Why? I don't know. What happened to the sapphire? I don't know. Where's Victor's body? What do you mean? It's not in the box. I... Oh, sure. Wind it up and make it good. I don't know. The wrong pitch. You still don't trust me. Not until you clean up the rest. No. She can't, Reagan. I've got the broom. Victor. Nice of you to remember, Catherine. How do you remember? I got a card file. You can throw away some pages. That's what I figured. I've been tagging after the two of you for some time. So you're a victor. I was beginning to clear. You got Henkel to help you play dead. Tell me why. You tell me. I'm moving up in society. I have to unload. Hit off. You're dead. The wives start working for the loot. And the scramble they take care of each other. The redhead gets the blonde. You get the redhead. And take care of what's left. Now let's close the book. Victor's aim was good. Catherine went down. Sanducci got Victor from the bedroom window. His sapphire ring caught the light as he spalled on the floor. Sanducci climbed in off the fire escape. Catherine's hair was still long, but she wasn't tall anymore. Reagan. Yeah, baby. Victor. He's through. He was no good. Yeah. But I loved it. Uh-huh. We should have met sooner. So long, soldier. That's it, Reagan. Yeah. She seemed like a nice kid. Yeah. It's gonna be a long trip, but she'll make it. Well, that was it. Victor was ambitious. He was moving up in society and couldn't stand a bigamy scandal. His brain worked overtime cooking up that dish. He rigged it with the blonde Helen at first. But she got it right off from the redhead. I didn't make him cry. Took care of one. When the redhead came over to my place, Victor tagged her and put her away there. Two down, and I'm the fall guy. Then he waited for the brunette so he could finish the game. Oh, yeah, Vic was a busy fella, but he ran out of breath. Well, Sanducci put my place back in order, and nothing was left of the girls with the long hair but dandruff. I called the lion, and he was mad, a whole day shot without adding a mark to his bank account. Well, Sanducci and I both came up with the same question. All three of those women were beautiful. I wonder if they'd all gone for Victor if they really knew. That star sapphire was a phony. Jack Webb is featured as Jeff Regan with Herb Butterfield as Anthony J. Lyon. Jeff Regan Investigator, written by Larry Roman and E. Jack Newman, produced by Sterling Tracy, is heard each week at this time over CBS. Tonight's cast included Grace Lanard, Gloria Blondel, Lorette Phil Brandt, John Hoyt, Jack Petrucci, Paul Freese, and David Ellis. If you are a graduate registered nurse, please listen carefully to this important message. 29,000 nurses are needed to join the new Army Nurse Corps Officers Reserve. For the first time in history, qualified nurses have the opportunity of receiving commissions in the regular Army Reserve. These nurses will remain on inactive status, ready to serve their country in time of emergency. For further information, drop a card to the Adjutant General, Washington, D.C. Original music for this program is by Milton Charles. Bob Stephenson speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.