 Broadway's my beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesome-est mile in the world. Broadway's my beat, with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. In springtime's early morning, Broadway depends upon the mood you're in. Now the seesaw of color is gone, the riot of night sounds is stilled, and the revelers have found their sleep. There's nothing here but litter and mist in the beginning sunlight. But it's the start of an April day. That's something. You walk into it. And there's something else. The man standing against the lamppost, staring, hands locked in back of him, and last night's newspaper trapped against his leg. Walk past him quickly, kid. It's better to start the day with a cup of coffee. I didn't have time for coffee. The call came while I was pouring the cream. The call with a code number that said homicide, that said an address on Fifth Avenue that said, get there, and get there and get ushered into a room and into the presence of a man who uses words instead of numbers in describing death. There's a gun that did it, Danny, revolver. Two shots missing from the chamber. One killed him over there on the bed. We're still looking for the other slope. Who is he, Margaret? Philip Hunt, securities, investments. Retired about two years ago to try to enjoy himself. The maid said, the maid called it in. What else? Plenty. And let's go. I'll show you. It's down the hall. Big party here last night, Danny. Glasses, scotch, bourbon gin, cigarette butts, gold tip, cork tip, lipstick tip. Oh, this too. Oh, pocket lighter. Fancy one. Give me a light one. Thanks. Yeah, real fancy. And Evan's catching engraving on it. From Barbara to Willard, it'll have to be traced. Found it in the bathroom in the shower stall on the doorbell. Madele, get it. In here, Danny, the library. Who are they? The girl stretched out in the couches in the knees of the dead man. The name's Lois Hunt, the maid said. Lives here. Him, the soldier over there on the chair that maid didn't know him. Never saw him before. How about the rest of the people at the party? Nothing there yet. Maybe the girl in the corporal will know when they come to. Dr. Desenski gave him a needle. A needle? Do a couple of drunks? What are you talking about? They're not drunk. Their drinks were doped. Yeah, girl's glass, smell. The corporal's the same. Dr. Desenski said it's fortunate he got here in time. Then the gathering together of the police reporters and the press photographers. The statement for the noon editions, the jolly farewells over the dead. And the promise of the mention of your name. The bribe for more detail. More, you know what Danny, gotta compete with the comics kid. And the walking away from it. And in your office the arrangement and rearrangement on your desk of the clutter that attended Philip Hunt's dying. A cigarette lighter, a gun fired twice. Two glasses stained with death. A few hours later the quiet opening of the door. And two kids stand waiting bewildered. Their eyes not touched by the morning light. Dr. Desenski said it was alright for you to interrogate us. Oh, come in, Miss Hunt. Corporal. Sit down. You sure you feel alright, Miss Hunt? No, no, no. I'm fine. Just a little dazed. I've had other mornings like this. Maybe not quite so sad. Uncle Phil did. You, Corporal? I'm fine, sir. Just fine. Oh, he'll be alright. Dr. Desenski's a good man. You two known each other long? Been going together a long time? Yes, sir, a long time. Maybe five or six months. I saw Lois at a USO dance. You're lying, Tommy. Don't tell a man a lie. I know what I'm doing, kid. Just let me. Well, maybe you don't, Corporal. You. You tell me, Lois. I only met Tommy last night. He was sitting at a bar, lonely, kind of lost. Made him so attractive. I'm rich. I bought his drinks. Then you took him to the party at your home. There wasn't a party. We made it up as we went along. You know, bar hop picked up people who said funny things. I took them home because I wanted to celebrate Tommy, the nice Corporal. It wasn't a pickup, sir. Lois is a fine girl. She's nothing. Sure I am, Tommy. You're sweet. Was your uncle at the party, Lois? He crashed in on him just as he was getting ready for bed. We all kissed him good night. That's how gay we were. We all kissed my uncle good night. That's how you left him, going to bed? Yes, sir. Then you rejoined the party. Yes, sir. This gun. Is that the one that killed my uncle Phil? You know the gun? It was given to my uncle Phil by his employees. They know how he loved guns. You know the gun, Corporal? Yes, sir. Lois took it out of the case. So I could show the party how a soldier uses a gun. Who'd you show your tricks to, Tommy? Who else was at the party? I don't know, sir. Honestly, I don't know. How could he know them if I didn't? They were strangers, funny party strangers. We had fun. Yes, sir. Just fun. Then I passed out. And Lois was sitting there already passed out. With a book in her lap. She'd been reading poetry to me. And she passed out. I laughed, I remember. Danny, I... Pardon me. Danny, they have traced a cigarette lighter from descriptions distributed hither and yon by calm, efficient men on the beat. You'll tell me how Sergeant of Taglia. Sold by Tiffany's to one Willard Jordan, 2346 East 80. Study customer by Tiffany's. Me, I only gaze in their windows on Sundays. All right, I'll check it. Do that, Danny. And also bid adieu to Miss Hunt. Our wealthy lawyer has put a bail for her. And the Corporal? No arrangements have been made with the military. Him we can keep. Bail is only for the likes of Miss Hunt. Yeah. Now, take care of things. Be calm and efficient while I'm out at Taglia. Sorry, I'm busy. I'm from the police. Does Willard Jordan live here? Yes, he does. I'm his wife. What is it? May I come in? I suppose so. We'll talk here if you don't mind. I'm getting ready to go out. What is it you want? Is your husband home? No. You'd better stop in another time, Mr. Clover. Where is your husband? I don't know. I didn't invite you to go in there. Where do you think you're going? Is he your husband? Pepe, I told you if you stare at that mirror once more, I'll scream. Sit down. Sit down and drink your drink. And don't you move. And don't you open your mouth. Not your husband, huh? Then who? Pepe. If you must know, Mr. Clover, he's a model for my husband. Willard did him as a narcissist. What's Pepe doing here now? Waiting. He dropped in to see Willard. Willard's going to paint him for his summer show. When's the last time you saw your husband, Mrs. Jordan? Early yesterday morning. I handed him a sketch pad when he walked out of the door. Now you tell me something. Why is it so important for a policeman to talk to my husband? He was at a party last night where a murder was committed. You think Willard did it? Willard? I didn't say that. I just want to talk to him. Willard committed murder? Pepe. Pepe, one more time and out you go. Doesn't it worry you that your husband didn't come home last night? Why should it worry me? What do you mean? Willard has not come home like this before? Oh. Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, Willard stays way off and he's a romer. He goes places, talks to strange people from material to paint. Let's see. Yes, he said he was going to take a model around last night. What model? A Pepe? A Barbara, I think. Yes. Barbara Sullivan. Nice girl. You've seen her in the beer ads, Mr. Clover. She lives close by. I'll tell you where. If she knows where Willard is, phone me. Let me know. Will you? Of course you will. Open up, Miss Sullivan. It's the police. Open up. And last night's fraud. This morning's iPads. Trying to sleep away the bags under my eyes so you won't lose a kick when you draw mustaches on me on the billboards. Mrs. Jordan told me you might know where her husband is. Melissa told you that? Good old Melissa. We want Willard for suspicion of murder. You were with him last night with Willard? Where is Willard now? Sleeping off a jag under a cold water tap in the shower stall of the 5th Avenue mansion. I know. I threw him there myself. Everything I do myself. He's not there anymore, we peaked. Then go look for a man with wet coat and pants. Dry the gutter on 3rd Avenue on 28th. Willard's favorite, his pride and joy. That's where you left him? I left him in the shower stall. I told you that two years ago. You threw Willard in the shower, went home. What time did all these good things happen to you? Maybe two, three, four in the morning, I don't remember. All was on my mind was my beauty sleep. I'm vain. Coddle my beauty. Get fat checks for coddling it. So you want Willard for murder, huh? Anyone I know? You were in his house last night. That's where I was. That's where that pale little rich girl took us. Wish I'd known, maybe I could have weedled the old man into using me in his advertisement. So all it means to you, a man's murder? Are wanting Willard for it, maybe? Come to me with a Hollywood contract, mister, and I'll show you what things can mean to me. I'll change overnight for you. I'll live for it. Keep posing for beer, Miss Solomon, just so I'll know you're around. I'll do it good. Because I'll keep it in mind you'll be staring at me through shop windows. Bye now. Side-pad time again. So a half day had gone by and I had nothing. The technical division had something, though, and they gave it to me. There'd been about 17 people at the party last night at the home of Philip Hunt. 17 people according to the kind of drinks, drinks in the bottom of liquor glasses and fingerprints. Maybe nine men and eight women. So far I had talked to three of the 17. Shrugs and bleary answers result nothing. Back now to the home of Philip Hunt and talk to his niece again. Outside this time in the small garden. Sitting a wrought iron chair and watch Lois' hunt taker three o'clock scotch and soda. Sure you won't have one, Mr. Clover? No, thanks. Listen to me, Lois, all I want you to do is try to remember who else was here last night. Somebody who had a motive for killing your uncle. I had a motive. Money. I inherit most of the estate. How's soldier boy Tommy? Nice kid. I'm going to visit him tomorrow. You mean you just picked these people up and brought them home? Well, sure. Grab bag, you never know. Please, come in. What's the matter, princess? I was cleaning. Please. Please, look. The guest house was just across the garden. And up a few steps. The place was neat as a pin, starched linen curtains, maple chairs, and three shag throw rocks placed at interesting angles. The one that stretched diagonally across the floor was a man. A knelt beside him, away from the bloodstain that had spilled from the bullet wound in his chest. His coat was still moist, and it was spread open, and there was a label on the inside pocket. Tailored, it said, by Jensen's mills, expressly for Mr. Willard Jordan. And Mr. Willard Jordan was dead. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin, starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. With the kids of the Beverly Hills Beavers to the right of him and those two curious revenue agents to the left of him, Jack Benny meets plenty of trouble this Sunday night on CBS. Be listening, be laughing with the Jack Benny show tomorrow night, and be with us too for the fun with Eve Arden as our miss Brooks on most of these same CBS stations. The long winter is dead on Broadway, and the street mourns its dying without a tear. That's to weep, kid. The dawn banging on the radiators, tearing sleep into pieces on a cold morning. The standing on the street corner in the night wind, trying to thumb through the racing form with 100% wool mittens. And the girls so bundled up you can see their face. That's to weep. Give me the springtime, kid. And the springtime things bud and blossom. The girls, the neon flowers, the field of golden daisies on the trans lux. Look at it now, kid. Artists, dead in Fifth Avenue guesthouse. Police sift murder clues, search link with death of Philip Hunt, millionaire. Ever smelled posies like that, kid? Springs come to Broadway. Give up to it. And at police headquarters, that's just what Sergeant Tataglia did. He gave up to it. Uh, Danny, the missus has been slipping the sulfur with the molasses into my pizzas lately. It's that time of the year again. Goodie. Tastes good that way? The way missus Tataglia makes a pizza, Danny, no harm could come to it, no matter what felony she commits to it. Which reminds me, when you're coming to partake of a springtime pizza? Oh, soon, Gino, as soon as I can. A promise? Ah, goodie. I have also by mail so invited Lady Jane Pugh, the ne'er-do-well lady detective from London Town. She's coming? No, she has not as yet replied with her RSVP on an English caper, no doubt. What else? I will notify you Danny when she accepts. You do that, Gino. Now, firstly and to the forefront, the boys and technical have deduced that the bullet that killed Willard Jordan's artist sprang from the same gun that did likewise to Philip Hunt. Thanks for telling me. I thought you would relish it. Secondly, and in the background, Major Robert E. Woodcock retired. Hm? They try me again, Gino. I haven't had my sulfur in molasses. Major Robert E. Woodcock retired. Partake of breakfast every morning of his retirement with the late deceased Philip Hunt. A fact established by Sergeant Muggevin while questioning the housemaid. Every morning, huh? Mm-hmm. That's interesting, Gino. Only a stab in the dark. I wanted to talk to this Major Woodcock. He would go to the Union Club where the retired Major resides. Naturally. Naturally. Major. Major Woodcock. Wake up, Major. Wake up. It never ends. It never ends. Major. I'm awake, young man. Awake. Or a current dream, you know. Never ends. Always cut off when it gets interesting. I'm from the police, Major. And don't pussyfoot, boy. You're from the police. Be proud of it. Nothing to be ashamed of. Walk on tiger's feet. About Philip Hunt. My friend. My old friend. Chaperone to Mamazelle around Paris in the old army days. Together, Phil and I. Many sunny days to remember. You want to know if I was with Phil the night he died. Where are you? Dropped in for a brandy, came a chess. A lot of young people took me in tow. Made me act the Major with a boy. A young corporal who was there. I'm afraid it was a rather pathetic entertainment. Then you got away from them. They were happy to dismiss me. Shunted me upstairs to old Phil. We had our quiet brandies. Our endless chess game. Never finished it. And cried old soldiers' tears. And so to bed. You didn't come back for breakfast. Oh, you know about that, do you? Had breakfast with Phil every morning since our discharge. In the library. 7 a.m. Pleasant. Then we'd put her around in the garden. Pleasant. A ritual. But you didn't come back that morning. Why? Too tired. Over slept. Over branded. I wish I had come back. Why? To bid Phil a good journey. Dead men can hear things like that, you know. Pleases them. There was another reason I wish I'd have come back. Not to console Lois. I hadn't thought of that. No. To thank Phil for including me in his will. Left me quite a sum. An enormous sum. Quite an overpayment for my work in his garden. But you knew about that. No, I didn't. Makes me a suspect, though. It does. That shouldn't be interesting. When do you ask me about Willard Jordan, the artist? Right now. Painted my portrait, Willard did. There it is. Hanging in back of me. Major Robert E. Woodcock. Retired. Leaning against a field piece. Classic clap, clap. But I've grown rather fond of it. That's all there is of me now. Me and it. I can always reach you here, Major. Phil's gone. Where else would I go? It doesn't matter to you that I'm a widow now, does it? You have to ask me questions. That's right, Mrs. Jordan. I won't answer them. I don't have to answer them. Please get out and let me alone. You told me you weren't at Lois Hunt's house last night. What? You heard what I said. All right. How was it Lois Hunt's house last night? I know. It was a terrible party. Did Pepe take you to the party? Pepe never goes to parties. He spills things on people's rugs. I went along. Did Lois pick you up at a bar? I never go to bars. Then you were following your husband. So what, so what? It's your right, Mrs. Jordan. Of course it is. I was his wife. Just tagged along. Just in case Willard got into trouble with that brewery poster. That's all. Saw Willard go into the house. Waited a while. Then I went in too. Willard got into trouble, Mrs. Jordan. Where were you? Well, well... Well what? Well, a girl has to be sociable at a party. Anybody knows that? Somebody gave you a drink. I never did get to see Willard. Then you must have gotten to know some of the people. Just names like Nicky and John and Bobby. Honestly, I don't remember a lot. Honestly. See ya, Danny. Oh, sure, Markovan. Come on in. What have you got? Got a report here from the fingerprint department. You know what's strange, Danny? The gun's got the Prince of 17 people on it. Well, maybe it did have once. Not anymore. Wipe clean. What's the drama for, Markovan? Why don't you just say it didn't have any prints on it? Because it has prints on it. The most beautiful set of prints is possible. The entire hand of Lois Hunt. Here's a photo stat. Without a blemish or a smear. Killer Lois Hunt, huh? You think so? I'm asking you, Danny. No, no, I don't think so. Somebody doped a drink and pressed her hand against the gun. If Lois had handled the gun to kill both men, she'd have handled it twice. Then there would have been two sets of prints, not one. Yeah. Killer tried to plant a frame, huh? I don't know, maybe. Or what else? Nothing. Just these. Photographs of the Hunt mansion. Interior, exteriors. Six of the people who were at the party last night are outside. You want me to bring them in? Yeah, one at a time. Okay. Wait a minute. Have you talked to that corporal lately? A couple of times. Six to his story. Passed out right after the girl did. She'd been reading to him. Isn't that what he said? Yeah, poetry. He even told me the name of the book. Sonnets from... Look at this picture, Muggevin. Yeah? Library where the kids were found up. Boys sitting here. Girl there. Yeah. See any book near them? Now, look at this one. Picture of Hunt dead in his bedroom. Squint, Muggevin. What's the name of the book? Sonnets from the Portuguese. You don't have to talk to those people now, do you, Danny? Miss Lois is upstairs in a room. I'll tell her you're here. Take me to her, please. This way. What time did you find Miss Lois and that soldier in the library, Frances? It's about a quarter after six. I told that other policeman that. Quarter after six, isn't that pretty early? Sure, it's early. I do it every morning. Clean up in the library so Mr. Hunt and that major could have their breakfast. Saw Miss Lois and the soldier passed out and went to tell Mr. Hunt. You saw Mr. Hunt dead and called the police. I told that other policeman that, too. Miss Lois. What is it? Policeman. Hello, Mr. Clover. Come on in. That'll be all, Frances. Well, come to tell me something about that soldier boy that... Tommy Milo? I'm going to try to do everything I can for him. You want a drink? That gun that killed your uncle and Willard Jordan had your prints on it. Aren't you warm? I am. Just a second, Will. The casement opened. It's much more pleasant, don't you think? Now, what did you say? The gun had your prints on it. Didn't it have everyone's? Well, you all handled the gun. Why just my prints? Because you wiped off everybody's prints and put your own on it. Ooh, I must have been loaded. Why did I do that? Make me think what I thought that you'd been framed. And someone would put the gun in your hand when you'd passed out. You come to tell me you don't think that? What were you reading to Tommy when that dope drink caught up with you? Some sonnets, I think. Everybody else had left, so I thought sonnets were just the thing. Corny, huh? You were reading the sonnets and all of a sudden you felt dizzy and you went to sleep. Is that what happened? Exactly. I told you. But the book wasn't there when we found you, Lois. What? Where was it? On the night table next to your uncle. But I was drugged. How would it get there? You put it there. That was an oversight, Lois. You carried it up to your uncle's room. But I was drugged. You know that. The doctor knows that. I was drugged. Later, you put on an act for Tommy, pretended to pass out, waited for the drug you'd put in his drink to work on him. Then you got up, killed your uncle, came back, then drugged your own drink. Don't tell me what I did. If I'd done that, I would have died. The doctor said that drug was deadly, your own doctor. You didn't have anything to worry about. Francis, your maid always cleaned up the library at six o'clock. You knew she'd yell for help. Now tell me about Willard Jordan, Lois. Don't talk to me like that. Don't tell me what to do. Willard Jordan came back, didn't he? He was looking for his cigarette lighter. You know everything. You and Uncle Phil. Came back and saw Tommy lying there alone. Then you appeared. You had a gun in your hand. You're so smart. You walked Willard to the guest house, killed him because you had to. Smart. Uncle was smart. Told me what to do, why I had to do it. It wasn't just the money. You had that. Your uncle gave you everything you wanted. Like I was a little girl, like I didn't know my own mind, just the way you're talking to me. Let's go, Lois. No. No. No. Come on. No, I won't go. I'm going to kill myself. Get away from that window, Lois. I'm going to do it. Listen to me. Don't you come near me. When I grabbed her, she didn't struggle. Just shrieked over and over. When I let her out of the room, she was still shrieking. And all of a sudden she stopped. Then she looked at me. Bewildered at first. Then smiling. An etiquette smile that a girl gives a man after a pleasant dance. Then she touched my cheek. She spoke to me. I don't think my friends would have been sorry, Mr. Clover. I really don't. On Broadway, the fury of the night races against the time of dawn. It needs those hours to prove itself. The mob, the grinning faces, the voice that whispers. But hurry. Times at your heels. And the night lasts only so long. 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 Krushan as Muggevin. The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's cast, Kathy Lewis was heard as Lois Hunt, Lee Malar as Tommy Milo, Peggy Weber as Melissa Jordan, Michael Ann Barrett as Barbara Sullivan and Russell Simpson as Major Woodcock. Our defense program today calls for sacrifices, but the better we produce, the fewer those sacrifices will be. To do this most effectively, we must all work together toward top productivity. The Free Booklet, The Miracle of America, gives the story of the American system and of the benefits which increased productivity through teamwork as brought to all of us. Write Box 10 Times Square Station, New York City for your Free Booklet, The Miracle of America. Remember the better we produce, the stronger we grow. Stay tuned now for Sing It Again, which follows immediately over most of these same CDS stations. Joe Walters speaking. This is CDS where you laugh at Jack Benny every Sunday night to Columbia Broadcasting System.