 My name's Regan. I work for Anthony J. Lyon, International Detective Bureau. They call me The Lion's Eye. Wednesday at 9 and CBS brings you Jeff Regan, investigator starring Frank Graham as Regan with Frank Nelson as Anthony J. Lyon. So stand by for mystery and suspense and adventure in tonight's story of some enchanted car hop. It was just an ordinary drive-in hamburger joint on Vermont off Sunset, but they called it Hamburger Heaven. And just to carry out the idea, they'd hired six angels to wait on cars. Three blondes, a redhead and two brunettes. I was lucky. I drew the redhead. Only she didn't serve up what I ordered. All she brought me was trouble. The whole thing started when there were only eight more shopping days until Christmas. I fought my way through the necktie and socks set, and by the time I reached the office, I was ready to start celebrating New Year's. But my boss, The Lion, had other ideas. When I walked in, all 280 pounds of him was up on an office stool. He was tacking a dried-up sprig of mistletoe over the door. Jeff Reg, Jeff Reg, my boy, come in. Come in. The festive season is at hand. How's that again? I said the festive season is at hand. I'm feeling overflowing with the old-time spirit. Well, you better take those nails out of your teeth before you spring a leak. Oh, yes. Yeah, I guess you're right, my boy. I got carried away. Yeah, sure. You and Tiny Tim. We're, uh, expecting women clients? Women clients? Oh, oh, you mean the mistletoe. Well, Jeffrey, you never can tell what a sweet young thing might accidentally happen is. Stop drooling, Fatso. You dropped out of a mistletoe set 50 pounds ago. Well, maybe so. But I still believe in Santa Claus. Now, where was I? You were up on the stool with berries in your hair. No, no, I mean about the new client. What have I told you so far? That the festive season is at hand. Huh? Oh, oh, then I haven't told you about our new client. His name is Ward Hamilton, Jeffrey. He was in just a few minutes ago. Fine figure of a man. Well-dressed, distinguished, and prosperous. That explains the Christmas spirit. How much? Jeffrey, the Christmas spirit cannot be measured in terms of money. This is the time of goodwill toward men of unselfish devotion. Sure. How much unselfish devotion did he buy? $50 worth. It's something about his niece or daughter or some friend or something. What about them? Well, it seems this girl's been receiving packages, flowers, candy, that sort of thing. What's so mysterious about that? Doesn't she know it's Christmas? Well, for some reason, rather, Ward Hamilton says she's worried about them. He'll tell you all about it when you see him. The address is on the desk. It's out on Irodel Road in North Hollywood. So I find the Santa Claus that's been sending the packages. Say, that's right. This case does fit right in with the season, doesn't it? Sure. And Merry Christmas to you, too, Fatso. That started it. I hopped in my sleigh and headed my reindeer out over Coengapas. Irodel Road was twin rows of California bungalows with Christmas decorations strung out in front. All except one house. It was the address Lion had given me. Redwood Front on the usual cream-colored stucco. Quite ranch-type fence, swimming pool in the backyard. No Christmas anywhere. Behind the fence, a big down-nation wagged his tail and grinned at me in a nice, friendly sort of way. Only he was growling when he did it. I circled wide and made the porch, but I didn't get as far as the doorbell. What do you want? Mr. Hamilton, I'm Regan, international. Regan? Oh, yes, the detective. Come in, Mr. Regan, come in. He was big and grey-haired, the man of distinction. But what he had in his hand wasn't a glass. It was a whip, black ten feet long with lead weights at the tip. In here. I appreciate your coming right out, Mr. Regan. I'd like to get prompt action. Is that what you use that for? Well, oh, the whip. No, no. No, just a hobby of mine. I practice hitting toy ducks floating in the swimming pool. Oh, nice way to get use out of your pool during the winter season. Well, yes. Never mind that. Sit down, Mr. Regan. I want to tell you about Mary. That's the niece. Nease? No. No relation. I'm a close friend of her family's. Her parents died several years ago. There was no one else, so I tried to take over the reins and help the girl along. It hasn't been easy. She isn't broken to harness. It's a nice metaphor, but it doesn't fit. Not at all. Mary Winter is a strange girl. Very strange. She's the shy retiring type. Ah, I see. The detective training. You're thinking ahead, assuming that she's not attractive to men. Nothing could be further from the truth. She's a lovely girl. Very lovely. Albin hair, green eyes, fine, firm, youthful figure. Desirable is the word, Mr. Regan. Desirable. You understand what I mean. You make it pretty clear. So, um, that brings us to the anonymous packages. For almost six weeks, someone has been sending Mary gifts. Almost every day. Flowers, candy, novelties, that sort of thing. No name, no indication where they come from. Mary has no idea, either? No. But she's reacted them to them badly. They're making her nervous, upset. There's something I can't afford to have happen. Come again? Mr. Regan. I can observe that there's little use in trying to keep anything back from you. My interest in the package matter is because of money. Now the story begins to make sense. Mary is strange. Perhaps I should have said peculiar. A reversion to men is almost... Well, I've been sending her to a Mr. Farthing, a human relations counselor. A psychologist. Something like that. And it costs money. Yes, it costs money. The more delay in cure, the more it costs. Frankly, Mr. Regan, I'm tired of the obligation. She work? Yes. She works at one of those drive-in stands, Car-Hop. Something wrong with that? The place is called Hamburger Heaven, Mr. Regan. And you want me to find the guy who sends the packages so he'll marry her, or so you can get rid of him? It works the same, either way. You'll take the job, Mr. Regan. Sure. I'll find your guy. Maybe he'll look good under your Christmas tree. Ward Hamilton gave me the girl's address in Hollywood. It was a tired stucco four-flat just off Kingsley, the home of Mary Winter, the girl who hated men. And then it was too easy. Standing out front near the curb was a little man in a trench coat. He carried an umbrella over his arm and he paced up and down, watching the apartment. That was too good a bet to pass up. You going somewhere? I beg your pardon. Someone you know lives in there? Why? Why, that's none of your business, sir. The name of the friend wouldn't be Mary Winter. Get out of my way. That's what I thought. Hold it. Wait, let go of my arm. Let go, I say! Why are you watching Mary Winter's apartment? I warned you, let go! Let go! Answer me! Very well, I'll answer you! The umbrella in his hand came down on my wrist and he broke for the corner. By the time I turned, he was out of sight. On the ground, broken, was the little man's umbrella. I picked it up. Real break. Name engraved on the handle. In nice big gold letters it said, Smith. I headed for Mary Winter's apartment. I knocked and nothing happened. Knock again. The radio in the room told me somebody was in and liked their music loud. I tried the door and it worked. I stuck my head in to look around. A redhead came in from another room in slacks and holder. She saw me. She died for the closet. Came out wearing a coat. Then she snapped off the radio. Get out of here! Look, I tried knocking but... Get out before I call the police! The name's Regan. Ward Hamilton sent me. You're lying. You're trying to trick me. I'll call him and he'll tell you. What? What do you want? About the presence you've been getting. Tell me. I... I... I'm not sure. I can't trust you. Look, for the last time I'm supposed to find out who's sending them. Either you help or you don't. Now take your choice. All right. I'll listen. But don't you come a step closer. I sat down one corner of the room. Redhead, other corner. She was tall, graceful, beautiful. Everything a guy could want. Except for the look in her eyes. Scared, hunted. I waited for her to start it. They began several weeks ago. The presence. I... I don't know who is sending them or why but I... Any card identification? No, nothing. You sure? You think I'd accept gifts from a stranger? Take it easy. Nobody said that. What did Farthing tell you? Farthing. This human relations counselor you go to. Oh, you know about that? Yeah, I know about that. What did he say? That... That I shouldn't worry. That I... I should find out. That all? Oh, you don't understand. You're like all of them. Get out of here. One question. Do you know a little guy about 30 carries an umbrella? Where's a trench coat? Shy? No, no. Are you sure? Think. A little guy. No, no, I don't know him. I've never met him in my life. Get out. I left the Redhead sobbing softly to herself. Maybe a lot of flowers and candy would be kind of nice to a lot of people during Christmas. But not to marry Winter. She was mixed up. Inside and out. I headed back to my car and then I was mixed up. It had looked easy until I got to my car. That's when I got complications. A big complication. Fat, 40, with a gun. Get in, Shummers. Now what? Your choice, Shummers. Like what? The Winter Dame, uh-uh. Your property? Not my type. Belong to the boss? Question, Shummers, uh-uh. Be that will you? I'm not through with you. Okay, get through. Stay away from Mary Winter or you'll get trouble. Real bad trouble. Any questions now, Shummers? Yeah. Who pays you? You shouldn't have asked that question. It looked like it was going to be a real holiday season. Brotherly love all over the place. The next stop was a man named Mr. Farthing. Only the sign on the door said John J. Farthing, Human Relations Counselor. It was a plush layout. Waiting room the size of a box top. Rich. Solid. Lined with deep green leather chairs. Brass studs. On the wall. Van Gogh. Go-Gar. That kind of stuff. The receptionist was out and I took a crack at the thick mahogany door. Yes, come in, please. What may I do for you, sir? The name's Regan. International detective. Oh, sit down, Mr. Regan. Oh, is something troubling you? A girl named Winter. Mary Winter. Go on, Mr. Regan. She's a patient of yours? Why do you ask? A couple of questions about him. I see. Since you know her background, I thought you could fill me in on a few things. I said- I heard you, Mr. Regan. Well? Perhaps, sir, you're aware of the nature of my work. Since I assume you're an intelligent man, I don't believe it's necessary to be much more explicit than that. Try it for size. Very well. Cigarette, Mr. Regan? Thanks. There is in existence a code of ethics. Some practitioners call it the Hippocratic Oath. I'm not a doctor, as you know, yet I, too, Mr. Regan, have a moral code. I'm listening. Nothing in my code, either morally, ethically, or in any other way, allows me to discuss the affairs of my patients. Is that clear? Yeah. That's clear. I'm sorry I can't assist you in whatever it is you're trying to do, Mr. Regan. I'd like to help, but as you see, my hands are tied. That makes two of us. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Mr. Farthing, grey suit, ivory cigarette holder, and gold cufflinks stood up and shook hands solemnly. I left. It'd given me nothing. There was only one thing wrong with that. Mr. Farthing was right. I decided to check in with my boss, Anthony J. Lyon. The International Detective Agency, Anthony J. Save it for the customers, Fatso. Jeffrey, where have you been? Look, I just started this business two hours ago. What's eating you? Just me. It seems he's been sending gifts to one merry winter. What? That's correct, Regan. The man you're supposed to be looking for. Well, don't just stand there. Get over here at once. This young man can't wait all day for lazy detectives. And besides, he needs help. He needs help? That's right, Jeffrey. The man you were supposed to find. His life's in danger. This is CBS, and you're listening to Jeff Regan, investigator in tonight's adventure, some enchanted car hop. It started when a guy named Ward Hamilton hired the lion and me to find out who was sending packages to a car hop named Merry Winter. I met a little guy with an umbrella and a big guy with a gun and a human relations counselor who called himself Mr. Farthing. Then I phoned my boss, Anthony J. Lion, and found the mysterious Santa Claus who'd been sending the girl gifts and walked right into our office. When I got there, I found the lion sitting with his fingertips touching as he talked to the man across the desk from him. Like I guessed, it was the same guy I'd seen outside Merry Winter's apartment. The little guy. Thirty French coat and nervous. Jeffrey, Jeffrey, come in, come in. I want you to meet our new client, Mr. Smith, Mr. Ernest Smith. He's in trouble. Well, if he isn't, he should be. Jeffrey, what on earth do you mean? I found you, Mr. Smith, outside the girl's apartment. He wasn't looking for frost on those windows. Oh, no, no, no, no, Mr. Regan, that's... What Mr. Smith is trying to say, Jeffrey, is that that's not true. Mr. Smith is in real trouble. You sell it to him? Jeffrey, how can you say such a thing? Mr. Smith feels his life is in danger. Hence, he has retained us to act in his behalf. That's true, Mr. Regan. I'll admit I sent the gifts to Ms. Winter. I didn't realize I didn't know... Get to the point. Now, now I'm afraid. Since I saw you this afternoon, someone's following me. Fat guy, big coat. Yes, I came here for help. Someone doesn't like my sending the gifts. Well, that's real bright. Well, you can start with Merry Winter. She doesn't like the Mr. Regan? Then there's a guy named Hamilton. She's married? We'll call him a guardian, family friend. Finish your story. I like Ms. Winter. I wanted to do something for her. So you've been sending her anonymous presents for almost six weeks. Isn't that carrying the Christmas spirit too far? Well, I like her. That's not abnormal, is it, Mr. Regan? Of course not, Mr. Smith. You keep out of this, Fatso. It would, Jeffrey, I'll client. We got another client named Hamilton, remember? Besides, you haven't met the girl. Neither have I. What? I've never met Merry Winter. Is that abnormal, Mr. Regan? Oh, dear. Dear, perhaps I'm sicker than Mr. Farthing told me. Say that again. Mr. Farthing, my human relations counselor. He takes care of me. No, wait a minute. Maybe this is gonna add up. You've never met Merry Winter? No. You've seen her in the waiting room of Farthing's office. Why, Mr. Regan, how on earth did you guess that's exactly it? She was reading a copy of Reader's Digest, and I was reading an old national geographic. It was a fall down. Never mind. Well, Lyon, I think that wraps that up. Jeffrey, what do you mean? Merry Winter is afraid of unknown guys sending packages. Unknown guy turns out to be Smith. Take Smith to Merry. Show her he's harmless. Collect our feet. But, Jeffrey, what about Mr. Smith? What about the man who's following him? Maybe you just imagined it. Come on, Smith. We're gonna visit a redhead. The Lyon didn't believe Smith imagined it any more than I did. But he only sputtered, and I loaded Smith into the car and headed out to Merry Winter's apartment. It looked simple. Then, like a glass of mild eggnog, what I didn't know was that somebody had slipped me a zombie. It was turning dark when we pulled up in front of the place. Smith stated my heels like a sheepdog. I knocked. This time, she opened the door. Mr. Eakin, what are you doing here? Brought your Christmas present. Only this one's harmless. Oh, no! Take it easy, sweetheart. Just a guy named Smith. You might even like him. No! Please go away! Please go away! Smith and I walked on in, and Merry backed into a chair in the far corner of the room. She and Smith looked at each other and didn't say anything, so I waited for the sparks to die out of her eyes. But they didn't. There's nothing else on her mind. This? This is the man who sent the packages. You're guested. Smith? Merry winter. Merry winter? Smith. Get him out of here! Huh? I said get him out of here before he kills me! Oh, no! Sit down. Now, just a minute, lady. He won't hurt anybody. Just take it easy, will you? To take quiet? That's what you're talking about! Oh, no, no. I'm sorry. Wait a minute. It's Christmas. You've heard of that, I think, haven't you? People send presents to each other because it makes them feel good. Now, Smith sent you presents for the same reason. You're going to kill me. You're like he is. Try to trap me. Oh, that does it. All right. Look at this. What a card. It came in a box of flowers. Mr. Levitt here to my apartment tonight. Each man kills the thing he loves. Well, Regan, try and explain that. Try and... Shut up! Did you send this, Smith? No, no, Mr. Regan. I didn't send it. I sent flowers and candy and nice things. Mr. Regan, at the window! I left them with their mouths open and ran to the hall and then outside. The girl may have had an overworked imagination, but her mind didn't knock over that garbage can. It was dark and peaceful and still outside. Me and a half moon and nobody else. And then I saw him, thick-set, crouched, moving away from the window. I dove after him. We went down together as his hand came out of his pocket. The heavy gray 45 got itself in my direction and I grabbed at the wrist behind him. The gun fell into the rose bush, but he got to his feet. I warned you once, Shamus. Stay away from that girl. Who said so? Never mind. Get off the case now. Before it's too late, it'll only mean... No! Were you gonna say, trouble? The big guy was 200 pounds of unconscious as I banned over him. The heavy camel hair coat was wrapped around him. The same guy I had seen before. I unbuttoned the coat figuring some identification might help only. When it came open, I didn't need any more. He was wearing a tailored starched jacket. It wasn't the kind you see every day. It was white. That gave me the lead I needed, and I headed fast for my car. Ten minutes later, I stopped at a drugstore on my way out to the valley. I phoned the lion and told him to check on Farthing. Then I headed the car out Kuwinga. The pass was crowded with home-from-work traffic. It took me 25 minutes to make Ira Del Road and the home of Ward Hamilton. This time, the Dalmatian was out for the night. But Ward Hamilton wasn't. He opened the door. Well, well, Mr. Regan, come in. You work late. A time clock's out of order. Perhaps you'd like one for Christmas. No thanks. Wouldn't fit in my sock. Well, Mr. Regan, I take it by this visit that you have good news for me. Call it that. You know who's been sending the girl those gifts? A guy named Smith. How's that again? Smith, Ernest Smith, his birth certificate says. I'm afraid I've never heard of him, Mr. Regan. You saw Mary in the waiting room of Farthing's office. Never met her. A shy little guy. Well, now isn't that something? Well, I must say, Mr. Regan, you did a remarkably fast job. There's something else you ought to know, Hamilton. Chances are Farthing's a phony. Mr. Farthing? Looks like. Why, it seems absurd. Just thought I'd let you know. Want me to go on with the case? What do you mean, Mr. Regan? I found your guy, Smith. That's what you hired me for. And when I get to Farthing, he'll sing like a primadonna. He'll sing? Talk. We'll then keep going. Okay, Hamilton. It's your money. It's your life, Mr. Regan. Be careful. I made a fast phone call to the lion on my way back into town. And that tied it up. Farthing was working late when I got there only when he looked up and saw me. He wasn't happy. What do you want? Conversation. A lot of it. Mr. Regan, I must ask why you've come to my office at this hour. I told you for conversation. Then I may regard this whole thing as a sort of joke? Maybe. Only the laughs you'll get wouldn't get by even on television. I demand an explanation of your attitude. Fair enough. Start with your name. Not Farthing, it's Farnham Howard Farnham. You want more? Where did you get that? I had a phone conversation with my boss. He's got ways of getting things. Like your record. Five arrest bunco, one arrest forgery, one arrest fraud. No conviction. You were lucky. Maybe you won't be this time. You haven't got anything on me, Regan? How about Blackmail? Not a chance. Maybe not yet. Only you were getting set for a job. I believe the guy's name was Hamilton. You can't prove it. Well, that was your mug, the big guy on the white jacket. He meant business. Does he do your legwork? Listen, Regan, you can't pin Blackmail on me. Sure, maybe I had ideas, but I don't claim I'm a doctor. I don't hand out any pills. Just advice, Regan. That's all, just advice. That's too bad. You know, there are a lot of people that take phonies like you seriously, Farnham. A lot of people that could use advice. Real advice. Mine's real. They say, uh, should I marry him? And I say, yes or no, depending... On how much there is in it for you. What do you want from me, Regan? Who paid you to put the B on Mary Winter? Never mind, Farthing. You won't have to answer that. Come on in, Hamilton. I've been waiting for you. You're bragging, Mr. Regan. It made sense if I could get you to join Farthing and me, you might have something to say. You're showing up, check my story. What story? Like this. A man named Hamilton's supposed to look out for a young redhead named Mary Winter. Only Hamilton takes one look at this number and suddenly he's not fatherly anymore. He decides to move in for himself. Is it? You convinced the girl she couldn't trust any man in the world, but you. Should have been the other way around. You're the one she couldn't trust. Isn't that right, Farthing? Leave me out of this, Regan. I run a legitimate business. Leave you out? Well, that wouldn't be fair. You were the guy Hamilton came to with money. He paid you to tell Mary Winter who was the man for her. Am I right, Farthing? You're lying, Regan. No, no I'm not. Everything worked fine until along came a nice shy little guy with an umbrella, Mr. Smith. Met Mary in Farthing's waiting room, starting setting her presence. You know, that must have really stopped you, Hamilton, trying to figure out who was cutting in on your Romeo act. Regan, I've had enough out of you. I thought you were getting nosy. You hired me to find the guy, and I did, and a story. Except if anybody should happen to tell Mary Winter what kind of a guy you really are, Hamilton. You might suddenly find yourself out of a lifetime career. You'll never tell her, Regan. I'll see to that. Forget one item. For a last touch, you send Mary a threatening note. Really put the pressure on. You're washed up, Hamilton. This revolver says I'm not, Mr. Regan. Farthing, come over here out of the way. We're going to take care of Mr. Regan. Self-defense, not a chance with Farthing's record. My right, Farnham. Do as I say, Farthing. Go ahead, Farnham. Go ahead. Murder bullet good on your list. I... I won't play ball, Hamilton. I told the girl what you wanted, but I'm not in this. It's your fight. I can make it, yours. Don't try it. I am as good with this gun, gentlemen, as I am with a whip. Farnham, watch out! Farnham, doctors, I hit Hamilton's wrist. The bullet buried itself in the desktop and the gun hit the floor. I got the gun as Hamilton moved in fast. Only what he got for his trouble was the barrel across his head. Farnham crawled up to his chair and sat down, puffing. I let him catch his breath. When I waved the gun in his direction, he didn't mind phoning the police. The heavy guy on the white jacket showed up bright and early for work the next morning, and the cop greeted him with a pair of handcuffs. He got off with a salt and battery, and Farnham, alias Farthing, made the blotter for a light charge. Hamilton wasn't that lucky. His red assault with intent to kill. It was noon when I got to the lion's office. He was admiring the Christmas tree stuck in the corner, and from the sounds that came out of his mouth, it looked like his holiday fever was becoming serious. Oh, well, Jeffrey. They're looking for a replacement for Vaughn Monroe? Jeffrey, how unkind. It's the season for songs. Sunday is Christmas, my boy. And today is payday. Sorry. Well, perhaps I could manage a small token, a sign of my gratitude. Thanks. By the way, what about Mary Winter the car hop? How is the girl, Jeffrey? Oh, I left her with Smith last night when I went after Farthing's mug. Jeffrey, you didn't? Alone together? And that girl hating all men and that boy shy backwards? Jeffrey, how could you? How cruel. It's too late now, Lion. Maybe we'll read about it in the afternoon paper. Double murder. Double hamburger. What did you say? I drove by Mary's drive-in this morning. There was a car park there. Jeffrey, you mean? Little guy behind the wheel, trench coat, umbrella. He looked an awful lot like our boy Smith. Then you talked to them? For a minute. Oh, wonderful, wonderful. Tell me, Jeffrey, tell me. What did Mary say? She said, with or without onions? Merry Christmas, Lion. Merry Christmas, Jeffrey. CBS, The Columbia Broadcasting System.