 Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle, The Gaudiest, The Most Violent, The Lonesomeest Mile in the World. Broadway's My Beat, with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. When it's June, the breeze that sticks against Broadway is straight from the geographical belt of romance. The tropical flowers bloom in 2nd Avenue push carts, and but 15 minutes trek away, 20 girls, 20 dance the hula like regular Hawaiians, and for refreshment, coconut milk from contented coconuts. And t-shirts are festooned with vat-dyed surfboard riders, and the wiener goes down well with papaya juice, and authentic island music perfumes the air on an LP record. So take a trip to the top of the old Woolworth Pagoda, look down at it, inhale it, it all belongs to you. In the afternoon of it, where I was, Rockston Hotel in four flights up, neat room in neat hotel, and neat man, groomed in necktie and smoking jacket in precise center of bed, stabbed to death. And Detective Muggevin, cleaning lady found him, Danny, called the manager, or called it in. Who is he? Name's John Nelson, registered that way. Been living here for the last three, maybe four years. Manager's checking. The manager tell you anything else? I wouldn't know whether any visitors today, big hotel and all. Also that Mr. Nelson was a quiet sort of man, no trouble. Only thing even a little bit out of the ordinary is asking for and receiving permission to hang all those pictures on the wall. Take a look. What's this one? A taigline, crossed between a tiger and a lion. How about the rest of those pictures? Elephants charging, crocodiles snapping, speaking of crocodiles. Danny, you know there's a difference between alleys? Yeah, I've heard and brooded about, Muggevin. Stick around for technical, huh? Huh? Oh yeah, okay Danny, I'll stick around for technical. Hi Danny. You happy, Gino? Crazy man, crazy. What? A saying I picked up from around one o'clock last night. Oh well. At which time Tina, my eldest, did return from a June prom in Hawaii lace formal. At which time I was waiting up for her in the dark and she danced tippy toe through the living room spun and I asked, You happy Tina? And she said, lie crazy Papa, crazy. Oh I see. Tina must be very lovely now. Now she's going on 19, comes home from a dance at one o'clock. Soon Mrs. T will be putting crocheting needle to wedding veil. And Tina will slip away from us soon Danny. And you, you who could so easily be number one boy. Yeah, yeah, you got something for me Gino. All right, you don't want to discuss it, far be it? Just if you got something Gino. As indeed I have. Anytime. Concerning the deceased of earlier this afternoon, one John Nelson, Detective Muggevin having made a routine check and interrogation of the employees of the hotel has come up with an item. You need a glass of water Gino? No Danny, thank you kindly. Item to it, that John Nelson deceased had no visible means of support. That he could indulge himself in late rising in his hotel room. In taking sun and moon on the hotel roof at odd hours. And never fumbling for a tip for hotel service. Man of lesion means. Anything else? Report of medical examiner that on John Nelson was found a scar of an old bullet wound, right shoulder. And this from his belongings which I lay on your desk to read at your lesion. A newspaper clipping concerning the daring and intrepid adventures of a husband and wife team, Lila and Victor Sutro. Big game hunters with many an orc scalp to their belts. Where are the technical boys in the folds of an adventure magazine? Which one of them happened to pick up on the job for something to read? The name John Nelson could be an alias. Pardon me Danny. All right, what is it Gino? This same thought about Nelson occurred also to the thoughtful detective Muggevin. And? And what? And what is? So he looked into it and came up with Victor Sutro died in Tibet seven years ago while under hunting expedition with his wife. Muggevin found out where Lila's Sutro. As indeed he did. Last year at the conclusion of a farewell lecture tour, her third farewell, she keeled over in her apartment and was there in the tearful presence of her widower Lionel Foster. Where do I find Foster? I was coming to that all by myself Danny. Lionel Foster 1823 E 60. Danny? Well this afternoon you've been splendid Gino. Thank you. I will relay this to Mrs. T. Thank you. Evening now and ride the streets of it. Drive the squad car in the shallows between crests of crowd headed toward Central Park. People with paraphernalia, bedding, brown paper bags, and some adventures enough to trust in potluck. Right turn toward the E 60s, find an address. Ring a bell and a small man in a white coat takes your name, breathes almost audibly at your badge and bid you wait. Time enough to walk around the museum of a room, to wonder out the circumstances which put a zebra's head on the board and was nailed against the wall next to the Ibex. Know that it's an Ibex because the sign under it says so. Pause at the uncaged black leopard which had been stuffed in stride by the magic of modern taxidermy. Be on your way to envy the elephant guns when a voice stops you. Mr. Clover? That's right. I'm from the police. Yes, I'm Lionel Foster. Very busy, Mr. Clover. What can I do for you? You know a man named John Nelson? No. Well, is that all? A man by that name was found murdered a little while ago in his effects of clipping about Mr. and Mrs. Victor Suto. And you traced and you're here. Now what? You were married to Lila Suto. Lila. All this was hers. Makes you feel small, doesn't it? Not particularly. Then you weren't married to Lila. No, I wasn't. No, did you know her? The woman she was. I heard she was a big game hunter. Compare any woman you want to with her. Think... How long had you been married to her, Mr. Foster? Five years before she died of an unheard of melody. So strange that next month would have been our sixth anniversary. If doctors here had been competent and had diagnosed... I understand her husband was killed. For Lila. One thing I can say about Victor Suto is that he gave me Lila. An account of him. An account of he was a... Well? A hero. Oh? Seven years ago on safari in Tibet. There were marauding bands of cutthroats. You wouldn't think so in this day and age, would you? Go on. Well, somehow Lila didn't like much to speak of it. Only Victor died and Lila lived. And she got back and Victor didn't. That's why I say what I did. How did you meet Lila, Mr. Foster? I did her writing for her, you know. No, I don't know. Secretary? The books. There were four of them of her adventures around the globe. She told them to me. I wrote them. The most spoken part of her travel arcs. Mine. If you have no more suggestions, Mr. Clover, may I make one? What? I've written a book about Lila. Anything you'd want to know about her as a huntswoman... I'm sure it's fascinating, Mr. Foster. If I ever need one, I'll send out for it. Goodbye. Nanny, are you ready to go home? Nah, my good man. A couple of things I need to clear off my desk. Sure there are. Mind if I sit down and clutch for a while? Sure, sit down. Thanks. Mrs. Fone a little while ago said it was such a nice day. She didn't get around to cooking. Said bring home some delicatessen. Hey, you want to come up? No, thanks. No, my good man. I have some... Yeah, sure you have. Some other time. What's all that stuff you got? These? Adventure magazines, a couple of books. All about that big game hunting man and wife combo. Lila and Victor Sutro. Thought no one would mind if I took them home to read in bed. You mind? Have fun. Intend to. This stuff fascinates me. Yeah, I've been skimming through it. Man and wife living like that. Man and wife. Depths of the Amazon jungle. Sitting around a jungle fire. Watching natives dance. Native dances. Just for you. Sleeping on the ground. And against the jungle sky. The snow caps of the Andes. In July you get a couple of weeks off. I'll give you an answer. Shut up will you daddy. Sorry. Now you take that Lila and Victor Sutro. They got an itch. They went to answer it. The Amazon. Borneo. Africa. Gold Coast. And what'd they get? Chislers. Pitch Boys. Wynos. Penny Atty. Murders. No. No, they got tribes where women were six feet tall and walked like princesses. And wore materials no one ever heard of. They got pygmies who high jumped seven feet. They battled it out with wild bandits. Man and wife. Ten of Clover's office. Muggerman speaking. Yeah, I'll take it. I'll take it. Fingerprints. Everything you checked it thoroughly. Yeah. Yeah, I'll tell them. Well. Something they said to tell you. That guy you found dead this afternoon murdered. John Nelson? What about him? Not John Nelson. That was a lab. They said your man wasn't John Nelson. They said someone else. Who? They said the corpse belonged to Victor Sutro. Positive identification. The guy's supposed to have died seven years ago in Tibet. Died last night in hotel room on 43rd Street. Careful, some adventure reading matter, Danny. You're welcome to it. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin, and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Family Skeleton, premiere performance Monday night. Yes, this coming Monday, CBS Radio premieres a new five-a-wood day week dramatic series, starring Academy Award winner Mercedes McCambridge as Sarah Spence. You'll find yourself a complete captive of the day-to-day adventures of this small town school teacher who became a community scandal by eloping. Monday through Friday evenings over most of these same stations enjoys CBS Radio's new dramatic series, Family Skeleton. Sunlight of June drifts in from the sea, scans the city, touches the morning, warms it, and Broadway reacts. Leans against the subway exit with fists, rubs the last dream of night out of its eyes, which was the reflection of a woman's summer laughter in a soaked bar mirror. The shutter, and the new day now, and prophesy its points of interest, the heat, the beads of perspiration glistening on the lips of the office secretary, and the ten-minute break to really observe the phenomenon. Old prophecy, tried, true. So flip the cigarette into the gutter, edge into the day of the comptometer. At police headquarters, another quality to the new June morning, embellishing your office, gentlemen in dark blue raw silk suit, gentlemen with Panama hat banded in scarlet, gentlemen of gold-tipped cane, and gentlemen who takes a gold-tipped wallet from his breast pocket extracts a thing handed to you. My card, Mr. Glover. Thank you. Alistair Grover III, how do you do, Mr. Grover? Very well, thank you. Exceedingly well. And you? You wanted to see me about... About an arrangement I have in mind concerning the dead Victor Sutro, call it the business proposal. Yes, let's call it that. All right. My name didn't register with you and press you. Alistair Grover III, not nothing to you. No, should it? No, by no means. A vanity that the publisher and editor of the Travel Magazine Horizon would be known in all walks of life. A pure vanity. You said it was about Victor Sutro. Yeah, his death, the manner of it. I should like to enhance Sutro's death, which involves you, my business proposal to you. What are you talking about? Victor died in a sorted hotel room stabbed with a common knife. Right? Uh-huh. And you have not as yet released this particular information to the newspapers? No. Good. My proposal? That we concoct a legend. That the knife that murdered Victor was in a cursed knife. A Tibetan, or let's say, Tata origin. Perhaps, Hu Blachans. Victor's death, an oriental curse in vengeance, the lingering death that was not his seven years ago. Are you kidding, Mr. Grover? My magazine is of slick paper. It pays slick paper rates. There are movie rights, subsidiary rights, years. I'll get a hack to write it for you. And I am not kidding. You could make a pile. A question, Mr. Grover. Of all you want. Did you know Lila and Victor Sutro? No, them personally, I mean. Oh, yes. Matter of fact, I financed the expedition to Tibet. Made a pile on Lionel Foster's articles about it. Lila, dear man, was a renowned huntress. World renowned. And for this, she had a publicity agent. Who? Johnny Courtney. An office in the Whitaker Building on Broadway. And I've discussed this angle with him. And Johnny is in absolute agreement and will promote. Yeah. Another question, Mr. Grover. You kill Victor Sutro? Ah. A man who laid for me a golden egg? Stunning thought. Any annuity within reason, Mr. Grover. Goodbye, Grover. I built a fortune on exotic lies, Mr. Clover. Sorry you haven't the feel for it. Off the side. Thank you. Goodbye. So Alastair Grover III made the proposition to you, huh? That's right, Mr. Cardin. You gonna take it, Mr. Clover? No. I told Alastair he was out of his stupid mind. I told him no honest cop had fall for a phony setup like that. Mongolian knives, curses. You're leveling. You didn't take it, though. Permit me to shake your hand, Mr. Clover. Look, Mr. Courtney. You want me to level about Lyle and Victor Sutro, don't you? Yeah. Victor I got sympathy for. He wanted to be a hero. But together, phonies. A thousand percent phonies. I got rich off them and I hated them. Why? I told you phonies. Big game hunters. Two big-time chislers who hired professional hunters to do that job. Hired experienced natives who made the kills, did the dirty work. While Victor and Lyle Sutro posed the stride fallen rhinoceroses. You're saying? Yeah, I'm saying. You've seen their movies where the rhino charges right at Lyle like he was panning the... You know where we got that rhino? From a bankrupt one-ring circus in Jersey and the movies were taken against a processed screen in a warehouse in Astoria. Hey. You never noticed it was always the same rhino no matter in what jungle? No. I tell you the same. And not even a male. An old cow female made up with sharp tusks, the name Bessie. Phony, phony, phony. My words for Victor and Lyle Sutro. Still they did expose themselves to dangers. What dangers? Tell me what dangers. Lyle Sutro died of some rare mystery disease. A tropical disease, no doctors. Mr. Courtney. How rare is mumps? Tell me how rare. What? What Lyle died of. Mumps! You're... Go ask a doctor. Dr. Edward Dowd on Park Avenue. Go ask him what Lyle died. Go ask him how out of fat lumps on her face Dr. Dowd and Lionel Foster, her widow are made of rare, mysterious, tropical, unknown, unheard of voodoo. Black magic. Mumps. Big, large lumps of mumps. So on to the streets again, Ride Up Park Avenue, which owns its own brand of sunshine. Less hot, but somehow warmer. Which causes women to appear who somehow look alike, but for a reason dress in different color linen and different harlequin glasses, but who wear exactly the same tan, have the same walk and give the brief impression that they're married to the same man. Only their poodles are different. And doctor's office, cleverness with wrought iron and canvas called chairs and people who have discovered how to slip into them. Paintings and colors never discovered before of things never dreamt of for framed exhibition before. And receptionist in a lime colored material designed to call one's attention to her necklace. You're staring at my necklace. It's made of Mayan artifacts. My husband brought it from Mexico. Who looks at your badge with interest and at you with the new interest and lets the doctor know you're here. Lieutenant Clover to see you, doctor. Lieutenant. Lieutenant. Tell him to wait. So do what the doctor suggests. Wait. And finally... The doctor will see you now. Lieutenant Clover. That's right. Please be seated, sir. Thank you. What can I do for you? How well did you know Lila Sutro, doctor? She was a wonderful woman. Well, let me rephrase my question. Did you know her well? She was one in a million. You got along fine. I miss her. Now it's important that you be honest, doctor. It's about the murder of... I know. I read the papers. You were an old friend of hers, weren't you? A mercurial woman. Sometimes I was her friend. Sometimes her very good friend. Sometimes a buddy. Sometimes she wouldn't even pretend I was alive. How about professionally? When she wasn't going off to all those places to check up once a month. Also shots before she would sail or fly or motor. Well, you know what kind of a woman she was. What she did, I mean. I understand she died of... A very rare disease, akin to encephalitis, but exhibiting not quite the same symptoms. I don't think medical science... I understand she contracted mumps, complications sent in, she died. How can you say it? I heard about it, so I'm saying it. I mean, how can you say Lila Sutro died from mumps? You see how ridiculous that sounds? A woman like that, a vital dynamic... But that's what happened, isn't it? Yes. A reporter suggested that she died from something rare, something contracted on one of her journeys. I thought it wise for Lila's sake to perpetuate it. What about Victor? Who killed him? That's two questions. About Victor, his motivating emotion, his reason for being? To be worshiped, to be a hero. Who killed him? I have not the slightest idea. I didn't like him much, merely because I was out of my mind about his wife. But, well, you know. You're married, Doctor? Definitely, he is. Well, well, thanks a lot, Doctor. Of course. Yes, what is it? Very well. Well, Mr. Clover? Thanks again. Hi. Hello. I rang the elevator bell for us. Thanks. Not only am I the doctor's receptionist, I'm his wife. Oh. Mm-hmm. My place is by his side, if not he plays around. Married long, Mrs. Down? For many years, long before he met Lila Sutro, would you like to have coffee with me, Mr. Clover? I was going to suggest it. I had a feeling. Two lumps, Mr. Clover? None, thanks, sir. Well, well, now, here we are. Cream? No, no, thanks. You're not going to like me. I wouldn't say that. As a woman, I mean, oh, I'm attractive enough, I know that, but completely frightened on account of it, yes, possibilities, I mean. Aside from that... What are you trying to say, Mrs. Down? The unforgivable sin for an attractive woman. I'm malicious. I'm a tale-bearer. Even after the grave. You didn't like Lila Sutro, is that it? My husband and husband. He said so. Proudly? No, I wouldn't say that. Reverently, then. What about Lila, Mrs. Down? I hated her. Victor hated her, too. Did you know that? No, I didn't. Victor was frightened of her. Scared to death of her. But then Victor was a coward. Coward? You know about the man afraid of his own shadow? Victor was afraid of the man. He went on those trips because Lila made him. He was very nice, but he was a coward. And more than anything, more than anything... Victor wanted to be a hero. Exactly, exactly. Because he was a frightened man. The fact that he won such a woman as Lila from Lionel Foster was a constant source of wonder to him. Lila knew Lionel before... Much before Victor. You might wonder how I knew so much about Victor. Well... Well, I had to get back at my husband somehow, didn't I? More coffee? Hey, Danny. Come on over here and look at this head. Shot in Kenya, June 1940. You know giraffes don't talk, Danny? Don't talk? I mean, they can't make any sound. You think with all that throat they'd have even a small vocal cord? Not so. You're a mind of information, aren't you, Muggerman? Eat you, huh? You know, I could spend a lot of time, Mr. Foster's home museum. You're entirely welcome. Anytime. I consider it a tribute to Lila. Mr. Foster, this is Detective Muggerman. Hi, Mr. Foster. Mr. Foster was married to Lila Sutro after Vector Sutro was killed in Tibet. Must have been a privilege, Mr. Foster. Shall I tell you a story? Well, uh... Yeah, yeah, sure. To let you know the kind of woman she was this way. This gentleman is a wild boar which Lila stuck while riding a horse in India. One thrust. There's a small spot on the boar which if pierced... So, Penny, she had to die. Such a brave and wonderful woman. Sticking boar and shooting giraffes. A lot of woman. But what'd she die from? Medical science had no name for it. They sent my kid home from school with the same thing your wife had. They called it mumps. I went to the doctor and took shots. Get out of here. I'm afraid we can't do that, Mr. Foster. We've got a lot more talking to do. How'd you find out? The tenant here saw our agent. He said so. He's a liar. Then I saw our doctor. Then you've made a trip here to ridicule Lila. Is that it? You want to destroy her? She was quite a woman, wasn't she? One little slip. She had to die of a stupid disease. And you want to destroy her? We didn't say that. A woman who went into the darknesses of the world. The way I heard it, she got proposed to work for her. And that's what you'll tell everybody? No, no, she's dead. There's no need to destroy her. I loved her. I know. No, please. Just don't. Well, we'll... Her daughter Lila came back from Tibet and Victor didn't. I walk around this room at night and I remember Lila. Did it have anything to do with that bullet wound Victor carried the secrets I know about her? Listen, Mr. Foster, the secrets are yours. She shot him. They got drunk someplace in India. They never got close to Tibet, did they? After she shot him, a month later or so, she got permission, she flew over it. Okay, she shot her husband. She thought he was dead. She came back with that story of what a hero her husband was, that he'd been killed saving her life. Did you know that if you tell yourself something, no matter if it's a lie, a terrible lie, if you tell yourself something enough times, you've come to believe it. When did Victor get back? After we were married, he appeared. She hadn't killed him. Any threatened to tell what a phony his wife was? He would have, no matter how much money we gave him, except for the story Lila had told the world about him, that he was a hero. And being a hero was what he wanted most, wasn't it? He wasn't a hero who was really a coward. $500 a month, and he didn't have to be frightened anymore. When Lila died, when she died, he wanted more money, isn't it? At first, not much. Then more and more. Then I didn't have enough for him. Then he threatened to tell. It didn't make any difference to him. So you killed him? Yes. And in killing him, I was closer to Lila. How she felt when she hunted and killed. You think she ever killed anything, Mr. Foster? I don't know. I really don't know. She never was a very good shot. Night leaps down on Broadway, and the crowd swarms the street to embrace it. Laughter pours out of the shadowed places, and for a time kid, no despair. Just small shock. And sweet promise, have a drink on me. For a while. Just for a while. 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 Trotaglia, and Jack Krushen as Muggevin. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, her Butterfield was heard by Lionel Foster, featured in the cast were Irene Tedrow, Ben Wright, Hal Gerard, and Tom Tully. Bill Anders speaking. The Johnny Mercer Show bows in over CBS Radio this coming Monday evening for songs, music, and conversation of Tin Pan Alley. We know you'll want to get next to the Johnny Mercer Show, starring one of the top personalities of the singing and songwriting trades. You'll be on most of these same stations starting this coming Monday. CBS Radio's new Johnny Mercer Show. Come and get it. And remember, for thrilling dramas of escape, listen Sunday nights to the CBS Radio Network.