 My name's Regan. I work for Anthony J. Lyon, Detective Bureau. They call me The Lion's Eye. Sunday at 8.30 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 transcribe story. No sad clowns for me. There was a tall clown and a short clown juggling this one. Plus a sleek but over-aged destroyer named Ruth that wore tights and trained tigers. All parts of a big circus playing a small town of 649 people. And somewhere along the midway, a joker wanted to cut me down to size. Six-foot box size. I wasn't thinking about the circus when I went to the detective bureau Wednesday morning, but my boss was. The lion was up to his knuckles in... Green, my boy! I've just about decided to have our whole orvers done over in green. Why the sea of $1 bills? A client, my boy, with payment in advance. Those bills look like they've been papered in a rat's nest. They're all in pieces, my boy, but they're good. You'd know. Yeah, of course. You notice when I hold this one against this 300 watt light, the paper's made with silk threads. If fitting the torn bills together, they come to $67, Jeffrey. And the client is... See this canvas bag? Bottle top? It's full of nickels, dimes and quarters, Jeffrey. With the $1 bills, it makes a very nice retainer of $75. For which we do what? Nothing. Now, wait a minute, Fatso. You mean a client walked in here laid down 75 bucks to hire us to do nothing? Exactly. Duck, there's a curve on this pitch. Oh, no, my boy. The whole thing's perfectly legitimate. Our client walked in about an hour ago. Description? Well, he was a tall man, eccentric. Go on. 45 or 50 years old, long, pale, stringy, yellowish hair, like an actor, and oddly dressed. This keeps getting better. Well, he had on a single-breasted pinstripe suit and tennis sneakers. A rope for a belt. Does he fly? Hmm? Well, uh, no, no. Anyway, Jeffrey, he put the money down. He saw I was worried about the small denominations. And then he said, it's not brass. Just like that. It's not brass. It circus expression, my boy. Then he leaned right over this desk and said slowly, showing his big teeth, Jeffrey. When a little old man named Crackley comes in, don't take his case. And you went for that? Of course. We do nothing. No trouble at all. Lion, it could be we're in trouble. Give me our client's name and address, and the retainer. I'll take it back. Well, uh, unfortunately... Don't tell me. You didn't get the name and address. Well, you see, my boy, he was in a great hurry. You gave him a receipt for the 75? Of course. Everything very business-like. That ties us into the case, but good. Now, no matter what happens, we're mixed up in it. You're borrowing trouble. We bought it. Oh, relax, my boy. We gotta get that receipt. Forget it. Just be grateful. But if Crackley shows up, be careful. I turned and started for the door. I knew Clant was a crank. We'd have to be more than careful. Then I couldn't dump the trouble into the lion's lap. I slammed the door on my way out. The noise made a little old guy jump. He was standing in the hall just outside our door. It wasn't hard to figure who he was. Crackley? You know my name? Well, I do now. You're on your way into the Lion Detective Bureau. Yes. I'm Regan. The lion's eye? That's what they call me. You're the man I came here to see. You were highly recommended. I'd like to talk to you, Crackley. I know a place that let us sit down for 50 cents. I could use a drink. I thought maybe. We went to Dugan's bar. Crackley was a little guy, but smart, almost sharp. He had an outdoor face tanned with deep wrinkles like closed eyes in his forehead. Like he had a lot on his mind. And he wanted to talk. I'm the owner of a circus, Mr. Regan. Congratulations. Well, you don't understand. I don't know if you can imagine the responsibilities of a circus owner. To his employees, I mean, they're all specialist. And if we were to close up and go out of business, why, there'd be no place for them to go. Except another circus. Circus business has fallen off since the war years, Mr. Regan. I hadn't heard. Business is terrible. Oh, sure. Another drink, gentlemen? No thanks. No, I don't. Now, why did you come to the Lion Detective Bureau? I want you to find a man named Bliss. Why? Well, Bliss has been investing in my circus. Putting money into a losing proposition? Oh, it's not unusual. People that love the circus, especially wealthy people, enjoy putting their money into things that give them pleasure. Bliss is missing? For the last three weeks. And the money has stopped coming into the circus. Well, yes, Mr. Regan. When did you last see Bliss? The fact is, I've never seen Bliss. But he puts money into your circus? Through his lawyer. Right now, we're playing Bliss's hometown. I'd hope to meet him in person. Yeah. Uh, what would you say, Mr. Crackley, if I told you a strange man came into our bureau this morning and paid us not to take your case? Well, was someone's following me? I don't know, but... Yeah. Yeah, Mr. Crackley, someone's following you. Mr. Regan, what are you looking at? You mean, what is it looking at us? Where? Stay put, I'll be right back. I ran to the window. The face that had been peering at us whipped out of sight. A couple of winos in Dugan's door cost me two or three seconds getting out, and that was enough. When I got to the street, it was empty. The man with the long, stringy, yellowish hair who'd been watching us was gone. I went back into the bar. That's when I got a second surprise. Crackley was gone too. A quick call to billboard gave me what I needed. The Crackley Great Combined Circus was playing a town of 650 people, a place called Crossroads in the foothills about a two-hour drive from LA. The crank with the yellow hair on the rope belt was somehow tied up with that Crackley Circus. Yellow hair had the lion's signed receipt. I had to get it back. So I got into my car and headed for Crossroads. And when I got there, funny thing, the town was deserted. But the Circus Midway was jammed. It looked like Crossroads whole 649 population was at that circus. Hot dogs, hot puppies, they're delicious, they're nutritious, step up and get one. How much? A hot dog, how much? Oh yeah, a hot dog. Hey, you mean you're going to buy one? Why not? Nobody buys nothing in this cheap bird. Business looks pretty good to me. Everybody in town here at the Circus. Don't cost them nothing. Oh no. Old Crackley's putting on a show for nothing. Making it look good for Bliss, a silent partner. The show's papered then. Annie Oakley's for free, huh? Say, you Bliss. And if I am? I ain't said nothing. Yeah. How much for the hot dog? Uh, two bits. I paid for the hot dog, walked along the Midway, asking questions wherever I could get an answer. It's like the dog peddler had said, Crackley had papered the house, bought tickets for everyone in town, to guarantee business. We weren't supposed to take the case, but the situation was interesting, and I got the wondering about Bliss, how he fitted in. But then I remembered I was here to get our receipt back, so I bypassed the Midway, walked around with a performance tense. No gaudy signs here, no freak shows, palmists or ballet. And I found a woman, or rather, she found me. Reagan? Ah, nice to be known. This is my tent, Mr. Reagan. Please come in. She was tall, slim. You could spend time watching her. Young, but, uh, not too young. Her hair was long and black, almost to the roots. Her face was firm, beautiful. But her eyes had already been there and back. Then we were in her tent, nobody around except the tigers just outside. She got nearer. And I could see more. Reagan? Nice tent. I got a message. Uh-huh. Go home. That's your message? Go back to L.A., Crackley says. You a friend of Crackley's? He saw you on the Midway. He said, that's Reagan. That's the lion's eye from L.A. that ought to go home. I'm sure it wasn't Bliss. You know Bliss? Oh, yeah, a very close personal friend of mine. You're clever, Reagan. It's my business. Make sure your business doesn't get you into trouble. Hey, that tiger's close. Yeah, I work the big cats. They hate me and I hate them. I like them kept near me. Gives me a chance to whip them through the bars whenever I'm feeling blue. Lady. Yeah? What's your name? I got a surprise for you, Mr. Reagan. I've had lots today. My name's Crackley. You're married to all Crackley, the circus owner? I'm married his son, Mr. Reagan. His son? Yeah, George Crackley. The little runt that's standing in back of you. I turned. George was there all right. And he was little, maybe four feet ten inches tall, wearing a clown suit. His face was in queer makeup, chalk white, bruised blue. He was supposed to look like a sad clown. And he was. What are you doing around here? Looking for a man. She look like a man? No. You're after my wife, too. You were standing real close. Guys fall in love with me, Reagan. My husband's a poor sport about it. Well, make sure you don't wake up dead, Mr. Make sure you don't get dropped on. I'll be real careful. George, if you don't get out of here... Ruth, don't you think it's time you were getting into your costume? The walk around will begin in four or five minutes. A tall clown filled the opening to the tent. When he spoke, Ruth began fumbling with the costume. Little George looked like it was going to cry. Then walked out of the tent without a word. Ruth followed him. And I was left alone with a tall clown in makeup with a red watermelon mouth and cold blue eyes. I hated to interrupt, Mr. Reagan, but Ruth must dress for the walk around as we of the circus call our opening parade. Uh, you seem to have an effect on George, too. Oh, George and I are partners. He's the sad bruised clown and I am the cruel clown. I frighten him, maul him, beat and bruise him with various objects. It amuses people. Naturally. We're all sadists at heart. Maybe you can help me. I'll try. I'm looking for a tall, eccentric man. Where's tennis shoes? Rope for a belt. As long, stringy, yellowish hair, you know? I said, do you know him? Of course. That would be Mr. Bliss. Where can I find him? As a matter of fact, Mr. Reagan, I have a message for Mr. Bliss. He wants to see you. Who will I say sent me? Just the cruel clown. He'll know who you mean. Where do I meet Bliss? At his home. I'll tell you how to get there. He did. I got into my car and started the drive to his shack. I'd meet him on his own terms at his place. It was a 15-minute drive, most of the way up a side road. I was almost there when a car pulled into the side road behind me, coming up fast, its headlights growing in my rear-view mirror. I pulled over to let the speedball pass. He began to cut in on me. The trailer he had hitched on sideswiped me. I felt myself go against the steering post. Then I didn't feel anything for a long time. I'd been thrown clear of my car. When I came to there, there was a huge man standing over me, black in the moonlight. My gun was gone. My hand caught at a club. And then I saw it wasn't a club, but a small, very small chair arm. I must have fallen from the trailer. The trailer was gone. The man started moving in. Well, sweetheart. Stand back. Coming to you, sweetheart. Get back. I got your gun, baby. I'm Logan, chief of police at Crossroads. Maybe I ought to take you into custody for breakfast driving. Logan, I'm a private detective from Los Angeles. Why don't you get up from the ground and tell me about it? Here. Yeah, thanks. Somebody ran me off the road on purpose. I think I know who. And so, sweetheart? That's not all. There's something phony about that circus play in your town. There's no circus around here. You're real funny. Like this, I'll make you a bit, baby. You can't show me no circus around these parts. You seem sure of that. Give you a 20 to 1. Let's go take a look. All right. We drove in his car to the circus lot. When we got there, we saw the lot was full of color. All of it moonlight. Vacant. Not a candy wrapper. The crackly, great combined circus was gone. As though it had never existed. This is CBS, and you're listening to No Sad Clowns For Me, tonight's adventure with Jeff Regan, investigator. It started bad, and it got worse. Lion had us balled up in it like a cat in a fish line before I even heard of the case. Then I took over. I did fine. Trying to get our receipt for $75 back, I got myself run off the road near the town of Crossroads, got my car smashed up, and the chief of police told me that the crackly, great combined circus where I'd spent an hour wasn't there. And it wasn't. The chief of police thought this was real funny. Where'd the circus go, sweetheart? L.A., probably. You're kind of slick. Couldn't have been gone more in an hour. Look at those filled-in post holes. You're a real bright fella. And I know why I'd left in such a hurry. Oh, you cityfellas are real sharp like. The circus left because of a guy named Bliss. You know about Bliss. Bliss was putting money into a circus, not taking any out. Keep talking. Bliss gets tired of the slaps and attachment on the circus. Crackly pulled the show out before it could be served. Yeah, you're real smart. You'd better come along with me, sweetheart. We have, uh, better have a little, uh, uh, talking. It hit the bullseye, and I got more than I bargained for. It seems Bliss had no friends except Logan, who, being the local legal eagle, was also appointed by Bliss as his lawyer, having full power of attorney. Now Logan was ready to talk. Bliss, now, he ain't no dummy. He was in the circus himself years ago, before he got wise and made a lot of dough in, uh, plumbing fixtures. No money in the show business, sweetheart. Now you tell me. Now, Bliss, he ain't old, but he's kind of funny. All of a sudden he wants to... Invest in a circus. His old love. But he also wants to make some money out of it. Oh, Bliss, he likes money. He married this circus, Cal, years ago. Left her cause she was draining away his salary. How much money did Bliss put into the Crackly circus? Well, baby, uh, Bliss bought in deep enough to own 49% of the show. Bliss isn't getting any money out of his investment, so he slaps an attachment on the show. Crackly gets wind of it, pulls the show out. You were right up to there, sweetheart. Talk, Logan. I got a note from Bliss, uh, just this afternoon. Told me to lift the attachment order. Always a real happy note. Where's Bliss now? Honest, baby, I don't know. He's queer, he's just gone. Bliss skipped out on his wife. That can't be his real name. No, I can't tell you much. I promised Bliss it wouldn't, but his name used to be, uh, Elmer C. Bickel. You got a phone, Logan? Uh, here you are, baby. But get the charges. I was getting an idea. Another reason for the show's moving. One thing was sure. Bliss was in it up to his ears. It was two in the morning now, and I got the lion at home. DJ Lion Detective Bureau, home office. We never sleep. And why haven't you been asleep? Oh, hey, Jeffrey, I've had some very important work to do tonight. Such as? No, pasting those dollar bills together, if you must know. You're graduating from kindergarten right now, Fatso. Get your car out. At this hour? I'm in Crossroads, California, slaving for the agency, and you can help. What can I do? Get all the stuff you can on a guy named Elmer C. Bickel. Bickel? Bickel. Join the circus years ago. Married somebody. Left his wife. Check variety. That'll take all night, Jeffrey. You've got one hour. Oh, another thing, Fatso. Check the theatrical hotels. Places where show people, circus people put up. And here's what we need. A line on anybody connected with a crackly, great combined... I can give you that, sweetheart. What? You what? I know where they probably hold in. William, forget that last, but check Bickel. I hung up, and Logan said he'd heard the performers in Crackly Circus usually stayed at the Fossman Hotel in Los Angeles. So I called the Fossman Hotel. The desk clerk sounded wide awake. Fossman Hotel? Has Mr. Crackly checked in? Uh, who's asking? Regan, private investigator. Well, we certainly could have used a private investigator this morning. Why? Heavens. The circus came in without telling us. Everybody's so upset. You better make sure they pay in advance. Oh, room. Huh? But there's such confusion. I just don't know what to do. You wouldn't. Now, about Crackly. Crackly, this is Jeff Regan. Oh, Regan. Why did you run away? Because we were so low on funds that the sheriff's office is going to attach the show. We heard of the order in left town to leave their jurisdiction. Oh, yeah, sure. Well, your worries are over, Crackly. I've found Bliss for you. Bickel, too. Oh, no. It's impossible. What I mean is... Yeah. I know what you mean. It hit me. The circus was making money. Crackly had paid his hotel bill in advance, fined sweeter rooms, where he probably could keep in a double set of books cheating Bliss. I got Logan, got in his car, and drove back to the deserted circus lot. We drove fast. The circus had pulled out in the middle of the night for another reason. And I knew now we'd better look for that reason. The lot was deserted. Low, cold mist over the ground. Gray morning. A small animal moved through the mist like a creature from another world. A small dog. He'd found what we couldn't see. He had something in his mouth. A cap. With a red pom-pom on its pointed end. A clown's cap. Stained with blood. Logan had men digging within minutes. One of the filled post holes seemed larger than the rest. This was it. We found him, Mr. Reagan. Yeah. Uh, let me see his face. Yeah, kinda muddy. Still in makeup. Tall, cruel clown. You know him? Yeah, you too. Pull the skull cap off. Oh. Poor... Poor Mr.... Bickel. Alias Bliss. Long, stringy, yellowish hair like an actor. Only isn't playing it being dead. Come on, Logan. Keys to your car. I've got an appointment at the Fosman Hotel. I took Logan's car, made the two-hour trip back to LA. I phoned the lion as soon as I hit town. I got the complete rundown on Bickel. Then I went to the Fosman Hotel. It was a room clerk for old Crackley's room number. It was 203. I didn't wait to be announced. You should lock your door, Crackley. You could get company you might not enjoy. I've been waiting for it. I know why you pulled out a crossroad so fast last night, Crackley. I don't know anything. I found Bliss. I'm not interested in Bliss anymore. Maybe you're interested in Bickel, the tall clown. Please, Mr. Reagan. Bliss joined the circus under his real name, Bickel, to check up on his investment. He's not eccentric, but not eccentric enough to throw his money away. But he got more than he bargained for. No, no, please, now leave me alone. He's dead, Crackley. Dead. Yes, dead. You pulled out a crossroads last night because a man was killed and buried there on the lot. But I didn't kill him. But you know who did? No, no. I had the lion check on Bickel. It seems he married Aruth Sandusky in Chicago, April 18, 1930. Now, Aruth Sandusky was only a kid then, featured in an animal act. My son George married her in good faith, Mr. Reagan. I was against the marriage. Where's George now? I can't tell you. I left him in Cacti's suite of rooms to check the front desk of George's room. I was told he lived in his own small trailer. When he was in town, he always parked it down by the Circus Warehouse. That's where I headed. The Circus Warehouse was down by the tracks. It was a raw wood building that had fallen in on its bones. Most of the Circus Tracks had unloaded. Things were pretty quiet. all the circus trucks had unloaded, things were pretty quiet. I got out of the car, walked around. The rear of the warehouse was parked a small trailer, beat up. The one that had forced me off the highway near Crossroads. Inside, I found Ruth. Ruth Sandusky. Reagan. Married Elmer C. Bickel in Chicago, April 18th, 1930. You're a real bright eye. You kinda like being married, don't you, Ruth? So much you get married twice. Girl needs a man. With money. Bickel ran away from me the week we played Chillicothe. The only way I knew he was alive, he used to put crazy ads in the trades every Christmas. You'll be sitting pretty when old man Crackley dies, and George inherits the circus. Oh, I try not to think of such things. Bickel joined the circus three weeks ago, he recognized you, wanted you again, moved in on George. The thing is, you were still married to Bickel. You kind of overlooked getting a divorce, which meant you weren't legally married to George, meaning you had no future claim on the circus. You won't tell George. It'll make it worth your while, Mr. Reagan. Trouble is, lady, George saw Bickel, the new clown moving in on him, and easily, too. You were afraid to hold Bickel off, afraid he might yell bigamy. Real cozy for you, Ruth. Both husbands, clowns in the same act. You better stop talking, Mr. Reagan. George had to move out of your tent, sleep in his trailer, he was crazy jealous. That's why he tried to finish me by driving me off the road. He thought I was moving in too. Stop it while you still got the chance. Bickel said come back to me or I yell bigamy, and you killed him. Only one thing, lady. You didn't know that Bickel and Bliss were the same man. Bliss? Yeah, the angel, the guy that was pouring all that money into the circus. Bickel was Bliss. I'm still married to him, legally. That's almost right. Yes, it was bigamy. What do I want with George now? Is the wife of Bliss or whatever he called himself? No, I'll inherit all his doll. You killed Bliss. What? Crackley thinks his son did it. George, you'll go to the gas chamber for me. I'm a bigamist, Mr. Reagan. So give me two years. No, you won't get rid of me that easy. George. Little George, the sad bruised clown stood in the doorway of a small trailer. It was like he didn't see me. Only Ruth, his almost wife. But he'd heard plenty. I thought you killed him because he was molesting you. I thought you killed him because you loved me. You stay away from me, George. Ruth ran out of the trailer, followed by George. He slammed the door to hold me back. I got the door open just in time to see Little George slip into the circus warehouse. I ran after them fast. Inside the warehouse, it was dim. It was the sharp smell of circus animals. Little George was flexing his muscles for the first time in his life. A superhuman strength had come into him. He had Ruth by the hair and was forcing her into an animal cage. The tiger was crouched in the corner of the cage, ready to jump. I grabbed both George and Ruth by the hair and pulled him back. I kicked the cage shut. Why didn't you let me finish? Sorry, George. The state will want witnesses when Ruth finishes her act. In the gas chamber, I wound it up. I called Sam Ducci of homicide. When they came to take Ruth away, I saw Little George, the fall guy, standing near his trailer, all alone. Two hours later, I checked in with a lion at the office. Still at the pace, pot lion? Oh, here's my boy. I've just finished facing the last meal together. The silk threads match perfectly. Nice neat job. Oh, Jeffrey, you just don't know how hard I work for our future. Uh-huh. Banks should take these, all right. Now, I slaved all night, my boy. The only thing money doesn't belong to us. I think I'll just press the bill so the bank will be sure to what? Money isn't ours. But eh, eh, what do you mean? I got a call from Logan. Says he found your receipt in the Bliss Shack. I had to tell him we got the $75 to keep us from taking the case. So the bliss estate demands its money back. It's all your fault, Jeffrey. Yeah, I guess maybe. If you hadn't opened your mind. Well, I guess I'll just have to keep this 100. Eh, uh, well, which hat you have? $100 bill. Got two more, just like it. Jeffrey, if it was who? Oh, Crackley gave it to me. Eh. He thought his son George had killed Bickel when we proved it was Ruth. He gave it. Oh, how could I have ever doubted you, Jeffrey? Oh, uh, another thing, Lyon. Yes? Meant to tell you, those bills who paced it together? No, I worked so hard over them. Well, the bank would have fitted the bills together for you. Yes. Oh, no! Jeff Regan, investigator, is written by William Frug and Gilbert Thomas, directed by Sterling Tracy and stars Frank Graham as Regan with Frank Nelson as Anthony J. Lyon. Original music is by Dick Aron. Jeff Regan, investigator, is transcribed each week at the same time over CBS. Bob Stephenson speaking and inviting you to be with us again next Sunday at 8.30 for more suspense and mystery and adventure with Jeff Regan, investigator. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.