 Time now for yours truly, Johnny Duller. The next half hour has its baggage packed to take a trip with America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator Johnny Duller. At insurance investigation, he's just an expert. At making out his expense account, he's an absolute genius. Expense account submitted by special investigator Johnny Duller. To home office, I were the insurance underwriters association Hartford, Connecticut. Attention, general manager Harvey Anthony. Dear Mr. Anthony, here is your problem. The following is an accounting of my expenditures in the case of the $100,000 legs. Or who puts your company out on the lens? Expense account item one. $60. $20 across the board on a losing horse I was rushed into betting on when you had me paged on a public address system at the race track. When they paged me, they said it was an emergency. It better be. Why? What's the matter, darling? This is my day off. And if I know you, this call is going to make it an off day. If I know you, my friend, you won't mind this assignment. I want you to go out to Hollywood. Act as a bodyguard for a big Maryland major. Oh, not a bad body to guard. What's the deal? We've issued one of those publicity policies. Ensured her legs for $100,000. Policy will only be in effect for 48 hours. We want you to stick with her. Just, uh, see that she doesn't get mixed up in a hockey game. I get it. She's been notified, so she expects you. When did the 48 hours start? Tomorrow noon. Can you make it? Yeah, with the help of American Airlines. Got enough cash with you to buy your tickets? Uh, about that I'll know right after the next race. I'll call you from Hollywood. Pense account item two. $10. Borrowed from a friend. Taxi fare from the race track to town. Where I cash checked to pay item three. $186.13. Plain fare Hartford to Hollywood. Item four, $350. Cab fare Los Angeles Municipal Airport to the home of the insured. Miss Marilyn Major at the Horizon View Apartments on the Sunset Strip. Tip to driver, $1. Miss Major's apartment had the best view of the horizon. It being the penthouse. But her outlook was anything but rosy. I found the apartment door open. First I looked in, then I went in. I want to place a person-to-person call, please, to Mr. Harvey Anthony and Hartford, Connecticut. Volunteer, $3,000. My name is Dollar, as in blood money. While I was waiting to get Mr. Anthony, I wondered who had got Miss Major. In the movies, I'd always thought she looked right at home anywhere. And now right there in front of me, she was passing a toughest test. Flying there, nice and relaxed. She looked right at home in the role of a beautiful gal who had just been murdered. Her face was calm, her legs were neatly placed in the best of cheesecake tradition. The only thing not quite as it should have been was a very real bullet hole, which she was wearing where an earring should have been. But the next cameras that would be taking her picture would be police cameras. Bee pictures. Bee for bloody. Mr. Dollar? There's your party, go ahead. Hello. Hello, Dollar? Yeah, yeah, this is Dollar, all right. Anthony, first I want to tell you, those legs you insured are still in beautiful shape. Good, good, fine. I only hope you didn't also insure Miss Major's life. She's dead. What? Marilyn Major dead? That's right. I'll get to work on it, but don't waste too much hope. To me, it looks like you're only out is if the policy does not pay off on murder. Oh, this is death by violence, brother, any way you look at it. Anthony, I'll get to work on it right after I call the cops and make a report. Do your best. Goodbye. Okay, goodbye. Came standing in the kitchen doorway had 32 caliber steel in her hand to back up the brass in her voice. She was a youngsters, but obviously an old timer at a lot of things. Her hair was the same color as the murdered woman's smoke blonde. And her dress was tobacco brown and round and firm and fully packed. I said one. Yeah, sure, sure. Okay. Now, uh, you do me a favor, will you? If you feel you want your finger near that trigger, how about moving it up to the front of the trigger guard, huh? Mister, I only heard part of what you said, but you're not calling no police. What makes you think so? That daemon there's done me enough harm. I came here to kill her. But somebody beat me to it and I'm not taking the rap. Okay, so beat it. Who cares? Then I'll call the police. Somebody's going to eventually. Before I go, I'm finding a few things and taking them with me. Now, come on. Get up on your feet, mister. You're coming with me in the bedroom. Okay, okay. Don't get excited. Okay, mister. Over against that wall with your face in close and your hands straight up. Come on, move. All right. You learn this at the movies or by watching your friends work? Don't be a wise guy. I'm not as dumb as I look. Now, hold still. Look, uh, sister, by this time I shouldn't still like you well enough to warn you. But what you're doing right now will get you in plenty of trouble, even if you didn't commit this murder. I'll take that chance. If you don't get picked up for larceny, they'll still get you for tampering with evidence. As far as the police are concerned, at the scene of a murder, nothing gets touched. They like it that way. What I'm taking won't even be missed. There are plenty more here just like them. That's all she's got in here. Love letters from men. Who are you covering up for, your boyfriend? It's none of your business, mister, but it's my husband I'm covering up for. Well, then you're just plain nuts. If he knew her, they'll find that out. Then if they want them, they'll find him. Then they'll find him dead. Huh? My husband committed suicide over that. No good damn this morning. Oh. No, I've had enough out of you. Back up. Two steps. Okay. Now get over there and into that closet. Come on. Too bad. What's the matter? I always feel sorry for a sucker. I felt around in the dark. It was a small closet. That meant not much air. That meant doing something about it. I took my fingernail file, stood it on edge, and slipped it under the door, pressing down the nap of the rut. I did the same with my fountain pen. That would at least allow a small supply of air to sneak into my stuffy little cell. And then I glued my ear to the thin wooden panel that separated me from the bedroom. It wasn't long before my captor apparently completed his search. I heard her pass the closet door and head to the front room. I didn't hear her dial the phone, but it didn't take me long to realize that's what she was doing and who she was calling. From the moment she hung up, I could only guess what was happening. I heard a man's footsteps rush in and then his voice. Blackmail me when you achieve what you want me to do for these letters. Now I'm taking them with me. I didn't think I had the time to spend picking the lock on the closet door, so I started kicking. Just tried to turn me into the cops was lying on her face in front of the telephone stand and a cubby of bullets had turned the brown silk on her back into wet red lace. She'd been shot in the back. And if she'd succeeded in finding her letters, her killer would have taken them with him. I made a quick search myself and took a look for the remaining sets of letters, one from a guy who signed himself Baron and the other one from a guy whose autograph read with all my love, Lawrence. My instincts were trying to pull me out of that apartment, but one looked down the street through them at the reverse. Black and white prowl cars were arriving and it was less than another minute when their passengers started pouring out of the elevator and through the front door. Make sure you don't stand in front of that door. Never mind the closet, Lieutenant. It's empty. I kicked my way out. All right, let's see your hands. Get them up. I swear I'm going to buy some stock in a gun company. Everybody's got them. Miller, get around behind and check them for the weapons. Yes, sir. He's clean, Lieutenant. Okay. Who are you? Johnny Dollar. And if you lend me back my right hand, I'll give you my ID. It's in my wallet. Keep them up. Get his wallet. Yes, sir. Here it is. The insurance sticker. Please, I'm a freelance special insurance investigator. It sounds better. Keeps my price up. All right for that. Ah, what's your story? Well, first I'd like to go on record as saying I didn't commit either one of the murders. Either one. What are you talking about? Well, this one here is the girl who phoned in the report that brought you here. The one she was talking about, Marilyn Major, is lying just as dead on the floor in the bedroom. Miller, get in there and take a look. Yes, sir. Well, he's looking. You keep on talking. Okay, I'll start from the beginning. I was sent out here by Highworthy Insurance. They just issued a policy on the legs of that dame in the other room. $100,000 publicity stunt. I was supposed to protect their interests. What do you mean by that? Well, what do you think? I was supposed to see that she didn't attempt any Hindu fire dances or try walking any tight ropes during the next 48 hours. Well, your worries are over in that department at least. What else? When I got here, the door was open. I walked in and found her. Dead? Any way to prove that? Any witnesses? Just one. She's lying there behind her. Uh-huh. Over the phone, she accused you of the murder. That's the wrong kind of a witness. No, Lieutenant. The wrong kind of dame. She knew I didn't do it. She was somewhere in this apartment when I arrived. Then why did you say it? I can hardly ask her. Listen, Lieutenant, she did tell me that she came here to get some letters. Her husband had written them to the major dame. She said she was trying to protect him. From what? Who knows? Maybe she just wanted him arrested in peace. The guy committed suicide this morning. We can't take your story with him, can we? You've got a lot of dead friends. How did this one here get that way? I'm not sure. While I was in the closet, I heard her call you. And then a man came in and yelled something about blackmail at her and shot her. And naturally, he had disappeared by the time you kicked your way out of the closet. That's right. Yeah. This story of yours may win some kind of a prize, but not for me. I'm not a judge. That's one thing in my favor. Hey, Lieutenant, I've got something. The dame is dead all right. And look what I found in that closet. A fingernail file, a fountain pen with a name on it, Johnny Dollar, and a .32 caliber revolver jammed in a shoe. Well, that combination puts you in a kind of jam, too. Look, Lieutenant, I think I can make you see things my way. Let me go through my story once more. I was sent out here by a high-worthy insurance vendor right at the center. Expense account item for $3. Candy, guns, cigarettes, and magazines to make cell number 36, Los Angeles City Jail. Less like a no-place and more like a home. There's something about a jail door closing on you that sounds very final. In just a moment, we'll return to the second act of your truly Johnny Dollar. But first, we want you to know that the biggest jackpot in the history of radio, $50,000, goes in the works tomorrow night when CBS great Saturday Night Quiz show Sing It Again comes to you again over most of these same stations. $50,000, $25,000 in marvelous prizes, plus $25,000 in cold hard cash. And that's only the beginning, because the longer the phantom voice questions elude the listeners, the higher the rewards go. Be sure you're around tomorrow night when Sing It Again sets telephones ringing across the nation, and $50,000 goes riding on each call. And now, back to yours truly, Johnny Dollar. I accepted this Hollywood assignment. I visualized spending much of my time gazing upon bars, but not the kind offered by cell number 36. The guy who said stone walls do not a prison mate had never been a guest in the Los Angeles City Jail. He had a better chance of getting out of Bartlett's quotations than I had of getting out of there. But, as we keep saying in the insurance racket, never say die. I've heard teller boys around headquarters have a very funny joke about roaches and jails. But that's not why I'm here. Sit down, make yourself uncomfortable. Thanks. I can't offer you a mint julep. The closest I can come is the spearman lifesaver. Oh, thanks. This kind of zero is a pleasure after facing the kind we're up against. So for a dollar or we've got to go on a jule or a mess of evidence, we haven't yet been able to trace down to its rightful owners. Oh, incidentally, about that gun we thought might be yours. Oh, don't tell me you're going to give it to me as a birthday present. It was the weapon used to kill Marilyn major, all right. The power of a test we took on your hands lets you out. You haven't been firing any guns lately. Does that mean you've come here to escort me to the front door? Not so fast. We do want to know what your fingerprints were doing all over those two bundles of love letters we found. I'm going to have to learn to pick things up with my knuckles. Lieutenant, I just said a natural curiosity as to who killed the cat. The only difference between us, Roach, is that your curiosity is official. How far did you get? Not far enough. Didn't take much figuring to know that Miss Major's been playing a high-class badger game. All the perfume in the joint couldn't cover up the smell of blackmail. On top of that, we found the two batches of letters that you'd been messing around with. One signed Baron, the other signed Lawrence. Those, the fire department, should be handling. Yeah. Now, and remember, there's probably a third set floating around. Why do you say that? I'm not an eyewitness to this, only an ear witness. But from what I get here inside that closet, the name who came there looking for her husband's letters found them, and she called you to turn me in. On her way out of the apartment, some guy came in, stuck her for Marilyn Major, and shot her in the back. When I kicked my way out of the closet, those letters of hers were gone. So, figures the murderer grabbed the letters out of her hand thinking there were some he'd written. Uh-huh. Then in your file, the killer was either that Baron fellow or the other one, Lawrence. Lieutenant, in my file, they're both murderers. It's just a question of who killed whom. The guy who killed Marilyn Major certainly wouldn't have come back to kill her again, would he? In this town you never know. Look, Lieutenant, I got a two-way stake in this thing. One to get my name cleared, the other to get my job done, and I'm in a hurry. I imagine you are, too. Well, Marilyn Major was a big name. That means we'll soon have newspapers burning under our seats. We're in a hurry, all right. Okay, then listen, if I were either one of those murderers, and I know that the police probably had a handful of letters that could send me to the gas chamber, I'd head for the border. Yeah. But if I thought an outsider had them, somebody they might be able to buy off or scare off or beat off, then I'd go find that guy. Well, let's bring this thing to a head in a hurry. Run a story in the papers. Tell them you released me. Tell them I escaped. Tell them anything. Just so long as you tell them that you suspect that I have those letters hidden someplace. Well, if you don't mind taking the chance of having two murderers gunning at you, we certainly don't. Oh, I mind. Believe me, I'm not doing you any favors. It's just that I'll feel safer in my own hands. Okay, Mr. Pridgen, you've got yourself elected. We'll publish that story. Then we'll let you fly the coop. Good enough. Just make sure that you give me plenty of fighter cover. Spends a count? Item six. Seven cents. Purchase of newspaper. An extra addition that hit the street about a half an hour before I did. Item seven, five dollars. A big square meal to make up for the ones I'd missed ignoring the little round beans while a guest of the city. Seeing the lieutenant's fiction and black print on the front page of a newspaper almost had me believing it. There was my picture. Big as life. And when those birds set up a pigeon, they made sure everybody would know the location of his roost. Firmly planted high in the story was the name of the hotel into which they had registered me. And to which I was under orders to proceed immediately. As I walked down the hotel corridor to my room, I felt a nice-y chill and a flight of goose flesh headed south down my spine. I expected company, but not your kind. At first, I thought I'd gotten into the wrong room. This kid looked right at home. And she used some summer clothes from a half-packed overnight bag to make her look it. Oh, your Johnny Dollar. Yeah. Thanks for saving me a calling card. How are you? Alice Hill. That doesn't mean anything. Otherwise known as Mrs. Lawrence Hill. Oh, Lawrence. Oh, the last time I saw that name, it said with love, but not to you. That's why I'm here. I want those letters. Why don't you carry a gun? It'll be here if we need it. We? Yes. My husband's down in the lobby. Look, if you give me those letters, he wrote, I'll pack up my little bag and leave, and everybody will be very happy. I think I know the next line, but go ahead. I hope you keep on being that smart. My husband was watching for you when you came in, so he knows you're up here. Naturally, he knows I'm here, and he's on his way up. We want those letters. This isn't just a badger game. This is the World Series. If I don't give you the letters, your husband busts in here, shoots me, and I get written off under the unwritten law. Neat, neat, neat. It's a handy law. Right. It's covered a multitude of sins. Where are the letters? Where's your husband? It doesn't matter with you. What do those letters mean to you? Well, right now, they look like my only hold on the future, Mrs. Hill. How do I know that you and your dear Lawrence won't kill me after you get them? You want me to take your word for it? Well, I... I'll have to press Lawrence. He'll know what to do. I already know. There's nothing else for him to do. Look, Mrs. Hill, why don't you wise up? Your husband is ready to commit one murder to remove the evident motive for another, and he's dragging you into this with him. You'll wind up an accessory before, after, and during the fact. You're running up a blind alley as fast as you can run. And it's too late to turn around, so I'll just have to keep running. Oh, well, there he is. Lace up your track shoes, lady. The race is on. Come in. All right, sit still, please, both of you. It's okay, Alice. You can hold off on the dog and phony show. Save it for the witnesses when they arrive. Don't waste it on Lawrence and me. That... that isn't Lawrence. What? Oh, so this must be Baron. You all through? That depends on that gun in your hand. Where are the letters? Letters, letters, letters. Yeah, I'm beginning to feel like a mailman when he's late getting around in the morning. There's one thing I want to know. Where did an ugly part-time Romeo like you find all those pretty words you wrote? Look, don't get me sore. I'll blast your letters and all others. Ah, that's the tone I was trying to bring your voice up to, Mr. Baron. No letters is exactly what I've got to offer. Lying, he admitted to me that he hasn't. He's trying to blackmail you, Baron. That's what he's doing. Who are you? Never mind. My husband's in the same boat you are. I read the papers. Lawrence, huh? That's right. You'll be here any second. Between us, we'll figure out something. Now, stay away from it, dolla. I'll answer it. Ah, good idea. If a man answers, hang up. It'll be Lieutenant Roach. Ah, wait a minute. Okay, answer it, dolla. But the first wrong word fires this gun. Oh, you can believe me. Nothing but right words are on the tip of my tongue. Hello? Whoever was on the other end of the line decided not to talk and hung up. So I started an imaginary conversation with Lieutenant Roach of Homicide. While I was talking, I was thinking, Baron's voice was the voice I'd heard when I was locked in the closet. That made him the guy who shot the girl who turned me in. By the process of elimination, Lawrence Hill was elected murderer of Marilyn Major. During my thought, which made no sense and my thoughts, which made plenty of sense, I was checking the length of cord on a phone. I needed Baron a little closer. So I started tossing enough dangerous words into the mouthpiece to draw him closer, threatening me with his mutters, his looks, and his gun. He moved into range and I moved into action. I heaved the base of the telephone straight into his face. I moved in with my knee right after it. I stumbled back, letting go of the gun, and I kicked under the bed. Then I made a break front out of the dresser next to the bed using his head to break the front. Order from the cranked up picture hit him in the face, but it didn't do him any good. Hey, get out from underneath there. Get away from that gun. Come on. Well, I got a hold of your ankles. I got a good mind to do this thing right and heave you out the window. Come on now, stand up. All right, how much do you want? We don't want any trouble. Just let me out of here. We'll pay you anything. My husband's an important man. All the pushing around I'm going to take. From now on I'm the dealer and your hand is a shut up. All I want to do is get out of here. Oh, no, you don't. I baited you and you tried to bait me. Now we'll both sit here and bait your husband. It must have been him that called this room and hung up when he heard my voice. One thing I didn't bother to tell you, your husband couldn't have known I was up here until then because I came in the hotel the back way and came up here the back way. Elevator and all. What do you mean you baited me? Why do you think the police put my name, my picture in the newspapers to draw autograph owners? Oh. Oh, is right. Now get over there in the corner while I retrieve Mr. Barron's gun from under the bed before some mouse crawls out of the woodwork and tries taking a shot at me. Go on, get going. Turn around. Okay. Now if you don't want me shooting runs in your stocking, don't make a move while I'm under the bed. I feel like something that old maids hope for. On the floor, he's got a gun, shoot him, kill him! I'm taking no chances. Listen, Roach, you may be a lieutenant to the police department, but to me, you're just a big fat private. Now, now, calm down, darling. I don't mind setting myself up as a pigeon, but you promised me protection. Where was it? Temper, temper. Now, who's who here? Let's get these stiffs sorted out then we can talk. There's only one stiff. The other one, the one near the door is Lawrence. He's only wounded. I had to shoot his pins out from under him. He came crashing in and killed Baron by mistake. That's Baron over there by the bed. Ah, another case of mistaken identity. I already miss you. I happened to be under the bed at the time. Oh, and I wasn't hiding. No? I was looking for a gun, and I found it, and I used it. And if I had one right now, I'm not so sure I wouldn't use it on you. You still haven't told me why you left me here alone, holding the sack all this time. I'll tell you why. And I guess it was our fault. The man I had posted in a lobby didn't see you come into the hotel. Well, how do you like that? Johnny Dollar. Wise guy. Lieutenant, I got some news for you. Just to make sure I was taking no chances, I came in the back way. Spence account, item eight. $62. Hollywood entertainment. Seeing what there is to see at Cerro's. Item nine, $105. Seeing to it that one of the things I saw at Cerro's had a good time with me at the Macambo. Item 10, $186.13. Plain fare, Hollywood back to Hartford. Item 11, $1. Ticket to the movies, back in Hartford. To study the last motion picture of Marilyn Majer, so that in the future I'd be sure to steer clear of her kind of a woman who is too much of a jinx for my kind of man. Expense account total, $948.76. Signed, yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Keeping with the Easter season, you'll hear a different kind of story on CBS gangbusters tomorrow night. The authentic story of a former gangsters fight to go straight. Broadcast in cooperation with outstanding parole authorities. You'll find this Easter Eve gangbusters drama as gripping as any program CBS has ever brought to you. Tomorrow night, you'll also find a mid-April adventure with the intriguing title, The Heat Wave, on CBS Philip Marlowe program. Gangbusters and the adventures of Philip Marlowe are regular Saturday night features on most of the same CBS station. Listen in again next week when CBS brings you, yours truly, Johnny Dollar with Charles Russell as Johnny. Written by Paul Dudley and Gil Dowd with music by Mark Warner, yours truly, Johnny Dollar is produced and directed by Richard Sandville for CBS Live Alumbia Broadcasting System.