 Do you, by any chance, remember a case you accidentally got yourself involved in just four weeks, three days, and thirteen hours ago? What? In the course of which you saved a man's life. Well, if you're talking about that federal man, the fellow from the bureau... Wait a minute. Hal? Yeah. Hal Leonard. That's right. You're okay again. I sure am. Hal, Hardy, and back to normal. Well, thank goodness for that. But if you hadn't just happened to walk in from the back room of Becker's print shop that night, Johnny, I'd be pushing up the well-known daisies. Oh, I don't know about that, Hal. Well, I do, and I'll be eternally grateful, Johnny. Oh, forget it. But you didn't answer my question. Do you remember just what happened that night? Well, of course. The miracle is that you remember now. Yeah, I guess it is. Believe me, complete amnesia is nothing to laugh at. Yeah, but while up on the head that character gave you must have been a dilly, one more like it would have killed me, but then you walked in like the U.S. Marines. Would you forget it? Forget it, huh? Sure. I mean, after all, it was just a matter of luck my being there in the back room of that shop, and all because I had the mistaken idea that Becker was fencing some loot from a burglary job. Instead, you uncovered his real racket, the one I was investigating. Well, let's say I stumbled on it. So, what happens? I don't know. What happens? You, one Johnny Dollar, the real hero of that fracas, end up eligible for a nice long prison term. Well, that's just a matter of...what? Sure. Prison term. That's what I said. For what? Possession. Possession of what? Of evidence. Evidence? Yeah, I think now. Weren't you busy packing a lot of the stuff you'd found into the back of your car when you heard him slug me and came barging in on us? Holy smokehead, you're right. So, where is it now? Still in the back of my car. And you know the penalty for possession, so maybe I better fly up there and take it off your hand. Oh, I'll be waiting, Hal. I'll be there. Okay. CBS Radio Network brings you Mandel Kramer in the exciting adventures of the man with the action-packed expense account. America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Accounts submitted by a special investigator Johnny Dollar to the worldwide mutual insurance company, Home Office, Hartford, Connecticut. Followings and account of expenses incurred during my investigation of the takes a crook matter. I'd forgotten all about that evidence I'd picked up at Becker's shop. And, of course, the federal boys would want it. Would need it to prosecute their case. The reason I'd forgotten it was because I hadn't used my car for some four weeks. All my investigations had been out of town. Well, it would only take Hal a couple of hours to get up from Washington. I could simply meet his plane. Johnny Dollar. Les Walters, Johnny, over here at Worldwide Mutual. Oh, of course. How are you, Les? You want to take a run over here to see me? What about? Well, you ever hear of the Mare Madonna? The what? It's a painting, an oil painting, and a pretty famous one. Oh, sure. Sure, it was the P.A.'s Day Resistance in that exhibition over at the Manhard Galleries. Yeah, that's the one, painted by Marcel Moret and worth a couple of hundred thousand dollars. Hal, why anybody would ever pay two hundred thousand dollars for an impressionistic atrocity like that is something I will never understand. Well, the point is, friend, somebody did. We insured it to the Hilt, and now it's gone. Uh-oh. Yeah, can you get on it right away? Well, almost right away. Oh, what do you mean by that? Well, Les, I have to stick around for a while to meet one of Uncle Sam's boys coming up from Washington. Uh-huh. They finally caught up with you. Happy days in the clinic. You know something, Les? Yeah. But what I have in my possession, I could be locked up for life. You're like what, Johnny? Well, I don't think I'd better go into it. But as soon as he gets here and picks it up... Well, when will that be? Well, according to a timetable, I'll pull into the airport around 7.05 p.m. Well, now look, I'm working late on this thing, so... Well, in the meantime, why don't you come on over here and let me tell you what I know about this stolen painting? Good idea. Why not? Okay, good. I'm on my way. Well, looks like a busy evening ahead. Instead of calling for a taxi, the usual procedure when I was on expense account, I decided to use my own car. But give me a chance to make certain that all important evidence in the federal case was still safely locked up in the trunk. Matter of fact, on the way down to my garage, I decided that it might be a better idea to take the stuff out, take it back up to my apartment where I could check it over. Now remember this. It was nearly 5 p.m. of a dark and plowdy day. My unlighted garage is at the back of the apartment building, but faces out toward the sidewalk in the street. There's one of those quick-lift doors on it. There wasn't much in the way of traffic or pedestrians. Here we are. First, we make sure the stuff is still in here. Let's pile these stacks together and carry them upstairs in one load. Bready, when I think of all the people who would like to go... Hey, wait a minute. Who slammed down the door out there? Not out there, mister. What? I'm right in here. Ah! Venture vicariously from programs like yours truly, Johnny Dollar. But you can have the real thing. Adventure in far less dangerous form by joining the Peace Corps. Helping the people of the new and underdeveloped nations of Africa, Asia, and Latin America is an immensely satisfying adventure. The Peace Corps needs qualified teachers, engineers in all fields, and farm experts. If you're interested in a fascinating life, write to Peace Corps, Washington, 25 D.C. Just when I came to, I'm not sure. But as I lay there on the floor of my garage, I wondered for a few minutes if my skull was still in one piece. It was that there was a very fancy lump on the back of it, and I was so dizzy I could hardly get to my feet. I managed to feel my way to the door, seemed to be pushed up and open, and in what little light came across from one of the street lamps saw just exactly what I expected. The trunk of my car was still open and very, very empty. I must have been hit pretty hard because I passed out again for a few minutes. Then I got up again and staggered around to the front door of my apartment house, though I could barely make out where I was going. I half remembered stuffing something into the pocket of my jacket, something I'd all the while had tightly clenched in my right hand, where I clumsily stumbled against a man who was pushing a doorbell under one of the mailboxes. Hey, take it easy, old man. Sorry, I, uh... Have yourself a little too much... Johnny! What? Johnny, what happened to you? Oh, here. Let me give you a hand. Hell, yeah. Here, now. Yeah, let it in. Yeah. Say, it looks like somebody really worked you over. Listen. You listen. Sketch you upstairs to your apartment, find out what this is all about. Yeah, I'm afraid so. Oh. Now, just lie still and take it easy, will you? Oh, boy. Yeah, yeah, sure. You, uh... want another little snort of this? Mm-hmm. Oh, no, no, no. All I want is just... to lie here and sleep for about three weeks. That's all right. You do that while I run this thing down. Now, Johnny, you're sure you didn't get a look at him? No, no, when he yanked the door down behind my back, he, inside, the place was just darkest pitch. But you left the garage open. Yeah. And, wait a minute, somewhere in this pants pocket here. Yeah. I have the keys to the garage and the keys to my car in case you need it. Okay. You get some sleep. I'll be back in time to get you some breakfast, if not before. Oh, thanks, Al. You were a good man. You know something? I think I might have slept for three weeks, if it hadn't been for the telephone there beside my bed. You know something else? That darn instrument gets me up and going like nothing else in the world. Johnny Dollar. Johnny, where under the sun have you been? Less. Yeah, that's right, less wallers. I went around my office at the lap to seven o'clock, then I left word with a watchman that came on home. Well, I still didn't hear from you, but let's see, it's after 10.30. What happened to you, anyway? Oh, plenty less. I just couldn't make it. Well, I hope you can now. Sure, sure. Well, look, to save time, instead of coming over here to my place, you go see Mr. Thaddeus Brittingham, the man the painting was stolen from. Now, he can tell you more than I can. See, he lives in apartment 7B at the Selfridge. The Selfridge? Yeah, you know, that fancy big new apartment building over on the other side of town. 7B. That's right, 7B. I'll phone him and tell him that you're coming. Yeah, yeah, less you do that. But instead of going over to the Selfridge, I ran up item one. Item one at this stage of the game? Anyhow, it's 90 cents for a taxi to a roomy house of a character who calls himself Little Willie. To put it bluntly, Little Willie is a stool pigeon, one of the few that even the police don't know about. And they know most of them. The reason I picked on him was because of his almost uncanny knowledge of art thieves and their activities. Oh, hiya, Johnny. Willie, I've got 50 bucks. I thought maybe you might find some use for. Only 100, Johnny? When I've been just sitting here waiting for you to pay me a visit? Oh, about what? That moray matana. What else? And he'd worth 100 if I can tell you where to look. All right, Willie, 100. You see, I know there was something up when I seen him sitting there a day after day. Who Willie? Sitting where? At that gallery. The gallery? But just looking wasn't enough, I guess. So that's when he took it. Took it home to copy it. Who Willie? And him being one of the best copyers ever lived. Why, Johnny, he could almost fall he artist himself. But listen. Yeah? You better get on him pretty fast. He never made a copy unless he had a customer. And to win the one he'll get for a copy of that matana, well, he ain't going to stay around. He'll get out of the country. Willie, who? 50, did you say, Johnny? And that painting worth a couple of hundred grand? OK, OK. OK. Old Charlie Starkey. Charlie Starkey? Out of the pen again, hmm? Yeah. Where'll I find him, Willie? He's been renting a room at 324 South Crocus. Good. But if he's already finished his copy and made a sale. Willie? Let me worry about that. Item two, the $150 I mailed in cash to little Willie on the way out of my apartment. I should have waited. Because item three is a $1.70 for a taxi over to another dingy little rooming house at 324 South Crocus. But I got there too late. Yep, old Charlie Starkey his mission accomplished had paid off his landlady a character by the name of Sally Butts and had taken a powder. Yeah, he's gone. Not more than a half hour ago. I see. Well, OK, Mrs. Butts. And I'll say this, Mr. He sure left in a big hurry. Oh, I don't doubt it. Left all his paint pots and stuff and all his extra clothes behind. Oh, all sorts of stuff. Oh, wait a minute. Yeah. Now what's the matter, Mr. Don't you believe me? Mrs. Butts. Well, look. Looky here. Here's the money that he paid me off with. See? OK, but the only thing I want to look at now is... Wait a minute. Come on. That money, let me see that. Just let me have that a minute. This money? Yeah, let me see it. What's the matter with this? You think maybe it's Mark or something? Mark, you bet it is. And Mrs. Butts, you don't know how well. Hey! Come along. I want to look at his room. Sure enough, carefully rolled up and parked in a closet where sooner or later it was bound to be discovered was the Mare Madonna. OK, part of my job was done. Item four, another $1.70 for a cab back to my apartment where I stashed the painting away. And then, now don't try to get ahead of me, ahead of this report, I mean, because it couldn't have been old Charlie Starkey who'd made the attack on me to get the stuff out of the back of my car. He wasn't the type. He wasn't strong enough to have laid me out that way. And the voice I'd heard certainly hadn't been his. But I suddenly remembered that when whoever it was slugged me the first time there in the dark garage, I'd made a grab for him and had torn away part of his clothing. And what I had clutched in my hot little fist was still in the pocket of my jacket. I took a look. It was a small piece of paper, a receded bill issued to a Mr. Harvey Twiller, a name that didn't mean a thing. But it was a receipt for rental paid for an apartment. And where? At the Selfridge. Then things started adding up. Item 5, $2 for a cab across town to the Selfridge where the uniformed doorman had ideas that didn't quite fit into my plans. To 7B, Mr. Brittingham's apartment? No. Well, yes, of course, sir, because I know that he's expecting me. I know he is, but you see... Well, I can't let you go up to see Mr. Twiller, who hasn't told me that he's expecting you, unless I call him up and announce you. Now, look, take a look at my credentials. Yeah. Special investigator? That's right. Well, I suppose that doesn't make a little difference, sir. So where is he? But are you sure I hadn't better announced you first? Yes, I'm quite sure. Well? Very well, sir. He's in 5A. Okay. Let's open. Come on in. Well, Scotty. Scotty Bagney. You're surprised, darling? That means my alias Harvey Twiller did fool you. Did it, Scotty? Well, it must have, mustn't it, boy? You'd be the one holding a gun instead of me. So you're out of the pen, too, hm? Quite a while now, darling, quite a while. I knew I should have recognized your voice there in my garage. Aw. When I saw you here at the door just now, I thought you had, that you'd seen through my alias. But now, since I do hold this gun on you, I suggest that you come in, close the door, and, uh, carefully remove your own gun and drop it on the floor. I suppose I haven't any choice, have I? None whatsoever. That's the good lad. Now, uh, kick it over here. Now, sit down, please. Why not? But tell me, Scotty. How I happened to know what you had in the trunk of your car? Mm-hmm. I heard about the job in Becker's print shop, so I've been telling you. And since I occasionally have need of that sort of thing that you had in your car trunk, I, uh, belted you and perloined it, as we say in the trade. I'm sorry, though, that you found me. Oh, you should be. Well, you misunderstand me. I mean, because I've got to kill you now, darling. No, Scotty. Help. Ah, very well. Who are you, sir? Well, so you found him first, don't you think? Oh, I might have glad you did, too, Hel, but how come? There's prints on the door of your garage. Here's your gun. Thanks. I got an ID on the prints. You steered me to a couple of stoolies, and you bought them, and here I am. You found the stuff? No. No, will he, my friend? You see, I made a little purchase with it, uh, with, uh... Most of it, then, is? Purchase? Don't you get it, Hel? I'm afraid not. The painting? The Morey Madonna? Or rather, a copy of it? Copy. What are you talking about? One of the oldest gags in the world. You see, Bagney here somehow got next to another old crook by the name of Charlie Starkey. He said that the painting I have... Hold it, Scotty, and listen. Yeah, very well. Now go on, Johnny. He found out, of course, that Charlie had been sent up for stealing fine artworks, that he knew his stuff and was one of the best. Until he got caught? Yes, but, uh, go on. What Scotty didn't learn, though, was that old Charlie was not only an artist himself, but a copyist. As good as they come. A copyist? So here was the deal, and you can call me on it if I'm wrong, Scotty. Well, no, listen, please. Just shut up, Scotty. Go on, Johnny. Charlie, with his fancy manners and good clothes, was a pretty successful fence for good artwork. He always knew enough of the spoiled, filthy rich who'd buy even though they realized the stuff was stolen. And when he learned that old Charlie was a master at lifting such things, well, he just couldn't wait to team up with him and get a hold of the moray mandana. What he didn't know, though, was that Charlie was more of a nut than a crook. That he'd only steal the stuff long enough to take it home and copy it. A dollar, no kidding. And later, he'd sneak it back, or just let it be found somewhere. Of course, he'd pass on the copy for a price to a sucker like Scotty here. Oh, I don't believe it. Dala, look at the painting. It's there in the closet. You admit you have it. Well, now you've tagged me. You'd find it anyway, so go ahead. It's there in the closet. You mean the copy is? No, no, no. The original. It has to be. Don't you see, I already made a deal to sell it to a millionaire down in New York. Well, go on. Look at it. I don't need to, Scotty. The original is locked up in my apartment. It can't be. It can't be. And it is the original. So that is that. Okay, good work, Johnny. You've done your job, but now what about mine? Where is the evidence from that operation in the printing shop that I came to get from it? Oh, that'll show up, pal. And that's what I'm afraid of, in dribs and drabs all over the country. Oh, no, I mean right here. Well, thanks to our good friend Scotty. Thanks to me? I'm afraid I don't get it, Johnny. Well, I'm sure that I don't. I'm only surprised it hasn't already shown up. Wait a minute. Maybe some of it is right here now. Why don't you take a look through Scotty's pockets? He said that most of it went for the painting, not all. In that case... I'll be quiet, both of you. Over here with me, Hal, but keep that gun on him. Right. Scotty, don't move. Don't worry. Come in. It's open. Come in. Scotty, you crook. This money, this money you gave me for the painting. Look, look at it. There's your evidence, Hal. What's the matter with it? What's the matter? It's counterfeit. Counterfeit? That's what it is. Counterfeit? Look at it. All of it. Counterfeit. Just like the painting you sold him, Charlie. Who are you? You'd be surprised, my friend. Now, don't move, either of you. Thanks, Johnny. Except for whatever Scotty may have held out for himself. Except for whatever Scotty may have held out for himself. It's kind of a quadruple play, wouldn't you call it? Dollar, to Scotty, to Charlie, to you. Happy now? Real happy. It's kind of a complicated mess, I know. It's kind of a complicated mess, I know. But the painting is back to its owner. The counterfeit money is recovered. I'm in the clear with Uncle Sam. And all is well. Expense account total? Why not just pay me the commission on that lovely Madonna? Yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Here is our star to tell you about next week's story. Here is our star to tell you about next week's story. The sweet little old men. Real characters. Especially one of them. The killer. Join us, won't you? Yours truly, Johnny Dollar. The Johnny Dollar is written by Jack Johnstone. Produced and directed by Bruno Zerato Jr. Music supervision by Apple Huber. Johnny Dollar is played by Mandel Kramer. Music supervision by Apple Huber. Also featured in our cast, where Martin Blaine as Hal Leonard, Ralph Bell as Scotty Bagney, Jack Grimes as Les Walters, Leora Thatcher as Mrs. Botts, Bill Kramer as Little Willie, Guy Rept as The Doorman, and Louis van Rooten as Charlie Starkey. Be sure to join us next week, same time, same station, for another exciting story of yours truly, Johnny Dollar. This is Art Hanna speaking. Where songs are king, hear Richard Hayes sing weeknights on the CBS Radio Network. At the crossroads of the Empire State, this is WROW Music Albany. Hello, I'm Beathen Horne, one of your welcome wagon hostesses in the colony.