 Box 13, with the Star of Paramount Pictures, Alan Ladd as Dan Holliday. Box 13, Kara Star Times. They said my son was killed in a drunken brawl. I know he wasn't. He was a good boy. He was murdered. Why, I don't know. If you come to 733 Winship Avenue. If you come to 733 Winship Avenue anytime and listen to my story, I'll be grateful to you forever, Mrs. Catherine Daley. And that was the letter to Box 13. Just a few lines. A brother, what those few lines led to. And now, back to Box 13. I get some funny letters through Box 13. Some don't mean a thing. Others are from people who answer all the ads. But this one from Mrs. Catherine Daley. It had a real ring to it. I get so I can spot the letters from cranks and curiosity hunters. They're full of big phrases. It's the simple ones that count like Susie said. Well, it's short, Mr. Holliday. What are you going to do about it? Well, what would you do, Susie? Well... You know, Susie, I don't know how you managed to get right to the point of things so quickly. Oh, it's easy. Okay, you talk me into it. I don't know what I'd do without you. I try to make myself indispensable. The word Susie is indispensable. What's the difference? None, I guess. All right, Susie, I'm on my way to 733 Winship Avenue. Mrs. Catherine Daley was a little woman, maybe about 50, 60. It was difficult to tell because gray hair was pushing hard against the brown. It was her eyes that got me. Maybe not too long ago they had been able to smile. But now they were dead, lifeless. Something had been taken away from... from well inside. She led the way to a little living room furnished cheaply but neatly. She sat down, pointed to a chair for me and then... Are you serious about that advertisement, Mr. Holiday? Well, yes, I am, Mrs. Daley. I haven't any money. That is not much. I can afford something if it's not a whole lot. Now look, Mrs. Daley, I'm a writer. And sometimes box 13 leads me to a good plot. You see, I don't take money because I get paid very well for the stories I get. You see, I used to be a newspaper reporter. Newspaper reporter? Anything wrong with that, Mrs. Daley? Arthur, my son, he was a reporter. Oh, what paper? The evening record. Your letter said that your son was killed. He was. They said he was drunk, that he got into a fight in a cheap saloon. Arthur was never drunk in his life and he hated fighting. That is picture on the table? Yes. In uniform. That's the distinguished service cross, isn't it? Yes. Okay, Mrs. Daley, start from the beginning. Tell me how you want me to help. I'm sure Arthur was murdered. Murder is a tough word, Mrs. Daley. Tough to say and tough to prove. But for a week before he was killed, he kept telling me that we could get out of this house soon, that he was going to make a name as a reporter. But he didn't tell you why. No. Then the night he was killed, he got a phone call. From whom? I don't know. He hurried out and the next time I saw him was when they asked me to come down and attend for him. That's as much as you can tell me. It's every word. Mrs. Daley, this may sound brutal, but your son's dead now. Why would you rather have it said he was murdered? I want to show everyone he couldn't have died in that cheap, shoddy way. Well, that was that. I believed her. Maybe it was the way she talked. Maybe it was her eyes. I don't know. Anyway, I left her house with nothing to go on but what she had told me, and that was little enough. Just that he was on to something would make a name for him as a reporter. Anyway, I went to see what Lieutenant Kling knew about it. About what, are they? About the kid that got killed in the saloon brawl. Well, that's what the records show. They show anything else? No, no, they don't. You know, I like you. Nice. You can have the next dance. I'm serious. Okay, so you're serious. What about? You're not satisfied with the daily case, either. What makes you think I'm not? Just the way you talk. You don't believe it's right. I believe what the witnesses in that dive said. The daily kid got drunk. Every girl he was with, nothing bad, but daily he got mad and started swinging. And? And he ended up in the red. You didn't arrest anybody? Look, we get a dozen calls a night from down at the hill places like that. Somebody's always getting pushed around, wrapped up, killed. Some of the things don't even hit the newspapers. One of them ill stuff. Sure, sure, but look, Kling, what kind of guys get killed in places like that? Thumbs, wine, those characters who hang out in those joints. But not a kid like daily. A cop. What was that track for? For a compliment. The daily thing bothers you because you know as well as I do that something's wrong about it. Then you tell me. I'll try. Later. Now, look, holiday, I'm not on the case anymore. Homicides got enough to do without running down a fight in a saloon, but... But what? But I don't like it. You're right. I knew I liked you. Okay, I'll marry you in the morning. The place you want is 183 River Street. Oh, nice neighborhood. Great. The cops go and quartets down there. Thanks. See you later. And for the love of Mike, don't end up in the meat wagon like daily did. Kling was right. It wasn't a neighborhood to raise kids or anything else. And the place I wanted was called the River View. Fancy name. Oh, a great place. I stepped over a couple of borders spending the night on the doorstep and walked inside. There was a tinny piano played by a guy mechanically banging out a tune that its own composer wouldn't have recognized. The bar was set at the back facing the door. I went over to it. The bartender took a long good look at me. I must have looked strange. I was wearing a necktie and a shirt. He walked over. Yeah, what's with, bud? How are you? Practically dead. Okay. Now that we know each other, what's on your mind? What do you got to drink? Arsenic. Want some? Straight. Water on the side. Funny, man, ain't you? Sure. Look, what do you want? A drink, maybe. No, you don't. That suit you got on course. Maybe 150. The tie, five bucks. Any cookie comes in here dressed like you don't want a drink. All right. You win. Swell. Slummin', huh? No. Lookin'. What? Last week there was a fight in here. The kid got killed. Arthur Daly. I didn't see nothin'. My back was turned. Did you ever see the girl who was with Daly? I told you, I didn't see nothin'. Oh. All through the fight, you just kept your back turned. Yeah, I hate fights. Can't stand the sight of blood. That what you told the police? Same thing. Who are the witnesses? Look, when a fight starts in here, there ain't no witnesses. Everybody's blind. That makes it easy. You were a friend of this Daly character? Yeah. Yeah, good friend. Uh-huh. I still don't know nothin'. Now blow, mister. Out. Get it out. He knew something all right. But he was clammed up tight. I left and walked up the street. I was close to the spot where I'd parked my car when I heard something. I stopped. Somebody was tailing me. Following me from the saloon. Okay, somebody didn't like me nosing around. I walked past my car. Just ahead of me was an alien. Pulling out of the alley was a truck. I walked a little faster. I got to the alley, skirted around back of the truck so that my trailer would lose me for a couple of seconds. Then I stepped inside a doorway. It was dark. The truck pulled away. I waited. Then I heard the steps. He didn't know where I'd gone. But if he was going to pick me up again, he'd have to pass the doorway where I waited for him. Oh, Lick, oh, Lick, oh, you hurt me. Shut up. Please, mister, I ain't no crook. I wasn't gonna put this thing on you. I heard you're talking the barkeep back there. I wanted to talk to you, honest. That's all. You should have caught up with me before this. Gee, mister, I didn't want anybody to see me honest. All right, talk. Oh, you want to know something, huh? Come on, come on. What do you want to say? Well, honest, I might get in trouble. Look, I got to know how to get something out of this, eh? Still what you've got. We'll see how much it's worth. Maybe a fiver? Maybe. Go on, talk. Look, I could get in bad trouble. You are right now. Oh! All right. All right, make it a fiver. What do you know about Arthur Daly? I saw the fight. I saw the whole thing. Did you tell the police? Me. I don't get nothing to do with the cops. All right, tell me. This guy that was Bump, he didn't start the fight. Who did? A pug, an ex-pug named Billy Conner. The Daly guy didn't have nothing to do with starting it. It was a frame. Was Daly drunk? No, he had one drink. The girl slipped something in it. I saw her. She was a good looker, so I was watching her. Do you know her? Me. Me know a thing like that. All right, well, here's your fight. I'll keep your mouth shut, understand? Oh, sure, sure. Uh, maybe you'd like to know something else, huh? What? Well, Mr. ought to be worth something. All right, here. Oh, thanks. You ain't been out of the joint down the street more than a couple of seconds when a barkeep goes to the phone. So? I heard him tell somebody that you was nosing around. Mr. something tells me that you're in bad trouble right now. And now, back to box 13 with Alan Ladd as Dan Holiday. I had a few facts now. First, Daly knew something that might have got him killed. Second, the girl who was with him put something in his drink so he'd look drunk. Third, an ex-pug named Billy Conner started the fight. Why? The answer to that would put me on first base. So I asked around a little and found out that Billy Conner, a third-rate fighter down at the heels, suddenly came in the money and right after the fight in the saloon, I found him in a second-rate nightclub. You the guy that wants to see me? Yeah, Billy Conner, I'm the guy. Who are you? Knowing that, it won't make any prettier. You're a smart boy, huh? Maybe, but you're not acting smart. What are you talking about? You're making too much splash, Conner. The boss doesn't like it. People might start asking questions about the money, the money you got for killing Daly. Oh, no, I just started the fight. Then I ducked. Somebody else banged his head for him, not me. Oh, that's the way it was, huh? Sure, you know. Who are you anyway? Wait a minute, fellow, why'd you say that's the way it was? Didn't you know? Sure, sure I know. You ain't from them. Come home, you dirty sneak. You a copper? Maybe. Think it over, Conner. Hard. I left him standing there with his mouth open. I thought I'd found out what I wanted to know. But Kling told me... Doesn't mean a thing. You can't prove anything, holiday. What if I get proof? How? You've got the name and address of the girl Daly was with and that he was killed. And you want him, is that it? You could get hurt. Meaning you won't give me the girl's name. Meaning that if I do, you're on your own. I'll take that chance. Do I get a name and address? Eileen Simmons, 4674 Roberts Drive. And I hope you'll get more out of her than we did. I hope so, too. I didn't like walking up a blind alley with murder at my back and maybe in front of me. I got to the girl's home, the boarding house and the shabby section and took a look at the mailboxes downstairs. While I was walking up to her flat, something tingled the back of my neck. Something that screamed a warning. I got to her flat. She didn't answer. Then I smelled it. Gas. I stooped down and one look at the crack between the door and the sill was enough. It was stuffed with newspapers. It was only one thing to do. Eileen Simmons wasn't going to talk to anybody. The room was heavy with gas. The window I broke let in some air. Scared faces stared into the door. I smashed open and I yell at him. You call the police. Ask for Lieutenant Kling. Come on, hurry. I took a quick look around before I left. In one closet was a fur coat. And from what I knew about fur, this one took money to buy. It had her initials embroidered in the lining. But it didn't fit with the cheap flat. Well, I thought it was about time to make a trip to the evening record where Daley worked as a reporter. Some of the boys knew me, so it was easy to get to talk to Daley's editor. I don't know, Holiday. All I know is that Daley promised me a big story. Something he was working on. I'll look, Charlie. Any idea what it was? None. The kid was close mouthed. Oh, but you must have some idea. Didn't he give you any hint? Just that it was big and would blow off the top of the building when we printed it. How long did he work for you? Oh, about six months. No more. What big assignments did you give him? None. Routine stuff, he didn't have enough experience. Just out of journalism college when the war broke, went through it, then served at the war trials in Germany. And in the six months with you, there wasn't anything important enough to get him killed, huh? No, no, there wasn't. Oh, let's see. We sent him on a routine assignment to San Carlito and... San Carlito? What's that? Just one of those little islands in the West Indies. The paper's doing a series on Latin American neighbors and we... Anything there that might have been the big story? You mean what he was talking about? Yeah, that's it. How long after he got back did he begin to talk about the something big? Hey, just about the same day he walked in here. Where's his desk? Just outside this office. Oh, all his stuff in there? Most of it. We were going to send it to his mother, but, well, you know how things are. It was too soon. We figured we'd wait. Come on, let's take a look. Just the usual stuff. What are these photographs? Never saw them before. Full face, profiles of mint? You know them? Not from Adam. Oh, uh, Charlie, can I have these? Well, I don't know, Holiday. Just one ex-newspaper man to an editor. Come on, let me have them. Okay. I didn't see you take them. Thanks. Now mind if I go through the rest of your stuff? No, help yourself. I'll be at my desk. All right. I went through Daly's papers. There was one little notebook with an entry in it that read, got to be careful, never be alone. They won't dare make a try from me unless I'm alone. I've got proof on film. Photos of the men I recognized. Okay, so Daly's notebook gave me another lead. But where to? Well, maybe Daly's mother would know. I looked at my watch, but it was after midnight, so I figured it was too late to see her, and I decided to wait until morning. I wish I'd have gone right then and there. The next morning I went to see Daly's mother, and I found her in the middle of an excited bunch of neighbors. When I got her alone, she told me what was up. There were burglars. They ransacked Arthur's room. Well, let's take a look. But there's nothing missing. Well, let's look anyway. They went through all the drawers. You didn't hear them? No, I slept right through it. Uh-huh. Mrs. Daly, what could they have wanted? I don't know. There's nothing of value here. Look, when Arthur came back from San Carlito, did he bring anything with him? Well, I don't think so. A camera maybe? His own, but he took that with him when he went. Now, now think hard, Mrs. Daly. Did he take any film out of that camera when he got back? I think he did. Yes, I remember. He hurried out with some film to have it developed. Where is it? I don't know. Did he get it back from the shop where he took it? I don't think so. I think he'd have shown him to me if he had. And the role of film he took out of his camera is still in the shop. It must be. Mrs. Daly, we've got to find a check for that film. The kind you get when you leave film to be developed. Come on, let's look. We looked, and looked, and looked. No check. Began to seem as though whoever ransacked the room found the check, and if he had, well, the thing was over. After half an hour we gave up, but there was still one more thing to find out. Mrs. Daly, would you mind taking a look at these photographs? Do you know any of these men? Why, I'm not sure. They look familiar, but... His scrapbook, the one he brought back from the war. There are pictures like those in the scrapbook. Well, show it to me, will you? It's in my room, right next door. Here it is. Here they are, the pictures. But I don't see. I think I do, but I'm afraid to believe it. Look, Mrs. Daly, whatever you do, stay with your neighbors. Don't be alone for a minute. I left the house and the idea I had was buzzing around inside my head. If I was right, then the whole thing was fantastic. But the pieces began to fit together. Maybe I was thinking too hard. I didn't see the big black car that turned down the corner. I didn't see it until I was almost staring between its headlights. Look out! I jumped back and up and the fenders of the car took the skin off my legs and the car rode away. That big black buggy had my name for a license plate. It would have looked just like an accident. But it told me something. That whoever was doing the dirty work didn't have the check for the film because the proof of what Daly knew was on that film. And if Mr. Accident Maker had it, he wouldn't have risked another accident. I called Clang, got him on the phone. What do you want me to do? Check every photo shop in the city for a roll of film mail just before Daly was killed. How do you know he mailed it? Because he wouldn't have been full enough to take it to a photo shop. He knew they were tailing him, waiting to grab that film. So he mailed it with a note that he'd call for. Clang, don't pick it up, please. Clang, tell me where it is, call my office and I'll pick it up. Look, you're asking for it. They'll cut you little pieces. You want them, don't you? The only way to get them is to make them come after that film. But they will try to get it from me. I waited. Finally, Clang gave me the word. I picked up the film and printed the little finishing shop. Clang had given orders that I was to have it. I got in my car, looked in the rear vision mirror and saw a big black sedan pull in behind me. This was it. I couldn't spot Clang in the squad car, he said it would be handy. Maybe something held it up, I didn't know. I got to my apartment. The sedan pulled up behind me and parked. I walked up to my apartment, went over to the window and saw a man get out of the sedan. He walked slowly and disappeared into my apartment building. I sat down with a film and prints burning a hole in my pocket. Then, who is it? It's a holiday, I'd like to talk to you. I took one more look out of the window. The street was empty except for the sedan. No squad car, no Clang. Brother, if ever I wanted to see that big guy it was now. I walked to the door. Mr. Holliday? Uh-huh. Who are you? My name is, uh, we'll say Stefan. Okay, you're Mr. Stefan. So what? I shall be brief. You have a role of film and some prints. I am a camera enthusiast. I shall pay you a good price for the film. How much? You're going to be reasonable. That's fine. Shall we say, 10,000? That's big money for a strip of celluloid. I am very enthusiastic about photography. You know, uh, I like pictures myself. Especially pictures of some nice little Nazis who got out of Germany. With a lot of money. You're a guest, huh? Yeah, but daily wasn't guessing when he recognized them in San Carlito. He wasn't guessing that San Carlito is a little island with lots of deserted coastline. Easy to land on. Yes, very handy. And they paid well to escape the trials in Nuremberg. You just talked yourself out of 10,000 dollars. Oh, now that's very funny. You would have killed me anyway as you killed daily to keep him from spitting the story. Yes, all right. Now, Mr. Holliday? Oh, that gun didn't look nice. He had it right at my head. I said, still. Stefan came slowly toward me. The black hole in the bell of his gun looked like the business end of a cannon then. Get the floor, Holliday! Clang, at this particular minute, you're the most beautiful thing in the world. Mr. Holliday? Well, at that moment, Susie, Lieutenant Clang landed and took over. Sorry I drew it so close, Holliday. But I had let Stefan talk a while. Yeah. But by the way, where was that squad car? Well, there wasn't any. The squad car would have scared Stefan away. I had to make it look safe. Boys and I were right next door. Had been for an hour. Now, he tells me. Well, it's up to the Federals now. We're cleaning this in. Gee, I sure... Oh, Mr. Holliday, you might have been killed. Oh, it's okay now, Susie. It's all over. But you might have been killed. And I like this job so much. What'd I say? Very funny, Clang. Nothing, Susie. Nothing. Good night. Next week, same time, Alan Ladd stars as Dan Holliday in Box 13. Alan Ladd appears through the courtesy of Paramount Pictures and may currently be seen in Wild Harvest. Box 13 is directed by Richard Sanville with original story by Russell Hughes, an original music composed and conducted by Rudy Schrager. The part of Susie is played by Sylvia Picker and Lieutenant Kling by Edmund MacDonald. This is a Mayfair production.