 When Anthony J. Lyon cashes in on somebody's trouble, it means money for him. For me, it means work. I'm Jeff Regan, the lion's private eye. Here's the kind of program you've been waiting to hear. Hard-boiled action and mystery as told by Jeff Regan investigator. So stand by for trouble, stand by for suspense, stand by for adventure. In tonight's story, the lady with the golden hair. And now, here's Jack Webb as Jeff Regan. Well, this is the way it started. I was sitting in the lion's den waiting for him to get off the phone so I could ask him about my expense sheet on that new orange thing. He was playing the usual games with his lawyer. Just about the time he hung up and turned his chair my way the office door. All right, Regan, what do you want? A-ha! A little curly-headed man about 40 dressed in a black suit was standing there. He was holding a stack of $50 bills, a gold-headed cane, and a red card in one hand. In his other, he had a black derby with a hole through the top of it, a pair of suede gloves and a white carnation. He stood there, looked at both of us. The lion looked at the $50 bills. I looked at the little man. A-ha! You are Mr. Lion, no? I, Max Vlodny, have come to see you unappointed. Where you are? My name's Regan. This is Mr. Lion. A-ha! You will do it. Won't you sit down, Mr.... Max Vlodny, Vlodny, Max. One, six, four, two more Holland Drive, Hollywood 28, an Imperial Studio payroll. Time I do not have. I will not sit. A-ha! I demonstrate. See you. That flower, I do not need. This, a ticket because I too long park, I also do not need. Cane, I place here. A gift from my grandfather. I keep that. Also, gloves. Now, what have I left, gentlemen? Quite a bundle of cabbage, of cash, Mr. Vlodny. From bank, I just arrived. Also this, I do not need. For you, all for you. Well, well, well, Mr. Vlodny. A-ha! Now, what I have? You, I answer myself. Bullet hole in heart. See you. It is not finished. One, two, three. Those look like 38 slugs. What did you get them? Out of doorway, I dig them where I'm shot last night in my home. Who's shooting at you, Mr. Vlodny? This, if I know, I shoot back. I have no enemies. Everyone is madly in love with Max Vlodny. I must buy new hearts. Cannot buy new heads. Kindly, you will guard my body from dying. Of course, of course. Now, you've certainly come to the right place, Mr. Vlodny. If your life has been threatened, you can depend on International Detective Bureau to see that no harm comes to you. Therefore, it is so. We see. I understand perfectly. Well, if somebody shot at you last night, why didn't you call the police? Mr. Regan meant to ask who recommended you to International. I explained. In Imperial Motion Picture Studio, where master of makeup, Max Vlodny, who is great, is imported to create beautiful faces from skinny skulls and fat necks, is much newspaper. Free sometimes for agents to press. Hollywood police might think because I work on great, gone epic, tie my rope tight, is pre-trick for agents to press. But it's not joke. To you, I come to take no chance. Yeah. In I am, Mr. Regan. Of course you're in, Mr. Vlodny. And Mr. Regan here will stick right by your side until we can get to the bottom. No, wait a minute. If I have to, I'll use every man in my staff to protect your life, Mr. Vlodny. All the resources of International Detective Bureau are behind you. Regan, I'm entrusting you with Mr. Vlodny's life. All the ready better, I feel. Vista. And call me, Regan. Call me. I know. I'll call you if I run into trouble. Come on, Max. Well, you can see how it was. Max Vlodny's car was parked in a red zone in front of the building, and there was another ticket on it. He tore that one up too. On the way out to his house, I tried to get a little more information, but it didn't come to much. He couldn't figure out why somebody was shooting at him or who was doing it. It was about six o'clock when we pulled up in front of his house on Mulholland Drive, one of those little places with the big sun ports in front of it and an egg-shaped swimming pool in front of that. He was pulling things out of his pocket, looking for the keys of the front door when it happened. See what I tell you? All the time shooting at Max, if someone... All right, get out. Get out. What I tell you, my heart is full again of holes. All right, shut up. You aren't hit. He's frightening me. Well, unless he's got a machine gun, he can't find anything more. Wait! Where are you going? You leave Max to be killed. I'm going after him. Stay right here. You'll be all right. I started for the heavy brush outside the clearing of the house where white gun smoke still hung around the trees, and then I saw him. It was a gray-haired man, stocky billed glasses about a hundred feet away running down the hill waving the gun. I went after him, but I couldn't get a clear shot. Oh, he was quite an acrobat. He dived over a wooden road bracer and went skidding down the embankment. By the time I got there, he was winding into an old Chevy convertible and he took off in a cloud of dust. I couldn't see the license plate on the car. Little darling, something like this happening to you. Max, Max, why would anyone want to do such a thing? I got back to the house ten minutes later and there was a black convertible in the driveway and a very blonde girl in the doorway. She was digging the new slugs out of the woodwork with a pen knife. Max was lying on one of the beach chairs. When the blonde girl saw me, she pulled off her sunglasses and held out her hand. How do you do your, Mr. Regan? Did you kill him? I got away. Oh, and I am again to be shot at. You say he got away, then you saw who it was. Part of him. Who are you? Oh, he beg my pardon. This is Hilda Greyham. You have seen her in pictures. The hair, I have seen her differently. She's my wife almost. Did you see anybody? I heard the shots as I drove up and found poor Max by the door. He's got to stop this business, Mr. Regan. He's got to stop next time maybe. But he certainly does have to stop, Mr. Regan. Max, why, he's the finest makeup artist in the world. He had great loss to everyone in Hollywood if anything ever happened to him. You see? See? Am I valuable? Did I not tell you? Yeah, yeah, yeah. Where's your phone? Oh, in there, in my private workshop. A study where I had to leave. Use it please. Call Mr. Lyon and start the shooting. Oh, Max. Lyon. This is me. I'm calling from Max's. Somebody just threw six bullets all over the place. What? Is Max all right? Didn't even come close. Oh, good. The Pressure Department tells me he paid 20,000 last year in income tax and he can afford little protection. Well, whoever it is, got away. I think we ought to turn this over to the cops. The cops? And let them do for free what we're getting paid to do? Not on your life, Regan. What about his life? Well, we'll worry about that, too. Now, listen. I'm sending Joe Canteo out there to give you a hand. Now, this flat is a first-class gold mine, as far as I'm concerned, and that means as far as you're concerned. I don't care what you... I'm telling them to do anything you want. So long as you stick by, Max, you don't call the cops. Regan. Yeah? You want one? No thanks. I've something much better than that at my house. I'll bet you have. I live all alone until late. End of the canyon. I remember that when I get thirsty. Who do you suppose is shooting at Max? You tell me, lady. I just met him. I thought you said you saw whoever it was. I did. Well, aren't you going to look for him and send out an alarm of whatever you do? Yeah, whatever we do. I see. Don't you think you ought to be in there holding hands with Max? He's had a hard day. Max, oh, he's resting now. Do you think he's the kind of person I'd really hurt something in common with? I wouldn't know, lady. Matter of fact, I was just leaving. I have to be at the studio early tomorrow. If there's anything I can do at all, I'd be only too happy to cooperate. Yeah. Why don't you start by giving me those slugs you were digging out of the doorway? Oh, I completely forgot about those. Here, I meant to give them to you. Thanks. I'll need these. Really, whatever on it? Comparison test. The ejector marks, the firing pin dense. You can tell if they were firing the same gun if you want to look into it. And of course, being a detective, if you want to look into it. That's right. I want to look into it. Well, Mr. Reagan, it's been nice meeting you. I know you'll take good care of Max. There's anything I can do. Yeah. I'll give you a ring. Bye, Miss Reagan. Until we meet again. I followed her out the door and watched her pat Max on the head, kiss him on the cheek. And then she slid under the wheel of that convertible like she'd been built right along with it. That famous gold in the hair was blowing behind her by the time she got onto the main road. Be careful, careful. How lovely she is, Mr. Reagan. Yeah, Maxine. She's just fine. For her, too, you must keep me alive. She needs me. Yeah. What now? We wait for another guy. Ah-ha, reinforcers. I like you, Mr. Reagan. Already better, I feel. Come with me, Reagan. Take it easy. Come on in. What took you so long? I stopped by to pull these ballistics on the way out. I had them 38 slugs that Max brought in check. Well, I got some more for you. Well, I found a winner. Gun belongs to a fella named Pete Burger. There ain't no permit on it. He'd done 6 to 18 San Quentin once. A robbery sprung a couple of years ago. Address? Yeah. That place on Figaro right off his sunset. Here. Thanks. I was around again this afternoon shooting things all over the place. I wonder what the connection is. I'm gonna find out before Maxi does. You take over, Joe. Okay, where's our clay pigeon, eh? Roosting in there. Keep your eyes open, can't I? I'll get back as soon as I can. Oh, take your time, son. Joy the can't, though, is on the job. Yeah, I feel better already. You're in our midst, boy. One with me, Mr. Mom's champagne or beer? Neither one, lady. Well, we ain't got either one for you. Copper. You picked wrong tonight. Flossie never picks them wrong. I can tell by your feet. You're paid by the city or you're a private peeper and somebody else pays you. Makes no difference to me. All spell copper. What do you want? No fuss with you, Flossie. I'm looking for Pete Burger. Who? Pete Burger. This is his last address. Ain't never heard of no Pete Burger and neither has anybody else. And he ain't never lived here and you got a wrong steer. That door leads to rooms upstairs? Yeah, that door leads to rooms upstairs. Mind if I take a look? I mind a lot of things, Sheamus. And taking a look is one of them. All right, this Pete Burger you don't know and never heard of was throwing a lot of letter around yesterday and today and I'm going to take a look anyway. Wait! Hey! Hey, you can't go up there! It's only halfway up when a man on a gray sweatshirt banked over the top of the stairs. There were three red holes just about the center of the sweatshirt. It turned around and tried to say something. I saw what was going to happen and I hugged the side of the basket. Over and was kneeling beside him, holding his head in her arms, rocking back and forth. You guessed it. It was the same man I chased all afternoon and he didn't live five seconds. We'll return to Jeff Regan, investigator in just a moment. But first, here's an important message from the Adjutant General's office. At no time in our nation's history has it been more important to develop an outstanding army medical department. Without an adequate nurse corps this cannot be accomplished and nurses are still needed to fill the estimated requirements for 1948. If you're a graduate registered nurse over 21 and under 45 you are invited to apply for a commission in the Army Nurse Corps Reserve. If you are selected you may choose either active duty or inactive status. Applied to the Adjutant General, Washington, 25 D.C. and now back to the story of the lady with the golden hair and Jeff Regan, investigator. After he came falling down the stairs at me and Flossie had a good cry over him there wasn't anything to do but to call Central Homicide. They got there a few minutes later and went over the whole place taking pictures and prints. Finally a wagon pulled up took what was left of Pete Berger down to the morgue. Detective Lieutenant Salvatore Wendetti up to Homicide asked everybody a lot of questions and shipped a couple of people downtown for a couple of different things and finally got around to me. Regan, Regan, Regan I think you ought to get yourself a new job every time the lion growls you wind up with a corpse someplace that somebody has to ask you a question. That wasn't my idea, Sally. I might have to book you on technical charge. Oh, stop it, will ya? You know I didn't have anything to do with him getting shot. Now the next car named Pete Berger gets topped off just before a private dick gets around to asking him a few questions. I got to ask the private dicks some questions myself or else a chief is going to ask me some questions. Makes sense? All I know is that somebody's been shooting at a client of mine. And that's somebody's Pete Berger. How do you know? The bullets came from a gun owned by Pete Berger so I came down to see him. Only he walks out all loaded down with 45 slugs and dies before you can say hello. Isn't that the bomb? Who's your client, Regan? Do I have to tell you? No, but you will. Uh-uh. Company policy. Company policy. Confidence at a client, Regan. Can you arrest me for anything? Depends. Material witness, maybe. Well, while it's depending, I'll get a hold of the lion. He'll get a hold of Harry Presidio and then I'll bet you 10 bucks will be a writ of habeas corpus at the station by the time you get me there. All right, all right, all right. You're clear. This is a murder case, Regan. That's a serious crime in anybody's town. I don't know any more than I just told you so. You know the name of your client? Why was Pete shooting at him? That's what I was going to ask Pete. Oh, now just exactly where does that put us? My client's safe and sound in his home and Joe Canto's keeping an eye on him. When Canto was pounding a beat for the department, some guys got away from him. A lot of guys get away from a lot of cops, but not when the cops are watching. Canto's good at that. You know him. Oh, sure, sure, sure. What is your thought? Well, it's no good. Before Pete Berger went to San Quentin, he was never very handy with a gun because his eyes were so bad he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. He didn't hit anything yesterday or today, but he was sure trying. A floss he told me, Pete's been playing stop man in pictures, making a buck out of it. It seems he learned all his tricks while he was in the clink. They have a nice gym up there. They never tell what they'll do next. Still, can't understand why he'd all of a sudden go around shooting at somebody. Unless maybe there was something personal and that Pete had to do it. And whoever Pete was shooting, I kind of saw or turned around and plugged Pete tonight, huh? My client's home safe. This shoot, shoot, cattle's good. Almost forgotten. Pete Berger was a perfect set up for a wise guy. An ex-con who'd done 15 years, who learns his lesson once and makes a straight dime, gets mad when anybody bothers. Blackmail. Been done before. Pete had a good, healthy bank balance. I guess he was saving up for his old age. But some wise guy finds out Pete's a con, says, I'll tell your boss unless you kick in, then maybe Pete starts shooting to scare him into shutting up. Makes sense. Sounds like an old fairy tale, Sally. But screwing up to be the answer. Only this wise guy, Pete, shooting at things Pete might be mean to business. So he just comes over here tonight and plugs Pete. And who's the wise guy? Your client. You aren't going to tell me his name? I can't involve a client in a murder. Oh, yeah, company policy. I almost forgot. Regan, I'll find out in the morning. We got some lawyers, too. I know. Couldn't tell me now. I'll phone you in an hour, Sally. OK. OK, Regan. You can talk to him first. But phone me. Good night. Night, Regan. See you around. My watch said four o'clock by the time I got to the hill's back of Laurel Canyon and started up Mulholland Drive. The usual fog was in the usual places, doing the usual things to trees and houses. And when I pulled up in front of Max's house, one light was burning in the window. The rest of the house looked dark. It was quiet. The first thing I noticed was cordite. It smells black, and it means that guns have been fired. The whole room was full of it. Max Vladimir was lying half on the floor and half on the table he used for a workshop. A bottle of spirit gum was spilled on the floor along with some false blonde hair and a crack wig block. He had one free arm around a white plaster cast of a head, just like it was a doll. There were two blue holes in the middle of his farm. I just stood there looking at him when I heard a noise in back of me. He was on the floor at the foot of the bed. Don't try to move me, Reagan. I've been laying here waiting for you. It's in my lungs somewhere. I don't think I got any blood to spare. Enjoy, boy, let you down. It happened an hour after you left. I don't know who done it. A lot of noise in Max's room, and I come in the next thing I know that I'm taking a slug myself. Hey, hey, call me a doc, will you, Reagan? I've got a date tomorrow night. She's been trying to get rid of me. Is it ever a good excuse? Guess I don't think so, man. Call me a doc, Reagan, right quick. I made a lot of phone calls before it was all over. Hollywood receiving hospital, Wendetti, Central homicide, and I got the lion out of bed and told him what had happened. He said he'd meet me at the hospital. I hung around a while and talked to Wendetti. He didn't have much to say. When he got through poking around, he gave me a lift as far as the hospital. The lion was standing around the hall when I got there. It was the first time I'd ever seen him look tired. Hello, Reagan. I just talked to the doctor. It's gonna cost plenty. How bad is it? Plus surgery. No, I mean, candle. Oh, the bullet penetrated up or low of his right lung. Here, they pulled this out. 45 slug. Who shoots 45s that good? Lots of people. Same kind of people who go around killing Pete Berger and Max Vladimir. Yeah. Candle getting himself shots, gonna eat up every penny we might have made on this thing. There's money all you ever think of. What else is there to think about? They haven't got it to nothing but a bum. One of your own men is lying in there wondering if he's ever gonna live or die, and he took that slug because you sent him on the job. Everybody dies. I'll give him a citation. You big pile of blubber, I ought to push you out a window. Now talk like that isn't gonna help anything. No, but I know what it is. Now wait a minute, Reagan. This is a police job. Oh, now it's a police job. Yeah, like I told you. And you can't go running around sticking your snoot into a couple of killings and giving international a lot of bad publicity. Now get this, Fatso. I'm going out and find a guy who plugged Candle. Now you listen to me. I want it down in the books and the papers and any place else. Then an international operator brought in the guy who killed one of their clients and shot one of their men. Now I won't be responsible for anything that happens. Okay, if you don't like the way I do things, you can pull my license right off the wall and get yourself another boy. Hey, hey, where you going? Come back! Mr. Reagan, when I saw you at Max's yesterday afternoon, I didn't think you would come by for that drink at six o'clock in the morning. Well, come in, come in. I was just having coffee. I have to be at the studio for an early makeup job. You look all right for me the way you are. Oh, yes. You can be nice. Will you have some coffee? No, thanks. Oh. I just stopped by for a minute. I'm afraid I have some tough news for you. Max, something happened to Max. He's dead. Oh, no. Not Max. Somebody shot him three hours ago. Why would anyone want to kill Max? That's what I'm going to find out. Max expected me to marry him here. Some new plan. What can I do to help Mr. Reagan? What can I do? All right, now look. A smart cop named Wendetti is going to be knocking on your door pretty soon. He's going to ask you a lot of questions about Max. Give me the answers first. Would you mind terribly if we sat down? Max was all I had. I want to be near someone. Sure. I know I'm acting silly about this. What is it I can tell you, Mr. Reagan? Max ever mentioned a man named Pete Berger? No. Never heard that name before. He worked at the same studio. He was the one that shot at Max yesterday afternoon. And he killed Max? No. He's dead, too. He was shot to death an hour earlier I was there. I'm not very good at this kind of thing. What are you trying to tell me, Mr. Reagan? Both of these killings were done by an amateur. They're not very good jobs. But there had to be some reason. I don't know. I've been in the business a long time, lady. Too long. People kill for money or love, just for the crazy feel of blasting a gun at somebody. This has been a lot of you. I know. If you find a reason, you find a killer. What kind of work would a makeup man be doing at home? I don't know. Max always tried to improve his work. I suppose that's why he made the money, he did. He might have made a plaster cast of a head so he could steady a face. I suppose so. Yes. Your face? Yes, I suppose so. Why? It's a nice face. I've seen it in pictures. Most press agents think my hair is nicer. Yeah, it is. Long, golden hair. It feels soft and warm. The way you hoped it would feel. It does. And my lips, they're doing this. I never did love Max. I was indebted to him. I was terribly ill several years ago, he helped me. I can see why he felt the way he did about you. Can you? I like the way you did that. I know what Max had been working on. It was something for you. Really? He was holding a plaster cast of your head in his arms when I found him. Of course, there was no hair on it. It looked kind of funny. Don't say that. Don't ever say a thing like that. Yeah, no, I got it. What are you talking about? Murder lady, lots of it. You killed a poor ex-con because he bungled a job you blackmailed him into doing. You shot him last night because I was going to talk to him. Are you crazy? Why would I do a thing like that? Then you went over and you killed Max. And while you're at it, you pumped a slug or two into Joe Cato. You said to death, there's got to be a reason. Every newspaper in the country is going to carry this story, lady. Oh, yeah. The one with all the long golden hair is really as bald as a fresh air. Shut up! Shut up! Don't you ever say anything like that in front of me. Why are you... Go ahead, lady. Pick up that paperweight and I'll break you in two. Let's go. No. Oh, no, you can't. You mustn't. If I'm done about my hair, please, please, don't tell him about my hair. I couldn't be human. I'm nice. I can be... She'd been trying to get her to marry him and she didn't want to marry anybody, so she killed him. The police stenographer scratched his head on that one until I explained there was her hair and that long golden hair. Only it wasn't hers. It was a wig that Max had fixed up for her. She'd lost all hers when she was sick and couldn't stand the thought of anybody going around knowing it wasn't her own. Well, I guess you're running to all kinds. A couple of days later, I saw Kanta with the hospital. He'd had some transfusions and a lot of other things. He was coming along fine. I was reading a paper when I walked in. All right. So what is what, huh? Hi, Joe. I've been reading about that Hilda Graham. Too bad they don't take her picture without all that putty hair. It serves a right. Yeah. How are you feeling? Feetching. Reagan, how long we've been working for the line? Too long. How many people have been killed and messed up in that time that mean you know about the person? Too many. There's one thing I can't get through my nose. Why don't we get some other kind of a job? Real estate, a movie exposition. What are we doing? What are we doing, Jeff? I don't know, Joe. I don't know. Web is featured as Jeff Regan with Wilms Herbert as that Anthony J. Lyon. It's CBS same time next week for Trouble, Suspense, and Thrilling Adventure with Jeff Regan Investigator. The role of Max Flutney was played by Hans Conreed with Barton Yarborough as Joe Cantal. Betty Lou Gerson was Hilda Graham. Jack Krushan was Wendetti. Marlo Dwyer was Flossy. Jeff Regan Investigator is written by E. Jack Newman produced and directed by Gordon T. Hughes with special music by Del Castillo. This program came to you from Hollywood. Bob LeMond speaking for CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.