 The Columbia Broadcasting System presents yours truly, Johnny Duller. The next half hour has its baggage pack to take a trip with America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator, Johnny Duller. At insurance investigation, he is just an expert. At making out his expense account, he is an absolute genius. Expense account submitted by special investigator, Johnny Duller. Home office, American Continental Life Insurance Company, Hartford, Connecticut. The following is an accounting of my expenditures, fulfilling your assignment as a bodyguard. The body being that of your late policy holder, Robert W. Perry. Expense account item one, fare on night train, Hartford to New York, $3.80. Expense account item two, a dollar eighty, taxi to Lower Manhattan the following morning. Two offices, Perry and Van Bruten Importers, arriving as promised at exactly 9 a.m. Help you? Yeah, my name is Johnny Duller. I have an appointment with Mr. Perry for 9 o'clock. Oh, yes, from the insurance company. Well, you're right on time. Well, he told me I'd better be. Mr. Perry just came in. He's alone and waiting for you. I'll buzz in that you're here. Thanks. What was left of your policy holder, Mr. Perry, was just sliding out of his swivel chair as I hit the room. The top of his desk had erupted, and splinters of mahogany pointed their sharp fingers upward through lazy circles of smoke swirling toward the ceiling. The buzzer from his secretary's desk had been rigged to a booby trap. Perry. Stay away from him. There's nothing you can do for him. He's dead. Oh, what happened? What happened? Whatever happened. Come on. Let's get back out of here. Sit down. I'll get you a drink of water. Just drink this. He's on the third floor. Should I call him? Never mind the doctor. Call the police. And nobody gets in here until they arrive. And the rest of you, go on. Beat it. Run along. And turn off that alarm. Okay, Miss. Now, just take it easy. He was all so sudden. What happened? Well, that's not too hard to figure out. Somebody wanted to give your boss, Mr. Perry, a shortcut through life. So whoever it was, figured out that his secretary would never buzz their boss unless he was at his desk. They rigged up a bomb somewhere in his desk. It would go off when you buzzed him. But then I killed him. Now, wait a minute. Wait a minute. Don't get hysterical on me. There's excitement enough around here and there'll be plenty more when the police get here. Keep cool. But I did it. You saw me do it. Look, the way you put it, I killed him by coming in here and giving you my name so you'd buzz him. Drop it, will you? What about yesterday? Was he here? Yes, all day. What time was it when you last used the buzzer? Wait. Right up to the last minute at about 5.30. Who left the office first? You or Perry? Mr. Perry, he always leaves first and I lock up. Looks like you should have used more locks last night. Somebody got in here to do some wiring. I forgot that fire alarm. All that equipment and no fire. Look, before the police arrived, do you know why I was sent here? Yes. Mr. Perry recently felt that his life was in danger. He thought that, well, with a hundred thousand dollar policy, the insurance company would do everything they could to help keep him alive. Well, we didn't have much of a chance, did we? What was he afraid of? I don't know. Okay. What were his other appointments for the day? He only had two. His partner, Mr. Van Brutten, at 11. One at a time now. Van Brutten. Anything special about their meeting? Yes. Mr. Van Brutten arrived just yesterday from Holland. You mean there was a branch of this firm in Holland? Yes. Mr. Perry was buying out Van Brutten's interest. He had their final meeting at Van Brutten's hotel last night. Van Brutten was coming by this morning to pick up his money. Uh, cash? No, a cashier's check. The bank has to deliver it here at 10.30. Now, quick. Perry's other appointment. Who was that? Christine, his wife. Oh, yeah. Now Christine, the beneficiary. Yes, but she wouldn't have been the beneficiary in another two weeks. They were getting a divorce. Thanks for the motive. You don't like her? I didn't mean it that way. How about Perry? Did you like him? Okay, well, here's an easy one. What's your name? Susan. Susan Gates. No, isn't that about enough? Okay, Susan. You'd better save your voice. During the next few hours, you're going to have a lot of talking to do. Oh, here come the firemen, and we haven't even got a child to ask them to save. Where's the fire? I'm looking for a fire. Just stick around. When the cops get here, somebody will get burned. The firemen should have stuck around because the cops arrived in a blaze of glory. It was a very high-class investigation. Two lieutenants. Finally, after about an hour, the police photographer ran out of flash bulbs, the office of the deceased ran out of fingerprints, and the lieutenants ran out of questions. So the on-the-scene phase of the investigation was closed. At about five minutes of 11, I left the police to pack up their notebooks, their clues, and the body, and went into the outer office. Susan looked like she could use a big broad shoulder to weave on, but unfortunately, I was wearing my light gray suit. About then, a dark blue suit and a deep green voice entered the room from the corridor. Say, there's some filler out here says he belongs here. His name is Van Bruten. Shall I let him in? Oh, what do you think? His name is on the door you just opened. Oh, indeed, now. Well, my name happens to be Murphy, and it's on beds all over the country. But that don't mean I'm stuffed with feathers, does it? I'll teach you, Johnny. I'll never to cross tongues with an Irishman. OK, send him in, officer. All right, you can come in. The policeman out there. Is the trouble here? Oh, I am Bremer Van Bruten. Where's Mr. Perry? What? He's waiting for me, no? No. But my appointment, he's not keeping any. He's dead. Dead? It's impossible. Last night I saw him. He was well. What happened? He was hit by a buzzbomb. The buzzbomb? Please. Forgot other people aren't used to these things. You mean, that was foul play? Very foul. Please, may I sit down? My first visit in all these years since before the war. It was to be so happy. Now, tragedy like this. He was a good man, a good partner. I understand that as of last night you were no longer partners. Yeah, I'm glad you mentioned that. I realize, of course, that it is indelible to speak of such things as money at a time like this. Nothing. That is why I'm here to receive my payment. Oh, just because Perry got his, there's no reason for you not getting yours, huh? But you misunderstand me. I am deeply grateful. Since the transaction was consummated, what is there to do? The delay would be a needless waste of money. I have already paid for passage back to Amsterdam tomorrow. Your check is here, Mr. Van Bruten. There you are. Thank you. In all my years of business, this is indeed the saddest moment. Yeah. Yeah, those are very kind words, Van Bruten. And I believe them. If your eyes would stop counting all the zeros on that check. Expense account, item three, 90 cents. Phone call to your company. American Continental Life Insurance Company, good morning. Oh, well, that's a matter of opinion. This is Johnny Dollar. Put me through to Mr. Gordon, will you? Yes, sir. Mr. Gordon's office. Johnny, this is Johnny Dollar. I want to speak to Gordon. Oh, and while I'm telling him what I've got to tell him, maybe you'd better sit in his lap with some smelling salts. I'm not that type of a secretary. And besides, he doesn't have a lap. Hello, Dollar. How are you making out? I owed about $100,000. What's that? Yeah, somebody termed Mr. Perry into a firecracker. He's dead. That's bad news. It's a big policy. Yeah. Look, what I want to know is, shall I stay on the case? Certainly, Dollar. Certainly, by all means. Is there a chance of the improving suicide? There's a non-payment clause. To make this one a suicide, there'd have to be a Santa clause. Nobody could hate himself enough to do it this way. No. What are the fraud possibilities? Only fair. There's an estranged wife. She's the beneficiary, but she wouldn't have been in a couple of weeks' divorce coming up. I'll start with her. All right, Dollar. Good luck. But what's those expenses? My garden, I'm surprised. I think an insurance man would be the first to want to see a fellow live a little. Expense account, item three. Cab fare, $2.80. Tip to driver, $1. Christine Perry's apartment was on sudden place overlooking the river. And from what the doorman told me, all of the proprieties. I took the elevator up to the 24th floor, and there I discovered that our garden fresh widow was living high in more ways than one. Everything about the place was French. The maid that led me into the living room, the decor, and the perfume, which reminds you that breathing can be fun. I looked up from enjoying my nose to see Mrs. Perry looking down hers. Mr. Dollar? Oh, Mrs. Perry. I believe we can dispense with any getting acquainted. You're an insurance investigator interested in the death of my husband. Naturally, you're here because you've jumped to the conclusion that I killed him. You're the one that's jumping to conclusions, lady. Then what do you want? The policies in order, the premiums are fully paid. I'm not quite sure. I know that you've got a great motive. So far, the only motive I've found. You haven't had much time to look, have you? Check. This is my first stop. Maybe you can help me. Do you know anyone who would be happier with your husband out of the way? I know very little about my husband's friends. Or for that matter, his activities for the past six months. That's when I left him. Uh-huh. Well, that's not much help for either of us. Without someone else to suspect, I may just have to concentrate on you. Mr. Dollar, I picked them in. I want to concentrate on me. Well, I hope you're as long on alibis as you are short on your temper. Where were you last night? With a friend, Al Donovan. For a while, I think that my husband was. And I've witnesses to prove who was with him. Anybody at the club caprice can tell you. Well, save me a trip. I can't afford the prices they get there. Certainly. Thank you. My husband was with his beautiful little secretary, Susan Gates. Well, I wouldn't be more surprised if your late husband walked through the door and said that... All right, Mr. That's enough. Al. Yeah. How much did he give? I'm a big guy, baby. Six foot four, and I've got big ears to make. Oh, please. Would this be Mr. Donovan, your companion of last evening? I'm getting you out of here, Christine. I don't know what you're saying. You lie to me. How can I help you if you lie to me? You call me stupid. The way you're playing this, you'll alibi yourself right into a cell. I'm getting you out of here. What are you doing to me? Are you crazy? Come on. She's right. You are stupid, Donovan. She was doing just fine until you dropped in. Mr. You've been asking a lot of questions. Now I'll give you one answer. All right, Christine. So much for the wise guy. Now about you and your alibi. You wasn't with me at the club caprice last night. And if it's so easy to prove your husband was there with his secretary, who were you there with? You told me you were going with your husband, talking divorce, remember? When Al measured me for that swing, I measured my chances with him. To me, he looked like one of the corporate assets of murder incorporated. So I rolled with a punch, hit the floor and stayed there, with my eyes closed and my ears open. What I heard was Christine's alibi flying out the window. Mr. Donovan giving her a few loving cuffs, and finally the pair of them flying out the door. I allowed myself the luxury of a 20 second massage on the new lump on my jaw, and then I got up and started out after them. This case was becoming interesting. In just a moment, we'll return to the second act of yours truly, Johnny Dollar. But first, this important message. $60 million is what the Red Cross needs to carry on its great work in 1949. If this seems like a lot, just try to review briefly the various activities of the Red Cross. It can't be done briefly. Red Cross services extend into every area of our lives, bringing care, comfort and recreation to the men and the armed forces, bringing first aid training, nutritional programs, nursing services, blood banks, to our own communities. And all the time, as these activities go on uninterrupted, the Red Cross is holding itself ready to spring into instant action in case of disaster, fire, flood, explosion, any sort of catastrophe finds the Red Cross on the scene with food, clothing and medical care. $60 million isn't so much in the light of such activity. We can make it with each of us contributing. We're giving to our own safety, security and peace of mind, and to our neighbors too. So let's give generously to our own Red Cross. Now back to the second act of yours truly, Johnny Dollar. I hit the street just in time to see Donovan pushing Christine Perry into a cream-colored convertible. When they got rolling, I piled into a cab and followed them, and the case was on. At 57th and Broadway, things got complicated. My cab was three cars behind theirs when a red light flashed them to a stop. Then the door of their convertible flew open. Christine jumped out, dashed across the street and down into the subway. Since Donovan didn't follow her, I followed him. When he finally pulled to a stop, he took two chances. He parked in a no parking zone and walked straight into the building beside it, a police station. This is Mr. Dollar, Lieutenant. He's been waiting for you for some time. Well, you can wait outside, Sergeant. Okay, sir. My name is Johnny Dollar, Lieutenant. Here are my credentials. Insurance, huh? Yeah, the Perry murder in particular. I came to the right place, Dollar. A man named Donovan just walked in here and made a full confession. He what? That's right. My clerk's just typing it up. In the meantime, the gentleman is down in the tank having a bite of lunch on the city. He confessed. Does his story add up? As far as I know. I haven't heard too much about the case myself. It's not in my precinct. What did he use for a motive? Jealousy. Says he's in love. Wanted to marry Perry's wife. Did he say how he managed it? Yeah. He stole a key to the office from the wife's apartment, entered the building last night, and wired a bomb to the buzzer system. Well, guys do a lot of strange things in the name of love. Yeah, it looks like Donovan did. He either killed a man, or he's trying to cover up for someone who dead. Listen, don't execute him for a couple of days. How, Lieutenant? I spent the rest of the afternoon downtown in the offices of Perry and Van Bruten, importers. The partner's correspondence told me two things. They had been extremely friendly, and Van Bruten was extremely bald. Perry had been sending him two pays from a famous Hollywood makeup firm. At 4.30, I opened the drawer marked Employment Files. They rocked me with two minor explosions of their own. The folder marked Donovan, Albert Jay, told me that he'd been employed as Perry's bodyguard over a period of years, and that he was canned the day before the murder. Before I received blast number two from the folder of Perry's secretary, Susan Gates, the office door opened behind me. Well, Mr. Dollar, you were supplied with a search warrant, I hope? Just the one I was born with, Mrs. Perry, the kind they say kills cats. You know, curiosity. What are you looking for? I found it. How about you? What are you doing here? Oh, I... I'm tired of dueling with you. I'm here because I want to... Well, I've got to talk to someone. I called your hotel, you went there. I tried to locate Susan, but I couldn't. I thought maybe you'd be down here. What's the basis of our sudden friendship? You should know. Al Donovan's confession. The newspapers have it already? Yes, but there's not a word of truth that he didn't kill my husband. How do you know that? It's impossible, that's all. It was a little hard for me to swallow, too, when the police told me about it. But since then, it's become a little more digestible. What do you mean? I just learned that he was your husband's bodyguard. He was fired yesterday. That same day, your husband calls his insurance company screaming for another bodyguard. Now, how would that end up for you? A beef, maybe? Never thinks. He just rushes in and says it does whatever's on his mind. He told my husband if he didn't divorce me that... Well, he threatened him. You came in here saying that Donovan's confession was no good, and you spend your time making it sound better and better. What do you want, anyway? I can't help it. I've got to tell you this. I know it doesn't sound like I'm trying to help Al, but what can I do? You really want me to answer that? If you want to help Al, phone the police. Tell them Donovan made that phony confession to cover up for you. It's simple. Not as simple as that. You don't need the gun, Christine. Hang up the phone. Sure. I hope you don't mind my version being held for murder myself. Oh, that's a common aversion. I'm a no hurry to see you behind bars, but don't forget, when the cops want to pick you up, they'll do it. Don't spoil the rest of the afternoon. Take that gun someplace else. I've got things to do. The first time, I didn't really recall that I wouldn't make... Not necessarily. If it'll make you feel any better, we'll just put this phone out of order. Satisfied? Of course not. But don't get me wrong, Mr. Dollar. I wish you nothing but success in your investigation. I puzzled over that exit line for a few seconds after she'd gone, and I went back to the company's employment file. Namely, the application for employment as secretary of Susan Gates. It informed me that during the war, she had worked in a munitions plant. Her specialty, wiring bomb fuses. When Miss Susan Gates reached home at 8.30 that evening, she found a visitor, me. How did you get in here? A professional secret. Oh, you scared me. What do you want? Why did you come here? I wanted to bring you the good news. I heard on the radio that Al Donovan confessed to Perry's murder. Al! I can't believe it. Why not? Who do you like to the spot? Quite Christine. Al is covering up for her. I'd like to agree with you. If it turns out that Christine wound up her husband's life with a bang, the company that hired me saves $100,000. But I don't know. She claims she has all kinds of alibis. One of them is you. Me? Yeah. Did you see her at the Club Caprice last night? Well, yes. I know who you were with. Your boss. There's nothing wrong with that. Oh, I'm not preaching a sermon. I want to know who she was with. I don't know. A man I'd never seen before. Mr. Perry knew him, but he wouldn't tell me who he was. Why not? I don't know. He said I might get the wrong idea. About what? I don't know. We didn't sit there and talk about it all night. Why should we sit here and talk about it all night? All right, all right. Well, a census taker shows up and asks a lot of questions. People answer them. One investigator tries to do his job. They make the proverbial clam look like a blabbermouth. Look, Mr. Jones, believe me. This has been a greater shock to me than to anyone else. Make shifting, of course, your late employer, Mr. Perry. How long did you work for him? Four years. Now, where'd you work before then? Why, I... I... Let me help you. Bombs, wiring fuses. Remember? All right, I remember. Good. Then maybe you'll remember a little bit more. Let's go back to last night, the guy with Christine Perry. Who was he? I tell you, I don't know. Was it Van Bruden? I don't know. You don't know? No, I mean... I'll get that. No, I'll go. You make sure you just don't keep going. Susan! When Susan snapped the spring lock to open the door, the gun outside opened up. The first slug quarter in the left shoulder, spinning her out of the way of the rest of them, it was getting monotonous. Every time a buzzer went off, things started booming. Susan was sprawled out in the floor in front of the door, and to open it, I had a mover. By the time I did, the hallway outside was empty. Okay, come on, take it easy. It won't start hurting for a couple of minutes. I'll have a doctor here by then. He'll give you something. Let's try and keep calm. Yeah, I'll throw my coat over you. I'll try not to move. Trying to ruin this rug. Never mind the rug. What we want to worry about is who tried to ruin you. What'll they do to me? What will who do to you? They'll arrest me. No, they don't arrest people for getting shot. Do you have any idea who it was? That man in the office this morning. The one who picked up the check. Van Brutten? No, no, he wasn't Van Brutten. He was a phony. Yes. And you still gave him that check? Yes. Well, I won't ask you why, but apparently you gave him the money and then tried a blackmail him. Is that right? They'll arrest me. I wouldn't be a bit surprised. Who is this guy? Where can I find him? Come on. Don't pass out on me now. His name. Quick. Vincent. Where does he live? Nelson Hotel. Under his own name? No, I don't. I don't blame you. I could use a few moments of unconsciousness myself. The Nelson Hotel didn't have a Dutch name on the register, so I got a hold of the housekeeper and found out how many rooms his staff hadn't been able to make up all day because of do not disturb signs in their doors. I went a-crawling at these particular rooms. On the ninth floor, I awakened one old maid. On the seventh, I startled a bunch of poker players who thought they were being raided. On the fifth, I blushed my way out of the bridal suite. And on the fourth, I struck the door of 427. And the jackpot. Who's that? Don't you see the signs? I do not wish to be disturbed. Oh, sorry. I must have the wrong room. I started up the hall after the fire acts, but when I got to it, I changed my mind. One of the few things I'd learned about this guy, Van Sant, was that he loved to murder people through doors, so I decided against trying to chop his down. Then I remembered the way those people came pouring out of those offices earlier in the day when they heard that fire alarm. So I picked up a little red hammer next to the big red fire acts, broke the little glass window, pulled the little brass hook, and set off a big brassy noise. Then I rushed back to 427. Fire! Fire! Right here in my eyes, sweetheart. Why you come here? You wish you hadn't. Never mind, addresser. You're through shooting guns for the day? What do you think, Van Sant? You want to try some more? You cannot make me stay here. The fire, we've all died. You look good, barbecued, but I'll make a deal with you. You talk. If I like what I hear, I'll show you how to get out of here alive. How do I know this? Well, you don't think I'm going to stay here in Friday? And if you don't start flapping that tongue in a hurry, I'll probably just tie you to a chair and run. First, where's Van Bruton? You will find him in the bedroom. He'll be alive. He's out cold. What's the matter with him? He will be all right. He is on the sedatives. Where did this identity switch start? You better hurry up. I smell smoke. I knew Van Bruton in Amsterdam. I knew about the sale of his interest. And I knew that the girl in the office here had never seen Van Bruton. Well, let's go now. Now, don't get up. I can feel it getting warm in here. The firefights. We will be saved. Now, don't be too sure. They always start at the top floor and work their way down. Come on, I can hear those flames crackling. You know the rest. Last night when the transaction was all finished with Barry, I gave to Van Bruton some sedatives in his cocoa. You set up that bomb so hurry to get it before you showed up to pick up the check. Yeah, I told you that. Then it happened that girl didn't know I was an impostor. I don't know how. Well, let me tell you, she's been sending old Van Bruton in there at two pace for the last four years. Grey ones, my red-headed friend. Oh, yeah. Let's get out of here now. You know, yeah, I'll pull. Expense account item four, $1.40. Nightletter informing you that American continental would have to meet payment of claim to Mrs. Christine Ferry, innocent widow of the insured. The only thing she was guilty of was trying to stay on the right side of a hot temperate boyfriend. She lied about who she was with at the Club Caprice, not to fix herself in alibi, but to keep Al Donovan from learning that she'd been out with another guy, being the real Mr. Van Bruton, who had only taken her out to try to target her into reconciling with his friend, her husband. Item five, $60. Silver chafing dish. Wedding present for Christine and her new husband, Al Donovan. That was the least she could do for the guy who had confessed to a murder he thought she had committed. Item six, $8. Flowers for Susan Gates, prison hospital. Item seven, fine for turning false alarm. $1,000 at no sense. And that's what I think I'm beginning to get for getting into this racket. No sense. Expense account total, $1,263. Yours, uh... truly, Johnny Dollar. In just a moment, we'll tell you about next week's Johnny Dollar Adventure. But first, this reminder. Just a little earlier tonight on CBS, Jack Benny turned dramatic actor on the Ford Theatre. But this Sunday, he'll be back again on his own show with a special treat for the Jack Benny fans. After the last broadcast on which the Ronald Coleman's appeared, thousands of letters came in from fans asking that Jack invite Ronnie and Benita back again soon. The walk he can whip did. And Ronnie and Benita, by popular demand, returned to the Jack Benny program this Sunday in what should result in one of the most hilarious broadcasts of the year. So be sure to listen to Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman on the Jack Benny show which is heard on all CBS stations this Sunday. Listen in again next week when CBS brings you Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar with Charles Russell as Johnny. Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar is written by Paul Dudley and Gil Dowd with music by Mark Warner and is produced and directed by Richard Sanville for CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.