 Hollywood, it's time now for... Johnny Dollar. Detergent fatality and bonding. Oh, hi, Nick. How's with you? Good and bad, Johnny. Good and bad. Well, I'm sure it's nothing good you've called me about. What's the problem? $58,000. Law straight or stolen? Is that what I didn't know? Yeah, probably stolen. At your company? I have not. Sounds like a gag. It's traditional furniture in the world. Comes out of that plant. Really? And you're kidding why? Yeah, Nick. I think I'd better. Fighting adventures of the man with the action-pactic sense of God. America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar. And now, act one of yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Special investigator Johnny Dollar. To the northeastern fatality and bonding company, Home Office Hybrid Connecticut. Following his account of expenses and courage during my investigation of the true face matter. Expensive account item one. After shaving, showering and donning the most funereal clothes I could find. Item one, $1.10, taxi to Nick Weldon's office at northeastern fatality and bonding. Just remember what I told you, Johnny. The old langzine furniture company is run by a bunch of characters. Yeah, that's why it frees me. That's why I came over here. Oh, they're craftmen, all right. The old school. They take them a couple of years to make an ordinary straight back chair. But when it's done, it's the most beautiful thing you ever saw. And the finish they get on the pieces they turn out. Beautiful. And expensive, too. Oh, sure, but worth it. Any piece of furniture they make will last for 100, 500 years. Yeah, they're real honest craftsmen, the kinds you don't see anymore. Uh-huh. Well, apparently somebody wasn't too honest with them. So tell me all, Nick. Johnny, it seems one of their lads is run off with some of the company money. Yeah, you mentioned $58,000. Yep, $58,433 to be exact, and those boys are exact. Well, what do the police have to say? Nothing. They were never called in. Well, why not? I told you, the place is run by a flock of real characters. Oh, brother, they must be. What did this happen? Sometime within the past three and a half years. And you've just found out about it now? That's right. Well, how come? I told you, Johnny. Yeah, that's right. You told me there are a bunch of characters. But didn't their policy state that any claim had to be filed within 60 days of the loss? No, we waived that form. Struck it from the policy. Why? Because they don't like to be rushed or anything. Rushed? After all, 60 days. And don't forget, they only discovered the loss a bit over a month ago. They even took a month to let you know about it. Yeah. And yet you say it could have occurred as much as three and a half years ago. Yeah, yeah, I know. But why don't you save the questions for Mr. J. Worthington-Keasley? Oh, see. Yeah, they're senior member of the organization, I guess you'd call them. There are no officers, you know, president, vice president, and so on. You mean a company big enough to suffer a cash loss of $58,000? Johnny, I told you. Oh, yeah, that's right. You told me. Yeah. So, will you go up there and see what's what? Nick, I'm going up there for just one reason. All on expense account, of course. Oh, of course. And that is to take a good look at these crazy characters you've been telling me about. Item two, 325 for a bus to Fitchburg, Massachusetts, where at the terminal I picked up a local to North Weldon, home of the old Langsheim furniture company. The name was appropriate. Located on the outskirts of the quiet little New England town, it consisted of a huge barn-like building that looked as though it had been standing there since the year one. Surrounded by stately-elmed trees and a couple of gnarled ancients, it looked, well, very picturesque. A large wrought-iron weather cock raced one end of the high-peak shingle roof and looked down on broad lawns with well-kept flower beds. The road leading up to it was just an old-fashioned dirt road, and I kicked the dust as I plowed it along. Then suddenly I stopped. But there at the side, instead of automobiles, were, believe it or not, horses. Horses and carriages and a bicycler two or three. It was almost as though a picture of 50 or 60 years ago had suddenly come to light. And then inside, when I promised a J-wedding named Keasley, well, he looked like one of the Smithfathers, and was sitting in front of a fine, but ancient, old-top desk. Of course we do, Mr. Daller. Our fathers and their fathers before them all wore full beards. Therefore we do, too. Would you like a bit of snuff, sir? No. No, thanks. Yes, it's one of the traditions, sir. The traditions to which we adhere in order that we may continue to fabricate the superlative furniture for which we become famous over the past 107 years. And I take it, Mr. Keasley, that the same thing applies to the horses and carriages out there at the side? Yes. They were good enough for our grandparents, so they're good enough for us. Eh, I suppose that's why I should have suspected Mr. Tuller. Mr. Tuller? Must go James Tuller, Mr. Daller. Eh, here, sir. There's a picture of him. In this group photograph, taken on the occasion of our 100th anniversary. I feel like I ought to yell beaver. I'm afraid his mighty shock of hair and magnificent beard misled me back in 1941 when I hired him. Yes, and I suppose I should have known when he gave up horse and surrey to drive one of those newfangled motor cars. Should have known what, Mr. Keasley? But he was no longer a man suited to our fine establishment. Is he the one who took off with your $58,000? $58,433.41. Are you sure? I mean, sure it was he? Beyond the shadow of a doubt, sir. He was the only one beside myself who had a key to the vault in which we kept our building firm. And when he suddenly left us three years, five months, and 16 days ago? Yes. Yes, I should have known. But you didn't discover the loss until recently. It was June 21st at four minutes after ten that I went down to the vault. For the first time in four years, we had something extra to put aside. And you discovered the money was missing. The vault was empty. Except for this note. Huh? Goodbye, suckers. Hot at wed. Signed toller. Oh, you seem, Mr. Dallop. Yes, I do, Ed. Looks like he's our man. No question about it. And you've no idea where he might have gone. None whatsoever. Well, surely there must be some clue. None whatsoever. But you must find him. But that was three and a half years ago. Exactly three years, five months, and 15. So where do I start? Unless your company decides simply to reimburse us for our loss, that Mr. Dollar is up to you. Johnny Dollar in a moment. Sometimes we may wonder why a football team doesn't quit playing and walk off the field when it finds itself 50 points behind with only a few minutes of play to go. What is that indomitable spirit that fills men with hope and keeps them going in spite of terrific odds, keeps them going just to play the game according to the rules, just to get the job done as well as they know how? This kind of spirit pervaded the feelings of heavy bomber crews of the 9th Air Force on that day of glory, August 1st, 1943, the day of one of the most secretly planned surprise bombing missions of World War II, the day of the low-level attack on the Romanian oil refineries at Plouestik. More than 170 B-24 heavily loaded bombers took off in a swirl of red dust from Benghazi, Libya to bomb a highly defended priority target. The element of surprise in the low-level attack was to be one of their greatest weapons. But things went wrong from the start. Three planes exploded during takeoff operation. Eleven more aborted due to engine trouble. Of those that reached the target area, less than one-third returned to home base. The leaders of the mission encountered navigation difficulties and difficulty in identifying specific targets. And due to the loss of that elemental hope, surprise, they also input a devastating enemy firepower from flak and fighters. The mission was partially successful, but a horrifying experience. Five medals of honor were awarded to the heroes of the Plouestik raid for valorous action above and beyond the call of duty. At any time, the men would have been justified in turning back, but they had a code of conduct that made them want to see the unequal game through to the end. It was a job that had to be done. A charge of the light brigade in the air as they flew down the valley of death to glory. And now, act two of yours truly, Johnny Dollar, and the two-faced matter. Hey, Mr. Keasley, it looks like this man, Twiller, is the one who walked off with the money in your safe when he left your employee. No question about it. And unless you can find him, your company will have to pay the full amount of the loss. Yeah, well, even if I do find him, the chances are he'll have spent that money after all three years and a half. Exactly three years, five months, and so on. You say you have no idea whatsoever as to where he might have gone. With that much money, he could be anywhere in the world. Ah, where did he live? I don't know, sir. What? After all, it was none of my affair. But have he worked for you a number of years? I make it a rule never to pry into the affairs of others. Except, of course, for the manufacture of fine furniture's concerned. Well, doesn't anybody in this organization know anything about Twiller? Possibly Mr. Buttonley. Who's he? He is presently engaged in creating a Hufflepfeist table in the shop. Come, we shall speak with him. The huge shop dated back a hundred years at least. There wasn't a single power tool, not even a buzz saw. But some of the tools looked as though they might have been used to build the art. Eight or ten men, all of them old, all wearing dark trousers, suspenders, and white aprons, were busy turning out fine pieces of furniture, carefully, almost lovingly. And every one of them wore his own distinctive full of beer. Great for tradition. Mr. Keasley led the way to a man who was gently trimming the edges of some kind of a sidewalk. Good morning, Mr. Buttonley. Good morning, Mr. Keasley. You must pardon this intrusion, Mr. Buttonley. It must be for good reason, Mr. Keasley, so you must understand that I cannot afford interruption if I am to finish this credenza by the foot of the year coming. Of course. I wish you to meet Mr. Johnny Dalla. Good morning, Mr. Dalla. Oh, I am. He is an investigator, Mr. Buttonley. Come to get us back the money we lost. And then he must find Mr. Twiller. Exactly. Good morning, Mr. Thurston. Good morning, Mr. Keasley. Mr. Keasley tells me you know where this man Twiller lived. He was my neighbor, lived alone next door to me. Where? And I assure you, sir, I had no idea of his designs on the company building fund. Yes, I'm sure. But now, if you tell me... This morning, he drove me to work in his carriage until he purchased that abominable motor car. Oh. I refused to ride in it, sir, and bought myself a bicycle. You did properly, Mr. Buttonley. Good morning, Mr. Woodstone. My name is Keasley. Well, just where is it that Twiller lived, Mr. Buttonley? In the village of North Weldon. East North Weldon, on Peach Avenue. Well, and perhaps the authorities there will all be able to give me some kind of a leave. The authorities? The American police, Mr. Keasley. The police? Good heavens. I hope not, Mr. Buttonley. I'm sure we must believe you. I hope not, Mr. Buttonley. Gentlemen, gentlemen. Gentlemen, please. These gentlemen are right to dollar. Think of the blot on our good deed. Now, look, your loss amounts to $58,000. $58,000 for... If I don't find this man, my company's gonna have to pay off. I know, but the police... Now, look. My immediate job is to find this Roscoe James Twiller. And if I need the help of the police to do it... Oh! Who's the chief of police in North Weldon? Well, the mayor, Mr. Dollar. What's his name? John Kenworthy Wilkins, Mr. Dollar. Any of you know him? We do not mix with the townspeople, Mr. Dollar. We don't even go into town, Mr. Dollar. But I do have a picture of the mayor. Here, sir. Buttonley, where did you get this? He's running for reelection, Mr. Keasley. I found this poster in my carriage. Well, get rid of it, man. This is indecent. No, no, wait a minute. Let me see that. It's terrible. Disgusting. I'm glad that this place had such a thing within the world of this fine old company. Oh, no! No wonder the old boys were shocked. For his honor, the mayor of North and East North Weldon was not only as bald as a billiard bald, but the top of it off was clean shaven. Here, a picture like this within the walls of the all-angelsine furniture company was real sacrilege. But I still hadn't done my job. I had to find this man, Triller, or let the company pay out $58,000. How to find him? I hadn't the least idea. Hey, if yours truly, Johnny Dollar, in a moment, times have changed, and so has the man. During the 18th and 19th centuries, warfare with its musketeer and cavalry charges and cannonades was a simple, direct, easily understood type of conflict. The undisciplined but sharp-eyed revolutionaries hid behind trees and hedgerows to pick off the advancing British troops. The wild, dashing, hellful other cavalry charges of the Civil War and custers encountered with sitting bull and the Sioux Indians were both courageous, simple, and direct. But they were far removed from the development of the atomic age, which demands selectivity, skill, and rigorous training. Until recently, the soldier's general level of knowledge determined his job suitability. Today, however, with more and more complex weapons and equipment being used, the military needs large numbers of skilled technicians. To that end, tests have been developed to find men with intelligence and technical aptitude, and to develop in these men the needs of the future. Yes, times have changed, and so has the man. And now, back three of yours truly, Johnny Dollar and the Two-Faced Matter. I found the mayor of North Weldon sitting comfortably on the shaded porch of his home, fanning himself with an election placard and sitting at what looks suspiciously like a gym and tonic. Yes, sir, you're certain that I can't catch you a... Did I made too, Mr. Dollar? No, no thanks, Mayor Weldon. Yes, well, now, as I started to say, when I first came here, I did hear something, some rumor about money having been taken from the old Lang Syne furniture company. But, until they lodged a complaint with me, we see I'm also Chief of Police. Yes, well, the one I can see, they're pretty slow about things like that. Yeah, they're slow about everything, but they make magnificent furniture. I could see that. Tell me, did you know this Roscoe Twiller at all? No, gone before I came to North Weldon. Oh, well, that was only three and a half years ago. And I came after that. Get you the mayor of the town. Billage, really, Mr. Dollar, but lovely place. If I've only... I've liked it ever since first time I saw it. And when the people learned of my police record... My record in police work, out in Ohio, right, they insisted that I take over my present job for them. Oh, I see. And you have no idea where I could get a lead on this man, Twiller. No, no, sorry. Don't the people at the furniture factory have any ideas about him? None whatsoever. You're sure? I'm sure. Yes, well, if what you've told me is true about his king of money, I mean, he is probably far, far away. Yep, I'm afraid so. Just as far as I am from solving this case. Well, we chatted on for a few minutes and then I left him in the hope of finding some first-while neighbor who might be able to give me some help. I headed across town toward Peach Avenue. And as I was about to pass the bus stop... Bang, bang! Huh? Have him bit the duck. Well, hi there, fella. Cowboy, huh? Sure, I'm a cowboy and a police man and an artist and everything. Sure. My name's Jimmy Carter. What's yours? Tony Dolling. Want to see some of my artistical drawings? Yeah, sure, sure do, Jimmy. Just look at this cigarette advertisement here in the fence. There's my own crayons, too. How's that? Jimmy, that's the most beautiful mustache I've seen in a girl. Sure. My teacher says I'm going to grow up and be a great artist. Oh, sure. First I have to get a paint fair. Sure, sure you do. And see what I've done with this one? Sure, you're... Jimmy. That's our mayor. Yeah. He's running for re-election. That's why he has all these signs on him. Doctor's thinking he looks a lot better with some hair on his old bald head. And a little child should be there. Now I'm going to put a beard on him. Some of those old men at the furniture factory. Stay with it, Jimmy. Stay with it. Ah, they're funny old men. Like this, see? Uh-huh. They never come to town. Doesn't that look like one of them? So good I'm going to say that. Sure, thanks a lot. Jimmy. I sure do. I didn't know I was that good. Jimmy, you'll never know how good you are. Hello, Mr. Dahlia. Mayor Wilkins. Oh, rather Chief Wilkins. Yeah. I have to ask you to make an arrest. You... You mean you've very found a man that you've been looking for? If there's any question about it, I'll make a civilian arrest. Well, I don't understand, sir. Only a few minutes to go. Only a few minutes to go, I was blind as a bat to the most obvious possibility in the world. You showed up in this town a short time after Roscoe Twiller left. Yes, it's true. Roscoe Twiller with a heavy shock of hair and a thick beard. Well, if I understand, it's old man out at the old Langzine furniture. You! Clean shaven. Completely bald. Mr. Dahlia. I should have realized by the funny pink tint on the top of your noggin that you've been using some kind of hair remover. I beg your pardon, sir. Here. Look at yourself. Here. What? What did you get? Roscoe James Twiller. Alias John Kenworthy Wilkins. Now, now, Mr. Dahlia. And I'll bet that if I make a search of your house, I'll find the key to that vault in the furniture factory. No. I threw it away. I... Yeah. Do you want to make me arrest yourself, Twiller? Or shall I? I told her I gave up so easily. I guess it was because I'd caught him completely off guard. He even signed a confession and promised to pay back what he caught. So, from here on in, it's up to the courts. And all thanks to a little kid who liked to draw mustaches on billboards. Expense account total, including the finest paint set I could find for my little pal, Jimmy. Oh, hey, wait. I gotta pad this. It only comes out to $9.80. Yours truly, Johnny Deller. Jack Johnstone. Ferdinand Caswell Will White. Derv Byron. Boris Lewis. Edgar Berrier. Richard Beale. Bill James. And Gus Bayes. Be sure to join us same time and station for another exciting story of yours truly, Johnny Deller.