 Danger, Dr. Danfield. You know, Rusty, I'd like to know the value of an original Edgar Allan Poe manuscript and what the chances are of one being discovered that hadn't been accounted for previously. Oh, I don't see how you can... Dan, someone's behind that pile of boxes. Yes, we better... Hey, who turned off those lights? Dan, the pile of boxes is moving! Now, Rusty, they're coming over at us! Dr. Daniel Danfield, student of crime psychology, has many times provided police with a solution to a baffling case. And at times, too, the alert Dr. Danfield has found that his pet fairies on the workings of a criminal mind must be subject to change without notice. There's another interesting case ahead for the doctor today. Let's see how he handles it. Our story opens in an antique shop located in an old part of the city. It's early morning. Good morning, Mr. Exeter. Hey, who the devil are you? What are you doing here? Why, I'm Maurice, Mr. Exeter. Don't you remember? You hired me three months ago. Really? Oh, that's interesting. Yes. You look like a capable fellow, Maurice. By the way, where's that woman? Miss Nelvin? Why, she's in your private office, Mr. Exeter. She went looking for Mr. Furbush. Oh, those two. What are they doing in my private office? I told that old, funny, dirty Furbush to keep out of there. Furbush, how many times have I... What are you doing there? What are you doing there, I say? Answer me. Speak up, man. Give me those... Oh, there you put down that... Maurice! Maurice! Well, don't find out. Good gosh. Look, it's Furbush and Exeter. Yes, Miss Nelvin. I'm right here. Oh, good heaven just cared me. Is something wrong, Miss Nelvin? Oh, no. Not a thing. Except that Exeter's fate isn't. Herbert Furbush is dead. Dead, Miss Nelvin? I'll say he's dead. Take a look. That death spindle sticking right through his heart. Maurice, I think we'd better call a doctor. And maybe the police. Answer that, will you, Rusty? Of course. Dr. Danfield's office. Oh, he has Captain Otis. Yes, he's here. It's for you, Dan, Captain Otis. Oh, thank you. Now, don't forget that you promised to take me to dinner in the theater tonight. How could I forget? Hello, Captain Otis. Yes, yes, of course. I see. Accidental death, you see? You're not going... What was I, Captain? Death was instantaneous, huh? Let's see. Well, yes, yes, of course. Yes, I think it would give me an excellent opportunity to study an unusual type of criminal. Oh, my God. Yes, that's a good idea, Captain. There'd be considerable advantage to it. I'll drop over to your office first, and then you can call the ledger and make the necessary arrangements. Fine. We'll be over in about 20 minutes. Goodbye, Captain. Pick up your notebook, Rusty. We're going down to headquarters. And that's about all I know, Dan. The furbush was apparently leaning over the desk and fell forward. Well, it is rather an unusual accident, Captain. I suppose it could have happened that way. Yeah. Well, there's a spindle that penetrated his heart. Hmm. How's they looking, thing? Fingerprints? None. We've already checked. It still looks like an accident to me. It did to me, too, Rusty, until I heard about the missing manuscript. Oh, can you give me any additional background on that, Captain? Only what Miss Novans, Exeter's secretary, told me. According to her, Exeter has always been a great admirer of Edgar Allen Poe's works. Sort of a crackpot on the subject. Well, manifestation of mania of that sort is common among normal people, Captain. It doesn't necessarily mean that Exeter is mentally at our end. Well, you can tell more about that when you meet him, Dan. But anyway, he recently came across what he believes to be an original Poe manuscript worth a great deal of money. It disappeared at the same time of the so-called accident. Captain Otis, you said that Mr. Exeter is a rather absent-minded type of person. Yeah, it's extremely so. Well, isn't it possible that he might have misplaced the manuscript? Well, that's what his secretary seems to think, but I'm not convinced. What is the secretary like? Young and beautiful? Oh, not particularly. She's an ex-newspaper woman. You know, Captain, I think there's more to this than appears on the surface. Well, even if there is a knight, I can see that you won't be satisfied until you've had a fling at him. All right, Rusty. So, uh, put on your best sound, Sister Act. Hmm, will that pay Mr. Exeter a visit? Uh, keep in touch with me, will you, Dan? Right, Captain. Come on, Rusty. In a moment we return for the second act of Danger, Dr. Dan Field, but first, I'm now back to Michael Dunn for the second act of... Danger, Dr. Dan Field. Yeah, this is the place here, Rusty. That's going to get acquainted with Mr. Exeter. He's serious, sitting at the desk. He must be deaf. He didn't even look up. Maybe he just doesn't care. Uh, good evening. Are you Mr. Exeter? What was that, young man? I said, are you Mr. Exeter? Exeter, yes. Come to think of it, I am. Aren't you sure? Sure about what? Now, look here. I'm in no mood for jokes. Where in Tom Mason is that girl? I asked her to bring me those papers an hour ago. All right, all right. I'm coming. What's the matter now? It, uh, where are those papers? Where have you been? You're crazy. I bet you don't even know what paper you're talking about. Well, perhaps I don't. Now, if you'll introduce me to your friends, I'd like to get back to work. Oh, don't blame him, folks. He just doesn't know the schools out. Well, what's on your mind? Well, my name is Joe Rogos, and this is Bessie Murdock. We're, uh, from the ledger. Oh, sure. Your boss called an hour ago. Well, there's no point in trying to talk to Exeter. He's already forgotten you're here. Come with me. Well, shouldn't we say something to Mr. Exeter, Dan? I doubt it, but it'd do any good, Rusty. Well, this is the room in here. I still think it's Mr. Exeter's the man we should talk to. Look, honey, nobody talks to Mr. Exeter and makes sense. My incidentally, my name is Ed and Ovens. I work here. Oh. Well, now that that's settled, what's the ledger think it's going to gain by sending a couple of feature writers down here? Possibly nothing. Is, uh, this the room in which the, um, accident took place? Yeah. And don't let your imagination run away with you. It was an accident. That's the desk where the body was found. Who found the body, Miss Novens? Mr. Exeter, this is his private office. If this is his private office, then look, Jerry, if you walked into your private office and found a corpse sitting in your favorite chair, you'd be a little squeamish about working here for a couple of days, wouldn't you? I guess you're right. Let's begin at the beginning, shall we, Miss Novens? Tell me, did Mr. Exeter keep his office locked when he wasn't in it? I'll say he did. This is where he stored his first editions in original manuscript. If he kept his office locked, how did Albert Furbish get in? Easy. He had a key, Jerry. How was Mr. Exeter's assistant? Oh, he's been with him for 20 years. So Furbish got in the office first just in the morning and came in here to, uh, perhaps to straighten up Mr. Exeter's desk. You're not so suspicious, Newtown. That's exactly what happened. He sat out in the chair, the chair went out from under him, he fell forward on the spindle, and there you are. I see. I mean, how long had he been there when Mr. Exeter arrived? Now, if I were to say five minutes, you'd say, uh-huh. How'd you know it was exactly five minutes after Mr. Furbish died? Now, look, why don't you two relax? This was just a simple accidental death. You can't make any more out of it, no matter how much you reach. You know how to use them like a detective. Well, I go to the movies. Most of them give me a pain. Then why do you come? That is a fair question. Hey, you two, let's stick to the subject, shall we? If we don't come back to the story for the front page, our boys will hit the ceiling. Maybe it'll settle for a notice on the obituary page. Yeah, it's not likely, Rusty. And, uh, what did Mr. Exeter do when he discovered the body? Well, he let out a bleep loud enough to make the dead. I was just coming into the shop. I galloped in here and took charge of the situation. What did you do? What I do? I took one look and called a doctor. Yeah, that was good thinking. Can you describe the exact position in which you found Purbish? Sure. He was sprawled out in the chair with his mouth open. His eyes were open, too. He was staring at the ceiling like there was something up there that interested him. It wasn't pretty. No, Vintan is the missing manuscript of Edgar Allan Poe tying with all this. Oh, I wondered when that had come up. If you really want to reach for a story, you could say that someone was trying to snitch the manuscript. Al Purbish came in and caught him, and the thief drove the spindle into his heart. Only it'd be a sucker if you wrote it that way. Alright, take it you don't think that's the way it happened. Of course it didn't happen that way. Why not? Because the thief couldn't have gotten out of the building without leaving a door or a window unlocked. And because there weren't any fingerprints on the base of the spindle. Well, nice going, Evan. You're a really chronic girl. Oh, fine. The stolen manuscript still makes me think. The manuscript hasn't been stolen or lost, Gary. The old man misplaced it. He misplaces everything. Well, Marie, how long have you been standing there? Only a moment, Miss Novens. Did I startle you? I mean, you're always startling me, flinking around the way you do. Hey, what's the hammer in the screwdriver for? The casters on the chair, Miss Novens. Oh, what about them? You only put them in two days ago. Mr. Exeter wants them removed, Miss Novens. He feels it was because of the casters that the chair slipped, and Mr. Purbish fell onto the spindle. Well, you can do it some other time. We're busy now. Very well, Miss Novens. Just a minute, please. Yes, sir. You say that you placed the casters in the chair only two days ago? Yes, sir. Who suggested that you put them there? Why? I did, sir. I thought it would please Mr. Exeter. His chair is always catching on the rug beneath his desk. I see. How long have you worked for Mr. Exeter, Maurice? Only about three months, sir. Still reaching Newtown? Oh, honestly, you must be desperate for a story. His job depends on it. Is that all, sir? Yes, yes. Thanks, Maurice. Yes, sir. Oh, don't look so disappointed, Joe. Why don't you content yourself with just writing about the bunch of queer characters you've met today? Don't think we couldn't. Perhaps we'll have to resort to that. Do you mind if Bessie and I browse around here a bit and help finding something to please overlook? Whoa, help yourselves! If you find any hidden clues, let us know. We'll be in the front room. Hey, Rusty, what do you think? I think somebody's trying to make a monkey out of it. That's not a lie. Let's have a look at the casters, shall we? Yes. It could have happened the way you had described. Especially if Furbush were unaware that the casters had been inserted. But you don't think it happened that way. No, I don't. I think that Albert Furbush was murdered. I keep wondering about that stolen manuscript. Stolen manuscript is a murder for murder, all right? Look around here a bit. What if, but if part Edda says it's true, there couldn't have been a thief? Oh, couldn't there, Rusty? Let's have a look at these desk drawers, shall we? The character, Edda, finds it's going through these drawers and will it come out? Find anything interesting? No, no, only the usual things. Countbooks, ledgers and so on. This is a coincidence. What is it? A brochure from the Metropolitan Museum. Oh, is that so unusual? Oh, not in itself. It isn't. This one happens to mention specifically an original Edgar Allan Poe manuscript that's on exhibition there. I don't get the connection. No matter why, yet. But it might... Come on, let's see what else we can find. I wonder what's behind this door. Hmm, looks like a storeroom. You suppose those pile-up boxes over there are full of antique? Could contain almost anything. Damn, look out, that whole pile wobbled when you touched it. Oh, never mind that. I gotta hunch about the manuscript at the museum. I wonder... Yes, fine. George, I think I'll do it. Do what? Visit the Metropolitan Museum. What good will that do? Rusty, I'd like to know the value of an original Poe manuscript and what the chances are of one being discovered that hadn't been accounted for. Oh, I don't see how you can tell. Dan, someone's behind those boxes. Yes, we've got a... Hey, who turned off those lights? Dan! The pile-up boxes is moving! Look out, must be there coming over! In a moment we'll return for the third act of Danger Dr. Van Field. But first, I'm now back to Michael Dunn for the third act of... Danger Dr. Van Field. Dan. Yes, Rusty? Hurry up, there's only two matches left. Don't be impatient. I have it in a minute. Picking locks is a little out of my line. Especially when I have only a pen knife and an air pen with which to work. It's been my thing, Dan. I don't know the match, will you? All right, I'm lying. Dan, do you really think someone pushed those boxes over? Of course I do. And that same someone locked us in this closet. There we are. Now put out the match, come on. I'm right behind you, but I... All right, you two, come out with your hands up. Dan, it's Edda and she has a gun! Yeah, Edda with a gun, and she knows how to handle it, too. Hey, Marie! I'm right here, Miss Novens. Shall I make the call? Do that, Marie. All right, you two, get over there by the wall. Go ahead, Marie. Just a minute, Edda. Who are you going to call? Get that, Marie. Who are you going to call, he says? Say, who do you think you are kidding with that newspaper reporter act? Oh, you know... Just what makes you think we're not reporters, Edda? Very simple. I call the personnel office at the ledger. They never heard of Joe Ruggles and Bessie Murdoch. Well, stay. Remind me to tell Captain Otis to be more thorough the next time he establishes our background. But how did she get suspicious in the first place? That's even more simple. You two were talking about the front page and the obituary page. So? Newspaper people don't use those terms. They say page one and no bit page. You are quite a detective, is that it, Edda? I used to work for a newspaper. I know. Go ahead, Marie. Make the call. Yes, Miss Nova. It's true. Nothing doing. Keep your hands away from your pocket, big boy. Now, keep down, Rusty. I've got a run. Look out, Dan, behind you. Sorry, Marie. Hey! Come on, Rusty. Let's get out of here. Edda, still has your gun. Stop right where you are! Are you okay, Rusty? Yes, I think so. Okay, come on. Let's get going. What do you make of it, Dan? I don't know yet. Just what to make of it, but I do know one thing. What? Edda didn't fire that shot. It came from the other side of the room. Who are you supposed to be? That's what I'm going to find out, Rusty. But first, I think we'll pay a visit to the museum. Everything literate, sure. In this room here. I wish I knew what you had in your mind. I'm not sure myself, but I have a hunch that the entire answer to this riddle hinges on the full manuscript. The one here in the museum has nothing to do with Exeter's manuscript. Perhaps not, but I still like to have a look at it. Let's see. It's probably one of those grand cases. You look at these, and I'll get the ones on the other side. Dan? Yes? Edgar Allen Poe didn't write cabbages and canes, did he? If oh Henry could hear you, he'd turn it over in his grave. But if you come over here, I'll show you something that Poe did write. Oh, you found it? Yeah, it's right there. The second manuscript from the left. Looks to me as if it were written under water. It's pretty old. Still edible, huh? Rusty. What is it? I think I've got something. Take a good look at that manuscript once more. I can't make anything out of it. It looks just like the notes you give me to type up. Hold on to those notes. Someday you might be able to sell them to a museum for a lot of money. I'd settle right now for a ticket to the Rose Bowl game. What do you see there that's so interesting? I'll tell you later. It was right now. We're going to make a call to Captain Otis, and then we're going back to Mr. Exeter's shop for a final check. That was Rusty. I guess the sooner our friends across the street didn't see us. I wish Captain Otis would get here. This neighborhood gives me the creeps. It should be here by now. Has anybody seen anybody moving around inside the shop? Not a soul. Someone's coming now. Probably Otis. Oh, Captain Otis? Oh, there you are, Dan. Hello, Rusty. Welcome to the party, Captain. I'm sorry I couldn't get here earlier, but I didn't get your message like I'd back to headquarters. What's up, Dan? Well, I can't tell you the whole story now, Captain. Now, let me vary your hunch about Albert Furbish's death being murder. It was correct. I don't think that even Rusty believes it was an accident now. Hey, how much convincing do you think I need after being smothered under a ton of wooden boxes and dodging bullets all afternoon? Dodging bullets? We'll tell you about it later, Captain. Right now I want to get one more look at those office ledgers and the counts in Exeter's shop. OK, let's go. I don't know what kind of a reception we'll get, but I do know there's at least one person who won't be overjoyed to see us again. So watch your step, huh? I can't see anyone inside. This is a small nightlight burning. Yeah, I'll try the door. Well, that's strange. The door's unlocked. No sign of anyone around. You lead the way, Dan. You know what you're looking for. Here's Exeter's office over here. Have you a flashlight, Captain? Right here. We'll throw the beam over here on the desk, will you? OK. Oh, that's good. Hey, card books were in that second drawer. Yes, I know. Oh, hold the light down here, Captain. Are you? Right. Well, that proves it. Hey, the light's on. That proves what, Dr. Dan Field? It's Exeter. Yes, and he handles that gun rather expertly, doesn't he? And I can shoot it even more expertly, Captain Otis. I see you've been expecting us, Exeter. You don't think the front door was left unlocked just by mistake, do you? No, no. As a matter of fact, it didn't surprise me at all. Did you think I was unaware that you were not newspaper reporters when you visited me previously? Frankly, Exeter, I didn't care what you thought. I discovered it was you who murdered Albert Furbush. Oh, so you know about that? Clear all view, Dan Field. Tell me, just how were you so sure? Quite simple. Exeter explained that you came in and found Furbush sitting in the desk chair with a spindle buried in his heart. And so? Exeter also said that Furbush was leaning back in the chair with his sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. Well? Well, the police medical examiner stated that Furbush had died instantly. Since the accidental death theory was that he'd fallen forward on the spindle, he would hardly have been able to sit back in the chair and stare at the ceiling if he died instantly. Ah, nice going, Dan. Yes, nice going. And just who do you think will believe such a story when I had no motive? Oh, you did have a motive. Do you die? Yes. It was the original Poe manuscripts. In the first place, the chances are a thousand to one that no original Poes exist, which haven't been accounted for. Which makes mine, of course, all the more valuable. But you haven't, one Exeter. The one you claim as an original Poe was expertly forged by yourself. That's ridiculous. Oh, no, it isn't. All your life you've wanted a desire to own an original manuscript by as famous a writer as Edgar Allan Poe. The prestige of possessing such a manuscript would gratify your frustrated ego. That's utter completeness. Oh, is it? When Albert Furbush discovered it was a forgery, he tried to smear you. You put into a rage and plunged the spindle into his heart. That's a lie. It wasn't a forgery. You can't prove it. I think I can. Apparently, you've been practicing Poe's handwriting for years. It's only recently that you've achieved any degree of success. You fool. You've no evidence. Oh, the evidence, Exeter, is back there on your own desk. All of your personal papers and accounts are in the handwriting of Edgar Allan Poe. Take it easy, Exeter. Get him, Maurice. No, you'll never take me alive, never. Be the way's all right for me. I got rusty. Come on. Too bad, Exeter. In a moment, we'll return for the conclusion of Danger Dr. Danfield. But first, now back to Michael Dunn for the conclusion of... Danger Dr. Danfield. Come on in, Captain. Rusty? Yeah. There's some coffee and some things over, shall we? Well, I can sure stand for that for that episode. Oh, come on, Captain. You must be getting used to these incidents by now. Rusty, I'll never get used to having people use my poor old battered form for target practice. That's kind of what I old-heartedly endorse, Captain. Oh, Rusty, get the coffee now. I'll light the fire. Make yourself at home, Captain. I'll be right back. Thanks. There we are. Ah, a drop of chair, Captain. Ah, by the way, don't you think our friend, Edda, would make an interesting psychological study? I don't know about that, Dan, but I do know that it was fortunate that she and Maurice decided they'd been playing on the wrong team. What I'd like to know is, what made you get suspicious of Edward Exeter in the first place? Here you are, Captain. Ah, thank you. It was merely a matter of knowing people, see? Exeter pretended to be absent-minded, yet according to Edda, he never failed to lock his office, and his papers and possessions were in perfect order. It was inconsistent. Hardly enough in itself to do more than arouse your suspicions, Dan. True, Captain. But when I realized the amazing similarity between the writing on the manuscript at the museum and then on Exeter's papers, the answer became apparent. Dan. One minute, rest of you. It was a sense of acute frustration that induced the act of violence, Captain, when Exeter's otherwise harmless little roost was discovered by Frobush. Mm-hmm. Does frustration always induce an act of violence, Dan? Ah, just what do you mean by that by charming little ridhead? Well, it's nine o'clock, and you still haven't taken me to dinner. And I think I'm about to become violent. But, Rusty, our guest. Oh, don't mind me, folks. I've got to get back to headquarters. You go ahead and have a good time. You earned it. Hell, Rusty, you know, for being so rude to our guest, I've a good mind to have you transcribe the notes on this case right now. Oh, no, Dan, you wouldn't. Oh, you couldn't be that tough, Dan. Oh, no. You have your notebook handy, Rusty. Oh, yes, but... Well, take this down. I'll make it brief. An attempting to analyze the mental processes of the psychopathic killer, it would be well for the student of psychology to bear in mind that some criminal cases, a poem motive is better than no motive at all.