 My name's Regan. I work for Anthony J. Lyon Detective Bureau. They call me the Lion's Eye. Jeff Regan, investigator, starring Frank Graham as Regan with Frank Nelson as Anthony J. Lyon. So stand by for mystery and suspense and adventure in tonight's story of the gorilla that always said, Yay-ya. There was a whole menagerie in this one, a giraffe, an elephant, and a gorilla that always said, Yay-ya. It didn't take place at the Griffith Park Zoo like you might think. We played this one out along the Sunset Strip. The stretch of big-time movie agents' offices, mocombo, seros, specialty shops, and razzle-dazzle that ties Beverly Hills to Hollywood with tensile tape. It started as these things sometimes do in my boss's office, the Lion Detective Bureau. Now, now, just sit down, Jeffrey, and stop pacing the office floor. You know what carpeting calls. Sure, sure. Okay, Lyon, give it to me again, and slow. Jeffrey, you know there's nothing I wouldn't have you do for money. You topped yourself this time. $100, Jeffrey. As Anthony J. Lyon, president of the Lion Detective Bureau, I felt at my duty to take the case. What did she say exactly? Exactly. Well, this charming young lady, Annabelle, I believe she said her name was, phoned us and offered to pay $100 if we, that is if you, Jeffrey, would recover her stolen property. The poor dear thing had been victimized. A little something was stolen from her this morning. Her giraffe. Annabelle happened to mention where the theft of this little something took place. Yes, yes, she said it was somewhere along the Sunset Strip, behind an advertising billboard of some kind or other. But, Jeffrey, you can get the minor details from her when you see her. Sure I can. Jeffrey, you are going to see her. Oh, yeah. Give me the address. Yeah, well, Annabelle said she thought it'd be better if you met her someplace else. She had an idea that her place may be being watched, you see. Where, for instance, helps, fatso? Well, she suggested the teensy tea shop at on the Sunset Strip. All right, phone her up and tell her I'll be there in 40 minutes. Oh, Lyon. Yes? She didn't give you anything else? Well, yes, there was one thing more, Jeffrey. Spill. I believe she did happen to mention that the stolen giraffe was blue. Oh, that's okay then. I was scared for a minute this was going to turn out to be a screwy case. The teensy tea shop pet was on the gastronomical part of the Sunset Strip, next to the diet kitchen for French poodles only. I entered, clutched my wallet, made a run for the back booth, the smog lifted, and there was Annabelle. If somebody had to get a giraffe stolen from her, and I had to get hired to get it back, then Annabelle was the one it ought to be. Shall I order tea, Mr. Regan? It's a speciality here. Not for me, thanks. Your first name's Jeffrey, isn't it? Jeff. Jeff. You know, I don't care for tea. Would you like to see the place where my giraffe was stolen? That would be a good place to begin, wouldn't it, Jeff? This is the place where your giraffe got stolen, Annabelle? Here behind his billboard? Yes. Here where nobody could see, Jeff. Yeah. I see what you mean. Jeff, come here. Oh, Jeff. I guess you don't know who captured the giraffe, don't you? I don't know his name. One guy did it? Oh, yes, the one that bought the elephant. Elephant in a two, huh? Yes. Blue elephant, like your blue giraffe? No, the elephant was orange. Oh. Maybe you better describe the guy. Well, he was short, shorter than I am. Heady said he has a bald spot. And, oh, yes, his voice was, and it was strange, hoarse, and, well, you might say it was cracked. Anything else? Naturally, I was bewildered, Jeff, having my giraffe stolen on a sunset strip in broad daylight. Naturally. So I hardly really noticed. Yes, I do remember one other thing. He kept saying, yeah. I mean, whenever he meant to say yes or so what or anything, he'd say, yeah. Well, that's something to start on. Maybe I can find him. And the way I get it is you'll pay a hundred bucks, and I'm supposed to get back the giraffe. It's worth a lot of money, Jeff, for a $5,000. Johnny Grote couldn't have known what he was doing when he sold it to me for $50. Now, Johnny Grote? Yes. The Johnny Grote? Yes. You know who Johnny Grote is, baby. Well, of course I'd, oh, you mean what he does on the side? On the side? Well, from my point of view, I suppose most people, the fact that he's sort of, sort of a gangster, something like that, is more important. It is. Jeff, we'll drive over to Johnny Grote. Then you'll see. This place, Grote? He just opened it. We'll park here across the street. Now you can read the sign. Jay Grote, ceramics. You see, I'm in ceramics, too. The dress I gave deared, Tony Lyon, is my ceramic shop. So the blue giraffe and the orange elephant are made out of pottery. Oh, no, Jeff. No porcelain. It's quite a different thing. You see, well, the words around in the trade that Johnny Grote managed to buy a big consignment of pieces shipped from Europe right after the war. I dropped in this morning to see if there might be something I could pick up from my own shelf. And you bought the blue giraffe. Now, it was a queer thing. While I was looking around, that short, thick man with the odd voice came in. He bought the orange elephant. Now, for $50, they were a match set, the blue giraffe and the orange elephant. I was thunderstruck, Jeff. They were vegan. No. Oh, I was beside myself. I knew that their resale would run into thousands of dollars. The great ceramist vegan made his last porcelain figures in Berlin before 1750. And they nearly all disappeared. This begins to make sense. You bought the giraffe. The short guy with the cracked voice saw you by it. He followed you. He hijacked you. Yes. Annabelle drove off and I went across the street near to Johnny Grote's ceramic shop. It looked like any other ceramic shop. One guy behind a counter, not Johnny Grote. I knew what he looked like from the pictures in the papers. But this guy was tall, skinny, built like Honest Abe Lincoln. Only from the oily face. You'd think that maybe they left out the honest. He came up to me. Yes, sir. May I help you, sir? One of these exquisite Italian-coupled amount of pieces perhaps. I'm a private detective, Regan, land detective bureau. I'm here on business. I see. You want to Johnny Grote's salesman? Not exactly. A pardonable mistake on your part, of course. Thanks. You see, sir, Mr. Grote has only recently gone into the ceramics business. Until recently he was in other business. I read in the papers. Yes. Well, naturally, Mr. Grote knows very little about ceramics. He acquired a warehouse of stock and engaged me to manage his introductory sale. I happen to be every day a giveaway Wilkins, sir. Is that so? Ceramics expert auctioneer stock liquidator. Yeah, what I came in about, Wilkins. Yeah? A client of mine bought a porcelain animal figure here this morning. Blue giraffe. Oh, yes. Yeah. You sell it to her? As a matter of fact, I did. Well, she got a few blocks up the street and somebody hijacked it. Dear me, no. Yeah. You remember selling an orange elephant to a guy just before you sold her the blue giraffe? Yes, short stocky man. You remember anything else about him? Know his name? No, I don't know his name. Well, I did think he was an odd person to be buying a ceramic figure. Not quite a cooth, you know. You mean he was a mug? You might put it that way. Thanks. Johnny Grote got an office in the back of the shop? Well, yes, he has. I'll see you. Mr. Regan, don't go back there. Oh, no? Why not? Well, Mr. Grote's difficult. Very difficult. Even dangerous, you might say. Thanks, Wilkins, for the tip. I went back, left every day a giveaway Wilkins trying to put his eyes back in his head. They popped out. Johnny Grote's office was at the back of the ceramic shop, but 250 pounds of strong arm was leaning against the wall by the door, reading the racing form. I went up to it, asked it what it liked in the seventh at higher layer. It could talk. Gump. Well, I like Dora's sweetheart. So I don't know about horses. I like quarters like a real demon though. You got a two-bit piece on you? Yeah. You care to like? Uh-huh. Okay. I like first than you like. For that crack in the floor there by the other wall. Huh. I liked a quarter. He liked a quarter. By a strange accident of fate. He won. He went over to pick up the two-bit pieces, and I went into Johnny Grote's office. What? Oh, are you? Well, my name happens to be Regan. They call me the lion's eye. Well, beat it. Well, now, Johnny, I'm just doing my job. I'm trying to find a blue giraffe. Are you nuts? I thought you might know something about it. Or an orange elephant. Listen, Regan, Johnny Grote's reformed. From now on, he's a straight guy you don't hurt nobody. Only give him time to get in a habit, will you? Okay, Johnny. I just wonder if you happen to number among your henchmen a short squat guy with a cracked voice. Get out of here, Regan. Well, you mind if I go out the sideway? Fell in front of the door I came in. It might be sore at me. I went out the sideway. Maybe the visit was worth the two-bit piece I lost lagging with a mug in front of the other door. I got two items. One, the short squat cracked voice guy that had heisted my client Annabelle's blue giraffe was not unknown to Jay Grote, ceramic shop owner and former racketeer. Two, Jay Grote had only one thing written on his desk pad. I read it upside down, but it said Sam. Sam, that was followed by a phone number. Sunset 931. The last two numbers were torn off. I went out the side door and started up the alley in back of Grote's shop. That was when something happened. The Southern Cal Chamber of Commerce was going to have to hush up. Footsteps came up behind me fast. And then all of a sudden, a big bright high octane February, California, son, Regan, went out. I got an eye open and looked up off the alley pavement. Something was standing above me. There was a guy about 14 feet tall, kept dividing in half and snapping back together again. Funny, I heard her talk. All I could make out was a name. Name Murphy. Murphy. Murphy. When I came to, the guy was still standing over me. He wasn't 14 feet tall. Only about seven. Get up, Regan. Don't talk, Regan. You never heard of no blue giraffe. Or you don't live long, Regan. Johnny Grote says for me to tell you. Well, thanks, Murphy. You're wise, huh? I'll go back to sleep. I went back to sleep. I started on the trail of a blue porcelain giraffe worth four or five thousand dollars. I did fine. Three hours after I took the case, I had A, an order from Johnny Grote, ceramic shop owner, and former mobster to drop the case or turn up dead. B, two lumps on the head administered by one Murphy. C, description of a short squat person unknown that had a crack voice in the habit of saying, yaya, and had copped the giraffe from my client. D, half a telephone number. E, my client Annabelle. Well, I to me was okay anyway. Well, Jeff, I think you're really doing brilliantly on the case. Sure I am. Only, Jeff. Don't fire my blue giraffe too soon. Oh, I want it back. It's worth lots of money, but make the case last a while. See what you mean. You got a phone here in your syringe shop, Annabelle? Of course. I got a lot of phoning to do. A.J. Lyon speaking. Lyon, I got a big job for you tonight. Jeffrey, you know this is the evening I take my French lesson? Parle Française, c'est soir, Lyon. What's that? French. Oh, oh, what does it mean, Jeffrey? Means no French lesson for you tonight, Fatso. You got work to do. Now, Jeffrey, why do you always put all the work on me? Yeah, why do I? Look, Fatso, I want you to do some phoning. Dial Sunset 9-3-1-0-0. Yes. And then dial Sunset 9-3-1-0-1. Then dial Sunset 9-3-1-0-2. Hey, Jeffrey, is this your idea of a joke? After you get up to Sunset 9-3-1-0-9, start with Sunset 9-3-1-1-0. Sunset 9-3-1-1-1. You get the idea? Jeffrey, this is absurd. Keep it up to Sunset 9-3-1-9, if you have to. But if a guy answers with a crack voice, it says, Yeah. Tell him you're the phone company. You want to check his address against the files. Then phone me and give me the address. At the seaside round of a lion, imperiling life and limb for the lion detective bureau. Ah, Jeff is wonderful. Real wonderful. It's dark here on the ground. Mm-hmm. It's even nicer than in there dancing. See you, Jeff. Come closer. Hey. Huh? Sorry to bother you at a crucial moment, like you might say, but you're wanted on the phone. Oh, uh... Oh, you're the waiter. Phone? Yeah. Yeah. Oh, yeah, phone, yeah. Yeah, I'll be right there. Right, right there with you. This way, sir. Reagan. Jeffrey. Oh, lion, that's you? I've lost my voice. Oh, no. Oh, my God, it's far, Kevin. Talk to thousands of people. The lion gave his vocal cords for the cars, but didn't get anybody with a crack voice that said, Yeah, yeah. So that left it up to me. I took Annabelle home, went to a phone booth with a handful of nickels, and started in at sunset 931-88. I was luckier than the lion. I was only on my second back at nickels when... This is the telephone company calling. Yeah, yeah. We'd like to have the street address at this number, please, to check against a hamburger, listen to a couple of records on the jukebox, and try it again. Dialed the same number. Sam. Yeah, yeah. This is Murphy. Mark, you don't sound like yourself. Sam, look, I got to see you. Things are getting hot. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, I got to meet you right away. Can't come to your place, too dangerous. Yeah. Yeah, so how about Ocean Park Pier? It'll be closed up this late. Yeah. Yeah, well, make it fast, Sam. Stand under the third street lamp on the boardwalk that leads into the midway. I'll come there. Got a match, bud? Yeah, yeah. All right, Sam, this is a gun in my pocket. Turn around and walk straight ahead. Hey, what are you... Walk, shut up and walk. Out on the amusement pier, up the midway. Hey, what is this? Shut up and walk. Hey, yeah, okay, okay. Pier deserted, nobody out there. Dark, empty booths, fronts pulled down. Tunnel of joy, a black mouth. Surf against the piles under the pier. Gurters of the amusement rides, jutting skeleton bones in the moonlight. Okay, this'll be all right. We can talk here. Who are you, mister? Skip that. All right. You can call me Murphy if you want to. You was the one that found. Yeah, yeah. I didn't think I was Murph. Hey, was I a sap? I ain't no good at this mobster business. You work for Grove, don't you? Yeah, yeah. Well, this morning you pulled a grab on a blue porcelain giraffe. Yeah, yeah, sure. Hey, mister. It's Hark. Well, I don't know exactly what you got in mind getting me out here, but if it's like I was reading in the papers, I mean, if you're a guy from the East or something, well, I got points one and two to make Baron on any decision you might have took to rub me out. Give me. Point one. Johnny Grotes going straight. All us regular mobsters is on two weeks notice, and Johnny's lawyer is working on what Johnny can do about the special guys like numbers racket experts which have got non-cancelable contracts with Johnny. Point two? Point two. Even if Johnny's conscience can't stand his going back on former obligations, I'm finished in the rackets. I ain't no good, mister. I done the best I could, but I just ain't suited to the work. Hey, temperamental. Sam, the blue giraffe. Did I heist it off that Judy this morning? Hey, she was birdie. What was the angle behind that heist, Sam? Well, I don't know, as it would be ethical for me to say about that. Why, sure it would, Sam? Yeah, yeah. Yeah, now that Johnny Grotes going straight. Yeah, but that ain't it. Hey, there's somebody behind you coming up, mister. Don't try to pull that old one on. My head was getting used to it. I was out of it quick. Yeah, but I was all alone on the pier. The unsuccessful gorilla with a cracked voice, Sam, had disappeared. I patted around among the booths a while, came up with nothing. So I phoned police headquarters and gave them a description on Sam. It was past one in the morning and I went home to my place on Taft. Opened the door and went in. Then, like they say, that was the moment my whole life passed in a flash before my eyes. That's what they say happens, the moment before you die. This is it, huh? Sit down, Reagan. Rather die standing up, Grote. Facing life. You're quite a kid, Reagan. Well, sit down. I'm sorry I had to break into your place. Don't mention it. Oh, come on. Sit down. Sure. What I mean is, Reagan, I'm sorry I had to jimmy your door lock. Sure, I've been on the executive in quite a few years. I ain't jimmy the lock or nothing for years, but the guy can't give himself no leeway once he decides to go straight, you know? I guess not. I come about Sam, Reagan. Sam's missing. He was there. What happened? You know a lot about it, Grote. Well, I got guys that's still on a contract to me. I get it. Listen, Grote, let's cut playing games. You're going straight, huh? Well, then why the gun in your hand? Oh, I was forgetting. Reagan, you better toss your heater on the table, huh? Sure. I'll just stick it in my pocket, huh, Pallie? Thought you might. See? Mine ain't even loaded, Reagan. Hey, it's not. Oh, I couldn't trust myself to carry it loaded. All habit might come back on me all of a sudden like, you know? But the weight of it sort of feels good in the shoulder holster, you know? Guy can't bust off from everything he's used to all at once. Grote, maybe you're on the level. Well, oh, sure I am, Reagan. And I never had so much trouble. Are you seen in the papers? Only, Grote, what about the grab job on my client's blue porcelain giraffe? Well, I don't know nothing about that. Murphy said different. I don't know no Murphy. You haven't got a seven-foot muscle with a busy blackjack guiding a Murphy working for you? Never heard of it. Grote, you're hard to believe. Yeah, I know. I got a bad reputation. You, Reagan, and your pal, don't move. Speaking of Murphy. Toss out that rod on the table, you. It ain't Lordhead, anyhow. Johnny Grote sent you with another message for me, Murphy. Yeah, it did. About laying off that blue giraffe, Heist, Reagan. Johnny, you told me the truth. That guy doesn't know you. Well, sure, Reagan. I give up lying like I said. Besides, today's George Washington's birthday, and you know that he never told me. Hey, what are you guys yacking about? What do you really work for, Murphy? You must be an out-of-town hood, way out-of-town. You don't know Johnny Grote. Grote sent me like I told you. Grote sent me. Oh, yeah? Well, take a good look, Murphy. This is Johnny Grote right here. Huh? Take a good look before I turn up the lights. Huh? Hey, turn those lights on. I got the light switch. Put the three of us in the dark. Murphy fired a couple of times, didn't score. I couldn't shoot back. Johnny Grote had my gun in his pocket. Okay, Johnny, we're working together. I draw his fire. You take my gun, Impris flashes, plug in. What? Well, gee, Reagan, I can't shoot no guy. I'm going straight. Johnny, this is self-defense. This guy busted into my apartment. What? Hey, Reagan, hey, you're right. Yeah. Okay, Reagan, you rush him and I'll plug him. I'm coming, Murphy. Yeah. Stay back. I'm coming. All right, Reagan. You about the flashes, Johnny? Yeah. Yeah, I shoot him. While we waited for the cops and the police ambulance, Grote and I had a chance to talk things over. Johnny had bought a big consignment of ceramic pieces like Annabelle had told me. He didn't know anything about this stuff, so he hired every day a giveaway Wilkins to sell his stock for him. Wilkins was an expert on the value of this stuff. Cops came, hauled what was left of Murphy off. They buttoned Jay Grote up in the wagon. Said they'd have to hold him for questioning. Maybe the story we told them was okay, but they weren't taking any chances on Johnny Grote. Me? I had a call to make. Hey, Mr. Reagan, why it's three o'clock in the morning. Step back in, Wilkins. I want to talk. And now just a minute. Step back, Wilkins, like fast. Well, very well. Mr. Reagan, I'm sure I don't know what this is all about. You sold an orange ceramic elephant from Johnny Grote's stock to a guy named Sam, 50 bucks. Well, yes, I did. I tried to make as many sales for Miss Grote as possible, of course. Yeah, sure. Only that ceramic elephant was a German antique. That was worth about 5,000 bucks. You were a ceramics expert. You knew what that was worth. Grote didn't. You hired Sam to buy it for you. Then you'd appraise it way, way low. That was your way of getting it cheap. Mr. Reagan, a statement of that kind had better be backed up with proof. Well, that'll be easy. Who else knew the value of the ceramic pieces? You had tough luck, Wilkins. My client Annabelle saw the sale. She bought them to Raph. That was worth 5,000, too. You had to sell it to her for 50 dollars. Only you had Sam Tiger and Heister from her. That way you got both pieces. Mr. Reagan, if the ceramic pieces are valuable, as you say, there might be a handy profit in their resale. That could be divided, eh? You don't have to pay off, Wilkins. I'm already in debt to you. I don't know that I understand that. Three saps on the head you sent me by Murphy. And now it's my turn to pay you back, Wilkins. Worth interest. That cleaned it up. I took Wilkins to police headquarters where they had some questions to ask him regarding embezzlement. Murphy? He was in the morgue. Sam? Well, he came out of hiding when he read the papers. He'd jump backwards when Murphy wrapped me on the head on the pier, fallen into the Pacific Ocean. Sam never could do things right. Annabelle got her blue giraffe back. The next morning, I dropped into the Lyon Detective Bureau office. Anthony J. was too busy to notice me. One. Lyon. Oh, it's you, Jeffrey. Can't talk. Save my voice. Let me see an hour, seven, three. Hello? I seem to have the wrong number. Lyon, the case is over. I know that, Jeffrey. Now don't bother me, my boy. Yes. You... Lyon, I located the mug with the sunset 931 phone number last night. One. Seven. Of course you did, Jeffrey. Now where was I? Sunset nine, three, one, seven, four. I phoned you this morning and told you how the case came out. No, no answer. Jeffrey, will you please go away and leave me? I mustn't raise this my voice like this. Leave me alone. All right, Franser, what's the pitch? It's already 9.45. So? But I have to reach you by ten. Reach her? She's leaving the house then. Oh, Jeffrey, she had the most beautiful voice over the telephone last night. You mean you found a dame last night when you were phoning the sunset 931 numbers and she... Yeah, yeah, Jeffrey. But Jeffrey, I can't remember which sunset 931 number it was. Now where was I at? Oh, no. Now what? You made me forget where I was. Now I'll have to start dialing those sunset 931 combinations all over again. Jeff Regan, investigator, is written by William Frug and William Feifeld, produced and directed by Sterling Tracy and stars Frank Graham as Regan with Frank Nelson as Anthony J. Lyon. Original music is by Dick Aron.