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Broadway Is My Beat brings you classic old-time radio crime drama filled with gripping detective cases, dangerous criminals, and suspenseful mysteries set in the heart of New York City. Join the detectives as they investigate shocking crimes and uncover hidden truths. Enjoy these timeless episodes from the golden age of radio. Thank you for listening!
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Of the Aurora Bridge in the Fremont Cut.
He's got him aboard.
We could meet the coroner's unit at Doc Freeman's.
10-4, we'll let him know.
I always wonder, you know.
Wonder what? What was bad enough to make him do it? More coffee? Yeah, it's a splash.
You're new around here.
Yeah, right.
Let me guess, California?
Does it show?
Working over at the PI?
The what? Oh, the paper, yeah. No, when you said P.I.
All the guys from the paper come in here. Emmett Watson, Doug Welch. Like the sign says, all roads lead to the doghouse. Royal Brome even came in once. I waited on him. He ordered milk.
Good for him.
Hey, Eloise.
Still reading tea leaves? Guess what I do for a living.
Rob the poor box.
Hi, Harry.
Lou Butterfield.
Mind if I join you? Or you got something going with Eloise?
That'll be the day.
How's everything down at Homicide?
Just coffee, honey. Everything's great.
How's it with you?
I thought you were through with the police department.
Yep.
Reprimand, that's all. How's the arm?
It's about healed. Glad to hear it.
You've been reading about Stringer, huh?
Yeah.
Case of the jumping judge. Not every day a superior court judge is so remorseful he takes a dive off a bridge. You guys investigating? Oh, yeah.
But they're going to call it suicide.
Wasn't it?
No, I'm not on the case.
The paper says the guy was pretty controversial.
Oh, he was out all right. String him up, stringer.
Tough son of a gun.
I bet you cops liked him.
Yeah, we loved him.
Defense attorneys hated his guts. Unless their clients could pay for an appeal. He passed the stiffest sentences in the states. String him up, stringer, they called him.
He ate it up.
You knew him?
Yeah, all the cops knew him. He was our poster boy.
Well, if he was so proud of his reputation, why do you think he killed himself?
There's some folks who don't think you did.
Here's your coffee, Lou. You and the wife still speaking?
We're on our second honeymoon.
Poor Joyce.
Freshen your coffee, Cal.
Cal?
Well, you didn't introduce us. He said he was from California.
Harry, this is Eloise.
Eloise, this is Harry.
Glad to meet you, Eloise. No, no, no, the coffee's fine.
Okay, Harry.
Holler if you want anything else.
So, uh, where were we?
Elroy Stringer.
Oh, yeah, yeah. So you don't think he killed himself?
Listen, he put so many guys away, half this town's got a motive to kill him.
Tell me something. How'd you like to do a little work on this?
Me?
Why me?
Because the coroner says he drowned. Because the suicide note was in his handwriting. Because everything looks completely genuine and unsuspicious.
So? You don't buy it?
The judge had a niece, and she don't buy it.
A little gal by the name of Mary Lou Smith, whom I also know. Mary Lou comes to me yesterday and asks me to keep the case open and find the killer. She doesn't know, and I don't bother to tell her that the chief isn't letting me work on anything bigger than a missing persons case for a while. I have to tell her her uncle's death is going into the books as a suicide. Right away, she doesn't buy it.
Who does she think did it, then?
Why don't you ask her?
Huh?
Well, I figure I owe you one from the last time, and I pay.
My debts, Harry.
I told her you're the smartest private eye who ever came out of L.A., and Mary Lou.
Wants to hire you.
She's got the dough, and her family owns half of the Olympic Peninsula.
They hold the funeral for Judge Elroy Stringer on Saturday morning. That afternoon, I ride out on the blackball ferry over to Bremerton with Mary Lou Smith.
I can give you the names of dozens of people who hated the judge enough to kill him.
Revenge? Because of his strict sentences?
Yes.
He was so offended by dishonest people that he wanted to rid society of them. So he'd give out the maximum sentences. He was good and decent and he hated crime. He believed he was on the bench to protect us all. Why, the prisons are filled with people who have good reason to want him dead. One of them got out and murdered him and made it look like suicide. I'm absolutely positive of it. I don't know how the police can be so blind.
What about the suicide note? You don't think he wrote it?
It said, I can't live with my remorse.
That's crazy.
That wasn't L.
Roy Stringer.
He was proud of his record.
That note was a fake.
The police handwriting expert?
Oh, I don't care what their handwriting expert says. He didn't know my uncle.
And did you?
What's that supposed to mean?
Were you close to him?
Of course.
He was my ideal. He was the kind of man that I just.
Okay, okay. We don't have to talk about him anymore now.
No, I want to tell you about him. If you're willing to help find the man who killed him, I can pay you whatever it costs.
I'll see what I can do. The rest of the ride to Bremerton, she tells me the judge has been divorced 15 years earlier, that he lived in a rented room in a mansion on Capitol Hill owned by a landlady named Mrs. Corliss, that he had few close friends and spent his evenings reading. When the ferry docked, she drives off in her yellow caddy, dabbing at her makeup, and I stay on board for the ride back to Seattle.
When I walk off the boat at the Coleman dock, who's there but Lou Butterfield with his car?
So, what do you think?
Oh, she's a looker.
In case, Nile, you're going to take it?
I told her I'd try to help, but I don't know my way around town. I don't have any wheels.
Not a problem.
Your car will be here tomorrow.
Tondaleo? What are you talking about? My car's in Los Angeles.
Your car's in Medford? Your girlfriend is driving it up? What girlfriend?
I don't have a girlfriend.
Someone called Murphy. Sounded like a girlfriend to me. When you were in the hospital, I got her name out of your address book and I called her up. Told her you were going to stay up here for a while and work with me.
She offered to ferry your car up here. She doesn't have the keys.
I told her how to hotwire it.
You told... Murphy is driving my car up from L.A.
Called me from Medford.
Wanted to know how you're doing.
Hey, you like baseball?
We're going to have to go out to Six Stadium one of these days. Catch the Rainiers. This guy on the radio is Leo Lassen, personal friend of mine.
Butterfield, would you do me a big favor? Would you let me live my own life, maybe for just, oh, 24 hours?
Oh, and I got you checked out of that motel. Got your bags in the trunk. Because I got you a better place to stay. Guess where?
I give up.
Corliss Arms.
Corliss Arms. Where is that?
Where Judge Stringer lived. Don't thank me.
I owe you.
Mr. Butterfield tells me you're doing research.
I am? Yeah, I am, yeah. Yeah, you could say that, yeah.
Oh, here's one of our boarders.
Mr.
Nile, may I present the Reverend Dr.
Mannington.
Doctor, this is Mr.
Nile.
He'll be joining our little family.
Ah, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
Wow.
Hey, take a look at the books in here.
Of course, as soon as I can, I'll have his things cleared away. But for now, perhaps you won't mind a night or two with his library. He was a voracious reader.
Who was that?
Why, Judge Stringer.
This was his room.
God rest his soul.
Butterfield has wangled me right into the dead judge's personal digs. He's using me for a ferret, putting me down promising rat holes, and I gotta admit, I'm starting to resent it. Call it pride, I guess, but I like to do my own sleuthing. But the judge's quarters look homey, and it's a Saturday night, and I could use a home-cooked meal.
Ah, excellent roast, Mrs.
Corliss, simply excellent.
It sure is.
Tell us about your research, Mr.
Nile.
Or is it Dr.
Nile?
It's just Mr. My research. Well, I'm writing a book on police procedures.
Then you're a criminologist.
No, just a researcher.
Then that's how you come to know Officer Butterfield?
Yeah, that's right. How'd you get to know him?
Through the judge. They were friends.
Mr.
Butterfield greatly admired Judge Stringer.
As did we all.
Now listen, tell me a little bit about yourselves. This is a great place you got here, Mrs.
Corliss.
It is one of Seattle's finer residences.
But we feel more like family here than boarders, Mr.
Nile.
Judge, when did he come here?
He was my first guest. It was in the spring of the year, just four years ago. April 19th, to be exact.
I've been here just a few months.
You preach, Reverend?
No.
I mean, do you give sermons?
Oh, at present I'm on sabbatical leave from my pulpit.
Where's that?
It's a small church, just a tiny congregation.
Here in Seattle?
Oh, no, in Canada.
Ah, Vancouver?
Yes, just a small Anglican church in Vancouver.
Then you're a Canadian citizen.
Yes, that's right.
My, I can see that our Mr. Nile is a dogged researcher, Dr.
Mannington.
Just listen to all that he's found out about us.
That night in the judge's room, I make a quick survey of what he left behind. Three giant bookcases filled with law books, histories, essays. He must have used the room as an office. His desk is bare, except for a pen and pencil set. And all the drawers are locked. But there's something odd about the room. On Sunday morning at breakfast, I bring it up to Mrs. Corliss.
Pictures, Mr.
Nile?
Yeah, most people have some photos around, you know. Friends, relatives, anything. Anything.
He had no living relatives that I know of.
Is that so? Not even a niece or a nephew?
Oh, yes.
There was a niece somewhere, I believe.
Tell me, did the police go through his room after his death?
Why, yes.
Did they remove anything?
A sample of his handwriting, that's all. To compare with the note he left in his car.
Oh, yeah.
Yeah, I read in the newspaper they found his car parked near the bridge with a note on the seat. Yes. I'm really sorry, Mrs.
Corliss.
This must be a tough time for you.
Excuse me. There's someone at the door.
Okay. You've been quiet this morning, Reverend.
Well, I fear I'm still profoundly shaken by our dear friend's terrible act. Taking one's own life is again to murder.
Uh-huh.
Listen, tell me something. Did Judge Stringer seem despondent over the last couple of days?
Oh, my, yes, depressed.
We both noticed it, Mrs.
Corliss and I.
He began acting strangely.
Gave me three of his most treasured books the day before he took his life. He said he wouldn't be needing them.
Mr.
Nile, there's a woman asking for you. She's on the front porch.
A woman?
Oh, by golly, that'd be Murphy. Murphy!
Murphy's Auto Delivery Service.
How are you, Harry?
Are you all right now?
Sure, I'm fine. And there she is, Tondaleo Rustinol.
You know, when that nice detective called me at the library and told me you'd been wounded here in Seattle, I knew you'd just want Tondi, but I didn't have your car keys, of course, so.
So, of course, that nice detective taught you how to hotwire it.
Well, that part was easy. Driving was the hard part.
Oh?
How come?
Well, I don't know how to drive.
Oh.
I've never driven a car in my life.
Well, then, how the heck did you.
Oh, I work in a library, remember? The library has books on every subject under the sun, so I checked out a book on driving.
Holy smoke.
Hey, is this where you're staying?
Yeah.
Who was that woman that answered the door?
Mrs. Corliss, the landlady. Hey, did you get yourself a room for the night?
Oh, I didn't have to.
That nice detective Butterfield.
Yeah, I know. Where'd he put you up?
With the YWCA.
You had any breakfast?
No.
Come on, I know a spot.
You want me to drive?
Uh, no.
While Murphy chows down at the doghouse, I fill her in on the suspicious suicide of Judge Elroy Stringer. And I ask her to do a little checking on a couple of things for me.
I can find what you want.
You sure? Think you can find your way around Seattle?
Well, there are maps.
It'd be a lot of work.
It's as close to as adventurous as the library in gets. And who are you going to be?
Well, I gotta go find that nice detective Butterfield.
Okay, this is all we know. Stringer had been in the water between six and eight hours when the harbor patrol fished him out. The coroner says his injuries were consistent with a long fall into water. The cause of death was a broken neck, probably causing paralysis.
And then drowning.
Where'd they find his car?
Parked on Aurora.
Where on Aurora?
Just north of the bridge. He was in the ignition. The note was on the seat. All the prints appear to be Stringer's. But, Harry, there are 20 to 40 convicts Stringer sent up the river who'd love to see him dead.
Some of them are out now. Think it over.
I got to go.
I do think it over. On the ferry over to Bremerton to see Mary Lou Smith. This time Murphy's with me, and she's been busy.
Here's what I got. No minister named Mannington has ever been the pastor of an Anglican church in Vancouver. Incidentally, you owe me $ 4. 65 for toll calls to Canada.
Ah.
And I got a list of the convicts Springer sent up, going back 12 years to the time he became a Superior Court judge. And we're in luck. One man was paroled, but he died. And only three have finished their sentences. Here's that list.
Okay, let's see.
Oh, and here are some newspaper stories on each of them. Don't lose them. I have to return them.
Hey, this is great work, Murphy.
You think one of them killed the judge and made it look like suicide?
That's what I have to find out.
And your new landlady's an interesting person.
Mrs. Corliss?
Did you know she ferried bombers to Britain during the last war?
No kidding. Doesn't look the type.
Her husband was quite rich. He owned a big movie and storage company.
You amaze me. Well, Murphy, here's Bremerton.
Ha, ha, ha.
And down there in the yellow convertible, my client.
Well, I'm sure there are more than three people with a motive to kill my uncle.
Well, we know these three might not only have a motive, but the opportunity, too. The rest are still behind bars.
Oh.
Look, Miss Smith, I need you to do something. Ride back to Seattle with us and go through your uncle's room.
No.
Well, you don't want to do that?
It's impossible.
I'm sorry.
She probably couldn't stand it right now, Harry.
That's right.
It's just too soon. I couldn't possibly do it.
You see, I need to know what might have been taken out of his room. There's nothing to stop either Mrs. Corliss or Dr. Mannington from removing what.
I understand that, but I cannot go inside that house.
You wouldn't by any chance have a key to his desk?
No.
I am sorry, Mr.
Nile.
You know I'd do anything I could to help you find Elroy's murderer, but I'm afraid you've made this trip for nothing.
Well, Murphy and I catch the next ferry back to Seattle. I drop her off at the YWCA and I go through downtown and out onto Aurora. Pull off the boulevard and I walk back onto the bridge. A chilly wind blows in from the west. The bridge trembles with the traffic. I reach the middle of the bridge and stop. Every driver that goes by turns to look at me. Some even slow down. And they watch it to see if I'm going to vault over the rail and take that long last dive. want what harry i want to get into the judge's desk but i don't want to be disturbed i also might like to have a look in mannington's room.
You're talking search warrant my boss won't let me touch this case i'm on suspension.
Remember how about a consent search.
Do that you blow your cover and your investigation.
Well that leaves me with no alternative.
Just sit tight where are you now.
In the judge's room at the corliss arms.
They know you're home oh i don't think so give me half an hour.
Yes?
Ma'am, Seattle Fire Department. There's an underground gas leak in the neighborhood, and you'll have to evacuate this building. We believe the leak is right under your house. From the upstairs window, I watch Mrs. Corliss and the Reverend Dr. Mannington scurry into a waiting car. Is there nothing that nice Detective Butterfield can't fix? In ten seconds, I get into the desk. I get it open, and I pull out the middle drawer, but I'm too late.
It's empty.
So are the rest of the drawers, so I head to Mannington's room. His door isn't even locked. I spend 20 minutes in there. I'm almost finished in Mrs. Corliss's bedroom when I hear the phone in my room ringing, and I dash down the hall to pick it up.
You got five minutes before they come back.
Okay.
Doing it good?
Yeah, I think so. I think I know how the judge died. I've got a pocket full of evidence, which I tuck under the seat of Tondoleo and drive my old coupe down to Lake Union. I find the guy I hope I'll find, have a short chat, and then I get back in the car and collect Murphy and Butterfield, and we drive over to the doghouse.
Well?
Got a big booth in the back, Eloise?
Yeah, but I'm trying to get rid of it.
Thanks, honey.
I got a million of them. Y'all want coffee?
Yeah, there's gonna be five of us, Eloise.
You got it.
Be right back.
Okay.
Okay. I called Mrs.
Corliss and told her I needed to see her in Mannington down here at 6. And it's almost that now, so lay it out, Harry.
All everything. Here they come now.
Over here, folks.
Ah, good evening, Mr.
Nile.
Mr.
Butterfield, so nice to see you again.
And this lady?
This is my assistant, Murphy.
Miss Murphy.
You made it sound rather urgent, so we came right down.
Why don't we all sit down?
It was no coincidence that you came to board at Corliss Arms, was it, Reverend?
I don't follow.
You got out of prison ten months ago with one goal in mind. Locate the guy who sent you up.
Prison?
Your real name is Wesley Thomas Leaf. Judge Stringer sentenced you to 15 years in prison for assault and grand larceny. You got out in ten with good reason to kill him.
If you think I killed Stringer, you're crazy. I never killed anyone in my life.
This man is a minister of the church.
He's a very good actor, Mrs.
Corliss.
He fooled Stringer for months with his phony name and accent. And he's an even better forger. He stole samples of Stringer's handwriting to practice writing that six-word suicide note. I found lots of Stringer's writing in Leaf's room.
I intend to retain a lawyer before I say another word.
Yeah, you're going to need one, Mrs.
Corliss.
Your motive for killing Judge Stringer was even stronger. You were Stringer's very discreet lady friend until he dropped you for another woman.
You are disgusting.
But you needed someone to help get back at Stringer. Then the fake Reverend Mannington comes looking for a room. Tom Leaf had chased his quarry to Corliss Arms.
Wait a minute, Harry.
Stringer didn't recognize Leaf as a guy he'd sent up ten years before.
Ah. Leaf weighed 20 pounds more in prison. Didn't have a beard or that phony English accent.
Okay, but we know the judge was alive when he hit the water. So how did this little guy and this woman get Stringer out on the bridge?
But he didn't ever go on the bridge, did he, Mrs. Corliss?
Huh?
A week ago tonight... Mrs. Corliss invites the judge to go for a romantic moonlight airplane ride. She's already reserved a float plane for midnight. Nobody's there when they take off. She flies west over the Aurora Bridge. Then she rolls the plane sharply to the right, kicks open the passenger door, and Stringer makes like a bird.
I deny everything you're saying.
But the owner of Seagull Air Service has your name on the reservation law. And he also noted that the passenger side safety belt was folded and tucked under the cushion when he checked the plane over the next morning.
We will, of course, deny every word of this revolting story.
Mrs.
Corliss, Mr. Leith, I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Elroy Stringer.
Mr. Nile, in this fantasy you conducted, just who is this other woman?
I bet I know the niece.
Murphy!
Here's your coffee coming up, folks.
Only she really was no relation.
And I'll bet the judge told her he never wanted to see her face around Mrs.
Corliss.
Because women can tell, can't they, Mrs.
Corliss?
When their man is interested in another woman. And Mary Lou Smith would be pretty interesting to an older man.
Wait a minute!
The judge was dating his niece?
The Adventures of Harry Nile are created and produced by Jim French and star Phil Harper. Tonight's adventure, Floater, was written by Jim French and featured Sheldon Japet, Pat French, Clodagh Ash, Terry Rose, Susan Hutchison, Pan Sowers, Dan Leach, and Brad Perkins. Music by David Shire. Sound created by Stu Conway. Engineering by Bob Shoy. This program is taped before a live audience in Seattle. This is Jay Green speaking.
The Adventures of.
Harry Nutt.
Well, that just about winds up our tour of the waterfront, folks. I hope you enjoyed a cruise. I'd like to have you come back again. Please tell your friends all about it. I'm your skipper, Rudy Lindstrom. I'm going to be docking at Pier 54 here in a minute.
You do that real well. You sure know Seattle.
Well, I try to do a little different each time. It keeps me from getting bored. Yes, I'm just so ham at heart.
Well, listen, my name's Harry Nile, and I've been working.
Hey, skipper, what do you call that funny white building up there in town?
Oh, the white one?
That is the Smith Tower. That's our skyscraper. Built back in the teens by L.C. Smith, a typewriter tycoon. 42 stories tall, and that, I want you to know, is the tallest building west of Chicago. Oh, yeah?
Thanks.
Enjoy the ride.
Hey, well, thank you, ma'am. Hey, tell your friends, okay?
If you hang on here just a minute, we'll get this docked, and I'll be right with you.
All right.
I hope this hasn't been just a big waste of time.
Well, we got a dandy tour of Seattle's waterfront.
No, I mean, contacting Mr.
Lindstrom.
I didn't know he ran this tour boat, or that it'd take an hour.
Hey, hey, hey, don't sweat it, Miss Olsen. I won't charge you for the harbor tour.
Okay, folks, now, what you were saying?
I was saying my name's Nile, Harry Nile. I'm a private investigator, and this is Alice Olsen. I think you knew her father.
Olsen?
There's a lot of Olsens in Seattle.
Everyone called him Oli. He owned a fishing boat.
And he.
Oh, you're Oli's kid. Sure I knew him.
I was on the crew with him last time in Alaska. Hey, I'm real sorry about his dying. He's really a great guy.
Thank you.
What can I do for you?
Uh, how well did you know Mr. Olds? Oh, I knew him real well.
I mean, you don't work fish boats without getting to know the whole crew pretty darn well, you know?
Why?
Did he ever mention having another daughter besides me?
Another daughter?
Hmm, no, not so far as I can remember.
Well, did he ever mention the name, uh, Irene? Irene?
I don't know.
No offense, but, you know, he knew an awful lot of dames.
Ladies, yeah.
But no daughter named Irene?
No.
Like I say, not that I remember. See, your dad was very busy.
I know, I know.
You don't have to say it.
Let me give you my card here. And if you think of anything that Olsen might have said, especially about having had a daughter by a woman named Catherine. Catherine? Catherine.
I remember him talking about somebody named Catherine a lot. Yeah, pretty far gone in this Catherine, as I recall. And it seems to me like he said she died.
Was she your mother?
No.
Irene says Catherine was her mother, and Ole was her father.
See, we're trying to establish whether the woman who calls herself Irene Olsen is entitled to part of Ole's estate. Oh, I gotcha. So you call me if you think of anything that'll help, will you?
Sure thing.
Okay, come on, let's go, Alice.
I suppose I should be happy to find out I've got a half-sister, but I'm not.
What if she's telling the truth?
Well, that's what we're going to find out.
It is 1950, and a transplanted gumshoe named Harry Nile plies his craft from a second-floor cranny in a moldy brick pile in the forgotten end of town, where his neighbor is an all-night Turkish bath and the pale morning sun refracts in a hundred drained muscatel bottles.
Alice Olsen is a plain and proper-looking 25-year-old. who would prefer drinking lutefisk brine to dealing with a detective, private or public. But a contender for her fortune, small as it is, has shown up in the form of a woman calling herself Irene Olsen. And Irene claims that their common dad wrote a new will giving his fishing boat and his house to her. Enter Harry Nile.
I've changed my mind, Mr.
Nile.
I don't want to meet her.
That's understandable.
I don't think I.
Could be civil to her.
Well, the meeting's set.
You could let me off.
Somewhere and pick me up after.
Aren't you the least bit curious about Irene? I mean, what she looks like, what she sounds like. All you know about her is that letter that she wrote you. There's no information.
In which she threatens to take away everything Daddy wanted me to have. No, I don't want to see her.
You do it.
You leave me out of it.
Well, here we are, Boeing Field.
All right.
And there it is. Puget Flight Service.
You'll have to do all the talk.
Okay, okay, we'll see. Okay, now, here you go.
Good morning. May I help you?
Um, Irene Olson?
Yes.
Oh, are you Mr.
Nile?
Yeah, that's right.
Then, uh, you must be Alice.
Yes.
Hello.
Please, sit down. I'm afraid we'll have to talk here. I'm holding down the fort until one of our pilots gets back. We're a small operation, as you can see. I'm the office manager, Girl Friday, coffee maker... Well, my goodness, I'm doing all the talking. You don't look anything like me at all. Well, no, I guess I don't.
I don't believe you.
I don't believe a word of what you said in that letter. I don't believe my father was your father, too. I don't believe there was a second will, and I think you made up the whole thing.
The whole thing.
Well, that more or less sums up my client's position.
Believe me, honey, I understand.
Don't you honey me.
Easy, Alice. Now, Miss Olsen, Irene, you said you could produce a will and a witness to it.
Yes.
This is the will. May I see it?
Of course.
Well, it's just one sheet of paper.
How did you obtain this, Irene?
It was sent to me through the mail by Corky Lindahl. He was a member of the crew of Dad's fishing boat, and he witnessed the signing of the will.
Oh, I see.
It's dated 1948.
Almost a year to the day before he died.
Give it to me.
I want to see it. This is just a photostat.
The original is in a safe place. You're free to keep that copy.
It isn't even typed.
It's all handwritten.
Well, I guess they usually don't carry typewriters on Alaskan collars.
And look it.
He didn't even sign it. Look, Mr.
Nile.
He didn't even sign his name.
There's just some kind of mark at the bottom.
Well, surely you knew. Daddy couldn't write.
All right. Well, then who did write this?
Mr.
Lindahl.
And where do we find this Mr. Lindahl?
The letter was postmarked, Coos Bay, Oregon.
Where's the envelope it came in? I'm afraid it won't.
Do you any good, Mr.
Nile.
His note said he was just putting in for supplies. There was no return address.
The will is short and to the point. It reads, I, Ingmar Olson, being of sound mind to hereby revoke all previous wills, And I want to make up for years of neglect for my first child, Irene, by leaving her my fishing boat, the Sunrise, and all my assets, excepting my life insurance, which still goes to my younger daughter, Alice.
And under Olsen's X mark, it's signed by someone named Ivar Lindahl. Seems as if Lindahl's the key to authenticating this new will, and Rudy Lindstrom, the tour boat skipper, is my only contact with Olsen's crew.
Oh, sure.
Quirky Lindahl and me.
We were pals. Any idea where he is now? Well, it seemed like.
I heard somewhere he might be up in Everett, maybe working on a tugboat hauling logs. There's a lot of that work up there.
Well, let me ask you something. Did Lindahl have any legal training, like in, oh, will writing? Legal training for Corky? No, not as far as I know. Well, would he have been on Ole Olsen's crew in 1948? Oh, 48? Oh, sure.
Yeah, we were both on the Sunrise in 1948. Yeah, that was my last season working for Ole.
Huh. Oh, listen, one other thing. Was Ole able to write his name?
No.
You know, like a lot of the old guys from the old country, they seem to do just fine, though, without being able to read or write a word of English.
Well, there's some research that needs doing. So I call in my number one bookworm, Murphy.
This is all you've got on Lindahl?
I'm afraid so.
Well, I'll see what I can do.
How do you like your new job at the library?
Huh.
Well, it's quiet.
While I'm waiting to find out more about Corky Lindahl, I figure I might get a little more out of Irene Olsen. So this time I drive out to the airport by myself.
I have nothing to hide, Mr.
Nile.
Ask me anything.
Okay.
Had you heard from your father at all through the years? No, not a word. Well, how did you know Ingmar Olsen was your father?
Oh, I've always known. Mama never tried to keep it from me. She was very much in love with him, and he promised he'd come back and marry her, but he never did. It's plain enough how he felt, though, when he wrote that new will. He must have known Mama had died, and he wanted to do the right thing for me.
All right, how long have you known about Alice's existence?
When I read about Daddy's death in the paper.
Have you called an attorney?
I can't afford an attorney.
I thought this could all.
Be handled, uh, well, in a civilized way. I mean, I'm only asking for what's mine.
Irene, this will you're showing us is going to be pretty tough for you to prove without this Ivar Lindahl, this Corky, to back it up. Without him, it's just your word against Alice and the probate judge.
And I suppose you're not too interested in finding him since you're working for Alice.
Hey, I'm interested in getting the facts. Someone else decides what's right and what's wrong. From Boeing Field, I drive clear back across town and up the counterbalance to the Queen Anne branch of the library to see if Murphy's turned up anything more on Ivar Lindahl.
No, but I thought this might be useful.
Why, what you got?
Well, the newspaper story telling about the death of Ingmar Olsen.
Oh, great. Oh, let me see it. Huh. This is the crew members, the storm off the coast of Alaska. Olsen is lost overboard. Yeah. I don't suppose I could, you know, just tear just a little piece of this out of the.
No.
I didn't think so. You know what they need to do? You know what they need to invent? They need to invent a machine that could copy a document instantly. Sort of a photocopier.
You better stick to detecting, Harry.
Saturday morning, and I'd promised Murphy I'd take her house hunting. On what they pay her at the library, she ought to be sharing a chicken coop. But while I drive her around to check out rentals, I figure I ought to get to know my client a little bit better. So Alice Olson rides along with us.
What kind of rent do you want to pay?
Oh, anywhere from 30 a month to free.
Hey, Murph, this is 1950. 30 a month won't buy you what it used to.
Try Ballard.
Try around here where I live.
The houses in my neighborhood are pretty cheap.
That's a good point, Alice. You mind my asking what your dad's estate amounted to?
The house is worth maybe $ 10, 000. Another $ 10, 000 in life insurance. Sunrise worth maybe $ 50, 000. And he had just over $ 800 in cash in the bank.
Well, that's not exactly a fortune.
But this so-called I. Reid wants to take it all away from me.
May I say something?
Sure.
Okay.
If I lived in Ballard, could I walk to work on Queen Anne Hill?
Well.
Not unless you got up awful early in the morning. By that afternoon, we find Murphy a rented room in an old Victorian mansion, just six blocks from the library where she works. And we hope her move her stuff over from the Y. And that leaves Alice Olsen and me. The ride doesn't improve her mood.
Well, just another wasted day.
Oh, I don't know. We found Murphy a nice furnished room.
Is this going on my bill?
No, Alice, this one's on the house.
If this woman, this Irene, takes my house in the sunrise, I'll be on the street.
Well, she's a long, long ways from that. And even if the second will should turn out to be valid, you might work something out with her. You might even get to like her. It's not every day you find out you got a sister you never knew existed, and she seems to be a pretty reasonable person.
You sound like you're working for her, not me. You take me home.
Oh, now, come on. Wait a minute. I'm sorry if you.
Just turn this car around and.
Take me home.
Which I do gladly. Sunday, I sleep in. Monday morning. It's just past 9 a.m. The office is cold as a meat locker, meaning the radiator's busted again. Why don't I answer my phone? I never answer until the third ring. It makes it sound like you're busy. Harry Nile Investigations. Well... Uh, Harry Nile, who's this?
Is this Murphy?
And did you have a nice trip through the looking glass with Alice?
What are you talking about?
Did you explore Wonderland together?
Murphy.
While I spent the weekend with Count Dracula?
What's the matter?
Oh, nothing. Alice had to sit in the middle, didn't she?
What? Hey, Tonda Leone has one seat, and besides, you had to get out first. What's this about Count Dracula?
My new landlord. All he needs is fangs and a black cape.
You're not happy. Okay, we'll find another place.
I think you better talk to him. I've got the day off.
Doesn't he sleep in a coffin during the day?
He knew Ivor Lindahl.
You're kidding.
He's a little odd, but he may have some information you want. And you have some information I want.
I do?
Where did you and Alice go after you left me off?
Alice had a snit, so I just took her right home.
You did?
Yeah, sure.
Then where were you all day Sunday?
Asleep. Mostly.
Oh.
Oh.
Well, come on up the hill, Harry, and meet my new landlord, Mr. Osterman.
Should I bring the steaks?
The steaks?
Yeah, to drive through his heart.
So you're friends with my new friends?
Yeah, that's right. Some house you have here, Mr. Osterman. Well, we like it.
Uh-huh.
You have a family?
Of course.
Here they are, Mama and Papa and Uncle Heinz.
These pictures, these folks live here with you?
They're all dead, Harry.
Shh.
You're out of feelings.
Oh, sorry. Listen, Murphy tells me that you know an Ivar Lindahl. I'm trying to get a hold of somebody by that name.
I think I know who he is. I think he's in Bellingham. I'm sure he's in Bellingham.
Bellingham? You wouldn't have an address, would you?
Harry, Mr.
Osterman seems to know things.
They come to me when I need them. Bellingham, he is on Lookout Drive.
Lookout Drive. How do you know that? Uncle Heinz told me. Well, I gas up Tondaleo and drive up to Bellingham, leaving Murphy to answer calls in my office. After a short search, I find Lookout Drive. And after a longer search, I find Ivar Lindahl. And I call Murphy.
Harry, I'm so glad you called. I've got some news. Guess who called you? Ivar Lindahl himself.
No kidding.
Why do you sound like that?
Oh, I told him you were out, and he's going to call back tomorrow morning at 10.
Well, aren't you proud of me?
Yeah, because I found Ivar Lindahl myself. Ivar Lindahl died last year. So my drive to Bellingham is for nothing. Uncle Heinz fingered the wrong guy. Unless.
Unless.
It's ten in the morning, and I can hardly keep myself from grabbing the phone on the first ring to see if it's the mysterious Ivar Lindahl. If it is, how am I going to know if he's genuine? Now I wish Rudy Lindstrom could be here to listen in. He sailed with Lindahl.
Ah, well.
Harry Nile Investigations.
Mr.
Nile?
Yeah?
I hear you've been trying to get in touch with me. This is Corky Lindahl.
Ivar Lindahl?
That's right. My friends call me Corky. What can I do for you?
Well, uh, Corky, did you know Ingmar Olsen?
Oli? Sure did.
We was close friends.
And did you witness him write a will?
Yes, I did. In fact, he gave it to me to keep for him. Good thing he did. I reckon you know Ole got washed overboard and drowned.
Yeah?
So I spent a long time trying to locate that daughter of his, Irene. Finally found her and sent her the will.
I see. Is there some place where we could talk about this in person?
Well, that's a little tough to do. I'm shipping out.
No place I could meet you.
Afraid not. I told you all I know.
Well, say, could I call you back? I've got another call coming in. Where are you?
Well, I guess I could call you back. Okay, okay.
It's just after 10 now. Can you call me again at 11? Right, just exactly at 11 sharp, okay?
11? I could do that.
Now I've got to move fast. I make three phone calls, explain what I need, do a little begging, and at 11, on the dot, Alice Olsen, Rudy Lindstrom, and I get out of Tondoleo on the hangar side of the building where Irene works down at Boeing Field. Okay, now we walk through the hangar to the office door. This is the wildest thing. No, no, no, come on, follow me.
There's the door to the office.
Let's hope it ain't locked.
Why do we have to go in this way?
Because there are windows in the front. She could see us drive up.
Okay, quiet now.
Come on, be quiet.
I'm going to sneak this door open.
You say Mr. Nile ain't there?
Well, that's funny. He told me to call him back at 11.
I don't believe it.
There's your Lindahl talking to Murphy.
Well, you tell him Corky Lindahl called him back, okay?
Well, I'll be a son of a gun.
Shh, come on, listen to this.
Lindahl, L-I-N-D-A-H-L, Corky.
He'll know who I am.
Yes, we do know who you are. Corky. Mr.
Nile, uh.
Come in, Alice and Rudy. Just for the record, what's your real name, Irene?
What difference does it make?
Oh, none, I suppose. Except to the law.
Look, this is a good job. Don't louse it up for me.
What your boss wants to do with you is up to him. What Do you want to do with her, Alice?
Well, I.
She tried to cut you out of your inheritance.
Yeah?
What proof have you got?
The fake will. The fake voice of the witness that never was.
You know, sister, I sailed with Corky Lindahl. Corky Lindahl was a friend of mine. And I'll tell you, you're no Corky Lindahl.
And something else. Rudy here tells me Lindahl was like Ole Olsen. He couldn't read. And he couldn't write. How did I know I'd find the phony Corky down at Irene's office at the airport? I heard planes in the background when Corky phoned me. I knew we had a phony when Rudy told me the Corky he knew couldn't write.
Irene had done enough research to learn that Ole Olsen was illiterate and that he had someone named Corky Lindahl on his crew, but she didn't know that Alice knew that Rudy Lindstrom was around and could tear her story apart. Turns out Irene's wanted in two other states for pulling the same crime, so the cops were happy to meet her.
Alice saves her inheritance and pays me off. I pay off Murphy for all the time she's spent, and Murphy pays another month's rent to Count Dracula. It all works out in the end.
Sob Sisters was written and directed by Jim French. The Adventures of Harry Nile feature Phil Harper as Harry, with Andy Hellman, Pat French, Dean Smith, Terry Rose, Dodie Axelson, and Katrina Hodiak as Irene and Corky. Sound created by Stuart Conway. Engineering by Ed Gately. This program was recorded before a live audience at the Museum of History and Industry in Seattle. Write to Cairo for free tickets. This is Jay Green speaking. The Adventures of Harry Nye.
People's Department Store, the store with a heart, Merry Christmas. Yes, ma'am, we're open every night until 9 for Christmas.
People's Department Store, the store with a heart, Merry Christmas.
Yes, ma'am, Santa's in the toy department every day from noon until 9.
People's Department Store, the store with a heart, Merry Christmas.
Yes, sir, we carry a complete line.
Of alarm for the trains in our store.
Murder, I'm getting another ulcer, I know I am.
Come in here, Mr.
Nile.
It's always like this at Christmas time. Crowds, crowds, crowds, and now this.
Okay, how much stuff is missing?
I have the latest count right here on my desk. As of end of business last week, losses were up 26% over the same period last year. Wow.
Yeah, and it's just gotten beyond me.
I've been in charge of security here for five years now, and nothing like this has happened ever before.
Okay, well, now, Mr. Nelson, tell me. What's happening at the other stores in town?
Nothing!
None of them are having any unusual thievery.
Problems at all.
But here at People's, the people are walking off with the store. Do you think you can help?
I can try.
Well, I hope so, because the store with a heart is giving me heartburn.
It's the Christmas season of 1950. A light sifting of snow drifts across Seattle. In a downtown store, three stories above Second Avenue between an all-night lunch and the Army-Navy store, stands Harry Nile. In all his time as a private detective, He's never drawn a corporate paycheck. All too often, his labors produce no paycheck at all. But tonight, that will change, as Harry joins the ranks at a pay window in a case he titles, with typical obfuscation, Sticky Fingers.
Not since my days on the Chicago PD have I drawn anything like a salary. When the fine old Seattle outfit called People's Department Store hires me to find out how their merchandise is disappearing... It looks like my meal ticket for the holidays. But I have to fill out six forms and give a pint of my blood to get on their payroll. By the end of the first week, I'm no closer to discovering the leak in their inventory than I was when the chief of security hired me.
Any progress to report, Harry?
I'm sorry, Tommy, nothing. You're up.
Hiya, Mr.
Nelson.
Hello, Hazel.
Here's your check.
Feels a little fatter than usual, but then don't we all?
It's the holidays.
You planning anything special for the holidays, Mr.
Nelson?
No, no, no, I'm not. I don't even know if I'll put up a tree. They'll probably steal all the Christmas bowls.
My sister's coming over from Wenatchee and we're going caroling. You wouldn't care to join us, would you?
I don't feel like singing, Hazel. Oh, this is Harry Nile. He's new.
Hi.
I thought you didn't look familiar.
Nile, did you say?
Yeah, that's right.
Which deployment?
Security. He's in security, and I'm just insecure.
Merry Christmas, everybody.
Merry Christmas. Leave a few dollars for poor old Santa.
Bye.
Hi.
Hiya, Mr. Leffingwell.
Nice to see you back.
Oh, nice to see you too, Hazel. Tommy, do we have a new gumshoe on the force?
Oh, this is Harry Nile. He's my special consultant just for the holidays.
Oh.
Charlie Leffingwell, Harry.
Yeah, Charlie's something of a people's tradition. He's been our Santa for, uh.
17 years. Started this Christmas of 33, bottom of the Depression.
Well, glad to meet you, Charlie. Say, is that beard growing? Is that real?
Oh, sure is. You know, little kids aren't dumb. When they're sitting on your lap, they can feel the fake whiskers and smell the spirit gum. Nope, I grow my own. It's my own belly, too.
Nile H.
I found it.
Oh, okay. Well, thanks, Angel.
There you go.
See you next Friday.
Yeah, okay, right.
I suppose you'll be knocking off early the snow and all.
No, no, no. I'm going to hang around the store for Well, it'll be pretty quiet tonight, Harry.
Yeah, the first snow scares everyone home.
Well, I'll be at my post. Harry, you get lonely. Come on down and tell Santa what you want for Christmas.
Ladies and gentlemen, People's will be closing in ten minutes.
Please exit on 2nd Avenue and season's greetings from.
The store with a heart.
Well, I guess that does it for another night.
Buy you a cup of coffee, Santa?
Oh, sure. Yeah, I have to change in the men's clothing department. I'll see you down by the street door.
All right.
It's still snowing.
Oh, yeah.
Wouldn't it be great if we had a white Christmas just like the ones we used to know?
Irving, Berlin, call your agent.
All-night lunch here where we're going?
Yeah, no, that's fine.
All right. Right over there?
Yeah, that'll be good.
Oh, okay. Well, how you doing, Harry?
Not so good, are you? I've been in the stockroom hiding behind boxes. I've watched clerks ring up sales. I've spied on hundreds of customers this week. I'll be doggone if I can see.
Hi.
What'll it be?
Oh, just coffee for me, please.
Yeah, coffee, yeah.
You were saying, Harry?
I don't know how it's happening. I do know one thing. It's not being shoplifted.
Really?
Well, how do you know?
Well, the security staff isn't stupid. Tommy's got guys checking sales slips. The clerks are alert. There's no way this volume of merchandise is being stolen by shoppers. There's some kind of organized stealing going on.
That's a frightening idea.
I was totaling up the stolen goods going back 30 days when the Christmas sale started. The first week, almost all the stolen goods were toys. But now there's adult items being taken. Coats and shoes and hats, winter clothing, that kind of stuff.
Oh, what a pity.
Pity?
Crime.
Well, yes, but it's a pity that there are so many people who have to steal to keep warm.
They don't have to steal. It's their choice. There's the Salvation Army. There's Goodwill, the Mission.
Oh, yeah, sure. All overtaxed at this time of year.
You must see hundreds of kids and their parents every day, don't you?
Oh, yes, I do, yeah.
I've been thinking, how about How about keeping an eye on what's going on, just in the toy department? Maybe we could rig up some kind of a signal or something, so when you see someone slipping a toy under their coat and going for the door, you could allege security.
Sort of a Santa stool pigeon, huh?
Yeah, you could say that.
Harry, you want to know something confidential? I have seen it happen just the way you say.
And what did he do about it?
Well, if I have a child on my lap, nothing. If I'm free, I get up off my throne and saunter down by the kid and smile at him and hold out my hand. They usually give back what they took.
Two coffees.
Oh, good.
Anything else?
No, no, that's fine.
That'll be 20 cents.
Oh, I've got it, Harry.
Here, here you go.
Keep it. Thanks.
So, um, you ever report any of this to security?
No.
How come?
Well, I guess I just don't have it in me.
Okay, if you were a kid's father and someone let your kid get away with shoplifting, how would you feel?
Oh, it would be wrong, I know. You, uh, are you going to tell Tommy what I just told you?
Well, what do you think I should do?
Oh, uh, search your conscience.
Listen, I'm hired to try to stop the thievery. What do I tell my conscience if I know someone's letting people get away with shoplifting?
All right, all right.
Harry?
Harry?
Beginning tomorrow, if I spot anyone shoplifting a toy, I'll blow a whistle.
I don't think a whistle will work.
I'll guarantee... that the store won't lose another dime on shoplifter toys.
You'll, uh, guarantee that?
I'll guarantee it.
How? You leave that to me. Saturday, the store is packed. I cruise through all the departments looking for trouble. I don't see a thing. Neither do the five other guys working store security. In the toy department, Santa's doing a land office business. I catch his eye, but he just smiles. And by day's end, only one shoplifter's been caught. Throughout the whole store, a little old lady with a cheap cigarette.
Lighter at her purse.
For the first time since he hired me, Tommy Nelson is smiling. Maybe the crime wave is over. I enjoy a peaceful weekend.
But.
Monday morning.
Look at these inventory records, Harry.
What?
Missing.
$ 675 worth of menswear. $ 742 worth of outerwear and sports gear.
$ 215 worth of toys.
Where is it going? Harry, this store is hemorrhaging.
Do something!
Unless Seattle's in the grip of a retail crime wave, all the stuff being stolen from people's department store isn't being filched by sticky-fingered shoppers. It's being lifted by large-scale arsonists. Tuesday morning, I get Tommy Nelson's permission to hold a staff meeting before the store opens. All right, all right, people.
People, will you simmer down? Simmer down. Come on, come on.
Now, most of you know that the store is losing thousands of dollars worth of goods that are somehow being stolen. And some of you know that we have hired an outside investigator to try to get to the bottom of this. Now, he's asked me to call you all together. Please give him your complete cooperation.
This is Mr.
Harry Nile.
Harry, it's all yours.
Thanks.
Well, first of all, is everybody here? Anybody absent?
Well, Mr. Leffingwell, he's just a part-time employee. He doesn't have to be here, does he, Harry?
Well.
I know his number.
I could call him.
Yeah, go ahead and do that, Hazel, will you? Now, listen, this situation's pretty serious, folks. We're losing too much stuff for it to be shoplifting, and that leaves only one other answer. The thief, or thieves, is on the staff. It's one of you. I know, I know. You don't want to believe that one of your co-workers could be stealing, but there's no other way this much merchandise could be missing at the end of each day's business. Now, who's in charge of the stockroom?
That's me, Phil Dawson.
Dawson. Okay, come on up here, Mr. Dawson.
Yeah.
Tell us how you keep track of the merchandise in the stockroom.
Well, when we unload it from the trucks, I make a mark on a list, see? Then when the department it's going to sends a stock boy down for supplies, I make another mark on the list. I mark it when it comes in, and I mark it when it goes out. And to today, I can tell exactly what happened to each and every item that was.
Shipped to us.
You can check the list yourself.
Satisfied? Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Dawson.
No problem.
Now, who's in charge of all the clerks in the store?
That would be me, Cecil Pettibone.
Mr. Pettibone, okay, when a customer wants to buy something, what does a clerk do?
Well, there's a tag on each item with a code number on it. The number gives the price of an inventory code. We tear off our half of the tag. Ring up the sale, cash or charge, bag it, and hand it to the customer.
So anything a customer buys gets put in a people's bag.
That's right.
And that way, when one of our security people spots someone leaving the store with an item that's not in a store bag, we stop them.
Mr.
Nelson, I just tried calling Mr. Leffingwell, and there was no answer.
Well, I don't think we need to keep the rest of the staff any longer, Tommy. Keep your eyes open, folks, will you?
Yeah, all right, people. Thanks for coming.
Uh, Tommy?
Yeah? Does the store provide lockers for all the employees?
Lockers?
No.
Why?
Oh, I was just wondering. Uh, you have home addresses of all the employees?
Sure, I'll get you the address list.
Well, by now, a little plot is beginning to take shape. I get a street map out of the glove compartment of Tondoleo and drive over to where Santa lives. It's a long way from the North Pole. In fact, it's in an exclusive neighborhood over on Lake Washington, a place called Laurelhurst. Charlie Leffingwell's done all right by himself. It's an old English-style house. Must really be up there in the bucks, 50, 60 grand. Nothing. Well, I guess he's not home. Okay, so I snoop over to the garage and see if there's a car in there. It's locked.
But there is a window. Dark in there. I don't see a car. But what I do see confirms what I figured. So why aren't I clicking my heels with joy? By three o'clock, I've got a police team, a cruiser and a van, Tommy Nelson from the store and a search warrant. One of the cops pries open the garage door and we're inside.
You were right, Harry.
Yeah.
Look at this. Merchandise stacked to the ceiling.
Yeah.
Who'd have thought it? After 17 years with the store. Who'd have ever thought it?
Nah, something's wrong. Huh? Something's wrong. Something doesn't smell right.
The old guy's fencing our merchandise. But how did he get all this stuff out of the store without being seen?
Here, take a look over here. Over in the corner of the garage.
What?
All neatly folded up.
Bags?
Bags and rampart paper.
Yeah.
People's department store bags.
Uh-huh.
And look at this. Shoe boxes full of sales slips.
The old crook.
That's how he was getting it out the door.
Everything he stole, he put in a bag.
But he never left the store with anything in his arms? No, no.
Hey, what's going on?
Yes, yes, that's what I'd like to know. What's going on here? What right do you have to break into my garage here?
Charlie, I think I know why you did it, but how did you do it?
You know, you have been stealing us blind.
Look at this.
Jackets, coats, shoes, shirts, hats, caps, toys.
Dolls, cars, brain sets.
Yes, yes, Tommy, yes. And look at the tags on them.
What about them?
Well, look at them. Read some of them.
To Jackie with love from Santa. Merry Christmas to Freddy's mom from Santa.
Okay, okay. Maybe you're not fencing the stuff. You're giving it away. It's still stealing, Charlie.
You know, you're mixing your legends, pal. You're supposed to be Santa Claus, not Robin Hood.
Hey, the cops let me come in to explain something to you guys.
Oh, no, no, Benny. Don't you say a word.
Okay, now, who are you?
My name's Benny. I'm an elf.
What?
I'm an elf.
I work for Santa.
Charlie.
What are you talking about? I'm just one of the elves.
Charlie's got nine men.
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait a minute. Haven't I seen you in the store? Aren't you one of our regular customers?
Every day. What does an elf do, Benny?
Oh, just hang around and watch the poor people. I'm usually down in top coats and jackets. Sometimes I'm in toys. I like it in toys.
Watch the poor people?
Yeah, the ones who can't afford to buy nothing.
But they come in to get warm and look at all the stuff they'd like to buy if they could.
Well, why do you do that?
He does it, Tommy, because I pay him to do it. He's a spotter. When someone shows an interest in something but turns away, Benny takes the item and puts it in a bag, takes a store tag, and then follows the person home.
And as soon as I find out who they are and where they live, I make a note of it for Charlie, and then I stash their present here in Charlie's garage.
I mean, Santa's.
Sorry, I get them mixed up sometimes. I can see why. And there are nine other... elves out there doing the same thing?
Yeah, you have organized a crime ring, Charlie. You're not only playing Santa Claus and Robin Hood, you're Fagin as well.
You hired ten thieves to.
Uh-uh.
Elves.
Yeah, elves, schmelves.
You hired ten thieves to carry out anything anyone looks like they'd like to have but can't afford.
Well, what's wrong with that?
What's wrong?
You're stealing.
That's what's wrong.
Harry, I see you've discovered my shoebox. Bring it here, will you?
Shoebox? Yeah.
Okay.
Yeah.
This one?
Yes.
Okay.
Tommy.
Take a look at these sales lists.
What about them?
I know the retail price of every item the elves took, right to the penny.
So?
So, I can total it all up tonight and then leave the money on Hazel's desk. It was going to be my little surprise, my Christmas present to the store.
Your Christmas present to the store?
You steal from us and when you return the money, you call that a present?
But, Tommy, you see... Well, you see, Peoples calls itself the store with a heart. Well, have you ever thought you lost something and then found it again? Didn't you feel blessed for just a moment? Didn't finding what you thought was lost make you appreciate it just a little more?
Charlie, one thing. If you wanted to give presents to poor people, why didn't you just do it?
Because then they'd think of me as their benefactor. Just another rich philanthropist squaring his conscience. Harry, I once told you to search your conscience. Well, I searched mine year after year as I sat in the toy department playing Santa. And I came up with this plan to ease a little suffering at Christmas time and bring a little mystery to the needy and a little faith.
Well, People's Department Store got all their money to the penny. in a big gift box marked Two Peoples from Santa, which the police found already half full of crisp new bills when they searched Charlie's house.
So they didn't have him arrested?
No.
Phew.
In fact, they threw a little party for Charlie and his elves. and gave a great big donation to the poor. But they did it in secret. They didn't call the press or anything.
You know, maybe People's really is the store with the heart.
Oh, that's a wonderful story, Harry.
Wunderbar.
Yeah, but everyone here's got a promise never to tell it. It would spoil Charlie's whole idea.
Well, I can tell you this makes this Christmas the best one I've ever had.
I have a wunderbar new tenant, Miss Murphy, and a good friend, Harry, and Mr.
Nelson.
Nice of you to invite me, Mr.
Osterman.
And Hazel, the cashier.
Delighted, I'm sure.
And Santa's elves.
Oh. Oh, it's too bad that Santa couldn't be here.
Well, Charlie's too modest to come to a party and have us all thank him, you know?
Well, now it's time for us all to have some Yuletide goodies, which Miss Murphy helped me from an old family.
Recipe to make, yeah?
Pfeffernusser, Bavarian cookies you eat by hand, yeah?
But be careful, everybody, or Harry will have you arrested for having sticky fingers.
This is Phil Harper. I'd like to step out of character for just a minute to thank our great cast for joining me on this special Christmas Harry Niles show. Pat French as Murphy. Jay Green as our announcer and the stockman. Terry Rose as Mr. Osterman. Andy Hillman as Hazel, the cashier. And special guest stars John Procaccino as Tommy Nelson and Paul Herlinger as Santa with Brad Perkins as the elf. Our sound effects man is Stu Conway. And our sound mixer is Peggy Stokes. And the fellow who dreams up these adventures and created Harry in the first place, our writer, producer, director, Jim French. And now, from all of us, Merry Christmas, everyone.
This program is recorded before a live audience in Seattle. This is Jay Green speaking.
