Okay, two beers coming up. Thanks Mike. Mud in your eye? That's twenty cents paid before you hoist in. Trusting guy, huh? Here. Oh Mike. Yeah? Here's a tip for you. I'd like to know what you think. I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I'm not sure. Here's a tip for you. A little something extra. It's a good gag, huh? But you know, I don't think Mike appreciated it. So, Big Mike is dead. Murdered by two unfriendly strangers. It seems from the listening to be an open and shut case. You simply find the two men who went into the bar at that particular time. And finding them shouldn't be difficult, since they each had a drink and left their glasses on the bar. Hello Creeps. This is T4Y. Opening the doors to the Mystery Playhouse. Tonight we bring you another story by your old favorite, William Irish. It's called Leg Man. You've already heard the crime being committed. Now we plan to lead you slowly through the maze of clues and evidence. See if you're as smart as you think you are. Now then, let's hear the rest of Leg Man by William Irish. The scene. Mike's Tavern on the lower west side of Manhattan. The place is jammed with policemen, detectives, photographers. Broad behind the bar is the body of Mike. Two bullets in him. All right boys, put those two glasses on the bar and let these reporters get some pictures. Inspector, how's chances of some info? My name is Burgess from the Globe. Oh yeah? How much did they take the place for? It wasn't a cash killing. Not much dough in a bar at nine in the morning. We got a trigger for a grudge killing. Got yourself a suspect yet? Nope. We've got the culprit. Solid. He's cooked, washed and bottled. You see those glasses we just put back there in the bar? Yeah, I see them. A whiskey jigger and a beer glass. Yeah, well the whiskey jigger was covered with fingerprints. Whose? A guy named Hastings. Chuck Hastings. Motive? Plain as the nose on your face. Had some kind of a row with Mike and threatened to get even with him in front of about a hundred people. Any alibi? None at all. Says he was alone in his room all morning. Whose prints on the beer glass? None. Wiped clean. Well that's funny, isn't it? If the beer glass was wiped clean, why not the whiskey jigger too? Hmm? Sounds fishy to me. Hey, you looking for trouble? One of the two guys had more presence of mind than the other. One remembered to wipe the glass. One forgot. The one who forgot was too busy. He was firing the shot. That's all. The case is closed. That's all. It was a very simple case, a grudge, a killing, and some fingerprints plastered all over a whiskey glass. And the man who made them locked up. Everybody was satisfied. Except Chuck Hastings, the man they locked up, and a pencil-happy leg man called Burgess, who was crazy enough to start messing around in an open and shut murder case. City desk. Hey Rick, Burgess speaking. Where the devil have you been? I could have written the history of Rome by now. Hold on, I'll give you a rewrite, man. No, wait a minute, boss. I don't have the whole story yet. All right, all right. We're not doing pace work here, you know. Four words will finish it, and arrest is expected. Well, as a matter of fact, the arrest has been made already. Oh. I called Hastings. He had a grudge against the owner and his prints are on the death glass. Now what are you waiting for? We're running a daily newspaper, not an annual. You don't have to wait until they execute and bury him, you know. Listen, boss, I know there's something I think the police have missed, and it makes me think this whole thing may be a frame up. Listen, Burgess, get this straight. I didn't send you out to solve detective cases. I sent you out to get the facts. If the police say this, Hastings did it, he did it, and it's over. I'll give you just ten minutes to get back here, or you needn't come back at all. Oh, boss, give me a break. Hello? Hello? What's going on? Get your call? Yeah. Give me two fingers. Coming up. You're the newspaper guy who was in here this morning asking questions about the killing, ain't you? Yeah. I thought I'd seen you before. Here you are. That's 40 cents. What's the matter? Don't you trust me till I've finished it? Sure. Just have it, I guess. The owner, Mike, he never trusted anyone. He always collected for drinks right as he put them down instead of waiting until after. Picked it up from him, I guess. Sounds like a tight guy. Mike? You said a mouthful. A guy like that must have plenty of enemies. Oh, sure. Like who, for instance? I don't know. As a safe bet, I'd pick this fella, Chuck Hastings, the police pulled him. What's this grudge they say he had against Mike? Well, I don't know as I could say. I was just wondering. For the paper, you know, I thought I could quote you. Yeah? Well, of course, it's no secret. Hastings and Mike had a row in here one night. This Hastings hands a boss a $10 bill to pay him off, and the boss just gives him change for five. Things start to get rough, and Mike jumps over the counter and throws this Hastings out. I wouldn't say that was too much of a row. Well, that ain't all. After Mike throws him out, Hastings picks himself off the street and hollers in the door, I'm gonna get you for this if it's the last thing I do. I guess he did all right. Funny thing, though. Looks like Mike still didn't trust him. He didn't pay up this morning when he got his drink like always. When I came in, the register was rung up at 20 cents. At 20 cents? Are you sure of that? I got eyes, ain't I? You know, it strikes me that a man as tight-fisted as Mike sounds would have a lot of people who'd like to bump him off. Well, he did knock up against a few tough customers. Like, well, just for the heck of it. Edge, I ain't pointin' a finger at no one in particular about this shootin'. No, no, of course not. Well, there's a fella named Edge, Joe Edge, in the wholesale liquor racket. He and Mike have had it in for each other for a couple of years now. How come? Well, Edge had the old squeeze play pretty much on. He soaked Mike the limit for the liquor he sold him and then was plenty sore when Mike got tired of it and switched to another outfit. Sore enough to kill him? Look, I didn't say that. All right, forget it, forget it. Say, by the way, was it a glass like this they found on the bar this morning? Yeah, a whiskey jigger and a beer glass in front of the other seat. Do you keep in account how many jiggers like this you have in stock? Not usually, but it just happens we got in three dozen yesterday. Lost any since then? No, I'm pretty careful. Then you ought to have 35, not counting the one the police took, right? Well, 35 and 18 we were down to before we reordered, that makes it 53. Look, I'm not one of those betting guys, but I've got nothing else to do. Here's a dollar bill says you haven't got 53 in stock right now. Fade me? Well, that's an easy way to double my money. Here, see this stick? I'll hit the glasses so they sing out and you can keep count with me, okay? Right. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 54. 54. Well, I'll be darned. I must have figured wrong. No, no, you didn't. Neither did I. Well, don't you see? You have one extra shot glass. Find out where it came from and you've got the guy who killed Mike. Hey, buddy, listen, was a whiskey jigger like this taken from your bar within the last few nights? No, take a thing like that. Don't bother me. Okay, thanks anyway. Did anyone take a shot glass like this from your bar? Are you kidding, mister? Okay, thanks. No jigger taken? Thanks. Nope? Thanks. Listen, was a jigger like this taken from your bar the last couple of nights? Nah. Okay, thanks. Hey, wait, mister. What was that you asked me? I said was one of these shot glasses wiped from your bar within the last couple of nights. Yeah. Well, how did you know that? Who told you? You got any idea who took it? Yeah, a fellow named Hastings. He comes in here a lot. Hastings? Hastings? Did you see him take it? Well, no, but it was the one he was drinking from, so he must have. When I went over to clean up, there was no glass there. I couldn't figure it. Just beginning to see the light myself. Quite a fit of light. I think I'll try and get a few more gleams from Hastings himself. You'd think this was old home week in the detention cells. Hastings is being held for murder and you walk into whole lands or something. I'd just swing it. Oh, the power of the press, officer. This a cell? Hastings, the pencil had to be here once the fanier was here. Five minutes, speed it up. Hastings, I had a hard time getting in here. I didn't. Listen, I've got to talk fast. Answer me straight, will you? That's the only way I can help. What do you want to know? Who'd you shake hands with last night? What are you, a little punchy or something? Listen, I mean it. Who'd you shake hands with in a bar the night before you were arrested for the killing? I don't... I didn't meet anyone I knew. I was by myself the whole time. You were in a place called Sullivan's on Union Avenue. Sullivan's? Wait a minute. I didn't shake hands with anyone, but somebody did grab my map and pump it. I remember that now. There was one of those drunks next to me. Looked like a mechanic wearing overalls. First, he apologized for slapping over against me, then he said, no hard feelings, and reached down and pumped my hand about 16 times. That what you wanted? That's exactly what I wanted. Did you notice your hands when you got home last night? Was there anything on them? What are you, a mind reader? There was grease on them. Axle grease or something. Hastings, I'm on the right track. Was he anyone you ever saw before? No, I never saw him before in my life. He was just some stray bar fly. He wasn't a stray, he was no bar fly. But never mind about that now. Hastings, who hates you pretty much? The whole world the way it looks tonight. Look, I'm trying to help. Who hates you enough to frame you for a murder? Sometimes you don't know it when they do. Oh, you usually have a pretty fair idea. Well, there's Harlem, maybe Tom Strickland, Al Vogel, ever since that mix up in Jersey City, Joe Edge. Edge, Joe Edge. What's he got against you? He's a liquor distributor now, but he used to operate a speakeasy during Prohibition. I worked for him. One night we were raided and federally tried. A lot of inside dope turned up during the trial as though someone had ratted. He always thought it was me. I got off pretty light and he got a stiff turn. Prohibition ended in 1933, you mean he'd wait 12 years to get even? He's always had it in for me. I wouldn't be surprised. I wouldn't be surprised either, Hastings. I wouldn't be at all surprised. Hello? Hello. Is this the Joseph Edge who's in the liquor distributing business? Yeah, what can I do for you? Nothing. I figured maybe there was something I could do for you. I'm in a phone booth at Mike's Tavern. That's where you were this morning at about 9, 9 15, weren't you? Mike's Tavern? Where's that? That's where they shot Mike. I'm afraid I don't get to. I'll explain. I was the first customer at Mike's Tavern this morning. I went in a minute or two after the place was opened up. I went into the washroom. I was in there when you came in. You didn't think to look in there. I'll tell that to the cops. The only drawback is they don't pay. Oh, I see. Is that it? I've been saving this for a rainy day and it's pouring cats and dogs right now. Well, I hate to disappoint you, but it's real dry and sunny at this end. You don't believe I was there, do you? I'll draw you a picture. There was another guy with you. You stood up against the bar on the right hand side, he stood on the left. After the shooting, one glass was wiped clean and the other... Now, is it clouding up a little that you're in? Look, your proposition interests me. About how large an umbrella would it take to keep you dry? Oh, about a $500 one. That's a pretty large umbrella. This is a pretty heavy rainstorm. All right. Look, there's no harm in getting together and talking this over. Meet me tomorrow morning at nine o'clock in front of a barbershop called the Empire. You can't miss it. It's on Central Avenue. Got it? Got it. Okay. See you then. Goodbye. Goodbye. Nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Who are you kidding, brother? Phil, what time do you close up here? Well, the boss usually kept it open until about four, but I thought I'd close up in about ten minutes. Want a nightcap before I cork up for the night? Give me a short one. Here. No change. Gee, thanks. Hey. Don't look at it. Just take it over to the register with you. Good night. Good night. Well, I'll be doggone. He said keep the change, and it's nothing but a piece of paper all scribbled up with some writing on it. Keep the change. Buddy, could we trouble you for a light? Say something, buddy. Well, what do you want me to say? Just that. That'll do very nicely, thanks to Timbo, as I know him by his voice. Here's your matches back, buddy. That's not matches. That's a gun you've got there. Right you are. It says get in and make yourself comfortable. Oh, wait a minute. Shut up. Get in here. Okay, step on it. Where are we? In a warehouse where they store liquor. Ever been in a warehouse where they store liquor? It's very instructive. You'll frighten the guy, Bush. No, this guy doesn't frighten so quick. You don't have to be afraid, buddy. There's a nice umbrella in this for you. All we've got to do first is find out if you're a phony or on the up. I see. How are we going to do that? Well, there's four of us here. You say you saw two guys come into Mike's tavern and shoot him yesterday. All right. Pick out the two you say you saw. Give me a minute's time. I want to be sure of what I'm doing. Yeah, you want to be plenty sure. Well, there's you. Number one, granite face there. And number two, eyes a little shifty. Come on, either you know or you don't. I don't know. I want to figure out what it's best for me to say, especially with that very efficient looking gun pointing at my stomach. So you know who it was. I suppose you know why it was, too. I do. It was a case of two birds with one stone or with one whiskey jigger. A guy had a longstanding grudge against Hastings and a hotter one against Mike Oliver for refusing to be hijacked by his liquor distributing ring. So he figured one murder should be enough to take care of both men. Right? Go on, we're listening. Oh, it's quite simple. Joe Edge had one of his men with grease on his hand put on a Southside and follow Hastings into a bar. He shook hands with him. Hastings printed his own tips all over the glass he was using without even knowing it. Then the would-be South swiped it and brought it to Edge. Edge took it to Mike's with him. Shot Mike. Switched glasses, left it behind there to frame Hastings. Shall I go on? Sure, go on. There's not much more except that the two guys I saw come into Mike's tavern and shoot Mike Oliver were you, Joe Edge. In front of me with a gun. You over there, the fourth guy with the shifty eyes. That was the wrong answer. You two were the ones that were there, so what's wrong about it? Sure. We were there. That's why it's the wrong answer. If you'd picked the wrong two you probably would have walked out of here alive. But you picked the right two. So you'll have to take your 500 in capsule form now. Boss, hey! Hey, Michael, where'd that shot come from? Right here. The rest of you keep watch the place is covered. You all right, Burgess? Yeah, I guess I am, Inspector Lyons. Well, you sure got here just in time. That looked pretty close. We tagged the car and followed it. You gambled heavily on that bartender, son. I know, I was afraid to talk to him. For all I know, someone in the gang was watching or listening. I scribbled a message for him to call you. He did better than that. He saw you get in the car and phoned the license in. But look, how did you ever figure out that whiskey jigger was a plant? Well, Edge got careless. He didn't think it mattered what he ordered at the bar from Mike. He was taking his glass out, no one would see it. So he ordered beer and the character with him acting on the suggestion ordered beer too. But Mike Oliver was a peculiar cuss. He insisted on being paid when the drinks were ordered and he rang up the money before they shot him. When they found Mike's body, the cash register said 20 cents. What does that prove? Inspector, you can't break 20 cents down into a whiskey and a beer any day of the week. And there was a whiskey and a beer glass side by side on the bar. Yes, but... Well, even if the beer glass was just a chaser for the whiskey, the price for the cheapest whiskey Mike carried was 25 cents. 20 cents will buy two beers. For the sake of simple arithmetic, the whiskey glass had to be planted. Well, I'll be. Son, if you ever want a job on the police force, just... No, thanks, sir. I'm plenty satisfied with the job I have now. Wait a minute. What's wrong? I just remembered. I haven't got a job. I was fired. Excuse me, I have to call my boss. Hey, wait! That was the story called Leg Man, written by William Irish, an old friend to you mystery Playhouse fans. There's a moral to the story, too. The moral of the story is don't ever pay for your drinks until after you've drunk them. Well, getting early again. It's almost not night anymore. This is T4Y closing the doors of the mystery Playhouse and saying good night. Sleep tight. This is the Armed Forces radio service. Good night. Good night.
