Jeff Regan Presented by the Great Detectives of Old Time Radio
Jun 5, 2026 · 37 min · 23 segments
Release Date: July 6, 2010 Regan is hired to spend the weekend with a man who claims to need an alibi. He quickly finds himself mixed up in a counterfeiting ring and a string of homicides. Original…
My
name is Regan.
I get 10 a day in expenses from a detective bureau run by a guy named...
Anthony J. Lyon.
They call me the Lion's Eye.
With Jack Webb as Jeff Regan, the Lion's Eye, stand by for hard-boiled action and mystery and thrilling adventure in tonight's story of the man who fought back.
There's a street crammed in between Wilton and Van Ness in Hollywood.
It's called Taft Avenue.
It's a couple of blocks long.
It only got there because the city planners had a few tons of cement left over from the Coliseum.
On the corner, there's a gray building poking its way up through a crack in the pavement.
That's where I live.
Apartment K.
Two rooms with a connecting door to a broom closet.
Oh, the place isn't much.
A couple of chairs, a bed that comes out of the wall, and a mattress that could pass itself off as a relief map of the high Sierras.
Well, that's where I was the other night around 11, trying to catch some sleep.
That's when my phone began making an impression.
It turned out to be the lion.
Hey,
Reagan, I'm glad I found you home.
Are you alone?
What's the matter? Did you lose your voice?
Just a precaution.
I got a hold of a good thing, and I don't want to lose it by indiscreet talk.
My
name is Regan.
I get 10 a day in expenses from a detective bureau run by a guy named...
Anthony J. Lyon.
They call me the Lion's Eye.
With Jack Webb as Jeff Regan, the Lion's Eye, stand by for hard-boiled action and mystery and thrilling adventure in tonight's story of the man who fought back.
There's a street crammed in between Wilton and Van Ness in Hollywood.
It's called Taft Avenue.
It's a couple of blocks long.
It only got there because the city planners had a few tons of cement left over from the Coliseum.
On the corner, there's a gray building poking its way up through a crack in the pavement.
That's where I live.
Apartment K.
Two rooms with a connecting door to a broom closet.
Oh, the place isn't much.
A couple of chairs, a bed that comes out of the wall, and a mattress that could pass itself off as a relief map of the high Sierras.
Well, that's where I was the other night around 11, trying to catch some sleep.
That's when my phone began making an impression.
It turned out to be the lion.
Hey,
Reagan, I'm glad I found you home.
Are you alone?
What's the matter? Did you lose your voice?
Just a precaution.
I got a hold of a good thing, and I don't want to lose it by indiscreet talk.
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