Oh, Bill! Look out, Bill. I'm all right. Get back. You two get back. Do you hear me? Get back! Mr. and Mrs. North, starring Richard Denning and Barbara Britton. Listen as Pam and Jerry solve the mystery of Collector's Item. It's almost midnight on New York's 57th Street. The street is dark except for the one light burning in the rear of the Jonas Art Gallery. The street is silent, deserted, except for the clicking of a woman's heels. Now we hear her pounding on the door of the Jonas Gallery. Philip! Philip, open up! Philip, let me in! Do you hear? Philip, I... Well, nice of you to bother. Come in, dear, come in. Come in. You wake up the dead. I suppose you have no idea what time it is. I suppose you forgot all about phoning me. I suppose you were so busy, the mere idea of phoning your wife... All right, now, I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I got your wife. All right, Margaret, I did forget. Just too much trouble for you, always too much trouble for you. All right, Margaret, all right. What were you doing, painting again? Yes. You want to see it? No. And of course you can't possibly take two minutes away from painting a picture to phone me and tell me you'll be late. Margaret, I get so little time to do any painting. Oh, Philip. We've been over this a thousand times. You're an art dealer now, not an artist. I could have been an artist. For the life of me, Philip, I don't know why you insist on trying to paint. You're making a fine living as a dealer. All right, Margaret, forget it, please. You're doing well. Just look at that Rosa painting. What about that Rosa painting? A $40,000 sale. Who was it that bought it? Thea Dennison. Oh, of course, the authoress. $40,000. You meet fascinating people, you make good money. What difference does it make whether you sell pictures or paint them? Art is art, isn't it? Yes, Margaret, art is art. Let's go home. Really, darlings, I'm utterly devastated by all this. Utterly devastated, Jerry. Jerry, sweet. What have I done to deserve a party like this? Well, when Thea Dennison writes a new book, the publishers like to celebrate. So we're celebrating. Nevertheless, I simply can't make myself believe I deserve so much fuss and bother. And frankly, Thea, neither can I. Oh, yes, Sidney dear, how are you? Fine, thank you, Thea. Good evening, Jerry, fam. Hello, Sidney. Evening, Sid. Delightful party, Jerry, my compliment. And from our town's most caustic critic, that is a compliment. Oh, then you read my review of your book. Oh, let's not get into a literary discussion. Not at all. Let's discuss Thea's book. Mr. DeWitt, Mr. Sidney DeWitt, I am fed to the teeth with your snide remarks in prints and in conversation. Tell me, Thea, have you bought any new paintings recently? Yes, yes, Jerry, I have. Sidney, in regard to your review of my novel. Do you collect paintings, Thea? Yes, of course I do. Sidney, I'm fascinated by the great masters. What artist do you have, Thea? Well, just last week, I picked up a glorious oil by Salvador Rosa. Rosa, huh? Italian 17th century gloomy landscape. Well, are you interested in art too, Sidney? I was art critic of my paper for seven years. And I suppose you don't approve of Rosa. Oh, on the contrary, love. Rosa's work impresses me greatly. Which one did you buy? Something from his early period. It's called Death of a Leader, an absolute deal at $40,000. $40,000 for Death of a Leader? The title is intriguing. I'd like to see it. A good idea. Let's go right now. Oh, you can't leave now, Thea. Don't be absurd, Jerry. As guest of honor, I can do anything. Pam, Jerry, get your coats. Go on, go on. We'll go to my place, have a drink, look at the painting. Wouldn't be another time would be better. Right. Now. The Denison impulses are at work. Dear Thea's right. I think we should go right now. I don't recall inviting you, Sidney. Your poor taste again, love. But I'll tolerate a visit to your home for a look at a Rosa painting, if it is a Rosa painting. What do you mean, if it is a Rosa painting? What do you think I paid $40,000 for? A tattoo? Tattoo might have been a better investment. I thought you were a Rosa fan, Sidney. As I recall, the original Rosa painting, titled Death of a Leader, was destroyed by bombs in World War II. You're out of your mind. I wrote the check for it just last week. I'll show you the painting on my wall. And if I'm not out of my mind, dear heart, you are probably out $40,000. Well, children, what do you think of it? It's magnificent, Thea. Ah, the man was a master, all right. Mm-hmm. And you, Sidney, anything profound to say? I agree. The man is a master, all right. And so was Rosa. What are you talking about? The original Rosa painting was destroyed during the bombing of Italy. Here, look at this. What are you doing? Stop scratching that. A painting 300 years old would flake much more readily under a fingernail. Thea, my love, not only are you a mediocre writer, but as an art collector, you're a fool, and as a businesswoman, you're a sucker. Of all the unctuous, supercilious, vapid and, and, oh, one moment. Just, just, just one moment. Jerry, let's get out of here. We'll see. Good idea. The party's getting rough. We'll see who the fool really is. If you're phoning Salvatore Rosa, he's been dead for three centuries. I'm calling my art dealer, a man I trust, respect and admire. If Philip Jonas tells me that... Hello? Hello, Philip? Philip, this is Thea Denison. Never mind all that. I know it's late, and I'm not sorry. I want you to come over here immediately. Immediately. Do you hear? I have a pompous toad of a man named Sidney DeWitt with me who claims that I am a fool, and, and, and you are a thief. Looks like you have an argument on your hands, Sidney. I want you over here immediately. Thea, would you excuse us? It's getting awfully late and... Oh, stay. By all means, stay. Things may get bloody in a little while. Another time. We'll call in for the final verdict. As you wish. Oh, I'm sorry the evening came to this. You've both been darlings, really. I'll phone you in the morning. I'll get it, Pam. Hello? Morning, Jerry. Bill Wagon. Oh, hi, Bill. How are you? Busy. I hope you and Pam haven't any plans for the day. I'm sending a squad car up for you. Well, that's, uh, that's very nice, Bill, but we don't need a squad car, do we? You were at Thea Denison's last night, weren't you? Yes. With Sidney DeWitt? Well, yes, but what... Well, DeWitt was fine. Well, he was. He was fine. Well, he was. He was fine. Well, he was. He was fine. Well, he was. He was. He was fine. Oh, well, do you think I'll change my mind? You will. I'll get it done tonight, wouldn't you? Yes. With Sidney DeWitt? Well, yes, but what... Well, DeWitt was found in the elevator of the building early this morning... dead. Dead. Beaten over the head. Murdered. And after she phoned her art dealer, Bill, we decided it was time to go. Sidney stayed, and we left. Oh, now wait a minute. Wait a minute. Somebody really. A Salvatore Rose, the 17th century. That's funny. I questioned Miss Dennison for an hour. She didn't even mention the painting. Didn't mention it? Oh, Bill, she must have. Excuse me a minute. Miss Dennison. This entire thing is becoming a frightful bore. You'd think nobody was ever murdered before. Will you come into my office, Miss Dennison, please? I prefer to speak out here in front of witnesses. You'll have an audience in the office, too. After you. If my idiotic attorney hadn't indulged so freely at that cocktail party, I'd have some legal protection to... Jerry. Pam. How are you? Morning, Theo. Hi, Thea. Sorry about this. Sit down, Miss Dennison, please. I imagine this chair is wired. Just throw the switch, Lieutenant. I'm ready. Miss Dennison, Pam and Jerry have given me an account of the evening in your apartment, up to the time they left. Will you describe the events from that moment? Events? There were no events. Sidney stayed on for a few moments, only because he had a fresh drink, and he's not the type to leave a full glass behind him. He finished his drink and left. I went to sleep. Well, Thea, didn't your art dealer come at all? What art dealer? The way I understand it, Miss Dennison, you and Mr. DeWitt had a difference of opinion over some painting you had bought. Painting? Thea, that painting by Salvatore Rosa. The one that the last painting I bought was a pinup on a 1944 calendar. I scribbled a mustache on it and sent it to the USO. Oh, now, Thea, stop trying to be witty. If it weren't for that picture, Sidney Duett would still be alive. It's more of the pity. Are you trying to incriminate me, Jerry? No one is trying to incriminate anyone, Miss Dennison. We'd just like to find out the course of events that took... Lieutenant, I'd love to be able to claim full credit for Sidney DeWitt's murder. Unfortunately, I slept through it. Thea, what in the world is wrong with you? You invited us there to see that painting. You called your art dealer to prove to Sidney that the painting was worth $40,000. Thea, what's the matter with you? All right, Pam, easy. But Jerry, that's why Sidney stayed on to argue with the dealer. Thea insisted. Take it easy, Pam. Oh, but, oh... Lieutenant. As melodrama, this is turning into a frightful bore. May I go now? Sure, let's all go. I'd like to see that painting. Good idea. What painting, Lieutenant? The one that is or isn't in your apartment. I doubt if any of my paintings are worth battling over. The Grant Wood is good, but that Picasso reproduction is... That's where it was. But where the Picasso is now. Pam, darling, you're becoming somewhat disgusting. It was there, Bill. Describe that painting for me, will you, Jerry? Sure, it was large, about half again the size of that Picasso. It was called Death of a Leader, painted by Salvatore Rosa. A moody kind of a thing. Showed a riderless horse nuzzling the body of a fallen bandit. Big hawking mountains and storm clouds all around. It's so nice to know my friends insist upon calling me a liar in front of the police. You're welcome to search the place, Lieutenant. Oh, no, no, it's all right. I'm sorry about this, Miss Denison. But Bill, we... Skip it. You need us anymore, Bill? Oh, no, no, no, not now. But stay in town, though. I may need another version of your story. Hello? This is Thea Denison. Oh, good morning, Miss Denison. What's good about it? I've been hauled down to police headquarters. I've been hauled home. I've been questioned, badgered, and insulted to say nothing of being swindled out of $40,000. I want to see you, Mr. Jones. Miss Denison. Immediately. And you'd better have my $40,000 clenched in your hot little hand. You said nothing to the police about the painting. No, because I'm more interested in getting my money back than in seeing you rot in jail. But if I don't get it back right away, I'll see to it that you... I'll have to call you back, Miss Denison. In here, Margaret. I came downtown to do some shopping, Philip, and I... Philip, is something the matter? You look as if... I'm all right, just... just tired. Well, is it any wonder when you stay up all night painting? Philip, when are you going to get over this ridiculous idea? Shut up! Well... Well, I must say... I'm... Sorry, Margaret. Margaret, listen. Something is the matter. The painting. The one I sold to Thea Denison, the one I thought was a... Salvatore Rosa. Thought was? It's turned out to be a forgery, a fake. A fake? How do you know? Never mind. But you just... Listen to me, Margaret. Miss Denison is demanding that I return the money she paid for it. Well, I should think she would. Forty thousand dollars, Margaret. Do we have it? Yes, we have that money. Well, then just give it to her. But if we give it to her, it's going to mean going on here, running the gallery for the rest of my life. Oh. Did you have other plans? Yes. Margaret, let's go away. Go away? Close the gallery. Sell it. Give it away. Lock the door and leave if we have to, but... Are you out of your mind? Margaret, if I'm ever going to really paint, if I'm ever going to do anything of my own, I have to do it now. This is my chance, my last chance, Margaret. Margaret, will you... Will you come away with me? No. I've never heard anything so preposterous. A man your age wanting... Margaret, can't you understand? Understand what? That you want to steal forty thousand dollars, throw our lives away and rush off somewhere to indulge your stupid childless obsession to be a painter? All right, Margaret. Don't get it. Good afternoon. May I help you? Yes. We're looking for Mr. Jonas, Mr. Philip Jonas. Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Mr. Jonas has been out of town for a week now. Out of town? But I'm Mrs. Jonas. Is there anything I can do? Funny, he should be out of town. One of your customers, Thea Denison, mentioned that she talked to him last night. That's strange. He's been in Boston on business. I'm sure you misunderstood, Miss Denison. Is there anything special? We're rather interested in Italian art, 17th century. We understand you have some paintings of that period. No, none that I know of. Mind if we look around the gallery? Well, we're closing very soon. We won't be long. Oh, well, there's nothing over there that you care about. We're just browsing. These paintings aren't for sale. They should have been put away. That's why they're stacked. Well, we're just looking. I'm sorry. They're not for sale. If you'll excuse me, I'll take these. Jerry, the canvas on the bottom. I saw it, ma'am. Mrs. Jonas, that bottom canvas, the unframed one you're holding, that's a rosa, isn't it? I wouldn't know. My husband always says. Sure it is. It's death of a leader. I'd know it anywhere. Who bought this one, Mrs. Jonas? Maybe we can outbid him. No, no, not this one. It's not for sale. My husband has promised it to the City Museum, and you know how museums are. Well, if the museum changes its mind, we'd be interested. Yes, yes, all right. Thank you. Do come in again. Not so fast, Jerry. You want to lose me in this museum? Dr. Berger's a busy man, darling. We're late for our appointment. A curator of a museum should know the value of infinity. Time shouldn't matter to him. Hey, have a heart. Steady, girl. Now, that's his office over there. Well, thank goodness for that. Come in. Oh, Mr. North, come in, come in. Oh, thank you, doctor. Sorry we're late. Had a little taxi trouble. Don't worry about it. When you deal with the immortality, as I do, you begin to realize that our moments on earth are mere ticks in eternity. There, you see, darling? Yes, dear. Doctor, have you met my wife? Chant, indeed. How do you do, doctor? Jerry has spoken of you very often. Ever since you wrote the preface to that art book we published. Oh, of course, of course. Sit down, please. Now, what can I do for you? Another preface, perhaps? No, not this time, doctor. We'd like some information. Can you tell us anything about Salvatore Rosa? Rosa? Did he ever do a painting called Death of a Leader? Death of a leader? Death of a? Oh, too bad. A momentous piece of work, completely destroyed. Are you sure it was destroyed, doctor? Afraid so. Members of our own staff here tried to patch the pieces to get a hopeless job. Why do you ask? What would you say if we told you that painting is right here in New York, at the Jonas Gallery? Here? Death of a leader? We saw it, doctor, just a few hours ago. That's why Jerry called you. Well, I can't quite believe that. I'm afraid I'd be forced to call the painting you saw a fake forgery. Would anyone pay $40,000 for a forged painting? It's been done. Art forgeries have fooled experts, Mr. North. Frequently, they've fooled the very artists who painted the originals. Unlikely, there's been much of this form of forgery in this part of the world. Would you like to see the one at the Jonas Gallery? Indeed I would. If what you say is true, it's an absolute counterfeit. Well, then let's get... No, wait. Maybe we'd better call Bill Wigand. Would you mind if we brought a police officer with us, doctor? My dear Mr. North, I heartily recommend it. ["The Last Post," by John Williams, playing on piano and violin.] Philip, stop this foolish ranting and raving. You're acting like a child. I told them you were out of town. I lied for you. What more do you want? I wanted that painting destroyed. Now they've seen it, Margaret. I didn't want anyone to see it. Well, if you didn't run and hide when they came in, you could have taken care of them. That's not the point. What more do you want of me? They didn't buy the painting. I told them it wasn't for sale. I told them a pack of lies to protect you. And still you act like I've thrown you to the wolves. You don't understand. You never understand. You never understand anything about me, do you? Philip, you're upsetting yourself. Of course I'm upsetting myself. I didn't want anyone to see that painting. Will you please stop shouting? You want to be heard in the showroom? Suppose a customer comes in. I wish you'd try to understand if you'd only try. What are you so worried about? You've taken a forged painting off the market. Why feel guilty about it? It's not your fault that a counterfeit painting was... Yes. Yes, Margaret. It is my fault. What did you say? Where do you think these fakes come from? Who paints these counterfeit masterpieces? Someone must imitate the masters, Margaret. Well, yes, I know, but... Someone must do it. Someone capable of immortality must paint his heart out, imitating the immortals instead of being one. Who, Margaret? Who could be doing that? Tell me. Philippa, I don't... I'm doing it. You're a respectable, successful art-dealing husband. You? You keep telling me I do so well as a dealer, but tell me, what paintings do I sell? What paintings have made me so successful? Philippa, I can't believe... My paintings have done it, Margaret, mine! My paintings sold for fabulous prices, sold under the names of great artists, bearing their names, their techniques, but nevertheless, my paintings. You didn't think I could paint. You did everything possible to keep me from painting, but look, all this, all we own, all our successful respectability comes from my paintings. But to deliberately counterfeit them, to forge... No one has known, Margaret. It's been my personal secret, my private joke against you, against the whole art world, against myself. But you can't continue doing this. No? Of course not. I won't permit it. It's illegal. I won't have a husband of mine doing it. Listen to me, Margaret. I gave up my identity just to please you. The names belong to others, the techniques belong to others, but the painting is mine. It's my life. Do you understand that? Philippa, we should have a long talk. No, you don't understand that. You'll never understand. I understand one thing, all right. I won't let you go on breaking the law. It's my life, Margaret. It's all I've been able to salvage from you. A man will kill to protect his own life. Now that is the most stupid remark I've ever... Is it? I mean it. I've done it once, but my life was threatened. I'll do it again. Philippa. Last night, I killed a man, a man named Sidney DeWitt. I didn't know him. I'd never seen him before. But I had to kill him because he was going to destroy my life. Just the way you are, Margaret. Stay away from me, Philippa. Now I'm going to kill you, too. No. Come back here. Let me go. It's your life or mine, Margaret. Stop. You're choking me. That's the way it's been for 20 years, your life or mine. Please. Now we have to decide, Margaret. Once and for all. And once and for all. Well, the place seems deserted. There must be somebody around, Bill. Hello? Anybody here? Oh, here's someone. Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen. Madam. You're Jonas, aren't you? Oh, yes. I thought you were in Boston. Well, I... Your wife said you were in Boston just a few hours ago. Oh, oh. Yes, well, I just got in rather unexpectedly. Mr. Jonas, this is Dr. Berger of the City Museum. How do you do, sir? And this is Lieutenant Wagon of Homicide. Homicide? What... what's this all about? We're interested in a painting, Mr. Jonas. A painting called Death of a Leader, which you might have sold to a Miss Thea Dennison. I? Well, Miss Dennison is a customer here, but I haven't sold any such painting. Evidently not. Your wife showed it to us when we were here earlier. Well, I think you must be mistaken. Now, look, we can't be that mistaken that often. We saw the painting here a few hours ago. We saw it hanging on Thea Dennison's wall last night. And we know that... I'm terribly sorry, but that painting has... Would you mind if I looked around, Mr. Jonas? Look around? You mean search the gallery? If you don't mind. Well, I certainly do mind. You're a police officer. I'm a private citizen. I'm entitled to my rights after all. Mr. Jonas, I have a search warrant. Now, if you'll... No! Stay out of there! You can't go back there! Let go of me, Jonas. Stop it, Jonas! Jonas! Jerry, Dr. Berger, hang on to it. Come here, Jonas! All right, now stop it! You can't go back there! What the devil are you trying to... Holy... Good Lord! Oh, Jerry! It's... It's my wife. And you killed her? Yes. Yes, I killed her. I took her life because she'd taken mine. What? She wouldn't let me paint neither canvases of my own nor the forgeries I resorted to to give her the money and respectability she wanted. She took my life as surely as if she'd run a knife through my heart. Now, if I may get something out of the drawer... Just a minute, Mr. Jonas. Oh, Bill! Look out, Bill! He's got a gun! Jonas, stand back, Lieutenant, and the rest of you! Don't you move either, or no one will get hurt. Now, excuse me! Jonas! Jonas, stop! Stop right there! Look out, Bill! Get back, get back, all of you. Jonas, put down that gun or I'll... Oh, you'll what, Lieutenant? You're not leaving me any choice, Jonas. Ah! You'll hit him. Come on. Just be careful. Well, he's dead. Yeah. What a crazy fool, the way he was standing right out here in the middle of the gallery. He should have known he didn't have a chance. I think he did. I think this is the way he wanted it. In here, you have 15 minutes. Hello, Thea. Oh, are you here? Well, my erstwhile publisher and frow. Pull up a bail bond and sit down. I'm sorry about all this, Thea. If there's anything we can do... Don't be a fool, Jerry. It's done. They're holding me as an accessory before the fact, or after the fact, or during the fact, or whatever. Why didn't you speak up when you had the chance, Thea, instead of protecting that... that killer? The one time in my life that I kept quiet when I should have talked. I end up in jail. Um, tell me, Jerry, how's my book selling? Oh, terrific. The sales began to zoom the day you were arrested. Well, bless my little criminal heart. Damn sweet. On your way out, be a doll, and tell the jailer to throw away the key. It's good for business. This is the United States Armed Forces Radio Service.
