The F.W. Fitch Company presents Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. Why ask a why, let it fall to your style, you pitch shampoo. Rogue's is where you can head and save your hair, you pitch shampoo. The F.W. Fitch Company, makers of Fitch's Saponified Coconut Oil Shampoo and Fitcher Shaving Creams, presents Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. Hello, Rogue speaking. Call me a silly, impressionable boy if you want to. But when I first laid eyes on Patricia Flynn at that party, I was over the side like a Jacob's ladder. Her hair was as black as a lover's despair, her eyes were the blue of the wash sky around a rainbow, and she was the feminine architecture of what the atom bomb is to science. Now there's never been anything like it. I, I like her, and she liked me. In fact, she seemed to be spending most of the evening trying to be alone with me. But another lovely, blessed outmaneuvered her. The next day I went to my office a little late. I was just sitting there at my desk trying to make my checkbook agree with the bank's theories when the door opened. And who walked in was Patricia. I restrained the foolish impulse to grab her and shout, I love you, by looking bored and saying hello. Hello, Mr. Rogue. I guess I should have called for an appointment. Oh, now, now, look, first off, you must call me Richard, because I'm going to call you Pat. I'm so glad you came in to see me, Pat. Let's go down to the haunt room and talk things over, shall we? After a while, if you want to, it sounds charming, but I want to talk to you here alone first. Oh? Oh, well, okay. What shall we talk about? Mr. Rogue, Richard. Thank you. I know this sounds dramatic, but there have been two attempts made on my life in the past three weeks. Hmm. Well, why would anybody want to haunt you? I don't know. I really don't. There's no reason that I can think of. Well, aren't you a poor kid. Where do these attempts on your life take place? At our summer place, up on Lake De Country. Oh, and there's nobody up there with any motive for wanting you out of the way? Nobody. I don't know whether you've ever been to Lake De Country or not. It's a small resort, just a few families have carried you there. Pat, maybe you'd better start from the beginning. You know, I don't really know much about you. Give me the whole story, will you? All right. You already know my name. It's Pat Flynn. My father was Michael Flynn, the attorney. Yes, I knew of him, of course. Mother was much younger than Dad. About a year after he died, she married Herbert Lewis, the British artist. He was a widower. He had a daughter, Diane. That's my age. She was a lovely girl, very British, English, finishing school, had a wonderful musical education, with the best of friends. She got married about three months ago to John Anderson, a boy I'd known since he was about ten. They're very happy, and we're all up at the lake together. All staying in the same cottage? Yes. Well, it isn't exactly a cottage. We all call it that, but it's really rather a large house. Okay. Now, tell me about the attempts on your life. How'd they happen? Well, about three weeks ago, I got up earlier than the rest of the family, I often do. Went down to the lake for a dip, and a pretty good swim, and I headed right out to the island in the middle of the lake. I heard a bullet whistle past my head. I dove underwater and swam back to the shore as long as I could hold my breath. Then I came up. I heard another bullet hit the water, not a foot from me. I was frightened to death. I stayed underwater as much as I could until I saw Mother and John coming down for their morning dip, and I swam in and joined them. Did you tell them about him? No. I was afraid they'd laugh at me. Mm-hmm. There was another attempt, later? Yes. I always have a glass of milk in my room at night. And one night, for no reason at all, I gave it to my cat, Cynthia. And Cynthia died. She had convulsions and died. The veterinarian said she'd been poisoned. Somebody tried to poison me. Look, baby, I think it's about time you're telling somebody about this. There's no future in being murdered, you know. That poisoned milk makes it look like an inside job, doesn't it? I don't see how it could be anyone in the house, Mr. Rogue. There's only the family and... No servants? Only Mary, the cook, and... Oh, well, she's like a mother. She wouldn't want to hurt me. Oh, Richard, I'm scared. I'm supposed to go back up to the lake tomorrow. I know that the next time, they're going to succeed in killing me. What do you want me to do? I want you to come up with me as a house guest. No one will know you're an investigator. And Mr. Rogue... Yes, Pam? You can protect me. We'll continue our story in just a moment. 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Now back to Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. I couldn't understand why anybody would want to deprive this ugly old world of Patricia Flynn's beauty. But she was convinced that somebody was trying to promote her to a better land than this, so I accepted her invitation to be a house guest at her family's 18-room cabin on Lake Ticumseh. I'd like to be Uncle Tom in a cabin like that. The living room was a little smaller than the Los Angeles Union Station, but it was much more comfortable. There was a fireplace at each end of it about the size of the entrance to the Hudson tube. And the room was done in rustic furniture with down cushions. Every place you looked at the walls, you either got an inquisitive look from a defunct moose or a cold stare from a mounted fish. Ah, if this was roughing it, I gave up my scouting too early. The first evening I sat around and talked with Pat's mother, who looked 30, and her stepsister Diane, who looked dandy, and John Anderson, who looked like John Anderson. John was Diane's husband. We're so happy that you could come up with Patricia, Mr. Rogue. She hasn't been enjoying herself this summer for some reason. She seems so depressed. Well, her looks should never be depressed. If I weren't Patricia's mother, I'd think she was in love. She has all the symptoms. Are you the cause of all this, Rogue? Well, I hope so, but I doubt it. It's an interesting thought. Where is Pat? She went out for a walk, down around the lake, I suppose. Oh, well, perhaps we're keeping you, Mr. Rogue. The moon's shining, you know. Very romantic out by the lake. Oh, I think if she had wanted me to go with her, she would have asked me. You don't know women, Mr. Rogue. They're very subtle. It's really a lovely night. Come on, Diane. Let's take a walk and show Mr. Rogue around the place a little bit, huh? No, you and Mr. Rogue go ahead, John. I'm going to stay in tonight. I've had the sniffles all day. I don't think I should be out in the night, Anne. You'd better slip a coat on over your sweater if you go out, Mr. Rogue. It gets pretty chilly up here at nights. Well, how about it, Rogue? Shall we take a look around? Oh, yes. Certainly I'd like to take a look around this place. You sure I'm not putting you out? Oh, not at all. I usually take a stroll before turning in. Come on. Okay. If you ladies will excuse us. Of course. I'll see you at breakfast, Mr. Rogue. I'll probably retire before you return. It's so nice having you here. Thank you. Good night. Good night. Well, you live very quietly here on the lake, Rogue. I'm afraid you might find it a little dull. Oh, I can use a little quiet. Have you known Pat Lohan? Hmm? Well, quite a while. She's a grand girl, isn't she? No, one of the best. Strange kid, though. I think she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. She has something on her mind lately, though. Doesn't seem to be quite her old carefree self. You've noticed it, too, huh? Well, she was very close to her father, you know. Hasn't been too sharp since his death. I'm kind of worried about her. You think that's what she's brooding about? Her father's death? I can't figure her lately. She's changed completely. Yeah, look at her down there by the side of the lake. All alone, as usual. Hmm. Suppose she would resent it if we joined her? Well, we can try and see. Hey, Pat, you're receiving callers this evening? I'm waiting for them. Come on over. Well, you look mighty beautiful sitting out there on the moon line. That remark has my enthusiastic approval. Aren't you cold out here with no wrap padding? No, it's nice out here. I like the breeze. Have a seat on the sand, Mr. Rogue. Wow, thanks. Ah, oh, brother, this is the life. Brings out the Davy Crockett in there. Tell me, does the place come equipped for the canoe? Canoe, speedboat, rowboat, take your choice. Personally, I prefer the speedboat. Mmm, leaves both hands free. Yo, you and your elephant's memory. John used to make mad love to me out there on that lake, Mr. Rogue. Before he was married, of course. Yeah, well, that was puppy love. Pat soon tired of me. What's the program for tomorrow, Pat? Want to go riding? Sure. Six o'clock then at the stables. Six o'clock in the morning? Will the horses be awake? Oh, they go to bed early. What are you looking for, Rogue? Oh, my cigarettes. I guess I left them in my coat. Can you spare one? I didn't bring any with me. Did you, Pat? You know I don't smoke. Well, I'm an awful slave. Looks like I'm going to have to go get them. I'll be back in a minute. Okay, we'll be here. I didn't know handsome John well enough to call him a liar. But I did know he had cigarettes in his pocket. It was hard for me to believe that a guy living in all that luxury would begrudge a house guest a cigarette for financial reasons. So I had to assume that he wanted to be alone with Pat. I felt as unnecessary as a laugh at a funeral as I walked back up to the house. The French doors into the living room were open, and I headed for them. I wasn't making any noise, walking in the sand. And I stopped in embarrassment when I heard the conversation which was in progress in the room between Diane and Patricia's mother. I tell you, I'm not going to put up with this much longer. The way Pat throws herself at John is sickening. John's old enough to take care of himself, I believe, Diane. She's doing everything she can to cause trouble between John and me. Everything. She hates me for marrying John. Yes, I believe she's still in love with John. She always has been. And if she hadn't been away at school when you met John and married him? Please, don't you dare say that again. Ever. It's the truth. If it hadn't been for you, John and Pat would be married as they always planned to be. If she doesn't leave John alone, something terrible is going to happen to her. I love John. He's mine. You hate me. Take me to marrying John. No, I don't hate you, Diane. But I'm her mother. I want my daughter to be happy again. And I'll do anything... Anything to bring her happiness back to her. You can't take John away from me. I'm going to have a talk with him now. We're leaving here in the morning. When Diane left that room, you could feel the hate radiating from her like heat from a depot stove. She walked directly toward the spot where I was standing and I ducked back into the shrubbery. I followed her as she headed for the couple on the beach. And I was only a few feet behind her when she stopped. Pat and John were knee-deep in a conversation that was a tone lower than the last note of a sleep in the deep. Diane, listen. So did I. We have to do something about this, John. We can't go on this way. If you don't tell her you want to divorce her... I don't want to divorce Pat. Now that's final. I'm not going to let the fact that you fancy yourself in love with me ruin my whole life. Make it over tonight, darling. Meet me on the island at six tomorrow morning. You'd better go in. All right. I'll meet you in the morning. Pat, would you... Go in, John. I love you. This group of lovely people was as full of potential drama as a little theater on opening night. I followed Diane back into the house, walked noisily in the front door, and said good night. I thought I heard somebody enter and leave my room while I was under the shower. But there was nothing much I could do about it. The room was empty when I re-entered it. And I helped myself to a drink of water from the thermos on the night table. The water tasted funny. As I hit the pillow, I knew what it was. I went out like a match in a bucket of water. And when I opened my eyes, I was on cloud eight. Ugoar was looking me over, and that little dame was there. He's opening his eyes, Ugoar. Hey, Cheepy, what happened? No bump on your head. Oh, never mind. What's that girl doing here? Tell him, Ugoar. Ask him now. If you're going to ask me for permission to get married, the answer is no. Yeah, but Cheepy, don't you think it's about time you and I settled down? Don't you get tired of getting hit on the head? Look, Ugoar, you've got all you can do to take care of your job as my alter ego, without taking on any more responsibilities. But Mr. Oak, I won't be any trouble. I can come in. Now look, Roggie, I ask you man to man. Man to man? Anything you ask me is spook to man, Ugoar. You're nothing but a figment of my imagination. What does that mean, Ugoar? Oh, he's a little off his trolley right now. Now look, Cheepy, this is no time to be making a decision which will affect the entire lives of three people. You're not clear in the head. Did it ever occur to you that if I was clear in my head, I wouldn't go? If I was clear in my head, I wouldn't be here on cloud eight talking to you and that, uh, Lily Puget and Lana Turner. This cloud eight is strictly noncoeducational. Now you throw her out of here. Push him over the side, Ugoar. Come on, I'll help you. Oh, no, no. No, I have to rest a while. Go away. Come on, Ugoar. Help me. He's mean. All right. Over you go, Cheepy. No, no. Cut it out. Oh, I'll strangle you with your own beard, Ugoar. Stop pushing. He's a bad man, Ugoar. Yes, he is. So long, rogie. He he he he he he he. When I woke up, the sun was high in the heavens. My head felt like a busy blacksmith's anvil, and my tongue was made of mink. I leaped out of bed like a startle fawn, and oh, oh, I sat back down fast. I dressed without lowering my head, and made a belated appearance at the breakfast table. Pat and her mother were having breakfast. John came in a few minutes after me. He didn't look well either. Good morning, John. Where's Diane? I don't know. We had a bit of a disagreement last night. She slept in a guest room, and I just looked in and she wasn't there. She probably went for a morning dip. Oh. Have you been in yet this morning, Pat? Not me. I slept. I couldn't wake up this morning. Whatever happened to our horseback ride, Pam? Oh, did you get up for it? Oh, me? Oh, no. I slept right straight through. As a matter of fact, I never slept so well in my life. Yeah, that goes for me too, and I feel terrible this morning. So do I. I feel dopey. How about a canoe ride after breakfast, Pam? It'll just both good. Maybe that's what I need. Do I look as stupid as I feel? I don't know what you mean. You look kind of sleepy. You look like I feel. Somebody doped me last night, Pam. They did? Are you sure? Honey, I know when I've been slipped a tricky-micky. Last night was one of those times. Who would have wanted me out of the way last night? I don't know. I'm sure somebody doped me last night too, Richard. It's almost as if some crazy person were hiding there. Maybe we should call the police. Look, chicken, that step-sister of yours is kind of boring for you. Diane? Now don't look so surprised. You know it. I happened to overhear a little conversation between Diane and your mother last night. Diane lips at your boyfriend, didn't she? Yes. You're asking for trouble, Pat, hiding back like that. I really... Hey. What's the matter? What's that over there? Hello. Oh, Richard. Don't look. Diane, isn't it? Yes. That's my white bathing suit. She's wearing my bathing suit. She's dead, Pat. Somebody shot her. Oh, no. Richard, whoever shot her thought they were shooting me. We'll return to our story in just a moment. First, a word to the ladies. You know how often your hair is caught in the spotlight of the summer sun. Be sure your hair meets the test. By shampooing regularly with Fitch's Saponified Coconut Oil Shampoo, you can be sure the sun will not reveal your hair as dry or harsh-looking. That's because Fitch's Saponified Shampoo is made from mild coconut and pure vegetable oils. It makes your hair ever so soft and manageable even right after you shampoo it. And ladies, here's a special feature you'll appreciate. Fitch's Saponified Coconut Oil Shampoo contains its own special patented rinsing agent. No special after rinse is required, but the rinsing agent works right with the plain rinse water to get your hair sparkling clean. Fitch's Saponified Shampoo brings out all the gleaming natural highlights of your hair and leaves it with a satiny texture that's beautiful to look at, easy to arrange. Remember always to ask for Fitch, F-I-T-C-H, Fitch's Saponified Coconut Oil Shampoo. Now back to Dick Powell as Private Investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. Well, Pat Flynn had proved her point. Her half-sister Diane was lying there on the beach, dead, shot while swimming in Lake Tecumseh, wearing Pat's white satin swimsuit. I stood over Diane's body while Pat ran screaming hysterically up to the house to get John. They were back in a few minutes and the three of us stood looking down at the dead girl. Oh, darling. Here, John, take it easy, old man. Let go of me, Rogue. Let go of me. I know how you feel, John. Oh, you know how I feel. Have you ever loved anybody so much you couldn't get your breath, then had to murder? You know how I feel. How could you know? John, John, please. Get away from me, Patty, are you here? This is all your fault. You hadn't been such a stupid little fool or she wouldn't be dead. Now take it easy, John. You don't know what you're saying. How could you blame me, John? Whoever killed her thought they were shooting me. I wish they had. You were the cause of all the trouble. You've hated her ever since we were married. You think she stole me from you. How could you think that? You were never anything to me. Now look, look, we'd better get up to the house. The police have to be called. This is murder, you know. You take care of that, will you, Rogue? Of course, huh? You'd better come with me, John. No. I'll stay here with Diane. But take Pat with you. Don't leave her out here with me. With us? I'll go, John. I wish you wouldn't hate me. John. Get back to the house. Come on, Pat. And when the police get here, Rogue, I have something to tell them. Bring them right out here to me. All right. All right, John. Oh, this is a horrible thing, Pat. Tell me, how did your mother react to the news of her stepdaughter's murder? She didn't say anything. She just said, oh, Richard, you don't think mother... I don't know. It looks like everybody in the house was dope last night, but your mother. Oh, it couldn't have been mother. She wouldn't want to hurt me. You're overlooking the fact that whoever shot Diane might have known just who was wearing that white bathing suit, aren't you? Oh, no. It couldn't have been mother. It was someone trying to kill me. That's just a theory. Go call the police. Tell them to come up here. I'm going to have a talk with your mother. As soon as Pat was out of the way, I ran up the stairs to my room. I took the stopper out of the thermos and sniffed the water in it. There had been chloral in that water. I knew the pungent smell of it. I visited Pat's bedroom and John's and sampled the odor of the water at their bedsides. It was a very interesting experiment. I headed for the bedroom occupied by Pat's mother and hesitated outside the door. There was the odor of burning cloth. I opened the door and walked in. She was on her knees in front of the fireplace trying to burn a scanty red swimsuit, a damp one. What do you mean coming into my bedroom, Mr. Rogue? Your stepdaughter Diane has been murdered and I'm investigating the circumstances. Give me that bathing suit. Give it here. No, I won't. I... I'm sorry. I'll have to take it then. You know, destroying evidence is bad business. Give it here. I killed her. I killed Diane, Mr. Rogue. You did? Why? She was ruining my daughter's life. I killed her this morning. Where does the bathing suit end into it? Why were you trying to destroy it? I didn't want the police to know that I'd been in the lake this morning. Oh, I see. Well... The police are... Mother, what are you doing with that swimsuit? Pat, I... Whose is it? It was Diane's. You might as well face it, Pat. Your mother killed Diane. She just confessed to me. She was burning that suit to keep the police from finding out that she'd been in swimming this morning. That's ridiculous. Look at that suit. Look at the size of it. Mother could no more get into that thing. No. No, she couldn't, could she? But you could, Pat. I did it. I killed her. Pat, don't say anything. The water on my nightstand was drug last night, Pat. Chloral. So was John's. But yours wasn't. And you shot Diane, didn't you? No. Pat, don't answer him. I shot her. I hated her. She was no good, Mother. I did it. I killed her. I saw her sneaking around listening to what John and I were saying last night. Spying on us. I gave her something to listen to. I made a date to meet John on the island at six o'clock this morning. I knew what she'd do. I knew. Oh, Pat. Pat, how could you do it? I'm glad I did it. If I can't have John, I'd just as soon be dead. I'm only sorry I wasn't a little more clever. Pat dear, we'll get the best attorney. No. Not for me. Oh, bless your heart. That was a wonderful you try you make for me. Mommy, I love you. The police arrived a few minutes later and Pat told them everything. Her diary was admitted as evidence at her trial. Every day since the marriage of John and Diane, Pat had planned Diane's death. The funny attempts on her life that she told me about were part of the buildup. There could be no doubt about the fact that Pat's mind had given away under the deadly poison of jealousy and hate. She was found not guilty by reason of insanity and was committed to an institution. All on account of jealousy. Oh well, jealousy is a very strange thing. You drive yourself daffy trying to prove something that you hope isn't true. Because if it is, you're going to drive yourself crazy trying to convince yourself that it wasn't important anyway. You know what I mean. This is Dick Powell again, ladies and gentlemen. Hope you enjoyed our story tonight. Ray Buffum wrote it, Leith Stevens composed and conducted the music, and Dee Engelbach produced and directed. Next week we have a story for you about a redheaded stranger, a young wife, and ah, something different. A murder. Be with us then, will you? Thanks for listening, and now here's Jim Doyle. Be sure to tune in again next week, same time, same station, when you will again hear Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. After and between Fitch Shampoos, you can keep your hair shining and manageable by using a few drops of Fitch's Ideal Hair Tonic every day. Fitch's Ideal Hair Tonic is not sticky or greasy, yet it gives your hair that well-groomed look.
