The F.W. Fitch Company presents Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's gallery. ["Fitch Shampoo"] ["Fish Shampoo"] ["Fish Shampoo"] ["Fish Shampoo"] ["Fish Shampoo"] ["Fish Shampoo"] ["Fish Shampoo"] ["Fish Shampoo"] ["Fish Shampoo"] The F.W. Fitch Company, makers of Fitch's tapamified coconut oil shampoo and Fitch's shaving creams, presents Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's gallery. ["Fish Shampoo"] ["Fish Shampoo"] ["Fish Shampoo"] ["Fish Shampoo"] For the benefit of those who tuned in hoping to hear Cass Daly, may I introduce myself? My name is Richard Rogue. I'm a private investigator. I said it and I'm glad. Private investigator. That's the Harvard way of saying I'm a guy who has parlayed a hard head and a great curiosity about other people's affairs into a career. At least that's the way the homicide squad's Lieutenant Urban, who shares my interest in unalive bodies, feels about me. And I'd also better tell you now that I have a certain personal idiosyncrasy. I hold audible consultations with my alter ego once in a while, when I'm confused and in need of advice. His name is Ugoor, which is Rogue spelled backwards, and he's a very fresh little spook. Of course I wouldn't have known I had an alter ego if Betty Callahan, the girl I would rather be marooned on a desert island with than not, hadn't browbeaten me into reading Sigmund Freud. Betty, who is the sharpest newspaper woman in town, extends upward about five feet from the floor, has hair the color of cordovan leather and firelight, and a tip-tilted Irish nose shying away from the most kissable mouth in the world. She's... well, she's wonderful. And on this day I'm going to tell you about, she and I had had lunch together. She had an hour to kill, so she walked back to my office with me. You know, Richard, this is much too nice a day to work. Look, Betty, if you can get rid of that assignment you have for this afternoon, we'll go to the races, huh? Oh, I haven't been out this year. I got some information from Herb Hyde at the cigar store in the lobby. He gave me two horses who gave him their word they were ready today. Talking horses? Only to Herb. They don't speak English, but fortunately he speaks horse. Now get on the phone and ask that slave driver at your city desk for the afternoon off, telling you I have to go to your grandmother's wedding or something. Well, I'll try, but it's not going to work, and I know it. Just sit right down there and pay no attention to that sign asking you to leave a nickel in the cigar box for every call. Oh, thank you. Oh, it's nothing, it's nothing. I'll do anything for the girl I love. Better think of something better than my grandmother's wedding. I know. I'll tell him I want to go to the races. Okay, but... You're Richard Rogue? Yeah. Detective in New York named Clement Cohan referred me to you. My name is Charles McDonald. Yeah, I got his letter. I got to see you right away. Go on in that office there. I'll be in in a minute. All right. Please, hurry. What was the matter with him? He looked sick. Probably been drinking. I noticed that from the... Oh, wait a minute. Hello, give me the city desk, please. Now make it a good story. Tell him that your grandmother... Wait. Hello, Walter. This is Betty Callahan. Look, can you put somebody else on that Stubble story this afternoon? I want to go to the races. But Walter... Yes, but... Okay. What did he say? No. He told me to get right back to the paper and I like my job, so here I go. Oh, but wait a minute. Wait a minute. I'll go in and talk with this guy, give him a quick brush and go over with you. Maybe I can talk Walter into letting you take the afternoon off for the betterment of racing. Well, you'll have to hurry. Walter's mad. Just take it easy. I'll be right back. Hey. Hey, what's the matter? Good Lord. Betty. Richard, what happened? Oh, he fell out of his chair. Yeah. Get Herbert on the phone and call it for an ambulance. Oh, Richard. He's dead. Yeah. Yeah, very dead. We'll continue our story in just a moment. First, impressions often count a lot. And remember, the appearance of your hair is an important factor... in impressing people favorably the first time you meet them. Fitch's dandruff remover shampoo can be a real help to you... in attaining the well-groomed hair that people admire. For Fitch shampoo removes every trace of that enemy of good grooming, dandruff. It's the only shampoo made who's guaranteed to remove dandruff... is backed by one of the world's largest insurance firms. There's nothing magical in the way Fitch shampoo removes dandruff. It's simply that it has a special solvent action... that penetrates the thousands of tiny hair openings on the scalp... cleansing them thoroughly and dissolving every trace of dandruff. That means not only the loose flakes of dandruff... but the kind that clings to the scalp as well. Then Fitch forms an abundance of fluffy lather... that carries away the dissolved dandruff flakes. It rinses out easily. It leaves the hair sparkling clean... completely free from dandruff. Try Fitch's dandruff remover shampoo yourself... for the appearance that impresses. Now back to Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue... in Rogue's Gallery. I should be inured to the sight and smell of sudden death by this time... but it always does something to me. It freezes my stomach and gives me a dull ache at the base of my brain. When I left Betty Callahan on the phone in my reception room... and walked into my private office... I found my mysterious visitor falling forward out of his chair in death. I knelt by his side and loosened the long topcoat he was wearing. The front of his suit and his shirt were red... and there were two bullet holes. One to the right of his heart and one a little below it. I tried to blame myself for not talking to him at once... for not understanding that his staggering, shuffling gait... was not caused by drinking but by loss of blood. I looked in his billfold for identification. His name was Charles McDonald... and he was assistant manager of a Park Avenue jewelry store in New York. There was a piece of paper in his hand. I looked at it. It carried an address. 1392 Squirrel Hill. I put the paper in my pocket. Then I heard the outer office door open and a feminine voice said... Is this Mr. Rogue's office? I jumped to my feet and ran out there, closing the door behind me. There was a girl standing by the desk talking to Betty, a dark girl. She had a figure with enough O's in it to put it in the million dollar column. And a face to match. Betty said... This is Mr. Rogue. Where is my husband? I'm sure I don't know. What's his name? Charles McDonald. He's here. I saw him come in. That's very interesting. Excuse me a moment. Betty, are they on their way? Yes, both of them. Thanks. Now, Mrs. McDonald, what makes you think your husband is here? I saw him come in here. You were on the elevator with him? No. I just happened to be passing on the street. I saw Charles and spoke to him. He didn't even look at me. He walked right by. I couldn't understand it. He looks sick. I saw him come into this building. I followed him in. Where have you been all this time? I missed his elevator. Why are you questioning me like this? I know he's here. I want to see him. Well, if you missed his elevator, what makes you think he's here? This is a big building, you know. I waited for his elevator to come back to the ground floor. I talked to the operator. He remembered my husband and told me that Charles had asked for your office. Where is he, Mr. Rogue? Where is he? Mrs. McDonald, would you just please have a chair? He's here all right, but he's busy. You'll have to wait. Oh, hello, Lieutenant Urban. Come in. Well, Rogue, what goes on? Where's the... Well, Mr. Urban, I want to see you in the next office. Follow me, will you? Well, he sure did. How did it happen, Rogue? I'll tell you all I know. He came in here looking pretty sick. I thought he'd been drinking. That long topcoat he had on covered the fact that he was bleeding to death. I told him to come in here and wait. I came in about two minutes later, just as he pitched forward out of his chair and died. That's when I called you, or had Betty call you. She was here when he came in and saw the whole thing. Looks like a.38 caliber job. Two around the heart. His name is Charles McDonald and he's from New York City. That's interesting. Who's the girl outside with Callahan? His wife. Where does she fit in here? Well, she... Mrs. McDonald, you can't go in there. I want to see Mr. Rogue. Sit down. I'm going in there. No, Mr. McDonald, no, you can't go in there. I know he's in there. I'm going in. No, Charles. Well, when that girl saw Charles McDonald lying there as dead as yesterday's beer, she folded up right over him like a dropped piece of string. Herbert and Betty and I were still working over when the metal examiner and the technical squad from homicide showed up. We picked her up, carried her into the outer office. As soon as she came to, Betty gave her a glass of water, which she sipped nervously when Urban started throwing questions at her like baseballs. Mrs. McDonald, I'm sorry to have to question you at this time. Will you please put that glass down and listen to me? Now, your husband was obviously murdered. I have to have the information. I don't know who could have done it. My husband was a businessman. He wasn't mixed up in anything that could have caused his murder. What kind of business was your husband in? He was in the jewelry business, manager of a big store in New York. What was your address in New York? I had to get back to the paper, I had to get the story in. Okay, wait a minute. I'll walk out of the hall with you. All right. Where are you going, Roggie? I'm taking Betty to a cab. I'll be back. See that you are. Come on. What are you doing pulling me along like this? I have high heels on. I'm in a hurry, baby. Would you tell Lieutenant Urban you'd be right back? I told him I'd be back and I will. My rent's paid for another month. Well, where are you going? To do a little investigating. That's what it says in my card, investigator. Now, look, honey, when we get downstairs, I'm going to have to leave you. I'll see you tonight here at the office at seven o'clock. Going down. Hello, Mr. Rogge. Hi, Shorty. Drop this thing, will you? I'm in a hurry. I shot out of that building like a bat out of a Belfry and jumped into a cab. I slipped the cab jockey a bill that made his eyes pop open like dropped eggs and told him he could keep it. That he could get me to 1392 Squirrel Hill in five minutes. That's the address I found in Charles McDonald's hand. We broke every law but the 18th Amendment the next four minutes and 50 seconds. And I jumped out of the cab, hit the front steps of that big, deserted-looking old house in the dead run. The door was ajar, so I took my gun out of its shoulder host, put it in my sidecoat pocket and walked right in, into a blackjack. Oh! My glazed eyes told my brain there was a dead man lying there. And then my head hit one of the stars which were surrounding me. And the star exploded with a blinding flash. I felt myself flying upward at a speed that made me dizzy. I was grabbing at the tails of comets, trying to break my speed but nothing could stop me. I looked down at the earth and it seemed I seemed to be looking through the wrong end of a telescope. It was a little round ball. That's all. I couldn't get my breath. I fought for it, fought for it. And then my lungs seemed to explode and everything was peaceful. I opened my eyes and I was on cloud eight, my home away from home. Ugor was sitting there, dangling his little short legs over eternity and combing his long white beard with his stubby fingers. Hello, Rogie. Been using your head for a blackjack backstab again, huh? Oh, never mind the cracks. I feel awful. Who did it? Some big guy I never saw before. But why would he want to hit me? Well, you must have been interfering in his business, G.V. There was a dead man in that room, you know. Yeah, I know it. What was I doing there? I'm a little foggy. Well, you went there because it was the address that was printed on that piece of paper you found in Charles McDonald's hand. Remember? Oh, oh yeah. Hey, I better get downstairs. I got a work to do. Help me over the side, will you, Ugor? Oh, look, Rogie, there's no dough in this case for you. Why don't you get out of it? You want to get yourself killed for free? I'll get out of it if I ever get back downstairs. Give me a show, will you? I'm going down there. Okay, G.V., but take care of yourself now. So long, Rogie. I opened one eye carefully. Then I closed it again so fast that I was afraid the guy who was watching me would hear its snap. He was a big man. His eyes were the blue of ice cubes. Ice cubes with floodlights behind them. Hot ice. One of his hands was holding a gun, and the gun was pointed right where my heart would have been if it hadn't been in my throat. No use playing possum now, Mr. Rhodes. No, indeed. I am aware that you have returned to consciousness. Oh, now, now, who are you? My name is Moore. Now, come, Mr. Rogue. I realize that you undoubtedly have a headache, probably a splitting headache, and I'm regretful. But we can finish our business in just a moment if you'll sit up and talk with me. Okay, I'll try. Excellent, excellent. Now, Mr. Rogue, where is it? Where is what? Now, now, time is of the essence. Let us not waste it. You know what I'm speaking of. The Star of Savoy. Where is it? You have to believe me. I don't know whether you're talking about a burlesque dancer, passenger liner, or a military decoration. What is the Star of Savoy, and why am I supposed to know something about it? You're jesting, of course. Oh, believe me, I never jest with a head like this. Look, uh, mercy, you got the wrong number. Do you think I killed this man here? Oh, indeed, I don't. He was killed by a man named Charles MacDonald. You know Mr. MacDonald, of course. Well, vaguely, vaguely, yes. He was dead when I met him. Delightful sense of humor. I always admire a man with a sense of humor. Good. Well, then, look, I am going to get out of here. That's possible, entirely possible, after you tell me where I may find the Star of Savoy, Mr. Rogue. I don't know. I don't know anything about it. I don't even know what it is. It's a large diamond, Mr. Rogue, one of the largest in the world, formerly owned by the Hohenzollern family, recently the property of a New York collector of famous jewels. It's a magnificent jewel, Rogue. Magnificent. Where is it? I don't know. I suppose you think I came here after it. Oh, I wouldn't know about that, Mr. Rogue. But you say you met my friend Charles MacDonald after he was dead. Very cleverly put. But when MacDonald left here, he went from here directly to your office. He was carrying the Star of Savoy in his coat. I know that to be true. I was following him. We, we searched him, the police and I. He didn't have the Star of Savoy or any other diamond over a carat anyplace on him. That's the truth. Only thing I found on him was this address. That's why I came here. That's very strange. Yes, quite baffling. Have you met a strikingly beautiful girl, tall, dark black hair, brown eyes, very appealing? You mean MacDonald's wife? Well, yes, MacDonald's wife. You've met her? Yes, she was at my office when he died. Who is this stiff here? Oh, a former partner of mine. He was attempting to double-cross me, poor fellow. You see, Rogue, he and I had a market for the Star of Savoy, a very fine market. That's why we hope to get it from Mr. MacDonald today. MacDonald was most unreasonable, most unreasonable. Of course, I intend to continue in my efforts to acquire the Star of Savoy. This dark young lady, Mrs. MacDonald, was she alone with him at any time, either while he was alive or after his death? Well, no. She came into my office and saw that he was dead and fainted. Oh, I see. Well, Mr. Rogue, I'm inclined to believe your story about knowing nothing about my diamond. I think I'll be running along. But just to make sure that you don't use your meager talents to pursue me, I'll have to... We'll return to our story in just a moment. First, one often hears that a woman's eyes, the window to the soul, are her most expressive features. 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Now back to Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. Well, what had started out to be a lovely, lucid day had certainly turned out to be as ugly and mad as a giraffe with a sore throat. The date I had with Betty Callahan had been interrupted by a stranger walking into my office and dropping dead of pre-digested murder. I got noxious and came to, to find a guy named Moore politely annoyed with me about a diamond I'd never seen. So annoyed with me, in fact, that he was determined to kick my teeth out. I saw that big shoe swing from my jaw and I ducked right into it. Oh, it would have been so easy for me to pass out again. But I fought it. I couldn't. I needed the time. I vaguely heard the fading footsteps of Mr. Moore through the aura of pain which was surrounding me like a fog. And after he'd faded out, I, I sat there for a while. Then I got to my hands and knees and crawled until my head cleared a little. When I got to my feet, I ran out of the house, grabbed a cab for the Park Crest Hotel. I thought I'd find Moore there looking for Mrs. McDonald. Oh, I must have looked like a hit-and-run victim as I approached the very proper clerk. He backed away, but I reached across the counter and grabbed him. Let go of me! I want some information. I want it fast. What room is Mrs. Charles McDonald of New York City in? Mrs. McDonald? Stop stalling. What's her room number? I have a Mr. McDonald, but there is no Mrs. McDonald. His wife is in New York. How do you know that? I sent a wire to a forum last night. There's no Mrs. McDonald out here. And now let me go before I call the house officer. I remembered then, Mr. Moore had hesitated when I pegged that tall, dark girl as Mrs. McDonald. That girl was an imposter. My head was still doing the Virginia reel with variations on the turns, but I couldn't slow up now. In spite of the racket inside my skull, I was thinking straight and clearly. I ran to my office. It was only a block. And I got that glass that Mrs. McDonald had been twirling in her fingers as Urban questioned her. I took it down to police headquarters and asked the sergeant of the fingerprint bureau to dust it for prints... and telephoto the prints to the FBI in Washington. I told him he could find me in my office. I went back to my office and sank into my swivel chair. And let sleep take over. Richard. Richard. Richard. Richard. Wake up, Richard. Richard, what has happened to you? Oh, honey, you look so awful. Oh, Betty. Oh, baby. What are you doing here? It's seven o'clock, Richard. You told me to meet you here at seven o'clock. Seven? Seven? It is? Oh, hey, what about those fingerprints? Fingerprints? Excuse me, baby. I gotta call the identification bureau. You should be in a hospital. Oh, Richard, you can't take me to dinner looking like that. Honey, think how I feel. Oh, no. Identification bureau. Sergeant James. Sergeant, this is Richard Rogue. Did you get an answer from the FBI on those prints I gave you? Yeah, it just came in, Rogue. They belonged to a girl named Alice Ryan. Three years ago when they took her to the aircraft company where she worked. She lived at 4435 Ethel Avenue in North Hollywood. Any criminal record? Arrested once in a confidence rap four years ago. Dismissed for lack of evidence. Thanks, Sarge. I owe you a cigar. Come on, Betty. We're gonna go to North Hollywood. I'll explain why in a cab. Come on. No, Alice does not live here anymore. She moved into Los Angeles about seven months ago when she quit her job at the airplane factory. Did she leave her forwarding address? Oh, yes. I'll get it for you. Just a minute. You think she has the diamond, don't you, Richard? Sure. She lifted it off McDonald's body when she fainted over him. Oh, how awful. Here it is. It is a long drive from here in Los Angeles. Thanks. Alice Ryan? No, she doesn't live here anymore. She came into money or something. She lives in Hollywood now. Do you know her address there? Big guy around here after an hour ago. It's North Serrano. Wait a minute. I'll get it for you. A big man. That's the man? Yeah, that's the man. He has an hour's head start. Here it is. I wrote it down for you. Oh, thank you, sir. Okay now, Betty. Ring the bell and then stand back. Clear back against the wall and stay away from the windows. All right, Richard. You take care of yourself now. I always do. Stand where you are and I'll go knock on the door. All right. You stay right there, Betty. I'm going to try the door. Now stay where you are. I will. Come in. Come in, Mr. Rogue. And don't attempt to be clever because you present a beautiful target there in the doorway. Where's Alice Ryan? She's here. Drop your gun, please, Mr. Rogue. I can see you, you know. I have a bit of advantage. Drop your gun, Mr. Rogue. Close the door, Mr. Rogue. Now that I've turned the light on, you can see that you have found Alice Ryan. Oh, brother. Yes, I'm sorry. I was forced to eliminate her, Mr. Rogue. She was most unreasonable about giving me the Star of Savoy. She chose to pit her ordinary brain against my genius in this race to see who would be the possessor of the stone after Charles MacDonald was eliminated. And now, Mr. Rogue, you find yourself in much the same position. Yeah, I guess I'm not very smart. You have the diamond? Indeed, I have. And I think perhaps you deserve a glimpse of it. There. Is that not the most inspiring sight you've ever seen, Mr. Rogue? Look at it. Glistening there. A hundred people have died, I would imagine, Mr. Rogue, in the history of this stone. Yes, at least a hundred. I have spent the last ten years scheming, contriving, bribing, stealing to get this lovely thing. And now, Mr. Rogue, it's mine. Yeah, you got it. What do you got to do with it? Just sit there and look at it? I can get a million dollars for it, a million in cold cash and no questions asked. A million dollars. I'm not at all sure that that is enough, Mr. Rogue. And now, I'm afraid I'm going to be forced to, regretfully, to remove you. There was cold murder in the ice-blue eyes of her looking into mine. Moore was enjoying every breath of my last few minutes on Earth. He was waiting for me to break. And all the time he was talking in that cultured iceberg voice. Then I saw Betty. She was hugging the wall in the next room, creeping silently toward the killer. I wanted to shout at her, to shout at her, to tell her to go away. And then... Richard! Richard, are you all right? Yeah, yeah. I knocked his gun up the air when you scared him silly. Oh, Betty, Betty, bless your little pointed head, but why did you do it? Oh, Richard. Betty! Well, of all the times to faint, isn't that just like a woman? Well, the police took it from there, and the story was pretty plain. Moore was the head of a gang of international jewel thieves, consisting of the man I found dead on Squirrel Hill, Alice with the dark black hair, and himself. They had offered Charles MacDonald a fortune to steal the Star of Savoy from the Park Avenue establishment, where he was employed, and where it was on exhibition. They planned to kill him when he delivered the stone. But the trio triple-crossed themselves, and finally only Moore remained alive, which was a temporary thing, because Moore soon paid the final score for the murders he committed. And, uh, well, I got a $5,000 reward for breaking the case. $5,000 for just getting battered around a little. Isn't that, is it, huh? I, uh, I split the reward with Betty Cowling, and I got a $5,000 reward. I got a $5,000 reward with Betty Callahan, who certainly saved my life. And she went right out and spent her half on a fur cape. You know, women should never have money. They don't know how to handle it. Of course, the first time she wore the cape, she looked so lovely that I took her to the races and lost my half on a horse named Investigator. Oh, well, money isn't as important as true love, but there's a lot more of it. You know what I mean? This is Dick Powell again, ladies and gentlemen. It's awfully nice to meet you on a new network. I hope you enjoyed our story tonight. Ray Buffer brought it. Leith Stevens composed and conducted the music in D. Engelbach, produced and directed. Be with us again next Sunday, will you? We have a story for you about a triangle, a rendezvous, and a plan that failed. We call it Lady with a Gun. Thanks for listening, and now here's Jim Doyle. Listen again next week at this same time to 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. 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