 Communist for the FBI. Starring Dana Andrews in an exciting tale of danger and espionage. I was a Communist for the FBI. From the actual records and authentic experiences of Matt Sevettik, come many of the incidents in this unusual story. Here is our star Dana Andrews as Matt Sevettik, who for nine fantastic years lived as a Communist for the FBI. We are so accustomed to trial by jury that we forget it is one of our God-given privileges guaranteed by our Constitution and the Bill of Rights. In our way of life, a man is innocent until he is found guilty. But unfortunately, there are other ways of life. Dark, devious ways in which men and women are not tried in a court of justice, but in a temple of fear and terror. No jury deliberates the crime, for the trial is a crime in itself. This is the story of one such trial and a terrible sentence that was passed. In a moment, listen to Dana Andrews as Matt Sevettik, under cover man. Andrews as Matt Sevettik, under cover man. This story from the confidential file is marked, Trial by Fear. Commies and cats have a lot in common. They can slink in the shadows, unseen, but all seeing. When they strike, they strike fast and sure. When they have time to toy with a victim, the torture is deliberate and slow. Like homeless alley cats, these commies sought the darkness of abandoned cellars from eating places. We were huddled in one such dungeon now, watching the cats toy with a mouse. My eyes were just becoming accustomed to the dim light of the cellar under the warehouse on Front Street. I'd never been here before. As far as I was concerned, Comrade Elliott didn't have to bother inviting me again. It was a cold, dank place. In a gloomy half-right, the shadows of the men looked like grotesque monsters. I saw now that Comrade Peterson had three goons with him. They weren't monsters at all. Just ordinary-looking, plug-ugly, entertaining, a friend. The fist was Peterson's. The jaw was the jaw of a thin, white-faced man I'd never seen before. Comrade Peterson had this squad well-organized, Isovetic. Yeah. What's it all about, Elliott? Wait and watch. It should be most instructive. All right, Comrade. Still work. The goons were well-organized, all right. They all leaped on their victim and proceeded to hit him with fists and fats. And when he fell to the floor, they used their shoes on him. So they're digging my nails into my palms. All right, man. You've never been here before. Have you, Sovetic? No. I didn't know the party allowed spectators in the execution chamber. Do I detect sarcasm in your tone, Comrade? No, just a statement of fact, Comrade Elliott. Do you expect that man to come out of this alive? Maybe. Maybe not. What did he do? He was a traitor. What, we all? A traitor to the party, Sovetic. There's a difference. This is Charlie. We were beginning to worry about you. Where are you calling from? A booth in my hotel. I just finished my report and I'm checking on the drop. Use P.O. Box 231. Same name. How's everything? Someone got it last night from the Goon Squad. My report has the details. Yes, we know about the man. Your report makes gruesome reading, I'll bet. Well, take care. The toughest part of this job of mine was the business of filing detailed reports for the FBI. They took time. Too much time. Time for alert commies to grow suspicious. Still, this report had to be written. So I tucked it up in my hotel room, sealed it in an envelope, then I walked out into the hall with my briefcase. Though you were a communist 24 hours a day, sometimes you spent 8 hours a day at a job where the party placed you. And sometimes you even made a living at it. A job that made me seem legitimate was that of insurance salesman. I reached the letter box, which was near the elevator. I was about to place my letter in the slot and... Mailing a letter, Svetic? I was. Anything wrong in mailing a letter, Elliot? I told you last night, Comrade Svetic, you're inclined to be sarcastic. You know Comrade Peterson, don't you? You saw him at work last night. Yes, I certainly did. Hello, Comrade. Let me see that letter. Ah, wait a minute. I see this letter is addressed to Mr. George Harrison, Box 231 City, personal Svetic. No, business. Insurance business. Insurance business, eh? That's right. Addressed to a post office box. Now listen, you too. If you've got any suspicions, open the letter and read it. Yeah. Heavy. It does feel like an insurance policy. That doesn't it, Peterson? Well, eh... Well, what? Come on, open it. If you think that it... Well, it's thick enough to be an insurance policy. Oh, no. No, it isn't an insurance policy at all, Peterson. It's a private report to the FBI. That make you feel better and that satisfy your suspicions? All right, all right. All right, Svetic, forget the sarcasm. Then suppose you forget this foolishness. If you have any reason to suspect me of anything, let's have it out right now. No, take it easy. Here, mail your letter. Thanks. I still don't like you snatching a letter out of my hand. And I still don't like your tone, comrade Svetic. Perhaps you'll tell us what you're doing here in the hotel. I just left an insurance prospect. Room 712. If you'd like to check on it. I see. Quite a coincidence meeting here, isn't it? Is it? My insurance business takes me all over. How about you and comrade Peterson? Our business takes us all over, too. Right, Peterson? Yeah. All of it. Goodbye for now, comrade Svetic. If they had called my bluff, if they had opened that letter, I'd have been the next guest to be entertained by the Goon Squad. That report was dynamite and I was glad to be rid of it, or at least, almost rid of it. I still had one copy to dispose of. A copy to be placed in a safe deposit box at the bank, in case the original would astray. It's too late to do it now, but the first thing the next morning, I set out to get the job done. It was the kind of morning that made you forget about reds and treachery and vicious intrigue. Sun was warm, the air was crisp and clear. The bank was just a short walk down the street, but a quick glance over my shoulder convinced me that I needed a ride. Comrade Elliot was just a few paces behind me. Just at that moment, a bus came to a stop and I got on. The bus wouldn't take me anywhere near the bank, but it could take me away from the commie who was tailing me. And Elliot, by commie shadow, was looking after it ruefully from the sidewalk. I got off at the next stop. There was a large department store in this corner. I went through the revolving door and out the auto entrance where I caught a cab. First national bank, please. I knew I was safe. I'd been too fast for Comrade Elliot. I leaned back to enjoy the taxi ride. Here you are, driver. Walked over to the window where I'd have to sign a slip to gain access to my safe deposit box. There were several people ahead of me and another person joined the line. I felt a tap on my shoulder. I wheeled around. Hello, Speddy. We meet again. Oh, yeah. Quite a coincidence, isn't it? Yes, isn't it? Another coincidence. Your next, Speddy. Thanks. I just wanted to get this $20 bill changed. You're on the wrong line, Speddy. Oh, yeah, sure enough. Statements and safety deposit boxes. I just wanted to cash you in. Excuse me. I stepped over to the next line, the $20 bill in my hand. I hadn't shaken Elliot at all. Perhaps he had a car somewhere. I wondered if he'd swallowed the story about the wrong line. He stood there watching me with his steel gray eyes, looking for me to get my change. All set, Speddy? Yeah, all set. I didn't have any small change with me. Here's my last bit of change on the bus. Yes, I saw you on the bus, but you drove up here in a taxi. No, the bus was too slow. I wanted to get to the bank before it closed. You know, comrade, you behave like a capitalist. You take taxis to a bank just to get some change. Is there anything in the communist manifesto that says we shouldn't take a taxi or get change at a bank? You're sarcastic again, comrade Speddy. To tell you the truth, comrade Elliot, I didn't like you following me. You said it was a coincidence. Coincidence. How long are you going to keep that up? All right. It wasn't a coincidence. I want to talk to you. About what? About a special sale meeting tonight. It's seven. Special meeting? Why didn't I hear about it? You're hearing about it now. Let's go. I have a car waiting. Elliot! The meeting is a vital concern to you, Speddy, especially you. Me? Why me? Elliot, what the devil happened? No, I'm sorry, Peterson. A comrade here became surprisingly elusive. I wanted to be sure I found him. Well, you found him and I found you. Now, let's go. Right. You too, Speddy. Well, I'm sorry, but I've got a few errands to do. No, Speddy. The errands can wait. The party cannot. The meeting's denied. It's still early. I want to be sure you don't miss it, Speddy. Come on. All right, comrades. All right. Let's call the meeting to order now. Now, I suppose all of you are wondering why we're meeting like this. Non-schedule meeting, last-minute announcements, that sort of thing. Well, our cell convenes tonight, comrades, to root out a traitor. Our reasons for suspicion were discovered suddenly. Hence, we meet suddenly. And one of us is about to be disciplined suddenly. Comrades, one member of this cell is an undercover agent for the FBI. I'll cover it wrong. Yes. What is it, Speddy? Are you sure of your evidence? After all, to accuse a comrade unjustly would be... Never fear, Speddy. The punishment will fit the crime. But every member of this cell is unchecked, double-checked. And checked again. That's how we found our traitor. Unfortunately, the FBI places its spies at the most inconvenient stations for us. This time, however, we're about to show some inconvenience to that spy. Comrade Svedik, would you mind stepping forward, please? Bring us Matt Svedik. An eye was a communist for the FBI. And the second act of our story. A special cell meeting to ferret out an FBI agent. A spy, a traitor, an enemy to the cause of the commons. Now, the Reds were ready to point their finger to place the agent on trial. A trial in which the sentence is pronounced before any evidence is presented. The ancient Romans had trials like that when Nero talked Christians to the lion. Today's commies don't use lions. They have their goons squads. Having watched the Red Goon boys in action, I knew what would happen to that agent. And I knew, too, who that agent was. From the way our cell leader, Comrade Rolf, stared at me. I was sure that he knew, too. Sit over here, Comrade Svedik, near me. Thank you. Now, naturally, comrades, the spy in our midst will be submitted to the usual liquidation ceremonies. Comrade Rolf. Yes, Comrade Ellington. How long has this spy been with us? It doesn't matter. His reign of secrecy ends tonight. Peterson. Yes, Comrade? Your men already? Always, Comrade. I turned around and looked through the connecting door he opened. The goon squad was there, all right, in full force, the same three men with the heavy square faces and battered ears and thick, calloused knuckles. All of us in the room stared, and then the door closed. Elliot. Yeah. Lock me out of door. Svedik, stop fidgeting. Stay here. Yeah. Comrade Hugo, yes? You're assigned to Comrade Dora today. What is your report? Well, Comrade Dora is not to be suspected, Comrade Rolf. I want to report, Hugo, a report, not an editorial comment. There's nothing to report. You're instructed to trace Dora's activities. Did you or did you not obey these instructions? Yes, of course I did. Then report on them, please. Quiet. All of you, quiet. Report, Hugo. Comrade Dora went to work at the mill as usual. She was five minutes early, and she spent in conversation with fellow workers. Go on. She took a five-minute break in the middle of the morning. Lunchtime, she joined Comrade Anna in the cafeteria. I sent a message to her about this meeting on a paper napkin. The napkin was destroyed? Yeah, she burned it. Then she reported sick and was dismissed from work for the day. No conversations with strangers, no telephone call? No. How do you know? Well, because I work in the same section of the floor with her. I was able to observe her at all times. Comrade Milo. Yes? Give me the report on Comrade Phillip. I was stationed at the switchboard in our office. I was able to monitor all calls, including those made by Comrade Phillip. And what calls did he make? Ordinary business calls. One call to his insurance agent, one to his wife. What about those ordinary business calls? Their content was of no concern to the party, Comrade. The party is concerned with everything, Milo? These calls were innocuous enough. Salesman's reports, dickling with out-of-town clients, checking the status of the market, that sort of thing. Did Phillip have any visitors? Only from persons previously cleared by the body. I'd say Comrade Phillip is above suspicion. Good. Comrade Elliott. Yeah? Just a minute. Your report, Elliott. Wait a minute. This is no time for interruptions, Servetti. I have a question to ask. Has it anything to do with the business at hand? Everything. Obviously, Comrade Ralf, you've assigned picked men to follow and report on members of this cell. Obviously. May I ask why? That too is obvious, Servetti. Not to me it isn't. Well, it should be. After my announcement of a few minutes ago. You said there was an undercover agent here. Yes. You mean exclusive of the picked men you set out to spy on us? I don't like your choice of language, Servetti. Well, Comrade, I appeal to you. Some of you are suspected of a grave party crime. Your spy upon and Comrade Ralf is collecting the reports. But what about the men who spy upon you? Are they not to be suspected? How do we know they are above suspicion? I was fighting fire with fire. Trying to create a diversion. Trying to stop Comrade Elliott from giving his report on me. I was fighting fire with fire all right. Hoping to build myself a smokescreen. If I didn't get burned first. I wanted to throw a doubt in every member of the commission before Comrade Elliott gave his report on me. For I was afraid of that report. Quiet! All of you, quiet, I say! Quiet! Oh, Servetti. Am I to understand that you question my men, the men who gathered reports for me? If you suspected unimpeachable party workers like Comrade Dora and Phillip, why couldn't your men be suspected too? Yes, Comrade Dora. May I say, Comrade, that I have nothing to hide. From the moment I joined the party, I became a communist heart and soul. I've never faltered. And I have never questioned the policies of the political world. I'm proud to have been investigated and exonerated. I serve republic! Comrade Dora! What is it, my lord? I agree with Comrade Dora. I too am proud to have passed the leg. I intend to pass every test the party puts to me. I intend to serve the party with every thought and deed. This was beginning to sound like a revival meeting. Instead of hallelujahs, the red chanted party slogans. Grouted, sang, fought to demonstrate their hysterical dedication to the cause. Maybe, maybe, maybe if the excitement mounted enough, if Comrade Rolf was swept along with his wild demonstration, he might forget the question Comrade Elliot about me. All right, comrades! All right! Order! Enough of this! Comrades, enough of it! Now, now then, we'll continue. Comrade Elliot! Here. Your report on Comrade Sevedic, please. That is, if Sevedic has no further obstruction as tactics for this meeting. No, I, uh... I followed Sevedic to the bank. He seemed upset when he saw me. Claimed he'd gone to the bank for change, but he'd taken a taxi to do it. Stood in the wrong line. Yes, Comrade Sevedic is an unpredictable man, all right. Is there more to report on him? No. Comrade Peterson. Your report on Comrade Elliot. I've checked Elliot's actions all week. I've gone to his personal belongings. I've checked his phone calls. Twice this week, Comrade Elliot has attempted to establish contact with a local FBI officer. Comrades! That supports the evidence the control commission has on the good Comrade Elliot. Anything to say, Elliot? Nothing. Nothing at all. One moment! One moment! Sevedic! Yes? Stand up. His business is far from over, you know. Peterson, bring in the disciplinary squad, please. The goons were walking in now. Walking across the room headed straight for me. Your instructions, comrades. You'll take Elliot to the car waiting behind the building. You'll drive him to the Hilton Avenue underpass and take the long way to the usual place. Spend as little time in that miserable cellar as possible. But make the job complete. As for Comrade Sevedic, you, Sevedic, will see that these instructions are carried out. Irony. Bitter diabolical irony. It ties logic into nuts. And it twists your nerves till they snap. It turns truth into terror. Comrade Elliot, the man I thought was my enemy, was actually my ally. I was so sure he'd been putting the finger on me that I couldn't see that he was under the thumb of the commie goons. But now that I knew, it was too late. What could I do? How could I prevent the inevitable from happening? I looked at the grim, heavy faces around me. Peterson, the number one muscle man. The three brass knuckle virtuosos who committed mayhem to his order. I looked at Elliot, but he was staring out the car window, his face expressionless. There's the underpass, Sevedic. Warehouse is just beyond it. You know the way to the cellar? I've been there before, you know. Yeah, I know. You better stop here. All right, Elliot. Out. We headed toward the warehouse through the deserted rooms and into the damp, dismal basement. Execution chamber, I had called it. And now Elliot was about to become the latest victim. Escape? There wasn't any. And Elliot knew that as well as I did. In here. Through this fire door. I'd turn on the light, somebody. Do you need a light for this job, Peterson? No, but it helps. Never mind the light, gentlemen. We have flashlights. Who's that? Over here, Elliot. Now you guys stay put. You've got the brass knuckles, but we have the guns. Who are your cops? Colleagues of Elliot. We work out of the same office. You can't hold us for anything. We haven't done anything. We can hold you, Sevedic. And we can hold Peterson and his guns. For what? We haven't done anything? Yes, for murder. The last guy you worked on in this massage parlor didn't pull through. Remember? Come on! Martin and the other FBI men had waited a long time for the Reds to return to the dungeon scene of their other crimes. They'd been waiting ever since they received my report. The report I almost didn't mail. Naturally, I was hauled in for questioning, too. But I hadn't figured in the killing, so I was released. Still alive. Still unsuspected by the Reds. But for how long? One day, I might walk the same path that Elliot did. And maybe I wouldn't be as lucky. Maybe... Well, you can't help thinking thoughts like that when you live with treachery. When you mix with commies. When you walk alone. Dana Andrews will return in just a moment. This is Dana Andrews, friend. A great number of years ago, Daniel Webster stood up in Congress and made a speech about the Declaration of Independence. Whatever may be our fate, he said, be assured that this Declaration will stand. All that I have and all that I am and all that I hope in this life, I am now ready to stake upon it. Live or die, survive or perish. I am for the Declaration. It was Webster's attitude, friends, that made our country free. That attitude is the only attitude that can keep it free. In a story you've just heard, names, dates and places are fictitious to protect innocent persons. Many of these stories are based on incidents in the life of Matt Severick, who worked undercover for the FBI. Next week, another fantastic adventure. Join us then, won't you?