 The FW Fitch Company presents Dick Powell as Private Investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. Laugh a while, let a song be your style, you Stitch and Shampoo. Don't despair, use your head, save your hair, you Stitch and Shampoo. The FW Fitch Company makers of Fitch's saponified coconut oil shampoo and Fitch's shaving creams presents Dick Powell as Private Investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. Rogue speaking, I guess it wouldn't be polite for me to make the statement that Judge Colin Baker was a snake. I'll just say I think there was some truth in the rumor that he did shed his skin three times a year. The judge, who isn't a judge anymore, was a big barrel-chested guy with a dramatic mop of wavy white hair worn in a sort of a modified wind-blown bob, the better to impress the juries with. He'd made himself for reputation back east as a far-eating VA, and then later as a hanging judge. He'd been out here about five years and had built a statewide reputation as a brilliant criminal lawyer on a set-of-thief-to-catch-of-thief basis. He had just won a big case and he was having a cocktail party at his penthouse apartment on top of the building which housed his plush offices. Betty Callahan had covered the trial, and now she and a photographer from her paper were covering the party. I tagged along. Oh, there was a dandy crowd there. Pasty-faced politicians, tired-faced women, and the old two-faced judge in all of his glory. Oh, Richard, isn't this a lovely place. Clear up here on top of this building. Just like living on a mountain. Yeah, only you can't lock the bottom entrance of a mountain. You see anybody here you would really like to know. Now, don't be bitter. You know I had to come here tonight. I don't like these people any better than you do. It's over as soon as you can. Let's go someplace where I can take my hand off my pocketbook. Well, well, my dear Miss Callahan, I'm sorry I couldn't get over to you before. Indeed I am. I saw you come in, but Richard Rowe, I'm so glad you could come, sir. Thanks. And now, my dear, I suppose you like some pictures. I see you have a photographer with you. How thoughtful of you. Yes. Could I get a group around the fireplace? Just you and the people connected with the trial, the defendant and the witnesses. Of course, I'll round them up for you immediately. Oh, thank you, Jack. Yes. Mike. Yeah? You ready to go? Hey, they're sure serving good luck here here. Real scotch. None of that nearscotch I get at the bar. Good. Now, here's what I want, Mike. Get me some shots of the group that's forming over by the fireplace. Right. We'll put the judge in the middle and have everybody congratulating him and the man he saved from the gas chamber. I can think of a few captions for that picture. Richard. You can't call a prominent guy like the judge a crook and you can't call a murderer a murderer after a court jury says he's not. You get the idea, Mike. Come on, Mike. You stay right here, Richard. I'll be back as soon as we've covered the odd angle on the story. And then we leave, right? Yeah. Just as soon as I can, dear. I wandered around in the crowd and listened in to scraps of conversations. Jim Gorseth, an oily politician on the judge's payroll, was talking with the, with the Mary Miller. Mary is a self-made wealthy widow whom the judge had defended after she'd poisoned her husband. She was glaring hate at the judge like a death ray and I moved within earshot of them. Well, Mary, you enjoying yourself at this testimonial to our friend's genius? I'd rather be at his wake. I'd enjoy my cocktails more. You can count me in on that, too. I'm surprised that you don't marry. He got you out of a pretty bad spot, didn't he? Yes, for exactly half the money Fred left me. I didn't kill Fred, you know. I was innocent. Oh, sure, sure. Well, here's to meeting you again soon at his wake. Happy little gathering. The laughter which was bouncing off the high ceiling had all the gay spontaneity of an open grave. But everybody was getting along with the judge. He was a big man. He had lots of money, lots of power. In a way, I couldn't help admiring the old boy, posing over by the immense fireplace, tossing that snowy mane of his about, and filling the rooms with his deep-throated laughter. Betty finally got all of the pictures she wanted and came glaring over to me. I got a little lump in my throat like I always do when I see Betty. Oh, if Mark Anthony could have seen her, Cleopatra would have been in the second barge, rowing. We'll leave in just a moment, Richard. We have to stay and bring one toast to the judge. He's going to be hurt if we don't. Well, I wouldn't want to cause him pain. Oh, he's getting our cocktails now. He's going to bring them over. Okay. Did you get some pretty pictures of the old windbag? He's charming. I like him. Hmm. Here he comes. How could you like a guy like that? Well, here we are. Hope they're not too strong. Miss Callahan, I wonder if you would forgive me if I borrowed Mr. Rogue for just a moment. I have something I wish to ask his advice on privately. Why, sir? Couldn't we make it tomorrow, Judge Betty? Tomorrow will be too late. I'm afraid, Mr. Rogue. This will only take a few minutes. You won't mind, will you, Miss Callahan? No, of course not. Okay. All right, Judge. Where did we go? My study, right through here. Congratulations, Judge. You showed it a fine job. Now, I received a rather alarming note tonight, Mr. Rogue. Yes? When? It was under my glass when I returned to the serving table after those pictures were taken. Here it is. Hmm. Paper and envelope from the dime store, huh? Well, I can't trace them. Hmm. Well, let's have a see here. Hmm. Have a good time, you murderer. You won't be alive at this time tomorrow night. You're going to celebrate an anniversary. You can't run so far that I won't find you and kill you. Hmm. Unsigned, of course. Printed in block letters with no skill. Anybody could have written that. And anybody could have left it there on the serving table. That's right. There have been a hundred people drifting in and out of here. You, uh, take the note seriously? Rogue, I've had threatening letters before, of course, but this one will... I have a hunch about it. A premonition. We'll return to our story in just a moment. First, when it comes to good grooming, your mirror can't tell you everything. It can't tell you how much clean, fragrant hair adds to that indefinable something called charm. Don't take chances on detracting from your loveliness. Keep your hair fresh and clean smelling at all times by using Fitch's saponified coconut oil shampoo regularly. This clear golden liquid shampoo lathers magnificently and washes away dust, dirt, perspiration, and unpleasant odors from your hair. Fitch's saponified shampoo is made from mild coconut and pure vegetable oils. It never leaves the hair dry or harsh feeling. Thus, you can use it as often as you like and be sure that your hair is shining clean and free from offending odors. Have a professional application of Fitch's saponified coconut oil shampoo the next time you're at your barber or beauty shop or buy a bottle at your drug or toilet goods counter. Ask for the economical large size, 16 ounces for $1. Now back to Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. I didn't want to go to the party in the first place, but I wanted to be with Betty Callahan and she had to be there. It was a victory cocktail party which Judge Colin Baker was throwing to celebrate the fact that he'd cleared another guilty murderer. I wasn't particularly happy when the judge took me in his study and showed me a note threatening him with death within the next 24 hours. In fact, I didn't pay much attention until I looked at the judge's face. He was scared. Rogue, I've had threatening letters before, but this one, well, I have a hunch about it, a premonition. What are you going to do about it? The safest place in the world for me to stay is right here in this penthouse, and I want you to stay with me, Rogue. Me? I'll pay you well for your time, and what's well? I'll give you $500 if you'll stay with me for the next 24 hours, Mr. Rogue. Oh, 500 clams, huh? Well, Judge, that makes it very interesting. You'll accept the assignment then? Like a flash. Just let me explain it to Betty Callahan. I was supposed to take her out tonight. Very well. I'm sure Miss Callahan will understand when you tell her about the fee. I need you, Mr. Rogue. So, you're so busy you have to break your date with me. That's a habit of yours, isn't it, Richard? Oh, I will. Well, you won't ever have to do it again. You'll never have another chance. Oh, but Betty, maybe you'll listen. The judge figures someone is going to try to kill him tonight. You don't want to be a party to a murder, do you? You're not worried a bit about the judge, and you know it, Richard. You're thinking of that $500. Well, is that bad? Five bills will buy a lot of entertainment. You can have a lot of joy on $500. Don't knock it. Don't sneer at it. Well, I suppose I might just as well get Mike to take me home. I should have known that you'd get a better offer. You always do. Mike? Miss Callahan? Miss Callahan, I'm afraid I owe you an apology. Oh, no, Judge, I can't very well blame you. If my friend Richard is so crazy about that money... Judge, I got word for you. I can't take the assignment. But I have your word, Mr. Robe. Well, I wouldn't want you to break your word with anybody else, Richard. Oh, no. Are you ready, Mike? You can shove off, Mike, and I'm taking Miss Callahan home. Huh? Okay by me? I'm really sorry, Judge, but... Now, look, you two youngsters. There's no point in having a disagreement over this. Why don't you just stay here until the rest of the guests leave? They're beginning to leave now. Then, Mr. Robe, you can take Miss Callahan home and come back. Ah, that would leave you alone for about an hour. There's only one entrance to this place. That's my private elevator. I'll give you the key. You can lock it as you leave. No one can possibly get up here. Oh, I don't want to cause all that trouble. Oh, it'll only be a little while, baby. I hope you'll do this favor for me, Miss Callahan. I need Mr. Robe's moral support tonight. Even at my age, I feel that I'm... too young to die. Bailey and I hung around for another hour until all the guests either walked or were helped from the cocktail party. Then the judge and I went through the penthouse like as it goes through Cotton. We looked under everything that was raised from the floor and behind everything that stood a foot high. Then we turned on the floodlights and searched the area surrounding the penthouse and the roof. There was nobody there. The judge was alone when Betty and I rode his private elevator and locked it with a foolproof lock before we got into my car and headed for her place. Betty was annoyed and that ride home was as romantic as a tub full of wet wash. But she'd been annoyed before and I wasn't worried. I left her at her apartment and fiddlefooted out to my car. I opened the car door, bent to get in. Lightning struck behind my ear. I heard the thunderbolts rocketing past and latched on to one for a while ride through the firmament. Stars kept exploding in my face but I hung on until I saw my home away from home. Good old cloud eight. I let go, dropped a neon or two and landed a softly smokering. I didn't open my eyes for a moment. Hello, Eugor. I didn't think you were ever going to get here, Rocky. I was worried. Where have I been? My centuries ago. I saw you way upstairs knocking at the pernigate. But they wouldn't let you in. Eugor, this isn't... Oh, tell me that this isn't... I'm glad to know that. What happened? Oh, I gotta get out of here. All right, Eugor. Give me a shove. What are you doing? I'm trying to get these handcuffs off you. Oh, where are we? We're in the hills above Mulholland Drive. Somebody brought you up here, chloroforms you and handcuffed you to this tree with your own handcuffs. You need a bodyguard, Rocky. How did you find me? I got a phone call telling me where you were to bring a file. Stand still or I'll leave you here. Oh, okay. Who did it? I'm waiting for you to tell me that. I don't get it. Somebody wanted you out of the way for a while, Rocky. How do you want to tell me what you're mixed up in? I wasn't on a case. Ooh. There. I don't have to get a new chain for your bracelets, but anywhere you're unharnessed from that tree. Look, Urban, I was supposed to be bodyguarding Judge Colin Baker last night. Bodyguarding that crook? Why? Well, he got a death threat. A note found on the serving table during a cocktail party. Go on. Somebody promised to kill him within 24 hours. What did you leave him for? I took Betty Callahan home. Somebody must have followed me when I left the judge's penthouse. He knocked me out as I left Betty. Maybe we'd better check on the judge's health. Maybe that note wasn't kidding. How do you feel? Uh, oozy. You can hang your head out the window in the way back. We'd better see whether your client needs a bodyguard or an undertaker. My head was full of feathers and my hands felt heavy on my arms. My mouth was lined with brown, blotting paper and my shoes were full of lead. I wasn't feeling very well as I got in Urban's official sedan and headed for the penthouse where I'd left Judge Colin Baker. My head ached like a broken heart until I took a couple of pills from Urban's first aid kit. And by the time we pulled up in front of the office building, I felt like I had a chance at living if I wanted to and I decided I wanted to. The private penthouse elevator was still locked just as I'd left it and that made me glad. We entered it. Maybe we should have called before we took this trip. Oh, I want to see the old boy. I owe him an apology if he's still alive. How could he be dead unless somebody else had a key to this elevator? Well, they didn't. The only other key is on the judge's key ring. He told me that. And what are you worried about? I'm not worried. I just hate to give him back those nice, crisp C-notes. I saw him. I hope he's up. Well, this is it. Oh, good lord. Well, the judge will never be any debtor. Blow in the face. He's been strangled, Robbie. We'll continue our story in just a moment. First, a word to the ladies. It's long been acknowledged that fragrance and charm go hand in hand. But unpleasant hair and scalp odors can banish charm in a hurry. By using Fitch's saponified coconut oil shampoo regularly, you can keep your hair flower-fresh and fragrant. That's because Fitch's saponified shampoo makes billows of fragrant lather, lather that floats away dirt, oily film, and displeasing odors from the hair. Then the lather rinses away easily and completely. You see, Fitch's saponified coconut oil shampoo contains its own special patented rinsing agent. This rinsing agent works right with the plain rinse water to assure you that your hair will be sparkling, radiant with all its natural color highlights. And there's no danger that your hair can offend others with unpleasant scalp odors. Or Fitch's saponified shampoo leaves it dewy-fresh and fragrant. Next time, 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. Maybe I was surprised when I saw Judge Colin Baker looking up at me from the floor of his living room. I'm not sure. I had a hunch. Don't ask me why. I just had a hunch that he was dead when Urban brought me out of that stupor up there above Mulholland Drive. Judge Baker's face was as blue as a policeman's coat as he lay there and his eyes were staring wide open. Urban and I walked over to him. He's been strangled, Rogue. Yeah, yeah, looks like it. Any marks on his throat? No, no marks. Looks like there was a struggle, though. Table kicked over. How could anybody get in here? There was locked. There's no other entrance. What are you trying to do? Tell me this guy's not dead? No, he's dead all right. But how could he be strangled? Cigarette, Urban. No, thanks, Rogue. So he was murdered, wasn't he? Yeah. That calls for the medical examiner. I don't get it. There was nobody here when I left. There's been nobody here since. There's a peculiar odor in here. Smell it? No, no, no. Sit down, Rogue. He won't look around. There's been a murder. You're mixed up in it and I want to talk with you. Oh, you think I killed him? I didn't know him that well. I wasn't even mad at him. Hey, what's that? A check. A check for $2,500 made out to the victim and signed by Mary Miller. Was she here last night? Yeah, she was here. But I never heard of a dame her age doing a human fly act. Maybe she had a key to the joint. She didn't believe me, she didn't. Where's the phone? It's in the bedroom. I'm going to use it. Wait here, Rogue. There was a peculiar odor in that room. A faintly familiar odor, but I couldn't place it. My poor old beat-up mind was whirling a million revolutions a minute and getting no place. Then I remembered the note the judge received. It had mentioned an anniversary. So I decided not to wait instead. I took that long elevator ride and grabbed a cab for the library. May I help you? Oh, yes, I, uh, I want to see the files on the Gotham City newspapers for the last 10 years. All right, sir. It's going to take me some time to get them out of the storeroom. Any specific dates? Yes, I, uh, I would like to see copies of the additions 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10 years ago today. All right, sir, if you'll just have a chair. You sure you feel all right? You look ill. Oh, I, uh, I always look like this, thank you. Just get me the papers, please. They're mighty important. Confidentially, I think they're going to solve a murder. The librarian got me the papers. I went to work on them. Gotham City was the city where judge Colin Baker had made his reputation as a hanging judge. My hunch was as strong as a brides coffee and it paid off. In the issue for seven years ago that day, I found the name of Judge Colin Baker on the front page. A man he had sent to the chair for murder had been executed screaming his innocence. Within an hour after the electricity had torn through the body of this man, Harold Michaels, the real killer had confessed. And this was the anniversary of that legal murder. I called Betty Callahan at her paper. She wasn't there. She was covering the police investigation in Baker's murder. I took a cab back to the judge's penthouse. Isn't this terrible, Richard? It hadn't been for me insisting on you taking me home. The judge would have been alive. Or I would have been dead. Where have you been, Rogie? I told you to stay here. I'm not doing your work for you, Urban. I've got the motive for this murder. You have, Richard? What did the medical examiner have to say, Urban? You know the doc. He won't give any official opinion until he's had a chance to analyze the contents of the body. What's your theory on the motive? Well, I... Hey, Betty, where are you going? I'm with the working press. Mike and I are going to get some pictures. I can hear that massive intellect of yours ticking, Rogie. And I recognize that far away look in your eyes. Now, what goes? Don't stand there like a dummy. If you've got any theories, let me in on them. Signed, huh? Look, Urban, this place is air-conditioned, isn't it? The penthouse is. The building isn't. Yeah? I'll be back in a minute. Hey, where are you going? I'll be back in a minute. I want to check that theory of mine. Cyanide. That word brought back that dainty smell I'd noticed in the apartment when Urban and I had discovered the judge's body. Cyanide. The odor of cyanide is brought out by cigarette smoke. I had been smoking when I detected it. Ah, the pieces of this murder were falling in place like a well-trained chorus. I found the ladder that led to the top of the penthouse where the air-conditioning machinery was located. Ran up the ladder, gun in hand. And there he was. The murderer. Just lifting an earthenware crock from inside the housing of the intake fan on the air-conditioning system. Put it down, Mike. Take another move toward me, Rogie. I'll let you have this coffee. I'll be back in a minute. Hey, Rogie. I'll let you have this crock full of acid right in your face. What good luck do you, Mike? You can't get away. Another five minutes and I would have been home. Free. How'd you figure me, Rogie? Why did you have to horn in? I looked up the Gotham newspapers for seven years ago today. The day Judge Baker executed a man named Harold Michaels, an innocent man. Was he your brother? Your name's Michaels, isn't it? He was my father. And I executed the man who executed him. In his own private gas chamber. Just like they do it at Quentin. I waited a long time for the chance. Look, Mike, I'm not arguing right or wrong with you. But now you're a killer. And I'm going to take you in. Put that crock down. Oh, I don't think so, Rogie. I'll just stand here. I have to think. Just for my information, Mike, how did you delay the action of the gas until you knew the judge would be alone? I thought of everything. I didn't want to hurt anybody but Baker. I hung the sign I had pellet over the acid on a piece of cotton cord. I tested it half a dozen times. You know, it took a drop of acid three hours to eat through the cord. I'm glad I killed him, Rogie. I'm coming after you, Mike. I'm not waiting, Rogie. I don't like the gas chamber. Mike. Mike. Don't come back here. I'm not sorry for anything. Tell him that was my payoff line. Will you, Rogie? So long? No. Don't, Mike. Don't jump. Mike's plan for murdering the man who had caused his father's execution was as near perfect as any murder will ever be. While the guests were having whoopie at the cocktail party, he put that jar of acid in the air conditioning intake, hung the sign I had pellet over it and was back at the party leaving that note before anybody missed it. When he found that I was going to return to spend the night with the judge, he had to knock me out and get me out of the way for at least five hours. Three hours before the cyanide fell into its acid bath and two more hours which it took for the air conditioning system to completely change the air in the penthouse. That was clever. I thought that, yes, it looks like I did it again. Had a narrow escape, though, but that didn't bother me. I drive every day in the Los Angeles traffic. You know what I mean? This is Dick Powell again, ladies and gentlemen. Hope you enjoyed our story tonight. Ray Buffham wrote it. Leith Stevens composed and conducted the music in D. Engelbach produced and directed. Be with us again next week, will you? We have a story for you about a black-eyed senior reader from Argentina, a Latin-type corpse and a mysterious gold piece. We call it Latin-type. 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. Music Half a while let a song be your style, you spitch shampoo Half a while let a song be your style, you spitch shampoo Don't despair, use your head, save your hair, you spitch shampoo After and between, spitch 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.