 The FW Fitch Company presents Dick Powell as Private Investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's gallery. Laugh for a while, let a song be your smile, you spitch shampoo. Don't despair, use your head, save your hair, you spitch shampoo. The FW Fitch Company, makers of Fitch's dandruff remover shampoo and ideal hair tonic, presents Dick Powell as Private Investigator Richard Rogue. In Rogue's gallery. Rogue speaking, business was booming like California real estate. And I was lending my magnificent talents to about a half a dozen different investigations on this day I'm going to tell you about. I was as happy as a cat in a canary cage. When on my way back from lunch I stopped at the cigar stand in the lobby of my building to buy a packet of cigarettes. Herb Hyde, the character who owns and operates that cough emporium when he's not playing Jen Ronnie with me in cheating, gave me a big wink. Herb's a little guy who is at all times conversant with a scorer who is playing and whether the game is fixed or not. He's slightly bigger than the fox, twice as smart. And that balding gray head of his contains more pertinent knowledge than your nearest library. When he slyly closed his left optic and just as slyly opened it again, I bent by Manly Torso over the counter and gave him my undivided attention. Hey Rogue, hey, you got company, Rogue. Big stuff. Yeah, yeah, somebody wedding in the office? Yeah, couple of million bucks waiting up there. Angela Mullins. Angela Mullins? Yeah, that's right. That rates a whistle from anyone. She's got plenty of dollar, Rogue, money. And if she's looking for a private investigator, something's up. But look, after you shake hands with her, be sure to count your fingers. Yeah, I understand she throws a door around like an armless woman. Yeah, she inherited a cool medium when her husband kicked the bucket. And she's running up to double now by shop deals. You know, I understand she killed her husband with her maintenance. Poor little dim on up to eat. She's got a niece and a nephew, her only little relative. Her niece lives with her and her few are married and live in San Francisco. She won't give either of them a dime. The mainest woman in the world. She's 67. Look, Herb, how do you know all these things? What are you even doing? Making a study of the old girl just in case you ever dropped in to talk with them? Oh wait, you know how, how do you, Rogue? Running a place like this, you get all the gossip. Oh, Herb, you're the poor man. When you store up information like a squirrel stores up nuts. Oh, no, no, no. You see, I'm just a dummy. I wouldn't be running a little stand like this. I'd have a big one, big, you know, in a better building. How about some gin rummy in my apartment tonight? Sure, sure, sure. I'll be over at nine. I'll admit that I was running a high fever in my curiosity department during the elevator ride which whisked me toward my interview with Angela Mullins. The old lady was a legend in our town. She was irascible, mean, miserly, and cruel. She drove the only remaining electric car in the world and drove it wide open right through the heaviest traffic. She had a sea bag full of residence mortgages and took great personal delight in foreclosing them. Grand girl. She was waiting in my outer office, black bonnet tied under her chin, black alpaca dress shiny with age, low-heeled button shoes, and gimlet eyes. You're Richard Rove, the investigator? Yes. You don't look as modern as the newspaper stories about you, Sound. Well, I'm quite a bit brighter than I look. I hope so. You know who I am? Yes, of course, of course. You're Mrs. Angela Mullins. That's right. I suppose you think I'm a little crazy. Most people do. You think I'm a miserly old hag? You know, I hardly ever think about it. Sit down, please, Mrs. Mullins. I will. I want to talk with you, Rogue, but first I want to know what your charges are. Well, it depends on the case. You tell me what you want me to do and I'll name my price. If you want me badly enough, you'll pay it if you don't, or I've lost nothing but time. Now, what do you want me to do? Young man, I've done business with people like you for over half a century. I don't tell my problems until I get a price. I've, uh, I've got great respect for the sanctity of womanhood and for old age, so I'm not going to ask you to leave until you're rested. If you're as clever as you think you are, you can accomplish what I want you to do in 24 hours. What are your charges for 24 hours? Depends on the work. It's as simple as you say it is. It'll cost you $500 for the first 24 hours. $500. Take it or leave it. I'll take it. Mr. Rogue, I want you to find out who it was who stole my will. Stole your will? Yes. A few weeks ago I was supposed to die. A half-witted doctor who's been taking care of me for many years told me I was going to die. My relatives had a great celebration, I suppose. I fooled them, though. I lived. Yes, I see you did. What were you supposed to die of? My heart. I'm supposed to have a bad heart. It's as strong and steady as yours. I feel fine. But that fool doctor keeps warning me to take care of myself. Trying to make an invalid of me, Mr. Rogue. Look, if you had a heart attack two weeks ago, shouldn't you be home in bed? I came down to see my dentist. I had a tooth problem in the room. That was my excuse for getting out of the house without my spying niece knowing I was coming down to see you. Somebody stole my will, Mr. Rogue. And if I died today, I would die in test state. My money would all go to my only living relatives. A niece whom I loathe and a nephew whom I detest. Now, tomorrow I'm going to see my lawyer and write another one, just like the one that was stolen. I see. Now, what disposition did the will make of your state? I left 5,000 to each of those helpless little fools. And all the rest to a missionary society. You think it was either your niece or your nephew who stole the will? Who else would have any interest in it? I kept it in a strong box under my bed. It's gone now. Strong box and all. Here's your $500. Whoever stole that will expect me to die. They were disappointed the last time, Mr. Rogue, and now I don't know what they'll do next. All right, all right. Now, your nephew lives in San Francisco, doesn't he? Yes. How did you know that? Well, I'm an investigator. I try to keep informed on everything. Was your nephew in town at the time the will disappeared? He was. He was by my bedside waiting for me to die and arguing with me. I beg your pardon, Mr. Rogue. Angela, you should be at home in bed. I told you that when you left my office. And I told you I wasn't going there until I took care of some business, Sam. This is my dentist, Mr. Rogue, Samuel Hall. Oh, yes, we've passed the lobby several times. I've shared a few elevators. How are you, Dr. Hall? Fine, thank you. Angela, I want you to go right home. Sam, if you don't stop ordering me around... I'm telling you for your own good. Go home now. I'll see you there tonight. And if that new crown I install gives you a new trouble, I'll... Yes, yes, yes, yes. Remember this, Mr. Rogue. Our discussion has been strictly private. Now, if you'll help me out of this chair, I'll go home. Of course. I'll see you both at 8 o'clock this evening at my home. I'll be there. That $500 check in my pocket did its best to pay for the depression I felt that afternoon. And it came in second. I didn't like Angela Mullins. I called up some of the old timers around the banks and the newspapers in town to put the fight on them for some information about the old girl. And the best any of them could say for her was that she had been the best speller in the third grade. Evidently, she'd done nothing decent since. My conscience told me to give back the five bills and bow out of the case. $500 is a lot of money. But I have to shave every morning. And when I shave, I have to look at myself. So I decided to turn the case down. When I arrived in front of the dilapidated old mansion where Angela Mullins lived and counted the money, there were two other cars in the driveway. One was an old model coupe with the earmarks of hard views. The other was a shiny sedan with the insignia of a docker on it. It was just 8 o'clock. I went up the creaky steps across the porch and knocked with the old-fashioned knocker. Mr. Rowe, I'm afraid we're too late. What do you mean we're too late, Dr. Hall? I'm right on time. We're too late, Mr. Rowe. Angela had a heart attack that she took off. He's dead. We'll continue our story in just a moment. 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Remember, Fitz is the only shampoo made whose guarantee to remove dandruff is backed by one of the world's largest insurance firms. Use it regularly each week. Now back to Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's gallery. Angela Mullins was dead. Whoever had lifted that strongbox containing her well from under her bed had made millionaires of the only two living relatives the old lady left behind. I had accepted a $500 fee for finding out who the strongbox lifter was. When I walked into the house, the nephew Paul Warner, the niece Clare Mullins and Dr. Hall the dentist were there. Paul and Clare were in the living room when Dr. Hall ushered me in. Clare was as stunning as a blackjack behind the ear and was the lyrics to every love song. He was sitting in the big old-fashioned chair crying. Paul was standing in front of the fireplace with rugged face caricatured into a sad scowl. Dr. Hall introduced me. Clare? This is Richard Rogue, private investigator. Clare Mullins, Mr. Rogue. How do you do? Hello. And this is Paul Warner, Mr. Rogue. Glad to know you're Warner. Thanks. Dr. Stevens is still upstairs, Mr. Rogue. You'll be here in a moment, I suppose. May I ask what your business is here at this time, Mr. Rogue? Your aunt commissioned me this afternoon to do a job for her. She doesn't need any jobs done for an hour. She's dead. Yes, I know. I'm sorry. You're sorry? I'm not. Paul, don't say that. After all, she was your mother's sister. I'm sorry, Clare, but I can't be hypocritical. The only reason I'm sorry she's dead is I wanted to talk with her tonight. I wanted to try again to borrow some money from her. Don't worry about that, Paul. I can help you out with the amount you want. Mr. Rogue, I think you'd better come back some other time. Your aunt's death doesn't end my job for her, Ms. Mullins. What do you mean, Rogue? I still have to find out who stole her will from under her bed once you had her last heart attack. Her will? Yes, she came to see me about that this afternoon. You mean something has happened to that will, the one that left everything to that mission into bed or someplace? Has she written another will? No. No, not that I know of. She said she was going to make a new one tomorrow. Do you know anything about the missing will, Mr. Wong? No. Are you accusing me of this, Steph Rogue? I'm not accusing anybody at the moment. But there were only two people in the world who stood to win by the disappearance of that will. I don't understand what you mean, Mr. Rogue. If your aunt died without leaving a will, her estate will be divided between her living heirs. That's you and Warner. That's right, Clare. We're rich. Mr. Rogue, I don't think this is quite the time to discuss the affair of the missing will. I'd like to talk to the doctor on the case. Excuse me, please. Why do you want to talk to Dr. Stevens, Rogue? Because I think under the circumstances that he should be very sure that death was caused by unaided heart failure before he signs that death certificate. Mrs. Mullins was afraid of an attempt on her life. You think one of us murdered her for money? It's been done before. I'm not saying it was done this time, but I think there should be an autopsy to protect the heir from suspicion. As long as neither of you had anything to do with your aunt's death, I'm sure you'll agree that such a procedure is for your protection. Could I have a talk of an autopsy in here? Oh, you, Dr. Stevens? Yes. This is Richard Rogue, the private investigator, Dr. Stevens. Oh, yes, Mr. Rogue. Could I help you in any way? I'm working for the late Mrs. Mullins. Dr, are you positive that her death was due to a heart attack? Are you questioning my knowledge of my profession, Mr. Rogue? I'm merely asking you a question, Dr. Under the circumstances surrounding the death of Mrs. Mullins, there is a possibility of murder. I'm sure you wouldn't care to assist a murderer. Murder? Well, I certainly would not. You think Mrs. Mullins was murdered? Well, I think it's possible. I'm going to tell the facts as I know them to the police. And I also am going to suggest an autopsy. That's a lot of foolishness, Mr. Rogue, and I shall so inform the police. You're willing to say that only heart failure could have caused Mrs. Mullins' death? Mr. Rogue, my diagnosis is heart failure. Good day. I left and called Urban from the nearest drug store and gave him a quick pitch on the case. He owed an odd a little bit and finally decided he'd talk with the commissioner about an autopsy. I remembered my Jen Rummy date with Herb Hyde, so I told Urban to call me at home later that night. I didn't get to call. When I got home, somebody was waiting for me. I opened the door. Oh! Oh, and the world caved in. I fell into a great void. I fell, fell, fell into a blackness so heavy it felt like velvet against my skin. I fell for centuries before the blast hit and the blackness was shattered with zig-zagging red, blue, and yellow light. And I was picked up in a blast so strong that it shot me up into the heavens at the speed faster than light. I opened my eyes and saw cloud aid, my home away from home. I called Eugor. Eugor! Eugor! It's coming! Put down your flags, Chiefy. You're coming in for a landing. Oh, Eugor, somebody hit me. You're making an understatement. That's not like you, Chiefy. Somebody beat your brains out. Oh, it's so good to be here on cloud eight. It's so peaceful. And if you'd shut up, it'd be so quiet. Hey, Roge, you were a little late tonight. I thought maybe you were going to get by without coming up. Oh, no, no. Who hit me? Well, somebody did, Chiefy. Now you've got to get to work. You've got to get back downstairs. Oh, don't mention it. I'm staying up here a good long time. I'm kind of sick. Feel any better until you get downstairs, Rogi? Now come on. Over the side with you. No, no, Eugor. Stop hanging on, Chiefy. Eugor knows best. You have to go back downstairs. But I've been sick. Oh, no. Over you go. Oh, for the love of my, Rogi. Yeah? Oh, yeah. What do you want? Rogi, it's her pride. Remember our Gene Rummy date? Oh, it's you. How are you, Herb? Fine, fine. What's the matter, Rogi? What happened to you? Well, isn't that pretty obvious? Yeah, yeah, sure is. Here, take a drink of this water. No, no, get me a brandy. There's some over there in that cabin. Sure, sure. Can you see now? Of course I can see. What have I got to look at? There's a note here. Yeah? Oh, let me have it. Somebody wants to get rid of you. Mm-hmm. Yeah? Well, it just says, get out of town. Oh, it's not even signed. Look at your place. All torn to the devil. Somebody was looking for something. How old are you supposed to be, Rogi? Who knows? Who knows? There are plenty of people who would like to see me move out of town. Get Herb on the phone, will you? Tell him to come over here. Sure, sure. I'll get him right away. Every nerve in my head was doing the Highland fling to the tune of the Anvil Course. As I lay there and tried to figure out who it was, it slipped me that lead pipe sleeping pill. I was working on a half dozen cases, and I didn't know which one of them had enough dynamite in it to cause the ma'am. Herb Hyde called Urban. We sat there and played Gen Rummy until Urban arrived. The part of my mind which was still working was on my troubles, and Herbs was on the cards. I was 370 behind when the door opened and Urban walked in. What happened to you, Rogi? Oh, oh, what a question. Somebody hit him on the head. Yeah, that's right. Kinda shook the place down a little too, didn't it, Rogi? Yeah, Urban, you know all the cases I'm mixed up in at the moment. Where am I near enough to have pinched to cause somebody to bend the plumbing over my head? Well, we ordered that autopsy in Angela Mullins as you asked us to. Angela Mullins? She did? Yeah, what did you find out, Urban? It was a good tip, Rogi. She'd been fed enough poison to kill an elephant. Poison, huh? That's right. Poisoned with cyanide. We'll return to our story in just a moment. First, a word to the ladies. A beautiful woman is like a symphony, care and technique and details adding up to a lovely theme. That's why millions of beauty-wise women choose Fitch's Dandruff Remover Shampoo for their hair grooming. Soft, lustrous hair is a beauty detail they've learned of value. Fitch's Dandruff Remover Shampoo cleanses the hair gently and efficiently with its mounds of snowy leather. And while it's cleansing, Fitch's Shampoo is also reconditioning the hair and scalp. This reconditioning action gives the hair strands greater elasticity, so your hair will take a wave better and hold it longer. And when you use Fitch's Dandruff Remover Shampoo, notice how quickly and easily it rinses out, leaving your hair with a satiny texture, sparkling with natural color highlights. Make Fitch's Dandruff Remover Shampoo your regular aid to lovely shining hair. Always ask for Fitch, spelled F-I-T-C-H. Fitch's Dandruff Remover Shampoo. Now back to Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. For some reason or other, I was expecting Urban to crack that news about the death of Angela Mullins being murdered. One of my famous hunches had whispered that suspicion to my subconscious as soon as I'd heard of her death. Herb Hyde, who'd come over to play Jen Rummy and remained to put my head back on after some character unknown had knocked it off, was delighted to find himself in the middle of a murder investigation. Urban gave me all the dope in words of one syllable. She was poisoned with cyanide. That's all there is to it. It was fed to her some way and she died in a matter of minutes of what looked like heart failure. How did you know it wasn't a heart attack, Rogie? What made you so smart? Well, Angela Mullins was up to see me this afternoon. She was expecting an attempt on her life. Well, she wasn't a supporter, was she? No. Well, you lost a client, Rogie. Did you get your dough in advance? I'm gonna keep running the job. Who do you think did it, Urban? There are only two suspects in the case. I've talked to both of them. The niece and the nephew? That's right. One of them did it, huh? They had plenty of motive. Yeah. What do you know about it? Well, I know the old lady's will was missing and I know they'll divide the estate between them if the will isn't found. A couple of million dollars is a great motive for murder. Yeah, it's a nice price. You manage to break it down yet, Urban? No, they both swear they didn't have anything to do with it. No, that's a fairly normal reaction. Yeah, sure, sure, sure. But the old lady died of a serious indictment? The DA's thinking it over. One of them did the job all right. They were the only two people around when the old lady died. And this cyanide takes less than a minute to be effective. We got an open and shut case against one of them. I think I'll take a run over to the mullins' house. I'll see you later, Urban. Mr. Rogie didn't poison her. I want you to know that. You might as well face it, Claire. Cyanide, that's a poison that you found your aunt had died of, one of the fastest acting poisons in all. There was nobody in the house but you and Warner at the time, was there? No, there was just the three of us here. Paul and I were sitting downstairs here, and auntie had just gone up to lie down for a while. The next thing we knew, she was dying. Well, let me look around a little bit. Where did your aunt keep her important papers? Really important. Once she kept in that strongbox under her bed, the strongbox that the will was in. The police had been over the house. It isn't here. Yes, did you have a desk? Yes, it's in her office. The study upstairs. The study's upstairs but you won't find anything there. Really, Mr. Rogie, I wish you'd go. The police are taking care of everything. I want to take a look through that desk, Claire. Oh, now look, don't cloud up and cry at me. I'm just trying to help you, that's all. I didn't do it. Oh, Mr. Rogie, I wish I were dead. There's something about a beautiful girl's tears that turns my iron will to sugar and melts my good intention away like snow in the sunshine. I comforted Claire for a while, all the time wondering whether or not I was getting all that fine philosophy away to a murderous, and then I went to work. I combed that house like a head of hair and I didn't find the will. But I did find some pay dirt, a letter written on distinctive stationery. That little buzz I get in my solar plexus told me that I'd solved a murder. That letter and that interview with Angela Mullins in my office added up to a pointing finger which I followed right out of the house. I was on the trail of the missing strongbox. I called Urban, gave him a hot tip on murder, then went to work. When I arrived at my destination, no one was home, so I let myself in through a basement window. I went to work like I only had five minutes to live. I started in on the top floor and hurricaneed my way back into the basement before I found what I was looking for. The missing strongbox with the name Angela Mullins stenciled on its lid. I put it under my arm and walked up the stairs with it. As I walked into the kitchen, I saw him standing there with a gun in his hand. Hello, Mr. Rowe. Oh, hello, Dr. Hall. I see you found it. Yes, you were a little bit too sure of yourself, Dr. Yes, I can see now that I walked. Where did I slip up, Rowe? I found a letter from you to Mrs. Mullins. A letter about a $50,000 note she was pressing you for. Yes. Well, Doc, you'd carelessly written that letter on the same stationery you had used to write me a note. The one you left in my apartment telling me to leave town. When you batted my brains out, remember? Yes. How unfortunate. You know, Rowe, killing is like lying. One leads to another. What goes he gonna do you to kill me? You're the only person who even suspects me of murdering Angela. I tore up the note and, incidentally, I also tore up the wheel. There's absolutely nothing now to tie me into this murder, Rowe, except you. Look, Doc, Doc, you'll never get away with this. No, no, no. You... You'll never get me alive. Well, I guess I'll have to. Well, Rowe, I guess we got here too late. I'd say you got here just in time. There's your murderer. Yeah, we checked that information you gave us, Rowe. What did you find? Dr. Hall was the killer. Very clever job. There was not enough cyanide to kill a horse into a little gelatin capsule. Then he put the capsule in the crown on Mrs. Mullins' tooth. Oh, brother, and when the capsule melted, the cyanide hit the bloodstream. Oh, Urban, what would you do without me? Well, that was the end of that case. When the doorbell rang, Doc got rattled and I knocked him cold. Urban was very proud of me. Dr. Hall admitted he'd put the capsule full of cyanide and the gold crown it made for Angela Mullins. She had been pressing him for payment of a $50,000 note which he couldn't pay. He was executed. The will was never found and Claire and Paul got the old lady's money. But they did very handsomely by me, forgetting them off the hook. And I spent the money and pursued Betty Callaghan. She was playing hard to get in those days, but... I wore down. Case of mouse catching the mousetrap. 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. Untitled when the sun shines through the roof. 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. By the way, Dick will soon be seen in his newest Columbia picture, Johnny O'Clock. Fitch Shampoo 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.