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