 And I know many things, for I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. Tonight, transcribed, an Italian nobleman, the other his wife, the surfaces are cracked to frames old and wormy. But the colors are fresh and brilliant as if they were painted yesterday. And there's a story in back of these paintings, a story that began with a traveling art broker named John Winters of a casual trip to the picturesque Italian seaport of Venice of the unbelievable stunning moment in his hotel room when a quiet little artist named Julio Donate put a quarter of a million dollars in the palm of his hand. Well, Sr. Winters, what do you think? Well, it's pretty hard to believe, of course. So you will agree that I am giving it to you for almost nothing when I ask only $75,000. $75,000 for an original Montaigneur. What's wrong with it? Skeptical, eh? You're very hard to convince, Sr. Winters. Suppose I leave it with you for, say, 24 hours so you can examine it too closely. Of yourself, Donate? Well, there will be many, Sr. who will say it's Montaigneur's best word. I'd agree with them. It is. You see, I painted it myself. Difficult to master. The oil is very hard to find at the ageing of process. Oh, Sr., it was hard to work, but you see, it had its reward. It's completely a pair. The other was sent a week ago to a New York broker, a C.L. Brickley. I expect to hear from him tomorrow. Does he know about this one? Well, of course. I informed him in a confidential letter. I should think you'd keep it under your hat. Forgery is serious business. Oh, please, please. They are not forgeries. I claim only to paint in the manner of Montaigneur. Had I intended to pawn off a forgery, would I have been a so frank? Yes, but you know what's gonna happen. Miss Brickley will pedal that picture as an original. Eh, Sr., what you people do with my paintings is your own business. I'm an artist, not a forger. However, I think... I think you will find me discreet enough. But now I... I must go. For this? Now, wait a minute, Potter. I'll tell you again. It's from McCoy, an original Montaigneur. He's pulling your leg. No one in his right mind would let a Montaigneur go for $75,000. I told you, he doesn't know what he's got. The artist only produced 35 paintings in his leg. They're all catalog winners. There's no such thing as... You saw it with my own eyes. Are you telling me I don't know a Montaigneur when I see one? And what about this Brickley? He bought the mate to it. But, John, I just can't believe... All right, Potter. You don't want to advance me the money? There are plenty of others. Oh, don't do that. Call me when you've closed, and I'll wire the money. It's better. You'll hear from me in a couple of hours. Marty was right, wasn't it? Your mind is whirling with figures as you hang up the phone. Hurry across town toward the address to not he left you. The little shaft in the Plaza Flancasie. Yes. There's over a quarter of a million dollars in that briefcase under your arm, provided that the three people in the world who know the truth are discreet. Only gamble is used, John. You and Donati and Brickley, the New York brokers. With three who know, there's always a chance one might talk. You turn a corner into the Plaza, wondering if Brickley had just thought of that one. And the answer comes suddenly. A crowd is gathered at the front of Donati's shop. What's the matter? What happened here? Keep it back, please. What is it, officer? What happened? It's for prior to the shop. It's in your Donati. It was a shot. Yes, you, Potter. Yes, John, go ahead. And it looks like the deal's off. What happened? We were a little late. Brickley got there first, huh? Brickley got there first. Thanks for the offer, Potter, but I won't need the money now. I'm on my way to New York. Hometown to more people than any other in the world. Its history is pretty well known. How it was supposedly bought for $24 worth of trinkets from the Indians. How it started under the Dutch, went to the British, and passed to the young United States after the Revolutionary War. It was our national capital for five years, and George Washington was inaugurated there. Today, it's not only the biggest, but probably the busiest and noisiest place in the world. Much of its growth and prosperity is due to New York Harbor. The port clears more than 5,000 vessels a year and ships almost half of the entire trade of the United States. But New York City is many things to many people. It's not just San Francisco multiplied by 10 or Chicago multiplied by three. It's Wall Street and Harlem, the Statue of Liberty in Greenwich Village. It's Broadway, otherwise known as the main stem, or the Great White Way. More theaters are crowded in that area than any place in the world. It's the Empire State Building, the world's tallest structure. It's a parade up Fifth Avenue and a baseball game between the New York Yankees and the Brooklyn Dodgers. It's the Metropolitan Opera and Madison Square Garden. It's Rockefeller Center occupying 12 acres and 15 buildings, and it's the headquarters of the United Nations. It's the native New Yorker who never moves off his block and the immigrant who came from halfway around the world. It's the George Washington Bridge and the Holland Tunnel and Grant Tomb. And when you've said all this, you've still only scraped the surface of what New York is like, what it's all about. But one thing is for sure, the people of New York are proud of their hometown and proud of the part it has played in the building of America. And now back to the Whistler. And in your suitcase is a masterful piece of forgery sold in its lining. It will bring at least a quarter million on the American market. Yes, Donati was clever, wasn't he, John? Too clever. And to you, at least, it's clear that this Brickley, whoever he is, knew that a clean deal could never be made if the secret of the forgery were shared. And that, of course, added up to Donati's murder. You have a surprise for Brickley, haven't you, John? But you know you have to be careful. On the afternoon of your arrival in New York, you walk down the corridor of an apartment building in the East 70s. Pause and press the buzzer. I'm looking for Mr. C.L. Brickley. Oh, what did you want to see Mr. Brickley about? Well, it's a personal matter. Is he in? So what is it you're selling, Mr....? Widders. John Widders. Well, I'm really not selling anything. I guess this suit does need pressing, but it's really not that bad, Mr.... Brickley. Oh, his daughter? I'm C.L. Brickley. What? Himself. Well, a woman. But a woman who is not interested in a vacuum cleaner at the moment, perhaps some other time, Mr. Widders. All right, Mr. Brickley, have it your way. A friend of mine told me you had a picture or two that might interest me. Wait a minute. What kind of a picture? Well, I'm collecting Italian Renaissance. You? Honest, C.L. I've got 11 other suits. If I'd known I was calling in such a beautiful businessman. I'm sorry, Mr. Widders. Please, come here. Can I bring my vacuum cleaner in no charge for the demonstration? I said I'm sorry. Come on in. Please, sit down. Oh, thank you. Is, uh, this your place of business? Yes, I'm a broken, Mr. Widders. I see. You mentioned Italian Renaissance. What did you have in mind? Oh, Venetian school in particular. Oh. You know, of course, that authentic Venetian things run a little high. How high? $300,000. Hmm. That's high enough. What is it? A montaigne. Oh, now, wait a minute. No, I know. I know. It's hard to believe. It came to light during the war. I was very lucky. You're, uh, positive. It's authentic. How do you want to see it? Oh, that won't be necessary. Let me check my briefcase here. Well, I have the picture in my safe. In a minute. Here we are. Oh. How do you like this one? Where did you get this? Same place. You got yours, Mr. Brickway. Same artist, same convincing technique. Who are you? Widders. The name's Widders. That's not what I mean. Where'd you come from? Don't worry about me, lady. I'm authentic. Let's stick to the montaignees. All right, Mr. Widders. Just how many of these are floating around? Two. And how many know about the two? You and me. That is, since you took care of Donati. Oh, now that's a little crew. All right. So you had it done. What's the difference? That still leaves two. You'd be smart enough not to give the hired help your reasons. You've got it all figured out, haven't you? Well, it's water over the dam. Let's talk about the pictures. We're hooked with each other. You know that. That might not be so bad, Mr. Widders. Better make it, John. All right, John. We've got a lot to talk over, C.L. I know. But since you're not quite the kind of a guy I expected to meet, why don't we switch the conference to a nightclub? I'd like that. OK. Pick you up around eight. Fine. Sure. You like? I like. She is beautiful, isn't she, John? Slim. Grateful. That's another evening gown clinging to her like a glistening white sheet. And for the moment, you forget everything else. The Montanhas, the half million, the wealthy clients, everything. Everything that is, except that you're dealing with a killer who's as sure as you are that those paintings can never be sold as long as there are two minds in the world who know their fortune. If only she weren't so breathtaking. So beautiful. Beautiful. Not at a business conference. Oh, that again. Yes. That again. They're pretty hard to find, you know. People who put out half a million for a pair of paintings. I put out a couple of theaters before you arrive. I'll take your pardon, Miss Brickley. There's a call for you, Mr. Gross. Mr. Gross? Who's Mr. Gross? He's one of the clients I've been telling you about. He said it was quite important. Yes, of course. Excuse me, John. I'll be right back. And no matter how much you tell yourself that business is business, the feeling's still there the next morning when you call on her again at her apartment. You pause for a moment before you knock. Decide once again that nothing must stand in the way of the picture deal and the half a million dollars. Well, hello, partner. Partner? Any objection? I didn't know I'd make the grade. Oh, you had a definite thing. Oh. Come here. I've got something to show you. Oh, thanks. Expect to find you in a laboratory, Avon. What's going on? Hey, what's this? My laboratory. I've been busy putting your Montaigne over the jumps. Jumps? Mm-hmm. Photographed it three ways. X-ray, ultraviolet, infrared. The negative's over there on the rack drawing. Well... Then I checked the colors with alcohol. The naughties are clever men. Was. If you insist. Mmm. The naughtie was a clever man. Don't you think you might have been a little hasty in letting him go? Still accusing him. Cigarette? Mmm, thanks. And beautiful. Mr. Gross? Well, I don't know, John. How do you mean you don't know? You're not getting cold feet, are you? You said he was a client. He called. Well, I know. Well, that's good enough for me. Make an appointment with a guy for me. I want to see him. John, I... I don't know why I'm saying this. What? We could be awfully good friends. We'll discuss that. That length after you get the pictures. Pictures? What for? We'll wrap them up, darling. We're going down to the Pennsylvania station. I want to check this package. John, what are you... Just a minute, will you? Here. Here you are, click. Ten dollars. Ten? What do I do? Just give me the claim check. Okay. There you are. Now watch. I turn and have. See? Here, Lorraine. That's yours. What are you doing? Wait a minute, mister. I... Put a note on the package. You deliver it only when both halves of the claim check are presented. Get it? No, but that's screwy! Wait a minute! That's ten bucks. Okay, mister. You're the boss. Thanks. One fork. Come on, Lorraine. A rising cracked egg. Same one fork. A rising cracked egg. You know, I think this is all pretty silly. Maybe it is. But I'll just trust you a lot more after you fix up that appointment for me with your friend, Mr. Gross. Now, how soon can you make it? Well, I don't know, John. I'm not sure. Let me handle it then. When can you get hold of him? I'll call him tomorrow. It isn't easy, is it, John? You leave her standing there on the station, fighting to get her out of your mind and your heart, knowing that you must never let her come between you and the business plan, the appointment with Mr. Gross. The next evening you go to her apartment, determined to see it through. As you walk down the hall, the door is open slightly. No! You hear her talking on the telephone. There isn't going to be any to you, Mr. Gross. You stop still and listen. Forget I ever told you to come here at eleven. It's all. Yes, I know what I told you, but that was before us. Well, it's different now. I'm changing my plan. If that's right, it's thought to be this way for the present. Then make up your mind. Two can play that kind of a game, can't they, John? And you know the one who wins is the one who gets there first. Our partner. Oh! They weren't his calling. Yes. He's not interested, John. I look like a sure thing, didn't I? Guy has money, crazy about Italian pictures. Well, there'll be others. I've got the car outside. It's a nice night. I thought you might like to go for a drive. That sounds wonderful. Maybe over to Jersey. I'll cross the George Washington Bridge. I'll get my coat. I'll only be a minute. Well, take your time. No hurry. Come, does it, John? Now that you've made up your mind, just a few miles of riding, talking idly, with the automatic hidden down beside you in the seat. Occasionally, you've glanced from the road at her beautiful face in the moonlight. That's something you'll never forget. That's fate. With a moonlight-working magic with her hair. There's a declaim check in your pocket. As you go through the wastebasket next to the telephone. With the name... Give him a message for me, will you? Whiteman is back on. Would you say that hydrogen, the lightest known substance, is 75,000 times lighter than mercury? Half right. Brush up on your chemistry. Tell your I and the officer you want to study with the United States Armed Forces Institute, USOPHY. It's easy. It's simple. If you don't want to be half right, use USOPHY. And now, back to the Whistler. He lived in a police station near the East River. A trail that began in Venice with an artist who painted a pair of pictures in the manner of Montaigne and died because of him. Lucene Brady of Homicide is done his job now. The suspect has finally begun to crack. Stop it, will you? Stop it! I'll stop it. Ridley Denati. I killed him for her. When I got back, she called me and said there was one more. Money again, huh? Yeah. She called up the night it was supposed to happen and said it was off. And that's how you happened to murder John Winters. That's it. I guess the Brickley danger... They found boarding the gangway in rough weather a bit difficult. So, several members of the crew or side boys would be summoned to assist. The number varying according to the weight and agility of the boarding officer. The pipe was sounded for quite fast heaving. In time, however, piping over the side became a simple ritual of courtesy for a boarding officer. Present time. This is but one of many interesting facts which can be found in the history of your United States Navy. Music by Wilbur Hatch is produced by Joel Malone and transmitted overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Written by Joel Malone and held by all characters portrayed on the whistler are also fictional. Any similarities of names or resemblances to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This is George Walsh speaking and reminding you to listen again next week for another strange tale-wise on Whistler.