 Laugh a while and a song be your style, your stitch, shampoo. Don't despair, use your head, save your hair, your stitch, shampoo. The F.W. Fitch Company presents Barry Sullivan as Private Detective Richard Rogue in... Rogue's Gallery. Rogue speaking. You know, in my business, it's hard to get ahead. There's so many other people trying to get ahead. My head, that is. Sometimes I think it might be better to let them scrape my name off the door before they chisel it into a headstone. Because I'm just the guy who doesn't like to see people get pushed around. Myself in particular. And I often wonder if there's any real future for me in the sneak, snoop and snitch racket when so many people don't want me to have one. That was the frame of mind I was in one Saturday afternoon when Howard Adrian, a well-known mouthpiece, called to tell me his troubles. Hello. Rogie, this is Howard Adrian. Hey, how are you? Say you're just in time, I'm thinking of selling out. Got a wonderful set of law books here, let you have them cheap. Never even cut the pages, never had time. Listen, Rogie, my wife is missing. Well, she's not here, I just took inventory. You don't understand. She's gone, vanished. I'm worried, Rogie. How long has she been gone, Howard? Two weeks. What have you done to locate her? Nothing at all, until now. This has got to be between you and me, Rogie. You see, it's rather delicate. Well, Phyllis is pretty headstrong, and I've got to move cautiously. Okay, Howard, I think I understand. You sit tight, I'll be right over, and relax. Richard Rogue will bring her back alive. Yeah, that's what I said. But the way it turned out, I didn't. I paid a call on Howard Adrian. His outer office was empty, and when I entered his private office without knocking, I found him kissing his secretary. It made a pretty picture, suitable for framing. Well, well, now I get it. You buried your wife in the cellar like Edgar Allan Poe, so you could marry your beautiful secretary. You only hired me for a blind, like in the detective story. Cut it out, Rogie. Your attempted humor isn't funny. Yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry, no time for me to go popping off. All right. This is Miss Corbin. Miss Crystal Corbin, Richard Rogue. I'm Charles. Likewise. Now, Howard, how about your wife? Just a minute. That'll be all, Miss Corbin. No, wait. Maybe she can help. Well, I don't see what I... I suppose we may as well tell Mr. Rogue. You see, Crystal and I are... That's enough. It's an old story. I hope we're not boring you. Not at all. Well, here's some good news. I may have a line on her already. The elevator operator tells me he took her down from here on the day she disappeared. She was with a tall man with brown muscles. Oh, yes. That would be Nicky Barron. Nicky Barron, I know him. He used to be mixed up with Rocky Malatesta when they were running the gambling ships off the coast. Good trial for the murder of Pig Muldoon and Frisco, gang war. Say, Howard, didn't you handle Barron's defense at that trial? That's right. Well, he must have been clean or you wouldn't have touched him. Thanks, and you're right. That's how I built my reputation and the reputation helped. Nicky was acquitted and he stayed clean ever since. Doing what? Doing all right, apparently. Operates a small club in the valley, the Mandalay. Dropped in to see me the other day. Looked sharp. I've walked out with your wife, eh? This is ridiculous. There was nothing between Mrs. Adrian and... Whose side are you on, Ms. Corbin? She's only trying to help. Sure, sure. Howard, you know, your working conditions are so pleasant I can't see why you want me to find your wife. Why not leave well enough alone? Because Howard wants her back so he can make a clean break. Get things settled once and for all. That's right. You find her so I could lose her legally. She'll give you a divorce? She wants one herself. Oh, why? She doesn't like me. Oh, she doesn't like you? No. Does she love you? Cigarette? Thanks. Light? Thanks. Rogi, don't worry about it. Just find Phyllis and forget the rest. Sure, Howard, I'll remember that. But if I don't forget it, you remind me, huh? Phyllis Adrian seemed to have vanished like Judge Crater. He seemed to have rolled the footsteps up behind her and even her shadow must have been following a wrong blonde. My first move in locating her was refreshingly simple. I merely called another private detective and assigned him to check every hotel and town at half my daily fee. Yeah, I should have been an agent. Then I headed for the Mandalay. The Mandalay was lined with woven grass mats and paneled with bamboo. You could have held hands across the dance floor. And in the middle of it, a girl was trying to shake herself out of a coat of grease paint and a sarong. I got past her all right without being hit by a flying hip and made the door of Nicky Barron's office. It was easy money. Phyllis Adrian was there. Well, well, hello, Mrs. Adrian. Goodbye, Mr. Rogue. Why, Nicky, that's not a very warm welcome. I'll make it warmer if you get funny, Snooper. My friends say I'm naturally funny. Maybe we'd make a team. I think you're a wonderful stew. I warned you, gumshoe. Nicky, don't. Yeah? Wouldn't that be a shame? OK, Rogue, stand up and take it. Oh, relax. Will you start off like that? What you're going to do for an uncle? I don't shoot snoops. Leave me alone. I'm in the clear with this joint. Very interesting. Fall back and regroup, Nicky. I'm not interested in you. Well, then put that sock on your account in case you get that way. Come on. Get off the floor. It's a new carpet. It's Mrs. Adrian. I care about. Oh, really? Sure enough, baby. Can't think of anybody I care more about at the moment. Well, Nicky, the man is utterly quaint. Yeah, the life of the party. That's him. Will you see me when I try on the lampshades? Mrs. Adrian, shall we rumble? I'd be utterly delighted. Just one little thing first. Nicky, would you step over here a minute? No, a little more of this way, please. That's good. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. A comedy team. Slapstick. Did you get that wonderful form? Why, Mr. Rogue, you have muscle. No, I just blow myself up with a bicycle pump. Shall we go? And that's the first act of tonight's graphic adventure from Rogue's Gallery. The F. W. Fitch Company is presenting Barry Sullivan, a star of this Sunday series, bringing you the adventures of Private Detective Richard Rogue. In just a moment, we'll continue with our story. America's number one hair problem is dandruff. Yes, according to a current survey made by Cosmopolitan Magazine, 61.5% of those interviewed said their number one hair problem is dandruff. You can lick this problem by using Fitch's dandruff remover shampoo regularly. Fitch is the only shampoo made who's guaranteed to remove dandruff with the first application is backed by one of the world's largest insurance firms. Keep your hair dandruff free with Fitch Shampoo. And men, for hair with a just combed look, use Fitch's new quinoyl hair tonic. Quinoyl gives your hair its rightful, healthy-looking luster, even if it's been dried out by hot summer sun and wind. Not sticky or greasy, quinoyl is blended from five essential oils for perfect hair grooming. Get Fitch's quinoyl hair tonic at Toilet Goods counters. Quinoyl is spelled Q-U-I-N-O-I-L. Later in tonight's program, a special offer for the United States only will be made. Everyone in the family will want to listen for details. When I walked in on a tender love scene between Howard Adrian and his secretary, I couldn't see why he was so anxious for me to locate his missing wife. But I did locate it, and I was ready to take her home. Now I had to overcome the objections of one Nikki Barron, proprietor of the Mandalay. I guess Nikki was convinced, though, because as he lay there in the carpet, he didn't seem to have another word to say. Well, for a moment, Phyllis Adrian seemed undecided between the horizontal Mr. Barron and the perpendicular Mr. Rogue. Then she began to smile. I must admit, that's an utterly divine Sunday wall of few pairs. Just part of life at its best? Oh, yeah. It's given me an idea. Be a nice boy, will you, and wait for me in the lobby? Well, I don't like to wear out my welcome. Oh, it'll only be a minute. But when this wilted snap dragon revives, I'll have something to say to him that isn't for yours, shall I give. Dear darling. So, I was a darling. What else could I do? In that silk dress Phyllis Adrian's geography was making history. I waited in the lobby, and I was just telling the hat-check girl to look out for men who tell hat-check girls to look out for men when someone tugged at my sleeve. I turned around. At first I didn't recognize her without her lipstick smid. It was Crystal Corbin. Well, well, Miss Corbin. You're looking a little like a Dresden doll tonight. Thanks. Same to you. Look, Mr. Rogue, you've done your job. Your farm is a vagrant. It's all Howard's paying you to do. Why don't I be smart and stop playing with dynamite? Leave Nikki Barron alone. Crystal, kid, you surprised me. What makes you think I'm interested in Nikki Barron? Because I know you had Betty Callaghan checking the newspaper files this afternoon on the death of Pygmaw Doon. And Nikki won't like that. My, my. It's a crime to waste those gams doing Nikki's legwork. What's your interest, Crystal? Well, you interest me. And not so I wouldn't like to see that smile without any teeth in it. Why, Chris, I didn't know you cared. Mr. Rogue, forget Nikki Barron and get Mrs. Adrienne back to her husband. Maybe I will care. That's just what I'm trying to do, darling. If people will stop shoving Nikki Barron down my throat. Uh-oh. Here comes Trilla. Forget you saw me. Good boy. Right where I left him. Ready to go back to Papa? Don't be so eager to get rid of me. I still have one more stop to make to bring about everything I've been trying to do these two weeks. You're important in my plans. Look, where do I fit in? We've only just met. Well, it's complicated, but you fit in. I'll tell you this much. I'm up to my mascot on a tricky business deal, and you're the lever I need to swing it. Uh-oh. Well, I'm a few more hands without looking at my cards, and I'll catch you in. I'm apart. I've already got a deal from your husband, remember? Oh, I'll see you collect on that, too. And I'll double it. Say no more, I'm in. Now, whose grave do I have to rob? Well, you're not so far wrong as that, Richard. We're selling a corpse, but all you have to do is stand in the background and rattle its bones. We got where we were going at 1025. It was a house on the ocean front, near Malibu. Whose place is this? Ask me no questions, Richard. What are you waiting for? An engraved invocation? No, just looking for the light switch. Ah, here it is. The place was a man's idea of what a woman would think a man's place ought to look like. Lots of copper, knotty pine, big brick fireplace, white bearskin rug, you know, the works. One under the room was sliding glass windows from top to bottom, looking out in a private beach and plenty of Pacific. I'd no sooner case the layout than Phyllis Adrian snapped off the lights. Hey, cut it out. I'm scared of the dark. Oh, now, Mr. Marshall, don't tell me you're frightened of poor little me. Could be, baby, could be. But I just don't like the idea of making mud pies in somebody else's sandbox. Relax. Come here and sit down. Don't you love the moonlight, Richard? It's overrated. It shines on the same things the sun does, baby. But on them it looks good. Yeah. Yeah, I guess there's none of us so perfect we couldn't stand the softer focus. In more ways than one, Richard. In more ways than one. Let's just stick to one. All right. What's up? Whose place is this? He smiled but didn't answer. And it was right then I began to feel that knot in my chest, the uncanny vibrations of something about to happen. And from then until it did happen, my heart was on a pogo stick and my nerves were skipping rope. Phyllis went to the record cabinet and fumbled through a row of platters until she found the ones she wanted. Pailed ethereal strains of a violin in the room, thin and ghostly. Mrs. Adrienne listened like someone in a dream. She floated to the chair opposite me and settled herself in it like a cloud coming to rest on a hill. Recognize the artist? Who is it, Evelyn and her magic violin? No, darling. It'd be Gorsky. This is his house. In this composition, he wrote Old and Old. Pretty. Sure. Come on over here and sit on the sofa. I always sit here when he plays. He stands right there. And I sit here. Always. You always close your eyes? Yes. Really? Well, anything for a thrill. Music appreciation is a wonderful thing. But gunshot crescendos are too modern for my taste. I opened my eyes and left him a feet and that knot in my chest pulled tight as a hangman's noose. I looked where she was sitting. There was still a smile on her face. She still looked good. Yeah, good and dead. There was a gushing red hole in her throat. The clock said 11.05. Music I don't know why. The first thing I did was knock the playing arm off that record. I guess it made me nervous. Then I took a quick study around the house. There was no one in the kitchen. The closets are under the bed. There was no space beyond the big window so I dived through them. There was nothing out there but sand and pounding surf and fog. Fog thick as taffy was rolling in off the sea. Coming in fast like they do at Malibu. Plotting out everything. Everything but one shape at the shoreline that didn't look like driftwood. I yanked out my heater and dropped to the sand. Hey, you. Stop swimming or digging. I'm coming after you. Don't shoot. Don't shoot. I'll give you the first one. You'd better start spitting full of kids and make that first one count. I started inching toward him. My finger trembling on the trigger ready for a duel in the fog, but he poxed me. He stood up and started waving his arms over his head. Don't shoot. Don't shoot. I'll give up. Okay, buddy. Just hold it like that. Now, stop talking. Who are you? Third Hex. Hey, the private snoop. Yeah, what you know? No, I'm the guy who hired you to find Mrs. Adrian. You're Richard Rose. Yeah, you're working for me. Well, I found him. Not get her dead or alive. Now, wait a minute. You ain't telling me I did, eh? Who else? You won't get sure. No, I won't get sure. You did? I did. Sure, I seen you. I was watching through the big windows. You were sitting in a couch with your back to me. She was sitting in the chair facing me. You were listening to the music and all of a sudden, you let her have it. What's the matter? Don't you like music? Not that kind you're making. I want to know how you happened to be outside that window. I told you to check hotels for Mrs. Adrian. Tonight, I find you peeping through windows that belong to a friend of hers. You get around. You're terrific. Tell me a secret. Well, I found that the name registered at the Wilshire Park Terrace is Adrian Howard. Howard Adrian, Adrian Howard, you get it? Wonderful. How'd you ever figure it out? Listen, if you can't praise the other guy's work, don't knock him. Okay, keep talking. Well, I checked the telephone calls and they were told to this beach address. She wasn't in, so I come out looking for her. I looked through the window and I seen it happen. You saw me kill her, huh? Well, it was kind of dark. Maybe it was two other fellas. And since it's you holding the gun, rogue, yeah, I guess I must have made a mistake. If you heard I did it, why didn't you go for a cop instead of hiding out here on the beach? Act your age, rogue. I didn't want no cops in on a deal. I was going to tell you, when you left, you've been in this racket long enough to know that there's more muller in not telling who done it. You know what I mean? You put the hooks in me for a hush, eh? Well, we all make mistakes, rogue. Okay, Bert, let's go inside the house. I'm calling homicide. You'll be sure of it. Somebody's going to be sorry. All right, rogue, drop that heater and reach. You were right, Bert. I'm sorry. Okay, Baron, this makes you dealer. Smart boy, rogue. I'll hand over those papers. Papers? Oh, I might have known there'd be papers. Well, I hate to say this because I know what'll happen, but what papers? Oh, that's it. It happened. Papers, you wanted bad enough to bump Mrs. Adrienne for. Oh, now you're telling me I didn't. Who else? I thought you did. Now, wait a minute. I just walked into this. I found her that way. I'll try to hang it on me. Oh, don't mind him. He tries to hang it on anybody who comes along. Who's this creep? My business associate. You can talk in front of him. Okay. For your benefit, creep, this dame tried to shake me down tonight. I was supposed to meet her at 12 o'clock with 10 grand and hush money. When I walked in, she was... like that. Go ahead. Tell him where I come in. Oh, sure. I was having trouble raising the dough, so she tells me tonight she'd taken rogue into the deal with it. Says a smart shamus like him would know how to pedal that kind of dough. But rogue here couldn't wait for the split. So he cut her out with a slug. That wraps it up. A motive. Oh, but one thing. What was he selling? I don't mind telling you now. I got nothing to lose. Besides, you two have a murder-wrap of your own to settle between you. Okay. I got a little careless once up in Frisco. I was tossing a letter around for a bluff and a gent named Pig Muldoon stepped into one and called me. So I was very sorry, but it couldn't have happened to a worse rat. Sure, I remember, but I thought you was clear. Yeah, I was. There was just one little technicality. I was guilty. How would Adrian didn't know that when he took the case? No, not when he took the case, he didn't. But before the trial was over, he did. See, the jury was already out when a guy called Meathead Maxwell paid him a call. He was the boy who was with me at the time. He wasn't trying to finger me. He just wanted a little powder money to blow town before anyone caught up with him and started asking questions. You mean Adrian made a deal with held-states evidence? Yeah. He probably wouldn't have, but the jury was already out and he'd built up such a beautiful case. But he still didn't like it. No, he got me off all right, but he also got a statement from the Meathead. He's been holding it over my head. Making me walk the chalk. That was what was in the papers, huh? You catch on quick, kid. But I was doing all right, you see, until Mrs. Adrian gets her mitts on the safety deposit key. All in the line of her wifely duties going through his pockets one night. Next day, she opens the box and pulls out my pass and starts in selling it back to me. I can't see her doing all right, ain't she just being Mrs. Adrian? Yeah, but she's not being just Mrs. Adrian. She's being a patron of the arts, on the side. Sponsoring concerts here and there. And I am the angel. Either I angel her boyfriend, Egoski, or she spades up Muldoon. Nice dither. Yeah, I thought you'd like it. All right, now, Rogue, how about it, huh? No, no hard feelings. If you're still selling, I'm still buying. But for killing that dame, all I got for you was congratulations. Okay. You put it that way. Did you bring the money with you? Sure, sure. I got it right here. Let's see it. If he bird, he's not so tough. That's the second time tonight he's dropped his guard. Who do you go? You made the very same mistake. Folding money. Legal lettuce, tons of it. So long, kiddies. Rest easy now. You look real cute there, cheek to cheek. Folks, here it is. A bullet, ballpoint pen, especially for you from the Fitch Company. Yes, it's made from a genuine U.S. 30-caliber machine gun cartridge. It's sleek, streamlined, all-metal and chrome-plated. Filled with non-smear ink, it writes for months. It's neat, compact, only four inches long, just right to slip into purse or pocket. Dad will want one for notes, mother will want one for her purse. And kids, you'll be the envy of the neighborhood if you have one. And here's all you do to get your bullet, ballpoint pen. Send your name and address with 25 cents and the box top from any one of these three Fitch products. Fitch's dandruff remover shampoo, quinoa hair tonic, or skin-fap after shaving lotion. Mail to Fitch, Des Moines, 6 Iowa. That's Fitch, Des Moines, 6 Iowa. Fitch is spelled F-I-T-C-H. And now back to Barry Sullivan as private investigator Richard Rogan. Rogues Gallery. I woke up with a lump the size of a hat on my head. Those were my playmates were gone. Heck with a 10 grand and Barry and probably after them with a grudge. And me with nothing but a corpse, I'd have a swell time explaining. I dragged myself to the phone and called Betty Callahan, a newspaper gal who sometimes knows the answers. I told her what happened and asked her to check the alibis of three other people, Crystal Corbin, Howard Adrian, and the violinist, even Higorsky. Then I spent the next 20 minutes trying to figure out one for myself. I still didn't have one when the telephone rang. It was Betty. At the time of the murder, Howard Adrian had been making a speech in front of 70 lawyers in a downtown hotel. Ivan Higorsky was in San Diego giving a concert. He only had 2,000 witnesses. The way the alibis were stacking up I figured Crystal Corbin would have been taking a bath in the Hollywood Bowl. But no, she'd been with Howard. Betty said she'd notified him and he was on his way out. So I had to have some answers ready fast. And then I saw it. The answer was in front of me all the time, Phyllis Adrian. The bullet had entered her throat at an up angle from somewhere near the floor. From that I traced the possible trajectory of the slug to its point of origin and found myself looking at a wall gas heater with an aluminum grower. I went over to it and held down, twisted some knobs and removed the drill. There, wired to the pipes inside, was a .22 target pistol. A little further back, clamped to another pipe, was a silver tuning fork. Two fine copper wires ran from the tips of the fork to the trigger of a gun. The trip hammer of a gun had been worked on with a file to make it respond to a hair trigger touch. I didn't have to test it to know that the tuning fork would vibrate to the crescendo in a Gorski's concerto. The concerto of death. Rogue, we got here as fast as we could. What happened? How hard! Oh, don't look down. Oh, it's better you don't. I think she'd want us off the focus. But I don't understand how could it happen with you right here. There's your killer, Howard, death by remote control. Commits murder on cue to a musical note. Good Lord, what a devilish thing. But who? Why didn't you tell me your wife was in love with another man? What? But how could I? I never knew. Yeah, sure of that. Of course I'm sure. What are you driving at, Rogue? Well, somebody knew. Whoever planted this gadget knew every detail. That she always sat in that chair in that exact spot whenever she listened to him play. Who could have known that except the other man? Yeah, that's a natural thought, Crystal. I think it's what we were meant to think. But it isn't the answer. I know the answer. I know a lot of answers, baby. Now, did you ever tell Howard you were Nicky Varen's sister? What? How did you ever find that out? The old newspaper filed to the trial, baby. You changed your name and the color of your hair, but you were still Nicky's sister, and you couldn't hide that. She wasn't trying to hide it if I knew it all time. You can't persecute the girl because of her brother. I'm not trying to. I'm just saying she made a play for you so she could get her hand on those papers you were holding over her brother's head and destroy them. Right, Crystal? Oh, wouldn't he have started like that? Now, hold on, Rogue. You're not trying to say that Crystal killed her? I'm not saying anything. I'm just clearing the record. No. Crystal didn't kill your wife, Howard, because you did. Me? Rogue, do you realize what you're saying? What possible motive could I have? Well, I've got my choice of several, but most of them involve blackmail and legal loopholes, and you'd have had a neat way of getting around those, so I choose good old-fashioned jealousy. The one thing you wouldn't have known how to handle. You must be out of your mind. How could I be jealous of something I didn't even know about? But you did know it, Howard, and the very fact that you went to such pains to conceal your knowledge is the tip-off. That couldn't be. That doesn't make sense. Howard loves me. You know, you saw. Sure, I saw. I was meant to see. The guy's a lawyer, baby. You were exhibit A, and I was gonna be a star witness. You're skating on very thin ice, Rogue. What makes you think I knew? A little guy named Bert Hex, a guy I hired to help me find your wife. Only he found her too fast, and he isn't that good. I figured right then he'd been keeping an eye on her for a long time for somebody else. But why me? You because he said you, Howard. A husband hires a detective to follow his wife. Yeah. Hex reports must have made good reading. All the intimate details about the private concerts and the specials... All right, Rogue, that's close enough. I'm sorry. Don't be a fool, Howard. We're done, they're gone. Yes, yes. I'm really sorry, Rogie, for you. It's you I'm sorry for, Howard. Don't tell me that. Nobody feels sorry for me, not me, not Howard Adrian. I don't need it. Howard, you insane! We're done, they're gone. And you, Crystal, you tried to get close enough to hurt me just like all the rest, but you never could. Nobody gets close to me. Nobody knows what makes me tick in here. Give it to the courtroom, pal. You're finished. Yes, yes. I know, but so are you, Rogue. So are you. If it hadn't been for you, I... Well, well, you're just too smart to live. Goodbye, Mr. Rogue. For an instant, I stood expecting to fall dead, but I didn't. Instead, Howard jerked a wreck spun around like a ballet to enter and crumple to the floor as if into the black body. And then I got it. The tuning fork was still attached. The gun was an automatic. And Crystal's high-pitched scream had set the thing in motion a second time. Howard hadn't thought of that when he stood in the line of fire and when he did think of it, it was too late. He was killed, as you might say, by his own ingenious hand. Well, that wrapped it up. It was Bert Heck's all-too-prompt appearance on the scene of a crime that had started the hunch I played against Howard's alibi. Just a little too coincidental. The police snabbed Heck crossing the border to Mexico and they picked up Baron while he was boarding a plane for Las Vegas. Heck's original thought was to blackmail Howard. That's why he didn't tell me Howard had hired him three months before to spy on his wife. But the 10 grand was quicker, so he took that instead. Oh, yes, the papers. We never did find any papers. I kind of like to think that they didn't exist. You know what I mean? You have just heard Barry Sullivan as Private Detective Richard Rogue in this week's graphic adventure from Rogue's Gallery. I'd like to thank our Rogue's Gallery players who are Lorraine Tuttle, Gerald Moore, Peter Lee, then Ed Mack. Thanks to the Charles Vendor, producer and director of your Fitch Bandwagon summer series, Rogue's Gallery. Until next Sunday then, this is Barry Sullivan saying, don't forget to switch to fit. Laugh a while and a song be your style, use Fitch's shampoo. Don't just dare use your head, save your hair, use Fitch's shampoo. Men, after shaving, be smile happy. For that tingling, frosty, fresh feeling, use Fitch's skin pap after shaving lotion. It's a smooth antiseptic lotion with a lasting he-man scent. Get Fitch's skin pap after shaving lotion. To get your bullet ballpoint pen, send name, address, 25 cent, and the box top from Fitch's shampoo, quinoa, hair tonic, or after shaving lotion to Fitch, Des Moines, 6 Iowa. Jim Doyle speaking. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company. The preceding NBC program was transcribed earlier to be heard at this time. K-F-I, Los Angeles Earl T. Anthony, Incorporated, California distributor of Packard Motor Cars.