 The FW Fitch Company presents Dick Powell as Private Investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's gallery. Bap a while, let a song be your style, 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, there is something about being happy that I like. And I couldn't have been any happier than I was that night if somebody had been tickling me with a feather. I had a date with Betty Callahan and the way I feel about Betty hasn't been covered by a word yet. But it's a very dandy way to feel and I was reveling in it as we sat there in the club Cuba drinking our after dinner coffee and grinning at each other. I was quite annoyed when a gentleman without rage dignity lurched over, drew up a chair and made himself unwelcome at our table. Oh, that you are Richard Rogue, the investigator. That's right. Why don't you go back to your own table? I just want to tell you, Rogue, that I consider your way of making a living despicable. Oh, thank you very much. No, Richard, don't start a scene. Look, mister, why don't you go away? You wouldn't like to have me call the captain and have you dragged away, would you? Oh, no, no. I have a few things to say before I leave, Rogue. I understand that my wife has retained your services to spy on me and sneak around after me. Sit down, Richard. He's been drinking. Oh, okay, honey. Look, mister, would you please go away? We don't like you. Go away. Scan. Go away. Now, Rogue, look. You know me and I know what you're doing here. I just want to tell you, Rogue, that my wife means a great deal to me. I don't even know your wife. I don't care anything about your private life, as long as you lead it someplace away from this table. Going to lie about it, huh? I haven't even gotten nerve enough to admit that you're sneaking around watching me. Okay, okay. Manuel. Oh, Manuel. Yes, mister Rogue. Would you take this creep away before I see whether those vitamin pills I've been taking really work? Take him away, will you? Of course. Yelling for help, huh, Rogue? Yellow, huh? Well, I'll show you. Oh, here, mister Rogue. Let's go with me. I'll kill him. They're sneaking right up. Come on, come on, Betty. Let's get out of here before I lose my temper and nail that guy. I'd never seen him before. He looked like a nice little man, but he didn't look like he could poke his way out of a mosquito net. As we got a cab, I looked at Betty. She was blushing like a June groom, and her little lower lip was pushed out in that cute way, indicated that she was going to tell me just what she thought of me and my profession as soon as she could control herself. Well, she did. It was early, but Betty wanted to go home, so I took her there. Then I went to my apartment. In the hall, I met a woman waiting for me. Beautifully, it turned out woman. Well, capped 35 with a baby face, and a full mouth drooped at the corners. Mister Rogue? Yes, yes. You waiting for me? Yes. Well, how nice. Just a moment. Won't you come in? Thank you. Have a chair. Have we met before? No, I don't believe we have, Mister Rogue. I've always admired you, though. I've always admired your work. Well, thank you. And now, just what is it you wanted to see me about? About my husband. Oh. He's... Oh, he's found a new interest. Yes. Well, uh, well, I suppose you tell me. What's your name, by the way? I'm Mrs. Webb. Mrs. Matt Webb. Webb. Oh, Webb. Oh, well, I'm beginning to see the light. Tell me, uh, has your husband a bad disposition and delusions of grandeur? My husband... Well, he... I, uh, I just met him. He said that you had retained me for some reason which he didn't explain. Why did you tell him that? I want to retain you, Mister Rogue. Look at this. Uh-huh. Oh, come on over here under the light. Hmm. Bill for a fur coat. $5,000. I want to know who my husband bought that coat for, Mr. Rogue. I'll pay you well for finding out. Well, I'm really sorry, Mrs. Webb, but I don't get mixed up in domestic difficulties. There are plenty of detectives, though, who will take your case. You won't take it? No, I really won't. I'm much too busy. But... Good night, Mrs. Webb. Mr. Rogue, I... I'm sorry, Mrs. Webb. I'm tired. I don't take domestic cases. Uh, thanks for dropping in, but now good night. I have to get some sleep. Good night, Mr. Rogue. Oh, what's the idea of calling me... It's I, Richard. Betty. And it's 10 o'clock. Oh. Oh. Well, hello, Angel. I... I wasn't quite awake, you know. Never mind. I have news for you. Hmm, yeah? Your friend, Matt Webb. Remember him at the club last night? Sure. What about him? Well, he was found dead in his car this morning. Parked in the Hollywood Hills. Shot. No kidding, huh? I just left Lieutenant Urban. He's in charge of the case for homicide. He knows about your argument with Matt Webb last night. Well, he doesn't think I did it, does he? Well, no, but... Oh, there's somebody at the door. How about lunch? Oh, all right. Noon at the derby? Suits me. So long, honey. Keep your shirt on. I'm coming. I'm coming. Oh. Oh, hello, Urban. Come in. Thanks, Rogue. I don't know anything about it. Don't even know the guy. You're talking about Matt Webb, I suppose. Sure. Who else? Don't tell me you just dropped in here for a cup of coffee. How did you know Webb was dead? Did I say he was dead? Pull up a chair. Cigarette? No. What do you know about Webb, Rogue? Nothing. I met him at the club Cuba last night. He wanted to beat my brains out because I was an investigator. Seems he had a strange idea that his wife had retained me to follow him. Okay, Rogue. Talk your brains out. But you can't talk away the fact that Webb is dead and you had a beef with him. Sure, but I don't know anything about this case, Urban. Well, it's early in the morning and while you talk... You were a genius for getting all mixed up in things. You don't know anything about it, haven't you, Rogue? I don't get sore. Okay, I'm not sore. Just because I meet a guy who doesn't like investigators and his wife tries to hire me to find out who he bought a fur coat for and he turns up dead. That dear wife angle is interesting, Rogue. Get dressed. Why? Mrs. Webb didn't mention any fur coat when I went out to see her this morning. She didn't. Maybe she's got some more little secrets. Come on, Rogue. We're going to call on her. We'll continue our story in just a moment. First, when you want to drive a nail, you can use the heel of your shoe or some other object, but you get better results with a hammer. So when you want to remove dandruff, you get the best results by using a product made especially for that purpose. Fitch's Dandruff Remover Shampoo. 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I operate on the theory that a boy's best friend is a dollar. I didn't know the recently dead Matt Webb from Gungeden, but there I was in Urban's homicide sedan on my way out to play quiz with Mrs. Webb. During the ride, Urban gave me a quick rundown on the events surrounding Matt Webb's murder. Webb was a very wealthy man, you know, Rogue? Big manufacturer, farm machinery. Well, he couldn't have been very smart or else he wouldn't have been parked up in the Hollywood Hills. That's volunteering for a stick-up. You look like his daughter. No, I guess she's not quite that young, but what the beauty parlor and the foundation can do to keep her young has been done. Very pretty woman. She looks about 30, probably 35. By the time we get back down to headquarters, we'll know more about her and everything else in the case. I might get it over with. I want to go on my vacation. I'm sick of murders. So this is the way the other half lives, huh? Must have taken a lot of farm machinery to plop enough bill for this month's atrocity. Well, we're a pair to a million or two. It ain't hey. Now, uh, I'll do the questioning, Rogue. I'm in charge of the case, you know. Oh, sure, sure, sure, sure. I'm just a silent partner. Ring the bell. Thank you, I will. Police, I want to see Mrs. Webb. Oh, come in. Thank you. Well, go ahead, Urban, go ahead. She's in here. My name is Fred Gale. I was sales manager for Matt, Mr. Webb. Lieutenant Urban, Homicide. This is Richard Rogue. Oh, glad to know you, Gale. Would you mind telling me why... Shut up, Rogue. Huh? Well, I... Shut up! Oh, all right, all right. Uh, right in here, please. Mrs. Webb, these gentlemen from Homicide want to talk with you. How much you talk to me right now? I have nothing more to say. Uh, Mrs. Webb, Richard Rogue here tells me that you called on him last night, attempted to hire him to check on the disposition, the disposition which your husband made of a fur coat. Yes, I did. I didn't tell you about it this morning because I didn't consider it important. Well, uh, Mrs. Webb... Rogue. Hmm? Now, Mrs. Webb, every detail is important in the investigation of a homicide. Whom do you suspect of receiving the coat? Oh, look, Lieutenant, I hate to get into this. Mr. Gale, if you please, this is my affair. Matt Webb was my best friend. If you, Mrs. Webb, had been a little more understanding... This is no time to fight with me. Maybe we could organize this conversation a little bit. You stay out of it, Rogue. This is a murder investigation. Now, listen, all of you... Oh, just a minute, just a minute, Urban. Look, Mrs. Webb, how about telling us a little more about the home life of you and your husband? Rogue, if you don't shut up, I'm going to throw you out of this investigation. Oh, just a minute. Gale, uh, weren't you with Matt Webb at the club Cuba last night? Yes, I had dinner with him there. Then you must have known, uh, who he was with and what he did later. I have no idea what he did later in the evening. I left him a little after eight. At that time, his plans were to go home. At least that was my understanding. Now, maybe you'll feel more like talking a little later, Gale. You can go now. You can get me at the office anytime you want. Okay. Better fix that cold. Now, uh, Mrs. Webb, you seem to think that your husband was involved with some woman. Of course he was. That's how he got killed. Who do you think he gave the first court? To his secretary, Helen Damon. He's been in love with her for the last year. She's been making a perfect fool of him. Helen Damon. We'll have a talk with her. Lieutenant Urban dropped me by my office and I took pen and racing form in hand and managed to forget all about killings not made at Hollywood Park until noon. When I left and met Betty Callahan at the Brown Derby. She was as full of information as a chamber of commerce brochure. Richard, I want you to come with me to the jail. I want you to talk with Helen Damon. Web secretary, why? I feel so sorry for her. Those homicide detectives have been grilling her all morning and she's so tired and discouraged. Well, well, well. Does it look like Helen did the job? Well, yes. A man showed up at the police station this morning and he said he saw a girl in a tweed coat with a tuxedo collar run down out of the hills last night and drive away in a Chrysler Coupe, a blue one. Just about the time of Web's murder and in the same locality. And Helen Damon has a coat like that and drives a blue Chrysler Coupe, right? Yes. But Richard, I don't think she did it. Oh, just because she has big brown eyes, I suppose. Look, baby, cops don't make many mistakes. What did they find out about the gun? Well, it was a .38 revolver that Mr. Web kept in his desk at the office. There were no fingerprints on it. It was, uh, it was found in the weeds a little way from where the car was parked. Look, Betty, Betty, honey, you're a newspaper reporter, not an investigator. So why don't you let the police take care of finding the killers? If Helen Damon did it, she'll get the book. If she didn't, she'll be okay. Has she got any alibi for the time of the crime? No, she hasn't. Oh, you have to get down there and talk to her. I promised her you would. Oh, now what business? If you promising anybody that I'll take their case, looks to me like this Helen Damon is as guilty as Engelbach. I don't want to get mixed up in a case like that. I should have known that's the way you'd look at it. Just because she doesn't have much money to pay you. But, baby, that's got nothing to do with it. I have a couple of hundred dollars. I can pay you. I want to see that Helen Damon gets a fair deal of it. Now look, Betty. I'm not going to get mixed up in this case. That's final. You understand? Rogue, you see Helen Damon. I'll give you ten minutes, Rogue. Thanks, Olson. Miss Damon, Betty Callahan, the reporter, told me you were expecting me. I don't see how you can do me any good, Mr. Rogue. They've already decided that I did it. Nothing I can do to convince them. Well, I know about the partial identification. Now, suppose you'd tell me where you were at the time the crime was committed. All right. Last night at nine o'clock, within a few minutes of nine anyway, I got a call from Mr. Webb. I don't think it was Mr. Webb now, but I thought it was then. He asked me to meet him at his office. Said he had some important letters he had to get out at once. Was he in the habit of having to work at nine? No, but it didn't seem unreasonable to me. So I put on my coat and went down to get in my car, which was parked in the parking lot next to my apartment building. Just as I got into the car, he grabbed me from behind and held a cloth over my face. It was chloroform. When I came two, about three hours later, I was in my car. My coat was thrown over me. The car was back in the parking lot, and it had been driven about 15 miles. I know because I had it serviced yesterday, and the service record is on the dash. You live in Hollywood? Yes. Oh, well, that's just about right for a drive to the Hollywood Hills. You wouldn't have trouble convincing a jury with a story like that. Now, look, Helen, I'm your friend. Is that story the truth? Yes, yes, it is, Mr. Rogue. I know you don't believe me. Nobody does. You have the slightest idea what happened between nine o'clock last night and midnight, right? Yes, that's right. There's no way in the world I can prove I'm telling the truth. I couldn't figure out why anybody would do anything like that to me. I got up this morning and went to work. I didn't say anything to anybody because I... You, uh, live alone? Yes. Now, Helen, I want you to be frank with me. Were you, uh, overly friendly with Matt Webb? I liked him and admired him, that's all. Mrs. Webb seems to think it went a little further than that. Oh, no, no, I hardly knew him at all socially. He's taken me to dinner a few times, that's all. Mr. Rogue, do you think you can do anything to help me? I'm not a murderous. Yeah, uh, Tommy, do you know anything about a fur coat? A coat that Matt Webb bought for somebody, not his wife. No, I don't know anything about it. I haven't done anything wrong. Can you get me out of here, Mr. Rogue? I don't know. I don't know, you haven't got much of a case. I'll pay you. I have a little money saved. Oh, skip that, skip that. I'm doing this as a favor to a friend. Are you sure you're on the level with me? I've told you everything I know. I didn't kill him. He was a fine man. When I left Helen Damon, I had a great inquisitiveness about a fur coat. I got in my car and fought all the other crazy California drivers to a standstill trying to park in front of Helen's apartment house. I got her apartment number off the register in the foyer and walked up one flight. The lock was easy pickings. I walked in, closed the door, and... Oh! Oh, I caught it right at the base of the scope. Like a turkey on the first Thanksgiving. My astral body left this world floated up through eternity like a whisper of smoke, only paler. I was so glad to see Cloud Ape, my home away from home, and gladder to see Ugoor, my alter ego. Ugoor was sitting there on a used thunderbolt, his raisin-looking eyes sparkling with glee. Hello, Rokey! Welcome home! You forgot to duck again, huh? Oh, let me sleep. I'm tired. Oh, you better snap out of it, Chiefy. You've got plenty of work to do. Yeah, I know it, but I'll take care of it later. Go away. No, can't, Rokey. You need a talking to. You can't lay down on a job now. Come on, snap out of it. Oh, oh, my head. Betty Callahan got me into this. Her and her hunches. You've got the same hunch, and you know it, Rokey. Oh, now you're reading my mind. Look, Midget. Reading your mind. Look, Chiefy, I am your mind, and I'm telling you to get downstairs. You've got work to do. Later. Now, Rokey. Now stop pushing Ugoor. I'm not well. Over you go. Rokey. Rokey. Snap out of it, Rokey. Oh, hello, hello, hello, Urban. What happened to you? Well, I got hit on the head. Can't you see? What kind of a detective are you? No, take it easy. What were you doing here in Helen Damon's apartment? I wasn't doing anything. I just opened the door and somebody let me have it. What were you looking for up here? Oh, I got a little bit inquisitive. Oh, why? Well, I had to talk with Helen Damon and she didn't know anything about a fur coat. That's funny. That's funny about it. We just got a murder indictment against Helen Damon. Well, that's a long way from conviction. Mm-hmm. And when I was up here this morning, there was no fur coat in that closet. There's a fur coat in that closet now, Rokey. Peculiar, isn't it? We'll return to our story in just a moment. 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Now back to Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. Assorted and unrelated facts are swirling around in my massive intellect like neutrons around an atom. They were just as much explosive in them as I could get them properly under control. Holy Christ, I got away from Urban and decided to drive out for a visit with Mrs. Matt Webb. As I pulled up in the same block with the Webb House, I saw Mrs. Webb get into her car and drive away. I followed her over Coldwater Canyon and out into the valley. When she pulled into the driveway of an early suburban white ranch house, I parked up the street. She went in. I took a look at the mailbox in front of the house. The name on that mailbox was F.R. Gale. I got that old, familiar chill in the region of my solar plexus. I'd locked into something and I knew it. I worked my way around to the rear of the house as quiet as fallen snow. The back door was unlocked. I pushy put it in, float up to the doors between the dining room where I was and the living room where Fred Gale stood talking with Mrs. Matt Webb. Well, Marsha, may I be the first to congratulate you on that performance you gave for Lieutenant Urban and Rogue tonight? You did very well yourself with it. Now, suppose you'd tell me what you're doing out here. Well, I had to see you. I needed little moral support from you, Fred. Yeah, I know. But this is the craziest thing you could have done, Marsha. Well, you don't act as though you're very glad to see me. Now, look, Marsha, we've gone to a lot of trouble to cover up the fact that we're friends, haven't we? Friends? You know I love you, Marsha. It's only that so much depends on us being smart just a little while longer. How do you know you weren't followed? You'll have us both in jail for murder. We've been smart so far, why ruin it? They don't suspect us. They have a murder indictment against Helen Damon. Aren't you going to kiss me, Fred? Come here, sweetheart. They kissed and then held it. I reached my gun out of my shoulder holster and redded myself for the pinch, but something held me back. You can call it second sight or luck or anything you like, but I couldn't move my feet. And while I was debating, they broke it up and started talking again. It was a very interesting conversation. Everything's going to be wonderful for us now, isn't it? Sure. You'll just stay away from me a little while until a case is settled. Everybody's forgotten the murder. Darling, we'll always be sure of each other, won't we? Of course. Oh, Fred, I know I'm silly, but I worry. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you. I want you to do something for me. Promise me that you will. Okay. I'll do anything for you, Marsha. If you'll only promise you'll be a good girl and get out of here and stay away from me until everything's all right again. We've got to be smart, baby. I'll stay away if you'll just help me. I want you to write a note like this one I've written. Read it. Confession. I alone, unassisted, killed Matt Webb. Signed Marsha Webb. Marsha, this is utter nonsense. If we can't trust each other, now we... No. I want you to write a note like that in your own handwriting and give it to me. And I'll give you my confession and you'll give me yours. Then we know that nothing can ever separate us. You and I. It's a stupid thing to do. Say that note up. What if it got into the wrong hands? It won't. Sit down here and write me one like it. Then I'll know that everything's all right. She kissed him then and walked with him over to the desk talking love all the way. She got a pen and some paper. She stood behind him with her arms around his neck as he started to write. I saw her free hand come up with a gun in it. As he finished the note, she placed the gun an inch from his temple and I moved. Gale, duck! Rogue. Yeah. You should be awfully glad to see me, Gale. In about another minute, you'd have been a suicide and your girlfriend here would have been a wealthy widow. Don't believe him. Don't believe him. It's a lie. Oh, skip it, Mrs. Webb. Look, Gale, you see that gun, your lovely collaborator dropped? Marsha. If I hadn't put that slug through her shoulder, she was going to put one through your head, sucker. She was slipping you the kiss of death. He's lying, Freddie. He's lying. Why, you were... you were going to kill me. Sit down, Gale. You... Sit down. I'm running the show from here on out and the little lady has a reserve seat in the gas chamber. Well, it didn't take much to convince Gale that Marsha's planned to kill him and leave the gun in his hand as he slumped over the desk. The notes he asked him to write would have sensed his death as remorseful suicide. And Mrs. Webb would have had all of Matt Webb's money and a dead accomplice. She would have been as safe as an odds-on bet that Dick Tracy cats his shoulders. Gale admitted his part in the plot to murder Webb and framed the innocent Helen Damon for the crime. And Gale got away with life. Marsha paid the full charge in the gas chamber. Oh, well, I... I've always said that there should be a little editing done on that old saying. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. The last word should be deleted. President Company accepted it, of course, ladies, but... You men, 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 the Engelbach produced and directed. Be with us again next Sunday, will you? We have a story for you about a summer resort, a lovely girl, and some newspaper clippings about a murder. We call it Cabin on the Lake. Must be a floating cabin. 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 next be seen in his newest Columbia picture, Johnny O'Clock. After and between Fitz Shampoo's, you can keep your hair shining and manageable by using a few drops of Fitz's Ideal Hair Tonic every day. Fitz's Ideal Hair Tonic is not sticky or greasy, yet it gives your hair that well-groomed look.