 I was a communist for the FBI. Starring Dana Andrews and an exciting tale of danger and espionage. I was a communist for the FBI. From the actual records and authentic experiences of Matt Sevettik, now many of the incidents in this unusual story. Here is our star Dana Andrews as Matt Sevettik, who for nine fantastic years lived as a communist for the FBI. I am Kurtin, even a self-imposed Iron Curtain. And it's particularly distressing because we who have stepped behind that curtain can still see through it. We know the way you are living, natural, normal, happy lives. We know too the way you look down on us, despising us as traitors. But though we understand it hurts because everyone has a craving for love, for admiration, essentials of living that are denied to the unknown communist for the FBI. In a moment, listen to Dana Andrews as Matt Sevettik, under cover man. This story from the confidential file is marked, A Study in Oil. As I walk into Comet Horsting's house, I know again that feeling of apprehension by the company's every special party summons. As always, I wonder why I've been called. Have they seen me making a contact with the FBI? Or have they finally been able to fix the failure of some party project on me? It hasn't happened so far, but it can at any time. And the worry is always there. Then in Comet Horsting's living room I learned that they haven't caught me yet. You have been chosen to perform a very important mission, Comet Sevettik. Mission which has already met with several reverses. Then what makes you think I can swing it? What I think has no bearing on the case. The assignment came from partying headquarters. What is it? You were to affect the friendly acquaintance with a Mr. and Mrs. Walt Wheeler. Where do I meet him? On the New York bound Limited, which passes through here at eight o'clock tonight. How will I know them? I have pictures on them. Newspaper pictures taken when the Wheeler's overnight were catapulted from poverty to tremendous wealth. Oil? Five wells so far. Flowing thirty-seven thousand barrels a day. And according to my reports, this is only the beginning. And the party wants some of this oil money? Naturally. Oh, I see. Your job is simply to affect the friendly meeting with them. A meeting which can be exploited after you arrive in New York. I leave at eight o'clock tonight. Right. The figures according to the report giving me will be in drawing room B, card 7018. After leaving Comet Horsting to go home and pack for my trip to New York, I step into a phone booth and call the FBI. I report to the agent in charge and ask for instructions. But he can't give me any until we know more about the project. Instead, he tells me to contact the bureau office in New York as soon as I learn something definite. I've only been in my room a few minutes packing for my trip when events began to catch up with me. You take your time, Comrade Svedik. I wasn't expecting you, Comet Horsting. Come in. Has my trip to New York been canceled? No. In fact, your responsibilities have increased. I just received this package which you are to deliver to Comrade Crowder at Parkley Headquarter. What is it? I wasn't told, Comrade Svedik. I didn't ask. I just wondered a large flat package like that. If Comrade Crowder thinks you should know, he'll tell you after you deliver the package. Now, finish your packing. We'll have dinner together and then I'll drive you to the station. I'm curious to know what's in the package Comrade Horsting has given me, but I can't look at it while he's around and he doesn't leave me alone for a second. After dinner, he gives me his newspaper pictures of the wheelers and I memorize them. After dinner, he drives me to the station where I pick up a copy of Petroleum News, the trade paper of the oil industry before boarding my train. The first thing I do after the train leaves the station is to open the package I'm to deliver to Comrade Crowder at Parkley Headquarters. I'm not prepared for what I see. It's an oil painting of a boy dressed in the period known as the Renaissance and it's signed Rembrandt. Communists and Rembrandt don't go together naturally, so I decide to phone from the first schedule stop to ask the FBI to inspect the painting at Grand Central Station in New York. Then I take my Petroleum News and walk toward the club car where a man I recognize as the man in my newspaper pictures, Walt Wheeler, is staring out the window. I sit down beside him and begin reading my oil industry paper. It's baked well cast and Wheeler opens the conversation. You an oil business, mister? No, not really. I'd just like to read about it and hope that the leases I hold on government land may be worth something someday. It could happen. Sure, but not to me. It happened to me, mister. They're joking. Not a smidgen, mister. I was stuck with 250 of the most worthless, no-account acres a man ever broke a plow point on. That's where they struck the oil? Yes, sir. Imagine that. What's your name? Wheeler. Walt Wheeler? Wheeler. Well, I think I read something about you on this magazine. Month or so back. You might have. You sure had a flock of people after us. Taken pictures and writing articles. Trying to sell us things we never even heard of. I'll bet. I didn't catch your name. Oh, that's Smith. Matt Smith. Oh, glad to know you, mister Smith. Well, I'm certainly glad to know you, mister Wheeler. You just call me Walt. Thanks, Walt. You know, I haven't dared to say that to anybody since we struck the darned oil. Found too many people ready to take advantage. There are those people. Yes, sir. And men and me met most of them. Men's and my wife. I'd like to meet her. I'd like to have you meet her. Right now, she's bashing the drawing room at Prympin. It's just like a woman. She's entitled to it. If men wants to spend the rest of her life at Prympin, it's all right with me. You've had it tough enough before. Things were pretty bad before you struck the oil, huh? I mean, it couldn't have been much worse. I suppose that's why the communists tried to move in on us. So was that about communists? Well, sir, as soon as we struck oil, we was approached to join the Communist Party. Well, can you imagine me having anything to do with a red... An oil mill in there like you? No, Walt, I can't. An oil millionaire be darned. Even when we was poor, I was an American. I never believed that there was any place in America for red communists. I'm glad to hear you say that, Walt. I hate them, too. Well, me and ought to be through with our fiction by now. Let's go back and see. Well, I'll be glad to, as we leave this next stop, I have to get off the train and make a call to New York. It must be pretty important business if you can't wait till you get there. It is important. Well, I'll wait here as you get back on the train. Then we'll go see me. While I'm switching engines, I get off the train and call the F behind New York. I'm arranged to have an agent meet me at Grand Central Station and check on the rembrandt I'm carrying. Then I meet Walt Wheeler's wife, Men. She's about 50 and the years of poverty have left their marks. Marks that their newfound fortune can dim, but never erase. The trips in New York to the first real shopping trip I've ever taken in my whole life, Mr. Smith. I'm going to make it a good one. What are you going to buy first, Mrs. Wheeler? I don't know exactly. I only know it's going to be the most expensive thing I can carry. Walt promised me that. I meant it, too, honey. There's nothing too good for my men. It'd be fun to go shopping with you, even though I couldn't buy anything. Why don't you come on with it? Well, I'd like to. You've been around a lot more than we have. We could sort of lean on you for advice. I'll have a little business I have to take care of first. We've got all the time in the world, Mr. Smith. Then we'll get together in New York sometime tomorrow. Where do you be staying? Well, we've got reservations at the tower. Really living like oil millenaires, aren't you? The sky's the limit this trip, Mr. Smith. I'm not sure that I can stand the altitude, but I'll certainly enjoy the ride. When the wheelers and I get off the train in Grand Central Station, I know that I've established a contact with them that fits my party orders. A contact that can be exploited to the party's advantage. After we part, I try to figure out what the angle is going to be. Then suddenly, shockingly, the wheelers are erased from my mind by the sight of a man walking toward me. A man with his arms folded. A signal that he's an FBI agent that I'm to meet and show the Rembrandt. I nod and start toward him. He smiles. Then when I'm only three paces away, his smile changes to a frown, and he turns his back as a voice says to me, Mr. Svedic. What? Are you Matthew Svedic? Yes. I'm Comrade Crowder. I believe you have a package for me. Yes. But I was supposed to deliver it to party headquarters. You were supposed to deliver it to me. May I have it, please? That's in my bag. Oh. In that case, keep it there until we reach headquarters. Are you successful in contacting the wheelers? Yes. Good. How are we going to exploit them? That will be explained at headquarters. Come on. I didn't want to talk in the station or the cab, Comrade Svedic, but the party is going to sell the wheelers, the contents of the package you brought to me. How can we be sure that they'll buy? That is your assignment, Comrade. Oh. And what am I supposed to sell them? Open your grip and take out the package. Here. Thank you. There you are. An oil painting. Signed by Rembrandt. Do you think that you can sell that to the wheelers? Possibly. Though I doubt that they've ever heard of it. That doesn't matter. We have to sell it to them. Why do the wheelers? Rembrandt should be worth a lot of anybody's money. There are several advantages in selling to the wheelers, Comrade. In the first place, they have almost unlimited financial resources. Newly acquired. Is that a particular advantage? Certainly. Once we have their money, we'll have to check for this picture. We'll have to check photo-statted on both sides. And the endorsement will be made in the name of the Communist Party. Then we'll claim that the money was intended as a contribution to the party and can buttmail them indefinitely. Exactly. With your help, Comrade Svetik, we'll convert the wheelers' money to the party. Every dollar of it. I was a communist for the FBI and the second act of our story. While he's planned to sell the wheelers and oil by Rembrandt, I'm anxious to get away to report to the FBI so that Walton men can be warned against buying any painting. But I can't get away. Instead, with Comrade Crowder, I enter an inner office. Shut the door, Comrade Svetik. What is he doing here, Comrade? He has plans for our Rembrandt, Dr. Brokaw. Oh, well, in that case, welcome, Comrade Svetik. The Comrade Svetik? This is Dr. Sergei Brokaw, Comrade. Dr. Brokaw is an art dealer, critic and expert. And party member? Well, of course, Comrade. My advanced art gallery is simply a necessary front. After several others have failed, Comrade Svetik finally scraped up an acquaintance of the pair of dukes. The party has been most anxious to capture, Dr. Peasants with oil wells. They should be very good prospects. Frankly, I doubt if they've ever heard of Rembrandt, Dr. So much the better, Comrade, they'll not be so critical. Our artist, while improving, is not yet perfect. I'm afraid I don't follow you. For example, on this portrait of an unknown boy that was just delivered to us, Comrade Svetik also delivered the painting, Dr. No matter who delivered it, our artist is improving. Except for the subject's left eye being one centimeter too short in this forgery. Copy is a kinder word, Comrade. Except for that one small difference, and that would not be noticed by any except the most thorough investigators, I defy anyone to prove that this is not a genuine Rembrandt. The colors, the canvas, the frame, everything is a... copy of the finest order. If you don't mind, Doctor, I'd just as soon you save the sales talk for these suckers of Comrade Svetik. He and I need to work out a plan for catching them. Crowder has a plan all worked out about any help from me. A con game that would catch people a lot more sophisticated than the wheelers. There's nothing I can do to warn them. But I do get one break. While Crowder's checking in at the wheeler's hotel, it's part of the trap. I get a chance to get to a phone booth and call the FBI. I called you long distance from the railroad junction last night. I'm in a phone booth. That picture wasn't either smuggled or stolen. I'm positive. It was forged. Canvas, frame, everything. Doctor Sergei Brokov called it, portrait of an unknown boy. It's a canvas about 14 by 16 inches. According to Brokov, the art critic and a party member, the boy's left eye is one centimeter shorter in this forgery than it is in the original. That'll help, buddy. Good work. Well, that is not all. They're getting set to sell this phony painting to some brand new millionaires. People named wheeler. They're coming at the towers. Mr. and Mrs. Walt Wheeler. Anything more? Yeah, call the wheelers and tell them that they're going to be shown a phony painting and warn them not to buy it. I'm sorry, but I can't do that. But look, the reds plan to hook them, then blackmail them. This is only the first step. I can't. But look. I'm sorry. I understand the agent's attitude. I'm risking my neck to make this report, to keep the reds from getting their hands on the wheeler's money, and I'm told to forget it. It's fine. I know they're fighting a war against communism and in any war, people get hurt. But I still feel like a traitor when I go to Comet Crowder's room at the hotel, call the wheelers and get them to come down to see the Rembrandt. Oh, come in, man. Walt, I want you to meet a friend of mine. Well, any friend here is a friend of ours, man. Thanks, Walt. Well, Mrs. Wheeler, I'd like you to meet Mr. Crowder. Mr. Wheeler? Mr. Crowder. Hi. Nice to know you. What's this picture you were talking about, man? It belongs to Mr. Crowder. It's called Portrait of an Unknown Boy. It's a painting by Rembrandt. Little known and extremely valuable. When Mr. Crowder said that he intended selling the picture, man, I remembered you're saying that you wanted to buy the most expensive thing you could carry. This picture might be it. You remembered that and thought of it. I told you he was real folk, man. Considerable prestige connected with owning a genuine Rembrandt. Oh, is he one of them modern? Rembrandt has been dead more than 200 years. Oh, he was one of the old masters. Oh, then this is real expensive? Extremely. It's probably worth much more than you could possibly pay. How much is it worth? Maybe 50,000. Possibly 150,000. Well, now that's quite a spread. How do you find out for certain? Some professional art dealer? Who? Your own, if you like. Oh, we don't have an art dealer. I didn't think you would. I don't know why you insisted on wasting my time, Matt. You're not wasting your time, Mr. Crowder. I'll vouch for the wheelers. If they decide to buy your painting, they can well afford to buy it. Man, to any other painting you happen to have, too. Why don't we take this picture to an art gallery and get an unbiased appraisal of it? Well, anything you'd say, Matt. I'll pick one out of the phone book. Here we are. The Avalon Art Gallery. Dr. Sergei Brookhoff. Art dealer, critic and expert. Well, get the picture and let's go. We'll show Mr. Crowder who can or can't buy a painting. I am terribly busy at the moment, Mr. Smith. I have an appraisal to do at the Metropolitan Museum. A showing to Mr. Rockingham, restoration of an early Goya. He's that busy, Matt. Let's try somebody else. Just a second, Mr.... Wheeler. I didn't refuse to look at your painting. Oh, didn't you? Not yet. May not be. I was simply reminding myself of the number of important tasks confronting me. Will you appraise this picture, Dr. Brookhoff? I'll want to. I'll be very happy to, Mr. Smith. Please, bring it into this next room and set it up on the easel. Thank you. You sure know how to handle these big shots, Matt. There's no point in wasting time if he doesn't want the job. Excuse me while I help Mr. Crowder with the picture on the easel. Well, what do you think, Min? He did sure make their eyes pop out back home. Yeah, that's for sure. But maybe $150,000. I would never pay that long. Mr. Mrs. Wheeler. Common. I want to thank you for bringing this work to me. I thought you had more and you could handle. I was referring to the painting. You've permitted me to make a discovery which will be remembered long after I'm forgotten. Yeah? You ought to be congratulated, Mr. Wheeler. Is the painting for sale? Well, I don't own it. It belongs to Mr. Crowder there. Oh. Oh, pardon me. Is the painting for sale, Mr. Crowder? It is. The price is right. Would you accept $100,000? Yes. Well, it would take me a little time to get in touch with my principal. Hey, now, we brought that picture in here. You don't own it, Mr. Wheeler. It may take me a few days to get in touch with my client, Mr. Crowder, but I can assure you that he'll be more than willing to pay $100,000 for this painting. Now, if you will accept my check for $10,000 as evidence of good faith, Mr. Crowder. We're buying that picture, Mr. Crowder. Oh, now, see here, Mr. Wheeler. If your client can pay $100,000 for that thing, Min and me can, too. And we'll give you a check for the whole thing right now, Mr. Crowder. Well... Talk to him, man. I didn't know it before, but I do now. I got to have that picture. I know now who I gamblers say only suckers can't wait. Min and Walt Wheeler were so afraid that Brokoff's non-existent client would buy the phony Rembrandt, they couldn't take time to think it over and Brokoff and Crowder played them that way. And the wheelers actually thanked them when they took the check. A little bitterly, I phoned the FBI and reported that their refusal to warn the wheelers had given the Reds a present of several million dollars. I left for home that night, and it was two days before I again checked with the FBI and arranged a meeting. Hello, man. Sit down. Thanks. Well, you'll call yourself? Sure. I don't blame you. What are you talking about? The wheelers and the phony Rembrandt. You really worked a deal there. Yeah, quite a deal. The phony art dealer and comrade Crowder are going to get about ten years apiece. What happened? When the story of the wheelers' purchase broken the papers, every art expert in New York wanted to see their unknown Rembrandt. I can imagine. And you can't imagine the trouble we were in. Half of the experts thought the painting was authentic. In fact, if it hadn't been for your tip about the left eye being one centimeter shorter than the original, we'd never have been able to prove fraud against broke-off and Crowder. The Reds still got wheelers 100,000. Well, we wanted them to, Matt. That's why you weren't allowed to tip them off. Once Crowder deposited that check, we had them. It was never cashed because the bureau put a hold on it until the wheelers actually stopped payment. Well, that makes me feel a lot better. I thought it went. All in all, it was quite a study in oils. Here, a study in oils. Oil wells, oil paintings, and communist oil. My cell leader praised me highly for having handled myself with such circumspection that the suckers, as he called them, never suspected me. And the other members of our cell echoed his praise for no whole-hearted believer in the communist doctrine could ever understand that the wheelers' attitude toward me stemmed from their own kind, generous, and just basically decent instincts, rather than from any cleverness on my part. I understood, though, and I've often wished that I could see them again as a friend. Naturally, that was impossible. If I am to have friends, I have to pick them from among the members of the Communist Party. I choose to walk alone. Dana Andrews will return in just a moment. This is Dana Andrews. All over America and in all walks of life, men and women are belatedly learning that they've been duped by the Communist Party, tricked into contributing their names or their time or their money to a group whose only aim is their enslavement. Although to protect innocent persons, names, dates, and places are fictitious, the danger they warn against is very real. Many of these stories are based on the fantastic experiences of Matt Sathetic. Next week we'll bring you another strange adventure. Join us then, won't you?