 You're twice as sure with two great names, Frigidaire and General Motors. Frigidaire presents Herbert Marshall as the man called X. Forever there is mystery, intrigue, romance, and all the strange and dangerous places of the world. There you will find the man called X. Frigidaire presents Herbert Marshall as Ken Thurston, the man called X. Anyone looking for Ken Thurston in New York takes on quite a job. There's one spot, though, where he's pretty certain to turn up sooner or later. And that's Barry McCarthy's original turkey slag. Well, is it hard enough that I'm making it for you, Mr. Thurston? Hard enough. Barry, I'll never use another steam clam as long as I live. Good, thank you, sir. Go on, are you a friend of the clams? Hello? Mr. McCarthy? Why, Mr. Selsmit? Oh, no. Good morning. I'm in a very big hurry. I've got to find Mr. Thurston. Have you seen him, maybe? Well, it's a matter of... Come on in, Pagon. I'm quartered. Oh, hello, Mr. Thurston. You don't have any clothes on? I always take them off in steam rooms. It's an old habit of mine. Oh, oh. Mr. Thurston, I'm going to make you a millionaire. Fine. How much is it going to cost me? Not over 30,000, huh? Not anything in the long run. Pagon, I haven't got 30,000. I don't feel like a long run. Now, hammer that towel with it. But, Mr. Thurston, it's like shooting fish in a bathtub. You could at least listen to me tell it to you. Sure, why not? Well, this morning I get a letter from my cousin Zilda in the Rio de Janeiro. That's in South America. So I've heard, yeah. Some artist named Oscar Doe told her confidential, of course, that a painting called The Cynics can be bought for about 30,000 dollars. The Cynics? Yeah. But some guy named Rem Brandt, I think. Oh, no, wait. The Cynics. Ah, Cynics, Cynics. Sure, wonder Rem Brandt's three greatest works. Oh, so Zilda says that some private collector would pay maybe 500,000 dollars for this painting. You see? Sounds pretty obvious, Pagon. Barry, where's that phone you have in here? Oh, right there, Mr. Thurston. Thanks. Well, could you tell me the present location of Rem Brandt's painting? The Cynics of the clothmaker's guild? Uh-huh. Thanks very much. Well, Pagon, your art career is over. Good. Now, huh? The painting you were going to buy for 30,000 dollars was purchased in Amsterdam in 1923 by Van Allen Haven. He brought it to New York and right now it's hanging in the Haven Gallows and 44th Street. But, but... You'd better wire cousin Zilda, Pagon. Tell her to stop taking wooden nickels. Mr. Thurston, when you first suggested such a possibility, but there's no question about it now that tests are complete. The four Rem Brandt's hanging in the Haven Gallows are very clever fakes. Well, Ken, that hunch of yours seems to have paid off in a pretty fair size jackpot. There's a jackpot all right, Chief, but I'm not sure who's collecting it. What would you say the painting's a worth, Mr. Freeman? Well, there's a certain wealthy and unscrupulous collectors. Heaven knows there are plenty of them. Not less than three million dollars. Phew. Yes, you've got to recover them, Mr. Thurston. Particularly in view of its tie-up with the Haven Scholarship, Ken. Hmm? Yes, you see, Mr. Haven provided in his will that the paintings in the Haven Gallery be posted as a lien to finance the Haven Exchange Scholarships. Oh? Yes, these scholarships permit 20 graduate students from U.S. colleges to study in South America each year and the same number to come from South American colleges to this country. And the minute the bank discovers these pictures are fakes, bang, there goes the scholarship fund. Oh. Mr. Freeman, being curator of the gallery, you've had plenty of chances to look at these paintings. Why did you never notice they were copies before? Because they're the most perfect reproductions I've ever seen. Not an expert in the world would doubt them without making tests. Have you any idea when they may have been substituted for the originals? Certainly not during the year I've been curator. Uh-huh. Who was in charge before you? John Tormey. Tormey. He operated the gallery for 10 years following Mr. Haven's death. Oh? Where's he now? He retired a year ago and went to live on a small island in the Bay of Rio. Well, Ken? Well, see you. Now loading a KC flystool loading a KC... Oh, Rio de Janeiro. Ah, Mr. Thurston. The world's most beautiful city. Oh, the fold of a poet. Now you're gonna have thought you were posing as a painter. What's the difference? I can be simultaneous. Mr. Thurston, did you know that Dream Brand was born in a windmill? No. Even at a very early age, he showed unmistakable signs of a genius and proved himself to be a master of cheerio scuttle. Think of it. At an early age, too. It has often been said that... Yeah, I know. And I know where it's been said. That handbook of classic arts sticking out of your pocket. Oh, well, after all, if I've got to engage in negotiations with artists... Hang on, you're engaging nothing. I've brought you along for one reason. To look up your cousin, Zilda, and to find Oscar Doe. Mr. X? Perfectly done? How about some expense money, huh? At an early age, Mr. Zelschmidt showed unmistakable signs of an itching palm. See you later, Pagan. Oh, but Mr. Thurston! Is this John Tormey's island? Right. I thought I'd run out to open sea. Yes, the bay is a bit rough this afternoon. I'm Anne Sovil. My name's Kim Thurston, Mr. But... Well... I, uh, practically live in a swimsuit. It's a great way to live. Thank you, Mr. Thurston. Shall we, uh, go on up to the house? Sure, let's go. Are you a relative of Mr. Tormey's? Oh, no. I used to be his assistant when he managed the Haven Galleries in New York. So when he and Mrs. Tormey moved down here, I came along as a kind of friend of the family. Any, uh, vacances with the family? Well, there, uh, might be. Good. I'm finding an application. Mr. Thurston, um, this approach of yours is intriguing to say the least. But, uh, well, don't you think it's a little flippin' in view of what you've come for? Wait, you know about this? Well, of course. It's no secret, is it? Well, apparently not. I was surprised that you got here so quickly. I'd hardly call it quickly. Well, let's move on. If you, uh, don't mind my leading you here. I think I'll run on up to the house and change. Now don't change into something more presentable. You couldn't. Mr. Thurston, please. You can take this path here and go directly to the cottage. Then come on up to the house afterwards. Fine, only, why should I want to go to the cottage? Well, you would like to see the corpse, wouldn't you? Wait a minute. Let's sit down and talk things over. Doctor, who do you think I am? Why, the coroner, of course. Aren't you? Mr. Thurston, I'm a little confused in several ways, but one thing I'm certain, I'm not the coroner. Oh, but I thought... Well, I mean... Well, you see, we stand for him, so... Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Thurston. Why do you need a coroner? A guest who's been living in the beach cottage for several months died suddenly this morning. Heart failure, we think. Oh, to be, close friend of the family? Not exactly. He was a rather obscure artist named Oscar Dole. Very few guests here, Mr. Thurston. I'm so glad you came. That's very kind of you, Mrs. Tormey. Mr. Thurston, Carmen and I are both quite pleased when Bob Freeman Writers, you were coming. Well, thanks to both of you. You picked an excellent place for your vacation. When visitors come from other parts of the world, then I am the most proud of my city. You were born here, Mrs. Tormey? On this very island, and I had never been away until John kidnapped me. I always had the impression we eloped. All right, perhaps I was willing. Anyway, enjoy yourselves, Mr. Thurston. Still a long time. I'd like to, but it was a tragedy this morning. I'm born here of it, Mr. Thurston. It isn't as though the man were a close friend. Don and his luck needed a place to stay, that's all. Not a bit. Heart failure, wasn't it? It looks that way. I'm not sure, John. He found a dispatcher at his door last night. Carmen, what's a dispatcher? A sign of death. It's a piece of native tomfoolery, Mr. Thurston. There's an underground cult in Brazil called the macumba, similar to the voodoo in Haiti. The dispatcher is their death threat or warning. It's supposed to be black magic. I don't know, John. I've seen strange things happen. I think life is made up of light things and dark things. And the macumba is one of the dark things. Pardon, please. Senor Tormey. Yes, Raul, what is it? The man, he asked for Senor Dole. Visitor for Dole? We'll show him in. He doesn't really believe in the macumba, Mr. Thurston. It's her sense of the dramatic. Senor Pieter van Delschmidt. What's that called? Pagan? How do you do? Mr. Thurston. Why, are you two acquainted? Oh, yes, we've met around various art exhibits. Here, Van Delschmidt is quite an authority, you know. I am? Oh, that is, of course. Especially on this fellow Rembrandt. Rembrandt? I know that in the year of 16th... Pardon, dinner is served. You'll join us, of course, Mr. Van Delschmidt. As I was saying about Rembrandt... dinner? For delight, sir. Delight, sir. Completely wrong, Miss Thurbull, and I may as well admit it. Wrong? Why? Because there are things more patterned to you than a swimsuit. That's the best one of them. Just for that, I'm going to start calling you Ken from now on. From now on, Anne? Well, for as long as you're here. Yes, I don't believe you. You're only being the well-fed male, sitting on the terrace after dinner and completely satisfied with the world. Well, Anne, that all right. Look at those lights across the bay. Ah, a million fireflies. Rembrandt should have seen it. No one else could ever handle those lights and shadows. You're an artist? I paint watercolors mostly. I haven't the patience for oils. You're on an island of artists, you know. And the taumis? Uh-huh. And they're both very good at it, too. She's quite a lovely woman, don't you think? Very. And has a jealous husband, if that means anything. Well, it's interesting, but not significant. I'm looking in another direction. I could bid there, but I'll pass. Anne, how well does you know Oscar Dole? Oh, I scarcely knew him at all. I didn't like him, Ken, but I am sorry he died. Pretty sudden, wasn't it? But I guess that isn't so strange. There was a guard at the gallery in New York who died the same way about three years ago. Oh. They finally decided it was his heart. We'd have been at quite. What is it? Someone there in the shrubbery. Oh, here comes the taumis. What's wrong with the fish? What are you watching? Someone's hiding in the bushes. I'll make short work of that. Stand back. Oh! Stop you! All right, come on out of that. Snap it up. Don't shoot. I'm coming. I stumbled off the path, was only trying to find the door. Good Lord Bob Freeman. Hello, John. Mr. Thurston, nice to see you again, Mr. Freeman. For the curator of an art gallery, you certainly get around. Just at this time, it seems to be the person. You are still out. We thought you'd turned in for the night, Mr. Thurston. I never thought I did start, too. There is something wrong. I told the servants to be sure you had everything you needed. Oh, thanks, we were almost very well supplied. In fact, almost too well. What do you mean? I found this package by my door. Oh! I dispatched it. I guess right then. Well, it seems that I'm being warned. And, Nate, if you precision that's all somebody's crude idea of a practical joke. You don't know, John, you were not born here. I've seen these things before. I tell you, Mr. Thurston, if I ever found a despacho at my door, I should be utterly terrified. Yes. Even if I were the man called X. Four valuable Rembrandts have disappeared and clever copies have been substituted. Ken Thurston, searching for them on a small island in the Bay of Rio de Janeiro, has been sent a death warning. The same kind of warning Oscar Dole received the night before he died. The next morning. But, Mr. Thurston, I didn't expect to see you here. I was positively caught with my mouth open. Flabbergast. Oh, it doesn't matter, sir. I'm sold out in the open now. Freeman shot off his mouth last night and spilled the whole deal. Even letting him know that I'm called X. Uh-huh. Yeah. Well, what did your cousin, Zilden, know about Oscar Dole? Only that he lived on the island, always had a little money, and his paintings were strictly splattered. I saw one of them. Mm-hmm. Mr. Thurston has no soul, that perspective, poor lightning, lousy composition. Never mind the handbook. Oh. So Dole always had money. Zilder ever cashed any checks for him? Who knows? I didn't ask. Hang on. Can you operate a speedboat? Mr. Rex, I was practically brought up when we were all conferring. My Uncle Ahmed took tickets. Good. Then get over to the mainland, find out if Zilder cashed any check for Oscar Dole, and if so, who? Then I want you to stop at the drugstore and pick up some chemicals. I'll give you the list. Mr. Thurston, I'm as good as gone. Only maybe I should have some, uh, money to pay for them. Mm-hmm. Hang on. The bullion ship Corvallis tank off sugar, loaf, rock in 1783, loaded with gold and blue. Huh? Take a look for it. It's a go-by. Well, come on in, Mrs. Tommy. Sir, thanks for Mr. Dole's belongs. After Mr. Freeman's remarks last night, you surely know why I'm here. What do you expect to find the paintings here in the cottage? As a matter of fact, I don't know. But I was hoping to find out something about the man who lived here. Too bad someone's gone over the place ahead of me. Oh, but you must be mistaken. It has not been touched. That's why I came. I'm going to have the servants clean up the cottage tomorrow. It's kind of funny that an artist wouldn't have a single painting around his lodging, isn't it? Possibly he disposed of them, Mr. Thurston. Mm-hmm. How well do you know, Oscar Dole? Scarcely at all. He merely claimed acquaintance with my husband on some basis or other. I see. Beautiful view from here. Oh. The loveliest in all Brazil. Can't you see the composition there across the bay? Beauty and the Beast. What do you mean? There, at the edge of the water, is this city. Beautiful, gay, carefree Rio. A dazzling spot of light. And the back of her, the dark, shadowed hill of the Cocovado. Crouched, waiting to spring. Have you ever painted it that way? Huh. I've never tried. I know my limitations, Mr. Thurston. John has sketched it over and over, but he has never been satisfied. And Miss Stoble? Anne has found a great many things in her watercolors. Green surf and white foam on the Copacabana. Parakea, a disc of blue. All of those things are quite different, of course. Well, this cottage seems to be getting popular all of a sudden. Someone's coming up the path. Hmm. John, I wonder why he's coming here. Mrs. Tommy, maybe it's because he's a very jealous man. John? Well, yes, I suppose he is. I'd never really thought about it. Hello, Mr. Thurston. Here I am. Well, I've begun to think you might be lying out there ten fathoms down. You were worried, Mr. Egg? Hey, John, I have to pay a deposit on that boat. Oh. How'd you make out? Nothing to it. Just give me a tall rudder, a stout mast, and I can sail rings around the kangaroo. Neat twig, if you can do it. What did you find out from Zilda? Oh, she was happy to cash Mr. Dole's checks. All of us Zellschmitts are very generous with money. Yes, that's been noted here. Who were the checks from? Mr. Thurston, they were all from that woman you've been carrying on with, Miss Stovall. And Stovall? You get the chemicals? Yes. But I don't see what you want with them. You're going to use them to test the painting, Mr. Egg? Not test the painting, Pegon, but if things work out tonight at dinner, I may use them to find four paintings. Please pass the olives, sir. Thank you. Mr. Thurston, you can be so completely charming. You make me forget that you are here as a manhunter. Is that the secret of your success? You're being generous both ways, Mrs. Tommy. What success? I haven't found the painting. Oh, but you will, Mr. Thurston. You must have some ideas. Everybody has ideas, Mr. Freeman, from fools to philosophers. An idea is the only thing in life that's free. Except art, of course. Art. And there's nothing free about an original Rembrandt. No, I guess not, Ken. Not when you put it that way. I wonder what he made for Miss Painting when he was alive. Well, not a great deal, I should imagine, though I believe he did better financially than most of them. But I doubt very much, Mr. Tommy, that he ever sold four paintings for three million dollars. Well, let's hope that no one else has a chance to do that either. You can bet on it, Mr. Freeman. They won't. It seems impossible to stay off the subject, even when it is so unpleasant. Of course, we're all suspects, and please don't... Can you call me? Can you call me quick? The house she's on fire. Raoul, what's the matter? The smoke all over every place. Looks like he's right, Mr. Tommy. He's coming in with this door from the hole. Good Lord, whole wing, Mr. Scott. The whole house is going to burn down. Let's come out of here. Yeah, I guess we better. Head for the terrace. All right. Fire to everybody. The fire's over. Open those windows on the terrace, Pager. Let the smoke from those chemicals clear out of here. Chemicals? Mr. Thurston, what's the meaning of this? Meeting? Well, I know now who has the four Rembrandt. Yeah, there you go. I've gone. I've gone. See that nobody leaves this room. Right, Mr. Rex. Just leave it to me. I don't know. What does it mean? Well, Mr. Tommy, any objections to my having a talk with your wife? No. No objections. They wouldn't do any good. You're a very clever man, Mr. Thurston. I can only hope that you're also a merciful one. Mrs. Tommy. That's you, Mr. Thurston. Yes, Mac, I'm in. Quiet. I am just getting ready for bed. Right in the middle of dinner with the house on fire? It really isn't on fire at all, is it? No. How long have you known? It had to be you. The person who copied Rembrandt, well enough to fool even the experts, had to look at life the same way he did. You were the only one here like that. Better open this door, Mrs. Tommy. No. And you won't get the paintings. No one else will either because I'm going to burn them here. Wait, no. I've given my life for them. Do you think I'll let anyone else have them? Wait, and listen to me. You said there were things in the history of your country that you'd rather forget. Those poor paintings mean a chance to end such things for both of our countries. And that's bigger than any personal whim. Does that mean anything to you? Or are we lying? Just a moment. Come in, Mr. Thurston. Yes. The paintings are there on the table. Mm-hmm. You are very persuasive, Mr. Thurston. Perhaps that is a secret of your success. With one success I'd almost rather not have. You've killed two men. Told them $3 million worth of paintings and sent me a threat on my life, but... Oh, I don't know. But I didn't. I didn't do any of those things. What? Oh, I did poison that man Dole, of course, because he tried to blackmail me. But I did not steal the paintings. I thought all the time they were my own copies until he recognized them as the original. What? Wait a minute. It could be. It's all right. Mrs. Stormy, don't leave this room. I'll be right back. Don't worry, Mr. Thurston. I'm not going away. He told us last night what had happened. I've always known about her fondness but it doesn't matter what she did. I love her. I know, Mr. Thurston. There's only I can say a word to distinguish things sometimes. I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do, John? Well, you can count on me. I'll be leaving in the morning, taking the pictures back. Thank you, Bob. I guess we'll be leaving too, Mr. Thurston, eh? The case has all wound up. Yeah, it looks that way, doesn't it, Pagon? Except for one thing. Although she copied them, Mrs. Stormy did not steal the paintings. First one. Furthermore, she didn't kill the guard of the gallery three years ago. And she didn't send me the McComber death warning. Then who did? Someone who intended to sell the paintings, eventually, to some wealthy collector. Someone who had to act fast when I bought up doubts about the copies of the gallery. Someone who came to re-own her trumped-up excuse to get the originals before I could. Bob, no! Look out, Mr. X! Won't it get gone? It won't do him any good. Good heavens. Well, for even your still... you'll still be in shape to fly back to New York tomorrow. Only with handcuffs, not Rembrandt. Rembrandt. Well, the man who saw the world in a swirl of shadows with mystic shafts of light and hidden away in those shadows may be an answer to the whole business of life. Could be that way. Someday, when all the painters have crumbled away to dust, there may be an answer left there, standing without shadows. And the world's last artists may paint it like that. Someday. Now, Frigidaire star Herbert Marshall. Thanks for being with us. Next week, I promise you another story filled with suspense and mystery. As usual, there'll be Leon Balesco along with Pagon Zellschmidt. Join us once again when next I return as the man called X. Good night. Frigidaire's Man Called X is directed by Jack Johnstone, a music composed and conducted by Johnny Green. Tonight's story was written by Les Crutchfield, and so until next week, same time, same station, this is Wendell Niles speaking for Frigidaire, made only by General Motors. All characters and instruments used are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons or incidents is purely coincidental. Remember, every Thursday, for the best in entertainment, tune in and stay tuned in to CBS, the biggest show in town, CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.