 The F.W. Fitch Company makers of Fitch's saponified coconut oil shampoo and Fitch's shaving creams presents Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's gallery. Rogue speaking, you know there's something about me that is to trouble what molasses is to flies. I never go around looking for trouble. Trouble goes around looking for me. Now take that afternoon a few months ago when I walked into the press room with the Hall of Justice and found among others, Clark Ames, the young city hall reporter for the Chronicle, expounding on his favorite subject, a deep hatred for a man named Fred Curtis, nicknamed the alibi master. Ames and the other newspaper men had watched Curtis when acquittals for a dozen different clients and always with the same root, unbreakable alibis. This made the clients very happy and the district attorney very miserable. The Chronicle, a crusading newspaper, had at the instigation of Clark Ames been running an anti-Curtis campaign bordering pretty close on libel. And Curtis, who was sharper than the razor's edge and harder to catch up with than the horizon, hated Ames with a wonderful passion. Curtis had won the last round and Ames was telling me about it. So Curtis goes to Williams, my managing editor, and threatens a libel suit. Well, I had gone a little overboard, I guess. And Williams had to let me go, temporary layoff until the heat died down. But now I'm back on the job, Brogue, and I'm solid. And you wait until that phony Curtis sees me sitting here. Wait till he finds out I'm back on the job. Look, Ames, I've been around this town for a while and if I'm picking out a guy to buck, it won't be Fred Curtis. How come you decided to make a career of locking horns with the smartest mouthpiece in the business? How do you expect to win? Oh, don't worry about it, Rogue. I got that phony right where I want him. You wait a couple of days, that's all. Mr. Alibi Master Curtis is going to be nailed to the Chronicles' masthead. Oh, hello, Ames. Did I hear you taking my name in vain? Could be. How uninteresting. What are you doing sitting around in the press room? It's reserved for a working press. Hello, Rogue. Ah, yeah. How's your trial going, Curtis? You know, my client will have dinner at home tonight. Jury just retired. Your client is gilly as the devil, Curtis. What does Alibi this time? Now, you know he couldn't have committed the crime. I've just proved to the jury that he was in San Francisco at the time the murder was committed. How are you getting along on your unemployment insurance, Ames? It was a pleasure getting you fired. Too bad it didn't last. Well, I'm back on the job, which means I'm right back on your trail. That's bad news for you, Curtis. Do me a favor, will you, Ames? When you call in the report of the not-guilty verdict the jury's about to bring in for my client, tell your stupid managing editor, I'm following your libel action against him the first thing in the morning. Look, Curtis, let's go in the courtroom, will you? I'm going to be there when the jury comes in. Okay, Rogue. Oh, here, Ames, here's ten bucks. Go get a haircut, will you, kid, and have your suit pressed. And don't forget to spell my name correctly when you phone that story in. Here's your ten right in your face, Curtis. I'll see that your name is spelled right in the biggest type in the shop right at the top of the page when you're tried for falsifying evidence. And that's going to happen to you awfully soon, wise guy. Here, here, here. Take it easy, Ames. Oh, let him talk. Let me give you something to kick around in that warped mind of yours, Curtis. You remember a guy named Don Thompson? Your alibi witness for Ed Harris a year ago. I'm sure you remember Thompson. What about him? Would it put a crimp in that famous poise of yours if you knew that Thompson had given the Chronicle a signed and witness statement admitting that he had perjured himself in that alibi statement for Harris? That is preposterous. Is it? Well, you'd be in quite a spot if the Chronicle happened to have a statement like that, wouldn't you, Curtis? A statement that swears that you paid Don Thompson a thousand dollars for the perjured testimony that kept Ed Harris out of the gas chamber? I'd sure stop your clock, wouldn't it? Have you been drinking, Ames? You sound even a little more illogical than usual. Oh, that's right. You like logic, don't you? Well, figure this one out. I've been trying for some time to get convicting evidence on you. You got me fired for trying. The Chronicle was scared of a libel suit. But all of a sudden, my managing editor, Williams, doesn't seem to be very afraid of you or suing the paper. Now, what could be the reason for him giving me my job back? It could be that that statement from Thompson did it, couldn't it? All right, now, sweat it out, Curtis. You'll be seeing your picture in the Chronicle with bars in front of you and a number on your chest in about 48 hours. Not even one of your phony alibis can keep you out of this rap, big shot. I suppose I should be annoyed by such juvenile threats. But I just don't seem to be able to take you seriously, Ames. And the next time I give you my attention, you'll never work on a newspaper again. Coming with me, Rogue? No, not now, no. I think I'll stay here and use the telephone. You could see and feel the hate that hung in the air in that press room like a cloud of poison gas after Fred Curtis left. Clark Ames went all to pieces as soon as we were alone, paced the floor, said he'd talked too much. He was as worried as a man with a three-horse parlay and two winners. Pretty soon though, he left and I used the telephone to call a couple of girls I know. They weren't home. I was about to give up and go to dinner by myself when I turned around and saw Betty Callahan standing there behind me, looking like a million dollars, which is a nice figure, which is what she has, if you know what I mean. Betty had a funny little quizzical smile on her face. Hello, Richard. What's the matter? Aren't you having any love? Honey, honey, I was just going to call you. You mean that if Alice isn't home and Liza doesn't answer, I'm next in line. Oh, now you know better than that. You're always first on my list. Remember, Richard, I was standing here when you were phoning. Sure, sure. I was just trying to get a substitute, that's all. Well, what do you want? The names of some girls and a few phone numbers? Now, don't look at me like that, Betty. The only reason I was calling those other girls is because I couldn't find you. Well, I'll forgive you if you'll take me to dinner and then to the theater to see Chalula Banker. Oh, my goodness, you have such expensive taste. Oh, really, my dear man, I have something infinitely better. I have two passes for the shelf. Well, good. I've got two passes for the drive-in. Come on, I want to see if I can walk through that door without eating the jam off her. I'm hungry. Oh, my. That's the only reason you have a date with me tonight, Richard. Well, then come on. All through that hamburger, I kept dividing my thoughts between how such a little girl could eat so much food and that scene in the press room at the Hall of Justice. I knew Fred Curtis for what he really was, cold-blooded and completely ruthless. I remembered that look in his eyes as he left the press room, a little puzzlement, a little fear, and a great deal of malice. Even if nobody else believed the story Ames told, I was sure that Curtis more than half believed it. And that meant trouble for somebody. Betty and I finished our dinner at last, and in spite of everything she could eat, I still had money enough to pay for it and a cab to the theater. We were just back in our seats after the second act in a mission when I heard my name being paged. If Richard Rogue is in the audience, will he please report to the lobby? Mr. Richard Rogue, please report to the lobby. Isn't that a sort of obvious piece of publicity, Richard? How the devil did anybody know I was here? You better go see what's so important. But you hurry back. I'll be right back, baby. I had a bad hunch as I walked up that aisle, those little chills that always race up and down my spine when I'm walking into trouble were acting up. I didn't know what to expect as I walked out into the lobby. Then I saw Clark Ames standing there. His face was as white as a dove's wing, and his eyes had the strained look that is the aftermath of seeing violent death. Rogue. Yeah, what's the matter, Ames? You look like you've seen a ghost. I've seen something worse, Rogue. You've got to come down to the Chronicle with me. Now, get a hold of yourself. You're shaking like a dice cup. What's the matter? Williams, my managing editor, was just killed. Huh? Murdered in this office. Well, that's the beginning of our story. We'll continue in just a moment, but first, here's Jim Doyle. Romance and soft, feminine glamour are back in style. Women are taking off the bandanas they donned in warplants and are again letting their hair reflect moonbeams and stardust. That's why Fitch's saponified coconut oil shampoo is in more demand now than ever, because Fitch's saponified shampoo brings out the radiant beauty of your hair. Its fragrant, creamy lather cleanses so thoroughly and rinses out so completely. Fitch's saponified shampoo contains its own patented rinsing agent, so no special after rins is needed. And best of all, you can wash your hair as often as you like with Fitch's saponified shampoo, and it will never become dry or harsh feeling. That's because this shampoo is made from pure natural oils that keep your hair ever soft and lustrous. Ask for Fitch's saponified shampoo the next time you're at your beauty shop or buy an economical bottle at your drug or toilet goods counter. And now we return to Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's gallery. Well, I was working. The publisher of The Chronicle was paying me a grand for putting the long, cold finger on the murder of Williams, the managing editor. I was pretty sure I knew who the murder was, so it looked like a soft buck. When Ames and I arrived at The Chronicle, homicide was already there. My friendly enemy, Lieutenant Urban, was in charge as usual. He walked over from where he was examining the remains of the late Mr. Williams. What are you doing here, Rogue? Now, Urban, you know whenever anything comes along you boys can't handle, they always send for me. Who's paying you? The publisher of this paper. Now, shall we go on with the third degree or shall we get the work of the murder? What do you know about it? More than you do. When was he killed? The medical examiner says he got it about two hours ago. Stabbed the death of his own copies here, huh? Yeah. Yeah, the last edition had already gone in. No one else was in the city room when it happened. Bound to motive? Well, look at the office. Every file's been emptied. The murderer was looking for something, Rogue. Yeah, I wonder if he found it. You wouldn't know what it was, would you? Yeah, I might. I might have that. I heard The Chronicle had a sign confession from Don Thompson. They were going to run at the mart. What was Thompson's confession? Come on, Rogue. You might as well give me all of it. Well, it seemed Thompson was confessing that he had been paid a, uh, quite a sum of money for a job of perjury by Fred Curtis, commonly known as the alibi nafta. In words of one syllable, so you can understand it, Erlen. Thompson, uh, sold The Chronicle information which would have put Curtis away for about ten years. Curtis, eh? Well, looks like this is going to be a simple case. Could be, yes. Hey, Ames, you know where Williams kept that Thompson confession? It was in the top drawer of this file. It's gone. Uh-huh. Well, I guess that settles that, Urban. Ah, it's too easy. Curtis knows every trick in the book. Hello, Urban. May I come in? Yeah. We were just talking about you, Curtis. You're very welcome. I figured I would be. Why did you kill him, Curtis? You knew you'd be the number one on the suspect parade? Oh, that's not very smart, Rogue. If I had killed him, I would have been much more clever about it. I wasn't within a hundred miles of here when he was killed. Well, that sounds familiar. I, uh, I know I'm wasting my time asking this, Curtis, but, uh, you can prove that alibi, can't you? Of course. I was on my ranch in Antelope Valley when I heard over the radio that Williams had been killed. I suppose my friend, Rogue, has told you of the fantastic story a drunken reporter named Ames was shouting in the press room at the Hall of Justice today. I told him. He knows all about it. Oh, incidentally, uh, Thompson's little composition is missing. The man who killed Williams lifted it. Very convenient for you, wasn't it, Curtis? Convenient? Oh, there never was such a confession there couldn't have been. Because there wasn't the slightest background of truth for the wild tale Ames told today. Okay, Curtis, we'll let you know what we think of the story after we've checked your alibi. You were on your ranch in Antelope Valley when you heard the report of Williams' death. Yes. That's about a hundred miles from here, right? Approximately. As soon as I heard the report of the death, I knew I would be a suspect. So I started the town. I stopped in a bar in Palmdale for a drink on the way in and then came directly to the Chronicle Office without stopping. My car's at the curb now in front of the building. Ryan, check those alibis. Oh, they'll check, Lieutenant. I'm sure they will. The alibi master would never slip up on his own alibi. That's right. I'm sorry to disappoint you, rogue. Uh-huh, and, uh, I'm sorry to be disappointed, Curtis. You're sure you don't know anything about this murder? You didn't hire someone to do it for you, did you? Of course not. I had nothing against the man. Why should I want to kill him? You can go, Curtis. We'll try to break that alibi and find the boy you hired until we do. Take it easy. Thank you, Lieutenant. Oh, you can reach me at my office if I can be of any further use to you. Oh, uh, Curtis, are you going back toward the Biltmore Theater? Mm-hmm. Uh, I gotta get back there. Left my car there, and... Oh, brother, Betty. Ooh, she'll massacre me. I'll give you a lift. Come on, rogue. This Curtis guy was strictly the deluxe type. His car was a long, sleek black job a few sizes smaller than the Queen Mary. But with approximately the same amount of power, we got in, Curtis turned on the ignition, and the gas gauge swept clear across to full. Curtis had said he drove directly from the bar in Palmdale to the Chronicle office without stopping. Uh-huh, about 70 miles. Mr. Curtis' carefully planned alibi was not so carefully planned. I was enjoying a short ride with a murderer. He saw my eyes on the gasoline gauge, followed them with his own, and then put his hand in his coat pocket. I knew there was a gun in it. As we drove away from the curb, I picked up a copy of the Chronicle which had been lying in the seat beside me. I thought perhaps if I could hide my thoughts a little better if I pretended to grade Don Shlantz for no part of which I felt. Curtis was not sure that I'd attached the proper importance to the story the gas gauge told. But, uh, he was being nonchalant, too. I, uh, had a little dole riding on Prevaricator 7 today. When I came out. Oh, to be in that paper, final results. Where'd you get it? I bought it in Palmdale. Then? Well, this is the Bulldog Edition. Oh. The Bulldog Edition is sold only on the streets in Los Angeles. Well, that's right. I'm afraid I made a mistake. Yes, I'm afraid you made two of them, Curtis. This paper and that full gas tank. You didn't drive 70 miles in this gas eater without stopping and arrive here with a full tank, did you? You're very observant. Looks like you're cracking my alibi, huh? You killed Williams, didn't you? Yes, I had to. I had to get that confession of Thompson's that would have ruined me. I owe that impetuous reporter a great debt for tipping me off to the Chronicles' plans for crucifying me. You, uh, have any plans for me? Yes. I think I have it worked out. I'm going to drive you out to the suburbs to a spot I know that's probably deserted by this time. Now, if you were found there, shot. Aren't you overlooking something? If I'm found there, shot. Urban is going to pick you up fast. You're going to do better than that, Curtis. Well, if there were signs of a struggle and your wrist watch had been set an hour ahead and smashed to set the time of death. And I was at Lincoln Heights Jail talking to a client at the time the police would figure the murder took place. That might do it, don't you think, Rome? No. It's no good, Curtis. You're slipping. In the first place, there's always the possibility that the shot would be heard. The district I have in mind is deserted by now or will be before I consummate my plan. And Urban is no fool. You'll be awfully suspicious. Might give you the paraffin test on your gunhand. You know, I don't think you're going to handle the situation that way, Curtis. As a matter of fact, I'm going to be kind of hard to handle, even for you. You know, Rogue, it's amazing how fascinating crime. I mean the actual act of committing a crime can be. Have you ever killed anybody? No. Now look, Curtis. I suppose you know that you're going to get caught. I know nothing of a kind. Successful crime is nothing more than planning. Careful planning. Oh, I'll grant you, Rogue, that I'm going to be suspected of your murder. But I'll never be convicted for it. I won't take any chances. You're wrong, Curtis. You talk like a sick man. You can't beat the law. If you commit a crime, you're going to pay for it. Let's go down to police headquarters and talk this thing over with Urban. Why do you have to win by adding another murder to your score? Mr. Rogue, I love life too much, and I love success too much to let anything stand in the way of my life as I live it. You, you just can't understand that, can you? You think that a man of my background and position must be horrified at the thought of taking the life of another human being. Well, you're wrong, Rogue. I have my own code, my own ethics. You know and I know hundreds of reputable businessmen in this town who spend their days and nights, their lives grasping for money, for power over the lives of more and more people. Well, when one of them wrecks another man's life for his business, it amounts to a victory, which is celebrated by the recorders' club that evening. If the victim commits suicide and he often does, they're sorry. That's all. It's just business. What are you trying to prove, Curtis? I'm explaining why I killed Williams, why I have to make sure that you and the knowledge you have of my affairs are disposed of. It's a matter of business, Rogue. Now you're crazier than a coach, you know that, Curtis? You're not talking like a rational person. You're gonna pay for this crime. Don't move. Put your hands back in your lap. I think you know that I won't hesitate to kill you here on the road if it becomes necessary. Set your watch up an hour. One hour, Mr. Rogue. Okay. You got a new plan? Yeah. We're on the outskirts of town. I'm gonna stop the car when I come to an advantageous place, and I'm gonna knock you unconscious with a tire iron, smash your watch, throw you onto the road and run over you. To all appearances, your murder will be the result of a hit-and-run accident. I will have an alibi which will make it impossible for me to have been in the vicinity at the time of the accident. That, I think, is a perfect plan. Ah, it's full of holes. In the first place, Urban will check the thread in your tires, and in the second, he'll never fall for that smash watch trick. You'll never get away with it, Curtis. You've been buying up juries and alibis and evidence for so long that you forgot that they're honest people, people who can't be bought. Urban's one of them. He'll stay with you until he gets you for killing me, Curtis. You'll have to come up with a much clever scheme than what you thought of so far. Maybe you're right, Rogue. What are you doing? I'm gonna do now, Mr. Rogue won't need any alibi. Look out, you fool. Curtis, Curtis, give me that wheel. Sit back there, Rogue. Get your foot off that accelerator. You're gonna hit. Turn that wheel. Give me that wheel, Curtis. Goodbye, Mr. Rogue. Let go of that wheel. Let go, or I'll shoot. We'll continue in just a moment, but now here's Jim Doyle. Time is a valuable thing these days, and no man wants to spend any more of it than possible on shaving. So you busy men who want to cut down on your shaving time use Fitcher's Nobra Shaving Cream. This swell cream gives you a close, comfortable shave in a hurry. It's an expert blend of three important shaving ingredients. These ingredients enable your razor to fairly sail along without nicking or scraping. The creamy, non-greasy texture of Fitcher's Nobra Shaving Cream saves you time too, for it won't clog your razor or the drain. And with all your speed in shaving, you'll find that Fitcher's Nobra Shaving Cream leaves your face feeling smooth and cool. You men who prefer a ladder cream will find Fitcher's Brush Cream also gives quick, comfortable shaves. It makes lots of rich lather that stays moist all during the shave, then rinses off easily. Both Fitcher's Brush and Fitcher's Nobra Shaving Cream come in generous 25 and 50-cent sizes. For shaving speed and shaving ease, switch to Fitch. Now back to Dick Powell as Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. When I saw what that madman Curtis was going to do, I knew I had nothing to lose. He had that big powerful car wide open and heading straight for the stone wall. I tried to grab the wheel and turn it. He fired at me just as we crashed into the wall. I only remembered turning the wheel enough to deflect the shock a little. Then... Oh, then I was on cloud number eight. Hugo was there waiting for me. Oh, Chief, you had a close call there. Hey, Hugo, where have you been? Well, I had a little trouble with the OPA about cloud eight and I had to go and see them. Then I had a tough time getting a reservation back. But I'm glad to see you, Rogie, with your usual bump on the head. Am I dead? Only the good die, young Rogie. Curtis, he isn't dead either, huh? Oh, out of a job when I saw you slamming into that wall, Rogie. You ought to take better care of yourself. For me. Yeah. Look, I gotta get out of here, Hugo. How badly am I hurt? Oh, you're okay. That car was built to take it. You won't be playing any gin rummy for a while and you can't collect on your insurance. Give me a little boost over the side. Will you, Hugo? I gotta get downstairs before Curtis does. Sure, Chief. Rogie. Rogie. Oh, hello, Erwin. It's fancy meeting you here. Receiving hospital? Yeah. What have you been up to? What were you trying to do, kill yourself? No. No. Is, uh, is Curtis here? Yeah, yeah. Now, I'll ask the questions. What happened? How badly is, uh, Curtis hurt? Leg broken, that's all. He's still unconscious. Look, uh, Erwin, he, uh, he killed Williams. He, uh, he tried to kill me. He admitted it, eh? Yeah, after I caught a couple of flaws in his alibi. You got enough dope on him to make it stick? I don't know. I know it would, uh, be my word against his. But I got an idea. An idea that might sense the deal. Every once in a while, you do have a good one. Get the Chief's surgeon over here, will ya? I'm gonna need his help. Okay. Here, here, here. Lie down there. I don't want anything to happen to you, Rogie. I was worried about you. You're such a pest. I'd miss you like the devil. I'll get the doc. I outlined my scheme to the Chief's surgeon. He looked for a minute like he might call in the head of the psychiatric ward. But with Erwin's help, I finally got him to agree to play it my way. He bandaged Curtis from head to foot, put constricting straps across his chest, and cinched him down like a saddle on an outlaw horse. Then they put him in an oxygen tent and brought him out of shock. Erwin pulled out all of the stops as he stood by the side of the hospital bed and talked to the murderer. Like a father. Curtis, can you hear me? Yes. Who is it? Lieutenant Erwin. Did the doctor give you the bad news yet? Yeah, crushes. Nothing they can do, I guess. No. You haven't got along to live. Anything you want to tell me? Might as well go with a clear conscience. Did you kill Williams? Yeah. Yeah, I killed him. Had to do it. I killed him. I killed him. Well, that was the end of the case. Brilliant piece of work on my part, I thought. Going through that little tableau of making Curtis believe he was on his deathbed and had nothing to lose by confessing the murder. And, oh, I love that urban. He's so proud of the fact that he can find his remarks to the truth when he was talking with Curtis. All he said was, you haven't long to live. Remember? Well, that was true enough. Curtis was executed a few months later, which proves that the theory about perfect crimes is as foolish as a sure way to beat roulette. And, Betty, well, I left her in a theater when I started out on this case. It cost me about, oh, just about what I made, a thousand bucks to get her over her peeve. So I broke about even on the deal. Oh, well, you know the old saying, a fool and his money are some party. 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 D. Engelbach, produced and directed. Don't forget you've all got a date with us next Thursday night. We have a story for you about the last time Rogue saw prison. So make a date with us, will you? Thanks for listening. And now, once again, here's Jim Doyle. Be with us again at the same time next week. Oh, and be sure to see Dick Powell in his latest RKO picture cornered at your local theater soon. Remember, tune in next Thursday, same time, same station, when you will again hear Dick Powell instigate a Richard Rogue in Rogue's gallery. Remember, if dandruff is your problem, ask for Fitch's dandruff remover shampoo. It's the only shampoo made whose guarantee to remove dandruff is backed by one of the world's largest insurance firms. No other shampoo can make this statement. Ask for Fitch's dandruff remover shampoo at your drug or toilet goods counter, Beauty or Barbershop. Fitch is spelled F-I-T-C-H.