The Impossible Murder

The F.W. Fitch Company presents Dick Powell as Private Investigator Richard Rogue in Rogue's Gallery. I have a wild weather song, dear style, you stitch. Champoo! Don't just air use your head, fake and hair, you stitch.

Champ! F.W. Fitch Company, makers of Fitches, Saponified Coconut Oil, Champoo and Fitch's Shaving Preams, screams, presents Dick Powell as private investigator Richard Rogue. In Rogue's gallery! Rogue speaking, I guess it wouldn't be polite for me to make the statement that Judge Colin Baker was a snake.

I'll just say I think there was some truth in the rumor that he did shed his skin three times a year. The judge, who isn't a judge anymore, was a big barrel-chested guy with a dramatic mop of wavy white hair worn in a sort of modified wind-blown balm. The better to impress the

juries with. He'd made himself a reputation back east as a far-eating D.A. and then later as a hanging judge. He'd been out here about five years and it built a statewide reputation as a brilliant criminal lawyer on a set of thieves to catch at the bases. He had just one a big case and he was having a cocktail party at his penthouse apartment on top of the building

which housed his flush offices. Very, uh, very Callahan had covered the trial. And now she and the photographer from her papers were covering the party I tagged along. Oh, there was a dandy crowd there. Pasty faced politicians, tired faced women, and the old two faced judge did you know all of his glory.

Oh, Richard, isn't this a lovely place? Clear up here on top of this building. Just like living on a mountain. Yeah, only you can't lock the bottom entrance of the mountain. You see anybody here you would really like to know?