Are you willing to undertake a dangerous mission behind the enemy lines, knowing you may never
return alive?
What you have just heard is the question asked during the war to agents of the OSS, ordinary
citizens who to this question answered yes.
This is Cloak and Dagger.
Black warfare, espionage, international intrigue.
These are the weapons of the OSS.
Tonight's story, Seeds of Doubt, concerning an OSS agent who tracked down Nazis in American
uniforms is suggested by actual incidents recorded in the Washington files of the Office
of Strategic Services.
A story that can now be told.
I'm glad I wasn't there when Celeste got my message.
If I had been, I might have called the whole deal off, found some other way to carry out
my mission.
What I did was pretty brutal.
I know just how it must have been.
I gave the note to the baker's delivery boy, Henri.
He must have driven the dilapidated old truck through those majestic iron gates of the Chateau
Breton 12 miles south of Paris, circled the huge house and come to a stop at the servant's
entrance.
And perhaps it was Miriel herself.
Celeste's personal maid who answered the door.
And then Miriel began that long climb up to Celeste's room.
Three flights of marble stairs and then down the carpeted corridor to the fourth door on
the right hand side.
Celeste was probably reading.
She always was in those days.
It was way of passing time while she waited for some word from my friend, Paul Blanchard.
A message, mademoiselle.
A message from Miriel?
I do not know.
It was all so mysterious.
The baker's truck was at the door and the boy gave...
No, no, no, never mind.
Give it to me.
Mademoiselle.
Oh, that handwriting.
Mademoiselle, it is not... not fondamentale.
Oh, madieu.
But then... then it is...
It is Paul.
My Paul is here in Paris.
He is waiting for me in the cafe in Montparnasse.
Oh, le bon dieu.
I was afraid he was dead.
That's how it must have been.
All the while I sat in a dingy little room in the back of the cafe de Trois Chars, drinking
cognac, feeling like a dog, waiting.
I waited about an hour and then...
Paul.
Oh, Paul.
Mademoiselle Breton.
Oh, you are not Paul.
No.
Where is he?
Mademoiselle, I was a friend of Paul Blanchard.
But where is he?
Where is Paul?
Mademoiselle, I...
Answer me.
Very well.
Paul is dead.
Like I say, it was brutal.
But is there any way of saying it that isn't brutal?
She tottered toward the table and then slumped into a chair.
Dead.
Her face was deathly white, and yet it was still the loveliest face I'd ever seen.
But this note, it is Paul's handwriting.
Well, a forgery, mademoiselle.
The OSS is well equipped to forge any man's handwriting.
The OSS?
Oh, I begin to understand.
You are a...
Martin Ingalls, Morale Office, OSS.
And you deliberately told...
That's right.
I had to see you, but I couldn't come to the chateau.
And I knew you wouldn't ignore a note like that.
I see.
I will eat you for this, Lieutenant, as long as I...
That will be rather awkward considering our future relationship.
We shall have no future relationship, you and I.
I think we will.
I've come to Paris to take Paul's place.
Take his place?
Yes, as your fiancée.
At first, that is.
And then later, as your husband.
She sat down again slowly and listened in stony silence as I told her how I'd met her
fiancée in North Africa.
I told her how you'd describe me, and then how you'd describe their swift, frenzied courtship
in Geneva just before Paul joined the Free French Forces.
Then I told her how he died.
Paul loved France.
Yes.
And he told me once that you loved her, too.
And that's why I'm sure you won't refuse to make your own sacrifice for her.
And that is what, monsieur?
Allowing me to pose as Paul.
Letting everyone think I'm the man you met in Switzerland.
How do you know you could pose as Paul?
As someone who might not recognize you.
The OSS has made sure that we'll be perfectly safe.
You see, Paul's father was a government official in Madagascar for 20 years before the war.
Paul visited France only once, and that was the age of eight.
And from that age until he met you in Switzerland, he hadn't set foot in Europe.
So you see, no one would know the difference.
I would know it.
Of course.
That would be your sacrifice.
And I would France, benefit by my suffering.
I couldn't blame her for putting it like that, but I wasn't exactly flattered.
I tried to explain my mission.
D-Day was six months behind us and most of France had been liberated.
But now there was a stone, the Battle of the Bulge, von Rundstedt's big offensive.
And black warfare is a game too, complain.
Morale or the lack of it can help decide a war.
The OSS knew that.
And so did the Nazis.
And that's why there are German agents floating around Paris, doing their best to plant seeds
of doubt and to destroy allied morale.
Nazis here in Paris?
But how is it they're not good?
Well, that's my job.
It's not going to be easy because most of them are in GI uniforms.
Impossible.
Why?
We send agents behind German lines, they send them behind ours.
Black warfare was Hitler's first great weapon.
Why do you think Poland, the Low Countries, yes, even France collapsed so fast in 1940?
Because the Nazis had agents behind the lines, fifth columnists, doing the same thing then
that they're doing now.
But that was in 1940.
The war isn't over yet, mademoiselle.
Far from it.
And the longer these Nazi agents operate in Paris, the longer the war is going to last.
Now that's why it's important that the OSS smoke them out and fast.
But I do not see why it should be necessary for you to...
To become your husband.
But because then I'd be the master of Chateau Breton.
And what could be more natural for a wealthy Frenchman and his wife out of gratitude to
the Americans than to throw open their home to lonely GIs in Paris?
You mean you...
Parties, mademoiselle, cocktail parties, dinners, dances, whatever might attract the GIs.
And the German agents, n'est-ce pas?
Right.
It's at affairs like that that they do their work.
They spread rumors and lies, stir up dissension.
And it wouldn't take me long to spot them.
It is a very clever scheme, lieutenant.
There is only one thing wrong with it.
I do not care to be your wife.
It would be a strictly impersonal arrangement.
And just as soon as my job is done...
No.
It is out of the question.
Very well, mademoiselle.
I'm sorry Paul was wrong.
Wrong?
Not you.
That was another dirty trick, playing on her memory of Paul, her love for him.
But it worked.
In a half hour, we were engaged.
Do you, Céleste Breton, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?
I do.
And do you, Paul Blanchard, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?
Not one of the Paris blue bloods who crowded into the church suspected that the headquarters
colonel wasn't really a minister.
And I guess I was the only one who wished he were.
After the ceremony, Céleste and I drove out to the chateau and settled down to housekeeping.
Yes?
Who is he?
Your husband.
Well, what is it you want, lieutenant?
Well, I just got back from the USO.
I announced our first open house for Saturday.
Looks like we're going to have quite a mob.
We should be ready for them.
You don't mind my stepping in.
We can talk about it.
But we just did talk about it, no?
Yeah, I guess we did.
And good night, lieutenant.
And that was married life at the Chateau Breton.
It's a good thing our series of parties did start then.
Took my mind off.
Other things.
It looked like every Joe in the European theater attended those parties.
The champagne flowed, the canapés vanished.
Each Clambake was a bigger success than the one before it.
Except I didn't spot any Nazi agents.
Yes, there were plenty of rumors, sure.
That's one thing an army always has plenty of.
I tell you, I hear we're getting our brains beat out at Bestone.
This man's war ain't over yet, pal.
The guy was telling me the other day how the brass snatched food things at Cambrai.
Like a guy was saying the other day, if Hitler wants to negotiate, well, let's negotiate
and get it over with so we can go home.
I heard Hitler's got a secret weapon, bacteriological stuff.
He's just waiting for the right time to use it.
If I'd arrested every guy I heard repeating a rumor, I'd have had half the GIs in Paris
in a clink.
The guy I was looking for was a guy who did all the talking the other day.
I knew he was one of the guys lounging in the living room or sprawled on the patio or
loafing in the gardens.
Yes, but which one?
For several days I didn't get anywhere.
And then I noticed Corporal Allen Chester.
I might never have paid any attention to him if he hadn't paid so much attention to Celeste.
Every time I looked up, they had their heads together and Celeste was smiling.
And the time I found them sitting on a bench in the garden, she was actually laughing.
Hello, Paul.
Well, if it was a good story, you're going to have to tell it again, Corporal.
It was a very good story.
You have met my husband, haven't you, Allen?
This is Corporal Chester, Paul.
We've met so many times, it's getting embarrassing.
I've already apologized to your wife, Monsieur, for wearing out my welcome.
No apologies necessary.
My only excuse is I can't stay away.
Your chateau is the first place I felt at ease since I left home.
Where is home, Corporal?
Lafayette, Indiana.
Lafayette?
Well, an American town with a great French name.
That's right.
Maybe that's why I feel like I found a second home right here, 20 kilometers from Paris.
It wasn't much to go on, just a word that didn't ring quite true.
I took Celesta aside and asked her about it.
Allen Chester?
You think he might be...
You are a fool, Lieutenant.
Maybe, but I still want to know why he said kilometers.
In Indiana, they say miles.
Perhaps if I told you, he was a Harvard graduate.
They say miles at Harvard, too.
Only Europeans say kilometers.
C'est ça.
And because of that, you suspect him of being a Nazi agent.
How absurd.
He is the most charming of all the men who have come here.
I noticed you thought so.
Did you, Lieutenant?
Then maybe that is the reason you suspect him.
I admitted she might have something there.
I admitted it to myself that it is.
Not to Celeste.
An hour later, a jeep with four GIs in it rolled through the gates of the chateau, and
one of the GIs was Corporal Allen Chester.
And 30 seconds later, I was behind the wheel of Celeste Little Jaguar following the jeep.
Dust was falling, and the road to Paris was lined with traffic, and it wasn't too hard
to keep a few cars behind the jeep, seeing without being seen.
In town, the jeep pulled up in front of a cafe on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, and Corporal
Chester climbed out and waved goodbye to the other three.
Luckily, it was a gloomy joint.
He walked straight across the dance floor.
I hugged the walls and moved in the same direction.
He didn't stop at the bar.
He didn't sit down at a table.
He headed straight for a back door.
He opened it, and he went out.
I gave him 10 seconds, then I went out the back door too.
It was an alley, and as dark as only a Paris alley can be.
So dark, I thought there was only one guy leaning against the building.
Pardon, Monsieur.
Est-ce que vous avez un cigarette?
I dug into my pocket for a cigarette.
That's when I knew that there were two guys.
I whirled around.
The second one was standing behind me, and there was something in his hand that looked
like a blackjack.
My fist shot out quick, and connected.
But number one was on me then with a hole, and I hurt.
I broke away, and I let him have it.
That's when I found out what it was the other man held that looked like a blackjack.
It was a blackjack.
I hit the cobblestones.
For a moment, I saw number two standing over me and heard a girl singing far away.
Then I didn't see or hear anything more for a long time.
It was dawn when I climbed up to the third floor of the chateau.
If Celeste was sleeping, she woke up plenty fast.
And if she had to get into that shimmery house coat she wore, she must have done it in record
time.
Lieutenant.
Oh my God, you look terrible.
I didn't tell her that she looked wonderful.
I didn't ask her if I could come in either.
I just walked past her, and I sat down in the van.
I told her what had happened in the alley off the Boulevard Saint-Germain.
But all the time I talked, I was thinking of something else.
That we were alone.
She was very beautiful.
And so now, of course, you are quite certain that Corporal Chester is a German agent.
Well that's how it adds up, doesn't it?
Perhaps I am not so good at figures.
These men may have been thieves.
They took your money, n'est-ce pas?
Well that doesn't prove anything.
That could have been a cover-up.
But why would Corporal Chester have wanted you beaten up?
Well to stop me from tailing him.
Now that cafe may be a regular hangout, and his boys may hang around outside to take care
of any shadows who show up.
Oh, then you think he did not know you were following him tonight, huh?
Well his boys may have reported that they slugged a guy in the alley, but they can't
be sure who I was, or even that I was tailing him.
I see.
I look that funny?
No, no.
I am just thinking what a fool you are, Lieutenant.
Strange.
I was thinking the same thing myself.
What do you mean?
A man who has a wife as lovely as you, doesn't even kiss her.
He is a fool, isn't he?
He would be even more of a fool if he tried.
Have you forgotten that bargain?
A strictly impersonal relationship, you said.
I said it when you said you'd be loyal to Paul Blanchard's memory.
Then am I not being loyal?
I don't know.
But the way you smile at Alan Chester wouldn't suggest you are.
You do not like the way I smile at him, huh?
I don't like it at all.
Then naturally you would not wish me to accept his invitation.
What invitation?
That is why I call you a fool, Lieutenant.
You think Alan hires men to keep anyone from finding out where he is staying.
Why then is he so careless with me?
Why does he invite me to his room?
Why is that?
Oh, of course, if I went, I could tell you where he is staying.
Perhaps I could tell you a great deal more.
If he's a Nazi agent, I would surely find it out.
Oh, but you do not want me to go.
You're to go whether I want it or not.
Oh, noble you are, Lieutenant.
So she kept her date with Corporal Alan Chester and I paced the rooms of the chateau and waited
for her.
It suffered.
It was dawn when she got back.
Well, let's have the report.
The personal one, Lieutenant, or the impersonal one?
The impersonal one is the only one that concerns me.
Well, I found out nothing.
And I am more certain than ever that there is nothing to find out.
Okay.
Thank you.
Well, maybe you'll try again some other night.
Tomorrow night.
It is all arranged.
I see.
And I will give you the personal report too, Lieutenant, even though it does not concern
you.
I had a lovely time.
It was the next night when I began to suspect her.
I suppose I started even before she came home.
I tried to look at things straight and I asked myself if I were being taken for a ride.
She walked in an hour later.
You are wasting precious time, Lieutenant.
I still think Alan is just what he says he is, an American soldier on detached service
in Paris.
I have seen his orders.
Well, orders can be fake.
Ah, c'est ça.
Then, if you are still suspicious, I will keep another date with him.
Tomorrow night.
I decided it better be three of us on that date.
He had told me the name of his hotel, an old and honorable one, in the Rue de Vaux-Gerard.
I slipped into its musty lobby early the next morning.
An old man with bushy brows and a faintly familiar face eyed me as I approached the
desk.
I told him I was Paul Blanchard, the master of Chateau Breton.
If you say you are Paul Blanchard, Monsieur, then you are Paul Blanchard.
Any reason to suppose I'm not?
Just as there was no reason during the resistance to suppose that you were an OSS agent.
I remembered him then.
He had been in the marquee unit I had worked with on a mission before D-Day.
He was Pierre Solon, a patriot.
It was a break and I knew that I was safe.
Safe enough to tell him as much as necessary.
It shall be done, Lieutenant.
The Scopal Chester is in room 613.
Room 612 will be vacant all evening.
Here is the key to it, Lieutenant.
The door between the two rooms will be unlocked.
Unfortunately, the walls are paper thinned.
Five minutes after Celeste had left that night, I was on the road to Paris.
At the hotel, I went straight to room 612, let myself in.
It was empty, pitch black.
There was no sound from 613.
Celeste and Corporal Chester had probably gone to a cafe first.
It might be a long wait.
It was a long wait and a hot one.
The windows were closed, the room was stuffy.
I stood there in the blackness and the sweat poured down my face.
The minutes ticked by.
Then at last the door to 613 opened.
I pressed my ear against the wall.
Pierre was right about that wall.
It was paper thinned.
I thought we'd never get up here, darling, where I could kiss you.
I've been wanting to kiss you all evening.
The sweat was rolling down my face harder than ever.
I don't see how I'm ever going to be able to leave you, Celeste.
I'm leaving Paris tomorrow morning.
It is very hard to feel.
If I were not married, if Paul were not really my husband...
What's the use of saying it? He is your husband.
But what if I tell you he is not?
What if I confess it is all a sham and mockery?
I wasn't sweating anymore.
Now I was so cold, I shivered.
I don't understand, Celeste.
You mean he's only pretending to be your husband?
Yes, only pretending.
But why?
In order to trap you.
He is an American, an officer in the OSS.
He thinks you are a Nazi agent.
The butt of my revolver was cold too.
My hand squeezed tight around it.
Is this true, Celeste?
He actually thinks I'm a German?
Yes, and I think so too.
I know you are.
Celeste?
But I don't care.
I wouldn't have told you my secret if I did.
I love you.
How long would you go on loving me?
I was an enemy of France.
What is France to me?
What is any country to any woman?
I would love you no matter what you are.
All right, Celeste. You're right.
I'm a member of the intelligence service of the Third Reich.
I twisted the knob, jerked open the door,
and stepped into room 613.
Lieutenant.
Thank you for selling me out, madame Zell.
If you weren't a traitor, I might never have been sure about Corporal Chester.
With a lamp on the table, the only light in the room,
and it stood behind him.
As I spoke, a swift movement of his arms sent a crashing to the floor.
Now there was darkness again enveloping all three of us.
We all moved. We changed our positions swiftly, silently.
None of us could speak without tipping off where we were.
Neither Chester and I could fire for fear of missing.
So we circled the room.
We waited for our eyes to grow accustomed to the dark.
And then, he must have thought he saw me.
He missed me.
The bullet struck something near the door.
But the flash of his gun was all I needed.
I fired, and then on the third shot,
Fire!
It wasn't until old Pierre Chalon opened the door,
and light from the hall flooded the room,
that I saw what the late Corporal Chester's bullet had hit.
It mistaken Celeste for me.
She lay dead where she had dropped.
Ah, c'est dommage, Lieutenant.
I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I'm the only one who's been shot.
C'est dommage, Lieutenant. C'est dommage.
In this war, even the innocent must die.
The innocent?
He was a traitor, Pierre.
No, no, no, Lieutenant, no.
She deserved to die just as much as that rat over there.
But if that is so, then I should not have told her, Lieutenant.
I am sorry.
You told her what?
She passed by the desk.
I thought she was working with you.
You did not think so?
Yes, yes, but what did you say to her?
I said, all is well, Mademoiselle.
What?
Lieutenant has arrived. He is in room 612.
Good Lord.
Then she knew all the time.
Then the only possible reason why she would have told him who I was
was to persuade him to confess who he was.
She would have been crazy to say what she did otherwise,
knowing that I was listening.
Then she did not betray you.
No, Pierre.
No, she didn't betray me.
Perhaps it was you she loved then, Lieutenant.
No, Pierre.
It was France you loved.
The rest was easy.
In Corporal Chester's room, he found a list of names and code.
We broke the code before dawn the next morning.
By that night, we had every Nazi agent in GI uniform, corralled.
And once again, the report of another OSS agent closes with the words...
Mission accomplished.
Listen again next week to another true adventure from the files of the OSS on...
Cloak and Dagger.
Heard in tonight's Cloak and Dagger adventure as Lieutenant Engels was Chuck Webster,
Celeste, Alice Frost, Corporal Alan Chester Joseph Julian.
Others were Carl Weber, Evelyn Juster, Jerry Jarrett, Louis Soren, Horace Bram, and Anna Karen.
The script was written by Ken Field and music was under the direction of John Gart.
Sound effects by Manny Siegel and John Powers.
Engineering by Don Abbott.
Tonight's OSS adventure was based on the book Cloak and Dagger by Corey Ford and Alastair McBain.
This program was produced by Louis G. Cowan and Alfred Hollander under the direction and supervision of Sherman Marks.
Three chimes mean good times on NBC.