In an art gallery, drama critic John Earl, Edward Ashley, is unexpectedly drawn to a portrait of a striking woman painted by James Harlan Corbin, Francis Lederer. The gallery owner explains that the image is the artist’s sole model and not for sale. Earl leaves intrigued but puzzled, unable to place a name to the face he cannot forget. Back at his office, the memory lingers: the face feels familiar, yet the name remains elusive.
He returns to the gallery and learns the model’s name is Helen North, Linda Stirling, though the living woman who appears before him bears little resemblance to the painted image. Undeterred, Earl seeks out Helen to learn Corbin’s whereabouts, but she refuses to help and instead reveals she will be singing at a local nightclub where Corbin is a regular visitor. The tension between art and obsession deepens as Earl confronts Corbin in a crowded room, while the artist—still sketching a stabbing scene on paper—vividly hints at a past murder accusation surrounding his former model, Madeleine. Corbin, bored and irritated, denies any guilt and even invites the singer out aboard his yacht, a lure she accepts, though the looming questions about the painting and the past remain.
Tragedy strikes when Helen North’s body is later found washed ashore, casting a pall over the mystery. Police Lt. Roberts questions Helen’s suitor, Hunt Mason, Michael St. Angel, who ends up implicating Corbin as the last person seen with Helen, complicating the detective’s view of the artist. To get closer to Corbin, Earl collaborates with the police to enlist Linda, Ann Rutherford North—the sister of Helen—to apply for modeling work and secretly observe Corbin’s routine. Linda’s presence at Corbin’s boathouse raises alarms: she notices mood swings, the odd, improvised piano music he plays, and the way he discards a tiny revolver she had brought for protection. Yet when Corbin drains Linda’s drink rather than waste it, she senses he isn’t plotting harm toward her—yet the danger remains.
Meanwhile, another wealthy art buyer, Ella Randolph, Gail Patrick, makes two attempts to purchase Corbin’s work, only to be rebuffed. Corbin, convinced Linda’s aim was solely to spy on him, toys with Ella’s attention, and she leaves him with a warning that he might end up with Linda instead. Their flirtation falters, and Ella makes a bold marriage proposal that Corbin rejects; he even drops her off at home, and she later receives a cryptic invitation to return to his boathouse. Inside, Corbin drifts into a dreamlike sequence in which he imagines Helen’s scream as she plunges into the darkness, followed by Madeleine’s similar fate; when he awakens, Linda reassures him that these are only dreams, even as the ominous shadow of murder lingers.
The case grows heavier as Mrs. Corbin—his mother, a protective figure who understands the depths of fear that haunt her son—begins to exhibit an unsettling calm. She tends to Linda under the pretense of hospitality, but the moment she locks the door to the kitchen to prepare tea, the atmosphere tightens around a sinister plan. A pivotal turn arrives when the police arrest Corbin for questioning after Mrs. Randolph’s car is found abandoned, and the DA shows a torn piece of fur from her dress that was recovered in Corbin’s boathouse. Corbin insists he is confused and unable to fully recall the events, while Linda presses him to remain silent if necessary, insisting that she will stand by him and fight for his innocence.
In a tense family room, Mrs. Corbin returns with tea for Linda, and her words hint at a deeper, almost mad devotion to protecting James from the truth. The moment becomes increasingly dangerous as Mrs. Corbin quietly moves to administer a lethal substance to Linda, attempting to keep the secret within the family. The police storm in just in time to save Linda from harm, but tragedy strikes when Mrs. Corbin dies in her son’s arms, a victim of her own dangerous plan. The courtroom of fear and suspicion remains unresolved, yet the rescue of Linda offers a fragile thread of hope amid the chilling possibility that Corbin’s memory—and perhaps his guilt—may be more elusive than anyone dared imagine.
