THE GHOST OF SAN JUAN HILL: His War Ended in Cuba – His Haunting Began at Home
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The Black Museum. Affiliated stations present Escape. Dinner Sanctum. Present Suspense. I am the Whistler.

Welcome, Weirdos! I'm Darren Marlar and this is Retro Radio – old time radio in the dark, brought to you by WeirdDarkness.com. Here I have the privilege of bringing you some of the best dark, creepy and macabre old time radio shows ever created.

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Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into tonight's retro radio, old-time radio in the dark. The CBS Radio Mystery Theater presents... ♪♪

Come in. Welcome. I'm E.G. Marshall. We have men and we have women. Therefore, we have marriage. Of marriage, it is said, how many torments may lie in the small circle of a wedding ring?

On the other hand, we hear of wedded bliss. Even the book is seemingly ambivalent on the subject. It is better to marry than to burn, and it is not good that man should live alone. What does it prove? The old proverb, if you're out to beat a dog...

You can always find a stick. You were always the most stupid man in town, Bobby. Oh, now that's going a bit far. Well, you could never do anything right. Why ain't you being just a bit hard, Woody? No, and it's the truth. You could never even do the simplest thing. Now, Woody, you're losing your temper. You take dying now. Anybody can do that, but not you. Oh, you're being unfair. What's more simple than being dead? Nothing. It takes no ability, no training, no preparation. And yet you can't even do that. You have to come back to life. What?

Our mystery drama, The Ghost of San Juan Hill, was written especially for the Mystery Theater by Sam Dan and stars Jack Grimes and Marion Haley. It is sponsored in part by Buick Motor Division. I'll be back shortly with Act One. ♪♪

One prediction may be made with absolute certainty concerning any war, and that is not all the boys who were marching off to it will come marching back from it. Some will come limping back, others will be carried back, and then there are those who will never come back at all. And the world shall go on.

Getting down to specifics, a world is going on without Trooper Bobby Halstead, who charged up San Juan Hill with Lieutenant Colonel Teddy Roosevelt. But unlike Teddy, he never did reach the top. Well, could you expect a woman like Mariah and the full flush of her radiant beauty to remain a widow for the rest of her life?

After all, she has cherished Bobby's memory for three long, lonely years in her fashion. Mariah, my dear, may I have this waltz? Woody, oh, you mustn't dance with your bride-to-be the night before the wedding. Is that a fact? Well, you shouldn't even see your bride-to-be the night before the wedding. Oh, is that a fact? I mean, we shouldn't be having this party. I mean...

I mean, a thing like this, it just isn't done. Oh, you mean it's against the rules. Well... Folks like us don't have to follow the rules. Why don't we? Because the rules are made for average, ordinary, everyday people. Uh-huh. Well, I always thought of myself as...

Just folks. Oh, you were never just folks, Mariah. Even when you married Bobby Halstead, you married beneath your station. Oh, everyone thought I married above my station. Bobby's pa worked for the railroad, and my pa... Oh, now, he had an unfortunate illness. He was the town drunk. Well, that's all so far behind you, my darling. I suddenly decided to have this party tonight...

Before the wedding? Why, Woody? Why? Because I don't want anybody for miles around to get any sleep tonight. Well, why should anyone miss out on a night's sleep? Just because you and I are getting mad? They'll be too excited to sleep after I make my announcement. What announcement? This announcement. Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please? Please, ladies and... My friends, my friends...

I have an announcement to make. I have here a telegram. I should like to read it. Quote, shall be delighted to attend wedding and give bride away. Delighted. Signed, Theodore Roosevelt. Yes, yes, indeed, ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States. Woody! Oh, it's, it's, oh, Woody, is it true?

Is it true? My darling Mariah, Bobby died in Teddy Roosevelt's arms on San Juan Hill. He felt like a father to Bobby and therefore to you. And he's going to give me away tomorrow? My dearest, see what begins to happen when you decide to marry me. All the strange and wonderful things. Mariah?

Yes, I'm awake, Aunt Mary. I know, dear. I heard you. That's why I come in. Well, I can't sleep. Well, it ain't unheard of for a girl to be unable to sleep on the night before her wedding. Well, I slept like a log the night before I married Bobby. Oh, you come a long way since Bobby. Well, Bobby hasn't done too badly either. He's a town hero.

Shy, timid Bobby Halstead. Mr. Daniel Chester French has made a statue of him. The new town hall is called the Robert Halstead Auditorium. And the baseball team has been named the Bobbies. It's a pity Bobby ain't here to enjoy it all. Well, how could he be here? If he were here, he wouldn't be a hero, and none of this would have happened. Who would have believed it five years ago? Bobby.

Bobby is the town hero. And you are about to become the richest lady in the county. And just think, it's Woody Preston who's done it for both of you. Ann Marie, you talk too much. Well, it's true, ain't it? If it wasn't for Woody, Bobby would never have gone off to the war. After all, the Rough Riders were a special outfit.

Unless you were one of Teddy Roosevelt's cowboy friends or a college graduate or a rich man's son, you couldn't get into that outfit. Now, those are just rumors. Woody enlisted. He was accepted. But at the last split second, he lost his nerve. He did not. He didn't? Well, what... What was it then? Well, the realization came to him that he was a pacifist at heart. Oh, sure. And that...

Perhaps it was not really a just war. All right, all right, be skeptical, but it is possible to receive a sudden enlightenment. Well, the enlightenment was, like you say, that he could have been killed. Say what you like, but it was a sincere change of heart on Woody's part. Now, oh, let's try to get some sleep. Oh, sure. You'll need all your strength for tomorrow.

Now, what was that supposed to mean? Good night, honey. Oh, she thinks she knows everything. Well, she doesn't. Oh, I'm so sleepy. Thank goodness. Oh, I'm sleepy. Maybe now I can get some sleep. Mariah. Mariah. What? Who? Mariah. Who's that? Mariah. Don't you remember? Who? Who?

Bobby! It's Bobby. Can't be! Mariah! Now, dear, just drink this. Oh, I tell you, Aunt Millie, he was... Nice, warm milk. I heard him playing as I hear you. With a little something in it to give it a jolt. It was Bobby. Now drink it down. All of it down. Ah.

Ah, that's it. Just as plain as day there was his voice. I heard him say, Mariah, the way he used to say it, that same breathy way like he had a cold in his nose. Now, Mariah. Which he usually did. I heard him. I heard him. You were dreaming. I was awake. You couldn't have heard him. He's dead. Oh. Oh, I see. You're saying...

He's a ghost. Yes. But there ain't no such thing as a ghost. Well, I used to believe that myself. Now, let me tell you what it was. Okay.

We were talking about Bobby and you fell asleep and you dreamed. No, you don't understand. Bobby's ghost was in this womb. Now, Mariah, I won't let you talk such foolishness. Well, I'm being punished. Child, what are you saying? Punished for what? Well, read in your Bible about David and Uriah. So what's all that got to do with... And David did lust after the wife of Uriah. And so he sent Uriah into the...

of the battle. What are you talking about? Woodrow Bennett saw me walking on the street and he wanted me. I won't have a niece of mine using them words, wanted me. And I wanted him. And so we schemed how to get rid of Bobby. How?

Fortunately, the war came along. Listen how I talk about a war. Fortunately, anyhow, we figured if Bobby could go and get killed. Mariah. And so Woody enlisted in the prestigious Rough Riders. And from then on, it was easy to get Bobby to take Woody's place. Don't you see? Oh, we killed him. Now, look, no one forced him to go. He could have stayed home. No.

We did force him. Poor Bobby, who never did anyone any harm. Oh, Aunt Millie, I'm frightened. Oh, that ain't pride, child. It's remorse. There's only one thing I can do.

Call off the wedding. You can't call off the wedding. President Theodore Roosevelt's coming. No, I'll have to spend the rest of my life trying to make it right with Bobby. I'll become a nun. That's doing it rather strict, ain't it? Well...

Then I'll spend my life doing good works for the poor, and I'll go to the veterans' hospitals where our brave boys... Oh, Mariah, listen. And after I spend a lifetime atoning for my sin, maybe then... Maybe then Bobby will find it in his heart to forgive me. No, well, honey, you just lie here quietly. And don't say another word. Just relax. Relax. Oh, Woody. Woody.

Don't you tell me it's my imagination either. No, my darling, but Mariah, do you believe that we schemed and plotted to get Bobby killed? I do. How can you say that? We never even discussed it. Well, did we have to discuss it in words? Oh, Mariah. There's no point in talking about it anymore. But you are accusing us of having planned to kill Bobby so that we could get him out of our way. We're guilty. There isn't a shred of evidence. Look inside your heart.

Our guilt is written in letters of fire. Our thoughts and words may have been unspoken, but there were thoughts and words just the same. But I spent $2,000 on the wedding party. Cancel it. How? The food's already been prepared. Well, give it to charity. How can orphans eat pheasant under glass? Oysters Rockefeller. Well, that's not my problem. And what are we going to say to President Roosevelt? You invited him, so you...

Uninvite him. Look, you cannot play fast and loose with the President of the United States. It's against the law. You invite him here to a wedding, there's got to be a wedding. Or...

What happened? Oh, now look at this ridiculous situation, Mariah. You want to call off our wedding because... because you imagine you heard the ghost of your first husband. I tell you, Woody, I did hear him. And what if you did? What could he do? You're behaving like an ignorant, superstitious, uneducated... Oh, now that's starting to come out. I didn't mean to imply that you...

Mariah, please snap out of it. Admit what every sane, sober, right-minded individual knows for a fact. There is no such thing as a ghost. Woody. Woody. What was that? Woody. Woody. Oh, no. It's his ghost. It's Bobby's ghost. Oh.

There you are, friends. Every sane, sober, right-minded individual knows for a fact that there's no such thing as a ghost. Until, of course, he is confronted with Ron. Then, what does a sane, sober, and right-minded individual do? What can he do? Well, as you may appreciate, there are a great many alternatives. And we shall explore some of them when I return here with Act Two. Act Two

The dead, we are given to understand, leave us forever. We, when our time comes, will go to join them. They, on the other hand, can never return to join us. The proposition seems so elementary and basic that one could hardly call it to question. And yet, what has been happening in Mariah Halstead's bedroom?

Not only has she heard the voice of her dead husband, Bobby, but her future husband, Woody, has also just heard it. Woody! It is he.

It's him. It's Bobby. I told you. I told both of you. Now, what do you say, Woody? And you, Aunt Millie? Land sakes alive. Bobby, is that really you? It's me, Woody. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, Bobby, forgive us. Forgive me. I mean, forgive Mariah. Oh, sure. Sure, I forgive you. I see him. That's you, Bobby Sted.

standing by the window. Bobby in his Spanish War uniform. Bobby. The ghost of Bobby come back home. You've been sent back. Yeah, I guess I was sent back. Oh, and I know why. As a warning to Mariah and me to remind us that we must repent for our sins. Well, now, Woody. We have sinned, Bobby. Yes, Bobby. We may lie to ourselves, but we sinned. The minute I laid eyes on Mariah, I fell in love with her.

with her. And I fell in love with him. But she was married to you. And so he tricked you into joining the Rough Riders. You've got to forgive us, Bobby. Oh, Bobby, we'll spend the rest of our lives in repentance and prayer. We'll never look at each other again. That's punishment, isn't it, Bobby? That's punishment enough, oh, Bobby.

You were such a good man, such a great heart. So kind, so decent. So gentle. Well, ain't you gonna say nothing, Aunt Millie? Well, if I keep thinking, something will come to me. Bobby, how long will you continue to haunt us? I ain't gonna haunt you at all. You mean you're going back? Oh, no, no, no. I can't go back. It's too hot. Hot? You mean you were sent to the other place?

What other place? I'm talking about Cuba. Cuba? I ain't about to go back there. Cuba? Is that where people go these days after they die? Well, don't ask me where folks go after they die. All I know is I... Well, Bobby Darling, you of all people should know where folks go after they die. Why should I? Well, because... because you're dead.

Who's dead? You are. Who says I'm dead? Everybody, Bobby. The War Department. Teddy Roosevelt. Well, you died on San Juan Hill. No, I didn't. I... Bobby Holstead. Now, stop this foolishness and look me in the eye. Yes, ma'am, Aunt Millie. You mean you ain't a ghost?

No, ma'am, I ain't a ghost. That is impossible. Why is everybody so ready to believe I'm a ghost and so unwilling to believe I'm alive? Because... Can you touch a ghost? Can you feel a ghost? Well, come on, touch me. Feel me. Oh! No, no, don't come near me. No, you come over here, Bobby Halstead. Yes, ma'am. Well, I'll be. It's true. Bobby, you are alive. That's what I've been trying to tell everyone. Alive? Alive.

Bobby, you can't be alive. You've got no right to be alive. Why, Bobby? I mean, you just can't be alive.

I mean, what business have you got being alive? Well, I... Couldn't you ever do anything right in your life, Bobby? Couldn't you even get killed properly? Woody... I mean, most people who die do it right. They stay dead. But Woody's naturally upset, Aunt Millie. I mean, we all are. But when you get yourself killed, you have to come back. But I haven't come back from any... Well, what do you call this? You're as substantial as I am. That's because I've never been gone. I've never been dead to start with. And the army...

And Washington, D.C., and the president, all of them are wrong? They ain't wrong, exactly. They just made a mistake. Oh, you see, the way I got it figured, they must have got me mixed up with someone else. Who? Billy Homestead.

Yeah, Homestead does sound something like Colstead, don't it? And me and Billy, well, we were great pals, and we were both short and red-haired, and we did look a little bit alike. Billy Homestead? Well, who is Billy... Yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming to, I'm coming to you. Now, you know I couldn't hit the side of a barn with a carbine or with a Krag-Jorgensen rifle, and Billy, he was worse.

So to keep us from killing everyone in the outfit, they made us messengers. And we were attached to Colonel Roosevelt's headquarters. And when he wanted something done, he'd say, Trooper Halstead, my compliments, General Shafter, tell him I did 100,000 rounds of ammunition. Or, uh, Trooper Halstead, my compliments to Colonel Ward and, uh, well, so forth. You, uh, follow this? It really isn't complicated. Well, Colonel Teddy never could keep the two of us straight. He'd call me Halstead, and he'd call Billy...

The Halls did more often than not. All right, all right, but how did you get... You have to understand all this, because if you don't, you'll never understand how the rest of it could have happened. All right, we understand. It was the morning of July 1st, 1898. Three years ago, the morning of the Battle of San Juan Hill. Honestly, Bobby, you can wear a body's patience. Get to it. Well, we were drawn up along the bottom of the hill...

It was such a beautiful morning. The sky was a deep, deep blue and the sun was like gold. And the whole place was alive with nature. The birds singing, the crickets chirping, and suddenly...

There was a shot from the time it hit. And then another, and then still another. And before we knew it, there was fire and by volley. And the next thing I knew, Colonel Teddy was waving at me to come to him. Now, keep your head down, Trooper. I'm a sergeant. I'm Halstead, sir. That's what I said, Halstead. Now.

Now, son, we are going to take this hill. Yes, sir? By assault. By assault, sir? We'll take her by storm. Yeah, but the firing down on her is pretty hot and heavy. We're not called the Rough Riders for nothing, Homestead. I'm Halstead, sir. That's what I said. Yeah, but we don't have our horses. They're still in the ship. We'll just charge up this hill on our own.

I was an awful lot of fire pouring down from the top of this hill, sir. My boy, I've been watching you for a long time. I like your courage. I want you by my side when we make the assault. Me, sir? Yes, my boy.

I want you to be my flag bearer. Yeah, but I... Now the flag's back at the headquarters, Stan Homestead. Sir, my name is... I want you to run back there just as fast as your legs can carry you. And get that flag. And up that hill we go! Oh!

I ran back to the headquarters tent and picked up the flag and started back toward the hill. Old Glory was waving in the breeze. I felt awful proud and patriotic holding her. And then as I approached the hill and heard the firing...

I suddenly become frozen stiff with fear. It was bad enough running up that hill with just that frag Jorgensen rifle in your hands, but with the flag, I'd be a target for every sharpshooter in that Spanish line. I'd be killed, and I didn't want to die. No, I didn't want to die, and therefore I knew I just couldn't go back there, back to Colonel Teddy's side, and move up that hill with him. But he

But he had given me an order. I had to obey. What was I going to do? If I charged up the hill, I'd be killed. If I didn't, I could be shot for disobeying.

Now, one way or another, I was sure to be dead. And so I stood rooted to the spot. And then he come running by me, and I was saved. Oh, there! Oh, there! Billy Olmsted! Why, Bobby. Bobby Holstead, what are you doing there? Oh, I got the regiment flag, and I'm returning to duty. We're taking San Juan Hill today, and I'm to be the flag bearer. You? Who said you was to be the flag bearer? Well, I'm the one who got the flag, ain't I? Who told you to get the flag? Colonel Teddy. Colonel Teddy told you to get the flag?

Well, he... Yeah, well, never mind. Well, never mind what?

Well, the truth is he... No, no, it ain't important. But what ain't important? What counts is I got the flag and I'm the flag bearer. I don't know. There's something fishy here, Bobby. I'm doing this for your own good, Billy. What good? Oh, it's a dangerous job. A man's sure to get killed. Now, what are you keeping from me? Well, Colonel Teddy told me to get the flag, but he thought he was telling you. Oh, okay.

Then he wants me as flag bearer. But it's too dangerous. I ain't gonna let you risk it. Bobby, go for old glory. No. All right.

Here she is. Oh, you're a pal, Bobby, a real pal. I know being flag bearer would mean a lot to you. Well, maybe next battle. Oh, you didn't have to tell me why you could have hogged the whole honor for yourself. Well, I guess our friendship means more to me than any chance for honor and glory. I'll never forget you for being so true-hearted and generous, Bobby.

Well, he took Old Glory and he ran it back to where Colonel Teddy was waiting to start the charge. And then I could hear the bugle. And with Colonel Teddy leading the way and Bobby Homestead besides him holding the flag, the Rough Riders just stormed up that hill into the teeth of the shot in the shell.

It was a heart-stirring sight. Especially for a fellow that was safely out of range because I wasn't going up there. Wild horses couldn't have dragged me up there. Then I saw the flag fall down. Billy. Billy. And I felt a dull, heavy blow against the back of my head. And for a long time, it seemed like I didn't know nothing at all. And then...

I opened my eyes and I was lying on a bed in a little room. Ay, so. What happened to me? Where...

Where am I? You are in my house, senor. Who are you? A friend. Call me Tio Salacan, Uncle Salacan. And this is my niece, Anita. My head. You should not try to talk. Senor, we found you on the battlefield. Near the battlefield. A stray shell fired from one of the American ships in the harbor. I...

I don't remember. You should rest. The harbor? What harbor? What battlefield? Where am I? In Santiago de Cuba, senor. Cuba? Cuba? Ain't there a war with Cuba? No, no, no. With Spain. That's it. I must be an American soldier. What?

Why don't I remember? You are becoming excited. Well, I know. Look in my pocket. Your pocket? In my pocket, I got my paybook. My soldier's paybook. In my shirt pocket. Your shirt? My clothes. What?

Where are my clothes? What happened to my clothes? Well, it seems that when we found you, senor, you were... Naked. I am ashamed to say, senor, that there are people who are very bad people. They prowl the battlefields and they rob the dead and the wounded. Oh, yes. Well, call the United States Army. Bring me to the... That might not be good for you, senor. Senor.

Why? Well, there are so many deserters and smugglers and criminals that until you can prove who you are, it may go badly. Oh, yes, we have seen them hang people. Just because you are an American does not mean you are an American soldier. Think. Can you recall anything about yourself at all? I can't remember anything. I don't know who I am. What...

What's going to become of me? Well, you must admit we're getting to see the underside of things. Where there are neither frills nor fancies. And where General Sherman's one-word description of war, namely that it's hell, takes on more and more reality.

However, at least for the present, Bobby Halstead seems to be in good hands. So let us all relax for a few moments until I return with Act Three. War will throw everyone and everything into a state of disorder and confusion. And if you're dealing with folks who are confused to begin with, well...

The Spanish-American War was only a little war, as wars go. But it has already disrupted the affairs of all the characters in our story. To continue the confusion...

But what's to become of me? Oh, well, senor, in time you may recover your memory. Time? How much time? A few days, several weeks, if not four or five months, perhaps a year or two, if not more. And meanwhile, I'll probably be listed as a deserter. That is possible. Unfortunate, but possible. Ah, great. Oh, this is great.

And then when I remember who I am, I'll report to the United States Army and be court-martialed, maybe even shot. Oh, perhaps not. What do you mean, perhaps not? You think they'll believe I lost my memory? They'll say, no, you did it to get out of fighting. On the other hand, when and if you recover your memory, it may turn out that you are not a soldier at all. Perhaps you are a smuggler or an escaped American criminal. Oh.

Oh, that's fine. Oh, yes, that's just dandy. But what am I going to do? Do? Oy, senor, do nothing. It is quite pleasant here. And I and my niece Anita shall do everything in our power to see that you are comfortable. And that's what you did, Bobby?

You stayed in the house with that girl? Well, what else was I to do? But you were a married man. Her uncle was there. He was a chaperone. No, I suppose she was beautiful. Oh, yes, yes, she was. She surely was. And what happened was she...

You fell in love with me. Bobby Holster. Yeah, I'm trying to tell you the truth. I was forced to stay there. I had to be in hiding till I could find out who I was. And so, well... Well what?

One thing led to another. Is that so? Cuba is a very romantic country. I mean, three years had gone by. Three years. I was sick a long time. I mean, I'd been hit in the head, you see. Well, one night, Tio Zalikin says to me, Yankee, they called me Yankee. Yankee.

Yankee, we must give a thought to your future. Well, that's what I've been doing all this time, T.O. Zalekin, just sitting and sweating about it. Well, suppose you never find out who you are. I've got to, T.O. And yet so much time has passed. Who can guarantee the future? Oh, nobody, I guess. Ah, but you are wrong.

I can. You see, when I saw you lying there on the field of battle, I said to myself, there is a fine young fellow. Did I not say that, Anita? Oh, yes, Theo. You did say that. And I further said, if this one lives, he will make a good husband for my niece, Anita. You remember, Anita, I said that. But I don't know if I... If you love Anita...

Who says you have to love her? Could you find anyone prettier than Anita? But it's of no use when Anita wants something. I appreciate her affection and all. When Anita saw you lying on the battlefield, she said to me, Pio, I want that one.

You know, Senor Tio, something bothers me. You told me that after a battle, all kinds of thieves rush onto the field to strip the bodies. I believe I said that, yes. What were you doing on that battlefield? I? I was stripping the bodies. You were? Of course. And Anita was helping me.

Then you took my clothes and my equipment and sold them? Of course. How can you just stand there and say, of course? One must make a living. We are thieves. Our forefathers before us were thieves. It is the only trade we know. My pay book...

You saw my paybook? Oh, yes. Couldn't you have saved it for me? Oh, but Yankee, a USA paybook? It is worth a fortune. Well, couldn't you have at least read my name so I'd know who I am? I am so sorry. I do not even read Spanish. How can I be expected to read English? Is that not a fact, Anita? Yes, it is so. Shrapnel, I'm

Why was I so sure I was hit by shrapnel? For all I know, I could have just been standing there and you came sneaking up behind me with a club. Oh, young, you trust nobody. But marriage will make a new man of you. Besides, you have no choice.

How will I make a living? How will I support my wife? Enough of these excuses. You will never remember who you are in reality. And who you are right now pleases Anita. So, you and I will enjoy ourselves here at the old homestead while Anita steals something for our supper. Wait. What? What is it? That word.

What word did you just say? Supper? No, no. Steal? No, no, no, no, no. We'll enjoy ourselves at the old homestead. Yes, yes, I said that. Homestead, that's my name. Your name is Homestead? No, my name is Halstead, Bobby Halstead. Colonel Teddy called me Homestead, and he called Homestead Halstead. And that's who I am, a rough rider, and I'm married to Mariah, and I'm going home. Ah!

And here I am. Now, you know what happened. Teddy must have seen poor Billy Homestead get killed and...

He thought it was me. And you are the hero after all. It was Billy Homestead. It was all a mistake. Now, now, now, now, now. Just a moment, Mariah, my dear. We must never make hasty judgments. Bobby, what are your plans? Well, my plans are to come back to my wife and my life here. That may be somewhat awkward. You see, Mariah and I have made other plans. I

I appreciate we may all have some problems, but after all, I ain't dead. But you are dead, Bobby. You're a dead hero. What happens if it develops that you were a live coward?

Yeah, I'm not sure I care about that, Woody. What's going to happen to that statue of you holding the flag, the one in front of the town hall? And what about that new auditorium, Robert Halstead Hall? And the baseball team, you simply can't let everyone down. But I can't help it if I'm alive and I didn't ask folks to make a hero out of me. But they went ahead and did, Bobby. You are a hero. And a hero has responsibilities.

What responsibilities do I have? Well, right now, your only responsibility is to be dead. Oh, you should see that statue, Bobby. It's enough to make a tear come out of your eye. You look so noble. You're such an inspiration. You're such an inspiration.

Especially to the kids. Think of the kids. Your problem is you're too self-centered, Bob. And the baseball team, Bobby. I mean, they were never worth shots. But since they started wearing your name lettered across their chest... Well, it's like that heroism has just been rubbed off. They're champs, Bobby. League champs. Well, yeah, but what do you want I should do? You'll just have to stay dead. So you and Mariah could get married. Oh, Bobby, darling...

Are we asking this for ourselves? It's for you. For your name. For your reputation. Yes, this thing is bigger than all of us. That's why you'll have to stay dead. I ain't doing nothing of the kind. Mariah. Woody. Woody.

What are you doing in here? We... we have to talk. He refuses to listen to reason. Well, he's got his side of it, too. Now, Mariah, if you're going to go and consider everybody's side, we'll never get anything resolved. Well, what do we do? I was thinking. Bobby is officially dead. And so, just for example, if he were to die tonight, for instance, I mean, no one would know to miss him. If...

Bobby would die. Well, if he were to have an accident? Like what? Like he could be cleaning a gun. Are you saying we should murder Bobby? You can't murder a dead man. Bobby. What? Oh. Oh, it's you, Aunt Millie. You decided what you want to do, right?

I don't know why I have to decide. Well, I'm just thinking of you, Bobby. What's there to think about? Bobby, you realize what life in this town is going to be like. Well, like it always was. Oh, no. You'll be in worship now, Bobby. So that's great. Yes, but you must understand, the higher folks raise you up,

The lower they cast you down. And when they discover you ain't a hero after all, that you didn't die carrying the flag up San Juan Hill, well, they're going to feel they've been had. But I wasn't the one who... Oh, sure not. They've done it to themselves, which means they'll be madder than ever. How mad? Very mad. Very mad.

Lynching, Mad? Well, it might stop just short of that.

Well, we have to settle this. Oh, not till everybody's had breakfast. Aunt Millie, President Roosevelt's gonna get here any minute. Bobby, don't you see how many people you'll be putting out if you spoil the wedding? Yeah, but what happens to me? Well, you can go back to Cuba, to your lady friend Anita. That wasn't my fault. Oh, likely story. Well, look at yourself. You were fixing to get married. Well, that's different. Now, listen, listen. Do you hear that noise? It's the president. He's coming up the street.

Now, Bobby, Bobby, please be sensible. You cannot, you can't come to life. You must do this for your country. If you come back to life, then every hero will be suspect. Think of the children, the school children. But what happens to me? How am I supposed to live? Anybody think of me? It's like the morning at San Juan Hill all over again. If I carried the flag, I'd be killed as a hero.

If I refused, I'd be hung as a deserter. The same thing now. If I say, here I am, Bobby Hall's dead, the town's folks will get mad enough to lynch me. If I don't, I'll starve to death.

Well, good morning. Delighted to be here. Delighted. Mr. President. And there's the beautiful bride. Widow of the great hero, Bobby Halstead. Oh, his last words were of you, my dear. As he died, he whispered, tell her I loved her. Say, what's this? Who's this? It's Homestead. Trooper.

Billy Homestead! I'll be above it, sir. I'm... I know who you are, Trooper Homestead. Why? They said you'd fall in the San Juan Hill, too. Oh, you're a sight for sore eyes, Trooper Homestead. Mr. President, I... Not Mr. President, but Colonel Teddy. I remember the talks we had late at night, Trooper Billy. How you said, if we both lived through the war, you'd like...

to drive my carriage. Colonel, I must confess... This is one of the happiest days of my life. I'm giving away Bobby's widow and giving a job to Trooper Billy. And you're going to take the job, aren't you? Sir, I... That is an order, Trooper Billy.

Oh, yes, Trooper Billy. I am Miss Trooper Bobby. Oh, how I used to get you two fellas mixed up. That is, I let you think I did because it amused you. But I knew who was who all the time.

You did, sir? Well, most of the time, Trooper Billy Holmes said, most of the time. Now, it's time the wedding party was heading for the church. Unless, Mr. President, you'd like a cup of coffee first. Why, ma'am, I'd be delighted. Delighted. Delighted.

And so they were married. Mariah and Woody, that is. All of which goes to prove that a little bit of mistaken identity here and there can sometimes be a very beneficial thing. And everything was, you must admit, settled to everyone's satisfaction. Bobby retained his own reputation as a dead hero and lived a satisfactory life at the same time.

I shall have some more satisfactions for you in just a few moments. Well, is it better to be a live coward or a dead hero? The problem has been debated pro and con for centuries and the answer still eludes us. Perhaps there is no answer. It could very well be that these are choices that each man makes according to the dictates of his innermost nature.

However, you must admit, we have added something new to this age-old controversy of live coward versus dead hero. We have presented you with a character who was able to be both and at the same time. Our cast included Jack Grimes, Marion Haley, William Redfield, Bryna Rayburn, and Ian Martin. The entire production was under the direction of Hyman Brown.

And now, a preview of our next tale. Just been talking to the captain. He says they're in there. They're working in there. Windows look dark. No lights. I'm going to paint it over, probably. Smoke coming out the chimney. Smell it? Yeah. There's no mistaking that smell. Wood fire. That's right. Nothing suspicious. Looks like a peaceful old suburban house. What's the plan? On a signal. The usual. What's the plan?

He'll blink his flash three times. You take the back door, I'm taking the front. They'll cover us and keep the sides under control. You're taking the front door, Kip? Yeah.

Captain assigned it that way? No, I did. All he said was you and Roby take the front door and the back. The front is the tougher spot. Why you? Front or back? You gonna give me an argument? They're both lousy. Look, Kip, I don't want... Now, shut up. That's a signal. Get moving. Now, will you hear me? Then move in like gangbusters. This is E.G. Marshall inviting you to return to our mystery theater for another adventure in the macabre.

Until next time, pleasant dreams. © BF-WATCH TV 2021

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What's up, guys? It's Priscilla. Let's be real. Summer in Arizona, less hanging out outside and more don't touch the steering wheel so you don't bring your hands. And with prices going up on almost everything, it's really easy to feel like summer is just too expensive and too hot to have fun. But Sam's Club is changing that. They're freezing the club through July 22nd, holding prices on over a thousand items like sunscreen, trash bags, ice cream. Honestly, joining Sam's Club is a no-brainer. If you're going to sweat through the summer, at least start

save money doing it. Go join now at samsclub.com slash freeze the club. Need better internet? Cox Internet has the fast, reliable speeds you're looking for. Perfect for seamless streaming, gaming, and working from home.

And now get Cox 300 MAG Internet for only $40 a month when you add Cox Mobile with a two-year planned price lock guarantee and Wi-Fi equipment included. Oh, yeah. So get your household up to speed. Switch to Cox Internet today. Requires Cox Mobile gig unlimited mobile data speeds reduced after 20 gigs usage per month. Taxes and fees excluded from price guarantee. Here's your pass to the Globe Theater. ♪♪

© BF-WATCH TV 2021

This is the Globe Theater, the radio playhouse especially for men and women of the armed forces of the United Nations. Just as the Globe Theater has met the best in entertainment since the days of Shakespeare, today it means the best in radio drama for servicemen and women all over the globe. Here to tell you about tonight's play is your host at the Globe Theater, Herbert Marshall. Applause

Thank you, and hello, everyone. Your favorite seat is ready and waiting for you here at the Globe Theater. No extra charge for lodges. And tonight's bill is one that I trust will be well worth the hearing. There is one type of character that every actor longs to play, whether he be Sir Aubrey Smith or Roddy McDowell. That is the role of the quick-witted romantic adventurer who moves through Monte Cristo-esque experiences, confronted with innumerable dangers...

but usually confounding his adversaries by sharp thinking and subtle humor. Always, of course, there is a lovely girl who makes the confounding all the more worthwhile. As I say, such is the part that every actor longs to play. Now, there are decided advantages about being your host here at the Globe Theater, for that means that I'm also the casting director. And when a fat, juicy part of the title I've just described turns up, whom do you suppose was chosen to portray it?

Well, not Sir Aubrey Smith or Roddy McDowell. I need only add that the title of this play is The Man Called X. What happens is of an exciting nature, I think you'll agree. So, let's up the curtain and let the play begin. Tonight, he finds himself involved with murder, music, and a blonde Madonna.

But at the moment, he and Nancy, his best girl, are sitting in a booth in a smart cocktail lounge in midtown Manhattan. Tim, darling. Yes, dear? You'll get a kink in your neck staring at that blonde. Why don't

Why don't you just go over and sit with her at the bar? I won't mind. Nancy, I look at other women only to remind myself that not one of them can compare with you, my sweet. Oh, that's better, Angel. Pietro? Yes, sir? Two martinis with onions? Yes, sir. I don't know why I ever fell in love with you, Jim. You know, I should have gone for a really attractive gent. Like that one over there. Where? At the bar, sitting next to that blonde gal you've been ogling. You see him? Yes, ma'am.

My great Scott. Bill. Bill Nesbitt. Huh? Somebody call me? Bill, over here. Oh, for the love of... Ken Burton. I haven't seen you since last college reunion.

Nancy, this is Bill Nesbitt, my old roommate and the best all-American tackle ever. Bill, this is my fiancée, Nancy Bessington. She thinks she's a reporter. I'm glad to meet you, Nancy. Oh, thanks, Bill. I've been following your career, Ken. Congratulations. You always were interested in solving unsolvable puzzles. How about you? I understand you're the finest synthetic chemist in the country. I've done a little in synthetics. Your drinks are fine. Join us, Bill. What?

and take him away from his beautiful blonde? What blonde? That girl sitting next to you at the bar. Oh, she's not with me. I don't even know her. Oh, then fine. Sit with us, huh? Well, I've still got half a drink at the bar. I'll get it. He seems like a nice guy. He is. Hey, Mrs. Swell, seeing you again, Ken? Go on, sit down. What are you doing? Well, I'm on my way to Italy. Italy? Italy.

Sounds mighty mysterious. Secret stuff. Say, have either of you the time? 4.10. Gee, I'd better make a phone call to the office. When do you leave? Well, I've got to catch a bus at the airline terminal in 15 minutes. Don't have too much time. No, I'll be right back. I wonder why Bill is going to Italy. Harder the place for a civilian to go these days. Stop acting like a bird dog in October.

Darling, you know I promised you I'd settle down. And I'm going to see to it that you keep that promise, baby. Bartender. Bartender. Yes, miss? Oh, looks like your blonde sand is shutting off. How much do I owe you? Quick, please tell me. Well, that'll be 75 cents, please. Here you are. I think she dresses in horrible taste. Oh, Nancy, aren't you being a little hard on her? Hey, lady, come back. Lady, you left change out of a $5 bill. Now, I wonder why she was in such a rush. Probably just remembered her date with her boyfriend. Maybe so.

Pardon me, darling, will you? Pietro, where's the phone booth? Right there, sir. Oh, thank you. Hey, Bill. Are you all right? Hey, Bill. Good Lord. Ken. Ken, what's happening? Miss Bill is dead. Oh, no. How? Pietro. Yes, sir? Don't wash that glass he was drinking from. Why not, Ken? I have a hunch the police chemist will find it was full of poison. Oh.

Oh, it's good to get back in my own apartment. You know, I'm not as used to looking at corpses as you are, and I feel a little sick. I know. I don't feel particularly chipper myself. Poor Bill.

He would have won the Nobel Prize for Chemistry one of these days. Ken, who could have done such a thing? I don't know. What's that you're looking at? Something I found in Bill's pocket. Oh, but Ken, the police should have that. They will after I've read it. What does it say? There's just a name and address on it. Look. Luigi Antonelli, Umbrati, Italy. Umbrati. Never even heard of it.

Must be just a tiny village. Wonder who Antonelli is. You can bet whoever Antonelli is, he's mixed up in this affair somehow. I wonder in what way. So do I. And I intend to find out. Oh, no, Ken, no, not Italy. Why poke your nose into this? Because I don't like old friends of mine being poisoned. I'm funny that way. Oh, no.

So this is the town of Umbratti. Si, senor, I just... Not much of it left, eh? The Nazis. They make ruin everything before the Americans that come. Well, they didn't ruin your spaghetti. It's a masterpiece. Gracias, senor. All I say is give me back my fireplace. Yeah, before we... Yeah, before we stop. You've made a great mistake. I'll make you look like Mussolini's ghost. What's all the trouble over there? Those G.I.s look as though they're going to lose their temper. The American has told you.

They know, like the souvenirs, what they buy from Castro the peddler. See him over there. Castro the peddler, eh? That's good. You know him? That, my friend, is an understatement. I must meet Castro the peddler. This is the last time we ask for life. Come on, boys. One, two, three. Here, here, boys. What's the trouble? Mr. Pelston. Egon Zellsmith, what mess are you in now? Oh, you are a savior. What's he done, boys? This drifter tells us he's a genuine Italian curiosity.

Look what mine says on the bottom. Hmm. Made in Newark, USA. Egon, give the gentleman back their money. Oh, pardon me, sir. If you don't, they'll tear you limb from limb and I'll sit and applaud. Mr. Thurston, you are a sadist. Here you are, fellows. Twenty dollars. That's better. I'm shocked, Egon. You are a common peddler. There's more to this than meets the eye, though, isn't there? No, no. I'm just a poor peddler that peddles. Yes, yes, yes.

I can make you a better financial proposition. Mr. Thurston, those words are like the soft wings of a bird. How much? Fifty. One hundred. Fifty. All right. What do I steal? Not yet. Do you know a man called Antonelli? You are lucky. I am more than familiar with that name. Who is he? Luigi Antonelli was professor of music at the University of Florence. What the devil would Bill want for the professor? Did you say was? Yes.

Alas, Signor Professore Antonelli died yesterday. Today is his funeral. ♪♪

I'm back here, Garth. Here behind this plume storm. I dislike gray, Garth. Intense gray.

But this funeral fascinates me. Why are there only those two mourners? Alas, Signora Antonelli, but few friends. Who are those two women? His sister and her daughter. They've just arrived from home recently. Oh, so they just came down from Rome, didn't they? Yes. Well, two days ago I saw that girl sitting at a bar in New York. Impossible, she just came down...

Mr. Thurston, if you did not pay me so well, I would be hurt to the crick. How well do you really know these two women? Tell me the truth. I have never spoken to them. For $50 more, would you tell me the real truth? Ah, in that case... I thought so. About cash? In a cemetery? Well, the dead will not object to a small financial transaction. Cash, please. All right, here you are. Good. Now, the truth is this. I pretend to be a peddler.

Those charming ladies pay me to stay in this town so I can notify them should anyone try to get near their house. Why are they so eager to keep people away from that house? Who knows? Perhaps, I merely say, perhaps, Signor Antonelli is not in that coffin at all. THE END

Be quiet and stay. The women will be back soon from the funeral. Hmm. This mansion is quite a dump. The Palazzo Antonelli dates back to the Borgias. Where would Antonelli be? I do not know. I've never seen him. Where does that staircase lead? Oh, to the bedchamber. Let's try it. The women will be back soon. Hurry, J. Garth.

I can't see what they're doing. Listen. Behind that door. Door's locked. Signor Antonelli, can you hear me? It gives me goose pimples to listen to that. Sounds out of his mind. Why is he being kept a prisoner?

I will give you 50 if you were to offer me a million, I could not pay you. These women confide very little to me. Then you're slipping, Edgar. Signor Antonelli, I am an American. I know you are being held a prisoner. Can you hear me? Signor Antonelli.

This is like a lunatic asylum. Let us get out of here. Yes, the ladies will be back soon anyway. I don't want to meet them this way. Mr. Thurston, what does this Signor Antonelli mean to you? I haven't the faintest idea yet. Maybe I'll know more after the formal call I intend to pay this afternoon. THE END

Please, Signore. I have come to offer my condolences at your loss. I'm Signor Thurston from America. I studied music under your uncle at the University of Florence. Born to come in. Mama, this is Signor Thurston. He knew Uncle Luigi and he has come to pay his respects. You come at an unhappy time, Signore. But since you are here...

Won't you sit down? Signora, I too feel your loss very keenly. Your brother taught me much about music and more about life. He was a great man. You are right. I am glad to know that someone young and a foreigner still holds his memory dear. What was the cause of his death, signora? While my daughter and I were at Rome, the Nazis occupied this village. They knew how my brother felt for them.

Don't cry, Mama. The past is over. I came here to Ambrati hoping to talk over old times with him. I was shocked to hear... You're very kind, Signor. Not at all. We are being ungracious, Tina. I will get some wine for Signor Thurston. Yes, Mama. The Nazis swine in their retreat from you wonderful Americani at least forgot to loot our wine cellars. I believe he will enjoy our wine. It is the finest in this park.

You will excuse me. Certainly. Strange. Why do you look at me like that? I came to find death, and I found beauty. You are making love to me, Signore. You choose a most unhappy time. When a man is swept off his feet, as I am now, love does not wait on birth or death. I had heard how impetuous Americans were. No, no, no, Signore. One tender kiss of, shall we say...

Friendship. What would my mother think? She's still in the wine cellar. Well, then. One. Your name? Tina. Tina. Tina. I could compose a tone poem to that name. Please. Mother is coming back. Mother has no sense of timing. Those steps are harder than an old woman. It's enough.

For Signor Surton's glass. What an exquisite goblet. Yes, but a jelly made it for our ancestors. Probably the Borgia? Signore does not know his history. The Borgias were poisoners. So they were. Here, Signore. Taste it and tell me if you ever had a finer Barolo. Yes. Drink, Signore. What, neither of you joining me?

No, Signore. Then I insist your daughter at least take part in an old American custom. It is called the loving cup. When a man meets a girl as exquisite as you are, Tina, he asks her to drink first from his glass. Tina is too young to drink. Surely an exception can be made. My daughter accepts your flattery, Signore. However... It isn't flattery. To look at your daughter is to have some of the chill taken from the memory of her dead uncle.

You have not touched your wine, Signore. I wouldn't think of it until your daughter first sipped from my glass. I have told you I cannot allow my daughter... But I insist. It is difficult to know where flattery ends and rudeness begins with you. Come now, Tina. Surely you can't object to drinking your own wine? Or can you? Of course not. No, certainly not. Well, then. Very well. Tina, no! No!

You did not really think I was going to drink it, did you, Signore? Considering that it would probably kill you, I doubted it very much. And now the comedy is over, Signore. Oh, I see you know how to use a revolver also. Yes, and I must insist that you stand quite still or I will shoot a hole between your very attractive eyes. Egon. Yes, Signore. Aha, Egon, of course, hiding behind the screen. I'm coming, Signore.

Poor Mr. Thurston. You should not have come here. Egon, take care of this gentleman. As always, it is a pleasure to take care of Mr. Thurston. Show him to the cellar and tie him up securely. Just my luck. Here I am having a quiet little party with two of the loveliest ladies in Italy, and I have to go to a nasty cellar with Egon. Egon.

Egon, don't you think that gun is superfluous? With you, I take no chances. Where is your shame? Taking my money and then telling those women who I am? Mr. X, believe me, it is very difficult to have both a conscience and a bank book at the same time. Oh, dear, what wouldn't you do for money? Offhand, I can't really imagine. How much did they pay you to double-cross me? One thousand lira. I thought so. A thousand lira.

Not worth the paper it's printed on. But there's... Of course not. You're beginning to make me very nervous. Italy is an occupied country, but that money wasn't worth one good American nickel. If I thought you were telling me the truth... Have I ever lied to you? Yes. Yes, but always with such charm, Mr. Hicks.

Are they asleep by now? Oh, yes. I heard Tina say that they would take Aunt O'Malley across the German lines just before dawn. You have no sentiment, Egon. Think of that poor old man locked up. For $500, I could reap buckets and at the same time cut those ropes.

Two hundred. Five. Either my price or I sit here and starve. Which will it be? Not really. I cannot let you die. It's a deal. Oh, it is no use unless I can get to Antonelli's room. By the merest chance, I have a key to the room for fifty more. No. Two hundred net.

What can I do? My heart will not allow me to permit you to be eaten by those rats. Wait, I cut you free. Ah, you have a noble soul, Egon. Sometime? It's amazing how money will make me a softest putty. There you are, free now, and here is the key. Thank you.

Now, come with me upstairs to Antonelli. I'm sorry, Mr. Thurston. I must refuse. I'm really quite tired. I've had enough and made enough for one day. And so, Mr. X, we come now to the parting of the ways. I go back to town, and you go to the... Yes, that's probably right, Edgar.

Signor Antonelli. Signor Antonelli. Who are you?

I don't know you. Go away. I don't know you. Please try to understand what I'm saying. It's very important. I've come to take you away. Away from those women. I don't know you. I don't... Yes, yes, I know all that. How can I make you understand? I'll take you to a hospital. I'll take care of you. You'll be well again.

Stop humming and listen to me. I do not know you. I do not know you. I do not. My name is Ken Thurston. Go away. You want to hurt me like the women hurt me. No. I'm a friend of Bill Nesbitt and a friend of yours. Now, I believe you. Great Scott. But I had to make sure.

Thank heaven you've come. You mean you've been. It was the only way to keep those women from finding anything out. So you pretended to be out of your mind. Yes, I fooled them completely. Now, how is my friend, Bill Nesbitt? He's dead. Dead? Yes, murdered. Poisoned by your niece, Tina.

She is not my niece. She and the other one are agents of the Gestapo. I thought so. But why did they kill Nesbitt? He wanted me to sell to his company my brother's formula. Your brother? Yes. Before the war, my brother was one of the great chemists of Europe. Oh, so that was it. What happened to your brother? He was killed by the Nazis. You say he had a formula that Bill Nesbitt wanted? Yes.

For a new type of synthetic. What synthetic? Well, I really don't know. I'm a musician. I know nothing of science. But my brother handed the formula to me to keep for the day when Italy would be free. Did the women get the formula from you? No, no, no. They tried to get it. Day after day. Day after day. But I fooled them. Good work, Signor Antonelli. Have you got it with you? Yes. Where is it?

In this room. So you hid it. Where? Oh, no. What happens to you, Antoinette, if this is a note? No time to... That's it. That's the formula. I don't understand. What do you mean? When a musician plays the tune in the key of E, using B-flat as the code for the letter A. I see. A musical code. Exactly. Played and varied five times. Only I know the variations.

When it's decoded, the entire formula is spelled out. And you've kept it in your mind all this time? Yes, yes, I assure you. It has been nerve-wracking to hum that same tune over and over, but I had to do it so I wouldn't forget. Not quite so fast there, Mr. Eckst. Ah, good evening, ladies. Or shall I say good morning? This is no time for your cheap American weeks in your thurston. My daughter is a very good shot.

I would advise you to stand quite still. What are you going to do with me? It's all right, Santonelli. We are taking you to Berlin. Ah, they will beat me in Berlin. Don't beat me again. Shut up, you fool. So you're taking him to Germany? Yes. We have doctors there who can make that idiotic mind of his spill out his secrets. Keep still, you dithering lunatic. Let him alone, mother. He is hard. I cannot stand that humming over and over again. If he does not stop humming, I'll gag him.

Don't hurt me. I'm just an old man who hates the fascism. Take your hands off of me. Smart work, Antonelli. Hold up. No, you don't, you little witch. Let me go. Get the gun, Antonelli. I have it, Mr. X. Fine. Don't move, ladies. Shall I shoot them? Both of them? What is this? I don't understand. It's very simple. Signor Antonelli is not the fool you presumed him to be. He is not insane. No, signor.

It's you and your daughter and people like you who are the insane ones. But now I think I shall do with you what they do with all mad dogs. Mother, I am afraid. Do not let him kill our Senor Thurston. It will be a pleasure to destroy you both. No, Senor Antonetti. Let's not use their tactics. There will be judges for them. Judges made up of your own people. Hold up your hands, lady. Oh. You've caught them, he say. I'm afraid your heroics have come a little late, Egon. Oh.

Is there anything I can do? I'm afraid not. Go to sleep now. Did you find out why they wanted this old man? Naturally. Why? Signor Antonelli had a formula. Tell me, Mr. X, what was it? If the first note stood for chlorine and the next three notes stood for oxygen, carbon, and nitrogen... Yes, yes. What would it all mean? Wouldn't you like to know?

So ends tonight's Globe Theatre production of The Man Called X. I know you'll join me in thanking Bernie Schoenfeld for his excellent script... ...Felix Mill for composing and conducting the score...

and Bill Robeson, who presided in the control room. By the way, the role of Egon was played by Hans Conreid as a farewell gesture to an active life in radio theaters and as a prelude to an even more active life in theaters of a different nature. Mr. Conreid, I might add, relinquished the finest head of hair in the Western Hemisphere to become Private Conreid, his army serial number escaping me for the moment.

Watch out for him. If his performance as Aegon is any indication, he'll be a slippery man to deal with on the evening of payday. By the way, it was really much fun to play the role of Ken Thurston for you, and I trust you enjoyed the adventures of A Man Called X. As for the next performance from the Globe, you'll hear Walter Abel, Louise Alberton, Ralph Bellamy, and David Bruce in a neat little thriller called Phantom Lady. Here's a short preview. ♪

That hit him hard. I could tell by the way he looked, by the way he watched me all night as I sat there at the bar just staring at him, never saying another word. And when he left at closing time, I followed him. He managed to walk rather slowly at first, almost defiantly, as if he didn't care. And then he went a little faster and faster and faster until he was almost running. And then suddenly he stopped and turned. What do you want? Why do you keep on following me?

You have something to tell me. You're wasting your time. You know what's going to happen to him. You can prevent it. Get it off your conscience. Don't ask me. Go ask the guy that gave it to me. Gave you what? Nothing, nothing. It was money, wasn't it? Somebody gave you a bra. I ain't talking, I tell you, and I ain't staying around here either. I'm going to get so far away from here. Look out! It's going to be a good show, and I know you'll want to hear it. So, jump down on the inside of your helmet liner...

that you have an appointment at the Globe Theatre with Phantom Lady, starring Walter Abel, Louise Alberton, Ralph Bellamy, and David Bruce. I'll be on hand to show you your seat and take care of the introductions. Till next performance, then, this is Herbert Marshall wishing you all the best, and...

I'll be seeing you.

© BF-WATCH TV 2021

You have been listening to the Globe Theater with Herbert Marshall as host and master of ceremonies. The Globe Theater is presented for servicemen and women of the Allied Armed Forces all over the globe. Listen for our next Globe Theater production soon.

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What's up, guys? It's Priscilla. Let's be real. Summer in Arizona, less hanging out outside and more don't touch the steering wheel so you don't bring your hands. And with prices going up on almost everything, it's really easy to feel like summer is just too expensive and too hot to have fun. But Sam's Club is changing that. They're freezing the club through July 22nd, holding prices on over a thousand items like sunscreen, trash bags, ice cream. Honestly, joining Sam's Club is a no-brainer. If you're going to sweat through the summer, at least start

save money doing it. Go join now at samsclub.com slash freeze the club. Need better internet? Cox Internet has the fast, reliable speeds you're looking for. Perfect for seamless streaming, gaming, and working from home.

And now get Cox 300 Meg Internet for only $40 a month when you add Cox Mobile with a two-year planned price lock guarantee and Wi-Fi equipment included. So get your household up to speed. Switch to Cox Internet today. Requires Cox Mobile gig unlimited mobile data speeds reduced after 20 gigs usage per month. Taxes and fees excluded from price guarantee. When it started, the tide was high on the San Pedro waterfront, and a hot-tempered kid had murder on his mind.

But there was a knife at my throat of beating under the piers and a corpse on the beach before the tide went out again. And the kid was finally stopped. From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous character in The Adventures of Philip Marlowe. ♪♪

Now, with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, Night Tide. It all happened in San Pedro, the harbor of Los Angeles.

The lights on the ships were fuzzy through the wet mist that creeps up out of the ocean every night. And I drove slowly looking for the establishment of Mike Basso, my new client. One side of the crooked street was nothing but the smell and the sound of oily salt water sloshing through the pilings beneath the piers. And the other side was a tangle of warped, dingy buildings equipped to satisfy the thirsts of reckless men who never get beyond the waterfront of any port.

The foghorn out on the breakwater began to bellow as I parked near a U-shaped pier labeled Basso Docks Private. I walked past a line of moored fishing boats to a squat two-story office. The bottom floor was dark, but the second floor had lights on. So I started up the steep wooden stairs and was halfway to the top

When I caught the voices... I don't want dumb excuses, Johnny. One I'd already heard over the phone when I was hired. It was my client, Mike Basso. You'll make them jump or I'll get somebody who can. These boats got to be handled faster. Why, even the crook Johnny Dyke was better on this job than you are. Johnny Dyke? Why, I ought to... Ah, nice. Get out of my way. The big guy with the Latin jaw shoved past me and stomped down the stairs. So I went on up into the office.

Mike Basso looked like a block of concrete. His 220-thick pounds hunched over a scarred, roll-top desk. As I walked in, he swung a heavy bulldog head around and glared at me. You never heard a knocking first, I guess. You Marlowe? That's right. The moose that just left here got me all out of the mood for courtesy. That's Sharky, my crew pusher. Yeah. Good man, Miss Flo. Come here. Sit down. We got other business.

I'll drink cognac. Thanks. Okay? Now, there's a hothead punk by the name of Johnny Dyke. I sent him to prison three years ago for stealing money from me. I made it as tough as I could for him. Any special reason why? Sure. Because I trust a fellow who works for me. Johnny Dyke used to have Sharky's job, but he took advantage. When the police grabbed him and found my money in his own house, he squealed like a pig and said he was framed.

Like all cheap punks do. How does this get around to you wanting a private investigator? Because Johnny Dyke is out of prison. Got out yesterday on parole. And he's back in town now. Hey, you. What you looking at? Your clock. How come it says 11.30 or 20 to 8? It's electric. It was turned off last night. And I didn't start it yet. Now look. I was here with Ed Giles when he heard some noise on my private launch out there.

He went down to see about and... Who's Ed Giles? My general manager. While he was gone, the lights went out in here. That's when I got clogged on the head. When I went down, I got kicked around. Plenty. I'd be killed right now, but shock, he happened to come along and the guy was scared off of me. Well, did you happen to see who it was? No. Ed Giles did. He got a good look. He admitted it. Only he claims he don't know who it was. But he lies.

On account of he's an old friend of Johnny Dyke's. Maybe Giles isn't lying. What makes you so certain it was Johnny who slugged you? They found this. Just a book of matches, huh? Mm-hmm. But see how the edges are crimped. Johnny Dyke always did that. He's nervous, all the time fidgeting. Sure. He might as well have left his calling card for me. Ah, it was Johnny all right. Okay, Basso, but before you get too far in, I'll tell you something. I don't go in for bodyguarding. Who wants a bodyguard?

Here's what you do, Marlowe. Find that punk, see what he's got in mind. He beat me up once. Maybe that's all he wants. Or maybe he's coming back to put a knife in me. Just find out and let me know. That's all. I looked out at the fishing boats along the pier, gently nudging each other while Mike Basso told me that Johnny had a blonde wife named Christine who ran the Albatross Cafe.

And that Ed Giles lived alone in a house at 43 Terminal Road. It was enough for a starter. So I said I'd keep in touch and left. As I walked off the pier, the blinking neon light from the sign across the street made a swirling green veil out of the mist between me and my car. So I almost got up to it before I saw her, leaning lazily against the door on the driver's side. A girl in a tight black silk dress, cheap fur jacket, and double ankle strap spikes.

She smiled with one corner of her red mouth as I walked up to her and stopped. Hello, sugar. Hiya, sweetheart. The name's Ginger. Oh, it's too bad. Ginger always gives me hype. Don't be like that. What did Mike Basso have to say? Oh, we were talking business, baby, that's all. Say, tell me, which way to Terminal Road? It intersects about ten blocks down. What's the number? Forty-three. Oh. You'll want to turn right, then.

Ed's place is the coziest secluded one by the water. Oh, thanks. You know Mr. Giles, huh? Yeah, he's around Mike all the time. He's nothing. Well, I'll see you around. So long, handsome. Yeah? You want something? You Giles, Mike Basso's man? Yeah, so what? I'm Marlowe, private detective. I'm looking for Johnny Dyke.

Why'd you come here? Because you're a friend of his, the only one. I haven't seen or heard from him, so I'm afraid I can't help you. Now, wait a minute. Let's go inside. I'd like to talk about the kid. He's put himself in a pretty hopeless situation coming back here to Pedro. What do you think? Because he's got enemies like Mike Bassett and Sharky? Yeah. What's he going to do? Fight it out or be smart and leave town? Listen, private investigator, I told you once. I don't know because I haven't seen him. You're a liar.

You saw him last night. You're working for Mike, aren't you? Get up, Peter. Don't shove. I'll shove harder than that, brother. Okay, Giles. We'll try it the hard way. Now, where's Johnny? I don't know. Come on, get up. Get up. Let's play again. You saw him last night, didn't you? Didn't you? All right, all right, all right. I saw him about 11.30. I was standing on the deck of Mike's launch when I heard a commotion and looked up.

I saw Johnny jump down the stairs from Mike's office and run off the pier. I haven't seen him since, and that's the truth. Okay. Sorry I had to make you squeal on a friend. Now, where's the Albatross Cafe? The Albatross? Yeah. On the corner of Front and Castle Avenue. But look, can't you leave Chris out of this? She's a good kid. She's been through a lot already. Think Johnny's going to leave her out of it? Besides, it's for her own good that I want to see her. Yeah, I suppose you're right. But I'll tell you something for your own good, too, Marlowe. If you find Johnny Dyke, don't push him too hard.

He was tough before he left. Now he'll have rawhide for brains to pent on it. At the corner of Fronton Castle, I spotted the Albatross Cafe. Half on land, half teetering on a set of spindly stilts ringing the high watermark with jagged lumps of barnacles. I parked down the street and started back when the door swung open and the lantern-jawed moose sharky lumbered out. I watched him cross the street without seeing me and disappear between two buildings.

I waited a couple of minutes, and then I went in. Took a booth near the front. Place was neat and clean, even the tablecloths. A soft, brown-eyed blonde in a crisp peasant dress picked up a menu and came over. Good evening, sir. Chris? Yeah. Yeah. Well, Chris, it's probably not on the menu around here, but how about a double order of plain facts straight? What are you talking about? Johnny. You remember Johnny Dyke, your husband? Yeah.

Who are you, mister? Private detective named Marlowe. All I want to do is talk to him. Chris just talked. Is he here? No, I haven't seen him. He hasn't even called me. How do you feel about this bird known as Sharky? He's a lot. Oh? He always crowded Johnny, and now he's got his job. I hear he knows something. Have you seen him lately? No, I haven't. That's funny. He just left here. Okay, so I'm a liar. Maybe you're just blind.

I've heard that love does that, baby. Maybe. Any skin off your nose? No. Cigarette? Then how about a match for me, huh? I suppose so. Let's see. Yeah. Here. Thanks. Hey, these are cute. That crimp border on the edge, especially. The one put there by somebody's jittery thumbnail, huh? Listen, I... Maybe your eyes are bad. Maybe not, Chris. But you better do something about your nerves. They're shot. Good night, baby.

I didn't look back, but I knew she was watching me all the way out the door and down the street, so I made it real good as far as the next block and around the corner. Then I doubled back fast and stayed in the shadows until I got within sight of the Albatross Cafe again. And in time to see a man ease out a side door and slip out of sight among the pilings under the building. I moved in closer and found a rickety trail of greasy planks that led out through the forest of slimy pilings under the piers. I'd have felt better on a tight rope, but it was home ground to Johnny Dyke.

I felt my way slowly along the slippery planks. And from behind the piling, an arm like steel springs snapped under my chin while a hand pressed the point of a long, thin knife with a curved, white handle up against my throat. You said you wanted to talk to me, Marlowe, so talk. But fast, because I don't have much time. Ease up on my throat, will you? Okay. Hey. You're a sucker. Why don't you try to give up? I'm trying to even the score. Get out of town and forget it. Sure. Sure to you, that's easy.

You didn't spend three long years in the cooler for something you didn't do. I'm going to get even, all right. I don't know how for sure yet, but I will. Wind up right back in the coop, sucker. If it keeps this time, is it going to be worth it? Could be. I was a good boy up there.

Every time I wanted to slug a guard, I said Mike Basso to myself instead. Now I got it all bottled up inside me. I'm not going to carry all that hate around forever. I'm going to get rid of it, and there's only one way to do it. Ed Giles was right. You've got rawhide for brains. You better put the knife away, Johnny. I think we've got visitors. Sure we have, Marlowe. Rats. Big ones. The piers are full of them. You should feel right at home, punk. Just don't sleep too long, pal. Oh! Oh!

Between the... Between the throbbing in my head and the numbness across my shoulders where my back had struck the planks, it took me five minutes to get to my feet and another five to climb up the street level. By then, the pier was deserted, so I headed for the Basso docks on the double with the unpleasant answer to my client's question plus the added attraction that I'd even seen the knife I contended to use. I still had a block to go when I saw a hulk that had to be shocky stride off the pier and turn in my direction.

When I got close enough, I hailed him. Yeah. I'm Shaggy.

What do you want, bud? Is Mike still in the office? Who wants to know? Come on, this is no time to stall heavy on Marlowe. I'm working for him. I got a message he won't keep. Is he there or no? No. The office is locked up. He's gone. I'm looking for him myself. Why? What do you want him for? Because I'm pretty sure that Johnny Dyke is holed up in the back room of the Albatross Cafe. Yeah, I only wish you were right, Shockey, but you're about a half hour too late. Hey, what was that? It came from up the street there. Yeah. Let's go, Shockey. Maybe we're both too late. Let's find out. Yeah. Yeah.

Hey. What? The dame by the guardrail. It's Ginger, a pal of Mike Bassel's. Yeah, you're right. Ginger? Ginger, what's the matter? What happened? Go down there. Take a look, will you? I'm scared. Down where, Ginger? In the water. I think maybe I'm going to be sick. Marlowe. Hey, Marlowe, come here. Look. Holy smoke. That's Mike down there with a knife in his back. Yeah. A long, thin knife with a curved white handle. Belongs to a guy named Johnny Dyke.

In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, he may be a close neighbor of yours. At least he lives quite near you. You go to the polls, you elect him, you bid him farewell, trusting him to represent you in Washington. From then on, what happens to your congressman in the nation's capital? What pressures are brought to bear on him?

In how many hundreds of fields must he rapidly become a good expert? Why does he vote as he does? Tomorrow night on CBS, you'll hear Ralph Bellamy, star of radio, stage, and screen, playing a typical freshman congressman in the 81st Congress. His story will be a drama taken from interviews and talks with many regular congressmen, with Washington experts, with politicians, with, yes, with voters like yourselves.

This CBS documentary unit drama, The People's Choice, starring Ralph Bellamy, will come to you over most of these same CBS stations. Now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, Night Tide. ♪♪

Lying with his face muzzled into the sand and the rest of them half submerged in the shallow lapping water, Mike Basso was violent death at its ugliest. Ginger turned and walked slowly away from us, trembling like a wino caught in the morning sun. I told Sharky to go get the police. I headed for the albatross where I figured I might get a lead on Mike Basso's murderer. When I got there, I skipped the formality of the front door and quietly moved around to the back.

where I ended without knocking and made my way along a narrow, dusky corridor as far as a half-open door labeled Private, where I met Christine Dyke, talking on the telephone. She looked up and gasped beside of me and then slammed the phone down abruptly. I was willing to bet that the party on the other end had been husband Johnny, nobody else. What do you want, Marlowe? Most of all, one Johnny Dyke and handcuffs. Don't bother with the My Man pitch, honey, because at the moment the lyrics will make me sick. I just left a corpse that used to be Mike Basso. Basso?

Dead, Marlowe? Yeah. All because of Johnny's knife that's sticking in his back, Chris. Oh. No, Marlowe. Johnny wouldn't do a thing like that. He couldn't. You're wrong, Chris. He did. Now, where is he? Oh. You're lying, baby. You were just talking to him on the phone. You gotta know. No. No, I don't. He didn't say where he was or... Or what? Or anything about Basil being dead, so... Don't move, Marlowe. Well...

Husband with knife, wife with gun. Charming couple. Never mind that. I'm not going to see Judd or any trouble again for something you didn't do. So get in that closet, Marla, where you'll be out of the way. Now. All right. In it is. But first, baby, a word of advice. It isn't worth it, believe me. I don't. So get in and keep your mouth shut. Hey!

The closet in Chris's office, which doubled as a storeroom for the restaurant, had no window and a three-inch thick oak for a door. So I was 20 minutes as a one-man mob scene bouncing the inventory around before I was heard. And a little man with a big meat cleaver who belonged in the kitchen opened up and demanded to know what I was doing in there. I heaved a number 10 tomato juice can at him for an answer, started running and didn't stop until I was outside, in my car and pointed for Ed Guile's cottage, the only other place I knew where Johnny Dyke might go for help.

When I came to a stop at the house and found Giles himself standing on the outside steps looking puzzled at a pair of taillights that were blinking out of sight, I knew I was too late. Yeah, Marlow, it was Christine. And all upset about getting her hands on $500, said I had to lend it to her for Johnny's sake. She say why? No, only that he needed help. Murderers usually do. Your boy Dyke just killed Basso Giles. A knife in his back. Johnny?

Johnny killed Mike? About an hour ago, over on the beach. Tell me, did you give her the money? She ran out of the house before I even got to my safe. About saying anything? Well, I'll say in a word, Marlowe. I wouldn't even know she was gone yet if I hadn't heard... Heard what, Garth? The desk drawer in the living room. Come on, Marlowe, quickly! Come on!

I heard the drawer open when I was inside near my safe. I wondered what she was looking for when I called for it. You got no answer. You ran outside afterwards, did you? Yeah, and I... Hey, Mello, they're gone. The boat keys. She must have taken them for Johnny. Asking for the money was only a trick to get me out of the room. Wait a minute, wait a minute.

What boat keys are you talking about, Giles? The master said, Marlowe. Two keys on a large brass ring. They fit the ignition lock on any boat at the Basso docks. She knew I had them. Yeah, but she also knew that even as a friend of Johnny's, you'd balk at handing them over if you knew he'd killed Basso, right? Or are you still shielding old friends, Giles? Which is it? Don't be stupid, Marlowe. I'd draw the line someplace. All right. Now, one more question. Do you have a gun? A gun? Yeah, I do. Good. Then get it, because we're going to the Basso docks, Giles. Come on.

Both piled into my car and in something less than ten minutes ripped through the wide empty streets of the Basso Docks, which were two parallel piers set about a hundred feet apart and jutting out deep into the bay with more than a score of boats moored to the input side of each. But when we were out of the car and saw nothing of Johnny Dyke or the girl and heard no sound other than the dull thump of wood on wood and the rhythmic slap of water against the hulls, I decided that we should split.

and I told Giles to search one pier carefully while I took off for the other. But a minute later, just as I started out alone over the oil-soaked planking, I remembered the panoramic view of the docks I'd gotten earlier that evening from Basso's office. So I stopped and turned and ran for the flight of wooden steps that led to it. I was halfway up them when I stopped again. There was somebody ahead of me and with a key opening the office door. I crouched low and moved closer one slow step at a time toward what I knew might be Johnny Dyke.

But in the next second, a light clicked on in the office and I forgot all about being subtle. I leveled the .38 in my hand at the belt buckle of the sharply silhouetted figure. It was Sharky. I wouldn't move if I were you, Buster. Who is it? Marlowe, Sharky. Who are you expecting? Nobody, funny man. But I wouldn't want it to be Johnny Dyke at the moment. He might want to settle old scores. You know, Marlowe, the price for two murders is the same as the price for one. So I've heard.

But now, unless we straighten the subject, Sharky, do you mind telling me what you're doing here? And don't say I'm getting personal, or I will. Come on, talk up like a big boy. All right. I'm here because I don't like cops. Right now, they're down on the beach, swarming around Basso's body like kids around a maypole. Also, I figured that before he blew, Dyke might come up here after the money he knew Basso always kept on hand. Satisfied? In a word, no. Why not? Because I buy the switch first.

You're here, Sharky, to steal that dough and let people think that Dyke took it on his way out. You can't prove that, Marlow. Only because I haven't got time. You see, Sharky, it's an odds-on bet that Dyke's out on one of those boats right now. Just waiting for the... What is it, Marlow? Sharky, what time is it?

Huh? The time, quick. What is it? It's 1135. Why? What's that got to do with Dyke shoving off? From where I stand, everything. Now, look, Shockey, get back down to those cops. Get them up here. And... Milo, look. Over there at the end of the Starbucks pier. It's Dyke. Yeah, I'm trying to get away. Go on, Shockey. Get to the cops, fast. Uh-oh.

I took the wooden steps back down at the docks three at a time and then raced across the starboard pier and out on the length of it until I was close enough to the end where I could see Johnny Dyke climbing over one of the boats. I was about to call to him to stop when I saw something else. Standing almost opposite me in the shadow of some nearby rigging gun in hand and taking careful aim at Dyke was Ed Giles, his finger slowly closing on the trigger. It was too late for words, so I followed suit and fired before he did. Got him high in the shoulder.

You fool. Marlowe, it's me, Giles. Dyke is out there. I know. The man who murdered Basso isn't. He's right here, Giles. What do you mean, Marlowe? That I just found out you're a liar about seeing Dyke last night from the deck of Basso's launch you couldn't have. So what? So you weren't shielding him, Giles. You were framing him. Framing him so that you could get rid of Basso and pin his murder on Dyke. Who you'd also get rid of while playing public citizen who's helping the private detective apprehend a killer. What do you say, Giles? Is that it? There you are.

You're a smart guy. Figure it out for yourself. Come clean, Giles, or I'll blow your head off. All right. All right, Chris and I framed Dyke. Chris. Yeah. What are you giving me? Honest, Mama. We figured that we'd be in the clear with the money we took from Basso. And with Johnny well tucked away in a big, strong prison. You dirty louse. Keep talking. So we took advantage of Johnny's loud mouth and incidentally of you as well. With Basso gone, I was going to step into his spot. You're the one with the loud mouth, Giles. Well?

Little Red Riding Hood. And I went for your line. Funny what a sucker a smart guy can be. He wasn't the only sucker, baby. Johnny! Stay back, Johnny. Shoot if they move an inch. He's got a gun. Shoot him, Chris. Shoot. Come on. Get away, Johnny. Get away from me. Shoot him. You wouldn't shoot me, Chris. You wouldn't shoot your own husband. Shoot him. The man you talked into running away until things quieted down. Shoot. The man you'd move heaven and earth to help so he could be shot in the back. Shoot.

But you can't shoot me while I'm facing you, can you? You cheap, filthy, double-clutching little... That's enough, Johnny! Cut it out! Okay, Marlowe. Okay. It was a long hour of questions and answers before the police were finished. And they'd left with Chris and Giles in tow. Johnny and I were standing alone out on the end of the pier...

where I was looking down into the shallow black water below and listening to him try to convince himself that the whole night had been something more than a bad dream. Chris against me. Giles against me. From the very beginning, Marlowe. That's right. Giles because he wanted to be in Basso's place. My wife, Chris, because she wanted him. That's right. When Basso hired me to see what you had in mind after that beating he'd taken from what he thought was you, but was really Giles laying the groundwork,

I fell into the role of star witness. Somebody reliable enough for them both to play against. Yeah, I get it. So you could testify that at first, Giles had tried to shield me like a good friend. Yeah. And in the end, had to kill me when I tried to escape. Sure. And just to make sure there were no slips, Cress kept feeding you instructions under the heading of wifely advice. It practically ran on a timetable, Johnny. Yeah. But there was one slip.

I found out Giles was a liar and trying to frame, not shield you. Huh? How was that, Marlowe? Well, look, he said he saw you beat up Basso in his office at 11.30 last night when he was down on the deck of Basso's private launch, investigating a strange noise. Yeah? Well, Johnny, he couldn't have. Because at 11.30 last night, as well as 11.30 tonight, the tide was low. Of course, the launch with it. And from Basso's office, you couldn't even see the launch. Or the other way around. From the launch, you couldn't see the office, right? That's it.

So in the end, Johnny, you did have a friend who stuck by you. The C. Yeah. I guess that's as good a place as any for me. Maybe the sooner the better. Any place in particular? No, just the C. I'll drop you a card whenever I make port, Marlowe. After all, I really had two friends. I won't forget that. So long, fellow. I watched him walk away until he'd gone the length of the empty pier and was swallowed up in the emptier night.

Then I turned back to the shallow black water beneath me, which, where the sea and the land were close to meeting, was coated thick with oil and dirty and almost stagnant. And I thought a lot about Johnny. People like Chris and Giles he'd mixed with and trusted. I felt sorry for him. But then I looked up a little, away from the water at the pier and out toward the open sea where it was deeper, cleaner. The further I looked, the cleaner it seemed to be.

Then I remembered that was where Johnny Dyke was heading. And I felt better. The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, created by Raymond Chandler, star Gerald Moore, and are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald. Script is by Mel Donnelly, Robert Mitchell, and Gene Levitt.

Featured in the cast were Michael Ann Barrett, Lou Krugman, Howard Culver, Frank Gerstle, Georgia Ellis, and Frank Richards. The special music is by Richard Orant. Be sure to be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says... I was hired to find a thief, and I did. 8,000 miles away from home.

But first, I found a hammy Othello, a lush with a luger and a fresh corpse in the closet. All because the only woman in sight wouldn't play fair. ♪♪

A tortoise told a household pest, goodbye, goodbye. An M.D. said, you'll pass the test, up in the sky.

This is the newest Phantom lyric on CBS's Saturday Night Sing It Again program. And later tonight, over most of these same CBS network stations, you'll hear the Phantom himself singing them. $51,000 ride on solving the Phantom's identity and answering one more question about him. $26,000 in wonderful prizes for telling who he is. $25,000 in cash for answering the extra question.

How's for listening in tonight? Phone calls go out to CBS listeners throughout the nation. This is Roy Rowan speaking. Now, stay tuned for Gangbusters, which follows immediately over most of these same CBS stations. ♪♪ This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. ♪♪ ♪♪

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What's up, guys? It's Priscilla. Let's be real. Summer in Arizona, less hanging out outside and more don't touch the steering wheel so you don't bring your hands. And with prices going up on almost everything, it's really easy to feel like summer is just too expensive and too hot to have fun. But Sam's Club is changing that. They're freezing the club through July 22nd, holding prices on over a thousand items like sunscreen, trash bags, ice cream. Honestly, joining Sam's Club is a no-brainer. If you're going to sweat through the summer, at least start

save money doing it. Go join now at samsclub.com slash freeze the club. Need better internet? Cox Internet has the fast, reliable speeds you're looking for. Perfect for seamless streaming, gaming, and working from home.

And now get Cox 300 Meg Internet for only $40 a month when you add Cox Mobile with a two-year planned price lock guarantee and Wi-Fi equipment included. Oh, yeah. So get your household up to speed. Switch to Cox Internet today. Requires Cox Mobile gig unlimited mobile data speeds reduced after 20 gigs usage per month. Taxes and fees excluded from price guarantee. Welcome to the Black Mass. It's our hand, we're not gonna shoot. It's our hand, we're not gonna shoot.

The End

should be of timely and appropriate interest to some of our Berkeley student listeners, for he is one of the most outstanding and extreme instances in literature of sit-in passive resistance. Here now is Bartleby the Scrivener by Herman Melville. The End

The nature of my avocations for the last 30 years has brought me into more than ordinary contact with what would seem an interesting and somewhat singular set of men. I mean the law copyists or scriveners. I have known very many of them professionally and privately, but a scrivener the strangest I ever saw or heard of was Bartleby.

I believe that no materials exist for a full and satisfactory biography of this man. He was one of those beings of whom nothing is ascertainable except from the original sources, and in this case those were very small. What my own astonished eyes saw of Bartleby, that is all I know, except, indeed, one vague report with which I will later conclude.

At the period just preceding the advent of Bartleby, I had in my second-floor chambers on Wall Street two persons as copyists in my employment. But since the now extinct office of Master in Chancery had been conferred upon me, my avocations had been largely increased. There was now great work for scriveners, and I had advertised for additional help.

Sir? Mr. Nippers, what is it? The young man is here. What young man? Who answered your advertisement? Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Where is he? There in the doorway, sir. Oh. Oh, yes. Thank you, Nippers. Yes, sir. I can see that figure now. Pallidly neat. Pidiably respectable. Incurably forlorn.

My name is Bartleby. Come in. Come right in. I sent my statement of qualification. Yes, I have it here. And very satisfactory, very satisfactory. I'm prepared to begin work immediately. Well, it's mid-morning now. Suppose we start right after noon lunch, eh? I would prefer to begin work immediately, if I may be shown my desk. Well, well, very well, sir.

As you see, the office is divided by the glass folding doors over here. My scriveners occupy the other half, but I need someone with an easy call. So, Bartleby, you will occupy the desk here, and we will separate yours from mine by this folding screen.

"'You see, I've placed your desk close up to that small side window. "'It affords no view at all, I'm afraid, except the brick wall across the shaft. "'But some light comes down.'

Well, what do you think? The arrangement will be entirely satisfactory. Well, I think so, I think so. The screen will isolate you enough for privacy, but still within my voice. Mr. Nippers, Mr. Nippers, will you come here and bring a portion of the testimony? We're in the midst of an important suit at the moment. I'll start you off with a portion of that. We'll need it in triplicate.

Later we can check your copies and Nipper's altogether. Ah, Nipper's, Nipper's, this is Bartleby. How do you do, Bartleby? Nipper's will be more than pleased with the relief of your assistance, Bartleby. He's been working well beyond his share lately. Have you the testimony, Nipper's? Yes, here, sir. Thank you, Nipper's. That will be all. Yes, sir. Welcome to the office, Bartleby. I can begin with the copying immediately.

That will be all, Nippers. Very well, Bartleby. Here are the documents. Here. There's the paper and the ink. There are the quills. You can start here. Here. Mr. Watts. Mr. Watts. My client has requested... And so on. Fine hand, Bartleby. Fine hand.

"'and he began as if famished for something to copy. "'He seemed to gorge himself on my documents. "'I should have been delighted with his application "'had he been cheerfully industrious. "'But he wrote on silently, palely, the mechanic. "'On the third day of his being with us, "'Mr Nippers had joined me to examine the triplicate copies, "'and I had called Bartleby to join us.'

But when he failed to appear from behind the screen, I became impatient. Bartleby, Bartleby, quick, we are waiting. What's wanted? The copies, the copies, we're going to examine them. There, here is one for you. Now do let's get started. Oh, the copies. I would prefer not to. Prefer not to?

What do you mean? Are you boonstruck? I want you to help us to compare these copies. Yes, but I would prefer not to. Well, really. Bartleby, these are your own copies we are about to examine. It is labor-saving to you. One examination will answer for all three. It's common usage. Every copyist is bound to help examine his copies. Is that not so? Well, will you speak? Yes.

Answer. I prefer not to. Well, I never heard. You are decided, then, not to comply with my request. A request made according to common usage and common sense. Yes, my decision is irreversible. Well, I never. I never. Yes.

Mr. Nippers, what do you think of this? Pardon my saying, sir, but I think I should kick him out of the office. I'm never in my life. It's my opinion, sir, that the man is a little loony. Bartleby, listen here. Come forth and do your duty. I'm sorry. I prefer not to. I'd just march in there and chuck that loony out of the office. Yes. Well, we must examine the papers anyway.

We'll have to do without him for the present. Stubborn oaf. Let's get started, Nibbers. And I can tell you, sir, this is the first and last time I'll do another man's work without pay. All right, all right, Nibbers, let's get started. He's a good worker, nevertheless. I can't say he hasn't been useful to me. Very methodical, very methodical. And just now, just now, it's plain he intends no incidents. I say he's a loony.

Well, he may be eccentric. I say he's a loony. I seen him, sir. This morning, he was in the office before myself, and I saw him standing behind his screen, just staring at the wall. Never answered me, just staring like a loony. Well, Nippers, I think he means no mischief. Let's get on. This incident was, of course, only the beginning.

But the tone of my struggle with Bartleby had been set. The battle and the war had been lost in that moment when my initial outrage had given way to second thought. It was his attitude that had stopped me. Not a wrinkle of agitation rippled him, but the least uneasiness, anger, impatience, or impertinence in his manner. Yes, sir. Bartleby, when those papers are all copied, I will compare them with you.

I would prefer not to. What? Surely you do not mean to persist in that mulish vagary. Bartleby, the office boy is away. Step around to the post office, won't you, and see if there is anything for me. I would prefer not to. You will not. I prefer not to.

It was his passiveness that irritated me. Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a passive resistance. I felt strangely goaded on to encounter him in ever new opposition. Bartleby! Bartleby! Bartleby! Yes, sir? Go to the next room and tell Mr. Nippers to come to me. I prefer not to.

That's not very good. Very good. But it'll be very good if you prefer not to. Very good indeed. A wonderful business. Just really wonderful. I have a young scrivener occupying a desk in my own office. The copies for me, at the usual rate of four cents a hundred words, but permanently, permanently exempt from examining the work done by himself. Moreover, he is never on any account to be dispatched on the most trivial errand of any sort.

And even if entreated to take upon him such a matter, it is generally understood that he will prefer not to. Yes, very good, Bartleby. Very good indeed. Very good indeed. Bartleby! Yes, sir? Help me with this package. I want you to put your finger on the knot here so that I can tie it. Do you hear me? Do you hear me? Yes, I hear you. Well?

I prefer not to. Don't you see that I need your assistance? Yes, I see you need assistance. Am I not paying you a salary for your assistance? Yes, you are paying me a salary for my assistance. Well, then assist me. I prefer not to. You prefer not to. Yes, I prefer not to. You prefer. You prefer. You prefer. Bartleby. Bartleby. Bartleby.

But as the days passed on, I became considerably reconciled to Bartleby. His steadiness, his incessant industry, his great stillness. One prime thing was this. He was always there. First in the morning, continually through the day, and the last at night. I had a singular confidence in his honesty. I felt my most precious papers perfectly safe in his hand.

Now, one Sunday morning, on my way to Trinity Church, and finding myself rather early, I decided to walk around to my chambers for a while. On Sunday, Wall Street is deserted. This building, which on weekdays hums with industry and life, echoes in sheer vacancy. Well, you can imagine my surprise, therefore, when upon applying my key to the door, the door itself opened and startled me.

What in the world are you doing at the office on a Sunday morning? And in your shirt sleeves? I'm sorry, but I'm deeply engaged just now. I prefer not admitting you at present. What? Bartleby! My own office! Well, we shall see. But when I entered, he had retreated behind his screen.

Well, I surmise, Bartleby, that you have been making your home in my office. I would have preferred that you do not enter the office at present. If you walk around the block two or three times, I will probably by that time have concluded my affair. I am not angry, Bartleby. Won't you please come out from behind your screen? I prefer not to at present. I'm not angry. I don't know what to think about this.

how can you sleep on that rickety old sofa there are no mirrors or utensils how can you dress or eat properly is your poverty so great bartleby if bartleby is this place itself all night all sunday it's depressing forlorn and here you make your home what miserable friendlessness and loneliness what a horrible solitude

Bartleby, Bartleby, will you come here? I'm not going to ask you to do anything you would prefer not to do. I simply wish to speak to you. Will you tell me, Bartleby, where you were born? I would prefer not to. Will you tell me anything about yourself? I would prefer not to. But what reasonable objection can you have to speak to me? I feel friendly towards you. What is your answer, Bartleby?

At present, I prefer to give no answer. Well, then, never mind about revealing your history, but let me entreat you, as a friend, to comply as far as may be with the usages of this office. Say now that you will help to examine papers tomorrow, or the next day. In short, say now that in a day or two you will begin to be a little reasonable. Say so, Bartleby.

At present, I would prefer not to be a little reasonable. Bartleby, you mustn't stay here. Have you no friends or relatives? No one? What a strange fellow you are. Never speaks but to answer. I've never seen you read anything but my dreary documents. Not a newspaper. What do you eat? I see some shells here. Ginger nuts. Is that what you eat? Bartleby, come out from behind that screen. What are you doing there?

Just staring out that window. Just standing motionless and then staring out that window at the stone wall across the shaft. Bartleby, Bartleby, this is too depressing. Come away from there. I prefer not to. What I saw that morning persuaded me that the Scrivener was the victim of innate and incurable disorder. His body did not pain him. It was his soul that suffered. And his soul I could not resist.

Several days later, I arrived at the office after a morning at the courts to find Nippers in a state. I'd prefer him, if you don't mind my saying, sir. I'd give him preferences. What's the matter, Nippers? His Lordship prefers to do no copying today. What? I brought the transcripts to him as usual, but as you can see, he prefers to stand at his window in his deadwall reverie.

All right, Nippers, I'll attend to it. I'd prefer him, if you don't mind my saying. I'd prefer him right out on his ear. Nippers, I'd prefer that you withdraw for the present. Yes, sir. What next, Bartleby? Is it true that you have decided to do no writing? No more. And what is the reason? I have given up copying. Ah!

I am sorry for you, Bartleby, but the time has come. You must quit this place. I shall see that you go away not entirely unprovided. I prefer not to leave. You must. You see, I owe you $12 on account. Here are $32. The odd $20 are yours. Will you take it? I prefer not to. I will leave the money here on your desk. I must return to the courts now. When I arrive here tomorrow morning, I will expect that you will have left the premises.

But of course he preferred not to leave. I arrived early the next morning, fully expecting what was to be. But my temper erupted when I found the door locked from the inside. Barterby! Barterby! Open this door immediately! Not yet, I'm occupied. Barterby, open, I say!

Barabie! Will you or will you not quit me? I would prefer not to quit you. What earthly right do you have to stay here? Do you pay any rent? Do you pay my taxes? Is this property yours? Is it? Is it? No, I don't pay your rent. I don't pay your taxes. This property is not mine. Nothing is mine. All right. All right. All right. I will persecute you no longer.

"'Perhaps this is my mission in the world. "'They're the purpose of my life, "'to furnish you with office room for such periods as you may see fit to remain. "'Well, I could be content with that, Bartleby. "'Others may have loftier missions. "'You at least are harmless, noiseless, "'and I never feel so private as when I know you are here. "'There are other things, Bartleby. "'My colleagues are remarking about their visits here. "'You baffle them.'

They are not kindly amused at your preferences, and I cannot explain you to them. In the end, Bartleby, this counts the more. And so? I find these chambers really too far from the city hall. The air is unwholesome. In a word, I propose to remove my offices next week. I tell you this now, Bartleby, so that you may seek another place.

Careful with the filing cabinet. That's it. No, no, it won't make the door that way. Over, over. That's it. Take the screen next. Yes. No, no, not yet, Nippers. But you can't hide him from the movers, sir. They've already taken the desk out around him. They wanted to know if you don't mind my saying if he was part of the furniture. Very amusing, Mr. Nippers, eh?

Take that cabinet first. It will be lighter if you remove the drawers. We could move him along with everything else. I don't see why not. You've made a permanent fixture of him. You will see that the screen around Bartleby is the last thing to be removed from this office, Mr. Nippers. Yes, sir.

When the screen was finally withdrawn, it left Bartleby standing motionless in the naked room. Well, Bartleby, are you just going to remain standing there? Bartleby, are you aware that you are the cause of great tribulation to me? Well, now, one of two things must take place. Either you must do something or something must be done to you. Would you like to re-engage in copying for someone? No, I would prefer not to make any change.

Would you like a clerkship in a dry goods store? There's too much confinement about that. No, I wouldn't like a clerkship, but I'm not particular. Too much confinement? Why, you keep yourself confined all the time. I would prefer not to take a clerkship. How would a bartender's business suit you? I wouldn't like that at all. Though, as I said before, I'm not particular. Well then...

Would you like to travel through the country collecting bills for merchants? That would improve your health. I'm not particular about my health. You could be a travelling companion. You could tour Europe with some young gentleman, entertaining him with your conversation. How would that suit you? Not at all. It doesn't strike me that there's anything definite about that. I like to be stationary, but I'm not particular. Stationary. Stationary. Ah!

Will you come home with me now? Not to my office, but to my dwelling. Remain there until we can conclude upon some convenient arrangement for you. No. At present I would prefer not to make any change at all. Well... Well, goodbye Bartleby. I am going. Goodbye, and God in some way bless you.

I was convinced that I had done all that I possibly could to benefit Bartleby and shield him from persecution. Now I decided to put the matter completely out of mind. Several irate notes from the landlord of my previous offices followed in quick succession, which I ignored. The final one was, of course, inevitable. It informed me that the writer had sent for the police and Bartleby had been removed to the tomb as a vagrant.

Oh, yes, yes. The gentleman you describe is here with us. Well, I'm here to assure you that he's a perfectly honest man. However eccentric he may appear, he is altogether harmless. We can believe that, sir. He offered no resistance at all when we arrested him. He is ill. A deep illness that needs a compassionate hand. I submit that he be allowed to remain here in as indulgent confinement as possible till something less harsh might be done.

though I hardly know what. May I ask if you're offering to take responsibility for him? No, I cannot do that. I cannot. But I will do whatever else can be done for him. Well, if nothing else can be decided, it'll be the almshouse for him. May I see him now? Oh, yes. Come along this way. He's in the prison yard, I expect.

As you say, he seemed quite harmless. We've permitted him to wander about the yard, though he spends most of his time just standing by himself in the corner. You'll probably find him there now, staring at the wall. Here. Through here. Yeah, there he is. Over there. Oh, thank you, officer. I would like to speak with him alone, briefly. You would do us a favor, sir, if you could get him to eat a little.

He's refused his meals. He's that frail as it is, and, well, if he doesn't get a bit of nourishment, he won't be standing for long. Yes. Yes, I'll see what I can do, officer. We'll thank you if you can help a little. Bartleby, Bartleby, won't you turn around and speak to me? I know you, and I want nothing to say to you. It was not I that brought you here, Bartleby. And to you this should not be so vile a place.

Nothing reproachful attaches to you by being here. And see, it is not so sad a place as one might think. Look, look, there is the sky. And here, here, here is the grass. I know where I am. Bartleby, the officer says you refuse to eat. Now, there's no reason to that. You must get some nourishment. I prefer not to dine. He would disagree with me. I'm unused to dinners. Bartleby, why do you do this? Why?

I prefer... Some few days later, I was called to the tomb. I'm afraid the man is too deranged for us to care for him. He'll be removed tomorrow. There's no serious charge against him, but he needs attention. As you see, there he lies, sleeping in the corner. I saw him lie down some twenty minutes ago. I doubt he had the strength to stand any longer. Wait here. Let me go to him alone.

"'His dinner is ready, if you can get him to eat some of it.' Strangely huddled at the base of the wall, his knees drawn up and lying on his side, I saw the wasted Bartleby. The thick Egyptian character of the wall seemed to weigh upon him in its gloom, but nothing stirred. His dim eyes were open, otherwise he seemed profoundly sleeping. "'Will he eat, or does he live without eating?'

lives without eating. Is he asleep then? Yes. Yes, he sleeps with kings and counsellors. There would seem to be little need to proceed further in this history. To those of you who are curious as to who Bartleby was and what manner of life he led prior to the acquaintance I have narrated, I can only reply that in such curiosity I fully share, but am wholly unable to gratify it.

There is, however, one vague report which has not been without a certain strange suggestive interest to me. The report was that Bartleby had been a subordinate clerk in the dead-letter office at Washington, from which he had been suddenly removed by a change in the administration. When I think over this rumour, I cannot adequately express the emotions which seize me. Dead letters...

Does it not sound like dead men? Conceive a man, by nature and misfortune prone to a pallid hopelessness, can any business seem more fitted to heighten it than that of continually handling these dead letters and assaulting them for the flames? By the cartload they are annually burned. Sometimes from out the folded paper the pale clerk takes a ring,

The finger it was meant for perhaps moulders in the grave. A banknote sent in swiftest charity. He whom it would relieve nor eats nor hungers any more. Pardon for those who die despairing. Hope for those who died unhoping. Good tidings for those who died stifled by unrelieved calamity. On errands of life these letters speed to death. Ah, Bartleby. Hmm.

Ah, humanity. That was Bartleby, the Scrivener, by Herman Melville. The technical production was by John Whiting. The music was taken with certain liberties and kind permission by its composer from a composition by Douglas Leedy, and augmented with sounds from another composition by Lou Harrison. The part of Bartleby was played by Bernard Mays.

And now, good night.

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The rap on her door and the voice of Dave Dennis brought Laura Lane shudderingly upright and awake. She was sitting at her dressing table, still only half-dressed. She had been dreaming. In her dream, she had been in front of the camera, and the eye of the camera had slowly turned into George's eye and winked at her. The slow, maliciously knowing wink

that had been George's trademark in burlesque. But George was dead. George had been dead for five years, and she only dreamed about him when she was very tired, as she was now. So time. She dozed off in the middle of changing for the party that was going on downstairs. Just a minute, Dave. No!

Laura Lane, star of Star-Crossed Love, premiered that night, the night of the party. Laura Lane, star, public party. She didn't know how could she, but as she sat down in front of her mirror and regarded her lovely, expensive face...

Events were beginning which would carry her and one other swiftly beyond midnight. Biotechs, the new soak and pre-wash powder presents Beyond Midnight by Michael McCabe.

Now, ladies, we're speaking about biotechs in this series of programs that a Mrs. E.B. Granger of Gordon Road, Heathfield in the Cape wrote to say that she decided to try our biotechs just to see if it lived up to our claims. And she said, I bought a packet and lo and behold, it actually did just what the advert said. I am so proud of the children's white shirts, the hankies and the underwear that I want to say it will be biotechs for me every washing day from now on.

Some of my family's accessories were left with slight stains, but now, thanks to biotech soaking, they come out white, and the stains do go away, as you say.

Now, that is the statement from Mrs. Granger of Heathfield of the Cape. And it bears out what we have been saying to you ladies ever since biotechs first came on the market. We said to you, it is different to any washing product that you've ever used before. We claim that the stubborn stains will vanish. And people like Mrs. Granger bear out our claims. Remember, biotechs. Just a minute, Mr.

Well, I haven't forgotten you're giving a party. Especially to cement good relations with the press, which you are not doing by sulking up here in your room. Even though Star-Crossed Love did premiere tonight and was a smash, you'll certainly not influence columnists to make friends unless you show up, and I mean soon. Oh, I'm coming, Dave. I'm coming. Tom.

Tired, that's all. A star can't afford to be tired. A star belongs to the public, and that means the press. You'd better get out of here, or I might throw this at you. Dear, dear. Harry Lawrence gave you that statuette. He would be charmed, I'm sure, to see it thrown around the room. He won't see it, Dave. Only you'll see it as it hits you. Now get out, please.

Just a minute, Lara. This will be none of the famous Lara Lane temperament tonight, or your name will be mud for good. Oh, don't worry. I'll smile at every one of those harpies, though I didn't want to spit in their faces. I suppose, uh, Halo French and Billy Pierce are here. I'm biting their nails and waiting. Yeah, I bet.

They're pumping Marie, my maid, and Pedro, the houseboy, about what time I brushed my teeth. Marie's on Haley's payroll, you know, to pass along many juicy little items she can about me. Pedro does the same thing to Billy.

If I talk in my sleep, those vultures know about it the next day. You are very important to a star's career, you know that. I'll expect you in ten minutes. Oh, yes, there's a new columnist here from Eastern Syndicate. He wants a short interview with you. How it feels to be the woman every man yearns for. I'll give him three Bs. Now send up Harry with a drink and I'll be right down on your best behavior. Oh.

Am I tired? I'm 35 and usually looking 29. Tonight I see you at 40. I'm going shooting on a premiere. Well, three friendships in a row and my contract to the company's worked up. Now marry me.

I would go ahead and form my own company, make the pictures we want to, shoot them abroad, or make them on the chisels of news ads, fan magazines, and phone these Dave Dennis. Oh my, how I love it. I want as much as you love me. Vultures, suck your blood and turn it into ink.

Only chiseling it away for five years now. Trying to learn the truth about my past. And I'm not going to find out because... Harry and me, we worked too hard to keep it hidden. It was a wonder those seven years before she'd hit Hollywood didn't show in her face.

Seven years in cheap burlesque houses across the nation doing strip act with George, her husband. George had taken everything she made and abandoned her when she was sick. George, whose only unselfish act in the whole of his life had been getting himself killed in a hold-up in Newark. Boy, Billy Pierce and Hayler French have loved to take that story up and play a story to crack 300 papers for 100 million readers. Mm-hmm.

I love you, Larry. We can be married now. Our own company. Of course, we'll have to clear it with Hela first. Grim death is not so unrelenting as Hela French towards anyone who breaks it firmly. And we did found her an exclusive. Better? Somehow, I look better in the mirror. I mean, in real life. 38 and a half. 24 and a half.

Come in, Harry. But it wasn't Harry Lawrence. It was a smaller man with jet black hair and large horn-rimmed spectacles that hid most of his face.

Who are you? What do you mean by coming into my room? Eastern Press. Just wanted a little interview. I told Dave I'd see you downstairs. I figured you'd rather talk privately, Gloria. Who are you? What did you call me?

And then the man took off the spectacles and ruffled his smoothly plastered hair. Then slowly his right eye closed. Then half opened again in a slow, long, obscenely knowing wink. Recognize me now. Leon! Leon!

You're dead. You are. It was in the papers. You're dead. A mistake. Now, let it ride. Took me a long time to find you, baby. No name, no nose, no teeth, no career. Not much left of Gloria Gordon of George and Gloria. Nice place you got here. Not like those wackos we used to play. But...

What do you want? Hey, give us money. I'll pay you. I'll pay you $25,000 to...

Get a divorce. Divorce? I'm your loving husband. Come back to you after a long and regrettable separation. I'd die first. You were a rat and you're still a rat. Don't forget what happened in Cleveland. You can still go to jail for that. While everybody reads about Gloria Gordon, burlesque stripper, now Laura Lane of Hollywood fame...

I have some pictures of you, baby, the scandal magazines would really go for. George, George, I, I, I, I'm warning you. I, I raised $200,000. Get out. You're not going to push me around anymore. Baby, this is California. What's mine is yours. What's yours is mine.

You got a million dollars in the bank. Get away from me. Kiss your long-lost husband. Who had amnesia in your conanus. Back to hell. Take your hand off me. That's nice now. You won't meet him another night. Come on. Kiss Luton George. Now come to your husband like a loving woman should.

Pain and loathing lit fire in her mind. She felt her groaning right hand touch the silver statuette, and she realized she was lifting it, swinging it, bringing it down. And then she was standing over George, the statuette in her hand,

And George was lying on the scatter rug in front of the fireplace, his eyes wide open as if in starting surprise, the side of his head crushed. Harry! Nora!

What is this? Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry.

Taylor finds her. You know, she'll open a vendetta against you. She's spread all over the country, the world. You know, she's likely to take Georgia's side and paint a pathetic picture of the poor guy in jail and abandoned by you.

And then calling him back only for you to knock his brains out. Harry. Oh, Harry, that would be the end of everything. Our plans. The company. Harry. Maybe a term in San Quentin for you. A manslaughter. No. No, Harry, no. There must be something we can do. Nobody knows him. He's around a false name. He's not a real columnist. If we could get rid of him. Take him out.

Dave, maybe he'd help us for the sake of the studio, Harry. No, no, we couldn't trust him. You know, he cut his own grandfather's throat for the story. What could we do? How can we get him away from here? You know, I'm spied on. Marie and Pepper watch everything I do. I couldn't sneak a suitcase out of this house and open it in privacy, much less get rid of George. Harry! I know. We have to get him out of sight.

You have to go downstairs. Haven't you got a trunk or something somewhere? In class, an old water trunk of my mother's. Fancy. Well, fix yourself. I'll tend to George. And she turned to the mirror and feverishly began to put on her face. She tried to wipe away and cover the redness around her beautiful grey eyes.

Suddenly she felt hand-locked. Old. Old and afraid. And then she turned and there was no George. No bloody statue, no rug. Just a trunk. A big trunk. George is sleeping peacefully. He'll keep on trying to figure something. I think we'd better break up the party and call in the police. I'm sure we can make a self-defense police stick. It'll be messy. Oh, no. Oh, no.

No, Harry. I fought my way to the top in Hollywood. And I'm going to stay there. George is going to spoil that. We have to think something up. We have to. All right. Let's go downstairs and meet the press. And smile, Laura. Smile. Smile.

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There's Laura. Oh, isn't she beautiful? At last. Where's that columnist from Easter? Oh, it's

Listen.

When are you two taking the fatal plunge? When we do, you shall know about it first of all, Hala. And Hala French's eyes became George's eyes. They seemed to wink at her, lewdly, knowingly.

Easy, baby. At least if you're seeing horns. I've got it. Come along and just follow my lead. Dave's as mad as a Mr. Hornet's, and Hela's gonna be madder. But it's the only thing we can do. Come on. Okay, everybody. Okay, everybody. Please. I have a real surprise announcement for you.

Now, I confess, I just learned about it myself, so to speak. Dave, the floor is yours. And I just learned about it, too, because Laura and Harry only just made up their minds. So you must forgive them for springing the news on you this way. But I'm going to let Harry tell you. Now, uh...

Because, because you are all our friends, Laura's and mine, the news is simple. Laura and I, well, we've been in love for a long time. And now that Laura's picture is in the can, we decided the time has come.

We're going to be married. Well, we're going to slip away tonight in flight of humor and be married.

Those of you who want to come are invited. As many of you as the plane I'm going to charter will hold. The rest of you are invited to stay and keep this party going. We'll be back tomorrow to pick up our things and start on our honeymoon. And we hope that we have the best wishes of everybody here. Glory to thee!

That's right! That's right!

But why, Harry, why? I'm so glad, but why? Because Laura is the only thing we can do to get rid of George. Even a Hollywood star is entitled to a little privacy on her honeymoon. Isn't she? Hello.

Oh, if I ever have to smile for a photographer again. Easy. Easy, Mrs. Lawrence. Oh.

We've been married for 12 hours and we've hardly been alone at all. Oh, the photographers. They ask for a big smile. I thought of George waiting in the trunk there. And I smiled, Harry. I smiled. Harry. I'm sorry. All right, now. It ain't Santa's fault. Oh.

Wow, our little lovebirds. All ready for the honeymoon? Yes, Dave darling. Thanks for handling so many details for us. You've been a lass. Oh, that's okay. But I still wish you'd give me some notice. We could have had stories in all the papers for a month.

Well, love and war waits for no man. You know how it is. By the way, you never did tell anybody where you're going. We're going to Mexico. But we told you, we want privacy. No interviews, no reporters. Now, wait a minute. You crossed me off speaking of this marriage and everybody. You can't cut me out of all the angles. We can, and we're going to. I've already promised Hale a French and exclusive on your first day of being married. If you wanted to hate your guts forever, including the new company, well...

48 hours to ourselves, and we'll play ball. Haley can have the exclusive story of that two days. Okay. Two days. Mexico, huh? That's right. Yeah, we're going up the mountains to visit an old friend of mine. All the boys and girls are gathered downstairs. I think it'd be awfully nice if you said a few words, Laura. She will, Dave. Just as soon as we've told Marie to see the cars loaded, we'll be done.

Thank you. Oh, thank you, all you wonderful people. I can't tell you how happy we are and what your good wishes mean to us. You've been so sweet and understanding. And now we have just one more favor to ask.

Please, dear friends, don't try to follow us or find out where we're going. We would only like one wedding present from the world. Two days by ourselves. Just to be by ourselves, alone. Quite alone. Quite alone. So we can get rid of George, my first husband.

A swan. I think we're in the clear now. They started out trying to follow us. I'm betting they did in spite of your request. We've lost them. Good job we didn't trust that double-crosser Dennis, though. Anyway, we're married, Harry. That's something. And we'll stay married. We have to.

We both know too much. We are married and we'll stay married because we want to. She won't do that much for us anyway. Every mile of the way, I can feel him back there behind us in the trunk, winking at us. And if he knew what was happening... Laura, there's headlights behind us. Something's coming. Harry, reporters! Oh, no! Harry, they...

No, listen. Police. They found out. Oh, my. Harry. They found out. They couldn't have. Only you and I and George know. Anyway, we can't run away from a police car and a station wagon. Whatever happens, we go away to the hilt. Let's see your license.

You're in a big hurry to go someplace tonight, mister? Well, officer, as a matter of fact, we are. We've just been married, you see, and... Oh, officer, I'm sure you'll understand. And her hand found the interior light of the vehicle and switched it on. And the illumination showed off her loveliness. And she draped herself suggestively back across the seat.

And the thick-set policeman's heart missed perhaps one beat as one of Hollywood's more famous chests was displayed. Officer, I'm... I'm Laura Lane and this is my husband. How do you do, officer?

We were just married this morning. Lord, Elena! Say, I saw your wedding on TV. The newsreel this afternoon. And the papers are full of it. Oh, all that publicity. And now we're trying to get away for a quiet honeymoon. It's worth speeding. That's why. Sure. And Harry Lawrence's hand dropped outside the car.

And the policeman took the large bill it held. I know how it is. Say, will my wife get a kick out of here and almost arrest Laura Lane on her honeymoon here? So understanding. Bring your wife to the studio sometime. I'd love to have her watch a shoot of Steve. You bet. She'll sure get a bang out of that. Lots of luck, Mr. and Mrs. Lane.

I can't take any more, Henry. I just can't. You won't have to, sweetheart. I'll turn north in a mile towards my lodge in the mountains. We've been running south just in case Dave came after us. And now it's safe to double back. My 3 a.m. will be at the lodge. It's completely deserted up there this time of the year.

Then we can get rid of George once and for all. Ah, we're here. That's the lodge. Everything's fine. I haven't seen a headlight in an hour.

Now we have to get George inside and hide him in the cellar. Once that's done, we'll lock the place up and let it rot. He'll be safe till doomsday. All the time I've been sure George would still somehow find a way of hiding everything. Someday I might even make a movie about George. Don't say that, Harry. Okay, okay, forget it. Let's go. Shh, shh.

Here for the moment. Light. I can't. I can't find the light. It's overhead. With a string. Come on. George is getting heavy. I hear you. I hear you.

Let's be tall. When he had a marked road map showing the way to his lodge in his top coat package and didn't bother to take out Mexican visitors' cars. Okay, everybody, get a picture. Let's welcome the happy pair. I think he's carrying the bride over the threshold. Put the lights on. I love you. I love you.

Harry was standing beside Laura when the lights came on and the flashbulbs exploded. George was over his shoulder and that gentleman's face was only a few inches from Laura's. She didn't see Dave Dennis and the group of reporters. She didn't see the woman who was screaming,

She saw only George's dead eye so close to her as it slowly opened under the effect of advancing rigor mortis, then half closed again in a lewd and knowing wink. Oh!

Thank you.

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What's up, guys? It's Priscilla. Let's be real. Summer in Arizona, less hanging out outside and more don't touch the steering wheel so you don't bring your hands. And with prices going up on almost everything, it's really easy to feel like summer is just too expensive and too hot to have fun. But Sam's Club is changing that. They're freezing the club through July 22nd, holding prices on over a thousand items like sunscreen, trash bags, ice cream. Honestly, joining Sam's Club is a no-brainer. If you're going to sweat through the summer, at least start

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The End

Mind works. Mind works.

Welcome to a half hour of MindWeds. Short stories from the worlds of speculative fiction. This story is out of the book The Best from Amazing Stories, edited by Ted White. The story is by Ted White and Marion Zimmer Bradley. The title? Phoenix. Phoenix.

He lived. He was aware. He was everything in his world. He was. Flames wrapped themselves around his body, pouring sinuously around him. For a few seconds, as he stood in the center of the floor, he writhed, pure reflex. Then he relaxed and gave himself up to the heady luxury of the roaring fire which clothed his body. He basked in flames.

His mind was afire too. It feels, it feels like satin ice. No, no, it's different. It's... It was something new. His senses were still adjusting themselves to the new reality and his mind contained no images with which to compare it.

He didn't see or hear Fran open the door. Max! He shook his flaming body and a few brief cinders fell away in sparks. Then suddenly he had snuffed out the aura of flames. He was standing nude on a smoking carpet, grinning tentatively at the girl. He swallowed and said, A hell of a time for you to show up, Fran. She seemed to stare at him without seeing him, her face taut without expression. He blinked, slowly coming down or up to reality again.

Good God, yes. She thought he'd been burning up. The odor of the carpet, it smelled like scorching hair. I forgot about the carpet, Fran. He watched her glance down at it. Acrid smoke still curled away from two singed bear patches where he'd been standing. Slowly, Fran raised her eyes back to his. Max! She took one faltering step toward him. Then she crumpled and swayed forward.

He caught her in his arms as she fell, straining her close. The physical contact of their bodies brought him back to the level of reality again, to a complete realization of Fran's plight.

He tried to make his grip as firm, as reassuring as he could, to bring her back to a world in which men were not one minute cloaked in streaming flame, and the next minute, alive and human... Max, you don't have any clothes on. Yeah, I know, Fran. I lose more pajamas that way. Fran, sit down and I'll put on a pair of pants at least. Her face was chalk white. The color had drained from her mouth, leaving the lipstick like paint on a corpse.

She was rigid with shock. She hardly seemed to hear him and let him lead her like a child to the sofa. God, God, why did she have to come in just... Lie down here for a minute, Fran. Here, put your feet up on the arm. Fran, it's all right. I'm all right now. Take it easy. I'll be right back, Fran. Max retreated into the bedroom, quietly closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment. His whole body slumped.

The room was quiet, just a third-floor bedroom in an old house, now a converted rooming house for students, half-filled with sunlight. Max heard his own breathing loud, and the silence looked down at his naked body, then at his pants draped over the bed. He stared at them and closed his eyes. His body grew rigid. Slowly, the pants began to stir as if with a breeze, but all else was still. Sunlight cut across the stationary dust moat suspended in midair.

and the warm summer noon seemed to hold its breath. The pants' legs flapped. Then, suddenly, the room was filled with a timeless density. The silence of the moment before thickened into a tangible, measurable dimension possessing a reality of its own. He could taste the silence.

He rose three feet into the air, his head clearing the ceiling by inches. As he did so, the tension dissolved from his muscles. He lay loose, flung in the air and watched articles of clothing, first his briefs, then pants, sweatshirts, socks, and finally shoes, all moving to him and draping themselves over, around, up, and onto his body, flowing onto him as if themselves fluid.

The door opened before he reached it. He took a deep breath, set his feet on the floor, and walked into the other room. Fran started upright as he came in and flinched away. Fran, are you afraid of me? She nodded, moving her mouth mutely. Easy, for God's sake, easy. The girl's on the ragged edge of hysterics. Take the light touch. Afraid of me, Fran? Now that I'm fully clothed again and didn't even attempt loneliest rape? Don't laugh.

I know what you're trying to do, but don't. And don't tell me that I didn't see what I saw. Her eyes moved quickly, a little rapid movement to the charred carpet, and away again. Fran, I'm not denying anything. What you saw, it happened. Yeah, but it wasn't... I don't know.

I don't know, Fran. Well, I'm not crazy, and it wasn't an illusion. Okay, then. I'm a warlock. I weave dark spells. I've sold my soul to the devil. Do you like that any better? Are you a warlock? Oh, I don't know, Fran. I don't know. Max fell against her and felt her arms reach out for him, hold him as he collapsed at her side.

The touch did what words had failed to do. He felt a rigid, frozen fright flow out of her as she held him, hard, clasping his spent body in her arms. And with a sigh, she drew his head against the softness of her breast and let him lie there. This was the best way. It had come to him without words. Perhaps there were no words. But what had he done to Fran, to this shy girl who held him now so tightly?

He sensed through the tension of her terror and its release that she loved him. Did he love her? When he had asked himself that, he could not answer. Yet now, in his response to her, he sensed his own answer. Words, more words, what did they mean? Reasoning was a barrier, not a path. It always felt most apart from her when he had tried to think out their relationship into words. Better to let the words go, better to react.

They lay together, unmoving on the sofa for a moment, which was, for them, timeless. Perhaps 15 minutes, perhaps two or three hours. They exchanged no words, no gestures, not even a kiss. They simply were. They were sharing the moment of that meshed, tangible silence in which there was no Max, no Fran. Instead, a Gestalt, a separate emotional entity. Tell me about it.

It was like surfacing after a deep dive, and he blinked. Fran, I don't know what happened. How did it begin? He turned slightly, snuggling closer to her, his cheek buried against her neck, his shoulder tucked under her arm, her arms warm around his body. He paused, then reached out for words and found that the words were there.

If you want to be rational about it, that is, if we can be rational about it, Fran, I guess it's what you'd call a wild talent. Wild is right. Psi power, I guess you'd call it. I can make things move or make things happen.

Fran, I had a dream last night. It was a very strange kind of dream. You know how sometimes you have dreams about flying, like you're running along on the ground and sometimes you can jump and pull your feet into the air and you sort of paddle yourself along with your hands?

I dreamed that I had done this, and I was floating and weightless, pulling myself around with handholds like an astronaut in a spaceship. Only the handholds were the branches of a tree. I was floating and pulling myself into the tree. Things began feeling strange, like they were happening in double, like the dream was fading out into sleepwalking, and then I woke up.

Fran, I was holding on to the curtains of the window next to my bed and I was floating about even with the top of the open window. He felt her arms tighten around him, but she neither moved nor interrupted him. Blessing her, he went on.

It scared me silly, but my first thought was, my God, I nearly flew out the window. Just as a matter of fact about it, as if I'd been sleepwalking and woke up and said, oh, I almost walked down those stairs. And then I guess I woke up the rest of the way and really realized what was happening. And the next thing I knew, friend, I was lying crossways on the bed with all the breath knocked out of me.

His body had tensed again with a growing excitement in his voice, sensing that he shivered and moved closer into the warmth of her arms. Fran, Fran, don't let me do anything now. Slowly, under the reassurance of her touch, he felt the spasm dissolve, flow into words again. When I woke up, I thought it had all been a dream. I mean, I wanted to believe I dreamed it, but I knew better.

I wandered out here into the living room and just kind of went through the motions of breakfast without noticing what I was doing. After a while, well, I located myself sitting at the table staring at my coffee and realizing that it had gone cold. I wasn't thinking, Fran. I wasn't thinking about anything. I was just staring at the coffee and wishing it was good and hot again. And it started steaming. Fran, I didn't touch it. I just looked at it.

I looked at it, and suddenly I wasn't just looking at a cup of coffee anymore. I began to see it. Really see it. I began to see the relationships of every component in the cup and the coffee. The chemical, the molecular... Ah, no, that's not what I mean either. I could see, not really with my eyes, the entire series of relationships between all the overlapping fields of energy. Ah!

Uh, Fran, I can't make sense of it for you. I don't have the words. Maybe there aren't any. But I could see it. You understand? I didn't try to explain it, even to myself. I can't now. It's just everything's motion. And I could reach out and speed it up or slow it down. And I heated it up, Fran, and...

Her voice was leveled when she spoke, a flat surface spread thin over panic, toneless. I'm not a nuclear physicist, but it sounds as if you were trying to put the theory of atoms and force fields into one word, like...

Matter not being solid, but just little bits of loose energy whirling around and building up into atoms and the atoms into molecules. Yeah, I guess so. As if I'd learned to see into them. But how? Why? It takes in a lot of territory just to wake up and find out you had it, whatever it was. Max hardly heard. He drew himself upright, his hands clasped, tensing, searching for words.

Like ice and water and steam are all the same thing, Fran. Only we see them differently. We just see different aspects of the same thing. And it's all the same. All this motion. And I could control it. I could control everything. Matt! Yes, I know, Fran. It's frightening. And I'm still afraid. And I think I've been afraid ever since I woke up from that dream. I'm afraid to really try anything. Oh, thank God you came, Fran. Thank God. I think I'd cracked up if you hadn't.

But the moment of complete and intense rapport was gone. Fran had drawn away from him again, and he felt cold and afraid. He had said too much. She was afraid of him again, and her fear, like her love, communicated itself to him through the impalpable fibers in his very skin. He soaked up her fear and babbled it forth again.

Fran, I've been afraid to really try anything because that's playing God. I've been doing parlor tricks, Fran, because I haven't really wanted to face the fact that I could do so much more than that. Now think about it. Fran, I turned the air around myself to flames and burned off my pajamas before I thought to do more than protect my body. Because I'm a man.

"'because that was sort of wild and weird and ego-inflating. "'I've wished my clothes on and levitated and moved things around, "'but these are little things, pity things. "'Fran, I could have done so much more. "'I could wipe out war.'

There are a thousand ways I could do it. I could feed the starving and house the homeless. Hell, that's minuscule. I could change this whole damn planet, Fran. I could change myself, make my body so I could go anywhere, anywhere in the whole physical universe, Fran. I could be God.

I could be God, and I'm playing with burning carpets. Fran, oh, Fran, it's too much for me. I'm not God. I don't want it. I'm too small for it. I wish it was only a dream, and now I could really wake up and find it never happened. Fran, Fran, tell me what I am. Tell me what to do. Aware only of pain and terror, he felt his face wet and did not even know he was sobbing. You're Max, Max. You're Max, and I love you.

Again the touch calmed him. He clutched at her desperately, clinging to reality, to the wholeness and rightness of her body in his arms, in a sort of senseless terror lest that too should dissolve suddenly into a flux of intermingling atoms and force fields. He was aware only of Fran, close and warm against him, their mingling breath, his own rising hunger and need. He wanted to melt into her, lose himself in her flesh and her reality.

The clothes she was wearing separated them, were a senseless intrusion into his longing for contact, for oneness. He moved. They were gone, her body warm and naked in his arms. Fran. But she was white and rigid in his arms, thrusting him away, gasping with terror. What are you doing, Max? No! No!

It was an icy shock, a rejection like a flood of ice thrusting him back into the wild senselessness of his sudden mad universe. He felt only the desolation of being alone. He wept, feeling the tears on his cheek. Did God cry? Clutching desperately at this frigid slip of a girl for salvation when the whole universe awaited him, he pushed himself up away from her. He heard her voice as if from a great distance making words, but

But he was past words. Blackness closed in about them. Time slowed. The eddies of air swirled to a halt, and lances of fire swirled through his mind. Then, beyond the realm of three dimensions, he saw her clearly. His mind shattered into a thousand crystals, reflecting prismatically pounding emotions he could not directly face. He looked at Fran, into her, through her, beyond her.

He saw. Not the immobilized figure of a frightened woman, her body helpless beneath his own on a sofa. In fact, he saw not even the sofa. He saw. Beyond the immediacy of the fields of motion contained in finite space as his body, he comprehended other patterns of subatomic flux. Below him was a geometrically ordered matrix, a precise framework simply constructed. But above it, he found an area of disorder...

Complexity, confusion, patterns and sub-patterns of a structure so immensely varied and subtly differentiated as to be nearly incomprehensible. The motion, movement, life. It offended him. It was vulgar, teeming, unruly, impossible. He began to reach out to him. Max! A body had flung itself at him, kicking, scratching, screaming. Max!

He was toppled back, and suddenly lying on the floor, back in the narrow confines of a single body again. His head rang, and her words were slowly becoming words again. They hurt his ears, jangling with their ridiculous cadences against the sublime expanse of perception. No, no, I loved you, but you, you're mad, you're not Max!

And then she had flung herself through the door and was gone, her running footsteps growing fainter on the stairs. Slowly, Mac surrendered himself to a chair, without any awareness of his human motions. The old chair enveloped him with the old overstuffed cushioned arms and gave him a musty embrace. And for a moment he was part of all its unfolding past, the weariness that had come into its unrejecting depths for comfort and rest.

His face was still wet with the tears he had shed before, and now they began to swell and flow again, erupting and cascading almost without volition. Fran was gone. She was gone, and she had been all he had, all that was ever really real to him. Dimly, he sensed, without knowing, that it had been a double failure. Fran had refused, rejected his need.

But was it Fran's fault that he had been unable to reach her? Had he ever been able to reach any human creature? Had he ever wanted to, except in his own selfish desire? He spoke of loving Fran, and yet he had shied away from that answer until he needed her. And so his vast paranormal powers were meaningless, because the physical universe itself was without meaning. Ordered? Yes. Finally structured? No.

But with no more meaning than an alarm clock. He could be God. And yet the only safety and sanity he had felt was when Fran drew him back from the brink of the bewildering nothingness into the shelter of her breast. But for all his control of things, he had been unable to achieve that blending that meant power.

He had only a meaningless power over things which now, in essence, were only nothingness in various rates of flow. The sun had set, and he had turned none of the lights on. The gloom of dusk settled, blanketing his body with darkness and his mind with despair. Fran, if, if, a meaningless word now, if Fran had only accepted him, if he could control his own emotions as easily as the magic show flames he had donned,

But he had feared to surrender himself to any emotion. He had given too little of himself to Fran, and when the moment of his need came, she had nothing of him that could call him back safe from the borderland of Bleak. He wasn't fit. Like a baby given a straight razor, he could not cope with his gift, and the outcome was inevitable. There was only one answer. Best do it now.

Suddenly the darkness was pierced by flames, a flickering, growing fire which enveloped and covered his body. His clothes vanished in a flare of flames spreading to and attacking the soft upholstery of the chair. A small thing to salvage, his ego. But this was the grandiose way, the big way for the big failure.

He sat for long moments crowned in golden flames, lost in contemplation of the streams of superheated glowing ions radiated from the burning carbon. Then the chair shifted as cloth burned through. Fiber straps released their hold on the metal springs of the seat. Time, deliberately and without emotion, he released his hold on the lines of force which demarcated the limits of his body.

His hair vanished instantly in a shower of sparks, and simultaneously a furnace blast beat in on him. Then his skin was blistering and blackening. Gone. He collapsed into his funeral pyre, flinging out limbs in reflex spasm and struggle. And he was. He lived. He was aware. He was everything in his world. And still, nothing. Streams of force, patterns of subatomic flux,

He was a moment when all fear and all perception had vanished, blending into a gestalt that was more than himself. In her uneasy sleep, Francine floated five inches above the surface of her bed. The story was titled Phoenix, written by Ted White and Marion Zimmer Bradley. It's taken from the book...

The best from amazing stories, edited by Ted White. This is Michael Hansen speaking. Reading with me was Linda Clotter. Technical production for MindWebs by Leslie Hilsenhoff. MindWebs comes to you from WHA Radio, a service of University of Wisconsin Extension.

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What's up, guys? It's Priscilla. Let's be real. Summer in Arizona, less hanging out outside and more don't touch the steering wheel so you don't bring your hands. And with prices going up on almost everything, it's really easy to feel like summer is just too expensive and too hot to have fun. But Sam's Club is changing that. They're freezing the club through July 22nd, holding prices on over a thousand items like sunscreen, trash bags, ice cream. Honestly, joining Sam's Club is a no-brainer. If you're going to sweat through the summer, at least start

save money doing it. Go join now at samsclub.com slash freeze the club. Need better internet? Cox Internet has the fast, reliable speeds you're looking for. Perfect for seamless streaming, gaming, and working from home.

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This is Ellery Queen with a case I call The Simple Slip. A well-to-do banker was murdered and two suspects, a business associate named Waxman and a nephew, were detained for questioning. Waxman said he arrived in town after a late airplane flight and drove to the house through a driving rain. The nephew claimed Waxman burst into the house, ran to his uncle's study and shot him. I saw him holding the smoking gun myself, he claimed. I asked to see the front hall, which was immaculate. I returned and selected the murderer, the nephew. In a moment, I'll explain why.

In the case of the simple slip, the nephew said Waxman burst into the house and shot his uncle. Yet it had been raining heavily that night and there was no mud or water in the hall. The nephew was lying. A simple but fatal slip. Listen again to Ellery Queen's Minute Mysteries. And now the Mole Mystery Theater. Presented by M-O-L-L-E. M-O-L-E.

Mole, the heavier brushless shaving cream for tender skin. Good evening. This is Jeffrey Barnes welcoming you to the Mole Mystery Theater, the program that presents the best in mystery and detective fiction. Tonight's story, St. Louis Lady by Irene Winston, is about three things.

Summer heat, a woman, and a little black book. What is there about some women that makes men want to kill for them? And what kind of a man lists methodically in a little black book his victims, his expenses, and his net profits from their deaths?

Add to this the kind of heat that pushes people into things they never meant to do, and you have St. Louis Lady by Irene Winston. Well, Mr. Barnes, I guess I can't add much to that, but give me a subject like shaving, and I'd add a few quick words like this. Men, if your morning shave is worse than a hundred nightmares, chances are you have wiry whiskers or a tender skin. So try mole. Yes, sir, with mole, it's smooth.

So smooth. It's slick. So slick. It's a smooth, smooth, slick, slick shave you get with M-O-L-L-E. Mole. The heavier brushless shaving cream for tender skin. That's right. Mole is the cream you need if you have tough whiskers or a tender skin. Because mole is a heavier cream, it not only softens your whiskers, it stands them up straight and lets your razor cut them right off.

So you shave faster, closer, easier, and you shave painlessly with Molay, the heavier brushless shaving cream for tender skins. And now for tonight's Molay mystery, St. Louis Lady. I hate to see that evening sun go down.

Honest, it's so hot a person be better off dead. For a price, I'd accommodate you, lady. Our scene, St. Louis. Summer heat and tempers at the boiling point. Somewhere in the slums, a baby cries. Somewhere a fight breaks out. A forerunner to a summons and a plea. Honest, Judge, it was so hot I kind of lost my temper.

Only fools walk in this summer heat. Fools and men like Joe Higgins who have trains to catch to women they love. Hmm. Got half an hour before my train. Well, might as well get a beer. For my baby.

She done left this town. Hey, partner, you don't let her pay that much. Bring me a beer, will you, waiter? Got next round with me. Here, take this table. Hey, anything else? Oh, yeah, ham sandwich. Ham sandwich. Hi. You alone too, Mr. Higgins? Oh, yeah, yeah. Mind if I sit with you? Uh, no. Oh.

Want a drink, Smitty? Got one, thanks. That sounds good. What does? My name. Smitty. Hmm? By the way they treat me around this town, you'd think I was a leper or something.

That guy shouldn't drink in this heat. Why do you? I drink so I can take it when they call me stoolie. Oh, hell, hell. After that, I drink so I can remember when I was a big shot instead of broken down stool pigeon who'll sing at ten bucks the song. Oh, forget it. Somebody's got to do it. Sure, sure. And it's better than solitary. I tell myself, what's my life now?

Still solitary. Except my cell takes in the whole town. Anybody, anyone of them, get dead. The Alconis is dead. Read all about it. The Alconis. The Alconis is dead. Read all about it. We used to be partners back in the 20s. What you writing, Mr. Higgins? Writing down my expenses.

I'd like to know where my money goes. I'm one guy who's not going to wind up broke. The killer keeping a budget. That's a hot one. Don't call me that. Okay, okay. Don't get sore. Yeah. Yeah, maybe I ought to keep one, too. Item. Ten bucks for putting a finger on Big Al Connors. Say, what'd you get for knocking him off? Let's see that book. Give it back. Okay. New business. One hundred and fifty. And I only got ten bucks for the tip. Lower your voice.

That included his wife. You get her, too? Yeah, yeah. I didn't like the idea of working on a woman. If you didn't do it, they'd get someone else for the job. There's always someone else. Yeah, sure. What are you going to do with the money? Well, less $15 expenses for two days. I have exactly $1.35 left. My girl saw a wristwatch that I... Well, well, well, if it isn't the little man. Hello, Killer Joe. Hello.

Beat it, Stooley. I want to talk to Joe. Okay, okay. Goodbye, Mr. Higgins. It sure was nice talking to you. You recognize me. Don't you, Killer Joe? Don't call me that. I got nothing to say to you. Maybe I ought to introduce myself anyhow, seeing as how you subbed for me for a while. George Larson at your service. Oh, waiter. My check. How's Jessie? You leave her name out of this. Think I'd bother talking to you if it wasn't for Jessie? She's going to be my wife.

You could kind of say that she was my girl for a while. Boy, you could... Here's your check, $1.50. This is on me. Here you are, waiter. Keep the change. Oh, thanks. That's the least I could do for you, Joe. After you looking out for Jesse and me, are you going to catch the milk train? Won't answer, huh? Well, I'll walk to the station with you.

Oh, boy. I thought it was hot in there, but it's worse out here on the street. Stop whistling that. It gets on my nerves. Why, that's Jesse's favorite song, isn't it? Take your time. The train isn't due for five minutes. We won't miss it. We? Sure. I'm going into your one-horse town just long enough to pick Jesse up. You leave her alone or I'll kill you.

You're just the guy who can do it, too, Killer Joe. I thought I had it bad. She sure got you tied to her apron strings. Well, there she comes. As soon as we get there, I'll check into a hotel, get a shave and a shower, and then I'll pick Jessie up. Jessie wants to, I'll marry her. How would you support her? You never did a day's work in your life. So what? See this roll? I got plenty of money. Oh, yeah? Yeah.

The evening papers say that a gas station was held up. Yeah, yeah, there's been a terrific crime wave around this town. Listen, Killer Joe, if you're thinking of singing, remember, with the police, you gotta have proof. With Jesse, it's your word against mine. Besides, I got a hunch he don't know what you've been up to. Look, Larson, to me, one killing's just like another. You leave Jesse alone or I'll kill you. I swear it. ♪♪

As the curtain falls on Act One of tonight's Morley Mystery, it looks as though Mr. Larson is going to have trouble on his hands.

Serious trouble, eh, Dan? Yeah, Mr. Barnes, but you know, some fellow might say he was in clover compared to them. For instance, the fellow who's got double trouble from shaving tough whiskers or a tender skin. He can be pretty bad off unless he learns about Molay, the heavier brushless shaving cream. That's right, man. Shaving hard-to-cut whiskers or a tender skin needn't be painful. Not when you shave with Molay.

Because mole is a heavier cream, it not only softens your whiskers, it stands them up straight while your razor cuts them off close and clean. With mole, you shave faster, closer, easier, and you shave painlessly. Try it.

See if you don't say, it's smooth, so smooth. It's slick, so slick. It's a smooth, smooth, slick, slick shave you get with M-O-L-L-E. Molay, the heavier brushless shaving cream for tender skin. This is Jeffrey Barnes again, returning you to Act Two of St. Louis Lady. ♪♪

This watch here in the window, Mr. Higgins? Uh-huh. That's $130, including the tax, but it's a beauty. I'll take it. Wrap it up. Jessie will love it. By the way, how does she like at the boarding house? Oh, fine, fine. Wrap it up special-like, will you? I'll tie it up with white ribbon. On a day like this, the person should live in the bathtub.

Here you are, Mr. Higgins. I know your girl's gonna be surprised. I'll be with you in a minute, sir. Oh, take your time. Well, hello again, Killer Joe. Buying Jesse a going-away present? Nanny, you're...

Here's the money, miss. Goodbye. Jeff? Well, he's still sore at me, I guess. I never saw Mr. Higgins lose his temper before. You know him well? Sure, I know him. He's, uh, well, sort of a cousin, you might say. Oh, well, a family fight. I guess everybody has them. Uh, what can I show you? Something that'll knock a lady's eyes out. Oh.

No, no. Why should I see you? I'm better off without you. I can't talk to you. Goodbye. Darling, Joe, darling. What's the matter? Who were you talking to? It wasn't important. It was... Never mind.

Did you miss me? Of course, darling. It's been two days, Jessie. What'd you do when I was gone? Don't laugh at me. No. I stayed in the bathtub. It was so hot. For two days? Well, I got out to eat. Honest, Joe, this town was like a furnace. Must have been awful upstate. I'll tell you the truth, Jessie. I was so busy, I didn't even notice the weather. Well, anyhow, it's a shame you had to work in this heat. Close your eyes, Jessie.

Oh, darling, not another present. Close your eyes and open your hand. There. What is it? Open it and see. All tied up with white ribbons. Yeah. Someday I want you all tied up with white ribbons, Joe. That's for nothing. Oh, it's so pretty, I hate to untie it. Go ahead. It's the old Joe. Like it? It's the one. Shall I answer it, Jessie? Jessie?

No. No, let it ring. I don't want to talk to anybody else now that you're home. Honest, Jessie, did you really miss me? Of course I did. Look how pretty the watch looks, Joe. Joe. Yes, Jessie. Ask me what time it is. Go on, ask me what time it is. ♪♪

Listen, Joe, it's a new record. What's the matter with you tonight, Joe? You're so restless. I don't know. Do you have to play that song? But it's my favorite. Joe, all through dinner you kept looking out the window and you hardly ate a thing. It's too hot to eat. Well, if you just sit quiet, you wouldn't mind it so much.

There's a nice breeze here on the porch. Why do you keep looking up and down the street? You expecting something? No, no. Let's go down to the inn for a drink, Jessie. Why? If you want a drink, I can get you one here. Well, I just feel kind of sociable tonight. Come on, Jessie. It'll do us good to get out for a while. All right, Joe. I think you're crazy to go out in this heat. I'll get my hat. We won't stay long.

Oh, the telephone, Jessie. I'll get it as long as I'm here. All right, Joe, I'm ready if you want. Want to walk or should we take the car? May as well drive. It'll be cooler. Was that phone call important, Jessie? Why, no, Joe.

At least I don't think so. Oh, this is nice, Joe. I forgot Pop Kelly had the in-air condition. Yeah. Oh, wave to Pop, will you? He's been trying to catch your eye. Where is he? Honest, I'm so nearsighted lately, I'm going to have to...

Get glasses. But you can see Larson, can't you, Jessie? I didn't want to come to the inn tonight, Joe. You can't leave me, Jessie. I didn't want to come to the inn tonight. Not tonight. He called you, didn't he? That was him on the phone. Yes. Are you afraid of him, Jessie? Afraid? You...

You told me once that he'd beat you. Oh, I'm not afraid of that anymore and never do that again. Then what are you afraid of? Me. What? That's why I didn't want to come to the end tonight. What can I do, Jesse? I'll do anything for you, only don't leave me. He's no good. He's a cheap crook. Let's go home. Joe...

I have to talk to him. I'm afraid now. Don't you see, Joe? If I come back after, I'll never leave you again. Not even for a little while. Don't you see? He's always been with us, hasn't he? I could feel him around all the time. Pushing, crowding me out, watching me. I'm sorry, Joe. Let me go for an hour. All right, Jessie. I'll stay here. As soon as I leave here, he'll follow me. Nobody will know, Joe. Yeah. Nobody but me.

All right, Jessie. I'll meet you at the boarding house in an hour. Thank you, Joe. This way we'll know once and for all. Yeah. We'll know. Uh, hello, Mr. Higgins. Huh? Oh, hello, Pop. How are you? Like any fat man when it's hot. Oh, sit down and have a drink with me, huh? Yeah, sure.

Hey, had a spat with Jessie? Huh? Yeah, I thought I saw you come in together. Oh, she... She thinks maybe she didn't disconnect her electric iron. Women. Yeah. You doing well, Pop? Business couldn't be better. I ain't seen you around for a while. You been away? Yeah, yeah, business trip upstate. Well, I see by the papers where a couple of convicts escaped and a couple of them got home. Yeah. Yeah.

It seemed like old times reading about Big Al Connors again. Did it? Yeah. Never thought anybody'd get Big Al. He was the big shot. Well, but times have changed, I guess, since I was a kid in Chicago. Maybe not so much as you think. Huh? Well, I mean, with all this robbery going on, aren't you afraid you'll get held up? Wish I would, but usually it's exciting. Hey,

Paper tonight made me feel old. Oh, maybe... Maybe these gangsters are heading this way. You'd be a natural for them to stick up. Could be. Hey, you ought to get a gun, Pop. Huh? A gun. I teach you how to use it. Oh, the size of you teaching me. I told you once I live in Chicago. You...

Oh, sorry, Mr. Higgins. I didn't mean to make any cracks about your size. That's all right. And thanks for worrying about me. I can handle anything, old as I am and fat as I am. Here, this ought to cover my bill. Are you leaving now? I thought you was going to wait for Jesse. I'm not going to wait. Not anymore.

We're here on the porch, Joe. Cooler outside than in... Come into the house, anyhow. All right. Don't worry, honey. I can handle him. Don't fight, please. Close the door. Joe, I... You don't have to tell me anything, Jessie. I can tell by looking at you. I'm sorry, Joe. I guess I knew it all the time. Well, as long as we know where we stand, but...

Let's all have a drink. Thank you, Joe. I'll get some ice. If I'd have known how you'd finally take it, Joe, I wouldn't have needled you. Oh, forget it. It's like this Jessie is a... She's a part of me like I'm a part of her. We're no good with anyone else. I said forget it. Oh, I'm sorry. You want a smoke? No, thanks. Put a lot of ice in the glasses. Here you are. Thanks. Joe. Thanks. Well, here's to you, Larson.

The rest of your natural life. You know, I've seen things like this in the movies. When people are in the same fix we're in, they have a drink together. I always wondered what they felt. What do you feel, Jessie? Well, that's what's so funny. I don't feel anything. I'm sorry I didn't stay away the full hour like I promised, Jessie, but I...

I got to talking to Pop Kelly, and a guy can take just so much Pop Kelly. He's the fat old guy who runs the bar? Yeah, yeah, crazy fool. Oh, how come? Oh, he forgets he's not as young and as strong as he was, and ever since the summer folks have been coming around, business has been booming. You remember, Jesse, when my uncle was sick and we needed money in a hurry after the banks were closed? Remember how much he had in his pocket? Joe, what are you trying to do to us? Oh, now, don't worry, honey. I told you I'd go straight, didn't I? I thought you wished us luck.

Telling George about Pop's money? That's rotten. You're trying to... Oh, take it easy, honey. I promised you I'd go straight, didn't I? Listen, let's get out of this town right away. Will that make you feel better? There's no train until morning. Well, come on down to the inn with me, then, if you don't trust me. She's not leaving this house tonight. What? Well, I have to live here after Jesse leaves. I don't want the whole town to know about it. I'm sorry, Joe. I didn't think... Now, Joe's right. I'll meet you at the station in the morning. I don't like to leave you alone with him. Don't be silly. There's a house full of people...

I'll go to the door with you. Okay, Emma. Darling. Vice. Oh, Lord. Thank you, Joe, for taking it like this. Don't thank me. I know just how you feel about him. Do you? Sure. Exactly how I feel about you. Oh, you're forgetting time, Joe. Did you forget him? Maybe there wasn't enough time. Maybe if he had waited longer. But I'll have time to wait, Jessie. Okay.

I'll have time. Oh, I wish it... Better go upstairs. I don't want to talk now. All right. Night, Joe. 10.30. Plenty of time. Time to wait. Yeah, to wait and see Larson get his neck stretched. ♪♪

This is Jeffrey Barnes again. In just a moment, we'll bring you Act 3 of St. Louis Lady. Thousands of people who suffer the social and business handicap of dandruff... ...are discovering that the way to combat it effectively is with double dandurine. You see, double dandurine is unlike many hair preparations available today... ...for such products really do no more to fight a common type of dandruff than plain water does. That is, they simply wash loose dandruff away. But double dandurine actually combats this dandruff by killing the germ...

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Well, it's been four and a half hours. Well, that's not a long time to wait. It'll work. I know it will. I'll see him hang yet. There it is. Hello, operator. This is Joe Higgins on Fairview Road. Send the constable here right away. Joe, there's something at the door. Yeah, yeah, I'll get it.

Back so soon? Where's Jesse? Jesse! Couldn't wait until morning, could you? I got a car to take us to the next town to catch the train there. Jesse, hurry up! I'll be ready in a minute! Who do you think you're kidding, Larson? You think I'm gonna let you get away with this? You're crazy! Out of my way, runt! Ready, Jesse? Yes. Come on, then. Jesse, you upstairs again. He's nothing but a cheap crook. I'm sorry, Joe. All right, then. Go with him. Go on. You're nothing but a dirty little...

I'd try to be nice to you, but all you can understand is a beating. Well, he'll beat you when you aren't running away from the police. Come on, Jesse. Come on in. Door's unlocked. I got your call, Mr. Higgins. What's up? Oh, Steve, there's the man who held up Pop Kelly. Why, you... Easy, bud. Now use this gun. Let me take the quiet. Now stick out your wrists. That'll hold you. Okay. Okay.

Oh, what a sucker I was. I played right into your hands, didn't I? Wait till you hear what a sucker you are, little man. Huh? Yeah? Wait till you hear. Pop Kelly died at the hospital. What? Yeah, you're facing a murder rap, son. Oh, no. I told you I'd kill you, didn't I, Larson? I told you to stay away from Jesse or I'd kill you. This only happened a half an hour ago, Mr. Higgins. How'd you know? He knew. He knew before it happened. You ready, lady? What do you want with her? I couldn't stop him, Joe. So I went with him. What? No, it couldn't be. What?

You couldn't have left the house without my seeing you. He went down the back stairs, Joe. I couldn't stop him, so I had to go with him. I'll always go with him. But it's a murderer. Jesse, you... Sure. And she'll go with me to the chair, too. You figured on getting me, Joe, but you never figured on getting Jesse, too. Ah, rain. Well, it's about time. I'd rather cool us off. We'll cool off, all right, but Joe won't. He'll burn hotter than we will. Jesse, I'll swear you didn't leave the house. That's no use, Mr. Higgins. Come on.

Pop Kelly identified them both. Jesse! You did what you had to do, Joe. And he's not through yet. Are you, Joe? What more can he do? A lot more. I'll explain, Jesse. Let me explain. You wanted pretty things. And how do you think he got them for you? He killed for you. No! That watch you're wearing, he got that for knocking off Big Al Connors and his wife. But he never... Oh, he did it legally. Don't worry about that. Legally? Sure. Didn't June know? No.

He's the public executioner. What? Yes, the state hangman. Push a button, drop a body. That's your Joe. Oh, I can't. Maybe I ought to thank you, Killer Joe. After all, you're going to make sure that Jesse and me spend the rest of our lives together. Leave him alone. Why? Why? He had it all figured out. He'd get me. It was his idea to kill me. Leave him alone. Poor Joe. How do you think he'll feel when it's my turn to die?

St. Louis woman with her diamond ring. Pulls that manor on by her apron string.

And now this is Jeffrey Barnes bringing down the final curtain on tonight's presentation of St. Louis Lady. Be sure to join us next week when we present Nightmare by your favorite mystery author, William Irish. A young man has a ghastly dream of committing murder and wakes up to find the murder weapon in his room. He knows that somewhere, somehow, a man lies dead by his hand.

So be with us next week for suspense and excitement when a nightmare comes true. Music for the Mole Mystery Theater is by Jack Miller. St. Louis Lady was written by Irene Winston.

Elspeth Eric, Gilbert Mack, and Frank Lovejoy were featured in tonight's program. This is Dan Seymour saying goodnight until next Friday at this same time when the Mystery Theater presents Nightmare. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.

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The case of Free Play.

Well, I must say the kindergarten looks wonderful, Aunt Martha. Isn't it delightful, Deborah? Flaming, Ted. What? Oh, yes, of course. Yes, we. You've neglected your old Aunt Ted. I haven't seen you in ages. Well, we've been busy, Aunt Martha. You and Miss Hawkins, is it? Hawkins. I have thought of you, Aunt Martha. Haven't I, Deborah? Every time someone mentions Miss Mulberry's nursery school, I feel a little glow of pride. Yes.

Being a mulberry, too, I mean. What time are the kids out of here? I beg pardon, Miss Hawkins? This building, what time do the kids get out of it? Why, school closes at three, Miss Hawkins. We only take little touch, you know. Oh, my, I think the water's boiling for tea. Will you excuse me? Oh, can I help? No, no, you sit still. I won't be looking at it. Look, birdbrain, will you get to the point with the old fool? Now, Deborah, you promised I could handle it.

After all, she is my aunt. I know how. Why don't you just give it to her straight? Tell her we've been peddling the stuff and it got hot. Oh, in heaven's name, Deborah, have you lost your mind? Aunt Martha wouldn't know what marijuana is. Say nothing of narcotics. Okay, okay, have it your way. I mean, this hell up is perfect. You said the last one was. So it got hot. Now, will you please tell her we're moving in here? I don't know why.

I really don't know. Look, it's a nursery school or whatever you call it, right? One of the best private ones in the city. Great. The Bratz pull out of three. We can run the joint wide open all night long. Yes. It, um... It does seem advantageous, I'll admit. Advantageous? It's beautiful. There's plenty of room. We can even take on more customers. Of course, Aunt Martha will be hard to handle, that one. Very hard. Well, that's your department. All I know is we're moving in.

Who'd look for hop heads in a nursery? All I can say, Chief, when I pull a boner, it's a beaut. Why, Harrington, did something go wrong? You mean last night? I mean last night, Miss Miller.

You know, I've been working on that marijuana thing, Chief. Yes, yes, I know. For weeks now, I've been working along with the federal boys. The heavier stuff, heroin, cocaine, all that, that's their department. Yes, and what about the marijuana? Well, sure, we've got jurisdiction there. It's a local offense. I know. I mean, weren't you about ready to go ahead? Well, last night, wasn't it, Harrington? That's right, last night. There's a dame named Hawkins, Chief. Mm-hmm.

Yes, I told you. Deborah Hawkins. Yes, yes. You mentioned the name. Okay. For weeks now, we've been casing her place. An apartment over on West Avenue. And that's where she operated? Oh, in a big way. She not only peddled the stuff, she let the customer stay right there and use it.

Oh, talk about a fun house. And what happened? Nothing happened. We got all set to raid the joint. I got four extra crews on duty. I got the whole building roped off. And? We go in. Yeah? Boom. The joint's as clean as a whistle. You mean you couldn't get any evidence? Evidence? The place was empty, Miss Miller. Deborah and her chum pulled out in the morning. Her chum? Oh, yeah. Some punk that works for her. Oh, I see.

Any idea where the tip came from? No, I haven't, Chief. It was kind of a big operation, you know. When they're like that, there could be a lot of leaks. Yes, unfortunately, you're right. But I have a stack of complaints a foot high about this marijuana situation. Yeah, don't I know it? There's a lot of complaints.

The T-boys, too. They're absolutely sure narcotics are coming into this town. Yeah, even better. They're coming to Deborah Hawkins. And she's gone. She sure was last night. Well, there's only one answer. She'll open up again some other place. Oh, that you can bet on. Well, let's find her then, and this time, let's bring her in. Ah, here you are, Deborah. In here, huh?

Well, did you see who's in the nursery tonight? Mm-hmm. Martindale. Lightington. Well, you might at least have let me tell her. How much does he spend? Oh, here. Thanks. Fifty. I'm not sure I like him as a customer, though. He's got a bad reputation. I think he's fascinating. I do believe he's the first gangster I've ever met. You're somewhat naive, darling. Where were you all afternoon? I was with Aunt Martha in the nursery. In the afternoon? I was helping with the children.

You know what's amazing, Deborah? Watching their little minds. Yeah, well, you keep your little mind on our children, dear. We made a good start here for a week. I want to make it even better. Ted? Oh, good. You're both here.

Why, Aunt Martha, I thought you were upstairs in bed long ago. Oh, I can sleep with people coming and going. I'll never know. Good evening, Miss Hawkins. I was just going. I'd rather you stayed. As a matter of fact, there's something I want to say to both of you. Can I get you a cup of tea, Aunt Martha? Stop fussing, Ted. Fact is, I'm extremely upset. One of the kids fall out of the swing? Deborah, please.

What is it, Aunt Martha? I told you a week ago you were welcome to stay here for a while, Ted. You too, Miss Hawkins. Thanks. With your tea room burnt to the ground and all, goodness knows you had no place to go. With our what? I, uh, told Aunt Martha about our tea room, Deborah, in Chicago.

Oh, and you're welcome here. I'm sure it isn't that. So it's what? My dear Miss Hawkins, it seems to me you've had company every night since you came. Company? Even now there are people in the nursery coming and going until all hours. I've heard that. Oh, but my dear, I... Let me finish and stop dancing.

Stop dancing about. Sit down, dear. I'm only trying to explain. I realize you're young, you have friends, and you like to have a good time. You bet. On the other hand, this is my nursery school and my home. You mustn't abuse it. Oh, now, we don't mean to, Aunt Martha. Really. Well, nevertheless, I don't like it.

smelling up the place with their Turkish cigarettes. How's that again? My dear Miss Hawkins, the nursery is just thick with their smoke. It's getting so I can't air the place out. Aunt Martha, you... Oh, you needn't explain, my boy. I'm tired now and I'm going to try to sleep. Oh, let me help you. Oh, do leave me alone. Sorry I had to speak, but I just can't have this. Now, if you'll excuse me, good night.

She ought to take a dragger to herself and prove her disposition. It's not funny, Deborah. I think it is. It's the first time I ever heard marijuana described as a Turkish cigarette. She doesn't know. Really? You amaze me. Better go see if Martindale wants anything. He usually takes a deck home. But what about Aunt Martha? We'd have to find a new place if she makes his move. Now, you're being funny. But you heard that, Deborah. Will you come, too? This is the neatest setup I ever had. But I don't intend to give it up.

Aunt Martha or no Aunt Martha, we're here to stay.

And please assure the committee we are doing everything we can. Sincerely, et cetera, et cetera. Mm-hmm. I'll have this tapped right away, Chief. Hey, Chief! Oh, yes, come in, Harrington. Well, you look happy. Boy, why shouldn't I? Hey, Chief, we finally got a break. Oh, on a marijuana problem? Right on the head. Yes? I was prowling around town last night. Pretty late, too, come to think of it. I see my old pal, Martin Dale. Who? Martin Dale.

A two-bit bum around town, Miss Miller, mixed up in a dozen different rackets. Well, there's no charge pending against him, is there? No, no, nothing special, Chief, but I spoke to him just the same.

A bum like that on parole? Well, I do it just for exercise. Well, I don't blame you. Dale's in prison oftener than he's out. Well, he's on his way in again, if you ask me. When I stopped him, Chief, he was glassy-eyed. First, I thought he was drunk. Yes, and? He was all hopped up, Chief. I could smell marijuana all over him. What? Sure, and to make it even better, he was carrying two dozen cigarettes. No. Sure. I got him down in the bullpen right now. Have you made out the charge? No, not yet, Chief. I thought I'd see you first. Good. Good.

Say, this may be an opening wedge, Harrington. Is he able to talk? Oh, yeah, yeah, sure. The jag's worn off. He's just depressed now. He's what? Oh, those hopheads get awful low when you take away their candy, Miss Miller. Oh. What time did you make the arrest? 2 a.m. I see.

Well, all right, let's do this. We'll hold him the full 24 hours without making a formal charge. Right. Oh, and nothing to the papers, Miss Miller. Okay. Notify the desk, will you? Right away. We'll give him a couple of hours and then bring him up here, Harrington. Right. And by that time, he ought to be real unhappy. Yes, we won't make a deal, you understand, but maybe you'll talk anyway. They usually do. Oh, brother, I sure hope so, because if Martin Dale got his supply from little Deborah Hawkins, Chief, we're in. We're in.

You ought to go to bed, Ted. There won't be any more customers tonight, anyway. Yes, I will, Deborah. Simply trying to calm myself by reading. Reading what? Hmm? Oh, one of Aunt Martha's books. The Life of Madame Montessori. Oh, she liked me, Willie. Oh, useless. Madame Montessori founded a method of educating small children, the theory of free play. That ought to calm anybody. Yeah. Thanks. What's the matter? You run out of comic books? Huh?

Those sense of humor has warped, Deborah. If I want to improve myself, I should at least be encouraged. You like telling stories to the little monsters? I happen to find it stimulating, yes. As a matter of fact, Deborah, I... Somebody's coming. You said everyone's gone. Heavens, it's after three. Yes? Well...

Aunt Martha. I thought I'd find you here. Now, don't speak Theodore. We won't mince words. You're up pretty late, aren't you? I'll hear no more from you, Miss Hawkins. Now, both of you pack your bags and get out. What did you say? Don't pretend you don't understand me. I said get out of my nursery school. Now? Now. Is that clear? Just what's wrong, Aunt Martha? Well, I'm sure you could answer that better than I, Miss Hawkins. I saw some of your friends tonight. Our friends? Yes.

downstairs in the nursery? I did. I don't know what was going on, but it's going to stop. What? You acted like drunkards. Oh, Martha, no. Don't argue with me. I said pack up and get out. Nobody was drunk, Aunt Martha. Well, worse than. I don't even want to hear about it. Well, didn't you hear me? She's your aunt, Ted. Take over. Aunt Martha, now...

Now, be calm a minute. Oh, you're a spineless, weak jellyfish, Ted Mulberry. Yes, and no telling what else. I said get out. Aunt Martha, don't talk like that.

I might get mad. Mad? You? Oh, I can get mad, can't I, Deborah? Tell her. Take it easy, Anne Martha. Now, listen, you two. The officer in this neighborhood is a friend of mine. If you are not started in two minutes, I'm going to call him. And get your poor nephew arrested? I don't care what happens to him. He's a sneak, a lying little sneak. I always thought you were a lady. Get out. Deborah? Calm enough, Ted? Completely. You realize now I was right? Perfectly.

He talks to that policeman. It's 15 to 25 years for the both of us. Naturally. I should have acted before. Oh, stop this chattering and get out of here. I'll get the gun, Ted. I have it in my purse. Let me have it, Deborah. Quickly. Have you gone mad? What are you talking about? What gun? This one. Here, Ted. Thank you. Theodore! What's come over you? Theodore! You don't know your nephew in a crisis, Aunt Martha. He's a riot. There's no need to explain to her, Deborah. I see it quite clearly. Aunt Martha? Ted, I... No! No, Theodore! Stop!

You shot me. You didn't have to. I shall have a reaction quite soon, Deborah. I'll need a small brandy. I know. It's the only thing to do, of course. You agree about that? Completely. There's just one thing. Yes? While you're still thinking clearly. We need the nursery for the cover-up, you know. I was aware of that when I shot. Who's going to teach the kids? You? I shall use the Montessori method, I think. The accent on free play. And now my brandy, Deborah. Thank you.

I really do feel quite faint. All right, Jerry. Put him back in the cooler. Let's go back to the office, Harrington. All right. How long were we talking to him? What in Dale? Mm-hmm. Good three hours, Chief. Well, it's not very profitably, I'd say. Now, let's take the back stairs. Oh, that guy sure is stubborn. Yeah.

There isn't a doubt in my mind that he knows where Deborah Hawkins is. Oh, sure. Every time you mention her name, we've got a reaction out of him. Yes, a reaction, but no information. Well, we can't hold him, Harrington. We'll make out a charge upstairs. Right. Possession of marijuana? That's about all we can do, I'm afraid. We'll have to release the stories to the papers, too. Yeah, I know. Brother, wherever Deborah's operating, it sure is terrific. We've got to find it, Harrington.

I want to put a stop to her for good. Ted. Huh? Oh, Deborah. I asked you not to disturb me when I'm in the nursery. Where are the kids? In Humpty Dumpty Land. What? In the next room. It's nap time. After that, they get their milk. Fortified, of course. Listen, teacher, will you wake up? Did you see the afternoon papers? Hardly. I've been busy here at the Blackboard since noon. Hmm.

You like it? Like what? Well, good heavens, Deborah, don't tell me you don't recognize it, all this colored chalk. It's a turkey. You drew that? I traced part of it, I must admit. It's good, though, don't you think? I'm trying to tell you... The tail feathers just delight the children. Tell me what? Martindale is in stir. Martindale? Our Martindale? Our Martindale. And get this, the D.A. charged him with possession of marijuana. Our marijuana, in case you don't get it.

That could be very serious. Could be. Suppose he tells where he got it. That's what I meant. That and your Aunt Martha lying out in that ditch, my friend. That don't add up so good. Oh, don't mention it, Deborah. I've told so many mothers she went to Florida. I almost believe it. I don't care about the mothers. Just believe this, Montessori. If Martindale starts talking, this whole act may turn into a turkey. This woman's body was found in a ditch, you said? Yeah, this morning, Chief. She's up ahead on slab nine.

Yeah, I heard about Martin Dagan. About him getting released on bail? Well, I guess we kind of expected it. Well, there wasn't any way to hold him pending trial. All I'm banking on now, when we do try him, he'll talk. Well, maybe. Here's the woman. Slap. There's been no autopsy? No, nobody's even touched her, Chief. There's no identification. Nice looking woman. One shot here.

In a ditch, you said? Right, Chief. Nothing. I was just looking at these smudges on her dress. Some sort of chalk, isn't it? Chalk? Yes. Wasn't any in the ditch. Well, we'll have a test taken. It seems like... What's the matter, Chief? Oh, it's strange. There's an odor on these clothes. Still quite strong. Hmm? Let me smell. That familiar? Huh.

Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle, Chief. That smells like marijuana. Yes, that was my impression, too. Yeah, that may be for me, Chief. I told Brophy we were coming down to the morgue. Yes? Miller. Yes. Can you come back to this? Well, I'd rather not right now, Miss Miller. Harrington and I have just stumbled onto something important. I'll say we have. Well, this is important, too, Chief. Yes? The report just came in. Martindale's been killed. The way we tie our shoe, tie our shoe, tie our...

No, no, no. This is the way we brush our hair, brush our hair, brush our hair. Will you please keep still? I'm trying to concentrate. Well, my dear Deborah, you told me yourself the nursery is important. If I'm to run it, I want it run right. Will you please... The children learn through these songs, Deborah. I must say, I've learned quite a bit myself. Great. Now, will you listen to me? Later. You're really feeling your muscle lately, you know it, little man? Why not? Things are going extremely well. The children adored my turkey. Oh, dear. All right, we'll talk quietly. Lighten, will you?

Why don't you carry matches, Deborah? I'm busy. Listen, egghead. I spent all afternoon trying to find Martindale and I couldn't. Suppose he's talking. He isn't. What do you mean he isn't? Stop smirking at me. I killed him. You did what? He was here while you were out. Seems he needed a supply. Give me this slow. It's quite simple. I offered to drive him home and when we got there, I shot him. I borrowed your gun. You shot Martindale?

Just like that? My dear Deborah, you said yourself if he talked, we'd have to move again. Yes, but I... And it was the only thing to do. I'd simply hate giving up the nursery. Oh, good Lord. So you'll see there's nothing to worry about at all. Now, this is the way we tie our shoe. Tie our shoe. In heaven's name, how do you tie a shoe? Oh, my God.

Come on, come on. Clear out, will you, fellas? The DA will see you in a minute. That's it. That's the boy. Come on, give us a chance to work, huh? That's it. Outside. The examiner's on his way for the body. Good. You may start on the apartment, Miss Marie Justin. List everything you see. This Martin Dale sure was a neat chief. Look at this dump. Well, at the moment, Harrington, I'm more interested in his body. You notice anything? He shot once. On the coat sleeve here. Huh? Say...

Hey, that's funny. Looks like chalk. Exactly. And that was chalk on that woman in the morgue. Hey, Chief.

This begins to make sense. Yes, a lot of sense. A woman and Martindale, both shot once, chalk on both bodies, and the odor of marijuana on both. Well, Marty's got more than odor. His pockets are full of cigarettes. Oh, gee. Yes, Miss Miller? I'm sorry to interrupt, but I found this engagement calendar. This what? On Martindale's desk, Harrington. The page for today is still here. Yes, what about it, Miss Miller? Well, the name seems so strange. Martindale didn't have any children, did he?

My dear Deborah, I must ask you once more to remain calm. Calm? Now? You're simply putting a series of circumstances together, my dear. It's what we call basic association. Basic association.

For example, take one of the children. I say dog. He answers, bow-wow. I say snow. He says Santa Claus. It's really most interesting. Yeah, well, I say murder, Bob. First Aunt Martha, now Martin Dale. Still, association. There's no reason in the world to connect us to any of it. Would you like to help me? I'm doing the nursery and create paper. Ted. Yes, Deborah? What's the matter with you? You used to be so easy, so gentle.

Why, I'm the soul of gentleness, Deborah. Then will you think? We gotta get out of here, Ted, now, before things get any hotter. I say no. Oh, you fat-headed... No, sir, help me. Mother Goose, I'll make you see it. Ted. Yes, dear? Please, can we go? You're really very selfish, Deborah. I enjoy the nursery immensely. I see. Okay, that does it. You won't listen to me, maybe you'll listen to this.

happen to have here in my purse? I'd put away the gun, if I were you. They make me extremely nervous. I only wish they did. Now, will you get started? We're checking out. Put it down, Deborah. You know my temper. Who's that? One of the mothers, I'd imagine. She'd hardly expect firearms. Deborah, put it away. Get rid of her, you hear me? But I enjoy their problems. I really do. Enter. This is the Mulberry Nursery School? Yes, I'm Mr. Mulberry. Can I help you? In here, Chief.

Oh, yes, yes, I see. Yeah, I just got... Hey, wait a minute. Well, I'll be darned if it ain't Debbie Hawkins. What? I'm more interested in this one, Harrington. That's interesting chalk on your suit. I beg your pardon? You fool, they're cops. Deborah, quickly, the gun. No, you don't. Debbie, old chimp. I'll take... Keep that gun, Harrington. We'll need it. All right, both of you. This school is out for good. Let's go. Let's go.

This is the United States Armed Forces Radio Service.

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Murder at Midnight.

He turned and started to walk across the room, and as he turned, Martel moved. His face stayed dead, expressionless, but he moved. He picked up a heavy wrench, followed him, and then as Roy reached for the switch, he hit him. I heard his skull go like a rotten pumpkin shell, and he went down. Then Martel picked up a hacksaw and...

No, no, I don't want to remember the rest. It was too awful, too horrible. Midnight. The witching hour when the night is darkest. Our fear is the strongest. Our strength at its lowest ebb.

Midnight, when the graves gape open and death strikes. How? You'll learn the answer in just a minute in...

Terror out of space. Terror out of space.

And now, Murder at Midnight. Tales of mystery and terror by radio's masters of the macabre. Our story, which we prophesy will be long remembered as a classic, is by Robert Newman. A tale out of the news and out of man's deepest fears called Terror Out of Space. Terror Out of Space

Now, Kenzie. Don. Can you hear me? Can you hear me? You've got to hear me. I haven't got much time. They'll be coming back in a few minutes, and... Don! Try and get this. Try and remember. Remember?

I sat up in bed, straining my ears, listening. The surf was rolling and pounding on the beach at the foot of the cliff. All of the dynamos was purring away next door in the experimentation shack. And that was all. Had I really heard anything? Or had I just imagined it, dreamed it? I didn't know.

All I knew was that I was in a cold sweat, shivering even though it was a hot summer's night. But that wasn't surprising after what had happened. Just what had happened. Maybe I could get it all straight, fill in the gaps that had been bothering me if I went back over it again from the beginning. Maybe.

I hadn't wanted to before this. I'd fought against even thinking about it. But now... Now it was as if something was making me think about it. That's right, John. Start way back. In the beginning. Then maybe you will remember. You must go. You must go. When was the beginning? When they assigned me here, I guess. Miles from anywhere on the Jersey coast.

I knew it was some kind of hush-hush project, and I'd been in the Army long enough not to ask questions. I had some ideas, though. When I walked into administration and found Professor Martell there, I was pretty sure they were right. We're going to lock on reporting for duty, sir. Hello, John. How are you? Fine, Professor. I mean, Major. Let's forget the Major. I've been trying to...

I think the Army's a little sorry about the whole thing also. Oh, that's not the way I heard it. Some of the things you've worked out in the last few years was something. Quite a break, my getting assigned here. You think it was an accident? You mean you requested me? Of course. What did I take you away from, by the way? Oh, nothing very much. Straight communications, a little radar. No chance to continue any of the research you started when you were at the university, huh? No. Afraid I've gotten rusty? Not really.

But there are just going to be the three of us to do the bulk of the work. You, myself, and a chap named Roy Shields. He worked with Ramsey at Tech. And what's the project? Something big? I think so. We're going to try and establish radio contact with the moon.

Why? Theoretically, it shouldn't be too difficult, you know. Of course it... And with the progress we've made during the war, we... Well, Professor, it's terrific. One of the most exciting things I've ever heard of. I think so. Well, don't you? Don't you remember when we used to talk about it in the lab? What it would mean to the astronomers, the astrophysicists, measurements that they've never even been able to take before? Yeah, John, I remember. Well, then? I don't know. Somehow it... Well, it worries me.

How we're going to do it? No, that's all cut and dried. What's going to happen when we do do it? Well, what do you mean? We're reaching out, John. Reaching out into places where man has never been before. We're pretty close to the secret of matter. To the origin of life and to the mystery of the universe. Sometimes...

Sometimes I become a little afraid. Afraid that we may stumble on something that's too much for us, too big and... That's silly. Go pick out a bunk and get some rest, John. Tomorrow, we go to work. To work? I remember that all right. Weeks of it. And finally, the big night. The night we were ready for our first test.

It was clear and cool, the ocean still, not thundering but whispering at the base of the cliffs, as if it were waiting. Every star separate and distinct like signposts on the road to the infinite. Martel at the table in the center of the laboratory with the charts and diagrams doing the computing. Roy at the power controls and I at the director. Time, 23.02. That's

Fifteen seconds. Power at ten point twelve. Check. Your reading, John? Ninety-three degrees. Make it plus point two. Check. Time, twenty-three-oh-two-ten. Power on. Three seconds. Four. Now. How long to wait? We should get it almost immediately. Bag of nut mugs.

That's it. That's it. We've done it. We're in contact with the moon. Yes, we've done it. Reached out into space and done it. For the first time since man had walked erect, we had established contact with another heavenly body. Bridged to the infinite with man-made electrical impulses. There was no work done during the next two days, just excitement. Public relations broke the story the next morning and we were swamped.

Newspaper reporters, photographers, interviews, commentaries, prophecies. Finally, we got back to normal. And a couple of nights later... Yes, it's starting to come back to me now. I remember. I remember. It was the sound of the generators that woke me. I looked at my watch almost midnight. Roy was asleep in his bunk and I didn't wake him.

I padded out along the duckboard to the laboratory. The lights were on. I went in, and there was Professor Martell. He was sitting at the control table, and he was... Well, he was funny. His eyes were open, but he didn't seem to see me. I said, Hello, Professor. He didn't move. He didn't answer. He didn't move.

I took a quick look at the control board and the frequency had been changed. A little uneasy, I tried again. Professor, what are you doing? And then, then something very strange happened. Half of him came alive. His right side burst. His right eye lighting up and his left eye stayed dead.

His right hand twitched, while his left one remained stiff. It was just for a fraction of a second. Then... What? Oh. Hello, John. Hello, Professor. Anything the matter? Matter? What am I doing in here? I don't know, sir. I heard the generators go on. I came in and found you here. Strange.

Very strange. I went to bed about 10.30. Ever walked in your sleep before? No, not that I know of. Because I haven't been sleeping too well lately. Very disturbing dream. Did you change the transmitter frequency that way? No, sir.

You must have done it yourself in your sleep. Sleep? That would make it more of a carrier instead of a transmitter, would it? Shall I shift it back? No, leave it. I'd like to take a look again that morning. Do some thinking about it. The next morning, somehow, neither of us mentioned it. I can't be sure now whether we didn't remember or just didn't think it was important.

But that night, yes, yes it was that night that we discovered what it meant, that we knew. It was the sound of the generators that woke me again. I looked at my watch a few minutes before midnight, and it was then that I noticed that Roy wasn't in his bunk. I lay there, and for some reason I was terrified, trembling. There was something in the air, a feeling of, a feeling of menace that

I made myself get up. Slipped on a pair of sneakers and went out along the duck walk to the laboratory. The lights were on again. I didn't go in this time, but I looked in the window. There was Roy. And there was Professor Martell again. He was sitting at the control table with that... that sane, dead look on his face. I...

The boy was standing in front of me and talking to me. I could hear him through the window. What is it, sir? What's going on? Is anything the matter? He's asleep. Walking in his sleep. I better get Larkin and...

I can't leave the generator on, though. Gotta shut that off first. He turned and started to walk across the room toward the master switch. And as he turned, Martel moved. His face stayed dead. Expressions, but he moved. He got up without a sound, took a heavy wrench from the work table, and followed Roy. And then, just as Roy put out his hand to throw the switch, he hit him. I heard his skull go like the shell of a rotten pumpkin. And he went down, dead. I... I couldn't move.

I couldn't make a sound. I just stood there, frozen with horror. Bartell looked down at him without batting an eye. And then, like a zombie, he walked over to the bench, picked up a hacksaw and went back. And then, bending over Roy's body, he started cutting off the top of his head.

A voice from the void. And the midnight waking. Memories. Things best forgotten. Coming back again. Memories of the terror that came out of space. And of murder. At midnight.

And now, back to Murder at Midnight and Terror Out of Space. That's all I remember then. And

When Professor Martell bent over Roy's body with a hacksaw in his hand, I must have fainted. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the sand outside the shack, and there was Martell bending over me. No, Professor, no, no, don't! Don't, John!

What's the matter? Leave me alone. Don't touch me. I saw what you did in there. In where? Just down the shack to Roy's. Aren't you well either, John? What do you mean? I just came up here from the cottage. I had a bad dream. I've been having quite a few of them lately and I woke up with a very annoying headache. I came out to take a walk. It's a mare. I found you lying here. But I'm telling you, I saw you. I saw you in there with Roy and... And what?

I don't even want to think about it. But you killed him. Killed him? Let's go back to the bank house, John. Take a look.

The bunkhouse? Yes, when you see that Roy is where we should be, in bed, maybe it'll convince you that you either dreamed or imagined the whole thing. He led the way to the bunkhouse, and I followed. Still shaken, but starting to feel a little foolish. This was Professor Martell I had studied under, known for years, the man who wouldn't hurt a fly. We went into the bunkhouse, and Roy's bed was empty. He wasn't there.

Martel gave me a funny look and started calling. Roy! Roy, where are you?

Roy! Without a word, we hurried back to the laboratory and... There was no sign of him there either. Nothing. Wait. He must have gone out for a walk too, Professor. Or maybe jeeped into town. If it was true, there'd be something here. His body, blood. There, John. What? Right there. In front of the switch. But there's nothing there. Except that it looks as if this floor was just scrubbed. The floor... What...

You're right. John. Huh? Did you change the transmitter frequency this way? No, sir. You must have done it. Just the way you did last night. Last night? You mean something happened last night, too? You don't remember? No.

Tell me what you saw happen tonight. Everything you remember, whether you believe it now or not. Well, it was... It was pretty terrible, Professor. And then, as quietly as if he were a laboratory specimen, you took a hacksaw and started to cut off the top of his head. Merciful heaven. Talking to you now, I know the whole thing's mad, impossible, but... Yes, yes.

Mad impossible. But... You... You mean... It could have happened some way without your knowing it? Sit down, John. Relax. Tell me what you know about the moon. Huh? The moon... Is a satellite...

Stellar body. Probably formed by our son in an encounter with some other stellar body. Yes, yes. Probably formed at the same time as the Earth. But it may very well have supported life long before there was life here. Life? Yes.

But we know what its atmosphere is. We know what it is now. But how do we know what it was a million, several million years ago? Suppose, just suppose, that there was life there millions of years ago. Life that reached a level of development we cannot even imagine. Suppose it died out as a form of life that we could recognize, but remained in a form that is eternal. What...

What do you mean? In the form of electrical energy. We know that thought is an electrical process. An electrocytograph will give a definite reading when a man is thinking. Yes. Suppose intelligence has continued to exist on the moon in the form of complex electric charges. And suppose a channel is suddenly opened between the moon and some other planet. The beams we sent out are radar beams. You mean they could come down the beam, take hold of someone, you, and make you... I'm supposing, John. Apotheosize me.

But the fact is that the transmitter was set at carrier frequency, and none of us did it consciously.

Of course, even if it's true, we have no way of knowing whether these entities are dangerous, malevolent or not. No way of knowing, but they killed, they made you kill, made you kill Roy. Because he was going to shut off the transmitter, cut off contact with the place they came from. As for the rest, well, they would be intensely curious about the human body, particularly the brain. They would want to examine it. Good Lord, Professor, do you realize what you're saying? The taking over of a person's body? Yes, John, I do realize what I'm saying.

Well, I don't believe it myself. Have you a gun? Uh, why, yes. Yes, I never carry it. Well, start carrying it. And

And if you notice me doing anything strange, incomprehensible, don't hesitate. Shoot. I didn't sleep that night. I remember that now. And I was convinced that I would never sleep again. Because it was there then, the moon. It was there all the time, of course, day and night. But it was during the night when I was asleep.

That it would be easiest for them. That they might try and... No, I can't think about it. I won't even now. With the daylight, I felt a little better. Roy hadn't come back, but...

Well, there were a dozen possible explanations for that. I went to have another talk with Professor Martell. And he was gone too. His bed was empty as if it had never been slept in. I waited until about noon. Then I called headquarters. I decided that I was going to tell them only facts. Things I could believe myself. Hello? Hello, Colonel. Hello.

This is Larkin over at Radar Experimental. Oh, yes, Larkin. How are you? Pretty good, sir. I'd like to report that both Sergeant Shields and Major Martell are missing. Huh? Missing? What do you mean? I don't know, sir. They were both gone when I got up this morning. A-W-O-L, eh? That's my fault. You men have been working awfully hard. I meant to suggest that you take leaves. Why don't you go missing, too? No, sir. I couldn't. Not right now. Okay.

And you carry on until I get back, and then I'll arrange for you to do it, uh, visually. Oh, I see it.

Stayed there in the lonely shack on top of the cliff, alone. And that was the most awful, terrible week of my life. Only the wind, the pounding of the surf, and my fears. Fears that were with me constantly. There was work I had to do, but I had to force myself to go into the laboratory. Then, on Friday, they found Roy's body. A phone call took me to town to the local funeral parlor.

When I got there, the colonel was waiting. You knew Sergeant Shields pretty well, didn't you, Larkin? Yes, sir. Some fishermen found a body in their nets this morning. I wish you'd look at it. Of course, sir. Right here. Oh!

Good... Good Lord. Evidently, the fish were pretty hungry. Well, no one could be sure, sir, but... I think that is shield. All right, Larkin. Thank you. Yes. They found Roy's body. And that night, Martel came back. I'd taken something to make me sleep. It was the only way I could sleep.

The sound of the generators woke me again. I lay there listening, unbelieving but terrified because there was no one at the station but me. Then, picking up my gun, I went down the duck walk to the laboratory. I opened the door, and there he was, Professor Markell. His face was thin and haggard. His eyes were dead, lackluster, the way they'd been those other two nights. And when he spoke, his voice was hardly human, as if someone was using him, speaking through him.

Too bad that you woke up, Larkin. You should not have come in here. What do you mean, Professor? What do you mean? We have been looking over your planet, studying it. Very interesting. And now we are ready to go.

Go? Go where? What are you talking about? What... You... You said we. But this is what I tell... Just a few preparations to make. And then... Then...

The voice, that horrible voice stopped. Martel swayed as if he were going to fall. John. I grabbed him, and he opened his eyes. He was himself again. And when he spoke, it was with his own voice. John. John, for heaven's sake, help me. Help me. How, Professor, how? Look, I'm... What I told you, don't you remember? Don't you understand? They've got me. They took me that night. Took me all over the country. Look, examine me, Spuddy.

They bit my brain. They sucked me dry. Now... Now they're going to take me back with them. Back with them? Back to where they came from. Not my body. They're not interested in that. But the offense for me. The... The... It's over today. Shoot, John. Shoot him. Shoot.

And now we are ready. They had him again. As your friend told you, we are taking him with us. But you, you will not remember. You will remember nothing. Do you understand? Because someday...

We may come back. I stood there, frozen, still holding on to Martel. Like a sleepwalker with superhuman strength, he pushed me away. I staggered back against the wall. Simply and mechanically, he walked to the door, opened it, and went out. The surf was thundering, the wind blowing straight to the edge of the cliff he walked. And then, we'd go back.

But before he fell, he seemed almost to hover for a moment, as if something in him was going not down, but up. Now to the only land of our time. Now to the only land of our time.

You've got to remember. You've got to. I tricked them. Fooled them. That's how I was able to get through to you. But they'll be coming for me any minute now. Don't. You've got to do something. You've got to. It's true. They're doing this. And they've got to be here. They'll be coming back again. For others. Don't. They're coming. They're coming. Don't. Don't. When I woke up about a half hour ago...

I found this all written out on the pad I keep next to my bed. Written out in my own handwriting, but a little scrawled and jerky as if my hand wasn't quite steady. Some of it I remember. Other parts, like Roy's murder, Professor Martel's suicide. I don't recall it all. Either I'm mad, completely mad, or... No, no, I can't think about it. I mustn't.

Anyway, if I showed this to anyone, the world would think I'm mad. So now I'm going to burn it.

Burn it up completely. White and shaking, John Larkin tears the straw pages from his notebook, crumples them into an ashtray, and puts a match to them. And thus there disappears into ashes the only remaining evidence of the terror from out of space and of...

Murder at midnight.

Oh.

Remember to be with us again when death comes in some unknown form. The clocks strike twelve for... Murder at midnight.

The part of John Larkin was played by George Peters, and Peter Capel was Professor Martel. With music by Charles Ball, Murder at Midnight was directed by Anton M. Leder.

The End

The End

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What's up, guys? It's Priscilla. Let's be real. Summer in Arizona, less hanging out outside and more don't touch the steering wheel so you don't bring your hands. And with prices going up on almost everything, it's really easy to feel like summer is just too expensive and too hot to have fun. But Sam's Club is changing that. They're freezing the club through July 22nd, holding prices on over a thousand items like sunscreen, trash bags, ice cream. Honestly, joining Sam's Club is a no-brainer. If you're going to sweat through the summer, at least stay in the summer.

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And now get Cox 300 Meg Internet for only $40 a month when you add Cox Mobile with a two-year planned price lock guarantee and Wi-Fi equipment included. Oh, yeah. So get your household up to speed. Switch to Cox Internet today. Requires Cox Mobile gig unlimited mobile data speeds reduced after 20 gigs usage per month. Taxes and fees excluded from price guarantee. This is Orson Welles speaking from London. ♪ music playing ♪

The Black Museum, a repository of death. Yes, here in the grim stone structure on the Thames, which houses Scotland Yard, is a warehouse of homicides, where everyday objects, a kitchen knife, a roller skate, a violin string, all are touched by murder. There's a .32 caliber bullet. It's a familiar object.

Brass cartridge case, snob-leaden nose. Not very pretty to look at. Interesting, this bullet, Sergeant. Notice the back of the cartridge case. Yes, sir. It's for a centerfire weapon. The firing pin of the pistol must strike the center of the cartridge. Right. But the weapon in which we found this bullet was a rimfire revolver. The firing pin could strike only the edge of the cartridge. That little fact, Sergeant, saved at least one life, I'd say. Well, today, that centerfire bullet can be seen...

in the Black Museum. ♪♪ From the annals of the Criminal Investigation Department of the London Police, we bring you the dramatic stories of the crimes recorded by the objects in Scotland Yard's gallery of death, the Black Museum. ♪♪

Here we are, the Black Museum. Scotland Yards Museum. The museum of murder. Here lies death. So orderly, so well kept, row and row.

A macabre record of the violence of many generations, each object in its place, each marked, tagged, carded with name and place and date. Each object in this room enjoyed in its life one supreme moment when the eyes of the world were upon it and it played its silent part in a case of murder. And here we are. Here's a jeweled ring, fit for a princess, but born of a mind like the Borgia's. Press the jewel, so...

And a tiny point licks out a fang, dripping death. Shake hands with your enemy. Shortly thereafter, he dies. A bathtub. Yes, a bathtub. White, smooth, shining in the dimness. Once a man floated face down in this tub. He slipped or he had been pushed. Was the mark on his skull caused by striking his head as he slipped? Or by a blunt weapon? In any case, he drowned.

Ah, I see. The .32 caliber bullet. Even here, lying so quietly, so somberly, it's ugly. This object was made for killing. As a matter of fact, it never did kill. That's the story. It began on a London street. A dark sedan drove slowly into the stream of traffic. Three young men in it. One seems quite a bit younger than the other. Even so, the car continues to cruise along.

You got everything straight, Rod? Sure, sure. Do you think I'm a goon? You just want to be sure, kid. That's all. Now, what did we tell you? I'll stay in the car till you wigwag it's all clear. Then I'll go in with you. Hey, there's a chance to park the old bus. Oh, kinky. Ha-ha, what's the fenders now? Wouldn't want nobody to ask for your license in a town like this, eh? Madly deep. Sure, Jack, sure. Just kidding him, that's all. What's the matter, you edgy? Cold as ice, that's me. Yeah, ice is what we're going to get.

All set. Let's go. Two young men leave an automobile, stroll up the street, hands in pockets, cigarettes dangling loosely from their mouths. They walk past a busy jewelry store. Pretty crowded. Maybe we ought to wait. Could be. No use taking chances. They stroll a few steps farther on, return, start back, quite casually. Hey, what's the kid doing? Oh, the guy's going into the store. Come on, back.

A goon must have thought we made the signal. Got your gun? What else? Slow down now. In we go. Rod, what's the idea? You went back, didn't you? Never mind. Let's do it. Right. All right, everybody. This is a hold-up. Over against that wall. Everybody. These guns are loaded. No. You don't take my stuff. No. Shut up, you. Quiet. Anybody who talks, I'll give it to him.

Rob, get the junk on the counters. You there, stand still. You've got the button. Launch the car. Start the engine. Ready, straight. Stop him. Please, please. I am not stormed. No!

Jack, the truck! It's double parked! We can't get the car out! We're stuck behind that truck! Run for it, kid! Back away! I can't get the car out! I can't! Come on, Jack! Keep moving! Stop you! Stop! Stop! You're the thief! Stop! Get out of my way, you! I've got you! I've got you! Please! Now it's in the fire! Run, lady! Run!

A man lay dead on the sidewalk. The crowd milled around him. The black sedan stayed in its place. Three young men disappeared in the teeming streets, disappeared completely and utterly. A few hours later, in a quiet office in Scotland Yard, Inspector Bowers and Detective Sergeant Wood disappeared.

looked at what they had. Not very much of anything, have we, Sergeant? No, sir. Descriptions which could be any of a hundred men and two bullets. A 45 bullet from the woodwork in the jewelry store and a 32 which killed that fellow. With no guns to go with them. If those boys were smart at all, they'd ditch the guns. Funny, you'd expect a lot more shooting in a thing like that. They were conserving ammunition.

Oh, well, I don't know. Circularize the descriptions and what there is of them. That's about all for the moment. Yes, sir. Three men, youngish, white handkerchiefs over their heads. And that was all. Now, where do you start among eight million people searching for three youngish men who may be miles away by now? Well, the answer is you don't start. You wait. You have patience. And sometimes your patience is rewarded. Sometimes sooner than you expect it.

This is Wilson, Inspector. He's the cabbie who called in this morning. Ah, how do you do, Wilson? Sit down. Er, thank you, sir. Thanks very much. Wilson may have something on the jewellery store killing, sir. Yes, well, let's hear it, Wilson. Oh, I never thought about it until I seen the papers this morning. All about the hold-up and that poor fellow who got himself killed yesterday. Yes, go on, Wilson. Well, sir, I was taking my cab along Queensbury Road, you know, about a block from...

place where it all happened, when a fellow with a white thing round his neck hops on the running board. I've a fare, so I waves him off. Then I see him go into that big building there, Brook Building, I think it is, sir, you know, corner of Queensbury and Mason. You're certain of this, Wilson? Oh, yes, sir. Anything else?

Now, I'm not so sure of this, Inspector, but I think I saw another fellow running the building after the one that jumped onto my cab. Oh, very good, Wilson. Well, you may have been quite helpful. Thank you very much. Thanks. Um, get your hat, Sergeant. We're going exploring. The reward of patience. And sooner than expected, but only a bare and vague beginning. This kind of investigation takes long hours and hard work and endless, endless questions.

Up and down the hallways of the large office building, in and out of business offices. Did you notice any commotion in the hall yesterday around three o'clock? Did a man with a white scarf around his neck take your elevator around three o'clock yesterday? Did you hear any running or anything like that around three o'clock yesterday? On and on, upstairs, downstairs, nothing. No one noticed anything, nothing irregular, no commotion. What was that? Did the porter notice anything?

Two fellows. One of them had a raincoat, I think. Both of them had white rags around their collars, sort of. Oh, you're sure of this? Oh, yes, sir. They seemed in a hurry, sort of. Where did they go? Which office, you mean? That's right. Well, I wouldn't know, sir. They went up the stairs just as I was putting some empty waste cans on the service lift. Oh, did you see the men again? Now you mention it. Yes, sir, I did. Where? On the third floor, it was.

i was taking my mop to the hall one of them was sort of half sitting on the stair rail the other fellow was looking out of the hall window that opens onto queensbury sir

They didn't have the white rags, sir, but they were the same fellows. Anything else? No, sir. Not that I remember. Oh, Pop Saunders might know something, Inspector. Oh, who's this Saunders? Well, he drives a van, sir. He's been making deliveries to this place every afternoon for years. Ah, thank you. Right, well, let's go, Sergeant. Maybe Mr. Saunders does know something. We have your address. They reached the street outside, just as a large, rather decrepit truck, driven by an equally decrepit elderly man...

Pulled up to the curbstone. You Pop Saunders? That's me. Who are you? Sergeant Wood. Scott from the yard. This is Inspector Bowers. Yes? Have I done something? No, but you may have seen something that'll help us. Yes, sir? Were you here at this time yesterday? Yes, sir. I'm always here. This time of day. Well, did you notice anyone with a white scarf go into the building? Running, perhaps? Oh, those two. Yes, sir, I did.

Funny thing, they seemed in such a hurry. One of them had a raincoat. They came out later, no scarves and no raincoat. Now the search is on for a raincoat. Scarves or handkerchiefs can go into pockets, not raincoats.

The Brook building swarms with police. Every nook and cranny is inspected in the cellar in a dark corner. This must be it, Inspector. Every other raincoat in the building is accounted for. Not a mark on it. Nothing. Try ripping the lining, Sergeant. Nothing, sir. Except the manufacturer's stock tag under the armpit. Not much, but a little at any rate.

Check the manufacturer, who met at the Jabba, who bought the lot in which that coat was packed. From the Jabba to the retailer. It's times like this I thank heaven for rationing. At least they have to keep a record of the clothing coupons and the names of everyone who buys anything. A thin, tenuous trail and a mountain of sales slips to go through. But nothing strikes a chord of memory. And then...

The sergeant thinks of something. Inspector, when they make out these records, don't they write the last names first? Yeah, you're right. They do. Oh, well, back over it again. Here, how about this, sergeant? Mack Stanley. The other way, Stanley Mack. Remember that name, sergeant? Stanley Mack. Not a usual name.

Yes, sir, I do. Didn't he testify at a trial about two years ago? He did? The trial of Jack Georgetown. He was sent away for armed robbery. First offence. Light sentence. Pal, Georgetown ought to be out by now. All right, let's get his dossier over here, Sergeant, and then invite him in for a talk. It may be interesting, if nothing else. Well, today, that centre-fire bullet can be seen in the Black Museum. THE CENTER-FIRE BULLET

It was a long chance. One man buys a raincoat. This man happens to be a witness at another man's trial. The defendant is sent to prison for armed robbery under circumstances similar to the case under investigation. The inspector in charge sends for the convicted man's dossier and finds...

Well, so Jack Georgetown was released from prison six days before the Queensley killing. Ah, well, let's have the young man into the yard, shall we, Sergeant? You'll be able to find him easily enough, I think. If not, we can suspect flight because of guilt, can't we? Send a pickup order out for him. Jack Georgetown was found. Found quite easily in London.

Look, you have nothing on me, Inspector, and you know it. Maybe, maybe not. Sergeant, show Mr. Georgetown the garment. Here it is, Georgetown. Do you recognize it? There's a million raincoats like that. Yes, but not bought by Stanley Mack. Oh, that coat. You know it? Yeah. Yeah, I didn't have nothing against the rain last week when I got out. So Stan gave me the coat. Oh, where did you lose it? I didn't lose it. I never lost nothing.

Except a little time recently. Yeah, we know about that. I figured you did. Keep a civil tongue in your head, Jorston, understand? Okay. Okay, I said. Now, since you didn't lose this raincoat, how is it that we found it? I loaned it to a fellow. How should I know what he did with it? Who had it?

I don't remember. Now, you receive a raincoat as a gift against the rain. Within a matter of days, you loan it to someone, but you don't remember to whom. That's right. I don't remember. You try him, Sergeant. Yes, sir. Speak up, man. Who had that coat? I don't remember. Well, maybe I can refresh your memory. The coat's hooked up with a murder. Now, who had it? I don't remember. I don't remember. That was a refrain. I don't remember.

Now, could they make him remember? Finally, they let him go. There was nothing to hold him on. But Inspector Bowers said... I want a tale on him, Sergeant. 24 hours a day. We'll pick up his friends one by one and see where he leads us. One of those friends was a boy named Rodney Hamilton. Leave me alone. I never did nothing. How old are you, Hamilton? 17, and you've got no right to... We happen to know that you've been away to a reform school, Hamilton. You were caught snatching ladies' purses two years ago. Say what? I did me time? You don't keep very good company, son.

Well, we like each other. I'll pick me home, friends. Home? In bed? I was sick. Had a fever. Go ahead, check it. I was at home in bed. All afternoon, all morning and all night. I was sick. Yes, we know. You said that before. Now, look here. But it didn't do any good. The boy was obviously afraid. But whether the police or...

For the many knew it was impossible to tell. Still, the patience of Scotland Yard was rewarded once again. A report came in from detectives assigned to follow both Georgetown and Hamilton that they'd been present at a party in a bar given by a third young man named Matty Canvas. Doth her on canvas, Inspector. Ah, thank you. So, nice lad. Stole a car when he was eleven. Convicted, assault with intent to rob.

Convicted, jewel robbery. Convicted, armed robbery and assault. Nice little trio, our three friends, aren't they, Sergeant? Not exactly. Do you want canvas brought in, sir? Yes, do that. Oh, and, Sergeant, bring the other two along, but keep them separated. Don't let any one of them know that we have the other two. Nothing highly dramatic, merely routine, Scotland Yard routine, recognisable as standard practice by any policeman in any large city.

Bring him in for questioning. But it always helps to have a few facts. Facts on which to base the questions. With this in mind, and knowing their underworld, Inspector Bowers and Sergeant Wood repaired to that certain bar where Matty Canvas held parties for his friends. Nothing much here. Well, there may be. Keep your ears open.

Another pint of ale, please. Very right, you are, sir. Oh, now, Larry, let me wait on the gentleman. Sit yourself, Miguel. Sit yourself. Oh, well, down the hatch. Right. Patience. Frequent the bar. Wait. Keep your ears open. Don't talk.

Just wait.

Say, Larry, you hear they picked up Matty? Yeah, and the other two. Rod, too? That kid? Well, I for one ain't sorry. Gives the place a bad name. I mean, kids are out with guns in their pockets. Not bright. Canvas ain't bright, that's for sure. Let's just hope you're bunked out of 5,000 quid worth of stuff. Gets mad, works the kid like that, they're Rod. Oh, well, so it goes, I will say. Another couple of pints, please, miss? Oh, yeah, sure. Thank you.

There you are. Do you know a lad named Canvas? Me? I don't know nobody. How about a kid named Hamilton? You think I'll keep track of everybody who comes in here? That would be difficult. I thought I heard you mention Mr. Canvas by name. So did my friend here. Then you thought wrong. We don't encourage conversation with the other... No, I don't suppose you do. Care to have a drink on us?

I'm not certain that I drink sweet cops, mister. More routine ahead. More routine for the inspector and the sergeant after they left the bar.

They checked descriptions of the men seen at hold-ups and robberies prior by some months to the tragedy in Queensbury Street. In one case, a description tallied with Matty Canvas. Mr. Canvas was invited out of his cell and into the inspector's office. All right, Canvas. You've been identified on the Davis job. You'll do a good long stretch for that. You may as well tell us what you know about the Queensbury shooting. I don't know nothing.

Turn King's evidence, Cambus, and you'll get off easily. Otherwise, it's a hanging matter. You can't pin that one on me. I was miles away. I can prove it. Well, suppose I told you the kid's been talking his head off. Rod? Talk? Not in your life. He's too scared somebody will cut his liver out. Oh, all right, Cambus, if that's the way you want it. Take him back, Sergeant. We'll give him plenty of time to think.

No luck with Georgetown either. But the kid, there's a chance he'd break. Just a chance.

The inspector took it. Look, boy, your pals are saying that you held a gun that killed a fellow in the Queensbury hold-up. I never had a gun. Maybe they're framing you, lad. After all, you're pretty young, 17. You won't hang. They will. So naturally, they say it was you. I didn't. I never touched the gun. Canberra says you did, that you had the .32 all the time. I never did. They can't say it. They can't. But they do. Both of them told me. Looks to us like they got together to put the job on you. Well, why shouldn't they?

They might have to die. There were only two guns. They had them. You've got to believe that. You've got to. We don't have to believe anything except evidence. If you had the guns, if I told you where they were, I'd...

I said it. I didn't mean to talk. I did, I did. Keep talking, lad. It's the only way to save your neck. My neck? If you held that gun and pulled that trigger... All right, we threw the guns away, both of them. The .45 Mediad and the .32 Jacket. We threw them in the river from the quay at the Langsha Wolf. If you can find them, you'll see. Maybe they'll be fingerprints. You've got to find them guns. You've got to! .

Ballistic report, Inspector. The .45 fired the bullet we found in the woodwork. The .32 killed the man in the street. And it's funny, half the cartridges in the .32 were rimfire. The other half were centerfire. Those didn't go off. If they had, chances are there'd have been a lot more murder. .

And today, if you're interested, you can find that centerfire bullet in a place of honor in the Black Museum. It's an accepted fact in police work that 80% of the occupants of our prison either would talk there or talk themselves there. In this case, it was patient police routine plus the talking of young Rod Hamilton...

which put Rod behind bars for the rest of his life and brought Georgetown and Canvas to the 13 steps and the rope one morning at 8 o'clock. There's a postscript to this story. The use of a gun by an English criminal is rare. Nor in England do the police go armed in their normal course of duty. The Hamilton case was one of the more obvious symptoms of a post-war disease of violence. The death of Georgetown and Canvas was not without its effect on this disease.

For days, weeks, and even months after their execution... pistols, guns, knives... many of them perhaps innocent wartime souvenirs... others of more dubious origin... were found by the police on rubbish heaps, disused gardens... on the mud banks of the River Thames. The criminal world of London had come to terms... with their traditional enemies at Scotland Yard. Perhaps, after all, the innocent man had not died in vain. The bullet that killed him, the centre fire bullet...

remains in its customary place in the Black Museum. And now, until we meet next time in the same place, I tell you another story about the Black Museum. I remain, as always, immediately yours.

Thanks for listening! If you like what you heard, be sure to subscribe so you don't miss future episodes. If you like the show, please, share it with someone you know who loves old-time radio or the paranormal or strange stories, true crime, monsters, or unsolved mysteries like you do! You can email me and follow me on social media through the Weird Darkness website.

WeirdDarkness.com is also where you can listen to free audiobooks I've narrated, get the email newsletter, visit the store for creepy and cool Weird Darkness merchandise. Plus, it's where you can find the Hope in the Darkness page if you or someone you know is struggling with depression, addiction, or thoughts of harming yourself or others. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com.

I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me for tonight's Retro Radio, old-time radio in the dark.

What's up guys? It's Priscilla. Let's be real. Summer in Arizona, less hanging out outside and more don't touch the steering wheel so you don't bring your hands. And with prices going up on almost everything, it's really easy to feel like summer is just too expensive and too hot to have fun. But Sam's Club is changing that. They're freezing the club through July 22nd, holding prices on over a thousand items like sunscreen, trash bags, ice cream. Honestly, joining Sam's Club is a no-brainer. If you're gonna sweat through the summer, at least

save money doing it. Go join now at samsclub.com slash freeze the club. Need better internet? Cox Internet has the fast, reliable speeds you're looking for. Perfect for seamless streaming, gaming, and working from home.

And now get Cox 300 Meg Internet for only $40 a month when you add Cox Mobile with a two-year planned price lock guarantee and Wi-Fi equipment included. So get your household up to speed. Switch to Cox Internet today. Requires Cox Mobile Gig Unlimited mobile data speeds reduced after 20 gigs usage per month. Taxes and fees excluded from price guarantee. Hold the kaleidoscope to your eye. Peer inside. One twist changes everything.

A woman awakens in a grotesque, human-sized arcade game. A mysterious cigar box purchased at a farmer's market releases an ancient jinn who demands a replacement prisoner. An elderly woman possesses the terrifying power to inflict pain through handmade dolls. An exclusive restaurant's sinister secret menu includes murder-for-hire and harvested organs.

With each turn through these 20 tales, Reddit NoSleep favorite AP Royal reshapes reality, creating dazzling patterns of horror that entrance as they terrify. The Kaleidoscope, 20 Terrifying Tales of Horror and the Supernatural by AP Royal, narrated by Darren Marlar. Hear a free sample on the audiobooks page at WeirdDarkness.com.