Till Death Do Us Part: When Love Refuses To Stay Buried (A Gothic Tale of Horror and Obsession!)
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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 A.P. Royal, narrated by Darren Marlar. Hear a free sample on the audiobooks page at WeirdDarkness.com. Now there's a new way to share Weird Darkness with the weirdos in your life. It's a skill on your Amazon Echo device. Just

The Black Museum. Affiliated stations present Escape. Escape.

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.

If you're new here, welcome to the show. While you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com for merchandise, sign up for our free newsletter, connect with us on social media, listen to free audiobooks that I've narrated. Plus, you can visit the Hope in the Darkness page if you're struggling with depression, dark thoughts, or addiction. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com.

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. If you think you're being sympathetic when you tell someone, I know exactly how you feel, think again. Most people will come right back with, you don't know how I feel. How could you know? I'm different. I'm different.

It's good to express one's individuality, but to insist upon being different can bring about unbearable loneliness. A person can be lost without an alter ego, someone to confide in.

And it is not always easy to find a confidant, especially for men who are far from home, such as those we are about to meet aboard a sailing ship. Who's there? I brought you a breakfast, sir. How dare you enter my cabin without knocking? With Captain Briggs, I always come in... I don't care what you did for Captain Briggs. I'm in command now. You will never enter this cabin without knocking on the door. Is that understood? Yes, Captain. Now get out!

That was a near thing, wasn't it? It's too near. We can't let it happen again. What's the use? I'm worse off than I was before. Either way, it looks as though I'm doomed to be hanged. ♪♪

Our mystery drama, The Secret Sharer, is from a story by Joseph Conrad, adapted especially for the Mystery Theater by Elizabeth Pennell, and stars Norman Rose and Mandel Kramer. It is sponsored in part by Buick Motor Division and True Value Hardware Stores. I'll be back shortly with Act One. ♪♪

Joseph Conrad was acclaimed for his powerful stories of the sea. Born in Poland, a tragic childhood included exile to Russia with his parents, who died there. In his youth, an uncle managed to get him to a French ship, where he became an apprentice seaman.

Later, he joined the English Merchant Service, where he rose through the ranks and knew firsthand the vicissitudes of 19th century life on a sailing ship. His true adventures were the basis for the stories he wrote, and mysticism ran deep as he imagined himself as the captain in the tale we're about to hear.

Come aboard a four-masted schooner, which has just been loaded with a cargo of tea and spices from the Middle East to be transported across the Indian Ocean. Steward?

Where's my supper? Well, I'm waiting for the captain. Well, we won't wait any longer. He makes his own rules. But I thought... Yes, I know. You thought when a ship was in port that the captain and first mate always took supper together. Well, that's the way it was with you and Captain Briggs. Perhaps it's better this way. If I may say so, sir, this captain's a strange one.

Oh, a young fellow like you should keep his mouth shut. I'll keep my eyes open. I hope you can figure him out better than I can. Trouble is, he never asks my opinion. Not the way Captain Briggs used to. He acts as though he's too good for the likes of me.

Not wanting to talk. He doesn't talk very much to anybody. But I'm the first mate. He's coming, sir. Your supper's ready, Captain. Thank you. Sorry not to have joined you, Jackson, but I had some things to tend to. Are you aware that there is a ship anchored inside the islands? No, sir. Bless my soul. Another ship, you say? Well, how could she possibly... I don't know.

With all those rocks and inlets out there, I saw her mastheads above the ridge as the sun went down. Oh, I know about that ship, sir. You do? Why didn't you tell me? Let the steward tell us what he knows. Well, she draws over 20 feet. She's the Liverpool ship Sephora with a cargo of coal, 123 days from Cardiff. Ah, how does a steward pick up information like that? The tugboat skipper told me when he brought the fruit and vegetables...

He says they'll take her up the river to shore the day after tomorrow. That's enough. I'll find out anything else the captain wants to know. There's nothing more we can find out tonight. Oh, uh, I'll take the watch, sir. No, no. You and the crew have had two days of hard work. Tell all hands to turn in without setting an anchor watch. But, sir... I'll be on deck myself until two o'clock. You can relieve me then. Very well, captain, but it seems most unusual... It's the way that I want it. Of course...

The slightest sign of wind will call all hands up and make a start at once. Aye, aye, sir. It is good to be alone on deck, away from the chatter of that dim-witted first mate. The riding light on the fore rigging burned with a clear, somehow symbolic flame in the mysterious shades of night. I was master of my soul, but not of my ship. The appointment had been too sudden.

sudden. They summoned me when Captain Briggs was carried ashore with a fatal illness. I'd been in command for only a fortnight. We were still in the harbor. The crew had traveled together for 18 months and resented the newcomer. I moved to the red and lit a cigar. Oh, damn. A rope ladder was dangling over the side, no doubt left by a careless crewman when the tugboat came by.

I started to haul it up, but something long and pale floated very close to the base of the ladder. In a faint flash of phosphorescent light, I saw the naked body of a man. Ah!

A pair of feet. Long legs. A broad, livid back. Immersed up to the neck in a greenish, cadaverous glow. One hand clutched the bottom rung of the ladder. Complete. Except for the head. A headless corpse. There was a splash. And I saw a glistening shock of black hair. And then...

Total silence. As the man held on to the bottom rung, making no attempt to climb aboard, I leaned far over the railing. What's the matter? Crap! No need to call anyone. I was not going to.

Are you alone on deck? Yes. I suppose your captain has turned in. I'm sure he hasn't. Look. Could you call him out quietly? I am the captain. Who are you? My name is Liggett. What are you doing down there? I've been in the water since nine o'clock.

Now the question is, do I let go of this ladder and keep swimming till I sink from exhaustion? Or may I come aboard? Climb up the ladder quietly, and I'll fetch you some clothes. Tell me, Captain. Keep your voice down. No reason to summon the crew. Here, put this on. You must have been expecting me. These pajamas are just my size. They're mine.

Now, tell me what you're up to. Well, it's an ugly business. There's a ship over there about a mile away. I'm aware of that. The Sephora. Yes. I'm the mate of the Sephora. At least I was. I can only assume that something's gone wrong. Very wrong. I've killed a man. What? You deliberately took a man's life? I didn't deliberately do anything. And to call him a man would be to... Now, now, now. Calm down. Calm down.

If you cause a commotion, I'll have you put in irons. It's obvious that I'm at your mercy. I have little use for a man who gives way to fits of anger. As do I. Anyone trained at Conway learns how to curb a temper. You are a Conway boy? Yes. Well, I learned discipline at Conway, too. Although it must have been several years before your time. Then you know... I know that murder is a very serious charge.

You'd better tell me your story from the beginning. Our creaking old ship was caught in the teeth of a devouring gale. A hurricane tore the canvas and howled like a thousand fiends. Pull on the sheets before the mainsail's torn away! They'll have to haul in more than the mainsail, Captain.

The mast should be bare as posts in a sea like this. You there! Tend to the shroud! Captain, the parcel! We'll have to reef it or she'll kill over for sure! The sea is gone mad! Every man for himself!

There's never been such a scene. Taylor, give me a hand. I'm not good out there in a wind like this. Sure as I say it is. Grab hold of this hanging. No, there's a bigger one coming. A wave a mile high. All hands to the rigging. I repeat, all hands to the rigging. Don't let go until we make it firm. You heard the captain. Damn you. I ought to put this rope right in your neck. Now that it's...

Tight! I'll take care of you in my bare hands! Here she comes! Look out! You down below! Look out! Hang on! Hang on! Back to you!

I hung on all right to the throat of that miserable sailor. When the big wave crashed, it was as if the sky had fallen. Everything but the mast disappeared, with a poop, a wash, and a smother of foam. Down below, the two of us were pounded against the focus hull, and the sailor got it head on. I loosened my fingers and gazed in horror at a face that had turned black.

The man was dead. But you were unharmed? His body cushioned my fall. Then he actually saved your life? In a strange sort of way, yes. I hadn't meant to harm him. But if that forceful hadn't been hauled in, the ship would have gone down. Well, between the two of you, it was reefed in time. I did it. No thanks to the crewman. If he'd obeyed my orders, we'd both have been up in the rigging. What happened next was an accident.

For an act of God. Surely you had witnesses. Yes, I did. And they acted against me. How could they? They saw me do exactly what I did. Grab that man by the throat. Next, the huge wave obliterated everything from their view.

I'm not sure that I believe your story. After that one terrible crash, the seas subsided. The men scrambled down from their perches and gathered round to stare at the body. Where was the captain? Oh, he was there. Passing judgment in front of the whole crew before I even had a chance to speak. Mr. Leggett, you've killed a man. You can no longer act as chief mate of this ship. He was quite alive when the wave struck, sir. I saw it all. It was murder. We could both have been killed.

We were crushed against the bulkhead. Maybe so, Mr. Leggett. But you attacked that sailor. Captain, the man refused to obey an order. I'm the one who gives the orders. Full blood and murder. Hang him. Hang him. Be quiet. Quiet. That's up to a jury. In the meantime, Mr. Leggett, you will be confined to quarters.

So they threw you in the brig? No. I was just locked up in my own filthy cabin. Captain knew full well I was responsible for saving the ship. Well, then why didn't he support you? Captain Archibald is a sick old man, afraid of his own shadow. That is your judgment. I gave him a chance to make it up to me. I'm a powerful swimmer. When we were passing through the Straits of Java, I asked him to let me escape. You must be crazy to think you could run away. You're only making matters worse.

What could be worse? First, accused of murder. And now you're an escaped prisoner. That's double trouble. Unless you help me. My duty lies with my own ship and crew. Not to the disgraced native of Sephora. You let me come on board. I'm wearing your nightclothes. And you haven't locked me up.

So far, all I've done is to rescue a drowning man. Small chance of my drowning. I have a gold medal for swimming. And a diploma for arrogance. I'm the last person you should have come to for help. For three weeks, I've been shut in that small cabin. Tonight, we finally reached our destination. Next step is to take me on shore to face the music. And that is exactly what they'll do. Ah, but they won't, Captain. No.

I feel in my bones there's a reason why fate has brought us together. I have not said that I'll help you. But how did you get away from the Sephora? This evening, when the steward brought my supper, I ate it all. Then I made a discovery. Miracle of miracles, he left the door unlocked.

I crept out on deck wanting nothing more than a heaven-sent lung full of fresh air. And then sudden temptation. I kicked off my shoes and plunged over the side. I started for shore, but that meant capture. So I shifted course and swam underwater until I reached the shadow of some rocks. There I pulled off my clothes and set them adrift, hoping they'd think I drowned. And then...

There was no place to go. I didn't like the notion of swimming round and round until I gave out, and I didn't mean to go back. I saw your light and swam toward it. Then I saw your ladder. What luck! Imagine a ladder hanging over at night on a ship anchored out here. You are a fool. Don't you know that they'll come looking for you? Of course. Captain Archbold will have a search party out at daybreak. Yes, and I am the first person he'll come to see.

Sign me on as a member of your crew. Aren't you about ready to take off? You are out of your mind. My crew is complete, and we can't weigh anchor without a breeze. Why, we may be here for days. Then my goose is cooked. It's time for the first mate to take over the watch. I might just as... Shut up. Hide in that passageway.

I'll join you in a minute. Did you say something to me, Captain? Why, yes. Jackson, come over here. I want to show you something. Yes, sir. Take a look at this. I found a ladder hanging over the side. Bless my soul. Must have been there since morning. I'm sorry about that, sir. Don't let it happen again. I'll speak to the second mate. He's the one who... Never mind. Never mind. Just haul it in. Yes, sir.

As soon as it's light, I'll take a sharp look at that ship you say is anchored nearby. If you do that, Jackson, good night. Good night, Captain, sir. Come along. Follow me. And don't say a word. Our captain has decided to keep his unexpected passenger hidden from the crew. This is a dangerous move, which could make him an accessory to a crime.

Even if he believes no crime has been committed, a captain's duty does not include taking the law into his own hands. But somehow, a power beyond them seems to be irresistibly intertwining the destinies of these two men. We'll learn more when I return with Act Two. ♪♪

In the middle of the night, a man has emerged from the sea. And although the captain of a schooner has taken him aboard, there is no assurance that he has found refuge. This man, named Leggett, is wanted for murder. Now as he follows the captain, he may have lost his last chance to escape.

Noiselessly, the captain opens a door and then, rather roughly, pushes the man ahead of him into blackness. Please, captain. I don't think I can stand another night in the dark. Not another night alone. But this is my cabin. We can talk in here. The walls are thick and the crew is sleeping. They'll be waking up soon. When daylight comes, we must not raise our voices. We could be overheard in the passageway. Captain. Captain.

Do you intend to keep me a prisoner here in your own cabin? For the moment, yes. Stay where you are until I light the lamp. Say, I've never seen a cabin like this. Well, this is ten times bigger than anything on the Sephora. Or on any other merchant ship. This big as a ballroom.

That's certainly no place to hide. The perfect place to hide. Observe that the cabin is shaped like an L. But everything is so open. Even this large closet. Well, note how it's placed in the arm of the L, where it can't be seen from the rest of the room. Not bad. Oh, you haven't seen the best. A bathroom. I don't know how many ships you've sailed on, but...

Where did you ever see a tub like this? Why, it's marble. It's the whimsy of a former captain. Made in Greece. I could fall asleep in there right now. Neither of us has had any sleep. Climb into my bed and I'll rest on the couch. Oh!

Who's there? I brought you breakfast, sir. How dare you enter my cabin without knocking? Captain Briggs always permitted me to come. I don't care what you did for Captain Briggs. From now on, you will never enter this cabin without knocking. Is that understood? Yes, Captain. Now, get out.

That was a near thing, wasn't it? It's not for you, hidden behind those curtains. But within moments, the word will be all over the ship that I was found sleeping fully clothed on the couch. You can do what you want. You're the captain. Well, this is my first command. When I bark at the crew, it's because I don't know what else to do. And you don't know what to do with me.

Do you? You have made everything much more complicated. Here, if you can finish my breakfast, I'm going on deck. The steward will find me when he comes to get the breakfast things. He will, unless you find a better place to hide. Your bathroom, of course. The towels have changed every day. Then what am I to do? I've got to leave you to your own devices. Oh, there's still the closet. In back of the clothes or behind the chest. Oh!

Good morning, Captain. Morning, Jackson. Still no sign of a breeze? Not a breath, sir. I've been keeping my eye on that ship over there and blessed my soul, but they've been busy. How can you tell from this distance? The first sign of dawn, they lowered their boats, but instead of heading for shore, they've spread out in all directions. Have they come this way? Not so far. It's very puzzling.

They keep going out to those rocks and pushing into the underbrush as though they're looking for something. It's no concern of ours. Bless my soul. Look. Look. One of their boats is headed right this way. Find out who it is. Hello. Hello out there.

State your business. The captain of the Sephora wishes to speak to you, Captain. Very well, Jackson. Lower the ladder and have him piped aboard.

Captain Archbold of the Sephora. Welcome aboard, sir. You are captain of the ship? At your service. I would have expected a much older man. Well, unfortunately, my predecessor, Captain Briggs, is dead. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Captain Briggs. I've heard about this ship. One of the prides of the fleet. I'm honored to meet you, sir. You honor us with your visit?

Although I must warn you, Captain, that we are ready to move at the slightest suspicion of wind. Be grateful that the elements are kind. The storm we've been through is enough to sink a battalion of ships. We were saved by God's mercy. Is there something I can do for you, sir? Take me to your quarters where we can speak privately. Excuse me, Captain, if I go in first. Now.

Watch your step. What grand quarters. Does the cabin go all the way around here? Yes, but come over to this table. Steward, bring us some brandy. I'll never touch liquor. Give me water. I've been on some thirsty work exploring those islands. Painful duty. I'm sorry, Captain, but would you mind speaking up just a bit?

Were you deaf or something? A ruptured eardrum, almost drowned years ago. Now, what is it you want to tell me? 37 years at sea, and nothing like this has ever happened before. Are you sure that you won't have some brandy? I told you, no.

If I'd been a drinking man, I'd have taken to the bottle weeks ago. The storm is over. It was a rampaging monster that sought to destroy us. It's obvious you survived. Only because I ordered the reefing of the topsoil.

How was I to know that the devil incarnate was not in the sea, but aboard my ship? I don't understand. At the height of the storm, there was murder, most foul. Murder on a ship under my command. Murder!

Strangled in the mid-aid. In cold blood. You said that a wave crashed over your deck. I've seen the sea kill a man very neatly by simply breaking his neck. No man killed by the sea ever looked like that.

Black in the face with tongue hanging out and the mate's fingers clutching his throat. Oh, but if the mate was tending to the fossil... God's own hand did that and no one else. I never trusted that man like it. Well, you hired him, didn't you? God!

...forced to take him by the ship's owners. Smart he was, but different. A fancy talker. Captain, what's over and done with? Well, it's on my shoulders. I'll be blamed. What? You've safely delivered ship and cargo. But the murderer escaped. How can I bring him to justice? You've searched all the island? To no avail. I can no longer put off going to shore...

It'll have to be a report of suicide. Beg pardon? Suicide. That's the way I write it up. Unless, of course, you manage to recover the man before tomorrow. We can spend no more time looking for the body. I must get back. Captain, on a ship like this, you don't suppose there's any chance that... Recover long. I'll show you every nook and cranny.

I took him everywhere without once giving him a chance to pose the question I was sure he meant to ask. And at last, he was boosted over the rail and started down the ladder. Sir, we've heard a most extraordinary story from the crewman with that captain. Yes, I'm sure you have. A horrible affair, isn't it? Yes, it is.

These fellows had some idea the man was hidden aboard our ship. Did you ever hear of such a thing? No, it's preposterous. They said there's a price on his head, a reward for turning him in, and punishment for anyone withholding information. Naturally. Tell the steward I'll be in my cabin and must not be disturbed. I'll see you at dinner. Beckett, thank the Lord it's you. I'm so cramped from that closet I can hardly move.

Why didn't you turn me over to Archbold? You meant to, didn't you? That was never my intention. Didn't I get him to speak up loud enough for you to catch our whole conversation? Everything. Especially when you said I could be captured alive. What better way to throw him off the scent? Had he asked me straight out if I had seen you, I could not have lied. You'll be damned. But if

If you lied to me, I... I admitted the man was dead and my hand was around his throat. You also said you gave the order to reef the topsoil. I swear I did. Archibald may think he gave the order, but he never did. He stood there and whimpered about our last hope. Whimpered. But the sea gone mad like the end of the world. Something had to be done. Someone's coming. Captain. Captain, sorry to disturb you, sir, but I think there's enough wind to get underway. Call up all hands. I'll be on deck as soon as possible.

If there's really a breeze. If there is really a breeze, we'll all be very busy. And I'll be more of a prisoner than ever. ♪♪

♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪

I thought your first mate would never leave. That damned marble bathtub is cold when there's no water in it. At least it's better than the closet. I hid there too when the steward came in. I told him not to come here until we were out to sea. From now on, it will be much more difficult. Captain, I cannot survive like this. Didn't you find those canned goods stashed in the closet? Oh, I've enough to eat. But I can't go on. I've had more than I can stand. Captain!

I know now why you're protecting me. You're so smart. Tell me why. We are both Conway boys. Plenty of men are trained for the sea at Conway. Yes, but they're all in the Royal Navy. You and I are mavericks. We don't belong. I chose my own way. So did I. I didn't invite you to swim to my ship. But you let me come aboard. Only I didn't know that... You found out. We're outcasts, both of us. And whatever I'm guilty of, you're just as guilty. And we're both doomed. This is my ship.

And I can do what I choose. Can you? You didn't feel that way yesterday. But I do now. And you can stay in this cabin to the end of the voyage. Oh, no, Captain. Not me. My freedom is very precious. But it's not here, cooped up in your closet or bathroom. I'd rather give myself up. You can't. Not now. The ship is under sail. It's a long way to home port.

Why, if you revealed yourself, the crew would mutiny. That would be a noose around your neck, not mine. All right, we'll find a way. I promise you we will. If you and I are so much alike, we'll work this out together. Now, here's a provocative situation. Two men are caught up in a drama where each is totally dependent on the other. Remember what I said at the beginning about people who try too hard to maintain their individuality?

The loner attempting to hide his own fears may isolate himself so completely that he has nowhere to go. In Act 3, we'll find out what becomes of these secret sharers who, at the moment, are in a very vulnerable position. ♪♪

For the next four days, the captain was a happy man. Dangerously happy. For the first time in his life, he had a close friend. A man he could talk to. In their whispered conversations, they found much in common. They argued, they agreed, they recalled their dreams.

At first, it was just at night. But now the captain spent more and more time with his double. The two men even looked alike as their dark heads bent over the table in concentration. It's your move. I know. And you're not going to like it. I'm prepared to lose that bishop. Who cares about your bishop?

When my queen comes over here, you are in check. Not again. Someone's in the passageway. You're getting edgy. They're all at their posts. Well, they may be spying. I overheard something today that you should know about. Don't tell me that you left the cabin. Not on your life. But I opened the far porthole and the first mate was directly overhead talking to some of the crew. Oh? And what were they saying?

Bless my soul. I tried to reassure them that you are in good health. I never felt better in my life. They asked if you caught the sickness from Captain Briggs. Why, that's outrageous. And what did Jackson tell them? He said you're a thinker.

He'd seen all your books. And that was the reason you spent so much time in your cabin. Bless my soul. Shh. Get away. Someone is coming. Yes, what is it? The steward, sir. What do you want? I have your jacket, Captain. You left it by the binnacle. Oh, thank you. I'll take it. Oh, but he's just been pressed. I'll hang it up in your closet. Oh!

Mr. Jackson, sir. Yes, Stuart? Do you play chess with the captain? I don't know how. Why do you ask? Well, when I was in his cabin just now, there was this chessboard with all the pieces set up as if... Well, I've heard that it's a game people can play alone. I could have sworn there was another chair. And, uh...

And two glasses on the table. I'm relieved to know that's what the captain's doing instead of lying sick in bed. But he is sick, Mr. Jackson. All I did was hang up his coat in the closet and he stood there all pale and trembling as if he'd seen a ghost. Take a look at him now.

striding across the deck. Jackson, I want a word with you. Yes, Captain? Do you recall our plan for going through the straits? Well, I... I know how Captain Briggs would do it, sir. No, no, what we talked about yesterday. Yesterday, Captain? Yes, when I showed you the chart. Begging your pardon, sir, but you did not show me any chart. No.

And then I remembered it was you who studied the chart. I've been over it all again. And the place for me to be marooned is an island off Quintana. Marooned? Oh, you've been reading Daniel Defoe. Remember, I've been drowned. It would never do for me to come to life again. Only you're very much alive. I was brought up on the Bible. And I've been driven off the face of the earth.

As I came at night, so shall I go. It's impossible. You can't. Not naked like a soul on a day of judgment, dressed in your sleeping suit. And I am a swimmer. The last day is not yet...

I must leave tonight. It can't be done. At least not until tomorrow night. I knew you'd understand. But the ship is on the offshore tack. And the wind may fail us. No, no, we're still much too far out at sea. I'll manage. Not without my help. I'm counting on that. Ah, bad luck, Captain. The wind has died down. So I see.

In my experience, sir, we may be becalmed for quite some time. May I reassign the crew? Give them shifts for relief in this oppressive heat. You should all have white hats, like mine. I got it in Rangoon. It's most unusual, sir.

I'll be off to tell the men... Jackson, Jackson, one moment. Be ready to call all hands on deck when we change our course. I will, sir, but I see no signs that there'll be any change in the weather. We're not doing well in the middle of the Gulf. Now, tonight, I'm going to look for the land breezes. Captain, bless my soul, we can scarce do that in the dark with all those islands and reefs and shoals. On this...

coast. Any regular land breeze will be inshore. Now we must get close to find it. Impossible to get close, Captain. It can't be done with the currents from the straits. You will follow my orders as I give them. Now right now, send a couple of hands to open the two quarter-deck ports. Open the quarter-deck ports, Captain? What for? Because I... Because I tell you to do so. Have them opened wide and fastened properly. ...

By now, the whole ship must think you're out of your mind. You've gone too far. This plan of yours is much too dangerous. I shall stand as close in as I dare and then put her round. What will I be doing? President.

Presently, I'll smuggle you out of here into the sail locker where there's an opening. A sort of square for hauling the sails out. And it is never closed. Someone is sure to see me. Just before tacking, when the ship is dead still, you'll have a clear road to slip overboard through the open quarterdeck port.

deck port. Now, use a rope's end to lower yourself into the water so there'll be no splash. Promise me not to go too close to shore. You talked to me about duty. Now you're risking ship and crew. Yes. Oh, here. Take these sovereigns. What? I have six. Three for you and three for me. What would a swimmer do? You never know what you need. Now, here. Tied in this handkerchief. They can be fastened to your belt.

I must join the men at the supper table and try to pretend that I am perfectly sane. You're bareheaded. With the sun beating down, you need something to cover your head. I need to get my head under water, and the sooner the better. I mean when you get to shore. There are no trees on those islands, and while the sun is merciless, after all these months undercover, I'll glory in the sunshine. You will take my hat.

You see, the brim goes all round. Here. Now put it on your head. Captain, you are mad. A swimmer with a hat on his head. Well, then put it in your belt. You'll need it. And now, be off. We're drawing in fast, Captain. The land is close. I've never seen that hill of cold ring before, not without the glass. Keep a good fool ahead.

You're going on? Straight on, that fool. But, Captain, sir. The helmsman heard me. Straight on, that fool. Merciful heavens, we're about to go aground. The captain's gone mad. He must be stopped. Call the second mate. Steady as she goes. I can barely see the sail. We're sailing straight into the jaws of hell. Jackson, turn up all hands. Where are we?

We're lost. Be quiet. What are we doing here? Looking for the land wind. Oh, I knew it would end like this. How have we done, Paul, sir? We're too close to shore to come about. She'll drift ashore before she's come around. We're sure we're ready. Ready now. Ready to come about. She won't make it. We're too close. Go forward, Jackson, and tend to the head sheets. Shake them up.

Shake them out. Handsmen, par the lead. Swing the majors. But, Captain, that rock will get us broadside. Better to crash the prow head on.

Had we come too close? Our fate hung in the balance as the black mass of land loomed over the afterdeck. My ship and I were new to one another. It was too soon for the ultimate test. So far, she responded to the helmsman's lightest touch. But now...

She came about, shuddered once, and then all was ominously still. If I fail to set the sails, if... if those menacing rocks seem but inches from the port side, our course must be set by the tides. But who could tell which way they ran? I could only grope like a blind man. Call for torches on the lee side? No, they might reveal...

But I couldn't think of him. But now, I had to find out from which direction the breeze would come. I had to. Captain, the men are threatening to jump overboard and slip for sure. Before they make a move, order searching lamps trained down on the water on the lee side. Now hear this. Now hear this. It was deathly still. The water like a pool of ink with no sign of movement.

I don't know what you're looking for, Captain. The slightest stirring of the current. When I find out which way it's flowing, we'll set the sails. Can't see a thing in those black waters. Well, look for a piece of driftwood. Not a sign of anything. I can feel it under my feet. The ship is inching us towards shore. Stuart, Stuart.

Get me a piece of paper and be quick about it. There's no paper up here, Captain. I'd have to go below and I'm not sure that even then... Oh, she's beginning to yaw. Jackson, stay up here. We must throw something overboard that floats. I'll be down by the taffrail. For the moment, the crew was kept busy with the lights directed toward the shore while I stared into the void beyond the stern...

And there it was. My sign. My sign, written clearly in the water. And now I knew exactly what to do. The man at the wheel stood like a statue, and I was near enough not to raise my voice as I confidently gave the next order, shift the helm. He jumped round to the other side and spun the wheel. Oh!

She's catching the breeze! Let's go and ho! Ho! Ho!

We did it. We did it. We? You did nothing but make a nuisance of yourself. But you didn't think we'd make it. I heard you say we'd be dashed against the rock. How did the captain know exactly the moment to raise the sail? He found which way the tide was running. But how? I stared into the water and there was nothing to see. Take a look out there. Even in the dark, it's still in view. We'll all be... What?

That's the captain's course. Jackson, now that we've picked up a brisk breeze, why don't you come to my cabin so we can chart out what looks like a clear course ahead. Thank you, Captain. And if I may say so, sir, this calls for some sort of celebration. Well, she handled very well. Ah, you did it, sir. Captain Briggs would never dare to do a thing like that.

We could have stayed in the Gulf for days. I saw no reason to waste time in these waters. What you did was a stroke of genius. I was hard-pressed to know which way the tide would run. Well, bless my soul, sir. I'll wager there's not another captain on the seven seas... would have had a hat like yours to throw out on the water. Was the secret sharer still wearing that hat?

We like to believe, as the captain did, that he was already safe on shore, a floppy sun hat carelessly abandoned as an encumbrance to his freedom. But from that moment forward, the captain was indisputably master of his ship. He had pulled off a dangerous maneuver which gained the respect of every member of his crew. There is a moral to this tale, and we'll consider it in just a moment. ♪♪

How often, I wonder, does a human being understand but one facet of his own personality? The captain of our story was given a chance to examine the other half of himself, the part that wanted to run away. From now on, he would find contentment looking up at the great curves of canvas, and the

or watching the water fan gracefully from the sturdy prow. He needed his ship. But Leggett was not cut out for the discipline of a seaman's life. He knew now that he could exist only as a wanderer. Each had found his freedom from fear, from loneliness. Our cast included Norman Rose, Mandel Kramer, William Redfield, and Cork Benson.

The entire production was under the direction of Hyman Brown. And now, a preview of our next tale. He stopped for a moment, and he sort of looked back over his shoulder.

Just long enough so I could get a glimpse of his face. And he looked like Boris Karloff. No. But so help me, I know who he did look like. Yeah, and now you're going to tell me it was your bench sitter, right? Your, what is it you call him, your viewer? That's just what I'm telling you.

I'll lay a dollar to donuts that old bum used to visit or sneak into this house around 50 years ago when he was a young guy. So maybe he did. But what's it to you? What do you care? I don't know. I just sure give a hell of a lot to know. What went on in that house that was strong enough to call a man back from today to walk through that frame to yesterday.

Radio Mystery Theater was sponsored in part by True Value Hardware Stores and Buick Motor Division. 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

Do you like my horror-able humor episodes called Mind of Marler? If so, and you'd like more, it now has its very own podcast. Comedic creeps, sarcastic scares, frivolous frights, macabre madness. Every week I dive into strange history, twisted true crime, and paranormal weirdness. All the stuff you'd expect from me on Weird Darkness, but delivered with dark comedy, satire, and just the right amount of absurdity.

Monsters, myths, mysteries, mirth, and more every Monday with Mind of Marler. I like alliteration, can you tell? You can find a list of where you can subscribe to the podcast at WeirdDarkness.com under the menu tab for podcasts. ♪♪

The Mutual Broadcasting System presents The Mysterious Traveler, written, produced, and directed by Robert A. Arthur and David Kogan, and starring tonight two of radio's foremost personalities, Grace Coppin and Carl Swenson in Till Death Do Us Part. This is The Mysterious Traveler, inviting you to join me on another journey into the realm of the strange and the terrifying.

I hope you will enjoy the trip, that it will thrill you a little and chill you a little. So settle back, get a good grip on your nerves and be comfortable, if you can, as we witness the curious drama of an overpowering love that even death could not shake. A story that I call, Till Death Do Us Part. It's late at night.

And Chris Werby, a successful young businessman, is dreaming about his beautiful and affectionate wife, Vivian. But it doesn't seem to be a pleasant dream. Oh, please, Vivian, leave me alone. Just leave me alone. Why do you insist on waiting on me hand and foot? I can't stand it, I tell you. I can't stand it.

I guess, yeah. Chris, darling, you really want to wear your muffler today. It's quite chilly. Really, Vivian, I don't need it. I...

Oh, very well. Your wife's on the phone, Mr. Werby. Vivian, this is the fifth time you've called me this morning. But, darling, you had a headache. I just wanted to make sure you're all right. I'm all right. I'm fine. But please don't call again. Oh, Chris, your wife's waiting in your office for you. Darling, I brought your vitamin pills. You forgot to take them this morning. Your wife's on the phone, Mr. Werby. Oh, Chris, Vivian's waiting in your office. Your wife's on the phone, Mr. Werby. Chris, darling.

darling. Oh, leave me alone. Leave me alone. Chris. Chris, darling. Chris, darling, wake up. You're having a nightmare. Oh, another nightmare. It was so real, so vivid. Shall I call Dr. Williams, Chris? Yes.

These nightmares you've been having worry me. No, I don't need it, Doctor. Then let me get you some hot milk to make you sleep, darling. I'm worried about you. I don't want anything except to be left alone. Why, Chris, I just want to help you. I don't want help. I just want some peace. Vivian, we can't go on like this. You're smothering me. You won't let me live my own life. I... I want a divorce. A divorce? Yes.

Oh, Chris, you're being silly. You know you don't mean that. I do mean it. If you won't divorce me, then I'm leaving you. In the morning, for good. But, Chris, you can't be serious about this. I'm deadly serious, Martin. I'm leaving the business in your hands and I am clearing out. Maybe gone for six months, a year. Maybe I'll never come back. But why, Chris, why? Why? Why?

Because I am drowning in an ocean of love and attention, that's why. You know Vivian. She won't divorce me, so I'm clearing out. But where will you go? I don't know. I'll get on a train, get off someplace, buy another ticket, ride a while longer, end up someplace where no one can find me. Not even Vivian. Well, Chris, if you... Oh, excuse me. Yes? Mrs. Werby is here to see Mr. Werby, Mr. Martin. Oh. Oh.

Ask her to wait. Yes, sir. She mustn't see me. Stall her off, Martin. Now I'm leaving by the back way, and for heaven's sake, after I'm gone, convince her I mean it. I'm not coming back. So, Chris Werby fled from the wife who loved him so much that her love was worse than hate. He went from one city to another, crossing and recrossing his own tracks like a hunted animal. Three months later, he found himself in Portland, Oregon...

in his room at a leading hotel, he drew a long breath of freedom and picked up the tap phone. Oh, room service, please. Room service? Please send up the waiter. Thank you. Oh, I think I'll stay. New York, 3,000 miles away. That ought to be far enough to give me a chance to start a new life. Oh, that's fast service. Just a moment. Come in and I...

Vivian! Hello, Chris, darling. No. No, it can't be you. Well, of course it's me, Chris. Who else would it be? But I didn't even know I was coming here myself. How did you follow me? Chris, darling, I've only been a little way behind you ever since you left. Don't you understand? There's a bond between us. A bond of love nothing can break.

It would lead me to you, even if you traveled to the other side of the world. What... what do you want? Darling, haven't you had enough of traveling? I want you to come back with me. I've made reservations on the evening plane. No. I'm not going back with you. Then I'll just have to stay here with you, Chris. Oh, darling, if you'll be reasonable, so will I. If you'll come back, I'll promise that everything will be different. I won't bother you anymore. Truly, I won't. I...

I could only believe that. But it's true, Chris. You'll see. Everything is going to be different. Please. All right, Vivian. I'll try. Just once more. Gentlemen, this will acknowledge your order of the 25th and advise you that... Your wife's on the phone, Mr. Werby. Oh, all right. Put her on.

Hello, darling. I just wondered what you'd like for dinner tonight. Vivian, you mustn't bother me with such things. I don't care what we have for dinner tonight. This is the fourth time you've called me this morning. No, no, no, no. Chris, darling, what is it? Another nightmare.

Yes, yes, another nightmare. All day and all night, one long nightmare. You promised you'd change, that you'd stop hounding me, let me alone, and you haven't. But, darling, I love you. I just want to do things for you. Vivian, I warn you, I only came back to see how it had worked. If it doesn't stop, I will leave you again. I swear it. Then I'll just have to follow you again, Chris. No matter where you go, I'll know.

Remember, darling, the minister said, till death do us part. Till death do us part. Yes, I remember. What, Chris? I was just thinking. Perhaps I need a vacation. How would you like to run up to Maine for a few days? We could try the deep sea fishing. Just the two of us. Oh, I'd love it, dear. Just the two of us. Oh, it sounds wonderful. Oh.

So a desperate idea was born in Chris's mind. There was only one way out of the nightmare Vivian's love was making of his life. Only one way. He decided to take it. A few days later, he and Vivian were out fishing far from land when somehow the boat caught fire. They found themselves struggling for life in the icy water. Chris, why doesn't someone come? We've been in the water for hours.

No, Vivian, only about 20 minutes. Oh, it seems much longer. I'm such a bad swimmer. Help me, Chris. I'm all out of breath. Oh, I'm sorry, Vivian. You've clung to me for the last time. You're on your own now. What? What do you mean? I can swim for hours. When help does come, they'll only find me, and that's you. Chris! Chris!

You don't know what you're saying. I tried to reason with you, but you wouldn't listen. And I ran away. You followed me. This is the only way that I'll ever be free of you. You

Do this, Chris. I love you. Grabbing me around the neck isn't going to help you. No. You can't drown me. I won't let you go. I won't. Yes, you will. Goodbye, Vivian. Chris, save me. No, let go. This is the end. Do you hear? I'm free. I'll never leave you. No.

I love you, Chris. I'll come back for you. She's gone. I'm free. Free! Come in. Oh, yes, Martin. Excuse me, Chris, but there's Miss Ballin to see you. Says she's an old friend of yours. Ann Ballin! Ann Ballin!

Well, I should say she is. We were engaged once. Show her in, Martin. Sure, Chris. In here, Miss Barron. Thank you. Anne! Hello, Chris. Gosh, Anne, it's wonderful to see you again. Why, it's been at least four years since... Five years, Chris. Five years, three months, and four days since you left Owenville. Five years. Mm-hmm. A lot's happened. Chris, I just learned that you lost Vivian six months ago. I want you to know how sorry I am. Thank you, Anne.

How long are you in town for? Oh, I'll have you know I'm now a resident of this fair metropolis. I have a job here as of yesterday. Ann, that's wonderful. You may not know it, but you're going to see a good deal of me. And Chris and Ann Berlin did see a lot of each other. They picked up the romance that had been interrupted five years before... when Chris first met Vivian. And three months later...

They were married. With Anne, Chris was as happy as he'd been unhappy with Vivian. Oh, Chris, it's a lovely present. But you shouldn't have been so extravagant. Well, this is our first anniversary, isn't it? We've been married a whole month. Oh, my, a month. So we have our time fly. Ha, ha, ha.

Chris, darling, are you glad I looked you up in such a shameless way? I did it on purpose, you know. I was determined to have you back at last. It was a wonderful idea, darling. I don't know why I didn't think about it first. Five years ago, I'd have been too modest. But you see, I learned something from Vivian. Let's not talk about Vivian, dear. She was... Well, let's not talk about her. You know, you sometimes call me Vivian. Mm-hmm.

Good Lord, it's just a habit, I suppose. I never think of her anymore, Ann. I swear it. Oh, Chris, a message came for you. A message? Yes, from a fellow named Sidney Rand. Said he was from your hometown, was here for the day. He'd like you to meet him at the Murray Hill Bar after work for a drink, if you can make it. Sidney Rand. Of course I can make it. Sidney Rand.

Well, this is like old times, Chris. Have another, huh? Yes, sure thing, Sidney. Bartender, two more of the same. Well, now tell me some more about the folks back in Orenville, Sidney. How's Sam Morris? Sam? He's married now, got three kids. Jeff Layton married Margie Lewis about a year ago. I...

I suppose you heard about Ann Ballin. What can you tell me about Ann that I don't know already? I guess this will come as a shock to you, Chris, knowing how fond you used to be of her. But Ann died last month. What? What did you say? Ann Ballin. She died a month ago. But that's impossible. Sidney, you're wrong. Gosh, Chris, I wouldn't joke about such a thing.

I was at the funeral myself with Sam Morris. But that couldn't be. It's true, Chris. They never did find out what she died from. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. Chris. Chris, where are you going? Hey, what's the matter with you? Chris, come back. Ann? Ann! Ann, where are you? Ann! Answer me! She's not here. She's not in the house. Looks as if she hadn't been here all day. Maybe she hasn't been here at all.

Maybe I... I... I wouldn't joke about such a thing, Chris. I was at the funeral myself with Sam Morris. Sam Morris. Yes, that's it. Operator, I want to put through a long-distance call to Owensville, Pennsylvania. To Mr. Samuel Morris. Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello?

Hello, is Sam Morris there? Oh, I'm sorry. He's out. This is his mother speaking. Can I help you? Oh, yes, Mrs. Morris. This is Chris Werby. You remember me. Why, yes, of course, Chris. How are you? Fine. I want to ask something. How is Ann Ballin? Ann Ballin? Yeah. How is she? Why, Chris, Ann died last month. Ann died last month? Yes, very unexpectedly. You sure? Yes.

It couldn't have been somebody else? Oh, no. We all attended the funeral, Chris. And we saw her in the coffin at the church just before the services. Thank you. Thank you very much. No. I don't believe it. She's alive. We're married. I gotta go see her. I've got to go see her body for myself.

Mr., you must be crazy, getting me out of bed at 2 in the morning, look up the cemetery records. I'm sorry, Mr. Andrews, but you're the caretaker of West Creek Cemetery, and I've got to know if a girl named Ann Ballin is buried here. I know, that's what you said. Why do you have to know at 2 in the morning? She's buried here. She'll wait. I tell you, I've got to know now!

I'll give you $20 to look it up for me. $20? Yeah. Well, I have to see it first. Seems to me you're a little touched in the head about the whole thing. Here, here you are. Now get out that record book. All right, all right, mister. I keep it right here handy. Never had to look at it at 2 a.m. before, though. What'd you say the name is? Ballin. Ann Ballin. Let's see. B, B. Here we are. First name and the Bs. Ballin, George, Martha, Ann. Ann Ballin.

Are you certain? Here it is, right down in black and white. Interred October 16, 1948. Section 15, plot 5. It can't be! Didn't you say, mister? I must see that grave. Opened. Well, you'd have to get a court order for that, mister. I want it open now. Tonight. What? Say, I don't know who you are, but you'd better get out of here. I'll give you $200 to open that grave. You must be crazy. That's against the law. $500. Nobody needs to know.

$500? Yes. You got it with you? Right here. See? Now, that is all yours if I can see whose body is buried in Ann Ballin's grave. Well, I shouldn't do it, but it won't do no harm, I reckon. Won't bother her any, that's sure. So give me the money, mister, and come on. BELL RINGS

Listen to that dog. He knows what we're doing. We should be doing this, mister. The dead shouldn't be disturbed. Rest in peace, that's what the minister always says. Rest in peace till death do us part. Let's see who's inside that coffin, because Ann is not there. I know she isn't. All right, mister. I'll lift the lid now. I can't see anything. The shadows are so deep. I'll shine my light in. But be prepared now. There ain't nobody in that coffin.

It's empty. Empty. Yes, it's empty. I knew Ann couldn't be buried here. I knew she couldn't because a month ago I married her. Ann! Ann, where are you? Yes, Chris. Chris, here I am.

Darling, where have you been all night? I've been so worried about you. Oh, Ann, Ann, it's so good to feel you in my arms again. Oh, dear, you act as though you never expected to see me again. There was a moment when I thought I wouldn't. I thought... I don't know what I thought. But, Chris, what happened? I've been so mixed up. You remember Sidney Rand, don't you? Yes, of course. Last evening, I had a drink with him, and he started telling me all the news of Owensville. Mm-hmm.

Then he told me that you'd been dead for a month. That I'd been dead for a month? Yeah. And then when I got home, you weren't here, and I thought... I don't know what I thought. Well, darling, it was only because I ran out of gas that I wasn't here when you got home. I should have known it was something like that, but then, see, I phoned Sam Morris in Owensville, and...

His mother said the same thing, that she'd gone to your funeral a month ago. So I drove straight up to Owensville. Chris, you didn't. I'm afraid I did. I went to the cemetery where your family's buried, and there I found a grave. Yours. My grave? Yeah. The tombstone said, Ann Ballin, November 15th, 1922, October 14th, 1948. I couldn't believe my eyes. What did you do then, Chris?

I paid the caretaker to help me dig up the coffin. And when we opened it, we found it empty. Ann. Ann, what is it? Why are you laughing like that? Ann. Chris, Ann Ballen is dead. Ann Ballen is dead? Ann, what's wrong with you? You're Ann Ballen. I'm not, Chris. Look deeply into my eyes. Don't you recognize me? Recognize you?

Yes, I'm not Anne. They were right. She's dead. Don't you know who I am now, darling? Do you remember that day in the ocean? I told you I'd never leave you, that I'd come back to you. Vivian, no. You can't have come back. Your face, your eyes, you're Anne. Only outwardly, Chris. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice. Now you recognize me, don't you, darling? Vivian! Vivian!

You are Vivian. Yes, Chris. Vivian. In Anne's body. Because mine was lost at sea. You can't be. But I am, darling. Nothing can ever separate us. I love you too much. I couldn't come back to you in my own body. So I stole Anne's. You stole Anne's body? Yes, Chris. I drove her out of it. They thought she was dead before she was buried. I took her body...

I escaped and closed the coffin so no one would know. Then I came to you. Oh, darling, now we can be together again as we were before. And I don't have to pretend to be Anne any longer. We'll be together forever. Together? Forever? Yes, forever, Chris. Nothing will ever separate us again. Not even death. BELL RINGS

This is the mysterious traveler again. Poor Chris. He'd have been so much happier if Vivian had only hated him instead of loving him. There's nothing he can do about it now. Everyone tells him he's so lucky to have a wife who loves him so much. And then they wonder why he gets violent. Once I knew another man who...

Oh, you have to get off here. I'm sorry. But I'm sure we'll meet again. I take this same train every week at this same time. You have just heard The Mysterious Traveler, a series of dramas of the strange and terrifying. Here's an announcement of interest to listeners to this program. Mysterious Traveler comic books are now available at newsstands everywhere. ♪♪

Carl Caruso speaking. This is the world's largest network serving more than 500 radio stations, the Mutual Broadcasting System. They've been here for thousands of years, making their presence known in the shadows. They might be seen by a lonely motorist on a deserted road late at night,

or by a frightened and confused husband in the bedroom he is sharing with his wife. Perhaps the most disconcerting part of this phenomenon boils down to this question: has the government been aware of their presence all along and is covertly working with them towards some secret end?

In the audiobook, Runs of Disclosure, What Once Was Fringe Is Now Reality. While listening, you'll meet regular people just like you who have encountered something beyond their ability to explain. You'll also hear from people of great faith and deep religious belief who continue to have these strange and deeply unsettling encounters. Author L.A. Marzulli explores these ongoing incidents to discover the answers to these questions.

Who are they? What do they want? And why are they here? Can you handle the truth? Listen to this audiobook if you dare. Rungs of Disclosure Following the Trail of Extraterrestrials and the End Times by L.A. Marzulli Narrated by Darren Marlar Hear a free sample on the audiobooks page at WeirdDarkness.com.

The End

Mystery House, that strange publishing firm owned by Dan and Barbara Glenn, where each new novel is acted out by the Mystery House staff before it is accepted for publication.

Mystery House. Hi, Dan. Hi, Bobby. Greetings, everybody. You're all up in your parts, are you? Yep. Say, this is a mighty squirrely story in this family, isn't it? Of course. That's why we think this story will make a hit.

Readers don't enjoy reading about ordinary folks. They like the unusual. Yeah, that's right, Barbie. The more unusual, the better. I disagree on that, Mr. Glenn. It's the straightforward, direct approach that wins friends. For example, listen. Okay, Tom, set the scene. Murder in Paradise.

The first act opens in the palatial home of the late Happy Harris, tremendously successful publisher of inspirational books. His daughter has just admitted a newspaper reporter to the living room. Let's see, you'd be Hope Harris, wouldn't you? Yes. Won't you have a seat? Thanks. Where's everybody else? The rest of the happiness boys? The happiness boys? Sure. Didn't you know that's what they call your family? Well, I never thought about it, I'm sure, but I don't like it.

I hope you'll remember that when we granted you this interview for your paper, you agreed there'd be nothing sarcastic or cruel about... about father. Don't worry, kid. You know, old Happy Harris was a fabulous character, any way you look at it. Tell me, honest now, was all that happiness and light on the level? Didn't the old boy ever get sore in Nash's teeth or throw things? My dear sir...

Happiness is a state of mind. There's never any reason for making yourself unhappy by losing your temper. It's a matter of self-control, and anger is a sign of weakness. It's one of the worst vices of mankind, and the Harris Publishing Company has always striven to... Hey, hey, wait a minute. Don't give me the sales talk from the book catalog.

But, honest, didn't the fact that Happy Harris made himself a million bucks from inspirational books... Oh, I hate that word, inspirational. Didn't that have maybe a teeny-weeny bit to do with this happiness act? Father was the most sincere man who ever lived. His whole life was a shining beacon, an inspiration to the world to follow the happy life, to think happy thoughts. Okay, okay, I'm sold. I believe you. Boy, he certainly sold his idea to this family, if you're any example.

Most guys would be sore as all get-out at some of the cracks I made about your man. Anger is a sign of... I know. A sign of weakness. It hurts the person who exhibits it, and it hurts the person who has to listen to it. If you refuse to listen, then... Oh, mother, this is Mr... Joe Corning from the Herald, Mrs. Harris. Oh.

I suppose you're here to get a story about the happy Harris family carrying on the Harris Publishing Company, continuing to bring inspiration to the world. Something like that. The happy children and the happy mother all joining together to bring sunshine. Mother, please. See, Mr. Corning... I never fell for the happiness gruff, Mr. Corning. It's a mighty handsome living. But if I'd known I was marrying a smile, I don't think I'd have done it. Mother! I know hope.

Your father's scarcely cold in his grave. Well, I've lived in an atmosphere of perpetual joy for so long, it's a relief to be able to grouse about something. Not to have to smirk at everybody every time I go out in public. You can't imagine what a wonderful thing that is. Mother, this man's from the newspaper. I know. Mr. Corning, you can tell your readers that henceforth I am the scholar of the Harris Publishing Company. High chief scholar. Going to stick out my tongue at people.

I'm going to get into nasty arguments. Well, if it isn't my sunshine. Oh, Jeff, dear, I'm so glad you got here. See if you can do something with Mother. This is Joe Corning from the Herald, a reporter. Yeah, you know, I write. How do you do? Don't get upset, Hope, darling. Mother's just suffering a reaction to Dad's untimely death. A lot you know about it, Jeff. Trying to irritate me, Mother? You can't do it. Listen, my boy. I handled you when you were a squalling brat.

And I liked you better then than I do now, with that synthetic smile spread all over your mouth. You see, Jeff, she doesn't... If you kids had an ounce of gumption, you'd stand up for your rights. Now, Mother... Don't you now, Mother, me. You don't get up on your hind legs and howl, Junior's going to take the pennies right out of your piggy bank. I take it Junior's your eldest son? Yes, and Happy left him more than a trick grin. Junior had some of Happy's larceny.

You see, Junior was with us when Happy and I were pitching books at county fairs before we'd hijacked the natives out of enough money to go into the publishing business. Mother'd like to start a quarrel, Mr. Corning. You see, Junior's the eldest of the family, and naturally he's entitled to head up the company. We're all perfectly happy about... Count me out if you're taking that statement for publication, Mr. Corning. You may quote the elder Mrs. Harris as saying, quote...

We put no pennies on Happy's eyes because we were afraid Junior'd get them. Mother! Oh, I wonder who that could be. Now see. But I won't smile at him. What's gotten into Mother anyway, Ho? I don't know, Junior.

Oh, it's Mr. Keller. Yes? He hasn't smiled in 50 years. And the best man with a dollar in the city. Mr. Corning. Corning? How do you do? Hi. You're a treasurer of the Harris Publishing Company, aren't you? What's left of it. Now, Keller, you know business is wonderful. The country's gone absolutely mad on inspiration literature. Yes, that's just it. It's a bad sign. They buy the books because they want to get happy. And they're already getting happy. And the next thing you know, we'll be in bad shape. What we need right now is a good line of tearjerkers.

Junior here with the papers yet? What papers? You'll find out what papers. Freezing us all out, he is. What do you mean? Slick little devil slipped out and bought up stock. Scared the folks in the plant into selling to him. Got proxies from some of the others to conserve the estate. So he said... What? What's this all about anyway? Gave me a showdown. With that nasty smile on his face. Said he was taking over following this meeting and I wouldn't be needed anymore. Said he'd be able to handle the money himself.

Did he say anything about me, Keller? Yeah. He said the company couldn't afford to pay salaries to the family. That he wasn't going to have it said he'd let the family ruin the business. Talked about his responsibility in maintaining the family tradition and name and... Yeah, sickening, that's what it was. Now, don't get excited, Mr. Keller. If Junior said that, he had a reason for it.

He must be trying to arrange things so that we'll all have more money. Isn't that right, Jeff? I... I suppose so. Well, sure. We trust Junior implicitly. A fine pair of nitwits you raised there, Nellie. I don't know about what that louse Junior's the best of the lot at that. Mr. Keller, the Harris family has a national reputation for living the good life, for following the golden rule. Now, I don't care what you say about me, but you've no right to... That sounded like a shot. A revolver shot. From Junior's study.

I didn't even know he was home. Come on. Oh, it must be an accident of some kind. I don't think Junior's even there. The rest of you stay back. No use taking any chances. Oh, hurry. Well, if somebody's been shot, he won't get away. Now, fast, anyway. Stay back, all of you. Junior! Yeah, I'm afraid he's dead. Shot right through the temple. Then, must be suicide. Poor kid. Happy just gave Jeff and Hope the front. The Glad Axe. He gave Junior the works.

Poor unhappy kid. Stop it. You've no right to talk that way. Junior was a fine, upright man. For his own mother to even think such thoughts about him when he's given his own life to save the company for us. I'm afraid that's a bad guess, Hope. Why? What do you mean? You think he killed himself because... Wrong. He didn't kill himself. That shot we heard didn't kill him. Couldn't possibly have killed him. But it had to. It was only one shot. We all heard it. Look, Jeff.

This will probably make you very unhappy, but the body's cold. Feel it yourself. I... I couldn't. Blood's coagulated around the wound. Oh, stop it. You've no right to say such gruesome things. No? Listen. That gun was put in his hand by someone after the fingers had stiffened. Nobody ever held a gun like that in this world.

Junior Harris was murdered. But that's not possible. Maybe it isn't possible, but it's happened. And you happiness kids are in for the jolty alive. What do you mean? I mean that these papers here on this desk are what Keller was talking about. All legal. You three were frozen out of the firm as neatly as it's ever been done. Which gives you pretty good motives for bumping him off. Do you think that we'd actually kill our own brother? Whoever did it didn't do it for laughs.

And if you're hunting for a motive, you folks had a pretty good one. Oh, Lordy, it's a relief to hear a young man talk some sense for a change. The police are going to give you folks the works. Yes, and me too. I suppose they'll hound and badger me so that life's miserable. I can just see them pestering me. You...

You, Mr. Keller, you could have killed him. Because he said he was going to take over your job. To save your job and for revenge. Look, Hope, from what that reporter fella says, Junior was already dead when I got here. That's just it. When you got here. None of us knew Junior was here. Why?

Because you killed him and lugged him in through the window. Then you tiptoed out, closed the window, and came around to the front door. Junior's study door was closed so naturally we didn't see or hear anything. After I closed that window you're speaking of, how do you figure I got it locked from the inside? Pretty good trick. I... Why, it is locked, isn't it? Yes. And that shot, after I was here with you folks. You know I'm no ventriloquist.

Hope. Yes, Jeff. You were in the living room alone when the reporter came, weren't you? Why, yes. Naturally, I couldn't know anything about Junior's being here because I was upstairs. Mother wasn't here either. But it's quite obvious that he did come in. Probably before the reporter. And if he decided to tell you what he'd planned... If he decided... Jeff, are you trying to say that I murdered him? I'm saying it's a possibility. Are you...

Listen, you... you namby-pamby. If you think you're going to pin this murder onto me, you've got another guest coming. I'm simply saying what could have happened. Well, you just go right ahead. Keep talking, Jeff. Try to get me into all the trouble you can, and when you get through, I'll show you what trouble really is.

You want to be nasty, do you? Well, okay, brother dear, I'll be nasty too. I'll tell them about that cute little scene I heard between you and Junior last night. Oh, so you're an eavesdropper, are you? You bet I'm an eavesdropper. And why wouldn't I be with a couple of two-faced hypocrites for brother's...

Brothers who'd rob me blind if they got the opportunity. Well, I don't know that you're such an angel yourself, Hope. I suppose you weren't trying to pull a fast one with Junior. You lie. I suppose you didn't tell him you'd cooperate with him in every possible way. And that between the two of you... I said I'd cooperate because I had to or lose everything I had. He was a rotten, no-good, tricky cheat. And the only way anybody could protect himself was to work with him. Sure. Against Mother and me. Why, you... At least I didn't threaten to kill him.

I guess that'll hold you for a while. You mean, you heard your brother threaten to kill Junior? Certainly did. And they weren't smiling, either one of them. Just a minute, Mr. Corning. Are you leaving? Yep. Sorry, but this is too good a story to pass up. Talk about your sweet angles. Murder in paradise. Happiness kids tear each other's hair. I'll be back with the police. Just a minute, Corning. Huh? Take your hand off that doorknob. Mother, you... Where did you get that gun? Never mind where I got it.

You might as well make up your mind to stick around a while, Corning. But my story, I've... We've got close to a million dollars in the Harris Publishing Company, Corning. And you're not blowing the company sky high with that kind of a story. Sit. Sorry, Mrs. Harris. Oh, mother! Sit, Mr. Corning. Next time, I might not try to miss.

When you fool around with a million dollars, you don't pay for that. Not many clues on the identity of Junior Harris' murderer, are there?

Well, the tangle will all be unsnarled in the second act of tonight's story. And now, act two of Murder in Paradise. The scene is Junior Harris' study. The wall motto, which reads, You can be happy, is askew. Joe Corning, the reporter, seems to have resigned himself to staying around a while.

It's pretty obvious that two guns played a part in Junior's murder, isn't it? One to kill him and one to fire that shot we heard from the living room. I... Why, yes, I guess that's right. And we found two guns, haven't we? Where are you driving at? There's nothing so mysterious about it, is there? I said we'd found two guns. The one in Junior's hand and the one Mother fired in your general direction when you tried to leave. Listen, you lousy little brat. If you're trying to mix your mother in... Oh, let him alone, Kellett.

Go on, Jeff, darling. What was it you were going to say? You had another gun, and there were two guns used. That's right. Then your gun could have been the one that fired the shot we heard from the living room. You could have had it hidden in here, rigged up some way to go off later. Look, I'm about ready to take a poke at you. I've seen some fourth-rate heels in my time, but one who'll try to stick his mother in a murder case. Oh, don't get so indignant, Keller.

This makes me very happy. Happy? Mm-hmm. I've seen him smile so much that it's a real pleasure to see him get nasty. And I can't begin to tell you how pleased you made me feel, Hope, when you screamed and snarled at Jeff. I tell you... Martha, please. You shouldn't talk that way. Jeff deliberately accused you of... I know. Murder. But it doesn't mean anything, dear. Well, of course not, but that gun... Worrying you too, is it?

Well, remember I fired a shot to persuade Corning to stay. Yes. Here, Corning. I'll open it. See if more than one shot's been fired. Nope. Only one shell missing. Been fired just once. But I'm interested in hearing more about your little fight with your brother last night, Jeff. The one where you said you'd kill him. Well, I... I guess I did say that all right. I suppose we might as well get one thing cleared up.

We all knew what Junior was pulling on us. Dad had left Junior a little more stock in the company than the rest of us because he wanted Junior to head the firm. Junior used his position to work a squeeze play on the rest of us. He called a family meeting for this afternoon. And you all admit you knew what he was doing? Yeah.

We worked things to get you in here for this interview this afternoon as a last resort. We had Mother call you. I don't get it. Well, we thought if we all gave out stories to the press about the family and how we trusted Junior and knew anything he was doing was for our best interests, well, we thought we might shame him into changing his mind. Dad was always scared to death of bad publicity.

He said it could ruin our kind of a firm. Good, so... That's why he brought us up the way he did. We were supposed to be living testimonials to the power of his happiness crusade. So you tossed your little problem to me, huh? That's right. Well, it looks like one of you had a lot more effective way of handling it. Couldn't it have been some outsider? Don't be naive, Hope. Of course it was one of us.

You're not going to be able to keep the story out of papers forever, Mrs. Harris. How about giving me a break and letting me get back to the office? You'll get the story before anybody else does. And you'll get it the way we want it. Let's see. The suicide story'd stand up if it weren't for that pesky shock we heard. Or did we hear it? I heard it, Mrs. Harris. Did you hear it $10,000 worth? Ha, ha, ha, ha.

I don't buy off, Mrs. Harris. Sorry. Somebody could have killed him with robbery as a motive, coming in through the window and going out the same way. It wasn't for that lock. Yeah. Suppose it hurt anything to just give it a little jiggle, Benny? If you want to tamper with the evidence, Keller, you'll be able to read all about it in the Herald. Look, we're not going to get anywhere till we find out about that second shot. Even if you won't let me leave, you've got to let me call the police. You really have to, Mother. I...

Oh, well, I guess there's no way out of it. Go ahead. Just a minute. Mrs. Harris showed us a gun. She fired one.

I wonder if anyone else in this room has a gun, a revolver that's being hidden. Oh, that's preposterous. Why should anybody... I'm going to search the rest of you before I call the police. How about you, Jeff? I... No! See here, you're no policeman. You can't... I think maybe I could. Now hold still. See here, you've no right to... Oh, try to slug me, will you? Will you? Ouch, my wrist! Search him, Keller, quick. Okay. Not that it'll do any good. Well, I'll be doggone. A revolver, Jeff. Hmm. Hmm.

Bullet missing from it, too. See here, Corny, you have no authority to... Forget the authority, Jeff. I guess now maybe I can call the police. No, listen, I had the gun with me. We heard the shot from in here. I couldn't possibly have... Hello? Captain Heron, please. Captain Heron? Yeah, this is Joe Corny of the Herald. Say, there's a guy out here at the Happy Harris place has a nice little puzzle for you to solve. Yeah. How he managed to commit a murder.

They've got him covered so he can't get away, but hurry. It's perfectly terrible to think of Jeff in jail. They had no right to take him. That policeman didn't have any idea how Jeff could have fired the gun. He didn't? What you told the police... I know, I know. But I think your brother was telling the truth about that, Rebaba. Well, then why did he... Didn't you ever notice...

A murderer lays low until somebody else is arrested. Then he gets brave. And if he doesn't do anything, we'll never catch him. This way, there's a chance. But who do you think... I'm not saying. Mother and Mr. Keller. No, they wouldn't do such an awful thing, either of them. Awful thing?

Look, he was a grade-A heel and he deserved exactly what he got. The charming Junior Harris, the papers always said. But as charming as a rattlesnake. Then you knew him. No, and I got along very nicely without knowing him. Mother, Mr. Keller, where have you been? I've been worried about you. I'm quite able to take care of myself, Ope.

We've been engaging legal counsel for Jeff. And they're quite encouraging. Expect to have him out in a couple of hours. Oh, but that's wonderful. They say the police haven't a prayer of holding him. Something will probably go wrong, though. Red tape or some fool thing will keep us from getting him out right away. Well, I wish you luck. And it's high time I was getting back to the office or I'll get scooped on my own story. Oh, just a minute, Mr. Corning. I've admired your stories in the Herald so much...

So many of them are signed. Oh, I get all byline now, then, sure. Well... That's why I asked for you when I called this morning. That and one other thing. One other thing? Yes. I was snooping through some of Junior's desk drawers late yesterday afternoon and I ran across some letters from a Julia Corning. The name isn't common. Is she your sister by any chance?

Why, I... It'd be quite easy to check, Mr. Corning. Yes. Yes, she's my sister. Relatively threatening. That's the second reason I asked for you. You understand, don't you? Then you think... But... I never even met the guy and had no desire to. Oh, I knew what sis thought of him, sure, but... I wanted to see what you'd do, Mr. Corning. Who you'd try to blame for the murder. I wanted to give you enough rope to hang yourself.

That's why I didn't say anything about this before. Look, I didn't kill him. I had nothing to do with it. I never laid eyes on him until I opened the door of that study. I think the police ought to know about this. I don't see why you didn't tell them sooner, Nellie. This is soon enough. Will you go to the police station quietly, Mr. Corning? Remember, I'm a pretty good shot.

When I missed you before, I did it deliberately. I'll be hanged if I let you drag my sister into this mess. She's had enough unpleasantness out of this family without you... A noble speech, Mr. Corning, but not too convincing.

Come along. Oh, no. If you think you're going to involve her in this mess, you're wrong. Dead wrong. You're not... Stop it! Oh, whoa. You see? I don't always miss Corning. My arm. Get me to a doctor, quick. They have a doctor at the police station, I imagine. Come on, Keller. You better take him in. But you can't go like that, Mother. You'll need your coat. Never mind my coat. Come on, Keller. But it's chilly out. We've got to hurry before he loses too much blood. Come on. It won't take a second. Your coat's right over here in the clothes pocket. Help! I said no! I don't want my coat! You're going to take it anyway. Here...

There's a hole in the pocket and a burn streak down... Grab her, kill her, quick! I'm surprised at you, Nellie. Stop aiming that thing at me. Get it, Hope! I have, but I don't understand. Look in the coat pocket. Don't let her get her hands on it.

A revolver with pieces of broken matchsticks wedged in behind the trigger. And there's a bottle with some water in it and no cork. And the inside of the pocket is all wet. Okay. I put the matchsticks in behind the trigger. Not firm enough to make it go off. Not quite. The bottle was full of water when I stuck it in the pocket on its side. I knew the water would eventually expand the matchsticks. When they swelled up enough, the gun had to go off. Pretty cute.

You knew nobody'd expect a shot to be fired from a closed closet... and that it'd sound the same as if it came from the study. It did. You all fell for it. But it was supposed to be suicide. Didn't want to get anybody in trouble...

You were here in case anything went wrong, to be the fall guy. And you were my undoing right from the start. But when did you kill him? Early this morning. I told you and Jeff he'd left to see the lawyers. Oh, your own son, your own flesh and blood. No, Hope. I always told Happy he was wrong about that.

None of you kids was Nellie's, really. And Happy, he thought it would make better publicity not to mention his first wife had walked out on him and got a divorce. He wanted to make folks think he'd always had a happy family. Happy? I've been kept miserable for years by one smirking hypocrite. I wasn't going to let another one cheat me out of the money I'd earned. All right, Keller. Take me in.

The boy reporter better come along, too.

The End

The End

♪♪

Hi, this is Randy Stone. I cover the Nightbeat for the Chicago Star. Stories start in many different ways. This one began and ended inside a man's brain. Six inches inside. Nightbeat, starring Frank Lovejoy as Randy Stone. Don't talk to me about love. Give me a good healthy hate every time. It's clean cut. It's something a guy can handle. But love? Uh-uh. It's too dangerous.

It's like rich, sweet earth. Flowers grow there, but sometimes a monstrosity can grow there, too. You take the love of a girl for a sweetheart, of a father for his daughter, or a wife for a husband. Beautiful, touching, inspiring? Yep, but not tonight. I got up early today because I wanted to see what the afternoon sun felt like. You know what I mean if you've ever worked the night side. The sun felt good, but it felt lonely.

So I dropped into the reporter's room at the receiving hospital to see if I could find a poker game. I couldn't even find a reporter. They were all out chasing a local fire. So I called it a blank and I was just leaving. I spotted a couple of familiar faces through the open door of the examination room. Hey, Randy. Hey.

There were a couple of young doctors I knew as Ed and Herb. There was a third person in the room lying on the examination table. Come on in, Randy. Oh, sure. Hi. Want to hear troubles? Get a load of Eddie. Oh, can you believe it? Dinner and the theater. Not just dinner, not just the theater, both. And she gives me that dodge about, I just have to get up early for work tomorrow. So next time you'll ask questions first and then spend money. What are you doing around here, Randy? Listening to people's troubles. Oh.

Yeah, this guy on the table. He's got troubles. Are you a patient? Yeah. Yeah, he's our patient. Temporarily. What happened to him? Gunshot wound right through the head. Zoe. Suicide? Well, if it was, he must have swallowed the gun. Lorraine. Lorraine. Doctor. You'll be all right. We're doctors. You'll be all right.

Uh, Randy, maybe we'd better talk over here. Uh, that, that man is sick. How can you guys talk this way in here? Well, nothing bothers us. Not much. He's delirious, Randy. It doesn't make any difference. Not to him. You get pretty tough, don't you? Don't let us kid you. Is he gonna die?

Maybe. I don't know. We've done what we can. Maybe Reynolds can save him. Reynolds? What, a doctor? Brain surgeon. The best. We got a call in for him. Oh, that guy gave you the creeps. Who shot him? Who knows who shot him? Maybe you want a story? I'll tell you what I know. His name's Jerry Karn. He had a nice apartment, but now there's blood on the rug. His identification card says, notify Mrs. Lorraine Karn in case of emergency.

So I guess she's his wife. He's been shot in the head and the bullet's still in there. Want me to get technical? Hello? Yes, Dr. Reynolds. This is Dr. Boyd at the receiving hospital. We have a case.

A gunshot head wound. Dr. Reynolds, we want to know... No, don't want to... I'm sorry, Dr. Reynolds. I can't talk here. Will you hold on just a minute, please? I'll take the call on another phone. I'll be right back, Herb. No. Don't let him. It sounds like he knows this Dr. Reynolds. Yeah. Why not? Well, maybe he does. Don't ask me. Reynolds, I want him. Jerry. Huh? He's a fine doctor. No, please. Who shot you, Jerry?

He's not really conscious. Better let him rest, Randy. Has his wife been informed? I don't know. She lives at a different address. I guess they're separated. Herb, Randy. Is Reynolds taking the case? No. No.

Dr. Reynolds is not taking the case. He isn't? Why not? Dr. Reynolds is taking a vacation. Dr. Reynolds severed all contact with the sick and the lame as of today. Dr. Reynolds must go get his back sunburned on that French Riviera. So what happens to Jerry Kahn? He dies. You mean just like that? Well, maybe not. Reynolds has an associate, Dr. Wright. Maybe Wright'll do the job. But not as well as Reynolds. We'll move Kahn to the Cook County Hospital. Wright operates there.

I don't get it. A man, a doctor, he's got the power to save a life and he takes a vacation. That's the way it is. Well... Ah, come on, Ed. Let's make out his transfer papers. Coming, Randy? No, uh, no, no. It's almost time for me to start work. I'll stick around. See you. Okay. I stood there in the hall for a minute trying to figure the angles. I thought of Reynolds and I was getting sore.

Good enough thinking that Jerry Carr knew his name, that his babbling was more than babbling. I turned back to the examination room and reached for the door handle. Hold it, Randy. Well, well, well, Sergeant Kalski. What are you doing out in broad daylight? Enjoying myself, having fun.

Are you on the case? Yeah. Oh, Kalski, the death watch kid. What makes you think he's going to die? What makes you think he won't? He's in a hospital. There's doctors. Yeah, I know. There's doctors, and then there's doctors. What do you know about this? He's got a wife named Lorraine. We haven't got a line on her yet. Maybe she'll show here. I'm waiting. How does she figure, Kalski? Well, she figures like this.

The neighbors say she kept coming to see Karn, but he had himself a girlfriend. So maybe, just maybe, the wife shoots the husband. Know anything about the girl? Just her name, Reynolds, Miss Reynolds. So there it was, Reynolds, the tie-in between Karn and the brain surgeon. I thanked Kalski and I headed for a telephone book. Dr. Philip Reynolds, Sheridan Road.

It was already dark when my cab arrived. I started up the walk past a row of bushes. Reynolds. What? I've got a gun. Maybe I'll kill you. It's dark. I can't see you. I've got it all right. Now, look here, Reynolds. I just got here and now you're here. What do you want? I want to hurt somebody. Don't we all? Smart, aren't you? You and your daughter. You know who I am, you know? No. Jerry Kahn is my husband. You're Lorraine. And you're Diane's father.

Just that. Just that is enough to make me want to kill you. I was waiting for her, waiting here. Did you shoot Jerry? Me? Me. Lorraine. Lorraine. No, don't. You don't want this gun anyhow. No. It's the gun that killed your husband? He said he wouldn't see her anymore. We'd be together again. Lorraine, I'm not Dr. Reynolds. You...

But you... I'm just a guy who got sore. Stone, Randy Stone. I thought... I... You're too mixed up to think. She shot Jerry. Diane shot him. Maybe you shot him. Oh, sure. Sure, maybe I did. You love a man, you wait for him. Wait until he's ready to come back to you. Then when he is ready, you shoot him. Is that right? Is that what I did? All right, all right. I'm wrong. How was it?

He was going to tell Diane today. Tell her he wanted me back. I went to see him, but they were carrying him out on a stretcher. Lorraine, will you do something for me? What? Wait. Wait for me right here. Oh, sure, I'll wait. Like I waited for Jerry. He might still live. Why do you want me to wait? I want to talk to Reynolds and talk to his daughter. Why? Don't ask me, sister. I ought to know better. I started up the walk toward the Reynolds house...

You could barely see Lorraine Karn. She was a shadow, still and motionless, with her mind rolling like a handful of ball bearings. The door was opened by a heavily built man with gray hair and tortoise-shelled glasses.

Yes? Dr. Reynolds? I'm Dr. Reynolds. May I come in? What is it you want? Thank you. I'll see here. My name is Stone, Randy Stone. I'm a reporter for the Chicago Star. Does that give you leave to barge into my house? I don't know, does it? I'm sorry, Mr. Stone. My daughter and I are just leaving for the airport. We have no time. Who is it, Dad? Ms. Reynolds, I'm a newspaper man, Randy Stone. Is there anything... Yes, yes, there is something.

I just left the receiving hospital. The man's been shot. Well, if this has anything to do with my professional services, I'm afraid that's out of the question. Well, this man, his name is Jerry Karn. What? He's dying. Jerry? What happened? He was shot through the head.

In a few hours, he'll be dead. Your father might save him if he operates. He doesn't care to operate. But, Father, you didn't care. I'm sorry, Diane. I thought it best not to tell you. You thought it best? A married man. I begged you not to see him. Mr. Stone, who shot him? Ask the police. Do they know? Well, they know he's been shot and they know he'll die unless your father operates. I'm sorry, Mr. Stone. I don't propose to pass judgment on this man. But even a doctor is entitled to a vacation.

I plan to leave tonight. Diane... You can't leave. I love Jerry. You're my father. It doesn't mean anything to you. Well, Doctor? There are other surgeons. But not you, huh? I've made plans. So a man's life doesn't count? Or are you worried about your fee? Don't be insulting, Mr. Stone. I'm not concerned with fees.

Only this afternoon I operated on a charity case. What does that prove? If it proves anything... All right, all right, forget it. You handled a charity case this afternoon, but this is now, tonight. Look at your daughter. Father, please. Jerry wanted me to see him today. I didn't go. I thought that perhaps going away... I wanted to please you. I knew it was wrong. I knew he was married. How bad he's going to die. Oh.

I'll go away with you. I won't see him again, but... Father, please. Mr. Stone, what hospital is Karn in? He moved into the county hospital. I'll operate. Oh, thank you, Father. Thank you. Good night, Mr. Stone. Good night, Doctor. Mr. Reynolds. Go figure people out. There was genuine shock and horror on Diane Reynolds' face when I told her about the shooting. No actress is that good. And Reynolds...

Reynolds was a confused guy who loved his daughter. And there was Lorraine Karn, a wife who'd lost her husband. Her head spinning with love and hate and no control. She could kill all right. She could... Oh, Stone, smart guy. Me, the sharp operator who'd left her outside waiting like a live bomb, waiting to kill Diane. And when I got out there, she wasn't waiting. Lorraine Karn was gone.

NBC is bringing you Nightbeat, starring Frank Lovejoy as Randy Stone.

The NBC chimes are really excited about The Big Show, an hour and a half every Sunday night with Tallulah Bankhead as Fem C. There'll be comedy with stars like Jimmy Durante, Fred Allen, Jack Carson, Groucho Marx, and a host of others. Music with Meredith Wilson, Mindy Carson, and many more. It brings you Mr. Jose Ferrer and other leading stars of leading Broadway productions. No wonder it's The Big Show. Starts Sunday, November 5th, just one week from this Sunday on NBC.

And now back to Nightbeat and Randy Stone. For about 20 minutes, I searched the grounds around the Reynolds house. Lorraine Corrin was gone, all right. Where to? In her condition, anywhere. She could have even made a pass at the Cook County Hospital where her husband Jerry was dying of a head wound. Dr. Reynolds left the house alone and drove away. Alone, without his daughter, Diane. Diane, who loved or had loved Jerry Corrin.

I tried the door again. Yes. Oh, Mr. Stone. Miss Reynolds, I saw your father leave here alone. I thought you wanted to be with Jerry Karn. My father said he'd operate, but... He wanted me to stay here. Maybe it'd be better if you came to the hospital. It's all right. It's all right. You can go with me. I love him. I was going away because my father...

I look... Well, then let's go to the hospital, Miss Reynolds. Dr. Wright, please come to X-ray. Dr. Wright... Still standing guard, Kalski? Hello, Randy. I thought you were out of here. No, I got inquisitive. Sergeant Kalski, meet Diane Reynolds. How did he do? Are you related to Dr. Reynolds? She's his daughter, Kalski.

Lorraine Karn hasn't shown up here, has she? No, nothing. How's the patient? Unconscious. Can I see him? No. Do you know him? Yes. How do you... I'll tell you later, Korsky. Sergeant, what do you say, Doc? Perhaps you live with Reynolds operating. You on the case, Doctor? Randy Stone, this is Dr. Wright. He was going to take over Reynolds' work. How do you do? How do you do? Of course, Dr. Reynolds will operate now. I...

Diane, what are you doing here? I came to... Didn't I hear a call for Dr. Wright a moment ago? Oh, thank you. I have to go over the x-rays with Dr. Reynolds. Sergeant Kolsky, your nurse is remaining with the patient until he goes to the operating room. Did you assign the nurse, Dr. Wright? I know. Now, if you'll excuse me. Kolsky, who's the nurse? How do I know? Maybe we'd better find out. She was standing over the bed, a figure in white, intense, concentrated. I stood behind her.

How is he? No, you won't stop me. It was Lorraine Carter. Lips almost as white as the uniform she wore. They made her eyes look black. No, you won't. And empty. He's going to die. Let's go, Lorraine. He's going to die. Come on. Come on.

Sergeant Kowski meet Lorraine Carnes. What the... She's a nurse. She borrowed a nurse's uniform. He's going to die. I wanted to be with him. I wanted to look at him. I just wanted to touch you. You shot him. Oh, you're dead, aren't you? He loved me. He didn't want you. He loved me. I wanted to kill you. Before I wanted to kill you. He's so quiet. He's almost dead now.

What good would it do? Randy, for Pete's sake, what is this? Watch them, Kowski. It's a long story. It's the longest story in the world. I'm going to find Reynolds.

Please, Mr. Stone, don't stand too close to me while I'm scrubbing. Oh, I'm sorry. You seem to have unduly concerned yourself in this incident. I'm a newspaper man, Dr. Reynolds. I was interested. Oh? May I inquire why? Because you refuse to operate. But now I choose to operate. Does your interest cease? No.

Now I'm interested in who shot Jerry Conn. Perhaps his wife. Maybe. I'll be perfectly frank with you. I regret the whole affair. I didn't like my daughter seeing a married man. He encouraged her. I was taking her away. Now I shall take her away tomorrow. But tonight, I shall save his life if it's possible for a surgeon to do that. Well, now I'll ask you a silly question. Why? Why?

Oh, I suppose primarily because I'm a surgeon. Not because your daughter wants you to operate? My daughter? No, no, no. No, I think one trains himself, you understand? One trains himself and then there's a certain moral aspect. I dislike talking about morality, but, well, every once in a while we have to live with it, don't we? Every once in a while. Well, then, I'll operate, you see. Okay.

We walked to the operating room together, Reynolds and I. There were two benches outside. Lorraine Karn was sitting on one of them, her hands tightened into a knot. Kalski sat next to her, one hand hard on her elbow. Diane Reynolds sat on the other bench, strained and picking at a handkerchief. Dr. Wright was talking to her. Reynolds stopped and looked at his daughter. Diane. Yes. I... I'm sorry for you. My dear...

I'm a doctor, and I... And then Reynolds turned and passed through the swinging doors into the operating room. I turned to Diane. What's the matter, Miss Reynolds? You look sick. No, I... I'm just worried. I don't think I can stand it in here. Dr. Wright, please take me outside. There's a little matter of the police involved in this. I suggest you stay here. Sergeant Kofsky says you stay. You stay. I'm sorry.

They started, hadn't they, Dr. Wright? Yes. It's rather difficult, as you know, refining operation. How does it work? The patient was shot through the forehead, the bullet passing through the frontal lobe of the brain and lodging somewhere in the occipital region. The increased pressure inside the skull will kill Mr. Kahn, unless the bullet is removed and the wound channel clean. Uh-huh.

How do we go about it? Surgeon removes part of the skull, exposing the brain. It's a matter of probing for the bullet with a needle. Once discovering it, removing it. Probing. That's the critical part. Clumsy move, a slip, the patient's gone. It can happen. Look, you have to talk about it. Do you have to sit there and kill him with words? She's afraid. She's afraid he'll live. Diane, that's no need to be cruel. She was cruel to Jerry, wasn't she? We don't know, not yet.

Dr. Wright, I understand you were to take over Dr. Reynolds' practice while he was away. Yes, Mr. Stone. It was this morning. This morning? It was the usual arrangement. You mean he didn't see any patients today? No, he left everything to me. But he said he had a charity patient. He said... Dr. Wright, do you think that Dr. Reynolds could possibly have operated today? Not under the circumstances.

Why do you ask? How far has that operation progressed in there? It's hard to say, perhaps he's into the brain already. Can anybody else take over? That's ridiculous. I didn't ask if it was ridiculous. Is it possible? No. Nothing saved the patient's life. Kolsky. Yeah, Randy? You're about to have a new experience as a police officer. You're going to stand right by and see a man murdered. By Reynolds? Reynolds. He must have shot Jerry Carr, and he told me he had a charity case today. Dr. Wright says no.

He had motive enough. He wanted Jerry to leave his daughter alone. Reynolds was forced into operating tonight. Now he'll finish the job. That doctor in there, he's the one who shot Jerry. My own father. He can't. For me, he can't. Oh, the surgeon, the great doctor, the benefactor of man. This is unbelievable. I've known Reynolds for ten years. He's devoted to his profession. Sure, sure, but devotion goes so far and then the ego takes over.

Reynolds is in there protecting his ego now. The self, to him, most important thing in the world. More important than you, Diane. Then stop him. Stop him. Randy, we can't just sit here. Well, how do you stop him? He's got his hands inside the man's brain. I don't know how, but I'm going in there. Father, he can't do it. He can't do it. Maybe you'd better stay out here with him. I don't understand what this is all about, but I'll go in there if you think... We stay here, Dr. Wright. Randy, get in there. Doctor, I'll need a robe and a mask. Irrigation there. Retractor.

Retractor. I stood by the operating table and nobody looked up. Reynolds was working swiftly, working on Jerry Kahn's exposed brain. I thought I'd feel sick looking at it, but I didn't. I just watched Reynolds' hands. Electron knife. Keep up that irrigation. We'll be ready to probe in a minute. Just then, Reynolds looked up just for a minute. He looked at me. There was a misery in him so coarse and tangible I was infected with it myself.

I saw a hardness in the back of his eyes. A determination. Almost fanatic. Well, Mr. Stone, I presume your presence here means you've figured things out? Yes, I have. I'll have to ask you to leave. You see, I'm the surgeon. I stay. Very well. Electronite. Electronite.

Suction here. He shrugged. He turned back to the operating table. I felt a helpless, lonely gagging in my throat. Irrigation. Keep your eyes open. I was going to watch a man die. I was going to watch a man murdered right in front of my eyes. And what else was right? He was the surgeon. There was nothing I could do about it. Venticle needle. Suction, please. Suction.

The nurse handed him a long needle, and I remembered what Dr. Wright had said. This was the probing for the bullet. This was the edge of death. Irrigation. I saw the needle poise over the brain, over living tissue, the center of Jerry Karn's being. And then I felt sick. Right then, the needle went in. There it is. The bullet. It found it, and the needle hadn't killed him.

It had explored and found the bullet. Reynolds' hands were working surely and easily. Four sips. The instrument was balanced in his hand, and then it dived into the brain. The bullet, Mr. Stone. He'll live now. Are you really surprised? He'll live now.

Mr. Stoneman, is he... He'll be all right. He'll live. Oh, thank God. Thank God. He'll live? Yes, Miss Reynolds. Oh, then my father didn't... He didn't... No. He still got an attempted murder charge to face when he walks out of that operating room. Has he, Diane? My father... Yes, your father. I thought of something in there. Something I couldn't miss when I saw his hands. Your father knows life and he knows death.

Miss Reynolds, if he'd tried to kill Jerry Karn, he would have succeeded. I didn't think... I thought for me... You thought he'd kill for you, didn't you? Until he walked into that operating room and then you knew different. Then you were afraid. He's known all along who shot Karn.

He didn't want to operate because he couldn't without condemning his own daughter. My own father. He let me go to jail. Because Kahn wanted his wife back and because he told you you tried to kill him and you botched the job. That's why you were so shocked when I told you he wasn't dead. My own father. My own father. He's yours, Kalski. And sweet dreams to them. Thank you.

Diane. What about Reynolds here? You're the cop. That's what you get paid for. You handle it. Diane. Diane. My own father. I didn't stay. I didn't look up. I didn't want to see the look in Dr. Reynolds' eyes. I knew he was suffering like a tortured animal. A man who loved his daughter. A man who was a doctor.

Sure, sure, I could have looked. Would have been an experience, another couple of paragraphs from my story, but who needs a story that bad? Who needs anything except, well, maybe a drink. Copy, boy.

Nightbeat, starring Frank Lovejoy, is produced and directed by Warren Lewis. Tonight's script was written by Richard Allen Simmons from an original story by Norman Jacob and Sanford Wolfe, with music by Frank Worth. The part of Dr. Reynolds was played by Ted Von Elst. Joan Banks was Lorraine. Betty Moran played Diane. Others in tonight's cast were Jonathan Hole, Jack Lloyd, and John Stevenson. Frank Lovejoy will soon be seen in the Warner Brothers' picture Breakthrough.

This is Frank Lovejoy again. Congratulations today to NBC basic affiliate station WIRE in Indianapolis, Indiana, which this week formally opens its new studios. So to WIRE, good luck in your new home. Listen next week at this time and every week as Randy Stone searches through the city for the strange stories waiting for him in the darkness. Nightbeat came to you from Hollywood.

In the dream, you are falling. Lost in the listening distance as dark locks in. Nightfall. Good evening. Have the seasoned spirits caught up to you yet? Or have they let you down? Tonight's play is guaranteed to pick you up. Of course, we can't promise where it will place you in the end. Or when.

The play by Tom MacDonnell is called Reunion at the Victory Café. All I said, David, was if you really wanted a drink... There you are, sir. If you want a drink, there must be a hundred pubs within a block of the hotel. How much? A million. What is this place, David? The Victory Café. It's something special. There you go, sir. Thank you, sir.

Victory Cafe is a very special place. David? Right. I'm sorry. What, honey? I said, David, you haven't listened to anything I've said all day. I said, why drag me halfway across London? It's a treat. It's a treat, okay? Now, come on. Okay. Very special. This is not swinging London. No, but it is very special. I'll tell you about it inside.

Oh! Oh!

What is this? A little nostalgia.

Welcome, welcome. Welcome to the Victory Cafe. Oh, I'm sorry. They've been stepping. Now you have just taken a giant step back into history. Could you? The door is closed. Yes? The time here is 1943. The bombs are falling on London town. Winston is on the wireless calling for blood, sweat and tears. But...

but somehow there are bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover, and nightingales still sing in Bartley Square, and here inside the Victory Cafe, young Ed gowns a last pint before heading back to his aerodrome. Two lovers arrange a final meeting on Waterloo Bridge.

And to Americans... We're Canadians. Of course you are. To Canadians, share a quiet drink. Tomorrow is D-Day. We have a reservation. A reservation, sir? Yes, sir. Oh, uh, David Whittaker. Whittaker, yes, sir. Right this way, sir. Right this way. Madam? David, what have you got us doing? Over here, sir.

Indulge me, ladies. Please believe and have a drink. We have a drink. We have a drink. For us. And the world. And me.

Here we are, sir. Sit down, sit down. You must be wore out from walking all over London, eh? No. Well, tonight you can sit comfortable and drink in history, eh? The Empire and brave little England together. Facts against the war. You're there now, in the dark days, in the blackout, in the blitz. Yes. You can almost hear the bombs blazing.

I haven't. I haven't. No, no, no. Yes, Americans, Canadians, back to see the old country. Of course.

We gets the old folks, eh? Oh, yes. The kids, well, they just wants to go down to Carnaby Street, eh? Yeah. Find out where the Beatles live. Swing in London. Yeah, right. Where's George Harrison got his house? Well, the grown-ups have a different idea, eh? Come to the Victory Center. What do they want with long hair and rock music? I can show them a good time here, eh? Make a few bobby self. Look at you.

Totally authentic wartime pub. Just the way it was when it was last here in the 1940s. Look at it. Entirely authentic. Suitable for Dad's army. Business is good, then? Oh, yes. Terrific. Our few actors to dress up in uniforms and presto, 1940. Hits of the blitz. Special rates for veteran troops, eh? Dinner and drinks, sing song by the piano, and just a few tears.

Now we can pack this place three or four nights a week. Oh, good. Yeah, it's great. It's like the Legion on Saturday night. You'd be surprised at the effect after a pint or two. You just sort of squint a little. And it really is the time and place, the genuine article.

You two are awfully young to be here. Oh, well... Don't get me like you. You weren't even born when this lot was on. My father knew us. He was here in Warthog. Was he, sir? Well, now, he would like this. Coming back to breathe it all in one more time. When the world was young, when girls were young and willing...

I think some of this lot would like to go back to the time when old men waged wars and young men fought them, eh, sir? Yeah. Anyway, drinks at the bar when you want them. Thanks. I'm Reg, by the way. Anything you need, you just call...

Good evening, good evening, sir. Welcome. The world is young. The world is young and willing. Come on, Amy. I am interested in the boys as young and willing. Just sit back and enjoy it. It's a fabulous 40s, okay? We'll have a few drinks and then some dinner maybe. Why is this place so special to you, David? Huh? Yeah, I mean, we come here, England and all that. This is a once-in-a-lifetime trip.

David, we're spending money. God, no. We're spending money in this old time. David, you're not listening. Because my father was here. Your father? In the victory? Yes. He was in the army in the war. Stationed over here. 1944. My father would come here and have a drink or two. Play dominoes. My father was...

David? David, what's the matter? Over there. Over there. Oh, my God. Where is David? He's in the... There. In the... Oh, quick, I got it. He's in the closet. The only one? Who was it? He looked just the way he always did. In the photographs, I think. Who did he do that? David? David? Where are you going? I just...

I'll get some drinks. Get this tight, eh? Yes, sir, Mr. Whittaker? Oh, uh, two pints a bit, if you'll. Oh, certainly. I'll have some cigarettes, too. Oh, get them on the other line. Just a moment. Oh, my God!

Hello. Oh! Mind if I sit down? No, no. I'm Raleigh. Oh. Um, my husband's just gone for drinks. Your husband? Dave, yes. Is that him? Over by the bar? Yes. He's a fine-looking boy. David. David.

Are you one of the actors? Pardon? Your uniform. Are you with the army? The army, yes. Poor, bloody infantry. Well, that's what you do, then, eh? I mean, dress up, help us as... I don't know, make it all seem authentic in this... in here? Tell me about David. What? Your husband. He's very... I'm curious about him. Do you know David?

Oh, yeah. David. But David doesn't know anyone in London. I know David from before. Before? It's been a long time now.

Too long. Oh, I see. A lot of catching up to do. That you look behind your phone. I mean, it looks like a real thing. Well, it should. From Canada? I mean, you found it? From Winnipeg. Oh, what about David from Winnipeg? Oh, well. Yes, I know. Just be a minute. What kind of person is he?

Oh, you know David. David. Very nice. I'm his wife. Wife. I told you, I just know David. Oh.

Don't scare him. It's been so many years. Don't keep staring. What? Don't keep staring. Just an old acquaintance. Tell me about him. Please. Don't.

I am

Sorry to be so long, sir. Huh? Oh, no. The fire's all right. It's all they got. Uh, sure. There you go. Have one yourself. Oh, come on. They, um, really fixed this place up like new. Big problem, sir? Well, it's like new. You wouldn't know this place had ever been bombed out in the war. Oh, yes. Direct it.

How did you know about that, sir? My father, he was right here when it happened. In the picture? Yeah, he was here having a drink, June 13th, 1944. Yes, they kept saying the cherries were finished, it was all over, they're bombing anyway, they didn't have an air force left. But you didn't know about the rockets? Doodle bugs. Oh, yes. Thanks a lot for one of those. They just started sending those rockets over, sir. And, uh...

We were hit the first night. Must have been awful. Oh, it was awful sight to see that. Well, I was lucky to get out, sir, eh? Lots of them didn't. No, my father didn't get out. I'm sorry, sir. No, that was a long time ago. If you don't mind, I'll ask. Yeah? We met somewhere before, eh? Eh?

Not recently. I mean, a long time back. No, no. You must have known my father. I don't know. It was you, all right. Anyway, I'd better get back. My wife must be... What is it, Mr. Whitaker? I... Oh, thank you, my friend. Who... Who's that person over there? Where? Over there by my wife. Oh. He's not one of ours. No, uh...

Oh, my God. Lots of them dress up, of course, and masquerade. Pretend it's 1940 again. Well, there's a lot here tonight like that. My God. It's him. Oh, you know him, then, sir? Yes. He's my father. What? He's my father. Hey, wait a minute. What?

Mr. Whittaker. Wait a minute. Wait up. David! David, what's wrong? That man. Yeah, he was beginning to give me the creeps. That man was... Where did he go, David? I've been worried to death. Where did he go?

Where is he, Amy? David, what's wrong? I lost him in the crowd. He was scary. I can't see him anymore. He kept yelling and yelling. David, it was creepy. I want to know what you were like, how you grew up. What you did as a kid. David, did you know him? Yes. Yes. He's my father. Oh, David, don't say that. Amy, it's so hard to explain. I...

I can't explain it. It's been a funny... Something funny going on since we've been here tonight. David? I felt my father's presence here. I felt it. No, David, it's just that your imagination went wild. He's here. He's always been here. He's here tonight. No. Yes, he is. He's in the crowd here somewhere.

He's here somewhere, moving about. Don't frighten me, David. Like he's waking me up. Always wants to stay. Oh, David. Somewhere. Here. There. There. Over there. What? Over there. See? But that's a soldier.

David? Come on, let's go. David, wait. David. David. Where is he? Sir? The soldier who was standing here. What soldier? David, stop it. Where's Reg? Reg isn't here tonight, sir.

He's not here. There. Over there. Over by the door, see? David, no. He's leaving. Wait. David. David. David.

Wait for me. You okay, Mr. What? You all right there? Have you been hurt? Yes. No, no, I... You couldn't be out on the street like... Mr. Blackout. Blackout? Like... What are you doing? Those buildings weren't there before. Oh, listen now.

What's that sound? Huh? That sound, what's the sound? It's the siren, isn't it? It's the siren. Oh, my God. Air raid sirens. They don't sound in every night this week. It's all false alarms. Ain't nothing to worry about. You want me to find your doctor, Lo? Yes. What year is this? Just tell me what year this is. Well, it's 1944, isn't it, Mr. Duke? Duke 13th.

Oh, no. Mr. David? David? David? David? David? Where have you been? I've been so frightened. Quick, quick, quick. We've got to... Oh, oh. What's happened? Tell me what's happened to you. Where's Reg? Where's Reg? Officer? You heard me. Where's the man in charge? Where's Reg? I told you, Reg ain't in. What? What?

Oh, wait a minute. Yes? Oh, Red, sure, he's on duty tonight. And Frank, go fix Frank, will you? Tell me, David, tell me what's happening. It's a bomb. A bomb. A bomb going to fall on us sometime very soon. Oh, no. Amy, pull a cap.

There's nothing wrong with me. I just want you to look around for a moment. Please. Very carefully, Amy. Look slowly. Now. These aren't the same people that were here before, Amy. David. Somehow, Amy. Believe me, please.

Somehow, this is... It's not 1981. What? It's crazy. I can't explain. This is really 1944. No. Excuse me. Yes? He's young Reg now. Young Reg? Sorry, I missed him before. But that's not Reg. Yes. Yes. Yes, you are Reg. I? David. Reg. Reg.

You and your friends here. Look, I have to tell you very quickly, you're in very great danger. What? Walk away from this place fast. Take as many people with you as you can. See you, Oliver. I'm on about a bomb that's going to be... that's going to fall on this place in a very short time. Now, clear this room, please, now! Reg, get your friend out of here before he gets hurt. There hasn't been a bomb fall on London in six months, man. What are you trying to do, start a panic? Don't ask me how I know, Reg. I know, that's all. Please, I'm perfectly sane.

I mean, Jerry's finished in the air. Everybody knows that. Kaput. Reg, be farmy. Get out of here. It's a missile. A rocket. Mister, I'm warning you. You believe me, don't you, Reg? Yeah. Yeah, you believe me. I know you do. I'll see what I can do, all right?

That soldier, he's... Yes. Coming over here. Yes. Nothing like the old songs, eh? That's what my old man used to sing in the first war. Hello, David. Listen. Soldier, you can help me get these people out. Me? Eh? Quiet. Quiet, everyone. Quiet, please.

Listen to me! Listen to me! Listen! You're all in very serious danger and great danger! Come on! Listen! Please listen! Don't ask me to explain! Just believe me!

Believe me, please. There's a bomb going to drop on this place tonight. Please, you must get away. All right, fellas. It's their drama. Yuck. Come on. I'm getting out of here. Stop the music. Stop the music. Stop the music. Let's have a song, then. Here we go. Here we go.

Oh, give me one, give me one, give me one, give me one.

You have to get out now. They won't go, they won't, don't leave me. I'll go somewhere away then, there's a few dogs there. They don't believe me now. David. You. Soldier. Who, me? I know you, I know who you are. You do? You'll come with us, won't you? What? You'll come. David, we have to go now. You'll come with us. All right, let's just enjoy the music.

I don't know. This is what you wanted, isn't it? You're young. You've got a family back home. David! Yes? Isn't this what tonight has been all about? David, no! Wait a minute! Listen! Listen! Oh, my God. Oh!

He's airborne! Yeah. Amy! I'm okay, David. Down here, quick. Quick, David, into the basement. Basement? Oh, my God, the roof! Airport hall!

Down here. He's going to go any second. Okay, okay. Caller? There's a door at the other end. I can see it. We can get out the back door. Okay.

I can't. I can't. Oh, no. Hurry. Try again. Weave. Uh-oh. Oh. Oh. Run. Are you okay? I can't get my legs to go. It's going. I'm okay, Father. It's going. No. Oh, you can help.

David, it's you. Look at it, David. No, no. It's just exactly like before. But don't go back there, David. No. You know that. It's all gone. Things are like they were before. 1981, in front of the Victory Cafe. David, don't go in there.

It'll be okay, honey. You said so yourself. I'm going to the airport.

Welcome, welcome, welcome to the Victory Cafe. Reg! Reg. Yes, hello. It turned out all right, Reg. For you too. Nice to be here. Well, step in, step in. You just take the giant step...

That indeed. Yes, we have, Reg. The I.B.S. 19th. The I.B.S. bombs are falling on London's house. Oh, Reg, I'm so happy you're okay. We have a reservation. Name's Whitaker. Reservation. Yes. Who are you? I don't think so, Reg. We'll have a drink and then we'll find our table. This way. Thank you.

My father was shipped over to England with the rest of the division in 1944. I never saw him there. Just photographs. Then he, uh... Telegram arrived. It was the usual bad news, of course.

And afterwards, an officer visited my mother to say that my father had... He picked up in this bomb that fell and... That he'd been getting other people out. And for this, he received a medal.

He gets you reward in heaven, huh? I want it all.

They'll be happy to love, and it's just not enough. I was singing the song, and I'll never hear it again. You have just heard Reunion at the Victory Cafe by Tom McDonnell. Featured in tonight's cast were Roger Dunn as David and Nonnie Griffin as Amy, with Henry Comer as Reg and Frank Perry as Roley.

Others in the cast were Terrence Durant, Michael Wincott, and Maxine Miller. The singers were Sean Mulcahy, George Murray, Karen Marklinger, Michael Wincott, Terrence Durant, Henry Comer, and Maxine Miller. Musical decor by Lou Snyder. The recording engineer was David Hoyle, with sound effects by Stephanie McKenna. The production assistant was Peggy Estay. Tonight's program was produced and directed in Toronto by Fred DL.

The executive producer of Nightfall is Bill Howell. And now, here is a final word from your host. Hello again. Next week on Nightfall, we enter the mind of a very special ten-year-old, only to find that we are not the first ones who've been there. But why not right now? I'm a fast learner, Tom. Look how fast I'm learning to grab it when you finish with them.

I'd just reach right in and take it now. Yeah? Oh. But it sure like to be invisible soon, okay? Gerald, a new play by Bill Gray of CBC Calgary, introducing Danny Hyam, age 10 in the title role, as we bring you radio that's never too old to start and never too young to play for keeps. That's next week on Nightfall. Until then, careful of the edge.

That must be Mrs. Gunther now, Jerry. I'll answer it, Pam. Well, Mrs. Gunther, Mrs. Norton and I have been wondering... Mrs. Gunther? Pam. Pam, come here. Something's happened to Mrs. Gunther. Pam?

Mr. and Mrs. North, starring Joseph Curtin and Alice Frost. Listen as Pam and Jerry solve the mystery, Fool's Go. Yes, it's Pam and Jerry North with another thrilling transcribed story brought to you by Adler Sewing Machine and your neighborhood Adler dealer. Adler, manufactured since 1860, the sewing machine that needs no attachments. Adler, famous the world over for its magic zigzag stitch. Now, Mr. and Mrs. North. ♪♪

The houses on Stanley Street are as modest and unassuming as the people who own them. People like the Gunthers, for instance. Herbert Gunther, his wife Rose and their daughter Lois.

And yet there's a difference between the Gunthers and their neighbors. A strange and terrible difference. Dad? Oh, yes, Lois. I thought I heard you in here. I couldn't sleep. I came in for a cigarette. No, don't turn on the light. You might wake up your mother. What time is it? After 11. Lois. Yes? Lois, I...

I can't go through with it. Dad. I can't. I can't. Heaven's sakes, Dad, get a hold of yourself. Mother will hear you. I don't care. Oh, I do. Please, please. I've thought it all out. I want to go to the district attorney. And?

And to the penitentiary, too? No, but... But what? What do you think the district attorney will do when you tell him why you held out against convicting Nick Daniels? He already suspects. What he suspects and what he can prove are two different things. And the people, the people down at work, everybody in the neighborhood, they know they're not fools. They know there's a reason why I was the only man on that jury that voted for acquittal.

And your mother. I think she knows, too. Oh, why did I do it? Why? For $10,000, that's why. I shouldn't have listened to you. I've let you have your own way all your life. Stop it, Ned. Stop it. For once, I should have said no to you. Stop it! Oh, darling, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I...

Please forgive me. It's all right, Lois. Oh, darling, listen. You mustn't torture yourself over what you did. I know how you must feel. I've always understood you. You've told me so yourself, haven't you? Yes. Even more than mother. She's never cared. She's never understood you. Isn't that true? Yes, Lois. Now listen. Listen to me. We had a chance.

A chance some people never get. And we took it. And tonight we have $10,000. Oh, darling, think of it. More money than you could ever dream of having by working the rest of your life for the North Publishing Company. Now you can have all the things you've always said you wanted for me and for yourself. And it isn't so, you chepnick Daniels, from being convicted of a real crime.

A contempt charge, that's nothing. Nothing? Of course not. Why, when I went to see him, I didn't think he'd be willing to pay anything just to stay out of jail for a few months. But he was. We'd have been fools not to have taken the money, wouldn't we? Yes. Yes, I suppose so. And I'm sorry. I'm all right now. I was just a little frightened to...

A little nervous, I guess. I understand. Now look, darling. You go on back to bed. What's the matter? I heard something. Your mother. Stay here. Well? There wasn't anyone there. Lois, what about your mother? She has to be told. She will be. When? When it's safe. Now, you go to bed. And let me worry about mother.

Continued on page 60, column 7. Page 14, page 6. Oh, nuts. Pam! Pam!

Oh, what is it, Jerry? Where are you? In the bedroom. Darling, where is the rest of the evening paper? The rest of it? Well, I don't know, dear. Isn't it all there? It's all here except the upper right-hand corner of pages 15 and 16. Look. Oh, golly. Oh, that's right. There was an ad for the most marvelous sale of dresses on that page, and I tore it up. May I have it? Oh, of course, dear. Here.

Let's see, what did I do with it? Oh, yes, my purse. I wish there was some way I could keep you from making confetti out of the newspaper until after I've read it. I'm sorry, darling. I thought you'd finished with the paper. Here, here's the ad. See? It fits into the torn part perfectly. And look, Jerry, isn't that the loveliest two-piece jersey dress you ever saw for that price? Darling, may I admire the dress after I found out what the president thinks our next step should be in the Paris? Of course. Thank you.

Hmm. Hmm, what, dear? My bookkeeper is in the news again. Your bookkeeper? Oh, you mean that man, Gunther. Yeah, listen. The district attorney's office announced today it was dropping contempt charges against New York gambler Nick Daniels. The decision came one week after Daniels' first trial when the jury, standing 11 to 1 for conviction, failed to reach a verdict.

This reporter has learned the lone juror who held out for acquittal was Herbert Gunther of 116 Stanley Street. Jerry, would you mind not reading any more? Honestly, darling, every time I think of what Herbert Gunther did, I get so angry. Take it easy, dear. Take it easy. I'm sorry, but I don't see how you can be so calm about it. Everybody knows what Nick Daniels is, and he was obviously guilty. Well, apparently Gunther didn't think so, and if that was his honest opinion... Yes.

But I don't think it was an honest opinion. I think that bookkeeper of yours deliberately... I'll answer it. Hello? Mr. North? Yes? Mr. North, this is Rose Gunther. Who? Mrs. Gunther. Herbert Gunther's wife. Well?

Who is it, Jerry? Her mother's wife. What? Mr. North? Yes, Miss Gunther. I'm sorry to bother you at this hour of the night, but I was wondering if I could see you for a few minutes tonight. Oh, what about? I can't explain on the phone, Mr. North. What does she want, Jerry? All right, Miss Gunther. Thank you, Mr. North. I can be at your apartment in about an hour. Goodbye. Speak of the devil. Or the devil's wife. What was that all about?

I'm not sure, dear, but I have a very strong hunch that whatever it is, we're not going to like it. Dad. Huh? Dad, wake up. Lois, what is it? What's the matter? Put on your robe and slippers and come with me. And hurry. All right, all right. Where are we going? To Mother's room. To Mother's room? Lois, what is this? Look. Look.

There's a light on in her room. Yes. What is she doing up? Dressing to go out. What? Look. Lois. Herbert. May we come in, Mother? Rose. Where are you going? Out. Where? Well, if you don't want to tell him, Mother, I will. So you heard me on the telephone. The telephone? Talking to Mr. North. She asked to see him. That's where she's going. Rose, do you know about...

I heard you and Lois in the living room tonight. I'm sorry. If you mean for yourself, you should be. But if you mean for me, there's no need to be sorry. What I heard didn't come as any great shock. I suspected why you'd held out against convicting that man, Daniel. The best I could do was hope I was wrong.

Now I can't do even that anymore. Why? Why are you going to have missed it all? Because he's been good to you since the trial. With all that nasty publicity you got, he would have been justified in firing you. But he didn't. Now I want his advice. You already know what that will be. Yes? Listen, Rose. Try to understand. I took that money. I made that deal with Nick Daniels for us. Not for us, Herbert.

For her. For Lois. For 23 years she's been all you've lived for. I hadn't mattered to you from the moment she was born.

And I hate you for that, Herbert. I hate you both. Wait a minute, Mother. Get away from that door, Lewis. No. Get away from that door. Lewis, let go of me. You think I'm going to let you walk out of here? Ruin my one chance to have all the things I've ever wanted you crazy. Let me go. I won't. Stop it, stop it. Goodbye, Herbert. Dad, we can't let her go. We can't let her ruin everything like this. Oh, Miss...

There's nothing we can do, Lois. There's nothing we can do. You fool! You poor, stubborn, violent fool! Information? I want the telephone number listed to Mr. Nick Daniels on Granley Square. That's right.

The name is Nick Daniels. Well, it appears that Lois Gunter has stopped asking for trouble and is prepared to start giving some.

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When I tried to stop her, Dad made me let her go. That's fine. That's just dandy. What's the matter with that old man of yours anyway? He's all mixed up, Mr. Daniels. You bet he's mixed up. And so are you. Mixed up in something that'll send us all to the pen if that mother of yours shoots her mouth off. I told you we should have had the old lady in on the deal. All right. All right, Mr. Daniels. We made a mistake, so what are we going to do? All you're going to do is write her on your old man. I'll handle your mother. How?

It all depends on how well she listens to a reasonable guy with a reasonable proposition. What's the address this guy's going to talk to? It's Mr. Noart. Do you listen to any answer at the gun test, Jerry? Not a peep.

Something's happened to Mrs. Gunther, Jerry. I just know it has. Oh, now, Pam, dear, let's not... Look at the time, darling. It's been almost two hours since she phoned. Well, yes, but she had to come from way out in Queens to get here. But it doesn't take two hours. Jerry, listen...

You agree that Mrs. Gunther must have wanted to see you about the way her husband behaved at Nick Daniels' trial. Yes, dear, but... And you said she sounded strange on the telephone. As though she was talking very low to keep someone at the other end from hearing her. So? Well, if she found out that there was something wrong about the Daniels' trial...

Jerry, you know Nick Daniels' reputation. Why, he's the kind of man who'd stop at nothing. Oh, for heaven's sake, Pam, stop it. You're just letting your imagination run away with you. Now, look...

Cherry, the door. You see, darling? What did I tell you? All your worrying phenomenon. Do you think that's Mrs. Gunther? Well, of course. Who else would it be at this hour of the night? I'll answer it. Why don't you make some coffee? She might like a cup. Oh, all right, dear. Well, Mrs. Gunther, we've been wondering... Mrs. Gunther? No. Mrs. Gunther, what is it? Help. Help. Help. Help. Pam. Pam, come here. What's the matter, Jack? Oh! Oh!

Is that Mrs. Cutler? Yeah. What's the matter with her? She's dead. Stabbed to death. Dad? Is that you? Yes, I... Yes, it's me. Where have you been? Oh, just... just walking. I heard you go out and I thought...

which I'd gone to give myself up. Well, I was going to, but then I thought, what's the use? Rose is taking care of that. Besides, it was nice out tonight, and I wanted a little more time just to walk. Dad, listen. I packed some bags for us. Bags? We can go somewhere tonight, and then when the bank opens in the morning, you can get the money out of the safe deposit vault and... Run away? Yes. Yes.

Dad? No. I'm going to stay right here. Maybe you are, but I'm not. Then go. You're the only one who can get the money out of the bank. Then you'll have to go without the money. I'm sorry, Lois. But this is one time I can't listen to you. This once, I can't give you what you want. All right. Have it your way. We, uh...

We should be hearing from your mother soon. Yes. Oh.

Why did I do it? That's just what I can't understand. Why? Just two weeks ago tonight, I remembered while I was out walking. I came home from work early and I had dinner and worked out in the yard. I raked leaves and while they were burning, Bob Williams next door and I, we stood around and we talked. And then I came in and read the paper and went to bed. So,

That's the way my life was. I wasn't the kind of man who'd do a thing like this. So how did it happen? Why did I do it? Why? Oh, stop it. Stop being so sorry for yourself. You make me sick listening to you. Oh, I'll answer it. Hello? Yes, this is the Gunther residence. Lois Gunther speaking. What? Well, yes...

No. No. What is it, Lois? He is right away, Mr. North. Mr. North? What's the matter, Lois? Has something happened to your mother? Yes. What? She's dead. Dead? She's been murdered at the North. The police are there now.

Mr. North said Mother rang his bell when he answered the door. Daniels. He killed her. Daniels killed her. And you, you told him she was going to see Mr. North. No. Then how did he know? I don't know. You're lying. Tell me the truth. I am. I want the truth. Don't, please, Dad, don't. Then tell me the truth. All right. All right. Yes, I told him. Jack. Scum. What are you doing? Jack.

Dad! What is it doing with my dad? I'm going to see Nick Daniels. I'm going to kill him. If it's the last thing in the world I do, I'm going to kill him. Oh!

Okay, Leo, you can tell the boys with the basket, I'm true. Right, Sergeant. I'll be out in the kitchen talking to Mr. and Mrs. North. Okay. All right, you guys, you can... All right, got any more, uh, coffee? Why, sure. Come in, Sergeant Brady, and sit down. I'll get you a cup, sir. Thanks. Uh, you in charge here? Temporarily. Temporarily? Oh, this case will go downtown to headquarters before morning. According to the patrolman who answered your call, you identified the woman as Mrs....

Herbert Gunter? That's right. Yes, Sergeant. Cream and sugar? I take it black. There's no thanks. Mrs. Herbert Gunter, the wife of the one juror who hung tough and wouldn't convict Nick Daniels. Right? Right. Now, she's dead. Murdered. I think there's a connection, don't you? Of course we do. And so will everyone else, from the commissioner on down. That's why they'll take it over downtown.

Nick Daniels is big. Nobody knows exactly how big, maybe, but big enough for the department to call on the first string to crack this thing. Meanwhile, it's my baby, and I wouldn't mind having a crack at Daniels myself. Oh, he can understand that.

So, would you folks like to take a ride down to this place on Granley Square? We can talk on the way. Drink your coffee and let's go, Sergeant. The coffee can wait, Mr. North. Nick Daniels can't. Okay, okay. Who is it? Herbert Gunther, Mr. Daniels. Gunther?

What do you want? I've got to see you. What about? Please, Mr. Daniels, open the door. It's important. Okay. Come in. Thank you. Okay, got this billet. What do you got in your mind? Murder, Mr. Daniels. Say, what is this?

What are you doing with that rod? I'm going to kill you. What? I mean it, Mr. Daniels. What's the matter with you? You jump your trolley or something? You killed my wife. Your wife? To keep her from talking to Mr. North. You're nuts. My daughter telephoned you. She told you. I don't know what you're talking about.

Now look, you crazy old goat, take that cap, this and get out of here. Stay where you are, Mr. Daniels. Can't I listen? Use your head. You can't get away with this. I don't want to get away with it, Mr. Daniels. What happens to me now doesn't matter. Now look, answer. Keep quiet, Mr. Daniels. Don't move. For the love of Mike, will you give me that? Open up, Daniels. It's the police. Cops. Hear that, Cunther?

Hello, Mr. North. Gunther!

What happened in here, Mr. Gunther? Where's Nick Daniels? Over there, behind the couch. He's dead. Well, it appears that this time, Herbert Gunther found Nick Daniels guilty. THE END

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Give me that gun, Gunter. Take it. Sergeant. Yes, Mr. North. Daniels isn't dead. Where was he hit? On the side of the head. It's just a flesh wound. The slug nicked him enough to knock him out, but that's all. Take it easy, Daniels. You're going to be okay. At least we won't have to amputate. Very funny, copper. You're a scream, ain't you?

Look, that crazy old fool tried to kill me. And jumped to me would've. Don't kid yourself, Daniels. You were just lucky. Luckier than you deserve and lucky than you'll ever be again. The guy who turns on the juice up and sings saying he never misses. If you're saying I killed Gunther's wife, you're nuts. He's lying. Look, Gunther, you've had a busy evening. You must be tired. You just relax till I get around to you, huh?

Okay, Daniels, that's it. Listen, cop, I only got one thing to say. I didn't kill the gun today. I had no reason to kill her. That's a lie. Lois. Well, well, who's this? My daughter, Lois. Come in, Miss Gunther. How do you know Daniels is lying? Because I telephoned him and...

I told him my mother was going to tell Mr. North that Father had taken $10,000 from Nick Daniels to hold out for a cradle in his contempt trial. Well, how about it, Daniels? Come on, Nick. Come on, let's stop wasting time. Okay. Okay, that much is true. Dame here called me, waited for her mother outside the North's apartment house. Stabbed her to death? No. I forced her into my car. I was going to bring her up here and have a talk with her. Convinced her she had to keep her mouth shut. Go on.

Well, we got out of the car out in front here. She started screaming her head off. People started popping their heads out of the windows. So you just let her go? I had to. And you didn't catch up with her again in our apartment building? No. I think you're lying, Daniel. Of course he's lying. Well, I don't think he is. And neither would you, dear, if you'd just stop and think a minute. Think about what? What you said on the telephone when you called the Gunther house about Mrs. Gunther having been killed.

Did you remember exactly what you said? Oh, no, not exactly. Well, I do. Very exactly. You talked to Lois Gunther and you told her her mother was dead. That she'd been killed. That's all. So? So, if you just said that Mrs. Gunther had been killed and not how she'd been killed, why did Lois Gunther accuse Nick Daniels of stabbing her mother? I...

I didn't. Oh, but you did, Miss Gunther. And there was only one way you could have known your mother had been stabbed to death. Lois. I didn't kill her. I didn't. You're lying. No. Take it easy, Gunther. Let go of me. Lois, tell me the truth. You hear? I want the truth. All right, all right. Yes, I killed her. I went over to the Norse to make sure Mr. Daniels stopped her from talking to them. And then when I saw her coming back after getting away from me, I'm stunned.

I'm sorry. I'm afraid your tears come a little too easily, Miss Gunther. And much too late. Jerry. Yes, dear? Did you bring home an evening paper? I certainly did, darling. In fact, I not only brought home one...

I brought two. Two? Oh, that's wonderful, dear. I've been meaning to tell you that I thought that with the elections coming on, we should read more than one newspaper so we get both sides of the question. Oh, which paper did you buy, the courier and the ledger? No, dear, I bought two copies of the courier. Two of the courier? Well, you can't get both sides of the question from two copies of the same paper. No, my pretty little ad clipper.

But I can get both sides of the page. Obsession. Obsession.

Schizophrenic. A word that splits the good and the bad. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, if you please. Beneficient on the distaff and terror, yes, even a murderer of the earth. This is the story of a question of personality starring Don DeFore. ♪♪

A man may get sick in many different ways. Ways that sometimes leave no scar, at least not physical scar. This is the story of such a man. His name, McPherson, occupation, police detective.

There is no breath that can exact the moment when his unusual story began. No writer to break his story down into numbered chapters.

However, that moment when he stood before his doctor, tense, nervous, waiting to be dismissed from a rest home after what the doctors called neurasthenia, a nervous breakdown. That was the moment when the first germ was conceived of obsession. Obsession.

Well, McPherson, so you're all packed and ready to go, huh? That's right, Doc. Bags packed and everything tidied up, including my nervous breakdown. Now, McPherson, remember not to think about that. We're all better now, huh? We're all better. Doc, your technique's much better than the night nurse's. Well, from now on, no more detectives as patients. Oh, too much criticism. Well, Doc, I was going to recommend you to all my friends in the force when they had their breakdown. Well, in that case, I reversed my decision. Well, Doc Kane, I...

It's really been nice. Thank you, Mac. I, uh... I wondered if you'd thought of that thing that was bothering you. Oh, that?

Sorry. No luck. You know, I really wish you'd stay here a few more weeks. Well, considering the fees, Doc, I don't blame you. Well, haven't you heard that old adage, charge them enough and they're bound to think you're good? Wish the police forthworth in that principle. You complaining about being a detective? Why, I thought you were the man who ate fingerprints for lunch. Yeah, and we just about get paid off in licorice buttons and shoelaces. Well, if the bill is more than... No, no. I got the dough for it.

But that ranch I've been wanting looks pretty far off. You'll get it. Yeah, maybe. Another year in the force would do it, I guess. Remember your promise, McPherson. Oh, yeah. Detective work is out. But why? Because you broke down and had to come here when your wife died. Okay. Well, she's dead. A part of me died with her.

But that's over. I'm better now. The rest of me has got to keep living. See, I'm a detective. It's all I've got. McPherson, detective work is out. But why? Because of that vague feeling you still have. That feeling of having done something wrong. The psychiatrist speaks. That's what I get for spilling my dreams on that couch of yours. That's what you get for being a great detective. Should I be modest and say nothing or tell you I don't know what the devil you're talking about? All right, McPherson.

Why do you think you're a great detective? I outthink him. Any of those two-bit crooks... What do you mean, outthink? Outthink. How? I outthink them. It's simple. I put myself in their place and figure out what any criminal would do. Even a criminal like LaGrosso? How do you know about him? The couch is my detective. The couch and your dreams. I've learned a lot about him. I like to hear it.

Well, so what if you have? Half the boys in the force are bored hearing me talk about him. LaGrosso, Peter LaGrosso, 1612 to 1667. One of the most famous crooked operators in history. Murdered, stole, poisoned, tortured, kidnapped, blackmailed. Embezzled from the age of 10 on. Name it and he did it. I know more about him than any professor of history. Probably more than anyone in the world. He hated his father.

He had a scar on his thumb received by climbing a wall with broken glass on top of it. He had even... A person? Why is he always on your mind? Why, he's not. Even in your dreams? Well, why shouldn't he be? He's my hobby. He's my relaxation. He's more than that. All right. He's made me with... Well, he's made me a good detective. I know his every thought. I can put myself in his place and figure out what he'd do any time, any place.

And it was putting myself in his place that taught me how to outthink those cheap little mugs who commit crimes without brains to get away with it. It was putting yourself in LaGrosso's place that put you here. Oh, Doc, you'd better stay away from that couch. Good technique, McPherson. Nothing like a joke to stop someone from telling the truth, huh? Talk, talk. Go ahead. A man can't think like a criminal and behave like a detective.

You're a good man trying to think like an evil one. And the conflict will twist your brain in half. Two entirely different halves that fight each other. That's why you had to come here. I was sick. McPherson, what might have happened before you came here, I don't know. But I do know that under pressure, those two halves might get confused. You might not be able to tell them apart. Oh, yes, I can. Look, Rozo, he speaks with an Italian accent. That's right, McPherson.

And he did. On the couch. Don't go back to the police force, the doc said. Remember, there are things you don't even remember. So you stand as long as you can. Living in a hotel room. Staring out at the empty brick walls of a city.

Going down to the hotel lobby and talking to the same people who are just as bored as you are. Reading the same papers every day, even to the advice of the lovelorn column. And thinking so much of a little ranch you want that you can't stand it anymore. And finally, finally you write to the one man who can make it all possible. And then almost hold your breath till he sends for you. Hello, McPherson. Come in. What's the matter, Chief?

Servant quit while you were away? No, I sent him out. He wanted to talk to you alone. Oh? Well, it was nice of you to see me at your apartment. Was it? Well, wasn't it? That depends. On what? Whether you think that my refusing your request to come back on the force is pleasant. Refusing my re...

Why? Because I'd like to give you a break, but not at my expense. Well, you're talking in riddles. You better come to the point. I was away when you were mixed up in the steward case. You're forgetting it, aren't you? The steward case?

Your mouth is open. Shut it. Look, I wasn't on the ball that night. I was sick. My wife dying. The boys must have told you I was framed. Now, that's a new story. I heard different. You were left to guard that jewelry. And I did. Except one of the servants heard some guy with an accent talking in the room with you. I tell you, whoever the guy was must have sapped me. Knocked me out. I woke up with my head was fluttering. Yeah. Yeah.

And later, your buddy slipped the stuff to you, and we found it where you hid it in your home. Look, Chief, I tell you, I'm clean. Maybe the D.A. was sucker enough to let you clear on account of your wife and kneading dough. But I'm not going to have anyone on the force. Look, I swear, I don't know what happened except I didn't do it. Look, please, Bill, give me a break. Just give me one more year. Oh, cut it. Don't weep on my shoulder. Blue third stain. Thanks. Thanks.

I suppose you told them this down at the force. No, as a matter of fact, they all expect you to report back. But that isn't the way it's going to be. No. No? That isn't the way it's going to be. I run a police force, not the Salvation Army. And one more thing. What? Cut my throat? Do what you please about that, but stay out of the private eye business. What should I do for a living? Shine shoes? You better not. The way I feel now, I might have my boys run you in.

Who do you think you are? Some almighty thing to himself. Now I'll wipe a fly off the earth. Make it scum and you're right. Well, I'm no scum and you're no... Ah, get back. You're breathing in my face. Now, get up and get out of here before I push you through that wall. You are pushing me, Logloso. Get out. Answer me. Answer me. Get out, you bum. You and your phony accent. I have no... Don't touch me. Put that gun back, McPherson, or I'll... One more. One more. One more.

You're a giant accident. That guy in the room. You. You should call me Senior La Grosso. But now, now she's too late.

Lieutenant McPherson. Lieutenant. What? You want me? Lieutenant McPherson. Glad you're back with us. I guess you heard what happened. No. No, I haven't. I had a splitting headache last night. I don't know what happened. I was supposed to see the chief, and instead I woke up in my room at 12 sitting in an armchair. You...

You were supposed to see the chief. Yeah, sure. Hey, hey, what's the matter? What are you staring at me that way for? Oh, I'm sorry, Mac. But the chief, last night, somebody shot him to death. He what? Hey, that's a crummy joke. No, it's true, Mac. The inspector wants to talk to you about it right away. What for? What for? Well, he's putting you on the case, of course. I'm going to work with you.

Oh, uh, my name's Wilson. Oh, yeah? Well, come on, Wilson. We... we got a murder to solve. A murder to solve? Well, what are you waiting for, Wilson?

Could it be there are several latent suspicions kicking around in your mind regarding Mac? Could it be that you have a vague idea as to his double personality in the frame of schizophrenic and realize somewhat of his strange obsession? ♪♪

And again, the story, or rather, a question of personality, starring Don DeFore. ♪♪

The Mr. Hyde of Dr. Jekyll's personality shot and killed his own chief during a strange and violent rage. Afterwards, his mind was that of a blackboard eraser, and he wandered about aimlessly, pondering the warning and lackluster words of a psychiatrist who had talked of that knife-less separation of schizophrenic, split personality.

One half good, the other bad. That morning, reporting back to duty, McPherson countered the shock of being assigned to a case of schizophrenic murder. And as he stood once more in the apartment, the red of the murdered man's blood became the hypo to complete the terrible and murderous obsession. ♪♪

Look at this place. They must have been pushing each other around to mess this up this way. Yeah. Mac, have you looked at the body yet? Yeah, enough to see he still looks as though he had heartburn. But he wasn't a bad guy. It seems funny to... Mac, what's that? Huh? There in the corner. A badge. Hey, Mac, it's a detective badge. Well, that puts you at the head of the class. 302. Hey, that's my number. Well...

Here's your badge. I must have dropped it while I was looking around. You weren't in that corner, man. You're crazy. You're crazy. Pardon me, sir, but the policeman outside said you wanted to see me. Oh, yeah. Are you Eddie the houseboy who found the bunny? Yes, sir. I'll take it, Wilson. Eddie, tell me.

Do you remember hearing anything that might have come from this apartment? Well, I was working a party upstairs, so I had to go by the door a couple of times yesterday. I heard him talking with a man with a funny voice. What was funny about the voice? Well, I don't know exactly, sir. It was kind of like an Italian accent. Oh. Okay, Eddie, you can go, but wait around outside the door, will you? Yes, sir, I'll be around. I work here. Thank you.

So... You almost found me out, Wilson. And it wasn't over. Not by a long shot. I was a murderer. Assigned to reveal his own crime. Still... I had knowingly committed that murder. So why should I be punished for it? I went on pretending to do my job. Looking for the killer everywhere. Or just about everywhere. But...

But day by day, I knew my partner was growing more and more impatient. I knew that pretty soon, he'd start wondering about things. Maybe he mentioned finding my badge to the inspector. I decided there was only one thing to do.

I went over to see Jocko Martin at his nightclub. Hello, Martin. Hmm? Well, flatfoot McPherson. I knew you'd be glad to see me. Been quite a while. Has it? I don't miss cops.

What do you want, Mac? Not much. Just want to give one of your boys some work. Huh? Get out of the closet. You're talking in the dark. Listen, Mug, I made a mistake. And you're going to fix it so I can go on like it didn't happen. Otherwise, well, I know enough to fix it. Oh, no. You're not going to make me jump and squint. Okay, Marty. But you will when they put a rope around your neck. So long. Hey, hey. Wait a minute, Mac. Who's it got?

His name is Wilson. And I can send him any place you say. Okay, Mac. Make it that empty warehouse out on 96th Street at 10 o'clock sharp. Hello? Wilson?

It's me, McPherson. Oh, yeah, Mac. What's up? I'm on to something hot, but it goes in two directions. About the case? What else? Listen, I have a line on someone who had a beef against the chief. Well, what's holding us up? Just that I also got a call from some stoolie. He says to meet him up at that empty warehouse on 96th. Two breaks? Oh, that's great, Mac. I can check the guy with the beef while you see the other... Oh, no, no, no, no.

I think you'd better go to the warehouse. I'll handle the other. Well, whatever you say. What am I due out there? Ten o'clock, Wilson. Ten o'clock. Sharp. Ten o'clock, I said. And at ten o'clock, as the door to that darkness opened, I would be at home with no less than a police inspector as my alibi.

Everything was ready. At 8, the inspector was due. But 8 o'clock came and no inspector. 8.30 and still he wasn't there. I began to get frantic. I needed somebody with me. Somebody who'd swear I was home with Wilson when Wilson got it. I started making calls. Everybody. Everybody I knew. Len Hoffman. Bill Mulford. Malone. But my luck was running out. I couldn't locate a single one of them. And then...

And then when I put down the phone in desperation, something happened. Something that seemed like the best thing in the world. Hello? McPherson? Yeah. Yeah, who's this? Dr. Kane. I'm down in the lobby. I was just wondering if I could run up and see you for a few minutes. Kane? Dr. Kane? Yeah. Hey, that's wonderful. Yeah, of course. Come on up. Come on up.

I hope you don't mind my dropping by. I had to come into town for the weekend, so I thought... Mind? You're going to come at a better time. Have you been working at anything? Nah, nah. Just kind of taking it easy, like you said. Good. Glad to hear it. I...

Mac, why are you wearing that shoulder holster? A holster? Well, I guess for old time's sake, just a habit. Mac, I'm your doctor. I'm working for you. I'm a doc. I promised you that I was your back on the force. My word of honor, I mind if I look at your coat? No, but I thought you'd have it.

Huh. A badge pinned to your coat. A detective's badge. All right. All right. I'm back in the forest, so what about it? Mac, do you remember what I told you could happen under a string? You've got to quit. When I finish one more year... Ah, be sensible.

Because if you don't... Look, Doc. Supposing I did start talking with that accent once? I'm not sure. Let's say that strain you gab about. You want to know what had happened? Well, I couldn't say. Almost anything.

Anything that other personality, that other half of you would do. There are so many things in psychiatry. Yeah, but could it be a new pattern of life? I doubt it.

Once the chasm, the void between the two personalities has been bridged... Yeah, but why should a man, someone who never... Look, Doc, Doc, I don't believe it. It doesn't have to happen again. Well, if the other mind has found the path and the bridge has been constructed, it will happen again. Then, eventually, a man would crack again, end up in that place of yours with a stone wall around it. Yeah, that could happen.

or the other personality could become dominant. The conscious one. Me. McPherson. Not a guy with an Italian accent? I believe that if the other mind was strong enough to subdue yours once or twice... It would do it again and again? Yeah. And I'd spend the rest of my life hunted? Hiding? Never a second when I'm not looking behind me? Mac, I... I don't mean to upset you this way...

Nothing's happened. After all, I still don't hear any trace of an Italian accent. There's no way back. Right? I guess I wanted that little ranch too much. Mac, there must be something wrong. Why not tell me? Doc, what time is it? Huh?

Oh, 9.30. Why? Never mind. I'm sorry, Doc. I got to leave. There's something I got to do. Mac, where are you going? Mac! Mac!

Open up. Open up. There must be another door. This must be it. Hey! Hey, who's ever in here? You that's supposed to be Wilson. I'm going to tell you, it's all off. It's all off. Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off! Off!

The ambulance will be here in a minute. It doesn't matter. But you see, kid, that's how it happened. Just a slight case of lead poisoning. Those bullets were meant for me. Yeah? Yeah. But the right guy got them. Mac, why did you rush in that way? Why? Why? I don't know, kid. I guess I...

I just didn't want that ranch so much after all. You see, I... You see... Mac. Mac. You're gonna be all right. You're gonna be all... Yeah, Mac. You're all right now. You have been listening to...

Obsession. Superstition on the air. Superstition on the air.

How do you do, ladies and gentlemen? This short, short story brings to you one of a series designed to show the origin of many of the more popular superstitions. Superstitions we often laugh about until something, possibly a coincidence or possibly some twist or quirk of fate, sets us to wondering if, after all, there might be some hidden unseen hand that controls our destinies.

So that you will know how your pet superstition originated, when, why and where, we have made accurate research and can assure you that the incidents portrayed in these sketches are merely the dramatization of the stories uncovered by that research. In every case, nothing has been added or subtracted, nor has anything been taken for granted.

Though it has been deemed discreet to use fictitious names for our characters, every other detail of our story is true, and upon request can be substantiated. Our research has taken us to many lands over a period of greatly varied dates, and through these vivid playlets, we have made it possible for you to accompany us. This one brings you The Origin of the Superstition 3 on 1 Mac. Are you ready? Waiter!

Coffee for three, please. Yes, Mr. Calvert. Have a cigar, Dean? No, thank you. I think I'll stick to my cigarette. How about you, Herrick? I believe I'll have one of Dean's cigarettes, if you don't mind. I'm certainly hard, but I can't even give my cigars away. Can I interest you in a light? That I will take. Thanks. Here you are, Herrick. Thanks.

Why did you blow out the match? I don't like three on a match. But you're not superstitious. Call it that if you wish. Well, that's a new one to me. Me too. It may seem silly, gentlemen, but something happened a few years ago that sort of cured me of lighting three on one match. I've never done it since. What was it? It's rather a long story. It would probably bore you. I'd like to hear it. So would I. Come on, Herrick. Out with it.

It was way back in 1899. I was a lieutenant in the British Army during the Boer War. Three of us, the Captain Frank Mattox, Lieutenant Shaw and myself, were stationed down in South Africa, in a province of Natal. On this particular evening, we had just returned from a hunting trip. As you know, it's a great spot for games. Yes, I've been there. Then you know the layout. We were sitting in front of our tents, enjoying a smoke.

A short distance away were our native carriers, a fine lot of kaffirs and zulus. They were grouped about another fire, quite similar to what they had built for us. The three of us were in high spirits, especially Captain Mattock's.

He was in love with a beautiful creature, a boer girl named Gretel. Her father had favored her marrying a young farmer, a chap named John Kruger. But Maddox had succeeded in capturing the lady's love and...

Nice, eh, Walt Herrick? Great. Don't you think so, Maddox? Top role, I say. Those tom-toms get on my nerves. I've been all over the world, but I've never thought anything to quite equal these African knights. They're so different. The sky, the air, and the sounds from the veld. If I had your hunting luck today, Shaw, I'd feel the same way. Luck it was, nothing more. You fellows shoot as well as I do.

In fact, better. But still, you bagged all the game. Only two panthers, a lion, and a few assorted small fellows. Only. And we landed one puny little wild beast between us. You can't shoot game if you don't see them. Tomorrow's another day, are you sure? Oh, yes, surely. What were you dreaming about? Bagging a couple of elephants tomorrow? No, I was just thinking about that old medicine man over there. He predicted that I would bring in the biggest bag today...

Don't tell me that you believe in that old fraud Grumbo. Well, he called it right today. What he predicted about Shaw happened. That was a mere coincidence. Don't tell me you believe in him too, Herrick. I hardly know what to believe. Sometimes I believe the Arabs are right when they contend that our futures are engraved on our foreheads. All of that stuff is rubbish.

Every man is the captain of his own destiny. He's the architect of his own fate. Which one is Grumbo, Shaw? The old black fellow with the fire. The one with the white rag tied around his head. Let's get him to tell our fortunes. How about it, Maddox? I know my fortune. That's right. As soon as we whip the boars, you're going to marry Gretel and settle down in that little cottage in Sussex. How about it, Maddox? That's the program. Let's rumble over here anyhow.

Just to see what he has to say. Oh, why fool around with such rich killers, Roth? Oh, it'll kill a few minutes' time anyhow. Go ahead, then. But remember, I don't believe in a bit of the silly stuff. Say, you, Grumbo, come here. You want a call? Yes, Grumbo. I've told the captain of your skill in fire reading. He wants you to tell his fortune. If Captain wish me to tell future, I do.

What I see, I tell. If it good, I happy. If it evil, Grumbo not to blame. We understand, Grumbo. Go ahead. Good. I make ready. What's he doing? That's how he always starts. Making a circle in the sand with that spear. What's all the mumbling about? I don't know.

Those three little fires he's making in the circle are supposed to represent us three. I suppose those drums are to invoke the spirits. Look at him picking up that fire in his bare hands. How does he do it? That is magic. That particular fire he's picked up represents you, Maddox. Why does he drop it on the ground? After it has gone out, he reads the ashes. I see. Old man. He's starting to speak. Beware.

Ashes tell great danger for English captain. Danger in three. Great peril for Buona. Ashes in three. Have him stop that silly rock. Let him finish. It's too ridiculous. Doom in three. The ashes tell I am done. Thank goodness for that. You may go now, Grumbo. Many thanks.

I'm sorry, Maddox, old man. If I had known... Oh, it's quite all right. I don't believe a word of it anyhow. I've quite forgotten it already. What do you say we turn in? You boys go ahead. I'll take a little walk and join you later. You're not going over to the farm to see Gradle? Certainly he is. Why do you suppose we come here tonight? It's only a mile or so, isn't it? That's about all. Well, I'm going to turn in.

Be careful, Maddox. You know the war is still on. And don't forget, that grumble thing might mean something. Oh, forget that, Nelson. I say, what's that? Where? Over there, behind that tree. It's a woman. Why? It's Cradle. Well, that saves up a trip. And besides... Oh, cut the indelicacy, Shaw. Let's leave them alone. We'll be inside the other tent, Captain. Cheerio.

Oh, Frank. Frank, dear. Frank. Graceful, darling. What's wrong? You're as white as a ghost. Oh, darling. I'm all out of breath. I hurried so. I was just coming over to see you. Oh, that would have been terrible. Why, dear? Oh, Jean is in the neighborhood. Oh, what has that to do with me? Everything. Well, can I help it? Because your father promised him your hand in marriage. Oh, he's furious. Oh, well, let him be. All's fair in love and war, and we're in the thick of both.

I've captured you, and I shall not give you up. No, that's why I'm here. He came to our place after supper tonight, and... And what, dear? We proposed to me again, and I tried to stop him. I was so afraid, for your sake, that he might find out that you were here, so near to me. And before I realized what I was saying, I told him about us. What did he say? We swore he would kill you. Frank, I'm so afraid. Frank!

You will be careful, won't you, darling? Certainly, my dear. If anything happened to you, I'd die. If you love me, sweetheart, promise. You know I love you, darling. More than anything else in the world.

As soon as this silly war is over, we'll be married. And then it's double quick for you and me to England. We'll never be apart again. I'm worried so about Jean. He keeps insisting that my father keep his promise. Don't worry about that, sweetheart. Nothing in this world matters except that I love you and you love me. I love you. I love you.

Say it again. I'll say it a thousand times more. Then I'll keep saying it until the farthest star will hear me. Clear and distinct. From now until the end of time. And beyond. And every day I shall pray for you. Every day until... Until I come back and take you away with me forever and ever. Darling. Yes?

Yes. Oh, I'd better go now before father misses me. I'll take you home. Oh, no. Oh, no, don't do that. I have a catfell boy with me and no one will bother me. You mean someone might bother me? I mean Jean. Oh, please, sweetheart, be careful. Promise me you'll not expose yourself to unnecessary danger. I promise you anything, my love. Stay in the shadow.

Don't go near the fire. I just know something will happen if you do. Oh, promise me. Promise me you won't. I promise it, if it will make you happy. Oh, goodbye, darling. Goodbye for the last time. Next time, no more goodbyes. Is it all right for us to come out? Why, certainly. Did you tell her anything about what Grimwald did? Of course not. No use alarming her. Listen, sounds like someone in the brush.

Imagination, Eric, that's all. Don't you hear someone, Frank? Not a thing. Come on, let's turn in. Oh, look. Shooting stars. One, two, three. If you please, three. Three? I say, Eric, isn't that... Yes, Dick.

You're thinking of Grumble, the medicine man. Now, see here, both of you. I'm sick and tired of being ragged because a miserable old capper raves over some silly ashes. Oh, forgive me, boys. We're all under a bit of a tension sitting here in this darkness. But it was odd, Maddox, about those three stars. If I were you, I'd keep away from anything connected with three. Oh, forget it, Shaw. It's getting late. Let's have one smoke and then we'll go to bed. Here's the light, Herrick. Thanks. Got it? Now you, Shaw. Thanks.

And now, to show you fellows what I think of your old Grumbo's warning, I, Captain Frank Mattocks of the Royal Fusiliers, take a third light from one match and challenge the power of three. Oh, what's that? Oh, for God's sake, Herrick. Look, Mattocks is shot through the head. Good God. He's dead. Why didn't he listen to Grumbo? Yes, Grumbo.

He warned him to beware of three.

So that's how the three-on-one match superstition started. Yes, with that terrible tragedy. But if Maddox had been the first on that match, he would have been killed just the same, wouldn't he? All John was waiting for was enough light to see which was the man he was after. I guess so. You mean you know so? Yes. Well, then, there's really nothing to that superstition. Maybe you're right. Oh, you know I'm right, don't you? Come on, don't you?

Yes, you are right. It is silly. Give me a light, will you, old man? There you are. Hand me a cigarette. Want one, Herrick? Thanks. Have a light? Oh, wait a minute. Not three on a match. Ladies and gentlemen, we have just heard the first of a series of playlets on the origin of superstition.

We again wish to remind you that these sketches are based upon absolute truth uncovered by our research. All that we have done is to dramatize them. You have just listened to the popular superstition, Three on One Match. Our next playlet will tell you the story of the origin of the superstition, Throwing Salt Over the Shoulder. Until then, au revoir.

Good evening, creeps. Your mystery playhouse story for tonight was written by Percival Wilde and is entitled The Adventure of the Fallen Angel. The leading role will be played by one of your favorite radio stars, Les Tremain. In tonight's play, you're going to meet a woman named Lucky. Beautiful, but cynical, and a little bit of a jerk.

cold and deadly. A suave gambler named Ace Kendricks is hot to win a fortune with a marked deck and a steady hand. And played by Lester Maine, a young man named Tony Vennar who discovers that the only solution to his desperate situation is murder.

A death warrant is not always a legal paper with court seal affixed in wax. Sometimes a death warrant is a simpler thing. An ace of diamonds or a jack of clubs gleaming ceilingward on a green felt table. As our story opens, Tony Venner, bankrupt young playboy, is leaving a nightclub intent on getting home before his hangover arrives. ♪♪

20,000 bucks. Where am I going to get it? Pardon me. You are Tony Venner? Oh, sure. I am Johnny. Johnny the Gent, Mr. Venner. You and me are taking a little ride. Get into the car, please. What is this? I work for Rocco Rossini.

Rocco? Yeah, Rocco. Enter the car, please. What's the idea? All right, hit it up, Eddie. Hey, you're... You're taking me for a ride. Listen, I told Rocco I'd pay him. Please, please, please. Don't raise your voice like that, Mr. Vanner. You are a gentleman. I am a gentleman. Leave us behave like same. Rocco only asked me to see you get home safe, is all. Well, you...

You aren't going to... No, no, not tonight. Tonight we just drive you to your place. What does he want me to do? He knows I'm broke. This is of no interest to Rocco. All he wants is what you owe him.

He tells me, say to this character... That's how he talks, Mr. Venners. He ain't been to school like me. He says, say to this character, Venners, that does he don't get up 20,000 clams? He owes me in the fifth race at Belmont last Tuesday. He is fish in the Gowanus Canal. Well, how much time have I to raise it? That he doesn't tell me. This is your residence, Mr. Venners. Good night. Yeah, good night.

Oh, Mr. Venter. A lady came in looking for you around ten. Said to hand you this envelope. Here. Oh, thanks. Nice perfume she uses, huh? What the devil is it? Just a playing card. The Ace of Spades. Didn't she leave her name? No, sir. Oh, she said for you to look at both sides of the message. Maybe there's something on the back of the card. Oh, hey. This card's one of the Fallen Angels.

And there's something scribbled here. Meet me tomorrow, four o'clock, Savoy Bar. Signed, your fallen angel. Here, waiter. Yes, sir? Bring me another old-fashioned. Yes, sir. Twenty after four. Probably won't show up.

Would you like your fortune told, sir? No, no, no, thanks. Oh, but I'm very good, really. Let me try. Your initials are TV. You've gone through a $200,000 inheritance in six months. You're broke. You... You are good. Too good. You must be... Lucky. Lucky Maddox.

You're a fallen angel. Sit down. Thanks. Did Rocco send you? No. We want to help you, and you can help us. Us? Yes, I'm a friend of Ace Kendrick. He sent me to see you. Ace Kendrick? Oh, the gambler. That's right. Go on. He has a plan which, by an odd coincidence, will make you $20,000. $20,000?

Where is he? In this room. Waiting to see if you're interested. I'm interested. Call him over. She doesn't have to, Vanna. Hey, what... Nice going, Lucky. You were sitting at the next table. Sure. But let's get down to business. I'll deal you the setup. You're a member in good standing of the Metro Club here in town, that right? That's right. And more than that, you're chairman of the club's purchasing committee, right? Yes.

Yes? The Metro's known for its high-stakes games. Its members are exceedingly wealthy, and its membership is highly restricted. Well, for years, your members have played with a certain make of playing card known as the Fallen Angels because of the picture on the back. Right? Well, Fallen Angel decks are the tradition, all right, but we've run out of them. Companies quit making them. Exactly.

And now, I have six gross of fallen angel decks. I bought them a year ago. And I've been working on them ever since. Working on them? Marking them. I can win, lose, or draw with them at will. Well, now, wait. I belong to the Metro Club because my father did. I've got a social position to maintain. On what, Mr. Vanner? Your social position is going to be horizontal unless you kick in 20 Gs to Rossini. Go on.

What's the rest of it? Well, it's very simple. As chairman of the purchasing committee, you buy six gross appalling angel playing cards from me. The ones I've marked. And your fellow members pat you on the back for obtaining them. And then later, you propose me for membership. I play, I win, you get 20 grand. There won't be any rough work. No breaks. The only breaks there'll be will be good breaks for you, honey. Okay. Okay.

Deal me in. Come on.

Well, Guthrie Miller, I don't know how you ever got those cards. I thought I'd seen my last deck of fallen angels. Oh, Tom. Tom. Oh, hello, Tony. Tom, I met a chap I'd like to propose for membership. You're on the membership committee, aren't you? Devil of a nice guy. Why, certainly, Tony. I'll push him. What's his name? Ace Kendricks. I mean, Mr. A. Kennedy. Oh.

Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Mr. Kennedy, our newest member. Well, good evening, gentlemen. Mr. Kennedy would like to sit in on your game if you haven't filled the table. Why, here, Mr. Kennedy, take my spot. It's been pretty lucky for me. Oh, well, thank you very much. That's very kind. Shall we have a fresh deck of cards? Well, that beats me.

You are a disgustingly lucky man, Mr. Kennedy, and I am disgustingly broke. I'm going home. Well, Gatry, this Kennedy fellow has amazing luck. Won over 50,000 in three weeks. But look, Hendrick, why can't I have my 20,000 now? I know I promised to wait until you were all through making your killing, but I...

I'm not sniveling. But Rossini is threatening to... Hello. Hello! Hung up. Why, the dirt. Who's there? Me, Mr. Venner. Johnny. The gent. In person. Listen, Johnny. I'm going to have the money. Soon. Just ask Rocker to give me a little time. That's it, Mr. Venner. You got no more time.

Will you stand up, please? Well, wait a minute. I'll get the money tonight. Oh, now, look, I'm a busy man. If this is a stall... No, no, I'm a level. The man owes me $20,000. Yeah? Well, then you don't mind if I go along with you, do you? No, no, that's all right. I do hope there's no slip-up, Mr. Vendor. Well, there won't be. He'll give me the money. He'll have to. Well, I'll... Well, I'll get it.

Don't worry. Hello, Ace. Well, Mr. Venner, come in. I just got back from our club. We had a good evening, partner. You had a good evening, Kendrick. I almost was shot by Rocco's executioner.

He's waiting outside for me now. Oh, well, let me pour you a drink. Steady your nerves. Thanks. I'll get right to the point, Ace. In the last three weeks, you've made over $50,000 playing cards with the fallen angels. That's right. All right. Give me $30,000 and we'll call the whole thing square. All the rest you win, you can keep. $30,000? You get $20,000. And you get it after I'm through cleaning up. No, Kendrick. I gotta have that money now.

Rossini can't be stalled anymore. You cheap little punk. I've always hated snivellers, especially blue blood snivellers. Get out of here. You're not even getting the 20 grand. I hope Rossini rips your throat from ear to ear. It'll save me the trouble later. You're murdering me. You're handing me over to Rocco. Or you won't get away with it. Put that candlestick down, you little fool. Put it down. Sniveller, am I? Sniveller. Sniveller.

You dirty, double-crossing murderer. Are you... You... Oh, good Lord. I... I couldn't have done that. She's dead. I must get out of here. Johnny, the janitor. You see me? The back way. I'll go out the back. Johnny!

After all, how are they going to connect me with the murder? Nobody saw me go to Kendrick's except Johnny, and he won't talk. I'm just going to sit here and drink. Yeah, that's it. Get a drink. There. Just drink and forget it. Wait. Police. Oh, no, no, not this fast. Who the devil? Who is it? Yes? Mr. Venner?

Yeah, that's right. Sorry to trouble you. I'm Burke from Homicide. Can I come in? Yeah, yeah, sure. Come in. Thanks. You knew Ace Kendricks, didn't you? Or perhaps you knew him as A. Kennedy? Kennedy? Yeah, certainly I know him. Why? You knew him, Mr. Venner. Ace Kendricks dead. Beaten to a pulp with a brass candlestick a couple of hours ago. Dead? Well, I saw him at the Metro Club earlier tonight. I...

Well, how... who? How and who is what I'm after, Mr. Venom. This is just a routine check, as yet. What time was it you saw Kendricks last? Uh, about... about eight, I'd say, Inspector. Good gosh. Beaten to death. Uh-huh. Messy. Now, exactly what did you do from eight o'clock on? Well, I... I suppose I must tell you, in a case like this... Would be smart, and smarter still to tell it straight. Well, I... I left the club and, uh...

Well, look, Mr. Vendrick, Kendrick's had hundreds of enemies. I have a lot of calls to make. You'd better come to the station with me. Well, no, no, I... It's just that I had a date. If she's your alibi, you'll have to dig her up. Come along with me. But I... Who's that? Who's in the bedroom? Why, Tony, honey, you didn't tell me you expected anyone. Why... Hello. She's... I'm, uh... Alice. Alice.

Aren't you going to introduce me, you jealous boy? Oh, sure. I'm from Homicide. You two been here long? Why, since 9 o'clock at least. Tony picked me up at 8.30. Why? Just curious. I gotta be going now. Look, son, let me give you some advice. When a friend of yours gets killed, that's no time for chivalry. Waste my time. Lucky. Lucky, you know? Sure I do. I don't know why you did it, but I know you did.

I must have gotten to Ace's right after you killed him. Well, how did you know it was me? I didn't. What? Thanks for telling me. I was surprised to get here ahead of you. Well, I didn't come directly. I was going to run for it. Went to Grand Central and then I changed my mind. It's too hot in here for a man's dressing gown over a dress. Here. Throw it on the chair. How'd you get in here? Up the fire escape through the bedroom window. Why are you doing this? You were pretty thick with Ace. Ace is dead.

Now you're carrying the ball. I thought you might need an alibi for your whereabouts. Oh, you're pretty icy, aren't you? Let's forget it. From now on, you're going to play at the Metro Club for big stakes and to win. Me? Yes. I'm going to teach you the markings on the Fallen Angel card you bought for the club. You're taking Ace's place tomorrow night. I picked up a Texas oil man last night. He's got plenty. I'll bring him along and you take him. It is my only chance to get that money. I owe Racine...

Lucky. Yes? Will you stick with me? I can't answer that, honey. I go with the money. I think I got what it takes, Vendor. I'll raise you $3,000. Vendor's had a terrific winning streak all night. Yeah, I know. He never won a nickel in his life before. One of those few lucky streaks. I'll see that raised text.

A puppet 5,000. Beats me how I can be so lucky. Find an oil wells in Texas. The minute I come north, I get so unlucky. All right, I'll see you, Venner. Wow, a full house. Say, who's the lovely creature smiling at Venner? Oh, it's a friend of his. Of course, a lucky. She must be for him. You know, I think Texas ought to make for her. Let's get closer. Venner, I've lost 100,000 to you, and I'm just about ready to call it quits.

But I'd like one more chance, a kind of quick chance. Okay, Tex, I owe you a chance. Well, we'll cut cards. High card for $200,000. That's pretty steep, Tex. Well, then you kind of think it over a few minutes, Vanner. Joe, bring me a drink, will you?

Well, I do, Lucky. Do it, honey. How can you lose? You know those markings as well as I do. Yeah, but $100,000 cleans me out, Lucky. I have to pay Rocco Rossini $20,000 tonight. Look, let's make it $80,000. No. All of it. You'll never get another chance. They're running low of fallen angel decks. Well, then, how about it? Uh...

Okay, Tex. Boy, bring a fresh deck. Well, that's very sporting of you, Venner. But then you had an unfair advantage of me right along. Unfair advantage, Tex? Oh. You had Miss Lucky for moral support. Oh, yeah. Oh, that's so. Here's the deck. You break it open, Tex. Mm-hmm. Well, there you are, Venner. After you. Yeah, sure. I'll take this one.

Well, not bad. You got to beat the king of hearts, Tex. Pretty slim chance, I'd say. Well, there goes nothing. Hold it, Tex. Yes, Miss Lucky. Let me draw your card. I'm lucky. No, I'd say that's up to Miss Lucky, Vanner. Unless there's some reason she shouldn't. There isn't. I'll take this one.

Well, the ace of diamonds, Miss Lucky. The ace of diamonds? Miss Lucky, I kind of owe you a great deal. Would you allow me to start repaying you with a dinner, ma'am? Why not? I go with the money. The Ace of Diamonds

Mr. Venter, it's 10.30. You've got an hour and a half to dig up 20,000 clans of rock. We closed the books on you, and all you do is talk about a bay. Yeah, but I've got to see her, Johnny. Take me to her apartment, will you? Okay, Mr. Venter. If you want to spend your last minutes with a doll, it is your business. Come on. Oh, what do you want, Tony?

This is Johnny the Gent, Lucky. He's going to wait outside for me. How do you do? I will be close by, Mr. Vanner. Remember that. Yeah, I know. Okay, Tony, what's it all about? You know we're washed up. Yeah, I know. You go with the money and text Ruskin. There's millions. You know you're dumber than I thought. Didn't it ever occur to you that I might really love Ace Kendrick? What? Well, I did. More than any man I ever met.

I was crazy about him. Oh, I... Did you think I'd let you get away with murdering him? Well, but then, why did you help me? Furnish me an alibi? You were so grateful you couldn't see you'd pulled a perfect job. You were clean on that murder. No fingerprints, nothing. Well, then, then why didn't you turn me over to the police? How could I? I had no proof. Anyway, I wanted to square it for Ace myself.

Your face was wonderful to watch when I flipped that card tonight. It was white and pasty like it is now. Like it's going to be when they shave your head.

Now, do you understand? You killed the man I love, you milk-fed lounge lizard. You're going to whine all the way down the last mile. And I'm laughing. You're a mistake, Lucky. You shouldn't have laughed. Fallen angel. Okay, Johnny. Hello, Mr. Venter. Remember me? Burke from Homicide? Burke...

Yes, I... I trailed you and Johnny the gent here. Just had Johnny taken down to headquarters. See, we learned Johnny had driven an unidentified man to Kendrick's apartment the night he was murdered. We figured it was his boss, Rocco, so we raided his place. Found his books, found Ace owed Rocco some dough, so we doped at Rocco, bumped Ace. You think Rossini killed Ace Kendrick? Sure. We also saw your name in the books and figured you were in danger. What was Johnny telling you all over? I'm glad I didn't arrive too late. Well, I'll be going now.

Oh, uh, by the way, I gotta call headquarters. You mind if I come inside and use the phone? No, no, you mustn't. I'll only be a minute. I could have been free. I could have been free. Oh, Lord. Bennett, the girl in there. Yeah, yeah, I know. You should have dealt them off the top of the deck, kid. Let's go. Let's go.

And that, creep, brings down the curtain on the adventure of the fallen angel. Tonight's performance in the Mystery Playhouse starring Lester Maine as Tony Vanna. The original music for tonight's program was composed and conducted by Alexander Semler. Well, creeps, our Mystery Playhouse doors are closing, so until next time, good night, sleep tight. This is the Armed Forces Radio Service.

© BF-WATCH TV 2021

Johnny presents... The Philip Morris Playhouse. Produced, edited, and directed by William Spear. Tonight's star, Vincent Price. Call for Philip Morris! Call!

It's a wonderful, wonderful feeling to wake up fresh with no cigarette hangover. Yes, you'll be glad tomorrow. You smoke Philip Morris today. Oh, Philip Morris! Oh, Philip Morris!

And now, with Vincent Price as star, we bring you Leona's Room. Tonight's production in the Philip Morris Playhouse. ♪♪

Leona was laughing. For me, there was no joy in it anymore. Her room had suddenly become exactly what it was. Two flights up and walk back, a cubicle in a cheap rooming house. Four sides of naked plaster with a single electric light bulb strung from the ceiling and the frayed rug. The furniture with a patched up holstery and the rust stained basin in the corner. Leona was laughing.

And Leona. Leona with a drink in her hand. The room was a fine backdrop for Leona. Oh, come on, honey. Drink your drink. You want Leona to freshen up for you. Forget it. Oh, honey. Come on, make Leona laugh some more. That's why we're here, isn't it?

For last? Just for that. For a big time, the two of us. Me and Leona, whatever your last name is, and let the rest of the world go by. I'm funny, huh? I'm a funny man. I should have met you a long time ago instead of just tonight. Leona gets a big reaction from you, honey. You got your last one, kid. I'm leaving. Just like that. Leave. Leona remembers when you liked her, honey.

The owner remembers when you said... That was two hours ago. You looked a lot better then. Oh, that's great. That's the greatest one yet. The great Philip Jane and he... How do you know my name? Know your name, honey. Oh, your picture in the paper every day over that lousy scandal column that you write. You with your famous white carnation in your lapel. Sure, honey. I knew who you were all the

Yeah. So go dream your dream about how once Philip Dane was nice to you. Right now, that's all. Wait. Wait a minute. Don't go yet. Get out of my way. Come on. Tell Leona you're sorry for what you said. I like you, honey. Look, I've got no more time to play with you. Now let me out of this... Give me a kiss. Give me a kiss, Phil. You'll see. Leona isn't what you said. I said get out of my way. Philp.

That's what you are, Mr. Dane. You're filth. A two-bit cheapster.

Thinks he gives a girl a moon with a smile and a couple of drinks. You write poison about other people and sneak up the side streets to have your... Sure. Sure, hit me. That's what you're supposed to do. You and me. We're an item, aren't we, both of us? Filth. Filth.

For a second, I stared where she had fallen. Motionless, her face all at once like scraped bone. I turned to go, but the afterimage of a lot of other faces stopped me. On my beat, I had seen a lot of dead faces, and hers matched. Her head lay against the lead piping of the wash basin. I watched a small red pearl squeeze through her lips, and then it died, too. Fingerprints!

I touched two things in that room, Leona and the highball glass. I smashed it on the floor and ground it with my heel. Now there was no possible connection between Leona and me. I had met her alone, only two hours ago. Sometime soon, the police would look at her and write out a tag that said, dead on arrival. Maybe they would even find out what Leona's last name was.

When I got outside, it was raining. That was a break because the rain had washed away the human rubbish that always littered that neighborhood and there was no one to see me leave the house. The color bled out of the neon signs and smeared across the wet pavements and I started walking.

I remembered somewhere in this part of town there was a five-a-day vaudeville house that had hung on through the years like a broken-down acrobat left stranded on a high papiste. I'd meant to cover it many times in my column for laughs. I figured tonight was as good as any. The gaiety, it looked real happy. I bought a ticket, went inside, and found a seat.

I looked around at the audience, what there was of it. Farmers and juvenile delinquents was what I'd call them in the column.

The billing card slipped into place for the next act. Malbrino and Maya, it said. The curtain went up. Malbrino stood with his back to the audience, his arms reaching out for Maya. I bent forward.

She was something. Her eyes were enormous and gray and deep enough to drown. There are those among you who will disbelieve what you are about to witness. I say to you only, wait. I will descend among you and walk down the aisle. And here I choose a gentleman and ask him for some small object whose description is not only to himself. Do you have such an object, sir? Yeah. Yeah, yeah, I got a good one. Here, Frank. They'll never get it. My God! I listened!

What is it that I hold in my hand? It is... It is something that has come from far away. It is an envelope postmarked Paris, France. Correct! An envelope postmarked Paris, France. Maya! Yes, Malbrino? Thank you, madame. Reach into the spaces beyond space and tell me what is this precious thing I hold in my hand? It is...

A locket. And inside there is a strand of golden hair. A child. Yes! Yes, it's my little boy. Isn't that wonderful? This gentleman has given to me. Marbrino! Do not lose your concentration, Maya. Identify this object. Marbrino! You must! You must! There is darkness here. Only darkness. He stands in the way. He stands in the way. Maya! Maya!

There is a murderer here. A murderer! A murderer!

They rang down the curtain and I sat there. I glanced around at my fellow spectators. Some of the audience was laughing. Obviously, these were people who had written the thing off as a dramatic trick. But others were obviously affected by it. And I... You'll laugh. You'll say this was naive, superstitious, ridiculous. But I had to find out. I had to make sure. I had to make sure.

I waited until the house began to give attention to a song and dance act. There was a door to the left of the orchestra pit that led backstage. I slipped out of my seat and headed for it, as if it were my business. I walked down a corridor. There were cells on each side tagged with the performers' names. Maya's door had a star on it. The star was guilt, and it was peeling. A moment. A moment.

Yes? She was taller than I had thought and slender. Her face was delicate with an almost wistful expression. But it was her eyes, gray and soft as if the color had been strained through gauze. Yes?

What is it? I came back to congratulate you on your performance, Maya. That's quite an act, big time. Thank you. But it is not an act. No? You're good, Maya, very good. Why haven't I seen this act that isn't an act before? Malbrino and Maya are from Europe. It is the first time we have been in this country. How long have you been here? Tonight was our first performance.

It did not end as we had planned. It couldn't have looked more rehearsed. Believe what you like. Now, please excuse me. I am quite exhausted. Don't run out on me. It makes me write bad notices. Write what you like. It cannot concern Maya. Why did you say there was a murderer in the theater? I do not know why I say things. My lips speak the words that truth shapes for them.

There was a murderer. I felt his presence. Do you still feel it? Yes. Maya, a taxi cab is waiting to take us to the hotel. This... This is a newspaper, Man Malbrino. Oh? It's always a delight to meet a fellow professional. Wait for me in the taxi, Maya. I'll be only a moment.

You saw the extraordinary performance, Mr... Dane, Philip Dane. Ah, Philip Dane. Your column is known even in Europe. I'm overcome, Mr. Dane. It's an honor that you should be a convert of Maya's miraculous powers. Now, Malbrino, we don't have to kid each other, do we? We are fellow professionals. No. But others are perhaps not so perceptive as you.

It is amusing to kid them. Also, one lives in this way. Then that murderer bit was foamy. As I say, an act such as ours needs one piece of sensationalism to shock a new audience. I think we have it. Do you agree? You bought yourself a paragraph, Malbrino. I like your style. I'm delighted and grateful. Come, I have something for you. Yes, Mr. Dane. Tell her her eyes are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.

She would be pleased, for she is blind. I dropped in to catch Gypsy Rose Lee's late show at the Martinique. On the way back to my apartment, I picked up the early edition of the news. There was a five-line story spliced between the financial column and court arrivals. The police had answered a call from a nervous landlady. Leona Michaels was dead. Her body had been turned over to the coroner, that was all.

That was all there was ever going to be. I took a pill and got sleep. Awoke a couple of times hearing noises. Towards morning I had a nightmare. I was standing in a big stone yard and I was watching some men, some blind men, building a scaffold. They were hammering.

And then I was awake. I jumped out of bed. Then I saw what the hammering had been. Nailed to my door, a shroud for a dead man nailed to my door with a funeral wreath of white carnations and pinned to one corner of the wreath a small white envelope. I pulled it down and opened it. I read the black-rimmed card inside. In memory of Philip Dane, it said, Thou art cursed because thou hast killed.

You have heard Act One of Leona's Room, starring Vincent Price.

In this brief intermission for a smoke in the Philip Morris Playhouse, here is Mr. John Holbrook with some important facts well worth remembering, well worth acting on. Over two million more smokers have switched to Philip Morris. Yes, over two million more smokers are now enjoying, in Philip Morris, a milder smoke.

a cleaner, fresher smoke than they've ever known before. If you're tired of cigarette hangover, that stale, musty, smoked-out taste in your mouth, join the millions and switch to Philip Morris. If you're tired of cigarette hangover, that tight, dry feeling in your throat, join the millions and switch to Philip Morris.

Remember, Philip Morris is the one, the only cigarette proved definitely less irritating, definitely milder than any other leading brand. No other cigarette can make that statement. Remember, eminent doctors, top-ranking nose and throat specialists actually suggest Philip Morris in cases of irritation due to smoking. And above all, remember this. You'll be glad tomorrow you smoked Philip Morris today.

Now, Vincent Price in Act II of Leona's Room. Tonight's production in the Philip Morris Playhouse. ♪♪

Something for you, sir? Yeah. Just this morning, sir. Just arrived. Some fresh-cut camellias? No flowers. A shroud. Talk to me about that. Oh, my condolences, sir. Of course. If you'll come this way... A shroud that was delivered to 1256 Park Boulevard, Apartment 3 this morning from your shop. Oh, yes. Yes, I remember such an order. I hope it met with your requirements. I'm crazy about it.

Why was it nailed on my door? Why? I don't understand. I didn't order it. Who did? Why, early this morning, sir. Early this morning there was a special delivery letter. In it was an order for a shroud and a wreath with instructions as to their disposition. Yeah, but who? Who wrote the order? Who gave the instructions? I don't really know, sir. The note was typewritten, unsigned. I...

I thought someone who desired to remain anonymous... Tell your boy to tear that thing off my door. Oh, but sir... It was too early in the day to drink, but I found myself at the Chatham Bar. If I expected to find an answer in the bottom of a shot glass, it wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere I could think of. Nobody could have known I was in Leona's room. Nobody. Nobody.

Told myself that, and I felt better. I went back to my apartment for the thousand little details a columnist has to do. The phone calls, the letters, the... Someone was waiting in front of my door. I took the liberty. I knew you wanted to see me. Who are you? Here. Take one. My card. That's all right. I can see from right here it's real pretty. What does it say on it? John Quigley. Lilliputian Cemetery. I see. Here.

Now tell me, it was a newspaper man asked you to come around and see me, wasn't it? You know, we at Lillipond like to think... Never mind that. What do you want? In this hour of your greatest need, we of Lillipond are... Are you going to tell me what you want or do I have to beat it out of you? Why, why, sir, I am here to make the final arrangement for the funeral. Funeral! Funeral!

What funeral? Nobody's dead. Nobody's even feeling bad. Look. Now, look. See, I live here. I live all by myself. I feel great. I never felt better. Sir, I'm confused about the casket. Look, it's a joke, a gag, something the boys cooked up. That's it, isn't it? That's it, isn't it? Talk to me. Please.

Who sent you here? A letter. A letter this morning with money and instructions. Typewritten, no signature. That's right. It said to come to this address and make arrangements to receive the body. Whose? Whose body? The letters said the body of Philip Dane. It said Philip Dane was about to die. It said he was going to be executed for murder. The End

All of a sudden, there were no more words. His jaws were moving, but there was no sound. He was out of focus, bleary. I ran past him and out into the street. The cab took ten minutes to get me to Leona's rooming house. If someone in that house recognized me as a murderer, I would know it no matter how he tried to hide it. I would know it. Face him and take it from there. That was the... Yeah, what is it?

Well? Have you ever seen me before? What? I mean it. Have you ever seen me before? Have I ever been here before? Seen you? How do I know if I've ever seen you? You're wearing a necktie, ain't you? And you got a shave? That makes it ten to one against. And a carnation yet. That makes it a hundred. Please, please. It's just that I have a feeling that I've been here before. I've got to find out. Hey. Hey, are you sick? It happens like this lots of times. Amnesia. You know, the war. You...

You sure you've never seen me? Who knows running this fleabag? They sign the register and they pay in advance. Hey, wait a minute. Heim! Heim, come here! Who's that? That's my husband. He snoops and he's got a memory. You calling me? Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

What did you say you had, mister? Amnesia. You got amnesia? That's interesting. Real interesting. Gentleman wants to know if you ever saw him before. Says he's got to know. Ah. Ah. No, no, no. No, never did. How about your other guests? Could I see them? Well, now I tell you. One of the rumors is sleeping off a three-day drunk, and it'll take him three days to sleep it off. Another one I ain't seen for a week. And the third one's in a morgue. Moved there this morning. Dead. That Leona always...

It's a gag, then. Gag? What's a gag? Never mind. Thanks, Glace. All right, all right.

Yeah? Hello, Mr. Dane. Mr. Philip Dane? Yeah. Malbrino speaking. Malbrino? Yes. Will you do me the honor to meet me at 11.30 tonight in the park? It is what will be charming. Charm me over the phone, Malbrino. I don't like the cold night air. It can be so helpful. Bring money with you. Say, $5,000 for this first time. And come alone. Have you gone crazy, Malbrino? A murderer does not question another's sanity. To him, all other beings are insane. This is not so.

How would I know about murderers? Ask Leona Michaels. Leona, how did you find out about her? You told me when you were so curious about a murder after the performance. You told me when you permitted the grisly humors of the shroud and casket to force you to revisit the scene of death. You've been following me. Of course. Each of your flights of terror became more promising.

When you entered the rooming house, I made inquiries. They told me of the lonely girl who had been murdered. That was nice of them. Wasn't it? I can expect you then at 11.30, Mr. Day, and that will give me time to change after my performance. Sure. Sure. 11.30. I'll be glad to do you the honor, Malbrino. Now it was easier.

Now I knew what to be afraid of. Malbrino, the clever Malbrino whose wife Maya had pale, lovely blind eyes. What an act they had. I wondered how many times their sensational finish had paid off like this. There's a murderer in this theater. And maybe he'll come backstage after this show and visit us.

Hey, wait a minute, Mac. Your ticket. They got a rule here. Everybody shows me a ticket. Oh, the ticket. Yeah, here. Uh-huh. That's one aisle over. Tenth row. You won't have no trouble finding it. You can hunt deer in here tonight. Yes, she wasn't kidding. There weren't 30 people in the house at the gaiety. The opening act was on a family of Armenian jugglers whirling shiny hoops on every loose piece of anatomy on the stage.

Malbrino and Maya were next to closing, so I figured I had about an hour. I waited until the Armenians were balancing everything but the proscenium. And just as they were taking their bows, I used the same orchestra entrance to backstage.

The door to Maya's dressing room was open, and the room was dark. I eased inside just as the next act came hurrying down the corridor still hooking up their costumes. I brushed against a moldy curtain hung from wooden rings. I pulled it back and hid behind it, and I waited.

Bill, I cannot understand why you must leave me tonight, Malbrino. What is so important at 11.30? Through the dim light of the corridor, I saw Maya walk into the Roman Citadel dressing table. Malbrino was behind her. He was reaching for the light switch when my hands found his mouth and throat and began to strangle him.

My fingers dug into his flesh. I crushed his breath back into his insides and he made no sound. It was only the soft laughter that seeped through the theater. And his soft throat in my hands. And then Meyer's soft voice. Why do you not answer, Malbrino? Is it a rendezvous? Malbrino? Malbrino, what is it? Why are you so silent?

Malbrino? Malbrino! Suddenly, her fingers were on my face, furtive and quick as the wings of a frightened bird. Then slowly, they began to search the empty air for the dead Malbrino. She turned, and her blind eyes stared at me. I threw her aside and ran down the corridor. I

An old doorman was reading a newspaper at the stage door. I couldn't get out that way without his seeing me. There was only one way back, back through the theater. He's right, but that's okay, really. Why'd you have to hit the clock of faith with a dead fish? I started up the aisle. Then I knew I was doing the wrong thing. There was an usher at the head of it in this tiny audience. If I left in the middle of an act, he would remember me. So I sat down in the row that was most filled.

When I looked back, after the next act, there were men in overcoats standing at each exit. And then the curtain rose and Maya stood there with a...

Man I had never seen before. Ladies and gentlemen, tonight I shall descend among you, accompanied by this gentleman, and read your minds through my fingertips. You, sir, I can read your innermost secrets by touching your face. So...

Sir, you told your wife you were working late at the office tonight. And you, sir, my fingers reveal that you came here on a pass. Please, please. And now, there is a gentleman in this row.

Wearing a carnation. Hey, don't throw it away. What's the matter, bud? You afraid Maya will give away your secrets? Take your hands off of me. Back away. One side. Let go. Let me out. Hey, get this guy, Joe. He's got secrets. You got secrets, mister? Hey, Maya, there's a guy who's got secrets. Shut up. Shut up, you fool. Hurry up, Maya. Come on.

They held me there laughing. The others turned in their seats to stare. The man with Maya took her arm and led her to me. Her fingers reached out, trailed across my face. They were cool and gentle, almost a kiss. This is the man. This is the man.

He's a murderer. Tonight, the Philip Morris Playhouse presented Leona's Room, produced, edited, and directed by William Spear. Our star, Vincent Price, will be back in a moment for a curtain call. In the meantime... Watch out. Watch out. Watch out for... Cigarette...

That stale, musty, smoked-out taste in your mouth. Cigarette hangover. That tight, dry, uncomfortable feeling in your throat. Cigarette hangover. That's what takes the joy out of smoking. And when that happens to you, it's time to switch to Philip Morris.

Remember... Over two million more smokers have switched to Philip Morris. Yes, if you're tired of cigarette hangover, join the millions who have discovered in Philip Morris a milder smoke. A cleaner, fresher smoke than they've ever known before. Over two million more smokers have switched to Philip Morris. Remember, Philip Morris is the one, the only cigarette proved definitely less irritating...

...proved definitely milder than any other leading brand. No other cigarette can make that statement. Remember, top-ranking doctors, eminent nose and throat specialists... ...actually suggest Philip Morris in cases of irritation due to smoking. Above all, remember this. You'll be glad tomorrow you smoked Philip Morris today.

You know, Johnny, it's amazing to me how our hero tonight had time to write his column. What with all his extracurricular activities. And speaking of heroes, I understand Academy Award contender Dan Daly is to be your star next week. That's right, Mr. Price. And we've informed Mr. Daly by special messenger that there will be no dancing come next Friday. He's to be the villain in the piece. That sounds intriguing.

Before you go, Mr. Price, may I present you with this carton of Philip Morris cigarettes. And thank you for an exciting performance. Thank you, Johnny. Good night, Mr. Price. This is Johnny again, reminding you, if you're tired of cigarette hangover, call for the one cigarette that gives you a milder, fresher, cleaner smoke. Yes, call for Philip Morris!

And now, goodbye, Johnny. See you next Friday, same time, same station, when once again we will present the Philip Morris Playhouse, starring Dan Daly. Until then... Oh, Philip Morris!

Mmm, what a smooth smoke. Revelation Pipe Tobacco. Mmm, so even burning. Revelation Pipe Tobacco. Five great tobaccos blended for smoothness, mildness, and flavor. Cut five different ways for even burning pleasure. Revelation Pipe Tobacco. Fifteen cents for the pocket pack. Try some.

♪♪

The Price of Fear, brought to you by Vincent Price. The Price of Fear

I expect some of you may know of my interest in and love of painting. My wife calls it a passion. Indeed, I have very fond memories of my early years in London when, as a student of art history, I shared a flat in Baker Street with... That's another story. I'll tell you about it sometime.

Actually, I paint a little myself, but primarily my interest has always been in buying paintings, some for my personal pleasure, but even more for galleries. Sometimes I've traveled across a continent from one end to the other in pursuit of a painting. In the early days especially, half the excitement lay in the chase and half in the gamble, the backing of one's own judgment.

As you may imagine, this passion of mine has led me to some very strange places and into situations one would never have thought possible. There was one such situation so bizarre, so frightening, so disastrous as to be almost unbelievable. Oddly enough, I was reminded of it only last week when I was driving through Winchester.

For it was here, 20 years ago, that I unwittingly triggered off an awful chain of events. I shall call my story Lot 132. It was a cold day, I remember, and probably as much to keep warm as anything else. I'd strolled into a small auction room just off of the high street. The auction was about halfway through. Lot 132.

A portrait of a man, early 19th century, English school, artist unknown. I moved forward to take a closer look. The portrait was of a man in a crimson riding jacket. He looked about 45, with black hair, a large bony face, and small, closely set eyes.

Now, at that time, I had an interest in a modest gallery in London, and although this was clearly a painting of some quality, I felt no desire to buy it. Besides, there was something oddly unnerving about that face, particularly the eye. What am I bid? My gaze continued to be drawn to the portrait. It was an...

An uncomfortable sensation. Fifteen pounds. Fifteen pounds. Eighteen. Eighteen. And there I was, against my will, bidding for lot 132. For an unknown man in a riding jacket. Twenty-five pounds.

Twenty-five. The portrait was mine. But I didn't have my usual elation about the purchase. I decided it must be my own illogical hypersensitivity to the face that was, well, that was at fault. When I got back to London, I put the painting in a small ante room of the gallery and forgot all about it. Until a few days later...

When an old acquaintance, Michael Emsley, called on me. Oh, Michael, it's so good to see you. What a surprise to find you here. Why aren't you in New York? Oh, that's next month. I can never give up with you. How are the children? Marvelous. Simon away at school yet? No. Well, the last minute we decided against it. Oh, why was that? It's very simple, really.

Neither Marion nor I wanted some frosty matron to have the rest of his childhood. Right. You know, as a foreigner, I've never understood why the English take the trouble to have children, only to banish them for eight months of the year to some bastille of learning. Well, Marion's always been opposed to the idea. How is that beautiful wife of yours? Beautiful?

Actually, Marion's the reason I'm here. She has a birthday soon. And you'd like to buy her a painting. That was the idea. But something modest, of course. Oh, yes, of course, of course, of course. Why don't we have a conducted tour? We walked through and talked about the paintings that interested Michael. Suddenly he stopped and said... That portrait over there. Yeah? I don't know. It seems to draw me to it. I must say, I don't particularly like the chap's face, but...

I feel compelled to look at him. I've noticed that. Throughout the conversation of the past hour, no matter where Michael had been standing in the gallery, he turned round time and again to stare at the face. Do you know what I mean? Yes, I do know what you mean.

I bought it in Winchester last week. Winchester? That's Marion's hometown. Well, then perhaps he's an ancestor. Vincent, what a good idea. Sorry, I'm not with you. Well, she's often said she'd like a few family portraits to sport on the wall. I see what you mean. But supposing she doesn't like him? That's the point. Look here, why don't you take him on April? Would you mind? Not at all.

I've known you long enough. And so, after we'd exchanged a transaction slip, Michael Ensley took the portrait, promising to give me Marion's answer in a couple of weeks. I must admit, I... I... Well, I wasn't sorry to see it go. One evening, about two weeks later, I was sitting in my study at home, browsing through a recently acquired folio of early 19th century drawings and engravings.

I was delighted when halfway through I turned up an engraving based on that very portrait. What was more, I found out it had been painted by one Jacob Robertson in 1825. He was a painter just now being rediscovered. And the sitter was identified as Nathaniel Jeremiah Blackwell, 1782 to 1830, cloth merchant.

The name rang a bell, but that was all. I was about to telephone Michael the news of my discovery when I noticed the time. It was almost 10.30. Well, I don't know about you, but I dislike being disturbed by the telephone after 10, so I decided to leave the call until morning. So the next day, I called the Emsley household. PHONE RINGS

Yes? Michael? No, sir. Oh, could I speak to Marion, Mrs. Emsley? I'm afraid not. Would you mind telling me who you are, sir? I didn't recognize the voice, but, well, very briefly I explained who I was and about the whole portrait business. You say you're a friend, Mr. Price? Yes, yes. How long have you known them, sir? Oh, about seven or eight years. Why? Why?

Who are you? Chief Inspector Lowther, sir. Murder Squad. Within minutes, I was in the car, heading for the Berkshire village where the Emsleys lived. All I could hear, all I could think about were the words, Murder Squad. What in God's name had happened? My heart was pounding as I drew up at the house. Chief Inspector Lowther met me at the door. Come into the sitting room, please, Mr. Price. All right. Oh, yes.

My God, Inspector. This room, it looks as if it had been ravaged by a madman. Madman is the right word, sir. Well, the Emsleys, Mike or Marion, where are they? Mr. Emsleys at headquarters, taken into custody. Custody? Why? Gave himself up, Mr. Price. And Mrs. Emsleys dead, sir. Murdered. Murdered? But...

What about the children? Oh, for pity's sake, Inspector, where are they? Let me take them. Let me look after them. They're dead too, sir. At this point, I felt physically sick. My knees seemed about to give way, so I sat down in the only chair left undamaged. As I did so, I noticed lumps and streaks of blood spattering the walls, the curtains, and the carpet.

The inspector must have thought I was going to pass out because he poured me a brandy and we went outside into the fresh air. Gradually, he told me the detail. It happened about 10.30 last evening, sir. It seems that Mr. Emsley, for no apparent reason, suddenly went berserk and attacked his wife with a hatchet. Then threw her body into the swimming pool. But, Inspector, it simply can't be true. Marion, he adored her.

The children? What happened to them? Poison, Mr. Poison. Oh, my God. Weed killer in their milk. Forensics say they were both dead by nine o'clock. Did Michael Emsby do this, too? I'm afraid so, sir. It's just about the most hideous murder I've ever known. After that, the inspector questioned me about Michael. Not being a really close friend, I couldn't tell him very much, except that he was...

Well, he was the gentlest of men and appeared to be completely devoted to his wife and family. There seemed to be no clue to this sudden unaccountable violence. When I spoke a little later to their old housekeeper, Mrs. Thomas, the poor woman looked deathly white and was clearly distraught.

I keep telling them how kind he was, but I don't think they believe me. There was nothing cruel about Mr. Emsley. It was you who raised the alarm, wasn't it? Oh, yes, Mr. Price. I heard this strange sobbing noise, you see. More like an animal in pain. What time is that, Miss Knox? Oh, it must have been about midnight, sir, so... Well, I jumped out of bed, and that's when I found him. Where?

by the swimming pool, sir. But it was too late to stop anything, Mr. Price. He'd already thrown poor Mrs. Emsley's body into the... Yes, yes. Look, did he try to attack you? Oh, no, no, no, sir. Crying like a baby he was. And when he saw me, you see, he told me about the children. Yes. My poor little loves. Oh,

Oh, it's all my fault, Mr. Price. If only I hadn't let him take off their bedtime drink. Well, didn't he... didn't he usually? Oh, no, sir, no. I did that, you see, always. But last night, he insisted. Insisted? How do you mean? Well, he... well, he fairly snatched the mugs off the tray and told me to get out the way. Well, that doesn't sound like you. No, sir, it wasn't, but...

Well, he had been a bit funny for about a fortnight. You mean bad tempered? Yes. With the children and with Mrs. Emsley, sir. Well, perhaps he was worried about his work. I couldn't say that, but I know Mrs. Emsley was worried about him. Why, he'd sit in his study for hours, just brooding. Not himself at all. And he'd been like this for about two weeks. Just about, sir.

Oh dear, oh dear, I can't believe it, Mr. Price, I can't believe it. Before leaving, the inspector reminded me about the portrait. When he saw the transaction slip, he suggested that I take the painting back with me to London. It was hanging in Michael's study. For a moment, we looked at it together. A thoroughly evil-looking so-and-so, isn't he? Evil. That was it.

I didn't know that you could actually smell evil, but you can. That study stank of it. Nathaniel Jeremiah Blackwell seemed to dominate us, and I felt an aura of what I can only call satanic triumph emanating from that canvas. But I tried to put this down to imagination in my own wretched state of mind.

As I left the house, the police had started to empty the swimming pool of its red water. It was a sickening sight. Within hours, the portrait was once again in the back room of the gallery. Although privately, I decided either to lose it or even destroy it, I said nothing to my partners. I could hardly tell them that I'd destroyed a painting of quality simply because I had a...

feeling about it. The next morning, I flew to New York on my prearranged business trip, and a month later, I found myself in a library in Washington, D.C., idling away an hour or two. I came across a newly published encyclopedia of criminals and criminology. Flicking through the pages, I found this entry, Nathaniel Jeremiah Blackwell, 1782 to 1830.

Hanged in London for the murder of his wife and children. Brutally assaulted wife with hatchet. Throwing body into river. Poison put in children's gruel. Nicknamed Killer Satan. So that was it. Black Rose Evil. It must still be alive. How else could one account for Michael Emsley's behavior?

Despite instinct, I couldn't logically dismiss the possibility of coincidence. However, I didn't intend to take any chances. That portrait had to be destroyed. Immediately, I cancelled all further engagements, and the next day flew back to London. Can you imagine my horror? When on arrival at the gallery, I found the portrait had been sold three weeks previously.

I had to work quickly. The record showed it being bought by a Peter Smythe living in Haywood's Heath. I telephoned and spoke to his wife, telling her that there had been some confusion over the portrait, that my partner was unaware that I'd promised it to another client.

Do you want to buy it back, Mr. Price? Mrs. Smythe, it would save me a great deal of embarrassment if that were possible. Well, Smythe, I'm concerned by all means. I can't stand it. It gives me the creeps. What about your husband? Well, he seems quite fond of it. It's hanging in his study. I see. Do you think I have any chance of persuading him to part with the painting? You could come over and try, if you like. Thank you. This evening?

Yes, but could you make it about 8.30? I'll have got the children to bed by then. We'll have more of a chance to talk. Yes, I understand completely. 8.30 then. Thank you, Mrs. Smythe. Goodbye. Coincidence? Imagination. I couldn't take the risk. This time I had to back my instinct. I had to get to the Smythe house before the children were put to bed. I arrived at about 8 and left the car parked outside the front gates.

As I walked up the long drive, sheer natural curiosity urged me to peer through the window of a small garden shed. Standing on a workbench was a large tin, clearly marked "Weed Killer Poison." I quickened my steps to the house. Approaching the front door, I could now see the gardens which lay at the back.

When I saw a large ornamental fish pond, my stomach turned over. Weed killer? Water? Coincidence again? I rang the bell.

Good evening. You must be Mr. Pratt. Yes, that's right. I'm sorry I'm a little early. Oh, that doesn't matter. I haven't quite got the children settled yet, but you come in. Thank you. Actually, I'm rather glad you are early. I haven't had a chance to tell him about this portrait business yet, but I'd like to explain about my husband. Well, is he ill? Oh, no. No, not physically, but he's...

Well, he's become depressed about life in general, so he may give you the wrong impression. How do you mean? Well, he's always been such a happy, easygoing person. No temperament at all. Not like me. And he's changed? Yes. Yes, totally. He's moody. He's irrational. He's never been bad-tempered with me and the children for no reason. But now... Miss Knight, how long has this been going on? Oh...

About three weeks. Three? I can't understand it. It happened almost overnight. Three weeks, I see. But does he want to talk about it? I mean, communicate? Oh, no. No, that's just it. He takes himself after his study and sits there for hours, alone. Perhaps he's overworked. Maybe he needs a holiday. We tried that a week ago. Was he any better? Much. But within a few hours of being home, he was just the same.

I'm so worried about him. Don't forgive me, Mr. Price, letting my hair down to a complete stranger. Not at all. You've actually been a great help. If there's anything I can do... Well, as a matter of fact, I hope things may be improving. Just before you arrived, Peter insisted he took the children's bedtime drink to them. He almost threw me out of the kitchen. Mrs. Smythe.

Where is he now? He's in the kitchen making it. The kitchen door opened and Peter Smythe walked out carrying a tray. There were two mugs of milk on it.

I knew that I had to stop him, so I edged the foot of the stairs. Quickly, I thought, if I held up my hand as if to shake his, I could easily send the tray flying onto the floor. Darling, this is Mr. Price. He wants... Get out of my way. How do you do, Mr. Smythe? Oh, shoot me, bloody... Oh, I'm so sorry. Oh, what must you think of me? Please...

Please, it was an accident. Forgive me. No, you don't. May I help clear up the mess? No, no, no. Really, I'll do it. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Smythe. Look, I know this is hardly the time, but I really must talk to your husband about that portrait. Yes, of course. Where did he go? Into the study. The portrait's there, too. Thank you. We crossed the hall to the study. The door was closed. Darling. Darling. Someone to see you.

Peter? Peter Smythe was sitting at the desk, his back towards us, staring up at the portrait of Nathaniel Blackwell. In a second, I recognized the same smell of evil in that room, and I suddenly felt afraid. Peter? Peter?

Do you feel all right? He sprang out of his chair and turned to face us. In his hand, he held a small hatchet. Peter, what are you... He moved swiftly like an animal around the desk. You bitch. You whore. I hate you. Peter, what's the matter with you? Quickly, I moved between him and the desk and standing behind him, grasped both his wrists. Whore. Whore. I hate you. Peter, please. He struggled with me, but I clung on. Finally, I managed to wrench the hatchet out of his grasp. Peter.

As I swung round, my eyes met those of Nathaniel Jeremiah Blackwell. And in a split second, I knew either that portrait must be destroyed or we should be. His evil was still alive, dominating, commanding.

Then Peter Smythe, with a lunatic strength, threw himself at me. I shouted to his wife, hold him, hold him, keep him back. It's the portrait. I must destroy that portrait. Hold him. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh

Reeled around the room. I struck Blackwell's eyes, his nose, his mouth, his chest. I felt possessed, overwhelmed by anger and hate. But Smythe, his strength ebbing away with each blow, began to whimper like an animal. Finally, the picture cord gave way and Nathaniel Jeremiah Blackwell slid to the floor. I...

Peter! He's dead! No, no. No, Mrs. Smythe, he's not dead. Just wait a moment. Be patient. No, we must get a doctor quickly. No, no, no. There's no need for that. Your husband has simply been released. Oh, Peter. Oh, thank God. Mrs. Darnley. What happened? You... Nothing happened, Mr. Smythe. Oh, Peter.

Will he remember, do you think? Only as one remembers a nightmare. But first, a few details will remain clear. Then, gradually, in time, all will be forgotten. And by you too, Mrs. Smith. I haven't hurt you, have I, darling? No, my love. You haven't. Not you, darling.

What strange powers a painting can have. Sometimes good, but in the case of Nathaniel Jeremiah Blackwell, evil. Hours later, after I'd burned what remained of the canvas, I told the Smythes the whole story. There was one thing I didn't tell them, however, but I'll tell you. When the portrait crashed to the ground and Peter Smythe lay exhausted in his wife's arms...

I noticed the vermillion paint of Blackwell's hunting jacket had come off the canvas and lined the knife edge of the hatchet. That was understandable. But why had so much appeared on my hands and streaked my wrists? Old paint should flake or powder. But this was wet, very wet.

When I washed my hands a few moments later, I knew why. It wasn't paint. It was blood. Do any of you listening at home have portraits hanging on your walls? Are they of unknown cities? Be careful how you look at them. You never know. Goodbye.

That was Vincent Price bringing you The Price of Fear with Elizabeth Morgan, Douglas Blackwell and Alexander John.

This story, Lot 132, was first recounted and dramatized by Elizabeth Morgan and produced by John Dias. ♪♪

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