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Welcome to It Takes Energy, presented by Energy Transfer, where we talk all things oil and natural gas. Oil and gas drive our economy, ensure our country's security, and open pathways to brighter futures.
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Domestic data roaming at 2G speeds. Price guarantee applies to then current base monthly rate. Additional terms and conditions apply. The Black Museum. Affiliated stations present Escape. Dinner Sanctum. Present Suspense. And 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 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. Today, nostalgia is king, or should we say queen. What is lacking in these times that we constantly seek solace in the past? Especially when the truth is the past was a harder, slower, hungrier place.
Yet, many of us try to recapture the past by seizing upon its outward trappings. You who do so should be careful. Unconsciously, you may break through the glitter and capture the essence. And then what will become of you? Your clothes and hairstyle may come back into fashion, but your sense of values...
Captain, I tell you there was a witness to the killing. Who? Someone was here and that someone was shot. If that someone was shot, where's the body?
I don't know. Now, this person was shot at least three times with a .357 Magnum revolver. This person should, therefore, be dead. I know, but I... I ask again, and keep asking, show me the body. Show me even a little bloodstain. But please, show me something. ♪♪
Our mystery drama, Blind Witness, was written especially for the Mystery Theater by Sam Dan and stars Patricia Elliott and Carmen Matthews. It is sponsored in part by Buick Motor Division. I'll be back shortly with Act One. Truth.
as we all would agree, is stranger than fiction. And that is because, as the scientists tell us, matter can neither be created nor destroyed. The things we have to work with are the things that already exist.
and only they can serve as the building blocks for our castles, real or imagined. We call the ones that we have seen before truth, and the new or strange ones fiction. The difference lies in perception. Is everything clear? Well then, forward with our story.
All right, you know the place. It's around the corner. Okay. First, walk past. See if he's alone. You expect I'd go in there if there was somebody in a joint? What do you think? I started in this racket yesterday. He ought to be by himself this hour of the night. If not... Yeah, yeah. I'll wait. I'll wait. You walk in. You don't say a word. You just let him have it. You understand? Yeah.
Why are you so nervous, Jack? I was born nervous. It's as dark as the ace of spades. The rain's coming down, cats and dogs. There ain't a soul on the street. This job has to be right. Exactly right. So that's why I'm here, ain't it? All right, all right. Go get him. You got my dough?
I don't do this for kicks. You know I got your dough. 25 seconds to walk to the joint. 10 seconds to knock him off. 25 seconds to walk back to the car. That's what they call portal-to-portal pay. It adds up to exactly one minute. 10 grand for one minute's worth. If you said go ahead. 10 grand a minute. I'm the highest paid wage earner in the world. Well, you go already. What are you waiting for? All right. In three minutes, it's going to be midnight. So what?
It's still Friday the 13th. You mean you're scared of that stuff? In this line of work, you take every edge you can get. Why knock a guy off on Friday the 13th when you can wait two minutes and cool him on Saturday the 14th? Oh!
Good evening, Mr. Ascalon. Now, what are you doing out this time of night, Mr. Hume? You should be scared to walk the streets. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Ascalon. You're a true friend. Well, well, it's almost midnight, and there's a very low element out on the streets. I have come to obtain my sister's medicine. Yes, yes, yes. I've got some right here. Oh, thank you. Ah.
How much is it? The usual price. Five dollars. Mr. Ascalon, haven't you ever heard of inflation? Inflation? You have been charging me five dollars for the past 25 years. Shouldn't the price have gone up? Oh, not to you, Mr. Hume. Now, I tell you what you'd better do. I'm about to close up. So if you wait a few minutes, I'll walk you to your door. Oh, that's very kind of you. Oh...
Those hard candies my sister is so fond of, did they come in? Oh, yes, yes. Now, where did I put them? Oh, yes. You go down to the first row of shelves near the door, and it's the... Oh, yes.
Listen to me. I keep forgetting, you can't see. The first row of shelves, you say? How do you do it, Mr. Hume? It's a matter of mastering your environment, of visualizing every shape, of memorizing every distance. Down here, you said? Yes, yes. Say, that's uncanny. I mean...
How do you just put your finger on it like that? Oh, yes, sir. What can I do for you? No. No, don't. Don't zip your throat. Mr. Ascalon. Mr. Ascalon. Hey, who are you? Where did you come from? Mr. Ascalon. It's too bad, sister. What? Mr. Ascalon.
Get out of here. It sounded like the Fourth of July in here. What happened? There was a dame in the store. What do you mean there was a dame in the store? I look in the window. He's all by himself. I walk in. I hit him. And all of a sudden, I hear this dame's voice. What dame's voice? She must have been behind a shelf. She just shapes up out of nowhere. Well, did you... Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. She's finished. Listen...
Are you sure? Nobody could live with all the lead I give her. And Escalon? You don't have to worry about Escalon no more. With that Damon, all of it better be clean. Cleanliness guaranteed. That's why I get the price. Hand it over. Okay, okay. Ten big ones. But it took me a little more than a minute. And my overhead also went up.
Must be this inflation, huh? Captain Sterling. Oh, yes, sir. Yes, the man's name was Armand Ascalon. Fifty years old. Has he owned a drugstore? I assigned it to Jedwick. Julia Jedwick. Well, she's attached to homicide. Yes, sir, she's a detective first grade.
No, I don't think she can do any harm. I'll supervise her closely. Yes, sir. None of this. I need it. Captain Sterling. Oh, come in, Julia. Come in. Sit down.
Now, what we got here is one of these neighborhood knockoffs. Now, you know how to go about this? Well, sir, I'm... The best way is to keep your eyes and your ears open and work close with the patrolman on the beat. Yes, Captain. Now, what we got here has to be a stick-up. You know, most likely a junkie or else some hood. Well, Junior, don't be afraid to lean on me for help. Thank you, Captain Sterling.
Any questions? Well, it's just about the gun.
What about the gun? I have a report from Ballistics. The two bullets that were found in his body were fired by a .357 Magnum revolver. So, what's your question? Well, it would seem to me, sir, that your ordinary junkie or hoodlum who holds up a store wouldn't have an expensive Magnum. That type would usually employ a cheap Saturday night special. Well, a junkie could steal a Magnum, couldn't he?
Well, yes, Captain, but if it was a junkie and he needed money for a fix, he would have sold the magnum. Uh, that's not bad thinking, Julia. So it doesn't have to be a junkie.
It could be just some punk out to raise cash. Yes, sir. It's just that no money was taken. Mr. Ascalon had a $5 bill in his hand, and there was $100 in the cash drawer, and I don't know how to account for that. Well, here's how. You'll learn with experience.
Now, there's a certain type of punk who nerves himself up to pull a job. You know, it goes wrong, he shoots, he kills, he sees the dead victim, and he gets terrified, and all he wants to do is get out fast. Now, you understand? Yes, sir, I do. It's just that a magnum, well, isn't quite the kind of revolver for the type of killer you have in mind. A magnum makes you think of a professional killer, and...
Well, why would a professional risk everything on a $100 holdup? I like what you're trying to do, Julia. You have the stuff to become a good detective. But this is open and shut. You're looking for a punk who panicked. So you go out there and do the routine things and look for people who might have seen or heard something. Yes, sir. I already have. Good.
Any results? Well, it introduced a problem. First of all, the number of shots that were fired. Well, why is that a problem? Well, I found exactly eight people who told me that they heard the shooting, and some say they heard five shots, some say they heard six, but all agreed that they heard more than two. Well? But only two bullets hit Mr. Ascalon.
Oh, doesn't that only go to prove what I told you? It was a nervous punk who empties the gun at Ascalon and only hits him twice. Yes, Captain, but that still leaves us with a problem. Five or six shots were fired, two hit Mr. Ascalon. That leaves three or four slugs unaccounted for. What do you mean, unaccounted for? We can't find them.
They should be in the wall behind, above, or either side of where Mr. Askelon was standing, but there's no trace of them. But they gotta be there. We went over the place very carefully and, uh...
Well, that raises another problem. Yeah? The glass door to the street, it was smashed. Probably by a bullet or bullets. Well, what should that have to do... Well, as you enter the store, the counter is directly to the rear. We found Mr. Ascalon's body behind that counter. Well, what's the problem? The cash registers on that counter, the hood comes in, guns him down. Yes, with two shots. But where did the others go?
You tell me. There were two groups of shots. What do you mean, two groups? All the accounts of the people who heard the shooting agree. First they heard two shots. Then there was a pause, a few seconds. Then three or four more shots. Therefore, the first two shots were fired at Mr. Ascalon. The next three or four were fired at someone else. How do you know?
The killer enters the store. He shoots Mr. Ascalon. Now, to do that, the killer has to be facing the rear wall...
Now, he hears or he sees something that makes him turn around to face the front of the store. He fires again. At whom? Well, at someone who must have witnessed the crime. That's why we can't find the slugs. They were fired in the direction of the street. One or more even broke the glass in the front door. Well, what happened to the witness, if there was a witness? The witness...
could have stopped one, two, three, or up to four of those bullets. But he didn't stop any of them as far as we know. If he's dead, we would have found the body. See, maybe the killer could have missed him clean. But the fact is, Captain Sterling...
There is a witness. The killer did fire at somebody. Well, maybe, maybe not. It's a dark night. It's raining hard. The killer is nervous. He thinks he hears a sound of something just outside. He turns around. He fires wild, blind. Well, that could account for all the shots. Yes, Captain.
Well, you were going real good there for a while, Julia, and I like the way you think. But, like I said, in the end, it'll turn out to be you're a junkie, you're a hood. You don't think so, huh? Well, you could be right. Okay, okay, knock it off, will you? I'm coming, okay.
Who's there? Me, Chappie. Mule. Mule. Hey, what's the matter with you? Let me in quick. I was fast asleep. Good thing you woke me up. I got a plane leaves in an hour. Have you seen the morning paper? No, I never read the papers. Yeah, well, you better read this. It says, druggist murdered. You got to expect the papers to print this type of thing. It's news, ain't it? Just read it. Why should I read it?
Ain't gonna be news to me. Druggist murdered. At midnight last night, Mr. Armand Ascalon, 50-year-old proprietor of Ascalon's Pharmacy on the corner of Bridge and High Streets, was shot to death by a bandit. Hey, hey, hey, I ain't no bandit. It has not yet been determined what has been taken from the store. The police are following an active line of investigation according to Captain of Homicide Detectives James L. Sterling Jr. So? Why do you mean so?
Ain't there something missing from that story? I don't think so. Think for crying out loud. Oh, okay. What's the beef? My boss calls me into the office this morning, right after he reads the paper. And he lays this question on me, and so I'm laying it on you.
What about the dame? What dame? You said there was a dame in the store. That's right, there was. I didn't spot her at first, but since she's seen the whole thing, I had to take care of her, too. And you did? I told you she's dead. Well, that's what I told the boss last night. So this morning he wants to know, why don't it say nothing about her in the paper? What do you mean? It's got to say. Hand me that. Go ahead, pal.
Where does it say one word about the dame? But I got her. I know I got her. Then why wasn't it reported? They can't keep a thing like this out of the press. You missed her. That's what you did. You missed the queen. No, I wasn't ten feet away from her, and I don't miss. I could even hear her go, when them first bullets hit her, she's dead. I tell you, chappy, she's dead. Okay, Mule, just answer me one question.
Where's the body? Where indeed? Is it possible that Mr. Mule, who is obviously a highly skilled professional assassin, could have fired all those shots at her and Miss? Mr. Mule is convinced it could be a trick on the part of the police. But we know the police are completely unaware of Mr. Hoon themselves. Well, what did happen?
Is she dead or alive? I'll be back shortly with Act Two. Edgar Allan Poe, who invented the type of story you're listening to now, set down the basic rules. These were later refined and polished by one of Poe's greatest disciples, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
And the most important rule states...
When you have eliminated the impossible... whatever explanation remains... no matter how improbable... must be the truth. Which brings us now to a consideration... of the elderly blind lady we had met earlier... Miss Agatha Terhune. Aggie? Aggie, dear? Oh, my goodness. What a dream I had...
Dream? About what? Please, dear sister, don't press me for details. You have such a frightened look on your face. Maggie, you're up and you're in your wheelchair. You were able to get out of bed and into your chair by yourself. Yes, Maggie, dear. Thanks to you because you left the medicine right by my bed and it eased the pain sufficiently. The medicine? Oh, no. Oh, no.
Oh, then it wasn't a dream, Maggie. It wasn't a dream. Please, I don't understand. Mr. Ascalon is dead. Maggie, what are you talking about? You had finally fallen asleep. It was close to midnight. Your medicine bottle was empty. I knew you would need some in the morning, and so I went downstairs... You...
You went down into the jungle at night? Maggie, dear, could you face the morning without your medicine? But you could have been murdered. These streets at night. You know what lurks behind every doorway. And so I fortified myself. I put on the vest. At least I would be safe from knives and bullets. You should have waited till morning and wheeled me.
The rule is you must never go alone. By morning, you would have been in too much pain. I would have put up with it somehow and beneath my blanket...
I could have the Colt .45 in one hand and the can of mace in the other. I had no choice. Maggie, you know you can't see. I know how to get every single place in this neighborhood and back. Just because I'm blind is no reason to treat me as an invalid. Oh, my poor darling Maggie. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that word. It's true. I am an invalid. I can't walk. I'm also a...
A drug addict. Don't say that. Will that change anything? We were both in the same accident. Don't relive it. I lost the use of my legs. You lost the use of your eyes. For 40 years now, I've clung to you. I've been supported by your strength because I have none of my own. Look at us. We've become two crazy old ladies because of me. I won't listen to any more of this. You risked your life for me. You... You... You said...
Mr. Escalon is dead? Yes. He was killed by a jungle animal. How awful. How do you know? I was in the store when it happened. Hackey, did the killer...
See you? Not at first. He walked into the store and began shooting. Then he noticed me. Oh, Angie! He said, hey, who are you? Where did you come from? Did you say anything? I was...
I was petrified. And then he said, it's too bad, sister. And I heard him shoot. And the noise of the shots were deafening. And I felt the bullets crash into my vest with such force that I was almost knocked off my feet. And I could feel little stinging sensations as each bullet struck. The vest. Let me look at the vest. It's on the chair beside my bed. Oh, the cover is torn. Oh, no.
What are these? These pieces of metal? The slugs. They must have been caught in the padding. Oh, poor Mr. Ascalon. Why would anyone wish to shoot him? He was good to poor people like us. Do you know, if it weren't for Mr. Ascalon, I would have to go elsewhere for that
That medicine? Do you realize how much we would have to pay? The killer... He saw you. He spoke to you. Yes. Which means he knows what you look like. Yes. Yes, he probably does. He...
He shot at you so you couldn't describe him. Well, I couldn't describe him anyway. But he doesn't know that, so he will come looking for you. Oh, no. No, he won't. Why do you say that? Because he thinks he killed me. But your body won't be found in the store along with Mr. Escalon. I didn't think of that. I know. He had a good look at me. Oh, I'm scared. No, please. Please, don't be frightened. No. It's my turn to be strong.
And neither of us will leave the house. You must not be seen on the streets. We can telephone Mr. Bernstein to send us our groceries. But I will have to leave the house. No, I won't allow it. I'll have to find another person to sell me your medicine. I'll do without. You can't. But the pains aren't real.
If they were, then Dr. Morrison would have prescribed the medicine for me. Whether or not the pains are real, they're real enough to you. I'll have to stop humoring myself. And you'll have to stop humoring me. Your life depends on it. I know that's for me. Yeah, there's Chappie. He says he knocked her off. That's what I told him.
Okay, boss. Let me lay it on him. Right. What's going on, Chappy? It's as simple as one, two, three. You didn't hit the old lady. But I... But nothing. So we got to find her and you got to get rid of her.
Suppose she describes you to the cops. I got an alibi. You think I ever leave home without one? Yeah, well, some cops may recognize you from the description. Yeah, well, I told you. No, Mule, it's our headache. Because if you come into the picture, alibi or not, the cops will know it wasn't a stick-up. Which is what my boss wants them to think it was. Okay, okay, what do you want me to do? Describe her. Why do you describe an old dame? Skinny?
Dressed in black, maybe 70 years old. You know what I mean? White hair? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I think so. And, uh, anyway, something else. Uh, glasses. Okay, is that it? Yeah, yeah, that's it. Except... Except what? Uh, nothing, I guess. If I seen her again, I'd know her. Okay, Mule, okay. We're gonna make sure you see her again. Uh...
Good evening, Mrs. Caravelle. Oh, you're the cop, the lady cop. Yes, may I come in? Thank you. You got more questions you want to ask me, huh? Just one, Mrs. Caravelle.
You know, they ought to have more lady cops. Kind of makes everything easier. Now, the other night, when Mr. Ascalon was killed... Yeah? You heard a series of shots? Yeah. Did you hear any other sounds in the street? I noticed that your window opened... No, I didn't see anything. We was in bed. How about an automobile? Um...
Yeah, yeah. After the shots, I'm sure I heard something sound like a guy was running, and then I heard a car taking off fast. And that's all? Yeah. My husband, he slept through it all. He could drop the atom bomb in here, and he never... But I run to the window and look. The street was deserted. And you're sure you heard nothing more? Well...
Later on, I heard one of my tenants, this Miss Aggie Terhune, coming up the stairs. How did you know that it was her coming up the stairs? Oh, I could hear that cane of hers go thump, thump. Oh, I see. Then she came upstairs right after the murder? Yeah, around that time. And she'd been outside in that weather at that hour. Hmm. Where do you suppose she'd been? Well, I figured the drugstore.
She's got this twin sister in a wheelchair that always needs her medicine. Then she had to be there at the time of the murder. Are you sure that you heard her coming up the stairs? Well, she couldn't have been there while Mr. Ascalon was being murdered, or she'd have been killed, too. I don't know. Maybe I didn't hear her coming up the stairs. But you just said you were positive. It was such a scary night. Maybe... Maybe I dreamed it.
Maggie? It's the door. Yes. Who could it be? I don't know. The killer. Miss Tarroune? It's a woman's voice. Oh, the killer wasn't a woman. He could have brought one along to throw us off guard. Miss Tarroune? Even so, Aggie, we have to answer. Do you have the Colt 45 handy? Yes. Who is it?
It's a police officer. What do you want? I have to ask you some questions. Can we trust her? Mr. Holmes?
I can't identify myself properly. I'm about to open the door. Have your badge ready. She's all right, Aggie. That's a police badge. And she's alone. Please, don't point that automatic at me. I have a license to own it. And I know how to use it. A pistol? We find it necessary in this jungle.
And hanging on the wall, is that a bulletproof vest? It is. Hmm, this quality must have cost a fortune. We don't even have anything this good in the police department. How can we help you, officer? Which of you is Miss Agnes Terhune? I am. Did you know Mr. Armand Ascalon? Yes, we bought our medicines there. When was the last time you saw him? I never saw him.
I beg your pardon? My sister is blind. Oh. Oh, I... I'm sorry. I'm looking for someone who might have been in the store before or during the time of the murder. Neither my sister nor I would venture into the streets at that hour. I see.
I'm sure. Well, ladies, I'm so sorry I bothered you. Thank you very much for your cooperation. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Aggie...
Aggie, you could have told her the truth, that you were in the drugstore. No, my dear. We must keep out of this at all costs. But she was a police officer. Couldn't we trust her? We can't trust anyone who lives out there in that jungle. The Jungle The Jungle
Who says the jungle must be a damp, steamy mass of crazy vegetation? It can be a steel and stone canyon of tall buildings and busy traffic. After all, it's not what the place looks like that makes it a jungle. It's the law that its inhabitants obey or choose to disregard. Our safari continues in Act 3, which I shall bring to you in just a few moments.
These things start simply enough. What appears to be a routine holdup suddenly assumes larger and weightier proportions. Both the law and the criminals are searching for a supposed witness. A diligent young policewoman has succeeded in her quest. How does the underworld plan to go about it?
Listen, Chappie, I can't afford to hang around here. I got a business to attend to. Oh, no, you're gonna hang around here until your business here is finished. I've been proud of the neighborhood. I could spot the old day. Pulling your horns.
What does that mean? The boss just figured out how we can get this old dame to come to us. Yeah? What was she doing in a drugstore at midnight in a howling rain? Beats me. Come on, use your head. Would she go out if it wasn't something important?
Why did the boss want Ascalon knocked off in the first place? I never ask them kind of questions. To let all the smallies know that he's running the drug racket in this town. Nobody can go into business for himself. It's got to be organized. All right. This Ascalon clown was running what amounted to a charity clinic.
The fact that he got knocked off made the message loud and clear. So, what does this have to do with my old dame? An old dame. She has to be a junkie. She needed a fix. Yeah? What else? You shot at her and missed. How could I miss? You scared her. Now, you know what she looks like. She knows she's in trouble. So, what's she doing? She's laying low.
But sooner or later, she's got to come to the surface. Why? Because she's a junkie. She'll need the stuff again. She can't go to Ascalon no more. She'll have to find a supplier. And the only supplier operating in that neighborhood right now is one of our own people. Oh!
Captain, I found the witness. Uh, what witness? Well, you remember I told you the killer fired at someone else after he shot Mr. Ascalon? Now, Julia, that's pure speculation. The person he fired at was the witness, and I found her. Her? But we have a problem. She refuses to admit she was there, and even if she did, she couldn't help us to identify the killer.
She's blind. What? A little old blind lady. What are you handing me? The killer spotted her and fired at her and would have killed her, but you'll never believe this. She was wearing a bulletproof vest. You are saying to me that standing in the store when the killing happened was a blind old lady wearing a bulletproof vest? That's it, Captain. That's what I'm saying, and I can prove it. I saw the vest.
and one of the slugs was still stuck inside it. I managed to sneak it out and have it tested at ballistics. It was fired from the same gun that killed Mr. Ascalon. You mean you got all this already? Well, you see, I had to ask myself why this blind old lady would go down to Ascalon's store so late at night in a bad neighborhood. She wore a bulletproof vest? Yes, yes. You see, she and her sister are somewhat, well, eccentric.
But it must have been for something very important, I said to myself. Well, I searched through Mr. Ascalon's files, and I couldn't find a prescription for Miss Terhune. So, what was he giving her? Drugs. That's right. And when you look closely at the sister, you see the classic signs of addiction. Her nose itches, she had a nervous tick, her eyes can't seem to focus, she sniffs. Drugs, sure. Drugs.
That's why Ascalon was knocked off. He was freelancing. The syndicate must have wanted to teach an object lesson. Yes, sir. See? How you put these things together after you've had as much experience as I have? No. No, Julia. It's all yours.
You deserve all the credit. Sir, for what? We don't have the killer. We will. But how? They are going to come after your little old lady. But how can they find her? You found her. Never let yourself get trapped into thinking that you're the only smart one. But if... Well...
they don't have to find her. She can't identify the killer. She's blind. They don't know that. But they're going to try to kill this woman. I know. Isn't there something we can do? Yes. We can protect her. But, sir, we're not infallible. Well, what do you want us to do? Spread a story in the press that, yes, there is a witness, but she's blind? Well, that might stop them from... No, that wouldn't help. They wouldn't believe it. They'd smell a rat.
Julia, they know there's a witness. They won't rest till they get her. Unless we get them first. The End
Maggie, I need my medicine. I know, Maggie dear. I know it's hard. I have to have my medicine. I have to. But I can't go to Ascalon's anymore. Go somewhere else. I can't be seen on the street. Maggie, please. Oh, please. Everything hurts. Try. Try to stand it just for a little longer. Help me. Maggie, hold on. Try. It's your fault. The accident was your fault. You were driving the car.
You were jealous of me. Jealous of my beautiful legs. Try to calm yourself. I was the pretty one. You smashed up the car so you could smash me. You did. And you were punished for it. You were blinded. I want my medicine. I want my medicine.
Just a little bit. Please. Make it last as long as you can. Wait till tonight. No. Please. We have to make what's left last at least a moment. No, no. I want it now. Oh, please. Please. Haggy, my dear sister, please. All right. All right. Be careful. Don't.
Spill any. Oh, yes. Yes. Thank you. Thank you, dear sister. Oh, the sweetest sister anyone ever had. So loyal. So loving. So true. Lady. Oh, I can close my eyes now. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Ah, come in, Miss Terhune. Uh, thank you. You know, it's a miracle how you can walk like that, being blind and all. You know, just with a turn and sit. I remember it from last time, Mrs. Caravelle. I must come to the point. I need to buy some drugs.
Mrs. Caravelle, you have a tenement house in this neighborhood. It's a respectable place. I didn't say no. Your husband is a gambler. Now, just a minute, Mr. Hume. I'm not finding fault, only establishing credentials. Now, surely, with your knowledge of things, you could find someone who will sell me...
Some drugs. Yeah, I should have figured with old Escalon dead. Well, I could ask a few questions and get a few answers and maybe put you in with somebody who knows somebody. That's all I ask. You won't get the price or the high quality. I... My sister...
We can't afford to be particular. You know, I'd rather not do a thing like this. My sister is desperate. I know. I hear her screaming sometimes. You'll help me? Yeah. If you want to call it help. Okay, Mule, we can saddle and ride. What you got, Chappie? I got you, little old lady. Who?
Her name is Terhune. Agnes Terhune. How? I told you she'd have to come up for air. How long could she stay under? She found Lester. Lester? Yeah, Big Lester, the neighborhood pusher. He was told to make a note of new customers, especially old ladies. He pegged her. How does he describe her? Thin, white hair...
How many of them can there be? It's got to be yours. I don't know. Something's missing. What? I don't know. Something about that old dame. I can't put my finger on it. Well, whatever it is, you still have to finish her off. How you doing, Julia? All right. How long you been on duty? Since 12. Boring? I'm sorry. It's not all brain work.
Yeah, sometimes you've got to pull things like stakeout. I don't mind, sir. Anybody who looks suspicious going into the house? No, not yet. Trouble is, we don't know who to look for. Sir, that truck pulling up in front of the house. No, it's not. It's the electric company power truck. Oh. Yeah, you see?
These two guys getting out? They're going to read the meters. How do you know, sir? Well, they're carrying those clipboards. Well, I wouldn't be too sure. Who... Who is it? Electric company. What... What do you want? You got a short circuit reported. We've got to fix it.
I don't know, Maggie. It sounds reasonable. Let him mean it. It's just something about his voice. His voice sounds familiar. Come on, lady. We ain't got all day. No.
It's him. I recognize the voice. The killer. She's on it. We've got to bust the door down. What's the matter, Julia? Isn't meter reading a one-man job, Captain? Well, it's... It seems to me. I've been in that house twice, and I don't think you get to the basement from the front. You have to go around to the back to get to the service entrance. Come on.
You keep behind me. Please. Please don't kill her. Is that the one you? Yeah, the tall one with the dark lashes. I know her anywhere. Don't kill me. Don't kill me. I'm sorry, lady. But I could never identify you. I'm blind. I'm blind. Pay no attention. Do what you have to do. Freeze. We're police officers. Drop it. Both guns. That's it. Stand still.
You ladies okay? Oh, now I know what was bothering me all along. She's blind. Are we safe now, officers? Yes, ladies. You're safe now.
And so are Mule and Chappy, safe for many years at the state penitentiary, where both of them are serving long terms without parole. And so what did we give you? Life among some very ordinary people. What appeared to be a routine holdup, but you should know by now,
Nothing is ever routine on our show, as I shall demonstrate when I return in just a few seconds. Someone once said, everything can happen to anyone, provided he lives long enough to
And so everything did happen on our story tonight. Everything. And even a happy ending. Because Maggie Terhune was turned over to the proper people who managed to cure her of her addiction. For all kinds of endings. Remember, we are here seven times each week. Our cast included Patricia Elliott, Carmen Matthews, Leon Janney, Bryna Rayburn, and Earl Hammond.
The entire production was under the direction of Hyman Brown.
And now, a preview of our next tale. I'm not a particularly psychic person. It is very interesting, but why don't we talk about it in the office tomorrow? Sir, what I think you should do is call the police station in Puerto San Diego. Where? That's the town nearest your sister-in-law's plantation. Oh, that's in South America. I know. Now,
Now, ask them to send a squad of police over to the house. Why? Because my secretary is having a bad dream? No, sir. Because you are frightened for the safety of your sister-in-law and your niece. But who'd want to harm them? Please. But I'm, well, maybe 10,000 miles away. Sir, you're William J. Big Bill Rawlinson. When you talk, people listen. Will you call the police now? All right, all right. I'll handle it.
You're not saying this just to quiet me. I said I'll handle it. Do it now. It's the only way we can save them. This is E.G. Marshall inviting you to return to our mystery theater for another adventure in the macabre. Until next time, pleasant dreams.
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Visit your nearby Lowe's on Cottle Road in San Jose. Welcome to It Takes Energy, presented by Energy Transfer, where we talk all things oil and natural gas. Oil and gas drive our economy, ensure our country's security, and open pathways to brighter futures.
When it comes to meeting the world's energy needs, more is better. What we mean is our world needs a wide range of energy sources to meet our increasing needs. Just wind or solar won't get us there, as the sun doesn't always shine and the wind doesn't always blow. With our growing population and the increasing use of energy-demanding technologies like AI, reliability is key.
And the reliability of natural gas is unmatched by wind and solar. That doesn't mean we all can't work together, but natural gas is vital to ensuring we meet our energy needs. Look around and you'll see the essential role oil and gas plays in our lives. Our world needs oil and gas, and people rely on us to deliver it. To learn more, visit energytransfer.com.
Two new exhibits, one epic experience. Get tickets at calacademy.org.
Quiet, please. Quiet, please. Quiet, please.
The Mutual Broadcasting System presents Quiet, Please, which is written and directed by Willis Cooper. Quiet, Please for tonight is called In the House Where I Was Born. Another year, another year, and I've come back to the house where I was born.
Every year I do it. Just before Decoration Day. This seventh, some years. Everybody ought to go back once a year to the house where he was born. Just look around and remember. And then, change them. The house where I was born is old. Since the old porch was gone...
The big bay window where I used to sit and watch the snow one winter afternoon. And the wooden steps go straight up from the sidewalk to the big double front door. The house was painted red when I lived there. Red was quite trimming. There was a big calabium plant in the front yard. Elephant ears, my grandmother used to call it. You remember those things?
My brother and I used to pull them and make umbrellas out of them. Grandma's jaws till our ears hurt. Can't even tell now where the caladiums were. And the old woodshed that two generations of us have carved our initials on. I remember C.D.O. 1884. And my brother's initials, 1905. And all the others. That's gone, too.
And there was a dog, little brown and white fox carrier. Her name was Trixie, wasn't it? So many years ago. Here was the living room. The sitting room, we called it. The round oak-based burner with the ice and glass in the doors where the coke...
The couch table with the cracked marble top where the lamp's at. The round lamp with the yellow church cage. And my brother and I reading the highly made and wishing we two could be big league baseball players.
Then on a spring night like this, Mother, sitting at the Rosewood organ under the picture, playing Battle Hymn of the Republic, and there'll be a hot time in the old town. But the Spanish War wasn't so long ago. Then my father, Sergeant Major, hadn't come back from Chickamauga. In the scent of white lilac. Then the white lilac whiskey with his side is lost on me. But I can smell the white lilac tonight.
Mama, tell me a story.
What shall I tell you about tonight, son? Isn't it almost time for bed? Say, first, Ma, please. Well, let me see. The sad it is, the drunken still. We're dancing in our moaning drills.
What's running the mill, Mama? Well, what did they say at running the mill, Mama? Well, I suppose it was known after somebody named Mona, wasn't it?
I suppose it's a very tiny little place where the water is ever so cold and comes down all the way from the very top of the mountain to the glade and places where the birds live. And I suppose not very many people know where Mourningville really is because it's very probably guarded by the... and I don't think they like people to come and drink at their will.
But they do let the stag come every night, and that's what he wants to. And then he goes away. And the little people ride on his back wherever he goes. And then they wake him up in the morning, and he takes them back to the well. Does Norman come back too? No, I don't think so.
Mom's gone from there ever so many, many years ago. Doesn't anybody ever see him? No. Doesn't anybody know him, even? I guess not. That's awful. Yes, it is, isn't it? That's just about the awfulest thing that could happen, isn't it? What, Mom? Not having anybody know you. Why, I hadn't thought of that. But... Hey, Mama. Are you getting thinking? Mm-hmm.
My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath have flowed. He hath loosed the faithful lightning of his parables, of his truth, his martyrdom.
Grandmother's song says, and the light grows dim, and I am in darkness again, in the house where I was born. And this house where I was born is in a great city, and the wide streets are filled with crowds of people. And I remember again, so many things. The thunder of the elevated railways overhead on a brisk afternoon in the autumn.
and the open streetcar clanging its way up the street. My father pointing and telling me that that's the last trip of the open streetcars up Broadway till next summer. And a friendly policeman in a round-topped helmet spanking me jovially with his nightstick as we crossed the plaza on the way to the Central Park Zoo. And the house where I was born.
weary and happy in the crisp evening, climbing the brownstone steps into a high-ceilinged house with a fireplace in the front room and a great stairway and a long, inviting banister and a cat with a blue ribbon for a collar and the longest, sharpest claws in the world and a telephone that you could talk even to Brooklyn with in the house where I was born.
And now, a sign on the front alongside the tall doors. A sign that says, Swedish restaurant. And still, in the concrete sidewalk at the foot of the steps, the prints of my two shoes that I could stand with a hand. And my initials. And the date. 1901. And I turn away from this house where I was born. For I have not done...
with my homeward journey yet. In the house where I was born, there is not one stone upon another. For the path of war led across its dooryard. And destruction followed for all the people who dwelt in it. But the scent of lilac...
is strong in the evening air even here. And before my eyes, the scene of desolation dims, and the house where I was born lives again. And it is a spring evening. There seems to be music in the air. And I feel happiness again as I felt it that night when I first brought home my bride. What was her name? Have I forgotten?
Carry me across the threshold, my love. Oh, darling, this is home. A fine home, a wonderful home. My people have lived here. Since the 30 years war, you have told me that. They don't build houses like this anymore, my love.
See the wall? On the stone from the foyer over there. And the mortar. Why, there's my great-great-great-grandfather's blood in that mortar. I know. He drew blood from his own arm and spilled it into the mortar so that there would always be something of him in the house. Well, it was also a charm, you know. The witch woman. I know. He paid her three silver pieces to tell him what to do to make the house stand forever.
Well, how do you know so much about it? You have told me so many times. Oh, so I have. And Ria's glass in the windows, too. And the straw with the hand-painted tiles. There's not another one like it in the whole village. And it's ours. And we'll take it to America when we go. Oh, dear, do you really want to go to America? Why, of course I do.
You do too, don't you? Could we not be happy here with two... Well, we could be happy anywhere. But in America... I know we will be rich and I'll have two dresses and someday we'll have a motor car even, but... But what? It is so far from this house where you have been born in. Why, I hoped our children would be born. Then the scent of lilacs is strong again in the air.
As the voice of a beloved woman fades away into shadow and forgetfulness. And the house where I was born is swallowed up in the night. And I am alone again. And the house where I was born is a doby shack somewhere in the Texas panhandle. And the wide plains of the west stretch away endlessly beyond it. Now the corral gate is broken. The bunkhouse roof is gone.
Horned toad squat on the decrepit porch where I played cowboy and Indian. I look above the door, and the brand is still there. The brand that looks in the early darkness like rafter A, but might be two up and two down, or a running W. And there's a dry, dusty smell about the place, and an echo of almost forgotten songs quivers on the air.
For the Chisholm Trail went past our place, all the way from Belton up to the North Fork of the Canadian Apollines. I've seen white-faced ballers by the thousands go past our gate, heard the riders' voices in the hot noon.
The Long Moonless Night.
And the long, slow song of Horace Hoopes' music to the ears of a lost, forgotten Texan who'll never come back to stay to the house where he was born, to lay flowers on the grave up there on the little hill under the cottonwood tree. And the house where I was born is a sod-roofed cottage in the peat bog country of Ireland.
Then I'm 19 and returned for a visit with the old folks after three years in America where I'd become all Yankee. Then my brother and I sit before the door, talk at evening about the strangeness of the new world and its customs.
The customs of other people beyond the various seas. And it is this very day, 34 years ago, in 1914. And I'm betting you there'll be war in Europe before the year is out, my lad. Let's just talk. Just talk. Start of every war the world has ever seen. Kaiser Bill is just waiting for somebody to set the world alight.
Aye, and if many a good lad will come to his end putting it out. Well, we'll never get in it. You mean the Americans? Yes. I don't know about that. Well, we're too far away. Let the English and the Germans fight it out. Oh, very well to say. But you'll see. Well, you won't go. Oh, I'm not so sure about that either. Fight for the English? Oh, I wouldn't like that very much, sure enough. But
But there's some very good Irish regiments in the British Army. The, uh, the Inneskill Infusiliers, the Royal Irish Rifles, the Dublin Infusiliers. You stay out of it. All right. What, you can't go and leave the old folks alone? No, if I was as young as you now, I'd... Cut it out. Why, you talk as if war is just around the corner. That's just exactly what I think, too. Well, all right. But I'll be back in the States long before your war arrives.
I'll stay there, too. And I left the house where I was born, the smoky, damp little hut beside the road to the sea, and I've not seen it again, save when it comes decoration day time and I go back, unbeknownst to my brother, look in the door to where he sits, an old man puffing his pipe, alone by the peat fire. And once, it was long years ago, the village priest sat with him,
And I heard my brother speak of me. Aye. Aye, it would have been different, Father. If my brother'd have come back from the war. He was a fine young lad, Father. Him and me, oh, we could have done something with the place. But now, it's too late. Oh.
And there was a day on the ranch in the Texas panhandle when a tall young man in Levi's and high-heeled boots, paddled and bridled a horse, said goodbye to an old man, shook hands with a half-dozen cowhands and a Mexican cook, rode away toward the railroad that was to be the first lap of a long, long journey. And I remember I turned and looked back at the house where I was born, and someone was singing an old song somewhere.
♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪
And here again, in the house where I was born, I stand again beside the walls of stone mortared with the blood of my great-great-great-grandfather and in my arms,
I hold a weeping one. Don't go. Don't go and leave me. But it'll be only a little while, my dear. Only till I can earn enough money to send you. I'll never see you again. Oh, but you will. America really isn't so far away. The cross and sea, the cross and sea don't stay. Dear, dear, we've been through all this before.
Now be reasonable. In six months, a year... Oh, no, no, no. Don't worry. Let us stay here, both of us. This is our home. This is the house where you were born. Look at me, love. I love you. It will be such a little while. You will come to America...
We'll be so happy and so rich. It's such a little time to wait. You know it is. I love you. And I kissed her. And I went away. And I have never again seen the house where I was born, except in dreams. Dreams such as this dream tonight, when the ruins lift and form themselves for a little moment in the darkness.
She came to America, and the day she arrived, I was drowned. I was never able to find her again. But then, she was never able to find me either. In the house where I was born, there is no memory left of me. Only the two prints of a child's shoes and the concrete remain as a memorial that I once lived. The house where I was born has forgotten me.
And the house where I was born, where my little brother and I played in the caladium bed. This has almost forgotten me, too. There is a pack of yellowed letters somewhere in the house. Lost behind the beam in the attic, maybe. A pack of yellowed letters with soldiers' mail in the place where the stamp should go. And my name and an APO number in the other corner.
The letters are full of names like Albert, the Psalm, Chateaunecourt, Dead Man's Hill, Consonvoy, Brabant. Names like the faded letters on an ancient palimpsest, obscured by newer names written over them. Omaha Beach, Bastogne, Okinawa. They are all names of places where men have died. And one day, they'll all be forgotten. Please, God.
I remember one of those names, those first names. I won't tell you the name of the town, a clean little town it was once with red-roofed houses, a dirty shambles in October 1918. I couldn't hear the shells from the 77s bursting in the streets. I couldn't hear what the chaplain was saying to me. I could just see a dirty-faced man in a helmet moving his lips as he bent over me. It was very quiet and very lonely.
I didn't even hear the shell that killed him and the other man that was standing alongside him. It was quiet for a long, long time. And then I heard a little boy's voice. And I said to myself, Why, I'm home. That's my voice. That night before decoration, many years ago. And...
And it was. What morning drill, Mama? What morning drill, Larry?
The water in the river. Miss Pat, please go and see him. I suppose not very many people know him, Monique. There really is. Because it's probably very close to his heart. It's like a little something. Many a good lad will come to his end of putting up the great fire. Cross the sea. Cross the sea. Don't stay. Don't stay.
It's just about the rockiest thing in the world, Ma. Not having anybody know you. They set a marble tomb above my shattered cell, seeking to do me honor, I thought.
To recompense the searing days and the crawling nights I died in. He lies here deep, the graven letters say. He lies here deep, unknown to all save God. Oh, sweet it is, they say. Oh, sweet it is to die the battle death. Yes, it is sweet. As gall is sweet and wormwood sweet.
So is death. I died. I felt the bitter fire and the cleaving steel, the pain. I am content. Yet I am weary in my sediments. The sleep of death is not so very deep. Lately the spring has come, and yesterday a tiny root of some green thing has split the stones apart wherein I lie.
and its tender questing fingers seek my hand as mine sought flowers on some yesterday forgot. Above my head, the hushed clang of arms, the measured tread of sentinels that guard my bed forbid me sleep. My face is dim in eternity now. But once you knew me, perhaps you wept to hear that Sergeant Death had spoke my name.
Is it you that I hear through the dust? Oh, my brother. Is it your little song that I hear? Oh, my mother. I am my tomb of marble. I am my tomb of stone. I am the chief of them all. I am the chief of the dead. I died. And dying became a mystery. To every mother her son...
To every brother, his brother. To every soldier, his comrade. I, the chief of the dead. I was content to lie here, masked in uncertainty, having the homage of all of you here in my marble tomb. I was content, I say. And yet now spring comes again, as I saw it once before that day I died. Is it your hand?
that rests on the stone? Oh, my sister, is it your tear that falls on the stone? Oh, my wife, I hear the trumpets now, the volleys sound, the sabers flash against the sun. I may not know. I may not rise. I have my duty here alone. I, in my tomb of marble...
I am the chief of them all. I am the chief of the dead. Quiet, please, for tonight was called In the House Where I Was Born. It was written and directed by Willis Cooper, and Ernest Chappell was the man who wrote it. Others in the cast were a lot of stinted people. Cecil Boyd,
Betty Raggy. And Jay Patramas. Special music department. I'm the robot. My good friend. Obviously, all the characters in tonight's story, except the principal one, are completely fictitious. Fictitious stories caused the world to fall apart.
And so until next week at the same time, I'm quietly yours, Ernest Cappell. This has been a slow broadcasting system.
Get ready for July 4th with early savings at Lowe's. Get up to 40% off select major appliances and get an additional 10% off two or more select major appliances. These deals are coming in hot. Lowe's, we help, you save. Valid through 7-9. Selection varies by location. While supplies last. See Lowe's.com for more details. Visit your nearby Lowe's on Cottle Road in San Jose.
Two new exhibits, one epic experience. Get tickets at calacademy.org.
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 say, play Weird Darkness, and you'll immediately start hearing the newest episode. With your Amazon Echo or smart device, you can let me keep you company all day and all night. And it's easy to tell your friends how to tune in, too. Just tell your Amazon device, play Weird Darkness, to start listening.
The National Broadcasting Company presents Radio City Playhouse, Attraction 25. ♪♪
Ladies and gentlemen, here is the director of Radio City Playhouse, Harry W. Duncan. Thanks, Bob. Friends, the story we have for you tonight is not a nice story. It is, however, a true story as it deals with the truth in a human situation. And we feel that once in a while, radio can do with true and realistic stories. Our star is Miss Elspeth Erick, one of New York's most talented actresses.
She plays the very difficult and penetrating role of Martha Hillman. Here then with Elspeth Erick as Martha and Adelaide Klein as her mother is tonight's play, Machine. Attraction 25 on Radio City Playhouse. Martha Hillman works in a factory.
It's a good factory, good pay, good working conditions. Martha's job consists of soldering together two copper wires, which protrude from an aluminum ring. The ring, after several additional operations, may end up in any one of a dozen electrical devices. All Martha knows is this one job.
She is a human machine. Efficient, quiet, dependable. A big, overweight, 24-year-old, bad-complexioned machine. She is also generous and kind and the hardest worker in her department. Okay, girls, that's it. Martha goes on working for a few minutes, then turns off her soldering iron, puts down her work gloves, and finds herself at the end of a line of girls checking out their worksheets before going to lunch.
She waits patiently, her turn at the supervisor's window.
Mary Bishop, 432, 16 defective. Bishop, 432, 16, okay. Martha Hillman, 645, 4 defective. Hi, Martha. Are you the last one? Yeah. 645, 4 defective. Oh, I don't know how you do it. That Bishop kid took all morning to do 432. She's new, isn't she? Yeah, here she's leaving, getting married. Well, see you in Eugene. Hey, just a second, Martha. Mrs. Forrest up in personnel wants to see you.
See me? Yeah. Put your phone down this morning. I want you to drop into her office before you go to lunch. What for? I don't know. She hasn't done anything. Look, kid, all I know of it is Mrs. Forrest just wants to see you. Better go up before you eat. It's on the fourth floor, room 428. Okay? Okay. I sure can't understand why she wants to see me.
Come in. Oh, hello, Martha. Come in. Sit down, Martha. Thanks, Mrs. Forrest. Martha, we've some news for you. Some good news. Good news? We're going to promote you. Promote me? Don't you think it's about time? Well, I...
I don't know. They're planning to send you up to the 34th Street warehouse. You'll be working under Mr. Ralph up there, traffic and shipping. We'll have five girls under you, and there's an increase of $7 a week. 34th Street? Yes. Don't look so sad, Martha. It's a promotion. Would that mean I'd never get down here at all? Not unless you visit the night shift. I can't go, Mrs. Forrest. What did you say, Martha? I'd rather not take the other job than a promotion.
My dear girl, you're not serious. Yes, I... I'd rather not. But I don't understand. This is a promotion, a raise of $7 a week. We've liked your work here. You've been steady and reliable and punctual. Just don't want to go up to 34th Street, that's all. But Martha, it's closer to where you live. It's a shorter ride in the subway, better pay, nicer work. It's a promotion, Martha. Don't you understand that? A raise of $7 a week. I don't need the money.
Martha, why? I thought you'd be delighted. I thought you'd be thrilled. You've always been very nice to me, Mrs. Forrest, but I don't want to go. Is it some personal reason? Yes. At home, perhaps? Is there some trouble at home?
I don't mean to intrude, Martha, but it's so... Well, it's such a good chance. I hate to see you just turn it down. Do I have to go? You don't have to, no. But I'll be very disappointed in you if you let me down. You wouldn't fire me if I didn't go. Well, of course not. Martha, how can you talk that way? Nobody wants to fire you. Then I'll just stay where I am. Martha, I wish you'd be frank with me. I don't want to go, that's all.
Oh, now, Martha, you mustn't cry about it. If you don't want to go, that's all there is to it. Look, supposing you think it over till tomorrow at noon. I'll keep the job open till then. I won't change my mind. But you'd meet new people, make new friends. It's a wise step in your career. I don't want to meet any new people. But, my dear girl... I don't want to make any new friends. I want to stay here. I like it here. All right, Martha. That's the way you want it. I'll keep the job open till tomorrow noon. To change your mind, come in and let me know.
That's all, Martha. Is that you, Martha? Mama. Hello, baby. I just made us a nice pitcher of lemonade. I thought it would cool us off. Boy, does it ever feel good to sit down. I'll bet. Gee, what a day. Was it ever hot?
I'm boiled, aren't you? Absolutely. I was till I washed my hair. I feel better now. Here, have a nice glass of cold lemonade. Is there any beer? No, baby. We just didn't have enough money this week to buy any beer. Okay, okay. Lemonade's fine. Thanks, Martha. Tastes good, doesn't it, huh? Yeah, yeah, it's swell. Mm, mm, swell. Martha. Madam, I...
Well, baby, Mrs. Forrest phoned me from the plant this afternoon. She's a personnel lady. She told me all about this new job. She seemed to think you ought to take it.
She said she hoped I didn't mind her phoning, but that she couldn't understand why you didn't want to go. Just don't want to go? Don't pick at your face, Martha. Why don't you want to go? Because I don't. Well, that's no reason, honey. Okay, so it's no reason. But 34th Street's closer in a ray. $7 a week, that pays the rent. Oh, it pays the rent. We can pay the rent on what I make now. At times like this, I sure wish your father was alive. I'll bet. Martha. Oh, now, let's not get into a row, Martha. But I'm only trying to advise you to help you. I know. Martha.
Leave your face alone, Martha. You'll make it bleed if you keep peeking at it. Look, Mom, I'm tired. Let's have dinner, huh? But why? Why? Just answer me that one question and I'll keep quiet. Because I don't want to. Now let's drop it. No, I won't drop it, Martha Hillman. You've just got to come to your senses. Honey!
I've never heard of anything so silly in my life. You're behaving like a silly kid. Ma, will you lay off? Honest, I'm tired out. Now let's drop it. Seven dollars a week. A raise of seven dollars a week and you're being airy-fairy. Well, you'll learn, young lady. I suppose you think you should have Mrs. Forrest's job. Seven dollars a week isn't good enough for you. I don't want to talk about it. Opportunity only knocks once, remember that. Besides, it isn't though you were so crazy about this job you got now. I like it fine. One day you like it, next day you hate it.
Why don't you make up your mind, and will you please leave your face alone? It's bad enough now without you picking it all the time. Will you shut up, Ma, for heaven's sake, lay off him. Why don't you make up your mind? Since you're not getting married, you might as well get ahead in your work, because if you don't, you'll... Shut up, will you? Shut up, Ma. Well, are you getting married? Do I ever see any boys around here? When I was your age, I was married for three years. If you don't want to get married, and you don't want to be a success in your job, what
What do you want? I just want to be left alone. Now, will you stop it before I get mad? Don't you talk to me that way, young lady, and stop pacing him down. And be careful with that lemonade. You'll spill it all over you. Will you shut up? Have you gone crazy? No, but I'm telling you, if you don't shut your mouth and get dinner, I'll... You might have hit me with that glass. You might have hurt me. I'm sick and tired of you yapping about this job. I work hard all day, and you make me sick with your yapping. Now, just shut up and leave me alone. You're an ungrateful, rude, nasty girl. That's what you are. An ungrateful, stupid, rude, nasty...
Martha! You struck me! My own daughter! Shut up, will ya? I haven't done enough to put up with without having to listen to you all night. You make me sick sitting around all day, nothing to do but wash your hair. You struck me! You struck me! My own daughter! There's no use to you throwing yourself on that couch and kicking Martha Hillman. You're a horrible, terrible girl. I don't care what you do. You can stay in that job until you rot for life. Oh, leave me alone! Leave me alone!
I wish I was dead. Well, I should think you would. Please, Ma, please leave me alone.
I'll want to use any way I wish I was then. You shouldn't talk like that, Ma. Well, I do. I do. I hate that job. I hate the factory. I hate Mrs. Forrest. I hate this stinking hot pot. I hate everything. Now go away and leave me alone. You'll make your face all red if you cry. Go what?
So what if it's red? So what? Does it make any difference if it's red, blue, or green? Oh, I... Martha, please, stop it. Stop crying like that. Well, I do. All the time it goes on. Sure, I go to night school. So what? Sure, I work hard at the factory. What good does it do me? What good does it do me when I... when I'm like this? When I'm so fast that I...
pimples all over my face. Martha, please don't. Please, baby. I'm in pain and stuff all the time. They never do me any good. It's because you're so nervous. That's what the doctor said. Nervous? Wouldn't you be nervous? Always looking like he had the measles. I...
I just can't stand it anymore! That's all I get. I can't stand it anymore. I'm going to go away someplace and never ever come back here again. Baby... I'm just going to go away somewhere. I'm not going to go on working and working with never anything to show for it. Never. And I never get any dinner. If I stop eating all together, I never get any dinner. Baby, please don't go on so it's bad for you. I never go to a date. I never go to dances. I never do anything. Baby...
I want to go out. I want to have dates. Why can't I be like June McCauley? Baby. Why can't I? Because I'm fat and I've got dimples and I'm too tall and too big. Martha, baby, please stop crying. Please. I just don't know what it's like. One time, I went to the company dance. I sat. I sat all night.
All night long I just sat there and had to be good-natured and pretend like I was enjoying it. Baby. Sure they think I'm good-natured, just like an old cow. And nobody danced with me. Nobody. Not one of those dirty, mean, nasty, suck-up guys would ask me even once. Not one of them except Bob.
Bob? He's a guy in shipping. Oh, oh. Because he lives on the same street and he's sorry for me. He was the only one with enough decent feet and enough common, ordinary... Common, ordinary...
Oh, dear God, I wish I was dead. My poor, poor baby. Oh, God, make up for it, Ma. Leave me alone. Baby, it's not as bad as that. Please. You're not so fat. You're big bones. You're just a big girl. Will you stop it? I can't stand it. Will you stop it, Ma? Please. Honey, this Bob belly, you like him? Well, of course I like him. Uh-huh.
Oh, I don't like him that way, if that's what you mean. I don't care if he... Ma, please get supper and lay off him. You've got nice hair, baby. Yeah. So naturally curly. And you're a good girl, Martha. You're kind and good and smart. Yeah. Don't you care about those dances and... anything? You're just the kind that if he had any sense at all, he'd pick for a wife. Oh, okay. I'm sorry, Ma. I...
I'm real sorry. I don't know what got into me. That's all right, baby. You're upset. Let's have supper and maybe go to a movie. We'll talk about it in the morning. In the morning, huh? More toast, baby? No, thanks, Ma. Coffee? No, thanks. Oh, you should eat more breakfast. Work all morning on one slice of toast and one cup of coffee. I'm fine. Got time for cigarettes? Mm-hmm. Go to date. So I have a smoke. Sure. Take your time, honey.
Um, Martha. Hmm? You're my own daughter, Martha, and, well, honey, I'd do anything that would help to make you feel happy. I know you would, Martha. So would I. Look, Martha, can't we just say everything we're thinking real honest and straight from the shoulder? Can't we? All right. Go ahead. Well, look, honey, have you always felt like this? I mean, have you always felt sort of...
Well, self-conscious about being... Well, about not being as pretty as some girls? Yep. And have you... Well, have you wanted... It's awful hard for me to say all this, Martha. It's your idea. Yeah, I know. Well, have you always wanted to have more dates with fellas? Yep. And this Bob fella, if... Well, supposing he asked you to marry him? He'd drop dead. Now, Martha, you promised we'd be real honest. I'm only trying to help...
If he asked you to marry him, what would you say? Say yes. You like him, huh? Is he the reason you didn't want this promotion so that you could stay where you might see him once in a while? Yep. You love him, maybe?
Maybe. Well, then you've got to... You've got to... To what? Well, if you never try. If you just sit around and never try. What am I going to do? Hog tie him? But why make yourself... I mean... Well, how do you think I got your father to propose? You didn't weigh 158. But you're big in the bones, baby. You're not fat. You're just a big girl. All over. Big all over. Couldn't you just...
You say he lives here on Cremont? That's right. Couldn't you just kind of meet him accidentally some night? Accidentally is right. And maybe ask him in for supper? In here? Oh, why not? Why not? I'm a good cook. We use all the best china. I thought you'd think I'd gone nuts. Well, at least you could try, baby. I'm only trying to help.
My mother doesn't like to see her baby miserable. I'm not miserable now, Mother. It was last night. I'm fine. Forget it. But couldn't you try? Couldn't you just kind of happen to meet him on the way home from work and just casually ask him in for dinner? I'm not going to look at the subway every night for a month and pounce on him, if that's what you mean. But you'll try, huh, baby? Please? It's nearly 8 o'clock. Goodbye, Mom. Thanks for... Well, thanks. But you'll try, baby? Sure, sure, Ma. I'll try. Maybe I could ask him to supper some night.
Maybe I could. Well, Bob, what's that? What?
What are you doing in this neck of the woods? Oh, hiya, Martha. How are ya? Whatever you're doing way out here. Well, I live here. On Tremont. You do? Yeah. Well, isn't it a small world after all? You walking my way? Well, sure. Aren't those subways awful? Honestly. Yeah. Cooler today, though. And if that hot spell two weeks ago, we nearly died in our department. Yeah. Yeah.
I sure will be glad to get out of that joint. Oh. Yeah, I'm quitting.
Getting another job over in Jersey. My brother-in-law's got a garage over there and wants me to go in with him. Jersey? Yeah. Well, isn't that just fine? Well, I figured I wasn't getting anywhere with old Jorgensen. Everybody says you're twice as smart as Jorgensen. If they have any sense, they'd fire him and give you his job. Well, it doesn't matter now. I'm leaving the end of this week. This week? Mm-hmm. Gave my notice Monday. So you're leaving. Yeah.
Gee whiz, the shipping department will fall apart. Honest, Frank Henley says you're the strongest man they ever had in shipping. Yeah? Sure, that's true. Said you do more boxes in a day than any other guy they got. Oh, it's just my good living. I'll bet. That's a fact. I'll bet you're not so good living. Oh, yeah? I'll bet you're a wild one. You think so, huh? I can tell. Yeah? Ah, you men. Uh, you, uh...
You live around here, Martha? What? Now, doesn't that beat everything? I've walked clean paths up. It's your fascinating conversation. Oh, yeah? Well, the least you can do is walk back with me. It's only half a block. Well, look, I sort of have to get... Come on. It's only a step. Oh, okay, Martha.
Gee, women sure are queer. Nothing ever makes me forget where I live. That's what you get for being so attractive. Who, me? Well, you are. Jean Milton, that's our supervisor. She thinks you're the best looking guy in the plant. Jean Milton, who's she? She's our supervisor. Oh, I don't know her. She's a nice girl.
Gosh, I'm hungry. Yeah. Ma always has swell dinners. I always say a good home-cooked meal tastes better than anything you ever get at the Waldorf Astoria. You go there? Oh, not for... Not for weeks and weeks. There's this, uh... This guy from out of town, he always takes me there, but... I'd be such a jerk, I nearly die. Yeah? I'd rather have one of Ma's home-cooked meals than anything.
You eat out much? Yeah, all the time. Must get tired of it. Oh, I don't mind it. Don't you ever get real anxious for a good old-fashioned home-cooked meal? Oh, I go to my sister's and Jersey's on weekends. Say, Bob, I got a swell idea. What? Why don't you come in and have supper with us? Why don't you? What, tonight? Sure, why not? If you leave in the plant, I won't ever get a chance to ask you again. Gee, Martha...
It's nice of you, but I sort of have a previous engagement. I was thinking... Well, I'm busy later myself. What? Not anything I couldn't break, but I did promise a guy that I'd go to a show with him tonight. So you could come in and eat and leave just as soon as you want to. There's that place here. Yeah? What do you think? Well...
Well, I guess it'll be all right. I can't stay, though. Well, fine. I mean, not fine that you can't stay, but I've really got to go to the show with this guy anyhow, so it'll be fine, won't it? Come on. Okay, Martha. Ma'll be tickled to death. She never gets tired of me bringing guys home for meals. Oh.
Mother! Me!
Come on in. Thanks. Martha! Don't sit in the living room. I washed the slipcovers and they're still wet. Honestly, I never saw such a washer in my life as we had today. I thought I'd ever... Oh. Ma, this is Bob Lawson. Bob, this is my mother. Happy to see you, Mrs. Cowan. Well, Mr. Lawson, this is a surprise. Bob's coming for dinner, Ma. I hope you got something wonderful. Oh. Well, isn't that silly? I washed the slipcovers on that Chesterfield suit and I...
Well, I'll just sit on them anyway. Well, look, don't go to any trouble, Mrs. Hillman. We can sit anywhere. Well, they're really pretty wet. Couldn't we bring in the kitchen chairs, Ma? Well, why can't we sit in the kitchen? Oh, no, that's awful. Suppose we bring in the kitchen chairs, Ma. Well, I'll get them. Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Lawson, I'll get them. You children go on in the living room and I'll bring the chairs. Wouldn't it be the day Ma would wash everything? Yeah. Honestly, she's the most particular housekeeper I ever saw. Honestly, you could eat off the floor. Well...
This is home sweet home. Oh, it's real nice. Gee, those slipcovers are still pretty damp.
Guess we'll just have to sit on the kitchen chairs. Well, here we are. Here we are. This is the silliest thing. But those slipcovers were so dusty. Well, I'm afraid you'll just have to have a straight-back chair, Mr. Lawson. Oh, look, that's all right, Mrs. Hillman. Martha, you sit on this chair. No, no, no, no. You sit down. I'll get the other chair. Mother, you keep Bob company for a while. All right, dear. Sit down, Mr. Lawson. Well, what about you, Mrs. Hillman? Oh, no, no, no. Sit down, sit down. I have to see about dinner anyway in a minute. Sit down. Okay. Okay.
Martha said you lived just up the street a bit. Oh? Yeah. Oh. Oh, yeah, yeah, that's right. Well, I'm real glad you came. Yeah, me too. Well, if you'll excuse me just a moment. Sure, Mrs. Hellman. I'll just see about dinner. There's a magazine right there next to you, right there. Okay, Mrs. Hellman, take your time. I'm okay.
What a night you picked, Martha. Wash the... What have we got for dinner? We've got nothing. Good night, Martha. Couldn't you let me know? Madam, it's the subway. And those slipcovers soaking wet, and I look such a mess. I washed the whole afternoon. Do you need beer? No, I'll go down and get some, and we've got no meat either. No meat? No, I thought we'd just have eggs tonight. Oh, we can't give him eggs or a can of something. I'll go right down to the supermarket. It's closed. It's nearly 6.30. What about Bernstein? The Jewish heart, they're in there closed, too. I phoned this morning. Mrs. Leipzig told me.
Can't you? No. Stay in here. You'll wonder what we're doing. You go on in. I'll manage. You go and put on your black pump first. Yeah, and use the good fish. Yeah, I will. I will. Oh, wouldn't you know you'd wash those flip flippers. Honestly, I could die. Get in there. Get in there. You'll wonder what we're doing. Go on. I'll get dinner. I'll get something. I'll get dinner.
Some raspberries, Mr. Lawson. I put them up myself. Oh, no thanks, Mrs. Hillman. They make my eyes swell up. They what? Yeah, is it silly? I'm allergic to raspberries. Oh. I've got a friend who's allergic to dog hair. Yeah? Yeah, honestly, every time she comes within a mile of a dog, she gets sore eyes and sneezes. It's awful. What about coffee, Mr. Lawson? Well, no, but I tell you, I'd sure like a glass of milk if you have it. Sure, Bob. Mother, would you get Bob some milk?
Well, well, I'm afraid I used the last of the milk in this cramble, eh? Well, look, that's okay. I'll have some water. Oh, I'll pass you a glass. Okay. It's not very cold. I'll get the knife. Oh, no, this is fine. Honest, I'm fine. Maybe the slipcovers would be dry. We can take these chairs back to the living room. It's cooler in there. Well, look, honest folks, I've got to be going. I've got another previous engagement. Why don't you go then? You might as well. Martha, he's got a date. He's got a date. I know, but you shouldn't make him hurry. Well, I do have to go, and...
Well, it's been swell. Thanks very much, Martha and Mrs. Hillman. Really, I'm sorry about the wine. I don't know what happened to it. It was wonderful when we had it last Christmas. I guess I must have fermented too much, huh? Yeah, well... Well, look, I guess I'd better run along now. Guess you had. I... I certainly enjoyed those scrambled eggs. That's good. And...
And I certainly was pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hillman. Same here, Mr. Lawson. You're going to go? Go. Papa. Why doesn't he go if he's going? Well, so long, everybody. Don't bother, Miss Hillman. I can find the door. Oh, that's all right. I'll show you to the door. It's been real nice having you, Mr. Lawson. I hope you'll come again. Goodbye, Martha. Goodbye, Mr. Lawson. Bye. Mrs. Hillman.
He's a real nice boy, that Bob. Oh, Martha, baby, I'm real sorry about the wine. I never thought to get beer today with Bernstein's clothes. Doesn't matter. I'm sorry if everything wasn't just right, but honestly, honey, I watched the whole afternoon. If you'd only let me know. Stop it, Bob. Oh, and those slipcovers.
If I'd known, I could have washed them any day. Honestly, I nearly died when you both came in because I thought right away about the slipcovers and that it would be awful all sitting on straight chairs and everything. Will you stop it, Ma? Will you stop this? But eggs, honestly, tomato soup and eggs, some dinner, and no milk and no beer and wet slipcovers. Honestly, I'm so ashamed. It doesn't matter. Can't you understand? If we'd had turkey and... I'm putting...
Can't you get it to you? It doesn't matter. When the lunch whistle blows, Martha doesn't hear it. The constant noise about her has trained her to shut her ears. She goes on working for a few minutes, then turns off her soldering iron, puts down her work gloves, and finds herself at the end of a line of girls checking out their worksheets before going to lunch. Martha waits patiently for her turn at the supervisor's window.
Mary Bishop 311, 20 defective. Mary Bishop 311, 20 defective. Well, it's a good thing you're getting married, Mary. You're sure not much use around here. Just thinking. After the end of this week, I'll never ever have to touch a soda and iron as long as I live. Oh, brother, am I? Smart to Hillman 702, no defective. Hi, Martha. 702, no defective?
Boy, Martha, at the rate you work, it's a wonder to me you're not president of this joint. Yeah. Yeah, sure. You have just heard Machine, as written and directed by Harry W. Junkin.
The part of Martha was played by Elspeth Erick. Ma was Adelaine Klein. Other players included Grace Keddie, Phil Sterling, and Ann Petoniak. The music was composed and conducted by Dr. Roy Shield. Radio City Playhouse is supervised for the National Broadcasting Company by Richard P. McDonough. This is Harry Junkin again.
Next week on Radio City Playhouse, Stephen Vincent Benet's great story, Elementals. It is the story of a young man who made a bet of $10,000 that love was stronger than hunger. Be with us next week for Elementals. Attraction 26 on Radio City Playhouse. Good night, everybody.
Bob Warren speaking. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.
Get ready for July 4th with early savings at Lowe's. Get up to 40% off select major appliances and get an additional 10% off two or more select major appliances. These deals are coming in hot. Lowe's, we help, you save. Valid through 7-9. Selection varies by location. While supplies last. See Lowe's.com for more details. Visit your nearby Lowe's on Cottle Road in San Jose. ♪
Two new exhibits, one epic experience. Get tickets at calacademy.org.
Hold the kaleidoscope to your eye. Peer inside. One twist changes everything. A woman awakens in a grotesque, human-sized arcade game. A mysterious cigar box purchased at a farmer's market releases an ancient djinn 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 audiobook's page at weirddarkness.com. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to our play. But first, a brief message from the National Safety Council. The Council says that drinking was a factor in one out of every five fatal traffic accidents in 1943.
Nearly 5,000 Americans might be living today and contributing to the war effort if irresponsible motorists and pedestrians had not yielded to their thirst while walking or driving. Moreover, says the council, there is considerable reason for believing that officially reported figures, high as they are, understate the true importance of alcohol as a traffic accident cause.
So, friends, isn't it just plain common sense never to drive or walk on public streets or highways after drinking? And especially observe the no drinking rule at night. Figures show that one in three fatal night accidents involve drinking. Perhaps you yourself have a thought that will help prevent driving while drinking. If so, listen to the new safety limerick contest at the end of tonight's drama. It's murder! It's murder!
It's murder. Another exciting mystery drama presented by the National Safety Council in cooperation with the Blue Network. ♪♪
Tonight, we follow the eminent retired actor and amateur criminologist, Rex A. Starr, as he and his niece, the Broadway columnist Joan Adams, go to an artist colony in Maine to spend a peaceful vacation and find that death is no respecter of peaceful ambitions.
It is late morning of a clear July day, and we find Rex and Joan hurrying along the quaint and colorful main street of the tiny town. Joan, I can't persuade you to give up this fantastic idea. You don't know the first thing about sketching. I don't have to. I'm full of inspiration. Oh, here's Jonathan Bixby's art supply store. Let's get that sketching pad and pencil.
Rex, before we go in, one favor? Two, if you'll forget you're a female Da Vinci. Listen, if Jonathan gets off on his favorite subject, you know, he thinks all artists are bad.
Don't argue with him. I don't want to lose a minute before getting to work. Okay. I feel genius pounding at my temples. I hope it doesn't give you a headache. Hello, Jonathan. Oh, good morning, Miss Adams. Good morning. Perhaps you won't be when you learn what just happened to my niece. Don't pay any attention, Jonathan. Uncle Rex just doesn't understand the impulse to create beauty. Have you got it, Miss Adams? Powerfully.
All I need is a sketching pad and pencils. Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Adams. I got thinking that you was different from the strangers that have sullied this respectable town. Oh, I don't hate them, Mr. Starr. I feel sorry for them. Head in for perdition. Besides, I have to make a living. Thank goodness we've come around to that.
Now about the sketching pad and pencil. Yes, all right, Miss Adams. Oh, by the way, did you print that piece I give you for your column? Oh, for pity's sake, Jonathan, I forgot all about it. What piece, Joan? Oh, just a bit of scandal that Jonathan picked up. About what? Here's the pad and pencils, Miss Adams. Thank you, Jonathan. That's fine. Dad! Dad! Oh, Dad! Well, what's the matter, Annabelle? Oh, something terrible's happened. Well, stop crying and tell me. I was walking along the beach and I came to the part that's always deserted and I...
There's a wire around his neck. How awful.
Why should anybody want to kill Mark Turner? He minded his own business. I don't know. Oh, but I do. What do you mean you don't, but you do? You remember Jonathan asking me about a piece that he gave me for my column? Yes, what's that to do with the murder? Everything, perhaps. I'll tell you about it and you can draw your own conclusions.
First, you know that Mark married Felice Morgan about five years ago. Of course. Felice used to be his secretary, and she and Mark were incurably happy. Uh-uh. They weren't. What? According to Jonathan, Felice and Mark had been on the outs for more than a year. I don't believe it. They were two of the most loving lovebirds I've ever seen. An act, my dear uncle, to protect Mark's pride. Nonsense. Actually, Felice was madly in love with Paul Bradford, the playwright. Now, look here, Joan. I know Paul Bradford, too. And if anything like that had been going on, I'd have seen it. Maybe, maybe not.
At any rate, Jonathan's story goes like this. Felice wanted a divorce from Mark so she could marry Paul. I can't believe it. Well, Mark would have none of it, naturally. And then Felice and Paul were furious, not to mention frustrated. Where did Jonathan pick up that fabulous yarn? Paul told him the other night. Paul? He came into Jonathan's store, drunk, and said he had to talk to somebody he could trust. Hmm. Somebody he could trust, eh? That's beside the point, Rex. Mark's been murdered. What do we do about finding the murderer?
Well, I suppose I'll have to give that fable some credence. Come on, we'll climb back into town and have a talk with the writer. No sign of him, Joan? No, I searched the whole cottage. Paul has flown the coop. I was hoping it wouldn't be true. What about the garage? The car's gone. Everything points to a quick getaway. By this time, he must be miles away. I don't think so.
Why did Paul kill Mark Turner? To get Felice, Mark's wife. But I told you that story. Would he run away without calling on the fair Felice? For whose hand he'd bloodied his own? Hey, you've got something there, Uncle. I think I have. What are we waiting for? Her cottage is just down the street. The End
No answer, Rex. Let's open the door and rush them. Yes, if they're still there. One of them's here. Look. Over there. By the window. Good heavens, Philly. She's dead. Rex, is that picture wire around her neck? Yes. Why should Paul kill Felice, too? I don't know. Joan, here. Read this note in the typewriter. See. To whom it may concern...
What? This is really a bad typing job. The worst I've ever seen. Obviously done by an amateur. Fricks, this is a suicide note. So it seems. And it tells the whole story. Felice strangled her husband, Mark Turner, with picture wire while he was doing an oil on the beach. Mm-hmm. She had to get rid of him so she could marry Paul Bradford. But when she told Paul what she'd done for him, the ingrate refused to have anything to do with her. Mm.
Police couldn't go on living, and so she killed herself in the same way she killed Mark. Well, this solves our case, Rex. Not quite. There's some paintings on these walls that might fascinate you. What kind? A woman with her face cut off. With her face... Are you kidding? Look at those paintings. Somebody's cut off all their faces. That's what I said, remember? But why would anybody want to do that? I don't know. I'm going to have a look around the studio.
I'd like to know who the woman in those paintings is. How do you know it's the same woman? Look, Joan. Is that a birthmark or a flip of a brush? It's a birthmark, Rex. It's on each picture in the same place. Ah. Did you find something? Only the answer, my dear. Here, this canvas is standing against the wall, evidently overlooked. Has it got a painting on it? Uh-huh. It's a picture of Annabelle. Annabelle?
Annabelle Bixby, Jonathan's daughter? Correct, Joan. And that telltale birthmark hasn't moved an inch. But I don't understand. When we don't understand, Joan, we must look for an explanation. Oh, where's Jonathan? I guess he must be in the back room of the store. I'll call him, Rex. Why? Listen to this life in the back room.
Let's get closer. There, there, Annabelle. Now, don't take it so hard. He wasn't your kind anyway. But I loved him, Dad. He loved me. I just know he did. It would have come to no good, daughter. How can you say that? He promised to marry me. He was going to divorce his wife. He was going to marry me. Get that record. Mark and Annabelle of all things. He could have written a full column for you. He wasn't lying to me. Only yesterday he made me promise to wait for him till he got his divorce.
Any day we get married, we go to live in New York. He was not aiming to get a divorce from his wife, and I can prove it. Paul Bradford told me all about it. Mrs. Turner wanted the divorce so she could marry Mr. Bradford. But Mr. Turner wouldn't give it to her out of spite. That's not true, Dad. So Mrs. Turner had to kill her husband to get rid of him. That's what happened, Annabelle. Oh, Dad, you're not helping me at all.
Isn't she putting on a beautiful act, Red? We're going to the back room for the capture. It'll be a pleasure. Imagine that, Annabelle, giving us a merry runaround. Hello, Jonathan. Oh, Mr. Starr. I didn't hear you come in. Annabelle and I were just having a little... It was touching enough to be a second act curtain. But the third act, I'm afraid, will have to be played in the sheriff's office. The sheriff's office? Yes, Jonathan. And before you take a bow, let me tell you, your exit will be permanent. Oh!
Rex, will you sit still, please? Now, how can I sketch you if you keep fidgeting like a Mexican jumping team? When I'm restless, I fidget. What are you so restless about? Aren't you interested in knowing how I solved the mystery? But you told me, Uncle Rex. Sit still. You told me that Jonathan was afraid that Mark was turning Annabelle's head. And then when he found out that Mark was using her as a model...
Jonathan decided to save his daughter from that fate worse than death. Your memory amazes me. So, Jonathan followed Mark to the beach and strangled him. Then he went to Felice's cottage and... Rex, how did you know that Felice didn't commit suicide? Ah, because she didn't type that note. Remember how badly typed it was? Yes. Well, Felice was Mark's secretary before he married her. And Paul Bradford is a writer and also an expert at typing. Exactly.
So it couldn't have been him or Felice. You reason well, my dear. But how did you know Annabelle wasn't the murderer? She had the motive. Yes, but Jonathan gave himself away when he told Annabelle that Felice had to kill Mark in order to get rid of him. We thought that too now, didn't we? Yes, but we were the only living people who read that fake suicide note. We earned a picture wire murderer who wrote it. Oh.
Tricky, aren't you? All right, Rex. Let's get on with the sketch. What do you expect to do with that masterpiece if you ever finish it? Hang it up on the wall. With picture wire, huh? Why, Uncle Rex, you're horrid. You've just murdered the genius in me. The End
And now, ladies and gentlemen, here are the details of this week's safety limerick contest. Prizes consist of a $50 war bond and ten $5 cash prizes. All you do is submit your idea of the most original last line to our limerick. And now, are you ready? Here we go, line by line. The first line is, Bill decided to take one more nip. Bill decided to take one nip. Before driving his car on a trip. Driving his car.
But that one extra snort cut his trip extra short.
Da-da-da, da-da-da, da-dip. Remember the last line rhymes with nip and trip. We'll repeat the limerick again. Bill decided to take one more nip before driving his car on a trip. But that one extra snort cut his trip extra short. Da-da-da, da-da-da, da-dip. Now send your most original concluding line or lines to the National Safety Council, Chicago 6, Illinois, before midnight Monday, August 14th.
Submit as many last lines as you like. The decision of the judges is final. All entries become the property of the National Safety Council. Duplicate prizes will be awarded in case of a tie, and winners will be announced on August 24th.
And now here are the winners of the National Farm Safety Week Limerick Contest. Winners of $5 cash prizes are Thomas H. Larkin of Milwaukee, Mrs. Jean Weingarten, Van Ness, New York, Robert Trafalet, Toledo, Mrs. Mary Pearson, Chicago, Mrs. Virginia J. Holliday, Madison, Wisconsin,
Mrs. Les H. Lechner, Robbinsdale, Minnesota. Mrs. Sally Benefield, Decatur, Illinois. Miss Mary Sale, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Charles Shapiro, Los Angeles. And W.B. Achenbeck, Muncie, Indiana. And the grand prize winner of a $50 war bond is Lawrence Wolfe, Staunton, Wisconsin. Congratulations to you all. ♪♪
We invite you to join us again next week at this same time for another of our series, It's Murder. Tonight's story was written by Stedman Coles and directed by Stuart Buchanan. This is George Gunn speaking. This is the Blue Network.
Get ready for July 4th with early savings at Lowe's. Get up to 40% off select major appliances and get an additional 10% off two or more select major appliances. These deals are coming in hot. Lowe's, we help, you save. Valid through 7-9. Selection varies by location. While supplies last. See Lowe's.com for more details. Visit your nearby Lowe's on Cottle Road in San Jose. ♪
Where in the world can you come face-to-face with a T-Rex and explore the bottom of the ocean, pilot a deep-sea submersible, and strike a pose with a dinosaur? Just one place, the California Academy of Sciences. See Dino Days with life-size animatronics and Unseen Oceans with deep-sea marvels and cutting-edge technology. Two new exhibits, one epic experience. Get tickets at calacademy.org.
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. Truth is stranger than fiction. And this is the proof. This is Ripley's Believe It or Not. Believe it or not.
The tombstone of Margaret Johnston and her six children in Trennett, Scotland, was erected over an empty grave. The family vanished in the 17th century without a trace, believe it or not. In a moment, I'll tell you about the man who paid for his own assassination.
When a man lends another man money, he certainly does not intend that it should be used to pay for his own assassination. But such was the case with William the Silent, father of Dutch independence, who advanced 12 crowns to a man by the name of Balthasar Gerard. Gerard had requested an audience with William, and the money was given to him to pay for his transportation. But the money was used by Gerard to buy a gun with which he shot William dead, believe it or not. ♪♪
Get ready for July 4th with early savings at Lowe's. Get up to 40% off select major appliances and get an additional 10% off two or more select major appliances. These deals are coming in hot. Lowe's, we help, you save. Valid through 7-9. Selection varies by location. While supplies last. See Lowe's.com for more details. Visit your nearby Lowe's on Cottle Road in San Jose.
The Adventures of the Saint, starring Vincent Price. The Saint, based on characters created by Leslie Charteris, and known to millions from books, magazines, and motion pictures. The Robin Hood of modern crime now comes transcribed to radio, starring Hollywood's brilliant and talented actor, Vincent Price, as... The Saint.
Hello. Good morning. This Simon Templer, the saint? Good morning. I'll tell him when he comes in. For a saint, you sleep pretty late. It's because of my... Hey, who is this? You know Miles Banning? Miles Banning? Yeah, I know him slightly. I got a message for him.
You know his daughter, Felice? Yeah, a cute little girl with braces on her teeth and pigtails. What about her? She's almost 18 now, no more pigtails. But nobody misses him, you know what I mean? Look, my friend, if you have a message for Banning, why not give it to him yourself? He gets excited. I want you to break it to him gently. It'll cost him 200 grand to get his daughter back. Get her back? Well, who's got her? I have.
And I want the money tonight, tell him, at his place on the bay. His place on the bay. And I suppose I tell him that if he doesn't pay, he'll never see his daughter again? He'll see her, all right. He'll see her. But he'll wish he hadn't. Goodbye, Saint. Hey, wait a minute, my friend. Hello? Hello? Hello? Your party has hung up, sir. Do you have his number? Not yet, operator. But I'm going to try real hard.
Go right in, Mr. Templer. Mr. Banning's been waiting since you called. Oh, thank you. Templer, come in. Come in. Oh, thank you, Mr. Banning. I'm sorry we had to meet again under such circumstances. You heard from him. She's all right. She is all right. Well, I think there's very little doubt about it, Mr. Banning. And until he gets the money, he would hardly... How much? How much does he want? $200,000 by tonight. All right. He shall have it.
You can raise that amount in such a short time? He's got Felice. Yes. Tell me, when did it happen? Two days ago, from her school. From Miss Godby's finishing school. I've been waiting to hear ever since. You've notified the police? The police? What have they to do with it? Well, after all, in a forcible kidnapping with a man threatening violence... Kidnapping? Violence? My dear Templer, this man isn't threatening to kill Felice. He's threatening to marry her. Marry her? Yes. Yes.
Oh, I see. And she's willing to marry him? Unfortunately, she is. That's the tragic part of it. You see, she's only 17. Oh. Then you must know the man. Well, as well as you ever know any man who takes care of your horses. I employed him as a groom. His name is Hendron, Tony Hendron. And you're willing to pay $200,000 to keep this marriage from happening? Oh, more, more. Felice has a million-dollar trust fund from her mother. Oh.
She'll be an heiress at 21. I'll pay anything. He wants the money at your place on the bay tonight. Do you have any idea why he didn't call you direct? I'm afraid I'd have detectives here checking the call, I imagine. But you didn't. Why not? The police are pretty good at finding people. I couldn't take a chance on this thing getting in the papers, Templer. You can see that. Of course.
And I might try picking up his trail. Before tonight? It's possible. Not probable, but possible. Well, I think my first stop will be Miss Godby's school, Mr. Banning. I'll let you know if I find anything. And, look, try to relax. Things will work out all right. Relax? If you had a daughter who was trying to throw her life away, you couldn't... Of course I couldn't. I promise you one thing, Mr. Banning. I'll do my best to find her. I know you will. I know you will.
I beg your pardon. Oh, you frighten me. Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Could you tell me where to find Miss Godbey? I am Miss Godbey. Oh, how fascinating. Well, that is, I am head of Miss Godbey's school, and while I'm really Mr. Godbey, still there's always been a Miss Godbey at the head of Miss Godbey, so in a sense, I am Miss Godbey. Ah.
Yes. You see, the school was founded by my great-aunt, Hazel Godbey. My office is right down the hall here. And ever since then, it's been a tradition with us Godbeys to... What? Girls. Girls, young ladies. Please. We'll come right in here, sir. Thank you. Honestly.
Mr., uh... Templer, Simon Templer. Honestly, Mr. Templer, there are times when I'm almost glad Great Aunt Hazel is not alive today. God be girls, today our... our... Well, you saw? It was a little frightening. Flattering, but frightening. That's exactly it. Frightening. The word for the modern generation, frightening.
I was just visiting one of our most interesting and traditional classes. How to enter a drawing room. And what do you think I found there? Apathy. Absolute, undisguised apathy. Mr. Gadby, I'm here about Felice Banning. A case in point. A young girl from one of the most socially prominent families in this city. And she runs away with a jockey. A groom. Worse.
If this ever gets into the papers, Mr. Templer, I'm afraid that Miss Godbez is finished. That is the word. Finished. Felice did leave here, then, with Hendren? Certainly. I told her father so. Any ideas about whether two of them might have gone? Mr. Templer. Yes, I withdraw the question. Oh, you'll have to excuse me, Mr. Templer. There are just a few classes I insist on teaching myself, and this is one of them. Fine needlework.
If you care to sit in and wait... Thank you. I will, Mr. Godfrey. Well, then, until later. Until later. Would you like to have words with me? Now, that's a fascinating question. I am not like those adolescents down the hall. Exhibitionists.
Are you the saint? Yes, I am. Then you're here about Felice. You know Felice? She's my roommate and dearest friend. Oh, please sit down, miss. Morrison. Barbara Morrison. Well, I'd like very much to have words with you about Felice. Well, I've made a deep study of her.
She's a psychological wreck. I see. Did she talk to you about a man named Tony Hendren? She thought she couldn't talk to me about men because she was 17. It's a very uninteresting age, really. I much prefer 21 myself. You do, actually? Well, isn't that a coincidence? I'm 21. Yeah, naturally. Barbara...
Do you have a theory about why Felice would run away with Tony Hendren? Well, she'd never marry him, of course. She'll never marry anyone. For any particular reason? Father fixation. Roughly the reverse of the more familiar Oedipus situation with a male child. Her life is completely subordinate to that of the beloved, all-powerful father. Though why, I don't know. Her father's a horrible mess. Then you don't think she'd marry Hendren? It's not as simple as that.
She might see a father symbol in him, or this might be a temporary rejection of authority, or... Or it might be love. Love? How utterly naive.
Oh, I just thought of something. Would you be interested in some pictures? What kind of pictures? Some snaps of Tony Hendren. Yes, I would be interested. When Felice left, I took them for safekeeping. Mother Godby would have had a fit if he'd found them. I can imagine. I keep them in my purse constantly. Here they are. This is Tony Hendren? Yes. Isn't he handsome? Yes.
I think he looks a lot like Gregory Peck. Yes, in a wilted sort of way. Here's another one of him, taken at the beach. Felice couldn't have grown up that much. Oh, that isn't Felice with him in the picture. Oh? Oh, who is it? I don't know. Well, I certainly admire Tony's taste in brunettes. Barbara, I can't thank you enough for your help. Feel free to call on me at any time. Thank you.
Tell me, how are you so sure of your diagnosis of Felice? Have you studied psychoanalysis? Studied it? Mr. Templer, my family sent me to an analyst at the age of three. Oh, but now you're completely normal. Of course. Except that now I've taken up Dianetics. Only to straighten out my friends, of course. Well, thank you and goodbye, Mary Worth.
Did you learn anything, Templer? Anything? No, Mr. Banning. I learned practically nothing at the school, further than what you told me. You, uh, have the money? I'm getting it, yes. And you're still determined to pay off Hendren? I'd do anything to keep my daughter from marrying a blackmailer like Hendren. Yes, I agree. He doesn't strike me as being the ideal son-in-law.
Well, I'll see you here later tonight, then, eh? Uh, Templer, I know I'm imposing on you. If... if you'd rather not come tonight... I want to. Men like Hendren have been known to pull a double cross. In the meantime, I'll keep on looking. Thank you, Templer. Um, I'll ring for Edward to show you around. Oh, don't bother. I can find my way out. I bought a small road map on my way in. Yes, it is a large house, isn't it? Very well, I... I'll see you tonight. Right-o.
Oh, I'm terribly sorry. That's perfectly all right. It was my fault. I'm glad. Glad? That we've met. Yeah, ask why. Because I have something belonging to you. A photograph. Photograph? Yes. You look quite beautiful in a bathing suit. Oh? And the man with you looked very much like Gregory Peck. What do you think we ought to do about it? Oh, I would suggest talking it over. Over a drink.
That seems basically sound.
What'll it be? Ann. Scotch over ice. Mine's Simon. Two Johnny Walker over ice, waiter. Yes, sir. About that photograph, Simon. Was there really a photograph or can we go on to other things? There really was, unfortunately. Do you know someone named Tony Hendren Ann? Perhaps I'd better look at the photograph first. Here you are. Thank you. Yes.
Yes, I know Tony. It's an old picture, though. I hope you haven't changed. I don't think so. Two scotches over ice. Oh, thank you. Well, here's to the eternal verities. The things that will never change. What was it you wanted to know about Tony? He's run off with a million dollars. Are you surprised? Not if it was wearing a skirt. Do you know Miles Banning? I know him. But it surprise you that he's paying $200,000 for Herndon not to marry his daughter? It wouldn't surprise me, no.
Do you mind if I ask a question about you, Anne? It's about time, Simon. How do you know Hendren and Banning? I was the former Mrs. Banning's nurse. Does private nursing pay well enough for mink? Being a wife does. And in this case, I earn it. I'm the present Mrs. Banning. Oh, he didn't tell me about you. He wouldn't.
You're investigating Felice and Tony for him? Mm-hmm. In a sense, yes. I have an appointment. I'm afraid I have to go. But you haven't finished your drink. Call me any time you feel like investigating anything. Please. Anything? I want to see you again. You're very attractive. Goodbye. Goodbye, indeed. Uh, the lady leaving? You wish to order anything to eat, sir? Of course. This is my lunch hour, waiter. What'll it be? Bring me another straight scotch. Thank you.
Ten o'clock. I wonder if our friend Hendren will come tonight after all, Mr. Bannon. He'll come. With $200,000 in cash waiting for him, who wouldn't come? You still determined to give it to him? What else can I do? I think I'll go out and have a look around. All right, Templer. I'll keep an eye on the driveway. If anyone comes, I'll be close by. Try and get a little rest. I won't be long. Oh.
It's a gloomy old place. I wonder what Ann does for amusement out here. Hey, who's there? Funny. Thought I heard something evil. I'm sorry I stepped on you, Kitty. But you should be more careful. You can see better out here than I can. In fact, I can't see anything. Might as well head back for the...
My poor beat-on, caved-in, aching head. Oh, you stuck with me. Thanks, Kitty. Hey, who hit me? Yeah, I'll never aspire to be the Robin Hood of modern crime, Kitty. It's very hard on the skull. Wonder how long I was out. 10, 15? I'd better get back to... Hey, crime is picking up, Kitty. Come on. Oh.
Three shots and not one of them missed. Who are you? I'm Simon Templer. You're Felice? Yes. You'd better go inside. Is it Tony? Is he dead? I'm afraid he is. Quick, before the others come. You're the saint, aren't you? Yes. Promise me you'll find out who killed him. Promise me. I'll do my best, Felice. You loved him very much? Tony? I hated him. I hated him. I hated him.
All right, everybody here. I won't keep you long, Mr. Banning, just long enough to get your statement. Mr. Templer, you said on the phone that you found the body. Yes, that's right. It's quite simple, Lieutenant. Lieutenant Thompson, isn't it? Yes, sir. Well, my wife and I and my daughter were upstairs when we heard the shots. I came down and found the safe open and a large sum of cash missing. How large? $200,000. Templer then came in and told me a man had been shot.
And I found it was a man named Hendron who used to work for me. Apparently, he and the Confederate opened a safe, quarreled over the money, and Hendron got shot. Mm-hmm.
That check with you, Mrs. Banning? That's all I know about it, yes. So you see there's no point in carrying on this discussion any further? Oh, just a minute, Mr. Banning. I appreciate your motives, but after all, a man's been killed here tonight. The lieutenant is entitled to a more complete explanation than that. Very well. But I'd like to ask if my daughter could go to her room. She's had a bad shock. Certainly, Mr. Banning. Go on, Felice. I'll be up to see you soon, dear. All right, Father. Father?
Uh, what I told you, Lieutenant, was not quite all. Uh, though in principle, thoroughly correct. The truth is, uh, my daughter had run off with Hendren. Uh, I... I agreed to pay him 200,000 to bring her back. You saw him tonight, Mr. Banning? He came here, yes. I paid him the money and he left. I never saw him again.
Mr. Templer, were you with Mr. Banning when he paid him the money? I'm sorry to say that I was unconscious at the time. Lieutenant, I hardly need point out how desirous I am of having my daughter's name kept out of this. Oh, I'll do my best, Mr. Banning. I'm a father myself. Thank you. I'll be grateful. I'll be very grateful. And now, could we go to our rooms? I'm afraid I feel... Of course. I'm sorry I kept you this long. Well, I understand that's your job.
Come, dear. Good night, gentlemen. You won't mind if we look around, Mrs. Banning? Of course not. Please ring if you want anything. Certainly, Mrs. Banning. Don't you worry about us. No, don't worry about us, Mrs. Banning. Good night. Good night. Well, Lieutenant? Oh, I don't doubt that Hendren did have someone else in with him on this blackmail scheme, and then the, uh...
Knocked him off. It looks pretty simple. And if you believe that, you'll look pretty simple. What do you mean? The killer is a mysterious intruder seen by no one. It's logical. Look, Templer, Banning's a big man in this town. Know how long it takes to work up from pounding a beat to a detective lieutenant? Fifteen years. Know how long it takes to go back to a beat? Fifteen minutes.
So, I'm buying his story until I find out it's wrong. Fair enough, Lieutenant. Can I go along for the ride? Oh, sure, sure. We'll start checking tomorrow. Meet me back here at ten in the morning. Good. I've got a few questions I'd like to ask Miss Banning. A couple of things I'd like to ask Mrs. Banning, too. Lieutenant, get a grip on yourself. Remember, you're a family man. I am most happy to answer any questions. And so is my daughter.
Aren't you, dear? Yes, Father. Mrs. Banning will be down soon? Unfortunately, Lieutenant, Mrs. Banning is indisposed this morning. Oh. However, she knows nothing of the affair. Could we ask Felice a few questions alone, Mr. Banning? Felice? No, Father. I'd rather you stayed with me. Very well.
Felice, did you come back to the house with Hendren last night? And was there anyone with him? Felice came back early in the evening. She was still obstinate about marrying Hendren, so I still had to deal with him. You were in love with this Hendren, Miss Banning? Yes, she was. Just a minute. Now let Felice answer, Mr. Banning. Were you in love with Hendren, Felice? Father told you I was. And you were? If he told you, I was. Anything further, gentlemen? Do you know where Hendren lived, Felice? Father? Go ahead, dear.
In a rooming house, 312 Main Street. Oh, now we're getting somewhere. Let's go, Templer. I hope you find Hendren's confederate lieutenant. I hope you find him. And if you recover the money, there'll be a liberal reward in it for you. Thank you, Mr. Banning. We'll be in touch. Good day, Mr. Banning. Felice. Goodbye, gentlemen. Goodbye, Mr. Templer.
Oh, do you hear that? Might be in for a big reward if we recover the 200 grand. Lieutenant, stick to the Irish sweepstakes. The odds are much more in your favor. Sure, I know him. Owes me six weeks' rent, the dirty... Easy there, mother. Speak not ill of the dead. He?
Very. He got himself shot last night. Shot? Ain't that just my luck? That's three I lost that way this month. Oh, well, you'll find months like that. Put a ceiling on rent, so I don't put a ceiling on how many deadbeat tenants can get shot in a month. I'll write my congressman if I can write. Choke back your tears for a moment, dear heart and gentle person. What did you know about Hendren? Did he have any friends? Him? Who?
Who'd be a friend of his, that dirty no-go? Yes. Now, let's start again. Nothing you can tell us about him at all? Nothing except he came to me two months ago saying he was coming into $10,000, wanted to borrow a tin spot. Did you lend it to him?
Two weeks ago, he had a story he was going to get $200,000 instead of $10,000. He said he'd pay me double my back rent. What did you do? Locked his trunk in the basement, that's what. Much good it did me, nothing in it but hair oil and mustache wax. Tell me, what am I going to do with mustache wax? Well, you might wax your mustache. What? Why, you... Well, I searched his room, but I say... Lieutenant, have you got a date for tonight?
Why? Because I want to make one for you. Business or pleasure? The successful man is the man who combines both. Be at my apartment around nine, will you? I may need you. What kind of girls do you go out with? A good policeman, Lieutenant, is theoretically able to cope with any foreseeable emergency. Good evening, Simon. Oh, come in, Ann. So glad you could come. So glad you called me. My, candlelight and champagne.
How exciting. May I take your wrap? Please. You're so tall, Simon. Can you unbend? I can try. Thank you. And you dropped my wrap, Simon. Dropped it right on the floor. Don't you dare pick it up. I wasn't thinking of picking it up. I wasn't thinking about it at all. What were you thinking of, Simon? Tell me. Go on. Tell her, Simon.
Tell her. Oh, good evening, Banning. Miles, did you follow me again? Don't you ever get tired? I get more tired than I can tell you. That's why it's not going to happen again, Ann. I mean it. You're a pretty pitiful object. I'm warning you, Ann. Put that gun away, Banning. You'd never shoot her. No, I couldn't. But that doesn't apply to you, Templer. You're too smart anyway.
I was against involving you in this from the beginning. You'll remember I argued against it, Ann. You'll remember I... Shut up. You're talking too much now. Don't be ridiculous. He's got us figured out anyway. Why do you think he asked you here if it wasn't to trap us? Why do you think? I... I don't want you to say it.
Stand away from him. Easy, Banning. You haven't got a chance. No? No? You're the one who hasn't a chance. You're the one. Now he gives us repartee. Put down the gun, Miles, and let's get out of here. Oh, no. No, no, we can't. We can't leave him here. He'd turn us in. Keep me out of this, please. You see? I can't leave him here. You both gang up against me. I'm afraid it's pretty much up with you anyway, Mr. Banning.
You killed Hendren, didn't you? What if I did? He was double-crossing me. The two of them were. He and Ann. Yes. You were to give him $10,000 for his part in it, and he and Ann decided to take the whole $200,000. Money from Felice's estate. Well, I had to take the money from her estate. Ann would have left me. She said so.
She kept goading me. So you rigged up this blackmail story so you'd have an excuse to take the money. Later, if you were called to account as trustee of the estate or trust fund, I would be a witness that the money was spent on behalf of police. That's neat. I didn't know until last night. Ann was really planning to go away with him. I shot him. I had to. I had to keep her. You better give me the gun, Banning. No, no. Everything will be all right. You're the only one who knows. It'll be all right, Ann. You'll see. It'll be all right.
Now, stand away from me. The police are on their way, Mr. Banning. In fact, the door is opening now. No, you don't. That's an old trick, Templer, and I'm not falling for it. I'm not... Let go of my arm! Father, no! Give me that gun, Banning. All right, drop it. Drop it, I said. Oh, thanks for dropping in, Lieutenant. My arm! Miles, you hurt me. Anne. Anne, I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it. Get away from her, Banning. Now, let me look.
Flesh wound. Bad, but not too bad. I... I didn't mean to, Ann. I didn't mean to. Felice hit my arm. It wasn't me. Father! I swear I didn't mean to. I swear it, Ann. Father! Take Felice out of here, will you, Lieutenant? Come on, Miss Banning. This is no place for you. No! No, please! I want to stay with my father! Father! Felice.
Thank you for what you did. You might have saved my life. I didn't do anything. Why, of course you did. If you hadn't grabbed your father's arm and deflected his aim, Mr. Templer might have been killed. I didn't touch Father. Felice, you... Father shot her. He aimed at her and he shot her. I didn't touch him. He realized how bad she was. And he hated her. He shot her. He doesn't love her anymore. He only loves me. Yeah, but Miss Banning... I'll let her alone, Lieutenant. Lieutenant.
If this gives her any comfort, let her go on convincing herself. She's going to need all the comfort she can get with what's to come. Feel like a drink, Lieutenant? Don't mind if I do. It's one case I was glad to get rid of. Made me feel kind of unclean. Banning wasn't a very nice person, I'm afraid. Or Anne, or Hendren. He had his daughter convinced, though.
Yes, he did. Banning me has been all right at one time. Yeah, what happened to him? He got afraid, I guess. Afraid of losing his youth. That's what Ann represented. And afraid of losing his money, which she spent for him faster than he could make it. Doesn't pay to get afraid, Lieutenant. Oh, I guess not. Here's to not being afraid. Here's to not being afraid. Yeah, but...
How do you keep from it? You stave it off from one minute to the next. Another drink for the next minute's fear? By all means. By all means. You've been listening to another transcribed adventure of the saint, the Robin Hood of modern crime. Now here's our star, Vincent Price.
In tonight's cast, you heard Peggy Weber, Gloria McMillan, Maggie Morley, Ted Osborne, Theodore Von Eltz, and Larry Dobkin. This is Vincent Price inviting you to join us again next week at this same time for another exciting adventure of The Saint. Good night. The Saint
Tonight's script of The Saint was written by Dick Powell, Don Stanley speaking. Three chimes mean good times on NBC. Today's the day for the premiere of NBC's gigantic Sunday afternoon broadcast, The Big Show. Every Sunday afternoon starting today, you'll hear an hour and a half of the greatest stars in radio. Performers like Fred Allen, Jimmy Durante, Ethel Merman, Frankie Lane, Meredith Wilson, and many, many more. It's The Big Show on NBC.
Get ready for July 4th with early savings at Lowe's. Get up to 40% off select major appliances and get an additional 10% off two or more select major appliances. These deals are coming in hot. Lowe's, we help, you save. Valid through 7-9. Selection varies by location. While supplies last. See Lowe's.com for more details. Visit your nearby Lowe's on Cottle Road in San Jose. ♪
Where in the world can you come face-to-face with a T-Rex and explore the bottom of the ocean, pilot a deep-sea submersible, and strike a pose with a dinosaur? Just one place, the California Academy of Sciences. See Dino Days with life-size animatronics and Unseen Oceans with deep-sea marvels and cutting-edge technology. Two new exhibits, one epic experience. Get tickets at calacademy.org.
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's 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
The Adventures of Sam Spade, Detective. Brought to you by Wild Root Cream Oil Hair Tonic. The non-alcoholic hair tonic that contains lanolin. Wild Root Cream Oil. Again and again, the choice of men and women and children, too. Chief Agency. Yes, ma'am. I'm very sorry, but...
Available at this hour of the morning. If I got better luck, if you try in an hour or so, say somewhere around 10.30 or 11. Effie! You see, his work keeps him up nights, and he has to have... I mean, this is your employer. It's gone all over again. This is Samuel Spade up kicking at 9. Oh, Reg, this is absolutely unprecedented. You haven't been up this early since 19. I had to see you, sweetheart. Stay away another moment from those rogues, green-eyed musical laughers. Sam, are you giving me a line? I'm about to, sweetheart, a fishing line.
Where were you with a fishing line? In a closet, of course. Gotta keep myself awake somehow. Dashiell Hammett, America's leading detective fiction writer and creator of Sam Spade, the hard-boiled private eye, and William Spear, radio's outstanding producer-director of mystery and crime drama, join their talents to make your hair stand on end with The Adventures of Sam Spade.
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Sam! Hello, sweetheart. Oh, Sam, what's the matter with you? Calm yourself, Angel. Nobody looks good this time of the morning. Just got my hair must. Oh, but look at your... I know, I know, but don't jump to conclusions. I haven't got two heads. The little one is only a bump on the big one. Shall we have at it? You look nice in the morning, Sam. That's a big dirty lie. What is that bright yellow stuff all over the floor there? That's sunshine. Oh, sunshine.
Uh, date, fill it in, to Mr. Terrence Burgess, City Jail, San Francisco, California. Jail? Mm-hmm. From Samuel Spade, license number 177596, subject, the Cuttyhunk Caper. It seems like only last night that I was strolling up O'Farrell Street through the fog. As a matter of fact, it was last night. A night off, I thought. I would sidle up to Dreamland Auditorium and watch two other people break each other's bones for a change.
The card looked interesting. A 300-pound ox known to the public as Nasty Norbert was wrestling a new import named the Swedish Pinhead. Extra! Night final convicted killer escapes from city jail! Extra! Fludging killer loose! Extra! Paper, mister? Not I, son. I am not interested in crime. But wait! How many papers have you left, fella? About 54. Well, you better get going!
Somehow, the news of the bludgeon killer's escape touched only the outer fringe of my consciousness since I was determined to leave it all behind for a night. So I strolled toward dreamland, noting the while that about a half a block behind me, a character in a hat and a long gray overcoat seemed to have the same thing in mind. When you've been failed as often as I have, Terry boy, you've developed hindsight.
This was obviously an amateur shadow. I'd stop, look in the store window, so would he. I turned off O'Farrell onto Webster, ditto. Then off Webster onto Geary and over onto Fillmore. My shadow was moving closer now, keeping me inside in the crowd. When a police car screamed past, my guy ducked into a store entrance like a rabbit. I turned up Post Street, slid into a dark doorway and waited. Hold it, buddy. No, no, wait. Let go of me. Just a minute. Here, give me that. You...
Okay. Now, what's the matter? Nothing. Honest, I... Why are you tailing me? I... I'm in trouble. You're getting a lot more trouble running around with a police .38 in your overcoat pocket. Where'd you get it? I borrowed it. Who from? A cop. Wait a minute. Raise your hat. Yeah. All right, I'm Terry Burgess. Terry Burgess. Didn't they convict you? Yeah. Yeah.
They were going to sentence me tomorrow. The bludgeon killer, huh? How did you spring? The cop turned his back and I grabbed, that's all. I had to get out, Spade. I had to. Wait a minute now. Wait a minute. I had nothing to do with it to help me, but nobody cares. Nobody listens to me. I'm going to the gas chamber for something I didn't do. You got a lawyer, haven't you? Oh, he can't do anything. He tried to, but... Well, what can I do? I don't know, Mr. Spade. I don't know. I saw you back there. I thought if anybody could help me, you could. Now, take it easy. I followed you trying to get up and down, but...
Can't you please do something? You hear that? Those are power cars, kid. I know that's bad news to you, and it'll be bad news for me if I'm caught talking to you instead of dragging you into headquarters. Yeah, but... I'll tell you what. I'll listen to what you can tell me in five minutes. I'll risk my license just that long. Let's go.
On page one of the beginner's handbook for correspondence school detectives, it states that it is not okay for a private investigator to conceal a known criminal, much less a convicted murderer. But I couldn't help wondering why this flyweight bludgeoned killer would seek out for a confidant, a detective, especially one whose unfaltering sense of duty and sickening high moral standards have made his name anathema to the underworld and have caused him to be blackballed at gangster canasta parties everywhere. Anyway, I listened to the kid's story.
He started writing about Laurie Hanover. She was beautiful, of course, but I've known a lot like that. Laurie Hanover, huh? What was she, a photographer's model or something, wasn't it? Yeah. Kind of a screwball, according to the papers. Oh, they didn't know the half of it. She'd been giving me the brush for weeks. Well, I thought it was another guy. I tried to talk to her, but she'd just hang up on me. Then what? I couldn't stand it any longer. One night I got tanked up and went over to her place for a showdown. I found her lying on the bed with her head all...
It was awful. I... How'd you get in? The door was open. Yeah? Then what? I... I guess I passed out. When I woke up, a cop was standing over me. That's all there was to it. That's enough. What time did you get there? I don't know.
How did you get there? I took a taxi. What kind of a taxi? Where's the driver? I don't even remember that. It was some off-brand of a taxi. Some off-brand of a taxi. This is important, kid. I know it is. I try to remember, but I can't. I try to remember. Yeah, a nightmare. What time did you leave your apartment?
I don't know. Sometime after dinner. You don't know when you left, how you got there, or what time you found her? I'm telling you the truth. Believe me. Your five minutes are up. Come on, let's go. Listen, I could lie to you. I can make up a lot of times and stuff, but I'm not. Yeah, yeah. Hey! Wait a minute. That's a police car. Sure it is. Let go of me. Take it easy, Burgess. You dirty double grudge. Okay, Burgess. Okay. Ah!
What's going on there? Come on, Burgess. Come on, get up. Burgess? Where? Yeah, let's take him down to headquarters. I should have known better, Spade. Shut up and get in. Well, well, Burgess. Boys will be glad to see you back. He's got a great story, officer. He doesn't remember anything that happened the night of the murder, and he's stuck with it. Sure, they're all alike. He's guilty of sin. That's where you're wrong. He's innocent. Huh? But then why are you... Because I'd hate to have a client knocked off by a trigger-happy cop. You'll be safer in jail.
to headquarters, officer, and please don't let's use the siren, huh? What a night. Put him away, Lieutenant? Yeah. He's in his cell now, talking to Chenoweth. Chenoweth? You mean the lawyer? Yeah. Well, he comes pretty high. Where's Verges get the money to hire him? He's assigned to the court. Chenoweth's sort of half-volunteered, anyway.
Hey, you mind if I make a suggestion, Sam? It's your office, Kelsey. Go home and go to bed. You're wasting your time. I don't think so. I got an ache in my bad knee. The case is off the books, Sam. Off your books, onto mine. I think the kid was framed. Framed?
Holy cow, he gets drunk, makes a lot of threats against the girl in a public bar, takes off for her apartment, the landlady hears a scuffle, calls us, and when we get there, he's out cold on the floor, not six feet from her body. What more could you ask? One small question. Who killed her?
Guys who knock off their girlfriends generally have a few answers handy, Lieutenant. Burgess has none. So he's stupid. So he was drunk and doesn't remember. Look, Kelsey, old gray-headed friend, I've saved you a lot of trouble tonight. Now, why don't you be a love and get me the transcript of the trial, huh? It's out of my department. You're well thought of around here, Lieutenant. I'll bet you could get it if you tried. Oh, Sam, for Pete's sake. And the case file, too, while you're at it, huh? Good evening, gentlemen. Good evening.
I presume this is Mr. Spade. That's right. This is Mr. Chanoa, Sam. How do you do, sir? I leave you two to hold hands while I rattle up those files. Treat him gently tonight, Mr. Chanoa. He has an ache in his bad knee. Bad knee? Some people get hives in their head. I get them in my knee. I wish you were right. How's the kid? Oh, better. You've given him something to hold on to.
It's going to be tough when the letdown comes. It's a little early to be digging his grave, don't you think? And it's a little late to be riding up like a knight in shining armor and telling him you're going to get him off the hook. I don't mind telling your spade that I resent your intrusion, implying as it does that, that, uh... That, uh, that, uh, what? Well, that I haven't discharged my duties as counsel as efficiently as I might have.
I want you to know that I volunteered my services on this case because I thought a charge of first-degree murder against this boy was ridiculous. Mm-hmm. So you tried to get him off on manslaughter? Mm-hmm. Temporary insanity. Why not manslaughter? Because ten people heard him swear he was going to kill Laurie Hanover in a bar one hour before the crime. That's why. Okay, so you pitched for temporary insanity and the court psychiatrist pinned you to the mat. And all the while, you were leaving out the solidest bet of all. Oh? Yeah. Yeah.
That he didn't kill her. That he was innocent. A fall guy for somebody who had a much better reason than he did. And another thing, Chenoweth. If you defended the kid half as well as you're defending yourself right now, he wouldn't be in the can. Good night. Why do I talk so big when I know so little? After spending a couple of hours with the files Kelsey brought me, I began to wish I hadn't stopped in that doorway on Post Street. I'd have had a much more pleasant time with nasty Norbert and the Swedish pinhead.
Kelsey and Chenoweth were right. The case against Terry Burgess was tighter than a Pullman window. So I went home and I went to bed. My bad knee was aching worse than ever when the phone rang. Hello? Mr. Spade? Yeah. Mr. Spade, I'm awfully sorry to bother, but as Shakespeare said, delays have dangerous ends. Yeah, he also said, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, any one of the three will suit me, friend, but right now I'm...
No, hibernate. I'm in my bare feet and the floor's cold. Very well, then. I only saw you with young Burgess in an alleyway tonight, and I didn't want to have to say... Hold it. I get my slippers. I won't... As you know, Mr. Spade, the case against Mr. Burgess was particularly strong. The defense was unable to produce any other suspect with efficient motive. Right. There's an excellent reason for that. I imagine every eye beholds their blame. Burgess? I have made a decision, Mr. Spade. You should have convinced me it is time to reveal to you that young Burgess is in fact...
Who are you? If you will call at my office, 10 in the Cabrillo building, I shall supply you with good and sufficient proof. Hello? It took two minutes to throw clothes on over my pajamas and run down to the street. And as my taxi cab took off, I noticed that the ache in my bad knee was gone. Hello?
The makers of Wild Road Cream Oil are presenting the weekly Sunday adventure of Dashiell Hammett's famous private detective, Sam Spade. ♪♪
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The sealed book. Once again, the keeper of the book has opened the ponderous door to the secret vault... ...wherein is kept the great sealed book... ...in which is recorded all the secrets and mysteries of mankind through the ages. Here are tales of every kind. Tales of murder, of madness...
of dark deeds, strange and terrible beyond all belief. Keeper of the book, I would know what tale we tell this time. Open the great book and let us read. Slowly, the great book opens. One by one, the keeper of the book turns the pages and stops. Ah, the strange story of a man who rose from a watery grave.
to accuse the living of his murder. A tale titled, You Only Die Once. ♪♪
Here is the tale you only die once, as it is written in the pages of this sealed book. The story begins some years ago in the beautiful Winthrop Mansion on the Hudson River. It is early evening, and John Winthrop, just home from the city...
enters the drawing room to find his wife, Vivian, reading a telegram. Good evening, darling. Who's the telegram from? Oh, John, it's from my brother, Jerry. He's arriving tonight from Los Angeles. His train gets into Grand Central at 10 o'clock. Oh, that's fine. I'm very anxious to meet your brother, darling. Oh, John, you'll love him. Jerry's a grand person. I'm sure he is, Vivian, if he's anything like his sister. Oh, for that you deserve a kiss.
Oh, John, I'm so excited about Jerry's visit. Well, if having Jerry here makes you so happy, we'll have to make his stay a permanent one. Come on, darling, let's go to dinner.
Mr. Norton is here, sir. Hello, Jerry. Come in. I'm John, your brother-in-law. Hello, John. Jerry. Oh, Jerry. Oh, it's so good to see you again. Well, stand back and let me look at the bride.
Vivian, I've never seen you looking so beautiful. Now, John, you know why I'm so fond of Jerry. Oh, Jerry, dear, what suddenly made you decide to come east? You said nothing about it in your last letter. Well, you know your brother, always making quick decisions. I gave up my position in Los Angeles to come east. I, uh, well, I intend to settle down and find a job in New York. In New York? Mm-hmm. Oh, Jerry, that's wonderful. John, did you hear that? Yes, darling, and I think it's a fine idea. There's
As I recall, Jerry, Vivian said you were an executive. That's right. Well, then, I think I've got you a position. You mean you know of an opening? With whom? Myself. You? Yes. For the past week or so, I've been contemplating hiring an assistant. My doctor told me I was overworking and needed one. Oh, there's nothing seriously wrong with you, I hope. No, no. Just that my heart acts up a bit now and then when I've been working too hard. Well, what do you say, Jerry? Will you accept the position? All right, John. And I'll...
And I'll do my best to be of real assistance to you. Oh, you don't know how happy this all makes me. John, do you think Jerry might come here and live with us? I think that's an excellent idea, if Jerry is agreeable. Well, there's nothing I'd rather do, but... Well, are you sure I won't be in the way? Oh, dear.
Jerry, of course not. John and I would love to have you live with us. Of course we would. All right, then. Thank you both very much. Good. Then it's all settled. Well, I must be off to bed. It's almost midnight. And I promised my doctor I'd be in bed every night by 11. I'll be up shortly, John. Oh, take your time, Vivian. I'm sure you two have a good deal to talk over. Good night, Jerry. Good night, John.
Well, sis, how have you been? Oh, darling, if you only knew how much I've missed you these past months. Well, aren't you even going to kiss me? Of course, darling. Darling, I've waited a long time for that. Seems years. It's only been six months.
How have you been doing, darling? Not bad. Not bad at all. See this diamond bracelet? It was my wedding present from John. What else have you gotten? Two other bracelets, a necklace, and four rings. What's it all worth? Amounts to a little over a hundred thousand. Not bad, considering you've only been married three months. Oh, how much longer will I have to go on keeping up the act, though, Jerry? Never give up a gold mine until it's played out...
And unless I miss my guess, John is still good for plenty more. He's a very rich man. Exactly. So you and I are staying here until we've worked, John, for every cent you can get. And when the time is ripe, you'll sue for a divorce and a big cash settlement. A few months went by.
Months in which John Winthrop found himself increasingly happy. Vivian was all that he'd ever dreamed of in a wife. And Jerry, as his business assistant, was invaluable. In his happiness, John lavished gifts on his wife and paid Jerry an exceedingly handsome salary. The three lived in complete harmony until one night. One night late in September. Is that you, Jerry? Yes.
How are you, uh, sis? In seventh heaven. Jerry, why didn't you tell me John was leaving for Chicago tomorrow morning? Well, he didn't make up his mind until late this afternoon at the office. Oh, where is he now? He's looking high and low for some papers in a brown envelope. Oh, it must be the Anderson papers he wants. I have them right here in this briefcase. Say, where is he? I'll give them to him. He's up in your room. Up in my room? Yes, when he couldn't find the papers in the study, he went upstairs to see if they were in your desk. In my desk? Yes. Jerry, is anything wrong? No.
I don't know. Let me see. Did I lock my desk this morning before I left for the office, or didn't I? What difference does it make? What difference does it make? It makes all the difference in the world. If he should... You seem to be quite upset, Jerry. Is it because you were afraid I found your desk unlocked? That I might come across these? So, you found them, huh? Yes. What do you have there, John? Merely some newspaper clippings, Vivian. Allow me to read you a couple. The first one is dated five years ago, and it's from a New Orleans paper...
Underneath the picture of Jerry and you, it reads, Mr. and Mrs. Philip Gordon, arrested for $10,000 jewelry theft at Mardi Gras party. Where did you get that clipping? I found it, along with several others in Jerry's, or should I say, Philip's desk. Allow me to read you another clipping.
Mr. and Mrs. Philip Gordon, who pleaded guilty to the $10,000 Mardi Gras jewel theft, were today sentenced to prison by Judge Sawyer. Philip Gordon received a sentence of three to five... I don't want to hear any more. Stop it, you hear? It was very clever of you two to pretend to be brother and sister when actually you're a man and wife. No doubt sometime in the future Vivian will divorce me and receive a handsome cash settlement. Yes, that's right. We had planned that. But our plan seemed to have been spoiled. What do you intend doing? I'm not going to Chicago tomorrow morning.
Instead, I'm going to see my attorney and prosecute you both to the full extent of the law. Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Yes, John, think of your reputation and your family name. They'd be dragged in the mud if this ever came out. You wouldn't want to see that happen, would you? You think you can blackmail me into silence, don't you? Well, you're wrong. Come what may, I'm going to see to it that you're both punished. I... Jerry, he seems ill. Yes, he does, doesn't he? I'm perfectly all right. I...
I think we've said everything that's to be said. I'm through with words now. First thing in the morning, I'm going to see my attorney and have you both exposed. You're going to learn you made a fool of the wrong man. The End
♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪
And now to continue the story, you only die once, as it is written in the sealed book. After John had gone to bed, Jerry silently paced up and down the drawing room, trying to figure a way out of their dilemma.
Vivian watched him anxiously, her face pale and drawn. If John goes to his attorney in the morning, it'll mean stiff prison sentences for the two of us. You can be sure of that. Jerry, I couldn't stand going to prison again. To be separated from you. If they send me to prison, I'll die. You know how I feel, darling. The same way. There's only one way out. One way out? Yes.
We must see to it that John doesn't go to his attorney in the morning. Jerry, you don't mean... Oh, no, Jerry, no. If we don't get rid of him, it'll mean prison. You prefer that? Oh, no, no, but I'm so afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. I have a scheme, a scheme that can't miss if we play our cards right. Are you sure? Positive. The best thing about it is its simplicity. What is this scheme of yours? John's gun is in that desk over there.
I'll use it to get rid of him. Once that's done, you and I will carry him down to the boathouse. To the boathouse? Yes. There I'll fasten some weights securely to the body. Then we'll take him out in the launch to the deepest part of the river and drop him in. The weights will take him to the bottom and keep him there. But, Jerry, in a few days they'll start looking for him. They'll drag the river. They'll start looking for him, but they won't drag the river. For as far as the police are concerned...
John will have gone to Chicago. But how are you going to make them believe that? It's very simple. I have here John's ticket on the 6.30 train tomorrow morning for Chicago.
After we've disposed of the body, you'll drive me to Grand Central Station, where I'll board the train as John Winthrop. Oh, but Jerry, you could never pass as John. You're so much younger. Nonsense. John and I are about the same height and build. If I were to wear John's glasses and a false mustache in the early morning light, no one would notice the difference. You wouldn't actually go to Chicago, would you? Of course not. After I'd made sure that I was seen by the conductor and the porter at the station, I'd...
I'd secretly slip off the train at the first stop. Oh, I see. A few days later, we'd notify the police that John had gone to Chicago and we were worried as we hadn't heard from him. They'd naturally check to see if he'd taken the train. The conductor and porter would satisfy them on that score. The police would begin a nationwide search. But darling, they'll ask questions, hundreds of questions. All we have to say is that you drove John to Grand Central Station and watched him leave on the train to Chicago.
Stick to that story and we're safe. Do you understand? Oh, yes, Jerry. Remember, that's all you know. John got the 6.30 train for Chicago. And that was the last you saw of him. All right, darling. I won't slip up. That's the spirit. Now, it's just 11 o'clock. We'll wait two hours to give John a chance to fall asleep. At 1 o'clock, we'll go up to his room and do what must be done. The End
You all set, Vivian? Yes. I'll open the door. Quiet now. He's sound asleep. Yes. Just hold that flashlight steady. Hurry, darling, hurry. Steady, Vivian. Quiet. It's all over. Jerry, is he dead? Yes.
He never knew what happened. I'm glad he didn't wake up. I'm so glad he was sound asleep. Now, you pick him up by the feet while I get him under the shoulders. The next stop for John is the boathouse. The river's the deepest just about 50 yards from here, Jerry. Then that's the place for us.
Cut the motor when we reach it. We're just about there, Jerry. I'll cut the engine and we'll drift the rest of the way. You'll have to give me a hand with him, Vivian. With these weights around him, he's quite heavy. All right. What do you want me to do? You take his feet while I take him by the shoulders. When I give the word, we'll both lift and toss him over the side. You ready? Yes. Then lift. Oh, Jerry, he's so heavy. Just a little more. That's it.
Now, I'll drop him. Well, darling, that's the last of Mr. John Winthrop. Now we'd better be getting back to shore. There's still quite a bit that remains to be done.
Keep your hat pulled down and your collar up, Jerry. Right. Pardon me, conductor, but can you tell me where my compartment is? The name is Winthrop. John Winthrop. You have your ticket, Mr. Winthrop? You have it, don't you, darling? Oh, yes, here it is, conductor. Let's see. Car 3476. It's this car right here. You just go aboard, the porter will show you to your compartment. Thank you, conductor. That's quite all right, Mr. Winthrop.
I think we can count on him to remember I got on this train. I'll pick you up at the 125th Street station. Right. I'll wait there till you arrive. Goodbye, John. Take care of yourself. I will, Vivian. I'll phone you tomorrow night from Chicago. Don't forget, John. I won't. Bye. Here I am, Jerry. Come on. Let's get in the car and away from here. All right. Did everything go all right? Perfectly.
After the train pulled out of Grand Central, I had the porter show me to my compartment. I told him I hadn't slept for 24 hours and I didn't want to be disturbed until we reached Chicago. You didn't forget to give him a tip, did you? No. I gave him a $5 tip, just as we'd planned. Don't worry, that porter will remember me. Good. You're certain no one saw you slip off the train just now? I'm positive. I just took off my disguise before I left the compartment. Everything's working out just as I planned.
All we have to do is sit tight for a few days. Then wire the men in Chicago who had appointments with John. When they tell us that John never kept his appointments, we'll get in touch with the police. And with tears in your eyes, you'll beg the police to find your missing husband. ♪♪
Hey!
And now to continue the story. You only die once, as it is written in the sealed book. Following Jerry's plan, two days after John's death, Vivian notified the police that her husband was missing.
Shortly afterwards, she was called on by Lieutenant Richards of the Missing Persons Bureau. You say, Mrs. Winthrop, the last you saw of your husband was when he boarded the train for Chicago? Yes, Lieutenant. I waved to him as the train pulled out of the station. That was the last time I saw him. A week passed, and then two.
but the police found no trace of John Winthrop. It was as though he had vanished off the face of the earth after he had boarded the train for Chicago. The noted financier was reported seen in half a dozen cities all over the country, but each report turned out to be false. The newspapers played up the strange disappearance of John Winthrop, but after he had been missing a week, the story lost its interest for the public and was quickly forgotten.
When two weeks had passed, Jerry took Vivian, who was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, away for a rest. Making no secret of their destination, they went to John's Mountain Lodge, high on the Adirondacks. Would you like a cocktail, Vivian? Yes, Jerry. Oh, darling, isn't it wonderful being up here, just the two of us? Lacks only one thing to be perfect, music. Let there be music and let the wine flow freely. I'll turn on the radio.
Here's looking at you, baby. And here's to our good luck. May we always have it. Oh, we're sitting pretty.
Someday the police are going to give up looking for John, and then you're going to become a very, very wealthy widow. You really think so, Jerry? Of course. Naturally, it'll take time, but... We interrupt this program to bring you a special news report. At 10.35 this morning, New York Harbor Police found the body of the missing financier John Winthrop in the Hudson River off 54th Street. The dead man had been shot in the head, and the police believe he was murdered. They are looking for his wife, Mrs. Vivian Winthrop, and Jerome Norton, her brother, for questioning. For
For further details, listen in on our regular news period at... Jerry, how could they have found him? How could they? I tied those weights securely. But somehow the body must have slipped out of the ropes and come to the surface. Jerry, what are we going to do? You heard what that announcer said. The police are looking for us. Yes, I know. Once they take our fingerprints, it'll be the end. They'll learn about New Orleans and that...
We aren't brother and sister. Jerry, we just can't stay here. We've got to run for it before they catch us. Run? Where can we run to? Oh, I don't know. Mexico, South America, any place. We have my jewels. They're worth over $100,000. Yes, but what good are they? What we need is cash, and all I have with me is $300. If we don't dare go to your bank, they'd pick us up immediately. Oh, I'm sure that someplace we'll be able to sell my jewelry. I'll pack my things at once. Vivian, there's no sense in running away.
How far do you think we'd get? The police are probably on their way here already. Jerry, what's wrong with you? We've got to run away. There's no other way out. There is another way out, if we're willing to take it. What way is that?
The easiest and simplest way out of all troubles, darling. Suicide? Oh, no, Jerry, no. Would you rather go to the chair or, even worse, be sentenced to life imprisonment? Life imprisonment? Oh, no, I couldn't stand that. Don't you see, darling, we have no choice. We're gamblers who played for high stakes and lost. Oh, Jerry, I'm afraid. I'm so afraid. It's better than rotting behind bars for the rest of our lives. Don't you agree with me, darling? I know you're right, Jerry, but I don't want to die. I want to live. So do I, Vivian, but...
Do you hear sirens? Jerry, the police. They're here already. Yes. A police car and two motorcycle police are coming up the road. They'll be here in a minute or two. Jerry, Jerry, what are we going to do? We have the choice of going back with them and standing trial for murder or the other. You know what my choice is. How are you going to do it? Poison tablets.
I have them here. I've carried them a long time against just such a moment as this. Will... Will we suffer much? No, darling. A moment or two, then it will be all over. The police are almost here. We haven't much time. All right, Jerry. Now you're being the good loser that I always knew you were. Here's a tablet for you, darling. One for me. Will one be enough? Yes, more than enough. Don't be afraid, Vivian. Do it quickly without thinking about it. Here. Here, I'll take mine first. Here.
Now, you take yours. All right, Jerry. That's it. There. That wasn't so hard, was it? No. Well, darling, they're here. But nothing they can do or say can matter to us anymore. We've beaten them, do you understand? They can't touch us. Yes, Jerry. I'll let them in now. Hello, Lieutenant. Come in, come in.
You remember Mrs. Winthrop, don't you? You can stop the acting, Norton, or should I say Gordon. We know who you and Mrs. Winthrop are. Oh, so you've already found out, huh? Yes. We did some fast checking this morning after Winthrop's body was fished out of the harbor. I'm going to have to take you both back to headquarters. I'm afraid you're a little late, Lieutenant. A little late? Yes.
You see, a minute or so before you arrived, my wife and I took poison tablets. Huh? In a very little while, we'll both be well out of your reach. Rogan, get the first aid kit from the squad car. Yes, sir. You're wasting your time, Lieutenant. You're never going to send us to prison for John Winthrop's murder? Murder? We don't want you for Winthrop's murder. You don't want us for John's murder? No, for the simple reason he wasn't murdered. What are you saying? I shot and killed him myself. You only think you did.
An autopsy this morning showed that John Winthrop died of heart failure. All you did was put a bullet into a corpse about an hour later. You mean... You mean he was already dead? Dead when I shot him? Yes, that's right. Lieutenant, help us. Don't let us... Jerry, I can't breathe. Help me. Lieutenant. Lieutenant, don't let us die. Save us. Save us.
Don't... Well... Lieutenant, get the first aid kit. It's too late, Grover. You mean... They're dead? Yes. The chief only wanted them for questioning, but if ever two people deserved to die, they did. There was murder in their hearts. Yet I'll be doggone if the law would have been able to do anything to them. We couldn't have held them for murder. Yeah, that's right.
It would have been hard to make a charge of bigamy, Stick, with Winthrop dead. I guess about the only thing we could have held them for was mutilation and illegal transportation of a corpse. Yes, sir. Justice sure has a strange way of working itself out. And so ends the tale. You only die once.
As it is written in the sealed book, the uncanny hand of fate reached out for the two who had ruthlessly planned the death of an innocent man and doomed them to die through their own actions. ♪♪
♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪
And now, keeper of the book, before you close the great volume, show us the tale we tell next time. This one? Ah, yes. A weird and magic tale of a strange life and an even stranger death. And of a murder terrible beyond all belief.
Be sure to be with us again next time when the sound of the great gong heralds another strange and exciting tale from The Sealed Book. The Sealed Book, produced and directed by Jock McGregor, is written by Bob Arthur and David Kogan.
Get ready for July 4th with early savings at Lowe's. Get up to 40% off select major appliances and get an additional 10% off two or more select major appliances. These deals are coming in hot. Lowe's, we help, you save. Valid through 7-9. Selection varies by location. While supplies last. See Lowe's.com for more details. Visit your nearby Lowe's on Cottle Road in San Jose. ♪♪♪
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The shadow knows. The shadow knows.
The Shadow, the serious character who aids the forces of law and order, is in reality Lamont Cranston, wealthy young man about town. The Shadow uses his hypnotic power to cloud men's minds so that they cannot see him. Cranston's friend and companion, the lovely Margot Lane, is the only person who knows to whom the unseen voice of the Shadow belongs. Today's story, Murder Incorporated. ♪♪
Oh, my God.
Are you Mr. Conrad? Oh, yes, I'm Mr. Conrad. Come on, get in, please. Thank you. You must be Mr. Pasquale. Yes, that's right. Sorry I wasn't at the station when your train came in, Mr. Conrad. Bad night. I had a hard time getting down the mountain. You know, I was beginning to think perhaps I misunderstood your instructions. Well, I wouldn't have had you come out on a night like this, but I'm having a bit of a celebration tomorrow, and I'd like to have the piano with you. Quite all right, Mr. Pasquale.
Musical instruments are like humans to me. I never fail to respond to a call. I see. My house is about two miles up the mountain. I'm afraid you're going to find it rather a lonesome place. Oh, no, no, indeed, I won't mind at all. I hope you've come prepared to spend the night, Mr. Conrad.
The night? Yes, you see, there are no trains until morning. Oh, yes, of course. You know, I hadn't thought of that. Rather stupid of me. I should have warned you, but it hadn't occurred to me that perhaps somebody might be expecting you home. Oh, no, no, indeed. I have no folks. There's nobody to expect me, Mr. Pascal. Nobody to expect you?
Well, you'll not be missed, eh? No, no, no, indeed, Mr. Pasquale. I shall not be missed. It's a bleak and dismal night, isn't it? Yes, a bleak and dismal night. Oh!
I can't stand it, I tell you. Sit down, Nelson. Lisa's driving me nuts. Take it easy. Pascal ought to be up here any minute. I can't stand it anymore. Wallace, I'm going. All right, don't be a fool. Shut up and listen. What's the matter? I think I hear Pascal on the stairs.
Oh, you're batty. That's a floor's creaking. He'll hardly hear anything in this old house. Yeah. It is a joint, all right. Give you the creak. Just a kind of a hideout, Pascal, pick. Even a ghost be afraid of hornets. What? Oh, Pascal. Hey, boss, we thought you... Sorry, gentlemen. Say, Pascal, what's the big idea? You call us here to talk over a scheme to clean up a couple of hundred thousand... Quiet, please. Quiet.
I don't want my guests below to know I have guests about. Why do you have a piano tuner here when we have business to talk over? Because, gentlemen, the piano tuner is the business I have to talk over. What do you mean? Yes. In just a few moments, he will drop dead. What? Drop dead? Well, rather, I should say I'll permit him to kill himself. But his death will have all the appearances of a natural demise. The actual cause will be impossible to detect. Well, how are you going to do it? Follow me, gentlemen.
Where are you taking us to? Through this door. Hey. What is this? This, gentlemen, is my laboratory. For the past two years, I've devoted myself to research and experimentation in this room on a chemical that could kill and yet leave no trace. You mean a secret poison? I'll explain.
After I perfected my chemical, I next had to devise the best means for its use. Yes. You see this match? Yeah. The head of this match has been dipped into my secret formula. Yeah? So downstairs, I've placed some cigars in a package containing the treated matches beside our guest.
In a little while, he'll light a cigar. So what? Then, gentlemen, you'll have the positive proof that my labors have been crowned with success. Haskell, when it comes to anything in the chemical line, you're the top. But I don't get it. How does this thing pay off? Gentlemen...
We all know that the world is full of maladjusted people. Men and women tied to each other by force of circumstance. Go ahead. So isn't it reasonable to suppose that one party to these unfortunate associations would welcome the means by which he or she would be rid of the other? Oh, I get it. It's an insurance shake. Sounds swell to me. Oh.
But how are you going to contact these clients? Have you figured that out? Perfectly. When people are in trouble, they go to one of three men. A doctor, a lawyer, a mind reader. Those professions will be represented by the three of us. You're going to hang out the old shingle again. The offices of Dr. Bruno Pascal are already selected.
It'll be my job to impress the prospective client with the physical necessity of escape. What's my trick? As the master of the occult, you shall visualize the way out for them. The legal and material aspects will be your responsibility, Nelson. Yes. You will see that our clients carry the proper amount of insurance. Okay. When the mind of the client is conditioned to accept murder as a solution to a problem, then we shall provide the means to what will truly be the end. The match is... The match is...
Listen, that piano stopped. At last. Maybe the old guy's taking time off for a smoke. We'll see. All right, all right.
How long is it going to take? Why don't he light it? Why don't he do... That's it, gentlemen. Yeah, come on, let's go. This is Mr. Conrad in the rain. There, gentlemen.
Look down. Ah. The piano tuner is dead. And a new enterprise is born. She was just sitting there smoking and all of a sudden she kind of gasped for breath and toppled over dead. Never said a word or anything. Oh.
He died real peaceful, just like Miss Cigarette was. It was such an easy death. You do nothing, ma'am. Just give him the matches. He does it himself. That's all there is to it. You haven't a thing to worry about. Oh.
Well, well, well, Lamont. What are you doing? Planning flowers or building a house? I've never seen so many tools and implements in my life. No cracks, Margo. John, my gardener, didn't come to work this morning. I have to get these rose bushes in. Now, let me see. Was it four bushes one foot apart or one bush four feet apart? I wouldn't have missed this for the world.
Lamar, what are you doing now? I'm digging a hole to put the rose bushes in. Why must it be three feet deep? Well, they're big rose bushes. Well, if you strike oil, let me know, will you? Margo, please, how can I concentrate? Let me see. Does burlap come off or does it stay on? I have a suggestion. Yeah? If that bush doesn't grow in that hole, you can always put some concrete around the edges and use it for a swimming pool. That's very helpful. Ow! Ow!
These bushes have thorns. Samara, I have another suggestion. Fine, fine, fine. Let's go over and find out what happened to John before you ruin the garden and yourself as well. THE END
Who is it? Oh. Oh, Mr. Cranston. Good evening, Miss Graham. Hello, Miss Lane. Hello, Miss Graham. Is John home? Why, yes, sir, he is. Well, he didn't report for work this morning. We thought perhaps he might not be well. Matter of fact, Miss Lane, he's sick in bed. Oh, I thought so. May I go up and see him? Well, I don't think you're better. The doctor says he wasn't to see anybody. Well, it must be serious. John was always so healthy. He's complained to me before, Mr. Cranston. You see, it's...
It's his heart. Oh. Yes, his heart's been pretty bad lately. Mrs. Graham, John called you. Oh. Oh, did he? Oh, Ella. Tell Mr. Cranston I'd like to see him. Well, I'll go right up. Mr. Cranston. Come along, Margo. Yes, Lamont. Don't worry, Mrs. Graham. We won't stay with him long. Well, I won't go up. I've got to call the doctor. Lamont. Yes, Margo? Isn't Mrs. Graham a terribly nervous woman? Yes, very.
Then I suppose it's understandable under the circumstances. Yes, I suppose so. Ah, here we are. This is the room. Well, hello, John. Oh, hello, Mr. Cranston, Miss Lane. Hello, John. I asked my wife to send for you, sir. You asked Mrs. Graham to send for me? Yes, sir. But your wife... Please, Margo...
Tell me something about this illness, John. It's your heart, isn't it? Yes, sir. Looks as if I'm going to be like those gladiolas we planted last spring. Fine one day and dead the next. Oh, John. And me, who's never had an acre of pain in my whole life before, sir. I see. Well, John, you said...
You sent for me because you wanted to talk to me. Yes, sir. It's about my wife. You know how little women know about money matters. Yes? I don't want nobody to talk about it until I'm leaving. You see, sir, as luck would have it, I just took out a new insurance policy. Yes? It's much bigger than any I've carried before, but...
I'm glad I did it now. She won't have to worry. Well, John, how did you happen to increase your insurance? Why, it was that doctor my wife's been going to. He sure gave me some good sound advice. He suggested you take out more insurance? Yes.
I see. Now, John, I don't want you to worry about anything. I'll see that your wife is well advised. You just take things easy. I knew I could depend on you, sir. I miss the garden. I'm sure you do, John. Those bleeding heart shoots. They should be trimmed down right away. I'll take care of them for you, John. Might be a good idea to bed them down. Frost...
It'll be coming soon. It certainly will. John, what's the name of the doctor who advised you to increase your insurance, huh? I said, John, what's the name of the doctor... Lamont. John. John. Margot. Yes, Lamont. He's dead.
Well, Lamont, how do I look? Does my costume make me look like the poor, harassed housewife? Quite, Margo. But I'm afraid you're going to an awful lot of trouble for nothing. I don't think so, Lamont.
We know now that it's this Dr. Pascal who's been treating Mrs. Graham for a long time. He's the one who advised John to increase his insurance. Well, that might have been advice sincerely offered. But how do you explain Mrs. Graham's conduct? Well...
If you mean what I think you mean, Margo, you're just about accusing that poor little woman of murdering her husband. But I'll play along with you. You're going to Dr. Pascal as a patient? Yes. I see. Well, I'm a nervous case. You know what I mean. Married, nervous. Oh, you mean married, nervous. Hmm. Uh-huh, I see. Well, you should have a name. Oh, yeah, yeah, sure, sure. Let's see, let's see.
Belden! Mrs. Belden! How's that, eh? Too good. I'd rather you save the characterizing until you see the doctor. Okay, okay. Oh, say, uh, suppose you have to produce a husband. Oh, very simple in that case. You'll be my husband, ma'am. What? Now, let's get going. Mrs. Belden may have a date with Destin. Oh!
Come on, fellas. Let's get to our business. How do we stand with Mrs. Graham? We'll get the insurance check tomorrow. You know, we almost bungled that job. Yeah? How? Effective matches. Mrs. Graham told me that it took hours for her husband to die. We must be more careful in the future.
Now, there's my buzzer. You gentlemen wait in the next room. It wouldn't be a shame to Wallace and me, would you? Do I have to answer that? Oh, no. Okay, Pascal. There are cigars and matches on the table. Help yourself. No, thanks. I carry my own matches. Wise guy. Well, how do you do? You're welcome.
You wish to see me? Yeah, are you Dr. Pascal? Yes, I am Dr. Pascal. Oh, I... Well, come right in, please. Thanks. Now, sit down here. Yes, sir. Now then, what's your trouble? Well, doctor, I... I haven't been able to sleep nights for a long time. I got until I wake up with a start just as soon as I go to sleep. Oh, now, don't be nervous, dear lady. Uh,
But tell me, how did you happen to come to me? I saw your name on the door. Oh, you just happened in, is that it? Yes, sir. Where do you live? On Charles Street. Oh, that's quite a distance from here. You passed a lot of doctors on the way. Well, I... I got a cousin living in this neighborhood. Oh. I come up here pretty near every day. I see. And what is her name?
My cousin? Yours. Oh, mine, huh? Belden. Married, I suppose? Yes, sir. Would you sit under this light, please? Yes, sir. Gee, what a blind man. Now, don't be nervous. Now, Mrs. Belden, I am not in the strict sense a medical man. I don't use medicines, drugs to affect cures. You see, most ailments are external. They spring from a cause outside the person affected.
You, for example, are an obvious nervous case. Oh, I get terrible nervous sometimes. Now, that ailment does not necessarily come from inside you. It's the result of a condition which you are constantly in contact with. This might be an unhappy marriage. It might be... Would that cause it, Doctor? An unhappy marriage? Oh, very likely. I have had women come to me who were on the verge of insanity. Oh, God. Now, of course, I'm not saying that that's so in your case. You may be very happily married. Well, no, Doctor, I mean...
I don't get along with my husband very well. Oh, now that's too bad, too bad, Mrs. Beldon. Gee, can I close my eyes for a minute? That light. Well, I'll turn it off. There. Now, it'll be a long time before I'll permit myself to arrive at a definite conclusion on your case, Mrs. Beldon. However, if your husband should be the cause of your trouble, you can easily correct it. Yeah, how? By simply ridding yourself of the cause.
I've ridden myself of... There ain't much chance of that. My husband never gave me a divorce. Well, you just leave your case in my hands. And you'll be taken care of. Yes. Come in and see me Wednesday at four. Yeah, Wednesday at four. That's right. We'll go into your case more thoroughly at that time. Thanks, Doctor. Appreciate that very much. Oh, that's quite all right.
Good day, Mr. Deldon. Goodbye, Doctor. All right for it to come out now? Oh, yes, yes. It's all right. You heard the interview? Yeah, we sure did. That prospect's certainly right for plucking. Looks like an easy few thousand dollars for him. That's the trouble.
It looks too easy. What do you mean? You think she's a phony? Possibly. If she is, she's not in this alone. We've got to play along. I want to know who's in on it with her. What can we do? I'm going to send her to you, Nelson. I want you to size her up. If you should confirm my suspicions, then I'll have her bring her husband here. For what? He's probably a plant. If he is, then we can nip the thing quickly and completely. How? By a process of swift elimination. The End
There it is, Lamont. Pascal's office is in that little frame house beside the grocery store. That's a modest enough place. Why do you suppose he wants to see me? Well, they probably want to condition your mind for a big insurance policy. Just as they did your gardener, John Graham. Margot, you seem to think Pascal has several confederates. Yes. Well, there's that lawyer he sent me to, Nelson.
Then there's a mind reader by the name of Wallace. But remember, Margo, all of these deaths have been certified as natural. How do you suppose they bring about these deaths? Well, I haven't progressed that far in their confidence yet. But it's coming, I'm sure. Margo, I do hope you're right about this affair.
But now I, uh, I think I'd better go in alone first and form my own impression of Dr. Pascal. But he asked me to come with my husband. Well, I'll tell him I'm to meet you in his office. And you come in after I've been there about five minutes. Well, all right, if you think that's best. I'll walk on. You stay here in the car, Margo. All right, Lamont. And don't forget, Margo, give me five minutes leeway. Yes, Lamont. Oh.
There's no mistake about it, I tell you, Pascal. I knew there was something familiar about her face. Then I remembered where I'd seen her. I went down to the newspaper office and dug up this issue of the paper. That's her picture all right, Nelson. Margot Lane, prominent society girl. That's right. The man beside her in this picture, well, he's probably the one she's bringing here as her husband. Lamont Cranston, man about town. What are you going to do, Pascal? We can't take any chances, Nelson.
They must be destroyed. Both of them. Uh-huh. Go ahead, Nelson. Through this door. It leads up to site entrance. Okay. Good luck, Pascal. Thank you.
Oh, well, how do you do? You wish to see me? Dr. Pascoe? Yes. I'm Mr. Belden. Oh, Mr. Belden. Well, didn't your wife come with you? I expected her. I'm supposed to meet her here. Well, in that case, I guess you'll be along soon. My wife said you wanted to talk to me. Oh, it's nothing of great importance, Mr. Belden. I simply felt a man should know his wife's doctor. Well, how's that going to help her? Hey? Oh.
Mr. Belden, our face looks familiar. Yeah?
I've seen you somewhere before. Yeah? I ain't never seen you before. I'm sure I've seen you. Well, lots of people see me. I drive a cab. Oh, a cab driver, eh? Truly a man of our town, eh? Huh? Oh, yeah. I get around all right. Yes, I imagine you do. Oh, will you have a cigar with me, Mr. Besson? I smoke cigarettes. Oh, here, have one of mine. I got my own. Match, then?
Thanks. You want a light? After you. Okay. Oh, that one must have been damp. Yeah, I guess so. Well, so much as you've got, believe me. Try the third. I'm sure you'll get results from that one. I hope so. Well, it's about...
What's the matter, Mr. Cranston? Aren't you going to smoke with me? Dispatch! My, what an inglorious end to the glamorous man about town. Now, come along, Mr. Cranston. I have a room all ready for you. Ah, there's your wife.
There we are. Now, you won't be alone long, Mr. Cranston. You'll be joined directly by the corpse of Margot Lane. Ah, Mrs. Belvin. Do come in. Thanks, Doctor. My husband here? Your husband? Oh, yes. He was supposed to come with you today. Well, make yourself comfortable. Thank you.
He hasn't arrived yet. What? Well, now, in the meantime, I have something which I'm sure will interest you. A little picture a friend of mine cut out of the paper. Oh. Surprised, aren't you, Mrs. Belden? I was, too, when I saw it. I said, my, what a strange coincidence.
This Margot Lane looks exactly like my Mrs. Belden. Yeah. Yeah, she does look like me. Now, wouldn't it really be amazing if Mr. Belden turned out to resemble this Lamont Cranston in the same picture? It could happen, you know. Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Well, I'd better go and see what's keeping him. Oh, no, no, Mrs. Belden. He should be here directly. Be patient. Yes, sit down, please. There we are. Yes.
Cigarette, Mrs. Belden? No, I don't think so. Oh, but you should. Good for the nerves. As your physician, I prescribe it. Here. I'll give you a light. What's the matter, Dr. Pascal? You dropped the match. Why? Hide.
I didn't drop the matches. They were knocked from my hand. What was that? I heard a man's laugh. So you did, Doctor. Who spoke? Who are you? What are you? I am the factor you failed to reckon with when you embarked on your murder-for-profit enterprise.
I am the Shadow. The Shadow? Yes, I've heard of you, but murder for profit. I don't know what you mean by that. You're responsible for the death of John Graham and many others. Why, this is nonsense. I never heard of a John Graham. No use bluffing, Pascal. I've already phoned the police to pick up your two henchmen, Nelson and Wallace.
You're next. The police have no evidence against me. That's a lack I shall supply. I have some of your ingenious little matches. Matches? You lie, you can't. And I have proof that at least ten people died with a box of your matches beside them. I see, and you think you can stop me from leaving here? Try it. Very well, I'll call you. Don't let him go. Perhaps you're convinced now that it would be best to await the police quietly. Well...
I suppose you're right. I've always believed that one should accept the inevitable in good grace. In fact, with nonchalance. I know of no better way to emulate that attitude than to have a smoke. Oscar, don't. Wait. Now, Mr. Shadow, your police shall find me waiting in supreme calm. Come.
I'm glad we're on our way home, Lamont. I feel as though I've been living in a land of the dead. That's very near to the truth, Margo. We were both pretty close to it. What will happen to Mrs. Graham and those other women who worked with Pascal in killing their husbands? The law will deal with them, dear. Lamont, how did you ever find out about those matches? Well, I learned that many of the people who died so mysteriously were found with an empty matchbox beside them.
But that peculiar circumstance didn't crystallize in my mind until Pascal invited me to have a smoke. Well, why didn't the match kill you? Because I had palmed Pascal's match and lit one of my own. He thought he had me, though. Lamont. Yes? Wouldn't it be wonderful? Wouldn't what be wonderful? If you were only that clever at planting rose bushes. Who is the arch-criminal who believes he can realize his base desire's
by outwitting the shadow. The weed of crime bears bitter fruit. Crime does not pay. The shadow knows.
Get ready for July 4th with early savings at Lowe's. Get up to 40% off select major appliances and get an additional 10% off two or more select major appliances. These deals are coming in hot. Lowe's, we help, you save. Valid through 7-9. Selection varies by location. While supplies last. See Lowe's.com for more details. Visit your nearby Lowe's on Cottle Road in San Jose. This is Nelson Olmstead.
Sleep no more. Sleep no more. Turn down the lights, sink back in your chair, and don't look into the shadows. In the shadows, there may be moving things. Tonight, it may be you will sleep no more. Good evening. This is Ben Grauer introducing tonight's tale of terror.
told by Nelson Armstead on the National Broadcasting Company's presentation of Sleep No More. The story of terror can be as simple as a sheeted ghost rattling chains. It can be a complex and hidden world of horror, lurking in such unholy dimensions as only the dead and the moonstruck can glimpse. Or it can be those terrible, fathomless shadows.
which lie buried deep in the primitive mind of civilized man. And for this evening, well, Nelson Olmsted, tell us about this evening's story. Thank you, Ben. You know, mankind has always enjoyed a good story. It was that way in the beginning when our ancestors gathered around campfires to hear the accounts of adventures. Today, we can enjoy the finest tales ever written, the result of thousands of years of experience. And we don't gather around the campfire, but around the radio.
The first story I want to tell you tonight was written by Anton Chekhov. It's about a man who bet another man two million dollars that he couldn't spend 15 years in jail. It's entitled, The Bet. It was a dark autumn night.
The old banker was pacing from corner to corner of his study, recalling to his mind the party he gave in the autumn 15 years before. There were many clever people at the party and much interesting conversation. They talked, among other things, of capital punishment. In the discussion, the host said...
Well, I, myself, have experienced neither capital punishment nor life imprisonment. But if one may judge on the basis of logic, then in my opinion, capital punishment is more moral and more humane than imprisonment. Execution kills instantly. Life imprisonment kills by degrees. Who is the more humane executioner? One who kills you in a few seconds or one who draws the life out of you incessantly for years?
Well, they're both equally immoral, said one of the guests, because their purpose is the same, to take away life. The state is not a god. It has no right to take away that which it cannot give back if it should so desire. Well, among the company was a lawyer, a young man of about 25. On being asked his opinion, he said...
Capital punishment and life imprisonment are equally immoral. But if I were offered the choice between them, I would certainly choose the second. It's better to live somehow than not to live at all. The banker suddenly lost his temper and banged his fist on the table. And turning to the young lawyer, he said, It's a lie. I'll bet you two million you couldn't stick in a cell even for five years.
If you mean it seriously, then I bet I'll stay not five, but 15. 15! Done! Gentlemen, I stake two million. Agreed. You stake two million, and I my freedom. So, this wild, ridiculous bet came to pass. The banker, who at the time had too many millions to count, spoiled and capricious, was beside himself with rapture. ♪♪
And now, after 15 years, the banker, pacing from corner to corner, recalled all this and asked himself, why did I make this bet? What's the good? The lawyer's lost 15 years of his life, and if I pay the two million, I'm ruined. Will it convince people that capital punishment is worse or better than imprisonment for life? No, no. It's all stuff and rubbish. On my part, it was the caprice of a well-fed man, and the lawyer's pure greed for gold.
He recollected further what had happened at the time the bet was made. It was decided that the lawyer must undergo his imprisonment under the strictest observation in a garden wing of the banker's house. It was agreed that during the entire period, he would be deprived of the right to cross the threshold, to see living people, to hear human voices, and to receive letters and newspapers.
He was permitted to have a musical instrument, to read books, to write letters, to drink wine and smoke tobacco. By the agreement, he could communicate, but only in silence, with the outside world through a little window especially constructed for this purpose. Everything necessary, books, music, wine, he could receive in any quantity by sending a note through the window.
The agreement provided for all the minutest details, which made the confinement strictly solitary, and it obliged the lawyer to remain exactly 15 years from 12 o'clock of November 14th, 1870 to 12 o'clock of November 14th, 1885. The least attempt on his part to violate the conditions, to escape if only for two minutes before the time, freed the banker from obligation to pay him the two millions. ♪♪
During the first year of imprisonment, the lawyer, as far as it was possible to judge from his short notes, suffered terribly from loneliness and boredom. From this wing, day and night, came the sound of the piano. He rejected wine and tobacco. "'Wine,' he wrote, "'excites desires and desires of the chief foes of a prisoner. "'Besides, nothing is more boring than to drink good wine alone, "'and tobacco spoils the air in the room.'
During the first year, the lawyer was sent books of a light character, novels with complicated love interests, stories of crime and fantasy, comedies, and so on. In the second year, the piano was heard no longer, and the lawyer asked only for classics. In the fifth year, music was heard again, and the prisoner asked for wine.
Those who watched him said that during the whole of that year, he was only eating, drinking, and lying in his bed. He yawned often and talked angrily to himself. Books he didn't read. Sometimes at night, he would sit down to write. He would write for a long time and tear it all up in the morning. More than once, he was heard to weep.
In the second half of the sixth year, the prisoner began zealously to study languages, philosophy, and history. He fell on those subjects so hungrily that the banker hardly had time to get books enough for him. In the space of the next four years, about 600 volumes were bought at his request. It was while that passion lasted that the banker received the following letter from the prisoner. My dear jailer...
I am writing these lines in six languages. Show them to experts. Let them read them. If they don't find one single mistake, I beg you to give orders to have a gun fired off in the garden. By the noise, I shall know that my efforts have not been in vain. The geniuses of all ages and countries speak in different languages. But in them all burns the same flame. Oh, if you knew my heavenly happiness now that I can understand them.
The prisoner's desire was fulfilled. In the garden, by the banker's order, two shots were fired. Later on, after the tenth year, the lawyer sat immovable before his table and read only the New Testament. The banker found it strange that a man who in four years had mastered 600 erudite volumes should have spent nearly a year in reading one book, easy to understand and by no means thick.
The New Testament was then replaced by the history of religions and theology. During the last two years of his confinement, the prisoner read an extraordinary amount, quite haphazard. Now he would apply himself to the natural sciences. Then he would read Byron or Shakespeare.
Notes used to come from him in which he asked to be sent at the same time a book on chemistry, a textbook on medicine, a novel, and some treatise on philosophy or theology. He read as though he were swimming in the sea among broken pieces of wreckage, and in his desire to save his life was eagerly grasping one piece after another. The banker recalled all this and thought, tomorrow, twelve o'clock, he receives his freedom.
Under the agreement, I shall have to pay him two millions. And if I pay, it's all over with me. I'm ruined forever. Fifteen years before, he had too many millions to count. But now, he was afraid to ask himself which he had more of, money or debts. He decided that the only escape was to kill his prisoner before the two millions had been won. The clock had just struck three. The banker was listening. In the house, everyone was asleep, and you could hear only the frozen trees whining outside the windows.
He took out of a safe the key to the door, which had not been opened for 15 years, put on his overcoat, and went out of the house into the garden where the prison was located. In the prisoner's room, a candle was burning dimly. The prisoner himself sat at the table. Only his back, the hair on his head, and his hands were visible. Open books were strewn about on the table, the two chairs, and on the carpet near the table. Five minutes passed, and the prisoner never once stirred.
Fifteen years' confinement had taught him to sit motionless. The banker tapped on the window, but the prisoner made no movement in reply. Then the banker cautiously tore the seals from the door and put the key into the lock. The rusty lock gave a hoarse groan, and the door creaked. The banker expected instantly to hear a cry of surprise and the sound of steps. Three minutes passed, and it was as quiet inside as it had been before. He made up his mind to enter.
Before the table sat a man unlike any ordinary human being. He looked almost like a skeleton with tight-drawn skin with long curly hair like a woman's and a shaggy beard. The color of his face was yellow of an earthy shade. The cheeks were sunken, the back long and narrow, and the hand upon which he leaned his hairy head was so thin and bony that it was painful to look upon.
His hair was already silvering with gray, and no one who glanced at the senile emaciation of the face would have believed he was only 40 years old.
On the table before his bended head lay a sheet of paper in which something was written in a tiny hand. And the banker thought, Oh, poor devil. He's asleep and probably seeing millions in his dreams. Why, I have only to take and throw the half-dead thing in the bed and smother him a moment with the pillow, and the most careful examination would find no trace of unnatural death. But first let me read what he's written. The banker took the sheet from the table and read, Tomorrow at twelve o'clock midnight...
I shall obtain my freedom and the right to mix with people. But before I leave this room and see the sun, I think it necessary to say a few words to you. On my own clear conscience and before God who sees me, I declare to you that I despise freedom, life, health, all that your books call the blessings of the world. For 15 years, I have diligently studied earthly life.
True, I saw neither the earth nor the people, but in your books I drank fragrant wine, sang songs, hunted deer and wild boar in the forests, loved women and beautiful women like clouds ethereal created by the magic of your poet's genius, visited me by night and whispered to me wonderful tales which made my head drunken.
In your books, I climbed the summits of Elbers and Mont Blanc and saw from there how the sun rose in the morning and in the evening suffused the sky, the ocean, and the mountain ridges with a purple gold. Your books gave me wisdom. All that unwearying human thought created in the centuries is compressed in a little lump in my skull. I know that I am cleverer than you all and I despise your books.
despise all worldly blessings and wisdom. Everything is void, frail, visionary, and elusive as a mirage. Though you be proud and wise and beautiful, yet will death wipe you from the face of the earth like the mice underground. And your prosperity, your history, and the immortality of your genius will be as frozen slag burned down together with a terrestrial globe. You are mad and gone the wrong way.
You take falsehood for truth and ugliness for beauty. You would marvel if suddenly apple and orange trees bear frogs and lizards instead of fruit. And if roses should begin to have the odor of a sweating horse. So do I marvel at you who have bartered heaven for earth. I do not want to understand you. That I may show you indeed my contempt for that by which you live. I waive the two million of which I once dreamed of as paradise.
in which I now despise. That I may deprive myself of my right to them, I shall come out of here five minutes before the stipulated term, and thus shall violate the agreement. When he had read, the banker put the sheet on the table, kissed the head of the strange man, and began to weep. He went out of the wing. Never at any other time, not even after his terrible losses on the exchange, had he felt such contempt for himself as now. Coming home, he lay down in his bed...
But agitation and tears kept him a long time from sleeping. The next morning, the poor watchman came running to him and told him that he had seen the man who lived in the wing climb through the window and into the garden. He had run to the gate and disappeared. The banker instantly went with his servants to the wing and established the escape of his prisoner. To avoid unnecessary rumors, he took the paper with the renunciation from the table and on his return locked it in his safe.
You are listening to Sleep No More with Nelson Olmsted. The tale he has just told was The Bet by Anton Chekhov.
What's our second story for tonight, Mr. Armstead? If I were to choose among the many short stories that I've read, the one which has the most poignant memory for me, it would be this next story I want to tell you tonight, Ben. Written by George Moore, it's about a poor bank clerk who falls in love with a woman he never sees. It's entitled, The Clerk's Quest. The Clerk's Quest
For 30 years, Edward Dempsey had worked low down in the list of clerks in the firm of Quinn and Wee. He did his work so well that he seemed born to it. And it was felt that any change in which Dempsey was concerned would be unlucky. Managers had looked at Dempsey doubtingly and had left him in his habits. New partners had come into the business, but Dempsey showed no signs of interest. He was interested only in his desk. There it was by the dim window. There was his pen wiper. There was the ruler. There was the blotting pad.
Dempsey was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Once in 30 years of service, he had accepted a holiday. It had been a topic of conversation all the morning, and the clerks tittered when he came into the bank in the afternoon, saying he'd been looking into the shop windows all the morning and had come down to the bank to see how they were getting on.
An obscure, clandestine, taciturn little man, occupying in life only the space necessary to bend over a desk, and whose conical head leaned to one side as if in a token of his humility. It seemed that Dempsey had no other ambition than to be allowed to stagnate at a desk to the end of his life. That this modest ambition would have been realized had it not been for a slight accident, the single accident that had found its way into Dempsey's well-ordered life.
One summer's day, the heat of the areas rose and filled the open window, and Dempsey's somnolent senses were moved by a soft and suave perfume. At first he was puzzled to say from where it came, and then he noticed that it came from a bundle of checks that he held in his hand, and then that the perfume paper was a pale pink check in the middle of the bundle. He'd hardly seen a flower for 30 years and couldn't determine whether the odor was that of mignonette or honeysuckle or violet.
But at that moment, the checks were called for and he handed them to his superior and with a cool hand and clear brain continued to make entries in the ledger until the bank closed. That night, just as he was falling asleep, a remembrance of the insinuating perfume returned to him. He wondered whose check it was and regretted not having looked at the signature.
And many times during the succeeding weeks, he paused as he was making entries in the ledger to think if the haunting perfume were rose, lavender, or mignonette. It wasn't the scent of rose, he was sure of that. And a vague swaying of the hope began. And when the same sweet odor came again, he knew now it was the scent of heliotrope, his heart was lifted and he was overcome in a sweet, possessive trouble.
He searched for the check amid the bundle of checks, and finding it, he pressed the paper to his face. The check was written in a thin, feminine handwriting and was signed Henrietta Brown. And the name and handwriting were pregnant with occult significances in Dempsey's disturbed mind. His hand paused amid the entries.
and he grew suddenly aware of some dim, shadowy form, graceful and sweet-smelling as the spring, moist shadow of wandering cloud, emanation of earth, or woman herself? Dempsey pondered, and his absent-mindedness was noticed in occasion common among the clerks.
For the first time in his life, he was glad when the office hours were over. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think. He felt he must abandon himself to the new influence that had so suddenly and unexpectedly entered his life. Henrietta Brown. The name persisted in his mind like a half-forgotten, half-remembered tune.
and in his effort to realize her beauty, he stopped before the photographic displays in the shop windows. But none of the famous or infamous celebrities there helped him in the least. He could only realize Henrietta Brown by turning his thoughts from without and seeking the intimate sense of her perfumed checks. The end of every month brought a check from Henrietta Brown, and for a few moments the clerk was transported and lived beyond himself. ♪
An idea had fixed itself in his mind. He didn't know if Henrietta Brown was young or old, pretty or ugly, married or single. The perfume and the name were sufficient and could no longer be separated from the idea now forcing its way through the fissures in the failing brain of this poor little bachelor clerk.
That idea of light and love and grace so inherent in man, but which rigorous circumstances had compelled Dempsey to banish from his life. Dempsey had had a mother to support for many years, and had found it impossible to economize. But since her death, he'd lain by about 150 pounds. To have touched a penny of his savings once would have seemed to him a sin near to sacrilege.
Yet he didn't hesitate for a single moment to send Henrietta Brown, whose address he had been able to obtain through the bank books, a diamond brooch that had cost 20 pounds. He omitted any reference to himself, and for days he lived in warm wonderment, satisfied in the thought that she was wearing something that he had seen and touched.
His ideal was now by him and always, and its dominion was so complete that he neglected his duties at the bank and was censured by the amazed manager. The change of his condition was so obvious that it became the subject for gossip, and jokes were now beginning to pass into serious wonderment. Dempsey took no notice, and his plans matured amid jokes and theories.
The desire to write and reveal himself to his beloved became imperative. And he wrote a letter full of deference, but at the same time it left no doubt as to the nature of his attachments and hopes. The answer to this letter was a polite note, begging him not to persist in this correspondence and warning him that if he did, it would become necessary to write to the manager of the bank. But the return of his brooch didn't turn Dempsey from the pursuit of his ideal.
And as time went by, it became more and more impossible for him to refrain from writing love letters and sending occasional presents of jewelry. And when the letters and the jewelry were returned to him, he put them away carelessly, and he bought the first sparkle of diamonds that caught his fancy and forwarded ring, bracelet, and earring with whatever word of rapturous love that came up to his mind. ♪
One day he was called into the manager's room, severely reprimanded, and eventually pardoned in consideration of his long and faithful service. But the reprimands of his employers were of no use, and he continued to write to Henrietta Brown, growing more and more careless of his secret. He dropped brooches about the office and his letters. At last the story was whispered from desk to desk.
Dempsey's dismissal was the only course open to the firm, and it was with much regret that the partners told their old servant that his services were no longer required.
To their surprise, Dempsey seemed quite unaffected by his dismissal. He even seemed relieved and left the bank smiling, thinking of Henrietta with no concern for the problem of living. He didn't even think of providing himself with money by the sale of some of his jewelry he had with him, nor of going to his lodging and packing his clothes. He didn't think how he should get to Edinburgh, where she lived.
He thought of her even to the exclusion of the simplest means of reaching her, and was content to walk about the streets in happy mood, waiting for glimpses of some evanescent phantom at the woods' depths, of a glistening shoulder and feet flying toward the reeds. Full of happy dreams, he wandered through the many straggling villages that hang like children round the skirts of Dublin. Passing through one of these at nightfall, he turned into the bar of an inn and asked for bread and cheese.
One of the two rough fellows standing beside him said, Ah, Governor, have you come a long way? I am going a long way, replied Dempsey. I am going north, very far north. Oh, and what may you be going north for, if I make bold to ask? I am going to the lady I love, and I'm taking her beautiful presents of jewelry.
The two men exchanged glasses, and it's easy to imagine how Dempsey was induced to let them have his diamonds so that inquiries might be made of a friend around the corner regarding their value. After waiting a little while, Dempsey paid for his bread and cheese and went in search of the thieves.
But the face of Henrietta Brown obliterated all remembrance of thieves and diamonds, and he wandered for a few days, sustained by his own dream and the crusts that his appearance drew from the pitying. At last, he even neglected to ask for a crust, and foodless, followed the beckoning vision from sunrise to sundown. It was a soft, quiet summer's night when Dempsey lay down to sleep for the last time.
He was very tired, and he'd been wandering all day. He threw himself down on the grass by the roadside. He lay there, looking up at the stars, thinking of Henrietta, knowing that everything was slipping away and that he was passing into a diviner sense. Henrietta seemed to be coming nearer to him and revealing herself more clearly. And when the word of death was in his throat and his eyes opened for the last time, it seemed to him...
that one of the stars came down from the sky and laid its bright face upon his shoulder. You can turn up the lights now. You can look around you. Nobody is there, really. Everything is all right, isn't it?
Step over here, Nelson Olmsted, and tell us about next week's story. Well, Ben, frankly, I don't know at this moment. We're considering such stories as A Passenger to Bali by Ella St. Joseph, The Flowering of the Strange Orchid by H.G. Wells, The Daring Young Man and the Flying Trapeze by William Soroyan, and many more. What would you like to hear? Whether you have a suggestion or not, join us next week and be surprised. ♪
You have been listening to Sleep No More, an NBC Radio Network production directed by Kenneth McGregor. Mr. Armstead's albums are recorded exclusively for Vanguard Records. Until next week, when Nelson Armstead will again be here in person, this is Ben Grauer bidding you good night.
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Strange Wills. Stories of strange wills made by strange people. Starring the distinguished Hollywood actor Warren William. And featuring Lorene Tuttle, Perry Ward, with Howard Culver and an all-star Hollywood cast. And the original music of Del Castillo. I'm a strange will.
I devise and bequeath to my heirs the seven deadly sins. Hate, jealousy, anger, revenge, envy, greed, and lust. And here is our distinguished star of radio screen and stage, Warren Williams. Strange wills are stories of strange and unusual testaments.
© BF-WATCH TV 2021
And now back to Warren William as John Francis O'Connell in Treasure to Starboard. This is a story of sunken treasure, of blood-red rubies, sparkling diamonds, and lustrous pearls.
But these were but a part of this priceless treasure trove. There were golden statues of pagan gods encrusted with precious stones. There were amethysts, opals, and gold. Gold. Gold. Gold.
On the night of March 12th, in the year 1703, some 400 miles off the coast of the West Indies, the Spanish three-master Toledo was foundering in the grip of a tremendous hurricane. In his cabin, Captain Fernandez was hurriedly drafting his last will and testament. He and his crew knew that death rode the gigantic waves and that hope of survival was an improbability.
I consign my body to the elements and my soul to the loving and tender arms of the Holy Mother and to some valiant adventurer whose heart beats with a lost of a Midas I give the treasure on board my ship.
Our position is longitude 08. We're about to abandon the ship, Captain. Hurry, hurry! No, Jose, I shall stay. Go, all of you, and may heaven protect you. For over 200 years, men have been searching for the treasure aboard the Toledo. But not one clue was ever found until one afternoon, a young, dashing, seafaring friend of mine, Captain Paul London, called me from some little island in the West Indies. I'll tell you more than that, John. I'm afraid of eavesdroppers.
I know I'm on the right track. I'll watch you just as I say, and I'll expect you both here next Sunday. So long, John. So Paul had discovered a clue to the treasure ship Toledo. It had me excited. I could see quarts of rubies, packs of diamonds. Well, who wouldn't get excited? I lost no time in contacting the person whose name he had given me, a certain Jean Medford. I'd like to speak to Mr. Jean Medford, please. The name is right, but the name is wrong.
What do you mean? I happen to be a female, a girl once, and a rather pretty one, too. Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Medford. I had no idea when I talked with Paul... Paul? Didn't have you? Less than ten minutes ago. He called me from some little town called Rosarita. Oh, and just what has the traveling Mr. London got up his sleeve today? And by the way, I'd like
Of course, I'm sorry. I am John Francis O'Connell, attorney at law, and a personal friend of our mutual friend. Oh, well, that's better. Now then, Mr. O'Connell, what does the great Paul want this time? It's quite a large order, milady. He wants you to prepare and pack a great deal of special equipment. Now, let's see, where's the list he gave me? Oh, here it is.
Your filtered ultraviolet light machine. A quantity of hydrothiocyanic acid. Well, all the materials and gadgets one uses in the examination of questioned documents. And after I've done all that, then what do I do, please? Then, my dear Miss Medford, I am to take you to the airport and fly you bodily to the lair of Paul London. Why, that's ridiculous!
I simply won't be let off by the nose on any wild goose chase of his. No, I refuse. I won't go. Paul is on the trail of a buried treasure, Miss Medford. And I can guarantee you that if you're a good girl and come peacefully, that perhaps, perhaps before this is over, you can wear rubies on your nightgown and dissolve real pearls in your bath. Rubies on my nightgown and pearls in my bath?
When do we start? Tomorrow night. I'll pick you up about five, and then we're off to high adventure. Fasten your seatbelt, Jean. We're over Rosarito, and I don't know what kind of a field this is going to be. Gee, I'm excited. Take it easy now. No crash landing. My nerves are on edge. So am I. Hang on. We're going down. I'm ready. Well, I found this little nautical museum here quite by accident, and I ran across something that made my hair stand on end.
In one of the exhibits, I found two pieces of evidence that sent me to the telephone and my call to John. Well, for heaven's sake, don't keep us in suspense any longer, Paul. What's in this exhibit that makes you think you know where the Toledo lies? Wait, wait, John. Talk in a whisper. There are some strange-looking characters all aloose in this country. We can't be too careful. If this news ever got around... Looking for an alibi already, Paul? Oh, no, of course not. I'll tell you what I found.
I've found the water-soaked log of the Toledo. Every word's been washed out by seawater except the ship's name carved on the cover. Ah, I'm beginning to see the light. And Jean here, with all her paraphernalia... That's right. Modern science will let us read that log. And if the captain of the Toledo lived up to the code of the sea... We will find the position of his ship when she went down. Well, so far, so good. But how does Paul intend to get the log?
You'll leave that to my gentle but persuasive administrations. The main thing is this. I'm going to get possession of the log of the Toledo for one night only.
Jean, I want you to set up your apparatus here in this hotel room and wait until I return. Well, how about me, Skipper? Need any help? No, John, I think I can handle this alone. Remember now, I'll be back in two hours. Have everything ready. And supposing the handsome male lead shouldn't come back? Well, in that event, simply fold your tent like the Arabs. And silently steal away. Right. THE END
Jean worked feverishly the next hour, getting her chemicals and equipment set up for this exciting moment. And then, quite suddenly... Will you see who it is, please, John? Don't let anyone come in. Very well. Paul! Good heavens, you're wounded. Here, let me help you. Paul! Oh, Paul, what happened? The log, did you... I'm all right. Got hit in the shoulder, but I've got it. Look. Oh, here, give it to me.
John, help Paul get his shirt off. I'll get some antiseptic. Sit down on the bed, Paul. Here. I'll rip this shirt off your shoulder. Easy now. It's just a flesh wound, John. Don't worry about it. What worries me is the man who took the shot at me. Did you recognize him? No, and I got a good look at his face, too. He was blonde, solid, had a German face. You don't imagine someone else? I don't know, John, but there's that chance that someone else is as smart as I. Bragging again, huh? Here, now, let me see that wound. Here.
Well, no bones smashed. It could have been worse. Hold still while I wash it. Oh. Sissy, now hold still. Now a bandage. And in two minutes, I'll have you ready to lick your weight in wildcats. The way I feel just now, those wildcats would have to be about two days old. Jean worked far into the night, and without success...
Her ultraviolet light proved valueless. Photographs taken of the pages with infrared brought only blank negatives. All of us were frantic. Towards dawn, Jean looked up from her work. Gentlemen, I think I'm a flop. I can't bring out a single word that's ever been written on this paper. It's hopeless, I guess. Oh, Paul, I feel terrible about letting you down. Never mind, Jean. Don't feel too badly. Wait. Wait a minute. Here. There's one more chance.
John, get me a handful of soot out of the fireplace. Put it in this dish for me. One handful of soot coming up. Thank you. Now, John, come over to the table with me. Paul, you lie there and rest. Okay, Duchess. I'm going to plug in this special ray lamp. It throws a pinhole light. It must be parallel to the page in the log. If there's one single solitary indentation left, it'll bring it out. Now then, Mr. Barrister, out with the lights. I'll take a page at random for our experiment.
Hand me the soot, please. One order of soot. Over, easy. You can't see this, Paul, but I'm blowing a pinch of soot over the page. Just a very fine coating. It will work its way into any depression on the page. Now I'm letting the pinhole of light traverse across the page. Look, Jean. I see a part of a letter forming.
It makes a distinct shadow under the light. It's working. It's working. Take it easy. It's too early to crow. Say, if you think I'm going to lie here on the bed while you two solve the mystery of the log of the Toledo, you're both nuts. It is working. Look, look. There's an S. A-Y. Oh, good. Good.
Now I'm going over to the back of the book and work forward. We've got to find the final entry. More so, please. Lots more. Page after page. Page after page. Our faces were drawn and haggard. And then... Here it is. I've raised some more shadows. Oh, poor John. We found the last page of the log. The next few minutes will tell the story. It looks like a number. It is. It's a six and a two after it.
Sixty-two. That must be longitude. Yes, of course, longitude, 62 degrees. Here comes the rest. What is it, Jean? It looks like a one. I can't be sure. And the next number is... You will remain seated, please. Carlos, turn on the lights. Si, me, Commandant. If you would avoid personal danger, you will not attempt to interfere. You see, I am armed. Good. Now then, permit me to introduce myself.
I am Herr Gustav Richter, late U-boat commander in the German Navy. Well, for what we're supposed to say, Heil Hitler? The war is over, the big one. But unless you leave this island immediately, a new one will start. Because as you might know, we are both after the same thing. Now then, Carlos, you will take the book from the young lady's hands. Yes, sir. Fraulein, the last number you are trying so hard to read. Maybe it's best if you don't find it. It will save us all a lot of trouble. Aqui, comandante, the book.
Here, Richter, there are international rules of law governing... Quiet! There are also local laws providing against breaking into and stealing public documents. I warn you most seriously. The treasure of the Toledo will be mine, and mine alone. If you should be foolish enough to interfere, I don't have to tell you what will happen. Thank you, and good night. Well, of all the crazy... Take it easy, Paul. He looks like he might be serious. Yes.
Evidently, you weren't the only one who found the clue to the lost Toledo. I can see those rubies on my nightgown walking right out of the window. And those pearls in my bath. I knew it sounded too good. Not yet, Jean. I think that Herr Gustav Richter, late commander of the German Navy, is going to have some rough sailing ahead before he finds the sunken treasure. And buy everything that's holy, we three are going to give it to him. Part 2 of Strange Wills will continue in just a moment.
♪♪
And now back to Warren William and Treasure to Starboard. Treasure to Starboard
For the next three days, the cables between our island home and New York were kept exceptionally busy. Before the end of the week, huge quantities of deep-sea diving gear were being flown into Rosarito.
We tried to trace our German friend, but he couldn't be found. I felt certain that we'd meet Herr Richter again, but I hoped we'd be more than ready for him. About two weeks later, when the last of our equipment was delivered, we called a meeting of our augmented crew, who were hired to man our ship. Some of them were imported from the States. They wore campaign ribbons and, well, you know our sailors.
We've got to be prepared for everything. Our ship is a floating arsenal as well as a scientific laboratory. Our treasure prize is high, and every one of us will share it if we find it. Are you ready? Yes, sir. Okay, then. We'll leave port in an hour. I'll see you all on board. In the captain's quarters aboard our ship, Paul, Gene, and I had another meeting. I've got it all figured out to almost a mathematical certainty.
I can bring this ship within ten miles of where the Toledo went down. The rest is pure luck. Do you think the Jerrys know we sailed, Paul? That I don't know, but the word will get back to her, Richter. Don't you worry. Maybe he's already on the way. But so what? How's he going to get there? Maybe he has a ship. Maybe he can use his sub. I don't know that. But getting there and staying there are going to be two different things. He'll find out.
We spent two quiet, uneventful days sailing to our destination. If it hadn't been for the tenseness on board, I could have had a lovely time. But with diamonds, rubies, and buried treasure, and a battle in the offing, well, how could anyone hope to rest? Near the end of the second day... Come in. Just picked up this message, sir. It's from the SS Juniper bound for Boston. Thank you.
SS Juniper reports sighting a strange submarine at 14 o'clock. Craft heading northeast by east. Refused to reply to radiogram. May possibly be an escaped Nazi sub. Be alert. Well, there's our answer. Herr Richter's on the way. We better be ready tomorrow when we meet him. On the floor of the ocean. We arrived at our calculated position sometime during the night and late too.
No sooner had we dropped our anchors than the crew took to the boats and began sounding operations to determine the depth of the water around us. They reported just at dawn. 30 to 90 fathoms, sir. We found a sharp decline about a quarter mile east. We were unable to reach bottom at that point, but our charts show this to be a part of the Great Fissure, one of the deepest points in the entire Atlantic. Thanks, Pete.
Tell the first mate that I'll go down as soon as I've had breakfast. Tell him to have the gear ready. Aye, aye, sir. After breakfast, Paul donned his gear and went over the side. Jean and I stood by the air pump and wondered what would happen below. Was the sub lying there? Would they locate the rotting hull of the Toledo? Would they find the treasure before us? These were anxious moments. Paul kept in constant touch through our sea phone. Paul, can you hear me? Going down.
Getting darker. Turning on my pressure light. Now on bottom. Oh, John, so far, so good. Yes, Jean, so far, so good. Wreck ahead. Not our ship. Two stacks. Circling to avoid fouling the airline. Reach the edge of the outer fissure. We'll follow it. Water beyond fissure very black. Very deep. Try not to slip. Oh, Paul, darling, don't talk like that or I'll make you come right up. I'll be careful, sweetheart. Just past the shark.
He sends his regards to Johnny Weissmuller. I see that he doesn't send you along for a greeting card. I see a wreck on the edge of the Great Fisher. An old one, covered with sand. Send down sand gun on rope. It's coming right down, darling. Quick, he wants a sand gun sent down to him. It's on the way, Paul. Be careful now. Going to blow a little sand away to see if I can discover the identity of the ship. John. John, come here, please. Listen. Listen to the phone.
Do you hear anything? Let me listen. Paul. Paul, this is John. Listen. Come up at once. The sub is in the vicinity. We've just picked up the sound vibrations. Hurry, man. Hurry. I feel it too, John. Just a minute more. I'm getting a piece off this old hull. I'll bring it up. Okay, I've got it. Raise away. Start the wind. She's coming up. Hurry. Hurry.
Three minutes of maddening delay, and then I saw his helmet break water. As busy hands unbolted his helmet, he gave us a little net, which he held in his hand. We took it eagerly, and there it was, a piece of old, decayed wood. But on it was a small brass plate, some old, rusted fitting that had seen the ocean bottom for many a year. I gave it to Jean, and she hurried to the laboratory to take off the corrosion. Naturally, I hurried with her. ♪
It's coming off. I can almost make it out, John. Let me see. There's an L, an O. Here it is, Toledo. The Toledo. We've found it. We've found it. Oh, John, I'm so happy. Let's hurry and tell Paul. After Paul came out of the decompression chamber, he told us his story.
She's lying at the very edge of the fissure. We must be very careful, or it's possible that it may disappear entirely. There are tons of sand to be blown out, and then, well, then we'll know the answer. But what about the sub, Paul? Good heavens, you don't mean to start blowing out sand with a mad German sitting alongside of you. We have to take that chance. I think we're better equipped, and if we work fast, we can be out of here in two days. Even before he finds out where the Toledo is lying.
Right now, we have to float a buoy over the spot and pull out of here. Maybe we can throw them off the track. We'll come back later and then go to work. Under the cover of darkness, we crept back to our position. Paul and two divers went over the side to begin the hazardous task of uncovering the ship. We agreed on complete silence unless an emergency arose. I'll never forget how long that night lasted. Along about midnight, our worst fears were realized. Gene. Gene, the sub is on the prowl. Listen.
We've got to let him know. We've got to warn him. Yes, yes, tell him. Paul, can you hear me? Can't stop the talk now. We're an inside ship. Uncovered iron chest. Hold on. He won't listen, John. He won't listen. John, I can't... I can't hear the sub. Probably gone out of range. Treasure to starboard. Treasure to starboard. We found the treasure of the Toledo. Did you hear, John? They found it. They found the treasure of the Toledo. Paul, answer me. Paul. Oh, John, something's gone wrong. The line's dead. Paul, answer. Paul.
Five interminable minutes dragged by on leaden feet. Not a sound came from Paul or from the divers down there with him. What had happened? How could we know? Then... They came out of the escape hatch. They're surrounding... Take this phone, John. Don't stop listening for a moment.
Jean ran the length of the ship and disappeared. Paul's position was most precarious. We couldn't drop a depth charge. We couldn't do anything to help. I kept trying to reach Paul on the phone, but the line was apparently dead. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a diving helmet disappear over the side of our ship. I looked around for Jean. She was gone. And then I realized, too late, that she... I gave the earphones to a sailor and ran down the deck.
Who was that? Went over the side just now. That was Miss Medford, sir. She insisted on going down. You fool! Why did you let her do that? Well, she said she was the only one who knew how to detonate the underwater bomb, sir. So that was it. Little Jean Medford going down to lick the sub crew single-handed. What a fool. What a brave, glorious little fool. I prayed as I had never prayed before. Everyone aboard leaned over the side of the ship, silently looking down into the dark blue of the water.
What was happening down there? Then, 200 yards off our stern, we saw an oil slick spread on the surface. She'd done it. She'd destroyed the sub. And what of the crew? It was either surrender or death. Later, Paul told us the story. We saw them coming at us just after we'd uncovered the treasure. They had special equipment, compressed air helmets without airlines attached. They held long steel pikes in their hands. In the glow of our lights, we could see the outline of the sub.
I thought sure it was curtains, till I saw someone sneak up to the sub and drop something down the escape hatch. The explosion knocked us all flat. Then I looked around. I saw the sub roll on its side, and the Toledo, well, she'd entirely disappeared. The blast had sent it tumbling down the fissure. The treasure went with it. And the Germans? For all I know, they're still walking back to land. And so ended the quest for treasure to starboard.
Jean didn't get her rubies and pearls after all, but she's still very well satisfied because shortly after we returned to the States... And do you, Jean Medford, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband through sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, until death do you part? I do. Then by virtue of the authority vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife.
Darling. Well, I did manage to get one diamond anyway, didn't I, dearest? Warren William will be back in just a moment to tell you more about Treasure to Starboard. But first, here is a word from your announcer. And here again is Warren William.
Little did Captain Fernandez realize as he wrote his last will and testament in the ship's log on the night of March 12, 1703, that over 200 years later, men would still fight and die to recover the treasure that went down with him to the bottom of the sea.
Will the treasure of the Toledo ever be relocated? Well, it depends on science and the brave daring of intrepid adventurers. We've managed to reach the stratosphere. Why not the unknown depths of the sea? Especially when it holds not one, but hundreds of treasures of inestimable value. Who will risk their lives to recover them? Will you?
Next week, I'm going to tell you the story about a professor who believed that heredity is stronger than environment. Unfortunately, he put his nefarious belief to an actual test that involved the life of an innocent child. In order to prove his point to a doubting scientific world, the professor married a woman in whose veins coursed criminal blood for many generations. From this unholy union, a child was born, born to be reared as a lady.
But from the very first, strange signs of bad blood cropped up in the child. What happened to her? Well, listen next week to the story we call One Shining Hour. This is Warren William inviting you to listen again next week. Strange Wills is written by Ken Kropene and directed by Albert Ulrich. This is a Tellaways feature produced in Hollywood.
Suspense. Suspense.
This is The Man in Black, here again to introduce Columbia's program, Suspense. Our star this evening is Miss Maureen O'Hara, whom you've seen rise to stardom in Hollywood within the short space of a year. Her performances in the 20th Century Fox production, How Green Was My Valley, and the
then more recently in The Immortal Sergeant, and now currently in the RKO production, This Land Is Mine, have given her an enviable place in the ranks of America's new film favorites. Miss O'Hara makes her first appearance on our suspense stage tonight as the heroine of A Study in Homicidal Mania, The White Rose Murders by Cornell Woolbridge, which is tonight's tale of suspense.
If you have been with us before, you will know that suspense is compounded of mystery and suspicion and dangerous adventure. In this series are tales calculated to intrigue you, to stir your nerves, to offer you a precarious situation and then withhold the solution until the last possible moment. And so it is with The White Rose Murders and the performance of Maureen O'Hara.
We again hope to keep you in... Suspense! He stood there waiting. He knew that presently they would come out of the second-rate dance hall, out into the dimly lit street. He listened a while and smiled as the orchestra played that tune inside. And then they came out, the two girls, and still he waited. Suspense!
close enough to hear what they were saying. Well, I'll see you at the office tomorrow, Sally. Oh, I don't know how I'll get up. It's after one o'clock. Six hours sleep. Oh, I'll be dead tomorrow. Me too.
Oh, gosh. I gotta have at least eight hours or I'm no good at all. I wish I had someone to walk me to the bus. It's four long blocks. I'll walk you down, Sally. Oh, don't bother. We go in different directions. What's no trouble? Really, I don't mind. Really, it's not necessary. In the narrow alley that divides the dance hall from an ugly office building, he stood smiling.
Just a little inside the alley, he stood stiffly against the wall, his head back, eyes closed, arms straight down, and in his left hand, a white robe. Well, all right then, Sally. Good night. Good night, Joan. See you in the morning. Oh, I hope I don't have to wait long for the bus.
Who are you? Keep away. Keep away from me. Let me go. Let me go. The girl is dead. Tenderly, the figure straightens her hair and gently places the limp body on the ground. Then he opens her clenched fist and carefully, so that the thorns will not bruise her flesh, he places in her hand the white rosebud. The End
Pardon me, my good man. Is it true that you are the famous detective Terrence Riley? Huh? Oh, Ginny. I didn't see you come in. Well, now that I'm here, how about offering to buy a cup of coffee for the girl you're going to marry? You can never get up enough nerve to ask her. Oh, it's no use, Ginny. I guess we better call it quits.
I'm just a dick on the homicide squad, and that's all I'll ever be. And I'm a rich debutante. We don't belong together. Oh, you've been reading too many of those romantic stories, Terry. What is it this time? What's wrong? They call him the White Rose Killer. He's got to be caught. There's a general demotion coming on if he isn't, and that's all I need to get back into uniform. Oh, don't worry, darling. You always look good in blue. Yeah, just to match the way I feel.
Tell me more about the White Rose Killer. What's he like? That's the stumble. He could be anybody. No one's ever seen him except the dead. They don't talk about it afterwards. Just slips out of the shadows and kills and then slips back again. How many has he murdered? Four. He's not through yet.
It's going to be one of those chain things if he's allowed to keep on. Are you sure it's always the same one? Yeah, that part of it we're sure of. It's the same touch, the same way of operating every time. How do you know that? Well, it's a rose, a white rosebud, a death rose. Puts it into each victim's hand after he kills her. Her? Yep. It's always a woman. A young woman between 19 and 23. What's behind it? Do you have any idea? Well, I'm not sure. But here's what I figured out.
You know what a rose stands for? Symbolically, I mean. Why, yes. It's the flower of love. The white rose, the bud, has another meaning. Purity, loyalty, devotion. And especially it stands for a young girl. That's right. And that's about the way I see it.
So maybe it's a double cross, committed against our murderer by some young girl whom he worshipped and who betrayed his faith in her. You ought to be a detective, not me. Thanks, darling. I've got a very fine teacher. Sweet. There's another thing. The murders were all committed near places where there was music, dance halls, cabarets and the like. There's a song that brings back the original shock that, you know, gives him the final push over into the darkness.
As far as we can figure out, it's the beer barrel poker. Well, how does he commit the murder? Is it always the same way? Always. Strangulation between the hands. With a thumb into the windpipe to keep his victims from crying out. But isn't there anything else you know about him? No, that's why it's so hopeless. He's insane, of course. But there's only this one phase to his insanity. Probably perfectly normal in appearance and behavior. You could pass him on the street and even know it. Well, it's...
Only when he sees someone vaguely like the girl he loved and hears that song, the one defective wire in him is jangled and short-circuited. But, Terry, the flowers. Don't the flowers tell you? He must get them somewhere, you could trace. We don't know where he gets them. Maybe he steals them or... Terry, what if you were the one to get him? Well, it would mean a citation and a promotion. And then all the things that stand between us would disappear? We could get married? Well, the chances would be a lot better anyway.
But what chance have I? Everyone in the department has been working their heads off for weeks and they've all failed. Uh-huh. Uh, Terry, what were the girls like, the ones he killed? Well, as I told you, they were all between 19 and 23. Their heights were pretty much the same, too. They were all tall girls, around 5 feet 6 or 7. A little taller than you. And all dark-haired. How did they wear their hair? Why, they... What is this? Oh, nothing, darling. Just interested.
How did they wear their hair? Well, from what I remember, they wore it sort of loose and curly down the back. I suppose each one had a resemblance to that long, dead love of his. That's probably it. Well, anyway, that's how the record stands. And we're all waiting for it to happen again. I see. Terry, um, I'd like to go home now. I shouldn't have told you all that stuff. I've given you the creeps. Oh, come on, Terry. Take me home. Oh!
Later, Jenny stands by the window in her room, looking out, thinking. She doesn't move for a long time. Then suddenly, quickly, she goes to her closet and begins to rummage through her many pairs of shoes. Carefully, she picks one pair with three-inch heels. Five foot six or seven. Then she walks quickly to the dresser, opens a drawer, takes out a comb and starts redoing her hair.
worn loose and curly down the back. Well, here we go. Edward! Edward! Yes, miss? Is the car ready? Yes, Miss Virginia. I've been waiting for you. Let's go before Mother sees me. Your mother's been looking for you, miss. I hope you didn't tell her. No, Miss Virginia, I didn't. Good. Come on, Edward. Where do you wish to go, Miss Virginia? The Starlight Dance Hall on Groven Second Street. Look.
Right, miss? Yes, Edwards, that's the place. I wouldn't go there unescorted if I were you, miss. It's one of the worst places in the city. It has a very bad reputation. The Starlight Dance Hall, Edwards. Very good, miss. Very good. Ginny walks slowly around the low light of Dance Hall, trying to make herself conspicuous.
A tall figure leaning against a pillar watches her intently as he idly smokes a cigarette. He doesn't seem to belong there. His clothes don't have the nattiness of a dance lover. Jenny pauses not far from him. Deliberately, he throws his cigarette on the floor, steps on it, and slowly walks over to her. Hello? Oh...
Oh, hello. You're not with anyone, are you? Oh, no, I'm alone. I thought so. I've been watching you all the time. Have you? I haven't seen you dance yet. I don't know anyone here. How about dancing with me, then? All right. Come on, let's go out on the floor. Do you come here often? No, I never go to the same place twice. You don't? Why? I'm always looking for new faces. I'm restless. Do you find the faces you're looking for? No.
Listen. Listen to that song. I like that. I like it very much. Yes, it is a nice song. You know, you remind me of someone I used to know. I'm trying to think who. I do? Yeah. Do you mind if we stop dancing and go over and get a drink? No, let's go. Oh, look. They sell flowers here. Yes, I see. I'll get you some.
What kind would you like? Oh, uh, any kind. You pick it out. All right. Let's see. There's something kind of innocent and young about you. Different from most of the girls that come here. Can't we stay here a little longer? It's intermission now. They won't play again for ten minutes. Come on. But I like it here. Let's stay a little while longer. Ellen, let's get down for some air. We can come back in a few minutes.
Come on. But... We'll be back before the music starts. Oh, you're hurting my arm. Am I? I'm sorry. Fresh air smells good, doesn't it? It's so dark here. Let's go back. You're not scared, are you? Oh, no, it's... Let's walk down this alley and back. Please. Please. No, you don't...
Thanks. That's a lovely necklace, beautiful. Why, you're just as cheap. Shut up. All you wanted was my necklace. So long, beautiful. Look out. What's the matter? Behind you, look. Holy... She's dead. A girl. Murdered. With a white rosebud in her hand. Well, Ginny, happened again last night.
Just like the other times. The girl strangled in an alley and the white rose in her hand. Any news of the killer? No. He might just as well float through the air for all the trace he leaves. He must have bought the flower upstairs in the dance hall. He must have been there earlier, bought it, and saved it under... No, there was only one rose sold up there all night. And to a man who had a different girl with him. We had the flower girl at... How did you know that they sold flowers there?
I didn't tell you. Well, I... I must have read it somewhere. You couldn't have. It wasn't in any of the papers. No details were given, just the statement that an unidentified body was found. Well, I... Well, I just imagined that they'd sell flowers in a place like that. Well, I'm glad you don't go near those dance halls. Why, with this nut running around loose... Oh, don't bother about that. We'd better catch this killer. And fast. Where did you get this wee stuff?
To hear you talk, you'd think that you were on the case, too. Wouldn't you think so? To hear me talk? Again, Jenny tours the low dives, hunting for the White Rose Killer. Her search carries her to the waterfront, and as she walks past each dingy bar, she listens to the jukebox music. A little after midnight, she passes a dirty windowed saloon.
The thin music catches her ear. She pauses and listens, her eyes alive for some sign, some indication of the person she's looking for. Then suddenly her body becomes rigid as her eyes fall upon a figure huddled in the shadows. Someone's watching me. Slowly she starts to walk up the street.
Behind her, the heavy tread of a man's footsteps keep pace with hers. It's a quiet tread, unhurried but deliberate. For several blocks, it keeps the exact distance. Jenny starts to walk faster. I've got to know if he's really following me. The man quickens his pace.
Jenny starts across the street. The man follows. She's sure now. Sure that the man is following her. She fumbles for something in her purse. Her hand closes around a gun. If he tried anything, I'll shoot. Oh!
You in any trouble, lady? Oh, no, officer. It's all right. You scared him away. Scared who away? Oh, just a man who wanted to bring me flowers. That's all. Well, he brought you one anyhow, lady. What do you mean? Right there on the ground, right where your feet. A white rose. Coffee, Mabel? Sure, coming right up. Here you are. Terry. Terry. Hello, Jenny. Sit down. Thank you.
Say, what's the matter with you? Look, darling, read the gossip column in this paper. What daughter of a socially prominent family is that way about a detective and waits for him outside the station house in her limousine every night? Private, chauffeur and all, but Mama says no. That's not so funny. Oh, they held a big family war council over me just now. Indian powwow, feathered headdress and everything. They did, huh?
Well? What'd they decide? Oh, I was asked to give my word that I wouldn't see you anymore. I refused, of course, so I had to be exiled. Where to? Our summer home. It's just a few hours out of town, but I'll be there all by myself. Just with Mrs. Crosby, the housekeeper. Oh, maybe they're right. Why don't you listen to them? Are you on their side, too? No. When are you leaving? Right away. Edwards is driving me out. I just slipped out to let you know.
Here's the address and phone number of the place in case you want to reach me. Don't lose it. I won't. Well, what's new and exciting about the white rose killer? Our famous lover of flowers? We're still trying to track him down. I suppose I'll go looking for him at the flower show that's just opened. Oh, a flower show just opened? Yeah. Well, goodbye now. I'll be seeing you. Oh.
What floor is the flower show, please? Third floor, miss. Three, please. Third floor. Where's the rose display, please? To your left, over there. See where the man in the gray coat is? In the gray coat? Yes, thank you.
They are lovely, aren't they? Oh, you startled me. I'm sorry. I was just admiring the roses. Oh, yes, the nicest flowers here. I just can't keep my eyes off them. Yes, you can feel that way about some flowers. That's the way I feel about white roses. Have you been here long? I really don't know. I suppose so. You see, I've come here every day since the show opened. I like to be near the roses, the white roses.
Those big ones are nice. No, I like the little ones best. The little tightly curled rosebuds. They're so little and innocent. Oh, well, I really better be going. Are you going down? Yes. Down, please. Here, miss. I took a rose for you. Thank you. It's lovely.
Would you care to have a drink with me? Why, yes, thank you. I know of a little place a block or two down there. They have nice music. We'll go there. All right, whatever you say. This is it. Where's the music? A nickel in the jukebox, does it? Any special song you'd like? No, go ahead and pick one. Okay.
There we are. Oh, that's my favorite song. Reminds me of a girl I used to know. Oh, uh, excuse me, I, um, I want to powder my nose. I'll be right back. Do you mind? No, of course not. Thank you.
Uh-huh.
I'm afraid I'll have to leave you. Oh, wait. Let me come with you. I'm sorry, miss, but I've got other things to do. Oh. What's the matter? That car. Someone that knows me. Let's get away from here. That's just what I'm going to do. So long, lady. Wait, wait. Please don't go. Miss Virginia. Miss Virginia. Miss Virginia.
I'm sorry, Miss Virginia, but I must speak to you for a minute. Oh, Edwards, what do you want? I'm sorry, Miss. You'd better come with me at once. I've been looking for you everywhere. Your mother's been taken seriously ill. Mother? Where is she? She's out at the country place, Miss. I drove her there shortly before dinner. She wanted to pay you a surprise visit. Oh...
I believe the shock of not finding you there upset her, Miss. Is she very bad? She had the doctor with her when I left. Mrs. Crosby has gone away for the day. Your mother needs you, Miss. Well, let's go. Hurry, Edwards, please. Right, Miss. Where is Mother Edwards? In her room, Miss. You'd better hurry. Mother? Mother? It's Ginny. Is the doctor in there with you?
Mother? Why, there's no one here. The room's empty. The bed hasn't been touched. Edwards, what are you doing? Nearly playing a song, miss. A favorite of mine. A favorite? Yes, Miss Virginia. Where's Mother? She's in the city, miss. You lied to me. I'm afraid I did, Miss Virginia. Why are you locking the door? You know why, Miss Virginia. It can't be. You are not the... The White Rose Killer? But you see, I am, Miss Virginia.
Driving you and your family around day after day. Sitting there right in front of you all the time. It was amusing to watch you hunting for me. Hunting for someone you saw several times a day. It can't be. You're not insane. Of course not. Who said I was? Edward, you know I'm not the girl who betrayed you. Yes, I know that. Well, then unlock the door and let me out. Please, Edward. I've killed five times. I've never regretted it.
I'm going to kill you, Miss Virginia. Why, Edwards? Why? Because you've been so clever. Too clever. You made yourself look like her, the girl who deceived me. I could have killed you the day you first went out looking for me, but I had to be careful. Oh. I almost caught you that night at the waterfront, the night I dropped the white rose when that police car came. Edwards, I... I've never done you any harm. Your sweetheart, Terry...
He loves you, doesn't he? Yes. That's good. Because now you won't be able to deceive him like my girl deceived me. Keep away, Edward. Keep away or I'll... You thought you'd use your gun, eh? Well, don't think I was fool enough to overlook that.
I took your gun out of your purse. It won't do you any good to kill me, Edwards. I didn't have anything to do with... No, and you're not going to have a chance to break another man's heart like she broke mine. Ginny! Ginny! Where are you? Terry! Terry! It won't do you any good to call to him. He can't get in here without breaking down the door. Keep away from me. Terry! It'll be too late then, because I'm going to kill you now. Ginny! Ginny!
Terry! Let me get my hands on that pretty white throat. Oh, keep away. Keep away from me. Terry, stop! Jimmy, are you all right? Yes, Terry, I'm all right. Take it easy. Here, sit down. Oh, Terry, I was so scared. There was nobody here but Edwards and I. How did you know where I was? Oh, it...
It was simple. You were supposed to meet me at the coffee shop. You never broke an appointment, and when you didn't show up, I called the number you gave me. You told me the housekeeper was here all the time, and when there was no answer, I got suspicious and came down. Besides, when I got a message down at headquarters that you had to break a date with me, I knew something was wrong. Are you sure you're all right? Yes, I... Terry, look. On the floor beside Edwards...
A white rose. It must have fallen out of his pocket. That was meant for me. Oh, Terry, it's all crushed. Yeah, crushed and dead. Just like the white rose killer. Oh, Terry.
And so closes The White Rose Murders, starring Maureen O'Hara. Tonight's tale of... Suspend. This is your narrator, the man in black, who, speaking for Columbia, hopes you have enjoyed Miss O'Hara's performance and our play.
Next week, because of a special broadcast of the All-Star Baseball game, suspense will not be heard. But again the following week, we will be back with another play on this series and more of your Hollywood favorites. The producer of these broadcasts is William Spear, who with Ted Bliss, the director...
Bernard Herrmann and Lucienne Marowick, conductor and composer, and Cornell Woolrich, the author, collaborated on tonight's suspense. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
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I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me for tonight's Retro Radio, old-time radio in the dark.