What Really Happened On THE MOONLIT ROAD? | Paranormal & Crime OTR
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Hold the kaleidoscope to your eye. Peer inside. One twist changes everything. A woman awakens in a grotesque, human-sized arcade game. A mysterious cigar box purchased at a farmer's market releases an ancient jinn who demands a replacement prisoner. An elderly woman possesses the terrifying power to inflict pain through handmade dolls.

An exclusive restaurant's sinister secret menu includes murder-for-hire and harvested organs. With each turn through these 20 tales, Reddit NoSleep favorite AP Royal reshapes reality, creating dazzling patterns of horror that entrance as they terrify.

The Black Museum. Affiliated stations present Escape. Dinner Sanctum. Bye. See.

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

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

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

I'm E.G. Marshall. I have a strange tale to tell you. A tale of murder, of intricate planning, and finally of shocking last-minute surprise. It is a murder so diabolical in its framework that the authorities are forced to act despite the fact that they have serious doubts. A crime perfect in its conception, perfect in its execution. Sound interesting?

A famous writer once said, vanity dies hard. In some cases, it outlives the man. Listen now to the vanity of a murderer. Do you see this? It's my husband's revolver.

You're still smiling. Still mocking me. You don't think I'll use it, do you? Do you? You... You really did. You shot me. Just as I planned it. Right on cue, Ray Calder. Right on cue.

Our mystery drama, Vanity Dies Hard, was written especially for the Mystery Theater by Sidney Sloan and stars Marion Seldes and Robert Dryden. It is sponsored in part by Buick Motor Division and Anheuser-Busch Incorporated, brewers of Budweiser. I'll be back shortly with Act One. ♪♪

Michael Marchand considers himself a very successful man. He inherited a considerable sum of money from his family, married the beautiful and talented actress Catherine Kendall, and made a name for himself as a writer of widely read detective novels.

Life has been very good to him. He's comfortable, happy, and satisfied. The fact that he is called in by the police quite frequently to apply his deductive talents to the solving of a particularly complex murder also pleases him and bolsters his ego. Nothing in his life has impeded his progress. Nothing has ever cast a shadow over his happiness.

And then it happened. Coming! Coming! Kate, what brings you here? I'm sorry, Michael. I know how sacrosanct your studio and your work hours are, but I... I had to talk to you. You sound very serious.

I've been wanting to talk to you for some time, Michael. We've hardly seen each other for almost three weeks. You with your rehearsals, me with a deadline for the next novel. Well, we've had a break in rehearsal. I've only got a few minutes. I have to be back. We're opening in Philadelphia in just six days. I wish you'd give up that frantic career and settle down. As your wife? Why not? You are my wife, you know.

We don't need the money you make. It's my career, Michael. You knew that. Yes, yes, I knew. But I didn't realize it would go on forever. Take up our entire life. It's about our life that I wanted to talk to you. Yes? I don't quite know how to say this. It's difficult. When we were married, you assured me that if I ever wanted to be free... Kate. Kate, what are you saying?

Darling, I love you. Michael, there's someone else. I'm leaving you. Kate, please, don't turn away from me. I love you. Doesn't that mean anything to you? You don't love me. You love yourself. You're possessive. You want me because you can't bear to give up anything you think belongs to you. I'm going to a man who loves me and really needs me. Who? Who is it? Oh, you'll find out soon enough, so I may as well tell you. Raymond Calder. You...

You're leaving me for him? That two-bit actor? You'll be the laughingstock of... Don't say any more, Michael. Oh, yes, I shall say one thing more, and you'd better listen. If you leave me for him, I'll kill you both. You say I'm possessive. You're right. I'm also vindictive. And I wouldn't hesitate for a moment to destroy you both. Oh, Michael. Oh.

That's really very good. You begin to sound more and more like those cheap melodramatic detective stories you write. Leave my work out of this. Please forgive me, dear Michael. But actually, I've always thought of your work and you as pompous. Almost comical. Your pretensions are ridiculous. Very well, Catherine. What?

You will see how ridiculous I am. Oh, Michael. Your threats don't frighten me. You sound just like the characters you create. Okay, Kate. Take the scene from the top again. Does it mean nothing to you that I've given up everything I cherish? Everything I ever held dear for you? I told you once if you threw me over, I'd kill you.

Do you see this? It's my husband's revolver. You don't think I'll use it, do you? Do you? Bang! Bang! No, no, no, Kate. Shoot the gun you're holding. You've got to get used to the noise. Don't just go bang, bang. Jimmy, I hate the scene. Well, you're awfully good in it. No, I sound phony, and you know it.

Can't you get Harold to do a rewrite so that my lover answers me? He just stands there all through my speech. Relax, darling. As soon as you feel an audience out front, you'll find it's right. I hope so. All right, let me do it again. This time I'll fire the pistol. Okay. Oh, but before you do, I've got a telegram for you. Telegram? Why didn't you give it to me? Well, it came in just as you were starting the scene. Here. Telegrams are usually important. Telegrams.

Oh, dear. Anything serious? I don't know. Why didn't he phone? Just says urgent you come back to town immediately. Must see you. From your husband? No. It's from Raymond. Raymond?

Now, look, I don't want to get mixed up in your affairs, Kate, but we got an opening here in Philadelphia day after tomorrow. You can't just go off... I'll go into town tomorrow morning and see what's wrong. And I'll be back in time for dress rehearsal tomorrow night. Well, damn it, I'd like to have you here, Kate. There are tons of notes I want to go over. The trains are sometimes... If you force me to stay, my mind certainly will not be on the performance. Well, call and find out how important it is first. Mary doesn't have a telephone.

He's been out of work for eight months. He lives in some rooming house. Why, the devil couldn't you have gotten him a phone? You bought him everything else. Now, don't you start on me, Mr. Burton. I'm leaving right now. If you want me back for dress rehearsal, don't try to stop me. Coming. Yes? May I come in, Mr. Calder? Who are you? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Michael Marchand...

Oh, Catherine's husband. Yes, yes, I know the name. I'd like to talk with you. I don't think we have much to say to each other. Oh, I disagree. After all, haven't you taken my wife? I don't want to discuss Catherine with you. Did you think I'd stand by quietly and do nothing while you... How did you get in here anyway? There's a bell in the front hall. The door has to be buzzed to be opened. Would you have buzzed me in if I'd called from downstairs? Huh.

I certainly would not. You have your answer. I have Kate's keys for the door. I lifted them from her purse. I decided not to give you an excuse to refuse me entrance. Look, if you don't get out, I'll call the landlady or the super and have you put out. I don't think you will, Mr. Calder. You got a gun. What are you going to do? Do? I just want you to sit still and listen to a tape recording of Kate's voice.

It's a rehearsal tape. I made it without her knowledge. I think you'll find it an excellent reproduction. I had the equipment specially made for me in Germany. The quality is lifelike. I defy you to tell the reproduction from the original. Why are you doing this? I have reasons. Very good reasons. Which will become apparent very soon.

I've brought my recorder with me. Oh, oh, one other thing. I sent a telegram from your landlady's phone here yesterday. It will appear on her monthly bill. What purpose did you have? Of course, I used your name on the wire. A very important element in my plot. Look, I've had enough of this. I'm not... It was to Catherine. To the woman you love. To the woman I once loved. To the woman I once loved.

Surely you can't object to my asking her to come here today. But she's in Philadelphia with a show. Not now. In fact, if my planning is right, she's not more than 20 minutes away from here. Why are you doing all this? It's part of my scenario, old boy. All the pieces must fall into place exactly on time. Now, listen to Catherine's voice. Is that all you have to say?

Does it mean anything to you that I've given up everything I cherish? You have to play so loud. Everyone in the house will hear it. That is my intention, Raymond. Don't stand there with that tired, bored look on your face. I told you once if you threw me over, I'd kill you. I've stopped the tape. Answer, but don't open the door.

Yes? Mr. Calder, what's going on in there? Well, nothing, nothing, Mrs. Davis. Nothing? I can hear you all over the house. It's just a tape recording, Mrs. Davis. A tape recording? It sounds like Catherine Kendall, the actress. Well, it's a rehearsal tape recording. Miss Kendall made it to help her memorize the part. Oh. Well, turn it down, please. It's too loud. Okay, Mrs. Davis. Now, we'll just wait a second or two till she's gone down the hall...

Do you see this? It's my husband's revolver. You don't think I'll use it, do you? Do you? Mr. Marshall, you... You shot me. Right on cue, Mr. Calder. Right on cue. Just as I planned it. Mr. Marshall.

Coming, coming. Oh, yes? I've got to see Mr. Calder. Oh, well, you could have rung his bell, Miss Kendall. I did, I did. There's no answer. No answer? Well, that's strange. Come in. What do you mean, strange? I heard you up there in his room not ten minutes ago. Oh.

You couldn't have... Oh, I'd know your voice anywhere, Miss Kendall. I heard you talking in Mr. Calder's room. Loud, too. Like he was angry. I just got off the train a half an hour ago.

A train from Philadelphia. I took a cab. I came here immediately. Then how could I have heard you in the room? Oh, I know. Now I remember. Mr. Calder said it was a tape recording of you rehearsing a play. Well, I never made a tape of any rehearsal. No? Well, here's his room. He's not in. Did you see him go out? He could have gone out and I didn't see him. Would you mind if I go in and wait for him?

Oh, why should I? It ain't as if he was a stranger. The door's locked. Oh, I got a passkey. There you are. You can go right in. Thank you. When he comes, I'll tell him you're in here. Here, what's this? Keys on the floor. Why, they're your keys, aren't they?

Says K.K. on the holder. They are my keys, but how did they get here? I thought I had them in my purse. That's why I had to ring for you. I couldn't find them. Well, no matter. Now you just make yourself comfortable and... Ray! Oh, my darling. Oh, what is it? What's the matter with him? He's been shot. Call a doctor, please. Hurry. It may be too late for a doctor. Oh, yeah.

He looks dead. Evil success feeds on itself and stimulates its own appetite. A man like Michael Marchand is not satisfied with having disposed of the man who came between him and his wife. He wants more.

His intention is to entangle his wife in a web of suspicion and fabricated evidence to gain his ultimate objective. Her humiliation, her disgrace, and finally, her destruction. I'll be back shortly with Act Two.

Yes? Excuse me for being nosy, but is your bathroom really clean? Well, I keep cleaning it, but in this hot, humid weather, it never seems clean. Are you killing germs as you clean? How can I do that? With Lysol brand disinfectant. It kills household germs on surfaces where they grow, including germs that cause odors. Lysol brand disinfectant? Mm-hmm. That brown bottle in the red and yellow box? That's right. Pour some in the bathroom bowl. Keeps everything clean and fresh. It even kills athlete's foot fungus on shower floors. Gee, thanks.

Come back and be nosy again. Do you have a taste for things that are a little out of the ordinary? Look, Doris, it has a clock in its stomach and it glows in the dark. I think we should snap it up, Dick. Do you like things that are fun but are also functional? Look, Dick, this is fun. Uh-huh, but is it functional, Doris? Do you want to be the talk of the town? Oh, Dick and Doris, we were just talking about you. Then the Opel Isuzu is your kind of car.

It's not ordinary, it's fun but functional, and people will talk about it. Did you hear what Dick and Doris bought? The Opel Isuzu, a dandy new small car at your Buick Opel dealers.

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Give your lawn the sunburn protection it needs. Get the Nelson Beta Rain Sprinkler or Nelson Reminder Hose Nozzle from participating True Value Hardware stores. True Value, more than just a name. It's their way of doing business. Everyone knows Michael Marchand as a man of brilliant intellect. What they don't know about him is that he's completely devoid of conscience.

A man with such vanity that the slightest slur on his character, the slightest attack on his rights as a husband, is a matter to be taken care of with absolute finality. Murder, to him, is a clever game. He can play both sides and play them well.

Oh, okay, Mrs. Davis. Now, you mind if we go over your statement just for clarification? Well, no, Sergeant. But I do have to get back to my house. There's no one there but the super. I won't keep you here very much longer. Just a few more questions.

All right, Sergeant Tender. Now, how long has Mr. Calder been living at your rooming house? Oh, five or six months. I got the exact date written down in my account books. Did you know the actress Catherine Kendall? Oh, yes, sure. I've seen her on the stage and in the movies. But you asked me that before. Well, did you know that she was seeing Mr. Calder in your house? Oh, I knew, but...

I never interfere in the private lives of my tenants. She'd been there several times? Oh, yes. You always had to open the front door for her when she came in? No, no. She had a key. I only opened the door for her once. Yesterday afternoon? No, no. Morning.

It was about 11.45 when she rang the bell. Well, you said just a few minutes ago, I have it here in your statement, that you heard her speaking to Mr. Calder in his room in a loud and angry voice. Oh, but she didn't mean it. Well, how could you know? Well, it was a tape, a rehearsal tape. You see, sometimes actors and actresses, well, they make a tape of their voices when they're doing a play to learn the lines. I see. How do you know it was a tape recording? I don't know.

Well, you see, I heard this loud, angry voice coming from poor Mr. Calder's room. You recognize Miss Kendall's voice? Oh, yes. I called through the door. You didn't enter. Well, Mr. Calder said it was nothing to worry about, the angry voice he meant, that it was just a rehearsal tape. And that Miss Kendall wasn't there? Oh, no, no, he didn't say that she wasn't there. And then you think she was there when the tape was being played? At the time, I did. Something happen to change your mind?

Well, it struck me kind of strange that she rang the outside bell ten minutes later like she'd never been there. I see. Thank you, Mrs. Davis. That will be all for now. All right, Mrs. Kendall. Now let's put all this sweet talk to bed. I'm going to be your attorney. I've got to get down to the problem we face in your case. But I can't see there any problems, Mr. Drexel. I didn't kill Raymond. I...

I loved him. Well, that is hardly a defense. But he was dead when I got there. I found him in his room. The door was locked. Mrs. Davis had to let me in with a passkey. Yes, yes, yes. I know, I know, I know. The door has a latch that can be set and locked even if one doesn't have a key. Meaning? Meaning that one could drop the keys on the floor inside the room and set the latch to lock automatically and then leave.

Are you insinuating that I did that, Mr. Drexel? No, I am not insinuating anything. I'm just giving you the benefit of my experience about the way the police think. And as my attorney, how do you think? Innocent. Innocent, of course. You don't say that with too much conviction. You are my client, Miss Kendall. I don't have to put on an act for you. But try to see this from somebody else's point of view. Now, you're a woman, an actress. You're beautiful.

Now, this actress has a boyfriend. The boyfriend gets tired of her. That wasn't the case. That isn't true. Okay. All right. So it's not true. But that's the way the police and the public are going to interpret it. I suppose so. Now about your husband. Did he know about this relationship between you and Raymond? No. Well, yes, I told him. When? A day or so before Ray died. How did he take it?

The way I expected he would. He blew up. He made all sorts of threatening noises. Oh, he threatened, huh? Oh, it wasn't anything to take seriously. He's a writer, and he... Yeah, mystery writer. Novels. I know of him. He's also done a considerable special investigative work for the police. Well, that's just publicity for his books. It's also an ego trip.

What do you mean? He's got quite a record of wins. I met him on the Matheson case. I defended Matheson. Your husband working for the D.A. nailed my client with the most brilliant display of detective work I've seen in 25 years. Yes, I remember that case. Too bad, too bad. We can't get him to work for us. Are you mad? Well, it certainly would be a big help. Oh, that's bad news, Kate.

What do I say to the backers of the play? Well, you'll have to tell them the truth. The police don't want me to have an out-of-town opening... until the grand jury meets and decides whether or not... Well, it's ridiculous. It's utterly ridiculous to think you'd do a thing like that. Oh, Jimmy, I can't bear it. Now, Kate, you've got to be strong. I have the slightest doubt the real killer will be found... and you've got to conserve your strength to fight back hard. Yes. I don't mind telling you who I suspect in all this...

You mean Michael? Is it possible? You know the kind of man he is. And you did tell him about Raymond. He got very melodramatic. He threatened to kill us both. Michael? Your husband's a talker, a poser, but definitely not a man of violence.

He's always writing about it, investigating it, but he'd never do it. I think he's capable of it. I think he'd commit a violent crime. No. He spends too much time getting rid of his aggressions in his writing. Oh, excuse me. Burton here. Oh, yes, Phil. It's Palmer, our publicity man. He wants to know whether or not you're going to stay with the show. Just a minute, Phil. Kate's right here with me.

Well, what shall I tell him? Well, tell him I'll call him as soon as I know myself. That's not much of an answer. Oh, I don't know. I don't know. Phil, she can't possibly know until she hears what the grand jury is going to do. Yeah, if it's going to the grand jury tomorrow, we should get a quick decision. What? Oh, Phil, don't be funny. I'll call you back later. You won't believe this, Kate. You know what he said? What?

He said this whole murder business is a PR man's dream. Do you realize the plot of the play is almost parallel to the actual murder? Sure.

Well, just a moment. Well, Mr. D.A., good to see you. It's good to see you, Mike. You know Lieutenant Harvey Gentry, Chief of Pharmacide? Know him. We're old friends, worked on several cases together. Well, come in, gentlemen.

Why, you look good, Mike. Can I get you something? A drink? Coffee? No, no, thanks, Mike. This isn't exactly a social call. I guessed as much, Alex. Is that the reason you didn't call before you dropped in? Afraid your prime suspect would head for Brazil? You are our prime suspect, Mike.

I mean, after all, your wife was running off with another man. You had words you threatened her life and the life of Raymond Calder, the other man. She say that? Yeah, approximately. In her statement, she said... You want me to read it to you, Mike? No, no, no. She says that. Let it stand. Well, isn't that true? Well, you put me in a very awkward position. I was very much in love with Kate. Still am, I guess.

I wouldn't make any statement to the district attorney that would contradict her. Did you kill Raymond Calder? Seems to me that if you thought I was the culprit, you'd have been here immediately instead of waiting six days. You've been watched, Mike. We had men on you almost immediately. And what have you discovered? That you haven't left your flat here since it happened. And you'd like to know why?

I haven't left this room for nearly two weeks, gentlemen, because I have a deadline for my novel and my publishers are sitting on my neck. Is that the McCoy, Mike? I have a reservoir of frozen food in the fridge to exist on. And I have this stack of typed pages to prove I was working. Even the day that Catherine gave me the sack.

And she came here to tell you? She was standing right where you're standing now. And she gave it to me brisk and cold like a weather report. But you threatened her and the man she was running away with. I don't know. She says I did. Maybe I did. I thought I'd lose my mind. What did you do? I tried to work. I thought I could get my mind off my troubles. Well, when did you leave the apartment? Leave? I just told you I didn't.

Oh, I see. You're always the policeman, Harvey. Well, just for the record, I didn't leave. If I had wanted to leave, I would have left without anyone seeing me. And come back the same way? Yes. And how did you find out about the murder? I got a call from my agent. You just heard the whole thing on the news broadcasts.

Now, is there anything else on your minds, gentlemen? I've got to get back to work. No, nothing, Mike, except... What? I wish we had you working with us. How could I? I don't know. You know, this isn't going to be an easy one. You see, Mike, it points too definitely at Catherine Kendall. It is almost too easy. Understand?

Hello? Catherine? Yes? Don't you recognize my voice? It's Michael. I didn't expect to hear it. Goodbye. No, wait, wait. Don't hang up. Listen to me. I can help you. You? Help me? You have a sense of humor, Michael. I'll say that for you. Kate, you're forgetting. I am the injured party. You ran out on me. I don't know how you did it.

But I'm sure you planned all this, plotted it, like one of your cheap novels. All right. If you take that attitude, there's nothing to be done. Nice talking to you, dear. Wait. Okay, go ahead. What diabolical plot have you hatched now? No plot. The DA, you know Alex. Yes? He wants me to work with the police on this case. What?

I'd call you the prime suspect. I'm completely cleared. That's why he made me the offer. Oh, I just can't believe it. Don't you see how helpful I can be to you if I'm working with him? Look, Michael, you know I'm innocent. You know that out of sheer ego you planned this whole evil charade. And now you're asking me to be grateful to you for future favors? Well, I don't need you. I don't want you. Please stay away from me. Very well. You've given me your answer.

I shall feel no compunctions in accepting the assignment from the DA. It just occurs to me, Michael, that the DA hiring you to solve a crime is like hiring the rat to guard the cheese.

Come. You wanted to see me, Mr. D.A.? Oh, yes, Lieutenant. I'm expecting Mike Marshall, and I wanted you present. Well, what's the plan of action? Well, as you know, the grand jury voted to indict Catherine Kendall. Are we locking her up? No, she's had bail posted for her by her producer. Bail? For a murder one indictment?

I persuaded the judge to go along with her lawyer's request. Convinced him that the bail would aid us in nailing the real killer. Oh. You don't think she did it, huh? If she did kill Raymond Calder, it was the greatest job of reverse planning by a murderer I've ever run into. The plot is just too beautiful. She'll be convicted in the shortest murder trial in history. The jury won't even have to leave their seats to bring in a verdict. So what's the problem? We can't lose. It's...

It's just too perfect. Ah. Well, then we're right back to Marchand. That's correct. Only one man I know could have worked out all the details so cleverly that there was only one answer. But everything points to Catherine. Well, you're the DA. It's your job to nail the bad ones.

I wonder if you know, Lieutenant, that it's also the DA's job to protect the innocent. Now, that's Mike Marchant, Harvey. Stick around. Yes? I'll send Mr. Marchant in. This is the first move in a game of chess. Well, Michael, right on time. Come on in. By the way, are you a chess player? Yes.

Michael Marchand is not above suspicion. The DA secretly considers him a prime suspect and wants him nearby where he can watch him. Perhaps the DA underestimates the evil intelligence of this man. We can be certain that Michael knows of the DA's suspicions and will find a way to turn them to his own advantage. Perhaps even convince him of Catherine's guilt.

The pieces to the puzzle are being skillfully slipped into place. I'll be back shortly with Act Three. It is the first day in court. The drama is unfolding with Michael Marchand as the unseen puppeteer... ...pulling the strings that make the characters move...

The district attorney, still not convinced of Catherine's guilt, must nevertheless proceed with the prosecution. Catherine's lawyer, not really convinced of his client's innocence, must nevertheless proceed with her defense. There is a feeling of ambivalence in the courtroom as the prosecution and defense present their opening statements. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury...

It will not be necessary for the prosecution to indulge in appeals to your emotions. We shall leave that to the defense. We have an extremely beautiful woman, a talented actress who is trained to move you to gain your sympathy. Objection, Your Honor. The prosecution is directing the thinking of the jury. I ask the last be stricken from the records. Thank you.

As the attorney for the defendants, it is my job to prove to you the charges against Kate Kendall are false. Now, despite all the circumstantial evidence that has been dredged up to convict her, this great lady is innocent of the charges. Now, we will show you that Catherine Kendall is an honest woman. We shall show you that when she realized she could no longer live with the man she married...

She went to him and told him so. She didn't hide her love for Raymond Calder in the back streets of her life. She honestly faced up to the decision.

How do you think it's going to go, Counselor? You heard the opening remarks. Well, I was a little thrown by that back streets of her life routine. I mean, I thought that was laying it on too much. Well, trust me, I know more about jurors than you do. They like that kind of emotional appeal. It sinks right in. You know, they don't have to think. I wish they would think. I'd have a better chance. Look, Miss Kendall, everyone feels this case is hopeless. Hopeless?

Well, I didn't do it. I'm innocent. You know it. I know it. I believe it. But do you think the jury is going to believe it? But I... And what's more? Do you know that the prosecution has your husband secretly working for them?

It doesn't surprise me. He told me he might be. Yes, they think they've got an airtight case against you. Circumstantial? You said that in your opening statement. All they've got is circumstantial evidence. Well, we pretend that circumstantial evidence won't stand up in court, but I can tell you it stands up very well. Many men have been convicted on purely circumstantial evidence. You paint my future in glowing colors, Mr. Drexel. Miss Kendall...

Will you believe me when I tell you that I do have your best interests at heart? I do. And I would like to give you some advice. The way things look...

You'd have a better chance copping a plea. What? Well, that's legal slang for changing your plea. To guilty? That's right. But I'm not guilty. You have had a better chance with the judge than you have with the jury. You plead guilty, the jury is dismissed. No. Yes, the judge, Judge Murdoch, he's not a bad guy. No. He'll sentence you. No. He'll give you several years. You'll be eligible for parole in three or four years. Mr. Drexel. I don't...

I don't want to play small legal games. I'm innocent. If I'm going to be pronounced guilty of a crime I didn't commit, could never commit, well, so be it. I don't want any more tricks. We still have one discrepancy, Mike, that we haven't been able to clear up. One weak spot in our case. What's that?

Catherine got off the train from Philadelphia at 11.12 a.m. She took a cab and arrived at Mrs. Davis' rooming house at around 11.43. What's the problem? Let's say it took her five to ten minutes to get out of the station and catch a cab uptown and 25 minutes for the cab ride. 25 minutes? That long? Midday traffic. Have you tried it to Mrs. Davis' place from the station? No, but... Well, I have. Three times.

I have my timings here. I checked them with a stopwatch. One, 24 minutes and 32 seconds. Then I made it in 23 minutes and 5 seconds. That last one was a slow one, over 27 minutes. Well, she couldn't have been in the room when Calder was shot. She'd have been in a taxi blocks away from the scene of the crime. You've forgotten one thing. What? She could have taken a subway. I did. During the same time periods.

My time's to the door of Mrs. Davies' house from the station. Eight minutes and thirty-four seconds. Seven minutes, fifty-two seconds. Nine minutes, ten seconds. Subway, subway, yeah. So she could have done it after all. Now, here's my suggestion. Your questions should be concerned with her arrival at the rooming house. Now, Miss Kendall, let's just go over the statement you made earlier...

At what time did you arrive at the rooming house on the morning that Raymond Calder was shot? I believe it was around 11.45.

Somewhere around that time. My train got into the station at 11.12. It took me about 30 minutes to get a cab and arrive there. Tell me, were you recognized on the street when you were in the station? No. By the cab driver? No. Oh, you're a well-known person. People have seen you on the stage in pictures and television. Oh, when I'm traveling, I wear dark glasses and a scarf over my head. Oh, and that works? I'm seldom recognized. Well, I guess that's about all I... Oh, um...

Yes, just one more question. Yes? Ever use the subway? Yes, if I'm in a particular hurry. Wearing the same disguise, the dark glasses and the scarf? Yes, I guess so. And were you in a hurry that morning, Miss Kendall, March 14th, the morning you rushed to your lover's apartment, you went to his room, you opened the door with a key, you turned the gun on him and shot him, and then you left your keys, you slipped out and pretended to be entering, and Mrs. Davis saw you at the front door. No, no, no.

Objection, Your Honor! Objection! Badgering the witness, I ask that the question and all the district attorney's remarks be stricken from the record. Now then, Mrs. Davis, after you heard Miss Kendall angrily screaming at Mr. Carter, what did you do? Objection! All right, I'll rephrase the question.

After you heard a woman's voice raised in anger, threatening to kill in Mr. Calder's room, what did you do? I knocked and asked Mr. Calder what was the matter. And he told you?

We said that he was playing a rehearsal tape of Miss Kendall. Are you sure that was a tape recording? Oh, yes. Well, not at first. It sounded like her. It was so real. Was Miss Kendall there in the room, I mean? I thought she was. It was so real. But you never entered the room to see that it was a tape playing on a machine. No. Mrs. Davis...

You didn't know whether Miss Kendall was in the room or not. Is that correct? I never went inside the room at that time, so I don't know. I see. Now, just one more question. Did Ray Calder own a tape recorder? I'm sure he didn't.

In the five months or more that he lived in my house, I never saw or heard one before that day. The day you heard, Miss Kendall? That's right. And when you entered the room later, after Miss Kendall arrived, did you see a tape recorder in the room? Why, no. There was no tape recorder anywhere that you could see? None. Thank you, Mrs. Davis. You may have the witness, Mr. Drexel. One question, Mrs. Davis. Yes?

You know what a tape recorder looks like? Well, I've heard a lot about them, but I've never really seen one. Well, then let me tell you that they come in all sizes, from a tiny one that can be carried in one hand to a giant-sized professional one used in recording studios. Oh?

No, I never saw one. Then how would you know that there wasn't one in the room right in front of you? Well, when the police came and I told them about the tape recorder, they couldn't find one. Your Honor, I ask that the last remarks be stricken as non-responsive. You may step down, Mrs. Davis. Thank you.

The jury's been out longer than I thought they'd be. Think she'll get off, Mike? No. No, your case was so strong that Drexel nearly had a nervous breakdown trying to beat it down. I'll give a hundred to one odds the verdict is guilty. Wait a minute, the jury's... The jury's returning. We, the jury...

Find the defendant, Catherine Kendall, guilty of murder in the first degree. Your Honor! Please! Your Honor! Your Honor! An unusual request. The husband of the defendant, Michael Martian, wishes to make a statement. Go ahead, Michael. Just nodded yes. Your Honor, Miss Kendall is not guilty.

I killed Raymond Calder because he stole my wife. You can come back for me in about ten minutes, God. Nice of you to visit, Alex. I didn't know this was visitors' day. It isn't. I'm here because I... I'm a very curious guy. Curious...

He never told me why. He gave me all the details about the recording, the tape machine. He explained how you took the keys from Catherine's purse and planted them. The telegram from his phone, the timing of the arrival. Everything. Everything except one thing. Now, I suppose you're going to say you suspected me all along. Oh, I did. You can ask Lieutenant Gentry.

I was looking for some little break in your armor, some little mistake. There was none. I don't make mistakes. All right, then. Why did you make that dramatic last-minute confession? It wasn't to save Catherine, Alex. I'd written her off when I found out about Ray Calder. Okay, so you commit the perfect crime and then for no reason you spill it out at the last minute? Why? Why?

No reason, Alex. Think it over. Perfect crimes aren't much fun. If I'm the only one to know, whom am I going to show off for? So there you have it. A murderer's vanity. For that one little moment of glory in the courtroom...

That one little moment of stunning revelation. Michael Marchand will spend the rest of his life behind bars. Does he ever wonder whether that shocking moment was worth the price? Not at all. To him, it was the crowning moment of his life. I'll be back in a moment.

Vanity dies hard. In some cases, it outlives the man. In the annals of crime, the Calder case will be long remembered. Men engaged in the pursuit of criminals will speak of it as the perfect crime. And it was perfect in every detail, except one. Vanity.

The killer was a vain man, and his vanity demanded that he be praised for his brilliance. And so Michael Marchand, criminologist, writer, conscienceless murderer, was betrayed and defeated by his own ego. Our cast included Robert Dryden, Marion Seldes, Earl Hammond, Ian Martin, and Mary Jane Higbee. The entire production was under the direction of Hyman Brown.

And now, a preview of our next... He has been married for 20 years to Maria Elevna, the famous actress who holds the medal for... Say that again. He's been married for 20 years to Maria Elevna, who holds... Oh. Marvin, shall I call a doctor? Uh-uh.

That's how you looked that morning, pale and frightened. Who is Maria Elevner? Why should the mention of her name... How should I know? No, it's not my imagination. It's these two names. Dimitri Legorin and Maria Elevner seem... These two names, they seem to have devastated you.

Why? I think I'd like to go for a walk. No, Marvin, we've got to talk. About what? Who is Dimitri Lagorin? I don't know. Who is Maria Elena? I don't know. And now, if you have no more questions... I have one more question. Who are you? Radio Mystery Theater was sponsored in part by True Value Hardware Stores.

This is E.G. Marshall inviting you to return to our mystery theater for another adventure in the macabre. Until next time, pleasant dreams. 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 Hear a free sample on the audiobooks page at WeirdDarkness.com

Now there's a new way to share weird darkness with the weirdos in your life. It's a skill on your Amazon Echo device. Just 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.

Do you like my horror-able humor episodes called Mind of Marlar? 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. An iron skull was their trademark. Their business was climbing walls and it was all done on wheels at 70 miles an hour. But that was a cinch for the death cheaters until they felt murder and a feminine touch. Ah!

From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous character in The Adventures of Philip Marlowe. ♪♪ Now, with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The Feminine Touch. ♪♪

It was five minutes to five when I turned off Sunset Boulevard and drove between the two wrought iron gates set in a stone wall that hinted none too subtly at the exclusiveness of the Bel Air Estates. I followed a gently curving street bordered by dignified rows of meticulously manicured palm trees as far as number 4412. There I turned onto a white driveway, moated over an acre of rigidly disciplined landscape to a house that could have doubled for Buckingham Palace, where I ground to a soft stop and got out.

Ballet was the soul of peace and serenity until I started across the drive to the front door. A motorcycle, jet propelled by a black-haired lunatic in a leather jacket with a blonde beauty riding behind him. The handlebar missed goring me by inches. I picked myself up, mumbled a few choice words, and went on to the door. I followed a butler through the house to an aviary in the rear where my client, Mr. Baldwin Granville, putted with a flock of exotic birds in a big wire cage.

He looked right at home, a penguin in sport clothes with the yellow staring eyes of an owl. Come in, Marlowe, but watch the gate. The birds are all upset. Did you hear that mechanical outburst a moment ago? Heard? I was almost run over by it. A jerk and a batty blonde dame on a motorcycle. Who were they? The driver was no doubt one Pepper Riggs.

which is all I know about him. However, the batty blonde, as you put it, is my daughter, Adrian. Oh, your daughter, huh? Yes, yes. Twenty-three and already out of school two years. The best schools, of course. Still, it's been one crazy scrape after another. Now it's motorcycles and something even worse, I'm afraid. That's why I called you. Now look, Mr. Granville, I'm no truant officer.

Have you or her mother tried simply talking it over with her? We lost her mother in 33. And Adrian refuses flatly to discuss things with me. I've tried everything from bribery to threats. How about trying to be her father? I'm 20 years late for that. Always been too busy making money. Now I'm worried.

I think she's infatuated with this Pepper Riggs. Well, there isn't much I can do about that. If she wants to break her neck on a motorcycle, I can't do much about that either. You can do something about this. It came to me in this morning's mail. Adrian hasn't seen it yet. Oh? Keep your daughter out of our hair. Make her lay off Pepper Riggs, if you know what's good for her. I mean it, Lou Bryan.

Who's Lou Brian? I have no idea. But Adrian's in danger, Marlowe. Well, I'll do what I can. Got anything else to go on besides two names in the motorcycle crowd? No, no, that's all. But, Marlowe, listen. It may sound strange to you, but everything I've worked for all my life means nothing to me now. I finally realized that Adrian is all that really matters.

Don't let me down. Something close to grief glistened in the old man's yellow eyes. But he hardened up again while we settled the matter of my fee, 100 bucks. Then he hurried me on my way. I figured Pepper Riggs was a wild man, so my first step was a check off of the L.A. dirt track circuit, a wild man's game, if ever there was one. The four stop I made paid off. A track manager told me that Pepper was a used-to-be bike racer, all right, but that he'd quit and was while working at the Redondo amusement pier as a wall climber.

When I found out what that was, it made the dirt track routine sound about as dangerous as an old lady's quilting bee. It was 9.30 when I got out to the Redondo Pier. Wandered through the concessions until I found one with a corny label. The Wall of Death. It looked like a barrel, 30 feet in diameter and 20 feet high. With a grandstand over it and a picture poster in front listing... Air Raising Shows, 8, 10, and 12 p.m. Featuring Peppa Riggs, the Death Cheater, the lovely Mickey North, and...

Smiling Lou Bryan. The one who had written a letter to my client. Whatever Adrian Granville was mixed up in, the answer was here. I walked around the big barrel to a shed in the rear. The light was on, so I went to work.

Hiya. Looking for somebody? Yeah. Yeah, you're Pepper Riggs, aren't you? My name's Marlow of High Spot Magazine. I've got a feature lined up on your act. Experiment? Sure. We can talk while I finish shaving. Shoot. How fast do you travel around that wall? Flip under 60 and you drop. It's no life of sissies, buddy. Any little thing goes wrong up there on the wall and it's curtain. Figures. Is this your bike here? Yeah, the one with my name plate on it there. Uh-huh.

I see you carry a little iron skull tied to the handlebars. Kind of grim, isn't it? My trademark, buddy. I've been knocked off the wall seven times in the last three years and beat old Skull Face every time. No kidding. That makes for a nice, quiet future for your fiancée. Fiancée? Yeah, yeah, Miss Granville. Want to take her into the act with you? Could be, buddy. Could be. What do your partners think of that?

The girl, Mickey North, and Lou Bryan, I mean. Is there going to be room for everybody? You know something, pal? I don't think there is a magazine called High Spot. Really? I better make a note of that. Yeah. Adrian warned me your old man would be sending a private eye around. So now that I've caught your act and it's corny, I've got a message for you. Lay off, because Adrian's old enough to know what she wants. Okay. And I've got one for you, screwball. Say that she lives long enough to enjoy it. Get out, you...

When he shoved me out the door, my first impulse was to shove back in again.

But then I heard the spiel for the 10 o'clock show starting out in front, so I decided Tepper Riggs would keep. I walked around the drone to where a red-faced barker lashed the crowd with every known simile for danger as he whipped up excitement for the act. I stepped up close to listen. ...on an absolutely vertical wall. Just as his wall of death. Don't miss it, folks. Show starts in 15 minutes. Come in and watch them cheat.

Hey, Sam, take over for me, quick. When the red-faced barker stopped, his eyes had been fixed on the little man in grimy overalls hurrying across the midway. He jumped down from the platform and ran after the little guy, so I pushed back through the crowd and followed him. The red-faced caught up with the grimy overalls at a hot dog stand, grabbed him by one shoulder and spun him around. Hey, what are you doing? Hey, Moon, I want to talk to you. Oh, oh. Are you a motorcycle mechanic or a prima donna? Where you been? I, uh, I slept in, I guess, Mr. Hadley. Yeah. Yeah.

You must have been real tired after last night. Last night? Why, what do you mean? Don't start with me, Moon. I saw you coming out of the bike shed at 2.30 in the morning. What were you doing in there in that hour? Going over the bikes. I'm sick and tired of taking the blame for Lou Brian. He's holding back. He says it's because his bike ain't right, but that's not true. He's turned yellow, that's what, and I'll prove it too. Shut up.

Keep that kind of talk to yourself. Oh, but it's true. Pepper told him the same thing. Lou Bryant's lost his nerve and he's holding back. Those bikes are identical. Same make and same model. They're both in tip-top shape. And I'm through taking the blame for a guy that's turned yellow. What do you have, man? Want something, Jess? Uh, yeah, a couple of coffees, bud. You, mister? Uh, yeah, a hot dog. Nothing on it. Yes, sir, right up. Now, listen, Moon. You're a good mechanic.

And I want to fire you, but there's trouble cooking around my show and I don't like it. Here you are. Oh, thanks. Oh, sure, sure there's going to be trouble. You're blaming me, but you ought to blame that dizzy blonde that Pepper's mixed up with. That Adrian Granville, she's the dame. Hey, you big ears. Huh? This is private conversation. What are you tuning in for? Pass the mustard, little man, and keep your greasy thumb out of it. You got secrets you ought to know better than to broadcast them. Yeah, I do.

Thanks for the advice. Yeah, go soak your head in it. Skip the coffee, Bert. Your place is crawling. So long, big ears. I watched Jess Hadley and Moon walk away, and then I went back to the wall of death, bought a ticket, and climbed the stairs to the gallery at the top of the 30-foot motor drone. The house lights were on, but in the half-darkness at the bottom of the big bowl, I saw three motorcycles in the open trap door. The gallery was nearly full. It only took one glance around the ring of faces at the lip of the bowl to spot her.

She had insolent eyes and wide, soft, red mouth, and her hair tumbled in loose, blonde waves over the shoulders of a shimmering white silk shirt, very wide open at her throat. I moved up beside her and leaned on the rail. Why don't you go home, Sherlock? I can't use a watchdog. You flatter yourself, Adrian. I'm here only to case a setup. It includes your broken neck. That's just another item in my report. Is that right? Mm-hmm.

Well, you're pretty, so I'll make it real easy for you. Set up simply this. I like to go fast. Motorcycles do that for me. So does pepperoni. That satisfy you? Not quite. You got the curves, baby, but somebody else has the angles. Meaning what? Well, these professionals might resent an amateur moving in. Come on, Mike.

What makes you think I'm an amateur, Mr. Marlowe? I'll compete with dear little Mickey North on any basis, curves or angles. I got Pepper, didn't I? And I'll have her spot in the show, if I want. How does all this set with Lil' Brian? Lil's excess baggage, but strictly. Pepper's been carrying the whole show for weeks. Oh, there go the houseplants. So it's been nice, Sherlock, but that makes it time to run along, doesn't it?

No, I think I'll stick around, honey, whether you like it or not. Suit yourself, but don't stick too close. You might get run over. When a floodlight over the center of the room flashed on and filled the deep bowl with a dead white flare...

The performers climbed through the trapdoor on the bottom, closed it behind them, and mounted their bikes. With the first roar of the motors, Adrienne gripped the railing and stared down, her eyes glistening with fascination. And now, Jeff Padley presents the Just Keepers in a hair-raising exhibition of riding skills. Performed at 70 miles an hour on a vertical wall, starring Kappa Rick with lovely Mickey Knox and smiling Lou Bryant.

It was Lou Brian who let off, starting slowly at first, around and around the sloping base of the bowl. Pepper Riggs watched him for a moment, then looked up, waved at Adrian and grinned while Mickey North glanced straight ahead.

There was no smile on Smiling Blue Lion's face either as he whirled faster and faster around the drone. The gold began to tremble with every revolution as the speeding motorcycle graced over the boards and rose higher and higher on the vertical wall until finally it was only five feet from the rim. Then suddenly from somewhere a black smear sailed out on the white under the tires. A smear that grew with every turn. It was oil. A second later it happened. The back wheel skidded. The bike swung out of Blue Lion's control. It was something alive. And then it fell. Woo!

Well, well done, folks. Come on, break it up. Lou Bryan was dead long before they got him through the trap door and into the ambulance. And watching him fall had put a freeze on my mind that took 20 minutes thawing out. But when the fundamentals of addition went to work again, I started looking around. And just in time to see Moon, the mechanic, barreling a 1930 Plymouth for all it was worth, out of the parking lot and heading for the highway, lights out. I ran to my car, piled in to take after him when something long and yellow smashed into my bumper.

You're going? You took the words right out of my mouth, Adrian. You timed it perfectly, didn't you? Timed what perfectly? That block. So Moon, your grease monkey assistant, could put a few miles behind him. Adrian. Adrian, what happened? Marlowe. Yeah. Don't worry, Riggs. Adrian here did a lovely job. Our bumpers are braided. What?

You know, I'm getting a little sick of you, Marlowe. You'll have to get sicker, Speedy. Because I'm going to find out exactly why Lou Bryan died tonight, and you're going to answer some questions. He died because the oil line broke. Yeah, it happens all the time to wall climbers. It was a tough break, that's all. Oh, sure, sure. Now, look. Just in case you two didn't know, Lou Bryan objected to you, Adrian. So much so, in fact, that he wrote a letter to your father threatening to rough you up if you didn't lay off.

From where I sit, somebody beat him to the punch. Guess who? Listen, Marley, you're running off at the mouth. If you got something to say, say it. Right out, like a big boy. Okay. Riggs Lou Brian's death was no accident. It was cold, premeditated murder. Tie that on your handlebars, death cheater.

In just a moment, the second act of Philip Marlowe. But first, the greatest jackpot in the history of radio, $54,000 in prizes and cash, awaits the CBS listener who can solve the mystery of the Phantom Boys on our Saturday Night Sing It Again show. $25,000 may be yours in solid cash, plus $29,000 in marvelous prizes. There's also a host of splendid smaller prizes waiting for you listeners who can crack the riddle song.

So be around for Sing It Again tonight when it comes to you for a full hour on most of these same CBS network stations. Now with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, The Feminine Touch. I turned without another word and walked away slowly until I was out of sight. I ran for the drone on the off chance that I could find Mickey North in the lead on Moon.

I found her alone and on a bench in an almost dark, out-of-the-way corner of an amusement park. Half-watching a couple of hungry seagulls who didn't know when it was time to go to bed circle overhead. I introduced myself and got around to what was fast becoming my only point, the hunch that Lou Bryan's crack-up was no accident. I... I can't believe that, Marlowe. Why not, Mickey? It adds. Lou Bryan figured Adrian was breaking up a great act.

Bigot, she'd driven a wedge between him and Pepper. And, uh, Pepper and you. Oh, yeah, but that's not we for Adrian or Pepper to kill Lou, Marlowe. Oh, by its lonesome, no. But there was more, Mickey. Lou Bryan didn't intend to take all this lying down. For one thing, he sent a threatening letter to Adrian's father to keep her away. Then, Marlowe, you're saying that Adrian... And or Pepper Riggs scheduled an accident for Lou Bryan...

And then, Mickey, there's Moon. You know, he shoved off without so much as an I'll-be-back-in-a-minute right after Lou cracked up. Tell me, Mickey, do you have any idea where Moon could have been heading? He was pointing away from L.A. No, I don't. Except, of course, his own place. He has a little shack on Ocean Avenue, number 41, over in the oil field. But look, Marlowe, maybe Moon's responsible for everything. He and Lou didn't get along, you know. Yes, I've heard. Also, Mickey, I've heard that Moon was around the bikes unusually late last night. What? Moon around...

Marlowe, it must have been Moon then, alone. Sure, what's the matter with me? Pepper wouldn't do a thing like that. He's too good, too decent, and nice. Still loving, don't you, Mickey? No, I don't. He means nothing, Marlowe. All right, honey. Let's call it a tie for the moment. It's Moon alone or the triumvirate Moon Riggs and Adrian Granville, right? Yeah, I guess so. Nobody else had any reason to kill Lou. If you're sure, that's what happened. Are you, Marlowe? Dead, sure? Just about.

Ask me again, honey, after I've checked the fireside at number 41 Ocean Avenue. By then I may know more. When I got back to my car, Adrian's convertible was gone. The pleading that had been my right fender, which said that she'd left in a hurry, cost me ten minutes of stress and strain before my front wheels would turn in either direction without chewing rubber. Then I was another ten getting to the intersection of US 101 and Ocean Avenue.

which turned out to be a paved semicircle of grime, twisting in between a dozen nodding oil well pumps that had never heard of the eight-hour day. I got out of my car and started to move quietly toward the sagging collection of scrap lumber, unpainted and unpleasant. That was number 41. When the sudden splash of a pair of headlights sweeping my way fast sent me sprawling for cover without so much as a reason why, I was glad that I had because it was yellow, long and convertible and behind the wheel and alone. Miss Adrienne Granville.

I took that as my cue to stop sleuthing and start worrying about a guy named Moon. I moved up to his shack in a hurry. When it showed no light and no answer to my loud knock, I closed one hand tight around the .38 in my pocket and the other over the knob on the door, which wasn't locked. Inside, there was only shabby furniture of a scarred linoleum. And in the middle of the wall opposite me, another door half open. I started for it, and what I could almost feel was going to be the too quiet form of the elusive mechanic...

The sound behind me that was not the work of the wind brought me to a dead stop. Move one inch, mister, and I'll kill you. And to think I was worrying about your health. You shouldn't have bothered. I feel fine. But you won't if there's any monkey business. I'll drop your gun. Come on, fast! That's better.

Now, what are you doing here? Wondering why you were dumb enough to let that Granville brat talk you into murdering Lou Bryan for a price? You're off your rocker, fella. I didn't drop Bryan. I got no money from the baby, only Gab. Gab that kept me from packing and getting out of here. That's a lie. I've got a photostat of a check for 10,000 that's made out to you and signed by Adrian Granville. Turn on the light, Buster. Look for yourself. Check for 10 grand? Yeah. I don't figure how my name could get out... Hey, this ain't no check. Oh, my mistake. Here it is! And more!

Okay, okay, okay. Come on, get up. I'll tell you the truth, honest. We'll see. First verse. You didn't kill Brian while you're running. Because Lou and I didn't get along and just Hadley knows it. I was around the bikes last night. So what? Well, sir, sometimes people start putting things together too fast. It gets other people in trouble. I know. It's happened to me before. Five years once on a lousy frame. How unfortunate. Yeah, but...

What about Adrian Granville? What's she want with you, Moon? I don't know, unless she belongs to the lady's handkerchief I found near the bikes last night. Did you say it was hers? We didn't get that far. She ran off when we heard your car turn off on the highway. That's how come I got the drop on you. That figures. But what doesn't figure, Moon, is why you're still holding back. So maybe we ought to bounce the mechanic around some more, huh? What do you say, Moon? Come on, do we keep this up? You're going to start a talk. No, no, no, please. All right. Quit, quit, quit, will you? Let me alone. I'll tell you everything. Lou was always beefing at me.

Whenever Pep would call him yellow for not riding right, he took it out on me. Said I didn't keep his bike in shape. So I decided to do... To what? What's the matter? Outside. There, Marlowe. The gun. No! When Moon grabbed at his chest with both hands, swung in a half-arc, and pitched forward on his face, I yanked at the light cord in the middle of the room and then threw the door open. The only noise I heard was the starting roar of a motorcycle about 50 feet away.

I forgot about being careful and ran out into the street and toward what was fast becoming an increasingly smaller silhouette if I couldn't say who. When I returned to the shack and found Moon dead, I ran for my car, piled in and kept a heavy foot on the gas until I was back at the amusement pier where I figured I might find a team of Bramble and Riggs standing around like nothing had happened. When I got there, I found just that. Out on the pier was Miss Moneybags herself, walking slowly away from Pepper and Mickey and toward the hot dog stand. When I was next to her and about ready to grab on and start yelling, I saw something else.

Something that didn't sink in right away.

It was a tiny iron skull on an iron chain, swinging from the gold charm bracelet she wore on her right wrist. If you're taking inventory, Marlowe, make it fast, will you? The next show starts in a couple of minutes, and I'm going on a loose place, and I don't have... That trinket there on your wrist, Adrienne, it's a miniature of the one Pepper has on the handlebars of his bike, right? Right. It's his trademark. But what about it? Does that hang all of it? No, it just hangs one of us, if I'm right. Goodbye. Goodbye.

It was only a hunch and a screwy one at that, but as I ran past Mickey and Pepper, who stared at me like my nose was on fire, and headed for the shop out in the back where I knew I could find the bike that Lou had been killed on, I gave myself a 50-50 chance of being right. But when I was inside the place and next to the twisted jumble of steel that had once been a motorcycle, the odds jumped from there to sure thing. Because when I passed my fingers over the chrome handlebars, I found that they were not smooth all the way. In the next second, I knew more. I was not alone.

I jumped from the bike, reached for my gun and wheeled around the wrong way. When I started back for this world, there were only two things in it. One a sharp, searing pain the length of the right side of my face and the other a crazy thought that since I was still alive, I had to get to the drone and stop Adrian Granville before murder happened again. I ran outside and around to the front where I saw that the rider's trapdoor entrance was already closed and that the act was about to begin.

And as I heard the motors roar and a voice announce that Adrian and Mickey were going to ride together, I spotted Jess Hadley at the top of the stairs that led on to the spectators' balcony.

I took a dozen steps up to him, two at a time, and as the house lights faded and the floods over the riders came up, I grabbed him and shouted that we had to stop the act while the bikes were still only getting underway, or death would get star-billing again. What are you talking about, Marlowe? Murder, Hadley! How can we stop those bikes? I don't know, Marlowe. They can't hear a thing down there. Well, it'll have to be something they can see. Get to the house lights, Hadley, and turn them up. We're going to shoot out the overhead floods. No, Marlowe. You pile of girls up. Get going, Hadley. I'm going to shoot. No, Marlowe. No! No!

Dr. Richard Reese, report to surgery, please. Dr. Richard Reese, report to surgery. Well, Marla, before she blacked out, the police say Nikki admitted wanting to get Pepper because she was crazy jealous of Adrian. They haven't got it straight yet about Moon's death and exactly why Lou was killed by mistake. How'd that go? Well, it went two ways, Hadley.

One, Mickey fixed Pepper's bike so that the oil line would give. Do you get it? Then Moon, convinced that Lou had gone yellow, switched the bikes to prove that Lou's constant complaint about the bikes was simply an alibi. Here's the joker. He switched right into a double play. Lou Bryan got killed instead of Pepper. But then, after the crack-up, Moon knew that it should have happened to Pepper. Oh, yeah, sure. But for a lot of reasons, he didn't want to stick around and talk it over.

When he was about to tell me the truth, Mickey shot him. Because if you knew the bikes were switched, you'd look for someone with reason to kill Pepper, not Lou, hmm? Correct. And once I did know that, it was only Lou and Mickey. See, I picked Mickey because for one thing, her motive was stronger. And for another, Moon found a lady's handkerchief near the bikes. So... Marlowe, you come out here, please. All right, Mr. Granville.

See you, Hadley. Yeah, Marlowe. Catch the act some night when we play it straight. Still a good show. Well, I'm a lucky man, Marlowe.

The doctor says Adrian's going to be fine in a few days. She wants to see you now, but it can only be for a moment, you know. Frankly, Mr. Granville, a moment's about all I can take. I don't exactly like your daughter. Now, now, now, Marlowe, none of that, please. The poor child's not well. Besides, she wants to apologize to you and give you my check for $100. Now, go on, boy. Go on. She's calling for you. Okay. Okay.

Hello. Marlowe, I want to ask you a question. And, of course, apologize. I'm sorry. Hmm. What's the question? The iron skull on my bracelet. What did it mean to you? Oh. Well, it was a reminder that Pepper had one dangling from the handlebars of his bike. And that if Moon had switched bikes, which was a wild thought at the time, that which was called Lou's bike would have a worn spot on the chrome handlebars where the iron chain had rubbed. And it did. Now my turn.

You told Pepper, and in particular Mickey, that I was all excited about something, didn't you? Yes. Why do you ask, Phil? Because I was wondering how Mickey knew where I was so that she could come down and play Crown the Private Detective. Oh, Phil, she could have killed you. Yes, yes. But then when she didn't, I could figure that she'd given up and only wanted time. To crash her motorcycle into mine when we were high on the wall. Is that it? Yeah, that's it. All the way around. Now, if you please, my check and goodbye. Check? Yeah. Oh. Oh, yes. Here. Here.

Here it is, and for all that you've done for me. Hey, cut it out. You're supposed to be sick, Adrian. Get back in bed. Oh, Marlowe, I'm not any sicker than you are. That's just to keep Daddy from blowing his top. Now come here, silly. I'm all right. You sure? I'm positive. Good. That's all I wanted to know. Now across my knee. Your daddy should have gotten around to this a long, long time ago. Please, Bill, no! No! No!

I kept swatting it where I figured it would do the most good. Until Daddy, two doctors and a nurse came in. Then I recommended that my client consult a child psychologist for his daughter and a full-grown one for himself, and I left. But by the time I was outside, I'd cooled off some. And it was then that I remembered I'd carelessly shoved the $100 check which belonged in my wallet into a side pocket.

When I took it out and unfolded it, I saw that it was all in order. Names and numbers correct. But then, as I started to put it away, I saw something else. On the back and scribbled in pencil. P.S. Working with a private, it sounds like much more fun than morning. I'll be at your office first thing Monday morning. Signed, Adrian. I turned around and started back for the hospital. This was not going to be. ♪♪

The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, created by Raymond Chandler, star Gerald Moore, and are produced and directed by Norman MacDonald. Script is by Mel Donnelly, Robert Mitchell, and Gene Levitt. Featured in the cast were Barbara Eiler, Ted Von Eltz, David Ellis, Virginia Gregg, Wilms Herbert, Paul Dubov, and Peter Prowse. The special music is by Richard Arundt.

Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says... It was only a gambler's marker. A promise to pay worth a thousand bucks. And I was hired to find it. Yeah, that sounded easy. Until I realized that it meant the whole future to two men. Freedom to a third and death to the girl in the cottage.

Sunday will be Mother's Day, and the boy with the neighbor's prize rose in his lapel and a box of cigars under his arm will be Mrs. Benny's little boy Jack, ready for his idea of a proper Mother's Day celebration. For an unusually hilarious Mother's Day session with America's only 39-year-old child prodigy, hear the Jack Benny Show Sunday on all of these same CBS network stations.

This is Roy Rowan speaking. Now, stay tuned for Gangbusters, which follows immediately over most of these stations. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. Welcome to the Black Mass. The listing in the KPFA folio for tonight's broadcast was Lazarus by Andreev.

But that story is being substituted this evening by another. We will have Lazarus ready for you later in the season. However, we are fortunate with tonight's presentation to have the assistance of several distinguished members of our theatrical community. Here is Norma Jean Wanvig as Julia, Martin Punch as Stephen, and Nancy Punch as Ellen in another in our series of adaptations from the tales of Ambrose Bierce. This evening...

The Moonlit Road. You haven't touched your tea, Mr. Stephen. Shall I warm it? Don't fuss, Ellen. Please don't fuss. Sherry, then. No, I have it here. Well, this pillow will be more comfortable. Oh, Ellen, stop. I'm not helpless. Yet. What you can do is close the terrace window. There's a draft again. Oh, Mr. Stephen, but the window's closed. There's no draft. Not from here.

Not open? But I'll fill it. Oh, yes, well, never mind, then. It's a chill you have, Mr. Stephen. And I'm going to have Billy fetch Dr. Benson. For God's sake, stop, Ellen, stop it. Get Billy to stoke up the fire, and that's all. Now, let me alone. Yes, sir. No, not a draft. They'll have the house to themselves now, soon enough. As you can see, I'm the most unfortunate of men.

I'm rich, and I'm respected and well-educated and, until just recently, of sound health. I'm the only child of Joel and Julia Hetman. My father was a well-to-do country gentleman. His wife, my mother, was a beautiful and obedient woman to whom he was passionately attached with what I now can suspect was a jealous and exacting devotion.

The details that I can relate hardly add up to a story. Indeed, they could fit together in any number of ways. I've imagined all sorts, with feelings so opposed that they've worn down finally to no feeling at all. It doesn't matter now. It ought never to have mattered. Briefly, then, I was a student at Yale.

One day I received a telegram from my father of such urgency that in compliance with its unexplained demand, I left at once for home. Father? Father? Stephen. Stephen, this way. Stephen, it's terrible to have to tell you this way. Well, tell me for God's sake. What is it? Your mother. It's your mother, Stephen. What's happened? She's ill?

Father, now what's happened? She's dead, Stephen. Murdered. Barbarously murdered. Murdered? Why? We don't know. We don't know. We don't know anything. I had gone to Nashville. I didn't expect to be back before the following afternoon.

There was a complication, and I returned home the same night. It was late, nearly dawn. I found I had no latchkey. I didn't want to wake the servants, so I walked around to the back. I don't know why the doors are always locked. But to my surprise, the back door was open. It was standing open, as if someone had just used it. I entered and went upstairs to your mother's room. She...

In the darkness, I stumbled over her. I'll spare you the detail, save to say that she was already dead of strangulation. But why? Was anything taken from the house? No, nothing. So far as we could see. What about the servants? Hadn't they heard any sound? No, no, nothing. And the assassin? Is there no trace of him? Nothing. But those terrible finger marks on her throat. Dear God, that I may forget them.

I gave up my studies and remained with my father. He was greatly changed. He had always been of a sedate, taciturn disposition. Now he had fallen into so deep a dejection that nothing could hold his attention. Yet anything could arouse him to a fitful interest. A footfall, a sudden entrance. One might have called it an apprehension. Eh? Eh, who's there?

"'Who is it?' "'It's only me, father.' "'Oh, oh, come in. "'Don't stand there in the dark that way.' "'Shall we take a walk this evening?' "'No, no, the garden's chilly and I'm tired. "'I think I'll go to my room directly.' "'I worry about you, father. "'I know that this whole thing has been terrible for you, "'but you've become too melancholy. "'Have you taken to sleepwalking as well?'

"'Sleepwalking? Why?' "'Last night. Didn't you enter my room? "'I heard steps along the hall, and then my door opened. "'Someone stood there in the doorway. "'I thought it was you, and I called out. "'When I turned on the light, you'd gone. "'Got to the door only soon enough to see your door closing down the hall. "'Wasn't it you, father? Can you remember?' "'No. No, no, it wasn't me. "'It must have been your mother.'

She worries if you come in. Yes, yes, I remember. She got up during the night and then came back. She couldn't have. Stephen, what are you trying to do? Do? Isn't it bad enough for me now? Must you make things worse with your fantasies, your imagining? Well, it might have been a servant. It must have been Ellen. She's always doting over you. I only wondered that it...

Well, if it wasn't you, it might have been... What do you mean? Well, I mean that the assassin might have returned, might still be in the house. That's nonsense. Nonsense! Why? He's never been found. He's still somewhere. Yes, I suppose. Father, have you told me everything that happened that night? Of course. What else? Why do you ask? Because it doesn't make sense. Yes.

Mother was adored by everyone. She was the kindest woman who ever walked the earth. No sane creature could possibly want to hurt her. Sane? Why do you say sane? Father, did she have a love? Stephen! Was that it? Is that who opened the back door that night you came back from Nashville? Are you hiding that from me to save her memory? Oh, stop! He might have done it. I could imagine that. Mother loved you...

I know that. She was devoted to you. She'd never have been unfaithful, but she was kind to everyone. I can imagine his jealousy, his fury at her refusing him. Stephen, stop this. Well, what did happen? She was murdered. Isn't that enough? Enough? Yes. But is it enough for her? Is she still here in this house? Does she haunt us, searching for her lover or her murderer?

Does she blame us, father? Stephen, let it alone. For God's sake, let it alone. I never saw her, but I was convinced that her ghost walked the house. Terrible cold of the presence of the dead was everywhere. Perhaps he saw her. I could not, but there were moments at night... Stephen. Oh, Stephen. Mother! Stephen. The iciness of the grave. The smell of decay.

No, I won't see your cat. I imagined. I saw her face, hideous, quiet with hate, rotting, rotting. No. No, go away. I am not your assassin. Your assassin. One night, a few months later, my father and I were returning home from our evening's walk. A full moon was high above the horizon, and the road...

Save for the black shadows at the border and trees, it was a ghostly white. As we approached the gate of our dwelling, the father suddenly stopped. He clutched my arm. Father, what's the matter? There. There. What is that? I see nothing, father. There. At the gate, directly ahead. There's nothing, father. Come on now, we'd better go in. You're ill. No, go away.

Go away. Father, what do you see? No, Julia, no. No. I tried to follow him, but for some reason couldn't move from the spot. Go away. The chill had touched my face. Julia. It was all about me. Julia. I couldn't turn my head. No, no. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. When I turned to look for my father, he was gone. And in all the years that have passed...

No whisper of his fate has reached me. I remained here. My youth of brilliant parts and promise faded. Its lifeblood drained, sifted into the darkness and the silence of this house. Voices seek me out. I hear them not, but only doubt. Doubt, doubt in emptiness.

Drink up. Drink up. Tomorrow. Today, I suppose, you'd say I was alive. Alive. And tomorrow... Well, there's no tomorrow. No yesterday. There's nothing beyond that forest. Those trees. That's all I can remember back to. Forest. Forest.

20 years ago, I came out of a forest. Made my way across the country. All the way to this place. Well, that was something. That was something. I didn't even know my name. I called myself... I called myself Casper. Casper. Everyone wants to know, what's your name? What's your name? Casper.

In this world, everyone must have a name. It prevents confusion, even when it does not establish an identity. Casper prevented confusion and spent 20 years trying to find a comfortable way to die. There's some small light, though, of a past. I don't believe it. I can't believe it. That's the only thing...

That seems like a recollection, even if it's wrong or confused. The only thing I have of that life, two scenes that play over and over. First, there's a house, a big house, owned by a prosperous planter. There's a woman, a beautiful woman, like a child, and a boy, their son,

He's a vague figure, never clear, usually not there at all. The father loves the wife terribly, but he's tortured by a fear that she doesn't belong to him. He can seem to believe her devotion, her love, and he's reduced to vulgar and commonplace ways of testing her. One day, he goes to the city.

"'Telzer, I'll be gone till the next afternoon. But I'll come back, I'll come back that night, and go to a rear door that I had left unlocked. It's dark all round the house. But as I approach, I hear something. The door is open, and I figure a man. I thought it was a man. I feared it was a man.'

Sometimes now I can't even believe it was human. He headed straight for me, then just disappeared in the dark. I didn't know where to chase him. So intensely did my jealousy and rage fill me I didn't search. I rushed into the house and up the stairs, up the stairs to her room, and I pushed open her door, saw the bed, vaguely.

"'The covers tossed about. "'I went to it, empty. "'She was gone, escaped. "'Or hiding, hiding. "'I looked, I looked about in the darkness.'

Walk straight to a corner where she knelt against the wall. I could see her face, the terror in her eyes, the guilt, the guilt. My hands went to throat. I kneeled on her struggling body and there, there in the darkness, I strangled, strangled her till she was dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. No, it never happened. It never happened. I don't believe it. I was possessed. Possessed by something or someone. It's all I have. It's all that comes from me. I go over it again and again. Now, there's another scene. Another dream. Another vision of the night.

I stand among shadows along a moonlit road. Someone is with me. I cannot see who, but there's another presence. Where the road ends at a gate, in the shadow of the large house, I catch the gleam of white garments. Then the figure of a woman before me on the road. Her, my wife, Julia, murdered Julia.

Death in the face. Marks. Marks on the throat. Eyes affixed on mine with an infinite sadness.

Sadness, not hate. Not menace, but the apparition terrifies me. Terrifies me. Still terrifies me. She still reaches out to me here. No. No. Drink up. Drink up. This does it. Wipes it out.

Wipes it out for a little while. For a little while. Stephen. Stephen. No. No, go away. I am not your necessity. It's no use. And it only confuses me why he's so fearful. He doesn't see me. He never saw me. I can't imagine what he would see now. But fear has no sense at all. It's crazy. It's crazy. It's crazy.

It makes horrible things out of those who want only kindness and some peace. I keep wandering among these scenes, these rooms, in search of something that just doesn't matter anymore. What really happened? No one seems to know. Joel's gone, and there's only Stephen left for a little while. Stephen's my son. He wasn't here at the time. He was away at college. Joel wasn't here either.

He'd gone to Nashville on some business and was staying the night. I'd retired early and fallen into a peaceful sleep, but then I awoke. The house seemed more than usually quiet. I had a strange sense of danger, of something. Not that I was afraid of being alone. I was often alone, but this was different. There was a chill as one waits for a thing long imagined or feared, and the feeling grew as I lay there.

I felt as if I were lying straight and cold in my coffin. The white satin around my head, the smell of dried flowers, a little bouquet I held in my hand. I wanted to pull my fingers apart, but couldn't, as in a dream. I strained for some sign of life, and then I could feel my heart pounding. It was a dream. I sat up in the dark and listened. My own heart was the only sound at first.

I listened, and after a while I wondered if the beating came from inside me or somewhere else. I tried to hear which, and then as if my own fears had decided, had reached out into the dark house and began to assemble some figure, some thing. I heard it first on the stairway from the back entrance just below my room. A soft, irregular sound of footfalls on the stairs. It was slow, hesitant, uncertain,

as of something that did not see its way. To my disordered reason, all the more terrifying for that as the approach of some blind and mindless malevolence to which there is no appeal. I said that fear has no brains. It's an idiot. But this had a growing purpose. Taking shape as it approached my door. Stood there. I heard the breath. He hesitated, his hand on the door. And it turned and went away.

Down the stairs, hurriedly, as if in sudden fear, I rose to call for help, but hardly had my shaken hand found the door not when I heard it returning. It ran up the stairs, shaking the house. I fled to a corner of the room and crouched on the floor. I tried to call Joel, my husband, but suddenly it was in the room, searching me out. Oh, it had gone to the bed and stopped there.

and turned and came directly to me. I felt a strangling clutch upon my throat. I beat feebly against something's palm, backward. I felt my tongue thrust itself between my teeth. And then I passed into this life. No, I have no knowledge of what it was.

The sum of what we know at death is the measure of what we know afterwards. No new light falls upon any page of it. In memory is written all that we can read. We hide in the dark and peer out into the dim light of the present and the fading past. But there is one more scene, a night. We know when it is night, for then you retire to your houses, and we can venture from our places of concealment to move unafraid about our old homes.

To look in at the windows, even to enter rooms and gaze upon your faces as you sleep. I could see my husband Joel and Stephen. How strange they looked. How lone. Had they loved me after all? They were saddened and aged by my departure. I tried so often to make them see me, some way to let them know I was here, and send them my great love and pity. But always, if I dared approach, awake them in their sleep.

They would turn toward me the terrible eyes of the living, frightening me, and I would hesitate as if my hand was now upon the door and turn away. On this night I had searched for them, but they were nowhere in the house. I looked about the moonlit lawn and then moved in the white light along the path to the gate. Suddenly I saw them on the road. They had stopped walking and were looking toward the house. I heard their voices.

They stood in the shadow of a group of trees. They stood near, so near. Their faces were turned toward me. And Joel, Joel's eyes were fixed on mine. He saw me. At last he saw me. All my terror and hesitation was gone. He sees. He sees. He will understand. I moved forward, smiling and consciously beautiful, to offer myself to his arms, to comfort him.

to speak words that would restore the broken bonds between the living and the dead. Joel, Joel, Joel. But his face went white with fear. His eyes were those of a hunted animal. He backed away and ran, ran right into the woods. He never returned. Maybe he died and wanders about some other places I do hear. And Stephen...

Poor Stephen is left even more alone. I've never been able to make him know that I'm here, watching him, longing to care for him as a mother should. But soon he too must pass to this life invisible and be lost to me. Lost. Lost.

That was The Moonlit Road by Ambrose Bierce. The technical production was by John Whitey. The part of Julia was played by Norma Jean Wanbig. Stephen was played by Martin Ponch, with Nancy Ponch as Ellen. The part of Joel and the adaptation was by your host of The Black Mass, Eric Bauersfeld. And now, good night. Good night.

Oh yes, oh that's beautiful, lovely.

More lovely because it's in ruins. Looks so lonely. Forgotten. Stone or... After all this time, the name's still there. Could a place like this ever be built up again, I wonder? No, never. Too far gone. So still.

Fool for worms. Dead and rotten. Fool for worms. Dead and rotten. Hello. If death was a thing that money could buy, the rich they would live, and the poor they would die. I was thinking of going inside. It's a...

It must have been a fine house. It was a grand house in its days, sir. Donovan Harrison of Sarsfield. Sir Dominic Sarsfield was the last of your stock. He lost his life not six foot away from where you're sitting. Biotech. The new soak and pre-wash powder presents Beyond Midnight.

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Use it to make new again. Soaking in biotech removes the stains and dirt that washing won't. Just soak. Just soak in biotech. Hey, do you mind that mortar? Seven or eight feet off the ground, sir. Yeah, that's seven foot off the ground, sir. Maybe it is you not knowing what it is.

Well, I... I dare say not. Let it sustain from the weather. Oh, it is nothing so lucky, sir. Nothing so lucky. That's a splash of brains and blood. It's dead as hundred years, and it'll never leave while the war stands. He was murdered, then? Worse than that, sir. Killed himself, perhaps? Worse than that, it says. It's crushed, but it's been nothing to harm.

Are you older than I look, sir? You wouldn't guess me years. Well, uh... Oh, don't be put out by the hump on your back. It's been there since me birth, and I no longer mind it. You know, it might throw a man into a quadrant if he's asked to tell me years, huh?

Well, I would say you were... ...five and fifty. I was seventy-nine last Catholic mass. Five and fifty, all right. And something at the back of it, too. Well, I... I can hardly believe it. But... ...you don't remember Sir... ...Dominic Sarsfield's death, do you? No, sir. That was a long while before I was born. But me grandfather was butler here a lot ago...

And many a time I heard tell how Sir Dominic came by his dance. It must have been one of the most beautiful houses in the whole of Ireland to this day. The wind ripped the roof and the rain rotted the timber. And little by little, in eighty years' time, it came to what you see. Do I have a light in the fridge still? With a shake of old times. I never come this way, but I take a look in. I don't wonder you like it, though. Beautiful spot.

And a field of noble trees. Yeah, you wish you'd seen the glen where the knots was ripe. They're the sweetest knots in all Ireland, I think. You'd fill your pockets where you'd be looking about you. I know, well... Gee, your honour, the woods about here is nothing to what they were. All the mountains along here was wood when me father was a pursuant. And my old wood was the grandest of them all.

All oak, mostly. And all cut down as bad as the road. Not one left here that's fit to compare with them. In which way did your honour come hither from Lever? No. No, come on. Well, then you passed the crown where Maroa Wood was in the former times. You came under a lift and a footer to stay up north of the hill above the village here. Just near that, Maroa Wood was.

She was there, Sir Dominic Sarsfield, first met the devil. And she said, Lord, between us and her, how bad a meeting it was, him and his. The devil? Aye, the devil. What, what happened, Sir Dominic? Sit ye down, Your Honour.

Maybe I'll chain a chain that'll make your hair stand up on end. Yes. Yes, I'd like to. It was a fine state when Saddam and I came to it.

I faced him and fiddled him three quarters for all the fiddlers from any moily round. There was wine by the hogshank for the quality, and beer and cider enough to float the navy for the boys and girls and the likes of me. There was money, my boy, there was money. And when the third hour came to power, he set about getting rid of it. He'd educated in England, you know, spoke with the Lord in our tongue. He'd showered up his dogs and horses, and he travelled in France, and he had a great time of it.

But once he was gone merrymaking for so long that a folk heard tell of him but three years no more. Though the place was kept, of course, waiting on his return, to meet Grandfather and the house attendant on Sir Dominic's coming back, you see. In one night, one wild night, wise Parrington, Sir Dominic did come back. There came laughing on the window an old corner hand on the bottom of Grandfather.

Was sitting by the fire. While he was sitting there. Who knocks there? Who cars? Who cars?

Oh, God, get away from me. Get away from me. Get away from me. Oh, what do you have here? You must be a fool. Oh, never mind all that, Connor. Sit down. Sit here. Sit opposite me. I want to talk with you.

And don't be afraid to say what you think. And why should I be afraid, Master Dominic? Yourself was always a good master to me, and so was your father, as he sold before you. And I'd say the truth and die a devil, and more than that for any sass-field of the northern. Much less yourself. I'm good right, I love. It's all over with me, Connor. What a big... It is past praying for. The vast guinea's gone. The old place will follow it.

It must be so. And I'm coming here? I don't know why. I will ask to look around me like a lost ghost before I go off into the dark again. It was the gambling and the drinking and the womanizing. But enough of that. Listen to me. If you should hear of my death,

Be sure to give me an oak box. Yes, the oak box. The oak box in the closet, Conn, to my cousin Pat Tharsfield in Dublin. And a sword and a pistol of my grandfather carried at Ockham and two or three more trifling things of the kind. Conn, Conn, they say if the devil gives you money overnight, you'll find nothing but a bag full of pebbles, chips and nuts in the morning.

If I thought he played fair, I'm in the humor to make a bargain with him tonight. Lord, for me! They say the country is full of men enlisting soldiers for the King of France. If I light on one of them, I'll not refuse his offer. How contrary things go. How long is it since Captain Waller and me fought the duel at Newcastle? Six years, Master. And you broke his toy with the bullet of the first shot. I did, Con. I did.

and i wish instead it shot me to the heart have you any whiskey oh sure sure oh god and have a look at my horse sure i won't be a minute running out to the stable and see if your horse be a mistake i'm not going to the stable

I may as well tell you, Fong. You'll find it out anyway. I trust the deer park. If I come back... You'll see me in an hour's time, but... Anyway, you'd better not follow me, for if you do, I'll shoot you. It'll be a poor ending. Farfetch'd. And with that, he walked south into Osweather. Leaving me grandfather with a heavy heart. He went down toward Morawood. And I guess he made up his mind that if no better came to himself between that and there...

He'd hang himself from one of the oak branches with his crevasse. And the weather cleared itself away anyhow. The night got finer, though it was still cold. The whiskey had cleared his head, no doubt, and he was thinking of enlisting to be sure in the French king's army. When he walked into the woods and sat down, he knew full well that a man might take his own life any time. What is it possible for him to take it back again? Despite the cold, he was almost fallen asleep.

Well, he's quite a fine gentleman, Colin Tamesa. I guess he was a handsome man like himself. And wore a cocked hat with gold lace around it, such as officers wear on their coats. And he had on a dress such as French officers wore in them times. He came and stopped in front of Sir Dominic. And the two gentlemen took off their hats to one another. I am recruiting, sir, for my sovereign. And you'll find my money won't turn into pebbles, chips and nutshells by tomorrow.

And I'm thinking, sir, that that gentleman pulls out a big pack of money and gold. And the minute he sets eyes upon him, Sir Dominic must have felt the very hair stand up straight on his head.

I feel like a new man. It's a lovely day today. I thought you had... I took a grandpa headache powder, and I'm well better. When colds and flu are about, grandpa headache powders are what you need. Grandpa headache powders work fast because they dissolve almost immediately. Grandpa makes all those little flu symptoms disappear quickly. So, whenever you're in pain, get fast relief. Get grandpa headache powder. Ah, grandpa.

Just soak, just soak in biotech. Stains, grass stains, collar and cut stains, ingrained dirt, soil and grime. Out they come and you don't stir a finger. Just soak, just soak in biotech. Biotech with natural enzymes is the pre-wash powder with the most enzymes to give you extra pre-wash power.

Absolutely no rubbing, no color loss, no fabric wear. Soaking in biotech removes the stains and dirt that washing won't. Just soak. Just soak in biotech. Don't be afraid. For money won't burn you. If it proves honest gold and if it prospers with you, I'm willing to make a bargain. This is the last day of February. I'll serve you seven years. And at the end of that time, you will serve me. And I'll come for you.

When the seven years are over, when the clock turns the minute between February and March, and the first of March, you'll come away with me. Or never. You'll not find me a bad master. I love my own, and I command all the pleasures and glory of the world. And if you'd rather wait for eight months and twenty-eight days before you sign the writing, you may, if you meet me here. But I can't do a great deal for you in the meantime.

If you don't sign then, all you get from me up to that time will vanish away. And you'll be just as you are tonight. Ready to hang yourself on the first tree you meet.

I don't know, John, what did it? The heaviest load I ever carried. Open it, John. Open it. Come on. And sure, how many counts did every guinea in the bag? And it took him until daylight. And he made Conner, me grandfather, swear to tell no living soul about it all.

"'And Sir Dominic went about spending the gold in the bag, "'and the eight months went rapidly away, "'and the appointed day drew close, "'and his debts began to pile up all around him. "'And by the time the night of the 28th come round, "'he was almost ready to lose his senses "'with all the demands that was rising up against him, "'and nothing to meet them but the help of one dreadful. "'He had to depend on it nightly in the oak woods down there below.'

Ha! You found the money good, but it was not enough. No matter. You shall have enough and to spare. I'll see after your luck and I'll give you a hint whenever it can serve you. Any time you want to see me, you only have to come down here and call my face to mind and wish me present. You shan't a shilling by the end of the year and you shall never miss the right card, the best throw or the winning horse. Are you willing? Uh-huh.

Take this needle. I require three drops of blood from your arm. I shall catch each drop in this acorn cup. Break your arm. Now. Take this pen. Write again what is written there upon this parchment. The bargain is sealed and can never be broken.

And Sir Dominic was soon out of debt. And he took off his old ways again. And everything was fine. But there was not a poor man on the estate that was not happier than Sir Dominic. And the years passed. Don Arden was alive again. Music, happy ones singing. All were happy except the master.

The morning never ran out, just as the queer one Sir Dominic Mick by the Oaks swore it would not. The years passed and the seventh approached fast. And Sir Dominic grew more and more out of humor. Took to go on for solitary rides, sometimes at night. Finally, he lost heart altogether and sent for the grave. No more to tell, Father. That's how it is with me. That's how it's been for six or more years. I've only ten months to run now.

What can I do, father? Is there a word? The noise has no idea. No idea. But what, father? My soul must... No. No, I... I'll tell you what you do. I'll tell you. Ten months, you see. Ten months to run. You must give over, Doysen. And you must give over swearing and drinking and all bad company.

You must live a virtuous life. A steady, blameless life. Until the seven years bargain it out. You must live as if in retreat. Oh, Dominic. Dominic. For money. For good luck and trust. You're so mad. I wish I'd never been born. Never say that.

The moths went quickly, and Sir Tavenick lived a blameless life. Not a curse passed his lips, not a dice did he throw, not a royal dance did he lead. Never looked at a loose woman. And you may guess he felt queer enough when the morning of the 28th of February came. The priest came again by appointment, and for hours they prayed together till the clock struck twelve.

Sir Dominic and his reverence were together in the room, you see, and kept off their prayers till the clock struck twelve and an end of February for that year. He has not been tempted. I will deliver us from evil. Marley.

So now, Sir Dominic, he may as well have a pleasant evening. After all, he's faster than brilliant.

He sent round a half a dozen of his neighbouring gentlemen to come and toy with him. And there was no end to the boys.

And soon the cards came out and the guineas began to change hands. And his reverence, who stayed, crept away when he saw the way the night was gone. And the party became drunk and sure enough and lasted into the next morning. Whereupon the gentleman took breakfast and slept on the day, only to begin again the next day.

All right, now let's have another game. We never had a game. Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Gentlemen! A toast! A toast, gentlemen! Please, please, quiet! Gentlemen, a toast. To the best 1st of March I ever sat down upon with my friends. It ain't the 1st of March. What? It ain't the 1st of March. What is it, then?

It is the 29th of February, late pier. What? No! It can't be! Say it's not! I think...

There's a gentleman downstairs, a queer gentleman, if ever I see one. Tell your master, says he, in as awful a voice as I ever did hear, tell your master that I'm here by appointment and expect him downstairs by appointment. No! I can't come down yet! Gentlemen! Will any of you jump from the window and bring the priest here? I fear yes, for heaven's sake, gentlemen! He says unless you come down right away, he'll come up to you. I... I...

I don't understand this. I'll see what it means. And the young noble went with a fish as if he was to meet the hangman. Downstairs to meet what? And when he reaches the bottom, his gentleman is there to meet him. And directly that one sees him, he catches Sir Dominic up in his arms and carries him out the great door. Oh!

And Sir Dominic! And the queer one carries Sir Dominic outside... and whirls him round high with the strength of a beast... and crashes his head upon the wall. Sir Dominic was a corpse. There was not a gasp left in him. Pat Hannifin was coming up to the house early the next morning... and after he passed the little brook...

His dog that was by his side makes a sudden wheel... and runs howling by that wall there. And that minute two men pass Donovan in complete silence. One of them looked like Sir Dominic... and the other, Silvus, was like nothing on earth. They made no sound with their feet... and only the dog howled fit to wake the dead. And later, Donovan found the master's body lying there... by the wall...

On that spot, the head smashed and the body cold and stiff. It's late. I must get back to the village now. And I'll be leaving too. Good night, you old man. And God bless you. Good night.

so

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out they all come and you don't stir a finger. Just soak, just soak in biotech. Biotech with natural enzymes is a pre-wash powder with the most enzymes to give you extra pre-wash power. Absolutely no rubbing, no color loss, no fabric wear. Use it for cotton, silks, woolen, synthetics. Use it to make new again.

Soaking in biotech removes the stains and dirt that washing won't. Just soak. Just soak in biotech. Beyond Midnight is presented every Friday night at half past nine by Biotech, the new soak and pre-wash powder. The program is adapted for broadcasting and produced by Michael McCabe. In Beyond Midnight next week, we're broadcasting The Room.

This is a rather frightening tale in the great tradition of ghost stories. The room in question is in the north wing of a house owned by a certain Mrs. Watts. The house has been in her family for many years, and the room in the north wing has a very terrible reputation. No one who has spent a night there has been found in the same condition as they went in when the door is opened the next morning.

A duke, a well-known ghost hunter and dabbler in the supernatural, slept in the yellow room, and the results were terrifying. Before the great window was blocked in, one poor inmate jumped to the ground below to his death. Mrs. Watts herself has never dared spend more than a few minutes there, but she's an old woman now.

and by her own admittance, she can't bear the thought of dying without knowing just what it is that haunts a person who spends a night in the room. Consequently, she offers a thousand pounds, and Ronald Todd takes up the offer. The haunting of Ronald Todd is eerie and inexplicable, and at the very end of the story, there is a surprise which might anger and puzzle, but will certainly intrigue.

Beyond Midnight is presented every Friday night at half past nine by Biotech, the new soak and pre-wash powder. The program is adapted for broadcasting and produced by Michael McKay. ♪♪

♪♪ ♪♪

Mind Web. Welcome to a half hour of Mind Web. Short stories from the worlds of speculative fiction. This story comes from the June 1961 issue of Galaxy.

It's Paul Anderson's My Object All Sublime. We met in line of business. Michael's firm wanted to start a subdivision on the far side of Evanston and discovered that I held title to some of the most promising acreage. They made me a good offer, but I was stubborn. They raised it, and I stayed stubborn. And finally, the boss himself looked me up.

He wasn't entirely what I'd expected. Aggressive, of course, but in so polite a way that it didn't offend his manner so urbane you rarely noticed his lack of formal education. Which lack he was remedying quite fast, anyhow. Via night classes and extension courses as well as omnivorous reading. We went out for a drink while we talked the matter over. It led me to a bar that had little of Chicago about it. Quiet, shabby, no jukebox, no television.

© BF-WATCH TV 2021

I explained I didn't care about money one way or another, but objected to bulldozing some rather good-looking countryside in order to erect still another chrome-plated slum. Michael stuffed his pipe before answering. He was a lean, erect man, long-chinned and Roman-nosed. His hair grizzled, his eyes dark and luminous.

"'Didn't my representative explain?' he said. "'We aren't planning a row of Idako split-level sites. We have six basic designs in mind, with variations to be located in the pattern, like so.' He took out pencil and paper and began to sketch. As he talked, he made his own case better than anyone had done for him. Like it or not,' he said, "'this was the middle twentieth century, and mass production was here to stay.'

A community need not be less attractive for being ready-made. Could in fact gain an artistic unity. He proceeded to show me how. He didn't press me too hard, and conversation wandered. Oh, delightful spot, this, I told him. How'd you find it? He shrugged. I often prowl about, especially at night, exploring. Isn't that rather dangerous? Well, not in comparison, he said with a touch of grimace. Ah, I gather you weren't born over here.

No, no, I didn't arrive in the United States until 1946 in what they called a DP, a displaced person. I became Thad Michaels because I got tired of spelling out Tadeusz Michalowski, nor did I want any part of old country sentimentalism. I'm really a zealous assimilationist. Otherwise, he seldom talked very much about himself.

Later, I got some details of his early rise in business from admiring and envious competitors. Some of them didn't yet believe it was possible to sell a house with radiant heating for less than $20,000 and show a profit. Michaels had found ways to make it possible. Not bad for a penniless immigrant. I checked up and found he'd been admitted on a special visa in consideration of services rendered the U.S. Army in the last stages of the European War. Those services had taken nerve as well as quick-wittedness.

Meanwhile, our acquaintance developed. I sold him the land he wanted, but we continued to see each other, sometimes in the tavern, sometimes at my bachelor apartment, most often in his lakeshore penthouse. He had a stunning blonde wife and a couple of bright, well-mannered boys. Nonetheless, he was a lonely man, and I fulfilled his need for friendship. It was a year or so after we first met that he told me the story.

I'd been invited over for Thanksgiving dinner. Afterward, we sat around and talked and talked and talked. When we had ranged from the chances of an upset in the next city election to the chances of other planets following the same general course of history as our own, Emily excused herself and went to bed. This was long past midnight. Michaels and I kept on talking. I hadn't seen him so excited before.

It was as if that last subject or some particular word had opened a door for him. Finally, he got up, refilled our whiskey glasses with a motion not altogether steady, and walked across the living room, noiseless on that deep green carpet, to the picture window. The night was clear and sharp. We overlooked the city, streaks and webs and coils of glittering color, ruby amethyst, emerald topaz, and the dark sheet of Lake Michigan. Almost, it seemed, we could glimpse endless white plains beyond.

But overhead arched the sky, crystal black, with a great bear stood on his tail. And Orion went striding along the Milky Way. I hadn't often seen so big and frosty a view. And he said, Well, after all, I know what I'm talking about. I stirred deep in my armchair. Only one shaded lamp lit the room so that the star swarms had also been visible to me when I passed by the window earlier. I jibed a little. Uh, personally?

And he glanced back toward me, his face stiff. What would you say if I answered yes? I sipped my drink. King's Ransom is a noble and comforting brew, most especially when the earth itself seems to tone with a deepening chill. I'd suppose you had your reasons. Well, wait to see what they are. He grinned one-sidedly. Oh, well, I'm from this planet, too. And yet, if the sky is so wide and strange, don't you think the strangeness would affect men who...

You know who went there? Wouldn't it seep into them? So they carried it back in their bones. And Earth was never quite the same afterward. Well, go on. You know I like fantasies. He stared outward and then back again, and suddenly he tossed off his drink. The violent gesture was unlike him. But so had his hesitation been. And he said in a harsh tone, Okay, then. Okay, I'll tell you a fantasy. It's a story for winter.

"'It's a cold story that you are best advised not to take so serious.' I drew on the excellent cigar he'd given me and waited in the silence he needed. He paced a few times back and forth before the window eyes to the floor until he filled his glass anew and sat down near me. He didn't look at me but a picture on the wall, a somber, unintelligible thing which no one else liked. He seemed to get strength from it before he began talking, fast and softly.'

Once upon a time, a very, very long time in the future, there was a civilization. I shall not describe it to you, for, well, it would be impossible. Could you go back to the time of the Egyptian pyramid builders and tell them about this city below us? I don't mean they wouldn't believe you. Of course they wouldn't, but that hardly matters. I mean, they would not understand. Nothing you say could make sense to them. And the way people work and think and believe would be...

Well, less comprehensible than those lights and towers and machines. Not so? If I spoke to you of people in the future living among great blinding energies and of genetic changelings and imaginary wars and talking stones and a certain blind hunter, well, you might feel anything at all, but you would not understand.

So, I ask you only to imagine how many thousands of times this planet has circled the sun, and how deeply buried and forgotten we are. And then also to imagine that this other civilization thinks in patterns so foreign that it has ignored every limitation of logic and natural law to discover means of traveling in time. So, while the ordinary dweller in that age, I can't exactly call him a citizen or anything else for which we have a word because it would be too misleading,

The average educated dweller knows in a vague, uninterested way that millennia ago, some semi-savages were the first to split the atom. Only one or two men have actually been here, walked among us, studied and mapped us, and returned with a file of information for the central brain, if I call it by such a name. No one else is concerned with us any more than you are concerned with early Mesopotamian archaeology. You see?

He dropped his gaze to the tumbler in his hand and held it there as if the whiskey were an oracular pool. The silence grew. At last I said, Oh, very well. For the sake of the story, I'll accept the premise. I imagine time travelers would be unnoticeable. They'd have their own techniques of disguise and so on. Wouldn't want to change their own past. And he said, Oh, there's no danger of that. It's only that they couldn't learn much if they went around insisting they were from the future. Just imagine. I chuckled.

Michaels gave me a shadowed look. Apart from the scientific, can you guess what use there might be for time travel? Well, trade in objects of art or natural resources, I suppose. Go back to the dinosaur age and dig up iron before man appeared to strip the richest minds. He shook his head. Well, think again. See, they'd only want a limited number of Minoan statuettes, main vases, or third world hegemony dwarfs chiefly for their museums.

If museum isn't too inaccurate a word. I tell you, they are not like us. As for natural resources, they're beyond the point of needing any. They make their own. He paused as if before a final plunge then. What was this penal colony the French abandoned? Devil's Island? Yeah, yeah, that was it. Can you imagine a better revenge on a condemned criminal than to maroon him in the past?

Why, I should think they'd be above any concept of revenge or even of deterrence by horrible examples. Even in this century, we're aware that that doesn't work, are we? Are you sure? Side by side with the growth of today's enlightened penology, haven't we seen a corresponding growth of crime itself? You were wondering some time ago how I dared walk the night streets alone, remember? Furthermore, punishment is a catharsis of society as a whole.

Up in the future, they'd tell you that public hangings did reduce the crime rate, which would otherwise have been still higher. And somewhat more important, these spectacles made possible the 18th century birth of real humanitarianism. He raised their sardonic brow. Or so they claim in the future. It doesn't matter whether they're right or merely rationalizing the degraded element in their own civilization. All you need to assume is that they do send their very worst criminals back into the past.

Well, that's rather rough on the past, isn't it? No, no, not really, for a number of reasons, including the fact that everything they caused to happen has already happened. Damn, English just isn't built for talking about these paradoxes. Mainly, though, you have to remember that they don't waste all this effort on ordinary miscreants. One has to be a very rare criminal to deserve exile and time.

And the worst crime in the world depends on the particular year of the world's history. Murder, brigandage, treason, heresy, narcotics peddling, slaving, patriotism, really the whole catalog. All have rated capital punishment in some epics and have all been lightly regarded in others and positively commended in still others. Think back and see if I'm not right.

I regarded him for a while, observing how deep the lines were in his face and recalling that at his age he shouldn't be so gray. I said, well, very well agreed, but would not a man from the future possessing all its knowledge? He set his glass down with audible force. What knowledge? Use your brains. Imagine yourself left naked and alone in Babylon. Now, how much Babylonian language or history do you know? Who's the present king? How much longer will he reign? Who will succeed him?

What are the laws and customs you must obey? You remember that eventually the Assyrians or the Persians or someone will conquer Babylon and they'll be hell to pay. But when? How? Is a current war a mere border skirmish or an all-out struggle? If it's the latter, is Babylon going to win? If not, what peace terms will be imposed?

Yeah, there wouldn't be 20 men today who could answer those questions without looking up the answers in a book, and you're not one of them, nor have you been given a book. Well, I think I'd head for the nearest temple once I'd picked up enough of the language, and, well, I'd tell the priest I could make, uh, well, fireworks. He laughed with a small merriment. You're in Babylon, remember? Where do you find sulfur? Where do you find saltpeter?

If you can get across to the priest what you want and somehow persuade him to obtain the stuff for you, how do you compound a powder that'll, you know, actually go off instead of just fizzing? For your information, that's quite an art. Hell, you couldn't even get a berth as a deckhand. You'd be lucky if you ended up scrubbing floors. In fact, a slave in the field's a likely a career, isn't it? The flyer sank low, and I conceded. Yeah, all right, I guess that's true. They pick the era with special care, you know.

He looked back toward the window. Seen from our chairs, reflection on the glass blotted out the stars so that we were only aware of the night itself. When a man is sentenced to banishment, all the experts confer, pointing out what the periods of their specialties would be like for this particular individual. You might see how a squeamish intellectual type dropped into Homeric Greece would find it a living nightmare, whereas a rowdy type might get along pretty well, might even end up a respected warrior.

"'If the rowdy was not the blackest of criminals, "'they might actually leave him near the hall of Agamemnon, "'condemning him to no more than danger, discomfort, and homesickness.'" Oh, my God. The homesickness. So much darkness rose in him as he spoke that I sought to steady him with a dry remark. "'Well, he must immunize the convict every ancient disease, "'otherwise this would be only an elaborate death sentence, right?' His eyes focused on me again.

Yes, and of course the longevity serum is still active in his veins. That's all, however. He's dropped in an unfrequented spot after dark. The machine vanishes, and he's cut off for the rest of his life. All he knows is that they've chosen an era for him with such characteristics that they expect that the punishment will fit his crime. Stillness fell once more upon us until the clock on the mantel became the loudest thing in the world, as if all other sound had frozen to death outside.

I glanced at his dial. The night was old. Soon the east would be turning pale. When I looked back, he was still watching me, disconcertingly intent, and I asked him, What was your crime? He didn't seem taken aback. Only, said wearily, What does it matter? I told you the crimes of one age are the heroisms of another. If my attempt had succeeded, the centuries to come would have adored my name. But I failed.

A lot of people must have got hurt. The whole world must have hated you. Yes. This is a fantasy, I'm telling you, of course. You know, to pass the time. I smiled and said, and I'm playing along with you. His tension eased a trifle. He leaned back. His legs stretched across that glorious carpet. So, given as much of the fantasies I've related, how did you deduce the extent of my alleged guilt?

Well, it was your past life. When and where were you left? He said in as bleak a voice as I've ever heard. Near Warsaw in August 1939. I don't imagine you care to talk about the war years. No, no, I don't. However, he went on when enough defiance had accumulated. My enemies blundered. The confusion following the German attack gave me a chance to escape from police custody before I could be stuck in a concentration camp.

And gradually I learned what the situation was. Of course, I couldn't predict anything. I still can't. Only specialists know or care what happened in the 20th century. But by the time I'd become a Polish conscript in the German forces, I realized this was the losing side.

So I slipped across to the Americans, told them what I had observed, and became a scout for them. Risky, but if I'd stopped a bullet, what the hell? I didn't, and I ended up with plenty of sponsors to get me over here, and the rest of my story is conventional. My cigar had gone out, and I relit it. Four cigars that Michael's had were not to be taken casually. He had them especially flown from Amsterdam. And I said, the alien corn. What?

You know, Ruth and exile. She wasn't badly treated, but she stood weeping for her homeland. No, I don't know that story. It's in the Bible. Ah, yes, I really must read the Bible sometime. His mood was changing by the moment toward the assurance I had first encountered. He swallowed his whiskey with a gesture almost debonair. His expression was alert and confident, and he said...

Yes, that aspect was pretty bad. Not so much the physical conditions of life. You'd doubtless gone camping and noticed how soon you stopped missing hot running water, electric lights, and all the gadgets that the manufacturers assure us are absolute necessities. I'd be glad enough of a gravity reducer or a cell stimulator if I had one, but I'd get along fine without them. The homesickness, though, that's what really eats you. Little things you never notice. Some particular food, the way people walk, the games played.

The small talk topics, even the constellations. They're different in the future. The sun has traveled that far in its galactic orbit. But voluntary or forced, people have always been immigrating. We're all descended from those who could stand the shock. I adapted. But I wouldn't go back now even if I were given a free pardon. Not the way those traitors are running things. I finished my own drink, tasting it with my whole tongue and palate, for it was a marvelous whiskey.

And I listened to him with only half an ear. You like it here? Yeah. Yeah, by now I do. I'm over the emotional hump. Being so busy the first few years just staying alive. And then so busy establishing myself after I came to this country. That helped. I never had much time for self-pity. Now my business interests me more and more. It's a fascinating gain. Pleasantly free of extreme penalties for wrong moves.

I've discovered qualities here that the future has lost. Now, I bet you have no idea how exotic this city is. Now think. At this moment, within five miles of us, there's a soldier on guard at an atomic laboratory. There's a bomb freezing in the doorway. An orgy in a millionaire's apartment. A priest making ready for sunrise rites. A merchant from Araby. A spy from Muscovy. A ship from the Indies.

His excitement softened. He looked from the window and the night inward toward the bedrooms. And my wife and kids. No, no, I wouldn't go back no matter what happened. I took a final breath of my cigar. You have done rather well. Liberated from his gray mood, he grinned at me. You know, you know, I think you believe that yarn I told you. I stubbed out the cigar, rose, stretched...

Oh, oh, I do. I, I do believe you. Michaels, the hour is late. We better be going. He didn't notice at once. When he did, he came out of his chair like a big cat. We? Of course. I drew a nerve gun from my pocket. He stopped in his tracks. This sort of thing isn't left to chance. We check up. Come along now. The blood drained from his face.

No, no, no, no, you can't. It isn't fair. Not to Emily, the children. And I told him, that is part of the punishment. And I left him in Damascus the year before Tamerlane sacked it. The End

That story was My Object All Sublime, written by Paul Anderson. It appeared in the June 1961 issue of Galaxy. This is Michael Hansen speaking, engineering for MindWebs by Steve Gordon. MindWebs is produced at WHA Radio in Madison, a service of University of Wisconsin Extension. Ellery Queen's Minute Mysteries.

This is Ellery Queen with the case I call The Psychological Error. Police were befuddled by the story of a man named Ames who said he had shot his neighbor in a fit of complete terror and fear. Ames said his neighbor had approached him while he, Ames, was out shooting. The neighbor had repeatedly threatened me, Ames said, and in panic my reflexes told me to fire. I told him I didn't know where he was getting his reflexes tested, but they weren't working. In a moment, the rest of the story.

In the case of the psychological error, a shooting by reflex as a result of fear is not reasonable. Reflexes are the result of conditioning. The murderer tried to fool me with psychology, but I psyched him instead. Listen again to Ellery Queen's Minute Mysteries.

A Voice in the Night, a musical mystery story starring the internationally famous stage, screen, and supper club star, Carl Brizon. For I bring a little white guardian.

Tonight we have a ringside table at the newest nightclub in town, the Golden Orioles.

The lights are low, the music soft. The audience hushes as into the spotlight steps the proprietor, a debonair gentleman whose forte is melody and mysterious adventure, played by that great entertainer, Carl Brizod.

Thank you very much. Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. Well, thank you. Well, you all know here at the Golden Oriole, we always start with a request number. So, what would you like me to sing tonight? Mission of the Rose. Mission of the Rose. The scale number. The scale number. Oh, you mean all of a sudden my heart sings. All of a sudden my heart sings. That's all right. But first I'd be singing the original scale number, which I sang in England all the way back in 1930. But it goes like this.

I know a little pushy, her coat is silver gray. She lives down in the meadow, she'd never run away.

She'll always be a pussy. She'll never be a cat. For she's a pussy we love. Now what do you think of that? It's a meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow. Well, then when I made my debut in the supper club here, I introduced for the first time in America the American version which became so popular.

All of a sudden my heart sings when I remember little things. The way you look and hold me tight. The way you kiss and say goodnight. The crazy things you say and do.

The fun it is to be with you The magic will that's in your touch Oh darling, I love you so, so much The secret way you press my hand To let me know you understand

The wind and rain upon your face. The breathless world of your embrace. Your little laugh and half surprise. The starlight gleaming in your eyes. Remembering all those little things. All of us.

Thank you, thank you everybody. Now, ladies and gentlemen, here's your chance to dance yourself to heaven. Mr. Music Man, heavenly music, please. Say, Charles.

Has Miss Toni Wells arrived yet? Yes, Mr. Brisson. She just came in. Table 26. Thank you, Charles. Well, good evening, Carl. Oh, good evening, Toni. Oh, Toni, I don't know what I like better. The newspaper column you write or the hat you're wearing. Oh, it's beautiful. It looks so... It looks like a crash landing. Crash landing? Really, Carl, sometimes I think you... No, you're never more beautiful than when you're angry, Toni.

I like the way that perc nose of yours goes up in the air. And the way your eyes flash. Don't stop, Carl. What else do you like about me? I like that gown you're wearing. It's just the right color for... Here, Tony. That necklace. Where did you get it? I designed it myself. Do you like it, Carl? Do I like it? You know, it was a necklace like that that once cost two men their lives.

and was almost the end of me. Well, knowing you, I'll bet that someplace in the picture a beautiful woman was involved. Strangely enough, there was a woman in the case. You're on next, Mr. Brisson. Thank you. Judy calls, Tony. Just one number, and I'll be back to tell you the whole story. Thank you.

Thank you, my friends, thank you. Well, isn't it lovely to see so many happy people here tonight? Well, of course. You all love music and crowded places. You all love people and stuff. And I love singing and smiling faces. Love to stay awake far too much, in fact.

Wow.

No, I don't care if I never hit day, for tonight is such a fine little night. It must be somebody's birthday.

Oh, anniversary And that's a very good reason You should sing this song with me Oh, I don't care if I never go to bed I never go to bed I never go to bed I don't care if I never go to bed Cause I'll never have a good time

I don't care if I never go to bed, never go to bed, never go to bed. Oh, I don't care if I never go to bed, because we're having such a good time. Thank you, thank you, everybody. Now, here's the orchestra with a number that comes from south of the border. Now, senors and senoritas.

The dance floor is yours.

Oh, here you are, Tony. Now, where was I? Oh, you were just going to tell me about a necklace that cost two men their lives. And, of course, someplace in the story there was a beautiful woman. Oh, yes. Well, Tony, this happened some time ago. Oh? It all began in my hotel suite. I'd just gotten home from the supper club where I was performing. I'd hardly taken off my hat and coat when someone knocked at my door. Oh.

As I went to open it, I wondered who could be calling at me at 4 a.m. Oh, Carl, Carl, I'm so glad you're here. Kitty, what? Why, this is a surprise, and a most welcome one. Here, here. Why, Kitty, you're crying. What's wrong? Oh, Carl, I've been a fool, such a fool. Come now, it can't be as bad as all that. Sit here and tell me all about it. All right.

Carl, for the past two months, I've been employed as a social secretary by Mrs. Richard Wentworth. Mrs. Wentworth? Oh, I know that old battle act. Well, tonight I went to a party, and, Carl, I was wearing a necklace that wasn't mine. You mean it was Mrs. Wentworth's? Yes. Yes, Carl, I borrowed it without her knowing, and I was robbed of the necklace. It's worth $30,000. $30,000? Boy, oh, boy.

How did it all happen? Well, after the party broke up, friends of mine drove me to Mrs. Wentworth's estate. I'm living with her, you know. I see. I said goodnight to my friends and I drove off. As I was looking in my purse for the key to the front door, two men suddenly appeared from nowhere. One had a gun. And they took the necklace away from you? Yes. One of them was tall, rather good-looking, about 35 or so. A daughter man was short. Husky fellow, about 40 or so, correct? Correct.

How did you know? Kitty, don't you read the papers? Those two men have stolen a quarter of a million dollars worth of jewelry in the past four months. They followed people wearing jewels and robbed them.

But why haven't you gone to the police, Kitty? But, Carl, think about what happened then. You know Mrs. Wentworth. She'd say I'd stolen her necklace and she'd put me in prison. Yes, you're probably right. So that's why I've come to you, Carl. If you could get the necklace back before she discovers it's gone, I'd be safe. But, Kitty, if the police can't find those two men, how do you expect me to find them? Carl, I have a clue. You have a clue? Yes.

As the tall man pulled out his handkerchief to wrap the necklace in it... Yes? This fell out of his pocket. Why? Why, it's a timetable. Yes, and look here, Carl. There's a circle drawn around the Albany flyer leaving Grand Central at 4 a.m. And 6.20 is in circles. Right. That's the time the flyer arrives at Albany. What time is it now, Kitty? Uh, 10 minutes after 4. Oh, Carl, the train has already left. Don't worry, Kitty. We'll see if we can't get that necklace back without anyone being the wiser.

I'll get my car. We are going to Albany.

Now look, look Larry, just tell me one thing. Why are we taking this rattler to Albany? Because the boss told me to. Why, the boss told you to. Listen, who is the boss? That's what I want to know. For five months I've been working with you and I still ain't never met the boss. So what? Look, I got a right to know who the boss is. You've turned over to him a quarter million bucks worth of ice. Part of that ice is mine. Shut up, you fool. Want everyone on the train to hear you? Okay, okay. But I'm not helping you pull another job until I know who the boss is. We're going to have a showdown. All right, Mike. If that's the way you want it.

When we get to Albany, we'll have a showdown. Carl, why are you tearing that page off the telephone directory? Because all the Albany hotels are listed here. Kitty, I want you to stay in this hotel room until I get back. All right, Carl. You mustn't worry if I'm gone for a few hours. It may take time to find them. Carl. Yes? You will be careful, won't you?

I couldn't bear to have anything happen to you. Well, when you look at me like that, Kitty, I find it very difficult to leave. Hurry back, Carl. Hurry back? You bet I will, Kitty. We'll get that necklace back in a hurry. Then the two of us will pick up right where we left off.

Look, look, Larry, how much longer are we going to be cooped up in this crummy hotel room? Relax. We won't be here much longer. That's what they've been saying all day. Just what are we doing in Albany? That's what I want to know. You'll find out soon enough. Yeah. When? Look, I want to meet the boss and get my share of the hog we've been making. Almost six o'clock. What about going out for the evening papers and some sandwiches? First, I want to know what you're... Maybe when you come back, I'll have some of the answers to the questions you've been asking.

You were expecting a phone call? I'll take a ham on rye and some coffee, and don't forget the evening papers. Okay, okay. I'll be back soon. Hello. Oh, it's good to hear from you, boss. Be careful. Don't mention any names on the phone. Yes. He's been asking quite a few questions. He wants to meet you. Don't worry, I will. There's a train leaving for New York in 20 minutes. I'll be on it. Yes.

I'll be waiting for you at the apartment. Right. Just leave everything to me. Hotel Sanford. Room 721, please. Thank you. Hello? Hello, Kitty. Kitty?

It's Carl. Oh, Carl, I thought you'd never call. Well, I told you it might take time to find them. I've found them, Kitty. You have? Oh, Carl, that's wonderful. Where are you? I'm calling from the lobby of the Empire Hotel. Have you seen them, Carl? I've seen just one of them. The short, husky fellow. A few minutes ago, he went up to their rooms with some newspapers and sandwiches. What are you going to do? Kitty, get over here as fast as you can. We'll go up to their room together. If they don't return their necklace, I'll call the police.

Carl, do you think that'll make them give it back? Well, if it doesn't, there are ways to persuade them. Now hurry. I'll be waiting for you in the lobby. Here are the sandwiches and evening papers, Larry. Put them on the table, Mike. Okay. What did the boys have to say when he phoned? Oh, so you know I got a call, huh?

What were you doing, listening from the hall? What if I was? I got a right to know what's going on. Oh, of course you do, Mike, of course. What do you want to know? First of all, what are we doing in Albany? The boss and me figured it'd be better if we had the show down out of town. Yeah, but where's the boss? When do I get to meet him? I'm afraid never, Mike. You already know too much. What do you mean by that?

Larry, what are you doing with that knife? You wanted a showdown, Mike, and now you're going to get it. No, no, Larry. You know I didn't mean anything. The boss and me have got enough, and we're quitting. But we can't afford to leave you around, Mike. Don't talk that way, Larry. You know I never... No, don't. Don't, Mike! Oh, you... you knife. So long, Mike. Oh, you... you knife.

That's funny. They don't answer. Perhaps they've left the hotel. Well, they couldn't have passed through the lobby without my seeing them. Well, maybe there's a back way out. That's quite possible. Carl, what are you doing with those keys? One of these keys, Kitty, will open just about any door. Here we are.

Now, let's see. There. Carl, look. No, no, Kitty. You must get a hold of yourself. He's one of the men who robbed me, the short husky one. Yes, he's been stabbed in the chest. Carl, is he dead? No. I can still feel his heart beating. What a miracle that he's still alive. He's coming to. Wait. Who...

Who are you? My name is Brisson. It was Larry Morgan. Yes? He knifed me so that him and the boss wouldn't have to share with me. The boss? And who is the boss? I don't know. He planned all the jobs. He gave Larry the orders. And where is Larry Morgan now? I heard him tell the boss over the phone that... Yes, yes, yes. He was taking the next train back to New York and...

He meet the boss at the apartment. But what apartment? Tell me. I don't know. He just said... Yes, yes. Apartment. Carl. Carl, is he... Yes, Kitty. He's dead. Oh.

Well, there we were, Tony, in a hotel room in Albany with a dead man on our hands. And Larry Morgan and the necklace gone. Well, what happened then, Carl? What did you do? You're on next, Mr. Brisson. Oh, thank you. The rest of the story will have to wait, Tony. The customers want the song, and the customers are always right.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, everybody, thank you. Well, thank you very much. Now, we have with us tonight a lovely young couple over there at that table. So, they've just been engaged. May I wish them good luck by singing perhaps a slightly different version of The Bells of St. Mary. At the porch of St. Mary I'll wait there for you

In your soft wedding dress and its rippons of blue. In the church of St. Mary's sweet voices shall sing. For you and me, dearest, the wedding bells ring. The bells are ringing.

When marries, I hear they are calling The young love who loves will come from the sea And so my beloved, when red leaves are falling

The love bell shall ring out, ring out for you. The love bell shall ring out, ring out for you. The love bell shall ring out, ring out for you.

Thank you, everyone. Thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you. And now the floor is yours. So, unbe-de-dan, maestal, let there be beautiful music. Now, where was it I left off, Tony? You and Pity were in a hotel room in Albany with a corpse.

Oh, yes, that's right. There we were with a corpse. And Larry Morgan and the necklace gone. For a little while, Kitty and I just looked at each other, too stunned to say anything. Then tears began to roll down Kitty's face. And in another moment, she was in my arms.

Oh, Carl, how will we ever get the necklace back now? Kitty, before this poor fellow died, he told us that Larry Morgan was going back to New York to meet the boss. Morgan left only a little while ago, so he must be taking the 618 train to New York, correct? Yes, Carl, but it's already 625. That means he's gotten away from it. Oh, perhaps not, Kitty. What do you mean? Well, you see, the 618 train is a slow one.

I think that with some fast driving, I can beat that train to New York. Oh, Carl, do you really think so? Yes. We may have lost Mary Morgan for a moment, but we are going to pick them up again. The car is downstairs. Come on, my dear. We haven't a moment to lose. Well, here we are, Kitty. Track 14. Come on.

And people are starting to get off now. Oh, here they come, Carl. Yes. Now, Kitty, stand behind me. We want our friend Larry Morgan to see you. All right, Carl.

You see him yet? No. Carl, there he is. You mean that big fellow with the raincoat over his arm? Yes, yes, that's him. Good. Now we're going to let Mr. Morgan lead us to his rendezvous with his boss. Come along, Kitty. Come along.

Morgan's car is stopping. I'd better pull over on the curb before he sees us. Carl, he's getting out of the cab and going up the steps of that brownstone house. Yes, and now he's unlocking the front door. Now, Kitty, I want you to stay in the car until I get back. Oh, but Carl, I want to go with you. After all, I got you... Sorry, Kitty. There may be trouble. I want you to stay right here. All right. You say so.

Carl, have you got a gun? Yes, I've got a gun. Now wait here, Kitty, while I introduce myself to Larry Morgan. Is that you, Doc? Good evening, Mr. Morgan. Who the devil are you? How'd you get in here? My name is Wison, Carl Wison. And I got in with this skeleton key. It's very handy sometimes, isn't it? Yeah. Yeah.

Well, maybe I ought to teach her not to break in. Easy there, Mr. Morgan, easy. I've got you covered. That's better. Say, how do you know my name? Oh, that's just one of the things I know about you. I know that last night you stole a necklace worth $30,000. And I also know that a few hours ago you stabbed the man to death in an Albany hotel room. How'd you find that out? And I also know that you're waiting here for your boss. You're very clever, aren't you, Brita? Thank you.

You know a lot more than you should. That's all a matter of opinion. Do you think you're going to turn the boss and me over to the cops, huh? I don't think so. I know it. You know, Brisson, I knocked one guy off tonight because he knew too much. Another guy knocked off won't make much difference. Oh, but it will, especially if that guy is me. Just stand where you are, Morgan. Why? So that you can turn the boss and me over to the cops? I'm going to get you, Brisson. Stand still or I'll shoot. Then you'd better shoot fast because I'm coming for you. Hey, why are you putting the gun in your pocket?

Just because I intend to take you alive, not dead. There's only one guy walking out of this house, Brisson, and that's going to be me. Is that so? Try this for size! Sorry, brother, but it doesn't fit. Well, try it. Oh, my God!

Maybe this will fix you so you... Drop that poker! I'll drop it after I've split your head with it. Drop it, I'll... Drop it, I'll... I'll break your... I'll see you if you... Kitty! Carl, Carl! Kitty! Why, you have stabbed him. Why, he's dead. Carl, I was afraid he'd kill you. What on earth are you doing here?

How did you get in? I couldn't remain in the car knowing you were in danger. I found the door open and came in to find you both struggling for that poker. But that dagger you killed him with, where did you get it? It was hanging on the wall. I just grabbed it. Oh, Carl. All right, all right, Kitty. You'll get hold of yourself. Carl, I'm so afraid he'd kill you. Oh, while I was too. He sure was a tough customer. Boy, oh boy, do I wish I had a drink. Oh, Carl.

You sit there, Carl. I'll get you a drink. All right, Kitty. Here. Here's some brandy. Drink it. Thank you. See, that helps. Now let's see. Carl, why are you going through his pockets? Unless I'm mistaken, Morgan has the necklace in one of them. Ah, here it is. Good. Now that we have the necklace, don't you think we ought to get out of here? I'm afraid we can't do that, Kitty. We'll have to notify the police. Oh.

And then, Lieutenant, Kitty came in to find Larry Morgan and me fighting. She saw the dagger hanging on the wall, got it, and stabbed Morgan in the back. I didn't know what I was doing, Lieutenant. All I knew was that Carl might be killed. I had to do something to save him. I understand, miss. I don't think you have anything to worry about.

You say, Mr. Bresson, that Larry Morgan came here to wait for his boss? That's correct, Lieutenant. Didn't Morgan give you any idea who his boss was? No, he didn't. Well, that fellow dead in Albany and Morgan dead, I guess we'll never know who the boss is. You're wrong, Lieutenant. The boss is right here in this room. The only one here besides you is this young lady. Say, you don't mean... Yes, Lieutenant. The boss is a woman, not a man. And her name is...

Kitty Robert. Carl, you can't be serious. Oh, but I am Kitty. Lieutenant, Larry Morgan fell in love with Kitty and also fell in with her scheme to rob wealthy people of their jewels. That isn't true. In five months, Larry, with the help of Mike Warner, turned over to Kitty a quarter of a million worth of stolen jewelry. Things started to get hot, so Kitty decided to get rid of them both. Lieutenant, I... Be quiet.

Go on, Mr. Bisson. Kitty thought out a very clever scheme. Larry Morgan was to kill Mike Warner. Then he, in turn, was to be killed by me as I tried to get back the necklace. Lieutenant, don't listen to him.

She waited in the hall for a gunshot that would tell her that Morgan was dead. When she heard Morgan fighting with me, she knew something had gone wrong. She came into this room, got the dagger, and stabbed him to death. I see. Pretending all the time that she's done it for my sake. Right, Kitty? You... you can't prove a thing. No, Lieutenant. Unless I misguess myself or... Kitty has a safety deposit box in some bank.

And in that box, you'll find a quarter of a million dollars... Look out, Mr. Bison! When I heard he called, I told him he'd...

I had a lump on my head. I tell you, like the size of an egg. But, Carl, how did that happen? Unfortunately, I had turned my back to Kitty. So she promptly hit me over the head with a barge. You know, in a way, Carl, it served you right. Oh, thank you very much. But believe me, I was glad to see the last of her. But, Carl, whatever made you suspect that Kitty was the boss? Two things told me.

Her first mistake was when she said she'd found the door to Larry Morgan's apartment open. I knew that wasn't true, because I had locked the door when I entered the apartment. Oh, then she must have had a key to the apartment. Exactly. And when she went to get me a drink, she gave herself away completely. Without any hesitation, she went into the next room and found some brandy. It was then I realized she had been in the apartment before. Oh, what happened to her, Carl?

Well, you'd better look up in the newspapers, Tony. And if you don't find it... Yes, Carl? Well, I'm afraid I'm going to be embarrassed. Oh, Carl. For I bring a little white guardian... You've been listening to A Voice in the Night, starring the internationally famous entertainer Carl Breesong.

Next week at the same time, over most of these mutual stations, Carl Bresson returns to entertain you with music and mystery in The Case of the Accidental Murders. This program is heard in Canada through facilities of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.

Mystery in the Air, starring Peter Lorre, presented by Camel Cigarettes. Oh!

And it is the sentence of this court that you be hanged by the neck until you are dead. And may God have mercy on your soul.

No, I need not expect no solicit belief for this wild story. I would be mad to expect it yet. Mad I'm not, and very surely I do not dream. But while there is still time, I don't know why I feel compelled to report a serious or...

Oh, mere household events and their consequences. These events have terrified, have tortured, have destroyed me. Perhaps some are more calm, more logical, but certainly far less excitable than I will be able to explain them. I cannot. I can only tell you the facts, and that I have to do today, because tomorrow I die.

Each week at this time, Camel Cigarettes bring you Peter Lorre in the excitement of the great stories of the strange and unusual, of dark and compelling masterpieces culled from the four corners of world literature. Tonight, Edgar Allan Poe's immortal American classic, The Black Cat. The Black Cat.

Mystery in the Air, starring Peter Lorre, brought to you by Camel Cigarette. Thank you.

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No, believe me, there was nothing, absolutely nothing in my childhood which forecast the terrible events that were to come. No, as a child, I was very gentle. I got along well with everyone, but most I liked animals, yes. All kinds of animals. And then I married quite young, and I was very happy to find that my wife shared my feelings.

Very soon, we had quite a collection. Oh, we had birds and goldfish. We had a dog and some rabbits, and we had a cat. I'll never forget the day my wife brought it home. Hello, hello. You're home so early. Look, Charles, look. Look what I brought. Oh, oh, look.

Look at it. Oh, that little kitty. Where did you get it, darling? Oh, the poor little thing. Some dogs were chasing it, and I just rescued it in time. It was so frightened. Yes, but it isn't frightened anymore. Oh, it seems to love you, child. Then that's not strange. All animals do. Yes, yes, yes. Nobody's going to hurt your kitty kitty no more. How about some milk, huh? Yes. Yes.

There, you see? Oh, he must have been very hungry. He is. Hey, what's your name, huh? I don't suppose he has a name. He is so young. I don't think he belongs to anybody. Well, then we have to give him a name. You mean we can keep him? Keep him? What are you talking about? He has no home. We can't turn him out in the streets, can we? Oh, Charles, I was hoping you'd let him stay. Of course, but he must have a name.

Yes, let's see. Oh, yes, a black, yes. Oh, black, beautiful. Not a single white... Oh, I have it. He's as black as the devil. Let's call him Pluto. Yes, we'll call you Pluto. Well, Pluto grew up to be a remarkably beautiful cat, and of all the animals in our house, he became my favorite and my playmate, yes, and...

Until it all changed, yes. And as the years went on, my character suffered a radical change. And everything changed. Huh? Why? Well, I'm ashamed. I hate to admit it. Through intemperance, yes. Through intemperance. And then as drink became more and more necessary to me, I became more and more moody and irritable.

Charles, where are you going? I don't have to tell you where I'm going. Oh, Charles, what's happening to me? What do you mean, what's happening to me? Well, you never used to go out every night to those vile places. Will you please stop nagging? Stop it! I go out because I can't stand listening to you nag, nag, nag all day long.

I don't know what's come over you. There. There, see? Why don't you learn from Pluto? It's only a cat. He doesn't ask me where I'm going. Yeah, that's right. You never do, no. Come here, Pluto. Yes, I like it. Come here. Be careful, child. Don't pick him up like that. No, you're hurting him. You're my neighbor. Ouch! Ouch!

He bit me. He bit me. You. You damn right. I'll show you. Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't. You beast. Yes, I... I hate to admit it, but I was so furious I kicked Pluto and I kicked him again and hard and... Well, the next morning I...

I saw that his ear was torn and... I was filled with remorse for what I'd done. From then on... Pluto ran away in terror... Whenever I approached and... And that in turn made me more and more irritated and... And in the end it... It was sheer perverseness, nothing else, yes. Sheer and unexplainable perverseness that... That made me do what I did, yeah. I blush to admit it, but... One morning I...

I strangled the poor animal. I killed it only because I knew that it had loved me and because it had given me no reason for offense. No, I'm offering no excuse. I'm only recounting what happened. Well, in the evening, I went to the inn as usual and I came home very late and I fell fast asleep with my clothes on.

Then I was awakened suddenly. Hey. Fire! What's the matter? Charles! Charles, wake up! Charles! What's the matter? There must be a fire. I smell smoke. Look. Good heavens. Look at...

It's our house. Our house is burning. Come on, darling, come. We'll be trapped. Come on, hurry up. Quick. The stairs are open. There we go. I can't. Don't talk. Don't talk, sweetheart. Perhaps I can get you through the flames. Don't breathe, darling. Here. Here. Here's the front door. Here.

We made it. We're safe. Oh, Charles. Look, our house. Anybody else in there? No.

Nobody else. Just as well. Never could get them out now. Are you the owner? Yes. That was our house. Well, you haven't got much left then. We can't save it now. Stand back! Stand back, everybody! The roof's gonna fall in! Stand back! There it goes!

Well, it's down now. Funny, nothing is left but that one wall in the middle. Look at it. What about it? Well, look at it on the wall. Hey, that is strange. What are you talking about? What's strange? There, there on the wall. It's still standing. Marks on the plaster. Marks? What marks? What's the matter? You blind? Right up there on the wall, that black figure. Oh, yeah.

It looks like a cat. Yeah, it does. The snake must have done it, but it certainly does look like a cat. What looks like a cat? There, and it's got one floppy ear. Who's got a floppy ear? That's really funny. Funny, funny, funny, huh? It's not funny. It is not funny at all, you hear? I know what it is.

Do you know who it is? Yes, it's Pluto. I recognize him. Yes, there, see? His ear is torn, huh? Oh, you, you beast. That hideous beast. It's come back to haunt me. Leave me alone. You hear? I can't stand it. I can't. I can't. Get some water, somebody. This man's fainted. Ah!

The Black Cat is dead. Killed by its master, the house is burned to the ground with everything in it completely destroyed. Now the scene is the almost deserted candlelit taproom of a local inn.

Don't you think you'd better go on home, sir? It's getting late. Home, huh? You should see the terrible place where we're living now. Yeah. Yeah, I heard you. Lost everything in that fire. Lost everything, yes. I lost everything. I lost my house. I lost everything. Well, how about that black cat of yours you used to talk about all the time? What was his name? His name was Pluto. Ah. Yes. Pluto's gone, too.

Well, I tell you, I miss him. I miss him very much. Well, if you miss him that much, why don't you get another cat? Give me a drink. It's getting pretty late, sir. I mean, won't your wife be expecting you? Give me a drink. Yes, sir. I'll have to fetch another bottle. Why don't I get another cat, huh? That's what you said. Well, why don't I?

No reason I shouldn't. There's no reason to be in the deeps of despair just because of a cat. If I get another cat, maybe I'll be able to forget her. What's that? Oh, there's a cat now. Yes, sitting on top of the table. Black cat, huh? That's strange. I've been staring at that table for five minutes. I could swear there was no cat on it.

Hey, where did you come from, huh? Oh, you're a beautiful cat, yes. You're just as black as Pluto, except you've got a splotch of white on your chest. That's right. Oh, yes, come. Come sit on my lap, huh? Oh, yes.

Kitty, kitty, yes, you're a nice kitty. You're a nice cat. Here you are, sir. Where did this cat come from? Cat? Oh, yeah. A big one, isn't he? I don't know where it came from. Or how it got in, either, for that matter. Never seen it around here before. Don't know what it belongs to? No. No, as far as I'm concerned, it belongs to you, if you want it. Can't keep it here. My wife doesn't like cats.

Especially black ones. Black cats, huh? How stupid. Say, I want it. Yes, sir. I want it very much. I'll take it home with me right now. Charles, this is such a wonderful cat. Just since last week, it's made itself so much at home. Why, you'd think it had lived here always. Yes, yes, I've noticed that.

It reminds me so much of Pluto. Yes, but this one has a patch of white on its chest. Don't forget that. Yes, that's right. But I can't help wondering. I wonder whatever became of Pluto. He disappeared the day of the fire. I know, I know he disappeared. Well, maybe he knew the house was going to burn down.

Oh, see how it loves you. It's rubbing against your leg, just the way Pluto used to. Pluto, Pluto. Stop talking about Pluto. Darling, I didn't mean anything. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, dear. I always talk about how much this new cat resembles Pluto. It just makes me nervous. Look, actually, there's hardly any resemblance at all, really. Except that they're both black.

This one has a white patch on its chest and... Oh, the poor thing. Charles, look. His ear is torn. See? Here under the fur. Oh, I never noticed that before. Neither did I. Why, it's just the way Pluto's...

I mean... Go ahead. Say it. Say it. Say it. It's torn. It's torn. Yeah. It's just the way Pluto's ear was torn when I kicked him, huh? That's it, isn't it? Well, he must have been in a fight or something. But it's curious we didn't notice it. Curious, huh? You have no idea how curious it is. No idea. Get that cat out of my sight. Charles, you're mad. Get it out of my sight. How can you act that way about a poor, dumb animal? Take it out of here. It's the only one that loves you so much.

Oh, now, you frightened it, dear. Get away from me, you hear me? The way you talk, anybody think you don't even like the poor cat. Like her? Like it? I hate it. I tell you, I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

Yes, in a short time the cat had been with us. I had come to look upon it with unutterable loathing. Why, I don't know yet. The more I hated it, the more affectionate it acted toward me. Wherever I went, it followed. Whenever I sat down, it would spring upon my knees and cover me with its loathsome caresses.

as if death were not enough to... to white patch on its chest, which... originally it... it had been very indefinite in shape, but... but gradually it assumed... a very definite outline, yes? The unmistakable... and ghastly shape of the gallows...

A terrible engine of horror, of agony, and of death. I longed to destroy the beast, but I was prevented by an absolute unreasonable dread. I was sure I was losing my mind. Charles, are you going out again? Yes, I'm going out. I don't know when I'll be back. Before you go, do you suppose you... Why, what is it?

Will you help me bring up some wood from the cellar? Why do you always want more wood? The house is cold. You know I haven't been feeling well. I'm not strong enough to carry it myself. You're not strong enough. All right, come on. I'll help you. You might have thought of this before. Look out! What? Oh, that's Cat. That's that beast again. It's always under my feet. It tried to trip me on the stairs. Oh, no. I'm sure it did. I'll get rid of that beast. Cat!

Once and for all. Charles! Put down that crowbar. Get out of my way. No, no, stop. I said get out of my way. Let go of my arm. Please, Charles. Let go of my arm. Are you going to let go? Please. I said let go. Well, why didn't you let me go? Yes, sir.

She'd fallen dead without a groan. My blind range. My rage against the cat. I'd struck my wife and killed her. Nothing I can do about it now.

All I could do was to set myself to the task of concealing the body. Yes, I thought and I deliberated and then it occurred to me that in the Middle Ages they used to wallop their victims and I determined to do the same thing behind the wall in a cellar.

I managed to dislodge a section of bricks near the chimney and in the hole behind them I propped the body. Then I carefully laid the bricks back in their original position and when I had finished, no one, no one could have told that the wall had been disturbed at all. Well, I could say to myself triumphantly, here at least my labor has not been in vain.

My next step then was to look for the beast that had been a cause of so much misery, but then I became aware that it had completely disappeared. Three days passed and still my tormentor did not appear. Oh, it's impossible to describe or to imagine the deep sense of my relief. For the first time in months I slept, yes, I...

Oh, I slept. Even with a burden of murder on my soul. Yes, some few inquiries were made about my wife's whereabouts. A search of the house was conducted, but nothing was discovered. Oh, I finally could look upon my future as secure. Yes? Yes?

Good day, sir. Sorry to disturb you again, sir. Oh, it's you, Sergeant. Is there anything I can do for you? Well, they're still puzzled about your wife's disappearance. Puzzled, huh? Well, so am I. Some of her friends have been around at the police station. What's that got to do with me, huh? You've already searched the house twice.

What do you want? Oh, I know, sir, but... Well, the captain sent me and the constable here to look around just once more to be sure there's no clues been overlooked. This will be the last time, sir. Only a matter of routine. We won't bother you again. All right. Come in. Thank you, sir. Come on, Joe. Right.

What would you like to look first? Well, we might as well begin with the cellar. Cellar, huh? All right, yes. Right down these steps. I'll come with you. Yes, I always say searching a house is like getting ahead in the world. You start at the bottom. Yes, I see you. It's very funny. Well, come on, Constable. Get to work. Right.

While they searched, I folded my arms and watched. As before, they discovered nothing, nothing but...

As they were about to depart, the glee in my heart was too strong to be restrained. I burned to see but one word, yes, just one word, but a way of triumph. And as they started up the steps, I said, uh... Say, have you noticed, uh... This is a very well-constructed house, you know. Hey, gentlemen, you're not going, are you? Yes, it's, uh...

It's an excellently well-constructed house. You've never seen such a well-constructed house in the frenzy of my bravado. Upon that very portion of the brickwork behind which stood the corpse of my wife, I rapped with my cane. But may heaven deliver me from the archfiend. What was that?

Mother of mercy, what was that? Wind problem. Wind? That's not the wind. It came when you hit this wall here. Whatever it is, it's behind these bricks, Sarge. Here, take this crowbar and knock that wall down. Right. Wait a minute, you... Keep quiet, you. You can't do this.

Wait a minute. Where are you going? You stay right here. Hey, this is new plaster. It hasn't even had time to set yet. Pull it down. Here she comes. Look out. There's what we're looking for, all right.

His wife's body. What's that horrible looking thing sitting on her head? It's the cat. How did that cat get in there? I know how it got in there. Yes, I know. I must have walled it up in a tomb. I never knew it, no.

Look at that red mouse. Those burning eyes. You. You hideous. You beast. You monster. You are the devil. You made me a murderer. Now for three days you've been in there. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

To send me to the gallows. The hangman will get me. Yes, I... I hope... I hope you're satisfied. I hope you're satisfied. Thank you.

Next week, Mystery in the Air, starring Mr. Peter Lorre, brings you an adaptation of one of our star's greatest motion pictures, Crime and Punishment, based on the book by Theodore Dostoevsky, with a special musical score composed and conducted by Paul Barron. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company. ♪♪

Good evening, creeps, and welcome to the Mystery Playhouse. As a return engagement, your Mystery Playhouse brings you tonight a story by one of the great authors of crime fiction, Agatha Christie. This ingenious drama, entitled Witness for the Prosecution, is one of the prolific Miss Christie's very best. Miss Leslie Wood, star of the recent Broadway play The Assassins, will play the leading role. Witness for the Prosecution is a brilliantly original narrative of the fight for a man's life.

with a double surprise at the end. So stand by, priest, for Agatha Christie's fast-moving yawn of sudden twists and turns, witness for the prosecution. Our story begins in a little house in the suburbs of the Great City. Rich, eccentric old Miss Emily's friend is past dozing in her rocking chair.

And then, someone enters the room. Walks up to the rocking chair, looks down on Miss Frank, and then... Oh!

Hello, Aunt Belinda. Please hurry. Give me the police. Hurry. Miss Pansy's been murdered. Oh.

All right, men. Get all the pictures you can. The murder weapon, the rocking chair, the corpse. Okay, Inspector. Miss Spence wouldn't listen to me, Inspector Einstein. I used to be more than the maid doer. I was her best friend until he came and now she's what has. All right, Miss McKenzie, relax. Who

Who are you talking about? Mr. Boll. Leonard Boll. I told Miss French no good would come of it, but she wouldn't listen to me. She entrusted all her business to him. She even made out a new will, leaving him all her money. Is he here tonight? He was here every night since he met her three months ago. He must have been here tonight. You remember if anyone else came to see Miss French tonight? Not that I know of. Oh, I warned her no good would come of it. She was 13, 33, and she was 17, 70, and he killed her. Leonard Boll killed her. I know.

Leonard Bowles. That's right. Inspector Reinstein, Homicide Squad. I'd like to talk with you down at headquarters. What about? Emily French has been murdered. Murdered? By who? What do you want with me? We're booking you on suspicion. Oh.

But, Mr. Mayhem, you're my attorney. You've got to believe me. I didn't do it. Take it easy, Paul. Take it easy? I'm going crazy cooped up in this jail. Listen, why would I kill her? I tell you frankly, I was broke. I hoped to borrow some money from Miss French. So why would I kill her? Don't you know that Miss French left a will leaving all her money to you? What? What are you trying to say? Didn't you know about that? No. Oh, this gets worse every minute.

They'll say I got Miss French to make out a will leaving her money to me and that I killed her. Sure, I admit I was there that night, but... There's a maid, Janet McKenzie, said you were there until half past nine. She said she heard voices in the sitting room. Miss French, you didn't know the man. Half past nine? Yes. Half past nine? Then I'm saved. What do you mean, saved? Well, at half past nine, I was at home again. My wife, Romaine, can prove that.

The voice the maid heard must have been someone else's. I left Miss French about five minutes to nine. I arrived home about twenty past nine. My wife was there waiting for me. That proves I'm innocent, doesn't it? Yes, it does, my boy. The first thing I'm going to do is see your wife and have a talk with her. And that's the whole story, Mrs. Roll. No one else saw Leonard return at 9.20.

There'll be no one else to confirm your testimony. I see. Leonard wants me to say that you came in at 20 minutes past 9 right now. Is that right? Yes. He did come in at that time, didn't he? That's not the point. Will my saying tell a quibble? Will they believe me? Well, there's a great deal of evidence against him. And the testimony of a devoted wife sometimes... Well, I can't promise you a testimony will save him. Now, I know what you must feel, but... Feel you?

I wonder. Well, I mean, all this must be difficult, you being so devoted to your husband. Devoted? Devoted? I hate him! What? I tell you, I hate him! I hope he drops dead if I don't convict him. What the death? Supposing I tell you that he did not come in that night at 20 minutes past 9, but at 20 minutes past 10. What? You said...

That Leonard claims he doesn't know anything about the money coming to him. Yes? Well, supposing I tell you that he knew all about it and counted on it and committed murder to death. But... Supposing I tell you that he admitted to me that night when he came in what he had done. He... That there was blood on his coat. What then? Suppose I stand up in court and say all these things. You mean you testify against your husband? Why not? I detect him. He hasn't a chance. Not a chance. Of course not.

Did you honestly think he was innocent when you came here to see me today? Yes, I did. I see. And what do you think now? I still think he's innocent. And I think you're lying. Good evening, Mrs. Jones. Mayor, I'm speaking. Mr. Major, my name is Martha.

Mrs. Marksman? Yes? Now, you don't know me, but if you want that painted, brazen woman's corner for one year, I'd like her to come to 1122 Hudson Street tonight. What? Do you mean Mrs. Wall? Come and find out. Follow your head. And bring $300. Now, now, wait a minute. Goodbye. Mrs. Marksman! Hello! Hello! That improves Mrs. Wall's life.

Leonard still has a chance. The End

Yes? Mrs. Markson, I'm Mr. Mayhorn. Oh, so you decided to come in. Well, come on in, come on. I see you're looking at the stars around my face. Are you wondering why I hide my beauty here? Would you like to see? Oh, I wasn't... Do you, Chelsea? Here. Never mind me. Never mind. I'll cover my face with the stars. But you don't feel like kissing me, do you? And I don't blame you. And you...

I was a pretty girl once, and not so long ago as you'd think, either. Vitriol, my dear, vitriol. That's what did that to my face. But I'll be even with her. I can give you proof that Romaine Bowle has lied about her husband. Proof? What kind of proof? What if you say it was a letter? A letter from her? Well, how did you get hold of her? Never mind how I got hold of her. That's my decision.

I think I'll do the trick, all right. Now, $300. All right. But first, the letter, if you please. Just write here in this desk. Here they are. A whole bundle of them. Put at the top when you want. Thank you. Now, go on. Go on and read it. These are love letters written by Romaine Bowles.

But they're not written to Leonard. Yes, yes. This one is dated the day of Leonard's arrest. How did you get hold of this correspondence? That would be telling. These letters are addressed to Max. Max who? Who is he? Leave the letters in your face. And I know something more, too. You'll find out where she was at 20 past 10, the time she said she was at home. Huh? Ask at the Pingle Barn Dancing School.

You ask Mr. Pingelbaum. Mr. Pingelbaum. Oh, Ed? Now, wait a minute. Wait a minute. You won't go yet. Where's my money? Here you are. Three hundred dollars. All right. Thank you. Thank you. Good night. Good night.

Follow the rhythm now. One, two, one, two. Pull in your stomach. Kick. That's it. Mrs. Farrakhan, please, pull in your stomach. Oh, that woman will never learn. Follow the class. One, two, one, two. Gracefully now. Left arm coming. Oh, that's it.

Over your head and touching the floor so gracefully. So come in gracefully now, rhythmically. Mr. Dingleburn. Oh, please. Mr. Dingleburn, I'm sorry to intrude, but it's about the Leonard Bowell murder case. Oh. Cedric, stop the piano. Well, what can I do for you?

I have a photograph here. Could you identify this woman? Let me see. Why, uh... Why, yes, that's Romaine Bold. Oh, she's one of my advanced students. Very artistic. In fact, she used to be an actress. Never mind all that.

Was she here the night of the murder? Why, yes. I remember we all discussed it the next day. What time did she leave? Well, I think the class broke up at 10.30 or so that night. Oh, class, please. Mrs. Farrakhan, pull in your stomach. How many times have I told you? Posture, posture. Mr. Pingelbarn, you may be called upon at the trial tomorrow to testify that Mrs. Ball was here at 10.30 that night. Please.

A witness in a murder trial? Yes. Oh, I'd love it. Order, please, or I shall have this courtroom cleared. Call the next witness, please. Did you get me camping to the stand?

You swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God? I do. Sit down. You may proceed, Mr. Crosskeeper. Thank you, Your Honor. Oh, Miss Janet McKenzie. What was your relationship with Prince? I was her maid. Then you were in her conference? Oh, yes. We kept no secrets from each other. Didn't she tell you that she had made out a will, leaving all her money to Leonard Bowles? Yes. Now, think carefully, Miss McKenzie.

Did Mr. Bo know that such a will had been drawn up? Yes, he did.

Ah, Miss McKenzie, will you please tell this talk, in your own words, what sent fire to the home of Miss French on the night of your mistress's death? Well, I was to go out for the evening. I did go out, but about half past nine I returned. I heard voices in the parlor. One was Miss French's, and the other was a man's. Did you recognize that man's voice? Yes, it was Mr. Bowles. That's all? Thank you.

Thank you. Just a moment, Miss McKenzie. Yes? You say that you heard a man's voice in the sitting room that night. Did you see that man? No, I didn't. Then how can you be sure that it was Mr. Boll who was there? Well, I think it was Mr. Boll. You think it was? That's all, Miss McKenzie. Oh!

And, Mr. Bowles, you want us to believe that you visited this rich old lady, Miss French, out of pure kindness of heart? A woman 40 years your senior? You want us to believe that, Mr. Bowles? I only want to... You look pale, Mr. Bowles. Would you like a glass of water? No, I... It's my heart. Will you please tell this port where you were at 9.30 on the night of the murder? But I told you...

I left Miss French's house about five minutes to nine. I arrived home about twenty past nine. My wife was there waiting for me. Ask her if she'll tell you the truth. I swear to you I'm telling the truth. I'm innocent, I tell you. As God is my witness, I'm innocent.

The prosecution follows as its next witness, Mrs. Romaine Bowles. Romaine Bowles, will you stand, please? Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, to help me God? I do. Sit down. Your name is Romaine Bowles? Yes. Did your husband ever tell you that he knew that the money was coming to him? That he knew about the wills?

Yes. He knew about the wedding. Now, Mrs. Bowles, you have sworn to tell the truth. Mr. Bowles says that he was home by 9.30 that night. Is that true? No, it is not true. Will you tell the court what you know about the night in question? Yes. Leonard was with me early in the evening. About 8 o'clock, he put on his hat and coat and left the house.

He returned at 20 minutes past 10. And when he came in, I knew something terrible had happened. He wouldn't look at me. He just walked into the kitchen. His coat was stained with blood. I realized then that he had murdered Miss Stone. No, no! No, Romaine! Why are you lying? Order! Order! That will be all, Mrs. Bowles. One moment. I have a few questions for the witness of the prosecution.

Mrs. Ball, you heard Mr. Ball cry out in his torment that you were lying. Are you? I am not lying. You are. And I'll tell you why. And I'll prove it. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I want you to understand that this woman's story is a malicious fabrication from start to finish. I want you to know that she wasn't even in her own house at the time in question.

I want you to know that she is in love with another man and has been deliberately seeking to send Bo to his death for a crime he did not commit. First of all, Mrs. Bo, you still claim that you were at home when it was said? Yes, that's when Leonard came home. I want you to look at the witnesses sitting at that end table. Now, Mr. Pingelbarn, will you stand up, please? Gladly. Mrs. Bo, do you recognize this man?

Yes? Mr. Pingelbaum runs a dancing school. Will you deny that you were at one of his classes until 10.30 on the night in question, or shall I take this court's time to call Mr. Pingelbaum and his class to the stand to prove that you were with him? No. No, I will not do that. Then you were not at your home at 10.30. I... You were home at 9.30 when Leonard came home, but you hurried away to your class, and you were there until after 10.30.

Is that right? Well, I... I'm afraid Mr. Singleton has passed and... Exactly. And now... Now I should like to place in evidence this letter... written by Romaine Voll... to another man. Clerk, you may read the letter. Here you are.

Max, the lover. The saints have delivered him into our hands. He has been arrested for murder. The murder of an old lady. Leonard, who would not hurt a fly. At last, I shall have my revenge.

I shall say that he came in that night with blood upon him, that he confessed to me. I shall hang him that, and when he hangs, he will know and realize that it was Romaine who sent him to his death. And then, happiness, beloved, happiness at last. Mrs. Lowell, look at this letter. This? Yes.

You deny having written this letter? I... Will you admit it, or shall I be expert to a present proof that this letter is in your handwriting? Mrs. Borel, did you write this letter? I... Yes, I wrote it. This was my chance to get rid of it. That's why I made up the whole story. I'll tell you, he did return to the house at 20 minutes past nine, but... But when I realized that only my testimony could prove his innocence, I... I decided to invent a story out of whole thought to ruin it.

And now I've ruined everything. I've ruined it. And so, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we have proven that Romaine Ball's evidence was a tissue of lies from beginning to end. We have shown that she evolved it out of her passionate hatred for the defendants.

And since the chief witness for the prosecution has confessed to her false story, confirming Mr. Vaux's statement that he was not at Miss French's house at 9.30, I ask that you bring in the only possible verdict, not guilty. We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty. Oh!

Congratulations, Vose. Did you hear that? You're a free man again. Free? That's the most exciting I... Oh, my heart. What is it, man? I can't breathe, Vose. Not guilty. Vose! Stand back. Stand back. Give him air. Please. Please. Will you all stand back and be quiet, please? I think...

He's dead. They're upstairs at the park, Jamie. I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Bowles. I know you loved him very much. You know? Yes. I know you didn't hate him. But I didn't know. We're all creatures of habit.

And you have a habit, the gesture of your hand that you use when you're excited. The gesture of my hand? Yes. Mrs. Markson and Hudson Street had that same gesture. Oh. Are you sure? Yes. And you were formerly an actress. I learned that from Mr. Kindergarten.

I can see now how you did it. Well, it was easy enough. Makeup for my face. The light of that death jet was too bad for you to see the makeup. But why, Mrs. Buller, why? Mr. Mann. I had saved him. The evidence of a wife devoted to him would not have been enough, you said as much as yourself. That's right. But I know a little something of psychology. And I thought, let me, his wife, testify against him and then let it be proven that I had deliberately lied.

Well, I was the star witness for the prosecution. When you destroyed my testimony, you destroyed the prosecution's entire case. And the bundle of letters? Oh, one alone, the vital one. Might have seemed like a put-up job for a while. Just so I remember. Then the man called Max. He never answered. I still think that he could have gotten him off by the normal procedure.

I didn't dare yesterday. You see, you thought he was innocent. And you knew it, I see. My dear Mr. Mayhem, you do not see a trophy. I knew he was dead.

Well, Creech, that brings down the curtain on Witness for the Prosecution, tonight's performance in the Mystery Playhouse. Miss Leslie Woods was starred in tonight's play by Agatha Christie. Until next time, Creech, good night. Meepai. This is the Armed Forces Radio Service. Mr. District Attorney, champion of the people, defender of truth, guardian of our fundamental rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Mr. District Attorney, champion of the people, defender of truth,

Shall we, my cutie, as district attorney, prosecute to the limit of the law all persons accused of crime or threat within this county for defending with equal vigor the rights and privileges of all its citizens? The case of the wedding night. You sure the tickets are all set, Owen? I mean, nothing could go wrong, could it? Look, Mrs. Kimberly, when your husband arranges a honeymoon, nothing goes wrong. Goodbye. I'll miss you. Me too.

Hello? Yes, this is Susan Campbell. I mean, Mrs. Kimberley. What? Janie, you idiot. How'd you know where we are? Wonderful. No, no, I just went out. To see about the boat ticket. Really? Who caught my bouquet, Janie? She did. A lot of good it'll do her. But I shouldn't be mean, should I? Not when I'm so happy.

Idiot. Bye. Michael. Hello, Susan. Mike, what on earth... How did you get in here? Through the window. I took the room next door last night. What are you doing? Locking the door. I heard Owen leave. I don't understand, Mike. How could you come through the window? There's a ledge. You were out there 20 floors up? It was important to see you, Susan. You made a mistake, you know. A mistake? Yeah, with Owen.

You got to marry me, Susie. You know that. Michael, you're drunk. No, no, no, Susie. Honest. Big things are happening, that's all. You'd better get out of here before Owen comes back. Oh, he won't be back. You see this chair? What in the world are you doing? Mike, you are drunk. Put down that chair. Big things, Susie. Strange things. Watch it. Mike, put it down. Not out the window, Mike. Mike! Through the window. See, Susie? Nothing to it. Crazy. Get out of here, Mike. Go now?

Not until you marry me, Susan. I was always supposed to be. See, I even brought my gun. THE END

Do you want me to phone Pawtucket, Chief? Harrington will miss that train if he doesn't come soon. Yes, I know it, Miss Miller. I wanted to extradite that prisoner today if I could. I know. Chief Parker's holding him for us. Well, I've got everybody looking for him. He knows he has to go to Rhode Island. Now, that may be some word now. Sit still, I'll... Yes? Chief? Yes? Harrington, do you know what time it is? Your train leaves at three. He can go right to the station, Chief. I'll meet him there with the papers. Just a second, Miss Miller. Yes, what's that? I said, okay.

But, Chief, I ran into something on the way back to the office. Into what? Where are you now? I'm in the manager's office at the Tower Arms Hotel. The emergency squad's on their way here. What? Yeah, I'm blocking off the street, Chief. Threw a chair. He threw a chair? Yeah, it hit a woman on the street. Killed her instantly. No. Get this on the other phone, Miss Money. Right. Yes, go on, Harrington. The Tower Arms Hotel. That's right. I'm going up now, Chief, and try to locate the exact room. Yes, do that. And put a man in the lobby, Harrington. We're coming right over.

Mike, please sit down. You're all mixed up. No, no, I'm not mixed up, Susie. I just have to fix everything, that's all. It's very easy. Won't you put away the gun? I know I'm frightened of guns. Remember back in high school? I remember a lot of things. Put it away, Mike, please. One night you came home from college, remember? You had a party and your old man wouldn't invite me.

Sit down, Michael, please. Remember, I came anyway. Remember, Susie? I took a pot shot at the sundial in your yard. Put the gun away, Mike. Please, for me. Mrs. Owen. Take it easy, Susan. I'll answer the door. I've got everything planned. Mike, no. Who is it? Hellboy. Oh, yeah. Just a minute. Flowers for Mrs. Kimberly. Yeah, put them on the bed. Yes, sir. Right away. Don't come in. Ma'am? Put them down. Yes, sir. Jesus. That's a gun. Didn't you hear me? I told you not to come in. Quiet, Susie. I'll handle this. Look, Mr. Did...

Just take it easy, will you? See, I'll put the flowers right where you said. Aren't they pretty, Susie? I ordered them for us, for our wedding. Susan, you in there? Go away, Owen. Don't come in. Be quiet. Go away, Owen. Susan's going to marry me. Susan, who's in there? Susan. Owen, it's Mike. He's got a gun. You two stay where you are. I ain't moving, Mr. Honest. Break the door down.

Are you all right? Go away, Owen. If you come in this room, I'll kill her. I'm not fooling Owen. I've got a gun and I'll kill Susan. You wouldn't kill anybody, do you? Come on. Wouldn't I? You hear that, Susan? He thinks I can't shoot. Open up, you little fool. Don't worry, Susan. Won't hurt anybody. Won't I? You. Me? Hey, be careful, will you, Mr. Wright? I'm hit. Help me, will you? I'm hit. You hear that? You think I can't shoot? You think so? You see what I can do, don't you, Susie? Susie.

Just a minute, Mr. Kimberley. I tell you, close that door, will you, Harrington, and let's get organized. Right, keep those cake fellas open. You've got to get my wife out of that room, don't you understand? He's crazy. Now, if you'll try to be calm for just a minute, Mr. Kimberley. Calm? With Susan locked in there with that madman? We're going to do everything we possibly can, Mr. Kimberley, I promise you.

Now, what about those orders, Miss Miller? They're all being taken care of, Chief. The hotel manager's putting us in room 2042. We can see the room they're in from there? Yeah. Easy, Chief, easy. It's on an L sticking out from the main wall. We can see right into the room Mrs. Kimberly's in. See into it? What good will that do? Get her out, I tell you. We're going to, Mr. Kimberly, but we can't endanger her life. You heard the shot yourself. The man is armed. If he hits Susan, if he's so much... I tell you, Kimberly, she's okay.

The way he talks, he's shot to bellhop. Kid named Jim Dale, Chief. Yes, yes, I know. This begins to resemble that tragic affair in Camden. Yeah, that maniac that killed all those people. Yeah. What about the phone lines, Miss Miller? Well, they should be set up now. One line into the room therein and two to the desk. Yeah, they're putting in a tie line to headquarters too, Chief. Good.

All right, now, what about nets? Well, the crew's working now. They've stopped traffic, Chief, and they're trying to string a net around the whole front of the building. Yeah, and there's a squad working the office building across the street, Chief. They'll tie in with us on the phone. Yes, yes. I want to know what they can see from that position. Oh, Kimberly, look, would you please... We're doing everything we can, believe me.

Now, tell me about this Newton youngster. He's 22, you said? He's crazy, I tell you. He always was. He wanted to marry Susan, ain't that it? Sure he did. He's always hung around Susie, ever since high school. I see. So when you and Susan were married yesterday, he wasn't invited. Is that it? Invite him? He's crazy, I tell you.

He came to a party Susan gave once and shot the statues in the garden. But your wife does know him. She'd be able to reason with him. Reason with him? He's crazy. Yes, I realize that. It's just that a great deal may depend on your wife remaining calm.

Let me get out of here, will you? I gotta get to a doctor. Open the door, Mike. This boy will bleed to death. Let me get out, please. It hurts. Mike. No, let him stay on the bed, Susan. He doesn't count. You aren't cruel, Mike. You don't want to torture anybody like this. I understand, Susan. It's like the stars. The stars? Last night, I was watching them. That's the kind of thing I have to do, Susan. Move the stars. Big things. Of course you do. Move the stars themselves. Marry you, Susan. You must marry me, you know. I know, Mike. And I will.

I said I will marry you. We can go downstairs now together and talk about it. Mrs. Newton. Mrs. Michael Newton. My stomach is on fire. Help me, will you? Should we go downstairs, Michael? No. You won't marry me. You're just pretending, Susie. What's that? Oh, it's the telephone. No. No, you answer, Susan. Go ahead. It hurts, I tell you. Can't you see I'm hurt? Go ahead, Susan. Tell the Michaels here. Yes, Michael. Hello? Hello?

This is the district attorney speaking, Mrs. Kimberly. Are you all right? What? Don't call me by name. We don't want to excite him. Father, you understand? Yes, I do. Yes, Father. We're near you and we're doing everything we can. Yes, I hope so. You're not hurt, you're sure? I'm all right, Father. Michael is here. Michael, you... Wait a minute, here's that. Yes, yes, we know. Is the bellboy all right? No. No, he isn't. He's wounded? That's right. But he's not dead?

No, Father. Kimberly, a lot depends on that. I know. Has the gun in his hand? Yes, all the time. I see. Now, don't excite him. Do whatever he says, but don't get him excited. I understand. I promise you, this will all be over in no time at all. Let me talk to him. Michael, wait. Hello, Pop? This is Michael, Mike Newton. Hey, what do you think, Pop? Susie's gonna marry me. Do you hear that? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. He heard. He's gonna hear a lot of things. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Just stay where you are, Susie. Don't move. Jim, do you feel any better, Jim? I think I'm going to die. Water is good, Susie. You want a drink? Give it to him, Michael. Oh, sure. Surest thing you know. Here, fella. Take a drink of water. Let me get out of here, will you? I didn't do anything. You're hurt bad, kid, you know it? Let me out, mister, will you? Mike, please. Oh, I'd sure like to, fella, but I can't.

I open the door, they'll come in here. And I couldn't marry Susan. I'm going to die, I tell you. Death isn't so important. Look at the stars now. They don't die. Mike. You look so pale, Susan. This should be the happiest day of our lives. Sit still. Hello? Wait a minute, will you? I'm going to die. Hello, hello. Michael, this is the district attorney. I'm in the next room, Mike. If you go to the window, you can see me. Stay out of this. Open the door and let those people go, Mike.

You know you'll have to soon anyway. Not Susan. She's going to marry me. That's my thing. You can't keep her in there forever. I can do anything. Look out of the window, Mike. Policemen, nets, everything. You know you'll have to give up.

it now. Out the window? Yes, go ahead. Take a look. Yeah, sure. I'd like to see. Susie. Whoever it is, Mike, do what they say. We're causing excitement, you know that, Susie? Come on, we gotta look out the window. No. You wanna see, don't you? Come on. You walk in front of me, Susan. Mike, let go. Come on, I say. Come on. Be quiet. And sit, Susie, in front of me. I don't wanna look, Mike. Please. Look, will ya? All the people down there. Thousands of them.

Hello, Mike. Mike, you're hurting me. Let go. Stay in front of me. I told you. Who said that? We're over here in the window. What do you want? Go away. No. You try it and I'll kill her. I'll kill us all, maybe. I'll kill, I told you. Wait a minute, Susie. You stay here. Just let me get out, will you? I'll show them. Please put me down. I'll show them what I can do. Mike, no. In the name of God, let me go. Watch this, DA. Watch the window now. Oh.

The End

Haven't you had enough? He threw that boy out the window, didn't he? What are you waiting for? We're trying to save your wife, Kimberly. Rofy's taken the bellhop's body over to the morgue, Chief. Yes, yes, I know. I can't believe it. That just isn't happening. You killed my wife, I tell you. Do something. Kimberly, we're trying. We can't shoot from across the street because we might hit Susan. That goes for shooting from here, too, Chief. Right. It just can't be done. What about gas? Tear gas, isn't it? Use that, any... Yes, we've thought of that, Kimberly. Gas would only excite him. With that gun in his hand, we can't risk it.

Miss Miller. Right here, Chief. Did you send for the manager and the others? Yes, they're on their way up. The hotel architect, too. Good. Anything is worth trying now. They've been in there how long? Nearly five hours? Yeah, almost, Chief. We're getting searchlights set up. I'll kill them. If I get my hands on them, so help me, I'll murder them myself. Oh, quiet, quiet. Chief? Yes, yes, what is it, Hanks? Can I make a triad? Sure, of course. What do you want to do? Oh, just a try. Kimberly. What? This is important, Kimberly. What?

Tell me everything about Mike that you know. Answer the phone, Mike. Tell them you'll do what they say. I can't, Susie. Not now. I threw that boy out the window. Yes? Mike? Yes? My name's Harrington, Mike. I'm in the room next door. I don't want to talk. I won't come out. Forget about that, son. I just wanted to ask you about your dog. My dog? That's right. He's probably hungry by now.

Thirsty, too, maybe. Dirk will be all right. Oh, well, I sure hope so. Fine dog, Mike. I got one, too, you know. Sure, take him hunting with me in the fall. Hunting? Sure. Oh, hey, you're a pretty good hunter yourself. What's your name again? Arrington. I want to call sooner, Mike, but my car broke down. Yeah? Take the muffler off so it'll make noise and then put a little. What'll she do? 95 sometime. How about yours? 110. Ah! Be still, Susan. Oh!

110. Hey, I've got to hear about that. In here? Yeah. No. No, you can't. Listen, I promise you, Mike, no tricks. Really mean that? Sure. Men don't lie to each other, son. We know that. I'm a big man anyway. Yeah. Well, I would like to talk to somebody. I have to sort of plan things. Sure. Well, how about it? Want me to come in? You'd bring a gun. Oh, I give him a promise, Mike. No gun and no tricks. All we'll do is talk.

You promise? That's right. What do you say? All right, I'll let you in. Keep everybody back, Brophy. We don't want anyone in this car. Harrington. There's the door, Chief. Let me go in. Let me get my hands on it. Oh, you stay back, Kimberly. Understand? Don't go near that door. Hanson, stay with Mr. Kim. Harrington, I don't like this. He has a gun in there. Oh, I don't like it either, Harrington.

The boy's a murderer. Your promise to him has no meaning. I know that, Chief, but I can't risk going in there with a gun. Not with that girl in there. Well, all right. Get back. All right. Harrington, be careful. Don't worry, I will. Mike? Harrington, Mike? You let me in? Kimberly, watch this, Mike. Yeah, please, keep back. Or am I going alone? Mike! He's unfolding the door. I can hear it. Are you alone? Sure. I'm right in front of the door, Mike.

And I'll come in alone. All right, please. Harrington? Right here, Mike. Open the door. Come on in. Sure, Mike. Let me out. There he is. Let me out. Kimberly, come back here. You liars. All of you liars. Kimberly, do you know what you've done? Now he's slammed the door. Jake, it's Harrington. Harrington, you're hit. What? Let me go. I'm sorry. I lost my head. Harrington. Good Lord, that shot did hit him. Harrington. Get the doctor up here. Fast. Harrington.

Yes, the district attorney's right here. I'll tell him. No, just stand by. Are you sure you're all right, Harrington? Sure, it's okay, Chief. Just nicked my shoulder, that's all. Doc Colgan fixed me up fine. The hotel manager just phoned, Chief. Yes. Everything you wanted is ready. Oh, thank you, Miss Mitterrand.

Would you ring Mike in the next room, please? The operator's calling them now. I made such a mess of everything. When I saw him, I just wanted to kill him. Yeah, well, just stay where you are, Kimberly. It can't be helped now. That's it, Chief. Good. Hello, hello, Mike. What do you want? I just want to talk, Mike. A hot night like this, we might as well. Why don't you look out the window? What's that? Susan's out on the ledge. Chief, what was that, Mike?

Take a look at their window, Miss Miller. Hurry. Right. I tied her all up. See her? One push... Yes, yes, I know, Mike. Gee, she's on the window ledge. What? Good Lord. I'm sorry, Mike. What were you saying? It's such a hot night. I had to get a drink of water. Susan's on the ledge. Yeah. Now, if anybody comes near us, I'm just gonna push her over. Gee, she's out there. I'm gonna tie it up. Good Lord. Um, go on, Mike. I was just trying to pour some more cold water. It's, uh...

It's the heat, I guess. Makes a man thirsty on a night like this. Ever been fishing in Canada, Mike? Boy, that's the life, isn't it? I don't have much time for that now. I have so much to do. Big job, you know. Yes, I know, I know. But it's sure good, isn't it? End of a day on the cool lake.

All that water. Come in and get a nice drink out of a spring. Oh, so much power. Understand? Like the stars. You know the stars have power? Have they? Uh, excuse me, Mike. I just want to pour another glass of water. He's still behind Susan, Chief. She's lying across the field and he's behind her. Don't take your eyes off me. Mike? He put down the phone. Mike! Mike, are you there? Over here, Chief. You can see Susan.

Mike, put down the phone. Where did he go, Harrington? Did you see? She isn't moving. I tell you, she isn't moving. She's all right, Kim. I tell you, Susan's all right. There he comes. See? She's him, Smear. Don't let him know we're watching. Stand behind that curtain, Smear. And, Kimberly, you stay put in that chair. Whatever you say. Chief, he's got it. Look, in his hand. He's got a glass of water. Easy. Watch him now. Dear Lord.

Don't let him give it to Susan. Please. See him? He's raising the glass. Watch him. He's drinking it. Thank heaven. He's drinking it, Chief. Look. The whole glass. He took... Watch him. There he goes. Look. He's falling. See if it works. He's on the floor, Chief. He's out like a light. Yes, I know. All right, Harrington. Let's break down that door and get that girl. Mike can't hurt anybody now. No.

¶¶

With the help of the hotel plumbers, we tied off that bathroom from the regular hotel water system and instead fed water into that tap from a tank in the hall. Yeah, and some drinking water, Chief. You had enough knockout drop solution in that tank to put a whole army to sleep. Yeah, and fast. It knocked Mike out, Harrington, and that was important. To knock him out fast before he could get back to the window and harm Sush. And it certainly did. ♪♪

Oh, my God.

Mr. District Attorney comes to you through the worldwide facilities of the United States Armed Forces Radio Service. Murder! I did that! Don't be too sure about that, Wentworth. What do you mean? Don't forget that skeleton there. He was once a man, too.

Until he was trapped in here, or murdered. What of it? Oh, nothing. Nothing except this. Midnight. The witching hour when the night is darkest. Here's the strongest and our strength at its lowest ebb. Midnight.

When the graves gape open and death strikes. How? You'll learn the answer in just a minute in The Line is Dead. The Line is Dead

And now, Murder at Midnight. Tales of mystery and terror by Radio's Masters of the Macabre. Our story by Bate Blau is The Line is Dead. The gash in the green lawn of Brookside Memorial Park awaits the body of Albert Lockridge, scientist and explorer.

There are few who have followed him to his last resting place, for Albert Lockridge was not one who was prodigal with his affection. And so beside the yawning grave stands his wife, Lenore. Albert! Finishing the short service, the minister says, And so, unto dust you are now committed. You may lower the casket. Strong hands grasp the straps attached to the coffin.

The pulleys sing their discordant dirge. A strange melody, heard over the soft weeping of the moorlachers. Suddenly... Listen, I'll give it to you.

Albert! Albert, we hear you. We know you're alive. Raise the casket. Raise the casket. Yes, sir. Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! help! help!

He is all right, isn't he, Dr. George? He seems to be, but... But what? Well, you can't blame me if I'm a little hesitant in giving my opinion. You mean you're not sure that he will... Yes.

After all, Mrs. Lockridge, my position is a little awkward. I signed the death certificate feeling certain that your husband was dead. And now I'm naturally reluctant to predict just what course his convalescence will take. I think I understand. The only thing that really matters is that my husband's lying in his bed at home and not in the cold, black earth of Brookside.

Isn't that true? You're a very sensible woman. Albert will get better. Probably. But we'd have to watch his heart. His heart? These strange spells when his heart seems to stop. When I thought it had stopped. Each attack is an added strain. But the strain of regaining consciousness in the coffin, he withstood that with even a... One even a healthy person might not have. He's a hard person to kill. Thank goodness for that. Well, this time it was a pretty close call. If he'd come to even ten minutes later, Mrs. Lockridge...

No one would have ever known. Albert. Lenore? Lenore? Is that you? Albert, the doctor says you'll be fine if you'll only rest. I can't rest. I've got to ask you a question. Dear, you've been through so much. Too much for any one person. So save any questions you may have. No, this question can't wait. That sealed envelope, Lenore. The one in my desk. The one I'm supposed to read after you...

Yes, yes, after I'm dead. Lenore, Lenore, you haven't read it, have you? No, no, Albert. I plan to read it after the funeral, just as you told me to. Sure? You haven't read it? Of course. Get it for me. I ought to see it for myself. Albert, no, you have so little strength. But I must know. You will. I must know now, because if you read it, I'd want to live.

Albert, I swear, I swear I haven't. Please believe me. You saw it? No. Look at me. You can see I'm telling the truth. Look at me. Yes, I think you are telling the truth. Well, Mr. Lockridge, another few days and we'll have you out of that wheelchair. Sometimes I wonder why you go to all this trouble with me, Doctor. It's my job. Yes. Yes.

But there's so many people who really enjoy life and yet die. Twice now I've been pronounced dead only to return to life almost reluctantly. Reluctantly? Yes. You tried awfully hard to get out of the coffin. The sheer horror of being buried alive. I've always been terrified of it. Since childhood? Yes. My nurse locked me in a closet whenever I misbehaved. I always thought I'd be left to die there.

Oh, it's not the fact of being deaf that bothers me. It's the fear of being buried alive. It's the choking. The futility of crying out. It would be a horrible way to die, but... Excuse me, doctor. There's a Mr. Burton here to see you, Mr. Lockridge. Good. Show him in there. Nurse, take our patient out on the sun porch. I'll send his visitor there.

Lockridge? Sit down, Mr. Burton. Thank you. Nurse, if you don't mind. Not at all. If you need me, just call. Now, Mr. Burton, as I understand your business... I'm a telephone engineer, specializing in special types of telephone systems. Yes. Perhaps you've read about me in the paper. Yeah, sure I have. You're the guy who came back from the grave. Yes, I'm the guy who came back from the grave.

And it strikes me, Mr. Burton, that an occasion might again arise when I might want to do the same thing. That's why I called you. Come again? Sometime, a doctor again may pronounce me dead. Perhaps I will be, perhaps I won't. And if I'm not, I'd like to feel that I could call for help. I don't get it. Mr. Burton, in case it should happen again, I'd like you to install a private telephone from this house to my grave. The End

Lenore, you must promise to keep the phone installed and in working condition for a year after I'm buried. A year? Darling, that doesn't make any sense. With a stop-and-go, a heart of mine doesn't make any sense either. But, Albert, a year. The first time, my heart stopped for six hours.

The next time, nearly two days. Who can tell? Well, a week, a month, perhaps. I think I'm asking very little. Well, then think of me, darling. Think of waiting day in and day out for the ring of that telephone. Think of the jumping at every stray bell, at every noise.

Darling, you're condemning me to a slow death, like being in a grave above ground. I still think my request is a modest one, and the least that a wife who loved her husband would do for him. Albert, don't start that again. After all, I shall be in my grave.

Perhaps, perhaps I shall be waiting too, waiting for help that will never come. Will you please stop this morbid talk? Nothing else seems to be on your mind lately. Besides, it's terribly late, almost midnight. When death comes to a man slowly, he gets time to think about it. Too much time. Stop it, please. It seems to me that you are only too anxious to get rid of me. But how can you even think such a thing after...

I've been a good wife, haven't I? Yes, but you might have made Oliver Wentworth an even better one. Albert, please, please don't bring that up again. What would have happened if Oliver had come back from that expedition with me? I don't know. You would have married him, wouldn't you? Perhaps. I don't know. How can you say that?

You were engaged to him, weren't you? An engagement doesn't always mean marriage. You did intend to marry him, didn't you? Of course I did. What of it? You know I intended to. And you only changed your mind because he was killed. That's why you turned towards me. Well... I was nothing in your life. You were very sweet to me, Albert, then. I could see that you loved me in your peculiar way. I appreciated everything you did for me. Appreciate? Oh, Albert, why dig, dig, dig, looking for a sore spot? It's not fair to me.

or to you? I was nothing in your life, was I? As long as Oliver was alive. What are you trying to prove? All the time we've spent together, I've played second fiddle to Oliver Wentworth. Look, Albert Lockridge, when we married, I said I'd put all thoughts of Oliver out of my mind. Well, I've done it. At least... At least? At least what?

You mean you've tried, but you couldn't. I knew it. I knew it. You've never loved me. He's always been in your heart. What are you talking about? You just said it. If I had died, you would never have given me another thought. But all the time, here, in my own house, he's been living his own memory, haunting you, haunting us. I can't go on like this. I just can't go on. I've struggled with him long enough. He's got to go. No matter what I have to do to crush his memory, I've got to tell it. I've got to...

What is it? Help me. I've got you. Now, slowly. Slowly? I don't think I can make it. Of course you can. Of course you can. You've got to. But I can't. I can't.

Doctor, are you sure? Absolutely, Mrs. Lockridge. And this time the two heart specialists agree with me. But, Doctor, in view of what happened before... We've tried to take that into consideration. But even so... Can't you postpone signing the certificate? I'm sorry, Mrs. Lockridge. My colleagues and I all agree that your husband is dead. There can be no delay. Very well, Doctor. Thank you for everything. Goodbye, Mrs. Lockridge. Goodbye, Doctor. Hello? Mr. Burton? This is Mrs. Lockridge speaking.

My husband died yesterday. He's to be buried tomorrow at Brookside. Will you please be there as he desired to install a telephone in his grave? A man who was afraid, not of death, but of being buried alive. A telephone to a sealed grave and a great beyond. Will we hear from Albert Lockridge again before the clock strikes 12 for...

And now, back to Murder at Midnight and The Line is Dead. One, one minute.

Good evening, Mrs. Lockwood. It's awfully nice of you to call. I was worried about you. I'm all right. I'm fine. I couldn't come to the funeral. I tried to phone you, but... The phone's disconnected. So they said. And so I came over. I rang the bell several times. No answer either. Finally, I knocked. I've had the doorbell disconnected, too. You mustn't cut yourself off from the world like this, Mrs. Lockwood. Believe me, Doctor, that's not my intention.

As long as I stand guard at this telephone, I want to be sure that the only bell that ever rings in this house is the one that tells me that Albert's not dead, that he's still alive, there in his coffin, that he needs help. You're really going through with this? He asked me to. It doesn't seem too much. You're only deluding yourself, Mrs. Lockridge, believe me. Waiting this way is only a perverse and completely futile sort of mourning. I know you can't understand. I can't. But I do know that this morbid watch will only deepen your grief.

Prevent you from making any kind of adjustment to his death. What difference does it make? You're a young woman, Mrs. Lockridge. You have a whole life ahead of you. All the more reason for spending some of it as he wanted me to. Doctor, my husband was not the sort of person who inspired affection. I know. But in his odd, sometimes unaccountable way, he did love me. Now that he's gone, no one on earth holds any fond memories of him but me. A heavy responsibility, Mrs. Lockridge.

Still, you must take care of yourself. I will, Doctor. Assume that he is dead. Mourn him, if you will, but don't live in a state of suspended animation. For instance, if he's left to will, don't put off reading it. There are some papers which I was supposed to read after his death. They're in a sealed envelope in his desk. Read them. Read them immediately. Not yet. You should. Perhaps they'll contain some message of comfort. Get the envelope now. Not now, Doctor George, but very soon.

Just a moment. Yes? Oh. Oh. Lenore. Lenore. Lenore, can't... It is. I know I shouldn't have come just like this without warning. But I thought, always thought... That I was dead. Yes, I know. That's what Albert told me and you never came back. No. Why? It's a long story, Lenore.

A story you ought to hear. You know that Albert died yesterday? I know. That's why I came. Why didn't you come sooner when he was alive? Were you afraid to meet him? I was afraid to meet you. Me? Why, Oliver? By the time I returned, you would know that we're already married. But even so, we both would have... I wonder. You see, I knew you thought I was dead. No good would have come of such a meeting. But now... Now everything is different. Different? Yes, of course. Yes.

I loved you then. I love you now. Oliver. I've come back for you. Oliver, you don't understand. How can I even think of such things today? Lenore, I had to come. I've waited so long. I couldn't wait a day longer. Can't you see it's useless even to think about that now? He may still be alive. I know. No, it's not right just because you do not today. I was afraid you'd think so. Lenore, I wanted to avoid this, but now I see I must tell you.

Lenore, neither of us knew Albert Lockridge. Oh, Oliver, I've lived with him. I still don't think you ever really knew him. I never did, even though I worked with him for many years. That is, until the day we stood in the great hall of the old Aztec temple. The temple we found on that last expedition. The one from which I was not supposed to come back, Tom. We were trying to find a door to an inner chamber. There must be an opening here somewhere, Wendler.

In every Aztec temple ever found, there was always a room near the altar used to keep ceremonial objects. I know, I know. Wait a minute. Hmm? Sounds like a little hollow here. What about that slab in the floor? What about it? I think that it might certainly sound different. I were an Aztec priest, and I stepped on it like this. We went with the door. We found the door. Solid stone.

And still working after all these centuries. Let's take a look inside. You got the flashlight? Yes, take the hammer. Right. Uh-oh. It's not very pretty. It is a human skeleton, isn't it? Yeah. Probably trapped in here and left to die. I'd like that. Look, Lockridge. Those dishes. Swing the flashlight over. Gold. Solid gold. There are more over here. Look, stacks of them. Watch them.

We found the treasure. Now, wait a minute, Lopper. Let's get this straight. In the first place, I don't think we'd be let out of the country with these gold plates. Well, we can melt them down and smuggle them out. Melt them down? These things are priceless. Besides, the university sent us here. The gold belongs to anyone that's there. No one ever has to know. Oh, yes, they do, because I'll tell them. Huh? It's all very well for you to play the heroic fool. You've everything you want. What the devil do you mean? You know perfectly well. You've got all the money you need.

Besides, you have Lenore. What's she got to do with it? You do have Lenore, haven't you? You act as if I took her from you. You were afraid of me. Oh, Lockwood, don't be an idiot. Lenore would no more look at you. Oh, wouldn't she? She'd marry me if you weren't in the way. I know it. Why, you fool. Just being friendly to you because I asked her. We'll see. If you weren't around... But I am around. As far as the gold plates are concerned... I said we'll see. After all, that skeleton there, he was once a man, too. Until he was trapped in here. What of it? Oh, nothing. Nothing?

Nothing? Nothing? When I came to, I was there in the dark. Flashlight, the gold plate's gone. Left there to die. Trapped behind a stone door. Oh, no. No. When Albert Lockridge closed that door, in his heart, in his twisted brain, there was only one intention. Murder. How did you get out? By luck more than anything else. I had the hammer and I knew where the stone latch was.

I started chipping away at it. To this day, I don't know how long it took me, but when I finally got out, I was a sick man. Exhausted. And by the time I was well enough to travel, come home here, you were already married. And he told me that you'd been killed by natives. Of course, that was a lie, but...

Oliver, I still can't believe that your story is completely true either. But why? A man who's been the victim of an attempted murder would see that the murderer was punished. You didn't. Didn't even try to. Well, Lamar, how could I? He was your husband. Well, why not? Could I brand you as the wife of a murderer? Loving you as I did, as I do? I had to wait. But now let's forget this horrible past. I can't, no matter how I feel I can't.

After all, there's no proof. Lenore, don't you believe me? It's not just that. Don't you see? At any moment, the telephone may ring telling me that he's alive. If I knew your story were true, perhaps I'd feel differently. But, no, my place is here. I must be here. Lenore, please. If you feel any love for me at all... Will you go, Oliver? Please. If that's what you wish. Yes, Lenore. I'll go. But remember, I love you.

I don't know why it should matter now, but I still hope you told the truth, Oliver, for them. The papers! In the sealed envelope! I promised Dr. George I'd read them. Lenore, there are many things on my mind as I sit writing this last word to you. Many things which no human mind should have to bear without telling another. As I look over my life, I know now it has been an encore moment.

I've never had a straightforward human emotion enacted on it. My work has been a sort of shadow play which gave my hollow existence an outward tinge of reality. No friend has really touched me, for I cannot be reached. I married you more out of perverse vanity than love. Perhaps because of your loyalty, some spark of love has been kindled in me. Bear this in mind when you go out to the garden.

For there, underneath the sundial, you will find a treasure of gold, which should take care of you when I cannot. I had intended to use this gold myself, but I could not, because it might incriminate me in the murder of Oliver Wentworth. People might ask questions, but the murder of Oliver Wentworth, then his story was true. Oliver! Gone? Well, he can't have gone far, and if I hurry...

A telephone ringing, ringing in an empty house. A man who is not dead lying in his coffin fighting for breath and waiting, waiting for an answer that will not come. A fitting payment for... Murder at Midnight!

The End

Remember to be with us again when death stands waiting at a newly dug grave. The clocks strike twelve for... Murder! Midnight!

The parts of Mr. and Mrs. Albert Lockridge were played by Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Edward Johnson.

With music by Charles Paul, Murder at Midnight was directed by Anton M. Leder. ♪♪

The End