Now let's see.Suspect.Suspectant.Suspend.Ah, here we are.Suspense.
The condition of mental uncertainty.Usually accompanied by apprehension or anxiety.Fear of something which is about to occur as... Do not keep me any longer in suspense.
Hello, and welcome to a bonus Halloween episode of Stars on Suspense.If you're a longtime listener of the podcast, you probably know that Halloween is my favorite holiday.
And every year, I love to celebrate by watching some of my favorite scary movies.Now, another thing about me, is that I can't stomach gore or extreme violence, so my taste in horror runs to the older stuff.
The classic Universal monsters, the hammer horror pictures of the 50s and 60s, and movies from the William Castle and Roger Corman era of tongue-in-cheek terror.
Those films starred iconic actors who turned in some of their most memorable performances in movies featuring vampires and werewolves.And many of those stars also made appearances on suspense.
So today, in honor of Halloween, I'm sharing episodes of suspense featuring some of the biggest names of old Hollywood horror.First up is Peter Lorre, who starred in Warner Bros.
horror pictures like Mad Love and The Beast with Five Fingers, one of my favorites, before he later worked in the Roger Corman Edgar Allan Poe series alongside two of our other stars that we'll hear today.
We'll hear Mr. Laurie in Till Death Do Us Part from December 15, 1942, a great suspense story written by John Dixon Carr about a man's meticulous plan to get rid of his wife and the man he thinks she secretly loves.
Next, it's Count Dracula himself, Bela Lugosi. Of course, he didn't just play Dracula.He also played Igor and the Frankenstein monster.
Plus, he starred in many other great horror films, including one of my all-time favorites, an annual must-view for me every Halloween, The Black Cat. Lugosi stars in The Doctor Prescribed Death from February 16, 1943, his only appearance on suspense.
He plays a doctor who believes he has the method to turn someone on the verge of committing suicide into a murderer.Up third is another titan of Hollywood horror and a man who frequently co-starred with our first two actors, Boris Karloff.
Frankenstein, The Mummy, The Body Snatchers, Bedlam, The Raven, and his years hosting the TV anthology Thriller, Karloff's name is more synonymous with horror than almost anyone else's.
We'll hear him in Drury's Bones from January 25, 1945, where he plays a Scotland Yard inspector afflicted with amnesia. and who comes to believe he may be the murderer whose crime he's investigating.
Our fourth show is a two-hander starring a pair of horror legends.The first is Claude Rains, who played the original Invisible Man, as well as the Phantom in Universal's 1940s color remake of The Phantom of the Opera.
Also, in perhaps the strangest example of father-son casting in movie history, he played Lon Chaney's dad in The Wolfman.
His co-star here is Vincent Price, star of House of Wax, Tales of Terror, House on Haunted Hill, and of course, he delivered the spoken word bridge in Thriller.
Together, they star in The Hands of Mr. Ottermole from December 2nd, 1948, the story of a strangler stalking the streets of London and of a police sergeant and a reporter who have a very revealing discussion about the crimes.
Speaking of Mr. Price, we'll hear him solo in our last show today, an adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe's The Pit and the Pendulum, originally aired on November 10th, 1957.
And it's appropriate that we'll hear Price in a story by Mr. Poe, as Price starred in Roger Corman's series of popular Poe adaptations through the early 1960s.
So now turn down the lights, grab some popcorn, and enjoy a marathon of horror stars and tales well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Tonight, Columbia brings you, as a guest star, Peter Lorre, one of the screen's past masters of the art of suspense.Suspense is compounded of mystery and intrigue and dangerous adventure.In this series,
Our story is calculated to intrigue you, to stir your nerves, to offer you a precarious situation, and then withhold the solution until the last possible moment.
Tonight, for instance, Mr. Lorry plays for us a doctor, a husband, with something dark and terrible on his mind.Was it murder?And if so, can this at last be the really perfect crime?
We trust that while you are wandering, we shall keep you in suspense.
For suspense tonight, CBS presents Till Death Do Us Part by John Dixon Carr, starring Peter Lorre.
Late one night in December of 1941, a man and his wife sat beside the fire in their country cottage.
This man, look at him, a professor of mathematics, stout, middle-aged, guileless as a child, in the remote corner of England where he lives with his pretty English wife. They say of him... Jolly decent fellow, you know, for a foreigner.
Isn't he?Always a smile for everybody and so polite.That's why it's such a shame about his wife and that young American.There hasn't been anything between them yet, I'm almost sure.But if the American stays here much longer...
A happy man, this Professor Craft.His cottage in the country is rather isolated.Three miles from the nearest house.No electricity or central heating or telephone.And on December nights like this, a great wind comes rushing off the Sussex Downs.
It rattles at the windows, growls in the chimney, and makes unsteady the oil lamp on the table. Professor Irwin Kraft sits before the fire in a snug book-lined room.And across from him, sewing, sits his young wife, Cynthia.A domestic scene.
A very domestic scene.Oh, my pet, this is wonderful, isn't it?Oh, so nice and cozy.How I enjoy our little home. It's a pleasure to be indoors on a night like this, isn't it?Yes.Did my darling have a good day?
Not exactly.I walked into the village.
Walked?Oh, I really blame myself for burying you out here.I ought to get you a car.
That's not necessary, thanks.
Come now, come.Did something happen to upset my little pet today?
You know, darling, I look at you and I marvel.
At a wife who can actually blush.Yes.With a skin so fair and a conscience so transparent that she can actually blush.
I wasn't blushing about... About what?About anything you might be thinking.It's your horrible habit of putting everybody else in the wrong.
Oh, but the neighbors don't think that about Poppa Croft.
The neighbors don't have to live with you.I do.
And you mustn't scratch either.Not when we are so snug here, so cozy, and the kettle on the fire is nearly boiling, and the rum is ready, and the lemon juice, and the sugar for her medicine.
Oh, and must I drink that stuff?I don't like rum.
But you have a cold, darling.
I haven't got a cold.Really, I haven't.
Now, darling, twice today I heard you cough.Now, you are going to take your medicine, Cynthia, and take it here and now, And not offend your clumsy old husband by refusing.
Why do you keep on treating me like a girl of 16?
I love to treat you like that, Cynthia, because... because I cannot fathom your thoughts.You lock up your thoughts.And that is a dangerous English habit.You see, thoughts accumulate and won't be stifled.And sooner or later, When you least expect it.
Look out!The kettle's boiling over.
Oh, and please lift it down from there.
Of course.I apologize.I apologize, my darling.There.
For a second, you know, you almost frightened me.
Here we are, my dear, here we are.Now, see, I put two tumblers on the coffee table.And now, a spoon in each, so that the heat doesn't crack them.
My dear, must you give me so much rum?Can't I have the small one?
But we have to cure that cold of yours, Cynthia.Now comes the lemon juice.Yes.And now comes Hot water to the clock.Here we are.And two lumps of sugar for each of us.There you are, darling.Now let's drink up, huh?
I did.It came from that cupboard over there.It sounded like your accordion.
Oh, that's nonsense, darling.That's nonsense.
There! There it is again.
Well, that's only the wind.Or perhaps a rat that got into the cupboard.
Irwin, I'm terrified of rats.Go and kill it, would you mind?
Oh, you really set very heavy labors, my sweet, for one of my ways.Well, if you insist.All right, all right.I'll take a good heavy poker from the fireplace.And of course, it means a little trip to the cupboard.
You haven't changed your mind, have you?
It'd probably run out across the floor.Come back.
Wouldn't run very far, I'm sure.Well, again, if you insist.
I can't think what's the matter with me tonight.
You're sure nothing upset you in the village today, huh?
How about this young American, that fledgling doctor, what's his name?
That's it.Dr. Craig.Dr. Craig.Didn't someone say he was leaving today for London and then back to the States?
I believe so.That's what Lady Randolph told me.
And you didn't say goodbye to him?
Well, that wasn't kind of you, darling.That wasn't friendly.What's the matter?Don't you like my nice hot rum drink?
No.But you'd give me no peace till I do drink it.
That's right, darling, that's right.Now, take it down like a good girl.I'm keeping you company.See?Oh, how pretty she looks, with her yellow hair in the firelight, and her red mouth, and her light little hands.Very pretty.
Oh, there is just one other thing, Cynthia.I gave you a letter to post this afternoon.Did you post it?
And did you notice to whom the letter was addressed?
Everybody notices the address on an envelope.It was to Sir Mr. Hatherby at Market Shepherd.That's right.But I don't know who he is, if that's what you mean.
Oh, Mr. Hatherby is the coroner of this district.
That's right.That's right.
But is there any reason why you should be writing letters to the coroner?
Well, there will be tomorrow morning. We have been just drinking poison, my love.Why do you drop your glass, darling?
No?This will interest you, Cynthia.You were a trained nurse, and weren't you?You see, the poison was aconite.Mung shoot.
Yes. Homegrown in our own little garden.You know, one sixteenth of a grain has been a fatal dose.
There's no telephone here.No car, not even a neighbor.
Take your hands off me.Let me get up.
No, my pet.In about five minutes, you'll see the first symptoms will come on.
Yes.Our throats will grow dry. Our eyesight will turn dim.
And presently, we'll lose the use of our limbs.Well, there are convulsions before the end, I believe, but we won't feel them.
If you try to hit at me, Angel, you'll upset that lamp.And, well, if you upset the lamp, this cottage would go up like tinder.We don't want to burn to death, do we?
Irwin, why are you doing this?Why are you doing it?
Do you think all Papa Craft is blind, my pet?Huh?If I can't have you, Cynthia, nobody else is going to have you.
That was nothing.My tongue slipped.
A cynic would say, my dear, that your foot slipped. Do you think I don't know what happened the other night at the schoolhouse?Schoolhouse?Yes, the Market Shepherd Schoolhouse.At Lady Randolph's little concert in aid of the war relief.
Nothing happened.I swear it didn't.No?No.
Oh, then it was coincidence, I suppose, that you and that Dr. Craig didn't arrive until the concert was nearly over.
Yes.Yes, it was.We didn't go there together.
We met in the little hall outside the auditorium. It was just as you were finishing your number on the accordion.
Oh, I beg your pardon.It's so dark here, I almost bumped into you.Isn't that Mrs. Craig?
Yes.Good evening, Dr. Craig.
We... We seem to be late.
I... I was detained on a case.
I didn't feel like coming here at all.
Oh, just a moment before I open that door for you.Won't it look a little funny, our arriving here together?
No reason at all, only... Cynthia, listen to me.
Do you know, Dr. Craig, that's the first time you ever called me by my first name.
I did want to have a word with you somehow.Of course, you've heard the news.
on the radio for the past couple of days.
We're too far out to get much news.My husband isn't interested.
He isn't interested?He isn't interested in anything but himself.
I'd rather you didn't talk that way about my husband.
Would you push the door open a little?Lady Randolph is saying something.
I'm sure we've all enjoyed our friend Professor Craft's musical numbers on the accordion. And the vicar's conjuring tricks.And little Miss Linshaw's spirited recitations.
It only remains for me to tell you that the collection for this little entertainment will amount to this.Yes, Colonel Thompson, what is it?
Colonel Thompson's going across the platform in rather a hurry.Looks like an announcement of some kind.
Ladies and gentlemen, your attention. We have just received some late news by the 9 o'clock bulletin.
I think I can guess what it is.
Following yesterday's declaration against Japan, the Congress of the United States today declared war against Germany and Italy.No applause, please.I think I can say that these things go too deep for applause.
We entered a war lightly, and we have learned.But before the vicar ends this meeting, I shall ask the orchestra to play us the song numbered 83 in the book.A song we know is dear to the hearts of all Americans.
Won't be leaving England?
Probably in a very short time.They'll be needing doctors.
But does a formal declaration of war make any difference?What does it mean to you?What does it mean?
I... I can't explain it, Cynthia.It's all in that song.If they're going to need me, I'll go back.
But can't you do just as much good here in England?
I don't know.That depends on what the army says.
Doesn't anything depend on what I say?
We haven't got much time, Cynthia.That crowd will be out in a minute.
And we won't admit it, will we?
Admit how we feel about each other.I haven't said... Nor I. I was only talking about what we were thinking.
No, we won't admit it.You say you can't explain about the war.I can't explain about this.
Don't try. It's better this way.
Erwin's been very good to me, and he's such a childlike person.
Yes, everybody likes him.
Oh, he has his tempers, and he's not easy to live with sometimes, in spite of what they think.But I can't do anything to hurt him, because he'd never do anything to hurt me.Never, never, never in the world.
A very fair estimate of my character, too.
That's exactly what I said about you.
So you are in love with that fellow?
Tell me, darling, do you feel anything yet?
I mean, dryness?Muscular contraction of the throat?
I won't.And how do you propose to stop yourself? Your only chance would be to reach the village infirmary, and I'll see to it that you don't get there.
But what if the poison takes you before it takes me?Then you can't stop me.
You seem terribly sure of that.
You see, the amount I gave you, as you perhaps noticed, was more than I gave myself.I'm going to follow you, my little pet, into the dark, where there are no Dr. Jim Craigs, but not too quickly.
I shall still have most of my faculties, Cynthia, when your convulsions are already beginning.
Your legs don't seem any too steady.
I don't know.It must be the heat of the fire, perhaps, or it's very hot in this room.Cynthia.Cynthia, darling, listen to me.
There is a copy of Taylor's medical jurisprudence on the... There, over on the shelf there.Please, please get it for me.
I'm afraid you'll have to get it for yourself, my dear.That is, if you can.
Mind the lamp, Irwin.We don't want the house afire, just as you said yourself.
I'll mind the lamp.Listen to me. You know, some people's systems aren't tolerant to poisons.The... The experience in minutes what ought to take hours.
Does it hurt, Erwin?Does it hurt?
But you'll find out soon enough, my pet.Because... Because you'll never make three miles to the village.Never.
I know it. And just remember, I shall be waiting.
Out in the dark and cold, where there is neither marriage nor giving in in marriage.I'll be waiting for my little pet to come and join me. I shall be great.
Erwin!Erwin!Oh!I hate you.I loathe you.I'm afraid of you.But I don't want you to die because of me.And yet, you are dead, Erwin. I'm not going to join you.I've never prayed much, Erwin, but I'm praying now.
Whatever comes over my wits and makes my senses weak, give me strength enough to get to the village.Just give me strength enough to get to the village!
An empty room now, except for the motionless figure by the fire.The great wind enters through an open front door and makes the lamp shake dangerously on the tables.The whole house creaks.Otherwise, it is very quiet.Suddenly, the corpse sits up.
Professor Kraft looks pleased, doesn't he?Very pleased. very alert as he moves over to a certain cupboard door.Well, and now I think the real fun can begin.Patience, patience, patience, my friend, while I open the cupboard door.Well, there we are.
I hope you haven't been too uncomfortable, Doctor. James, Craig... I'm all right, thanks.So you managed to get the gag out of your mouth, huh?
I managed it, yes, just now.
I'm too late.Well, you are still securely tied up, I'm glad to see.You know, you gave me several very, very unpleasant moments, young man, when you... when you got your foot on that accordion.
Well, Cynthia thought you were a rat and wanted me to kill you. You know, she shows very good sense sometimes.
I could hear both of you talking.Thanks very much.
Oh, of course you could.Of course.Excuse me, please.I forgot that.Yes, and I could see you too through a crack in the door.Well, you were intended to see us.But now, come on.First of all, I'll drag you out of here.Yes, let me take you.
Now we can sit down and have a nice How much aconite did you give Cynthia?How much?Oh, about two grains.Two grains?Well, then she can't possibly... No, she can't possibly live until morning.But she can live long enough to testify that she saw me die.
And how much poison did you take yourself?I?
None.None at all? But you mixed those drinks out of the same materials.I saw you do it.
Well, but there wasn't any poison in the rum, young man.You see, two lumps of sugar steeped in aconite were dropped into Cynthia's glass.I marked them, and I didn't make a mistake.Can you see the beginnings of Poppercroft's plan?
Why, you... You see, Cynthia left the door open, my friend. And there is a very strong wind blowing tonight.Well?Just observe how it lifts the table covers, flutters the magazines, makes the lamp tremble.
I shouldn't be surprised, you know, if one of those lamps blew over.A fine crash in a sheet of flame.And when they come here tomorrow morning, after Cynthia's testimony in my letter to the coroner,
They'll expect to find at least a few charred bones among the ruins.And of course, they must find some remains.Whose remains?Yours.Yes, you've got me tied up pretty well, haven't you?And now you see.Now comes the best.
You were last seen going towards the railway station to London and then to America.Nobody. Nobody will inquire after you.Except Cynthia.That's right, except Cynthia, who will be dead.
That I waylaid you and brought you here while Cynthia was in the village will not be known to our good coroner.And I shall disappear.What do you think of it, young man?I think it's rather good.
You're going to let me burn to death?
Yes, and I shall enjoy the necessity.By the way, Too bad you missed my performance at Lady Randolph's concert.It was very nice.But then I think you were otherwise occupied.You could call it that.Occupied, I think, in making love to my wife.
You hurt my vanity, young man.And you are going to suffer for it.
I never made love to your wife.No?No.But I don't suppose you could possibly believe that.
Are you already begging for mercy?Now come on, now come on.Are you begging for mercy?No, I think. Dr. Craig, I don't like the way you're taking this.I really don't.Don't you?No.You ought to be afraid.All decent men should be afraid.
And no man is heroic when he sees death coming.But you are as white as a plate.You can't take your eyes off me.And you seem to be expecting something.Maybe I am expecting something.You are?Well...
I think I can persuade you to tell me what's on your mind, my friend.If I use the poker, out of the fire, huh?You see, you see, I'm a mathematician.I leave nothing to chance.
Do you hear that, Professor Craft?A car has stopped out in front.Well, they won't come in here.But of course they will.It's probably the Home Guard. Look, you fool, you've left the front door standing wide open in a blackout.Don't be childish.
Do you think to upset me with that?
Something's upset you.Take a look at yourself in a mirror.
Nothing.Nothing can upset my plans now.Everything is ready.My clothes and my money are in a stable.This place, this pretty little cottage will be a furnace.All I have to do is... All I have to do is pick up that lamp.
You see, like this, and... Something is wrong with me!
You're not acting this time, are you?You're not pretending now.You!You swine!What have you done to me?I have done nothing.You... You have done something to me.I... I can feel it.There... There is sweat all over me.My... My throat is choking.
Through the gate and up the path.
That... that sounded like... like my wife's voice.It was Cynthia's voice.
What is wrong with you?A person would think you were drunk.I'm sorry, Lady Randall.Stopping me in the road and asking to be taken to the infirmary at 80 miles an hour, and then finding there was nothing wrong with you.
But... but it can't be. It is impossible.
Oh, but it is.You see, your plans didn't include the fact that Cynthia doesn't like rum.Remember, you poured a very large drink for her and a small one for yourself.Yes.And you filled both glasses with hot water.
Oh, remember when she got you to leave her and come over to this cupboard?Yes.She changed the glasses then.You're the one who swallowed the poison, two grains of aconite.
No.No.Help me.Please.Help me.
Nothing on earth can save you.
Help me, please!In the name of... Please!Please help me!Nothing on earth can save you.No?You won't?Then... Then I'll show you!I'll... I'll take you with me!I'll take everybody with me!Where are you going?I'll... I'll get that lamp!
I'll take you with me.Why, look at you.You can't even see.You're blind.You're staggering straight into that cupboard.I'll take you.I'll take you with me.I'll take you.Jim.
Jim, what are you doing here?
Come in, Cynthia.Come in. Take a look at the man who died twice.
And so ends Till Death Do Us Part, starring Peter Lorre.Tonight's story of suspense.Columbia presents these tales of mystery and intrigue and dangerous adventure for your relaxation and enjoyment.
Next Tuesday there'll be another in this series, same hour, 9.30 Eastern Wartime.Mr. Laurie was starred as Professor Craft.He was supported by Alice Frost as Cynthia, David Gothard as Dr. Craig, and Mercedes McCambridge as Lady Randolph.
William Speer, the producer, John Dietz, the director, Bernard Herrmann, the composer, conductor, and John Dixon Carr, the author, are collaborators on... Suspense.
This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.
Suspense.This is the Man in Black.Here again to introduce Columbia's program, Suspense.Our star tonight is Bailey Lugosi, playing the part of Professor Antonio Basile, a psychologist.
The story is by J. Donald Wilson, who calls it The Doctor Prescribed Dead.If you have been with us on these Tuesday nights, you will know that suspense is compounded of mystery and suspicion and dangerous adventure.
This series of tales is calculated to intrigue you, stir your nerves, to offer you a precarious situation, and then withhold the solution until the last
And so it is with the doctor prescribed death and Bela Lugosi's performance, we again hope to keep you in high suspense.Professor Antonio Basile has a theory, but let him tell you about it.
As a psychologist, I have worked out a theory, a theory I know to be sound. I contend that a person who has decided to kill himself can very easily be turned from this desire to the desire of taking the life of another.I can prove my theory.
And if necessary, that is exactly what I will do.
Yes, Professor Antonio Basile has a theory, but only a theory. and he's worried about what his publisher will say.So he visits the editor, whose name is Hellman.Hellman finishes the manuscript and tosses it on the desk.
Professor Basile leans forward eagerly and... Well, Hellman, what do you think?
Professor Basile, it's purely conjecture, simply a theory, and I wouldn't advise publishing it.I worked on that theory for a long time.I am positive of it.I know it'll work.Suppose it will.What good is it?
What good have you accomplished if you can prove it'll work?
Are you laughing at me, Hellman?
It's so silly.An ordinary human being has suffered reverses.He's sick of it all.He wants to leave it all behind.And you say he can be changed to want to kill someone else.I do.
Self-destruction and the destruction of other life are closely related in the mind.The dividing line is very thin.
And you won't publish it?
Ranger would fire me.Why?
He told me that, in his opinion, you should be in the asylum.Mr. Granger said that?Does he think I'm insane?How do I know?Hellman, Mr. Granger didn't say that.It's you who thinks I'm crazy.You never liked me.
For some reason, you are trying to tear me down.Well, we'll see, Mr. Hellman.We'll see.Wait a minute. I'll show you whether my works are illogical.I'll show you whether I'm insane.Oh, calm down.I'm going to make you eat those words.
I know you don't like me, but I'm going to prove that my theory is sound.Good night.Wait a minute.Hussie, wait.You wait, Hellman.You wait.
Yes, wait, Hellman.Wait. Professor Basile, seething with resentment, rushes from the office and strides angrily down the street.
Insane, huh?I'll prove my theory.I'll find the subject.
I'll find someone who wants to take his own life.And so, Basile goes home, late for dinner.He finds a note from his wife, Myra, saying she's decided to attend the opera and will be home around 11.30. Then Professor Basile gets an inspiration.
He goes to the bridge over the deep canyon, the bridge called Suicide.And strangely enough, he hasn't long to wait.As he stands against the railing in the fog, a figure appears a few feet beyond, stops, prepares to leap.
Don't do it!Wait a minute!
Listen.That's very silly.
Oh, no. I couldn't do that.I need you.
Don't you know this is against the law?
You're not an officer.You can't stop me.
It's 500 feet to those tracks below.Hard steel rails.And don't believe what they all tell you about not being conscious of what happened.You'd know. People don't die instantly.
They lie in agony for minutes and sometimes for an hour.It's a horrible death, I know.
Yes.I can tell you much simpler ways.Much less painful ways and quicker.You're a nice young girl.An intelligent girl.You wouldn't want it to happen this way.Maybe after I talk to you a while, you wouldn't want to do this at all.
No. But come on, let's talk it over.Maybe a few minutes' talk will change the entire picture for you.
What could you do to help me?
If you'll come, I'll tell you.There's a motive back of your wanting to do this, and I'd like to know what it is.
Haven't you any relatives?Any loved ones you'd like to do something for?
Then if you talk with me for a while, Maybe I can find my way clear to help those people.
All right, I'll... Where?
Well, here we are.Come in, please.
Well, what do you want to know?
Sit down first. Are you hungry?
No, I'm not that broke.Didn't pop.
I knew that.I could tell by your voice.
Now first, why did you come here?
Why?Why, because you talked me into it.
I see.You're not afraid of me?
Afraid?In my frame of mind?What could I lose?
Suppose I told you that I really brought you here to kill you.
You know, you're a very pretty girl, don't you?
Yeah.That doesn't always mean so much.
That's what I thought.But I found out it didn't mean a thing.
Ah!Then it was because of a man.I knew it.
Really?How did you guess?
I'm a student of psychology.I'm Professor Antonio Basile.
I see.And you want to know what makes me tick? You want to know the reason behind my action tonight.
That's right.I would like to know what happened to make you want to kill yourself.Suicide is a mental aberration.Yeah.I'd like to know what preceded the decision to destroy yourself.What you thought about until the moment I stopped you on the bridge.
What good will that do me?
You said you weren't broke, but you also said you had some loved ones you'd like to do something for.
I meant I wasn't broke to the point of being hungry. I have a few dollars.But you suggested help for someone in larger terms.
Yes, I did.Who is the loved one?
You are her only means of support?
And you intend to kill yourself?
That's being selfish, isn't it?
Yes. You are concentrating solely on self.
What else?The first law of human nature is self-preservation, right?
The second law is the preservation of family.
So you decide to deny the first law and destroy yourself.And as a consequence, deny the second and leave your mother alone and in need.You indicate a form of insanity.
To destroy the other person.The one who has done you wrong.Have you heard him?
then the one who has done wrong should be the one to suffer.You have no legal recourse?
Legal recourse?No, I haven't, I'm sorry to say.
And you would kill yourself to let your poor mother suffer because of the wrong of another?Why shouldn't he be the one to suffer?
I suppose you're right.Why shouldn't he?
What happened after all?Why not tell me about it?Were you married?
No.He never seemed to find time to get around to marriage.
How long had you known him?
And you always thought he meant to marry you?
Yes.Until three weeks ago.
On July 1st, he had to leave town for a week on business.He said he was going to Kansas City.When he came back, he seemed to be too busy to see me. Then a week ago, I found a snapshot along with several others in his desk in his home.
Certainly.It's a picture of him and another woman.But the picture was not taken in Kansas City.
No.It was taken on the beach at Atlantic City.And it's dated by the finisher July 3rd.Since he returned, he's refused to see me.Yesterday, he finally said he didn't care to see me anymore.But I'd better forget him.
But it isn't so easy as that, is it?
No.I figured I'd done something.And blame myself.
Do you... Do you know this blonde woman in this snapshot?
Then it must be a woman he has met recently.You've known him for four years.I don't think you are to blame. He's the one in the wrong, and he should be made to suffer.
You were going to kill yourself.Why should you?Kill him instead.He double-crossed you.He deserves it.Now, let me go a little deeper into the situation.Whenever a person has reached the conclusion...
You are sure you have made up your mind, Miss Tanner?
Now, if you're careful, you won't be caught.
But whether you are or not, I'm giving you this check for $1,000 made out to cash to be sent to your mother only after the man is dead.Write his name on this pad.
I will know what has happened by the newspapers, and I will be told payment until I learn that you have gone through with it.
Very well.You are sure?You are determined?
Absolutely.Nothing could stop me.
But... just what would happen if I did get caught?
You won't get caught if you follow my instructions.I know.Now, here is a small revolver.It'll fit easily in your purse.That's all you need. Be sure to wipe your fingerprints off and leave the gun near the body.Yeah.
Well, goodbye, Dr. Basile.
Goodbye, Gladys, and good luck.
Professor Basile watches Gladys as she crosses the street to the dimly-lighted bus stop. Then he rushes to his car and drives away.A few minutes later, he comes to a stop at Hellman's house.Hellman, the editor who ridiculed his theory.
Oh.Hello, Basile.Good evening, Hellman.Thought I'd drop out to have a little chat with you.Well, why this time of night?It's kind of late, isn't it?Eleven. Didn't think that was late for you.Come in.Thanks.Sit down.What's on your mind?
I want to talk to you about my theory you ridiculed so definitely.My theory about suicide.
Well, I just don't believe it, that's all.
And I said I'd prove it, didn't I?
Yes, but what are you getting at?
It's going to be proved. My theory is going to be proved tonight.Oh, that's fine.Go right ahead and prove it.I don't like you, Hellman.I never liked you.And I know you don't like me.I can't help that, Basile.What are you staring at?
Is there someone here with you?Certainly not.Why?That's a woman's purse on the diving board.Oh, my secretary dropped by earlier this evening with the manuscript.She must have forgotten it.She's not here now?Of course not.Then I'll continue.
I found a subject, a girl who was ready to commit suicide because a man jilted her.In a few hours, I was successful in changing her thoughts from suicide to homicide, and she is going to kill the man tonight.What do you think of that?
There may be a dozen murders tonight.But you'll know which one I mean.You'll know about this murder.What do you mean? Because I'm going to tell you who the victim is going to be.You know who the intended victim is?Why don't you stop it?
But then I wouldn't have proved my theory.If you put this girl up to it, you're as guilty as she is.You're insane, Basile.
Hopelessly insane.You think so, Amos?The whole idea is mad.Too utterly ridiculous for words.No sane man would ever think of such a useless, senseless idea.
And for heaven's sake, stop laughing.I'm thinking about the victim.Then he learns.Who is the victim? Martin Harriman, me?Yes, you!I don't believe you.You will this time.Who is this girl?I know no girl who'd want to kill me.This one does.Now.
Oh, nonsense.However, I wouldn't put a past due to hire someone to do something like this. Oh, no.This girl is no fake.This girl is serious.Deadly serious.You probably hypnotized some poor woman, figuring she'd never remember what happened.
Oh, Herrmann, you underestimate me.Maybe I do underestimate your evil mind.But believe me... Put up your hands, Herrmann.Get away from the desk.I'll just take care of the gun, Herrmann.That's better. Since when did you start carrying a gun, Basil?
A gun?Don't be silly.This isn't a gun in my pocket.It's just my pipe.See?Well, what do you hear, Herman?Nothing.Oh, yes, you do.I heard it, too.The sound on the porch.I leave now.The back way.I put your gun in the kitchen.
And I'll be very careful to remove all my fingerprints.You insane fool.Oh, I fancy you.You, Hellman, you are going to help prove my theory.Good night, Hellman.
Crazy devil.I'll have him locked up before he gets across town.
Good evening, Mr. Hellman.
You're just imagining things.
And what are you doing here?
I wanted to tell you something.
When you first indicated to me that you were through with me, I was terribly hurt.I thought all along that we were to be married. I couldn't understand.I tried and tried to think of something I'd done to cause our breakup.
Then I happened to find this snapshot in your desk.
Take a look at it.Kansas City.No, Atlantic City, New Jersey.You and a blonde.And the date is stamped on the back.A business trip.Ha!
I just wanted you to know that you weren't so slick. I wanted you to know that I knew about the blonde.That I knew you'd lied.
Now that you've told me, what good does it do you?
First, I thought you came here for money.
How could you think such a thing?
Well, I think you'd better go now.
I'm going.Goodbye, Morton.And good luck in your new venture.
Gladys!And wish me luck in mine.
Gladys stands staring a moment at the body of Hellman, then wipes off the gun, drops it to the floor, takes the professor's check from her purse, steps to Hellman's desk and writes a note.
Then she puts the note in an envelope with the check, addresses it, stamps it, turns out the lights, and steps out into the dark street.At the corner, she drops the envelope in the mailbox and disappears.Professor Basile heard the shots.
His theory worked.Hellman will torment him no more.The perfect crime.So he can go home to his wife now and go to sleep.
What are you doing asleep on the Davenport?Do you know what time it is?
Must be after midnight.I've been waiting for you.
Oh, fair.Nothing to brag about.
Belchiaty.He wasn't very good.
Mm-hmm.He's a poor Othello.
Othello?I thought they were doing Ida tonight.
No, they switched because someone was ill. It's just as if I stayed home.
Do you have a nightcap, Myra?
I belong presently.Good night.
Then the night passes and the morning comes.The professor rises cheerfully and prepares for breakfast.
Then... I'll get it, Myra.
Yes?Are you Professor Basile?
May we come in?We'd like to talk with you.Of course.What is it you want?Is your wife in?
We'd like to see her, too.
Well, I'm Lieutenant Davis.Right.Detective, that's what it is.
Well, what do you want?Will you call your wife?Why?I'm sorry.Mayra!What is all about?
These men are from detective headquarters.They want to talk to us.
May I ask where you were last night, Mrs. Basile?
Certainly.I went to the opera.
What time did you get home?
Oh, I imagine it was around 11 or shortly after.
Were you at home last evening, Professor?
Well, I was at the club and got home about 12.30.
By the way, do you know a Morton Hellman?Certainly.
Good Lord.When? Around midnight last night.I found him this morning.
Why, I've known him for years.He was editor-in-chief of the company publishing my writings.I'm a psychologist, you know.
But what do you want to know from us?We weren't connected socially with Hellman.Just in business.
Did you know him, Mrs. Bucille?
Yes, I knew him very slightly.
Neither of you know of anyone who'd have reason to kill him.
Certainly not.Everyone thought highly of him.
Did you ever hear of a girl named Gladys Tanner?Lady Stanner?No.Did you know of a Gladys Tanner, Mrs. Basile?
No.Is this your purse, Mrs. Basile?
Why, of course it is.That's the one I gave you last Christmas, Myra.
Oh, yes.I must have lost it downtown.
Where did you find it, Lieutenant?At Hellman's home.Hellman's home?
Well, how in the world?We found it on the sofa.
I can't imagine how it could get there.
And this is the revolver that killed Hellman, found on the floor beside him.
No fingerprints on it, however.May I see it?
Pymira, this is your gun.I bought this for you two years ago when I went on the lecture tour.
Yes, I think it's mine, but it just doesn't make sense.
Did you have the gun in your purse when you lost it last time?
Perhaps I did.I'm so confused now, I can't remember.
I think... I think it is terrible.
Oh, I know.Oh, dear, I feel ill.
Did you ever fire this gun?
Yes, once last year up in the mountains.I wanted to see how it worked.Ever reload it?No, I've never reloaded it.I just didn't think about it.Maybe I did put it in my purse.Why, I don't know.
And whoever found the purse may have used the gun to... Oh, I just can't seem to think.
This gun misfired on the first two shots.
The other three killed Hellman.This is the most amazing piece of coincidence I ever heard of.Why would my wife want to do such a thing?Why should she get to Hellman?She hardly knew him.
Are you sure about that, Professor?Of course.Well, sorry to say that I don't believe her.What?This is ridiculous.This is going to be a shock to you, Professor, but here's a snapshot we found on Hellman's desk, taken in Atlantic City last July.
This is you, Myra.You and Hellman.You were at your mother's in Florida in July.Myra, look at me.What does this mean?
And I can't believe such a thing.
May I have the purse, the gun, and the photo?Thank you.I'm sorry, but I'll have to take her down to headquarters.
But I didn't kill him.I didn't.I wouldn't. I loved him.
Myra.Better pull yourself together.You'll have to go back.
They'll want photos and fingerprints.
Yes.Better get her ready, Myra.Certainly looks bad for her.Afraid it does.
Looks like an open and shut case.Oh, will you come along too, Professor?Certainly.
And so it all worked out beautifully. quite as the professor had planned.
But then he changed his plan from the moment when Gladys Tanner showed him the snapshot taken in Atlantic City, and he realized that the girl's fiancé was Hellman, and the blonde was Myra, his wife.
He had no intention of allowing Gladys Tanner to kill Hellman until he saw that snapshot.And when he recognized Myra's purse in Hellman's home, he decided to let Gladys kill him Can the blame be placed on Myra?The perfect crime.
But several hours later, after fingerprints and many questions, the professor is just about to be dismissed when Sergeant Rankin steps into the room and speaks quietly to Lieutenant Davis.
I stayed at Basile's place, as you said.
Well?A few minutes ago, a special delivery letter came for the professor.This will knock your eye off.Read it.All right.
Fits perfectly with the writing we were trying to make out on Helm's desk letter.Professor, here's a letter sent special delivery to you a few minutes ago, postmarked last night.Read it.
Dear Professor Basile, your theory worked to a certain degree.You convinced me I should kill him.I should kill him, but when that gun you gave me misfired twice, I almost quit. Go ahead, Professor, read on.
Then as I looked at him on the floor, the feeling of self-destruction came back.I'm going ahead with my plan.Here's your check.I won't need it.Besides, I lied to you.I lost my mother long ago.Better luck next time.Gladys, Tanner.
A half hour ago, they found her body beneath Suicide Bridge.
Well, Professor, your perfect crime has failed.Failed, yes. It's a wonderful setup on paper, but your theory backfired, and you're up for murder.But I didn't kill him.But you planned it, and you're as guilty as Gladys.She's paid her penalty.
Now it's your turn.No.No.I won't.I won't be hanged.Never!Drink and drink!
And now the doctor lies on the sidewalk 17 stories below.His entire theory worked in reverse. And so closes the doctor prescribed death starring Bela Lugosi.Tonight's story of suspense.It came to you from Columbia Square in Hollywood.
This is the man in black who conveys to you Columbia's invitation to spend this half hour in suspense with us again next Tuesday when we present the noted actor, Mr. Sidney Greenstreet in The Hangman Won't Wait.
William Spear, the producer, Ted Bliss, the director, Vlad Gluskin, the musical director, Lucian Mahouik, the composer, and J. Donald Wilson, the author, collaborated on tonight's suspense.
This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.
Now, Roma Wines presents... Suspense!
Tonight, Drury's Bone, starring Boris Karloff.
Suspense is presented for your enjoyment by Roma Wines.That's R-O-M-A, Roma Wines.Those excellent California wines that can add so much pleasantness to the way you live.To your happiness and entertaining guests.To your enjoyment of everyday meals.
Yes, right now a glass full would be very pleasant. as Roma Wines bring you... Suspense!
This is the Man in Black, here for the Roma Wine Company of Fresno, California, who tonight from Hollywood bring you as star, Mr. Boris Karloff, in the remarkable history of a Scotland Yard inspector who found himself in surely the most ironic predicament ever to confront an officer of the law.
And so, with Drury's bones, And with the performance of Boris Karloff, we again hope to keep you in suspense.
The events that are covered in this report began on the night of December the 28th, 1910.Although I didn't know it at the time.
But it was on that night that I opened my eyes to discover that I was lying behind some trash barrels in a dark London alleyway.Thunder was ripping the skies apart.
and the sheets of rain that were pelting on my unprotected body had soaked me to the skin.My head was aching unbearably.As I automatically tried to rise, I found I was so dizzy that I had to hold on to the barrels for support.
I reached up to feel of my head.My hair was a mass of dotted blood.In my numb mind, I could feel only one urge. I had to find a lighted building somewhere where someone could get me warm clothing and call a doctor.
It seemed hours before finally I saw an office building in which a light was burning and gratefully stumbled in its direction.
Listen to this, Peters.There's a report from the... Why, who are you?
Great heavens, man.Come over here by the fire.Here, here, I'll give you a hand.Here, let me help you.That's it.Good Lord.Look at that head.Peters.Yes, sir.You better call the doctor.Right, sir.Let's get some of these wet clothes off, eh?Easy now.
This is very kind of you.Now, now the trousers.There, that's it.Hmm.Rod, eh?
I suppose so.Suppose? Yes, you see, I don't know.
Oh, Comter, you must know whether or not you had a pocketbook.There's nothing here now, certainly.
I say, let's have your name.
I'm... My name is... My name?I don't know my name!I don't know!
because the next thing I knew I was lying on the couch in the office, covered with warm blankets and slowly returning to consciousness.My benefactor and the doctor were talking in hushed voices near the bed.
You say no identification on him, eh?
I found them under his hat, Ben.Two ticket stubs, Drury Lane Theatre, December 24th, 1910.Have you checked there?There's no possible way to trace them. I'll have to call him something.Yeah.Drury, that's it.After the Drury name.
And Terence after you, Inspector Terence.Drury.Very well.How long do you suppose this condition will last?Amnesia.No way of knowing.I'd suggest a bit of rest and then some kind of absorbing work.Not strange, of course.
Mustn't be allowed to brood, you see.Danger in this sort of thing lies in a man's working himself into a genuine psychosis from worry.I see. I say, Carruthers, why don't you put him to work here?At least until you locate his family.
After all, you can't very well turn your back on the chap now that he's named after you.
As a matter of fact, it happens that I could use the new men around here very nicely.Oh, there you are.And as to forgetting one's worries and absorbing work, I can't think of a better place in the world for a man to do that than Scotland Yard.
Tonight for Suspense, Roma Wines are bringing you Mr. Boris Karloff, whom you've heard in the prologue to Harold Swanton's radio play, Drury's Bones.Tonight's tale of Suspense.
This is Truman Bradley for Roma Wines.When you listen to the friendly advice of Miss Elsa Maxwell about hospitality and gracious living, You realize that here is an authority who talks plain common sense all the time.
I'm talking to men as well as women.When I say that the finest hospitality is always simple, sincere, moderate, and natural.Never the opposite.
And so I am always emphasizing that the nicest, simplest, most sincerely flattering hospitality is to serve your guests some Roma sherry.With its golden amber color, its delicious tangy nut-like flavor.
It's not only supremely enjoyable before dinner or in the afternoon, it's smartly correct.A genuine compliment to your friends and to yourselves.And please don't worry about special glasses.
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Well, Miss Maxwell speaks more authoritatively than I can, but I will add this.Roma sherry, like all famous Roma wines, made from California's magnificent sun-ripened grapes,
brings you all their fine flavor, aroma, and color, is unvaryingly good, always enjoyable, thanks to the age-old wine skill of Roma's noted wineries located in the choicest vineyard areas of California.
Yet all this goodness and pleasure is yours for only pennies a glass.Remember, more Americans enjoy Roma than any other wines.Roma, R-O-M-A, Roma Wines.
And now it is with pleasure that we bring back to our soundstage Boris Karloff as Inspector Terence Drury, who resumes his report on the case entitled, Drury's Bones.A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
It was an amazing stroke of fate that brought me to the London office of Scotland Yard on that dreadful night of December 1910.But I'm sure that nowhere else could I have had more kindness and understanding.
Of course, at first the strain was almost unbearable.I had absolutely no recollection of my past.I had no idea who the man was who lived the first 30 years of my life.Or was it 40?Or 20?I never knew.
But Carruthers judged me to be about 30, so I came to regard that as my official age.And he was ingenious in providing interesting work for me.
During the days that followed, I became so absorbed in the tide of fascinating cases that flowed across my desk that I had no time for thought or reflection on my plight.
My own dossier at last reached what is called the inactive file and was gradually forgotten.In short, my present and my future became so interesting that I came to regard my past as a closed book.
And so it was, as a full-fledged inspector, I reported, one day in May of 1930, to Chief Inspector Corrubbers.
Oh, hello, Drury.Have a chair.Thanks.Cigar?
Yes, I will, thank you.Hmm, Havana, eh?Decently prosperous for a Scotland Yard man, Inspector.Sure you're not involved in a scandal of some sort?
I'm sorry, old boy. A gift from my niece.Have a light.
Only one other conclusion, then.You're about to cancel my holiday.
Well, as a matter of fact... Murder in Soho, I suppose.No, not in Soho.In Clovelly.Clovelly?
Clovelly?That's a fishing village in Devon.
That's it.Bit of a resort town, too, you know.Thought you might be able to combine business with pleasure.I do need a rest, you know. I have here a letter from a Mr. John Stanhope who resides in Covelli.
It seems he unearthed a human skeleton in his backyard, apparently buried there for years.Oh, it'll just be a matter of securing a routine report on the case, perhaps questioning this Mr. Stanhope and possibly a few of the local residents.
Then you can pop down to Torquay and ask in the sun for a few days.Ever been in North Devonshire?I avoided it religiously.
I'm allergic to moors.Well, what do you think of it? Well, if it were anyone else but you, Carruthers, I suppose I'd better write this all down.John Stannop, right?Do you have his address?
There's no such thing as an address in Kill Valley.There's only one street.But you won't have any trouble finding it.From what I hear, the townspeople will be quick enough to tell you all about the place where the bones are buried.
How do you do, sir?Welcome to Clovelly.
How do you do?My name is Drury, Scotland Yard.
You'll want a single, I expect.
Just sign the register, please.
Very well.There.I understand that Mr. John Stanhope was to leave a message here for me.
Oh, you must be here about the bones.
Some excitement they've caused, I'll tell you.What with the Ashley Norton's disappearance, a dark mystery these 20 years in all.
Who were the Ashley Norton?
lived in that house 20 years ago, they did.That would be just about the time the body was buried, wouldn't it, sir?
Never did see her.Saw him once or twice.Strange pair they was.Unsociable.Keeping themselves to themselves night and day in that house on the cliff.No telling what went on behind them doors.
What do people think went on?
There's some that thinks that what went on was murder.
Why?There's those who knows the reasons better than I. I'll leave it to them to tell.
Very well.Let's see, uh, I sign this book too, don't I?
Oh, no, sir.That's our permanent register for new guests.But you've been here before, eh?
I?Why, no.No, I... I've never been here before in my life.
Oh.That's odd. For a moment I thought I'd seen you here before sometime.
Mr. Stanhope?Yes?Inspector Drury, Scotland Yard.
Oh, happy to see you, Inspector.Come in, please.Thank you.I must apologize for the condition of the place, Mr. Drury.Events of the past few days have been a bit upsetting, to say the least.I should think so.Would you like a spot of sherry?
Why, thanks.Yes.I had rather an enlightening conversation with Mrs. Tumley at the inn last night.Oh? It seems the townspeople are quite certain it was a case of murder involving some people named Ashley Norton.
Yes, yes.Roger Ashley Norton.His wife was named Sarah.Did you know them?No, no, no.I'd never met them.Very few people had.You see, that was 20 years ago.The house originally belonged to my brother.
He died in 1925 and I didn't come into the property until after that.
I know it's natural to jump to the conclusion of murder when one uncovers human bones, but... Is there any reason to suspect a motive?Did anybody disappear suddenly?
No one but the Ashley Norton's.I see.There's nothing to go on but gossip.And it's all highly circumstantial, of course.You see, my brother was renting this house to them furnished by the year, payable in advance.
And so he rarely had occasion to call on them.But when the regular check failed to arrive on time, he paid them a visit.The house was vacant. And it was immediately clear that no one had lived in the place for the last two months.
Your brother made inquiries, of course.Oh, yes, yes.No one had seen or heard from them for at least two months before.
And what date was that, Stanhope?
Oh, now, let me see.That was December of 1910.I'm sorry.Oh, it's quite all right.No, no, no, no, no.The maid will attend to it.Let me get you another.Not right now, thanks.Well, would you like to examine the garden?
Yes, where the bones were discovered.
Oh.Oh, yes, yes, of course.Up through the French windows.Here to the side, I take it.
Yes.Here we are.Just over here, Inspector.
Let's see.And the trees stood about here, eh?
The what?The holly tree.I must admit you're a jolly fine detective, sir. The gardener discovered the body while removing the dead holly tree, all right, but I... I wasn't aware that I mentioned the fact to Scotland Yard.
It was in my room at the inn late that night that I first began my notes.I include them now in this report, just as I wrote them then.Clovelly, Devon, May 18, 1930.
The feeling that this is all a book that I've read or a play I've seen somewhere in the past has taken hold of my very soul.And the terror that grips me when I think of the future makes rational thought very difficult.
Nevertheless, I have resolved to pursue the investigation until I am certain that there is no further doubt. I must discover someone who knew Ashley Norton intimately.His profession, his habits, his personality.
I think I must risk tomorrow another talk with Mrs. Tumbley.But meanwhile, I shall withhold any further report to Carruthers. Now, Mrs. Tumbley, you said yesterday that there were some people here in Clovelly who knew the Ashley Nortons rather well.
Well, it might have been Effie Wilkes I had in mind.
She was the Ashley Nortons' serving mate, sir.
And where is Effie Wilkes now?
Oh, she disappeared, sir.
The same time they did, sir.And not a sight nor sound of her since.Not these twenty years.
Who else? Who else knew the Ashley Nortons?
Only another one I could think of would be Ben Sykes.Blind then, they call him now.But he could see then, right enough.
Oh, he's hereabouts.Gone to Biddeford with his nephew today.But he'll be back Wednesday, if you'd care to speak with him, sir.
Did he work for the Ashley Nortons?
In a manner of speaking, sir.He helped out with the experiments.
Oh, yes, sir. Mr. Ashley Norton was quite the scientist, or so he said.
What did Ben Sykes have to do with these experiments?
Oh, he got things for them, sir.
Rabbits, animals, such like things, sir.
No, sir.If you ask me, that wasn't all.
There was human beings, sir.
Human beings?Yes, sir.What human beings?
Why, I would say, sir, the nearest ones that came to end.
Oh, I'm sure you know much more about this than I do, sir.But they do say those bones were the bones of a woman.
Carruthers wired today that he expects to locate the serving girl, Effie Wilkes, within a matter of hours.That means at least that she's alive.
And it also means that her testimony will complete the case, and I can no longer deceive myself as to the outcome.I don't quite know why I sent Carruthers the information about Effie Wilkes, knowing as I do that I'm endangering myself by that action.
Perhaps there's something of which I'm still just a little proud.I am still primarily a detective.Well, I shall pursue this investigation impersonally and logically until the very last link in the chain.That link is Ben Sykes.Blind Ben.
There is only one fact in which I can take some faint hope.Ashley Norton was a scientist, presumably a doctor. I can find no faintest memory in myself of any specialized scientific knowledge whatsoever.
Ben Sykes' nephew is going over to Biddeford today to bring the old man home.I shall go along and talk to him on the ride back.
So you're Ben Sykes?Aye.Blind Ben, they call me.But eyes are none.I can keep up with the best of them. What's your business in Clovelly, sir?
Come to ask you some questions about Mr. Ashley Norton.
Haven't we met before, sir?
Not that I remember, Ben.
Your voice is, uh... Oh, well.What sort of questions, sir?Perhaps... about the experiments.I'll say not the experiments, sir.They were the master's private business.
Did you know Mrs. Ashley Norton? Sarah Ashley Norton?I did, sir.And no finer woman ever walked the earth.Did... Did he love her?He loved her more than life itself, but... But what?Well, she helped him with his experiments.
He was condemned hereabouts for that. But she helped him all through these long months, until... Until?Until she went away.
The last I remember was the sickening sway of the wagon as it overturned in the ditch to the left of the road.I must have hit my head on something and lost consciousness just for a moment.
Otto!Oh, I see his nasty gash on his leg there.What about the other?
Take care of Ben.I'll look to the inspector.Right.There you are, old fellow.Inspector!Inspector, are you all right, sir?
Thank you.Is Ben all right?Oh, he's hurt.
His leg.I'll send for the doctor.
Let me have a look at it.
No, don't roll it back.Now get me a knife.
Now help me with this.Here.That's it.Compound fracture and bleeding pretty badly.Have you a handkerchief?Quite clean enough for a bandage.It isn't a bandage.Now get me a small stick.That's it.Now around here, just below the patella.
Now hold on to that and relax it when I tell you.Yes, sir. Hm.Tibia and fibula both compound.Dislocation of the talus.Need X-ray immediately.What?
I didn't know you was a doctor, sir.
Huh?What?Neither did I. How do you feel, Ben?
Much better, Mr. Drury.Thanks to you. She twitches now and then.
He'll be all right once it's set.Lucky you was with us, sir.Ben, you were going to tell me about the last time you saw Mr. Ashley Norton.Do you remember?
Yes, sir.I remember it well.He was going up to London, to the theatre, he said.
Yes, sir.Mrs. Ashley Norton had gone on ahead to do some shopping, he said.
Ben, do you remember when, what theatre?
Yes, sir.It was, uh, Christmas Eve, and the theater was, uh, Drury Lane.
I guess I knew it always.
Asking your pardon, sir, I'm an old man, and I can say things without anyone getting angry about them.
Well, then, sir, you seem like a man who's running away from something.Oh, running. I wouldn't run away from it any longer, sir, if I was you.
Then I believe you're the only one of us who isn't blind.
Hello, Drury.Well, welcome back.I say, though, the Chief's been trying to get a hold of you all day.
Is Chief Corrubbers in?No, no.He had to meet someone at the train.He'll be back soon, though.When he wants me, I'll be in my office, finishing my report.Oh, that's so.You've been on a case.Murder, wasn't it?Did you, uh, catch the fellow?
Yes.I caught him. There's little now that needs to be added.Christmas Eve, Drury Lane Theatre.And Ashley Norton went alone, he said, because his wife Sarah had gone on ahead.
And the medical training, it came back to me when I needed it as though it had been my life.My former life.There can be only one conclusion to this report.Sarah Ashley Norton was murdered by her husband.The case is closed.Signed, Roger Ashley Norton.
Formerly, Terrence Drury.
Oh, come in, Drury.I've been expecting you.
Yes.Here's my report, sir.
There's time enough for that.
If you don't mind, I'd rather you read it now. I'd like to get it over with.
Yes, but... You know, we finally traced the serving girl, Effie Wilkes.
If you don't mind... And through her, we traced someone else.Does it really matter now?I think perhaps it does.You may show him the witness, Peters.
I beg your pardon, but who?
Roger, don't you remember me?
I remember you.I only remember that you were someone who was once very dear to me.And now it's too late.
No, no, Roger.No, it isn't too late.I'm... I'm... Sarah.Sarah.
You see... Drury, or rather, Mr. Ashley Norton.It seems you and your wife did go to the Drury Lane Theatre on that Christmas Eve, 20 years ago.And that very night, you were both to go on to Paris.
Then at the last moment, you ran into some chap who begged you to deliver a lecture the next day.You agreed, and Mrs. Ashley Norton went on ahead.You were to meet her in Paris in two days.Oh.
When you didn't come, I checked with the steamship company, and they said your ticket had been used. The thief who robbed you must have used it.But I couldn't know that.I thought you must be somewhere in France.
The French police tried to trace you for years.Then I... I thought you must be dead.Oh, Roger.
Roger.My dear.Oh, Sarah, do you... Well, do you suppose you could call me Terence?I've got used to it, you know.
Very well, Terence. You haven't changed very much, really.
I suppose you haven't either.By the way, I had excellent taste in women in those days.
Oh, my dear.Oh.Oh, and can you ever forgive me?
Yes, I... Well, I suppose if that Mrs. Tumley hadn't been so nosy, I wouldn't have done it. But I was afraid if they found it in the house, it would look even worse.So that's why I did it.
Buried your demonstration skeleton in the backyard.Under the holly tree.What the... Oh!
And so closes Drury's Bones, starring Boris Karloff.Tonight's study in Suspense.Suspense is produced, edited, and directed by William Spear.
There is no reason at all, Elsa Maxwell says, why everyone should not have the enjoyment of Roma wines with everyday meals and when entertaining friends.
These superb wines of California are so delightful to the taste, so very delicious with food. so smartly complimentary to friends who are your guests.
It seems a shame to me that some people still miss out on such wholesomely simple, moderate, and inexpensive pleasure.
But of course, Miss Maxwell, millions already do know and enjoy Roma wines.In fact, more Americans enjoy Roma than any other wines.And that can only mean Roma wines are California's finest.Always extra good.
unvaryingly fine in flavor and quality, yet only pennies a glass.Roma, R-O-M-A, Roma Wines.
Next Thursday, same time, you will hear Mr. Joseph Cotton, a star of suspense.
Presented by Roma Wines, R-O-M-A, made in California for enjoyment throughout the world.This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
In just a moment, Auto Light presents Suspense with Claude Rains and Vincent Price.More coffee, Arno?I believe not, Hamp.And I want to thank you and Mary for a marvelous meal.A delightful, delicious, de-lovely dinner.
You're more than welcome, Arno. Uh-oh, here comes Mary with that who's gonna wash the dishes looking her eye.You better start talking about autolight resistor spark plugs and fans.
Ah, yes, of course, Hap, autolight resistor spark plugs.As I was saying, right now by Cornelius is the time when all good men who know good things will come to the aid of their cars with a set of brand new wide gap autolight resistor spark plugs.
Why, with their wide spark gap, those autolight resistor spark plugs do things for a car your old narrow gap spark plugs just can't match.Why, they're marvelous.They're magnificent.By Cornelius, they're matchless.
You're sparking, Harlow.But, uh, let's switch to suspense.
Suspense. Autolight and its 60,000 dealers and service stations bring you radio's outstanding theater of thrills.Starring tonight, Mr. Claude Rains and Mr. Vincent Price in Anton Leder's production of The Hands of Mr. Ottermore.
A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Tell me, Sergeant.Yes?Why do you think the Strangler killed the five times he did?Six times, Mr. Newspaperman.Six?Yes.Well, I suppose you do know as much about the Strangler as I do.How long have you been on the police force, Sergeant?
This is my 15th year as a member of His Majesty's Metropolitan Police, Mr. Newspaperman.For 10 years, I walked the beats of the Casper Street station, and for the past five years, I've been a sergeant at that station.
In 15 years, you'll learn a lot about many things, including murder.Oh, yes.
Murder.It's a word and a deed which has fascinated more people than you and I could count.By all means, Sergeant, let's talk about murder.
You'd think there'd be little murder in such a district, wouldn't you, Mr. Newspaperman?Murder for a bit of Henning, a cup of tea, There'd be nothing there to take except lives.And it was there that the strangler came to practice his grim trade.
Already he'd struck twice.Once on Lagos Street, once on Breen Street.His strong, white hands reaching for an unexpecting throat.Then he'd vanished into the darkness, leaving behind something that once had been a living, breathing human.
What was his gain?Perhaps no more than the satisfaction of a job well done. Perhaps he felt he'd done some poor devil a favor, that a sympathetic force led him to his victims, the same as a cyclone picks one corner and misses another.
I was thinking about that the night I first met you, Mr. Newspaperman.I was walking down Mallon End when I saw you, standing in the shadows.
Stand where you are.Who are you?
From the Daily Herald, officer.
What are you doing here?Looking for a story. Are you expecting to catch the Strangler, officer?What would you know about the Strangler, Mr. Newspaper Man?Only that he likes your district and that you have no idea who he is.
That's right.He could be anybody who's about in this district at night.Perhaps even a newspaper man.
You suspect that I might be making my news before I write it?And I shall keep that in mind for dull days.Good night, sir.
I watched you, Mr. Newspaperman, as you walked away.Watched and thought of the force that moved the strangler.
About the same time, that force, whatever it was, brought the strangler to Mr. Wybrough, an honest worker whom I've seen so many times, I can tell you nearly exactly how he spent his last few minutes on earth.
I know the very sound of his footsteps, almost his every thought. And I can hear the footsteps of the man who followed him.It was six o'clock of an evening, and Mr. Wybrough was going home from work.
He stepped off the tram at High Street and Mallonend and walked slowly, wondering if his missus would have herring or haddock for his tea.
It was a wretched night, and he could taste the fog in his throat, feel the dampness through the soles of his shoes.He turned down Lagos Street, and the footsteps behind turned with him.
And so, one behind the other, the two men walked through Lagos and turned into Loyal Lane.Any man other than Mr. Wybrough might have heard some warning in the footsteps that followed him.Something that said, beware.Beware.Beware. No.
The foot of a killer falls just as quietly as the foot of any other worker.But those footfalls were bearing a pair of hands to Mr. Wybrough.And there is something in hands.
Behind him, even then, those hands were flexing themselves, feeling the strength run down through the strong fingers.Mr. Wybrough was almost home.He turned down Casper Street, plodding along through the dim light. Small dog barked at the triggers.
Voices drifted out from the shabby houses, but Mr. Wybrough paid no attention to them or to the steps which followed him.Ahead of Mr. Wybrough was his own house, and he walked a little faster.
Maybe it looked like he was going to get away, but the man behind only smiled and followed at the same pace.Mr. Wybrough turned in at his own gate and opened the door.He stepped inside. Yes, what's for tea, Flossie?
Harry, you're lucky to be getting that.
How do I know before I've opened the door?If it's a collector, he can just nip off.Well, what... Harry!And that...
is how Mr. and Mrs. Weibrow became the third and fourth, but not the last victims of the strangling horror.
For suspense, Autolight is bringing you Mr. Claude Rains and Mr. Vincent Price. in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Say, Ham, let me tell you about a foolish fellow who got the outside of his car all dolled up with doodads, trinkets, foxtails, and whatnot.
And then, by Cornelius, he comes chug-a-lugging up the avenue with misfiring spark plugs and his engine sounding like a stut-stut stuttering teapot.
Hey friend, I yelled at him, why don't you switch to a set of those smooth-firing autolight resistor spark plugs and make that bus of yours sound as fancy as it looks?And what did he answer?This guy said to me, plugs is plugs.
Well, autolight resistor spark plugs, I corrected him, are different.They've got a 10,000 ohm resistor ignition engineered right into the spark plug that permits the autolight resistor spark plug to maintain a much wider spark gap setting.
This extra wide gap, friend, lets your car idle smoother, gives you better luck with lean gas mixtures, actually saves gas.What's more, auto light resistor spark plugs cut down spark plug interference with radio and television reception.Pipe that.
That's telling him.Wow, he says, can you back up all that sales talk?Listen, pal, I told him, these are just a few fine and fancy facts.
And what's more, those wide-gap auto-light resistor spark plugs are one of over 400 automotive, aviation, and marine products world-famous for their auto-light-engineered dependability.Then what, Harlow?I'll tell you the rest after suspense, Hal.
And now, auto-light brings back to a Hollywood soundstage Mr. Claude Rains and Mr. Vincent Price in The Hands of Mr. Ottermole.A tale well-calculated to keep you in suspense.
Sergeant, did you ever stop to wonder at the pranks of fate?Mr. Weibrau died at the one moment when there was no one around to witness his death.That's true.A few minutes earlier, perhaps a few minutes later, there were people on the street.
Think how different it might have been if you had arrived there earlier than you did.
Perhaps, Mr. Newspaperman, but I'd finished my evening tea and was walking through Casper Street to the station.Mr. Weibrau was still lying on the door of his house. His wife on the floor, a little beyond him.Both were dead.
I blew my whistle, and the constable came on the run.We searched the house, then talked to the neighbors on either side.Nobody had heard anything except Mrs. Weibar's scream, and they thought, that's just a family fight.
There's no sign of anything but brutal murder.While we waited for the ambulance, I suddenly remembered something. Smithers?Yes, sir?Just before I found them, I saw you standing at the end of the lane.What were you up to there?
I thought I saw a suspicious character mucking about there, sir, and I was keeping an eye on him.Suspicious character be blasted.You don't want to look for suspicious characters.You want to look for murderers.Yes, sir.Think we'll get him, sir?
Well, just between you and me, Smithers, I have my doubts.With a man who kills to get a few bob, you know he's going to keep on, because as soon as he's broke, he'll slosh another one.But a man like this?
You don't know when he'll strike again, or if he'll strike again.Back at the station, the newspaper men were waiting for the story, having scented it the way dogs will smell out the fresh track of a fox.
There was one newspaper man, tall, with shoulders and arms that looked more like a coal heaver than a journalist, who kept asking about clues as though he wanted to solve the case himself.That was you.
Mr. Newspaperman, or maybe you just wanted to find out how much we knew.After the Newspaperman left, I was in my office finishing up my report when there was a knock on the door.Who's there?
Do you mind if I come in, Sergeant?Oh, it's you.Yes, I thought of a few more questions I'd like to ask you.
It seems to me you are around all the time.So?Yes.And now you want to ask more questions.I'm afraid we can't. give out any more information than you already have.
Half a minute, Sergeant.All the papers are going to do a regular story on the strangling monster.I thought I'd like to do something different, more of a mood piece.You look like an intelligent man, Sergeant.I thought you might help.
Well, maybe I can, maybe I can't.What do you want to know?What sort of a man do you think the killer is?You really think he's a monster who can slip through the night without being seen?No.
No, I think he's probably a very ordinary man.Everyone, even our own constables, is looking for the monster instead of the man standing next to them.
No, this man can move about and no one sees him because he's an ordinary man and it's ordinary for him to be around.He might be a boot black, the man who makes deliveries, or even a policeman.Or a journalist.
I don't think I meant anything personal, Mr. Newspaper Man.I meant that he's merely someone you look at and never think that maybe he might strangle someone.
Your theory is very interesting, Sergeant.And do you also think that you'll catch him?
Well, if he's caught, short of actually catching him in the act, it'll be because of only one thing.Oh, and that is?Curiosity.Curiosity?Yes.He'll be nabbed if his curiosity is too great.If he wanders,
how near others are to him if he has to ask questions, and then returns to ask still more questions.Later that evening, I went out into the district, visiting beat after beat. The presence of the killer, the strangling horror, was in the air.
The entire district was given over, not to panic, for London never yields to that, but to fear of the unknown.
And while the community still gasped over the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Wybrough, while fear was moving into every tenement, the killer made his next move.
Conscious of the horror caused by his hands, and as hungry for more as any giddy girl at her first performance in the music hall, his hands reached out again. Well, I was cutting through Clemmings Street when I saw you again, Mr. Newspaperman.
You slipped along the street, peering into alleys.Even then I had a hunch to stop you, yet I felt I had no real reason to suspect you, so... I walked on.Peterson and Joyner were patrolling Jonaghan Road.
It was just 9.32 when I met Joyner near the middle of the street.I spoke to him and went on. At 9.33, I met Peterson coming back from the other end of the street.
I answered his greeting and passed, intending to go to the end of the beat and cut over to Logan Passage.Then, during the few seconds that everyone's back was turned towards the spot where he stood, the killer struck again.Joiner, here. What's that?
Oh, heavens!It's Peterson!Yeah, it's Peterson.Dead like the rest of them.Strangled right under our noses.Where were you, Joyner?I just reached the end of my beat, Sergeant.Was already turning when I heard your whistle.
I just passed him on my way to Logan.Then we were covering both ends of the street.He must have come from Minnow Street or Clemming Street and gone back the same way before we could see him.It is dimly lit around here, sir.Say, what's up, Constable?
I heard- Stand where you are!
It's you. Mr. Newspaper Man?Yes.So he struck again.What happened, Sergeant?I've been checking the beats.I came up here, passing Joyner, and then Peterson here.
I was at this end of the street, Joyner that, with Peterson in between us, going towards Joyner.He cried out once, and then was like this.We saw no one.
Where were you when you heard my whistle?On Clemming Street, perhaps half a square down, and no one passed that way.
That means that he must have come from Minnow.
Shall I ring in, sir?Yeah, go ahead, joiner.
Half a square down Clemmings Street, were you?
That's where you were more than five minutes ago when I passed and you were coming this way.
Well, I thought I saw something in one of the alleys and stopped to look closer.Oh, now, come, Sergeant, let's not start suspecting each other.The mutual suspicion of this district is catching.
Yes, of course.Still, there's a murderer who must be caught, Mr. Newspaper Man.The following day, I was back on duty early. You know, a sight of a uniformed sergeant somehow gave the people a bit more confidence.
And that of the constables, you know, bobbies are well enough in their way, but you know, your average Londoner likes to see more important officials around when things are a bit rough.
The talk in the pubs and on the streets was all cut from the same cloth.And the pattern was fear.
I say the strangler's some posh who's off his beam. Thinks as though he ain't squeezed dry enough, so he nips over, squeezes a little more, and pops back to the West End.Oh, you're balmy.He's a leg.
Didn't he get a peeler last night, and don't that prove it?
He's a bleedin' Jack the Ripper.That's what he is.And he'll bloody well kill a lot of us, without a single bloody flick to stop him.
He got a bobby, didn't he?And with bobbies crawling all over the place and not one to lay hand on him.And he was to stop him, that's what I want to know.
I walked the streets, dropping a bit of cheer.Here and there, four or five times, I saw you again, Mr... Newspaper Man.Your dark face twisted with emotion as you listened to the talk.
This too was queer for you were the only newspaper man I saw in the whole district.By nine o'clock I was in Richards Lane, a narrow street, partly a store market and partly cheap homes.On one side was the shattered wall of the railway yard.
The wall of the railway yard put a shadow over the street so that even a garbage can looked like a man crouching.Farther down the street the outline of the
Empty market stalls looked like a bunch of ghosts waiting for the man who would send them more ghosts.There was no one on the street.No one to witness that which was about to be.
Then, suddenly, in the time between one footfall and another, the wall of silence was broken.
And then the lane came to life.It seemed like they were all released by that scream.All along the street, doors opened and people poured into the street, muttering as the stored-up anger began to overcome their fear.
They milled around, uncertain which way to turn.Then... Then the whistle pointed the direction to them.Gathering like dark clouds, they moved down on the cottage where I stood with the constables.
The sight of so many of us made them feel that he would now be caught. And that anger came up in answer to it.
Well, go in and get him!What are you waiting for?He's through killing now.Go on and get him, you bloody peelers!He ought to be strung up!
Break it up!Break it up!Move back, all of you!Joiner, get around to the back and meet the constables there.Martin, Addison, take the house on the left.Jones, Edmonds, take the house on the right.Betts, you come with me.
Save a piece of him for me, sergeant!
Inside the cottage, a whole family lay dead, falling around the supper table.One look at their necks showed us the strangler's trademark again, but there was nothing in that cottage except death.One by one, the constables came back to report.
Nothing. Once more, he had killed and slipped away.Again, I looked out at the crowd, now beginning to move back as they realized we were empty-handed.
Suddenly, I saw in the front ranks your face again, the newspaper man who seemed to be everywhere I turned.There was a light in your face, a light that was almost happiness.
And looking at you in that brief second, I was aware that there were two of us who now knew the identity of the murderer.But the crowd shifted back, began to lose themselves in the shadows, and you were gone before I could move.
The strangler had struck again and again.We were empty-handed as we waited for the ambulance.
You may have been empty-handed, Sergeant, but I'm sure there were enough thoughts in your head to make up for the lack of something to put your hands on.Dark thoughts, perhaps.
Yes, I did think, Mr. Newspaperman.I tried to imagine what you were doing during the next hour.I thought, perhaps, that you went to the nearest pub and sat alone at the bar, attended by a frightened barmaid.
I think you dismissed the strangling horror from your mind and thought only of the glass of stout and the sandwich, for even such men as you must rebuild their strength.
I think you looked at the sandwich, noticing that it was skimpy, as bar sandwiches usually are, and you may have thought idly of the inventor of the sandwich, the Earl of Sandwich, then of George IV, then of all the Georges, as any good Englishman might, and so to that George who wondered how the apple got into the apple dumpling.
It was while thinking of that, and how the ham got into the ham sandwich, that your mind came back to the people who had been murdered.Maybe it was then that you thought of the simplest fact of all,
that the murderer could escape by either running away or by standing still.It was then, I think, that you got up from the bar without finishing your sandwich.
It was perhaps 20 minutes later that you walked down the street and met the man you were looking for.
Well, seen anything of the murderer, Sergeant?
Oh.It's you again.Yes.No.Nor has anybody else.
And I doubt if they ever will.Oh, I don't know.He's already struck five times.I've been thinking about it and I've got an idea.So?Yes, yes.Came to me all of a sudden.And I felt that we'd all been blind.It's been staring us in the face.Oh?
Well, if you're so sure, why not give us the benefit of it?
I'm going to. Yes, yes, it seems quite simple now.But there's still one more point I don't quite understand.I mean the motive.Now, as man to man, tell me, Sergeant Otter Mole, just why did you kill those inoffensive people?
Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Newspaper Man, I don't know. But I've got an idea, just like you.Everybody knows we can't control the workings of our mind.Ideas come into our heads without being asked.
But everybody's supposed to be able to control his body.Why?We get our minds from heaven knows where, from people who were dead years before we were born, some say.Maybe we get our bodies the same way.
Our faces, our legs. Our hands.They aren't completely ours.And couldn't ideas come into our bodies like ideas come into our minds?Couldn't ideas live in muscles as well as in a brain?Couldn't it be that parts of our bodies aren't really us?
And couldn't ideas come into them all of a sudden like ideas come into my hands?You see, Mr. Newspaper Man? It was six. He'd called his newspaper and told them his idea and said he was coming to meet me.
And so they're hanging me, killing me for something which my hands did.I had nothing to do with it.
You can see that.But what hurts me the most is what the judge said when he sentenced me.It's not true. It's not true, I tell you, that if I lived, someday these hands, my hands, they say, might reach out for you.
Thank you, Claude Rains and Vincent Price, for a splendid performance.Mr. Rains and Mr. Price will return in just a moment.
Harrow, you were telling me... Oh, yes, yes.Well, Hap, the next time I saw this fancy fellow, his gadget-laden car was humming and purring up the street as smooth as the slippery glide of a slide trombone.
I got my auto light resistor spark plugs, he yelled to me as he whirled by, and they're terrific.Well, by Cornelius, this fellow had the right dope.
Because friends, when you replace your old narrow-gap spark plugs with the wide-gap autolight resistor spark plugs, you can really tell the difference in your car.
So if you don't already have a set of autolight resistor spark plugs, drive down tomorrow to your nearest autolight dealer and treat your car right.Switch to autolight.And friends, remember too, autolight means spark plugs.
Ignition-engineered resistor spark plugs.
Autolight means batteries.
Autolight means ignition system.
The lifeline of your car.
And now here again is Mr. Claude Rains.
The hands of Mr. Artemol has always been one of my favorite mystery stories and so it was a great pleasure to be able to play it on suspense, one of my favorite radio programs.What about you, Vincent?
I agree with you on both counts, Claude.And in addition, I found it refreshing to play the murder victim for a change instead of the murderer.By the way, Claude, what will we be hearing on suspense next week?
A treat you won't want to miss.One of Hollywood's most glamorous stars, Miss Rosalind Russell, in a top story, The Sisters.Another gripping study in... Suspense.
Claude Raines will soon be seen in the Paramount picture, The Sin of Abbey Hunt.Vincent Price can currently be seen with Lana Turner, Gene Kelly, and June Allison in Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer's Technicolor production, The Three Musketeers.
Tonight's suspense play was the famous story by Thomas Burke, adapted for radio by Ken Crossan, with music composed by Lucian Morawieck and conducted by Ludd Gluskin.The entire production was under the direction of Anton M. Leder.
In the coming weeks, Suspense will present such stars as James Cagney, Ronald Coleman, William Bendix, and others.Make it a point to listen each Thursday to Suspense, radio's outstanding theater of thrills.
And next Thursday, same time, hear Rosalind Russell in The Sisters.
This is the Autolite Suspense Show.Turn in your scrap steel to your local scrap dealer.The more scrap, the more steel.Good night.Switch to Autolite.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
suspense.And the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure, William N. Robeson.
In a niche all his own, apart from other great tellers of tales of terror, stands the moody, dark, and devious genius Edgar Allan Poe.
Obscure and ambiguous, the rolling periods of his prose are not for the casual reader, no more than for the casual listener.
But for sheer suspense compounded of horror piled upon horror, literature offers nothing more awful than the pit and the pendulum.
The terror of the black pit would have sufficed a lesser imagination, but to this the macabre intellect of Poe added the inescapable doom of the razor-sharp pendulum, and then piled on the rats
and the moving walls of red-hot iron until the edge of the unbearable is reached.Can you take it?Can you listen through the next half hour?Try.
Try to listen to Mr. Vincent Price, starring in The Pit and the Pendulum, which begins in exactly one minute.
This is Bob Wright with the answer to the greatest challenge in cigarette history.
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Mr. Vincent Price stars in Edgar Allan Poe's immortal story of punishment by terror, The Pit and the Pendulum.A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
I was sick, sick unto death with that long agony.And when at length they unbound me and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me.
The sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged in one dreamy, indeterminate hum from which emerged the syllables of my name. Captain Jean d'Albret.Good fathers, gentlemen.We hear you, my son.
Even now I have no knowledge of where I am, or to whom I may be speaking.
You're speaking to me, my son.I am Fra Pedro Despia, prior of the Dominicans of Segovia, and grand inquisitor for all Spain.
This, then, is the court of the Inquisition?It is.But I am a French officer.That is true!
A soldier and creature of the Archfiend, the Antichrist, Napoleon Bonaparte, who even now is at the gates of Madrid, while his General La Salle menaces our city of Toledo itself.
Nonetheless, I am a prisoner of war.By what right do you try me in this court?
Let the clerk read the charges against the prisoner.Item?
that on the fourth day of September, in the year of our Lord, 1808, the said Captain Jean d'Albray did wed and espouse that most noble lady, the Doña Beatriz Valdés, niece and ward of the illustrious... One moment.
Excellency?This marriage was a deplorable thing, if you like, but lawful marriage, however regrettable in a case like this, is no sin nor crime.There are other matters in the indictment.Then continue. but give us nothing that is not material.
Item, that on the 12th of October, 1808, the said Jean d'Albret, being in command of a battery of light artillery, did direct the fire of his guns against the holy church of Santa Marta the Innocent, and thereby, of his wicked malice, destroyed that church utterly.
Captain Dalbray, is this charge true?Yes.
You admit it?Good father, the church blew up, did it not?Would you boast of your sin, young man?It blew up because it was stored with kegs of gunpowder for your army.I had every right to fire on it.And that is all the defense you have to make?
I tell you, I had every right to fire on it by military law.Is military law above God's law?I don't know.I did my duty.Long live the Emperor!
Captain Dalbray, mark what I say.No man, however great his heresy, is condemned to be burnt in the fire if he first recant and acknowledge the error of his ways.Do you so?I cannot.I was under orders.I obeyed them.
Then, Jean Dalbray, there can be no mercy, no pity, since there is no atonement. The sentence of this court, therefore, is death.
I had swooned in terror, yet I will not say that all of consciousness was lost.In the deepest slumber?No.In delirium?No.In a swoon?No.In death?No.Even in the grave, all is not lost. else there is no immortality for man.
In a moment, we continue with the second act of... Suspense.But first, some big news.
The Bold New Pontiac!The Bold New Pontiac!The Bold New Pontiac is here!
With a Pontiac front seat that lets you in the back seat.
Pontiac automatically! Moves up and back just like that.Honey automatically.A portable radio that pulls right out and plays all alone. When you plug it back in, it's a car radio.High-fidelity, too.What a nice tone.
Set your speed on the new speedometer.Ponti automatically.
If you go too fast, a buzzer goes buzz.Ponti automatically.
More good reasons you love the bold new Pontiac.
The bold new Pontiac is here. And now, Mr. Vincent Price in The Pit and the Pendulum by Edgar Allan Poe.A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
No, even in the grave all is not lost. There were shadows of memory which told me indistinctly of tall figures that lifted me and bore me in silence down, down, still down, until a hideous dizziness oppressed me at that descent into the earth.
There was a vague horror at my heart because of that heart's unnatural stillness.Then, as consciousness swam back to my wits again, Darkness.A damp stone floor in darkness.Oh, Beatrice.Oh, my wife.
Beatrice.You?Here?In the dungeons of the Inquisition?
No, my poor Jean.I am only here in your imagination.
No, but your brain is fevered. You only think you hear me.
I hear you clearly.You won't leave me.
As long as I am in your heart, I shall be here.Have they chained you to the wall?
No.No, they've taken away my uniform.They've given me sandals and a robe of rough cloth.But I'm unchained. Beatrice, suppose, suppose they have buried me alive.
Have courage, Jean.You must have courage.
Then tell me, tell me where you are now, Beatrice, in the flesh, I mean.
In the old house by the olive grove, scorned of my people.
Each morning I climb to the hilltop and watch for them.Sometimes I think I hear gunwheels rumble in the hills and long moving columns with the red dust rising above them.
First come the heavy cavalry.
in plume-crested helmets, on their flanks, wailing like hawks, like hazards in blue and scarlet, and behind them, in a glitter of bayonets, as vast as light points on the sea, rank upon rank, the long grey coats and tall bearskin caps... And the Old Guard!
It's only a vision, my dear one.They do not come.
Will they ever come, Beatrice?
Then... then I must face... face what has been prepared for me.
Then walk.Walk as far as you can.Measure the limits of the cell if this is not a tomb.
I'll try, Beatrice.I'll try.This robe impedes me and the floor is treacherous with slime, but... but I'll try.Look out!
I'm all right.I fell on my face.
But my hand is in front of me, lower than my face, but I... I feel nothing.
It's a pit.A deep, circular pit, and I fell on the very edge of it.
They would have had you walk into it.
But you didn't.You're saved, Jean.
Saved, Beatrice, saved!My torture has been merely postponed.At last a deep sleep fell upon me, a sleep like that of death.How long it lasted I know not.But when I opened my eyes once again, I could see.Yes, see.
My prison was large and lofty, its walls formed of massive iron plates.A wild sulfurous luster, I could not trace its origin, lit up the dungeon and the circular pit.I could see, but I could not move.
I lay on my back on a low framework of wood, securely bound by a long fastening resembling a surgical bandage.The bandage passed round and round my body, leaving at liberty only my head and
My left arm, with much exertion, I could supply myself with food from an earthen dish on the floor beside me.It was meat, highly seasoned, and there was no water.Beatrice.Beatrice, where are you?
Your voice sounds stronger, and I can see you.
You are weaker, my dear, and more fevered.
Look, Beatrice. At the ceiling of this room, 30, 40 feet up, what do you see?
I see, painted on the ceiling, a figure of Father Time.
Yes, but this Father Time carries no scythe.It carries instead what looks like a gigantic pendulum from an ancient clock. And the pendulum is moving.
The painting cannot move.
But I swear the pendulum did.It swung a little back and forth, just like a real pendulum.Beatrice, take care!
Take care of the rats.The rats from the pit.They're swarming out in dozens.You can see their eyes glitter.What do they want?What do they want?
They have caught the scent of the meat in the dish beside you.
I shall not give it.Go!Go away, you vermin!
Beatrice, where are you going?I can hardly hear you.
You are sending me away, Jean.
My poor loved one.You can't bear to see the rats running about my feet, can you?Even when you know I'm not here.Beatrice.It is true, Jean.You are sending me away.
Yes.Yes, it's true.In a cell swarming with vermin, there are others I would rather see here.I would rather see...
If you call me Captain d'Alvarez, then in spirit, I am here.
Go.I command you, Fra Antonio, go!
Not until I have first told you what is in store for you.
Listen.Do you hear anything?
Yes, yes, I hear something.
Turn your eyes upward.Look at the ceiling.
Only a foot or so as yet.As you notice, it is not really a pendulum.
No.Its underside is a crescent formed of razor-sharp steel.
A ponderous weight, Captain Dalbray.Its movement is slow now, but soon it will take on momentum.It will swing wider and wider, and with each broad movement, it will creep a trifle lower.
The steel is directly over me.
Yes, above the region of your heart.
You need have no immediate fear.It will not be too soon.
Minutes, hours, days, who can say how long it was?It might have been many days before that hideous blade swept so closely as to fan me with its acrid breath.Down
still unceasingly still inevitably down the sharp steel flashed past within three inches of my chest and then only then Beatrice, Beatrice.
I hear you calling, Jean.I am here.
Is there no hope, my dear?
How can there be?Ten, twelve more vibrations and it will fray the threads of my robe only lightly as a razor in a delicate hand. There will be many sweeps down before it bites deep.I can't escape it, and yet... And yet?
And yet, if only I could use my wits!
You kept me away from you, Jean.You locked me out of your thoughts.If I am here only in your thoughts, why should I fear the rats?
The rats? The rats?Do they still swarm here?
Across the floor and over the meat platter.Yes.They have taken nearly all your food.
Yes, they are ravenous.They have sharp teeth.The meat is oily and spiced.If I take what remains of it... Scatter, you vermin!Rub that meat on the bandages that hold me here.
It may be too late.If I move my body of a fraction of an inch up, I... Try it, I tell you, try it. And I stand as rats crawling across me.Can the flesh bear it?
One of them has leaped on the wooden framework.Another follows.They are gnawing at the bandage.
Seven, eight more sweeps of the pendulum.
Does the bandage give way?Lie still, Jean, lie still.
Ten, a dozen rats now.Is death, I wonder, worse than this disgust?
A dozen sharp knives could do no better.The bandage is loose into ribbons if you move sideways carefully and drop to the floor.
Beatrice, Beatrice, I, I, I can't move.My arms and legs are numb.
There is no power to... This jail has frayed your robe and minutes more will be too late.Try.
Then with all the strength that is in me and the hatred I bear, my enemies... You're free!
Yes, a second time I'm, I'm free.
See, Jean, the pendulum stops.They are drawing it back up through the roof.
Each move I make is watched.You never doubted that?
No.Yet with all they could do to you, they have failed twice.
They will not fail a third time, my dear.
A groaning. Grinding is of metal.
It is only the cogwheels of the pendulum.
It seems to come from behind these iron-plated walls.It seems to shake the dungeon as a mill wheel might shake at it.
Stand up, my Pigeon.Get up off your knees.
I can't, I can't endure anymore.Don't you sense even now the odor of the heated iron?
Yes, the walls are beginning to glow red.Oh, Beatrice, I have been much humbled. But I won't have you see me in tears.I order you to go.
Sean, in the name of heaven... Yes, in the name of heaven, go.
In just a moment, we continue with the third act of... Suspense.
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And now... Act 3 of The Pit and the Pendulum, starring Mr. Vincent Price.A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
The suffocating heat pervaded the prison.I could draw no breath of air into my lungs.Against the lume of that fiery destruction, the thought of the pit and its coolness came like balm.
Does the pit please you, Captain d'Albray?You again?Do you find its contents pleasing?Not the pit.And how shall you avoid it?Look! This dungeon has changed its shape.That is true.The walls are closing in.
It was formerly a square, and now it is... Now it is flattening slowly towards the center to force me into the pit.Of course!It will force you along with me.
Again, apparently, you must be told, Captain Dalbray, that you are speaking only to your own sick fancy.I am not here at all.Farewell.
Now flatter and flatter grew the red-hot walls.I shrank back, but the closing walls pressed me relentlessly onward toward the loathsome pit.At length, for my seared and writhing body, there was no longer an inch of foothold.I screamed once.
I tottered on the edge of the pit.I averted my eyes.Then there was a discordant hum of human voices, and then a loud blast of many trumpets. The fiery walls rushed back.An outstretched arm caught my own as I fell fainting into the abyss.
It was that of General La Salle.The French army had entered Toledo.The Spanish Inquisition was in the hands of its enemy.
Suspense, in which Mr. Vincent Price starred in William N. Robeson's production of The Pit and the Pendulum by Edgar Allan Poe, adapted for suspense by John Dixon Carr.
In a moment, the names of tonight's supporting players and a word about next week's story of Suspense.
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Supporting Mr. Price in The Pit and The Pendulum were Ellen Morgan, Jay Novello, Ben Wright, and John Hoyt.Listen.Listen again next week, when we return with another tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
We just heard an all-star lineup of horror legends.Peter Lorre, Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Claude Rains, and Vincent Price.That will do it for this bonus episode.Thanks for joining me.
and stay tuned for one more bonus show coming your way before Halloween, a show where I'll share my picks for the scariest episodes of suspense.In the meantime, you can check out Down These Mean Streets, my old-time radio detective podcast,
New episodes of that show are out on Sundays.If you like what you're hearing, don't be a stranger.You can rate and review the show on Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen.You can also subscribe while you're there.
And if you'd like to lend some support to the show, you can visit buymeacoffee.com slash meanstsotr.Now, good night until next time, when I'll share the scariest stories ever to air on Suspense.
Ladies and gentlemen, the chief hope of our enemies is to divide the United States along racial and religious lines and thereby conquer us.Let's not spread prejudice.A divided America is a weak America.
Through our behavior, we encourage the respect of our children and make them better neighbors to all races and religions.Remind them that being good neighbors has helped make our country great and kept her free.Thank you.
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