A Visit To This Hotel May Be Your “LAST VISIT!”: 11 Dark #RetroRadio Stories! EP0280 #WeirdDarkness
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The Black Museum. Affiliated stations present Escape. Dinner Sanctum Miss. By. Us. Present. Suspense. I am the Whistler.

Welcome, Weirdos! I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness' Retro Radio. Here I have the privilege of bringing you some of the best dark, creepy, and macabre old-time radio shows ever created. If you're new here, welcome to the show! While you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com for merchandise, sign up for my free newsletter, connect with me on social media, listen to free audiobooks I've narrated, visit other podcasts that I produce – you

You can also visit the Hope in the Darkness page if you're struggling with depression, dark thoughts or addiction. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into Weird Darkness' retro radio. The CBS Radio Mystery Theater presents...

♪♪ Come in. Welcome. I'm E.G. Marshall, your special envoy from a wild and weird country that exists way down deep in your very own imagination. ♪♪

To many people, especially city dwellers, grass is something to smoke or perhaps something that has keep off signs on it. The fact is, grass is the foundation of life as we know it. All the grains we eat are grasses. All of our meat is nothing but grass transformed.

In many ways, the quality of our existence depends on the quality of our grass, which means that those who can change that quality for better or worse literally hold our lives in their hands. All we need is your confession. I didn't kill him. You swore you were going there to shoot him. I know, but... You did go there. Yes. You confronted him. I... I did. The gun. The gun.

Now, this is the gun that fired the bullet. Can you identify it? I already have. It's mine. I don't deny it. I tell you, I didn't kill him. Just look at all the evidence. I don't care about the evidence. I know I didn't kill him. I don't care about the evidence.

Our mystery drama, Snake in the Grass, was written especially for the Mystery Theater by Sam Dan and stars Sandy Dennis. It is sponsored in part by Anheuser-Busch Incorporated, Brewers of Budweiser, and Sinoff, the sinus medicines. I'll be back shortly with Act One. ♪♪

Her name is Augusta Sanderson. She's 36 years old. And while there are those who say she's never been kissed, we cannot vouch for the complete accuracy of that statement. What does she do? She's an agriculturalist.

An unusual occupation for a woman? Don't say that. We live in liberated times. You'd be surprised at the things women can do. You might venture to inquire why they want to do them, but that's another story. Our story begins in a quiet university town in the Northwest.

Hey, ma'am. I'll thank you not to patronize me. Well, all I said was... I'll thank you not to call me ma'am. Ma'am is short for madam, and I am neither the mistress of a household nor the keeper of a brothel. Well, I only wanted to say hello and welcome to Pete's for 25 years and Oasis for the thirsty. I have a B.A.,

An M.A. and a Ph.D. I hold the rank of full professor at the School of Agriculture. I don't have to be addressed as ma'am as if I were some fragile Victorian lady. Well, uh, how's Doc? Or, uh, Prof? Now, I intend to become extremely inebriated. Oh? And it's just as well that I don't make a spectacle of myself. Let me have a... A what?

I don't know. Tell me, what's best to make you forget? Well, nothing can ever really make you forget. Very well. What is good for building courage? Again, nothing. That's not what I hear. Well, it's true. You get maybe the illusion of courage, but not the real thing. Well, dispenser of illusions, pour one for me. Oh, you must be the lady prof at the ag school, huh? The lady prof at the ag school.

You know Dr. Howells? Do I know Dr. Howells? Yeah, I was reading about him in the papers. Let me tell you how well I know Dr. Howells. Wasn't that a terrific thing he discovered? I know Eugene Everett Howells well enough to kill him. His new feed grass will mean that millions of starving people will be... What'd you say? I said I intend to kill him. Yeah, well... All I need is the courage, or the illusion of it, and

And I'm feeling bolder every minute. Yeah, but look, don't you think you better... Don't I think I'd better what? Go home? Stop talking foolishly. But I have every right to talk foolishly. You know why? Because I've been a fool all my life. Yeah, well, I'll get somebody to take you home. The article in the paper said that Dr. Howells discovered, created the new feed grass. He didn't do it. He didn't? No, I did. You did. Okay. I mean it. I really mean it.

It's mine. Oh, sure. You see, you don't believe it. Well, I... In the Himalayan regions in Asia, the terrain, the climate is almost like what we have here. Yeah, well, look, I... No, no. You have to follow this.

They have an economy, an agricultural economy that's based on goats. Goats, yes. Goats. The goats are actually sacred. The soil is calcareous like ours, and a red clover grows there. But it's deficient in proteins and nitrogens. You know what you need? A nice cup of coffee. Now, I have been developing a species highly nutritious of purple clover. It would practically double the output of milk. Is that a fact? Yes.

Think of how many lives this will save. That's really great, you know. It could have been the supreme achievement of my career. It could have meant a Nobel Prize, perhaps. Now there's talk of Dr. Howells winning it. It isn't fair. It's mine. Don't you understand? It's my grass. I created it. It's mine. Tell me.

For doing that to me, for taking it from me, isn't that enough to justify my killing him? I'll tell you what you ought to do, Prof. You ought to go home and sleep on it. You don't believe me. You believe because I'm a woman, I'm incapable of scientific achievement. Oh, that's not so. There's a whole lot of lady scientists. Thank you. Pete. Is that your name, Pete? Pete.

Thank you. What for? For listening to me. Oh, it was my pleasure. And I see now. How clearly I see it now. If my life is to have any meaning at all, I must kill him. Yeah, well, it's really getting late. You'll see. You'll feel better in the morning. I feel better already. I'm strangely at peace with myself.

I'm quite contented. You've made me see it. His death will rid me of all my demons. Now, you really don't want to kill anyone. You're a lady. Good night, Pete. You're a gentleman. Look, uh... James, James, well... She's got to be crazy. But what if she ain't crazy? Maybe I'd better... I don't know. If I tell a story like this, won't they think I'm nuts?

Lieutenant Novak. This is Lieutenant Novak. Hello. Who's on the other end of this? Oh, no, no, not him. Of all the cops who could have answered that phone, definitely not Novak. Huh? Oh. Someone's at the door. Someone... Justin? Justin?

Who could be ringing the bell at this hour? It's noon. How could I have slept till noon? Just a minute! I'll get on my... Just a minute! How could I have slept so late? Who is it? Police. Police? Why would...

Dr. Augustus Sanderson? Yes. I'm Police Lieutenant Novak. May I come in? Well, yes. Why? You are Augustus Sanderson? I am.

Miss Anderson, you're under arrest. What are you saying? The charge is suspicion of murder. Murder? Who's murder? Dr. Eugene Everett Howell. Oh, but you're making a... I must inform you of your constitutional rights. But I didn't kill him. Anything you say may be used against you. Please, please, you can't be serious. Are you saying Gene Howells is dead? That's right. But why do you insist that I... You said that you would kill him. But I was only... You're only one.

Now, Professor Sanderson, you insisted that Pete Grimes at the Oasis Bar and Grill last night... Well, I was feeling very unhappy, and there are times when you say things you shouldn't. You had a motive. Motive? Didn't you say that he has robbed you of a discovery? Oh, that. Yes, that. A discovery you considered great enough to make you eligible for the Nobel Prize. He didn't exactly rob me.

No? No, I gave it to him. I had to. Otherwise, well, it wouldn't be used. So I said, take it. It might as well be yours. Why did you give it to him? Because they wouldn't take it from me, from a woman. I don't know what you're talking about. In that part of Asia, women are considered...

Well, not exactly unclean, but it's hard for you as an American to visualize this. But the fact of my being a woman would make the grass defiled, unfit for the goats, which are holy animals.

According to the way you told the story to Pete last night, Howells robbed you of the credit. He did. But I had no choice. If I was to save millions of lives, I would have to sacrifice my own vanity and say to Gene, let it be known as yours. But afterward, when I saw how Howells was preening himself... You killed him. No. You left Pete's oasis at 9 p.m. The coroner places the time of death at midnight. Where were you at midnight? Here. Right here.

Can anyone support that statement? Well, no. According to Mr. Pete Grimes, you were acting somewhat strangely. You could say that, yes, but I didn't kill him. You went directly home after you left Pete's Oasis at 9 p.m.? Yes. The ballistics lab has established that Dr. Howells was killed by a .22 caliber bullet. You own a gun? I...

Yes. Yes, I have a .22 caliber revolver, which I carry sometimes when I am in the field, especially when the snakes are shedding. May I see it? You see, snakes are very nervous when they shed. Are they pistol-fledged? And they strike at shadows. Thank you. Yeah. This gun's been fired recently. Oh, no. Not in months. You can smell it. You can see the fouling. Here. Here.

Five live cartridges and one empty shell. But I haven't used... The gun should be empty. The lab will determine whether or not this is the gun, but... But what? I put the gun away. I didn't even have any bullets I was supposed to buy. I see the shoes you were wearing last night. Why? May I? What will my shoes show you? Dr. Howells is having a sidewalk repaired. There's dirt and mud in front of his doorstep. We have a mold of shoe prints.

I'm sure these shoes will fit them. But I... There's dried mud on these shoes, too, Professor. I... I can explain that. Can you? I was angry, so I went to his house after I left the Oasis. But you said you went directly home. I know I did. I know. I just thought that it might be embarrassing if I admitted nothing happened. I just saw him briefly, and I left and came here. Professor...

There are people who get themselves into a highly agitated state. Then they commit a crime. A serious crime like murder. And afterwards they forget all about it. I am incapable of killing. I am not a murderer. What you're saying is you never killed anyone before. That's who the majority of murderers are.

But I know who I am and what I believe. Well, that's why you made sure you'd be caught and punished, because you were brought up to believe no one should get away with murder. But I didn't. Now, first, you were sure to make a public announcement. I wasn't making any. I was overwrought. You were sure to state that you had a powerful motive. That doesn't prove it. Third, you used your own gun. Why do you insist? Fourth, you must have been aware of the fact that you were leaving shoe marks in the dirt. Why didn't you avoid doing that? Why couldn't you at least wipe off the mud? Now...

Well, now you just think about it. Detective, I don't know what to say. ♪♪ Well, did she or didn't she? Even she doesn't know for sure. The blocking out of unpleasant memories is by no means a rare occurrence in our culture. Well, let's give her an opportunity to collect her thoughts and see what, if anything, she can come up with in Act II. ♪♪

They say the wish is the father of the deed, which is why we have inhibitions, no? After all, if every time you felt like killing someone, you did it, who among us would be out of jail?

And so, here we have Augusta Sanderson, Ph.D., a learned professor of agriculture, about to be booked on a charge of homicide. Talk about still waters running deep. Here is a quiet brook that apparently has no bottom. What are you going to do with me, Lieutenant Novak?

Take you in? Book you? Lieutenant, please, give me a chance to think. That's not my job. But I have to get my thoughts together. And how can I think in jail? I'm sure you'll get out on bond. But I'll be a different person. I'll stand accused of murder. People will look at me in a different way. I'll even look at myself differently. Please help me. How? Help me think it through from the beginning. Someone killed Gene Howells. If I didn't kill him, who did?

Look, Professor... I need your help. The help of an experienced professional detective. That's not my job. And once you arrest me, you'll be through with me. I already arrested you. I even told you your rights. I know. You said I had the right to counsel. Well, you're my counsel. I'm not a lawyer. A counselor is one who advises. Now, please listen and advise me. Who else could have killed Gene Howell's...

Who else had a motive? Let me, uh, let me explain that to you. Now we're wasting time. You never waste time. You only waste effort. Arrest me and you'll get further away from the truth. Well, what is the truth? What did happen? What is the chain of events that led you to my door? The first link. Among the exchange students at the university is the crown prince of a protectorate located high in the Himalayan mountains.

In Asia. I know where the Himalayan mountains are. And it occurred to me that I could help the prince to help his countrymen, who are mostly poverty-stricken herdsmen. And so, you see, Prince Lutof... Oh, you must call me Shorty. Ah, Shorty.

It is a fabulous joke. You see, I am six feet tall. None of my countrymen grow that high. You see, my brother Ali here is barely five feet. That is average for our country. Small people with small bones. That's why I'm here, Prince, because your countrymen do not grow. Fabulous!

You hear that, Ali? A lady professor, a shahiba, visits us because our country people are small. There is great wisdom in this country, magnificent one, which is why we... Ali, in public, even you must call me shorty. The staple food of your people is milk, goat's milk. The sacred goats of Kandahar. But the milk is scanty and significantly low in protein. The milk is...

Sacred? What the Saiba says is blasphemy. The problem can be solved by introducing a new kind of pasturage. A new clover, which I have developed. One that contains more nutrients. One that will double the output of milk. Fabulous! We would have to arrange for proper plowing and seeding. His Magnificence wishes to thank you. You will be informed of his decision in due time. But Ali, what is that? Just because you are not at home, Magnificence Shorty...

Does that mean you may act without meditation or counsel? He's right, Professor. He's always right. He may be my younger brother, but he has the brains in our family. We will communicate with you in due time.

I didn't know what to think. Here, I was offering these people a way to save millions of lives. And how? How could they be so cavalier about it? And would you believe, a week later, I received a note from Ali. Dear Professor Sanderson, I...

After considerable meditation and prayer for guidance, His Magnificence, the Crown Prince, Ludov, has determined that your estimable project is not practical at this time.

Why is it impractical? Sahiba, it is impractical because you are a woman. What does that have to do... And because you are a woman, you are impure. Really? In what way? In our country, you would not be permitted to come in contact with the goats of Kandar, which are sacred beasts. But I'll have nothing to do with your goats. You will have provided them with food...

The people will ask, this new grass, from whence does it come? And the answer, it is the creation of a woman. We shall have civil war. No one has to know. It will come out. How? It will be a major news event hailed all over the world. Many of our people read. You mean...

They would rather starve than accept food created by a woman. Madam, this is our religion. It is not to be mocked. Forgive me. Now, we appreciate your concern, Professor. But we must analyze the entire problem. Your new grass may save thousands from hunger...

but cause just as many to die in riots. Is this being turned down because I am a woman? Is that the only reason? Yes. His Magnificence Shorty has no choice. Well, then, perhaps there is something I can do. What are you saying, Augusta? Jean, this is your discovery. But I... That's not right. I've agonized over this thing. What am I supposed to do?

Let people starve because of their prejudices? And what right have I to call them prejudices? Those are devoutly held beliefs. But this grass, this thick purple clover, I didn't know it could be developed. I didn't either. Well, how did the idea occur to you? Perhaps, well, perhaps it was supposed to occur to me.

Well, now, what does that mean? Oh, anything you'd like it to mean. Augusta, I... I'm afraid to take the credit. Afraid? I'm afraid of what it might do to me. This will be hailed. You know that, don't you? Yes. It'll earn its discoverer recognition awards.

How will I react? How will my personality change? I've always been content to do my work quietly. We're talking about life or death for hundreds of thousands, millions of people. And how will you change, Augusta? You'll see me regarded as a savior. What will it do to you? You'll start to hate me. I... I could never hate you, Jean.

It isn't right. You've been struggling with this discovery for so long. You're going to regret it. I'll think of all the children who'll have a chance to live. I'll regret nothing. I'll regret it. I thought and thought. There's no other way. So you finally convinced Dr. Howells to become a hero. Is that what you're telling me? Yes. That's very noble of you. Very self-sacrificing.

So why did you accuse him of stealing everything in Pete's Oasis? Because Gene was right. He started to believe after a little while that the clover was actually his. It was supposed to be kept secret till we were ready for planting. But he let out a word here and there. And, well, compliments, praise poured in. He started to preen himself. And that's when you found out you were human after all. Yes.

And you gave up without a fight. I'm not a fighter. I think it's more important for the grass to grow. Now, I have to repeat this vital question, Professor. Why give the credit to Dr. Howells? Because he is an authority on agriculture. Yes, sure, but is he the only one? Well, no. The fact is you could have given it to any number of people, isn't it, too? Yes, yes. All right, why Howells? All right, I'll tell you why. You're in love with him.

That's what? That's... That's... That's either true or false. You see, I listen to every word you said. Not only to the words, but to how you said them. I... I could never hate you, Gene. There's a tone in your voice when you say his name. That's funny, you call him Gene, he calls you Augusta. It's kind of formal, isn't it? Everyone calls me Augusta. But as far as you're concerned, Dr. Howells wasn't everyone. I admit, I confess, perhaps...

Why shouldn't I have felt that I... Yes, I was in love with him. We certainly had similar interests. And so you gave him this, uh, grass discovery, hoping somehow that he might respond to you. That's not true. It isn't, huh? I gave him the credit because of the starving people. Sure, and also because he might feel he owed you something, like a proposal of marriage. That's a lie. Only you know that for sure. All right, maybe it wasn't so cut and dried. Few things are, but...

There was an element of give and take, wasn't there? Yes. But your generosity didn't change the nature of your relationship with Howells, did it? No. It was through friendship, at best, wasn't it? Yes. And that's what really infuriated you, wasn't it? No. You were, as they say in the books, the woman's spurn. Please believe me, I didn't kill him. I'm afraid we have to go. Where? To police headquarters. But I'm innocent. Professor Sanderson, I admire you...

You're a woman who worked hard against a lot of odds to get where you are. By the way, you must have missed out on many things. Please, please, I am telling you, I am interested. There was something between you and Howell. No. Well, what did happen? You're giving me a story about some purple grass, some Asiatic prince. Some deal you made to give Howell some credit for something. Now, how do I know any of it is true? What are you saying? This business about the grass, all I've got is your word for it. I tell you it's true. Well, all right. There's only one way to find out, isn't there?

Yes? How may I help you? Prince, Your Highness... Shorty. You must call me Shorty. I'm a police detective, as I believe this gentleman has told you. Oh, yes. My brother Ali informed me. It's fabulous. Do you know this lady? This lady? Of course they know me. Ali...

Is this charming lady familiar? No. You must remember me. I was here to tell you all about my new grass. Grass?

Ali, what would we have to do with grass? We have never seen this lady before in our lives. Oh, it is a pity because she is a most charming lady. We spoke about the goats, the sacred goats of Kandar, and you said because I was a woman, I was impure. Oh, that is impossible. Why should we insult you? I told you the discovery would belong to Dr. Howells, and you said in that case you would accept it. Ali, do we know a Dr. Howells? No. But I was here. We

We spoke. Professor, it's time we were leaving. Ever get the feeling that everybody around you is crazy and you're the only sane, sensible person in the room or even in the world? If you ever did, you are in a perfect position to appreciate what is going on inside Professor Augustus Sanderson at this very moment. Well, we still have the third act to come and we usually manage to sort these things out.

What do you do when you're accused of murder? I suppose you admit it if it's true and deny it if it's false. But suppose you're not sure of the answer. Suppose the charge could be true or false. Suppose you reach that point where you just don't know.

Is such a state of affairs possible? But I was here. I spoke to you both. Oh, would we forget so delightful a lady as you? The sahiba is mistaken. I can't be. Gentlemen, I'm sorry we bothered you. Oh, it was no bother. Just think, Ali. When we return home, we can say we had a visit from a real American detective. Oh, fabulous. Prove.

Professor, I'm sorry, Professor Sanderson. The train has come to the end of the line. Last stop, all out. What, uh, what does one bring to a jail? Well, a toothbrush, a change of clothes. Like I say, you've got a good chance of being out on bond. Thank you. Lieutenant Novak, I can prove that I gave the credit for the discovery to Dr. Howells. Well, I suppose you did.

Then that would prove that those two are lying. No, it would only prove that you gave the discovery to Dr. Howells for reasons of your own. What reasons would I have? Personal reasons. And that's why you killed him. I still say I didn't do it. Well, if that's your story, stick to it. I didn't. Someone stole my revolver. Professor, you'll have to convince a jury. You don't believe it. What I believe right now doesn't matter at all. Now just pack a small bag. Oh!

Ali? Yes, Magnificence? Tell me, little brother, why did we have to engage in that charade with the police detective? I thought it would be instructive. Instructive? Why have we come to this? Most democratic of all countries, you were the one who insisted. I know, I know.

I wanted to live like a... like an ordinary common member of the people. A desire I could never understand. Well, the common people, whether they be ignorant shepherds or sophisticated Americans, act alike as far as the police are concerned. Is that true? When questioned by police, the common people in America do exactly as our people do. But they have a most picturesque phrase for it. They clam up.

Clam up. How beautifully descriptive. In both countries, one simply does not become involved with the police. And so, when I heard there was an officer at the door, I decided to act in our best interests. Who knows where a thing like this could lead? Clam up. It is, after all, my duty to advise you. Fabulous. Clam up.

Are you ready, Professor? As I said, you don't have to pack too much. Lieutenant, Lutoff and his brother, Ali, were lying. It's all in the hands of the jury now. Don't say that. Well, what do you want me to say? Look, I want you to know something. I like you. Please don't. Don't what? Don't say meaningless words in an attempt to make me feel better. I like you because you're a woman who's smart, who...

Well, who's good looking? If you really liked me, you'd listen to my story. Because I like you, I'm advising you to change it. You want to beat this, don't you? Tell the truth. The truth is always the best defense, no matter how bleak it looks. The jury responds to the truth. They feel it. They respect you for it. But I am telling the truth. No. It was a lover's quarrel. I have your lawyer get women on the jury. They eat that up. If you're going to arrest me, get it over with.

Okay, I just wish you'd listen. The truth is, someone came here, stole my gun. My gun. You have it. I want a receipt for it. You'll get it. It'll be an exhibit at the trial. 122 caliber revolver. Five cartridges. One empty shell. I don't care about those. They don't belong to me. I wouldn't keep a loaded gun in the house. I don't even have any bullets. I told you. Why can't you believe me? Because if I believed you, I'd have to believe in Santa Claus. And furthermore...

Hey, maybe I do. What? Shh, shh, shh, shh. These cartridges. These cartridges. They're not American made. Look at what it says on the rim of each cartridge. Here, here. Where the manufacturer has his name. That's not American writing. Those letters, it's a different alphabet. They could be Hindi. Foreign shells. Made in India. Nobody sells them around here. It was the younger brother, Ali. Hold it.

I know why it was Ali. Let me tell you, from the very beginning, he was the one who was opposed to the... Now, hold it a minute. This is Lieutenant Novak. I need something in a hurry. You got that Crown Prince going to the college and his brother? All right, get the phone number. Call him. Say it's a routine annual inquiry about guns. Ask if he has one. What kind? All right, call me right back at this number. Uh, 227-8308.

Yeah. The bullets have to belong to Ali. Only if he has a .22 of his own. It was Ali. I know it. How can you be so sure? He came here. He stole my gun, but it was empty. It was nighttime. The stores are closed. Where can he buy bullets? He can't. So he goes home. He gets his own. He would only have those bullets if he owns a .22. He has to. He must. It's the only thing that makes sense. All right. All right. Even if we can prove these are his cartridges, you know what he can say?

He can say you stole them. Because you're trying to construct a case against him. And you are. I just know he killed Gene Howells. Let's examine your whole story. They won't take the grass seed from you because you're a woman. All right, fine. You give it to Dr. Howells. Now, now what's the objection? The objection? Now it's plain sailing, isn't it? Plant the new grass, feed all the hungry people? What's wrong? Allie, it's Allie. When I saw Gene Howells last night, he was terribly depressed and very frightened.

Lieutenant Novak. Yeah. Oh, he does. Okay. Prince Ali has a .22 pistol registered in his name. Which means these are his bullets. You said Dr. Howells was depressed? Why? Why? Why? Let me think. I was so angry and upset when I went to see him. I know I went in there hating him and I left feeling sorry for him. But you haven't told me why. What did he say to me?

Let me try to remember exactly what he said to me. I wish I'd never heard of that clover of yours. Really? The last time I read the papers, it was that clover of yours. It's mine only because that's how you'd have it. I told you this would happen. You'd have second thoughts and I'd have a guilty conscience. I'm sorry. It is all my fault. And it may have been all for nothing. Why? Why?

They don't want the grass. They didn't realize it was purple in color. What's wrong with purple? Allie explained it. Purple is an unlucky color, and so the time wasn't right. But perhaps in the future... It was supposed to happen in the future. If purple is unlucky, it will always be unlucky. I became angry. I told Allie somehow I would let his people know about this grass and how badly they need it. And what was his answer? Nothing. Nothing?

He looked at me, just looked, with those funny eyes. Well, you think they're funny, but they can be frightening. Augusta, why did you have to tempt me with this? Please, Gene, try to be calm. It's going to end badly, I know it. We tried. They won't take our help. This is all we can do.

Prince Lutof was willing to go along, and it was Ali who raised the objection, and when that objection was removed, it was Ali who found a new one, the color. Why would Ali want his people to go on starving? Because, wait, wait, Gene said Ali had told him that the time wasn't ripe, perhaps in the future, when it could do Ali himself some good.

Are you saying Ali has ideas of his own? If Prince Lutof is overthrown, and he could be, if the people get hungry enough... Does Ali get the top spot then? And then, as the new ruler, Ali can claim heaven showed him a new grass, and henceforth purple will be the color favored by the gods. But there's one thing. Where would he get the grass? With Jean dead? Well, he could come to you with a brand new story. No, no. The woman thing is too deeply rooted. Unless it stands right now...

Well, what is the grass? Where does it exist? The grass is a box full of seeds, plus volumes of notes detailing hundreds of experiments, how it's formed, how it should be planted. Where is all the stuff? I turned it over to Gene. It should all be in his files at home. And I'll bet it's gone. THE END

I delivered the seeds and the notes to him myself. The only place he could keep them would be in these files. Are you sure they wouldn't be anywhere else? I'm positive. Besides, look at the notation on this drawer. P.C. Purple Clover. And the drawer is empty. Well, that's that. What does that mean? We have a very good hypothesis, but no evidence.

So far, you are still the best suspect. But you know I am innocent. There must be some way we can prove that Ali is... I have an idea. I'll go to see Prince Ali, and I'll confront him with what we know. That will force him to threaten me, perhaps to try to kill me. You can save me at the last minute. It's not going to work. Why? Because this is a country of laws.

What you're suggesting is illegal. Why is it illegal? Because it's considered entrapment. But you see it all the time in the movies. And those movies all end up before the judge throws the evidence out of court. It's a routine idea. What idea? It's a very simple routine idea. Now you go home and wait there. What are you going to do? Just police business. Just go home and wait. But I can't wait. You just have to. No, Sahiba.

I'm really quite embarrassed. Your younger brother is plotting against you. Ali? Ali?

Oh, that is impossible. That woman is mad. Ali wants your people to starve so they will revolt. You will be killed, he succeeds you, and then he gives them the purple grass. That's a lie. Fabulous. It's true. He has discouraged you from accepting the clover. Why? He wants to give it to the people himself. She's mad. Oh, what a woman. Look at the fire in her eyes. Ah.

You may think I'm young for you, Professor, but I value an older woman. Don't you understand the implications of what I am saying to you? Be my first wife. The others don't matter. They're only concubines. You will rule, and with fabulous wisdom. I'm telling you about your brother. Oh, I know he's plotting against me. It is expected of brothers. You knew? No.

Didn't I plot against our older brother? Then you should have done something about me when you had the chance. What are you doing with that pistol? She'll be blamed. She'll be thought mad because of her purple grass. She's already killed her lover. And now you. Because you made her give up her discovery. No, it's not going to work that way at all. Just lower that gun. That's nice.

Why'd you come here, Augusta? Because I... Because you didn't think I could help you, huh? Well, I thought I... I just went back for a search warrant. All we have to do is find the seeds and the notes in his possession. Will we find them, Ali? I don't... They are in his trunk. You knew, Luthor? Of course I knew.

I plan to take care of you as soon as we return to our own country. Here, I am restricted by all kinds of legalities. Prince, I intend to arrest your brother. Will you claim any diplomatic privilege? None at all. The law is sacred. It must be observed.

Smitty, go get his trunk. Wilson, take him to the station house. Well, Professor Sanderson, shall you consider my proposal? She can't do that. She has to come along with me. Where are we going? This way, ma'am. Where are you taking me? Surely I'm not under arrest. Now, listen. You'd consider going off to Asia with that...

That character? Oh, uh, I have to take it under very serious consideration. Why? It's the first time anyone at all made me a proposal. Well, relax. You're about to get another one. And she did. Maybe he wasn't the man of her dreams. Or she of his. But you don't marry dreams. You marry reality.

and reality can be much more satisfying. We'll have more reality when I return in just a few moments. How slender a thread holds up the world. If a million goats

can each give an extra pint of milk a day. That can mean the difference between life and death for thousands of children. The true heroes are the overlooked and unknown heroes, probed daily to solve the really great mystery. How to get an acre to yield another few bushels, or a hen to lay another egg. Little things, and those little things will eventually make history.

or break the world. Our cast included Sandy Dennis, Ralph Bell, Arnold Stang, and Robert Dryden. The entire production was under the direction of Hyman Brown.

And now, a preview of our next tale. You have to leave. Answer me one thing first. Anything. You won't let whatever happens change you? You'll stay the way you are? Why should I change? Supposing I wasn't alive. Oh, Sarah, then I wouldn't be alive either. It isn't always that easy to die. Sarah? Sarah?

Sarah. What are you talking about? Promise me, darling. If anything happens, just... Just keep on being my same...

Loving, kind, gentle Alvin. What crazy talk is this? I'm Alvin Freiberg. I'm 30 years old. If I don't know what I am now, I'm in sad condition. I'm only thinking of the future. God, the devil with the future. We're living now. That's just the trouble, my darling. We're not... Radio Mystery Theater was sponsored in part by Sinoff, the sinus medicines.

and Anheuser-Busch Incorporated, Brewers of Budweiser. This is E.G. Marshall inviting you to return to our mystery theater for another adventure in the macabre. Until next time, pleasant dreams. ♪♪

Hey Weirdos! If you enjoy what you're hearing from me in the Weird Darkness Podcast throughout the year, may I ask for a Christmas gift from you? It's an easy one, and it's free to give. This month, just invite two or three people you know to give Weird Darkness a listen. That is truly the greatest gift you could ever give to me.

Letting your family, friends, co-workers, neighbors and others know about the podcast is incredibly valuable to me, my bride Robin and our cat Miss Mocha Monster. That's it. Tell someone about the show. Drop a link to Weird Darkness in your social media. Maybe send a text to a few folks to wish them a very scary Christmas with a link to the show in that text. It doesn't matter how you do it, but it does make a huge impact when you do.

From all of us here at Marlar Manor, thank you, and Merry Christmas!

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Learn more at apu.apus.edu slash military. Be warned that once you pick up a refreshingly cold drink from McDonald's and people see just how refreshingly cold that drink from McDonald's is, you may create drink envy. Because there are drinks. Then there are drinks from McDonald's. From McDonald's.

For a morning brew that really creates a stir, get any size iced coffee, including caramel and French vanilla, for just 99 cents before 11 a.m. Price and participation may vary. Cannot be combined with any other offer or combo meal. Ba-da-da-ba-ba. Mystery. Mystery.

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

I like the title of the novel we're trying out tonight, Barbie. Killing in the Market. It takes place in the stock market, does it? Nope, Dan. The Wholesale Flower Market. What? Flower? F-L-O-W-E-R. Flower Market. Oh, that seems like an odd place for a murder. Well, this is an odd murder. Flowers play an important part in it. Yeah.

Yeah, well, I don't see how flowers could be mixed in a murder. Sounds a little far-fetched. I'll bet it isn't, Mr. Glenn, because Mrs. Glenn is always mighty fussy about selecting novels that stick close to reality, almost as careful as I am. You? Careful about what? Why, careful about my part of the show, about sticking to reality and facts. Listen. ♪♪

Okay, places, everybody. Set the scene, will you, Tom? A killing in the market. Tonight's story opens in Dahl Callahan's garishly furnished apartment. A man seems to want to get in rather badly. Dahl, let me in. Let me inside for the love of Pete. Angles, what's the matter with you? What are you coming in the back door for?

Hey, you look like you've seen a ghost. I got him. No matter where I go, I got him. Angles makes sense. What are you talking about? What's the matter? I got him, doll. The jitters. I must be washed up. Oh, you make me sick. They're shaking like a scared cop. What's happened? Every day I get flowers. For a week now. Every day, flowers. That's why I haven't come near you. I don't want him to find out about you and me. It's driving me... Angles! You mean... Not Dusty. Don't tell me Dusty Lazare's...

Angles, you mean Dusty skipped? No, he don't skip. They gave him his papers. He's free. And he's driving me nuts with them nick-nick-nick... Nicosiana? Yeah. Dusty's sending you Nicosiana? Cut it out. What's so funny about that? That's what he sent me. He always gave me Nicosiana before they sent him up the river.

Only he sent them to me because I was his girl. Nicosiana was his trademark. I know. But I never could figure out why a slicker like Dusty would fool around with a flower nobody else would be caught dead with. A creep like you wouldn't. But Dusty's the kind of guy that likes things pretty. And Nicosiana's one of the most beautiful flowers there is. They're different. They blossom at night. Ah, they stink.

It can smell them for blocks, and I can't get away from that smell. Follows me wherever I am. Maybe that's why Dusty gave them to you.

Maybe he doesn't want you to forget him. Maybe he's a little sore because you moved in on me when he got that rap. Yeah? So what's he gonna do about it? He must be stir-crazy, sending me red and white flowers that only come out in the dark. Don't worry about Dusty. He's not the one that's losing his grip. He's nothing but a broken-down flower peddler. He's Dusty Lazare, the biggest guy that ever hit this top. Oh?

Okay. So he talks sweet and pays 35 bucks for a necktie. He's still nothing but a flower peddler. Dusty Lazari and Dahl Callahan. Everybody used to talk about us. Listen, Dahl. Two of a kind, they said. Both smart. Cut it out. And the dough he had. He threw it around like it was nothing. Yeah? You're just lucky I was there to keep you from going to the pen along with him. Why, you...

You framed him. You're the one... Now, look. It was only to keep him from framing me. You ratted on him, you mean. You had to muscle in on his territory. Don't give me that. I noticed you didn't have any trouble making the switch. What do you mean by that, mister? Don't make you sore to be riding in my limousine, does it? You don't mind the clothes I buy for you, do you? Why, you... I could kill you for what you did to Dusty. Oh, so now that Dusty's out of the hoose cow, you want to go back to him, do you? Listen, you little...

Your hands off of me. Just remember, sweetheart, I can take care of you and Dusty. You make me laugh. Come here, doll. Oh, no. I'm getting out of here. I said come here. Take your hat off. You can't push me around. I'm leaving. Come here, doll. What are you so excited about? Keep talking, Mr. Big, but I won't do you any good. You'll see the last of me when I walk through this door. Holy smoke. It's...

He's dead. It's Slugger. I told him to wait in the car around the corner. He should have. Oh, look. Look at that knife. Yeah. And look at his buttonhole. Because she ain't... It's Dusty. He must have... Oh, no. No, it couldn't be Dusty. Come on. No. I'm not going to get caught with you. I said come on. You want me to slug you again? Let go of my arm. Come on. Come on.

I can register at some hotel. Only right now you're going to get out of here. Dusty's probably hiding someplace close by. Come on, we'll take the stairway. You're a rat. But maybe you're right. Keep quiet. Now act like nothing was wrong when we go out the door. Dusty won't try anything on the street. I should have known better than get mixed up with you.

All right, now quiet now. And don't forget, you try anything funny and I'll fix it so you can't talk to Dusty or anybody else. Go ahead.

Slap me again in front of all these people. Flowers? Flowers for the lady? Bye from Minnie. Flowers for the lady? What's that old dame doing way up here? Hello, Minnie. Got a nice bouquet for me today? Flowers for the lady. You'll like these. My best bouquet for only 50 cents. You never remember me, do you, Minnie? No, I don't remember. That's why I sell flowers. Such pretty flowers.

Flowers? Flowers for the lady? Will you hurry up? We've got to get out of here. Goodbye, Minnie. Come on. Hey, taxi! Hey, what do you think you're doing? So long, Angles. Here, catch the bouquet. Take a good smell. It's Nicotiana. Step on it, driver. Don't let him catch us. Sit down, Dusty. It's been a long time.

I figured we ought to have a chat, just for old time's sake. You're sure that's all you have up your sleeve? Same old, Dusty. You know, you should have been on my team. You're smart. You'd have been a big shot on the police force. Yeah, well, I think I've had my taste of being a big shot, Andrews. Yeah, I suppose you didn't.

By the way, Dusty, what are you doing now? Oh, same old thing. Only this time it's legal. I'm operating a little flower shop. Yeah, that's what I hear, Dusty. You still go for those things nobody else likes? What do you call them? Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick... Nick

and your trademark in his buttonhole. Is that one of the old times you wanted to discuss, Andrews? Well, I did have that on my mind. But there's some other things, too. The real reason I asked you to drop around was this. I want your professional advice. Oh, something about flowers? You planning a party? Oh, forgive me, Dusty. I should have said your former profession. You see, I have a problem. An unexpected murder. Slugger Riley. Now,

Now, here are the facts. Riley was the chauffeur of a guy named Angles, who's the boyfriend of a gal named Dowd Callahan, at whose residence the murder was committed. Mm-hmm.

Now, anybody driving a car for a guy like Angles might expect to get knocked off someday, but the interesting thing is that Riley was very healthy until shortly after a former friend of Angles was released from prison. Well, offhand, I'd guess that you were talking about me. I might be, Dusty. Anyhow, this former friend comes home from prison to find that his girl is now holding hands with a guy who muscled in on his old racket.

A perfect case of circumstantial evidence. Yeah, so I thought, Dusty. But it also occurred to me that I was dealing with a very smart character. Meaning? Meaning he was so smart he might plant his trademark on the body and figure I'd think he was too smart to do anything that looked so stupid. An interesting theory. But aren't the odds in favor of somebody else? An unknown assailant making use of the trademark in order to confuse the police? Maybe, maybe.

However, I still like my theory. My trouble is that I don't want to make an arrest until I'm sure of getting a conviction. And so you'd like to have...

Try my pretty flowers. Sorry, Dusty. One of your competitors. Well, hello, Minnie. Oh, Dusty. Thanks for the dress you brought me. I'm saving it for Sunday. You two know each other? Oh, for years, Andrews. Minnie, get the captain one of the special bouquets. He's interested in Nicotiana. Nicotiana? Oh, it's not hard to find if you're looking for it. Nicotiana for Captain Andrews?

Are you sure, Dusty? Yeah, quite sure, Minnie. Then I'll have to make something special. Wait now till I find my knife. Keep it in my basket somewhere. Oh, here it is. Here's my knife. Knife? That looks like a bayonet. From the old act. I keep it sharp.

To cut my flowers. Yeah, Minnie was in Portville. She did a knife-throwing act. You lost your husband that way, didn't you, Minnie? Lost him, sure. Never could keep his papers off other women. Vomit. Yeah. You see, Minnie and her husband used to take turns throwing knives at each other. And every time it was old Vic's turn to be the target, he'd watch the audience for good-looking girls. Well, one day, he moved his head a little too much.

And Minnie's knife got him, by accident, in the temple. He can't see no more women nowadays where he is. Well, that'll be all, Minnie. Step in again tomorrow. You all right, Dusty? You want me... No, everything's fine, Minnie. I'll see you tomorrow morning at the market. Tomorrow, Dusty. Now, before we were interrupted, you were saying... Dusty, I've been thinking. I'd like to spend a day at the market with you.

I find I'm getting interested in flowers. Hey, you. Seen Dusty Lazarek? Hey! Oh, nuts. Anything I can do for you, Miss Callahan? Captain Andrews. Anything wrong, doll?

What are you doing here? You're not... I might ask you the same thing. Well, I'm looking for a friend. I think I ought to warn you. I have a date with him at five o'clock. Nicotiana, Nicotiana, I'm a skitza. You're up early, miss.

Too early, maybe. Minnie, Minnie, have you seen Dusty Lazari? You know him, don't you? I never see what I tell, and I never tell what I see. Morning, Minnie. I never see what I tell, and I never tell what I see. She's a queer one, that. You be careful, doll. You may end up with a basket of flowers. Don't joke with me, copper. I can still outsmart you.

When I find Dusty, I'm going to tell him you're here. Do that. Tell him I'll be right where I said I'd meet him. I've got to find Dusty before that wise guy Andrews gets him. What'd you say, sugar? Angles, what are you doing here? Get out from behind that screen. Oh, no, babies, you come here. Keep your hands away from me. Get away or I'll scream. There's a cop right down there. You got me all wrong, darling. All I want to do is talk to you.

Don't worry about Dusty. He'll wait for you. Dusty. Oh, no. No tricks. I'm going to find Dusty right now. Okay, sweetheart. I'll see you later. Nicosiana. I need a Nicosiana. Oh!

Let me in here. What is it? Job. Great Scott. Look at that knife. She's dead. Dead. And with a sprig of Nicotiana blooms in her hand. Hey, howdy.

Don't touch that knife. Somebody give me a hand. Here you. Angles Baron. Where'd you come from? Hiya. I... Well, me and Natal have been having some trouble, so I followed her down here to try to make up. How long have you been here? Oh, just got here. You seen Dusty Lazeri? I ain't seen anybody. I knew I shouldn't have trusted that guy. There's nothing he wouldn't try to get away with. ♪♪

Well, the murders of Slugger and Dahl haven't been any great blow to society, but we can't let murder go unpunished even so. The question is, who should we punish? And that's a question that will be answered in the second act of A Killing in the Market. ♪♪

And now, act two of a killing in the market. It's still early morning in the marketplace where florists come to buy fresh stalks of flowers for the day's trade. And in the empty booth in which Dahl Callahan was killed by a knife are police captain Andrews and Angles Barron.

Hey, what's happened? What's all the excitement about? Okay, Dusty, start talking. Where have you been? I'm sorry, Andrews. I seem to be late. Late? Listen, Dusty. I've taken your oil for the last time. I trust you. Just overnight I trust you. And I got another murder in my hands. Another murder? What do you think's under the canvas? What?

Well, great Scott, Andrews. You don't... All right, Dusty. I've played along with you far enough. Now I'm going to get tough. Why weren't you here at 5 o'clock? Well, I got your call. What call? What are you talking about? Well, Sergeant somebody or other phoned from headquarters, said you wanted me to stop there and pick you up. You don't expect me to believe that. Well, I assure you, Andrews, it's true. Call your office. They'll tell you I was just there. I was trying to pull a fast one, Andrews. He don't think you'll check on him. On the contrary, I wish you would call. He's bluffing, Andrews. Anybody can see that. You shut up, Andrews. I'll handle this. Dusty.

Dusty, I've been looking all over for you. Yeah, hello, Minnie. I'll see you later. What's the matter, Dusty? She make you nervous? Dusty, you know what you told me about... Yeah, later, Minnie. Later, later. Captain Andrews has some business he'd like me to help clear up. But, Dusty, you told me... What did he tell you, Minnie? Maybe that's more important than Dusty would like to admit. Not now, Minnie. I assure you, Andrews, it's nothing... What's this all about, Minnie? Uh, yeah...

You heard what Dusty said. You think I'm going to tell you? Well, Minnie, I'm an officer of the law. You can't talk that way to me, you know. Maybe Captain Andrews is right, Minnie. I don't want to get you in trouble. No, I'll not say a word. Not me, Dusty. You know you can trust me.

After all the things you've done for me. For crying out loud, Andrews, you're going to let Dusty and that feeble-minded old dame cross you up? What are you going to do about it, doll? Hey, you! Take her off of me! Hey, Minnie, stop it! Stop it! Get that out or I'll have to lock you up. That old dame is nuts. Shut up, Minnie. Wait a minute. You're only making trouble for both of us. I think you'd better run along now. That's right, Minnie. There's no place for you. Dusty! Dusty!

It's all right, Minnie. It's all right. It's better for you. Go along, Minnie. What a rum-dum. She ought to be strung up. Minnie! Now, don't do that again.

Now go along. I'll see you soon. All right, Dusty, if you say so. You two going steady, Dusty? Why, you cheap hoot. It wouldn't occur to you to be kind to a pool. Don't call me names. Who's got a record, you or me? Shut up, both of you. Well, I'm sorry, Andrews. I lost my temper, I guess. You and your fancy talk. What's the matter with you, Andrews? Why don't you lock him up? You gonna let Don lay there while you two practice your manners? All right, Angles, that's enough. We'll get to your late girlfriend soon enough.

Now, Dusty, we've still got to settle this business of where you were at 5 o'clock. Well, I'll do everything I can to cooperate. Call your office. I'm going to do that, Dusty. There's a phone down there in that next booth. But just remember, I can see every move you make. So don't force me to use my gun. I'll be right here when you get back. You got a lot of crust for a guy with a pedigree, Dusty. You know you ain't got a chance of beating this rap, don't you? What makes you think I have a rap to beat, Angles?

If I'd planned to eliminate anybody, I'd have concentrated on you instead of the doll or slugger Riley. Don't give me that mush talk. Don't forget you're not a cannonball anymore. I can cleave you any time you say the word. Any time, see? You haven't learned, have you, Angles? What do you mean? You framed me once, but you won't get away with it again. Oh, that's a lot of fake-a-roo. Don't worry, Angles. Don't worry. I'm not going to bump you off. I

I learned too much up the river to try that again. But there are other ways. You talk like you're stir-crazy. Yeah? Well, let's see what Andrews has to say. He's coming back now. Okay. So you fixed it so the cops would say you were at the police station. But the important thing is, you didn't keep your date with Andrews. And what? And Andrews knows Dahl was murdered while you were gone.

that's still gonna seem mighty funny to him. You'd love to pin this on me, wouldn't you? You did it. You and Nicotiana. I'll be singing you, Dusty. I done my day's work. Well, gotta hand it to you, Dusty. You've got an alibi.

But confound it, I know you too well. You still might have done it. Maybe. But it seems to me you're building up a circumstantial case without any real motive. Motive? Don't you call what Dahl did to you enough of a motive? Well, surely you don't think I'm carrying a torch for the girl just because she switched her angles when I was convicted. That's not what I'm talking about. Angles told a stool that Dahl Callahan squealed on you. Yeah? I don't get it. It was an anonymous telephone call that gave us the evidence you were convicted on.

Angles claims that call came from Dahl Callahan. I don't believe that, Andrews. Sounds good enough to me. Dahl wasn't the kind of a girl to cook up a story on me. The call came from somebody. Yeah, well, who made it isn't important.

I was running the mob and Angles wanted to move in. So he planted the evidence that got me convicted. Doesn't hold up, Dusty. I can figure how Angles might want to get rid of Dahl. She was always crazy about you. But Slugger was his own bodyguard. Sure. That was a trap for me. There had to be some reason for getting me back into prison. And Angle. So he knocked off Slugger to make it look as if I'd killed him.

But he made one big mistake. What? He used a knife. I never used a knife in my life. I never even used a gun. I used my brains. Yeah, you always did. But you made a mistake too, Dusty.

You didn't count on my finding the knife Minnie always carries. Minnie? Yes, Minnie. Technically, she's responsible for both murders, Slugger and Dow Callahan. But you're morally responsible because you hired her to do both jobs for you. Minnie? Oh, you're not serious. You got careless when you had Minnie kill Dow. You weren't with me to establish your alibi. I'm putting both you and Minnie under arrest and making it stick. Come along. Well, I...

Okay. But, uh, you mind if I get a flower first? The stuff I bought's over in my truck. You're losing your grip, Dusty. You think I'm going to let you get away in that truck? Not a chance. Come on. Yeah, you're awfully suspicious, aren't you? Why wouldn't I be? Well, maybe I can get a flower from Minnie. She should still be around here. Hey, Minnie! Minnie!

Oh, Minnie! Don't get too smart, Dusty. I won't hesitate to shoot you and Minnie both if you try any fast ones. And if you think that knife... Ah, there she is. Minnie! You called me, Dusty.

Yeah, you got any fresh Nicotiana, Minnie? I, uh... Keep your hand out of that pocket, Dusty, or I'll have to shoot. I just want to get some money to pay her, Andrew. I'm warning you, Dusty. Oh, that's all right, Dusty. You don't need to pay me for a little Nicotiana. See? It's real fresh. Just cut this morning. Ain't even opened out yet. And won't till sundown. Real fresh. Yeah, real fresh. Nicotiana in my truck. It's fresh, too.

Not opened out yet. Andrews. What? Don't you see, Andrews? The bouquet of Nicotiana we found on Dahl's body, it was opened out. But there isn't a sprig of the stuff in the flower market this morning that's open. That Nicotiana Dahl had wasn't bought here this morning. It was yesterday's cutting. I don't see what... Check with the station. They'll tell you I didn't have any Nicotiana when I was there. The sergeant cracked wise about it.

If I'd have gotten any, I'd have had to buy it here, after I got here, and it wouldn't have been blooming. Don't move. I'm talking to you too, Angles. You're covered. Put that gun down, Angles. You can't get away with it. That's a good tip, Angles. Killing a cop would make it tougher on you when they catch you. Shut up, both of you, and listen to me. I heard everything you both said. That part about the Nicosiana, I'll bet you enjoyed that, didn't you, Angles? Ah, you flowers. Yeah, flowers for your grave, Angles. Seems funny to the pretty...

A pretty little flower could send you to the electric chair, doesn't it? Shut up. I didn't kill her. It's Minnie. She could have had flowers left over from yesterday. I got all fresh flowers. There ain't a leftover sprig of decocian in my basket. See? Just a minute, Minnie. What do you think? Don't reach for that knife, Minnie, or I'll get out. Try to shoot me, you dirty little crook. My side. That knife. I'll take that gun, Ingalls. Thanks.

Well, smart boy. Okay. I knew I was stuck when Dusty popped off with that stuff about the flowers. Get me to a hospital, can't you? I'm in bad shape. First knife I've thrown in 30 years. But you can't say I've lost my touch. Faster, Dusty. Ah, you were terrific, Minnie. You know, you ought to go back into Vaudeville. Not me. Stick to flowers. All except Nicotiena.

Yeah, maybe you're right, Minnie. Maybe we both ought to give up the cushion. The End

© BF-WATCH TV 2021

¶¶

We all dream, but for some people, what should be a time for their bodies and minds to rest turns into a nightmare from which they cannot escape. Our next Weird Darkness live stream is Saturday night, December 28th on the Weird Darkness YouTube channel, and during the live broadcast I'll share some of these chilling nighttime stories.

Tales of shadow people, sleep paralysis, and demons who stalk their victims in that place between dreams and reality. I'll share true tales of prophetic dreams, some joyful, some not. Sleepwalking incidents that are both amusing and disturbing. I'll also share real stories of night terrors so horrifying that sleep

became something to fear and dread for those victimized by the night. You might not want to sleep after joining our next live-screen. It's Saturday, December 28th at 5pm Pacific, 6pm Mountain, 7pm Central, 8pm Eastern. On the lighter side, I'll also be responding to comments and questions live on the air and doing a giveaway of some Weird Darkness merch.

Prepare yourself for our next live-screen for chilling tales of what some people must endure in an attempt to get some sleep. Find the details on the live-screen page at WeirdDarkness.com.

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Mystery Theater. This week from Vancouver, The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Adapted for radio by Otto Lowy. Ah, Holmes. Watson, there's a very fashionable epistle with a huge crest on the envelope addressed to you. The morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fishmonger and a tide waiter. Yes, my correspondence is certainly of a charm of variety. The humbler are usually the more interesting. Hmm.

And it may prove to be of something of interest after all. Oh, not social, then? No, distinctly professional. And from a noble client? One of the highest in England. Dear fellow, I congratulate you. I assure you, Watson, without affectation, the status of my client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his case. Oh, quite. It is just possible, however, that that...

all so may not be wanting in this new investigation. You've been reading the papers diligently of late, have you not? I've had nothing else to do. Look at that huge bundle over there in the corner. I read nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The latter is always instructive. But if you've followed recent events so closely, you must have read about Lord St. Simon and his wedding. Oh, yes, with the deepest interest. That is well.

The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord St. Simon. Oh, really? I will read it to you. And in return, you must tell me what you remember. This is what he says. My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Lord Backwater tells me that I may place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I have determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you in reference to the very painful event which has occurred in connection with my wedding.

I will call at four o'clock this afternoon. Yours faithfully, St. Simon. It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen. The noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink on the outer side of his right little finger. He says four o'clock. He'll be here shortly. Quite. Let's see, what is that? There was a notice in the personal column of the Morning Post that a marriage had been arranged.

and would take place between Lord Robertson Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hattie Doran, the only daughter of Aloysius Doran of San Francisco. I see.

Anything else? Oh, yes, yes. There was another note in the morning post to say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it would be at St. George's, Hanover Square, and that the party would return to the furnished house at Lancaster Gate, which had been taken by Mr. Doran. I see. And two days later, there was a curt announcement that the wedding had taken place and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lord Backwater's place near Petersfield. Those were all the notices which appeared in the papers before the disappearance of the bride. Before the what?

The vanishing of the lady. When did she vanish, then? Why, at the wedding breakfast. Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be. Quite dramatic, in fact. Yes, it struck me as being a little out of the common, you know. Yes, they often vanish before the ceremony and occasionally during the honeymoon, but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt as this.

Oh, pray, let me have the details. Well, I warn you, I don't remember all the details. Let me have what you do remember, then. Oh, now, let's see. Well, it appears there was some little trouble caused by a woman who endeavored to force her way into the house after the bridal party. Alleging she had some claim upon it, old St. Simon. I understand she was ejected by the butler and the footman. Oh, well, then the bride sat down to breakfast with the rest, then complained of a sudden indisposition and retired to her room.

She was away so long that her father followed her and learned from her maid that she'd only come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up an Ulster and bonnet, and had left the house. Well, Doran got into communication with the police and...

I understand energetic inquiries are being made, which will probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very singular business. Any mention of foul play? Well, there are rumours. It's said that the police have caused the arrest of the woman who caused the original disturbance in the belief that, from jealousy or some other motive, she may have been concerned in a strange disappearance. I see. And is that all? I see. Oh, one little item in another of the morning papers. What is that?

that Miss Flora Miller, the lady who caused the disturbance, was formerly a dancer at the Allegro, and that she had known the bridegroom for some years. There were no further particulars in the whole cases. As far as I know, it is in your hands now. And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would not have missed it for worlds. There is a ring at the Bell, Watson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I have no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client.

I do not dream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having witnesses, if only as a check to my own memory. Oh, very well. Good day. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I presume? Uh, in here, please. My name is Lord Robert St. Simon. Oh, good day, Lord St. Simon. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. Dr. Watson. How do you do, sir? Please, please take the basket chair.

Draw it up a little to the fire and we'll talk this matter over. Thank you. A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine, Mr. Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you have already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though I presume that they were hardly from the same class of society. No, no. I am descending. I...

I beg pardon? My last client of the sort was a king. Oh, really? Oh, I had no idea. And which king? The king of Scandinavia. What? Had he lost his wife? You can understand that I extend to the affairs of my other clients the same secrecy which I promise you in yours. Oh, yes, yes, of course, of course. Very right, very right. I'm sure I beg pardon.

As to my own case, I am ready to give you any information which may assist you in forming an opinion. Thank you. I have already learned what is in the public prints. Nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct. The article, for example, as to the disappearance of the bride? Oh, yes, yes. It is correct as far as it goes. But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone can offer an opinion.

I think that I may arrive at my facts most directly by questioning you. Pray do so. Thank you. When did you first meet Miss Hattie Doran? In San Francisco, a year ago. You were traveling in the States? Yes. Did you become engaged then? No. But you were on a friendly footing. Oh, well, I was amused by her society, and she could see that I was amused. Ah, yes.

Her father is very rich. He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific Slope. And how did he make his money? In mining. He had nothing a few years ago. Then he struck gold, invested it, and came up by leaps and bounds. I see, I see. Now, what is your own impression as to the young lady's... I beg your pardon, your wife's character? Well...

Well, you see, Mr. Holmes, my wife was 20 before her father became a rich man. During that time, she ran free in a mining camp and wandered through woods or mountains so that her education has come from nature rather than from the schoolmaster. On the other hand, of course, I would not have given her the name which I have the honor to bear.

Had I not thought her to be at bottom, a noblewoman. Have you her photograph? I brought this locket with me. It contains an ivory miniature of her likeness. Thank you. Yes. The young lady came to London then, and you renewed your acquaintance. Yes, yes. Her father brought her over for this last London season. I met her several times, became engaged to her, and have now married her. She brought...

I understand a considerable dowry. Oh, a fair dowry. Not more than is usual in my family. And this, of course, remains to you since the marriage is fait accompli. I very have made no inquiries on the subject. Very naturally not, of course. Did you see Miss Doran on the day before the wedding? Yes. Was she in good spirits? Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in our future lives. Indeed. Well, now, that is very interesting.

And on the morning of the wedding? She was as bright as possible, at least until after the ceremony. And did you observe any change in her then? Well...

Well, now, to tell the truth, I saw there in the first signs that I had ever seen that her temper was just a little sharp. The incident, however, was too trivial to relate and can have no possible bearing upon the case. Oh, pray, let us have it, though, for all that. Oh, it is so childish. She dropped her bouquet as we went towards the vestry. She was passing the front pew at the time, and it fell over into the pew.

There was a moment's delay, but the gentleman in the pew handed it up to her again, and it did not appear to be the worst of the four. Yet, when I spoke to her of the matter, she answered me abruptly, and in the carriage on our way home, she seemed absurdly agitated over this trifling cause. Indeed, indeed. You say that there was a gentleman in the pew...

Some of the general public were present there. Oh, yes. Yes, it is impossible to exclude them when the church is open. This gentleman was not one of your wife's friends? Oh, no. No, no. No, I call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite a common-looking person. Ah. The ladies and Simon then returned from the wedding in a less cheerful frame of mind than she had gone to it. Now, what did she do on re-entering her father's house?

I saw her in conversation with her maid. And who is her maid? Alice is her name. She is an American and came from California with her. The confidential servant? Yes, yes. A little too much so. It seemed to me that her mistress allowed her to take great liberties. How long did she speak to this Alice? Oh, well...

A few minutes. You did not overhear what they said? Ladies, Simon said... She said something about jumping a claim. She was accustomed to use slang of the kind. I have no idea what she meant. Oh, American slang is very expressive sometimes. And what did your wife do when she finished speaking to her maid? She walked into the breakfast room. On your arm? No, no, alone. She was very independent in little matters like that.

Then, after we sat down for ten minutes or so, she rose hurriedly and muttered some words of apology and left the room. She never came back. Well, this maid, Alice, as I understand, deposes that she went to her room, covered her bride's dress with a long ulster, put on a bonnet, and went out. Quite so.

And she was afterwards seen walking into Hyde Park in company with Flora Miller, a woman who is now in custody and who had already made a disturbance at Mr. Doran's house that morning. Yes, yes. Yes? I should like a few particulars as to this young lady and your relations to her. We, um...

We've been on a very friendly footing for some years. Oh, Flora was a dear little thing, but exceedingly hot-headed and devotedly attached to me. She wrote me dreadful letters when she heard that I was about to be married, and to tell the truth, the reason why I had the marriage celebrated so quietly was that I feared lest there might be a scandal in the church.

She came to Mr. Doran's door just after we returned, and she endeavored to push her way in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my wife, and even threatening her. But I had foreseen the possibility of something of the sort, and I had two police fellows there in private clothes. They soon pushed her out again. Did your wife hear all this? No, thank goodness she did not.

And she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards. Yes, sir. That is what Mr. Lestrade of Scotland Yard looks upon as so serious. It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife out and laid some terrible trap for her. Well, it is a possible supposition. You think so, too? I did not say a probable one.

But you do not yourself look upon this as likely. I do not think Flora would hurt a fly. Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. And now, Lord St. Simon, I think that I have nearly all my data. May I ask whether you were seated at the breakfast table so that you could see out of the window? We could see the other side of the road in the park. Ah, quite so, quite so.

Then I do not think that I need detain you longer. I shall communicate with you. Should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem, Mr. Holmes? I have solved it. What was that? I say that I have solved it. Where, then, is my wife? That is a detail which I shall speedily supply. I am afraid that it will take wiser heads than yours or mine. I bid you goodbye, gentlemen.

Good afternoon. Do come in, Lestrade. Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. There are cigars in the box. Very much appreciated, Mr. Holmes. Good afternoon, Dr. Watson. Good afternoon, Inspector. What's up, then? You look dissatisfied. And I feel dissatisfied. This infernal St. Simon and Marriage case, I can make neither head nor tail of the business. Really, really, you surprise me. Whoever heard of such a mixed affair? Every clue seems to slip through my fingers. I've been at work upon it all day.

Very wet it seems to have made you. Yes, I've been dragged into serpentine. In heaven's name, what for? You think that the serpentine plays no part in the matter? I think it's very unlikely. Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found this in it. One wedding dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin shoes, a bride's wreath and veil, all discoloured and soaked in water.

There's a little nut for you to crack, Master Holmes. Indeed. You dragged them from the serpentine? No. They were found floating near the margin by a park keeper. They have been identified as Lady St. Simon's clothes. And it seemed to me that if the clothes were there, the body would not be far off. By the same brilliant reasoning, every man's body is to be found in the neighborhood of his wardrobe.

And pray, what did you hope to arrive at through this? At some evidence implicating Flora Miller and the disappearance. Oh, I'm afraid you will find that difficult. I'm afraid, Holmes, that you're not very practical with your deductions and your inferences. You have made two blunders in as many minutes. This dress does implicate Miss Flora Miller. Oh, and how? In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card case. In the card case is a note. And here is the very note. Listen to this.

You will see me when all is ready. Come at once. F.H.M. Now, my theory all along has been that Lady St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora Miller and that she, with confederates no doubt, was responsible for her disappearance. Here, signed with her initials, is the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped into her hand at the door and which lured her within their reach. Very good, Lestrade. You really are very fine indeed. Let me see it. Mm-hmm.

This is indeed important. How do you find it so? Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly. Why, you're looking at the wrong side. Oh, on the contrary. This is the right side. The right side? You're mad. Here is the note written in pencil over here. And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel bill, which interests me very deeply. There's nothing in it. I looked at it before.

October 4th, rooms, eight shillings. Breakfast, two and six. Cocktail, one shilling. Lunch, two and six. Glass sherry, eight pence. I see nothing in that. Very likely not. It is important, though, all the same. As to the note, it is important also. Or at least the initials are.

So I congratulate you again. I've wasted time enough. I believe in hard work, not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories. Good day, Mr. Holmes. And we shall see which gets to the bottom of the matter first. Oh, just one hint to you, Lestrade. I will tell you the true solution to the matter.

Lady St. Simon is a myth. There is not, there never has been, any such person. As I said, good day to you, Mr. Holmes. There is something in what the fellow says about outdoor work. So I think, Watson, that I must leave you to your papers for a little. I can only hope you've brought me here for some good reason, Mr. Holmes. I think that I have a ring. I expect my housekeeper is out.

If I cannot persuade you to take a lenient view of the matter, Lord St. Simon, I have brought an advocate here who may be more successful. Watson? Yes? Perhaps you would be so good as to show our visitor in? Oh, yes, of course. This way, madam. Thank you very much. Lord St. Simon, allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Frank H. Moulton. Well, I... But I think you have already met. Well, I really think that this is a... You're angry, Robert?

Well, I guess you have every reason to be. Pray make no apology to me. Oh, I know I've treated you very badly, but I was confused. Perhaps, Mrs. Malton, you would like my friend and me to leave the room while you explain this matter? Perhaps we've had just a little too much of secrecy over this business already. I think I'll tell you my story right away. Thank you. Pray do, madam. Well, Frank and I met in 84 in McGuire's camp near the Rockies where Daddy was working a claim. And we were engaged.

Then Daddy struck a rich pocket and made a lot of money, while poor Frank had a claim that petered out and became nothing. Well, Daddy wouldn't hear of our engagement lasting any longer, and he took me away. Where, if I may ask, did he take you? San Francisco. Thank you, madam. The play continue. Frank wouldn't give up, though. He followed me there, and he saw me without Daddy's knowing anything about it.

We got married right away, and then Frank went off to seek his fortune. And what did you do, Mrs. Moulton? Well, I went back to Daddy. The next I heard, Frank was in Montana, then New Mexico. A little later, I saw a newspaper article of how a miner's camp had been attacked by Apaches, and there was my Frank's name among those killed. Well, I fainted dead away, and I was very sick for months after. When I recovered, we came to London, and my marriage to you, Robert, was arranged.

Well, Daddy was very pleased, but I felt that no man on earth could ever take Frank's place. Still, if I had married you, I'd have done my duty by you. I went to the altar with the intention of making you as good a wife as I was able. Just imagine what I felt like after the ceremony when I saw Frank standing and looking at me from the first row. I quite understand, Madame Poulin.

"'Well, I thought it was his ghost at first, but when I looked again, there he was still, with a kind of question in his eyes, like he was asking me whether I were glad or sorry to see him. Then I saw him scribble on a piece of paper, and I knew he was writing me a note. As I passed his pew on the way out, I dropped my bouquet by him, and he slipped the note into my hand when he returned the flowers. It was only a line asking me to join him when he made the sign.'

Of course, I never doubted for a moment that my first duty was now to him. And I decided to do just whatever he wanted. When I got back, I told my maid. Perhaps that was the right moment to have consulted Lord St. Simon. Well, I know I ought to have spoken to him, but it was impossible before his mother and all those great people. Well, I just made up my mind to run away and explain it afterwards. Well, I hadn't been at the table ten minutes before I saw Frank out of the window on the other side of the road.

He motioned to me, and then he began walking into the park. I slipped out, put on my things, and followed him. Some woman came, telling me something or other about Lord St. Simon and herself. Seems like you had a little secret of your own before our marriage, Robert. Well, Frank and I got into a cab, and we drove to some lodgings he'd taken at Gordon Square. And that was my true wedding after all those years of waiting. You see, Frank had been a prisoner among the Apaches, and he escaped.

Finally, he followed me here and found me on the very morning of my second wedding. We had a talk as to what we should do. I was so ashamed that I wanted to vanish away and never see any of them again. It was awful to think of all those lords and ladies sitting around that breakfast table waiting for me to come back. Not a very inspiring sight, I grant you, madam. I am sorry about that, but I'm afraid there was nothing I could do about it. Anyway...

Frank took my wedding clothes and things and made a bundle of them so that I wouldn't be traced, and dropped them somewhere where no one could find them. It's likely that we should have gone on to Paris tomorrow. Only this good gentleman, Mr. Holmes, came round to us this evening. Though how he found us is more than I can figure out. Well, now you've heard it all. I know I've caused you pain, and I'm very sorry. But I hope you won't think ill of me, Robert. It is not my custom to discuss my most intimate personal affairs in this public manner.

Oh, I had hoped that you would have joined us in a friendly supper. There you ask a little too much. I may be forced to acquiesce in these recent developments, but I can hardly be expected to make merry over them. I think that, with your permission, I will now wish you all a very good night. Well, my dear Watson, the case has been an interesting one.

Because it serves to show very clearly how simple the explanation may be of an affair... ...which at first sight seems to be almost inexplicable. From the first, two facts were very obvious to me. One, that the lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony. The other, that she had repented of it within a few minutes of returning home. Obviously, something then had occurred during the morning to cause her to change her mind...

Now, what could that something be? Well, she couldn't have spoken to anyone when she was out, for she'd been in the company of the bridegroom. Had she seen someone then? Well, no. If she had, then it must be someone from America, because she had spent such a short time in this country that she could hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an influence over her that the mere sight of him would induce her to change her plans so completely. Mm-hmm.

You see, we have already arrived, by a process of exclusion... at the idea that she might have seen an American. Quite, quite, quite. When Lord St. Simon told us of a man in the pew... of the change in the bride's manner... of so transparent a device for obtaining a note as the dropping of a bouquet...

of her resort to her confidential maid, and of her very significant allusion to claim jumping. Ah, what's that? Which in Maynard's parlance means the taking possession of that which another person has a prior claim to. Oh, I see. The whole situation became absolutely clear. She had gone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a previous husband. The joint is being in favor of the latter.

But, Holmes, how in the world did you find them? Oh, now, that might have been difficult. A good friend, Lestrade, had information in his hands, the value of which he did not himself know. The initials were, of course, of the highest importance, but more valuable still was it to know that within a week he had settled his bill at one of the most select London hotels.

Holmes, how did you deduce the select? By the select prices. Oh, I see. Eight shillings for a bed and eight pence for a glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. There are not many in London that charge that rate. No, that's quite right, yes. In the second one which I visited in Northumberland Avenue, I learned by an inspection of the book...

that Frank H. Moulton, an American gentleman, had left only the day before. And on looking over the entries against him, I came upon the very items which I had seen in the duplicate bill. His letters were to be forwarded to 226 Gordon Square, and that is where I found them. Amazing, my dear Holmes. I invited Mrs. Moulton to meet Lord St. Simon here, and as you see, I made him keep his appointment.

But with no very good result. His conduct was certainly not very gracious. Ah, my dear Watson. Perhaps you would not be very gracious either if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. Oh, yes, I see. I think that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully.

And thank our stars that we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. Yes, of course, I do. Well now, my dear Watson, throw up your chair and hand me my fiddle. For our only problem we have still to solve is how to file away these bleak autumnal evenings. There you are, my dear Holmes. Thank you, Watson.

The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Adapted for radio by Otto Lowy. Sherlock Holmes was played by Robert Clothier. Dr. Watson by Roy Brinson.

Lord Robert St. Simon by Roland Hunter. Inspector Lestrade by Edward Greenhalgh. And Mrs. Frank Moulton by Linda Sorensen. Mystery Theater was produced this week in the Vancouver studios of the CBC with sound effects by Lars Eastholm and technical operation by Gene Loverock. Direction, Don Mowat. ♪♪

Hey Weirdos, our next Weirdo Watch Party is Saturday, January 18th and sci-fi film host and all-around nice guy Jukesua is back with another terrible B-movie – this one from the infamously inept Roger Corman. From 1958 it's "War of the Satellites." "And yet you propose to follow this tenth failure with another attempt?"

Using more of your volunteers? An unknown force declares war against planet Earth when the United Nations disobeys warnings to cease and desist in its attempts at assembling the first satellite in the atmosphere. We are obviously in the grip of a force stronger than we can oppose. It's a movie eight weeks in the making, and it shows on every frame of film. See the last few seconds with a wire holding up a planet.

See the satellites spinning in different directions every time you see them. There it is, the barrier. All those men in that satellite will die. See shadows somehow being cast onto the backdrop that is supposed to be outer space. Sigma barrier dead ahead. Crash emergency. All hands secure for blast. You'll even see actors wearing the same clothes day after day after day because...

Who knows? War of the Satellites! Join us online as we all watch the film together on January 18th at 7pm Pacific, 8pm Mountain, 9pm Central, 10pm Eastern on the Monster Channel page at WeirdDarkness.com. The Weirdo Watch Party is always free to watch – just tune in at showtime and watch the movie with me and other Weirdo family members

and even join in the chat during the film for more fun. We're always cracking jokes during the movie, usually at the actor's or director's expense, but hey, it's all worthy of criticism. It's Jukesua presenting Roger Corman's War of the Satellites from 1958.

You can see a trailer for the film now and watch horror hosts and B-movies for free anytime on the Monster Channel page at WeirdDarkness.com. That's WeirdDarkness.com slash TV and we'll see you Saturday, January 18th for our Weirdo Watch Party!

Eat, save, and be merry with low prices and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh. Whether you're looking for sweet deals on holiday treats or your dream gingerbread house, outshine the tree with holiday deals delivered right to your doorstep. Prime members save even more with deals on thousands of grocery items and up to 50% off on weekly favorites. Celebrate the holiday season with savings and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh.

When you're part of a military family, you understand sacrifice and support. At American Public University, we honor your dedication by extending our military tuition savings to your extended family. Parents, spouses, legal partners, siblings, and dependents all qualify for APU's preferred military rate of just $250 per credit hour for undergraduate and master's level programs.

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change their future in just one click. Start walking with your new friend today at unbound.org/walk.

Eat, save, and be merry with low prices and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh. Whether you're looking for sweet deals on holiday treats or your dream gingerbread house, outshine the tree with holiday deals delivered right to your doorstep. Prime members save even more with deals on thousands of grocery items and up to 50% off on weekly favorites. Celebrate the holiday season with savings and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh.

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Learn more at apu.apus.edu/military. Since 1981, Unbound has connected people like you with families worldwide on their self-directed paths out of poverty. A brighter future is possible for these families when we all walk together. Sponsor a child today and you'll help a family take the first steps on their path. Change their future in just one click.

Start walking with your new friend today at unbound.org/walk. Wheaties presents Nightbeat. On stage tonight from Hollywood, Nightbeat, another in the Wheaties big parade of exciting half-hour presentations. Nightbeat. Hi, this is Randy Stone. I cover the Nightbeat for the Chicago Star.

Stories begin in many different ways. This one began and ended with a confession. A confession to the crime of murder. Nightbeat, starring Frank Lovejoy as Randy Stone. I have a little boy three years old and he eats Wheaties without any sugar or cream on them. Just plain like peanuts. Now this isn't necessary for you, of course. You can put sugar and milk and fruit on your Wheaties if you want to.

But they are good enough to eat plain. They're crisp, they have a nut-like taste, they're all by themselves for flavor, and they give you all their whole wheat goodness in every crispy bite. So if you choose to sit on the back steps eating Wheaties out of the box, it's your very own business. We won't complain. You'll still get that whole wheat and all the nourishment in it. Eat Wheaties any way you like it, but eat them often. So good. Wheaties. Breakfast of champions, that is. ♪

You can't keep a finger on a city's pulse without having some of its sweat and tears rub off on you. But sometimes the difference between turning a corner or going straight ahead, opening a door or passing it by, is all that separates safety from danger, horror from happiness, or life from death. Tonight the difference lay in whether I should or should not get a shave before starting on my nightly tour of duty. I decided on the shave.

Usually, I go to a barbershop on the fifth floor of the Conway building in the heart of the loop. By the time I got there, however, it was after six and the elevator operators had all gone. Two of the lifts were still operating on a self-service basis, so I got in one and pushed the button for the fifth floor. The elevator was almost to the fourth floor level when a sudden yelling drew my attention to the little window in the elevator door. I'll kill you! You're wrong. You're wrong. I haven't told anyone. You're wrong.

I pressed the emergency stop. A tall, thin-faced man had been lunging at someone out of vision. If there was ever murder on a man's face, it was on his. I saw you talking to the FBI. You told them! I brought the elevator down to the floor level without stopping to think what I might be getting myself into.

When the doors opened, I saw them rolling around the corridor ahead in a desperate struggle. The tall man was on top, his left hand flailing at the other's face with a briefcase, while with his right he was trying to drive a long, thin blade into the other's chest. Help! Don't! Holland, please! Hey, drop that knife! The human beanpole saw me coming and scrambled to his feet. So he told you to, huh? He told you! No, pal. I'll kill him! Take it easy. Take your hands off me! I'll kill you!

He slashed at my face as I threw up my arm, the point of his blade snagged in my sleeve and jerked out of his hands. He darted for the elevator and I ran after him in the best tradition of Frank Merrowell saving the game for dear old Yale. My form may have been all American, but my flying tackle was all wet. His heel caught me in the head and I fell on my face, lost in the stars.

Are you hurt? Oh, no, no. I'm just stupid. Every time I try to borrow trouble, I always find my credits... Here, let me help you up. I'm terribly sorry. Oh, thank you. Thank you. I'm all right. How about you? No, he didn't hurt me. Well, he was sure trying. Is he a friend of yours? Will you come into my office and let me dress that bruise on your cheek? I'm Dr. Reichel. Well, I'm Randy Stone. You'd better give the police a ring right away. That fellow's a maniac. Who is he, anyway? Oh, he's one of my patients. That's my office over there. Now, one moment. One moment.

Let's not forget our evidence. This knife he dropped. Well, it isn't a knife. It's a letter opener. He took it off my desk. A letter opener? Mm-hmm. Well, that's different. What was he trying to do, open you with it? Oh, now, please come in. I'll put something on that bruise and try to explain. Thank you. Let's see. A little methylate should fix that up. Yeah. I can't tell you how deeply I appreciate what you did. Oh, oh, it was nothing. He was only trying to kill you. Will you hold still a moment?

There. There. You see, the man is my patient. A disordered personality. Are you an alienist, Doctor? Yes, my field is psychiatry. From what I saw, your patient is more than a disordered personality. He's a homicidal maniac. And I'm Mr. Stone. Well, aren't you going to call the police? Or do I have to? Oh, please. No, what happened was just an accident. An accident? This hole in my sleeve wasn't made by Ma's, Doctor. He tried to knife me, too. Remember? Well, only because he identified you with me.

Now, it's not too unusual in a case of this sort for a patient to transfer his persecution complexes against the doctor who is treating him. Oh, yes, but... But what happened tonight is entirely my fault. I was so encouraged over certain other developments that I overlooked the extent of his immediate hysteria. So, uh, what happens if he comes back and kills you? Do you, uh, get a medal? No, he won't try. Not again. I can assure you. All I ask is that you don't report this incident.

To have him arrested would destroy my chances of curing the poor fellow. Now, you won't, will you? Well, oh, uh... Okay, Doc, you probably know what you're doing, I hope. Who is he, anyway? What's his name? Oh, no, Mr. Stone. Please. I'm sorry. Okay, Doc. They say a guy is only as big as the things that annoy him. And he's kind of tough when the annoyance is six feet four and has a knife that makes him even bigger. Hmm.

Well, it just goes to show you. A few seconds earlier, a few seconds later, I'd have gone right up and had a shave from a barber. As it was, I arrived just in time for a close shave at the hands of fate. She was at my elbow again, I guess, when I took the elevator back down into the lobby.

Only this time, fate was in the flesh, and a lot of it. Oh, excuse me. Hey, did you drop this, yes? What? This briefcase. I was cleaning it back when I see it come in. When I come out, this briefcase is lying by the elevator. I just finished cleaning, so I know it's not here before. It's yours? Harlan Matthews. Huh? I, uh, just looking at the name stamped on the leather. No, it isn't mine, but I know whose it is. It's one of Dr. Reichel's patients upstairs.

I'll be glad to go up again and bring it to him. Oh, thank you. I'm late finishing here already. Harlan Matthews. I'd heard the doctor call him Harlan. It was the same man in the same briefcase he'd been using to bash Dr. Reichel over the head. As the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, the doors of another elevator slammed shut and started down. I found Dr. Reichel's office locked in the light out. Obviously, he'd just left. I went down to the street level again, but the city had swallowed him up.

I looked inside the briefcase. It contained a heavy album of foreign stamps belonging to Harlan Matthews. A phone book in the corner drugstore showed two numbers for Matthews, his home and his business. I tried his home. Hello? I'd like to speak to Harlan Matthews. Oh, he's not in. Is there any message? Is this Mrs. Matthews? Yes. Your husband left a briefcase in the Conway building and... The Conway building? Yes.

Have you seen him there? This isn't Dr. Reichel, is it? No, Mrs. Matthews. My name is Stone. However, I did see your husband at Dr. Reichel's office just a little while ago. Well, I just phoned there. Well, you must have just missed him. Well, where is Harlan now? He's coming home, isn't he? Have you tried his office? There's no answer. Isn't he coming home?

Well, that I don't know. Dr. Reichel may be able to tell you. Oh, I've been trying to get him at his home for the last two hours. He never keeps his office open this late. I just called him on the bare chance that he might be there. Mrs. Matthews, why does your husband hate Dr. Reichel? Well, Harlan is sick. He doesn't know what he's saying. Well, then what does he imagine? I don't know. I don't know. He won't tell me...

It's since the war. It's something to do with the war, something that happened. I don't know what it is. He's sick. Yes, of course, Mrs. Matthews. Well, I'll drive over with the briefcase. I just called to be sure that somebody'd be home. The Matthews lived in a small apartment on the north side. I barely touched the doorbell before I heard her footsteps almost running to open it. She was a faded little woman, just this side of middle age. Behind her in a crib, a baby was crying.

Mrs. Matthews, I'm Randy Stone. Oh, Mr. Stone, I need help. What's wrong, the baby? No, it's Harlan. He just phoned. He's at his office. The way he talks, I think he's going to kill himself. Please. You're a friend of his, aren't you? You've just got to stop him. All right, where's your telephone? Why? Well, the police can get to him a lot quicker than we can. No, he warned me that if I sent Dr. Reichel to the police, he'd kill them and himself. Well, okay then, let's go. Oh, my baby. If we're not too late already...

Oh, I can't. I can't. My baby is so sick. I just can't leave her. I can't. All right, Mrs. Matthews, it's all right. You stick here. I'll handle it. Arlen Matthews' business address was a third-floor shop in a third-class shopping district. The dry goods store on the street level was still open for business. Its long awning still hung over the sidewalk in memory of the recent May Day sunshine.

The windows above it were all dark, except one on the third floor. The lettering on it read, H. Matthews, stamps bought and sold. I climbed two flights to the third floor landing. The doors of the stamp emporium were half open. Inside, Harlan Matthews was seated at a desk, his thin, bloodless face seeming to stare straight at me. But the light was in his eyes, and I knew he couldn't see too much. Not until I got inside, anyway. Hello, Mr. Matthews.

Yes? What is it? I found a briefcase with your name on it. Huh? Well, where is it? Your wife has it. I... I gave it to her. You came here just to tell me that? Well, not entirely. Oh, I see. She... She sent you here. Well, look, Mr. Matthews, you have a... Keep your hands on the desk. Don't do it. Drop it. Drop that gun. Let go! Let go, you fool! I'm using the gun on myself! You're not using it on anybody. Drop it! Drop it! Hey!

I'll take that. Sorry I had to hurt you, Matthews, but you're a lot better off alive than dead, believe me. Why? So you can arrest me? Arrest you? What makes you think I'm a cop? Don't think I'm so blind that I didn't recognize you when you came in here. You tried to jump me at Reichel's office tonight, waiting out in the corridor. You think I didn't know what was going on?

That Reichel had ratted on me. You've got the doc all wrong. Oh, I have, have I? It's as if I couldn't see through this stupid act of yours. You and Dr. Reichel trying to help me too, aren't you? All I have to do is talk, don't I? Just relax and talk. What would you like to hear? Look, friend, you don't have to tell me a thing. Yes, why repeat what you know already?

Dr. Reichelt's already told you everything I ever confided in him. What do you want, a written confession that I shot Captain Cleaning in the back? Well, I did. Write it down. I'll sign it. Is that what you want? If you don't mind, I... Details? You like details? Look, I... May 6, 1943, two days before we took Tunis out in patrol. Write it down. I hated him. He was a lousy dog, arrogant, insulting. All right, there it is. Mode of time, place, everything. You satisfied? No, I'm just tired.

If you feel like talking, talk to the police, not me. I never saw either you or Dr. Reichel before tonight. My name is Stone. I'm with the Star. If you doubt it, pick up the phone and find out. The papers? Reichel told the papers? Well, you get this into your head and you'll have it in a nutshell. Reichel never told anybody. All I know is what you've just spouted. You sit here like a broken-down ham, dramatizing yourself, dreaming up things that never happened, making like a martyr, feeling sorry for yourself, leaving your wife at home worried sick about you. You've got a family to think of. Now go on and get your coat. I'm taking you home.

I guess maybe you're right. I've been acting like a fool, haven't I? I'm sorry. You'll feel lots better in the morning, Mr. Matthews. Now, come on, let's go. Yeah. I'll put things away first. May I have my gun? You better let me keep it for a while. Oh, you don't have to worry, Mr. Stone. Not anymore. This note on the table, I was writing it to my wife when you arrived, telling her goodbye. Well, I've changed my mind about dying. Well, we all have our bad days. Shall we go? Yeah. My gun, please.

Oh, it's all right, really. Well, okay. Here, I've taken out the cartridges. Souvenirs, you know. Thank you. I'll put away these catalogs. Would you mind closing that window for me? I walked over to the big window facing the street. It was wide open from the bottom. I reached up to close it just as a soft footstep sounded close behind me. And Matthews pushed me over the sill toward the street below. Ah!

General Mills is bringing you Nightbeat, starring Frank Lovejoy as Randy Stone. You know, this talk about breakfast of champions is the real thing. Jackie Robinson does eat Wheaties. So does Tommy Henrik. So does Mel Parnell. So does Bob Feller. And so does a gentleman named Mr. V.O. Hill, 1445 Massachusetts Avenue Northwest in Washington, D.C. Now, Mr. Hill is not a nationally famous figure, but he is a champion just the same.

On January 7th of this year, he was playing golf at the Rock Creek Course. At the 11th hole, Mr. Hill made a 148-yard drive against a pretty stiff wind and made a hole-in-one. You think he wasn't a champion for a while there? Brother. And I'm standing here telling you Mr. Hill eats Wheaties. He does. Says he eats them regularly.

They're whole wheat, you know. There's a lot of energy in a whole wheat. It's the kind of energy you need, whether you're dealing with a baseball bat or a golf club or a vacuum cleaner. Get your Wheaties come breakfast time and see if you don't have a better morning. Wheaties, milk, fruit. Breakfast of champions. It's for you, too. And now, back to Nightbeat and Randy Stone.

Life, they say, is a continual process of getting used to things we hadn't expected. Like, for instance, getting pushed out of a guy's office window. I hadn't figured Harlan Matthews was that far off the beam, but that, of course, was my fault. From a character as neurotic as Matthews, I should have expected anything. I guess I was out more than a couple of minutes because when I came to, a cop had evidently just arrived on the scene. Voices crowded through my head against a backdrop of pain.

I stared up at the moon shining brightly through a huge rip in the awning, and I tried to push myself up to a sitting position. The cop bent over. Easy now, easy. I'll call an ambulance. Wait a minute, wait a minute. Get Matthews. Who? Harlan Matthews, stamp dealer, third floor. He pushed me. Matthews, huh? Just wait here. I took inventory of my legs and arms and found them in usable condition. I climbed to my feet. People crowded around, their voices blending in an unintelligible jumble of questions.

I staggered through them toward the cab. Their faces swarmed about me, white and staring like faces in a nightmare. I reached out, found the door handle of my car. I opened it and got in. I sat there for a while, trying to reassemble my wits. My head throbbed with pain and my mouth was dry. I wanted a cold drink more than anything I could think of. So I found my keys and drove to the first drugstore I came to. It was the sight of the phone that made me remember Mrs. Matthews. She'd be anxious to know what happened.

I had to tell her something. I rang her number. Hello? This is Matthews. This is Randy Stone. What happened? He didn't... No, no, no. I got there in time. Oh, thank God. Where is he? Well, I thought he'd be home by now. But he isn't. When did he leave? Not long ago. Well, when you left him...

Was he all right? Oh, yeah. He was just swell. You ought to see me. What? I'll tell you what. I'll call Dr. Reichel right now and tell him the situation. He should be... Oh, I got a call from Dr. Reichel just a little while ago. Yeah? That is, it came through a message service. They want Harlan to call Dr. Reichel right away. I called the doctor's office to find out why, but the doctor's not there. He's not at home either. Why does Reichel want to see him? Didn't they tell you? No. The message just said that it was very important. Oh!

I invested another nickel in the call to Dr. Reichelt's office. There was no answer, so I sat down at the counter and had a cup of coffee. I felt somewhat better by now, although my head still throbbed and I still found it hard to unscramble my thoughts. I went back to the phone booth and called Dr. Reichelt's home. Perhaps he'd return by now.

What is it, please? Dr. Reichel residence? Has Dr. Reichel come in yet? No. No, Dr. Reichel not here now. Look, has there been anybody at the house to see him within the last hour or so? No, no. No visitor. Too late. You call tomorrow maybe. Yes? Goodbye. I checked with Mrs. Matthews once again to see if Matthews had returned yet. He was still missing.

However, since my last call, the police have dropped in. They wanted to talk to him about pushing someone out of a window. Someone who'd driven away from the scene without leaving his name, address, or license number. You were with him, Mr. Stone. He couldn't have done it. Oh, yes. Utterly fantastic. You'd better try to get some sleep, Mrs. Matthews. I'll ring you if I locate him. Good night. I headed out toward Dr. Reichel's residence on the northwest side, wondering just how foolish I was not to send the police out instead.

Matthews did more than just pass from mania to depression. He'd made the round trip. The doc had been looking for him, but now he could be looking for the doc. I stepped on the gas. It was quite a drive to Dr. Reichel's home. When I got there, it turned out to be a sizable estate with an impressive driveway turning through the moonlit grounds. The dark hulk of a battered sedan stood parked near the head of the walk that led to the veranda steps. I pulled up behind it. I got out, and I gave it the once-over.

I touched the top of the radiator. It was still warm. A parade of maples lined the paved walk. I had the house still dark and still. I lifted my hand to the doorbell. Don't! Well, hello, Matthews. Kind of thought you might be around. What are you doing here, Mr. Stone? When I hit the pavement, I kept bouncing until I finally landed out here. I hardly expected to find you quite the same as when I left you. Oh, I'm not. I'm smarter.

Next time I get that gun you're holding, I'll know enough not to give it back to you. Next time? There isn't going to be a next time, Mr. Stone, not for you or for your confederate, the doctor. Yeah, of course, sir. You could be faking. I took the cartridges out of that thing once. Yeah, so you did. I might have forgotten to reload it. Why don't you try to take it away from me and find out? Well, come on. Is it loaded or isn't it? Make me show you. Well, uh...

If I did, it might arouse the neighborhood, don't you think? You might not be able to hang around here waiting for Dr. Reichel. Yes, Mr. Stone, I've already thought of that, or you'd have been dead by now. Unless, of course, the gun isn't loaded. I'm willing to let you force me to show you. All you have to do is take one step toward me. Just one step, Mr. Stone. One single step, and you'll know the answer. Before I do...

Maybe you could give me some other answers. Answers to a few things I still don't understand. Indeed? What, for instance? Well, for one thing, I still don't understand just what good it'll do you to kill either Dr. Reichel or me. You know the answer to that, you and him both. I wish I did. He said he was my friend, that would help me if I talked, so I told him. Then I saw him talking to the FBI man at the federal building, and I knew I'd made a mistake, that he betrayed me. If he had, would you be free now? Figure it out. I have...

They're just waiting to round up some witnesses who saw me shoot Captain Claney. You're wrong, Matthews. You're dead wrong. Reichel hasn't told anyone, anyone at all, and he never will. Same goes for me. I only wish to heaven that were true, because if it were, I'd never have a better reason for killing you than now before you do have a chance to talk. But unfortunately, I'll never be sure that you haven't talked. Well, kill me, there's one thing you can be sure of. Star billing in an execution party. Really? But right now, it's you who are the star, Mr. Stone.

Or maybe this gun isn't really loaded after all. Come on, find out. Give me an excuse for pulling the trigger. There he comes. Back. Against the wall. Stay where you are. Right there. A cold wind rustled the maples as the big car came to a halt at the head of the drive. Hidden by the trees, its lights blinked out. On a veranda rail a dozen feet away, Matthews crouched, gun raised.

The trees hid whoever it was coming up the walk as the moonlight and shadow danced among the leaves. Come on, Rykel. Come on. Keep coming. Come on. Matthews! A little closer. A little closer. A little closer.

In another moment or two, his target will be out of the shadow of the trees into the bright moonlight. Matthews! Huh? Those men with him. Who? Hide among the trees. See? They're moving. Where? Where? There. That shadow there and over there and over there. Can't you see them? Yes. Yeah. Yeah. They're covering him. He knows you're here. I'll kill him. They'll get you first. You're having a chance. No. No. No. Drop that gun. Drop it. They'll never get me. Never. Never. He thrust the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger six times before he ever got to it. They'll never get me. Never.

But, Mr. Stone, you mean he was trying to ambush me with an empty gun? Yes, Doctor. Then he tried to blow out his brains with it. Oh, poor fellow. Looks to me like he's gone off his trolley, but for good. Look at him lying there, groveling in the dirt as though he were trying to hide. Oh, dig himself in. Yes, he's living a moment of the war all over again. Harlan, stop it. Stop it. Genusia, May 6th, 1943. But how did you know? He told me.

I guess Captain Claney got his revenge after all. What do you mean? Well, he shot Claney in the back and thought he got away with it, but look at him now. Oh, Mr. Stone. This whole nightmare in the poor fellow's mind started when he observed me making an inquiry at Army Information Headquarters here. I was trying to locate the one man who could cure him. Who? Why, Captain Willard Claney, of course. What's that? But the reason I arrived here so late is that I've been wondering about looking for Matthews.

I wanted to tell him that I finally succeeded. I found Clemy. You mean... The man's alive and well working in a bank in Spokane. I spoke to him tonight on long distance. Well, that's one for the book. Matthews must have just wounded him and then thought that he... Matthews didn't even hit him. He didn't hit him. Doctor. Doctor. Wait a minute. Harlan. I think he's aware. Harlan. Do you hear me? Doctor. Doctor.

Dr. Eichel. Did you hear what I said? Captain Claney is alive. You didn't kill him. Do you understand? You did not kill him. You're lying. No, I can prove it to you.

Now, we can call him up. You can speak to him yourself. He's alive. No, I shot him. I shot him. You thought you shot him, Harlan, but you missed. You missed. No, no. I saw him drop. I saw him, and he dropped. Oh, yes. Clayton, he dropped all right, but not from your bullet. No. When I spoke to him on the phone tonight, he said that the only wound he received was a shell splinter in the chest. He doesn't even remember a sergeant named Harlan Matthews. What?

You're joking. No, Harlan, it's the truth. I didn't kill him. I didn't kill him. Know the truth, and the truth shall set you free, huh, Doc? Well, for him, there's still a long, hard road ahead and plenty of work to do. But at least, Mr. Stone, we've reached the beginning. Well, dawn is just around the corner, and the city lights are going out street by street.

Like the lights in some people's minds. Yes, they say the truth is a great mental healer. And I guess it is, if you can bear to face it. Okay, so let's face it. Copy, boy. You are listening to Nightbeat on the Wheaties Big Parade. Whole wheat. Flakes of golden whole wheat. Sounds pretty good, just like that, doesn't it?

Everybody knows you need whole wheat, and Wheaties make a very nice way to get it. Breakfast time, lunch time, any time's the time for Wheaties. Easy, too. Just open the package, pour those flaky little flakes into a bowl, sugar them, cream them, and be happy. That's Wheaties you're eating. Breakfast of champions. Wheaties. Get some. Nightbeat, starring Frank Lovejoy, is produced and directed by Warren Lewis and edited by Larry Marcus.

Tonight's story was written by Erwin Ashkenazy with music by Frank Wirth. The part of Harlan Matthews was played by Jeff Corey. Jeanette Nolan was Mrs. Matthews and the doctor, Ben Wright. Listen next week at this same time and every week as Randy Stone searches through the city for the strange stories waiting for him in the darkness. And this is your Wheaties man, Frank Martin, inviting you to listen also on Tuesday, that's tomorrow night, to the premiere of the Penny Singleton Show on the Wheaties Big Parade. See you then. ♪

© BF-WATCH TV 2021

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Nightbeat came to you from Hollywood. Stay tuned for Christopher London over most NBC stations.

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When you're part of a military family, you understand sacrifice and support. So at American Public University, we honor your dedication by extending our military tuition savings to your extended family. Parents, spouses, legal partners, siblings, and dependents all qualify for APU's preferred military rate of just $250 per credit hour for undergraduate and master's level programs. American Public University, value for the whole family. Learn more at apu.apus.edu slash military.

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Eat, save, and be merry with low prices and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh. Whether you're looking for sweet deals on holiday treats or your dream gingerbread house, outshine the tree with holiday deals delivered right to your doorstep. Prime members save even more with deals on thousands of grocery items and up to 50% off on weekly favorites. Celebrate the holiday season with savings and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh.

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Learn more at apu.apus.edu/military. Since 1981, Unbound has connected people like you with families worldwide on their self-directed paths out of poverty. A brighter future is possible for these families when we all walk together. Sponsor a child today and you'll help a family take the first steps on their path. Change their future in just one click.

Start walking with your new friend today at unbound.org slash walk. In the dream, you are falling, lost in the listening distance as dark locks in. Nightfall. Nightfall.

How far does this road go? What time is it? Late? It hasn't been a sign for miles. It should be there by now. What time is it? My watch stopped. It must be midnight. Where was the last sign? We could have missed it in this stuff. On roads like this.

You know what they say? The more you drink, the straighter the road gets. Maybe we should have brought along a bottle. With the fog on a road like this. Look. Yeah. Where'd he come from on a night like this? Let's see if he can tell us where we are. You're not going to pick him up. Why not? I don't like it, especially at night. How are you now? Oh, you want to... Lousy night.

Going far? Just a way. Not the best night for hitchhiking. Well, I got this far, all right. Can you tell us where we are? You don't know. I think we must have taken a wrong turn in the fog. Oh, no. We're on the right road. The right road to where? You can let me out now. Oh, uh, sure.

That's a short ride. Where are we? It's been long enough. Here's fine. Thank you. There's a hotel along just a ways. You'll find everything you need. What do you mean? What do you make of that? Pretty spooky. Did we say something? No. Maybe it's something we didn't say. No.

Eternity Cove Hotel and Lounge. This has to be the place. Eternity Cove. Well, that's what Newfoundland's famous for. Funny place names. And fog. And fish. Don't forget fish. Especially strange ones. I warned you not to pick him up. Let's check it out. Sure. Now get the bags, just in case. Right. I'll be right here.

Not the liveliest spot on earth, is it? Anybody home? Try the bell. Desk. How would you like to be able to say you lived in Jerry's nose? What? The map here on the wall. There's a place called Jerry's nose. Maybe we're in Jerry's nose and Jerry has a cold. That would explain the fog. Let's hope Jerry doesn't sneeze.

Hey, desk. Here's another one. Empty basket. Lord. Can I help you? Oh, hi. I wonder if you could... Yes, we're trying to get to Shollop Cove, and we seem to be lost. No, you're not lost. Not as long as you're here. Oh, you mean it's not far from here? That depends on what you mean by far. Could you show us on the map? If it's not too much trouble. Gary. Here's your room. We don't want a room. We just want to know where the hell we are.

You read the sign outside. Well, yes, we saw the sign. Then that's where you are. Eternity Cove. Our hotel is at your service. Your key, sir. Can't you get it into your head that we aren't here for the night? Aren't you? What the hell do you mean? What my husband's trying to say is that we'd like you to tell us how to get to Charlotte Cove. I understand perfectly, ma'am. I'm merely saying you have no choice. Aside from anything else. The fog. Perhaps he's right, Gary.

Maybe we should stay the night. But... The fog is bad, and we're both exhausted. But it can't be far from here. Why not check in, Gary? But I can find a... I'm sure it's the best thing. Well, you're probably right. I'll park the car. A wise decision, if I may say so. Your first visit to Newfoundland? Yes. Pity. What do you mean? You're from Ontario. Why, yes. Brampton.

Yes, we're from Brampton. How do you know that? How do we know anything? Visiting your daughter and your grandson, I believe. That's right. But how could you possibly... Someone must have told you we were coming. Oh, yes. We were informed, Mrs. London. Then you must know Susan, our daughter, and Tom. You're right about that fog. If anything, it's getting worse. Gary, this man knows Susan and Tom. He knew we were coming. That's weird. He's gone. Oh.

Never mind. Grab the key. If we're staying here, let's get our money's worth of sleep. Well, it's not exactly home sweet home, but it is for a night. I'd hoped we'd seen the last of these places for a while. Same here. Gary, did you notice anything about that man? Hm? The man at the desk?

He was very odd. There's nothing odd about being rude. No, I don't mean that. He seemed to know all about us. Well, if he knows Susan... But he even knew our names. Well? And his voice. Did you notice anything? I guess I was too annoyed with him. What do you mean? Well, I couldn't be sure. Of course, we didn't get a good look at him. But I could swear he was the same man we picked up on the highway. Don't be silly. That's impossible. It's just the accent.

Makes all these new feasts sound the same to us. I don't know. There's something strange about it. Well, look, you were the one who thought staying here was such a great idea. I know, but I don't know why. Something to do with the way he was looking at me. Oh, yeah? Well, look, let's get our bearings. I'll make a phone call. If I can find that damn phone. Susan and Tom? Yeah, let them know where we seem to be. Then maybe they can tell us where we are.

I'll see if there's a payphone down the hall. Don't be long. You promised to be in bed by the time I get back. All I have to do is brush my teeth. Oh,

Oh, there's a sun in my forehead. Looks like paint. No, it's not paint. It's... What's happening? Oh, my God.

Gary! Gary! Oh, God, help me. Lady, I'm coming. What's happening? What's wrong with you? Oh, Gary. The mirror. My head. Did you hurt your head? What are you talking about? Gary, look at me. Well? You don't see? I was cleaning my teeth. Then I looked up at the mirror. There was a pickle of blood on my forehead. It got bigger and whiter while I watched it. But there's nothing on your forehead, darling. It's fine. I saw it, Gary. I watched the wound grow and grow, Gary.

I saw my brain. What did you see? My brain. It was terrible. I could see it. What are you talking about? Peggy, there's not a mark. Your head's perfectly all right. Look in the mirror. Now, you see? Oh, my God. You're... Peggy. I'm not there anymore. I've disappeared. That's impossible. It must be some kind of trick. But you're there. It's only me. I don't have a reflection. What...

Now let's take a look at this medicine cabinet. Oh, damn! Gary! My wrist! There's broken glass all over the basin. Oh, Gary, I'm sorry I dropped a glass when it happened. Give me a towel. You're bleeding all over the place. Keep the pressure on your wrist. Now I'll get something to make a bandage. What the hell else is going to go wrong tonight?

Did you get through to Susan? No, there's no payphone either. As soon as they get the bleeding stopped, I want to get out of here. You've got yourself a deal. But that's ridiculous. I left the car right here. Are you sure? Of course I'm sure. Well, in this fog, it's almost impossible to see anything. No, no, no, no. It's a small lot, Peggy. I know I left it right here. Peggy?

It must have been stolen. But it can't have. We would have heard it. Gary, what are we going to do? Well, there's no use going back in there. We'll leave the bags and walk. There's bound to be a house where we can phone. The police can straighten everything out. Well, what about your wrist? You should get a doctor to look at it. I'm all right for now.

My feet are fine. Let's get going. How's your wrist? It's throbbing a bit. Is it still bleeding? I think so. Not much. Is your heart going in the right direction?

Not exactly, but we can't be far from where we turned off the highway. Funny nobody seems to live along here. Yeah, you'd think we'd see a car at least. But it's pretty late. Never mind. I'd rather be out here than in that awful hotel. I don't understand what that place is doing there. I wonder if they get any trade at all. I don't think they do. Felt like we were their first customers for years.

Tired? Yeah. You? Not anymore. Do you know me? If I stay up long enough, I can go all night. Second wind. Oh, Gary. What? Stop walking for a minute. Why? I want to try something. What? Just stand still. Okay. Well, where are you going? Come back, Peggy. No, hold it.

Stay where you are. Don't move. There you are. What are you up to? You walked up the road and back. So what? Didn't you notice? Notice what? You disappeared and missed. No, Gary. There was no noise, not a sound. I walked up the road and back and didn't make one single sound. You were walking on fog, but you were always light on your feet. Listen, Gary. I tried to make a noise, but I couldn't.

Come on, I'll show you. Now stop. See? I walked this far, and not a sound. You must have been walking on your toes. No. It's been like that ever since we left the hotel. Really? Oh, Gary, what's happening to me? I don't know. I don't understand. First there was that awful man in the hotel, and then the wound in my head, and that...

That mirror. Now, I don't make any noise when I walk. It's as if... It's as if I... I didn't exist anymore. Peggy. Now, Peggy, stop that. Stop it. Come on. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, darling. It's like some terrible dream.

Oh, Gary, hold on to me. Yeah, sure, here. Tell me it's a dream and soon I'll wake up and Susan will be there and the baby and Tom will have arrived and everything will be normal again. Hey, Nighthawk, hang on there. We'll figure it out. Take it easy. Oh, your wrist. I'll be okay. Oh, Gary. Better? Let's walk faster from now on. Right.

I'll never get to the highway at this rate. When I was a little girl...

I used to imagine that fog was alive and that somehow it could breathe. Yeah? Yeah. And there was good fog and bad fog. If you breathed in the good fog, it made you strong. So strong that if you breathed enough of it, you could fly. But the bad fog was scary. If you breathed it in, it sucked the air out of your lungs. And if the fog was really bad...

It sucked the bones right out of your body. Yikes. I was always very careful only to breathe in the good fog. But I never got enough of it. I never did learn how to fly. You never told me that before. No. Probably all kinds of things I never told you. Even 26 years isn't long enough to tell someone everything. Tell me something you've never told me. There isn't anything. Of course there is. It doesn't have to be. No, there's nothing.

There must be. There must be some silly thing that was part of you that I couldn't possibly know about. You mean like another woman? No. I'd have known about that. What I mean is... There wasn't, you know. There hasn't been. Anyone else, I mean. Gary, you don't have to say it, but I guess you did, eh? Once you started to think about it. Yeah. These days, with the way people are, I feel like a museum sometimes, the way I am about you. I know. It's funny, isn't it?

What? The stuff that comes out on a road in the middle of nowhere? Yeah. That must sound pretty silly. But you meant something else. You wanted me to tell you something silly. It doesn't have to be, but it could be. Really silly? If you like, yes. Really silly. Well, when I was small, I used to take the plug out of the bathtub before I'd get out of the water. Then I'd have to get out of the tub and dry myself off.

and get my pajamas on before the gurgling from the drain stopped, or else the glob creature would crawl up the drain pipe and drag me down. Isn't that silly? Peggy? Carrie, I think I can see a light. Are you sure? I think so. For a moment, there was a gap in the fog, and I saw a light. I'm sure I did. It must be the highway. Thank God. Come on. Come on.

Oh, I'm... I'm dizzy. Too tired to run, I guess. Hang on, Peggy. Take it easy. No need to rush. That's better. Let's go. Look. I was right. And the fog's lighter over there. Oh, thank God. Peggy, look.

It can't be. What? What is it? That sign. That's just a road sign, and we can tell where we are when we... Oh, no. Yeah, it's Eternity Cove. We're back where we started. We've been walking in circles. Gary. I'm sorry, but to walk and...

Ended up here and the light. It must be the hotel. But that's impossible. We stayed on the road the whole time. We never turned off it. We can't be at the hotel. We are. It's all some crazy joke. Take it easy, Gary. I don't think it's the hotel.

Maybe you're right. It's much smaller. Let's see. RCMP, Eternity Cove. Now we can get everything sorted out.

If only we'd seen this place when we were by before...

Officer, you've no idea how glad we are to see you. Our car's been stolen. And my husband's cut his wrist. Is there a doctor anywhere near? Marnin. Can we use your phone? We should call our daughter. She'll be frantic about us. They were expecting us hours ago. Marnin. Good morning. Please help us. Gary, I don't think he heard us. He hasn't even looked up. Will you get your head out of that book and listen to us? We need help. Marnin. Oh, my God. Peggy? What's wrong? It's him.

Peggy, it's the guy from the hotel. And the hitchhiker. What are you talking about? He must be a brother or something. Probably everyone in town's related. No, no, it's the same man. Morning. I wonder if you can help us. Our car's been stolen and my husband's hurt. And we've got to get in touch with our daughter. Mr. and Mrs. London. Yes, London. Mr. and Mrs. Gary London. Car? Chevette. A blue Chevette. Ontario license? Yes.

How did you know that? Did you find it? Registration. Um, STX 176. Oh, can't we get someone to look at my husband's arm? We can talk about the car later. Excuse me for a minute. And the phone. Can we use the phone, please? Surly bastard. Oh, Gary, look at you. You're soaked in blood. You better sit down. No, no, no. I'm all right. It's the same man, I tell you. He even remembered our names. Oh, she'd calm down.

Have you noticed something? What? It's so quiet. Not a sound. No radio. No typewriter. No telephone. Well, it's just early in the morning, that's all. I don't suppose much happens in a place like this. Except car stealing. Peggy. Yes? It just happened to me. What? My reflection. In the window there. It just disappeared. Peggy.

Sorry for the delay, Mrs. London. Mr. London, do all the mirrors in this town play tricks like this? Yes, they do. That's the first straight answer we got out of you. We found your car. Forget the car. Can you get my husband to a doctor? He really must have his wrist looked at. He's covered in blood. Never mind. Where's the car? Do you have it here?

Blue Chevette. We know it's a blue Chevette. Where is it? A blue Chevette answering the description of your car was found an hour ago. Well? It was off the road in the ditch. Badly damaged? Yes, it was. Was there anyone in it? Yes. There was a woman in the car. Stolen by a woman? Was she badly hurt? Yes. Was... Is she... Dead? Dead.

Not at first. You mean she... She died an hour or so after the crash. Head injuries. It was in the thick of fog, so the car wasn't found for a good while. I'm sorry. She was identified by Mrs. Thurlow of Shallop Cove. Mrs. Susan Thurlow? That's our daughter. Our friend of Susan's was killed?

The report says the accident took place only half a mile from Susan Turlow's home. Oh, poor Susan. The driver was found almost two miles away, out on the highway. The woman wasn't alone? No. The driver was a man. A pair of joyriders. Poor guy. Steals a car and kills his girlfriend. Imagine having to live with that. The woman was his wife. Was he hurt? He was.

He was? He apparently lost consciousness, but wasn't badly hurt in the crash. He forced himself to the windshield of the car, got out and went for help as soon as he came around. But she died, and he was too late? Yes, much too late. But he's okay? That depends on what you mean. His body was also identified by Mrs. Susan Turlow. But you said he wasn't hurt. He wasn't.

For getting out of the car, he cut his wrist very badly. He bled to death on the road. Oh, no. Peggy. Gary. Yes, both of you. Peggy. Mr. and Mrs. London, now that you're finally together again, welcome to Eternity Cove. Eternity Cove

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Neat parts now. O'ReillyAuto.com offers in-store pickup, same-day home delivery or next-day home shipping. Get more parts your way at O'Reilly Auto Parts. O-O-O-O'Reilly Auto Parts. Obsession. In the vocabulary of man, there is a simple word. A word of only six letters.

but one fraught with more portent and undercurrent than all the words in the modern lexicon. E-S-C-A-P-E. Escape. The running away from the here to the there, from the known into the unknown, when the present is a knife twisting in a wound and the pain is beyond bearing. Escape is an anesthesia, a snare,

and a delusion, a pitfall into which so many run afoul. In a moment, you'll hear the story of a man who ran away from himself a thousand miles, ten thousand miles, yet could not leave one inch from his point of embarkation. The title is Ebb Tide, starring Gail Page and Ellie Lewis, a narrative of a strange and mind-leeching obsession.

It is the inexorable order of the universe that, as the mystic magnetic forces of the moon sweep the tides of earth into the high mark of flat, so again are they swept out to that shelving reach that is known as the... It is of this that we speak. The low level in which man, in his equation of life, occasionally finds himself.

When the forces of hope and courage and ambition and faith are swept up beyond sight by a strange, inexplicable toss of fate. To quote the master, as the tide goes clear out, so must it always come clear in. That the line of failure and success is so fine that man scarcely knows when he's upon it. And thus, in a great hospital, a small group of men are gathered. Let us call them soldiers.

Men in white. This scene is one of dignity, of scholarship and learning. White-haired Dr. John Cummings, chief surgeon, is speaking. Gentlemen, we are gathered here this afternoon to pay tribute and respect to a colleague. A gentleman whose skill in the surgical theater and whose keen understanding of human ails belies his age and commands for him our deepest admiration and pride in calling him one of us.

Gentlemen, it is my honor to present the Schofield Award of Medicine to Dr. Philip Halstead. May I state in passing that Dr. Halstead is the youngest man of our profession to ever receive this award. Dr. Halstead, in the name of medicine and humanity, my sincerest congratulations. Thank you, Dr. Cummings. Gentlemen, I can't tell you how grateful I am for your acclaim.

It humbles me all the more to know that such gentlemen of wisdom have placed so much confidence and responsibility in me. And in accepting, I can only make the same vow again that I did make once before. I swear by Apollo, Panacea, Hygieia, and all the gods and goddesses, and make them my witness, that I shall carry out the regimen of the sick and afflicted and give them of my knowledge. And gentlemen, it is my constant prayer to one God that he will grant me an ever-continuing power of that knowledge.

Phyllis! Phyllis! I beg your pardon. Phil, what on earth are you doing home at this time of day? Mr. Danvers, may I present my husband, Dr. Halstead? How do you do, Doctor? Quite well, thank you. Mr. Danvers is an old friend of mine, dear. He just dropped in to say hello. Extremely nice of him, I'm sure. Now you'd better run upstairs, darling, and change clothes. You smell like a hospital, and it positively makes me sick. I'm not staying, Phyllis. I'll be home later. Goodbye. Goodbye, Doctor. Phil! Phil!

Gee, isn't he dreadful, Reggie? He's got a jealous streak in him a yard wide. Oh, do you blame him, my dear? After all, coming home and finding your lovely wife being kissed by another man. Dr. Halstead, I'm turning over that Jackson case to you. I want you to operate in the morning. I didn't tell you what you're up against. I think you know. What? I said, uh, you... I beg your pardon, doctor. I heard you. I was thinking about something else, I guess.

Yes, I'll take care of the case. In fact, I'd better run up and take a look at him now. At him, doctor? I was referring to the case of D-19, Mrs. Jackson. Mrs. Jackson? Yes, of course. How stupid of me. Yes, after you make the presurgical examination, doctor, you'd better go home for the rest of the day. You'll be in for quite a siege in the morning. Siege? Yes, I guess you're right. Well, you finally decided to come home.

Do you know what time it is? I was waiting until he left. He? Please, Phyllis, let's not be children. At least pay me the respect of being reasonably intelligent, if nothing else. If you're in a mood for dramatics, Phil, it's not too late for you to go downtown and see a show. I understand the one at the palace is very highly dramatic. I saw all the shows I want to see this afternoon, Phyllis. I should like to know if the show's ended or will there be another act. Don't be absurd. I'm not being absurd, Phyllis. I'm being deadly serious and I want you to be the same way. Well? Phyllis, won't you understand? What?

At least won't you try to understand that you're married to a doctor and that as such your life and mine must be kept without any stigma of the cheap or commonplace. We've too much responsibility, Phyllis. Too many things are expected of us. You're not only a doctor, Phil, but it seems you're a preacher as well. I know a lot of ministers that would envy your sermons. And if you want to be serious and high and mighty, all right, Phil, I'll play. Maybe I can preach a sermon too.

Go on. You and your holier-than-thou department and your so-called dignity of medicine. I'm not married to a man. I'm married to a bottle of iodine or a can of ether. I'm married to Mrs. O'Callaghan's stomach ulcers or somebody's bursted appendix. What do you expect me to do, Philip? Sit around the house all day with the blinds pulled down reading the American Medical Journal while you walk up and down hospital corridors impressing patients and chucking pretty nurses under the chin? All I expect is that you conduct yourself as any respectable wife should conduct herself.

I don't expect you to turn this house into an entertainment parlor for your old boyfriends, particularly of the ilk that you entertained this afternoon. Well, of all the colossal ego. Not ego, Phyllis. It's only that I want to respect my wife as I respect my profession, the way I want others to respect her, too. You're becoming dreadfully pedantic and boring, Philip. You'll excuse me if I retire. Phyllis, I'm not through yet. No? Then I'm afraid you'll be talking to yourself.

And I seem to recall reading in one of your books someplace that talking to oneself is a symptom of being somewhat wacky, shall we say. Good night, sir. And then one night, when Dr. Hulse had returned to that domain he had called his castle, he was stopped by a silhouette against the cinematic screen of the window shade. What he saw we shan't repeat. But in that moment of seeing, the house crumbled and the tides swept out to the sea.

And that next morning, a patient died under the knife of Dr. Halstead. A death that should not have been, but was. And the word if became huge in his life, for if these things had not happened, Dr. Halstead would not now be on this tramp steamer bound for nowhere in particular. And he would not have been in the bar as he is now.

I beg your pardon, sir. If you don't mind me saying it, I think that so much of that there rum in the tropics this way is pretty blinking bad, sir. Don't you think you've had enough? I've had too much, but not of rum. You can fill the glass up again. I can pay for it. Very well, sir. If you insist, but we'll be ducking in the morning. You'll be wanting to be top-held sheep, sir. When I want advice, I'll ask for it, bartender. Fill up the glass and keep filling it up until I tell you to stop. Come on.

Howdy, mister. Hello. Welcome to Tuohiti. Mind if I sit down? No. I saw you got off the boat this morning. Must be planning to stay a while, huh? Maybe. Well, how's about buying a girl a drink so we can toast to your happy stay here, huh? A drink? Sure, why not? Here. Here's five dollars. Go to the bar and buy yourself anything you want.

Just make sure you drink it over there. Sure. Okay, mister, I get it. You want to be alone, huh? That's right. I don't know what the idea is, but you sure picked a spot for it, mister. Outside of a few rum-dum sailors blown in here once in a blue moon, there ain't but six whites on the island. Just as a tip, mister. Being alone in this devil's sinkhole ain't for guys like you. Thanks for the tip.

My tender? Give me a check. Right you are, sir. That'll be two dollars, United States currency. Here you are. Thank you, sir. And whenever you want another little nip of something to ward off the fever, this is the place to get it. Nothing but the best. That's what I carries. I'm sure you do. Wait a minute, mister. Here's your five bucks.

I ain't thirsty just now. You can buy me a drink some other time. You better buy yourself one right now, so you can drink to my long and happy stay here. That's what you said, isn't it? And for God's sake, do it and leave me alone. Well, strike me pink. If he ain't a queer kind of a bloke. Arrived here this morning on that old tramp, and he's drunk already. What do you think he's doing here, Goldie? I don't know, Crowley. Maybe the same thing I'm doing here, only in a little different way.

Don't ask me what I'm doing here on account I don't know. No more than he does. Maybe that's why I feel sorry for the guy. Offering to give him back his five bucks. That's something I ain't never done before. Heat, bitterness, frustration. The ingredients to mix a very potent cocktail, but surely not one in which to drown sorrow that floats in the wellsprings of the heart.

What does it matter where you go? You must take yourself along. And yourself is the nemesis from which you would gladly be rid. There is no running away. The sun shines on all corners of the earth and night falls on every nook and cranny. There is no escape. Only the fools chase after the will of the wisp. An endless, senseless pursuit inspired by an obsession. In a moment...

We'll return to our story. In that dark and abysmal world of defeat, wherein a man lives not for the future, but in the shadows of the past, where there is no longer the rising dawns of tomorrow, but only the sunsets of yesterday, there is but one compelling desire.

escape but escape into what and into where some men toy with a grim thought of death but that is the crumbling portal of the coward the long sleep and the eternal blackout Philip Halstead is no coward paradoxical as it may seem his is the resolute will to remain alive with the torturing apparitions of his memories that are always the companions of the sensitive to remember what he was what he could have been

and what he is now. And thus, Dr. Philip Halstead has existed on the remote islands of Tuohiti for the turning of three months. I say existed, for surely a man does not live in the blurring fog of rum and heat and the moldering dank earth of the forgotten atolls of the southern waste. There now. Empty. Crawling.

Crawley! All right, all right. Don't be pounding the table like that. What'll it be for you? The bottle's empty, Crawley. Fill it up again. Right-o, me arty. As soon as you pay up for the last one. For the last one. Did the gentleman's credit any good? Credit? Not on this blooming island. It isn't Mr. Halstead. Wait a minute. Did you say Mr. Halstead? I did, and what of it? I know it, nothing. That's right, Crawley. Mr. Halstead. Yes, sir.

Mr. Holstead. Now look here now. You've been on this blinking place for three months now. You spent your money and there ain't no more coming in. What are you doing here? It's a secret. You don't say. A secret it is. Maybe there's a treasure buried on this here island somewhere, eh? Poirot treasure maybe. Don't make me laugh. All right, Crawley, I won't. And I'll tell you my secret, what I'm here for. I'm here to get drunk.

Good and drunk and stay drunk. Well, that's all right with me, providing you pays for what you drink. Now, come on now. And over for the last one. This is all I got crawling, every cent of it. Blimey!

A couple of coppers. And what do you expect to buy with that? That's all I got, Crawley, and I'd like a drink. Oh, you would? Well, you ain't getting one. I'm no charity institution. What's the matter, Crawley? Me buck-o-ears broke, and he wants a drink, he does. Just like a blinking toff he is. I'll sign a chip for it, he says. Like this here place was a blooming officer's club or something. I'll buy him a drink. No, you won't. Thank you. I pay for my own. Listen to him talk, will you? Ha, ha, ha.

How about paying for the last one? I'll have to owe you for it, Crowley. Oh, you'll have to owe me for it? Why, you blinking sot. It's just blokes like you that takes the profit out of business. Now, come on, out you go. Oh, don't do that, Crowley. I'll pay for it, whatever it is. Oh, no, you won't. He goes out of here right on his head. Now, come on here. Out you go, like this. One, two, three. Hey, Crowley! Oh!

Now, don't waste your time feeling sorry for that bloke. He ain't no good for fair, that one. And you stay out of here, see? The next time you come in, I'll slit your throat and use you for fish bait. Here, Dr. Halstead. Drink this. Drink it. It's only water with a little quinine. It'll clear your head. Wait a minute. What am I doing here? What's that racket? It's just the natives, Dr. Halstead. You've been here for three days. A combination of rum and fever. Three days...

Then you... Well, I couldn't let you lie there in the street, could I? You'd have died. Maybe. Maybe that would have been the answer. You think so, Doctor? Wait a minute. When you were delirious, you talked about a lot of things. That's how I am. And you needn't worry about me telling anybody. It's still your secret. I don't suppose it makes any difference. It'd make a lot of difference after you went back to America. Have somebody know what happened. Back to America? Sure. You don't think you're staying here, do you? Ah, no, Doctor. I'll stay here.

This island ain't big enough for you, and there ain't nobody here that wants you on it. You're clearing out for the States and the next cargo boat. Oh, no, I'm not. Now, look, Doctor, I'll do the talking for now, see? I've been taking care of you for three days like you was a baby, and I wasn't doing it for my health. Understand? My health's okay. What are you talking about? I'll tell you what I'm talking about. When you was laying there talking away about your wife and the work at the hospital in New York, I did a little thinking myself about things that I ain't thought of for too long. I used to live in New York about a hundred years ago, but I ain't forgot them.

What it's like to walk down the street, maybe meet somebody you know, ask them how they are, maybe have lunch together and talk about a dress sale at Macy's, maybe. In the wintertime, the snow comes down and everything's white and clean. You can see your breath when you talk. I ain't forgotten New York, Doc. Listen, I... Now listen to me. Maybe I did the same thing you did, run away from something that hurt me. Sure, I got away from it, but I've been running into things that's been hurting a lot worse ever since. And now I'd give anything in the world for a chance to go back, but I can't.

I belong here now. But you don't. You're a doctor. Your job's supposed to be saving lives, not destroying them. And you're going back to the States, doctor. You can take it from me. I ain't kidding. A week from that day, when Goldie, whose last name we don't know, spoke of home in America to Dr. Philip Halstead, the inter-island cargo boat was due in the lagoon of the tiny island of Tahiti.

And on the night proceeding, while Crawley tended his stained and grimy bar, the rear bamboo door of Crawley's house was quietly opened. And in the dark, a match sputtered and glowed yellow for a second, then vanished. Listening ears might have heard the protesting squeak of a rusty tin box, a moment's hesitation. And then the door was opened again as quietly as before, and then shut. And a shadow vanished into the velvet night.

Howdy, mister. Lookin' pretty chipper these days, ain't you? Thanks to you, Goldie. Ah, forget it. Did you come in for a drink?

There's one on the house tonight on account of the cargo boat's due in tomorrow morning. Oh, thanks, Goldie. Just came in to say hello, have a look at the bright lights. Oh, come on. You'll have just one with me, won't you? Sort of a toast to you getting well. How's the bottle? Well, all right, I guess. If they're on the house... Sure. Hey, Crawley, a couple of rum slings for the customers. All right, this one. But I don't want no more guff off that bloke. I don't think I'd better stay, Goldie. Oh, forget it. Crawley didn't mean nothing.

You going to be down to the wharf in the morning when the boat comes in? No, I'm taking a canoe going over to one of the islands. I'd like to have a look around. Sure. Well, here you are. Here's your drinks, and that's all you're going to get. Understand? Sure, Crawley, sure. Here's yours, Doctor. And here's looking at you and wishing you lots of luck. Thanks. Same to you, Goldie. There'll be quite a time tomorrow when the cargo schooner comes in. Be some letters, maybe, and some newspapers from America. Goldie, what's the matter with this drink? What? I don't know. I...

I feel funny. Hey, what's blinking well going on around here? What's the matter with him? Oh, nothing, Polly. It's the first drink he's had since he was sick, and I guess it went right to his head. I'll take care of him. I beg your pardon, sir, for intruding, but I was just wondering if you were all right. All right? Of course I'm all right, except for a headache. What a blazes am I? Well, you're on board the SS Cabot, sir, down for America out of Honolulu. I'm...

What the devil am I doing here? You've been quite unconscious, sir, and you were transferred on board from a cargo steamer in Honolulu. Incidentally, sir, the purser sent this letter down to you. Letter from whom? I don't know, sir. What is this? One hundred, two, three, four, five hundred dollars. Where did this come from, Stuart? I'm sure I don't know, sir. Perhaps there's a note. Yes, there is. Dear Dr. Halstead, told you I wasn't kidding and I wasn't. Goodbye and good luck. Say hello to New York for me. Goldie.

P.S. If you ever want to return the money, you can send it to Crawley. He was the one who furnished it. Again, good luck, Goldie. Sure, Crawley, I took the money. What are you going to do about it? Slip my throat and use me for fish bait? Boy, you dirty, blooming, sneaky little... Ah, don't say it, Crawley. They're not the right words for a lady to hear. And tonight, Goldie's a lady. She's going to celebrate. I think I'll start off with a champagne cocktail.

That's what ladies drink, ain't it? Sure. One champagne cocktail, Crawley, for a lady. And so the powerful, inexplicable force of the lunar satellite creates the sorcery which swings the tides in full cycle. What was ebb tide is now flood tide. But out there beyond the curving line of the horizon, Goldie remains trapped.

in a snare of her own weaving. But through her simple act, she has thrown off the yoke and the ties of her deep-rooted and intertwining obsession. In a moment, I'll return and tell you about our story for next week. Next week, you'll hear the story of a little man of destiny...

who changed the entire position of the world, brought fear into the hearts of untold millions, and made a hero out of a man named Wellington on a field called Waterloo. It is the narrative of the little man of destiny starring Lewis Merrill as Napoleon Bonaparte. A gripping, driving, goring saga. Obsession. Obsession.

Our story was produced and transcribed by C.P. McGregor in Hollywood.

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I am Superstition, a demon, marching down through the corridors of time, a vast army of devout worshippers, into the darkness of despair, and often into happiness, while the devil beats the drum. Whether you believe or disbelieve, listen to this story. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Come in. You're very prompt. I am Captain Faulkner. Your message was urgent. Yes. I'm Gerald Vandy Water. I was to be married this morning, here, in this vestry. Well? Yes? My bride-to-be, Helen Ware, stood by my side not 15 minutes ago and suddenly disappeared. The church is filled with guests. The preacher is waiting. That's strange. Yes, it seems that... Don't let that woman get out.

Here, my fine lady. You stay here for questioning. You can't detain me. I haven't done anything. As a detective investigating, I must detain you at least. This woman spoke confidentially to my bride-to-be just before she vanished. Have you anything to say, madam? She is keeping safe with an old superstition. To ignore it would be fatal to her future life. Superstition?

Why, the woman is a witch. Arrest her. Madam, this is the 20th century. We are too enlightened to permit ignorant beliefs to sway us. We have always been swayed and always will be until the crack of dawn. Tell us everything about this girl. Set this man's mind at rest. I cannot. It would break the spell. Let it suffice when I say that the superstitious custom she is fulfilling has survived for many years. In short, the

The salt of common sense being its preservative. Perhaps the taste of a prison cell will loosen your tongue. The dog excite yourself. She'll be here while we await her coming. Let me tell you a story that takes us back to the Middle Ages of England during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. A bride is preparing for her marriage. Her good nurse attends her.

There, the last sip. Your wedding dress is finished. Thanks. Goodness, you've made me so happy. How can I repay you? By making your future life happy. By doing as I tell you. What do you mean, goodness? I have here four papers I have prepared. The names of four of your friends written on. Four of my friends?

Yes. You are to visit these four friends and they... But not today, surely. Yes, today. It must be today. But I haven't the time, goodness. The hour of my wedding is at hand. I fear I might be late. You must not be late. Remember, unhappy the bride that is late for her wedding. Then I must not venture it.

Besides, it snows very hard. The roads are unsafe. Snow, rain, or hail must not stop you. Your future life's happiness depends on your obeying me. You must go. But I cannot. Look, here is my fiancé arriving, and the bridge is with him.

Please do not deny my wishes. It is for the best. Please satisfy your good nurse's superstition. But what am I to receive from my four friends? That must not be known to you until you arrive at the house of each one. But I cannot walk. The snow is too deep, good nurse. I have it. The sleigh is at the door. Oh, I suppose I must. My hood. There. I'm off. Tell Gerald I'll be back on time.

Come. Come awake, Thompson. I have a fast journey for you. A journey for my future happiness. Very good, milady. We have the fastest horse in the kingdom. We'll be the first stop. We'll? Down at Old Mother of the Channies. Down by the riverbed. Make haste. The snow is very hard. Very good, milady. Come get along there, Beth. Make the snow fly. It's a charming burden we're carrying. Get out! Come on.

My, how the snow flies, but no faster than our good horse. Here we are, my lady, the hovel of poor old Mother Vincenna. Whoa there! Wait here, I won't be long. Come here, come here.

Who is it that comes to see a poor old soul like me? It is I, the bride-to-be. My good nurse said you had a gift for me too. Indeed I have, fair one. A gift of something old. Here.

This ragged shawl. A ragged old shawl? Is that a gift for a bride? Yes, indeed. One of the four gifts you should have. But the reason is something old. Ever to remind you of the past you leave behind when you marry.

To remind you that there are old people and old things in the world. I shall never forget. And thank you. Here, a gold coin. Not for the shawl. Goodbye. Goodbye. Good luck. Come, Thompson. We're off again.

Hurry, hurry, or I'll be late for my wedding. Where to? To Rabbi Goldman, one of my very best friends. We're off. Come there, giddyup. Here we are. Whoa there. Wait. Come in, wait.

Welcome, whoever you may be. Good rabbi, it's me, the bride. Come to receive my gift on your wedding day. Well, here is something bright, shiny and new. A hand mirror to reflect your beauty. I'm glad it's something new. But why something new? Indicative of the new life you're starting on when you marry. The new life, I see.

Thanks. Oh, I must hurry. I must not be late. Goodbye. Goodbye. Much at a time. Good luck. Much happy. Oh, hurry, Thompson. Time flies. My wedding draws near. Now where to? To my very old friend, Sebastian Ricardo, the farmer. Quick, hurry. Get out there! Oh!

Here we are. Whoa, Miss! Wait! Come in, friend or foe, come in. You are welcome. His eyes, the bridegroom, Farmer Ricardo. You come to me on your wedding day? I have no gift for you. No gift? On my wedding day? No, no gift.

except the happiness I wish you. To keep the spell, you must borrow from me. Oh, I see. I must borrow something. But why? Borrow something to prove the confidence of your friend. If there was no confidence, I would not lend.

One needs confidence through life. Here, borrow this sack of wheat. I hereby borrow this sack of wheat. Oh, how light it is. And may your woes and worries be no heavier through your life.

Now hurry. You must not be late. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Good luck. Happiness. Thompson. Thompson. Awake, sleepyhead. Here, take this back. Hurry. We must away. And where to now? To his reverend Father Burke. But hurry. I must not be late for my wedding. Hurry. Giddy up. Hurry.

Here we are. Whoa there. Come in. Welcome. Right, welcome. It's a bride, good father. Today I'm to be married. I know, my child.

You have come for a gift from me. Yes, good father. My nurse sent me. All I have for you is something blue for you to wear on your wedding day. Something blue? Yes, this ribbon. The color of blue. Blue for the Virgin Mary. Symbolic of your purity. Now hurry to the arms of your fiancé. Goodbye. Goodbye. Good luck. Happy death. Goodbye. Goodbye.

Where to, milady? Home. Hurry, hurry, hurry. My future husband awaits me. This is my wedding day. Hurry. Giddy up there. Giddy up. Giddy up.

Here we are, safe and sound, on time. We never fail. War, best war. Wish me good luck, Thompson. Wish me good luck. Good luck. And much, much happiness. Home again. Oh.

On time. Your mission complete. Thank goodness. I have all you set me for. Look. Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. Good. And now you need not worry. Great happiness will be yours. You have fulfilled the oldest superstition known to mankind.

And that is the end of the story. A happy ending, even as the story of ours will have. That's all very good. But where is my bride-to-be? The wedding time is at hand. Yes, come, woman, speak up. Where is she? She comes down the hall. I hear her footsteps. Her hand is on the doorknob. She enters! Helen! Helen!

Where have you been? Satisfying a very old superstition. One that will cling to a bride as long as man and woman marry. Here's the music. I'm not late. Come. But what was this superstition? What was it you thought? This talisman that would ensure our future happiness? Oh, something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. I am superstition.

You don't believe, do you? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

*Dramatic music*

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American Public University. Value for the whole family. Learn more at apu.apus.edu slash military. The holiday spirit is special. The love, the joy, the laughter, the heartwarming sounds of the season.

Impaired driving will change it in an instant for you and everyone you know. Holiday spirits have limits, so plan a sober ride home and let your holiday spirit soar. A message from the D.C. Highway Safety Office and Metropolitan Police Department Chief Pamela A. Smith, who urges everyone to drive sober or get pulled over. Arrow. Arrow.

Stories of suspense. Attention! The commandant has something to say to you. Thank you, Sergeant. You are prisoners of war. You are fortunate to be alive. Some of you will say from the hands of German civilians. Good people whose homes you've bombed.

With loved ones you've massacred. How about London, Colonel? Silence! Silence! You should be happy and thankful to be alive. To wait here in Germany till we have forced our enemies to their knees. But no. Oh, no. You insist on trying to escape. Well, I will not have it. No one escapes from this camp. Is that understood? Those who try it will be killed. Like the four men the other night.

If you leave the barbed wire around this camp, then death will be your only escape. There will be no capture. Death. That is my order to all guards. Understand? Death. Sir, the Geneva Convention Treaty... The Geneva Convention Treaty is a worthless piece of paper. Just remember, once you leave the barbed wire, you will be dead. That will be all, sir. Dismissed.

Well, Travert, do we still go through with our escape plan? You bet we do. We may need a third man now in place of Collins here. What makes you say that? Because I figure you'll want to live to enjoy all that dough you got in the States, Collins. I'm still in. It's taken us six months to dig that tunnel. Nothing is going to keep me from using it tonight. The Germans spot us, there'll be a lot of bullets. Bullets don't care who they hit, you know. Even millionaires. You worry about yourself, Travert. I can carry my own weight.

Yeah, you'll probably get a chance to prove that. And you'll get a chance to prove you're more than just a bag of wind. Why, you... Hey, easy, save that stuff. I know how you critics don't like each other, but you've got to remember one thing. Them Germans don't like any of us. I'll be back in just a minute to tell you more of tonight's story, Three Hunted Men. Three Hunted Men

Oh, I'm itching to get home. Where do you live in Montana? Funny, I don't. I live on a cattle spurt about 40 miles out of Cheyenne, Wyoming. Why is it they call you Montana? Well, right after I joined the Air Corps, someone gave me the name and it stuck. Where do you live, Collins? He's got a big two-story mansion near White Plains, New York.

The white plain people call it Collins Castle. You seem to know a lot about me, Trever. Yeah, but it didn't come from mutual friends, Collins. I never had enough money to know any of your friends. You've been hammering at me for a long time, Trever. Exactly what have you got against me? Maybe I don't like the way that silver spoon sticks out of your mouth. I thought I was rich. Is that my fault? You're so sure of yourself all the time. You pretend you're one of us, but you're not and you never will be. Now, now, wait a minute. I don't like stepping in another man's document. Then stay out of it, cowboy.

I'm going to tell Collins just why I don't like him. Go right ahead. You've got everything in front of you. You've got no worries at all about the future. I suppose I'm not taking the same chances you are. Right now you are, yeah, sure. But when the war's over, it'll be a different story. You'll be back in the social columns of the newspapers. People will be falling all over you. The rest of us, we'll have to start from scratch. We'll have to be pushed around. Speaking for myself, nobody ever pushed me around and never will. It's different in the big cities, isn't that right, Collins?

Some of your buddies here will be elevator operators, bellhops, soda jerks. And you'll walk past them in a tailor-made suit with a society dame on your arm. When we get out of this, Travair, you want to see a good psychiatrist. Are you dirty? Break it up, break it up. What's the matter with you guys? Starting tonight, you're going to be needing each other. Bishop, I need him like I need another head. Don't you want to make the escape attempt, Travair? You know I do. I just don't want to make it with him. We had a lottery. Your three names were picked. So that's the way it's got to be.

Unless one of you wants out. Want talent? Oh, no. Collins? I'm in. Travair? I'm getting out of this hole even if he has to come along. Okay. The escape committee has had a final meeting. The escape attempt is to be made in ten minutes to two. The moon will be fading. There'll be just enough light to see by when you leave the tunnel. Hey, watch it! Here comes Gordy, Jr. Gordy Ring here, Sergeant. Never mind the funny games.

Any more nonsense and I will cut down your rations. If you cut down that soup any more, Sergeant, you'll make good shaven water. You're lucky to get even that. Now be quiet or severe measures will be taken to punish you. Do you hear me? The Commandant does not want to hear a sound out of you. As it is, he is sick of the sight of you. Now, I have come here, gentlemen, to tell you that we have 40 new guards on night duty and also some Alsatian dogs.

who've been trained to hate the smell of an American. The commandant is determined to keep his no-escape record unblemished. Have a good sleep, gentlemen. Come here, Collins. I'm awake. I never even got to sleep. Montana. Montana. Come on, come on, wake up. Yeah, yeah, sure. Here are your state clothes, men. Put them on. Yeah, sir.

Now, don't forget, the area outside the barbed wire is well guarded. We haven't been able to find out exactly where the guard posts are, but we do know that the Germans have light machine guns. They'll use them without hesitation. Do you have any weapons for us? Or we can dig up with this knife. I'm pretty good with a knife. You are, Montana. Thanks. There's a little bit of food in the haversacks. Sorry, but that's all we're able to get for you. Well, it's almost time. Help me move the stove. Here. Okay. Push! Push!

Ah. If they spot you as you crawl out of the barrack, get back here quick, strip off your estate clothes and jump into your butt. Right. That's the ranking man, Trevea. You're in charge. Now, don't forget the procedure when you get to the end of the tunnel. Give it to me, Trevea. I've gone over it a dozen times. Give it to me again. Okay. I pull away the wooden slab. Above the slab is five or six inches of dirt. I push my way through carefully. Right. According to our calculations, that tunnel ends smack in the middle of a clump of weeds.

Have a good look around before you move on. Don't hurry that part of the escape. Unless the Germans see you, of course. Good luck. Hey, Montana, don't forget you promised to phone up my wife. I won't forget, Herman. Get moving.

Get him! Get him! Get him!

It's just a cat. Come on. Follow the searchlight to the other end of the compound. We'll sprint for the wash house. You ready? Right. Yeah. Let's go. I don't think we were spotted. We'll make sure. Just stand here for a while. Seems okay. Come on. Let's get into the tunnel. Come on. I'm in charge of this operation, Collins. Remove what I say, sir. I'm sorry, Master Sergeant. Okay. Lift the stone slab and then into the tunnel.

This tunnel sure wasn't built for a fellow with long legs. It's foul down here. It's getting hard to breathe. Yeah, how much further? I'm choking. I'm dripping hair. No air. You can't say you're breath. I can't. I can't go much further. I've reached the end. I can't breathe.

Hurry. Hurry it up. I can't breathe. Here's the wooden slab. Push through. Quick. Shut up. You have to be careful. Hurry. Hurry. Quiet. I'm almost through. A little more. There. Beautiful. Shut up. If they get us here, we're dead. Okay. I'm going to wriggle through that hole and see just where we are. Now be quiet.

Can you see anything from there? I saw something, all right. What? Near the edge of the weed patch. About a hundred feet away are two Germans and a machine gun. In just a moment, we return with our story, Three Hunted Men. Three Hunted Men

Why can't we go around the side of the weed patch? We only run to other Germans. We've got to get past these two. How well can you use that knife, Montana? About 20 feet, I can hit any target I want. It's got the feel of a good throwing knife. If we get to the edge of the weed patch without being seen, we can wait and look in the other way. By the time they know what's happening, one will be dead. Leaving the other one for you and me, Collins. Oh, haven't you got the stomach for this kind of stuff? I'll do my part. Well, we'll see.

Montana, one of the Germans is short and nuggety looking. You take him. Right. Okay, I'll go out first. Wait 30 seconds and then follow. Why? Why do we have to be out here all night? After what happened the last time, the Americans won't be eager to escape for a while. Ah, shit.

I could be in a nice warm bed. Stop grumbling. If an officer hears you, it is an easy way to get sent to the Eastern Front. I would like to send Hitler there. The Fuhrer? On the Eastern Front? Impossible. He cannot stand the sound of gunshots. Gives him a headache. His trouble is deeper than that. His trouble is behind his belt buckle. Last time, our glorious leader went near the... What is it? I thought I heard something.

Used to be high notes. Montana! I got this one! Pull the knife out of the other one! Got it! And now you're... Take care of this one, too. I just stand still for a while. Yeah, we're lucky. Jerry's didn't hear us. Well, these boys brought their rifles along, too. Fine. Escape siren.

The Germans must have pulled a bed check. Grab those rifles. Come on. I can't go on, Terrible. Neither can I. Okay. Okay, we'll rest. How far do you think we've come? Oh...

No more than a couple of miles. They won't waste much time coming after us. They're probably on our trail right now. There's still ten miles between us and the lake. The other side of that lake is Switzerland. Neutral Switzerland. Neutral. How nice that word sounds. If we don't get to the lake fast, the Germans will cut us off. They've probably got men near the lake now. It only takes ten or fifteen minutes to get a truck there. Looks like we'll have to fight our way through, huh? With just these two rifles, we wouldn't have a chance. Laying low is no good either.

Sooner or later, those dogs of theirs will pick up our trail. Well, what are we going to do? They'll expect us to head straight for the lake. That's what the others did, and they're dead. So we'll go diagonally west, reaching the lake about 20 miles from here. That doubles the distance. It also doubles our chance of staying alive. The Jerrys will be waiting for us near this end of the lake. You can be sure of that. Travair's right.

All the others were killed before they reached the lake. Maybe. You don't like the idea of me being right, do you, Collins? You're thinking that back home you wouldn't even have to look at me. I'd be the dirt under your feet, huh? I never took advantage of my position, Trevera. Now you rich guys are all alike. You don't care about other people. As far as you're concerned, they don't even exist. Only a man who's sick in the mind would talk like that, Trevera. Sick in the mind, am I? Well, you... Wait. I'm getting this out, cowboy.

I'll tell you why I feel like I do, Collins. Remember the CCC camps? Civilian Conservation Corps. Yeah. That's what I was in when I saw that big house and your families in White Plains. Yeah, I saw you too. You must have been in the camp at Olmsford. That's right. Four miles away. We got 25 bucks a month. 20 of it went back home to our families. Well, I was six in my family. My old man was out of work and my mother had to try to get along on my five bucks a week. Well, she couldn't.

It made an old woman out of her before she was 40. She died in a charity ward. My old man went off the top of a building and jumped off. My brothers and sisters went to an orphanage. I used to see the cars pull up at your house on Sundays and Saturdays. Well-dressed, well-fed people. All of them having fun. Are you trying to blame what happened to your family on us? Yeah. You and people like you. You are sick. Don't say that again. Now, don't say that again or I'll choke the life out of you. Travera, look. I don't know whether you've got an argument or not, and I don't care...

But what I do care about is getting to that lake. We'll settle our differences some other time, Collins. I'll be available. Let's keep moving. Okay. Time for a rest. We've covered a lot of ground since dawn.

How far do you reckon we've still got to go, Travert? Only about two miles or so. Oh, good. We haven't seen a hide in the air of a German. Well, you can bet there'll be some patrolling the lake shore. How are we supposed to get to the other side of that lake? It's more than a mile across. Well, I don't know about you, but I'll be doing some swimming. Gents, I've got a little confession to make. It's something I didn't mention when we first talked over this escape plan. You see, there ain't much water in Wyoming, except for drinking. So I never did learn how to swim.

You'll have to do the best you can on a piece of driftwood, Montana. I've lost so much weight that a couple of matchsticks will probably do the job. Yeah. Well, now we got our breath back, let's get moving again. Suits me. Hey, look. Look at the ground dips over there. You can see the lake. And with the sunshine on it, it looks like a giant silver dollar. Prettiest sight I've seen since my last yearling roundup. Come on, son of a...

Hermit! Montana. We'll be back in a minute to peril and our story, Three Hunted Men. That shot sounded like it came from beyond that clump of trees. Yeah, just a one shot. Could be there's only one man out there. We've got a rifle each. If we wait...

Maybe he'll make a move. We can't wait any longer. That shot will bring more Jerrys. We've got to go on. What are you planning to do? Make a target of ourselves? My idea is that we both walk through that clump of trees. When the Jerry fires, he'll give away his position. And one of us collects a bullet. Afraid it might be you, Collins? I say it's crazy to start moving. We're dead if we stay. I'm going. Well, you've shown what you're made of, Mr. Westchester County. You should have used your influence and got yourself a desk job instead of trying to imitate a man. So long, Montana. Goodbye, Collins.

While I'm in the clump of trees, Jerry's not here. That tall grass. Might be hiding in that. I just hope he misses with his first shot. I don't know if I'm going to get to the lake. I've got to go through that grass. Jerry! Get him! Get him! Get him!

Collins, I was hoping he'd spot you first. Oh, he walked behind me, huh? Yeah. I made a lottery out of it. You won. Where were you hit? Knee. Dogs. You'd better go. I'm lifting you up. Yeah. You ever been in a three-legged race at a picnic? Yeah. Let's see how much you remember. Travert. Yeah. Yeah.

Thanks. I'd do this for anybody. Come on. Hey, you just hang on to this log. I'll do the pushing, okay? I can see them. On the shore.

By the time they get some boats out we'll be in Switzerland Come in New crutches courtesy of the Swiss Red Cross. What do you want? Well, what do you want?

As soon as my father found out what you'd done for me, he sent this through the embassy. A bank draft in your name. Here. Fifty thousand dollars. I'll have a talk with Dad about that. I figure my life's worth a lot more. Fifty thousand. Hmm. You could open up in the wars a little bit more. Might even become a capitalist yourself. Some things you don't buy, Collins. Hey! Leave me alone. Get out. No. I don't think you should be alone. Maybe that's your trouble. You were always alone.

I felt you were fighting the whole world by yourself. I thought it was money you wanted, so I cabled out to send that check. Now I'm apologizing, Trevea. I'm offering my hand. I'll be proud of you if you take it. I... Please. I guess there are worse things than being a millionaire. Sure. Come on out. I'll buy you some... I mean, we'll buy each other some drinks. That's better. Hey, you know, it's funny. I just tore up a check for $50,000 and I feel good.

In fact, I never felt better in my life. I think we both learned something, Trevere. Come on. Let's go out, huh? And that concludes tonight's peril story, Three Hunted Men.

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♪♪♪

When I started, I thought one man was in trouble and three were trying to help him. But after I found two pounds of tobacco, two pieces of brass, and a boat without a pilot heading straight out to sea, I knew they had all been in trouble. And all had taken the hard way out. From the pen of Raymond Chandler, outstanding author of crime fiction, comes his most famous character as CBS presents... The Adventures of Philip Marlowe. The Adventures of Philip Marlowe

And now, with Gerald Moore, starred as Philip Marlowe, we bring you tonight's exciting story, The Hard Way Out. I had killed a shank of the afternoon in a Hollywood department store.

Trying for the fifth consecutive year to select something unique in a personalized Christmas card. A bright-eyed sales girl finally suggested in desperation a smoking 38, spelling out Noel in delicate wisps of white curling smoke. Well, I gave up, settled for a reissue of last year's unoriginal message. An hour later, I was driving out towards Sepulveda and my new client, August Quigg, and I was glad to be away from the pre-holiday crowds and back to work.

When I pulled up in front of the factory building, an immodest sign told me the man I was to meet inside was president and co-founder of Quig & Slater, manufacturers of nothing but the best in construction materials. Come in, come in. Be with you in a minute. I'm on the fourth. Listen, August Quig does not change his policy overnight, Slater. Not after 25 years. You should know that, you of all people. Never mind the excuses, Slater. Those you always have and they make me sick.

Partnership trouble, Mr. Quigg? Oh, no, my partner is dead now ten years. That was his son, Keith Slater. What he has nothing to say here, his father left it that way. Well, sit down, Mr. Marlowe, please. Slater is not what I want to talk to you about. All right, Mr. Quigg, who is the man and what's his problem? My general manager, Frank Emery. Oh? He has embezzled $60,000 of this company's money in the last year. Hmm.

Then isn't this a great time for you to climb the nearest rooftop and scream copper? No, because I want to save Frank Emery, not condemn him. Why? What's so special about a general manager who keeps dipping itchy fingers into the till? Mr. Marlowe, Frank Emery has worked for me for seven years. And in that time, he has climbed from shop worker to plant foreman to general manager. And that is something which took me 15 years. Which proves what?

That Frank can one day go right to the top. Here, to my job. The honest way. And that is just the path he was on until a year ago when he got married. Oh. Then he started to fill his pockets with company lettuce before he'd even gotten rid of the rice. Is that it? Yes. But don't leap to any conclusions, Mr. Marlowe. Because his wife, Sheila, is a very sweet woman. Everybody knows that. And if anything, she should be a good influence. Mr. Quigg, what's Frank Emery's salary? $175 a week. When's your last see him? This afternoon, about 2 o'clock.

I called him in here, but I didn't say anything about the shortage. We just talked. I asked him if he thought he needed a vacation. He only sulked. He said he'd be all right in a little while. Then he left. But when he got back to his desk, he only stopped there long enough to pick up his hat. That was three hours ago. You've called his house since? Twice, but I got no answer. Here's the number, Marlowe, and the address. Now we'd better stop talking, start moving. I must know what Frank Emery plans to do.

Yeah, this is my private number. The plant will close in half an hour, but I'll be here working late. Okay, but before I get going, Mr. Quigg, one more question. Just so all this will make some sense to me. Were you ever in a jam like this yourself? A long time ago, maybe? And you know what it's like to be in Emory's shoes? You're a pretty alert fellow, Mr. Marlowe. I do seem to remember a rich man who once kept me out of a lot of trouble. But the details aren't very clear anymore, so good night and good luck.

Hello? Mr. Frank Emery, please. I'm sorry, he's not in. Is this Philip Marlowe? Yeah, that's right. That should make you Sheila Emery, huh? Yes, I just finished speaking to August Quigg at the plant, Mr. Marlowe. He told me about you.

And about Frank. Take it easy, Mrs. Emery. Crying isn't going to help Frank any. Yes, I know. But how can I help Frank? What can I do? I'm not sure. But look, can you meet me right away? I'm at the Golden Crown. It's a cocktail lounge on Santa Monica Boulevard near Bradley. Yes, of course, Mr. Marlowe. I'll be there as soon as possible. Exactly 34 minutes later, a two-tone sleek convertible about the size of a Pullman car glided to a stop in front of the Golden Crown.

The loveliness behind the wheel was wearing a hundred dollar hand-knit dress that just wouldn't let go. I knew it couldn't be Sheila Emery, but it was. She was a tall, luscious blonde with blue-gray eyes that were set wide apart in a face that any angel would have gladly traded his wings for. Five minutes later, we were seated inside at a quiet corner booth.

But only two weeks ago, everything was perfect, Mr. Marlowe. Frank didn't seem to have a care in the world. Then all of a sudden, he changed. He became quiet, almost morose. You never suspected that he was stealing from Quentin? Of course not. And I still think there's some explanation, something we don't know about. Maybe. But from where I sit, it looks like you two have been keeping up with the Vanderbilts instead of the Joneses.

You could always dance the bank account. Just what do you mean by that, Mr. Marlowe? Exhibit A, that knit one, pearl two number you're wearing. What? Exhibit B, that splash of automobile you drove up in. But Frank said we could afford those things. I know because I was worried when we bought the boat. What boat? The Carefree. It's a 30-foot sailboat. We dock it near our cottage just beyond Santa Monica. Hey, wait a minute. A sailboat, a cottage at the beach, that car? Just how far do you think 175 bucks will stretch these days? What do you mean? Frank.

Frank makes twice that, plus bonuses. Not unless he has a very fancy paper route on the side. Because 175, period, is the figure that Quig quoted to me an hour ago. Oh, no. No, I can't believe that. Frank wouldn't lie to me that way. Yeah, some guys do funny things when they're too much in love.

Oh, now, look, tears take time, honey. How about holding him back long enough to give me some dope that'll put me on Frank's trail, huh? I mean names and numbers, his clubs, his friends, anything that'll give me a line. Yes, of course. But all that information is in his address book at home. All right. Home's our next stop. Just between us, Sheila. What are the chances that Frank has an extracurricular interest on a back street somewhere? Another woman?

Oh, no, I'm sure that's not the way things are. Frank loves me very much. Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Believe me, if he doesn't, we're not looking for an embezzler. We're after a maniac. Come on, let's get out of here. When we left the Golden Crown, Sheila was still crying and in no shape to drive. So after parking my coupe in a nearby lot, we floated out to the Emory place in Brentwood in a two-tone Nash.

which did everything at the push of a button except dry a girl's tears. At her house, Sheila pulled herself together long enough to give me a handful of addresses that might possibly lead to Frank Emery. But just as I was about to leave, I noticed a single phone number scribbled in pencil on the edge of a desk blotter. It was Crenshaw 2-2131. And since Sheila couldn't explain it, I wrote it down on a slip of paper and filed it in my pocket and left.

But once outside, I remembered that my car was still on Santa Monica Boulevard at the Golden Crown. So I started back to the house to call a cab. I stopped suddenly at the sound of somebody in the shadows alongside the house. When I moved toward the noise, a man darted out between two trees and I went after him. Get your hands off me! Why, so we can play another round of hide-and-seek? No dice, brother. I'm getting too old for it. Now, who are you? What are you doing around the Emory place? Come on, let's have it. Say, wait a minute, aren't you... aren't you Marlowe?

The man August Quigg hired? That's right. But you still haven't answered my question. Oh, no, but I will now that I know who you are. I'm Quigg's Keith Slater. Surely dear Quigg must have told you of me, the wastrel son of his late partner. He did, but you're still parrying, Slater. Why were you hiding behind those trees? Correction, Marlowe. I wasn't hiding. I was waiting for Frank Emery. All right. We won't argue terms. Why were you waiting? Because I wanted to get hold of Emery and help him before he goes too far. You see, Marlowe, he came back to the office after you left. What?

Did he talk to Quig? No, the place had just closed and the old man was out for dinner. Did you talk to Emery? Yes, and it wasn't much fun.

That poor fellow's just about out of his mind, Marlowe. He raved on for an hour and a half about how unfair Quig was. Said he knew that I was the one who'd get to run Quig and Slater after the old man died. I don't follow that. When did you become the fair-haired boy around there? Oh, I'm hardly that. But I do own a quarter of the plant, unless, of course, Quig fires me one day. Those are the terms of my father's will. But Quig won't fire you, is that it? He wouldn't think of it.

After all, that would keep my dear father from resting easy in his grave. Okay, okay, let's skip it. Exactly what did Frank Emery tell you, Slater? He said that August Quigg was a two-faced liar and that he'd settle with him in his own way. I told Quigg that when he got back from dinner. And I also reminded him that Frank had a key to the office. That didn't faze Quigg, did it? No, he said he never worries twice. If Emery walked in on him, he'd think about what to do about it then. I tell you, Marlowe, we've got to get hold of Frank Emery and stop him before it's too late. ♪♪

In just a moment, back to the adventures of Philip Barlow. But first...

Just one hour from now, over most of these same CBS network stations, Eve Arden will be midway through her regular Sunday night role of Our Miss Brooks, America's most charming and most highly unusual schoolteacher. You've seen Eve Arden make her hilarious way through many a Hollywood movie. Now you can hear her every Sunday night as Our Miss Brooks, just a little later over most of these same CBS network stations.

And now, with our star, Gerald Moore, we return to the second act of The Adventures of Philip Marlowe and tonight's story, The Hard Way Out. It was nearly an hour later before I was back in my office on Cahuenga with my finger in the dial of the telephone checking the names and places that Sheila Emery had given me. Two nightclubs, three hotels, and five friends later, I'd run through the list without a single kosher lead.

Sitting there thinking of all the places a guy could disappear to, I reached into my pocket for a lifesaver and found something else. The slip of paper that read Crenshaw 2-2131. The number I'd seen on the desk blotter at Emory's place. So, with nothing more to lose than another millimeter off the tip of my index finger, I went back to dialing. Newton's what?

Not a thing, old-timer. My mistake. Pipe and tobacco shop.

Marlowe speaking. This is Sheila Emery, Marlowe. I think I know where Frank is. You do? Yes, at our cottage at the beach. It's closed up, but I was just going through some things in my desk when I discovered that the keys to the place were gone. And I clearly remember seeing them only yesterday. What's the exact location of that cottage? It's two miles north of Santa Monica and down on the beach, directly behind a large white frame house on the Pacific Coast Highway, number 1221. You can't miss it. 1221. Okay, I'm leaving right now, and I'll call you as soon as I can, so try not to worry. Hello?

Somehow or other, I made it straight out along Sunset to the beach and then north as far as the large white frame house without being tagged for low flying by any of the boys in blue. But when I got down to the cottage on the beach, I found it deserted and boarded up like opening night at an unlicensed peep show in Boston. Except for a couple of stray gulls who probably had insomnia, I was all alone. But the gregarious streak in me didn't suffer very long.

Because a minute later, I had an unannounced visitor. It was a nasty caliber .45 automatic. And the man on the other end who gripped the handle like he knew what he was doing was none other than the general manager of Quiggan Slater, Mr. Frank Emery. Mind telling me who you are and what you want here? Well, the name, which probably doesn't matter, Mr. Emery, is Philip Marlowe. But my business with you is something else.

I'm working for your boss, August Quig, and believe it or not, he wants to help you. That's a lie, Marlowe. Nobody wants to help me, and you know that. This is a smart trick, but it won't work. It can't work. And I'll tell you why. When the police do get to me, Marlowe, they won't find anything but a corpse. Is that clear? Suicide. Don't be a fool. What about your wife? Marlowe, that's why I took the 60,000 bucks. So save your breath. Unless you're interested in joining me, do exactly as I say. Now here, pick up these keys and open that door. Go on.

Now, throw the keys back gently. Please, Emery, listen to me. No, I've listened to too many people already. Now it's my turn to talk. All I'm going to say is goodbye in my own way. You don't know what you're doing, Emery. Stop a minute. Think. This isn't the time to think, Marlowe. This is the time to act. Now, get in. Emery backed me into the cottage, stepped outside and pulled the door shut. I waited a moment until I heard his car start.

And I tried the door and knew I was wasting my time. Emery had run a piece of pipe through the handle and Gargantua himself couldn't have opened it from the inside. It took me ten minutes to kick enough boards off one of the windows to wiggle out and another five to get to her phone. When I told Sheila that her husband was on her way home in a very desperate frame of mind, she promised to hold him at all costs until I could get there.

Twenty minutes later, I was in Sheila's house on Bundy Drive. Marlowe, what happened? Where's your husband? I don't know. He hasn't been here. Oh, fine. After you called me, I waited, but he didn't come back. Marlowe, what did you mean when you said Frank was desperate? I'm afraid Frank intends to kill himself. Kill himself? Oh, no, he can't. Now, we still may be able to stop him. When he left the beach house, he was heading someplace to say goodbye. I figured for sure that meant you, but wherever he was going, he didn't want to be followed. He locked me in and... The gun! Holy smoke! Where's your phone? Right over there. Oh.

What about a gun? Does Frank have one? Yeah, yeah, 45. Didn't come here to make his last goodbyes. That only leaves August Quigg. Do you know what you're saying? Come on, come on, answer that phone. No answer on Quigg's private wire. You're accusing Frank of murder. He hates Mr. Quigg, yes, but I know he couldn't kill him. He couldn't. Now, you listen to me. Your husband's cornered, and he's decided to blast his way out of a hopeless situation. I'm going to Quigg's office. If Frank comes back, try to keep him here. But don't try too hard, because it might be dangerous now, even for you.

I drove down Sepulveda to the black, hulking plant of Quig and Slater, pulled over, parked, and walked up the alley toward the side entrance. Through a barred window, I saw the feeble nightlight that glowed in the outer office. Otherwise, the place was dark. When I got to the door, I stopped. A diamond-shaped key stuck out of the lock, and the heavy door was ajar. I eased it open and listened. Nothing. I pulled the key out of the lock and dropped it in my pocket.

Then I went inside and switched on the lights. Oh, I found him on the floor next to the desk in his private office. He'd been shot in the chest point-blank with a .45, which meant that even before he fell, August Quigg was dead. The room was untouched. Quigg's key case lay in the pencil tray on his desk. I snapped it open and saw what I expected. His diamond-shaped key. I switched off the lights and started out. When I heard heels clicking up the hallway, I backed up against the wall and waited. It was Keith Slater...

He hesitated, and the open door, a startled look on his face. Good Lord. Quick. Hello, Slater. Who is it? Marlowe. I wouldn't touch anything if I were you. The police will want to see it just as it is. Marlowe, he's been murdered. I had no idea Frank would go this far. Yeah, he's full of surprises tonight. Are you sure he's not carrying any grudges against you? Frank and I are old friends. That old man in there was different. He wasn't human. He was a machine, a rock crusher with a concrete heart.

I'm only sorry it was Frank who did that to him because he'll never be able to get away with it. He doesn't intend to. He plans to commit suicide any minute now. Tell me something straight, Slater. How does he feel about his wife? Is he jealous? Jealous? Why, I... Marlowe, you don't think that he might kill Sheila? I'm going to call her right away. Wait a minute. If Frank is there, a phone call would only hurry things. Come on, let's go. I don't like the looks of this, Marlowe. Neither do I. Sheila? Sheila?

Frank? Anybody home? They're not here. Neither one of them. Well, if they are, they're not talking. Oh, you've got a macabre sense of humor. Nobody's laughing, brother. Look, you check upstairs. I'll see what I can find down here. For once, I hope it's nothing. I gave the ground floor a fast run-through. It was neat and tidy, from copper-potted ivy on the dining room wall to the sunbeam toastmaster on the breakfast tray. The only thing out of place was a bottle of scotch near the kitchen sink and lipstick on the glass beside it said Sheila.

I was back in the living room before I found out why she had needed that bracer. Propped against a bowl of violets on the coffee table were two notes pinned together. The top one was for me, from Sheila. It said, Marlowe, I just found this note from Frank. I'm sure he means that he's going out in our boat to carefree. I've got to stop him, Sheila. I turned to Frank's note and was reading it as Slater came down the stairs. Nothing unusual upstairs, Marlowe, did you? What's that? What have you found? Frank's suicide note.

He asked Sheila to forgive him and forget him. Here, read it yourself. I'm going to call the police. Say! Wrong. I thought you were going to call the police. I was. But I noticed this phone number here on the desk blotter again. It's a tobacco dealer. Slater, I've got a very wacky idea. I'm going to give it a try. Hello? Newton Tobacco Shop? Yes, but we're closed.

After midnight, you know. Yeah, I know. This is the police, Mr. Newton. We want some information. Police? What did you want? Take it easy. Do you have a customer named Emery, Frank Emery? Yes. He was in late noon. What'd he buy? Tobacco. A special blend I make up for him. I see. How much of it did he get? Oh, my. Let me think now. That's right. Two pounds. I'm sure of it. A man could lay quite a smokescreen with two pounds of tobacco, couldn't he? Thanks, Mr. Newton. You've been a big help.

What's the matter, Slater? You look troubled. Are you thinking the same thing I am? I don't know what you're thinking, Marlowe. This. It might be weird for a guy who's planning suicide to go buy himself two pounds of tobacco a few hours before he blows his brains out. Put it succinctly, pal, I'm thinking that Frank Emery's suicide's a big fat phony. This is Lieutenant Ibarra. Marlowe Ibarra. Catching you at this hour is the best break I've had all night. How so? What's up, Marlowe? Guy's been murdered and his killer, one Frank Emery, is getting away by boat.

Can you sell the harbor patrol on running him down for me? It's his own, a sailboat called the Carefree. A 30-footer with an auxiliary motor. He'll be out a ways, off Topanga Canyon. Well, that can be arranged, but where will I find you? I'll need some particulars. I'm going to his beach place. It's in a little cove two miles above Santa Monica. There's a pier and a boathouse a couple of hundred yards beyond. Okay, Marla, we'll find it. Now listen, don't get your feet wet. Wait till we get there. The Emory Beach house was deserted and dark. So Slater and I went on to the boathouse, which was dark, too.

That's where we found Sheila lying on the planks, sobbing out the end of a long, hard cry. Slater ran to her and lifted her to her feet. Oh, Sheila. Sheila, what happened? Where's Frank? Oh, Keith. I was too late. I saw him leave. He waved to me and called goodbye. Begged him to come back, but now he never will. Don't be too sure of that, honey. What do you mean, Marlowe? Oh, wait a minute. Wait a minute. That boat coming in is probably Ibarra.

Yeah, here he borrows. I got another boat out looking for the camp free, Marla, so I came directly here. Who's this? Mrs. Emery, Mr. Slater, Lieutenant Ibarra. How do you do? Well, Marla, what's it all about? An embezzler killed his boss, set up a strong case of suicide, and at the moment is pulling a very fast switch. You mean he's not really checking out. How do you figure? He bought two pounds of his favorite pipe tobacco today. What's that? Wait, Sheila.

Well, that's interesting, Phil, but suicide's a peculiarity of people. Okay, but I'll bet you my sea scout insignia against a dead jellyfish that he's got a small boat aboard and that he's going to get off the carefree and row to shore.

How about it, Mrs. Emery? Is there a small boat? There's a rubber life raft in one of the lockers. That'll do it. It's all he needs. Senator Barra. Yes, Mooney, what is it? We just got a call on the radio from the other boat. They've spotted the carefree running without lights southwest about two and a half miles offshore. He's holding a steady course, but there's nobody at the wheel. The bag seems to be abandoned. Well, tell him to stand by. Believe her alone. We'll be right out. Well, Marla, we'll know in a minute. Let's go, folks. Get aboard. Come on.

A harbor patrol cutter sliced through the black swells with the easy grace of a head waiter after a $10 tip. And all the way out, it looked as though Marlowe was going to be the bright boy of the evening. When we pulled alongside the carefree and made her fast and boarded her, it still looked that way. It looked great. Right up to the point where Ibarra peered through the porthole in the closed cabin, jerked the door open, and went inside. After that, it didn't look so good. Marlowe, come in here. Is this Frank Emery?

Yeah. Yeah, that's him, Ibarra. He's been shot over the heart from up close with a .45, undoubtedly the one he still has gripped in his hand there. Ibarra, is it Frank? Yeah. You better not come in, Mrs. Emery. Your husband has killed himself. I walked back to the stern and sat down. Ibarra was going through his grim routine inside, and I felt lousy. I stared down vacantly at my feet and only gradually became aware of the little brass cylinder that...

danced across the deck with every roll of the boat. I picked it up. It was an ejected cartridge from a .45. I'd found an empty .45 cartridge. All at once, things began to take shape for me. Ibarra! Ibarra, hold everything! Huh?

I was right. Emery didn't commit suicide after all. Phil, the man's body's right here. The gun in his hand. I know, I know, but he was murdered. Now, look, I found this out on deck and the door to this cabin was closed. Do you remember? When a man is shot with a .45, he drops. He doesn't walk in, close the door, and then fall. Well, that's... Did Emery have any keys on him? Yes, these are his. They're in the ignition by the wheel. Sure, sure. Look, look, this diamond-shaped one. It matches one I've got in my pocket. Come on out on deck, Ibarra, and watch closely.

Hey, Slater. Slater, can I see your key to the side door of the factory? Why, certainly, Marlowe. It's right here in my pocket. It's not in your pocket because it's here in my hand, Slater. You were so excited when you shot Quig, you ran off and left it sticking in the lock. And here's one for you, Mrs. Emery.

While the carefree were still tied up at the dock, you stood right here, surprised your husband in the cabin door and shot him. This little cartridge was ejected back to the stern. But you forgot about that because after you shoved him inside and put the gun in his hand, you closed the door. Then you started the motor, locked the wheel and cut the boat loose. I don't know what you're talking about. Look out, Ibarra! Ibarra's after your gun! That was nice, Ibarra. Marlow, I wouldn't have believed this. Don't lose your place because you'll have to go over it all again. Don't worry, I won't.

You see, it's sort of like an equation. Two pounds of tobacco and two pieces of brass added up to two bodies and two murderers. Oh,

Well, Marlow, it beats me that Mrs. Emery seemed to be nothing but sweet, soft, and stay-at-home nights. Yeah. Yes, she pulled one of the richest double-crosses on record. Ibarra, she let her husband steal a fortune for her and even helped him plan a fake suicide to get away. Then she turned around and used this plan, only no fake this time, to kill him. So she'd be free to marry Slater. But she didn't want Slater without the money, right? Right.

As long as August Quigg lived, Slater could never be sure of his income. So Slater killed him and they hung that on Frank Emery, too. Mm-hmm. And they worked a fast routine of past the detective right through the middle of it all. While Slater killed Quigg, I was with Sheila. Then Slater took me over while she killed Frank. They make a great team in a shell game, Marlowe. Yeah. But you did all right. Well, see you tomorrow. The report, you know. Good night, Phil. I sat alone on the pier for a long time.

I watched the waves come in and gradually my mind got untangled from the treachery and violence that had been wrapped up in all night. And the lady turned out to be the tiger. And then as my thoughts plowed back through the whole mess of the afternoon when I'd been shopping for Christmas cards, I made up my mind to cancel my order and have an entirely new set printed up. They say it pays to advertise and if that's true, right across the top of my new cards and big block letters, I'm going to have the words...

Goodwill toward men. Who knows? Maybe it'll help. Anyway, I hope so. The Adventures of Philip Marlowe, created by Raymond Chandler, stars Gerald Moore and is produced and directed by Norman MacDonald. Script by Mel Donnelly, Robert Mitchell, and Gene Levitt.

Featured in tonight's cast were Barbara Fuller, Louis Van Rooten, Bill Daly, and Edgar Barrier. Lieutenant Ibarra was played by Jeff Corey. The special music was conceived and conducted by Richard Arant. Be sure and be with us again next week when Philip Marlowe says... I walked into it smiling because it had all the corny elements. The weird doctor, the beautiful girl, the gloomy house on the windswept cliff, even the hulking menace.

Only one thing was missing, the body. And that's when I stopped smiling. Because I turned out to be the corpse myself. Almost. Listen later tonight and every Sunday night to John Dixon Carr's newest mysteries on the CBS series Cabin B-13 over most of these same CBS network stations.

And now, stay tuned for The Electric Theater, starring Miss Helen Hayes in Angel Street, which follows immediately over most of these same CBS stations. This is Roy Rowan speaking for CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. ♪

Eat, save, and be merry with low prices and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh. Whether you're looking for sweet deals on holiday treats or your dream gingerbread house, outshine the tree with holiday deals delivered right to your doorstep. Prime members save even more with deals on thousands of grocery items and up to 50% off on weekly favorites. Celebrate the holiday season with savings and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh.

When it's PCS time, you know the drill. Pack, research a new base, get the kids in school, because family supports family. At American Public University, we support military families with flexible, affordable online education that moves with you. As a military spouse, your tuition rate is the same as your partner's, just $250 per credit hour. American Public University, education that moves with you.

Learn more at apu.apus.edu/military

♪♪♪

Eat, save, and be merry with low prices and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh. Whether you're looking for sweet deals on holiday treats or your dream gingerbread house, outshine the tree with holiday deals delivered right to your doorstep. Prime members save even more with deals on thousands of grocery items and up to 50% off on weekly favorites. Celebrate the holiday season with savings and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh.

When you're part of a military family, you understand sacrifice and support. At American Public University, we honor your dedication by extending our military tuition savings to your extended family. Parents, spouses, legal partners, siblings, and dependents all qualify for APU's preferred military rate of just $250 per credit hour for undergraduate and master's level programs.

American Public University. Value for the whole family. Learn more at apu.apus.edu slash military.

The holidays are here, and before you stress about who to shop for and what to buy, here's a hint. Give the gift of the Virginia Lottery. Adults of all ages love the excitement of holiday scratchers, and the online games are perfect for that holiday downtime. Don't overthink and overspend. Celebrate the holidays with the Virginia Lottery in stores, in-app, or online. And play the New Year's Millionaire Raffle for even more excitement this season.

The Price of Fear. Vincent Price presents Michael Jason, Sandra Clark, and Daphne Hurd in Goody Two Shoes by William Ingram. Vincent Price. Hello and welcome to...

The story I'm about to tell you is a love story. If not a perfect love, at least the perfecting of it. Something difficult to achieve. Something which can often lead to disastrous, indeed horrific results.

David and Anne Fordyce. Mr. and Mrs. Both mid-thirties. They'd been married for five years. Known each other for ten. They were, well, what you might say, meant for each other. Everybody said so. Attractive, personable, identical tastes, interests. Meant. And yet...

A feeling of growing apart was the way David eventually put it. The reason for this growing apart neither knew or even understood. Both finally blamed it quite simply on the rat race. They thought about it a lot. It preoccupied them. A need to get away out of the rut. A chance to find themselves and each other again.

And they both believed it. Really believed it. Once decided the move wasn't difficult to arrange, David's credentials as a junior partner in one of the city's most reputable law practices of fine mind, excellent connections, it was all there just for the asking. Their best friends, Charles and Victoria, said so at the time. They even said so after my little story was told.

But at the time, there was no sense of sacrifice, of giving up anything, and was, quite simply, the most important thing in David's life. So, Freshfields and Pastures knew it had to be.

The city chambers lost him to a small country practice. Their stylish Georgian terrace house in London to a temporary flat above the office in that distant market town in deepest Devonshire.

And it was from there, every weekend, they'd drive deeper, ever deeper, into the surrounding countryside in search of... Well, at the time, they'd both have found it impossible to put a name to that.

It was late evening when we got that first glimpse of Ty's cottage. Just a glimpse at first. Briefly, between the hedges and high elms. Only the roof, really. Torn sacks. No smoke rising from the lopsided old chimney. Neglected. But strangely... Beckoning.

Darling, hold on. Have a heart. You need a flamethrower to get rid of these bambles. Oh, it gets better once you find the power. It certainly couldn't get worse. What? You do realize we're trespassing. What ever happened to your spirit of adventure? I left it at the gate. Oh, come on, then. Come on. Come on.

Anybody at home? And if there were, I might be needing you to talk yourself out of it. Hello? God, what a shamble. It's not exactly house and garden. I'm whacked. There's a three-legged chair if you want to bring it up. Now where? Oh, the living room is huge. I'll take your word for it. Oh, open hearted. Ingle nook.

A twisting little staircase. It's not very safe, but then right up to the bedroom. Reluctant now I have to take your word for that, too. Anne, love. Anne?

Donna? Hmm? Now what are you pondering? Only the possibilities. Come on, Anne, I'm starved, and it doesn't look as though we're going to get invited to dinner. What possibilities? Oh, only possibilities. There aren't any. Use your head. The roof leaks. That can't be resolved. That staircase. We'll obviously need a bit of fixing. But it's a positive slum. So, water and elbow greens, me own theory. Anne...

You're not mad about the idea, are you? No. You're obviously not. You're quite right. It's getting late. Oh, to hell with that. It's just that I thought getting away from it all was part of the general idea. We'd as good as settle for something on that new estate. Estate. Yes, there's always that. But who the hell wants to live in a boot box when there's the challenge of something like this? Challenge is right. Please.

Please, David. It might not even be on the market. It might, though. Well, at least think about it, please. Please. Idiot. All right, I'll think about it. But for God's sake, don't set your heart on it. I already have.

Ann needn't have worried. Ty's cottage was on the market. It had been for a very long time. And at the price, even David found it impossible to resist. They spent their first night there on a borrowed and very uncomfortable pair of cat beds. Ann slept like a top. David, hardly at all.

Breakfast was served amidst the debris of the old cottage's colors. And just as I was dropping off, those damn birds started their manic twittering. Piccadilly in the rush hour I can take, but those damn birds... Oh, not to worry, darling. You'll get used to it. Have to, won't I? God, look at the time. I must be off. What's on the agenda? Oh, water and elbow grease. Oh, can't do much else till the sanity gets here. Well, they did promise midday, ladies. Ah, so we all know what that means.

Anyway, I've arranged for a Mrs. Perkins from the village to come in and give me a hand. Mrs. Perkins? How rude. Ain't it just so? What about lunch and dinner? Oh, I'll pop in and do a shop once I've got things organized. Oh, don't worry, darling. When you get home, you won't know the old place. Somehow, I think I might. And what happened? From the start, nothing but hitches.

By midday, no furniture van and no reliable Mrs. Perkins. Anne decided to cut her losses. She left a note explaining her absence and set off across the fields to the village and the small general store. At least David wouldn't have an empty larder to add to the list of discomforts. It was early afternoon by the time she got back to the cottage and the surprise that awaited her.

Not only had the furniture been delivered, but Mrs. P had already got things very much in hand in the living room. The carpet down, the three-piece suite arranged very much as she would have chosen. And upstairs in the bedroom, her dressing table was just in the place that she would have chosen. Well, well, well. Clever old Mrs. Perkins.

It wasn't until an hour or so later when that clever lady called up to her from the bottom of the stairs that she realized that something was amiss. Hello? Anybody home?

Mrs. Fordyce. Yes? Oh, don't be, then. Not you, Mrs. Perkins. Who do you look after? Oh, that should do it. I know, Mrs. Perkins.

Talk about the morass of century, isn't it? I bet they make them every so often. You find it very chilly? Just give me a hand to pull this sheet up a little bit, and we can slam the door on it. Oh, there. Oh, that's better. That's a lovely old stuff there, Mum. Yes, my husband will have to rebalance it. Come on through to the living room. Would you like some tea? No, thank you, Mum. It's no trouble. I hadn't mastered that stove, but we scrounged up a primus, so... No.

Really? Thank you, ma'am. Oh. Well, later then. Is something the matter, Mrs. Perkins? I've just come to say how sorry I am, I have. Sorry? Well, Jack, that's my husband. He says no need. No need to go apologizing for something that's not really of your making, he says.

But like I said, as far as that poor woman's concerned, all water under the bridge, none of it her doing. We're not to know who I said. Least I can do is to get out there now, Lou, and say how sorry I am for not being able to get here at all. Not able to get here at all?

Mrs. Packers, you did say... Come on up, then. Up? No. No, it's just that I had to go into the village for a few things, and I left you a note. But if you've just got here, you won't know about the note. No, ma'am. Anyway, it all took rather longer than I expected. Down in the village, I mean. But when I got back, most of the furniture was neatly stacked in a front garden. And this room, arranged, just as you see it now.

I just took it for granted it was your day, you see. Oh, my dear. Mrs. Parkin? My dear Lord. Look, I'm all right. Oh, sit down for a minute. Oh, yes. There should be some brandy. No. I'm all right in a minute. So...

Started already, I should say. She? I might have known. Should have expected it in view of what's gone afore. But it'd been such a long time now since the last couple moved out. Always townies. One foot inside that door and it's love at first sight. But no sooner settled than moving on again.

An Alice of a sudden, right? Didn't they give a reason? Most locals never got that close. None of our business was it. So what, call us to ask the reason, wait for us. Just a moment ago you said, started again, has she?

Did I mean she? Did it say she? Two shoes. I'm sorry? Goody, two shoes. Now, you can smile. Just a name for her. Good as any other. Nursery rhyme name. No telling for why they first give it to her. But when I was a little maid...

I used to listen to the old ones talking in the village and tell them a tale and smile, just smile. Tell me about her, Mrs. Parting. The right to know. The right to know. Well, abandoned on her wedding day at the church, according to your saying. Oh, nothing so much thought in these days, but in good East time.

Well, even now possible to imagine the snidings and the whys and wherefores that it be come. This cottage is all ready and prepared, Simley. So, cause here she come and stays and never ventures. Swear ain't never to be seen again by another living soul. Out the night and in the day was what they reckoned.

But not even the night poachers in the night ever caught a glimpse of her from wedding day on. Long dead when they finally notices no smoke from her chimney. Long, long dead. So, no face to be put to her, even in death. But seems grave all arranged and paid for.

Even something in her own hand wrote for her stone. Accept the gifts I offer. Accept them, come what may. But see but once there is work, unless you rule your day. How did you know that, ma'am? I don't know.

But you've never even seen the grave of it. No. No, I haven't. Mrs. Perkins... Oh, sorry, Mama. I must leave you now. Oh, but please. Mrs. Perkins, please. And as Anne turned back into the passageway, something different. The tea chest had gone. It now stood on the landing at the top of the stairs. The bedding it had contained was already neatly stacked...

in what she'd only just decided should be her linen cupboard. Even before she'd opened the door, she knew it would be there. It didn't really worry her. She'd already decided not to tell any of it to David. And then, several weeks later...

Happy? Need you ask? Just as... Well? As I always imagined it might be. More. Much more. Didn't I always tell you? The place had possibilities. I just hope you're not overdoing things, that's all. I've loved every minute of it. It's almost as though... Well? As though we owed it something. Which is why we came here. Meant...

Now it's loving us back in return. Idiot. Dear idiot. I'll just take these coffee things through. Is the woman from the village still coming in to give you a hand? No. Not anymore, darling. Oh? Well, her husband was taken ill. Quite suddenly. Oh?

She says she can't manage it anymore. When did she drop that on you? Oh, just recently. How recently? A week or so back. Then you'll have to look around for somebody else. No, we don't need anybody else. We don't, do you hear me? We don't, darling. We don't. She didn't, of course.

If there had been any initial terror, it had long passed. She groaned to depend on her good fairy to take her for granted. It no longer even surprised her to leave the kitchen, to return a few minutes later and find the dishes washed and stacked away. To find a fresh supply of logs in the polished hearth, freshly baked bread and cakes when she entered the pantry.

If there was any motive in her continued silence, one had to look no further than David's praise of her. And yet, as the months passed, she felt the need of a wider, less captive audience.

Their old friends, Charles and Victoria, proved the obvious answer. When we got your invitation, Vicki and I had an each-way bet. No, I didn't. Don't fit, my love. Will you tell them? Take my word for it, she said. Either they've decided to throw in rural Spartans or... Or...

Oh, poor David's gone over the orchard wall on his own and he's beseeching us to get the spare bedroom. Oh, kill him! Not that far from the truth. Oh, do tell. Oh, come on, darling. Don't mind admitting it. But you're ready after. Oh, I agreed to the getting away from it all and to hell with the rat race a bit. But, uh...

I wasn't too keen on ending up as a word or gummage, while better half put on the old mop cap and got on with the jam-making out back. We did have our doubts. If you'd seen this place when we first set foot through the door, they'd have been more than justified. Better that, old chap? Worse. I still thank God for a telephone in the village and a hotel within striking distance, just in case. You see how it's all come out? Oh, you little thief. I'll take your word for it, old chap. God, looking at the condition he's in now. It's just about to touch him, isn't it?

Just about. Positive miracle. Yes. Yes, I suppose it must seem like a bit of a miracle. You all right, darling? Fine. Everything's fine. Just felt a bit stuffy in here for a moment, that's all.

Charles. Victoria. A nice day to you. Anything else? Oh, not another crumb for me, darling. You sentenced me to a six-month cast, as it is. Some power, dear girl. Oh, superb. Mm. You see that country pie of yours? You know, I can't remember ever having scrambled it before. It would be damn surprising if you had. Oh?

Mrs. Beaton, did you say, darling? Oh, previous to that concert. Have you seen us previous to that? Go on. Well, can we share a dark secret? It is no dark secret, ma'am. It is commonly made parts. Partridge, wood pigeon, lark, sweet jelly ranch, if you don't mind to ask, cider soaked truffle, dill, peppercorn, fennel, and butter margarine. They have stood one year around. Ah, yes.

First catch your laugh, eh? I wonder if we can all do it from our local station way. Yes, yes, yes. Anne came across an old recipe book when she was clearing out the attic. Receipt, my sweet dear. Receipt. God knows how long it had lurked there. Handwritten. Oh, fascinating. Crabbed like you'd never believe. Crabbed, you say? Well, it seemed easy enough for you.

Anyway, before you could say Mrs. Beaton's grandmother, we've resurrected the old herb garden, flirted with a local gamekeeper, and I've been playing your 18th century guinea pig ever since. You're not finding a fault, my sweet dear? Too far from it. Um, can I give you a hand, please? You don't stay out of there. You hear me? You hear well what I'm telling you. It is my place. Mine. No others. No damn call for her to go meddling in. You hear me? Anne.

Dolly. Your face is blue.

It happened several months later. Summer had gone. Autumn was in the trees. Anne had started out to the village when she remembered her shopping list on the kitchen table. As she passed the half-drawn curtains of the living room windows, she caught her first glimpse of her. Small. Very small. Much older than I... Oh, how very old she looks. Not at all frightening, so. Such white hair...

pulled neatly into a tight bun at her neck, made to seem even whiter, I suppose, by her long black dress, hitching right to the ground from any age. And yet, if I stretched a little higher over the sill, I can just about see the stone floor.

And on tiptoe, peering over the window ledge, Anne saw, peeping out from under the hem of the long dress, a pair of black kid shoes, polished to brilliance. On their front, two very large, silver, shiny buckles. Then Anne looked up. For just the briefest of moments, their eyes met. Then the old lady was gone. Accept the gifts I offer. Accept them, come what may.

But see but once their giver. And live to rule the day. For God's sake, darling, haven't you made a move yet?

Here. Oh, thanks. Has to be a beaker, I'm afraid. Come to that about the only clean crock in the house. What? And why the hell didn't you let me give you a hand with the dinner things? Dinner things? Your gourmet specialities certainly go through one hell of a lot of pots and pans. It's bloody chaos down there. But I did. What? No, nothing. They won't take me long. The way things are going lately, it'd be a damn sight better if we cleared the decks before we turned in.

On top of which, that damn cat must have knocked the sugar bowl over. It's all over the ruddy place. The fire won't catch because the sticks are damp and it rained in the night. So? So one of us seems to have left the living room window off the catch. Go hell, love. I don't even have a clean shirt. It was that first morning Anne began to realize things were not as they had been. That something was amiss.

Much as she tried, the shambles continued. The more she tried, the worse it got. Untidiness became chaos. Chaos turned to silk. She tried, but could do nothing to prevent it. Nothing, my dear darling David. Nothing in the world.

Simply came out of my hand. You see? You see? But why, love? Why? The change. There must be some reason. Beyond reason, my old dearie. All right. Perhaps I shouldn't have depended on you so much. Taking things for granted. If that's why. If it's something that can be put right. Don't laugh at me, damn you. Give me that. Don't laugh.

Please don't. Poor, dear David. Oh, poor, poor David. It's all my doing. I should have told you before, confided in you. But you've suddenly grown so proud of me. Too proud. See, I've grown to depend on it. She must have realized that, counted on that.

Right from the very first moment we walked through those doors. All those long years before. Just waiting for us. Who, my love? Her. But I don't understand. No. No, you could never understand. Too late to understand. Hold me closer. Oh, please hold me. I saw her, you see.

I told her once that I should never have done this. It was the briefest glimpse that I should never have caught her. She hated me for that. That evening, even as David walked up the path, he sensed a change in the place. The smoke curling up from the chimney, the brass knocker again worked to a brilliant shine, just as he'd remembered it. Anne?

Anne? Anne, you up, huh? It was in the kitchen he found her, dear Anne. She was wearing her favorite dress. She was smiling at him, so tender and sweet a smile.

as she swung gently back and forth from the heavy oak beams.

There was one other detail David took in, in that first horrendous moment. The chair she must have climbed on and then jumped from was back in its usual place, below the recently polished window. And then beneath the chair, something as incongruous as it was bewildering. A pair of shoes, of the old-fashioned kind. Much too small for Anne, tiny.

low-heeled, kid leather, polished to brilliance. And in the front, two heavy, silver, shiny buckles, and reflecting in their shine, the swinging course.

David married again. The new Mrs. Fordyce was quite the opposite of Anne. Sophisticated, poised, almost glossy. She ran her own advertising agency far too well for her male competitors. On the domestic front, and only in a crisis, she could just about manage to top up a coffee percolator. Thatch Cottages gave a hay fever.

And yet the match seemed to work well enough. David probably prefers it this way. That was Goody Two Shoes, starring Michael Jaston as David Fordyce, Chandra Clark, Anne, and Daphne Heard, Mrs. Perkins, with Francis Jeter, Victoria, and Nigel Graham, Charles. The Price of Fear was presented by Vincent Price, written by William Ingram, and directed by John Dyer.

Eat, save, and be merry with low prices and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh. Whether you're looking for sweet deals on holiday treats or your dream gingerbread house, outshine the tree with holiday deals delivered right to your doorstep. Prime members save even more with deals on thousands of grocery items and up to 50% off on weekly favorites. Celebrate the holiday season with savings and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh.

When it's PCS time, you know the drill. Pack, research to new base, get the kids in school, because family supports family. At American Public University, we support military families with flexible, affordable online education that moves with you. As a military spouse, your tuition rate is the same as your partner's, just $250 per credit hour. American Public University, education that moves with you.

Learn more at apu.apus.edu slash military.

♪♪♪

Eat, save, and be merry with low prices and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh. Whether you're looking for sweet deals on holiday treats or your dream gingerbread house, outshine the tree with holiday deals delivered right to your doorstep. Prime members save even more with deals on thousands of grocery items and up to 50% off on weekly favorites. Celebrate the holiday season with savings and same-day delivery from Amazon Fresh.

When you're part of a military family, you understand sacrifice and support. At American Public University, we honor your dedication by extending our military tuition savings to your extended family. Parents, spouses, legal partners, siblings, and dependents all qualify for APU's preferred military rate of just $250 per credit hour for undergraduate and master's level programs.

American Public University. Value for the whole family. Learn more at apu.apus.edu slash military.

Quiet, please. Quiet, please.

The Mutual Broadcasting System presents Quiet, Please, which is written and directed by Willis Cooper and which features Ernest Chappell. Quiet, Please for tonight is called Rain on New Year's Eve. It's raining again. Pretty near New Year's and it's raining again.

Back east, it's probably snowing different places. Or maybe the moon's out and shining on the snow and people are saying, why it's so bright out you can read a newspaper? They can't read a newspaper by moonlight. Only the headlines. Maybe if you take your newspaper out in the yard and stand in the moonlight, you might find a headline with my name in it. It's been there before. Well, anyway, so there's moonlight. Here there's rain. Like it was that other New Year's Eve. That's what the rain makes me think of. As if I ever thought of anything else. ♪

Listen to them. I was sitting in my office in the writer's court out there after we'd been on the picture for two or three months. Writing it, that is. They'd been shooting for about three weeks, but I was still on the picture because we had a producer that couldn't make up his mind. The director was one of those guys, sort of road company Hitchcock, you know. He makes the picture up as he goes along.

Only there has to be a writer filed away someplace where he can find them when he runs out of ideas, which is not more than 11 times a day. So I'm dying. I go on the set and I find actors there I never heard of speaking lines I never wrote in scenes I couldn't figure out. Then the director would get me in a corner and put the arm on me. This thing doesn't seem quite jello, man. You know?

And me and my little typewriter go to work to unscrew things while the overtime and the gin-rummy games go right on. Great life, that. Well, so I'm sitting in my office and the rain is on the roof and the gas heater is frying my ankles while the draft from the window is giving my neck the deep freeze...

Mary Lou, my secretary, comes in from her little cubbyhole next to mine. When do I get to do my Christmas shopping, Mr. Ramsey? You don't get to do your Christmas shopping, Mary Lou. Yes, I know. I didn't. What? Christmas was two days ago, Mr. Ramsey. Was it? Well, Merry Christmas. Are we ever going to finish this picture, for heaven's sake? Well, I'll tell you, Angel...

Mr. Doty, the great director, is getting $3,500 a week. I know it. And, my dear, Mr. Doty has not got $3,500 a week for a long, long time, see? So Mr. Doty, the great director, is going to make $3,500 a week just as long as he possibly can, and characters like us can, you know what? Batman. I have a different word for him, sweetheart. Batman.

But as I was saying, if we leave it to Mr. Doty, this here picture ain't never gonna be finished. A hundred years from now, somebody will come upstairs here and they'll find an old, old man with a long white beard beating out the 59th revision of scene 456. And in the next room, a little apple-cheeked old lady. Oh, cut it out. Yeah. Oh, when are they gonna finish it? No kidding.

New Year's Eve. Well, maybe there'll be champagne and stuff on the set. Yeah, no doubt. For the expensive actors and the producers and the fine, upstanding director. For you and me, a nice bottle of 60-cent claret imported from right over there on Ventura Boulevard. You're so funny. No, on the contrary. Well, I'm getting awful sick of this, Mr. Ramsey. We've had to work every single night for the last four weeks. Do you realize that? You kidding? Do I realize? Go get me some coffee, will you, kid? I got a...

Stay awake for Mr. Doty. Coffee. I bet you and I could be elected president of Brazil all the coffee we've put away. Answer the phone. It's Doty. Well, we've got to be dignified. Oh, Lord. Mr. Ramsey's office. Who's calling, please? Oh, yes, Mr. Doty. He's here. I'm always here. Ramsey. Yes, Mr. Doty. What seems to be the trouble? I see. Yes, I see. But, Mr. Doty, I... Well, that would mean rewriting practically all the...

Well, yes, I know. I mean... But what do you gain that way? What? Two monsters? Well, what's two monsters got that one monster hasn't? Oh, yeah, sure, but who scares who? Whom, I mean. But, Mr. Doty, I saw a picture once with two monsters in it, and it was silly. Oh, you directed it. Well, uh... Well, I'll be right over. Skip the coffee, Mary Lou. Two monsters? Two...

Count them two. And I'll lay you six to an even, but by the time I get to the stage, you'll be hollering for three. Take your raincoat. It's raining pitchforks. Maybe one of them will stab me. I better tell you about this monster stuff. This was a horror picture, you see. Kind of the poor man's Frankenstein. Yeah, they couldn't get Karloff, naturally, and they couldn't use the Frankenstein monster makeup because Jack Pierce over at Universal invented that. I guess Universal owned it.

So they had me dream up a monster. Boy, did I dream one up. There's an old book. It's called... No, I guess I won't tell you what it's called. Well, you don't want to take those old books too seriously. You get to believe in them. So I kind of swiped this monster out of the book. Well, you'll never see the picture, I suppose, so maybe I better tell you a little about him. No, I guess I won't either. He was... He was the most horrible monster I ever saw. No kidding.

And what the makeup department did with my sketch and my description. Oh, boy. Just one thing I'll tell you about him and you can figure out the rest for yourself. He didn't have any face. You take it from there. But don't kid yourself. He was a thing. They got Ollie Tharp to play the goon. Nice fella, quiet, always grinning, modest. Good actor. Last guy in the world you'd expect to play a monster. Oh, yeah, sure. Karloff did the Frankenstein thing and he's the mildest-mannered guy in the world.

I remember him on the Son of Frankenstein set years ago in his monster suit all gray and green, showing pictures of his new baby to people. That's a laugh. Well, I guess monsters are human sometimes, huh? And maybe humans are... Well, all right. I spend three hours listening to Mr. Doty run off at the mouth of the whole company having their screaming memes over all this nonsense. It's five minutes to twelve when he finally decides to quit and everybody goes home. They're all burned at Doty, but...

Well, they'll wake up in the morning and remember the overtime and they'll feel better. Me? Writers don't get overtime. So I get back to the writer's court and the light's burning in the window and Mary Lou's snoring away with her face in a stack of carbon paper. She wakes up and asks me a question. How many monsters now? We got four now. I say, including me. THE MONSTER

So the next morning, it's not raining anymore. The sun is shining bright, and you can see snow on top of the mountains, and it's a very nice day. And monsters are pretty hazy in my mind as I pick up my copy of the reporter and head for the rickety stairway to my palatial office. I'll tell you how much good the sunshine did me. I was whistling as I climbed up the stairs and opened the door...

You might as well turn off the whistle. Mr. Doty's looking for you. Now what? He says it's very important. Two more monsters. Your coffee's on your desk. Steaming cold, no doubt. I just brought it up. Give me 15 cents. It's your turn to buy this morning. I bought yesterday. All right, all right. Hello? No, he isn't here yet. Go ahead. Mr. Ramsey's office? Yes, Mr. Doty. Morning, Mr. Doty. How are you? No kidding. Why, that's fine.

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, sure. What's up? Why, sure, Mr. Doty. Yes, sir, I'll be right over.

He has to finish the picture definitely by 12 mid-night, December 31st. Oh, that's what you said last night. Well, I was kidding. You know how it goes in the story. I forgot. I mean the way it was originally. You know, this monster only has power the last hour of the year. Oh, yes. Remember it was a New Year's party, the whole picture? It's been so long ago, I forgot how we started it. Well, don't you remember our big payoff scene? She thinks the monster is her wicked uncle. Who thinks? You know, the babe with the teeth. The goon girl with the blue dress. Oh, yes.

Oh, yeah. Remember, she thinks the monster is her uncle and she tries to rip his mask off and it ain't a mask? Something like that. And the house is on fire and he grabs her and runs inside the house and our hero busts in after her and rescues her. Some way I never had a chance to figure out. How would he do it without his glasses? He'd fall over the stoop. What stoop? There's hundreds of them in pictures. Drink your coffee and go see Mr. Doty. Maybe he's changed his mind. He can't change his mind. The front office put the big fat arm on him or else.

Whoopie, baby, three days and we can sit down and rest. Away from this place. You can say that again. Tell him I ain't here. Well, sir, that sunshine looked better than ever to me. But when the big door of the stage swung shut behind me, the sunshine sure disappeared. Well, Mr. Doty was an unhappy man. Well, three more days and there wouldn't be any more of those $3,500. And he didn't like it a little bit.

And guess who we took it out on? This is the worst story I ever had to work with. It positively smells bad. I didn't say. It's your story, Mr. Doty. All I got left is a monster, and you'll probably turn out to be Santa Claus. You listened to me when I told you how to do it. I didn't say. I listened to you, Mr. Doty, and now look what we got. Now I have to give up my beautiful idea of having three monsters instead of one. Because then we'd have had to reshoot practically the whole picture, and you'd have made another million bucks.

They didn't say that either. So, if you think you could possibly dredge up your original script, I think I can possibly make it into an acceptable B picture. Although that's a task even for a director like me. Mr. Doty doesn't realize what an unconscious humorist he is.

That guy could make a beat picture out of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Even if he had the original cash. Oh, get to work. Get to work and do something. Have I got to do everything around here? Get a move on you. Oh, I got a move on me. Even if you think I disliked that guy up to now. He did to me the last two days. You've got to get some sleep somehow. You've been on your feet for almost two days, Mr. Ramsey. Where were we?

Scene 168, long shot, interior match and knife. From the top of the stairway, a figure appears in the stint in the shadows. We sense, rather than see, the twisted evil form of the monster as he peers over the balustrade. From the foreground right, the butler appears and starts slowly up the stairway. As he reaches the fourth or fifth step, the camera starts to move in to follow him. We cram up the stairs and the camera holds on the last three steps as the butler reaches the top.

Cut to... Hey, wake up. Oh, I'm sorry. Where were we? Ramsey, you've got to get some sleep. Lie down for ten minutes. Gee, I'd sure like to. Mr. Ramsey's office. I'm not here. Yes, Mr. Dodie. All right. Right on. Hello? Sure. I'll be right over. Oh, Mr. Ramsey, I will... You know what, Mary Lou? Put on your coat. It's raining again. You know what? What?

I wish I was a monster. You know, I was a tired little pup. I didn't have any Thanksgiving. I ate a bent ham sandwich in my office that day because Mr. Doty had to have three new scenes Friday morning. He called me at the office to see how I was doing. He'd just finished his Thanksgiving dinner. I didn't have any Christmas. I locked the door on my office and beat my brains out on a whole new sequence Mr. Doty had thought up.

All around me, people were drinking whiskey and chasing each other through the corridors and up and down the stairs. I didn't have any Sundays, and I didn't have any evenings. I, my friend, damn near lost my mind. All the time, Mr. Doty. It's no wonder that by New Year's Eve, I was ready to hire a man with a cleaver to extirpate the guy. But I didn't. I hope I sure didn't. At 9 o'clock, he called me over to the set again. Couldn't I rewrite some dialogue? Well, I crossed him up on that one.

I threw out the hash he'd made of my original dialogue and substituted what I'd originally written. It played okay. After seven different takes all exactly alike, I went back to my office in the rain. Mr. Ramsey's office. Yes, Mr. Doty. Yes, Mr. Doty. I'll tell him. Mr. Ramsey. I heard you. He needs you right away again. Okay, okay. You poor thing. Only another couple hours.

I hope I can take it. Take your raincoat. It's raining cats and dogs. You're telling me. At that time, it was a little piece of action he couldn't get through his ivory head. I explained it in words of one syllable, carefully avoiding the four-letter ones. He thanked me, old boy, and I went out into the rain again. What rain in California can do to you? I heard of a fellow that jumped into the Los Angeles River once after a week of rain. Ordinarily, he'd break his ankle, but he drowned.

You know, it just comes down steadily. I know, I could probably be a lot more graphic than that, but that's all there is to rain in California. It comes down steadily. Ice cold. Steadily. Yes. Of course, it always stops about the time you've decided to start out on foot for the east. The sun shines and poinsettias bloom and the hills are green. Oh, man, that's wonderful. I guess they have the rain like hitting yourself in the head with a hammer.

It feels so good when you stop. Yeah, that's a bum gag, but I was a pretty beat-up character. Three more times that New Year's Eve. In the rain. The guy getting meaner and meaner each time. Well, at least it was going to be over pretty soon. It was ten minutes to eleven when I came into the office and Mary Lou took my coat from me. You've just got to get a little sleep, Ramsey. Now you sit down at your desk and put your head down and catch Forty Wings. Thanks, Mary Lou.

Well, if I had to see that man just one more time tonight, I'd be responsible. I'm not kidding. I know. You go to sleep. Well, kid, you're as all in as I am. Well, at least I don't have to face him. He's got to stop at midnight. As soon as he's through, should you and me go someplace and have a New Year's drink here? I don't know whether I could keep awake. Well, let's try, huh? Okay. Anybody ever tell you you're a nice gal? Couple of people.

I could marry a gal like you. Don't kid people, Ramsey. I'm not. See how you feel when you wake up. I think I love you. I wish you meant that, Ramsey. I do. Kisses from the night. Ramsey, you're sweet. Go to sleep. So I went to sleep. So I went to sleep.

And I dreamed, even when I was asleep, I couldn't get that guy Doty off my mind. I dreamed I was on the set. I dreamed they were shooting the last scene, the one where the monster comes closer and closer to the camera till that head of his without any face fills the whole screen. You know how it is in dreams. You're here, then all of a sudden you're there and you're one guy and then you're another and it's all mixed up. I could see the set and I could hear Doty call out. Action! Action!

Then I could see this faceless monster coming out of the shadows. Slowly, slowly, right up to the camera where George Robinson was standing, as tired as everybody else. And I thought to myself, if the audience had any idea the little old milk-toast ollie-tharp was inside that monster rig, they'd bust. And in the dream, I saw Dodie jumping up and down in one of those silly rages of his and yell... That's right, Oliver. You've got about as much menace as... as much menace as...

Ramsey over there. Even in my dreams he was picking on me. And so they started all over again. My dream got kind of mixed up all right there. And I sort of seemed to be following the monster. Because I could see Dodie's face right in front of me as the monster moved in. When Dodie yelled, cut again, the monster and I didn't stop. I just sort of seemed to follow him right on, farther and farther. And I saw the monster's big hairy hands grab Dodie.

And Dodie screamed. And the monster's hands were fumbling at Dodie's neck. Dodie was fighting, and I saw Dodie bite the monster's hand. It was so real, I could almost feel it. And then everything got black in my dream, and there were a lot of bells ringing. And the lights were woken me up. So I raised my head, and there I was in my office. And I pulled myself out of it a little, and then I knew what the bells were. They were bells ringing in the new year. The rain was hammering on the roof, and it was tomorrow.

So I got up and hollered for Mary Lou. Mary Lou? Hey, Happy New Year, Mary Lou. And she didn't answer. I stepped through the door into her little office, and she was lying on the floor behind her desk. And the look on her face was something I never want to see again. It was the look of the most awful horror anybody could imagine. The kind of look you'd expect to see on the face of someone who'd been literally frightened to death by a monster who had no face at all. So I stood there.

After a few seconds, I heard people yelling outside. I heard somebody yell that Holly Tharp had killed Doty. Somebody else said, no, Holly Tharp was dead, too, with a broken neck in his dressing room. And my hand hurt. When I raised my hand to look at it, right across the thick of my palm were teeth marks. Deep, bloody teeth marks where Doty had bit me when I strangled him. ♪♪

So you see, that's why I say never take any of those old books too seriously. Remember I said I wished I was a monster? Remember what the book said? The monster only possessed his murderous power for one hour, the last hour of the year. New Year's Eve again, and it's raining. Got anybody you want murdered?

You have listened to Quiet, Please, which is written and directed by Willis Cooper. The man who spoke to you was Ernest Chappell. And Muriel Kirkland was Mary Lou. Pat O'Malley was Doty. Music for Quiet, Please is composed and played by Albert Berman. Now for a word about next week's Quiet, Please. Here's our writer-director, my good friend, Willis Cooper. I have a story for you next week about a man who was haunted. It's called The Little Visitor.

And so until next week at this time, I am quietly yours, Ernest Chappell. Quiet Please comes to you from New York. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.

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

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

I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me for this episode of Weird Darkness' Retro Radio.

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