“CONVICTED OF WITCHCRAFT, HER REVENGE IS A CURSE!”: 13 #RetroRadio Stories! EP0274 #WeirdDarkness
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The Black Museum. Affiliated stations present Escape. Dinner Sanctum. The Seal. 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 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. It is said that fine feathers do not make fine birds.

It is also claimed that you cannot judge a book by its cover. Unfortunately, both these trenchant observations have been consigned to the limbo of wise sayings that are constantly being disregarded. Birds, books, and even people are always being judged by their appearance. The sad truth is that the overwhelming majority of us will choose a beautiful fool over a homely philosopher. Well...

That's life.

And sometimes, that's death. Did you kill him? Well... Never mind well. Did you kill him? Answer yes or no. I'm not sure. What do you mean you're not sure? I really don't know. Did you buy a knife? Yes. Are those your fingerprints on the knife? Yes. Then how can you deny that you killed him? I admit it looks bad for me, Mars. Bad? It looks terrible. The only thing that makes me doubt that I'm a murderer... No, I can't tell you. You must tell me. Well...

Promise not to laugh. I promise. Morris, there is one thing I could never do. Now you have to believe me. I could never kill a man who wore a pink shirt. Our mystery drama, The Rape of the Maya, was written especially for the Mystery Theater by Sam Dan and stars Arnold Stang and Norman Rose.

It is sponsored in part by Buick Motor Division. I'll be back shortly with Act One. Beware, said Henry David Thoreau, of all enterprises that require new clothes. That was all very well for Henry T., who liked to live single-o at Walden Pond...

where he could commune with frogs and flowers and field mice. My Lord, if everybody had that attitude toward new clothes, what would happen to a certain little world that lies within the confines of Manhattan Island? A universe in microcosm, which is simply known as Seventh Avenue. But enough philosophy. You tune us in for action, we'll give you action.

A most beautiful young girl is walking down 7th Avenue near 37th Street.

She is clad in a stunning, shimmering, flowing dress. It is a dress to inflame the imagination and arouse the passions. And here is a young man who has been obviously aroused and inflamed because, without warning, he grabs her. Let go of me! Who are you? What? That's mine. Now, that is mine. Get your hands off me! That gown. Where did you get that gown? Oh, Scream! Take that dress off. It's mine. Help!

No, don't scream. There's a maniac. Help me. Now, just listen. Listen, you fool. You're joking me. Yes, I'm joking you. I have to make you stop screaming now. Look, you're an intelligent girl. Now, you must promise to be good. No. Now, don't open your mouth. Just listen. I'm going to let go of you. See? Now, take off that dress. Ah!

Oh!

Thank you, officer. I shall call when I require your services again. I'll kill him. I'll destroy him utterly. Vaughn, it's too early in the morning to talk about killing. He stole the mire. He stole the mire. All right, so he stole the mire. Oh, sure, you can say, all right. Is the mire your inspired vision? Was the mire distilled from your blood? You, you, you, you...

Fat Billiston! I'm trying to lose weight. I shall assassinate that depraved thief! You'll be out of here by lunchtime. I'll let out his heart's blood! Now, Vaughn, we have to get back to work. The show is in 13 days. I need another design. Morris! Morris! Morris! Morris! Morris! How can you speak of new designs? I lie here violated, ravaged, distraught! Give me something I can produce for $49.95. Leave me, Morris!

With my grief. A simple little frock with a collar. Vaughn, what do you think about a collar? Oh, that viper. That viper. I allowed him to sit at my feet, basking in the rays of my creativity. I got it. Let's bring back the Peter Pan collar. And that infamous wretch plunges a poison dagger into my back. Vaughn, listen to me.

The reason you're getting off easy, I saw that girl's father last night. I thought if I would explain to him about the Meyer... The rape of the Meyer! How you designed this gorgeous dress, and for only $39.95. Be my witness, Myers. The dagger he plunged into my back is the dagger I shall thrust into his heart. But I take a look at the father, a giant, a hard hat. When I say who I am, he says, what do you want?

I'm telling you, if looks could kill, I'd be a corpse. To design the Maya. Maya! Daughter of Atlas and Diana. I was inspired by the ancient gods themselves. But I explained to him how you created such a masterpiece and had it stolen from you by your best friend who turns around and sells it to another manufacturer. Why, this big giant, you know what? He just sat down and cried. Through the heart.

Through his false, perfidious heart, I shall stab him. So, no charges, everything's fixed. I shall rid the world of an abomination that calls itself Perry Fullerton. You come right back to work this afternoon. I shall never take pencil in hand again. Leave me with my grief. All right. Guard! Aye. Aye.

You know, Vaughn, when I heard that you were arrested for attacking a girl, I... How could I believe it? Perry! Sally Jo, I have to talk to you. Oh, well? Sally Jo...

I'm in trouble. Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, sugar. What I mean is real trouble. Oh, I'm genuinely sorry to hear that. Oh, it's a bad scene. Like, like, like... Oh, it's total trouble. Oh, Perry, honey. Have you seen Adrian? Adrian? Yes, if Adrian finds me, I'll... Perry, sugar, now why should you be scared? I...

I need $500 like... like right now. But you got $500. You took that adorable little Maya dress over to the man at Personality Fox. And he gave you $500 in nice new bills. He did. Well, then you have the $500. Well... Well, what? He don't have the $500. Adrian! Yeah, it's Adrian. Sally Jo. What? What? What?

What is he doing here? What am I doing here? I pay the rent. That's what I'm doing here. Well, now, that's not really true. It ain't? Better use me 500. So he's paying your rent with my money. Adrian. Adrian, let me explain. What's to explain? You just come up with five big bills which you owe me. Dig into them green pants of yours. Dig into them.

They're aqua. And hand over the dough. I... Well, I had the money. I don't like where this is headed. But you know... Do you know the shoddy way they make things today? You ain't gonna like it either. Well, there's a hole in my pocket, you see? And the money just... Just...

Slipped out. I'll tell you where the dough slipped out. You stopped off on the way down here. You laid the whole 500 on some nag. That's not true. The race is over, but your nag is still running. Now, Adrian...

Don't. Don't press me. You see this little slip of paper? Read it. Nobody. Nobody pushes me around. Everybody pushes you around, punk. Read what it says on the paper. Uh, Meyer, 500, Pierre, well... That's your marker. You put 500 on her nose and she come in dead last. Meyer...

Maya? How could a horse named Maya lose? Vaughn and I designed the gown called Maya. Vaughn and you? Oh, now, sugar. You're always trying to put me down, Sally. Oh, you... Vaughn warned me about you. Shut up. She's on your side. She showed you how to raise 500 by stealing the dress design. But a natural-born sucker like you can't pass by a betting parlor or a bookie.

You must have dropped the whole 500. I told you there was a hole in my pocket. The money burned the hole in it. You treat yourself pretty good on my dough, don't you? Punk, you must have paid 50, 60 bucks for that red shirt. It's pink. Flamingo pink. You don't make a sucker out of me. Adrian, sugar, you're raising your voice. Miss Punk, I'm gonna kill him. That, that...

That won't get you your $500. It'll get me something else, satisfaction. Adrian, you can't afford to kill a person just for satisfaction. Why not? Why can't a guy do something just because he wants to? I'm human. I got needs. Adrian. Hey, no, no. Now, you've got to fold up that knife. Adrian. You don't want to kill me. But I do. Ah.

I'll pay you. You ain't never gonna pay me. No, but I will. I swear, I swear I will. You had the money. I know, and on the way down here, well, I heard about a good thing in the fifth at Starlight Park. At eight to one, his name was Clothes Horse. Can you imagine? Clothes Horse, and I'm a designer. You're an assistant designer. So, I thought, well, I'd have enough to pay you back plus. Clothes Horse.

Oh, if you were me, wouldn't you bet your life on clothes, horse? Do you know what you are? You are a hunchbetter. Oh, yes, yes, yes, indeed. I am a hunchbetter. You know what happens to hunchbetters? They die broke, you understand? Oh, yes, yes, indeed, I do. They die broke. So, as long as you're broke, why shouldn't you die now? Oh, no, I swear to you, Adrian, I'll get that money. I'll pay you back, only please, please don't kill me. Huh?

Oh, I don't know. How can a sore-tarded guy like me expect to get anywhere in this world? Believe me, Adrian. Forget what you hear. Nice guys do finish first. So?

I ain't gonna kill you. And you won't regret it. I'll pay you back every cent. But just to make sure you remember, I'm gonna carve a little mark. No. No, no, no. No, no, no. Keep away. On the right side of that chin of yours. No, no. No, no, I won't. Don't try to fight him, Perry. Now, don't. I got my arm punched. No, I won't let you kick me. I said let go. No, don't. Don't kill him. Hold still. You're getting off tape. No. Oh, oh.

You killed him! I told him to stand still. It was his own fault. Oh, the blood. Look at that blood all over his shirt. Who's that? Open up, Perry Fullerton. I know you're in there. Open the door and face me. Keep still or I'll go away. Huh.

The door. What about the door? Harry Fullerton, you have raped the mayor. You shall reach the whirlwind. The door. It isn't locked. Oh, what'll we do if he turns the knob? In this package, I have a gift for you. Come, let me look at your face as I unwrap it. Harry Fullerton, you forgot to lock your door against fate. You're a dead man. Oh, oh, no.

I'm, I'm, I'm, oh, I'm gonna... Why, he just fainted. You know this creep? Well, sure, of course. His name is Vaughn. Oh, not anymore, it ain't. It's just been changed. It has? To Patsy. We may make a few arrangements. Thank you. Thank you, officer. Tell me, isn't this where I came in?

Braun, you know what they say. They say you killed him. Yes. The door was open. A neighbor passed by. They say you were lying there unconscious on the floor next to him. Yes. The knife. The knife with the switchblade with blood on it was in your hand. Yes. They say you had the motive.

Yes. And so when you add all this together, it proves you killed him. That's what they say. Yes, Morris, that's what they say. But Vaughn, you know what I say. I say I don't believe a word they say. Why, Morris, why? Because I believe you're innocent. I refuse point blank to believe them. No, Morris, believe them. What are you saying? Why should I believe? Because they happen to be right. I'm guilty. Guilty? Vaughn, how can you even say such a thing? Because, Morris...

It's true. Oh, no. No, not you. I killed him. I can't believe it. How could a person like you kill another human being? What a pointed and pertinent question. How could Vaughn have done it? Especially since we were present and know full well how matters went. The usual procedure is for the guilty to claim innocence. Here, on the other hand, is an innocent who claims guilt.

Well, that's why we have a second act. So we can turn the screw even tighter. Maya was the name of the ancient Greek goddess of fertility...

Maya is also the name of a sleek three-year-old racehorse who is still considered a maiden, meaning she hasn't won yet. And finally, Maya is the name of a beautiful gown designed by Vaughn Lemaire. Well, the goddess named Maya inspired the gown, but the racehorse named Maya inspired a losing bet, which produced a chain of circumstances.

The latest link of which finds our poor Vaughn Lemaire in prison.

Charged with murder. Listen, Vaughn. A nut you probably are, but a murderer, definitely not. Oh, how little we know the inner heart of another human being. Don't start up with me, Vaughn. I know you. Oh, Morris. Morris, like Diogenes, you seek so desperately for the minuscule speck of what is good in man. Did you kill him? Did I kill him? Say yes or no. Yes. I don't believe it. Look me in the eye and say yes.

Yes. I still don't believe it. Why? Why won't you believe it? Will you stop being stubborn? You want to sit in the electric chair? You didn't kill him and that's all there is to it. Morris, accept reality. You talk to me about reality. Oh, poor Morris, the eternal optimist. You so desperately want to believe in the essential goodness of man. But man is evil. The flesh is wicked.

I have the brand of cane the murderer's marked. What are you talking about? How could you kill anybody? You faint at the sight of blood. Yes, that's true. But you don't see the blood until afterward. Okay. Okay, Mr. Wiseguy. Wind up in the chair with the wires and the metal cap. I decided to kill him. I purchased the knife. I went to the apartment...

And I killed him. You must accept it, Morris. No. Oh, poor Morris. Poor, loyal, loving Morris. You mean... You mean you killed him? You really...

Actually killed. Now, please, you mustn't feel so badly. I'll get you a lawyer. Now, please, Morris, not your son-in-law. Sheldon's a wonderful lawyer. I don't want a wonderful lawyer. Why not? He might get me acquitted. That would be bad. I'm guilty. I must pay for my crime. Vaughn, is there anything you need? Solitude. I must compose the speech. What speech? When the judge will say, Vaughn Lemire, do you have anything to say before sentence is passed upon you...

I intend to be ready. Here, I tell you, Vaughn, after they made you, they threw away the model.

Lieutenant Valentine. What can I do for you, Mr... Goodman. Morris Goodman of Goodman Originals. We're almost neighbors. I hate to bother you in the middle of a working day. Oh, that's perfectly all right, Mr. Goodman. We at your police department are public servants, constantly at your disposal. It's about Vaughn Lemaire. Oh, yes, yes. Vaughn Lemaire.

Are you a blood relative? I'm closer than that. He's my designer. How may I help you? Well, I just can't believe he would commit a murder. Why can't you believe it? Because... Because people we know do not commit murder, correct?

Murderers are subhuman, evil strangers. But he's such a gentle person. He's crazy, maybe, but... Yes, but there's an extensive literature on the subject. Now, are you familiar with Komadevsky's theory of supportive denial? Yeah, no, I'm not sure. Well, in a situation where the accused is an outwardly gentle, law-abiding person... ...who does not fulfill the normal stereotype of being psychotic with homicidal tendencies...

His immediate personal community will weave a protective web... Yes, I think I understand. Yes, to protect the murderer, yes, yes. But also to protect their own emotional investment in him. Yes, but even so... Well, our faith in a cause, in a belief, in another human being dies hard. But fact, as Trevelyan wrote, is usually the killer of faith. So? Motive?

Under Perry Fullerton's body, this slip of paper. Please read it. Uh, Meyer, 500 P.F. A note to himself. How he could get $500 from P.F., personality frocks, for the Meyer.

Which he did. Yes, yes. The knife itself, switchblade, bloodstained, and with his fingerprints on the handle. Yes, yes. Tell me, what's in that box? The one with the gift wrapping. It looks like something he bought at Julio's down the street. Inside this gift wrap box... What?

was nothing. Why would he bring a gift-wrapped box with nothing inside? For a symbolic reason. Perhaps because what he was truly bringing Perry Fullerton was death. Yes, yes. And finally, this document, his confession, fully and freely given, in which he admits the murder. Well, Mr. Goodman? Well, I, uh... To prove murder...

We must show the accused is guilty beyond the shadow of a doubt. Now, are you still in that shadow, Mr. Goodman? Uh, no. No, you're right. I didn't want to believe it, but how long can I insist the earth is flat? Thank you, Lieutenant. Thank you.

Thank you. Thank you, officer. Morris! Morris! I came over as fast as I could. Now, what is the matter, Vaughn? You're so excited. Morris, I'm being framed. For what? For murder. I didn't kill Perry Fullerton. Yes, you did. Oh, Tesso. Who? You! You convinced me that you killed him. The knife? The fingerprints? I thought I killed him. You thought?

How could you think... Because I was making a natural assumption. Oh, is that so? I had every intention of killing him. Therefore, I went to Julio's. I purchased a knife. I went to the apartment.

The next thing I knew, I was lying there beside his dead body on the floor, the knife in my hand. And so, wouldn't it be natural to assume that I had accomplished my mission and killed him? Yes, yes, it would be natural. But this morning, as I awoke from troubled slumber, I realized that I did not kill him. How could you realize? That when I walked inside the door...

He was already lying dead on the floor, and I fainted at the sight of the blood. No. No, no, no, no, Vaughn. You convinced me the other day. Two people were standing there in that room. Oh, yes, I know. And they had just gotten off from a flying saucer. Now, please, Vaughn. I didn't kill him. Please.

Sally Jo! You know Sally Jo. She used to be our model. I fired her because she became... uh... uh... uh... uh... obese. Oh, maybe she put on a little weight, but obese. She was standing there with Adrian. Von, who could believe such a story? A person who calls himself my friend could believe it. I can't keep up with you. One day you're guilty, the next day you're innocent. All right, all right, all right.

Let me prove it to you that I am innocent. I went to Julio's to purchase the knife. It was a Damascene blade. Oh, please. This was to be the most artistic and exquisite killing in the entire history of personal assassination. Even when you talk about a knife, it makes me... I would confront him and I would say, I have a gift. I shall unwrap it. I shall present it. Point first. And I would...

But I fainted. You yourself, you know I faint at the sight of blood. Sheldon says it won't be too bad. You can plead temporary insanity. But you see, I couldn't have killed him unless and until I could make him change his shirt. Now what is this? Morris, his shirt was flamingo pink. His blood was bright red.

Well, truthfully, the sight of that atrocious clash in colors is what made me pass out. But as you said yourself, the blood you don't see till afterwards. No, Morris, not I. Had he been alive when I entered the flat, had I held the knife to his breast, I would have seen the red blood before it gushed forth to stain the pink shirt. I had designed to see things before they exist. Well, then, Vaughn, how... Morris!

Have you ever known me to mix pink and red? Have you? Oh, I'm ill. I'm ill. I just can't think of it. Vaughn, will you please shut up? A person can't hear himself think. Morris, have I ever lied to you? Oh, constantly. I don't mind. It's part of your genius. I wanted to kill him. I bought the knife, but I never even unwrapped the package. He was dead when I got there, I ministered, Morris. Vaughn. Believe me, Morris. You must believe me.

I understand, Mr. Goodman, and there is also an extensive literature on that subject. Is that so, Lieutenant? Have you read Pueba on immaculate cancellation? Well, I couldn't be sure. Unwilling to face the fact of murder, the worst of crimes, the subject will cancel the memory and thus cleanse himself of guilt. What you're saying is...

He's telling a lie. Because he cannot face the enormity of the deed. One thing he said made sense. He couldn't stab a man who was wearing a bright pink shirt. The colors would clash. You're saying he wouldn't violate his artistic principles? Yes, yes, that's what I'm saying. Why not?

He was willing to violate his moral ones. I believe him. Here is the knife with his fingerprints. I know, but yet he says he brought it there in that box and never even took it out. Fingerprints. Bloodstains. These are the facts which tell us otherwise. The knife. Now, wait. It's a switchblade knife. No. It's not what you would call highly artistic. No, but you would call it highly effective.

This? This is the knife he bought? Why not? It's good enough to do the job.

You lied to me. I swear to you, Morris, I told you the truth. What is this nonsense about an artistic knife with a damaged, whatever you call it, blade? It's true. I saw the knife. It had your fingerprints on it. Somebody placed them there while I was unconscious. It was a common, ordinary, everyday switchblade knife that any common, ordinary, everyday hoodlum would use. Impossible. Here, I'll show you. I have the sail flipped from Julio. Well, I...

I don't have it with me. They took everything out of my pocket. Fawn, please, you should really tell me the truth. But it's true! Ask Julio. He'll tell you. Just ask Julio!

You know one. He walks up the aisle and down the aisle and pounce his fist on the counter. He's going to kill Perry Fullerton. Can I sell him a knife? And so you sold him a knife. Oh, Julio. How could you sell him a knife? He was behaving like a maniac. Morris, how can you say such a thing about me? But you did sell him a knife. You knew he was ready to kill, and you sold him a knife. I sold it to him.

And I didn't sell it, though, Wayne. At the same time? I had won at the same time. You realize we're discussing a physical impossibility? Listen to how clever I did it.

He picks out this dagger. Genuine. Made in Toledo, not Ohio. Spent. Continue. And he wants it gift-wrapped. This much I know without you. What you don't know is how I gift-wrap it. I gave it to Regina. Oh, she still works? I thought she got married. And the receipt. I write the letters. C.O.P. Cop. That's spelled cop. It also stands for cooling off period. When I sell an angry person a weapon...

And make sure he don't walk out of the store with it so he can commit murder on the spot. So what do you do? I give the signal to Regina not to put it in the box.

So she gift-wraps an empty package. A day or two later, the customer comes back, but he ain't angry enough to kill anybody anymore. So what you're telling me is he walked out of here without the knife. Great idea, Morris, no? So he never used it to kill Perry. How could he use it to kill Perry? Still in this fall. Said he was telling me the truth. He didn't kill Perry. But how is such a thing possible?

Well, you knew it all along. But then, of course, you were there when it happened. Remember, Morris is trying to put it all together out of thin air. And he isn't even a police officer. What is Morris going to do to convince people of Vaughn's innocence? With ethereal characters like Vaughn, there's really nothing solid to hold on to. Yesterday, Vaughn was guilty. Today, he's innocent. And he's not.

Will the pendulum swing again tomorrow? We still have a third act. Perry Fullerton cheated two people. He stole a design from Vaughan LeMaire and he welched on a bet he owed to bookmaker Adrian Smollett.

Both Vaughn and Adrian were furious enough to kill him. And while Adrian committed the murder, poor Vaughn is getting the blame. Thus proving the old proverb, the early bird gets the credit. But Lieutenant, he didn't even have a knife. I'm afraid he did, Mr. Goodman. It's here on the table. That isn't the knife he bought from Julio. Julio didn't put the knife in the package. Precisely, Mr. Goodman.

And when Vaughn discovered the package was empty, he picked up another knife, this knife, the bloodstain knife with his fingerprints on it. And he swears that he saw Sally Jo Crabtree and Mr. Adrian Smollett. They were in the room. And Perry was already dead on the floor when he arrived. There is an extensive literature on the subject, Mr. Goodman. I should have known. Have you heard Tillinghast Uncompulsive Psychotic Association? No. Well, I suppose you could say it means...

Misery loves company. A man in trouble tries to involve others. You say he's lying, huh? He's fantasizing. But he says he saw them. We asked Miss Crabtree and Mr. Smollett to come in for questioning. And what happened? They were out of town these past three days. They only returned this morning. Lieutenant, I am a judge of character. I tell you, and you heard it here first, that Vaughn Lemaire is not guilty. Why's

Uh-oh. Hello, Julio. Marius, when a man is launched, he should have a smile on his face. With this weight on my heart, how can I have a smile on my face? Go on. Julio, he was like a... like a son to me. He was a good designer. I say that much for him. What do you mean, was? You talk like he's dead. They want to put him away, Marius. He's so put on clothes. While there is life, there's hope. But is that enough? Listen.

Do you want to bet on a horse? Did I ever bet on a horse in my life? You think, Morris. That is the secret of keeping young. This is a horse you in particular should bet on. Be good enough to explain why I should violate the principles of a lifetime. Because of the horse's name. Yes? This horse is called Meyer. M-A-I-E-R. Hey, that was the name of one's design. There is a horse called Meyer also. I never heard of him.

I think he's a whore. You mean lady horses also run? Along with the men? That's why I understand. Only in America? No, no. Puerto Rico, too. A horse called Maya. I can't get over it. Raquina. She read the papers a lot. I always said she was an intelligent girl. She read the one ads to find a job for her husband. The actor.

The one-eyed's near the racing pages. And there, she sees a horse named Meyer. He's going to race at Southern Gardens. I never heard of it. Me neither. He's somewhere in Louisiana. Meyer is also a racehorse. Aha. Aha what? Well, right now it's only aha. Maybe later it'll be something else. Aha!

Morris, I swear to you, I did not kill him. But he is dead. Well, of course he's dead. Then somebody had to kill him. But it wasn't me. Then who else could it be? Are you asking me, Morris? Is there somebody else sitting in this cell that I could ask? Am I a detective? Am I? For the last week, I haven't been in the shop even. I don't know who could have killed him. Tell me, did he owe money? He's dead, and I must protect his name. Then I say goodbye right now. Morris.

He didn't know what he was doing. You see, he was desperate. He needed $500. I refused him. That's why. That's why he stole the Maya. Tell me, did he bet on horses? Oh, can't we leave his memory green? Yes or no? Oh, yes. Morris, why this inquisition? This man, this Adrian Smollett, what does he do?

I think he's a gambler. Now it fits. Now it's a perfect size 10. What are you saying, Morris? But my problem is, how do I sell it? Be right with you, sugar. Oh, it's Morris. May I come in? Well, certainly, Morris.

Well, it's a very nice looking place. Thank you, Morris. I... Oh, I haven't had a chance yet to say how sorry I am about Perry. After all, you and Perry... Thank you again, Morris.

You're so sweet. I... I wonder... Could you do me a small favor? Why, I'd be delighted, Morris. Well, you see, this is something new to me. Well, you sound like a man who's going to attempt something naughty. Oh, well, Sally Jo. For me, it would be naughty. Uh...

I think I want to bet on a horse. Maury. Well, shouldn't a man have some fun from life? Well, absolutely. I was reading in the papers and I saw the name of a horse. It runs somewhere, I don't know, way down in the South. Oh, honey, they're the best. A horse named, you know, I can't get over it. Could you believe the name of this horse? Well, sugar, I'd have to know at first, wouldn't I? Maya. Maya.

But that's... That's what? Oh, nothing. It's just a coincidence. Isn't it? True, it was stolen. No, let us not say that. He's dead. Poor Perry. Let him rest. Anyhow, it was Vaughn's greatest design. And now I see a horse named Maya. Isn't this fate? Let me see the paper, sugar. Hmm. Oh, yeah. Yeah, here she is at Southern Gardens.

Oh, my goodness, she's running at 32 to 1. Is that a fact? So let me see now. For $500... $500. I should get back $16,000. Well, it'll make up a little bit for what we lost on the Maya. You want to bet $500? Is it too small a bet? No, no, no. I think it's just fine. I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Oh, yes, of course, a favor. Well, you see...

I don't know any bookmakers. I mean, after all. Oh, I understand. So, I was wondering if you... Well, certainly. Certainly. You want me to call one? On the telephone? It's like a taxi cab. Oh, well, it's the easiest thing to do. You pick up the phone and there you get right through. Now, you hold on just a minute. Sally Jo. A gentleman's here. Wants to place a little bet? A jump. 18 carats. Good. A very solid individual.

Morris? Oh, yes, thank you. Uh, hello? With whom am I speaking? Just say your piece. Oh, uh, there's a horse called Meyer. Running in the garden. Will $500 be all right? To win? Of course to win. What then, to lose? It's $500 on Meyer. What's your initials? Uh, Morris Goodman, M.G. Stay near that. ♪

It's for you, sugar. Answer it. Hello, Morris Goodman speaking. She run out of the money. What does that mean? I understand. You got it on you. Would I bet if I didn't? Stay there. Coming. You got my 500? What a business. How quick money changes hands. You're new, huh? You got my 500? Let me ask you a question. Yeah.

How could you prove I made such a bet? I got it written down. You write down every time somebody makes a bet with you. Don't you keep a record in your business who owes what? I got an accountant. I keep books.

What have you got? I got slips. Slips? Slips of paper. Ah. Do you deny you made the bet? Oh, no, no. I made it. Then hand over my five. Could I see my slip first? What do you want it for? A souvenir. Okay. Here. Mm-hmm. Maya 500 MG. Huh.

An expensive slip of paper? Yeah. Come on, Morris. Hand over my dough. You are under arrest, Adrian. What? Sugar. What kind of joke? It's no joke. I'm serious. You chump. Did you ring in a cop on me? Sugar, it's Morris Goodman. I am making what is known as a citizen's arrest. Any citizen is... Listen, I don't like this. Give me my dough or you're going to like it a lot less. I am arresting you for the murder of Perry Fullerton.

Hey, wait a minute. You want to be careful, Mr. Goodman? Listen, Morris, I can take a joke. You were here and you killed him. You're crazy. Vaughn says he saw both of you here. Why shouldn't he say that? It's his word against ours. We're in Atlantic City. Well, you make sure you can prove it.

Where did you stay, huh? With whom? Have you got receipts? Tickets? I think I'm going to have to take care of this junk. Don't be crazy, Hadrian. What can he prove? I can prove that this slip of paper of yours is exactly the same as the one that was found on the floor under Perry Fullerton's body. It's the exact same paper. The exact same handwriting. Yours. Oh.

I gotta kill this clown now. Lieutenant Valentine thinks it's a note Perry wrote to himself. He thinks Meyer 500 PF means personality frocks would pay him $500 for the Meyer. But this...

This is a bet slip. Your slip. P.F. is Perry Fullerton. He's too smart. Too smart. You can't kill him here. No, we'll take him someplace quiet. All right, you get moving, chump, and don't make a noise. You certainly have enough noise. Just stay close to me and shut up. Where's everybody going? Look out for him, Julio. He's no trouble. You saw Morris. We'd walk in.

What are we doing? We're making a citizen's arrest. Hey, that's far. We should do this more often. No, thanks. Once is enough for me. Lieutenant, how fast can I get Braun out? He has to get back to work. Oh, the papers won't take more than half an hour. Our false showing is less than a week away. Tell me, Mr. Goodman...

How were you able to perceive this salient fact? How could you, in the face of all this apparent evidence, believe that Bond was innocent? Well, Lieutenant, how could he mix red with pink? There must have been something else. Well, Lieutenant, there's an extensive literature written on the subject. Have you ever heard the poem that says...

Let me clasp his hand and call him friend. And I'll stand by his side till the bitter end. Who wrote that? Who do you think? Morris Goodman. This has been a story of friends. Friends who were loyal and friends who were false. Friends. They make living possible.

but also can make living impossible. The book tells us that a faithful friend is the medicine of life, and while medicines cure, they can also kill friends. For better or for worse, who can do without them? Since we cannot do without you, I shall be back in just a few moments. ♪♪

Vanity of vanity, said the preacher. All is vanity. And our story was based on one of mankind's greatest vanities, the adornment of the body. And yet, is it so sinful for a woman to wish to appear lovely? After all, isn't a well-dressed woman sweeter to look upon?

Besides, it gives gainful employment to so many people. And it has given us a subject for a tale of murder. Our cast included Arnold Stang, Norman Rose, Jackson Beck, Earl Hammond, and Joan Shea. The entire production was under the direction of Hyman Brown.

And now, a preview of our next tale. Coming from this room. Mrs. Parker! Open up. Open up in there. Break it in. Break it in. Mrs. Parker! Oh, Mrs. Parker! No. Oh, no. Open the window. Let me. Lock from the inside. Door locked on the inside, too. Key in the lock. Mrs. Parker...

Oh, let's get her to the window. Fresh air. No, no. Don't bother. She's dead. But maybe if we can get some air into her lungs... It won't cure a broken neck. Broken? You can see the way it's twisted, Miss Hall. It's broken, all right. Then she's been murdered, too. Yes, Miss James. She's been murdered, too. This is E.G. Marshall inviting you to return to our mystery theater for another adventure in the macabre.

Until next time, pleasant dreams.

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.

This podcast is sponsored by Talkspace. You know, when you're really stressed or not feeling so great about your life or about yourself, talking to someone who understands can really help. But who is that person? How do you find them? Where do you even start? Talkspace. Talkspace makes it easy to get the support you need.

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Find something that brings out the kid in you at the Lexus December to Remember sales event. Get offers on select vehicles. Lease the 2025 RX350 Premium all-wheel drive for $519 a month for 36 months with $49.99 due at signing. Experience amazing at your Lexus dealer. Call 1-800-USA-LEXUS for important lease offer and pricing details. Not all customers will qualify. Offer available in Eastern Area only in January 6, 2025. It's the Kia season of new tradition sales event. So don't just hang your own lights. Venture out.

and look for the Northern Lights, drink cocoa on the beach, or be a drive-by karaoke caroler. Because every Kia comes with a 10-year, 100,000-mile limited powertrain warranty, so you can take holidays to places they've never been. See your local Kia dealer or visit Kia.com to learn more. Kia. Movement that inspires. See Kia dealer for warranty details. Event ends 1-2-25.

It's the Kia season of new traditions sales event. So don't just hang your own lights. Venture out and look for the northern lights. Drink cocoa on the beach or be a drive-by karaoke caroler. Because every Kia comes with a 10-year, 100,000-mile limited powertrain warranty. So you can take holidays to places they've never been. See your local Kia dealer or visit Kia.com to learn more. Kia. Movement that inspires. See Kia dealer for warranty details. Event ends 1-2-25.

Call, click ranger.com or just stop by.

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It's mystery time. A real thriller titled...

Four Fatal Jugglers. Lydia! Don't go, Bob. Don't go out there to the island. I warn you. You're hysterical. It's just a haunting trick. No, not this time. It's murder. Good evening. Good evening.

This is Don Dowd, your host for Mystery Time. Back again to introduce another in ABC Radio's great Monday through Saturday lineup of mystery dramas. Every night at this time, a new and different... At one time or another, we've all fancied ourselves getting away from it all on a lonely island. But I doubt that any of us would like the kind of company we'll find tonight.

as Masters of Mystery brings us the exciting story of Four Fatal Jugglers. Come in. Oh, hello, Dave. Hello, Gordon. Come on in. Close the door. Sit down, Dave. Thank you. I'm glad you came. I wanted to talk to you. Oh? What about it?

Dave, we've been partners for ten years. Yes. I like you, and I flatter myself that you like me. Well, of course. It's just that, well, we've both had problems. With me, it's been Lydia. Well, yes, I know that. She's been insisting on a divorce. She says she's in love with someone else. So, about six months ago, when Lydia first began to talk divorce, I hired a detective. You... What's the matter, Dave?

Nothing, Gordon. Nothing's the matter. Oh, I thought... Well, here's the confession, Dave, and it's a nasty one. That detective told me that you were the man that he was in love with. Me? Of course, I knew it was impossible. Well, you're married. You have a wonderful wife, a great boy. And you're not the kind of a guy who would do his friend dirt. Well, of course not. When the detective told me, my first reaction... I'll remind that...

That's all water under the bridge. Now, wait a minute, Gordon. What do you mean, water under the bridge? If you suspect me of having anything to do with Lydia... I just told you I don't think anything of the kind. Oh, Lydia's attractive and all that, but you're my friend, Dave. You're my partner. How about a drink? Well, no. No, thanks, Gordon. Not now. Look, Dave. Yes, I'm looking.

Are we friends? Well, of course we are. Well, friends quarrel sometimes, but essentially friends agree. Now, we've been close for a long time, and I want us to stay that way. So I have an idea.

You know my place on the lake? Well, I've heard you talk about it. I'm going up there this afternoon for the weekend. Oh? Lydia's got things to do in town, and I thought it'd be a good idea for you to come along. Oh, it sounds like it might be fun. An island right smack in the middle of the lake. Complete isolation. And the ducks will be flying over this time of year. We can bring them down in dozens. Yeah, well, as I said, Gordon, it sounds fine, but I... Oh, come on. You go home now, and I'll drive by and pick you up and say...

Oh, two hours. Well, now, wait a minute. Five. How's that? Well, you don't even give a guy a chance. We can be up there by 7.30 and cook ourselves a nice dinner. Now, what do you say? Well, I guess I might as well. That's the boy, Dave. You'll love it. I give you my word, you'll never want to get off the island.

Yeah, hello? Bob, this is Gordon. Who? Gordon Penrose, your brother-in-law. What do you want? I want to have a talk with you, Bob. A good long talk. If it's got anything to do with my sister wanting a divorce, you can save your breath. I'm back over 100%. And what's more... You haven't heard my side of the story, Bob. If you'd only listen... Listen? Yeah, I'll listen.

I listen to you lie about what you did with the money in Lydia's trust fund. What do you mean? I've been checking into your handling account, or I should say your mishandling account. Why, you're nothing better than a common thief, and I'm going to see that they put you away like one. Now, Bob, please, there's a lot to explain, more than I can say over the phone. I don't think there's any reason... But I've got a suggestion to make, Bob. Well, what is it? I...

I want you to come up to my place on the island this weekend. This weekend? Yeah. My partner, Dave Copeland, he's going too, but he won't be in the way for long. Why don't we just get together in town? Oh, this way we can do some other things.

A little hunting, for instance. Hunting? For what? Well, for ducks, ostensibly. Ostensibly? Oh, did I say ostensibly? I meant obviously. Who's that? Your beloved husband.

You remember Lydia? The man you sometimes see coming and going in your apartment? Or at least one of the men. Very funny, Gordon. Just what are you doing home now? I just want to give you the good news that I'll be away this weekend. Oh, I'm on the verge of tears. Yes, I thought you would be. I'm not deserting you, however. I'm just going up to the island for the weekend with a couple of people you know. Oh, who?

Well, one of them is your dear brother, Bob. And the other, my faithful partner, Dave Copeland. Dave Copeland? Yes. We're going to have a cozy time, all three of us, sitting around the fire, a little hunting, maybe. It's going to be real cozy. Yes?

David, this is Lydia. I've just spoken to Gordon.

He told me that you're going up to the island with him. Yes, that's right. Dave, you mustn't go. You can't go up there with him. Why not? Because he hates you. All right, I hate him too. So what? But not enough to want to kill him. No? Not the way he hates you. Lydia, it's all a matter of degree, as they say. Don't you know what he means to do up there? Can't you see what he's after? I think I have a pretty good idea. He wants to go hunting. It's all a pretense. And...

Well, I'm afraid he... Dave, I can't let you go out there. If anything happened to you... All right, now, just a second, Lydia. Your concern is touching, but as I told you before, our little affair is over. Dave, I don't believe you. Look, I'm sorry, Lydia. But... But you know, I've got a family to think of, and I... I'll forget it for now. I'll be okay. You fool. Gordon once told me that if he ever wanted to commit a murder...

A hunting accident? Would be the way he'd do it. Now just calm yourself and think this thing through. Think it through? Yes, a hunting accident. A thing like that, Lydia, can work both ways.

Lydia, what in the world are you... Bob, I had to come. Now, what's up? Gordon just told me that you're going up to the island with him. That's right. Dave Copeland's coming along with him, too. I'm expecting them any minute. Bob, you can't. You can't let them go. Look, sis, I've heard that Dave Copeland has been just kidding you along. That's a lie. I hope you're right, because you're my sister.

The way I feel right now, I... Please, Bob, let's not talk about it. Then it is true. No, no, no. I don't care what's true or what isn't true. Don't let them go there. Don't let them go? Why not? Because Gordon wants to use this hunting business as an excuse, an excuse to kill someone. THE END

This way. Come on, Bob. I'm right behind you, Gordon. Come on, Dave. We're on the path here. Now, did you see the island? There. Only a hundred yards out, but really isolated. All right, now wait a minute. Is this how we get out in this rowboat?

No, not exactly. We use the canoe. Uh-huh. The rowboat belongs to some other people. Well, I can't go on a canoe. Why not? You know I can't swim. A canoe can turn over. Dave, I'm a good swimmer. You don't have to be afraid of a thing. There we are. Feels good, man.

You guys throw away your stuff and I'll fix up something to eat. Hey, it's a good idea. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse. How about you, Dave? Yeah, yeah, sure. But say, let me rustle up the group. Oh, let's make that my job now. What do you say? You guys haven't ever had any of my cooking.

I'll make you some grub that you'll never forget. I'm the best bachelor cook you ever saw. Now, I'll handle the skillet. Now, look, I've had ten years watching my wife in the kitchen. I'd like to see what I learned. Uh-uh. No experimenting on us. Not with me. I'm the host, and it's only fair that I should labor over this kerosene stove. I don't see why you should. Boy, you guys are really casting a horrible reflection on my cooking. The way you act, you'd think you're afraid you couldn't survive it. Hey!

Dave, come on outside a minute, will you? What for? I want to talk to you.

Come on. Okay. All right, Bob, look, I think I know what's on your mind. You think so? Yes. You want to form a defensive alliance against Gordon, don't you? You feel the way I do. That Gordon has some reason in bringing us up here.

I don't know what he has against me except that he's a strange guy. But I do know that you're Lydia's brother. And perhaps he blames you for the divorce. Sure. If he doesn't blame you, that is. What do you mean? Skip it, Dave. I know you've been going around with my sister. Now, wait a minute. Now, don't bother to deny it. The only thing I want to know is what are you going to do about it?

Do about her? What do you expect me to do? She's getting a divorce. She's setting herself free. All right, now... What about you? Bob, I don't see where this is any of your business. I'm aware of all that. I'm a few years older than Lydia. I've been taking care of my sister for quite some time. What is that? She's giving up a lot because she thinks she loves you. What about you? I don't have to discuss this with you. All right, I think you've made yourself clear. Well, I'm... I'm going to turn in soon.

I'd like to be kind of fresh, steady when we go hunting tomorrow. Dave. Huh? Dave. Who's that?

Lydia! Dave, I had to come. I had to stop you. Stop me? From getting killed. I rented a car and drove up here. There was a rowboat at the end. All right, all right. Now, wait a minute, wait a minute. Let's get a little further away from the cabin. All right. Come down over here. All right, now listen. You just take that rowboat and get off this island. Dave, no, I can't. I won't go unless you come with me. Will you? And if you love me. I don't love you. Dave! I thought I made that pretty clear.

I have been a fool, haven't I? You were just a little bored with your marriage. All right, so were you. And so we got together. But why does it have to be blown up into some great Shakespearean tragedy? And why can't we just let the whole thing be finished over? Because I'm in love with you, that's why. Oh, love. Nonsense. And why can't we just be friends? Friends? You don't know me, Dave. You never have. But you were always so concerned with yourself. No, I...

I'm going to make you as unhappy as you're making me at this moment. You sound like something out of a cheap novel. Cheap? I'm going to make you look cheap. I'm going to make you so miserable. Good evening, Lydia. Gordon. Don't stop on my account. Go on. I like to hear lovers quarrel. Well, go on, Lydia. Tell him the rest.

Tell him you'll make him wish you'd never been born. Gordon, listen. Shut up, my dear devoted friend. Go on, my beloved wife. Finish your farewell address. He mustn't let me interrupt you. I never have, till now. Oh, how I hate you, Gordon. I hate all of you. What the deuce is going on? Lydia, your sister decided to pay us a little visit.

Very thoughtful of her. Lydia, I don't know why you've come here, but I want you to go back to the city now, as soon as possible. No, I'm not going. And quite right you are, my dear. We'll put you up in the bunk room. Bob and Dave and I can sleep in the main room. Your being here with us might enliven what might possibly be a rather dull weekend. Oh, yes, Lydia. Yes.

Now that I think of it, I'm very glad you came. Time clock. Time clock.

Look, I'll say, you guys. Wake up. Come on, come on, get up. Come on, Dave. Oh, come on. You'll feel better in a few minutes. Huh? You want to bag a few ducks, don't you? Oh, yeah, okay. Come on, Bob. Off and on them. Oh, I am as stiff as a board. You've got a fine, exciting day ahead of you. You don't want to miss any of it. That's right, I don't.

Say, what time is it? Five o'clock. Oh, no. I'm going to get Lydia up. What for? I want to get her out of here. Oh, you can do that when we come back from hunting. No, I want to get her out of here now. Lydia? Lydia? Better let her sleep. Lydia? Lydia? Lydia?

Lydia! She's dead. My... My sister's dead. She's knifed right through the back. She must have been sleeping. Yes, you ought to know. What do you mean by that? That's your knife, isn't it? Of course it's my knife. But don't be absurd. I didn't kill her. Bob, you don't think I killed her. No, didn't you? No. No, I swear it. Why should I? Why? Why?

All right. I know what you're both thinking. No, you don't. I'm going for the police. You stay here with her. I'll go across the lake. Oh, no, you won't. You think we're going to let you make a getaway? I'm not trying to make a getaway. One of the two of you killed her. You stay just where you are, Gordon. Where did you get that revolver? I brought it up with me, just in case. I'm going for the police.

If you want to come with me, fine. If not, stay here. You know I can't swim. You know I can't go in that canoe with you. Well, there's the rowboat. I'm going. You come back, Gordon. I warn you. Bob? Bob, you saw? He was trying to get away? Yes, I saw it. We'd better get out of here, off this island. We'll have to go to the police. Now, wait a minute. You'll back me up? You'll tell them just what happened? You can depend on me.

I'll let them know everything. That's funny. Lydia must have taken the rowboat at the landing to get here, but it's gone. She might have had someone row her... No, no, there it is. Where? Floating out there. See it near the other shore? Must have gotten loose. We'll have to use the commando. Bob, couldn't you...

Couldn't you swim out and get the rowboat? Waste all that time? Now, look, you just get up in front in the bow and sit steady. Now, will you be open, Kay? I'll just hurry. All right, all right. You okay? Yeah. You're okay. Go ahead, push off. All right.

Bob? I had to shoot him. You know that. Of course you had to. Might have done the same thing if I'd been you. Yeah, sure you would. He was getting away. To call the police. Yeah, that's what he said. Can't you just imagine him calling the police after... After what? Well, after he killed her. But he didn't kill her. What? I said he didn't kill her. What?

Well, that means that you did. Oh, no. No, it means that you did. You're kidding, aren't you? About my sister's murder? No.

No, you got up in the middle of the night while we were sleeping. Well, it was easy to take Gordon's knife. Uh-huh. Well, I, uh, I see you still have the revolver. Yes, yes, I have, and I wouldn't miss it about eight feet. Funny you hold it in your left hand. What's funny? I'm left-handed.

That's a silly thing to be talking about at a time like this. Not so silly. You see, Lydia's bed was against the wall. The murderer had to stand on the right side of it. Now, if a right-handed man had stabbed her, the blade would have pointed up toward her head. But a left-handed man, remember, the blade was pointing down toward her feet. Oh, very neat. And you figured it out all by yourself, didn't you? Well, you're not going to be able to tell anyone else. You're not going to shoot her. Oh, you think not, huh? No. No, you can't.

Because if you shoot me, I'll topple over. I'll capsize the canoe. And you can't swim. You don't want to drown, do you, Dave? It's a pretty horrible way of dying. Come on, give me the gun. Just throw it in the bottom. I'm going to rock the canoe, Dave. All right, watch it. If you don't throw the gun by the time I count five, I'm going to turn it over. Watch what you're doing. One. Put it out.

Two... All right, Bob, now cut it out. You're wrong. Three... It's going to go, Dave. Cut it out. You're going to be drowned. All right, please, for goodness sake, will you stop? Four... This is it. Come on, throw me the gun. Throw me the gun. All right, all right. That's it. That's it. That's showing good sense. Now... A few more strokes and you'll be ashore. All right.

Get out. Go on. Get out. Look. Listen to me, Bob. You've got to take my word. Just keep quiet. I'm not interested. You know, you had me scared out there. Yes, sir.

Scared? Yeah. I thought I'd never live to see you burn for killing Lydia and Gordon. Huh? I bluffed you, Dave. You bluffed me? When I rocked the canoe. You see, I don't know how to swim either. Oh.

It's the Kia season of new traditions sales event. So don't just hang your own lights. Venture out and look for the northern lights. Drink cocoa on the beach or be a drive-by karaoke caroler. Because every Kia comes with a 10-year, 100,000-mile limited powertrain warranty. So you can take holidays to places they've never been. See your local Kia dealer or visit Kia.com to learn more. Kia, movement that inspires. See Kia dealer for warranty details. Event ends 1-2-25.

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Strange Adventureland.

It was winter, and in the north, ice and snow choked the road. But in the desert north of Tucson, Arizona, it was hot. John Williams, writer and soldier of fortune, wiped the perspiration from his brow and shifted in his saddle. He came to the top of a rise and halted. Below him, he could see the little camp he had been riding all day to reach. As he rode down the hill, a man came out of one of the tents to meet him. He was a man of great strength.

It was his old friend, Lieutenant Asa Woods, in charge of a surveying party for the Boundary Commission. Ah, it's good to see you, John. Glad you decided to join us. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. After so long in town, I've got to get out where there's plenty of fresh air. You got here just in time, too. There's going to be a total eclipse of the moon in a little while. You can help set up the instruments. I'd be glad to, Asa.

That afternoon, the men mounted the large telescope on a small hill near the camp. There were many of the superstitious and sometimes hostile Pima Indians about, and they flocked to watch the strange goings-on of the white men. One of them, a minor chief by his dress, approached Williams. What white men do? He pointed a finger at Woods, who was busily lining up the telescope. Williams smiled, seeing a chance to play a joke on the Indians.

Well, this is a very powerful cannon. It's big medicine, Chief. We're going to shoot the moon. The Indian wore a puzzled expression as he stepped back among his fellows. Asa Woods adjusted the telescope and took his place at the eyepiece, waiting for the eclipse of the moon to begin. Everyone was deeply attentive. The Indians looked on, wondering at the magic of the white men.

The disk of the moon began to grow smaller. The Indian that Williams had spoken to began to talk to those around him, and they in turn passed his words along to the others. Suddenly, as if by a signal, the whole mass of Indians began to shout and dance about, waving their arms and pointing to the moon. The moon continued to disappear. Williams became alarmed. Woods had taken no notice of the noise. Now he turned from the telescope. John! John!

Tell the Indians not to be afraid, will you? The eclipse will soon be over and their moon god will be restored to them. But I can't. I've already told them that we were shooting the moon. I had no idea they'd act like this. As William spoke, an arrow thudded into the ground beside him, the feathered end quivering. The

The Indians were advancing, brandishing their weapons, bent on destroying these white men who had dared to attack their moon god. Do something, Woods. Do something, will you? Do something before these crazy Indians kill us all.

Without a moment's hesitation, Woods stepped out before the frenzied Indians with upheld palm. White man, big medicine! White man, bring Moongod back to life! Look! And the moan again came into sight. The angry shouts of the Indians changed to joy, and they fell upon their knees in homage to the white men's medicine. John Williams and Asa Woods, their arms about each other for support, headed for Tucson.

This is Pat McGeehan saying goodbye from my writer, Charles Crowder, and inviting you to listen again to another tale of Strange Adventure. I give scratchers to my boss and I give scratchers to my wife. I give Virginia Lottery holiday games to every adult in my life. I play the New Year's Millionaire Raffle and online games just for me. It's always a season of fun when you give and play the Virginia Lottery.

I give scratchers to my boss and I give scratchers to my wife. I give Virginia Lottery holiday games to every adult in my life. I play the New Year's Millionaire Raffle and online games just for me. It's always a season of fun when you give and play the Virginia Lottery. I give scratchers to my boss and I give scratchers to my wife. I give Virginia Lottery holiday games to every adult in my life. I play the New Year's Millionaire Raffle and online games just for me. It's always a season of fun when you give and play the Virginia Lottery.

I give scratchers to my boss and I give scratchers to my wife. I give Virginia Lottery holiday games to every adult in my life. I play the New Year's Millionaire Raffle and online games just for me. It's always a season of fun when you give and play the Virginia Lottery.

I give scratchers to my boss and I give scratchers to my wife. I give Virginia Lottery holiday games to every adult in my life. I give scratchers to my yoga instructor, my mailman, and my friends. With the lottery's New Year's millionaire raffle, the possibilities never end. And when I need some time alone to keep from going insane, I open up the lottery app and play the holiday online games. The best way to bring joy all season long and be a gifting MVP is giving holiday games from the Virginia Lottery.

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, coworkers, neighbors, and others know about the podcast is incredibly valuable to me, my bride Robin, and our cat, Ms. 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 Marler Manor, thank you, and Merry Christmas. After all, if you haven't seen your husband in weeks, and then he takes you to your favorite bar to drink champagne, you certainly don't want anyone joining the party, especially if they've just been murdered.

The National Broadcasting Company presents The Adventures of the Abbots, starring Claudia Morgan and Les Damon as Pat and Jean Abbott, those popular characters of detective fiction created by Francis Crane. NBC invites you to join Pat and Jean each week at this time for an exciting recorded adventure in romance and crime. Our guest star in tonight's story is Miss Sherry Britton, making her second dramatic appearance in The Adventures of the Abbots.

Now here is Jean Abbott to set the stage for tonight's puzzle in murder. A story she calls The Pink Elephant. I hadn't seen Pat for two whole miserable, lonesome weeks.

So when he came home, we thought we'd celebrate. There's a cute little cocktail lounge near Pat's office called the Pink Elephant. It was a pet spot of ours, especially because our pal Sammy Page could be found there every night playing the piano, playing that fabulous lazy blues of his. So Pat and I went to the Pink Elephant. We didn't find out about it until later, but while we were having our first cocktail, a little discussion was taking place in the office of a friend of ours.

Gil McIntyre, managing editor of The Register. Gil was at his desk when he looked up and saw he had a visitor. Hiya, Gil boy. I haven't seen you in a long time. I thought you'd just never forgive me if I didn't drop in and say hello. I could have gotten along without it, Louie. Mind if I close the door? It's more cozy.

Especially for two old pals like you and me. Go ahead, close it. Then speak your little piece, whatever it is, and blow. How you doing these days, Gil? Still the fearless newspaper man? Saving humanity and, by a strange coincidence, running up the circulation of the paper at the same time? Don't get all hopped up, Louie. You've just come out of jail. Everybody feels the way you do when they first get out. Just take it easy or you'll flip. I ain't hopped. It's very simple.

What is? You sent me to the clink for eight years. So now? Yeah, so now. Now I'm gonna blow your stinking head off. That's nice and simple, isn't it? Oh, I'm not gonna do it now, Gil. I'm not that crazy. I'm gonna do it when I feel like it. Maybe tonight. Maybe next week. Next month. Next year. I want you to sweat a while. You can't have a cup with you forever. There'll be a minute, a day, a spot. I'll get a break.

Call the cops if you want to. Tell them about the threat. How long will they protect you? And how well. While Gil was facing Louie, Pat and I were our regular table at the Pink Elephant in a small back room reserved for their extra special guests.

But the door was open so we could hear Sammy Page at the piano. Pat? Yes, darling? Pat, you were in New York for two weeks on a case and you still haven't told me the most important part of it. Why? What did I leave out? Were there any luscious blonde suspects? Oh, sure. And a sensational brunette. And a redhead. And you just concentrated on the case.

Now, look, dear, didn't you tell me you couldn't come to New York with me because an old school chum was getting married? Oh, that was the truth. Yes, well, it takes just a few minutes to get married. You still had 13 days, 23 hours, and 55 minutes to yourself.

What did you do? Sit home and read the Encyclopedia Britannica? Oh, absolutely. I started with the first volume, A to Ostra. Whizzed through that. And when I was well into the middle of the second volume, that's Ostra to Calga. I got your wire. You were coming home. Oh, listen, Pat. It's like Shangri-La, isn't it?

After these two impossible weeks without you, we're together again. And Sammy's providing the perfect background music. Mm-hmm. And we've been kind of rude to Sammy, darling. We've been so busy with each other, we haven't said hello to him. Oh, you're so right, Pat.

Sammy. Hi, I see you. Pat? Hi. Let's talk to him. Maybe he'll play a few requests. Sure. Sammy, how about my favorite tune? Okay. Hmm.

I wish I could play. I can. You do? You never told me. Well, sit down here. Oh, no. She's not very good, Sammy. I'm merely terrific, that's all. Go ahead. Must you, dear? I must. My public demands it.

All right. Now that the amateur hour is over, let's hear Sammy, huh? That's a different spat. Let her go on playing. Everybody's gone home anyway. Come on, Gene. Sammy!

Sammy, I'm glad you appreciate great talent when you hear it. My husband is an illiterate, tasteless oaf who doesn't know hot piano playing when he hears it.

Okay, dear, now if you don't quit, I'm going to pick you up bodily and carry you away from that piano. Why not let her have some fun? Everybody likes to fool around at the piano. Say, I didn't know you could play, Mrs. Abbott. Oh, hi, Marion. Oh, please don't interrupt me. I'm inspired tonight. Gil, will you marry him? No, he's still at the paper. Told me to meet him here, but I guess he's stuck. Well, I'm going home.

Sammy, if Gil comes in later, ask him to call me in the morning, will you? If you want to give him a message, give it to him yourself. Well, what's burning you? I just asked a favor. Oh, I'll tell Gil, Marion. Oh, thanks. Bye now. Oh, Sammy, you take over. I've given my all and I'm exhausted. Okay, Mrs. Abbott. Sammy, what's wrong? You and Marion have another scrap? No, just can't stand that girl, that's all.

You know, Mrs. Abbott, first time she came in here, she was a very sweet kid. That was a couple of years ago. Tonight, she breezed in, socked away five double scotches, dresses like a moth, smears that junk on her face, wisecracks with everybody. Maybe she's just growing up. Lots of young girls try to be glamorous when they're her age and just succeed in being foolish. How old is she, anyway? Twenty. Twenty? Well,

Well, Jean is right. That accounts for it. Pat. Pat. Oh, Gil! Gil, you missed my recital at the piano. You put the newspaper to bed, Gil? Marion was just here. Pat, never mind that, please. Come over here to this corner. I have to talk to you right away. Something's happened. Oh, sure, sure. Excuse us. Go right ahead, Mr. Ray. Well, what is it, Gil? Pat, Louie Canedo's in town. He just got out of jail.

He came to my office and he said he's going to kill me. Gil was deadly pale. He kept mopping his brow with his handkerchief. I had to hold a match for him. He couldn't light his own cigarette because his hands were trembling so much. I thought he'd collapse. We sat at the table in the back room and he told us the whole story of how Louie had threatened to murder him.

I put up a front, Pat. I acted tough, like it meant nothing. But I had plenty of butterflies in my stomach. Louie said I'd sweat blood, and he's right. Have you got any idea what it's like to be in this spot? When someone's told you that they'll kill you somehow, somewhere, someday, it could be a year from now, three years, who knows? But when it's hanging over you like that, Pat... What did he mean by saying you sent him to prison? That's just a neurotic exaggeration on his part.

I didn't do it directly at all. I wrote a series of exposés for the paper about Louie and his mob. He had big money. He was trying to expand. He owned half a dozen rackets in the States and he was trying to set up a kind of a cartel internationally. He had tie-ups with some of the biggest black marketeers and phonies in Europe and South America. He had a finger in fake uranium promotion in Canada. He had men working for him in Shanghai, Macau, Cairo...

Well, the DA's office read my articles, and the public got all hopped up. There was pressure to crack down on Louie, so they did. And he ended up behind bars. But you were just doing your job, Gil. You didn't double-cross him or prosecute him. Lots of papers write about racketeering. I know, but that isn't the way Louie looks at it. He blames the whole thing on me, personally. He has nothing against the DA or the judge. Just me. I'm the patsy. He wasn't just talking either, Pat. He'll do it. One of his hoods will. His hoods might. I know the technique. They bring a stranger from a thousand miles away...

Gets into an elevator with you, and better yet, spots you from a passing car, fires the shot, beats it, and they ship him back where he came from. No connection with you. The cops draw a complete blank. One of these mornings they'll do it, Pat. Can you help me?

You've got to, Pat. You've got to think of something. All right, now, now, now, now. First thing to do is to calm down. I can't stop thinking about it. I won't be able to work. I won't be able to sleep tonight. I... Telephone for you, Mr. McIntyre. That's Louie. To ride me again, Albert. The office knows I'm here. They might have told him. Don't get so head up, Mr. McIntyre. It isn't Louie. It's just your office. Oh, thanks, Sammy.

Pardon me, Pat. Gene, I'll be right back. Yes, go ahead. All right, Gil. Careful. Don't trip out here, Mr. McIntyre. The boss turned out most of the lights since everybody's gone. I'll be careful, Sammy. Phone booth's in the far corner. Yes, yes, I know. Do you know Louie Canedo when you see him? Louie Canedo? Yeah. I didn't think I'd remember him, huh?

I'll tell you if I see him around. All right. He won't have to tell you anything, Gil. Louie. I told you you'd get awful nervous, Gil. Louie, get out of here. I told Pat Abbott about you threatening me. If anything happens to me, you're the first guy they'll pick up. You're a two-time loser, Louie. You've got a bad record. They'll nail you for it in a minute. You'll get the chair, you screwball. Sure. But they'll have to find me first. That might be awful tough. And you wouldn't know the difference.

You'll be in a coffin. Cut out that kind of talk, Louie, and beat it. Easy, Gil. You'll blow your stack. I can't stand this, Louie. I tell you, I can't. Gil, Gil, what happened? Pat, Pat, is Gil all right? Gil's all right, Jean. Louie is dead. Louie's body was sprawled on the floor of the pink elephant.

I was horrified and quite surprised at the turn of events. Gil was babbling hysterically to Pat, who kept walking around, touching this, examining that, thinking... Pat, I didn't kill him, sir. Help me. I didn't kill him, Pat. It's odd. I don't see a gun around here anywhere. What did you say happened? I was just standing there talking to Louie. Suddenly I heard shots and Louie fell down. You see what happened, Sammy? No, sir.

Well, neither did we. The door to that back room was closed. Well, I was sitting at the piano playing at them. Didn't you hear me in the other room? Oh, yes, yes, we did. I heard an argument between Mr. McIntyre and Louie, and then I heard the shots. Mm-hmm. What direction did they come from? I couldn't say. I was so surprised and scared. I don't know. Well, the front door isn't locked. Could the shots have come from the street? Oh, yeah, sure. I got... Well, I can't say exactly where they came from. I don't know. Um...

Does Marion live far from here? Anybody know? Not far, Pat. Gil, which way were you facing? Toward the street? No. Toward the telephone booth. It was very dark. All I could make out was Louie standing there. Pat, I tell you, I didn't do it. Yeah. Well, it isn't going to be easy to sell that story to the police, Gil. Who did kill Louie? The little man who wasn't there? You and Louie had quite a feud going on between you.

He's lying there dead. You're standing in front of him. How does that look to you? I know, I know, Pat. I know all about it. Five will get you ten. Any jury in the world puts the rap on you. Look, Pat, you're a detective. There must be something you can do, something to help me. Yes, I'm going to do it right now. What is it? I'm going to call the police. The police got nowhere. They never found the gun. They shot pictures, made maps, and took us to headquarters for questioning.

Finally, they let everybody go. A sharp lawyer from the register got Gil out on bail. Gil's reputation and pull were powerful enough to spring him for a while. He began to feel better. He knew that so far the police had nothing on him, and he began to feel there was some hope. The case against him was slightly the side of circumstantial. Then at the Pink Elephant one night, Pat and I were at our table with Marion, Gil's girlfriend.

Sammy, as always, was at his piano. Waiting for Gil again, Marion? Uh-huh. He's awfully late tonight, too. I can't imagine where he is. Tell me, Marion. Yes, Sammy. Haven't you anything better to do than to sit around bars all night waiting for Gil? And what business is it of yours? You poor kid.

You think it's clever to put that goo on your face and smoke three packs a day and drink liquor like it was water. Then you end up in a mess much too big to handle. You can call me a reformer or a blue-nose or a square, but I don't dig it. I think it's a shame. I hate to see kids like Marion in these joints all hours. No, no, Sammy, take it easy. Marion's a decent, bright girl. She can handle herself.

Don't you start lecturing the Pink Elephant's clientele on the subject of morals. It's okay, Mr. Abbott. I just sound off about it now and then. This juvenile delinquency business is a bloody heart-breaking thing, you know? Yes, of course it is. But all youngsters aren't that way, Sammy. Well, she just wants to have a normal girl's fun, going out, dating. Is it fun for a girl like Marion to be running around till four o'clock in the morning? Oh, come on, Sammy, knock it off. You're an old nuisance sometimes, you know. Kids didn't act that way back in my time.

I knew you when you were a decent kid. I don't know what's happened to you. I like what's happened to me. I think I'm doing very nicely. Jean, let's go outside and get some fresh air, huh? Leave these two to their arguments. Excuse us, Marion, Sammy. See you later. I don't see why it should bother you. Come on, Jean, walk faster. I want to get away from here. Where are we going, dear? I've only got one suspect, Gil McIntyre. I haven't really done a job on him.

I'm going to give him a fancy workout. Pat and I took a cab to the office at the register. It was deserted at 3 a.m., being an afternoon paper. We sneaked past the night watchman and tiptoed down the hall toward the newsroom. Shh. Quietly, Jean. Quietly. I thought you wanted to see Gil McIntyre. He isn't here. Nobody's here. That's right. Makes what I wanted to do much simpler.

Well, what did you want to do, dear? Well, you have the most irritating habit of talking riddles at the most crucial moments. Never mind. Can you find the light switch? Of course not. Remember me, the gal who always stubs her toe at night looking for the light switch? I never found one in my life. Okay. I'll light a match. There's Gil's desk over there. Come on. Very quietly. Easy. I still don't see what you're up to. Jean, there have been a lot of angles to Gil's background that he's been awfully vague about. I came here to see if he'd enlighten me.

But this way, it's so much easier. Now, you light another match, and I'll open this drawer on his desk. Good. Now, you got a nail file? Uh-huh. Wait a second. Here. All right. Now, this won't be tough. These desk locks are child's play. Oh, for you, Houdini, sure. Sure. Shows you how study pays off. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Remember all those nights I used to spend talking with that old locksmith we met in New England? One more second.

There we are. You looking for the gun that killed Louie? Don't heckle me. Be quiet. Light me another match. Hurry, Pat. The watchman may come around. These are interesting. These papers clear up a little something about Gil I wasn't too sure about. What are they? That cartel of Louie Canedo. The one Gil was supposed to have broken up for the sake of crusading journalism or what have you. That seems to have been reorganized.

Looks like Gil runs it himself. Gil took over Louie's racket? Yes, with minor variations. That's why he exposed Louie, I guess. He wanted the money for himself. Wanted Louie out of the way. Well, no wonder Louie hated him. I always thought Gil was such a darling. Oh, just a second. Looks like Gil didn't keep the whole deal to himself. Here's a piece of paper signed by Marion. I'll bet he gave her some stock on one of those phony corporations the boys have. Yeah, she said, I'm doing very nicely, remember? She dresses expensively, lots of jewelry...

How about a perfume? Oh, costs a fortune. Uh-huh. Sure, that's what Gil must have done. She's a very smart apple, this apparently innocent youngster. She... Oh! Must I hold matches for you? What kind of a detective are you without a flashlight? Oh, all right, I'll light my own. Now, this is my last one. I'll have to work fast. Might be even more papers in here in the pigeonholes. These old-fashioned desks. Well, I'll roll the top back. Never let it be said that Mother's little helper, Pat...

Look. What? What is it? On the floor, dripping, dripping down from inside here. Is that blood? You better let me roll back this top. Stand away. It's Gil. Is he dead? Wait a minute.

Yeah. Someone took a copy spike and drove it right through his head. Oh, Pat, I feel dizzy. Steady, darling, steady. Just sit down. No, no, no. Come on. We're going back to the pink elephant. The body, dear. We can't just leave it. Yes, we have to. Now, no one must know about this. Not for just a few minutes. It gives me the margin of time I need. Now, don't say a word about this to anyone. Watch yourself very carefully. Not even a little slip that would indicate we've been anywhere near this office.

I want to see if Marion has any ideas about why Gil is late for his date. And I want us a little trapped, too. Now, remember, and don't be grim either, just be your usual gay self. Everything depends on our getting away with this as though nothing in the world had ever happened.

Enjoy your stroll, Mr. Abbott? Yeah, very refreshing, Marion. The smoke in these places and the liquor fumes bother me. Oh, my boy spent too much time on those western prairies. Big outdoors, man. Feels all confined with us city folk.

You haven't seen Gil anywhere, have you? No. I wonder what happened. He said he'd be here at 2.30 and it's almost sunrise. Well, Marion, don't fret. Just relax and listen to Sammy. That Sammy's got to teach me to play like that. I will, Mrs. Abbott. Anytime.

All I know is that one crummy tune. Well, anyone want to hear it? Well, there she goes, the fearless type. Please, Mrs. Avila. It makes me nervous when people touch my piano. Just a whim of mine. If you don't mind. Okay, Sammy, I know how you feel. It's tuned just the way you like it. Sort of like your own baby. I won't bother you. Oh, go on, Jean. Play that crummy tune. Do I hear you correctly? You do. I want you to play it for us. Right now.

Go ahead. But, Mr. Abbott, I... Sammy just told you that. I said play the piano this minute, Jean. Now, get away from the piano, Sammy, and let my wife play it. You heard me. Everybody heard me. Pat, are you serious? What poor... What's got into you? I've never been more serious in my life.

There's nothing I want to see so much as you sitting at that piano. And don't lose any time. Gosh, everybody's gone screwy tonight. Mr. Abbott, I just... Does she play the piano right now, Sammy, or do I shove you away from there and put her on that piano stool myself? Oh, okay, you asked for it. Ladies and gentlemen, a special arrangement by Gene Abbott. At the request of my silly husband, who thinks it's entertaining. THE END

Sammy, you got a cigarette or something stuck in the back of the piano? Sammy, I asked you... Go ahead, Sammy. Go back to the piano and take out the gun. The gun? All right, Mr. Rabbit. As you say. Here it is. Thanks, I'll take it. But, Pat, I... Well, whose gun is that? It's Sammy's. It's the one he used to kill Louis Canedo. That right, Sammy? Well, come on, Sammy. You haven't got a prayer.

Okay. Yes. It's the gun I used to kill Louie. The gun you used? Sammy, you killed... We found Gil's body, Sammy, where you left it. Inside the roll-top desk. Gil's body? Is Gil dead? Is Gil dead? Yes, he is. We found him stabbed to death a few minutes ago. Oh, no, no. I won't believe it. Oh, Gil. Take it easy, Marring. Easy, child, easy. I think I got the whole picture, Sammy. Except for why you did this.

The motivation's been puzzling me. Somebody had to pay Gil off for what he did to my Marion. Your Marion? You'd have done it, Mrs. Abbott, if she were your daughter. Oh, Sammy, we never knew. She wanted me to keep it quiet. I was ashamed, Mr. Abbott. I didn't want anyone to know my father played the piano in a bar room.

Oh, I guess it was terribly unfair, but you have to realize what kind of life we've had. Always on the road, always my father working in grimy little joints to make the rent money. I was desperate. I had to get out of the rut. I wanted to have money mixed with the right people. I couldn't let anyone know. When you see a man take your own daughter and change her from the girl you've loved and raised and worked for, the girl who was your whole life, and that man turns her into a piece of cheap trash...

You figure your own life isn't worth much. If you can get rid of him and straighten her out, you wouldn't listen, Marion. You just wouldn't listen to me, child. It got worse and worse. It was driving me crazy. Oh, I know. But was it right? You always told me to play percentages. Now what have you won? What have we got now, you and I? THE END

Pat turned Sammy over to the police, although Pat wasn't too happy about it. There's a kind of satisfaction in nailing a professional killer or an oily swindler. But sometimes this private detective work hurts you personally. When it means taking a misfit who got his signals mixed and committed a crime of passion. We promised Sammy we'd keep an eye on Marion and try to straighten her out.

It was sunrise when Pat and I walked slowly home through the streets of San Francisco. Deserted except for the very distant sound down at the waterfront of the fishing boats plying back and forth on the bay. Okay, darling, I know what bothers you. What bothers me, pal, is how you knew the gun was in the piano. Well, you see, the first time you tried to play Sammy's piano, he was not only happy to let you do it, but he said he liked having anyone play it.

Well, when we came back from the register office, he suddenly wouldn't let you touch it. I had to drag him away from it. That made me curious. I began thinking, what could be wrong with the piano? A cigarette or some sheet music stuck in the keys? No. No, he wouldn't raise the dickens about that. What's the one important clue that's been missing? The gun, dear, the gun. So I insisted you play.

Sammy knew what part of the strings and back of the piano were covered by the gun. You didn't. He knew which keys to avoid, but he was afraid you'd strike the wrong ones. But why did Sammy kill Louie and not Gil? Sammy must have had the gun with him for weeks, planning to murder Gil. That night when we were in the back room with the door closed and the pink elephant was empty, Sammy had his chance. But he got smart very quickly. He'd overheard the feud between Louie and Gil, so he decided to switch and kill Louie.

That way, Gil would get the rap and nobody would ever suspect that that friendly little piano player in the corner did it. Even if they found out that he was Marion's father. Murder once removed, we call it in the trade, dear. And the actual shooting, that was done by playing the piano with one hand. Lots of special jazz is written for one hand only. So, with his right, he must have shot Louis when the two men had their backs to him.

I suppose Gil finally guessed what had happened, and that's why Sammy had to get rid of Gil, too. Mm-hmm. At the register office last night. Uh, Pat? Yes, dear? About that other case. Hmm? The one you finished in New York before we went to the Pink Elephant. The one you handled alone. Oh, yes. Do you still swear you weren't at all interested in the three suspects? The blonde, the brunette, or the redhead? I swear, so help me. Ha-ha.

That's why I love you, Pat. Well, of course that's why. I love you because you're such a wonderful, charming, brilliant, handsome, awful liar.

The National Broadcasting Company has presented The Adventures of the Abbots, starring Claudia Morgan and Les Damon as those popular personalities of detective fiction, Pat and Jean Abbott, created by Francis Crane. We wish to thank our guest star, Miss Sherry Britton, for her portrayal of Marion in tonight's story. Others in the cast were Mandel Kramer and Jack Abbott.

The Adventures of the Abbots was written by Howard Merrill. Original music composed and directed by Dewey Bergman. Produced by Ted Lloyd and Bernard L. Schubert. Directed and recorded by Harry Frazee. This is the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service. Appointment with Fear.

This is your storyteller, the man in black. Here again to bring you another placid evening in our far-sighted series, Appointment with Fear. This is the story of a man who commits murder and gets away with it. Does the idea shock you? Do you believe that justice must always be done?

But you and I needn't be cynics to know that justice is very seldom done in this world. Innocence flinches. Guilt is childish and bland. Innocence is imposed upon you. Guilt can compass all things, even a successful murder. And I know this because... Because... Because I was the murderer, you are?

They would hardly tell you that if you inquired at Scotland Yard. I was the victim? In Bond Street, not far from Piccadilly, there used to be an establishment, which in a less fashionable part of town would have been called a shop. On the windows, in letters as discreet as a visiting card, were the words, Charles Markham.

Antique dealer. Forty years ago, far back in Texas, this antique shop, despite deep carpets and crystal chandeliers, was a dingy place. It rustled with the ticking of a hundred clock. It was shadowed by damascened armor and the colors of tall tapestries. And late one summer night, when the shutters had long been closed on the windows,

A four-wheeler drew up at that door and the gas lit steep. That's all, cabbie. You needn't wait. Very good, miss. Good night. Good night. He must be here. He must be. I won't go back to that place. I'll kill myself first. Now, look here, old man. You needn't. Oh. I beg your pardon. And I beg yours.

I'm not the person you're expecting, am I? No, madam. As a matter of fact, I was expecting a police officer. A police officer? A merely an old friend who often drops in for a talk and a drink. You are Mr. Markham, aren't you? Yes, my name is Markham. Can I be of any service to you? I want to come in. I want to buy a present for you. Really, madam, this is hardly the time. Yes, I know it's late. It's nearly one o'clock, madam. Surely tomorrow morning. Oh, that'll be too late.

This is a special occasion. It's a birthday present. Yes, it's a birthday present, and I've got to deliver it at breakfast. And Sir George Little says this is the only place in London to buy antiques. Sir George flatters me. Won't you let me come in just for five minutes? Well, under the circumstances, madam, I think it might be managed. One moment while I put some lights on. No, please. That one little light will be enough. But you won't be able to see anything. That doesn't matter. I'll trust your judgment. Just as you like. This way, madam.

What's that? That noise? Noise? Oh, you mean the clocks, madam. There are more than a hundred clocks in this room. I'm very fond of them. Don't they get on your nerves, ticking away together like a nightmare, striking the hours together? They don't strike together. When the hour approaches, you'll hear a musical din that lasts for some time. Might I interest you in perhaps a clock? No. No.

I hate them. Well, all the same, this grandfather clock might amuse you. What about it? Observe the signature. Johannes Carver. Londini, Fiset, Anno Domini, 1752. You could see better, madam, if you raise that veil. I'll keep my veil down. Just as you please. But look at the clock. I open the glass. I open the glass face. Like this.

I pushed the second hand forward, like this. What was that voice? Only the clock, madam. Nothing more. What spoke? Clever, isn't it? A device of old John Carver, anticipating Mr. Edison's grammar full by more than a hundred years. But you don't like clocks. No. May I ask whether the present is for a lady or for a gentleman? It's for a man. Has he some knowledge of antiques? No. Yes, I mean, he... Oh.

Furniture, perhaps. Porcelain, bronzes, tapestry. Weapons. He might be very much interested in weapons. Yes. Then I imagine his name is Mr. Ronald Gilbert. Will you tell me, Miss Ray, why you really came here tonight? So you know who I am. Naturally. You're Miss Judith Ray. Why did you come here? I wanted to see what sort of man you actually were. Have you found out? No.

go back to prison. I won't. Since this is to be a business conference, Miss Ray, and I imagine it is. Yes. Then suppose we go into my office here at the back of the shop. Will you precede me? Thank you. You must excuse the dust covers I put on the chairs here. I'm leaving for holiday tomorrow and the shop will be closed. When I return next week, Miss Ray, I shall expect the amount requested.

In cash, of course. But I can't raise 2,000 pounds. You ought to know that. Your fiancé could raise the money, I imagine. Ron? Do you think I'd have Ron know where I've been and what I've been? It's better than having his father know. Surely. Sit down, Miss Ray. I'd rather stand. Thank you.

No, no. That's a very foolish gesture. But the ladies will do it. They think it gives them dignity and shows their disdain of the poor blackmailer. Oh, you see, I make no bones. I am a blackmailer. You seem rather proud of yourself. Why not? It's the one... I'm the one person in England, perhaps in the world, who has made it a large-scale business. Congratulations. After all, what is life but blackmail? The trial says...

If you don't give me that, I'll scream. The grown woman says, if you go on behaving like this, I'll leave you. Your sex, Miss Ray, are blackmailers from the cradle. You know Charles Markham. Well? I wonder if anybody has ever hurt you, babe. Hurt me?

What do you mean? When you talk about the world and people in general, your face goes right under the eyes. You pick up that letter opener from the desk. Oh, not a letter opener, Miss Ray. A medici dagger, 16th century work. It isn't the money that really interests you, is it?

You hate the world. You want to torture people as you think you've been tortured. Isn't that so? This is a very sharp dagger, Miss Ray. If I throw it down on the desk, it sticks. Like that. Isn't it so, Charles Markham? My motives, Miss Ray, aren't in question. I wonder. Whereas your motives are. Now let me see.

Ten years ago in 1894, a certain girl called Lettie Wilson, your real name I believe, fell in love with a rather contemptible underworld character named Arthur Aker. Please. No humiliation was too great for her. She worked for him, lied for him, stole for him. I was only 18. I didn't

I didn't know what I was doing. This girl, for a very shabby theft, was sentenced to three years penal servitude at Holloway Prison. Five months later, she escapes from prison and disappears. All these years afterward, she appears in the West End as Judith Ray, fashionable milliner. Haven't I made up for it? Haven't I? No. For what mistake after ten years? That's the way of the world, my dear. I didn't create it. But...

I'm forgetting the best part of the comedy. This paragon of virtue next falls in love with Mr. Ronald Gilbert, son of Major General Sir Edmund Gilbert. Such a respectable family. No, please! Then, shall we say, two thousand pounds? Suppose I did raise the money. I...

I don't know how, but suppose I did raise it. Well? Well, what guarantee would I have you wouldn't ask for still more money? I probably shall ask for more money, Miss Ray. That's my privilege as a blackfeeder. Then I'm never going to be free of you. Is that it? Frankly, that's it. Unless I kill you, of course. What if... What if I didn't kill you? People have threatened that before, but...

They haven't meant it. Maybe I mean it. Well, we can easily test you out. There's a sharp knife stuck in the desk in front of you. I'm going to get up and deliberately turn my back on you like this. Be careful, Charles Markham. As a student of human nature, I'm curious. How much will you risk to keep this secret? Have you the courage to kill and risk hiding? Yes, I...

I think I have. Look out, you fool! What was that? Aren't you glad? Aren't you glad you held back at the last moment, Miss Ray? I did. What was that? That, my dear, was the front door bell. Probably my friend, Inspector Ross from Wigmore Street Police Station. Come on in, old man. The front door isn't locked.

You wanted me to attack you, didn't you? No. I was merely curious. And in any case, Miss Rape, it would be useless to kill me. Useless? Why? Because I shouldn't die. Don't talk rot. It's quite true. A man in my position must take certain precautions. If you killed me, I should be back to haunt you within half an hour. And I don't happen to be joking. Come in. Come in.

Look here, Markham, I... Ron! Good Lord. Mr. Ronald Gilbert, as I live. Ron, what are you doing here? He hasn't got anything against you, has he? Speak up, Mr. Gilbert. Have I? The fact is, Judith, I... Oh, look at him, this Ray. See how he changes color and clenches his hands and altogether resembles a boy caught at the jam cupboard. The perfect picture of a gentleman being a gentleman. Now, look here, Markham. I'm not very clever...

You can always make a fool of me when you start talking. Let's stop talking. I've brought the money. What money? Mary, my fee for keeping quiet about you. So you went wrong, too. You told him about it. Naturally. If possible, always sell your wares in two markets. How much money? Never mind, Judith. I hoped I could keep you out of this without your knowing. How much money? Three thousand. It's all I could raise. Has he told you who I am and what I've been? Listen, Judith, I don't care who you are or what you've been. I happen to be in love with you. I...

Never mind. Let's get out of here. Oh, Ron, it's no good being able to come back for more money. I know that, but what else can we do? Nothing, I'm afraid. What's that knife doing stuck in the desk? Nothing dangerous, I assure you. No? Merely a curio. I pick it up like this. I flip it down like this. And pick it up again. Miss Ray was much interested in the dagger...

May I have that envelope with the money, please? There you are. Take it. Thank you. As I explained to Miss Ray, I'm leaving tomorrow for a holiday. Hence the general disarray and the dust covers on the chairs. Before my departure, I'm glad we could settle this affair as you... as you would say, like gentlemen. Before we clear out of here, Markham, there's just one favor I'd like to ask. Of course, old man. Ask away. This is your job. I suppose you can't help being what you are, but never again, as long as you live... Well... Never even say that word, gentlemen!

Be careful, Rob. Look at his face. Tell me, Mr. Gilbert, how much money is in this envelope? You heard what I said. Three thousand pounds. Then take it back, my friend. I find we can't strike a bargain after all. What do you mean? Just what I say. Here's your money. You will now oblige me, both you and Miss Ray, by leaving my shop. What's up? What are you going to do? Tomorrow morning, perhaps even tonight...

I'm going to get in touch with the police. I shall tell them where they can find Lettie Wilson, alias Judith Ray. You can't do that, Markham. Oh, yes, he can. You pity where it hurts. Three thousand pounds, my friend, is not enough compensation for the way you talk. There's the way. Through the shop. Shall I escort you to the front door? No. You prefer to stay here and make a fool of yourself? You're not going to tell the police, Markham. I promise you that. And how are you going to stop me? With this. Son!

Put that gun away. It's a funny thing, Judith. I felt a bit of a fool bringing this revolver along. But now I've got a use for it. Oh, yes, I've got a use for it. Maybe the best thing would be to go into the street now and call a policeman. You'll never get to the street, Markham. Are you following me into the shop? Yes. So...

Both of you, it appears, came here under false pretenses. You said you wanted to pay me some money. The money's still there, but you've lost your chance to get it. And our dear Judith said she wanted to buy a present for you. I showed her this grandfather clock here. This speaking clock. Don't go a step beyond that clock, Malcolm. I warn you. Nonsense, old man. You wouldn't dare shoot. Wouldn't I? No. And I call your bluff. One step. Two steps. Oh!

I know. I know you're a whole silly tribe, my friend. You wouldn't risk it. You wouldn't. What's happening to me? Don't try to grab at the clock, Markham. It won't save you. You wouldn't risk your life. You wouldn't risk your family position. You wouldn't. Fifteen, twelve, one, fifteen. I had to do it, Judith. Don't you see? I had to do it. Did you? Is he? Yes, he's done for.

I tell you, I had to do it. Maybe he's dead, Ron. Go and look at him. He's dead, all right. Please, Ron. Go and look at him. Well? Shot through the heart. The bullet went clean through him and smashed the face of the grandfather clock. That's all I can see in this dim light. This isn't happening to us. It can't... Wait a minute. Teddy was going for a holiday. That gives us time.

It means his absence won't be noticed. The shop will be closed. Nobody will come here for days, and certainly nobody will come here tonight. What's that? The police officer. What police officer? A friend of Markham's. Inspector somebody or other from Wigmore Street. He's expected here tonight. Oh, then we're finished. No, Ron, we're not finished. You can't see anything out there. The shutters are open. The door's covered. Could you...

Could you pick up Markham and carry him? Yes, I can manage that. Why? There must be a back way out of the shop. Probably in the office. He's as heavy as a sack of meal. He seems to be looking straight at me. No. Did you see the expression in his eyes just before you... No. He seemed to be looking behind us or beyond us. He said, through the door, quick. Quick.

This police officer, Judith, he can't get into the shop, can he? Of course he can. The front door isn't locked. Or only hope is the back way. I thought I'd seen the back door. Oh, there it is. Sorry, Ron, it's locked. Isn't there a key? No. Maybe in his pocket, on a key ring. There isn't time, Ron.

I think I heard the front door open. Our visitor's coming in. I've got it. Dust covers. What? Those white cloth covers that fit over the chairs. Look at them. What on earth are you talking about? We used to play a game when we were kids. Somebody sits in a big chair. You fit the dust cover over him, and nobody can tell he's sitting there. Don't you see, Judith? That's how we can hide Markham's body. It might work if... if there's time. There's got to be time. Take the cover off that big wing chair. All right. Maybe there's a chance. I'll fit him into it. Arms along the chair arms. Feet...

Push back, put the cover back again and pull it down round his feet. Don't let it down. You can't see anything now, can you? No. Wrong. Well? What did you do with the gun? The what? The revolver, the gun you shot Markham with. The fact is, Judith, I put it down on the floor when I picked up his body. Out in that other room? Yes, I'm afraid so. It's too late now, old girl. The police are here. What are we doing? I don't know. I'll just do wits and try to brazen it out.

Yes? Come in. Good evening, Mr... Miss Ray. Good evening, Mr. Gilbert. Charles Markham. You're Charles Markham. Correct, Miss Ray, but why should that surprise you? Why do you look as though you were seeing a ghost? Because we are seeing a ghost. If you're Charles Markham, whose body... Oh, Judith, be careful. Body? Miss Ray, did you say body? Oh, Miss Ray is upset. She doesn't know what she's talking about. If you killed me...

I should be back to haunt you within half an hour. That's what you said. I tell you, Miss Ray isn't herself. She had bad news today. A relative of hers died. I've been trying to make her feel better. Oh, indeed. Did you think it would make her feel better to bring her here? I don't understand. My dear sir, you're very welcome, but the situation is surely a little odd. I come in here and find you two looking as guilty as a pair of murderers in my private office in the middle of the night.

Did you see anybody else here? There's nobody here, Mr. Markham. Not a living soul. Then you didn't by any chance meet my brother? Your... your brother? Yes. My brother, Robert. You couldn't have mistaken him if you'd seen him. He looks so much like me that few people can tell us apart. Then that's... Poor Robert often deputizes for me. He's learned to act like me, think like me, talk like me, but he... he doesn't like the work much.

He thinks, poor fellow, my profession is beneath contempt. But he acts the part and acts it well because I pay him. And I find it useful to have a double who will run risks for me. What have you done with his body? We haven't done anything with him. I see. Oh, well. In that case, all we can do is to sit down and make ourselves comfortable. Will you sit there, Mr. Gilbert? And you, Miss Ray, in that wing chair by the window.

What's wrong, Miss Ray? Why don't you sit down? Because I prefer to stand, thank you. Oh, then perhaps you won't mind if I sit in this wing chair. It's a very comfortable one. My brother always says... Don't sit down there, for the love of God, don't sit down there! Sir... Yes, that's it. It is rather a thick chair. I press against the dust cover and blood comes through.

I lift the bottom of the dust cover and... What's the use of going on with this? I killed him. You admit it? Yes, I admit it. But Judith had nothing to do with this. I swear she hadn't. My telephone, you notice, is against the wall. I shall have to turn my back to you when I ring. Ring? Where? Wigmores Peak Police Station. Then give him a chance. Please, give him a chance. Hello? Operator. I want Regent 0586. I won't let them take it.

won't. It's no good, Judith. I killed a man. I meant to kill him, and that's all there is to it. A very sensible attitude, my friend. And if the lady has any idea of flying at me with that knife, just notice what I've got here. A .32 revolver. One chamber fired. Picked up off the floor in that other room. Where... Hello? Wigmore Street Police Station. The last time, Mr. Markham, won't you give him a chance? Quiet, will

May I speak to Inspector Ross, please? Inspector Ross speaking. Isn't that Mr. Markham? Got it, little one, Inspector. Charles Markham here.

I understood you were going to drop in and see me tonight. I intended to, Mr. Markham, but I'm afraid I can't make it now. Oh, why not? Anything wrong? Only a robbery in Davis Street, but it's likely to be a long job. Sorry I can't get there. Oh, that's perfectly all right, Inspector. As July rang up to say, to make sure you wouldn't come here tonight. I've got a lot of work to do, and I'm leaving for Eastbourne early tomorrow morning. Oh, let's make it some other time, shall we? Glad to, Mr. Markham.

No crimes being committed up your way, I suppose? No, Inspector. It's as quiet as the grave. Goodbye. What are you saying? Why did you do that? Please don't excite yourself, Miss Ray. Didn't you hear what I told the Inspector? You're not doing this without a reason. Naturally not. Has it occurred to you, either of you, that I might not want my business dealings revealed in court? Stop a bit. What...

Has it also occurred to you that a man's double who looks exactly like him and shares all his secrets may become a danger rather than an asset? He knows too much, he wants too much, and so... I think I understand. You're glad he's dead. Oh, no. Not glad, my dear. You shock my brotherly feelings, but definitely relieved. Oh, then what...

You may quiet your fears, Mr. Gilbert. You may stop trembling for goodness' sake. I shall save your skins because I need to save my own. And now, while we are all in the mood, shall I show you how we can dispose of my brother's body? THE END

This, as I said before, is the story of a man who commits murder and gets away with it. Ronald Gilbert, now an old and honored man, looks back across the years and is still firmly convinced of his own gift. But of course, Ronald Gilbert never shot anybody. I was the man who committed the murder.

Don't you remember? The bullet that killed my brother is supposed to have passed through his body and smashed the face of the grandfather clock. But that's an impossibility. The face of a grandfather clock is much higher than the heart of a man. You see, two shots were fired at the very same instant. Ronald Gilbert missed and smashed the clock face. I fired from the door of the office at the rear and did not miss.

That was why my brother looked past those two. I went out by the back door, locked it, and reappeared at the front afterwards. It was not Robert Markham who died. I am Robert Markham. It was Charles who died that night. And I killed him to stop his blackmailing business forever. His records I destroyed. His correspondence I burnt.

I have assumed his name and identity ever since. Dare you say if I stood on trial for murder that you would condemn me?

The Avenger. The road to crime ends in a trap that justice sets. Crime does not pay. The Avenger.

♪♪

THE END

© BF-WATCH TV 2021

The Avengers' sworn enemy of evil is actually Jim Brandon, a famous biochemist. Through his numerous scientific experiments, Brandon perfected several inventions to aid him in his crusade against crime as the Avenger. Most remarkable of these inventions is the highly secret diffusion capsule, which cloaks him in the black light of invisibility.

Brandon's assistant, the beautiful Fern Collier, is the only one who shares his secrets and knows that he is the man the underworld fears as the Avenger. And now, the Avenger and the Hooded Circle. A group of influential businessmen have assembled a luncheon in a private dining room.

The conversation during the meal has been general, but as soon as the dishes have been cleared away, Howard Gleeson, self-appointed chairman, calls for order. Gentlemen, gentlemen, your attention, please. I know that all of you are wondering just why you were invited here. I... Oh, Benton, would you stand over there near the door, please? Don't let anyone come in here. Right, Mr. Gleeson. Now, gentlemen, I'll come straight to the point.

If you will look about you, you will see that this gathering is composed entirely of influential businessmen who have resided here in Springville for many years. The reason for that is this. You men have an investment in this town. I mean the real Springville, not the noisy honky-tonk it's become within the past few years. Now, don't you think the time has come for us to protect our homes and investments here and get rid of the grifters who are ruining our city? Just a moment, just a moment, gentlemen.

Let me have a few opinions. Bob Clifford has the floor. Well, I agree with you, Gleason. I think the situation here in Springville has become intolerable. In fact, it's reached the point where the decent citizens must drive out the riffraff or they'll drive us out. But what can we do? You can't just order these people out of town. As long as they're making money here, they'll stay. That's just it. They're within their legal rights.

But are we to stand by and let them destroy us because of that? Gentlemen, gentlemen, there is a way to handle this. If you men have the courage to adopt it. Well, what is it? I think you'll find us willing to cooperate. All right. Here's the blacklist. Let's see if we agree on that first. Number one, Ambrose Greer. I think that Greer has stepped on the toes of every man here in one way or another during the past three years. Well, let me acquaint you with his latest plans.

He is gradually buying up all that old mill property along the west fork of the river. He intends to dam up that tributary and convert its power to his mill. Now, if that happens, our hopes for a state park on that fine land are doomed. Well, he's got to be stopped, that's all. Let me continue, Clifford. Second on this list is Jarvis Payton. When timber was badly needed, he bought up that forest land beyond the lake and made a fortune chopping it.

Now he intends to ruin the entire woods in that section in order to feed more. Well, that's carrying profiteering a little bit too far. What about that Ringo Tuple who runs a gambling boat out on the river? This place is a disgrace to this community. But what's to be done about it as far as I can see? All we can do is start the ball rolling to have a few laws enacted to restrain these people. That would take too much time, hasn't it?

I have another plan, but I do not feel at liberty to discuss it here. Well, where can we discuss it, then? The utmost secrecy will be required, but I think my plan will prove quick and effective. Well, when can we hear it, Gleason? We're willing to listen. Those who are interested will meet in the deserted barn at Cronin Corners tomorrow night. I thought it might be well to adopt a plan to shield the identity of those who wish to work within this group. There is a package here for each of you. It contains a robe and hood.

Wear them tomorrow night. Otherwise, you cannot be admitted to the Hooded Circle.

I'm glad you and Fern were able to drive out here to Springville with me, Jim. Well, my inspector, that anonymous note you received interested me. Inspector, what was in that note to bring you and Jim Taring out here to Springville? Well, among other things, Fern, it contained a warning that Springville is in for a reign of terror. But isn't this outside your territory? Yes, it is. I called the Springville sheriff about it, but he's laid up, so he wants me to take over for the time being. Well, of course, Inspector, we may be out here on a wild goose chase.

And an ominous letter, nine times out of ten, is written by a crank. Now, this one's worth checking on, Jim. Where do you think we ought to begin? Drive down to the courthouse. I'll make a few inquiries of the officials there. Who's there? It's number 14, bringing in Ringo Tuple. Enter. Enter.

Is everyone here? There are two less than at the last meeting, but we'll proceed. Sit over there. Say, what kind of a deal is this? Why was I brought here? You're about to find that out, Tupple. You can remove his blindfold now, Number 14. Right. There you are, Tupple. Hey. Hey, what's the pitch here?

If you hooded guys are trying to put over a joke on me... It's no joke, Tuple. The hooded circle is here to decide your fate. Decide my fate? What are you talking about? Just this, Tuple. We find your presence here in Springville undesirable. We want you to clear out entirely or convert your gambling boat into a respectable showboat. And if I refuse...

Steps will be taken now listen. I'm a businessman if it's cut on the gambling profits You're after we can work out a deal. We don't want your money double our one and only purpose is to rid our city of riffraff and profiteers We're giving you a choice meet our requirements at once or get out. Well, I've got a big investment here I can't very well pull out and we'll expect the gambling on your boat to discontinue at once. All right, I

You got me in a tight spot, so I'll play ball. Now, I'd like to get out of here, if you don't mind. Oh, you may not be afraid, but we have no intention of harming you. After the meeting, you'll be escorted back to your boat. However, in the meantime, we have a little job for you to do. Now, listen here. I'm a gambler, not a mug. If you have any... We merely want you to shuffle these cards and deal one to each member of our circle. What for? Never mind that. Here, cards. Here.

You will note that all of the low cards have been removed in order that the number of cards equal exactly the number of hooded men gathered around you. Check the deck and tell us if the Jack of Spades is there. Yes, it's here. Then shuffle the cards and deal them. We have a mission for the man who gets the Jack of Spades. Step up, men, and form a circle. The Jack of Spades

Number 14, did you lock Tuple up in that small shed at the end of the barn? That's been done, but we'd better keep our voices down so he can't hear us. Then listen carefully, all of you. One member of this hooded circle was dealt the Jack of Spades. Only the man who received that card knows that he has it. And it is to him that I direct the following instructions. Go at night, disguised as you are now, to Ambrose Greer. Give him three days to clear out of Springville.

You may go armed for your own protection, but no violence will be sanctioned. The Hooded Circle will meet here again on Thursday night when the next assignment will be given. Good luck, Jack of Spades.

Where's the inspector, Jim? I thought he was to meet us here on the porch of the hotel. He's still out trying to trace that letter, Fern. Have you made any headway on that, Jim? No, and I'm glad we haven't. You're glad? Why? Because that means it probably was the Werther crank.

and that no reign of terror is threatening Springville. I hated to think that perhaps a group of citizens here decided to take the law into their own hands. You think that's what the letter implied? Yes. And that sort of thing, regardless of its intention, is vicious and unpatriotic.

It should have no place in a civilized society where the law of the land is the best law for an individual living under it. You're right, Jim. Oh, here comes the inspector now. And he looks as though he's swallowed a canary. Jim, we've hit on something big here. What have you found out, Inspector? Come upstairs, Jim. In ten minutes, we're going to have a very interesting visit-off. THE END

You're sure nobody saw you coming here, Tuple? No, I came in the side entrance and used the service elevator. Good. Sit over there and we'll get down to business. Thanks, Inspector. Now, uh, Tuple, repeat that story you told me to Brandon here. Well, it's like this, Mr. Brandon. I run that big gambling boat on Calla River. Last night, some guy waylays me on the dock, sticks a gun in my back and blindfolds me. Next thing I know, we're in a car driving like mad. Any idea of the direction? No, I lost all sense of that. Go ahead.

Well, anyway, in about a half an hour, I'd find myself in a big deserted barn someplace surrounded by about 20 guys in robes and hoods. They call themselves the Hooded Circle, Jim. Oh, that letter was on the level. It looks that way. Go ahead, Tubble. Well, these guys warned me to get out of town or cut out the gambling on my boat. I could see that they meant business, so I agreed to cut out the gambling. Now, get to the part about the cards, Tubble. Yeah, that was the craziest part of the whole thing.

They gave me cards to deal out to the men. And the man who got the jack of spades was elected to pull some kind of a job. What was the job? I don't know. They locked me up after that and I couldn't hear much of what was going on. You did hear something, though. Well, as far as I could make out, they had it in for somebody by the name of Spear or... Well, maybe it was Greer, some name like that. Oh. Have you any idea who that might be? No, I've been trying to figure that one out all morning, but I can't tie that tag up with anybody I know around here. Well, thank you, Tepple. You've been a great help to us.

We'll go right to work on this. For the time being, Topple, and for your own safety, you'd better not take a chance on getting in touch with us directly. But keep your ears and eyes open. I sure will, Mr. Brandon. If anything develops, suppose you telephone Miss Collier here at the hotel. Veil your message carefully. The inspector and I will figure it out. And thanks again.

That's the address, Jim. 14 West Maple Street. Well, Fern, I hope we have more luck with the Greers than we had with the Spears. Which Greer is this? Ambrose. I'm being systematic and taking them in alphabetical order. Oh, good.

Say, this is quite a pretentious looking place. Well, come on, let's take the bull by its horns. Well, according to the telephone book, this Ambrose Greer owns a whole string of sawmills. Well, that sounds respectable enough. Doesn't seem to be anyone at home, Jim. Well, it must be. I can see a light burning in the back of the house. Maybe you'd better pry the door, Jim, just in case anything might be wrong there. I think I will. The door is open, Fern. Come on.

Anybody home? He would hardly have left the door unlocked if he went out, would he? I don't think so. Let's investigate that light in the back of the house. All right. Through the hall, here. Fern, stay back. Don't come in here. What is it, Jim? Go to the telephone, quick. Call Inspector White. Tell him we found the first victim of the hooded circle. He's been murdered. The End

The End

Oh, my God.

THE END

The End

Now back to the Avenger and the Hooded Circle. Oh, there just ahead is the third barn we picked up from the famous afternoon fern. Well, there's much more deserted section than the other two, Jim. Well, let's pull up and see, huh?

Oh, there have been some cars around here recently. Look at those tire marks. Hope they're fine. Come on Fern, let's investigate the barn. Oh, this is the place. I'm surprised that the door isn't locked. It's got a big latch here on the inside. We'll leave the door open so we can see. Fern, this is the meeting place, all right? Look, here are the remains of several candles and here's the wrapper from a pack of cars. Where?

What now, Jim? Topple Teddy was locked in a small shed at the end of the barn. Let's look for that. Jim, here's a door. This must be it. Why, yes.

This is the shed. Everything ties up then? Yes. Now we've got to get back to town as fast as we can. I want to put in a telephone call to Tuffle. Tuffle? What for? I want a complete description of those robes and hoods. For just one meeting, the inspector and I are going to pose as members of the Hooded Circle. Tuffle.

Well, how are you making up with your sewing friends? Oh, I seem to do all right on the straight seams, but I get ahead of myself on the sharp curves. Well, this robe looks as if it might hold together for one meeting anyway. Now, Inspector, no remarks from you. After all, when I was hired as Jim's secretary and assistant, I was not informed that plain sewing would also be required. Oh, will you answer a friend, please? All right, Jim. Hello? Yes, this is Miss Collier. Oh, yes, I'd be glad to take a message. I know who it's for, Mr. Puckle. Go ahead.

Right. I have it. Thank you very much. What did Topple say, Fern? It didn't make any sense to me. He said, I've been invited to a private game of cards tonight at 10 o'clock. Fine. That means the Hooded Circle is meeting tonight. Come on, Fern, back to your point. We've got to get those costumes finished. Come on.

Here's the shed where we hide, Inspector. Hey, Jim, would you mind explaining why we came out here to this barn before 9 o'clock when the meeting isn't scheduled till 10? We had to be the first arrivals, Inspector, in order to get in here.

When meeting time rolls around, they probably have a guard stationed at the door. They may even have a password of some kind. No use taking a chance on being challenging. I guess you're right at that, but I'm not so sure we'll get away with this anyway, Jim. Our chances are good if we're careful. Ringo Tuffle said there were about 20 members of Hooded Circle. I don't think two more are likely to be noticed. Now, come on. Let's get into these quids and robes. Right. Okay. Hey, Jim, what about this angle?

Suppose Tuple is called upon to deal a card to each member. There are 20 members. He'll only be given 20 cards to deal out. That means we'll have to be left out of the dealing. Now, won't that be obvious? Well, it would be, except that I've arranged for that emergency. I had Fern call Tuple before we left tonight and tell him just to pretend to deal cards to you and me. But how in blazes will he know us? Like this. Now, hold out your hands. Now, palm up. There. Now, that red mark I make in the center of your palm will identify you to Tuple.

So far, so good. But, of course, you realize we could be walking right into a perfect trap here. I know that. But it's the chance we have to take. However, if we don't show up at the hotel restaurant by one o'clock, Fern has instructions to call the state police. Well, in the meantime, all we can do is wait and hope this scheme of yours works. Quiet, please. Quiet. The meeting of the hooded circle is called to order.

The first and most important matter to be brought for this meeting is the unfortunate fate of Ambrose Greer. The circumstance would indicate that someone present here tonight killed Greer. I find it very difficult to believe that. But if it is true, that man must be punished for his crime. Who received the jack of spades at our last meeting? Will no one answer?

Order, please. Order. Order. Well, who that man was, only he himself knows. Greer must have been killed in self-defense. No member of this circle would kill in cold blood. But what's all this the newspapers are saying about Greer being robbed? I don't believe those stories of any basis in fact. However, let this tragedy be a lesson to all of us to act cautiously and wisely in the future.

Nothing more than a warning must be given to these others on our list. Well, who's next? Let's get this over with. Jarvis Payton. Tell him his timber-cutting days in Springville are over. Give him 48 hours to get out of town. Payton's away on business. He won't be back until tomorrow morning. That'll be time enough. Now, uh, bring in Tupple. We'll let him cut the cards. Right. The man who gets the jack of spades will handle this next assignment.

And I would caution him once more. Give Peyton a warning. Nothing else. Here, Tupple. Here you are, Tupple. Twenty cards. Each man will leave as he receives his card. Now, shuffle and deal them, Tupple. For a better Springville. Springville

Jim, isn't the inspector joining us for midnight snack? No, Fern. The inspector went to bed. Looks like we're going to have a big day tomorrow. You sounded as if you drowned out plenty at that meeting tonight. We did.

Well, you're not going to hold out on me, are you, Jim? You can wait another day, can't you? You do know who killed Greer, then? Yes, and by this time tomorrow, the criminal will be apprehended. I hope so. I'm anxious to get away from Springville and its hooded circle. Well, one thing was evident at that meeting tonight. The hooded circle is composed of a group of amateurs. No professional troublemakers have moved in yet. That ought to make it easier to dissolve. But how are you going to expose Greer's murder again? A man by the name of Jarvis Payton is next on the list to be visited by a member of the hooded circle.

Peyton lives alone in the Timberland beyond the lake. He'll arrive home from a business trip in the morning. And I think he's marked for murder. And if I know you, you're going out there tonight to wait for him. Right, Fern. The Avenger must be on hand in the morning when Peyton's murderer arrives. Jawless Peyton. What was that noise?

Who is there? It's the Avenger, Peyton. What do you want with me? I've committed no crime. Your crimes are many, Peyton. And avarice and greed are not the least of them. I've broken no law. You've nothing on me, Avenger. That is true. That's why I've come here to protect you. Protect me? From what? From the same fate as Ambrose Greer. From murder? That is right.

But it can be prevented if you will do exactly as I tell you. What? Tell me what to do. Lock yourself in the cellar of this house and don't come out until I tell you to. All right. And hurry. Your murderer may arrive at any moment. Peyton? Peyton, where are you? Got a message for you. Peyton, I know you're in here. I saw you arrive.

Don't be afraid. It's a member of the Hooded Circle. I've brought you news that might save your life. Then why have you come with a gun in your hand? Who's that? Who spoke to me? Come out or I'll shoot! You can't see the Avenger, but he can see you. What's your game, Avenger? My game is law and justice.

I intend to see that you're given a big dose of both of them. For what? What can you prove against me? The death of Ambrose Greer. Motive, robbery. Also intent to kill and rob Jarvis Payton. You'll have to catch me first before you can bring those charges. You won't get out of here. Oh, yes, I will. Get away from that door. No, let me go. I'm going to stop you in this since you've insisted.

And there you'll stay until the police arrive. Your loaded gun in one hand, and these two jacks of spades you had in your pocket in the other. That's the kind of evidence the police will like to see, Ringo Tuffle.

THE END

♪♪

THE END

Order in the court.

Vincent has been proved to the satisfaction of this court that the members of the Hooded Circle were only inadvertently connected with the crime of murder for which Ringo Tuffle has been convicted. I hereby suspend the sentences of these 20 men in order to give them a chance to prove themselves good citizens of their country. These men are not blameless, and they will be held amiable to this court for their actions at all times. Therefore, I would warn them to remember this.

Pride in one's native city is not sufficient reason to set oneself up as a good citizen. The laws of your land must stand above all the petty aims of prejudice and pride. Let the lesson in good government that you have learned here at this trial... ...vanish from your minds all that is not tolerant and just and right for all. Those who hide behind a mask to impose their will on others...

have robbed themselves of the great protection of the laws that countless men have suffered to create and to preserve down through the centuries. Guard those laws. Do not pamper with them.

Case dismissed. Well, Jim, I guess that winds up our assignment in Springville. Yes, Fern. Come on, let's duck out this side door. Right. Somehow, one would never expect to encounter a clever criminal like Tupple in a town like Springville. He was clever, all right. I'll admit he had me buffaloed at the beginning. What first led you to suspect him, Jim? He never told me. When the inspector and I attended that meeting of the hooded circle, I saw Tupple palming a card as he dealt them. I realized then that he himself was taking the jack of spades.

That way he was able to commit the crime, rob his wealthy victim, and at the same time deceive the members of the Hooded Circle into thinking that one of their own number was guilty. Puppet informed on the Hooded Circle just to throw sand in your eyes? Right. That anonymous letter was sent by one of the men who attended the first meeting of the Circle and then became frightened. Check. Jim, look. Those men are starting a big bonfire in the courthouse yard. Yes. It's the ex-members of the Hooded Circle. They're burning their robes in public.

Well, Fern, I guess this town's growing pains are over. Springville has come of age. ♪♪ All characters, names, places, and plots used in the Avenger program are fictitious. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. ♪♪

This is a thought. A thought. A thought. Remember, listen for another adventure of... The Avenger. The Avenger.

I shall inquire if the master is in, Squire Buck. It is him again, uncle.

Will that man ever leave me alone? Could you have perhaps led him on inadvertently in your... You have nothing to offer him. But, Lucinda, Father would have wanted me to have my share of his fortune. Father died without making a will. If you marry the man I love, I swear on his grave, Beatrice, that I will cut you off with a pittance. It will be over my dead body that you and your curse set foot inside this house again. Lucinda, I'm...

Have you told her, Beatrice? Yes, but... You are not welcome in my house, sir. Now, please, give us a chance to explain. Please, Anthony. Can you make her listen to reason? She says she will leave me homeless and without my inheritance. But...

But you can't. Your father would never have allowed this. Get out of my house, sir, and take this scheming young vixen with you. Please. Beatrice loves you, and I've always valued our friendship. I mean, we never intended for this to happen. I swear, Lucinda, I did nothing to encourage Anthony's affection. And nothing to resist them either. Queen!

Where the devil is that servant? Breathe! Yes, Miss Lysander. Prepare the carriage. I'm going for my ride. Yes, Miss Lysander.

Lucinda, please, you are the only family I have. Please give us your blessing. And I beg you for your consent now, Lucinda. I mean, we have been friends for so long, and your sister needs you. She's always looked up to you. The matter is plain, sir. Beatrice can choose you or she can choose me. If she accepts your proposal, then she is no longer my sister. Lucinda, don't do this. Anthony has made his choice, and now you can make yours.

He is penniless, as you will be. You can beg food of the peasants or slave among them, but neither of you will darken my door again. I shall close up this house and go to Paris. Reject him or be gone before my carriage returns in one hour's time. Creed! Creed! Who's there? Who's up and about in the dark at this hour of night? It's me, father. Sharon, did you hear it too? Hear what?

I thought you were in bed long ago, Sharon. I was working late, Father, in the library. I was sorting the books for the auction when I heard someone. There was someone out here. Just the wind. There's nobody here. Should the doors bolted? Now off to bed with you. You look exhausted. But I heard footsteps. Someone running. Ah, probably old Father Riley pottering around upstairs. No, he went to bed hours ago.

So who'd want to break in here? There's nothing left to steal in the old place. The sooner that investor pulls the place down, the better, I say. After the auction next week, all I want is a nice wee bungalow with no draft. Now you get yourself off to bed, me dear. There's nothing to be frightened of. Look, Father, the cabinet, the door, it's been opened.

See, I told you. Someone has been in the house. Shut that out, things ancient. The hinges are coming off of it. Look, probably blew open from the draft. They didn't take anything. They must have ran off when I put the whole light on.

I'd say that old writing crop is of value. We should put it somewhere safe. Ah, the writing crop. Yeah, I reckon that's what they were after. Must be quite rare. It's one of a kind. Handmade by Russian jewellers. Well then, we should definitely put it in the library safe. Oh no, no, leave it here. This is where it's kept. Look, I locked the cabinet. You go to bed. Everything's back to normal. You know who opened the cabinet, don't you?

Yes, there was someone here, wasn't there? No. Oh, please, Father, tell me. If I tell you now, Sharon, promise not to walk out and leave us in the lurch before the auction. Not with investors hounding me with their architects' affairs and the devil knows what. What could make me leave, Father? An old legend. I'm telling you about the family who once owned this house so that you'll know there's no reason to lock your door.

I'll tell you in case some local tells you and gets everything wrong. In my opinion, that antique glass cabinet has had a faulty metal clasp for decades and people are too much in love with superstition to bother fixing it. This little riding crop came all the way from St. Petersburg nearly 200 years ago. Who owned it? It was the wedding present of a Russian prince, no less.

He'd swept the eldest daughter of this house off her feet. He might even have made her happy had he lived. She met him after she fled to Paris, but their marriage only lasted a year. They'd honeymooned in St Petersburg, where the prince presented her with this bejewelled riding crop. Her name was Lucinda, although when she returned to Tipperary as a widow in bad health, she called herself Princess Orloff. How did he die? The plague.

St Petersburg had been hit hard. Did she ever remarry when she came back? She died a lonely woman. Some Tiberius families still talk about their ancestor seeing Lucinda being driven every day in her carriage. It was the only time she was ever seen. Taken a full hour each day to be driven around her estate. The woman owned every local thing. With one exception. What was that? The heart of her childhood sweetheart. He married her younger sister, Beatrice. Aww.

Lucinda cut the newlyweds off before going to Paris. Marriage to Prince Orloff might have softened her heart had she not returned a widow. With the married couple in the cramped gate lodge, a daily reminder of her happiness had passed her by. She must have been very bitter. There are old women in this parish just kept alive by bitterness. Lucinda sacked every servant except her butler, Creed.

who was her sole contact with the world. She refused to see anyone. Creed did the shopping and was rarely seen himself, except during her ritual daily drive through her estate. Here she comes again, like clockwork, every afternoon at five past three. Go out and stop her carriage. I cannot stand any more of this, Anthony. In the years we've been living hand to mouth, the peasants have more to eat than us.

If you were any sort of decent man, you'd confront her. For my sake. She won't listen. She never stops. She enjoys driving past just to punish us. Please, Anthony. Maybe today she will take pity. Every day you have this chance, yet you are too cowardly. I am no coward. Even though we are penniless, I still have a little dignity left. I am tired of hoping for her to have a change of heart. She has no heart, Beatrice.

I mean, the sight of her sitting stiff and regal in that carriage with her damn riding crop sickens me. She has creed drive her past simply to taunt us in our poverty. My father would turn in his grave if he knew how I am treated, with my husband too cowed to confront her. How can you say that?

I mean, how often have you seen me stand in the dust of that road with my hand raised and her damned servant almost running me over? And not once, not once has that woman even deigned to bestow upon me the merest nod of her head. I mean, all I ever get from Creed is a quick, furtive, fearful salute like he is terrified of losing his livelihood if she sees him even acknowledge that I exist. Poor Creed. He is a good man. He has been with my family for years. Yes.

I pity him in that big house alone with her. She has received no visitors for almost ten years. I often wonder why he has stayed with her. He always looks so troubled. Frightened almost. I mean, she must be a hard mistress. Keeping him there to wait on her every whim. Perhaps today she will relent.

I will try talking to her. Creed will stop for me, I know it. He has known me since I was a child. He knows that someday I will be mistress of this estate after my sister dies. Unless I starve to death first. If I go, he will stop the carriage. As my wife, I forbid you. If you won't face her, I will. Beatrice! Beatrice! I don't care anymore. I'd sooner die than starve any longer. Let go of me! Creed, stop this carriage! Move out of the way, Beatrice!

Miss Beatrice, step aside, please. Whoa! Whoa, boys, whoa! Forgive me, sir. I can't do this anymore. Beatrice, you could have been killed. I feared so too, sir. Forgive me. It's your mistress I won't forgive. Leave her, sir. Please. Lucinda! Lucinda!

Step out of your carriage. I need to talk to you. I mean, how long can you let us suffer? Sir, I beg you. Now, stay out of this, man. She will speak to me this day. She can't, sir. Oh, won't you mean? Too arrogant. Too bitter. Damn you, listen. Do you hear me? Damn you for what you've done to us. She can't, sir. She can't hear you, sir. What do you mean?

Lucinda? No, miss, don't approach the carriage. Creed, I demand to know what's going on. She was a strict mistress in life, ma'am, and no less stern and strict in her death. Death? Forgive me, sir.

I know she wronged you. What? She wrote down my instructions in a letter and forced me to sign it in my own blood. I don't understand. I've been too scared to disobey her instructions. It's been nine years since the men came down from Dublin to unbam her. She died of the same plague that killed her husband.

It's been a living nightmare, sir. Lifting her corpse up in this carriage every afternoon and placing the riding crop in her hand and then placing her in her bed every night with the riding crop in the glass display cabinet that she'd specially made for the hallway. I've wronged you, Miss Beatrice.

Kept you from your inheritance. But I was more scared of her dead than alive. And this is the same riding crop? Neither Beatrice nor her husband lived long after inheriting the house. It went to some distant relative, then was bought as a seminary. The riding crop was included. At times different abbots put it in the cellar or the attic, but all hell had break loose at night, with footsteps, doors banging.

Once the riding crop was left back where she wanted it, the house had become peaceful again. Occasionally some of the priests over the years claimed to see a woman's figure in the hall bending over the cabinet or hear the noise of hooves at night, but I never believed that. But I do believe this. Once that riding crop is left here, you can sleep peaceful and disturbed by no one.

You won't desert us now, will you? Not laughed at the auction. I don't believe in ghosts, Father. Nor I. It's just the rusty clasp on that cabinet that makes it all open some nights. However wise the house can have it, there'll be no room in my nice new bungalow. Leave it there and we'll say no more about it. Did Lucinda really have herself embalmed? Yes. It even made the London papers. You'll find the newspaper cutting somewhere in the library.

Now go to bed, Sharon, and sleep well. Good night, Father. There we are. The clasp is good and tight. Good night, Lucinda. In The Riding Crop by Dermot Bolger, Jodie O'Neill was Beatrice, Luke Griffin, Anthony, John Hewitt, Creed, Alison McKenna, Lucinda, David Kelly, the priest, and Dawn Bradfield, Sharon. It was produced by Gemma McMullen.

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. This is Basil Rathbone inviting you to join me beyond the Green Door. A man who has faced death many times always knows what to do, even when he awakens and finds himself beyond the Green Door. The younger brother of the famous matador, Francisco de Romero, was dead. A mere novellero, in the bullring the boy had been gored, killed instantly, directly under the box in which his proud brother, Francisco, was sitting.

Screaming in anguish and leaping over the railing, Francisco would have attacked Bull with his bare hands had not his friends held him back. Then the impact of what he had witnessed struck him, plunging him into shock. From the moment he screamed in anguish, his voice was stilled. He could not speak nor understand nor apparently recall a single incident of his past life.

The combined efforts of the finest doctors available met with no success. Francisco could recall absolutely nothing, nor could he utter a single syllable. And so, at its very zenith, his great career seemed ended. He was removed to a rest home, and day after day he sat in his room, staring out of the window silently studying the beautiful azaleas planted along the driveway. Occasionally he walked about the grounds by himself.

Despite the shock from which he suffered, he continued in the best of health and temperament, smiling frequently and exhibiting his customary friendliness towards others. His doctors continued to try every possible means to restore his memory, in the hope that once this was accomplished, he would regain his powers of speech. On one occasion, he was even taken to the Plaza de Torres, but sight of the bullring had no effect whatever upon him.

One of his physicians, a great fan of his, worked day and night in an effort to get through to the stricken matador. In the hope that might stir his memory, the doctor ordered the Francisco's room be furnished with all the mementos and souvenirs of his past triumphs. Photographs, medals, trophies, his favorite sword, the estuquet with its bright red muleta, his favorite manterra, and dress cape. Indeed, all his fighting clothes hung in his closet.

One afternoon, the doctor even assisted Francisco in getting into his silken jacket, waistcoat and knee-length skin-tight trousers. "Can you hear the crowd, Francisco?" the doctor said. "They're cheering, cheering for you! You will not disappoint them, will you?" Francisco sat dumbly at the foot of his bed, toying with his hat, staring into space.

"The bull! He's entering the ring across the way!" The doctor held his forefingers to his head and crouched, imitating the charging bull. "El Toro!" "El Toro!" roared Francisco, and springing to his feet, snatched up his sword, and with unerring accuracy, plunged it into the throat of the unrushing doctor. "Little brother!"

El Toro is dead. He is dead. I have avenged you.

This is Radio RSA, the voice of South Africa. You too, Uncle. I hope you will not mind me calling you Uncle. After all, I know it's only by marriage... Uncle will do, Uncle will do. They all called Uncle. Your father's full brother, Kelsey, Norma, Matilda, Hayden, and all the sisters all called me Uncle. I'll take you back. Pick up your feet with a fair walk.

The house is set well back. I built every brick and hurl with my own hands. And I completed the whole building and the barn without another man's hands to help me inside of three years. Alexander Tabard's my name. I was 27 when I went to stay with my Uncle Foynan in the Shetland Isles. He was a recluse, a one-time minister of the old Kirk. A man who had become disillusioned with his God for some reason. A man who'd had three wives and never an heir to his name.

My first impressions when the launch had dumped me on that desolate shore, full of seagull crines, bladderweed, shells, and my father's half-brother as big as a barn are difficult to recall after the passage of years, but I do know that for some strange reason I couldn't fathom, I felt a kind of awe that was not far removed from fear. I turned and watched the launch, but she was already a quarter of a mile out towards the mainland again. I shook Uncle Foynan's great hand, and so began the most terrifying weeks of my life.

In our series, Beyond Midnight, we present The Tangled Way, written and produced by Michael McCabe. No boy, no watch it. Good loser. Be a good loser. You must be a good loser. But I think I am a good loser. You'll lose more than you'll win with me. Play hard.

I plead to win. And I rarely do aught else but win. It's late. I think it's to bed for the both of us. I hope you don't think me a bad sport, Uncle. I was just expressing, well, you know, it matters not at all to me who wins. Oh, it should. What possible pleasure can I get from a card-playing companion if he cares nothing about the outcome of the game? Well, I... And I'll show you to your room. Take that candle. I said no more.

I bared him good night and went to the room he said I was to have. It was a large bay-windowed room overlooking the Vaux, that's Norse meaning inlet of the sea. I puzzled on my uncle's strange attitude, manner, for only a little while that night, and then I was sound asleep. There was a kind of strain about the manner, a darkness under the eyes, a nervousness, a kind of self-assertiveness, striving to be dominant, I don't know. I couldn't explain it then, and I can't explain the way in which it first struck me even now.

And the business about the cards? I'm as good a loser as the next man. The next morning was wild and beautiful. There was a thick mist early which cleared as if by magic before our eyes as we breakfasted on the rough cliff stone terrace my uncle had made, so he told me a dozen times during the meal with his own hands. Every stone. I tell you, they bled these hands. How often do you get supplies from the mainland? Oh, not often. We're low now, though.

If I could have contacted you in Edinburgh, I'd have asked you to bring me a few things. What a shame. I could have easily. Ach, no matter. The first calm day, I'll take the boat, perhaps. You know, are you an oarsman? I used to run number four with the university. I still say, dear O. I mean with oars like that. And out there in the sea with currents and the wind. I'm not talking about down the River Thames on an English summer afternoon, cheered on by young ladies with their umbrellas and lace on their knickers.

There. Oh, nice things to do. Uncle, if you give me a list of all we'll need, I'll take the boat and I'll go to the mainland today. You will, will you? Uh-huh. Aye, fair enough. If you'll come with me now, Alex, and if the sight of the water out there doesn't frighten you. If you want, I'll row your boat to Thursound back. In the village over there, I'll do for now. Stupid, I suppose. After all, I was 27.

There I was taking on dares like a child. I rode across to the village, though. It wasn't all that difficult. I knew by the feeling of both of my horns that I'd done it, mind. A person had to watch where the coward was pulling him, to keep his eyes on the white village Kirk, otherwise a spot of negligence could have taken him out into the ocean. Anyway, I made it. I was looking forward to a pint of mild and bitter after making up a couple of boxes and two sacks of provisions for the island home of Uncle Foyman.

I liked old Murdoch, the village's only storekeeper. He's the first he's ever had to marry. Staying with him, I mean. Since the last wife, of course. I'd heard he'd married. Once or twice, I believe, isn't it? Once or twice? Thrice. And each of them ending up on their deathbeds within the walls of that place.

Ah, the wee ones being stillborn as their mothers gasped their last. And there are those that say a dead thing, too. For who knows what kind of parents there have been if they'd lived. They're no need flower this time. Each one in childbirth. Tragic. Explains a lot. A lot? What? What does that explain? He's gruff. He's a recluse. He's very easily put out to a proud man. A bit frightening. A bitch? Yes.

Mr. Alexander, if you'll talk any advice of an old man who knows a thing or two more than you about these parts, you'll pack your bags and get out of there while you still have dark hairs in your head and your sanity besides. Oh, there's going to be bad weather. I've got to get across to the island, too. I'd best be going, Mr. Miller.

I think you're attaching mystery to a man who's had a lot of sad things happen to him. He can't help his white leather. But what he can help is... White? What?

A born, we have no doubt. But it's put the curse on him. White liver? You mean he's a coward? What are... Ach, you know nothing in London, man. White liver doesn't mean he's a coward. It merely means, sir, no woman can ever bear him and nor no breathing child without losing her life as well as being delivered of a stillborn bairn.

But that's no all, sir. With this knowledge in his heart, he's no satisfied just to keep himself to himself across there on the island. No, he'll do no that. He'll try again. Charm some other poor wee girlie and murder her. Because that's all that it can be called. It's murder. As sure as Crippen was guilty of murder. Oh, now you'll need to be going for the wind and weather can whip yon pond into something more than terrible if it has a mind.

Tell me, though, are you no afraid of the devil? Afraid of the devil? Because if you are, you'd best bear in mind that the devil happens to be Foynan's best friend. Ah, there's a set of bacon you ordered here, my clan. And so's the wire for your poet. And so's the secret... I pondered over what the old man Murdoch had spoken of and then dismissed it from my mind. People like Murdoch are suspicious and entertain strange notions about anybody who lives alone and doesn't wish to be gregarious.

I'd never heard that about being white-livered before that. I didn't think it wise to speak to Uncle Foynan about it, of course. He lived in just one wing of the house on the cliffs, the east wing. For some reason, I was reluctant to ask permission to see over the rest of the place. And as he never offered, I was content. After a week, though, I began to feel a bit restless. One of the reasons for my visit to Foynan was to put in a good, hard stint of studying, for I was at that time already after my professorship. And it was only going to be a long, hard road.

I hadn't opened a book there up until the night I decided to have a wander around Foynan's big house at the end of the Vaux. He had gone to bed early, around eight o'clock, saying he had a bit of a headache. I read until nearly midnight, and then the lamps seemed dimmer, so I changed to the softer, gentler light of candles. I was reading some novel or the other, anything rather than the textbooks I'd carried from London. I couldn't get on with candlelight at all, so I packed my things together, pipe and tobacco, book and so on, and climbed the stairs for bed.

I wouldn't have thought of exploring if I hadn't missed my way on the second landing. I've been this way before. Seen the painting up there. Charming thing to have about the house, I must say. Something out of one of Bruegel's nightmares, I'd say. Why was that painter so obsessed with the torments of the damned? Where? The place was like a warren. It was foinen singing, or chanting, or whatever it was. I tried to follow the sound. I must have walked a quarter of a mile, but at no single moment did the sound ever seem to be any closer.

Several times my candles fluttered up. I relighted it on each occasion, but on noticing that I had only half a dozen matches left and having a strange reluctance to be left alone without light in that place, I started to find my way back. I hardly noticed the chanting had ceased, so anxious was I to get back to the friendliness of my room, or at least the warmth of the big dining room. The air in the passageway seemed colder, as if I was close to the sea. I held my arm aloft, the candle high. I was about to go on again. By now I was a little alarmed when I stopped.

frozen by what I saw on the wall above me. At intervals of 12 inches or so on down the passage were iron crucifixes. Each one was upside down. Why should such a thing frighten me? I could never have explained. Not then. All I knew was the sight of all those crosses with the iron figures upon them all hanging the wrong way up constituted the greatest and most terrible abomination I had ever known. Here's your bed in a comfortable one, Alex.

Yes, it's perfect. You must not read so late in the night. It's bad for you. You look to me as if you could do well your month for slumber. And he looked long at me. His eyes narrowed. And then he looked away as if the matter were of no consequence. He felt it, of course. There was something in the air between us. Something more than fear. Something I could put no words to. I would have liked to have travelled home. Thoughts of Kent and the brightly lit civilised theatres of London drew me. But something else said I must stay. And stay I did.

For four days we had rain and mist, and then the weather cleared and the Shetlands were blessed by a god of the sea, and sunlight poured down upon us. On the second perfect day, she came. And this is my nephew. He's a scholar like yourself, though you must leave him be. He's a whole heap of things to learn up for the university. How do you do, sir? Gwynny, her name is Alex Gwynny, an artist come to paint the rocks and seabirds of my island.

And perhaps, who knows, you'll achieve fame with what you paint. And he put a great arm around her thin shoulders and led her off up the stone steps to the terrace. At dinner that night, I learned something of her history. He couldn't have for the life of him seen what I wanted to waste four years at university for. But I talked him into allowing me time to do a history degree and then going on for art. And it's the art of the sea I'm wanting to do, gentlemen.

Oh, for I love the sea and all its moods. And Uncle Foylan was watching her, intently, closely. And she seemed fascinated by him, too. She was tiny and pretty, and there seemed to be little strength in her. She reminded me of a delicate, smiling buttercup that might last no longer than a day in a country hedgerow. Well, you'll want to paint the great rock. Oh, you'll have to paint that. You know, it said before, though, it did occur to me that I might have felt what I did then because of wounded vanity.

that a young woman coming suddenly and by accident upon the island should have eyes for my uncle. A man old enough to be then at once. I know what I felt was nothing akin to jealousy. It was fear. Great fear. You're right. Tonight you must join Alex and myself at a wee game of cards, and then tomorrow I shall show you the best places to paint. We'll take something to eat along with us and make a deal of it.

Alex must do some studying. Is that not right, Professor? Alexander Turret. You'll get lost, boy, as well as frozen. Go back to bed. What possessed you to wonder at this time of night? I can't see. You weren't thinking that perhaps you might find a better chance of slumber if you changed beds a while? No.

What are you talking about? I was wondering if your midnight walk might not have ended at the door down there of a wee guest. Oh, she's pretty, Alex. Can I have seen you look at her? I think you'd best leave my house tomorrow morning, Alexander Corrid. I was never brought up to take advantage of women... And you'll not be welcome back again! ...under the same roof as myself as guests. Tomorrow I leave, Uncle Finan. You need have no fear of that. Fine. That's settled.

Is there something wrong with you, Uncle Foylan, that you have to have a passageway in the house you built with your own hands full of crucifixes all upside down? You're a mad boy, as well as dangerous. Get back to your room. You'll be gone as soon after dawn as you can. The next morning I packed. I took the boat from the undercliff dock and rode out into the vogue.

I felt watched, and consequently I pulled strongly until I was under the eagle rock, which, jutting out from the main cliff mass, hid the house from my sight, and therefore the boat from my uncle. Once under the rock, I turned the boat, and praying my uncle did not cross the house to observe me from the western side, I pulled as if my life depended upon it for the pebble cove of the island's southern tip. This, against a perverse tide, took me all of an hour, and I was exhausted by the time the prow of the little craft beached. Charmed some other boon, he tell thee.

charm some other poor... You had best bear in mind that the devil happens to be Foynan's best friend. You see, it had come to me during the early hours of that morning what the chanting had been before I saw the crucifixes. The voice that chanted belonged to Foynan, and the words? They were unclear then, but they came back to me in awful startling clarity. What he was saying was the Lord's Prayer backwards.

I had made a plan during my solitary voyage to the cove to wait until nightfall for my return to Foynan's house. Consequently, I slept under the cliff, and when I awoke, stars scattered the sky above the isles, and I was much refreshed. The journey to the house was a long one. I was two hours and more traversing the rocky fell, the rock path Foynan had carved himself out of the cliff face. I reached the house, and it was black night, and a wind had awoken. There was not a light shining in Foynan's house that I could see.

I gained access to the house by a lower window. Finding my way to a second landing, I might have spent a day before discovering the passage that led down deep under the house. I might have, if it hadn't been for... I merely followed to where Foylan's voice seemed to come. I found a door. A door of heavy wood. There was no handle, but it gave to slight pressure. I felt my way around the door and looked down upon a scene from out of a medieval painter's nightmare.

From the door, iron stairs dropped some tall feet or so into a completely round room. The place was a natural cave over which Foreman's house had been constructed. The walls were sheer rock. Torches were burning at intervals around the chamber. Exactly in the center, my uncle stood at a stone altar. He was wearing vestments like a priest might wear, only they were black.

My lovely bride, come forth. But then I saw Gwynny, and it was obvious to anyone that she wasn't being held at Foynan's house against her will. It came to me, the horror of it, that somehow this man had willed this girl to come to the island. And in conjunction with some dark force away from my understanding, he had succeeded in bringing her here. She came now from another entrance, and she was dressed in a bridal gown of black. Foynan!

He turned. The girl, Gwenny, turned. A look passed between them. I could not help myself. I ran down towards them. An unreasonable hate film. I've no idea what I thought I would do. I have a brief memory of poignant towering over me. An arm came down holding something bright and the whole world exploded. Mr. Tabard, if you sleep there, you'll be carried away by the waves and you'll drown. Mr. Tabard, if you think it...

What in the name of Aldous? What have you done to yourself, man? You've had a fall. Mackeson, William, will you give me a hand here? There's a lad in your back, that head. William, you can no hurry yourself. He's bad. William. How do you feel, lad? Feel? I...

What's happened to me? A bad band, laddie. You must have tumbled down onto the stand as you were waiting for the lunch there. Lunch? Aye. I've sent a man over to find him. He'll be coming over, I'm sure. No. No, I don't want... You'd better get the police, Mr. Murdoch. No. No. There's a lot the police would be interested in. What are you... No. No. Don't, please. I'm okay. You've no need to... No. No.

Your weed is better now, boy. Oh, my, but you're like your father. I saw you when you were a baby, and I've hoped for a long time to see you again. And now, hey, it's a blasted shame. The very day you were to come across to the island, you have to have this fall. Ah, but you looked peaky when we first called to see you. Not so, Granny. Aye, but she's looking better now. It was her.

Except she looked older. About five years. No more. Ten. We must be away now, boy. We'll come at the end of the week, and you'll come and stay with us, hmm? We'll have to go now, Alexander. But we've been to Kiev for... Bye-bye, Alexander. Bye-bye, Alex. Well, what do you think? I know I went across and lived with Uncle Foynan on that island.

I know Murdoch spoke to me when I rode across for provisions, and he said what I've told you, about the devil being Foyman's best friend. I was on the island when that girl Gwenny arrived, for the first time. I walked through the corridor where the crucifixes hung upside down. I saw and heard my uncle celebrating a black mass, giving praise to the devil, his master. All this is true. I remember nothing beyond the fact that Murdoch found me on the shore, my head badly damaged. I have the scar to this day.

In the nursing home, my uncle visited me and greeted me as if for the first time ever. According to all, I'd never even been on the island, but was waiting to cross in the launch on the day of my arrival when I had before. Yet the girl, Granny, she was his wife, and they had a child. Who is mad? Who dreamed? I didn't wake for the end of the week. I didn't see my uncle again. I returned to London. I never went to the Shetlands again. Who could explain what happened to me?

Uncle Fuen wrote to my people and suggested that I ought to know better, and that I'd insulted him, and that it was nothing to do with him, that I'd fallen and injured myself. That is all. He was no longer childless. He's still alive. So is she. One day I shall have to meet my... cousin, I suppose. Did I go back in time? Did the present, as it was then, become inextricably muddled somehow with what had been? If I had back again, every hour of my life I have pondered these questions.

I would have, perhaps, an extra month at the end of my life. I have another story to tell you today. This one is about a crime in which nature, not man, trapped a murderer. Do you want to hear it? ♪♪ Now starring Paul Freese as your teller of tales. Another story from The Black Book. ♪♪

Yes, from the world's most fabulous collection of strange and unusual stories. The Black Book. I've selected a story by Nelson Bond. He calls it On Schedule. Mr. Henry Foster, manager of the Midwestern branch of Updike and Updike Investment Brokers, sat comfortably in the men's lounge of the club car.

As the train swayed and rumbled over the Jersey countryside, he had the quiet air of a conservative middle-aged businessman and held an expensive briefcase on his lap. He sat there gazing out of the window through the bright noon sunlight at New York's jagged skyline. It made him think of a huge stock market graph, and for the hundredth time, Mr. Foster mentally reviewed the steps he must take.

The wheels beneath him sang a deeper note as they hit the downgrade to the Hudson tube. Mr. Foster studied his watch and thought to himself. In one minute and 56 seconds, this car will enter the darkness of the tube. It will be absolute darkness.

For I shall step from the lounge and throw the master switch. Every light in the club car will be cut off. Yes, my plan is perfect. For the last three nights, Mr. Forster had taken this train from Jersey to New York stopwatch in hand, plotting his every move. He knew that exactly three minutes and thirty-nine seconds from the time the club car entered the Hudson tube, it would glide into Pennsylvania Station carrying...

A dead passenger. Young Prentiss, now so casually lounging in the last compartment smoking a cigarette with Detective Mooney, would be dead. His throat cut by the knife Mr. Foster had concealed in his briefcase. It was rather a shame he thought that Prentiss must die, but there was no other way to handle it now.

There'd really been no other way right from the start. From the very day he'd called a young accountant into his office for a very private conversation. Come in. You wanted to see me, Mr. Foster? Oh, yes, Prentiss. Have a chair. You recognize this, Prentiss? Of course, sir. It's one of our account books. Right.

Now, I've made notes here of certain entries in that particular volume that strike me as, let us say, in error. What do you mean, sir? What do I mean? Prentiss, turn to page 67, if you will. Well, go ahead. Have it. Yes, sir. Mr. Harriman's account, is it not? That's right, sir. Now then, look at the entry of June 14th. Well, Prentiss? I don't understand, sir. Do you want me to read it? No, Prentiss, I've read it.

If there's an error, Mr. Foster, I'll check it immediately. Too late, Prentiss. Three hundred dollars is missing. You're a fool to have taken it. Mr. Foster sat back and waited for the young man to deny everything, or at least to think up some kind of an excuse for having doctored the firm's books. But Prentiss did neither.

In fact, it almost seemed to Mr. Foster that he was smiling. And this he was unprepared for. If you'll agree not to press charges, Mr. Foster, I'll pay back the money as soon as possible. Prentiss, I had entertained rather high hopes for you. Seems a pity. And all for a mere $300.

May I go now, sir? You'll resign, Prentiss, but yes, you may pay back the money. And at least remember that if you must steal, Prentiss, make it big, worthwhile. I'll stay down tonight, if I may, and clean up the work on my desk, if you like. Goodbye, Prentiss. Goodbye, sir. Goodbye.

It was a pity, Forster thought, to lose a young man he'd consider so promising. But at least the young fool might learn his lesson from it. Next morning, Mr. Forster found that he had, and learned it well. He was looking through his mail when the telephone rang. It was Prentiss. He wanted to see Mr. Forster at once, and curiously, there was no pleading in his voice, but rather an amused tone of superiority and self-possession. A few moments later, he was seated in the office with an account book in his hand.

Do you recognize this, Mr. Foster? What is it you wish to see me about, Prentiss? On page 20 in that book, you can see where I made $50 from Mrs. Jackson the same way I made $300 from Mr. Harriman. I haven't checked all the books yet, Prentiss. No? If you have anything to say, Prentiss, say it. Oh, I have something to say, all right. I've been up all night studying these books, and I've discovered a few things I'd vaguely suspected.

The most important being that the few hundred dollars I've stolen are chicken feed compared to the thousands that have landed in your pocket. Yes, what do you mean, Prentiss? I'll tell you. It took some time to figure out how you've been doing it, but I know now. I sort of stumbled on the answer, you might say. I've heard just about enough, Prentiss. Not yet, you haven't. Here's how it works. A client phones in to sell a certain stock.

Now, this order must have your okay first. And when it reaches your desk... Young Prentiss talked on for an hour uninterrupted. For Henry Forster was something of a philosopher, and he found a certain wry humor in the fact that only through the cheap dishonesty of a mere accountant had his own really magnificent thievery been discovered. He allowed Prentiss to finish and congratulated him on his cleverness.

Then he made the only gesture possible under the circumstances. At first, Prentiss was doubtful. But what if we're caught? We'd get 20 years at least. Nonsense, nonsense. It's foolproof. But 100,000 a year, that's too much. Precisely. And that's why we'll never be caught. Remember, Prentiss, only petty thieves are caught. $300 thieves. Yes, you're right.

I'll go along. Good, good. Let's shake hands on it, my boy. It was a strange partnership. The callow youth and the staid executives. Both of them thieves. But even so, it went well for a few months until suddenly lightning struck. Mr. Foster was in his office when he heard about it. Yes? Listen, Foster...

I'm at the corner in a phone booth. Ran out as soon as they came in. Huh? Who came in? The home office auditors. Three of them. They just walked into the office, unannounced as usual. Right. Now you listen to me, Bruntus. Yeah. Stop your sniveling and be a man. Now, they can't discover a thing. Not a thing, unless you give it away with your foolishness. But they'll suspect something. I'm sure of it. Shut up and get back to your office. Do you hear me? All right. But I'm scared. I'm scared.

As it turned out, young Prentiss was right. The auditors did suspect something. And in the end, Foster was summoned to New York. His employers suspected, yes, but they could prove nothing. And Mr. Foster soon returned to the Midwest. His method of thievery was perfect. Or so he thought until a New York detective, Ed Mooney, appeared on the scene. A few days after his arrival, Mooney came to Mr. Foster's office with terrifying news.

Well, Mr. Foster, that's the long and the short of it. Prentiss is not as stable a character as you are. Prentiss is a fool, Mooney, and I'll have him in jail for such slander. Maybe you will, maybe you won't. Meantime, we've offered him privilege of state's evidence freedom if he'll come to New York and give us information there. Why, you mean you take the word of a mere boy before mine? Oh, we'll check on everything he has to tell, all right.

All right, Mooney. Go ahead. Check all you like. You'll find nothing. Nothing. We'll check in good time. And so it was that young Prentiss must die. Detective Mooney was assigned to bring him east, and he was seated beside him now in the compartment at the end of the club car. For the last time, Mr. Foster looked at his watch. In ten seconds, the car would enter the blackness of the Hudson tube.

He rose and stepped out into the narrow aisle. His hand found the light switch and jerked it down, plunging the car into complete darkness. Then he moved through the startled passenger's to Prentiss' compartment. This, too, he'd rehearsed the night before. Seventeen strides to the end of the aisle. A minute and three quarters in all to reach the compartment. And a split second to plunge the silencing knife into Prentiss. That left two full minutes to race up to the car in front...

Then the train would be at Pennsylvania Station. Before anything could be done, Foster would be lost in the streets of New York. Fifteen steps. Sixteen. Seventeen. He turned now and opened the compartment door. His outstretched hand found the tweed-clad figure of Prentiss. The knife blade stabbed and twisted. And then suddenly... Sunlight! Sunlight!

Fierce and brilliant sunlight flooding the car, revealing everything. Prentiss is horrified and gasping, F.A.C.E. Forster, knife in hand, and Detective Mooney with a gun already half out of his pocket. Utterly bewildered, Forster jumped back and the sunlight vanished as quickly as it came. He turned down the cord just as Mooney fired. The bullet smashed between his shoulders, driving him forward onto the carpet.

Mr. Foster came to for a moment just as the train was grinding to a stop at the station platform. Two thick-souled brogans that were mooney stood like walls close to his eyes as he lay there on the floor of the club car. The fool. The pitiful, murdering fool. If he lives, he'll get the chair for this. You know, it's funny how it timed out. So's he stabbed Prentiss just as we hit the light of the air shaft.

Mr. Foster's eyes closed in shame as much as in physical pain. The air shaft. Yes, that's all it was. An air shaft full of bright noon sunlight. His one mistake, the one flaw in his otherwise perfect plan. You see, he timed everything on night trains only. The End

The Black Book stars Paul Freese as your teller of tales, assisted today by the noted Hollywood actor John Daner. Nelson Bond's story, On Schedule, was adapted by John Meston and directed by Norman MacDonald. The special music is composed and conducted by Leith Stevens. The Black Book stars Paul Freese as your teller of tales, assisted today by the noted Hollywood actor John Daner.

Next week, I'll have another story for you from the Black Book. It's most unusual, and it's called My Favorite Corpse.

Tonight, Playhouse on Broadway brings you the big finals of its intercollegiate acting competition. Four talented campus performers compete in a specially written play in which one of them will win $2,000. Don't miss this dramatic program tonight on most of the same CBS radio stations. Clarence Cassell speaking. ♪♪

Remember, the comedy treat that can't be beat is Jack Benny Time, Sunday nights on the CBS Radio Network. Everyone who has traveled over eastern England knows the smaller country houses with which it is studded. The rather dank buildings, usually in the Italian style, surrounded with parks of some 80 to 100 acres.

I have to tell you of a curious series of events which happened in such a house. It is Castringham Hall in Suffolk. I think a good deal has been done to the building since the period of my story. One feature that marked out the house from a score of others is Garn. As you looked at it from the park, you saw on the right a great old ash tree.

growing within half a dozen yards of the wall, and almost or quite touching the building with its branches. I suppose it had stood there ever since Castringham ceased to be a fortified place. At any rate, it had well nigh attained its full dimensions in the year 1690. In that year, the district in which the house is situated was the scene of a number of witch trials.

Castringham contributed a victim to the extortions. Mrs. Mothersole was her name. And she differed from the ordinary run of village witches only in being rather better off and in a more influential position. Efforts were made to save her by several reputable farmers of the parish.

But what seems to have been fatal to the woman was the evidence of the then proprietor of Castringham Hall, Sir Matthew Fell. Sir Matthew, will you tell the court, please, what you saw regarding Mrs. Mothersole on the evenings that you mentioned?

Well, on three different occasions from my window, I watched her, Mrs. Mothersoul, at the full of the moon gathering springs from the ash tree near my house. She had climbed into the branches and was cutting off small twigs with a peculiarly curved knife, and as she did so, she seemed to be talking to herself.

On each occasion, I did my best to capture the woman, but she had always taken alarm at some accidental noise I had made. All I could see when I got down to the garden was a hare running across the path in the direction of the village. On the third night, I followed her at what speed I could. I went straight to Mrs. Mothersoul's house.

I had to wait a quarter of an hour battering at her door, and when she came out, she was very cross, and apparently very sleepy, as if just out of bed. And as I had no good explanation to offer, I had to apologize, rather embarrassingly.

Mainly on this evidence, though there was much more of a less striking and unusual kind from other parishioners, Mrs. Mothersole was found guilty and condemned to die. She was hanged a week after the trial with five or six more unhappy creatures. The other victims were apathetic or broken down with misery. But Mrs. Mothersole was, as in life so in death,

of a very different temper oh how poisonous rage did so work upon the bystanders yea even upon the angman that it was constantly affirmed of all that saw her

that she presented the very living aspect of a mad devil. Yet she offered no resistance to the officers of the law. Only she looked upon those that laid hands upon her with so direful and venomous an aspect. Ay, ay, the mere thought of it pried inwardly upon my mind for six months after.

However, all that Mrs. Mothersole is reported to have said was seemingly meaningless words. There will be guests at the hall. There will be guests at Castringham Hall, Sir Matthew. There will be guests at the hall. Sir Matthew Fell, then Deputy Sheriff, was present at the execution and was not unimpressed at the bearing of the woman.

He shared certain misgivings over the whole business with the vicar of his parish as they rode from the scene of the gallows. "'I'll say it again, Mr. Crone. My evidence of the trial was not given willingly. I'm not at all specially infected with the witch-finding mania, but I declare that I could not give any other account of the matter than what I had given, and I could not possibly have been mistaken in what I saw.'

but the whole transaction has been repugnant to me i am a man who likes to be on pleasant terms with those about me yes those are my sentiments mr crome and the good vicar applauded them as any reasonable man would have done and was easily persuaded to take a late supper at the hall when mr crome thought of starting for home about half-past nine o'clock

Sir Matthew and he took a turn on the graveled walk at the back of the house. They were in sight of the ash tree, which I described as growing near the windows of the building. When Sir Matthew stopped, Mr. Crone, look there a moment. Where, Sir Matthew? At the ash tree there. Look, what is that that runs up and down the trunk of it?

"'It is never a squirrel. They will all be in their nests by now.' "'Ah, yes, I see some sort of moving creature. What can you make of it, Mr. Crone?' "'Nothing of its colour in this moonlight, Sir Matthew. But now it's gone.' "'Was it a squirrel?' "'Well, for an instant there was a sharp outline. And I could swear, though it sounds foolish, that squirrel or not—'

"'It had more than four legs. Aye, more than four legs, Sir Matthew.' Next day Sir Matthew fell was not downstairs at six in the morning, as was his custom, nor at seven, nor yet at eight. Hereupon the servants went and knocked at his chamber door. When the door was at last opened from the outside, they found their master dead and black.'

Mr. Crone came as quickly as he could to the hall and was shown to the room where the dead man lay. Many years later, Mr. Crone's notes regarding this incident were found among his papers. They showed how genuine a respect and sorrow he felt for Sir Matthew, and they also threw some light upon the common beliefs of the time. There was not any the least trace of an entrance having been forced to the chamber.

But the casement stood open, as my poor friend would always have it in this season. He had his evening drink of small ale in a silver vessel of about a pint measure, and to-night had not drunk it out.

This drink was examined by the physician from Bury, Mr. Hodgkins, who could not, however, as he afterward declared upon his oath before the coroner's quest, discover that any matter of a venomous kind was present in it. For, as was natural in the great swelling and blackness of the corpse, there was talk made among the neighbors of poisons.

The body was very much disordered as it lay in the bed, being twisted after so extreme a sort as gave too probable a conjecture that my worthy friend and patron had expired in great pain and agony.

And what is as yet unexplained, and to myself the argument of some horrid and artful design in the perpetrators of this barbarous murder, was this, that the women which were entrusted with the laying out of the corpse and washing it, being both sad persons and very well respected in their mournful profession,

came to me in great pain and distress, both of mind and body.

saying what was indeed confirmed upon the first view. We had no sooner touched the breast of the corpse with our naked hands than we felt a violent smot and aching in our palms. I am the swelling, oh, the swelling from the palms to the elbows so immoderately, the pain still continuing that for many weeks afterwards we were forced to lay by the exercise of our corpse. And yet no mark to be seen on the skin.

No mark seen on the skin. Upon hearing this, I sent for the physician, and we made as careful a proof as we were able by the help of a small magnifying lens of the condition of the skin on this part of the body. But we could not detect any matter of importance beyond a couple of small punctures or pricks.

which we then concluded were the spots by which the poison might be introduced, remembering that ring of Pope Borgia, with other known specimens of the horrid art of the Italian poisoners of the last day. So much is to be said of the symptoms seen on the corpse,

As to what I am to add, it is merely my own experiment, and to be left to posterity to judge whether there be anything of value therein. There was on the table by the bedside a Bible of the small size in which my friend used nightly and upon his first rising to read a set portion, and I taking it up, not without a tear duly paid to him.

It came into my thoughts to make trial of that old and by many accounted superstitious practice of drawing the swords. I must needs admit that by my trial not much assistance was afforded me. Yet, as the cause and origin of these dreadful events may hereafter be searched out, I set down the results.

in the case it may be found that they pointed the true quarter of the mischief to a quicker intelligence than my own i made then three trials opening the book and placing my finger upon certain words

which gave in the first these words from St. Luke, chapter 13, verse 7. Cut it down. And in the second, Isaiah, chapter 13, verse 20. It shall never be inhabited.

It shall never be inhabited. And upon the third experiment, Job, chapter 39, verse 30. Young ones also suck up blood. Young ones also suck up blood.

This is all that need be quoted from Mr. Crone's paper. Sir Matthew Fell was duly coffined and laid into the earth. His son, Sir Matthew II, succeeded to the title and estates. It is to be mentioned, though the fact is not surprising, that the new baronet did not occupy the room in which his father had died, nor, indeed, was it slept in by anyone but an occasional visitor during the whole of his occupations.

He died in 1735, and I do not find that anything particular marked his reign, save a curiously constant mortality among his cattle and livestock in general, which showed a tendency to increase as time went on. The second Sir Matthew was duly succeeded by his son, Sir Richard. It was in his time that the great family pew was built out on the north side of the parish church.

So large were the squire's ideas that several of the graves on that unhallowed side of the building had to be disturbed to satisfy his requirement. Among them was that of Mrs. Mothersole. A certain amount of interest was excited in the village when it was known that the famous witch, still remembered by a few, was to be exhumed.

and the feeling of surprise and indeed disquiet was very strong when it was found that though her coffin was fairly sound and unbroken, there was no trace whatever inside of it, of body, bones, or dust. One morning, it was in 1754, Sir Richard woke after a night of discomfort. Mrs. Chiddock, I can certainly not sleep in that room again. Oh, sir? The chimney smoked persistently.

"'Yet it was so cold that the fire had to be kept up. "'Furthermore, something had so rattled about the window in the wind "'that no man could get a moment's peace. "'I'll certainly not sleep in that room again, Mrs. Chirrup. "'I shall select a new room this morning.' "'As you say, sir. "'There's the fine large study across the hall, if I may suggest.' "'No. No, it has an eastern aspect. "'I must have a room with a western lookout "'so that the sun does not wake me early.'

And the room must be out of the way. I don't want servants forever passing the door. Well, Sir Richard, you know there is but one room like that in the house. Oh? Which may that be? Why, sir, that is Sir Matthew's room, the West Chamber. Well, put me in there. I lie there tonight. But no one has slept there these forty years. The air has hardly been changed since Sir Matthew died there. Well, then it's time the abbey changed.

"'Come along, Mrs. Chiddock, I'll see the chamber at least.' "'So it was opened, and indeed the smell was very close and earthy. "'Sir Richard crossed to the window, threw the shutters back, and flung open the casement. "'The view was almost entirely blocked off by the ash tree.' "'Oh, sir, the tree! It makes the room so oppressive, so dampish, sir!' "'Well, we'll shortly take care of that. "'Air the room, Mrs. Chiddock, all to-day.'

and move my bed furniture in in the afternoon. When the Bishop of Kilmore arrives, you can put him in my old room. But, sir, there's a fearfulness about this room. It's the very room... Yes, yes, it is here my grandfather died. Make no difficulties about it, Mrs. Chirrup. I do not wish to listen to any more. Be about the airing. Be about the airing. In the afternoon, the Bishop of Kilmore arrived.

He had risked the approaching storm in order to have an hour with Sir Richard before the arrival of the other guests. The bishop had brought with him a manuscript come upon while exploring the papers and other remains of the once vicar of Castringham. And for the first time, Sir Richard was confronted with the enigmatical sortes biblicae of Mr. Crome, which you have already heard. They amused him a great deal.

Well, my grandfather's Bible gave one prudent piece of advice. Cut it down. That stands for the ash tree. May rest assured I shall not neglect it. Such a nest of catars and agues was never seen.

I was wondering, sir, your parlor here contains the family books. Ah, yes, I wonder whether the old prophet is there yet. Now, let's see. The Bibles are kept over here. And I know the one, the thick, dumpy... Ah, yes, here it is. Look here. Look here. Sure enough, the inscriptions. The inscriptions on the flyleaf. To Matthew Fell.

From his loving godmother, Anne Aldiss. The 2nd of September, 1659. Well, well, your lordship, it would be no bad plan to test him again, eh? I'll wager we'll get several family names from the chronicles. Let's see now. Let's see, what do we have here? Thou shalt seek me in the morning, and I shall not be...

Thou shalt seek me in the morning, and I shall not be. Later came the other guests. Dinner at five, wine, cards, supper, and dispersal to bed. Next morning, Sir Richard is disinclined to take his gun with the rest. He talks instead with the Bishop of Kilmore. As the two are walking along the terrace and talking over certain alterations and improvements for the house...

The bishop suddenly pointed to the window of the west room. You could never get one of my Irish flock to occupy that room, Sir Richard. Ah? Why is that, my lord? It is, in fact, my own room. Well, our Irish peasantry will always hove it that it brings the worst of luck to sleep near an ash tree. And your fine growth of ash is not two yards from your chamber window.

Perhaps it has given you a touch of its quality already. You do not seem, if I may say it, so much the fresher for your night's rest as your friends would like to see you. Yes, that or something else, it has true cost me my sleep from twelve to four, my lord. But the tree is to come down tomorrow, so I shall not hear much more from it. Ah, I applaud your determination. It can hardly be wholesome to have the air you breathe strained, as it were, through all that leafage.

"'Your Lordship is right there, I think. But I had not my window open last night. It was rather the noise that went on, no doubt from the twigs sweeping the glass that kept me open-eyed. Oh, I think that can hardly be Sir Richard. Here, you can see it from this point. None of those nearest branches can touch your casement, unless there were a gale, and there was none of that last night. They miss the panes by a foot. No, Sir, true.'

What then will it be, I wonder, that scratched and rustled so? Aye, and covered the dust on my sill with lines and marks. Ah, well, sir, might it be the rats? The rats that must have come up through the ivy? Of course, of course, the rats. It was the rats. So the day passed quietly, and night came, and the party dispersed to their rooms, and wished Sir Richard a better night. And now we are in his bedroom.

with the light out and the squire in bed. The night outside is still and warm, so the window stands open. There is very little light about the bedstead, but there is a strange movement there. It seems as if Sir Richard were moving his head rapidly, to and fro, with only the slightest possible sound. And now you would guess, so deceptive is the half-darkness, that he had several heads, round, round,

and brownish, which move back and forward, even as low as his chest. It is a horrible illusion. Is it nothing more? Ah, there, something drops off the bed with a soft plump, like a kitten, and is out of the window in a flash. Another, four of them, and after that there is quiet again. Thou shalt seek me in the morning air.

And I shall not be. Thou shalt seek me in the morning, and I shall not. As with Sir Matthew, so with Sir Richard, dead and black in his bed. A pale and silent party of guests and servants gathered under the window when the news was known. Ominous guesses were hazarded. Italian poisoners, popish emissaries, infected the air.

But the Bishop of Kilmore looked up at the ash tree. He noticed that a white tomcat was crouching in the lower boughs, looking down the hollow, which years had gnawed in the trunk. It was watching something inside the tree with great interest. Suddenly it got up and crammed over the hole. Oh, well now, kitty, what do you see there inside the ash? Careful, watchful.

Careful of the edge there. Careful now. But the bit of edge on which it stood gave way, and the cat went slithering in. Everyone looked up at the noise of the fall. It is known to most of us that a cat can cry, but few of us have heard, I hope, such a yell as came out of the trunk of the great ash.

Two or three screams there were, and then the slight and muffled noise of some commotion or struggling was all that came. But Lady Mary Harvey fainted outright, and the housekeeper stopped her ears and fled till she fell on the terrace. The Bishop of Kilmore and Sir William Kentfield stayed. "'There is something more than we know of in that tree, my lord. I am for an instant search.' "'I agree with you there, Sir William. We must get to the bottom of this.'

"'The secret of these terrible deaths is there, in the ash tree.' "'A ladder was brought, and one of the gardeners went up, "'and looking down the hollow could detect nothing "'but a few dim indications of something moving. "'They got a lantern, and the gardener let it down by a rope cautiously.'

They saw the yellow light upon his face as he bent over, and suddenly the face became struck with an incredulous terror and loathing. "'Oh!' He fell back from the ladder, letting the lantern fall inside the tree. "'Quick, Sir William, catch the man! What has he seen? What has he seen?' "'He's in a dead faint, my lord. It will be some time, I fear, before any word can be got from him.'

Oh, oh, but look to the tree. Look to the tree, my lord. It's aflame. The bystanders made a ring at some yards distance, and Sir William and the bishop sent men to get what weapons and tools they could, for clearly whatever might be using the tree as its lair would be forced out by the fire.

"'And so it was. First, at the fork, we saw a round body, covered with fire the size of a man's head, appear very suddenly. Then seemed to collapse and fall back, this five or six times. Then a smaller ball leapt into the air and fell on the grass, where after a moment it lay still.'

We went as near as we dared to it and saw. Look, your lordship, it's an enormous spider. The remains, venus and seared, of an enormous spider. And as the fire burned, more terrible bodies like that began to break out from the trunk. And it was seen that these were covered with grayish hairs.

There will be guests at the hall. There will be guests at Castredum Hall, Sir Matthew. There will be guests at the hall. All that day the ash burned, and until it fell to pieces, the men stood about it and from time to time killed the brutes as they darted out.

at last there was a long interval when none appeared and we cautiously moved in and examined the roots of the tree we found below it a rounded hollow place in the earth wherein were two or three bodies of these creatures that had been plainly smothered by the smoke

And what is to me more curious, at the side of this den, against the wall, was crouching the anatomy or skeleton of a human being, with the skin dried upon the bones, having some remains of black hair. It was pronounced by those that later examined it to be undoubtedly the body of a woman, and...

Clearly dead for a period of 50 years. Box 13 with the star of Paramount Pictures, Alan Ladd as Dan Holliday. You driveling old idiot. What did you do with it? I'm not going to tell you. Carl, be careful. Shut up, Therese. We've got to find out what he did with that copybook. We've... What's the matter? Look, he's dead. How?

You killed him. Don't be stupid. He just died. There's no one can prove anything. Just keep your mouth shut and help me find out what he did with the copy book. Well, well, well. Somebody sends me a copy book through Box 13. Now I wonder why. ♪♪ And now back to Box 13 and Dan Holliday's newest adventure, The Sad Night. ♪♪

It was just a child's copy book. And on the front cover was the name Marina Layton and a date. The year 1930 written in a childish scroll of handwriting. I riveled through the pages. There was nothing of interest at least. That's the way it looked then.

But Susie thought differently. Maybe it's some kind of a code, Mr. Holliday. Like one to a buried treasure. Susie, with your imagination and my typewriter, we could go places. Well, gee, the Count of Monte Wooley found a buried treasure. That's Monte Cristo, Susie. Two different people. Well, they both had beards. Oh. Huh? What's that? It's a letter to Box 13. Listen. Listen.

Box 13. A day or so ago, you may have received a child's copybook in the mail. If you did, I should appreciate it if you'd bring it to the address below. Yours truly, Therese Layton. Hmm. Let me see that, Susie. Here. Here.

6821 Lakeshore Boulevard. Hmm, swanky neighborhood. Are you going to take it back, Mr. Holliday? Oh, yes, Susie. If only to see how the other half lives. So I went to 6821 Lakeshore Boulevard. I tossed the copy book in the back seat of my car and it bounced on the floor. Maybe I was thinking about anything but the book for when I rang the doorbell of the big house, I suddenly remembered I'd left the book in the car. I just about started back down after when the door opened.

Yes? I'm looking for Teresa Layton. I'm Mrs. Layton. And you? Holiday. Dan Holiday. I'm sorry, box 13. Oh, of course. Please come in, Mr. Holiday. In the library, please. Thank you. Won't you sit down, Mr. Holiday? Thanks very much. Yes.

It's very kind of you to come all this way to return the book. You see, it belongs to my little girl, and I suppose she sent the book to you in, well, mischievously. Your little girl? Yes, Marina. Sometimes I think she's a problem child. Oh, really? How old is she, Miss Slayton? Um, seven. Seven?

Did she tell you she sent the book to Box 13? Well, no, as a matter of fact, she wouldn't say. Then her father found a newspaper with an advertisement cut from it. And? We got hold of a paper with the same date and compared the page. Nice detective work, Mrs. Layden. I suppose all this uproar over a child's book seems, well, stupid, doesn't it? Oh, no, no, no, not at all. But there's one question I'd like to ask. Yes, Mr. Holliday? You say Marina's seven years old? That's right. Why?

There's a date in the book, 1930. It seems to have been written in the same hand as the rest. That date would make her quite a big little girl, wouldn't it? She put down that date, I suppose, well, not thinking. Oh, yes, of course. Where is she now, Mrs. Layton? She's dead, Mr. Holliday. Huh? Mr. Holliday, this is my husband, Carl. How do you do? I'm very happy to know you, Mr. Holliday. Do you have the book?

You get right to the point, don't you? Mr. Holliday, our daughter Marina is dead. We want the book merely for sentimental reasons. I could understand that if your wife hadn't... Lied to you? Bluntly, yes. Therese, dear, will you excuse us? Yes, yes, I'll be upstairs.

My wife isn't well, Mr. Holliday. It's not an easy thing for me to say, but she imagines our daughter is still alive. Look, Mr. Layton, if I'd ever written a story with as many holes in it as yours, I'd be laughed out of the writing game. What do you mean? Your wife says Marina sent me the book, yet you say Marina's dead. You know, you two should get together. All right, Mr. Holliday, how much do you want for the book? Oh, now we're getting someplace. What's it worth to you? Five hundred. Oh, five hundred.

That's a lot of money for a child's copy book. You asked how much and I told you. Now, may I have the book? I don't think so. It's worth nothing to you, Mr. Holliday. Believe me, it's worth absolutely nothing to you. All right, maybe I'm just curious. Tell me why you want the book and maybe we'll do business. I can't tell you. Or you won't tell me. Is that it? I want that book now. I haven't got it with me. You're lying. All right, search me. I haven't got it with me. I forgot it. You're going to be difficult. What?

Look, the book was sent to Box 13, obviously, not by you, your wife, or your daughter. You found out it was sent when you traced my aunt, right? All right. That means someone else sent it to me. I'll return the book when I find out who and why. Mr. Holliday, I'm going to get that book. All right, all right. We'll play a game. Book, book, book. Who's got the book?

Now, goodbye, Mr. Layton. Goodbye, Mr. Holliday. You can find your way out, I hope? I think so. Oh, anytime you want to tell me the reason behind all this, we may be able to do business. I think we'll do business, Mr. Holliday. Later. I left, and when I got home, I spent the rest of the day and most of the evening trying to figure out why anyone would be so anxious to get hold of the book.

It was filled with a kid's scrawling handwriting, sums and addition, problems and subtraction, alphabets. Then I came to one page and stopped. It was filled with strange, weird-looking figures, as a kid would try to draw human beings. But there was something about them that didn't look like a kid's work. They were grotesque, almost fiendish faces and distorted, twisted bodies. And underneath were three words in Spanish.

La Noche Triste. The Sad Night. The words were scrawled too, but somehow they were different from the rest of the book. I kept turning back to that page, wondering, trying to connect something in my mind with those figures in the book. And I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew it was three in the morning. Turned off my light, lay back in bed. Then I was getting company unexpected, and I wasn't in the mood to entertain.

Well, well, well, what a wonderful thing a skeleton key is, like the magic words, open sesame. Somebody was looking for something and it wasn't Easter eggs on the White House lawn. I waited and then... Looking for something, bud? Whoever it was didn't wait for the floor show. I turned on the light. He'd grabbed the book, but he'd left a knife behind. One that I picked up with a handkerchief.

If there were fingerprints, he would introduce me to the gent. And Kling could do me that favor. Got any idea who it was, Holiday? No, I haven't, Kling. We had our waltz in the dark. Oh, it must have been romantic. Oh, yes, yes. I was overcome. Look, can you get Prince off that knife handle? Seems to me you could pick an easier way of meeting people. Oh, I like the hard way. It makes for lasting friendships. Look, did he try to knife you? Well, I don't think he was doing KP with it. Why was he after you? He wasn't. Oh, I see.

He breaks in at three in the morning. You surprise him, he pulls a knife on you. But he wasn't after you. It was just a social call, or maybe he was a visiting nurse. Cling, will you see about those prints? Yeah, if you'll prefer charges. Maybe, but more important, he took something I want back. What? A child's copy book. A child... You know, Holiday, the more I see of you and this Box 13 gimmicky run, the more I believe in elves and pixies.

Why did you have a child's copy book? I'm learning to write. You're going to keep this all to yourself, huh? Till I find out what it's all about. Okay. Well, from what you say about the cookie who disturbed your Betty by this morning, he might have a record. In that case, you can tell me who he is. You don't want me to pick him up? No, I'd rather have the pleasure. You see, he hung one on my chin. He hung one on your... All right. Come back in an hour. Oh.

Oh, Mr. Holliday. Gee, I've been trying to get in touch with you all morning. I was at headquarters, Susie. Oh, what'd you do? Oh, now, don't jump to conclusions. Why were you trying to get in touch? Look. Huh? When did this come? This morning. I picked up box 13 mail at the Star Times and that note was in it. Mm-hmm.

Well, as they say in the books, Susie, the plot thickens. In fact, it's so thick now I can't see a thing. How'd you get that bruise on your chin? I shaved with a baseball bat this morning. Oh. Well, are you going to meet Marina Layton? That's what she asked me to do in her letter. So if you want me, I'll be at... At where she says, the lobby of the Camden Hotel. So I got to the lobby of the Camden Hotel. It wasn't hard to find Marina Layton. She was dressed as she said she'd be...

I took a good look before walking over to her. She was about 24, not pretty, but one of those faces that always says, wonderful day, isn't it? Okay, so maybe now I'd find out what all the excitement was about. I walked over. Oh, pardon me. Are you Marina Layton? Yes, and you're... That's it, box 13. You know, I didn't think there was such a thing. I thought this would all turn out to be some sort of a joke. Oh, well, uh...

Do we sit here? If you like. Well, may I have it, Mr... Holiday. First name's Dan. All right. May I have the book, Dan? I, uh, I haven't got it, Marina. But you must have it. Mark said he sent it to you. Oh, no, no. Another character in the show. And who's Mark? He was my father's dearest friend. But surely you ought to know that. Look, Marina, I don't know a thing. Wait a moment. Here. Here's his letter to me.

You want me to read it? Yes. Dear Marina, the years I've kept something from you that your father wanted you to have. Now I know someone else wants it. But you can have it by writing to Box 13, Care of the Star Times. I want to write more, but I don't dare. Just remember your own name is a clue. Love, Mark.

Well, what if your father wanted you to have what he gave to this mark? Why didn't he try to get it from me? Who? Who tried to get what from you? Your father and mother. They... They're crazy. My mother died when I was born, and my father disappeared almost five years ago.

Oh, now it begins to make some sense, not much, but a little. What are you talking about? The character who said he was your father, he wanted that copybook of yours. He must have found out in some way that Mark had it. But who was the man? I don't know. He said he was your father. I don't understand all this. Makes two of us. But listen, I... What's the matter? How do I know you're Marina Layton? But I am. Yeah. Yeah, I guess you are. Because since someone already took the copybook from me earlier this morning...

It'd be a little senseless to try to get it this way. All right, Marina, what do you know about a copy book? Yours, with the date 1930 written in it. Copy book? Mine? But nothing, nothing at all. Huh? Oh, now, wait a minute. All this business has to mean something. Don't you even remember a copy book? I suppose I must have had one. Wait, of course. Black, ragged-looking, alphabets in it. That's it. Now, what about it?

Oh, nothing. It was just an ordinary book. I scribbled in it and... Did you say 1930? Yes, why? Because in 1930 I was with my father in Mexico. I had the book then because I was being tutored by Mark and I used it for my lessons. Did you write anything in it that might... well, that might be important? No, not a thing. You must have. I didn't. Did you write the Spanish words, La Noche Chista? Why, that means the sad night. Yes, I know. Did you write them? No, I don't think so.

Then your father must have. But why? Are you sure those words were in the book? Well, of course I am. Oh, uh, would Mark know? Why, Mark's dead. And now back to The Sad Night, another Box 13 adventure with Alan Land as Dan Holliday. We went to the place where Mark had lived. Yes, he was dead. Heart failure, the doctor said.

But we learned something else. That he'd had visitors the night he had died. And from the description of them, they could have only been the man and woman who poses Marina's parents. And I learned a few things more from Marina. That her father was an archaeologist, and in 1930 he was excavating Aztec ruins outside Mexico City. It was on the way back to Kling's office in my car that she told me some more. Father disappeared in Brazil. Almost five years ago. Then the remains of his expedition were found. And your father? He...

He died, but he left records, letters for the museum. And anything for you? No, nothing. Are you sure? Yes. Wrote letters to the museum, yet nothing for his daughter. Why do you say it like that? Doesn't it seem odd that he should leave letters and records for everyone but you? Yes, it does. There are a lot of things that seem odd. You wait here, Marina. I'll be right out.

Well, Holiday, I'm just about to leave your office. Oh, what did you find out? You were at distinguished company this morning. Little Georgie Garson, strong man, General Hoodlum. I didn't think it was little either. Want me to pick him up? Yeah, I'd love your company. Okay, Kling, let's go. I want to ask Georgie a few questions. It took Kling about five minutes to get Georgie to talk. He told us he'd been hired to get that book and from his description of the guy who hired him.

Well, it couldn't have been anyone else but the man who poses Leighton the day before. On a quick trip to the house on Lakeshore Boulevard, we might as well have stood in bed. The fake Mr. and Mrs. Leighton were gone, and with them, the copybook. And that left us at a dead end. But dead.

But at the morgue of the Star Times, Marina and I learned something else. Uh-huh. I think we got lots of stuff on Albert Layton. Try it out, Jonesy. Yeah. He's the one who got himself lost in Brazil about five years ago, isn't he? Yeah, that's right. Here's a folder on him. News clips, photos. That's Dad. Look. Look. Who's this Jonesy? Let me see. Oh, that's the guy you found, Layton, or what was left of the expedition. Name of Carl Bremer.

Oh, Mr. Bremer and the gent who wanted that book are one and the same. Did you ever see Marina? Not that I remember. Where were you when your father went to Brazil? In school. And you didn't see him again after he left for Brazil? No. Josie. Uh-huh? You know a lot of things. What do the Spanish words la noche triste mean to you? Nothing except they mean the sad night. Is that all? Yeah, why? Because they mean more than that.

Marina, can you get a sample of your father's handwriting? Oh, yes, of course. And I've got a hunch that Bremer and his wife are leaving for Mexico. Hey, Dan. Yeah? Look, this Layton was an archaeologist. Why don't you go to the museum to find out about him? Good idea, Jonesy, thanks. But I've got a phone call to make first. If my hunch is correct, we've got to stop Bremer from getting to Mexico. Let me get this straight, Dan. You want this Bremer and his wife picked up, huh? Yeah, that's it. What's the charge? You pick them up. I'll prefer charges.

And maybe one of them will be murder. What? Will you do it? Well, what if they're out of the country by now? Exodite them. You've got to have a strong charge to do that. I have. One, causing the death of an old man by trying to force something out of him. Two, hiring Georgie Garson to break into my apartment. And three, attempting to defraud. Is that enough? If you can make those charges stick. You get them and I'll make them stick. Marina got a sample of her father's handwriting. Is this what you wanted? Yes.

You sure this is your father's handwriting? Of course. That's a letter from him, just before he left for the interior of Brazil. But the writing in the book, it was nothing like this. Well, maybe he didn't write it. He must have. He... Wait a minute. Mind if I... Mind if I write on the other side of this paper? No. Okay. Now watch. I'm right-handed. But suppose I write like this with my left hand.

What's it look like? Just a scrawl. Sure, as a kid would write. As you would have written in 1930. But why would he have done that? To make it look as though you'd written it. That doesn't make sense. It does make sense if you realize that your father had learned something. Something that was big enough to make him want to hide it. And where would he hide it? In a place no one would ever think of looking for it. A kid's copy book. No. No, he kept his notebooks. Everything he did was in his own notes. But not this.

You were with him in 1930. What was he doing? Oh, I told you, working on the Aztec ruins outside of Mexico City. And what did he find? His findings were published. The museum has a full account. Oh, the museum, the museum. What's the matter with me? Come on, Marina. Maybe we're getting someplace. Yes, of course I know Albert Layton's work. He was a great man. The world has lost a genius, Miss Layton.

Too bad. Look, Mr. Dougal, we want you to help us. I'll do my best. You said over the phone that it was important. Had something to do with our Mexican antiquities here at the museum. Yes, that's right. What did Professor Layton send here? Well, come in here, into the Aztec room. I remember all these things. Of course, everything isn't here. The Mexican museums were given their share and... Oh, pardon me. Yeah? Look. What's the matter? Look, look, on that far wall, those figures...

Oh, yes. They're only copies. Quite well done, of course. The original paintings were lost when the Spaniards destroyed the temples. The Aztecs were jealous and more like people. Because on the far wall were the same figures I'd seen in that copybook. The same grotesque, weird figures with their twisted bodies and savage faces. There were three of them. Their painted eyes looked out at us, seemed to accuse us. I turned to the curator.

Mr. Dougal? Yes, Mr. Holliday. What are those figures? Well, they're Aztec gods. The one over here in the upper left is Quetzalcoatl, supreme god of the Aztecs. The one in the upper right is Huitzilopochtli. He's one of my favorites, the god of war. The one at the base of the triangle is Tlaloc, the god of rain. Marina, those were the figures in your copybook.

And they were above the words La Noche Triste. But why? Why should Dad have done that? Mr. Dougal, what is that triangle? Well, where each of those figures is painted was a temple long ago destroyed by the Spaniards under Cortes. In the center was one of the causeways that led to Tenochtitlan. That's today's Mexico City. It was over that causeway that the Spaniards made their escape on La Noche Triste.

La noche triste. Look, sit down, Mr. Dougal. I want you to tell me a lot more. The curator talked for an hour. And what he told Marina and me all added up. The copybook, the figures of those old Aztec gods. Oh, Marina's father had something all right. And he hid it in that copybook. No wonder Bremer wanted it. No wonder old Mark had kept it. And the whole thing made a story that went back over 400 years. A story of greed and bloodshed.

One that reached out to touch me, Marina, old Mark, Bremer, all of us. Later in Kling's office, facing the Bremers, with Marina sitting there too. All right, Holliday, let's have it. First, I'll take that copybook, Bremer. All right. What good will it do you? None. And it wouldn't have done you any good either. What do you mean? You caused the death of one man to get this. Another man, famous, respected, lost his head and tried to keep what he had found...

But it wouldn't have done your father any good either, Marina. No, I know. What's the story, Dan? Well, it really begins, Kling, when Bremer found the remains of the Leighton expedition in Brazil. He found letters, records. He brought some of them back with him, but some he didn't. Is that right, Bremer? You know everything. You tell it. Thank you, I will. One of the letters was to Marina. Marina, whose name is the same as the Indian girl who was Cortez's consort. That was the one you kept, Bremer.

A letter telling Marina about the copy book and what it contained. All right, all right. What is it, Holiday? Let's go back to July 1st, 1520. To Hernan Cortes and his army. The army that marched through Mexico and destroyed the Aztec Empire. That's got something to do with all this? Everything. On that night, the Aztecs rose up in fury against the Spaniards. They had thought Cortes and his men were gods. But they'd found out differently. They determined to drive the Spaniards out forever...

The Spaniards took all the gold they could carry. The Aztecs went after them. They trapped Cortes and his army on one of the causeways that led to the city. The causeways were narrow. There were thousands of Indians in canoes. All night long, the battle went on until... Until in the morning, 450 of the Spaniards were dead and thousands of Aztecs. But Cortes and the remnant of his army escaped. Got to the mainland. And, uh, the copy book? Those three words. La noche triste. The sad night.

are written in the Mexican history as the night Cortez and his army in the Aztecs fought and killed each other until the canals were choked with them. The gold the Spaniards took with them did them no good. They couldn't fight with it or eat it. So sobbing and screaming, they dumped the treasure into the waters of the canal and it sank into the mud of the bottom. It's never been found. Marina's father thought he had located it. But look, here's a map of modern Mexico City where the causeways once ran. There are streets and houses...

So you see, no one will ever find that gold. And maybe, maybe it's just as well. It's too red with blood to be of any use to anyone. But gee, Mr. Holliday, if all that gold's there, why doesn't somebody go after it? Oh, you too, Susie.

No, I guess not. But, oh, tell me something, Mr. Holliday. What were the names of those Aztec gods? Uh, quit, uh, uh, winking, blinking, and nod. Good night, Susie. Next week, same time, through the courtesy of Paramount Pictures, Alan Ladd stars as Dan Holliday in Box 13. Box 13 is directed by Richard Sanville with an original story by Russell Hughes. Original music is composed and conducted by Rudy Schraders.

Part of Susie is played by Sylvia Picker and that of Lieutenant Kling by Edmund MacDonald. Production is supervised by Vern Carstensen. This is a Mayfair production from Hollywood. Watch for Alan Ladd in his latest Paramount Picture. And now, M&J Audio Theater presents Chet Chetters, Tales from the Morgue.

Well, come right in, stranger. Do have a seat, won't you? There. There you go.

You seem a bit hot. Let me fetch you a glass of lemonade. There you are. It is refreshing, isn't it? Yes.

Well, allow me to introduce myself. I am Chet Chetter. I am the morgue attendant here. And it gets a bit lonely. That is why whenever I receive visitors, I enjoy telling them stories. I would love to tell you one, if you have the time. Oh, well, good.

Well, now, let's see. I think today I will tell you about a man named Elmer Corn. I have many stories about this man. By trade, Mr. Corn is a manure hauler from Biloxi. However, he seems to have a knack for getting himself into some unusual situations. Well, now.

My story begins one summer morning on a Tuesday, I believe. It was 5.30 a.m. and Mr. Corn was beginning his day. Whoa! Bad gum! 5.30 already? I tell you, this fast-paced life I lead. Well, goodbye, blissful slumber. Hello, Tuesday morning. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

All right, Elmer. That's enough procrastinating. It's time to get out of bed and begin our day. Well, let's see what we got on the calendar here. Let's see what I'm going to have to do today. Let's see. Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday. Oh, got to deliver 60 pounds of manure to Duluth, Montana. Well, all right. I haven't been to Duluth in quite a while. Well, let's see. I guess I'll go outside and see if the boys delivered the paper yet. All right.

Oh, boy, what a beautiful morning. Hello, world. Now, let's see here. The boy usually throws the paper by the fence. Now, it's still a little too dark to see. Boy, I got a bad case of sewer breath. I got to remind myself to brush my teeth when I get back inside. Oh, there's paper right over there. Yes, sirree, Bob, right by the fence, just like every day.

Well, now, let's see what the good news is. Yeah. Biloxi, baffled and bewildered. The population of Biloxi continues to dwindle, say police, who have been investigating the disappearances of three citizens since yesterday morning. Police Chief Lester Corn says he is unable to link the disappearances with the dozens of UFO sightings that have been reported over the past 24 hours.

Oh, come on now. Dang it. It's a sad state of affairs when the Biloxi Gazette resorts to this sort of sensationalism like the National Enquirer. Well, I can't read no more of this garbage on an empty stomach. I got just enough time to go inside and fix me a bologna sandwich. Oh!

Oh, my good Lord, make that drop so big. No, no, wait a minute. It's still standing. Oh, thank you, Lord. I think maybe it was a meteor. It fell right over here. No, no, wait a minute. That ain't no meteor. That there's a real live flying saucer.

Yes, you heard correctly. A flying saucer. Mr. Corn, being the inquisitive man that he is, picked up a stick and poked the side of the vessel several times. Suddenly, a hatch opened, causing Mr. Corn to recoil in fear. Whoa! He peered into the saucer, expecting something or someone to exit.

But nothing did. The suspense was more than even Mr. Corn could withstand. Reluctantly, he entered the saucer. Hello? Man, yeah. Boy, there's lights and all kinds of stuff going on in this thing. She thought. Hey, there's a little blue fella right over there by that. Uh-oh.

Oh, he's in bad shape. Whoa! Cleabar to Ardek-4. Cleabar to Ardek-4. All scout ships are ordered to return to the planet Tontanium at once. The TV screen. Return at once. Confirm transmission. Oh, boy, you scared the bejeebus out of me. What was that, sir? I didn't quite understand you the first time. Earth creature! Earth creature!

State your intrusion on the Tontanium scout ship. What is your identity code? Uh, identity code? Oh, you mean my name. It's Elmer Corn, sir. Biloxi Manure Hauling.

I guess you're calling this little blue feller here. I'm afraid to tell you, I don't think he's going to be coming home anytime soon. He got the top of his head cut right off. He just fell on this piece of jagged metal here. If it's any consolation, though, I don't think he suffered any. Disgusting as this.

Many times have I told him that Earth's satellite transmissions can drain power cells. Perhaps he never get it too close to our power source. Oh, well, I guess that's possible. Biloxi TV's just up the road here. I think he ran into a telephone pole, though. Earthling, what is the condition of the vessel? Uh, what's that? Oh, you mean the ship? Uh, well, it's got a big old bin outside, and I'd say that's about all that's wrong with it. Your machinery and everything's working inside, and...

Like I said, your friend here met a pretty bitter end, but other than that, I guess everything's all right. Say, you ever heard of seatbelts? That might have saved your friend. All that can be saved, Earthling. Oh, yeah? You must navigate the vessel to the planet Tontanium at once. Oh, no, I don't, sir. You must engage power cells and navigate the ship at once.

Time is limited. We must examine Ardack's body immediately. Now, sir, everybody's got to go sometime. Now, I'm awful sorry that your friend here has passed on, but I can't do nothing for you. And I've got places to go. Besides, you can't do nothing for this fellow. The top of his head's cut off. From that son of yours intellectually backward planet, a dismembered cranium is fatal. However, on our planet, our medical technology far exceeds the knowledge of even your finest surgeons.

However, as we speak, Ardek's tissues deteriorate and time is running out. So, will you navigate the ship, human? Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I'll navigate the ship. I just can't say no to someone who's in need. And if you think you can save him, I'll bring the ship to your planet. You'll just have to tell me how to work it. But there's a feller in Duluth, Montana who ain't gonna be too happy when his load of cow fluff don't show up.

The alien on the ship's telescreen instructed Elmer how to navigate the saucer. He traveled billions of light years and passed through a million galaxies in a matter of seconds. According to Elmer's watch, the entire trip to the planet Tontanium took 30 minutes. Engage planet gear. Engage planet gear. Engage planet gear. What's that?

That door opened up by itself. I guess I'm supposed to walk down this slanted walkway here.

Oh, look at those little blue feathers down there. They must be my welcoming committee. Howdy, fellas. Greetings. Say, did you see me land that spaceship? I landed just like old Buck Rogers, and I've never been behind a wheel of one in my life. Affirmative. It was most impressive, human. We extend our gratitude to you for returning the body of Ardek to us. Premat, Zybon.

Take the body of Bardak to the refrigeration chambers. He is still sufficiently fresh. You ain't going to chill him, are you? I thought you was going to operate on him. In due time, human. We hope you find your stay on the planet Tontanium a pleasant one. Uh, no, sir. No, sir. I'm afraid I can't stay another second. I gotta rush home and get that load of cow dung on the road. But I do appreciate the offer, though. Premat! Affirmative on! Affirmative! Hey! Come with us! Take the human to the holding chambers. Hey, let me go! Come with us! Come with us!

Come with us, come with us, human. This way. He is a very fine specimen. Specimen? Hey, what do you mean, specimen? Hey, where you taking me? Hey, I don't want it. Hey! Yes, he is a very fine specimen indeed. Farewell, Earthling. Well, now, I suppose you're wondering what the aliens plan to do with our hero.

Well, you can only imagine Elmer's confusion as he was escorted by force to a large metal cage. This way, human. This way. Now, take it easy now. Silence. Hey, now, let me go. Hey, you're too rough with me now. What are you going to do? Get in the holding cell.

Hey, come on! Now, silence! This is an awful way to show gratitude. That's all I got to say. I traveled billions of miles to bring that body to your planet, and you just threw me in a cave. Well, dang you. Dang you all to heck. Elmer, is that you? What?

Cecil Ferris? Yeah, it's Cecil Ferris. Well, I'm a dead gun. Well, what are you doing here, Cecil? Well, I got abducted by one of them there UFOs, and here I am with everybody else. Well, heck, I recognize all of y'all, but there's Miss Maddox over there. Howdy, Miss Maddox. Hello, son. There's Mr. Craig. Howdy, Elmer. Well, what are you all doing here?

Well, Elmer, them there aliens threw us in this cage and we're sitting here to wait.

That's right. I read about three people disappearing this morning in the Biloxi Gazette. I thought it was a load of crock, but I guess it's true. It's true. Well, at least you guys were abducted. I'm here because I drove here. I thought I was helping these aliens out, but I guess I'm the big fool. Yeah. What do you figure they're planning to do with us? Elmer, I kind of hesitate to tell you.

Attention, humans. It is time to take another subject. Oh, my God. You. No. Come with us. No, not me. It is time. No. No. Come now. No, you let me go. Come now, humans. You let me go. No. Come with us, humans. No. Come with us. No. Do not struggle. No. Do not struggle, humans. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Boy, he really kicked up the dust. He sure did, Elmer. Say, what are they going to do to him? Are they going to torture him? No. Uh-uh. Are they going to run experiments on him? No, sonny. No, Elmer. Well, they ain't going to.

They ain't gonna eat him, are they? Bingo, Albert. You got it. And yum. Yeah. Well, boy, this kind of puts a damper on things. Yeah, I've been kind of depressed here lately. Now, Miss Maddox, Miss Maddox, you hush up that baller. The worst thing you can do at a moment like this is to pounce.

Now, you just hush up all that bawling. Old Elmer's here, and he's going to do something about this mess. I certainly... At least I think I am. I certainly hope so, Elmer. When that alien gets back here, you let me do all the talking, all right? All right, Elmer. Now, between then and now...

Why don't we sing us a little song? Oh, no. Cheers up. You all know this one. Sing along with Elmer. Okay, Elmer. If you're happy and you know it, say I am. I am. If you're happy and you know it, say I am. I am. If you're happy and you know it, then you're happy. Mr. Cohen tried the best he could to raise the spirits of his fellow prisoners.

However, knowing you're about to become the main course on an alien's menu tends to put one in a dampened disposition.

And the fella behind the bar said, that ain't no dog, mister. That there's my wife. That's my wife, is what he said. Alma, that was the worst joke I have ever heard in my life. Oh, now, come on, Cecil. It's the situation we're in. Now, if we was anywhere besides in this old cage, I swear you'd be laughing to your ribs crying. I don't know about that.

You too, Mrs. Martin. I don't think so, Elmer. I don't think so. Now, wait a minute. Now, listen. Do you remember what I said? Let me do the talking.

Attention, humans. It is time to take another subject. We will take the elderly female human. Oh, no. Come with us now. Oh, please, don't take me. Save me, Elmer. Save me, Elmer. Yes, yes, Miss Maddox. Listen, sir, if you don't mind, I'd rather go in her place. I just can't stand all this waiting. It's just eating my guts out. I'd rather just get it over with and be done with it. I think...

Affirmative. One human is just as sufficient as another. Come with us. Well, thank you kindly, sir. Much obliged. Well, that's okay. You don't have to drag me. I'll go on my own accord. Silence. You sure got a nice place here. Beautiful place. Silence. We gonna go in that room right there? Affirmative. Well, all right. I'm ready to be eaten. Silence. Silence.

Fleabag, here's the next subject. Ah, I see you have brought our latest visitor to me. Greetings, certainly. Yeah, yeah, aloha. Hey, listen, feller, just what is the deal around here? What are you fellers up to? Are we your idea of fancy takeout or something? Ow! Silence! There is no need to strike the human. His sarcasm is understandable. Ah!

Uh, human, I suppose you wonder why we consume Earth creatures. Well, yes, sir, I gotta admit, I am a bit curious. Oh, yes. Human, for billions of eons, we have sustained our race on mineral deposits mined from our planet's core. However, recently, our food supply has been completely exhausted. No alternative food source has been discovered.

Tontaniates die by the thousands. We consume their corpses for nutritional value, but that is insufficient. Earth is the only life-sustaining planet we have discovered. Humans are plentiful, and they are nutritionally high in value. We regret that you must die so that we may live. Well, I'll tell you, I'm not doing a big backflip with joy about it myself. Lebon, Kremat, sustain the human. Earth the creature.

Liban will now use a centrotron unit to inject a paralyzing electronic charge into your body. What? Your body will then be dismembered and sectioned into nutrition pellets. Oh, no. We assure you, you will feel no pain. Well, I wish I could say the same for you. Give me that centrotron unit. Eh, return the centrotron unit. Return the centrotron unit to me. Return it. Return it immediately. That's a big neck of toy, Blue Man, but I am going to give you a dose of it. Negative. Ah!

That ought to hold you two for a while. And as for you, Doc, you better open up that door. I'm going to zap you too. This is foolish, human. You cannot possibly escape. I wouldn't count on it. I'm pretty dadgum agile. Now open the door. Very well.

Elmer raced down the hall to the Tontanium Embassy. Armed guards fired laser shots at him from all sides, but they could not keep up. Soon, Mr. Corn was at the holding cell that contained his friend. Elmer, come on! Elmer, come save us now! Over here, Elmer! Elmer, Elmer, over here!

Hey, is everybody all right? Yeah, I'm doing all right. Well, look, we're going to have to get the hell out of here. Them guards are going to be catching up with me any second now. All right. You ready to run like your butt's on fire? Yeah, yeah. Okay. Well, there's this control panel here that operates the door. Let's just hope I get it. All right.

That prisoners followed Elmer, feeling confident that he would lead them to safety.

He herded them into one of the saucers, and then, to ensure they would not be followed, he smashed the controls of the remaining ship.

By the time the aliens caught up with them, it was too late. All right! Alma was zooming at warp speed towards Earth. And safely. ♪♪

Well, on the road again, we're on the road again. Say, how's everybody doing? I'm doing just fine, Albert. I sure can't wait to get back to Biloxi. Well, it won't be too long. I'll bet we're just about ten minutes from Earth.

What's wrong, Miss Maddox? I feel like I'm going to vomit, Elmer. Oh, well, it's that warp sickness, Miss Maddox. If you split your head between your legs, honey, that's what does it. Yes, sir. Traveling out in the daylight will do it every time. Yes, sir. Uh-oh. Now there goes that telescreen.

Attention, human. Uh-huh? We're here for you. Return the subjects to our planet at once. You guys must be touching the head or something. Listen, where I come from, fellers don't eat other fellers. It just ain't done. It's immoral and illegal, if I'm not mistaken. No, you're just going to be disappointed. I'm taking these people right home, and they're going to be safe and sound. Sorry. About that. Human, you're wise to take the subjects with you.

We allowed our food supply to diminish. The fault is our own. Soon we will die. Soon our planet will be a barren, foreign, floating space. We are sorry. We are so sorry. Now, now, I ain't gonna sit here and listen to that sort of foolish talk. You sound gloomier than a hawk without mud. There's an answer to everything. If you people can just stand without eating for one more day, I'll come back with a solution to your problem. I promise.

Elmer, what are you gonna do? Now you just hold your horses, Cecil. You'll see. After returning to Earth, Mr. Korn gathered the materials needed to solve the alien's dilemma.

Soon he was back on the planet Tontinium. And he was not alone.

Well, here you are. Human, I do not wish to sound lacking in appreciation, but what are these strange creatures? Oh, well, over there's a cow, you see. He's your beef. And over there next to it is a bull. And you got your chicken for eggs. And you got your hogs for your bacon products and your ham and all that. The point is, all this stuff is good to eat. You know how to fix it, right? Remarkable. Remax. Affirmative.

What is the nutritional analysis of the horned creature? It is sufficiently high in protein, iron, and essential vitamins. That's right, and it's good for you, too. You pull them things underneath that cow, you'll get milk, and that's real good. That gives you your calcium. And if you put that there horned creature, as you call it, with that cow, it'll make more cows than horned creatures. Reproduction.

A primitive Earth concept. We use a genetic duplicator. Well, I guess that worked, too, but I think our way's a heck of a lot more fun. Anyway, all this stuff is real good for you. I also brought you some vegetables, and I brought you some recipes to help you fix all this stuff up. Remarkable. We can reproduce all of these food products with the Duplicon.

Human, you have saved our planet from inevitable doom. We extend our sincere gratitude, and we humbly apologize for the human that we have consumed. We have violated natural laws. Oh, well, that's okay. That was the town drunk that you ate, and I don't think we're going to be missing him too much down there on Earth. As far as thanking me, sir, you don't have to bother. My mama, sweet old woman, said as long as I got food, ain't nobody in need going to go hungry, and I've kind of followed that path.

I'm just glad that you people are going to be all right. I have one question, human. Okay. Does not the consumption of the creatures violate natural laws? Why?

Why did you strike me upon the cranium? Silence, foolish one. The human is saving our lives. I tell you, fellas, I sure would like to stay around and chew the fat with y'all, but I just can't stay another second. I'm already two days late on that Duluth, Montana manure haul. But I tell you what, I want you guys to not be such a stranger. Y'all stop by on Earth every now and then and visit me, you hear? Affirmative. You are a friend to us also, human, and a savior.

And please, feel free to take one of our transport vehicles with our gratitude. Well, thank you kindly, sir. I appreciate that. I'll do that. I'll see y'all people later. Bye-bye. It's time to hit the old warp drive here. If you're happy and you know it, say I am. I am. If you're happy and you know it, say I am. Here we go.

Mr. Cone once again sped towards Mother Earth singing a happy tune. His soul was filled with heartfelt pride for an entire planet considered him the savior. Yeah, now, that was a painless story, wasn't it?

Yes. I must admit, all this talk of food has made me hungry. I suppose if I had the appetite of one of those aliens, I would have a regular smorgasbord here in the morgue. Oh, forgive me. That was disgusting. Oh, please don't leave.

I hope I haven't offended you. I was merely joking. Well, if you must go, you will return, won't you? It gets so lonely here in the morgue, and I have many stories to tell. Until then, pleasant dreams.

You have just heard Chet Chetters, Tales from the Morgue.

Today's installment, Elmer vs. the Invaders. For correspondence, send to M&J Audio Theater, PO Box 252, Mejia, M-E-X-I-A, Texas, 76667. The names and characters portrayed in this production are fictitious. Any similarities to actual persons, including aliens, is purely coincidental. ♪♪

A production by M&J Audio Theatre.

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. 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 stream. It's Saturday, December 28th at 5 p.m. Pacific, 6 p.m. Mountain, 7 p.m. Central, 8 p.m. 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 scream 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.