“MARKHEIM” by Robert Louis Stevenson, and More #RetroRadio Stories! EP0268 #WeirdDarkness
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The Black Museum. Affiliated stations present Escape. Dinner Sanctum. The Seal. Presents Suspense. I am the Whistler.

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

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

Come in. Welcome. I'm E.G. Marshall. This time I bring you not a horror story, not a mystery story, but a story that aficionados classify as the perfect crime.

In other words, you see what our police friends call the perpetrator plan and execute what appears to be a perfect crime, one for which he will never be brought to book. And then you are kept in suspense, wondering or trying to figure out for yourself what little mistake he will make or has made that will nail him. Consider the case of Jennifer Palmer and her husband Nick.

who framed her with murder. But, Lieutenant, Jennifer couldn't have murdered Alexis Lorne. Jen simply isn't capable of murder. Mr. Chatterton, we're all capable of murder. Or so the head doctors say, anyhow. Jennifer didn't murder... Her prints are on the gun. She admits she was on the scene when Alexis Lorne was killed. Her motivation is strong and clear. Jealousy. I'm sorry, Mr. Chatterton, but it's a bad scenario for Jennifer Palmer.

Real bad. Our mystery drama, Frame Up, was written especially for the Mystery Theater by George Lothar and stars Mercedes McCambridge. It is sponsored in part by Anheuser-Busch Incorporated, Brewers of Budweiser, and Sinoff, the sinus medicines. I'll be back shortly with Act One. Act One

Lounging in this big, comfortable leather chair of mine, I sometimes get to speculating on whether I could commit, try anyhow, to commit a perfect crime. It must require a great deal of nerve and the conviction, I suppose, that one is a highly superior human being. Vanity of one's self, contempt of others,

These would surely be two characteristics of whoever planned a perfect crime. Nick Palmer possessed both in abundance, but they were carefully concealed most of the time under a veneer of charm. Unhappily, so far as Jennifer, his wife, was concerned, that veneer had cracked long ago. Divorce!

That's precisely the word I use, Nick. Divorce. But, Jan, dear, on what grounds would you divorce me? In the four years of our marriage, you have been unfaithful at least four times. Ah, you can't prove that. And using the power of attorney I gave you, you mishandled my money. You can't prove that either. Well, luckily, I don't have to prove that.

I had only to revoke the power of attorney, which I did this morning. Oh, dear, I don't like that. No, no, I don't like that at all. I didn't expect you would. I don't much like the idea of divorce either. It's bad for my practice. Ha! What practice? You haven't bothered to take on a law case in more than a year. That's true. I don't believe in working if you don't have to. And, of course, using...

misusing my money, you haven't had to. Look, let me ask you a couple of questions, do you mind? Go ahead. Have I in any way tried to interfere with your personal wishes in any way as a husband tried to keep you from whatever you might have wanted? Such as? Well, you know how I feel about Sheila and the expense of keeping her at the Lawrence School. If you tried to get me to take her out of the Lawrence School, you'd have failed and you know it.

Sheila is my daughter, not yours. And she is also a special child. Special? Yes. A special child who needs the special treatment she gets at the Lawrence School. All right, we won't go into all that again. Have I ever asked you to give up those so-called art lessons of yours? So-called?

What are you talking about? Well, you've been going to Chat Chatterton's studio twice a week for nearly two years. And what of it? What's wrong in having a hobby? Oh, is that all Chatterton is to you? A hobby? Chat Chatterton is an old friend, and I'm very fond of him. But that's all. Now, I don't like to strip you of your security blanket, my darling. But you leave me no option. What are you getting at? Just this, Jen.

Unless you agree to leave things as they are, I'm afraid I shall have to take measures to stop you. Well, there's nothing you can do to stop me. Oh, yes. Yes, there really is. I could put you behind bars for murder. You what? Frame you. Frame me? With murder?

Are you crazy? Frame you with a murder you didn't commit and enjoy. Oh, you are crazy. Crazy enough to see you put behind bars for 10 to 20 years at least. More than sufficient time for me to enjoy your money. Now then, will you drop the divorce and reinstate the power of attorney? Of course not. And what's more, I want you...

to pack your bags and get out of this house at once. Oh, now, Jen, where would I go? I don't care where you go. All I know is I can't bear being in the same house with you. Well, in that case, shouldn't you be the one to leave? I like the house, and really, I like you, Jen. I don't mind being with you one little bit. You... Oh, very well. I'll leave. Anything to be rid of you. Goodbye. Not goodbye, my darling. Not yet.

Jen, would you use a warm or cool shadow here under the jawline? Jen? Huh? Oh, what, Alexis? Oh, this portrait I'm working on, I'm not sure if I should use a warm or... Jen, are you all right? Yes, sure, sure, Alexis. Why do you ask? All through painting class today, you...

Your thoughts seem to be elsewhere. Well, I... Something on my mind, that's all. Anything I can help you with? No, no, it's...

Something that I have to work out for myself. A ten-minute break, everybody. And then I'll have a look at what you've done. Hey, that portrait's coming along fine, Alexis. Wish I could say the same for your still life, Jen. Yeah, I wish I could, too, Chad. Oh, well, she just hasn't been with it today. Yes, I sort of sense that. Um, Alexis, do me a favor, will you? Oh, you have but to command, Master. Have everybody arrange their paintings along the wall so I can just walk by and look at them, huh? Master, I...

Care to talk about it? Chad, Nick threatened me this morning. Threatened you? To frame me with murder. Would you run through that again? To frame me for murder. You told him about divorcing him then? And revoking the power of attorney. And he said he... Well, he must be out of his mind. How could he frame you or anybody for murder? I don't know.

But if anyone can, he can. Oh, come on now, Jack. No, I know him better than you do. He's brilliant. He's got a mind that, honestly, sometimes it scares me. Well, he doesn't scare me. I'll take care of this little matter in short order. Oh, Jack, what can you do? I can go and see that creep husband of yours and make a few threats of my own. Palmer? Palmer?

Jen's going to get her divorce... and she's already revoked your power of attorney... and that's that. You give her any trouble... and I'll beat the living daylights out of you. Look, I assure you... unless she gives up all thought of divorce... and reinstates the power of attorney I've enjoyed... Well, she's... Look, you dirty... You go ahead, hit me. I'd like nothing better. Six-two against my five-ten? I could sue you for every penny you've got. If you've got anything worth suing for...

Or are you just living on hopes? What do you mean? Jen's money. Once free of me, if she gets free, the field would be wide open for you, wouldn't it? Why, I could take... I warned you. Oh, you did? Ah, I was foolish not to take your warning. But you know, I think it'll be foolish of you not to take mine. Which is quite simply, stay out of this. I have no intention of staying out.

A large tube of zinc white and then, let's see, oh, a couple of tubes of ultramarine, cerulean, cad red light. Excuse me. Hmm?

But aren't you Alexis, uh, Thorne, is it? Lorne. Alexis Lorne. I'm afraid I don't know you. Oh, I'm Jennifer Palmer's husband, Nick. You and I met about a year ago. Oh, we chatted in the studio, of course, when you attended the student art exhibit. That's right. Well, this is a pleasure. Uh, Jen asked me to pick up some paints for her, and I run into you. My lucky day. How nice of you. No, no, no. It's always a pleasure to meet a pretty girl again.

Tell me, Miss Laund, is your hobby still portrait painting? Oh, you remember it. Yes, it is. Well, the thought crossed my mind when I saw your work at the exhibit. Look, wouldn't it be a nice idea to give Jen a portrait of me on some occasion or other? A birthday, anniversary, you know, and running into you accidentally like this. Look here. How would you like to do a portrait of me?

Yes, you see, we have a fifth wedding anniversary coming up in a month, and I'd like nothing better than to give Jan a portrait of myself. Oh, but I'm only an amateur, Mr. Palmer. What's that got to do with it? I'm sure Jan would be doubly pleased if the portrait were painted by you. Well, we guess she might. Well, what do you say then? I'll do it. Good, that's well. Oh, not a word to Jan, of course. Oh, of course not. Could we, um...

Could we begin tonight, do you think, in my study at home? Your study? But if I come to your house and she sees me... Oh, she won't. She's going to the Lawrence School tonight to see her daughter, Sheila. Oh, yes. Poor little thing. So if you could come along, say, about 8.30? Yes, I can and I will. And thanks ever so much, Mr. Palmer. I don't mind telling you that this is my first commission. And hopefully not your last. Hopefully. Jen...

Don't say no. I beg you, don't. Our whole marriage depends on it. What marriage, Nick? Jen, give me this one more chance and I promise I'll make everything up to you. I'll spend my life making it up to you. Nick, I have no intention of giving you power of attorney again. I don't want that. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Why I want to talk with you. I realize what a mess I made of things and I'd like the chance, just one chance, to make amends. Ah.

Well... You'll come, I know you will. Nine tonight, please. I'll see you at nine. Jen, I... I can't tell you how grateful I am. Turn just a little more to the left, huh? Toward the light of the lamp. Uh, like so? Perfect. The other way, you see, we get a light effect where one side of the face is totally in shadow. We don't want that.

It sounded like a car. A car in your driveway. Yes, it is. As a matter of fact, it's Jan. Jan? Your wife? You know any other Jan? What is this? Are you playing some kind of game? You don't want your portrait... That's what you just took from that drawer. It's a gun. Yes, I'm sorry to dash your hopes, Alexis. Dash my hopes? Remember you told me this was your first commission and I said hopefully it wouldn't be your last?

Sorry, dear, it is. Jen! Come in, dearest, come in. You're right on time. So Jennifer Palmer walks into a trap, and the trap is sprung. Nick promised her he'd frame her with a murder. And from where I sit, he's well on his way to keeping that promise.

I'll return shortly for Act Two. Well, now, we've been discussing the perfect crime.

And we have seen Nick Palmer take the first step toward the accomplishment of his perfect crime by inviting Alexis Lorne to paint his portrait and then in cold blood shooting her dead as his estranged wife Jennifer rings the front door buzzer. But frankly, I don't get it, do you? I mean, quite obviously he plans to frame Jennifer for the murder of Alexis, but exactly how will he do that? All right, Nick.

Say what you have to say. Oh, come on, Jen. Sit down. Let's have a drink. No. Just tell me what you have to say, and I'll go. Okay. Jen, I'm sorry I made you such a rotten husband. I'm sorry about playing around, about squandering your money, the whole bit. I'm sorry I made no effort to be more of a father to Sheila. Well, she's not your daughter. Even so, I know what she means to you. Oh, please.

If all you're trying to say is that you want another chance, my answer is no. Well, everyone deserves a second chance. Yes, but this would be about the 20th for you, Nick. Good night. I can't live without you. Oh, you can scarcely expect me to believe that. No, no, it's the truth. I don't want to live without you. Refuse me one more chance and...

And you might as well kill me. I think you'll survive. Now, let me show you I mean what I say. Nick, are you mad? Will you put that gun down? Oh, no, I've got it pointed straight at my head, Jen. Now, tell me that you'll return to me or I swear I'll pull the trigger. Nick! Say it. Say you'll take me back. Nick, I can't lie to you. Now, give me that gun. No, I'm going to kill myself. I'm going to kill myself. Kill... No, you're not. Now, give me the gun. That's better. Hey.

I'm everything you say I am, Jen. I haven't even got the guts to shoot myself. Well, let's both be glad that you haven't. Even so, I'll keep this gun, just in case. You took the gun away from him just like that? Pretty damn cool of you, Jen. No, not at all, Chad.

Nick had forgotten that he pulled this little scene once before. Only I fell for it that time. I wasn't falling for it again. He had no intention of killing himself, and I knew it. And why did you keep the gun? Well, just to play it safe, I guess, because you never know, you know. You really never know. That's true enough.

Well, this is a great pleasure, you dropping by like this. I had to tell somebody. I'm sure you did. Oh. This is my night for unexpected visitors. Well, all right, I'm coming. Yes? I'm Detective Royce Police. My partner, Jim Andrews. Detectives? Are you Jennifer Palmer? Yes, I am. Hi, Mrs. Palmer. I hereby arrest you in suspicion of murder.

Suspicion of... It's my duty to tell you that it's your right to refuse to... Now, wait a minute. What in the world are you... You'd better stay out of this, Bud. One thing more, Mrs. Palmer. Anything you say can be used in evidence against you. Okay, let's go. Yes, of course. But murder... Just a minute. Will you open your bag, please? It's my handbag, yes. Sure. That's the gun you used. The gun I...

Oh, no. No. Never mind. Just come along. No. No, I'll keep the handbag. Right in here, Mrs. Palmer. This is her, Lieutenant. Sit down, Mrs. Palmer. We found a gun, .25 automatic, in a handbag. I sent it on to the lab for tests. Okay. Thanks. Now, you want a cup of coffee? Oh, no, thank you, ma'am.

Lieutenant. Detective Lieutenant McCluskey. Lieutenant. I really don't know what this is all about. And you've been arrested on suspicion of murder. Rice must have told you that. Oh, yes, but... Well, you murder somebody or not? Of course not. You didn't, huh? Of course not. You know anybody named Lauren? Alexis Lauren. Alexis, yes. Yes, she's in a painting class I attend at the Chatterton studio. Oh.

Not anymore, Mrs. Palmer. What? She's dead. Alexis is dead? Yeah. That's why you're here. On suspicion of killing her. Are you sure you don't want that coffee? Oh, yes, I will. Thank you. Well, why would I kill Alexis Lorne? You tell me. Here. Thank you. I guess maybe I better tell you.

About two hours ago, 925 to be exact, we got a call from your husband, Nicholas Palmer, from your home. He said a murder had been committed. We get there, we find this girl, Alexis Lorne, has been murdered. Shot to death. What does that have to do with me? You care to tell it now, or you want me to tell it? You, uh, drink your coffee.

Your husband says that this Alexis is painting his portrait in the den room. He says his hair gets all messed up. He doesn't know how, but we figure we know. And he goes upstairs to brush it. He hears shots. He comes running downstairs. Alexis is dead on the floor. Then he hears a car start up in the driveway. He runs to the window and looks out, and he sees you drive away in your car. Well, how could he tell that it was me? I mean...

After all, it was night. But a full moon. The moon at 9.20 thereabouts was full and bright. He recognized the blue sedan you drive. Also that maroon coat you're wearing. I don't remember the moonlight, but then my mind was on other things. Then you were there. Oh, yes. At that time. I guess so, yes. In other words, you found out he was fooling around with this Alexis and... No, I didn't find out anything. Then what'd you go there for? Oh, I wish I knew. Huh? Huh?

Well, I hate him, really, but I feel sorry for him, too. And he phoned me and he said, please come over and let's talk things over. And so I went. But you wouldn't understand any of that. I'm a woman. I've been in love. Why wouldn't I understand? Here, have another cup. No, thank you. Is that bad? No, no. Now, tell me more about him asking you to come there. Well, I don't see what... And what happened next?

After you got there. I don't see what that has to do with Alexis being dead, being killed. I mean, why Nick phoned and why I went there and what happened after I got there. Don't ask. Just tell. Oh, Chad. Oh, how are you doing, Jen? Oh, well, I'm doing. Oh, Jen. Jen. Oh.

I didn't know what to bring. Candies out, figure. And flowers, funerals. So I brought this. Oh, it's a sketch pad and drawing pencils. Thank you, Chad. Oh, it keeps you occupied. I ran over to the Lawrence school, saw Sheila. Chad? Oh, she's fine, fine. Nothing to worry about. How are you?

I'm awful. Sure, but listen. You've got a friend. You. Me? Oh, I'm more than a friend, you know that. Anyhow, I could be if you ever let me. McCluskey. Lieutenant McCluskey? I asked to see her and she said okay. She believes your story, but the evidence is against you. A hundred percent. He framed me. He said he'd do it and he did it.

The way I see it is that he shot Alexis to death, timing it at the moment that I arrived. And then a little later, he went into that act about shooting himself, knowing that I'd take the gun out of his hand so that my fingerprints are on the gun. And the whole rotten mess about my divorcing him for infidelity and the mishandling of money. Chad, what about the money? I mean, I'm thinking about Sheila. The money...

He's tied it up. Somehow, don't ask me. It's legal mumbo-jumbo, things I don't understand. Like, you could have been free on a hundred thousand bail, but he blocked that, said you were unfit and so on. Unfit? Well, I guess I shouldn't have said that. What do you mean, unfit? Well... That sounds like something to do with Sheila. Well, is it...

Chad? Listen now. I'm listening, for heaven's sake, Chad, please. All right, all right. He's moving already. He's moving to get control of your money, of Sheila, of everything. But he can't do that. Do you think he can? Well, you might as well know he can and he is. He's still your husband with certain legal rights, I guess. And a brilliant lawyer.

Jen, I don't understand these things. It takes a set of mental muscles I never had, but he can do it, and he's doing it, and there's only one out for you. For me and Sheila, you mean. Sheila? Yes, it's the money he's after. That's all he's ever been after. That's all he's ever wanted. And if I'm convicted, it will mean the death of Sheila. He'll take her out of the Lawrence School, and he'll put her...

Oh, wait. No, no. He wouldn't do that. We'll never let him do that. How can we stop him? How? McCloskey, she says it's a matter of his word against yours. Plus the evidence against me. Well, yes, that too. Yes, that too. There are the prints, my prints on the gun. And the fact that I was divorcing him for playing around. His story that he was playing around with Alexis and that I heard about it and blew my stack.

And I was there. And the coroner says she died approximately at the time I was there. Oh, Chad, he's framed me. He's framed me good. Unless we can prove he's lying, something bugs me about his story. There's something that doesn't make sense, doesn't hang right. What? I don't know. If I knew, you wouldn't be sitting in this cell awaiting trial. But there's...

Something, something. I'm looking straight at it and I can't see it. But it's there. I know it's there. And if I can find it, see it, he'll be behind bars and you'll be free. And if you can't find it, Sheila's life and all the treatment that would have made her well again and all the future that lay before her until now, that will be all gone. Why do you look at me like that? All you want is what's best for Sheila.

And all I want is what's best for you. That's because you love your daughter more than anything else in the world, and I... And you? Love you more than anything else in the world. Oh, well, whatever it is I'm looking at and can't see, whatever's staring me in the face that I can't find, I better see it. I better find it.

Come now, what could be staring Chat Chatterton in the face? What vital clue he can't see? If it's staring him in the face, it's staring us in the face too. And I don't see a thing. Do you? I'll be back shortly with Act Three. Framed into a charge of murder by her husband, a murder he committed...

Jennifer Palmer, if found guilty, faces a sentence of anywhere from 20 years to life. But if the thought of spending years in prison for a crime she didn't commit is torment to Jen, the prospect of what lies ahead for her young daughter Sheila is agony. For Sheila, a special child, needs constant professional care and treatment. Care and treatment that will surely be withdrawn if Nick Palmer gains custody.

Now, as witness for the prosecution, Nick takes the stand in the trial of the state versus Jennifer Palmer. Now, Mr. Palmer, I show you this gun. You ever seen it before? Why, yes. That's a .25 caliber automatic we kept in a desk drawer at home. You know, in case of need, self-defense. I see. Now, on the night Miss Lauren, Alexis Lauren, was shot to death with this gun, she was painting your portrait? Yes.

Would you tell this cord how it was that she came to be painting your portrait in your study at 9 o'clock at night? Well, I, um... I wanted to give the portrait to my wife as an anniversary gift. I wanted it to be a surprise, and so the sittings had to be held when she wasn't at home. And that night she'd gone to... Well, she said...

She said she'd gone to the Lawrence School to visit her daughter, Sheila. That's a lie! I've left him! No, I was going to sue him for divorce. I... I... I'm sorry, Your Honor. I'll proceed, Your Honor. Uh, you and Miss Lawrence were alone in the house then at nine that night? Uh, yes. Let's see, I, uh...

Oh, yeah, I remember my hair had gotten a bit rumpled and I went up to my bedroom to brush it. Let me interrupt. How did your hair become rumpled? Messed up? I beg your pardon? I'm sure you heard my question. Oh, well, it just got a little messed up, that's all. It hadn't got that way because of, shall we say, something that had gone on between you and Miss Long?

I don't know what you're getting at. What I'm getting at, Mr. Palmer, is this. The state contends that your wife killed Miss Lorne out of jealousy. And what I'm getting at is that she had grounds for jealousy. All right, if you... If you mean was I fooling around with Alexis... That's exactly what I mean. Well, yes, I was. Thank you. Now, you are in your bedroom brushing your hair. Yes, and I hear these gunshots, three of them.

I come running downstairs and I find Alexis dead, sprawled on the floor of my study. Then I heard a car start out in the driveway, so I ran to the window and I saw my wife Jennifer taking off fast in her car. I rushed to the phone, I called the police and, well, that's all. How far would you say the driveway is from the window you went to? Oh, not more than a hundred feet. Circular driveway, I believe.

Yes, that's right. Now, you are positive it was your wife's car you saw and that the person driving it was your wife? Positive. Since it was nine o'clock at night, Mr. Palmer. Night. How can you be so positive?

Oh, you see, the moon... The moon was at its fullest, its brightest. It was practically daylight. So then you recognized your wife's car? Oh, yes, it was her car, all right. Dark blue, two-door sedan, and she was driving. I saw her clearly. You saw her face clearly? Well, no, not her face, but she was wearing a coat, a dark maroon coat that I'd recognize anywhere. But then you cannot really swear it was your wife driving that car. I...

I don't know who else would be driving her car and wearing her coat, do you? No, no, I don't. Thank you. No further questions. You're a witness. No, they can't. They can't do this. I've got to see Sheila. I've got to before they send me away. Now, try to quiet down. Take it easy. What is going to happen to Sheila when I'm not here anymore to see that she's properly cared for? You know what Nick's going to do just as soon as he can do it. He'll take her out of the Lawrence School.

And he'll throw her into some second or third-rate place. He'll leave her there to rot. Please, I can't stand it. I can't stand it. I can't stand it. A case of hysterics. Lieutenant McCluskey. I heard Mrs. Palmer's leaving for upstate tomorrow. I thought I'd just drop by, wish her good luck. Nice of you. How would you like to buy me a cup of coffee? Later. Well, sure. I'll meet you outside then in five, ten minutes.

Oh, hey, come on now, Mrs. Palmer. Come on, let's sit up, huh? And dry the tears. Look, you don't want to go to pieces. There's always hope. Even when things look the worst, there's hope. Now, look, tomorrow they'll be taking you up to women's prison. Oh, oh, oh.

I can't bear the thought of it. You can because you've got to. Now, Captain Greenberg up there, she's an old pal of mine. I've talked to her about you. She's going to do all she can to make things comfortable for you. As long as you keep your nose clean, you understand? Yes, I do. Now, you do as you're told when you're told to do it. And no hysterics or making scenes or like that. Okay? Okay, I'll try. You'll do it.

How will I get to see my daughter when I'm up there? All those years, oh, my God. All those years without me. What will she do? Please, I've got to see her on a regular basis somehow. And it's got to be arranged so that I can check on her and know that she's all right. Could that be arranged? Could it? Through proper channels. The warden's office. But you believe me now. Everything that can be done...

We'll be done. Lieutenant McCluskey. Of course. Send him in. Oh, don't tell me, Chad. From the look on your face, it's clear you've just come from seeing Jen in women's prison. From seeing her in the infirmary in women's prison. Mac, I think she's dying. Oh, come on. I mean it. Not seeing Sheila all these months. Nick refusing to bring her to the prison, refusing to let anybody else take her, and...

And now learning that the kid's been placed in a... Well, you know, the kind of institution. Afraid I do. But how did she learn about that? He wrote and told her, the dirty creep. Oh. Mick wants to kill her, and he's succeeding. You should have seen her. I saw her last week. Well, Chad, I wish there was something I could do. Something somebody could do. But there isn't. It was her story against his. But unfortunately for her, all the evidence was against her. Even to the moonlight.

Moonlight? Oh, it being a bright, moonlit night. That didn't just happen, you know. Nick Palmer planned things that way. Planned everything for a night when there would be a full moon. Yeah, and tricked her into grabbing the gun away from him. Damn, if I could only... Only what, Chet? There's something for months now it's been gnawing at the back of my mind. Something. What kind of something? Something that's wrong with Nick Palmer's story. Something that doesn't fit.

He's staring me in the face, yet I can't see it. Are you sure it isn't just, you know, wishful thinking? I mean, you want to prove Jen's innocent. I want to save her life, because that's what's at stake now. And no, it isn't wishful thinking. There is something. And by heaven, I'm going to find it. Nick Palmer lied, and whatever the something I'm looking for is, it'll prove he lied.

All right, coffee break over, class. Settle down, settle down. Now, we'll return now to our discussion of color. And no questions, please, until I'm finished. Great artists haven't just used colors in their work. They have intimately understood, felt, experienced color. Now, here. Here is a tomato.

I hold it up to the sunlight and we see that its color is red. Or so we mistakenly think. The simple fact of the matter is that the tomato isn't red. The tomato in and of itself has no color at all. It's sunlight that gives it color. Why? Because sunlight and only sunlight contains color. The colors of the solar spectrum we can see in a rainbow.

What happens is that an object, any object, absorbs all the colors of the spectrum. All the colors in sunlight except one. A tomato absorbs all spectrum colors but red. A banana all colors but yellow and so on. In other words, without... Without... Oh, good Lord. There it is. There it is! Lieutenant McCloskey, please, and hurry. Hurry.

Mac? Chat Chatterton. Mac, I can prove Nick Palmer lied. Yes, you heard me. I can prove it. The thing that's been staring me in the face for months and I couldn't see it, well... Well, I see it now. I see it bright and clear.

Now, wait a minute. You barge into my house, Chatham, along with this Lieutenant McCloskey, and you tell me that you're here to test out my story about what happened that night? First of all, Mr. Palmer, we didn't barge in. We asked to come in.

Second of all, unless you've got something to hide, you'll go along with my request. Hide? What would I have to hide? The fact that you lied when you said you recognized your wife's car driving off out of that driveway out there. Even noted the color of her coat. When the fact is, you couldn't have recognized either. What are you talking about? It was a bright moonlight night. It was so bright, it could have been daylight. Only it wasn't. Wasn't what? It wasn't daylight.

And there's a big difference between moonlight and daylight. Oh, moonlight. A very big difference. Moonlight, daylight, I saw what I saw. I saw Jen's two-door blue sedan and Jen at the wheel. All right, I didn't see her face, just her coat, a dark maroon coat. You're positive of that? Well, I swore it under oath, didn't I? Yes, you did. Now all I'm asking you to do is prove what you said was the truth. If you were telling the truth, you will. If you weren't, you won't.

It's up to you, Mr. Farmer. Okay, what do you want me to do? There's a full moon tonight. Come and look.

There. You can see the driveway just as you saw it on the night of the murder. Clear and bright as daylight, you said. Ah, that's right. And now what I'm going to do, using this little two-way radio of mine, is to order one of my men, Detective Rice, to parade, you might say, a number of cars past you as you stand here in the window.

Don't concern yourself with the drivers. The colors of their coats are like that. You just pay special attention to the colors of the cars. Okay? Look, Lieutenant, this is silly. Okay, Ed. Send the first car through. The color of that car, Mr. Palmer. What is it? Well, it's white. Next car, Ed. Name that color. Quick. It's black. Next car, Ed.

What color? It's black, too. Wait a minute. It could have been... Yes? I don't know. It went... Next. Name it. Green. Next car. No. Hold up, Ed. I think that's enough. Well, are you satisfied, Lieutenant? Satisfied enough to say this, Mr. Palmer.

But you lied when you said you recognized your wife's car and the coat she was wearing. Lied? I don't know what you... You said the first car that came around the driveway was white. All right, it was. No, it was powder blue. You said the second car was black.

But it was a dark blue. It was what? The third car was a deep shade of green, but you called it black. Well, I wasn't sure of that. Well, I started to change my mind. Exactly. You started to change your mind. You weren't certain. Because in no case, with no car, could you really say for sure that is its color. Mr. Palmer, you lied when you gave your first statement to the police. And lied under oath when you gave testimony in your wife's trial. Mr. Palmer.

There's more than enough evidence here to reopen this case. And what's more, Mr. Palmer, to open an inquiry into exactly why you lied. Well, it is said, and truly said, that perfection is something aimed at, but seldom achieved. Never achieved, I may venture to say, when it comes to crime. Did I say never? Well, hardly ever, Mr. Palmer.

I'll be back shortly. I'm sure you'll want to know that Jen was quickly released from women's prison and is today happily married to Chad Chatterton. Sheila, Jen's daughter, continues at a school for special children where she is responding very well indeed to treatment and therapy. Our cast included Mercedes McCambridge, Leon Janney, Bryna Rayburn, and Ian Martin.

The entire production was under the direction of Hyman Brown.

And now, a preview of our next tale. We're having a bit of trouble, are you, with the climbing boys? Little ones new to it, sir. Got up a few feet and wouldn't budge. Wouldn't budge, eh? Well, I've got a way to fix that. Saw it done at Lady Milburn's a week ago. William, what are you doing? I've got a little bit of hay here. I was saving it to give to my horse. Oh, my God.

You're not lighting it. Of course I am. Now, let's add a little something. Let's see what have we got here. Here's a few pages from the London Tat. No, that'll do the trick. Oh, you can't. Stop it. Brute. You brute. I don't move him, all right. If he doesn't want his feet burnt to a crisp. I can't bear it. I can't. Go to your room, Emily. No. No.

Is he moving? He must be. Oh, dear God. He's fallen. Radio Mystery Theater was sponsored in part by Sinoff, the sinus medicines, and Anheuser-Busch Incorporated, Brewers of Budweiser. This is E.G. Marshall inviting you to return to our mystery theater for another adventure in the macabre. Until next time, pleasant dreams.

The End

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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.

With Talkspace, you can go online, answer a few questions about your preferences, and be matched with a therapist. And because you'll meet your therapist online, you don't have to take time off work or arrange childcare. You'll meet on your schedule, wherever you feel most at ease. If you're depressed, stressed, struggling with a relationship, or if you want some counseling for you and your partner, or just need a little extra one-on-one support, Talkspace is here for you.

Plus, Talkspace works with most major insurers, and most insured members have a $0 copay. No insurance? No problem. Now get $80 off of your first month with promo code SPACE80 when you go to Talkspace.com. Match with a licensed therapist today at Talkspace.com. Save $80 with code SPACE80 at Talkspace.com. The sun's shining, birds are singing, and all feels right in the world.

Until the season changes and suddenly you lose your motivation to get out of bed. In fact, one in five people experience some form of depression no matter the season or time of year. At the American Psychiatric Association Foundation, our vision is to build a mentally healthy nation for all because we want you to live your best life and be your best you all year round. Please visit MentallyHealthyNation.org to learn more. The Green Hornet.

He hunts the biggest of all game, public enemies that even the G-men cannot reach, the Green Hornet. ♪♪

Thank you.

The End

♪♪

The adventure, Trouble Hits the Trollies. The events and characters depicted in this drama are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The adventure, Trouble Hits the Trollies.

The End

Take a look if you don't believe me.

There's a Sentinel right here. Hey, taxi! Taxi! Look at that. Selling three clarions to every one of ours.

The Daily Central Office. Step on it. The fine yarn this is. Why didn't we give it an eight-column head like the clarion? And I don't even rate a byline. Sometimes I figure maybe I'm working for the wrong outfit. Oh, this headline. Accident. Delayed streetcar service. What's the matter with this taxi? I can make better time walking. Oh!

And, Miss Case, here's the central story of that streetcar business. Nothing like the Clarion's, Mr. Reed. Miss Case, the Clarion isn't happy unless it can be sensational.

As long as I'm publisher of this paper, I'm not going to color any story to gain circulation. A lot of readers may want the original yellow journalism, but they won't get it from the Sentinel. I bet Lowry will be burned up, Mr. Reed. Lowry? Why? I imagine he expected a byline on this. Bylines are reserved for scoops, for special features. Every paper in town covered this. Lowry knows that. He ought to. Lowry's one of the best reporters in the game, Miss Case.

But once in a while, he lets his nose for news carry him to extremes. I guess every reporter looks for sensations. Miss Case, there's something behind these accidents that doesn't strike me as being on the level. Well, I did notice that there weren't any until about the last month or so. Just when this man Fisher starts a campaign to operate buses in place of the streetcars. Hey, Mr. Reed, I didn't notice that.

What's going on around here, Casey? The clarion's beating us three for one up. Oh, hello, Mr. Reed. On the streetcar story, is that it, Larry? Well, yeah, that's it, boss. Of course, I know there weren't any passengers injured and there was no real damage to speak of. The Sentinel said that, Larry. Well, I guess the clarion stretched the truth a little. A little? They called it a panic. Any sign of panic that you saw, Larry? No, one dame fainted when the door jammed, that's all. The clarion would call a bargain sale at a dress counter a panic. But look, boss, I don't usually go out on a limb this way about a small-time accident. Oh, I'm sorry.

Only with that battle about the bus franchise coming up before the city council, this stuff is news. Not the way you think, Lowry. Huh? You recognize the name Fisher? The guy who's angling for the bus franchise? What's your opinion of him? Offhand, I don't like him. That's the feeling of most people. Nothing's ever been proved against him, has it, Mr. Reed? In this case, he's very clever. He may get his buses. Yes, Lowry.

A month ago, the city council would have laughed at his demand. They're not laughing now. But don't you get it? Doesn't it strike you as odd that the streetcar lines have started running into trouble right when Fisher starts his campaign? One more accident and he'll get that franchise. Say, I must have been wearing blinders not to see it before. It's as plain as the nose on my face. Plainer if...

Laurie, I want to find out what's going on. You and me both, boss. If Fisher's responsible for the trouble that Charlie's been having, the circle wants to know it. Okay, I'll start digging up dope on Fisher. Here he goes, who he sees, what he does, everything. Make it good and you'll get that byline. Right. And get me the district attorney, Miss Casey. He might have some stuff that'll prove useful. So Fisher's the baby to go after. Get the district attorney and put the call through to Mr. Reedswire. You still around, Laurie? Casey? Casey?

There's one thing that burns me up. Do tell. Because you didn't get a byline. No, no. It's the clarion. Selling three papers to wire one. It isn't right. The Sentinel could use a scoop, Larry. You're telling me. The next time trouble hits the trolley, all I wish for is that Fisher's in the middle of it. The middle of the wreck? No, pal. The middle of the story. I hope you're right, but I... I know. I know. Fisher's too smart. But you heard the boss. I'm going after him anyway.

Absolutely no trouble, Grady. There's not a soul to suspect those accidents weren't genuine. Then what more do you want? Plenty. The city council already has my reports. Those reports aren't strong enough. Listen, Fisher, there's a limit. When the limit is reached, I'm the one who'll call a halt, Grady, not you. Now, hold on. The city council will never act on reports like yours. If you want stronger reports, you've got to have tougher accidents. You're the city inspector, aren't you? Sure. Then fake those reports.

There's a limit to what I can fake, Fisher. When a door jams, I can't make it look like a smack-up. If the brakes stick, I can't say there ain't no brakes at all. Why not? Too many people can check up on me, that's why. That bus franchise is going through, Grady. I don't care how. That's your business. And yours.

If you want any dough from me, you'll see that. Yeah? I get this, Fisher. I'm in with you, sure. I can use a cut of the gravy you're heading for, same as anyone else. I'm making my reports as strong as possible without no one getting wise, eh? You better. Now, you get that man of yours in the car bars to do a job on one of those streetcars so it'll really crack up. And what? I'll turn in a report that will spell ruin for the streetcar company just like that.

You'll be in, Fisher. The ones we have aren't strong enough, huh? You'd be taking a chance. Fix another accident and you can't miss. In that case, I might as well make sure. Now, are you talking? I'll get in touch with my man at once. This time there'll be plenty for you and a district attorney, too. You can't go in there. I am in, sister. By what right are you... I don't want to bust in like this, Mr. Fisher, but I have a deadline to meet. Oh, you're a reporter.

And it's different to have a chair. Yeah, thanks. Nice place you got here, Mr. Fisher. Wish the Daily Sentinel would do as well by us. The Daily Sentinel? I think maybe I'll be on my way. Say, if I'm interrupting something... No, no, not at all. Goodbye, Fisher. That guy sure was in a hurry. He, uh, he had an engagement. Isn't he Grady, the city inspector? Who? Grady. Works for the city. No, no, just a friend of mine. Now, what can I do for you, Mr., uh...

When did you say your name was? I didn't say, but it's Lowry. Oh, yes, Lowry, with the Daily Settler.

Say, what happened to you boys on that streetcar story? We had it. The clarion played it up big. It wasn't important enough. Not important? Think how many people ride on those streetcars. A lot. The lives of hundreds, thousands of people may be in constant danger, and you call it unimportant. Get off the soapbox, Fisher. Everyone knows your angle. Of course they do. I want my bus franchise to go through because the streetcar line is mismanaged, antedated, and a menace to the citizens of this city. Buses are better, huh? Much better. There's no comparison. Now, why don't the Sentinel get smart and help in my campaign? Like the clarion, huh? Exactly. Exactly.

How about it, Lowry? How about what? You're in a position to do me some good, Lowry. You mean a nice little follow-up story on the streetcar accident? Placing the blame on the management of the company? That's the idea. Or maybe an editorial? Sure. Who knows? I might be able to do a favor for you in return. Sounds pretty nice. Sure it is.

I knew as soon as you came in the door, you were a smart guy. What do you say? Why, you chiseling, lying crook. You no good scheming grafter. Now, see here. You see here. Try to bribe me, will you? Bribe a reporter. If you weren't smaller than me, I'd plaster you flatter than that rug. Get out of my office. It's a pleasure. And get this, Fisher.

The Sentinel is going after you with both barrels. If this post franchise of yours is as phony as you are, then all I hope is I'm the guy who writes it up. Boy, oh boy, will I scorch you. That two-pint reporter talking to me that way. After I get through with that street-thrash company, there won't be enough left. Ryan, you know who this is?

I want you and that will to get busy. And that's right. Make it a real crack up this time. The worst the streetcar's ever had. Yeah!

Atwell. Yeah? What do you want, Moran? Put down that wrench. We got a job to do. You mean... Never mind the name. What's the next car going out? Number 618. Right over there. Okay. Come on. What's it gonna be this time? The brakes? Another jammed door? Put your lip and get moving. We're getting twice as much dough for this one. We're giving up the works.

Can you tell me where I get the streetcar for Parsons Avenue, officer? Right here, lady. At the bottom of this hill. Thank you. That's right now. Just starting down the hill. It's coming awfully fast. Hey, look at that trolley. Why won't he stop? He's out of control. He's heading this way. Look out! He's going to crash! He's going to crash!

My report of the streetcar accident shows that the cause of the crash was faulty safety equipment. There is definite evidence of criminal negligence on the part of the streetcar company. Signed, Grady, City Inspector. ♪♪ The City Council hereby calls a special meeting to vote on the bus franchise. Signed, Hopkins, Chairman of the City Council. ♪♪

As district attorney for this city, I am indicting the officials of the streetcar company for criminal negligence resulting in injury to passengers. Signed, Martin, district attorney.

City Council of Orange, I'm here to tell you that I'm going to be the mayor of Orange.

I tell you, boss, I went over the whole setup with a fine-tooth comb. There's not a single string leading to Fisher. What about Grady? Not a thing. He was calling on Fisher while you were there. I knew it was him, but he's in the clear. His report on the crack-up has been checked and double-checked. And if he wants to place the blame squarely on the streetcar officials, who's to stop him? Those two new men in the car barns, you got anything on them? Moran and Antwell? You say they've been spending money freely. Did they explain it? Yeah, claimed they wanted betting on a horse. He's a good guy.

Try to check up on that. Well, this boss was stymied. It's airtight all the way. Gosh, I hate to think of a man like Fisher getting away with a stunt like this. Me too, Casey. Sometimes I'd like to take the law into my own hands. What? Well, honestly, Mr. Reed, isn't that the only way to catch these crooks? Oh, Casey, hold on. There's only one gent who can get away with that stuff. And you don't look like the Green Hornet to me. Am I right, boss, or am I right? He says I don't look like the Green Hornet, Mr. Reed. Yes, nobody listens to me around here. No, I heard you, Laurie. I...

I was just thinking. That evening, while Brett Reed was in his apartment, he spoke to Cato, his valet and the only living man to know that Brett Reed is really the dreaded Green Hornet. And that's the whole story, Cato. Fisher has his tracks covered from every angle. What about that William Lamb, Mr. Bates? No good, Cato.

Even if those two could be charged with the crime of damaging the streetcar, even if they were picked up, it wouldn't have to catch Fisher. Why not? There's no actual evidence to connect them with Fisher. You could deny he ever heard of them. You look for something? Writing paper. Here it is. Here's ink. I don't want this ink. There ought to be some of the other in this drawer. Here we are.

I want the mask and gun, Cato. The car. Is the black beauty ready? Yes, sir. Here.

Quite a job disguising my handwriting. Now, my seal on the bottom. Placing the letter in his pocket, Britt Reid went through a secret panel in his clothespress. With Cato, he walked through a narrow passage within the walls of the apartment house. Then downstairs to the supposedly abandoned warehouse that housed the sleek black car of the Green Hornet. Ready? All right, get in. Get in.

Once more, the powerful black car roared through the city streets, carrying the Green Hornet on his errand of justice.

The curtain falls on the first act of our Green Hornet adventure. Before the next exciting scenes, please permit us to pause for just a few moments. The Green Hornet

The End

Oh, my God.

Now to continue our story.

A serious accident on the trolley line increased agitation to replace the streetcars with buses. Although the streetcar lines were blamed for the accidents, Britt Reid had reason to believe that they had been engineered by Fisher, who was out to grab the bus franchise. When ordinary methods failed to pin the guilt on Fisher, Britt Reid assumed the role of the Green Hornet to bring the criminal to justice.

Father, it's late. You should go to sleep. I can't sleep, Sally. Tomorrow the council decides on the bus franchise. They'll vote against me. Dad, they can't throw away all you've worked for. The streetcar lines are the finest in the country. Not anymore, Sally. Not when people are hurt through my neglect. Oh, it's not your doing, Dad. It's my responsibility. Oh, Dad. Fisher will get his franchise. Put me out of business. Here's something to make you sleep.

Leave it on the night's table, Sally. There. The lights are out, too. Good night, Dad. Good night. No good thinking about it. Might as well do as Sally says. I'll open the window first. Fresh air. Don't move, Hanson. For you.

What are you doing out there? Don't mind that. Take this letter. Write it. That's better. Now, listen, Hanson. I'm not listening to... The mask. You're the Green Hornet. You do as I say or I'll let you have some of this gas. What do you want? That letter tells you what to do, Hanson. You can take it or leave it. Suppose I refuse. Read it first and then decide. If you want to go on running your trolleys, you'll do as I say. The Green Hornet

Thank you.

And the ace of spades. That's 40 smackers you owe me, Ethel. Shut up and deal. Regular sucker, ain't you? Next thing you know, you won't have none of that dope Fisher gave you. Put the cards down, Moran. Who's butting in? The guy's mask. Keep your hands on the table. Hey, I know who you are. That mask you're wearing. You're the Green Hornet. The Hornet. Let me out of here. I ain't hanging around. Back in that chair and listen. You too, Adwell. We ain't done nothing to you. You.

You two are experts on fixing streetcars, aren't you? Now, wait a minute. How's Stalin know all about you two? I tell you, you got us wrong. Cut it out, Atwill. This guy's the Green Hornet. We ain't fooling with him.

Okay, sure the guys have done a job on them trolleys had Fisher's orders there listen, honey. You heard me Talk you know it all anyway with the sense of asking us Sure it was Fisher. Hey who you call? I'm calling your boss for what he's gonna meet us at the car barns What we ain't going to the car barns. Well, I want conversation from you too. I'll ask for it. Yeah, but don't move understand This gun has gas enough to take care of both of you Hello Fisher. You know, this is a Green Hornet talking. Oh

That's what I said, the Green Hornet. Moran, come here. Me? Fisher's on the other end of this phone. He doesn't believe it's the Green Hornet that's calling. Convince him. Hello, boss? Yeah, this is Moran. It's him, all right. That's enough. Now, get this, Fisher. I'm going over to the car barns with these two stooges of yours. Yes, tonight. I expect to meet you there inside half an hour. All right.

Never mind why. If you expect that bus franchisee of yours to go through, you'll be there. Your whole scheme will be blown higher than a kite. You can't do this, Hornet. You can't make us go over there. You heard what I said. Get moving. Not in your life. In that case, I'll call the police. They'll be glad to know who's responsible for that trolley trouble. Hold on. That's better.

Now you're being smart. Yeah. Yeah, we'll go with you, Hornet. Remember, one false move and you... You don't need the rod, Hornet. We're going. All right. Come on, you rats, march!

It's pretty slow tonight, Lowry. Nothing but a couple of disturbing the peace charges. Stuff like that. Well, as long as I'm covering the police news, I might as well keep hanging around. Never going to tell when something's going to pop. That's what we're here for.

Say, whatever happened to that big lug that used to work for Mr. Reed? You mean Mike Axford, dog? Who else would I be meaning? The way that guy used to get in my hair. Him and his theories. And every last one of them wrong. The boss got a letter from him the other day. He's out west. Oh, he is, eh?

Well, all I hope is he stays there. Don't bank on it too much, Doyle. He may come back before... Police headquarters. Sergeant Doyle speaking. Police? This is Hanson. President of the Street Railways. Yeah? What's wrong, Mr. Hanson? Earlier this evening, I got a letter from the Green Hornet. What is that name? Did you say Green Hornet? Holy mackerel, Doyle. Quiet, Lowry. Keep talking, Mr. Hanson. I prefer to have you come out here to my place at once. It's on the corner... I know where it is.

A squad car will be out there with me in it. What's up? I'll explain that when you arrive. Okay. A green Hornet, is it? Well, here's where the Hornet loses his sting. That's what you think, Doyle. I want to be around when you try. The End

Say, listen, what's the idea of that woman and me doing a job on this trolley? Yeah, don't tell me you're working the same racket that Fisher's been doing. We'll keep working. You'll learn no reason soon enough. Hard work using this file with only a flashlight to give us light. Put some soap on that file. I don't want any unexpected visitors. What's the difference? The regular car barn's on the next block. Repair shop's empty after midnight. Sure, nobody's gonna butt in. Nobody could even hear us.

Hey, you turned off the flashlight. We can't see nothing. Quiet. It must be Fisher, Hornets. Keep quiet.

Don't either of you try to move. I can see your figure's plainly against the window. Right, that's well. Right. That light. It's blinding me. I'm beside the others, Fisher. What? The hornet, Fisher. He's got us. I knew that phone call would bring you down here in a hurry. So it is true. That phone call did come from the green hornet. I told you that. I wasn't sure, but I couldn't chance it. He made us come down here. What do you want? Drop that wrench, that's well. That's better. Now keep your hands high. What are you after, hornet? Is it money? You see these, Fisher? Huh? Green hornet stickers. Yeah. You're in a spot, Fisher. See?

Suppose I plaster this trolley with these stickers. Put them all over it. Go ahead. That has nothing to do with me. No. The city council will think the green hornet caused the streetcar accident. Hanson will be vindicated.

What will happen to your boss franchise then let the street guys go on running exactly for sure I give you 20,000 I want more than that 30,000 if you forget this I don't be money Fisher Well, I want from you is your signature, but my signature you can fetch your report in these trolley crashes Are those stickers go on but whichever I do I'm finished right either way you lose. He's got your boss You're bluffing on it. Am I what can you possibly get out of it? If I confess nothing personally

Only the satisfaction of knowing that your dirty scheme has been ruined. You better hurry, Fisher. The police will be here any minute. The cops say... What? You're not serious. All right, Fisher. The stickers go on. No. No, wait. I'll sign. Give me time to get away before they come. Here. Pam's right here in my pocket. And here's the confession. Pretty sure of yourself, weren't you? Hurry. Hurry.

Turn the flashlight on a minute, Hornet, so I can see what I'm... Now, put him up. Walk on. Stand back, Hornet. Thought I was reaching for my pen, huh? Nice work, boss. You had a shoulder holster, huh? You can't get away with this. I am getting away with it. Drop that gun, if you like. I said, if you like. Come on, drop it.

Yeah, Hornet will get you out of this place before any police arrive. Hornet, as well, grab him. Okay. Yeah, we got him. Listen to me, Fisher. You listen to me, Hornet. You're going to... You... What? A gas... Fisher! Not for you, too! Thank you. I can't breathe. A gas... Hold him, Rand. Let me get him. Will you not? Will you take care of him? I've got the ramp. My arm! Ah...

Continue over here. Fisher's gassed. He's too knocked out. You used jujitsu on Atwell, huh? Yes, sir. I was behind the drawing. Sorry, I thought that, but the others didn't. Moran. Yeah. Moran and Atwell will be coming to in a minute. Quick, pick up that gun. Very well. We'll leave this confession beside Fisher. It's not signed, but I think it'll serve the purpose anyway. Yes, sir. All right.

i would like to show us what's happened to us here at the time here they are as far as i suspect he's the one that i thought that i felt like a special picture that just in time for the event of the human around that they were going to be a shot at a workout that's where this that's right i don't know how to help me around

Listen, Hornet, don't tell the cops. Hornet. Go on, Ethel, keep talking. The cops. You and Moran did this job, didn't you? Hey, spell it out well, you're in too deep already. Yeah, yeah, but we was working for Fisher. That's how Fisher's the guy. How? I tell you, Fisher paid us to wreck all them trolleys. And you'll swear to that in court? Sure I will, sure. Moran, too. Does this mean Fisher will be implicated? Implicated? Mr. Hanson, Fisher will be convicted. He might have got away with it before, but now that we've found him here with these two rats... Yeah, right in the middle of another job.

He's sunk, Mr. Hanson. Hey, Sergeant, look at this. I found it next to Fisher's body. Here, give me that. That's for the police, Lowry. What the... Hey, it's a confession, but... Uh-oh. It isn't signed. Don't worry. It will be when we get Fisher down to headquarters. Take those lugs out. Oh, my jaw. Come on, you. Grab the other ones, though. Yeah. We'll come back for Fisher later. Well, there you are, Hanson. You don't have to worry about the bus franchise when this hits the front page. What gets me is what happened to these guys. What do you think, Doyle? The Green Hornet. Huh?

If I hadn't followed the instructions in that letter, we'd never have caught Fisher. What do you mean, Mr. Hanson? His letter told me to call you. At first, I wasn't going to trust him. Then I thought it over. Hey, we haven't seen that letter yet. It was such a rush. You got it with you? Yes, I think so. It's in longhand. Longhand. Give, Hanson. Maybe that handwriting can be traced. Here it is. But I doubt if you can trace it. I'll take that. When I first looked at it, the handwriting seemed to be disguised. Come on, Doyle. Come on, open it up.

Hey, there ain't no writing on this page. It's blank. Maybe you need glasses, Doyle. I tell you, it's blank. Look. Well, what do you know? I'm positive there was writing on that paper before. There ain't any now. All there is is this here green hornet seal in the corner. Doyle, I get it.

It's disappearing ink. Disappearing ink? Yeah. Try and trace that. Man, that green hornet thinks of everything. And I thought I had me hooks on him. What's that? The hornet's car. There. Out the window. That's him, all right. And there he goes. Oh, I've been looking for that car. Look at it travel.

Well, Doran, I guess the hornet's still got his sting. Ah, but don't worry. Your name will go in the papers anyway. Yeah, that's right. I nabbed Fisher and them two. And with a little help. Got a phone around here I can use, Mr. Hanson? The Sentinel's going to get an earful of front page stuff. And boy, I'd like to see the clarion try and beat this yarn. The End

♪♪

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Welcome to the Hall of Fantasy. Welcome to the series of radio dramas dedicated to the supernatural, the unusual, and the unknown. Come with me, my friend. We shall ascend to the world of the unknown and forbidden, down to the depths where the veil of time is lifted, and the supernatural reigns as king. Come with me and listen to the tale of Markheim. Markheim

The Granite Furniture Company brings you the Hall of Fantasy. Listen now to original tales of the imagination and some of the classics of the supernatural as we take you down the corridors of the Hall of Fantasy to the mysterious realms of the unknown. These are stories of eerie and fantastic thrills brought to you by your friends at the Granite Furniture Stores. And now for tonight's story, an adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson's Markheim.

They said that Markheim's first great crime was that he had committed murder. That's hardly true, for no man can kill his fellow until he first twists the knife in his own heart. This is the story of Markheim.

He was a gambler accustomed to lightning shifts of fortune. But on the eve of his greatest triumph, he couldn't resist that final spin of the wheel. It was his life against the future. He wanted the decision to come swiftly, as it had always done before. But this time, the wheel turned tortuously slow for Markheim. And once set into motion, no power on earth could halt it. It was Christmas Eve. Markheim was happy to be towed along an angelus at a leash.

© BF-WATCH TV 2021

Mark, when do you plan to speak to Papa? Very soon, dearest. There are a few things I want to clear up first. It won't take long. Just a few days at the most. Tomorrow, perhaps? Tomorrow? Well, that's pretty short notice, darling. I'm afraid that I... Oh, I want it tomorrow. Yes, but why? What's so significant about tomorrow? I had thought to wait just a few more... Oh, tomorrow's just as good as any other day. In fact, it's better. It's Christmas. It's tomorrow or never. Angela...

What are you saying? Oh, don't look so frightened, darling. I was only joking. Oh, that's better. Only it will be tomorrow, Mark, won't it? Do you always get your own way? Always, darling. But I wouldn't have insisted if I didn't think it would make us both happy. And you think we'll be happier if I ask your father tomorrow? Of course. There's no need to wait, and I want this for a Christmas present. Christmas present? Yes.

Oh, and speaking of Christmas presents, I have a very nice one for you. Oh? Not too nice, I hope. I mean, I hope it wasn't too... Costly? Oh, but it was very. I wish you hadn't, Angela. That is, well, I have something for you, too. You have? What is it? Well, I... Well, you'll like it. It's...

Yes, it's very nice. Now it's my turn. You shouldn't have done it. Nothing is too good for you. Nothing. I hope it isn't too expensive. Expensive? Well, it was. But it's just a little trinket. I... Whatever it is, Mark, it'll be very nice. But if you weren't such a successful member of the stock exchange, I'd scold you for spending too much money on me. Stock exchange? Oh, yes, quite.

Well, Angela, I think I'd better be going. So soon? Yes, I really must. Then I won't detain you. But I want you here early tomorrow. Come just as soon as you possibly can. The iron rule of Angela. Ah, but I love it, darling. Until tomorrow? Tomorrow.

As Varkai made his way through the dark streets, the chill, damp fog soon dispersed the warmth he'd felt in the rich comfort of Angela. And the last word he'd spoken to her as he'd taken his leave seemed to mock him as he traveled in the night. His futile gropings for happiness seemed to slap him full on the face with each new wave of the night-gray night mist.

For a moment, he thought to return to his foul, dingy little room, barren and ugly though it was. The thought of it made him shudder. Any other time, he might have found some comfort in his hateful little iron bed. Another night, he could have slept and dreamed of fabulous fortune, of an endless flood of gambler's luck making him richer with every spin of the wheel. But there was no time for that now. For tomorrow was... He cursed the inconvenience of this moment. Tomorrow was... Christmas. Christmas.

Suddenly, as if some henchman of the devil had whispered into his ear, Markheim heard the name that had been synonymous with resentment in his heart. That name seemed to strike faint but unmistakable sounds in his brain. It was very faint at first, like the soft, tinkling snap of an icicle when it breaks. But it soon became a giant thing that loomed up so forcibly it was almost physical. It came without warning out of the thick fog of his brain, and Markheim suddenly found the name on his lips. Cycler...

Zeigler. Zeigler. What do you want? Ah, it's you, Markheim. Let me in, Zeigler. On Christmas Eve? Can't you see I'm closed? Open up. I've got to see you right away. All right. What kind of trouble are you in this time? Well, come on in. I don't want all that cold and damp creeping in. I've enough aches already. Yes. Merry Christmas. Watch your hands.

You do a pretty good business here, don't you, Sigler? You didn't come to talk about my books. What did you come for? I told you the last time that I wouldn't take any more of your stolen goods. I didn't come to sell anything, Sigler. My uncle's cabinets are disgustingly empty these days. He's moved his collection. I don't wonder at that. Your uncle is a remarkable collector. His items were rare indeed. It must have been quite a blow to him when he discovered that they were disappearing so methodically. Hmm.

It was more of a blow to me, I assure you. He booted me clean out of the place. I was taking an awful chance myself handing that stuff. An awful chance. But at an awful profit, Ziegler. What good's a profit when you once get the yard after you? Well, if you didn't come here to sell, what did you come for? To buy. I want to buy a Christmas present for a lady. You pay dearly coming in on me like this.

You know I put up my shutters and I'm refusing business. You won't refuse my business, Ziegler. You won't be getting any bargains either. You'll have to pay for both my time and your rather surly manner, young fellow. I suppose you can pay him? Don't worry about that. Then you can pay. It's someone's worry. I've done very well in the stock exchange. And likely as not, I'll do much better soon. My errand today is very simple. I'm really quite sorry, Ziegler, that I have to disturb you this way, but...

It's a little matter I overlooked until this late hour. I must have this little compliment ready before morning. And, you know, a man would be a fool to deliberately harm his chances of a wealthy marriage. Well, let that be it, then. You've got a good customer, and if you have a chance, you tell me for a fortunate marriage. I don't want to be an obstacle.

Now, here's a nice object. You'd let your servant to favor it. It's a hand mirror. Guaranteed 15th century. It's from a fine collection. Whose collection, Zagler? In the interest of my customer, I withhold the name, if you don't mind. He was, shall we say, somewhat like yourself. The nephew of a remarkable collector.

Appointed remarks of this unscrupulous old dealer suddenly flushed Markheim's calm with waves of passionate resentment. But they passed, leaving nothing but a slightly emotional residue and a slight nervous trembling in his hands. He took the mirror Zeigler held out to him. Surely you do not propose this for a Christmas present? Why not?

Your lady should be very happy to have such a fine item. And every time she looks at herself in it, she'll think of her sterling husband. Your manner is likely to cost you something before long, Zagler. So you suggest a thing like this. Look at it. Look at yourself in it. Though I dare say you'd look little better any other way. But look at it. Your future lady must be difficult to please, sir. I am buying a lady's Christmas presents, not some monstrous souvenir of the sins and follies of the past.

Certainly not that grim thing. You weren't actually serious about pawning that off on me, were you? Quite serious, sir. What are you made of, Zeigler? What keeps your dry old heart at work these overtime years? You certainly must have a few thoughts now and then of something beside your miserable little existence. Are you joking with me, Markheim? You'll find it on the sale price if you are. Everything about you can be found on the sale price, Zeigler. Come, what's the purpose of this talk? Christmas Eve, man.

See how the world scurries by outside? They're all touched with a very warm, friendly spirit. What does your life consist of tonight but a hand for grabbing money and a safe for hoarding it? Is that all? You've drunk too much to the health of your lady, I think. Ah, then you have been in love. Tell me of those golden moments of yours, Eichler. Tell me all about them. I have no time for such things. I have no time for this foolishness either. Do you take the glass or not? Yeah, but let's not be hasty.

A pleasant walk? How does that go? Well, pleasant it is, Ziegler, and I must not hurry away from any pleasure, even one as doubtful as this. Each instant is a precipice, Ziegler, a very high precipice. If we hurry, we fall and dash ourselves to a thousand meaningless pieces. Yes, if we hurry, we fall, Ziegler. Let's take our time this fine evening.

Let us tear away the masks that hide us from each other. Who knows? We might even be friends. I have my books to balance tonight, Markheim. Either make your purchase or I have to thank you to leave the shop. To be sure. There is no time for being friends, is there? Show me something else, then.

Show me something else, Agla. There was something in Markheim's voice just then. It couldn't have been the words themselves. It was a tone or a light that flashed in his eye. But it filled the little dealer with an unexplainable terror. He'd turned and was about to climb the small ladder that would take him to a little object art on a higher shelf. When suddenly, Markheim poised a little dagger high in the air. It flashed only a fraction of a lightning bolt.

this for you, Ziegler, and a very merry Christmas. Ziegler thrashed at the shelves like a chicken. Then he fell to the floor and flesh seemed to telescope into flesh as he settled into a senseless little pile. Markheim stared at it through eyes that had suddenly seen too much. A single tick of the old clock seemed almost to buffet him into unconsciousness. His lips parted to speak. Must not hurry. Each instant, the precipice.

Cygler, stand up. Stand up and speak to me. You are listening to a radio adaptation by Bob Olson of Markheim by Robert Louis Stevenson on tonight's journey down the corridors of the Hall of Fantasy. Brought to you by your friends at the Granite Furniture Company with stores in Sugar House, Murray, and Provo. And now back to tonight's story of Markheim. Markheim.

Markheim the gambler wagered his life and became Markheim the murderer. In one swift blow, he'd cut himself away from any part of the world he'd known. That's why no one can tell his story now but Markheim himself. I stood there, my hand still clinging loosely to the dagger, that hand that seemed to have no relationship to the rest of my body. I looked about me. The candle on the counter caught a chill draft and was wagging like the tail of an excited puppy.

I steadied myself, for the room was heaving and tossing like a schooner in a storm. Hundreds of feet away, it seemed, the door was slightly ajar. Through this opening, a long, slim finger of light pointed accusingly at the very spot I stood. I leaped aside. A shiver of fright chocked through me as I realized the stupidity of the motion. I looked at the body of Zeigler. It lay there like a listless sack of sawdust. As suddenly as had the fright, a wave of calm came over me. I looked again at the body.

It was nothing. Yes, there was nothing there to be afraid of. A hunk of lifeless something that had once been a man. The clock ticked on, but no longer affected the day of this thing on the floor. Yes, it was nothing. It had suddenly lost meaning to Zeigler, to the shop, to everyone but me. But that security didn't last. I looked again, saw the deep color forming about this haggard heap. That blood. It was still alive. What if it found a voice?

What if this flesh should raise a cry that could be heard all over England and thence? Then it would take up its endless flight around the earth. It would never be still again. Never! Time. Time. I must have time. Oh, but time had such a raucous voice. Yes, what is time? A new precipice each instant. Each tick of the clock was a new danger. I picked up the candle, started about the room, filling my pockets with the treasures of art that Zeigler had gained so craftily and guarded so fiendishly.

I saw things that terrified me, things that turned out to be my own shadow. I'd catch a reflection of myself in a rack of mirrors, rich imported glasses that sent a new fear to wilt my nerves. For each time I looked, I saw a hostile sea of my own eyes spying on me. A thousand questions flashed across my world of hysteria. Why had I used a knife? Why hadn't I chosen a more quiet hour? Why had I killed him at all? And then there were more. Where was the servant girl now?

When would she be back? How much time did I have? Yes, how much time? When would the world know of what I had done? When would Angela know? Oh, you fool. My brain became a racetrack for nightmares. There seemed to be something terrifying about the normal-as-ever rhythm of the footsteps out in the street. They must know about the thundering riot in this house. How could they help it? I began to fear nature herself. I expected her to break her own laws to accomplish my own personal destructions.

Yes. What if the wall should suddenly fail to hide me? If the prying eyes of London should gain the power to see beyond nature's barriers? Then another vision came to me in this room that was pulsating so with clamor and silence alike. Yes. All the old women of London started to rock feverishly in their chairs and began to weave a rope with which I was soon to be hung.

I knew I was tottering on the brink of the final shock that would send me screaming my guilt to the world if I didn't take hold of myself. But one thing I was rapturously grateful for. I was alone. I was alone. No. Zeigler, open up. Enter your door, Zeigler. Thank heavens. He's gone. Time. Time. Yes, I must have time. Others will come. The girl. I must get the money. No time to waste.

I walked over to the body, shoved it with my foot. It rolled over crazily and took on a queer, twisted posture. The face was pale like wax. I remembered the wax museum I'd seen as a lad, and that memory robbed the scene of its grotesque quality. I took new courage. I saw myself as a boy. Here's how horrified I'd been at those realistic reproductions of famous murders. Even the music came back to me, the monotonous chant of the calliope.

The time came for me to act or run. But I didn't run. I grabbed the keys from Ziegler's coat pocket and started up the stairs that led to his private apartment. There were 24 steps and 24 separate torches that led to the drawing room where I knew I'd find the safe. As I walked, I seemed to hear the echo of another footstep coming from behind me. Now I was at the top. I pulled open the door, entered, and bolted it behind me.

The sense that I was not alone in this house was about to drive me mad. I longed to be in my shoddy little room, away from the eyes that were constantly dancing about in this house. Every man who walked became an avenger and sought stealthily for some scrap of evidence that would curse me forever. I thought of Angela, not long, just the length of a breath or so, but I heard her voice in hollow mockery. Tomorrow or never, Mark. Tomorrow or never. Yes. She said she was only joking, but...

She thought she was only joking. I was before the safe, the finale of this little drama. I fumbled with the keys. There must have been fifty in all. And again the rush of time began to make me tremble with uncontrollable anxiety. Time, time, time. If I ran out of time, this nightmare could have no meaning at all. I shot a glance at the door. Nothing stirred. Yes, I was satisfied that I must be alone. It was quiet here. Even my heart began to slow down a little.

Suddenly, another sound broke the stillness. It came from the nearby church. The organ was playing a familiar hymn. I listened. Then I heard it. A sound to freeze a scream in its making. The knob on the door was turning. Someone was going to enter this room. I was caught in a vice of terror. Slowly the door opened. And there, there was a face without a body staring at me. Who are you?

If you call me, I stared. I could do nothing else. The face seemed to swim before me. It seemed a familiar face. No, no, it wasn't familiar either. What was that face? It belonged to neither heaven or earth. What do you want of me? I came to see you. See me? How did you know that I was here? You told me. I told you? Not directly, perhaps. Then you really do know me? Right down to the soul. Are you the devil? Does it matter?

Oh, yes, but you knew me some time ago. Thank heaven you don't know about the... The murder? Oh, but I do. I came to warn you that the servant girl is after a sweetheart early tonight and is on her way home now. Now? Yes. Shall I tell you what she brings with her for your Christmas? What? The gallows. Now you must hurry. Shall I tell you where the money? For what price? It's a Christmas gift. What are you going to do with me? You know that I'm really not evil...

I had no heart for these things. Yours will probably be a deathbed repentance. I have no concern with that. I'm interested in you only as long as you are alive. But why do you do this at all? Can't you see that my hands are red? Don't you realize that I've murdered the little dealer? Yes. Then why do you stop with me? Because your name is Markheim. Yes, yes, yes. My name is Markheim. You know that I'm made up of evil and of good.

You'll see that they don't destroy the good to avenge the evil. You will help me, won't you? This money you're about to take, how will you use it? On the stock exchange. That's where you've already lost thousands. Yes, but this time I have a sure thing. You will lose again, Markheim. You know? I do. But I'll save out half. You will lose that too, if that happens. If I do lose again, what next?

Yes, yes, I'll start over with Angela. You have lived for 36 years, Markheim. Fifteen years ago, you would have shuddered at the thought of stealing. Three years ago, the name of murder would have made you ill. Who knows, Markheim, what you might embrace in the next five years? But I still have good in me. Tell me, have you grown any better at all in the past few years? I can remember when I was a boy. Yes, yes.

I still love the things that I loved then. But are you better than you were then? No, no, no, no, no. And you still want me to help you get the money? Remember three years ago, Markheim, weren't you seen in Little Chapel? Yes, yes, I was there. I meant to go back. And didn't you raise your voice louder than the others in the hymn? Yes, but... Where are you going? We part company here. Time has run out. That's the maid, you see. The maid? What shall I do? Why not do what you did to the dealers?

Here's your last great danger. One more swift blow and you can finish at your leisure. Don't. Don't. Don't go. Don't leave me. He's gone. My last great danger. Yes, there is nothing left to do but... I took the little dagger from my coat pocket and crept down the stairs. Twenty-four steps to where?

Tomorrow or never, Mark. Tomorrow or never. I can do it quickly. I'll tell her old Zeigler is ill. Yes, now, don't crack a smile, Markheim. Whatever you do, don't overact. But curse the thing that made me lose all this precious time with talk. Yes, too late now, though. Much too late. Too late. Too late. There's no more time for you, Markheim. You again.

Who are you, anyway? The door, Markheim. Here's your chance. Open the door. First, tell me who you are. Don't you know? Don't you know, really? No, no, I don't. My name is Markheim. No! Then you're... The door, Markheim. Hello. Is Mr. Seigler in? Are you the maid? Yes. Then you'd... You'd better go for the police. I... I've just murdered your master. Oh!

So runs the tale of Markheim. Remember to join us next week at a new time for another journey down the corridors of the Hall of Fantasy.

Tonight's program was adapted by Robert Olson from the story by Robert Louis Stevenson. Heard tonight were Carl Grayson as Markheim, Richard Harcourt as the narrator, Beth Calder as Angela, and Richard Thorne as Ziegler. Musical background was provided by Earl Donaldson. The engineer was Nephi Sorensen. These programs are produced and directed by Richard Thorne.

♪♪ Remember, be with us again next Sunday night on Call at a new time, just one hour later at 9.30 p.m., when the Granite Furniture Stores in Sugar House, Murray and Provo will take you on another journey down the corridors of The Hall of Fantasy. ♪♪

Presenting Orson Welles as the third man. The lives of Harry Lyme.

The fabulous stories of the immortal character originally created in the motion picture The Third Man with Zither music by Anton Karras. You come in the theater just as the curtain's going up. The band's playing something exciting, Latin American. The

The stage is alive with color and dancing against the background of a marketplace in Central America. Suddenly, someone with a Spanish accent as broad as the East River shouts, El General, and everything comes to a halt. El General sweeps in wearing a broad sash, handlebar mustache, and a big menacing frown that scares nobody. He mutters something about La Revolucion. A couple of shots ring out, a few chorus boys drop gracefully to the ground, and the entire company breaks into the first big production number.

But revolutions aren't like that. There's no music playing, no scantily clad dances, no comics. The guns have real bullets in them. I know, because I was mixed up in one of them. I'll tell you about it. And now, Orson Welles as Harry Lyme, the third man in...

In pursuit of a ghost. There's no sense in identifying the Central American country where I found myself in the fall of 45. Any of those who were involved in the revolution are still alive, of course. I've caused enough trouble.

Anyway, I was in a waterfront cafe in the tiny country's capital, and there were only two of us at the bar. Yours truly, Harry Lyman, a derby-headed little Englishman who looked about as much at home as a burlesque queen at a church picnic. How about having a little drink with me, Governor? Oh, thanks. I don't like drinking alone, either. Oh, American, eh? Thought for a moment you were English. Sorry to disappoint you. Oh, it don't make no difference. Thought thou was hoping for a word about home.

What'll it be, Captain? Scotch, if they have any more. Hi there, matey. How about finding a little scotch for the gentleman here? Scotch para el caballero. Si, senor. Scotch para el norteamericano. Pronto, senor. Gracias, amigo. You never learned that lingo in petticoat lady, no, man. You're right, there you are. I've been in this blooming country for ten years now. There's plenty of brass here, I can tell you that, I'll tell you. Honey, I've heard of this stuff. It's been a long time since I had my hands on any. Oh?

Down on your uppers a bit, I guess. You said it, man. You said it. Scotch, senor. Thanks, gracias. No trouble was it, senor. No trouble. Well, here's to your increased fortunes, Captain. And to yours. You've been here a long time. You might be able to steer a fellow on to a good thing. Thank you.

There's no way of making an easy living here, there ain't. The blinking government controls all the gambling, the lotteries, the casinos, everything. And if the revolution succeeds, it'll be worse. Revolution? Oh, maybe I shouldn't have let that little bit of information slip. It's all right. I don't go around talking. How'll it be worse? Well, it's this way, Governor. For a long time now, a bloke they call General Valdez has been brewing a spot of trouble. He's a rough customer, he is...

But up till now, he ain't had the money to buy arms and ammunition than our soldiers. And now he's got the money. Yeah, that he has. A gent from the States is financing him. American financing Revolution? One of them blokes you call gangsters up in the States. He'll have a good thing he will. It's only to take an awful chance. If the Revolution fails, he'll be facing a firing squad. Not bloody likely. He's too smart for that.

The way I hear it, he comes down here, he makes his deal with General Valdez, and then he eye-tails it out of the country, goes to Havana someplace to wait it out until Valdez is sitting in the driver's seat. He's left the country, eh? That's right, Governor. I suppose he stands pretty well with the revolutionists. You know, I used to know a few guys who were mixed up in the rackets back in the States. I wonder if you happen to know the general's friend? The one who's financing the revolution? Yeah, do you happen to know his name? No, that I don't.

Down here, they just call him El Sorrow. It means the fox, and he's that all right, I guess. The way I saw it, this New York gangster wasn't going to be the only foxy guy to make a good thing out of the revolution. The important thing was to make contact with General Valdez first. A half a dozen different kinds of pitches went through my mind as I headed for his stronghold.

You are a friend to El Soro? That's right. I'm glad we're both on the same team. I'd hate to have a fight with you. You're the biggest and strongest looking fellow I ever saw outside of a sideshow. You are a friend of El Soro, huh? He told me to come down here from New York. We were pals together back there. I guess he had some sort of job lined up for me. I'd like to talk to General Valdez about it. All right. General Valdez will speak with a friend of El Soro. Follow. Who? It's Horsey, General. Enter, please.

This senor is friend to El Soro. He tell him to come here. He told you to come here? They were close friends in New York. I see. He wrote me all about you. Said he thought we'd speak the same language. We ought to get acquainted. When did he write to you? Oh, well, it was quite a little while ago, but I was tied up when the letter came. I got down here as soon as I could. Ah, you were tied up?

Well, the truth of the matter is I was broke. I had a hard time raising the price of the passage, but I figured if there was anything I could do to help a friend of El Zorro, I'd... Ah, you are still broke? Stony, stony old man. Yeah. José, get $200 from the safe. Give it to Señor... Lime, Harry Lime. And I certainly appreciate the...

We will not mention it, though money is very scarce with us just now. Scarce? I thought Elzora gave you all the money you needed before he left for Havana. So, it is to Havana he's gone. Yeah, send me a postcard from there. It was forwarded here. Great guy. We do not think he's such a great guy. What? Here's the money, senor. Well, thanks. What's the trouble between you and Elzora? He's a

Very clever man. We made an agreement. Perhaps one you knew about. Oh, sure. He was to finance half of the revolutions, my compatriots, the rest. Yeah, sure, I knew all about that. He was to handle the fighting. He was to take care of the finances, the procurement of guns and ammunitions. One million dollars that we have collected, we turn over to him. And by morning, he had disappeared. So he is in Havana. Well, that's what I heard, but I... You will go to Havana and bring him back.

A what? You will need money in your pocket, of course. That is why we have given you part of what little we have left. But you will not double-cross us. You will be watched at every moment. Should you make one false move, a bullet will enter your back. Look, I think I ought to tell you something. I'm not a friend of his. I never met him in my life. I don't even know what he looks like. It's a big joke. Signor Lime is very comic, gentlemen. I'm not being funny. I never heard of this guy until this morning.

Cockney I met in a bar told me about him. The bartender, remember? It was a little cafe near the Plaza de Madrid. It had roosters painted on the walls. Café El Galo.

Yes, that was his name. Just ask the bartender. To prove our fairness, I will make Jose make inquiries about the imaginary Cockney when he drives you back to your hotel. But you're not making things easier for yourself by denying your friendship for El Zorro. When you check up on my story that I met this... I will save my breath in your lime. Jose will drive you back to your hotel now so you can get some rest. You will need it. THE END

When the gargantuan Jose dropped me at the hotel, I went in one door and out the other, and then I hurried to the railway depot, bought a ticket on the first train out, which wasn't until 3 a.m. I wandered for a few blocks until I saw the reassuring sign, Polizia. Never had any love for the police, but now they represented some protection from General Valdes. After all, he was a revolutionist and outlaw. Thought gave me a little comfort.

I headed into a nightclub across the street and sat down amidst chattering cocktail drinkers. I hadn't been there long when my eyes were suddenly drawn to one of the most seductively beautiful women I've ever seen. She was a tall, slender brunette. She was sitting alone. There was invitation in her eyes. I armed myself with a couple of glasses of champagne, one in each hand. I walked over to a table. You know, it's strictly against the law for beautiful women to sit alone in bar rooms without a drink.

I was waiting for a friend. Well, I'm very friendly. I come bearing champagne. If I sat down, would you scream for the manager? I would not scream very loud. It is bad for my voice. Ah, you're a singer. I knew it. It was your artistic appearance that appealed to me. That's really why I made like a Saint Bernard. Well, I would like a drink. But you look more like El Lobo to me than a Saint Bernard. El Lobo is the wolf in Spanish. You don't like wolves in any language? No. No, I don't mind. As long as their claws are not too sharp.

Some girls pretend they do not like the roving males, but women are all complimented by attention. I, uh, I like woos like you. I love your frankness. What's your name? I am Consuelo. And you? I'm Harry. To Consuelo and Harry. You're wonderful, Consuelo.

If I didn't have quite so much on my mind, I... Oh, poor Harry. You big American businessmen are all alike. All the time you must worry about money matters. There are other things in life. And anyway, worry does no good. Oh, you're right. All the worry in the world can't change a thing. We'll have another drink. No. I'm afraid to drink any more on, how you say, an empty stomach. I might lose my head. Well, let's have dinner together first, and then both lose our heads. Are you a good sport, Harry? Yes.

What's up? You come with me to my little apartment, and I will cook for you a real Spanish dinner, something you cannot get in a restaurant. It is made with chicken and rice and white wine. Sounds like quite a dish, Consuelo. May I say the same for you? When she'd given the cab driver her address, Consuelo slithered back in the seat and melted in my arms. This was all of the good.

But I started to ask myself why the most beautiful woman in the world had gone for me like it was a combination of Clark Gable and John D. Rockefeller, the best features of each. I opened my eyes. Only I didn't look at Consuelo. I looked at the driver in the front seat. Even from the back, I recognized him.

Driver! Oh, what is the matter, darling? I want to see what the driver looks like. Turn your face around this way, driver. Si, signor Lyon. Anything to oblige. Jose, just like I thought. You should have begun to think before you bought the ticket at the railway station. Taken in by the oldest Dodge in the world, Harris.

Now, do not let us forget our manners, darling. I walked right up to you. You didn't even have to wiggle your little finger. Why are you taking me in this rattle trap, Jose? Oh, not far in this, Signor Lyme. But this is only the first leg of your journey to Havana. Still the same old record, eh? Did you find out at the cafe that I was telling the truth about the cockney? I've been inquired all over concerning a cockney. General Valdez is right. There is none. The bartender, what did he say? Didn't he remember me? Si, he remember you well. He say you drink, Scott.

Yes, I drink scotch, but... You say you were in there all alone. You'd not talk to anyone in the cafe. Well, the whole thing's a dirty frame. I'm not taking it. I'm going to... Oh, Jose, you hit him so hard. This time, but with my fist. Perhaps next time it will be with a bullet. We see how he behave in Havana. Havana

Orson Welles returns in just a moment as the third man. And now Orson Welles as the third man continues with In Pursuit of a Ghost.

Everything was black, blackened, then purple. Nice little polka dots of green light. This went on for a couple of thousand years. Then I realized I was lying down and the bed was soft, but it kept pitching, sliding out from under me. I could feel the throb of a ship's motor. He's waking up, General. For a while I thought he never would.

I hate pulling a line as old as this, but where am I? We are on our way to Urbana, Signor. Yeah, yeah, I guess that. But this, this ship? A private yacht friend was kind enough to lend us. We are the only passengers aboard, and the crew are all very loyal to me. That should answer what you really want to know. You're going ashore to find your friend, to bring him and the money back here. Jose and I will wait on the yacht for you. Jose's a very rough-looking customer. Hmm.

Yes, Jose, I think you could influence my friend more easily than I. Neither Jose nor I dare show our faces in Havana. Were our presence known there, it would ruin everything. No, Senor Lime, you will do the job for us. That you will be watched by our friends, watched every second of the time. Look, old man, this whole thing is pretty silly. I don't even know the man I'm supposed to find. The statement is ridiculous. We will not go into that again. All right, so he's my pal. My pal. I'm supposed to get him to leave Havana and come aboard this yacht.

You mind telling me how I do it? That is your problem, senor. But I can tell you this. If you fail, you will not leave past tomorrow night. By two in the afternoon, I checked in at the Hotel Nacional, wandered along the Prado looking at all the sidewalk tables for somebody who might look like a resourceful New York gangster. I'd consumed half a dozen daiquiris at Sloppy Joe's, but I wasn't any closer to the solution of my problem. Finding a man I didn't know, making friends with him, and persuading him to tuck a million dollars in his pocket and come aboard a strange yacht.

But if I didn't get back to the yacht with him, well, there wasn't any sense in speculating on that. I'd seen the look in Valdis's eyes. The general was playing for keeps. I walked for endless miles. I took buses. I traveled by cab. Finally, at 3 a.m., I landed about four miles out of the city on a little street they call Hot Dog Alley, a sort of skid row lined with Roomba palaces. And there, at a table in one of the noisiest of the joints, I saw him.

I knew it was him, tall, dark, and just reeking with rotten money. Also sitting beside him, holding his hand and nuzzling up to him, was Consuela. She was looking straight at me and not making any sign of recognition, so I took my cue from her, wanted her to the table, ignored Consuela, and stood looking down at him. Hi there. Here. Oh.

Thought for a minute there, I recognized you. Maybe I've seen you someplace. Do you happen to be from New York? Go away. Can't you see I'm busy with a lady? Funny you sound like a New Yorker. Okay, so I'm a New Yorker. A scram. Anything you say, El Zorro. Where'd you get that name? We can talk about where I got it if you really want to be a little friendly. Okay, so we'll talk. Only this ain't the place. I'll get rid of the babe and meet you somewhere where we can be alone.

Where are you stopping? Nacional. Go back there and go to your room. I'll call you in an hour or so. Who do I ask for? Harry Lyme. Be waiting for your call. Who is it? It is Consuelo. Let me in. All right, babe. Now you're in.

Comes next. Please, we have not much time. Please do not fight with me. I did not know they were bad men, honestly. They said it was some sort of a joke on you that you were a big businessman and you were working too hard. That they had planned for you a little vacation and you did not want to go. And then you flew down here ahead of me to help me enjoy my vacation. Only you happened to bump into El Zorro before I got here.

General doesn't even know you're here, huh? Checking up on El Zorro and me. Oh, you fool. They do not know that I am in Havana. They double-cross me. They do not pay me. So I fly down here for myself, like you say, on my own. I want that money. Looks like money is going to be a very popular thing. What am I supposed to do, steal it for you? Listen, Harry.

El Zorro dropped me near where he thinks I live about ten minutes ago. He was going back to his hotel to call you. What's his real name? What hotel's he at? His real name is Pietro. He calls himself Pete. He's staying at the La Paz. And he keeps the money right in his room. I know that. So?

When he calls, you get him to meet you here. You keep him away from his hotel for half an hour, and I get the money. Oh, how nice. Then you lose him some way, you meet me at the airport, we get a private plane, and we fly to Europe, just you and me. You and me and a million bucks. Makes a pretty picture. Okay. Harry, what is wrong? Why are you looking at me like that? Don't you trust me, Harry? What do you think?

Of course I trusted her. About as far as I could throw the hotel nurse, you know. Consuelo's a beautiful girl, but nobody's that beautiful. I have a very good nose for a frame-up. I could smell this one a mile away. You may think I'm fussy, but I don't like being played for a sucker. Twice. So I gave the lady time to get started, and then I put in a call. Hello? Hello, Pete? Harry Lyme speaking. What do you

$100,000, Pete. Good, you're kidding. What's all this about? Oh, we're fellow Americans, Pete. I want to do you a favor. For $100,000? I know about the million, Pete. I also know that General Valdez and his boys have followed you down here. They know where you've got the dough, Pete. Is this on a level? Not only that, they've got every means of escape all corked up. You're not getting out of here, Pete. Not without my help. What can you do, Lyle? I can get you out of Cuba alive.

I want a fast answer, old man. Let's not quibble over money. You're getting a bargain, a hundred thousand. I slip you out of Cuba and to some spot where you'd be safe. I have my own yacht and a crew I can trust. How do I know you're telling the truth? Easy, because I'm giving you my first tip off for free. That girl you were with tonight. Yeah? Well, old man, she's one of the gang. She's on her way to your place now. Wait ten minutes, then leave your hotel, give her a chance to get in, then go back. You'll find her going through your thing. I'll give you a chance to settle things with her, and then I'll call for you.

Have your things with you, including my hundred grand. It's a deal, Harry Lyme. There was a big crowd outside the La Paz Hotel by the time I got there. It seems a beautiful girl had been arrested robbing a room. The police took her away. Bye-bye, Consuelo. Peter was waiting on the corner. He got in my cab. A few minutes later, we were in a tender heading for my yacht. I appreciate this, Harry. Oh, that's all right. There ain't many guys that do this, not even for a hundred Gs.

Here, want to count it? One hundred bills. One grand each. No, no, old man, I'll check it later. That's the rest of it in the black bag? Sure, I'd bring all of it to you. Don't worry, I'd leave it in Cuba. Oh, I guess you wouldn't. Where do you think you want to head? South America, maybe. I guess I'd better talk it over with your captain. Yes, that's a good idea. Well, this is my boat we're pulling alongside of now.

Say, this is a pretty fancy boat. Well, climb up, old man. Okay. Now just swing yourself over there. That's the boy. Pretty nice here. Yeah, zip shape. Which way are my quarters? Go in here to the bar first. What do you say? Okay, but let's make it a quick one. I'd like to get some sleep as soon as you show me where I can flop. I'll show you where you flop, Pelsado. We'll see. And there's another friend of yours behind you. Who? Where?

General Valdez. Adios, Senor El Zorro. Jose, pick up the little black bag our friend El Zorro dropped. He won't need a million dollars where he's going. And you go to your cabin, Harry Lyme. We'll send for you when we want you. I've never been very fond of unnecessary arguments, so I went down to my cabin...

I threw myself on my bunk. I hadn't eaten since I landed in Havana and had too much to drink. But it wasn't only the liquor. I was tired, too. Dead tired. I didn't know I could hear the anchor being raised and the engine starting up. And then suddenly all Hades broke loose. Now what in the name of... There is another of the revolutionists. Kill him, too.

But I'm not one of the revolutionists, I swear. Please. Ready. No, no. Do not fire. He's not one of them. As you say, your captain, the general and the others are all dead. And we can now see to the running of the ship. Well, Harry Lyme, I hope you're proud of your role in the thwarted revolution. You...

You're the Cockney I met in the bar that first day, but... Yes, a Cockney dialect is one of my accomplishments. In Central America, the captain of police must have many disguises. Captain of the police? Yes. You see, you thought you were extracting information from me that first day. You were merely following the powers of suggestion.

Old man, I don't even begin to follow you. You followed me very well. Every idea I planted in your obviously conniving mind. With your help, we have recovered the money contributed by the poor, misguided citizens of my country. We have erased the revolutionary leader from a place far from his henchmen. And El Soro, who would have been dangerous yet, is now dead. Well, then, I'm in the clear, after all. I...

I saved your government for you. Yes, that you have, Governor. But then part of the money... You will be permitted to leave our country with every cent you entered with. Yes, well, old man, I was broke when I arrived. Yes, you see what I mean, Senor Lime. Yes, yes, I begin to. I just begin to. THE END

Harry Lyme returns in just a moment. And now, Harry Lyme. My only comforts

It was the cosy feel of a roll of greenbacks, 100 grand warming my breast pocket. Cerny was a smart cop, but he didn't know about that. But we do, don't we? The Lamp by Agatha Christie, dramatised for radio by Patricia Mays, and starring Judy Cornwall as Mrs Lancaster and Timothy Bateson as Mr Windburn.

Good morning, madam. Good morning. My name is Mr Radnor. I'm the senior partner. Can I help you? I'm looking for a property in the area. Of course. I'm sure we should be able to help you. Please sit down, Mrs... Mrs Lancaster. Please, please, madam. Thank you.

Now, a large or small property, madam? We have a wide range on our books. Not too small, you understand. And then again, not too large. Preferably with a reasonable rent. Reasonable rent, you say? Yes, that would be my preference. Let me see. Well, we do have 19 Willow Square. It's a very charming residence of medium size. Its rent, too, is very reasonable. It's on three floors with two or three attics.

You don't have to use them all, of course. The drawing room downstairs is spacious, with a delightful aspect across the square. How many bedrooms? Three of adequate size, and one of the attic rooms has served for a bedroom in the past, I understand. How many servants have you, madam, if you don't mind me asking? One. Only the one. Well, I think 19 Willows Square would be very acceptable in the circumstances. Here are the details. Yes, the rent is very good, as you say.

Still, I would like to see some others, if I may. Of course, ma'am, of course. These are mainly larger properties, of course, and it's possible the rent might be too much. I don't know. 21 Rapier Court. That would be too expensive. And there's 53 Edinburgh Avenue. That's a nice little house, recently come on the market. It's still a little on the expensive side.

well in all honesty madam I think you would be well advised to allow me to take you to see 19 Willow Square I'm sure you'll find it most acceptable Daddy Daddy you can kindly step inside Mrs. Lancaster smells a little musty of course of course the staircase comes right down into the front room how nice it's very impressive Mr. Radner I thought you'd like it now where would you like to start the bedrooms I think

Right. We'll work our way down. Very sensible. Shall I lead the way? Yes. Very nice. Very spacious. Tell me, Mr Ratner, what is the matter with the house? Matter, Mrs Lancaster? Yes. What's wrong with it? Well, of course, an unfurnished house is always a little gloomy. Nonsense. The rent is ridiculously low for such a house. Merely nominal. There must be some reason for it.

The house isn't haunted, is it? Haunted? No, of course, that is foolish. I don't believe in ghosts or anything of that sort, and personally it's no deterrent to my taking the house. But servants, unfortunately, are very credulous and easily frightened. It would be kind of you to tell me exactly what thing is supposed to haunt this place. Really, Mrs Lancaster, I don't know. I am sure you do.

I cannot take this house without knowing. What was it? A murder? Good heavens, no. No. Nothing like that. Well then, Mr. Radnor, what does haunt this house? It's only a child. A child? Yes. Go on. I don't know the story exactly. Of course, there are all sorts of different versions, but... I believe about 30 years ago, a man by the name of Williams took this house.

Nothing was known of him. He kept no servants. He had no friends. He seldom went out in the daytime. He had only one child, a little boy. One day, after he'd been here for two months, he went up to London. He'd hardly set foot in the metropolis before he was recognised as being a man wanted by the police on some charge. Exactly what, I don't know. But it must have been a grave one, because sooner than give himself up, he shot himself. Oh.

Meanwhile the child lived on here, alone in the house. He had food for a little time and he waited day after day for his father to return. Of course he did not do so. And unfortunately it had been impressed upon him that he was never under any circumstances to go out of the house or to speak to anyone. He was a weak, ailing little creature and he did not dream of disobeying this command. In the night the

Neighbours, not knowing that his father had gone away, often heard him sobbing in the awful loneliness and desolation of this empty house. And...? He's starved to death. That is a terrible story. And it's the child's ghost that is supposed to haunt the place? Well, it's nothing of consequence, really. No-one ever sees anything. Nothing's seen, you understand. But some do say that they hear the child.

crying you know i like the house very much mr radner i shall get nothing as good for the price i am a widow you see oh i i'm sorry to hear that and my elderly father and small son live with me i will think it over and let you know this room is looking cheerful already isn't it father transformed my dear here you are look i've made you a cup of tea oh thank you

I need it. Hot and sweet, just as I like it. I think the Indian carpet should go in this room, don't you? As you wish. You know, you have exquisite taste. You'll transform this gloomy old house into a magic grotto in no time, I've no doubt. A gift I inherited from you and Mama. Sit down. You must be tired. Yes, I will for a moment. Oh, those stairs, I fear. Not as young as I was, hmm?

By the time you finish with this place, no-one will think it's haunted. Papa, please. Not on our first day. All right. We'll agree there are no such things as ghosts. If you would, especially in front of Geoffrey. You know what an imagination he has. And he mustn't get excited. He's been much better of late, and the colours return to his cheeks. Listen. What? Footsteps. Can't you hear them? I can't hear anything. Shh.

It's the rain on the window. Oh, you are dreadful, Papa. Oh, for a moment I thought... Oh, well, never mind. Now, where is Geoffrey? He's been quiet for too long. I hope Jane's with him. And don't you dare play another trick like that on me again. Geoffrey! Geoffrey! Geoffrey!

Grandfather has prepared tea for us. You had better come down and be careful as you come down the stairs. I expect he's been having one big adventure up there. I hope he hasn't caught a chill in those empty bedrooms. Don't worry so much. You make yourself ill.

There'll be more room for him in this house. All nooks and crannies are filled with excitement for an inquisitive young boy. That's it, Geoffrey. Come along. Ah, there you are, Geoffrey. Now, you sit on that chest. What's the matter, Grandfather? Oh, nothing, my dear, nothing. It must have been the rain I heard.

I could have sworn. Now, Geoffrey, would you like a scone? I'm looking at the sponge cake. Don't you want a scone first? A piece of sponge cake, please. Very well. Here, I'll cut a slice for you, my boy. What have you been doing upstairs? And where's Jane? She's busy sorting out things in my room. I hope you're not getting in her way. No, Mummy. Do you like your room? Oh, yes. It's lovely. So you're pleased with your new home, are you? There's your cake. Thank you.

Thank you. Oh, yes, I like it lots. There are at least two separate attics up there, and Jane says I can go and explore them tomorrow. Well, I don't know about that. Oh, please, Mummy. Not on your own. Jane will come with me, and there's a secret door. Is there now? Jane says there isn't, but I think there must be. And anyhow, I know there'll be pipes, water...

Water pipes? And I can play with them. And listen to the water gurgle along them. And I can go and see the boiler. Oh, goodness sake, Geoffrey, take a breath. Jane has promised you an awful lot without consulting me. No harm can come of it, Valerie. Thank you, Grandfather. You encourage him. Well, he's a boy. All boys have adventurous natures. Otherwise, they wouldn't be boys, eh? We'll talk about attics tomorrow. Now, eat your tea. And together, we can get this room straightened out before it gets dark. Listen, listen.

What's that? What, Grandfather? Please, remember what I told you. Oh, yes, nothing, my boy, just the rain. I think it was the rain. What's happening? Where am I? What city is this? Where is he? Have you brought him? No, no, I'm sorry, I have not. Oh, my God, where...

Oh. It was a dream. Only a dream. What's that? Geoffrey? Is that you, crying? It stopped. I...

Can't have been Geoffrey. His room's below mine, but the sound... The sound came from the room above. Papa? Papa, dear? Hmm? Yes? You're not eating your breakfast. Oh, sorry. Mine's wandering. Listen to the wind. Quite a change in the weather.

Did you sleep well last night, Geoffrey? Yes, Mummy. Don't eat your breakfast so fast, Geoffrey. You're not something out of the zoo. No, Mummy. Oh, just hearing that wind blowing in the chimney. Are you sure you're all right, Papa? Yes. Yes, thank you. Breakfast is stone cold. You haven't eaten a thing. Oh, I'm sorry, my dear, but I'm not very hungry. Listen. I hope you're not sickening for something, Papa. You know what I...

I think you did too much yesterday. I think you should rest all today and do absolutely nothing. Jane and I can manage. Be quiet! Papa? What is it? You frightened us. What? It's all right, Grandfather. There's nothing to worry about. Oh, I am sorry. Forgive me. It was nothing. Honestly, it was nothing. You're right. I'll take things easier today.

Geoffrey, have you seen grandfather anywhere? No, mummy. Perhaps he's lying down. I won't disturb him, if he is. What are you doing? Looking out of the window. Oh, can't you find something more interesting to do than that? I'm bored. Well, why don't you get me one of your books and let me hear you read? I don't want to. I'd wish you'd let me play with the little boy. Which little boy, dear? I don't know his name.

He was in the attic, sitting on the floor, crying. But he ran away when he saw me. I suppose he was shy. And then when I was in the playroom, building a house with my bricks, I saw him standing by the door, watching me. What are you saying, dear? I looked straight at him and said, come and help me. But he didn't say anything.

And then when I asked Jane who he was and told her I wanted to play with him, she said there wasn't a boy in the house and not to tell lies. I don't love Jane any more. Jane was right. There is no little boy. But I saw him. Mummy, do let me play with him. He looks so lonely and unhappy, like I must have been just now. Geoffrey. Oh, Papa.

You startled me. I didn't hear you come down. That poor little boy is lonely. And perhaps you can do something to comfort him. But you must find out how by yourself. Like a puzzle, do you see? Geoffrey, I think you'd better go upstairs and find Jane. It's time you washed, ready for tea. Oh, all right. Papa, this is absurd. And it has to stop.

What are you talking about, Valerie? Encouraging him to believe the idle tales of servants. No servant has told the child anything, Valerie. That boy has seen what I hear. What you're saying is ridiculous. Is it? Of course it is. Why don't I see or hear it then? Do you remember these words? What lamp has destiny to guide her little children stumbling in the dark? A blind understanding, Heaven replied. Don't you see?

Geoffrey has that, a blind understanding. It is only as we grow older that we lose it, we cast it away from us. Sometimes when we are quite old, a faint gleam comes back to us, but the lamp burns brightest in childhood. That is why I think Geoffrey may help. I don't pretend to understand. Oh, no more do I. That ghost child, for that is what it is, is in trouble.

and wants to be set free. How? I do not know. It's awful to think of it, sobbing its heart out. A child.

Well, Dr Phillips, how is he? The doctor will tell us after he's examined him, Valerie. But I want to know. It's been three days now and he doesn't seem to be getting any better. I'll be with you in one moment, Mrs Lancaster. He's feverish and he keeps gasping for air. Then he'll sleep peacefully. Please, Mrs Lancaster, I'm trying to listen to his lungs. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. There, there, my dear. Geoffrey will be all right. He's never been strong. He's like his father. He suffered with a weak chest, too. He caught a chill and it turned into bronchitis. There, there. He's not responding to any medication, I'm afraid.

I think we should try to get him into hospital. Oh, is that necessary? No, it's the best place for him, Valerie. May I speak to you privately, Mr. Winburn? Oh, of course. Shall we go downstairs? Oh, excuse us, please, Mrs. Langford. This way. Thank you. Well, Doctor, you can tell me the truth. I understand your grandson has a history of lung trouble. Yes. Almost from birth. I'm afraid so, yes.

My daughter has always had to protect him from colds and chills. Yeah. I'm afraid he has an infection in both lungs. Unfortunately, he hasn't the constitution to withstand it. I see. What are you saying, Doctor? That even if I get him into hospital, there's very little chance that the boy will live. I'm very sorry. Excuse me for saying this, but are you certain?

Mr. Winburn, you're perfectly free to consult another doctor at the hospital when we get him there, but in my opinion, his case is hopeless. I would be failing in my duty if I held out any false hopes. One lung is on the point of collapse. In a short time, the other will be the same. He cannot take the strain, you see. How do I tell my daughter? You can see the state she's in. I don't know, Mr. Winburn. I honestly don't know.

Deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen. I want to help him get away. I do. Jeffrey, Jeffrey, please. I do. I do. What's that? Someone crying. A child crying. Who is it? Who's there? Valerie. What? What's wrong? He cried out.

Geoffrey cried out. Excuse me, Mrs Lancaster. Suddenly sat up and cried out and then... Then? Heard. He's delirious. His breathing's becoming shallower too. What can we do? For the moment, wait. I'll go to the hospital and arrange for an ambulance. I'll see you out. No, Mr Winburn. Stay here. Please. I won't be long. He's going to die, isn't he? No, my dear, no. Yes, he is. Just like his father.

I shall sit here and I shall watch him die. Please, Valerie, you must have hope. Please, my son, fight, fight to live. Want to live, Geoffrey. What is it? Are you in pain, Geoffrey? Geoffrey, what are you doing? You mustn't sit up. I'm coming, I'm coming. What did you say?

What's happening? Oh, I'm frightened. Oh, I'm frightened. Stop, please. Stop. Valerie? Valerie, what's happening? Can't you hear him laughing? Oh, my God. Oh, hold me, Papa. Hold me, please. Jeffrey is sitting up again. He's pointing to the door.

I'm coming. I'm coming. The door. He's pointing to something at the door. Listen. Can't you hear them? Someone's coming up the stairs. What? He's coming upstairs. The child. The child. He's here. In this room. The child is in this room. Papa. Shh. Don't move. What's happening? Papa.

Tell me what's happening. Valerie, come away from the door. Let them go. Let them go? There are two of two? Yes, dear. Two children. Jeffrey. Don't look. He's gone. Can't you hear? Silent. Nothing but silence. Oh.

No. No, stay where you are. Do not break the stillness of this moment. For this is a time of mystery. A time when imagination is free and moves forward swiftly, silently.

This is The Haunting Hour.

Bird of Death. This is the story of a man named Spear, of a bird, a kind of carrion crow, and of a student of birds named Victor.

This is also a story of Victor's uncle, Oren. But that comes later. At this moment, we are concerned only with the trio. Spear, Victor, and the bird of death, the crow. Watch this, Victor. I'm going to get him. I wouldn't if I were you, Spear. Got him. No, no, you just wounded him. He's getting away.

Why did you object to my shooting that bird? It's a member of the Corvus coroni family, a kind of carrion crow. So what? Well, there's an old Indian tradition about those particular birds. A tradition, eh? Well, what is it? Not that I'm interested in those old superstitions. I would be if I were you, Spear. Why? Because according to legend, it is the bird of death. The Bird of Death

This is also the story of Victor's uncle, Oren. A man with a different kind of interest in birds. An interest that often took him and Spear to a certain marsh. Are those all the decoys we brought with us, Spear? Yes, sir. Then roll over to the blind. Never can tell when a flight of ducks will come along. Yes, sir. Yes, sir.

There's that old fishing weir. It's pity it isn't used anymore. I hate to see anything wasted. Yes, sir. Just a lot of stakes driven into the marsh. A fish trap. They bait it, the fish get in, and they're caught. Looks like an arrow from above. Yes, sir. I'm glad we put the decoys around it. It's a natural place for them. Makes the setting perfect. No duck will be suspicious of it, sir. Yes, sir. You stop that infernal jest, sir.

Can't you say anything besides yes, sir? Yes. Of course, Mr. Oren, anything you wish. You know, you're too agreeable today, Spear. Too agreeable. There's a streak of pleasantness in you. It's usually right beneath the surface, but you're covering it up today. Covering it up real well. What's up? Why, nothing. Nothing at all, Mr. Oren. I don't know what you're talking about. You don't, eh? Well, most people don't know what the other fellow's talking about.

That's what's wrong with the world. All people would. Oh, hurry up, Spear. You're rowing as if we had all day. Yes, sir. Can't get over what a perfect setting that old fishing weir makes for our decoys. Why, the ducks have come right into the nozzles of our shotguns without suspecting there are any hunters around. It's a good setup, all right. Good. It's perfect.

You know, that's what counts in the world spear the setting give a man the right setting and he can get away with murder Why there's been many yet that Hey spear, you're not throwing towards land. No, I'm not mr. Aran. You're going to the fishing where what's the big idea? It's the right setting. Mr Aran give a man the right setting and he can get away with murder. You said so yourself Talking about yours, mr. Aran

You stop throwing. Now, Spear, I don't like this. That's understandable. Most of us are cowards. We flinch from death.

Even wealthy men like you, Mr. Oren. Oh, stop joking. Does this shotgun look as if I'm joking? You'll notice it's pointed right at your chest, and the shotgun at close range is a pretty messy weapon, I've read. Why, you... You needn't bother looking for your shotgun. It's behind me. You haven't a chance in the world of getting it. In fact, you haven't a chance, period. Spear, you're crazy. You can't get away with this. I'll call for help. In the first place, you won't call. The instant you even try to yell, I'll pull the trigger.

In the second place, who'd hear you out here on the marsh? Why, I don't... Victor. Yes, that's it. Victor might hear me. He often comes out here to study bird life. Or maybe one of the servants may be around here. None of the servants will be around here today. You know Jed's too lazy to do anything he doesn't have to, and Kathy's rheumatism will keep her indoors on a day like this. But Victor... He won't be here today either. No, Mr. Oren, you'd better not count on help from your dear nephew. I've taken care of him. You...

You killed Victor? Now, why would I do that? I only want to kill one man, and that's you, Mr. Arne. No, I saw to it that Victor received a new book on ornithology this morning. He's in his study reading about the habits of birds. The Habits of Birds. Birds that, according to scientists, were once reptiles.

But according to science, man was also once a reptile. So the lives of the two, birds and men, may at times be interwoven. In his study, Victor muses... Birds are strange creatures.

Jed, do you know that the Ardea Herodias... The what? The Ardea Herodias, the great blue heron. You mean like them that live around the marsh? Precisely. Well, the Ardea Herodias has one claw that's toothed. You don't say. I don't, but this book does.

It says the middle toe is toothed. What's the bird want teeth in his middle toe for? I suppose to make it easier to hold on to the fish it catches. You've seen them catch fish, haven't you? Yeah, especially around the old fish trap in the marsh. I don't reckon I ever saw one of them lose a fish once he grabbed a hold of it. Precisely. Oh, say, I reckon there ain't much them book writers don't know. Wonder how they learn it. By observation, Jed. Oh, I tell you, this is a fine book. I

I just got it this morning. I don't know who sent it, but whoever did certainly knew what he was doing. It's a remarkable book. You ought to read it. I ain't no handed book reading. To think that a man, a man like you or me, could learn so much about ornithology. About what, Mr. Victor? Ornithology, that's the scientific name for the study of bird life. Oh. And he learned it the right way, by watching birds in their native habitats. Yeah? Where what? Where they live.

What do you want to do that for? Because it's so interesting. It's fascinating. I think I'll go down to the marsh to watch the Ardea Herodias myself. Yes, that's what I'll do this very instant. I'm going to the marsh. Orin went to the marsh to kill birds. Spear went to kill Orin.

Victor is going to the marsh to observe birds. Birds and men, they're all interwoven. As interwoven as the threads of life and of death. But why do you want to kill me, Spear? You've been my secretary almost ten years. I've paid you well, haven't I? I've been good to you, haven't I? But not as good as I'm going to be to myself. But I even made a provision in my will for you. But not as big as the provision I've made in it. As you've made it?

What are you talking about? I've destroyed your will and substituted one to fit my own ambitions. I'm going to inherit quite a piece of your estate. So you won't get away with it? You'll be found out. Do you think so? How many years have I been signing your name to letters? About eight. Has anyone ever detected that it isn't your signature? I know that is. Exactly. No one will ever suspect the will as a forgery.

Simple, isn't it? But it is never simple, Spear. You're quite philosophic for a man who's about to die. But you overlook the fact that I've planned this carefully for five years. I know every detail of what I'm going to do. There isn't a chance of a slip-up. The perfect crimey. Yes, I suppose you can call it that. Everything will go just as I planned it, Mr. Oren.

With your money, I'll be on Easy Street the rest of my life. I'm not dead yet. I'll take care of that in a moment, sir. There are easier ways of making money, Spear. I like this way better. Incidentally, that's where you're going to be buried, Mr. Oren. Over there at the fishing weir. Take a good look at it. Not every man gets a chance to see his future grave. No, not every man gets a chance to see his future grave. But every man has his own hopes of averting or at least delaying death.

Other people may inadvertently help him. For instance, right now at Oren's house, Kathy, the housekeeper, is saying... Jed, where's Mr. Victor? In his study, I reckon. You reckon, you reckon. I've never seen such a man for not knowing nothing. Well, ain't he in his study? No, he ain't. I'd be asking if he was there. No, I don't reckon you would. There you go, reckoning again. Can't you give a body a straight answer? What do you always want to be picking on me for, Kathy?

I reckon... I mean, I ain't no nursemaid to know where everybody's at all the time. Now, Jed, you keep a civil tongue in your head. Man, that Goshen, you think about it. He said something outlandish to you. All I asked... All you asked was if I knowed where Mr. Victor is. And I said...

Say, I just remembered. He said he was going out to the marsh to see... Just what I thought. Just what I thought. He's going out to see if he can get a look at some of them wild birds he's so crazy about. Oh, I don't know if that man will be the death of me yet. Well, what you carrying on like that for? Can't a man go for a walk to the marsh without you raising a ruckus? Not without his mackinaw on a raw day like this, he can't. Why?

That poor boy will catch his death of cold. Goshen, I don't know what folks would do if I didn't look after him. Now, you get Mr. Victor's Mackinaw and take it to him right this minute. Oh, Kathy, if he didn't take it himself, maybe it's because he don't want it. Jed, you do like I say. You take Mr. Victor's Mackinaw to him right this minute.

He had my rheumatism. He'd know better than leaving it behind. But how am I going to know where he's at? You just said yourself he was going to the marsh. Well, you go there, too. Keep looking till you find him. Oh, all right, all right. Don't get hit up about it. I reckon all I do around here is go traipsing around for him. Oh.

Have you had a good look at your future grave, Mr. Oren? You're going to be in it soon. I'm going to kill you with your own shotgun. It'll be the culmination of five years of careful planning. Oh, you ungrateful wretch, I ought to... You ought to keep quiet and listen to me. And don't make any suspicious moves. I've got an itchy trigger finger and I don't want anything to happen to you until I'm absolutely ready. Spear, I'm telling you again... You're telling me again that I can't get away with it. Well, you're wrong, Mr. Oren. You're not dealing with stocks and bonds now. You're dealing with human life.

Your life. All right, Spear. You win. I'll make a deal with you. What kind of a deal? I'll pay you as much money as you want. If only you won't kill me. Do you understand what I'm saying? I'll make you rich. You'll double-cross me. That's what you'll do. No, honestly. Honestly, that's a laugh. What an awful sap you must think I am. Why, you'd turn me over to the police so fast it would make my head swim.

But it's your head that's going to swim underwater. Oh, no, Spear, please. I'm going to shoot you, then I'm going to tie you to the bottom of one of the stakes of the fishing weir. You'll be fastened so securely, you'll be there forever.

No one will ever find you there. Spear, listen to me. I'll do anything you say. Anything. Only don't kill me. You're stalling for time, Mr. Arryn, but it won't do you any good. Listen to me. You know nothing you say will keep me from carrying out my plans. Listen, I'll sign my property over to you. I'll make it legal. You'll be rich. Now think it over. I have thought it over. For five years. That's a long time, Mr. Arryn. Everything is just as I planned it. Including your begging for mercy. I promise. I promise I'll never tell anybody about this. If only... Of course you'll never tell anybody about this. Yes.

You know the old saying, dead men tell no tales. Spear, I don't want to die. No one wants to die. And no one wants to lie at the bottom of a marsh tied to a fish trap. It isn't much of a monument.

especially for a rich man like you, Mr. Aron. But it's going to be yours for eternity. Please, please. Your proposition, if I let you live. I'll do anything you want, Spear. Anything you want. I'll give you everything I've got. You'll never regret it. Believe me, you won't. You're right, I'll never regret it. And by it, I mean this. THE END

This is the story of Spear and the gun which he fired twice. The first time at a crow which he did not kill but merely crippled. The second time at his employer, Mr. Oren, whom he murdered on the spot. This is the story of Victor, Mr. Oren's nephew, a student of bird life who worries about the crippled crow and who questions Spear about the disappearance of his uncle.

He does not know that Spear has fastened Mr. Oren's dead body to the bottom of an old fishing weir in the marsh. You were right, Victor. That crow was the bird of death. Of course, I don't believe in Indian superstitions, but if I hadn't shot that bird, maybe Mr. Oren wouldn't be dead now. Don't blame yourself, Spear. But what I can't understand is why we haven't been able to recover the body. That's why we haven't been able to recover the body.

That crew of men has been searching around the center of the marsh with grappling hooks all day now. Maybe the body has caught on a shrub or something at the bottom. This could be. If that's the case, I'll ask them to use dynamite. Dynamite? I hadn't thought of that. Are you sure you pointed out the exact spot where the accident happened? I'm positive. Then there's nothing to do but use dynamite.

That'll dislodge anything in the immediate vicinity. I've been using dynamite and still no sign of Uncle's body. I'm just as sorry about that as you are, but as I said before, it's probably wedged between some shrubs or rocks down at the bottom.

These old marshes are full of them, you know. Yes. I know how you must feel, Victor, but please bear in mind it isn't easy for me either. I can understand that, your having been with him when it happened. I'll never forget it. It was terrible. Last night I dreamed about it. I felt the water closing over me as I surface dived the last time trying to find him. My hands searched in vain. I could feel the water suffocating me and then I awoke drenched in cold sweat. Oh, if only I could have saved him. Don't blame yourself, Spear. You did everything you could.

Too bad Jet and I didn't get here about five minutes sooner. Then we could have helped. Yes, it's too bad.

I can't get over an experienced hunter like Uncle capsizing the boat. Well, as I told you before, he was so anxious to get the duck he'd shot, he leaned way over the gunnel as he reached for it. He leaned too far. The boat turned over, plunging us both into the water. Yes, you told us about that. I tried to get him to stay in the blind while I rode out and retrieved the bird, but no, nothing would do but for him to get into the boat with me. I asked him not to. Why? Why what? Why did you ask him not to get into the boat with you? Well, I... I don't really know, only... Only you had a premonition.

Is that it, Spear? Well, no, that is not exactly... Only there was no necessity for both of us going after the duck. I could have gotten it myself. I always have in the past when we went hunting together. But this time, things worked out differently, eh, Spear? Yes, this time things worked out differently. Maybe things like that are planned. What do you mean? Oh, fate, destiny, you know, that sort of thing. I believe everything happens according to plan. Everything. Everything.

Who will gainsay that everything does happen according to plan? But whose plan? And what is the plan? Is there no such thing as circumstance? And what part does it play in the plans a man may make?

And they haven't found the body yet? Nary a sign of it, Kathy. Nary a sign. Oh, poor Mr. Oren. Not getting a decent burial. It ain't right, him being down at the bottom of the marsh like that. I tell you, Jed, it ain't right. No, reckon ain't nobody gonna argue with you about that. But today's dynamiting ain't done no good. Ain't much more that can be done. You mean they'll leave him down there? I reckon so. What else can they do? Well, I don't rightly know, but

Seems like they oughtn't to give up till they find poor Mr. Oren's body. Maybe they ain't never gonna find it. Why? Maybe it just wasn't meant to be found. Oh, Jed, you don't make no sense. No, lots of things don't make no sense if you ask me. Things like what?

Well, I don't rightly know how to put it, but some things just don't add up. Oh, Landon, Goach and Jed, you're going to drive me plum crazy with that kind of talk. What things don't add up? Well, it's like this, Kathy. You recollect you sent me out to the marsh to find Mr. Victor and give him his Mackinaw? Of course I recollect. Well, I done like you told me to. I found him mowing along toward the marsh, reading one of them books that he got the very day of Mr. Orange's accident. I know all about that. Yeah, but here's what you don't know.

He asked me to go to the marsh with him. He wanted to show me something about a... idea... about Blue Heron. And so I went with him. I know all about that, too. What of it? Hold your horses, will you? I'm coming to that. Will you?

We heard a shot from the marsh, along about the fishing wear, I'd say. And a few minutes later, when we got there, there was Mr. Spear dripping water and climbing out of the marsh with his story about how Mr. Oren was grounded. Well, what don't add up with that? It's exactly what Mr. Spear's been telling about the accident. Yeah, but according to his story, Mr. Oren, he shot a duck from where they was hiding in the blinds.

The duck fell in the middle of the marsh, and he and Mr. Spear, they got in the boat and rowed out to get the dead bird. That's right. Mr. Oren leans out to pick the duck out of the water, and the boat turns over, drowning him. Even though Mr. Spear, according to his story, done everything he could to save Mr. Oren.

Now, it appears to me that was a mighty short time for all that to happen. Seems like all them doings ought to take more than the... Well, more than the four or five minutes it took me and Mr. Victor to get to the marsh and see Mr. Spear climbing out of it. Oh, land of ghosts and dead, that kind of talk would dry the body clean out of their mind.

Maybe it took you and Mr. Victor more than four or five minutes to get to the edge of the marsh. No, it didn't. And even if it didn't, that don't mean nothing. Things just naturally happen fast sometimes. Yeah, maybe. But still, it just don't set right with me. I reckon it ought to take more time than that for all them things to happen.

So they stopped dynamiting her. Yeah, Kathy. Mr. Victor finally gave it up. Said there was no use keeping it up forever. Oh, that means poor Mr. Orlin will be down there at the bottom of the marsh till doomsday. I reckon so. I still say the whole thing don't add up just right. Oh, now don't start that again, Jed. I see.

But I just can't stand being around you when you carry on with such crazy talk. I just can't help feeling that... Oh, Landa Goshen! You make even my rheumatism worse for that kind of talk. All right, then. I'll keep quiet about it. But I still say... There you go again. All right, all right. Don't get yourself hit up. You and your crazy talk. You haven't told Mr. Victor any of it, have you? No. Well, don't.

He's got enough on his mind right now as is. I won't say nary a word about it to him. Promise? Yes, I promise. That's better. By the way, where is Mr. Victor now? I reckon he and Mr. Spears are with the lawyers for the reading of the will. Looks like they could have waited a spell before they went into that. Mr. Spears said they might as well get over with. I guess he's right. I get all fussed up inside thinking of poor Mr. Orrin resting down to butt it.

Jed, where are you going? I think I'll just mosey on over to the marsh for a spell. I just can't get it through my head why the whole thing don't matter. I don't know.

Believe me, Victor, the contents of the will are as much of a surprise to me as they must be to you. I thought Mr. Oren would remember me, but I didn't dream he would leave me the bulk of his estate. Neither did I. I'm sorry if it upset your plans in any way. My plans? Looks as though Uncle didn't think much of them. Then he knew about them? He knew I wanted to devote my life to ornithology. He gave me the impression he approved of it. He must have changed his mind. Evidently, but it doesn't change mine.

I'm going to be an ornithologist. I've played around with it before as a hobby, but I'm in dead earnest now. I'm going to start right away. In fact, right now. Now? Yes. Spear, I'm going to begin with the birds I've observed closely the last few days. But, Victor, you were at the marsh the last few days. Precisely. And there were birds there, birds I want to see again.

Spear, drive as close to the marsh as you can, and we'll walk the rest of the way. If you don't mind my saying so, it sounds rather silly to me. Do you mind doing what I ask? No, I don't mind. Why should I? I don't know. Then there are other things I don't know. Things I intend to find out about.

Do you have a gun? A what? A gun. What's the matter? Don't you understand English? Look, Victor, I can understand your being upset about the will. Well, have you got a gun or haven't you? There's a double barrel shotgun on the back of a car. That's perfect for what I want.

Now roll out to the middle of the marsh where the accident happened. Very well, if that's what you want, but it seems rather... That's what I want. Okay. Okay.

Well, here we are. Now, what's this got to do with birds? Plenty. See that buzzard of a crow sitting there on the fishing weir? The bird you crippled? Well, watch me take a shot at him. You missed him. I intended to. Killing isn't in my line. What does that crack mean? You'll know soon enough. I don't understand you, Victor. First you try to keep me from shooting that bird. Then you take a crack at him and miss him on purpose. You must be losing your mind. On the contrary, my mind is just beginning to function.

Now, Spear, I want you to row over to the fish trap. Huh? You heard me. I said row over to the fishing weir. Now, look, Victor, I've had all of this I want. You can't order me around. I'll remind you that this is a double-barrel shotgun. Only one shell has been fired, so the other barrel is still loaded. And it's pointed right at you.

Do I make myself understood? Yes. All right, then. Row! Row!

Edge of the boat over a little, Spear. Right against the stake that crow is sitting on. It's back. Yes, it's back. Back on the same stake it's been sitting on for three days now. It just sits there and stares hungrily straight down into the water. Oh, what of it? That bird is a scavenger, Spear. Oh, no.

It isn't here to catch fish like the other birds. It's only interested in carrion. All right, so it's interested in carrion. What's that to me? You're interested in carrion too, Spear, but in a different way. You're crazy. You don't know what you're saying. Prove it. Let's investigate that stake, the one the bird was perched on. No. No, let's go back to the house. You're afraid because my uncle's corpse is at the other end of it, Spear. No, of course not. It's because... Will you give me that? No. I've got the gun. I'll write your uncle's down there at the bottom of the fish trap. I killed him just as I'm going to kill you right...

I got him just in time, Mr. Victor. I heard what he said. I was there in the duck blind. I'm sure glad I had my rifle with me. I told them that Corvus Coroni was the bird of death. This is the story of a man named Spear, of a bird, a kind of carrion crow...

of a student of bird life named Victor and of his uncle, Oren. A story of birds and men interwoven as the threads of life and death. From shadows and stillness, mystery weaves a spell of strangest fascination.

Charging the mind with doubts and fears. For mystery is a strange companion. A living memory in the haunting hour.

My gun was handcrafted to my specifications. I rarely draw it, unless I mean to use it. Have gun. Will travel. Have gun.

Starring Mr. John Daner as Paladin. San Francisco, 1875. The Carlton Hotel. Headquarters of a man called Paladin. Oh, Mr. Paladin. Yes? About that imported silk shawl you ordered as a gift for a lady...

Oh, yes. Very pretty. But you didn't say about the color. Is it for a blonde or a brunette? Why, I'm not sure yet. Perhaps you'd better leave one of each. You'll tell the clerk at the desk to charge them to my bill. Of course. Thank you, Mr. Paladin.

Ah, there you are, hey boy. Oh, yes, Mr. Paladin. I have two messages for you. One from San Francisco City Jail. Mr. Holgate say he get your card and want you to come see him. Oh, yes, he's the murderer who's afraid he'll be lynched when they take him back to stand trial in some little town in Wyoming. Oh, and he say you better hurry. Sheriff come here and take him away on nine o'clock train tonight. And the other message? Ah, pretty lady wait for you. Huh? Over there.

It's too bad. What? Tell her, Miss Apaladee. Give her my sincere regrets, hey boy. Tell her... Later. I have a train to catch. Even if you've had embarrassing dandruff for years, you can get rid of it now in three minutes. That's all it takes with Fitch Dandruff Remover Shampoo. Yes, unsightly dandruff's gone in three minutes with Fitch. Quickest, easiest of all leading shampoos.

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You just made it, mister. Hey, give you a hand with that bag? No, thanks. I can manage. You carry it like it was eggs. Most room up in the front. Say, what's going on in there? Well, I don't know. It's that murderer. He's loose. Look out. I beg your pardon. Get out of the way. You seem to have gotten tangled up in an iron clothesline. Get out of my way, you crazy fool. Stop, Paul Gates. Stop right there. I'll blow you in half with this shotgun. Oh, you clumsy fool.

Well, Sheriff, why didn't you just pull the trigger and end it right here? You might as well have. You just get back to your seat real careful like. Take them leg irons off to make you more comfortable. You pay me back by kicking me in the head. You just catch me trying to be decent to you again. All right, now sit down. Take your leg out. All right.

And to you, mister. Thank you. Glad to be of help to an officer of the law? You're only helping a man get lynched, that's all. Shut up, Holgate. If you don't mind, Sheriff, I'd like to talk to your prisoner. Sure. Sit. Thank you. Mr. Holgate, you got my card. I got your message. You're Paladin? I figured you'd be on my side. Who'd you say you was, mister? The name is Paladin. And your name? Sheriff Swink. Oh, what is this, a cozy chat?

Listen, Paladin, I hired your gun to turn me loose. You hired to turn him loose? Mr. Holgate has his facts slightly confused. Would you mind pointing that some other way, please, Sheriff? Thank you. Now, Mr. Holgate, what makes you think you'll be lynched? Easy. A town's named Bender after Max Bender. It was his son caught my bullet. How did you come to shoot him? Oh, just an argument in a saloon. A few drinks. You know how it is. You got a gun?

Well, he had one. Oh, sure. It was home on his dressing. Well, how'd I know that? I didn't notice. I see. Well, Mr. Holgate, tell you what I'll do. For $200, I'll see that you're delivered alive to stand trial. You call that a bargain? Man has a chance with a fair trial, but there's no debating a lynching beat. All right. You'll get the money when I step into the courtroom. Just to be sure, I'll choose somebody to hold the fee.

When's the trial, Sheriff? Circuit judge will do it at the end of the week. We'll beat him there by, oh, a day, maybe. And what are the chances of my employer here being lynched? I reckon somebody's gonna try. Will you stop it? That'd be a hard decision to make. But I can assume we're on the same side, aren't we, Sheriff? I reckon. That puts two of us on the side of the right. Now, don't crow, mister. Them ain't good odds with the whole town on the other side. Ah!

I never did like this town. Don't worry, you won't be here long. At least there's not a mob to meet us. Nope. Just the Benders over there. Who are they? Max Bender, his daughter Amy. The town's named after the old man. Howdy, Max. Miss Amy. Hello, Sheriff. How'd you know we'd come in on this train?

We waited on every train. I wanted to see the man who killed my son. He's going to have a trial, Max. Yeah. My brother didn't have a trial. No, Amy. Or a smart lawyer who might trick him to freedom or get him off with a prison sentence. But the man who killed him will have a trial. Who are you? Paladins, my name. Mr. Holgate hired me to see that he isn't lynched. Huh.

So the gunfighters are all for law and order now, if the pay is right. No, Miss Bender, you don't buy law and order. You fight for it. Yes. Once you have it, you don't throw it away. Your father knows how hard law is to come by. There will be no trial. Your neighbors will come for him, Sheriff. I know you'll do what's right. I think he will, Miss. And so will you. Seven nights a week on CBS Radio, most of these same stations present The World Tonight.

On The World Tonight, a CBS Newsman broadcast direct from where the news is developing, along with well-detailed eyewitness reports on current events. The World Tonight brings you lively interviews with people in the news. When big things are happening in London, Paris, Moscow, Tokyo, or Rome, they're all within speaking distance on The World Tonight.

For a penetrating look beneath the surface of the news, CBS Radio invites you to hear Eric Severide's news analysis.

♪♪

Oh, you can relax, Holgate. You're safe in there. Temporarily, anyways. Yeah, but they'll be swarming around soon enough. You remember you got a job, Paladin. To keep you from getting lynched, I'll remember. Greetings, gentlemen. Just passing by and saw the light. Figured you were back. Howdy, Mr. Coombs. Holgate. You didn't waste no time, Coombs. My client and I must start preparing our defense. Who are you? He's all right. I've hired his gun. Name's Paladin. Oh?

Well, now, if we can have some privacy. Oh, sure. Prisoner's got a right to have counsel with his lawyer. Let's wrap on the bars when you're through. We still have some business details to arrange, Holgate. You tell your lawyer to turn the fee over to the person I name. I'll tell him. Sheriff, you mind if I bed down in one of these cots in your office? That's all right. Then I'll be using the other.

I thought it was settled. We're on the same side. I'd just like to be sure. Any place I can lock this up? Roll top desk. He's got a key. Good, it'll do. What's in that bag, anyways? Just some of the tools of my trade. What kind of tools is that? The kind that might help quiet a lynch mob. We give them a hold gate. That'll quiet them. I thought we were on the same side. We are. I'd just like to be sure.

Which one is the bender store, Mr. Coombs? That one, up there. There's a noose hanging out in front. Yes, that's Amy's doing. Is she stirring the pot until it boils over? I never suspected she had such a mean streak in her. She was always such a nice, quiet girl. I guess it's frustrating for a woman. She can't strap on a gun and settle an affair like this with her own hands. Oh, I, uh... I hope this won't take too long. I have more important things to do. Like figuring a way to save your client? Something like that, yes. Hmm.

Shall we go in? Well, what do you want here? I want you to hold some money for me, Mr. Coombs. Here it is. Two hundred dollars. You're not to give it to me until Holgate steps into the courtroom for trial.

If he dies before then, return it to Coombs. You think I'll hold your blood money? Blood money for keeping a man alive? I'll hold that for you. Dad! Give it to me. Thank you, Mr. Bender. Give him the money, Mr. Coombs. Very well. There you are, Max. Dad, if you won't help us, at least stay out of it. How can I do that, Amy? I live in this town, too. Good day, Mr. Paladin. Good day, sir. Amy, your father is a very wise man. Excuse me. I guess you don't need me anymore? No.

I'll be in my office, Paladin. Miss Amy? Look, Mr. Paladin, I just want Holgate to pay for my brother's murder. I don't want anybody else to get hurt. So far, no argument. Now, Sheriff Swink's not going to shoot at his friends, so no one will harm him. Go on. That leaves just you. But you're liable to kill somebody and be killed in turn, and there's no telling where it'll stop. It would seem so. You're doing it for money.

What if I gave you more money to leave town now? That's a definite offer, I take it? Cash. I'll get it right away. Now, wait. I'm afraid not. Switching sides is most unethical. Unethical? Did you ever see a lynching, Miss Bender? No. Your imagination would fall far short of the truth. No matter what he's done, Holgate won't be handed over to feed the animal instincts of the mob.

I told you, I don't want anybody hurt but him. Amy. Yes, Clint? You need any help? No. The trouble with a lynching, Miss Bender. You can't have it ordered up all dainty, neat, like a yard of lace. It's something that cowards get whiskied up for and mumble over and wind up screaming in the gutters of a dark night. Go on, go on, get out of here. There's nothing you can do to stop it. Isn't there? Listen, mister...

You take her advice, get out of town. A double blast from this shotgun ought to cut a man in half. That man won't be any deader than a man with a .45 bullet between his eyes. There's room enough out there in front, gunfighter, for another noose. So there is. And earth enough to bury every man who comes to me with a rope. Men, think how thrilled your wife would be if you made her a bedside table that swings on hinges like a gate and brings everything within easy reach.

© BF-WATCH TV 2021

or narrow folding doors to replace that wide closet door that blocks the hallway. These are just a few of the exciting ideas for living better on less money in the new Popular Science magazine, now on sale at your newsstand. It's crammed with new ideas, new products, new tips and techniques for lovers of cars, boats, woodworking, metalworking, photography, hi-fi. 282 pages, 380 pictures.

There's even a special money-saving 20-page booklet on how to fix electric motors. It's bound right into the magazine. And this month, to win new friends for Popular Science, the magazine is now on sale at your newsstand for 10 cents off the regular price, only 25 cents. Get the new February Popular Science today. Look for the bright blue band on the cover. Popular Science magazine. What's going on out there? I didn't hear them. They're gathering down front of the Bender store, getting steamed up.

They'll be moving before long. Yeah. Now, you fellas don't be napping. We won't. What you looking at me like that for? What are you thinking? Just wondering what you're thinking. You're mighty cheerful for a man about to face a lynch mob. Well, I got confidence in you and the sheriff. I figure you'll give him what for. Come in. Well, see you in court. You better. You don't get paid.

What is it? Wait here, have a look. What? Funny thing. See them two riders just leaving Coombs' place, heading down the side street, trailing the third horse? Yeah, they look like two cowboys. Yeah, and Willie and McKeith, Holgate's friends. Now, what would they be doing at his lawyers? I've got a better question to chew on. Who do they figure to ride that extra horse? Oh, yeah. Oh, I reckon that question's gonna have to wait.

They're getting by ready to move. There's another shotgun in the closet, Paladin. No, thanks. Incidentally, Miss Bender says you won't use that shotgun against your friends out there. Miss Bender's mistaken. Sheriff, I'll buy you a drink after this is over. Maybe. Well, looks like everybody's here. I'd say we're all ready. What's the matter, Amy? Nothing. Nothing's the matter.

You'll bring him here? Yeah, so you can put the rope around his neck. You just wait here and we'll bring him to you. Dad, what are you doing with that gun? Well, Max, you change your mind? I'm going to the jail. Stand beside the sheriff and that fellow Paladin against his mouth. Now, hold on, Max. You're getting turned around. From the beginning, we had decency and law in this town. Now you're going to wipe it all out in one night. We're doing this for your son. No, don't use my boy as an excuse. Get out of my way. You better stay here and take it easy, Max. Now give me that rapid.

Clint! Never mind. Sheriff will give me another hand. I said stay here. Take your hands off me. Dad, don't. Clint, don't. All right, now. Come on. Let's go. Let's do it. Dad. Oh, Dad. I'm all right. But, Amy, what have you done? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know it would be like this.

Here they are. Paladin, you better get that shotgun. I've got something better in the desk. Get back! I'm warning you! Wait a minute, chav. Hey, Paladin, what are you doing? Opening the door. No, no, wait! All right. Hold it. Hold it. What is it?

No need breaking down doors when you can open them with dynamite. All right, now. Here. Who wants it? You, big fella. No! Well, if nobody wants it, here. No! No!

Where you going, Patton? Get out of the way of that dynamite. What are you doing? Just putting out the fuse. It was a long, slow-burning one. That crowd is still running.

I don't blame them. They won't collect again. Mob courage is a momentary thing. Once it's gone, it's gone for good. The street's clean deserted of them. Except over there. Yeah, there's Clint. Let's go after him, pal. You go ahead. I got a client who thinks he doesn't have to go to court. Well, now, Clint, we can tie this thing up. Go ahead. I'm going back and check Holgate. Willie. Willie, what's happened? I can't hear nothing. The crowd's gone. Something's wrong.

Well, we better go ahead anyway. Now, whip your horses and pull out the bars. That's fine. You did it. You did it. You hold it right there, Holgate. Paladin, don't shoot. All right, out there. You stay where you are. No, I got no gun, paladin. All right. Just stay put. You killed Willie and McKee.

You're good. Awful good. That's why you hired me. Yes, but there's no call you get mixed up in this. You just collect your money and forget about it. I couldn't do that. I can't collect until you walk into the courtroom. Listen, Paladin, I'll make it a thousand. If you'll just walk away. You don't understand. You hired me to get you into that courtroom. And that's where you're going. To be tried for murder. Mr. Paladin. Mr. Paladin. Oh, hello, Amy. Mr. Bender. Here's your money, Paladin. Thank you.

$200. Thank you. Now that Holgate's in court, there's a lot of people in this town that are grateful to you today, but it's not in their nature to come out and admit it. Well, I... I'm... I'm admitting it. And with such a long face. I'm... I'm so ashamed. And confused. Why... Why did you want me to hold your pay? Because...

It's an honest face, too. Come back to Bend again, Mr. Faraday. I'd be delighted. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Oh, Mr. Faraday, welcome back to San Francisco. You have a good trip? More excitement than money here, boy.

But it's good to be home. I take you back. No, no. I'll manage. Oh, you have something valuable in it? No. Just the tools of the trade. Oh, big secret. Something to upset Apocot? You might say so, yes. Oh, by the way, hey boy. That pretty young lady who was... Oh, yes. She's still here and looked plenty lonesome. Now, let's see. Was she blonde or brunette? Huh? Oh, well, it doesn't matter.

Eat on, hey boy, and forget the papers tonight. Have gun, will travel.

Created by Herb Meadow and Sam Rolfe, is produced by Norman MacDonald and stars John Daner as Paladin with Ben Wright as Hayboy. Tonight's story was written by Sam Rolfe and adapted for radio by John Dunkel. Featured in the cast were Jack Edwards, Jack Crucian, Virginia Christine, Olin Soleil, Roy Woods, and Vic Perrin. Hugh Douglas speaking. ♪♪

The Mommas in the Little Theater of the Air. Oh, stories. Weird stories. And murders, too. The hermit knows of them all. Turn out your lights. Turn them out? Ah.

Have you heard the story without end? Then listen while the hermit tells you the story. This is a story of love that has no end. Of the deep, dark shadows of sorrow. Of dreams that span the bridge of time.

It's my story and Loray's. I am David Brunzel, just an ordinary guy with hopes like yours and dreams like yours. I was one in a foxhole with thousands of boys. And in the nighttime when the enemy was pouring all they had on us, I did what a lot of fellows did. I put my mind on other things, but not so my pal Jim Green. The giving is all we got tonight, Dave. Yeah.

It's a funny feeling a guy gets out here, never knowing just what minute the end is going to come, and yet always so close you can down near taste it. Yeah. It's a funny thing, though. It never seems to get you like it does me. You know why, Jim? Got some secret system? Maybe. Well, give. Let another guy in on it. You got a girl back home, Jim? A girl? Man, I've got dozens. I've got just one. I figure there's more safety in numbers. You've got just one.

How do you know she'll be yours when you get back? I know, Jim. There was never anyone for Lorraine but me. And there was never anyone for me but Lorraine. You got more faith than I have, Dave. There's still a lot of fellas on the home front making hay while the sun shines. So they tell me. I never worry about Lorraine. She's always with me. Always. Jack! Jack!

Christopher, that was a close one. Yeah. I hate all of this. Why do we have to be out here? Our bodies target us for death. Quiet, Jim. Think about something else. You're a fool, Dave. You don't have any more chance than I have. But I have. I've got faith. You know what, Jim? It always seems that the ray is right beside me.

sometimes walking in front of me, shielding me from enemy fire. You're not a trot. You don't have to believe me, but I know it's true. I can feel her presence tonight more than ever. I know she's here beside me. You expect me to believe in such a thing? As if a person a million miles away could protect you in this foxhole. What's more, it's getting hot around here. We're in for it tonight. Dave, Jim, please. I'm afraid, Dave. Let Lorraine protect you as she does me. Down this part of this...

We've got to move out of here. Jim, don't be a fool. It ain't safe here, I tell you. There's air in on us. Jim, come back. Jim. Oh, Jim, I told you to stay by me. The ray would have protected you. Jim. Oh, you may not believe my story any more than Jim who lost his life that night. But I knew my darling, the ray, was constantly by my side. Jim.

No matter how terrible a battle, she was protecting me. When I was in the front line, she was my shield and my protector. When we moved along the roadways and our planes above spotted us, I had no fear, for Loray was near me. Since childhood, we'd been pals living on nearby farms.

Somehow, even as kids, we seemed to sense that there was a strong bond between us that no amount of kidding from the other kids could harm. They're all laughing because you're walking home with me, Dave. As if I care. They'll bother you all day tomorrow in school. Let them just try. Dave? Yeah?

Are you planning to marry me when we grow up? Well, I guess I am. I'm planning to marry you, too. Can't nobody bother us. Only Pa. He says it's silly for a little girl to have a sweetheart. You are my sweetheart, aren't you, Dave? Well, I guess so. You're the only one I like in all the world. More than your uncle and aunt that you live with? Sure, they ain't like real folks to me. You are. I'll always belong to you, Dave.

Always. And that's the way it was, right up through the years. We always belonged together. Maybe it was because I didn't have any real folks. I was an orphan, and the folks that adopted me let me call them aunt and uncle. They were good to me. Uncle Henry planned to let me run the farm when I got through my course down at agricultural college. And someday, the farm would be mine.

And Loray and I, we planned to be married just as soon as I finished my school course and began to run the farm. And then, along came the war, and I had to go. And the evening before I left, Loray and I walked to our favorite place for meeting. In the woods, just beyond the clearing of Uncle Henry's place. We had a favorite old log there where we could peer through the clearing and see the house and hills beyond. And a patch of sky to the west, where the sun dipped down from sight.

and sent colored streamers out into the sky. And here, when night came, we could look up above the treetops and see the stars and watch the old moon come riding forth into a purple field. Our trysting place was like a seat in a cathedral. Everything good and clean in life was close to us there at our meeting place in the woods.

It was here that we said goodbye. You don't want me to come into town and go to the station, Dave? Don't you think it's better to say goodbye here? We'll never say goodbye, Dave. Never. No matter where you go, I'm always going to be with you. Sure. I kind of feel like that, too.

And, Dave, when you come back, the very hour that you return to me, I'll know it. I won't come down to the station. I'll be waiting here in the woods, here on the old log. This is where you'll find me. Oh, Lorraine. Dave. You'll be brave? Yes. I'm going now. Don't turn and look. I'm walking away, but I'm not really leaving at all. I'll be with you always. Oh, don't turn and look.

Before you know it, I'll be back. I'll return and be sitting beside you, here on the log at our old, trysting place. And so it was that all during the long days of war, I never felt that I was really away from Loray at all, or that she was absent from me. Why, there were times when it was as if I could reach out just a little and find her beside me.

In fact, there were times that I could actually hear her voice. I recall the first time I heard it. It was a bad hour. The enemy was giving us everything they had from the sky. Fellas I knew and liked were dropping all around me. Their cries struck terror in my heart. Help! Help! Help! Help!

In the midst of all the hellfire and dying, the pain and the terror, just as clear as a bird call on a silent night, I heard Loray's voice for the first time. Do not fear, my darling. I'm here, Dave. Here beside you. It was so clear, that voice of hers, that I expected to look and see her standing near me. You can scoff if you like.

You can shrug your shoulders and pass my whole story over lightly if you wish. But I know LeRae was there beside me as the battle raged all around. And then it was over. The war was over. And finally the day came for leaving the battle-torn old world, getting on a ship and starting homeward.

There was shouting and rejoicing. There was singing and laughter. There was hope about to be fulfilled. There was home just beyond the horizon. We were at sea. Then we were in the harbor. Then on shore. And then soon discharged.

I'd made up my mind I'd return without a word to anyone. Yes, I'd fool the Ray. She said she'd know the very hour that I'd be returning. I wouldn't have to tell her, she said. The very hour that you return to me, I'll know it. I won't come down to the station. I'll be waiting here in the woods. Here on the old log.

This is where you'll find me. Yeah. We'd see how good she was. We'd test that second sight of hers, that intuition. All the while on the train that carried me towards home, I kept chuckling to myself. We'll see. Just see if she will be waiting on the old log when I come walking into the woods.

My heart was pounding with the excitement of my return, of the surprise in store for Lorraine. Oh, it seemed as though the long train trip would never end. But finally we pulled into the station.

There was a little bunch of town folks around the old depot. I didn't want to see anybody. I waited until the train was almost ready to leave, and then I jumped off on the opposite side. I took to the fields that led out to the road to where our farm stood. It was autumn. Already there'd been a frost, and the old maples in the woods were dressed in scarlet, brilliant red. Under my feet, the dry leaves made soft music.

Only a little way further to go and our log would be in sight. And then, there it was before me. I stopped, dead still. I couldn't move. For there she was. There was Lorraine, seated on the log just as she'd promised. The setting sun made her all golden. Her fair hair was touched with it, and sparks of light danced upon it. She was as if she were in a dream.

She was looking right at me. Now she was standing. Her arms stretched out to me. Oh, Dave. Dave. You knew. Yes, Dave. You knew I was coming. Yes, my darling. Just as you said you would know. Yes. Oh, darling Marie. You've never been absent from me. Not for an instant. No, Dave. You followed me wherever I went. Yes.

There were times when I actually heard your voice. Of course. What did you say to me? Do you remember what you said? Yes. Tell me. I remember. I said, do not fear, my darling. I'm here, Dave. Here beside you. Yes.

That's what I heard you say. We will never be separated, Dave. Never. Of course we won't. Not now. I'm home safe and we'll never be parted again. Never let anyone tell you differently. Never let them say that we are parted. What do you mean? We're together. We can't be parted, not ever again. Dave. Oh, my darling. More beautiful than ever.

But you're so cold. Night is coming. It's chilly here in the woods. I must get you home. Try and catch me. Try and catch me, Daddy. Well, hey. Hey. You can't run away from me like this. Wait, I'll catch you. I'm a pretty fair runner these days. Don't you know I've been in training? Hey. You can't hide from me. Well, what do you know? Oh.

You've pulled one on me. I can't see you anywhere. Loray, where are you? Say, you can't run out on me like this. I'll find you. Well, what do you know? I got out of my sight. Okay, honey, you win. If you can hear me, I'm going up to the house to clean up a bit. See Uncle Henry and Aunt Martha. But I'll be over to your house on the stroke of seven. Do you hear me? At seven. And tomorrow we get the license to be married. Loray! Loray!

Can you hear me? The license to be married. Dave. Oh, Dave. Oh, Henry. Henry, it's Dave. He's home. Hey, my boy. You're home safe. Oh, what a grand feeling to see you two. Oh, don't he look wonderful, Henry? Taller than ever and filled out, too. Oh, we're glad to have you back, David.

Glad you made it safe and sound. I tell you, there wasn't a chance of me not making it. You know something, Aunt Martha? All through the terrible business, I felt that Lorraine was beside me, protecting me from death. Oh, Davey. And the most wonderful part about it all, even though I never let any of you know I was coming home today, Lorraine had a feeling about it. She was waiting in the woods for me just now at our old log where we always used to meet. What did you say, Dave? Lorraine was waiting in the woods for me. I just left her.

She sensed that I was coming home today, and just like we planned before I went away, she was waiting for me in the woods. My boy. Henry. Henry, you got her. Didn't you get our letters, Dave? Oh, sure, I got some, but mail hasn't caught up with me now for a long time. Dave. Oh, Dave. What's wrong? What is it? Well, David, it's like this. She couldn't have met you in the woods, David.

Lorraine couldn't have been in the woods just now. But she was. I just saw her. No, David, no. Lorraine died, my boy. She passed away just a little while after you went overseas. We wrote you. We finally wrote you about her death.

And now David finds that the person close to his heart, who he has just met at the old resting place in the woods, is of this world no more. She's a dream and a vision that is ended in death. What will happen to David's life now?

The hermit will tell you before the night is done. Now the hermit again. And now David Runzel goes on relating the story of his life to the hermit. Listen. Listen.

You ask what happens to my life now. Do you think that I believe that death has separated Loray and me? Never. As we reckon time on this earth, my Loray was asleep in death at the time she appeared to me on the battlefield. She was not of this world when, in returning home, I met her in the woods at our old and destined meeting place. Uncle Henry and Aunt Martha have taken a place in town. They've left me the farm as they promised, and I'm working it.

I've been here three months now. Last evening, Aunt Martha came out to see me. I brought you a pie and some cookies, baby. Thanks, Aunt Martha. Oh, your Uncle Henry and I worry about you, my boy. Oh, you must not do that. But we can't have you here all alone. I'm not alone. Baby...

You need somebody to keep house for you. You should find a nice girl. Court her and marry her. Aunt Martha, never. Oh, it ain't right. It's a sinful, terrible thing, you thinking that a dead girl is beside you all the time. Stop, Aunt Martha. You can't talk this way to me. I got her, David. The living can't bow down to the dead. Loray is not dead. I saw her lowered into her grave. You must say no more. It's the way I want it.

There's no one in all the world, here on this earth or after, that I want but Loray. Oh, David. It's the war. It's touched your mind. No, Aunt Martha. There's no use trying to explain. There's a bond between Loray and me that is stronger than life, deeper than earth, and beyond all time and reckoning. The End

Sometimes I wonder. I puzzle over the why of it all. Why am I left on Earth alone? Why, if Loray had to pass beyond, I could not have met her there. But such was not the way it was planned. And I'm not alone. Often as night gathers, when the stars light the sky, when the wind is soft and blows a fragrance in the windows, I hear the door open softly. Loray? Yes, David. I am here. I...

I can feel your presence, but I cannot see you. I cannot always return to your sight, but I am ever present. Yes, I know. I will always be near you. Oh, why can't I too die that we may be together? That I cannot answer. There will be an hour, a time for meeting. You will never appear to me again like you did in the woods when I came home? No, my darling.

Not until the final hour. Until my death, you mean? We do not call it death. We who love. For love is stronger than death, my darling. Love is of the spirit, and the spirit never dies. And so it is I know. The love I bear for Lorraine and the love she bears for me knows no boundary, nor no ending.

Do you scoff? Do you shake your head in disbelief? Do you believe, as does Aunt Martha, that my mind is addled by the horrors of war? Do you believe it untrue that my Loray, because of death, had left me? What matter what you say or what you think? I tell you, she is with me always. During the soft early hours of dawn, when the sun rides the summit, when dusk falls and the shadows lengthen to bring the night, when the wind sings,

When the pines mourn, she is near me. This is my story of love that never ends. Yes, this is the story of David Rudsoe.

A boy who believes in a love stronger than life or death. This is the story he told me. The story without end. Turn on your lights. Turn them on. I'll be back. Pleasant dreams. I'll be back.

All characters, places, and occurrences mentioned in the Hermit's Cave are fictitious, and similarity to persons, places, and occurrences is purely accidental. Mystery is my hobby. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is Barton Drake speaking.

For tonight's drama, I selected case history number 66 from my book, Mystery is My Hobby. I call it, Short Distance to Murder. Inspector Denton and I had been requested to attend a political convention that was being held in a fashionable hotel not far from New York. More than 200 guests were present. During the early evening, we were invited to enjoy a concert on the hotel grounds.

That's a pretty interesting number, eh, boss? That band is really doing itself proud. Interesting is hardly the word to describe Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, Inspector. Well, it's interesting for my doll.

Who is this fellow Beethoven, anyway? He was a composer, Inspector. A songwriter, eh? I wonder who dreamed up his title. What did you say the name of this number was? The Fifth Symphony. Huh. We should have talked to the guy who wrote Cement Mixer Putty Putty if he wanted a title. Hey, what are you looking at? That group of the very next song. Yeah?

The old gentleman seems to be in trouble. Yeah. That's right, he's sick. Say, isn't that Alfred Emerson? I believe it is, Inspector. Well, I guess it isn't anything serious. He's going into the hotel unassisted. It better not be anything serious. Emerson's going to be our next governor. Yes, you're probably right. Unless Cliff Goddard gets the nomination. Goddard hasn't got a chance. We'll see, we'll see. Oh, for God's sake, sir.

Now, what's the matter? Emerson's wife seems to be arguing with that dark-haired young man. Looks like Emerson's secretary, Kent Leslie. Yes, it does. Say, that Mrs. Emerson is a looker, isn't she? Well, she's much younger than her husband, Inspector. Since Leslie's going to the hotel, he seems to have won the argument.

Probably Mrs. Emerson figured her husband wasn't feeling well or something and wanted to go up and see if he was all right. And apparently Leslie persuaded her that he should go instead. Well, that makes sense. If both the Emersons left the party, would he have fussed? Might as well get back to Beethoven. I guess nothing exciting is going to happen after all, did you?

Something exciting to happen, Inspector? I've got to be on the lookout. That's what they're paying me for. Always the adventurer at heart, eh, Inspector? Well, now will you please sit back and enjoy the music? Say, how long does this number last? The first movement should be over shortly, Inspector. First movement, yes.

Do you mean we've got to sit here and... Look, Inspector. Huh? Someone to see. Oh, hello, son. What's on your mind? What? Speak up. I don't think he wants anyone but you to hear, Inspector. With all this noise...

Huh? What was that? Good God. Something wrong, Inspector? I'll say something's wrong. Alfred Emerson has just committed suicide. Oh, my God.

Please get out of the way. All right, all right. Dang, Wayne. Wake it up. I beg your pardon. Come on. Let's do it here. Come on, Buck. I'm right behind you, Inspector. Cods like that remind me of vultures. Sudden death never fails to attract a mob, Inspector. Well... I'm Cora Emerson. Cora Emerson. I thought you were down listening to the concert. I was. You got up here rather quickly, didn't you, Mrs. Emerson? Quickly? Yes.

I don't believe I understand. I was on my way up when the shot was fired. Oh, I see. Well, that explains it. I hadn't noticed that you left the garden. Where's the body? I mean, uh, your husband, Mrs. Emerson. In the bedroom. You'll just step in here, please.

Say, Barton, for a lady who's just lost her husband, I wouldn't say she was exactly heartbroken, would you? No, I wouldn't. Dexter, I tell you, you're crazy. Oh, am I, Leslie? We'll see. Oh, well, here's Mrs. Emerson now with the police. Corrin, this crazy loon says that I'm the one... Gentlemen, this is my husband's secretary, Mr. Kent Leslie, and this is Mr. Ralph Dexter.

Inspectors O. Danton and Martin Drake. Hi, how are you doing? Well, gentlemen, you seem to have arrived just in time. Why so? He's going to tell you that I murdered Mr. Emerson. All the crazy fools. Calling me crazy is a poor defense, Leslie. All right, all right. Let's save that until later. Where's the body? Alfred is lying there on the bed, Inspector. On the bed? Oh, my gosh. Then some dumbhead moved him. I beg your pardon? Oh, I don't mean you, lady.

Ain't too big for you to lift. Don't look at me, Inspector. I didn't move him. Neither did I. No, of course not. Now, look, somebody... Inspector, suppose we take a look. Good idea. And nobody leaves this room until I say so. Understand? Look, Inspector, come here. Yeah, what, Bart? By the position of the body, I'd say he could have fallen across the bed after he was shot, wouldn't you? Yeah. Yeah.

Yeah, maybe you're right at that. The bullet made a clean hole through his head. That means we should be able to locate it here in this room. What good will that do us? We haven't got the gun. The gun is on the floor at your feet, Inspector. On the... Well, well. So it is. Imagine that. Be careful of fingerprints, Inspector. I'll be careful. Nobody will touch the dog-gun gun until the fingerprint boys get here.

What are you looking at, boy? Powder burns, Inspector. There are definite traces on the right side of Emerson's head. A close-range shot, eh? Possibly. That means it could have been suicide. Unless it happens that Emerson was left-handed. Yeah, that's so. Now, uh... Don't waste your time, gentlemen. Alfred Emerson was right-handed.

This guy seems to know all the answers, Bart, so how's about us asking a few questions just to keep the balance even, eh? I think that's a good suggestion, Inspector. Well, have you gentlemen decided that Mr. Emerson was murdered? Why do you insist that Alfred was murdered, Ralph? I'm positive it was suicide. And why are you so positive, Mrs. Emerson? Alfred was suffering from a heart ailment and had an impact during the concert.

He was morbidly afraid of being a helpless invalid. Look, lady, a man who is about to become elected governor doesn't go shoot himself just because he has heart trouble. Not for my dough he doesn't. You wouldn't say that if you'd known Alfred Emerson, Inspector. He had a phobia against the lingering illness. Hmm. You've got to think of better ones than that if you want to get out of this, Leslie. Listen, Dexter, why don't you shut up?

Why do you insist on being such a sorehead just because I talked Mr. Emerson out of that political job for your son-in-law? Watch your lip, you young pup. Ralph, you know that you're letting that incident prejudice your thinking. Prejudice my... All right, Cora, and why not?

You know I dumped enough money into your husband's campaign to ask for a few favors. You should know that Alfred never sought votes by offering political favors. Oh, no? But, you know, there's one interesting thing about this deal. We don't have to ask questions to get the answer. The trouble is, Inspector, we're not getting the right kind of answers. I guess we'd better take over, eh? An excellent idea, Inspector. All right, now.

Who discovered the body? I did. I was in my room at the end of the hall. I heard a shot, came directly here, and found young Lester standing over Al's body. That's a lie. I wasn't anywhere near the body. I was there by the door. You're going to have a sweet time proving that, son. Suppose you tell us your version of the story, Leslie. Sure, I'll tell you. I haven't anything to hide, good. Mr. Emerson had a heart attack during the concert. He said he was going up to his room. Cora wanted to go with him, but we persuaded her.

After Mr. Emerson had gone, Coral was still worried, so I said I'd go up. Mr. Emerson! Mr. Emerson! Mr. Emerson! Mr. Emerson! Stop!

Mr. Anderson! Mr. Anderson! Mr. Anderson! He's dead. I've got to call him. Vector!

What are you doing here? Something wrong, Leslie? Where'd you come from? Oh, just checked in. Heard the shark and came down to investigate. Got tired of waiting, eh, Leslie? What do you mean I got tired of waiting? What are you talking about? You know what I'm talking about, son. Are you sure that you wiped off your fingerprints? Wiped off my fingerprints? From the gun. That's always the first thing a murderer should think of, you know. Murderer? Take that back around. Attack?

Attacking me is only going to make it look worse. You'd better be careful. Yeah. Yeah, I'll be careful. What's the matter, Dexter? Cliff Goddard turned down your offer of money for that job for your son-in-law? As a matter of fact, I didn't ask him. I didn't have to. Oh, no? No, I talked to your boss over long distance this morning. And he promised to take care of everything. It's a lie. I happen to know that...

Who's that? Kent! Kent! It's Cora. Got to keep her out of here. Cora, don't... Kent, is Alfred all right? Cora, go back into the other room. Don't come in here. No, let me. Is that Alfred on the bed? What's happened to him? Kent, he's been shot. That's right, Cora. Shot. And who do you think shot him? Shut up, Dexter. Why? I'll have to talk later. Why not now?

Cora, your late husband's trusted secretary seems to have murderous instincts. Kent, you didn't... Of course I didn't. Mr. Emerson shot himself. I heard the shot and went in to investigate. The extra farmer there immediately jumped to conclusions. I'll say I did. Jumped and hit the bullseye. I don't believe that, Ralph. Not a word of it. Kent, I think you'd better get a bellboy and send for Inspector Dunn. He's in the garden with Bart and Drake. That's the way it happened.

None of us has touched anything before you two got in. Well, that's an interesting story.

How about it, Dexter? Is that the way it happened? That's good enough. There wouldn't be any good in a kid lying. Of course I wouldn't lie. I've got nothing to hide. Mrs. Emerson, a few minutes ago, you said you were on your way up here when the shot was fired. That's right. I was on the stairs. According to Leslie's story, considerable time elapsed after the shot was fired before you arrived. You must have been down on the second floor. Well? I'm just wondering if you could have heard that shot from down there. I didn't say I heard it.

I said I was on my way up here when the shot was fired. I just reasoned that the shot must have been fired at that time. I see. Leslie? Yes? Is this the door that you tried to open and found locked after you heard the shot? Yes.

Only it wasn't locked. It was stuck. Mr. Emerson's been complaining about it ever since his arrival. Well, possibly you're right, but I don't think so. What do you mean you don't think so? I'll explain in a minute. Inspector, I think you'd better send for the medical examiner and the fingerprint men. In the meantime, suppose we try and locate that bullet that passed through Emerson's head. Okay. First I'll phone... You won't have to waste your time looking for the bullet, gentlemen. There's a hole in the closet door on the other side of the bed.

By golly, Bart, he's right. Yes, I see he is, Inspector. I imagine you'll find your bullet somewhere inside the closet. I'll take a look. You have sharp eyes, Dexter. Thank you. It's easy to figure out what happened, isn't it? If Emerson were standing up, his head would be in a direct line with the hole in the closet door. Does that mean he didn't commit suicide? Find it, Inspector? Yep, here it is.

It was caught on the sleeve of a coach hanging in the closet. What caliber is it? Looks like a .38. Same as the gun. Oh. Well, we still don't know if Emerson shot himself. You would if you knew anything about wood, Inspector. Wood? Wood, Inspector. That closet door is made of white oak, which is pretty hard wood. Well, what about it? What about it? Yeah. Why, that's a clean hole through the door panel. Quit talking in riddles.

So what if it is a clean hole? Well, if you know anything about wood, you'd know what I was talking about. What Dexter's trying to say, I think, Inspector, is that if the speed of the bullet were retarded by passing through Emerson's head, it wouldn't have had enough momentum to penetrate the heavy oak of the closet door. That's it, Drake. Therefore, Emerson couldn't have committed suicide. Let me get this straight. The bullet that killed Emerson didn't have enough speed to penetrate the closet door.

All right. Now, there is a hole to the closet door. That means that two shots must have been fired. You are catching on, Inspector. Two shots weren't fired. I was in the other room. I know. Sure you know, Leslie. Now, let's see you talk your way out of it. Dexter, I've got a half a mind... Just a moment, please.

Dexter, you've been riding rather high, wide, and handsome in this case. Suppose you stop advancing theories and accusations and answer a few questions yourself. Not a bad idea. I should be very glad to accommodate you, gentlemen. Fine. You told us a few minutes ago that you heard a shot and came up here to investigate. How many shots did you hear? Two. Why didn't you say so before? Well, nobody asked me. Oh.

Oh, wise guy, eh? Excuse me, Inspector. Now then, if two shots were fired, what happened to the second bullet? That's your problem, son. You'll have to find it yourself. We'll try to, I assure you, Dexter.

That door over there opens onto the hall, doesn't it, Mrs. Emerson? Yes, it does. And there's a door which opens into the hall from the sitting room, which means, of course, that Emerson's murderer could have escaped into the hall while Leslie was still wrestling with that stuck door. Say, that's right. Oh, that's what I call grasping at straws. Is it, Dexter? What do you think, Mrs. Emerson? I...

I suppose by that you mean that I could have shot my husband. I mean that you have the time and the opportunity. So did Dexter. And certainly Leslie was in an excellent position to do so. Then you're quite sure that...

that Alfred didn't commit suicide. I know he didn't, Mrs. Emerson. He was murdered. And I know who murdered him. The End

That's probably headquarters, Inspector. You'd better answer. Yeah. Hello? Janton speaking. Yeah, hello, Charlie. What's the story? It was, eh? Emerson died as a result of a gunshot, Doc. His heart was okay. Well, I'm not surprised. Are you, Inspector? I cease to be surprised at the age of 12. Go ahead, Charlie. Is that a fact? Well, well, well.

Okay, thanks. What do you know? No fingerprints on the gun. I didn't think there would be. Did you, Inspector? No, I guess not. Would have made things too easy. Well?

Well, let's go in and arrest the ghillie potter. Now, now, now, wait a minute. Not so fast, Inspector. What's the matter? You said you knew who murdered Emerson. I do, Inspector, but as you know... Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. We've got to have the proof before you go accusing anyone. Right. Well, look, if we haven't got the proof now, how are we going to get it? I don't think it's going to be too difficult. You don't, eh? We haven't found that second bullet yet, you know. That's because it went out the window, Inspector. Out the window?

How do you know? What other answer can there be? We searched every inch of this room and found no trace. The window was open when we entered, so... So it went out the window. That means that Emerson must have been standing in line with the window when the shot was fired. I still don't see... Never mind, Inspector. Now suppose we go and have a talk with our suspects. One or two more questions, a little stratagem. You're able assistance in a plan I have, and I think we'll be able to corral our nigger. Oh, shit.

Is that you, Kent? Yes, ma'am. Are they still in there? Yes, but I can't hear anything. Do you think they'll find the other bullet? I don't know. I suppose so. See if there is another bullet. Kent, there is something I want to tell you. Hmm?

I did hear the shot fired, Kent. I wasn't on the second floor. I was right outside the door to the bedroom. You couldn't have been. There wasn't time. There was time, Kent. Listen, I was down on the second floor when the first shot was fired. I didn't hear it. No one did but Ralph. Now, wait a minute, honey. I couldn't... No, Kent. Let me go on. I came up here and was just about to enter the living room when the second shot was fired. You couldn't have been. Don't you see you couldn't? Ralph came into the living room before you did. What?

Cora. Yes, Kent? You're lying. Deliberately. Why? Oh, Kent, don't you see why? Can't you understand that I'm trying to... Sorry to keep you folks waiting so long, but we were...

Oh, something wrong here? No. No, everything's all right, Mr. Drake. Where's Dexter? He went back to his room. Oh, he did. He's got a nerve. Now, I've had... I don't think we've anything to worry about, Inspector. Dexter will be around when we want him. Right now, I think we'd better listen to what Mrs. Emerson and Leslie have to say. What we have to say? What do you mean? Haven't you something to tell us, Leslie? No, we've told you everything we know. Have you? How about you, Mrs. Emerson? I...

Oh, what's the use? You're bound to find out sooner or later. And I suppose it will be worse. Be careful, Carl. You're right, Mrs. Emerson. If you're hiding something and we find out later, it will be worse. All right.

Kent and I are in love. Good night. Is that all? Is that all? Well, to us, that's rather important, Inspector Danton. Well, to me, it's a lot of... Inspector. Huh? The Inspector and I guessed that you and Leslie were in love some time ago, Mrs. Emerson. You... you knew? Yes. The fact that your husband's secretary addressed you by your first name, plus the fact that you were so little disturbed by Emerson's death was ample evidence. I see. Oh, but you must believe that there was nothing sordid about our regard for each other.

Alfred knew. He was quite willing to give me a divorce. We decided to wait until after the election. Everything just hunky-dory with all parties concerned, eh? Nope, I'm not buying that. I've heard that routine several times before. But it's true, Inspector Danton. Every word is true. Sure, sure. It's also true that it gives you and your boyfriend here a motive for murder.

But how about putting that excellent plan of yours into execution and get this over with? Or are we running an advice to the Loveland Bureau? Inspector, your sarcasm is a stimulant. Is Quancy still in guard out in the hall? He is unless he's fallen asleep. I wouldn't blame him if he did. This is about the... I'd like to talk to Quancy a minute and then the four of us can call on Mr. Dexter in his room and enact the final drama, right? Ah!

May we come in, Dexter? Oh, please do. Well, now that we're all together again, sit down and make yourselves comfortable. I'm standing. This isn't any tea party, you know. Oh, suit yourself, Inspector.

Well, Drake, I suppose this is the big moment. You're going to identify the murderer of Albert Emerson. Not quite, Dexter. The murderer is going to identify himself. Hmm, that'll be a good trick if it works. Well, tell us about it. First, let me tell you what happened this evening. Do you mind? No, no, I'd like to hear your version of it. His version will be right. You can bet your boots on that, mister. Thank you, Inspector.

When Emerson got up to his room after leaving the concert, the murderer was waiting for him. He was in the bedroom. Emerson didn't see him at first. He walked over to the window, opened it to get a breath of air.

While he was standing there, the murderer shot him. And the bullet went through his head and out the window, eh? That's it exactly, Inspector. Well, that sounds simple enough. And then what happened? It was simple, Dexter. The murderer then carried Emerson's body to the bed and arranged it so that it would appear he had fallen. And at this moment, the murderer heard someone come into the living room. Right, so far, Drake. It was I. I'd heard the shot and came running down. It couldn't have been you, Dexter. It was I. It's your turn to claim it as you, lady.

Go ahead, Blunt. The murderer then shot a second bullet through the closet door. Why? So that it would appear that Emerson had shot himself while standing near the bed. And so that the person who was in the living room would hear the shot and discover Emerson lying on the bed, thereby making it appear to be suicide. Then there were two shots. I didn't hear one. You couldn't help but hear it, lady, if you fired it. If I fired it? Cora couldn't have fired it. I know. Oh, you do?

What happened then, Bart? Then, Inspector, the murderer hastily wiped off his fingerprints and went into the hall from the bedroom and entered the living room. Thought it was a merry-go-round deal, eh? Get to the point, Drake. Who was this murderer? Under the circumstances, Dexter, I'll have to ask you to... What was that? What was it? It was a shot. Clancy must be in trouble. Come on, Bart. Right you are. Either that or we've made a mistake and our murderer is at large. Which way did the shot come from, anyway? Down this way.

No, it wasn't. It came from that direction. How about it, Dexter? In which room was that shot fired? Well, how should I know? I'm not a mind reader. You're the Dexter.

You see, Dexter, the murderer did identify himself, didn't he? Oh, you're pretty smart, Drake. Now let's see if you're smart enough to figure this one out. I'm ready for him, Inspector. Ah!

The End

Hey, Bart. Yes, Inspector. What's that they're playing now? Beethoven's Fifth, Inspector. Doesn't that band know any other numbers? They were playing Beethoven's Fifth when they left. This crowd must be threatened for punishment. They want to hear it twice. They're not hearing it twice, Inspector. This is the last move of the twelfth. The last move...

You mean the same number has been going on all this time? Yes, that's right, Inspector. Holy smoke. That fellow Beethoven must have worked nights to turn out stuff that long.

By the way, Ralph Dexter was a lumber dealer, wasn't he? Yes, he certainly was, Inspector. That's why he knew about the bullet going through the closet door. He had to advance the murder theory because he was afraid that someone else might remember that the speed of the bullet would be retarded. Uh-huh. And the reason he wanted his son-in-law to get this political appointment was because the kid had thrown out of business his way, eh? That's right, Inspector.

Apparently, he and Emerson quarreled, and he shot him in a fit of anger. You know, that was pretty cute, the way you made Dexter show his hand. Oh, thank you, Inspector. You remember when we first questioned Dexter? He said he was sitting in his room when he heard the shot?

And he came directly to Emerson's room. So he said. Mm-hmm. But Dexter was quartered some distance down the hall, and I wondered how he knew where Emerson's room was located and how he knew that the shot came from that room. Yes, sir. Pretty cute. When Clancy shot off his gun, Dexter didn't know where the shot came from anymore than anyone else. The trouble with Dexter was he didn't know that... Misery is my hobby. Misery.

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And now let's look in on our old friend, Dr. Watson. Doctor? I'm out here on the patio, Mr. Bartell. Come out and join me. What, Winnie? What, come on, Dick? I see the welcoming committee's here. Yeah, there's little scoundrels. They begin to think they own this patio. Scoop them off the chair, Mr. Bartell, and settle yourself down. All right, off you go, boys. Off you go, go on, off you go. That's it, my boy.

As a matter of fact, it's rather appropriate that the puppies should be here tonight. As in the story that I'm going to tell you, a dog played a most prominent part. A dog? What kind of a dog, Doctor? Now, now, now, my boy, don't get me anticipating my story. For once, I'm going to start at the beginning. Which was? On a summer morning in 1890, not long after my marriage...

I'd gone back to my private practice, you know, and Sherlock Holmes was living alone in our old Baker Street rooms. You still saw him, I suppose. Indeed I did, Mr. Bartell. In fact, occasionally I even persuaded him to forego his bohemian habits so far as to visit my wife and me. But to get back to my story, I'd been exceptionally busy that summer, and Constance was feeling rather, shall we say, nervy and run down. So much so that Mary, oh, Mrs. Watson, persuaded me to take a fortnight's holiday.

We went down to the charming little village of Taplow on the lower reaches of the River Thames. But, as so often happens, the best laid schemes of mice and men came after Greg. I guess the holiday backfired on you, Doctor, and you found yourself involved in a mystery. Maybe a mystery calling for the aid of your old friend Sherlock Holmes? Quite correct, Mr. Bartell. We'd only been down there a couple of days when the trouble began. In fact, the whole thing became so involved that I thought the best thing to do was to

was to put the whole strange story in a letter to Sherlock Holmes. This I did. And I can imagine how he chuckled when he read my letter. Dear old Watson, it seems to be a little out of his depth. My dear Holmes, I need your help, or at least your advice. Two days down here and I've become involved in a most unusual problem. It began this morning when Mary and I were out for an after-breakfast stroll. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and there seemed every indication of it being a happy and...

*bird sounds*

You know, Mary, I've always thought up to now that barmy was rather a silly word. I still do, John, dear. Nevertheless, it's the only possible word that describes a day like this eloquently. Very well, dear, it's barmy. Personally, I'm so happy to see you relaxing that I don't care what the weather's like. You've been working much too hard. Yeah, it's been a busy year. Yes, and last year Sherlock Holmes monopolized most of your time. At least I've got you to myself for once. You dear little thing, you...

Always been rather jealous of my association with Holmes. I'm jealous. Not jealous, dear, but I must confess his influence on you wasn't entirely for the good. He had a habit of keeping you out all night. Well, you should be used to that, dear. After all, it happens often enough in my practice. True, John, but on those occasions I know where you are and don't worry about you. And again, you've

You've copied so many of Mr. Holmes' eccentricities. Keeping your tobacco in a Persian slipper, for instance. Oh, John, look down. Look, do you see that woman walking across the field towards us? Yes, what's the matter? Do you know her? I'm not sure, but I think it's Ellen Warburton. I believe she does live somewhere near here. Who is Ellen Warburton? An old friend of mine.

She's frightfully clever and advanced. She's interested in women's suffrage and all sorts of things. Sounds dreadful. Imagine giving women the right to vote. Their place is in the home. It is, Ellen. Ellen. Ellen. Ellen Warburton. Oh, how are you? Good. Very awesome.

How very nice to see you again. I'm Mary Watson now. This is my husband. How do you do, Miss Warburton? How do you do? Mary, I'd heard that you'd married. Aren't you a medical detective or something, Mr. Watson? Not quite, dear. I hold a degree of doctor of medicine from the University of London, madam. But he's helped the great Sherlock Holmes on many of his cases. That's how I've heard of him then.

Do you mind if I walk with you a little way? Of course not, Ellen. Come along. Do you live near here, Miss Woolverton? About four miles away, Doctor, at Chevy Grange. I'm a glorified housekeeper for my uncle, Colonel Warburton. Oh, dear, that sounds rather dull for you. As a matter of fact, the state of my uncle's health at the present moment makes it anything but dull for me. That's why I asked if I might walk with you for a way.

Well, what's the matter with him, Ellen? He's going mad. Before my eyes. And I can do nothing to help him. Mad? Come now, Miss Wolfe, I'm sure I... Doctor, I'm not an hysterical girl. In fact, I regard myself as something of a scientist. I studied physics for a number of years at Bristol University. And I tell you that my uncle is going insane. What are the symptoms? Most of the time, he's perfectly normal. But when these attacks are on him, he gets in the most frightful rages and says the strangest things.

He's even complained of hearing a shrill, piping whistle that comes out of nowhere. I can't hear it, nor can anyone else. But Uncle gets into the most dreadful state. I wonder, would you have a look at him for me, Dr. Watson? Well, I don't... Of course, John will do everything he can. Thank you so much. Then supposing you both come over... My dear Holmes, at seven o'clock this evening, we found ourselves approaching Chevy Grain. It was rather a forbidding-looking place, covering a little more than an acre, I should say.

As we stood waiting for admittance, I must confess that I was not entirely... Grew me looking place, isn't it, Mary? It is a little forbidding, John, dear. Oh, dear. What's that?

Sounds like a tom-tom. Someone's singing a weird chant. Seems to be coming from the direction of that barn over there. It doesn't seem quite appropriate, dear, does it? I mean, not in the heart of Buckinghamshire. Why not knock on the door again, John? It's all right, I will. Perhaps they didn't hear it. Oh, they did. Who is it? How? Oh.

It's guests. It's Dr. and Mrs. Watson, my good man. Hacker's the name, sir. Come in, please. The colonel's expecting you, sir. He's in the study. This way, sir. By the way, Hacker, as we were waiting outside the front door, we heard a strange chant, and it sounded as if someone was beating a tom-tom. Oh, that, sir. That was Miss Narda. You'll be hearing more of her.

From the beginning, let's see what happened next. This very unpleasant fellow hacker showed us into the study where we met Colonel Warburton. First, it was hard to believe that he was a sick man. He looked well enough and his conversation was sprightly. Spent most of his army life in Africa as military governor in a Zulu district. The African spears and other trophies that lined his study walls bore mute evidence to his past life. He encouraged me to tell him some of my own army experiences. Oh, dear. Poor fellow.

It was very wrong. There I was, Colonel Warburton, on the howler of this wretched elephant. The river was a raging torrent, and I couldn't get the confounded animal to budge. Well, I'm a pretty strong swimmer, you know. I've won several cups of swimming, as a matter of fact. Of course, I was a much younger man then. John, dear. Yes, ma'am? You interrupted Colonel Warburton's story. Oh, that's all right. I thought this little incident would be interesting to him.

Do go on, Colonel. Your story was so interesting. You were telling us that you were intercepted by an African drum code message. Oh, yes, yes. Well, I don't want to sound conceited, but I doubt if there was another Englishman in the world who could have told you what those particular drum beats meant. Oh, I don't doubt that, Colonel Wolverton. Well, I'd spent a good number of years studying the native customs. I spotted the code right away. It meant that an uprising was planned to start throughout the whole province at noon the next day. Of course, I...

There it is again. The devilish whistle. Can you hear it, Dr. Watson? Mrs. Watson? I can hear nothing, sir. No, can I? Of course not. No one can hear it but me. Now, now, now, now, Colonel Warblin, don't get so excited, sir. It's black magic, that's what it is. Oh, really? It's black magic? Oh, you must realize that the powers of jungle witchcraft are completely unknown in this country, Dr. Watson. But I know of them. And I can think of many people who might wish to employ them against me. Come in, come in. Oh, it's you now, sir.

Great Scott, she's... She's very beautiful. Nada, I want you to meet some friends of Ellen's. Dr. and Mrs. Watson. I am very pleased to meet both of you. How do you do? How do you do, Miss Nada? Nada's father was a chaga jeweler. One of the greatest Zulu chieftains I ever had the privilege of knowing. He did me the rare honor to swear blood brotherhood. So when the missionary sent Nada to England to complete her education, I insisted that she spend her first few months here under my wing. I...

Listen. What is it, Colonel? That whistle again. For heaven's sake, say that you heard it this time. Please say that you did. I didn't hear a thing, sir. Well, I did. And I know where that sound came from. Put down that spear at once, will you, Colonel Wobbly? The devils are trying to kill me. I'll kill them first. No, no, no. Don't throw it, sir. Don't throw it. Someone's opening the door. Uncle. It's Ellen. Great Scott. The spear missed her by an inch. Uncle, what is it? Whistle.

I heard it again, Ellen. And I'm going to find where it came from. Poor uncle. Of course, you heard no sound. Nothing, Ellen. What can we do to help him, Dr. Watson? Well, it's hard to say, Miss Warden. I'm sure that medical help's what she needs. Well, he seems perfectly sane and lucid, except for these strange outbursts. But we must do something. I propose to, madam, as soon as I get back to the inn, I think I'll write to my old friend Sherlock Holmes and ask his advice.

I can't feel that the man should be committed to an asylum, and yet, obviously, when these attacks are on him, he's as mad as a hatter. Well, fascinating problem, and one that calls for speedy action. I think a telegram to my friend Watson might help to terrify some aspects of the case. Yes, let's see. Dr. John H. Watson, Red Lion Inn, Taplow Bucks. I suggest that you ascertain...

Then one important fact. Does the Warburton household have a dog? Chrisby. Telegraph reply. Holmes.

Oh, God, my soul, Mary. That's a cryptic answer to my letter. Yes, dear, it is. I'm afraid Ellen will be disappointed. He's coming over to join us for lunch to see if you have any news. What on earth can dogs have to do with the case? I can't possibly... Here's Helen now. Good morning, Ellen. Hello, Mary. Good morning, Doctor. Good morning, good morning. I suppose it's too early to have received any reply from Mr. Holmes. Well, as a matter of fact, I just got this telegram from him. Read it, if you like. I

I can't see... It makes much sense, Miss O. But that's extraordinary. I did have a little dog. He was killed a week ago. But it didn't occur to me to tell you about it yesterday. Oh, that's amazing. How could Mr. Holmes have known about it? There's very little that Holmes doesn't know, my dear. How was your dog killed, Miss Warburton? I found him in the grounds with his head smashed in by a stone. Oh, how dreadful. Who do you think did it? It might have been a poacher. And then again, it might have been...

Your uncle? It's possible. When he's in those rages, I don't think he knows what he's doing. That's very important. I think I shall go and send Holmes a telegram at once. Don't wait lunch for me. Thank you.

Why did we have to walk over to the station, John, dear? To see if there was an answer at the station telegraph office to the wire that I sent Holmes. Oh, it's only 4.30, dear. It's hardly possible for him to have answered as quickly as that. In any case, they delivered the telegram to the hotel, you know. Well, it was a nice walk, my dear. Hello, there's a train in the station now. I wonder where it's from. Why don't you ask Pat Porter, dear? That's not a bad idea. Uh, Porter. Huh? What train is this? Oh, it's the London train, sir. Right.

Right on time. Next stop, ready? Not many people getting off, are there? Greg Scott, look who's here. Oh, dear, it's Mr. Holmes. And he's got a dog on a leash. Holmes! Watson, my dear fellow, how are you? This is Watson. How nice to see you again. Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I'm delighted you're here, old fellow. We walked to the station to see if you'd answered my telegram and...

You are in person. It occurred to me that I could be down here in the same time that it would take a telegram to reach you. And I decided that a day or two in the country would make a person change. Apart from the fact that Colonel Warburton's problem interests me enormously. Why on earth did you bring a dog? I thought that this was a case in which a dog would be of invaluable assistance. Oh, be careful, John. Yes, look out, old chap. I, uh...

I think it would be safer not to pad him. I picked him up on the Mile End Road for a couple of florins, and I fear he's a dog that should have remained in London. A singularly unattractive nature seems to have been entirely ruined by an honest train ride. Unpleasant brute, isn't he? By the way, Holmes, what do you make of the case from my letters? Well, I should prefer to reserve my judgment until I've met the Colonel. However, I will vouchsafe.

One opinion. Oh, what's that? To paraphrase a proverb, don't disbelieve all you don't hear.

I can't think why someone doesn't answer. They can't all be out. While we're waiting, I think I'll tie the dog up to this bee here. I don't want my arrival to be too much commotion. Quiet! Quiet! Don't you think perhaps we could try the door, John? Yes, certainly. It's a good idea. Hello, hello. It's unlocked. Let's go in, old fellow. Let's go in. Colonel Warburton? Yes?

Colonel Warburton. Ellen. Ellen. What was the name of that butler fuller? Hacker. Yes, of course, that's it, Hacker. Hacker. Hacker.

Hacker! You appear to be in an empty house. The dog! Oh, fool that I am, I shouldn't have left him here. Come on. Ah. We're too late. Oh, the poor dog. He's been killed. Yes, poor brute. Stabbed to death by one of the Colonel's spears. That proves it, Holmes.

The man is mad. I think not, Watson. I think it proves that Colonel Warburton is a great deal more sane than some of the members of his household. You'll hear the rest of Dr. Watson's story in just a few seconds. Time for me to remind you that there's one secret every smart woman knows. Simply, good wine makes good food taste better.

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And now back to tonight's new Sherlock Holmes adventure, the story of Colonel Warburton's madness. Holmes, why are we heading for this barn? Seems to me we should be back in the house. Why, old chap? Found the house empty. Besides, I thought I heard... Shh, shh, shh. What is it? Listen.

It's the same sound that Mary and I heard yesterday. Once more, it's coming from the barn. Come on, Watson. Quietly. We can see through this window here. It's that Zulu girl. Now, Duff. She's beating a drum and chanting. Who's the man with her? It's Colonel Warburton. No, it isn't. It's that servant fellow, Hacker.

What in thunder is he doing here? Apparently assisting Miss Nader in some of her African mysticism. It's black magic they're dabbling with. Just as the colonel said, let's go in and catch some red haired... No, no. Stay quiet. We'll talk to him soon enough. The moment I feel it's much more urgent that we find Colonel Warburton. Come on. Come on.

There's the Colonel facing up and down in front of the house with Mary and his niece, Miss Warburton. We shouldn't have left the women alone with him, you know. The man's dangerous. I don't think the women have been in any danger, Watson. John, dear, where have you been? Oh, well, Holmes and I decided we'd take a little walk. It proved very interesting. Miss Warburton, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes. How do you do, Mr. Holmes? I'm so glad you're here. How do you do, Miss Warburton? And this is Colonel Warburton, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, eh? Yes, sir.

I suppose you think I killed your wretched dog. Well, I might have done it. When I hear that whistle, something seems to snap in my brain. I might have killed it. Why doesn't your doctor friend certify me as insane? Send me where I belong before I do any worse, dammit! Poor man. Isn't there anything you can do for him, Mr. Holmes? I most certainly will try to, Miss Wolverton. What's no fellow? I wonder if you'd follow the colonel and give him a sedative. I'm afraid he has quite an ordeal before him. Of course I will, Holmes. Miss Wolverton...

Where were you when my dog was killed? Down in the greenhouse. As soon as I heard the poor animal yelping, I ran up to the house. I see. Mr. Holmes, you are going to be able to help the Colonel, aren't you? I'm convinced of it, Mrs. Watson. That is why I brought a dog with me from London. But now that he's dead, I...

I must obtain another one before I can proceed further with the case. Now, I wonder where on earth I can find John. Look, look. Down by the gate. There's a little girl walking with the dark. That's Sarah Entwistle, the daughter of our neighbors. Sarah, eh? Oh, excuse me. We'll be just a moment. Sarah! Sarah! Yes? Oh, Sarah. Sarah, my dear. What a pretty dog you have there. What's his name? It's a her. Her name's Boojum. What's your name? Holmes. Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock? That's a funny name. Yes, yes, it is, isn't it? Look here, Sarah. Here's a nice, shiny half-crown for you. Why are you giving me money? Well, because I love dogs, and I want to borrow... What did you call him? Boojum. Boojum, oh, yes, yes. I want to borrow Boojum for half an hour. Why? Well, I want to play with her, Sarah. You can play with her here. She's awfully friendly. Well, you see, I really want to take her for a nice walk. Why? Why?

She's just had one. Now, look here, Sarah. It's a beautifully shiny half-crown. Mummy's told me I mustn't take money from strangers. I'm not a stranger. I'm a friend of Colonel Warburton. Having trouble, Mr. Holmes? Yes, I am, Mrs. Watson. You see, I want to give Sarah half a crown for borrowing boojum for a short while, but she... Well, she doesn't want to do it. Sarah...

Does Boojum like bones? Oh, yes. Loves them. We've got a lot of bones up at the house we'd like to give her. Have they got plenty of meat on them? Oh, plenty. She can have a wonderful feast and then we'll bring her back in half an hour. All right. Go on, Boojum. Now, promise you'll bring her back in half an hour. Oh, we promise. Yes, Sarah. And Sarah, what about the... What about the half crown? Well...

I'll take it home and ask Mommy if I may keep it. Good. Goodbye. Goodbye. And take care of Boojum. Oh, she's a sweet little girl. Mr. Holmes, you're not going to expose Boojum to any danger, are you? None, Mrs. Watson, otherwise I shouldn't have borrowed her. I'm convinced that Boojum will give us the clue to what appears to be Colonel Warburton's madness.

Now, let me see. We're all here. Miss Warburton, the Colonel, Miss Nutter, Hacker, and the dog, Bojum. Yes. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I propose to conduct an experiment. Before I conduct it, I should like to point out the chronology of the events in this case. First, Miss Nutter arrived here. Mr. Holmes, you're not suggesting that... Please let me finish, Miss Nutter. First, Miss Nutter arrived here. Second, the Colonel first heard the mysterious whistle. Third, your dog was killed, Miss Warburton. Fourth, the whistling set in in dead earnest.

Uh, Colonel Warburton and Miss Warburton, doesn't that pattern suggest anything to you? No, I can't say that it does, Mr. Holmes. I don't see what you're driving at. What do I, Holmes? We should be more explicit. Very well, then I will. I shall now conduct my experiment. I want you all to watch Colonel Warburton and the dog, Boojum. Excuse me while I turn my back. Now. Boojum.

There it is again. That whistle. The dog heard it too. What does it mean? It means that this wooden whistle in my hand is the answer to the mystery. The sound made by this cunningly designed instrument is above the normal range of pitch. You see, the Colonel has...

Hypersensitive ears. But the dog heard it. Perhaps I should have said the normal human range of pitch. Didn't you suppose someone has deliberately been trying to drive the Colonel mad? Of course, Mayor. That's why the dogs were murdered. Whoever it was knew that a dog would give the game away. And it's not hard to guess who that someone is.

Nada, this started when you came here. Is this your gratitude for the Colonel's kindness to you? Endangering his sanity with your evil black magic? That is not true. One moment, please, Miss Wobberton. Miss Nada. Yes, Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson and I watched you in the barn some three quarters of an hour ago with Hacker. Were you engaged in practicing any form of black magic? No. No. I was praying to my old gods to save the Colonel's sanity. What?

What were you doing there, Hacker? Don't tell me you were praying to all gods, too. I used to be a chapel-going man, sir, but I don't know. Now I've been trying something new, I always say. In any case, why should Miss Nutter wish to persecute the colonel? It might be for some tribal revenge. Oh, that's ridiculous, Alan. Her father and I were sworn blood brothers. Exactly, sir. Now it should be obvious who had a motive for making the colonel appear mad is niece and heiress. What do you mean? She has studied physics, you will remember, and so could know about supersonic research.

possibly she was afraid the colonel might leave his estate to miss nada and so wished him to appear insane and thereby invalidate a new will in any case i found this whistle in a drawer in your room miss warburton ellen ellen how could you i did it for your sake to save you from nada she's just an adventurous only you won't see it you know what action you wish me to take regarding your niece miss warburton my niece i have no niece mr holmes

I'm not a madman. Oh, what an amazing case, Holmes. Mary, wasn't it clever the way Holmes solved it? It was very interesting, dear. I was quite enthralled. Now I think I shall return to London and let you two finish your holiday in peace. Before you do that, Mr. Holmes, there's one thing we should do. What, Mary? Boo jump. Boo jump.

We promised you no. Yes, yes, of course, of course. I think the three of us might walk her home. But before we do that, I suggest we rummage through the kitchen. The kitchen? What on earth for? Bones, dear. Exactly. And bones with plenty of meat on them.

Say, Doctor, that was a swell story. And look, you mean there really is a whistle that only dogs can hear? I thought you'd ask me that question, so I've got one of those whistles to show you. There.

Well, there's nothing unusual about it. Ball it, Doctor. Listen, Mr. Bartell, if I want you to come quickly, I don't just have to whistle. All I have to say is, would anybody like a glass of Petri wine? Hey, hey, Presto, there you are. Well, can you blame me? I know a good wine when I hear it. And Petri wine sure is good wine. It ought to be. The Petri family's been making wine for generations.

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Tonight's Sherlock Holmes adventure is written by Dennis Green and Anthony Boucher and is based on an incident in the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle story, The Engineer's Thumb. Mr. Rathbone appears through the courtesy of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and Mr. Bruce through the courtesy of Universal Pictures, where they are now starring in the Sherlock Holmes series. ♪♪

The Petri Wine Company of San Francisco, California invites you to tune in again next week, same time, same station. Oh, the Petri family took the time to bring you such good wine. So when you eat and when you cook, remember Petri wine. To make good food taste better, remember... Pet, Pet, Petri.

Wine. This is Harry Bartell saying goodnight for the Petri family. Sherlock Holmes comes to you from our Hollywood studios. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System. This is the House of Mystery.

This is Roger Elliot, otherwise known as the Mystery Man, welcoming you to another storytelling session here at the House of Mystery. The House of Mystery

Beware the night of Halloween when ghosts and goblins creep and cry. Beware the night of Halloween when witches cry. Yes, yes, next Wednesday, October 31st is Halloween. But here at the House of Mystery, we're celebrating Halloween today. Now, for the benefit of our radio listeners, I think I should describe how our meeting room is decorated.

Ruth and Marilyn and a few of the other girls spent all morning fixing it up for our Halloween party. There are black witches on broomsticks riding across the ceiling, the skeletons dancing along the walls, a great big spooky owl perched on top of my bookcase, and a tremendous jack-o'-lantern hanging from the light fixture in the center of the room. Yes, it looks like we're going to have quite a party.

Oh, uh, incidentally, Ruth, what's that big bowl of water on the table? Well, we're going to bob for apples. You know, you put some apples in the water and then you stick your face in the bowl and try to pick up an apple with your teeth. And the one who picks up an apple gets it, is that it? Yes, but most of the time all you get is a wet face.

face. Well, at least Johnny will get his face washed painlessly. Did your mother bake that wonderful Halloween cake on the table, Ruth? Yes, and it has fortunes in it. Fortunes? Yes, there's a key and a ring and a penny, a button, a symbol, and a lot of other things baked right into the cake. And when we cut it later and we give everybody a piece of it, whatever they get in their piece tells their fortune. What happens if I get the ring? Well, that

That means you're going to get married soon. Well, what does a penny mean? It means you're going to be rich. Oh, boy, that's for me. Most of all the fortunes here, I copied them out of the Halloween book. Well, we should have a lot of fun with that cake. Hey, what's in that box on the table? Oh, I forgot. There's some toasteroons that my mother made. Some toaster what?

Johnny, you've got a memory about as long as a flea's whiskers. Don't you remember last Saturday Ruth was telling us about some wonderful cookies her mother makes out of post-toasties? Oh, yeah. The recipe's on the side of the post-toasties box. That's right. They're called toasteroons. They look wonderful, Ruth. Well, there are three different kinds, Lucy, man. Some with lemon flavor and some with dates and some with nuts.

May I have one? Oh, certainly, of course. Thank you. Shall I pass them around now? Well, you'd better or Johnny's tongue will drop right out of his mouth. May I have one, please? Here's one, please. Thank you. I'll take a lemon. I have one of the best now. Thank you. They taste as wonderful as they look. I'm sorry we can't pass Ruth's toasteroons to everyone who's listening in because they're really delicious. How about it, Johnny? They're swell. They're better than candy.

Are they very hard to make, Ruth? Oh, no, they're very easy. You just follow the recipe on the side panel of the post-toasties box. Anyone can make them. Did you hear that, all you House of Mystery radio listeners? Ruth says the toasteroons are easy to make. All you do is follow the simple recipe on the side panel of the post-toasties box, and they really are delicious.

crisp and crunchy and toasty brown, just like Post Toasty themselves. Oh, they sure are good. And Johnny hit the nail on the head. They're really better than candy. I'm sure Mother'd be glad to make you a batch of toasteroon, especially since they don't take any sugar at all.

Or maybe you can even make them yourself if it's that easy. And if you've got any left over, send them to me. Especially the ones with dates in them. Now, why should any of the girls send you toasteroons, Johnny? You refused to send that girl in Massachusetts your picture. Well, she sends me some toasteroons. Maybe I'll send her my picture, maybe. Now, don't make any bargains. If you want toasteroons, you ask your mother to make them for you. Would you like another one, Mr. Eman? I certainly would. Thank you, Ruth.

Well, how about you, Jane? Ah, there's a fish like a swan. Mystery Man? Yes, Richard? I was thinking that since you're sort of celebrating Halloween here at the House of Mystery today, you might be able to tell us how Halloween started. I tried to look it up in the encyclopedia last night, but I couldn't find very much about it. It just said that Halloween was originally called All Souls Day. That's right.

And then it became All Saints Day, and finally, All Hallows Day. A hallow, you see, is a saint. The word Halloween was originally hallow even, meaning the eve or night of All Hallows Day. Well, why are all the spooks supposed to come out on Halloween? Well, that goes a long way back, Johnny. When people worshipped the sun because it gave heat and light and made things grow out of the ground.

But then along about the middle of October each year, the sun lost some of its heat and the living things in the ground began to wither and die. And the superstitious people of the day believed that ghosts and goblins and witches were making this happen. And so they locked themselves in their houses until these supposedly lost souls, the ghosts and goblins, withered the grass and the leaves and then returned to the shades of darkness for another year.

They didn't know much about the changes of seasons, and they blamed the evil spirits for bringing winter. In fact, that's one of the reasons we celebrate May Day on the 1st of May every year. It's the day when the good spirits supposedly come out and start things growing again. Well, of course, we know that it's the heat of the sun that really starts things growing, but centuries ago, they didn't.

And so now, all over the world, all Hallows' Day and Halloween are celebrated in pretty much the same way. Yeah, I see why. Well, do you know why everyone cuts faces and pumpkins and puts candles in them? Does that mean anything, something? Well, Richard, there are a number of explanations as to how the use of jack-o'-lantern started. The Irish version is that a very stingy man named Jack was barred from heaven because of his stinginess.

And because he played tricks on the devil, he was barred from hell, too. And so he found himself a lost soul on Halloween. Well, one night, he went into a field, hollowed out a pumpkin, cut some holes in it, and put a candle inside. And from then on, he wandered the earth, carrying his lantern to light the way.

and he came to be known as Jack of the Lantern or Jack-o'-lantern. Oh, I never heard that before. I believe that the custom of having huge bonfires on Halloween began in Scotland. The fires were supposed to burn the witches' evil spirit. Some of the kids have a fire on our block every Halloween, but then the fire engines come and put it out. Well, Halloween fires are dangerous things, especially in the city.

You really don't need a fire to celebrate Halloween. There are so many other things you can do. Some of the boys ring doorbells and mark everyone up with chalk. Well, that's pretty harmless fun, but fires can sometimes be serious. I think the best way to celebrate Halloween is with a party like we're having. Play games and have good things to eat and maybe even tell a ghost story. Are you going to tell us a ghost story? A real one?

What's a real ghost story, Johnny? What about a ghost? Oh, I know there aren't any ghosts, but can't we just kind of make believe on account of it's Halloween? Sure we can. Making believe is sometimes a lot of fun. Now, let's see. A real ghost story. Something spooky. Well, I know one. It's not really spooky. Or maybe it is. It's called The Ghost Who Forgot Halloween.

Oh, that'll do, John. Would you like to hear it? Oh, sure, yeah. I would. All right. Now, Johnny, you pull down the shades. Okay. And Richard, you light the candle in the jack-o'-lantern so we can have the right ghostly atmosphere. Here's a match, Richard. Be careful. That's fine. Now for the story of The Ghost Who Forgotten.

Wilbur Kennesaw Smith was a ghost. He was named Wilbur after his great-grandfather, a very famous old ghost.

who, unfortunately, was floating through the darkness one night when he got his sheet caught in a windmill. And that was the end of it. He was named Kennesaw after his uncle, who, sad to say, died of ghostly pneumonia while haunting an explorer at the North Pole. And he was named Smith because that was his father's name. Now, Wilbur, for the most part, was a happy, easy-going little ghost,

His father and mother loved him dearly and were certain he'd grow up to be a very successful apparition. But Wilbur had one bad thought. He was always falling asleep. I'm so tired. I'm always so tired. I'm so tired.

Yes, Wilbur was always tired. He was tired at school and he was tired at play, and it worried his father and mother very much. Mother Ghost thought it was because he was a growing... I mean, ghost. And that as he grew older, he wouldn't be tired anymore. But Wilbur seemed to grow more tired every day. Now, Wilbur went to school just like all boys and girls do, except that being a ghost, he went to school at night.

And instead of learning reading and writing, he learned moaning and groaning. And instead of addition and subtraction, he learned appearing and disappearing. And lots of other things, too. Sheep flapping and chain rattling and plain and fancy haunting and floating on air and everything a ghost should know to be a really good ghost. But Wilbur's trouble was that he didn't pay attention in school.

And the reason he didn't pay attention was that he was always sleepy. His teacher's name was Miss Spook. And sometimes she became very angry with him. One night in the classroom... Now, class, I'm going to test you in moaning and groaning. Wilbur Kennesaw Smith. Wilbur Kennesaw Smith. Wilbur, don't you hear me? Up.

This is your final test in moaning and groaning, Wilbur. Go ahead. Moan for me. That, Wilbur, is a yawn, not a moan. Now moan. Yee-yee.

Oh, good heaven. Is that what you call a mole? Why, it wouldn't even frighten a caterpillar, let alone a human being. Now listen to me. This is a mole. There, you see? Now you try it, Wilbur. I said you try it. Wilbur, you're snoring. You're fast asleep. Yes, Wilbur was fast asleep, floating over his desk.

Well, Miss Stooge didn't know what to do with Wilbur. She spoke to the principal of the school, Mr. Rattlebones, and he called Wilbur in for a little talk. What seems to be the trouble, Wilbur? Oh, trouble? Oh!

Isn't any trouble? Don't you get enough sleep in the daytime? Is that why you can't stay awake at night like every other ghost? I sleep all day, but I'm still tired. Well, Miss Spook tells me she can't possibly promote you unless you do better in class. And here it is only two nights before Halloween. Promotion night.

You don't want to be left back, do you? No, Mr. Rattlebone. You want to go out into the world and haunt people, don't you? Yes, Mr. Rattlebone. Well, you certainly don't seem to be trying very hard. You know, Wilbur, I was your father's teacher when he went to this school. He was a wonderful pupil.

I remember when he took his final test in appearing and disappearing. Oh, I remember that very well. Your father, Wilbur, disappeared. And he didn't come back for two weeks. That's something.

Was he tired too? No, not at all. Why, when he was young, he could moan and groan for days without stopping. I wish I was like my...

Father. There's no reason why you can't be, Wilbur. I'm going to have a talk with your teacher, Miss Spook, and maybe I can get her to agree that if you pass your haunting test on Halloween, she'll promote you.

Oh, thank you, Mr. Rattaboy. But remember, you must pass the haunting test. No pupil in this school can be promoted unless he can haunt. Because if a ghost can haunt, he might just as well be a human being. What?

Wilbur was all excited when he got home from school that night. He told his mother and father about the haunting test on Halloween and how, as he passed, he'd be promoted.

They were so happy and so proud, Wilbur's father promised to let him use his oldest, rustiest set of chains to plant. And Wilbur's mother said she'd make him a brand new sheet out of ghostly white materials.

And Wilbur's old uncle Henry, who'd given up haunting because the night care was bad for his rheumatism, offered to lend Wilbur two of his dried-up bones. Oh, I never knew nothing could despair the living daylight other than human beings. Wilbur, as the rattling of dry bones. And so Wilbur was all equipped to pass his Halloween haunting test with high honors.

An old rusty chain that planked horribly. A brand new sheet that clapped in the wind. And bones so dry they made you shiver when they rattled. What more could any ghost ask? Wilbur was actually floating on air. Now he couldn't help but be promoted. The following night at ghost school, Miss Spook gave the class final instructions.

Tomorrow, as you undoubtedly know, is All Hallows' Day. And tomorrow night is Halloween. The one night in the year when ghosts and goblins are permitted to roam the earth. As is only proper, we are holding our final examinations tomorrow night, the night of Halloween. You will find your assignments posted on the bulletin board. Please note them carefully as you float out at the clock.

Now we will have some practice in moaning and groaning. Wilbur, are you paying attention? Yes. All right then. All together now. Moan. Groan. Moan. Groan. It was almost dawn when Wilbur floated home from his last night at school before the final examinations.

He went to bed immediately, slept like a lark, and awoke bright and late that same day, just as darkness was creeping over the country's line. He remembered, as he pulled his brand new sheet over his head, that his assignment was to haunt a little graveyard down by the railroad tracks, and at the witching hour of midnight, frighten any human beings who happened to come by. He washed his face with evening mist,

brushed his teeth with ectoplasm, ate a big, huge bowl of ghost toasties with invisible milk, and was ready to leave. By that time, it was quite dark. A perfect night for haunting. Wilbur's mother and father floated down as far as the hollow with him. Then they disappeared, and Wilbur was left all alone. He drifted through the valley until he came to the tiny graveyard he was supposed to haunt him.

There he scurried around among the gravestones and barkers, groaning and moaning, and clanking his chains, and flapping his sheep, and rattling his old Uncle Henry's bones. Why, haunting wasn't hard at all. There was nothing to it. In fact, it was great fun. Wilbur floated over the graveyard, wheeling and dipping, making believe he was a ghostly airplane.

Suddenly, he stopped short in mid-air. Two huge green eyes were staring at him out of the darkness. The next moment, he heard a sound that sent shivers up his spine. Again, he heard the strange, frightening sound.

Wilbur turned pale as a human, and he would have floated out of that graveyard as fast as he could if his father's rusty old chain hadn't suddenly caught on a headstone. And it was lucky for Wilbur that it did, because the next moment, a huge green-eyed blink and a weird voice came out of the darkness.

And laughing deep down in his feathers, the old hoot owl flew off the limb of the tree on which he'd been sitting and vanished. Hoot!

Poor Wilbur, crumbling like a leaf, loosened the rusty old chain, picked up his Uncle Henry's bones, he'd dropped them in his fright, and with a deep sigh settled himself on top of a large, flat gravestone and draped his sheet around. He'd suddenly become very tired. He looked up at the sky. Now the stars were winking and blinking, and there was a quarter moon that looked like a silver water-lemon line. All was quiet and peaceful, so quiet and peaceful, in fact,

that Wilbur completely forgot it was Halloween and that he was supposed to be taking his final examination. Oh, my, is that Wilbur yawning? Yes, it is Wilbur. And he's fallen asleep. Wilbur's fast asleep, almost two hours before midnight, with most of his haunting left undone.

What will happen now? Well, in a little while, the old hoot owl returned to his perch on the limb of the tree. He looked about for Wilbur and discovered him asleep on the gravestone.

Now, he was a wise old owl, as owls usually are, and he knew that the last thing a ghost should do is fall asleep on Halloween. So he hooted and hooted until he was almost blue in the beak. But Wilbur didn't wake up. In fact, Wilbur didn't wake up for a long time. Not until a rooster on a nearby farm started to crow. Then he sat up with a jerk. He blinked three times...

It was five o'clock in the morning and dawn was beginning to light the sky in the east. And there, seated on the iron picket fence surrounding the tiny graveyard, were his mother, his father, all the other ghosts and goblins, and, worst of all, Miss Spook, his teacher. Wilbur tried hard to hold back his tears. He hadn't meant to forget Halloween. He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

He crumbled as his teacher got off the picket fence and slowly over to him. Well, Wilbur, what have you to say for yourself? I'm tired of poop. Is that all? I didn't mean to fall asleep, but I'm so tired. That seems to be your trouble, Wilbur. You are always so tired. We've got to teach you a lesson.

Any goat who forgets Halloween and falls asleep in the middle of haunting must be taught a lesson. Let me have your sheet. My sheet? Yes, your sheet. Thank you. I'm cold as is sitting here in my throne. That's too bad. You will just have to get used to it. From now on, you're not going to be allowed to wear a sheet.

You will have to walk around in your bones until you prove to me that you have learned how to haunt without falling asleep. And until that time, you will not be promoted. The End

And so, boys and girls, and grown-ups too, this coming Halloween, if you should happen to see a sleepy little ghost walking around in his bare bones, remember that it's Wilbur. Wilbur Tennesaw Smith. He's looking for someone to haunt so that he can be promoted and get his sheep back. So if you do meet Wilbur, be kind to him and let him haunt you. Won't you?

And in case he should yawn right in the middle of the haunting, tickle him in the ribs to keep him awake so that this Halloween Wilbur can be promoted. Please, let me haunt you. Please.

And that's the story of the ghost who forgot Halloween. Oh, that's not the kind of ghost story I meant. Oh, didn't you like it, Johnny? Oh, yeah. It was all right, but, uh... Oh, I think it was wonderful, Johnny. The trouble with you is you always want creepy things. I always remember Wilbur from now on, and if ever I meet him, I will let him hunt me. I'm sorry if I disappointed you, Johnny. Oh, no. It was all right. Uh...

One part made me laugh. What was that? The part where you said that Wilbur had a great big bowl of ghost toasties with invisible milk. You wouldn't like that, would you, Johnny? No, sirree. Wilbur can have his ghost toasties. I'll take real honest-to-goodness post toasties with the kind of milk you can see. Sure, I will.

I can't say that I blame you, Johnny. As a matter of fact, like Wilbur, post toasties are so bubbly-like they almost do float. Have you ever tried post toasties with stewed peaches, Mr. Eman? No, I haven't, Ruth. Are they good? Mmm, they're wonderful.

I am with Bananas lots of times. Mystery man. Yes, Richard? My friend's mother says that hot cereals are better for you than cold cereals in the wintertime. Is that true? Not at all. It isn't the external heat of the food that counts. It's the amount of heat the food produces once it gets inside your body. Now, for instance, a glass of cold milk produces much more body heat or food energy than a cup of boiling hot water.

Up around the North Pole, the Eskimos live all winter long on coal, rubber, and seal fat because it produces a great deal of body heat. Carbohydrates produce body heat, don't they? That's right, Richard. Certain elements in food are called carbohydrates, heat and energy-producing elements. Sugar is one of them, and starch is another, both of which you get in post-toastings.

So you tell your friend's mother that we'll match Post Toasties up against any other breakfast cereal, hot, cold, and lukewarm, for energy and for goodness. Winter, summer, spring, or fall. And with all that, Post Toasties taste so good. Always crisp, always toasty brown, always bubbly light. Never soggy or mushy or lumpy. Right, Johnny? You bet. Post Toasties are top.

Now, how about let's duck for apples? I'm afraid we're not going to have time for that while we're still on the air because I want to tell you something about next week's mystery store. Can't we even cut the Halloween cake and find out what kind of fortunes we get?

Do you want the fortune of the cake, Johnny? Confess. Well, I could eat a hunk of cake. All right, Ruth. Suppose you cut Johnny's piece so we can have his fortune told and incidentally wrap himself around some cake. Well, I tell you about next week's story. It was on the stage of a supposedly haunted theater that the ghost of a great hamlet was supposed to walk hand in hand with death. The solution of the mystery escaped me until I...

Well, until I realized that the only possible answer was the most obvious one of all. Next week, I'd like to see if you can guess, as I had to, the natural explanation of the seemingly supernatural phenomenon in the story I call Death Takes the Stage. Well, Johnny, did you find your fortune yet? Uh, no. There's no fortune in this place. Oh, wait a minute. Yeah, here it is. What is it? Oh, it's the ring. Johnny's

Oh, who believes in fortune? Not me. Well, I'm sure someday you'll get married, Johnny. Yeah, maybe. Well, we won't worry about it now. I see our time's up anyways. We meet again next week, of course, at the same time, and for our radio listeners, the same station. And don't forget, if anybody's got any toasteroons they want to get rid of, send them to me. Johnny, how can you ask for toasteroons with a mouthful of cake? I did, did you?

I give up. Remember to be with us next Saturday to hear Death Takes the Stage. I'll be waiting for you at the House of Mystery. This is Roger Elliott, your mystery man, saying goodbye until next Saturday at this same time.

and reminding you that post-toasties is a good buy, too. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System. ♪♪

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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.