No One Is Immune To “THE POWER OF LUCIFER!”: 13 Thrilling #RetroRadio Episodes EP0283 #WeirdDarkness
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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 I produce,

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

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

To many people, especially city dwellers, grass is something to smoke or perhaps something that has keep off signs on it. The fact is, grass is the foundation of life as we know it.

All the grains we eat are grasses. All of our meat is nothing but grass transformed. In many ways, the quality of our existence depends on the quality of our grass, which means that those who can change that quality for better or worse literally hold our lives in their hands.

All we need is your confession. I didn't kill him. You swore you were going there to shoot him. I know, but... You did go there. Yes. You confronted him. I... I did. The gun. Now, this is the gun that fired the bullet. Can you identify it? I already have. It's mine. I don't deny it. I tell you, I didn't kill him. Just look at all the evidence. I don't care about the evidence. I know I didn't kill him. I know I didn't kill him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know Dr. Howells? Do I know Dr. Howells? Yeah, I was reading about him in the papers. Let me tell you how well I know Dr. Howells. Wasn't that a terrific thing he discovered? I know Eugene Everett Howells well enough to kill him. His new feed grants will mean that millions of starving people will be...

What'd you say? I said I intend to kill him. Yeah, well... All I need is the courage, or the illusion of it, and I'm feeling bolder every minute. Yeah, but look, don't you think you better... Don't I think I'd better what? Go home? Stop talking foolishly. But I have every right to talk foolishly. You know why? Because I've been a fool all my life. Yeah, well, I'll get somebody to take you home. The article in the paper said that Dr. Howells discovered, created the new feed grass.

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

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

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

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

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

I'm quite contented. You've made me see it. His death will rid me of all my demons. Now, you really don't want to kill anyone. You're a lady. Good night, Pete. You're a gentleman. Look, uh...

Dames, dames. Well, she's got to be crazy. But what if she ain't crazy? Maybe I better... I don't know. If I tell a story like this, won't they think I'm nuts? Lieutenant Novak. This is Lieutenant Novak. Come on.

Who's on the other end of this? Oh, no, no, not him. Of all the cops who could have answered that phone, definitely not Novak. Someone's at the door. Someone... Just a minute! Who could be ringing the bell at this hour? It's noon.

How could I have slept till noon? Just a minute! I'll get on my... Just a minute! How could I have slept so late? Who is it? Police. Police? Why would...

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

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

Now, Professor Sanderson, you insisted to Pete Grimes at the Oasis Bar and Grill last night that you... Well, I was feeling very unhappy, and there are times when you say things you shouldn't. You had a motive. Motive? Didn't you say that he has robbed you of a discovery? Oh, that. Yes, that. A discovery you considered great enough to make you eligible for the Nobel Prize. He didn't exactly rob me. No? No, I gave it to him. I had to. Otherwise...

Well, it wouldn't be used, so I said, take it. It might as well be yours. Why did you give it to them? Because they wouldn't take it from me, from a woman. I don't know what you're talking about. In that part of Asia, women are considered, well, not exactly unclean, but it's hard for you as an American to visualize this. But the fact of my being a woman would make the grass defiled, unfit for the goats, which are holy animals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, now you just think about it. Detective, I don't know what to say. Well, did she or didn't she? Even she doesn't know for sure. The blocking out of unpleasant memories is by no means a rare occurrence in our culture.

Well, let's give her an opportunity to collect her thoughts and see what, if anything, she can come up with in Act Two. They say the wish is the father of the deed, which is why we have inhibitions, no?

After all, if every time you felt like killing someone, you did it, who among us would be out of jail? And so, here we have Augusta Sanderson, Ph.D., a learned professor of agriculture, about to be booked on a charge of homicide. Talk about still waters running deep. Here is a quiet brook that apparently has no bottom. What are you going to do with me, Lieutenant Novak?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does that mean you may act without meditation or counsel? He's right, Professor. He's always right. He may be my younger brother, but he has the brains in our family. We will communicate with you in due time. I didn't know what to think. Here, I was offering these people a way to save millions of lives...

And how, how could they be so cavalier about it? And would you believe, a week later, I received a note from Ali. Dear Professor Sanderson, after considerable meditation and prayer for guidance, His Magnificence, the Crown Prince, Ludov, has determined that your estimable project is not practical at this time. Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Professor, it's time we were leaving. Ever get the feeling that everybody around you is crazy and you're the only sane, sensible person in the room or even in the world? If you ever did, you are in a perfect position to appreciate what is going on inside Professor Augustus Sanderson at this very moment.

Well, we still have the third act to come, and we usually manage to sort these things out. What do you do when you're accused of murder? I suppose you admit it if it's true and deny it if it's false.

But suppose you're not sure of the answer. Suppose the charge could be true or false. Suppose you reach that point where you just don't know.

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

Well, suppose you didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All right, call me right back at this number. Uh, 227-8308.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Didn't I plot against our older brother? Then you should have done something about me when you had the chance. What are you doing with that pistol? She'll be blamed. She'll be thought mad because of her purple grass. She's already killed her lover, and now you.

Because you made her give up her discovery. No, it's not going to work that way at all. Just lower that gun. That's nice. Why'd you come here, Augusta? Because I... Because you didn't think I could help you, huh? Well, I thought I... I just went back for a search warrant. All we have to do is find the seeds and the notes in his possession. Will we find them, Ali? I don't... They are in his trunk. You knew, Luthor? Of course I knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Strange Wills. Starring the distinguished Hollywood actor Warren Williams and featuring Lorene Tuttle and Leo Cleary with Howard Culver and an all-star Hollywood cast. Original music by Del Castillo. Dead men's wills are often strange. We cannot attempt to understand them or try to find the answers. We can but tell the story.

This is Warren William bringing you the story of Miser's Gold. But first...

And now, back to Warren William as John Francis O'Connell in Miser's Gold. Of all the strange, weird characters I've had the pleasure to represent in probate matters, none, I think, ever can measure up to the caliber of Old Nick, gold miner extraordinaire.

I saw him for the first time on a cold March morning when he came up to my office for legal advice. He wore neither hat nor overcoat, and his toes, blue with cold, were sticking out of his broken shoes. He was a character. Mr. O'Connell, I'm an old man.

Sick man, I want to know what happens to your money when you kick the bucket. Well, Nick, under the law, it goes to your next of kin. If you have a wife and children, then... But I ain't got no wife and kids. Well, then to your blood relatives. That is, of course, if you die without making a will. And if I make a will? Then to whomsoever you name as beneficiaries, Nick. I only got one sister and two brothers. Well, you've answered your own question. But I don't want them to get my money. I hate them. Well...

How about some charity? No, no, no. I ain't going to give my money to no strangers, neither. Well, Nick, one thing is certain. If you have any money, you can't very well take it with you, can you? No, no, that's right. I can't take it with me. But then, I ain't going to give it to no strangers. And I don't want... Well, I'll think it over, Mr. O'Connell. I'll think it over. Now, how much do I owe you? Owe me? For that small consultation? Nothing, Nick.

No, no, Mr. O'Connell, that ain't how I do my business. I pay for what I get. I take this paper bag and keep what's in it. And when I make up my mind, Mr. O'Connell, I'll get in touch with you. Very well, Nick. Good day to you. Bye, Mr. O'Connell. Bye. After Nick had left the office, I untied the string around the little paper bag he'd given me. It felt like a bag of sand. Maybe old Beck was a beachcomber. I poured the contents out on my desk...

Great Caesar? Well, it couldn't be true. But there it was. Yes, Mr. O'Connell? Marie, Marie, has that old character gone? Yes, I'm still fumigating the room. Come in here, Marie. Well, I'll be blessed. Were you asphyxiated, too? Look. Look here on this paper. Don't tell me. Let me guess. It... Well, at least it looks like gold. Right, Marie. A little paper bag full of pure gold dust. That old codger gave it to me. And he looked like a pauper. And smelled worse.

But who is he? Why the gold? That's the strange part of it. Would you believe it, Marie, if I told you? Tell me what, Mr. O'Connell? Well, I only know him by the name of Nick. I don't even know where he lives. But as it turned out, that wasn't the last of old Nick. One morning, Marie came running into my office.

Look, Mr. O'Connell, it's a postcard from that character that came in to see you. We know his last name now. It's Nick Bowler. And we know where he lives, too. Here, give it to me. Dear Mr. O'Connell, I thought over what you told me. I want you to come to my shack tonight. Take Silver Canyon Road to end. Then stop, and you'll see a path that goes up mountain. You'll have to walk the rest of the way. I live on the top of the mountain. You can't miss it. I want to make a will. Nick Bowler. Nick Bowler.

Later that night, Marie and I set out for Nick's Shack in the mountains. Who was this Nick Bowler? Had he more gold? Well, that seemed to be the inevitable conclusion. In any event, the next few hours would be decidedly... Well, Mr. O'Connell, you've already had your bag of gold.

Maybe after I transcribe all of your notes tonight, he'll give me one too, huh? Maybe. But don't have any high hopes, Marie. This Nick is certainly a crackpot. Maybe he won't have a dime. Probably gave you his life savings. But how do you think he ever got the gold dust? Oh, maybe he's a prospector. Well, here we are. This looks like the end of the road. Oh, Nick said when you get here, right here to stop. We couldn't go farther if we wanted to. Now then, now let's find that path. Ah!

Oh, I never knew there was such a deserted place in the whole world. Well, it's dark, isn't it? Now I'll turn on my flashlight. Oh, there's the path. See over there to the right? Yeah, that must be it, all right. Well, are you ready for a good climb, Marie? I didn't wear these pedal pushers for nothing. Oh, but this mountain looks awfully high. And steep, too. But let's get going. Say...

I'll bow resting for a minute. This is the charge of the light brigade, you know. Phew. I guess maybe you're right. Isn't there any end to this? We must be near the top. Can't be much farther. Suppose I give out with a few yoo-hoos. Maybe he'll hear us and show us a shortcut. Not a bad idea. Try it. Hello? Hello? The lad ought to wake the dead. Let's see if he heard us. Listen to those dogs. Say, wait a minute.

This might be serious. They're coming this way. I think this is where we start our return trip. We couldn't make the car before they caught up to us. Yes, but we might be able to get up in this tree. All right, quick. Here, give me your foot. Take them both, but get me up there. Now then, up you go. I'm up. Now you hurry. Here, up I come. Give me your hand or something. Get up here. Here, come. Come on.

Ah, just in time, too. That must be old Nick. Well, here we are, Nick. Up here in this tree. The dogs busted out when they heard a woman's voice. See, they don't like women. I'm about as popular as a polecat. Just a moment, Nick. I'll jump down. I brought my secretary along to take notes, Nick. Miss Humphrey. You know Nick, of course. Ah.

Well, if one of you gentlemen would please disengage me from this tree. Oh, I'm sorry. Here, give me your hand. Oh, for the days of Sir Walter Raleigh. Now then, down you come. Oh. I'm glad you got here, Mr. O'Connell, both of you. Let me lead the way. It ain't far from here. Well, Marie, are you ready to begin climbing again? Lead on, Macduff. After this workout, I'll be ready to play ball with the Dodgers. Oh.

Well, folks, here we are. So, this is where you live, Nick. Yeah. No wonder you haven't any neighbors. Only got one. He lives about a mile away. See, I don't live very fancy-like. It's just a one-room shack on the mountaintop. It ought to be nice and breezy. High on a windy hill. Sometimes I think the wind like to blow me in the shack right down the mountain. Let's go in and get down to brass stacks. After you, Marie. Well, chair, table...

And a pile of bags. Not much furniture, but then I can only sit on one chair at a time. Marie, be a good girl and park yourself on the sandbags. Oh, this is going to be ducky. Now then, Nick, we're ready to go to work. I never told you much, Mr. O'Connell, the day I come to your office. Well, suppose you tell me now just what you have to will away and who you want to get it. I've got a sister. Her name is Sarah.

and two brothers, Herman and Otto. Getting this, Maria? Heirs-at-law and next-of-kin. Sister Sarah, brothers Herman and Otto. Yeah, yeah, that's right. My sister was married. Her husband died. Name is Stevens. Now, she and my brothers all live in town. Say, before we take inventory, I wish you'd pardon me just a minute while I try making this sandbag a little more comfortable. It doesn't dent very easily. Feels more like concrete than sand. Yeah.

That's my ballast, miss. It helps to keep my house from blowing off the mountain. Hold up there. Let me get my hand there. Thank you. Don't know if you noticed, but there are ten bags, and each one's got a name. Oh, you name the sandbags, too. Yep. This one's Evelyn, and that one's Gert, and you're sitting on Mert. Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry, Mert. And below is Hattie, Alice, and Marty. Those are your girls, eh, Nick? Not exactly, Mr. O'Connell, but...

They're the only women I ever knew. I just like them. I just like them. Yep, each bag's got a name. Here, I'll show you why. Pardon me, miss, I'll... Oh. I'll open up. Put that paper on the floor, eh, miss? Put it right there. Put it on the floor. Now, what's coming out? Look. Gold. It's yellow. Oh, no, no, I'm seeing things. No, no, it's gold. Every last bag is filled with gold.

Yeah, look at her run. Later, when I recovered my composure and Marie got over her shock, Nick told me his story. You want to know how I got my gold? I'll tell you. In my family, I was always the dumb one. My brothers and sisters would laugh at me because I couldn't get no place in school. Oh, well, you certainly had the last laugh, Nick. When my father died, he left his business to my two brothers, Herman and Otto, his house and money to my sister.

And to me, he just gave me a mule. A mule that he used in his business. Her name was Annabella. Well, I took Annabella and went into the mountains. Nobody said goodbye. They was glad to get rid of me. One night, I camped by the mountain stream. I was downright lonely, hungry, and sick of living. Annabella had wandered off to look for grass, and then... Annabella, what's the matter? Annabella!

Wait, wait, wait, Annabella, I'm coming. Oh, there you are. Now, let's see what your trouble is. Quiet, quiet, will you? Oh, so you've caught your halter rope on a rock, eh? Well, keep your dandy down. I'll have you loose in two shakes. Step pretty tight. Come on, Annabella. We'll have to pull together now. Come on. There. There.

I had to pull half the mountain off to get you loose. Now be a good girl and bed yourself down. Bed yourself down. Annabella. Annabella! Look! Look! Where the stone came out. It's... It's gold. Gold, Annabella! We've hit pay dirt. You see, sand full of pure gold.

Part two of Strange Wills, written by Ken Kropene and directed by Robert Webster Light, will follow in just a moment. But first, a word from your announcer. ♪♪

And now back to the strange wills story, Miser's Gold, with Warren William as John Francis O'Connell. Miser's Gold

And in these bags, Nick, is what you got out of your placer mine? Yeah, Mr. O'Connell, I filled ten bags with gold, I did, and then it ran out. But it was enough. Took me over five years to get. Every night when I come in from the diggings, I'd let the gold dust run through my fingers. And when I filled each bag, I'd give it a name, kind of like, well, kind of like a friend. I wish I had some friends like that, Nick. I'd settle for even one. Marie. Hmm?

Well, a girl can wish, can't she? Well, then my mule Arabella died. Buried her next to the mine. Got kind of lonesome and figured I'd pay a visit to my kinfolks. Thought maybe the years had softened them up. I was ready to share my gold if they was decent to me. I went down to the city... We haven't anything for tramps. But I ain't a tramp. Sarah, don't you know me? No, you...

Why, you're Nick. Yes, Sarah. I'm your brother, Nick. Well, what do you want? I thought I'd sort of pay you a visit, Sarah. I'm rich now. You rich? Oh, you're crazier than ever. Now, wait a minute here. Take this $5 bill and go away. We don't want you to disgrace our family name. But, Sarah, don't you understand I'm... I don't want to understand any more than I can see. Take the money and go away now before I change my mind. All right, Sarah. Sarah?

All right, I'll go. But here, take your money. I don't need it. But news about my strike spread like wildfire through the town, especially when I paid my bills in gold. My brother Herman finally ran into me one day on the main street.

Nick, Nick, you can't imagine how glad we all are to know that you're well and rich. Good to see you. Yeah, Perman, I done all right. We want you to come to dinner tonight. We'll all be there to kill the fatted calf. Dinner? Yeah.

Yeah, but Herman, Sarah told me I... Then you must tell us all about your gold. Maybe all of us can share in your good fortune. Hey, Nick? After all, we are your blood relatives. Sure, come on over for dinner. About seven, huh, Nick? All right, Herman. I'll see you all tonight.

I got to Herman's house a little before seven. It was getting dark. I walked along the side of the house and passed by an open window. Inside, I could see my two brothers and Sarah, and they was a-talkin'.

Have you made arrangements with the judge, Otto? Now, Sarah, everything is taken care of. After he leaves here tonight, he'll be picked up as a vagrant. Isn't that right, Herman? Yes. The judge promised to give him a hearing right away. Mm-hmm. And see that he's committed to an asylum. Yes. And, Otto, as soon as we find out where he lives, we'll just go out there and take possession. Why, of course. Meantime, one of us will get appointed as conservator of his estate. Does that mean anything to you, Sarah? It will if we can find his gold.

Must have a lot of it hidden away somewhere. We'll find out where it is. Nick was always too dumb to be rich anyway. Just like that mule father willed him. Remember? Oh, that mule. I come back to the hills and I ain't never seen him since. Well, Nick, I can't really blame you for not wanting to leave them your fortune. But if you don't, it'll have to go to other people. I know, I know.

For six months, night and day, I've been trying to figure a way of giving it to them. And still making sure they can't spend it. Huh? Yeah, but I guess it can't be done. They're bound to get it one way or another. I want you to make my will. I'm giving my kinfolk everything. I'll take care of the rest. I'll take care of the rest.

Realizing that Nick was really a very sick man, I lost no time in preparing his will and taking it out to his shack for his signature. As I neared the top of the mountain... Hello, hello, Nick. Hello, Nick, where are you? Oh, go right in the shack, Mr. O'Connell. I'm just fixing things up underneath here. I'll be right up. Fixing things, eh? Ha!

Well, this place could stand a little fixing. You got my will? Yes, I've got it. Good, then. Let's get it over with. Old Nick must have had a premonition of what was coming because just a few days later, he was found dead in his cabin by his only friend and neighbor on the mountain. His neighbor called me immediately as Nick had instructed him to do.

After reporting Nick's death to the proper authorities, I called his sister, Sarah. Yes? Are you Mrs. Sarah Stevens? Yes. Who is this and what do you want? This is John Francis O'Connell, attorney at law. You have a brother, a brother named Nick? Yes. What about it? He asked me to call you as soon as I was informed of his death. Death? Nick dead? Yes.

Where and where? I am informed that he died sometime during the night. A neighbor found his body this morning. Where? In his house.

He lived in a little shack on top of the mountain at the end of Silver Canyon Road. Did he turn over anything to you? No, no, nothing has been turned over. That, of course, will have to be done through legal channels. Now look here, he was our brother, wasn't he? What he had belongs to us. Herman, Otto, and me are his only relatives. Yes, I know. He went immediately into possession of his property. The end of Silver Canyon Road, you say? I wouldn't advise that for two reasons.

First, certain legal steps will have to be taken. The coroner will have to examine the body, and then provision will have to be made... All right, all right, so you've advised us. You've done your duty. But just let someone try and stop us from going. What he's got belongs to us, and, mister, we aim to get it. Well, what a charming female. I could see greed coming right out of the telephone.

I wonder why old Nick insisted that you call her as soon as you found out he was dead. To cinch he didn't want those three vultures to get his gold that quick. No, he should have known there'd be no stopping them once they heard the news. No stopping them is right. I bet they're on the way right now. I wonder, Marie. I wonder if old Nick didn't want them to get there first. What? But why? Well, what did he say the last time you saw him?

How did he feel about it the day you went out there to have him sign his will? He didn't say anything. Felt fine, as far as I could see. Yes, I remember. He was all smiles. Had a saw in his hand when I met him. What was he doing? Trimming the shrubbery? He might have been trimming his beard, for all I know. Wait a minute. Marie, wait a minute. What's the matter, Mr. O'Connell? You look sick. I am sick, Marie. Get your hat and coat. Wait a minute. What's the matter? No time to talk now. Come on. We've got a trip to make, and every second counts. THE END

Why can't this car go faster? Why can't it... You're already making 72. What do you expect when you're climbing them out? Faster, faster. We've got to go faster. Almost. Almost up to the top, Marie. Don't give up. We've got to make it. We've got to. Look. Look, the shack is still there. It's still there. Oh, thank heaven. Come on, let's run for it. I'm right behind you. We'll make it. We'll make it.

There goes the shack. We're too late. There's old Nick's answer, just as I feared. You're right. Oh, how horrible, Mr. O'Connell. I can't believe it. Warren William will be back in just a moment to tell you the rest of the story of the probate cause of Miser's Gold. But first, here is a brief message from your announcer.

And now again, here is Warren William as John Francis O'Connell.

You see, Marie, Nick knew that if I had any inkling of his mad plan, I would have stopped it. But how did he ever manage to have the shack tumbled on the mountainside just when his two brothers and sister were in it? His family may have called him the dumb one, but in reality, Nick was shrewd and crafty. He knew all about the stress and strain of timbers from his experience working his mine. He knew, too, that Sarah, Herman, and Otto were greedy. Oh.

Oh, yes. ...that they would rush out to his shack to find his hoard of gold, the minute I let them know old Nick was dead. And if you remember, Nick insisted time and time again that they should be notified immediately. Mm-hmm. We know now that Nick sawed into and weakened the supports that held his shack to the mountainside and waited for his greedy relatives to bring him the revenge he so wanted. Mm-hmm.

Well, they came all right. They stormed into the shack and began tearing everything apart looking for the gold. Their combined weight brought their own destruction. The supports collapsed, and the shack, with its unholy three, crashed down the mountainside. Well, it seems to me they were all guilty of one sin or another. Every one of them. And how unnecessary. If Sarah would only have listened, I would have told her that Nick had made a will and left everything to them. There was no necessity for their mad race to destruction.

Well, that's about all. You know the rest of it. All but one thing. When did you first realize what old Nick was up to? Well, it suddenly dawned on me the morning in the office. I remembered then that the day Nick signed his will, I heard the sound of a saw. Oh? And then I recalled how anxious he was to have me notify his relatives as soon as he died. Too late, I saw the plan of his revenge. He really got his revenge, didn't he? Yes, but not entirely. Why?

Sarah and Herman died, of course, but Otto survived the fall. And eventually, he will get the entire fortune. You see, Marie, old Nick never learned that two wrongs don't make a right. Next week, I have a thriller for you about savage love and romance in the uncharted wilds of the frigid north.

Into this desolate and rugged land north of Hudson's Bay, a beautiful, willful young girl comes to claim her inheritance, an enormous tract of land left to her in the last will of a deceased relative. Here she found a peaceful land of virgin forests and Pierre-Baptiste Leblanc, French-Canadian trapper who molds women to his way of life or else.

But the girl had a mind of her own. That is, until the night the timber wolf serenaded her just outside her cabin door. And then... Well, I can promise you a story filled with action and suspense. Will the strength and brawn of Pierre-Baptiste Leblanc finally win over the determination of this pampered, beautiful woman to resist love in the frozen wastes of the far north? You'll find the answer in the story we call...

east of Hudson's Bay. This is Warren William inviting you to listen again next week. Strange Wills is a Tellaways feature produced in Hollywood. Any similarity between names used on this broadcast and those of living persons is purely coincidental.

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

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

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Listen up, folks. Time could be running out to lock in a historic yield at public.com. As of September 23rd, 2024, you can lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account. But here's the thing. The Federal Reserve just announced a big rate cut, and the plan is for more rate cuts this year and in 2025 as well. That's good news if you're looking to buy a home, but it might not be so good for the interest you earn on your cash.

So if you want to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high yield and investment grade bonds, you might want to act fast. The good news, it only takes a couple of minutes to sign up at public.com. And once you lock in your yield, you can earn regular interest payments even as rates decline. Lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. But hurry, your yield is not locked in until you invest.

Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info.

Your roof protects your home. You can trust the Keiko team to protect your roof. Take it from me, James T. Keiko is the Valley's premier roofer with the longest longevity. They are the largest, most trusted roofer in the Valley. Stay away from the mom and pop companies that knock on your door after it rains to look at your roof. These fly-by-night roofers are just a guy in a truck, not a trusted, licensed, and experienced roofing company like Keiko. Keiko is known for their commitment to

quality, dedication to their customers, and their friendly and free roofing checkups. Just go to KaikoRoofing.com and be sure to tell them James T sent you.

This holiday, BMW has reunited three members of the family at the BMW Road Home Sales Event. The Agile X3, engineered for any adventure. The plug-in hybrid X5, commanding the streets with unmatched presence. And the all-electric i4, charging into the future with impeccable performance. Hurry in to find what powers your journey at the BMW Road Home Sales Event. BMW, the ultimate driving machine. Visit the Valley BMW Center today for attractive lease and finance offers.

♪♪♪

So while other people are watching their returns shrink, you can sit back with regular interest payments. But you might want to act fast because your yield is not locked in until you invest. The good news, it only takes a couple of minutes to sign up at public.com. Lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account only at public.com.

Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info. Witch's tale. The fascination of the theory.

Weird, blood-chilling tales told by old Nancy, the witch of Salem. And Satan, her wise black cat. They're waiting, waiting for you now.

A hundred and six year old I'll be today. Yes, sir. A hundred and six year old. Well, Satan, give word to douse all lights and we'll get right down to business. That's right. Make it nice and dark and cheerful. For we likes gloom and shadow.

Now, draw up to the fire and gaze into the embers, gaze into them deep, and soon you'll see a crowded ballroom in a fine big house in New York City.

And there, midst happiness and laughter, begins our tale about the power of Lucifer. The power of Lucifer! The next dance will be a waltz, dear. Sure you want to sit it out? Yes, Catherine, I have stepped on an ultra-fenceless female toes this evening. And as I have to buy your shoes, I'll be economical as well as merciful.

This definitely seems deserted. Let's go out there. And gaze at the moon? Now here's an especially nice chair for moon gazing. Big enough for both of us. Not unless I sit on your lap. That's all right. I have a good strong lap. Now, give me a kiss. Warren, don't muss my hair. Don't you ever get tired of making love to your wife? No.

My wife ever get tired of having me make love to her? No. Then there's no occasion for argument. Give me another kiss. Oh, that's enough. And I'm going to sit in this other chair before you crush my gown and I press the crease out of your trousers. All evening you've forsaken me and now you're doing it again. I am? And unless you curb your romantic ardor, I'll make you take me back in there and dance. I'll figure it out.

It's too nice to be out here with you and away from all those people. You don't like the crowds that are here, do you? Oh, they're all right, I suppose, but I don't understand them. I'm just a plain business man.

Hindu poets, Armenian artists and Turkish musicians away over my head. Since Mrs. Brewster decided to patronize the arts, she's certainly had some very strange people at her affairs. Strange? They seem lunatics to me. Fortunately, old Dr. Farmer's wife had deserted him as you did me, so he and I sneaked off in a corner and discussed politics, Wall Street and baseball. That flippant band of conversation soon drove away any nut who came near us.

What particular sort of culture does the chap go in for who's been monopolizing you all evening? Mr. Orloff? That's his name. I didn't catch it when we were introduced. He's Russian, isn't he? I imagine so, though he didn't mention his nationality. What does he do for a living? I don't know. You've spent enough time with him to have learned his whole life's history. You weren't jealous? Of course not. I merely ask about him because...

Well, he is such a peculiar looking chap and... I'm curious to know what there is about him that held your interest for so long. I don't know that either. He's a very strange person. He's talked a steady stream from the moment I met him. Yet I know nothing about him at all. What did he talk about? A subject that I've only heard of in a vaguer sort of way before. Devil worship. Devil worship? Yes. Not medieval witchcraft or anything like that. But something that exists today.

count of lucifer he called it count of lucifer it's religious he said it has churches ordained priests and a ceremonial and he said this count of lucifer is active now yes all over the world right here in new york

He talks so much about it. I've an idea he himself is a member. I... Warren, there's something horrible about that man. Five minutes after I met him, he was absolutely repulsive to me. Yet you danced with him all evening. I don't know why. After the first dance, I wanted to get away. Yet when he asked me for another, I... I'd have been with him yet if you hadn't come for me. Warren, I made up my mind not to say anything about all this. It sounds so silly. Oh, and I'm glad I've told you.

I want you to stay with me for the rest of the evening. Don't leave me for a moment. And if Mr. Orlov asks me to dance with him again, he'll make some excuse. Don't let me. Catherine, are you intimating that you can't refuse this man yourself? Yes. Don't ask me why. I don't know. I'm afraid of that man, Warren. Terribly afraid. Oh, there they are, Mrs. Brewster. My dear Catherine, we've been looking everywhere for you and Warren. Oh, just sitting out of dance, Mrs. Brewster. Won't you join us? Yes.

He's with them. Don't worry, darling. You and Mr. Roloff won't bother you now. You and your husband have been enjoying the moonlight, Mrs. Gray. Yes, Mr. Roloff, how gorgeously romantic. They're always running away from people so they can be by themselves, Mr. Roloff. As though they were sweethearts instead of husband and wife. In these two young people you see the perfect marriage. A most unusual thing to see.

Perfect things are there. I'll say they are. But you plainly mean trick me to disappear with Catherine, Warren. A Swedish poetess.

Got me in a corner and nearly talked my arm off. I tell you, my dear, Dr. Farmer and I had organized a mutual protective association of two against art in there. Oh, you and the doctor are incurably bourgeoisie. Afraid we are, Mrs. Bridgerton. Your guests this evening are too highbrow for plain people such as Warren and myself. By that, I mean no offense to you, Mr. Ollip.

None is taken. I, like you, am plain people. It's not what you call highbrow. You're far too modest, Mr. Orloff. You and Warren must become better acquainted with this gentleman, Doctor. He's been everywhere, seen everything, and, oh, he's told me of the most interesting things. Catherine, my dear, did he tell you of that perfectly intriguing sect he calls the Cult of Lucifer? Yes, Mr. Orloff told me a great deal about it. What is the Cult of Lucifer?

Simply a group, or rather many groups, of people who believe that evil is a more potent factor in this world than good. Consequently, they worship the lord of evil and serve him. Not by what orthodox religionists call worthy acts, but by bringing sorrow and trouble wherever they can. Did you ever hear of anything so perfectly fascinating? There are idiots in this world who go in for anything. The cult of Lucifer is not composed of idiots, doctor.

You may have heard it said that the devil takes care of his own. He endows his most ardent disciples with great power. So I am told. - All rot!

Perhaps. Of course, I am only speaking hearsay. Oh, naturally. It's delightfully interesting to think about that one wouldn't wish to be acquainted with people who believe such things personally, would one? I don't think so, Mrs. Bilstein. No, darn well, I wouldn't. Now, I simply must return to my other guest. You'll excuse me, won't you? Of course, Miss Bilstein. You four lovely people mustn't stay out here too long, don't they?

No one gets me back in there. I am in my right senses. May I hope that Mrs. Craig will return to the mall very soon as my partner for the next dance party? I... I... Shall we go now? The music has begun.

Yes. Catherine. I... I have your permission, of course, Mr. Green. Yes. Thank you. If I am Mrs. Green, we shall join you gentlemanly. Say, Warren, what's the matter with you? You look as though someone has hit you over the head. Doctor, that man made me say yes when I wanted to say no.

He walked away with Catherine when I wanted to stop him and she didn't want to go. What are you talking about? By the Lord, he isn't going to get away with it. Warren, where are you going? Hold on. Hold on. Come back here. Hold on. Are you calling me, Mr. Gray? Yes, come back here, brother. Warren, you're making a scene. What's the matter with you? You'll soon find out, and so will he. Why have you called me, Mr. Gray? You know well enough. Step out here on this balcony and I'll tell you. Let go of his arm, Catherine. Come here to me. Warren. Come here to me. Warren.

- Go to your husband, Mrs. Twain? - Yes. What kind of a game are you playing? She couldn't even take her hand from your arm until you let her. When she told me you'd made her dance with you all evening against her will, I didn't know what to think. But now I do because you just worked the same hypnotic trick on me.

I don't like to be tricked, Mr. Roar. And I don't want hypnotists experimenting on my wife. She's not dancing with you anymore, that's all. Not quite, Mr. Gray. Your tone has been both loud and insulting. Dr. Farmer has been a witness, and others have been attracted by your words. It is your privilege to say I cannot dance with your wife. But I expect an apology. You won't get it, Roar. Maybe in my power to compel it. Not from me.

You will apologize to me, Mr. Gray, before these people. I apologize to you, Mr. Orloff. I thank you. But now that you have made it, I choose not to accept your apology, Mr. Gray. You will feel that Ivan Orloff is a most vindictive man.

Good night. What in heaven's name is the meaning of all this? What's happened to you? Again you look stunned, like a man who has received a blow. Doc, he did it to me a second time. He done my will as he did before. It doesn't matter, dear. He's gone now. Let's get our things and leave here. We never met him before tonight. We won't see him anymore. I'm not so sure of that. I didn't like the look of that fellow when he left. He can't do us any harm, Doctor. He...

Darling, what's the matter? Oh, Dr. Kitty, I... I feel faint. I... Catch her, Warren. She's falling. Catherine, darling, what's wrong with you? Doctor, she's fainted. Carry her to that bench. Lay her down. What could have caused it? I don't know. Catherine. Catherine, darling. She's as white and still. She's scarcely breathing, Doctor.

What's the reason for this? She hasn't been sick. I know that. I'm her doctor. Someone, telephone for the ambulance. Hurry. An ambulance, Doc? Yes. You don't think... I've got to get her to a hospital if I hope to save her life. Her life? Yes. Her pulse is very weak. Her heart is beating and no more. She can't die, Doc. You won't let her die. Not if I can help it. Hold on to yourself, my boy. Catherine. Catherine. I can't understand it.

I examined her only last week. Her heart was regular as a clock. What's the reason? Doctor, her lips are moving. She's trying to say something. What is it, dear? Oh, she hasn't even the strength to speak to me. What's the reason? What's the reason? Be still, please. She is trying to say something. Catherine, what is it, dear? I couldn't hear her talk. What did she say? It was just a whisper. I think she said it. The power of Lucifer.

Isn't she any better, doctor? Just the same, my boy. That's all you've told me for three days, that she's just the same. She lies on this bed, never moving, scarcely breathing, dying. Oh, isn't there anything you can do to save her? I've done everything, tried everything I know. I'm at my wit's end, boy. A specialist I've brought in can't diagnose this condition any better than I can, nor recommend a treatment.

We doctors know so little. Then you haven't any hope she's going to die? No, I haven't given up hope.

But doctors are only men. Where we fail, often something else steps in and saves. God. He gives and He takes away, son. Everything in this universe is really up to Him. And He's forgotten her and me. Don't you think I've prayed to Him? Every moment since He collapsed that night, a prayer's been on my lips, a crying in my heart. A prayer of desperation. A cry of my whole being. For if I lose to Him, I have nothing in the world.

He's forgotten me. He doesn't care. I don't think you or I or any other human being can say that. For we don't know his scheme. My boy, I'm not just trying to deaden your anxiety and heartbreak with a sugar-coated anode in the religion. I haven't any creed. I'm just talking what I sincerely believe. Catherine has been unconscious for three days. She hasn't suffered for a single moment of that time or felt the slightest pain.

If she doesn't come out of this, I don't say she won't. I don't believe she won't. And I'll do all a human being can to bring her back to you. But if I can't, she'll simply pass from a light sleep into a deep one. She'll have been spared a lot of trouble that living holds for everyone. God will have been very kind to her, my boy. And you won't have lost Catherine. For there's another place where...

Those who love are for you united. Maybe. Three days ago I thought that, believe, was sure of it. Now I've lost all faith in the sort of providence that struck my wife without a warning. Warren. I've lost all faith, I tell you. If there is a force for good, there's an evil force that counteracts it. An evil force that's the strongest. You don't know what you're saying. Oh, yes, I do. Doctor, what did Catherine's whisper mean that night when she murmured the power of Lucifer? I don't know.

Probably something about all of filthy cult had lingered in her mind. Or it may have been in my mind. So that I read her whisper as I did. I couldn't really swear her lips formed words.

She murmured too low to hear. No, she said what you thought she did all right. She said the power of Lucifer. They were the last words she uttered. They were a message to me, a message I hadn't understood until now. What do you mean? That devil Orloth did this thing to her. As he proved that he could bend our minds, now he's proved his hellish power in her body. You're mad. No, I'm not. You haven't any explanation for whatever struck her down without cause, without a warning. I have, at last. Orloth threatened me. He said the devil took care of his own.

But he gave great power to his disciples, to him. That power is killing my wife. The power of Lucifer. The god of evil who is stronger than the lord of good. You are beside yourself, my boy. You can't believe such a thing. I do believe it. And if Catherine dies, then I'll know it's true. My boy. Doctor. Catherine just moaned. The first sound she's made... Out of my way, Warren. Let me see. What's that rattling noise I hear? It's coming from her throat. She looks different.

She's lying so still there. There's not the slightest movement. Her eyes are open, staring. Doctor! Why are you pulling that sheet over her face?

Doctor! Catherine! Catherine! - Son, son. - Catherine, my darling. Don't lose faith, my boy. You'll find her again if you don't lose your faith. Who is it? - I've heard, Dr. Thomas. - Oh, I shan't need you now. I've brought an important message, Doctor. It's for Mr. Greig. - Mr. Orlott. - Orlott? What is the message? Simply this slip of paper. His address, sir.

But he said it was a matter of life and death. Oh, Doctor. Mrs. Craig? Yes. Just now. His address. A matter of life and death. Perhaps he meant he could have saved her. But this came too late. We'd gone on farther than we thought.

She's dead. Boy, what are you muttering to yourself? He killed her. He killed her. But this tells me where to find him. Who? This tells me where to find him. Where to take his life for hers. Come back. Stop him, someone. He's dead, Doctor. Oh, the power of Lucifer won't save him. His life for hers. His life for hers. The End

The gentleman we expected has arrived, Master.

It was exactly eleven minutes past midnight when you let him in the downstairs door. I told you it would be. The master knows all things. Mr. Gregg has a pistol in his pocket. Yes, master. With his hand inside the pocket and his fingers on the trigger. Ready. I can see the outline through the cloth. I see it through these walls. I saw him by the gun four miles away. He means to shoot me the moment he and I are alone in this room.

Show him in at once, Alexei, and leave him. Yes, Master. Fools, fools, we gentlemen must have. Come in, Mr. Gray. Please go, Alexei, and shut the door behind you. Yes, Master. You murderer! Wait. Before you press the trigger of that peaceful, let me ask you one question. No, you... It is a question I've summoned you to hear. The question of life or death.

Do you want your wife restored to you? My... my wife? Do you want your wife restored to life? You know she's dead. That proves you killed her. I do not deny it. I told you once that Ivan Orlov was a most vindictive man. You fiend! Now you'll pay your life for hers. Wait. First answer my question. Do you want your wife restored to life? Yes. You're playing with me. A man does not play when another holds a loaded pistol at his breast.

and i am very afraid of firearms really keep your pistol mr gregg keep it pointed at my body if you will but you had better hear what i have to say before you shoot so you relax a little that is better i left a note telling you where to find my humble residence as your dear wife grieved her loss but wait i left it because ivan orlaff is also a forgiving man when his vengeance is complete

And the power of Lucifer can give as well as take. The power of Lucifer? Which in that hospital room this evening, you'll realize was greater than the power of food. I am a priest of Lucifer. He is the star that I wield. You doubt perhaps that I can bring your wife to life as I have made her die. Take this piece of paper. Tear it up. Tear it up. Hold the pieces in your open hand.

I have not touched them. I do not touch them. Yet look. They've joined together. As they were before you taught them. So I can restore the broken fragments of your dear one's life. Give her back to me and I'll be your slave. I do not need a slave. But a master I adore needs loyal servants. What do you mean? That the devil takes care of his own. But only his own. That he gives nothing for nothing. You must pay a price.

that you must serve him if you would have him serve you to to regain catherine i must you must be consecrated in my master's service tonight and forevermore you must bow down and worship lucifer you are very well my brother for we are brothers now by the virtue of the faith we share

You did not enjoy your consecration in our order? It was horrible. Bestial, unholy. Holy and unholy are words we do not employ. A king is either evil or unevil. Or dare our power lies. If evil gives you power to bring back the warmth of life to that cold body on the bed, I accept your awful faith.

To have her back, to have her love again, is worth the eternal damnation of my soul, if I have so. You must not doubt the existence of your soul, my brother. For to accept the creed of evil, the creed of good must also be believed. One cannot exist without the other. Our deity is stronger, as you shall soon see.

or he will bring the dead to life. How soon? How soon? In less than a minute. Blood will course again in those now so lifeless things. Breath will return, and those closed eyes will open up themselves. In less than a minute, the dead will rise and walk. Oh, Cassian. It'll be worth my soul to have your love again. You have not forfeited your soul. Souls are not my master's business. You said the fearless daughter...

I must pay a price. Of course. He gives nothing for nothing. What will that price be? I do not know. I do not even know the price that I must someday pay for power. But I do not care. Power is all that matters. And I shall live many years to wield it. For I control the minds of men, and nothing can destroy me. Olaf!

Colours returning to her cheeks. By the power of Lucifer. She breathes. You kept your promise. You're restoring her to life. Not I, but he myself. Her flesh grows warm. She's coming back to me. Now, like you, I don't care what price I have to pay. I'll have Catherine once more. My Catherine. All up. She's opened her eyes. Speak to me, darling. Let me hear your voice again. You look as though you didn't know me.

I'm Warren, dear. Your husband. Catherine. Why do you laugh like that? Why are you laughing like a baby? Olaf. Her eyes. What about them? They're blank. Scaring. Her body lives, but her eyes are dead. So they are.

I forgot to tell you that though my master can restore the dead to life, he cannot restore the brain. You mean Catherine? She is an imbecile, my brother. As I have said, the lord of evil has no province over souls. And without a soul, there can be no mind of course.

But rest easy now. You have nothing more to fear. You have paid the devil's price. You monster! You fiend! Drop that gun. You fool. I told you I have mastery over all creative men. When I let you keep that gun this afternoon, I only played with you for amusement. I am a priest of Lucifer. With the power he has given me, I shall live forever. Catherine! He has picked up the gun you dropped.

Take it from her and return it to your pocket. It pleases me to have you keep it and know you cannot use it. Imbecile! Do not point that gun at me. Drop that pistol, I say, drop it! She has no mind, Orloth. Your power is before her and her finger's on the trigger. No! No! Now, Orloth, you

You, like me, have paid your master's price. Only you bought power. Something evil had to sell. I tried to purchase love. Ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha.

Well, that's the end of that one, Satan. Now you and me has business to attend to. Important business, Satan. Near midnight, Satan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

♪♪

quality, dedication to their customers, and their friendly and free roofing checkups. Just go to KaikoRoofing.com and be sure to tell them James T sent you.

This holiday, BMW has reunited three members of the family at the BMW Road Home Sales Event. The Agile X3, engineered for any adventure. The plug-in hybrid X5, commanding the streets with unmatched presence. And the all-electric i4, charging into the future with impeccable performance. Hurry in to find what powers your journey at the BMW Road Home Sales Event. BMW, the ultimate driving machine. Visit the Valley BMW Center today for attractive lease and finance offers.

Listen up, folks. Time could be running out to lock in a historic yield at public.com. As of September 23rd, 2024, you can lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account. But here's the thing. The Federal Reserve just announced a big rate cut, and the plan is for more rate cuts this year and in 2025 as well. That's good news if you're looking to buy a home, but it might not be so good for the interest you earn on your cash.

So if you want to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high yield and investment grade bonds, you might want to act fast. The good news, it only takes a couple of minutes to sign up at public.com. And once you lock in your yield, you can earn regular interest payments even as rates decline.

Lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. But hurry, your yield is not locked in until you invest. Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info.

Your roof protects your home. You can trust the Keiko team to protect your roof. Take it from me, James T. Keiko is the Valley's premier roofer with the longest longevity. They are the largest, most trusted roofer in the Valley. Stay away from the mom and pop companies that knock on your door after it rains to look at your roof. These fly-by-night roofers are just a guy in a truck, not a trusted, licensed, and experienced roofing company like Keiko. Keiko is known for their commitment to quality, dedication to their customers, and their friendly and free roofing checkups.

Just go to KaikoRoofing.com and be sure to tell them James T sent you. Whatever the adventure, there's a BMW engineered to take it on. The X3 delivers a striking design with agile performance. The 100% electric i4 packed with pure electric energy. Or the plug-in hybrid X5, an impressive versatile SUV granting full control on every journey. Choose what powers your next adventure during the BMW Road Home Sales Event. BMW, the ultimate driving machine.

Visit the Valley BMW Center today for attractive lease and finance offers. Listen up, folks. Time could be running out to lock in a historic yield at public.com. As of September 23rd, 2024, you can lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account. But here's the thing. The Federal Reserve just announced a big rate cut, and the plan is for more rate cuts this year and in 2025 as well. That's good news if you're looking to buy a home, but it might not be so good for the interest you earn on your cash.

So if you want to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high yield and investment grade bonds, you might want to act fast. The good news, it only takes a couple of minutes to sign up at public.com. And once you lock in your yield, you can earn regular interest payments even as rates decline.

Lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. But hurry, your yield is not locked in until you invest. Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info. He was New England born and New England bred. But his name now is a word of the West.

This is the man whose story will be unfolding on this edition of Word Detective, prepared as an educational service at this station in cooperation with the makers of Underwood Typewriters. Did you know that the coveted title of World Champion Typist was won on an Underwood typewriter for 25 consecutive years? You won't find this man's name listed on the rolls of the men who fought and died at the Alamo, but only because he was busy on the business of Texas independence in another place.

the meeting of the convention in 1836 which formally established the new republic of texas the life of this native new englander was inextricably wound up with the life of the lone star state he risked his life in the skirmishes which led up to the founding of the new republic he sat as a member of the first legislature of the state of texas and served as mayor of san antonio for four years because of all these things his name has become an honored one in texas

But it's known to the rest of us for another reason, because back in the year 1845, he managed to make a collection on what he'd figured was a bad business debt. He didn't get paid in cash, but in cattle, a 400 head, which he promptly dispatched to a little piece of property he owned in the country south of San Antone.

A little piece of property of about 385,000 acres. Having more pressing business at hand, the business of Texas, the erstwhile New Englander, turned his new herd over to his ranch foreman and promptly forgot about it. The foreman, it seems, was a bit of a goof. He paid very little attention to the 400 new cows, just turned them loose to run wild on the unfenced range.

In time, many of them wandered away from the ranch owner's 385,000 wild acres whereupon they were promptly appropriated by less prosperous Texas landowners and branded with their brands. The congressman ranch owner took this bit of bad luck right in stride, but it caused something of a stir amongst the cattlemen in the West. So much of a stir, as a matter of fact, that this incident of a disappearing herd brought into being a brand new word in the West.

If you're any sort of a Western fan, I'm sure you recognize the word I'm speaking of. And the name of the gentleman who helped it start. I'll type it out for you right now on my Underwood typewriter. His name was, of course, Maverick.

Samuel Augustus Maverick. The word Maverick came into Western speech first as a synonym expressly for an unbranded animal. But now the word is widened to signify also a man who wears no man's brand, a musterless person, a man without ties, a man in short whom the independent Mr. Samuel Augustus Maverick would probably have thought very highly of.

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Heads up, folks. Interest rates are falling. But as of September 23rd, 2024, you can still lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. That's a pretty big deal because when rates drop, so can the interest you earn on your cash. A bond account allows you to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high-yield and investment-grade corporate bonds.

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Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info. Countdown for blastoff. X minus 5, 4, 3, 2, X minus 1, fire. Fire.

From the far horizons of the unknown come transcribed tales of new dimensions in time and space. These are stories of the future. Adventures in which you'll live in a million could be years on a thousand maybe worlds. The National Broadcasting Company, in cooperation with Street & Smith, publishers of astounding science fiction, presents X-Minus-One. X-Minus-One.

Tonight's story, First Contact by Murray Limester. They had been in space six months now, moving with the incredibly faster than light speed of the overdrive. In six months, they had gone from Earth outward and outward to the crab-like nebula with the twin stars, a routine flight of exploration and scientific research. Solid object about 90,000 miles away, sir. Located, Dort. Exactly. Identify it.

A small object, sir. Captain, I've never seen anything like this before. Whatever it is out there is coming toward us at an incredible speed and retreating to zero just as rapidly. What's the mass of the object, Dort? Well, it varies with the distance from us, sir. Step up the scanners. Nothing, sir. Absolutely nothing shows out there. And yet there must be something. Those alarms are foolproof. Action stations, man all weapons. Condition of extreme alert in all departments immediately. Captain, what is it? Dort, I ran into the same thing once before on the Earth-Mars run.

We were being located by another ship, and their locator beam was the same frequency as ours. Every time it hit, it registered as something solid and monstrous. But, Captain, we're the only Earth ship in 18 light years around. How? I didn't say it was another Earth ship out there, Dorton. Another race? That's right. There's a spaceship out there, all right, but it's not manned by human beings. It had been contemplated and speculated upon. Mathematically, it was almost a certainty that such a race existed.

But in 18,000 Earth years, no human spaceship had ever encountered them. Now the situation was precipitated. And somewhere outside the Earth vessel, there was an alien race. Of what shape? Of what quality? Of what psychology? It's moving, sir. Heading right for us. At that speed, we'll be in touch in ten minutes. Heading right for us, huh? Just what we'd do if a strange ship appeared in our hunting grounds. Friendly? Well, maybe. We'll try to contact them. We have to do that. Friendly.

Thank the Lord for the blasters. They may not be hostile, sir. They may be. That's what I'm paid for, put on this job for, to worry about the troubles that may never happen. To all hands, now hear this. A ship is approaching, manned by an alien race. I'll give the signal for attack or defense if it be necessary. There'll be no move made unless I give the order. I do not wish to provoke trouble. Stand by. Their ship is slowing down, sir. It's stopped. Weapons department, report.

Weapons department report. Alien ship remarked. Target fixed. Weapons alert. Communications department report. Communications department report. We're receiving a modulated shortwave, sir. Frequency modulated. Apparently a signal. Not enough power to do us any harm. Well, try to make some sense out of it. Report any progress to me immediately. One thing in their favor, sir. They didn't attack immediately without question. They're trying to establish contact. That seems to indicate they're reasonable. We'll see, we'll see.

What are they doing now? Can you make out the locator screen? Bring that power up. They're doing something now, sir. There's a section of the hull opening. Probably an airlock, sir. If they breathe air. They're letting something out. It's round. A bomb, sir? Unknown object released from alien ship. Observed by weapons department and targeted. Stand by.

See what they're doing, sir? They've left the object out there right where they were. And now they're withdrawing the ship. There's no reason why that object couldn't be a bomb, Mr. Dort. Intended to let us think precisely as you're thinking right now. I just have a hunch, sir. I think they're friendly. I think whatever it is out there is a means of communication. You're probably right, but I won't gamble the ship on a probability. Sir, I'd like to volunteer to go out there and look that thing over. You understand whoever does examine it is expendable. Yes, sir.

Stand by. Stand by.

Mr. Dort. Mr. Dort. Report. Object, as you can see on the scanner, sir, is covered with many small horns, like the detonating horns of the obsolete mines formerly used in naval warfare. Is that their purpose, do you assume, Mr. Dort? I'm going to find out, sir. I'm going to grab one. Mr. Dort. I'm here, sir. I don't think this is a mine. Circle it so we can see it completely through your scanner. Deadlock, sir.

Nothing to report that the scanner hasn't shown you. Oh, wait a minute, sir. A section of the outer hull seems to be opening. Do you see it? Very good, Dort. Hold that. I'm sure it's a communications device, sir. It looks like it. Fix your scanner so it'll focus on that communications device. Return to the ship. Communications department. Communications department. Progress report, please.

We've established communication, sir. Is there a psychologist on the team down there with you? Yes, sir. Mr. Burns is working with us. Will both of you please report to the bridge at once? You look tired, Dort. We've established fairly satisfactory communication, sir. They seem to have highly developed thought patterns. We got a satisfactory translation from the machine on the fourth attempt. We can say almost anything we want to say to each other now.

Of course, how much of what they tell us is the truth, we have no way of knowing. Mr. Burns, you're the psychologist. What do you think? Well, I don't know, sir. They seem to be completely direct. They haven't let slip even a hint of the tenseness we know exists. They act as if they were setting up a means of communication for friendly conversation, but, well, there's an overtone that... Well, Mr. Burns, I have a decision to make. On the one hand, opening contact with the friendly people of a vastly different culture could only be beneficial to us of their...

On the other hand, if they're hostile, I ought to blast them out of existence without any other preliminary. But, sir, you can't... I'm not talking to you. It's not warranted yet, sir. Yes. Now, hear this, all departments. Hear this, all departments. This ship is on an extended alert. Provisions will be made so that personnel can have maximum rest and nourishment.

Communication continued by means of the artificial language set up arbitrarily between the Earth men and the aliens, decoded by the mechanical decoders. Dort disobeyed orders. He lived on powerful stimulants so that he could stay with the communications machine, talking, talking, talking to the aliens. Other people. Other people. Are we being received? We are receiving your message.

The chief of this ship wishes to speak with the chief of your ship. The message is heard by the chief of this ship. The chief of this ship communicates that he will hear the message of the chief of that ship. Go ahead, sir. People of the other ship, I'd like to say the appropriate things about this first contact of two dissimilar civilized races and of my hopes that a friendly intercourse between the two peoples will result. People of that ship.

What you say is all very well, but is there any way for us to let each other alive? That's all, sir. They've stopped sending. Very direct people. Very direct. But, sir, I don't follow. I didn't know what that meant. You know, is there any way for us to let each other go home alive? It means what it says, Dort. Sir, what's to stop us from just cutting communication and leaving, and they can do likewise? What's to stop us? Simply that whichever ship leaves first will be followed by the other.

If they find Earth and get back to their own planet and we don't know where that planet is, Earth will be completely at their mercy. If they leave first, we'll follow them. We'll attempt to find their home planet. Dort, could you swear to any decision that the policymakers on Earth will come to? Sir, even if they do follow us, the closer we get to home, the more of our ships and weapons they'll face. They'd never get away. Well, how do you know that they can't communicate with their home planet without returning? We can't, sir. How do you know they can't?

I don't, sir. So that's the situation. We'll sit out here facing each other, trying to outguess each other until time wears us out. And we'll have to face the fact either they destroy us or we destroy them. Navigation officer, attention. Navigation officer, attention. Every star map on this ship is to be prepared for instant destruction. The chief of this ship wishes to know whether the chief of that ship can suggest an answer to the problem concerning us both.

Do you want me to answer that, sir? I'll answer it myself. Tell me when to talk. Now, sir. I am giving that matter personal attention. Every effort will be bent to the solution of this problem. Will you consider a temporary truce in the meantime? Would a truce gain? Could we trust you? Would you trust us? I suggest that we continue as we have up to this particle of time. I agree. Sign off, George.

Weeks went by, and during the weeks, the exchange of information continued without let-up. What particle of time are the people on that ship at? The resting time. All rest except myself and others on alert duty. Same on this ship. You people of that ship are very similar in many ways. Do you have a family? I have a mate. I have a mate and three offsprings.

It is too bad for them, as well as us, to have to kill each other. This ship can't see any way out of it. Can that ship? If we could believe each ship, yes. Our chief would like it. But we can't believe you, and you are afraid that we do not tell truth. Although we do. This ship would trail you home if this ship were able to. That ship would do the same. This ship feels sorry about it.

I believe you're a friend. I share your belief like you. But there is a possibility that you were put to make a trap for me. I will stop now and think it over. Just sit down, Dort. Control yourself. We're all under tension. Doesn't do any good to pace like some caged animal. Yes, sir. All right, now, I've read the complete transcription of your conversations with this one alien. What does it prove, Dort? Sir, these people are so much like us, and they're thinking...

Well, sir, they're likable. They're likable and they breathe oxygen. Their air is 28% oxygen instead of 20. They could do very well on Earth. It would be a highly desirable conquest for them. Dord, I'm as set against violence as you are. I don't see any way out of this. And I think we've got to break this status quo. So if in 70 hours we don't see any other way, then I have no further choice. I'll blow them to bits.

Will that ship receive communications? Will that ship receive communications? This ship is listening. It seems to me better to communicate than to sit by the machine silently. I would have called you, but you signed off before. The problem goes around and around. I find no answer. Perhaps we could turn our thoughts to other things. The psychologist of this ship tells us that you people on that ship...

have a threshold of tolerance to tension. He tells us that you will be forced to take one action or another in a period of less than a hundred time particles. I have no communication on this matter. Well, this ship is not trying to extract unwilling information from that ship. A truth is mentioned in passing. A report of this conversation will be carried to the chief of this ship. It would be so. We are prepared.

If only the people of this ship could meet in direct contact with the people of that ship, it might be better. We could not communicate then. The communications machine is too large to carry from place to place. In direct contact, the peoples of the two ships would be further apart than now. That's true. I am sad. Much that is pleasant has passed between us. I am sad, too. We are not yet ready for each other. We are not yet ready for each other. It's hard, isn't it, Doctor? Well, Captain...

I'm sorry. I didn't know you were here, sir. I've been here for quite a while. Eavesdropping, I'm afraid. It's all right, sir. Nothing can be personal in a situation like this. That's right. How long is a hundred time particles, Dort? Pardon, sir? That reference he made to us not being able to stand tension, it's interesting. Their psychologists seem to make more out of us than we do out of them, don't they? Yes, sir. They hit the nail right on the head. Yes, they did. I think, Dort, we'll just have to push our timetable up a bit.

No further communication with the aliens under any circumstances. That's clear, isn't it? Yes, sir. Sir, if they know so much about our psychology, isn't it possible that remark was intended to make us act more quickly? Probable, Dort. Probable. Why would they do that, sir? Why? You tell me why, Dort. All of a sudden I have an idea, sir. That's crazy. It doesn't matter how crazy. I'll listen to it. Sir, I think these people are playing some kind of a joke on us. Joke? A joke, Dort? Yes, sir.

Over and over again, I've noticed what I think is a sense of humor. A highly developed sense of humor. Do you recall when we went to all the trouble to set up a fictitious star map and then they just sent us back a mirror image of the same one? I think somehow they're playing a joke on us. Maybe you're right. In which case, you've seen practical jokers, Dort. Their jokes aren't always funny. Sometimes they hurt people. ♪

All departments, man, instant alert. All departments, man, instant alert. Report instantly. Report instantly. Weapons department alerted. Target the enemy ship. On target, sir. Stand by. Fire! They're gone, sir. Not a trace of them left. Not a tiny trace. Now we can go home.

Communications to Captain. Communications to Captain. Report. Sir, I'm picking up new signals. Same frequency as the original alien signals. That's impossible. That ship was destroyed. I'm receiving signals, sir. Set the machine up. We'll be down there in a minute. Mr. Dort, come with me, please. It's good to be on the way home. Yes, it is good. Do you suppose we'll ever figure out what happened to the other ship? Never. A blinding flash and they were gone.

I suppose they couldn't figure a way out of the situation. An unstable people. They had no sense of humor to cope with the situation. They exploded themselves out of existence. It seems reasonable. They must have had powerful weapons to destroy themselves so completely. Yes, what a shame. In a way, I grew to like them. This isn't meant for us, sir.

I don't know what's happening, but I think we're overhearing a private conversation. I understand, Dora. Be quiet, will you? Many things might have come out of a relationship with that people. They were describing a disease they call cancer. I think it is similar to the Frogron syndrome. We might have helped them. They might have helped us, too. Well, too bad. We'll never find them again, I think. The odds of such a chance meeting in the vast space of the whole universe...

There are no figures for such odds, are there? Turn it up, Dort. Turn it up louder. That's all there is, sir. The signal stopped there. Sir, I don't know how, but somehow when we fired at them, we didn't destroy them, but we did set up a condition whereby they've become invisible to us and we've become invisible to them. Captain to engineering department. Halt, forward motion. Captain, why are we stopping? Listen, Dort, you say they're in VR, but they're not destroyed because we just heard them. They're out there somewhere.

You heard them, sir. They're heading for home. We're invisible to them, too, sir. How do you know, Dort? How do you know this whole thing isn't a setup? Suppose that's true, Captain. You heard their conversation. They weren't talking like any monstrous people. They seemed decent and warm, just as decent and warm as we are. How do you know this conversation wasn't planned and deliberately set up for us to hear? How do you know that, Dort? Yes, sir, you're right. They may be out there and they may not. They may be telling the truth or they may be trying to trick us. They may be friends or they may be the most deadly enemies. You said they had a sense of humor, Dort.

What a joke to play. To deliberately set up a situation where we wouldn't know fact from fantasy, truth from lie. Wouldn't that be a joke, Dort? Yeah, but we don't know that they did that, sir. And we don't know that they didn't. We don't know anything. Sir, does that mean we never go home again? I don't know. I have to think about it. I have to think about it. ♪♪

You have just heard X-Minus-One, presented by the National Broadcasting Company, in cooperation with Street and Smith, publishers of astounding science fiction.

Tonight, by transcription, X-Minus One has brought you First Contact, written by Murray Limester and adapted for radio by Howard Rodman. Featured in the cast were Wendell Holmes, Bob Hastings, Clark Gordon, William Lally, and Stan Early. Your announcer, Fred Collins. X-Minus One was directed by Daniel Sutter and is an NBC Radio Network production. X-Minus One.

Next week at this time, over most of these stations, NBC will present This is Carnegie Hall, a special concert featuring the Symphony of the Air Orchestra. Your roof protects your home. Trust the Keiko team to protect your roof. Financing is available 12 months, same as cash, and 60 months, zero interest loans. Keiko Roofing is known for their commitment to quality, dedication to their customers, and their friendly and free roofing checkups.

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This holiday, BMW has reunited three members of the family at the BMW Road Home Sales Event. The Agile X3, engineered for any adventure. The plug-in hybrid X5, commanding the streets with unmatched presence. And the all-electric i4, charging into the future with impeccable performance. Hurry in to find what powers your journey at the BMW Road Home Sales Event. BMW, the ultimate driving machine. Visit Valley BMW Center today for attractive lease and finance offers.

Listen up, folks. Time could be running out to lock in a historic yield at public.com. As of September 23rd, 2024, you can lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account. But here's the thing. The Federal Reserve just announced a big rate cut, and the plan is for more rate cuts this year and in 2025 as well. That's good news if you're looking to buy a home, but it might not be so good for the interest you earn on your cash.

So if you want to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high yield and investment grade bonds, you might want to act fast. The good news, it only takes a couple of minutes to sign up at public.com. And once you lock in your yield, you can earn regular interest payments even as rates decline. Lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. But hurry, your yield is not locked in until you invest.

Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info. Your roof protects your home. Trust the Keiko team to protect your roof. Financing is available 12 months, same as cash, and 60 months, zero interest loans. Keiko Roofing is known for their commitment to quality, dedication to their customers, and their friendly and free roofing checkups.

They do residential and commercial re-roofing, repairs, and recoding of your roof. Keiko Roofing has an A-plus rating with the Better Business Bureau, and they are crazy about quality. Just go to keikoroofing.com. That's K-Y-K-O-roofing.com, and you be sure to tell them James T. sent you.

Whatever the adventure, there's a BMW engineered to take it on. The X3 delivers a striking design with agile performance. The 100% electric i4 packed with pure electric energy. Or the plug-in hybrid X5, an impressive versatile SUV granting full control on every journey. Choose what powers your next adventure during the BMW Road Home Sales Event. BMW, the ultimate driving machine. Visit the Valley BMW Center today for attractive lease and finance offers.

Heads up, folks. Interest rates are falling. But as of September 23rd, 2024, you can still lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. That's a pretty big deal because when rates drop, so can the interest you earn on your cash. A bond account allows you to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high-yield and investment-grade corporate bonds.

So while other people are watching their returns shrink, you can sit back with regular interest payments.

The Hollywood Radio Theater.

Every day at this time, Monday through Friday, a J.M. Colas Enterprises production, the Hollywood Radio Theater presents an unusual tale of mystery and suspense. Every week, Monday through Friday, the Hollywood Radio Theater presents... I'm Rod Serling. You're listening to The Zero Hour. Rest your eyes. Exercise your imagination.

This week, Tobias Wells' neo-gothic tale of small-town terror. A Die in the Country. Starring Peter Marshall, Susan Strasberg, and Andrew Duggan. In Elliot Lewis' production of The Zero Hour. We all know that city living has become increasingly troublesome. Our cities are crowded, high-pitched, and in many instances, dangerous.

© BF-WATCH TV 2021

until they hear the town gossip and find themselves in the middle of a nightmare. Their story, "A Die in the Country," begins after this word. Picture this: a small New England town, green rolling hills, tidy houses along quiet tree-lined streets, respectable facades covering what manner of guilty secrets. A Cadillac glides solemnly around the corner, purrs to a stop in front of an empty three-story Victorian house,

with silent shuttered windows.

Well, there it is, just as I described it. It's kind of odd-looking, isn't it? I mean, it seems off-balance. It's so tall and narrow with that high-peak roof. Three stories, Victorian architecture. It's most picturesque, but thoroughly modernized. The most up-to-date plumbing and wiring throughout. And as you can see, freshly painted, and the new porch was just finished. Come along. I'll show you everything.

Brenda was right. The house looked odd. Like the kind of house a child might draw. An oblong box set on end with a pointed roof on top. There was a big window in the front with small panes and a cement and cinder block porch around two sides with a wrought iron railing. The shutters were dark green and there was a post lantern at the end of the driveway, a pair of coach lanterns flanking the front door. A spacious yard and lots of trees and shrubbery.

Mine here, our cat, would find it a whole new lease on life after his cloister days in a Boston apartment. It's a great deal of house and ground for the money. I agree. What's wrong with it? As I said, the owner had to sudden transfer out of town and must sacrifice.

The reduced price bears no reflection on the condition of the property. It's really quite rustic. Oh, yes. Why, you even have a little patch of real woods on one side. This yard would be the devil to mow. It's nice and private. You can barely see the house next door through all that shrubbery. That place looks a little neglected.

What kind of neighbors come with the house? Oh, that's Mercy Bird's place. Mercy Bird? She's a writer. Mystery stories. Really? Yes. Lives alone there since her mother died. And keeps pretty much to herself. She'll not be any bother to you, I'm sure. Sounds like fun living next door to a mystery writer. And you have a very distinguished neighbor across the street. Rudolph Wharton lives there.

Sorry, but who's Rudolph Wharton? Oh, of course. You wouldn't know, being from out of town. He's one of our select men. And I imagine he owns nearly half of Wellesley's most valuable real estate. I stand impressed. Come along. I'll show you inside the house. Truthfully, Mr. Severson, there aren't too many houses in Wellesley in your price range. Oh.

I was ready to say we'd try someplace else in that case. I could feel my hackles rising. You see, I have very sensitive hackles. But Brenda tugged at my sleeve as Mrs. Maynard turned the key in the lock and opened the door. A creaking door, just the right Victorian touch. Our spring rain, a little oil will take care of that.

As Mrs. Maynard led us around like sheep to the slaughter, Brenda exclaimed over all the pluses while I ticked off all the minuses. A winding staircase. Oh, it's just what I've always wanted. The woodwork needs repainting. Three big bedrooms, imagine. Two of them are going to have to be repapered. And a bathroom off each one. There isn't any John on the first floor. Shh.

But as we followed in the wake of Mrs. Maynard's grand tour, treading on bright blue wool all the way, we came together on the view from the third floor studio bedroom. It was strictly as advertised. You see, I wasn't exaggerating a bit, was I? Oh, it's just lovely. Yeah, the view's great. I have to admit that. And the bathroom has just been retiled. It's well heated.

I just love it, honey. What do you think? Well, it needs a lot of work. I mean, I don't know when I'd have the time. Maybe we'd better keep looking. One week later, we signed the purchase and sales agreement. And one month later, we moved in. When you're in love with your wife and she's seven months pregnant, if she asks for the moon...

You'd see what you could do. Don't worry, darling. We'll take our time. And it'll be fun making it really ours. Mine hair seems to have made it his with no problem. The second I let him out, he streaked off into the woods. Oh, this is going to be a beautiful place for the baby. All this grass and trees and lovely peace and quiet. It's downright bucolic.

"'Oh, Newt, you do like it, too, don't you?' "'Honey, it's going to be just what the doctor ordered "'for a tired city detective after slaving all day over a hot murder.' "'Here you can leave murder to our next-door neighbor.' "'What? Oh, Mercy Bird, the mystery writer.' "'I wonder what she's like.' "'So far we've yet to get a look at any of our neighbors.' "'They're being thoughtful, I imagine, giving us time to get settled.'

I still don't think it was too wise taking on a big move like this just before the babies do. Oh, it's just the thing. It'll keep me busy. No time to mope. Mope? About what? About looking like an old sack of lumpy potatoes, that's what. Oh. Hey, honey, let's let all these boxes go hang for the rest of the night. What do you say we try out our new fireplace? Take a little of the evening chill out of our new house.

Right now I feel like cuddling up in front of a cozy fire with an old sack of lumpy potatoes in my lap. You've been reading up on the care and handling of lumpy pregnant wives. What was that? What was what? I heard something at the door. I think someone's out there. Oh, for Pete's sake, it's probably just the cat. I forgot he was out. Relax, darling, I'll let him in. I thought so. Come on in, mine hair. Hey, wait a minute.

What have you got there? Hey, what's he got in his mouth? Oh, Newt, it's a squirrel. You mean what's left of a squirrel. Well, I guess we'll have to expect things like that. I mean, living out in the country. Oh, Newt, get it away. I think I'm going to be sick. I found it took me longer to commute from Boston to Wellesley than I'd figured. I'd landed smack in the middle of outgoing commuter traffic at 6 p.m., and while the pike moved well, the arteries on and off it were going slow.

By the time I finally got home, I was on the irritated side. And finding a strange car parked in the middle of the driveway blocking my way did not improve my disposition. What the devil? Newt, we're in the kitchen. Who was we, I wondered. At the moment, I wasn't in the mood for anybody.

I made my way through the boxes of books and bric-a-brac in the living room into the kitchen where Brenda and a middle-aged woman with bleached blonde hair sat over coffee in the middle of boxes of pots and pans and dishes. Darling, this is Mrs. Parsons. You'll have to forgive my coming before you've had a chance to settle, Mr. Sevenson. But it's rather my job. I'm the official town greeter. Mrs. Parsons has brought us all kinds of lovely little gifts, goodies from all our local shops.

It's our way of welcoming you to our little community. I'm sure you're going to find it a lovely place to live. Thank you. I think we'll enjoy it fine if we ever get some of this confusion cleared away. Well, this is a beautiful old house. And like most old houses in New England do, it has its share of history. Really? Well, you know, of course, that Catherine Lee Bates once lived here. Catherine Lee Bates?

She wrote America the Beautiful. Oh, no, isn't that exciting? And Monsignor Davis actually died in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Died? Oh, don't worry. It was a perfectly natural cause as he was 88. Well, that explains it. But then I imagine you're far more interested in hearing about the living people of Wellesley, particularly your immediate neighbors. I imagine we'll be meeting them in time? The Farleys, at least. In the house catty-corn across the street. They're quite congenial.

But their children are something of a problem. Teenagers. Boys, a college dropout. Shiftless. Long hair and a beard. And their girl is only in high school and already runs around with a very fast crowd. Heading for trouble, both of them, I'm afraid. Well, let's hope not. Your other two neighbors are inclined to keep their distance. Mercy Bird next door is a rider. I don't think a soul in town has ever been inside her house. And I'm sure you've heard of Mr. Wharton across the street. Yes, we have.

He keeps quite to himself since his wife disappeared. Disappeared? Well, I don't mean in that sense exactly. Still, she did leave very suddenly, and no one seems to know where she went. Mrs. Parsons...

Are you implying that we have a town mystery on our hands? Perhaps a body buried in the cellar? Oh, good heavens, no, nothing like that. Why, Rudolph Wharton is Wellesley's most prominent citizen. My husband didn't mean that seriously, Mrs. Parsons. Oh, of course. You are a detective in this city, aren't you, Mr. Severson?

I suppose detectives have their little jokes like all of us. I suppose so, Mrs. Parsons, but right now I'm afraid I'm just a tired city detective, so if you'll excuse me, I... Oh, as a matter of fact, I must be running along. I'm afraid I sometimes overextend these little welcoming calls of mine. Oh, not at all. It's been just lovely meeting you. I'll see you to your car. Mine's in your way. ♪

I was sure Mrs. Parsons had elected herself Wellesley's official greeter. It was the ideal job for the town gossip. Now, don't be too hard on her. It was nice to have someone to talk to. She didn't really say anything harmful. She wasn't catty. Speaking of cats, have you seen ours?

He made a beeline for the woods again. I just hope he doesn't bring home any more surprises. Honey, cats are hunters. It's their nature. Now, Minehair just never had a chance to do his thing before. He's always been such a gentle house cat. I never thought of him as a predatory animal. Well, he is. He just can't help it, that's all. Yes, he can. That's like saying that killers have to kill. They're two different things entirely. That's Minehair. It sounds like he's in trouble. Maybe this time he got hold of something too big for him.

Now, you close your eyes until I see what it is. Whatever it is, don't let him bring it in. Grr!

Well, hello there. It's all right, honey. It's only a dog, I think. I'm afraid my Algernon's scared of your cat. He didn't mean to. Algernon loves cats. He's very affectionate, but he just doesn't realize how big he is. And I imagine our cat will learn to stay out of his way. I just wanted you to know that Algernon won't hurt him in any event. Algae wouldn't hurt a fly. I'm afraid that's more than can be said for our cat.

I'm Newt Severson, and this is my wife, Brenda. Oh, delighted. I'm Mercy Bird, your next-door neighbor. Oh, we're very happy to meet you. You're a detective, I hear. You're a mystery writer, I understand. One thing's sure about this town. It's a grapevine. I may have some questions to ask you sometime, Mr. Severson. Do you mind? Questions? Research for my stories. Oh, sure, if it's something I know. Well, it's going to come in handy, having a detective right next door.

Look, isn't that another of our neighbors? Mr. Wharton, the select man? That's him, all right. The grapevine slipped up this time. Distinguished isn't the word. Handsome would be better. He's a looker, all right. I'll give you that.

You sound as though you don't like Mr. Wharton very much, Miss Bird. Call me Mercy. I never stand on ceremony. And as for Mr. Wharton, you're right. I don't like the man very much. Not at all, in fact. Now, come along. Algernon, come along. Let's finish our walk. Let our neighbor's cat get home in peace. Come by again, won't you? Oh, I will. Algernon insists on his walks. Ta-ta. Goodbye, Miss Bird. Mercy. Quite a character. Oh, I like her. So do I.

But I wonder why she doesn't like the handsome, distinguished Mr. Wharton. When my first two days off came up, I had already managed to deal with most of the boxes. Confusion was gradually changing into order, and Brenda was busy at the sewing machine making new curtains for the big picture window. So I decided on a few hours busman's holiday and went downtown to look in on Wellesley's police station. There was an officer there named Dennehy that I once worked a case with.

Great to see you again, Severson. What brings you out to Wellesley? Official business? No, no, we moved here, my wife and I. Ah. An old remodeled house on Howe Street. Ah, yes, I think I know the one. It's right across the street from... Ah, Ralph Wharton, right. Right, right. He's really Mr. Big in this town, isn't he? Oh, he owns half of it. A block of stores, a medical building, a rest home, you name it. Say, you know, it may turn out to be a handy thing for us, your living right across the street from Wharton. How's that? Well, it's a good thing.

You can keep your eyes open. Somebody's got a big hate on for that guy. He's been getting a series of poison pen letters ever since his wife left him last January. Hate mail? Uh-huh. I heard Mrs. Wharton just disappeared. Nobody knows where she is. Ah, the rumor factory. The truth is she went to California to live with her sister. We have a letter from her confirming this. Confirming it? Why was that necessary? Those letters Wharton's been getting. Wait a minute. I'll show you a photostat of one of them.

You see, they're always pasted up words, cut from newspapers and postmarked from the next town over. Natick. Here, you want to read it? You may think you can get away with your wife's murder, Rudolph Wharton, but you can't. I won't let you. Signed, The Great Eye. The Great Eye? Sounds like somebody's playing a joke. You're new to Wellesley, my friend. Nobody, but I mean nobody, plays a joke on Rudolph Wharton.

So Dennehy asked me to keep my trained, professional eye on the Wharton house for any sign of a suspicious character hanging about. It seemed that somewhere in Wellesley, a nut was running loose.

Why would anyone make an accusation that could be so easily disproved? It doesn't make any sense. Crank letters don't have to make sense. They're a nuisance to say the least, and any nut who writes them may be capable of almost anything. Well, it's probably just someone who resents Rudolph Wharton's position and power. If he were receiving a lot of anonymous love letters, I could understand it. What about our friend Miss Bird? She apparently doesn't think of him as any paragon. You don't think she'd be writing him poison pen letters, do you? No.

It would seem more her style to just go over and tell him off. But a cop learns quickly enough not to rule out anything. Oh, dear. What's that for? We move to this lovely, peaceful little town to get away. Now you're going to be a detective even when you get home.

I'm going to start looking at everyone with that suspicious cop nature of yours. Now, honey... Well, it's true. Only when there's a reason. Oh, there's always a reason. If you start looking for one, people aren't perfect. You can't start putting them under a microscope without seeing things that you shouldn't see. I didn't know you felt this way about my work. Oh, Newt, I don't mind you being a detective. I'm proud of you.

But please, just try to remember that this is where we live now. It's not a police precinct. It's our home. I know that, but I mean... Oh, these people are our friends and neighbors, not suspects. All right. All right, honey. I'll remember that. Go ahead. Whoever it is, you can let them in. I promise I won't turn a light on their face and demand that they confess all. Mercy. How nice. Come on in. Without Algernon this time, I thought I'd spare your cat.

Brought you a chocolate cake. One of the few things I can cook worth a damn. Mmm, it looks delicious. Chocolate cake, my favorite. Hey, the grapevine in this town is fantastic. Oh, how about some coffee, or what would you like to drink? Got any buttermilk? Sorry. Nobody ever has. See, his mother and I are the only buttermilk fanciers. How about having a beer with me? My mother wouldn't approve. It sounds good to me.

Is your mother still living? I thought... No, no, no, no, no. She's gone. But still, near enough to visit. It's a pleasant cemetery just outside the next town over. Natick, I go to see her often. Do you? You must miss her very much. Well, tell you the truth, we get along better now than when she was up and around. When's the baby?

Two more months. Got a good doctor, I hope. Mm-hmm. A very good Boston gynecologist. Dr. Abrams. Never heard of him. But then I never had any use for a gynecologist. Miss Bird, I mean Mercy, what is it about Mr. Wharton that you don't like? Oh, Newt. There's nothing I do like about Mr. Wharton. Nothing at all. Why? Because he thinks he's God Almighty. That's why.

Somehow, despite the obvious evidence of her disdain for Rudolph Wharton, and now the added fact that she visited the next town of Natick regularly, I couldn't settle on Mercy Bird as the perpetrator of the poisoned pen letters. My cop's suspicious nature notwithstanding. Mercy Bird was a character, I thought, but not a nut. There was a big difference. There was something about the atmosphere in Wellesley, however, that made me glad to get back to the routine of my police job in Boston at the end of my two-day holiday.

Captain Granger made sure my relief didn't last that long. How's the new place out in Wellesley, dude? Oh, fine, Captain, fine. We're getting slowly but surely straightened out out there. I just had a call from Chief Torrance out there. Hmm? About that poison pen letter business? Poison pen letters? Wellesley has that going on, too? Why?

What else is up? Obscene telephone calls. A whole epidemic of them. What? Yeah. That's some quiet little town you picked out for yourself, Severson. Tomorrow at this time, rest your eyes and listen here to this week's continuing study in suspense, a die in the country. I'm Rod Serling, and this is The Zero Hour. The Zero Hour

You've been listening to the Hollywood Radio Theater's presentation of The Zero Hour. Heard every weekday at this time. Rod Serling is your host. Tobias Wells, a die in the country, was adapted for radio by Shirley Gordon. Peter Marshall is Newt. Susan Strasberg is Brenda. And Andrew Duggan is the chief.

Featured in the cast are Monty Margetts as Mrs. Maynard, Jean Bates as Mrs. Parsons, Mary Wicks as Mercy, Jerry Hausner as Dennehy, and Forrest Lewis as the Captain. Zero Hour is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. Jack Myers is executive producer. Rochelle Sherman, associate producer. And Kim Weiskopf, story editor. Music composed and conducted by Stanley D. Hoffman.

The Hollywood Radio Theater theme was played by Ferranti and Teicher and is now available on United Artists Records and Tapes. This has been a J.M. Colas Enterprises production. Hugh Douglas speaking. Tune in tomorrow and once again. Rest your eyes and listen here. To the Zero Hour.

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Heads up, folks. Interest rates are falling. But as of September 23rd, 2024, you can still lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. That's a pretty big deal because when rates drop, so can the interest you earn on your cash. A bond account allows you to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high-yield and investment-grade corporate bonds.

So while other people are watching their returns shrink, you can sit back with regular interest payments. But you might want to act fast because your yield is not locked in until you invest. The good news, it only takes a couple of minutes to sign up at public.com. Lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account only at public.com.

Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info. I'm Rod Serling. You're listening to The Zero Hour. ♪♪ Rest your eyes. ♪♪ Exercise your imagination. ♪♪

This week, Bill S. Ballinger's sound portrait of an unlikely hero. The Air Hunters. Starring Ken Berry. Joanne Worley.

And Edgar Bergen. In Elliot Lewis' production of The Zero Hour. The Mutual Broadcasting System presents The Zero Hour.

Sponsored in part by... Makers of Wrigley Gum, the Colgate-Pamala Company, makers of Cold Power, and the Chevrolet Division of General Motors. This is the Zero Hour on Mutual Radio.

Dean Quinn, a young man in his mid-twenties, a third-year law student, charming, cheery, and suffering from chronic pneumonia. He looked for and found the silver lining in his cloudy health. He called it California and went there. He found a job passing handbills door to door at a rate of $4 per thousand. He was a

He found a girl, Beth Temple. Tall, very. Owned by inheritance of El Cairo Bungalow Court in Hollywood, and alone. Dean found a home, bungalow number nine. And he found upon waking, a lump in his mattress. Ten hidden bank books belonging to Edgar Rine, the late former tenant, and representing a lump sum of $100,000.

Ten bank books, an old newspaper clipping, and an idea to find the rightful heir. And perhaps some spending money as well. Dean Quinn found a lot of things. He must have. Because someone is trying to kill him for it. The Heir Hunters will continue in a moment. The Heir Hunters

Oh, boy, oh, you're lucky. If you'd fallen into the deep end where there isn't a step to keep you from sinking, you'd be as dead as she is. But how? Walden. I remember going to see Clarence Walden. Now, why had I done that? Oh, yeah. Yeah, Edgar Ryan's bank books.

I had to find the missing heir. Clarence Walden's offer of a drawing account plus expenses was one I couldn't refuse. My lightning-quick mathematical mind calculated I stood to make $10,000 if Edgar Ryan's rightful heir could be located. I showed Walden what we had to go on for openers. What do you make of that?

Helen Martin, saving store, Willow Chapel Funeral Home. Any idea what year this was published or in what city? Not yet, but I intend to find out. Well, you did investigative work in the army, so go ahead. I'll leave you pretty much on your own. But there are a couple of shortcuts in this business that are handy to know. Like what?

Well, when you question anyone, forget the lost heir sort of thing. Best approach is to represent yourself from an insurance company. You got some money to pay out on a policy. Here, take these business cards. Clarence J. Walden and Associates, insurance representatives. Claims paid promptly. Well, I do have a small agency. The cards are legitimate.

Where do you want to start? Right away. All right. Pick up your first advance on Friday. I headed back to El Cairo without the slightest intention of cluing Beth in on anything. It's not that I'm greedy, but I figured even to just tell her might complicate matters. Shh.

I'm back. I'm in here, taking a bath. Anything new? I found a job. Not much, but it'll do till something better comes along. You got anything to eat?

You got a new job. That's wonderful. I'll be right out. Yeah, selling insurance. Small company. Selling insurance. That won't pay very much, will it? With a drawing account, I'll get along. Are you going to keep living here?

I may have to travel a lot so I don't want to waste money on rent. I'll finish cleaning out number nine and you can rent it again. With old Rhyme dead, there's no reason to continue his lease. Well, there's no reason you couldn't stay with me here. You're not going to be making all that much money in your spare time. Well, you can help out around here. Hmm.

I'll tell you what. Go ahead, rent out number nine. I'll stay with you, but I'll pay half the rent. You'll be money ahead, right? There's coffee in the kitchen. I'll put on my captain. I rapped with Beth over the coffee, bringing the conversation around to Edgar Ryan. The first time she'd ever met old Edgar was when she came down to Los Angeles for her dad's funeral.

Naturally, she was more definite about her own family when I asked. My folks were married in San Francisco and were living there when I was born. Dad wasn't a very good businessman. Finally, they just gave up. Dad moved down here and Mother stayed in San Francisco. I lived with her. Well, she worked until she died. By then, I was 18. What was your mother's maiden name before she married your father? Josephine. Oh, Tully. Everybody called her Josie.

Why? No reason.

You got anything else to eat besides fruit? Got a new deck here. The old ones seen better days. Yeah. Like I was saying, it's logical to assume that Etta Ryan Martin was Edgar Ryan's daughter. Her daughter, Helen Martin, has got to be Ryan's granddaughter. If she's still alive, Helen's a grown woman by now.

The Funeral Directors Association has no record beyond ten years of a Willow Chapel funeral home. Our only lead left is Saban's, the name of the store on the back of Etta's death notice. We have to locate the city it's in. Well, I'll send out a letter to all the manufacturers' associations, retailers' organizations, and credit reporting companies...

Maybe pull in something on savings, you know. But it'll take a while, though. Meanwhile, I'll talk to Alvin Hyatt. He's the administrator appointed by the court for Ryan's present estate. Keep plugging away, boy. Hard work pays off. Any chance on calling today, Friday? I will tomorrow. I may need some scratch.

Two red tens up already. Oh, this is hopeless. Let's see. Elvin Hyatt was an attorney with offices in a bank building on Broadway, downtown Los Angeles.

The tax assessor had turned over to him all of Ryan's possessions and papers to put through probate. Mr. Hyatt, my card. Oh, how you doing, Mr. Quinn? Please be seated. After you phoned, I dug up the file and had your Ryan in this folder. Oh, thanks.

Hmm. M.E.'s death certificate. Cause of death, stroke. Hey, a driver's license. Expired in 1916. Yeah, but it gives his birthday. February 17th, 1897. He wasn't married. Wasn't married? Well, it doesn't mean he was never married. He might have been divorced or a widower. Oh, sure, you're right.

State of Washington license. Seattle address. Thank you, Mr. Hyatt. Oh, um... Mr. Quinn? Yes? The folder? I dropped the car off at El Cairo...

Beth wasn't around, so I left the keys in her mailbox. Then I took a cab to the airport. Walden got pretty hot over the telephone when the airlines called to see if my expense account covered a flight to Seattle, but he said okay. I had copied the address off Ryan's old driver's license and had to follow it up. I took a taxi from the Seattle airport.

Ryan had lived in an old 1890 vintage big brown frame house. Three stories, each needed paint badly. Yellow and purple stained glass panel in the front door. Really grotesque. A tired-faced, harassed, middle-aged woman opened the door and stared at me with suspicion.

I knew the place was or had been a boarding house. I gave her my insurance routine and my card.

She gave me her name, Myrna Coyne, and invited me in. I don't recall any Edgar Ryan, but maybe my mother does. She's real old, but she's smart as a jaybird. Reads her Bible all day and doesn't forget much of anything, even though she's 87. My mother, Mrs. Daly, more likes to make up riddles about the holy book.

The mall? You got a visitor. Wants to know, baby, you remember a boarder from 15, 20 years back? Yes, Mrs. Daly. His name is Edgar Rhine. There's nothing wrong with my hearing. Sorry. Young man, who was the straightest man in the Bible? Who was the straightest man in the Bible?

Oh, you stumped me, Mrs. Daly. Tushif. Because Pharaoh made a ruler out of him. Genesis 41, 42, 3. Oh, golly, that's a good one, Mrs. Daly. You're really a panic.

Did you ever tell Edgar Ryan any of those? Young man, I talked about the good book to all our boarders. Do you remember Edgar Ryan? Well, I can't say as I do write off...

So many boarders come and gone. He would have been in his 50s then. He moved to California. Oh, the old sea captain. Sure he lived here. He got a pretty nice insurance settlement for his next of kin. Well, he kept pretty much to himself. But I remember one thing for sure. His name wasn't Rhine. It was Rankin. Edward A. Rankin. The End

So Ryan might have been a merchant marine. Big deal. That's a lot of expense money you spent to find out nothing. What I didn't find out is important. Before I left Seattle, I stopped at the library. Went through the city directories. Don't tell me. No Turner Street Martins, no Willow Chapel, no Saban. He wrecked. Also another stop. Maritime Union Local. Edgar Ryan didn't belong to it either.

I need this aggravation. Here, I brought you a present. Oh, where'd you get these cards? These are dirty pictures. Wait till you get a load of the Queen of Spades. I hitched back to El Cairo to rest up. This air hunting was tiring business. A few days later, in the morning... Hello? Hello?

Yes, he's here. Just a minute, please. It's for you. Good thing I got this long cord. Hello? Quinn? Walden here. We got something on those letters I sent out. Oh, yeah? Yeah, there used to be a Sabin's, a small chain of sporting goods stores in Chicago. Chicago? Folded sometime in the 50s. Who is it, Dean?

I made a plane reservation for you. Can you get to the airport by noon? Oh, wait a minute. Beth, can you run me to the airport?

I guess so. Oh, thanks, Gerlo. I won't be going long. Quinn. Yes, Mr. Walden. I've got a ride. What airlines? Got a pencil and paper? Okay. Okay. Lay it on me. Anaconda Airlines, flight number two to Salt Lake City. Utah? I thought you were going to Chicago. Transfer there to Thrift Skies Midwest Airlines, flight 111 to O'Hare.

When do I arrive? Next week? Very funny. I'm trying to keep expenses down. You land in Chicago at 9.18. Their time. Let me know what you find out. I'll be sure to call Collect. Goodbye, Chief. Goodbye.

Count the doors

of the Chevy Nova 6 2. The Chevy Nova 6 2-door coupe, the young happy one, with stripes if you order them, and that practical six-cylinder engine. Three. The Chevy Nova 6 hatchback, the door on the left, one on the right, and a big hatch in back.

Flip the back seat down, and you've got a Nova 6 that thinks it's a station wagon. The Chevy Nova 6 four-door sedan. Sincere from the start. The attractive arithmetic of four-door comfort and convenience plus six-cylinder economy. Can you hear me?

The numbers say the Nova 6 makes sense today. Hey! Chevrolet makes sense for America. I made it to Chicago and escaped, no thanks to either airline. The only two times I unbuckled my safety belt were when we landed. I came out of it okay, but the cab driver who drove me into the city asked a lot of questions about why my nose was bleeding.

I had a headache, too, but it was too cold to notice. The wind whipping off Lake Michigan reminded me how stupid I was to leave my heavy coat in California. The house at 119 Turner Street had four apartments, two up, two down. No name of Martin on the mailboxes, so I tried the first door. The little card in the door had just one word printed on it. Pasek. Pasek.

A big, tough, heavy-set guy somewhere in his late 60s opened the door. He hitched up his baggy trousers and gave me the evil eye. I handed him my card. Oh, I don't want no insurance. Oh, I'm not here to sell you any. But I'll give some money to Helen Martin if I find her. No family named Martin live here. They did, years ago. Who owns this place? Me. Ignace Parzyk.

They, uh, they got money coming. They sure do. No trouble, no lawsuit. Not from me. Just money. Come in. Sit down by table. I start out two beers.

How much ammonia you give Martins? Enough. Oh, thank you. You're welcome, Ford. It's a very attractive girl. Who is stellar. She be all right. No got good sense.

How do you like beer? Thirty above zero is hardly beer-drinking weather, but it's good. Yeah, plenty good. My brother makes it. Charlie Martin owe me plenty money. You pay me. No, I can't. I'll pay Helen Martin. She can pay you. Don't know where she live.

Martins move away. When? In war, Korea, 1952, 1953. We don't know where they go. Well, that had to be after Mrs. Martin died. Yeah. And you don't know where they moved? No, don't know.

Well, thanks for the boo. May I use your phone to call a cab to take me to the Drake? Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.

On the way to the hotel, I asked the cab driver if he could run me by the Willow Chapel Funeral Home. There wasn't much to it. Nothing at all, to be precise. They had gone under, so to speak, in 1955. It was pretty late that night as I sat in my hotel room with a bottle of scotch and a glass of cracked ice, trying to forget the ten grand commission that was apparently slipping from my grasp when... Who is it?

Hi there, sport. Stella? Yeah, I'm colder than hell. Let me in. Here, take my coat. I didn't have a chance to get all dolled up. Grandpa would have suspected something. Pasek? Your grandfather? Sure. How about offering me a drink, sport? How'd you know where to find me? Heard you call the taxi.

Thank you. I'd love a drink. Don't stand out there in the hall. Come on in. Hey, what are you doing? I'm lying on the bed. What does it look like? It looks like you're lying on the bed. Why did you come here, anyway? Pour me one? How old are you, Stella? Old enough. What do I owe this visit? My personal charm, or what? Here. Here's your drink.

You sure took long enough. Maybe I like you, Sport. Also, maybe we can help each other. That's two maybes. Today, Grandpa didn't tell you all he knew about Charlie. What do you mean? Now, you're going back to Hollywood, right? You take me with you.

Boy, oh, you didn't hear that. Stella, let me put it to you this way. You're an attractive girl, but you don't stand a chance out there. I don't want to be a movie star. I'll find a job, anything, just so I can get out of here away from Grandpa. All I want is money for a bus ticket, and I'll tell you what you want to do.

Well, fair is fair. And you let me stay here till I go? That's not fair. Okay. Try to find out for yourself about Anna Martin and Charlie and Helen Martin.

Where's my coat? No, wait a minute. I can't let you stay. If your grandpa and your father find you here, they'll tear me apart. I'm very breakable. I asked for my coat. Oh, look, Stella. In California, you're going to be on your own. I'll get you there, but that's all.

A real gentleman doesn't keep a lady waiting for her coat. All right, all right. All right, you can stay here till bus time in the morning. Now, about your grandpa and what he didn't say about Charlie Martin.

You understand, my grandpa didn't tell me this. But when my mama was alive, sometimes I'd hear her talking with my old man about Charlie Martin. Go ahead. When Grandpa Pasek was young, he was always chasing women. He liked pretty girls even after he was married. In those days, he had a good job on the railroad. So did Charlie Martin. The two of them were very, very good friends, so Grandpa rented Charlie and his wife an apartment upstairs.

Charlie was younger and even bigger than Grandpa. And Mrs. Martin was very pretty, and Ignace, the old lech, had his eye on her. Yeah, I get the picture. Well, maybe Edda was a good woman and didn't give in. Maybe not. Who knows? Yeah, keep going. Well, the Martins had a baby, a little girl they called Helen. Then Mrs. Martin got sick and died. Everybody was quite surprised because she was such a young woman. There was a big funeral at the... At the Willow Chapel Funeral Home.

Are you going to keep on interrupting or can I go on? I'm sorry. All right. So Charlie Martin came back to the apartment after the funeral and went out in the garage and beat the hell out of Grandpa. Nearly killed him. Remember that big scar? I remember. How about a refill? Finish first.

So Grandpa had to go to the hospital. When he got out, he came looking for Charlie. He wanted to get even, have him arrested, sue him or something. But he couldn't find him. Charlie was gone. Where did he go? Joined the army. Where's Charlie Martin now? Still in Korea, but he ain't coming back. Why not? Charlie Martin is dead. You are listening to Mutual's presentation of The Zero Hour.

Tomorrow at this time, rest your eyes and listen here to this week's continuing study in suspense, The Air Hunters. I'm Rod Serling, and this is The Zero Hour. Today's episode brought to you in part by Wrigley Gum, Cold Power, and Chevrolet. This is The Zero Hour on Mutual Radio. The Zero Hour

You have been listening to The Zero Hour, a presentation of the Mutual Broadcasting System in association with Hollywood Radio Theater. Heard every weekday at this time. Rod Serling is your host. Zero Hour is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. The Hollywood Radio Theater theme was played by Ferranti and Teicher and is now available on United Artists Records and Tapes. Hugh Douglas speaking.

Tune in tomorrow and once again. Rest your eyes and listen here. To the Zero Hour. This is the Mutual Radio Network.

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Listen up, folks. Time could be running out to lock in a historic yield at public.com. As of September 23rd, 2024, you can lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account. But here's the thing. The Federal Reserve just announced a big rate cut, and the plan is for more rate cuts this year and in 2025 as well. That's good news if you're looking to buy a home, but it might not be so good for the interest you earn on your cash.

So if you want to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high yield and investment grade bonds, you might want to act fast. The good news, it only takes a couple of minutes to sign up at public.com. And once you lock in your yield, you can earn regular interest payments even as rates decline. Lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. But hurry, your yield is not locked in until you invest.

Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info. I'm Rod Serling. You're listening to The Zero Hour. Rest your eyes. Exercise your imagination. The Zero Hour.

This week, Bill S. Ballinger's sound portrait of an unlikely hero. The Air Hunters. Starring Ken Berry. Joanne Worley.

And Edgar Bergen. In Elliot Lewis's production of The Zero Hour. The Mutual Broadcasting System presents The Zero Hour.

Sponsored in part by Holiday Inn, Quaker State Motor Oil, and the Ford Motor Company. This is the Zero Hour on Mutual Radio. Dean Quinn, young Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky, frolicking his way through life in search of the missing heir to a fortune. He enlists the financial assistance of Clarence J. Walden, a professional air hunter, in return for his services.

The search leads Dean Quinn first to Seattle and a dead end. Then to Chicago, to an address listed in the old newspaper clipping. To the apartment house owned by Ignaz Pasek. And face to face with Pasek's young granddaughter, Stella. They meet again at Dean's hotel under an odd set of circumstances. Stella wants something. Out. Bus fare to California and a place to hide overnight.

Dean wants no part of it, but he does want to find the missing heir. And what he finds is that now he's looking for one last link, the end of the family line, Helen Martin. He also finds himself half drowned in a swimming pool in Palm Springs with a dead body floating in the deep end. To put it in Dean Quinn's own words, why me? The heir hunters will continue after this word.

Am I drunk? I must be drunk. What happened here? Did I fall in and hit my head on the side of the pool? Or did someone, whoever killed her, did they try to frame me?

Come on, come on, Dean boy, put it together or your ticket is forever punched. Chicago. Remember Chicago? Remember Stella? Stella was in my room at the Drake Hotel in Chicago when she told me about Charlie Martin. Charlie Martin is dead. He got killed in Korea. What about the little girl, Helen? I don't know what happened to her.

Can I have that drink now? Yeah, help yourself. Who are you calling? Don't sweat, sweets. I'm not blowing the whistle on you. Hello?

This is the voice of Clarence J. Walden, president of Clarence J. Walden and Associates Insurance Representatives, where we pride ourselves in paying our claims promptly. Boss, wait. Our office is closed for the day, but we'll be back tomorrow morning when the big hand is on the 12 and the little one is at the 9.

Aren't you going to talk? Yeah, if he ever shuts up. If your call is urgent, please leave your name and number, and one of our representatives will get back to you as soon as possible. You will have exactly ten seconds after you hear the little beep. Boss, this is Dean. Charles Kermit Martin was killed in Korean War, Illinois Regiment. Call VA, check where allotment was sent for his daughter, Helen Martin. Also insurance. Call me at Drake Hotel. Wire money.

Sport, you sound like a disc jockey. Hey, what are you doing? Put your clothes back on. I'm getting into bed. I need my beauty rest. Well, yeah, I think I'll sack out on the couch here. Sweet dreams.

I slept lousy that night. I kept waking up, hearing buzzing in my ears like I used to when pneumonia was coming on. A couple of times I thought I felt something warm cuddling up to me, but I couldn't tell for sure. It might have been just a vivid hallucination. In the morning I had a brute of a headache. My skin was crawling and I had a pretty good case of cotton mouth. Worst of all, I was in the bed. Stella was up and dressed.

Stella, how did I get here? I mean, in the bed. I don't know. Did I get up? I mean, we didn't... You kept kicking around saying you were cold. Well, I was. What time is it? Five o'clock. I'm bored. Five o'clock?

You're gonna fall out of bed if you keep jumping around. Oh, uh, some guy called while you were sleeping. I wrote it down. Walden called? You don't have to yell. Lay down. He said the name he wanted was Mrs. Vivian Clay, Route 1, Towan, Illinois. He also said he wasn't underwriting no playing around with girls. Oh, I'm going back to sleep.

Maybe I'll get lucky and wake up dead. Boy, you're no fun. But I woke up alive the next morning. I just felt dead. I rented a car and Stella drove me to see Vivian Clay in Towan, a tiny town about 60 miles outside of Chicago. Hey, Deanie. Nice farm. Is this the place? Mailbox says so. Then turn in.

Vivian Clay was a gray-haired, pleasant woman with firm, regular features. She served us hot tea, which helped me listen as she explained that Helen Martin was her niece, whom she raised when her brother, Charlie Martin, died in Korea.

She knew very little about Etta Rine Martin other than that she was Helen's mother. This here is a picture of Helen taken when she graduated high school. Very pretty girl. That's a pretty old picture. Mrs. Clay, how old is Helen now? Well, uh, 26. 26.

Helen travels a lot. After high school, she went to Northwestern. We saved her dad's army insurance. Then she went to study art in that Paris of Rome. Later, she came back to New York and worked as one of them models. Where is she now? California.

Pardon? My head's a little clogged. Did you say California? Yes, near Los Angeles. Is there any place I can write her? Why, yes. She has a post office box in that North Hollywood. I don't remember leaving Vivian Clay or her farm or driving back to Chicago or anything.

I don't even know where or when I lost Stella Pasek. I was coughing and sneezing, dizzy, totally spaced out. I just wanted to get back to Beth. Somehow I did. Beth called a doctor, and he came and did his thing for four days. On the fifth day, my lungs breathed air again, and I sat up in Beth's king-size bed, ready for action. How are you feeling? Like 10,000 bucks. Girl, oh, am I glad to see you.

I'll get it. Yes? What bungalow does Mr. Dean Quinn live in? This one. Is he expecting you? Sort of. I'm a very good friend of his and he asked me to visit. Beth! Well, why don't you come in? Any friend of Dean's is a friend of mine. Oh, why me?

Beth, this is Stella Passick, an acquaintance. Stella, Beth Temple. You don't look so good, Deanie. I've been sick, and I think I'm getting a relapse. Lucky I didn't catch you cold when you insisted I stay with you in that crummy hotel.

What crummy hotel? Beth, please. Do you have a place to stay, dear? Not yet. I have a nice little bungalow, number nine, only $80 a month. It would make it awfully convenient for Beanie. And you don't have any other friends here, and, well, we could be friends, couldn't we? Oh, yes. I feel sick. Yeah. Let's get you settled. Uh, Stella, is it...

I can always tell when I'm not being appreciated. So I got up and left the El Cairo. I hitched over to Universal City to see Walden and to bring him up to date. He was delighted to see me.

Look at those expenses. It's nothing to get uptight about, Mr. Walden. We got an address for Helen Martin. Post office box, North Hollywood. Post office won't give you her home address. They don't give out that information except to the FBI or the IRS. You aren't either of them. I know that. I wrote her a letter and I mailed it to the box number. I just need a little more time until she picks it up.

All right, Quinn. You better find Helen Martin soon. I'm in business to find fortunes, not spend them. That evening when I got back to the bungalow, things had nearly returned to normal. Beth mixed up vodka martinis and brought out an old shoebox full of photographs. There were a lot of her as a small girl and some of her mother, Josie, who really was a fox, like she said.

There was only one of her father, a man you couldn't pick out in a small crowd if you'd seen him a hundred times. But in the hodgepodge of snapshots was a picture of Edgar Ryan. He was in a photo with two other men, all of them grinning like idiots into the camera. From their clothes, I guessed it was taken around 1925.

That one. With the sailor's jacket and derby. He's Edgar Ryan? That's him. Of course, when I saw him, he didn't look much like that. Yeah, 50 years in between can change a man. Who are the two guys with him? I don't know. On the back, somebody wrote Ed, Hack, and Tony. Well, Ed's obviously Edgar Ryan. Have you any idea who Hack and Tony are? Not the slightest.

Where'd the picture come from? Dad's things. I don't know how it got there, and Dad's name wasn't Hacker Tony. It was William Temple. Yeah. You ready for another drink? Don't rush. We're having a guest for dinner. Who? Stella. It seemed that the sweet, shy little country girl from the mecca of the corn country had done right well for herself.

Stella was now a cigarette girl at the Yodel-a-Go-Go, a rock joint on the Sunset Strip. It was enough to make a man give up smoking. Seth, hello. Stella, darling. Oh, hello, Dean. You here?

Beth, isn't my job simply wonderful? Just perfect. I'll get the drink so we can toast to your success. Well, will it make me sicky? I never had a drink till I met Dean. Hope I can hold it. I don't believe it.

Be back in a minute. Dean, will you come over to my place later? Uh, what do you hear from Chicago, kid? You'll be sorry. Where are you going? Just to the door for some air. I could have written a letter to dear Abby that would have given her a mental block.

Anyway, a few days later, a tall, slender, beautiful blonde showed up at the post office and picked up my letter. I could tell it was the one I'd sent by the red envelope. She was driving away in a silver, chrome-plated monster as I arrived to start my daily stakeout. But I got her license number, which Walden could check out through the Department of Motor Vehicles.

This new development encouraged him enough to write to Cook County, Illinois for a copy of Helen Martin's birth certificate to prove she was the legitimate heir of Edgar Rine. I also convinced him that it was worth a gamble for me to go to San Francisco and see what the Maritime Union's main office had on Edgar Rine. Not enough of a gamble, however, to buy me plane fare. Beth was kind enough to allow me the use of her car. Good old girl-o.

At the Maritime Union, a nice old lady named Miss Morrissey told me she'd been working there ever since she got out of business college, which I figured was about the time somebody invented the typewriter. She went through a lot of dusty old cardboard files. Aha! Here it is.

Is this what you want? Name, Edgar A. Rhine. Citizen, USA. Born March 13th, 1897. Place of birth, Morro Bay, California. Married? No. I'm guessing he was divorced. No. It would say if he was a divorced man. Oh, there must be some mistake. I know for a fact that Edgar Rhine was a family man.

Who knows better, him or you? So with Miss Morrissey's information, the bottom fell out again. If old Edgar Rind had never married, he couldn't have any direct heirs. This had come up before, so I brushed it off and kept looking for Helen Martin.

There had to be a connection. There were just too many unexplained coincidences otherwise. After I left the union office, I went over to the Daily Tribune. I placed a classified ad under personals. It read, "Edgar A. Reward. Anyone having known him, write to Mr. Dean Quinn, care of Clarence J. Walden and Associates, Universal City, California."

I drove like crazy to get back to L.A., but I had to lay over in Santa Maria thanks to a bad cheeseburger. When I finally cruised Walden, he had all the poop on the silver monster I'd seen at the post office. It was registered to Florencia Monte, Acacia Drive, Brentwood. I didn't waste any time getting there.

A butler, sporting a bit of a belly and a broken nose, informed me that no Helen Martin was there, ever had been, or was ever expected to be. But after some diplomatic negotiation on my part, he agreed to escort me to see Miss Monty, who did indeed live there, and at that point in time was sunning herself out by the swimming pool.

It was the same blonde, all right. She was stretched out on the diving board, wearing a sliver of a bikini, tanning herself, head cradled in her arms. I couldn't see her face. Without moving her head, she said, What do you want? Are you Helen Martin? No. You are Florencia Monti? Via, please.

You know Helen Martin? Yes. I know her, but I don't like to feel responsible for her. I keep a post office box in the valley for my own personal use.

With a house full of servants, one has very little privacy. Yeah, I know what you mean. Every letter that comes, all my own special little secrets. Anyway, I gave Helen permission to use my post office box. Don't you forward her mail? Yes, certainly. Whenever she writes to tell me where she is, I...

I haven't heard from her in over a year. Last time, where from? Hong Kong, I think, or some such place. She travels, buys, imports clothes. How long have you known Helen Martin? Oh, years. Six, perhaps, or seven. I met her when she was studying in Paris. My family keeps a place there, although they live in Rome. And you met again here in California? Something like that. We've kept in touch.

Do you have Helen's last forwarding address? Someplace around. I'll have to look for it. If I find it, I'll let you know. Yeah, do that. I'll leave my card. I'll write down another number where I can be reached. Oh, you are an insurance man. I didn't know that. Yeah, yeah. Claims paid promptly. It says right there. I hope I'll be hearing from you, Miss Monty. Via...

See ya. Zia. After meeting with Florencia Monti, I paid a visit to the bank where Walden did his business. I asked Tilford Jones, one of the vice presidents, to give me a Dun & Bradstreet report on Florencia Monti. He told me that she was triple A1, top credit rating, which came as no surprise after I'd peeped her palace. Jones also gave me the lowdown on her personal background when I asked for it.

Zia Monti was a legal representative with power of attorney for Roma Fiducia, an Italian holding company under a Swiss charter. Jones explained that the company was primarily an investment house and did very little trading in stocks and bonds, all of which meant nothing to me.

Zia was working here under the supervision of her home office, and she was very likely a blood relative of one of the company's high executives. A lot of the old European firms still did business in the old-fashioned way, keeping it in the family. I thanked Jones for the information, and while I still had use of Beth's car, drove back to Universal City to see if Walden had anything further for me.

So, what's the skinny on the Mountie woman? Well, she's above board, boss, but she's not Helen Martin. Didn't expect she would be. Don't worry, Mr. Walden. Something has to break soon. I think Helen Martin is in China. China? China?

Why don't you take a break, Quinn? Go home. Go back to law school. Oh, Rome wasn't built in a day, you know. What's that got to do with Helen Martin? Oh, I don't know. She studied there. Quinn, you're a nice kid. I like you. Let's leave it at that. Oh, by the way, a letter came for you. And in the future, you won't use this address. It's from San Francisco. Dear sir...

Read your ad in the San Francisco Tribune regarding Edgar Ryan. Used to know a man by that name once. Don't know if he's the same one you mean. Note your address is Los Angeles. My ship will make San Pedro on the 19th and sail early the morning of the 20th. You can look me up while I am there. Yours truly, Albert Kress, 2nd Officer, S.S. McAllister. The 19th.

But that's today. Finally, your dumbness will kill you if you're not careful. Because you'll go charging off one last time into someone with a cannon in his fist who's waiting just for you. Had I but known. Tomorrow at this time, rest your eyes and listen here to this week's continuing study in suspense, The Air Hunters.

I'm Rod Serling, and this is The Zero Hour. Today's episode brought to you in part by Holiday Inn's Quaker State Motor Oil and Ford Motor Company. This is The Zero Hour on Mutual Radio. You have been listening to The Zero Hour, a presentation of the Mutual Broadcasting System in association with Hollywood Radio Theater. Heard every weekday at this time. Rod Serling is your host.

Zero Hour is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. The Hollywood Radio Theater theme was played by Ferranti and Teicher and is now available on United Artists Records and Tapes. Hugh Douglas speaking. Tune in tomorrow and once again, rest your eyes and listen here to The Zero Hour. This is the Mutual Radio Network.

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Heads up, folks. Interest rates are falling. But as of September 23rd, 2024, you can still lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. That's a pretty big deal because when rates drop, so can the interest you earn on your cash. A bond account allows you to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high-yield and investment-grade corporate bonds.

So while other people are watching their returns shrink, you can sit back with regular interest payments.

But you might want to act fast because your yield is not locked in until you invest. The good news, it only takes a couple of minutes to sign up at public.com. Lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account only at public.com. Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info.

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♪♪♪

Heads up, folks. Interest rates are falling. But as of September 23rd, 2024, you can still lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. That's a pretty big deal because when rates drop, so can the interest you earn on your cash. A bond account allows you to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high-yield and investment-grade corporate bonds.

So while other people are watching their returns shrink, you can sit back with regular interest payments. But you might want to act fast because your yield is not locked in until you invest. The good news, it only takes a couple of minutes to sign up at public.com. Lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account only at public.com.

Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info. I'm Rod Serling. You're listening to The Zero Hour. Rest your eyes. Exercise your imagination. ♪

This week, Bill S. Ballinger's sound portrait of an unlikely hero. The Air Hunters. Starring Ken Berry. Joanne Worley. And Edgar Bergen.

In Elliot Lewis's production of The Zero Hour. The Mutual Broadcasting System presents The Zero Hour. Sponsored in part by Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, the makers of Delco batteries and Bayer aspirin. This is The Zero Hour on Mutual Radio. The Zero Hour.

Dean Quinn has been trying to locate Helen Martin, missing heiress to a hidden fortune. He's been fishing for clues, but to this point has caught only a good case of pneumonia. He meets Virginia Clay, Helen Martin's aunt, who sends him back to California into a post office box.

Dean Quinn back in California, back to his girl, Beth Temple, and into the fire, brought upon by the arrival of the irrepressible Stella Pasek from Chicago. But it's the business of air hunting that Dean Quinn has chosen, so he follows the trail north to San Francisco, then back to Los Angeles, to the mansion of the young and beautiful, mysterious Florencia Monti, but still not a trace of Ellen Martin.

He has no idea where or even who she is. Nor, for that matter, does he know exactly how he got to where he is, in a swimming pool, half-drowned and bleeding, and not alone. His company is dead, murdered. Dean Quinn wants to know, in a word, why. The Air Hunters resumes after this message. ♪♪

I pulled myself out of the pool and staggered into the living room. It was a mess. A disaster area. It looked worse than my head felt.

Whoever had bopped me and killed her. Come on, boy, remember it all or they'll get you for sure. Water. The harbor. Water. What am I thinking of? The McAllister. I went to the pier to talk to Albert Kress about Edgar Ryan. Sure, I knew Edgar Ryan.

often wondered what happened to him last song maybe 15 years ago he was second engineer aboard the Sulu seas tanker older than Noah's Ark I was honored to as an AB it more coffee no no thanks mr. Chris well we picked up a cargo of crude in the Persian Gulf sailed up the Red Sea to the med played over in Istanbul a couple of days and sailed back to the States

We got held up at customs when we berthed in Jersey. Ship was swarming with treasury men. They'd been tipped off that we'd picked up some junk in Turkey.

Point I'm making, Ryan left a ship there in Jersey. What was odd was he'd signed on from the West Coast. You mean he deserted? No, no, he just drew his pay and walked off. Didn't say goodbye or go to hell. I drove back to face Walden again. I thought maybe what Cress had told me might perk him up a little. So what?

Well, I don't think old Ryan was in on the smuggling from the start, but he knew that engine room and everything in it. He found where the stuff was hidden, quit the ship, and walked off with a couple of tobacco tins of pure morphine. I won't condone that. $100,000 from dope, salted away little bank accounts under different names...

The government will attach those accounts when they're revealed in probate. No, they won't. They'd only be guessing. There's absolutely no proof. Besides, there's a statute of limitations. I'm not going to argue with you, Quinn. You got me into this, but I'm getting out now. You can't. We've got a contract for a year. Oh, have we? There's your contract. Want to sue me? No.

So I was canned. On my way out of Walden's office, I asked Nora, his secretary, to refer any telephone calls for me to El Cairo Court. Flat broke again and really down. I went back to Betts.

Hello, honey. Stella and I have been out shopping. Well, how'd it go at the office today? Oh, great. If you dig getting fired. Oh, Dean. Well, what are you going to do? I don't know. I guess I could go back to passing out handbills. Hey, maybe I could fix you up with a job. One of the boys at the club quit last night. A job doing what? Parking cars. How much? You know, I've been making pretty good bread. You'll do it. Thank you.

So I took it. That night, Beth drove Stella and me to work at the Yodel-a-Go-Go. It had no parking lot of its own. Steep hills above and steep hills below. I could tell right off it was going to be tough sledding.

Stella introduced me to a young dude in a red t-shirt and tight white stretch pants. Kilroy, this here's my very own first cousin, Bean. Stella, I don't think that's... Bean's the job for real bad, and right away I thought of you, Kilroy. You thought about me? Yeah, he's an awful good driver, and I think you were just so sweet, you, uh, you know what I mean?

How could Kilroy say no? He couldn't say anything at all with his eyes popping out watching Stella slink into the club. Then the suckers began arriving and we, the real suckers, started parking cars. We stashed them all up and down the side streets on both sides of Sunset, anywhere within five blocks. Then we had to whip back to the club on a dead run for the next one. By the time the club closed, there was a basket case. This wasn't a job for someone with chronic pneumonia.

Back at El Cairo, I found Beth asleep on the couch. She left me a note explaining why. Dear Chaser, a girl named Nora called to leave a message for you that another girl named Zia wants you to call her in the morning. I think you should know that this is not an answering service and you might think about looking for new pastures to graze in.

Let sleeping giants lie. Beth. I met Zia for lunch at the Barrier Reef, a little restaurant on the beach near Malibu. Seems she was interested in buying a paid-up insurance annuity.

Could you sell me one? Sure, I guess so. How large an annuity? Oh, $250,000. $250,000? I want one that will pay me $10,000 a year for the rest of my life. Yes, sure, of course. I'll work out the details.

I didn't tell Zia I wasn't working for Walden any longer because knowing Walden, I knew he wouldn't turn down the kind of business I had in my pocket. My commission would be somewhere around $7,500, exclusive of what Walden made for overriding it. I swaggered into his office and we drew up another contract. Three days later, I called Zia at home.

I must talk to you about the project again. You haven't changed your mind. I don't want to discuss it over the phone. If you could meet me this afternoon, why not drive with me to Palm Springs? We can talk on the way. Boy, oh, this is the way to do business. I've never been out this way before. About that annuity, Dean, I want it in the name of Constance Niles.

I thought it was for you. Of course it's for me. I simply want it in another name. Is it so wicked to want to save taxes? Well, no, but I doubt the insurance company will issue to a false name. And internal revenue has laws, too. All right. But I think I can convince you. If not, perhaps I'll have to cancel the policy. Oh.

♪

Just checking out the way Zia was built, I didn't need much coaxing. The hideaway was several miles outside of Palm Springs. A sprawling desert adobe, the same color as the sand surrounding it. The place was closed up. No servants were there or anybody. The small cottage, as she called it, was actually a vast ranch house, complete with air conditioning. Zia opened a bottle of champagne and another of brandy and mixed French 75s.

We sat on the patio beside the swimming pool watching the mysterious blue desert night come down. The moon was a huge incandescent globe that pulverized the heavens with powdered light. The whole scene was totally surreal. I couldn't believe what was happening. Boy, oh, she was really some tomato.

By the time we left Palm Springs for Los Angeles the next day, Zia had me convinced. Convinced that if I didn't change the name on the annuity to Constance Niles, I'd lose the sale and never see her again. And I didn't intend to do either.

Hi, I'm back. And just in time. Kilroy says you're fired if you don't show up tonight. And after all the humiliation I had to go through to get you the job. I know, dear. Hey, since when have you ladies decided to run my life for me? From now on, I am running my own. I'll pack my stuff and get out.

Where are you going? The Century Plaza? And how much money you got? He doesn't have ten dollars. And he'll spend that out chasing girls. It's a good thing he's got you, Beth, to keep an eye on him.

Dean, why don't you move back into number nine? Stella can move in with me. Oh, please. Knock it off. So I moved into number nine and Stella started camping with Beth. Until my insurance commission came through, I still needed the tips from the parking lot.

There was a lousy band playing that night and business was slow, so I didn't make much money, but at least I kept most of my sweat inside my body. Still got a ride from that same guy as last time, but in a different car. A shiny new domestic model, about a half a block long, and Kilroy was plenty teed off. Hey, D, looky here. I guess I fixed that creep. Take a look.

Took it right out of his glove compartment. That's all right. That's a gun. Yeah. Real pretty, ain't it? Yaffe Cush don't go into those cheap stuff. Yaffe Cush? Yeah, the jerk driving Stella home big time. Big shot. Syndicate.

This has got to be worth at least 50 bucks. Are you out of your mind? You stole a gun from him? He'll come back looking for it. Nah, he's got plenty more. Hey, D, be on time tomorrow now, will you? Hey, Kilroy, look at that broad. Where? Over there, across the street. I don't see it, old boy. Oh, you missed her. She's gone now. Well, see you tomorrow. Yeah. Yeah.

I couldn't let Kilroy keep that gun. He was an all right guy and I didn't want to see him getting snuffed for something so dumb. So while he was looking across the street, I lifted the gun from his saddlebag. After he was gone, I put it in a paper bag and I hid it in the bushes by the club. Let's see, that was Friday night. I called in sick on Saturday and Sunday the club's closed. He

I was in bungalow nine about 10:30 Sunday night washing out my drip-dry shirt when Yeah

Hi, Sport. Stella? Out. Out! Gee, it's nice to be alone at last. Beth's gone to a movie. Stella, go back to Beth's place. You know what she'd think if she found you here. Oh, boy, wouldn't I hurt Beth? We're dear friends. But you did break up with her, didn't you? Do you have anything cooking on the stove? No. Why? Well, in that case, Beth's bungalow is on fire. ♪♪

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I guess it was the most excitement they'd had in the neighborhood for some time. All those sirens and flashing red lights brought people together who hadn't seen each other in years. Actually, the fire wasn't that bad. The cops seemed to think the blaze was a cover-up for something else. Maybe robbery. They noted that the furniture was smashed and the drawers emptied out. As far as Stella and I could see, nothing was missing, so they wrote it up as a stock case of teenage vandalism.

After they'd gone, does Yaffe Cush know you live here? Of course not. Then how have you been getting home? On a magic carpet? For your information, Mr. Cush is a gentleman, which is more than I can say for you. He calls me a cab whenever I want to come home. It never occurred to you he might own the cab company? Mr. Cush is in the machine business, Mr. Smarty. Sure he is. Slot machines, vending machines, political machines. Oh, I hate you. Well, hate me later. Help me clean up this mess before Beth gets home.

I didn't come right out and say to Stella that I thought Yaffe Cush had been there looking for his missing gun and tried to burn the place down when he couldn't find it. The next day, I went to see Walden about any late developments in the Florencia Monti-Constance Niles deal. Ah, Quinn, come in. Back to the old drawing board, I see. I just can't seem to give it up or beat the damn thing. You ever consider cheating? No.

Oh, uh, there's a letter for you. It's from Chicago. It's a photostat of Etta Rhine's and Charlie Martin's marriage license. Hmm. Still plugging away, eh, Quinn? Another bummer. Etta Rhine's father was Henry Rhine. So if, and I don't even know if I can find out, if Henry Rhine and Edgar Rhine were brothers...

That would make Helen Martin, wherever she is, Edgar's grandniece, not his granddaughter. So what? We're off the Ryan case anyway. Yeah. Well, there's still my insurance commission. Oh.

Hello? Zia, it's Mia. Clean Dean. It's all set. Wonderful. I'll be out by Palm Springs tomorrow. What do you say we meet at the hideaway? Eight o'clock? We'll have a private little party in honor of the event. Boy, oh, that sounds terrific. I'll bring the papers. I'll bring the money. $250,000 in cash.

Cash? What's wrong with a cashier's check? It'll be safe. I'll keep it under lock and key in my cosmetics box in the trunk of the car. Besides, a cashier's check would involve a bank, and I don't see where it's any of their business. Do you? Well, no. No, I guess you're right. See you at eight. Bye now. Bye.

The next morning, I rented a car and drove all over town to make sure everything was in perfect running condition. At six o'clock, I couldn't sit any longer. I made sure I had the papers, and... Oh, no! Oh, no!

No, why now? Why me? Want me to start? No. Well, what are you going to do? I don't know. I can't kill myself without fumes. You can use my car. I won't need it tonight.

Oh, girl, oh, you'd do that for me? I was almost to the freeway when I thought of something. Bringing all that cash back with me could be dangerous. So I turned up Wilcox and headed toward Sunset in the Strip. Kilroy wasn't there yet, so nobody recognized me when I went looking in the bushes. I found the paper bag with Yaffe's gun, then headed out for Palm Springs. A bit late, but on my way.

I thought I could make up some lost time out on the open road, but I made a wrong turn and I was halfway to Indio before a gas station attendant straightened me out.

It was almost 9.30 when I made the turn onto the long dirt road. I threaded my set of wheels into the five-car garage attached to the house. The garage was empty except for the stodgy, square, conservative coupe she had driven down in. I parked beside it and got out. As I walked past the car, I remembered the cosmetics case locked in the trunk. Pretty baby.

Two hundred and fifty thousand bucks? I'll take real good care of you.

Um, hello? Zia, it's Mia! I walked from the garage around the house to the main entrance. The wind was up. I dodged a tumbleweed that blew across the lawn. The desert cools off fast at night.

I hoped it hadn't cooled her off towards me. The lights were on in the living room, so she was here like she'd promised. I punched the doorbell.

I stood there quite a while, but no one answered. I was getting impatient, both for Zia and my commission. 33% of nothing is nothing. I knocked on the door, just one little rap, and it swung open. Anyone here? At ease, dry your tears. Dean's here. Hello, anyone home?

The living room was empty. Also the dining room, the library, sun rooms, kitchen, and the game room. The whole joint was deserted. I opened the sliding glass door and stepped outside to the patio and pool. The outdoor lights were off and it was plenty dark. Almost concealed in the darkness by the side of the pool nearest to me, something was bobbing in the water. I stepped to the edge of the pool to take a better look.

Oh... Oh, Boyo... Zia stared up at me from the water. Her eyes and her mouth were wide open and her hair was matted to the side of her head. Except for the features of her face and the curled fingers of one outstretched hand, her body was suspended a few inches beneath the surface.

I didn't have a chance to see any more because... Without warning, my arms were pinned behind me and some ape had his hands around my throat. There were two of them, but I couldn't see who they were. Then I got zapped upside my head. Ow! Like I told you, if you're not careful, you can get killed.

You are listening to Mutual's presentation of The Zero Hour. Tomorrow at this time, rest your eyes and listen here to this week's continuing study in suspense, The Air Hunters. I'm Rod Serling, and this is The Zero Hour. Today's episode brought to you in part by Metropolitan Life Insurance, Delta Batteries, and Bayer Aspirin. This is The Zero Hour on Mutual Radio. The Zero Hour.

You have been listening to The Zero Hour, a presentation of the Mutual Broadcasting System in association with Hollywood Radio Theater. Heard every weekday at this time. Rod Serling is your host. Zero Hour is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. The Hollywood Radio Theater theme was played by Ferranti and Teicher and is now available on United Artists Records and Tapes. Hugh Douglas speaking.

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♪♪♪

Listen up, folks. Time could be running out to lock in a historic yield at public.com. As of September 23rd, 2024, you can lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account. But here's the thing. The Federal Reserve just announced a big rate cut, and the plan is for more rate cuts this year and in 2025 as well. That's good news if you're looking to buy a home, but it might not be so good for the interest you earn on your cash.

So if you want to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high yield and investment grade bonds, you might want to act fast. The good news, it only takes a couple of minutes to sign up at public.com. And once you lock in your yield, you can earn regular interest payments even as rates decline. Lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. But hurry, your yield is not locked in until you invest.

Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info. I'm Rod Serling. You're listening to The Zero Hour. ♪♪ Rest your eyes. ♪♪ Exercise your imagination. ♪♪

This week, Bill S. Ballinger's sound portrait of an unlikely hero. The Air Hunters. Starring Ken Berry. Joanne Worley. And Edgar Bergen.

In Elliot Lewis's production of The Zero Hour. The Mutual Broadcasting System presents The Zero Hour. Sponsored in part by State Farm Insurance, Holiday Inns, and the makers of V8 Juice. This is The Zero Hour on Mutual Radio. The Zero Hour.

Dean Quinn first left New York for California for his health. He hadn't any. But once out west, he found other reasons to stay. One, Beth Temple. Girl, though, to Dean. Two, his discovery of a hidden fortune salted away, waiting to be claimed. And three, the search to find Helen Martin, the rightful heir to the money.

If it were only as simple as 1-2-3 for Dean Quinn. He's found the source of the money to have been smuggled drugs. He alone knows the location of a gun stolen from Yaffe Kush, a well-known underworld figure. And he made a deal to sell an insurance policy to a wealthy, beautiful foreign woman named Florencia Monte. They would have made it her desert retreat in Palm Springs.

What Dean Quinn didn't plan on was the fact that when he got there, she'd be dead. Nor did he expect someone would knock him unconscious and throw him in the swimming pool to drown. Whatever happened to Helen Martin? What's going to happen to Dean Quinn? The conclusion of The Air Hunters follows after this word. The Air Hunters

Zia. Zia, honey. Speak to me. Oh, what am I doing? She's dead. I gotta get out of here. Somebody tried to kill me. Why me? Why try to murder good old Dean Quinn? What?

Oh, boy, oh. If the cops find me here with a place looking like this and see a deep sixth in the pool and look like... like I did it, they'd say I killed her. Of course, that's the frame. I'm supposed to have robbed her, killed her, and then fallen in and drowned. Why me? Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Am I leaving anything behind? What did they bring with me? Papers? Insurance?

Yeah, yeah, I got him. A little wet, but... Boy, I'll catch pneumonia for sure. There must be a rag or something in the car I can dry my hair with. Oh, no. The Alky Kush's gun. I gotta get rid of it. There. That takes care of that. I gotta get out of here. On the highway heading back to L.A., I was swerving from side to side. I could barely see the road.

But somehow I made it back to the El Cairo. I must have because I came to, stretched out on the overstuffed sofa covered with warm blankets and supporting an ice bag on my aching skull. Beth was watching me anxiously. She tried to smile but wasn't very successful. Dean? Oh, Gerlo...

What time is it? Not quite three. In the morning. How did I get here?

Where's your car? Lie back. Now, I thought you'd had an accident. The car's fine. I've got to hide it. Hide it? What for? What happened? Did you run someone over with the car? Jeannie! What happened to your head? You look awful. Thanks. I thought I'd changed my hairstyle. Widened apart. Stella, did you see Yaffe Cush at the club tonight? Was he around? No. Did he beat you up? I don't know. I'm...

I'm not sure. Dean, tell me what happened with the car. I'll tell you after I move it. No, you stay put. You're in no condition to drive. I'll move it. Where do you want it? Well, see if there's a space in the bushes.

Well, that's dumb. Go on, move it. Do as he says, Stella dear. Well, all right. Did the killers take the money? I don't know. I really don't. I was too scared to even think about it. I didn't even look in her car. Are you going to the police? I guess. Tell them what I know. Oh, it was first I ought to see Walden. They might go looking for him. Well, you'll find him at this time of night. Yeah. I guess I'll wait till morning.

You got any aspirin? Walden was pretty upset when I told him. Upset, angry, evasive, and frightened. I wash my hands of the whole thing, understand?

But, uh, Dean, uh, try to make it as easy on me in the office, uh, will you? I won't promise. It's my neck. Now, if the police think I'm broke, uh, bum, they'll give me a hard time. But if you back me up and say that I work for you legitimately...

Well, I'll be careful what I say. I'll do it. I'll do it. Outside Walden's office was one of those little coin boxes that sell newspapers. The late morning edition carried the headline...

foreign beauty slain in pool not much about Zia the medical examiner hadn't determined as yet if she died by strangulation or drowning but he set the time of death at approximately 8 p.m. there were signs of a fight and an unidentified gun had been found outside the house

Nothing stolen from the house and nothing about finding 250 grand in the car. I decided to go back to Beth's and have a drink. Hold it. He just walked in. Dean, you're wanted on the phone. Great timing. Hello. This is Quinn. Who is this? Ain't important to know, but what I got to say is... You listening? I'm listening. You've been lucky, but don't push it too far.

Who, me? I just blew into town. Oh, I know. I've been reading the papers. I see where maybe you ain't talked to anyone yet, which is a very smart thing to do, not to talk to anybody about your swimming partner. But the cops will be looking for me. My fingerprints are all over the place. I don't want to have to do nothing drastic if I can help it. Too much of a coincidence, you know?

Yes, I know. So here's what you do. You tell the cops you arrived at the house at four in the afternoon. You were there just long enough to get her to sign a floater insurance policy. They already found an airplane ticket in her purse for Hawaii in points west good for next week. She needed a policy to protect her stuff on the trip. A guy named Herman Smender drove you down.

I don't know any Herman Spender. You do now. Besides, another guy driving an Ace laundry truck saw you. You're out of the jam, Quinn. There's no sweat. Maybe I ought to just leave town. I don't like it here much anyway. Oh, you're stupid. You're stupid, Quinn. If the cops don't find you, I do. And you wouldn't want anything to happen to that big, gorgeous redhead, would you?

You wouldn't. I had a strong hunch the phone call was from Yaffe Cush. He could have gotten Beth's number when he came by and set the fire. Some boy scout he'd make. Well, if it was Cush, he could rip off Beth and me whenever he wanted. We were sitting ducks. Unless there was some way I could convince him that he needed us around.

After some of her usual hemming and hawing, Stella gave me Kush's home address. An apartment on Wilshire. A houseboy let me into the Wilshire apartment. A very plush pad, indeed. Yaffe Kush and two men were playing gin. Well, look who's here. Mark Spitz. Mr. Kush? Sir?

Did you phone me this morning? Me? Phone you? I think you should know that I've written out a complete report. Everything I know about Zia Monty's murder. A person you don't know will turn it over to the sheriff if anything happens to me or Beth Temple. Why are you telling me? It's none of my business. Hey, you know, I got a hunch, though. You keep your nose clean, nothing's going to happen to you or your girlfriend.

Say, do you play bridge? Sometimes. I'm not very good. Hey, you guys, we got a fourth for bridge. Quinn, meet Herman Spender. He's the one with the red face. The other one is Frankie Amador. He owns Ace Laundry Company. Sit down. I'd really like to stay, but I shouldn't be here after 8 o'clock. Someone who knows where I am might start wondering. Are you bluffing? Maybe not. All right, Quinn. Speed it.

I don't want to see your mug in here again.

Dean, the news is on TV. Okay, coming. This is Ken Jones with the late night news. With us is Riverside County Sheriff Richard Durham, who will give us the latest developments concerning the murder of Lorenzo Amante in Palm Springs. Sheriff, has the gun found at the scene of the murder been identified yet? Not yet, Ken. But we've had several other important news breaks. We located a safety deposit box in Palm Springs under Ms. Amante's name and got a court order to open it.

Inside it, we found three United States passports... ...in the names of Ramona Randa, Constance Niles, and Helen Martin. Helen Martin. I knew it. But non por Florencia Monte? Uh, no. We have determined that two of them were forgeries. The Helen Martin passport is authentic. Is it your theory, Sheriff, that Florencia was using these other names as an alias? You better believe she was. Well, we can't prove it yet. However, we also found two paid-up annuities, each for $250,000...

One is made out to Helen Martin, the other to Ramona Randa. And none for Constance Miles? I've got that one, and you're not getting it. No. Please, Dean, I can't hear. We haven't found an annuity for Constance Miles yet. But we want to know more about Miss Monty.

She was in this country on an Italian passport, supposedly on business. We intend to find out more about both her personal and business affairs. Sheriff, you mentioned another development just before we went on. Yes. Miss Monty also maintained a house in Los Angeles.

All the phones in the house were bucked. That does it. Does what? Zia Monty was Helen Martin. Helen's was the only authentic passport in the bunch. If Zia had been able to buy that annuity for Constance Niles from me, she'd have had an income of about $30,000 a year for life, including the annuities made out to Helen Martin and Ramona Ronda. But...

But where did Zia, or Helen, get the bread to live like she did and still stash away three quarters of a million dollars to buy the annuities?

Dean, do you think there might be a bug on my phone? No, don't be silly. Who'd bug your phone? That man who called and threatened you. The next afternoon, the phone company sent a man out to check Bess' phone. No tabs, of course. It was clean. I watched the repairman dial the automatic ringback number to show the line was working again.

Then, that night, I went to work, but Kilroy didn't show up at the club. The manager said Kilroy had quit that day and wasn't coming back. I started jockeying the cars by myself, but as the evening wore on and Stella didn't appear, I began to worry. Finally, I parked a car by a fireplug, jumped in a taxi, and went back to El Cairo. ♪

I looked around, trying to spot Yaffe's car on the street. I didn't see it. Best bungalow was dark, except for one lamp in the living room. I made like a scout and peeped through the window. Beth and Stella were seated in front of the television set. I heaved a sigh of relief and went in. I knocked off early. Well, say something. I'll say it for them, Quinn.

Welcome home. Welcome home.

I knew it wouldn't be long before Yaffe and one of his gorillas came by. Spender, the guy with the red face, had to be the ugliest guy of all time. But I wasn't about to inform him of that fact. Yaffe Cush was no beauty himself, but at least you wouldn't expect to see him swinging through trees on a vine. Good to see you, Quinn. It's good to see you too, Mr. Cush. Well, it looks like you've got your four for bridge.

I guess I'll be moving along. Spender. Oh. Darling, you're hurt. Let me help you up. It's all right. I needed some dental work anyway. Oh, Quinn, Quinn, that wasn't smart to plant my rod for the fuzz to find. It was clean, never used on a job. I even had a permit for it. Gun? The one I keep in the glove compartment of my car. You and that other grease jockey were the only ones who could get to it.

I, uh, I seen him this afternoon. He sang a whole opera. Why did you try to frame me for that Monty Broad? Who, me? It was a mistake, Queen, a big mistake. Spender. You and that Monty Flusy, both a couple of double-crossing thieves. You had it coming. Right, Spender? Stop that! Let me go! Relax, lady.

Why are you looking at your watch, Quinn? You ain't going no place ever again. Well, in that case, I better call Sheriff Durham and tell him not to bother to call me at midnight like I told him to. Hey, put that phone down. Smender! Stop it! This instant! Lady, you gotta learn to relax. Hang up the phone, Smender. Quinn. Oh, Quinn, I'm afraid that was your last mistake. Ah!

Sheriff, Yaffe Cush is here. Got a gun. Forget it, Spender. It's sour. The sheriff knows we're here. Let's get out of here. Well, it's not funny. Durham never called.

I dialed a four-number code. When I hung up, the phone automatically rings back. See? I saw the repairman do it this morning. As soon as I was in condition to get up off the floor, which was early morning, I lost no time getting down to Palm Springs to see Sheriff Durham.

I told him all I knew. Really leveled. Well, we just got confirmation on your alibi from the gas station attendant in Indio. And don't forget, I drove out to the club to get Cush's gun, which took me about another half hour. It was nearly 9.30 when I got to Zia's place. What you've told me, Quinn, should clear you. And it fits in with what we've already pieced together. Ellen Martin, a.k.a. Zia Monte. She was a courier for Lamar. Really? Yeah.

A sweet little girl, I mean, girl like that? Right. She met those syndicate characters in Europe when she was going to school there. They set her up as a front to invest black money. Illegal funds. Found her papers in Rome as Florenzia Monte. To represent their investment coming over here. All supposedly legit. So the government couldn't trace the money. Where it came from. They bugged her phones because they didn't trust her? They don't trust anyone.

Forenzi and Monte got the idea to do some skimming to secure with their own annuities. When the big bosses found out, Yaffe Cush got his orders to stop it. And he did. But don't worry about him. That's been taken care of. Boy, oh, that's the best news I've heard in a long time.

On my way back from Palm Springs, I stopped in at Walden's office to let him know everything worked out and he was off the hook. So you see, Mr. Walden, Florengia Monty was Helen Martin. She blew the whole thing because she was the missing Eric all along. She just got hung up in her own greed. Mr. Walden, are you listening? Yes.

Jack of diamonds, ten of clubs, jack of clubs. Do you see this, Quinn? Do you see? I've done it. Well, congratulations. I win, I win. And I owe it all to you. Look what deck I used. Get a load of that queen of spades. Is this letter for me? Oh, yes, I forgot about that. It's been sitting here for a few days.

Well, keep plugging away, Mr. Walden. If I had the time, I'd stay and teach you how to play cribbage. Goodbye. When I got back to El Cairo court, the girls were waiting for me. Beth nearly fractured my bruised ribs hugging me. And then I told them what Sheriff Durham had already figured out.

But what about Yaffe Cush? Will he talk? You know, confess? Well, Durham thinks so. Because Yaffe did find the 250 grand in the trunk of a car. And held out. Didn't tell his bosses.

That's why he didn't want me to talk. Let the news out. He figures he's got a better chance to survive with Sheriff Durham than he does with the mob. He seemed like such a nice guy. And such a gorgeous car. Well, I suppose you'll be going back to New York. Yeah, me too. I'm tired of selling cigarettes. I'm going to be a social worker. Oh, and wreck what's left of the Big Apple? Well, Stella, you can have it.

I don't really want to be a lawyer anyway. What will you do? Oh, I don't know, girl. I thought maybe I'd go into apartment management. Oh, Dean, that's romantic. We can scratch out a living some way. Beth, you're the only girl for me. Ow, you're hurting me.

What's this? This envelope in your pocket. It was sticking me. This? Oh, I completely forgot about it. It's postmarked Moral Bay. Stats of birth certificates. Beth, get that old photograph. Edgar Ryan and the two guys with him. You mean the one with Ed Hack and Tony on the back? Right. It's right here. What did you say your mother's maiden name was? Tully. Josephine Tully. Why? Why?

Girl, oh, you have just answered the $100,000 question. Do you know who this Tony is? The one with Edgar and Henry Rhine? No, who? He's Anthony Tully, your grandfather. Half-brother to Edgar Rhine. That makes you Edgar Rhine's half-grandniece.

His only surviving heir. You're worth a fortune. And just when I was going to make you a poor but honest woman. Oh, girl. Oh, boy. Ow. Be careful. Hey, anyone here know where I can borrow the money for bus fare in New York? You are listening to Mutual's presentation of The Zero Hour.

That concludes this week's production of The Zero Hour. Bill S. Ballinger is the air hunters.

Next week, we'll begin another exciting dramatization of a tale of mystery and suspense. We'll tell our story in five days, at the same time Monday through Friday. So on Monday, rest your eyes and listen here to The Zero Hour. Today's episode brought to you in part by State Farm Insurance, Holiday Inns, and VH's. This is The Zero Hour on Mutual Radio. ♪♪

You have been listening to The Zero Hour, a presentation of the Mutual Broadcasting System in association with Hollywood Radio Theater. Heard every weekday at this time. Rod Serling is your host. Zero Hour is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. The Hollywood Radio Theater theme was played by Ferranti and Teicher and is now available on United Artists Records and Tapes. Hugh Douglas speaking.

Tune in Monday and once again. Rest your eyes and listen here. To the Zero Hour. This is the Mutual Radio Network.

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Heads up, folks. Interest rates are falling. But as of September 23rd, 2024, you can still lock in a 6% or higher yield with a bond account at public.com. That's a pretty big deal because when rates drop, so can the interest you earn on your cash. A bond account allows you to lock in a 6% or higher yield with a diversified portfolio of high-yield and investment-grade corporate bonds.

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Brought to you by Public Investing, member FINRA and SIPC. Yield to worst is not guaranteed. Not an investment recommendation. All investing involves risk. Visit public.com slash disclosures for more info. It's mystery time.

Time now for the best in mystery. Tonight on Masters of Mystery, an exciting melodrama titled Four Time Loser. Send it live from New York. It's written by Sidney Sloan. A man with a guilty secret sometimes pays a heavy price to keep his past from being exposed. And when he's playing for high stakes, he's sometimes willing to kill.

Masters of Mystery brings you tonight's thrilling story, Four-Time Loser. It's a strange and terrible experience to be sitting in your office on a bright autumn afternoon, free from worry, proud of your honest accomplishments. And then, to have your secretary come in and inform you that your little dream of security is just that.

A dream? There's a man waiting to see you, sir. He says he's an old friend, but he won't give his name. Anybody we know, Gladys? I've never seen him before. Well, probably someone who wants to sell me insurance. Tell him to leave his name, we'll get in touch with him. I've already told him that, Mr. Coombs, but he's very persistent. Oh, well. Send him in. Yes, Mr. Coombs. Mr. Coombs will see you now. Thanks. Won't you sit down?

Don't mind if I do, George. Well, now, what can I do for you? What's the matter, George? Don't you know your old friend? I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I sure have, Mr. Pooh. Or maybe I should have said Mr. Deal. What? Bennett Deal. I'm afraid I don't know you. You probably made some mistake. Now, if you don't mind, I'm very busy. There's no mistake. But if this will jack up your memory...

What happened 12 years ago, April 5th? Remember cell block D, tier 18, cell 6? Can you forget six cons on the land? Five caught, one getting away? Don't tell me you don't recognize your old cellmate, Benny. Matt Howard. That's right, Benny. My name is George. George Coons. George Coons. Yeah, wise baby, Coons. I gotta hand it to you.

You see, I've been keeping tabs on your career for over a year now. I've seen you picture in a paper attending a benefit with some society thing. I recognized you right off. You recognized me? Oh, don't worry. I don't think nobody else would. You've changed a lot.

Yes, great. The size, the glasses. You're heavier now. Taking on some weight. I've been lucky for 12 years till you came along. And you're still lucky, baby. You don't think I'd sing on an old pal, do you? What, and spoil your chance to marry that Anderson Dane with all that dough? What kind of a hair do you think I am? What kind are you? I know there's the shakedown. Now, how much? Oh, really, Bernie? You hurt my feelings. But if you want to play it like that...

Let's make it five yards to start with. Five hundred dollars? You wouldn't want an old friend to look shabby, would you? All right. Meet me at my apartment tonight. I'll have the money for you. Hello? Hello, George. Oh, Elaine.

You sound awfully surprised. Yes, I was expecting someone else, darling. Well, have you forgotten you were taking me to dinner tonight? No, no, no, of course I haven't. I mean, I haven't forgotten. I'll pick you up in 15 minutes. Well, don't bother. I can out-call for you. Matter of fact, I'm downstairs in the lobby right now. Well, wait for me down there. Do you mind? I'll be right down.

George? Is anything the matter? No, dear, no. Some business I have to take care of. Ask another woman, I hope. No, dear, not another woman. Well, then you won't mind my coming up and seeing for myself, will you? Helene, please, if you don't mind... I will be right up. Hello? Hello? Wait a minute. She couldn't have come up that quickly. That must be Matt. Matt?

Hi, Benny. Right on time. Come in. Hurry. Thanks. We've got to make this fast, Matt. I swear I like it. Got the money? Yes, I've got it. Good. Hand it over. Wait. I want to make a proposition to you. I'm always open to a proposition if it favors me. It does. What's the caper? I've got the 500 for you. And more. Keep talking. I'll give you 5,000. But...

You've got to get out of Thaterford and never come back here. You've got to forget you ever saw me. Oh, yeah? Five thousand, Matt. You know, George, you ain't leveling with me. I swear. All that...

Sure, you ain't got more than five G's, I know that. But you got, uh, hidden assets, like they say. Hidden assets? Ah, you played it very smart, George. Engaged to marry the Anderson Manufacturing Company. Elaine Anderson will be worth five to seven million bucks when her old man cashes in his chips. What are you getting at? Look, baby, I did 15 years in Spur. You know what that is. And I did 12 more years than you did. And the way I see it,

You ought to want to see an old pal get ahead in the world. You've been lucky. How about sharing a little of it? I'm willing to give you... Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. You said 5G. Thanks. I'll take it as a down payment. That's your final word? No, Benny. You have the final word. You decide. Pay off or go back. You name it. Somebody at the door. Matt, give me a break, will you? Is she going to open the door? Yeah. Yeah.

Well, where is she? Where's the other woman? Oh, Helene. This is Matt Howard. Matt. Helene Anderson, my fiancée. How do you do? Hello. So you're the reason George forgot his dinner engagement with me. You see, George and me was talking over old times. Schoolmates?

Yeah, no way. I didn't know. Well, Matt, I guess we'll have to break it up now. Come in and see me at my office tomorrow and we'll... Oh, but George, aren't you going to ask Mr. Howard to have dinner with us? What? That's a fine way to treat an old friend. Well, you see, I... I guess George wants to be alone with you, Miss Anderson. Nonsense. George gets bored with my conversation. Do come along with us. Well...

It's up to George. Yes. Why don't you, Matt? Yes, the more, the merrier. Your friend made a very interesting dinner companion, George. So, Matt, you know, yeah, it is interesting, all right. What did he come to Staterford for? Business. He's some sort of a promoter or something. And what does he have on you? Well, I don't understand you, Elaine. He's an old friend from school. Oh, not that stupid.

Mr. Howard's schooling has been few and far between. Well, he's a little rough and crude, maybe, but... Darling, please drop that pose. Matt Howard knows something about you. Something that you want to hide and keep hidden. Elaine, you're wrong. Matt Howard means that... Don't lie to me. Oh, forget it, please, will you? I can't. I've got to know, George. I've got to know right now. Very well. My name is not George Coombs.

Go on. I was, up to 12 years ago, Bennett Beale, convict 63290. I escaped prison with five other men. They were caught. I wasn't. You want to hear more? Go on. I was in for life, fourth offender under the law. I'm not defending myself. I wasn't framed. I deserved what I was getting. But in prison, for the first time, I had a chance to learn something, to study, to read. And it opened up a whole new life to me.

I worked hard to improve myself, to be somebody. But what chance would an old ex-con have to start life over at 50? When the opportunity for escape presented itself, I jumped at it. I was lucky. I got away. Came here to save it. The rest you know. Is that all? Isn't that enough? Yes. Well? Well, I love you. Elaine, I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid. You're afraid now, aren't you?

That's what Matt Howard is holding over your head. He wants money, lots of it. Well, then give it to him. But you don't understand. It'll never stop. He knows we're going to be married. He knows you have money. Why don't you turn him in to the police? Well, I'd go back with him this time forever. I'd never get out. Then what can you do? There are two things one can do about a blackmailer. You can go on paying. And the other? The other? I don't want to think of that yet. THE END

I didn't see much of Helene for the next few days. I pretended that my job kept me too busy. But it was actually my dread of facing her. Seeing that unasked question in her eyes. What was I going to do about Matt Howard? She called finally and asked me to meet her for dinner. Our friend Matt was over at the plant this afternoon. He got in to see Dad by using your name. What for? He wants a job. A job? Are you certain? Yes.

Why? It's very strange. With $5,000 of my money in his pocket and the prospect of getting more, Matt Howard goes job hunting. Would there be any harm in your vouching for him with Dad? I don't know. Suppose he is planning some shady deal, Elaine. Suppose he does something which might point the finger at me or worse, involve you. Elaine, the best thing for you to do is to forget the Holdens and me along with him. You trying to tell me I've been jilted?

Well, suppose we went ahead and got married. Every morning you'd have to face the inevitable fact that it might be our last day together. I'd face that. You see, George, all my life I've gotten the things I wanted. Maybe I've been a spoiled brat, but I'm too old now to change my ways. And I want you. I want to marry you. But, darling, this would be... Wait, wait. Now listen to me. If Matt Howard is in the way...

If he is keeping up from what we want... Oh, I'm saying, I mean, shh. The head waiter is coming this way. Oh, he's motioning that you've got a phone call. Oh? Oh, I see. Well, pardon me, dear. I'll be right back. Hello? Hello?

George Combs? Yes? This is Detective Hamilton. You know, we met when you and Miss Anderson were at the police benefit show. Yeah, sure, Hamilton. I remember you. What is it? Well, it's kind of ridiculous and I hate to bother you, but we picked up a man early this evening. Yes, yes, go on. Well, he says he knows you. What's he wanted for? Suspicion of murder.

What's his name? Howard. Matt Howard. Says he was with you last night at the time a man was killed. It's obvious he's lying, and all I want you to do is to say so. I'll be right over, Hamilton. That isn't necessary. All you have to do is... I'll be right over. What is it, George? It happened. Matt Howard killed a man last night. He wants me to give him an alibi. What are you going to do?

I'm going over to police headquarters. And are you going to give him an alibi? I don't know. I don't know. Hiya, pal. I knew you'd go to bat for me. You fool, you stupid, stir-crazy fool. All right, all right. So I made a mistake. I didn't mean to kill him. You didn't mean to.

This weren't so tragic as to be funny. I said I was sorry. And everything's okay now. You gave me my alibi. I haven't given any alibi. I see. But you will, won't you, baby? You don't say I was with you last night. Because if you don't... I know. How does it happen?

Well, things is pretty dull, so I get into this crap game. My luck is bad, but at nine o'clock, I'm rubbing together on my pocket two C-notes, the tag end of my load. Two hundred left out of the five thousand. Yeah. Well, I was sore. I remember the guy said he's closing the game up at eleven o'clock. So you went back and killed him? I was identified as one of the guys in the game, but they really got nothing on me if you gave me the alibi. If I do, Matt, that would square us off for good, wouldn't it?

He'd be quits from now on. You could grab the next train for New York. Grab the next train for New York, he says. You're a funny guy, Benny. Funny like them comics on the radio. I mean, the river's dried up. The feast is over. There's no more dough. That's all I have. What about your rich girlfriend after you marry her? There's not going to be a marriage. We washed the whole deal out tonight. You've done this on purpose, Benny.

You're done as the cheat me. Maybe. Why, I ought to kill you. You ought to kill me. All right, get up. Get up. Okay, buddy. I shouldn't have tried that with you. Get this through your head, man. You can't blackmail me anymore. I've got as much on you as you have on me.

All right, brave boy. I'm calling you a bluff. I'm playing this game my way. And here's the card. You're going to tell the cops I was with you last night. I'm staying here, and you're going to marry the Anderson Doe. You like the hand? I got nothing to lose. You have. We all move. Well, Mr. Lewis...

Five minutes visiting time is up. I'm glad you come in, Chief. Mr. Coons just been checking with me on the time I came over to see him last night. What goes, Mr. Coons? I guess he does, Hamilton. I'm giving him his alibi. Oh.

Hello? George? Elaine? Oh, yes. You gave him his alibi, didn't you? Yes. How did you find out so quickly? He called me. He called you? Yes, and he's coming here to my house. What did he want? I couldn't quite make out something about patching things up between us. Why'd you tell him? I told him we had a bus stop. But, Elaine, you shouldn't have told him he didn't come out there. Don't you see, George? This is our chance. Our chance? Are you coming here or will I have to do it alone?

I'll be right out. Mr. Coombs is here, Miss Anderson. Oh, thank you, Edward. Hello, darling. Hello, Anne. We're all ready to go, Miss Anderson. The car is in the driveway. That's fine, Edward. I hope you enjoy the picture. Good night. Good night, Miss. Good night, sir. Good night, Anne.

You're sending all the servants out? That's ordered. You must have seen me in private. He knows that Dad left for Detroit this afternoon. He's taking no chances, is he? He's taking a big chance, George. Bigger than he knows. It won't work, Helene. We can't do it. We can. Nobody knows he's coming here. Nobody but you and me. No, it won't work. Now listen to me. Just listen, George. We can put his body in your car, take him to a family's country place. No, Helene. No, no, no. I don't want you mixed up. We've got to do it. We'll do it together.

I've got that, Dr. Barber. I'm not afraid, and it's our last chance. It's our only chance. Matt Howard has to die, but I won't have you involved. I'll do it myself. It took me less time to get back to the center of town than it took to get to Helene's. And when I got to the business district, I parked the car on the dark side street and went into a drugstore and called Matt Howard's hotel. They told me he was out. I called Helene's.

You're here, George. I must have missed him on the way. Don't do anything. Send him back to town. All right. How did he come out? Taxi? Rent a car. Good. Send him back to town. I went back to the road he'd have to take. It was late. There was no traffic. I parked and waited. I must have waited about half an hour. Then I saw it coming. His car.

I switched on my ignition, started my car. He went past. I started after. Slowly, I overtook him. Pulled alongside. I could see his face, strained with white, fear, being hunched over the wheel. Then I cut in front of him. Ah!

I got out of my car and looked at him. He was dead. He'd swerved to avoid hitting me and crashed into a concrete embankment. My car wasn't even scratched. We hadn't been seen. The lights were all out in Helene's house when I got there. She'd probably gone to bed, I thought. I rang the bell. No answer. I was getting back into my car. Edwards and the servants drove up. What a break! My alibi completed if I need one.

Edward saw me come in, and now he sees me leaving. Hello, Edward. Good movie? Oh, yes, sir. Are you leaving? Yes, Edward. Miss Anderson has just gone to bed. Good night. Good night, sir. I never felt better in my life. That death would look like an accident. If there was any question, I had a perfect alibi.

I climbed into bed with the knowledge that I'd get my first good sleep since Matt Howard came to Saterford. I couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour when I was awakened by someone knocking on my door. What? Who's there? It's me, Hamilton. Open up. Oh, wait a minute. It's all a fart, Hamilton.

Mr. Coons, I must warn you. Everything you say now can be used against you. Sounds serious. Yes, it is. Murder. Murder again? Is this your idea of a gag, Hamilton? Where were you this evening after you left me? At my fiancé's home, you know. Helene Anderson.

Yes, that check's all right. You left at what time? Why, about 11.35. Edward the butler saw me. That's it, Mr. Coombs. Well, fine. Now, will you please go away and let me get some sleep? I'm sorry, Mr. Coombs. I'm going to have to hold you for murder. But, me? Who did I murder? Your fiancée, Helene Anderson, strangled to death. The End

There it is, my story. Matt must have overheard Elaine talking on the phone to me. In fear or panic, he killed her. Whatever happened, Elaine's dead. I don't care much what happens to me now. The irony of the situation is that Matt's death was put down as accidental. Well, the jury is out now. They won't be out long. As the prosecutor said in his closing speech,

What can you expect from an habitual criminal? A four-time loser. Strange Adventures.

The smoke hung in heavy clouds and the one ashtray was full to overflowing. It was almost dawn and the gamblers were tired. Three of them were not only tired but disgusted as well because sitting in neat piles before mild little Mr. Smith, the dude Easterner, were almost all of the chips on the table.

One of the players spoke, Smith, you've got luck like I've never seen before. Smith's weak eyes blinked behind their heavy glasses and his smile was timid. You sure are right, Mr. Bender. I've never been so lucky before. After Smith had cashed his chips and gone, the three men that had been in the game counted their losses.

They amounted to over $800. One of the men, Bill Sutton, was even more unhappy than the others. How does he do it? By all the rules of poker, the three of us playing together as partners should have cleaned him. Instead, he walks off with all the money.

If it was anybody else but that little guy, I'd say he was stacking the cards. The man on his right, Jim Bender, spoke. Me too, but I've watched every move that he's made, and I haven't seen him go a crooked thing. He's just lucky, that's all. Too doggone lucky. And I'll be glad to see him leave town. Say, I've got an idea. Why don't we help him make up his mind to leave? That's a good idea, isn't it? The other two men shot puzzled glances at their partner.

This little guy is the luckiest one we've seen, are you right? The other men nodded. And this is Nevada, and there's no way we can keep him out of an open game, as long as he wants to play. Now, if his luck holds like it has for the last two nights, we'll soon be broke, are you right? Again, the men nodded. Well, I've got a plan to get rid of him. Now, my brother's in town, and they're very good. The

The others came close around him, and their low voices could be heard until gray light began to fill the morning sky. That night, little Mr. Smith left his hotel and started toward the poker game. As he passed a dark slot between two buildings, a large hand reached out and dragged him into the narrow space. Your name Smith? Why, yes, Samuel Smith Smith.

My name's Haggerty, and we Haggerty's got a feud with the Smiths. We done killed off all the Smiths in this section until you come along, and now it looks like we gotta kill another one. You mean me? Your name's Smith, ain't it? Yes. Well, then I've got to kill you. But I never killed a man without giving him a chance. I'm gonna count ten and then start shootin'.

Smith felt the hand on his collar let go, and he darted back onto the sidewalk and up the street. As he safely rounded the corner, two shots flamed in the darkness.

Less than an hour later, the four gamblers roared with laughter. Safely aboard the bus, Sam Smith was also laughing. Last night after the game, when he had sneaked around to find out if they were on to his tricks, he had been worried about getting out of town with their money, but they themselves had provided the excuse. He settled back with a sigh of satisfaction. Sam Smith, the slickest card shark ever to be kicked off the Atlantic run, was going to enjoy the wild and woolly west.

This is Pat McGeehan saying goodbye from my writer, Charles Crowder, and inviting you to listen again to another tale of Strange Adventure. After all, traveling on a luxury train is very glamorous. But did you ever read one of those timetables where it says, Baggage car, note, does not carry corpse. ♪♪

The National Broadcasting Company presents The Adventures of the Abbots, starring Claudia Morgan and Les Damon as Pat and Jean Abbott, the nationally popular characters of detective fiction created by Francis Crane. NBC invites you to join Pat and Jean each week at this time for an exciting recorded adventure in romance and crime. Tonight's story, The Blue Rocket Express. And here is Jean Abbott to set the stage for our puzzle and murder. ♪

Pat's office is in San Francisco, but he'd been called to New York on a case, and in order to clear it up, we had to take the blue rocket from New York to Chicago for a quick one-day visit. And then we planned to take the rocket back to New York again. We'd checked our luggage through, and we were strolling into Grand Central Terminal. Jean. Yes, Pat? The train doesn't leave for 20 minutes. Why do you always drag me to trains nine years ahead of time?

Now what are we supposed to do? Stand around the terminal twiddling our thumbs? Don't get excited, dear. They open the train a half hour early, see? Track 32, it's open already. So come on. Stop being a typical husband and get on the train. Oh, of all the silly things. Dragging me here so early that I...

Oh, uh, you go ahead. Why? I need razor blades and cigarettes and a couple of magazines I forgot to buy. Uh-huh, we got here too early. Well, you're lucky I brought you here so fast. You'd have forgotten about it. Okay, okay, now just stop being a typical wife and get on the train. I checked our space at the desk inside the gate and went into the lounge car.

I just lit a cigarette when the only other passenger in the lounge, a small, bespectacled chap, nodded at me quite cheerfully. Rather pleasant to board the train early, isn't it? Yes, yes, it's very comfortable. Are you going to Chicago or on to California? Just to Chicago for the moment. Oh? My name's Duffield, Professor Ernest Duffield. Mine's Abbott, Gene Abbott. You with the University of Chicago, Professor? No, no, no, no. I'm going to California. I'm in the through car.

Oh, well, how do they work that? I've always flown across. Well, you see, they switch the car off in Chicago and then hitch it on to the back of the Eldorado. That way, as they say in the ads, you don't have to change trains. What do you teach, Professor? Well, I'm not teaching anymore, Mrs. Abbott. I'm doing research. Oh. Matter of fact, that's why I'm going to Los Angeles to a conference. And what's your subject? Bacterial warfare. Oh, I hate those words.

Thank heavens no one's tried that yet. Oh, but they have. That sounds horrible. What is this conference in California? I'm very sorry indeed, but I cannot discuss that. It would be classified information. Now, if you'll excuse me... Oh, please, please don't go. My husband would love to meet you. Well, I'd be delighted to meet him too, but I'm...

Well, sort of an old eccentric, I guess you might say. I can't stand crowds. The moment the train fills up, I prefer retiring to my compartment until the end of the trip. I'm alone, I can relax, read. Goodbye, Professor. It's been most interesting. Thank you, Mrs. Abbott.

Good evening. Well, well, leaving us so soon, friend. My name is Charlie Drake. Stick around, friend. I have a few stories you'll like. I beg your pardon. Well, get him. He ain't square. He's oblong. How about you, ma'am? I guess we might as well be friends. We're fellow travelers on the old chute. You Drake's the name Charlie Drake. I'm the original good time Charlie. Uh-huh. Are you traveling alone, honey? Just a small-town girl at the mercy of all the traveling salesmen? No, no, no. I'm with my husband. Oh. Well, that ties it. In fact...

Here he comes. Well, I got everything I needed, Gene. Pat, this is Charlie Drake, my husband. Oh, hi. Look, how's for all of us whipping up a little bridge game? Let's see, there's three of us here. Who's that fellow over there in the corner? Anybody know him, the old geezer? No, we don't. What do you say there, stranger? How about for being a fourth at bridge? Eh? Oh, foxy grandpa, a little on the deaf side, huh? Well, I can always keep the folks happy. I don't believe I caught your name.

I'm Pat Abbott. This is my wife, Jean. Going a little low Chicago, are you? So am I. I'd love to be on that through car to sunny California, but business forbids. You got nice accommodations?

Yes, yes, we're quite happy about it. Well, look, I'm in car 181, compartment C. Open day and night, never a dull moment. Anytime you're feeling blue, you want a few laughs, call on your friend, good friend Charlie. Hey, have you two heard the one about the nearsighted octopus in the bagpipes? Have you? You'll bust your buttons, kid. This one's a real knee-slapper. Now, listen here. It seems the octopus went to a... ♪♪

Who is it? Pullman conductor, sir. Urgent telegram for Professor Duffield. Oh, all right. Just a moment. I'll find the light. And my bathroom. Yes? Shut up, Professor. Get back into your compartment. What are you doing with that gun? Who are you? What do you want? You're bringing something to that California conference, Professor. It's a culture. Little germs in a flask. I don't know what you're talking about. Now, don't stall. There's no time.

I know all about it. You've made a discovery. It's the most powerful bacterial weapon ever devised. The easiest to make, too. Quickest, cheapest. Now, where is it? Where's the flask? Get out of here. I want the flask, Professor, and right now. Be smart and turn it over. Who are you? Well, I guess you'd call me a salesman. I pick up little items like yours and then put them on the open market. Sell them to the highest bidder. You'd be surprised how these items draw customers. In America, Mexico City, Cairo, Berlin...

I get around. I do very nicely. Now, where's the flask? Stay away from there. Is it in the medicine cabinet? Hmm? All I have to do is shout. The conductor will come. You open your mouth and I'll put half a dozen bullets into that celebrated brain of yours. The flask in one of your valises? I'm going to give you five seconds to get out of this compartment.

The flask is top secret property of the United States government. You must be out of your mind trying to get away with a thing like this. I've done pretty well before in our talk-up, Professor. Where the devil is that culture? I said I'd wait five seconds. You've about used them up. You don't really want to die, do you, Professor? You have so much to contribute to America. Why get yourself knocked off? Don't you have a family, Professor? Friends? Don't you want to go on living? Professor, you're just begging to be killed, and I'm just the guy to do it.

You know, I could even make it worth your while, Professor. I'll get lots of dough for the flask. Maybe I could cut you in for a piece. Now, where is the blasted culture, Professor? Don't touch that bell. Keep your hands off that bell or I'll crack your head open with this gun. Go help me out. After Pat and I left the lounge, we didn't see the Professor or Good Time Charlie for the rest of the trip.

We left the train at Chicago without knowing there was anything wrong. Neither did anybody else. Pat tended to his business and then took a relaxing spin on Lakeshore Drive in a cab. And by early evening, we were back on the return trip of the Blue Rocket Express heading for New York. After dinner in our compartment... Pat, I've been wondering. This is car 181, compartment C. Now, where'd I hear that before?

From that big boar, Charlie. He said this was his compartment on the way to Chicago. I'm awfully tired, darling. I think I'll hit the hay. Well, I'm wide awake. Night owl Jean, they call me. Okay, then you go on up to the lounge. I'm going to ring for the porter and have him make up the berths. I'm knocked out. Well, thank goodness we lost good time Charlie. I was afraid we'd run into him again. Or when we got off in Chicago. Let's come in.

Oh, Porter, make up our berths, please. Thank you. Oh, I'll step out of your way, Porter, so you can pull down that upper. There's a body up there. Yes, a dead body. Oh, Pat. Get the conductor, please, Porter. Someone did quite a job on him. Well, it's Professor Duffield. What? Who's he? Well, I met him in the lounge car when we were leaving New York before you got here. He's a scientist, an expert on bacteriological warfare. Well, that makes it worse, much worse.

You'd better have the conductor notify the FBI immediately. But this wasn't his compartment. What was he doing in here? The reporter tells me someone's died in here. Yes, conductor. When he lowered the berth a moment ago, we found this body. What are your names? Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Abbott. All right. I'll find another space for you. Now, don't discuss this with anyone under any circumstances except the police.

I'll have them aboard on it at our next stop. We'll take care of everything now. Just keep calm and keep quiet. Don't go to sleep in the space I give you until I've had a chance to get more information from you. This man, the dead man, was in the wrong compartment. What do you mean? Well, I met him on the way to Chicago on this train last night. If he was murdered and then his body was shoved into the upper berth and left sealed there, this is not the compartment he had for himself.

His name is Professor Duffield. He was originally on the through car to California. He was in highly classified government work, conductor. You better report that instantly when you contact the police. My schedule book says the man who occupied this space on our trip out was a Mr. Charles Drake. Now, conductor, my wife wouldn't make a mistake. Besides, Charlie Drake, or Good Time Charlie, as he called himself, got off in Chicago. This is not Drake. Look, would you do something for me? What is it? Here are my credentials.

I'm a private investigator. The New York police will know my name if you want to check. So will the FBI and the Pentagon. I've been on cases involving classified material. You tell all this to the police, Abbott. I'm just a conductor trying to get a train into New York. All right, all right. Now, this train is a radio phone. So is the Eldorado. And time may be terribly important. Would you let me call them? What for? I want to ask them if Professor Duffield is aboard. He's lying there dead, isn't he? Look, just let me make the call. I have a theory.

There's a phone in the diesel cab of the Eldorado. I read about it in the magazine. I can't let people play games now, Mr. Rabbit. I have to see if there's a doctor aboard. I have to contact the police at the next town. Just the one call. I have the right to do that, don't I? Look, I can't get away, can I? You can listen to the conversation if you like. I'm telling you, this may mean the solution of the case. Okay, make your call. There's two cars ahead. Thanks. Come on, Gene. Come on.

Where are we, conductor? And what time is it? Approaching Manfield, Ohio. It's 8.55. Mobile operator, this is RY6-4372. I want BX6-500. Oh, you think you'll get through, Pat? Probably. I've got to ask him this question. I don't get it. Professor Duffield's dead in compartment C, and then you're calling to ask...

aboard the Streamliner Blue Rocket. You what? Okay, get on, conductor. Hello, El Dorado. This is John L. McLeod, conductor aboard 15. Yes. Yes, it's all right. I understand. Yes. What's your question, Abbott? Do they have a Professor Ernest Duffield aboard? Passenger for Union Station Los Angeles in a compartment on the through car. Duffield, or L.A., in the through car. Got a passenger of that description? Well? Well, what's the answer? Yes. Yes.

Are you certain? He is? Thank you. Goodbye. What'd they say? They have a Professor Duffield. He's fine, enjoying the trip. Of all the ridiculous gangsta... Well, that's impossible. The dead man is the Professor. All right. The police will take over shortly. We'll find out all the answers. They're getting aboard at the next stop two or three minutes now. You said you'd find another space for us. Yes, yes, I'll try. Please, please, you wait here. I'll be back shortly. All right.

It's good. This is just what I wanted. What are you going to do? Follow me to the door. But, Dad, you... Now, never mind. The conductor has been so nice, I wouldn't want to spoil a beautiful friendship. Now, this train is slowing down. Just stand here. I'll get these latches open on this door. In about ten seconds, as the train slows down some more, you jump. What? Just fall easy. You'll tumble on the ground a bit, that's all. Well, you can't skip out now. We're in the middle of nowhere. You'll be a... We need every second, dear. Without any interference...

Are you ready? The train's going too fast. I'm not... Now jump! We were lucky. We landed on soft ground. Oh, thank goodness the train wasn't going quickly. It was very dark. We were in deep grass somewhere in the middle of Ohio. No lights anywhere. Nothing.

Now, let's see if we can... If we can what, my dear crazy Mr. Abbott? Exactly how do we solve a murder case involving a top flight scientist by roaming around here by the railroad tracks? Dear, this is Mansfield. I saw on the timetable that the Eldorado is due at La Junta, Colorado about 5.40 in the morning. Now, if we can find a road and get a hitch and grab a plane... Yes, if... Look, look, through the grass. There's a paved road way up there. I saw a headlight.

Come on. Let's try for that hitch. Hurry, Jean. We got the hitch in an old Model T. A very friendly farmer picked us up and told us there was a small airport about 15 miles away. A young veteran was operating a cargo plane service out of it. We bounced along the 15 miles in the old Lizzie, rattling like the famous skeletons on a tin roof.

At the airport, we met the veteran. We thought we'd have trouble, but he was an eager kid, and the idea of trying to catch the Eldorado appealed to him. We stepped into his plane. Yeah, I think we can do it, Mr. Abbott. Where do you figure on landing? Well, that would be up to you, of course. But I'd like to pick them up somewhere around La Junta. If not...

Perhaps we might catch them in New Mexico. Okay, now, you keep the timetable of the Eldorado in front of me, and I'll head for the Hunter. Well, isn't that country out there pretty rugged? Yes, ma'am. Cliffs, hilly, rough terrain. Well, can you make a landing out there where we can walk away from? Ma'am, I used to fly over a spot called the Hump back in the war. From Assam to Cumming, you can fly over that. Anything else is a vacation with pay. Oh, fine. That's a help. It's all we need. Real soupy storm.

We've got to get through. Cross your fingers I'm taking off. Only, by the way... Yes? There aren't any parachutes. We took off. Pat and I squatted on bucket seats in the back. The weather was awful. The little plane rocked, rolled, and practically stood still in midair. Time was passing. Precious time. Pat? Yes, Jean? How do you fellas do it?

Do what? Just sit there, quiet-like, as if you were on a pleasure jaunt. Me? I've bitten what's left of my nails. I've recited pertinent excerpts from a book I read called How to Keep Calm in a Crisis. Well, just relax. There's work to be done. Oh, yes, you always say that. But you have ice water in your veins. You're the rugged type. Me, I'm the delicate, scare-real, easy type. Uh, it's none of my business, Mr. Abbott. It's kind of silly to ask now, but...

Are you 100% certain this trip was necessary? Why couldn't you have left it to the police where the train stopped? Because I'm after that train. By the time I convince the authorities about who I am, what I suspected, what was going on and fought through the right channels to the right authorities, it'll be all over. But really over. How to keep calm in a crisis. Remember the key words. What the dickens are those key words? I'm down about as low as I can get.

We ought to be directly over the railroad tracks. If we can't get any lower, we'll smack up. Well, have you got any field glasses in this flying percolator? They're around here somewhere.

See if you can spot the train. It shouldn't be too hard. The Eldorado's got a headlight that throws a beam about a half a mile. I've got the glasses. I'm watching. Pat, we're awfully low. Yes, ma'am. If he suddenly spots anything and has to climb to avoid it, we might stall, mightn't we? Just relax, dear. I told you before... You see the train? No, no, not yet. Well, you better see it soon, Mr. Abbott. I can't keep this up indefinitely. If we come to a very high spot, I may not be able to hedge hop like I'm doing. Well, it should be here, unless it's late.

I don't see a thing. Just miles of track. I can just about make out the tracks. This storm is cutting the visibility down too much. Are you positive you're right about the time and the place? Yes, absolutely, Jane. The only thing could throw us is if that train is very late. That could be. Then we'd have to backtrack. Well, it probably is late with this weather. Now, if you'd just keep mum, dear, I'd... Wait a minute, wait. Wait a second, I've spotted it. I see it. A streamliner, about 20 cars. There's no freight. This is lit up like a Christmas tree down there. Oh, thank heavens. Now what? What?

Can you get about 10 or 15 miles ahead of her and find a place to sit this plane down? I can try. Oh, my aching GI back. Find a place to sit down here, huh? We've got to, my friend. A scientist with top-secret information has been killed. His head was bashed in. Holy Aunt Hannah, is that what this trip... The killers are on that train. So put it down sweet and gentle and make it real fast. If I can see a big enough stretch...

This is a very small plane, but that doesn't mean we can land on a dime. You know, I had... Wait a minute. I see a spot. Doesn't look too bad. Of course, that rain's got so many puddles going, we could land and maybe hit a ditch or a gully or give hole and turn right over. I'll never see it coming. All right, all right. Put it down, pal. Huh? Right where you think we have a chance to make it. Okay. Now, if I... If I overshoot this field, there's a cliff up ahead there, see? Let me see. We'll go right off the cliff. Put it down, I said. Steady. Steady.

Jean, dear. Yeah? Place yourself against that seat. Wish I could see more, but here goes. Start praying. Easy, boy. Easy. That's it. Pat, I can't look. Easy. This is it. Now. Pat, the cliff. We're too close. We're too close. Made it.

It's wonderful. It's a beautiful job. Now look, you got emergency flares? Yeah, under the seat. Fine, I'll take a few. What in the world are you going to do now? Set these off in the track in front of the Eldorado and hope there isn't an accident. They do 90 miles an hour on some of these stretches. He ran through the rain to the tracks. The pilot stayed back with his plane and was to join us later. I'll light a flare here, Jean. There. Just hope the rain doesn't kill it.

You hear the train coming? No, not yet. Okay. Put another flare here. There. Now, let's see. Well, there are no curves on this approach. That's good. The engineer will see the flares early. Only it takes him almost a mile to come to a full stop. There. That's it. Now, just wait and watch. Pat, you need a gun. If you're going to board this train... Yes, I need a lot of things, but I don't have any of them. I just have to take my chances. Good. He's seen it. Keep wide of the track, Jean. Very wide. Yes, I am, dear. He's slowing down.

Now look, when it gets to very slow speed, you watch down the left side. Watch the car doors. Someone might try to sneak off. I'll watch to my right. Shout if you see anything suspicious. Now as she stops, run down a way so you can see more of the train. That's the girl. Now look for the conductor. Don't say anything. Let me do all the talking. There he is. There comes the conductor. Hey, hey, watch out.

I set those flares, conductor. What's the matter? Is this part of Walsh out? What's wrong here? My name is Abbott, Pat Abbott. This is my wife, Jean. I'm a private detective. We had to stop your train. Why? I want to see a passenger of yours immediately, Professor Duffield. We called you about it on the radio phone, remember? I have no time to explain. The through car, the last one? Yes, but wait a minute. You have no right to do this. You've already broken the law. Sitting up flares like that... All right, all right. Now you come with me. There's a murder involved. Any armed police aboard? We could use them. No, and if what you're telling me is a lot of malarkey... Step up, Jean.

All right. Which compartment is Professor Duffield? Compartment D. Here it is, Pat. Sorry, conductor, I'm going in. Now, just a minute. You can't just... Yes? What is it? Pat, Pat, it's Charlie. Good time, Charlie. What are you doing here? I thought you... Thought that we were on our way to New York by now, Charlie? Yes, we might have been, but... Well, Mr. Abbott, there's Professor Duffield. Now, what's all the excitement about? You're talking to Professor Duffield. This man is not Duffield, conductor. Get out of my way. Stay where you are, Charlie. Charlie? This man has been masquerading as Professor Duffield. He murdered the professor on the Blue Rocket to Chicago.

Then he hid the body in the upper berth of his compartment. You don't get out of my way. You left the body in your own compartment when you took the professor's space in the through car. All the crews are changed. You told everyone in the Eldorado that you were Duffy. All right, Abbott. If you won't get out of the way... Put down that gun, you! Everybody, out of my way. I'll shoot anybody that tries to follow me.

Don't move till I'm off this car. Pat, how will we stop him? I'll get after him. That flask he took with him may be terribly important. Pat, come back. He'll kill you. He left the train. I can see him through this window. He's running up the hill out there. Pat, don't! The door he sent. There, I got it. Come back, Charlie! I told you not to follow me. I said come back! I won't miss this time. Look out! Behind you, the cliff! Charlie, gripping the flask, fell 3,000 feet.

And turning to fire at Pat, he didn't notice that he was beside that same ominous cliff we almost went over when we were in the plane. Sometime later, Pat and I were back on the El Dorado. The conductor and local police were conferring about the crime. Pat and I were having hot coffee in the lounge. Jean, I know exactly what you're going to say. Do you? Yes.

Yes, you're very upset because I took so many chances. Well, I certainly am. After all these years of married life, I've become rather fond of you, Patrick, and I'd hate to see... I beg your pardon, Mr. Abbott. Oh. Mrs. Abbott. Oh, hello. I remember you from the Blue Rocket. You're the gentleman who wouldn't play bridge with us. Yes. I think I'd best introduce myself. I am Professor Ernest Duffield. You're what? That is correct. My identification papers. Yes.

Did you care to see them, Mr. Abbott? Mm-hmm. Yes. They told me what you did. I am extremely grateful. And so, I imagine, is the government. It is quite simple. The man Charles Drake murdered was hired to impersonate me. I was bitterly opposed to the idea, but the scientists' commission insisted upon it. I pleaded with them, but they wouldn't listen.

The chap volunteered for the job, fully realizing how dangerous it was. Well, Professor, your flask is gone. I presume it contains something, uh, something very valuable? It was supposed to contain something valuable, Mr. Abbott. And Mr. Drake went to great pains to find it, but of course it was worthless. The flask Mr. Drake died with in his hand was a nickel's worth of colored water.

The real flask obviously is being sent to California by other means. And how do we know you're Professor Duffield? I don't like to seem rude or melodramatic, but couldn't those identification papers be a government-manufactured fake for security reasons? Couldn't you be a government agent, maybe, impersonating Duffield, too? Did the government take the chance of revealing who the real man is, even now? Did they, Mrs. Abbott? No.

Pat and I finally got back aboard the Blue Rocket on our way to New York. We were alone in our bedroom. Pat, do you realize you haven't kissed me since we left New York three days ago? My, my, that's quite a debt I owe, isn't it? You owe me 228 kisses, plus interest and carrying charges. A grand total of 343. Wow. I'd better start paying off, huh? Mm-hmm.

Hmm. You'll find this is a very friendly bank, Mr. Abbott. We wouldn't mind at all if you'd, um, overdraw your account. Moral of the story. There are plenty of fast express trains from Chicago to New York. But if you have a handsome husband who likes to make love to you, don't be a fool. Take a slow train.

The National Broadcasting Company has presented The Adventures of the Abbots, starring Claudia Morgan and Les Damon as those nationally popular personalities of detective fiction, Pat and Jean Abbott, created by Francis Crane. The cast included Kenny Delmar, Louis Van Rooten, and Mandel Kramer.

The Adventures of the Abbots was written by Howard Merrow. Original music composed and conducted by Dewey Bergman. Produced by Ted Lloyd and Bernard L. Schubert. Directed and recorded by Harry Frazee. This is Bill Riffey speaking. Next week, same time, same station, another exciting adventure in crime with Pat and Gene in The Adventures of the Abbots. This is the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service. ♪♪

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