This is Hollywood and CBS presenting forecast number four.
Herbert Marshall directed by Alfred Hitchcock in the first program of a proposed new series
entitled Suspense.
Tonight's forecast program ladies and gentlemen represents the ideal form of collaboration.
Mr. Alfred Hitchcock, brilliant English director of such outstanding motion pictures as the
39 steps, Rebecca and foreign correspondent was eager to create a very special type of
radio drama, the suspense story.
As narrator and star for his production, he thought at once of the distinguished actor
with whom he had been associated in countless British film successes, Herbert Marshall.
Mr. Marshall suggested that they dramatize a certain favorite story of his and that story
happened to be the very one Mr. Hitchcock had had in mind.
This is Bella Clown's classic in chills, The Lodger.
The Lodger is a work of fiction which springs from recorded fact.
A story which begins in the year 1888 in London.
A London terrorized by the fifth in a succession of recent murders.
It was believed that these deeds were the work of one person, a tall gaunt figure in
a black Inverness cape carrying a small narrow bag.
That meager description provided by a highly unnerved witness was the sum total of all
that was known of the murderer.
It was enough however to keep alive and alert the interest of all London, of all those in
fine quarters and all those in small grimy houses as for example, Ellen Bunting.
Ellen was no different from all the other middle aged housewives dwelling in the great
city's squalid Whitechapel district.
She knew all the known facts of the case.
As Herbert Marshall will tell you, Ellen knew it was quite proper to refer to this wielder
of the knife as the Avenger.
Of course, Ellen Bunting was far more concerned with her personal problems than with thoughts
of the Avenger.
Yet the case of that strange elusive killer quite often forced all other matters from
her mind.
There was that mad meaningless scheme he seemed to follow.
All his victims for example have been women.
All have been young, attractive and oddly enough, blonde.
But Ellen could no more understand the motive for his brutal slashings than could the police.
This night she and her husband Robert Bunting sat before their fireplace reading the newspaper
account of the latest murder.
The Avenger had struck again.
As Ellen expressed it, he might be anybody.
He might be the fellow you pass on the street.
It's a terrible thought.
Yes, if only the police had something to go on.
It looks like that Avenger's just too quick for them.
Look, it says here that this girl he got last night was like all the others.
Pretty, blonde and let's see, described by her friends as a very light-hearted girl.
What a pity.
Did you ever stop to think who fits that to a tee?
In fact, fits all those girls?
Why?
By my own Daisy.
Oh, that's a horrible thought.
Well, maybe it's a good thing she's with her aunt then instead of here.
London ain't a safe place for any girl right now.
Ah, just the same, I can't help thinking how fine it'll be to have her back, Ellen.
Now Bunting, you know that Daisy seems just as much my own daughter as she is yours.
But I'm telling you, there's no sense even thinking about having her back right now.
We just can't afford it.
Oh, I know that Ellen.
Only, well, maybe we could manage it some way.
How?
Haven't I scrimped myself half crazy trying to keep us going?
But you don't care about that, do you?
No, your Daisy's more important to you than I am.
No, no, no, Ellen, Ellen, that don't sound like you.
Oh, I can't help if it don't.
What are we going to do?
Tell me that.
We'll get along, dear.
Something will turn up.
Oh, we haven't had a lodger for months.
Nobody even comes to look at the room anymore.
Yes, but things will work out, Ellen.
Oh, they ain't never going to work out.
So we won't even have a roof over our heads and...
What?
Oh, I'm sorry, Robbie.
I didn't mean to take on so...
Oh, I know, dear, I know.
It's all right.
Oh, I didn't think it.
It's just that I've been so worried.
Well, don't you go worrying another second, old girl.
Why, first thing you know, you won't be pretty anymore.
You'll have your face all wrinkled and your...
Now, I'll see here, Bunting.
Let's see a smile. Come on, just have one smile for me.
Oh, leave me alone.
Just one smile like you used to, eh?
I'll be darned with you.
Well, who do you suppose that could be?
Well, late for visitors, I...
Bunting, do you think it could be somebody looking for rooms?
Well, it might be.
You want me to go to the door?
No, I'll go.
Oh.
You just stay here.
Yes, all right.
Now, be sure you get a good look at the ways before you let them in, dear.
Oh, I'm coming.
Oh, I do hope it's...
Yes, sir?
Is it not true that you let lodgings?
Yes, sir.
Won't you come in, sir?
Thank you.
Could I, uh...
Could I take your cape, sir?
There's no need.
Now, I am looking for a quiet room.
It must be quiet.
Oh, we have that, sir.
Above all, our house is quiet.
Your bags, sir.
May I take it?
No, I'll hold it.
It'll be so good as to show me the room, please.
Oh, yes, yes.
I'll be very happy to.
Oh, I'll be very happy to.
Oh, I'll be very happy to.
Oh, I'll be very happy to.
Oh, I'll be very happy to.
Oh, I'll be very happy to.
Oh, yes, yes, sir.
It's right up these stairs, sir.
This way.
Thank you.
You see, sir, there's just my husband and me here, and we're ever so quiet, and I'm
sure you'll find this room to your liking, sir.
Here we are.
Now, I'll just light the gas.
There.
Mm-hmm.
Very good.
It is pleasant, isn't it, sir?
And there's not many rooms with such pretty pictures.
Are there now?
We've had them in the family for years, sir, and...
Pictures interest me very little.
You see, what really impresses me about the room is the very simplicity of it, the, um,
the bareness.
Yes, sir.
It's not at all crowded, is it?
It will be quite suitable, Mrs...
Buntings.
Mrs. Buntings.
You see, I do a great deal of studying in my book here, the Holy Bible.
Yes, sir.
Please, sir, let me help with your luggage.
No, don't touch it.
Oh, but I only wish to...
Oh, you only wish to help, of course.
You must forgive me, Mrs. Buntings.
It's just that I...
I'm so very weary.
Of course, sir.
He bringeth them to their desired haven.
Beautiful words, Mrs. Buntings.
Indeed they are, sir.
And now at last I have found my haven of rest.
Yes, sir.
Then, then you'll be taking the room.
Let us see now, um, what you're going to charge me with, attendance mind.
I shall be staying in most of the time and I shall be wanting meals.
Oh, we can see to that.
Then does, um, 30 shillings a week suit you?
30...
Why, yes, sir, yes, sir, that will be quite all right.
Good, and I shall pay you in advance.
My name is Sleuth, Mrs. Buntings.
Mr. Sleuth.
S-L-E-U-T-H.
Think of a hound, Mrs. Buntings, and you'll never forget my name.
Twenty-three, four, 30 shillings.
Thank you, sir.
And I think I should enjoy a little light supper now, Mrs. Buntings.
Bread and butter, perhaps.
Could you arrange that?
Most certainly, sir.
I-I'll do that now.
And if you'd be requiring any beer or spirits...
Certainly not.
Oh, sir, what, what did I say?
I thought you understood me, Mrs. Buntings,
and I had hoped that you and your husband were abstainers.
But we are, sir.
We don't keep nothing about.
I would have had to go out and...
Of course, of course.
Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Buntings.
I fear I spoke sharply.
I don't wish you to think me rude.
After all, you, you've been so kind.
Consider it.
I hope I know a gentleman when I see one.
Thank you, thank you very much.
Now I'll just hurry with your supper.
Ellen, Ellen, did he take the room?
Don't bother me now. I have to get him some supper.
What did you mean?
Come to the kitchen where he won't hear us.
He took it, Ellen?
Yes, he took the room.
Yes, we're all right now.
Look, 30 shillings.
30 shillings.
A week in advance.
Oh, it's wonderful, wonderful.
Ellen, do you see what this means?
Yes, you can have Daisy now.
Yes.
Here, Bunting,
warm that teapot and put some tea leaves in it.
Righto, righto.
Do you know something, old girl?
We're not going to worry too much about Daisy being
in danger of that Avenger fella.
Whatever do you mean, Robbie?
Well, she's not a girl who takes a drink, you know.
What's that to do with it, please?
Oh, something I read in the paper while he was upstairs
with the gentleman.
They just found out that every one of the Avenger's victims
had been drinking.
They figured he must be some kind of a rabid abstainer.
What up a kill, dear chan?
Now hurry, Bunting, please.
Yes.
Two thoughts.
Two thoughts only governed Ellen's mind.
The lodgers liked supper and her own good fortune
at having such a lodger.
Mr. Sleuth was an eccentric sort,
but then he was such a gentleman, so quiet,
so very religiously inclined.
She started up a staircase to Mr. Sleuth's room,
her husband at her side.
You won't be long to be safe, though,
once Daisy's back in London, eh?
We'll see if she stays closer than the house.
Hmm?
Well, I'll be downstairs.
Hurry up with your supper, old girl.
She has passed down many wounded from her.
Many strong men have been slain by her.
Come in.
And know the wickedness of folly.
By Mr. Sleuth?
Yes.
What is it?
Those pictures.
Those pretty girls.
You've turned all their faces to the wall.
And that maneuver, that strange action,
was the beginning of Ellen's concern.
Soon they came to her a recollection
of the black Inverness cape,
the small narrow bag,
the urgent matter of alcoholic drink.
And these details began to shape themselves
into a pattern which grew more disturbing
with each passing hour.
The day following, the larger did not leave
the upstairs room once,
nor did he leave the next day.
And the oddness of this took its place in the pattern.
Then, too, the approaching arrival of Daisy,
her stepdaughter, added to her concern.
On the second night, her sleep was restless
with vague, horrifying images.
And so when she heard the first stealthy footsteps
outside her bedroom, she was instantly awake.
Oh.
Tensely.
She followed those steps down the stairs,
down the hallway.
She heard the front door open
and then click shut.
Out of stillness, fell upon the house.
And outside, the streets were so silent,
she could hear distinctly the clock from a church tower
a mile away, told the owl.
In her troubled frenzy,
she pictured a lone figure
plodding through the deep fog,
moving quietly,
stealthily,
stalkingly,
searching,
finding.
When, soon after, she heard the ludge of return,
she sought to quiet the horrible dread
which had possessed her.
She assured herself that Daisy's arrival that day
was no cause for alarm.
Now she reasoned,
how could there be anything really evil
about so religious a gentleman as Mr. Sleuth?
But for her, there was no more sleep,
merely a tormented state of half-consciousness,
a state which suddenly had dropped from her
shortly after pay break.
Horrible murder!
Horrible murder.
That was the piercing scream of a newsboy
far down the street.
The Avenger strikes during night!
Then in bunting, heard the boy cry out
the Avenger's latest trope,
made during the night.
It's the Avenger!
Horrible murder in King's Trough!
A man of sex, he's become an Avenger!
He's become an Avenger!
The Avenger strikes again!
He's become an Avenger!
A victim of my horrible murder!
Avenger!
Avenger!
Avenger!
Ellen's first glimpse that morning
of the grave-faced lodger
brought the steepest night's warm terror
full to the surface.
But on the next instant,
she saw the pitilable helpless weariness in his eyes,
and curiously the terror began to pass.
She found that she was hoping desperate
that her fears were unfounded.
Earlier, she had determined to tell bunting
of the awful convictions in her mind.
Now, however, she felt she must be certain,
certain before she spoke to a soul.
She knew there was one thing she must examine.
That was the lodger's single piece of luggage.
She'd thought of it often.
What could it hold?
Not much in the way of clothing, surely.
It was too small, too narrow.
It was more like a case.
A case for a knife.
It was along toward noon
that Ellen found her opportunity
to search the lodger's room.
Soon after bunting left to meet Daisy,
Mr. Sleuth himself walked from the house.
Ellen watched the tall, thin figure
in the black, inward-esquip
disappear down the street,
and then she rushed upstairs into the room.
Quickly, she moved to the closet.
It was no different from what it had always been.
I tell you empty.
She found nothing into the bed.
She went then to the chest of drawers
against the wall.
She opened the top drawer
and found inside nothing but a frayed shirt,
two handkerchiefs,
the next drawer underclothes, socks,
the next empty.
There remained then only one possible place
for the small, narrow bag,
the bottom drawer, and it was locked.
Tugging at the drawer, she heard suddenly
the opening of the front door downstairs.
Panic stricken, she rushed out of the room
and down the hall to the head of the stairs.
Upstairs, Ellen.
Ellen, Daisy's here.
Oh, Mother Ellen, it's so good to see you.
Oh, whatever's the matter?
Yeah, she's gone quite white.
Oh, well, I'm all right.
I wasn't expecting you so soon.
Oh, you don't know how fine it is to be back, Mother Ellen.
The country's all right in its way,
but there's nothing like London now, is there?
No, no, there isn't.
But as long as that avenger's about,
I can see we're going to have to do something
about these blonde locks, say, Ellen.
Oh, don't worry about that.
I'll dye them maybe, or just pin them under my hat.
Daisy, I might as well get you settled.
Oh, now, Father, isn't that just like her?
She's straight to the point.
No, of course.
With a sixpence, she'll have a dust cloth in your hand
before you've got your coat off.
Oh.
Mr. Sleuth.
Mrs. Bunting, I see my door is open.
Oh, we were just leaving, sir.
Does this mean that all of you have been in my room?
Oh, not at all, sir.
What must I do? Keep it locked?
But you see, sir, I was just tidying up a bit,
and Mr. Bunting, he brought his daughter up, sir.
She just arrived.
Mrs. Daisy, sir.
Pleased to meet you, sir.
She's been away for quite a long while, you see, Mr. Sleuth,
and that's why we're a bit excited, you might say.
Yes, you must have been surprised when you came in,
hearing us laughing and carrying on that way.
Yes, yes, I must say I was.
However, Miss Daisy, there are all types of joy, are there not?
Yes, I'm sure there are.
The despicable evil joy of the abandoned
and the divine happiness of the blessed.
A vast difference, that.
You do understand me, don't you?
Yes, sir. Yes, Mr. Sleuth.
I devoutly hope so, Miss Daisy.
Nowadays there are so very few young women like yourself who do.
In fact, I... I all but despair ever of finding one.
If... if you'll excuse us now, sir,
we'll... we'll be getting Daisy's things put away.
Of course, Mrs. Bunting, and I must be getting to my room.
Believe me, Miss Daisy, it's been a revelation to meet you.
Oh, thank you, sir.
I'm sure we shall have much to discuss.
You're a queer when all right, but such a gentleman, Miss Daisy.
At that moment, Ellen had been determined to pour out her terrible knowledge,
and then the moment passed by.
She told herself that perhaps the past few days had been nothing more
than a grim illusion, a tormenting play of imagination.
She would wait then until she had attended the Colonel's inquest
into the last avenge of murder.
There, perhaps, she would hear evidence to disprove all her fears,
to assure her there was no earthly harm in Daisy being so near the lodge.
This was her gravest concern now,
for on the next day, Mr. Sleuth made it a point to see the girl more than once,
and fearfully, Ellen saw that Daisy welcomed his visits.
As Ellen was preparing to step out to the inquest,
she heard once more the voices of her stepdaughter and the lodger
coming to her through the kitchen door.
She hesitated before entering.
Intense. Strangely apprehensive.
I do believe, Mrs. Sleuth, I've never known a gentleman with such funny ideas.
Oh, Mother Ellen, you should hear what Mr. Sleuth was just saying.
Perhaps, Daisy, you would excuse yourself.
He thinks people, and especially girls, should spend all their time praying.
I sought to explain, Mrs. Bunting,
that all women are placed on this earth filled with evil.
They therefore must struggle constantly to find the paths of righteousness.
Why, Mr. Sleuth, you mean a girl's not to enjoy life at all?
Not to have fun?
Frivolity, my child, is the devil's breeding ground,
and all his implements are there.
Temptation, pleasure, wine.
Oh, that's crazy.
Well, there's nothing I like better than a glass of wine, and I'm...
You drink.
She didn't know what she was saying, Mr. Sleuth.
Just a child, and Daisy, you'd better go now.
But I didn't say nothing wrong.
What's the harm in a glass of wine?
She lieth in wait as for a prey,
and increaseth the transgressors among men.
I don't know what you mean.
I never heard such nonsense.
You call holy scripture nonsense?
So what I prayed against is true.
You are beyond salvation.
That's not so. I'm a good girl, I am, and I won't have you saying that.
Daisy, Daisy, go into the front room.
It's quite all right, Mrs. Bunting. I must be going upstairs anyway.
I'm used to being misunderstood, you know.
People never realize that my efforts are simply for the greater good of humanity.
Of course, sir.
And that the power on high will direct my hand toward the expulsion of all evil.
Daisy, Daisy, listen to me.
Yes?
I've got to tell you about... about...
About what, Mother Ellen?
Nothing. I've got to go out for a while now.
I'll be back.
The moment to reveal the secret horror had come again and passed.
Ellen's sudden recollection of Mr. Sluphes,
as he stood in the doorway, had overwhelmed her.
She must give him this vast chance,
this last frantic search for disproving evidence,
this trip to the inquest.
If that chance should fail,
she would tell Bunting or the police.
So, with the knowledge that Bunting was left in the house to look after Daisy,
she boarded the underground train bound for the coroner's court.
But as the train pulled away from the station,
a new torture came to her, began to mount in her mind.
It was the sudden realization that provided Sluphes was the murderer,
she was equally responsible for his crimes.
She had been giving him protection.
Protection, protection, protection, protection, protection.
If anything should happen to Daisy, she would be equally guilty.
Guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty.
Only as guilty as the Avenger.
Avenger, Avenger, Avenger, Avenger.
Alan, seated at the rail of the small but crowded inquest room,
seated at the rear of the small but crowded inquest room,
listened to each of the witnesses as they were called.
And from one of them she found the first hope she had known for many days.
This witness lived next to the alley in which the avenger had committed his crime that night.
She had seen him from her window and the man she described in no way resembled Evans Largent.
But in another moment, Evans' hope was swept away.
It was pointed out that the fog had been so heavy that night
that the witness could not possibly have seen the murderer from her window.
She left the stand replaced by a Mr. Cannot.
This elderly gentleman was certain that he had not only seen but talked with the avenger.
He was in Regent's Park, he testified, only a few moments before...
Only a few moments before the murder, Mr. Coroner.
When I saw him, he was quite a tall man, very gaunt looking and carrying a handbag.
A handbag, you say?
Yes, a small, narrow one.
Just such a bag, I might add, as might contain a knife.
Has Ellen heard these words?
The tension which had been mounting up within her became almost unbearable.
Rigid with horror, she gripped the arms of her chair.
She heard the coroner...
I shall have to ask for more order in the court.
And now, Mr. Cannot, I understand you heard this man speak.
Oh, yes, he had a rather high, hesitating voice.
An educated man, I would judge, but quite mad.
What do you mean by that?
Well, as he emerged from the fog, he was talking aloud to himself.
Believe me, sir, he was reciting scriptures from the Bible.
Scriptures from the Bible?
Horrified, Ellen rose from her seat, only half hearing the confusion about her.
Are you asking us to believe?
I would say, Mr. Cannot, that the man we are looking for would be least of all, a religious man.
And that's where you're in error, Mr. Coroner.
The religious note is the very key to the case.
Very interesting. That'll be all, Mr. Cannot.
Just a moment, sir. Don't you understand?
The man you're after must be a religious maniac.
That's the only explanation possible.
You will please stand down.
The court was dismissing the very truth.
Ellen knew that now.
She would no longer keep silent.
Her hands shut forth and she screamed.
I... I want to say...
Ellen Bunting, on the verge of speaking, fainted.
And then, when she was revived a few moments later, she said nothing.
Her brain was in too great a turmoil.
Her nerves too shocked.
Like one in a dream, she allowed herself to be led from the courtroom.
The voices of spectators were only vague sounds to her.
I thought she was going to say something.
Yes, it was hysterics.
Yeah, that bit about the noise.
I thought she was going to say something.
Yes, it was hysterics. Yeah, that bit about the knife.
Yeah, the knife.
The knife. The knife.
As Ellen Bunting proceeded home,
with the remarks from the spectators remain in her mind,
she heard them over and over.
That bit about the knife.
Such a vag is making me...
That knife.
We all see she stays closer than the house, eh?
No harm in being safe.
Direct my hand toward the expulsion of all evil.
Expulsion of all evil.
I saw her in a glass of wine.
I didn't say nothing wrong.
As Ellen neared her neighborhood,
her dread increased.
With each moving footstep, the grip of terror grew tighter,
tighter about her.
She moved faster, faster.
Before she were in time, she was two streets away from the house.
Then one, then...
Then she saw Bunting.
Sharp like the thrust of a knife, she realized what this meant.
Daisy was left alone with the lodger.
BUNTING!
BUNTING!
Yes, your son in? What is it?
Oh, Bunting, tell me, Bunting.
Where's Daisy? Where is she? I say, where?
Why, at home.
Oh, listen to me. Try to understand.
Sleuth is the Avenger.
What are you saying?
Oh, lodger, he's the Avenger, Bunting.
Oh, but there's no time for that. Daisy's in danger. Hurry!
Here we are, Bunting. Here we are.
Daisy! Daisy!
Daisy, where are you? I look in the kitchen, Bunting.
You try the sitting room.
Daisy! Daisy! Where are you, Daisy?
Answer me, Daisy!
Oh.
She's right in the bedroom.
Geez, she's not here. What about the dining room?
She's not there. She's not downstairs.
She has just his room.
Go on.
Open the door.
Oh.
Cut!
Okay, Mr. Hitchcock.
Track cut and clear.
Did you say cut? What's the idea, Hitch? I've a few more lines to do.
As Mr. Marshall, the narrator, you have.
As Mr. Sloof, the lodger.
Hitch, you can't stop the play right here. It isn't fair, you know.
Why isn't it, Bob?
What more is there to say?
But, Mr. Hitchcock, won't people want to know what Bunting and me found in the room?
All right, Ellen. What precisely did you find?
Well, nothing, sir.
There. You see? Nothing.
No lodger, no Bible.
And that locked dresser drawer.
What about that?
We unlocked it, sir.
Nothing, sir.
You asked certain Mrs. Bunting?
Oh, you gave me quite a turn, Mr. Sloof.
I mean, Mr. Marshall. Yes, sir, I'm sure, sir.
There was nothing.
Well, forgive me, Mr. Hitchcock, but don't you think we'd better just mention about Daisy?
I don't know, Bunting.
What do you think we ought to say?
Well, just that the reason she wasn't in the house when Ellen and me got there was...
Well, she'd gone out for a walk, that's all.
Did she enjoy it?
Oh, very much, sir. Made it to King's Cross and back in just under an hour, sir.
Splendid time, Bunting.
Well, there you are, Bart.
There's the story.
Now, wait a minute, Mr. Hitchcock. You can't do that.
That's not the story. Of course it's not.
Now, look here, Hitch, here's the fellow who composed and conducted all our music, Wilbur Hitch.
He wants to know about this, too. Everybody does.
All right, Bart.
What is it they want to know?
What became of Mr. Sloof?
Oh, him. Why, he left that afternoon.
They never saw him again.
And now I think we ought to say something about the Columbia Forecast show...
Mr. Hitchcock, sir, will you please...
Stop him, Mr. Marshall.
Listen to me.
Yes? What is it?
They want to know when the Avenger finally was caught.
Oh, well, let me ask you something, Bart.
Are you acquainted with Lauretta Young?
Yes. What's that got to do with it?
Well, in next week's Columbia Preview series,
Miss Young will take the starring role in the drama of an American Red Cross nurse.
That's good news, isn't it?
Oh, that's great.
But now, listen, Hitch,
you've just got to tell that audience exactly when and how Mr. Sloof was caught.
Caught?
Why on earth should he be caught?
Why? Well, he was the Avenger, wasn't he?
Was he?
Your guest, gentle listener, is as good as ours.
Even Mrs. Bella Glowns, who wrote the novel, isn't entirely sure.
For his masterful direction,
our thanks to Alfred Hitchcock, whose latest pictures are
David O. Selznick's Rebecca and Walter Wanger's Foreign Correspondent.
For his superb characterization of Mr. Sloof,
our thanks to Herbert Marshall.
And our thanks to the outstanding British character actor
who tonight portrayed the role of Bunting, Edmund Gwen.
If you liked tonight's programme and want to hear more
in the same highly original Hitchcock vein,
radio versions of The Lady Vanishes and The 39 Steps, for example,
write to CBS and tell us so.
Your interest will help bring suspense to the air as a weekly feature.
Forecast next week presents from Hollywood,
Loretta Young in Angel,
first of a proposed series based on the adventures
and the romance of a typical Red Cross nurse.
From New York, a new sort of comedy show,
Ed Gardner as Archie,
in Duffy's Tavern,
with Gertrude Neeson, Colonel Stupnagle,
Larry Adler and John Kirby's Orchestra.
Don't miss forecast at this hour next week.
Thomas Friedanzen speaking.
From their broadcasting system.