Now, Roma Wines, R-O-M-A, made in California for enjoyment throughout the world.
Roma Wines presents Suspense.
Tonight, Roma Wines bring you Dame May Whitty as star of My Dear Niece, a suspense play
produced, edited, and directed for Roma Wines by William Spear.
Suspense, radio's outstanding theater of thrills, is presented for your enjoyment by Roma Wines.
That's R-O-M-A, Roma Wines.
Those excellent California wines that can add so much pleasantness to the way you live,
to your happiness and entertaining guests, to your enjoyment of everyday meals.
Yes, right now a glass full would be very pleasant as Roma Wines bring you Dame May Whitty
in a remarkable tale of Suspense.
My Dear Niece, I'm writing you this letter in explanation of certain recent actions of
mine about which you're probably curious.
As you know, since that day four years ago when your dear uncle died, may he rest in
peace, I've been living a busy, if lonely, life.
Fortunately the city is small itself and one has many friends, but they in no way could
make up for the loneliness I felt.
As you recall, you're continually urging me to try to get some sort of a position, and
so finally I took your advice and placed an advertisement in our local paper.
It was six weeks ago this next Friday that I inserted the ad.
I'm sure you must have chuckled when you read it.
Widowed woman, genteel, some secretarial experience, drives own car, desires position of interest
with reliable business house.
Address Miss Emily Rogers, Box 2B or phone Hilton 22412.
I was somewhat surprised to receive a reply the next morning.
I'd finished my breakfast.
Yes, you're right.
I still drink a cup of hot water from arising each morning.
I'd finished at all events when the phone rang.
Hello?
Mrs. Emily Rogers, please.
This is she speaking.
I'm calling about the ad you ran in the evening paper yesterday.
Oh yes.
I think I can offer you a position you'd be interested in, Mrs. Rogers.
My name is Bruce.
How do you do, Mr. Bruce?
We have a very small publishing house, Mrs. Rogers, and need someone to take care of any
of the contacts we might wish to make in your part of the country.
Oh, aren't you from Hilton then?
No.
Our offices are in Los Angeles.
We'd pay you $50 a week providing you could use your home as an office, although there
wouldn't be much office work required.
As I say, the position primarily would be one of establishing contacts.
Right.
It sounds fine, Mr.
Bruce.
It sounds fine, Mr. Bruce.
Good, good.
Well then consider yourself under salary beginning immediately, Mrs. Rogers.
I'll phone you again as soon as there's something more definite for you to do.
And that's how I got the job.
I assumed naturally that I would immediately receive instructions from Mr. Bruce as to
how I should go about establishing contacts.
The first word I had after the telephone conversation was when the postman arrived the next Saturday
with an envelope for me containing a check for $50.
There was no return address on the envelope and the check was a personal one bearing no
company name.
It was signed R.L.
Bruce.
Three weeks went by in this fashion.
Each Saturday I would receive the $50 check in the mail, but always the envelope was without
a return address and the check was a personal check.
All the envelopes were postmarked Los Angeles, but other than that I haven't the smallest
clue as to the identity of the company by which I was employed.
I've always believed that money is very precious.
And as your uncle, may his soul rest in peace, used to say, no self-respecting person would
accept it without doing a lick of work for it.
I was dissatisfied at the arrangement.
I would tell this Mr. Bruce when he phoned that I wished to resign my position with his
small publishing house.
It was on the Wednesday after we arrived with the third check that I again received a telephone
call from Mr. Bruce.
He was charming as he'd been on the first call.
And before I had the chance to tell him if I wished to resign.
Well, I have your first assignment for you Mrs. Rogers.
Oh, I wanted to talk to you about that Mr. Bruce.
Oh, getting impatient were you?
Well, this will keep you busy for a while.
Really?
Yes, and Mr. Paul Stevens will arrive in Hilton this afternoon.
Now he's one of our most promising new authors and I'm going to have to ask a big favor of
you Mrs. Rogers.
What sort of a favor Mr. Bruce?
Well, Mr. Stevens has some rewriting on a novel we plan publishing in a few months and too
many people interrupt him here in Los Angeles.
So I wonder if you could put him up at your home until he finishes.
Why, I don't know.
Oh, he'll be no bother Mrs. Rogers and of course all expenses will be covered.
He has an awful lot of work to do.
Well, yes I suppose I could.
Oh, that's fine, that's fine.
It's just a place for him to get away.
Oh, and one more favor.
Yes?
Just so we're sure he's not bothered.
Please don't tell anyone he's staying with you.
And that's all I knew of the job my dear niece.
Well at last I'd be doing something for my pay which to me was very important.
I waited around the house all day afraid to leave, even to do my shopping, for fear I'd
miss the telephone call from Mr. Stevens.
It was quite late in the afternoon, almost five o'clock when the telephone rang.
Hello?
Mrs. Rogers?
This is Mrs. Rogers.
This is Paul Stevens, Mrs. Rogers.
Oh yes, Mr. Stevens.
I've been expecting your call.
Where are you?
I've come and pick you up.
Oh, that's very kind of you.
I'm at the corner, just a minute.
The corner of Brookside and Sierra Madre.
The corner of Brookside and Sierra Madre, fine.
I've been driving a Black Buick Convertible and the right fender's dented.
A parking station attendant did it.
Black Buick Convertible.
I'll be waiting.
Bye.
Goodbye, Mr. Stevens.
Oh, oh, Mr. Stevens.
I remembered I hadn't asked Mr. Stevens what he looked like so that I would be able to
recognize him.
Oh, but then I thought that Brookside and Sierra Madre is not a busy intersection and
all the chances of there being more than one stranger at the corner were slight.
I left the house immediately and drove through town to where Brookside crosses Sierra Madre.
The first nervousness I felt was when arriving at the corner, I found myself faced with this
problem of identification.
There were many cars and a rather large and excited crowd gathered at the corner.
Come on now, stand back everybody, please.
Oh, hello there, Mrs. Rogers.
Officer, what happened?
A hit and run accident a few minutes ago.
Oh, how dreadful.
Who was hit?
A man about 35, no one I know.
Was he badly hurt?
He's dead.
Oh, oh, that's awful.
Yeah, oh, please, now back.
Officer, I, well, I was supposed to meet someone, a gentleman here, a Mr. Paul Stevens.
I don't suppose that this poor gentleman could be...
Well, now, the ambulance will be here in a few minutes, Mrs. Rogers.
I'll call you when we find out who it is, if you like.
Would you?
I'd be very grateful.
I'll call you later.
All right, now, please, kids, stand back.
Mrs. Rogers?
Yes?
I, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.
I'm Paul Stevens.
Mr. Stevens?
Oh, I'm so relieved.
Hmm?
Well, of course, please get in.
The accident upset me.
I was afraid for a minute it was you.
No, no, it wasn't me.
Won't you get in?
Thank you.
Have you had your dinner?
Yes, yes, thank you.
I'd like to go to your house if you don't mind.
Well, of course, Mr. Stevens.
It won't take long.
I was really terribly relieved, and I thought what a warrior I was, because for a few minutes,
I really had been sure that Paul Stevens was dead.
But now everything was fine.
I tried making conversation with Mr. Stevens on the drive home, but he seemed tired, not
inclined to talk.
And so we drove quietly back through town and to my house.
We went inside, and I showed Mr. Stevens up to his room, and then went into the living
room to tidy up.
The telephone rang as I was setting out some ashtrays.
Hello?
Hello, Mrs. Rogers.
This is Officer Barnes.
Oh, yes, Officer.
I'm glad you called.
I wanted to tell you that I met Mr.
I think that I identified you with the police.
Yes, that's what I wanted to tell you, Officer.
The name was Paul Stevens, all right.
We had a hand bill on him, as how we know.
He was wanted for a payroll robbery in L.A. And he wasn't hit by a car.
He was thrown from a car.
He was murdered.
Hello?
I couldn't answer.
I stood there, frozen, with the telephone receiver in my hand, looking up at the phone
and looking at the dirt of the hallway, where the man who called himself Paul Stevens stood
smiling tightly, holding a gun in his hand, a gun that is pointed right at me.
For Suspense, Roma Wines are bringing you a star, Dame May Whitty, in My Dear Niece,
by Elliot Lewis.
Roma Wines' presentation tonight in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
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Emily, in My Dear Niece, a play well calculated to keep you in suspense.
My mouth felt frozen, my throat dry.
I stared fascinated down the barrel of a gun pointing at me.
Mrs. Rogers?
Are you there, Mrs. Rogers?
Hello?
Hello?
Thank them and hang up.
Hello, Mrs. Rogers.
Are you all right?
Yes.
Yes, I'm all right, officer.
I was...
Thank them and hang up.
I was...
Thank you, officer.
He walked away from me then and sat across the room where he could watch me and also see
anyone who might come to the front door.
The gun rusted in his lap.
I stood and stared at him.
My mind raced.
I tried to think of what to do.
I was surprised when he spoke.
Sit down, if you like.
Who are you?
Why did you tell me you were Mr. Stevens?
Sit down.
Who are you?
How dare you pretend to be Mr. Stevens?
I'm stupid.
What?
I didn't think they'd find out who he was.
I didn't know he was hot.
You killed...
Yes.
I killed Paul Stevens.
That's all he would say.
I tried to find out who he was and why he'd chosen me and why he killed Mr. Stevens and
what he was going to do next, but he wouldn't answer me.
He wouldn't say anything.
He looked over at me occasionally and smiled.
It was beginning to get dark and I got up.
I was very nervous.
He looked over at me occasionally and smiled.
It was beginning to get dark and I got up to turn on the lights.
What are you doing?
It's dark.
I thought I...
I like it dark.
My house doesn't look well in the dark.
We'll be going out in a few minutes, Mrs. Rogers.
Where are we going?
Oh, we're going out for dinner, Mrs. Rogers.
You're going to be my dinner guest.
Why did the cop call you?
How did you know he called me?
The phone upstairs.
I was expecting a call.
Why did he call you?
I thought you were dead.
I...
I mean, I thought Mr. Stevens was dead.
I...
All right, all right.
Get your face on, Mrs. Rogers.
I have a very important engagement.
We left the house then, got in the car and drove to a restaurant I'd never been in before.
It's on the highway out past the other side of town.
It has quite a bad reputation.
The man didn't know where it was, but he knew the name.
All the while I was trying to remember who he was.
I say remember because there was something familiar about him.
But what that something was, my dear niece, I couldn't for the life of me think.
An attendant took the car when we arrived at the road house and we went inside.
We just sat down at a table when a small and very thin dark complexion man slid into the
seat next to the man who was Mr. Stevens.
What are you doing here?
I had to come.
It didn't work.
They found out who he was.
Why didn't you stay hidden?
She knows I'm not Stevens.
The cop told him.
You could stay at her house anyway, couldn't you?
You have to come out where people can pick you up.
Take it easy, Al.
Nuts easy.
What's the matter with you?
Mary figures out a foolproof way for you to get rid of a guy and hide out right under
the cop's noses and then you go and louse up the whole deal.
It's not louse up the deal.
It will be if you don't get away quick.
Maybe, maybe.
Oh, I don't think you've met Mrs. Rogers.
Mrs. Rogers, this is Mr. Al Newholt who owns this restaurant.
Yes.
Hiya.
Look, you better get back to L.A.
What good would it do?
Have you got any contacts in that part of the country?
Suddenly I knew.
I knew who the man was because as he talked to Al, I remembered that voice.
We need someone to take care of any contacts we might wish to make in your part of the
country.
It was Mr. Bruce.
The same Mr. Bruce who'd given me my job and sent me the checks and who'd called me
that morning and told me to inspect Mr. Stevens that afternoon and to put up Mr. Stevens at
my home for a while.
How did they find out?
What?
You said they found out who he was.
How?
It was hot.
They had pictures and prints on him.
I jumped him at the corner just before I met her.
You're Mr. Bruce.
He did that payroll job.
What did you say?
He's Mr. Bruce.
That's very good, Mrs. Rogers.
How did you know?
I just remembered your voice.
It doesn't make any difference.
You know too much about this anyway.
Doesn't make any difference.
You want me to take her with me out?
I don't want her around here.
Somebody might have seen her car drive in.
They'd look.
I think we'll go back to her house and start fresh.
That way it'll be harder checking where she went.
Whatever you do, do it now.
The crowd starts coming for dinner soon and someone will see you.
Yeah, yeah, okay.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I'll be right back.
I can't describe my fright.
It all seemed so hopeless.
I suppose I was more resigned than frightened.
We drove back through town.
Mr. Bruce sitting very quietly next to me in the front seat.
My car's not new, as you know, and although I often have trouble with it, I never before
had the horn staked.
But that night it stuck right on the corner of Brookside and Sierra Madre.
Stop blowing your horn.
I'm sorry, Mr. Bruce.
I'm not blowing my horn.
It's gotten stuck.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, Mr. Bruce, I'm not blowing my horn, it's gotten stuck.
Stop the car.
Stop the car.
Now, say where you are and don't try to drive away, see?
Yes, I see.
Okay, let's get out of here.
You got the horn fixed, Mrs. Rogers?
Who's that?
Evening, Mrs. Rogers.
Tell him everything's all right.
Want me to fix that horn for you?
Mr. Merritt.
No, thank you.
It's all right.
Oh, don't it take me a second to fix it so you can use it?
Never mind.
Mr. Mayors, this is Mr. Paul Stevens.
Oh, pleased to meet you.
How are you?
I see you pulled them wires to stop the horn.
I usually take care of Mrs. Rogers' car myself, makes me feel funny when something goes wrong
with it.
Oh, of course.
I'll bring it in in the morning, Mr. Mayors.
Oh, no sense you're bothering Mrs. Rogers.
I'll go along with you now, if you like, and take you home.
Not today, driving without a horn.
Oh, I think that's an excellent idea.
I believe you said you wanted to show me the town this evening, Mrs. Rogers.
Wouldn't you need the car?
Well, I suppose...
I was looking forward to the drive.
You don't mind?
No, of course.
You'll pick the car up, though, in the morning, Mr. Mayors.
I had promised Mr. Stevens I'd take him for a ride.
Sure, of course.
Thanks for your trouble, Mr. Mayors.
Oh, glad to help.
It is such a little town.
We all know each other and like each other and like to help each other.
That so, Mrs. Rogers?
Yes.
Well, good night, Mrs. Rogers.
And I'm glad to have met you, Mr. Stevens.
The rest of the drive was uneventful.
The streetlights were on now, and flashes applied from them darted into the car
and lighted up the sullen face of the man who sat tensely by my side.
I tried to remember all the conversations I'd had with him,
to find the reason for his choosing me out of all the people who must have placed
advertisements that day as the person with whom he would hide out.
For by now, my dear niece, I was convinced that Mr. Bruce had deliberately set out
to murder Mr. Stevens for some reason and hide out in my house where the police
were the most unlikely to look for him.
But why my house?
Why had he chosen me?
When we got to my house, Mr. Bruce directed me to leave my car on the street,
and we went up the dark pathway to the front door.
Mr. Bruce a few steps behind me, all the way.
Quite dark tonight, isn't it?
Yes.
Why are we going inside?
I have to make a phone call.
I see.
Open the door.
Douse that light.
Pardon me?
Turn off the light.
Oh, sorry.
Now, pull the blinds down out of that window.
Yes.
All right.
Now the light.
Yes.
Get the telephone.
Ask long distance for Crestview 9177 in Los Angeles.
Operator.
I'd like long distance, please.
Crestview 9177 in Los Angeles.
Crestview 9177.
One moment, please.
Los Angeles.
Hilton calling Crestview 9177.
Crestview 9177.
One moment, please.
Hello.
All right.
Give it to me.
Mary, look.
Meet me at Owls as soon as you can get here.
Yes, I'm coming.
I'll call you later.
Hurry up.
Now, do you have any food for the animals before we leave?
Where are we going?
Oh, a little trip.
Are you ready to go?
Don't answer that.
The operator might be calling.
I wonder.
Okay.
Answer it.
But I'm right here.
Hello.
Mrs. Rogers, Mrs. Officer Barnes.
Say, oh, yes, operator.
Oh, yes, operator.
Is he still there?
Say yes or no, operator.
Yes, operator.
I'll stall him a while.
We're coming after him.
Thank you, operator.
Dear Mr. Mayors, he'd understood me.
And he told the police.
And they were going to save me.
Well, you just can't imagine.
I felt exactly like the heroine in a motion picture.
I simply had to prevent Mr. Brooks from leaving the house.
Just a few minutes, the officer said.
Just time enough for them to get here.
All right.
Let's get going.
I wish I knew where we were going.
Do I have to take anything with me?
Will we be gone long?
Yeah.
A long time.
Then I need several changes of clothes.
Let me think.
My brown suit.
Would the gray be better?
It's older, but...
Come on, come on.
You won't need anything.
Oh, the heater.
What?
I left the heater on in the other room.
I'd better turn it off.
I wouldn't like anything to catch on fire when we are gone.
Fire?
You mean those heaters could set the house on fire?
No, no, no, not really.
I meant that...
Well, I'd rather not pay a gas bill that's been run up against me...
because I neglected to turn the heater off.
All right, all right, but make it fast.
Well?
Come on, what's the trouble?
This thing always sticks.
I never can fix it.
I remember I did it last fall.
I was just starting off to meet my niece Mary.
And...
Here, let me do it.
There.
Thank you.
Now I feel better about it.
Sure, there must be something I've forgotten.
Now let me think.
Come on, come on.
Now you're ready?
Yes.
I'm ready.
It was quiet on my street, peaceful and dark.
All the neighbors' lights were out,
except for the gauges across the way.
One light was on upstairs in the back of their house.
It threw a diffused pattern diagonally across the pavement.
And I thought for a minute that I saw a figure move suddenly towards us.
Mr. Bruce motioned to me to go ahead,
and I walked slowly down the path towards the car.
I could feel Mr. Bruce a few steps behind me.
Suddenly, it happened.
All of them high, Bruce.
What? Get down, Mrs. Rogers.
What?
Oh, there you are.
Oh, my God.
How did you know?
Mrs. Rogers, are you all right?
Yes, I...
I'm all right.
Thank you.
I'm all right.
And there it is, Mary, the explanation I promised you.
I felt as your aunt that I should tell you how you happened to be in the penitentiary.
When Mr. Allen, the roadhouse, first mentioned your name, I was suspicious.
But not until Mr. Bruce made the phone call to you did I begin to piece the story together.
You had suggested the advertisement.
Your husband answered it and employed me.
If only you'd told me, my dear, that you'd gotten married when you were in Los Angeles.
After all, I'm your only living relative, and I could have come to your wedding.
Then this whole thing wouldn't have happened, would it, dear?
Because I would have known Mr. Bruce all the time.
Let me know after the trial what your new address is to be,
and I'll continue writing.
As always, Aunt Emily.
Suspense.
Presented by Roma Wines.
R-O-M-A.
Made in California for enjoyment throughout the world.
Before we hear again from Dame Mae Whitty, the star of My Dear Niece, tonight's suspense play,
This is Truman Bradley for Roma Wines.
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Mrs. Maywitty, as always, it's been a great pleasure to me to appear on Suspense.
And I, I want to thank Mr. Spear for his usual splendid help, and Mr. Wally Mayer as Mr. Bruce for his excellent support,
and all the other members of the cast who've all been so helpful.
About next Thursday's Suspense, it seems that a gentleman of questionable reputation, a racetrack swindler, who is, I believe the phrase is, hot,
answers an advertisement which apparently offers him free transportation from New York to California.
How this leads to the committing of one murder and the uncovering of another should give that excellent actor, George Caloris, something to get his teeth into.
I'll be listening, as I'm sure you will be, next Thursday.
And don't forget the March of Dimes.
Thank you.
Thank you, Dame Maywitty.
Next Thursday, same time, Roma wines will bring you Mr. George Caloris as star of Suspense, radio's outstanding theatre of thrills.
Produced by William Spear for the Roma Wine Company of Fresno, California.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.