Suspense!
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And now, Schenley brings you Gloria Swanson as star in radio's outstanding theater of
thrill, Suspense, presented by Roma, that's R-O-M-A, Roma Wines for your everyday pleasure.
Tonight, Roma Wines of Fresno, California bring you Gloria Swanson in Murder by the Book,
a suspense play produced, edited, and directed for Schenley by William Spear for Suspense.
I must have been asleep.
At first I thought it was one of those dreams.
And then I realized the phone was really ringing.
I seemed to remember.
It had rung before and I hadn't answered it.
But maybe it had been only this once, ringing a long time.
Because just as I got there, it stopped.
Hello?
Hello?
I suppose I had one of my spells.
I never could remember very well just after them, but I know I'd been working or trying
to.
It was my latest and I thought it would be my best.
It was about a woman who killed her husband.
But I'd had all kinds of trouble with the end.
Everything was all right up until the explanation, how she did it.
I knew of course, but somehow I just couldn't write it.
It wouldn't gel.
It had been going on like that for some weeks.
Then today I must have had another spell.
I'd been having them ever since the accident, ever since Ned was drowned.
They'd begin with headaches.
It would get worse and worse and I'd lie down.
And when I'd wake up, I wouldn't remember for a while.
Sometimes when I woke up, I wouldn't even be in the same place.
Instead of lying on the couch or on my bed, I'd be sitting up in a chair or at my typewriter
once I even found myself sitting in a car out in the garage.
It was a strain of everything, of course.
That's why I started going to Dr. Winter.
And now it seemed as though my poor nerves were fated.
One shock after another, because now Dr. Winter was dead.
You see, he'd been murdered.
Yes?
Emily?
Yes?
This is Harry, Harry Bailey.
Where have you been?
Why?
I've been right here, Harry.
Why don't you answer your phone?
I've been trying to get you all afternoon.
I must have been asleep.
How's the book coming?
Oh, not very well, I'm afraid, Harry.
Still stale?
I guess so.
I'm awfully sorry, Harry.
I know I promised it to you weeks ago, but...
Forget it.
Those things happen.
Listen, Emily, I've got a great little proposition for you.
It'll make you some money, it'll get your mind off the book for a while, and it'll be
worth a million dollars worth of publicity for us.
What's the catch?
Well, I was talking to young Hayes.
He practically runs the old man's newspaper chain for him now, you know.
And he wants you to cover the Winter case for the whole syndicate.
Oh...
Now, wait a minute before you make any snap judgments.
In all the time I've been your publisher, I've never given you a bump steer yet, have
I?
But, Harry, I'm not a reporter.
That's just it.
You write it from your point of view, the way it looks to the country's foremost woman
detective story writer.
The clues, the evidence, how it all fits together.
Truth is stranger than fiction, and so on.
You see what I mean?
Well, oh, I don't know.
You see, I was his...
I was a patient of his, Harry.
All right, all the better.
Famous man murdered in small resort town.
Just so happens, famous woman mystery writer lived in same small town.
Even was murdered man's patient.
Knows everybody by their first names, and so forth and so on.
Emily, this will put your name in headlines in every city in the country.
I know, that's the trouble.
You see, well, what will Cora say?
Well, why?
What's it to Cora?
Well, I'll grant you she may have had a slightly exaggerated idea of his importance, but after
all, she was his man Friday for the past year.
And now to have her own mother, stepmother, anyway, writing it all up in the papers and
making capital out of it.
Don't be silly, Emily.
Somebody's got to write it, and you'll do it with sympathy and honesty and understanding.
What's the greatest thing that could happen as far as getting a fair break in the papers
is concerned?
And it's a chance in a lifetime for you, Emily, no kidding.
Oh, I'd like to, as I say.
All right, Harry, I'll do it.
Have a girl.
Now listen, I'll have Hayes draw up the contracts right away.
Anything you say, Harry.
As well.
I'll be in touch.
Right now.
Good night, Harry.
Hello, Mother.
Hello, darling.
Who was that?
Harry Bailey.
He wants me to cover the winter case with a Hayes syndicate.
He what?
I told him I would.
Oh, Mother.
Oh, Mother, how could you?
Why not, Cora?
Because, because it's bad enough that he's dead without dragging it through the papers
all over again.
But it will be in the papers anyway, darling.
And as Harry says, at least I can give it sympathy and understanding.
Sympathy and understanding.
By Cora.
Please, Mother, please don't do it.
Stay out of it.
We'll only get more heartaches out of it, that's all.
Why, Cora?
Why, you almost sound as though you were afraid.
Are you afraid of anything?
Afraid?
All right, then maybe I am.
Maybe that's just what I am.
Afraid.
I had never really understood, Cora.
She was Ned's child, not mine.
I was only her stepmother.
Not that we weren't the best of friends, but she'd always been a little strange.
More like a mother, I imagine.
And then the shock of losing Ned and this on top of it.
There were times when she seemed almost in a daze.
It was hard to blame her.
The next day Harry phoned to say the contracts were all in order
and I was to report to Lieutenant Hahn of the Homicide Bureau
who would permit me to interview the girl they were holding for the murder.
And in general act as my guide, philosopher and friend.
But upon appearing at his office, I found a gentleman with his hat on his head
and his feet on his desk who didn't bother to remove either
and merely stared at me.
Something?
I'm Emily Carlisle.
I was told to report to you, your Lieutenant Hahn.
Uh-huh.
I was told that you would sort of show me the ropes.
Mm-hmm.
I deduce from your attitude that you are not particularly pleased by the prospect.
I cannot tell a lie. You deduce right.
Well, isn't this nice? We're not going to get along.
I wouldn't say that, Miss Carlisle, or is it, Mrs....?
Miss, my married name is Wales. I was married to Ned Wales, you know.
Ah.
Suppose we clear the air, little Lieutenant.
I take it the barrier between us is the old one of professional versus amateur,
dealer in fact versus dealer in fiction,
and you disapprove of fiction.
No, I got nothing against detective stories or detective story writers.
I even read them myself once in a while for laughs.
Well, that is encouraging.
What?
To find that you can not only read but laugh.
Heh. Okay.
Then just what is the difficulty, Lieutenant?
I don't like to see people tried in the newspapers.
I have no intention of trying, Miss G... What's her name?
Claire Ogilvy.
I have no intention of trying her. All I want to do is present the facts.
Tell the story.
Uh-huh.
Well, I guess you want to see her, don't you?
Among other things, yes.
Unless, of course, you have something better to do.
Oh, no, no. You're on my assignment from now on.
I'm in the dog house.
Well, I can think of less appropriate places.
Heh. Okay.
Why?
This is a big case.
National sensation, special prosecutors, hullabaloo in the papers,
special feature writers like you.
Yes?
And I'm in a minority of one around here, so nobody likes me.
Stop being cryptic, Lieutenant.
Uh, what are you driving at?
They've got a big thing on their hands and they want a conviction.
I don't agree.
About what?
About the girl.
You see, uh, I think she's innocent.
That was interesting.
The girl was even more interesting.
She was about 25, a pretty girl,
and she was lying on her bunk in the cell,
staring up at the one dim light in the ceiling
she didn't even look around when I came in.
This is Miss Emily Carlisle, the writer, Claire.
She wants to talk to you.
I'll be back after a while, Miss Carlisle.
Go away. Leave me alone.
I can't, Claire. I have a job to do.
That makes you different, I suppose.
I know, but I still have a job to do.
That's what they all say. They've got a job to do on me.
Who's trying to do a job on you, Claire?
A lot of smart people who make their living at it, like you.
You mean that they're trying to say that you killed him and you didn't?
I loved him, you fool. Why would I kill him? Why would I kill him?
Why did you confess to killing him?
He was dead, wasn't he? What difference did it make?
That's what they wanted me to say, so what difference did it make?
Then you didn't kill him.
All right, I killed him. That's what you want me to say, too.
All right, I killed him.
I don't want you to say anything, dear.
I just want to know what happened.
He was killed, murdered. That's what happened.
They say you quarreled with him.
I dug my nails into him. I wanted to hurt him.
There was blood on my dress, and so I burned it, and they found that.
Then when I heard what had happened, I ran away, and they found me.
Oh, they've got everything fixed just fine.
I had a job to do, that's all, and they did it.
And the sooner they get it over with, the better, and then everybody will be happy.
Maybe even me.
Why did you quarrel with him?
Have you ever been in love with some man, and then one fine day you found out you were just the last of a long list of other women?
Have you? Have you?
Yes. As a matter of fact, I have.
Oh. Then you know why I quarreled with him.
Yes.
All right, then, and I'll tell you something else, too.
I didn't kill him, but now I wish I had. Do you hear me? I wish I had!
Well, I suppose she told you she killed him, and you believed it.
First she said she had killed him, and then she said she hadn't.
You didn't answer the second part.
She indicated you have certain evidence.
Okay. Come in here.
The DA's got the original sample, but pictures should give you a rough idea.
Oh, what's that?
A piece of a dress that was found under the bed. They matched it to the dress she burned, oh, more or less.
And what's that plaster thing?
Cast of tire marks. Did you read Dick Tracy?
Oh, I've used plaster casts of tire marks myself in my books, but, you know, they look a little vague.
They are.
You know something, Lieutenant? I'm inclined to agree with you.
About what?
About the girl. I think she is innocent.
Oh. So you can write it from the who-den-it angle, huh?
That's as far as I'd be, Lieutenant, if you please, and a little more attention to detail.
By the way, why is everyone so anxious to believe this particular girl did it?
Because they think they can make it stick. Why look further? Because it's good for them.
They make their reputations that way, just like your boss makes circulation.
Let's face it. You and I know what Dr. Winter was like.
There must be a dozen girls in this town who have just as much reason for killing him as this one.
That's what I said.
As for the confession, she's obviously an hysteric. Any good alieness could break that down.
Oh, I said that too.
And as for this stuff, I don't know much about tires, but this dress pattern is as common as a cotton handkerchief.
There must be 50 of them within a mile of where we're standing right now.
Same goes for the tires. I've told them all that.
Then there must be something wrong with your methods, Lieutenant.
Now, what do we deduce from all this?
I'll tell you what I deduce.
What?
As a woman who's killed a man in this town, a murderess. A murderess that's still on the loose.
For Suspense, Roma Wines are bringing you Gloria Swanson in Murder by the Book.
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Suspense, Radio's outstanding theater of thrills, is presented by Roma.
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And now, Roma wines bring back to our New York Soundstage, Gloria Swanson as Emily Carlisle in Murder by the Book.
A tale well calculated to keep you in Suspense.
At first I was quite excited about the whole thing, about covering a murder case, I mean.
It was good for me. It took my mind off myself, the book I should have been finishing and couldn't.
And poor Ned being drowned last summer. That had been more of a strain than even I realized. I knew that now.
Not that I wasn't terribly fond of Ned, but we hadn't been as close as we once were.
But it had been a shock. That's why I'd been going to Dr. Winter myself.
It is much as told me that the spells I had were a direct result of what happened to Ned.
Oh, it shows you how tiny and yet how strange our little world can be here.
Here I was writing up the case of Dr. Winter's murder for the newspapers.
Of course, right away I discovered that the evidence against the girl they were holding was all circumstantial.
And Lieutenant Hahn got me prints of the pictures.
A piece from the dress they said she was wearing and attire marks.
And I went out to do a little checking of my own.
First I went to Gorman's Department Store. Actually, it's the only real store for women's things in town.
Well, well, well, well, Miss Carlisle. Long time no see, eh?
What can I do for you?
I was wondering if you could identify a dress for me. A certain dress?
A dress? Why, sure. What kind of a dress? You have mine.
No, I don't want to buy one. I just want to find out about one.
A particular dress. This dress that this picture was taken of. That's only a piece of it, of course.
Oh. Oh. Oh, that.
Yes. You've sold quite a few of them, haven't you?
Say, I hear you're going to write up this Winter case for the papers. That right, Miss Carlisle?
Why, yes, I am. As a matter of fact, this dress...
Oh, I know this dress all right. We had them last spring. Sold like hotcakes. Four dozen of them.
Did you keep any record of who you sold them to? Could I get a list?
No. No. No complete record. Mostly cash sales, you know. Made up a partial list. That's all. A partial list.
Well, that's what I want. That's better than nothing.
Going into competition with the police department now, eh?
No, I'm trying to help them, Mr. Gorman. If you'll give me...
You better see them about that yourself, then. Lieutenant Hahn. Gave him the list three weeks ago. You better see him.
Oh. I didn't know he had one. He never told me.
Cops don't always tell everything they know, eh?
You go see Lieutenant Hahn. He's the man you want to see, Lieutenant Hahn.
I felt a little silly. Why hadn't he told me? But then, of course, I had never asked him.
My next stop was Morton's Big Service Station on the corner of North and Main.
They did practically all the tire business in town.
How do, Miss Carlisle? Fill it up?
Why, yes. I guess so. Oh, but I wanted to ask you something.
Sure, Miss Carlisle. What is it?
Well, you see this thing?
It's the imprint of an auto tire, and I want... Oh, from the winter case, huh?
The cops was already in here. I heard you was working on the case, Miss Carlisle.
In a way. And I was trying to find out about this tire. I mean...
Well, that tire, man, that's a 616 Goodstone. It's pretty new, too.
You can see from this middle tread here, you see.
I don't see how anybody could prove much by this here.
Do you sell many of these? What did you call them?
616 Goodstone. Oh, yeah, plenty. That's what I'm talking about.
I don't see how you could prove much with that tire.
You find them on all kinds of cars. I know, but...
Look, here, you got them on your own car, Miss Carlisle.
Same kind, 616 Goodstone. Almost new, too.
You see what I mean? Oh, yes. Yeah, I see.
Yeah, plenty of them kind of tires around.
Hey, you want that tank of gas now, Miss Carlisle?
No. No, thank you. Never mind.
It's funny how you never notice things like tires, if you're a woman anyway.
They did always handle things like that, and then afterwards, Cora had done it.
Cora. And of course, as the boy had said, there were hundreds of tires like it. Hundreds.
Cora wasn't home yet, and I wandered around the house and tried to think, but I didn't get very far.
I was afraid one of my headaches was coming on. I decided to try and write my first article.
But when I sat down at the typewriter, I remembered I hadn't put the cover over it the last time, and it was all dusty.
I went to the broom closet and rummaged around in the basket we keep there for old rags.
I just started to dust off the typewriter when I noticed it. It was the rag I held in my hand.
It wasn't just an ordinary rag. It was a piece of a dress, and it wasn't just an ordinary dress.
It had a cute little red and white print pattern, the kind of a dress the police said was worn by the woman who had murdered Dr. Winter.
It was then I heard Cora coming in. Stinctively, I thrust the rag just in my hand into the desk.
Mother, you home?
Oh, hello, darling. Been shopping?
Just a few odds and ends. What have you been doing?
Oh, a little of this, a little of that.
Um, Cora, what about the car? Won't we be needing new tires pretty soon?
Well, now I had new ones put on all around only a little while ago. You remember?
I'd forgotten. When was that?
Oh, six weeks ago anyway.
Then it was before?
Before what?
The murder.
Will you stop it? Do you have to go through with this thing, Mother?
I think it's better for me to write it than some stranger, don't you?
If you wish.
But it's so different from what happens in stories. For instance, I can't even remember what we were doing the night, the night it happened. Can you?
We were home.
Are you sure?
Don't you remember?
It's... isn't it silly?
You had one of your headaches. I was in my room. You were in yours.
Then I was asleep all evening.
I suppose you were.
But you don't know. You weren't with me. What a pity.
I'll start, Topper.
Oh, Cora.
Yes?
Whatever happened to that old print dress? It was yours, I think.
What print dress?
You know, with a red and white flowered print. You did have one like that, didn't you?
I haven't seen it for quite a while.
But it couldn't have just disappeared.
The last time I saw it, you had it. And then I don't know what happened to it.
I had it?
Don't you remember?
No. Would... would this be it, Cora?
Oh. So this has all been a cross-examination, has it?
There were certain things I had to know, Cora.
But I won't stand for it, you hear? You can do anything you like about yourself, but I won't let you drag me into it. I won't.
You were in love with him, too, weren't you, Cora?
Yes. Yes. Now are you satisfied?
Yes, I was in love with him. I was in love with him!
When I woke up, the sun was shining, and I was lying on the bed in Cora's room.
And Cora was gone.
I made some coffee, and then I went down to see Lieutenant Hahn.
What's the matter, Miss Carlisle? You look sort of played out.
I had rather a restless night.
I've been thinking about this thing, Lieutenant.
I've been thinking about it a lot.
Been doing a little checking up, I hear.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I've been thinking about it a lot. Been doing a little checking up, I hear.
Yes, Lieutenant. Why didn't you tell me you had that list about the dresses?
Was it because you knew that someone in my house had bought one of those dresses?
You're speaking of your stepdaughter, Cora Wales.
Yes.
We did know it, of course, but we knew the same thing about a couple of dozen other women. It didn't make much difference.
Oh.
Got any new ideas?
Look, Lieutenant, I've been writing a new book, or trying to, about a murder.
A woman who kills her husband. I didn't know how to finish it.
Now, look, it's all sort of mixed up in my mind, but...
you know the old theory about a murderer will always return to the scene of the crime?
I don't get it.
I know. Put it this way.
If someone killed because the person they killed knew something,
they'd have to kill anyone else who knew that same thing now, wouldn't they?
You still going on the theory the Ogilvy girl's innocent?
I know she's innocent.
You know? That's pretty strong talk, Miss Carlisle.
Well, call it woman's intuition. Call it whatever you like.
I just know that there's someone...
Look, Miss Carlisle, maybe I had you wrong yesterday.
I can see you're not kidding about this thing.
Not that I pretend to know what you're talking about, but...
if you've really got something, you better tell Papa.
No, no.
You...
I can't.
You say you think somebody's going to come back to the scene of the crime.
I don't know. I don't know what I think.
I just know that...
Look, Miss Carlisle, I don't like it. You're upset and you're frightened.
No.
I want to help you.
No, no. I have to do this my own way.
Do what?
I don't know.
Well, I can't very well use a rubber hose to get it out of you,
but I just want you to remember that whatever I do, it's part of my job.
What? What's part of your job?
To see that nobody else gets killed around here, including you.
I could feel the headache coming on as I left his office.
I almost ran to my car.
All I could think of was that I had to get home before it happened.
But it was coming over me awfully fast, faster than it ever had before.
The house was empty.
I threw myself on the couch and pressed my hands over my eyes.
The pain was horrible.
Horrible.
And then suddenly I had the feeling that I wasn't alone.
That someone was standing there, standing over me.
Someone I couldn't see.
Someone who was crushing my brain, squeezing my temples in a kind of terrible, invisible vice.
Someone who was trying to kill me.
I was having a dream.
Another of those horrible dreams.
I was dreaming that I'd gone upstairs to Cora's room and she was there packing her things.
She didn't see me or hear me.
And I crept into the room very softly.
It seemed as though I had a heavy poker or something in my hand.
I crept up very softly behind her.
I raised the poker and then she whirled around. She saw me!
You knew it wasn't an accident, didn't you?
You knew he didn't just drown.
You knew I killed your father. I pushed him.
And when I went to Dr. Winter, he found out too.
Something buried in my subconscious, he said.
And he made me tell him.
He told you all that, didn't he?
So now I'm going to have to kill you too, Cora.
I'm going to have to kill you!
All right, Miss Carlisle. All right.
You better come along now.
I hear the doctors keep talking about schizophrenia.
That's a double personality, you know.
They seem to think I did all those things without even knowing it.
Drowning Ned.
Trying to kill Cora.
That's what the spells were, they say.
The other personality.
Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
But I wish I could talk to Dr. Winter.
I went to him first about the spells.
He said he could cure me if I told him the truth.
Only, of course, I can't talk to him now.
He's dead.
I killed him.
In just a moment, we will hear from Gloria Swanson, tonight's star of Suspense.
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This is Gloria Swanson. It was a great pleasure to appear on tonight's broadcast of Suspense.
Next week, Suspense will originate from Hollywood, when Roma wines will bring you Vincent Price.
Good night.
Tonight's Suspense play was written by Robert L. Richards.
Next Thursday, same time, you will hear Mr. Vincent Price as star of Suspense.
Produced forcibly by William Spear.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.