Suspense!
The studio's outstanding theatre of thrills brings you an hour of suspense.
A full 60 minutes of The Larger.
An eerie tale of 19th century London directed by William N. Robeson
and produced by Robert Montgomery, who tonight also stars as The Larger.
The Larger
This is Robert Montgomery with a few words about a city.
A sprawling, furious city, which had slackened its pace to allow the miasma of horror to settle even to its furthest corners.
I say horror, but there was a fascination too, for there is always a fascination where there is violent death.
The city? It was London. And the year was 1888.
A London terrorized by the Fifth in a succession of horrible murders.
Such is the very real setting for The Larger, for Mrs. Bellic-Lown's novel is based on fact.
It was almost certain that these deeds were the work of one person,
for this meager identity was established by the victims themselves.
They were all young, all attractive women.
It was the killer, still at large, who absorbed the imagination of the great city.
The killer who had taken special pains to make it clear that some obscure and terrible lust for vengeance possessed him.
And because of him, laughter was forced, conversations waned,
and there were silences where there should have been good talk between neighbors.
Only in homes, doors bolted and blinds drawn, was the talk easy.
As for example, in the home of Ellen Bunting. In particular, Ellen Bunting.
Ellen was no different from all the middle-aged housewives dwelling in London's squalid Whitechapel district.
Her home was a small segment plastered into a block-long tenement in Maribon Road.
Ellen read the newspapers as avidly as she said her prayers, so she knew all the facts of the case.
And she knew it was quite proper to refer to the wielder of the knife as the Avenger.
This particular night, she and Robert Bunting, her husband, sat before their fireplace, reading the newspaper account of the latest murder.
The Avenger had struck again.
Why, he might be anybody. He might be the fellow you pass on the street, the one standing next to you.
He might be the one who's standing next to you.
He might be a friend of yours. He might be your friend.
He might be your friend.
He might be your friend.
He might be the fellow you pass on the street, the one standing next to you, the man you bump into.
Oh, it's a terrible thought.
Yes, if only the police had something to go on, but the Avenger's just too quick for them.
Oh, they do say here, Bunting, that the police have a clue they won't say anything about.
Them who says that says wrong. The poor chap who was on point duty in the street where the last one happened,
there's a yell, he says, but he took no notice.
The coppers will have to stick to it better than that to catch a slick one like the Avenger.
It says here he left his calling card again, a bit of grey paper on which the monster writes his name.
Funny kind of visiting card, ain't it?
It isn't a thing to make a joke about, Bunting.
Or was it a square piece of paper or one of them three-cornered ones?
It don't say which, Bunting.
Well, it should. Those are the things I like to know about. Keeps a body informed.
Huh. And a fair girl again, just like all the rest.
And let's see. Described by her friends as a very light-hearted girl. What a pity.
Hmm. Did you ever stop to think who fits that to a tee? In fact, fits all those girls?
Did you ever stop to think about their talent?
Why, no. Who?
My own Daisy.
Yes. Yes, Bunting, that's a fact.
Well, maybe it's a good thing she's with her aunt instead of here.
London night a safe place for any girl right now.
Just the same. I can't help thinking how fine it'll be to have a bed.
Now, Bunting, you know that Daisy seems like my very own, even if she is my stepchild.
But I'm telling you, there's no sense even thinking about having her back right now. We just can't afford it.
I know that, Ellen. Only, well, maybe we could manage it some way.
Oh, haven't I scrimped myself off 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, Ellen, that don't sound like you.
We haven't had a lodge for months. Nobody even comes to look at the rooms anymore.
But things will work out, Ellen.
They ain't never going to work out. Soon we won't even have a roof over our heads.
Oh, I'm sorry, Robbie.
Oh, no. Well, don't go worrying. Another second, old girl.
For the first thing, you know you won't be pretty no more.
Eh?
You'll have your face all wrinkled and...
No, see you, Bunting.
Come now, now. Let's see you smile.
Oh, leave me alone. I won't.
Oh, get on with you.
Now, who do you suppose that could be?
It's awfully light for visitors.
Bunting, do you think it could be somebody looking for rooms?
Why, it just might be.
You want me to go to the door?
No, I'll go.
Mike, like as not it's Mrs Fane wanting the loan or something or other.
Now, you be sure and get a good look before you let anybody in, dear.
I'm coming, I'm coming.
Yes, sir?
Is it not true that... that you let lodgings?
Yes, sir. Won't you come in, sir?
Thank you.
Could I... could I take your cape, sir?
Thank you. However, there's no need.
I am looking for rooms, quiet rooms. Above all, they must be quiet.
Oh, yes, sir. You'll find all my rooms quite quiet, sir.
All of them? How many are there?
Just now, I have four left.
The house is empty, save for my husband and me, sir.
Oh, that sounds very suitable.
You'll pardon me, sir, but the door...
I am happy that you closed the door, madam.
It's not safe to leave one open in London these days.
That is a thing you should remember.
It would be so easy for anyone to slip in.
Oh, you're sure, sir. You needn't be afraid of that.
Now, your bag. May I touch it?
No. No, I'll hold it.
If you'll be so good as to show me the rooms.
Oh, yes. Yes, sir. They're right up these stairs, sir.
Thank you. 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 these rooms to your liking, sir.
Here we are.
Now, I'll just light the gas.
There. Ah.
It's very good. It is pleasant, isn't it, sir?
Capital, capital. First rate, quite first rate.
Exactly what I wanted.
You must understand, madam, that I am a man of science,
and I often require the presence of great heat.
This seems like a capital stall.
Oh, it is, sir.
And the sink. It will be exceedingly useful to me.
Exceedingly.
And these pictures, sir.
There's not many rooms in such pretty pictures, are there, now?
The Three Graces. They've been in the family for years, sir.
Yes, yes, yes. I... I'm tired.
Tired, very, very tired.
Indeed, sir.
Then you mean to take my rooms?
Where's my bag? Surely I had a bag when I came in.
It's over there, sir. By the door, where you put it when we came into the room.
Oh, yes, I beg your pardon, madam.
But there is something in that bag which is very precious to me,
something I procured with infinite difficulty,
and which I could never come by again without getting into great danger.
I'm sure of it, sir.
Now, uh... now about the rooms.
Oh, yes, yes, yes. I'll take them.
The very simplicity, the bareness of them, impresses me.
And about terms, sir?
About terms. I... terms.
My name is Sleuth, madam.
S-L-E-U-T-H.
Think of a hound and you will never forget my name.
And assure yourself that I am quite willing to pay you.
I am quite willing to pay you, shall we say,
a month's rent in advance.
What would you say to 15 shillings a week, sir?
And if I offered you two pounds,
might I then rely on your not taking another larger?
Oh, yes, sir.
First rate, first rate.
Then everything seems quite suitable, Mrs...
Bunting, sir.
Mrs. Bunting, Mrs. Bunting.
You see, I expect to do a great deal of studying here in this room.
The Holy Bible.
Oh, yes, sir.
And please, sir, let me help you with your luggage.
No, no, don't touch it.
But, sir, I only wish to...
Of course, of course, Mrs. Bunting.
You only wish to help. You must forgive me.
It's just that I am so very weary.
Oh, I'm sorry, sir.
He bringeth them to their desired haven.
Beautiful words, Mrs. Bunting.
Indeed they are, sir.
And now at last I've found my haven of rest.
I'll be going now, sir.
Is there anything else?
Oh, yes, of course.
Of course there is. Your money, Mrs. Bunting.
Ah, now, let's see. Here's five, six, seven, eight pounds.
There.
Thank you, sir.
And would you wish supper now? Tea?
Nothing, thank you. Nothing.
Good night, sir.
Good night, Mrs. Bunting. You have...
Stop it!
You are humming a song.
Music, Mrs. Bunting, save that expressing the majesty of God
is an accompaniment for irreverent gaiety
and an instrument of sin.
It bespeaks of obscene gods in revelry.
It is the tongue of the devil mocking the saints.
Yes, sir.
And you, you assured me your dwelling was quiet.
But it is, sir.
Believe me, sir, I didn't mean any harm.
Believe me, sir. Of course, of course, of course.
I am sorry, Mrs. Bunting. I fear I spoke sharply.
I don't wish you to think me rude.
After all, you have been so very kind, so considerate.
Oh, well, I hope I know a gentleman when I see one.
Thank you. Thank you very much.
And on second thought, Mrs. Bunting,
perhaps a bit of bread and butter would be pleasant.
Bread and butter, certainly, sir. I'll have it in an instant.
Ellen, Ellen, did he take the room?
Come into the kitchen where he won't hear us.
Ellen, he took it. Tell me, he took the room, didn't he?
Yes, Robbie, we're all right now.
Look, eight pounds a month in advance.
Oh, it's wonderful, it's wonderful.
Ellen, oh, Ellen, you see what this means?
Yes, Robbie, you can have Daisy now. You can bring her home.
Here, hand me that dish.
Right. Do you know something, old girl?
We're not going to worry too much about Daisy being in danger, that avenger fellow.
Whatever do you mean, Robbie?
Well, she's not one for dancing, you know, or any kind of like entertainment.
And what's that to do with it, please?
Something I read here in the paper while you was with the gentleman.
They found out that every one of the avenger's victims had just come from a dancing party or a musical.
Oh, never mind the avenger now, Bunting.
Here, hurry, take this bread and butter up to the lodger.
That was the first and the last time Mr. Bunting served the lodger.
The man who called himself Sleuth
made it at once clear that he preferred to be waited on only by one person and that person his landlady.
He gave her very little trouble. His oddities were something to occupy her mind.
They amused her.
And Mr. Sleuth had none of those tiresome disagreeable ways with which landlady's are only too familiar.
To take but one point, Mr. Sleuth did not ask to be called unduly early.
It was a great comfort not to have to turn out to make the lodger a cup of tea at seven or even half past seven.
Mr. Sleuth seldom required anything before eleven.
Nothing about her new lodger really distressed Alan until the evening of the third day.
It was time for Mr. Sleuth's dinner and she started up the staircase to his room.
She had cast down many molded from her. Many strong men had been slain by her.
Come in.
She saith unto him stolen waters are sweet and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.
But he knoweth not that the dead are there and that our guests are in the depths.
Why, Mr.
Yes. What is it?
Those pictures, those pretty girls.
Half human monsters, madam, who stare at me and eat of my sinew.
You've turned all their faces to the wall.
A woman is a narrow gate. She also lieth and waiteth for a play and entreateth the transgressors among men.
And that maneuver, that strange action was the beginning of Alan's concern.
Logically it was nothing. Mr. Sleuth simply had a queer kind of fear and dislike of women.
And where one's lodger is concerned, a dislike of women is better than, well, the other kind.
Besides, the next morning brought Daisy and laughing welcomes, for the sight of such a carefree girl was enough to gladden any parent's heart.
And half-born suspicions withdrew into their own peculiar recesses of Alan's brain.
For Daisy was pink-cheeked, blue-eyed and gay. She was also young and lovely. And she was blonde.
Oh, it's so good to be home.
Oh, Daisy, you're even prettier than I remembered you would be.
That's right, Daisy. Let me look at you, darling. Did you have a nice time at your auntie's?
Oh, yes, but I'm glad you wrote me to come back.
That old answer's nothing to do. At least nothing exciting to do.
And Joe will be coming around to see you now, Daisy. I told him you was coming home today.
Joe Chandler? That policeman? I don't know whether I want to be serious friends with a policeman.
Him that walks around all day and's too tired when he comes home to have any fun.
A girl could do worse than have a policeman for a friend these days with the Avenger about.
The Avenger don't worry me none. Even though he's got two more victims last night.
Two more? Yes, the cabbie was telling me about it. On the way down from the station.
The slutty devil. Got them within a few yards of each other. He's got a nerve.
Daisy, you talk like you've been taken in by him.
Oh, Mother.
Oh, that'll be Joe, I'm thinking. I'll go, Father.
Daisy.
Hello, Joe. It's nice to see you.
Oh, Daisy. I've missed you something terrible.
It's nice of you to say so. Won't you come in?
Thank you. Good afternoon, Mrs. Bunting. Mr. Bunting.
Hello, Joe. Daisy was just telling us she heard from a cabbie that the Avengers struck again.
Aye, that he has.
Well, tell us about it, Joe. Have they got any clues?
Well, they have and they haven't. But the yard is circulating a description at last.
Well, go on, tell us, Joe.
Well, it ain't given out to the public yet. But I guess you folks aren't the public.
Of course not. Tell us, Joe.
Well, this is the way we got it at eight o'clock this morning.
Wanted. A man of age approximately 28, height five feet eight inches, complexion dark.
No beard or whiskers, wearing a black diagonal coat, hard felt hat, high white collar and tie.
Very respectable appearance.
What I'd like to know is why on earth did the people who saw him try and catch him?
Well, it's this way, Daisy. No one person did see all that.
You see, at such time when the murders took place, not much of anybody was about especially on a foggy night.
One woman declares that she saw a chap walking away from the spot where it's done.
And another one says the Avenger passed her by.
And well, the inspector who has charge of that sort of thing looked up what other people said and well, that's how he made up this wanted.
Well, did they find the murder weapon yet?
No. No, but from the condition of the bodies they know what it's like.
What is the condition of the body?
Daisy.
Well, Daisy, you ought to see the way he...
Joe!
Oh, I guess I'd better not go into that.
But I can say that the inspector described the murder weapon as a peculiar kind of knife, keen as a razor and pointed as a dagger.
And the Avenger knows how to use it.
Oh.
I'd give anything, Joe. I'd give anything to see the locks of a knife like that.
You cruel, bloodthirsty girl.
I learn.
Of course I'd like to see it. It'd be fine looking at a knife like that.
Well, if they catches them and you come along with me to see our black museum at the yard, you'll certainly see the knife.
Black museum? Well, whatever do they have a museum in your place for?
Oh, it's a regular chamber of horrors where they keep all sorts of things connected with crime.
Things like knives murders are being committed with?
Oh, much more than knives, Mr. Bunting. Why, they've got there in little bottles the real poison what people have been done away with.
And can you go there whenever you like?
Why, of course. And I can take you too. And your daddy if he wants it.
Well, what do you say to today, Joe? The three of us. Daisy and you and me. I don't expect Ellen would want to go.
To turn me sick.
Well, I guess I could.
Sure you could, Joe. Ellen ain't on in this turn. She can just stay home and mind the cat.
I beg his pardon. I mean the lodger.
I won't have Mr. Sleuth laughed at. I'm sure it's very kind of you, Joe, to think of giving Bunting and Daisy such a rare treat.
How curious, how amazing to reflect that one unseen mysterious stranger had touched the lives of those ordinary people.
Ellen and Bunting and Joe and Daisy.
Here in this drab neighborhood on that bitterly cold dreary day.
Here they had all been thinking of, talking of, evoking one unknown mysterious personality.
That of the shadowy and yet terribly real human being who chose to call himself the Avenger.
And the effect was a very real one. A sort of witchery. The very name Avenger seduced common sense.
And somehow even Mrs. Bunting realized the irony of her presence among such talk.
While this thought threaded vaguely through her mind, she took her tea, doing everything as was her way, with a certain delicate and clean precision.
A sound startled her. Shuffling, hesitating steps were creaking down the house.
She looked up and listened. Surely the lodger was not going out again into the cold and foggy afternoon.
Of course not. Mr. Sleuth was evidently about to do something that he had never done before.
He was coming down into the kitchen.
Yes, sir. What can I do for you, sir? I hope you didn't ring, sir.
No, no I didn't. The truth is I didn't know you were here, Mrs. Bunting. My gas stove has gone wrong.
Yes?
So I came down to see if I, if you had a gas stove. I'm going to ask you to allow me to use it tonight for an important experiment I wish to make.
You'll find it very cold down here, sir.
It seems most warm. Warm and cosy after my cold room upstairs.
For the matter of that, you ought to have a fire in your bedroom these cold nights.
Certainly not. I dislike an open fire. I thought I had told you as much.
Yes, I remember. I, very good, sir. I'll be out of the kitchen in half an hour. You can use it then, sir.
Thank you all the same, Mrs. Bunting. But I shall come down later. All together later after you and your husband have gone to bed tonight.
I assure you I will pay you something for the use of the stove, Mrs. Bunting.
Oh, no, sir. I wouldn't think of charging you anything for that.
That's very generous of you. Sometimes I believe that you are too generous towards me. I feel I have become a burden to you. Have I, Mrs. Bunting?
Oh, no, sir.
Then I'll bid you good afternoon, Mrs. Bunting.
Yes, sir.
It was as simple as that. A simple request by her lodger.
But another part of Ellen's mind seemed to be working independently of requests, asking her insistent questions.
Her house seemed to her alive with alien presences, and she would catch herself listening, which was absurd, for of course she could not hope to hear what Mr. Sleuth was doing two flights upstairs.
She wondered briefly on what the lodger's experiments consisted. It was odd that she had never been able to discover what it was he really did with that gas stove.
All she knew was that he used a very high degree of heat.
And later, waiting for sleep to come to her that night, such thoughts persisted. They inserted themselves like a cloud between a sweet dream and the dreaming of it. Questions, questions and contrived answers and sudden realizations, as for example the curious matter of Mr. Sleuth's three suits, which he had purchased the very day he had arrived at Ellen's home.
Today, when she had dusted his room, she had noticed that one of those suits had completely disappeared.
It was intensely dark, intensely quiet, the darkest quietest hour of the night when Mrs. Bunting was awakened by sounds at once unexpected and familiar.
Her sleep had been restless with constant disturbing images, and so when she heard the first stealthy footsteps outside her bedroom, she was fully conscious.
Suddenly she followed those steps down the stairs, down the hallway. She heard the front door open and then click shut.
Her 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 hour.
Like her troubled fancy, she pictured a long, long figure plodding through the swirling fog, moving quietly, stealthily, seeking, stalking, finding.
When soon after she heard the lodger return, there was no surcease from the horrible dread which possessed her.
It grew into something shrill, something that made her crouch in her bed, her thumb clasped between her teeth, stifling a scream.
And then she remembered, of course, the stove. The lodger had told her he would use the stove that night for an experiment, for an experiment that needed an intense amount of heat.
Then there was no more sleep, nearly a tormented state of half-awareness which suddenly stripped away soon after dawn.
Horrible murder!
Horrible murder, the piercing scream of a newsboy down in the street.
The Avenger strikes during night!
Ellen Bunting heard the boy cry out the Avenger's latest stroke made during the night.
No! No!
In tonight's full hour of suspense, Mr. Robert Montgomery appears in the title role as the Lodger. Tonight's study in suspense.
In just a moment, we will return with Act Two of Suspense.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
Now, back to our Hollywood soundstage.
With Mr. Robert Montgomery in the title role, and with Act Two of the Lodger, we again calculate to keep you in suspense.
When Mrs. Bunting went down to her kitchen that morning, everything looked just as she had left it,
except that the cavernous whitewashed room seemed to be filled with an acrid kind of fog and the smell of burned cloth.
She twisted a newspaper, lighted it, then stooped and flung open the door of her gas stove.
A fierce heat had been generated there since she had last used the oven,
and through to the stone floor below had fallen a mass of stringy black soot.
Somehow she wasn't surprised. Somehow it was as she expected.
Yet her first glimpse that morning of the gray-faced Lodger all but banished her sleepless night's terror.
Mr. Sleuth looked lonely, very, very lonely and forlorn.
There was a kind of pitiable, helpless weariness in his eyes.
She found she was hoping desperately that her unspoken fears were unfounded,
and she knew that she must be certain, certain before she voiced her fears to a soul.
And there was one thing she could do.
Examine the Lodger's single piece of luggage. 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 just noon when Ellen found her opportunity to search the Lodger's room.
When the bell was tolling the hour, Mr. Sleuth himself walked from the house,
and she watched the tall, thin figure in the black, invinous cape disappear down the street.
She waited a few minutes, and then she rushed upstairs.
Daisy! What are you doing in Mr. Sleuth's room?
Oh, whatever's the matter with you, Martha?
Oh, well, I'm... I'm all right.
But you've gone white.
You gave me a fright, child.
Ha! I'll bet father a sixpence that I'd have a dust cloth in my hand before you'd mention it.
You see, I've won.
Oh.
Well, are you glad you've come home, Daisy?
Oh, you don't know how fond it is to be back again.
Well, just yesterday I was saying to Jo,
the country's all right in its way, but there's nothing like London.
It's a truth now, Mother, isn't it?
Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.
And Jo.
He's a nice one, Mother.
I like Jo.
I'm glad of that. Jo's a steady one.
Daisy.
Daisy, as long as that avenge is about,
I say you should do something about those fair locks of yours.
Don't worry about that.
I'll dye them, maybe, or just pin them up under my hat.
I'm afraid that wouldn't do, Daisy.
What kind of a man is this? Larger of yours?
Oh, I don't know. He's...
He must be a queer one, sitting up here most all day by himself.
Awful lonely, like I calls it.
People do what they care to do, child.
Well, whatever does he do with himself all day?
He reads. Reads the Bible.
Oh, never.
That's a funny thing for a gentleman to do.
There's nothing to laugh at.
I should feel ashamed of being caught laughing at anything connected with the Bible.
He must be a queer card, that Larger.
He's no queerer than a lot of people I could mention.
Daisy, you go into the Larger's sitting room and dust up.
I'll take care of things in here.
And you won't send me back to Old Ants?
I can stay here, Mother, can't I?
I suppose, child.
I suppose you can.
And Mrs. Bunting went about her work.
Quickly she moved to the closet.
The contents were a bit different from the last time.
Another one of her Larger's new suits had disappeared.
But somehow she expected that, too.
It fitted with the smell of burned cloth she'd noticed that morning in the kitchen.
But she found nothing under 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 and two handkerchiefs.
The next drawer, under clothes and 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 door behind her.
Panic-stricken, she froze to the spot and then slowly, ever so slowly, she turned her head.
Mr. Sleuth.
Mrs. Bunting?
You...you've invaded my privacy?
Why, I...I was just...
My cupboard door is awry.
Does this mean that you have been searching my room?
It's about her, Snuffbox, sir.
My husband, Bunting, that is, remembered an old Snuffbox.
He thought still my...
Does this mean that I must keep each drawer locked to prevent your spying upon me?
Oh, no, sir.
You see, sir, Bunting has a very high opinion of that Snuffbox.
What are you talking to?
Quickly, tell me, who is this?
This is my stepdaughter, sir.
Daisy.
She just arrived yesterday, sir. You see...
Pleased to meet you, sir.
She's been away for quite a long while, sir.
We really didn't know when she was returning home, Mr. Sleuth.
That's why I didn't mention Daisy when you took the rooms.
And I must say, sir, that I was surprised to hear about us taking in a lodger.
And pleased about it, too, sir.
Yes. Yes, I...I must say that I am the one who was surprised.
Yes. And perhaps even pleased.
Thank you, sir.
Yes, of course, I am pleased.
There are, Miss Daisy, all kinds of pleasures, are there not?
Yes. I'm sure there are.
The despicable evil joy of the abandoned.
Those who seek the darkness to sip the juice of forbidden fruit.
Surely, surely, Miss Daisy, you shun such pleasure as that.
Oh, yes. That is us, but...
A vast difference, that, from the divine happiness of the blessed.
Those of clean hands and pure heart.
You do understand me, don't you?
Oh, yes, sir. Yes, Mr. Sleuth.
I devidly hope so, Miss Daisy.
Nowadays, there are so very few young women like yourself who do understand.
In fact, I all but despaired ever of finding one.
I'm sure it's nice of you to say so, Mr. Sleuth.
It is a people who do err in their hearts, and they have not known my ways.
Unto them I swore in my wrath that they should not enter unto my rest.
True words, Miss Daisy. True.
Yes, sir.
Now, I must be putting things away downstairs, Mr. Sleuth.
Of course, Miss Daisy.
And I must rest.
Believe me, it has been a revelation to meet you.
Oh, thank you, sir.
I'm sure we shall have much to discuss.
Yes, sir.
He's a queer one, all right, Mother.
But such a gentleman, isn't he?
The End
At that moment, Ellen had been determined to pour out her terrible knowledge.
But the moment was fleeting, and Ellen's resolve fled with it.
She felt herself that perhaps the past few days had been nothing more than a tormenting play of imagination.
There would be a coroner's inquest tomorrow into the Avengers' last murder.
Jo would take her. With Jo, they would admit her, and there perhaps she would hear evidence to disprove all her fears,
to assure her there was no earthly harm in Daisy's being so near the lodger.
This was her gravest concern now, for on the next morning Mr. Sleuth made it a point to see the girl more than once,
and fearfully Ellen saw that Daisy welcomed the visits, that her eyes shined whenever the lodger's name was mentioned.
That afternoon, she heard once more the voices of her stepdaughter and the lodger coming to her through the kitchen door.
She hesitated before entering, tense, apprehensive.
Oh, doobly, Mr. Sleuth, I'd never known a gentleman with such funny ideas.
Oh, Mother. Mother, 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 to her, Mrs. Bunting, that all women are placed on this earth filled with wickedness.
I'm not so sure of that, Mr. Sleuth.
And they therefore must cleanse from themselves that evil which they possess.
They must struggle constantly to find the paths of righteousness.
Mr. Sleuth, you mean a girl's not to enjoy life at all, not have any fun?
Frivolity, my child, is the harbinger of destruction. It is the devil's breeding ground.
And all his implements are there. Temptation, pleasure, wine.
Oh, there's nothing allot better than a glass of wine and allot...
You drink?
She didn't know what she was saying, Mr. Sleuth. Just a child. She never tasted wine.
Daisy, you'd better go now.
Frivolity, my child, is the devil's breeding ground.
Mark this. Those who consort with temptation, with impropriety, with illicit music and dancing, those are the accursed...
Oh, but that's crazy. However can you say that there's nothing allot better than an evening of dancing?
You dance?
She's joking, Mr. Sleuth. That's why she's joking with you.
Daisy's just a child. She's never been one for dancing. She's never even learned how to dance.
But I did learn, Mother, while I was away.
What's so wrong about it? What's the harm in just a nice dance?
She lieth in wait as for a prey and increaseth the transgressors among men.
I don't know what you mean. I'm sure I never heard such nonsense.
You call holy scripture nonsense? So what I prayed against has come to pass. You are beyond salvation.
That's not so. I'm a good girl. I am. I won't have you saying this.
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 for the greater good of humanity.
They don't know that I'm their benefactor.
Of course.
And that power unhigh will direct my hand toward the expulsion of all evil.
All the evil in the world.
Daisy, Daisy, listen to me.
Yes?
Daisy, I've got to tell you about... about...
About what, Mother?
Nothing. I suppose nothing.
Then I'll go out for a while. I'll tell Joe I'd meet him.
Yes. Yes, I suppose it's... really... nothing.
But there was something.
Though the words had not yet shaped themselves in her mind, there was a knowledge stark and terrifying.
It was as if a grinning face were leaning towards her.
She was a woman of the past.
And in her mind, there was a knowledge stark and terrifying. It was as if a grinning face were leaning towards her.
Whispering and a hand at her back, thrusting her forward.
Ellen ran up the steps. She had to know. And who, who but the lodger could tell her.
You are welcome, Mrs. Bunting.
But I believe propriety dictates that you knock.
Mr. Sleuth.
Yes?
It's... it's about Daisy, sir.
She is a great disappointment to me, madam. And I suppose to you.
Yes. Yes, that must be it. You want me to help her seek salvation. You want me to kneel with her...
Oh, no! No, sir. It isn't that at all.
Well, then what is it, madam? Come, I was preparing myself for a walk. It's a fine dark day for a walk.
Surely you wouldn't go out now. It isn't fit for anyone to be out in that fog.
You must be justing, Mrs. Bunting. From this window I saw Miss Daisy go into the street not five minutes ago.
A very sweet looking young girl, Miss Daisy. A pity she has estranged herself from innocence.
You don't know what you're saying, Mr. Sleuth.
Come to the window, Miss Bunting. Listen.
How very quiet and still London is in the fog. Not a sound.
Yes. Yes. It's very quiet today.
Too quiet, I'm thinking. Quite natural, like.
And I, for one, have a delicate feeling for nature. So now, Mrs. Bunting, if you'll excuse me, I...
But aren't you afraid, Mr. Sleuth? Aren't you afraid of going outside?
Afraid? Afraid of what?
I was thinking of the police.
The police?
But what is man? What is man's puny power and his strength when set against that of the highest power?
So Ellen had tried and she had failed. But even then she had had her moment of triumph.
Looking out of the window she had seen Daisy, arm in arm with Joe Chandler and smiling up into his face.
She was relieved when the lodger left the house. She needed this time for thinking.
And now she knew what she must do.
In an hour or so Daisy would be coming home with Joe and then she would ask him to take her to the coroner's inquest.
She must give the lodger that last benefit of doubt.
And if that should fail then she would tell Bunting or go to the police. And in an hour as she expected.
Oh.
It's me, Mrs. Bunting. I've come to see you about something. Mind if I come in?
Yes, yes, come in, Joe. But where's...where's Daisy?
That's what I've come to see you about, Mrs. Bunting. About Daisy. You see...
Where is she, Joe? What's happened?
You see, we were walking and Miss Daisy asked to be by herself for a while for the reason that...
No!
Now, now, now, don't take on Mrs. Bunting. I don't think what I've got to say can take you by surprise.
From the look or two you've been casting me lately.
Why, Joe? Whatever are you talking about?
Well, like I say, Mrs. Bunting, it's your daughter. It's Daisy. I want her hand. I want to marry her.
Mr. Bunting now said if it's all right with you, it's all right with him.
Then Daisy's all right. Nothing's happened to my Daisy.
Well, of course, of course she's all right. She told me she wanted to do something about me and she...
She didn't want me around while she'd done it.
Oh.
I left her with her daddy just a minute ago at the corner pub.
Well, as far as I'm concerned, you have my blessing, Joe.
Oh, that's mighty fine, Mrs. Bunting.
And Joe, I want you to do something for me.
Of course I will. Just ask me, Mrs. Bunting.
Joe, I... I want to go to the coroner's inquest tomorrow.
Coroner? But why?
I've got a reason for wanting to go there. I want you to take me, Joe.
Well, I guess I could.
Why, sure. Of course I'll take you, Mrs. Bunting.
Oh, I'd be proud to take my future more any place, she says.
So the last frantic search for disproving evidence had begun.
And the next day, with the knowledge that Bunting was left in the house to look after Daisy,
Ellen boarded the underground train with Joe Chandler.
During the last few days, all her perceptions had become sharpened by suspense and fear.
She realized now, as she looked into the stolid but bewildered face of Joe,
how she herself would have regarded any woman who wanted to attend such an inquiry
from a simple morbid feeling of curiosity, and yet, seated at the coroner's court,
that was just what she was about to do herself.
Ellen, seated near the rear of the room, listened to each of the witnesses,
and from them she found none of the hope she had come for,
for none of them had seen the Avenger or knew what he looked like. But then...
Miss Lizzie Cole may step forward.
Right here, Miss Cole. Thank you.
Now, we quite understand, Miss Cole, that you think you saw the individual
who has perpetrated these terrible crimes.
Let us begin at the beginning. What sort of hat was this man wearing?
It was just a black hat.
A black hat, thank you. And the coat?
Were you able to see what sort of coat he was wearing?
He hadn't no coat. I remember that very particular.
He's a queer one, I said. As it was so chilly, everybody as can wear some sort of coat this weather.
But the statement you gave to the newspaper reporters says that the Avenger,
according to you, was wearing a coat, a big heavy coat.
I never said so. I was made to say that by the young man from the newspaper.
Just put in what he liked in his paper he did, not what I said at all.
And you assert that he looked at you, is that correct?
Frightened me after death he did.
If you could really see his countenance, for we know that the night was dark and foggy,
will you please tell me what he was like?
Dark. He was dark.
So it went with Miss Lizzie Cole. Most positively, most confidently,
the witness declared the man she had seen hurrying by in the darkness was tall.
No, no, no, he was short. He was thin. No, no, he was a stoutish young man.
And as to whether he was carrying anything or not, Miss Cole absolutely refused to commit herself.
The next witness was a Mr. Canot.
This elderly gentleman was certain that he had not only seen the Avenger,
but that he had talked to him.
It was near Whitechapel, he testified, only a few minutes before the murder of Mr. Coroner, when I saw him.
He was quite a tall man, a very gaunt looking.
I see. And this man you think was the...
The Avenger.
You're quite certain that you met him on the very night he committed the murder we are now investigating?
I do so declare, sir. And I might mention a thing about him to which you might attach importance.
The man carried a bag, a rather light-colored leather handbag.
A handbag, you say?
Yes, sir. A small, narrow insert. It was such a bag as might contain a long-handled knife.
A knife!
Please, we must have quiet. Quiet.
Now, Mr. Canot, what made you suppose that this stranger could possibly be the Avenger?
Well, this man, as he approached me in the fog, stopped and turned to me.
And there was a very wild, mad look on his face, sir, if I may say so.
And he spoke to you?
Well, as he emerged from the fog, he was talking aloud to himself.
Then, as he saw me, he said, this night, my friend, a night fit for the commission of dark and salutary deeds.
Yes, sir, that's exactly what he said, sir.
Is that all?
He had a rather high, hesitating voice. An educated man, I would judge, but quite mad as I've told you, sir.
What do you mean by that?
Well, as he passed by, then, he continued to speak into himself aloud.
Oh, believe me, sir, believe me, he was reciting scriptures from the Bible.
Scriptures from the Bible?
Horrified Helen, half rose from her seat, only half hearing the confusion about her.
Scriptures from the Bible, you say?
Aye, sir.
And you asked the court to believe that?
I would say, Mr. Canot, 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. I'm convinced of that, sir.
Very interesting. And now, if you please, you may stand down, Mr. Canot.
Just a moment, sir, just a moment. You must understand, sir, the man you're looking for must be a religious maniac.
That is the only possible explanation.
And you must understand, sir, time is going on. I have an important witness to call, a medical witness.
Now, if you could...
But certainly you're not going to...
You may stand down, Mr. Canot.
The court was dismissing the very truth.
Ellen knew that. She could no longer keep silent.
Her hand shot forth and she screamed.
I... I want to...
On the verge of speaking, she had fainted.
And then, when Ellen was revived a few minutes later, she said...
She said... 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 by Joe Chandler from the courtroom.
Joe took his leave to go on duty.
And as Ellen Bunting's train pulled away from the station, a new torture came to her.
Forming in her mind was the awareness that if Sleuth were the murderer, she was equally responsible for his crimes.
She had been giving him protection.
If anything should happen to Daisy, she would be equally guilty.
Fully as guilty as the Avenger.
As Ellen neared her neighborhood, her dread was increased.
With each moving footstep, with each heavier boom of thunder from the rainstorm that was almost here,
the grip of terror grew tighter and tighter about her.
She moved faster and faster. If only she were in time.
The first light drops of rain sprinkled her brow as she turned into Marabon Road.
Then she saw Bunting... walking toward her.
Sharply, like the dart of a knife blade, the one fact pierced her mind.
Daisy was now alone with the lodger.
Bunting! Bunting!
Ellen, Ellen, what is it?
Tell me, Bunting! Where's Daisy? Where is she? I say, where is Daisy? Where is she? I say, where?
At home, at home. Where I left her, Ellen. Where, where, where...
Oh, no, Bunting! No!
What is it, Ellen? What is it?
Listen to me. Try to understand.
Sleuth... Sleuth is the Avenger.
What? What do you say?
Roger is the Avenger, Bunting. Daisy's in danger. Hurry!
Daisy! Daisy!
Daisy! Where are you?
Oh, look, in the kitchen, Bunting. You try the sitting room.
Daisy! Daisy!
Where are you, Daisy?
Answer me, Daisy!
Try the bedroom.
I did. It's not there. It's not downstairs.
Oh, then that's just his room.
I am ready, O Lord, ready to smite thine enemy.
For man born of woman is born unto trouble, and I shall cleanse thy kingdom on earth.
Yes, I shall show her thy wrath from heaven.
Go on, open the door.
Speak, Lord, I am ready. The power unhigh will direct the expulsion of evil.
The knife! He's got the knife!
Daisy!
Thy servant heareth. I behold Satan and lightning fell from heaven.
In this woman I behold him, and lightning strike him dead. I...
Bunting! Bunting! Is she all right?
Yes. Take her out, darling.
No, Bunting. You can't stop the fire. We must save ourselves.
Come away, Daisy.
He... he...
He's dead, child. He's dead.
I... he's dead.
Joe... Joe... the Lord...
There, there, there, Daisy, there. Don't try to talk about it.
I'll tell you, Joe, it was queer, it was, as if the Lord himself struck the house with lightning
and spread the fires of Elder Cleanse whatever the lodger had touched
to burn down the house and all that's in it.
Our house, everything we own.
No, not everything, Ellen.
Daisy's safe. That's all that should matter to us.
She's safe. Thank heaven.
Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.
Death by Act of God.
Thus the final entry in Scotland Yard's record of the famous Avenger case.
Yes, the day which brought an end to Mrs. Bunting's lodger
brought also an end to the knife slings we call the
but also an end to the knife slings which had terrorized London.
But curiously enough, there were those at Scotland Yard who were never quite sure
that the charred remains of a man they removed from the ashes of the Bunting home
were indeed those of the Avenger.
Any more than Mrs. Bellock-Lownes, who novelized the case, was ever quite convinced.
And there are those who will tell you that the real Avenger,
a tall man clad in an invinous cape, a man almost exactly like Mr. Sleuth,
left England and came to America to live in a town near your town.
He would be quite old now, but it may be true.
Yes, perhaps as it is written in Holy Scripture,
he did fly upon the wings of the wind to walk as a stranger in many strange places.
He knoweth now that the dead are there.
Hast found me, all mine enemy?
Beautiful words, those, don't you think?
Beautiful words.
This is Robert Montgomery without the invinous cape.
And I want to thank Jeanette Nolan, who played Ellen,
and Peggy Webber, who was Daisy, for their splendid performances in tonight's play.
Next week we have chosen a story whose elements are natural counterparts of suspense.
I guess you could call it a love story, one kind of a love story.
For indeed there is a man and there is a woman who fall in love and they marry.
It is practically probably only a mischance of fortune that the man has no material means
and the woman comes from a family of substantial wealth.
And the dire chain reaction of events, which are then set in motion against the bride's family,
are undoubtedly matters of mere coincidence, I imagine.
Yes, you could call it a love story.
We'll leave it to your own good judgment after you hear Beyond Reason by Devry Freeman.
Next week's study in suspense.
Mr. Montgomery may currently be seen in the Universal International Production Ride the Pink Horse.
The Lodger was adapted for suspense by Robert Tullman and directed by William N. Robeson.
Lud Gluskin is our musical director and conductor, and Lucian Morrowak composes the original scores.
Next week here, Beyond Reason on radio's outstanding theater of thrills, one hour of suspense.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.