Suspense!
Auto Light and its 96,000 dealers present Mr. Joseph Cotton in Blood Sacrifice, a suspense
play produced and edited by William Spear.
Hap me boy, here's one that'll rattle the ivory between your ears.
What is it that carries water, has plates, gives continuous service, and is associated
with a good tip?
A waiter!
Oh, how dumb can you be?
Listen, I'll make it easy.
It needs water only three times a year in normal car use, and it's a tough little bundle
of potent energy.
Now, what is it?
A camel?
Oh, give me strength.
Look, Slap Happy, it's the famous Auto Light Stay Full Battery, the battery that needs
water only three times a year in normal car use.
Why, the Stay Full has over three times more liquid reserve above the plates than batteries
without Stay Full features.
You caught me with my brains down, Wilcox.
Glad to hear you admit it, because the Auto Light Stay Full battery is known from coast
to coast as the battery that gives 70% longer average life as compared to batteries without
Stay Full features.
And this is proven by tests conducted according to SAE life cycle standards.
You're absolutely right, Harlow.
Of course, you're always right with Auto Light.
And now with blood sacrifice and the performance of Joseph Cotton, Auto Light hopes once again
to keep you in suspense.
Seeing his dressing room, Gary, his arm through mine, his great beautiful voice purring assuringly
in my ear.
It's wonderful, Johnny, wonderful.
Two hundred thousand.
Why, they didn't pay that for Gone with the Wind.
You're a success, boy, a success.
A success.
And well on the way towards being rich.
On the marquee above the theater in lights, Garrick Drury in Bitter Laurel and then in
slightly smaller lights by John Scales.
New clothes, best food, a fashionable hotel, new and fashionable queen.
And I owed it every bit of it to Garrick Drury.
Everyone said that, everyone except Gary.
We're just finished seeing the men from the Motion Picture Company.
Gary had been charming, courteous, thoughtful, protecting my royalties, protecting his rights.
And finally they were gone.
Walters, Gary's valet, came into the room.
Anything else, Mr. Drury?
Not tonight.
I'll pick you up in the car at the stage door at five minutes.
Yes, sir.
I'm going to see Mr. Scales to his taxi.
Sure I can't drop you anywhere, John?
No, no, quite sure.
Thanks.
Glad to, you know.
Oh, Walters.
Yes, sir.
Bring along that play of young, what's his name, ruggles, buggles, you know who I mean.
I promised Fanny Taylor I'd read it, but well, it's perfectly useless, of course.
We'll be playing Bitter Laurel for another two or three years yet.
Eh, Walton?
Well, come along.
Five minutes, Walters.
Yes, sir.
Now look here, John.
Don't you worry about his movie deal.
I've handled these characters before.
Before.
Before!
Listen to that, John.
Wonderful sound.
The empty theater.
The empty, echoing, endless theater.
John, you know what?
Sure.
There's a play in it.
In the last scene, the actor dies in the empty, endless theater, pouring out his death on
eight pages to the ghosts of all the audience who didn't realize how great he was.
Alone.
His wife's gone to, uh, Hollywood.
Perfect.
Well, what are we waiting for, Johnny?
I'll put you in your taxi.
You go home and write it.
Bring it to me tomorrow night.
We'll fix it, and there we are.
I can read the notices now.
It is sensational, aren't they?
Gary Grury does it again.
Actor's death scene draws bravo.
Sir Gary Grury, maybe.
Well, come on.
We'll get you on your way.
Good night, Mr. Grury.
I thought your performance was exceedingly fine tonight.
Thank you.
Good night, Scotty.
Waters will be right out.
You can lock up.
Good night, Mr. Grury, Mr. Scales.
Good night, Scotty.
Well, this is as raining.
There's a cab stand right at the corner.
We make a run for it.
John, look out!
John, are you all right?
I...
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh, I don't know.
Doctor, the...
Doctor, the breath out of me.
My side...
How about you?
You all right?
No.
Here, let me help you.
Bye.
You are hurt.
No, no, no.
Just jarred up a little.
No broken bones.
Gary!
Oh, my Lord.
I picked myself up from the curb where the car had thrown me, but it hit us.
My side hurt in my head.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
I was hurt in my head real, but Gary...
So I staggered out from the other side of the car, saw the jagged pain of broken glass in
the store window, saw the bright spurts dying the pavement crimson where Gary's right hand
clutched his left arm.
A policeman came running towards us.
Yeah, yeah, what happened?
It's Mr. Dury, officer.
They car skidded over the curb and knocked it through the window.
Yeah, yeah, but they will look now.
Catch him, catch him.
He's going faint.
They've got him now.
Oh, no wonder.
He's got an artery.
Hey, you, call an ambulance.
Get a doctor.
This man will bleed to death if we're not quick.
Are you all right, sir?
I hurt my side a little, sir.
I feel a bit faint.
I'll be all right.
Good, good.
We've got to stop this bleeding here.
Now, help me.
You put your hand right here.
That's right, yeah.
Now, squeeze hard.
Yes.
And keep on squeezing.
You, you over there.
Come on, give us a hand.
I'll take his head.
You take his feet now.
Easy does it.
All right.
Yeah, yeah.
What happened to you?
Mr. Dury.
What happened to you?
Mr. Dury.
There's been an accident.
Walter, here.
Come on, give him your hand.
Hang on to the artery.
I'm trying to.
What is it, Mr. Skeff?
Accident.
Mr. Dury cut an artery.
Here.
There's a couch.
Mr. Dury's dressing room officer right around this way.
What's the matter?
What happened to the light?
Turn off the light.
He fainted, Gary.
Oh, I see.
All right, all right.
Here, here on the couch.
Easy now.
Down we go.
Now, you, get an ambulance and a doctor.
All right.
My left arm, eh, John?
Do you suppose I'll lose the use of it?
Oh, well, it's lucky it's the army in play, isn't it, John?
I can always go on playing key.
Always.
For the rest of my life.
My play.
All the rest of his life.
The blood, I'm going to be sick.
The officer took his strong hand and gripped the artery in Gary's arm above my own shaking
fingers.
Now, you look peaking.
Lie down, Mr. Skeff.
Let me hold that.
Now, you, help rig up a tourniquet.
Walters, whatever your name is.
Yes, sir.
Will someone try to get a doctor?
Just call for the doctor.
There's no one on emergency.
Everyone's out, and so are the ambulances.
Then call a private hospital.
This man is bleeding to death.
Bleeding to death.
This was the end with it.
No doctor on duty, and Garrick Drilly bleeding to death.
Then I came to.
I'll find a doctor.
But it was 40 minutes before the doctor finally came.
40 minutes while Garrick Drilly's life seeped out from the improvised tourniquet.
The doctor sat down his bag and took one look.
We're still trying to get hold of an ambulance, Dr.
Drilly, but we couldn't move him now anyway.
There's only one thing to do.
Give him a transfusion right here.
Yes.
Well, first we'll make a decent tourniquet.
I'll test his blood for type.
Oh, by the by, wait around, all of you.
I have to find someone among you with type of blood that matches his.
Garrick lay on a couch behind a screen in his dressing room.
There was a plate on the table, one with a border of pink roses, which during rehearsals
we'd often eat in hasty sandwiches.
Now there were four round blobs of red on it.
Blood, two blobs of mine and two of Garrick's valid, Walters.
Behind the screen, Walters was blubbering with grief while an intern arrived at last
for the ambulance was murmuring fearfully.
Doctor, I can't find his pulse.
You can't?
What?
Wait a minute.
Here, you idiot, let me see.
Yes, of course, here it is.
But we must hurry or we'll be gone.
Steady now, Walter, steady.
We know you love him.
We're doing our best.
Now, let's go look at those tests.
The important thing is to give transfusion as soon as possible.
Let me give it to him.
I'll give my life for Mr. Drury.
Let me give the transfusion.
Now, now, now, now, we'll see.
I've already told you, Drury's blood is type three, very difficult.
We can only give him a transfusion from someone of his own type or a type four universal donor.
Anything else would be like giving him prussic acid.
I only hope that you or Mr. Scales will do.
We'll have to make sure.
All right, now let me see.
All right, now, Walter, let me see.
We'll have to make sure.
The doctor bent over the plate, pouring liquid out of vials onto the red drops.
I stood where I'd been standing when he put the blood onto the plate before the intern's
voice had cried out,
Dr. I can't find his pulse.
Walter's and the doctor had plunged around the screen to where Gary lay unconscious.
I watched while the doctor finished with the vials.
Then he picked up a grease pencil from the dressing table and drew a line across the
plate, cutting it in half.
Then with a pencil, he marked the side on which I stood with an S and the side on which
Walter's had stood with a W.
There now.
Now we'll be sure of which is which.
It will take a few minutes to see if there's any agglutination.
Oh, that's hope.
That's all we can do is hope.
And he disappeared once again behind the screen.
It was then that I noticed the one rose on the border of the plate which had been blurred
in the firing.
I noticed it before.
Many times I've noticed it today in the last few minutes, looking stupidly at it as you
do at such things.
But before, before the doctor had marked it, before he and Walter's had gone running behind
the screen, then hadn't the blurred rose been on the left, my left, but now it was on the
right.
Might Walter's in passing have brushed it and turned it around?
I stood and stared at the tiny pool on the side marked W. Little hard purple crystals
were beginning to form around the edges.
I looked at the side of the plate marked S, my side, supposedly.
The blood was clear and bright.
But what if the plate had been turned around and the blood on the other side was mine?
It was mine that was forming little purple crystals.
I stood staring at the plate as the doctor came around from behind the screen.
Now let's have a look at this.
Hmm, where?
Looks as though we're in luck.
Is it mine?
May I give him the transfusion, sir?
Oh, sorry, old man.
Not unless you want to murder him.
No, no, but Mr. Scales here, it looks as if he were that useful animal, a universal donor.
All right, Mr. Scales, let's make ready.
What?
You're it, Mr. Scales.
I, oh, there's something I ought, well, I ought to mention that...
You're not frightened, are you?
Not that, I...
There's no danger from giving a transfusion, you know.
I don't know that.
No, no, no, no, I'm not frightened, doctor.
Then come around here and let's get busy.
We haven't much time.
Doctor, I...
Hello, John, old fellow.
What's this?
Final curtain.
Don't be silly.
That's a rotten exit.
Dying Egypt.
Dying...
Not dead yet.
My long shot.
Take off your coat, please, Mr. Scales, and roll up your sleeve.
Rotten exit.
Rotten rake for you too, John.
I have to close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
Close the play.
I'm ready, doctor.
That's to be sure.
Sit down here.
Hold still.
You will hardly notice this.
Make a fist.
Tight.
That's it.
Maybe feel a little dizzy for a minute afterward, but in an hour you'll be right as rain.
That's all right.
Now, now, still.
There.
Yeah.
Not bad, was it?
Lie back.
That's right.
Good old John.
Give me...
Lord, what a publicity story this will make.
Playwright had actors bedside, gives blood to save famous star's life.
If he had kept quiet, if he'd only...
It might not have been too late then, but then I knew, I knew that I would never tell
the doctor.
I would never tell anyone.
I would only wait and see.
The revulsion, the contempt, the hatred that had been caged up in me for that smiling,
posturing ape on the couch, leaped now, clawing at the bars, howling for revenge.
Going all right, Scales?
Yes.
Yes, perfectly.
Thank you, doctor.
Auto Light is bringing you Joseph Cotton in Blood Sacrifice, tonight's production in radio's
outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Now it's my turn, Wilcox.
Riddle me this.
What is it that lives a long time, has great power and endurance, and can store water?
Well, that's easy, Hap, an Auto Light stay full battery.
Oh, no.
Yes, yes, that Auto Light stay full battery needs no more water than a cactus because
it has more than three times the liquid reserve above the plates as compared to batteries
without stay full features.
Stop that, Wilcox, and answer my riddle.
Now, let's see now.
You mentioned long life.
The Auto Light stay full battery has a fiberglass retaining mat protecting every positive plate.
That accounts for its incredibly long life.
Why, a recent test based on SAE life cycle standards proved that Auto Light stay full
batteries give 70% longer average life than batteries without stay full features.
You're not even getting warm, Wilcox.
Why, man, this Auto Light stay full battery is tops in batteries.
Talk about power, it's phenomenal.
Endurance sensational.
And remember, it's the battery that needs water only three times a year in normal car
use.
Elefant is what I had in mind, Harlow.
But I'm right too, Hap, because you're always right with Auto Light.
And now, Auto Light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage our star, Joseph Cotton, in Blood
Sacrifice, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
I lay back there on the chair in the dressing room.
The doctor had been right, there was no pain about it.
I could feel little tinglings as the blood said goodbye to my body on the way to inhabiting
the much bluer veins of a distinguished actor.
No, no, I felt nothing.
Only a gentle warmth dropped for a while and a lovely serenity.
And with it came little visual effects inside my closed eyelids, a kaleidoscope like they
use in films to dissolve into flashbacks.
That, that was that.
Yes, I was having a flashback.
I hadn't wanted to send the play to Gary in the first place, but I was new in London
and good old George Stoepfots who was handling me said he had a hunch about it.
Everything to gain, my boy, nothing to lose.
May as well try, you know, can't get hurt trying.
Lord George, Gary Drury, it's just, just not his kind of play.
It's a tragedy, a bitter, cynical, disillusioned tragedy.
Ah, he may, he just may like it, you know.
I'll send it along over to his hotel.
We'll see.
I'd never met Gary until then.
Of course, this tremendous charm of his, this flashing, winning, infectious and comparable
style of the man.
When, when you talked to him, you were lost.
He did like the play, at least he said he liked it.
Oh yes, wonderful idea, very strong, perhaps a little grim, but then these are grim times.
Of course, there are one or two things that need touching up and we may have to make a
change here and there.
There's never been a play produced that didn't have to have a certain amount of rewriting
during rehearsal.
You understand.
But I didn't understand.
I was still too bewildered to understand.
The man had this fantastic charm and he'd used it before I was out of his office.
I'd signed a contract giving me a very pretty share of the royalties and Gary the right to
make any reasonable changes.
He might be necessary to the script.
Reasonable changes.
During rehearsals, we'd sit halfway back in the theater.
Oh, John, I've been thinking.
Yes, the cocktail scene in the first act was bothersome.
It seems out of character.
What do you mean?
Keith wouldn't have acted that way.
He'd have been shocked and hurt and angry.
He'd have denounced her and left the party.
Wonderful scene.
And then at the very end, Keith rolls up his uniformed tunic with all the decorations on
it and lays it under his head for a pillow and lies down on the bed.
Oh, wonderful curtain line.
He said, I rest upon my laurels.
Wonderful.
Can you write it, boy?
You are not serious.
Of course I'm serious.
I look here, Johnny.
I'm not serious.
Of course I'm serious.
This is your play.
I'm only concerned.
That's not the play, Gary.
It's all out of key with the rest of it.
Oh, you said it reminds me.
I've been a little bothered about the ending, too.
Of course, very dramatic, of course.
But just at this time, it seems a little bad taste, don't you think?
The play altered, butchered, finally opened.
We sat up waiting for the morning papers, and then they came.
I read them, and I wanted to run away.
I couldn't.
The voices of the critics sang to the public.
This broken-back play is only held together by the magnificent acting of Mr. Garrick Drury.
Saccharin, as it is, fitter laurel, provides a personal triumph for Mr. Garrick Drury.
Nothing in the play is consistent except the assured acting of Garrick Drury.
Mr. John Scales has constructed his situations with great skill to display Mr. Drury in all his attitudes,
and that is a sure recipe for success.
We prophesy a long run for bitter laurel.
And run it dead, there was no stopping it.
I caught myself wishing Garrick Drury would die or lose his looks or his voice or his popularity
so that the whole thing could be buried and forgotten.
Well, now, perhaps he was going to die.
I watched the blood from my veins fill up the container.
I thought of the blurred rose on the plate that might have got turned around.
I heard Walter still complaining about something. I listened to the doctor.
Our blood won't do at all, Walter. Lucky for Mr. Drury that Mr. Scales was around, good man to have around, universal donor.
Blood mixes with all types.
What was it, my blood, or Walter's, that mixed with all types? I didn't know. I couldn't be sure.
Yet somehow I was sure that the plate had been turned around, and that would mean that if the doctor used my blood for a transfusion,
it would be like giving Garrick prussic acid. It would be murder.
No one would ever know. The doctor might guess, but he would never dare speak. It would be put down to his own negligence.
He came over to me and looked at the level in the container, nodded his head approvingly, and turned to Garrick again.
I felt myself pulsing and drifting like a man dozing in a snowdrift.
Flower for your left hand, sir. Flower for your left hand.
Good evening, Flora.
Oh, good evening, Mr. Drury. Looks like Ryan Drury.
He does indeed. But then we can't complain. Well, John, you must let me run.
Here, sir. Take a flower.
Thank you, Flora. The show must go on, you know.
Bless you. Oh, good evening, Mr. Scales.
Flora, may I have a carnation?
Yes, sir. Two shillings, sir.
Here you are.
Can I turn it on for you?
Oh, thank you.
It's wonderful about your play, Mr. Scales. It's been a wonderful run. But then Mr. Drury does know how to pick them.
Yes, yes. It looks as if it might run forever, doesn't it?
No matter what he's in, they all come to see him. Not that yours isn't a wonderful play.
Mr. Drury gave me a ticket for the second night.
Oh.
He's always so thoughtful.
What did you think of it?
I thought it was lovely. I cried ever so. When Mr. Drury came back with only one arm and found his fiancée with that other fellow at the cocktail party.
Exactly.
I will rest on my laurels. It was a beautiful curtain line you gave him there, Mr. Scales, and the way you put it over.
Yes, there's no one like Drury to put over that kind of line. Good evening, Flora.
Good evening, Mr. Scales.
Better logo.
Oh, good Lord, Molly. Sheridan. Hello. It's good to see you. It's been months.
Look who's here. New York's rising drama.
Oh, no, don't, don't. Have you seen it? I sent you tickets.
Yes. Kind of, if you think of us in your busy life. Yes, we saw the show.
I know, I know. But like a fool, I signed a contract without a controlling clause, and by the time Drury and his producer had finished knocking the script around, there wasn't one.
Oh, John, it's a shame.
Now, look, let's forget the play and go have a drink together, shall we?
Oh, sorry, Obot. We have to think of our reputations, you know. Good night, John. Come along, Sheridan.
John.
John, it was a good play. How under any circumstances could you have let them do this to it? Come along, Sheridan.
Good night, John. Good night.
Ah, fine. Almost full court. That ought to do it. Feel all right, Mr. Scales?
Yes.
Good. Now, we'll throw you out of here and go to work.
The doctor ushered me out of the room onto the stage. I saw him disappearing around the screen with a flag in his hands as I closed the door.
Just as I thought. There were the reporters waiting. I sat down. I felt weak, not right at all.
Mr. Scales, how is he? Will he live, do they think?
Well, they think he may. They're giving him a transfusion.
With your blood. Oh, what a story.
Please don't use that.
Oh, yes, we know how you feel, Dr. Rollins.
I'm just doing what anyone else would do. He was my friend. I owed him everything.
Of course, but you're a hero. You don't know how people feel about Gary Drury.
Don't I?
Incidentally, Mr. Scales, we hear you sold these screenwriters on the play.
Oh, no, no, not yet. It was, well, we'd been talking it over tonight. But if anything happens to Mr. Drury...
You mean you, we won't sell them?
If anything happens to Gary, Bitter Laurel will never be performed again.
My hands were wet and cold, and I could feel the perspiration running down my back.
My head was light, and I seemed to be walking on air.
The voices of the reporters were distant and indistinct.
I felt the sudden need to lie down to rest. Sleep.
The door to Gary's dressing room opened, and I saw the doctor stand in there, his face and his voice were blurred.
Scales, I... will you come, please?
What is it?
He's complaining of a pain in his back. He did almost immediately. We started the transfusion. He's asking for you.
Of course.
I just don't understand it. I don't understand.
We all did our best. So much hemorrhage, shock, cardiac strain.
It's always a gamble, you see, when the operation is left so late.
Sometimes there is a particular idiosyncrasy.
I should have preferred a direct test, but that's no good if the patient dies while you wait to make sure.
Mr. Drury, oh, Mr. Drury.
What is it?
Where's Bran?
Oh, your son?
No, no, he's under study.
He'll be here in a minute, Mr. Drury.
They're waiting.
Bran!
That's Bran!
The curtain must go up!
I don't understand it.
Yes, yes, he's dead.
Why did he die, doctor?
There's blood transfusion, but I don't understand it.
This is scales of the type four, universal donor.
Still there are sometimes personal idiosyncrasies.
Here, I...
I caught Walter's gaze and followed it.
He was staring fascinated at the plate, which still stood on the table.
The rose. That one there that smudged from the filing.
I remember noticing it. It was originally on my right.
Now it's on my left.
You did it! You turned the plate around!
Because you knew that my blood would save him and that yours wouldn't!
Oh, don't be a fool, Walters!
I lost everything by his death. Why should I want him dead?
You hated him. I've known I've seen it all the time.
Because of the plate!
Walter!
You killed him!
Don't be a fool!
Too fantastic! What coroner! Coroner's due...
Oh! Oh! What coroner!
Oh, there it happens.
The roaring in my ears, the spastic constriction of my stomach.
The room began to teeter and twirl and stagger toward a chair.
I can hear the doctor faintly slow from a long, long way on.
What's the matter? What's the matter?
He's in shock.
No, no, no. Here. Here, my... my thigh, where the car hit me.
Where? Show me.
Just here.
Good Lord, man. Why didn't you tell us? You're hurt!
Walters.
Yes, sir.
Tell them to bring in the stretcher from the ambulance, quickly, man.
Yes, sir.
It's ironic.
When the car hit me, it was an injury to the spleen.
The spleen, think of it.
So, you see, all the time I was giving Gary blood for a transfusion,
I was bleeding to death inside myself.
Ironic, isn't it? Death from shock and loss of blood.
They gave me a transfusion too, too late.
But I wouldn't have to die, they said.
I would have lived if I hadn't given my blood to kill Gary Crury.
Suspense, presented by Auto Light, the night star Joseph Cotton.
Simmer down, Harlow. No more of those explosive riddles.
I'm exploding with good news, Hap.
The news that Auto Light makes more than 400 products for cars, trucks, planes and boats in 28 plants, coast to coast.
These include complete electrical systems used as original equipment on many makes of America's finest cars.
Batteries, spark plugs, generators, coils, distributors, electric windshield wipers, starting motors, bullseye sealed beam headlights.
All engineered to fit together perfectly, work together perfectly because they're a perfect team.
So folks, don't accept electrical parts supposed to be as good.
Ask for and insist on Auto Light original factory parts at your neighborhood service station, car dealer, garage or repair shop.
Remember, you're always right with Auto Light.
Next Thursday for Suspense, our star will be Cary Grant.
The play is called Salvage and it is, as we say, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Tonight's Suspense play was produced and edited by William Spear and directed by Norman MacDonald.
The music for Suspense is composed by Lucian Morrowek and conducted by Lud Bluskin.
Blood Sacrifice was adapted for radio by Malcolm Meacham from the short story by Dorothy Sayers.
Joseph Cotton may currently be seen in the Carol Reed production, The Third Man, a David O. Selznick release.
You can buy Auto Light staple batteries, Auto Light resistor or regular spark plugs, Auto Light electrical parts at your neighborhood Auto Light dealers.
Switch to Auto Light. Good night.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.