Auto Light and its 96,000 dealers present Suspense.
Tonight, Auto Light brings you Mr. John Lund in The Man in the Room, a suspense play produced
and edited by William Spear.
Harlow, what's the best bait to use for bass?
I don't know, Hap.
Better ask an ichthyologist.
An ichthyologist?
An ichthyologist, an expert on fish.
When I need information, I believe in going to an expert.
That go for spark plug information too?
Sure.
And who knows more about the best spark plugs for your car than Auto Light ignition engineers,
the men who design and build complete ignition systems used as original equipment on many
makes of America's finest cars.
You mean they know how to build into spark plugs the best in quick starting smooth performance
and gas mileage, eh, Harlow?
Of course, Hap.
That's what's made Auto Light the world's largest independent manufacturer of automotive
electrical equipment.
And it was Auto Light engineering know-how that made possible the development of the
Auto Light Resistor Spark Plug, one of the greatest advances in spark plug design for
automotive use in the past 20 years.
So friends, see your friendly Auto Light spark plug dealer tomorrow.
Have him replace worn out spark plugs with world famous ignition engineered Auto Light
spark plugs.
Whether you choose the resistor type or the regular type, you'll be right because you're
always right with Auto Light.
And now with the man in the room and the performance of John Lund, Auto Light hopes once again
to keep you in suspense.
When I was 10, I first read Edgar Allan Poe's story of the miraculous room, the room whose
terrible walls closed slowly in upon their prisoner.
Made a deep impression upon me.
My most persistent nightmare was that I was the poor devil in the story.
I didn't know then that he had been impressed by it too, and that someday I would actually
be the man in the room.
Excuse me, can you tell me what floor Miss Markham is on?
Miss Markham, what do you want with her?
Why, I want her to do some work for me.
She does typing, doesn't she?
Third floor, step in.
Thank you.
You're a writer?
Yes.
What do you write?
Stories, mostly.
Some?
Occasionally.
She's down at the end of the hall, before you see the door open.
Thank you very much.
Oh, come in, please.
Thank you.
Miss Markham?
That's right.
What can I do for you?
I saw your ad in the paper.
I thought perhaps you could do some work for me.
Oh, yes, yes, of course.
What is it?
Typing, mimeography?
Typing, manuscript.
You're a writer?
Yes.
Oh.
Would you shut the door, please?
Oh, yes, yes, of course.
Thanks.
You find that I do absolutely perfect work, and at the most reasonable rates.
I've had many years of experience, although not in this city.
I just recently moved here.
Will you have much for me to do?
Well, that depends.
Frankly, Miss Markham, the price is a factor with me.
You see, I'm a freelance writer, and at best, that's a precarious occupation.
I see.
Well, is 30 cents a page too much?
Why?
I was about to say that 30 seems extremely reasonable.
Well, I've already said 25, so we'll leave it at that.
You're very kind.
Not at all.
Excuse me, please.
Was... was that the elevator man running down the hall?
Well, no, I didn't see anyone.
It's been a lovely day, hasn't it?
Yes.
Yes, it has.
I think the weather is so perfect here.
I know I'm going to love this city.
It's so difficult coming to a new place and trying to establish oneself, especially so
late in life.
But I think things are going to work out fine.
I hope so.
Would you like to leave your manuscript now?
Yes, here it is.
Oh, thank you.
Yes, 40 pages.
I'll have that ready for you day after tomorrow.
Oh, that'll be fine.
I'll come back and pick it up then.
I left the office and rang for the elevator.
The old man who ran it didn't speak to me on the way down, but I stood in the back of
the car and looked him over carefully.
He was a funny little old duck, almost dwarf-sized, with shoulders so rounded he was nearly humpbacked.
I was sure he was the one who had been listening at the door upstairs.
But after all, it was none of my affair.
Two days later, I returned to the old office building to pick up my manuscript.
You come to pick up your typing?
Yes.
Here it is.
She left it for you.
Oh, well, I've got to go up anyway.
I have some more work for Miss Markham.
I'll take it.
She don't want to be disturbed.
Well, I...
Just give it here.
All right.
I gave him the manuscript and left.
Two days later, when I returned, he had the completed work ready for me down on the first
floor.
That's the way it went on on the other occasions when I had typing for Miss Markham to do.
The old man took it from me downstairs and had it ready for me when I returned.
There was always a reason for me not to go upstairs.
Miss Markham was working, didn't want to be disturbed, or she just left for lunch, or
she wasn't down that day because of illness.
One day when I came to pick up some material, the elevator was not down on the first floor,
and my curiosity got the better of me.
Instead of ringing, I took the stairs and walked up to the third floor.
Oh, it's you.
Where's Miss Markham?
She ain't here.
You can see she ain't.
Yes.
Are you typing?
Sure.
I help her out sometimes.
She's sick today.
Oh, I see.
I just finished your story.
That's fine.
It won't sell, though.
What?
I say it won't sell.
It's clumsy.
Oh, you think so?
Yes.
It's all hard, Pudge.
You write too fast.
Well, I'm sorry you don't like it, but if you'll just put it together, I'll send it off anyway.
All right.
But it won't sell.
That night at home, I'd been working for hours on a plot for a mystery story.
I was having absolutely no luck.
I simply couldn't concentrate.
Then I had a thought.
How would it be to use Miss Markham and the elevator man as the basis for a story?
Just take the situation as it stood now and fabricate the rest of the plot from there.
Let's see.
The old man could have murdered her and hidden the body.
Possibly he'd done it immediately after I'd seen her last, and she'd been dead all this
time.
I even made up a fine name for the elevator man.
I called him Graklin.
But for the life of me, I couldn't build a story.
Why had he killed her?
What had he done with the body?
The plot wouldn't move.
And yet somehow I couldn't discard it and try another.
I knew that I was stuck with it until I worked it out.
Well, how about the reality?
What had happened to Miss Markham?
Why hadn't I seen her for over two weeks?
The only thing to do, I decided, was to find out more about the real situation.
Perhaps I could evolve something from that.
Hello?
Hello, George?
Bird.
Oh, how are you, birdy old boy?
Fine.
Listen, George.
Who does your typing?
My typing?
Why, Harrison Lewis?
Oh, yes.
At 50 cents a page.
I forgot you were rich.
Why?
Well, I thought perhaps you'd seen the same ad in the paper that I did.
A Miss Markham.
She's been doing some work for me.
Markham?
No, I didn't see it.
Why?
Is she any good?
Oh, yes.
She's very good.
Well, what does she charge?
30 cents a page.
Hey, that is cheap.
I'm not sure I'm going to be able to afford it.
I'm not sure I'm going to be able to afford it.
I'm not sure I'm going to be able to afford it.
I'm not sure I'm going to be able to afford it.
I'm not sure I'm going to be able to afford it.
Maybe I'll switch.
Where's she located?
202 West Olive.
Why don't you go up and see her anyway?
Let me know what she says.
All right.
I'll go in the morning.
Fine.
Goodbye, George.
The next morning I called information and got Miss Markham's office number.
It was not yet listed in the directory.
I called the number, somehow knowing there would be no answer.
Hello?
Oh, hello.
Miss Markham?
Yes?
Well, this is Mr. Freeland.
I heard you were ill yesterday.
Just thought I'd call and see how you were.
That's very nice of you.
Thank you very much.
I'm feeling much better today.
Oh, I'm glad.
I expect to have some more work for you at the end of the week.
All right.
Just bring it in.
I will.
And oh, yes, Miss Markham, I haven't received a bill from you yet.
Would you send one soon?
Yes, I will.
Thank you.
Goodbye, Miss Markham.
Goodbye.
I hung up thinking, well, there goes my plot into a cocked hat.
I realized then that I had begun to believe something had happened to Miss Markham.
Talked myself into it, I guess.
Confused the fiction with the reality.
But just because she was alive and well, that was no reason why I couldn't still build a
good story from the same idea.
Now, let's see.
Graclyn had killed Miss Markham and hidden the body.
But when I called up, she answered.
No, I couldn't use that.
But wait a minute.
Why couldn't I?
Why, certainly, there was a twist.
Sure, Graclyn gets another woman to impersonate Miss Markham.
The only ones he'd have to worry about would be the people who had seen the first Miss Markham.
Well, that's the way my story would go anyway.
I sat down with my typewriter and made it sing for a couple of hours.
The story was coming along fine.
The only thing I needed was some background on Graclyn.
Well, nothing like the source.
At about 4.30 that afternoon, I was down on West Olive Street near the 202 building.
At about 5, Graclyn came out and started up the street.
He got on a bus, so I looked around for a cab.
Scabby, you taking?
Nah, hop in.
Good.
Listen, follow that bus, but not too close.
I'll tell you when to stop.
Okay.
He stayed on that bus all the way to the end of the line.
I got out of the cab about a block before the final bus stop and saw the old man get off.
It was almost prairie here.
Large vacant lots and only a few scattered houses.
He entered one of them.
After about 20 minutes, when it was getting dark, I walked slowly up to the place.
There was a light around him back, and I went quietly along the side of the house to the window.
I looked in.
There sat Graclyn bent over a table, writing with a quill pen.
But it was the room that surprised me.
The walls were filled from floor to ceiling with books, heavy scholarly books.
And then I saw it.
And a smaller table against the wall stood her picture.
She was younger in the photo and prettier, but it was unmistakably she.
Miss Markham.
Auto Light is bringing you Mr. John Lund in The Man in the Room, tonight's production in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Hello, do ichthyologists and zoologists have anything in common?
Well, in a way, half. You see, any kind of anologist is an expert in his field.
Well, I guess that makes you a spark-plugologist, hey, Wilcox.
Well, not exactly. I'm more of a gabologist.
The real experts are the auto light ignition engineers.
They design and build complete ignition systems for use as original equipment on many makes of America's finest cars.
So naturally, they've built spark plugs that will work as a team with the ignition systems.
Spark plugs that are un-excelled for quick starting, smooth performance, and gas mileage.
Sounds logical.
Of course. And these same auto light engineers developed the famous auto light resistor spark plug.
One of the greatest advances in spark plug design for automotive use in the past 20 years.
They're experts, all right, Harlow.
So friends, see your friendly auto light spark plug dealer tomorrow.
Have him replace worn out spark plugs with ignition engineered auto light spark plugs.
Whether you choose the resistor type or the regular type, you can't buy a better spark plug for your car because you're always right with auto light.
And now auto light brings back to our Hollywood sound stage our star, John Lund, in The Man in the Room.
A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
In the next morning's mail was her bill.
But there was a mistake. She charged me 40 cents a page.
So I put on my coat and started downtown.
As I walked up Olive Street, I wondered if Drackman would let me up to see Miss Markham.
If it were in my story, he couldn't because I'd immediately recognize her as another woman.
Three, please.
I'll just step.
Miss Markham is in today?
Yep.
You know, I haven't seen her for some time. She's always been out or sick or something.
That's so.
Certainly it's so. You were the one who kept telling me.
Oh, well, I can't remember everybody who comes in here.
Oh, I shouldn't think it would be too hard. I'll bet not over 10 people a day come in here.
This is the most deserted office building I've ever seen.
Well, sometimes it is a little quiet.
You know where it is?
Yes.
Come in.
Miss Markham.
Oh, you are Miss Markham.
Yes, of course. Why?
Oh, no reason. I'm a little confused.
Been writing too much lately, I guess.
Oh.
Well, the reason I came down is because of your bill.
There's a mistake?
Don't you remember? You said you were going to charge me 25 cents a page.
But your bill says 40.
Oh, oh yes, I do remember now. That's right, 25.
The error is mine. I'll change it. I'm terribly sorry.
Oh, that's all right. I wasn't worried about it.
If you'd like to re-figure it, I can leave you a check right now.
Do you possibly have the cash?
Well, let's see. Yes, yes, I think I do. Would you prefer that?
If you don't mind.
I paid the bill and went home. Back to my story.
My story that had turned out to be pure fiction after all.
Miss Markham was alive and well and back in her office,
looking just as she had the first time I saw her.
Well, I had used all of the real situation I could,
and from now on I was operating on pure imagination.
Let's see.
Hey, wait a minute.
Just because she looks the same doesn't mean she's the same woman.
She was a twin, see?
The first Miss Markham's twin sister, and Gretlin was their brother.
Why had he killed the first Miss Markham?
Well, for money, her life savings. That was always a good motive.
And the twin sister was in on it and would split with him.
Fine. I rattled off the story and the next morning brought it in to be typed.
Good morning, Mr. Freeland.
Good morning, Miss Markham. Got another story for you.
Oh? Well, I'm not sure that I can start on anything right now.
I'm closing up the office, you know.
Oh?
Yes, this climate doesn't agree with me at all.
As a matter of fact, I never did like city life.
You've evidently changed your mind about things.
I beg your pardon?
Remember the first day you came up here?
You were telling me how well you liked our city and the weather?
Oh, yes. Well, you can always depend on a woman, can't you?
Yeah, I guess so.
I really wish you could finish this story for me. It's not very long.
Oh?
Only about 28 pages.
I see. Well, perhaps I can rush it out.
I sort of feel that I owe you something anyway.
Why?
For being so nice about that mistake I made on your bill.
Oh, that was nothing.
Well, leave the manuscript here and I'll try to have it done by tomorrow afternoon.
Tomorrow is my last day. Come in about two o'clock.
Right. And thanks a lot, Miss Markham.
The next day was Saturday.
And if the building had seemed deserted on other days,
it had really been a beehive compared to two o'clock on Saturday afternoon.
Now it was a morgue.
When I entered Miss Markham's office, she was standing there holding a sheaf of papers.
Mr. Freeland, where did you ever get the idea for that story?
Oh, well, I hope it didn't disturb you, but I was desperate for a plot
and I guess I just let my imagination run wild.
I see. Well, I'll just put it in an envelope.
Thank you. And I'll pay you now because I probably won't see you again.
That's right. You probably won't.
Well, I guess I'll just say goodbye.
Goodbye, Miss Markham, and good luck.
Thank you. And the same to you.
Garacln was waiting for me there on the third floor.
He had probably just stayed there while I was in the office.
I got in the elevator and he closed the door.
Get your story, Mr. Freeland?
Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, I did.
Hmm. Not a bad story. Miss Markham let me read it.
Oh?
But it needs rewriting.
Oh, is that so?
Yes. Like I told you before, Mr. Freeland, you write too fast.
You aren't careful enough with reality.
I'm afraid I don't understand.
Well, now that part about hiding the body in the elevator shaft, for instance,
you almost had a good thing there,
but I could tell you've never been in an elevator shaft, have you?
I know. You've passed the first floor.
Let's go down a bit. I'd like to show you something.
This is the basement.
Yes. Yes, I see.
You notice how the air gets closer as you go down?
It's little touches like that that make a story real.
Ah.
Sub-basement.
Mr. Freeland, would you like to see what an elevator shaft looks like?
Well, I...
Come on. It's very interesting.
Especially for a writer.
All right.
Fine. Follow me.
Now, we'll just go down these stairs on your left.
There's only a few of them, but they're kind of dark. Be careful.
I will.
I wouldn't want you to fall.
Now, we go through this little steel door.
After you, Mr. Freeland.
Thank you.
You see, this is what the bottom of an elevator shaft looks like.
Yes, yes, it... it is interesting.
You could make all kinds of noise down here and no one would know.
Well...
Now, about your story.
You had me, I mean, Gretlin, bury the woman in the floor of the shaft.
Now, that would never do.
No?
No. If you dug a grave down here, the inspector would find it in a minute.
Oh.
Ah, yes. The inspector's very sharp.
Very sharp.
But in the wall.
The wall?
Yes. See those bricks?
Now, if I go to exactly the right place...
Look, I can pull several of them right out.
And after I've got all the loose ones out,
there's a regular cavity been dug out behind them.
Come here. Look for yourself.
Ah.
Miss Markham!
Yes. See how snugly she fits in there?
I spent a long time digging that hole.
She's dead. You... you killed her.
Yes. Didn't you really know?
I... I just put these bricks back now.
You had some of the things quite right.
The woman upstairs is merely her twin sister.
This one's name is Dorothy.
I married Dorothy, but I should have married Millie.
You see, Mr. Freeland, I am a writer too.
More than a writer, a poet.
But I didn't sell anything, and Dorothy lost faith in me.
She typed stories for hacks like yourself.
While I had to turn the running an elevator,
she caused me to lose faith in myself.
Finally, Dorothy left me and came here.
I followed her and got a job in the same building.
At last, I did what I'd wanted to do for years.
I killed her when I told Millie she said I'd done quite right,
and she came here to help me.
You're insane.
No, Mr. Freeland, I am a poet.
I'm getting out of here.
No, I don't think you are, Mr. Freeland.
Are you surprised how strong I am?
I've done many things in my time,
even if it waits in a circus.
You... you madman.
Enough. Don't try to get up, Mr. Freeland,
or I'll just have to knock you down again.
You see, I've got something quite interesting in store for you.
You remember Edgar Allan Poe's wonderful story
about the man in the room that got smaller and smaller
until it would crush the life out of him?
What... what are you talking about?
There, Mr. Freeland, I have such a room.
You're in it now.
The walls won't move, but the ceiling will.
Look above you.
Most elevators won't go all the way to the bottom of the shaft,
but this one will. I fixed it.
Get out of my way, you lunatic!
I won, Mr. Freeland!
He hit me a crushing blow when I dropped to the ground, stunned.
And you were wrong on my name.
It's Alan Jones.
Then he jumped out of the door and slammed it shut.
I staggered to it, but there was no knob or latch
of any kind on the inside.
It was smooth and flush with the wall.
I heard his footsteps running up the stairs,
and I heard them above me, in the elevator.
Then came a sound that drove me to panic.
Scragglin, stop!
You'll never get away with two murders!
You'll go to the electric chair! Scragglin!
Listen, listen! I won't tell anybody about Miss Markham.
I'll tell up the story! Scragglin!
I sank to my knees until it came on,
and I fell flat on my face,
and still it came closer and closer,
only inches away now.
Desperately I flung out my arms
to flatten myself close to the ground,
and my hand touched the bricks of the wall,
found one of the loose ones,
and not knowing what I was doing,
I clawed at the loose brick and pulled it out a little.
Then, miraculously...
The elevator hung suspended,
the side of it caught on the brick.
I knew it wouldn't be stopped for long.
Already the side of the elevator was grinding into the brick,
and in a moment it would break it
and come pressing down upon me like an ant.
But then, I heard a new sound.
The elevator stopped crushing into the brick now,
and hung motionless.
He'd definitely shut off the power.
He was trying to make up his mind what to do.
Suddenly, the elevator lifted.
I thought going up and up, away from me.
And then, I don't remember.
I must have fainted.
The next thing I knew,
two policemen were holding me up,
asking me questions.
I told them something of what had happened,
and then I asked them about the elevator man.
Oh, him? We sent him off in the wagon.
It was a funny thing.
You see, there was this guy from some publisher,
I think he was,
came here to tell this elevator guy
that he'd won some big poetry contest.
Well, this fellow from the publisher waited around upstairs
and finally started pressing the buzzer.
When the elevator came up, the old man jumped out
and knocked the publisher guy down,
and he went running out into the street.
That's when we got him.
After we sent him off, we came back to investigate.
And we found you.
Really?
Really?
Well, that's about all there was to it.
Except that old Draculon really was a pretty good writer, I guess.
Because I made the changes he suggested.
And you know what?
I sold the story.
Suspense!
Presented by Autolite.
Tonight's star, Mr. John Lund.
Hello. Got another poem for you.
Okay.
Hello, Wilcox, the car owner's delight,
awoke one night from a deep dream of...
Autolite.
But let's be more specific, Hap.
I dreamed that every car in America was equipped
with world-famous ignition-engineered Autolite spark plugs.
And you know,
spark plugs are only one of more than 400 products
made by Autolite
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.
Spark plugs, batteries, 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, friends, don't accept
electrical parts supposed to be as good.
Ask for and insist on Autolite
original factory parts
at your neighborhood service station, car dealer,
garage, or repair shop.
Remember, you're always right with Autolite.
Autolite.
Autolite.
Autolite.
Autolite.
Next Thursday for Suspense, our star will be
Miss Claire Trevor.
The play is called Angel Face, and it is, as we say,
a tale well calculated
to keep you in...
Suspense.
Suspense.
Tonight's Suspense play was produced and edited by William Spear and directed by Norman MacDonald.
Music for Suspense is composed by Lucian Morrowek and conducted by Lud Bluskin.
The Man in the Room is an original play written for radio by William Idelson and Mary Castle.
John Lund is currently being co-starred with Barbara Stanwyck in the Paramount picture No Man of Her Own.
In the coming weeks, you will hear such stars as
Charles Boyer, Edward G. Robinson, Jack Carson, and Dennis O'Keefe.
And don't forget, next Thursday, same time, Autolite will present Suspense, starring Claire Trevor.
You can buy world famous Autolite resistor or regular spark plugs, Autolite staple batteries, Autolite electrical parts, at your neighborhood Autolite dealers.
Switch to Autolite. Good night.
In spite of better food supplies, millions are still starving in Europe and Japan.
The need is particularly acute in free Berlin.
Send your contributions to CARE, C-A-R-E, New York.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.