Auto Light and its 98,000 dealers bring you Mr. Herbert Marshall in tonight's presentation
of Suspense.
Tonight, Auto Light presents the story of a man who having no fear, attempted his own
death, a new dramatization of C.E. Montague's Action.
Our star, Mr. Herbert Marshall.
Hello, Mr. Wilcox.
What?
You here already?
Yes, sir, Mr. Wilcox.
It's Johnny plug check time again.
Well, so it is.
Cold weather's coming and that means Johnny's around to remind you motorists to get that
car prepared for winter now with a tune-up, change of oil and grease, antifreeze.
Don't forget to check those important spark plugs, too.
Yes, sir, Johnny, because the spark plugs are the very heart of a car's ignition system.
When they're right, you'll start quicker and surer every time, even in coldest weather.
So visit your Auto Light spark plug dealer.
Right, Johnny.
He's a tune-up expert and a specialist on spark plug cleaning and adjustment.
And if replacements are needed, he'll recommend a new set of ignition-engineered Auto Light
spark plugs, like the amazing Double Life Resistor spark plug.
To quickly learn the location of your nearest Auto Light spark plug dealer, phone Western
Union by number and ask for operator 25.
And remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Auto Light.
And now, Auto Light presents Action, starring Mr. Herbert Marshall, hoping once again to
keep you in suspense.
It happened very simply one Monday morning.
I woke up and there was a slight numbness all down my right side.
The arm, fingers, a good deal along the leg, rather less in my foot and just a little in
the head.
I lay still for a moment to let it pass off, but it didn't.
And I suddenly knew that it wasn't going to.
I'd heard about such things, other chaps at the club, the office.
Now it had happened to me.
I remember getting up.
I could still stand, walk, dress and shave.
But the numbness went on.
That morning, instead of walking, I took the tram to the office.
It was a pleasant autumn day.
And there were a lot of young people aboard, healthy young people.
The conductor moved down the passageway, collecting fares.
Here's a piece.
Here's a piece.
Here's a piece, sir.
Well, Wellington Avenue, please.
That's a threatening, sir.
Thank you, sir.
Oh, now we don't take buttons, sir.
I am sorry.
I thought I...
That's quite all right, sir.
It does rather look like silver.
And let's see.
Here's a threatening bit, sir.
Thank you.
In of his feet.
Your best.
His tact and simple, they were perfect.
And I had a new care now.
Sight two.
Was that going?
Sight, touch, the whole sensory business, losing precision, entering on the long slope
to decay.
I don't think I got much work done that morning, though in a way what I did was good for me.
Kept my mind off things.
I had a call of the one appointment with an old friend, Adrian Tillett, whom I hadn't
seen for a month or two.
We'd arranged to meet at my club.
I was a little early and sat in my usual place to wait for him.
I say, Bill.
Yes?
Did you hear about Chitterhouse?
They brought his birdie back to England yesterday.
Yes, I know, yes.
You've done some mountaineering yourself, haven't you?
A bit.
It's a bit of a shock to ask if I know what you fellows see in it.
Bloody awful way to die, if you ask me, falling off a mountain.
I suppose there are worse ways.
Try to tell that to his wife.
Well, I'm feeling a bit peckish.
Will you join me for lunch?
Thanks very much.
I'm waiting for someone.
All right, sure.
Hello, Bill.
I'm sorry to keep you waiting.
No, you haven't.
I just got here myself.
Hold on.
Teddy.
I say, you look seedy.
You look like a good boy.
I'm not a good boy.
I'm a good boy.
I'm a good boy.
I'm a good boy.
I'm a good boy.
I'm a good boy.
I'm a good boy.
Feeling all right?
Yes, splendid.
Come along.
We'll have a bite to eat.
Good.
I'm famished.
That's better.
Cigar?
Thanks.
What about you?
I don't think so.
Look here, well, is anything wrong?
I mean, well, you look very pale.
You look like a dying duck in a thunderstorm.
Something I can do.
I'm afraid not.
Serious?
I suppose it is, in a way.
If you want to talk about it.
I might as well.
I woke up this morning and I felt numb.
I must have had some sort of a stroke during the night.
Have you been to the doctor?
No.
I don't think I shall.
You know as well as I do what he'd say.
My dear old boy, you can't let a thing like that just go.
I don't intend to be an invalid for the rest of my life till it.
I've seen this happen to people.
So have you.
End up in a bath chair being fed by some harridan nurse who won't even let you wipe her own
nose.
No thanks.
What are you going to do?
I don't know yet.
The big thing seems to be, how long?
How long does a thing like this take?
Men like you, you live to be a hundred.
You're an active chap.
There's no reason on earth why you.
No, that's just it.
Why don't follow?
I don't want to live to any age like this.
Say, why not come up to my place on Friday, spend the weekend, change of air will do you
good.
Don't be an idiot.
Marjorie's dying to see you.
She always complains that you've given us up.
Now I'm going to expect you.
The stream's awfully good this year.
We'll do some fishing, right?
Right thanks.
Thanks to it.
The rest of the week passed and the sensation of numbness remained with me.
Sometimes a bit more or less.
At nights I thought.
I thought a great deal.
On Friday I drove down to Weybridge.
It was obvious that Tillett had told his wife about me.
It didn't matter much except I found myself annoyed at her solicitude.
I suppose she couldn't help it.
But it was one of the things that definitely made up my mind.
I knew what I was going to do.
And I told my old friend.
We were on the bank of the stream.
He'd just landed a nice trout.
And we sat down for a smoke.
I've made up my mind what to do, Tillett.
Oh?
Yes.
I wondered.
I had an idea you were up to something.
You've been rather quiet, you know.
I'm sorry.
Is it any better?
No, no, it's not the same.
I had a dream just before I came down here.
I was climbing.
It was on a crag that became steeper and steeper as I went up.
First it was vertical and then it overhung more and more until I was actually climbing
a reverse slope.
It must have been awkward.
It's been done, you know.
Has it?
Yes, I've heard about it but I've never done it myself.
What happened in your dream?
I fell.
Woke up.
I thought a lot about it.
It's that margin of safety, you know.
One does a lot of climbing and if you're any good at all you don't slip in the really difficult
places.
But supposing you, you pair away at the margin of safety and experiment.
What could you do before all the margin was gone if you didn't care?
I don't know.
I haven't tried climbing.
If one cut out the old fear of death, one could do some amazing things.
Is that what you're going to do?
I think so.
Yes.
Look for one of those crags.
Yes, I've never done that.
I know of one I'd like to try.
The now.
The Charlie Hawk.
It's a ridge of the Weisshorn.
Sounds impressive.
There are higher mountains but not many more interesting.
If you want to be a human fly why not try the chalk pit down the road?
Straight up and down.
Not so far to fall.
I wouldn't do it.
No, it wouldn't, would it?
I'm not going to say anything, Bell.
There's nothing one can say, really.
I wish you wouldn't do it and I understand why you think you must.
When will you leave?
Next week.
The snows will be coming at the end of the month.
Not much sense in making it too dangerous, is there?
No, not much sense in that.
Ten days later I arrived at Zanowel and met an old guide I'd known for many years.
His name was Gaspar and he knew the mountains of the Alps as very few men know them.
He and his wife ran the hotel and after dinner, it was my first night there, we talked over
a cognac.
Ah, it is good to see you again, my friend.
I repeat, what a surprise and so late in the year.
I remember July was my month, wasn't it?
Ah, those days, we did some fine climbing here and I find.
And where shall we go this time?
My time is my own and now yours.
The amateurs have gone.
We shall climb for sport, huh?
Perhaps so.
I, uh, I want to try the west side of the Charlie Hook.
Good, good.
Hope you won't be upset, Gaspar.
First time I go up, I mean to do it alone.
Alone?
Yes.
Did you say the west side?
May I speak of something I've noticed?
Of course.
When I saw you today, I noticed something, a slight limp.
You have been in an accident?
No, just a little stiffness.
You have done some climbing since we last were together?
Not much.
But the west side of the ridge for a man out of condition, is that wise?
I don't see why not.
When do you plan to start?
Tomorrow.
I have never tried it myself.
I'll give you a full report.
Yes, I hope you will.
The last man who tried it never came back.
He fell and we still have not found the body.
Auto Light is bringing you Mr. Herbert Marshall in action.
Tonight's presentation in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
The frost is coming, so be wise.
Now is the time to winterize.
Right, Johnny Plug Check.
Time for that winter tune up.
Change of oil, grease and some antifreeze.
And check those important spark plugs too.
I.S. spark plugs are the very heart of your car's ignition system.
And when they're right, you'll start quicker and surer every time, even in coldest weather.
If replacements are needed, your Auto Light spark plug dealer will recommend a brand new
set of ignition engineered Auto Light spark plugs.
Like the Double Life Resistor spark plug, the greatest spark plug advance for automotive
use in the past 25 years.
It gives smoother engine performance and quick starts for twice as long as spark plugs without
a built in resistor.
And the resistor spark plug is only one of a complete line of Auto Light spark plugs
ignition engineered for every use.
So when you're getting your car winterized, make sure.
To check the spark plugs too.
See your nearest Auto Light spark plug dealer this week.
And remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Auto Light.
And now, Auto Light brings back to our Hollywood sound stage, Mr. Herbert Marshall in Elliot
Lewis's production of Action, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
That night before I went to bed, I sat for a little while alone in the smoking room.
I had nothing to do, no goodbyes, no last letter to write, no will to be made.
That was done and accounted for.
I felt my right arm and leg with the fingers of my left hand, still numb.
That strange, unfeeling feeling.
After that, I read for a bit.
Then turning out the lamp, went to my room.
The next morning was dazzling.
The soft Green Valley meadowland, sparkling.
And above, against the bluest of skies, the mountains.
The autumn sun was warm.
And as I decided to travel as lightly as possible, I was glad for that.
Late in the hotel, I made my way past the cow barn, the tiny post office, and on toward
the path which led gently upward.
I must have been walking for about five minutes when he caught up with me.
Herbert.
Oh, I nearly missed you.
You were gone before I knew.
Oh, good morning, Gaspar.
Ah, a beautiful morning for your climb.
I thought, if you did not mind, that I would walk with you to the bridge.
I don't mind in the least.
My wife was worried.
I'm sorry to hear that.
About you.
My wife is a woman who has premonitions.
You know women.
Yes, she needn't worry, do you know?
As I told her, you are one of the best.
Still, she could not understand why you would suddenly appear and decide to climb the most
difficult place on the mountain.
Surely she knows mountaineers.
Yes, she knows them.
And she knows they do not attempt such things without a little practice of flexing of unused
muscles.
I'm in splendid form, Gaspar.
Up there, that is where you go, huh?
The bulge.
Yes.
And when you have conquered that, you will come back?
What an odd question.
Exactly what I told my wife.
She had a premonition that all was not well with you.
You'll have to reassure her, won't you, Gaspar?
Yes, I shall, my friend.
I'll say goodbye here.
Yes, I wish...
You will be all right, herbelle.
Remember to conserve your energy and when you reach the top, come back to us.
You will come back.
Yes.
Good luck.
I left the old guide of the wooden bridge and walked on.
The place I'd picked to climb is on the west side of the Charley Hawk.
It's a dip in the ridge that joins the Weisshorn to the Charley Horn.
The lowest point of the dip is over 12,000 feet.
The last part of the rise to the ridge is a wall of ice that undulates like a sheet of
hammered copper, concave at one point, convex at another, and the two or three parts it
overhangs.
How much I did not know, but you could see it.
And it was the underside of that overhang I was going to climb.
I would try to do it honestly, get to the ridge and prove that in this small matter,
where there is no fear of death, a man can do more than he knows.
My timetable began quite on schedule.
Three hours work up to the Arpita to Alp from Zinal.
Three more up from the Alp to the foot of the ice wall.
Half an hour for food, another half an hour for final preparations.
Then I was at that point, the wall of ice and above the great overhanging bulge.
It stood out above me like a gigantic blister on the face of the ice.
Must have been 40 feet in diameter.
And it jutted so much that a stone dropped from its outermost point would only have touched
the slope again some hundred feet lower.
To reach that outermost point, I knew I would have to climb for about 20 feet as you climb
up the underside of a ladder that leans against the wall.
And I would have to make the ladder rung by rung, fashion each one out of ice with my
axe held in one hand while with the other hand on both feet I'd cling to the three rungs
already made.
Each rung would have to be like a letter box in a door, big enough for the toe of my boot
to go into but shaped so that when my hand entered the fingers could bend down inside
and grip as you gripped the top of a fence.
Then I was there and the overhang was before me.
The work was amazingly hard.
I'd only carved five letter boxes and used them and an hour had gone.
Five more and daylight was failing.
My left hand was chilled, almost dead with the ice it had gripped and my right hand swollen
and sore from the constant use of the axe.
My right knee began to shake uncontrollably and I almost laughed, chattering teeth.
I looked up and some eight feet above was the goal.
Beyond it I could see nothing but a tranquil sky with a rose-colored flush dying out of
it.
And suddenly, very clearly, as a complete matter of fact, I knew I couldn't get up those
eight feet.
My strength was going.
I was about finished.
And then, because the will is there until the end, I tried again, tried, but the axe
barely scratched the ice.
My left hand was frostbitten, fast feeling.
Only five more feet to go, but five more than I could drive myself to.
This was the finish then.
What I'd set out to do, you know, it was the end.
I'm done.
I didn't know why.
I was still holding on.
Holding.
And it was queer.
Something was very queer.
I felt little chips of ice stinging my cheeks as they slid down from above.
Was an ice avalanche coming?
What did it matter?
Let the ice do what it wanted.
My business with it was done.
Then, then there was a sound.
Annoying.
A hissing sound.
I saw the ice axe slide over the bulge overhead and move out over my head to drop far below.
Someone was above me.
And suddenly, I don't know why, there was, there was a lightness in me.
No more dream.
No more dying.
I had to go up.
Up quickly.
No longer the care in cutting the steps.
Now they were marvels of inadequacy.
I didn't think about it.
Just ice cuts deep enough for a footing to raise up to cut the next.
And the next.
And it must have been three minutes.
Perhaps less when my chest came up to the dead center of the bulge and I, I saw what
I had come for.
It was a woman dangling at a long rope's end.
Her body revolving a little as it hung against the steep ice and holding the rope.
Perhaps 80 feet above her, the man.
His ice axe driven well into the slope behind, holding well with one hand.
The other gripping the rope.
Cut the rope, Teddy, cut it.
I'm done.
It's killing me, cut it.
You must, you, you can get down.
The children think of, you must, it's killing me.
Well, here's a, hold on.
Sorry.
I'm coming.
Hold on.
I felt like a fool.
Absolute freedom.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
I'm coming.
And I didn't stop.
I didn't stop.
I was, I was in an absolute freedom from uneasiness, concerning my own plight, for I still wasn't
up myself.
But I never liked heroics.
And this sounded horribly disgustingly heroic.
And I kept it up.
And I have to.
There are two minutes.
Hold on.
One minute more.
A foothold on an upward slope.
I cut a big step close to where her feet hung.
Planted my own firmly in it and took her weight on my shoulder.
Slowly the man above paid out the rope,
till she was by my side, standing safe.
You're... you're quite a happy sight.
Have you got her?
All right? Yes, right his way.
Give us a moment or two, then dig in and we'll come up.
Yes. Yes, all right.
The last daylight was gone when the three of us stood on the level roof of the ridge.
I tried my best not to look at him or at her.
These are things best not observed.
I think she stayed in his arms for a long moment.
I... are we...
How will you understand?
Thanks. Thanks for our lives.
Oh, Lord, I just happened to be there. Luck, that's all.
Yes. Luck.
I suppose we'd better push off, getting a little chilly.
It was luck.
There was a full moon and the downward trail was something else from the way I'd come up.
We none of us spoke, I don't think a single word, all the way back.
And then the village, the hotel, and she was put to bed, alive, tired.
It was only after that in the smoking room that I learned their names.
His name was Gollum, Theodore Gollum.
The woman upstairs, his wife, Hillary.
And because he seemed to feel himself under some sort of obligation to me,
I told him about myself, my climb, why.
And when I finished, he said...
Look here, I'm a doctor and I know about such things.
Tell me, when you were making that last climb over the bough,
did that numbness cramp you? Did you notice it?
No. It had been there, but not the last ten minutes.
And you were in action?
Action?
Yes, I mean doing something, something you're absorbed in, lost in.
Yes, I see.
That's the way it should be, you know.
What you've got, numbness, that will stay with you,
but does it matter quite as much as you thought?
No, I don't think so.
You won't try that sort of thing again?
No.
Then it's going to be all right?
Yes. It's going to be all right.
Suspense.
Suspense.
Presented by Auto Light, tonight's star, Mr. Herbert Marshall.
This is Harlow Wilcox again, speaking for Auto Light.
It's always good to welcome back our long-time friend, Herbert Marshall.
But we enjoyed every minute of tonight's story.
Thanks, Harlow.
And may I compliment Auto Light for the excellent programs to come.
Next week, Van Hefton in The Shot.
And the following week, Jeff Chandler in an exciting story,
My True Love's Hair.
We can certainly depend on Auto Light for wonderful entertainment.
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In 28 plants from coast to coast, Auto Light makes such products
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Auto Light starting motors, generators, coils, distributors,
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Music
Next week, the story of a duel, an incomplete duel,
since one of its participants chose to wait
and owe his adversary the shot.
Our star, Mr. Van Hefton, that's next week on Suspense.
Suspense
C.E. Montague's action was adapted for Suspense by Anthony Ellis.
Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis
with music composed by Lucian Morawick and conducted by Lut Bluskin.
Featured in the cast were Ellen Morgan, Marley Bear, Herb Butterfield,
Richard Peel and Ben Wright.
Herbert Marshall will soon be seen in Writers to the Stars,
Ivan Tore's technical production for United Artists.
And remember, next week, Mr. Van Hefton in The Shot.
Music
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at your neighborhood Auto Light dealers.
Switch to Auto Light. Good night.
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Music