And now, tonight's presentation from radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Tonight, the story of a man with no imagination, who found it necessary to cause the violent
end of a life.
It was written by the winner of the Edgar Allan Poe Award, E. Jack Newman.
The story is called, Sequel to Murder.
I read, I don't write.
I don't have the imagination, they tell me.
They've told me.
But I'm writing this down, and it doesn't take much imagination, so I guess I might
do a fair job at that.
Take a day in my office, for a starter.
Oh, hi, Frank.
Up to your neck?
No, Mr. Walsh.
Oh, good.
I'm here.
New writer, interesting title.
Death on my Hands by Blaine Kittredge.
Good title.
New boy.
I'd like to have you read it and see what you think for our Red Berrier series.
Okay, I'll get at it as soon as I can, Mr. Walsh.
What did you think?
I only read the first ten pages, Frank.
Looked fine, fine.
But I'm going to leave the decision up to you.
If you think this Kittredge has got anything, we'll put him in this month's listings.
Oh, it's 11.35.
Lunch?
I'd better not, Mr. Walsh.
Well, okay, Frank, I don't want to interfere with any business you've got to take care of.
Ah, sorry, Mr. Walsh.
It's okay, okay, Frank.
I won't press you.
Maybe tomorrow, huh?
Yeah, fine, sir.
It's just that I have so much work here.
We certainly can't go on like this.
I can't go on.
You'd better work something out.
I will.
Now, there's no need for all this.
You said the same thing a year ago, Frank.
A whole year ago, you said exactly the same thing.
And it's still the same as it was then.
I still have all those empty nights when I can't see you.
I just told you I'll do something, Bess.
Why all this?
I want you to understand how I feel, Frank.
Exactly how I feel.
Make no mistake about it.
Either you do something now, today, when you see her.
Something definite.
Or that's the end.
This way, it's awful.
It's awful for me, too, you know.
How do people get into things like this?
Oh, now, now, Bess.
I didn't want to love you.
I knew you were married.
I'm such a fool.
Bess, please.
Don't worry.
Don't worry, Mr. Gault.
I won't sit here and cry.
I wouldn't think of upsetting Mr. Gault while he ate his lunch.
Don't you worry a bit, Mr. Gault.
I'm going to work it out.
Bess, do you hear me?
But you're thinking of some other things, too.
Oh, I know what you're thinking of.
How it'll hit you in the pocketbook.
Things like this cost a lot of money, and you hate the thought of that.
Well, if you want me, and you say you do, you'll have to make some sacrifices.
You know that as well as I do.
Oh, sure, look away from me.
Look at the way to look anywhere.
Well, I've made sacrifices already.
I can't see my mother on weekends and tell her who I'm seeing.
She always wants to know.
I can't take you to meet my friends.
I have to be satisfied with this.
This meeting you at your restaurant and seeing you at your office.
I don't have a life this way, Frank.
You don't even have the imagination enough to arrange a romantic setting.
Stop it, Bess.
Get your book out of your purse, Bess.
What?
Lillian just walked in.
Oh.
And if these terms are satisfactory, please advise by wire or cable.
Yours truly, Frank Gault.
Frank!
Oh, Lillian.
Well.
I took a chance you'd be here.
I thought maybe you'd buy me lunch.
Sure, dear, sure.
I didn't know you were coming in this early.
Oh, you remember Miss Lucas from our editorial department?
Yes.
How are you, Miss Lucas?
Fine, Mrs. Gault.
Nice to see you again.
I'd better get this off in the mail right away, Mr. Gault.
All right, Bessie.
Fine.
Better do that.
Well, don't let me rush you off, Miss Lucas.
Oh, we're finished, Mrs. Gault.
Sometimes lunch is the only place I can pin him down.
Really?
Are you that busy, dear?
Yes, I seem to be.
Sit down, Lillian.
Oh, thanks.
Oh, don't forget your notebook, Miss Lucas.
Oh, yes, of course.
Mr. Gault.
Hmm?
I hope you won't let that other matter slip your mind.
It's imperative that you do something about it immediately this afternoon.
Oh, yes, of course, Miss Lucas.
Fine.
Excuse me, Mrs. Gault.
Yes.
See you in the office.
Yes.
Goodbye for now.
Would you like a drink, Lillian?
Oh, she's an interesting girl, Frank.
Bess?
Oh, sure, yes, very bright.
Gonna be one of our best editors someday.
She looks like she'll go far.
But then I don't like the way she wears her hair.
I'll take the drink.
Lillian?
On the phone, you said it was something important.
Yes.
Are you going to tell me?
Yes, Lillian.
I'll tell you what I'll do, Frank.
I'll make it easier for you.
You're always very bad at this sort of thing, and I'm always very good at it.
At what sort of thing?
You don't even know what I wanted to talk to you about.
I can guess what you want to talk to me about.
You can stop me if I'm wrong.
I know all the symptoms, especially on you.
I know you like a book.
You hate to get down to cases.
In your office, you're a real demon.
Doesn't take any imagination to read what other people have thought out.
But this is hard for you, isn't it?
I'll say it right out, Lillian.
I want a divorce.
Well, you did get it out, didn't you?
I want a divorce because we don't get along.
We haven't gotten along for five years.
I want a divorce because I think we've tried about everything to make it work, and it won't.
Lillian, what do you think?
What do you honestly think?
Well, I think a divorce is a swell idea, Frank.
Let's get one.
Huh?
Well, everything you've said is true.
We're castinko.
There's no denying it.
We can't live together, can we?
No, we can't.
You surprise me.
Do what?
How?
Well, this isn't exactly the most pleasant thing for two people to discuss or start to
plan for.
Matter of fact, it's a tragedy and a sin.
Both of us had such high hopes when we started out.
I think we both honestly tried to do everything we can to make it work.
Now, coming to this, we're admitting we failed.
Well, that's one way to look at it, Frank.
Very, very humane.
But we're only human beings, aren't we?
We're two very nice people, aren't we?
And it's too bad that these things happen in life, don't they?
Yes, they do.
I'm sorry.
You wanted to say something like that to me, didn't you?
Yes.
You're a good boy, Frank.
So, what do we do first?
Well, I suppose we get in touch with Dutch and have him advise us on the legal procedures.
No, I suppose we do.
Way easier than you thought it would be, isn't it?
I think you're being very understanding about the whole thing, Lillian.
But then there's really no need for bitterness, is there?
I'm glad you feel that way, Frank.
Here.
What's this?
A few notes I made on how it'll be done.
I've been thinking about it, too.
I hope you won't find the financial strain too great.
Lillian, this is absurd.
$2,500 a month, the house, both cars, and 30% of the stocks they issue you annually.
I think it's wonderful.
That's why I agree with you about the divorce.
This will make it easier for me to admit my defeat.
You want to wreck me completely, don't you, Lillian?
Oh, dear, not completely.
Well, I can't stand still for this, then.
Oh, Frank, dear.
You didn't think you could have it for nothing, did you?
Or do you have such a little amount of imagination?
Who helped you work this out, some shyster?
I did it all by myself, dear.
All by myself.
Just the way you managed to wreck us, all by yourself.
I don't want that drink anyhow.
I have some shopping to do, and I'm going to meet some people for dinner later on.
I suppose you're going to Dutch and talk to him about this.
Take that along.
And tell him that it's the only way I'll consider divorcing you.
Just that way.
No other.
Lillian, I'll be reasonable, but this thing...
No other way, dear.
Those are my terms.
Bye-bye.
Dear.
Frank, you didn't talk to her, did you?
Yes, I did.
Well, what came of it?
Why did you avoid me when you came back to the office?
I've been trying to get hold of you all day and half the night.
Up to my ears and work, Bess.
Work?
Yes, work, work, lots of it.
I still have to work, you know.
Well, don't get angry at me.
Just tell me what happened.
That's all you have to do.
I'm lying in bed right now.
I'm reading a manuscript.
I have to make a decision on it tomorrow morning.
Let's talk then.
Now.
Bess, I can't talk now.
Lillian just walked in the next room.
Yes or no, Frank.
Yes or no.
Say it.
Say it now.
Yes, we're going to be together.
No, we aren't going to be together.
Yes.
Yes.
She'll give you the divorce.
Yes.
Yes.
Goodbye.
Well?
Hi.
Are you a little tight, dear?
I'm a little tight.
Yes, why?
Nothing.
It's just that I have to read this manuscript tonight.
I'd rather not discuss anything about anything right now.
Oh, I see.
Death on my hands by Blaine Kittredge.
Fencing tile, dear.
Yes.
Who's Blaine Kittredge?
I don't know.
Some new writer.
We've never published anything of his before.
Are you going to publish this?
I don't know.
I haven't read it yet, Lillian.
Oh, well, don't let me stop you.
Good night, dear.
Good night.
Frank.
Yes.
I hate to disturb you, but did you talk to Dutch?
No.
Are you going to?
No.
Then you don't want a divorce?
What do you want, Frank?
I want you to leave me alone right now.
Okay.
Especially Lucas, isn't it?
What?
Oh, you're so bad, Frank.
So bad an actor and so sheen.
So little imagination.
I could tell it today when I walked in on your little lunch.
Nothing to say?
No denials?
No confirmation?
Frank, you haven't made a decision yet.
I have.
What's that, Lillian?
I'm going to divorce you.
I'm going to get everything I told you about in the way of terms and on top of it, I'm
going to name her.
No, not me.
You look pretty tawdry, dear.
You're a pretty tawdry person anyway, aren't you, Frank?
A real company man who has to do his little job regardless of what.
Death on my hands by Blaine Kittredge.
Murder is the swiftest, surest, most untraceable crime.
I'm the one that holds the promise of absolute success above all others.
It requires two participants, the killer and the victim.
Frank?
Yeah?
What's the matter?
What are you doing in my room?
Thinking.
At four in the morning?
About what?
The story I just read, it's about a man who gets away with murder, Lillian.
There's no way for him to be caught, no way at all, Lillian.
Will you publish it, dear, then I'll read it.
The trick is he never planned to murder at all.
He killed his wife and he got away with it.
He half-smothered her with a pillow, set the room on fire, and she suffocated from the
smoke.
Is there a cigarette over there?
You want a cigarette?
As well, if you're going to keep this up.
Here.
Thanks.
Now, where are we?
I'm a story, Lillian.
I'll tell you what you do, Frank.
You publish it and I'll read it.
I won't have to listen to it, huh?
I'm going to turn it down.
Fine, you turn it down.
But I'm going to use it, in a way, on you, Lillian.
What are you talking about?
I can't let you wreck me, Lillian.
Oh, Frank, go on back to bed and stop being dramatic.
I have enough imagination to know what that would be like.
It would cost me everything I ever worked for.
What are you doing?
Put that match out.
You're going to set this house on fire.
Just the bed, Lillian.
Frank, go get some water.
The whole house will catch fire.
No, no, not the house.
Just this room, your bed.
They'll be able to save the rest of the house and I don't mind building this room over.
You're utterly mad, Frank, utterly mad.
Just Frank, just hold the pillow over your nose and mouth just long enough to make you
unconscious.
No marks, Lillian, no fuss.
Just like the story.
Smoke's really going to kill you, not me.
It'll be the first thing you breathe, breathe in when I take the pillow away.
It'll be in your lungs, Lillian, for the coroner.
You went to sleep with a cigarette in your hand and you started the bed on fire and you
suffocated before I could help you.
Right in front of my eyes.
All right, Lillian, you can breathe now.
That's it, breathe, Lillian.
Breathe!
Glad to see you back on the job, Frank.
Thank you, Mr. Walsh.
Did you get any rest?
Well, I guess you didn't after all that happened.
We all feel pretty badly about Mrs. Gault's death.
Yes, I know.
Tragic, tragic thing.
Those accidents just happened and there's nothing to be done about them.
Well, I won't take up any more of your time saying awkward things, Frank.
I know what you've been through, all of us do.
But I have a suggestion.
Yes?
Pile in and work, work will help a lot, Frank.
I intended to, Mr. Walsh.
Good boy.
Lunch?
Fine.
I'll see you about two, huh?
Right.
Excuse me, Mr. Walsh.
Oh, hello, Miss Lucas.
Did I interrupt anything?
No, no, no, just leave it.
Oh.
Frank.
Bess.
Darling.
Oh, Bess.
I can't say I'm sorry she's gone, but I am sorry about the way it happened.
I'm sorry I couldn't be with you.
I know you loved her, weren't you?
All over now, Bess.
Oh, Frank.
It was awful for you, wasn't it?
Awful.
But just as Mr. Walsh said, those things happened.
Yes.
Well, you want to talk about it, I guess we can do it another time.
Yes.
Anytime.
That's right.
Anytime.
Do I sound cruel or thoughtless?
Oh.
I do.
I'm sorry.
I just know that I've wanted you for so long.
Now I can have you, Frank.
I'd better get back to my desk.
Yeah.
Hello?
Mr. Galt?
That's right.
Lane Kittredge, Mr. Galt.
I've been trying to get you for a week.
Oh, I've been out of town.
My wife.
Yes, I read about it in the papers.
My sympathy, Mr. Galt.
Thank you.
Mr. Kittredge, I'm sorry, but I don't seem to place you at the moment.
Oh, we've never met.
But just before you went away, I sent you a story called Death on My Hands.
Huh?
Mr. Galt?
Yes.
You remember now?
You rejected that one, Mr. Galt, but I read it.
Well, fine.
Fine, Mr. Gittredge.
Send it in.
I'll be glad to read it.
It's sort of a sequel to the other story, Mr. Galt.
In the first one, I told you how a man got away with a murder.
In this one, I tell you how he gets caught.
Mr. Galt?
Yes.
I'll bring it in myself.
Huh?
You are listening to Mr. Whitfield Connor in E. Jack Newman's story, Sequel to Murder.
Tonight's presentation in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
For full understanding of our changing land, to know more about the opportunities all can
enjoy as America continues to prosper, send for the free booklet titled, The Future of
America.
Head to Box 1776, Grand Central Station, New York 17, and your copy will be sent to you
by early return mail.
The address again is Box 1776, Grand Central Station, New York City 17.
For confidence, for security in your great future, send for this booklet today.
And now we bring back to our Hollywood soundstage, Mr. Whitfield Connor, in Elliot Lewis's production
of Sequel to Murder, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
It isn't hard to write all this now.
First because the details were all there, and next because someone else really did all
the writing, I did the reading.
But the reader and the writer had to meet.
I'm Blaine Kittredge.
Oh.
I got here right after I phoned you, Mr. Galt, but they said you were out to lunch.
I've been waiting ever since.
Sorry, Mr. Kittredge.
I suppose you needed that long lunch hour.
It fits in, Mr. Galt.
You had to think of something to say to me, didn't you?
I don't know why particularly.
Because I have a story for you, the sequel to my first story.
Oh, well, where is it?
I have it here, in my head.
All I have to do is put it down on paper as the saying goes.
Well, I'm afraid I can't read your mind.
I'll help you.
First, I suppose I should tell you I usually write my stories based on fact, more or less.
I take all seven newspapers here every day, for instance.
Read them from top to bottom.
There are a great many things in newspapers that make valuable material for a writer,
Mr. Galt.
Yes.
That's what I do most of the time, Mr. Galt.
But when I wrote that story about the man who half-smothered his wife to death with a
pillow, and then set the room on fire so she'd suffocate, I...
You do remember the story, don't you?
I don't know.
Called Death on My Hands.
You rejected it, Mr. Galt.
You personally rejected it.
Oh.
Yes, well, go on.
Well, that story was a little different, Mr. Galt.
You might say I gave it a little more work than the others.
You see, I didn't base that story on anything I'd read in the newspapers.
You said you had a new story.
I made that one up.
I worked it out pretty well, didn't I?
I suppose you did.
Imagine how surprised I was after I'd written the story to read it in the papers about your
wife, Mr. Galt, dying of suffocation.
Let's not dwell on that, please.
Oh, I don't want to make it painful at all, Mr. Galt.
I'd just like to make sure you buy my new story.
What, uh, what do you have in mind?
A talk with the coroner's office, Mr. Galt.
I'm sure that if I explain to them the details of my story and how you had the story, and
of course they know the details of Mrs. Galt's death, they'd reverse their decision.
We both know they'd reverse their decision about how she died.
And they'd look into your life pretty well.
They'd probably find a good reason for you wanting to get rid of her.
Absurd story like that that wouldn't listen to you.
They'd listen to me, Mr. Galt, because I'm a pretty good talker.
In fact, I talk a lot better than I write, really.
Look, you're listening to me.
Everyone listens to me when I talk.
See?
Now, it really comes down to what do you want out of life.
Now, I don't care about your personal troubles or how you solve them, but I do care about
mine, Mr. Galt.
I need $100,000 to make life interesting for me again.
You have to get me $100,000 if you want to live.
I haven't got that kind of money.
No one has these days.
I've seen your house and your cars, and I have some idea of the salary you make here
and the dividends you get on stock.
And that's how I arrived at my figure.
You might have to liquidate a few things, but then you'll be alive, and after all, you'll
be better off than Mrs. Galt.
She's not alive because you killed her.
You'll have to go to somebody with your story, Kittredge.
I can't pay you that kind of money.
Okay.
I'll turn you in.
Wait.
I'll see what I can do.
It takes time to raise that kind of money.
A little down payment will do, say $10,000.
How about midnight at the 45th Street station?
All right.
Don't, don't, don't, don't go to anybody.
Of course not, Mr. Galt.
Not until I've given you a chance.
Frank?
Frank?
Huh?
What is it, Frank?
Been sitting there looking out the window almost ever since you got here.
You haven't touched your drink.
Oh, I'm sorry.
Is there something wrong with it?
No, no, no, no.
It's fine.
Frank?
What?
For heaven's sake, Frank, this is supposed to be some sort of happy occasion.
Are you tired or sick or something?
What is it?
Bess, I...
I guess I'm just tired.
Frank, who's Blaine Kittredge?
Blaine Kittredge?
Yes.
Uh, a writer.
Why?
Well, he came into the editorial department today, just meeting some of the editors.
I noticed he met you too.
He went to your office, didn't he?
Yeah.
I didn't like him, Frank.
Is he a friend of yours?
No, no, just someone I know.
What is it?
What, Frank?
Tell me.
Kittredge can ruin me, Bess.
He... he... he can ruin us.
What?
Bessie, the whole...
Well, he wrote a story that I rejected, a story about a murder.
The circumstances in the story, the murder and all, well, they're pretty close to the
circumstances of Lillian's death.
What?
Don't you see, Bess?
He has a good weapon and he told me he means to use it today.
Frank, Lillian's death was accidental.
Of course it was accidental, Bess, but his story could make it look deliberate.
What do you mean?
It could make it look as though I had something to do with it.
Why, that's ridiculous, Frank.
Oh, Frank, why do you pay any attention to him at all?
You're really upset, darling.
He wants $100,000.
Why, that's so absurd.
Or is it?
Frank.
What?
You're actually thinking of giving it to him, aren't you?
Well, best the way he presented it.
I haven't got a chance.
He could make the worst kind of trouble for me.
Frank, is it the way he presented it or the way it happened?
Frank, Lillian died accidentally, didn't she?
Frank?
I did it for us, Bess, for us.
It was the only way out.
She wanted to ruin us completely so that nothing would have meant anything.
Bess.
I just wanted you.
Look, Bess, look at me.
You'll think of it differently in a while and you'll know it was all I could do.
I didn't mean ever to tell you, but remember, it was for us.
Don't touch me.
Don't ever touch me again.
Bess.
Hi.
Hello.
Right on time, Mr. Galt.
Yeah.
Good time of the day to meet for this kind of thing, nobody around.
Yeah?
Well?
I didn't bring you the money, Kittredge.
I'm not going to give you any money.
What is this?
I don't need a book to tell me how to handle this.
You're crazy if you try to use that thing here.
You wouldn't get 10 feet without running into a policeman.
Let's go over there.
I haven't got much more to lose, Kittredge.
All right.
I learned a lot about homicide from you, but you can never really get away with it, Kittredge.
Somewhere along the line you get caught, not by policemen, by yourself.
Someone else made me realize that.
A man has to go on living.
Look, Mr. Galt, you aren't going to solve anything here.
I'll kill you.
I know how to do it because it has to be done.
You will fall in front of the subway, Kittredge.
Oh.
These men coming don't move or try to shout at them.
Just let them walk past.
I mean that.
Mr. Galt?
Oh, yes?
Better give us the gun, Mr. Galt.
Police officers.
Count of three.
One, two, here.
Oh.
Boy am I glad you two showed up.
He was just telling me how he was going to kill me.
What's your name?
Kittredge, Blaine Kittredge.
I called earlier.
Sorry, Mr. Galt, but I figured you'd try something like this.
Lillian was right.
What?
I should have known.
I don't have much imagination.
All right.
Let's go.
No reprieve.
I didn't think there'd be one anyhow.
Don't care about that part of it.
I do care that Bess never came to the trial.
But I would have seen that.
I would have known she'd take it that way if I'd had any imagination.
All right, Father.
I'm ready.
Suspense, in which Whitfield Connor was starred in Sequel to Murder.
Next week, the story of a man who lost his shoes.
And when you're suspected of murder and you've got to run for your life and the temperature
is in the 90s, why then you're correct in saying it's too hot to live.
That's next week on Suspense.
Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with tonight's music composed by René
Garagin and conducted by Wilbur Hatch.
Sequel to Murder was written for Suspense by E. Jack Newman.
In tonight's story, Whitfield Connor was heard as Galt, Charlotte Lawrence as Bess, Betty
Lou Gerson as Lillian, Joe Kearns as Walsh, and Jack Crushen as Kitteridge.
This is the network and tomorrow's the night when CBS Radio's Crime Photographer takes
on his latest murder case.
Yes, it's Casey on the case and things usually click from start to finish when crime photographers
in action on most of these stations every Wednesday night.
Be sure you're in your favorite radio side seat tomorrow night when Casey, crime photographer,
cuts loose with his camera, his brains, and his instinct for adding up clues to a killing.
Gay Time is a Gay Time with Arthur Godfrey Time on the CBS Radio Network.