And now, tonight's presentation of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Tonight we bring you a story from your newspaper.
It is based upon absolute fact.
Only certain portions have been dramatized.
We call it, The Greatest Thief in the World.
So now, starring Mr. Ben Wright, here is tonight's Suspense play, The Greatest Thief in the World.
The files of criminal record office in Scotland Yard contain two bulky folders.
One relating to the evidence against Peter Marion.
The other against a criminal known only as the Squire.
Between Peter Marion, we're in possession of a number of facts.
Some we gain through our own investigation, others through interested parties.
Concerning the Squire, we know a good deal less.
That for some five years he committed dual thefts amounting to half a million pounds
is common knowledge.
That at no time until the end did we find one scrap of evidence is further stated in
the file.
The question that the Yard has not been able to satisfactorily answer is whether Peter
Marriott and the Squire were one in the same.
The case is a mathematical fantasy.
For example, we know that Peter Marriott attended a shooting party in the West Riding as the
guest of Sir Leslie and Lady Bandrick.
We know the gist of what transpired, but was the Squire present at that time?
Good shooting, Marriott.
Oh, thank you, sir.
Best if I know how you do it.
Every time I get a shot of them, those blinking parties seem to know it's me.
Oh, it's just bad luck, sir.
It'll get better.
But they do, you know.
They fly off screaming with laughter.
It's old band bridge.
Come on, you chaps.
Nothing to worry about.
Oh, really, sir.
Oh, well.
Perhaps tomorrow.
I'm for a drink.
Why don't you?
Why don't you?
By the way, be meaning to ask you ever since you got here.
It keeps slipping my mind.
Anything new in London about that the Squire chap?
I don't think so, sir.
Not since his last haul.
You've heard about him out here, too.
Well, who doesn't hear about him?
It's a disgrace.
I can tell you I've read in the letter for times.
Parliament should do something.
No, I understand Scotland Yards up a tree.
Bunglers.
Not like the old days.
Catch the man and give him a horse, whip him in, send you to Dartmoor.
That's what we'd have done.
Well, they say he's quite clever.
Clever?
Nonsense.
Papers are making a hero of the blighter.
The Squire.
Impudence.
Man's not a gentleman.
He's just a blasted little jewel thief.
Well, I don't imagine the Honourable Percy Pindell considers him little.
Oh, yes.
That was the last one, wasn't it?
According to the paper, 20,000 pounds, an emerald necklace and two diamond rings.
Percy's a fool.
Always told himself, too.
A child could have opened that safe of his.
I'd like to see the Squire try his game with me.
A different story, I can tell you.
Well, I might want to do it, sir.
By the way, did you tell me that you used to dabble in the diamond market?
Oh, that was a few years ago, sir.
Nothing much.
This evening I must show you one or two nice little things I bought Lady Pavlain in Italy.
I'd love to see them, sir.
Two days after the shooting party, Sir Leslie Banbridge reported that jewels amounting to the sum of 8,000 pounds had been stolen from his safe.
It was the Squire's work.
No prints, just the unmistakable methods that had tantalised us for five years.
At that time, there was no more reason to suspect Peter Marriott than the other 18 guests,
all of whom had seen the jewels in question.
We know now that there was a girl in Peter Marriott's life,
a girl whom we felt to be a rather odd acquaintance for a man in his position.
Hello, Ginny.
Well, where you been?
Thought you was coming by last week.
Oh, I'm sorry I was away.
You brass knobs on.
No, honestly.
I brought you a present.
You have?
Oh, you are a duck.
Well, I've missed you.
Give me a kiss.
Oh, you have missed me, haven't you?
Where's the present?
Here.
Oh, Peter.
Oh, it's lovely.
Thanks ever so.
Is it real?
Oh, absolutely.
You couldn't find a better ruby anywhere.
Doesn't look real.
Well, you take my word for it.
It is.
Oh, how lovely.
Oh, you shouldn't have.
Must have cost a packet.
Well, you're my girl, aren't you?
Oh, Ginny, look, you see this parcel?
I want you to keep it for me just for a little while.
Oh, what is it?
Oh, it's nothing important.
You don't have to open it up.
I wouldn't.
Well, as a matter of fact, it's like the other parcel I gave you a few months ago.
Oh, gone.
Pictures.
Right.
Oh, you'll get in trouble one of these days, you will.
Anyway, I don't believe you.
I bet those aren't pictures in there.
Oh.
What do you really do?
I mean for a living.
Well, I've told you nothing very much.
Dark exchange.
I have some money.
Why?
I wondered.
What made you wonder?
Well, I think maybe you're a bit shady.
Oh, what an odd thought.
Is it?
Well, what's so odd about it?
Why don't you ever take me nowhere?
Why do we always have to meet here, never go dancing or nothing?
Well, Jenny, isn't it nice here?
No, it ain't.
You're ashamed of me because I'm not a swell like you.
Jenny, it isn't that.
It's only that I want to be with you alone.
Yes, I don't think.
Well, what do you want me to say then?
I don't know, but there's something funny about you.
Oh?
A man was here the other day.
A man?
Who?
What do you mean?
Oh, so there is something.
Jenny, tell me about it.
He was just asking about the gent who visited me last night.
That was you, Peter.
What did you say?
I told him I wasn't the avid, a gas, and was strange, isn't it, Oppet?
Well, what did he look like?
Look here, I don't like the way you're talking like a ruddy copper.
I don't think I'm going to tell you anything.
Well, I'm sorry, Jenny, but please, go on.
No, I don't feel like it.
Now, look, I've got to know.
It's important.
Well, 999, ask the police.
I think you'd better tell me.
You eat me.
What did he look like?
Jenny?
Was he all right?
Maybe a little thinner, black hair.
He looked something like you.
Well, how was he dressed?
I don't know.
All right, I suppose.
Gray overcoat, bowler.
He wasn't a copper, I don't think, if that's what's worrying you.
He was too polite.
Any name?
No.
Said he was a friend of yours from abroad.
Said when I saw you to say something about Canada.
You know what he meant.
That can't be.
He's dead.
It can't be.
Immediately following the bandage robbery, the squire was inactive.
We kept an eye out for the stolen jewels, but as in the past, there was no sign of them.
However, we learned one interesting fact, that Peter Marriott had attended several parties given by victims of the squire.
Although it was a very slight chance and quite possibly coincidental, we felt it advisable to assign a plainclothesman to watch him.
On September 7th, 1949, the detective made his routine report.
Follett's suspect, a lion's teeshot, knotting hill gate.
He sat at a corner table alone.
Five minutes later, he was joined by another man, was unable to hear the conversation.
Hello, Peter Marriott.
Hello.
Sir Don.
I don't think I would have recognized you.
You've had quite a job done on your face, haven't you?
Yes.
Well, rather like old times, eh?
What happened? I thought you were...
Not now, my dear fellow. It's a long story.
Don't worry, you'll hear about it.
How long have you been in London?
Ages.
Nearly six years.
Funny, you took so long getting in touch.
Yes, isn't it?
You look prosperous, I must say.
So do you.
I suppose that girl told you I'd been inquiring.
Yes.
Well, I thought it best to make sure. One doesn't want to make mistakes, does one?
Look here, will you get to the point? What do you want?
Same dear fellow, aren't you?
All right. First, what about my name?
I thought you were dead, there's no harm there.
You know I couldn't use my own name after I left Canada.
Yes, but my dear fellow, Peter Marriott, there can't be two of us, you know.
Why not?
Because when I found out five years ago that you were calling yourself that,
I had to change my name to something else.
Well, now I think I want my own back.
You can have it.
There must be more than a few Peter Marriott's in the world.
Definitely, but we're special, you and I.
Very special.
Oh, go on.
You see, I've been reading a lot about you. You're quite a toff.
Races, hunt balls and all that. I've followed you very closely.
You can be a great help to me, old man. Great help indeed.
What's the game?
We can do business together, just like old times.
I don't think so.
But I do. You and I and the Squire.
For the next month, well into October, Peter Marriott, as a suspect, became a dad.
He led an exemplary life and we began to feel that once again we'd made a mistake.
He attended several parties and no robbery attempts followed.
However, it was two days after a ball given by a wealthy sportsman that our detective assigned to Marriott made his report.
October 28th. Suspect left his flat at 5.30 p.m. and walked toward Tube Station, followed but lost him.
Cannot be certain whether he made this move on purpose or not.
Is that the house?
Yes.
Well, you're not going to drive up to it, are you?
Oh, look, I didn't ask you to come along, you know.
Well, I suppose you know what you're doing.
Now, you can stay here.
But there are lights on in there.
Servants' quarters.
But what if I say if a bobby comes along?
You see that switch under the dash?
Where? Oh, here?
Flick it. Then step on the starter.
The motor won't catch. You can say you're having motor trouble.
All right.
Come on. Did you get it?
I think I went in for a cup of tea, do you? Of course I got it.
You are listening to The Greatest Thief in the World, the night's presentation in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Mr. Smith, no relation to the one you know, planned for a nest egg to start saving with United States savings bonds someday.
He put off starting month after month, year after year.
And you know what happened?
All the money he didn't save wasn't there when he needed it.
Don't you be like our Mr. Smith.
Be like many smart Americans who purchase United States savings bonds regularly for a nest egg that is there.
Now we bring back to our Hollywood soundstage Mr. Ben Wright, starring in tonight's production, The Greatest Thief in the World, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Once again the squire had struck, this time to the tune of 14,000 pounds in Oriental jewels.
Once again the resources of Scotland Yard were unable to discover one shred of evidence.
It was useless to bring Peter Marriott in for questioning because we had no proof of his complicity.
There was nothing to do but intensify our surveillance and hope that a piece of the stolen jewelry would turn up or that one of our informers would uncover something.
On November 26, 1949, Marriott drove down to Kent and the estate of Lord Simon Lettington.
John.
Hello.
Just running over to Patty Puth.
Want to come?
Yeah, love to.
Hop in.
Oh.
Hey, Dave.
Murderous.
Too much for me last night.
Take an aspirin.
You'll need it for tonight.
If I have one more hot buttered rum, I'll die.
Oh, not you, Peter.
I say, Daddy was furious with me this morning.
Why?
For behaving the way I did with you.
Oh?
He saw us kissing in the playroom.
Said I had no right to lead you on, that you were a very nice young man and deserved a better fate.
His lordship is a discerning man.
Peter.
Hmm?
What were you doing in the library this morning?
Nothing.
Why?
I saw you looking at the safe, just like a burglar.
Very suspicious.
Oh, a rot.
There's probably nothing in it, anyway.
Ha.
Besides, no self-respecting cracksman would touch a thing like that.
It's too easy to open.
I bet the squire would.
Ah, rank amateur.
He learned everything from me.
Do you want anything in the village?
Oh, you might drop me at the pillar box.
I have a couple of cards to post.
Right.
I'll meet you in half an hour outside the cinema.
Our man followed Marriott when he left Lady Joan Lettington's card in Paddock Wood.
Marriott posted two cards, then strolled down the road to the Hotel Rackham.
He entered there, went into the tavern.
Our man remained outside.
And what are you, sir?
Oh, er, double scotch.
Double scotch?
Yes, sir.
Make a Johnny Walker, will you?
All right.
Right you are, sir.
A bit of pre-Christmas cheer, eh?
Listen, I don't like this.
Outside.
See in the mirror?
I think it's a man from the yard.
I've noticed him hanging about.
Yeah, that won't do at all.
What does it look like in the house?
How the devil should I know?
Give me time, can't you?
You're a bit touchy, aren't you?
My dear old boy, in this business one can't get nervous.
You ought to know that.
You should have stayed in London.
No, it's better this way.
We can keep an eye on one another, eh?
Oh, this will buck you up.
Double scotch, sir.
On November 30th, Marriott returned to London.
We had an idea that he'd contacted someone in Rackham Hotel Tavern.
Possibly the elusive stranger we knew to be meeting Marriott from time to time.
In any event, we kept a man at Paddock Wood.
No attempt was made during the next three weeks upon Lord Leadington's house,
and we could do nothing but wait.
On December 21st, it was noted that Peter Marriott visited Virginia Hibbert in Hammersmith at a late hour.
How are you?
You really have no consideration for me at all, really, you haven't.
What fine time of night to come calling.
Oh, I'm sorry, Ginny, but I had to talk to you.
Oh, what's up?
Please listen.
Now, I may have to go away, and I may not be able to see you again.
Ever?
Ever.
You're a good girl.
Sometimes I haven't been kind, but I've always known that I could trust you.
It hasn't just been making use of you.
I hope not.
Ginny, that man who came to ask you about me...
Has he got something to do with it?
Yes.
I knew him a long time ago in Canada.
Cool.
We worked together.
It was in a mining town.
One night there was a game, a poker game.
It ended in a fight.
My face was badly slashed, and I shot a man.
Lummy.
I ran away.
The doctor did plastic surgery on my face.
I changed my name, too.
The bloke who came back, is he the man you...
No, no, no, no.
The man I shot was a miner.
The fellow who came back was the one I worked with.
I thought he'd been killed in the fight.
You see why I was afraid when you told me about him.
He knows about that man that I killed.
Dirty water.
Black Malaigne?
Yes, Ginny.
And I'm going to have to do something about it.
The police are following me.
You see, I can't let this go on.
Now, look, there's some money in here, and I want you to take it.
You don't have to do that.
You've treated me all right.
I don't want your money, and I don't want you to go away.
No, no, please, it's for you.
There's a thousand pounds here.
No.
Take it and get out of London, Ginny.
Go to a nice little town and get married.
No, I want to be with you.
Take me with you.
I could learn to be a lady, honest.
I'd try.
You are, dear Ginny.
Oh, don't go, Peter.
Don't go, please.
Maybe I'll come back, and if I do, I'll look for you.
Truly?
Truly.
Give us a kiss.
On the morning of December 22, 1949, our file on Peter Marriott was still inconclusive.
He was a strong suspect, but there was the other man whom we knew he had seen from time to time.
There was now the possibility that he was the squire.
We expected an attempt on Lord Leadington's house and kept our detective in Paddock Wood.
That same night on the 22nd, Lord Leadington's safe was opened,
and a large amount of currency as well as jewelry was stolen.
The plain clothesman we'd left to guard the estate was later found unconscious in some bushes.
You were an idiot to come back to the hotel.
They'll be looking for you.
Or for you.
Ah, quite a haul. I like the paper best.
Diamonds are pretty, but they're a bloody nuisance to get rid of.
You won't have to worry about that anymore.
Huh?
I'm fed up. Things were all right with me before you turned up.
Think how much nicer it is for me. You've been such a help.
I can do so much better business with you.
It's finished.
Oh, come on now. You'll feel better after a drink.
We'll have to get away from here. At least you'll have to.
I imagine half of Scott and Yard will be here soon.
What about that detective?
Oh, I put him out. He'll live.
Not a very nice Christmas present, I'm afraid.
I meant it, you know, about us.
Oh, no, you didn't.
Because you wouldn't like people to know, would you?
It doesn't matter.
Oh, but it does.
What do they do to murderers in Canada? Hang them?
Or that delightful American system, electricity?
You're a fool.
You think I've spent these years getting where I have to allow you to come along and muck it up?
You've had it too soft, Peter. You're spoiled.
You're the one who's had it soft. I could talk, too.
You know, I have an idea that you're threatening me.
That's not very healthy, is it?
No.
I shouldn't try it, Peter. Whatever you're thinking.
Turn around.
Why?
I don't want to shoot you in the back.
Is that what you're going to do? Kill me?
Turn around.
We're in a hotel, you know. There's bound to be noise.
I'll count to three.
Don't do it, old boy. I have a gun, too.
One.
I was always a better shot than you. Remember?
Two.
Last chance. Put down your gun.
Three.
We found the body in the bedroom of the hotel raccom, Panicwood Kent.
A single shot had been fired through the head.
The pistol lay on the floor.
The jewels stolen from Lord Lettington's safe were on the dressing table.
The currency was missing.
However, there were one or two points still left unanswered.
The gun was devoid of fingerprints.
The deceased was not wearing gloves at the time his body was discovered.
There was further the question of an open window and scuff marks on the sill.
Scotland Yard still is not certain who went through that window.
The real Peter Marriott?
The imposter?
Or the one known as the Squire?
Suspense.
In which Mr. Ben Wright starred in tonight's true story of the greatest thief in the world.
Next week, the story of a pet cat and the fear it carried with it.
We call it The Black Death.
That's next week on Suspense.
Suspense is produced and directed by Anthony Ellis, who wrote tonight's script.
The music was composed by René Garagin and conducted by Wilbur Hatch.
Featured in the cast were John Dodsworth, Joseph Kearns, Betty Harford, Ella Morgan, Edgar Barrier, and Raymond Lawrence.
You'll enjoy romance every Saturday in the daytime on the CBS Radio Network.
You'll enjoy romance every Saturday in the daytime on the CBS Radio Network.