Suspense. And the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery
and adventure, William N. Robeson.
The human mind is an organ of infinite complexity and of infinite potentiality. This delicate
and mysterious organ, when it is healthy, can create beauty, work miracles, and envision
that. But when it is shocked, disturbed, and unbalanced, its capacity for horror and evil
is equally limitless. It is of such a mind our story is concerned. The mind of a woman
who lets her imagination run away with terrifying results. Listen, listen then, as Miss Hillary
Brooke stars in A Week Ago Wednesday, which begins in exactly one minute.
Let's figure out how to become President of the United States without being elected.
Oh, it can be done all right. See, all you have to do is have a special job in Congress
or be a member of the cabinet. Now naturally, you have to meet the other qualifications
of age, birth, and residence. The law determining the order of presidential succession specifies
that after the Vice President comes the Speaker of the House, followed by the President pro
ten of the Senate. And then if for any reason these people are no longer available, the
cabinet members are set up in line to take over the White House duties. The first one
is the Secretary of State, followed by the Secretaries of the Treasury and Defense.
Then come the Attorney General, the Postmaster General, and so on down the line through the
Secretaries of Interior, Agriculture, Commerce, and Labor. Then if that list is used up, the
only thing is to have an election. But so far, the need has never gone beyond the Vice
Presidency.
And now, a week ago Wednesday, starring Hilary Brooke, a tale well calculated to keep you
in suspense.
My husband and I had quarreled that Wednesday morning. I've tried to remember why, but I
couldn't. Anyway, I wasn't in any hurry to get home after work that day, that Wednesday.
So I sat for a while on a bench in Central Park. The sky had a dirty face and the tall
buildings around the park looked almost too white. I watched evening happen quickly because
it was going to rain. Started to come down, doing my crying for me. And I started to run.
I knew suddenly that I wanted to go home. And I wanted Harry to be there. So I could
put my arms around him and tell him how much I loved him. And that I was sick because I
hadn't kissed him goodbye that morning. I nearly fell running up the narrow stairway to the
third floor. Apartment 3B. I was nervous. My hand was clumsy or thumbs and the key wouldn't
fit. It dropped to the floor. I stooped to pick it up. And as I did, the door opened.
Harry. Oh, Harry.
Yes, what is it?
There was a stranger in our apartment. A small dark woman with eyes like two shiny brown
buttons and a pinched little face. She was wearing a flowered apron and she was holding
her soggy dish towel.
Well? Well, what do you want? I can't stand out here all night. I'm cooking supper.
There must be some mistake.
What apartment did you want?
3B.
This is 3B.
But it can't be. You see, I live here.
Whoever you're looking for, I can't help you much. We've only been living here a few days.
Living here?
Yes. What's the matter with you? Your clothes, they're sopping wet.
The rain. I got caught in the rain.
What are you talking about? It isn't raining.
It is raining. I ran. I ran all the way because there was thunder and lightning.
I don't know if you're drunk or crazy. Maybe both. We had a thunderstorm last Wednesday.
And it ain't rained again this past week.
Wednesday? A week ago? No, no, I...
You don't look so good. Come on. You better come in and sit down a minute. What is the
matter with you?
I must have got a chill when I got caught in the rain. Only you say it hasn't rained
for a week.
You sit right down here. I'll get some water. Now, don't move now. Supper not ready.
I sat on the sofa. Harry and I had talked just last night about having the spring in
the middle cushion fixed. Or was it last night? I ran my hand over the tub, cautiously afraid,
and then stopped as if I'd suddenly taken hold of a live wire, with my fingers curved
over the lumpy roughness of a pillow with a broken spring.
You're not doing this.
Over the rim of the glass, she watched me. I sipped the water slowly as I looked around
the room. There was a little table near the window where we could see the morning begin
on Central Park while we had breakfast, and the buildings freckled with tiny lights in
the evening while we had dinner. There was a rug with a worn spot in it, in the fireplace,
but our wedding picture was missing from the mantle, and in its place was a cheap blue
vase.
There. There, better? Feel better now?
Yes, yes, thank you.
You don't look so good to me. You better call a doctor when you get home.
Home?
Want me to call a cab for you? Where do you live?
I don't know. Now.
We were looking for someone when you came. Friends of yours? What's their name? I'll
see if I can find them for you.
Friends? Yes, yes, friends of mine. Harry and Maud Haskin. Good friends.
Haskin? But don't you read the papers?
Yes.
That you must know.
Know what?
About the murder, of course.
In a moment, we continue with the second act of... suspense. Let's take just about a minute
to talk about three little words which mean a great deal to people all over the world.
Monarchy, oligarchy, and republic. The first of these, monarchy, means rule by a single
person such as a king or queen. The second, oligarchy, refers to a form of government
in which the power is in the hands of a few such as Russia's Kremlin. But to us here in
the United States, the most important of the three little words is the third, republic.
A republic is a state in which the balance of power rests with the people as a whole and
is exercised by representatives elected by the people and responsible to them. A republic
is a free, popular government in which there are no classes having any exclusive political
privileges and in which the voters are guided by constitutional authority. The importance
of a republic is recognized by the constitution which in Article 4 says that the United States
shall guarantee to every state in this union a republican form of government and shall
protect each of them against invasion and domestic violence. That's how your American
constitution works. And now, starring Valerie Book, Act 2 of A Week Ago Wednesday.
We moved in a couple days after the murder. My husband didn't like the idea. But an apartment
was built in the house. And I said to him, Charlie, it's a vacancy. So what if there
was a murder? Murder? Tell me about it. Where have you been for a week? I'm not so sure
myself. You look like such a nice young man, too. At least in his pictures. Who? Who were
you talking about? Harry Haskin, of course. Harry? Yes, it happened right in that kitchen.
The murder weapon was an ice pick. Ice pick? Isn't it awful? And everybody says they seem
to much in love. Well, you never can tell about those things. She's so young. They say
pretty, too. Do they? You know them well. Yes, very well. Oh, sure, I'm sorry. It had
to be me to break the news to you if they were friends of yours. You said it in the
paper. Can I see it? Sure. The paper's been full of nothing else for almost a week. She
was right. The headline screamed out at me. Ice pick murder awaits conviction. And there
was a picture of Harry. Harry, my husband. I tried to read more, but I couldn't. I kept
hearing his voice. Don't you know I do anything in the world for you, darling? Don't you know
I love you? Love you. I don't remember leaving, running down those stairs and out the door.
I just remember finding myself on the street again, half walking, half running. And then
I was back in Central Park again. From out of nowhere, a little boy on a scooter came
carrying around the bend. He turned sharply to keep him running into me. I watched him
lose his balance. I toppled over him, fell in a pathetic little heap on the ground as
his knee was beating. And I ran over to pick him up. I bent over him, my arms outstretched
to lift him to his feet again. And then I realized I was dead. I'd been murdered by
my husband almost a week ago. I was dead. And I knew I did not touch this child. I was
afraid for him. And so I ran again. And I ran faster and faster until I couldn't hear
him anymore. And then it was later somehow and really dark. And I was tired. So very
tired. I found myself back on that bench again. The same bench I'd been sitting on earlier
that evening. No one was around. I stretched out and tried to sleep. And I suppose I must
have. The next thing I knew it was morning. I sat up stiffly and smoothed out the wrinkles
in my skirt. I wondered where I was going to go and what I was going to do. I tried
not to think of Harry. Where he was, now. Maude. Maude. Oh Maude, darling. Harry. Oh
golly, baby, I've been worried sick about you all night. Oh Harry. Oh my darling, I'm
sorry about yesterday. Come on, let's go home now. Home? Look at your clothes. They're still
damp from the rain last night. If you get sick, I'll never forgive myself. How do you
feel? Are you all right? Yes, yes, I'm all right. Good. Come on then. His big hand supported
my arm. And as we left the park from the entrance on 72nd Street, a little boy on a scooter
came tearing round the bend. In just a moment, we continue with the third act of suspense.
How would you like to be a successful farmer? Naturally, all of us would like to be successful
in anything, particularly in our chosen field. But say you are a successful farmer and you
have one or two successful neighbors. However, there are other neighboring farmers who, for
one reason or another, are not successful. Farmer Adams was hit by a flash flood coming
out of the hills. And Brown and Fisher, though they're hard workers, just don't have the
knowledge to make a farm pay off. What would you and your successful neighbors do? Would
you sit back and allow the other farms to go under, no matter what hardship it might
cause to the families? Would you say, let them fail. We'll buy them out when they're
broke. Perhaps one of your neighbors might say that, but would you or would you go over
and help Adams rebuild his farm? And would you go over to Brown and Fisher and say, look
neighbor, you're not planting the right thing here. It's not right for your soil. Let me
show you what you can plant. Of course, unless you were greedy, that's what you would do.
Throughout the world, that is what the Food and Agriculture Organization is doing. It
is an agency of the United Nations, which is man's best hope for the world's welfare,
peace and justice. And now, starring Hilary Brooke, Act Three of A Week Ago Wednesday,
we're about to begin the show.
And we are about to begin.
The apartment was just the way it should be, the warm spot on the rug, the crack in the
base of the lamp, the wedding picture on the mantle and the woman with eyes like two shiny
Brown buttons was gone. There was just Harry and me. Are you hungry? I am a little. Harry.
It was raining hot. Oh, Harry!
No, no, no, sweet, don't, please, no, don't, you're home now.
Oh!
Shh, shh, shh, don't cry. This is Harry. This is your home. No, please, don't.
We ate breakfast near the window so we could watch morning begin over Central Park, just like other mornings.
He smiled at me and I, I tried to smile back.
He leaned across the table, his eyes steady, serious, watching me.
Why was he being so kind? Why should he be so good to me?
What were the thoughts behind those eyes?
Watching me, watching me.
Was he already planning how he would murder me?
I love you.
Oh, I'm, I'm sorry, I didn't mean, it dropped.
Don't worry about it, just a cup.
I'll get a broom. I'll sweep it up.
No, don't bother about it now. You just come here to me.
No!
What?
I mean, I mean, I'd better sweep it up.
I went into the kitchen, glad to be alone for a minute, safe for a minute.
I knew with a dull, sick realization that I was afraid of my husband, afraid of Harry.
You want me to do it for you?
No, I can do it. I'll, I'll sweep it up.
No, Maude, don't go into work today.
Stay home and rest. You don't look well.
I'm all right. I, I want to go into work.
All right, if you're sure. Anything you want.
He was being good to me again, too good to me.
Anything I wanted, anything, anything. Why?
I didn't trust him. He was too kind.
His lips said sweet things, but, but what was on his mind?
I love you.
Do you?
Well, don't you know I do?
Yes, yes, of course I do.
I don't remember what happened in the office that moment.
I could only think of one thing. One thought kept repeating itself, repeating.
I'm afraid of Harry. I'm afraid. My husband is going to kill me.
I know because I dreamed it last night. It was a warning.
My husband is going to kill me.
This was ridiculous. I'd fallen asleep on a park bench and had a dream. That was all.
Just a nightmare. Nothing more sinister than that.
I was bored at Haskin and I was married to Harry who loved me.
I was just another girl who'd had a bad dream.
The afternoon dragged all too slowly. I knew Harry had been concerned when he left me that morning.
I wanted to tell him I was all right. I was all right now.
I'd let silly dream play tricks with me. I'd behaved like a fool.
Afraid, afraid of Harry. I almost laughed out loud, but I felt more like crying.
And at last the day was over and I was on my way home to the man I loved.
And this time I knew I wasn't dreaming. This time I could run, run fast.
All the way from the subway to 69th Street and home.
Harry would be there. I climbed one flight, two flights.
Out of breath and hurrying. One more, one more.
Excuse me, miss. Do you know where I can find the landlady?
Was that woman? A small dark woman with eyes like two shiny brown buttons.
I said, do you know where I can find the landlady?
What? What did you say?
You live here? Yes, yes.
Well tell me then. Did you happen to know if there are any vacancies?
Vacancies? No, no.
Hey, where are you going?
Hey!
She was the woman in my dream. She was the woman who'd been living in our apartment.
What was she doing here? Maybe it had been more than a dream.
Maybe I was thrown ahead into seven tomorrows to next Wednesday.
Maybe by then she'd have our apartment. Just like in my dream.
And I'd be dead.
Darling, is that you?
Yes, yes, Harry.
Got a kiss for me?
Mmm, that a girl.
You're home early. Hi, Harry.
Did you? So did I. I missed you.
I've got a surprise. What kind of a surprise?
We are going to celebrate. You and me.
We're going to have a private party. A reunion.
Now, you just wait here. I'll only be a minute.
I kept thinking, not a dream, not just a dream, but a warning. A warning.
Oh, but that was silly. It couldn't be.
Sound of... I heard the sound of...
And I began to shake all over.
I walked into the kitchen, and Harry was bent over a small bone.
I could see his muscle under his shirt move up and down.
His arm rose and fell again and again.
And in his hand, he held an ice pick.
Oh!
What? What is it? What's the matter?
Nothing. Nothing. What are you doing?
Icing the champagne, darling. We're going to celebrate.
I wish you hadn't come in, though. You spoiled the surprise.
I'm sorry. Oh, doesn't matter.
Nothing matters as long as you are here.
He put the ice pick beside the bowl and took me in his arms.
And while he kept telling me he loved me, I was looking at the ice pick, thin and sharp.
The ice pick. Spoiler surprise. Yes, I'd spoil it.
He thought he was going to kill me. But I wasn't going to let him.
I wasn't going to let him. Oh, darling.
How I love you. I love you.
I'd sputter the lying words in the soap before he could say them again.
I'd been warned. And I wasn't going to let him do it.
I reached out and felt my fingers creep around the handle of the ice pick.
I was strong and safe now.
The dream wasn't going to come true. I'd make sure.
I held it tightly, raised it behind its back, poised like a serpent, ready to strike.
Ready? Ready.
Oh, darling. I love you. I...
His arms still around me grew limp.
I felt them slide heavily, thick hands dragging at my body.
His fingers clutched in my belt and tore a thumb.
And then he fell, still holding it in his hand.
He lay still at my feet. A red circle of blood on his white shirt.
And in that circle, the ice pick.
No one saw me leave the house. All I could think of was, not me, not me.
It wasn't me lying dead with an ice pick in my back.
I'd been cleverer than he. I had done it first.
I stumbled into the park and wandered aimlessly.
Every once in a while I'd hear his voice.
And I put my hands over my ears to blot it out, but it was no use.
It kept coming back. Nothing matters as long as you're here.
I ran to get away from it, but the voice followed me.
Got a kiss for me? That a girl? I missed you.
I'd dropped from exhaustion somewhere in the park and slept all night on the grass.
In the morning I remembered, but I was too sick to care.
I was sorry I woke up. I didn't ever want to wake up.
But I started to walk again. I kept on walking until I couldn't go anymore.
There was a bench I sat down.
Someone had been there before and left a newspaper.
I picked it up and read it. And then I knew.
As big and bold as life or death, it mocked me.
The words ice pick murder jumped crazily on the page in Harry's picture.
Just as it had been in my dream. Only this time I read on.
Harry Haskin dead. Murdered. Police searching for wife Maud Haskin.
And then I realized. Harry never planned to kill me.
Harry loved me. I had tried to run away from a dream.
Just a dream. And instead I made it live.
And now Harry was dead.
I wanted to tell you how it was, Father. Praise the Lord.
The dream has come true.
Wednesday again isn't it, Father? I've confessed.
I don't care what happens now because I must pay for what I've done.
Will you pray for me, Father?
A week ago Wednesday. I wonder if she's there.
The woman with eyes like two shiny brown buttons reading about me in the paper.
I wonder if she's in the apartment now.
Reading about my execution.
Suspense.
In which Hilary Brooks starred in William M. Rogerson's production of
A Week Ago Wednesday by Winifred Wolf.
Supporting Miss Brooke in A Week Ago Wednesday were DJ Thompson, John Danaer and Dick Beals.
Listen.
Listen again next week when we return with another tale well calculated to keep you in
suspense.