Suspense. And the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure,
William N. Robeson.
One of the many useless nuggets of sois-d'isant philosophy that clutter the mind of man is the half-truth that
what you don't know won't hurt you. The story you're about to hear categorically denies this eternal
verity. In it, a man meets death face to face because of what, or rather whom, he did not know.
A girl he had never met, but whose haunting beauty led him to the brink of doom. The role of the hapless
and harassed victim is played by an actor well known to American audiences as the newspaper
correspondent in Foreign Intrigue. Tonight, he doffs his trench coat for a pitchman's Benny and
abandons the cobblestones of Stockholm for the sidewalks of Chicago's Loop. Listen, listen then,
as Jerome Thor stars in Nineteen Deacon Street, which begins in just one minute.
We have together ample capacity in freedom to defend freedom. This is NATO, the North Atlantic Treaty
Organization. Day after day, month after month, since April 4th, 1949, the activities of the North
Atlantic Treaty Organization have moved steadily forward on many fronts. This complete cooperation
must and will continue because the concept of national self-sufficiency is out of date.
Countries of the free world are interdependent, and only in genuine partnership and by combining
their resources, sharing tasks in many fields, can progress and safety be found. The United States
of America is a part of NATO. You should be aware of and alert to the objectives and programs of
the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. And now, Nineteen Deacon Street, starring Jerome Thor,
a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Neckties are my business, wholesale. I came to Chicago with a red hot line and an exclusive to
the Middle West all sewed up. At first, I had to find a place to do business and a place to live.
Well, some ham actor on the train tipped me off to a theatrical rooming house at Nineteen Deacon
Street. So I go to this place and the dame that answers the door looks like a tired old duchess.
Oh, good afternoon.
I'm looking for a room.
I'm very sorry. We have no vacancy.
Oh, well an actor on the train said maybe you could put me up.
An actor? Are you an actor?
Well, yeah, sort of.
Well, I do hate to turn you away if you're in the profession. There was a time when we catered
exclusively to theatrical people.
Any kind of a room would be okay.
Well, come in young man. We'll see what we can do.
I do have a room that I've never rented. It's not really fixed up for renting.
But look lady, I'm not particular. I'm away all day and all I want is a place to sleep, you know.
Well, I'm going to show this room to you on one condition.
Yeah?
This room belongs to someone very dear to me. She's away, but well I expect her back sometime.
So?
I want you to promise that no matter what you will not disturb anything or ask any questions about her.
That's a funny request.
But I must make it. Promise?
Okay, it's a deal.
I'll turn on the light.
Well?
It's kind of feminine, isn't it? Yellow fluffy curtains, costume dolls, cold cream and grease paint.
And hey, Lady Stockings.
Yes, we haven't changed it at all because someday she'll be coming back and she'll find everything just as she left it.
She's good, you see, no matter what they say.
Is this her picture on the mantle?
Yes. Isn't she beautiful?
Yeah. Yeah, I never saw such a beautiful day.
When do you expect her back?
I don't know.
Didn't she say?
No, she didn't say a word. One day she was here and the next she was gone without a word.
How long ago did she leave?
In a few days it will be ten years.
Well, I rented the room. When the landlady left I took the French doll off the pillow and plopped down on the bed for a little nap.
But from where I lay I could look straight at the picture of the beautiful blonde.
And I felt the back of my neck crawl. There was something about her eyes and her long golden hair.
Finally I couldn't stand it any longer. I jumped up and turned the picture to the wall and I dozed off.
There she was, in my dream, crying. Just her face, soft grey eyes and golden hair.
What was she crying about? What was wrong? What's wrong, Laverne?
Laverne! Laverne! What's the matter, Laverne?
Mr. Schwartz! Mr. Schwartz!
Laverne, what are you crying...
Oh, Mr. Schwartz, are you all right?
Yeah, I'm all right. Just a bad dream, I guess.
But I heard you calling out. You were calling Laverne.
Who?
Laverne. That's the name you were calling, wasn't it?
I don't know. Laverne. Yeah, I guess I was.
How did you know, Mr. Schwartz? How did you know her name was Laverne?
Oh, I don't know. I don't know how I knew.
I knew her name. I knew the name of a blonde, but I'd never met her.
I pestered the landlady for details, begged her to tell me Laverne's last name and how she had disappeared.
But the old dame wouldn't talk.
So when I finally got rid of her, I locked the door and went to work to find out for myself.
I went through that room with a fine-tooth comb, but I couldn't find a thing to tell me who the girl was.
Not a letter, not a card, not an envelope. Nothing.
But I did find a key in a jacket pocket. Had a tag on it and the figure nine was written on the tag.
There was nothing in the room the key would fit, but maybe someplace I'd find a locket was made for.
And then high on the closet door I found a telephone number scrawled with eyebrow pencil.
Aragon 8612. I went downstairs to the whole phone, dialed it and got a busy signal.
Well, at least the number was still alive.
And maybe, just maybe somebody on the other end could tell me about Laverne.
An hour later I was still dialing that number and still getting a busy signal.
Finally I went up back to my room.
After all, what business was it of mine if some babe disappeared ten years ago?
I had my own headaches. I had 400 dozen fancy neckties to get rid of.
But Laverne was still in that room. I felt it in my bones and I couldn't sleep.
In the morning I started scrounging around the loop looking for a place to set up shop.
And I finally found it down on South State.
A building all boarded up. It looked like it was once a theater and it looked like it hadn't been used for 50 years.
So the rent couldn't be too high. And it was big and central.
So I just anchored around to the alley and tried the stage door.
Hey, anybody in there?
Hey, just a minute. What do you think you're doing?
Oh, hello officer. I was looking for the janitor.
Does it look like there'd be a janitor around with the doors all padlocked like this?
Yeah, but there's a light burning inside.
It's just a work light on the stage. It burns all the time.
What do you want, mister?
I want to rent the joint. Where can I find the owner?
Rent it, huh? You'd better get in touch with Jasper Florence.
The big stage producer?
That's right. He used to run this little burlesque house before he was in the chips.
Got his start here. You can probably get him on the phone at his office.
Okay, pal. Thanks a lot.
Good morning, Florence Productions.
Hello, I'd like to speak to Mr. Florence, please.
Who's calling, please?
My name's Swartz.
What do you wish to talk to Mr. Florence about, please? He's very busy.
Yeah, I know. But I ain't no ham actor looking for a job.
Tell him I want to rent some space from him.
Rent space?
Yeah, the old Florence Theater on State Street.
Oh.
Well? Hello?
I'm sorry, but the Florence Theater is not for rent.
Not for rent? But why?
Mr. Florence orders.
I burned up. The nerve of that guy letting his theater sit there empty while I needed it so bad.
Well, I wanted back to the rooming house, got a detective mystery and tried to pass the time away.
But it didn't work.
I couldn't think of a thing except Laverne.
Then I laid back on the bed and I must have been dead tired because in nothing flat I was out.
And there she was again. That beautiful girl, Sorbin.
This time I was sure she was trying to say something to me.
Fine. Fine.
Trying to get a message of some kind to me.
Fine.
But I just couldn't understand.
Find me. Find me.
What was she trying to say? Was she asking me to find her?
Find me. Find me. Find me.
In a moment we continue with the second act of Suspense.
Another visit with Joe and Daphne Forsythe.
Joe. Joe.
Huh? Huh?
Come on, Joe. Get up. It's two o'clock.
What do you want?
Joe, you gotta get off that couch and fix up the yard.
Oh, Saturday. Let me sleep.
No, we've gotta keep the place in good shape. Now rise and shine.
Oh, come on, Daphne. I'll do it tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Always tomorrow. You can't keep putting things off.
I don't. Who was it bought the savings bond to take care of our future?
Who suggested the idea?
Well, who read the story in the paper that told about bonds being a good investment because they pay off $4 for every three?
And who pointed out the article for you to read?
Well...
Right. And now I'm pointing out the art to you. Our bonds are guaranteed by the government. Our grass isn't. Mow.
That proves it.
What?
A little knowledge in the hands of the wrong person can be dangerous.
What does that mean?
You know one plain simple fact. Bonds are a good investment.
Now you not only use it to get me to buy a bond a month on a payroll savings plan, but you'll probably use it against me the rest of my life.
If it gets you to mow the yard, I will. Move out, boy.
I'm going. I'm going. But understand this. My next wife is gonna show more respect for my hard work.
So would I if I ever saw any. Bye.
Murder. And now.
Starring Jerome Four. Act Two of Nineteen Deacon Street.
It took two sleeping pills before I got rid of Laverne. The next morning I set out to see Mr. Florence. Personal.
He lived in a very classy pad up on the Gold Coast. He looked just like his pictures. Tall and gray looking with a nice sort of a smile.
But his necktie was lousy. I believe my secretary told you yesterday that I'm not interested in renting the theater.
Sure she did. But Mr. Florence, did you ever have a hunch?
A hunch? Yes, of course.
Well, I got a hunch about your theater. I see. I'm afraid it's out of the question.
But why? Well, that's where I produced my first shows. And it has memories for me. Not so pleasant.
Opening it up again would be like opening up a part of my past that I'd rather keep closed.
But ain't that kind of silly, Mr. Florence? I wouldn't put on shows there. All I want to do is sell neckties and wholesale lots.
I admire your persistence, Mr. Schwartz, but the answer will always be no.
Okay. You win for now. But I ain't giving up. Because when I want something real bad, I usually get it.
Now here's my card. I've written my phone number on it in case you change your mind. And you'll change your mind, Mr. Florence.
You think so? Yeah, I think so. As you say, I'm persistent.
So with nothing better to do, I spent the next couple of days on the phone, bugging Mr. Florence about his theater and trying to get the arrogant number I found in Laverne's closet.
Mr. Florence kept telling me, no, the arrogant number keeps on sending a busy signal. But like I say, I'm persistent. And finally it answers.
Hello, little Joe Sorrento? Huh? This is little Joe Sorrento. Who you want? Is, uh, is Laverne there?
We got no Laverne. What number you call? Arrogant 8612. You got the number, but we no got no Laverne.
Where are you located? Corner North, Clark and Willoughby. Thanks. I'll be over for a pizza.
Little Joe Sorrento was a run down spaghetti joint. I went inside and right away over in the corner I saw the telephone that had been giving me the busy signal.
And no wonder. It's a public phone booth and right now one guy is in it and two others are waiting for it. I go over to the bar and cut up touches with little Joe, the proprietor.
How long you had this place, Joe? By 14 and nearly 15 years. What? You've seen a lot of people come and go, huh? By sure plenty. You got a memory for faces?
Look, you see how busy, mister. Here, take a look at this picture. So what? You recognize her? Well sure, she been in here a long time ago.
What's her name, Joe? I can't remember her name. She was a showgirl, I think. Claire something. Wasn't it Laverne, Joe?
That's right. Laverne Claire, yeah. She always come in with a big shot. The big shot? Well, it wasn't so big shot then, but he was going to places.
Then she'd jill him and run off with another guy. Yeah, I remember very good because he used to come in here after that he'd get drunk all the time. It break him up pretty bad.
And who is this big shot? You remember that, Joe? Sure. Big producer, Jasper Florence.
In just a moment, we continue with the third act of suspense.
The Evolution of a Medal. In 1847, during the war with Mexico, Congress established a citation award for conspicuous service by members of the United States Army.
This was the certificate of merit strictly for Army enlisted men. In 1891, almost a half century later, non-commissioned officers became eligible to receive the certificate.
No medal went with this award until 1905, when a coin-shaped medal in bronze bearing a Roman eagle was approved and adopted.
The suspension ribbon was vertically striped in red, white, and blue. In July 1918, Congress abolished the certificate of merit, replacing it with the Distinguished Service Medal and the Distinguished Service Cross.
The medal is awarded for exceptionally meritorious service to the government, while the cross is reserved to honor extraordinary heroism in connection with operations against an armed enemy.
Before the certificate of merit was discontinued in 1918, 1,211 enlisted men had received the award.
Given in recognition of gallantry in action or exceptionally meritorious service during time of peace, the certificate of merit retains an important place among America's historic medals.
And now, starring Jerome Foer, Act III of Nineteen Deacon Street.
Well, that was that. So, first thing tomorrow, I'd go out and find some other place to peddle my ties.
But when I got home, I found a note from my landlady. It said, Jasper Florence called. He's changed his mind about the theater.
He said, I'll meet you there at eight o'clock. Well, I hot-putted it over there. The padlocks were off the front door, so I walked in.
No one was in the lobby, so I went into the theater. And there, in the center of the stage, was one big work like, the cop told me, Florence kept burning all these years.
I started to get a feeling in my stomach, sort of a scary feeling. There on that big stage is where Laverne danced.
Now, she must have killed her audience. I walked down the long aisle, then up the stairs onto the stage and looked around.
Way up above me, in the shadows, were the flies alongside the catwalk, and the asbestos curtain, an old-fashioned one, and a heavy wooden roller.
I was looking at it, and I saw something that made me almost drop in my tracks. I saw somebody move. I was sure of it.
Just off stage, a guy moved in the darkness. Come out of there, you! Out of there! He didn't move, so I walked over closer.
The dressing room, the guy I saw was Maury Swartz. That's right, me, Maury Swartz, reflected in a dressing table mirror.
But just then, I saw a door to another dressing room across the hall, and on it was the number nine.
I remembered the key I had picked up in Laverne's room. In a flash, I had it out of my pocket and was trying to get in the door.
Number nine, the tag said, and it worked. I stepped in, and then I stepped on something.
It was dark, and I couldn't figure what it was, so I lit a match.
There on the floor were the white bones of a skeleton. Beside them, long golden strands of hair.
Then I knew, Florence had killed her. He had killed her, then closed this theater and locked it up so she'd never be found.
No wonder he wouldn't rent. And because I wouldn't take no for an answer, he thinks I know something about her murder.
That's why he called me down to the theater. That's why he left the door unlocked.
To get me in here and never let me out. He's in here somewhere now. But where?
I had to get out of there fast. There was only one exit across the stage, over the footlights, and out the door I had come in.
I crossed to the stage and reached the footlights when suddenly, the master curtain was unrolling, crashing down on me.
I jumped back just in time.
Too bad, Schwartz, if that roller had hit you, it would have saved me the trouble.
Florence, where are you?
You can't see me, Schwartz, but I can see you. I'm on the catwalk in the shadows, but you're well lighted by the work light.
You make a very good target. Uh-uh, I wouldn't do that, Schwartz.
If you make one move to put out the lighter to get away, I'll cut these counterweights and you'll be smashed to nothing.
You can't get away with this, Florence.
Can I? I got away with it once and I will again. You don't have much of a chance, do you?
The master curtain has you fenced in on the stage and you can't get over the footlights.
I can get out by the side, Florence.
That's a long walk, my friend, and long before you take it, I'll drop these sandbags on you.
Maybe I'll be faster than you will. Then what, Florence? Then you'll fry for killing that girl.
She had it coming, and so have you, my friend, for meddling. And you're going to get it, because I'm cutting the weights loose now.
Look out, that railing!
Ah!
That's a long way to fall and an awful way to die, even for you, Florence.
Well, there's the story. If you don't believe it, I wouldn't blame you, but that's the way it happened.
Oh, by the way, if you happen to need any ties, I got a nice new lining. Hope you won't think it's in bad taste.
But these ties, and they come in all colors, got a girl's picture on them. I call it the Laverne tie.
So don't forget, look me up. I got a little stand in Rosenblatt's department store. You can't miss it. It's in the bargain basement.
Suspense, in which Jerome Thor starred in William M. Robeson's production of Nineteen Deacon Street by Lawrence Marcus and Robert Webster Light.
Supporting Mr. Thor in Nineteen Deacon Street were Paula Winslow, Sydney Scott, Jack Crouchon, Ted D'Courcia, and Norm Alden.
Listen. Listen again next week when we return with another tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Suspense has been brought to you through the worldwide facilities of the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.
The United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service