Suspense.
And the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure,
William N. Robeson.
Among other characteristics which separate homo sapiens from the rest of the animal
kingdom is the driving dream of the easy buck.
We follow it on the racetracks, at Las Vegas, in the bingo games at church socials, and
of these phallus there is always buried treasure.
They say the beaches from the Florida Keys to the New England Capes are loaded with the
loot the pirates parked and forgot to claim.
All you need is a map and the willingness to work ten times as hard as you would for
an honest buck.
Of such a buried treasure is our story concerned.
Listen then as Raymond Burr stars in the treasure chest of Don Jose.
Now the treasure chest of Don Jose, starring Raymond Burr.
A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
I didn't have a map, I had a poem.
A curious bit of doggerel.
On Dog Buddies Island you could fare worse if dare you willed on Jose's curse.
For there three and thirty yards south southeast of the Rocky Guards you'll find a pleasantly
fulsome measure of Gasparia's earthly treasure.
You should know that I endured a certain local notoriety since I was the great great grandson
of Don Jose Gasparia, one of the last and one of the fiercest of the pirates of the
Spanish main.
This was of much less interest and concern to me than it was to my friends and acquaintances
among the Florida Keys.
Neither my father nor his father before him had ever profited by a single doubloon from
the legendary treasure of our pirate forebearer.
But then they lacked the clue which I found one day behind the fireplace bricks of my
great grandfather's house.
There could be no question about it.
That cryptic verse was as good as a treasure map.
It would lead me straight to the hidden gold of my ancestor.
At first I must locate Dog Buddies Island.
Two days spent among the old charts in the public library in Key West and I had it.
Dog Buddies Island was a tiny sand spit near the tip of Cape Cod, more than a thousand
miles north.
Two days later I was standing on a cold windy Massachusetts beach talking to a local real
estate agent.
No sir, ain't heard this called Dog Buddies Island since I was knee high to a grasshopper.
Where'd you hear it called Dog Buddies Island?
I really don't know, some friend of mine down in Florida maybe.
Well it's called Scrags Spit now.
Ever since old Captain Scrags bought her up back in Oort 3.
Well here's a house just above that point of rocks.
This is summer cottage, too dang uncomfortable this time of year.
It looks all right to me.
I can find you something heaps like bed in town.
Got a nice little house to his back of the estate.
No I like it out here, I like to be alone.
You'll be that all right, ain't a neighbor in more than a mile and a half.
That suits me fine.
Well then let's get back into my office in town where it's warm and I'll oblige you for
a month's rent in advance and give you the keys.
Oh by the way that point of rocks, is that the only one on the island?
I mean Spith?
Yeah, Pirates Point folks call it hereabouts.
A fella says the Buccaneers used to put in here for water in the old days.
Me I don't put much stuff in them stories myself.
You sure you want to rent this place?
Just what I'm looking for.
Well it takes all kinds I would say.
Cottage was quiet, secluded and yet within view of that rocky point which must be the
same one Don Jose's poem called The Rocky Guards.
I can tell you I scarcely slept that first night.
So great was my eagerness to be up in the morning, pace the three and thirty yards south,
southeast of the Rocky Guards and begin digging for my treasure.
Twenty nine, thirty, thirty one.
Morning!
Good morning.
Looks like it's going to be a nice day.
Yes, yes it does.
I see you got a shovel.
Looks like you're going to do some digging.
Oh yes, clams I'm going to dig for clams.
No clams in the surf.
Oh there aren't?
Nope.
Find them on the bay side.
Oh then I'll look over there.
Don't dig them with a shovel.
Better use a rake.
Oh is that so?
Yeah.
Too late now anyway tides coming in.
Not a low tide prior this afternoon.
I didn't know I'm a stranger here.
Yeah I know.
I'm chief of police.
Anything wrong?
Found them, it's come all the way out here though.
All the way to the low tide mark.
I thought I'd better come out and warn you.
Warn me?
About what?
You see that patch of sand Jander?
You don't know Cranberry Bog?
Yes.
Quicksand.
Tritrus.
Ah thank you.
Going to stay here long?
I don't know a few weeks maybe all winter.
You a writing fellow?
No.
Fainting fellow?
No.
Just taking a vacation?
Yes.
You might call it that.
Well nice to have this talk with you.
Anything you need in the way of police protection you just let me know.
So I waited until an hour after sundown and then carrying a lantern I paced off to 33
yards south southeast of the Rocky Guard and set to digging.
Although the evening was chilly with a brief breeze blowing in from the sea I had soon
shed my coat and was dripping with perspiration as I attacked the wet sliding sand with huge
bites of my shovel.
Widening the hole as it grew deeper until my lantern threw long shadows across the opening
that had become large enough for a coffin.
Then my shovel hit something solid and there it was.
I had found it.
An iron bound chest.
The treasure chest of Don Jose.
And then I heard voices.
Terror season.
Who came now to violate my supreme moment?
Who now threatened to deprive me of what was rightfully mine?
I turned the lantern out scrambled from the hole.
Two yards away I could see the beam of a flashlight slowly approaching.
I hid behind a ledge of rocks my heart drumming in my ears my hell breath screaming in my
titan throat trying to listen trying to see.
That's not your quicksand it's gotta be around here someplace.
Hey!
What's the matter?
There's a hole here nearly fell in.
Huh?
This will do great.
There's even a shovel to fill it up.
Ready?
One.
Two.
Three.
What's they doing?
Did they know?
At last it was quiet.
And I watched their light as they made their way across the island toward the bay.
And then after a long time I heard the cough of a motorboat.
Then I lit my lantern and went back to my digging.
The hole was half filled.
Suddenly my terror turned to rage.
What had they done?
I began digging savagely.
But almost at once my shovel hit something.
Something that was softer than the chest and yielded to the pressure.
I seized my lantern, crouched over for a closer examination and found myself looking into
the vacantly staring eyes of a corpse.
In a moment we continue with the second act of Suspense and Now starring Raymond Burr,
Act Two of The Treasure Chest of Don José.
As I looked into the open eyes of the corpse, panic seized me.
Surely this was one of Don José's men buried with the treasure chest to guard it through
eternity.
I fled in terror running blindly across the moor to my little house, tormented by a thousand
fears, a thousand anxieties.
Sometime toward dawn I must have fallen asleep for the next thing I knew it was past noon
and someone was pounding on my door.
Hey, anybody home?
Just a minute, I'm coming.
Oh, it's you, Chief.
Good morning.
Afternoon now.
What?
Sorry, I was sleeping.
I had insomnia most of the night.
Insomnia?
You mean you was awake?
Yes.
Most of the night, you say?
Why, yes.
Hear anything peculiar out here?
No.
What do you mean?
Prowlers or such.
Why would anyone be prowling out here?
You didn't say there was.
Asked if you heard anyone.
No.
No, I didn't.
Got to check.
This being in the town limit.
Why?
Anything to matter?
Yeah.
Kidnapping.
Murder, maybe.
Murder?
Yeah.
Think you heard it on the radio?
I haven't got a radio.
Sure.
Great consolation for a man living alone.
Well, what happened?
Tell me.
Young Harvard fellow.
Simple rich.
His father paid the ransom $20,000.
But the kidnappers didn't deliver the boy.
Got a three-state alarm up for him.
Think they're on the Cape somewhere.
Just checking.
What makes you think they'd come out here?
Don't know.
Punched partly.
Partly because somebody borrowed one of Jen Chantry's books last night.
Found a blood stain in the cockpit this morning.
Didn't see him, eh?
No, I told you I didn't.
Yeah.
So you did.
We'll catch him, of course, if they're on the Cape.
Sooner or later, we'll catch him.
Ransom monies and small bills all marked.
He'll get hungry sooner or later and spend some.
Let me know if you see or hear anything.
Yes, of course.
I'll be glad to.
Yeah.
Just checking.
So much for the terrors of last night.
I had seen no ghost of the past.
The corpse of the present.
I returned to my digging that evening and quickly disinterred the unwelcome visitor
from my treasure hole.
Unquestionably, he was the kidnapped victim, a young man dressed in the Ivy League manner
of a college boy.
I dragged him to one side and set to work.
By seven o'clock, I had uncovered the chest and was about to lift it out of its grave.
How about I give you a hand?
What?
He wants you to know you need a hand with that.
Who are you?
How did you get here?
We're all tied.
We're lost.
Get out of the hole.
No, answer me.
Help him out of the hole, Steve.
Come on, pal.
Hey, Jack.
What's the matter?
The kid's body.
It's gone.
He got rid of it.
When?
When he got rid of it.
Get him out of there.
OK, pal.
Come on.
Let me go, please.
Let me go.
Where is he?
What did you do with him?
There.
I put him over there.
Why did you move him?
Oh, he... he was...
Hey, there's a box down there.
Yeah.
What do you got, pal?
Treasure?
Buried treasure?
Don't laugh.
Maybe that's what it is.
Well, let's get it out of there.
Leave it alone.
Leave it alone!
Get up!
All right, Steve.
Let's get it out of there.
At gunpoint, they forced me to help them carry it toward the house.
My treasure.
They forced open the chest and emptied one of the canvas sacks with contents cascading
under the table in a golden stream of doubloons.
What do you know?
Gold.
It's mine.
It belongs to me.
It's my inheritance.
Yeah, I know, pal.
Only you're gonna pay a high inheritance tax, 100%.
OK, now, I'll tell you what we're gonna do.
My friend and me are in a little trouble.
You're gonna give us a hand, aren't you, pal?
Go away.
Leave me alone.
That's just what we're gonna do.
We're leaving.
And we're taking that bright, shiny stuff with us.
The treasure's mine.
That's, we're gonna be fair.
We're gonna give you $20,000 in nice, up-to-date American money.
How do we know?
Maybe that junk of yours ain't worth half that much.
Oh, your money's marked.
It's ransom money.
That's beside the point.
This store of yours won't work in a cigarette machine, you know.
We're gonna have to go to a lot of trouble at cash.
What was that?
Window blew open.
It's raining like crazy outside.
We better get started.
No, no, no, no.
I won't let you.
Take it easy, pal.
You got no complaints.
You're 20 grand ahead of the game.
Come on, come on.
We gotta get out of here.
Grab one under that chest.
You're forgetting something.
What?
That sack full on the table.
Oh, yeah.
Here, pal.
Here's one for you.
As a souvenir.
Come on, Jeff.
Yeah, go on.
My treasure.
How long I lay some of this?
Oh, I don't know.
I don't know.
I do not know.
But finally I became aware that the thin frame cottage was creaking and shaking from the
relentless wind.
The sound of the storm had a familiar tone, a tone I'd heard many times before in the
Florida Keys.
And I realized that this was no ordinary storm.
This was a hurricane.
Outside the waves were piling up, coming closer and closer to the cottage.
Over my head there was an ominous sound, crunching and ripping.
The roof would blow loose any moment.
I threw myself against the kitchen door and crouching low ran away from the scene.
In a moment we continue with the third act of Suspense and Now, starring Raymond Burr,
three of the treasure chests of Don Jose.
Behind the shelter of a high dune I stumbled and fell, spreadigled on the sand.
And suddenly the wind stopped, the rain stopped, and there was the calm of death.
It was the center of the hurricane, the eye, the moment of respite before the final fury
of the storm, and I remembered the curse of Don Jose and wished aloud for its fulfillment.
And there was no sound but the booming of the furious surf.
And then there seemed to be a distant human cry.
And I looked toward the rocky guards.
Far in the distance, in the instant of a lightning flash, I could see the tiny struggling figures
of my tormentors.
And then a giant wave crashed down on them.
And when the next flash illuminated the scene, the spit disappeared in boiling angry water.
And the wet heavens descended again, hurled upon me by the tail of the hurricane.
I awoke with a light in my eyes.
And I heard a voice.
You all right?
Who is it?
It's me, chief of police.
Got out here as soon as I could.
We was worried about you out here with no radio.
You couldn't get the storm warnings.
Come up so fast, wasn't time to get you off.
Oh, thanks.
That's very kind of you.
Lucky you got out of the house.
Why?
Take day anymore.
Ocean come plumbed through, carried the house right into the bay.
Made two islands out of a spraiged spit.
Storms play funny tricks.
That kidnapping I told you about.
Yes?
What about it?
Found three bodies out near those rocks.
The kidnappers and the victim.
What do you know about that?
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
You don't believe my story.
But look, here is the gold doubloon from the treasure chest of Don Jose.
Yes, it still exists.
Only now there is no map, no clue.
But I can tell you this.
In the rocky surf near the two islands which were once Sprague's pit, if you will dare
the curse of Don Jose, you can find his treasure chest.
Suspense.
In which Raymond Burr starred in the treasure chest of Don Jose, written, produced and directed
by William N. Robeson.
Starring Raymond Burr in the treasure chest of Don Jose were Joe DeSantis, Carl Swenson,
Tommy Cook and Charles Seal.
Listen.
Listen again next week when we return with another tale well calculated to keep you in
suspense.