Suspense.
Then the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery
and adventure, William N. Robeson.
Mrs. Rogers was the kind of a lady to whom nothing ever happens.
A quiet widow living in a quiet town among quiet friends.
But dear Mrs. Rogers hardly expected to become involved in murder when she put that innocent
little classified ad in the evening paper.
Things weren't that quiet.
Listen then as Miss Lee Patrick stars in My Dear Niece, which begins in just a moment.
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And now, My Dear Niece starring Leigh Patrick, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
My Dear Niece, I'm writing you this letter in explanation of certain recent actions of
mine about which you are probably curious.
You will recall that it was upon your advice that I placed the advertisement in our local
paper and you will probably recall its text.
Widowed woman, genteel, some secretarial experience, drives own car, desires position of interest
with reliable business house.
Address Mrs. Emily Rogers, Box 2B or phone Hilton 22412.
Hello?
Mrs. Emily Rogers, please.
This is she speaking.
I'm calling about the ad you ran in yesterday's paper.
Oh yes.
I think I can offer you a position you'd be interested in Mrs. Rogers.
My name is Bruce.
Yes Mr. Bruce.
We're a very small publishing house Mrs. Rogers and we need someone to take care of any of
the contacts we might wish to make in your part of the country.
Oh, you aren't from Hilton then?
No, our offices are in Los Angeles.
We pay you $50 a week providing you could use your home as an office.
Although there wouldn't be much office work required and as I say the position primarily
would be one of establishing contacts.
It sounds fine Mr.
Bruce.
It sounds fine Mr. Bruce.
Good, then consider yourself under salary beginning immediately Mrs. Rogers.
I'll phone you again as soon as there's something more definite for you to do.
And that's how I got the job.
I assumed naturally that I would immediately receive instructions from Mr. Bruce as to
how I should go about establishing contacts.
But the first word I had after the telephone conversation was when the postman arrived
the next Saturday with an envelope for me containing a check for $50.
There was no return address on the envelope and the check was a personal one bearing no
company name.
It was signed R.L. Bruce.
Three weeks went by in this fashion.
Each Saturday I would receive the $50 check in the mail and I began to wonder what I was
being paid for when at last I heard from Mr. Bruce.
I have your first assignment for you Mrs. Rogers.
I was beginning to wonder Mr. Bruce.
Getting impatient were you?
Well, this will keep you busy for a while.
Really?
Mr. Paul Stevens will arrive in Hilton this afternoon.
He's one of our most promising new authors.
Yes.
Mr. Stevens has some rewriting to do on a novel we plan to publish in a few months.
Too many people interrupt him here in Los Angeles.
I wonder, could you put him up at your home until he finishes?
I don't know.
There'll be no bother Mrs. Rogers.
He has an awful lot of work to do.
Well, yes I suppose I could.
That's fine.
It's just a place for him to get away.
Oh, one more thing.
Yes?
If you're sure he's not bothered, don't tell anyone he's staying with you.
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And now, starring Lee Patrick, act two of My Dear Niece.
And that's all I knew of the job, My Dear Niece.
Mr. Paul Stevens would phone me when he arrived at Hilton and I would let him stay at my home
until he had finished a double he was writing.
It seemed ridiculously easy, but at least I would be doing something for my pay.
It was quite late in the afternoon, almost five o'clock when the telephone rang.
Hello?
Mrs. Rogers?
This is Mrs. Rogers.
This is Paul Stevens, Mrs. Rogers.
Oh yes, Mr. Stevens.
I've been expecting your call.
I wonder if you could pick me up.
Of course.
Oh, that's very kind of you.
Where are you?
I'm at the office.
Just a minute.
Corner of Brookside and Sierra Madre.
Fine.
The corner of Brookside and Sierra Madre.
I'll be driving a Black Buick Coupe.
Black Buick Coupe.
I'll be waiting.
Bye.
Goodbye, Mr. Stevens.
When I arrived at the corner of Brookside and Sierra Madre, the usually quiet intersection
was filled with people and an ambulance was just pulling away.
For all I knew, Mr. Stevens could be in it.
Then I saw Officer Barnes in the police car.
He would know.
Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Rogers.
What happened?
Hit and run accident a few minutes ago.
Who was hit?
A man about 35.
No identification yet.
Was he badly hurt?
He's dead.
Oh, how awful.
Yeah.
Well, I was supposed to meet someone, a gentleman here, Mr. Paul Stevens.
I'd be glad to call you when we get an identification on him.
Would you?
I'd be very grateful.
I went slowly back to where I had parked.
I was confused and frightened a little that the hit and run victim might be Paul Stevens.
And if so, how could I get in touch with Mr. Bruce to tell him what had happened to his
young author?
And then, just as I started my car, I heard someone tapping on the window.
Yes?
Mrs. Rogers?
Yes?
I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.
I'm Paul Stevens.
Oh, Mr. Stevens, I'm so relieved.
Please get in.
The accident upset me.
I was afraid for a minute it was you.
It wasn't me.
Oh, please get in.
Thank you.
I tried making conversation with Mr. Stevens on the drive home, but he seemed tired and
not inclined to talk.
And so we drove quietly back to my house.
We went inside and I showed Mr. Stevens to his room and then went into the living room
to tidy up.
The telephone rang as I was setting out some ashtrays.
Hello?
Hello, Mrs. Rogers.
This is Officer Barnes.
Oh, yes, Officer.
I'm glad you called.
I wanted to tell you that I met Mr.
I checked that identification for you.
Yes, well, that's what I wanted to tell you, Officer.
His name was Paul Stevens, all right.
Oh.
We had a flyer on him.
That's how we knew.
He was wanted for a payroll robbery in L.A. and he wasn't hit by a car.
He was thrown from a car.
He was murdered.
I stood there frozen with fear, the telephone receiver in my hand, looking at the telephone
in my hand, looking at the door to the hallway where the man who had called himself Paul Stevens
stood smiling tightly, holding a gun in his hand, a gun that was pointed right at me.
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And now, starring Lee Patrick, act three of My Dear Niece.
Have you any idea, my dear niece, what you do when a man points a gun at you?
Well, I'll tell you.
You do what he tells you to do.
I hung up the phone.
Sit down.
I sat down and I said, who are you?
Why did you pretend to be Mr. Stevens?
I'm stupid.
What?
I didn't think they would find out who he was.
I didn't know he was hot.
You killed him?
Yes.
I killed Paul Stevens.
Why?
I run a very special kind of publishing business, Mrs. Rogers.
That much of the story was on the level.
I print, well, pornographic books for a very special clientele.
Mr. Stevens somehow got hold of a list of my customers and threatened to use it for blackmail.
So I killed him.
You horrid man.
Get your coat on, Mrs. Rogers.
You've got some more driving to do.
He made me drive him to a restaurant on the highway out on the other side of town.
A place with quite a bad reputation.
All the while I was trying to remember who he was.
I say remember because there was something familiar about him.
But what that something was, I couldn't for the life of me think.
There was hardly anyone in the restaurant since it was not yet dinner time.
We'd just been seated at a table when a dark complexion man slid into the seat next to the man who wasn't Mr. Stevens.
What are you doing here?
I had to come. It didn't work.
They found out who he was.
Why didn't you stay where you were supposed to?
She knows I'm not Stevens. A cop told her.
You could stay in the house anyway, couldn't you?
You have to come out where you could be picked up.
Al, look, listen.
What's the matter with you?
Mary figures out a foolproof way for you to get rid of a guy and hide out right under the cop's nose as you go louse up the whole deal.
It's not loused up yet.
There will be if you don't get away quick.
Maybe.
Oh, I don't think you've met Mrs. Rogers.
Mrs. Rogers, this is Mr. Al Newhold who owns this place.
Hi.
How do you do?
Look, had the cops find out who he was.
How?
He was hot. They had pictures and prints on him.
I dumped him on the corner just before I met her.
Now I remember.
You're Mr. Bruce.
He did the payroll job that...
What did you say?
He's Mr. Bruce, the man who offered me the job on the phone and asked me to look after Mr. Stevens.
That's right, Mrs. Rogers. How did you know?
Your voice. I thought there was something familiar about you and now I know. Your voice.
Al, what are we going to do? The cops know the stiffest Stevens and she knows who I am. What do we do now?
Don't panic and you get out of here.
But I need your help, Al.
You're on your own, buddy, and you better get out of here before the dinner crowd comes in and somebody maybe recognizes you.
Okay, Al. So you won't help me?
I can't. Won't you see that?
Yeah, sure.
Okay, let's go, Mrs. Rogers.
But where?
Back to your house and start all over again.
After that, I'm not sure, but I may have to kill you.
The cigarette can't taste the best, can't taste the best.
A richer taste than all the rest, can't filter best.
It makes good sense when you smoke shit.
A ball-leading filter cigarette can't filter best.
And now, starring Lee Patrick, act four of My Dear Niece.
May well imagine my fright, my dear niece, as I drove back through town with this bloodthirsty man at my side.
My car is not new, as you know, and although I often have trouble with it, I never before had the horn stick.
But that night it stuck right on the corner of Brookside and Sierra Madre.
Stop blowing your horn!
I'm sorry, Mr. Bruce, I'm not blowing my horn. It's gotten stuck.
All right, stop the car.
You stay there. Don't try to drive away. See?
Yes, I see.
Let's get out of here.
You got the horn fixed, Mrs. Rogers?
Who's that?
Good evening, Mrs. Rogers.
Tell them everything's all right.
Want me to fix that horn for you?
No, thank you, Mr. Myers. It's all right.
Well, it'll only take me a second to fix it so you can use it.
Never mind. Mr. Myers, this is Mr. Paul Stevens.
How are you, sir?
I see you pull them wires to stop the horn. I usually take care of Mrs. Rogers' car myself.
Makes me feel funny when something goes wrong with it, you know.
Of course.
I'll bring it in in the morning, Mr. Myers.
No sense you're bothering, Mrs. Rogers. I'll go along with you now, if you like, take you home.
Not safe driving without a horn. It won't take long to fix it, and I'll have the car back to you first thing in the morning.
I believe you said you wanted to show me the town this evening, Mrs. Rogers.
Wouldn't you need the car?
Well, I suppose...
I was looking forward to the drive. You don't mind.
No, of course. You will pick the automobile up in the morning, Mr. Myers.
Sure, of course. Thanks for your trouble, Mr. Myers.
I'm glad to help. This is such a little town. We all know each other and like each other, like to help each other.
Is that so, Mrs. Rogers?
Yes.
Well, good night, Mrs. Rogers, and I'm glad to have met you, Mr. Stevens.
We drove on home. I tried to figure out why he chose me out of all the people who must have placed advertisements that day as the person with whom he would hide out.
For by now, I was convinced that Mr. Bruce had deliberately set out to murder Mr. Stevens for some reason and hide out in my house,
where the police would be most unlikely to look for him.
But why my house? Why had he chosen me?
When we got to the house, Mr. Bruce made me place a long-distance call to Los Angeles for him.
It's ringing.
All right, give it to me.
Hello?
Mary?
Bud?
Yeah. Look, meet me at Al's as soon as you can get here. Something's wrong.
What's happened? Are you all right?
Yeah, fine. I'll tell you when to get here, and get here fast.
All right, Bud.
Well, you got any pets you want to feed before we leave?
Where are we going?
A little trip. You ready? Don't answer that.
It might be the operator calling back. You'll wonder.
Okay, answer it. But I'm right here.
Hello?
Mrs. Rogers, this is Officer Bonds. Say, oh, yes, operator.
Oh, yes, operator.
Is he still there?
Yes, operator.
Stall him a little. We're coming after him.
Thank you, operator.
Dear Mr. Myers, he'd understood me, and he'd told the police, and they were going to save me.
Well, you just can't imagine, my dear niece. I felt exactly like the heroine in a motion picture.
I simply had to prevent Mr. Bruce from leaving the house.
Just a few minutes, the officer had said. Just time enough for them to get here.
All right, let's get going.
I wish I knew where we were going. Do I have to take anything with me? Will we be gone long?
You will. A long time.
Well, then I'll need several changes of clothes. Let me see.
You won't need anything.
Oh, the heater.
The what?
I left the heater on in the other room. I'd better turn it off.
All right, but make it fast.
Well?
Just a second.
Now I feel better about it.
Okay. Now, you ready?
Yes. Now I'm ready.
Mr. Bruce turned off the lights and opened the front door.
It was quiet on the street, peaceful and dark.
But I thought for a minute that I saw a figure move suddenly toward us in the shadow.
I kept praying. I wanted the police to be there.
Not only for myself, but because back there in the living room, the pieces of the puzzle had fit together.
Now I knew the whole story, all of the whys and hows.
Mr. Bruce motioned for me to go ahead and I walked slowly down the path toward the automobile.
I could feel Mr. Bruce a few steps behind me.
Midway in the walk, it happened.
Hold him high, Bruce.
What?
Get down, Mrs. Rogers.
I dare you.
Mrs. Rogers. Mrs. Rogers, you all right?
Yeah, I'm all right. Thank you. I'm all right.
And there it is, my dear niece.
The explanation I promised you.
I felt as your aunt that I should tell you, Mary, how you happened to be in the county jail awaiting trial.
When Mr. Al in the roadhouse first mentioned your name, I was suspicious.
But not until Mr. Bruce made the phone call to you did I piece the story together.
You had suggested the advertisement.
Your husband answered it and employed me.
Oh, if only you'd told me, my dear, that you'd gotten married while you were in Los Angeles.
After all, I am your only living relative, and I could have come to your wedding.
Then this whole thing wouldn't have happened, would it, dear?
Because I would have known Mr. Bruce all the time.
Let me know after the trial what your new address is to be, and I will continue writing.
As always, Aunt Emily.
Suspense.
In which Lee Patrick starred in William and Robeson's production of My Dear Niece, written by Elliot Lewis.
In just a moment, the names of the supporting players and a word about next week's story of suspense.
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Supporting Lee Patrick and my dear niece were Lillian Bief, Barry Kroger, Barney Phillips, Jack Crouchon, and Norm Alden.
Listen. Listen again next week when we return with Kathy Lewis in A Statement of Fact.
Another tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
This is the CBS Radio Network.
Thank you.
Thank you.