Suspense.
And the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure,
William N. Robeson.
There is an old saw which says, you can't fool all of the people all of the time.
Neither can you please all of the people all of the time.
Recently, our presentation of Edgar Allan Poe's great horror story, The Pit and the
Deadly Sins, displeased some listeners who felt that we should not have made the Spanish
Inquisition the villain.
Yet had we not done so, we would have displeased others who feel that Poe's classic story
should not be tampered with.
We face a similar quandary with tonight's story.
It concerns a man who steals another man's wife.
For dramatic reasons, which shall be evident, the wife stealer is a psychoanalyst.
But let it be emphasized that this is not to be construed as a condemnation of psychoanalysis
any more than it is a condemnation of wayward wives or a justification of murdering husbands.
Listen.
Listen then as Jack Carson stars in Analytical Hour, which begins in just a moment.
Now, Analytical Hour starring Mr. Jack Carson, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
I've told you before, Margaret, I don't think it's wise for you to phone me at the office like this.
He's acting strangely.
Well, he probably got delayed.
I'm sure he'll call you any minute with a logical explanation.
Doctor.
Excuse me.
Well, Mr. Nelson, come in, come in.
Thank you, doctor.
I know it's late and I didn't have an appointment, but I had to see you.
Yes, of course.
Sit down.
I'll be with you in a moment.
Now, my dear, I'm sure you'll have no cause for worry.
I've had a patient drop in unexpectedly, so let me call you as soon as he leaves.
Yes.
Yes, goodbye.
I want to tell you how I feel, doctor.
Oh, well, how do you feel, Mr. Nelson?
Fine, just fine.
The migraine headache is gone, the dizziness, the heart palpitation, all gone.
Well, that's splendid.
Then our sessions together over the past six months are beginning to bear fruit.
They have borne fruit.
I've never felt so sure of myself in my life, so free.
I see.
Well, this is very interesting, Mr. Nelson.
Let me get out your file and make some notes.
No.
No?
Why not?
You've exhibited remarkable improvement, and I'd like to put it into the record.
After all, this is the data from which prognosis is made, and if it isn't complete...
Close it up.
Well, all right.
What I have to say is between you and me, man to man, if you wrote it down, it might...
it might be used against me.
I don't follow you.
Well, a doctor, especially a psychoanalyst, never discloses what a patient tells him,
but if it's not in writing, it would be your word against mine, wouldn't it?
Really, Mr. Nelson, I...
What time is it?
Nearly seven.
Has your nurse gone for the day?
Yes, she left an hour ago.
Good, good.
Then we can... we can get down to cases, can't we?
Mr. Nelson, you don't have an appointment.
It's getting late.
Sit down and listen to me.
When I first came to you, I told you that my relationship with my wife was less than ideal.
You listened very patiently.
You drew me out of my childhood associations, my parental approval and disapproval patterns,
and always you drew me back to my relationship with my wife.
You wanted to know what the attraction between us was based upon.
With infinite detail, you got from me my innermost thoughts and desires with respect to my wife.
Is that right?
Yes.
And it's all in the file.
Every question, every answer.
Well, after six months, you've arrived at some conclusions, haven't you?
Your analysis isn't completed.
Yes, yes it is.
I completed it last night.
You? How do you mean?
There's only one possible conclusion.
That I hate my wife.
Oh, now just a moment.
Hate, it's a relative term.
It has validity only when placed in proper perspective.
Exactly, and I repeat.
Migraine headache gone, dizziness gone, heart palpitation gone.
Yes, but your diagnosis is an oversimplification.
These physical manifestations couldn't disappear simply because you arrived at the conclusion that you hate your wife.
Oh, no.
Well, I did something about it.
Now, Mr. Nelson, if you're going to tell me you've run away from your wife.
No, I didn't run away.
Well, then what did you do?
I killed her.
And now, starring Mr. Jack Carson, act two of analytical power.
That's right, doctor. I killed her.
You killed Margaret?
Yes, I did.
That's right, doctor. I killed her.
You killed Margaret? I mean, your wife?
What you couldn't have.
Why do you find it so hard to believe?
Well, but no man in his right mind will kill another human being, no matter what the provocation.
A few minutes ago, you said I was an intelligent man.
You are, you were.
Wait a minute. When did you say this happened?
Last night.
Last night?
I see. Now, surely you realize that if you have committed murder, it's only a matter of time until the police will be searching for you.
Of course.
Well, doesn't that concern you?
Not in the least.
Then if you have no intention of running or of hiding, you should give yourself up right now.
No, not yet.
Why?
We haven't finished our discussion.
Mr. Nelson, what have we to discuss?
Murder as a solution to a personally untenable situation is not acceptable in the eyes of society.
At first you were startled, doctor, and now you're giving me a lecture on the ethics and morality of murder, as if we were having a disinterested conversation and logic.
Could it be that you doubt I killed her?
If you say you did, why should I doubt you?
Your reaction. Reaction is a key word in the medical and psychiatric fields, isn't it?
Yes.
Then why are you taking the murder of my wife so lightly?
I've had years of professional training, and I'm not going to panic just because a patient tells me he's committed murder.
Telling you is one thing. You're believing it is another.
If you believed it under the circumstances, I think it would ruffle your professional calm.
All right, I don't believe you. This is a mental quirk. It's an aberration, a figment of your imagination.
Is it?
You haven't committed murder, or, undoubtedly, you wanted to, but you've substituted the desire for the fact.
The pattern's perfectly clear. Now, I'm going to shock you, Mr. Nelson, because we've reached the point in your analysis where shock will be of the utmost value to you.
All right.
Then I'm going to recommend that you take legal steps to divorce your wife, get rid of the physical cause of this fixation of yours, and eventually you'll achieve a normal mental outlook. Is that clear?
Yeah, perfectly. But not very logical.
Why not?
How can I divorce a woman who is dead?
Your wife is not dead.
You know, I was wondering when you'd tell me I should divorce her. It's too bad you waited so long.
No, stop it. Can't I convince you? You're imagining all this. You're playing games with your mind.
Now, if you continue like this, it could lead to permanent insanity. Now, listen to what I'm going to tell you.
I'm listening.
When you walked into this office a few moments ago, I was talking on the telephone. Is that correct?
Yes.
I was talking to Margaret, your wife. She is alive, Mr. Nelson. Quite alive.
In a moment, we continue with the third act of...
Suspense.
How?
Starring Mr. Jack Carson, act three of Analytical Hour.
I tell you, Mr. Nelson, your wife is alive.
I know.
You know.
Well, perhaps I didn't know what I... I suspected it.
Good heavens, man. I've just told you your wife is alive.
I have positive personal knowledge that this is a fact. Now, doesn't that make an impression on you?
Yes, yes, it makes an impression on me, but not in the way you think.
You still persist in this hallucination that you committed murder.
You called her Margaret.
Sir, I beg your pardon.
My wife, you called her Margaret.
Now, let me ask you a question, doctor.
Do you always refer to the wives of your male patients by their first name?
Well, I used it for emphasis.
For emphasis.
During the past six months, you have referred to her as Mrs. Nelson or your wife, but never as Margaret.
Now, suddenly, for emphasis, you call her Margaret.
What are you driving at?
Your reactions are becoming less professional and considerably more human, doctor.
I'll tell you what I'm driving at.
Officially, you met Margaret just once.
Six months ago, when we both came here to set up a series of appointments for me.
If you remember, it was Margaret who thought psychoanalysis would help me.
She's the one who selected you, and for a very good reason.
If you're insinuating...
I'm not insinuating, I'm telling you.
There never has been anything wrong with me that couldn't have been remedied by an honest wife.
A feeling of marital security.
But she's destroyed that with your active and willing help.
You know what you're saying.
Certainly.
My wife and you are lovers.
You have been for months, even before I met you.
All right, let's drop the doctor-patient relationship.
Suppose I were to admit it.
Suppose I asked you to get a divorce, not for psychiatric reasons, but so I could marry Margaret.
Would you do it?
No.
It's too late.
Why?
Look, I'll admit everything you say.
Margaret and I have been in love with each other for nearly a year.
We thought we'd kept it a secret from you, from everyone.
I honestly thought if I could take you far enough in analysis,
I could get you to realize that she is not the woman for you.
That you aren't and never would be really happy together.
You can't tamper with emotions this way.
You're not God.
No, but I'm human.
So you are.
Subject to anguish, despair, and anxiety.
Do you think I've liked this situation, that I've enjoyed it?
You've been a willing party to it.
Then let's end it right now.
Let me call Margaret, ask her to come here to the office,
where the three of us can discuss this situation as reasonable, intelligent, adult human beings.
Go ahead.
One thing still concerns me.
Why were you so insistent that you kill there?
What, you called it playing games with my mind?
I know that's dangerous.
Possible incipient form of schizophrenia.
I'll have to work with you on that.
It could get you into trouble.
Depends on your definition of trouble.
Hello?
Hello, Margaret.
Yes.
Yes, I'm still at the office.
No, he's here with me.
Now, Margaret, there's nothing to be alarmed about.
I want you to come here right away.
As soon as possible.
You'll drive right over.
Good.
Yes, he knows.
All right.
Half an hour.
Intelligent, adults, human beings.
You know, this is going to be good for all of us.
No more dissembling or hiding our true emotions.
I'm glad you came here this evening and demanded a showdown.
It indicates more emotional maturity than I thought you possessed.
Doctor, you know what I do for a living?
Yes, you're some sort of a chemist.
Yes, I'm a chemist.
And do you know my specialty?
Something to do with foods, I believe.
That's right.
If you were contemplating murder,
you'd utilize the materials about which you knew the most, wouldn't you?
Oh, now, don't start that again.
I'm not contemplating murder, and neither are you.
Oh, I can understand why you feel as you do,
but this is a phase that'll pass.
When Margaret gets here, we'll talk it out,
and you'll be a free man emotionally.
I am now?
Not if you persist in bringing up the subject of murder.
It's going to be a fact to you sooner than you think.
All right.
If it'll make you feel better, talk about it.
But Margaret is alive,
and nothing you think or say can change that.
Now, I'm going to shock you.
I'm quite certain I'll be more successful than you were with me.
I don't know what you're talking about.
Do you know what botulism is?
Of course. It's a type of food poisoning.
Yes, yes.
Food poisoning caused by a toxin
produced when foods are improperly canned,
or it could be introduced into foods which had never been canned at all,
if one knew how to do it.
Still on the meta theme, huh?
Botulism toxin attacks the nervous system,
distorts vision, causes muscular weakness.
If antitoxin serum is not used,
death usually follows from respiratory paralysis.
That's very ingenious, but I don't...
Oh, no.
Beginning to get it, huh?
Of course, you know, symptoms of botulism appear 18 to 36 hours
after consumption of poisoned food.
No.
Margaret is in her 25th hour at this moment.
You fiend.
Ah, you are shocked.
By the way, it would be dangerous for a person to drive an automobile
when the poison might strike at any moment.
Margaret!
Put down that phone.
I've got to phone the police.
Too late for that.
You're not going to call the police or anyone else.
Margaret.
How does it feel, doctor?
Apply the clinical technique.
Come up with a prognosis. Do something.
Make a break for the door.
Reach for the gun in your desk.
Try to reason with me.
Insane. You're utterly insane.
Ah, I'm playing God.
Just as you had with me for six months.
Only it doesn't take me as long.
Now I'm going to give you a prognosis, doctor.
When Margaret gets here,
if she gets here,
you're going to watch her die.
Then...
Then I'm going to watch you die.
That's...
And now, starring Mr. Jack Carson,
Act Four of Analytical Hour.
It's been a half hour, doctor.
It doesn't appear Margaret's going to make it, does it?
Are you going to let her die just for the sake of vengeance?
Vengeance?
Ah, that's a relative term like... like hate.
And hate is a relative term. You said so, doctor.
But premeditated murder...
Murder is not a relative term.
It's final and irrevocable.
I prefer it to wife stealing and deception.
If I could only...
But you can.
What's the matter, doctor?
Having a little trouble breathing?
You poisoned me, too.
Ah, of course.
I'll kill you.
I'll kill you with my bare hands.
And now you speak of killing.
Less than an hour ago, you said no man in his right mind
would kill another human being no matter what the provocation.
Are you not in your right mind, doctor?
My arms. I can't raise them.
Ah, the poison is working.
Devil.
Would you like to hear how it was done?
Last night, Margaret attended a club banquet, or so she told me.
But you and I know that she had drinks and hors d'oeuvres
with you in your apartment,
and then the two of you went out to dinner.
Is that right?
Yes.
It was the hors d'oeuvres.
Special kind. You both liked so well.
You keep quite a supply of them in little glass jars.
It was easy for me to introduce the botulism culture
while you were out.
I believe someone's in the outer office.
Margaret.
She seems to be having some difficulty.
Margaret, run!
By the doctor! Margaret!
Hello, my dear.
Oh, sorry.
I really am sorry.
But not for either one of you.
Ah, respiratory paralysis, doctor.
The final stage.
You won't get away with it, you...
I want to thank you for calling her over, doctor.
It works out even better than I had planned it.
Somebody will find the two of you in the morning,
sprawled out like the last act of Romeo and Juliet,
and it will all fit.
And it will all fit.
Both of you dead of botulism.
Poisoned by the snacks you had alone together in your apartment.
Me?
Nobody saw me walk in.
And nobody sees me walk out.
It couldn't be better.
You...
Goodbye, doctor.
Hey, is anybody in there?
Who is it?
Police.
Police?
Did a woman come in here?
What woman, officer?
She was driving like she was drunk,
ran through two red lights.
She came in this building.
Is that her, officer?
Yeah.
What's the matter with her?
She's dead.
And him?
He's dead, too.
What do you know about this?
Enough.
Enough to hang me.
Suspense.
In which Jack Carson starred in William and Robeson's production of Analytical Hour,
written by Alan Botzer.
Supporting Jack Carson in tonight's story were John Hoyt and Sam Pearce.
Listen.
Listen again next week,
when we return with another tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
This is the United...