And now, a tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
In a moment, Act One of The Curse of Komishek, starring Ian Martin as Turnbull,
and written especially for suspense by Jonathan Bundy.
Yes, yes, what is it, Walden?
I beg your pardon, Mr. Turnbull, but I thought you would like to know...
Yes, well?
Well, it's your nephew, sir. Mr. Donald Ransom.
Oh, Lord.
Yes, his car has just come into the driveway.
It has, huh?
Yes, sir.
Now, what the devil does that impractical young wastrel want this time?
I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Turnbull.
Well, I'm sure you don't know, Mr. Ransom.
I'm sure you don't know, Mr. Ransom.
I'm sure you don't know, Mr. Ransom.
I'm sure you don't know, Mr. Turnbull.
Well, I think I do.
Yes, sir.
I think he wants some more extra money from his inheritance
to squander on that nonsensical research and experimentation
he's been doing over at the university
on those ridiculous journeys to heaven knows where in search of heaven knows what.
Yes, sir.
Money, money, money. Well, he won't have it.
No, sir.
Not as long as I have any legal right to the management of it.
And then, after all, we do have to look out for ourselves, don't we?
Of course we do.
Well, don't we, Walden?
Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Of course we do, sir.
Of course.
Go out and meet him at the door.
Tell him that I'm not in, that I've...
I've...
Well, Donald.
Come in. Come in.
Oh, here you are, Uncle Frederick.
I thought I heard your voice in here.
Hello, Walden.
Mr. Donald.
Well, I'm glad to see you, boy.
You should come and visit with me more often.
Sit down, sit down.
Thank you, sir.
That'll be all for now, Walden.
If I need you, I'll bring...
Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.
Well, my boy.
How are you?
Feeling better than I felt in a long time.
Splendid, splendid.
And you look it, too.
But, uh, now what's on your mind?
I've come to say goodbye, sir.
You've come to... What was that?
I've come to say goodbye to you.
I'm about to leave on another expedition.
You're what?
Yes, sir. In just a few days now, I'll be leaving for Egypt.
Egypt?
Yes, sir.
I see.
Do you mind telling me why,
why you think you ought to embark on another of these silly, expensive expeditions?
Uncle, I've spent months now in reading and research at the museum,
at the university, working with Horace Bracken...
And who is Horace Bracken?
He's the son of Mr. J. Harrison Bracken, the curator at the museum.
What's more, he's one of the foremost students of Egyptology in this part of the country.
Yes, yes, I see, I see. All right, very well. Go on.
Uncle, I am now convinced that I can locate the tomb of the ancient pharaoh,
Komyshek I.
Oh, you are, are you?
Yes, sir. I'd stake my life on it.
Heh. You mean, if I let you go?
What?
Donald, to put it bluntly, I'm fed up with your wasting your time on these stupid,
pointless wanderings all over the face of the earth.
And I mean completely pointless.
That's not exactly the way the museum feels about them, uncle.
Nor several universities.
Well, that's the way I feel about them.
I'm sorry.
What's more, you're wasting not only your time, but your money.
The money that your poor father spent a whole lifetime struggling to accumulate.
And not for any such nonsense as this. You can be quite sure of that.
Father left me that money to spend in any way I might see fit.
Oh, he did, huh?
He certainly did.
Provided, Donald. Provided that your handling of it meets with my approval.
Don't you forget that.
When you're thirty and the estate passes completely into your hands, if you live that long...
Is that supposed to be a threat?
Take it any way you like.
When you are thirty, when the money is yours alone, very well you can do anything you like with it.
But until then, don't you forget for one minute that I am legally in control of it. All of it.
Well, you've... you've opposed me in my plans for every one of my expeditions, haven't you?
I certainly have, and I shall continue to do so.
Do you mind telling me why?
For your own good, that's why.
Oh, I'm sure.
Don't be sarcastic, Donald.
Or is it your own good you're thinking of?
It is not.
It's simply because sooner or later, boy, you've got to realize your responsibility.
Realize that as the wealthy heir of a wealthy family, it's up to you to carry on a tradition that's been set for you, whether you like it or not.
To increase the fortune that has made your family name and reputation, to build even greater financial power.
Not to waste it, throw it away.
Do you call my contributions to science a waste of money?
Science? Rot!
What do you know about science?
Now look, Donald, believe me, my boy, there's nothing selfish in my attitude in this matter.
Oh, no.
I am thinking only of you, Donald, of your future.
And above all, of the fine family name, the family honor that you alone are left to uphold, that you must uphold.
For no other reason than respect for the memory of your father.
Well, my boy, is that all, Uncle Frederick?
Well, it depends on you.
Are you going to give up this asinine plan?
No.
What do you mean, no? Now you listen to me, you girl.
Listen to what you may say or think. I'm going to eat you.
I said you listen to me, young man.
I made all my plans, obtained the sponsorship of the museum, thanks to Horace Bracken.
Donald, I'm not...
So if this tirade is simply because you thought I might want more of my inheritance, Uncle Frederick, well, you can stop worrying about it right now.
And I tell you that you're not going on this stupid, this ridiculous expedition.
And I tell you that I am. There's nothing you can do or say that will stop me.
Oh, there isn't, huh?
No.
Goodbye, Uncle Frederick.
Why, you insufferable young imbecile. Sit down and listen to me.
Sorry, I must go now.
Sorry, huh? Well, you will be sorry. What's the matter with you? Have you lost your senses?
I think I finally come to my senses.
Donald. Donald Ransom, have you forgotten that I am in a position to cut you off from your inheritance, cut you off entirely, if I wish to?
I'm fully aware of that, Uncle Frederick. But if you think I care, you're entirely wrong.
Goodbye, sir.
Then by heaven I will cut you off.
Well, do you hear me?
I hear you. So help me, Donald. I've tried to avoid this. Believe me, I have.
I have shown more patience toward this arrogant behavior of yours than I thought I had.
But your idiotic, bullheadedness, your utter disregard for your responsibility for the importance of your family name and social status, in spite of all I've tried to do,
well, by heaven, I will have you cut off without one single solid...
Wait a minute. Wait a minute, I said. Where do you think you're going? Egypt.
You'll be sorry, Donald. You don't know how sorry you'll be.
Well, Aldon, what's all that you have there?
A package and a letter, sir. It came for you by special post. By special delivery, as you call it.
From where?
From Egypt, sir.
Egypt. Well, well, well. I've been expecting a letter from him. Three months now, isn't it, that he's been gone?
Yes, sir.
Yes, Aldon, I knew very well that the money Donald had to beg for that stupid expedition would soon run out. So now he wants some more.
I'm sure I don't know, sir.
Well, I do, and, Aldon, you can take that letter out and burn it.
But, but, but the handwriting on it, sir, it doesn't look to me like...
That's for the package? Well, all right, let me have it. We'll see what's in it.
Yes, sir, here you are, sir.
Probably some completely useless relic or souvenir that he picked up, sent along in the hope it might influence me into sending him money.
Well, I assure you that it won't. I made my position clear when he walked out of here. And I don't intend to change it.
Mr. Turnbull, the handwriting on this letter...
Yes, I know, I know, Aldon. You've always been sympathetic towards some of his silly ideas, and perhaps even hoped that I would help him.
Yes, sir.
Don't worry, I won't. You see now...
But this was apparently written by somebody else...
What?
Other than...
Irresponsible young idiot! Look at this, look at it, Walden.
Why, why, yes, sir, I, I see...
What is this, Donald's crude idea of a practical joke? This, this dirty old piece of some kind of dried up old bone?
Yes, sir. It's from a human body, sir. And very, very old.
So this is the sort of nonsense Donald has been wasting his time and our money digging up out of the dirt and sand over there in Egypt.
By heaven, I've said it before and I say it again, Walden.
Yes, I know you have, sir, I know you have.
How don't you get out of line?
No, sir.
That, that letter, where's the, where's the letter?
Yes, sir. Here, sir. But as I started to say, sir, that handwriting is...
Dear Mr. Turnbull. Oh, I see it's signed by Horace Brackton.
The young man he spoke of who went with him.
Oh, yes, yes, I remember... Walden, listen to this.
Yes, sir.
Dear Mr. Turnbull, a few minutes before he died, your nephew Donald Ransom...
What?
Oh dear. What a misfortune, sir.
Donald.
Dead.
My, my deepest sympathy, sir.
Huh?
Yes, sir.
You can keep your sympathy to yourself, Walden.
I beg your pardon, sir.
Just forget it and go answer the door.
Well, sir, but... Yes, sir.
I knew it. I knew I was right.
And now by heaven this proves it.
Now let's see.
Your nephew Donald Ransom's last request was that I send you a section of the femoral bone...
from the skeleton of the pharaoh Kamashak that he recovered from the tomb near the ancient city of Giza.
As you no doubt have been informed, he died of some jet completely unearthed.
Yes, sir.
Yes, what is it now?
Your, your pardon, sir.
Yes, Walden.
Mr. Harrison Brackton, the father of the young man who sent the letter.
Oh. All right, send him in.
Yes, sir. Right in here, sir.
Thank you.
Ah, come in, Mr. Brackton. Come in.
Thank you, Mr. Turnbull.
You may as well sit down, I suppose.
Thank you.
And before we go any further, I must tell you how distressed I am about your nephew's death.
Yes, yes, yes.
Now, let's see. You're, you're over at the museum, aren't you?
Yes. I am the curator of osteology.
Osteology. That's the study of bones, I believe.
Yes.
Well, in here, take a look at this.
Even in his last moments, my recalcitrant nephew chose to mock me by sending me this, this, this bone.
I know. From the remains of the Pharaoh, Kamashek, it's most exciting, isn't it?
Exciting.
I'll be honest with you. It's why I came, in the hope I might be allowed to see it.
See it? Well, take it. It's yours for that stuffy museum you live in.
You mean it?
Well, I certainly don't want it around here, do I?
Oh, I see. Then you believe it, too.
Believe in what? What are you talking about?
The curse, Mr. Turnbull.
The curse?
Yes. That may have accounted for the strange death of your nephew, the curse of Kamashek.
Oh, you can't be serious. Brackton, you ain't to sit here, you, a supposedly intelligent man, and...
Oh, no. I don't believe it.
Have you forgotten what happened to the men who violated the tomb,
who touched the remains of King Tutankhamun, knowing about the curse on them?
That's absurd, ridiculous. You, you really believe in such rubbish?
I... I'm not sure.
Well, I am. It's utter nonsense and superstition.
So here, take this worthless piece of bone along with you and get out of here.
No, I, I would hesitate to touch it, sir.
Oh, you would?
Yes.
Well, do you want it for that second-rate museum of yours?
My second? Well, of course.
All right, then. Here. I'll bundle these papers around it for you.
Here you are. Now, take it and leave.
Mr. Turnbull.
But to think that you, the curator of a museum, would fall for such trash is almost beyond belief.
Go along now.
Now, wait, sir, please.
I should have recognized you for the superstitious, doddering old fool.
You are the moment you stepped in here.
Now, listen to me.
Now, get out, get out of here, before I lose my patience. Get along!
Curse of Kamaschek, huh?
I'd like to see it try to act on me.
Ridiculous!
Yes?
Mr. Turnbull, I must see him at once.
Oh, Mr. Bracton, I believe.
Yes, Harrison Bracton. I was here to see him only a few days ago.
Take me into Wim. Where is he?
Well, I'm sorry, sir, but I doubt if Mr. Turnbull is in this evening.
He must be. He has to be. I must see him immediately.
Now, wait, sir, please, wait. Please, sir.
Get out of the way. I'll find him myself.
I tell you, he isn't into anyone this evening. Please wait, sir. Please.
What's going on around here? What's all the...
Oh.
You again.
Yes, it's I, Mr. Turnbull. I must talk to you.
Yes, so it would seem.
Well?
I'm terribly sorry, sir. I tried to stop you.
That's all right, that's all right, Walden.
Thank you, sir.
Well, what do you want this time, Mr. Bracton?
Here. Take it. Take back this accursed thing.
What?
I told you when you insisted I take it along with me,
I told you there was a curse on it.
The curse of Karmyshek. Now it's proved itself.
Oh, Bracton, have you been to see a psychiatrist lately?
Oh, please, please, don't jest about this, Mr. Turnbull.
I told you I didn't want to actually touch this terrible thing,
nor have I, nor will I.
And now, after what I've seen it do to those who have touched it,
I don't even want it near me.
Oh, well, that sounds very intriguing, Bracton. Go on.
But when I got it home,
I placed it under a glass bell in one of the cabinets in my study.
Very carefully, Mr. Turnbull, not actually touching it,
just using a pair of forceps.
Nonsense.
That night, sir, it somehow forced its way out of the cabinet.
The glass was broken into a thousand pieces,
yet no one was around who could possibly have touched it.
Oh, no, ridiculous.
The next morning, the housemaid,
knowing nothing about the curse on it,
picked it up in her fingers and placed it on a table.
Well?
Late that night, frantically running away from what she described as a living mummy,
she fell headlong down the stairs leading from the living room
and the third floor.
Oh, no, Bracton, it's not...
She is still in the hospital, Mr. Turnbull.
And all because of this poor little boy.
Bye-bye.
Listen to me, you must listen to me.
Oh, I am listening.
The doctor who attended her...
Oh, why did I...
Why I did it, I shall never know.
Well, it was.
I let him take the bone with him to study it.
In two days, Turnbull, that man,
one of the finest in his profession,
had to be committed to an institution as a raving maniac,
dabbling wildly about a phantom that pursued him,
a phantom he described as looking like a mummy...
Oh, now, wait a minute, Bracton, I've heard enough of this.
Do you mean to tell me that a man of your so-called intelligence,
that you can possibly take a thing like this seriously?
That you can really believe a chunk of bone
could have caused these things you told me about,
if they really did occur?
It was you who inflicted this sting on us, Turnbull, and here.
Now you have it back.
Bracton, I'm...
I can only hope and pray that I may never see it again.
You honestly believe that this...
I tell you, sir, those stings are incontrovertible proof of the curse that Gary...
And I tell you, sir, that you're nothing but a superstitious,
doddering old fool.
What's more, I'll prove it to you. Let me have the package.
Here now.
Wait a minute. What are you going to do?
Turnbull!
Well?
Surely you don't intend to touch that bone?
Why, I thought that's why you brought it here.
So I could feel the curse of it, too.
Yes! Yes, yes, I did, because I was angry and upset.
Very well, then.
But you mustn't.
Now aren't you getting a little tired of being foolish about this thing?
Please, please, I beg of you.
There!
Satisfied now?
Yes.
Now watch me.
I'll even hold it in both my hands.
Turnbull!
Rub it against my face!
Turnbull!
My cheek!
Heaven help you.
Cursed did you say?
Why, Bracton, you're crazy.
Turnbull.
You don't know what you're doing.
You don't know.
You bet I do, Bracton.
I'm simply proving once and for all that the only people who are affected by these silly, stupid, childish superstitions are those who believe in them.
And I don't.
Now that you've seen me defy this so-called curse, you don't have any reason to either.
And this will be the proof of it.
You will touch it now.
No!
Here you are!
No, no, please.
I said you'll touch it!
No, don't, don't, don't take it away.
Touch it!
I beg of you!
Will you stand still, you blithering sin!
Stand still!
No!
Quite frankly, Mr. Bracton, I don't understand it.
I don't understand this at all.
Don't understand what, Doctor?
I had Turnbull in my office for a complete examination not more than ten days ago.
At that time, and I'm sure of it, we overlooked nothing.
His physical condition was perfect.
But now...
Well, there's only one way I can report this.
Yes, Doctor?
Death due to natural causes.
Natural causes?
Yes.
No?
No.
Now, what do you mean by that, Mr. Bracton?
Nothing.
I suppose.
Nothing at all.
Suspense.
You've been listening to The Curse of Kamyshek, starring Ian Martin as Turnbull,
and written especially for suspense by Jonathan Bundy.
Suspense is produced and directed by Bruno Zarratto Jr.
Music supervision by Ethel Huber.
The Curse of Kamyshek
The Curse of Kamyshek
The Curse of Kamyshek
The Curse of Kamyshek
Music supervision by Ethel Huber.
Sound patterns by Joseph Kav какое.
Heard in tonight's story, where Raymond Edward Johnson as Bracton,
Mercer MacLeod as Walden,
John Thomas as Donald,
and Guy Rep as the Doctor.
Listen again next week
when we return with Blackbeard's Ace, written by Jack Butrum.
Another tale well calculated to keep you in.
Suspense.
The Woman's World Unfurled by Betty Furness.
Thursdays on the CBS Radio Network.