M-O-L-L-E. Mole, the brushless shaving cream with a special protective film that guards your face, presents the Mole Mystery Theater. Tonight's Mole, the brushless shaving cream which puts face protection first, brings you another in a series of programs which puts mystery and excitement first. Each Tuesday night at this time you hear one of the great mystery stories, selected from either the famous classics or from the best of the moderns, by Mr. Jeffrey Barnes. Mr. Barnes, who has made a lifelong study of mystery fiction, is a connoisseur of fine detective stories. Mr. Barnes. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Mole Mystery Theater. Tonight we bring you a tale of espionage in wartime Washington, set in the exciting days before the invasion of North Africa. It is based on a novel by Richard Powell, and it is called Death Talks Out of Turn. Now before our Mole Mystery Theater play begins, may I remind you, the Japanese say, while the Jalans say, in our language they both mean one American war secret means a thousand dead Americans. So if you know any military information, information for instance such as troop movements, keep it a mystery and help keep our boys alive. And now to our Mole Mystery presentation, Death Talks Out of Turn. Friends, I want you to meet Lieutenant Andy Blake, who is here in the studio to tell you his own story. Lieutenant Blake. Thank you, Mr. Barnes. It was October 1942, and wartime Washington was quite restful until my wife, Arabella, arrived. I'd been commissioned in the Army several months before and had reported in Washington, leaving Arabe behind to join me later. I thought that when Arabe arrived my troubles would be over, but I must have been enough. Five months of married life should have taught me better. Any time Mrs. Arabella Blake wraps a guy in cotton wool, he better not strike a match, for it's likely to be gun cotton. Like most of Arabe's acts, her arrival in Washington was unannounced. I was finishing up my work in the Pentagon building one evening, only half conscious that something was thrusting the back of my neck. Even if there are eight girls for every man in Washington, Andy, when I kiss a man I expect to get his attention. But Arabe, where did you come from, darling? I have a job in Washington as a secretary, and guess where? In the office of the Chief of Ordnance. I've got you, I like you working there. They've got too many things you want to shoot. Oh, Andy, you're glad I'm here, aren't you? Glad you're here. Why, gosh, when you came in I, I, oh, look, Arabe, I never could say these things properly. Oh, you need to be stirred up, Andy. You've been here two months and you're still a First Lieutenant. No citations, no ribbons, not even a badge for fiscal marksmanship. The way I handle guns, I'll get a badge and a military funeral at the same time. But, meanwhile, we've got to find a place for you to stay. Oh, I have a room already, Andy. What? It's not half as hard to find a room as they say. There must be a cat somewhere. How did you get this room? I heard somebody on a bus say that there was a vacancy at a place out on Northwest Coupe Street. So I went there and I took it. I didn't know people in Washington talked out loud about vacant rooms. I thought they whispered. Well, I was sort of eavesdropping. I suspect I won't approve of this. Well, while I was eavesdropping on people talking on buses, I heard a man say, we're having trouble renting that vacant room at 5797 Q Street. None of the girls have been exactly right. Well, what's so suspicious about that remark? Well, I didn't like the way the man said it. What was he like? Short and fat and I think bald. He gave me the creeps. Andy, I'm sure he's a spy. Oh, I don't believe it for a minute, sweetheart, but I'm going to have a look at that room of yours. Here's the house where I live, Andy, with 16 other girls who all work for the government. How'd you like it? I don't think I like it at all. Well, maybe you're right. You know, before I rented the room, they asked me a lot of questions to see if my job was important enough. Wanted to know if I had any connections with people in the army or maybe. Come on, Arab, we're getting out of here fast. Don't get out of the car. You're not going back into that house. Well, I've got to get my things. Anyway, if you won't help me investigate, I'll do it by myself. Say, wait a minute. You can't do this to me, Arab. Oh, I can't, can I? You just watch, Andy Blake. I was still angry enough at Arab the following morning not to call her at her office. Oh, I had some vague idea of letting her suffer until she called me. But like most of my other ideas about Arab, this one didn't work out either. I soon found out it was I who was apologizing to Arab. Of course, you were wrong, Andy, dear. Oh, look, Arab, I wish you'd give this thing up. There probably aren't any spies at the house at all. And if there are, all we have to do is report it to my superior officer, Colonel Parker. Let the army handle it. They're better equipped. Oh, that's perfectly silly. Why bother them with this when we can check up and find out? Yes, but... Then the army can step in and take over. I don't want to be a hero. I just want to do my job in the army and let it go at that. But, Andy, we can do it together and have so much fun. Arab, I tell you, I'm not going to get it. Oh, all right, Andy Blake. If you won't help me, I'm just going ahead and solve the whole thing myself. So there. Go ahead, you dope. I'll call you up sometime. Yes, do, Lieutenant. I tell you, we do have something in common. A marriage certificate, I believe. The more I thought about the situation, the more worried I became about Arab. So that night, much against my better judgment, I drove over to Q Street and parked my car near the house where I could watch it. It was a quiet street, so it was doubly startling when suddenly a woman screamed from the direction of Arab's boarding house. Something shut the scream off fast as though a hand was placed over the woman's mouth. I ran across the street and plunged into the garden. Fifty feet away, a man was dodging behind a tree. I sprinted towards him. He was short and fat, but that was about all I could see. He turned suddenly and waited for me, waited in an odd, crouched position, his fingers stroking the air in front of him almost like a pianist testing the keys. My memory groped for a picture I'd seen once, a picture done on rice paper. There had been a short, fat man in the same hunched position. In the background, the artist had painted a tiny white capped mountain. But even as he moved toward me, still in this hunched position, a woman's voice came from a few feet away. Stop at this moment! I am Mrs. Fielding, Lieutenant Blake. I own this house, and your pretty wife has been boarding with me for a week. I think you should beg the lieutenant's pardon, Mr. Jones. I beg your pardon, Lieutenant. You came at me so fast I failed to note your insignia. A woman screamed. Was it you, Mrs. Fielding? Something ran through the bushes, a rabbit, perhaps a very cat. I am nervous. Would you like me to see you into the house? No, no, I don't think so. Thank you. Well, then, good night. I have not apologized properly for my foolish actions, Lieutenant. But you are also very foolish. Never run at an enemy that way. Come more slowly. Look, look at my hands. I can break a small club with the edge of my palm. Can you do that, Lieutenant? I wish I'd known that stuff when I was a kid in the Pine Tree Patrol. You see, we had little scout hatchets, and I was always chopping myself instead of the wood. You do not understand. I was assuming that the club was a man's neck. Your mistake, Lieutenant, is hitting a man with a fist. The fist is broad. It spreads the impact over too much space. I've been getting along all right with fists so far. What do you think will happen when an American soldier has to fight a judo expert? The American might shoot the chap. We will hope it turns out that way. I'm glad to have met you, Lieutenant Blake. My name is Jones. Mr. Jones lives next door. If you'll pardon me, Mrs. Fielding, I'll be running along now. Good night, Lieutenant Blake. Just remember my advice, Lieutenant. Be careful how you honor the man. Better yet, don't run at him at all, and then you will be sure of being safe. There was something about Mr. Jones I didn't like. I wanted to find out more about him. So I circled around the block, caught through a garden, and ended up at the back door of his house. The door was unlocked. I stepped inside and listened. There was no sound. Then I started my search using a flashlight. There was nothing downstairs, so I went up to the second floor and entered a huge study. I found a newspaper clipping there that had been torn off violently. The story was about a recent broadcast picked up by the FBI from a station inside Germany. A man calling himself Gustav Einz had told the German people that if only Himmler and his Gestapo were kicked out, all of Germany's troubles would be over. I had heard of those broadcasts. We believed the stations to be backed by the German military leaders, the old junkers. There was nothing else in the study, so I snapped off the flashlight and peered out of the window. I could barely see the house across the street. But as I watched, something stirred in the garden below. A figure was stealing toward Mrs. Fielding's house. The figure stepped across a stalled space, and I stopped breathing. The prowler was Arab. Well, I knew Mrs. Fielding and Jones were inside the house, and that if Arab was planning to eavesdrop again, they would be sure to catch her. I had to get her attention. My hand grabbed a straight wooden chair and slammed it through the window. I stuck my head in the opening and let out a yell. Suddenly, I heard a door slam downstairs. The fat man must have run out of the house next door the minute he heard the crash. I could picture him creeping up the stairs, feeling the air ahead of him with those clutching fingers. My best chance was to wait for him to make a noise. I pressed back against the wall of the room and waited. Somewhere in that house, death was moving toward me. My breathing was getting louder. Like a guy in the last stages of asthma, I tried to hold my breath. Now a sound of breathing was coming up the stairs. Somebody else was breathing. The fat man was somewhere near me. I felt around me in the darkness until I finally found a weapon, a small statuette. I flung it in the direction of the breathing and grabbed for my flashlight. The beam showed the fat man in the center of the room struggling to get his gun out of his pocket. The statuette had missed. I could see the gun coming from his pocket, but I stood there, frozen. Then another voice spoke somewhere within the room. The most welcome sound I have ever heard. It was Arab. Drop that gun. Hunter! Keep that light in his eyes. Don't worry, I will. Now, just hold that pretty pose, Mr. D. You'll never get to me again. Oh, it sounds like a light. Of course, darling. Now let's get out of here, hurry. Darling, your timing was perfect. Now we've got to move fast. Hurry up or we'll be followed. Oh, I know this is only going to mean trouble, Arab. But what's the program? First we go to your room. You mean we're finally going to be alone? No, I don't think we'll be alone. All right, let's have it. It's like this. There are sixteen girls living in the house on Q-SPIE. We all have jobs in industries of the government. And we all like to chat. You mean the girls talk military secrets? Oh, I don't mean any of the girls consciously tell us anything. But they do give out little things that added together may mean a lot. I'll turn in the report the first thing in the morning. But darling, you won't have time because, well, I've elected you as the bait. Well, how do you mean? All week I've been keeping a diary. And tonight at dinner I babbled about how I was going out with an army lieutenant. I told him I'd have to be ever so careful of what I said for you have told me you were horrified by all this loose talk. And I said you'd written down all the bits and pieces I'd been telling you all week, and that you'd invited me to come up to check your notes tonight. I made sure that Rene Fielding and Mr. Jones overheard the address. Well, meet the widow Blake. At times I think you only married me because you thought I'd make a good-looking corpse. Oh, my God! Well, while we're waiting here in my room for your Mr. Jones, where are those notes of yours? Well, here's the one about Jane who works in special service. After finishing breakfast she suddenly pulled a word in Arabic on it. What's suspicious about that? Jane has no interest in anything geographic. She happens to work in special service, and that's the branch that puts out guidebooks to her. Well, what else? Ruby works for the Office of Petroleum Coordinator. She made an interesting remark the other morning about invasions taking a lot of oil. Arabic oil? Go on. Libby works in the State Department. Day before yesterday she was asking Mrs. Fielding about what Darlon was like. Darlon's more important in North Africa than Bataan or Laval. Jane's boyfriend is a second lieutenant in the 1st Armored Division. He was last reported at Indio, California. Jane said the next letter she got from him would have an APO number. Say, Indio's a desert training center. Mary Arvin says that she has to type requisitions for gargles and mosquito bars all day. Gargles means sand or dust. Mosquito bars means tropical or semi-tropical countries. Put them together and they spell desert. Ginger works for Transportation Corps. And she was talking about shipping locomotives for narrow gauge railings. Oh, North Africa again. Andy, what is all this add up to? It adds up to the fact that the joint allied operations against the enemy in North Africa is already underway. And that Jones and Mrs. Fielding know about it. Holy smokes! I'm going to call Colonel Parker! Oh, the line's dead. I thought the wire must have been cut. Come here, Andy, quick! What is it? Stay in the front yard. If you look closely, you can see the shadows of two men standing beneath that tree. They're here, Andy. Jones and someone else. But it's impossible. We can't be trapped right in the center of Washington. Andy, we've got to make a break for it. I'll go first out the back door. I've got my gun. If anybody tries to stop me, I'm going to shoot. If anybody's going to draw them off, I'm going to. Give me the gun. No, darling. I'm the one who can shoot, so I'm going first. One of us has to get away, and this is the best chance. What do you think? Andy, if anything happens, I'm sorry I used to steal all the covers from you and use up all the bath towels after a shower. Goodbye, darling. Wait a minute! Why, that little idiot, why did she leave now? Al, Al, where are you? This is Jeffrey Barnes bringing down McCretton on the first act of tonight's Molle Mystery Theatre play, and reminding you that even now, after two years of war, there are still a few people who think something like this. Listen, we're winning the war. It'll be over in no time. What's the use of working yourself to death? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there are some people like that. And yet no one can tell us when the war will be over because no one knows. But everyone knows that we're now in a crucial moment of this war, and we must break every war production record to keep arms flowing to the front. In order to do this, hundreds of thousands of women are needed in war-useful work, because they are the only adequate source of labor to replace men who are entering the service. Women must work as men must fight. And since lack of experience is not a handicap, women can get war-useful jobs in transportation, communications, retail trades, and other necessary services. So ladies, if you can spare the time for a part-time or full-time job, time to work along with millions of fine American men and women, go to your United States employment office and tell them that you are available. Your United States employment service can tell you where you are needed most. And now here's Jeffrey Barnes, and Act Two of Death Talks Out of Turn. Lieutenant Andy Blake and his enterprising and charming wife, Arabella, have become involved with a Nazi spy ring in wartime Washington. And as the second act of our play opens, Lieutenant Blake has come to report the emergency to his superior officer, Colonel Parker, who will take the steps necessary. Colonel Parker, wake up! Colonel Parker! Hey, what is it? Oh, Lieutenant Blake, come in. It's that Q Street business I told you about, Colonel. My wife was right. They pieced together a lot of North African and invasion data. Can't you voice down, Lieutenant? Well, sir, I think these people in the Q Street house have also got my wife. They kidnapped her just now and from the place where I live. Don't worry, Lieutenant. We'll have the house on Q Street in a bag in ten minutes. Yes, but the— I'll have two companies of guards turn out to search Washington and get orders through to watch all roads. But I want to do— I'll keep in touch with you, Lieutenant. The best thing for you to do now is to go home and try to get some sleep. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. But I couldn't get some sleep. I kept thinking that Arab might be merely a small huddled shape somewhere. I got into the car and drove back toward Q Street. Suddenly, a block away, my headlights gleamed on a small white sports shoe lying by the side of the road. It was Arabs. I stopped the car, leaped out and bent over to pick it up. It was too late when I saw the club swinging for my head. Sometime later I came to, lying in the back of a car with my arms and legs securely bound with rope. The car turned into a driveway and someone pulled me out. Well, Lieutenant Blake, you must have a hard head. I didn't expect you to be conscious so soon. Where's my wife? If you're quiet, you will see her in just a minute. Hold still, Lieutenant, while I untie your legs. If you will notice, Lieutenant Blake, you are now in a very lonely section along the Atlantic coast. The house here was once used by homeowners during probation. But it has been well stocked with ammunition for just such emergencies as this. Come on, Lieutenant, your legs aren't tied. We're going in. Joey! Joey! Vancey, I see you got the little boy scout. You may sit in that straight chair, Lieutenant. I think we will leave your hands tied. You've caused too much trouble. Joey, tie up his legs again. Andy, Andy, are you all right? Oh, nothing wrong but paralysis of the brain. That and the company we find ourselves in. You are losing, Lieutenant. You're pretty killing yourself, Mrs. Fielding. But how are you and Jonesy and this mug going to get out of this? Our Army and Navy isn't asleep, you know. Your defense command has no chance. Give us the German Army and the Navy and the Air Force and we, the Gestapo, will rule the world. Chief, it is late. We've got to get moving. Lieutenant, you will see how well the Gestapo works. Our submarine is waiting off the coast. All I have to do is signal her and we will be picked up. Ha ha ha ha ha. I'm so sorry to disappoint you, Lieutenant. I know you're thinking I will signal with a light and one of your destroyers will see it. But you are wrong. Our signal light is an infrared ray. It can only be picked up by a photoelectric cell. Andy, is there really one of our destroyers out there? Of course there is, Mrs. Blake. I've seen one in the last few minutes. But it will do you no good. You Americans are too stupid. So, you have the plans for our invasion of North Africa, Herr Jones, and now you're going to signal them to the commander of that submarine. But what's to prevent the submarine commander from taking all the credit himself, huh? All right, you work for Himmler. But who does the subcommander work for? Admiral Canaris of the German Naval Intelligence, of course. But do you think that subcommander and Admiral Canaris will give you a buildup? Do you know what's going to happen to you? Why, no, of course not. What do you mean? In a few minutes the subcommander will see you coming out in a rubber boat. He'll tell his men that there are Americans in the boat. Ten rounds of rapid fire. Ten rounds, Jonesy, you'll be stopped. Stop it, I tell you. We'll see who gets the credit. I won't give the plans to the subcommander. I'll use the short waves hit. But the destroyers can pick up that stuff. Well, a chance in a hundred. When the destroyer cannot cover the entire short wave ground, we'll take a chance. Joey, get the code book and the lower right-hand door. Get paper and pencil. Yes, sir. First sentence, Jones to Ulrich. Second sentence, for Himmler only. Third sentence, two United States forces sail from East Coast ports of embarkation. Fourth sentence, objective North Africa, absolutely confirmed. Encode that, Joey, quickly. There will be more. Okay, Chief. Ah, there it is. I'll give you the message, Joey. Why did you take on the evil's on the short wave? For with them using a short wave radio, our men will be able to locate the target, this house, and start shooting. Any minute now. There it is. Come on, boys. I didn't know that. Watch this one, Jonesy. Come on, boys. One, double, all, down five. One, two, three, go. Joey, Lene, come on, the people. Hurry up, Joey, hurry up. They've got their bracket now. No change, no change. Hurry up, Joey. Hold on to your hat, Ellen, darling. I'd rather hold your hat. Oh, I wish I could think of something deathless to say. I love you, Ellen. I love you. I love you, too, Ellen. Andy, wake up, darling. You've got to. What happened? What am I doing here? You threw a hand grenade at Jonesy after the explosion that wrecked the house. Just as he fired his.45 at you and missed. What about the grenade? Didn't go off. It didn't. You aren't wounded, really. Only a little burned. It was the explosion of the house that got Jonesy. Where's Rene and the other guy? They got away in the rowboat. Submarine must have picked them up. And why didn't the grenade go off? They don't go off unless you pull the pin, dear. I never even fired a BB gun. How would I know you had to pull a pin? Andy, you must have thrown it like a baseball. You hit him right in the head. I did? You can throw grenades that well, darling. We'll have some special ones made just for you, without pins. But I saw a flash and there was an awful noise. .45 makes an awful racket when it's shot off right in your face. You've just got some powder bearings. What about the submarine? I think our destroyer got it, Andy. Was out there putting over depth bombs while you were out. The noise just stopped this minute. And we've got to get right back to Washington and make a report. To think this all started because a few people forgot and talked about their work. Oh, if they'd only kept their mouths shut, none of this would have happened, Arab. Nor could you have overheard any of it and got us mixed up in it. Andy, darling, I won't ever try to stir things up again. From now on, I'll be quiet like a mouse. Well, all I can say is, if you're going to be a mouse, darling, heaven help the cat. .45 Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Our mole mister here to play tonight has introduced us to a very lovable little lady who delights in solving problems. As a matter of fact, she's right here, Mr. Boynes, and wants to tell our audience about another problem. Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Arabella Blake. Thank you, Dan. You know, ladies and gentlemen, believe it or not, after my experience in Washington, I did settle down. But later, when Andy went overseas, I became aware of the problem Mr. Seymour's referring to. And, well, I knew that when Andy heard about it, he'd think I was up to something. But I went out and got myself a job. And, ladies, I didn't have any previous experience, just that short while as a secretary in the Ordnance Department. But I had plenty of time and, I guess, a sort of appreciation for the privilege of being allowed to live while a momentous history of today is being made. You know, we women know how to work. All of us do. And oftentimes, we can take over and do just as good a job as the men. And, friends, the need for women and more useful work is urgent. So tonight, I want to ask each one of you ladies in the audience to consider the advantages of helping your country now. In this, the crisis of the war. At the same time, I want you to consider the extra income you'll have earned. Then, if you decide that you can take a war job, go immediately to your local United States employment office and tell them you're available. Ladies, our country's need for woman power is serious. Our country's need is now. And now, Jeffrey Boynes, to tell you about next week's story. Next week, we welcome to our Morley Mystery Theater two of the most unusual detectives you've ever met. Miss Rachel Murdoch, the delightful old lady of 70, and her Persian black cat, Samantha. Our story was written by D.B. Olsen, and its title is, The Cat Saw Murder. So, mystery fans, we invite you to be with us next week for that mystifying adventure thriller, The Cat Saw Murder. The Cat Saw Murder.
