The sealed book. The sealed back. The sealed banner. Once again, the keeper of the book has opened the ponderous door to the secret vault wherein is kept the great sealed book in which is recorded all the secrets and mysteries of mankind through the ages. There are tales of every kind, tales of murder, of madness, of dark deeds, strange and terrible beyond belief. Keeper of the book, I would know what tale we tell this time. Open the great book and let us read. Slowly, the great book opens. One by one, the keeper of the book turns the pages and stops. Ah, the strange tale of a dying man told on his deathbed. A story of madness and horror. A tale called Out of the Past. Here is the tale Out of the Past as it is written in the pages of the sealed book. It is five o'clock in the afternoon and Helen Morgan has just received the afternoon mail. As she's about to look at it, her husband Gerald enters their luxurious suite. Hello, beautiful. How's my one and only? Hello, darling. Oh, Gerald. No wonder every actress wants to have you for her leading man. Nonsense. I'll have you know the only person I kiss like that is my wife. You'd better say that. How was the matinee today? Fine. I got seven curtain calls. I see the afternoon mail came. Anything for me? Yes. There's one letter for me and one for you. Thanks, dear. Mine's a bill from the hotel management. Darling, we're living beyond our means. Now, Gerald, you're not going to start that again, are you? Why, we have over half a million dollars in our joint account. I've told you a dozen times, darling. I won't touch that money. It's yours, not mine. Gerald, it isn't a question of it being yours or mine. It's ours. Helen, I made it clear to you when we got married that we'd have to live on the money I earned. All right, Gerald. I wonder who my letter can be from. Helen, what is it? For a moment, as Helen stared at the letter in her hand, she felt as if her heart had stopped. Then it began to beat again wildly as though it would burst. Over and over, she read the few lines in the letter. A friend from England expects you tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock at the Hotel Edgewood. Please bring $25,000 in cash or else I shall be forced to take action. John Benedict. Helen fought to suppress her cry of fear as the specter of her past returned in one overwhelming moment. From a great distance, she seemed to hear Gerald calling. Helen, what is it? What's wrong, darling? I said, what's wrong? You look so upset. Is it that letter you're reading? Letter? Oh, Helen. Oh, no, no. Then if it isn't the letter, what is it? Oh, it's nothing, darling, nothing at all. It's just I have a headache. Oh, I'm sorry. Can I get you something? No, no, Gerald. I'll be all right. All I need is a little rest. Helen noticed the worried look in Gerald's eyes and strove to act natural. That night, she lay awake hour after hour staring at the ceiling, seeing the words of the letter before her, the letter that reached out for her from the terrifying past. The next day after Gerald had left the apartment, Helen ordered a cab. 20 minutes later, she rushed into the office of Martin Walker, her attorney. Martin, you must help me. I'm in trouble, great trouble. Helen, what is it? What's wrong? I'm being blackmailed. Blackmailed? Yes. By whom? By John Benedict. I don't know who he is, but I received a letter from him yesterday afternoon. Well, there's only one thing to do, and that's to go to the police. Oh, no, no, I can't go to the police. Why not? This man Benedict knows something I can't afford to have exposed. What does he know, Helen? Oh, please don't ask me, Martin. I can't tell you. But believe me, if it ever gets out, it would ruin my marriage, my life. I couldn't stand to lose Gerald. I couldn't. I'd rather die. Now, now, please, Helen, don't cry. You know there isn't anything I wouldn't do to help you. But as I see it, your only chance is to go to the police. No, no, I can't. It would ruin everything. Oh, Martin, if you really wanted to help me, you'd do as I ask you. I've got to buy him off. All right, Helen. I think you're making a mistake, but I'll help you. How much money does this Benedict want? I don't know. At two o'clock that afternoon, an hour after Helen had withdrawn $25,000 from the bank, Martin and she entered a small, dingy hotel on a side street. Following the hotel clerk's instructions, they climbed one flight of stairs and walked down a long, dark hallway to room 14. Come in. As Martin opened the door, revealing a squalid and dimly lit room, Helen saw for the first time John Benedict. He was a large man with coarse features and a thick black beard. In the half light, he appeared to be about 50. His clothes were of a fine English cut, but time and wear had taken their toll. He stared at Helen for a moment, then spoke. How do you do, Mrs. Morgan? Won't you please come in? Thank you. This is Mr. Walker, my attorney. Yes, of course. How do you do, sir? I am very pleased to meet you. I am afraid I can't say as much. Yes. I trust you'll forgive me these dismal surroundings, but alas, I am quite penniless. So you thought it would be an excellent idea to blackmail this lady for funds? I am afraid you misunderstand me, Mr. Walker. I am not forcing this beautiful lady to give me £5,000. Rather, I am, shall we say, requesting a loan. Yes, but if she doesn't give you this loan, you'll ruin her marriage, her life. It would distress me to ruin anyone's life, but then it also distresses me to live in a pigsty like this. A much more suitable place would be the State Penitentiary. Martin, please don't talk like that. Evidently, Mrs. Morgan, your friend is more interested in having me placed in prison than in saving you from disaster. I'm afraid you haven't revealed our little secret to Mr. Walker, have you? No, I haven't. Well, perhaps if we were to tell him, he wouldn't be quite so eager to imprison me. Perhaps if he knew that at one time you had... No, no, don't say any more. I'll pay you. Allow me to commend you on your good judgment. Martin, give him the money. Give it to him. Very well. Here's your filthy blood money. Thank you. I think you've been very wise, Mrs. Morgan. Very wise indeed. Good day. And now to continue the story as it is written in the sealed book. In the days that followed Helen's payment of money, the money Mr. Benedict demanded, he tried unsuccessfully to forget him and the terrifying secret he shared with her. Life for Helen became tense, watchful, frightening. Then one afternoon while Gerald was at a rehearsal of a new play, she received another call, a call that sent her in panic to Martin Walker's office. Martin, I've heard from him again. Who? Benedict? Yes, he phoned an hour ago. He wants $50,000. $50,000? Yes. Well, now maybe you'll have sense enough, Helen, to let me turn this over to the police. No, I can't do that. You can't? You mean you're going to buy him off a second time? Yes, I must. But you can't, Helen, you can't. What's to prevent his extorting money from you a third and a fourth time? He'll squeeze you dry. The money doesn't matter to you here. Nothing matters but keeping what Benedict knows from Gerald. If he finds out, it will mean the end of everything for me, everything. An hour later, Martin and Helen, alighted from an elevator at the 23rd floor of the Hotel Bellevue, they walked down the large luxurious hallway to Suite 23C. Ah, good afternoon, Mrs. Morgan. Oh, I see you brought Mr. Walker. And I was counting on a pleasant afternoon. May I take your coat? No, thank you. Benedict, what do you mean by asking for $50,000 now? We paid you $25,000. That was supposed to keep your mouth shut. Well it has, up to now. However, now I need more money. Well, you shan't have it. There's a limit to what anyone will pay. Quite true, Mr. Walker, but the limit hasn't been reached as yet. Mrs. Morgan is very much in love with her husband and would pay considerable more to keep him from learning what I know. He must never know. Oh, you swine. If I had my way, I'd call the police and put you where you belong. A week passed, a week which found Helen living in a fearful nightmare, a nightmare from which she couldn't escape. Every time anyone knocked at the door, the phone rang, her heart began to beat wildly. Who was that who just phoned, Gerald? It was the theatre. They wanted to make sure I hadn't forgotten today's special performance. Oh. Oh, Helen. Yes? What is it, darling? What's come over you? Come over me? Yes, this past week you've been just a bundle of nerves. Every time the phone rings or the mail arrives, you begin to tremble. What's wrong? Oh, you're just imagining all that, dear. Helen, stop acting as though I were a child. I can see something's wrong, and I want to know what it is. Please, Gerald, there's nothing wrong. Who could that be? Never mind, I'll get it. No, Gerald. You just sit where you are and rest. Yes, but I... Why doesn't he come back? What's taking him so long? Gerald, who is it? Gerald! Helen, what is it? Why did you scream like that? I didn't scream. Who was it at the door? It was just a bellhop. He brought this special delivery letter for you. A special delivery letter? Yes, here it is. Thank you. Aren't you going to open it? After all, it's a special delivery. Yes, of course. I never saw anyone so afraid of a letter. Who's it from? Anything wrong? No, no, nothing. Nothing. Don't tell me that. You look as though you were going to collapse. Here, let me see that letter. No. I said, give it to me. There. That's better. Perhaps this letter will tell me what's wrong. What? It's only one sentence. I will phone you at two. There isn't even a signature. Who wrote this note, Helen? I... I don't know. You must know. Else why would you have gone so pale? I'll phone you at two. It's almost two now. I'll wait for that call. Please, Gerald, you must have faith in me. All these weeks I've had faith, said nothing, hoped you'd tell me what was wrong. Now I must find out for myself. Well, right on time. It's just two o'clock. Gerald, please don't answer it. Take your hand off that phone, Helen. No, I won't let you answer it. I said take your hand off that phone. No, Gerald, please. Hello? Hello? Hello? No answer. Whoever called hung up when he heard my voice. I suppose you still won't tell me who it is. All right, then. I have to leave for a mattering now. When I return, we'll have this thing out once and for all. Please, Gerald, I just can't tell you if you'd only believe me. Goodbye, Helen. Oh, darling. Darling, if only I could tell you. If only I could, but... I know you wouldn't want me then. How could you if you knew? Oh, the phone is... Must be he again. Hello? Good afternoon, Mrs. Morgan. You... You promised you'd leave me alone, that I'd never hear from you again. That was only a week ago. Yes, I know. But then I'm always making promises I can't keep. What do you want? I'm tired of your playing cat and mouse with me. I should like you to call on me at 5 o'clock this afternoon. If it's money you're after, I won't pay you another cent. Not another cent, you hear? There's no end to your demands. Ah, but there is, dear lady. I assure you that this is the last time you'll ever hear from me or see me. If I could only believe that. But that's what you promised the last time. I won't be tricked again. I'm not coming, you hear? I'm not coming! I shall expect you at 5. And don't bring Walker. No, I won't be there. I won't... Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? Ah, come in, Mrs Morgan. You're right on time. It's just 5. It's good to see you without that bounder Walker around. If I give you money now, how do I know you won't be asking for more in another week? Oh, that's very simple. Because after you pay me off this time, there won't be any point in my bothering you again. What do you mean? I mean, Mrs Morgan, that this time I want a half million dollars. A half million dollars? Yes. If I'm not mistaken, that's what your balance is. Don't you see, once you've paid it over to me, there'd be no point in my bothering you anymore, as you wouldn't have any money left. Simple, isn't it? Oh, you... you must be mad. I? Oh, no, Mrs Morgan, not I. Come now. You love your husband and he loves you. There are years and years of happiness before you, if he doesn't learn your little secret. If you're wise, you'll turn the money over to me. But I can't. I... I can't. My husband and I have the money in a joint account. If I were to withdraw a half million, he'd know about it at once. Ah, but there's always a chance that he won't find out. But if you don't do as I ask, I assure you he will. Oh, no. No. Yes, Mrs Morgan, your husband will learn that while you were in England in 1934, you murdered your sweetheart. I won't listen. I won't listen. But your husband will, and he'll learn that after you committed this murder, you spent the following seven years in an English insane asylum. No, no, you can't tell him. You can't tell him. But I will. What do you think your husband will say when he learns that his dear wife had murdered a man and spent seven years in an insane asylum? No, no, you can't tell him. You can't. Think of what the sensation the tabloids would make out of it. Your husband will have to divorce you. No. No! So, fainted have you. That isn't going to help you, Mrs Morgan. And now to continue the story, as it is written in the sealed book. After Helen Morgan fainted when Benedict threatened to tell her husband of her terrible past, unless she paid him a half million dollars, she lay helpless and stunned in her bed. When Gerald came home that night... Helen! Helen, where are... Why, Martin, Dr Smith, what are you two doing here? Is anything wrong? Where's Helen? She's in her room, Gerald. What's wrong? She's had a breakdown. A breakdown? Yes. I must see her. Very well, Gerald, but only for a moment. I'm afraid you'll have to wait out here, Mr Walker. I understand, Doctor. I must be very quiet, Gerald. Yes, of course. Helen. Darling, how are you? Helen, please speak to me. I'm not Helen. My name is Grace. Grace Arnold. Helen, what are you saying? Yes, Grace Arnold. Grace Arnold. Doctor, why does she keep saying her name is Grace Arnold? Why doesn't she recognize me? We must let her rest now, Gerald. Come along. She doesn't even know me. What's wrong, Doctor? Come along, Gerald. Well, how is she, Doctor? You said she had a breakdown, but she didn't even know me. Gerald, I'd hoped I'd never have to tell you what I'm going to, but now I must. Tell me what? Helen comes from a family which has insanity in its blood. Insanity? Yes. For many years, Helen had a fear of becoming insane, until in 1934 in England, she had an unfortunate accident, and as a result, did become insane. No, that can't be. It's true, Gerald. I went to England with her father to look after her. She spent the following seven years in an English nursing home. She was discharged as sane in 1941. Her father had died a short time before, so I brought her home. She never told me a word about it. One day she came to my office and asked me if she had any right to marry you. I'm afraid I was being unfair to you when I said yes. No. No, you weren't being unfair to me. You see, I felt that with a person like you at her side, someone strong, someone who loved her, she'd overcome her fear of insanity. During the first two months of your marriage, my theory seemed correct. She never looked so well or was so happy. Then what caused her breakdown? I don't know, Gerald. I suppose she was so happy that she began to fear it couldn't last, that you'd find out about her past. Probably prayed on her mind day and night leading to this breakdown. She'd only told me. Why does she keep saying her name is Grace Arnold? It's a symptom of her illness, Gerald. She's seeking to escape from herself. There must be something you can do. Will she... Will she always be like that? That's very difficult to say. Naturally, she'll have to go away. She may recover in a year or two, and then again she... Oh, no, no. She's so young and beautiful. You're tired, Gerald. You'd better sit down and rest. Yes, Gerald. That's an excellent idea. Meanwhile, I must return to Helen. Look after him, Mr. Walker. All right, Doctor. Well, how do you feel, old Gerald? Tired, if you want to know. Well, that's only natural. These past three weeks have been quite strenuous for you. But with a half million dollars and a joint account and a wife who will probably never be in any condition to ask you about it, you've done quite well. Quite well? That's an understatement. Name one actor, living or dead, who could have given as great a performance of Mr. Benedict as I did. You were superb as Benedict, I admit. Superb? I outdid myself. You should have heard me this afternoon. My dear Mrs. Morgan, your husband will learn that while you were in England in 1934, you murdered your sweetheart. And that after you committed this murder, you spent the following seven years in an English ensign asylum. Shh, Gerald, she'll hear you. Nonsense. I've broken her once and for all, Martin. What a pity. I played my greatest role to an audience of one. Yes, Gerald, but you were probably the highest paid actor in the world. I'm sure that a half million dollars for three weeks' work, less my share of cause, is something of a record. You know, it's really rather a pity for Helen, that is, that she talks in her sleep. Because if she didn't, I'd never have learned that she once murdered a man and spent seven years in an insane asylum. Ha, ha, ha. Clever of Gerald, wasn't it? The way he played his wife's love against her. But unfortunately, he never had a chance to enjoy his ill-gotten gains, for two weeks later he died as a result of an automobile accident, and on his deathbed confessed to everything. Even after Helen's recovery, which took some time, she was never told the truth about her dear departed husband. Ha, ha, ha, ha. And now, keeper of the book, before you close the great volume, show us the tale we tell next time. This one. Ah, yes. A story about the dark and mysterious Louisiana biocountry and voodoo in the night and the water rising in an old mausoleum built underground. A tale called Welcome Home. Be sure to be with us again next time when the sound of the great gong heralds another strange and exciting tale from The Sealed Book. The Sealed Book, written by Bob Arthur and David Cogan, is produced and directed by Jock Greger.
