The Columbia Network takes pleasure in bringing you Suspense. Suspense. Stories from the world's great literature of pure excitement. A new series frankly dedicated to your horrification and entertainment. Week by week from the pick of new material, from the pages of best-selling novels, from the theater of Broadway in London, the sound stages of Hollywood, will parade the most remarkable figures ever known. CBS gives you Suspense. Tonight's presentation is one of the finest of the contemporary stories of mystery and terror. John Dixon Carr's famous novel, The Burning Court. Ah, a glass of sherry by the fireside of a beautiful suburban home. What could be more comforting? You're an admirable host, Mr. Depard. And it's really a shame our first meeting is under such a cloud. It's also a shame I have so little time to tell you which one of your guests here murdered your uncle last week. Now let's see now. I believe we're all here. Your wife, your friend Mr. Stevens, Captain Brennan. Yes, and incidentally yourself. Just who did you say you were? Well, no wonder you've had so much difficulty with the case, Captain. My name is Cross, Gordain Cross, the writer. As a matter of fact, it's because of my just completed book, Poisoning Throughout the Ages, that I happen to be here now. And Ted Stevens there happens to be a member of the firm which publishes my work. I'd never seen him until tonight, but I've been told what happened. This afternoon he began reading my manuscript for the first time on the train, the commuter's train, which every afternoon deposits him safely and soundly here in Crispin. I imagine he was halfway home by the time he finished the first chapter. Then he turned a page. Attached to the following leaf was a picture. And looking at it, the young man stiffened suddenly and all but cried out his shock. It was a picture of a young woman. And under it had been printed, famous poisoner Marie Dobre, 1676. Ted Stevens was looking at a picture of his own wife. Imagine, imagine his 25 year old wife in 17th century costume. The face, the features, even the wistfulness of expression were identical. Even the name Dobre was his wife's maiden name. But no, no, no, that was ridiculous. This woman in the picture was, well, one of his wife's ancestors. And the picture was of a young woman. No, no, no, that was ridiculous. This woman in the picture was, well, one of his wife's ancestors. Yes, that was it, that was it. Simply an amazing family resemblance. Marie would be waiting for him at the station and he'd have to tell her about it. He wondered why, however, she'd never told him about. Oh, well, but you don't discuss such an ancestor, do you? Ted Stevens glanced down at the chapter to which the picture had been attached. It was entitled, The Affair of the Non-Dead Woman. Hello, Ted. Stevens was almost jolted from his seat. It was Dr. Weldon, professor of English at the college, an old friend of his. Quickly he thrust the picture beneath the manuscript and moved over. Hi, hi. Didn't see you, Doc. Oh, here, have a seat. Oh, I thought maybe you were giving me the, what do they call it, the brush off? Oh, no, I... Say, as a matter of fact, Doc, you're the one man I do want to see. Yeah? Very flattering. Remember those discussions we used to have about murders? Better than Bridge any time. Well, I got the idea that you'd made sort of a hobby out of the old cases, the historical ones. Well, I've studied quite a number of them, yes. Ever hear of a woman named Marie Dobre? Marie Dobre? Marie Dobre. Oh, yes, that was her maiden name, of course. One of the finest specialists in arsenic poisoning you could ever hope to find. Oh, we're almost at our station, Ted. Let's get to the door. Yes, a real charmer Marie was. Must have dispoiled to half a hundred husbands, lovers, suitors, and just plain friends before she was caught. What happened to her, Doc? She was beheaded and burned. Crispin! Oh, absurd, laughable. Ted Stevens kept saying this to himself, and yet what he knew was a foolish dread followed him straight through the small suburban station and clung to him as he reached the street. And there in the roadster was Marie, leaning toward him a little to hold the door open and smiling at him. Oh, Ted, what on earth are you staring at? That street light shining on your hair, I like that. Oh, you're tight. Come on, get in the car. Then, like a wisp of smoke, it was gone, the whole ridiculous fear, the delusion. When at home, Marie brought the cocktails into the living room, the logs were burning brightly in the fireplace, throwing a soft, dancing glow upon a room that was darkening with dusk. To you, Marie. And to you, dear. As Stevens placed his glass down, he noticed the manuscript of my book. It was there on the table, right where he placed it when he first came in. Deliberately, he turned from it. And then turned back. The manuscript had been moved. Only an inch or so, but it had been moved. Keeping his back to his wife, he trumped through that early chapter and discovered, just as he knew he would, that the photograph was gone. For a long moment, he thought of what to do. Then slowly, he turned around. This book by Cross I brought home. Yes? There was a story of Poisoner in it. Rather funny. Her name happens to be the same as yours. Oh, your maiden name, that is. Oh, that is odd, isn't it? Darling, was she a relative of yours? Why, Ted, you're serious. In a way, yes. Oh, I don't mean it. It's really important. It's just that, well, when you run across a person who's a dead ringer for your own wife and who lived 300 years ago and was a top-flight Poisoner, well, you like to hear about it, that's all. What on earth are you talking about? Darling, be honest with me. Didn't you look at this manuscript when I was out of the room? No. You didn't take out a picture of a Poisoner named Marie de Bray? I most certainly did not. Oh, Ted, what is this all about? What are you getting at? Oh, just this. Somebody took that picture out of that manuscript since I've been home. Now, who's that? Well, I'll take a look. But I don't feel like... Why, it's Mark Sipar. Mark? Ted, wait a second. Yes? Ted, whatever it is he wants, promise you won't do it. Promise I won't do it? I mean, promise you won't get yourself involved. Please, Ted, don't go out tonight. See, what in the world is... Well, anyway, we can't let him stay outside. Mark, how are you? Come on in. Thanks, Ted. Just thinking about giving you a call later. Oh, let me have your hat. Oh, thanks. I... Marie, I hope you'll excuse me for popping in like this, but, well... I wanted to talk to Ted. It's rather important. Oh, I don't mind at all. Come on, Mark, we'll step into the library. Oh, you mind, dear? Of course not, Ted. I'll be making the sandwiches for her. Oh, grab that chair in the corner, Mark. Well, let's hear it. What's the trouble, Ted? My Uncle Miles was murdered. Murdered? Oh, the talk hasn't reached you yet, but it's already started. Nothing definite, of course, just that there was something wrong about Uncle Miles' death. But I don't... Mark, are you sure of this? You know he was murdered? I don't know. Of course I don't. I just don't see how it could be any other way. Uncle Miles, you know, had been sick for quite a while, but last Saturday he seemed so much better that Miss Corbett, that was his nurse, decided to take the day off, and, oh, you know all this. You and Marie were over that afternoon. Anyway, Lucy and I went to the club that night, to that masquerade party, and we left the old boy completely alone. I've cursed myself a thousand times since. But what about your housekeeper, Mrs. uh, what's her name, Henderson? Wasn't she around? Sure. In that little house out in back. We told her to look in now and then, but well, that wasn't good enough. It was after midnight when Lucy and I got back. Uncle Miles was dying. Ted, it looked exactly like one of his regular attacks, but then later, after he was gone, I happened to glance under the chest of drawers in his room. There was a small silver cup under there, almost drained, and Uncle Miles' cat. The cat was still warm, but quite dead. Oh. I managed to get the cat out of the house and buried without anyone seeing me. The next day, I had the contents of the cup analyzed. It was poison? Yes. Arsenic. Well, what do you want me to do? Help me open the crypt. What? I want to have a private autopsy performed. Help me get Uncle Miles' body out of that vault. Oh, I know it's a tough job. The thing is sealed solid, but we can do it. You mean without the police knowing about it? Without anybody knowing about it. Mrs. Henderson's visiting her sister, and I managed to send Lucy over to the club. You must be crazy. You're playing with dynamite, Mark. This is something you've got to tell the police now. I can't take that chance. But they'll have to know sometime. You're only delaying the... I've got to know first, I tell you. You don't understand, Ted. There was somebody in Uncle Miles' room that night handing him something in a silver cup. Mrs. Henderson was on the porch by the window. She saw her. She saw her? Ted. She thinks it was my wife. Oh, Lucy. It doesn't mean anything to Mrs. Henderson yet, because she doesn't suspect anything, but, well... Ted, you've got to see why I've got to be sure. Why I've got to know how Uncle Miles died. Because it wasn't Lucy, Ted. I know it wasn't. Of course not, Mark. She had an alibi. Well, she was with you at the club, wasn't she? Yes. Except for half an hour. I see. You will help me, won't you, Ted? When do we start? As soon as you can make it. As soon as you can make it? Okay. Come on, now. I'll get your head. You twine on a head, and I'll come over as soon as I can see Marie. You're not going to tell her about this? Of course not. I'll think of something. Don't you worry about it. No, thanks, Ted. Thanks a lot. Uh, Marie? I'm coming. Uh, darling, Mark asked me to, uh... I know, Ted. Here. You'd better take these sandwiches with you. You'll be hungry. But... you knew I was going out? Yes, I knew. You listened to us? I couldn't help it, Ted. I had no idea what Mark's visit was about. They talk about his uncle's death. There's a lot of gossip about it in the village. That's why I tried to tell you why I didn't want you to get mixed up in it. But it's too late now, isn't it? I mean, you're going. I can tell by the way you look. Ted, wait a second. There's just one thing I want to tell you before you leave. And that is that no matter what happens, no matter what you find or think or believe, I'll love you. You'll remember that, won't you? I'll remember you. Said so, Marie. By the light of a dim kerosene lantern, Mark and Ted Stevens pounded their way through the thick shelf of rock that covered the depar's ancestral tomb. Pried open the great slab of stone which lay across the subterranean door and then at last descended to the dank ink black chamber. They found the coffin. They dragged it from its crypt and placed it on the cold stone floor. They unclamped the lid and opened it. Mark! It's empty. That's impossible. It can't be, but it is Mark. You know what this means? That body wasn't in this coffin when it was placed here. I'll swear it was, Ted. From the time that coffin was closed on Uncle Miles, somebody, the undertaker or Lucy or me, somebody was with it until it was buried. And the crypt was sealed right after. Then somebody beat us to it. Somebody's broken in here ahead of us. Broken in? Listen, Ted, Lucy and I have hardly left the house since the funeral. Do you think anybody could break in here, smash through that stone and cement without our seeing them or without our hearing them? Well... Well? Well, you might as well come on out then. Who is that? Me, Mr. DePauw. Up here. My name's Captain Brennan. I'm from the office of the Commissioner of Police. I'd like to talk to you if you don't mind, Mr. DePauw. Here, follow my flashlight up. But I don't understand. How did you... How did you know about this? By listening mainly. Do you mind if we go up to your house, Mr. DePauw? Why, no. Not at all. Oh, thank you. Oh, Freddie. Look here, Captain. Freddie, this is Mr. DePauw, Lieutenant Gray. Glad to know you, Mr. DePauw. And Mr. Ted Stevens, isn't it? Well, how did you... How did you know my name? Very simple. I got the names of everybody who was here at the day the old man died. You and your wife were included. Oh, here we are. But I don't... Captain, who gave you those names? Why, your housekeeper, of course. Mrs. Henderson. You didn't think Mrs. Henderson saw the dead cat, did you, Mr. DePauw? But she did. She also saw you bury it. And we've been interested in the case ever since. Well, nice place you have here, Mr. DePauw. Now, let's see. According to Mrs. Henderson, your wife was wearing some kind of a masquerade costume that night. What kind of a thing was it? Well, it was a... There, you can see it. It was copied from the dress in that old painting over there. Oh, yes. Funny. Where's the woman's face? It's always been that way, long as I can remember. Somebody must have thrown acid on it or something. Can't blame them much. She was a poisoner. A poisoner? Yes. The story goes that one of my ancestors was responsible for her execution. Marie Dobre, her name was. Oh, yes. I've read about her. Learned all her poison tricks from one of her lovers, guy by the name of Gordance Accra. Gordance Accra? Oh, yes, Mr. Stevens. We cops read now and then. Did you say Gordance Accra? That's French. We call it cross. Absolutely no limit to a cop's education, is there? But to get back to your wife, Mr. DePauw, she was dressed like the famous Marie. Now, when Mrs. Henderson looked through that window... Just a minute, Captain. Mrs. Henderson can't prove she saw a thing, and you know it. What do you mean? I mean you haven't any right to insinuate that my wife was in that room. Well, who's insinuating? I'm trying to say that Mrs. Henderson, after thinking it over, realized that she was tricked by the costume. The woman she saw in the funny clothes handing the cup of poison to your uncle wasn't your wife at all. What? Because your wife is an unusually tall young woman. And the one Mrs. Henderson saw was fully half a head shorter. More on the order, let's say, of Mr. Stevens' wife. My wife? Captain, this is absolutely ridiculous. Well, I don't know. Why, what's the matter, Mr. Stevens? You're trembling like a leaf. Tell me now, just for fun, where was Mrs. Stevens that night? She was home with me. The whole evening? Certainly. She retired early? Yes, we both did. You, I suppose, were sound asleep by midnight. Yes, I was. Then how do you know where your wife was? Look, Mr. Stevens, she had to have a costume that would match Mrs. DePauw's. How did she manage that? Where did she get it? Well, she never had one. She never had a dress like that. And what about her motive? Why did she poison him? I don't know. Then for money, certainly. Then what was it, hate? Did she hate Miles DePauw? Yes, yes, she did. No! Oh, I don't know. I don't know, I tell you. Brown? Yes, Freddy? I phoned and got hold of Mrs. DePauw and the nurse, all right. That Mrs. Stevens, I couldn't reach her. A phone won't answer. OK, hello, Victor. I'm going home. Stevens, come back here. I'm going to get my wife. I'll be a stop in front of her. Ah, let her go. Marie! Marie, where are you? It's Ted! Marie, what have you done? Maria! Oh. Oh, good evening. Ah, who are you? I? My name is Cross. Go down, Cross. Cross? Where's my wife? What have you done to her? You fiend, what have you done to my wife? Why, nothing at all, young man. Here, here, here, sit down. You're lying! Something's happened to her. The police just phoned. There wasn't an answer. Why are you here? Why am I here? Well, because your wife, reading my chapter on the dubrés, realized I knew more about the family than even she did, because she found my phone number on the front cover of the manuscript, and because I know an exceptional case when I hear one. Does that answer your question? No, and you know it doesn't. Can't you see I've got to... I've got to know whether... Yeah, I see. Whether your wife is that Marie dubré, who was burnt, burnt by order of the High Tribunal for all poison cases, the burning court of France, witchcraft, black magic, the world across the threshold. You're quite sure, no doubt, also, that I'm Gordain Sancroix, who first wooed her. No, no, my boy. No, my real name happens to be, of all things, Tom Simpson. Most unsuitable for a distinguished writing career, Anne Marie dubré is no more your wife's real name than mine is Gordain Cross. What? Your esteemed wife was an adopted child, Mr. Stevens, adopted by people in Canada named dubré, remote members of the real family of poisoners. I can't believe it. Why... why didn't she tell me? Why? Because until I told her half an hour ago, she didn't know it herself. You see, in the course of my research on the family, I found out about it. And in the course of talking with your wife, I found out something else. How, for years, she was haunted by the fear that she might be a poisoner by inheritance, by blood. And you can see, can't you, why she never talked about it? Her past to you? Yes, yes. And yet, Mr. Stevens, you had all but made her forget that past, you. And that's why she was willing to lie, to steal a picture, do anything, in order to hold you to her. Yes, yes, I see that now. You know, young man, I... I rather think she loves you. But as you will see, though, I... she comes only when I call her. Mrs. Stevens? You mean she's... Yes, Mr. Claus. Marie, it's you. You're all right? Oh, yes, dear, we're both all right now, and nothing can change it ever. Marie, listen. Don't say Marie, dear. Say Maggie. Maggie? Oh, that's my name, my real name. Maggie McTavish. And it's a lovely name, dear. The most beautiful, gorgeous... Darling, darling, please. You don't understand. The police, they think you had something to do with Miles' death. They think I did? So, now, Mr. Stevens, before we go back to the depots, don't you think you'd better tell me everything that's been said and done up to date? Having just saved your wife's soul from the burning court, now I'll rest her body from the electric chair. Ah, yes, Mr. Departure, truly excellent sherry. Don't you think so, Miss Corbett? Yes, yes, it's very nice. Well, that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I happened to be here. So, let us consider first that supernatural hocus pocus in the crypt, that body that walked out of the sealed tomb, that body that never was in the tomb. Never was in the tomb? No, Mr. Departure, the murderer knew that very soon Mrs. Henderson's story would bring about an investigation. He had to get rid of the well-known Corpus Delecti. Yes, but who could have kept the body out of the tomb? Who, Mr. Departure? Why, you, sir. What? I don't understand. Well, it's very simple. You had the opportunity. I believe you said yourself you were alone with the body before the burial, and you had the strength, I dare say, you carried it down to the furnace, where it's now probably nothing but ashes. Ridiculous. Why would he spend an hour smashing into a crypt for a body he knew wasn't there? Why, Captain? To impress Mr. Stevens, his witness, and also apparently you. Oh, that's perfectly fantastic. Fantastic? Oh, no, Lucy, just comic. And I suppose, Mr. Cross, that I also put on a woman's masquerade costume, went into my uncle's room and handed him a nice cup of arsenic. No, no, no, that had to be done by a woman. Your accomplice, as matter of fact. Oh, now come, come, come, you mustn't all look at Mrs. Depard because Mark Depard's one noble act was his frantic effort to prevent his wife from being charged with the crime, a crime which he and Nurse Myra Corbett committed. Myra Corbett. Why, you... Yes, sir, yes, Mr. Stevens, this quiet little lady beside me. Why would I do such a thing? Money, Miss Corbett, a cutout of Mark Depard's inheritance, payments for services rendered. That's an absolute lie, Cross. You see, ladies and gentlemen, Captain Brennan never bothered to check Miss Corbett's whereabouts on the night of the murder. Why even think of the nurse? She was the custodian of the old man's health. Oh, you're crazy, you're crazy, Captain. And yet who but a nurse could so naturally offer the old man a cup, a cup he was sure contained medicine. You're making it up, the whole thing, you're just making it up. And who but Miss Corbett living right here in this house would know what kind of masquerade dress she must copy, would know when Mrs. Henderson would pass the window that night, pass and see her and accept her. She hoped for Lucy Depard. No, that's not true. Oh, yes, Miss Corbett, yes, Miss Corbett, that dress was the touch that wrecked you. That was your own idea, wasn't it, not Mark's. You weren't content with a mere murderer's share of the profits. You wanted a wife's share, half of the whole estate. You wanted Lucy Depard convicted and out of the way for good. Well, I give you a toast, Miss Corbett, with Mr. Depard's excellent sherry. To a particularly ruthless poisoner. And yet, you know, on the whole, I'm rather partial to female poisoners. Why, only tonight I... Here, let me get some water. Mr. Cook, what's the matter, Brennan? This man's dead. And from cyanide, if I know anything, cyanide from that glass of sherry. Cyanide that a nurse could get quite easily. That glass was right beside you, Miss Corbett, and nobody else was near it. Too bad he didn't drink it as soon as you hoped. A second ago, we had nobody to use against you. But we have now, Miss Corbett, we have now. And I arrest you for the murder of Godanne Cross. How close to five months ago that the prominent author was murdered. And tonight, Myra Corbett pays with her life for that crime. The former nurse, at first protesting her innocence... Oh, dear. Yes, I'm in here, dear. Oh, I thought you might... What did you cut it off for? What do you mean? The radio. Oh, oh, yeah, well, I thought you wanted to talk. Poor Ted, don't you think I know you better than that? What was on the radio? Well, there wasn't any... Okay, it was about Myra Corbett. She goes to the chair tonight. I didn't think you wanted to be reminded. I don't, really. But making such an effort to hide it only keeps it alive, doesn't it? All right, darling. Know what I came in to ask? If you wanted a cocktail before dinner. The largest one you've got. Fine, I'll get off the ice cube. I know. If I'll fix up the fire. Okay, Marie, a deal. Where are some papers to start in? Right there by the bookcase. And the name's not Marie, it's Maggie. Because, darling, Marie is dead and gone forever. Oh, no, Marie, we're never dead. Neither of us. It was your hand that touched that glass. I know that now. And I could return the favor. But instead, I shall ask that you dispatch your husband. This one, like all the others, now. Just a little bit of poison in the drink. Marie, any kind of a drink. What kind, Ted? Hmm? What kind of a cocktail shall we have? Oh, any kind, darling. Any kind at all. You've just heard the burning court from John Dixon Carr's famous novel, the first in Columbia's new series of outstanding classics and chills by world-famous authors. Tonight's play, ladies and gentlemen, has one rather special significance we think you'd like to know about. As you perhaps have heard, every fine comedian is said to cherish a secret desire to do an abrupt about face. He pines for the part of a blackguard. Well, tonight you witnessed the fulfillment of one such desire. The role of that literary and quite infamous diehard Gordon Cross was portrayed by none other than Hollywood's expert provoker of laughs, Charlie Ruggles, here in New York for the world premiere of his latest screen success, Friendly Enemies. The role of Marie, well, that was enacted by a young lady who long ago won national acclaim as one of Broadway's most accomplished dramatic actresses, Miss Julie Hayden. Thank you, Charlie Ruggles and Miss Julie Hayden, for your splendid performances. The play tonight has all plays in this series, whilst produced and directed by Charles Vande, written by Harold Metford and scored by Bernard Herrmann. Next week we bring you an intensely exciting and moving drama, The Life of Nellie James. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.
