Suspense. This is the Man in Black, here again to introduce Columbia's program, Suspense. Heading our starring Hollywood cast tonight is Mr. Laird Kriegar, who will be seen shortly in the 20th Century Fox production of one of the great suspense stories of all time, The Lodger. Tonight, Mr. Kriegar appears as a cynical gentleman who made an unusual bet with death. With Mr. Kriegar is a cast of the screen's most distinguished and characteristic players, Miss Helen Vinson, Mr. Walter Kingsford, Mr. George Koloris, Mr. Harold Huber, and Mr. Ian Wolfe, here to bring us the suspense play called The Last Letter of Dr. Bronson. And so with the performance of Laird Kriegar as he writes for us this last letter of Dr. Bronson, and with the performances of In the Order of their Appearance, Walter Kingsford, Ian Wolfe, Harold Huber, Helen Vinson, and George Koloris, we again hope to keep you in. Suspense. My dear Dr. Mosher, forgive me if I dash this letter off rather hurriedly. There are but a very few minutes remaining for me. The few minutes between now and midnight. You have always protested my fascination with the subject of death. It irked you to hear me discuss the latest electrocution or hanging. I remember your sarcasm the day you found me staring down from the top of the Empire State Building, speculating on the thoughts of a man about to leap from that pinnacle. You alone, Mosher, know how this fascination led to my latest experiment. I should say, my last experiment. I promised you a complete account of it all. Here is that account. First of all, let me recall a conversation which we held here in my study a little over a year ago. There you go again, Bronson. Death and murder. Really, you're unhealthy. Please answer my question, Mosher. Why do men behave as they do? What keeps them from breaking loose? Why don't they kill one another as animals do? Why, because they aren't animals. But my dear Mosher, being neither vegetable nor mineral, they must be animals. What I mean is... That you do not know the answer. I do. So? I have been studying the question for some time, and I've concluded that there are five basic checks which serve to restrain man from murdering his fellow man. Oh, really, Bronson? The obvious corollary is that murder occurs only when some stronger drive overrides these five basic checks. You make it sound very simple. It is simple. And what are these five basic checks? Well, I'm not prepared to reveal the outcome of my studies yet. I must put my theory to the test. That would seem to be a difficult undertaking. Difficult, yes, but intriguing. I take it you're about to embark upon another of your experiments. Correct. Bronson, why must you keep on? These studies invariably bring you some physical or, what is more dangerous, some nervous disaster. And in turn, your handsome bill for putting me in shape to conduct the next. Sooner or later, you will experiment yourself into a position beyond my power to aid you. Let it be later, then. Meanwhile, I shall continue to pursue my sole interest in life. And how do you propose to conduct this, this restraint from murder experiment? Well, a murder is composed of four elements. The murderer, the motive, the opportunity, and the victim. My first step will be to select five men, each of whom will be restrained from murder by the particular check that I'm testing on him. That's no easy task. By no means. It will require an extensive search. But having found my men, I must then supply each with a motive. Greed, revenge, jealousy. I see. And your next step must be to give each man an opportunity. Precisely. An opportunity which precludes all checks but the one being tested. Well, not knowing what your checks are, I can't help you there. Well, that'll be relatively simple. And finally, I must supply an intended victim. You'll ask this victim to face five men, each standing to profit handsomely by murdering him? Correct. His only chance of survival being the correctness of your theory of checks in all five instances. Yes. And do you imagine you will discover a man with such utter confidence in your reckoning? There is one such man. Who? Myself. Bronson, this is folly. No, Mosher. I never hesitate to risk high stakes on a sure thing, not even my life. Now look here, Bronson. You're a doctor yourself. You told me to speak to you like a Dutch uncle. Now, as your physician, my advice... I haven't consulted my physician. But you will take precautions, provide yourself for emergencies. I tell you there's no danger. Oh, well, well, well. Well, when will you begin your experiment? Well, I suppose in about... Well, why wait? Why don't we begin right now? Mosher, I invite you to kill me. What? There's a revolver right here in my desk, and I want you to take this revolver. Oh, you're joking, Bronson. What possible motive could I have for murdering you? Motive? Why, we're known to be associated rather closely in our work. You'll come naturally into my entire practice. I'll put that in writing. Why, it's... it's... it's preposterous. Posterous? Why won't you kill me then, Mosher? Why, there are... there are dozens of reasons. In the first place, I'd go to Electric Chair for it. Thank you, Dr. Mosher. You've given me an admirable illustration of the first and most obvious of the five checks in my theory. Man refrains from murdering his fellow being because he himself will be killed by law. Remember, Mosher? Remember how it began? That was more than a year ago. Yes, I've spent more than a year in selecting my other four subjects because the checks I wanted them to prove were not so simple. In selecting my people, it was necessary that I cultivate the friendship of each so that when the time should come to confront him with my proposition, I should be certain of how he would act. The first of my four potential murders was a clerk named Totten. Totten was badly in debt, his wife in the hospital about to undergo an expensive operation, and he was a deeply religious man. We went to church together on Sunday evenings at St. Luke's right around the corner from my apartment. One Sunday evening after the service, I asked him to come to my apartment and we talked as we walked along. You know, Dr. Bronson, I was talking about you to my wife the other day before they took her to the hospital. I was saying what a great comfort it was to be with you these Sunday nights. Now come, Mr. Totten, you embarrass me. No, I mean it. In the world today, too many people seem to feel that they no longer need their God. Yes, but their lives are void of the great thing you have in your faith. The church is a great comfort to me, and I do need something to cling to in times like these. Mr. Totten, you could make rather good use of $5,000, couldn't you? It isn't like you to make fun of my poverty. No, I'm quite sincere. You know what even a hundred dollars would mean to me in the present more than ever. Yes, with your wife's misfortune. Oh, isn't this your apartment we're passing? I want to go in the sidewalk. We should be unobserved. You'll understand presently. Please come into my study. Here we are. And now if you'll take this chair opposite my desk. Thank you. Mr. Totten, you said that even a hundred dollars would be a great help to you. Here in my desk, I have this package containing $5,000. Well, what could I do for you that would be worth all that money? Let me explain. My doctor called on me yesterday and he told me, well, to be quite frank with you, Mr. Totten, he said that I was slowly going mad. Oh, no, that couldn't be. I'm quite all right at present, but it's only a matter of time and I'd rather not have to face it. I believe you can understand that. But there must be something you can do knowing in advance. There is. And I want you to help me. I don't understand. Put on these gloves. Take them. But why? As soon as you have them on, I shall hand you this paper knife. Notice how very sharp it is. I grip it firmly, thus, and clearly impress my fingerprints on the handle. Finally, here on the desk, I am leaving this note explaining that I have committed suicide. Suicide? When the knife is in your hand, I want you to drive it into my heart. Then you may leave by the same way we came in. You'll be quite unnoticed. And with the $5,000 in your pocket. You can't mean this. But I do. You see, I don't have the nerve to. Well, I can't quite make the final move myself. You would greatly oblige me. And with the $5,000, you will be able to give your wife the treatment she needs. What do you say? You can't die yet. You're not ready. Would you have me wait until I've gone mad? You can't take the matter of life and death into your own hands. I am not asking you to pass judgment upon my actions. Whether I wish to live or die is my own concern and my mind is resolved. Is that clear? I'm sorry for you. I'm merely asking you to do something for which I will pay you very well. You will, of course, be killing me. But if you could realize what life would be like for me, otherwise... I'm very sorry, but I can't oblige you. If it's the law, you fear? No, it's not that. You seem to have arranged that perfectly. Then what is it? I'm an honest Christian and I thought you were Dr. Bronson. If you don't understand why I can't do this monster thing, I suggest you look up the Sixth Commandment. Good night. So Moshe, my second point was proved. Man refrains from killing because it is against his religious principles. The hands of the clock now read fifteen minutes to midnight, one quarter of an hour in which to complete this report. My third proposition called for an entirely different sort of man, in fact the very reverse of Tartan, a man who believed neither in heaven nor hell and also a man of little intelligence. It required careful search. For a number of nights I frequented the rougher districts of the city. At first I had no luck. Then one night I came upon my man very unexpectedly. I was walking along one of the darker streets. There was no one in view. He was slumped down beside an ash can. He'd been shot in the chest and left down severing an artery. He was bleeding profusely. I tore off his shirt and made a tourniquet for his arm. Oddly no one came into the alley to investigate. Never mind me. Get away. Was this a gang shooting? What do you think? I think you're going to the hospital. No, I'll blab to the cops. Come on, I'll help you to your feet. I ain't going. You'll die a man if you're not treated quickly. I ain't going. I tell you, no cops gonna, no cops, they ain't gonna, gonna. His name was Matt Doyle. I visited Doyle in the hospital almost every day. Several months later I decided to put him to the test. I found Doyle in one of his hangouts and brought him to my apartment. I find it very pleasant. Have a cigarette? Thanks. Doyle, how many men have you killed? That's all right, Doyle, I understand. Now suppose we get down to business. Yeah, I've been wondering what you want me for. I want you to do something for me and I'm going to give you $5,000 to do it. Will you do what I ask you? For five grand? Spell it. I want you to put on these gloves so there won't be any fingerprints. Then I'm going to hand you this knife and you're going to kill me with it. Huh? I've arranged everything so it will appear to be suicide. You nuts? Not yet, but I will be before very long. That's why I want to die. All you have to do is stab me and slip out with this $5,000. Is this on the level? Absolutely. This water dough is mine if I kill you? That's right. And nobody will know I've done it? No one. These gloves is kind of big for me. That's all right, they'll do. Yeah. Yeah. Want me to put on the other one? It's safer. Yeah, I guess it is. Gee. What is it? I was just thinking five grand. Ah, the boss is going to pay me more next. I mean, I never got... I'll skip it. I want you to understand exactly what you're doing, Doyle. Without any justifiable cause, merely for the sake of money, you are going to murder me. You understand that? Yeah. You've been hired to do this before? Yeah. I suppose I don't know who to talk about it and how the joke... But you've never killed a friend, have you? Yeah, I have. Anyway, there was my pals till they got in the boss's way, but when the boss says slip it to a mat, then it was just another job to me. But there's a little difference in this case, Doyle. I saved your life. Yeah. I don't know. What? I don't know. Nope, I can't do it. But I thought you said that you... Yeah, take these gloves. A trade of the law. No. What's the matter then? Is it because I'm your friend? That's more than that. I can't bump you off, even if you want it. It would be an act of true friendship. I ain't so sure. When a cat has fits, you put it out of its misery, don't you? That's what I want. Oblivion. Sorry, Doc, I ain't the guy. It's like you said. You saved my life, so that's that. I'm sorry. I wish you could help me. Me too, but not that. Now, if you got some other punk you want to care of... There's no one. Thanks, just the same. Oh, don't mention it. There was my third proposition. Man will not kill fellow man if a sufficient degree of gratitude has been invoked. Even a professional killer and one of the lowest examples of human life, such as Doyle, could not bring himself to murder his benefactor. My next subject was altogether different in temperament. With Judith Ainsley, I used a special technique. I first encountered Judith Ainsley when I operated on Barrett Sheffield, the actor. You will recall that Sheffield was brought to the hospital with a lung abscess. As I prepared to do the rib resection, I noticed that the nurse standing beside me was greatly agitated. Thank you. Do you think this is advisable? What? This is more pronounced. Miss Ainsley, another hemostat, please. Do you think you really should sign on it? Miss Ainsley. I'm sorry, Doctor. What if you... Doctor, Doctor. Quickly, quickly, caffeine. Quickly. Stethoscope. Here it is. That's that. Yes, that's that. Miss Ainsley, what's the matter with you? You've been acting strangely all through this operation. You killed him. You killed him. You shouldn't have gone ahead. You know that. I warned you. I shall see to it, Miss Ainsley, that you are never assigned to one of my cases again. What's the matter with you anyway? Have you never seen a pulmonary before? Or does it upset you to see a handsome actor like Barrett Sheffield die? Yes, he did. Oh? Yes. We were going to be married next week. If I ever saw hate, cold, undying hate, it was in that girl's eyes as she turned and left the operating room that day. I had made the most implacable enemy of my life. As I come to my third check, dear Mosher, it suddenly occurred to me that Judith Ainsley was the perfect subject. One day at the hospital, I inquired about Miss Ainsley and learned that she had done four years of medical and was now interning at Cedars of Lebanon in hope of picking up a resident fellowship. I went down to the hospital and sat in the doctor's lounge waiting for her. Presently, she came in with another intern. I stood up. She turned and looked at me. I saw again in her eyes that inexorable hate. She had never forgiven me for what she felt was my negligence in the death of the man she loved. I walked toward her. Excuse me, please. I see you remember me, Miss Ainsley. Yes. Will you excuse me, please? Miss Ainsley, you may not believe this, but I've come here especially to talk to you today. To talk to me, Dr. Branson? Yes. Come along with me, please. In this treatment room, please. We can talk privately. Dr. Branson, I don't think there could be anything you and I can say to each other. Well now, Miss Ainsley, that all depends. That all depends. Sit down, Mosher. Miss Ainsley... Dr. Ainsley, if you please. Oh, yes, of course. Doctor, I have a little proposition to make to you. First of all, there are two facts I'd like to be sure of. A, you are unable to set up your own practice because you don't have the money to get started. Is that right? I don't see what business that is of yours. That happens to be true. Fine. Fact B, you still hate me and feel a strong desire to be revenged for the wrong which you consider I have done you. Yes, I'm afraid that's true, Dr. Branson. Good. Good? Yes. You see, I want to pay someone to murder me, and I think you'd enjoy it more than anyone, and you need the money, too. Dr. Branson, I'm very busy. There's a patient in 302. Will you... Wait a moment, Dr. Ainsley. I'm perfectly serious. Absolutely serious. You want to die? Yes. You see, I'm going mad. I can't face it. I wish to end my life immediately. You're smiling. Good. You're interested, then. You going mental, Dr. Parisus? Yes. Hopeless. I've been to five or six men about it. Are you far gone? Hallucinations? Delusions of grandeur? Yes, advanced ages. Agony. There must be quite a temptation to get it over with. I wonder what I would do if it happened to me. I want you to understand, Doctor, that I'm not asking you to perform a crude murder. This would look like a simple error, unavoidable. There would not be the slightest aspect of homicidal intent. Really? That's most interesting, Doctor. Go on. My heart. I've had considerable damage. Coronary occlusion. Had to spend some six weeks on my back. Just got up last week. Naturally, I was given digitalis. I see, Doctor. You've been heavily digitalised, and if someone were to give you an injection of calcium gluconate, you would have an immediate heart block dead within a few minutes. Exactly. I must compliment you, Dr. Ainsley. You've learned a great deal. What a pity you can't have your own practice. And that, of course, reminds me. Ah, another inducement. Of course. I plan to pay you the sum of $5,000 for your professional services in this matter. And I think unless times have changed greatly since I've been in practice myself, you ought to be able to set up handsomely with that. My own practice. You'd better be careful, Doctor. You may tempt me a little bit too far. I thought you'd find it an attractive proposition. It would be only an error. I will say that I'm feeling badly again, a recurrence of my pericardial pains. I'll go back to bed and ask that you be assigned to my case. The rest is simple. No one would ever expect you to know that I had been digitalised. Still, if I were on my toes, I would naturally go over your case history before giving medication of any kind. Well, yes, I suppose that's true. Professional people might think you had been a little lax, might not have the highest regard for a new doctor who launched her career with such an unprofessional incident. Just a slight stain on your reputation for just a short while. You're very clever, Doctor. You knew that would do it, didn't you? I want to thank you. You've done me a great service. You mean you'll do it? You've reminded me that nothing, no money, revenge, nothing can be worth the slightest suspicion in a doctor's career. I've worked too hard. I've waited too long for my practice. When I get it, it won't be soiled by any single act of carelessness. They'll never say that I lost any patient because of an error in judgment. You see, I once knew a doctor who did. There, Moshe, is my fourth check. Man, or in this case, woman, refrains from killing because of the fear of loss of reputation. Now I come to the testing of my fifth subject, a man who would not murder because he couldn't bear the sight of blood, much less the responsibility for shedding it. La Derne was my man, and I found him shortly after my search began. On that day, I saw him turn a ghastly white as a fast-moving car almost ran over a small dog which ran into the street. It wasn't a particularly frightening sight, but La Derne clutched at his throat and fell in a dead fate. I, of course, made it my business to become acquainted with him. I hadn't seen him for more than four months until tonight. He's changed, I noticed, as he took his place at my desk. He's thinner. His dark eyes seem blacker than ever. La Derne, I want you to do me a favor. It's a little peculiar, but I'm perfectly sincere about it. Well, circumstances require that my life be ended, but I can't quite reach the point to kill myself. I've arranged everything necessary to give the appearance of suicide. Here is the farewell note which I have written. I see. And here is the knife with which, apparently, I shall have killed myself. Notice I am carefully putting my fingerprints on it. Yes. Here are the gloves for you to wear. And here is $5,000 for you if you will drive this knife into my heart. What do you say? You've arranged everything? Everything. No one knows I'm here? No one. And you want me to kill you? I... Yes. Of course, it will be a bit messy. When a person is stabbed, his blood usually splurts out. But if you keep to one side, I don't think much will get on you. Why do you want to die? My doctor says that I'm going insane and that I haven't got much longer. That's strange. About going mad? About him saying that you're going mad. Oh, yes. It was a shock. No, I don't mean that. What do you mean? That's the same thing they told me. Oh, that's strange. They what? They told me over a year ago that I was going mad. I only laughed at them. Over a year? Well, do you... have you noticed any change? Not much. At least no change for the worse. That's good. In fact, I'm really much better. I've been having fewer and fewer of those sick spells. You remember how I was the day that dog was almost run over? You've gotten over those sick spells? I haven't had one in three months. Then there isn't any check. Check? What check? Nothing. Oh. Well, this is going to be a pretty messy business. We might as well get it over with. Nice gloves you've got here. Nice and smooth on my hand. Then you're going through with it? Yes. Can't let you down. Oh, never mind the knife. I've got my gun right here. Look. 38. Beauty, isn't it? Yes. Then if you'll give me back the knife... No, no, no. I'll keep it for you. Yeah, I've used this gun a lot in the past three months. I've bumped off about 50 dogs. You've done what? It's very interesting. I do it after midnight. It's fun watching the dogs. You have to know just where to hit them. It kills them instantly. But the noise in here, aren't you afraid that somebody will hear? Silence? No. I don't like to wake people up when I kill their mutts. But they'll find the bullet. They'll trace to your gun. They're sure to get you. In a suicide, the weapon stays right beside the body where it falls. Suicide? Who says this is suicide? It's murder. I'm going to murder you. That's what you asked me to do. Look here, Le Dern. This has gone far enough. I was only joking. I don't want you to kill me. 5,000, eh? All here. Listen to me. I was only joking. You ready? Le Dern. Shall I shoot now? No, wait. You want it through the heart or brain? Can't you wait just a little while? Wait? What for? Well, I've been conducting a little experiment. I'd like to write an account of it before I go. Oh, what sort of an experiment? I don't think you'd understand. Oh, okay. I'll wait till midnight. Then I've got to go. There's a German police dog I've been wanting to get. Big, ugly, brute. It'll be fun. Yes. I'll wait. Thank you. The clock says 10 minutes past 11. Yes. You've got 50 minutes. I'll wait by the window. So Mosher, my experiment has ended. As you predicted, I have finally placed myself in a position beyond your power to aid. Strange, isn't it? But the one thing I didn't count on was the choosing of a subject who would not respond to my checks, who in fact had no checks at all, for insanity knows no restraint. Oh, yes, Le Dern, I'm hurrying. He is still at the window and he is sure to shoot me. There is nothing I can do to say or stop him. I know that. I'm beginning to understand exactly what is going on in his twisted mind. I wonder why. Now I shall sign my name for the last time and lay down my pen. Then I shall look up and say, all right, Le Dern. All right, Le Dern. And so closes the last letter of Dr. Bronson, tonight's tale of suspense. In our Hollywood cast tonight, Laird Gregar played Dr. Bronson, Walter Kingsford played Dr. Mosher, Ian Wolfe was Mr. Totten, Harold Huber played Doyle, Helen Vinson was Nurse Ainsley, and George Colores played Le Dern. This is your narrator, the man in black, who conveys to you Columbia's invitation to spend this half hour in suspense with us again next week when Robert Young will star in an adaptation of a story by James Thurber called A Friend to Alexander. The producer of these broadcasts is William Spear, who with Robert Louis Cheon, guest director, Richard Paulette, craic author, Lud Gluskin and Lucien Marowick, conductor and composer, collaborated on tonight's suspense. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.
