Roman wines present, Suspense. Roman wines, made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. Salute. To your health, Senor. Roman wines toast the world. The wine for your table is Roman wine, made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. The Roman Wine Company of Fresno, California welcomes you again to this weekly half hour of Suspense. Tonight from Hollywood, Roman wines bring you a star, Mr. Herbert Marshall. Mr. Marshall is with us to play in Nicholas Blake's powerful story of vengeance and retribution, The Beast Must Die. But before we raise the curtain on tonight's tale of Suspense, here is a message from Roman wines. In Havana, Cuba, one gathering place of fashionable people is the charming Pan American Club. A dinner party is in progress and the Cuban host has risen to compliment, return a compliment which has just been paid him by a guest from the United States. Lifting his glass he says, thank you my friend. 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Ask for ROMA, Roma wines made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. And now with the beast must die and with the performance of Herbert Marshall as Felix Lane who wrote a diary of death. We again hope to keep you in suspense. I am going to kill a man. I don't know his name. I don't know where he lives. I have no idea what he looks like. But I am going to find him and kill him. Well Mr. Lane. I wrote those words if that's what you're asking Inspector. And I meant them. Apparently you did. Who would ever possess you to write such a document? Vanity for one thing I suppose. The record for posterity of the perfect crime. As you know I'm a writer by profession. I think more clearly on paper. By keeping this diary I was able to plan my murder step by step. Details, little things that happened in the course of a day which might so easily have been forgotten or overlooked were written down in this diary where I could refer back to them and make use of them if need be. But you found out that a real life murder could not be carried out so easily as the murders you wrote about in your detective novels eh Mr. Lane? I wouldn't go so far as to say that Inspector. In fact except for the ending I think this diary is quite the best murder story I've ever written. Yeah and quite the most incriminating document I've ever known a prospective murderer to leave lying around. Incriminating? In a way I suppose. In another way this diary might turn out to be my best defense. How do you figure that Mr. Lane? Oh supposing I read some part of it aloud to you and let you decide for yourself. Very well Mr. Lane. Far away. That was my first entry. June 18th. Yes I'm going to kill a man. It takes great singleness of purpose to commit a murder. But if ever for a moment I stray from that purpose I've only to think of Ronnie. Ronnie was my son. One evening two weeks ago he was crossing the road outside our house. He had gone into the village to buy some candy. For him it could have been only a paralyzing blaze of headlights around the corner. A moment's nightmare. And then the impact turning everything to darkness forever. His body was hurled into the ditch. He was dead at once. The motorist who killed Ronnie did not stop. The police have failed to trace him. They say he must have been going 50 around that blind corner for the child's body to have been thrown and injured as it was. The man who drove that car. He is the man I have got to find and kill. June 25th. I found my first clue today. My mind was on Ronnie. I was driving toward a neighboring town. The hills around were green. The boxwood hedges still damp from last night's rain. Translucent like giant chunks of emerald. Suddenly the front wheels of my car hit into a great puddle. A sheet of water splashed up over the front of the windshield and drenched me from the side. I pulled up at the far side of the water splash. I got out cursing myself for my preoccupation and began mopping away at the windshield. A man leaning over a farm gate addressed me. Whoa. Looks like you got a proper shower bath, mister. Yes. They've petrified the county for months to repair that hole. People always driving into it splash themselves all over. Ponticing of all though was about a fortnight ago when a chap tried to use it to get a free car wash. Oh really? Yeah. It was my wife's birthday to be exact. About eight o'clock we was on our way to Chelanum to see the picture show. Just coming out of the gate this chap driving one of those loose long sports jobs hits the water splash. You don't say. Oh. And then the fellow says something to the girl he's driving with. What do you suppose they do? They back up and run through the splash again. And then again. They did it four times. Eight o'clock. Your wife's birthday wouldn't be June 3rd would it? Oh right, yeah. But how'd you know? Well you see a friend of mine was celebrating that night. He was driving toward, toward. Severnbury. That's where this fellow and his lady friend were going. I remember his lady friend says George ask the man whether he had turned to the right or the left at the next fort. George. George. Yes that's right. George's name. And um Severnbridge. Yes. Yes. The way he drives ought to have brought him here by just around eight o'clock. He, he didn't have a crumpled right front fender did he? Oh that he did. And that bloke was your friend. He sure is a proper nut. Well peculiar at least. Yes. Yes he is peculiar. Driving through that water splash all over again and again. Four times he does it. He wasn't laughing either. Didn't seem like a joke somehow. Looks like he's trying to get a free car wash. Funny way I'd say to get the mud off. Yes. Yes. Maybe it was tar though. Yes. Or blood. July 12th. At Severnbridge. Have talked to any number of the town's people and I've met a number of Georges. But not one of them have owned or driven a low slung sports job. Not like the one I've been looking for anyway. It may be that I have to start all over again. On some other tack. I was returning to the inn this afternoon when I noticed a car parked on the side of the road up ahead. A girl with bright hair was working the rear wheel and a small lad beside her was doing his best to help. I pulled up beside them. It was a long low slung sports job. I say can I help? Well, what do you think Phil? Oh yes sir. Yes if you would lend a hand. I'm afraid we're not quite heavy enough to weight the jack handle down for another tour. Now here fellow let me have a go at it. I say the paint doesn't seem quite to match on the right front fender. The fender? Well dad had a new fender put on a while back. It got bunged up or something. I can't tell you how awful nice it is of you to help us out. Not at all. By the way I wonder if you and Phil here wouldn't stop for tea with me at the inn afterwards. Not far you know. We're expected at home sir. Perhaps you could come along with us. What do you do sir? Why I'm a writer Phil. Oh you really must come to see us. It's Gables on Devon Road. My brother-in-law's place. The name's Rattery. We'll give you a ring tomorrow and set a date. My sister will love meeting a real author and so will George. Did you say your brother-in-law's name is George? July 16th. I've met him. I've spent an evening talking to him. George Rattery. So you're a friend of Lena's eh? Storybook detective. A writer. Easy enough to write about a dead body. But I'd like to see an author that guts enough to look at one. I had been more than a little afraid that George might turn out to be a sympathetic character. That need not concern me any longer. I shall have no compunction at all about putting his light out. It appears that George is the half owner of a garage down in town. A man by the name of Carfax is the other partner. A garage. That would explain how the damaged fender got itself fixed without the police knowing. How can a beast like George have a fine young son like Phil? This afternoon I was rounding the corner of the tea house in the Rattery's garden when I heard voices. It was Lena and George. I stopped in my tracks and eavesdropped shamelessly. Sir neat rig you are wearing today Lena. Is that for Felix Lane's benefit? Give your compliments for that Carfax woman. Jealous. Don't make me laugh. But some day you're going to find out that business partner of yours isn't as mild as he looks. I wonder what he'd say if he knew that his wife was. Shut up will you. And since when did you get so high and mighty? It wasn't so long ago that you yourself weren't glad enough to. If you ever open your mouth about any of that I swear I'll kill you. Talking big now aren't we Miss Snow White? Just try something and you'll find out. Remember there are quite a few people who might like to know about that poor kid you ran down last June. If it weren't for Violet and Phil I'd. Stop that kind of talk. You hear. Just remember you were with me that night. August 5th. Had a look around the Rattery Carfax garage this afternoon. Told George it might come in useful as material in my book. All at once I heard a shot and there stood George blazing away over the plotting back with a rifle. I went up to him. There. That's another one of the pests out of the way. We've tried everything. Traps. Poisons. Rat hunts. We can't keep them down. That's a nice rifle. Yeah. Gave it to Phil when he came back from school in Switzerland. Much too good for him. Yeah, I'd like to have a go at him. I raised the rifle and sighted. George's back was to me. By shifting a few inches to the right the bullet should enter the base of the brain. Who could prove that George hadn't suddenly stepped in my way? My finger tightened on the trigger. I say George I can't find that new tin of rat poison. Phil spreading some out in the dump yesterday. I wonder where he put it. Oh hello there Lane. Hello Carfax. Hey, watch out where you're pointing that gun. We wouldn't want anything to happen to the senior partner, right? Not very funny. I am now a guest in the house of the man I am going to kill. Violet, Phil's mother, suggested that I come and stay with him for a fortnight and help Phil in odd hours with his Latin. George, much to my surprise, joined in heartily with the idea. I wonder why. I must watch him very closely because of what happened last night. We were having coffee in the drawing room after dinner when the conversation took a most extraordinary turn. They were talking about Violet's new rose bushes. I suppose they'll be very nice but I can't for the life of me see why you went to all that trouble. Well, the old ones weren't doing very well. They were still alive, weren't they mother? Oh yes dear, but I'm not one to keep something going when it's only half alive. Oh, I'm glad you're talking about rose bushes. I should hate to think you felt that way about people. Of course not. But on the other hand, I do think if a person were incurably ill that they ought to, well, that is they ought to have the right to ask their doctor to put them out of their misery. Don't you think so, Felix? Well, I... Oh, speaking of doctors reminds me, George, don't forget your tonic. I said after every meal. Tonic. Pass it here. Yeah. How old stuff. Bitter as gall. Poison. That won't kill you, George. Felix, would you really be in favor of doing away with all unfortunate? Well, I... Well, what about your incurable social pest, the person who makes life miserable for everyone else around him? I think a person would be justified in killing someone like that. I do think you're all getting a little morbid. The kind of a person I describe has no right to life. Of course, that's to say I would if I could do it without running my neck into a noose. Now in my book, I'm working on a very pretty murder. Quite my masterpiece, I think. Well, he's darn close about it. Locked doors, sealed lips and all that. Of course he sees he's writing a thriller, but we've no proof, have we? I think you would show us the man you're scoffing at, don't you, Lena? I can't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I've got a complete, unfinished manuscript of mine. I'm funny that way. Oh, Felix, please, get it and read some of it. Come on, don't be a spoilsport. I'll go and get it myself. Read it out loud. If the blushing author is too coy, by heaven, I'll go upstairs and pitch it now. You'll do nothing of the sort. I've read it. I will not have people snooping about among my manuscripts. That was close. After all, there is no book but this diary. I must keep it well hidden in my room. At last, I have my plan. It took a great deal of subtle taunting and persuasion, but it came off at last. George is going sailing with me this afternoon, and he can't swim. Drowning is very painful, they say, in the early stages. That's good. I'm glad. George's lungs bursting, the top of his head shrieking with pain, his hands scrabbling pain into thrust against the giant weight of the water. But if I cannot kill George today on the open sea with the wind in my favor and myself the undisputed master of the situation, if I fail today, then I will know that it is not my destiny to be a murderer, and I will make no further attempt on the life of George Rattory. And that, Inspector Blount, is the last entry in my diary. But you and George did go sailing, didn't you? Yes, it was after lunch on the same day. We walked down to the docks together. George, as you can imagine, was rather clumsy about a boat, but it was only a few minutes after he clambered aboard that we were out in the main water, sailing free. George had his feet braced against the centerboard case, and his hands gripped the gunnel. A squall was coming up. Hey, that motorboat is getting pretty close, isn't it? Uh-huh. There'll be plenty of room, George. Power vessels have to give way to sailing vessels, you know. Give way? Why do you think about that size is going to give way to a crate like this? Hey there, what are you up to? Look out, I tell you, you can't. What? What if you ran into us? I'll bloody well hang on to your... We're both drowned. What are you doing? What? A bit close, but perfectly safe. Perfectly safe. That barge didn't miss us by a yard. The same thing happened the other day when I was out with Phil. He didn't lose his nerve. Oh, he didn't, eh? By the way, you better not stand up in the boat again. That's one thing that's not safe. Very well, my friend. But I shouldn't try any of those funny tricks you've been planning. Tricks? What tricks? You know what I mean, you filthy snake. I searched your room just before lunch, and I found your diary. Yes, I posted that precious diary of yours after my solicitor just before I came out here. I posted it, mind you, just before we went sailing. So you see, it'll be most unfortunate for you if you let me drown. Well, what's the matter? Must your lying tongue have you? I ought to break your jaw for you. I've a good mind to hand over your diary to the police. Don't be silly. You know perfectly well you won't do anything of the kind. I'm for the very good reason that you don't want the police to haul you in on a charge of manslaughter for killing my son. Well, you can't prove I ran over your son. Aren't you forgetting that Lena was with you that night? The police will get a confession out of her in no time. Why, you... You, if ever I see you again after today, you slugger, I'll bash you into a jelly. Oh, shut up, George. I guess we've both been a little too clever. It looks like a stalemate. I docked the boat and George stormed off the minute we landed. I came straight here to the inn. Yes, I know. Perhaps it's just as well I didn't succeed. Going back to writing detective stories after committing the perfect crime, would be like going back to playing with tin soldiers after winning the Battle of Waterloo. You seem to be awfully sure of your alibi. Well, after all, there's no crime in planning a murder, is there? Providing nobody's hurt? Unfortunately, somebody has been hurt. What do you mean? What are you trying to tell me? George Rattery died yesterday evening of the effects of strychnine poisoning. George dead? Strychnine poisoning? Oh, my planning. All my high on tragic purpose. And the beast ends by taking his own life. Poison. I remember now he used to talk about suicide quite a lot. But I thought he only did it because the subject was so upsetting to his wife. I never dreamed. How did he take it? With his tonic. But it couldn't possibly have been suicide, Mr. Lane. But who? What else could it have been? It could have been murder. Unfortunately, we have no evidence except this diary of yours. What would the bottle lead to the tonic? George Rattery died almost instantly after taking his tonic at dinner. But before the doctor arrived, that bottle disappeared. Well, any suspects? Every person closely associated with George Rattery had enough motive to murder him. But you had the strongest motive. After all, George Rattery did kill your son. Am I under arrest? Not officially as yet. But naturally, I posted a guard outside your room. In the meantime... But, man, you can't go in there. He told him. Officer, let me by. I tell you, I've got to see Inspector Blum. Please, Mother. I say it's no good. Be quiet, Phil. Why couldn't you stay at home? Officer, let me by. I must see. Now, let them come in, Officer. Good afternoon, Mrs. Rattery. Phil. Hello, Phil. Hello, Felix. Please. Please, I can't stand it any longer. They're accusing Felix here of murdering my husband. He had nothing to do with it. Mother said she doesn't know what she's saying. For heaven's sake, Phil, will you be quiet? It was I who killed George. He treated me very badly. He was unspeakable to Phil. There was another woman... I can't go on. Are you trying to tell me, Mrs. Rattery, that you gave your husband poison? Yes. Mother. I tell you, I poisoned him. Where did you get the poison, Mrs. Rattery? Well, I bought it at that chemist shop. What chemist shop? The one on Abbey Lane near the corner of High Towers. That's it. Uh-huh. What became of the bottle of tonic after your husband's death? I broke it. I buried it. I'm sorry, Mrs. Rattery. The police have checked. You didn't buy any poison at the chemist's. Mother, I told you it was no good. Sir, Mother is trying to save me. It was I, sir. I killed him. What? Phil, you don't... Don't believe him. Don't believe him. He's just a foolish child. He doesn't know what he's saying. Go on, Phil. Well, you see, sir, I left the note. I was running away, but Mother found the note before I quite got out the door. A boy gets such strange ideas. He couldn't have done it. He's just a boy. You know he couldn't. You see, sir, when they accused Felix here, I couldn't stand it any longer. That's why I wrote you the note that Mother found it first. She said if she confessed, that they wouldn't do much to her, that the police would understand. Felix makes them believe me. I can prove I did it. Now, go on, Phil. You say you can prove it. What do you mean? I have it here in my pocket, sir. I've had it hit ever since. See, here it is. It's still half full. It's Dad's bottle of tonic. Phil! Phil, where did you get that? I took it off the buffet after the doctor said Dad was dead. This is very serious, Phil. You know that. He's lying. He couldn't have. He's just a little boy. Please, all of you, have a favor to ask. Let me talk to Phil alone for a few minutes. It won't hurt anything. I think I may be able to help solve this whole thing. Phil didn't do it. Well, that's right. Yes, but the bottle... Just give Phil and me ten minutes alone. Very well. We'll wait outside. Ten minutes, mind you, Phil. No more. Come here, Phil. I'm a murderer, Felix. You are not a murderer, Phil. No one could ever tell me that. I left a note. We've gone all over that. I killed him. He beat Mother. I killed him, I told you. Stop that, Phil. I know better. They thought you did it, Felix. I heard them talking about your diary. You wanted to kill him. You said so in your diary. Maybe I did, but... They hang you, Felix. So that's why you wrote the note and pretended you did it. Yes, I saw you in the pantry with Dad's bottle of tonic before you went for the sale with him. You saw me? Oh, I'm sorry, Phil. Sorry you saw me. Naturally, you jumped to the conclusion that I... Poor little man. There's nothing for you to worry about now, Phil. You mean they're not going to hang you, Felix? They're not going to hang me. You won't let them do anything to you? Promise me. No, I won't let them do anything to me. But, Phil, there are other things for you to think about now. Now that your father's gone, you are head of the house. That's a man's job, Phil. There's a lot you've learned about courage these last few days. Living takes a lot of courage. I've just pretty grown up talk, Phil. Do you understand me? I'm trying, Felix. You remind me a lot of my own son. You mean the boy my father ran... That's right, Phil. Yes, you're a lot like him. Would he have gone sailing with us? Oh, yes. I think Ronnie would have been quite a sailor. Can we go sailing tomorrow, Felix? Not tomorrow, Phil. Are you going away, Felix? Yes, but not as far as most people might think. You sound very strange, Felix. I have a note to write. I have to make everything ship-shaped. You go on out to your mother and tell them they may join me in a few minutes. Can't I wait, Felix? No, Phil. Go ahead now. But... Those are orders. Keepers orders. Aye, aye, sir. Goodbye, son. I thought I'd made the last entry in this diary, but there will have to be one more. This diary was kept for only one purpose. To make George and the police believe that I planned to kill the beast by drowning him. Death was already waiting for George Rattery at home in the bottle of his tonic... where I had placed three pellets of rat poison taken by me from the garage. My plan was almost perfect. The only thing I didn't expect was that someone loved me enough... to try to destroy the evidence I had so carefully planted... in an effort to help me... and even to confess to my crime in order to save my skin. I know now that my life ended with the death of my son, Ronnie. It seems that I must have just come back to life for a few weeks to save Phil. Yes, I killed George Rattery. I have no regrets. I might have known that the matter would be taken care of fiddly. It says in the Bible, the beast must die. But the man dieth also. Yea, they both must die. George was right about that tonic of his. It is very bitter. And so closes The Beast Must Die... starring Herbert Marshall, tonight's tale of Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by William Spear. Have you discovered the age-old secret of famous chefs and lovers of fine food? Namely, how good wine makes even the simplest, most inexpensive meals really exciting events? How Roma wines perform flavor miracles in bringing out rich new savoriness? Well, the next time you cook any of the red meats, stews, fish, or poultry, add a generous portion of any Roma California table wine, delicious sautern, hearty burgundy, or tasty claret. Then put the same bottle well chilled on the table with your meal. You will be amazed at the wonders Roma wine performs in bringing out all the appetizing goodness of even the simplest foods. Remember, Roma wines, these marvelous aids to greater enjoyment of daily meals, cost only pennies a glass full. So any home can afford the pleasure they give to everyday living. Ask for R-O-M-A, Roma wines, America's largest selling wines, made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. This is Herbert Marshall, and at the request of the United States Army, I'm addressing this to every soldier listening. Volunteers are once more being accepted for immediate training by the parachute troops. Paratroopers receive $50 extra per month in base pay. Officers get $100 extra per month. If you think you can qualify for the paratroops, apply to your company commander immediately. Mr. Marshall appeared to the courtesy of Metro Golden Mayor, producers of White Cliffs of Dover. Next Thursday, same time, you will hear Mr. Peter Lorre with Richard Conte as stars of Suspended. Presented by Roma wines, R-O-M-A, made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
