We are delaying the start of our regularly scheduled program. We have delayed the start of our regularly scheduled program to bring you this bulletin from CBS News. Washington. Federal Judge Matthew McGuire in Washington has signed a temporary injunction against both the coal mine operators and the miners in the soft coal dispute. The injunction orders the coal miners to go back to work at once. This bulletin has come to you from CBS News. We now resume our scheduled program. Suspense! Radio's outstanding theater of thrills brings you an hour, a full 60 minutes of suspense. Tonight the noted stage actor Sam Jaffe is our star in Suspicion by Dorothy Sayers, a suspense play produced and directed by Anton M. Lieder. It is very quiet in Hammersmith, the western metropolitan borough of London. Orderly homes line orderly residential streets. And inside these homes quiet people live quiet lives. An outsider might notice the changeless security of Hammersmith while the natives regard it without comment as part of their peaceful pattern of living. It is a point of pride that St. Paul's School, located within the borough's limits, dates back to the 12th century, the Godolphin School to the 16th century and the Edward Latimer Foundation to the 17th. And it's a matter of record that the last disruptive influence exerted itself over the town and its people in the year 879 when the Danish invaders occupied it as their winter camp. It isn't Hammersmith, our story is laid. And now with the performance of Sam Jaffe as Edward Mumrey, Laureen Tautel as his wife Ethel, Alan Reed as Brooks, and with Suspicion by Dorothy Sayers, we again hope to keep you in suspense. My name is Edward Mumrey of Hammersmith. I'm 48 years of age, fair of complexion, agreeable, I believe, as to disposition. I have my business, Reed Estate, in the city, which I run together with my partner, Mr. Harold Brooks. I have my own home, I occupy my leisure hours with gardening, and I've just been married, that is, practically just, six years to be exact. My wife Ethel is the most brilliant thing that ever happened to me. These are the outward facts. I recognize that I'm a very ordinary person, and yet, can a person be considered ordinary when into his life there suddenly explodes the extraordinary? For this is what happened to me. On one single day, like any other day in a quiet, carefully-planned life, I smelled the odor of the grave, and I saw with my own eyes the supreme horror of all existence. It began in the railway carriage going to London to my office. Perhaps it was the thick pall of tobacco smoke in the carriage that first made me aware of my nausea. I slipped a digestive tablet into my mouth. Lately, I'd taken to the habit of carrying them about with me, and I leaned back my head and closed my eyes. De Vries, who traveled with me every morning, was giving me the benefit of his morning edition. Ah, here's something, smack on the front page. The question has been asked in the House about government typewriters. Now there's the press for you. The world going to the devil so fast it makes my head spin, and all they can print in their precious newspapers. I say, old chevy, you're looking terribly pale this morning. Could you just open the window a bit? I don't feel very well. Why, certainly. There you are. Just lean your head into it. Get some fresh air. Yeah, better? Yes. Thank you. Must have been something you had for breakfast. I suppose so. Sorry to be such a fool about it. Not at all, old man, not at all. Go ahead. Read me some more of this earth-shaking news. All right, if you'd like. Further split has occurred in the Labor Party. Well, let's skip over politics for today. Two girls trapped in Burning Factory. I can do without the morbid, too. The police are still looking for the woman who poisoned a family in Lincoln. I took a tram to my office, gritting my teeth against this snorcia that had me dizzy and trembling. How I got up the stairs I'll never remember. The world swam black before my eyes. Then I was seated at my desk, breathing a bit hard, but once more in control of myself, my heart no longer pounding. Morning, Mamrie. Cold enough for you? Yes, broke quite. And pleasantly raw, in fact. Beastly, beastly. You're truly bulbs all in? Not quite all. As a matter of fact, I haven't been too well lately. Oh, too bad. Bulbs ought to go in early. You're lucky, you know, living in the country, you want to take advantage of it. How's the missus? Thank you. She's very much better. Glad to hear that. Very glad. I hope we shall have her about again this winter, as usual. Can't do without her in the drama society. I'm sure you're very kind. I mean it. By Joe, I shan't forget her acting last year in Romance. She and young Welbeck positively brought down the house. Yes, she was good, wasn't she? Yeah, Welbeck's were asking after her only yesterday. She'll be up and around again soon. The doctor says she mustn't overdo it. No worry, he says. That's the important thing. She used to go easy and not rush about or undertake too much. Quite right. Worry is the devil in all. I cut out worrying years ago. Look at me. Fit as a fiddle, but all I shan't see fifty again. You're not looking altogether the thing, by the way. What touch of dispepture? Nothing much. A chill on the liver, I suppose. That's what it is. Is life worth living? Depends on the liver. Yes. Well, we'd better be getting to that lease of herobies. I have a good idea. By the way, I suppose your wife doesn't know of a good cook, does she? I doubt it. They aren't so easy to find nowadays. In fact, we've only just got suited ourselves. Well, I promised the Philipsons I'd look around. They're girls getting married. That's the worst of bringing young girls into work for you. I said to Philipson, you mind what you're doing, I said. Get somebody you know something about. You may find yourself landed with this poisoning woman. What's her name? Edrills. Don't want to be sending wreaths to your funeral yet, I said. He laughed, but it's no laughing matter. What we pay the police for, I simply don't know. Nearly a month now, they can't seem to lay hands on the woman. All they say is, they think she's hanging about the neighbourhood and may seek a situation as cook. As cook, now, I ask you. There was a theory in the papers that she'd committed suicide. Don't you believe it, my boy? That code found in the river was all eyewash. They don't commit suicide. That sort don't. That sort? She's poison maniacs, cutting his weasels. That's what they are. I only hope they catch her before she tries to handle anybody else. As I told Philipson... Can you think this Mrs Andrews did it? Of course she did it. You've been following the case, haven't you? Looked after her old father and he died suddenly. Left her a bit of money, too. Then she keeps house for an elderly gentleman and he dies suddenly. Now there's this husband and wife. Man dies, woman taken very ill. Of arsenic poisoning. Cook runs away. Then you ask, did she do it? I only thought it might be a coincidence. I don't mind betting that they dig up the father and the other old bird. They'll find them bug full of poison, too. Once that sort gets started, they don't stop. What is the matter, Mamory? I... Mamory, let me call you a doctor. No, just some water. It's all right. Give me a minute. There you go. Slowly now. That's all right. Now hold your head. Thank you. Thank you, Brooks. You sure you're all right? Yes. All right. My dear fellow. Don't mind telling you, you gave me a start. I thought I was losing you here and now. It's only my stomach. Nothing serious. Hold on a moment. What did you have for breakfast? I don't know. The usual. Oh, no, no. Now tell me. We'll get to the bottom of this. Well, then, brown bread, bacon, eggs, just the nicely said kind. Coffee made as only Mrs. Sutton can. Mrs. Sutton? Oh, that's your new cook. She's a real find. I'm terribly thankful for her. Yes, I can imagine. Your wife down with a nervous breakdown must be a blessing to have someone capable running the house. That's right. Ethel hasn't been at all fit, poor child. I don't want you to mention it to her, Brooks. She gets upset so easily. I don't want her worrying about me. Of course not, my dear. Isn't it odd, Brooks? What's that? This photograph of that Mrs. Andrews. Oh, you mean the newspaper? She looks like such a sweet, motherly looking woman. Take care, Mamary. From the way your stomach's acting up, I'd say this poison and your precious Mrs. Sutton are one and the same. That's hardly a joke, Brooks. As a matter of fact, if they were the slightest resemblance, I'd be terrified. But this Mrs. Andrews looks so... Oh, so angelic. She's got a bad mouth. Look to the mouth, Mamary, before you trust your fellow man. That's where the true story is written. Death by poison, fiends and murderers, the darkness of the pit, the unholy face of evil. These are things we read about. These are horrors we get at second hand through fiction and films. But they do not really happen to people like me, a suburban gardener, a real estate broker. And that was a comfort. If I were to go through life without any great distinction, at least I should avoid any great terror. So I told myself as I left the office for lunch. I was a little nervous to begin with, so I had some boiled fish and a custard pudding. The wrenching pain seemed gone entirely and I became positively lightheaded as the bogey of illness and doctors' bills ceased to haunt me. I bought a bunch of bronze chrysanthemums for Ethel just by way of celebration. And I got home at the usual time, seven ten. I was a little dashed by not finding Ethel in the sitting room, still holding the flowers. I went down the passage, tore the kitchen door and opened it. No, sir. I seem to have startled you, Mrs. Sutton. Yes, yes, you did. I didn't hear the front door go. Where's Mrs. Bummery? Not feeling bad again, is she? Well sir, she's got a bit of a headache, poor lamb. I made her lay down and took her up a nice cup of tea at half past four. I think she's dozing nicely now. That was very considerate, Mrs. Sutton. Oh, it was turning out the dining room that done it, I think. I asked her not to overdo, but you know how she is, sir. She gets so restless. Can't seem to bear to be doing nothing. Yes, I know. She's such an active little person. This illness is very hard on her. Well, I'll just run up and have a peep. Shan't disturb her if she's asleep. Want me to put the flowers in a vase? No, I'll take them up to her first. By the way, what are we having for dinner? Well, I had made a nice steak and kidney pie. Oh, pastry. I don't know. You see, I... Oh, you'll find it beautiful and light. And it's made with butter, sir. You haven't said you found lard indigestible. I'm sure it'll be most excellent. It's just... Well, you see, Mrs. Sutton, I haven't been too well lately. Something of a stomach upset. Is that so? Yes. Do you have any idea what it might be? Oh, I'm sure it's nothing out of my kitchen, Mr. Mammoni. No, no, I'm sure it isn't. Well, I believe I'll live through it. Steak and kidney is just fine. Now I'll run up and look at my wife. I tiptoed up and opened the door carefully. At first, I thought Ethel was asleep. She lay snuggled under the eiderdon and looked very small and fragile in the big double bed. And she didn't look at all well. It drenched my heart to see her face so pale and wasted. And the doctors couldn't seem to find her ailment at all. What could be the insidious disease that had done this to her? Nervous breakdown, they called it. But I wasn't satisfied with that. It must be something more. I came closer and she stared on the bed and smiled at me. Hello, darling. Hello, sweet. How are you? I got tired and headachy. And Mrs. Sutton packed me off to bed. You've been doing too much. You know what the doctor said about resting. Yes, I know. It was foolish of me. Oh, Edward, such lovely flowers. I thought it would cheer you up, Ethel. A little spot of color. Darling, you are good to me. And I can't have been much fun for you lately. Really, I could cry. Ethel. Don't tire of me, Edward. I'll get well, I promise you. Of course you will. Oh, that's funny. Me tire of you. Then hand me my robe and I'll come down with you. Much better stay in bed, dear. And let Mrs. Sutton send your dinner up. Oh, but I want to be with you tonight. I've got to be firm with you, Ethel. If you don't take care of yourself, you won't be able to go to the Dharma Society meetings. You've no idea how anxious everyone is to have you back. The Welbecks have been asking after you and saying that they really couldn't go on without you. Did they? Very sweet of them to want me. Not at all. You're the best of the lot. They need you. Well, perhaps I'll stay in bed after all. Good. Now have you been all day, dear? Not too bad, not too bad. No more bothersome tummies? Well, perhaps, just a little one. But it's quite gone now. Absolutely nothing to worry about. Darling, you're sure? Quite sure, sweet. All gone and forgotten. I experienced no more distressing symptoms that night or the next day. Following the advice of a newspaper expert on the subject, I took to drinking a great deal of orange juice. The results were wonderful. It was as though I had never known pain in my life. The next night, we were retired early. I fell asleep almost at once and slept the deep and dreamless sleep of a child until about 3 in the morning. Then I was awake, for it had come back. Ethel, Ethel, wake up. Please wake up. Ethel, help me. What was that? Edward, darling, what's the matter? What is it? I think I'm dying. I suppose it is different for every man when his time comes. For myself, I can only say that it was like sinking, as though my body were in an insupportably heavy weight, plummeting down into the soft, icy ground, sinking deep, deep, deep into the black regions of the earth. Here's some hot water to go with it. Now, just swallow this pill. Come along now. I know it's hard. But you can swallow just once. There you are. Goes to work in a jiffy. I dare say you're feeling better already. Thank you, Doctor. Now then, Mrs. Mumray, just a few questions, please. What did you have for dinner? That's what's so baffling. It couldn't have been the dinner. I had the same things to eat, and so did Mrs. Sutton. Nonetheless, we have to be thorough about this, if you will. Well, then, um, pig's trotters and a milk pudding. Oh, yes, brown bears. You're sure about that? And before we went to bed, Edward had a large glass of orange juice, according to his new regime. Aha. Seems to have been helping him so much. Now, there's your trouble. Orange juice is an excellent thing, and so are trotters, but not in combination. Pigs and oranges together are extraordinarily bad for the liver. Oh, dear. Don't know why they should be, but there's no doubt that they are. I see. Feeling better, Mumray? Yes. It's much easier. I'll send you round a prescription. You stick to slops for a day or two and keep off pork. Don't you worry about him, Mrs. Mumray. He's as sound as a trout. You're the one we've got to look after. I was so frightened, I believe my own trouble has been shocked right out. Oh, no, not yet, it hasn't. Don't want to see those black rings under your eyes. Of course, tonight was disturbed, but you make up for it now. Get plenty of sleep. Been taking your tonic regularly? Oh, oh, yes. That's right. Well, don't be alarmed about this hulking brute here. We'll soon have him out and about again. Now, good night to you. Doctor. Yes, Mumray? I'm sorry I had to pull you out in the middle of the night. That's why we're about, old man. It's nothing. It means a great deal to me. You see, if you hadn't been able to come, I'm sure that tonight I should have died. My diet was bread, milk and beef tea for the next three days. On Saturday afternoon, though I still felt seedy, I managed to stagger downstairs. Brooks had sent a few papers down from the office for my signature. And afterwards, Ethel sat down with me and we ran over the household accounts together. Then we have the butcher's settles. That's right. The baker. Right. The dairy. Right. Coal merchant. And the coal merchant. All finished. Then there's Mrs. Sutton. Oh, I'd almost forgotten. This is the end of a month, you know. So it is. Well, you're quite satisfied with her, aren't you, darling? Yes, Father, aren't you? She's a good cook and a warm, motherly old thing, too. Don't you think it was a real brainwave of mine engaging her like that on the spot? I do indeed. It was a perfect providence, her turning up like that, just after that wretched Jane had gone off without even giving notice. I was in absolute despair. It was a little bit of a gamble, of course, taking her without any reference. I suppose it was. But if she'd been looking after a widowed mother, you couldn't expect her to give references. Mmm, no. What is it, darling? Why do you say, mmm, no, like that? Well, the truth is, I felt a bit uneasy about it at the time. I didn't like to say anything because we simply had to have somebody. Well, I didn't much like it either, but after all, it has worked out so well. We're perfectly happy with her now, aren't we? Yes, dear. But just for the record, it occurs to me that we might write to the clergyman back in the parish. You should be able to give her a reference. I'm sure he's an excellent clergyman, but he couldn't tell us anything about her cooking. And cooking, after all, is the chief body. Oh, right. And we are satisfied with her cooking. Then here's a month's wages for our Mrs. Sutton. I'll tell her she's passed with flying colours. And by the way, dear, you might just mention to Mrs. Sutton that if she must read the morning paper before I come down, I should be obliged if she would fold it neatly afterwards. Oh, darling, darling. What an old fussbuck you are. But she does fuss it up pretty thoroughly. And by the way, the pages that she folds back, and by the way she folds it back, I can tell that Mrs. Sutton is following this poison case as avidly as I am. On Sunday, I felt very much better. Quite my old self, in fact. I had roast sirloin for luncheon with the potatoes under the meat, in Yorkshire, putting a delicious lightness, and an apple tart to follow. After the three days of my invalid diet, it was a real pleasure to savour the crisp fat and the underdone lean. I ate carefully, moderately, but with an almost sensuous enjoyment. And then, over coffee, while Ethel was still toying with the food, I took up the newspaper and turned to the account of the woman poisoner. Are you still following those horrible murders? Yes, my dear. Whatever makes you so morbid, Edward? I find it very interesting, Ethel, to see what human beings are capable of doing. I suppose it is interesting. Thrilling, too, because it's so far into the kind of lives we lead here in Hammersmith. Yes. Just like a fascinating fairy tale. I say... What is it? Why, Brooks was right. Right about what? They've gone and dug up Mrs. Andrews' father and her former employer. Oh, Edward, please. And sure enough, they were both found full of it. Bung full of poison. My head was full of conjecture about this sweet motherly murderess, this middle-aged cook who mixed arsenic into her delicious luncheons and dinners, this Mrs. Andrews for whom the police were looking so desperately. At three o'clock, with the roast beef settling properly, I went out into the garden to put the tulip bulbs in. I got my bag of tulips and a trowel, and then, remembering I still had on my good trousers, I decided it would be wise to take a mat to kneel on. The mat had been left last in the corner under the potting shelf. I stooped down and felt about in the dark among the flower pots. Yes, it was there. But there was something else. Something in the way. It looked like a tin. I lifted it out carefully. Yes, of course. It was a tin. What remains of the weed killer I had used the summer before. I looked at the pink label printed in staring letters with the legend, arsenic weed killer. Poison. The blood suddenly began to pound in my temples. I'd been thinking of Mrs. Andrews so long that it came to me with a nasty shock that I was holding in my hands the very same brand of stuff she used to destroy so many poor souls. It gave me the distinctly unpleasant impression that by owning some poison myself, I was directly in touch with important and costly events. I smiled a little at myself for being so foolish. And then I noticed that the stopper had been put in very loosely. Now how did I ever come to do a thing like that? What a stupid fool. It would just serve me right if all the goodness had gone off it. Besides, it was so very dangerous to leave it loose like that. I took out the stopper and squinted it into the can. It seemed to be about half full. Then I rammed the thing home again and gave it a sharp thump with the handle of the towel for better security. After that, I washed my hands carefully at the scullery. I am a man who does not believe in taking risks. Oh, Edward, look who just dropped in. My son and I were just in the neighborhood, Mr. Mummery. We thought we'd have a cup of tea with you. Happy to see you again, Mrs. Weldon. Oh, hello, John. How are you, Mr. Mummery? We were talking about the Lincoln poisoning case, Mr. Mummery. That is, I seem to have been doing all the talking. Oh, tea's ready, ma'am. Thank you, Mrs. Sutton. Just put it by me, I'll pour. Very good, ma'am. Will that be all? That'll be all, Mrs. Sutton. Thank you. Oh, not at all, ma'am. Milk and sugar, Mrs. Welbeck? Only some lemon, please. You'll have milk and sugar, John. Oh, thank you. I say you've remembered. Edward. Thank you, my dear. I can't help prattling on about it, but there's been nothing else in my head ever since the first of these murders. I mean, now just take me. You, Mrs. Welbeck? Yes, I'm about her age, this Mrs. Andrews. Oh, I see. And you, Mr. Wilbeck. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm about her age, this Mrs. Andrews. And yet, when I look into my own heart and ask myself whether I could take a human life in cold blood, oh, well, as a matter of fact, I suppose I could. When it comes down to that, I suppose we all could. Why, if you live long enough, you're bound to run across a few people you'd love to see dead and underground. And if you're pushed far enough, I suppose you simply up and do it. But that I shouldn't use poison, I'd be up to find some more forthright way of dealing with it. Mother, you're letting your tea get cold. Oh, so I am, darling. Thank you. You know, I tell myself that I'm a strong-nerd person. In fact, my husband tells me the same thing all the time. And still, the thought that this poisoner is running around loose in our neighborhood gives me a chill. I confess it's a rather delicious chill, but nonetheless, I'm an easy-to-all-right-man. Oh, we've seen her picture, of course, but it's not much of a help. It could be almost anyone. Oh, hello, when you stop to think about it... Those Thorcyth cuttings, Mrs. Welbeck. I beg your pardon? I remember you wanted some cuttings. If you care to come down to the garden, I'll get them for you right now. Oh, I'd adore to have some. They'll fill out my garden so beautifully. Do let's go. Ethel had been getting more and white and tremulous as this horrible woman ran on with her cheerful horrors. As we rose to go, I noticed a relieved glance pass between Ethel and young Welbeck. Evidently, the boy understood the situation and was chafing at his mother's tactlessness. Mrs. Welbeck and I went outside together, and I selected and trimmed the cuttings for her. Oh, Mr. Mammery, if I only had your skill and patience, why, you've made for yourself a true garden of Eden Hill. It's so nice of you to say so. And your gravel paths, they're so thoroughly immaculate. I simply cannot keep my weeds down. You need a good weed killer, that's all. There's an arsenic preparation on the market that does wonders. That stuff? No, thank you, Mr. Mammery. I wouldn't have it in my place for a thousand pounds. I'm afraid there's no other way to rid yourself of weeds. Oh, but it's so foolhardy, so dangerous to have poison around. It seems to me you're simply opening your doors and inviting trouble. It's not as bad as all that. We keep it well away from the house. But the slightest carelessness... We are not careless people. Except that... Except that what? I just remembered. I have been a bit careless. I found the stopper to the can loose just this afternoon. It was unforgivable of me. There, you see? That's how accidents begin, from something as simple as that. You're fortunate you don't have any little children poking around. I suppose we are, Mrs. Welbeck. I suppose we are. When we got back to the house, young Welbeck was already on his feet and holding Ethel's hand in the act of saying goodbye. He was a good boy, anxious to get his mother out of the house with tactful promptness. I went into the kitchen to clear up the newspapers I'd fished out in order to wrap Mrs. Welbeck's cuttings. And as I picked them up, something odd struck me about them. Something I had to verify. I turned the papers over carefully, sheet by sheet. Yes, I had been right. Every portrait of Mrs. Andrews, every paragraph, every line about the Lincoln poisoning case had been carefully cut out. Someone in my own house had gone to all this trouble. Why? In tonight's full hour of suspense, Sam Jaffe stars as Edward Murmury in Suspicion by Dorothy Sayers. Tonight's study in Suspense. In just a moment we will return with Act Two of Suspense. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. And now, back to our Hollywood soundstage in Act Two of Suspicion, starring Sam Jaffe with Laureen Tuttle and Alan Reed in a narrative well calculated to keep you in Suspense. It hasn't been too long ago in Edward Murmury's consciousness that Arsenic was only a weed killer and Mrs. Andrews, the motherly murder suspect, was simply a name in the newspapers, a fear far removed from him and his quiet home in Hammersmith. But a sudden terror grips him now, a terror that certainly includes deadly poison and seems also to include the motherly woman who cooks his meals. Now the thing that had been only a vague and uncomfortable gnawing at the back of my brain came boiling up and gulping me. The blood hammered in my head and made me giddy. There was a curious cold lump in my stomach, someone in my own household. That night I couldn't close my eyes. I had to tell someone about this awful suspicion, but there was no one to tell, not Ethel certainly in her condition. So I kept it within myself until I reached town next day and could talk to Brooks. Now take hold of yourself, Murmury. Let's not jump to any conclusions. I'm not Brooks. I'm only asking questions that must be asked. Very well. Let's examine the facts once again. If only I had a picture of Mrs. Andrews. You're publishing plenty of them only last week. I know. I've tried to recall those pictures. I've tried so hard. I don't seem to have a very good visual memory. I suppose we could get hold of one at the library. They keep files, you know. You remember you showed me her picture here at the office one day last week. Yes, that's right. And how was it I described her? Motherly, wasn't it? Yes, yes, motherly. That seemed to be about all you could say of her. I've been counting up the time since that poisoner Mrs. Andrews disappeared. It comes to just a little more than a month. Yes, that would be my count. Very well. A month. And I've just paid our Mrs. Sutton a month's wages. Mrs. Sutton? How can I spare her from any shock or anxiety? That's the thing that keeps eating away at me. You know how ill she is. Then you simply must do it on your own, Murmury. You must cope with this monstrous suspicion by yourself. And I must be sure of my ground. Simply to dismiss the only decent cook we've ever had out of sheer blind panic. Why, it would be wanton cruelty to both women. If it's to be done at all, it must be done quickly and arbitrarily. Without suggesting any of these horrors to Ethel. And then, don't you see, there's something else. If there's anything at all to these terrible suspicions, it means Ethel is being exposed every minute that the woman is in the house. Good Lord. Think of that family in Lincoln. Think of the husband dead. And the old father dead. You must move fast, old boy. She's been here so long for, darling. I've seen her wasting away before my eyes. Why, Brooks, why? A nervous breakdown? Why should Ethel be having a nervous breakdown? Or is it something else? Is this woman doing it to Ethel? Slowly, day by day. Is that what it means? Perhaps you should see the police. But it's nothing but the wildest of suspicions. And besides, I feel so very lonely. And so tired. It's almost as if I didn't care what happened anymore. Your illness has taken it out of you. Yes. Too bad you can't discuss it with Ethel. I don't want her to be afraid. But perhaps I will. Perhaps she should know. I say, Mamrie. What? These illnesses of yours, when do they begin? I don't know. I think I've always been subject to business attacks, as long as I can remember. No, no, no, I mean the other ones. The severe attacks. Well, they began about three weeks ago. Three weeks ago, Mamrie? That's right. About three weeks ago. The train seemed forever getting home that night. I came softly into the house, listening to the sound of my own footsteps. It was dusk, and yet none of the lights in the house were on. I moved through heavy, enveloping shadows into the sitting room. Ethel was tucked up in a corner of the Chesterfield, leaning back wearily against the cushions. Good evening, darling. Hello, Edward. You look tired, my dear. I am tired, Edward. I seem to be drained and empty. I noticed you didn't sleep well last night. It was probably that woman yesterday with the talking. Really, Mrs. Welbeck talks altogether too much. All about that horrible case. I don't like hearing about such things. Of course not, dear. And yet... And yet what, Edward? When a thing like this happens in the neighborhood, people will gossip and talk. It would be a relief if they caught the woman. One doesn't like to think... I don't want to think about it at all. It's so hateful. She must be a horrible, perverted creature, this Mrs. Andrews. Yes, yes, quite so. Do you know, I was talking to Brooks about it only today, and he said... I don't want to hear what he said. I don't want to hear about it at all. Of course not, darling. I'm sorry. Oh, Edward, I just want to be quiet. I do so want to be quiet. And so you shall, Ethel. It's all my fault. The doctor warned me not to disturb you like this. Oh, Edward. Edward, darling. There, there, my dear. Everything's all right. No need for tears. It doesn't concern us anyway. I helped her upstairs and into bed. And then, when she had stopped sobbing, and was at last asleep, I came down again very quietly. I was aware of a reluctance to face Mrs. Sutton, but I had to. A plump face to a man, her eyes obscured by thick, corn-rimmed spectacles. And what was there about her mouth? The tight lips, the hard chin. What was it Brooks had said about looking first to the mouth? Would you be requiring anything, sir, before I go up? No. Thank you, Mrs. Sutton. I hope you're feeling better, sir. No more of that trouble. Quite better. Thank you, Mrs. Sutton. Mrs. Mummer is not indisposed, is she? Why, no. She's asleep. Do you think I ought to wake her, to bring her a hot glass of milk? No, no, thank you, Mrs. Sutton. I believe we'll just let her be. And you, sir? Would you care for anything? Not a thing, Mrs. Sutton. Oh, it wouldn't be no bother. Only take a minute. Not tonight. All right, then. Mrs. Sutton? Yes, sir? Were you aware that my can of arsenic out in the shed had a loose stopper? The garden isn't my department, is it, sir? No, no it isn't. I didn't know about the arsenic. Very well. I'll be saying good night, then. Oh, Mrs. Sutton. Yes? One more thing. Certainly, sir. Nothing, Mrs. Sutton. Nothing. The next few days were the most agonising of my life. I began the habit of coming down early in the morning and prowling about the kitchen. This only served to make Ethel more nervous. But Mrs. Sutton offered no remark. She watched me silently and with good humour, almost with amusement. And after all, it was ridiculous. What was the use of supervising the breakfast when I had to be out of the house every day between half past nine in the morning and seven in the evening? On Thursday night, Brooks persuaded me to go to a little bachelor dinner for a friend who was being married. It was in my district and we weren't out of there until after midnight. By then it was too late for Brooks to catch a train back to town, so I invited him to come over and spend the night at my place, a household that had long since gone to bed. Shh. Yes? Careful, Brooks. I don't want to disturb Ethel. Sorry, old man. Your room is just off here. I think you need a fresh pillow, sir. That'll be fine. Hello. What's this? Oh, somebody writing your notes. Dear Mr. Mamory, there's some fresh cocoa in the kitchen. It only needs some hutting up. Mrs. Sutton. Well, you should just hit the spot. Yes, indeed. Come along. Let me just get the switch. There we are. I'd better get the cocoa ready. It'll only be a minute. It was quite a show we threw for young Farzbuth, wasn't it? Sent him off, married and styled. Glad to see him getting settled. People ought to marry young. All the more years to enjoy the only real blessing life gives you. How many years has it been for you and Ethel? Just six. Good years, eh? And they get better all the time. That's the wonder of it. Tell me, Brooks, how did you happen to miss getting married? Didn't miss it at all, chap. I've been getting along very well without it. Hello. Our cocoa's ready. And here's my cup. Mmm. It's just hot enough. Brooks. Yes, old man? Is it just my fancy or is there something queer about the taste? The taste? It seemed to me... Take another sip, Brooks. Go on. Roll it round on your tongue. You taste it? The faint tang, like metal? Spit it out, Brooks! Spit it out! Mamory. I don't know. I don't know. Mamory, what are you going to do? I've never been in a situation like this before. You ought to take a specimen to the chemist. Have it analysed? Yes. Yes, I will. First thing in the morning. But first, Brooks, I want you to come with me. Where to? Just outside, in the garden. I want to see something in the potting shed. Mamory, I can't see a thing. Just hold on to me. We're almost there. All right. This is the shed. Now, just about four steps inside. Here we are. Mamory, where are you? Just at your feet, old man. I'm stooping down. Would you be good enough to strike a match for me? All right. Just a moment. Here we are. That's fine. Hold it closer. It should be behind these pots here. Yes, it's here. Oh, devil, these things don't burn long. Can you strike another? What is it, Mamory? It's a tin of weed killer. You mean arsenic? Yes, arsenic. And just look, Mamory, the stopper is loose. I know, Brooks. I know. Want another match? No. It isn't necessary. Why should it be loose, Mamory? That's the question. It is, especially since I took the trouble to ram it in as tight as it would go only last week. Mamory, old man, I don't like to frighten you, but you see what this means. It simply means there's a murderer in my house. It was there, in that shed that smelled of earth, in my dress with an overcoat, holding the tin in my hand and facing Brooks in the darkness, that the beast's panic seized me in its claws and held me so tight that I could hardly breathe. I felt a sudden impulse to run out into the dark streets of Hammersmith and scream out to the sleeping village the terrible thing I had discovered. Instead, I replaced the tin exactly where it had been, and Brooks and I went back into the garden and told the house. Look, Brooks, see that light? Whose window is it? Mrs. Sutton's. It's terrifying. Is she watching us? I can't tell from here. Where does Ethel sleep? Our bedroom is right up there. It's dark, thank heaven. If she'd drunk anything deadly, there'd be lights everywhere. She'd call out, just as I did the night I was attacked. Yes, yes, of course. Well, what's your plan? Plan? Yes, yes, plan. I'll get you off to bed. Yes. Then I'll go into the kitchen, wash out the saucepan, and make another brew of cocoa. I let it stand in the saucepan overnight. Just to erase suspicions, don't you see? Yes, yes, yes, excellent. Then in the morning, off to the chemist's. That's right. Remember, you told me last week to move fast. Well, my time's run out. I'm not a man of action, Brooks. But when my life is threatened, when the life of the person I love most is in danger, then I can do it, Brooks. Then I can. When I'd finished in the kitchen, I turned out all the lights and started softly up the stairs. I hadn't meant to wake Anethel. I meant to keep all this from her until it was over and finished. But she must have heard me as I came into the room. Edward? Yes, my dear? How late you are, you naughty boy. Have a good time at your party? Not bad, not bad at all. So tonight was young Farnsworth last as a bachelor. His last. He seemed like a lamb, all ready for the sacrifice. You all right? Quite all right. Good. Did Mrs. Sutton leave something hot for you? She said she would. Yes, but I wasn't thirsty. Oh, it was that sort of party, was it? I sat down on the bed beside her. She was asleep again in a moment. I took her hand and I clutched it tight, so defying death in hell to take her from me. Next morning I would act. I thanked God it was not too late. At eight o'clock in the morning I stood outside the little untidy shop on Springbank, where a weather-beaten sign informed the world that this place of business belonged to B.A. Dimthorpe, chemist. Dimthorpe himself was an aged little fellow, as untidy himself as the shop in which he potted about day and night. I paused a moment before entering. How many times had we sat together in the room at the back, our chairs tilted against the wall, exchanging views on green-fly and club-root? How many lazy evenings we had passed together discussing the passion of our lives, the art of gardening? This morning I had to see him on another matter, on the new passion in my life. This morning we should be concerned with the art of murder. Good morning, my I.B. of Assists, Mamma Ray. Good morning, Dimthorpe. What brings you so hurly in the dye? Another prescription for Hethel? No, no. Hethel's much better these days. It's quite another matter. You'll be light for work, won't you? This is oddly the time to continue the battle of Lilacs versus Poppies. Dimthorpe. Yes? I wonder if you could do a little job for me. Happy to, if it's within me power. Well, this is very much in your line of work. Well, then certainly. I have here a bottle. It contains a cup of ordinary cocoa. Cocoa, Mamma Ray? Yes. I was wondering if you'd be good enough to analyze it for me. And just what is it you want me to look for, I? I should... I should like you to look for traces of arsenic, if you would. Very well, Mamma Ray. Arsenic. This cocoa was left in a saucepan for me at home last night. I found that it tasted very odd, unpleasant, and metallic. I know, but that's oddly enough. You see, Dimthorpe, I have reason to believe that we have living with us at present the Lincoln Poisoner. I dare say you know the case. The Lincoln Poisoner? Correct. Oh, but Mamma Ray, how dreadful. I have reason to believe that this woman is attempting to murder both my wife and myself. I think I have proof. Your analysis will be the final one. I shall put everything else aside, Mamma Ray. You may rely on me. I do, Dimthorpe. I do. And may I congratulate you on your prudence and on your intelligence in bringing me the specimen. Thank you. I'll have it ready for you by this evening. And if it's what you think it is, then we shall have a clear case on which to take action. Thank you, Dimthorpe. This evening, then... Righto. I see I'm to pass a very long day. I was a bit late in getting to the office. Brooks was already there, waiting for me with a white face and the hushed voice of a conspirator. Good morning. Good morning. You were already out of the house when I awoke this morning. Yes. I had my call to make. Sleep well last night? Like a lark. It's funny, considering. It is funny. You didn't, I gather. No. You've taken care of the matter? Yes. When shall we know? Yes. When shall we know? Late this afternoon. Everything seemed all right when I left the house, had breakfast with Ethel. She seemed very well, completely unsuspecting. Did you notice her? I did indeed, our dear Mrs Sutton. Well? Bad mouth. There's no doubt of it. Anything else? Otherwise perfectly normal. That's what gives them away, don't you see? More normal than normal folk. Do you feel like working today? Frankly, no. Neither do I. Shall we put out the sign? Good idea. We put out the sign saying that we were closed for the day because of illness, and we sat together in the office. The noon hour passed and neither of us moved. Four or five times we heard footsteps outside in the corridor, pausing before our door, and then turning and receding. Neither of us spoke, neither of us moved. I examined an expanse of wall just over Brooks's head, and he examined the blank space over mine, and the hours passed. Back on Springbank, Dimthorpe would be bending over his vials and bunsen burners, moving as methodically as only he could move, extracting the truth from a bottle of cocoa. As I told him, this was the longest day of my life. Well, Mamory? Yes. It was four o'clock. I couldn't wait any longer. Good luck, old man. Brooks shook hands with me, and I went outside into the afternoon sunlight. I was at Springbank in twenty minutes. Mamory, is that you? It is, Dimthorpe. I'm ready for you. Just come into the back in case we're disturbed. All right, Mamory, right over here. What does it mean? It means that there's no doubt about it. I see. I used Marsh's test. It was an heavy dose. No wonder you tasted it. There must have been four or five grains of pure heart stick in that bottle. Here, take this mirror. I want you to see it for yourself. All right. Now, just look closely at this little glass tube. It's a stain. A purple-black stain. That's the mark left by the horse-nick. Will you ring up the police from here? No, my wife. I've got to get home. All right, leave it to me. I'll ring the police up for you. Oh, go quickly, Mamory. Local train went so slowly and stopped so often. Ethel poison dying dead. Ethel poison dying dead. The wheels strummed harshly in my ears. I jumped from the train before it had stopped and ran out of the station and along the road. A strange car was standing at my door. I saw it from the end of the street and broke into a mad gallop. It had happened. The doctor was there. I was a fool. I was a murderer to have left it so long. Then, while I was still 150 yards away, I saw the front door open. A man came out, followed by Ethel herself. The visitor got into his car and drove away, and Ethel went back into the house. She was safe. She was safe. I could hardly control myself to hang up my hat and coat and go in looking reasonably calm. She had returned to the armchair by the fire, and she looked up at me in surprise. There were tea things on the table, and she was alive. Edward, you're back early, aren't you? Yes, dear. Business was slack. Somebody beat the tea? John Welbick came by. Oh, young Welbick? Yes, we've been talking over arrangements for the Drama Society. Darling, I'm so glad. By having a guest here, you were protected. You were saved. Edward, what are you talking about? You seem so strange. There's something I've got to tell you, Ethel. I should have done it long ago. My darling, it's going to be unpleasant, but you must hear it. Oh, excuse me, ma'am. Yes? Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't know you were in. What is it, Mrs. Sutton? Will you be taking tea, or can I clear away? Mr. Mummery will be wanting some. You'd better leave it. And, oh, Mum. What is it? There was a young man at the Fishmongers, and he's just come from Grimsby. Yes? And they've caught that dreadful woman at Mrs. Andrews. Oh. Isn't it a good thing? Oh, it worried me so to think she was going about like that. But they've caught her. Took her job as housekeeper, she had, to elderly ladies, and they found the wicked poison on her. Girl who's spotted her will get a reward. I've been keeping my eyes open for her myself. But it's at Grimsby she was all the time. Thank you for the news, Mrs. Sutton. That will be all. Oh, not at all, Mum. But that's wonderful. Then it's all be the mistake. A mad mistake. Darling, I don't know whether to shout or to cry. I certainly must apologize to Mrs. Sutton. We're safe, don't you see? We're safe! But what about the cocoa? Mr. Dimthorpe? And Marsha's test? And five grains of arsenic? What do they all mean? Who could have... Who could have what? Ethel. Ethel. Ethel. Yes, Ethel? To me. To do it to me. You fool! You fool! Don't you know that it's been well, Beck? That it's always been well, Beck? Yes. It's there in your eyes. Something I've never seen before. It's always been there. It's just that you've never looked. That would be the police, Ethel. They've come here for you. Our thanks to Sam Jaffe for a magnificent performance as Edward Mummery, and to Lorraine Tuttle, Alan Reed, and to the entire cast who aroused our suspicion with such effective suspense. Next week, Crossfire. Yes, Crossfire. Robert Young, Robert Mitchum, Robert Ryan, Gloria Graham, and Sam Levine playing the roles they created for the RKO radio picture. A drama of present-day intolerance in an atmosphere of suspense. And with the performances of Robert Young, Robert Mitchum, Robert Ryan, Gloria Graham, and Sam Levine, and with Crossfire, we'll again hope to keep you in suspense. Suspicion by Dorothy Sayers was adapted for suspense by Irving Ravitch and was produced and directed by Anton M. Leder. Lud Gluskin is our musical director and conductor, and Lucian Morrowek composes the original scores. Next week, here, Crossfire, starring Robert Young with Robert Mitchum, Robert Ryan, Gloria Graham, and Sam Levine on radio's outstanding theater of thrills, one hour of suspense. This is CBS, where 99 million people gather every week, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
