Auto Light and its 96,000 dealers bring you Mr. Herbert Marshall in tonight's presentation of... South Spence. Tonight Auto Light presents a spy story, the true story of that series of events known as the 39 Steps starring Mr. Herbert Marshall. Oh Harlow. Yes, Hap. What was that all about? I was just demonstrating the Auto Light electrical system, Hap. You were? Sure, it goes to work every time you start your car, sound the horn, play the radio or turn on your lights or heater. The electrical system does all that? Sure, Hap. The Auto Light coil distributor, generator and all the other units and thousands of component parts. They're all related by Auto Light engineering design and manufacturing skill and used as original factory equipment on many leading makes of our finest cars. So friends, when your Auto Light equipped car needs replacement parts, insist on Auto Light original factory parts. Be sure, because from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Auto Light. And now with the 39 Steps and the performance of Mr. Herbert Marshall, Auto Light hopes once again to keep you in South Spence. Of course, I realize these are trying times and all that. You have your worries about foreign spies and atomic secrets and the usual international rouse. But don't get the wind up. You'll muddle through somehow. Take my word for it. And I know where I speak. We had our troubles too in our day, you know. Jolly serious, they seem at the time, I can tell you. For instance, did you ever hear of the 39 Steps? It was in the spring of 1914. I'd spent the last 10 years on the African felt in the Bolivayo country, made a modest little pile and come back home to enjoy it. The only difficulty was I didn't enjoy it. There was something wrong about England and about London for me. And then I realized what it was. It was dull. I had nothing to do and I was plain simply bored. That is, I was until that memorable evening when I returned to my flat near Portland Place. It was the first floor front and I was in the hall fitting my key in the lock when a little man with a bowler hat stepped out of the shadows from beyond the door to the next flat back. I saw that he was frightened. He was carrying it off well enough, but he was frightened as I had seen men frightened before. Frightened of his very life. You're Mr. Richard Hennigh, aren't you? Yes, that's right. Can I speak to you a minute? What about? Inside if you don't mind. Very well, if you wish. Come in. Thanks. Thanks a lot. That door locked? No, but I... I'll do it myself. It's all the same to you. I know you must think I've got a lot of nerve, but there are times when a man just can't be too careful. No, I suppose there are. Well, won't you come in by the fire? Thanks. Thanks. I had a hunch you were the kind of guy I could trust. Whiskey and soda? Yes, I could sure use one. I guess you're wondering who I am. American, aren't you? That's right. Scudder is the name. Frank P. Scudder. I have the apartment right over yours. I've had an eye on you ever since my troubles began. Really? Here's your drink. Good Lord, man, don't drop it. Yes, I'm a little shaky. You see, if you'd come along about five minutes later, I'd probably be a dead man. I see. Well, child. Here's to you. No, child, what's on your mind? Did you ever hear of a Greek politician named Karylides? No, I can't say that I have. Got it in for you, has he? I don't know. I don't know. He hasn't got it in for me. They've got it in for both of us, Karylides and me. They who's they? The Schwarzerstein, the Blackstone. Schwarzerstein, Blackstone. Sounds like some sort of German sporting society. Well, you're not far off at that, but it's not the kind of sport you're thinking about. Their sport, Mr. Hannai, is war. Sounds serious. It is serious. It's deadly serious. Let me start from the beginning. I guess you know that all the countries over here have their spies, including your own. One hears of that sort of thing naturally. Well, it's true. I'm with your people. The only trouble is I've gotten in a little deeper than I figured out. Sounds like interesting work. It is, if you can stay alive. And right now, that's my big problem. Because tomorrow morning, it will be announced that this Karylides has been appointed prime minister of Greece and that he's going to pay an official visit to England. He'll arrive on the third. On the fourth, he'll be assassinated. I'm the only man in the world who can prevent it, and they know that. By they, you mean the German chaps? Yes, that's right. And that's why they're after me. Well, if you want my advice, I'd say there's nothing to it. Simply go to the authorities. No good, no good. They'd find out about it, and then they'd just change their plans. You know your business, I suppose. Still, I hardly see how the murder of an obscure Balkan politician can very well involve anyone in war. That will only be the incident. There's something else, something I can't tell you about yet. I'm not even sure about it myself, but believe me, Mr. Hannai, unless I am alive until the fifth, your country will be at war. This is all pretty hard for you to swallow, isn't it? Well, you must admit it's rather a tall tale. Well, let me show you something. Come over here by the window for a minute. Now pull the blinds. Very carefully. Tell me what you see. A couple of chaps loafing in a doorway. Doesn't it strike you as pretty late for people to be loafing in doorways? Waiting for someone, I suppose. That's right. They're waiting for me. Oh, I see. I'll even describe them to you. One is short, heavy set, dark. The other is tall, young, blonde. Am I right? Yes, by Jove you are. They are the Black Storm, Mr. Hannai. And there's another one who isn't even with them. The head man. He's older than either of these two. Chubby, thick glasses, like a professor. One of his eyes looks milky like he was getting a cataract and he's completely bald. If you ever run across him, Mr. Hannai, watch out. I don't intend to run across him. Can I stay here in your place for a few days? Lie low until I can get my plans figured out again. Just a few days, that's all I ask. Well, I can't very well turn you out in the street at this time of night after what you've told me, can I? Come along. I have an extra room, fortunately. Nothing posh, but comfortable enough. Thank you. Thank you. There you are. Still to you? Oh, it looks like heaven to me. Righto. Ready to turn in then, are you? Yes. Listen, I'm very sorry to trouble you. That's quite all right. You don't mind if I lock the door, do you? From my side. You still think maybe I'm crazy, huh? Maybe those two guys outside are my keepers. Oh, I wouldn't say that. Now go ahead, lock the door. In fact, it'll make me feel better. Right you are. And Mr. Hannai. Yeah? I'll be grateful to you until the day I die. It was a queer sort of yarn. I didn't quite know what to make of it. As a matter of fact, I was more than half inclined to think the poor fellow was a bit balmy. But I wasn't so sure after I got my London Times at the front door next morning, I had a look at the foreign page. Because there was a story about this Greek chap, Karolides, just as he told me. New prime minister planning a trip to England and all the rest. I went to Scudder's door and knocked. There was no answer, so I ventured to unlock the door and poke my head in. The shade was flapping at a wide open window, which was natural enough for Americans or fiends for fresh air. But there was something else that was not at all natural. Poor Scudder lay sprawled on his side across the bed, his face white as a sheet, his mouth working as he tried to speak to me. Am I... the steps? Scudder, what's the matter? The steps, low tide, the fifth, the thirty-nine steps. And then he rolled over in his face, quite dead, and I saw the knife was buried in his back to the hilt. When I got myself in hand, I began to think. It wasn't very pleasant thinking. Here I had hold of some sort of information that a man had just been killed for. And if I went to the police, the odds were good they'd hang me for his murder. Got to make a run for it, I thought, until I can think things through. Head for open country. Scotland would be best. And then I thought of something else. I crossed the room and looked carefully out of the window to the street below. There they were, sure enough, the same two lads. Not waiting for Scudder now, waiting for me. And this Scotland seemed a very long way off. And all at once I heard the sound that was my inspiration, the milkman rattling his cans on the stairs outside my flat. I ran to the door and opened it. I see my good man. Hey, morning, Governor. What's up? I'd like to have a word with you. What about? I'm late enough as it is. About making a sovereign for yourself. Step inside, will you? Oh, well, I'm not one to turn down good coin in the room. What's the game? I want the loan of your cap and jacket and your milk cans for just five minutes. It's for a bet. Well, I don't know. I'll tell you what, if you could make it two quid. Here you are. Righto. I never saw him a man to spoil a bit of sport. Thanks. Now, all you have to do is to stay here until I get back. Right you are. Governor, pull the cap down a bit more. There you are. As proper a milkman as ever, I see. Fine. Now give me the cans. And just wait here, understand? Right. Only five minutes now. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll be right back. And mind you, don't jostle that milk about. Oh, stop worrying and shut up. Well, all right. There's no need to get shirty. I opened the door and stepped out briskly onto the street. The two lads across the way looked at me sharply. But I kept on until I'd rounded the corner. It was only then I heard them coming after me. I tossed the milk cans over a wall and began to run. But I ran as I've never run before or since. I had caught the Northern Express from St. Pancras Station by a matter of inches. And for the moment I felt safe, I had a third class compartment of myself except for an old codger who dozed most of the time. And during the rest of this sleepless, sleepless night, I tried to get my thoughts together and hit them on some plan of action. As it happened, the matter was taken quite out of my hands. For at Newcastle, my traveling companion had bought a morning paper. You see here in the paper that our foreign office is meeting with the French, making an agreement in case of war. Really? And mapping out a plan of mutual defense, a disposition of our fleet, all that sort of thing. Very wise, I should say. Here's a jolly bit. Another murder. Murder? Some fellow named Hannai did in another chap with a knife. They found him? Not yet. A Portland-based murderer, they call him. Give the description, tall, fair, about 30, small mustache. Silly business. Could be most anybody. Could be you for that matter. You answer fairly well to that. Yes, I suppose I do. Thought to be traveling north, it says. You see, that could be you too. These must be stupid fellows to think that they can nab him with that sort of flimsy stuff. Yes. Could be notoriously stupid, of course. Hello. Wonder what they're stopping for. Oh, let a train go by, a goods train, possibly. Shade rules all hashed up lately. Don't run things the way they used to. I say guard. Yes, sir? Step in here a moment, will you? What's the delay? A lot of constabulary getting on, sir. Looking for the murderer. The Portland police, will you? That's right. They got a tippies on this train. Have they really? I say, what a luck. Well, I think I'll step down for a bit of air. You can't leave the train now, sir. Why not? Police orders, sir. Sorry. Here, hold on. Take your hands off me. Here, help me. Hold him. The Portland police murderer. The Portland police murderer. When I topped the rise of the moor, I saw they had men fanning out in every direction. You would soon have me hopelessly surrounded. There was only one chance. A country house a few hundred yards away. Nothing for it but to throw myself on the mercy of the owner. Yes? I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm in a bit of trouble. Could I come in? Well, I'm just leaving, going out for a walk. Are those police after you? Yes, I was on the London train. They stopped it down there. I'm suspected of something. I can assure you I didn't do. London train. Come in quickly. Thank you. They're coming up to the door. Just nip into this wardrobe closet until they're gone. Thank you. Thank you very much. I'll just close the door after you. You'll be all right. I'll be all right. Thank you. I'll just close the door after you. You'll be all right there for a bit. Sorry to intrude, Professor, but we're looking for a fugitive from justice. You haven't seen any strange men about, have you? Oh, I can't say that I have. Don't like to be alarming, sir, but the man's a murderer and he's dangerous. Sure you'll find no murderers here. You're welcome to search the ground. Very good, sir. You may come out now. Oh, thank you. I must say you did that beautifully and I can't tell you how grateful I am. And I'm grateful to you, Mr. Hunnigh. You know who I am? Indeed I do. And I would have turned you away if you hadn't been so persistent. Stute of me not to guess immediately, but in my wildest dreams I wouldn't have hoped to catch you on my own doorstep. Who are you? You don't know? I suppose that's because in your wildest nightmares you wouldn't dream of walking right into my house. Or maybe it's this hat I'm wearing and the light's not too bright. One moment. There now, Mr. Hunnigh. Can you guess? I've never seen him before, but Scudder had described him to a T. The head man of the Blackstone, chubby, thick, thick glasses, like a professor, completely bald, one of his eyes milky. And I remembered Scudder saying, if you run across him, Mr. Hunnigh, watch out. Well, here I'd run across him sure enough. And while I was gathering my wits, I sensed something. There was someone behind me. I moved, but not in time. Something came down with a sickening crash on the back of my head and I felt myself falling through black and bottomless infinity. Auto Light is bringing you Mr. Herbert Marshall in The 39 Steps, tonight's production in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, South Spence. Well, Hap, how's the team? You mean our basketball team, Harlan? No, no, no. I mean the Auto Light team in your Auto Light equipped car. That team of Auto Light electrical system units, including the coil, distributor, generator, motor, and all their thousands of component parts. Why they're all related by Auto Light engineering design and manufacturing skill to give your car the smoothest performance money can buy. That Auto Light electrical system does a big job, eh, Harlan? You said it, Hap, and it's vitally important to the smooth and efficient operation of your Auto Light equipped car. Then I'm off to treat my car to a checkup at an Auto Light service station. Right, Hap. In the meantime, visit your car dealer or nearest authorized Auto Light service station. You'll find the authorized Auto Light service station nearest you listed in the classified section of your telephone directory. Or call Western Union by number and ask for operator 25. And remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Auto Light. And now, Auto Light brings back to our Hollywood sound stage Mr. Herbert Marshall in Elliot Lewis's production of The 39 Steps, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. I came to my senses with a raging headache and found that I was locked in a sort of storage room with a heavy bolted door and barred windows. Coming to the window, I saw that it was nearly dusk and that there was a powerful touring car sitting in the drive. I surmised that they were only waiting for doubt to dispose of me permanently. But while I was taking mournful stock of my seemingly hopeless surroundings, I heard something that made my heart leap. Someone at the door. I hit him on the back of the neck as hard as I could. Seconds later, I was at the wheel of the touring car and speeding out into open country. I drove... All night I drove on the white roads of Ribbon-le-Maur, circling, doubling, climbing. At dawn I drove off the road into a narrow veil among tall, fair trees and I stayed there, hidden among the trees, till nearly dusk. I drove all the next night until I reached a fishing village called Rough. There I came to a kind of pass where the chimney of a solitary house sent up a plume of smoke. In the distance the sea. The road swung over a bridge and leaning on the parapet was a young man. I grew up beside him. Good evening, is that place an inn? At your service, sir. I'm the landlord. You are the young to be an innkeeper? Well, it wasn't my choice of a profession. You see, I wanted to write books. Well, an innkeeper should make a good storyteller. Aye, maybe in the old days when you had pilgrims and ballad singers and highwaymen. But there's even more adventure out on these roads today. If you have eyes to see it. Maybe you're rubbing shoulders with it right now. You think so? Put me up for the night. Give me a hot supper and I'll tell you a true tale. And a month from now you can make it into a novel. Well I pitched him a lovely yarn. I altered details but I put in some of the truth. Told him I was a mining magnate from Kimberley who had crossed a gang of cutthroats. I told him they chased me across the ocean, killed my best friend in Portland Place and now they were on my tracks. And on top of that, the police thought I had done the killing. He believed every word. He was young but he was the man I needed. He told me I could stay as long as I liked and nobody would know. And the only pay he wanted was more stories about my adventures. So two present days went by. I stayed in my room, ate in my room and I began to breathe easier. No sign of the black stone and no more alarming news in the papers about the Portland Place murder. Then one night. Twenty three pages of newsprint and not a story in all of it. Oh? Politics is all assassins. Shot some Greek chap in London, Carol Idyes. Carol Idyes? Just as Cutter said. You know him? Oh no, I've heard about him. Look here, defense packs. Meetings between us and the French. Just gives those silly Frenchmen an excuse for a trip. Did you see their picture in the London paper I brought back this afternoon? I didn't notice it, no. Oh, I have it over here on the desk. The picture of them going into the final meeting. I never saw such an idiotic looking crew in my life. Here. That one with his little mustache looking like he smells something bad. And that young slim one there rolling his eyes for the ladies, I'll bet. And look at that chubby chap with the thick glasses. He looks blind in one eye. What? Whatever's the matter, sir? You looked like you'd just caught sight of Beelzebub. I had. I'd seen Satan himself. The head man of the German black stone was looking placidly out at me from that newspaper picture. He'd been there with the French delegation. He'd attended those secret meetings. And now the plans for the defense of England and France, for the disposition of the British fleet were in his hands on their way to Germany. That was what Scuddle hadn't been able to tell me. But he'd said something just before he died. Low tide, the fifth. Did he mean they were sailing at low tide on the fifth? But from what point? Sailing in what? I excused myself and went into the bar at the inn. It was crowded with fishermen playing darts, drinking, arguing about the day's catch. Here you are, sir. A pint of half and half. Oh, thank you. Oh, here. Give me another drink. Are you not taking a wee bit too much there, Ralph? Oh, had a rotten day. Rotten luck. Eight blessed hours. I was anchored off the 39 steps. Didn't haul in more than two dozen for the whole day. 39 steps. 39 steps. That's the way. That was what Scuddle said. The steps at low tide. Boutender. Aye, sir. Will I fill her up again? If you don't mind. I thought I'd do some fishing tomorrow. How do I get to the 39 steps? Oh, you'll find a sort of a track out over the headland. That takes you there. Are there really 39 of them? Well, you know, sir, I've never counted them. I've been down them two or three times, too, going to the cave. Just have a look around, you can. Oh, that cave gives me the creeps. Here, sir, where are you going? You owe me three and five. Oh, sorry. What's your big hurry, my boy? Sorry, officer. Haven't seen you around rough before. Here, let me take a look. Some other time. You look a lot like that fellow there after. Portland place murderer, they call him. You just come along with me. Wait, you won't get away. It's the murderer. It's the murderer. It was old when heavier than I, so I out distanced him easily enough. But it was only a question of time. I had to work fast, find the steps, find where they led. I ran all the way to the edge of the headland overlooking the sea. The sky was overcast and it was dark as my pocket. I stumbled along, barking my shins on rock and scratching my face and hands in the gorse. Then I found them, narrow steps carved in the face of the cliff, leading down. I felt my way along the rock wall going down step by step. They led into the cliff itself. I counted them as I went. Thirty-five. Thirty-six. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine. The steps ended on what seemed to be a wide shelf of rock. I strained my eyes in the blackness of the cave and gradually made out the dull sheen of water. Below me was an underground lake that seemed to rise and fall with the movement of the sea. I was too intent on seeing if there was a boat of any kind in that strange underground harbor so I didn't hear footsteps behind me until I was pinned in the beam of a torchlight. Is that the water? Mr. Tanai. Who? What have you found? I heard the excitement. They're looking for you. I brought you a gun. Tell me, can boats sail into this lake? Boats? Aye, a rowboat maybe. The water is deep, but there's no headroom. It's nearly low tide now, isn't it? Almost to the minute. Submarine! A submarine doesn't need headroom. Give me your light. Now, look, look. Isn't that an underground stream coming in from the left? What's that? Something coming down the stream. A dory, three men in it. There they are. The spy is going to be done. Now run and get help. Quickly. Right you are, sir. Who's there? Who is that? I have a gun this time, Professor. Mr. Tanai, quickly. No, keep rowing. Surrender, Professor, or I shoot. Seven weeks later, as all the world knows, we were at war. But German had been so certain of success that his plans were by then too far in motion to be halted. For myself, I served as an officer of infantry throughout the show. But I like to think I did my best bit, for ever I went into uniform. Southspence. Presented by Auto Light. Tonight's star, Mr. Herbert Marshall. This is Harlow Wilcox speaking for Auto Light, world's largest independent manufacturer of automotive electrical equipment. Auto Light is proud to serve the greatest names in the industry. That's why during the early months of 52, the Auto Light family will join in saluting the leading car manufacturers who install Auto Light products as original equipment. Our Auto Light family is made up of the nearly 30,000 men and women in 28 great Auto Light plants from coast to coast and in still other Auto Light plants in many foreign countries. Our family also includes more than 18,000 people who have invested a portion of their savings in Auto Light, as well as 96,000 Auto Light distributors and dealers in the United States and thousands more in Canada and throughout the world. Our Auto Light family will salute Crosley Motors on the next Auto Light Suspense television program. If you live in a television area, check the day and time of Suspense on television so that you'll be sure to see this program. And remember, be with us next week for another thrilling Auto Light Suspense program on radio. The Next Day Next week on Suspense, our star will be Mr. Joseph Carton in a story about three people adrift in mid-Atlantic, each wanting the other dead. A tale we call A Watery Grave. In weeks to come, we shall also present Frank Lovejoy and Robert Young, all on Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with music composed by Lucian Morawick and conducted by Lud Gluskin. The 39 Steps was adapted for Suspense by Sylvia Richards from the book by John Buchan, featured in the cast were Tudor Owen, Joseph Kearns, Ben Wright, William Johnstone, Charles Davis, Byron Cain, and Raymond Lawrence. Herbert Marshall may be heard each week in his own radio program, The Man Called X. This is the CBS Radio Network.
