Suspense. And the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure, William N. Robeson. Psychiatrists can tell you some very interesting things about the symbolism of money, and they may be right. Have you ever noticed the furtive way people deposit and withdraw money in a bank? As though it were an almost indecent act, something which should be done secretly and in private. Of course, bank employees are different. Money to them is a commodity, the raw material of their business. They handle it impersonally, without feeling, that is most of them do. But every now and then a man can't stand working around so much loot, and he dips his hand into the till and gets it caught. Not so the hero of our story. He has time and patience and brains. He robs a bank and is never caught by the police. Listen. Listen then, as Mr. Frank Lovejoy stars in Death in Box 234, which begins in just a moment. Here's actress Joan Bennett. 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Get Fitch dandruff remover shampoo today. And now, Death in Box 234 starring Mr. Frank Lovejoy. A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. I'm sure you'll agree the best way to rob a bank is from the inside. Well, I was on the inside. I was the guy you had to sign in with before you could get into your safe deposit box. It sort of gave me a sense of importance and power. Made me a little dizzy too, thinking of all the loot in those 2,000 boxes, jewelry, bonds, and cash. And it taught me patience. I had to wait a long, long time before I could put my plan to work. But finally one day a little old man walked into the bank carrying a covered bird cage. Is this where I can get a safety draw, young fella? If you mean a safety deposit box, this is the right place. Bank ever been robbed? I know, sir. Don't trust banks. But I got to unload this cage somewhere. You want to put a bird in a safe deposit box? No, no. I got my money in the cage. I always keep it there, half for years. I own a pet store. Lots of bird cages, some covered, some uncovered. You want to hide something, hide it in the open. But now, I don't know. There's been so many stick-ups lately. Tell you what, I'll take one of the safety draws. Very well. If you'll just sign here, I'll get you a key. I turned to the key chart, my heart pounding. This was the kind of a customer I'd been waiting for. I searched the chart until I found two empty boxes, one above the other. I gave Mr. Jensen two, three, four, and I mentally reserved box two, three, three for myself. After the old man had left with the empty bird cage, George, the guard, confirmed my suspicions. Well, you know what that old guy had in that bird cage. He told me it was money. Huh, Sid, what was that cage stuffed with, though? And not a bill less than a Cino. George, I'm amazed that anyone who worked in a bank as long as you would be impressed by $100 bills. In a bird cage? George, you know it's against the bank's policy to discuss the contents of the customer's safe deposit boxes. What are you barking for, a vice presidency? It merely reminding you, George, it would never do for me to betray my excitement to George, just as it would never do for me to take out the box above Mr. Jensen's in my own name. For this, I needed someone else, someone who needed money desperately, someone with larceny in his heart. But not grand larceny, just petty larceny. I began to search the classified ads, and a couple of days later, I found one that sounded just right. Young man wants work, it said. Will do anything for money. Phone U-L-2-3-7-4-2. Hello? Are you the man who placed the ad in the paper? That's right, Dad. You got a job for me? If I told you that for just three hours a week you could earn $30, would you be interested? Crazy, what's the gimmick? Well, it might involve a little risk. I've taken risks before, what do you want me to do? I can't discuss it over the phone. If you'll meet me at the sandwich mill on the corner of Van Buren and Gilbert Streets tomorrow at 1.30, there's a $10 bill in it for you, whether you take the job or not. I'll be at the table by the door. I'll be there. I hadn't been in the sandwich mill for more than five minutes when he showed up. His name was Gil. He looked like he could use a buck, so I didn't waste any time putting my cards on the table. Three times a week I'll meet you here. I'll give you $20. You'll come to the bank, you'll put $10 in the deposit box and keep 10 for yourself. It's too easy. What's in it for you? Well, that's beside the point. If you do as I say, you'll have 30 bucks a week. If you don't, you'll have nothing. First time you don't show up, the deal will be off. Have you got that straight? Yeah. How long will this go on? Well, that depends when I no longer need your services. All the money you leave in the deposit box will be yours plus a thousand dollar bonus. Still interested? Are you kidding? What have I got to lose? Nothing. He couldn't lose, I couldn't lose. Nobody could lose but Mr. Jensen. And any old man who carries his dough around in a bird cage deserves to lose it. Now that most medium priced cars have raised their prices, must you settle for something less? Not if you buy an Ambassador V8 by Rambler, the medium priced car that did not raise prices for 59. The luxurious but compact Ambassador, American Motors Finest, is next year's car at last year's price. Come test our best. See how Ambassador gives you full hat room, shoulder room and leg room for all six passengers. Discover luxuries that even the most expensive cars do not offer. Personalize luxury, including front seats that adjust back and forward separately for your individual comfort and leg room. Thrill to the new experience of a perfect power to weight ratio that enables Ambassador's 270 horsepower V8 to outperform other cars in its class. Turn on a dime, park easily anywhere because Ambassador has no useless overhang. Don't let yourself be priced out of the medium priced field. Get next year's car at last year's price. The luxurious Ambassador at Rambler Dealers. And now, starring Mr. Frank Lovejoy, Act Two of Death in Box 234. Like I said, robbing a bank takes a good plan and lots of patience. I had both. Three times a week, Gil, my hired stooge, deposited $10 in his safe deposit box. And once a week, Mr. Jensen deposited a birdcage full of $100 bills in his. There was only one hitch in the whole beautiful setup. I began to like the old man. Everything under lock and key, young fella? Safe and sound, Mr. Jensen. That's the kind of talk I like to hear. How's it with you? Well, not so good. Oh, what's the matter? I'm having trouble with Priscilla. Somehow, I didn't think you were married. I'm not. Oh, then Priscilla's your girlfriend? At my age? Thanks, young fella. No, Priscilla's a parrot. A lady parrot? I think so. Never been sure, though. Had her for ten years and I'm still not sure. Hard to tell with parrots. What kind of trouble has Priscilla been giving you? Well, I worry about her. She's been off her feed. Hasn't had a single seat for nearly a week now. Usually it's right out of my hand. Now she just sits in her cage and droops. Well, I don't like it. I don't like it at all. Well, if I were you, I wouldn't worry about it. If you were me, you would worry about it. What are you supposed to run that pet shop for? Ain't the money. I got more than I'll ever need. It's for friends. Friends? Sure. Priscilla and the other birds and the puppies, even the goldfish. Friends. They're all the friends I got. But it's more friends than most fellows my age have got left. You see what I mean? He's a nice old guy. As George the guard escorted him and his bird cage into the vault, I couldn't help feeling like a heel. But only for a moment. On his way out, Mr. Jensen stopped at my desk again. Well, young fella, I won't be seeing you so often anymore. Oh, you're going away? No, but you got all my money here now, so I'll just drop by every month or so to check up on you. Now you take good care of it, young fella. Don't you worry, Mr. Jensen. I'll take care of your money as if it were my own. Now only one thing stood between me and Mr. Jensen's money. My friend George the guard. George knew Mr. Jensen. George would blow the whistle if he saw Gil emptying Mr. Jensen's box. So George had to be put out of action during our action. But how? Well, in order to get anywhere in this world, you've got to use the other fellow's weakness. Gil's weakness, like mine, was that root of all evil, the love of money. And George's weakness was alcohol. He kept a pint stashed in the glove compartment of his car, and every day after lunch, he sneaked out to the parking lot for a quick bell. And a Mickey and George's pint would put him in the emergency hospital for the afternoon. That night I called Gil to make sure he'd meet me at the usual time and place. And the next morning, on my way into the bank, I doctored George's booze. I'd buy slowly. Ten thirty, eleven, eleven thirty. Everything was set for the big heist, the perfect bank robbery. I'd covered every tail. Nothing could go wrong now. I'd thought of everything. Good morning, young fella. But this. There stood Mr. Jensen, looking like death dug up, a dirty bandage around his right hand. I come in to look at my money. Of course, Mr. Jensen. What happened to your hand? It's that Priscilla. She bit me. Finally got her appetite back and had a piece of my hand for breakfast. Have you seen a doctor? No, but I don't believe in doctors. But you never can tell. A thing like that might be dangerous, give you blood poisoning. Don't you worry about me, young fella. Nature'll take care of it. I've always been a great believer in nature. It ain't the bite that bothers me. It's Priscilla. I can't understand why she turned on me. She was my oldest friend. Mr. Jensen was in the vault for a long, long time, and I began to wonder if I'd missed my date with Gil. I couldn't leave, of course, until I was sure he was out of the bank. But at last he came back to the desk and returned the key. Young fella, you're doing a good job. A real good job. Thank you, Mr. Jensen. Yes, sir. I just counted every single penny of my money and it's all there. Just as safe as if I was minding it myself. Nothing like counting money, you know, especially if it's your own. Best indoor sport I ever heard of. Well, keep up the good work, Sire. I will, Mr. Jensen. You better get that handle up there. Ah, look after my hands. You look after my money. Look, Dad, you know how much dough I got in that safe deposit box? Yes, Gil. Do you? Two hundred and forty bucks, and I could use it. You know, there ain't nothing that can stop me from going in there and taking it out. That's right, Gil. It's your money. Yeah, well, and that's what I'm gonna do. And lose your bonus? What bonus? A thousand dollars. A thousand bucks? Who do I have to kill? No one. I don't dig you, man, but I learned a long time ago you don't get something for nothing. That's right. Now here's what you have to do for your thousand dollars. Go, man. Come into the bank at two thirty. I'll give you a large manila envelope and the key to box two, three, four. That's just below yours. There'll be a different guard, so don't worry about being recognized. Take all the money out of the box and put it in the envelope. When you come back to my counter, return the key, give me the envelope, I'll give you an identical one with a thousand dollars in it. Just like that? I'm reading your mind, Gil. Don't try to walk out of the bank with the money. All I have to do is push one little button and you'll be shot before you reach the door. Remember that. What about my two hundred and forty bucks? You come back tomorrow, you get it out of box two, three, three, and that's the last time I want to see you. Have you got everything straight? I got it straight. I'm reading your mind again. Stop thinking about ten thousand dollars reward leading to the arrest and conviction. You couldn't prove a thing. It's your word against mine, not a shred of proof or evidence. So just take your twelve hundred and forty dollars and go quietly. When I got back to the bank, George was nowhere to be seen. And Big Joe, the guard who works the front door, was back to the vault. Right on the dot of half past two, Gil came into the bank, took the manila envelope and the key to box two, three, four, and disappeared into the vault followed by Big Joe. Five minutes later he was back. He shoved the key across the counter, but he held on to the manila envelope full of money. I held on to the envelope containing the thousand dollar bonus. How do I know there's a thousand bucks in that envelope? You don't? Yeah, but I know what's in this envelope and there's plenty. I know. More than a thousand bucks, lots more. Don't be greedy, Gil. I got a right to some of it. All right, go ahead. Take it all. But you'd better hurry. The guard is looking this way. Now remember, there's the little button under the counter. My finger is on it, Gil. Shall I push it now? Here's the envelope. Give me the grant. I thought the day would never end, but of course it finally did. And I rushed home to my apartment, double locked the doors, ripped open the envelope, dumped the money onto a coffee table in a beautiful green pile and began counting. I was only up to fifty thousand dollars when I noticed there was blood on the money. Fresh wet blood. And I discovered I'd cut my finger when I'd torn open the envelope. One of those deep paper cuts that don't hurt at first but only bleed. I wrapped my handkerchief around it and went on counting. A hundred, a hundred and ten, a hundred and eighteen thousand dollars. All-Man Jensen was right. There's no greater indoor sport than counting your own money. And every cent of it was mine now. Now here is where the story should end. With a bank robber skipping the country with his ill-gotten gains to spend the rest of his life in luxurious ease in some Central American banana republic. But this was no ordinary bank job and I was too smart a bank robber. I didn't need to make a getaway. I went back to work the next morning. It's early evening and you're out visiting friends. The conversation is stimulating. Perhaps a pleasant game of cards has started. You're relaxed and enjoying yourself. What your enjoyment could be spoiled if you should suddenly feel a troublesome twinge of acid indigestion, heartburn or gas. Then your evening is ruined. But not if you bring Tums along. You take a Tums tablet with no fuss or inconvenience. You relax and let the remarkable medically tested antacid ingredients in Tums go to work. Tums work fast. As a matter of fact, in a matter of seconds you're feeling better. You're enjoying yourself again. You see, nothing but Tums work so fast to make you feel so good, so long. So wherever you are, always carry Tums for quick relief from acid indigestion, heartburn, gas. T-U-M-S, Tums, ten cents. Three roll pack a quarter. Or get the new six roll Tums pack, just 49 cents. And now, starring Mr. Frank Lovejoy, act three of Death in box 234. Yes, I went back to work the morning after I knocked off Mr. Jensen's safe deposit box for $118,000. I went back to work as though nothing had happened. And nothing did. George was back too, looking peaked and blaming his illness on the lousy luncheon meat his wife put in his sandwiches. Gil came in an empty box 233 and left without a word. And days went by without a sign of old Mr. Jensen. I gave my notice to the bank and made my plans to move out to the west coast. But I began to feel lousy. And then I began to look like I felt. George noticed it first. Hey Harry, you look bad. I'm a real sick. Gee, thanks. I mean bad. Like old man Jensen last time he was in here. George, you say the nicest things. But I knew he was right. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was flushed. There was a hollow look I'd never seen in my eyes before. I got scared. I couldn't figure it out. Somehow counting the money wasn't fun anymore. Finally I woke up one morning with a raging fever. Going to work was out of the question. I was weak as a kitten. It was all I could do to pick up the morning paper from under my apartment door. I slumped back into bed and then I saw it. A couple of paragraphs tucked away on the back page. A diagnosis of my illness. And I knew then I would never leave this bed. A cut. If I only hadn't cut my finger on that envelope when I counted the money. Oh yes, the newspaper is what it says. Bird bites, man dies. Mr. A.J. Jensen, 75, was found dead last night in the back of his pet shop at 8957 Tulane Avenue. Cause of death was determined after examining a serious wound on his right hand. The wound had been inflicted by a parrot which was infected by psittacosis, a deadly disease for which no cure is known. Every article of Mr. Jensen's clothing and personal belongings had to be destroyed as they were highly contaminated. Mr. Jensen died without any living relations or close friends and apparently without any estate. By the way, I've got Mr. Jensen's money right here under my mattress if you'd like to have it. Suspense. In which Frank Lovejoy starred in William N. Robson's production of Death in Box 234, written by Don Hahn. In a moment, the names of the supporting players and a word about next week's story of suspense. Hi there, Frank. Fill her up, will you? Sure thing. Say, Frank, what's this I just heard on the radio about a big treasure hunt? Said I might have a Fram filter cartridge in my car right now worth $1,000 and not even know it. That's right. A regular filter check is important to today's cars. So important that Fram Corporation is paying from $1 to $1,000 in prices to get people to check their filters now. Not cash money, Frank. Oh, yes, sir. This is Fram's silver anniversary. Last year, 10,000 secretly numbered Fram filters were distributed all over the United States and installed in cars during regular servicing. And if you have one in your car now, you could get up to $1,000 silver dollars. I'd get up to $1,000 too. Well, what are we waiting for? Let's check my oil filter and let's check my air filter too. Hurry, folks. Get in on the big brand treasure hunt. You could win up to $1,000 in cash. Check your car filters now. During Frank Lovejoy and death in Box 234 were Edgar Staley, Lou Krugman, and Sam Pierce. Listen. Listen again next week when we return with Script by Mark Brady. Another tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
