Have you heard the strange tales of the Whistler? I'm the Whistler. I didn't ask you to marry me, you asked me. And you said you were going to get a job so you wouldn't be dependent on your mother. I was happy then, Barry, and proud of you. Another Saturday night and again CBS presents the Whistler. I, the Whistler, know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales, many secrets hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. And so I tell you tonight the weird story of the man who waited. A huge estate spreads out before you, the ancestral home of the Bartlets, set amid the peaceful New England countryside. The war has not yet come. It is 1937. The estate is ruled by Lydia Bartlett, a cold, cantankerous woman ill with heart trouble. Into this unhappy setting has come young Genevieve Garrison to act as secretary companion to bedridden old Lydia Bartlett. Lydia has but one child, a son, Barry, recently returned from a tour of Europe. The handsome young Barry is immediately attracted to lovely Genevieve, and after a month has passed. Genevieve, Genevieve, where are you? I'm up here, Barry. Oh, I've been looking all over for you. So this is your hiding place. No one ever comes up here except the birds. It's mighty windy up here in the tower. I love it. It sings to me. Yeah? You're a strange girl. You know, I think you're part of this wilderness, some wild thing that shows itself for an instant and then disappears. It's your charm for me, Genevieve, that unattainable wildness that lowers me. Please, Barry. Oh, I know Mother would have a fit if she knew I were in love with you. Then you must be sensible, Barry. After all, she controls the estate, and you'd have nothing if you were to make her angry. Your eyes were almost black when I see them so close. You frightened, Genevieve? No. That is... Your heart's beating so fast. I know. Let me go, Barry. Are you frightened? Or is it... Yes. I am frightened. Will you marry me, darling? Barry. I mean, would you marry me if I were able? Yes, Barry, yes. You know that. I'll have to find some sort of a job if we marry. Mother would cut me off in a minute. You know how she feels about marriage. Yes. We'd best forget about it, Barry. I wouldn't want to cause any trouble between you and your mother. You better go now. Oh, you're too lovely for words, Genevieve. Barry. I love you, darling. And so three months pass by. Then one day, Genevieve steps into Lydia Bartlett's bedroom. Did you call me, Mrs. Bartlett? I certainly did. Where have you been? Put the pillow behind my back and lift my head a little more. There. Is that better now? Yes, yes, it'll do. I want to talk to you. What about? About Annie, the maid. Oh. Has that young, stable boy been visiting Annie again? Well, I think she sees him on her days off. Well, I want it understood once and for all that I'll not tolerate any such nonsense under my roof. It must stop. But I think Annie would leave if you forbid her to see the boy. She's really very much in love with him. Love, Bosch. Silly nonsense. Mrs. Bartlett. You loved your husband, didn't you? My marriage was arranged by my parents. It only lasted a short while because he died. But it was a nightmare while it did last. Love, huh, there's no such thing. I'm sorry I mentioned it. And there's something else I want to talk to you about. Yes? What is it? What's wrong with you lately? You don't look well. You better see Dr. Anstith. I have seen him. And what did he say? Nothing serious. It's, well, a slight heart murmur. He gave me some medicine. I'll be all right. You'd rather take care of yourself. I will. Where's the newspaper? Here. Anything in it? Read it to me. Well, there's a tea, a charity affair, with the proceeds going to the baby shelter. Baby shelter. Women are fools. Well, go on, go on. What else? Oh, a number of engagements and several wedding announcements and... What's the matter? What is it? It's something, something about your son. Barry? What do you mean? Read it. Seen frequently together are Miss Joan Marvell and Mr. Barry Bartlett, son of Lydia Bartlett. An early announcement is anticipated. The fool! He's out of his mind. How dare he do such a thing? I won't have it. I won't. Mrs. Bartlett, I just... Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just... Oh. Annie. Annie, come here at once. Miss Garrison has fainted. How are you feeling, Genevieve? Mother said you'd been ill, that you had some sort of an attack. It wasn't anything. I had rather a shock. My heart isn't too good. I was reading the paper to your mother and I noticed your name coupled with that of Miss Marvell. Oh. It was silly of me to give way because I know it can't mean anything now. Genevieve, I... I think I'd better come right out with it. You mean it... it's true? Oh, Barry, how could you? I've been trying to get up here to discuss it with you. You know that such an arrangement as ours is no good. Why, if Mother ever found out we were married, we'd be sunk. It's very unfair. It's just as unfair to me. I didn't ask you to marry me. I was content the way things were. But when you asked me to be your wife, you said you were going to get a job so you wouldn't be dependent on your mother. I was so happy and so proud of you. Well, I tried to get a job, but it's terribly awkward trying to find something to do when you're not accustomed to it. And you can't ask a man of my position to go out and become a garage mechanic or something like that. There's nothing dishonorable in becoming a garage mechanic. Oh, don't talk nonsense. Naturally, I can't tell my friends my reason that I married. Naturally. I met Joan some time ago. I was up at King's College with her brother Ned. She's grown up to be most attractive. More attractive than I am, of course. I didn't say that. It would be a very suitable marriage. The Marbelles have parts of money and the old man would give me a place in his business. Oh, naturally, I'd plan to take care of you, make you a suitable allowance and that sort of thing if you'll divorce me. As a matter of fact, Joan knows all about you and has consented to marry me if I can get a divorce. She knows about your being married to me. But there's something else she can't know, Barry. Why, what are you talking about? I'm going to have a child. Your child. A child? Who knows about it? Dr. Ansteth. I went to see him and he told me what was wrong with me. Well, Ansteth's a good sport. He won't talk. Anybody else? I've told no one else. But I think Annie suspects. Oh, I hope it doesn't get to Mother. But you can understand now why I can't divorce you. I can understand why you think so, but I still think it's a shame. Why do these things have to happen to me? Why do these things have to happen to you, Barry? With yours is no great tragedy, though you think yourself so ill-used. The harm that is done is not to yourself, but to the woman who loves you so dearly. And can you be sure she won't tell your mother? Is there anything else you want, Mrs. Bartlett? Yes, Annie. You're not to let that Joe Moberly into the kitchen. Is that clear? I'll not have that sort of thing going on in my house. I'm not seeing Joe in the house. And when I see him, I see him open and honest, like respectable people. I'm not the only person in this house that is a gentleman friend, either. Well, I'd like to know who that person is. I'm not saying anything against anybody. Only, if I can't see my Joe that keeps his distance and knows his place, why should anybody else be allowed to have a man in this house? Ask Miss Garrison to come up here at once. Annie said you wished to speak to me, Mrs. Bartlett. And so I do. Now, I'll come right to the point. What's going on behind my back? Behind your back? I don't know what you mean. Oh, yes, you do. You lie very badly. Out with it. I... I don't understand. Did Annie say anything about me? I was berating Annie for seeing that Joe. And she tossed her head and said she wasn't the only person hereabouts who had a gentleman friend. Only her gentleman friend called on her open and honest. Well, is there anything to what she says? Yes. I have a gentleman friend, as Annie puts it so elegantly. I have more than that. I have a husband. A husband? Your son, Barry. Barry? Barry? You're lying. You're lying. He wouldn't dare. He knows what he means to me. He couldn't do this to me. It seems he did, Mrs. Bartlett. Then you tricked him into it. Of course you would say that. But I did nothing of the sort. I loved him. He asked me to marry him so he might free himself of your hold on him. Barry did that? I'll not believe it. Of course you won't believe it. You don't know the meaning of love. What a way to talk to me. I'll not tolerate it another moment. You'll have to tolerate it because there's no way of your stopping me. I learned something else from Barry. He has one side to his nature which he takes from you. What do you mean? I married him because he wished it. He was going to find a way that we might live together openly. But Barry found he couldn't do what he said he would do. He found an easier way to live through another woman who could keep him in the style to which you had accustomed him. So he told me this, expecting I would forego my claim to him. Divorce him? I would have released him. But there was another whose claim was greater than mine. His child. Oh, disgraceful. Under my very roof. I can't endure any more of this. I'll call my lawyers. I'll cut him off without a cent. I'll... Oh, my medicine. Medicine, I... Medicine. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, Oh, I... oh, my medicine. Medicine. Medicine. Oh, oh. What's happened, Miss Garrison? Come in, Annie. Oh. It's the missus. It's another attack. I'll call Dr. Anfeth. You can call him Annie, but Mrs. Bartlett is dead. Now Barry will be free from his mother's apron strings, free from financial worry. He will inherit the estate to do with as he pleases. But still he hasn't everything. Joan is forever on his mind. I had to talk with you. Joan has been a age since I've had a moment alone with you. I'm sorry, Barry, but I didn't think it best. I've got to talk things over with you. When we planned to marry before and you told me how you'd been tricked into marriage by that woman, I was willing to overlook it if you could get a divorce from her. That's the devil of it. She won't divorce me now. There's going to be a child. Oh. Where is she? In a nursing home. She's been ill ever since mother died. For a while they thought she might die too, but she pulled out of it. Oh, I know. She must have well led you on, but you're so attractive and she must have been really fond of you. But I don't love her, dear. I love you. Can't you understand it? I can't give you up. I won't. Barry, Barry, darling, I love you too, but this isn't a thing we can decide in a moment. You must be patient. Patient. Patient. You sit there close to me and you ask me to be patient. I will for a while. But only for a while. Genevieve, lying in her narrow bed in the nursing home, is trying to be patient too. Trying to forget the pain which wrecks her to the core, trying to keep from calling for the husband who isn't there. She had hoped that the birth of their son would bring him back to her. Then one evening the door opened. Is that you, nurse? No. It's Barry. They said I might see you now. Barry. Oh, why haven't you come before? I've wanted you so. There, there. Now don't go on like that. I've had quite a lot of business connected with the estate which took me away for a bit. They sent me a wire about the baby and I came as quickly as I could. Have you seen him? Yes, from little Dickens. Babies all look alike. Well, you'll be as fit as a fiddle before long and after you get out of here, there's some things that must be straightened out. What things straightened out? I don't understand. Old things, things. I'll see about a house for you and the baby and... For me and the baby? What about you? Aren't you going to live with us, Barry? No, you see, I... Barry, that girl. Are you still in love with her? Well, yes I am. I thought when the baby came it would be different. I see it's not. Well, it's... Let me tell you something. Sit down. You'll have to keep her waiting a while longer. They thought I didn't hear them because I was being put under the anesthetic. But I wasn't quite, quite out. The doctor said she may last for years. But I lay you ten to one, she's dead in three months. Oh, come now. You may have imagined it. I didn't imagine it. You know what that means to me. Three months to live. You can see how important it is that those three months should be spent with you. The doctor didn't say a word to me about your being in such a serious condition? I heard him. I see. And you don't want to give me a divorce. You want me to wait, is that it? Yes, Barry. Please. First it was my mother, and now you... Barry, there's something I feel I must tell you. Something about your mother you don't know. Why, what do you mean? The doctor said she died of a heart attack and she did. But she wouldn't have died if I'd given her the medicine for it. She'd found out from Annie that I'd been seeing some man. And when she asked me who it was, I told her everything. You did? She went into a tantrum and stormed at me. She had an attack. And I stood by and watched. Watched her gasp for breath and call for help that never came. I did that for you. For you, Barry. And you expect me to... to go on with you? I expect you to stay with me and our son during the last remaining months of my life. And if you try to leave me or seek to have me put away because of what I've done, I'll bring you into it. I'll swear it was your idea. That you're an accessory. The months go by. One, two, three. And Genevieve, remembering the conversation which she had overheard between the doctor and the nurse, cannot believe it when she finds herself unmistakably improving in health. Well, Genevieve, you'd had a rather severe time of it before the baby came. And you were quite run down. But you've done very well. You must watch your heart, though. Avoid any strenuous activity and keep as calm as possible. Barry has sullenly accepted the conditions which have been forced on him, but the knowledge that Genevieve was responsible for his mother's death, as well as for his enforced separation from the girl he loves, makes him sullen and bitter. There's no happiness for either of them in this unnatural arrangement, but Genevieve holds him with her constant threat. Did you ring for me, Mrs. Bartlett? Will you ask Cook to make me a fresh pot of coffee, Annie? This tastes very bitter. Yes, but Cook won't like it. Well, I can't drink this. It tastes as bitter as stri... Never mind. Don't take it back. Leave it. Yum. It's odd, but I could have sworn it tasted bitter. I... I couldn't. Oh, good morning, Barry. Good morning. I'd offer you some coffee, but it's not so very good. No, thanks. I'll just have a look at the paper. I have coffee in my room. Oh? Since when do you do that? What? Since when do I do what? Have coffee in your room. I did this morning. Was it the same pot? Well, it might have been. I don't know. I never noticed. Why? Did you notice it was quite bitter? I can't say that I did. It might have been standing too long. The cook should have sent you some fresh coffee. Get after her about it. Yes. It might have been standing too long. It might have been standing too long, but you don't think so, do you, Genevieve? Not when you know how your husband resents, bitterly resents his enforced stay at your side. How he wishes the doctor's prognosis of your case had been fulfilled. If only there was some way to break up this infatuation with Joan before it's too late. Why not call Joan? Talk to her yourself. Miss Joan Marvell, ma'am. How do you do, Miss Marvell? Come in, please. Thank you. That will be all, Annie. I suppose you're wondering why I sent for you. Yes. I was a bit surprised, to say the least. I want to talk to you about Barry. Barry's my husband. We have a child, as you know. This is his home, and I've done everything possible to keep him here where he belongs. But so long as you continue to see him, it will be more difficult for him to make a decision. What makes you think I've been seeing him? I can tell by the way he acts. He thinks he's in love with you. And he will continue to think so until you make a definite break. Well, Mrs. Bartlett, I've not been seeing Barry. He's tried to reach me many times, but I've purposely avoided him. Are you sure? Yes, because I'm going to be married to someone else. So you have nothing further to worry about. Does Barry know this? No. Then why haven't you told him? I intend to tell him today. I wish you would. He's been, well, been acting strangely of late, and... I'd feel ever so much easier about things if you let him know the truth. I understand, Mrs. Bartlett. I hope you'll be very happy, Miss Marvell. And I do thank you for coming. You see, it's all for the best, Barry. You don't mean that, Joan. Until I talked to her, I was really undecided about marrying Roger Haddon. But now I know what to do. She's a lovely woman, Barry, the most tragic eyes I've ever seen in my life. You must go back to her. She wants you, needs you. You must forget about me. So she sent for you, did she? Yes. She thought she was being clever. Oh, why doesn't she give up? She knows how I feel. I do wish you hadn't gone to her. I'm glad I did. I know now what to do. And having seen her, talked to her, I understand you so much better. Understand me? Yes. I think you know what I mean. Goodbye, Barry. No, please. Joan, please, wait a minute. You don't really love this, Roger. You're doing this just because of Genevieve. You must think of yourself. Think of me. Hold your decision for a few weeks. Why? Well, something may happen. I mean, if you'll just wait a bit, the picture may change for us. How do you mean? How could that be possible now? Promise me, promise me that you'll wait. What are you thinking, Barry? Why, why nothing. I just want you to wait. She said you'd been acting odd. She's imagining things. I'll have to hurry now or I'll miss my appointment. Goodbye. I said goodbye, Barry. Oh, oh yes. Goodbye, Joan. Now it is late the same night. Genevieve lies wakefully in her bed. A car draws up outside. The front door opens and closes. Genevieve sits up. Someone is coming up the stairs. They pause before the door. Who is it? May I come in? Yes, Barry. Hello, Genevieve. Oh, Barry. I'm sorry to disturb you at this time of night. How do you feel? Why, I, I feel much better, Barry. I, well, Joan told me that she had talked to you this afternoon. Yes, Barry. We were all washed up, you know. She, she asked me to come back to you. Oh, Barry, if you only would. There's a lot of unpleasant memories between us. I, I try to make you forget them, Barry. I had decided to go to California. Oh, Barry, please don't. Stay with me. I need you, darling. Please don't go. All right, Genevieve. If that's the way you want it. Barry, Barry, you don't know what this means to me. We'll really be together again. You and the baby. Genevieve, Genevieve, Genevieve, what's wrong? It's my heart. What? Excitement. My medicine. In the bathroom. Please, Barry. Medicine? Yes. The little one with the medicine. Drop her. Please. Yes, Genevieve. The bottle with the medicine dropper in it. Medicine dropper in it. Oh, yes. I have it. How much did you take? Five. Five drops. One, two, three, four, five. There you are. Thank you, Barry. Oh, you'll be all right now, Genevieve. You'll be all right in a few moments. I'll stay in the other room tonight. Barry. What is it? That bottle. That isn't my medicine. What? No. Look. Look at the label. That's your mother's medicine. Mother's? Oh, good Lord, it is. It's wrong for me. That medicine is a heart depressant. Barry, Barry. What? What have you done? I can't breathe. Can't. Genevieve. Genevieve. Well, Barry, what have you done? Genevieve is dead. Isn't this what you wanted? You're free now, Barry. Free. Then, 45 minutes later, Dr. Anstead hurries you to the bedroom. Well, Barry, what is it? What happened? I don't know, Doctor. This is the way I found her. Well, what sign of a pulse? Poor girl. I can't understand it. She's improved so much. She's dead, Doctor? Yes, Barry. I'm sorry. I completely dumbfounded. Wait a moment. What's this? What? What on earth? Why? Why, she's taken some of this medicine. Good heavens, yes. I can smell it in the glass. What's wrong, sir? This isn't her medicine. I prescribed this for your mother. My mother? Genevieve's heart needed a stimulant. This induces the opposite reaction. She took this by mistake. By mistake? But how on earth could... Well, there's nothing we can do for her now. What time did you say you came into the room, Barry? Well, just a few moments before I called you. Well, that would be 12 minutes ago. Yes, that's right. I see. She was gasping for breath. She tried to say something, but I couldn't make out what it was. I called you immediately. Well, I'll call the undertakers. I'll use the phone in the hall. The body's in this room, Mr. Andrews. Come in. Thank you. Barry, this is Mr. Andrews. Oh, how do you do? Mr. Andrews is a police inspector. What? Why the police? I thought you called the undertaker. Not yet. Well, why the police? Barry, here's a letter your wife gave me not so long ago. It says on the envelope to be opened at my death. A letter? Yes, I'll read it to you. Dear Dr. Anstith, for many months now my husband has been in love with another woman. I refuse to give him a divorce. Lately he's been acting in a strange manner. I know he wants me out of the way. I know he has tried to poison me. I have hoped and hoped that I could bring him back to his senses. But now I'm afraid it's too late. If my death occurs, I want you to be my wife. If my death occurs, I want you to investigate the circumstances thoroughly. Signed, Genevieve Bartlett. That's ridiculous. I never thought of such a thing. It's all pure imagination. I came back here tonight to stay. I realized what a fool I'd been and that letter doesn't prove a thing. It proves a motive. And furthermore, you lied about the time you found her. Lied? You said you came into this room 12 minutes before I arrived. You said she was trying to speak and that you called me at once. 12 minutes elapsed from the time you found her till I came. Yes, that's what I said. But she had been dead almost an hour when I saw her. What? You waited, Barry. Waited till you were sure she was dead. Then you called me. No, no, no. Wait a minute, Doctor. I can explain. I can explain. You can explain down at headquarters. Come on. Barry tried to explain. He told the truth. He had come back to Genevieve to stay. He did get the bottle for Genevieve. It was an accident. But he couldn't explain why he waited almost 30 minutes before he called the doctor. He said he just sat beside the bed in a daze. And that was the truth. But no one would believe him. No one. Poor Barry. CBS has presented The Whistler. Original music for this production was composed and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. Tonight's story was written by Elizabeth Easton and directed by J. Donald Wilson. The Whistler originates from Columbia Square in Hollywood. Next week, same time, I, The Whistler, will return to tell you another unusual tale. Good night. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.
