Unknown Broadcast | The Murder Ship & The Sea Phantom: Old-Time Radio Horror

Well, my dear, I almost didn't see you there. I know that may be strange because you're right in front of me, but isn't that the way eyes seem to go? They make a lot of choices for us. Please have a seat. The fire is good and warm, and I've been thinking a lot about visions, what we see and what we don't see, what we refuse to see. There's something so mind-bending about it, but it's infuriating, so infuriating. Wouldn't you agree? I suppose I get obsessed a little bit with what exactly is in The Fog. The CBS Radio Mystery Theater presents...

Welcome. I'm EG. Marshall. When you join me, I can promise you an experience in suspense that can arise from many sources. Sometimes, it is natural conflict, and at others, the supernatural. We delve into the strange and the unusual. That is the shadowy world we explore, a world of minds and souls slightly askew. What we're about to hear is an adaptation of a story written by Algernon Blackwood about a man shell-shocked in the First World War. A not uncommon experience, but dreadful for the victim. His name is Terry O'Reilly, Captain O'Reilly. Oh, forgive me, Officer. I didn't see you.

This fog... Hey, didn't we meet before? You were lost and some woman came around? Yeah, the fog was so thick that... Officer... Hey, you all right? Hey, maybe you're the man we've been looking for. Captain O'Reilly? Yeah, yes. The police want me? Our mystery story, In the Fog, was written especially for the Mystery Theater by Roy Windsor and stars Gordon Gould. It is sponsored in part by Buick Motor Division and Exlax. I'll be back shortly with Act One. Shell shock is a psychoneurotic condition like hysteria. The stress of warfare can affect some men to the point where they become disoriented.

They cannot tell what is real and what is unreal. They are treated by psychotherapy in a sanitarium until their minds are healed and they are able to return to life outside their safe and protected world. Slowly but surely, Captain O'Reilly dreamed less and less of the horrors he had seen, as he explains. I cracked up. I won't frighten you with the last battle when they came at us in our trenches. The carnage was awful. Only a handful of us were left. I became a screaming idiot when I was shipped home. To a sanitarium near Cambridge, and a Dr.

Henry. Now, you think you're up to it, Captain? I think so. If you begin to feel any uncertainty, just go to a policeman and have him telephone me. Okay. You made good progress. All of us are pleased. You just think about the present and the past will recede. Phantoms exist only in the mind. They're up to you to control. I'm trying to, Dr. Henry. Now, your friends in Boston, what's their name? Collard? Yes, Jeff and May. I wrote down their telephone number. Here it is. Oh, good. I won't need it, I'm sure. Now, when you reach their house, it's...

Oh, it's on Beacon Hill. Oh, nice. Well, after you arrive, will you telephone me? Sure. Jeff's a buddy of mine. He got shot up pretty bad. It was when I saw him mowed down that I... But there he is, he and his wife. Doing well, I'd say, with that Beacon Hill address. Now, your visit is a big step forward to you. Are you going by subway? Yes, from Harvard Square. Well, it's a short and pleasant ride. Enjoy yourself. I see you're dressed for rain. That's wise. Well, it's predicted. It's hot, and a cold front is coming in from Maine.

We'll get rain. Or maybe fog. I can do without fog. It reminds me of gas drifting through the barbed wire toward our trenches. I left Dr. Henry. He and his staff had been wonderful to me. I wore my hat and raincoat, and I had the feeling that everyone was watching me. You know the feeling, like you're an intruder. Well, nothing happened. In the subway, I read the car cards, and then I got off and climbed upstairs to the street. Fog. Thick as sheep's wool. I didn't know where to turn. Oh, I'm sorry, officer. I can't see a thing.

Oh, that's all right. Me neither. It rolled in about half an hour ago. Where am I? Tremont Street. I wouldn't move around very much. Most cars are to stand still, but there's always some nut who tries to drive. He wouldn't see you and you're hit. No, I'm not moving. But I'm expected at my friend's. Oh, there, wait. If they got windows, they can see you'd be stuck. They're on Beacon Hill. Across the public gardens in that sea of fog. No. You stick around a while. The fog will lift. I can make it. Well, suit yourself.

I just have to reach my friend's. But wait a few minutes. If you wander around through the park, you could stumble into the lake. Uh, are you all right? Huh? Oh, yes, sir. You look kind of worked up. I was in the war. And the fog... Hello? Oh, help me. Help me. Oh, officer. You have to help me. What is it, Liz? I'm lost. Well, so am I. So is this man here. No one can find his way in this thick fog. No, no, no. But I said I'd be there. And he'll be waiting. Well, my advice is to stay put.

No, I have to get to Morley Street on Beacon Hill. Well, that's where I'm going, too. Oh, then let's find it, please. I'm warning you, lady. You go groping around in this mess and you can be hurt. I'll go with you. Remember, I warned you. I hope I don't see you in the morgue. Hold my hand tight. Come on, now. Oh, you're very kind. That's all right. I don't know that you're looked at above the garden. Oh, yes. I could only see. Yes, unreal. What a phantom world. I hate it. So do I. Hold on.

What's your name? Oh, well, that's unimportant. Oh, I don't mean to be rude, but we'll never see each other again. Even in the fog, I can see how beautiful you are. Oh, thank you. Holding your hand doesn't be good. You're real. I should think so. I mean, I'm Captain O'Reilly, Army, shipped out for shell shock. Oh, well, are you... Should you be out? I mean, isn't there a sanitary... No, I'm fine. What did you mean? I'm real. Not an illusion. That's what I suffer from, not knowing what's real and what isn't. Now you know. Sure.

It's slow-going, but if we stick to the path, we'll be all right. Your doctor said you could come into Boston alone? Sure. Dr. Henry. Hey, you're not afraid of me, are you? Oh, no. We're never dangerous, except maybe to ourselves. Like you reach for something you see and it isn't there. That's why it's good to hold your hand. Don't be nervous. We'll find your house. Oh, but will I be in time? Pinching along seemed like it took hours instead of 20 minutes. We went uphill and the path ended, and there was a sidewalk and a curb.

You couldn't see the narrow Georgian houses across the street. They were just shadows behind the white fog, like dark cloth under thin white. And here and there I saw pinpoints of yellow lights. Oh, Morley Street, this way, to the right. Hold on. Oh, no, no, I could find my way now. I'll see you at your door. No, please don't. There's no need. But I'm going there myself. My friends, the Collards, you may know them. They live on Morley. Oh, you'll find them. I hope so. What I thought was, if you don't mind, I'd telephone them and tell Jeff that...

Oh, no. No, I can't let you do that. The telephone service has been cut off. Well, I'm leaving Boston tomorrow. We are, that is. Oh. And the house is closed. My number is 141. You can head me in the right direction. Oh, of course. I'm 99. Oh, there it is. Oh, thank heaven. Oh, I'm so late. Oh, please be there. The woman broke away from me and ran through the open iron mailed gate. I hurried after her. She entered the house through an open door. And that struck me as peculiar. I followed. Inside, I found myself in a dark hallway.

I could hear her steps as she ran upstairs. And I called, hello? Please go away. Please. I'm coming up. The door was wide open and you don't know who's in the house. Wait for me. I'm nervous, Jeff. You'd think your friend Terry would have telephoned. Well, if he could, but he doesn't know Boston. I hope he didn't panic. He could have. But Dr. Henry says that he thinks the captain's ready to rejoin society. Oh, May, you'll like him. Except for Terry O'Reilly, I'd be dead. Well, maybe we'd better telephone Dr. Henry and the police. Well, let's give it a few more minutes.

The fog seems to be lifting a little. I don't like to think of him wandering around out there lost. Everyone out there is lost, darling. Nothing moves in fog this heavy, and that's really bad for Terry. You know, there's something spooky about fog. Even a normal person sees things in it. Ghosts, figures of the imagination. Well, I've got a funny feeling about your army buddy. Fog or no fog. He ought to have been here by now. He's over an hour late. Well, the number is on the desk by the phone. It's Dr. Henry's. I'm going out on the stoop.

Maybe I'll see him stumbling along. Dr. Henry speaking. It's Mrs. Collard, doctor. It's about Captain O'Reilly. He's an hour late, and I'm very... That's disturbing. The problem is the fog. The fog? Boston is socked in. Oh, well, then, that relieves me. He must be waiting for it to lift. It's raining here in Cambridge. When the fog lifts, he'll turn up. But it's been an hour, doctor. Now, don't you worry, Mrs. Collard. The captain knows what to do if he becomes confused. He has my number, and I've told him not to hesitate to speak to a policeman.

You just sit tight. But don't you think we should notify the police? Well, yes. Maybe that is a good idea. Tell you what, I'll do that, and I'll come in. Oh, you don't need to do that. No, no, no. That's all right. The captain's a special patient of mine. I'll be in as soon as I can get to your house. You know, this experience could be critical for him. He's well recovered, but me at last could terrify him and send him back into his world of phantoms again. It was very dark in the hallway. I fell along the wall and entered a parlor.

There was a milky kind of light coming through the high windows, and I made out a candlestick. I was conscious of my heart beating hard, not from the effort, but from the eerie house. I struck a match and lit the candlestick and started upstairs. Hello up there. Are you all right? Holy Delito. Where are you? Answer me. I'm coming up. When the woman screamed, I froze. I knew something awful had happened. I took the stairs two at a time. There was a candle flickering in front of me. There were several closed doors in the hallway.

I tried the one nearest the street. I opened it. The room was lived in. I went toward a bed. And then... Murdered. Good Lord. Scabbed through the heart. Coincidence? It is found upon by many, but it is a fact of life. For want of a nail, the shoe is lost. For want of a shoe, the horse is lost. For want of a horse, the rider is lost. What else is that except coincidence? Who is responsible for the want of a nail? How was the doctor to know that when Captain O'Reilly emerged from the subway in Boston, that he would walk into a thick fog?

Coincidence? When I return with Act Two, we will find out where Coincidence next led Captain O'Reilly. Coincidence is remarkable because of the lack of apparent connection between a group of events. That's how it seems. And why not? You meet someone you haven't seen for years. You may renew the relationship with good or bad results. And all because of an accidental meeting. When you look back at what followed, how can you explain it? An unexpected meeting, a coincidence. Well, Captain O'Reilly met a stranger, a woman as lost as he. When he followed her upstairs, he found her in a bedroom, murdered.

To say I was shocked isn't strong enough. Almost without realizing it, I removed my hat. The dead woman was no illusion. This was real. Selfishly, I knew that this was good for me. I could distinguish between the real and the unreal. That gave me enough confidence to leave. And I left fast, running down the stairs. Then I heard a door closing. For a moment, I hesitated. Then I went outside into the fog. Oh, hello there. Huh? Oh, hello. Don't be afraid. I'm a physician, Dr. Sprig. Oh? Is something the matter? Can I be of help?

No, no. Well, I'm lost. It's a little more than that, isn't it? You really are a doctor? Oh, yes. I live close by. Why don't you come with me until you calm down and get control of yourself? I'm late for my friends. Five minutes won't make any difference. Your name? O'Reilly, Captain O'Reilly. I... Well, I could telephone from your house, couldn't I? Of course. You've recently been discharged from service, Captain. Yes. Shells up? You can tell that. Oh, I should guess. You're distraught and you're perspiring. I'm almost cured. I'm going to be okay. Yes, I'm sure of it.

Thanks. So is Dr. Henry. Oh, yes, the doctor with the sanitarium in Cambridge, of course. You'll be worried about me. So will my friends. Well, the telephone. Yes, yes, that's a good idea. You're very considerate, Dr. Sprague. By the way, how did you get here to the hill? Well, my friends live on Morley Street. I walked through the public garden. From Tremont Street? How could you see? I couldn't. We held on to each other and we managed. I don't know how. We? Some woman. This is her house. I saw her to the door. You didn't follow her in?

She just flew in and up the stairs. I called. You see, the front gate and the door were open and I was afraid for her. That's quite an experience, Captain. First the fog and then this woman. Who was she by the way? I don't know. She was frantic. She was meeting someone and she was afraid she would be too late. Poor thing. Well, come with me. All right. You didn't follow the woman into the house? Well, I... I asked because you said that the gate and the door were open. The gate is still open, but the front door, Captain.

The front door is now closed. Well, he's been seen. I'm relieved. A policeman spoke with him when he came out of the subway on Tremont. Terry seemed to be all right. And then some woman came along and they headed into the public gardens of the hill. A woman? That's what the policeman said. A stranger. She was lost too and was acting pretty wildly. You looked around? Yeah. The fog isn't that bad now. It's begun to drizzle. I walked around the block calling his name. Well, now what do we do now? Nothing. The police are on the lookout for him and we know that Terry is somewhere in the neighborhood.

That's funny about this woman. Why, what's funny about her? She's not imaginary. The cops saw her and they saw them set out together. The doctor saying the door was closed. That bothered me. I knew I'd been in the woman's house. I didn't know what to do. The right thing was to notify the police. But would they believe I hadn't murdered the woman? We reached Dr. Sprague's house in a few minutes. He led me into a handsome study. You want to telephone your friends? Or may I do that for you? Have you the number? I wrote it down.

Here it is. Thank you. Operator, give me 1-9-6-1, please. You can just relax. It's mighty nice of you to take me in. I'm glad to be of help. Yes, Jeff Collard speaking. This is Dr. Sprague. Captain O'Reilly is with me. Oh, is he all right? Oh, perfectly. I'll send him on his way in five minutes. Thank you. I'm at 141 Morley. And he really is all right? Yes. I met him on the street and noticed he was upset, so I brought him here to relax. He'll be along shortly. Where are you, doctor? I can come for him.

There's no need to do that. Well, I'd like to, if you don't mind. Your address? 99 Morde. Oh, for heaven's sake, that's only a block away. I'll be right along. And thank you, doctor. Ah, you feel relieved. Yes. I know they've been worried. So, Dr. Henry allowed you to come into Boston? Yes. Jeff Collard visited me several times at the sanitarium, and last week he invited me to his house for dinner. Dr. Henry approved. It all worked well until I stepped into that fog. And you were afraid that you might retreat into your, well, how shall I put it, your other world?

You know about cell shock. Quite a good deal. You, um, you experienced a dreadful shock, didn't you? Pardon me? Something about that house and the strange woman. Why don't you tell me about it in confidence? Of course, I'm a doctor. Keeping it bottled up could be bad for you. What about the open gate and the open door and the strange woman, Captain? I, I told him everything. How I bumped into the cop and the woman coming up. The stumbling walked through the public garden, right up to the house and into it and into that bedroom.

And the woman stabbed to death. He listened intently. Extraordinary. It was horrible and she was so beautiful. I can smell her perfume now. Poor woman. Yes. How odd. Worse than odd. And I don't know what to do about it. There's nothing to do about it. But the police. You didn't murder the woman, did you, Captain? Good Lord, no. Then you'll be wise to forget about it. She'll be found, I imagine, and somebody will be suspected and hopefully caught. When I said odd, I meant odd in a coincidental sense. Oh? How's that? You have wisely unburdened yourself to me, so I'll do the same for you.

I have a story that's very similar to yours. I'd like to hear it. I had a friend who was a professor at the college. Unlike most professors, he was quite wealthy, and he lived here on Beacon Hill. When war was declared, he... he enlisted. He must have felt strongly about it. Oh, he didn't. But to go on, this friend had a young and beautiful wife. They were devoted? He loved her very deeply. I loved that way before I was called up. Ah, you were married? No. I was overseas too long. She married someone else. And that hurt?

Not as bad as a man can be hurt by an unfaithful wife, Captain. Is that what happened? My friend closed his house up on the hill. His wife took smaller quarters. He'd been in France for six months when he learned what was going on back home. She took up with someone else? She was young. She was beautiful. She was alive. But you knew her, Doctor. How could you allow her to take up with another man? It was I who wrote to my friend about what I... I suspected. Did he divorce her? No, he got leave to return for a few weeks and he...

He murdered her. Good Lord. And the other man? What happened to him? My friend waited in his old house where his wife and the other man used to meet. The man never showed up for their undo. Too bad. Wasn't it? And she had left the front door open for him. Like? Like... Exactly. What did you say the woman said as she ran into the house? Something like, I can't be late. I can't. And I can't miss him. She was afraid maybe he'd been there and left. That's the impression I got. And your friend said the front door was open?

That's what he told me. The only difference between the stories is that... I walked in not as the woman's lover. No. As a stranger. Did you bring him back yet? No. No, I didn't find him. But Dr. Spray gave you his address and it's only down the block? Well, I went to 99. It was closed and dark from top to bottom. That's peculiar. Yeah, isn't it? I don't understand it at all. You tried the bell. Sure. No luck. Then the next door neighbor came out. Mrs. Lawrence. I know her slightly. She said the house had been closed and the professor enlisted and that his wife had moved away.

I asked if she knew a Dr. Spray. She said she never heard of him. How funny. There's no doctor living in the block that she knows of. But why would Dr. Spray tell you that... Well, it beats me. And now we still don't know where Terry might be. Something very strange is going on. I just sense it. But you said Dr. Spray sounded perfectly normal. Well, he did. Maybe you better find that policeman and go back to 99. I'll come with you. No, no, no, darling. You stay here. Don't forget that Dr. Henry is on his way in.

Oh, I forgot. And who knows, Terry just might show up. Well, if he does, you'll take us out to dinner. Mine is ruined. Oh, it's a nightmare. Now, what if there isn't a Dr. Spray? What? Why would he say he was if he wasn't? Terry had to be with him, or how would the man know us or our telephone number? Now, what's the matter with you, Jeff? You think Dr. Spray is a fictitious character? Well, maybe. But why? You think this could be a hoax? Who knows? The few minutes I spent with Dr. Spray calmed me down, and confessing my discovery of the murdered woman did relieve my mind.

Jeff and Maine knew where I was, so that worry was taken care of. I liked Spray, and I was grateful he happened along when I ran out of that house. I said as much, and he said... Oh, coincidence, Captain. I like the fog. I often stroll around in it. Most people hate it. Well, I don't. It gives me a feeling of solitude. It cases me in myself. Shuts out the world. Well, I'd better be going along, Doctor. Yes, I suppose you should. Well, let me help you with your coat. Oh, sir, my hat. What? Good Lord, I left my hat in that room.

The police will find my hat and trace it to me. Why? Is your name in it? No, it's just an ordinary felt hat, worn. Well, the police will know that someone murdered the woman and left the hat, but how could it be identified as yours? But I'll be missing a hat, and somebody will ask me about it. Well, I'll be in Cambridge tomorrow to buy another. No, no, wait a minute. I have a better idea. Take this one of mine. Oh, I couldn't do it. Of course you can. I have several. Why not? You're very trusting, Dr.

Sprague. How so? What if I did murder that woman? My dear boy, I'm convinced that you didn't. What motive could you have had? Yeah, none. I only saw her face for a few minutes, and she'd be the last person I'd harm. No, I wanted to help her. Someone else killed her. Someone who was hiding in that house. As I ran down the stairs, I heard a door shot on the second floor. Lucky you didn't meet up with him. I hadn't thought of that. You're right. I could have been stabbed the way she was. Quite a story you're going to have for Dr.

Henry. Mine and yours. What ever happened to the man the wife was going to run away with? My friend would like to know. I suppose that man did run away. Captain O'Reilly, I doubt if we'll meet again, but I wish you well. You know, this experience has been good for you. I think so too. And don't forget your hat. Your hat? Thanks, my alibi, for something I didn't do. I wish I knew who did. Who would murder a beautiful woman like that? Someone she had deeply offended, Captain. All of us are two persons. That's the generalization, but I think it's true.

We appear to each other as one kind of person. Then there's the inner person. A criminal does not have to look like what we think he should look like. Everyone is capable of committing a crime. For those that do, something snaps in the mind and triggers it. More when I return with Act 3. We have a victim of shell shock in the First World War, nicely recovering and about ready to return to normal life. Then fog leads him into an experience that would terrify a sane person. The fog is frightening in itself, but then there's the stranger, the nameless, beautiful woman, and the discovery in her closed down house that she's been murdered.

Despite what Captain O'Reilly has told us, can we overlook him as the killer? He could have committed murder. I thanked Dr. Sprague once more and put on my coat and his hat and stepped outside. It was raining now and I could see where I was. He had told me which way to turn to reach Jeff Collard's house. So I went through his iron rail gates and turned to my left. And coming toward me was the policeman. Well, well, we keep on meeting. You are Captain O'Reilly, right? Yes. You got everyone in town looking for you.

Oh, I'm sorry. Dr. Henry called on the police and your friend has been out in the street calling your name. I've caused a lot of trouble. You're kind of special, Captain. Dr. Henry got a little worried that lost in the fog. You might have lost your bearings. I did, but the doctor sprayed took me in and I'm okay now. Well, I'll walk you to your friend's and tell her our own headquarters from there. Is that all right? Of course. The woman find her house? The... Oh, yes, I guess so. Why the guess? You were with her, weren't you?

Well, through the public gardens. Then she thanked me and ran down the street. Oh, well, so she got home all right. I suppose so. I don't know. You was pretty tensed up. She was meeting someone. That's what she said. You remember what I told you over on Tremont? Now, if you'd listened to me and waited until the fog thinned out, you'd have saved yourself a lot of aggravation. Well, you're found, so we'll forget it. Oh, I beg your pardon. Yes. Am I near 141? I can't quite make out the numbers. Dr. Henry? Why, yes. Oh, you must be Mrs.

Collard. Yes, May Collard. Please come in. I'm so glad you came. Hasn't kept no rally to end up. Come in. No. No, he hasn't arrived. But a Dr. Sprague said Terry'd be along directly. Well, who is... Who's Dr. Sprague? Oh, just leave your coat and hat here in the hall. Oh, thank you, Miss Scott. Has something happened to the captain? No, not that we know of. My husband's wandering the block trying to find him. Dr. Sprague telephoned and told Jeff that Terry was all right. Jeff said he'd walk down to 99, Sprague's address, and walk Terry home.

And? The house is closed tight and dark as a tomb. Why, that's strange. Captain O'Reilly is somewhere in this block with Dr. Sprague, who isn't at the address he gave. Yes. Now, what do you make of that? We're really terribly worried. Well, now, don't be. I have full confidence in the captain. But wandering through that fog, it was like a covering of snow. You couldn't see five feet. Well, how do you know he's here on Beacon Hill? From this Dr. Sprague. Uh-huh. And maybe I'd better telephone the police. I told them to watch for him that I was coming into Boston.

Maybe they have a report by now. It's hard to imagine walking through the public gardens if you can't see. May I use your telephone? Oh, of course. Back there in Jeff's study. Don't worry. As he's had an accident, I'm sure he's all right. Oh, Jeff. Any luck? I can't find that policeman. Who's had him? Oh, Dr. Henry? No. He's checking with the police. Well, I give up. Let him come to us. I don't know where else to look. Ah, Mr. Collett. Oh, hello, Dr. Henry. Well, there's no news yet, but everyone's got his eye open for the captain.

Oh, hey. Ha, you must be May. Harry. Thank goodness. Oh, buddy. Hey, we're glad to see you. Come in, come in. My friend, Sergeant... Oh, Mary. Do you mind if I use your telephone, Mr. Collett? Well, come with me. Where did you find this big hulk? Coming down to Mr. Spring's house. So he exists, huh? Well, Captain... I apologize for causing all this trouble, Doctor. You've had quite a day, Captain. Waiting for you here. You seem to have borne up well. I think what happened to me today has got me cured. Fog can be terrifying.

Not as terrifying as finding a woman murdered. Oh, no! What? You... you found a... Hey, hey, what's... what's going on? You look shocked, May. I... it's just relief that Terry showed up. Sergeant O'Malley, thank you. Sure, sure. The alerts off, and I got a pat on the head from the chief. Good night, folks, and keep O'Reilly indoors. Well, what's going on here? Sit down, and I'll tell you what happened to me. It was horrible. There was this beautiful woman... Ah, a spy story. And together we found her house, right on your street. That sounds exciting.

The front door was open, and she ran in. A few minutes later, I found her, dead. Good Lord. Well, where... where'd she live? At number 99. Oh, that... isn't that where Dr. Sprague lives? that's what he said. But 99's closed. No one lives there. The owner enlisted, and the wife moved away. And Terry... you... I was in that house. I found the woman on the second floor. Stabbed to death. I told them everything that had happened to me from the time that Dr. Henry had sent me on my way, until I walked into their house a few minutes ago.

It's incredible, Terry. Pretty weird, May, but it happened. Now what do I do? Yeah... the body in the front room at 99 Warley. I have to report it to the police, Jeff. That's my duty. Don't you agree, Dr. Henry? Well, yes, but then come the complications. I know that, Doctor. Who is going to believe me? I found the woman murdered. I, a patient at your sanitarium. Captain, tell me about this Dr. Sprague. He is very nice. A very nice man. And you walked into him when you ran out of the house at 99, is that right?

Yes, that's it. I was badly upset. He saw that and tried to calm me down. Jeff, Dr. Sprague couldn't have told you that he lived at 99. He just couldn't have. Yeah, you could be right. But no one lives there. But there's a body in there, old buddy. Sprague invited you to his house. You walked and he led the way. It was close by. I guess we walked for a few minutes. You don't know where, of course. No, the fog wasn't too bad. It had begun to drizzle. I just kind of blindly followed where he led.

And when you got to his house? It was dark. There wasn't even a light on the stoop. I followed him into a kind of study with books and shelves on the walls, a desk and some chairs. You told him your story and he told you his. Why? Well, confession is good for the soul. But who's soul, Doctor? What's your point, May? Well, say that Dr. Sprague is a saint. He takes Terry in and hears his story and tells him almost the same one. Why? That's what puzzles me. What if the story Dr. Sprague told was not about that friend of his, but about himself?

What? This Dr. Sprague murdered the woman? Oh, that's impossible. Terry met him outside the house. I know that, but, well, it's an idea. No, no, no, it's too fantastic, darling. You agree, Terry? I don't know. So much has happened. I'm pretty mixed up. I did meet him outside me. But could he have been in the house, Captain? I didn't see him. I didn't see anybody except the woman. It was very dark in the house. I don't think he exists. Now wait a minute, Jeff. No, no, I know he exists, old buddy. I mean, I don't think he's Dr.

Sprague. That man is somebody else. I know why he said he lived at 99 Morley. He wants the body found. But he said that no one would ever know who murdered the woman. I was to forget it. He didn't suggest notifying the police. No, Doctor. But giving me the address where there's a murdered woman is just about the same thing. He knew my curiosity would be aroused. Sergeant O'Malley will come forward about Terry wandering around like a ghost up and down Morley Street. You know, if May's right, if this Sprague is the murderer, he could frame you, Terry.

I don't believe that for a second. He's a fine man. Captain, if you agree, I'll ask Sergeant O'Malley to step around and we'll enter that house at 99 Morley. All right. That's step one. If the woman can be identified, the police may find a clue to the person who stabbed her. The next hour was a week long. I told my story to Sergeant O'Malley and he and Jeff and Dr. Henry entered the woman's house. They found the body all right. An ambulance took it to the morgue. Dr. Henry vouched from me and the police thanked me for reporting the murder.

I was placed in the doctor's custody until an investigation was made. O'Malley left the college house and we sat down, pretty drained. You feel better now, Terry? Yes, Jeff. I'm glad it's over with. Now you have nothing to worry about, Captain. It took courage to tell the truth. He's never been short on that, Doctor. You didn't have to tell us any of this, Terry. Why did you? You've let yourself in for a lot of questioning. It may sound funny, but I fell in love with that woman. That may sound silly, I know, but she was beautiful, and she wore lovely perfume.

And there's more to what happened tonight than I've told. Let me tell you two things. As I went up the stairs to the bedroom, I heard the door close. The woman or the murderer? Not the woman. She had screamed. So it was the murderer who closed the door. He did the same thing when I got to the bottom of the stairs and flew out. Well, why didn't you mention that to O'Malley? Because of something else. When I got to the street and bumped into Sprigg, I didn't have my hat. I'd left it in the woman's bedroom.

But there was no hat in the room when we were there. I left it there, Jeff. It couldn't just vanish. My gracious, if your hat had been found... You'd have been in for it, old buddy. That's hard evidence. But you were wearing a hat when you came in here, Captain. So I was. I told Sprigg I'd left my hat on the woman's bed, and he said to forget it. And he offered me this one of his. Almost forced it on me. Just a moment. I'll show it to you. Here it is. So? Well, it's just an ordinary hat.

And Sprigg's hat was the same size as the one you left behind? Exactly the same size. And you know why? Because this is my very own hat. You may have guessed, but I was sure of only one thing. Dr. Sprigg, or whoever he was, did not intend to frame Captain O'Reilly. Weather is a factor in our behavior. Fog more so than other conditions, because it's like a shroud. It deadens sound. It can lead you astray, often into the unexpected. And that is what we specialize in, the byways of life where a person by design or by accident may experience an adventure that will be unforgettable.

I'll be back shortly. In the beginning I spoke about coincidence. Is there such a thing? Or are certain meetings that seem to be accidents predetermined? Philosophers argue the subject to a draw, but I imagine that Captain O'Reilly, freed by the way, and Sprague was never caught, often wonders about the awful night he was lost in the fog. Our cast included Gordon Gould, Martha Greenhouse, Ian Martin, and William Griffiths. The entire production was under the direction of Hyman Brown. And now, a preview of our next tale. Why? Why wasn't I on this morning, of all mornings, Why?

Why? It's a miracle, darling. It's a miracle. Of course, it's a miracle. But that doesn't answer the question. Why was I saved? Five people are dead. The three in the plane, Mr. Fieldings, and a woman named Mrs. Jane Gray. Why was I saved? The people in the plane died because their aircraft underwent some malfunction. Mr. Fieldings and Mrs. Gray, they just happened to be there. I should have been there, too. Why wasn't I? Why was I saved? Because Dick Harrison called you at exactly 8 a.m., the split second you were about to leave. Radio Mystery Theater was sponsored in part by Deweyck Motor Division.

This is EG. Marshall inviting you to return to our mystery theater for another adventure in the macabre. Until next time. Pleasant dreams. My dear, are you enjoying yourself? You seem comfortable. Another cup of tea, another log on the fire, and we'll be back in business. I do enjoy these evenings we get to spend together, especially at this time of year where we extend the fun, stay up a little later, and examine the darkness. But I do so wonder what it would be like to travel far from here. Very far. Very. Two If by Sea. Tired of the everyday routine?

Ever dream of a life of romantic adventure? Wanna get away from it all? We offer you Escape. Escape. Designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight, we escape to Soviet Russia and to the story of a man and a woman who dared to defy a social system in order to be together. As Roger Bax tells it in his tale of intrigue and excitement, Two If by Sea. Before we hear tonight's story, a brief message from the Ford Dealers of America. Again, for 1950, Ford has won the Fashion Academy Gold Medal Award as the Fashion Car of the Year.

Listen to what Mr. Ralph Shaner say of Emerson, Illinois, one of the more than 220,000 delighted owners says about his 50 Ford. I've been a Ford user for many years, but my new 50 Ford has made me more enthusiastic than ever. That quiet V8 engine is packed with pick up and go. It gives the feel of real extra power performance. As for appearance, inside and out, it is a style leader. The smart clean lines of the body design are particularly appealing to me. No wonder it was picked again this year as the best looking car on the road.

Yes, comments like that are heard every day by Ford dealers. But we want you to prove for yourself that the new 1950 Ford is the one truly fine car in its field. The classified phone directory will give you the name of your nearest Ford dealer. Or perhaps you know him personally. Call him tomorrow and ask for a test drive in the new 1950 Ford. Feel its comfort. Hear the purr of its mighty V8 or 95 horsepower 6. See its many big car features. Yes, see, hear and feel the difference yourself. Test drive the new 1950 Ford tomorrow.

And now we bring you Escape. Finally, the day arrived, our last day in Moscow. We stood in the chill wind at the airport, watching the huge four-motor plane taxi to the loading ramp. A pair of newlyweds, Philip Sutherland, Moscow reporter for the London Press, homeward bound after three years in the Soviet Union, and his bride Maria, ballerina of the State Ballet. Oh, and Steve Quillen, American newscaster. He was there too. Only Steve was green with envy. Oh, I hate you both. This time tomorrow you'll be in London and me. I must remain to languish mits the caviar and mud.

But don't forget, Steve, you've got a vacation coming soon, and you're to spend it in London with us. Yes, that's right, Steve. We're looking forward to it. Don't worry, I'll be there. Announcing departure. Special site two for London. Well, that's us, Mrs. Sutherland. Oh, darling, I can't believe it at last. Oh, you're going to love London. I'd love any place with you. Well, this is goodbye, kids. Just a moment, please. We're in a hurry, officer. They've just announced our plane. I talked to the woman. You are Maria Lemarchina? I'm Maria Sutherland now. May I see your transportation papers, please?

Oh, yes, yes. Of course, I have them right here. They're all in order. You may keep yours. Here's the woman's. Give them. Thank you. Maria Lemarchina, you will remain in Moscow. Your permission to travel has been revoked. Revoked? Why? Well, no, just a moment. You can't do this. No argument. Why can't she leave? The Commissar of Travel will keep her from... I come from the Office of the Commissar of Travel. Is she under arrest? No. She has simply been denied the privilege of travel. Well, if Maria can't go, I won't. I have orders to see that you do go, Mr.

Sutherland. Oh, Philip. No, no, it's all right, darling. Now, look, I'm not leaving here without my wife. You have no right to... You will be escorted to your plane. I'm not going to be escorted anywhere. Ivan, Maschinov! Oh, Philip, you'd better do what they say. It might be worse. The press from London will board their plane immediately. Can you speak? All right, Mr. Sutherland, that's your plane. Philip, oh, Philip. Don't worry, Phil, I'll take care of her. We'll get this all straightened out. You'd better go. Well, good-bye, Maria. Good-bye, darling. If I can't get out, come back for me.

Please come back. For the next couple of months, those two words rang in my ears a thousand times a day. They never let me rest. Come back. Come back. London, with all its freedom, was a dark, cheerless prison without Maria. I wrote every day. When, as the weeks passed, I heard no word from her, it became unbearable. Finally, my newspaper arranged a personal interview at the Soviet Embassy. No, no, no, absolutely not. But Maria is my wife. She isn't married to the Soviet Union. You knew the official attitude when you married, no? The state frowns on Russian women marrying foreigners.

And when such a marriage occurs, you take your own risks. Very well then, grant me a visa to return to the Soviet Union. Mr. Sutherland, I am forced to be blunt. You are no longer welcome in my country. And besides, to return would only work a hardship on both of you. What do you mean? Forget Maria Lamarkina, Mr. Sutherland. She is a prominent ballerina, the premier danzuse of Moscow, a girl of exceptional talent. And you may as well know this, even now the state is arranging an official divorce. Good day. It was monstrous, incredible. Never would I believe that Maria had requested a divorce.

I was sure of the love we had shared all too briefly, even though I never received a single letter from her. No, no, no, it was something bigger than the frowning labyrinth of bureaucracy. It was a giant conspiracy to keep us apart. I used the influence I could bring to bear on the people in high places. The matter went at last to the British Foreign Office. Red tape, it would seem, was not a monopoly of Red Russia. No, we grew a vigorous and hardy variety in Whitehall. So I made my own plan. And by the time Steve Quillen arrived on his vacation, I was ready to put it into action.

Oh, Phil, Phil, you're crazy. It can't be done. Oh, yes, it can, Steve. Here, look, look, look at this map. Oh, here. A small boat could sail out of South Fleet, cross the North Sea, work into the Baltic, through the Skagorak, and then sail Northeast into the Gulf of Finland. Phil. Yes? I know how badly you want, Mario, but that kind of a trip would be impossible. It can be done if it's planned right. All right. Look, suppose you get as far as the Gulf. Yes? And suppose no patrol boat or observation plane uses you for target practice.

What then? Mario's in Moscow. That's in the heart of White Russia. Ah, yes, but every summer her ballet troupe goes on tour through the North, they always hit Pirita, a summer resort. Here, look here on the map. It's right here on the coast. I was there once. It's just a little town, no harbor. The small craft could put in there one night and pick someone up with no trouble at all. At night? Yes. How could you possibly get in? Follow the ephemcy light about four miles up from the main beach at Pirita, somewhere in that dark stretch.

Do you realize how that would have to be timed? You'd have to be there not only on the right day, but almost at the right minute. And you have no way of knowing exactly when Mario will be in Pirita. Well, I was sort of counting on you for that, Steve. I'd be glad to write and tell you, Phil, but suppose there were some last minute changes in her schedule and you were out at sea waiting to be... You have a schedule that doesn't change, Steve. What? I hear you broadcast from Moscow to New York once a day.

That's your job. Now, perhaps some way we could work out a code system and I could tune in on your newscast from a board ship and keep informed. What ship? Oh, well, the boat, the one I bought yesterday. What? There's the Dawn. I spent every shilling I had on her. She's a small schooner with an auxiliary engine, but she can make that trip. Phil, do you mean you're actually going through with this? Of course, Steve. I love Maria and she loves me, and this is all I can see to do about it. All right, Phil.

If you're willing to take such a chance, I'm with you. Oh, thank you, Steve. But Phil, you can't sail all alone. I know you're a good sailor. Oh, no, no, no, no. I don't intend to. I have a friend who knows the Baltic waters like he knows his own bathtub. And he's going with you? You've already talked to him. He's a fine chap. That must be he now. I asked him to come over tonight. Hello, Quillen. Hi, Denny. Good to see you. Come in. This must be Mr. Quillen. I'm Denny. Hello, fellow conspirator. It's going to be something, don't you think?

That Mr. Denny is the understatement of the week. We spent the next seven days working out a careful timetable and a code. When Steve went back to Moscow, we rehearsed the code. And it worked. Every ninth word on his daily broadcast was a message to us. And one day, a month later, we put out for the Baltic Sea, keeping daily radio contact with Steve. Finally, we dropped anchor in the Gulf of Finland, 30 miles off the beach at Piritha, and waited for the final message. This is Radio Crossover calling. This is it. Yes, I'm ready.

Standard Broadcasting System in New York. Mr. Stephen Quillian, correspondent for Standard Broadcasting System, will broadcast for two minutes, beginning five minutes past four o'clock. Hello, New York. Hello, New York. This is Quillian. Here's a time check. Coming up on my watch, four minutes and 30 seconds. Past four. Wolf, that was four minutes and 30 seconds past four. I'll go ahead at exactly 15 seconds after Wolf. Wolf. Double check this, Denny. Don't worry, I will. This is Steve Quillian, reporting to you from Leningrad. I've been touring this battered city studying all the reconstruction work in progress.

Leningraders have certainly set themselves tremendous tasks. One of the architects, a blonde vital woman of about 40, told me that on all occasions, Leningrad had reckoned to show the way to other parts of Soviet Russia in making good progress with its economic plans, and that with luck and hard work, it should keep the lead. Okay, Denny, that's all of it. What did he say? This is what we've been waiting for. Here, all set. Blonde on way. Good luck. Good. That means by ten o'clock tonight, you'll be holding Mario in your arms. Wouldn't Uncle Joe just bite the stem off his pipe if he knew he was going to lose one of his prettiest citizens tonight?

The seconds ticked slowly into sluggish minutes. The minutes stretched into unending hours, until sundown, when we would start our dash for the beach. I had waited too long and traveled too far to let any hitch upset our plans. But to wait those long hours was pure agony. At last darkness fell and we turned over our engines and started to the beach. Our running lights extinguished. There it is, Phil. Over there. Those are the Vimsy lights. Now, down there about a mile down the beach, where you see all the smaller lights? That's the bathing beach and the dancing pavilion.

The town's farther in. Maria should be right opposite us now, on the dark stretch straight ahead. Denny, I can hardly believe it. Maria, only a mile away. Well, come on, let's drop the hook and get the dengue over the side. We rode silently toward this shadowy shore and I strained my eyes for the sight of Maria standing on the beach, but it was too dark to see anything but the line of sullen, brooding hills against the sky. And then suddenly, suddenly I made out a figure standing alone, quiet, waiting to see something. Maria, Maria, she's there, you see?

Be quiet, sit down, you'll capsize us. It's only a few yards. I can't wait, Denny. Phil, you fool. Be careful. Maria, Maria, Maria, here I am. Oh, oh, Maria darling, you. You are Philip Sutherland? Who are you? Where's Maria? Do not be afraid of me. I am a friend of Maria Lamartina. Well, where is she? Maria cannot meet you tonight. Why? What has happened? Listen to me carefully, Mr. Sutherland. She tried desperately. Yes, yes, yes. But it was impossible, so she sent me to give you a message. What, what? I repeat, word for word. There is no hope of ever getting out of Russia.

I will never stop loving you, but this must be. Goodbye forever. Phil, Phil, come on, you two. You can talk later. Let's get out of this place. Denny, this isn't Maria. This is a friend of hers. She says Maria is not coming, and she'll never come. What? Why not? I don't know. Tonight, Maria Lamarkina is with Ballet at Prytina. She has been commanded to give special performance. Harving Colonel General of Yomov, of Red Army. There was no possible way she could. Where is this ballet? A theater in Pryta, three miles from here. Oh, no. No, I must go before they find me.

I am sorry. My heart goes out to me. No, no, no. Wait. Let her go. Let her go. She risked her life to come here at all. I'm going into that theater and get Maria and bring her back to the boat. Phil, sailing into a dark beach is one thing, but trying to walk through a Russian town and kidnap a well-known ballerina is quite another. Phil, don't be a... Listen, I'm going in. And if I'm not back here in four hours at 2 a.m. with her, then leave by yourself then. No, Phil, I couldn't. Look, I'll be here with her by 2 o'clock or I won't be back at all.

In just a moment, we will return to Escape, but first a message from the Ford dealers of America. The more than 220,000 proud owners of a 1950 Ford say that driving is proof positive that it is America's outstanding value. The one fine car in the low price field. We Ford dealers invite you to test drive the 50 Ford yourself. You'll thrill to its tremendous power and the flashing acceleration. You'll marvel at its ease of handling and the ease of parking. And when you try a rough road, you'll experience a luxurious big car feel of solid roadability and genuine comfort.

Yes, 50 Ford owners are proud owners. Proud of the performance of their cars and proud of the beauty, which for the second straight year has won Ford. The New York Fashion Academy Gold Medal Award is the Fashion Car of the Year. Tomorrow drop in to see your Ford dealer. If you don't know him personally, he's listed in the Classified Telephone Directory. He'll gladly arrange a test drive for you in either the great new V8 or the 95 horsepower 6. Then you'll see, hear and feel the difference before you buy any car at any price. Test drive the 1954th.

And now we return you to the second act of Escape. It was three long dangerous miles into the town of Purita. And somehow I had to get Maria out of the ballet theater and back aboard our schooner. But in spite of the fact I spoke Russian fluently, just the way I was in soiled sailing clothes I didn't stand a chance. For the next half hour I walked steadily, passing a few night swimmers along the beach. Then I came to a crowded area where there was a dancing pavilion. And a sudden idea came to me. I walked over to a man in uniform standing by a pile of clothes, on top of which was a Red Army cap.

Oy, corporal, what is it you want, comrade? I'm glad I found you. There is some trouble on the road back there. Someone tried to steal a car. Where? What sort of car, comrade? He was a Black Army zis. A zis? Oh, no, no. It's not yours, is it? The militia are making trouble about a missing chauffeur. Comrade, help me, I beg you. Keep your eye on the colonel's uniform. I go see. The colonel's in swimming now. I want to be followed down by the I didn't hesitate a single minute. As soon as he got out of sight, I grabbed a bundle of clothes, stepped into the shadows behind the pavilion.

In three minutes, I was wearing a loose-fitting uniform and told the world I was a colonel in the 12th Guard Division, wearer of the rarely conferred Order of the Suburrur and a hero of the Soviet Union. And also, there was a billfold in my pocket, packed with Russian currency and military papers. I was now prepared to make my entrance in the ballet theater of Puritan. I would like a ticket, please. Oh, comrade colonel, I'm so sorry, there's not one to be had, not one in the entire house. Yes, there is, clerk. The colonel is invited to sit in my box.

His collar insignia and his decorations glittered in the light of the theater lobby. I recognized him immediately as Colonel General Vladimir Abramov, a famous soldier of the Soviet. I had interviewed him back in 1945 and written a long story about him from my newspaper. He looked straight into my face. In his eyes seemed to say, Well, Philip Sutherland, when did you join the Red Army? I see you were at the order of the Tuvarov, even as I. I would be pleased if you would join me in my private box. Well, thank you just the same, General, but it wouldn't be right.

Nonsense, I insist. I am alone and you can still see the last part of the ballet. Maria Lamarkina is beautiful. Come, take a look at her. He took me by the arm and let me conspicuously lay down the aisle to his box. It was easy to see that he was the guest of honor. The whole thing was like a dream. I couldn't believe that I was really sitting there, watching my Maria, looking so incredibly beautiful. I almost stopped breathing. Time was our enemy. I thought the ballet would never end. When it was finally over, I knew I had to do something to make my presence known to her, or she might be lost to me forever.

Maria! Maria! Maria! You know her, Comrade Colonel? Yes, sir. I know her, sir. Rather well. Really? An old lover, perhaps? I'm her brother, Sergei. Ah, brother. Well, that is good. It would not do for two Russian soldiers, two orders of their suvorov, to fight over the same woman. Come, Brother Sergei, let us go backstage and talk to little Maria. She will be most anxious to see you and me. I am having supper with her tonight. Maria, look, I have a surprise for you, your brother. Maria. Well, Maria, don't you know your own brother? Or has he grown too fat on Red Army rations?

It's really me, Maria, Sergei. Oh, Sergei, Sergei, it's been so long. Yeah, too long, Maria. Oh, tender. Hey, how are you, my little sister? How's the family? How's Shura? And Mishikoff? Is he still in the factory at Donetsk? I can't answer all your questions in one breath, Sergei. Ah, this is a very happy occasion. I will go prepare drinks. Fine, fine, yes. Philip, darling, darling, what are you doing here? They'll kill you if they find out. Why didn't you come to the beach? He was with me all day. Oh, Maria, Maria, I have never seen you perform so well.

Tonight you, you danced my eyes out. How long are you going to be in town, Sergei? I leave with the dawn, Maria darling. Oh, well, in that case, we haven't much time. We must do our best to entertain, Sergei. Yeah, Maria? Of course, Colonel General. Oh, please, just call me Plain General. Here, your glasses. Thank you. And now, a toast until the dawn. And to brothers and sisters wherever they find themselves. Brother, huh? You don't look at her the way a brother looks at his sister. You don't hold her the way a brother holds his sister.

You hold Maria the way I would like to hold Maria. I guess I was a little emotional, sir, but I haven't seen her for almost a year. Brother, how is it you have not seen Maria for almost a year when your 12th Guard Division is stationed just outside Moscow? Hmm? Tell me that. Well, I was... I was... You have trouble answering, huh? We were both busy. Oh, yes. I understand, Maria. Busy, busy. Come to think of it, I don't remember a Colonel Lamarck, you know, never winning the Order of Sivarov. When did you get it, Sergei?

After the... the Battle of Kiev. Kiev? Oh, a great battle, a great battle. Only I thought that was the 10th Division. Oh, well, I was with them for six months. With the 10th Division? Yes. Who was your commanding officer? It's been so long, sir, I... I can't remember his name. I'll refresh your memory, brother, Sergei. It was Barovsky, and of course, now I know you lied. My brother does not lie, General. I'm afraid, Maria, I've trapped him. Atkiev was not the 10th Division or the 12th Division, but Temershenko's 7th. Now let me see your papers, brother Sergei.

I'm afraid I left them in my... Let me see them. And be careful how you hand them over. Hmm, very interesting. Brother Sergei has suddenly become Colonel Josef Rekulski Skalja. What do you think of that, sister Maria? General, it wasn't his fault I made him do it. Don't do anything to him. No, no, no, no, Maria. It was my idea. Ah, young love and mutual sacrifice and touching. Do you know what I am going to do, Sergei? No. What? Put you under arrest. Stand where you are. I would be most happy to shoot you. I will get to the bottom of this soon.

Apparance! Do you think I killed him? I don't know, but you did him in thoroughly with that decanter. Philip, I'm frightened. Yes, so am I, but let's talk about that after we get aboard the schooner. He slipped out of the theater and raced along the deserted couple streets. The town clock sounded one-thirty. Three miles to cover in thirty minutes, Maria was running to keep up with my long strides. Nowhere in sight was a car I could come on dear, or even a bicycle. We could count on nothing but our own strength and the driving need we both had to spend the rest of our lives together.

Twenty-five minutes later, we were hurrying down the long slope toward the beach, and ahead of us the eerie light twinkled mockingly, and seemed just as far away. Mario's breath was coming in little sobs, and my lungs ached with an agony unendurable. And then I heard it. The town clock struck two. It had failed. So near to the beach and yet too far. The planning of months lost by seconds. Oh Philip, I'm sorry I couldn't go any faster. No, no dear, it wasn't your fault. There was just too much against you. Philip, shh, quiet. I apologize for bothering you, comrade, but I have orders to check all persons along the beach.

The colonel's uniform has been stolen. I hit him with all the strength I had left in me. And as he fell, I dived after him. He rolled down the hill onto the rocks. I couldn't feel any pain or blows. All I wanted to do was get my hands around his throat and squeeze life out of him. He fell away from me, and I crawled over to where Maria lay, her breath coming in painful sobs, and I collapsed beside her. I could barely lift one arm to put it around her. And then, then another man's figure loomed up out of the dark, walking slowly towards us.

And with him, all of my hopes of rescuing Maria, all of the working and planning, all of the reason for living seemed gone. But I couldn't go down without a fight. Somehow, somewhere, I dragged up enough strength to struggle to my feet to meet him, and he grabbed to my arm, and we went down. Phil, Phil, it's me, Danny, don't... Oh, Danny, Danny, I couldn't tell in the dark. I thought you'd gone. I thought... You didn't really think I'd leave without you and Maria, did you? Come on, Phil. Let's get Maria aboard the schooner. We're going to make it.

Certainly we are. We'll be in England in a week. Yes, darling. Where are we? Far enough. You can stop looking over your shoulder. Really? Really? Yes, really. We're going home, Mrs. Sutherland. In just a moment, a word about next week's exciting story of Escape. But first, a message from your local Ford dealer. If housewives bought trucks, they'd rush down to their Ford dealers and place their orders right now. Why? Because the American housewife can spot a bargain a mile away. And Ford truck prices have just been reduced, making Ford America's biggest truck bargain. That's right, friends, price reductions up to $80.

These reductions are made possible by engineering advances and improved production methods. Ford trucks for $50 at these new reduced prices have all the extra value features that have enabled Ford trucks to score greater sales gains than all other makes combined. They are packed with truck advancements that give more performance at less cost. See them at your Ford dealers today. And remember, Ford trucks cost less because Ford trucks last longer. Latest available registrations prove it. Escape is produced and directed by William N. Robeson. Tonight we have presented Two If by Sea by Roger Banks, adapted for radio by E.

Jack Newman and John Michael Hayes. Featured in the cast were John Boehner as Philip, Martin Yarborough as Denny, Paul Fries as Steve Quillen, and Marta Mitrovich as Maria. Also heard were Inga Jolas, Jack Krushen, Bill Conrad, and Paul Dubov. Special music was arranged and conducted by Del Castiglio. Next week. You are within a few days of your release after eight years of horror on the prison island of New Caledonia. But between you and final freedom stands the love of a beautiful girl and the monstrous figure of Monsieur de Nuit, the official executioner. Next week, we escape with John Russell's terrifying story, The Red Mark.

Good night then until this same time next week when once again we offer you Escape. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. Well, my dear, are you feeling a bit on edge? That's, well, the idea, isn't it? What's that? Well, we'll have to wait and see, won't we? But I wouldn't waste any good fear on that. No, no, no. I think there's very little to concern yourself with about our surroundings, per se. At least, oooh, that which we can see. I'm starting to understand what you're getting at. I suppose the only thing I want to be afraid of is The Man in the Fog.

And now, a tale well calculated to keep you in. A man walks in the fog and a woman dies. Terror grips the city and the police are helpless. For the murders are without pattern and apparently without motive. Listen now to Act One of The Man in the Fog, starring Robert Dryden and Ethel Everett, written especially for suspense by Joseph Cochran. It's horrible. Think of it, Ben, three, now four, ripped with a knife and left in the gutter. Oh, don't take on so many. A live one minute, a clawing corpse the next. Why don't the police do something?

I don't know why. Why don't they? The wit's end is why. They do think it's a working man, though. Why? But that's like them, to blame a poor working man for anything that happens. It's as the killings always happen on weekends, so they guess the one who's doing it is working, the other dies. If they're so smart, why don't they catch him? Well, they don't really know. You know how they're doubling the night force on weekends until he's caught. Maybe he's too smart to get caught. They're asking everyone to help, and the newspaper's offering an award.

It's right here. This piper will pie 500 pounds to any person who offers a clue, which leads to the arrest and conviction of the monster who holds the city in terror and... Monster? That's what they're calling a poor working man. I knew what I could do with 500 pounds. I'd get a new oil cloth for the table and paint the kitchen, maybe a new sink, and then I'd... Well, you ain't got it, so stop thinking of all the things you'd spend it for. Supposing we could give the police an idea which would lead them to this killer.

Where would you get an idea? You don't know anything about this sort of thing. I didn't get it from you, of that you can be sure. All right. What's this idea? Why should I tell you when all you ever did was to make fun of me when I tried to win a little money for us? No, them puzzle contests. You spent a lot of time and never won a thing. This is different. What's your idea? I'm not sure I'm going to tell you. It ain't right to keep things from your husband. You keep things from me.

What things? You don't tell me where you go on Saturdays and Sundays. Can't a man take a walk without his wife say so? Now, you tell me, or I'll... You don't need to shout at me. I was going to tell you all along, but you turned up your nose at the idea of getting some money. Here, look at this map. So, it's a map of the city. What about it? See them four crosses? Yes. Well, each one marks the spot where a woman was killed. And when you connect them up, it makes an almost perfect square.

Anybody can make a square, aren't they? Put that map flap on the table and I'll show you something. All right, now it's on the table. Now what? Well, here's where my idea comes in. Whoever's doing the killing lives inside that square. Oh, my sweet, there's over a million people living inside that square. But the killer goes in a different direction each time. How do you know that? Well, it just stands to reason he's not going to kill a woman in front of his own house. He takes a different direction, so as not to have to happen in the same place.

Suppose he does live inside the square. I want the police to know whether... Wait a minute. That's where the rest of my idea comes in. I take a ruler and I draw two diagonal lines connecting the opposite corners like this. What's that for? He most likely lives close to where them two lines cross. I can't make out any names on this map. Let's see. This line comes along and it cross... Dan. What's the matter? The lines. Then the lines cross right here in our own block. Then maybe it's someone we pass on the street every day.

Mother in Heaven. Dan. Then it's happened again right here in our own block. What are the lights on for? Just like all the others dead and lying in the gutter. Turn off them lights. They cost money. I'm scared. Didn't you hear me? Your wife's been here all alone, dying with fear. Don't you know there's been a murder almost on our doorstep? Now quit screeching. I know it. You do? Well, how do you know if... Now, police are all over the place. They stopped me coming home and wanted to know who I was and what I was doing.

Why are you running the water this time of morning? As you see, I'm washing my head. Seems to me you could wash up at the factory. Oh, shut up! Can't a man make himself clean without his wife yelling at him? Who's yelling? It's you they can hear all over the house. Yes, yes, yes. Oh, gosh, mind me, there's no sense in shouting at each other. Hey, I'm done in. Give me some brandy. Brandy? This time of the morning? Get it! And don't give me any jaw. Brandy? Now you've got to have brandy when you get home.

The quiet, your tender nerves, I suppose. Here. Heaven knows after what's happened. It's me that needs it. Ah. That's the stuff. Oh, Mammy, you do do. Done in. You better take one. Well, just a drop. This time it didn't happen on a weekend. No, it didn't. So, maybe it ain't a working man after all. I didn't say it was. It was the police's idea. And what about your fancy idea of them going in a different direction each time? Well, I don't know what to think now. Ah. Maybe you ain't so smart after all. Maybe you better tend to the housework and forget about rewards.

I'm going to bed. Well, are you coming? I'll be along in a minute. What? I asked you the fancy one. What's that? You just got through washing your hands, or don't you remember? No. I didn't. Pauli. Oh, yes, Mr. Britt. Anything resembling a clue in those letters? Oh, they're the usual stuff. Six confessions, plenty of advice on how to catch him. Yeah, so what's that one? Oh, that's from a Mrs. Ben Cast. Uh, she notices that if you connect the four murder locations, it forms a square. A big help. Everyone, including the police, noticed that.

She's got the idea the killer must live where the two diagonals cross. It's the date that made me put it aside. Oh, let me see that. Oh, mailed on the 24th. Night of the last murder. Yes, and it took place within 100 feet where the lines cross on the map, sir. Of course, it could be coincidence. Hmm, could be, could be. Well, we'll have to make a routine call on Mrs. Cast. Are you the time keeper? That's right. What can I do for you? My husband forgot his lunch. Could you see it was sent in to him?

All right. What's his name? Cast. Ben Cast. He works in the grinding shed. He didn't check in tonight. You mean he's not here? Where's his card? It's not punched. But he left home at the regular time. Maybe he's out with a blonde. But Ben never missed his work. He's never stayed away before. As? He's pretty regular. He missed work only once before this month. Before tonight, I mean. Once before? When was that? Well, let's see. Here it is. Wednesday the 24th. The 24th. Yes. Wednesday. No. Can't be. That was the night of the... Here it is.

That time clock doesn't lie. Good Lord. I see. What's the matter? Nothing. I'm all right. You don't look like it, Mrs. Cast. You better take the bus home. You shouldn't be out alone in this fog, with that fellow still at large. I guess you know what I mean. Ben, is that you? Of course it's me. Has it been another? Don't pester me with questions. I'm done in. I won't, then. If you're looking for the brandy, it's on the table. Hello, Cast. I see you brought your lunch tonight. I got to eat, don't I? The other night, when you forgot it, your wife brought it down.

That's the night you didn't check in. She was here? Yes. You told her I didn't come to work? What else could I tell her? If you wanted me to cover for you, you should have let me know. Well, good night, Mrs. Cast. Sorry to have bothered you, but the police have to make a check of every letter, and we do appreciate your desire to help catch this murderer. Good night, sir. Good night. What do you think, sir? Well, she's a very frightened woman. I just can't blame her. First, a murder, a stone's throw away, then the police drop in.

Yes, sir. Better run a check on her husband just to be on the safe side. You know where he works and all that sort of thing. Who's there? Oh, Ben. What are you doing home? Don't. Don't you hurt my arm. A minute, my back's turned. You call the police. No, no, Ben. They came to ask me about the letter. It don't mean a thing they said so. They just had to check all the letters. They get dozens of them. What did you tell them? Nothing. Honest. There was nothing I could tell them. They asked about me, didn't they?

I had to tell them I was married and that you worked nigh... Did they ask you about Wednesday night? No. No, they didn't ask. What Wednesday? Then please let go my arm. The night you brought my lunch to the factory, the night you left the brandy out for me... I knew you'd be tired after working hard all night. It's good when you're tired. Let me get your glass now. Wednesday. You followed me. You left the brandy. You know, don't you? I don't know anything, Ben. I don't... I don't want to know. You don't have to tell me where you go or what you do, Ben.

Ben, Ben, you're hurting me. I'll never ask again. You say that I was a monster. You want me to get caught so as you can get the money. No, Ben, I don't want the money. I tore the map up. It was a crazy idea. Didn't mean anything. The men said so. You put them on my trail. They'll go to the factory. They'll ask questions. They'll be after me like hound dogs, sniffing and baying at my heels because of you. All because of you. Ben, please, please listen to me. Put down the knife. It's all up with me because of you.

But I'll finish you just like I finished all the others. Ben, listen. Ben, you need me now more than you ever did. Ben, Ben, Ben, I can help you. I'm the only one who can help you. Throw them off the scent. You led them to me. How are you going to lead them away? You need someone to swear you was home all those nights you didn't go to work. Don't you see, Ben? I'm the only one who can do that. Suppose they ask where you were those nights. I'll say I was at home. But they won't believe you.

Not unless you have someone to back you up. You've got to have an alibi. Alibi? Someone who will say you couldn't be near the place at time it happened. You're not going to snitch on me? No, Ben. Never. I'll never tell. Please put away the knife. Well, maybe I will. Maybe I won't. You've got to let me live. Because without an alibi, they'll hang you. You'll say I was at home those nights? I swear. I swear it. Who else could do that for you? Ben, you're tired. Let me get you some brandy. Yeah. Brandy. That's what I need.

Get it. Well, here's the picture, Holly. For a time, the murders took place on weekends. Then they stop but take place in the middle of the week. And on Wednesday, the 24th, Kast doesn't report for work. First time in six years. Two weeks later, Kast misses work again. And there's another murder. Yes, he's our man, all right. But proving it, it's another matter. There hasn't been another since we questioned him. Oh, he'll try again. It's only a matter of time. Do you really think so, sir? Oh, sure of it. But assuming it is Kast, wouldn't he be a fool to try again?

Whoever it is, he can't help himself. He'll try again and again until he's caught. And all we can do is stand by and wait for it to happen again. That's it. We know that it'll happen. We know how it'll happen, but we don't know when and we don't know where. What does the weatherman say? Heavy fog rolling in, sir. I think it's chilly enough without opening the window and filling the room with a damp fog. Thick, heavy fog. I can't see the corner light. Close the window. I like the smell of cool, wet fog. Then ain't it time you started for work?

Ben. What? What did you say? It's time you started for work. I'm not going tonight. Not going? What's come over you? I don't like the factory. I'm not like this. You'll stay in, Ben Marcher, if you don't go to work. The walls press in on me. I want to walk in the cool, wet fog. It's all about one, but it doesn't press in. It's a wall all round, but it gives way as I walk into it. No. Now stay home if you wish, but don't go walking in the fog. You call the factory and tell them I'm not coming in.

Ben, please, if I call them, will you promise not to? Do as I say. All right. I'll go phone. I'll be right back. Hello. I'm calling for Ben Cast. He's sick and he won't be in tonight. No, no, not serious. He'll be in tomorrow night. Yes, yes, tomorrow. Ben, I got the timekeeper. Ben, why have you got your slicker on? You promised me you'd never walk in the fog again. There's someone out there calling me. You're talking wild. It's my mission. There's a soul out there begging to be released from the claws of the flesh.

So as it can soar up to heaven. Ben, Ben, don't. Get out of my way. Mr. Brett, you've got to put him away. He'll kill me if he knows I came to his... Mrs. Kast, we can't use anything you've told us in court because a wife cannot testify against her husband. But he killed him. I know it. And then again, he never actually confessed it to you. All we've got here is that each time he missed work, there was a murder. What are we going to do now? Well, first, I've got to get a confession out of him.

He'll never do that. After I talked him out of killing because he needed an alibi, he's become more sure of himself than ever. A woman for his alibi. Well, you wait, Mrs. Caste. I've ordered him brought in. You'll not let him see me, will you? That depends. Mr. Caste, on Wednesday, the 24th, there was a murder not far from your home. Everybody knows that. Yes, and on Wednesday, the 24th, you missed work for the first time in six years. I didn't feel well, so I stayed home. And two weeks later, there was another murder. You missed work a second time in six years.

A man can get sick, can't he? Two hours ago, a woman was killed. And the third time in six years, you didn't report for work. Where were you two hours ago, Mr. Caste? I was at home. And those other nights? Where were you? Home? Well, I'm glad to hear that. You understand, though, we can't just take your word for it. Now, if there was someone who could testify for you, it would... You mean, if I had an alibi? Exactly. Well, I have got an alibi. My wife will swear I was home those nights. But, uh, she's a woman, Mr.

Caste. She'll swear to it. But you know how sneaky women are, how they lie their heads off, what traps they set for men. Yes. I know. Yes. They'll swear not to do something, and a moment later, they'll do the opposite. But Mamie said she wouldn't do... But she's a woman, Mr. Caste. Don't forget how greedy they are. And there's a reward out for the killer. Yes. Mamie wanted the reward then. I'm going to tell you something, just between you and me, understand? I'm not to tell anybody else. Right. I hate women too. Oh, yes? Those women who got the knife in the fog, they all had it coming to them.

Yes. They had it coming to them. Look, Ben, I, uh... I want to show you something. Now, who's that woman talking to my man? Mamie. And he's writing down what she says. As I said, you can't depend on them. Well, Mamie, she's... she's my only boy. What will I do? She's the only one who can swear where I was those nights. You can tell me, Ben, because I understand. Now, tell me where you really were those nights. Tell me how you walked in the cool, wet fog that formed a blanket all around you. Tell me how a dim figure of a woman would come out of the fog.

How your hand would go to the knife. The knife. Ben. The knife? Yes. You do understand things. You do understand me. My hand would go to the knife all by itself. It would take it. I could hear a soul wailing in the body of a woman, begging to be freed from the claws of the flesh. And then my hand would lift the knife, and in a minute, the soul would be free. And then my head would stop hurting. Suspense, you've been listening to The Man in the Fog, Starring Robert Dryden and Ethel Everett, And written especially for Suspense by Joseph Cochran.

Suspense is produced and directed by Bruno Zarrano Jr., Music supervision by Ethel Huber. Also featured in tonight's story were Mercer MacLeod, Lawson Zerbe and Guy Ruff. Listen again next week when we return with No Hiding Place, Written by William N. Robeson. Another tale well calculated to keep you in. Suspense, they sing too, Carol Burnett and Richard Hayes, Weeknights on the CBS Radio Network. My dear, I can't stop thinking about my, well, my considerations on escape, travel, Two If by Sea. I suppose this time of year I get a little antsy about, well, you know, my big night out, that comes at the end of the season.

Ah, but no use living in the future when the present is perfectly terrifying, but I do enjoy imagining if but for a moment a seascape. Let every go signal remind you that you do go farther with signal gasoline. The Signal Oil Program. The Signal Oil Company and your neighborhood signal dealer bring you another curious story by The Whistler. Tonight, seascape. I am The Whistler, and I 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. Presently, I'll tell you of nameless terrors of which they dare not speak.

But first, Signal Oil Company wants to pass along this timely warning. During 1943, according to the National Safety Council, 97,800 persons were killed right here in America in accidents. Of the deaths caused by autos, one out of five occurred when roads were wet or slippery, one out of five when driver's vision was obscured. Fortunately, precautions can be taken to help prevent these two types of accidents. For instance, tires that are worn smooth tend to skid more readily. But a deep heavy retread job, the kind signal gasoline dealers are prepared to give your tires will restore their grip on the road, help you stop more quickly.

And if a worn windshield wiper is leaving streaks across your vision, signal gasoline dealers will install a fine new rain master blade while you wait. So have your tire tread and your windshield wiper checked the next time you're at your neighborhood's signal gasoline dealers. You'll feel a lot better knowing your car is prepared for the wet weather driving ahead. And it may help save a life, possibly your own. And now, The Whistler. The Atlantic coastline from the Gulf of St. Lawrence south to Cape Hatteras and beyond is a treacherous one. An ever present threat to the thousands of vessels which have for centuries moved in streams in and out of American ports.

And the keepers of the lighthouses there are men with an awful responsibility. Men who must not only fight the perils of the storm, but must battle continually against the loneliness and despair of their vigils. It's not a very attractive life. No, especially for a girl like Madeleine Murray, who six months ago came to live with her new husband Richard at their lighthouse on a rocky island off the coast of northern Maine. Good Lord, just listen to that wind. Yes, Richard, I hear the wind. Things have been quiet for too long. Yeah, I got a strange feeling something's going to happen.

I wish it would. Oh, now, Madeleine. Well, I do. I tell you, I can't help it, Richard. I'm so weary of the same old rocks and ocean, I could almost scream. It's been six months, six long months. I know, I know. But I tried to tell you before we... Yes, you did. I admit everything. You were honest and aboveboard. You said it would be lonely and cold and silent, and I said it didn't matter. That doesn't help me now. It's driving me crazy, I tell you. Oh, please, Madeleine. All right, all right. I'm sorry. Just like all the other times.

But I've done everything I can. Yes, what? Well, for example, why didn't you go into Bango for a vacation that time? I told you you were free to go, and Aunt Elizabeth would have been glad to have you. Oh, I just didn't feel like going. But why? It's just what you want. Oh, don't ask me why. I just didn't feel like going, that's all. Madeleine, look at me. You don't love me anymore, do you? No. Furthermore, I never did. Well, you can go if you want to, Madeleine. I can't go, Richard. That's why I'm going crazy.

I want to, but I can't. Why did you marry me? You want the truth? Yes. All right. I can't go. I've got to stay here for another year. It'll be longer than that. The last place in the world they think of looking for me. Looking for you? What do you mean? Who? The police. The police? I killed a man, Richard. Oh, no, you couldn't have. Yes, but I did. You have to believe it. And after I killed him, I ran away. I didn't know which way to turn. That isn't until you arrived on the scene with your lighthouse.

Who was it? A man I loved once. Murderous. You surprised? That's why I married you, Richard. Now, what are you going to do about it? Why did you have to tell me? Because I don't care anymore. Do you understand? Matter of fact, I think the state prison has a lot of advantages over an acre of rock and a flock of seagulls. They'd hang you. Maybe. I've had its advantages, too. You'll find out very soon. There's only one thing to do, Madeline. All right, fine. Radio the police. They'll send me to prison, Richard. But at last, I'll be free.

That's a laugh, isn't it? I'll be free of this rock. And you. Yes, Richard. There's only one thing to do. Radio for the police to come and get her. That's the law, Richard. To do otherwise would be to shelter a fugitive from justice. That's what you're thinking as the long hours tick away in the stillness of your bedroom. You remember a lot of things now. The night you wandered into the Staghorn Inn six months ago and found her there at a table, looking as if she'd been crying. And how you had tried to comfort her without much success until at last you had explained your lonely existence at the lighthouse.

It was a different story then, wasn't it? Almost as if she'd suddenly got an idea. She was interested then, yes, infused about the paintings you brought to town, the seascapes you'd painted during the long, lonesome days there at the top of the point. Remember how she said she was tired of the city and longed to get away from it all just as you did. And it didn't take her long, just two days to be exact, before you were sailing back to the lighthouse with your new bride. But that was six months ago. And now you know the truth.

Madeleine is a murderess. It's the next day. The nor'easter hits with full fury, but you hardly hear it as you sit and stare out of a window at the top of the tower. Hello, dear. Lonesome? Madeleine, please. Why so gloomy? After all, I'm the one who's going to prison. I still can't believe it. Oh, you will in time. Now, if you were a good husband, you'd be bustling around the house arranging a going-away party for me. You're not going away. You mean you didn't send the radio message? Oh, no, I couldn't. Oh, you love me.

That's why, isn't it? Isn't it? Go away, will you? Why, certainly that's it. You couldn't dare to see me go. You couldn't take it, could you? All right, so I couldn't. But nobody else will get you, at least you'll be mine. Look, out there off the point. Good Lord, there's a man out there in a skiff. He won't last five minutes in that surf. What's he doing? He's waving an oar. Give me that megaphone. He needs help. Take the lead, Ike. You can't land on those rocks. He's got waves. Yes, he's going to get it.

I'm going down there. Maybe I can help. All right, here you go. That's it. He'll be OK in no time. Thanks. Yeah, I'm OK. Yeah, he is. Sit on the couch. Got to get these clothes off. I'm cool. Oh, it's passed out. Better cover you up, old man. You're all in. There you are. Here's the hot water. Did he hurt badly? Yeah. What's the matter? I don't know. Yes, he's hurt pretty badly. Bad gash on the head. Give me the brandy, quick. Yes, yes, the brandy. He's chilled to the bone. Lucky, though. The sea seemed to pick him up and toss him over the reef.

Here you are. Ah, that's it. It'll warm him up in a jiffy. What's the matter with you, Madeline? You're shaking like a leaf. Can't be. Huh? What are you talking about? Not a coincidence. Not here. There must be a reason. You mean you know him? Yes. His name is Adams, Blake Adams. He was with me on the night I killed the man. Yes, Madeline, the night you killed a man was a night neither you nor Blake Adams will forget for a long time. You're thinking now as Blake lies there unconscious, of the afternoon the wire came from Maxie, saying he was just passing through town.

Casual he was, just as if he hadn't run out on you, as if nothing had ever happened, just as if he were looking up a dear old maiden aunt. And when you told Blake about it, you were glad you couldn't read your mind because it was full of murder. The way to do it didn't come to you, though, until Blake suggested you ask Maxie up to the apartment for a drink, just for old time's sake. Then it was as clear as a blueprint. Maxie was strictly a one-drink man, but this time one would be enough.

Though, it's natural you're wondering about Blake and how he came to crack up right on your doorstep. It's been six hours now since Richard brought him in, and you, Magdalene, haven't left his side, and he seems to be stirring. Oh, my head. What happened? Don't sit up. Don't sit up. There, that's it. I can't see very well. You're lucky to be here at all. Here, take a drink for this. Thanks. How did you... Magdalene? Yes. Surprised? Not exactly. I'm surprised to see you, Blake. How... What happened? Lie back down now. You're a good patient. You've got a bad gash over your eye.

Yeah, the rocks. Now I remember. That skiff... You must have been out of your mind to go out in a storm like that. I had to see you, baby. What about Maxie? That's it, isn't it? They know about Maxie. What do you mean they know about Maxie? He died of indigestion, that's all. Maybe. Maybe not. I hope that's what they think. I don't know whether poor Maxie could stand a post-mortem. Wait a minute. I remember now you mixed the drinks that day. Yeah, the glass with the red ring on the top. I was to make sure he got it.

Who examined him? Doc Cranston. He treated him before for indigestion. Same symptoms, same everything. So you poisoned them in the drink. What's so funny about that? I'm sorry, babe. Couldn't figure out why you ran away. That's funny. I didn't see you do it. You poured all of our martinis out of the same shaker. There are olives in the glasses already, weren't there? Yeah. I get it. Poison in the olives. That's why you're here. You don't think it's because I like lighthouses, do you? Will you tell me why you're here? What happened? Did you get on the wrong streetcar or something?

There's no use telling you, baby. You wouldn't believe me. You try me and see. Okay, here it is. I traced you here through the guy who sold your house for you. Why? Well, with Maxi gone, I... I mean our work. Well, come on, come on. We're making it tough. We were pretty good pals once after he ran out on you that time. Wait a minute. Are you trying to tell me... Yeah, I'm trying to tell you that I love you, baby. Since way before you met him, I tried to tell you a couple of times, but I guess I'm not the Charles Boyet type.

It's twice as hard now. It was all my fault, Blake. I couldn't see very well in those days. I know. I don't know what to say. I know I'm not much of a prize, Madeline, but you could do worse. Blake. Yeah? This is on the square. What can I do to show you? Honest, baby, I'll do anything. This is another blind alley. I'll die. It's not a blind alley, honey. It's a four-lane highway. There's one thing you can do. What's that? You can kiss me. You were listening to The Whistler, brought to you by your friend, The Signal Oil Company, marketers of famous signal gasoline, your best buy today.

Remember to let every go signal remind you, you do go farther with signal gasoline. So, Blake and Madeline have found each other out in the lonely lighthouse off the coast of Maine. And it doesn't seem to matter now that it took a murder to place their feet firmly on the four-lane highway leading over the horizon. No, Maxie's death doesn't matter to them now. They only think of leaving the lighthouse in the cold, gray ocean in Richard. What about that? What about Richard? The only other one who knows about Maxie. He just returned from a trip to the mainland for supplies, and Madeline greets him at the entrance of the lighthouse.

Well, back on time. Hello, Madeline. I was a little anxious for you. The channel's so rough today. Anxious for me? Afraid I wouldn't make it or that I would? Please don't, Richard. Not today. I'm just being practical, my dear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll change my clothes. Just a minute, please. Something I want to talk to you about. About Blake Adams. Oh, yes. The patient. How is he? He's almost well enough to go. Too bad. You seem to be quite fond of him. Yes, Richard, I am. I love him and I want to go with him.

What? We haven't told you because we plan to simply take the boat some night while you were asleep. You're out of your mind. You'd be picked up in a minute. They don't know about the murder, Richard. He died of natural causes. You're free? I mean that the three of us are the only ones who know. That's why I'm telling you, we're going. The worm turns, eh? Wasn't you said a while ago, what am I going to do about it? You wouldn't go to the police now, would you? So I'm holding the strings at last. I'm a little more important to you now, eh?

Richard, Richard, I love him. You've got to believe me. You don't know what love is. You can take your choice, Madeline. Stay here with me or hang. Thanks, huh? What? It's hard to believe today that I cracked up right out there. It's just like a mill pond. What's the name of that one? I don't know. Maxie, I guess. Oh, forget it. You know, we ought to take off tomorrow. I'm feeling pretty solid. What about Richard? I'll leave him here with his lighthouse. He'll never miss you. I told him about us. He doesn't want me to go.

So what? What can he do? Well, he could tell the police what really happened to Maxie. What? You mean he knows? I told him about it tonight at the wreck. He says if I leave, he'll go to the police. Did you see, dear? How could I know you were coming? It doesn't matter whether I live or die. He couldn't testify against you, but... Listen, does he know you poisoned Maxie? I didn't tell him how. Good. He won't be suspicious of his coffee, for instance. What do you mean? It's a gamble, but we got a chance.

We need 24 hours. Listen, it's about 3 hours from the dock on the mainland to the airport. I got a pal over there with a plane. We can make Miami in 9 hours with luck and catch the Clipper to Rio. I'll leave tonight and get everything set up. I ought to be back here by 8 in the morning. That's where you come in. You mean Richard? Yeah. You gave me some sleeping powder when I first got here. Is there any left? Yes, I think so. It's in the medicine cabinet. Okay. You take care of his breakfast.

A good long dose won't hurt him. When he wakes up, we'll be halfway to Rio. Just one thing, don't give him too much. He's got to live. And so all that night after Blake's departure, Madeleine thinks about the job she must do and of his strange interest in Richard's welfare, the way he emphasized his warning about an overdose. Richard must live, he said. But why? Blake had never been so humanitarian. No, Madeleine, you don't sleep much that night. And it's about five o'clock in the morning when your eyes finally close. Suddenly you wake, you jump into your robe and slippers.

Yes, it's seven thirty and Richard's bed is empty. Oh, good morning, Richard. Oh, hello. The door is missing and our good patient has left. Or am I telling you anything? Are you sure? Yes, I'm sure. Don't try and play innocent, sweetheart. Just what have you got up your sleeve? He must have left after our talk yesterday. I told him I was going to be detained here. Oh, I see. He's an ungrateful wretch sneaking off that way after I saved his life. So you've decided to be a good wife after all, eh? I'll fix your breakfast.

Oh, don't bother. I've had it. What about coffee? No, thanks. I had a rotten night. I couldn't sleep a wink. Try to leave you alone, my dear. I'll be up at the light. Well, darling, I was hoping you'd have breakfast with me. Won't you? Aren't we considerate? I'm sorry about everything, Richard. You know, I could almost believe you if I didn't know you better. I was so wrong, Richard. I lost my head, I did. Very well. Have your breakfast and come up to the light. There's something I want to tell you. And if you're still bent on being the perfect wife, you can mix me a bromide for this headache.

Yes, Richard. Right away. That's a sour taste. This is a different brand. I guess so. Now, about Blake, he knows all about your past. Yes. And are you sure of him? What do you mean? This. An article has been torn out. Off the front page. You can still make out the tips of the top headline. Go on, look at it. What about it? It said reward offered. Does that suggest anything to you? I don't know. Sure are you that your little escapade is a dead issue? You're wrong. He wouldn't do it. I know him. I don't know.

People do strange things for money, Madeline. For instance, at this very moment, he could be telling some interesting things to the police. You brought that paper yesterday. What did the article say? Unfortunately, I hadn't got around to reading it. It wouldn't surprise me a great deal to discover you might be a bit hotter than you think. Well, I think I'll go down and take a short nap. Wake me at ten, will you? It's almost nine, and still no sign of Blake. Madeleine tries to shrug off the suspicion in her mind, but it's there to stay, and it keeps growing, growing, growing.

It's ten now, and while Richard sleeps downstairs, you pace the floor. No, no, he wouldn't do that to you, but where is he? What could keep him this long? It's a double cross. It must be. Yes, sir, why did he warn you against the overdose? Richard is precious to him, that's why. They don't pay rewards on arrests. They pay off on conviction. And Richard knows enough to convict you. Blake isn't coming back. The next thing you will see is a boatload of police. Yes, that's it, the launch, down at the landing. Your only chance. Maybe you can make it before they get here.

You can just get to the mainland. Now to find your small pistol and slip it in your purse. And now, down to the launch. Ah, but wait a minute, there's a boat coming in. It's Blake, and he's alone. Around the line, honey. Here you go. Where have you been? Oh, fancy nuts, this time we won't be here long. You all set? You're late. Yeah, I know. It wasn't as easy as I thought. Did you take care of him? Yes. What's the matter? I don't know. Come on, snap out of it. The plane's all fixed. We'll be in Miami tonight.

It cost me 500 bucks, but... Wait a minute. You were careful with the sleeping powder, like I said. He is, just like you said. Why did you say it? What do you mean? Why were you so interested in Richard's help? Oh, one murder rap is plenty in my league, baby. Come on, we gotta go. Wait a minute. I've been thinking, Blake. Now, wait a minute. Something I found up in the house started me thinking. Well, think on the way. We haven't time to be standing around passing the time of day. Come on. Just a minute!

It was a newspaper with an article cut out about a reward. Where did you find that? You tore it out, I didn't you? They're offering a reward for me. Now, you're wrong, baby. They're not offering a reward for you. There was something in it I didn't want your husband to see. Here, look. Does this make you feel any better? I've got the seats for the charter plane and two reservations to Rio. Does that look like a double cross? I don't know. You've got to believe me. We can't stand here arguing. All right, I'll get my bed.

He's meeting us down the coast a few miles with a car. I thought it would be safer. What's that boat back there? Where? A fishing boat, I guess. It's following us? No, it couldn't be far. Holy smoke! Where are you going? The shore. That's a Coast Guard conner. I was right, wasn't I? What do you mean? You thought you could lie your way out of it, didn't you? I've heard of some rots kicked, but this one takes the prize. You think you're all set now with the police moving up and your star witness back at the lighthouse?

Madeline, you're wrong. Listen. Put that gun away. You're way off the beam, I tell you. I'm straight, baby. I'm for you. Oh, you'll pour me all right. For the money I can bring you in court. Look, I had nothing to do with this. Look, I'll tell you now. It won't make any difference to either of us. That article... You're making a big mistake, baby. Just give me a minute. You're set up as you're lying, Blake. You and your four-lane highway to Rio. They won't need a detective for this one. You're a lying rat. Blake, right under the nose of the Coast Guard.

Madeline! The Whistler will be back in just a moment with a strange ending of tonight's story. Meantime, here's the answer to a question many drivers have asked. Does motor oil have any effect on gasoline mileage? The answer is yes, definitely. It's only logical that anything that helps your motor run better will also help it deliver more power from the gasoline it uses. That's why the seven-way protection which solvent refining gives signal four-star motor oil is doubly important today. You see, because of solvent refining, the latest, most costly process known to oil engineers, pure paraffin-based signal four-star motor oil has triple-strength film that clings to motor surfaces, seals in power, retains its lubricating quality for longer miles, and actually forms less carbon.

Best of all, while you're enjoying this improved performance, you're profiting in two extra ways. One, in longer motor life, and two, in helping your gasoline go farther. So make your next oil change a change to solvent-refined signal four-star motor oil. It's one of the famous go farther signal products featured by that lubrication specialist whose permanent business is helping cars go farther. Your neighborhood's signal gasoline dealer. Now, back to The Whistler. It was too bad that Madeleine didn't wait a few seconds longer, or she would have saved herself a great deal of trouble in a long term in the penitentiary.

But that's the way Madeleine always did things. Jump first and think afterwards. That's why she ran away a few minutes after poor Maxie took the drink and died, before anyone noticed that he had drunk the martini, but had left the olive she had poisoned untouched. And that's why she shot Blake, before he had a chance to tell her that it was he the police wanted for Maxie's murder. Yes, he had had the same idea that day, and he put poison in Maxie's martini too. And that was the poison that killed him, because it was in the drink itself.

You see, he really loved Madeleine, and Maxie was the only one between them and the four-lane highway over the horizon. And when at last the poisoning was discovered, the poison traced and the reward offered for his apprehension, Blake knew we'd have to run away, that perhaps there in the lighthouse she hadn't heard of it and would go with him. That's why Richard had to live, because after all, it wouldn't do to have a murder rap hanging over her head, too, would it? Next Monday at 9 o'clock, the Signal Oil Program will bring you another strange tale by The Whistler.

The Signal Oil Program is broadcast for your entertainment by the Signal Oil Company, marketers of Signal's famous Go-Farther gasoline and motor oil, and by your neighborhood's Signal Oil dealer, who is at your service daily to keep your car running for the duration. The Signal Oil Program, produced by George W. Allen, with story by Vic Kushner, music by Wilbur Hatch, is transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Bob Anderson speaking for your friend, the Signal Oil Company, and suggesting once again that you let every Go-Signal remind you that you do go farther with Signal gasoline.

This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. The Well, my dear, I think we've just about reached the end of our sojourn into the very, very, very bleak, dark, inky void, wouldn't you say? But I think there's time for one more adventure, one more trip across the ocean black. Yes, eat some salted meat, drink the fresh water and avoid that salty lyre you're floating on. I suppose now it's all aboard. All aboard, well, the murder ship. Inner Sanctum Mysteries, brought to you right through the summer by Bromothelter. Good evening, friends of the Inner Sanctum. This is your host to welcome you through the squeaking door.

Tell me, fellow ghouls, did you ever take in the fright stuff at the door? I did the other night. Found it odd with a state called Nightmare Avenue, just two blocks long and a scream wide. Begins with a small cemetery and ends with a bigger one. There's a freakish sort of shop in the alley, ideal for those of you with a buying fever. Its sign reads, Gadget, Goat, and Grey Guard Gigaard. It is deep night in the raging ocean. The fog is a thick gray wall and the wind is sharp. A boat tosses gruntily in the deep as a murky storm.

It's unlighted except for its fluttering napster flame. Where abhorred the Gypsy Princess, beside its captain, the notorious Captain Henty. A few feet away, whirming deeper as the shelter of the fog, backing away from Captain Henty's gun, is another man, a younger man wearing a first-meat cap. Chambers! I order you to come out of that blasted farm! You hear me? You murdered what was left of the crew! Corky, McDonald's, Coke, Willoughby, Menagerie! Five men, five bullets! The sixth bullet is for you, Chambers! And if you murder me, then what? You alone, a madman without food or drink, haunting his own ship, then what?

I'll find Bellows and strangle him, and then claim the princess, claim my bride! They don't exist, Bellows, or your bride! They just live in your mind! Oh, I hear! The princess is real! You know the princess is real! You saw it with your own eyes! Did I, Captain? Or was it just a myth, an illusion? You heard her speak! I heard a voice, but it could have been the witch! It was the princess as real as you and me! It's her, my bride! Princess, you've come back! Where are you, Princess? In the storm? What's the matter, Captain Afraid?

Afraid of over the side, even into the arms of the princess? It's your love calling me, Captain. You're paying a bride. Are you going to turn your back on her? I've got to kill you first. And lose the princess? I've had some shooting over in the islands. I thought I'd row over and have a look. Islands? Where's the island you rode over? Back there, away, behind the fog. I thought we were somewhere mid-ocean, miles out. You thought wrong. You're marooned just off the island. There's a sandbar under your boat. What's funny, son? We've been tossing in the fog for days without food or water with an island just out there.

What island are we on? Deadman's Island. Even if you knew where you were, son, there'd be nothing on the island for you. No food, no drink. Just a place to bury the dead aboard your ship. How do you know they're a dead boy? I heard some shooting, I think. How many dead? Corky, McDonnell, Crote, Weatherby, Mannix. It's five. Captain Hennie jumped over. Ann McGarry, a navigator? And Jensen? Dead. Then you're the only survivor. Yes, I'm Chambers, Frisbee. I expected it would be Captain Hempsey, I'd find, alive. Delivering his cargo of dead men. Hey, wait a minute.

How'd you know about Miguel, the navigator, and Jensen? Where'd you get your information, Pop? For a man to seek logic after the events under Gypsy Vincenzo, that's strangest of all. Yeah. After two weeks down this floating, insane asylum, I shouldn't get gargoyled over anything. You boarded the ship at the strait. You know that, too, huh? Right. The years since I was a kid, I'd heard tall stories, unbelievable whoppers about Captain Hentie and the Gypsy Prince, stuff about a ship being haunted, about a girl, a beautiful vision named Princess after the ship, who followed the boat wherever it stayed.

I wanted to write it all up after staying it all for myself. Shall I stop? No. Go on. Those tall stories started coming to life a few hours after we put to sea. As Captain Hentie's court is going over some pages when Corky came by here, Corky handled the business details of the ship like a steward would. Captain Hentie? I was checking over the crew list here. So, Corky? I can't make it head up. McDonald, Coutch, Wetherby, Menica, Miguel, Jensen, Marcel, Chamber's here, Walsh, and MLK. Eight men, that's your crew? Thank you, sir. Up to there.

But there's a ninth business on the list, but nobody answered to it. What is the ninth name? Bellows. You stupid fool. Get out. You've seen the signature before? From Cape Havre to Singapore. I don't get it. You will. You will in time. You'll know what it means to sail with bellows, my boy. Who is bellows? The Ship Ghost. The Gypsy Princess was once his ship before he died. How long ago did Bellows die? Ten years ago. And you think a dead man signed the cruelest cap? Aye, and you'll believe it too in time. In time, you too will believe Bellows is aboard the Gypsy Princess.

Chambers, I say, search the ship from Stemdaston. Search the lifeboats, the passageways, everywhere. Then do it again and again. Spend every minute you're on this ship, searching for Bellows. Understand? I can't find Bellows. Find Bellows or you'll be Gypsy Princess. That was my first brush with the crazy legend of the Gypsy Princess. I was to spend the whole voyage looking for a dead man who'd find the cruel wretchedness. Bellows was master of this shipment. Everything was fine until they both went back to a dream lady who was supposed to be following the ship and he killed Bellows.

Got all scuffed away by pleading self-defense, then fought the Gypsy Princess and went failing to find the girl. Bellows then is just something in the captain's guilt, in his imagination. Oh, no, sir. It's not all in his imagination. Now, you're sounding as balmy as heavy. You don't believe in the Bellows ghost, do you, Corky? I do, indeed. Just you wait, sir, and you'll know Bellows is somewhere aboard the ship. It's Captain Enty on the tube. The orging's begun, I'll bet by page. Corky speaking, Captain. Take the wheel at once. But it's Miguel's turn at the wheel, sir.

Take the wheel at once. Aye, sir. At once. Is Chamber there? Aye, sir. I'll put him on. He wants you, Mr. Chamber. Chamber speaking, Captain. Turn the ship inside out and stop for nothing, Mr. Chamber. Find Bellows or we won't have a navigator left aboard. We've been up our course turning in circles when our instruments make the bit for Bellows. What happened to Miguel? Ha, ha, ha. I told you, you'd know Oh, fellows, we're so bored in time. Fellows caught me gale at the wheel and killed him. A creep who's been asleep in the deep says the dipty princess is a gyp.

What started as a pleasant ocean junket is becoming a nightmare. A ghost book, Patty. The captain goes white as a sheet, and Poor Chambers has handed the odd job of trailing the little man who isn't there to his home. Well, let's see, where did we stream on? Oh, yes, Miguel, the navigator, had just gone the way of all things. Miguel was at the boat's wheel, clutching it, and staring on into the ocean with dead eyes. A dead man had been steering our course. How was the fool killed? I can't say, sir. His face looked as if he had seen the devil himself.

But there isn't a mark on him. Bellows killed him. I hate taking issue with you, sir, but I'm sure that there's a simpler explanation than a mysterious attack by a ghost, a heart attack perhaps. If an autopsy could be performed... There'll be no autopsy. But we've got to establish... I have no interference, Shambles. I've got to take immediate steps so you'll all be dead. Assign gentlemen to watch the ship's food stores at once. Our food stores? Mind your duties and ask no questions. Make prompt arrangements to throw Miguel over the side. Without services? Just like that?

Just like that. We'll throw Miguel as an offering to the prince. Maybe. Maybe she'll reappear. It's been so long since she's appeared. Come on now. Make your arrangement. We were a grim lot gathered to watch the dead Miguel dropped over the side. The storm was brewing. There was a blinding fog. Let it chamber. All ready, sir. Let him go. Princess Tim, I gave you Miguel. Now come, wash the blood off his cursed ship. Crew backed away like men frightened by the face of insanity. And then, over the sound of the ocean, we heard her. Was it the woman's voice, or was it the wind?

I watched, fell bound, my eyes burning into the mist that swirled around Captain Henrique. I saw, I saw her, beautiful. The most complete illusion of beauty the mind can imagine. Beautiful beyond words or language. Seeing her, I could understand what drove Captain Henrique. And seeing her at Captain Henrique's side, I knew scorching jealousy. Your Highness, my bride has come. You see her, don't you? Aye, sir. She's very beautiful. Your Highness, Marius here now. But it... Do I have such authority? As captain of the ship, I give you the authority. You'll find my service book in my quarters.

Aye, sir. Corky. Aye, Mr. Chambers. Go, fetch the book of services from the captain's quarters, so we can get on with the ceremony. With a crew standing bareheaded and looking on like men bewitched, I married Captain Henty to his vision. I quoted such lines as let no man put a thunder and until death do you part at a madman standing alone with a mist curling around him. The captain said, I do, and the wind answered for her. The captain had his bride at last, but not for long. After that brief visit we no longer saw her, even fancy we saw her.

The captain sat looking out to sea for hours, days, like a man whose bride had forsaken him right after the wedding. Days passed, and then Bellows struck again. I was with the captain going over some charts when the door opened. It was Corky. His face was strained and frightened. Captain Indy. What is it, Corky? The food stores. What about them? They're gone. Our food and our water, it's all disappeared. Jensen was assigned to watch the food stores. Send a phone to me. I can't. Jensen got what Miguel got. We can put into the nearest port.

If you look at the charts, we get the two days pay off for winter. It's the only thing to do. With our food or drink, how can we go on? And with our fuel? Fuel? With our coal? How can we go anywhere? I don't get it. Then go down to the engine room and see for yourself. Our coal. Every blasted scrap of it was pirated by fellows last night. The man lay in the hatch, dying of thirst to no food. Captain Henry was a complete madman now, with every pretense of sanity fallen. He prowled through them like a wild animal, with me behind him watching.

Then last night in the pitch dark, I watched him climb to the lookout tower. Corky was up there waving a napsoflare in a last desperate SOS. I watched the captain come up behind Corky and circle his arms around Corky's neck. Don't! Help! I hurried to the patrol the captain away. Let him go! This is the last time you'll interfere. Go ahead. Issue the order. There isn't a man aboard who has the strength to carry it out. I know you exactly for what you are now, captain. I know about those murders and the disappeared sword. You!

You did all of it! You're the ghost porting your own ship! You think I did it all? I'm sure I. You're a mad man with your guilt about killing Bellows. Your hallucinations about a woman following your ship. You're the curser with a dipty princess. You and you alone! So that's what you come to believe. You fool! That's what Bellows wants you and everybody to believe. I saw you try to kill Corky just now. No, Ghost! You in the flesh! I had to kill Corky. I had to kill you all. Those are my sailing orders. What crazy talk is that now?

I am to deliver a cargo of dead men. And I mustn't fail or I'll lose the princess, Bellows. Stand back, Chambers. I've got six bullets in this gun. Including you, Chambers, the crew is exactly six now. You see, I mustn't waste a single bullet. You're going to shoot us in cold blood just because of some insane obsession. I must. We'll all be dead soon if you're just well. No, no, no. I can't risk it that way. I, Captain Henrique of the Gypsy Princess, Must personally deliver a cargo of dead men. One bullet for Corky. And he shot the other four.

Then came after me with his last boot. He went over the side when his phantom bride called. I've laughed about everything, just the bar. I knew the story, all of the stories. You said you'd heard shots and rode over here when you came aboard. And I did see that. But I don't see your rowboat. And your clothes aren't even damp. You were never out there in a small boat for a minute. Wasn't I? No! Listen, you're open up and talk. Who are you? She'll tell you who I am. She? The princess. See her? No! Look again with your heart.

See her now? Yes. She's beautiful. Your balance. I don't know. I'm delirious, I guess. You belong to me now, Princess. Panty lost you back to me. I watched her float in with a mist. And the same indescribable pleasure and indescribable pain I'd seen on Captain Henty's face flushed all through me. I was in love with her, and burning up with jealousy. I was dying of thirst, dying of hunger, too weak to even raise a finger, but I went for Bellows. I didn't want him to have the princess. Bellows! Bellows, I'm going to kill you! Do you hear me, Bellows?

No one here, just me and the cargo of death in the middle of nowhere. I imagined them. How much of it all did I imagine? Not real! Oh, what a fish story! I don't know what it did to you, brother whale, but it's got me scaled down to size. It's the old block for me from now on. I'm not afraid of the dark. As they, if you must get the nautical urge, compromise by diving into the bathtub, huh? And if a strange hand passes you the wash rag and stone, don't take it, ignore it. Stay underwater and play.

Well, it's time to close that squeaking door for another seven-day rest, until next week at this time when Bromo Seltzer brings you another Inner Sanctum Mystery, directed by Hyman Brown. By the way, this month's Inner Sanctum Mystery novel is Report for a Court by Henry King. Next week, you'll hear our answer to the housing shortage, because we've got a story about a little home in the country that will kill you, and anybody else who enters. It's called The House of Doom, and behind its walls, some of the most charmingly gruesome people you ever met will die in haunt and howl and murder to your heart's content.

So be sure to listen to it, too. Until next Monday, then. Good night. Pleasant dreams. My dear, I think I may have underestimated the darkness we were waiting in. I thought it was about time to call it an evening, but there seems to be more we must confront before we can return to our homes, I suppose. Hmm. I hope you're ready, my dear. Get another hot cup of tea. I'll get the fire even hotter, because soon, sooner than you may realize, we'll have to go face to face with the one, the only, The Sea Phantom.

Oh, ignoring me, eh? Now look here, you. This is Captain Strong's own cabin, and no one's got any business of sitting here a-writin. I see. You're not a member of this crew. Put me down. Look at your face. Look at you. Why you're not human? Captain! Captain Strong! Captain! Who is it? What's that, Isaac? There's someone in the captain's cabin, sir. Who is it? I don't rightly know, sir. Well, didn't you see who it was? Yes, Mr. Wilson, that I did, sir. But the captain always locks his cabin. Don't you, Captain Strong? I do, but I could have forgot.

It wasn't locked just now, Captain. You say you got a look at the man? I say. And pull in the face, Captain. Would you rightly call it a face? What's that? What do you mean, Isaac? Here's my speaker. What are you trying to tell us? I mean, sir, the man ain't human. He's nothing but a skeleton. What? Nonsense, Isaac. Oh, no, sir, and that is not. I seen him, sir. Looked plumb into his face, I did. And there's nothing there but bones. White, bleach bones, sir. Oh, that's ridiculous. Empty eye sockets and a gaping mouth, and he was writing on your slate, sir.

Writing on my slate? Aye, Captain. Writing with a piece of white chalk, held between his fingers. Fingers with no flesh on them, sir. Well, you've been dreaming, Isaac. Come on. Let's get down to my cabin and have a look. Come along, Mr. Wilson. Right, Captain. Isaac, come on. Aye, aye, sir. Well, it's impossible for anyone to be in my cabin. All the hands are either on deck or down in the engine room. That's what I say, Captain Storm. He ain't one of the crew. He ain't rightly nobody, sir. Unless you want to call a spirit somebody.

Isaac, stop that sort of talk. No, but it ain't no sort of talk, sir. Begging your pardon, Mr. Wilson. I seen him with my own eyes. Sitting there, dressed in some sort of get-up I ain't never laid eyes on before. He had his back to the door. He was writing on your state with a chalk, Captain. I spoke to him, but he didn't pay me no mind. Just kept right on with his writing. Then I got closer to him, and he still didn't look up. So I stooped down and peered into his face I did.

And then I... I seen he wasn't nothing but a skeleton, sir. If you were a drinking man, Isaac, I'd have you flogged and put in irons. I'm not so sure he hasn't been at the keg, Captain. Begging your pardon, sir, you'll see for yourself soon enough. Here's the hatch. You first, Captain. Just as I thought. Nobody here. Cabin's empty. But I locked this door, Cabin. So whoever it was couldn't get out. Well, you must have done that all right. I certainly unlocked it just now. I'm sorry. I said there's no one in here. No, nobody.

And no way out except through that door. I said, Captain, have a look. There's Mr. Wesson wanted. Your slave. There is writing on it. Eh? What's that? Well, here, here, let me, let me see. Here. There, Captain Strong. You see, sir? That's not your writing, is it? No. No, it isn't my writing. Then one of the men must have been in here and wrote that. No, I don't think so. Because this writing is a style and a type that was used more than 200 years ago. What? Well, let's see. Hmm. I say, that is strange writing.

Is English all right? Such a peculiar spelling and phrasing. Blimey. I can't read it at all. Isaac. Aye, aye, Captain. Now, seeing this, I can't help but believe that you saw somebody sitting here in my cabin writing on my slate. But I won't be convinced that it was a skeleton. But I tell you, sir, I... It was your imagination, Isaac. Oh, no, sir. It wasn't no imagination. I said it was your imagination. You understand? Aye, sir. Now, I don't want you to open your mouth about this to the crew. You hear me? There's... Well, there's...

There's some explanation. I'm not going to have you stirring up the crew with this. We're all superstitious enough without that. Aye, sir. Those are orders, Isaac. I'll have you in irons if you breathe a word of this to the man. Aye, aye, sir. That's all, Isaac. Aye, sir. Well, Captain Strong? What do you make of it, Wilson? Most extraordinary. I'm positive Isaac did see someone in this cabin. But surely not a fleshless creature. I don't know. Isaac is a sober, steady sort of person. A confounded man. He hasn't much imagination. Well, who ever heard of a skeleton aboard a ship, much less one that could ride on a slate?

Stranger things than that have happened at sea. You know that. Yeah. Yeah, I do. But I can't convince myself that what Isaac saw was really some fleshless creature without a brain or heart or eyes. Can you make out the writing on the slate? Yeah, I think so. Says, it is not correct. The information you have about the sea phantom. Change your course six degrees north, northeast to location 26 degrees, seven minutes longitude, 18 degrees, nine minutes latitude. Jonathan Strange. Jonathan Strange? No, no, it can't be. He was the famous captain of the Spanish galleon, the sea phantom, the one we're hoping to locate.

Yeah, he was. Jonathan Strange, dead for 224 years, lost in a gale in 1718. Yes, but not in the position this message on the slate directs us to. No, no, indeed. The sea phantom was supposed to have founded at 20 degrees longitude. The message says 26 degrees in 7 minutes. Yes. Could this be a trick? A trick, Captain. Someone else who's heard of the immense treasure that went down to the sea phantom. Someone who's trying to steer us over a course, get to the treasure themselves. I doubt that. What do you say? You doubt it, Mr.

Wilson. Well, sir, we've kept the entire expedition completely secret. Not even the crew know what we're up to. We've tried to keep the entire expedition a secret. I'm positive I haven't mentioned to anyone. Nor have I, Captain Strong. When I stumbled upon the information about the sea phantom, I knew there was an excellent opportunity to recover almost a million dollars' worth of gold. But naturally, I needed a boat. You were the first one I thought of. Neither of us would have had a reason for disclosing our knowledge about the treasure. That's just it. That's why I'm so inclined to believe Isaac was telling us the truth.

About the thing without place, right in this message? Precisely. Ah, that's... that's unbelievable. Even so, Captain, you must admit that a man who's been dead more than 200 years certainly wouldn't be much more than a skeleton. Isn't that right? You mean... Good heavens. You mean this message was actually written by Jonathan Strange himself? I mean exactly that. Hmm. I wonder. What about it, Captain? Do we change the course? I don't know. What's your advice? Normally, I'm not superstitious. But, well, what can we do? I've never believed in ghosts or spirits up to now. But that message on that slate certainly is convincing.

And you're in favor of following the instructions. Well, Mr. Wesson? Yes. Let's change the course and go to the spot the message mentions. If you're willing to take a chance, I certainly am. Let me in, sir. Isaac Newton, sir. Well, come in and stop that noise. Oh, Fossum Thunder's gotten into you, waking me up in the middle of the night. What time is it anyway? Eight o'clock, sir. Midnight. Midnight? A big day ahead tomorrow. Oh, calm-founded man, what do you want? Well, I'm standing watch alone tonight, sir. Maybe I should have told this to the captain, but I...

I come to you first. Well? What? I just sighted a boat to the port side, sir. Well, have you identified her? Oh, no, sir. You see? Well, she ain't carrying no light, sir. No light? Oh, no, sir. And she's not like any ship I've ever seen, sir. To the port side, you say? Aye, sir. She's riding with full sail. What? Aye, sir. She looks to me like one of those old time boats you see in pictures. Hand me my boots there, Isaac. I'll come up on deck and have a look. There she blows, sir. You see?

What a sign of life aboard her, sir. And the moon's full tonight. Look, man. Look. What, Mr. Wilson? That name on the bow. I can't see that far, sir. My eyes are... That name. The Sea Phantom. Sea Phantom, sir? Yes. No wonder she's carrying no lights. No wonder there's no one aboard. What do you mean, sir? Isaac, if you've never seen a ghost ship, take a look at that boat out there. Ghost ship? Yes. The Sea Phantom went down in these waters more than 200 years ago. Blow me down, sir. Are you having a joke with me, Mr.

Wilson? No. No, this is no joke. That's a ghost ship, right enough. You watch. She'll be gone in a minute or two. I beg your pardon, sir, but that boat's real. Ghost ships always look real, Isaac. But look you, sir. She's close enough to sea. She's within throwing distance, I do believe. Here, this belaying pin here, Mr. Wilson. I'll try to throw it aboard the sea phantom. Good. You watch. That pin will just go through thin air. We'll see, sir. Well, in goes. There, sir. You hear that? She is real. But that boat's so old, she should have fallen apart years ago.

And besides that, she's supposed to be at the bottom of the Atlantic. She looks old enough, all right, sir. But I don't understand what you mean about her supposed to be... Isaac. Lower a boat. Have boats? Yes, Khan founded a boat. Lower one at once. Are we going aboard the sea phantom, Mr. Wilson? I am, yes. Now lower a boat to the port side and double quick about it. Stop rowing now, Isaac. He's up alongside. I'm too tired to that row, hanging here. Right, sir. There. All set, sir. Right. Well, you stay here and watch, Isaac, before I go aboard.

If I'm not back in a half hour, come aboard looking for me. Aye, aye, sir. Half an hour, sir. If you're not back by then, sir, I'll come aboard after you. Keep a sharp lookout, Isaac. Let me know if you see anybody aboard. So quiet aboard. I can't even hear the wind. No sign of life. No sign of life having been here for score upon score of years. Mudding timbers. Sea-soaked deck. Twisted, tangled ropes. Empty kegs with rusted hoops and warp staves. Strips of tie-born sails and canvas swaying on the masts. How many things so quiet.

Quiet as though in reverence the dead. Here, here, the hatch. Captain's quarters must be down here. Here, here, this must have been his hangar. Let's have a look. Hmm, a light burning in here. Very safe. What's that? Oh, booms. An entire human skeleton slumped here in the corner of the cabin, as though a man had plopped himself up there and died. Exactly, my friend. Who's that? Did someone speak? Certainly me. But where are you? Over here. But I don't see you. There's no one in this room but myself. Yourself and that gentleman slumped here in the corner.

Who are you? My name is Jonathan Strange. Jonathan Strange? You're the skipper of the Sea Phantom? That I am. Jonathan Strange, Captain of the Sea Phantom, sailing with a cargo of gold of a Spanish ruler. But... Why, your boat went down in a gale 200 years ago. Though history says yes, but men do not know everything. I don't understand. The Sea Phantom was no victim of a storm at sea. Oh, no, my friend. She was the victim of a cruel and vicious man. I still don't understand. Look, you. You see the rusted iron ring there on the floor by your feet?

Huh? Yes. Take hold of it. Pull. The trap door to my cabin. That's it. It may be difficult. Use your strength on it. A little more force now. Ah, that's it. There. You see? Bar upon bar of solid gold. Yes, gold, for the king of Spain. And chests of coins and jewels. One day, over the queen. But Jose would have them for his own. He intends to mutiny the crew and steal the treasure that had been entrusted to us. Who's this Jose? Jose Menel, a wicked and cold-hearted fiend. Even now, the crew is waiting for me to leave this cabin.

They know they'll never ever hear of what life is in my body. But surely there's some escape. No, none. They think I will remain here for starved to death. They're fools. They do not know that they're about to perish. Like the rats they are. What do you mean? Don't you smell the smoke? Listen, I can hear the flames. Yes. Yes, I do. They cannot escape in the boats because I foresaw this mutiny and put the lifeboats out of commission. But can't you escape? No, of course not. For you to escape, you must make haste, my friend.

How? The same way you entered here, of course. Hurry now, my friend, and take this with you. What is it? What are you giving me? You'll see. Hurry now. There's no time to waste. Soon the ship will be one mass of roaring flames, and none of us will be left alive. Can't I take you with me? Can't you make yourself apparent so I can see you and take you along? Now it doesn't matter. But let me warn you. With my life, I've protected the treasures of the king and queen. Through our whole eternity, I'll guard those treasures.

It will not be wise for any man to attempt to obtain them for his own. Yes, Jonathan Strange. I believe I understand exactly what you mean. That's why you brought me here to show me. Exactly. I was hurrying. Mr. Wilson, sir. Are you in there, Mr. Wilson? Isaac, is that you? Isaac. Slow me down, Mr. Wilson. This beastly bolt's a wire. If we don't get over here in a jiffy, we'll be paying a visit to Davy Stone's block of the Chloe Yard, sir. And so, Captain Strong, that's exactly what happened. By repeat, it was no nightmare.

Isaac here can vouch for that. It's the very truth, Captain Strong. Word for word. So help me, Heaven. And that was fair warning. Whoever attempts to get the treasures of the Sea Phantom is doomed. Why, sir? Just as those mutineers were doomed 200 years ago, sir. It's odd. Very odd. I'm amazed you or the others of the crew went awakened by the sound of the fire. No. None of us heard a sound. The men don't even know about it now. I wouldn't have known it about it myself if you two hadn't told me your story.

If I hadn't seen those bits of charred wood floating on the surface this morning. It was a huge treasure, Captain. I saw it in its hiding place, beneath the skipper's cabin. And you got none of it? Not a single bit. Oh, wait. I almost forgot. Just before I left the boat, this thing was handed to me. Handed to you? I thought you said there was nothing in that cabin but a pile of bones. Yes. Yes, that is right. But this seemed to come well almost out of nowhere. And it was placed very firmly in my hands.

He sure enough had it in his hands when I broke into the cabin, sir. Let's have a look. Why, this was the ship's log. The log? Yes, the complete log of the Sea Phantom's voyage. From the date of sailing right on up through the mutiny. Look, this writing. It's the same hand. The writing on my slate and the writing on this paper are the very same, curve for curve, angle for angle. Here, let me see. Oh, I say, Captain. Yes, Mr. Whistler. Look here, on this last page. It reads, now that it has become my solemn duty to protect the treasures which have been entrusted to me, I will send the Sea Phantom to her ocean grave together with the treasure.

This is my course, as I see it. God assist me. Jonathan Strange, May 29, 1718. You have heard The Sea Phantom. Tonight's Tale of Dark Fantasy by Scott Bishop. Ben Morris was heard tonight as Mr. Wilson. Fred Wayne played Captain Strong. Muir Height was Isaac. And Garland Moss was Captain Jonathan Strange, Skipper of The Sea Phantom. Next Friday at this time, we'll bring you another Dark Fantasy drama. Being the thirteenth story in this series, and next Friday being Friday the thirteenth, Scott Bishop defies superstition utterly and completely to bring you one of his most exciting and unusual tales.

Listen for... W is for Werewolf. A weird adventure laid upon a sunny tropical island where all seems peaceful and serene. But where grim and vicious destiny festers slowly into breathtaking, unbelievable reality. Dark Fantasy originates each Friday night in the WKY Studios, Oklahoma City. Tom Paxton speaking. This is the National Broadcasting Company. Well, my dear, we've made it yet again. The sun will rise soon and you should make your way home as I go to... Well, let's not discuss that. But I do so enjoy your visits and I hope you'll come back very, very soon. I'll be here, same time, same place, happy to have you here with me.

And if I may ask just one favor of you before you make your way home, before you wander through the woods, and lay your head on that soft pillow, before you nod the day away, take just one moment and be thankful for what you have. And I'll be seeing you and soon.