 This is the man in black. Here again to introduce Columbia's program, Suspense. Our distinguished star this evening is that delightful gentleman, Mr. Roland Young, playing as author of detective novels who invented his best plot when his life was at stake. With Mr. Young to play his long-suffering secretary is Miss Peggy Conker. A story by John Dixon Carr in a somewhat lighter mood than is our habit and called The Customer's Light Murder is tonight's tale of the suspense. If you've been with us on these Tuesday nights, you will know that suspense is compounded with mystery and suspicion and dangerous adventure. In this series our tales calculated to intrigue you, to stir your nerves, to offer you a precarious situation, and then withhold the solution until a last possible moment. And so with The Customer's Light Murder and the performance of Roland Young, we again hope to keep you in. On a hot summer night in a village on the east coast of England, a famous writer of detective stories is dictating to his secretary. You have all heard of Mr. Gerald Hochstone, celebrated author of Murder on the World Press, acronym for Admiralty, who shot the Prime Minister, and other thrillers which have held us past the midnight hour. You have followed the exploits of Pendleton King, diplomat detective. Gerald Hochstone lives quietly a deal with his friend Dr. Robert, nearby in case he should need medical knowledge. And his pretty, if somewhat perk, Canadian secretary, Miss Patricia Phillips. Gerald Hochstone would be a happy man, even in wartime, if it is enough. You got all that, Mr. Ripps? Yes, Mr. Hochstone. Good. New paragraph? Yes, Mr. Hochstone. At the head of the great banqueting table, comma, the Lord Chief Justice staggered to his feet, both up. His face was a ghastly whitish color, and his eyes had become grassy. Is he drunk, Mr. Hochstone? No, Mr. Ripps, the Lord Chief Justice is not drunk. Sounds pretty cock-eyed to me. Your information, Mr. Ripps, the Lord Chief Justice has just been poisoned with curare, because he discovered the identity of the master criminal. Is that clear? Yes, Mr. Hochstone. But I wish you wouldn't do it. Do what? Well, in the last four books, Mr. Hochstone, you have shot the Prime Minister, killed the Lord Chancellor with an axe, poisoned the Home Secretary, and blown up the First Lord of the Admiralty. Why don't you stop picking on the poor government and murder somebody else for a change? The Lord Chancellor, Mr. Ripps, was not murdered with an axe. No, Mr. Hochstone? Definitely no. He was beamed with a great seal and found dead on the wolf axe. And there's another thing, Mr. Ripps. Whether you talk like this because of a dense vacuum in what we will charitably call your mind... Really, Mr. Hochstone? Or whether you are really making out what you might define as pop cracks, I don't know. But I don't want any more of it to you here. Just as you'll please, Mr. Hochstone. I... Oh, Lord, where was I? His face was a ghastly whitish color, and his eyes had become glassy. Sounds like me. All right. A single choking cry escaped his lipcomber, and his body crumpled to the floor, full stop. New paragraph. With one such stride, Pendleton King had reached the fallen man. Uh-uh. He can't have done that, Mr. Hochstone. Oh, can't have done what? Pendleton King. What about him? On the last page, you had him sitting at the foot of the table, so he can't get there in one stride, unless you want him to sail across the room like a kangaroo. There are times, Mr. Hochstone, I should like to poison you with curare and dance on your grave. I was only trying to help. All right, change it, change it. Strike it out. With hardly a second delay, how's that? Come on. Pendleton King had reached the fallen man. Full stop. New paragraph. Quote. I feared it, comma. Quote. He muttered. Full stop. Quote. Note the rigidity of the muscles. Explanation point. Note the characteristic odor of your curare, which... That won't do, Mr. Hochstone. Why not? Curare hasn't got any odor. Now there, Mr. Fitz, you've really gone too far. But I can't help that. It's true. If you will permit the small vanity, I am noted for the correctness of my medical knowledge. Who is murdering the Lord Chief Justice? You or I? You are. You might murder him properly. Curare hasn't got any odor. I say it has. And I say it hasn't. Listen, Mr. Fitz. I propose to settle his rather childish dispute by going next door and asking Dr. Roberts. Will that convince you? Curare hasn't got any odor. In any way, the Lord Chief Justice wouldn't be mixed up in any such silliness as this. Silliness, eh? Yes, I said silliness. Read your evening paper. The Lord Chief Justice is sentencing some American gangster who got involved in a robbery over here. That's the sort of thing he really does. You're very fond of these gangster reports, aren't you? Yes, I am, because they are real. Real? Fuck! Don't you say fuck to me. I'm merely remarking, Mr. Litzer, with your usual ingenuity who sidetracked the argument. I am going to see Dr. Roberts. That's not necessary, of course. My own knowledge of poison is as great as that of any doctor. Doctor, fuck. And finally, kindly don't say fuck to me, either. When I return, Mr. Litzer, I will find you in a better frame of mind. Please observe that I, at least, have been able to keep my temper. Excuse me. All right. Go on. See if I care. Excuse me, but... Good evening, Mr. Hochstone. Oh, good evening, Mrs. Roberts. May I come in? Of course. Mind the blackout curtains. Ma, isn't it hot and stuffy tonight? Rather close here. Is the, uh, doctor in? I'm afraid he isn't, Mr. Hochstone, but I expect him back any minute. Oh, out on a call? No, I'm almost certain he isn't, because that's his medication stethoscope there on the table. I think he's just gone up the road to get some tobacco. Do you mind if I wait? Not at all. But, uh, you will excuse me if I run along. I promise, Mrs. Anderson, I'd drop in there. It's under Roger again, and I'm terribly late already. Don't let me detain you, Mrs. Roberts. Go, go right ahead. I'm afraid you'll have to wait in George's consulting room. I've got most of the house dark, so I could keep the windows open. You know which room it is? Yes. Yes, yes, I could find it blindfolded. Oh, and I wonder if you take the medication stethoscope and drop them in the consulting room. George is so careless, he lets them lie about anywhere. Medication stethoscope, yes. As a matter of fact, I've always wanted to hang one of these things on my neck, like this. You look almost like a doctor, don't you? Good night, Mrs. Roberts. Good night, Mr. Hockfield. See you later. Well, what I write is silliness, eh? And I don't know anything about poisons. And I call them miscellets instead of patricias. Ah, here we are. Now, where's that light switch? Good Lord. Come on in, Doc. Close the door. Who's the do-to-you? You want to keep healthy, Doc, just do what you're told. Come in and close the door. Is that by any chance a revolver you're pointing at me? Ain't no cigarette case. I'm warning you. Well, I'm hanged. I've done a thousand times in stories, but I never thought... Don't drop that junkier carry on there. You're going to need it, Doc, when you come along with me. Come along with you? Where? Just to see a guy, that's all. Oh, wait a minute. You don't think I'm the doctor? Ah, look, Doc, I ain't got any time for a gag, see? The boy says to bring you, so I bring you. There'll be a very sick man out there, if you don't go. There'll be a very dead man out there, if I do go. I'll tell you what, man, you're making a terrible mistake. Ah, look, Doc, my name is Hawk Stone. I live next door. I'm not a medical man, and I've never... somebody's coming. It's Philip. Now then, Dr. Hawk Stone, just look here in the encyclopedia. So you like the doctor, huh? Done. It's just a real old-fashioned kettle, ain't you? Whoa! Now, you keep quiet, lady. You know what's good for you. I know you. I've seen your picture. You're a big, lowy miller. Oh, smart thing you got here, Doc. Listen, Mr. Hawk. It'll take you easy, Mrs. Big, lowy miller and Flats Kelly. Flats Kelly is the gang leader. Well, we're supposed to be friends of this gangster who's on trial in London now. But I hadn't heard they were in England. No, lady, neither has anybody else. No, well, for it. Who is this same doctor, nice? No, she's my secretary. She doesn't know anything about this. She thinks it's not too much about it, if you ask me. Come on, lady, you're going with it. Just for a little ride, lady. Just for a little ride. Far out from the village in Fath and Myrie's farmland where pools of stagnant water gleam under the moon stands the old Wutherford House. It is a desolate place on the track of field-martial-gurings bombers when they cross the coastline. But there are no searchlights here. There are no guns. Only the heat on the glimmering marshes and the decaying weather-boarded house is a motor-car approaching. Drive straight ahead, Doc. Right around at the back of the house. Remember, I still got this ride against the back of your neck. As a matter of fact, Louis, I'm rather enjoying this. All except the murder. What, Myrie? We ain't got to bump anybody off. Maybe not you, old boy, but I am. Don't wait till I get it to your patient. I don't see how you can joke about this. I'm not joking, Miss Phillips. If Louis won't tell us what's wrong with the patient... Never do you mind a patient, Doc. You just drive around. Yeah, whoa. So, right here. Oh. Well, this is the enchanted castle, eh? Climb out of here. Walk ahead of me over to that house. Come on, Miss Phillips. That's right, lady. Yoto, come on. Hey, hold on, Doc. Grab a Canada's cleaning floor in here. You can help me carry it out. Cleaning floor, eh? Yeah, there's two cans of it. If I can carry one, then... I need my other half of this ride. Come on. Come on, we ain't got all night. Get it out of the back seat. The profession is a little out of my line of duty. What do you want with the cleaning fluid? The bosses' suits get all messed up, so I clean them for them. I play nice-making everything around here. Come on, now. Straight ahead, stop asking questions. You've got this place blacked out, Louis. If the police don't get you, the air raid warden will. Forget it, Doc. We got this place so sealed up, they can hardly braid inside. In here? That's right, lady. Go ahead. I'll close the door. I can't see you, boy. Which way? Here. Set that can down and follow me. You too, lady. Ah, right here, where the quaytons hangin' over the door. Now, I want you to make the box. So I open the quayton like this. Howdy, Doc. Come right in. Glad to see ya. I've been expecting ya. Glad to see you, old man. I imagine you're the celebrated Mr. Kelly. That's me, Doc. Glad to see you. Glad to see you taking this nice and friendly. Louis, what's the idea of bringing it in the day? I couldn't help it, boy. Oh. She's as nice as she was with him. And she knew who I was. She did, eh? I don't know anything. All I want to do is to go home. Ah, that's all right, sister. She'll go home all nice and friendly. As soon as I've had a little talk with the doctor... A talk about what? Well, we're not what you might call comfortable here, Doc. Well, we've got flashlight, hand food, plenty of liquor, portable radio that works on a battery. Then we manage to get along. You know what I mean? I said to talk about what? Well, that's it. That's what I'm going to tell you. We pulled a snatch, see? You pulled a...natch. He means I kidnapped somebody. That's right, sister. You speak English. May I ask who was...natched? Well, I'll tell you, Doc. Because it'll have your big laugh. The guy we snatched was a big shot. He called the Lord Chief Justice. You...natched the Lord Chief Justice. I shot that, Doc. And it's cracked too. They're in the room right over there. Shut your trap, Larry. I didn't mean nothing, boys. I was only trying... Can you hear me? Say, shut your trap. Okay. But, look here. What...what was the idea behind this snatch? Well, I'll tell you, Doc. We got a pal, see? Well... Dominic Farelli, his name is. He's up on a grand larceny rap, and Farelli don't like Blimey J. He don't like him at all. Besides, the dirty little rat owes me 14 Gs. So what do we do? Snatch the Lord Chief Justice, apparently. But why? Because the mouthpiece back home tells me long ago that a man can't be sentenced except for the judge that tried him. And the Lord Chief Justice is the judge who tried Dominic Farelli. Is that it? That's right, Doc. But it ain't the main thing. This Chief Justice is a pretty important guy, see? So what do we do? We write to the cops and say, Now look, we got the old bird in a place where you'll never find him. If you want to keep things nice and friendly, just spring Dominic Farelli. Spring him? Turn him loose. Sure. Spring Farelli, and you'll get the old judge back in one piece. If you don't do it, you'll get him back with his head as full of holes as a Swiss cheese. And we're not kidding. This is horrible. I can't stand it. Take it easy, sister. Take it easy. You know it's that. I admire you tremendously. You do, Doc. Why? Because you've invented a crazier idea than I ever did. Just what do you mean by that, track, Doc? I don't honestly think the government will make a bargain with you. I sort of think they will, Doc. I sort of think they will. But what if they don't? It'll be just too bad for a lot of people. You know what I mean? Well, wouldn't I like to give that judge a going over? Louis got a son of a grudge against the old guy, Doc. Well, wouldn't you have? Louis's temperamentals. See, he gets bored. So he says to the old guy at his clerk, he says, Can you play poker? Just sure. So they play poker from six in the evening to five in the morning. And what do you know? If the old judge don't win, all Louis does. They're rung in a cold back on me. That's how they've done it. They're a couple of crooks. Are you accusing the Lord Chief Justice of playing poker with my cards? To one my daughter, not a bluer. Okay, boy. How did I blame Louis much? The things I've had to take from that judge. Well, that's where you come in, Doc. I was just wondering about that. Which of one of them is the... That? Nobody hurt. Not yet. Then what the devil do you want with me? Quiet, so they don't keep trying to escape. We can't get tough with them, not until I get Pirelli and my 14 Gs. And I want you to give them a hypodermic or something that'll keep them out cold for two days. Can you do that? Well, I... Yes, I... I don't know. I suppose I could. Those crooks know, perhaps they should be careful. What do you use to dope them? Well, under the circumstances, and considering all the factors involved, I think I should use... I should use morphine. Well, have you got any morphine in that black statue? Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Any morphine, I... I always go about equipped for these little emergence. Then open the statue. Come on, open it. No, no, there you are. It doesn't have little bottles, anyway. Now then, Doc, which one of them bottles is the one that has the morphine in it? I... The fact is that... Come on, come on. Which one is it? Listen, boys. Louis, how many times do I have to tell you to shut up? Yeah, but it's the midnight news. The news on the radio. You said you wanted to hear it. It's after midnight now. Why didn't you tell me? It's all right, boys. I switched the radio on. Well, keep quiet, all of you. A couple of seconds now, you're gonna hear some mighty sweet news. I wonder... So do I. Quiet. Hey, that's us, isn't it? Quiet! The case stated Superintendent Hadley of the CID seemed to entertain a belief that no sentence can be passed on a criminal except by the judge who tried him. Whatever may be the law in certain American states, this is not the case here. Dominic Forelli, alias Dominic Stevens, was today sentenced by Mr. Justice Stoneman to 14 years' hard labor and this evening had a dark moral prism. Why? One moment, please. Stop, boy. You're too much. Look at him, Kelly. He says, why does a ghost in his mouth is twisting back as though... Here is a bulletin just received. Scotland Yard flying squad cars assisted by the constabulary of a county which for obvious reasons cannot be named are closing in on the two kidnappers believed to be men already wanted in the United States for murder. That's us. But anyone who has any further information about these men whose descriptions follow, communicate with you, Scotland Yard, telephone number Whitehall 121... Just wait till I get my hands on it. That's all right, boys. Everything's all right now. I turn it off. I turn it off. Come on. Do more than turn it off. Wait. I'll fix that thing. I'll wait until I go, boys. Hey, don't bust the radio. Hey! Oh, you hadn't on the bus with the radio, boys. Now we can't get any nose. We've had on here lately. Come on. Put that light out. I want to look out the window. Oh, there. Closing in... Trisha, see, I can't call you that. Why couldn't you have called me that weeks ago? Oh, well, putting that aside, I thought it was just half a joke. But I'm not joking now. I intend to get that rat face slapped if it's the last thing I ever do. It probably will be. But how are you going to? First Pendleton King, my dear. He's got a lot of worst crates than this. Oh, really? There are 14,000 but it's gone. And the cops on our tail will be standing there yapping. You heard what that radio said, Louis. Yeah, I heard it all right. Look, boys, we better lamb out of here while I talk to you. Before we go, we settle things with the old guy in the other room. You can't get away with it, Louis. This is England. They'll hang you. So what? We got a murder rapper face in the state, ain't we? And I just as soon as the hang is free? What about you, Louis? You said it, boys. Let me take this rod of mine and stick it against the back of the old guy's neck and neck. No, no, no. No, right. That's too easy. Easy? Sure. One slugging it's all over. This guy rakes special treatment. And that's where the doctor comes in. You know anything about poisons, Doc? I know a good deal about poisons. The customers like murder. What's that? Oh, nothing. That's a slogan in my preference. Look, Louis, do you remember the time Johnny Prescoe was running the Old Third Avenue Social Club? Yeah. And Mike Delaney talks out of turn and they feed him some white stuff called Strict Nines. Oh, yeah. And sit around and light cigarettes and watch him die. It took four hours, Doc, and you could hear the rats screaming as far as 81st Street. Now, wait a minute. That's you. I can't. I will see. You got any of that white stuff, Doc? Well, I... Come on. I don't know. Don't make the old guy squeal now, have you? Why? Yeah, I suppose I have, but... Listen, get this sure. You can do it the hard way, Doc, or you could do it the easy way. Louis gets to work on you. Maybe you'd be smarter to hand the stuff over right now. What do you think? I... Listen, boy. Listen. What's the matter with that? Troubled by the heat? It is hot in here with all the windows filled up. That sounds like planes. It is planes. British planes going over to put the heat on Germany? Well, such luck, oh boy. German planes coming to bomb us. About... About a dozen Heinkels flying 20,000 feet up. Uh-huh. They're keen here, Mr. Lipps. Say, I'd say not over 15. That's the first way is that. There'll be another wave in a minute or two, but you needn't be alarmed. They're going somewhere else. They only... Doc! Louis! Doc! Now, where are you for? I'm under the table already. Only a little visiting card's that, and fully a quarter of a mile away. What about that light switch? Pull that curtain back off the window. Yeah, that's what I said. See what you can see. Okay. Do what I tell you. All right. All right. They can't see a thing. The sky's the blackest pitch. Oh, look over there. Well, what is it? It's a light, boy. Funny kind of a white light. Up there a little bit of trees. Not very steady. It starts and then dims. And then it starts and dims. Only a basket of incendiary bombs, Louis. Incendiaries, eh? Why so, Jerry? You've got an idea. No, Louis. This is just what we've been waiting for. Those Scott and Yard cars are going to get held up until we can settle things with those guys in the other room. Come along with me. Why don't you two bloggers get smart? Jerry! What's that? You don't want to have your neck cracked on a rope, do you? Or burn in the electric chair back home? Very... What are you getting at? Why not take advice from somebody who's been killing people in a professional way for 15 years? I'm not in the mood for gags, Doc, but keep on talking. This Lord Chief Justice in his clock. What do they look like? A judge is a little guy with a bald head like me. And the other one is a big guy with a punch-drunk pan, like Louis. Why? I thought so. I've seen that photograph. When the next wave of planes comes over and it will, why shouldn't an incendiary bomb hit this house? You mean you think I ain't too safe there? Be quiet, Louis. Go ahead, Doc. In other words, you leave the Lord Chief Justice in his clock tied up in the other room. Then all you have to do is to set fire to the place. Cheated, Meddington gangsters, die and blaze. Cherry Hawkstone, have you gone crazy? They may catch you eventually, yes. But it'll give you a few days' time. Hey, maybe you got something there, Doc. It's got to look good. This house must go up like a piece of paper and a furnace. Past any possibility of being put out. And that's the catch. Why so? This house is in the middle of a swamp, see? It's as damp as your own climate. You couldn't make it burn with a blowtorch. Oh, yes you could. Aren't you forgetting the cleaning fluid? Cleaning fluid? In that other room, you've got two gallons of cleaning fluid. That's benzene, the derivative of petrol. Soak every inch of the floor of that room with it, every inch of it, mind, and the face will go up like tinder. Well, it's worth a try, Louis. Come on, you're slightly. Okay, boss. And, uh, what about you two, Doc? Afterwards? Well, accessories, aren't we? Are we likely to talk? Better put a couple of slugs in them, boy. Drop them on the road. What's one of two more bumps in a spot like this? Maybe you're right at that. Well, anyway, Doc, thanks for a swell idea. And you heard what the doctor said, Louis, get going with that cleaning stuff. Both of you would better do it. I'm warning you. Oh, why? Hear that? Because there isn't much time. Here they come. You can't have a fire start off the last way the planes have gone over. Well, maybe you've got something there, too. But I'll just take a little precaution for it. What are you going to do? These are handcuffs, they're cute. Two of the neatest pair of cuffs we ever swiped off a dumb cup. Well, just lock your arms around the back of the chair, like this. And the Doc's arms around the back of his chair, like this. And we'll get going. Come on, Louis, through the curtain. Okay, I'm coming for it. Bye-bye, Mr. Hochstone, on your lighty front. We're saying you're in a funny plethora. Go on, then, walk. It's loopy-lo now. They must have everything in there, so for that benzine by now. Jerry, I know you can't be completely crazy. Many thanks, my dear, for the qualification. You're right. They have searched the place with benzine. And it tastes like a match before... I know, I know you've got some kind of a scheme, but... Do you think it'll work? I don't know, my dear. I thought of it once for a story. Oh, you and your story? Me and my story, as Louis will put it, may save our hides yet. But suppose it doesn't work? Then we're done for. What are you trying to do? There's a place to mess for it. Listen, it's not working. But it's got to work. What's got to work? For, no, five minutes. At least that. They've been pulling out that benzine an inch at a time all over the... What's that? What's the matter? What's that? What's the matter? You'll be good. Can you stand up? It's working, Patricia. I think our friends are licked. No, no, they're not. Slap's is coming back. What's the meaning? You've lost the game, Slap. You're finished. It's the benzine fumes, old man. To pour out a lot of cleaning fluid in an airtight room like that one is practically a certain death. You know, Slap, you ought to learn more about crime. No, you won't, Slap. You can't reach your gun. The fumes have got you. You can't move your arms or legs. Your eyesight's going. In one second more, you'll be... Got him. Dead to the world. You mean... It works, Patricia. It's practical. It works. Are you trying to tell me that you kill those two men? Not necessary. I... That sounds like cars. Probably police cars. We're just about to be sensationally rescued, just like fiction. Jerry. Jerry. Come on in and get us, you luggies. Don't talk like Louie. You will get a bought through the head, yes. Yes, that is a thought. We're prisoners. We're victims. This way, please. Hit the sergeant. And I was never so glad to see a uniform in my life. Hey now, hey now. What's going on in this place? Louie Miller knocked out in that room? Blimey, if it's not Slap's, Kelly knocked out in this room. Just a couple of mugs I polished off, Sergeant, all in the day's work. You mean they did? They'll be all right if you drag them out in the open air. Oh, you, I recognize you. You're the rider who was kidnapped tonight. Yes, and you will find the other snatchies in that room. But first of all, have you got a key to unlock regulation police handcuffs? I certainly have, sir, and I'll get you loose in the jiffy. Never mind me, Sergeant. Never mind my handcuffs. Get this lady free. She's the one I'm concerned about. You know, that's awfully kind of you. It's something practically chivalrous. Chivalry, my eye. There you are, young lady. Have you got your notebook and pencil in that handbag? You don't want me to take dictation now. A true artist, madam, takes no account of time or place. Are you ready? Yes, Mr. Hawkstone. Well, you admit now that my product is practical. Yes, Mr. Hawkstone. Now then, the income tax murder by General Hawkstone, chapter one. So, Mr. Hawkstone. Just as Big Ben was striking midnight, a hooded face looked into the window of the luxurious study occupied by the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Close up. The hooded figure chuckled as it softly lowered inside the window a large tin of cleaning food. You cut it off. The Chancellor himself was hard at work devising a new scale of income tax. So, Mr. Hawkstone, that's a completely different story. I thought you were going to murder the Lord Chief Justice. Have you any professional taste? How can I murder the Lord Chief Justice? I just saved his life. And so ends the customer's life murder starring Roland Young with Peggy Conkland. Tonight's tale of suspense. This is your narrator, the man in black, who conveys to you Columbia's invitation to spend this half hour in suspense with us again next Tuesday, same time when our story will be the dead sleep lightly. William Spear, the producer. John Deets, the director. Bernard Herman, the composer-conductor. And John Dixon Carr, the author. Elaborated on tonight's suspense.