 And now, a tale well-calculated to keep you in... Suspense. In a moment, act one of the Curse of Kamashek, starring Ian Martin as Turnbull, and written especially for suspense by Jonathan Bundy. Yes, yes, what is it, Walton? I beg your pardon, Mr. Turnbull, but I thought you would like to know... Yes, well... Well, it's your nephew, sir, Mr. Donald Ransom. Oh, Lord. Yes, his car has just come into the driveway. It has, hasn't it? Yes, sir. Now, what the devil does that impractical young wastrel want this time? I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Turnbull. Well, I think I do. Yes, sir. I think he wants some more extra money from his inheritance. To squander on that nonsensical research and experimentation he's been doing over at the university and those ridiculous journeys to Heaven knows where in search of Heaven knows what. Yes, sir. All right, money, money. Well, he won't have it. No, sir. Not as long as I have an illegal right to the management of it. And then, after all, we do have to look out for ourselves, don't we? Of course we do. Well, don't we, Walton? Yes, sir, yes, sir. Of course we do, sir. Of course. Go out and meet him at the door. Tell him that I'm not in, that I've... Well, Donald, come in, come in. Oh, here you are, Uncle Frederick. I thought I heard your voice in here. Hello, Walton. Mr. Donald. Well, I'm glad to see you, boy. You should come and visit with me more often. Sit down, sit down. Thank you, sir. That'll be all for now, Walton. If I need you, I'll bring. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Well, my boy, how are you? Feeling better than I've felt in a long time. Splendid, splendid. And then you look it too. But now what's on your mind? I've come to say goodbye, sir. You've come to... What was that? I've come to say goodbye to you. I'm about to leave on another expedition. Your what? Yes, sir. In just a few days now, I'll be leaving for Egypt. Egypt? Yes, sir. I see. Do you mind telling me why? Why you think you ought to embark on another of these silly, expensive expeditions? Uncle, I've spent months now in reading and research at the museum at the university working with Horace Brackton. And who is Horace Brackton? He's the son of Mr. J. Harris and Brackton, the curator at the museum. What's more, he's one of the foremost students of Egyptology in this part of the country. Yes, yes, I see, I see. All right, very well. Go on. Uncle, I am now convinced that I can locate the tomb of the ancient pharaoh, Comyshek I. Oh, you are. Yes, sir. I'd stake my life on it. You mean, if I let you go? What? Donald, to put it bluntly, I'm fed up with your wasting your time on these stupid, pointless wanderings all over the face of the earth. And I mean completely pointless. That's not exactly the way the museum feels about them, uncle. Nor several universities. Well, that's the way I feel about them. I'm sorry. What's more, you're wasting not only your time, but your money. Money that your poor father spent a whole lifetime struggling to accumulate. And not for any such nonsense as this. You can be quite sure of that. Father, let me that money to spend in any way I might see fit. Oh, he did. He certainly did. Provided, Donald. Provided that your handling of it meets with my approval. Don't you forget that. When you're 30 and the estate passes completely into your hands, if you live that long, is that supposed to be a threat? Take it any way you like. When you're 30, when the money is yours alone, very well you can do anything you like with it. But until then, don't you forget for one minute that I am legally in control of it. All of it. Well, you've, you've opposed me in my plans for every one of my expeditions, haven't you? I certainly have and I shall continue to do so. Do you mind telling me why? For your own good, that's why. Oh, I'm sure. Don't be sarcastic, Donald. Or is it your own good you're thinking of? It is not. It's simply because sooner or later, boy, you've got to realize your responsibility. Realize that as the wealthy heir of a wealthy family, it's up to you to carry on a tradition that's been set for you. Whether you like it or not. To increase the fortune that has made your family name and reputation to build even greater financial power. Not to waste it, throw it away. Do you call my contributions to science a waste of money? Science? Right. What do you know about science? Now, look, Donald, believe me, my boy, there's nothing selfish in my attitude in this matter. Oh, no. I am thinking only of you, Donald, of your future and above all of the fine family name, the family honor, but you alone are left to uphold that you must uphold if for no other reason than respect for the memory of your father. Well, my boy, is that all, Uncle Frederick? It depends on you. Are you going to give up this asinine plan? No. What do you mean, no? Now, you listen to me. Hey, God, listen to what you may say or think. I'm going to eat you. I said you listen to me. I made all my plans, obtained the sponsorship of the museum thanks to Horace Bratton. Donald, I'm... So if this tirade is simply because you thought I might want more of my inheritance, Uncle Frederick. Well, you can stop worrying about it right now. And I tell you that you're not going on this stupid, this ridiculous expedition. And I tell you that I am. There's nothing you can do or say that will stop me. Oh, there isn't, huh? Goodbye, Uncle Frederick. Why, you insufferable young imbecile. Sit down and listen to me. Sorry, I must go now. Sorry, huh? Well, you will be sorry. What's the matter with you? Have you lost your senses? I think I've finally come to my senses. Donald! Donald! Ransom, have you forgotten that I am in a position to cut you off from your inheritance, cut you off entirely, if I wish to? I am fully aware of that, Uncle Frederick. But if you think I care, you're entirely wrong. Goodbye, sir. Then, by heaven, I will cut you off. Well, you hear me? I hear you. So help me, Donald. I've tried to avoid this. Believe me, I have. I have shown more patience toward this arrogant behavior of yours than I thought I had. But your idiotic, bullheadedness, your utter disregard for your responsibility for the importance of your family name and social status in spite of all I've tried to do. Well, by heaven, I will have you cut off without one single salary. Wait a minute! Wait a minute, I said! Where do you think you're going? Egypt! You'll be sorry, Donald. You don't know how sorry you'll be. What's all that you have there? A package and a letter, sir. It came for you by special post. By special delivery, as you call it. Where? From Egypt, sir. Egypt? Well, well, well. I've been expecting a letter from him. Three months now, isn't it, that he's been gone? Yes, sir. Yes, Walden, I knew very well that the money Donald had to bag for that stupid expedition would soon run out. So now he wants some more. I'm sure I don't know, sir. Well, I do, and Walden, you can take that letter out and burn it. But the handwriting on it, sir, it doesn't look to me like... That's for the package. All right, let me have it. We'll see what's in it. Yes, sir, here you are. Probably some completely useless relic or souvenir that he picked up sent along in the hope it might influence me in descending him money. I assure you that it won't. I made my position clear when he walked out of here. And I don't intend to change it. Mr. Turnbull, the handwriting on this letter... Yes, I know, I know, Walden. You've always been sympathetic towards some of his silly ideas, huh? Perhaps even hoped that I would have them. But don't worry, I won't. We'll see now. But this was apparently written by somebody else? What? Irresponsible young idiot! Look at this, look at it, Walden. Ah, yes, sir, I... I see. What is this, Donald's crude idea of a practical joke, this... this dirty old piece of some kind of dried-up old bone? It's, uh... It's from a human body, sir. And very, very old. So this is the sort of nonsense Donald has been wasting his time and our money digging up out of the dirt and the sand over there in Egypt. But I haven't, I've said it before and I say it again, Walden. Yes, I know you have, sir, I know you have. How don't you get out of line? No, sir. That, uh, that letter, where's the... where's the letter? Yes, sir. Yes, sir. But as I started to say, sir, that handwriting is... Yeah, Mr. Turnbull. Oh, I see it's signed by Horace Brackton. The young man he spoke of who went with him. Oh, yes, yes, I remember. Walden. Listen to this. Yes, sir. Dear Mr. Turnbull, a few minutes before he died... What? Your nephew, Donald Ransom. Oh, dear. What a misfortune, sir. Donald. My, uh... my deepest sympathy, sir. Huh? Yes, sir. You can keep your sympathy to yourself, Walden. I beg you. I don't... Pardon, sir. I... Just forget it and go into the door. Well, sir, but, uh... Yes, sir. I knew it. I knew I was right. And now, by heaven, this proves it. Now, let's see. Your nephew, Donald Ransom's last request was that I send you a section of the femoral bone from the skeleton of the pharaoh Kamashak that he recovered from the tomb near the ancient city of Giza. As you no doubt have been informed, he died of some, as yet completely uninformed. Yes, what is it now? Your pardon, sir. Yes, Walden. Mr. Harrison Brackton, the father of the young man who sent the letter. Oh. All right, sentiment. Yes, sir. Right in here, sir. Thank you. Oh, come in, Mr. Brackton. Come in. Thank you, Mr. Turnbull. You may as well sit down, I suppose. Thank you. And, uh, before we go any further, I must tell you how distressed I am about your nephew's death. Yes, yes, yes. Now, let's see. You're, uh... You're over at the museum, aren't you? Yes. I am the curator of osteology. Osteology. That's the, uh, study of bone, I believe. Yes. Well, in here, take a look at this. Even in his last moments, my recalcitrant nephew chose to mock me by sending me this, this, this bone. I know. From the remains of the Fero Kamashek, it's most exciting, isn't it? Exciting? I'll be honest with you. That's why I came and hope I might be allowed to see it. See it? Well, take it. It's yours for that stuffy museum you live in. You mean it? Well, I certainly don't want it around here, do I? Oh, I see. Then you believe it too. Believe in what? What are you talking about? The curse, Mr. Turnbull. The, the curse? Yes, that may have accounted for the strange death of your nephew, the curse of Kamashek. Oh, you can't be serious. Brack, knew when to sit here, you were supposedly intelligent man, and, uh, oh, no, I don't believe it. Have you forgotten what happened to the men who violated the tomb, who touched the remains of King Tutankhamen, knowing about the curse on them? That's absurd, ridiculous. You, you really believe in such rubbish? I am not sure. Well, I am. It's utter nonsense superstition. So here, take this worthless piece of bone along with you and get out of here. No, I, I, I would hesitate to touch it, sir. Oh, you would, huh? Yes. Well, do you want it for that second-rate museum of yours? My second? Well, of course. All right, then, here. I'll bundle these papers around it for you. Here you are, now, take it and leave. Mr. Turnbull. But to think that you, the curator of a museum, would fall for such trash is almost beyond belief. Go along. Now, wait, sir, please. I should have recognized you for the superstitious, doddering old fool. You are the moment you stepped in here. Listen to me. Now, get out, get out of here. I lose my patience. Get along. That's a camouflage, huh? I'd like to see it try to act on me. Ridiculous. Yes? Mr. Turnbull, I must see him at once. Oh, Mr. Brackton, I believe. Yes, Harrison Brackton. I was here to see him only a few days ago. Take me into Wim. Where is he? Well, I'm sorry, sir, but I doubt if Mr. Turnbull is in this evening. He must be. He has to be. I must see him immediately. Get out of the way. I'll find him myself. I tell you, he isn't into anyone this evening. Please wait, sir. Please. What's going on around here? Yes, it's I, Mr. Turnbull. I must talk to you. Yeah, so it would seem. Well? I'm terribly sorry, sir. I tried to talk to you. That's all right, Walter. Thank you, sir. Well? What do you want this time, Mr. Brackton? Take it. Take back to Sir Cussard thing. What? I told you, when you insisted, I'd take it along with me. I told you there was a curse on it. It's the curse of Komishek. Now it's proved itself. Oh, Brackton. Have you been to see a psychiatrist lately? Oh, please, please. Don't jest about this, Mr. Turnbull. I told you I didn't want to actually touch this terrible thing, nor have I, nor will I. And now, after what I've seen it do to those who have touched it, I don't even want it near me. Well, that sounds very intriguing, Brackton. Go on. Well, when I got it home, I placed it under a glass bell in one of the cabinets in my study. Very carefully, Mr. Turnbull, not actually touching it. Now, just using a pair of forceps. Oh, nonsense. That night, sir, it somehow forced its way out of the cabinet. The glass was broken into a thousand pieces, yet no one was around who could possibly have touched it. Oh, no, ridiculous. This morning, the housemaid knowing nothing about the curse on it picked it up in her fingers and placed it on the table. Well? Late that night, frantically running away from what she described as a living mummy, she fell headlong down the stairs leading from her room on the third floor. Come on, Brackton. She is still in the hospital, Mr. Turnbull. And all because of this poor little ball. Bye-bye. Listen to me, you must listen to me. Oh, I am listening. The doctor who attended her... Why did I...? Why I did it, I shall never know. Well, it was. I let him take the bone with him to study it. In two days, Turnbull, that man, one of the finest in his profession, had to be committed to an institution as a raving maniac, dabbling wildly about a phantom that pursued him. A phantom, he described as looking like a mummy. Oh, now, wait a minute, Brackton. I've heard enough of this. Do you mean to tell me that a man of your so-called intelligence that you can possibly take a thing like this seriously? That you can really believe a chunk of bone could have caused these things you told me about if they really did occur? It was you who inflicted this thing on us, Turnbull, and here. Now you have it back. Brackton, I'm proud of this. I can only hope and pray that I may never see it again. You honestly believe that... I tell you, sir, those things are incontrovertible proof of the curse it carries. Then I tell you, sir, that you're nothing but a superstitious doddering old fool. What's more, I'll prove it to you. Let me have the package. Here now. Wait a minute. What are you going to do? Turnbull. Well? Surely you don't intend to touch that bone. I thought that's why you brought it here, so I could feel the curse of it, too. Yes. Yes, I did, because I was angry and upset. Very well done. But you mustn't... Now aren't you getting a little tired of being foolish about this thing? Please, please, I beg of you. There. Satisfy now. Now watch me. I'll even hold it in both my hands. Turnbull. Rub it against my face. With my cheek. Heaven help you. Curse, did you say? Why, Brackton, you're crazy. Turnbull, you don't know what you're doing. You don't know. You bet I do, Brackton. I'm simply proving once and for all that the only people who are affected by these silly, stupid, childish superstitions are those who believe in them. And I don't. Now that you've seen me defy this so-called curse, you don't have any reason to either. And this will be the proof of it. You will touch it now. No. Here you are. No, no, please. I said you'll touch it. Don't, don't, don't take it away. Touch it. I beg of you. Where do you stand still, you blithering? She... No. Quite frankly, Mr. Brackton, I don't understand it. I don't understand this at all. You don't understand what, Doctor? I had Turnbull in my office for a complete examination and not more than ten days ago. At that time, and I'm sure of it, we overlooked nothing. His physical condition was perfect. But now... Well, there's only one way I can report this. Yes, Doctor. Death due to natural causes. Natural causes? Yes. No. No? No. What do you mean by that, Mr. Brackton? Nothing, I suppose. Nothing at all. Music Supervision by Ethel Huber Sound Patterns by Joseph Khabibov Heard in tonight's story where Raymond Edward Johnson as Brackton Mercer McLeod as Walden John Thomas as Donald and Guy Rapp as the Doctor. Listen again next week when we return with Blackbeard's Ace written by Jack Buttrum another tale well-calculated to keep you in Suspense The Woman's World Unfurled by Betty Furness Weekdays on the CBS Radio Network