 Suspense! This is the man in black. Here again to introduce Columbia's program, Suspense. Our star tonight is Mr. Sidney Greenstreet, one of Hollywood's most sensational newcomers in a number of years. The famed fat man who lent his suspenseful talents to the Maltese Falcon and across the Pacific. Mr. Greenstreet is with us to create on the air John Dixon Carr's celebrated detective, Dr. Gideon Fell. The story called The Hangman Won't Wait is tonight's tale of suspense. If you have been with us on these Tuesday nights you will know that suspense is compounded of mystery and suspicion and dangerous adventure. In this series our tales calculated to intrigue you, stir your nerves to offer you a precarious situation and then withhold the solution until the last possible moment. And so it is with The Hangman Won't Wait and Mr. Greenstreet's performance we again hope to keep you in. He comes striding towards us now beaming like old King Cole. You can probably hear him chuckle. If he wheezes a little that's due to weighing more than 300 pounds. You notice the three chins and the bandits moustache and the eyeglasses on the black ribbon. He removes his hat with old school courtesy. Don't try to bow, doctor. He is Gideon Fell, doctor of philosophy and expert in crime if he tells us something about the Barton case. I have only one remark to make about the Barton case. Everybody was wrong. I'm afraid we don't quite follow that. The judge was wrong, the jury was wrong, the prosecution was wrong, the defense was wrong. But Dr. Fell, you can't have a murder case in which everybody is wrong. My case is, sir, you can have practically anything. Oh yes, that's true enough, but... I want you to imagine yourself in the position of that girl here in Barton. Well? Imagine yourself waking up suddenly in the middle of the night. You're terrified, you don't know why. The room is cold and nearly dark. All of a sudden you realize it's a room you've never seen before. There's a queer smell like old stone and disinfectant. What is it? What was that? Now lean back in your bed, dearie. It's all right. Yes, sir. Good easy, miss. Screaming. You were having a nightmare, dearie. But it's all right now. Nothing's going to hurt you. Not yes. Be quiet, Anna. All right. All right. Would you like us to turn on all the light, miss? Please, would you do that? Let's see, I... I don't understand this. Where am I and how did I get here? And who are you? Well, don't start that all over again, please. Start what all over again? Saying you've lost your memory and don't even know what your name is. Are you insane? Of course I know what my name is. I'm Helen Barton. But it's all I do know. Where am I? Why on earth is it so cold? Well, that's not unusual, you know, for England in the middle of December. Did you say December? That's right, dearie. 18th of December. You're fooling me. You're playing a trick on me. My head feels queer and I want to start crying, but I won't. It's not December. It's the end of August. I was going up to see Philip. That's it. I was going up to see Philip. Philip? Philip Gill. The man I'm going to marry. Be quiet, Anna. Don't turn on these lights yet. She's having a son. She's... Anna! This child's shaking all over. And so help me, she don't know where she is. Listen, dearie, I'm going to sit down on the bed beside you. Now take my hand. Olden, tight. What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that? This is a mader's prison, miss. Steady, dearie. I'm still dreaming. I must be. You can't mean I'm in prison. Now look, dearie. I'm afraid it's worse than that. Worse than that? Look over there. You see where there's a little bit of fire in the grate? Well, and paper on the wall, and pictures, and a carpet on the floor. Why don't you come out and strike and tell her? They're going to hang you in the morning, miss. This is the condemned cell. The sudden shock, the prison clocks, motor on the shivering air. I won't quote that any further. I have too vivid a memory of sitting up that night with Colonel Andrews, the governor of the prison. Over here you'd call him the warden. There's a little office with a lamp shade, tilted so that I could see his face, and he said, I hate executions. Love them. Can't even sleep the night before. You hadn't offered to come here and save my life? This is a strange place, sir, to talk of saving lives. No, it's no good being sentimental about the thing. That's the law. I didn't make it. But I gather you're not exactly happy about this case. I'm not. That's a fact. Mind you, there's no doubt whatever about the girl's guilt. I'm gratified, dearie. If only she'd confess. Most of them do, you know. They confess to you? To me or to the hangman? Not often to the chaplain, because they think he'll threaten them with a hereafter. But when Kirkwood goes in with a step to bind their arm, he says to him, I don't like to think I'm doing something that would be on my conscience. So if you'd care to tell me... Quite a sensitive fellow, your hangman. I'm serious. So am I. Sometimes I wish I had any job in the world but mine. If only the girl would confess. If she'd just stop this nonsense about not remembering. Not remembering what? Not remembering how... Well, not remembering how she shot Philip Gale. Not remembering anything, even her own name. Total amnesia, covering a crime. Sir, you've frightened me. You mean to say that a woman suffering from loss of memory tried and sentenced to death? No. Not if she really has lost her memory. Really? And what this defense was a fake? You're quite sure of that? Naturally. The judge would never have allowed it to come to trial if he hadn't been convinced that she was shaming. Even then, she might have got off of the life sentence or even with manslaughter if it hadn't been for the nature of the crime. She didn't cut anybody up, I hope. No, but it was almost as bad. Not a man who had raised his hands and begged for mercy. That completely damned her in the eyes of the jury. And yet, you have doubts. I tell you, I haven't any doubts. And in any case, it's none of my business. How has she acted since she's been here? Oh, a model prisoner. But I wish she'd stopped this business of seeming to be in a daze. It's getting on my nerves. I'd rather think the prison itself would get on my nerves. She looked into your execution shed once, and I don't want to look again. Oh, you get used to it after a while. Her and Batten won't. Tell me about her. Nice girl, too. I knew her grandfather. You live near here? Yes. Born and bred in Meadhurst. She got mixed up with a harrow-going swine named Philip Gale. Crazy about him. Wouldn't hear a word against him. Then he threw her over for a woman with money. I see. He headed Bangalow on White Rose Hill. She went up there one Sunday afternoon. Alone? Yes. Her but Gale, Philip's brother, heard them screaming at each other. He ran in to see what was wrong. Philip was trying to chase the girl out. She grabbed a 32 revolver out of the table drawer and told Philip to put up his hands. That scared him, and he did put up his hands. Then she shot him dead. Afterward? Afterward, she couldn't remember. Didn't remember anything? No. Pretended she didn't even recognize her own family. She said, Who is Philip Gale? And you hang her tomorrow morning? Yes. Without ever hearing her side of the case. Can't found it, man. There's no doubt about the evidence. Are you sure? She killed Philip Gale. Gale's brother Herbert saw her do it. This hypocrisy about not remembering. Emotional shock could do just that, you know. She wasn't so emotionally shocked that it disturbed her aim. She drilled him clean through the heart at 15 feet. The bullet entered in the dead straight line through coat, waistcoat, shirt and heart. You could have run a pencil through the holes. Now don't sit there puffing out your cheeks and waving a cigar at me. I'm only... Tell me, Colonel Andrews, aren't you talking to convince yourself? No. I suppose that girl is telling the truth. Oh, she has lost her memory. All right. You don't believe that. Suppose it. And suppose in some black eye just before the hangman comes that a memory returns. Don't talk rubbish. Surely you've lived long enough to know that mental suffering is the coolest form of suffering on this earth. Imagine yourself in that position. Come out of the days into what you thought was safe and pleasant work. You don't know where you are. You don't know what's happened. You only know that when the clock strikes, they're going to take you out and... Did you hear that? Yes. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Yes. It isn't possible. Very much fear it is. Sometimes you know we have to use drugs. Drugs? Yes. We take them to the execution chamber. It's only a short distance, and we try to get it over in a matter of seconds, but sometimes they can't walk. Yes. What is it? Big pardon, sir. But I thought I'd better get you or the doctor or the chaplain or both. Oh, what's the matter with you men? Not as white as a ghost. Can't help that, sir. I've been a warder at this place for a matter of 15 years, but I never knew anything like this. It's the upstairs room, I suppose, Mr. Barton. Yes, sir. Is it technical? Yes, sir. She says... Well, she says she remembers now. I see. She's carrying on something awful, sir. But that ain't all. She claims she never done it. What's that? She claims she never killed Mr. Gale at all. Well, that's all, Harris. You may go. Yes, sir. Any other disturbances in the building? Well, sir, they're a bit restless and a-wing. That's usual. Yes, sir. There's a bloke outside the prison, I mean, who keeps hanging about in front of the main gate. You can see him by the street lamp. First, he'll take a few little quick steps back and forth. Then he'll run and stick his face against the bars of the gate. Then he'll go back to pacing again. Fair guy, with the creeps it did, even before this other thing. You don't happen to know who he is. It's the other Mr. Gale, sir. Herbert Gale. I haven't the heart to chase him away. All right, Harris, go ahead. I'll be along in a minute. Yes, sir. The girl claims to be innocent. You heard that, eh? Yes, I heard it. What do you mean to do? I don't see the girl, of course. But it won't affect the issue. Not even if she does happen to be innocent, fail in the name of heaven, try to understand my position. Believe me, I do understand it. The jury convicted this girl of murder. Her appeal was dismissed. The Home Secretary has refused to intervene on behalf of the King. You couldn't do anything even if you wanted to. You couldn't even appeal to the Home Secretary without new evidence. Exactly. And it's too late for new evidence, because you can't just accept the word of Helen Barton. All the same, I'm dreading this interview. Eh, it's against regulations, but I wish you'd come along with me. Oh, if there were only... Oh, there isn't. Eh, where's the... I think a little stimulant. She will need the stimulant. Well, it's a cold night. The decoding at where she's going. It's all right, dearly. The governor and the big star gentlemen believe you didn't do it. Oh, no, they don't. You needn't try to fool me. Look at them over there on the corner whispering. I heard that. You said, Phil, she's lying, but I'm not lying, I'm not. You've got to pull yourself together. And have a nice breakfast. What would you like for breakfast?