 Now, Roma Wines, R-O-M-A, made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. Roma Wines, present. Suspense. Tonight, Roma Wines bring you Dame May Whitty as star of My Dear Neese, a suspense play produced, edited and directed for Roma Wines by William Spear. Suspense. Radio's outstanding theatre of thrills is presented for your enjoyment by Roma Wines. That's R-O-M-A, Roma Wines. Those excellent California wines that can add so much pleasantness to the way you live, to your happiness and entertaining guests, to your enjoyment of everyday meals. Yes, right now a glass full would be very pleasant as Roma Wines bring you Dame May Whitty in a remarkable tale of suspense. My dear niece, I'm writing you this letter in explanation of certain recent actions of mine, about which you're probably curious. As you know, since that day four years ago, when your dear uncle died, may he rest in peace, I've been living a busy, if lonely, life. Fortunately, the city is small as health and one as many friends, but they in no way could make up for the loneliness I felt. As you recall, you're continually urging me to try to get some sort of opposition. And so, finally, I took your advice and placed an advertisement in our local paper. It was six weeks ago this next Friday that I inserted the ad. I'm sure you must have chuckled when you read it. Widowed woman, Gentile, some secretarial experience, drives own car, desires position of interest with reliable business house. Address Miss Emily Rogers, box 2B, or phone Hilton 22412. I was somewhat surprised to receive a reply the next morning. I'd finished my breakfast. Yes, you're right. I still drink a cup of hot water when arising each morning. I'd finished at all events when the phone rang. Hello? Mrs. Emily Rogers, please. This is she speaking. I'm calling about the ad you ran in the evening paper yesterday. Oh, yes. I think I can offer you a position you'd be interested in, Mrs. Rogers. My name is Bruce. How do you do, Mr. Bruce? We have a very small publishing house, Mrs. Rogers, and need someone to take care of any of the contacts we might wish to make in your part of the country. Oh, aren't you from Hilton then? No. No, our offices are in Los Angeles. We'd pay you $50 a week providing you could use your home as an office, although there wouldn't be much office work required. As I say, the position primarily would be one of establishing contacts. Quite. It sounds fine, Mr... Bruce. It sounds fine, Mr. Bruce. Good. Good. Well, then consider yourself under salary beginning immediately, Mrs. Rogers. I'll phone you again as soon as there's something more definite for you to do. And that's how I got the job. I assume naturally that I would immediately receive instructions from Mr. Bruce as to how I should go about establishing contacts. The first word I had after the telephone conversation was when the postman arrived the next Saturday with an envelope for me containing a check for $50. There was no return address on the envelope and the check was a personal one bearing no company name. It was signed R. L. Bruce. Three weeks went by in this fashion. Each Saturday I would receive the $50 check in the mail but always the envelope was without a return address and the check was a personal check. All the envelopes were post-Mark Los Angeles but other than that I haven't the smallest clue as to the identity of the company by which I was employed. I've always believed that money is very precious and as your uncle, may his soul rest in peace, used to say no self-respecting person would accept it without doing a lick of work for it. I was dissatisfied with the arrangement. I would tell this Mr. Bruce when he phoned and I wished to resign my position with his small publishing house. It was on the Wednesday after he arrived with a third check that I again received a telephone call from Mr. Bruce. He was charming as he'd been on the first call and before I had the chance to tell him if I wished to resign... Well, I had your first assignment for you, Mrs. Rogers. Oh, I wanted to talk to you about that, Mr. Bruce. Oh, getting a patient, were you? Well, this will keep you busy for a while. Yes, Mr. Paul Stevens. Now, he's one of our most promised... What sort of a favor, Mr. Bruce? Well, Mr. Stevens has been... has some rewriting on a novel we planned publishing in a few months and too many people interrupt him here in Los Angeles, so I wonder... I wonder if you could put him up at your home until he finishes. Well, I... I don't know. Oh, he'll be no... Well, I... yes, I suppose I could. Oh, that's fine. That's fine, even. Yes? And that's all I knew of the job, my dear niece. Well, at last I'd be doing something for my pay, which to me was very important. I waited around the house all day, afraid to leave, even to do my shopping, for fear I'd miss the telephone call from Mr. Stevens. It is quite late in the afternoon, almost five o'clock, when the telephone rang. Hello? Mrs. Rogers? This is Mrs. Rogers. This is Paul Stevens, Mrs. Rogers. Oh, yes, Mr. Stevens. I've been expecting your call. Where are you? I'll come and pick you up. Oh, that's very good. The corner of Brookside and Sierra Madre, fine. I'll be driving a black Buick convertible, and the right fender's dented. A parking station attendant did it. Black Buick? Goodbye, Mr. Stevens. Oh, Mr. Stevens. I remember I hadn't asked Mr. Stevens what he looked like, so that I would be able to recognize him. But then I thought that Brookside and Sierra Madre is not a busy intersection, and all the chances of there being more than one stranger of the corner were slight. I left the house immediately and drove through town to where Brookside crossed the Sierra Madre. The first nervousness I felt was, when arriving at the corner, I found myself faced with this problem of identification. There were many cars and a rather large and excited crowd gathered at the corner. Stand back, everybody, please. Oh, hello there, Mrs. Rogers. Officer, what happened? A hit-and-run accident a few minutes ago. It was dreadful. Who was hit? That man about 35. No one I know. Was he badly hurt? He's dead. Oh, oh, that's awesome. Yeah, please, now back. Officer, I... Well, I was supposed to meet someone, a gentleman here, a Mr. Paul Stevens. I don't suppose that this poor gentleman could be... Well, now the ambulance will be here in a few minutes, Mrs. Rogers. I'll call you when we find out who it is, if you like. Would you? I'd be very grateful. All right, now, please, get stand back. Mrs. Rogers? Yes? I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I'm Paul Stevens. Mr. Stevens? Oh, I'm so relieved. Well, of course, please get in. The accident upset me. I was afraid for a minute. It was you. No, no, it wasn't me. Won't you get in? Thank you. Have you had your dinner? Yes, yes, thank you. I'd like to go to your house, if you don't mind. Of course, Mr. Stevens. It won't take long. I was really terribly relieved, and I thought what a warrior I was. Because for a few minutes, I really had been sure that Paul Stevens was dead. But now everything was fine. I tried making conversations with Mr. Stevens on the drive home, but he seemed tired, not inclined to talk. And so we drove quietly back through town and to my house. We went inside, and I showed Mr. Stevens up to his room, and then went into the living room to tidy up. The telephone rang as I was setting out some ass trays. Hello? Hello, Mrs. Rogers? This is Officer Barnes. Oh, yes, Officer. I'm glad you called. I wanted to tell you that I met Mr.... I sent that identification for you. Yes, that's what I wanted to tell you, Officer. The name was Paul Stevens. It couldn't answer. I stood there, frozen, with the telephone receiver in my hand, looking at the door to the hallway, where the man who called himself Paul Stevens stood smiling tightly, holding a gun in his hand. A gun that was pointed right at me. More suspense, Roma Wines are bringing you a star, Dame May Whitty, in My Dear Neese by Elliot Lewis. Roma Wines' presentation tonight in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills. Suspend. Between the acts of suspense, this is Truman Bradley for Roma Wines. Entertaining graciously, smartly and inexpensively is no problem to the millions of good hostesses who regularly serve Roma Muscatel. Because Roma Muscatel is a pleasurable taste delight with nuts or cake. A luxurious compliment to dessert, it adds so much to friendly hours with guests. Yet Roma Muscatel costs only pennies a glass, enrich your happy hours at home with Roma Muscatel. Enjoy often the distinctive muscat grape fragrance, warming gold and radiance, and naturally sweet mellow goodness. Like all Roma wine, Roma Muscatel is a true wine, crushed from choicest grapes, grown in California's finest vineyards, then unhurriedly, guided to tempting taste perfection by the age-old skill of Roma's master-vintners. Bottle at the famous Roma winery to bring you unvarying goodness always. Get Roma Muscatel tomorrow, now at the lowest prices in years. Remember, for uniformly fine quality at low cost, insist on Roma, R-O-M-A, Roma wine, made in California, for enjoyment throughout the world. And now Roma wines bring back to our Hollywood downstage. Dame May Whitty, as Aunt Emily, in my dear niece, a play well calculated to keep you in suspense. My mouth felt frozen. My throat dry. I stared fascinated down the battle of the gun, pointing at me. Mrs. Rogers. Thank him and hang up. Hello, Mrs. Rogers. Are you all right? Uh, yes. Yes, I'm all right, officer. I was... Thank him and hang up. I was... Thank you, officer. He walked away from me then and sat across the room where he could watch me and also see anyone who might come to the front door. The gun rusted in his lap. I stood and stared at him. My mind raced. I tried to think of what to do. I was surprised when he spoke. Sit down, if you like. Who are you? Why did you tell me you were Mr. Stevens? Sit down. Who are you? How dare you pretend to be Mr. Stevens? Uh, I'm stupid. What? I didn't think they'd find out who he was. I didn't know he was hot. You killed? Yes. I killed Paul Stevens. That's all he would say. I tried to find out who he was and why he'd chosen me and why he'd killed Mr. Stevens and what he was going to do next, but... he wouldn't answer me. He wouldn't say anything. He looked over at me occasionally and smiled. It was beginning to get dark and I got up to turn on the lights. What are you doing? It's dark. I thought I'd... I like it dark. My house doesn't look win in the dark. We'll be going out in a few minutes, Mrs. Rogers. Where are we going? We're going out for dinner, Mrs. Rogers. You're going to be my dinner guest. Why did the cop call you? How did you know he called me? The phone upstairs. I was expecting a call. Why did he call you? I thought you were dead. I mean, I thought Mr. Stevens was dead. All right, all right. Get your face on, Mrs. Rogers. I have a very important engagement. We left the house then, got in the car and drove to a restaurant I'd never been in before. It's on the highway, out past the other side of town, and it's quite a bad reputation. The man didn't know where it was, but he knew the name. All the while I was trying to remember who we was. I say remember because there was something familiar about him. But what that something was, my dear niece, I couldn't for the life of me think. An attendant took the car when we arrived at the road house and we went inside. We just sat down at the table when a small and very thin dark complexion man slid into the seat next to the man who wasps Mr. Stevens. What are you doing here? I had to come. It didn't work. They found out who he was. Why didn't you stay hidden? She knows I'm not Stevens. The cop told him. It stayed her house anyway, couldn't you? You have to come out where people can pick you up? Take it easy, Al. It's not easy. What's the matter with you? Mary figures out a foolproof way for you to get rid of a guy and hide out right into the cops' noses and then you go and louse up the whole deal. It's not louse stuff. It will be if you don't get away quick. Maybe, maybe. Oh, I don't think you've met Mrs. Rogers. Mrs. Rogers, this is Mr. Al Nuhal, who owns this restaurant. Ah, yes. I am. Look, you better get back to LA. What good would it do? Have you got any contacts in that part of the country? Suddenly, I knew. I knew who the man was. Because as he talked to Al, I remembered that voice. We need someone to take care of any contacts we might wish to make in your part of the country. It was Mr. Bruce. The same Mr. Bruce who'd given me my job and sent me the checks and would call me that morning and told me to inspect Mr. Stevens that afternoon and to put up Mr. Stevens at my home for a while. How did they find out? What? They found out who he was. How? It was hot. They had pictures and prints on them. I jumped them at the corner just before I met her. You're Mr. Bruce. He did that payroll job, then. What did you say? He's Mr. Bruce. Well, that's very good, Mrs. Rogers. How did you know? I just remembered your voice. It doesn't make any difference. You know too much about this anyway. Doesn't make any difference. You want me to take her with me out? I don't want her out here. Somebody might have seen her car drive in. They'd look. I think we'll go back to her house and start fresh. That way it'll be harder checking where she went. Whatever you do, do it now. The crowd starts coming for dinner soon and someone will see you. Yeah, yeah, okay. Shall we leave now, Mrs. Rogers? Where are we going? We're going to your house, Mrs. Rogers. After that, I'm not sure. But I think I'll have to kill you. We left then. I can't describe my fright. It all seemed so hopeless. I suppose I was more resigned than frightened. We drove back through town. Mr. Bruce sitting very quietly next to me in the front seat. My car's not new, as you know. And although I often have trouble with it, I never before had the horn stick. But that night it stuck. Right on the corner of Brookside and Sierra Madre. Stop blowing your horn. I'm sorry, Mr. Bruce. I'm not blowing my horn. It's gotten stuck. Stop the car. Stop the car. Now, say where you are and don't try to drive away, see? Yes, I see. Let's get out of here. You, uh, got the horn fixed, Mrs. Rogers? Who's that? Evening, Mrs. Rogers. Tell him everything's all right. Want me to fix that horn for you? Mr. Mayor, uh, no, thank you. It's all right. Oh, don't really take me a second to fix it so you can use it. Never mind. Mr. Mayor's, this is Mr. Paul Stevens. Oh, please, Major. How are you? I see you pulled my eyes to stop the horn. I usually take care of Mrs. Rogers' car myself, making me feel funny when something goes wrong with it. Oh, of course. I'll bring it in in the morning, Mr. Mayor's. Oh, no sense you're bothering Mrs. Rogers. I'll go along with you now if you like and take you home. Not today, you're driving without a horn. Oh, I think that's an excellent idea. I, uh, said you wanted to show me the town, you see, Mrs. Rogers. Wouldn't you need the car? Well, uh, I suppose... I was looking forward to the drive. You don't mind? No, of course. You picked the car up, though, in the morning, Mr. Mayor's. I had promised Mr. Stevens I'd take him for a ride. Sure, of course. Uh, thanks for your trouble, Mr. Mayor's. Oh, glad to help. It is such a little town. We all know each other and like each other and like to help each other. And so, Mrs. Rogers? Yes. Well, good night, Mrs. Rogers. And I'm glad to have met you, Mr. Stevens. The rest of the drive was uneventful. The street lights were on now and flashes of light from them darted into the car and lighted up the sullen face of the man who sat tensely by my side. I tried to remember all the conversations I'd had with him to find the reason for his choosing me out of all the people who must have placed advertisements that day as the person with whom he would hide out. For by now, my dear niece, I was convinced that Mr. Bruce had deliberately set out to murder Mr. Stevens for some reason and hide out in my house where the police were the most unlikely to look for him. But why my house? Why had he chosen me? When we got to my house, Mr. Bruce directed me to leave my car on the street and we went up the dark pathway to the front door. Mr. Bruce a few steps behind me all the way. Quite dark tonight, isn't it? Yes. Why are we going inside? I have to make a phone call. I see. Open the door. How's that light? Pardon me? Turn off the light. Oh, sorry. Now, pull the blinds down on that window. Yes. Now the light. Yes. Get the telephone. Ask a long distance for Crestview 9177 in Los Angeles. I'd like long distance, please. Crestview 9177 in Los Angeles. Crestview 9177. One moment, please. I'm calling Crestview 9177. Crestview 9177. One moment, please. All right, give it to me. Mary, look. Meet me at ours as soon as you can get here. Something's wrong. No, no, no, I'm all right. I'll tell you later. Get here fast. Now, you got any pets you want to feed before we leave? Where are we going? Oh, a little trip. You ready to go? Don't answer that. It might be the operator calling back. Is she with her? OK. Answer it. But I'm right here. Hello? Mrs. Oh, yes, operator. Is he still there? Say yes or no, operator. Yes, operator. Thank you, operator. Dear Mr. Mayer, he'd understood me. And he told the police. And they were going to save me. Well, you just can't imagine. I felt exactly like the heroine in an emotional picture. I simply had to run at Mr. Bruce from leaving the house. Just a few minutes, the officer said. Just time enough for them to get here. All right, let's get going. I wish I knew where we were going. Do I have to take anything with me? Will we be gone long? Yeah. A long time. Then I need several changes of clothes. Let me think. My brown suit. With a gray be better. It's older, but... Come on, come on. You won't need anything. Oh, the heater. What? I left the heater on in the other room. I'd better turn it off. I wouldn't like anything to catch on fire when we are gone. Fire? You mean those heaters could set the house on fire? No, no, no, not really. I meant that, well, I'd rather not pay a gas bill that's been run up against me because I neglected to turn the heater off. All right, all right, but make it fast. Come on, what's the trouble? Oh, this thing always sticks. I never can fix it. I remember it did it last fall. I was just starting off to meet my niece, Mary. And... Yeah, let me do it. There. Thank you. And now I feel better about it. I'm sure there must be something I've forgotten. And let me think. Come on, come on. Now, are you ready? Yes. I'm ready. Quiet on my street. Peaceful and dark. All the neighbor's lights were out, except for the ganges across the way. One light was on upstairs on the back of their house. It threw a diffuse pattern diagonally across the pavement. And I thought for a minute that I saw a figure move suddenly towards us. Mr. Bruce motioned to me to go ahead and I walked slowly down the path towards the car. I could feel Mr. Bruce a few steps behind me. Suddenly, it happened. All right, Bruce. What? Get down, Mrs. Rogers. What? Oh, there you are. Mrs. Rogers, are you all right? Yes, I... I'm all right. Thank you. I'm all right. And there it is, Mary. The explanation I promised you. I felt as your aunt that I should tell you how you happened to be in the penitentiary. When Mr. Allen the Roadhouse first mentioned your name, I was suspicious. But not until Mr. Bruce made the phone call to you, did I begin to piece the story together. You had suggested the advertisement. Your husband answered it and employed me. If only you'd told me, my dear, that you'd gotten married when you were in Los Angeles. After all, I'm your only living relative and I could have come to your wedding. Then this whole thing wouldn't have happened, would it, dear? Because I would have known Mr. Bruce all the time. Let me know after the trial what your new address is to be and I'll continue writing. As always, Aunt Emily. Suspense. Presented by Roma Wainz. R-O-M-A. Made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. Before we hear again from Dame Mae Whitty, the star of my dear niece tonight's suspense play, this is Truman Bradley for Roma Wainz. 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As always has been a great pleasure to me to appear unsuspenced. And I want to thank Mr. Spear for his usual splendid help and Mr. Wally Mayer as Mr. Bruce for his excellent support and all the other members of the cast who've all been so helpful. About next Thursday's suspense, it seems that a gentleman of questionable reputation or racetracks windler who is, I believe the phrase is, hot. Assistant advertisement which apparently offers him free transportation from New York to California. How this leads to the committing of one murder and the uncovering of another should give that extra actor George Calouris something to get his teeth into. I'll be listening as I'm sure you will be next Thursday. And don't forget the March of Dimes. Thank you. Thank you, Dame May Witty. Next Thursday, same time, the audience will bring you Mr. George Calouris as star of Suspense Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills. Produced by William Spear for the Roma Wine Company of Fresno, California. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.