 A new program. A great program. The Moore Durante Show is coming to CBS. Tune in every Friday at 10 p.m. Eastern wartime beginning tomorrow night for laughs with Jimmy Durante and Gary Moore, and music with Georgia Gibbs and Roy Parkes Orchestra over most of these same stations. This is the man in black here again to introduce Columbia's program Suspense. With us again as star is Mr. Orson Welles in the third of four successive appearances for the Suspense audience. And sharing honors with Mr. Welles this evening is a lovely and distinguished Hollywood leading lady, Miss Geraldine Fitzgerald. Our play tonight is from a short story by Agatha Christie. And so with Vila Melkotic and with the performances of Geraldine Fitzgerald as Alex Martin and of Orson Welles as her devoted husband Gerald. We again hope to keep you in suspense. Vila Melkotic. What's that, Alex? I was just reading the sign over the gate. What does Vila Mel mean? Are you joking? No, really. You little cockney. You've been here for three weeks and you still don't know. Vila Mel is another name for the birds. It's supposed to sing only for lovers. You've been hearing it every twilight. Oh, Nightingale. Of course. That sign, Vila Melkotic, is the main reason I wanted this place for us. Glad you bought it. Harold, this is a 50-50 investment and you know it. 50-50, a thousand pounds from me and two from you. What else could we do? You couldn't touch any more of your capital at the time and... Well, when you find a country cottage that combines old world charm with new world plumbing, we want to grab it. And we did have to have this place, didn't we? Yes, we did. I was wondering if you went a bit lonely. Lonely? With you? I mean, well, after living the city all your life, pretty much to ourselves, you know. Two miles from the nearest neighbor. The nearest eavesdropper, you mean. Not an utterly hopeless romantic, I mean. Well, you can't get out of it now. Oh, Gerald, you know what day today is? Today? It's the 13th. It's our anniversary, darling. We've known each other exactly a month. No, exactly 30 days. Oh, Gerald, really now. Oh, really? What is it, dear? Do you have the painting? No, there's no indigestion, I think. There? Do you want me to get you a pillow? No, no, no. Well, yes. It's 11.25. It'll get on to the village. Now to get that camera equipment. And the human time table walks through the garden gate. My dear, there's nothing wrong with system, even on a honeymoon. Sooner I go, sooner I get back. Oh, come on, Gerald. Forget the old photography. Why don't you stand do some gardening to be good for you? Better for old George. He gets paid for it. He's not due again till Saturday. The place will go to Rackenwood. Oh, my dear buddy. Bye, dear. Don't walk too fast, dear. Remember the last time. Be careful, darling. It had just slipped out. Be careful. Alex Martin swinging there on the garden gate. Smiling out a happiness across a part of England that was as remote and placid as any you care to find. Wondered why she'd said such a ridiculous thing. If this were London, say, that would have... London. Slowly the smile fell away. She knew then that the memory of that last week in London had never really been far from her mind. That and that last talk with Dick from the top deck of the bus crossing Trafalgar Square. She'd never seen him like that before. Gerald Martin. I tell you, Alex, the man's a perfect stranger to you. You know nothing about him. How can you know in a week? You've only met him. It doesn't take everyone seven years to find out you're in love with a girl. It's meant for me, isn't it? Alex. It's no use. Alex, don't you know what it's been for me not being able to tell you? I couldn't, not with the anger myself. Then I decided I couldn't wait any more and I was going to tell you anyway. And you know what happened? No, I'm afraid I don't. Oh, yes, you do. That money you inherit. That money from your cousin or uncle or whoever. That money? I'm sorry, Dick. Believe me, I am, but it really doesn't matter now one way or the other. Doesn't matter, does it? You can bet it matters to that Martin chef. That's what he's after. You mark my words, he's after your money. Dick, it's my interest you to know that Gerald has money of his own far more than I have. And more than I have. Maybe that's the difference. I've had enough of this. I'm getting over the next talk. Alex, please. All right, but let me tell you something. If you think I'm going to let Gerald cut me out of what they do here, I'll catch up with him if it's the last thing I do. I'll catch up with him if it's the last thing I do. To Alex, that threat of just one month ago was merely a season-to-moment outburst of her pride. And yet, as she leaned on the gate of Philamel Cottage, it kept echoing in her mind. What swept it away? What brought her back to the rustic, idyllic happiness of a life with Gerald Martin? It was the ring of the telephone inside the cottage. Who could be caught? Gerald is hardly had time to get beyond the turn in the road. Except if something had happened to him, he'd had another attack. Maybe one of the villagers was trying to call to say that he... but she hurried down and her hand shook a twig. Hello? Who did you say? Dick? Being you're here? No, no, you mustn't. I'm sorry, Dick. I... I only meant to be away this afternoon. Won't you come this evening? Goodbye, Dick, and I hope that... she stood quite still, the memory of Dick's threat flooding her mind. She walked across the spacious, old-beamed living room. By the time she reached the side porch, she'd made up her mind. Much as she hated the seat, she would say nothing to Gerald and Dick's call. She stepped out into the garden and for the second time that morning got a surprise. There, Bigger's life was her garden, fizzily trimming her head. Hi, George. I thought it would be a surprise, Mrs. Martin. There will be a fair over the squares on Saturday. I said to myself, I said, Mr. and Mrs. Martin, they won't take it a miss if I come this way once on a Wednesday instead of a Saturday. No, of course not, George. Then I thought, too, as I might as well see if all you do is away, so as to earn your wishes with the borders. Before I go away... To London, tomorrow. Hmm, going to London, tomorrow. Where did you hear that? Mr. Martin down the village yesterday. He's only was both going away to London, tomorrow. And it was uncertain when you'd be back again. Oh, I didn't. Now don't tell me you and the masters this is waiting already. Hmm? Oh, no, naturally not. The tip just slipped my mind. Get on with your work, George. Yes. Never could understand why anybody wanted to go up to London, no. Like historians, like you used to have this house. You went up there. Now, shall I remind you? Yes. And after fixing up this place like he did, tax all over everywhere, well, you're going to take a loss, I says, to him when I seize the place up for sale. I think everyone is well, you're a fan for washing yourselves when we're speaking. But George, he says to me, he'll get every penny of 2,000 pounds for this house. And sure enough, he did. He got 3,000. 2,000. Some he was asking was taught job at the time. Very hard to figure it was thought to be. No, George, you see, I gave to London. Well, it really was 3,000. Yeah, you don't tell me that Mr. Raines had the face to stand up to say 3,000 freezing light in a loud voice. He didn't say it to me, he said it to me. I guess I'll do some speeding now. The price was 2,000. As Alex strolled on across the garden, she was conscious of a thin, thick fork struggling to make itself heard. Then abruptly it was gone. Her eye had fallen upon a small, dark green object lying in the fur beside one of the flower beds. Her husband's pocket died. She picked it up and opened it. Scamming the entry was some amusement, once again reminded of Gerald's enslavement to time and system. It was the entry on page 21 that brought the smile from her face. April 14th. Smell, Alex, St. Peter's Church, 2,000. And it was the entry on page 30 that took that smile away. She stared puzzled at the date on the page, when she made the tea. Why, why that's today? Only one thing was written there in red pencil. 6 p.m. 6 p.m. As she stood there, that small, big thought struggled to be heard once more. It was... Yes, it was something big-winter that it said. Not the threat, not that wild, silly promise of vengeance, but something else. And then it changed. You know nothing about him. Nothing about him. It was true. But did she know about him? After all, he... Gerald, my husband. I love him. I trust him. Then she thought once again of that cryptic entry. P.M. Just three o'clock when Gerald, his arms laden with packages, walked up the garden path and came onto the side porch. Well, Alex... The moment he opened the door into the living room, he noticed the rather odd kind of excitement about him. There you are. Miss me, darling. Why wouldn't I? You've had time to buy out the whole village. Only the camera, sir. Now, I don't have the best equipped dark room this side of London. It won't be my fault. If you're not careful, that dark room of yours is going to overflow the whole cellar. Oh, incidentally, here's something you've been watering the flowers with. Cat. Diary. Dropped it in the garden, didn't it? I know all your secrets now. Not guilty. I'm not so sure. What about your resignation at 6 p.m. today? Well, that's... Well, you've caught me at last. It's an resignation with a very handsome young woman, quite remarkably like you would say. You're evading the issue. Not at all. Simply a reminder that I want you to help me develop some negatives this evening. At six o'clock. That's rather peculiar time, isn't it? Peculiar? Yes, I'm usually preparing dinner at that hour. No. No harm in delaying it a bit. We might have a sandwich or two and some coffee out on the porch. Before we walk on the negatives, you mean? Yes, that'll be pleasant, won't it? You know something, Alex? I've never found anybody yet who could touch your coffee. Oh, really? That covers Australia and Canada, don't you? You and your mysterious past. Why do you say that? No reason, I... Oh, Gerald. I do wish I didn't know more about you. I know, it's silly, but I... Darling. I've told you all about me, my boyhood in Sydney, my life in Canada. Yes. I see. You mean love affairs. You women are all alike. Well, but there must be another woman. There must be another woman. I mean, if only I... Do you think it's wise, Alex, this blue-beared chamber of business? Let's put your mind on such a subject anyway. Have I mentioned it before? Oh, I don't know, Gerald. I've been on it upset all day. I imagine I can thank old George for that. Oh, my God, do you mean? He had some ridiculous idea. We were going away to London. Where did you see him? He came to work today instead of Saturday. Me, oh, fool! Gerald! I didn't get this. Oh, Gerald, lie down. Here's some water. Here, darling. I'm all right. Oh, I'm sorry, darling, getting you all upset. That's a stupid old gardener. I made some weak joke to him about being off to London in the morning enough to take it serious, as it didn't help. It was straight in the mouth, I suppose. Hardly. You know what a gossip he is. I didn't want the whole village to think my husband was eating me in the dark about his plans. Are you all right, ma'am? You... you told him we were going then. Naturally. Sorry you were placed in that kind of situation, darling. I don't suppose you... ran into anybody else today. Is this often the word, Gerald? It isn't very likely, is it? Gerald. No, not another word. No, not another word. You aren't yourself, and that's quite plain. I want you to have a little rest. You'll be right as rain by six o'clock. Must you do that set of graphs tonight? After all, you don't think so well, you... My dear, if one one sets a time to do something, one should stick to it. The only way to get through one's work. All right, up with you, upstairs to bed now. Very well, dear. I'll be getting things arranged in the dark room. Well, Alex, rest was more like a nightmare. Upstairs in her room, she told herself that there was no basis, no basis whatever for her state of mind. Still, the turmoil, the doubt, the unaccountable sense of dread persisted and grew. Grew until... stepped out of the upstairs hallway. Quite clearly, she knew what she must do. She knew she must find some testimony to her husband's past, something to reassure her, something to kill that agonizing dread mounting within her. Strangely, she remembered that single locked drawer in Gerald's bureau. She dipped over the door ahead of the stairs, opened it, and entered her husband's room. Yes, the key. If only she could find the key that locked the drawer. But there was none in sight. She moved to the wardrobe, went through his coat pockets, and then there at her feet, there on the floor, she saw it. Swiftly, she stepped to the bureau, inserted the key, and it worked. Alex Martin opened the drawer, looked down upon a small packet of letters tied with a light blue ribbon. And when she saw the uppermost envelope, her face reddened with shame. Why, then? Why, then, my letters? They were her own letters, love letters written to Gerald before they were married. And there was nothing else in the drawer, save a roll of ancient faded newspaper clippings. Alex sighed with relief as she glanced at the top clipping. It was from an American paper, and it featured the trial of one Charles Lamentra. Oh, Lamentra. A notorious swindler and bigamist. A skeleton had been found beneath the floor of his house, and most of the women he'd married had never been heard of again. Another of the clippings described Lamentra's behavior in court. His interest in the cameras of the news photographers, his sensational escape from prison. Another displayed his picture, a long bearded scholarly-looking fellow. He reminded her of someone. But who? She couldn't tell. She glanced at the caption beneath the picture. Modern blue beard. Modern blue beard. That's what she read. Her eyes went back to the picture, and in a flash they saw the resemblance. She ran through the other clippings. Dates had been found in the man's pocket diary. Dates was contended when he had done away with his victims. He was an amateur photographer. He was from Sydney, from Canada. He was subject to heart attacks. He was. He was. He could try to warn her. They could be near her that morning. She turned him away. She turned toward the brightened pipe in the corner, running up through the room. From below, near its base, something was striking that pipe. As though someone were digging, the matron was comparing the dark room for the latest one of his victims. Less than an hour from now. Suddenly, all the jigsaw pieces shot into place. The money paid for the house. Her money. Her money only. The bond she didn't trust her for his keeping. Suddenly, she heard no sound. The digging had stopped. She must have escaped from this house at once before he came up to clip him right back in the door. Don't lock it. Don't allow it. Just get away. She rushed to the door, out to the hall, out to the door. She startled me. I was just trying to find her nail file. Well, that's nothing to look so guilty about now, is it? Come on down. Getting late, you know. Just have time to make the coffee and sandwiches before we do the pictures, that is. I'd be right down, darling. Oh, but we really mustn't delay, must we? Coming, Alex? Yeah, let me give you a hand. There you are. Cold. Yes, I am. Well, that will soon pass away, I'm sure. Hurry along, dear. Hurry along? Alex, what is the matter? Nothing. I'll be all right. The kitchen. Yes, I'll fix you something in a second. You just sit here in the living room and... No, the porch. That'll be more comfortable, won't it? And I'll be right with you. Well, of course not. What, dear? How rotten of me not to have suggested it. Since you're feeling a bit under par, you can probably do with some help. I'll come with you. That someway, somehow, she must get word to Dick Winterfell. The fact that he might be gone by now, the memory of him telling her so, she resolutely put out of her mind. There must be no more panic. She must be in utter control of herself. Alex carrying the coffee out of the porch, glanced at the clock from the mantel, ten minutes till six, her very life hung by those next ten minutes, by her ability to think coolly and swiftly the cost tending beside her was a man as determined as he was insane. Pity you're so abstracted, my dear. Pity you're so abstracted, my dear. What? Why do you say that? Well, because you are missing the loveliest sight you'll ever like to see again. Why do you say that? We are in the garden. First soft shades of twilight. Mm-hmm. Twilight. Over thrill of male cottage. Now, I say, Alex, you are below par. What do you mean? First time you've ever slipped on the coffee, must have topped in the entire canister. I'll be more careful, Oculus. Oh, dear. Alex, where are you going? What is it about, Gerald? I forgot to order meat for tomorrow. I'm just going to find the butcher. The butcher this kind of evening? He generally stays late on Wednesday. I'll be right back, darling. Don't shut the door, Alex. It keeps the insects out of the living room. You're not afraid I'm going to make love to the butcher, are you? Operator, get me the travels arms, please. Hurry. Travels arms. Mr. Winterford, please. What? Well, see, won't you? It's most important. Don't let me disturb you. Well, darling, you do. I hate anyone listening when I telephone. But I do, Gerald, truly. You're quite sure you're really calling the butcher? Well, as a matter of fact, I'm not sure. What? What I mean is... What are you talking about? I'm afraid I've got the wrong person. A perfect stranger. You don't understand. Someone I know nothing about. You know nothing about, then why don't you hang out? Here was the fan of that wireless. Hello. All right, my girl. I'll go get started. We're late now. Besides the three minutes past six. Why, Gerald, it won't be six o'clock for eight minutes. Look at the clock there on the mantel. I don't go by that, Relic. I go by my own wrist watch. Well, listen, stop pacing and listening to me. Well... I don't feel up to it tonight. I'm tired. Alex, I promise you, you won't be a bit tired after it's over. I'm not going to wait one minute longer. I won't do it. Come along, Alex. I'm not crying with you. No! You will, you will. I've got something to tell you. Something to confess. Yes, to confess. Something I was too close to before. I've had... I've had my secret past, too. For my love, I suppose. In a way, but... But something else. You'd call it, yes? I expect you'd call it a crime. Yes. I don't believe it. Yes. You better... You better sit down, Gerald. There. I... I told you I'd never been married before. That wasn't entirely true. There was a marriage. When I was 22, he was an elderly man with a little property. I induced him to ensure his life in my favor. At one time, I was a nurse with... with access to a number of poisons. There's one poison, a white powder. It... You know something about poisons, perhaps? No, I know very little about them. This one is very much like... it's absolutely untraceable. Any doctor would give a certificate of heart failure and that... and that... I can't... Another time, Gerald. Another time now. I want to hear. How did you get him to take it? How did I get him to take it out? Yes. Well, he always made his coffee for you. Coffee? Yes. One night I put a pinch of this... of this poison in his cup. I remember that evening how very much like this it was. How peaceful. He gasped a little. I had to move from his chair. Presently, he died. How much... How much was the insurance money? About 2,000 pounds. I speculated. I lost it. It was over two years before I... before I married again. He was a much younger man, quite well off. There was a will in my favor. He liked me to make his coffee, too. Just as my first husband had done. I make very good coffee. It was the same, along about twilight. I remember it perfectly. I'm nervous and upset I'd been all day, but it turned out all right. But it did. It was the same as the other. He just sat there in his chair and... and he died. My husband did have a weak heart, you see, and that... that helped a great deal. That netted me over 4,000 pounds. I didn't speculate. That's why I tasted that, where you tell you poison me. Poison me! Yes, poison is working. You see? It's all moved from your chair. I'm lying. I'll kill you! You can't move, you're helpless. There's nothing happening in that room. You can't. It's the trouble to call me up and talk about someone you knew nothing about. Excuse me, sir. The man sitting in his chair. It looks like so. Yes, we'll see. He did. Your husband named... You might say a perfect stranger. That's sitting in his chair. And... in presence he... he died. And so closes Philomel Cottage. Agatha Christie's story of love from a stranger starring Geraldine Fitzgerald and Orson Welles. Tonight's tale of... suspense. This is your narrator, the man in black, who conveys to you Columbia's invitation to spend his half hour in suspense with us on October 19th, when Orson Welles will again be our star. Our next broadcast in the series will be Tuesday, October 19th at 10 o'clock eastern wartime, 7 o'clock pacific wartime. The producer of suspense is William Spear, who tonight also directed the broadcast and who with Wilber Hatch, and Lucian Malowick, conductor and composer Harold Medford, the radio author, collaborated on tonight's... suspense. It's CBS. The Columbia Broadcasting System.