 Suspense and the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure, William N. Robson. We who manufacture thrills and chills for you, sometimes weary of the guns and knives and blood and gore. We earn to smile once in a while. We crave an occasional chuckle instead of the groans which fill our working days. But murder is serious business and all too rarely do we find it a laughing matter. The story you are about to hear is one of these rare and happy occasions. It concerns two missing persons and the intertwined lives of two French chefs named Henry Stringbean and Frank Pigsfoot and how their friendship flourished in the kitchens of a New York restaurant called the King's Eggplant. It marks also the welcome addition to suspense as company of stars of the popular French actor Maurice Massac. Listen, listen then as Monsieur Massac stars in One Chef, Well Done, which begins in exactly one minute. How can we recognize devotion to freedom? One way is to be able to identify the Navy Cross established by Congress in 1919. A cross made of bronze, it contains a design of an old sailing ship, the Caravelle, with crossed anchors and the words United States Navy on the reverse side. It is suspended from a blue ribbon with a narrow white stripe in the center. This rare award is given to any person serving in any capacity with the naval service of the United States, who distinguishes himself by extraordinary heroism in connection with military operations against an armed enemy. Individuals who have received the Navy Cross include sailors who distinguish themselves during America's involvement with Japanese operations in China from 1937 to 1938 and men aboard the U.S. gunboat Panai, which was bombed and sunk in Chinese waters on December 12, 1937. The Navy Cross stands for extraordinary accomplishment which a proud nation notes and acknowledges with gratitude. Who is next for the Navy Cross? It can be any dedicated seaman who so conducts himself as to be worthy of the great tradition of this honored symbol of freedom, the Navy Cross. And now, one chef, well done, starring Maurice Marsoch, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. Many times it is asked of me. How is it that you, Henri-Ari Covert, have risen to the exalted position of chef de cuisine at such a tender age? And I, Henri-Ari Covert, shrug with mother's day and reply. It is because I began my apprenticeship in Paris when I was about eleven. It is also because your America is the land of opportunity. It is also because Monsieur François-Pied-de-Cochon is no longer in the kitchens here at the restaurant Les Aubergines du Roi. You do not understand concerning François? Permit me then to begin at the commencement. It was in the spring of 1901 that I applied for a position to Monsieur Smith, proprietor of Les Aubergines du Roi. Me, I'm a meat and potatoes man. Henri, meat and potatoes, fried and plenty of bacon grease. But I'm running this restaurant for what they call the 400. Folks with more money than brains and they want French grub. So, I hire the best French chefs I can get and then I leave them alone. Now I will start you on sauces, but if you can cook like your recommendations say, you can move right up to the top. The greatest coffier himself once complimented my redevaux or que des crevices. Okay, if your sweet bread satisfies a coffier, they ought to satisfy François. Monsieur François, he is the chef de cuisine. Yeah, and you won't find a meaner one in all the 45 states. And until I can find somebody half as good and twice as pleasant, I gotta keep them. I am pleasant. I wish to be friends with everyone. Okay, friend, now you prove to the customers and to François that you're a first-class saucer and I'll hope by that time the cops will have saved me the trouble of firing him. The cops? The police, the gendarmes. You see, Henry, François drinks. But surely it is no concern of the gendarmes if one takes a little wine de temps en temps. Of course it ain't. But me and the cops got a strong hunch that François also murders. Sacre bleu. Yep, that's why we're looking for a new sauce chef. Sacre, sacre bleu. Don't you worry. The way I got it figured, he just scares most people. The only ones he murders are his best friends. Idiot or the goat, I instructed you to poach that salmon not to make a stew of it. Get out of this kitchen before I take my sharpest knife to your miserable... That's him, Henry. Oh, François. Don't come screaming at me during the dinner preparation, Monsieur Smith. You starve your kitchen with mutton-headed fools who cannot slice a shallot. Your stupid New York gendarm harassed me with questions about poor Lucien's death. I'm today my head clogged as though it were a veal cutlet becoming a scallopini. Now, François, don't get excited. I just want you to meet the new sauce chef. Monsour François Petty-Cachan, Monsour Henry Harry-Cott-Vert. Bonjour, monsieur. What is bon about it? Can you cook? Henry's got recommendations from Escoffier. Who asked you, espèce de chameau? Now then, Harry-Cott-Vert, get into your working clothes and prepare a bolognese, a bordelais and a rouenais. And if, by some happy accident, all three do not taste like raw flour paste, you and I shall be the best of friends. In a moment, we continue with the second act of suspense. Another visit with Joe and Daphne Forsythe. Hey, honey, I'm home. Daphne. Drop dead. Uh-oh, what's the matter, honey? Don't you speak to me. You don one. Don one? Daphne, I'm no don one. No habilespanol. Very funny. Ha-ha-ha. Well, it was no prize winner. Neither are you. You lethario. I've often wondered, what's a lethario? I don't know, but that's what the wives on TV always call their husband. I guess it applies. Do you want me to go out and come in again? As far as I'm concerned, you can go for a long walk, preferably on a short pier. Well, oh, come on, Daphne, what's wrong? Your good friend Harry called, and he spilled the beans. Which beans? He said, quote, tell Joe he was right about those blondes. They're great, unquote. Blondes? That's what he said. Well? He didn't say blondes. He said, bonds. Savings bonds. What? Sure, I buy them on the payroll savings plan, and I told Harry he ought to do it too. Savings bonds have a guaranteed interest that pays back $4 for every three, which is a pretty good investment. That's a pretty good story, too. It's true, so help me. That's why Harry's so happy. Savings bonds are great. Well, maybe you're right. You wouldn't really fool around with blondes, would you? You're too faithful and sweet and kind and... Fast talking. And now, starring Maurice Marsoc, a two of one chef, well done. A pinch of mignonette pepper, so... A pinch of chauvel, one of tarragon, so... Hello. What are you doing? Preparing a bordelet. Can they permit me to concentrate? You must be the new fella from Paris. My name's Shirley. Bonjour, madame. I scrub the vegetables. Then go scrub them. Why? Oh, Francois ain't around. I guess he's got such a hangover he ought to lay down for a while. Mmm. Gee, that stuff smells delicious when you whip it up like that. I trust Monsieur Francois also will approve. You better trust he won't. If he thinks you can cook, he'll pretend to like you. And if he pretends to like you, the same thing might happen to you if happened to Lucien. Who is this Lucien? He was the last sauce chef. Oh, Francois and him got to drinking together. One time they went out on a terrible spree and... ...Polution never came back. Oh, quel dommage. And they never found his body, neither. Francois must have sliced him into tiny bits and threw him off the Brooklyn Bridge. Now, please, if you must weep, do not weep in my bordelet. I have already salted it correctly. Francois! Where's Francois? Ah, Francois is said to be temporarily indisposed, Monsieur Smith. Shades of William McKinley, the August Belmont J.P. Morgan party, has just arrived. Well, I do not comprehend. The richest people in New York and Francois were supposed to cook up a fancy fillet of beef gartered. This matter sounds of importance. Fillet de buff gaudard. What'll I do, Henry? Remain calm. Tell Monsieur Auguste and J.P. Shades of McKinley all his well and trust Henri. I guess I'll have to. Great Garfield's ghost. Fillet de buff gaudard. Oh, maitrescoffier, watch over your humble disciple now. Ah, nothing like a few moments in Madison Square to relieve a murderous pain in the head. Hey, you! What are you doing? Making the several sauces you requested, Monsieur Francois. When did I...? Who are you? Henri Harry Gauvère. Do you not remember? Your face is vaguely familiar. What is this wine? An excellent cherry. Do not waste too much in the sauce. What time is it? Ten minutes past nine. Ah, yes. A miserable American royalty is to dine at half past six. And I must prepare a fillet de... Ten past nine? Oh, ma fillet, ma fillet! Oh, the fillet was served, Monsieur Francois. Served à la gaudade. I prepared the garnishment and the sauce. You garnished my fillet? Henry, look out his knife! Pig, gavage, offspring of a turnip? Henry, Henry, you hit a home run first time at bat. To not interrupt, Monsieur Smith, I have a lamb to butcher. Belmont and Morgan said it was the finest beef garter they ever ate. They're coming back tomorrow and they left a hundred dollar tip for the chef. Here you are, kiddo. The gratuity must be given to Monsieur Francois. Why? It wasn't even here. But he... he returned at the moment you left the kitchen. I did? Certainement. Okay then, Francois, it's your hundred bucks. Good thing you came back. This kid might have got your job. Mon ami. We French must stand side by side in this strange country. What you have done is what Lucien would have done. What you have said is what Lucien himself would have said. Come, we shall toast the dear departed Lucien in his magnificent cherry. A Francois? What happened to Lucien? I do not know. All I recall is that one night Lucien and I went on a magnificent soirée from which poor Lucien never returned. You remember nothing else? Only this. Somewhere in the dim dark cabins of my memory, the two of us enter a large dark room with a row of white beds. Some sort of transient hotel. We fell asleep and I think that when I woke, his bed and all the other beds were empty. And I think I left rapidly and silently through a side door. I think. Francois, my friend, could you by any chance have murdered Lucien? Oh, oh, no, no, no, no, no, no. At least I don't think I murdered him. But one day, you shall help me to find out. Poor Francois. If he did not think he murdered Lucien, then I, Henri Aricover, also refused to believe it, in spite of our employer's views and those of the gendarmes, in spite of the views of Shirley, the vegetable beaver. You could be head chef here if you wanted to, Henry. Mr. Smith keeps saying so. Francois and I constitute a two-headed head chef. It does not matter what title we are called by. That's another thing. You're always hanging around with old friends, instead of paying a little attention to me once in a while. And what could you contribute to a discussion of classic cookery? Is cooking all you French guys think about? When I think of other matters, do I not seek your company? Yeah, and you always try to get me drunk. Just like Lucien used to. I believe Lucien and I would have had a great deal in common. That's what I keep telling you, Henri. If you don't quit being friends with Francois, you and Lucien will be dead in common. And when you are, don't come to me for sympathy. One who is too stupid to cook cannot understand one whose whole life is cookery. But Francois and I, we understand each other perfectly. And often, when the diners have departed and the kitchen help had gone, we would remain at the restaurant and create magnificent dishes. Hello, my friend. The question is, how shall we prepare this large corn-fed ham? First, I have a question for you, Francois. I have found in the spirit pantry a case of these strange bottles. The label is printed in American. And while I now speak the language like a native, I do not yet read it so nifty. Let me see. Oh, those kebab bourbon whisky. 100 proof bottled in bond. Oh, yes, Henri. This is an American cooking wine made from the fermented juice of the corn. Taste it, mon ami. Voila. Your turn, Francois. Mon ami, I have an inspiration. We shall create a sauce for the corn-fed ham from this corn-flavored wine. So, why do you weep? No. If it is bad, we shall simply feed it to Monsieur Smith. No, no, no, mon ami. I weep because, tout à coup, I too have the inspiration. Now we shall at last discover the fate of poor Lucien. You believe that he died from eating ham? No, no, no, no, no. On the very evening, Lucien and I embarked upon our last soiret. To create a corn-wine sauce for a ham. And when we had tasted enough of this uskebar to determine its properties, its properties led us on the grand exploration from which he did not return. Ah, you believe that a bottle or two or three might lead us on a similar grand exploration? Oui. Even now, incidents I could not recall begin to take shape in my memory. If only I can recall the very incident of Lucien's departure. Perhaps even the idiot gender will leave me in peace. Oh, mon ami, we shall try to retrace every beautiful, fatal step and you shall play the part of Lucien. In just a moment, we continue with the third act of suspense. We have together ample capacity in freedom to defend freedom. This is NATO, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. Soviet-dominated nations are held together only by political and military coercion. The strength and fiber of NATO lies in the fundamental unity in the face of dangers which threaten. Thanks to this solid fundamental unity, NATO nations can overcome difficulties and bring into harmony their individual points of view. The United States of America is a part of NATO. You should be aware of and alert to the objectives and programs of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. And now, Starring Maurice Marsoch, Act 3 of One Chef, Well Done. And thus, after the third bottle of Old Uskobor Bourbon Corn Wine, the sauce was not completed for I dimly remember that at this point, Francois and I, we were somehow standing in the corner of 14th Street and the Broadway and seven horse cars already had gone by. Now, the eighth approached. I cannot be any horse car only. The one on which Lucien and I about was driven by an old chestnut man named Mabel. Well, we must await the same car. This car to the Lancy Street, Mass Street and Fort and Fish Market. Pardon, Monsieur. Who is the noble horse who pulled your conveyance? That's all Mabel. Hey, what's the idea? Hello, Mabel. Hello, Zio Bari. Come back your horse, Steven Spock. Are you sure you can handle a load like you're taking on? We'll tumble on course. Hey, wasn't you in here a few weeks ago? Well, Henri, Mabel has brought us to the right place. Sure, only it was with another guy. Luki or something like that you call him. The excellence of your memory is exceeded only by the charm of your establishment. Now, Henri, we must seek an elaborate term. You don't tell me your boys is leaving already? No offence, Monsieur. Oh, offence, my hairpiece. I want to do you a favor. I'm kind of worried about you getting home. So why don't you just write your names and addresses on these cardboard tags and tie them to your wrists? Then if you pass out somewhere, the cops will deliver you. Merci. You are too fresh. Don't mention it. And what's yours, gents? Sorry. Address unknown. Oh, Louise. But why? Our true friend is a spy of the gendarme, but we have now outwitted him. You are sure this is the street? I think I am sure. What's the matter? Oh, it's nothing. I have simply run into a building. Ah, then it is the hotel we seek. Lucien discovered it in the same way. But where is the entrance? In the test for registration. Ah, my friend pigeon. We shall save the sound team they would charge. I can group to the side entrance, which as you shall see opens directly into a large room of many beds. There I am sure we will discover what happened to poor Lucien. I remember, and yet I do not remember. We seem to be in a cavernous place of gloom with sleeping figures upon narrow white beds. It seems that we found two beds empty and side by side. When I lay down, the bed seemed cool and hard. But I am tired, and soon I fall into the deep slumber. Then I awaken, and I am unsure that I am truly awake. Cold, grey light, the feeling that I am alone in the room. No, they are on the next bed Francois slumbers. So I am awake. No. Two men come and lift the sleeping Francois to a cart with wheels. This cannot be, so I am still asleep. Their voices are a part of my dream. This one hasn't been claimed either? No, I am unknown address unknown. That's life. Here today and God tomorrow. So I dream that they wheel Francois off on the cart to a far end of the room. I dream that in the wall a small door opens. And as it opens, I dream that a cheery fire blazes beyond. Then the door shuts. And I dream a strange sound. And I dream that I am running. And when I awaken, I am outside a hotel. I walk around to the front of the building. Over the doorway are painted in American words the name of the establishment. Pardon, Monsieur. Your language, I speak with perfection, but I do not read it so nifty. What mean those words? No, they don't mean silver play. Just says New York morgue. Entrance to crematory. Oh, merci bien. And thus, because Francois is no longer here in the kitchen of the restaurant Aubergine du Roi, I have been persuaded to accept the cuisine. Suspense. In which Maurice Marsoc started William M. Robeson's production of One Chef Well Done by Francis von Hardisfeld. Supporting Mr. Marsoc in One Chef Well Done were Sandra Gould, Joseph Santis, Ben Wright, and Jack Moyholz. Listen. Listen again next week when we return with another tale calculated to give you in. Suspense. Suspense has been brought to you through the worldwide facilities of the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.