 By 30. Suspense. And the producer of radio's outstanding theatre of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure, William M. Robson. One of the saddest phrases uttered by man is, I didn't know it was loaded. The presumed empty gun is the cause of countless tragedies. But our story concerns a tragedy which resulted from a gun that was presumed to be loaded. It concerns, too, that most desirable and dangerous of all phenomena, a beautiful woman. Listen, listen, then, as Miss Marie Windsor stars in script by Mark Brady, which begins in just a moment. Here's Frankie Lane. I never feel like singing with a bad cold. So I take wonderful four-way cold tablets to relieve my cold misery fast. Right. Tests of four-leading cold tablets proved four-way fastest acting of all. Amazing four-way starts in minutes to relieve aches, pains, headache, reduced fever, calm, upset stomach. Also overcomes irregularity. When you catch cold, take my advice. Take four-way cold tablets. It's the fast way to relieve those nasty cold miseries and feel better quickly. Four-way 29 and 59 cents. Here's a word about another fine product of Grove Laboratories. Does dandruff dull your hair, leave scalp itchy? Get Fitch Dandruff Remover Shampoo and get rid of unsightly dandruff in three minutes. Three minutes with Fitch regularly is guaranteed to keep embarrassing dandruff away forever. Apply Fitch before wetting hair, rub in one minute, add water, lather one minute, rinse one minute. Every trace of dandruff goes down the drain. Three minutes with Fitch, unsightly dandruff's gone. Fitch can also leave your hair up to 35% brighter. Fitch Dandruff Remover Shampoo. And now, script by Mark Brady, starring Miss Marie Windsor. A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. Within the next few minutes, I will commit murder. Cold, premeditated murder. Why? Well, since I'm a writer of murder mysteries, perhaps the simplest way to explain is to dramatize my story. Hence this script, my last, to be delivered to the studio after my arrest. Cast of characters, Mark Brady, a writer in his early 30s. College graduate, easygoing, intelligent. Mary Brady, his wife, beautiful with a bright unused brain. Jason Roberts, his best friend, an intellectual snob. The scene, the Brady's comfortable bookline department. The time, a few months ago. But Mark, couldn't you get one of the girls from the office? Why all the fuss about even numbers? Well, every time Jason comes for dinner, he comes alone. I don't like it. I should think you'd welcome the undivided attention of two adoring men. Makes me uneasy. Well, then why don't we invite Jean Stanley? The lady writer. With a horn-rimmed glasses, flat shoes, and an abiding belief in Zen Buddhism. She shouldn't give you much competition. I'm not worried about competition. Jason thinks I have a mind, even if you don't. Oh, he does, does it? Well, that's par for old Jason. He always did like my taste in women. He says I'm unlike any woman you ever went with. That's right. You're also the only woman I ever married. Don't mess my hair, you beast. You're such an animal. Aren't you glad? I suppose so. I mean, somehow, sometimes I don't feel married to you. Why? You're so self-sufficient. You don't need me. You don't need anyone. Oh, yes I do. I need you very much. Well, who'd take care of me? Send out my laundry, defrost my dinner. You're not being serious. Oh, but I am. You can hire someone to do all that. As beautiful as you. I couldn't afford it. Mark, did it ever once occur to you that I have ideas? That I have thoughts? That I'm interested in things? Of course. Haven't I heard you and Jason ramble on far into the night about Freud, Jung, Marx, Engels, and the plight of the Navajo engines? Jason understands me. He likes the way my mind works. Oh? But he ought to have a girlfriend of his own. Now, will you please try to get him someone for tonight? From the way you talk about old Jason, I think I'm the guy who needs a girlfriend. We were so civilized. We budding intellectuals. So sophisticated. So sure of ourselves. We shared each other. If Mary's ballet class or her mosaics or her lute lessons conflicted with the opening of an art exhibit, Jason and I would gaily go off together to view the paintings. If something kept me from attending an opera or a ballet, Mary never missed it. There was always Jason to escort her. But last summer, my work began to pile up. And every time there was an attraction at the Greek Theater or an especially interesting concert at the Hollywood Bowl, I was stuck with a script to finish. I was really grateful for Jason then. He relieved me of my guilt about not entertaining my beautiful wife. Until one night, I discovered that it was he who owed me a debt of gratitude. Oh, oh, oh. Why, hello, darling. You still up? Apparently. If you any idea of what time it is... No, not the slightest. It's nearly 2.30, and why are you on your bare feet? Oh, Mark, we had such a silly wonderful time. Suppose you tell me about it. Well, the concert turned out to be never-ending dull, and those seats in the bowl are so hard. Finally, Jason suggested we take a ride down to the beach. Is that why sand is dripping from your skirt? Is it? Well, you see, I've been swimming. Swimming? In what? In the ocean. I mean, what did you swim in? What did you wear? Nothing, Mark. I just went swimming in the moonlight. I see. Do you realize that it's three and a half hours since that concert ended? Do you realize I've been going nearly crazy with worry that I was just about to start calling the police and the hospitals when you float in off cloud eight and calmly announce that you've been swimming in the nude? I didn't say I'd been swimming in the nude. I said I'd been swimming in the moonlight. Mark, stop looking at me that way. What way? Like I was some broth. Well, aren't you? No. Apparently, Jason thinks so. It's late, Mark, and I'm tired and suddenly very cold. Now, please let me by. I want to take a hot shower. It was as much my fault as it was hers. It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't thrown them together. So after that, I paid more attention to my homework, and the midnight swim was forgotten by tacit agreement. And by tacit agreement, we saw less and less of Jason. I very satisfied my craving for beauty. And for the rest, I had my work. I got very busy on a new show I dreamed up based upon police files. And I wish now I'd never thought of the idea. Part of the job was to ride the prowl cars for background color. And the second night out, we were cruising around the twisty streets in the Hollywood Hills. And this looks like El Dorado Drive. Yeah, that's right, Mr. Brady. A friend of mine lives along in here just around this bend. Is that his house we're coming to? Yeah, that's it. Well, you better tell him to park his car closer to the curb, or I'll leave him a ticket. Yeah, only that isn't his car. It was Mary's car, causally parked in front of Jason's house. Sure, why not? She knew I'd be gone till past midnight, riding a prowl car, only she had no way of knowing where it would be prowling. Of course, she was already in bed when I got home, but I wanted to give her every chance. Oh, it sounded asleep, darling. Did you have an interesting evening? Not very. Not much action. What did you do? Oh, nothing much. Looked at TV for a while. Tried to read Dr. Chewbacca again, but I couldn't make anything more out of it the second time than I did the first. Come to bed, darling. I'm sleepy. That's the way it was. Every night that I rode the prowl cars, I asked the sergeant to swing by El Dorado Drive, and it was always there. Mary's little Volkswagen parked in front of Jason's house. And every night when I got home, the same evasive answers. Why didn't I put my foot down? I was afraid, that's why. Afraid of losing Mary, I needed her. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. My ego needed her. A bright adornment, a mark of success. And if I lost her, I felt I too would be lost. Sergeant, I wonder if we could swing by El Dorado Drive tonight? Again? If you don't mind. I don't mind. It's in our area. I don't get it. You checking up on your friend? No. My wife, that Volkswagen, belongs to her. Oh, I see. Now, look, Mr. Brady, you say the word, we can make enough of trouble for that guy. It's awfully kind of you, Sergeant. Oh, I'm serious. I'm sure you are. Only it's not your problem, it's mine. Ah, you stay out of it. Let us handle it. No, thank you, Sergeant. That would be too easy. If anything's to be done about it, I'm going to have to do it myself. So here I sit, waiting to murder Jason. I phoned him a while ago and told him we had to straighten this thing out immediately. He said he'd be right over. I know him so well I could write the next scene before it happens. He'll walk in suave, self-contained, every handsome inch of pony. I get angry if I threaten him. He'll make his grandstand play with that ridiculous pearl-handled automatic which he carries unloaded in his car. He's pulled it before. It's always worked before on irate husbands. He's boasted to me about it. How they chicken out in front of that empty gun. But this time it won't work. This irate husband isn't going to chicken out, he's going to shoot it out. This irate husband has a gun too and he's going to use it in self-defense. There he is now, coming at the walk. Now he's at the door. Come on in, Jason. The door's unlocked. In a moment, we continue with the second act of... How long has it been since you've cleaned out your bookshelves? Maybe it's time you took a look at the books you own. While you're cleaning and looking, you can be performing a valuable service to your country. The United States wants books, lots of them, to send to interested students and readers abroad. Good books are needed to combat the flood of literature being circulated in free countries by the Russians and Chinese communists. Each year, the Russians alone publish and distribute well over 100 million volumes of all kinds. But each volume is a messenger of mischief full of propaganda and lies. These books are sold at ridiculously low prices or given away free. You can help counteract communist propaganda with unneeded books now on your bookshelves. Most desirable are literary classics, new or old. Up-to-date American histories and geographies. All books should be in hard bindings and in good condition. Send them to Books from America, Box 1960, Washington, 13 D.C. And now, Starring Miss Marie Windsor, Act II of the Script by Mark Brady. I am compelled to finish Mark's script. Since he's half-literatus an explanation and a justification for murder, I feel I must complete it as a vindication of myself and a requiem for Mark. Yes, Mark is dead. Jason shot him in self-defense. That's what the coroner's jury called. Self-defense. And now I must defend myself from the things Mark thought about me. I was innocent. That night on the beach I was innocent. Oh, Jason, isn't it beautiful? Run to thy very feet, bright damazelle, the westering moon this night has flung his carpet bright. How lovely. Who wrote that? I did. Just now. I know. Let's go swimming. Why not? I would if I brought a suit. What difference does that make? None, I suppose, really, only. Are you worried about what people will say? Why, there isn't anybody within five miles of this cove? Go ahead. All right. You can undress behind that rock. Oh, not me. That water looks too cold. Oh, come on, Jason. I'll watch. You will not? I mean after you are in the water. Well, all right. Now turn you back and close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you to. Jason was right. It was cold. It was wonderful and strange and terribly exciting. And it was over all too soon. Like Botticelli's Venus rising from the sea. What did you say? Like Botticelli's Venus rising from the sea. You peep. Man can be tempted only so far. Oh, oh, look, my skirt's all full of sand. What did you expect? You can turn around now. Oh. Oh, and I glittering with moonlight. The scenic crown with cockleshells and with a curdle of carob begat. Oh, lovely Mary, make me immortal with a kiss. Oh, come on, Jason. And doth not the moon make lunatics of us all. Stop it, Jason. I'm Mark's wife. And you're his best friend, remember? Yes, I'm trying not to. Well, save the soft self for somebody else's wife. I'm not buying any. Now come on. Let's go home. That's all there was to it. Except I caught a cold. Mark never mentioned it again after that night. It was as though he didn't care. As though he wanted me to be with Jason. And he got so busy with his new show and riding the police cars at night. Well, what did he expect me to do? Sit home and knit? Jason was more interesting than a night alone with the TV. And I wasn't taking anything away from Mark. I was innocent. I couldn't help the way Jason felt. I didn't know that it would get out of hand. So, my beautiful goddess, that's how it is. I am hopelessly in love with you. What are you going to do about it? Have it out with Mark. Oh, no, Jason, you can't do that. Why not? Mark's got a gun now. Well, what are we? He's been practicing at the police pistol range. He keeps boasting to me about how good he's getting. Almost as if he were threatening. Now listen, my dear, we're all three of the civilized human beings. And I think Mark and I can solve this problem without bloodshed. I'm afraid. I wouldn't want anything to happen to either of you. Now, you listen to me. Jason, look at the time. I've got to run. Naturally. I'll call you tomorrow, darling, when I find him in a loan. That'll be nice. No, honey, don't be that way. You know I've got to go. Jason. What? Look out there in the street. What is it? A police car driving by. Do you suppose it could... I haven't the slightest idea. Well, aren't you worried if Mark found out? I think it's time he did. As always, I was in bed and pretending to be asleep when Mark came home. He didn't say anything, and I couldn't tell if he'd been in the police car that drove by Jason's house. But I didn't worry too much, because before I went to bed, I had taken all the bullets out of his gun. In a moment, we continue with the third act of suspense. When friends drop in, let your hospitality show you're sociable in the modern manner. Pepsi, you know, is the favorite of the smart and young at heart. Fresh? Have you tried a Pepsi lately? And now, starring Miss Marie Windsor, act three of Script by Mark Brady. Fox Script deserves a lot of love. Act three of Script by Mark Brady. Fox Script deserves a better end, and Mary has given it a truer end, at ending on a high note of tragedy, for tragic indeed it is. What Mary has carefully omitted in her attempt to lay the blame for Mark's murder on me is what happened the next morning when I was awakened by a frantic pounding on the door and opened it to admit a Mary on the edge of hysteria. Oh, Jason! Jason! Mark knows all about it. That's good. I'm glad. And he's going to kill you. Oh, now, that does not sound like Mark. You don't know. He's got that police gun. And he's acting like a crazy man. He threatened me with it. I ran out of the house. Jason, I'm so afraid. Oh, now, Mary, get hold of yourself. But what are we going to do? Well, first, we're going to have a cup of coffee. I can never think in the morning until I've had a cup. That's him. That's him. Where did I tell him? Well, that's a safe way. Hello? Oh, good morning, Mark. Yes. I see. Well, will you give me time to scrape my face and put on a pair of slacks? Say an hour? Okay. See you. You're not going over there. Why not? He'll kill you. He didn't sound as though he were contemplating murder. He was very calm. He said he wanted to talk to me. He won't talk. He'll shoot first. And then he'll be too late to talk. Do you have a gun? Yes. That little pearl handled automatically. Is it loaded? Of course not. Well, load it, darling. And promise me you'll use it if you have to. Mary can be pretty persuasive. Then a man would have to be made of more Spartan stuff than I to refuse her. When she mixes warm tears of terror and concern with her other rich endowments. I loaded the gun. I went to Mark's apartment to find that Mary's concern was not overstated. As I walked in, he swung the police gun at me and pulled the trigger. I fired and Mark dropped dead. I didn't know his gun was empty. Now I know he didn't know it was empty. And now I know who really murdered him. Beautiful, beautiful Mary. The kind of woman men would always kill for. It's almost dinner time. She wasn't back yet from a luncheon date with a girl friend. She said, but I rather imagine it was with the young attorney who represented me at the inquest. Very bright chap with a mind quite different from Mark's or mine. I'm sure Mary is having fun picking it. But I'm not making any effort to confirm my suspicions. I'll know soon enough. Only this time I'll be sure Mary doesn't unload my gun. Oh, here it is. Mark Brady's last script. And in many respects, his best. At least I hope they'll agree down at the studio. Suspense. In which Mary Windsor starred in William and Robson's production of script by Mark Brady. Written by Celeste Volus and Mr. Robson. In a moment, the names of our supporting players and a word about next week's story of suspense. Hey dad, did you check your car filters today? No son, I didn't. Why? Because it might pay you a thousand dollars. A thousand dollars for a car filter? That's right, folks. You may have a filter under the hood of your car worth one thousand dollars and not even know it. A Fram filter worth one thousand silver dollars. A regular filter change is important to today's cars. So important that Fram Corporation is paying sixty thousand dollars to get you to check your filters now. Last year, in preparation for Fram's silver anniversary, ten thousand secretly numbered Fram filter cartridges were distributed all over the United States and installed in cars during regular servicing. These filters are worth from one dollar to one thousand dollars. You may have one in your car right now and not even know it. Check your oil filter and air filter now. If there's a specially numbered Fram filter in your car, it will win up to one thousand silver dollars and your dealer will win the same amount. Get in on Fram's big silver treasure hunt. Check your car filters now. Supporting Marie Windsor inscript by Mark Brady were Vic Perrin, Ben Wright and Sam Pierce. Listen. Listen again next week. When we return with John McIntyre in John Barbie and Son, another tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. The latest news follows then have gun will travel on the CBS Radio Network.