 Lipton G and Lipton Soups present Inner Sanctum Mysteries. Good evening, friends of the Inner Sanctum. Or waiting to go through the squeaking door. What a long line. But everybody's here tonight. The line reaches right to the edge of the grave. Been waiting long. What? Seven days and seven nights? Dear dear, you should have not. I can always slip the latch string out and you could hang around properly. Why, Mr. Host, people don't need a latch string to do that. Didn't you know that all our listeners hang on your every word? Oh yes, ma'am. There's no better place than Inner Sanctum for people to get the news. Or the news. As a matter of fact, we have some good news for our listeners right now. Folks, there's a new delight waiting for you when you try Lipton Tea. Many of you may have been drinking tea for years. But until you taste Lipton, you just don't know the full pleasure of tea at its delicious best. Lipton, you see, has brisk flavor. In fact, brisk is the very word that tea experts themselves use to describe Lipton's spirited, full-bodied flavor. Unlike ordinary dull-tasting teas, Lipton is never flat, but always hearty, satisfying. Lipton tea gives you more contentment in every cup. So do try it soon. It's tea at its tastiest. Lipton tea with that grand brisk flavor. And now for tonight's story. It's an original radio play written especially for the Inner Sanctum by Hank Warner. Called Strands of Death, and starring Santas Ortega in the role of Henry. Do you love your wife? Do you enjoy buying her a handsome fur piece, perfume, jewel, or nylon? Do you wonder secretly what you would do if the finery you bought her was used by her to win another man so that she could leave you? Oh, you can't answer, can you? Well, this is the story of one man who can make my Henry Turner. I should have known at once that morning in the office when Judson was reading the newspaper aloud that something was wrong. The unidentified body of a young woman strangled with a brand new pair of nylons was found last night. Unidentified? Yeah. In the hallway of a roomy house at 72 Beach Street. Unidentified? Near the body which was fully clothed, police found a handbag containing a sales slip from the Silver Tone Hosiery Company. Incredible. Police had lost it. I don't know if it was carried identification, charge account, keys. Nice to discover. And a second pair of nylons. What? If it wasn't, Ellen? No, no. Of course it was, Ellen. Well, that's a pretty piece of news, eh, Turner? By the way, you bought some nylons for your wife the other day, didn't you? So what's the matter, you sick? I was really sick, Johnson wanted to know. I wonder what his face would have looked like. But I told him right there that the police were wrong, that the body could be identified. And it was Ellen, my wife. I went to the police. The body was at the morgue. This way, sir. And here it is. That's steady. No. No. It's not Mrs. Turner. It's not Ellen. I know how you feel. The shock of relief. But it wasn't relief. I walked from the morgue to our apartment. My brain was pounding with a question I hid it to face. It isn't your wife. Who is it? You didn't kill your wife. Who did you kill? I didn't know. I didn't know. I got to the apartment. Very exhausted. Questions unanswered. My foot kicked a telegram that had been slipped under the door. I tore it open. It was from my wife. From Ellen. The telegram was like a hand tearing the black curtain from my mind's eye. Could at last recall what had happened. What I had done. Why I had killed a strange woman. Thinking it was Helen. Squirreled across my brain like a crazy picture. And I came home after a hard day. Hello, baby. Hello. Gosh, I'm tired. Anything special for dinner? You could stand a good meal right now. What do you expect me to do? Slave over a hot stove for you? Oh, Ellen, please. I'm sorry. I'll enjoy whatever you've got. Maybe you will. I'm sick of potato salad and cold cuts. Oh, well. That's all you ever say, oh well. Look, darling, I'm tired. Let's not argue. Please. After all, things could be worse. You get your permanence, new dresses all the time, shoes, hats. I suppose you'd like me to wear a right. That's where you're wrong, baby. You're a good looker and you need pretty clothes. You can have all my money combined. Happy? Let's have a kiss, huh? Oh, I guess you're good to me, Henry. Let's eat. What I was really upset about, I suppose, is that I haven't got a single pair of nylons to wear with a new dress I got today. New dress? Lovely. You like it. I plan on wearing it tonight. Would look lovely with real, sheer nylons. Tonight? Oh, I didn't tell you. Girls are having a bridge over at Margie's. I won't stay long. Do you mind, Henry? I'm not very hungry. I'll slip into the dress if you don't mind. Good idea. Potato salad's very good tonight. My compliments, Mr. Schmidt, darling. Hey. That is stunning. You like it? And how? Yeah, you certainly should be wearing nylons with that dress. Yes, sir. Oh, well... Would you mind, darling, I bought a carton of cigarettes in my briefcase in the hall, please? Oh, yeah, I'd better take a pack with me. Oh, they're lovely. Doing nothing of it. Anytime you want nylons, just call on me. And where? Did you have much trouble? Ma'am, did you say trouble? Nothing at all. I just stood in line for three hours on my own shop. Of course, it rained for about two hours. But after all, nylons... Henry, you're wonderful. Oh, I'm crazy about them. I'll put them right on. Oh, Margie and the girls will eat the hearts out. If you permit my saying so, ma'am, you sure have a pretty pair of legs. Don't be late, will you? Darling, I'll be back as soon as I can. Bye. I sat around listening to the radio and reading the paper, waiting for Helen to come back. Oh, hello, Margie. Didn't... didn't she... Oh, she went out about... two hours ago. Why? I'll tell her. How's your bridge party? I wear Margie. All right. Good night. Bridge party? Tomorrow night. Margie's... tried to sleep. I couldn't. I rolled around from side to side. Thinking. Thinking. Wondering. It was no use. I got out of bed. I paced the floor. I didn't dare call Doddy's... Helen, where are you? Why do you expect to get home? I managed to get dressed and shaved. I don't recall. I don't know how long I walked the streets. My briefcase was in my hand. I must have parted from one account to another because my sales book shows that I took orders for some of my firm's new carpeting that day. These things, I don't recall at all. But the line. The nylon line. Strange that I shouldn't remember getting on it. All I know is that... suddenly I found myself part of it. How long I'd been on line, I don't recall. I told myself I had no business being on this line. I should have been out getting orders. But I felt chained to the line. Waiting for the store to open. Finally the line started moving. I asked for the same size and shade I bought for Helen. Then I saw her leaving the store. I walked after her. Helen! Yes. Oh, I thought you were... Helen? Yes, I... I hope you'll excuse me. Did you get some nylon? Yes. Sometimes I wonder whether it's worth the trouble just for one pair. So exhausting. I could stand the cocktail. Why are you looking at me like that? Where shall we have it, Helen? You go again, Helen. You sure have Helen on your mind. Call me, Louie. We had the cocktails. And then dinner. And I walked to home. And the hallway. It's all light seems to be out all the time. I am. But a lovely evening. You really need those nylons? I reached over to kiss her. She turned her head. She swung her back to me. I put my arms around her waist. I kissed her neck. What's Helen got that I haven't got? I got them for you, Helen. What's she? Rosie Dawn. They look smooth and soft, they are. They look lovely. They're pretty white. A tickling one. What are you... Look lovely. Around your pretty white. For you, Helen. For you. That's what happens in a dark hallway when a girl embarks on, um, what do we say, sheer folly? Oh, Mr. Host. To think there probably were people who would have helped Louise just inside that doorway. But they couldn't hear her, Mary. Nylon stockings aren't like chains. They don't rattle when they're wrapped around someone's throat. Well, at that hour of the night folks aren't expecting murders on their doorsteps. The family was probably out in the kitchen having a last-minute snack before bedtime. The radio was on and they were all listening to the latest news headlines. Meanwhile, Mother would be fixing up a plate of sandwiches and brewing up a pot of Lipton Tea. For Lipton Tea would surely be part of the picture. Served with a late evening snack, it gives a happy ending to the day. And because it's so relaxing and enjoyable, a piping hot cup of Lipton's adds extra delight to any meal. Why waste time just thinking about it? Why not get a package of Lipton Tea tomorrow and treat yourself to its mellow, full-bodied flavor? Remember, Lipton's gives you brisk flavor. Wonder whether Henry's realized his sheer recklessness. Pretty thin, isn't it? Poor fellow has just strangled Louise. A Nylon-Carly baby, if ever there was one. Under the impression he was killing his wife, Helen. Let's see what else he had to say about the telegram he just got from his dear, dear wife. The telegram I held in my shaking hands convinced me of the horrible truth. It wasn't Helen I had murdered. The telegram was dated the very night in which I had strangled the unidentified woman. I'll be home in a couple of days to pick up my clothes. Please don't be too unhappy. Please don't be too unhappy. There wasn't. It was beyond that. It would never be unhappy again. Oh, happy. I felt only one desire. Kill Helen. I passed an island line again. The next day, I walked by. I was drawn back to it. I joined the line. I didn't move fast enough. I felt a slight bump from behind. I turned. I'm sorry. Helen. You must be mistaken. I'm sorry. We got in just in time. They're closing. Slow down. Wish my husband would stand in line. Oh dear, it's down into rain. Can I drop you off my cars around the corner? We drove a bit into the country. She was nice. Just bored. We pulled into a side road. Was out of town so much? My arm was around her shoulder. She snuggled against me. The same heady perfume. Helen's perfume. My pre-hand reached for the bag with an island. Thanks, dear. They hung around her like a necklace. I... Thanks. I knew sooner or later they'd get me. But I couldn't help it. All I knew was that I had to kill Helen. I knew I would have to kill anyone who reminded me of Helen. Until... Until Helen herself was home. Yes, commissioner. We've got all the men out. Yes, I'm assigning Keating to it. I'll keep you informed. Goodbye. Uh, Keating. Yes, inspector? Come in, please. Commissioner on you again? We've got to do something and do it fast. The city's going crazy. I don't have an idea, but it may work. Now, you know the details. Both women wore the same size stockings, same shade. Both used the same perfume, same size clothes. Both pretty, same color hair. Eyes, uh, yours, uh... Want me to dye my hair? Right. Now, those nylons. Both pairs and the extra pairs found on the women came from a silver-toned shop on Madison Avenue. What about a fur coat? Can I take your pick of the two with a poverty clerk? He may lay low for a while. With a panic on. There are chances on that. But if this is the work of a madman and it looks like it, he'll try it again. I'll drop everything. We'll arrange to have you hang around the counter. The shade is rosy dawn. Size 9.5, 51 gauge. There'll be more than one man asking for that. It's the Vogue right now, you know. Yeah, we'll have to take our chances. Yes, mister, what's yours? Like, up your mind, mister, there's lots of people waiting for you. Oh, I beg your pardon. I was just looking over there. I don't recognize them. Size and shade, please. Rosy dawn, 9.5, 51 gauge. Sit down there. I'll get them. Rosy dawn, 9.5, 51 gauge. Lieutenant Keating. Thank you. Would you mind stepping up this way, ma'am? This is the last box. That gentleman wants a pair, too. No, not at all. Oh, I beg your pardon. Helen. Oh, you must be mistaken. Please, dollar 65. Thank you. I'm sorry to keep staring at you. You still think I'm Helen? You could be. Well... Care for a lift? I'm taking a cab to 51st and 3rd Avenue. I don't mind. I'll live down near 2nd. Stop, driver. I thought you said... What are you looking at? That cab in front of the house, a woman getting out. My wife, Helen. Those bags. Hey, walk heavy. Keep the change. I'll just sit here until she goes in. So, hubby wanted to play while wifey was away. What's that? Oh, I'm sorry. I need these nylons now for my wife. Driver, take the lady down to 2nd Avenue. Then come back to me in about 15 minutes. Let's see how it goes, lady. I'll be getting out here, too, as soon as he goes into the building. Yes, darling. It's me. You scared me. I scared you. Mild, meek, adoring Henry. Your husband. Scared you. Don't talk like that, Henry. I explained everything in my wire. You got it, didn't you? Your wire? Yes, my darling. Made everything clear. Very clear. The cold and the wind and the rain. I'm standing in line for hours and dollars. For nylons. My darling. Don't come near me. Stay away from me. I'll build a home, darling. I brought you some nylons. Look. Ready? I really don't need them. I've got plenty. You won't need any more after these need any more nylons. I could hear trying to revive Helen. It was no use. She had come in too late. And she bent over me. Summoning what strength I had. I grabbed her leg. As I had hit the wall, the gun dropped. I grabbed it. You're the nylon murderer, aren't you? Yes. You're a detective. You're very smart. What are you going to do? Strange. I wanted to kill you. And I saw you in the store. Lieutenant Keating. No. No, but Helen is gone. I... I feel at peace. I don't want to kill anyone. I know how you feel, Henry. I love it. You believe that, don't you? Sure. She was no good. Get up. What for? Get up, I said. I won't go over to that closet. Go on. Open the door. Don't turn around. Don't try anything or I'll have to shoot. Walk in. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This Keating can come and get you. You all right? Nasty bump, Inspector. Did he get away? He was bleeding pretty badly. Now the blood leads into the bedroom. They're crazy fools. They hang themselves. With nylons. Crazy? I wonder. Cut him down, Brady. Too late, Inspector. There's a note on the floor. That's it. We'll understand. Do you, Lieutenant? Yes, Inspector. I do. Now wasn't that a wasteful cup? Imagine cutting poor Henry down. Ruined a perfectly good pair of nylons. He should have untied the knot. Well, one way or another it goes to prove that when you've got a case of nylons, you've got your hands full. As for poor Henry, one way or another, he faces a long stretch. Well, there's one good thing about it, Mr. Host. With Henry dead, ladies can stand in nylon lines once again without being afraid. Yes, Mary, tomorrow is another and a happier day for the ladies. Oh, but it needn't be just for the ladies, Mr. Host. Tomorrow can be a red-letter day for their families, too. That is, if they remember to put Lipton Tea on tomorrow's grocery order tonight. How about that, friends? Jot it down right now so you'll surely remember. You'll be doing yourself and your family a good turn. Because you'll all love Grand Lipton Tea. Everybody does. Because Lipton's has such delightful brisk flavor. Because it's so satisfying and zestful. Don't let another day go by without trying it, will you? Tomorrow, be sure it's Lipton Tea you ask for and Lipton's you get. Lipton Tea has that wonderful brisk flavor. And now, friends, before I bid you a fond farewell, I must tell you about the wife of a friend of mine who smokes nylon cigarettes. Yes, it burns her up. She has to roll her own, but she sure gets a run for her money. Oh, by the way, this month's inner sanctum mystery novel is The Lying Lady by Robert Finnegan. And next week, the makers of Lipton Tea and Lipton Soups bring you another inner sanctum story directed by Hyman Brown, starring Victor Moore, the famous Hollywood and Broadway star. It's called Murders in the Moor, a scalp-raising toe-tingling story about a little man and a big knife and girl. Lots of girls. But most of them will be no good to anybody because they end up dead. Until next week then, and our special star, Victor Moore. Good night. Pleasant dreams. For tomorrow's lunch, let's see. Now, why not serve cream salmon with peas? And lead off with a soup that's super. Wonderful Lipton's noodle soup. You've never tasted better fresh cooked chickeny goodness in your life than you get in homemade tasting Lipton's noodle soup. Now that I can promise you, it's easy to prepare too and cost less, yet makes lots more than ordinary canned soups. So why not get a supply tomorrow of Lipton's noodle soup and tune in next week for another inner sanctum mystery. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.