 Suspense! Radio's outstanding theatre of thrills brings you an hour of suspense. A full 60 minutes of The Larger, an eerie tale of 19th century London directed by William N. Robson and produced by Robert Montgomery, who tonight also stars as The Larger. This is Robert Montgomery, with a few words about a city, a sprawling, furious city which had slackened its pace to allow the miasma of horror to settle even to its furthest corners. I say horror, but there was a fascination too, for there is always a fascination where there is violent death. The city, it was London, and the year was 1888, a London terrorized by the fifth in a succession of horrible murders. Such is the very real setting for The Larger, for Mrs. Bellick Lowne's novel is based on fact. It was almost certain that these deeds were the work of one person, for this meager identity was established by the victims themselves. They were all young, all attractive women. It was the killer, still at large, who absorbed the imagination of the great city, the killer who had taken special pains to make it clear that some obscure and terrible lust for vengeance possessed him. And because of him, laughter was forced, conversations waned, and there were silences where there should have been good talk between neighbors. Only in homes, doors bolted and blinds drawn was the talk easy. As for example, in the home of Ellen Bunting, in particular, Ellen Bunting. Ellen was no different from all the middle-aged housewives dwelling in London's squalid Whitechapel district. Her home was a small segment plastered into a block-long tenement in Mariborne Road. Ellen read the newspapers as avidly as she said her prayers, so she knew all the facts of the case. And she knew it was quite proper to refer to the wielder of the knife as the Avenger. This particular night, she and Robert Bunting, her husband, sat before their fireplace, reading the newspaper account of the latest murder. The Avenger had struck again. It might be anybody. It might be the fellow you pass on the street, the one standing next to you, the man you bump into. Oh, it's a terrible thought. Yes, if only the police had something to go on, but the Avenger's just too quick for him. Oh, they do say here, Bunting, that the police have a clue they won't say anything about. They move says that says wrong. The poor chap who was on point duty in the street where the last one happened, he hears a yell, he says, but it took no notice. The cop has left a stick to it better than that to catch a slick one like the Avenger. Huh? It says here he left his calling card again. A bit of grey paper on which the monster writes his name. Funny kind of visiting card, ain't it? It isn't a thing to make a joke about, Bunting. Or was it a square piece of paper or one of them three cornered ones? They don't say which, Bunting. Well, it should. Those are the things I like to know about. Keeps a body informed. Huh. And a fair girl again, just like all the rest. And let's see. Described by her friends as a very light-hearted girl. What a pity. Did you ever stop to think who fits that to a T? In fact, fits all those girls. Did you ever stop to think about that, Ellen? Well, I know. Who? My own Daisy. Yes. Yes, Bunting, that's a fact. Well, maybe it's a good thing she's with her aunt instead of here. London ain't a safe place for any girl right now. Just the same. I can't help thinking how fine it'll be to have a bed. Now, Bunting, you know that Daisy seems like my very own, even if she is my stepchild. But I'm telling you, there's no sense even thinking about having her back right now. We just can't afford it. Oh, I know that, Ellen. Only, well, maybe we could manage it somehow. Oh, haven't I scrimped myself off crazy trying to keep us going? But you don't care about that, do you? No, your Daisy's more important to you than I am. Now, now, Ellen, don't sound like you. We haven't had a larger for months. Nobody even comes to look at the rooms anymore. Oh, but things will work out, Ellen. They ain't never going to work out. Soon we won't even have a roof over our heads. Oh. I'm sorry, Robbie. Oh, no. Well, don't go worrying, another second, old girl. Well... Oh, the first thing you know, you won't be pretty no more. What? Well, you'll have your face all wrinkled and... No, see you, Bunting. Oh, come on. Let's see a smile. Leave me alone. I won't... I'll get on with you. Who do you suppose that could be? It's awfully light for visitors. I...Bunting. Do you think it could be somebody looking for rooms? It just might be. You want me to go to the door? No, I go. Mike, like it's not as Mrs. Fane wanting to loan you something or other. Now, you'll be sure to get a good look before you let anyone in here. I'm coming. I'm coming. Yes, sir? Is it not true that you'll let lodgings? Yes, sir. Won't you come in, sir? Thank you. Could I...could I take your cape, sir? Thank you. However, there's no need. I am looking for rooms, quiet rooms. Above all, they must be quiet. Oh, yes, sir. You'll find all my rooms quite quiet, sir. All of them? How many are there? Well, just now I have four left. The house is empty, say, for my husband and me, sir. Oh, that sounds very suitable. You'll pardon me, sir, but the door... I am happy that you closed the door, madam. It's not safe to leave one open in London these days. That is a thing you should remember. It would be so easy for anyone to slip in. Are you sure, sir? You needn't be afraid of that. Now, your bag. May I... No. No, I'll hold it. If you'll be so good as to show me the rooms. Oh, yes. Yes, sir. They're right up these stairs, sir. Thank you. This way. Thank you. You see, sir, there's just my husband and me here, and we're ever so quiet, and I'm sure you'll find these rooms dear-liking, sir. Here we are. Now, I'll just light the gas. There. Ah. It's very good. It is pleasant, isn't it, sir? Some capital? First rate? Quite first rate? Exactly what I wanted. You must understand, madam, that I am a man of science, and I often require the presence of great heat. This seems like a capital store. Oh, it is, sir. And the sink. It will be exceedingly useful to me. Exceedingly. And these pictures, sir. There's not many rooms as such pretty pictures are there now. The three graces. They've been in the family for years, sir. Yes, yes, yes, I... I'm tired. Tired, very, very tired. Indeed, sir. Then you mean to take my rooms? Where's my bag? Surely I had a bag when I came in. It's over there, sir. By the door where you put it when we came into the room. Oh, yes, I beg your pardon, madam. But there is something in that bag which is very precious to me, something I procured with infinite difficulty and which I could never come by again without getting into great danger. Sure of it, sir. Now about the rooms. Oh, yes, yes, yes. I'll take them. The very simplicity, the bareness of them impresses me. And about terms, sir? About terms. My name is Sleuth, madam. S-L-E-U-T-H. Think of a hound and you will never forget my name. And assure yourself that I am quite willing to pay you. I am quite willing to pay you, shall we say, a month's rent in advance. What would you say to 15 shillings a week, sir? And if I offered you £2, might I then rely on your not taking another larger? Oh, yes, sir. First trade, first trade. Then everything seems quite suitable, Mrs. Bunting, sir. Mrs. Bunting, Mrs. Bunting. You see, I expected to do a great deal of studying here in this room. The Holy Bible. Oh, yes, sir. And please, sir, let me help you with your love. No, no, don't touch it. But, sir, I only wish to... Of course, of course, Mrs. Bunting. You only wish to help. You must forgive me. It's just that I am so very weary. Oh, I'm sorry, sir. He bringeth them to their desired haven. Beautiful words, Mrs. Bunting. Indeed they are, sir. And now at last I've found my haven of rest. I'll be going now, sir. Is there anything else? Oh, yes, of course. Of course there is your money, Mrs. Bunting. And now let's see, here's five, six, seven, eight pounds there. Thank you, sir. And would you wish supper now? Tea? Nothing, thank you. Good night, sir. Good night, Mrs. Bunting. Stop it! You are humming a song. The music, Mrs. Bunting, saved that expressing the majesty of God is an accompaniment for irreverent gaiety and an instrument of sin. It bespeaks of obscene gods in revelry. It is the tongue of the devil mocking the saints. Yes, sir. And you? You assured me. Your dwelling was quiet. But it is. Believe me, sir. I didn't mean any harm. Believe me, sir. Of course, of course. I am sorry, Mrs. Bunting. I fear I spoke sharply. I don't wish you to think me rude. After all, you have been so very kind. So considerate. Oh, well, I hope I know a gentleman when I see one. Thank you. Thank you very much. And on second thought, Mrs. Bunting, perhaps a bit of bread and butter would be pleasant. Bread and butter? Certainly, sir. I'll have it in an instant. Ellen, did he take the room? Come into the kitchen where he won't hear us. Ellen, he took it. Tell me. He took the room, didn't he? Yes, Robbie. We're all right now. Look, eight pounds a month in advance. Oh, it's wonderful. It's wonderful. Ellen. Oh, Ellen. You see what this means? Yes, Robbie. You can have Daisy now. You can bring her home. Here, hand me that dish. Right. Do you know something, old girl? We're not going to worry too much about Daisy being in danger that Avenger fellow. Whatever do you mean, Robbie? Well, she's not one for dancing, you know, or any kind of like entertainment. Then what's that to do with it, please? Something I read here in the paper while you was with the gentleman. They found out that every one of the Avenger's victims had just come from a dancing party or a musical. Oh, never mind the Avenger now, Bunting. Here, hurry. Take this bread and butter up to the larger. That was the first and the last time Mr. Bunting served the larger. The man who called himself Sleuth made it at once clear that he preferred to be waited on only by one person and that person, his landlady. He gave her very little trouble. His oddities were something to occupy her mind. They amused her. And Mr. Sleuth had none of those tires some disagreeable ways with which landlady's are only too familiar. To take but one point, Mr. Sleuth did not ask to be called unduly early. It was a great comfort not to have to turn out to make the larger a cup of tea at seven. Or even half past seven. Mr. Sleuth seldom required anything before eleven. Nothing about her new larger really distressed Ellen until the evening of the third day. It was time for Mr. Sleuth's dinner and she started up the staircase to his room. Oh. And as strong men have constrained by her. Come in. She saith unto him, stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant. But he knoweth not that the dead are there and that our guests are in the depths. Oh, I missed him. Yes. What is it? Those pictures. Those pretty girls. Half human monsters, madam, who stare at me in each of my sinew. You've turned all their faces to the wall. A woman is a narrow gate. She also lieth and waiters for a play and increases the transgressors among men. That strange action was the beginning of Ellen's concern. Logically, it was nothing. Mr. Sleuth simply had a queer kind of fear and dislike of women. And where one's larger is concerned, a dislike of women is better than well, the other kind. Besides, the next morning brought Daisy and laughing welcomes for the sight of such a carefree girl was enough to gladden any parents' heart and half-born suspicions withdrew into their own peculiar recesses of Ellen's brain. For Daisy was pink-cheeked, blue-eyed and gay. She was also young and lovely. And she was blonde. It's so good to be home. Oh, Daisy, you're even prettier than I remembered you would be. That's right, Daisy. Let me look at you, darling. Did you have a nice time at your aunties? Oh, yes. I'm glad you wrote me to come back. My aunt has nothing to do. There's nothing exciting to do. And Joe will be coming around to see you now, Daisy. I told him you was coming home today. Joe Chandler? That police? I want to be serious friends with a policeman. Him that walks around all day and's too tired when he comes home to have any fun. A girl could do worse than ever policeman for a friend these days with the Avenger about. The Avenger don't worry me none. Even though he's got two more victims last night. Two more? Yes, the cabbie was telling me about it on the way down from the station. Slit devil. Got him within a few yards of each other. He's got a nerve. Daisy, you talk like you've been taken in by him. Oh, mother. Ooh, that'll be Joe I'm thinking. I'll go, father. Daisy. Hello, Joe. It's nice to see you. I've missed you something terrible. It's nice of you to say so. Won't you come in? Thank you. Good afternoon, Mrs. Bunting. Mr. Bunting. Hello, Joe. Daisy was just telling us she heard from a cabbie that the Avenger's struck a game. Aye, that he has. What tell us about it, Joe? Have they got any clues? Well, they have and they haven't. But the yard is circulating a description at last. Well, go on tell us, Joe. Well, it ain't given out to the public yet. But I guess you folks aren't the public. Of course not. Well, this is the way we got it at 8 o'clock this morning. Wanted. A man of age approximately 28. Height 5 feet 8 inches. Complexion dark. No beard or whiskers. Wearing a black diagonal coat. Hard felt hat. High white collar and tie. Very respectable appearance. What I'd like to know is why unearthed the people who saw him try and catch him. Well, it's this way, Daisy. No one person did see all that. You see, at such time when the murders took place, not much of anybody was about, especially on a foggy night. One woman declares that she saw a chap walking away from the spot where he's done. And another one says the Avenger passed her by. And well, the inspector who has charge of that sort of thing looked up what other people said and well, that's how he made up this wanted. Well, did they find the murder weapon yet? No. No, but from the condition of the bodies they know what it's like. What is the condition of the bodies? Daisy. Daisy, you ought to see the way he... Joe! I guess I'd better not go into that. But I can say that the inspector described the murder weapon as a peculiar kind of knife. Keen as a razor and pointed as a dagger. And the Avenger knows how to use it. I'd give anything, Joe. I'd give anything to see that locks up a knife like that. You cruel, bloodthirsty girl. I'll let you. Of course I'd like to see it. It'd be fine looking at a knife like that. Well, if they catch him and you come along with me to see our black museum at the yard, you'll certainly see the knife. Black museum? Why, what? Ever did they have a museum in your place, four? Oh, it's a regular chamber of horrors where they keep all sorts of things connected with crime. Things like knives, murders are being committed with? Oh, much more than knives, Mr. Bunting. Why, they've got there in little bottles the real poison what people have been done away with. And can you go there whenever you like? Why, of course. And I can take you too. And your daddy, if he wants it. Well, what do you say to the day, Joe? The three of us. Daisy and you and me. I don't expect Ellen would want to go. To turn me sick. Well, I guess I could. Sure you could, Joe. Ellen ain't on in this turn. She can just stay home and mind the cat. I'll beg his pardon, I mean the lodger. I won't have Mr. Sleuth laughed at. I'm sure it's very kind of you, Joe, to think of giving Bunting and Daisy such a rare treat. How curious, how amazing to reflect that one unseen, mysterious stranger had touched the lives of those ordinary people. Ellen and Bunting and Joe and Daisy. Here in this drab neighborhood on that bitterly cold, dreary day, here they had all been thinking of, talking of, evoking one unknown, mysterious personality that of the shadowy and yet terribly real human being who chose to call himself the Avenger. And the effect was a very real one. A sort of witchery. The very name Avenger seduced common sense and somehow even Mrs. Bunting realized the irony of her presence among such talk. While this thought threaded vaguely through her mind she took her tea, doing everything as was her way with a certain delicate and clean precision. A sound startled her. Shuffling, hesitating steps were creaking down the house. She looked up and listened. Surely the lodger was not going out again into the cold and foggy afternoon? Of course not. Mr. Sleuth was evidently about to do something that he had never done before. He was coming down into the kitchen. Yes, sir? What can I do for you, sir? I hope you didn't ring, sir. No, I didn't. The truth is I didn't know you were here, Mrs. Bunting. My gas stove has gone wrong. Yes? So I came down to see if you had a gas stove. I'm going to ask you to allow me to use it tonight for an important experiment I wish to make. You'll find it very cold down here, sir. It seems most warm. Warm and cozy after my cold room upstairs. For the matter of that, you ought to have a fire in your bedroom. Certainly not. I dislike an open fire. I thought I had told you as much. Yes, I remember. Very good, sir. I'll be out of the kitchen in half an hour. You can use it then, sir. Thank you all the same, Mrs. Bunting. But I shall come down later. All together later, after you and your husband have gone to bed tonight. I assure you I will pay you something for Mrs. Bunting. Oh, no, sir. I wouldn't think of charging you anything for that. That's very generous of you. Sometimes I believe that you are too generous towards me. I feel I have become a burden to you. Have I, Mrs. Bunting? Oh. No, sir. Then I'll bid you good afternoon, Mrs. Bunting. Yes, sir. It was as simple as that. A simple request by her lodger. Another part of Alan's mind seemed to be working independently of requests, asking her insistent questions. The house seemed to her alive with alien presences, and she would catch herself listening. Which was absurd, for, of course, she could not hope to hear what Mr. Sleuth was doing two flights upstairs. She wondered briefly on what the lodger's experiments consisted. It was odd that she had never been able to discover what it was he really did with that gas stove. All she knew was that he used a very high degree of heat. And later, waiting for sleep to come to her that night, such thoughts persisted. They inserted themselves like a cloud between a sweet dream and the dreaming of it. Questions. Questions and contrived answers and sudden realizations, as, for example, the curious matter of Mr. Sleuth's three suits, which he had purchased the very day he had arrived at Alan's home. Today, when she had dusted his room, she had noticed that one of those suits had completely disappeared. It was intensely dark, intensely quiet, the darkest, quietest hour of the night when Mrs. Bunting was awakened by sounds at once unexpected and familiar. Her sleep had been restless with constant disturbing images, and so when she heard the first stealthy footsteps outside her bedroom, she was fully conscious. Tensely, she followed those steps down the stairs, down the hallway. She heard the front door open, and then click shut. Utter stillness fell upon the house. And outside the streets were so silent she could hear distinctly the clock from a church tower a mile away told the hour. In her troubled fancy, she pictured a long, long figure plodding through the swirling fog, moving quietly, stealthily, seeking, stalking, finding. When soon after, she heard the larger return, there was no surseys from the horrible dread which possessed her. Instead it grew into something shrill, something that made her crouch in her bed, her thumb clasped between her teeth, stifling a scream. And then she remembered of course the stove. The larger had told her she would use the stove that night for an experiment. For an experiment that needed an intense amount of heat. But for Ellen there was no more sleep. Nearly a tormented state of half-awareness which suddenly stripped away soon after dawn. Horrible murder, the piercing scream of a news boy down in the street. Ellen Bunting heard the boy cry out the avengers' latest stroke made during the night. With the power of suspense, Mr. Robert Montgomery appears in the title role as The Larger. Tonight study in suspense. In just a moment, we will return with act two of suspense. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. Now, back to our Hollywood sound stage. With Mr. Robert Montgomery in the title role and with act two of The Larger, we again say to keep you in suspense. When Mrs. Bunting went down to her kitchen that morning everything looked just as she had left it except that the cavernous white-washed room seemed to be filled with an accurate kind of fog and the smell of burned cloth. She twisted a newspaper, lighted it then stooped and flung open the door of her gas stove. A fierce heat had been generated there since she had last used the oven and through to the stone floor below had fallen a mass of stringy black soot. Somehow she wasn't surprised. Somehow it was as she expected. Yet her first glimpse that morning of the gray-faced larger all but banished her sleeper's night's terror. Mr. Sleuth looked lonely. Very, very lonely and forlorn. There was a kind of pitiable helpless weariness in his eyes. She found she was hoping desperately that her unspoken fears were unfounded and she knew that she must be certain. Certain before she voiced her fears to a soul. And there was one thing she could do. Examine the larger's single piece of luggage. What could it hold? Not much in the way of clothing, surely. It was too small, too narrow. It was more like a case. A case for a knife. It was just noon when Ellen found her opportunity to search the larger's room. When the bell was tolling the hour, Mr. Sleuth himself walked from the house and she watched the tall, thin figure in the black Inverness cape disappear down the street. She waited a few minutes and then she rushed upstairs. Daisy! What are you doing in Mr. Sleuth's room? Oh, whatever's the matter with you, mother? Oh... Well, I'm... I'm all right. But you've gone white. You gave me a fright, child. I'll bet Father a sixpence before you'd mention it. You see, I've won. Oh... Well, are you glad you've come home, Daisy? Oh, you don't know how fond it is to be back again. Well, just yesterday I was saying to Joe the country's all rotten its way, but there's nothing like London. It's a truth now, mother, isn't it? Yes. Yes, I suppose it is. And Joe... he's a nice one, mother. I like Joe. I'm glad of that. Joe's a steady one. Daisy. Daisy, as long as that avenges about, I say you should do something about those fair locks of yours. Don't worry about that. I'll die, maybe, or just pin them up under my hat. I'm afraid that wouldn't do, Daisy. What kind of a man is this? Larger of yours? Oh, I don't know. He must be a queer one sitting up here most all day by himself. Awful, lonely, like I call it. People do what they care to do, child. Well, whatever does he do with himself all day? He reads. He reads the Bible. Oh, never. That's a funny thing for a gentleman to do. There's nothing to laugh at. I should feel ashamed of being caught laughing at anything connected with the Bible. He must be a queer card, that lodger. He's no queerer than a lot of people I could mention. Daisy, you go into the lodger's sitting room and dust up. I'll take care of things in here. And... you won't send me back to old aunt's? I can stay here, mother, can't I? I suppose, child. I suppose you can. And Mrs. Bunting went about her work. Quickly she moved to the closet. The contents were a bit different from the last time. Another one of her lodgers' new suits had disappeared, but somehow she expected that too. It fitted with the smell of burned cloth she'd noticed that morning in the kitchen. But she found nothing under the bed. She went then to the chest of drawers against the wall. She opened the top drawer and found inside nothing but a frayed shirt and two handkerchiefs. The next drawer, under clothes and socks. The next, empty. There remained then only one possible place for the small narrow bag. The bottom drawer. And it was locked. Tugging at the drawer, she heard suddenly the opening of the door behind her. Panic stricken, she froze to the spot and then slowly, ever so slowly she turned her head. Mr. Sleuth! Mrs. Bunting? You... you've invaded my privacy? Why, I... I was just... My cupboard door is awry! Does this mean that you have been searching my room? It's about her snuffbox, sir. My husband, Bunting, that is. Remember the old snuffbox. He thought still much... Does this mean that I must keep each drawer locked to prevent your spying upon me? Oh, no, sir. You see, sir, Bunting has a very eye opinion of that snuffbox. Quickly, tell me, who is this? This is my step-daughter, sir. Daisy, she just arrived yesterday, sir. You see... She's been away for quite a long while, sir. We really didn't know when she was returning home, Mr. Sleuth. That's why I didn't mention Daisy when you took the rooms. And I must say, sir, that I was surprised to hear about us taking in a lodger and pleased about it, too, sir. Yes. Yes, I... I must say that I am the one who was surprised. Yes. And perhaps even pleased. Thank you, sir. Yes, of course, I am pleased. There are, Miss Daisy, all kinds of pleasures are there not. Yes. I'm sure there are. The despicable evil joy of the abandoned. Those who seek the darkness to sip the juice of forbidden fruit. Surely. Surely, Miss Daisy, you shun such pleasure as that. Oh, yes. That is hospital. A vast difference, that from the divine happiness of the blessed. With clean hands and pure heart. You do understand me, don't you? Oh, yes, sir. Yes, Mr. Sleuth. I divided hope so, Miss Daisy. Nowadays there are so very few young women like yourself who do understand. In fact, I all but despaired ever of finding one. Oh, I'm sure it's nice of you to say so, Mr. Sleuth. It is the people who do err in their hearts and they have not known my ways. If you... It is my wrath that they should not enter onto my rest. True words, Miss Daisy. True. Yes, sir. Now, I must be putting things away downstairs, Mr. Sleuth. Of course, Miss Daisy. And I must rest. Believe me, it has been a revelation to meet you. Oh, thank you, sir. I'm sure we shall have much to discuss. He's a quill and all right, mother. He's such a gentleman, isn't he? At that moment, Ellen had been determined to pour out her terrible knowledge, but the moment was fleeting and Ellen's resolve fled with it. She told herself that perhaps the past few days had been nothing more than a tormenting play of imagination. There would be a coroner's inquest tomorrow into the Avengers' last murder. Joe would take her. With Joe they would admit her and there perhaps she would hear evidence to disprove all her fears, to assure her there was no earthly harm in Daisy's being so near the Lager. This was her gravest concern now, for on the next morning, Mr. Sleuth made it a point to see the girl more than once. And fearfully, Ellen saw that Daisy welcomed the visits that her eyes shined whenever the Lager's name was mentioned. That afternoon, she heard once more the voices of her stepdaughter and the Lager coming to her through the kitchen door. She hesitated before entering tense, apprehensive. Such funny ideas. Sleuth was just saying... Perhaps Daisy, you would excuse yourself. It makes people, and especially girls, should spend all their time praying. I sought to explain to her, Mrs. Bunting, that all women are placed on this earth filled with wickedness. I'm not so sure of that, Mr. Sleuth. And they therefore must cleanse from themselves that evil which they possess. They must struggle constantly to find a solution. Sleuth, you mean a girl's not in sure laugh at all, not have any fun? Frivolity, my child, is the harbinger of destruction. It is the devil's breeding ground, and all his implements are there. Temptation, pleasure, wine. Well, there's nothing I like better than a glass of wine, and I'm not... You drink? She didn't know what you were saying, Mr. Sleuth. Just a child. She never tasted wine. Daisy, you'd better go now. There are those who consort with temptation, with impropriety, with illicitious music and dancing. Those are the occurst... That's crazy. There's nothing I like better than an evening of dancing. You dance? She's joking, Mr. Sleuth. That's why she's joking with you. Daisy's just a child. She's never been one for dancing. She's never even learned how to dance. I can't learn, Mother, what I was and why. And what's so wrong about it? What's the harm in just a nice dance? Do you want to celebrate this for a pray and increase it to transgressors among men? I don't know what you mean. I'm sure I never heard such nonsense. You call holy scripture nonsense? So what I prayed against has come to pass. You are beyond salvation. That's not so. I'm a good girl. I am. I won't have you saying that. Daisy, go into the front room. It's quite all right, Mrs. Bunting. I must be going upstairs anyway. I'm used to being misunderstood, you know. People never realize that my efforts are for the greater good of humanity. They don't know that I'm their benefactor. Of course. And that power unhigh will direct my hand toward the expulsion of all evil. All the evil in the world. Daisy. Daisy, listen to me. Yes? Daisy, I've got to tell you about... I've got to tell you about... I've got to tell you about... I've got to tell you about... about... about what, Mother? Nothing. I suppose... nothing. Then I'll go out for a while. I'll tell Joe I'll meet him. Yes. Yes, I suppose it's... really... nothing. But there was something. Though the words had not yet shaped themselves in her mind, there was a knowledge stark and terrifying. It was as if a grinning face were leaning toward her, whispering and a hand at her back, thrusting her forward. Ellen ran up the steps. She had to know, and who, who but the lodger could tell her. Welcome, Mrs. Bunting. But I believe propriety dictates that you knock. Mr. Sleuth. Yes? It's... it's about... Daisy, sir. It's a disappointment to me, Madam. And I suppose to you. Yes. Yes, that must be it. You want me to help her seek salvation. You want me to kneel... Oh, no! No, sir. It isn't that at all. Well, then what is it, Madam? Come, I was preparing myself for a walk. It's a fine dark day for a walk. But surely you wouldn't go out now. It isn't fit for anyone to be out in that fog. You must be just, Ting, Mrs. Bunting. From this window I saw Miss Daisy go into the street not five minutes ago. Ha-ha. A very sweet-looking young girl, Miss Daisy. A pity she has estranged herself from innocence. You don't know what you're saying, Mr. Sleuth. Come to the window, Miss Bunting. Listen. How very quiet and still London is in the fog. Not a sound. Yes. Yes. It's very quiet today. Too quiet, I'm thinking. Quite natural, like... And I, for one, have a delicate feeling for nature. So now, Mrs. Bunting, if you'll excuse me, I... But aren't you afraid, Mr. Sleuth? Aren't you afraid of going outside? Afraid? Afraid of what? I was thinking of the police. The police? But what is man? What is man's puny power and his strength when set against act of the highest power? So Ellen had tried and she had failed. But even then, she had had her moment of triumph. Looking out of the window, she had seen Daisy arm in arm with Joe Chandler and smiling up into his face. She was relieved when the larger left the house. She needed this time for thinking. And now, she knew what she must do. In an hour or so, Daisy would be coming home with Joe and then she would ask him to take her to the coroner's inquest. She must give the larger that last benefit of doubt. And if that should fail, then she would tell Bunting or go to the police. And in an hour, as she expected. Uh-oh. It's me, Mrs. Bunting. I've come to see you about something. Mind if I come in? Yes, yes, come in, Joe. But where's Daisy? That's what I come to see you about, Mrs. Bunting. About Daisy. You see... Where is she, Joe? What's happened? Well, you see, we were walking and Miss Daisy asked to be by herself for a while for the reason that... No! Now, now, don't take on Mrs. Bunting. I don't think what I've got to say can take you by surprise. From the look or two, you've been casting me lately. Why, Joe? Whatever you're talking about. Well, like I say, Mrs. Bunting, it's your daughter. It's Daisy. I... I want her and I want to marry her. Mr. Bunting now said if it's all right with you, it... it's all right with him. Then Daisy's all right. Nothing's happened to my Daisy. Well, of course, of course she's all right. She told me she wanted to do some thinking about me and she... she didn't want me around while she'd done it. I left her with her daddy just a minute ago at the corner pub. Well... as far as I'm concerned, you have my blessing, Joe. Oh, that's mighty fine, Mrs. Bunting. And, Joe, I want you to do something for me. Of course I will. Just ask me, Mrs. Bunting. Joe, I... I want to go to the coroner's inquest tomorrow. Coroner? But why? I've got a reason for wanting to go there. I want you to take me, Joe. Well, I guess I could. Why, sure. Of course I'll take you, Mrs. Bunting. I'd be proud to take my future more any place she says. So the last frantic search for disproving evidence had begun. And the next day, with the knowledge that Bunting was left in the house to look after Daisy, Ellen boarded the underground train with Joe Chandler. During the last few days, all her perceptions had become sharpened by suspense and fear. She realized now, as she looked into the stullet but bewildered face of Joe, how she herself would have regarded any woman who wanted to attend such an inquiry from a simple, morbid feeling of curiosity. And yet, seated in the coroner's court, that was just what she was about to do herself. Seated near the rear of the room, listened to each of the witnesses, and from them she found none of the hope she had come for. For none of them had seen the Avenger like. But then, Miss Lizzie Cole may step forward. Right here, Miss Cole. Thank you. Now, we quite understand, Miss Cole, that you think you saw the individual who has perpetrated these terrible crimes. Let us begin at the beginning. What sort of hat was this man wearing? It was just a black hat. A black hat, thank you. And the coat. Were you able to see what sort of coat he was wearing? He hadn't no coat. I remember that very particular. He's a queer when I said. As it was so chilly, everybody as can wear some sort of coat this weather. But the statement you gave to the newspaper reporters says that the Avenger, according to you, was wearing a coat. A big, heavy coat. I never said so. I was made to say that. By the young man from the newspaper. He looked in what he liked in his paper he did. Not what I said at all. And he was certain that he looked at you, is that correct? Right, me after death he did. If you could really see his countenance, for we know that the night was dark and foggy, will you please tell me what he was like? Dark. He was dark. So it went with Miss Lizzie Cole. Most positively, most confidently, the witness declared the man she had seen hurrying by in the darkness was tall. He was short. He was thin. No, no, he was a stoutish young man. And as to whether he was carrying anything or not, Miss Cole absolutely refused to commit herself. The next witness was a Mr. Cannot. This elderly gentleman was certain that he had not only seen the Avenger, but that he had talked to him. It was near White Chapel he testified, only a few minutes before the murder, Mr. Coroner, when I saw him, he was quite a tall man, very grot looking. I see. And this man you think was the Avenger? You're quite certain that you met him on the very night he committed the murder we are now investigating? I do so declare, sir, and I might mention a thing about him to which you might attach importance. The man carried a bag, a rather light-colored leather handbag. A handbag, you say? Yes, sir. A small, narrow one, sir. It was such a bag as might contain a long-handled knife. A knife! Please, we must have quiet. Quiet. Now, Mr. Cannot, what made you suppose that this stranger could possibly be the Avenger? Well, this man, as he approached me in the fog, stopped and turned to me, and there was a very wild mad look on his face, sir, if I may say so. And he spoke to you? Well, as he emerged from the fog, he was talking aloud to himself. Then as he saw me, he said this night my friend a night fit for the commission of dark and salutary deeds. Yes, sir, that's exactly what he said, sir. Is that all? He had a rather high, hesitating voice, an educated man, I would judge, but quite, quite mad as I've told you, sir. Oh, what do you mean by that? Well, as he passed by then, he continued speaking to himself aloud. Oh, believe me, sir, believe me, he was reciting scriptures from the Bible. Scriptures from the Bible? Horrified Helen, half rose from her seat, only half hearing the confusion about her. Scriptures from the Bible, you say? I say. And you asked the court to believe that? I would say, Mr. Cannot, that the man we're looking for would be least of all a religious man. And that's where you're in error, Mr. Cannot. The religious note is the very key to the case. I'm convinced of that, sir. Very interesting. And now, if you please, you may stand down, Mr. Cannot. Just a moment, sir, just a moment. You must understand, sir, the man you're looking for must be a religious maniac. That is the only possible explanation. And you must understand, sir, time is going on. I have an important witness to call a medical witness. But certainly, you're not going... You may stand down, Mr. Cannot. Our court was dismissing the very truth. Ellen knew that. She could no longer keep silent. Her hand shot forth, and she screamed. I... I want you, sir! Ah! The urge of speaking, she had fainted. And then, when Ellen was revived a few minutes later, she said... she said nothing. Her brain was in too great a turmoil. Her nerves too shocked. Like one in a dream, she allowed herself to be led by Joe Chandler from the courtroom. Joe took his leave to go on duty. And as Ellen Bunting's train pulled away from the station, a new torture came to her. Forming in her mind was the awareness that if Sleuth were the murderer, she was equally responsible for his crimes. She had been giving him protection. If anything should happen to Daisy, she would be equally guilty. Fully as guilty as the Avenger. As Ellen neared her neighborhood, her threat was increased with each moving footstep, with each heavier boom of thunder from the rainstorm that was almost here. The grip of terror grew tighter and tighter about her. She moved faster and faster. If only she were in time. The first light drops of rain sprinkled her brow as she turned into Mariborne Road. Then she saw Bunting walking toward her. Sharply, like the dart of a knife blade, the one fact pierced her mind. Daisy was now alone with the lodger. Where is she? I say, where is Daisy? Where is she? I say, where? At home, at home, where are you? No! No! Try to understand. This is the Avenger. Go on, open the door. Spots of the evil. The knife! He's got the knife! Daisy! Paul Satanic lightning fell from heaven. In this woman I behold him. Bunting, Bunting, is she all right? Yes. Take her out, darling. No, Bunting. You can't stop the fire. We must save ourselves. Come away, Daisy. He's dead, Joe. He's dead. Aye. He's dead. There, Daisy, there. Don't try to talk about it. I'll tell you, Joe. It was queer it was. As if the Lord himself struck the ass with lightning and spread the fires of elder cleanse whatever the lodger had touched to burn down the house and all that's in it. Our house. Everything we own. No. Not everything, Ellen. Daisy's safe. That's all that should matter to us. She's safe. Thank heaven. Vengeance is mine, Seth the Lord. Death by act of God. Thus the final entry in Scotland Yard's record of the famous Avenger case. Yes. The day which brought an end to Mrs. Bunting's lodger brought also an end to the knife slangs which had terrorized London. But curiously enough there were those at Scotland Yard who were never quite sure that the charred remains of a man they removed from the ashes were indeed those of the Avenger. Any more than Mrs. Bellock Lownes who novelized the case was ever quite convinced. And there are those who will tell you that the real Avenger a tall man clad in an invenous cape a man almost exactly like Mr. Sleuth left England and came to America to live in a town near your town. He would be quite old now. But it may be true. Yes, perhaps as it is written in Holy Scripture he did fly upon the wings of the wind to walk as a stranger in many strange places. He knoweth now that the dead are there. Hast found me all my enemy? Beautiful words those don't you think beautiful words. This is Robert Montgomery without the invenous cape and I want to thank Jeanette Nolan who played Ellen and Peggy Weber who was Daisy for their splendid performances in tonight's play. Next week we have chosen a story whose elements are natural counterparts of suspense. I guess you could call it a love story. One kind of a love story for indeed there is a man and there is a woman who fall in love and they marry. It is probably only a mischance of fortune that the man has no material means and the woman comes from a family of substantial wealth and the dire chain reaction of events which are then set in motion against the bride's family are undoubtedly matters of mere coincidence I imagine. Yes, you could call it a love story. We'll leave it to your own good judgment after you hear Beyond Reason by Devry Freeman. Next week study in suspense. Mr. Montgomery may currently be seen in the Universal International production Ride the Pink Horse. The lodger was adapted for suspense by Robert Tullman and directed by William N. Robeson. Lud Glaskin is our musical director and conductor and Lucian Morrowek composes the original scores. Next week here, Beyond Reason goes outstanding theatre of thrills one hour of suspense. This is CBS The Columbia Broadcasting System.