 And now, a tale well-calculated to keep you in. Suspense. Standing alongside the five-year-old station wagon was a woman. A woman. But the woman wasn't his woman. In just a moment, the man who knew how to hate, starring Joan Loring and Leon Janney, and written especially for suspense by Walter Black. The lively crowd today agrees. Those who think young say Pepsi, please. They pick the right one, the modern light one. Now it's Pepsi for those who think young. So go ahead and pick the drink that lets you drink, young as you think. Yes, get the right one, the modern light one. Now it's Pepsi for those who think young. Let's see where the Yankees lost again. The Yankees, they lost again, that's three in a row. Now you take the Tigers for a change, they got a well-rounded ball club. Tigers, Yankees, a stupid slug. Baseball's probably his whole life. And what's mine? Hate. Or why not? It's a good, honest emotion you can feed on and live off it. And you never get enough. Better than love that dries up. So does lust. Lust on a rhyme with grace. And hate on a rhyme with Albert. Miserable, penny-pinching, mousy Albert. The first time I saw him, we were on the 509 high lawn. I was sitting next to him and he was marking down things a little 10-cent story note. Totalling up your racetrack winnings? What? Oh, you mean this? Oh, no, no, no, I was just marking down my daily expenses. That way I keep track, you see. Sounds like fun. No, you'd be surprised how one's expenses can mount up if they're not constantly checked. Lunch, for instance, unless I keep it down to 90 or 95 cents, my daily expenses can go over three or three and a half dollars. That much? Oh, easily, yes. Uh, I'm Albert Larraby. Pete Friendly. Well, that's my station. Excuse me, Mr. Friendly. Relax, it's mine, too. Oh, I didn't realize we were neighbors, so to speak. I made a mental note to avoid him in the future, but I tore it up when I saw who was waiting for him. He made a beeline for a five-year-old station wagon standing alongside it was a woman. A woman? The... any man would ever want. It was eyes right for every commuter passing by. I stood there, her eyes slid over me, stopped, slipped back. My mouth felt dry. I knew the symptoms. I had to meet her... Toucher. Oh, Mr. Friendly, I'd like you to meet my wife, Grace. His wife? It had to be a joke. A woman like that? I walked over to the car, we shook hands. I... I felt the contact so that she I could tell. I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Friendly. The name's Peter. Peter. Mine's Grace. Well, can we give you a lift? No, no thanks, my, uh... My car's up in the lot. Your wife doesn't use it during the day? My ex-wife can't afford a car on the album only she's in to me for. Oh, I'm sorry. Don't be. We hated each other. In the old time, I was wondering what she was doing with that little creep. How could she even talk to him for five minutes without dying of boredom? I had to get to her. The easiest way was by being friendly with Albert. Two days later in the drugstore, I gagged down a part of a glue sandwich that was advertised as egg salad and watched him munch away on lettuce and cottage cheese. Just like a five-four-six inch rabbit. Munch, munch, munch. Uh, something wrong with your sandwich, Peter? I'm not hungry. Well, this place is quite a fine, you know, 70 cents for the salad plate. Your wife a good cook? Oh, well, frankly, I do most of my own cooking. You see, I'm a diabetic and a lot of things are forbidden to me. I can't eat just anything. Sorry to hear that. Oh, don't be. As long as I take my insulin, I'm fine. But it does limit the menus at home, so Grace usually fixes something for herself and I do the same for myself. She's the intellectual type, you know. She paints and takes evening classes at the library. She's very interested in art. I'll bet, especially if art. What was I feeling so superior about? This creep lived with her, I didn't. A week later, I took him out to a local inn. Albert had vegetable juice. Grace and I had four martinis of peace and played niceies under the table. My chance came after dinner when Albert went to bring the car around. I've got to see you, Grace. Yes, I know. I'm gone crazy thinking about you. When? Tomorrow noon at my place. I'll stay home from work. Noon tomorrow, darling. The hands on my mantel clock an hour had traveled from my lip. Up to then, waiting and anticipating was almost fun. From 12, I'll know what was murder. 12.05. 12.07. Something had happened. 12.12. She wasn't going to show. The creep had stayed home, maybe. Maybe she hadn't met it last night. Maybe she'd forgotten. Maybe she had another sucker on the string. Maybe... Hello. I knew what the first one would feel like. I just imagined. Truth is greater than fiction. Quelle heure est-il? Catherine... Mr. French for 35. I'd better be going. Why? Have you forgotten Albert? For four hours, yes. Well, I've got to get home. And change. Run a couple of errands before I pick him up. When do I see you again? Not this week. Listen, if you think I'm going to be satisfied... Don't be mad, darling. I'm a married woman, remember? So get unmarried. I'll put up the dough for your divorce if that's what's bothering you. When you're laughing at it, I say something funny. No. Just terribly sweet. You are quite a guy, darling. And you're all the woman I ever wanted. There's something you don't understand, though. I can't leave Albert. Why? He's short and bald and a hundred years older than you. And the way he pinches every penny until it turns green... You certainly aren't sticking with him for his money. Aren't I, darling? Peter, every week for 21 years, Albert has taken exactly 10% of his salary check. Write down to the exact penny and invested it in the stock market. You're kidding. Sometimes he buys, sometimes he sells, but always he reinvests. Good times, bad times, every week without fail, 10% of his paycheck has gone right into the kitty. He doesn't believe in banks, you see, or life insurance for saving money. He even kept it a secret from me until about two years ago. How much has he sold it away? One hundred and thirty-three thousand dollars. A hundred grand? A hundred and thirty-three grand. And that was back in March. So you see why I'm so upset, Peter? You've turned my safe little world upside down. There is another way. What do you mean, baby? I mean, there is another way to be free of Albert and keep the money. You mean what I think you mean? What do you think I mean, darling? Murder. Oh no, accidents happen every day. Who don't think? An accident. Of course. All we have to do is figure out what kind of an accident is going to happen to Albert. I had to have her and the dough only made it more urgent. So don't go moral on me. A week went by. The longest I ever suffered through and then she called. We made a date in midtown New York at a French restaurant where they never heard of cottage cheese or egg salad sandwiches. You're staring at me, Peter. Do you realize how long it's been? Eight days, less 30 minutes. Well, maybe you can stand up tonight. You'll have to, darling. From now on, we're just casual acquaintances. You're crazy. No, you are if you think I'm going to jeopardize our chances. Oh, darling, don't pout. After the funeral, I'll move away to Florida, California. And in a couple of weeks, you can join me. You talk as if you were already dead. Why not? After tomorrow morning, he will be. Tomorrow? We haven't made any plans. We're not going to. The best murders are the simplest kind. Most people make their biggest mistake in doing too much planning, leaving too many loose ends, you know. No, I don't. I'm at the real estate firm, not with the mafia. Temper, temper. Anyway, it's tomorrow. Mmm. Miss Cocova is delicious. And I thought I was cold-blooded. Darling, I'm just realistic, like most women. Of course, if you want to back out. Listen, I hate that little freak. I'm not backing out. But how? Subway. You both take it every morning from the station. Yeah, but I go uptown. He goes down. Tomorrow you both go downtown. Make up a reason. And be sure you're on the platform with Albert. Better sit with him on the train going in. Then what? Do I have to draw you a diagram? The subways are jammed at rush hour, aren't they? It's a wonder more people aren't shoved over the edge of the platform. But listen, whatever you do, don't be obvious. Pretend to buy a paper and leave. I don't think it's quite as crowded this morning as usual. I'm going to get more jammed. I can't even raise my hand to scratch my nose. You should cultivate the attitude of always looking on the bright side, Peter. You'd be surprised at the difference it can make in your daily living. Nichols and dimes do add up, huh? Right away, yes. As my sated mother used to say, a penny saved is a penny earned. That's what your mother said? Oh, yes, many times. Of course it wasn't original, was it? Oh, wasn't it? No, if I remember correctly, it was Benjamin Frank. Uh, no... Hold the fort, Albert. I forgot to get a paper. Excuse me, please. Coming through. I let four or five rows of people get between me and the creep, and then I stopped and looked back. He was right at the edge of the platform reading his paper, and it was a stock market, quotations, no doubt. He wasn't paying any attention to anyone around him. I started inching my way back. Grace was right. It was going to be a lead-pipe cinch. I was maybe four feet behind him, and I heard the train barreling down the tunnel. I pushed forward like everybody else, and there were the trains headlights. It was now. Hey! I'm hanging the world, and you bought it. I did everything just the way I was supposed to. It's not my fault the train stopped in time. Yes, it was. You pushed him too soon. All right, all right. Just lucky Albert's so unsuspecting. What did he say? Just how glad he was you were there to keep him company until he calmed down. Actually, he blamed himself for standing too close to the edge of the platform. Oh, no, what? And don't say we try that again. Shut up and let me think. Wait up. You got an idea? I just might have. What is it this time? Push him in front of the Fifth Avenue bus? How about noontime on 42nd Street? Shut up. How's this? I get Albert down to the aquarium, and when nobody's looking, I pick him up and throw him into the shark tank. He looks enough like a shark himself, and that pointed nose. Of course, he might last for a day or two, but eventually the sharks would gobble him up. Wait a minute. Why didn't I think of that right away? It's been there all along, staring me in the face. What, the sharks? Shut up and let me think a minute. You really have come up with an idea? You're darn right I have. Foolproof, too, darling. What? Never mind. The less you know, the better off we are. And this time I'll do it. Oh, by the way, Grace, dear, I spoke to Mr. Thatcher today. How is old Fatso? As a matter of fact, he did speak of going on a diet. A bully for him. But we were talking about my vacation. I get three weeks this year, you know, so I asked him for the first three weeks in August. That's satisfactory with you, isn't it, my dear? Why not? Oh, 10 o'clock. Time for your insulin, Albert. Oh, so it is, so it is. Oh, could I impose on you, my dear? I'm rather tired. Of course. You just sit and relax. Thank you, dear. Oh, by the way, shall we go to that same hotel again? It was most restful. Doesn't matter. Although we might try the seashore as a change, even if I do sunburn too easily. It's your vacation, Albert. You make the decision. Here. Oh, you fill the hypodermic, I see. That's very thoughtful of you. There you are. Did you inject it all? Every last drop, my dear. I was just thinking of something amusing. What a odd coincidence, so sorry. What was in the hypodermic, Grace? A saline solution, I should imagine. What? What are you talking about? Oh, come, come. No more games. It was a saline solution. I'm sure a water alone isn't efficient enough. I should go into a coma within the hour, if you're wondering. Albert, I don't know what you're talking about. I should be dead some time before, oh, say, six in the morning. Why are you talking this way? I don't know what you think I've done. Don't you, Grace? The police will tomorrow when they play the tapes I've sent them. The tapes? Albert, what are you talking about? Briefly, and to the point, you and Mr. Friendly. Mr. Friendly? White mouse I may be, and to some, even a creep. What? But no one has ever accused me of being deaf, dumb, and blind. What are you? I know you, Grace. I can read you like a book, a nasty, dirty book. Albert, what? I know why you've stayed with me. I know what you think of me. Ah, isn't it that you've never known what I think of you? Albert, I thought- Spare me. I've loathed you for a long time. I've loathed you for your mean little soul and your petty mind and- You? Yes, for your beauty, which was never mine. And I think I've loathed you most of all because I still loved you. Albert? I've had private detectives working for me since the day you first set eyes on Mr. Friendly. You are- They're the ones who, what's the expression, bugged his apartment. Very interesting listening, Grace. Of course, I must admit, Subway was a surprise and so messy, too. I knew you'd revert to this. Oh, Albert. You're- You're even attractive when you cry. Oh, one more surprise, my good wife. Had you possessed the patience to wait another six months, at the most, a year, all that money would have been yours legally. My last little secret. You thought I'd been going to the doctor only for diabetes? Ah, alas, no. Cancer. Dread word, isn't it? We discovered it two years ago. Oh. No, I haven't suffered any pain yet. I'm told that comes only in the final stages. Oh, that's what I couldn't face. Oh. No, thank you very much for your assistance. Albert, couldn't we just once more try to- No, we couldn't. Now, would you leave me alone? The condemned man is supposed to get his last wish, and mine is really quite simple. I don't want to look at you again. Never. Who would have dreamed it of him, the miserable little creep? Well, everything with the last chapter is over. Arsoning. Arsoning, the next station, Arsoning. OK, buddy, on your feet. You don't have to make with a muscle. Now, you be a good boy, and I'll take the cups off. Let's go. So that's how it ends for me, in a cell in Singsing, that white mouse Albert must be laughing his head off wherever he is. And I thought I knew how to hate. Suspense. You've been listening to the man who knew how to hate, starring Joan Loring as Grace Larrabee, and Leon Janney as Peter Friendly, and written for suspense by Walter Black. In a moment the names of our players and the word about next week's story of suspense. Oh, dear, you ought to be more careful. Wait, I'll get the unguentine. But, Mommy, isn't that for burns? Sure, but unguentine's wonderful for scratches, too, when for cuts and scrapes. As well as burns. Science has proved that unguentine boosts nature's healing power as no plane antiseptic can. Forms a protective cover to lock out germs and speed healing. Stop the hurting, too. See, it's not just for burns. And now there's something new. Unguentine first-aid spray. Looks like a fire extinguisher, but inside is special unguentine medication that puts out pain, kills germs, and starts healing fast as you... spray it on. Cools and soothes sunburn on contact. Get both unguentine first-aid spray and unguentine antiseptic dressing that boosts nature's healing power. Suspense is produced and directed by Bruno Zorato Jr., music supervision by Ethel Huber, and featured in tonight's story was Bob Dryden as Albert Larravy. Also heard in our cast were Bill Smith and Barbara Cassar. Listen again next week when we return with Stranger With My Face, written by Alan Sloan. Another tale well-calculated to keep you in... suspense. First word in speed, the last word in accuracy, expanded CBS News on the CBS Radio Network.