 Autolight and its 96,000 dealers present. Suspense. Tonight, Autolight brings you the story of a man who tries to commit the perfect crime. Overdrawn, starring Mr. Dick Powell. Well, hi, hollow. Well, Stanley smart. Baseball's brightest brain and most magnetic manager. How's the car, Stan? Ah, batting zero. No power at all. And it rides rougher than an empire's decision. Sounds like spark plugs might be causing you trouble, Stan. You mean they could make my car act as nervous as a rare's rookie hollow? Sure. Why not visit your neighborhood Autolight spark plug dealer? He's got the exclusive Autolight plug check indicator to tell the exact condition of your car's spark plugs and whether they're right for your style of driving. And if cleaning or adjustments are needed, your Autolight spark plug dealer has the tools and equipment to give you the best spark plug service money can buy. Eh, but hollow. Suppose replacements are needed. Then he'll replace those worn out spark plugs for a team of ignition engineered, resistor type or standard type Autolight spark plugs to give you smoother performance, quick starts and gas savings. So friends, take a tip from me and see your neighborhood Autolight spark plug dealer soon. And remember, you're always right with Autolight. And now with overdrawn and the performance of Mr. Dick Powell, Autolight hopes once again to keep you in suspense. The next time you walk into a bank, notice the guy behind the window. For 17 years, I worked in the bank, took it in and doled it out. And there was never a day that I didn't feel like a dead ant in a jar of honey. When the feeling got hard to handle, I'd bore a week's salary on a blonde or a new suit. But it didn't help. Expensive things like eating peanuts, you can't stop. Sure, you can push them away, but what do you accomplish? You just have to reach a little farther. Mr. McPherson, the president of the bank, valued my efficiency at a premium. Whenever a new man was hired, I was elected to show him the ropes. Mr. Graves, this is Mr. Robert Farley, our most experienced and conscientious teller. He'll see that you get off on the right foot. He'd pat me on the back and leave me to explain the rules and regulations to some wet-nose kid fresh out of college. Hope you don't mind me hanging over your shoulder, Mr. Farley. Oh, hang anywhere you want. Huh? Nothing. Mr. McPherson tells me the procedure here is pretty strict. I wouldn't want to make any mistakes. Oh, it's not too bad, Graves. Pretty much the same as any bank. Just make sure you write your figures clearly, and, uh, oh, the old man has one particular fetish. Be sure your initials are legible. Sure. A few years ago, we had two tellers with the same initials. There was a deposit error, and nobody could tell which one made it. They both got fired. Want some coffee? I don't like to leave before I... Oh, I always bring a thermos. Hand me that briefcase, will you? Oh, sure. Uh, grab yourself a paper cup. That drug store gives me indigestion. Hope you like it black. Yeah, black's fine. Thanks. Been here long, Mr. Farley? Started as a messenger boy when I was 18. Watch out. It's hot. Makes sense. Who wants cold coffee? Get the picture. As monotonous as 50 miles of dirt road, unless you've got patience, I had it. And for 17 years, I'd bet my patience on the longest shot in the world. If it happened, I was ready for it. For 17 years, I got up in the morning, filled my thermos with coffee, put it in my briefcase, and went to work. And every day, I sat there with my hands full of money, waiting and hoping. Then one afternoon, as the minute hand on the big bank clock jumped from 259 to 3, it paid off. I'd like to cash a big check. How big? How much have you got? What? Don't move an inch or I'll blow your head off. He was a big man in a trench coat, and he held a gun pointed right at my chest. I looked down the line of windows, and an armed man covered each wound. Everybody move, this is our home. Hurry it up, buddy. All the money you got in the drawer. I reached for a stack of thousands and watched him rake the money into a leather bag. I kept handing him money, praying someone would get to the alarm. Come on, let's have it faster. Get that guy into the floor! Fast. Everything happened fast. Pete Johnson was the guy who turned in the alarm, and I was down on his face, his life running out all over the floor. Everybody was crowding around, Pete. Everybody but me. I remembered those patient years and moved like a machine. I grabbed my briefcase, stuffed it with the rest of the money from the cash drawer. Tens, 20s, hundreds. It was a matter of seconds while the hysteria kept everyone else too busy to notice. Then I closed the case, put it back under my counter. I took a deep breath and joined the crowd, standing around Pete Johnson. What'd the guy look like? Well, uh, officer, he had a trench coat and a hat. What color was the hat? What color the coat? Well, the coat was tan, I think. The hat green or gray. Did you get a good look at his face? No, no, no. I was too busy looking at his gun. Well, we've got pretty good descriptions. You can send everybody home. We've got about 80,000. Your window took the biggest loss, Farley. Oh, well, he cleaned me out. I'm sorry, Mr. MacPherson. Can't be helped. Certainly nothing for you to worry about. I'll see you in the morning. Yes, sir. Mr. Farley. Huh? Oh, uh, what is it, Graves? I just thought maybe you wanted to lift home. No, thanks. I'm still a little shaky. I think I'll walk it off. Thanks just the same. Sure, Mr. Farley. Anytime. So far, so good. About a 50-foot walk to the front door and I'd be on the street, easy street. But I took my time. Too close to look anxious, too close to attract attention. I closed the drawer, reached down, and stopped. My fingers inches away from the leather handle on the briefcase. At the front door stood two policemen. They'd stopped one of the tellers and were questioning him. Asking him about a lunch pail he was carrying. They made him open it and I got sick. I'd never make the street with that briefcase. Suddenly, everything seemed mixed up, confused. I grabbed my coat, headed for the door. I had to get out, run, forget the briefcase, and save myself. All the way across the bank, I kept telling myself, relax, slow down. Hold on, mister. Uh, what's the matter? Just checking. No packages, huh? Uh, no. Okay, good night. Good night. Mr. Farley. Mr. Farley. Hey, you. What? I'm not calling you. Mr. Farley, I forgot your briefcase. You wouldn't have had any hot coffee in the morning. Oh, yeah. Yeah, thanks, Graves. Got your briefcase? Yeah, why? What's in it? Well, an empty thermos. Better have a look. Mr. Farley. Uh, yes, sir? I hope you weren't upset about your window. Oh. Uh, this officer wants to check my briefcase. Your briefcase? Oh, don't be ridiculous, Sergeant. I've vouched for Mr. Farley. Been with me 17 years. Okay, Mr. McPherson. Thank you, sir. Can't trust you. Can't trust anybody. Oh, that's all I wanted to say. See you in the morning. Yes, sir. I'd made it. A briefcase full of money and for a bonus. Can't trust you, can't trust anybody. I went up the steps of my apartment like a kid on his way to a taffy pole. Once inside, I locked the door and opened the case. I walked to the bed and dumped it. House Beautiful should feature it, a crazy quilt of money. I counted it, $28,311. I counted it again and took a nap. I looked at the clock on the nightstand, 7.10. I'd been out about a half hour. Somebody was knocking at my door. I shoveled the money back into the briefcase and put it under the bed. Who is it? Graves, Mr. Farley. Can I see you a minute? Oh. I'll be right there. Oh, you've been asleep? Yeah. Didn't mean to wake you up. That's okay. What's on your mind? I stopped off at the corner market. Bought a fifth. I thought they only sold milk and quarts. Oh. I thought maybe you'd want a drink. Now, why did you think maybe I'd want a drink? Oh, I'm sorry. I just wanted to talk. I'll see you in the morning. No, wait a minute. Come on in. Come on. I could use a drink. I'll get some glasses. Make yourself comfortable. Thanks. Uh, what's the occasion? Oh, I just thought you might still be a little upset after that holdup. Upset? Yeah. You were pretty nervous. Oh, yeah. I guess I was. You're a nice kid. Thanks. This okay? It's a blend. Sure, sure. No soda? Water all right? Yeah. Fine. Well, cheers. Cheers. Mr. Farley. Yeah? What are you going to do with all that money? What? That money you put in your briefcase. What are you going to do with it? You are your mind. I saw you. If you haven't figured out what you're going to do with the money, I could sure use some of it. He sat across the table from me, smiling like a young rattlesnake in a rabid pen. He took out a cigarette, leaned back at his chair and lighted it. He blew the smoke across at me in a long, thin stream. I could feel it panicking in. The smoke spread out and hung over the table. 50-50, Mr. Farley. I think that's fair. Half of 17 years. He was asking for half of a lifetime, and I couldn't spare it. What do you say, Mr. Farley? No. Okay. Wait a minute. Yes, Mr. Farley? Change your mind? Yeah. Well, good. Let's have another drink. Sure. Say when. Hold it. That's fine. Cheers. Cheers. You're too young to drink anyway. The light is bringing you Mr. Dick Powell in overdrawn. Tonight's production in radio's outstanding theater of thrills suspense. I'm happy as a pennant winner now. Oh, you visited your neighborhood auto light spark plug dealer, eh, Stan? Oh, you bet I did. He checked my car spark plugs with that famous auto light plug check indicator, and he found that they were as worn as a catcher's mitt after a double header. So he threw out those worn out spark plugs for a set of ignition engineered auto light spark plugs, eh? You bet he did. That takes off like a home run, operates smooth as a double play, and really goes the distance on a tank of gas. Well, that's because ignition engineered auto light spark plugs are designed by the same auto light engineers who design coils, distributors, and all the other important parts that make up the complete ignition systems for many of our finest makes of cars, trucks, and tractors. Auto light spark plugs are ignition engineered to pitch perfect performance and catch the praises of smart motorists everywhere. You know, hello, I'm gonna tell all my players to have their car checked regularly by their auto light spark plug dealer. Yes, Stan, and have worn out spark plugs replaced with either standard or resistor type ignition engineered auto light spark plugs, because even as the umpire knows, you're always right with auto light. And now auto light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage Mr. Dick Powell in Elliott Lewis' production of Overdrawn, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. For a minute, nothing was real. Then gradually, I started to think clearly again, more coolly and smoothly. I got the keys to Graves' car out of his pocket, packed a bag, and grabbed the briefcase with the money. I carried him out to his car and locked him in the trunk. Then I went back for him. It was dark. I got him over my shoulder and went out the back door to the alley. I got him into the car, propped him up at the seat beside me. He looked like a college boy after a big game celebration like he'd wake up any minute and say, stop the car, I don't feel so good. A few miles outside of town, there was a reservoir. I pulled up a few feet for the edge and sat there a minute, smoked air, cigarette. I didn't get there, go too fast. Had to know the next move. Suddenly, the kid's body slipped a little and leaned against my shoulder like he wanted to hurry and get it over with. It was the least I could do. I grabbed my briefcase and bag, took the break off and shoved. The car slid into the water in a slow, smooth glide. Leaving at gate 3 for Ventura Santa Barbara, Monterey follow out the way. We asked a bit of hurry, and we thought, thanks. It was dark in the bus and too many people were using the air. A baby in the back somewhere, I didn't like it either. I put a cigarette in my mouth and as I struck a match, the glow lit up the face that leaned toward it from the next seat. Hold it, will you honey? Thanks. Oh, stuffy in here, isn't it? Yes, it is, going far. All those fish places on the walk, you know. I've never been there, but I've heard about them. You've never been to San Francisco? Oh, you've got a kick coming. It's not much when the sun's out, but at night it gets enough like New York to be just great. You'll love it. Of course, I don't know anything about you, but... Oh, you don't have to. We're starting even. What's your name? Betsy Clark. Mine's Adams. Arthur Adams. I'm a used car salesman from San Diego. I'm taking my first vacation in five years. And I'm glad to know you, Miss Clark. There were times during the trip when I shied away from her. I couldn't possibly be lucky enough to pick up a right girl in such a wrong place. But she got to be important to me just by being there. I didn't want to be alone. We got to San Francisco about 8 o'clock the next morning and I felt panic again. She'd leave me now and go to her cousin, leave me in a vacuum the whole hands with a briefcase in the past. Where are you going to stay, Arthur? Well, I don't know. Some downtown hotel, I guess. Any suggestions? Well, there's a little place on Gary. It's clean. The price is right. Sounds fine. What's the address? 354 South. Come on, we'll take a cab. We? Well, unless you want to walk. It's a good 10 blocks. I thought you were staying with your cousin. I changed my mind. Besides, you're liable to get lost without me. These San Francisco streets can be very confusing. Oh, hello, Miss Clark. Hello, Pop. You got a couple of rooms? Sure. It's good to see you again. It's been nearly... This is Mr. Adams, Pop. Give him one overlooking the bay. He's never been here before. He can have... 411. Okay. How about me? 409? That'll be fine. I'll take you up. You call me when you're freshened up. There's a wonderful restaurant that serves stuffed grape leaves. We'll begin the tour with something exotic, huh? Great. Let's keep it that way. I'll be ready in an hour. I got settled in my room and had Pop bring me a paper. The bank robbery story was there, but that's all. In a day or two, there'd be more. I dressed for dinner, filled my pocket with enough money for a couple big weeks, then took the briefcase downstairs to the desk. All right. Can you put this case in the safe for me, Pop? Sure, Mr. Adams. Just a moment. I'll give you a receipt. Is this a house phone? 409, please. Hi. I'm downstairs. I had to put something in the safe. Okay. Here's your receipt, Mr. Adams. Cigarette? Mm-hmm. Oh, wonderful, Denny. Would you like to dance? I'd love to. You having fun? Mm-hmm. Arthur? Yeah? How long is your vacation? Three weeks. Why? I just wondered. You're a good dancer. We kept dancing for the rest of the evening, holding her close with a smooth face next to mine and her hair smelling fresh and clean. Ever play king on a mountain? Scrap your way through a dozen kids and finally make the top? You feel bigger than anybody, standing up there battling to keep them from pulling you back down? The top of the mountain was mine and she was dancing with me up there and nobody was going to pull me down again. I thought about graves lying at the bottom of the reservoir with his head broken. They probably wouldn't find him for weeks. The next night, we went to the top of the mark. Gee, I'm sorry it's so foggy. We'll have to come back again so you can see how pretty it is. I like looking at the fog. I'm getting smoke in the fireplace. Look how it curls around the buildings. Cold smoke. Oh, I'm glad it's out there. Why don't we go home now, huh? Arthur? Why don't we go home now? No, not yet. Well, I don't think I want another drink. What happened to you all of a sudden? You miss your used car a lot? Sorry, I was thinking about somebody. A girl? Hey, maybe you're married. I never even asked you that, did I? Who are you thinking about? What's not important? Just a guy who wanted me to sell out to him. I kind of wish I had. Had fun. Oh, fun, fun, fun, fun. Come here. Yes. I think you're wonderful. I think you're wonderful, too. You better go in. Yeah. Steady as she goes. See, I'm a little tight. Want the papers? Love it. What a wonderful, wonderful evening. What's in the papers? Well, nothing much. Another investigation in Washington. I want to be investigated. What else? I want some man for murder. Oh, shame on him. Park floor, garden supplies, camping equipment, lingerie. I used to run an elevator once. In the department store, I run an elevator once. Now, you got my key. Wonderful evening. Good night, honey. I'll call you in the morning. All right. Good night, Arthur. Yeah? You didn't get me my papers. Sorry. Something wrong. Wrong? Don't be silly. I'll see you in the morning. You do that. Let's see. Good night, Arthur. I stood there in that lonely hall of the world coming down around my head. It was all in the papers. They had found the car with my fingerprints on the door. They had my description right down to the color of my eyes. They'd even checked the bus station. The ticket seller had remembered me. The last paragraph read, it is believed that Farley is somewhere in the vicinity of San Francisco. Oh. A park. Oh. Oh, yes, Mr. Adams. I'd like my briefcase. Oh. All right. Come on. Hurry, will you? Here you are, Mr. Adams. Thanks. I'll have to have your receipt. Oh, well, there you are. Just initial it. Hotel policy so we can show you got your case. Okay. There. Oh, thank you, Mr. Adams. I went up to my room, tossed the briefcase and the couch and went into the bedroom to pack. Had to get out, clear out of the city. I thought about Betsy and I wanted to take her with me, but I couldn't. How could I explain running, hiding? Sooner or later, she'd find out and I couldn't take that chance. I closed my suitcase and went into the other room. There she was, sitting on the couch, the open briefcase in her lap. So much money, Arthur. You must sell an awful lot of cars. How'd you get in? He left the door unlocked. It's all right. I locked it. Where'd you get it? I sell a lot of cars. While you're working in a bank? Oh, thank you for buying me the papers. All right, Betsy. Is that why you killed him, Arthur, for all this money? What do you want, Betsy? Must have been awfully rich. He wanted to get that way. How much, Betsy? Well, I guess I'm the only one who could really tell the police. How much? How about all of it? Well, I'll need some to get out of town. All right, Arthur. Uh, you can call me Bob. I like Arthur better. Here's $20. Think you better hurry. You know why I killed that man, Betsy? Because he had all this lovely money. No. Because he wanted to take it away from me. He wanted to take it away from me. He wanted to take it away. You hear me, Betsy? He wanted to take it away. Open up! How'd you find me? Pop call. He recognized you from the description in the paper. He got suspicious when you initialed that receipt. What? You were registered Adams or something. You initialed that receipt RF and he got the thinking. You made a big mistake, mister. Oh, force of habit, officer. That's what happens when you work in a bank for 17 years. Suspense. Presented by AutoLite, tonight's star, Mr. Dick Powell. Friends, this is Harlow Wilcox again to remind you that AutoLite is the world's largest independent manufacturer of automotive electrical equipment. AutoLite makes over 400 products for cars, trucks, planes, and boats in 28 plants from coast to coast. These products include world famous ignition engineered AutoLite spark plugs, which are carried by your neighborhood AutoLite spark plug dealer. See him soon and have worn out spark plugs replaced with ignition engineered AutoLite resistor type or standard type spark plugs for smoother performance, quick starts, and gas savings. And remember, you're always right with AutoLite. Next week on Suspense, our star will be Mr. Richard Widmark in Tell You Why I Shouldn't Die. To be followed on June 14th by Mr. Gregory Peck, who will tell you the truth about Jerry Baxter, all on Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with music composed by Lucian Moroek and conducted by Lud Bluskin. Overdrawn was written for Suspense by Blake Edwards from a story by Robert Platt. In tonight's play, Mary Jane Croft was heard as Betsy and Dick Crenna as Graves. Featured in the cast were Norman Field, Ed Max, Benny Rubin, and Joseph Kearns. Dick Powell may be heard each week on his own radio program Richard Diamond on another network. And remember, next week on Suspense, Mr. Richard Widmark in a tale we call Tell You Why I Shouldn't Die. You can buy world-famous AutoLite resistor or standard-type spark plugs, AutoLite state-full batteries, AutoLite electrical parts at your neighborhood AutoLite dealers. Switch to AutoLite. Good night. Skill, freedom, cooperation, competition. These are some of the factors that have kept America strong. To learn how and why our American economic system is the best, write for the free booklet The Miracle of America to box 10 Times Square Station, New York City. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.