 Autolight, F98, Coleman, in tonight's presentation of Suspense. Tonight, Autolight brings to life one of the most famous detectives in literature, as we dramatize E.C. Bentley's classic novel of deduction, Trent's Last Case. Our star, Mr. Ronald Coleman. Say a half, would you hand me that spark plug please? No, the other one. Thanks. They both look alike to me, Harlow. Well, they do look alike, Hap, but there's a big difference. This one is ignition engineered. That means it's built by Autolight, the people who really know spark plugs. What makes you say that, Harlow? Why, Autolight makes complete electrical systems specified as original equipment on many leading makes of our finest cars. That means that Autolight engineers specialize in ignition. And because spark plugs are the very heart of a car's ignition system, they just naturally design spark plugs to give you the smoothest performance money can buy. I guess I better be mighty sure I get only ignition engineered Autolight spark plugs from now on. May I, Harlow? Right half, because when you have ignition engineered Autolight spark plugs in your car, truck, or tractor, you have the finest spark plugs money can buy. So friends, be sure you get the very best by insisting on standard or resistor type ignition engineered Autolight spark plugs. They're world famous for quality and performance, and they're made by the world's largest independent manufacturer of automotive electrical equipment. And remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Autolight. And now, Autolight presents EC Bentley's Trent's Last Case, starring Mr. Ronald Coleman, hoping once again to keep you in suspense. The last case to which I, Philip Trent, applied myself in the field of criminology and detection, occurred in the spring of 1910. I must acknowledge that the intricacies of the crime were worthy of the brain of Sig's demand. This colossus among financial giants had manipulated power and wealth in every corner of the world. He centralized industries of continental scopes, smashed families and fortunes, and along with each dollar, he accumulated an enemy. When Sig's Beemanderson was murdered, the world lost nothing worth a single tear. The day of his death, Sir James Malloy, publisher of a London record, asked me to cover the case for his paper. I agreed and immediately took the train to Bishop's Bridge. Philip Trent, wait for an old man. Why, Mr. Couples, by all this miraculous, how are you? Breathless, Philip Breathless. I expected you'd be down to Bishop's Bridge to write about the murder. Well, that's rather a colorless way of stating it. I should prefer to put it that I have come down in the character of Avenger of Blood to hunt down the guilty and vindicate the honor of society. Families waited on at their private residences. Famous turned your head. This tragic affair will not blend well with your lightheartedness. Ah, now, Mr. Couples, you have more than a bystander's interest in the case. I have indeed. Now, you didn't do the great man in. Mabel Manderson is my niece, and there are some things you will learn which may prejudice you. I wanted you to hear them from me so your good judgment would not be impaired by gossip or malicious tongues. Good. So you're going to walk to the Manderson place with me. Oh, much too far to walk. I'll take you in my motor car. Oh, now, now, you will go slowly, won't you? Oh, very slowly. Well, you get in. I'll crank the engine. How about your niece? My niece had been married to Manderson for five years. They got along all the well, despite the difference in their ages. Well, she was just 18 when they married, and he close to 50. A several months ago, for no apparent reason, he began to treat her miserably. He was surly, contentious, and insulting. And when she could bear it no longer, she turned to me. I offered to speak to him, demand an explanation for his outrageous behavior. Why didn't she speak to him herself? She was the most gentle and even tempered person. She wanted to avoid a bitter squabble. A rare woman, indeed. I tried to see Manderson for a week. When I finally did catch up with him, I was doubly angry for his shabby treatment of his wife and for avoiding me. And did you get any satisfaction? You refused to discuss the matter. In the presence of witnesses, I'm afraid I made a rather rash statement. I expressed the view that men such as he did not deserve to live. I wouldn't worry about that, Mr. Couples. That opinion seems to be universal. The strange thing is why your niece married Manderson. Oh, yeah. Here we are. Would you mind opening the gates, please? Oh, no, no. This will be fine. I'd like to nose around the grounds a bit, unless you want to drive in. No, no, no. I'm staying in town. If you should want me, I'm at the Hotel Royal. Well, thank you for the lift, Couples. I passed through the gates and walked the path between tall walls of hedges. A gap in this green wall took me to a gravel track that led to the small gardener's cottage. Someone was poking about as though looking for something. My approach startled the fellow. This is private property. What are you doing here? My name is Trent, and you? John Marlowe. Oh, yes. Secretary to Mr. Manderson, I believe. Um, you'll, um, you seem to have lost something, perhaps I can help you look? No, I, I was just hoping I could find something here. Something that the murderer may have dropped. This is where Manderson's body was found. Ah. And have you found anything? No, I, I really didn't expect to. I've just been so, so upset, bereaved, devastated by the master's death. Frankly, no, I'm limp, that's all. I've been up all night, driving, haven't had any sleep. Ha, you, you should, you should do your driving during the day. Mr. Manderson had sent me on an urgent errand to Southampton just before he was killed. Oh, then you weren't around when the deed was done. I have accounted for myself to inspect a merch. But now that your employment here has come to an abrupt end, do you plan on leaving Bishop's Bridge? Mrs. Manderson has asked me to stay here, to clear up various papers and loose ends. Oh, well, then I shall see you about. You shall. Mr. Trent, I would like to offer a suggestion. Snoop around if you must, but leave Mrs. Manderson alone. I've already heard that she is the most fragile creature, but have no worries, Mr. Marlowe. I am gentle as a bird. When Marlowe left me, I potted about the uncut grass, which still showed where the body had lain. Then I started towards the large house. There was a man standing in the open French doors of the study. Why, Trent, come in, come in. Ah, me, it was ever that. I did think for once I was ahead of Scotland Yard, and now here again is the largest officer in the entire force, already filling that prime position. How are you, merch? Earning my wages, Trent. Ah, then you've arrested the bloke, what done the old fellow in? Good work. You know, I didn't say that. It'll take more than you or me to put the cups on anyone in this case. Oh, come now, what about the butler? And the upstairs maid, the cook, the gardener, why the place must be teeming with likely suspects. Well, that's a trouble. Manderson was not what I'd call a lovable chip. Too many suspects. Why, why, some bloke could have come here from Tanganyika or Timbuktu, pull the trigger, and then gone home easy as you please. The gun hasn't been found. No. I have the bullet here, the 32. Such a small bullet to have ruined such a large brain. Any powder burns? None. The gun was fired from a distance of about five feet. The medical examiner has fixed the time of death at about midnight. Where's the body? Deckerman's mortuary in town. I have a photograph here taken where the body was found. Let me see. The stress cops I've ever seen. Except for the shoes. The shoes? Well, why, they're very expensive and practically new. I should like to see them, if they're about. Everything Mr. Manderson was wearing when he was killed has been returned to his room. I suppose it'd be all right if I went up and sniffed around. Of course. I'll lead the way. I've gone over everything, suddenly. I don't know why you're so interested in the shoes. Merch, don't you think it rather strange that Manderson was dressed meticulously when he was shot, hair parted neatly, tie in place, waistcoat completely buttoned? Yet the laces of the shoes were untied. Perhaps his feet bothered him. Now, I have terrible pains. It could rubbery have come into it, you think. Anything missing from Manderson's pockets or from the house? No. The matter of fact, Manderson's wallet was overstuffed with about 5,000 pounds. That's more than pocket money, even for a millionaire. There was also a pouch of valuable uncut diamonds in one of his pockets. No robbery is certainly out. This is Manderson's room here. Uncut diamonds, eh? Has anyone guessed at their value? About 10,000 pounds. Well, good heavens. Don't you think diamonds are worth that much? Yes, yes, but I'm more impressed by the array of shoes in this wardrobe. Why, there... Ha, there must be 50 pairs if there's one. Aha, this is what I want. Ah, how could you tell that those were the shoes Manderson wore last night? Well, look here. There's a tear near the tongue. Well, as I said, they must have been a bit tight for him. Now, why would he with 50 pairs to choose from, select the one pair that pinched? You know, it is. I've become attached to an old bathrobe. Much too tight for me. Yet I favorite over a new one that the wife gave me on my birthday. It's odd. Very odd. Match. I wondered if we could have a look at Marlowe's room now. Certainly, it's just down the hall. But Marlowe's in the clear. He left at 11 last night, an hour before Manderson was killed. He got to the Bedford Hotel in Southampton at 6.30. Couldn't possibly have made the drive in less than seven and a half hours. What was the errand Manderson sent him on? He was to meet Mr. Harris and give him a package. Some big secret business affair of Manderson's I met him. And Marlowe delivered the package and returned to Bishop's Bridge? He returned without making the delivery. Harris didn't appear. You might at least not before including. Oh, I'm sorry, Marlowe. I thought the room was unoccupied. No offence, Mr. Marlowe. Friend here is working on the case. You might call this visit a visual police business. I've told you all I can. If you don't mind, I'd like to nap. Marlowe, when you first went to work for Manderson, did he require a graduate of Oxford? All he wanted was a capable secretary. But you were at Oxford? I was. Marvelous place, Oxford. Gave us a great school and a fine style of shoe. By the way, Marlowe, what size shoe do you wear? Inspector, if you don't remove this gentleman, I shall report this to the authority. Oh, come off it, Mr. Marlowe. Let's indulge Mr. Trent in a question or two. I wear size 10 seam. Thank you. Thank you. Um, Marlowe, have you any idea what was in that package for Mr. Harris? No. Where is it now? A messenger came for it this morning. Do you have any idea who this Mr. Harris may be? Have you ever met him? No. Mr. Manderson had many private business arrangements about which I was kept in the dark. I was his secretary, not a business partner. Isn't it rather odd that an American would hire an English secretary? Well, not at all. Maybe... Mrs. Manderson is English. That is why Mr. Manderson lived in England a good part of the time. He wanted his wife to feel at home among her own people. And I assume you did your part, in that regard. I beg your pardon? I beg yours, Marlowe. Well, take your nap and pleasant dreams. Inspector Merch went off to complete arrangements for the inquests, leaving me alone in this marble morselium of a house to wait for Mrs. Manderson. I then sent a telegram to Oxford University and requested an immediate reply to my inquiries about John Marlowe's undergraduate activities. Then I wrote my first dispatch for the London Record, setting forth everything I knew, but keeping to myself those suspicions which I hope would soon be confirmed. Since Mrs. Manderson didn't appear, I decided to have another look at the garden as cottage. But the compelling force turned me instead towards the sound of the sea. Standing at the edge of the cliff, I watched the beautiful movements of water, the wash of a light sea over broken rocks. And then, then my heart seemed to stop. Close to the point where the cliff dropped sheer, a woman of remarkable beauty was sitting, her face full of some distant dream. I knew who this woman must be, Mabel Manderson. She was at once everything that poets and painters have tried to express with pen and brush. Yet this woman who appeared to be devoid of evil and incapable of murder, this woman whose husband's death had made her the wealthiest of widows, wore on her lips a faint, yet unmistakable smile. AutoLight is bringing you Mr. Ronald Coleman in E.C. Bentley's Trent's Last Case, tonight's presentation in radio's outstanding Theater of Thrills Suspense. There's one thing I've learned, Harlow, and that's to make sure I get ignition-engineered AutoLight spark plugs for my car every time. Well, you've learned a mighty important lesson, Hap, because money can't buy finer spark plugs, and that's proven every day by millions of car, truck, and tractor owners under all kinds of conditions. You see, AutoLight spark plugs are designed by men who specialize in ignition, and because they know ignition, they know how important it is for spark plugs to work as a team with the complete ignition system. Is that why you say they're ignition-engineered, Harlow? Right you are, Hap. So friends, treat yourself to the best. Ask for and insist on ignition-engineered AutoLight spark plugs. They're world famous for quality and performance. Ask your dealer for the standard or resistor type best suited to your car and your style of driving. And remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with AutoLight. And now, AutoLight brings back to our Hollywood soundstage Mr. Ronald Coleman in Elliott Lewis' production of E.C. Bentley's Trent's Last Case, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. To continue my narration of the peculiar circumstances surrounding the death of Sigsby Manderson, the last case to which I, Philip Trent, applied myself, the sight of Mrs. Manderson at her sanctuary on the cliff had a most unsettling effect on me. I returned to the house and nervously paced the floor of the study, for I don't know how long. When the door opened and my name was spoken, I stared stupidly. Mr. Trent, I am Mrs. Manderson. You are Mr. Trent, I believe. Yeah, I believe, yes, Mr. Trent. Please sit down, Mr. Trent. I would like to help you in any way I can. Thank you. I'm sorry for inflicting myself upon you at this tragic time, Mrs. Manderson, but I have just a few questions. Last night, did your husband retire at the usual time? Yes, at 10.30. Then, sometime after 11, I heard him move about in his room, which adjoins mine. I called and asked him if anything were troubling him. He said no, he was just a bit restless and would ask Mr. Marlowe to take him for a drive to relax his nerves. And did the drive with Marlowe bring the desired results? I thought so. At about midnight, I heard my husband return and asked if he felt better. He replied that he did, and that he'd sent Marlowe on an errand to Southampton. I see, thank you. Your uncle, Mr. Cappos, mentioned that Mr. Manderson behaved strangely towards you in the past month or so. Well, he did rather. I put it down to the pressure of business that it had begun to tell on him. And was he of a very jealous nature? He had no reason to be jealous. There were no quarrels, differences of any kind? Not quarrels, really. My husband liked to spend money. I never learned to. My needs were modest. I've long feared that the large amount of cash my husband always had on hand was an invitation to burglars. And was he in the habit of carrying a pouch full of diamonds in his pocket? He often bought expensive jewels for me, but they were kept in his safe. Since they were not put to use by me, perhaps he had decided to dispose of them. Of course. I know this must be a harrowing experience for you, Mrs. Manderson, but you do want your husband's murderer brought to justice? I will help in any way I can. I didn't think I would learn anything by attending the inquest, so while it was being held, I strolled to the telegraph office. Yes, sir? I expected a telegram yesterday. I wonder whether it has come in. What is the name, please? Trent, Philip Trent. Trent, does sound familiar? Why, of course. A batch of telegrams was delivered to Mrs. Manderson last night. Simply messages, you know, the poor thing. Yours went out to the house along with the others. You're sure of that? Well, look here. The delivery book. You can see it's signed by the person who received it. Thank you. Thank you very much. The order signature in a clear hand. John Marlowe. I found myself at the cliff again, and each crashing wave was like a hammer blow on my heart. I was certain of the contents of the telegram. Only one thing was not clear, and that was a motive. And each time the answer tried to insinuate itself into my mind, I consciously pushed it away. I could no longer look at the case impersonally. After the first sight of Mrs. Manderson sitting on this very rock while she gazed at the sea, I knew that she could be motive enough innocent or not for any deed good or bad. This came for you last night. What? Why, what, what? Why, you and the habit of sculking up on people? I, I almost lost my footing. Be more careful. A long way down. Well, what are you waiting for? Surely you don't expect me to thank you for withholding my telegram since last night? You weren't here. You didn't expect me to chase over the countryside looking for you. All right. Well, thank you. I imagine you'll be leaving Bishop's Bridge Trent. The inquest jury returned a verdict of murder by persons unknown. Inspector Merch believes the crime was committed by a crank. You're a veritable storehouse of information, Marlowe. And now, if you'll excuse me, when Marlowe left me, I tore open the telegram. A response to your inquiry, John Marlowe, member of Dramatic Society. Excellent in roles calling for disguise and vocal impersonations. Ah. I knew what I had to do. And I approached my task with the deepest pain and gloom. Mr. Trent, I didn't realize you'd come in. Forgive my pain. The piano is my only release. Oh, no, no. Please continue. I, I've... Aren't you feeling well? Perhaps some grams. Oh, no, no. Thank you, Mrs. Manderson. I, I've written the story of this case and addressed it to the publisher of the record. It's all here in this envelope. Contain certain things which I have concluded about your husband's death. Oh? Things not suspected by anyone else. Mrs. Manderson, I am not free to suppress this evidence on a mere whim. I want the truth. Are you asking me if I've perjured myself at the inquest? Since I have a passion for truth, I do not attend inquest. But you knew why your husband changed his attitude towards you in the month or so preceding his death? What have you found out? I want you to tell me. All right. He knew that I was weary of life with him. The constant party's business conference of scheming, complicated plans for amalgamations, corporations which went on constantly. I couldn't ask him to pass a butter as dinner without getting the latest market prices on that commodity. I refused to attend his dinners. I wouldn't pay hostess any longer at his dull parties. That is why his attitude changed. There was no talk of divorce? None. Did you plan to continue living with him? Why, why do you ask me that? I know that your husband became contemptuous of you because of John Marlowe. There you have the envelope. Send it to the record or withhold it as you choose. I'm done with this. This is my last case. I watched her trembling hands tear open the envelope and extract the story. The story that told how Marlowe had shopped Manderson at 11 o'clock had impersonated him at midnight, had worn the dead man's shoes to cover up his own footprints, and had been in such haste that he neglected to tie the laces when he returned them to the feet of the murdered man. I dare not guess how deeply Mrs. Manderson was involved in the plot, besides being the motive for it. I wanted to be done with the affair and get as far away as possible from the woman who now stood so near to me. I can't send this off, Mr. Trent. I'm sure you have good reason. The best. You are wrong. Impossible. I can prove that Marlowe masqueraded as your husband. Oh, listen, please. My husband sent Marlowe off to see a man who never existed. In the package you dressed in a mythical, Mr. Harris, with my husband's wallet, with 5,000 pounds, and the pouch of diamonds. He intended only to wound himself, and then had Mr. Marlowe arrested for theft and attempted murder. Like you. My husband suspected there was something between Marlowe and me. There never was. Oh, Mrs. Manderson. When Marlowe started to drive off, he heard the shot and drove back. My husband was dead. A suicide. He realized then what my husband had planned. He replaced the warrant and diamonds in the pocket, then borrowed the shoes for reasons you guessed. They were torn because Marlowe's feet were a little too large for them. But you said you had seen Manderson at midnight. I said I had heard his voice. Marlowe's a good impersonator. He was trying to protect himself and me. Now, Mrs. Manderson, I couldn't have been that far from the solution. You were even further away, friend. Why, couples. Manderson was not a suicide. What? I killed him. What? This is too ridiculous. I was out walking that night. I saw Marlowe drive off. Then I came upon Manderson just as he was about to shoot himself. I tried to stop him. We struggled. And during the struggle, the gun went off accidentally. How could I have been so wrong? I think I know why. Your talents must be better suited to reporting than the detective business. My dear Mrs. Manderson, I couldn't agree with you more. This, I vow, shall be Trent's last case. Suspense. Presented by Autolite, the light star, Mr. Ronald Coleman. This is Harle Wilcox speaking for Autolite, the world's largest independent manufacturer of automotive electrical equipment. In 28 plants from coast to coast, Autolite makes over 400 products for cars, trucks, tractors, planes, boats, and industries. These products include dial indicating and recording thermometers, bumpers, die castings, and batteries such as the famous Autolite Stay Full, ignition engineered Autolite spark plugs, both standard and resistor types, voltage regulators, wire and battery cable, Autolite bullseye sealed beam units, and Autolite original service parts for all Autolite electrical systems. Autolite is proud to serve the greatest names in the industry. So from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Autolite. Next week, we combine fact and fiction. The fact, the murder of Mary Cecilia Rogers. The fiction, Edgar Allen Poe's solution of that crime. The mystery of Marie Roget. Our star, Mr. Cornell Wilde. That's next week on Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, with music composed by Lucien Morrowick and conducted by Lud Bluskin. E.C. Bentley's Trent's Last Case was adapted for suspense by Oliver Gard. Featured at night's cast were Ellen Morgan, Joseph Kearns, Richard Peele, Gloria Ann Simpson, and William Johnstone. And remember next week, Mr. Cornell Wilde and Edgar Allen Poe's The Mystery of Marie Roget. You can buy Autolite standard or resistor type spark plugs, Autolite original service parts, and Autolite Stay Full batteries at your neighborhood Autolite dealers. Switch to Autolite. Good night. This is the CBS radio network.