 Autolight and its 96,000 dealers present. Suspense. Autolight brings you a story of treachery and greed. A story we call murder in G-flat. Starring Mr. Jack Benny. Greetings, Pepito. My favorite free holy friar. What's on the menu? Be special, Senor Wilcox. She is Autolight's faithful battery. You mean you're serving the battery that needs water only three times a year in normal car use? See, what is better for quick dependable starts? Ah, nothing's better than an Autolight Stay Full, that frisky friend of car owners from coast to coast. But... But? You don't want one, Senor? Everybody wants an Autolight Stay Full, the Buxom battery with fiberglass retaining mats protecting every positive plate to prevent shedding and flaking, and to keep the Autolight Stay Full battery power packed for paramount performance. See, see, how you want it, Senor. Why, it's perfect just as it is, Pepito, and built to give longer life as proved by tests conducted according to accepted life cycle standards. So, friends, have your neighborhood Autolight Battery dealer serve your car, an Autolight Stay Full battery, the battery that needs water only three times a year in normal car use. See, see, and remember, you're always right with Autolight. And now with Murder in G Flat and the transcribed performance of Mr. Jack Benny, Autolight hopes once again to keep you in suspense. Lieutenant, in here, sir, in the wreck hall. What's he doing in the wreck hall? Well, he thought he'd tune the piano while I was waiting, Lieutenant. Sunday night. Why couldn't you guys pick a better night than Sunday night? My one day off and I have to come down here. Sorry we had to call you, Joe. This is the guy. Yeah. Hey, yo. That's it. C Flat. I had my wrench. This is the Lieutenant. Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, Lieutenant. Same. Oh. My name is Remington, Hercules Remington. That's it, Joe, we checked. Pardon me, Lieutenant, but my wife, Martha, is going to be awfully worried. You see, I haven't seen her since this morning. They told me... You haven't seen your wife since this morning? No, and I thought that if I could phone her and at least tell her where I am... Where'd you pick them up? Coney Island, Joe, he called us from there. Yes, and I should have called my wife, too. Look, Lieutenant, I don't want to seem persistent about this. You'll have plenty of time later to call your wife. Now, get the Lieutenant the story in detail, just like you told it to me on the way down here to the station. What kind of work do you do, Remington? Well, I'm a piano tuner, Lieutenant. Yours is out of tune. See, flat, Lieutenant. See, if I could get my bag, I'd do this. Look, Remington, I haven't got all night. Now, either get on with your story or I'll have... All right, Lieutenant. But I really would like to call my wife first. Start your story. All right, all right. But there's any explaining to be done to my wife. You guys will have to do it. We'll be happy to. I'll go ahead. Yes, sir. Well, Lieutenant, this whole mess started yesterday morning, Saturday. I got up, had breakfast with my wife, Martha, and my uncle, Herman. He's my black sheep uncle of the family. He's a carnival man. Came to work at the World's Fair here and has been living with us ever since. I think he ought to pay at least one-third of the rent, but Martha, well, she feels sorry for him. Anyway, I left the house around 10 o'clock on my way to the Lippinridge School of Music. I usually tune their pianos on the first Saturday of the month. See, because there aren't any classes there on that Saturday. I catch the BMT at 57th and get off at Union Square. Well, yesterday morning I got on the subway, just like I always do. I carry a little ordinary brown bag with all my tools in it and usually lay it right next to me under the seat. I was just sitting there thinking hard, wondering how I was going to meet the bills at the end of the month when a man sat down next to me. He shoved something under the seat and just sat there staring ahead. B-flat, D-flat, B-flat, B-flat, B-flat, B-flat. I beg your pardon. Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I got carried away for a moment. Four stops later, the man got up, reached under the seat, pulled out a little brown bag and started for the door. I remember noticing he was bald-headed wearing big, black, horn-rimmed glasses. For a minute I thought he'd stolen my bag of tools, but I reached my hand under the seat and found my bag was still there. I remember sort of chucking to myself, thinking of the coincidence that he'd been carrying the same type of bag. Well, anyway, I got off at Union Square and walked up to the Lippinridge School of Music on 14th. There are four floors there, you know, a piano on each floor. I usually start at the top and work my way down. Well, since the school doesn't have any classes on Saturday, the place was deserted. Hmm, that one's sour. Yeah, D-flat. I'll soon have that in shape. What the... I zipped open my bag to take out my tuning hammer and my wedges, but there were no tools in my bag. The tools were gone and in their place were bundles and bundles of crisp $10 bills. And then it hit me. The little ball headed man on the subway. The man who sat down next to me, this bag belonged to him. He picked up mine by mistake. There was no name on the bag, no identification of any kind. I started counting one of the bundles. Each bundle contained $1,000 and $10 bills, and there were 25 bundles. I had just come here to $25,000. When I got home, Martha was washing some clothes out on the back porch, and Uncle Herman was rolling pennies for his pitch-penny concession. I called both of them into the living room, pulled all the shades down, closed and locked all the doors, and set the bag on the table. Hercules, what are you doing back home so soon? Kind of nonsense is this, Navio. Martha, Uncle Herman, I... You look awful pale. I guess I do. Hercules, what's the matter with you? Listen to me, both of you. I... I'm rich. Oh, for heaven's sakes, Hercules, act your age. I'm not lying to you. Look, I gotta get out of here. You must be sick. Look, both of you be quiet for just a minute. It sounds like he's drunk. Are you sick, Hercules? Look, I'm not sick and I'm not drunk. I've got it right here. You've got what? Look. Hercules. Now do you believe me? Now do you believe I'm not sick or drunk? Look at it. $25,000. $25,000? That's a lot of money. Hercules. Hercules, where'd you get all this money? I found it. Found it? Found it? Yes. I... Listen to me, Hercules Remington. Don't you lie to me. Where'd you get all that money? I told you, Martha. I... I found it. I haven't lived with you for ten years for nothing. I know when you're lying to me. Now tell me, where'd you get all this money? If I tell you the truth, I... I know you won't believe me. Well, tell me anyway. Well, all right. Look, this morning I got on the subway, just like I always do. There's some little ball-headed man with black horn-rimmed glasses sat down next to me. When I got up to get off the subway, I noticed he was carrying a brown bag, just like mine. At first I thought it was mine, but mine was still under the seat. Anyway, when I got to the music school, I opened my bag and... and all this money was in it. Sounds fantastic. Hercules. But it's the truth. The little man picked up my bag by mistake. I searched this one for some identification, but there isn't any. Then... then you mean the little ball-headed man has your bag with the tools in it? I guess he does. It seems odd that anyone would be carrying this much money around in a little brown bag. Odd or not, the fact still remains that I didn't steal it. Well, I guess there isn't any way that you could get a hold of this man, so we'll just have to turn the money over to the police. The... the police? Yes, I said the police. But... but why? Why? Good heavens, Hercules. You don't expect to keep this money. Why not? Which isn't ours. Why? Why isn't it ours? I found it. I didn't steal it, Martha. Hercules. Martha, don't you see? Maybe this is fate. Maybe we were meant to have this money. Maybe... You're crazy. You're out of your head. You're talking like a madman, and I won't have it. But, Martha... You didn't come by this money, honestly. It isn't legal. You're... Now, wait a minute, Martha. Maybe Hercules is a little... Now, you stay out of this, Uncle Herman. Hercules, you're going to take this money to the police. No. No, I'm not. I'm not going to take this to the police or anyone else. Do you understand me? I'm not going to take this money to the police. Hercules, I don't understand you at all. But, Martha, I heard you'll pay for this. Well, don't pay no attention to her, nephew. Why does she have to be that way? Why can't she understand me just this once? Why can't she see my side of it? See, I didn't steal this money. No, you didn't, nephew. And I'm going to keep it. Sure you are, nephew. Sure you are. You're going to keep it. You bet I am. The next morning... That was this morning, Sunday. Martha wouldn't speak to me at all. Her eyes were all red and puffed up. I could see that she'd been crying. Uncle Herman wasn't doing much talking, either. Martha just kept sniffling as she puttered around the stove. Martha, my peach isn't peeled. Peel it yourself. But I... Here, I'll peel it for you, nephew. Thanks, Uncle Herman. Martha, please, won't you try... Don't you talk to me. No, don't be too hard on him, Martha. After all, a man's got a right... I told you once, Uncle Herman. You stay out of this. It's none of your business. Sorry. She's plenty mad. Well, aren't you going to answer the phone? Hello? Uh, Mr. Remington? Yes? Her ghillie is Remington? Yes, who is this, please? I, uh... I want to return your bag of piano tools to you, Mr. Remington. I... I believe there was a slight mix-up. I believe in my haste. I picked up your bag instead. But... But how did you find me? I mean... Oh, it was quite simple. There's only one piano tuner with the initials HR in New York City. Well... Well, what do you know? You do want your piano tools back, don't you, Mr. Remington? Uh, listen to me. I don't think you'd like the idea of not being able to tune any more pianos. Why? And I'd like to have my bag returned. Of course. As soon as possible. Yes. Tonight. Tonight? At 9.30 tonight, meet me at Madison Square Garden. Madison Square Garden? At 9.30, at the 49th Street entrance, the door on the far end will be left slightly open. And, uh, please be prompt, Mr. Remington, with my brown bag. You see, it will displease my business partner considerably if he finds I've lost the bag. All right. The 49th Street entrance, the door on the far end. Achilles, what's wrong? Well, you're as white as a ghost. I am? You sure are. I guess I should be. That was the little ball-headed man with horn-rimmed glasses, Uncle Herman. I've just lost $25,000. Uncle Herman went in the living room to read the Sunday paper. I went in the bedroom to tell Martha about the phone call. But she wasn't there. In fact, she wasn't anywhere in the house. She was gone. I figured that she'd probably gone over to her sister's house. I was so nervous the rest of the afternoon I couldn't eat a thing. I left the house for Madison Square Garden about nine o'clock. From riches to rags in about 24 hours. I was back riding the subway. I walked up 8th Avenue to the garden. I turned and walked up 49th Street to the entrance and stopped. Sure enough, one of the doors on the far end was open a little, just as the little man had told me it would be. I slipped in through the open door. It was pitch-black. I couldn't see a thing. Hello? Hello? Anybody here? Hello? Is there anyone here? What then? I stumbled over something and almost fell. I struck a match and looked down at a body. The body of a little man in horn-rimmed glasses. His head was all covered with blood. I started to blow out the match. Then something caught my eye. Lying next to his body was my brown bag with the initials HR. And next to the bag, covered with blood, was my tuning hammer. Light is bringing you, Mr. Jack Benny, in Murder in G Flat. Tonight's production in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills, Suspends. Senor Wilcox, why does the auto-light-stay-full battery need water like Pepito needs a hole in the head? Well, Pepito, the auto-light-stay-full needs water only three times a year in normal car use because that consistently conserving and constantly cooperating battery has over three times the liquid protection of batteries without stay-full features. And why is the auto-light-stay-full strong as a bull, Senor? Because of the fiberglass retaining mats protecting every positive plate. They prevent shedding and flaking and keep the power-producing materials in place. Greater convenience and dependable starting, yes, Senor? Right, Pepito. And in addition, the auto-light-stay-full battery gives you longer life as proved by tests conducting according to accepted life cycle standards. And all these make the stay-full welcome as siesta after fiesta. Right, you are. So friends, visit your neighborhood auto-light-battery dealer for an auto-light-stay-full. The battery that needs water only three times a year in normal car use. Your auto-light-battery man is fully equipped to give you the best in battery advice and service because... you are always right with auto-light. And now auto-light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage Mr. Jack Benny in Elliot Lewis' production of Murder in G-flat. A tale well-calculated to keep you in... Suspense! Please, Lieutenant, may I call my wife? I want to... Finish your story first, Mr. Remington. You can call her after that. Oh. Oh, all right. You were standing over the body of this man in Madison Square Garden. You found your tuning hammer next to the body. Yes. Yes, my tuning hammer. Let me tell you, Lieutenant, I was scared. Plenty scared. Here I was standing over a dead man in Madison Square Garden. And clutching my hand was his brown bag containing $25,000. Who would kill him? Who would... But I couldn't stop to think about that. Now I had to get out of there and fast and take my bag and hammer lying on the floor with me. I started to reach for my bag when a sound G-flat. Someone had opened up a knife. Whoever was coming toward me, I blew out the match and waited. Who was in that corridor with me? Was it the business partner of the little man? Was it I started to move backwards and then a big black figure loomed up at me? With all my strength, I brought the brown bag swinging up from the floor. Man, until I thought my legs were gone. My mind was all fogged up now. I couldn't think straight. Who was the guy who just tried to kill me? One thing I knew for sure, I had to get rid of this money until I could think things out. But where? Where could I get rid of it? I neared the corner of 59th and 8th Avenue and then saw it. A bus terminal. Why not? A public locker in the bus station. I opened the door and walked in. Yes, ma'am, in about 20 minutes. Excuse me, mister. I'd like to have a key for a locker. Just a second. G-sharp. What'd you say? Oh, nothing. What do you know? I haven't got an empty one right now. I have to wait a little while. You haven't found all of these hundreds of lockers? You haven't got one empty? I'm sorry, mister, but you can see for yourself. A lot of service men are down over the weekend. Well, how long will it be? 10, 15 minutes. Maybe a couple of hours. Okay, I'll wait. I'll sit over there. I bought a paper at the newsstand and sat down on one of the benches. I didn't even know what I was reading. I just kept... and then I saw it. On page 2. A complete account of a robbery that had occurred on Friday night at one of the downtown post offices. Two bandits had escaped with $25,000 and $10 bills. This was it. It must have been. But would the police believe a story like that? Of course they would. I had the money and it was my tuning hammer there, lying next to the body in the garden. I got out of that bus terminal in a hurry and walked up 8th Avenue. Where could I go? The only place I could think of was Coney Island. Coney Island and Uncle Herman and his pitch-penny concession. It was late and the island amusement park was almost deserted. It was cold and close to 11. Uncle Herman was leaning against the side of his concession as I walked up. Why nephew? What are you doing out this way? Uncle Herman, quick. Let's go and back. All right. The customers anyway. What happened, Hercules? Did you give the money back to the man? I went to meet him at the garden just like he told me. But when I got there and I found him, he was dead. Dead? He'd been beat over the head with my tuning hammer. Why, Hercules? I was just about to grab my hammer and bag and get out of there when someone made a lunge at me in the dark. But I got away. To put the money in a locker. I had to wait. And then I read that the money is stolen post office money. Oh, you got yourself in a mess, nephew. I'm frandy. I don't know what to do. That's why I came here. Well, I'm glad you did, nephew. Glad you did. But what am I going to do? Best thing would be to go back and get that hammer and bag. Leave the money here. I'll hide it for you. But maybe I ought to go to the police. You can't go to the police with that story. They'd never believe you, Hercules. Leave your bag and come with me, nephew. I got a hiding place for that money that no one will ever find. Uncle Herman locked his place up and then he led me over to the fun house. It was closed now and the place was all dark. But Uncle Herman had a key. He led me up some stairs to a high ramp that people climb on, you know, to slide down the big chute. He stopped at one of them. Here, nephew. Right under this top chute, we'll just pry one of the boards loose a little and slip the bag with the money underneath. No one in the world will ever look for it. Here we are. Now, give me the bag, nephew. Here you are, Uncle Herman. Are you sure that no one will find it here? Absolutely, nephew. You and I are the only ones who know where it is. I... Well, there's nothing to be afraid of. Now, hand me the bag. Here you are. That's it. Now, let's just check to make sure that... What's the matter, Uncle Herman? Where's the money, nephew? The money? What are you talking about? It's in the... Is this what you call money? This bag's got nothing in it but bundles of torn newspaper. I don't understand. Hercules, dear nephew, what did you do with the money? No, it was in there. You sort yourself when I brought it home. Is this a scheme of yours, Hercules? Scheme? Trying to cheat on your dear old uncle, aren't you, Hercules? Uncle Herman, what are you talking about? Where's the money, Hercules? G-flat. That knife. G-flat. This ain't no time to play games with your Uncle Herman, Hercules. Uncle Herman, where were you tonight? What's that, Hercules? G-flat, your knife. It's G-flat. Looks like this thing has got you going, Hercules. It was you in the garden, wasn't it, Uncle Herman? You killed him. Let's not waste any more time, nephew. Now tell me where that money is. I don't know. Stop lying to your dear uncle, Hercules. I'm not lying. I usually use this knife to scale fish. The smell of fish is stronger than the smell of blood. But I tell you, I don't know where that money is. You're lying to me. You came down here just to throw me off, didn't you? Make me think you lost the money. Uncle Herman, stay away from me. All right, Hercules. So you won't tell your dear uncle. He rushed at me with the knife. I stepped back and tripped over the board. He applied loose and fell down. But Uncle Herman... G-flat! Went hurtling over me. Head over heels down the long slide. And I got back down at the bottom of the slide chute. He was dead. The uncle had his neck broken, Lieutenant. What about the money? Well, Mr. Remington's wife turned it over to the authorities this morning about 11 o'clock. She said the money wasn't his, and she didn't want him carrying it around. Well, I guess that'll be all, Mr. Remington. You can go now. But isn't it dangerous? I mean, the partner is still... We picked up his business partner a few hours after the robbery. Oh. But just in case you happen to come across another $25,000 that doesn't belong to you, promise me that you'll get in touch with the authorities, will you, Mr. Remington? Oh, I've learned my lesson, Lieutenant. Believe you me, I have. Yeah, good. Oh, for heaven's sakes, I almost forgot. I gotta call my wife. She's probably frantic by now. There's a payphone right outside in the corridor. Payphone? Yeah, right around the corner. You can't miss it. Hmm. Well, she's waited this long. I think I'll just tell her when I get home. Suspense. Presented by Autolite. Tonight's star, Mr. Jack Benny. Ah, fine meal, Pepito. So long. Hey, no desserts, Senor Wilcox. I never desert Pepito. I'm always faithful to those 400 fine products for cars, trucks, tractors, planes, and boats made by Autolite in 28 plants from coast to coast. These include complete ignition systems used as original factory equipment on many leading makes of our finest cars. Generators, coils, distributors, electric windshield wipers, voltage regulators, wire and cables, starting motors, and many more. And they're all engineered to fit together perfectly, work together perfectly, because they're all part of the Autolite team. So, friends, don't accept electrical parts supposed to be as good. Ask for and insist on Autolite original factory parts at your neighborhood service station, car dealer, garage, or repair shop. Remember, you're always right with Autolite. Next week on Suspense, our stars will be Lucille Ball and Desi Arnais in Early to Death. And in weeks to come, you will hear such famous stars as James Stewart and Baxter and Rosalind Russell, all on Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by Elia Lewis with music composed by Lucian Morrowek and conducted by Lut Bluskin. Murder in G-flat was written for Suspense by Richard George Petticini. Portions of this program were transcribed. In tonight's cast, Joseph Kearns was heard as Uncle Herman, Lee Benadera as Martha, and Larry Thor as the Lieutenant. Others in the cast were Clayton Post, Jack Krushen and Paul Freese. Jack Benny may be heard each Sunday on CBS on his own radio program, The Jack Benny Show. And remember, next week on Suspense, Lucille Ball and Desi Arnais in a story about a mysterious airplane crash in the mountains of Mexico, a tale we call, Early to Death. You can buy Autolite state-full batteries, Autolite resistor type or standard type spark plugs, Autolite electrical parts at your neighborhood Autolite dealers. Switch to Autolite. Good night. Tonight, Autolite salutes the men and women leaders in boys' clubs all over America. This is National Boys' Club Week, a time to remember that our boys' clubs serve the boy, the community and the nation by training tomorrow's leaders today. This is CBS, The Columbia Broadcasting System.