 And now, tonight's presentation of Radio's outstanding theatre of thrills. Suspense. We bring you a story of death and eleven roses. We call it The Twelfth Rose. So now, starring Paula Winslow, here is tonight's suspense play, The Twelfth Rose. Miss Robin, the maid, Miss Robin, hours first. The place, New York City. The time, 12.15 p.m. Dolores Robbins had been young and pretty. The details of her murder were not. The sprawl position of her body and the instrument of murder indicated that the act had not been premeditated. A dozen roses were in the apartment. Eleven of them in a large vase near the body. Running around and up the length of each stem to give the blossom support was a single strand of green wire. The killer had circled the girl's neck with a long stem of the twelfth rose and then twisted. And although the stem itself had broken, the wire had not. Fifty-five minutes after the maid discovered the girl's body, two detectives from the homicide division began questioning her. Mrs. Williams, how often did you clean in here? Every day, but Sunday. She wasn't due for service, but twice a week, but she always gave me a little something extra. Then you were in here yesterday? Yes, sir. Yesterday afternoon. Were these roses here, then? No, sir. You're sure? Yes, sir. Do you have any idea where they might have come from? No, sir. But no girl looking like she looked is going to have to buy them for herself. And what about the box or wrapping paper they came in? You know where it might be? Well, if Miss Robin threw it in the trash before eight this morning, it'd already be burned up. If she put it in after eight... She didn't. She was killed late last night. Oh. Mrs. Williams, did you ever see her boyfriend? She didn't have a regular boyfriend. But she went out once in a while, didn't she? I suppose she did. Was she here when you came in to clean yesterday? Yes, sir. Did she say anything about having a date last night? No, sir. Not to me, but... Yes? Go on. Well, I was just about through when she got this phone call. She'd been washing her hair, and I was finishing up Dustin. And I heard her say she'd met a real nice man and thought she might see him last night. She mentioned his name? Well, I don't think so. At least not while I was here. I finished up and left before she got off the phone. Well, you know who she was talking to. Miss Butler. She and Miss Robbins were real good friends. If you want to talk to her, she lives in the building next door. Mildred Butler confirmed the made statements. She remembered the telephone conversation that she had had with the Robbins girl. She remembered the victim telling her about a man she had met the night before. Miss Robbins had not said where or under what circumstances they had met, but she had indicated that she would see him later that evening. When asked if she'd been told the man's name, the Butler girl replied that she had. It was Carl Owens. The two detectives returned to the victim's apartment. Pete, you ever buy roses for your wife? Two girls in high school. Are you kidding? You know anything about them? Sure. Some are red and some are yellow. When I was a kid, Pete, my folks had a greenhouse. They used to raise them. All kinds. These are just average. How can you tell? Look at the stems. They're wired to keep them from drooping. Now, with good rows, you don't have to wire the stems. They'll stand up straight for days. What do you call these, you know? Yeah. Happiness. What are you, detective? You really think we got a chance of getting them, Lou? If we're lucky. And if Owens is his right name. The lab boys didn't find any good prints. We might not need them. We'll just locate every Carl Owens between 20 and 40 who works or lives here in this area. Some of them will be eliminated automatically. Those that aren't will consider possible suspects. And then, Pete, if we're still lucky, we'll get someone to identify the killer. Nobody saw that. You're wrong, Pete. Somebody did. Yeah? Who? The florist that sold them these roses. Suppose the florist doesn't remember. Well, the way the papers are going to play this one up, they'll remember. It is just one thing. Yeah. Suppose a killer is thinking like we are. What do you mean? Suppose the killer remembers the florist. At 9.33 that evening, Miss Helen Craig, the manager of a small flower shop on the east side, adjusted the thermostat on the refrigerator display case. A moment later, her employee, Nancy Wasso, crossed to the front windows and pulled the shades. The shop was closed for the night. Oh, thank goodness I didn't think the day would ever end. You want me to bring some iced tea tomorrow? Well, if you like, we can keep it cool in the display case. Oh, and Nancy? Yes? Stop off at the wholesalers in the morning and pick up three dozen long-stemmed roses. Any particular kind? You'd better get, um, happiness. I sold the last of them while you were out yesterday. Is that all we need? Until Monday. You can tell Mr. Leeds I'll see him then. Oh, that must be Joe. Uh, my steam straight? Well, let's see. Yes, fine. You don't mind if I leave? Oh, no, run along. I'll wait for Max to check in. Thanks, Miss Craig. Night. Good night. You gave me a fright. I didn't hear you come in. You had your head in that showcase. Why, aren't you the gentleman I waited on yesterday afternoon that selected the roses? Oh, you do remember me then? Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I wasn't sure you would. Oh, well, it would be hard to forget it. Yes? Go on. Well, you're, you're tall and... Oh, please. Now you're embarrassing me. I'm sorry I didn't mean to. You all alone here? Why, yes, I was just getting ready to leave. Why? Just curious. Were you going right home? Or was someone coming to meet you here? Well, really, Mr.... A Johnson. Bill Johnson, Miss Craig. Oh, you know my name? But how does that happen? It was printed on the receipt you gave me. Miss Craig, manager. You're too attractive to be a manager. Oh, please. Oh, really? I think you are. Now, Mr. Johnson, it's taken me a good many years to get used to this face. And now that I am, I resent anyone insulting my intelligence by trying to flatter me. Oh, you've got a temper too. Well, I'm sorry. No, don't apologize. I like a woman to have a little fight. Makes her much more interesting. Oh, and how often do you fight? Oh, oh, excuse me. What is it? Can I have to let him in? Miss Craig. Yes? I suppose you know by now I didn't come here to buy flowers. Oh? I just stopped by to deliver a message from my mother. You're... Yes. She wanted you to know how much she liked the roses. Oh, well, now I am flattered. But I thought... Yes? What did you think? Well, when a gentleman buys roses, they're usually for a young lady. The only girl I've got is my mother. She's in the hospital. That's where the roses went. Well, I've got to go. Oh, please stop in again, Mr. Johnson. That's a promise, Miss Craig. I'll see you real soon. You are listening to the 12th Rose, a nice presentation in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, suspense. Tomorrow night, a self-styled tycoon sets himself up as an energetic but not exactly legal stockbroker. For a while, business booms. But once the FBI in peace and war get on his trail, the shitty operator discovers that the bottom has fallen out of his market. Don't miss a thrill. Don't miss a moment of the next exciting episode of the FBI in peace and war over most of these same stations tomorrow night. And now we bring back to our Hollywood sound stage Miss Paula Winslow, starring in tonight's production, the 12th Rose, a tale well calculated to keep you in... ...suspect. At four o'clock the next morning, a milkman left a quart bottle just outside the door of the apartment that Helen Craig shared with her younger sister Peggy. Three and a half hours later, Helen opened the door, letting Napoli and the cat into the kitchen. At the same time, she picked up the quart of milk. She didn't notice that someone had tampered with the protective cap on the bottle, not even when she poured some of the milk into a dish for the cat. There you are, Nappy Boy. Oh, what got you up so early on a Saturday, Peg? I decided to go to the beach for the weekend. Oh? You didn't say anything about it last night? I had to build up my mind before you got to bed. Well, sit down, I'll pour the coffee. How are you going? On the train. I've got a hurry. At least I can eat 15. Now, Nappy, Nappy, be quiet and drink your milk. Who are you going with, Peg? Betty Mills and another girl from the office. They rented a cottage for their vacation. I'll be home late, son. Hey, what's the matter? You've done to yourself. Oh, well, nothing much. I just used a little rinse on my hair and combed it over on the sides. So that's what you were doing last night. It looks awful, doesn't it? Oh, no, no, no, isn't it? Oh, I like it, Helen, really. Who is he? You know who I mean the man you've met. The one that's fixing up bits for. What's his name? How'd you meet him? Well, his name is Johnson. He came into the shop for the first time day before yesterday to buy some roses. And then last night he came back to tell me how much his mother liked them. Oh, that's a likely story. When are you going to see him again? Well, I don't know for sure, but when he left last night, he said it would be soon. Oh, I hope... Napoleon for heaven's... Oh, and something's wrong with him. What? Nappy! He's sick! Well, he was all right a minute ago. Well, he's not... No, look at him. Oh, get a blanket peg and call a cab. I'll take him to the vets. Oh, uh, yes? Thank you for waiting. I'm Dr. Michaels. Oh, yes, Doctor. How is Nappy? Uh, my cat. Well, I'm afraid I have bad news for you, Miss Craig. She's dead. Oh, no. I'm sorry. You see, there was very little we could do. But what caused it? Well, we can't be sure without a laboratory examination. What do you think it was? Poison, Miss Craig. I think someone may have poisoned him. By checking through the records bureau, DMV, various credit bureaus, state employment agencies, and finally, by referring to the Manhattan telephone directory, detectives Clymor and Carver located over 40 men with the name of Carl Owens. Of this number, nine could be classified as suspects in the murder of Dolores Robbins. They did not contact these men directly, but they did make some discreet inquiries. The next step, locate the florist who had sold one of them the roses found in the dead girl's apartment. Time, 9.20. Helen Craig arrived at the flower shop. Craig, have you seen the papers? Did you read about it? About what, Nancy? The rose murder. The what? Well, the girl that was choked to death with the happiness rose. The murderer bought some roses for this girl before yesterday, and when she took him to her apartment, he choked her to death. Isn't that the most exciting thing you've heard? Oh, please, Nancy, I'm not in the mood. But he could have bought those roses here. I'm sure he didn't. So how do you know? Didn't you sell a dozen of those roses while I was out that afternoon? Yes. To a man? Yes, to a man. Well, before you let your imagination run away with you, I happened to know he bought them for his mother. Oh. Has anyone called me this morning? Only Max, he'll be a few minutes late. Something wrong with the trucks. Oh, and I got the roses there in the display case. Oh, thank you. I'll be out to wire them in a minute. The roses the murderer bought were wired? Does everyone wire the stems the same way? Nancy, please. I'm depressed enough without having to listen to a second-hand account of a cheap murder. I'm sorry. I just thought you'd be interested. Well, I'm not. And if you haven't anything to do back here, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me alone. Miss Craig, what is it? Oh, dear, this is silly of me. You remember our cat, Napoleon? Yes. Well, he's dead. And the vet thinks somebody poisoned him. Oh, no. Of course, he's not sure yet, but if he was poisoned, I'm going to find the person that gave it to him. He'll wish he hadn't. I'll get it. Madison Flower Shop. Yes, she is. Would you like to speak? Hello? Hello? Is it funny? Wrong number? No. He asked if you were here, and I told him you were. He hung up. Carl Owens had arrived at his office in the chemical industry's warehouse at 9.30 that morning. He was rather pleased with himself. He had encountered no difficulty in putting a certain tasteless poison in the Craig woman's milk bottle. He knew now, after making the phone call, that she had not touched the milk. But she would, in time. And he was sure he had plenty of time. Mr. Owens. Carl, what have you been up to? What? Who is this? Janet, honey, in personnel. Oh, Janet. Mr. Hall received a phone call from somebody a few minutes ago, and whoever it was sure asked a lot of questions about you. Oh, like what? Well, I couldn't hear everything Mr. Hall said, but I did hear him give out your address. My address? Mm-hmm. What did you do, honey? Applied for credit somewhere? Carl? Oh, yeah. I was going to get something on time, but I've changed my mind. Time, 2.20 p.m. Nancy Wassel returned from lunch. Miss Craig, it's just me. Anything happen? Oh, Mrs. Williams called. She wants a centipede of stock and carnations for tonight. Oh, I'll get it, Nancy. Oh, good afternoon. Good afternoon. Say, these roses here in the case, the ones with their stems wired, they're called happiness, aren't they? Yeah. Yes, that's right. Very nice. And these here are margarites, huh? I haven't seen any of those in several years. Well, would you catch... No, no, I'm here on business. My name is Carver Police. Here's my identification. Oh. Oh, yes, Lieutenant. Is there anyone else working here who sells the flowers? Only my assistant, Miss Wassel. Would you call her, please? Why, surely. Oh, Nancy, would you come out here, please? Coming. This won't take very long. Miss, just a couple of questions. Nancy, this is Lieutenant Carver from the police. Good afternoon. Oh, I'll bet you hear about that murder. Yes, that's right. I read about it in the papers. She's done a good job of filling me in on the gory details, Lieutenant. Good. That saves us both time. Now, do either of you remember selling a dozen of the happiness roses to a man day before yesterday, probably in the afternoon? I didn't sell any that day, but Miss Craig did. Oh. Do you have a record of that transaction, Miss Craig? Well, I know it was cash. Could you identify the man if necessary? Yes, but I know he isn't the one you're looking for. What makes you so certain? Is he a regular customer? Well, no, he's not. Well, does he have an account here? No. Do you happen to know his address? No, but those roses were for his mother. She's in the hospital. I see. You had them delivered, I suppose? No, Mr. Johnson took them himself. Johnson? Yes, that's his name, Bill Johnson. Well, that ends that. For a minute there, I thought we had something. Now, no one else bought any that afternoon. No. Now, be very sure your life may depend on it. Why do you say that, Lieutenant? I don't want to frighten you, Miss, but the florist that sold those roses is the only person that could identify the killer. Oh, and with the florist out of the way? Well, I won't take up any more of your time. Thank you for your cooperation. You're quite welcome. Miss Craig. Yes? May I buy one of those happiness roses? Oh, well, you can't buy it, Lieutenant. But I'd be very glad to let you have one. Thank you very much. When you have time, stop in again, Lieutenant. I'd like to. Good afternoon. Good afternoon. Well, what a charming gentleman. Oh, I'll get it. You didn't tell me you knew the man that bought those roses. I don't tell you everything, Nancy. Medicine flower shop. Miss Craig, please. Speaking. Well, Dr. Michaels, Miss Craig, I had the laboratory report on your cat. Oh, yes, Doctor. He was definitely poisoned. Oh, I see. Do you know how the poison was given to him? Yes, it was in milk. What? It was given to him in milk. Oh, but that's impossible. I gave him his milk this morning. Are you sure? I'm positive. It was a fresh bottle. I brought it in from the hall and poured some of it into his dish. Did you drink any of it yourself? Miss Craig? No. Well, if there is poison in that milk, I... I know, Doctor. If there is, it wasn't meant for Napoleon. Time, 6 p.m. Nancy Wassell crossed to the front windows and pulled the shades. The shop was closed for the night. 45 minutes later, Helen Craig was alone in the shop. She turned off the lights in the sales room and went into her small office where she began checking over accounts payable. See, Williams... Williams, here it is. $42.20. Yes? It... is someone out there? It's only me, Miss Craig. Oh, Mr. Johnson. Oh, you... you gave me such a fright. Oh, wait. Wait, I'll turn on the lights. No. What? But why not? Well, I haven't been home all day. I'm dirty and tired. I'd rather you didn't see me when I'm not looking my best. Oh, really, Mr. Johnson? But all right, I... I'll let you have your way this once. Are you alone here? Yes. You expecting anyone? No, not tonight. Nancy had a date with her boyfriend and Max has gone home to his family. Well, what are you doing working here so late? Oh, trying to catch up on my paperwork. Uh, Mr. Johnson, are you hungry? What? Have you had anything to eat? Well, no, what? Because I'm starved. I had Miss Wassel go down to the delicatessen for a couple of sandwiches this afternoon, and I thought you might like to share them with me. I hate eating by myself. Would you like one? Sure. Oh, good. They're here in the display case. It makes a wonderful refrigerated food. You see, there's a chicken and a ham. Which do you want? Oh, I don't know. Ham's okay. Well, here we are. And I think, well, let me see. Yes, this one's ham. Thanks. We can sit right down at this table. Okay. Go ahead. Thank you. Oh, I almost forgot something to drink. We've had ice tea in these glasses, but they're clean. Would you hold it while I pour the milk? Oh, sure. Thanks. It's perfectly fresh. Nancy brought it back with the sandwiches. Well, now then, is it good? Mm-hmm. I'm so glad you could stop by. I do hate eating alone. Yeah, me too. Mm, that milk's nice and cold. You have any unusual visitors here today? Unusual visitors? No. You sure? Quite sure, Mr. Johnson. Why? Oh, I just wondered. A couple of funny things happened today. I didn't go home on account of... What's the matter, Mr. Johnson? I thought you were hungry. Why? I am. You're not eating. Oh, I will. It's just that... Well, it isn't often that I get to eat with a gentleman. I enjoy watching you. You, uh... You lead a pretty dull life here, don't you? Oh, I suppose, by some standards. Seems to me you really don't have much to live for. Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. Oh. Mr. Johnson, are you all right? Yeah. It's just a little cramp. Well, you're probably eating too fast. You see, a person goes a while without eating, and then they gulp their food down. It isn't good for you. It isn't from... Oh, you poor man. Here, take another swallow of milk. Mr. Johnson. What is it? I don't know. Don't you? Well, I do. I lied to you. The milk is fresh, but it didn't come from the delicatessen. What are you talking about? It came from my apartment. It was the milk that was delivered this morning. No. No, you're lying. Am I? Am I, Mr. Owens? Call an ambulance. Please call an ambulance. No. Please. You made a fool of me, Mr. Owens. You looked at me like you thought I was beautiful, and I believed it. Please. That was only one of the things you did. Please! This morning, did you help my cat? Would you have helped me or my sister? I'm sorry. Oh, of course you are. But you wouldn't be if the police hadn't compared the roses I gave one of their men with those found in that girl's apartment. They could tell from the wiring. I wire all of my roses identically. You told me to call them if you came back. Mr. Owens? Lieutenant Carver? Lieutenant, this is Miss Craig at the flower shop. In which Paula Winslow starred in tonight's presentation of the 12th Rose. Next week, a story of a hired killer who had a deadline to meet. We call it a matter of timing. That's next week on Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed in Hollywood by Anthony Ellis. Tonight's story was written by Charles B. Smith. The music was composed by Lucian Morrowack and conducted by Leigh Stephens. Featured in the cast were Stacey Harris, Virginia Gregg, Don Diamond, Eleanor Tannen, Herbert Ellis, Miriam Wolfe, Jack Carroll, and Fred Mackay. A safari to the remotest corner of the earth could not provide more thrills than do the dramatic excursions into big city life. The 21st Precinct takes you on each Thursday night over most of these same stations. 21st Precinct has a realistic downright fascinating story to tell. And this Thursday night is no exception. Stay tuned for five minutes of CBS News to be followed on most of these same stations by my son, Jeet. America listens most to the CBS Radio Network.