 Now, Auto-Lite and its 60,000 dealers and service stations present... Suspense! Tonight, Auto-Lite brings you Gregory Peck in Michael Vanning's murder through the looking glass. A suspense play produced and directed by Anton M. Lieder. Friends, even a camel can't compete with an Auto-Lite stay-full battery because an Auto-Lite stay-full battery needs water only three times a year in normal car use. Yes, sir, that dandy, dynamic, dependable Auto-Lite stay-full battery has extra plates, too, for extra power, protected by fiberglass insulation for longer life and stronger life. Did I say longer life? Well, I meant it. An Auto-Lite stay-full battery has almost doubled the life of an ordinary battery. Why, in tests conducted, according to the Society of Automotive Engineers of Life Cycle Standards, Auto-Lite stay-full batteries give 70% longer average life than batteries without stay-full features. So, get wise, get Auto-Lite. Remember, you're right with Auto-Lite. And now, Auto-Lite presents Gregory Peck in a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. The sound was a dull, monotonous roar in my ears, and I... And listen, wondering if it were real or part of a dream. Suddenly, I was awake and I knew that I was riding on a train. But where? I didn't remember getting on a train. I opened my eyes and saw that I was in the lounge car. There was only darkness through the window. A man sat across from me reading. There was a bridge game down the aisle, a porter serving drinks. Everything nice and normal, except that I had no idea how I got on the train or why I was there. I tried to think of a reason for being there, but I couldn't. These spells of forgetfulness had been coming on more often lately. I leaned back and closed my eyes, listened to the rhythm of the train. A melody began to fit itself to the rhythm. I couldn't remember ever having heard such a song, but somehow I seemed to know the words. Down in the valley, valley so low, late in the evening, hear that train blow, hear that train blow. I beg your pardon sir, but your singing is disturbing the other passengers. Oh, I'm sorry. You understand sir, it's the other passengers. I kind of liked your singing myself. Your singing didn't disturb me either, young man. In fact, it was a rather pretty melody. What was the name of it? It's, you know, it's silly, but I don't know. I can't even remember the tune now. That's the way it is with songs. I've had the same thing happen to me. So what train is this? Why, it's New York Express to Philadelphia. It ought to be there any minute, too. You must have been on some party if it lasted all day. What time is it? Seven o'clock. PM, that is. Yes sir, it must have been pretty drunk out where you were. I think he said something else after that, but I wasn't listening then. I'd noticed that I was wearing a brown top coat. It wasn't mine. Maybe I'd accidentally exchanged coats with someone. If I couldn't remember it, it must have been that kind of a party. If so, I felt for my wallet. I was there. I opened it to see if I had any money left, and my eye was caught by the driver's license made out to John Blake. In another pocket of the wallet, there were engraved cards reading, John Blake Insurance. I wasn't John Blake. I was Jeffrey Bruno, a writer. I couldn't even drive a car. I didn't know anything about insurance. I'd never heard of a John Blake, but here was his identification in my wallet. What's the matter young fella? Are you ill? A man across from me said something, but I didn't hear what it was. I looked through the other pockets. There was a bank book showing that John Blake had a bank balance of $647.55. My balance had never been higher than 15 bucks. There was a letter, a bill for shirts addressed to John Blake at an address I never heard of before. There was a moment there, a few crazy seconds, when I wondered if I really was John Blake. I couldn't be. I knew I was Jeffrey Bruno, who lived at a two-room apartment in Greenwich Village and wrote mystery stories for a living. I knew who I was. Well, here we are. Or are you going on downtown? Well, I could get a train back to New York here, couldn't I? Sure, right across from the other platform. That must have been some party. I had to get back to New York and straighten out this business about John Blake's coat and identification. He, whoever he was, might even be thinking I'd stolen them. Besides, I wanted to find out where I'd been the night before and all day and why I'd awakened on a train to Philadelphia. Then, just as I got up from the seat, I glanced out of the window. The news boy was holding up a newspaper. Across the top was the big headline. Kill a big... Blake! And just below it, there was a picture of... me. Pulling down my hat and turning up my coat collar, I managed to get on a New York train without anyone recognizing me. Then, fortunately, no one pays any attention to anyone else on New York subways. Two blocks from my apartment house, I stopped at the corner stand to buy a newspaper. Oh, there you are, Mr. Bruno. Haven't seen you around for a couple days. Yeah, I've been busy. Hey, you know, I saw your picture somewhere today. You got a story in one of the magazines, maybe? No, no, well, well, good. Wait a minute. I'll remember where I saw your picture. I never forget a picture. Yeah, I've got to go now. You can tell me about it tomorrow. I had to get away before you remembered or look down and saw my picture on his papers. At home, there were a lot of letters in my box. Too many for just one delivery. When I got to the apartment, I looked at them. Two of the letters had been postmarked in New York three days before. It doesn't take three days for letters to be delivered locally. Where have I been for three days? Who's there? Rosalie. Rosalie, just a minute. Hi, Jeff. I thought I heard someone in here. A friend of yours stopped by, but you weren't home. He ran into me on the stairs and asked if I lived here and then wanted me to give you a message. Burnett was his name. Bill, I think he said. Oh, yeah. Well, I'm glad you're here, Rosalie. Stay and talk to me. We can have some coffee or a drink. When did you say Bill was here? Yesterday morning. He said something about having had a date with you the night before, but you never showed up. Yesterday morning. Oh, oh, yes. What's the matter, Jeff? Don't you feel well? Oh, sure. I feel fine. Rosalie, tell me, do I ever do anything out of the ordinary? I mean, do I... Well, have I ever seen strange? You mean, are you... Well, you've always seemed very sane to me, if that's what you mean, in spite of your vanishing acts. My what? The times you disappear. You don't know? I'm sorry. Let me finish it for you. You mean the days when I've awakened, thinking it was Tuesday, only to turn out to be Thursday. You mean I'd disappear for a couple of days, go somewhere else, become somebody else. Oh, I wouldn't have said anything, Jeff, but... Well, then why don't I remember? Now, I've heard of people drawing blanks because they've had too much to drink, but... now, maybe it's something different. What is, Jeff? Well, I told her all about it. All I knew, anyway. At first, she was frightened, but then I guess she felt sorry for me and she got over it. Before Rosalie, it always been just a beautiful and desirable girl. I'd had drinks with her a few times in her apartment in mind, but that was all. Not that I hadn't wanted to take her out, but she was a model, and I was sure that she led a glamorous life with rich men begging to take her out. Now, she didn't look as glamorous as she looked understanding. I needed that. I was beginning to believe that the explanation of John Blake wasn't as simple as I first thought. I'm glad I came in, Jeff. You need someone, and it doesn't matter whether you're John Blake or not. Oh, it matters to me. Look, I know I'm Jeffrey Bruno, and not some guy named John Blake. I can remember my whole life living on the farm, going to school, working on a newspaper, coming to New York. I can remember every minute of it. Every minute? Oh, no. No, not every minute. You know, Jeff, such things can happen. White bearded old men with eyeglasses write books about such things. They've got a word for it. I can't pronounce it, but it means that you can be two people at one time and not know it, so maybe... Well, maybe I'm John Blake, too. I was away ahead of you in thinking that. And if you are, that's a sickness, and people can get over being sick. Maybe you'll remember all the things John Blake did. I already know one thing he did. He killed someone. I don't know who or how, but I... John Blake murdered someone. You brought a paper home. Why not see? Whatever happened, Jeff, we'll find a way to work it out. Thanks, Rosalie. Here it is. His name was Rufus Carrington. He was an old man and wealthy. I, John Blake, worked part-time for his nephew, Roger Gunn. There's money missing from the firm, and it's believed Rufus Carrington may have found out about it. I see. Roger Gunn arrived to see his uncle this morning and the old man was in the study with an unknown caller. Roger Gunn was talking at the butler and they heard the old man cry out. He ran to the study and found him dead. The nephew saw me, the killer, escaping and recognized him. Well, if I were John Blake, my other self didn't do things in a small way. I never wanted the things John Blake must have wanted. I never wanted riches. Never thought of going into a business like insurance. I just can't understand this thing. They have people who understand things like that. Rosalie, whatever happens, will you promise me that if you don't like Jeffrey Bruno, you'll like John Blake? But like one of us, it doesn't matter which one it is. I like you, whichever one of them you are. You see, Rosalie, I'm innocent. Even if John Blake isn't, I haven't murdered anyone. It was another part of me, but if I try to run away, they'll find me. They'll... they'll hurt me for what John Blake did. Where can I go? What can I do? You can go to the police and tell them the whole truth. Because you see, they can't do anything to you. You're not responsible for what you did as John Blake. Yeah, maybe you're right. There's no point in running. Look, I know I have no right to ask it, but would you go with me, Rosalie? Of course I will, Jeff. It's like being haunted, knowing that somewhere inside of me there's another man. Never knowing when I'll be him. Say... say, what if... what if I turn into John Blake before we even get to the police? For Suspense, Auto Light is bringing you Gregory Peck in Radio's Outstanding, Theatre of Thrills, Suspense. Say, half the sound men and I have cooked up our own suspense show. Yeah, well, ain't she right? All right. Our hero, Jim Brown, is in a frantic rush to get to his office. He leaps into his car, tries to start it. Will it start? Won't it start? Will our hero get to his office in time to read his morning paper before his stenographer puts him to work? That's real suspense, huh? Ah, but I come along. I give him a hot tip on surefire starting. Get an Auto Light, stay full battery. And now this happens. Eh, see what I mean? That Auto Light, stay full battery takes the suspense out of starting and puts it on CBS. By an Auto Light, stay full battery needs water only three times a year in normal car use. That liberal liquid libation practically eliminates one of the major causes of battery failure. Imagine, an Auto Light, stay full battery needs water only three times a year in normal car use. An Auto Light, stay full battery has extra plates, too, for extra power. And fiberglass insulation adds months to the life of a battery. Money can't buy a better battery. So switch to Auto Light. And now, Auto Light brings back to a Hollywood soundstage Gregory Peck as Jeffrey in Murder Through the Looking Glass. A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. Rosalie was right. I thought about it as we walked down the stairs. They know what to do with a case like mine. They know that Jeffrey Bruno wasn't responsible for what John Blake did. Of course, they'd lock me up for my own good and then they'd leave me in there. What's the matter, Jeff? Wait, wait, Rosalie, you're right. I mustn't run away, but first I've got to find out about the other me, about John Blake. All I know is that he murdered someone. I have to know other things about him, what he was really like. I understand, Jeff, but you mustn't do anything foolish. I have to know about my other life, what books I read, what kind of girls I like. You can see that's important, cancer. Of course. Jeff, I just thought of something. I know a man, a psychiatrist. Maybe if I called him, you could see him tonight. He'd understand. Maybe he could tell you what to do. Will you talk to him? Well, I'll do anything. It'll help me to understand what I was like when I was John Blake and why I was like that. I'll go in the drugstore here and call him. I'm sure he'll see you and we'll do whatever he says. Now, Mr. Bruno, you say there have been many times when you haven't remembered what happened for days. Oh, not many. A few times it only happened after I'd been drinking and I thought that's all it was until this. I see. It's a very interesting case. What is it, Doctor? I've done some reading on psychiatry and it sounds, is it split personality? Schizophrenia? Yes, it's very possible. For instance, subconsciously you might have had a desire for things which consciously you'd convinced yourself were bad. That desire became so great that you created John Blake so you could satisfy it without compromising Jeffrey Bruno. Remember, wouldn't I be partly aware of wanting those things? Isn't it possible that I'm not John Blake that all of this is something else? I'll let you answer that yourself, Mr. Bruno. How can I? If I could answer it, I wouldn't be here. Mr. Bruno, do you honestly believe that there is a real person named John Blake, a person who looks exactly like you, a person whose coat and identification came accidentally into your possession? No, I... I guess I don't. But there must be another explanation. The alternative would be to believe that someone is framing you. Do you believe that someone drugged you several times or there'd be days you couldn't account for? That someone forged the papers of John Blake and planted them on you? Can you believe that someone planned to commit this murder months ago, rented an apartment in the name of John Blake, fill it with clothing in your size, put your photograph in the apartment? No, but... According to the newspaper story, the nephew of the murder victim was the only man to identify your picture. Therefore, he would have to have been the one to frame you. Well, this would imply that this... Roger Gunn knew you and you knew him. Do you? No, I... I don't remember. Then can you believe that he was able to drug you to know your clothes size to get a photograph of you? I guess not. Besides if he framed you, that implies he is the murderer. But that can't be because according to the butler, the nephew was with him at the time the murder took place. You see, Mr. Bruno? I see. What can I do, doctor? Well, if this were not a murder case, the answer would be a simple one. I'd undertake to treat you. But as it is, I'm afraid I must suggest that you go to the police. Yeah, I suppose you're right. I'm sorry I wasn't able to help you, young man. If you'd only come to me sooner. Jeff, can you help him, doctor? Under the circumstances, it's too late for me to do anything directly. I've advised Mr. Bruno to go to the police. Come on, Jeff. I'll go with you. Well, thank you, doctor. Oh, not at all. Sorry, I can't do more. Good night. Good night. I'm sorry, Jeff, but they'll have to believe you. They can't make you suffer for what John Blake did. And then, when you're well... When I'm well? What? We'll see. Rosalie, there's one more thing I want to do before I go to the police. I want to see the apartment where I lived when I was John Blake. I still don't know what I was like when I was being here. Maybe if I can only see how I lived, it'll give me a clue. There he is, Jeff, right across the street. The lobby looks empty. Now, let's see. The address on the letter is apartment 203. Wasn't there anything in the letter? It was a bill. It seems that I'm not only an embezzler and a murderer, but I didn't even pay John Blake's bills. Please, Jeff, don't joke about it. All right, Rosalie, no joking. I don't think it's very funny, either. In fact, I ought to have a key to my own apartment. This must be it. I don't remember ever seeing it before, but the number 203 is stamped on it. Well, Rosalie... I'll stay here and warn you if the police come. Good luck, Jeff. The lobby was empty. I got on the self-service elevator and I rode up to the second floor. It, too, was deserted, and I walked to the door of John... of my apartment. I hesitated, wondering if maybe there were a policeman inside. Well, I... I had to take the chance. A key worked and I stepped inside. The place seemed empty. I turned on the light. It was a small apartment, inexpensive, perfectly correct, and dull. There were hunting prints on the wall. There were two suits in the wardrobe. My size all right, even though I... I couldn't remember buying them. There were even monograms, and I couldn't remember buying them. There were even monogramed handkerchiefs. It was unreal. Yet I... I had to believe all these things belong to me, that there had been times when I... liked wearing them. My head was spinning by now, and I... I leaned up against the wall. I don't know how long I stood there, unaware of anything except the pain inside. Gradually, I... I was aware that somebody was knocking on the door, but it... It was several seconds before I located it. It was... It was at my door. The police? Oh, no. Rosalie said she'd warned me. It was the police. I wasn't ready to give myself up yet. I ran to the window. There was a fire escape outside. I raised the window and looked out. I couldn't see anyone. I took a chance that there wasn't a cop at the bottom of the fire escape. I could climb out and close the window. As I started to break in, I ran down the fire escape. I jumped to the ground and looked around the corner. There was one man sitting in the police car. I turned and ran the other way. I must have run two blocks before I heard footsteps behind me. I turned and it... it was Rosalie. You said you'd warned me. What happened? But I did, Jeff. I rang the buzzer twice while they were getting out of the car. I thought you'd heard. You must have heard it. You rang twice? The bell must be out of order, just like John Blake. I didn't hear it. I almost didn't hear them knocking. I'm sorry, Rosalie. I just... I don't know. It doesn't matter, Jeff. I was so frightened. No, you mustn't be. I promise I won't do anything to involve you or hurt you. I wasn't thinking of myself. You can't go on like this, Jeff. You've got to go in. Give yourself a chance to get well. I know. You know, upstairs there for a minute, I thought of running away, of going to some little town and changing my name. That's no good, either. That wouldn't get rid of John Blake. Then? I've got an idea. Just one more try. Another hour won't make any difference to the police. All right, Jeff. Where are we going? Not we, Rosalie. I'm not going to involve you in this anymore. I was John Blake. I did the things John Blake did, and I have to see it through to the finish. At least tell me where you're going. No, this is the way it has to be. Then if it turns out worse than we think, you can just remember that for a few hours you were friendly to someone who needed it. If I come through this, if I get well, then... Yes, Jeff? Well, as you said, Rosalie, we'll see. I put her in a cab and gave the driver the address in the village. And I went to the place where I was afraid to go. Yet it was the one place I had to go. Yes, sir? Aren't you Mr. Carrington's butler? Yes, sir. Clark is the name, sir. I've been... I was in Mr. Carrington's service for 40 years. But why do you ask? Don't you recognize me? I... I don't believe so, sir. Of course, there were so many of you here today from the newspapers. But I was here even earlier. I'm John Blake. Oh... then you're the gentleman who murdered Mr. Carrington. According to the newspapers. Why do you say according to the newspapers? I don't believe you killed Mr. Carrington, sir. You... you don't? Why not? Why, he didn't even know you, sir. Well, maybe he only got acquainted with me this morning when I came to kill him. If he had made an appointment with you, sir, I would have known. But didn't you let me in to see him? Yes, sir. He answered the door himself when his visitor arrived. I see. Is Mr. Carrington's nephew here? Mr. Gunn? Yes, sir. But he left word not to be disturbed. He did, did he? Clark, did Mr. Carrington have a gun? Yes, sir. Would you trust me with it if it might help catch the murderer? I guarantee it'll catch him. I was very fond of Mr. Carrington, sir. He kept the gun here in the hall near the door. Oh, here it is, sir. I'm an old man, myself, and perhaps I'm foolish to even... Don't you worry. Just take me to see Mr. Gunn. Oh, but I can't do that, sir. Clark! Pardon me, sir. Yes, Mr. Gunn? Who are you talking to, Clark? Is that the attorney? Yes, sir. It's a young... Wait a minute. I know that voice. I'm sorry, Clark. Who's the devil? You. Yes, me, Mr. Gunn, or should I say Dr. Gunn? Clark, leave the room. Yes, sir. Well, this is all a terrible mistake. You bet it is, and I want to hear why the nephew of the man I'm supposed to have murdered is also the psychiatrist who convinced me I was crazy and ought to surrender to the police. Don't move. Don't point that gun at me, please. It's all from the attorney about the will. And then I'm sure we can straighten this thing out. I'll give you money. Will's straighten it out now without money. You killed your uncle, didn't you? No. I was with Clark. He can tell you. Don't answer that. Clark will answer it then on the extension. And he knows I'm here. And let Clark answer it. But I'm going to get the truth out of you before you have a chance to talk to anyone. I... I meant you no harm. Not much. You told me the whole thing when you were posing as the psychiatrist, didn't you? You told me the truth, making me think it couldn't have been like that. The only thing you didn't tell me was about the person who killed your uncle and helped frame me. I beg your pardon, sir, but it's an urgent call. Don't move, gun. If it's so urgent, I'll take it for you. Yes? Roger. I'm calling you from our usual place. He hasn't gone to the police yet. Roger, are you there? I, uh, yes. Talk now. The attorney's here. Wait, Roger. I think he's on his way over there. Be careful. All right. You don't sound right. Are you getting frightened again? After all we've done so far, you've got to keep your nerve up. I'm coming over, Roger. Good. I'll be there in five minutes. Stall him when he arrives. Goodbye, Roger. Goodbye, Rosalie. Clark. Yes, sir? You were right before. Mr. Carrington opened the door this morning after a date had been made by Mr. Roger Gunn here. I told him she was blackmailing me and I wanted him to see her because he'd had experience handling that sort of thing. But I swear Rosalie didn't tell me she was going to kill... Never mind. Clark, call the police. Tell them by the time they arrive, the murderer of Mr. Carrington will be here waiting for them. Thank you, Gregory Peck, for a great suspense show. Say, Greg, while out driving one Sunday afternoon recently, I heard you on the family hour of stars. Bussman's holiday. Yes. And I was thinking then how you always give a splendid performance, just like a stay-full battery. A battery I'm being compared to now. Well, not just a battery, Greg, but auto-light stay-full batteries. They're as tops in their field as you are in yours. Well, then, you can just call me stay-full peck from now on. Tell me more. Well, Greg, stay-full batteries are made by auto-light men who make over 400 products for cars, trucks, airplanes, and boats in 28 auto-light plants from coast to coast. Yes, sir, and auto-light also makes complete electrical systems for many makes of America's finest cars. Spark plugs, generators, starting motors, coils, distributors. All ignition engineers to fit together perfectly, work together perfectly, because they're a perfect team. So folks, don't accept electrical parts that are supposed to be just as good. Ask for and insist on auto-light, original factory parts at your neighborhood service station, car dealer garage, or repair shop. Remember, you're right with auto-light. And now here again is Mr. Gregory Peck. Well, as usual, it's been great fun to do a suspense play. It's one of the programs that every actor in Hollywood most enjoys to appear on and to listen to. For instance, I wouldn't miss next week's show when Pat O'Brien stars in a really outstanding story, Dead Ernest, another gripping study in... Suspends. Gregory Peck can currently be seen starring in the 20th Century Fox production, Yellow Sky. Tonight's suspense story was by Michael Venning, whose books have also been written under the more familiar name of Craig Rice. The adaptation for radio was by Ken Croson. Music was composed by Lucian Morrowek and conducted by Lud Bluskin. The entire production was under the direction of Anton M. Lieder. Next Thursday, same time, here, Pat O'Brien in Dead Ernest. You can buy auto-light electrical parts, plugs, auto-light staple batteries at your neighborhood auto-light dealer. Switch to auto-light. Good night. We have the highest standard of living in the world. Safeguard the American way. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.