 You lifted the knife above your head, like this? No, no! And plunged it down to his heart, like this! No, no, no! Not his heart, my heart! It was I who dived that night! John Sturgeon! Midnight, the witching hour when the night is darkest, our fears the strongest, and our strength at its lowest end. Midnight, when the graves gave open lands of death. Strikes. How? You'll learn the answer in just a minute in The Mark of Cain. Murder at midnight, tales of mystery and terror by radio's masters of the macabre. Our story by A.S. Guinness is The Mark of Cain. It's dawn now. The ash-colored light sifting in, covering us both with bitter dust. He and I. It's still there, the newspaper. I still haven't read it. And yet I know, how much longer can I fight it off? Not looking. I couldn't be wrong. I could. Who's there? Edith? Oh. Just a minute. John, have you seen the morning paper? Paper? What's wrong with you, darling? You read it, haven't you? No. But you're dressed and awake. What did he say? What did he do? After you dropped me at my hotel last night, I saw the item. I couldn't sleep. I waited for you to call. And when you didn't, I became worried. That's why I'm here at this hour. What page is it on, Edith? Bottom of nine. Bottom of nine. Knowing everything except what page. Knowing ever since last night when the fear came on me again. Now, here it is. Bottom of nine? There it is. Canton, Ohio, June 13th. State and service hall. Come on, Sturgis. Be a good boy. No. Get back in your room like the others. No. You like me, don't you? No. I never hit you like the other gods. Who makes those noises in my head? You. You make crazy noises in my ears when I'm sleeping. You do. You know you do. Sturgis, I'll give you anything you want. Two helpings of pudding tomorrow. Wouldn't you like that? No. I want to get out of here. I'm no loony. I want to get out. You will, Sturgis. You will. Now you'd better get back in your room. For years you've been saying I'd get out of here. But this time I'm really going. This time... Stand by. Sturgis, don't come near me. Stand by. Why? Why? I'm no loony. I won't hurt you. Help. Oh, no, you don't. Don't make noises. Don't ask. Don't make noises. I just want you to keep quiet. That's all. Don't keep quiet. No, please. I just want you to keep quiet. That's all. Nice and quiet. You're crazy about your loony. The George Sturgis, the escape looner to killer, is heading for New York City. John, perhaps it's all for the best. This may be his end, and then... What are you thinking, John? That's an interesting question, Edith. What am I thinking? Am I thinking about George or about myself? It's hard to tell, isn't it? Because now we know, don't we? There's a lot more to being an identical twin than just one. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. An identical twin than just flesh and blood. We have proof of that now, haven't we? And now we know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I'm a drama critic, and he's a lunatic, only by the grace of God. Darling, you've got to stop that. If you begin to slip back into your old fears, you're lost. Edith. Dear, I... I'm going to see Stillman. Stillman? What for? Because my dear, an editor, is a little like God. At least he can give me the assignment I want. A police reporter's assignment. John! To cover the case of the dangerous lunatic George Sturgis, my brother. You're putting me in an awful spot, John. Why, Stillman? Why? I mean, I know it's not exactly usual for a drama critic suddenly to turn the crime reporter, but I'll do a good job if that's what's troubling you. Of course not. You're a good writer. That's not what's worrying me. What is? Frankly, you. Your state of mind. My mind? Sturgis, I can understand your emotions about your brother. Being identical twins, it's no surprise that you're suffering from a sense of guilt about his actions, but, well, Donutman, do you have to work it off in this particular way, tracking him down, bringing him into justice? What'll it do to you? No more than it's already done. Okay, Sturgis. You're a grown man, and I'm no psychiatrist. Have it your way. I'll tell the city editor. Thank you very much. Just one thing. Mm-hmm. For my sake, keep talking this thing over with Edith as you go along. I got an assignment with the authority that would permit me to act. Yes, now I could do it. I could find the other half of myself, the half that was insane. The question was, where should I begin? Where should I start looking? I was sitting there on Riverside Drive staring into the darkness, and the answer came to me. Of course. The game. The childhood game George and I played together. As young boys, we'd marveled at our likeness to each other. We played tricks on our parents. Even they couldn't tell us apart. The game. I'd mentioned to George one day that since we were so much alike, our brains must be alike, too. And the game was born. What's on my mind, we called it. I'd guess his thoughts and he'd guess mine. What's on my mind? If I were George, what would I be thinking? Doing now. Dr. Portman. That's it! That's it! You woke me up. What time is it and who are you? It's almost midnight. My name's Sturgis. John Sturgis. You're Dr. Portman, aren't you? Yes. Come inside. Put these lights on. I'm not a medical doctor. I know. You're a nut doctor. Psychiatrist, aren't you? That's right. Sit down. Now, what can I do for you? I came to see you about my brother. I think you know him. You said your name is Sturgis. John Sturgis. Oh, the drama critic. I don't think we've ever met before. Unless... Are you originally from Ohio, Mr. Sturgis? Yeah. Oh. Then you don't mean that you're in relation to... to George Sturgis? Yeah, I'm in relation. You stunt him away to the nut house when you practiced in Ohio. Yes, yes, I recall. How is he now? I'm fine. Well, I meant, uh, George. I said I'm fine. Thanks to you. Would you like me to get you a drink, Mr. Sturgis? No. I don't want nothing from you. Not even a drink. I just came to pay my respects, Dr. Portman. My respects. No. Put that razor away. Put it down to your head. Sure. Like this. No! And this. Your little tongue. No way. Your tongue ruined my life. Your tongue dropped in my head when I was sleeping. Oh! Stillman, thank God you got here. I called the police. They haven't come yet. The police? What happened? Whose house is this? This is Dr. Sturgis, the one who sent him away. I couldn't have missed him by more than a couple of minutes. Missed him? Who? What are you talking about? I have the cops there, look. Only a maniac, Stillman. Only a maniac. Listen, Sturgis, I warned you that you'd taken on a tough job. Now you know just how tough. That body there behind that couch ought to be reason enough to turn back. Sturgis, why don't you drop it now? Leave it to the police. I can't, Stillman. I mustn't. I was able to figure out what George was going to do, wasn't I? Nobody else could, don't you see? All right. So you figured it out. But what good did it do you? You got here too late. Next time I won't be too late. Do you have any idea? So just pull yourself together. Who is next? Who's next? Who will be next? John Sturgis did enter his mad brother's mind, guessed who his first victim would be. But not soon enough. Now his mind turns deep within itself, trying desperately to beat the hands of the clock before they meet again at 12 for murder. And now back to murder at midnight and the Mark of Cain. Who's next? I didn't sleep that night. Could you, with a question like that on your mind, that didn't rest all that next day? Who's next? Who? Trying every minute to get inside George's mind and think the way he would. Then that next night I thought I had the answer. Nice night, eh? Yes. Yes, it is, John. You live in this house? Oh, no. That is waiting for a friend? My brother. Oh. Hope you didn't mind my asking. This is my beat. I noticed you're loitering in front of this house for the past two hours. Well, you know how a cop gets kind of suspicious at four o'clock in the morning? Yeah, of course. Oh, I think I'd better move on. I guess my brother's not going to show up after all. Yeah. Probably catching up with some drinks he missed earlier. Well. Good night, officer. Good night, sir. I hadn't lied to that policeman. I had been waiting for George. Waiting in front of Edith's building because I knew that she was asleep. A sleep and unaware that she was next. But... Why am I leaving this way? Why am I abandoning her? It's because this suspicious cop came along. What if George doesn't? I've got to go back. Don't do it. Edith! Are you all right? Why, John, what is it? Are you all right? Of course I'm all right. Why shouldn't I be? Why? John Sturges, how long is it since you've had a wink of sleep? I don't remember. No wonder you wake me at four in the morning to find out if I'm all right. Two days without sleep and a man will do a lot of crazy things. It wasn't crazy, Edith. Then why, darling? I'm a grown woman. What can happen to me? Edith, I... I love you very much. If any harm should come to you. What harm, John? This business of George has made you lose all sense of perspective. George, is that what's worrying you? But George might... But why should he? I can understand a lunatic taking revenge on the doctor who sent him away, but what have I ever done to George? Your reasoning logically, Edith. George's difficulty is that he's lost all sense of logic. Or reason. John, listen to me. Unless you go home this very minute and get some sleep, I'm going to have a chat with Sturman in the morning. Sturman? Look, darling, I love you very much. I've loved you for three years now. Three years during which we've both been trying to control your fears. They've been real fears, I grant that. And you've worked hard at keeping them in check. But if you go on the way you're going, you'll undo all we've accomplished. But what about Sturman? Unless you get a night's sleep and get hold of yourself, I'm going to ask him to take you off his foolish assignment. Perhaps you're right, Edith. Of course I'm right. Now, kiss me goodnight Now, off to bed, will you? Good night, Edith. Just a moment. John, what on earth? Come in. Let me switch your light on. Why did you come back, John? It's only an hour since you left and you said you'd go right home. What? You must have. Your clothes are different. Darling, you look sort of... well, disturbed. What made you come back? Just wanted to see where you lived, Edith. What it looked like. What? Good taste. Out the books and pictures. John. Sit down, Edith. I want to talk with you. Yes. Yes. Would you like me to fix some coffee, John? No. I said sit down. All right. Edith, you never saw George, did you? No. No, I haven't. Then why do you hate him? Why do you believe he's a loony before even getting acquainted with him? Why did you try to come between two brothers? What do you think they're? Two brothers rode each other for a long time. Even though a quack called Portman sent one away to the nut house. I'd like to get some cigarettes over on a table if you don't mind. I do mind. Listen. Then George got a letter saying John had met a nice girl named Edith. Then no more letters. Edith, why'd you take my brother away from me? George. Edith, you shouldn't have done that. Get away from me. You like John. I'm just like John. But you hate me. And you took John in to hate me too. Please, please. You don't even do it. John wouldn't have done that in my life. Oh, I'm afraid of it. You don't even do it. Like this. No, don't. No, don't. No, don't. Well, John. Still, I'd let her. Let her send me home. I should have known I was right. It's my own fault. I don't know what to say, John. Dr. Portman, I'll eat it. I'll take you off the assignment or I'll let you remain on it. What difference? That seemed so important at one point, but now... Stop it, John. Stop it. A man crying. That's something I can't take. You can't take. I'll kill him for this, Dylan. I swear I will. I'll kill him. You're right, too, John. Dylan. Yes? Do something for me. Anything. Get me a permit to carry a gun. Fast. You will certainly need one for protection anyway. No, no, no. That's not what I want it for. Never mind. Here, let me call the police. I think I can get it for you in a hurry. Thank you, sir. What's on your mind, Mr. Is Lieutenant Rogan here? Who wants him? Mr. Stillman at the Times Herald called about a gun permit and the Lieutenant Rogan suggested that I come on down. My name's Sturgis. Oh, Mr. Sturgis. Yes, sir. The Lieutenant's waiting for you. Right through that door, sir. You'll find him. Lieutenant Rogan? Yes, Mr. Sturgis. Come right in. Sit down, won't you? Oh, butler. Mr. Sturgis, you're the brother of George Sturgis, aren't you? Yes. I just thought I'd have to tell you I just thought I'd ask you a question or two about him. Why are you here? You're quite certain George committed those two murders, aren't you? Yes, quite. Remind stepping into the next room with me, Mr. Sturgis? No. Why didn't I? There's something in here, Mr. Sturgis. I'd like you to see. Yes, sir. Does this concern my gun permit or are you still on this subject? Now, right through here, Mr. Sturgis. Why is it so cold in here? What is this place? Oh, for our own purposes, Mr. Sturgis, we maintain a kind of private little morgue down here. Morgue? Oh, business is never very brisk. Most we keep here is two, maybe three bodies. A special work. Naturally, these drawers are all refrigerated. Mr. Sturgis, call this one out. Here. I don't understand. Why should you... Okay, if you want. I will. Take a good look. You ought to recognize this corpse. What? When? When did it die? That's the interesting thing about this, Mr. Sturgis. Edith, your fiancee was murdered three hours ago. Dr. Portman was murdered... At midnight. Yeah, eight hours ago. When? And your brother, George Sturgis, has been dead for 24 hours. Also murdered. 24 hours? Oh, that's impossible. Now, why did you do that, Mr. Sturgis? Why did you push your brother back into the wall? Mr. Sturgis, something happens to me. Please, Lieutenant, I'm terribly tired. Let me go home. Could I see you tomorrow about all this? I can't wait. We can't wait, Mr. Sturgis. If your brother didn't commit those murders, then who did? Who did? Who? Yeah. But George... Everybody knows George was insane. He had reason to kill. But George did. That's old. George, huh? But George is dead, lying in that refrigerated drawer. And while the murders were being committed, he was dead then, too, lying on a rubbish pile near the river, a half block from your house. That's where my men found him an hour ago. Nah, not George, Mr. Sturgis. Please, please, let me go home, Lieutenant. You don't understand all that's happened. Please. Yes. Tomorrow, I'll explain it all to you. Tomorrow's too late, Mr. Sturgis. Now, let me explain it all to you. No, no, no. Look, it must be the way I say George did it. George was a maniac. I'm the sane one. Can't you see, Lieutenant? George broke out of the asylum in Ohio. You made straight from New York, he called you. You told him not to come to your apartment. You agreed to meet him at the river. At the river. You're afraid of him. Not physically afraid, but mentally. Mentally afraid. In your own words, Mr. Sturgis, he disturbed you. The river. You were frightened of your own mind. What might happen to it? With a lunatic twin brother around. So you took this along with you. This fancy letter opener. The river. You kept your appointment with George, all right? But now you had a purpose. There in the dark, beside the river, you lifted this letter opener above your head like this. No, no, don't. Held it there for a moment. No, no, no. Then you plunged it down into George's heart. Like this. No. No, no, no. Not his heart. My heart. It was I who died that night. John Sturgis. All right. You realize what you're saying, Sturgis? Do you? John. You're dead. John. Son, you're dead. And I'm losing it. Yes, John. What happened to us? When it was all over, Mr. Sturgis, when you thought that you'd finally rid yourself of George forever, a strange thing happened. You became George. And the man on the rubbish pile was John. Well, maybe it's easier for you to take it that, Mr. Sturgis. Now that you're George, the crazy one, you can forgive yourself a lot of things, can't you? Like murdering your fiance and the doctor and your own brother. No. Take me back. John is dead. Take me back, please. That we can do, Mr. Sturgis. Come on. We got a nice comfortable room for you. A room just like the one your brother broke out of. On the night that John Sturgis was led to his cell in the state of Salem for the criminally insane, still screaming that he was dead, of course it was coincidence. But why did the door snap shut just as the clock on the tower struck 12-4? Murder at Midnight. Remember to be with us again when death stands just outside the door, wearing a strangely familiar face and the clocks strike 12-4. Murder. There was heard as the brothers Sturgis, John and George. With music by Charles Paul, Murder at Midnight was directed by Anton M. Leder.