 And now, tonight's presentation of Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrill's Suspense. Tonight, the story of a pleasant young Englishman and his wife, who encounter a murderer and a parson, they can't tell which is which, not for the life of them. So now with Laurence Dobkin as Edward and Paula Winslow as Joan, here is tonight's Suspense Play, A Little Matter of Memory. Some observations on Be Hard by Edward Mansell. I am recording the events of the past several hours, in the hope that my observations may in some measure be of assistance to those who must treat that violence, that derange, that homicidal psychotic, which is Barrington Howard. My contact with the case began at five o'clock this afternoon. At first, I feel I ought to explain the presence of my wife and self in this desolate and remote corner of the Moors. On August 1st, I'd suffered a stroke which resulted in a partial paralysis of my left side. For my convalescence, we came to this place. A tiny cottage, high on the Moors, near Buckworth. These Moors have been to me a revelation and a delight. Or rather, were so, until five o'clock of this afternoon. We'd been off on a tramp and were just returning to the cottage. Oh, but darling, what ever on earth would you do with all those flowers? Oh, I don't know. Dry them or something, I suppose. It was a talk in the wild, or something about hanging them upside down so they'll keep forever that way. Oh, here, hold them. Will you want to get the lock? Yes, I've got them. Well, that's just why anyone wants flowers hanging about upside down, beats me right side up the way they were intended to. You know what this is. Oh, someone's left us a note. Oh, two notes. But who's... Well, what is it? Close the door, John. Eight words. Oh, wait. I'll see this other. Well, what is it? What do they say? Well, this first is a threat. Rather violent and obscenely worded. Oh, let me see. No, I'd rather you didn't. Here, near the second tells the story. My dear Mr. Mansel, in view of the news about the man Howard being at large somewhere in these parts, and you're being so very isolated, you might welcome a little reinforcement. The police at Blackworth are all busy with cordons and whatever. The man Howard being fairly and extremely dangerous maniac, and they haven't anybody to spare. I will look in on you this evening, and if you think it's a good idea, help you do sentry go during the night. It will be a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I hope you will not, under the circumstance, think me intrusive. It's signed George Beale, Curret at Blackworth. Edward, what is in that other note? Well, it's from the signature of Barrington Howard. The curret says he's a maniac. Yes. And he's threatening us. Yes, he's coming back tonight to kill us. But why? Well, there are no whys with maniacs. He's out there somewhere. I'm frightened. Well, there are the police cordons and this curret. As opposed to they don't catch him, or the curret doesn't come. Look, it's no use our standing here peering out that window. Let us look at this thing sensibly. The best thing we can do is to clear out. Out? Clear out where? It's only six miles into Buckwick. No reason we shouldn't make it by dark. But six miles over the moor? Chances are we'll run into the police on the way. But, but your heart and your side, you're still limping badly, you know? Nevertheless, we can make it. If you say so, dear. And first, a look round. The coast is clear. Let's go. Six miles. A man in good health could walk in an hour and a half. A man in good health, which I was not. And with each succeeding step, the dusky pale horizon, violet and smoky in the soft mist of the sinking sun, seemed ever more distant, more inaccessible. The heady mask of the moor grasses and the gorse, these we had delighted in until now, became choking. I could feel my eyes tear and my throat constrict. The heart and my chest, thumped and shuddered with each painful limping step I took. And then we topped the rise. Edward! Oh, look down there. A constable. Hello there. Wait there. I'm coming up. Oh, what luck. Yes, yes. You see, I told you. Oh, well, I must say we're glad to see you. You know, you people really haven't ought to be out here. Oh, you mean about the maniac? Yes, sir. Are you the folks renting Miss Bloff? That's right. But you see, we found a note from that. What's his name? A note? Yes. And so we thought the best thing would be to try walking it into the village. Don't think you ought to do that, sir. Excuse a suggestion. Why not? Well, between here and the town, there's any number of spots we haven't been able to check as yet. He might be hiding, you know. Well then, what shall we do? We'll go back to your house. It's a safe place. Well, now look here. Why don't you walk to the village with us? It's only three miles. It shouldn't take long. Well, I would, sir, but I'm due to join the search party over at the Dark at Woods. Well, to my orders, sir. Orders? I'll tell you what I will do. I'll walk along with you folks back to your cottage, so you arrive there safe and sound. Back to the... Edward? Very well. As we walked, we told the constable about the letter from the curate, and he gave us background on the man's verdict on Howard. Seems that Howard had been a sort of small-time actor and ex-acrobat, nothing worse than his police record and a couple of parking offenses. And then one night, out of the blue, he had murdered five people. Five in a single night, and each had received a notification in advance, a short, obscenely worded, threatening note. Just like yours. But... but didn't they take any precautions? No, miss. Or at least not enough. But you know better. And what with the curate coming to help a good man, the curate, used to be a commando. Oh, about this man, Howard. How'd you catch him before? It was what you might call psychological. He was very clever at disguising himself as an actor. He might have got clean away if it wasn't for this psychological thing. What psychological thing? Well, it was kind of a joke, sir. Some folks, you know, you bring up certain topics, they grab the conversation and away they go. You follow me? Oh, yes, I know the type. That's how Howard was. Compulsive, yes. And on this one topic, he had what they called total recall. He could remember everything he'd ever heard or read. Facts, and figures, and seats. We used to get him on his topic down at the pub just to hear him go. It was sort of a joke, you see. And so after the crime, he was in disguise, but someone touched on his topic. Exactly. He thought to talk, gave himself away, we nabbed him. Well, what was his topic? Germany. Germany? Mm-hmm. Germany. He had a compulsive total recall about Germany. All about Germany. Well, here we are. Hello. I wish we could persuade you to stay. Your orders, Mum. Now, just you make sure your shutters are bolted on the inside. Yes. Put a bar across the door. Mm-hmm. It'll be snug and safe. Mind you, keep that door tight till you know who it is that wants in. Oh, don't you worry, Officer. We shall. Good night. Good night. With his departure, we barricaded ourselves. This cottage is very old and built in the days of highway robbers, ideally suited to our situation. We lit the lamp and turned it very low so that no light would be seen from without. And then we waited and we waited. Edward, the time, so slow. There's something out there. What? We're listening to A Little Matter of Memory, tonight's presentation in Radio's Outstanding Theater of Thrill's Suspense. One of the most effective savings programs is Uncle Sam's Own, United States Savings Bond. You will find few other financial investments like U.S. Savings Bond for security. Invest regularly every week through payroll savings or bond a month plan. Where you work or where you bank. Now we bring back to our Hollywood soundstage Lauren Stubbkin and Paula Winslow in tonight's production of A Little Matter of Memory, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. In the dim light of the lamp, we watched the heavy oak door. You got my note, didn't you, sir? But how do we know it's not a trick? Yes. Got a torch? Stand back from the door and shine it on yourself. Excellent idea. It can't be too safe, you know. I'll just look out through the slit. Ah, yeah. And she's got one of those collars on, you know, clerical. Oh, come in, sir. Mr. Mantle? Yes, yes. This is Mr. Mantle. Oh, I'm so glad to see you. I'd have got you sooner, but you know, every last person I saw wanted to talk, talk, talk, talk. Well, we were a little worried, Dr. Beale. We thought you just might have met with some accident. Accident? Oh, let's not grivel. You mean you thought I might have run into him, don't you? Yes, I suppose so. Oh, but you're here now. That's what matters. Yes. And now let's see. Excellent place you have here. Yes, they really built them in those days. Would you like some tea, Doctor? Oh, bother tea, John. I have a bottle of scotch in my bag. What, what, what's wrong? Oh, you mean on my account? Oh, my dear lady, my collar may be clerical, but my throat is British. And that's quite dry. You see, John, I've had some glasses, huh? Well, I find these... Ah, here we are. Good whiskey, a warm room, pleasant companions. And I'll turn up the lamp a bit, if I may. Oh, yes, do. Well, here are the glasses. There's little to fear about making light now, you know. I've got a gun, and I know the three of us should be a proper match for any man. Crazy or not, I should say. Well then, a toast, eh? To, uh, to... Safety in numbers. Ah, I really think we ought to keep clear heads tonight. John's the careful one in our family. Ah, proper feminine trait. So, here we are. And I can't tell you how much better I feel now that you're here. Oh dear. Constable told us that you were in the commandos during the war. Oh yes, hardly the sort of thing you'd expect from the village curate. Still, there was a job to be done, you know. Edward was in the Air Ministry. Well, John, uh, desk job, bad ticker. Never really got to see it like you chaps. The big do, I mean. Oh, don't be sorry. There are a lot of things I'd, I'd give my teeth not to have seen. Like, like Dunkirk? Like Dunkirk, sticky with your Dunkirk. It seems so long ago now that, uh, would you like to hear about it? Here, have another drop. Rum go for it. It was ought four, four, five hours that we rendezvoused with the main force off the beach. We sat there in the now snug little room and listened. He was a superb storyteller. And as he talked, the scenes of the war unrolled smoothly and excitingly and almost ethnothically. All the way clear. And ahead of us at long last lay the rye. And after a while, what would the scotch in the warm room, I began to lose track of what he was saying. And then with startling clarity, I was wide awake. We entered Germany on the Cologne Autobahn at 3.45 on the morning of May the 20th, 1945. I remember it as if it were yesterday. It made this first sight of Germany. A quite unforgettable impression on me. Of course, when one comes to think of Germany and the fate of Germany, then naturally. I looked at him as he chatted along. His eyes were glazed and he spoke with a curious intensity. And I knew. Jones sat petrified. I reached for the scotch bottle. It was still about half full. And as the man bent forward to pick up his glass, I swank. I should have known. I should have seen through him. Oh, is he dead? No, no, no, no. No, he's just out so quickly. Get some rope, belt, anything. You must tie him quickly, Jones, quickly. Yes, yes, I will. I've never tied a man before. And Jones' knowledge of knots is limited to Christmas wrappings. But we use what was at hand. And now we wait. What has become of the real George Biel, Curit at Buckworth, heaven only knows. This thing at our feet. Bound like some grotesque cock-cold and myriad rags and strings. My best charbet ties about his wrists. Jones' nourishment like gown gagging his mouth. What has to become of him is not our affair. But rather that of the physicians who must treat him. And it is to those men, healers of the... Biel? Is that you, Biel? Edward Manfield, wait, wait, don't open the door. Biel? Yes. But haven't you had a day to look at me first? Oh, not now, man. He thought you'd been killed or something? Come right in. No longer any need to fear. What do you mean, Biel? Great scum. Yes, meet Barrington Howard. That's amazing. Did you do it? Man, the giant. Oh, matter of luck, I suppose. Really didn't see through the beggar forever so long. Look at the collar, too. Quite an actor, what? Indeed, he was. He wasn't a charlotte when he kept reaching for that bottle. There is a rather strong air in here. I had to use the bottle to subdue the man. Ah, pity. Scotch whiskey, dear me. Now then, let's take a look at these knots. Well, we did the best we could. This one's not too good, but we'll just re-do it. So it's really... Look at his legs. Oh, what's wrong? You only really tied the ankles. You ought to be careful of the knees, you know. And I'll give you another tip. If you really want to tie a man to his help, fasten his ankles to his wrists. From the back, like this. Edward, isn't that clever? I must say. So, was he armed? Good Lord. He had a gun. And told us, and we forgot, look in his pocket. Ah, here we are. Now, still a little weapon. Think what this might have done to your wife's mental. With a bloner hole through, you've got stuff to break through. Oh, please, old man, she's been through quite a lot, you know. Sorry, man, but I believe in being realistic. It's quite a gag you've made for him. Yeah, I don't think he'll do much talking until we're ready to take it out. We used a silk nightgown of mine from Paris. Linda, I just want to make sure this flower is in its place. Ah, there we are. All right, well, safe. Safe? But there's no longer anything or anybody to be safe from. Oh, you never know. Now, what other weapons did you have? Oh, just the bottle. Oh, I'd dealt him a good one with the bottle. Oh, and there's this carving knife. And the gun, which I have in my pocket. Well, it's really been quite a little adventure, eh, manful? Oh, you should say so. You know, I kept this little record, something for the physician. Oh, may I? Oh, please. Some observations on Bihar, but I am recording the events of the past several hours in the hope that my observations may end some year. Of course, you realize that I'm not much for that sort of reportage. Oh, no, no, no, no, I think you did splendidly, splendidly. I wonder who else may read these notes of yours. Look, his eyes are open. I never realize mad men rarely do roll their eyes. A glib beggar, isn't he? Yes, I must say. But about your report, this stuff about Germany, did he really say this? I wish he'd close his eyes. He's trying to say something. But about Germany, I mean, how could anyone say what was it? When one comes to think of Germany and the fate of Germany, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, that posh, that argle-bargle about the clone autobargle. Oh, yes, ladies and gentlemen. Any fool can see the man is dreadfully confused and misinformed about the organization of the National Socialist Party. Oh, you mean the Nazis? Because the fact is the organization of the party was divided into 26 garne or districts which did not in themselves form the various provinces of the German Reich. East Prussia, Greater Berlin, Brandenburg, March, Pomerania, Silesia, Magdeburg, Anhalt, Hallen, Mirsburg, Trinke, Schleswig-Holstein, BVM. He's got the knife. Get back. We'll help us. He can't. He's got the knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. The knife. In this case, the lack of a little loose change, we call it chicken feed. That's next week on Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by Norman MacDonald, with music composed by Lucian Morrowick and conducted by Lud Bluskin. James Helvick's story, A Little Matter of Memory, was specially adapted for suspense by James Pol, featured in the cast were Edgar Barrier, Joseph Kearns, and Richard Heale. Follow the serial adventures of Mr. Keene evening times on the CBS radio network.