 Suspense. Autolight and its 96,000 dealers present Mr. Edward Arnold in account payable. A suspense play produced and edited by William Spear. It's a pip for pep and power. What is, Harlow? A beaut for bustling bounce and brawn. Yeah, but what? It's the famous auto light stay-full battery. The battery that needs water only three times a year in normal car use. While its larger liquid reserve above the plates, as compared to ordinary batteries, helps leak one of the leading causes of battery failure. It has an extra lifeguard, too, fiberglass retaining mats to protect every positive plate. Yes, they're in tests conducted according to SAE life cycle standards. Autolight stay-full batteries gave 70% longer average life than batteries without stay-full features. So friends, get an auto light stay-full battery for your car. And remember, you're always right with auto light. Oh, a reminder, suspense on television may be seen in many parts of the country every Tuesday night. And now, with a count payable and with a performance of Mr. Edward Arnold, auto light hopes once again to keep you in suspense. When you wait for something, a minute seems like an hour, an hour like a century. I've heard that all my life, but now, waiting for a door to open, a door at the far end of the big office, at last I realize the true meaning of those words. He's in there, in that office. But he won't be the one to open the door this time. A dead man doesn't open doors. Sooner or later, someone will have to discover that body. But why do I feel it must be later? It seems like almost all my life I've watched Mr. Waterbury's door, the door at the far end of the office marked private, bang open, and that biting, snarling voice. Mr. Baker, Mr. Timothy Baker, will you come in here? And I'd quickly lay down my pencil, take off my eye shade, pick up the accounts and pay the ledger, and walk the full length of the office. But all eyes upon me until I was at that in person, frosted glass door. As many times as I've walked down that aisle, as well as I knew these people all around me, it still made me uncomfortable. And as many times as I'd been in Mr. Waterbury's office, I still trembled slightly inside. Well, Baker, have you the accounts payable ledger with you? Yes, Mr. Waterbury, right here. Drop a chair, Baker. I want to go over these with you. I'll stand, if you don't mind. Stand, that's right. Those chairs are too heavy for you to move, that it? Too heavy. Too heavy. Waterbury's favorite joke. Because I'm a big man, but he's a wiry giant. There were only two things we had in common, Mr. Waterbury and I. We worked in the same office, and we were both sick men. But after five o'clock, after five o'clock, my life was different. I shook off my bounce and I was king. My daughter, my Jesse, would be waiting for me. And every night, I knew that there was no indignity that John Waterbury or anyone else in the world could subject me to. It wasn't more than I'd wade by a single smile for my little girl. Jesse, Jesse, darling. I'll be with you in a second, Dad. Dinner's already. All right, dear. I'll wash up. Excuse me. Oh, God! Get away from me! My face is all wet. Here. All right. There. I'll have another auction of fiction until I'm fed and careful. I got your favorite tonight. Lamb stew. Fine. Yes. There's only one place set, aren't you there? Mr. Timothy Baker, how can you have such a brilliant, beautiful, thoughtful daughter when you're so absent-minded? Wednesday night, remember? Dinner date, remember? Fraternity party, remember? Oh, yes. Oh. I completely forgot. Tonight at eight, huh? Well, and what time do you leave? Well, I'll have a cup of coffee with you and then I'm going over to Margaret's house and then, boys, you'll pick us up there. Oh, that's wonderful. At last. An evening alone. Oh. He's been quiet. Baker, you won't know what to do with yourself. Well, you'll sit up and read a mystery book to like him home. You'll say, home already, didn't you enjoy yourself? All right, all right, you win. Who's taking you? I don't know. What? Won't know, in fact, until he picks me up at Margaret. Isn't that exciting? Yes, I'm sure. Well, all right. Where's my napkin? And sure enough, I was sitting up in bed with a mystery book when she came home. I heard her close the door and come up the stairs. Jesse? Dad, put down that book and get to sleep. Enjoy yourself? Oh, I had a wonderful time, Dad. Perfectly grand. It's 2 o'clock and you've got to get up at 7 o'clock. Good night. Good night, dear. I knew that someday Jesse would marry and leave me for a home of her own. It didn't worry me, although I thought 20 was, well, a rather tender age. She was so shy this time. No mention of the boring. Just a new bloom in her cheeks. A distant look in her eyes. During the days that followed, I was practically living in the house by myself. Jesse was so lost in her own little world. Then there was a black night. The night I heard the door slam. It wasn't like Jesse not to say good night, even if it was only a caught word through my closed door. I sat still for a moment, then put down my book and got out of bed. I could hear Jesse sobbing. Good night, Dad. Jesse, Jesse, what's the matter? Nothing, it's nothing. Jesse, darling, what's wrong? Oh, Dad, I... I'm so unhappy. Oh, there, sweetheart. What's the trouble? Nothing can be that bad. Nothing in the world should make you cry like that. It's Bill. You know, Dad, I'm so in love with him. I know it, and I... Oh, I see, you had a fight. Oh, no. No, he hasn't done a thing except be sweet and wonderful and thoughtful and kind. Well, then, what's wrong? Hasn't he got a job? He's studying. He'll be a doctor in about another year. No, it's not that. It's... it's his father. His father? Yes, his father. He didn't know Bill was going with me. When he met me, when he bumped into us on the street by mistake, he even seemed to like me until... Until what? Come, come, tell me, tell me. Oh, Dad, Bill's father is Mr. Waterbury. And when he found out I was your daughter, he... I felt the blood rush to my head and my body grow weak. Mr. John Waterbury. The daughter of a bookkeeper, even his head bookkeeper wasn't fit for his son. His son was going to be a doctor. I felt myself going dizzy. Oh, Dad, sit down. Oh, Dad, it's not another attack. Oh, please, sit here. Oh, I didn't mean to upset you. Oh, Dad. I was prepared for the next day. I knew Mr. Waterbury would call me and for the first time in my life I was prepared to stand up to him. He could do what he wanted to me, but not to my Jesse. I'd quit. I'd take her to South America. I'd... Baker, come in here at once. Bill, come in, Baker. Yes, Mr. Waterbury. Close that door. Yes, Mr. Waterbury. Baker, how long have you worked for me? Uh, 22 years last November, sir. And this is how you pay me back. Don't understand. You understand. Baker, my son graduates from medical school in just one year. He'll do it without a wife. I won't have him getting serious with a girl, especially one who can do him no good. A doctor, a young doctor, starting out today, needs to marry position, family, society. Otherwise, he's licked before he began. You understand me? Yes, sir. Now, I have nothing against you. Your daughter is a pretty girl. But let her go with her own class. Let her stay in her own class. Yes, sir. Yes, yes. What is it, what is it? I didn't know she was going with your son. Well, she has been. And I won't have it, you hear? I won't have it. Please, Mr. Waterbury, don't get excited. You're asthma. Oh, blast the asthma. I won't have it. Do you understand? I won't have it. Please don't excite yourself. I'm not excited. But, sir, I... I'm all right. Needle. My desk drawer and top drawer. Look at the needle. For the past ten years, Mr. Waterbury's asthma attacks had grown increasingly severe until he was forced to have an adrenaline hypodermic handy at all times. For just such a case as this, the adrenaline was magic. The coughing stopped. He sat back in his chair, white and exhausted. That's... that's my final word, Picker. Tell your daughter. Yes, sir. I... I think I'm going to take the rest of the day off. Mr. Waterbury, I have to work on some records in the safe. What should I do? I'll leave it open. Make sure you're closely safe when you leave. And lock my door. Yes, sir. My self-weakling power. But twenty-two years is a long time. The ingrained habit of twenty-two years kept me the bookkeeper in the box. I opened the safe and took out Mr. Waterbury's private ledger. In so doing, I knocked over a small lockbox. The key was still in the lock and curiosity got the better of me. I snapped up the lid and... $500 bills. Two thick packets of $500 bills. I counted 50 bills in each pack. $50,000. My mind raced. I remembered stories, rumors of black market operations and drugs. If this was the result, no wonder it was in cash and in the box. Waterbury had been to the bank yesterday and had come back with the package. This must be it. Undeclareable profit. Money without record, money without claim. Illegal profit. If it was lost, no police force could be called in to recover it. It was, uh... I was watching someone else. A tired old bookkeeper removing the money from the box, putting it in a large envelope. He stuffed the lockbox with a package of brothers and I realized that this was me! This was Timothy Bacon. I was stealing the money. I locked the box, replaced it. I was putting the key in my pocket when... I heard a hand on the door. I raised the seat cushion of a big black leather chair, jammed the envelope under it, and turned to the ledger I was working on. Oh, Baker! Yes, Mr. Waterbury, yes. I was halfway out of the building. There was a black metal box in the safe. Box? Oh, oh, oh. Do you mean that one over there? Oh, yes, that's it. I've got to take it home. Goodbye, Baker. And don't forget to talk to your daughter tonight. A final warning, remember? Yes, Mr. Waterbury. I will. And remember to lock the safe. Yes, Mr. Waterbury. He closed the door and I stood there. I was thinking very clearly. He hadn't missed the key. But before long he would. And his next move would be to break the box open. Then he would remember. He would suspect me. That money was mine. I'd earned it. It would take me to South America. It would take us, Jesse, and me away from all the John Waterburys of the world. But I needed time. I had to get out before he discovered his loss. How? And then even if I did get away, he would know I had done it. And vindictive, he'd keep after me as long as he lived. As he lived. Yes, but what if Mr. John Waterbury were to die before he opened that box? That is bringing you, Mr. Edward Arnold, an account payable. Tonight's production in radio's outstanding theater of thrills. Suspense. Say, Harlow, did you ever drive a camel? Drive a camel? Why, I've driven camels to distraction since I've been spreading the word about auto lights stay full batteries needing water only three times a year in normal car use. You mean you've given camels a complex? You bet. The dreary dromedaries are dejected, discouraged, distressed, and dismayed because they can't hold a candle to auto lights larger liquid capacity. Will Cox, the camel-bater. Auto lights stay full batteries need water only three times a year in normal car use, and it's their extra liquid reserve above the plates that helps eliminate one of the major causes of battery failure. Auto lights stay full batteries have fiberglass retaining mats protecting every positive plate, and they have extra long life, too. 70% longer average life, in fact, than batteries without stay full features according to tests based on SAE life cycle standards. It's the battery that makes camels cry. Yes, sir. The auto lights stay full battery needs water only three times a year in normal car use. Get one for your car. Remember, you're always right with auto light. And now auto light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage Edward Arnold in Account Payable, a tale well-calculated to keep you in suspense. Yes, I had this solution. Mr. Waterbury would die and I would have $50,000, a fitting retirement, some for 20 years of hard work, but how? I looked around the room and knew that I was thinking more clearly, more quickly than I ever had in my life. My eyes came to rest upon a group of sample bottles, samples of new Waterbury drug company products. I picked up one small bottle marked poison. I felt a sudden rush of blood to my head. My body seemed to be floating, weak. I was perspiring, but something kept driving me to act, and act quickly. Poison. Poison! How to administer it? How to be hypodermic needle, of course. Poison, self-inflicted, technical suicide. It would be easy, simple. I emptied the adrenaline out of Mr. Waterbury's ever-present hypodermic needle and filled it with the colorless liquid from the bottle in my hand. This was the poison of freedom, the poison of my freedom. Mr. Baker, I'm sorry. What is it, Miss Jones? Oh, Mr. Baker, I'm in awful trouble. Could you come right away, please? I've got Abilene, Texas on the phone, and Mr. Baker, if Mr. Waterbury finds out, I'll get fired. All right, all right, I'll be right there. No, no, Mr. Baker, please, please, come now. Oh, all right, lock the safe, will you? Sure thing. It was a maddening interruption. I was shaking with impatience, and yet as I strode to the telephone, as I talked to our representative in Texas, I felt a new authority in my manner. A new strength? Yes, the shipment is completely insured. You haven't a thing... you haven't a thing to worry about. No, sir. Thank you, Mr. Peterson. Goodbye. You have lots of authority when you want to use it. Well, Miss Jones, you shouldn't get so excited. It doesn't pay. Oh. And now may I go back to my work? Of course, Mr. Baker. Miss Jones, Miss Jones! Yes? Miss Jones, this door to Mr. Waterbury's office. I can't open it. Well, you told me to lock it. Lock it, you stupid fool. Don't you know I haven't got the key? Don't you know nobody but Mr. Waterbury has the key? I told you to lock it! The safe! The safe! I told you to lock the safe, not the office. How am I going to get in there? Miss Baker, Mr. Baker, please. Sit here, you purple... Oh, Mr. Baker! Yes, I had painted it. All I could visualize was that envelope under the cushion of a chair in Mr. Waterbury's office. The envelope with $50,000 so near and I couldn't get into that office until the next day. Why, even the cleaning woman had to get the key for Mr. Waterbury himself to go in there once a week. Well, I went home. There was nothing else to do. Dear Dad, why don't you go to bed? Oh, I'm really not tired, Jessie. I'm just a little nervous. But I told you, you shouldn't be. Don't worry about Bill or Mr. Waterbury or me. I won't. We'll work things out. You wait and see. Of course, dear, of course. Yes, I'll get to bed right away. But it was no use. Sleep just wouldn't come. No, I could only think of Mr. Waterbury. Of a lock box without a key. $50,000 of the broken heart of my darling Jessie and of a hypodermic needle filled with poison. Finally, it was morning and I was in the office. Mr. Boer Waterbury was in when I arrived, even though I came a half hour early. The reports were that Waterbury was a raging man. I waited on edge. Baker, Mr. Baker, were you coming here? Yes, sir. Baker, when you were working here yesterday, did you see that lock box? Oh, of course, Mr. Waterbury. I handed it to you, don't you remember? That's not what I mean. Did you see the key? Key? Key, yes, the key to the box. Was it in the safe? I don't know what you're talking about, sir. I didn't see any key. You fool, didn't you see anything? No, sir. Well, Baker, come here. Now, here is the safe. You examine it. I've got to find that key. I've been all through it. Do you hear? It's not there. Well, I'll look for it, Mr. Waterbury. Yes, you look there. I'll look here. Maybe I fell under here. I'm sorry. I can't find anything. It even resembles a key. I'll get it. I'll get it. Yes! This is John Waterbury. What? Oh, no. It can't be. Thank you. How about this right now? Baker, you know that Baker, my boy, built. Look, Mr. Waterbury. Needle. Get the needle. I started to open mechanically the desk door when I posed to the spot. Waterbury was writhing on the floor, gasping for breath, turning in. Deep red color. I couldn't move. His eyes started to bulge and his face was contorted with agony. The drawer which held the hypodermic needle was half open in my hand, when another thought flashed through my brain. Poison can be traced. Death from suffocation in the throes of an asthmatic intact could not be. Slowly I closed the desk door. I could not move. I could not move. I could not move. I could not move. I could not move. Slowly I closed the desk drawer and stood near Waterbury. He could hardly breathe. He gasped spagthomatically. Years of incest and vow-beating flash before me as I watched him transfixed. Then with one final convulse of gasp, he stopped breathing and fell back. I waited until every muscle spasm stopped. I reached over and felt his heart. And I knew that at last, Mr. John Waterbury was dead. As soon as I caught control of myself, I backed out of his office, as though I was still talking to him. Yes, Mr. Waterbury. I'll take care of those accounts, payable right away, sir. Yes, sir. Mr. Baker, how is he? He looks scared to death. Oh, he's bad this morning. He's really on the war pad. He said you're not to bother him under any circumstances. So don't let any calls through or anything until he gives you the go ahead. Oh, don't worry. You couldn't get me inside that office, not for anything. I don't blame you. I hope I never have to go in there again. I came back to my desk. An hour would give me time, an hour, and I can compose myself so that I can face that dead body on the floor without exposing myself. I need that hour. Peter Galloway, my assistant, came up to me a few moments ago and... Tim, and did you go over that ledger of the old man's yesterday? Well, I didn't get too much chance, Peter. Miss Jones called me out of the office. Oh, yeah, yeah, I know. Miss Jones was in a jam again. You got locked out. Yeah, I remember. Hey, it's lucky you didn't leave that accounts payable ledger in there. The old man would have blown his top. Yes, but he blew his top anyhow. Oh, yeah. I wonder what's eating him. I don't know. Well, I got to get to that ledger. Oh, I'll just have to go in and beard the lion in his den. No, no, no, no, you can't! I mean, I mean, you better wait an hour or so. I'll go in there in a little while and get it for you. Yeah, but I need it. There's something in there I need, too. I... Be a good boy, Peter. Have patience. You've got a wife and a family. You need your job. I've worked here for 22 years. I know Mr. Waterbury. Now, don't go in there just now. Okay, if you say so. What did you leave in there? Well, I left... Oh, just something personal. Oh, oh, I see. Something personal. $50,000 that rightfully belonged to me. After Peter Galloway went back to his desk, I relaxed for a moment. And now I... Why? Why am I so frightened? Sooner or later, someone will have to discover that body. But why do I feel that it must be later? Bill Waterbury, young Waterbury. Jesse's bill just came in. Miss Jones is arguing with him. Miss Jones, I know you're efficient. I know what a terror did. But this is important. But he doesn't want to be disturbed, Mr. Bill. I know his blood pressure's up, and I know what's causing it. I'm the doctor. When he sees me, he'll explode completely, or he'll calm down. Did he get a phone call about three-quarters of an hour ago? Yes, I think he did. But he left in... Yeah, I know who called. I know what his trouble is. Actually, if I come, fly it out. Won't even answer. Well, here goes. Uh, Mr. Baker, I was so... Shut up. I'm sorry, I mean that... Can I have some help in here, please? It's Dad. He's passed out. You're here. Here, golly. You take his feet. We'll get him up off the floor. You ought to get a pillow for his head. Tim? Tim, get a pillow. A pillow? Yeah, yeah, get anything. Miss Jones? Miss Jones, go get a glass of water. How's it coming, Bill? Where can I find a pillow? I don't know. Take that cushion off the black leather chair. That'll do. The black leather chair? Yeah, don't... Don't bother, Mr. Baker. What? I said don't bother. It isn't necessary. My father's dead. Dead? Must have had a bad attack and couldn't get to his adrenaline. I know what had happened some day. I just knew it. Well, what do we do? Call the hospital or the police? I think you'd better call the police and report it. Mr. Baker, would you... Would you please... Come on, snap out of it, Tim. Tim, you're shaking like a leaf. Oh, here, here, I'll do it. Tim, Tim! Mr. Baker, why are you painted again? What? No, he'll be all right. He's just painted. Get a doctor. Let me take care of him. I'm almost a doctor. I've got to take care of him. He doesn't know it, but he's my father-in-law. I married his daughter this morning. How is he? When will I open his collar? Say this is serious. What is this? Is he going to be all right? Poor Mr. Baker. Do you think I'd better call somebody? This pulse is terribly weak. We've got to act quickly. This isn't a normal painting. Spelly almost feels... Do something! Do something! All right. I know. Roll up a sleeve, Mr. Jones. What? Adrenaline. A shot of adrenaline will bring him right around. Oh. Galloway. In the top drawer at Dad's desk, there's a little black box and a hypo needle. All right. It's filled with adrenaline. Hurry up. Bring it over here. That's it. He'll be all right now. Suspense presented by Auto Light. Tonight's star, Edward Arnold. Oh, say, Mr. Arnold. Yes, Mr. Wilcock. I understand you own an orange ranch out San Bernardino Way. Where's Ryan? Well, I'm glad to know that. My lad, you have a very commercial glint in your eye. What else? Anyhow, on an orange ranch, you're using batteries for trucks, tractors, and stuff like that there. Your English is wrong, but your assumption is correct. All right. Come on. Give me the pitch on your Auto Light's staple batteries. Well, time's limited here, Mr. Arnold, so I'll just repeat, Auto Light's staple batteries need water only three times a year in normal car use. That's typical of the superiority Auto Light builds into more than 400 products for cars, trucks, planes, and boats in 28 plants coast to coast. And you'll find the same dependable quality in the complete electrical systems Auto Light makes for many of America's finest cars. Batteries, spark plugs, generators, starting motors, coils, distributors. They're all engineered to fit together perfectly, work together perfectly, because they're a perfect team. So friends, don't accept electrical parts that are supposed to be as good. Ask for and insist on Auto Light, original factory parts at your service station, car dealer, garage, or repair shop. Remember, you're always right with Auto Light. Next Thursday, for suspense, our star will be Miss Betty Davis. The play is called Good Night, Mrs. Russell. And it is, as we say, the tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. Tonight's suspense play was produced and edited by William Spear and directed by Norman MacDonald. Music for suspense is composed by Lucian Moraweck and conducted by Lud Bluskin. Account payable was an original radio play written by Robert Platt. Edward Arnold appeared by arrangement with Metro Golden Mayor, producers of the Red Danube, starring Walter Pigeon, Ethel Barrymore, and Peter Lawford. In the coming weeks, suspense will present such stars as Victor Mature, Lucille Ball and Desi Arnais, and Red Skelton. And don't forget, next Thursday, same time, Auto Light will present suspense, starring Betty Davis. You can buy Auto Light's staple batteries, Auto Light resistor spark plugs, Auto Light electrical parts, and your neighborhood Auto Light dealers, switched to Auto Light. Good night. 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