 Suspense! In America's most discriminating homes and clubs, where dining and entertaining is the last word in luxury, the first word in wines is C-R-E-S-T-A B-L-A-N-C-A Cresta Flunker Cresta Blanca Yes, Cresta Blanca California wines bring gracious luxury to your table from the finest of the vines. When you pour superb Cresta Blanca burgundy, sautern, or any Cresta Blanca table wine, you enjoy the wine offered in America's most discriminating homes. For the best, serve Cresta Blanca. Shanley's Cresta Blanca wine company, Livermore, California. And now, Shanley brings you Radio's Outstanding Theater of Thrill Suspense! Presented by Roma Wines. That's R-O-M-A. Roma Wines for your everyday enjoyment. And now, Roma Wines of Fresno, California bring you Mr. Edmund O'Brien in the Argyle album. A suspense play produced, edited and directed for Shanley by William Spear. Back when I got my first job in the Herald, Alan Pierce was its star reporter. A little later, he went to Washington, became top dog of all syndicated political columnists. Here's what the president said when he didn't like his breakfast and who was getting paid off for what, by whom and how much. He was a national big shot, so naturally, he's coming back to the hometown last January. He got local front page. Especially since the first thing happens, he checks into the building general hospital from a heart attack he had on the train, right as it pulled into the station. Quite an entrance in time. Well, maybe you remember. Just when 22 million anxious readers were waiting for the thing he'd been building up in his columns for about two weeks before. T-Pot Dome was gonna be a church club misunderstanding compared to this. Naturally, all the boys hung around the ante room in this hospital suite during visiting hours, but nobody from the press cracked the door to the sick room for the first three days. Then on the fourth morning, Vance Elbin, the doctor, came smiling out into the ante room. Good morning, gentlemen. Mr. Pierce would have willingly seen you all the first day. Of course, as his medical advisor, I couldn't permit anything of the sort. However, today I'll allow you to see him one at a time. I suggest that you gentlemen draw straws or something for turns. Oh, that is except the man from the Herald. Mr. Pierce asked expressly to see him first. Hey, the Herald man, it's me. He's the Herald representative. Over here, doctor. Do you want to come in now? Dr. Vance Elbin, this is Mr. Melvin Pinkers, the Herald's best and, believe me, quietest photographer. He's very good for patience. I wonder... I'm afraid not, Mr. Mitchell. Stand by, Pinkers. Let this gentleman in. I'll be on the fifth floor. Hello there. How are you, sir? You're Harry Mitchell, aren't you? That's right, Mr. Pierce. Come on, I'll make it out. All right. So you're young Mitchell. Uh-huh. Out time flies. I spoke to the old man on the phone. I said send your next Alan Pierce over. And he sent you. Do you consider that a compliment? Compliment, brother. I'm going to hit him for a nice fat raise. Well, Harry, have you got your questions all written down like a good reporter should? Oh, no, I don't work that way, sir. Neither do I. What the Argyle album is? Hey, you're not really going to tell me. Look, crank me up a little bit, will you? Yeah, sure, sure. Harry, Harry has got to a point where I think I ought to share it with somebody. Preferably somebody like myself who thinks like me. And I'm going to ask you not to use this unless I'm not in a position to. Okay. Okay, it's a deal. Well, you know what an album is. This one is quite a fancy-looking one. Toothed white leather bound and a flaming crimson double-headed eagle crest etched on the cover. It's an impressive item. Maybe, say, maybe you better take it easy, Mr. Pierce. You were going to call me Al. Okay, okay, Al, but honest, maybe you're better. I'm all right, I'm all right. I'm... I'm a little dizzy. Want the doctor? No, no. Not just a drink. A drink of water, please. He laid back on his pillow, breathing terribly. There was a thermos on the bedstand that turned out empty. I grabbed a glass and ran into the bathroom, filled it from the tap. I'll be right there, Al. Mr. Pierce. Al. I stood there for a while, feeling awfully bad. Thinking awfully hard. Finally figured an idea. Come on, let's go. Is he going to pose? Come on in. Pinky, look at him. He's dead. Passed out while we were talking. This is our bead. It's big. It's a scoop. I don't want those other tin horns out there cutting in. What are you going to do? I'm going out and phone you. Don't let anybody in through that door. You're not letting me along with him. I went out to the pay station in the hall and phoned in the story. The floor unbroke the news. Between the 5th and 7th floor, where Pierce's suite was, we picked up the chief surgeon, superintendent, four nurses, and litter bearers in attendance. We went through the ante room where the reporters were. The newspaper boys smelled something was up. Nobody'd left them in Pierce's room. But the official hospital gang and me barged in and headed straight for the bed where the corpse was. I got a funny feeling. Pinky wasn't in the room. Dr. Van Silben and the chief surgeon went over to the bed and pulled back the covers. You could feel the shock go through the whole crowd. A long steel scalpel was sticking right up in the middle of Alan Pierce's chest. An hour later, Lieutenant Horslip Sampson, who was top man in homicide, strutted in and took over. He got the story from us and just sat there for a while thinking, very professional, exuding brilliance. His majesty rose and spoke. Dr. Van Silben? Yes, sir. In your opinion, did your patient die from a heart attack as our reporter friend here claims, or from the knife wound? I really can't tell you yet. Indications are that it might be either. You see, in either case, the heart was stopped. Yeah, yeah. The heart usually stops in cases of death, doesn't it, doc? The only thing is, I took his pulse before I left the room. There was no pulse. That scalpel could just as well have been stuck to all the damage it was. Mitchell! Why don't you leave a dead man and report it? Why don't you leave the photographer here without telling the noise? I was a reporter with a scoop. Who'd you expect me to leave here? Somebody from the express? Noise. Were you outside the door the whole time? Yes, sir, with the reporters, and nobody came out except Mr. Mitchell. The photographer went in, but never came out. Take a stand in the bathroom, Haggerty. Yes, sir. And there's nobody here to change. Maggotson, those windows locked. Yes, sir. Locked room, Case Horslip, should bring out your Scotland Yard training. Mitchell, you're in too tough a spot to be fresh. If I could only get an angle, it must be an angle. He got up so early and started looking around himself. He walked over to the white bed screen in the corner. It's funny, it stood there all the time, such a natural piece of hospital equipment. You never noticed it. Better get an angle. But even now, before he touched it, I knew what he'd find there. And I edged for the door. He started to pull aside the screen like somebody'd look hopelessly in any unlikely spot for a lost collar button. Then he let the screen fall over. And there was Pinky. Pinky all huddled up among his photographic equipment with a surgeon's scalpel sticking out of his neck. Mitchell, Mitchell, Maggotson! I yelled to the reporters in the answer room that they could go in now. The crowd coming out after me met the crowd going in and I was in the corridor while they argued it out. I was around the corner and in the elevator before the cops could get through. I walked right through the wall door flabbing up to the second floor and nobody said a thing. Time was still with me. I knew Pierce's secretary was keeping sweet 2-1-3 for him till he was supposed to get out of the hospital. May I come in? Well, I... I'm a friend of Mr. Pierce. It's Mitchell of the Herald. What is it, Mr. Mitchell? Something I can... Would you let me write for your boss's desk, huh? What? Files, papers, and possessions. I'll put them back real neat. There's something I have to find. Are you crazy? I was afraid that it'd be your answer. What are you going to do? I'm sorry. Don't! Really? It really was. I didn't like to hit a woman, especially that cute. I searched the sweet top and bottom of the Pierce I'd ever had, the Argyle album. He took no chances keeping it around. I found his personal address book, though, and figured it was no more used to him than it might be to me. Now I needed a place where I could sit down and think. Then I remembered I was carrying a key for my pal Joe Walsh's apartment while he was setting himself in Florida. Yeah. At least nobody could figure my going there. At Walsh's place, I spent about 20 minutes with Pierce's address book. He had Washington phone numbers in it that hadn't been in public directories for the last 30 years. But there was one in this town that had a red crayon circle around it. It was a query, Joe Brod, J-O-R-B-R-O-D on Worcester Street, not the kind of neighborhood Alan Pierce usually socialized in. I was just about deciding I'd go and see Joe Brod when somebody decided to pay me a visit. I checked through the keyhole. I didn't see much but what there was to see was female. So I took my chances and opened the door. She stood there. About five foot seven of the most interesting stuff I ever remember seeing. Not young, mind you, not angelic, but gorgeous and smart-looking and sweet-voiced. Hello there. Who are you? May I come in? Sure, it's your risk. Who are you? You may call me Marla, Mr. Mitchell. And I want the Argyle album. Just like? No, not just like that. You'll be nasty, you know. After all, the police want you. Somehow, Marla, that doesn't worry me at all. I just don't think you make it a policy to have traffic with the police. Men astute youngsters. I like you. I like you too, but I haven't time. I'll give you $500 for it. I don't even know what it is. What is the Argyle album? Ten thousand. Without a breath, huh? There's some junk. Ten thousand. I'm really sorry, Marla. But I wanted to know it's not for sale. Very well. She moved so casually and directly to the door so quickly I hadn't even gotten out of my chair before her two boyfriends stepped in. The first one looked like a fat businessman hair slightly gray, and I smiled. The one who followed him had a square, low-cut, irresistible appearance of a medium-sized tank. Mr. Winter, Mr. Holbrey, Mr. Mitchell. How do you do? He's not terribly cooperative. Oh, no. He doesn't perform not for love, but for money. Very stubborn. She really didn't try love, Mr. Winter. From what I know, Marla, that's hard to believe. Hey, Marla? So you're stubborn, Mr. Mitchell. A stubborn murderer. I'll repeat my question. What is the Argyle album? Ma, ma, you are a gifted actor. Ah, never mind. Forget it, Mr. Winter. Well, isn't ten thousand dollars enough? That's the best we can offer and still make a profit. Let's not waste time. Oh, I am sorry, my boy. I'm very sorry. Very well, Gil. Yeah. The big guy stepped toward me. I ducked and took the table between us. He put it aside like it was mashed. His left hand lashed out and he had the lapels of my coat and I was lifted until my shoe tips touched the floor. Helpless as a baby. I started slapping my face front-hand and back. It kept up and up like a hot lick in the drums and the agony was unbearable. He stopped. I waited. Like your wait between pauses of the dentist's drill. Then I, I guess I tried to move because I saw the small-eyed flicker and the huge fist come swinging at my face. It couldn't. My hands were torn from in front of my face and it came. Shocks of intolerable pain like searing flames and then the flame flickered and went out. For Suspense, Roma Wines are bringing you Mr. Edmund O'Brien in the Argyle album. Roma Wines' presentation tonight in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills. Suspense. Suspense, Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills is presented by Roma Wines. That's R-O-M-A. Roma Wines. Selected from the world's greatest reserves of fine wines. Now that the vacation season is over, friends and neighbors are dropping in evenings to talk over summertime experiences. Make these pleasant reunions rich and cheerful companionship by serving delicious Roma California wines. Yes, guests are sure to feel right at home when you offer glasses of rich Roma sherry, Roma port, Roma muscatel, or Roma toque. These traditional Roma wines of welcome, long favorites with millions of Americans, add warmth to conversation, make every friendly occasion more enjoyable. There's a better tasting Roma wine for every occasion, for every taste. Keep an assortment on hand for everyday dining and gracious entertaining. Remember, always insist on Roma wine. That's R-O-M-A. Roma Wines. America's favorite wines. And now Roma Wines bring back to our Hollywood soundstage Mr. Edmund O'Brien as reporter Harry Mitchell in the Argyle album, a play well calculated to keep you in suspense. I was in the bedroom of the apartment and Marla was bathing my forehead with a damp handkerchief. I lay quiet until things cleared up a bit. That's it. Rest a little. Let the boys. Marla. Where's the album, darling? Where's the album? I swear, I don't know. I don't know. You don't want me to call him again, do you? No, no, no, please, no. I'm supposed to help you wake up. No, not on. But you haven't got it. Do you know where it is? I swear, Marla, I swear. I don't even know what it is. All I know is it's tooled white leather or something. You don't? Well, all right. Here's what I know. Winter found it original. He was in occupied Europe then. He doesn't admit it, but I think he was the leader of a looting party after the American raid. It was a sheaf of documents recording the transfer of large sums of money by certain individuals, both German and American. Big men who wanted to make sure that they'd come out right, no matter whose army is won. Winter knew that he'd found a fortune that day. A fortune in blackmail. What happened? He kept him in a public locker in a bus station. Normally the safest place in the world. He was in a town down here in Virginia, Argyle. On a million to one twist, he lost it. Gang of young hoodlums blew up in that section of the dynamite stick. And it's been missing ever since, until Alan Pierce started hinting about it in his column and the international scandal that involved. So when Pierce died, you see, Winter had a right to suspect that Pierce's murderer might have the album. Naturally the big man wanted to. Lots of people wanted badly. Including me. You? What for? Resale value. I see. It's a decent motive. I'm a decent person. Yeah. There you are. Come here. You know, I can just press my thumbs here at your windpipe and you couldn't even yell. I thought of that. You're not kidding me. That's the excuse I'll give to Winter. That you choked me and I couldn't yell. You get on the fire escape and I'll give you plenty of time before I call. I don't figure what's in it for you. We'll see each other again. You'll find it. Hurry. Okay, honey. You asked for it. Not too hard. It was a funny experience choking a woman deliberately. I squeezed pretty hard scuffing bruises at her throat to make it look good. I got so mixed up I didn't know what I was doing. I kissed her very hard. I rumbled to close a little in muster hair and when she looked pretty battered I kissed her again and then I crawled out in the fire escaping down. I gave the cabbie the Worcester Street address from Pierce's book. It was a junkyard. Joe Brod's junkyard. What do you want? You Mr. Brod, Joe Brod. What's my name? What do you want? Your guy album. How did you... I know you. You're that Mitchell guy. I'll kill you. Say, I got you figured, Brod. Yeah, you're the fence for all the juvenile crooks around here. Oh, some junkyard. Well, I'm on lots better terms for the cops than you are, Mitchell. And I'm fooling them right now. Sure, sure. One of your kids brought you a nice white leather book with a two-headed eagle on it. Maybe you stretched and gave him two bits for it. Then you found out you had something too big for a little guy. You knew it was worth it, but your stomach wasn't tough enough for big-time blacklings. So you figured a way to be right and still make dough. I'm telling you, Alan Pierce. What of it? Selen's no crime. Hey, I'm really guessing but good, huh? You invested the price of a couple of photo stats on a train ticket to Washington. You got to Pierce and sold him the photo stats. And then you told him you'd have to come here for the rest, huh? Nothing to keep me from killing you right now. No, no, I guess there is. Sure not. You're a fugitive, aren't you? Escape killer, you'll never touch me. Wait, wait, don't! Don't you even say thanks when your life is saved? Thanks. And nice shot. I wonder how I knew you were here. You watched me take the cab from the window and got the number. I know that one now. Oh, you're bright as well as nice. Maybe we can play this game together now that we have the album. Huh? Have we? Well, it can't be far. In the desk drawer, the filing can come. I think we both saw a broad move at the same time. The gun at the edge of his fingers was somehow in his hands again. It wavered weakly between Marla and me. It was like watching a slow-motion movie. Marla didn't waste time. I saw the sweet little body jump at the impact. But his gun kept waving. And it went off. Marla sighed and fell down at my feet. She smiled at me once. That's all. I walked through three cops in the hall of the police station getting no more reaction than an odd of greeting and into Horselip Samson's office. Thanks for the phone call, Mitchell. But you gave us a bum steer. What's your angle? Bum steer, I saw the shooting. Very dead indeed. But there was no man. Joe Brock? He didn't look alive when I saw him last. Well, he wasn't there. I'm only telling you. What do you expect us to do with you? Book me on suspicion of murder. The murderer who? Alan Pierce, naturally. You want to confess? It's not bargain day today, Lieutenant. What was just an angle? Did the autopsy on Pierce come through? No, it didn't. But only because he was so loaded with dope even a normal heart would give up. Dope? You mean poison? No, the same thing. Too much medicine. And Dr. Van Selbin, the one who dosed him, has disappeared. Took a powder. You're not even runner up for suspect now, Mitchell. Heart failure. Heart failure. But then why the scalpel? Why? Whoever stuck that scalpel into Pierce wanted to create suspicious circumstances around the death. It could be an autopsy. That's an angle. Yeah, but how about Pinky? And how did the murderer get in and out of the room? How about you? You want to be held? Then stop asking questions I can't answer. Go on, beat it! I still wanted to break it. I found myself nursing a deep belief that there must be equal justice for the murders of a man I loved, another I respected, and a woman I admired. Well, there was only one place I could figure out where to start. I picked my way through George Rod's junkyard. Shapes of skeleton cars stood out dark in the moonlight. The far end of the yard was a lighter shack. I went up to it, almost to the door. Somebody pushed me from behind, my own body knocked the door open. Rod was propped into a chair, facing me, his eyes wide. Winter stood beside him, and Gil walked up from behind me alongside. Oh, come in, Mitchell. Well, Mr. Mitchell, this is a proper ending. Another demonstration of the Ascendancy of Will. Is he alive? Who? Oh, Rod here? No, not now. He was very weak and had no resistance, but we learned what we needed. He had the album quite cleverly hidden. But we have it now. Oh, yeah, you want to see it? Thanks. Say, who hired Dr. Van Selvin to kill Pierce? A very powerful and very wealthy individual. Most concerned with retrieving the album, Mr. Mitchell. But you didn't want it to be hard failure. You wanted to force an autopsy. That's why you stuck the scalpel into the corpse. That's rather clever of you, Mr. Mitchell. And in the hospital, you were dressed as an attendant, right? You got behind that bed screen sometime earlier in the day, probably early in the morning, before Pierce woke up, right? You were willing to wait a long time for what you wanted. It was very tough. You hoped to find out from Pierce where he had hidden the album. You found out instead that Pierce didn't have it. But you knew that Pierce was going to die anyhow from the overdose. Oh, you decided to frame the doctor with the scalpel forcing the autopsy. You know, there's only one conceivable reason for you to have taken all those chances. And what may I ask, and that conceivable reason be? That you are the powerful and wealthy individual who got Dr. Van Selvin to do Pierce's murder. That you are no more Mr. Winter than I am. Yeah, the original Mr. Winter, who smuggled the album out of Europe, you eliminated when he first tried to blackmail you and your fellow thieves. By that line of reasoning, I was able to do a little research in the files of my reporter's memory. And in spite of the fact that you have no mustache and there are several other slightly physical changes that could be easily adjusted, you have an amazing resemblance to the very powerful, very wealthy Mr. Gerald K. Aver. Theory, merely theory. But isn't this indulgence and violence a strange occupation for a man like Gerald Avery? Not at all, Mr. Avery. A man doesn't become an international power by going to Sunday school every week. You decided nobody could do your dirty work better than yourself. I suppose you felt you needed help, so you got a professional adventurer like Marla to work with you on the grounds that you yourself were an adventurer of blackmailer. The same goes for Gil here. Your time's on over, Mitchell. And Pinky, yeah. Pinky, of course it doesn't bother you that you killed a nice guy with a nice family. To you, he was only in the way. You stuck the scalpel into Pierce's corpse to save yourself some more trouble. The trouble of paying off Dr. Van Selbin. He'll probably show up floating. You dragged Pinky behind the screen and you got behind with him and hid. Then when all the doctors and attendants broke into the room and rushed around Pierce's bed, you stepped out casually from behind the screen and mingled with the crowd. Yeah, you, you were dressed for the part. As a reporter, Mr. Mitchell, would you describe that exploit as daring or brilliant? No, no, Mr. Avery. I'd use the words selfish, traitorous, foul. Oh, your morality sickens me. There's one more thing you didn't count on. Gil, Gil here. Gil has nothing to do with it. Oh, yes, he has. You keep your mouth shut. I'll do nothing of the sword up. Let him talk. Let go of my arm. Let him talk. Thanks, thanks, Gil. And just keep hold of that arm. Talk. Okay. As I was saying, Mr. Avery, you forgot that Marla and Gil have been playing along with you because they figured you were their kind. There is a certain honor among little crooks. But not among you big kindness, Mr. Avery. Now, you have the album, the album that couldn't hurt anybody but yourself. Who's the blackmail? Where's the pay off? Gil. Gil's wondering what's going to protect his interests. He knows. Now, what happened to Dr. Van Selvin? He knows. You see, he figured you for an honest crook. Not a big time. Gil, you're not listening to him. He's only playing for time. He's not only trying to save his own miserable skin. I'll pay you off, Gil. I'll pay you more than you've ever dreamed. You really are Gerald D. Brown. Don't be an idiot, Gil. Now, you cooperate with me and I'll... Gil! That was a bad mistake of Mr. Gerald K. Avery. You see, he figured his gun was bigger than Gil. He moved fast, but not quite fast enough. The lead hit Gil in the shoulder, but that didn't even phase him. I understand he broke Avery's arm. That's when Avery screamed. The next blow broke Avery's neck. Well, there was an awful lot of excitement because horse lips' shadows caught up with the proceedings just about this time. And the details aren't too clear. All I know is... Oh, that it had been a big day. I was awfully tired. I went home, climbed in bed, and slept a long, long time. With my head on a nice pillow made of tooled white leather. Suspense! Presented by Roma. That's R-O-M-A. Better tasting Roma wines. America's largest selling wines. Whichever Roma-California wine you choose, whether it's not like Roma sherry, fruity Roma port, or any Roma wine, you can be sure of better tasting wine every time. That's because Roma selects and presses the choicest California grapes. Then Roma master ventures with ancient skills in America's largest wine-making resources unhurriedly guide this luscious grape goodness to tempting perfection. Then this wine treasure of better taste is placed with mellow Roma wines of years before to await later selection in the world's greatest reserves of fine wines for your pleasure. So for everyday enjoyment or friendly hospitality, serve delicious Roma wine. You'll find all Roma wines delightful, inexpensive, and always better tasting. That's why more Americans enjoy Roma wines. That's R-O-M-A. Roma wines than any other wines in the world. Edmund O'Brien appeared to the courtesy of Universal International Pictures, now releasing Something in the Wind, starring Deanna Durbin. Tonight's suspense play was by Cyril Enfield. Next Thursday, same time, you will hear Michael O'Shea, a star of Suspense, produced and directed by William Spear for the Roma wine company of Fresno, California. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.