 Now, the Romawine Company of Fresno, California presents... Suspense! Tonight, Romawines bring you the suspenseful play called The Burning Court, starring the distinguished actor whose current performance you have admired in the picture Laura Clifton Webb. Suspense is presented for your enjoyment by Romawines. That's R-O-M-A, Romawines. Those excellent California wines that can add so much pleasantness to the way you live, to your happiness and entertaining guests, to your enjoyment of everyday meals. Yes, right now a glass full would be very pleasant, as Romawines bring you a remarkable tale of suspense. And with the strange events detailed in John Dixon Carr's novel, The Burning Court, and with the performance of Mr. Clifton Webb, the two-bane narrator go down cross. Romawines hope indeed to keep you in suspense. A pleasant fire, charming company, and a hostess who realizes that tea served in the Russian manner is the only manner in which tea should ever be served. Yes, a heartwarming evening, Mr. Covington, in an extremely gracious setting. How fortunate that your uncle had the wealth to satisfy such an exquisite taste. And what a pity I have so little time to tell you which one here murdered him just last week. Now I believe we're all here. Ted and Mary Covington, Mrs. Henderson the housekeeper, Captain Brennan, I believe. Yes, and incidentally yourself, just who did you say you were? No wonder you police have had so much difficulty with the case. My name is Cross, good and cross, the writer. Well, why don't you say so? That book, A History of European Murder, that's yours, isn't it? Extraordinary. A policeman who reads. As a matter of fact, Captain, it's because of my latest book, Poisoning Throughout the Ages, that I happen to be with you now. Ted Covington there is a member of the firm which publishes my work. I'd never seen him until tonight when he himself told me what happened. He went back to last Friday afternoon before it was then that he began reading my manuscript for the first time. He began it on the train, the commuter's train, which every afternoon deposits him safely and soundly in this charming suburb of Crispin. That is, if you care for suburbs. At any rate, I imagine he was almost home by the time he finished the first chapter. Then he turned the page, attached to the following leaf was a picture and looking at it, the young man's stippen suddenly and all be cried out his shock. It was a picture of a woman. Under it was printed Mary Dubronich, convicted of arsenic poisoning. St. Petersburg, Russia, 1731. Ted Covington was looking at a picture of his own young wife, his 25 year old wife in an early 18th century costume. The face, the features were identical, even the name. Dubronich is his wife or was his wife's maiden name. No, no, no, it was ridiculous. This woman in the picture was one of his wife's ancestors, simply an amazing family resemblance. He wondered why Mary had never told him about. Ted Covington glanced down at the chapter to which the picture had been attached. It was entitled The Affair of the Non-Dead Woman. But then the train was approaching the station and he rose and walked out to the platform. Standing there for a moment, his eyes ran down the page. Mary Dubronich, it appeared, was quite the continental charm in her day. With the magnificent assistance of our snake, she had disposed of half a dozen husbands before she'd been caught. But caught she was. She was sentenced to death, the chapter concluded, and then beheaded and burned. And there, waiting for him up a curb by the suburban station, was the wife he knew so well. Ted! She was leaning, taught him now to open the door, smiling in that way he knew so well. Ted, what on earth are you staring at? There's soft fire in your eyes. It's the street light, I guess. Oh, darling, you're silly and overworked. Come on, get in the car. Thus, like a wind, thin wisp of smoke it was gone, the unspeakably foolish concept. Laughable? That's what it really was. All right, let's hear it. What's so funny? Oh, nothing, nothing at all, darling. I guess I just feel good. Oh, fine mood for dancing tonight. Dancing? No, Ted, you promised. You said if Uncle Miles showed a noticeable improvement, we could go to the club. You mean he's really better? There's no comparison. The doctor agreed with me. Darling, there's no reason in the world why we shouldn't let Mrs. Henderson stay awake for a change. No, do her good, the old wh... What is the matter with you? Oh, it's just that I started to call her a witch. It's a private joke, darling. A private joke. And, by the time there were home, it was even less than that. Ted was sitting in the living room. When Marie entered and moved toward the fireplace, he stared at her as she struck the match on the half-stone, touched it through the little rows of newspaper, stood back to watch the licking flames catch the charcoal, then the logs. As the light rose, illuminating her face and the lips barely parted in that ineffably curious smile, he would remind her again of her fragile loveless and his absurd reaction to the manuscript. He glanced around, but there it was on the table where he placed it when he'd come in. Deliberately, he turned from it and then back again. The manuscript had been moved only an inch or so, but moved. Keeping his back to his wife, he thumbed through that early chapter and discovered just as he was afraid he would. The picture itself was gone. For a long moment, he thought of what to do. Then, slowly, he turned around. This, uh, this book of crosses I brought home. Yes, dear. There was a story of a poisoner in it. It's funny. Her name happens to be the same as yours. Your maiden name at it. Look, darling, was she a relative of yours? Like Ted, you're serious. Well, in a way, yes. I don't mean it's really important. It's just that, well, when you run across a person who was a top flight poisoner a couple of hundred years ago and who's a dead ringer for your own wife, you want to hear about it, that's all. Ted, what on earth are you talking about? Darling, be honest with me. Didn't you look at this manuscript when I was out of the room? No. You didn't take out a picture of a poisoner named Marie de Blanche? I most certainly did not. Somebody took that picture out of the manuscript. Who could it be? Mrs. Henderson has been in the back ever since we came in. And Uncle Miles, he's in bed in his room. I'm sorry, darling. It'll turn up. Forget it. Maybe I am overworked. I guess a little dancing is just the thing I need tonight. When they returned home, it had happened. Mrs. Henderson met them at the door. Ted's uncle had taken a sudden turn for the worse. Hurry as fast as you can. We'll be right there. If you don't mind. Yes, Ted. Come, Mrs. Henderson, let's go into the living room. He had wanted to be alone in the room. Not because of his great attachment to his uncle, who, save or Ted himself, was the last of his branch of the Covington's, but because he had seen something. It was the silver cup under the edge of the bed. The cup of the late patient had used for his medicine. Ted moved over to it, stood down. There were still a few blocks at the bottom. And then, just as he was rising to his feet, his heart seemed to miss a beat. He had seen the other thing, Uncle Miles' cat. Two feet away from the cup, further under the bed. She was lying on her side. Fearfully, he extended his hand. The cat was still warm, but quite dead. No one must know, not yet. There would be a funeral, a normal, official interment in the family crypts on the grounds. Meanwhile, the cat must be very disposed of, and the contents of the cup. The next day, at the chemists, he was told to contain arsenic. For Suspense, Roma Wines are bringing you a star, Mr. Clifton Webb, whom you've heard in the first act of the Burning Court by John Dixon Carr, which is Roma Wines' presentation tonight of Suspense. Between the acts of Suspense, this is Truman Bradley for Roma Wines. We now quote a brief word from the renowned hostess Elsa Maxwell. I've found that one of the smartest ways to entertain during warm weather is to serve tall, ice, first quenching Roma refreshers made with distinguished Roma California wines. And it's so easy to enjoy frosty, satisfying Roma wine and soda. Simply half-fill tall glasses with Roma Burgundy or Sautern. Add ice cubes and sparkling water, and sugar if you wish. For a decorative touch, garnish with cherries and slices of fruit. And be sure to use Roma, for Roma wine is always uniformly good, the happy result of selected grapes. Carefully picked at the very peak of character in California's choicest vineyards, gently pressed, then guided unhurriedly to perfection for the ancient skill of Roma's famed wineries. Yet, good as it is, Roma wine costs only pennies a glass. Remember, because of uniformly fine quality at reasonable cost, more Americans enjoy Roma than any other wine. R-O-M-A, Roma Wines. And now Roma wines bring back to our Hollywood soundstage, Clifton Web has go down cross, writer and authority on murder through the ages. In the Burning Court, a play well calculated to keep you in suspense. Now, let me understand one thing, Mr. Cross. You're simply relating what Mr. Covington here told you. Yes, less than 15 minutes ago. Then why not have Mr. Covington tell it himself? Primarily because I can tell it more beautifully. Uh, Mr. Covington. More tea. I'll get it for him, madam. You're very kind, Mrs. Henderson, but I'd rather you didn't miss even one facet of the story. Well, I'm not leaving, sir. The samovar's right over here. Excellent. I think that you should know that earlier tonight, just three days after his uncle's burial, Ted Covington sat alone in this room, contemplating some astonishing plans. This very night, long after Marie would retire, he himself would open the vault and exhume his uncle's body. A chemist had been engaged for a private autopsy. He was to look for traces of poison yet. Ted Covington wasn't so sure he could go through such a plan. The door opened, and Marie came into the room. For walking now quite softly across to the great fireplace, he studied her closely as she struck the match. Then touched it to the crumpled scraps of paper. Oh, I thought you might be a little chill. If only she knew the chill that was wrapped around his heart. If only she stopped shorting his thoughts. For now the glow had risen against that somewhat childlike face. And suddenly he saw for the first time the faint wrinkles of age at her eyes. Now the light was higher, and there there it was. The thin light creased like an almost invisible star that encircled about her neck. Marie Dubronich, he headed and burned in 1731. Yes, he was sure of it now. He had to go through with his plan. By the dim light of a lantern he set about his tusks, pounding his way through the thick concrete that now covered the family tomb, drawing open the great subterranean door, descending to the ink-black chamber below. He found the coffin net, rested it from its crimp, and placed it upon the floor. He unclamped the lid, opened it, and then, then, the word of shock leapt from his throat. Empty. Empty. Hey! Who's that? Who's that? I did, Mr. Covington, up here. Who are you? I'm the officer of the commission of police. Police? How did you... Who sent you here? Who told you about this? Well, your housekeeper, of course. You didn't think Mrs. Henderson saw the dead cat, did you? But she did. She also saw you bury it. That, as you know, was three days ago. So I've had a chance to do some delving. I must admit, Mr. Covington, that when I learned your wife's maiden name was Dubronich. Marie Dubronich, I was really quite intrigued. What difference does that make? Perhaps you don't know it, but that's a rather important name in crime history. But the same name, that's all. It's a coincidence, Captain. Yeah, isn't it? The case is full of them. Learned most of her poison tricks, for example, from a lover of longstanding, a fellow by the name of Krozitov. Go Dan, Krozitov. Kroz... Go Dan Krozk, let's say. Hasn't you a firm published books by a man by that name? Krozk? Oh, this is some kind of a joke. But what's even more interesting, Mr. Covington, is the fact that the name of the judge who sentenced Marie Dubronich to death by the burning court just happened to be Covington. Covington? Thurman Covington. An ancestor, wouldn't you say, of the man who just died? I was murdered. An ancestor of yours, am I dead? Well, but you can't believe any of this. This nonsense about a long-time lover. A vengeance through the ages. Well, Captain, Captain Brennan. Yeah, down here, Freddie. No answer at all. The place seems to be vacant. The Covington house? What? Yes, sir. Couldn't wait or so. Get out of my way. Hey, Covington, come back here. What's happened to my wife? You want me to stop him, Captain? Oh, let him go. We'll follow him. Good evening, Mr. Covington. Who are you? My name is Kroz, Go Dan Kroz, the writer. Kroz, my wife, what have you done to her? You fiend, what have you done to my wife? Stop it! Listen to me. Why are you here? Why am I here? Because your wife, reading my chapter on Marie Dubronich, realized I knew more about the family than even she did. Because she found my phone number on the front cover of the manuscript. And because I know an exceptional case when I hear one. Does that answer your question? No, you know it doesn't. Can't you see I've got to... I've got to know whether... I see. Whether your wife is really Marie Dubronich, who is burnt by order of the Burning Kroz. You're quite sure, no doubt, that I'm Go Dan Kroz, who first wooed her? No, my boy. Marie Dubronich is no more your wife's real name than mine is Go Dan Kroz. What? Your esteemed wife, Mr. Covington, was adopted by people named Dubronich, remote members of the real family of poisoners. I can't believe it. What didn't you tell me? Because until I told her half an hour ago, she didn't know it herself. I'd learned it through my research. Oh, that's too wonderful. For years, Mr. Covington, that young woman has been haunted by the fear that she might be a poisoner by blood. You can see, can't you, why she was willing to lie, steal a picture, do anything to hide her past from the man she wanted to hold. Yes, yes, I can see that now. Mrs. Covington. You mean she's... Yes, Mr. Kroz. Oh, Marie, darling, you're all right. That will be our old, old friends of the police. Will you take them into the front room, Mrs. Covington? Meanwhile, you, my friend, will tell me everything that's happened up to now. Having just delivered your wife from the burning court, I'll see if I can save her from the electric chair. Sugar? Just pass it please, Mr. Covington. There. Thank you. Ah, yes. Truly excellent tea. Don't you agree, Mrs. Henderson? What? Oh, yes, yes, it's very nice. Yes. Well, that Captain Brennan completes Ted Covington's personal account of the events leading up to the present. Let us now consider that supernatural hocus-pocus of the body that walked out of the sealed-in tomb. That body, let's agree, that never was in that tomb. Never in that tomb? No, Mr. Covington. It was disposed of long before. But who could have done it? Who could have kept that body out of the tomb? Who, Mr. Covington? Why, you, sir. What are you saying? What are you driving at? I don't understand what you... It's very simple. You had to get rid of the body, Mr. Covington. You knew that eventually there was going to be an investigation. This, this is a joke, isn't it? A rather bad joke on your wife. From a few historical coincidences, you built a murderous in your own wife's image. I won't listen to this anymore. Why should you? Look, Cross, why would Covington here spend an hour smashing into a crypt for a body he knew wasn't there? Obviously, my dear Captain, could induce you to ask such a question, to impress you with his own innocence and his desperate concern for his wife's guilt. No, this isn't true. It can't be true. Of course not. Cross, just how, for example, could I have been in this house to poison my uncle and also at the dance that night? Easily. You simply left the dance that night. I left it. It was Marie who I explained how I looked for her. So you did. And you didn't see her, Mr. Covington, for the very good reason you weren't there. No, wait a minute. You were here, my friend, in this house, just as you were planned. No, no, you... Who but you then left you could so naturally have handed his uncle a cup, a cup presumably of medicine. Don't listen to me. And who but you of all those here would have the strength to carry that body to the furnace where it's now probably nothing but ashes? Lies. All lies. Why should I do such a thing? Why would I murder my own uncle? For the best reason that there existed a fortune. No, stop. You were the only heir. You'd get the estate, the money, the independence. Oh, please, Marie. Brandon, he's making this up. No, no, no. It isn't as bad as all that. Why, the police can never touch you. After all, where's the body? Where's the evidence? A truly delightful beverage. Yes, Mr. Covington, I'm sure you'll be quite comfortable in an asylum for the insane. And that is... Here, stand back. Stand back. Let me get to... Mr. Cro... What? What's the matter, Captain? This man's dead. Dead? And from poison, if I know anything. Poison from that glass of tea. That glass was right beside you, Covington, and nobody else. Nobody else was here. No, no. Too bad he didn't drink it as soon as you hoped. I didn't do it. Because a second ago, Covington, we had no evidence, nobody to use against you. But we have now, Mr. Covington. We have now. I arrest you for the murder of Godan Cross. Godan? Godan. So you've come back, dear Godan. Back within the hour. A little less. I know. There's no need to tarry longer. You were brilliant as ever, Godan. You perv in building the case against him. Magnificent in the suicide. Or even saw you take the poison. And I thought I'd caught you all the tricks. Closer now. Much more. Closer to the flame, Mary. Yes. Yes, Godan. Closer to me, my love. The Covington house burned to the ground. The body of Marie de Bronnich Covington was never recovered. And so closes the burning court in which Roma Wines have brought you Clifton Web as star of tonight's study in... Suspense. Suspense is produced, edited and directed by William Spear. Before Mr. Web returns to the microphone, let me say a word for Roma Wines, the sponsor of Suspense. Elsa Maxwell makes this timely suggestion on Father's Day next Sunday. Show Dad how much you really appreciate him by making next Sunday's dinner a festive occasion. Serve glorious Golden Amber Roma California Cherries as first call for dinner. Dad will enjoy the light nut-like flavor of this distinguished Roma Wines. Serve cool. Miss Maxwell has made a grand suggestion. And why not further delight Father with a gift package of delicious Roma Wines. Roma Wines always delightful, always uniformly delicious, are reasonably priced. And the next time you use Bermouth, choose Roma Bermouth. Zestful, full-flavored Roma Bermouth, blended and developed with all the traditional wine-making skill of Roma wineries, is made and bottled in the heart of California's famous vineyards. Yet surprisingly low-priced. Try Roma Bermouth soon, won't you? Now, this is Clifton Web, and now a serious word. This great Seventh War lone drive must be a success if our war against Japan is to be a success. Our fighting men are depending upon you to put your job over. It's up to you to buy bigger bonds and more of them than ever before. So please do it now. Ladies and gentlemen, next Thursday, at the same time, and Richard will be your star of Suspense, presented by Roma Wines. R-O-M-A. Made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. The Columbia Broadcasting System.