 The Amerson Drug Company makers of Bromo Seltzer invites you through the creaking door for tonight's Inner Sanctum Mystery titled Skeleton Bay, written by A. M. Teperman. Bromo Seltzer reminds you to... Out to Bromance, out to Bromance, out to Bromance, out to Bromance... Good evening, friends of the creaking door. This is your host to welcome you into the Inner Sanctum. Come on in. Come on in and join the fun. We're having a game of corpse and robbers, and we can't find a soul for the corpse. Of course, we could say the magic word's abracadabra, but we don't want any of that low crowd from the morgue. Why don't you come in and play dead for a while? You'll die laughing. And now for our excursion into the eerie. Our little trip to Skeleton Bay. Our story opens at a swanky hotel with private cabins, situated on a storm-swept rock-bound coast. The story itself is all about... You guessed it, murder. And here is Karela Winters to give us a blow-by-blow description. I'll tell you first about the night I met Michael Barrett. It was in August at Skeleton Bay. I had come to the hotel supposedly for a rest. That was what I kept telling myself, but in reality, I didn't know why I had come here. I'd seen the name in an ad months ago, and since then it kept hammering, hammering, hammering at the inside of my brain. It was like the voice of impeccable faith, commanding, commanding. Because I didn't like crowds, the hotel manager had given me a cabin near the beach, all to myself. It was the middle of the night, but I couldn't sleep. The wind came in from the ocean, howling like a hungry beast across the shores. The pounding of the surf mingled with the angry, baffled growl of the sea. I sat at the window in the dark, staring out at the beach. I was restless, excited. It was then that I saw the signal. It was just a winking little light, a few yards away on the beach. Someone was blinking a flashlight, on and off, on and off. I was able to make out the figure of a man in boots in a leather jacket. He was signaling toward the hotel. But to whom? I had the answer in a moment. A man moved past my window, going down toward the light. He had his collar turned up against the wind and his hat brim pulled low, but I knew who it was. Mr. Field, a small, furtive man who had come up on the train with me. The two men met. Barely a stone's throw away from my window, I could hardly see them huddle closely together. This was excitement, mystery, intrigue, the stimulation I wanted and needed. I had to know what was going on. I threw on a raincoat and opened the cabin door. The wind swept my hair in a streamer and a salt spray stung my face as I hurried down to the beach. My blood began to race and my heart to pound for those two men were not engaged in any conference. They were locked in struggle. It was a deadly silence struggle with only a grunt now and then, and I saw the flashing gleam of a knife, but I couldn't tell who had the weapon, the tall man in the leather jacket or the furtive Mr. Field. And then I saw the blade plunge home into the throat of the furtive Mr. Field. A sudden surge of wildly fish. This was murder I had witnessed a murder. The tall man that the body of Mr. Field slide down to this hand. Then he looked up and saw me. He stood there with the bloody knife in his hand and we looked at each other. Who are you? I'm Carol the Winter. I have this cabin here, number five. You saw me kill him? Yes, I saw him. What are you going to do about it? I'm going to help you dispose of the body. He told me his name was Michael Barrett. He lived on the opposite side of the bay in the house high up on the cliff. It won't be so easy to get rid of the body. If I had the boat, I could take him out and drop him over, but it's too rough tonight. If there was some place to hide him for a day, I could come across in the boat tomorrow night. You can hide him in the closet in my cabin. Nobody will look there. Better lock the closet door. Yes, of course. You sure nobody will come snooping here? Nobody comes here but the maid. All right. I'll be back tomorrow night with a boat. Did you pick up the knife? Yeah. I got it here in my pocket. Oh. Well, I... yes, that's all. Good night, Carla. Good night, Michael. All night I sat up alone with the locked closet door between me and the staring, sightless body of Mr. Field. At breakfast the next morning, they had already discovered the disappearance of Mr. Field. The maid says his bed wasn't slept in at all. I think he could have committed suicide in the ocean. Well, he was such a sneaky little man. Of course he may just have gone for an all-night hike, but in such weather I... I hurried through my breakfast listening to the gossip all around me. Now in broad daylight I could hardly believe that the thing had really happened last night. And you know the hotel manager thinks it might be murder. I heard him phoning for the police. The police, I hadn't counted on that. Wait. Anything wrong, young lady? You look sick. I do feel a bit dizzy. I think I'll get some fresh air. Dear poor girl, it must be quite a shock to her. Out in the open air I let the wind cool my fevered face as I hurried down toward the beach. It was only 9.30 in the morning, a whole day and a whole evening before Michael could come to the body. And the police would be around all day investigating snooping. And all the time Mr. Field would be sitting in my closet staring blankly out of his sightless eyes. When I reached my cabin I put my hand on the doorknob. And suddenly I went cold all over it. The door was unlocked. I stood as still as a statue listening. Yes, there was someone inside, someone moving around. But only I had my handbag, I had a pistol in it that I always carried for protection. But it was inside on the dresser. So slowly, slowly I pressed the door open a half inch, a half inch, and the door creaked. Thank you, Miss Winner. The maid, it was only the maid, of course. She'd be making up the bed, why hadn't I thought of that? Miss Winner? It's I... What are you doing at that closet with those keys? They're just my past keys, Miss Winner. I was just going to tidy up the closet. I didn't ask you to do anything to that closet. But that's part of the job, Miss Winner. I'm supposed to do it in all the rooms. Well, you leave this one alone. Keep away from that closet till you're here. Well, yes, Miss Winner. I was only trying to help. When I want your help, I'll ask for it. Now please leave it at once. Just as you say, Miss Winner. I'm sorry if I did anything wrong. Did she suspect anything? I hadn't liked her tone. Why had I been so shocked with her now? She'd surely think there was something in the closet. Something she shouldn't see. At lunchtime, I didn't want to leave the cabin. I sat at the window and I could almost feel the sightless eyes of Mr. Field staring at me through the closet door. Ooh! Just a minute! Miss Winner? Miss Carlow Winner? Yes, I'm Miss Winner. Oh, I'm sorry to trouble you, Miss Winner. I'm Detective Sergeant Smith from headquarters. May I come in for a moment? Yes, please do. I'm sorry to trouble you, Miss Winner. I'm Detective Sergeant Smith from headquarters. Yes, please do. What can I do for you, Sergeant Smith? We're out here investigating this Mr. Field business. He hasn't turned up yet. Well, I'm sure he will in time. Well, I wish I could be so sure, Miss Winner. What do you mean? We've gone through his room. Found some mighty queer things. Queer things? Seems this Mr. Field was in some sort of racket. There's a good chance he may have been murdered. I don't say. I understand. You came up on the train with him. Yes, that's true. Did you have any conversation with him on the train? No, none at all. You're the carer of Winter who writes the mystery novels, aren't you? The same. I've read every one of them. Don Good, Miss Winner. Thank you. You think you'll get a plot out of this? I mean, Mr. Field? Well, I can't tell yet. Sergeant, I wish you'd keep me posted on developments in case it does turn out to have a plot. Oh, sure, Miss Winner. Oh, by the way, we found this picture among the papers in Field's room. I'm showing it to everybody around in case they might recognize it. It's an old newspaper item. Ten years old. Can't figure out why he was carrying it around. It's about a guy named Wycliffe that's wanted for murder. Yeah, take a look at him. I felt the blood racing in my veins pounding at my wrists. The picture of a man named Wycliffe who was wanted for murder was a picture of Michael Barrett. 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Just go to any drugstore, fountain, or counter and ask for... Bromo-seltser, bromo-seltser, bromo-seltser, bromo-seltser, bromo-seltser, bromo-seltser. Well, it looks as if Michael Barrett is a lucky guy with a beautiful woman ready to commit murder for him. But what'll he do when she runs out of victims and begins looking at him with a calculating eye? Oh, by the way, you don't have to worry about our eerie spirits bothering you anymore. Now, I've made a resolution that ghosts will not be allowed out of their graves after dark, unless, of course, they have a pass to leave the ground. Now, let's get back to the rockbound coast of Skeleton Bay and see how Carilla entertains the grisly guests in her closet. I don't remember now how I got rid of that detective, Smith. I told him I had never seen the man in the picture and sent him away. The day was interminable. From my window I could see the guests moving about the beach, but none of them went in swimming. The weather was too rough, and I wondered if Michael would be able to bring the boat over tonight. If not, how much longer could I sit guard over Mr. Field in the closet? Now and then I'd see Detective Smith poking around on the beach, and then without warning, he was standing over the very spot where Michael had stabbed Mr. Field. I watched him bend down and examine something. Was there blood there? Did Smith know that that was the murder spot? I saw him frown, then he stood up and walked quickly away. I had to know what it was he had seen there. Swiftly I slipped on a coat and went off. I started toward the spot on the beach. Going somewhere this winter? Oh, it's you, Detective. Going anywhere in particular? Oh, I know. I was just going up to the hotel for dinner. It's almost dinner time, you know. Well, fine. I'll walk up with you. If you don't mind. Not at all. Can I help you? Take your arm. Thank you. The sand is so soft. It's still wet. We had high tide last night. Ms. Winter. Yes? Are you a sound sleeper? Why do you ask? Well, I just thought maybe you might have heard something last night, like a fight or something. A fight? I was just looking at the sand back there down near your cabin. It's all messed up, stamped around. Well, what has that got to do with me? Well, nothing at all, except I think there was a fight there last night. Maybe that's where Mr. Field was killed. You think Mr. Field was murdered? It's beginning to look more and more like it, Ms. Winter. Somehow, I don't know how. I managed to get through with dinner. I hurried back to the cabin. And I stopped at the door, shocked and unbelieving. There was a light inside. Someone was in there. This time I had my handbag with me. I took the pistol out and once more I inched the door open. It had happened. The thing I feared, the closet door was open. And there was a maid stooping over the body of Mr. Field. Oh! What are you doing there? The body? It's Mr. Field. You killed him! Suppose I did. Oh! What are you doing with that gun? What do you think? Oh, no! Wind was high and the weather was rough. Fortunately, no one hurt the shot. Pushed her body into the closet, next to the body of Mr. Field. And closed the door. I was a murderer, too. Who is it? Let me in, Carla, quick. Yes, yes. Michael, Michael, I thought you weren't coming. It's been a dreadful day. What happened? Come here and I'll show you. Is he still in there? See for yourself. A woman? Who is she? The maid. She opened the closet while I was out. You killed her? Yes, Michael. I had to. There are detectives at the hotel looking for Mr. Field. I suppose if I were smart, I'd kill you, too. And there'd be no one to talk. Yes, Michael. That would be smart. Go ahead, kill me. If you can. I knew he couldn't kill me because I had seen it in his eyes. We were two of a kind, both wild, both reckless, both eager for the thrill of danger. He, too, wanted to be like the wind. We had both been brought together by some force stronger than either of us. And we loved each other. Michael, no more, Michael. We have worked it all. I'll take them down to the boat. I'll help you. We carried Mr. Field and the maid down to the boat. There. I'll take them out away and dump them. And after that, Michael? After that, then I'm going home. To your house on the cliff on the other side of the bay? Yes, Karen. Michael, take me with you. What? Take me with you to your house up there on the cliff. I'm sorry, I can't. You can't? Why can't you? It isn't anything I can tell you. What are you hiding up there in that house on the cliff? You mustn't ask. Now, please, Carol, you mustn't ask. You're married. You have a wife up there. No, I haven't. Then what? I can't tell you. But are you going away? Are you leaving me forever? Not forever. You go back to the city. I'll come to you soon. I returned to the city and waited. I waited a week, a month, but Michael Barrett did not come. I wrote to him, but there was no answer. And then one evening I saw him. I was returning home in a taxi and I saw him standing across the street looking up at my window. And when he saw me get out of the cab, he turned and started to hurry away. Michael? Michael! Michael, please, don't go away! Michael, why did you try to run away? Don't you know? You're afraid. Yeah, let's call it that. But you love me, Michael, don't you? Carol, it's no good. There's nothing but ruin for us both if I stay. We'll be together forever. It's impossible. I won't let you go back to that house on the cliff. I don't care what it is you're hiding up there. I won't let you go back. Goodbye, Carol. Wait! I'm going. You better forget about me. Don't go yet, Mr. Wycliffe. What about that, too? I saw the old newspaper clipping Mr. Field carried. I see. Why are you looking at me like that? You know why I killed Mr. Field? Because he tried to blackmail me about that old murder. But, dear Michael, I'm a good deal smarter than Mr. Field. You see, I write mystery novels, so I know how to handle such things. What do you mean? It wouldn't do you any good to kill me. I've written all about you. Your real name and about that old murder. It'll be found if I should ever be killed. I see. Michael, darling, I'm blackmailing you, but there's only one thing I want from you. Your love. It shouldn't be so hard for you to meet my terms. All right, Carol. You win. We'll be married tomorrow. Soon after we were married, Michael began going out evenings, once, sometimes twice a week, and staying out all night. He'd return late the next day. When I asked where he had been, his temper would flare up into something terrible. I stopped asking, but I couldn't rest. I had to know where he went. One evening I followed him. He boarded a train for Skeleton Bay. At Skeleton Bay, he set out to walk from the station, and I followed. It was no longer summer. The trees were bare, and the night was forbidding. I kept behind him when he skirted the bay to the narrow road, which led up toward his house high on the cliff. It was a small stone house. The wind whistled around it and against it and above it. I stole to one of the windows. It was barred like a prison. Carefully, I raised my head above the seal and peered into a lighted room. Michael was there, with a woman. For the first time in my life, I knew the meaning of frustration and jealousy. Michael had told me he wasn't married, but this woman, I had helped him to do murder. I had killed for him. I had lied to that detective for him, and all the while this was the secret he had been keeping from me. I opened my handbag and took out the pistol. I looked into the room again. The woman was alone now. Michael was gone. So you came up after all? Michael, you sneaked out. You knew I was here. I'm sorry you saw through that window. Is that your secret, that woman? Part of it. But it's the part you mustn't know. But I do know it. That's why I've got to kill you. That knife? You've still got that knife. Yes. And I've got this, Michael. He fell at my feet and I looked down and watched him die. And now I knew why I had really come to Skeleton Bay that first day. It was for this. To kill Michael Barrett. So he did it last. You killed him. You, the woman in that house, you saw me kill him. Yes, I saw you. What are you going to do about it? Help you dispose of the body. Of course. Help me dispose of the body? Those were the very words I had said to Michael Barrett down there on the beach. And now this woman was saying them to me. Who are you? I'm Elizabeth Wycliffe. I'm Michael's sister. Your sister? And you want to help me dispose of the body? You see the bars on those windows? Yes. I have been a prisoner in this house for ten years. What? Michael killed the man I was going to marry ten years ago. He murdered him. But this house, this prison... Michael brought me here. He kept me prisoner because he knew if I got free I'd tell the world he was a murderer. Then that's the secret. The secret you wouldn't even tell me. I shot her. Yes, I killed her too. There outside the house. And she fell beside Michael. And I rolled both bodies over the cliff. Down into the sea. This is the end of my book. The best mystery novel I have ever written. I know that in writing it I deliver myself into the hands of the law. But I can't stop. I can't help myself. So now I am finished. I will mail it to my publisher and wait for Detective Sergeant Smith to come and get me. It looks as if Carol's mystery novel will earn a lot of money after she's executed. But I'd say it's tainted money. Why tainted? Because she'll be dead and a ghost can't own money, so taint her. You know, Carol would have been better off if she'd remember that the pen is mightier than the sword. Because the sword is leading her right back to the pen anyhow. 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It's time to close that creaking door for another seven-day rest. Until next week at this time when Bromo Seltzer brings you another Inner Sanctum Mystery. In tonight's story Charlotte Holland played Carola with Martin Gable as Michael. The music was by Lou White and the entire production was directed by Hyman Brown. By the way, this one's Inner Sanctum Mystery novel is The End is Known by Jeffrey Hall. Next week we're pinning up a fearful portrait called The Deadly Face. It's all about a curious character who has the picture of death painted all over his purse. So if you're around this time next week when we hang him up in our gallery, you'll hear how he tries to frame a couple of folks in pine. Until next Monday there. Good night. Pleasant? Dream? Hmm? It is Norman Brokenshire speaking for Bromo Seltzer, inviting you to tune in again next Monday at the same time to Inner Sanctum, which is brought to you for your entertainment every Monday.