 We are delaying the start of our regularly scheduled program. We have delayed the start of our regularly scheduled program to bring you this bulletin from CBS News. Washington. Federal Judge Matthew McGuire in Washington has signed a temporary injunction against both the coal mine operators and the miners in the soft coal dispute. The injunction orders the coal miners to go back to work at once. This bulletin has come to you from CBS News. We now resume our scheduled program. Suspense. Video's outstanding theatre of thrills brings you an hour, a full 60 minutes of suspense. Tonight, the noted stage actor Sam Jaffe is our star in Suspicion by Dorothy Sayers. A suspense play produced and directed by Anton M. Lieder. It is very quiet in Hammersmith, the western metropolitan borough of London. Orderly homes line orderly residential streets. And inside these homes quiet people live quiet lives. An outsider might notice the changeless security of Hammersmith while the natives regard it without comment as part of their peaceful pattern of living. It is a point of pride that St. Paul's school, located within the borough's limits, dates back to the 12th century. They got off in school to the 16th century in the Edward Latimer Foundation to the 17th. And it's a matter of record that the last disruptive influence exerted itself over the town and its people in the year 879, when the Danish invaders occupied it as their winter camp. It isn't Hammersmith, our story is laid. And now with the performance of Sam Jaffe as Edward Mumry, Lorraine Tuttle as his wife Ethel, Alan Reed as Brooks and with Suspicion by Dorothy Sayers, we again hope to keep you in suspense. The name is Edward Mumry of Hammersmith. I'm 48 years of age, fair of complexion, agreeable, I believe, is to disposition. I have my business, real estate in the city, which I run together with my partner, Mr. Harold Brooks. I have my own home, I occupy my leisure hours with gardening and I've just been married, that is, practically just, six years to be exact. My wife Ethel is the most brilliant thing that ever happened to me. These are the outward facts. I recognize that I am a very ordinary person and yet can a person be considered ordinary when into his life there suddenly explodes the extraordinary? For this is what happened to me. On one single day, like any other day in a quiet, carefully plaid life, I smelled the odor of the grave and I saw with my own eyes the supreme horror of all existence. It began in the railway carriage going to London to my office. Perhaps it was the thick pall of tobacco smoke in the carriage that first made me aware of my nausea. I slipped a digestive tablet into my mouth. Lately I had taken to the habit of carrying them about with me and I leaned back my head and closed my eyes. The breeze who traveled with me every morning was giving me the benefit of his morning addition. Ah, here's something, smacking the front page. A question has been asked in the house about government typewriters. Now there's the press for you. The world going to the devil so fast it makes my head spin and all they can print in their precious newspapers. I say, old chevy, you're looking terribly pale this morning. Could you just open the window a bit? I don't feel very well. Certainly. There you are. Just lean your head into it, get some fresh air. Better? Yes. Thank you. Must have been something you had for breakfast. I suppose so. Sorry to be such a fool about it. Not at all, old man. Not at all. Go ahead. Read me some more of this earth-shaking news. All right, if you'd like. Further split has occurred in the Labour Party. Well, let's skip over politics for today. Two girls trapped in burning factory. I can do without the morbid, too. The police are still looking for the woman who poisoned a family in Lincoln. I took a tram to my office gritting my teeth against this snorsier that had me dizzy and trembling. How I got up the stairs, I'll never remember. The world swam black before my eyes. Then I was seated at my desk, breathing a bit hard, but once more in control of myself. My heart no longer pounded. Good morning, memory. Cold enough for you? Yes, brooks quite. Unpleasantly raw, in fact. Beastly, beastly. Your tulip bulbs all in? Not quite all. As a matter of fact, I haven't been too well lately. Oh, too bad. Bulbs ought to go in early. You're lucky you're now living in the country. You want to take advantage of it. How's the Mrs? Thank you. She's very much better. Glad to hear that. Very glad. I hope we shall have her about again this winter, as usual. Can't do without her in the drama society. I'm sure you're very kind. I mean it. Joe might shan't forget her acting last year in romance. She and young Wellbeck positively brought down the house. Yeah, she was good, wasn't she? Wellbeck for asking after only yesterday. She'll be up and around again soon. The doctor says she mustn't overdo it. No worry, he says. That's the important thing. She's to go easy and not rush about or undertake too much. Quite right. Well, he's a devil and all. I cut out worrying years ago. Look at me. Fit as a fiddle for all I shan't see fifty again. You're not looking altogether the thing, by the way. What touch of dispepsia. Nothing much. A chill on the liver, I suppose. That's what it is. Is life worth living? It depends on the liver. Yes. Well, we'd better be getting to that lease of herbys. I have it right here. By the way, I suppose your wife doesn't know of a good cook, does she? I doubt it. They aren't so easy to find nowadays. In fact, we've only just got suited ourselves. No. I promise to Philipsons I'd look around. They're girls getting married. That's the worst of bringing young girls in to work for you. I said to Philipson, you mind what you're doing? I said, get somebody you know something about. You may find yourself landed with this poisoning woman. What's her name? Edward's. Well, what are we sending Rhys to your funeral, then, while I said? He laughed, but it's no laughing matter. What we pay the police for, I simply don't know. Early a month now, they can't seem to lay hands on the woman. All they say is they think she's hanging about the neighborhood and may seek a situation as cook. As cook, now, I ask you. There was a theory in the papers that she'd committed suicide. Don't you believe it, my boy? That code found in the river was all eyewash. They don't commit suicide. That's all, don't. She's poison maniacs, cutting as weasels. That's what they are. Well, I hope they catch her before she tries a hand on anybody else. As I told Philipson. Then you think this Mrs. Andrews did it? Of course she did it. You've been following the case, haven't you? Looked after her old father, and he died suddenly. Left her a bit of money, too. And she keeps house for an elderly gentleman, and he died suddenly. Now, there's this husband and wife. Man dies, woman taken very ill. I've asked Nick Poisoning. Cook runs away. And you asked, did she do it? I only thought it might be a coincidence. I don't mind betting that when they dig up the father and the other old bird, they'll find them bungful of poison, too. Once that sort gets started, they don't stop. What is the matter, Mummy? I... I... Mummy, let me call you a doctor. No. Just some water. It's all right. Give me a minute. There you go. Slowly now. That's all right. Hold your head. Thank you. Thank you, Brooks. You sure you're all right? Yes. All right. All right, dear fellow. Don't mind telling you gave me a start. I thought I was losing you here and now. It's only my stomach. Nothing serious. Hold on a moment. What did you have for breakfast? I don't know. There you go. No, no, no. Tell me. We'll get to the bottom of this. Well then, brown bread, bacon, eggs, just the nicely said kind. Uh-huh. Coffee. Made it only Mrs. Sutton can. Mrs. Sutton? Oh, that's your new cook. She's a real find. I'm terribly thankful for her. Yes, I can imagine. A wife down with a nervous breakdown must be a blessing to have someone capable running the house. That's right. Ethel has been at all fit for a child. I don't want her to mention to her Brooks. She gets upset so easily. I don't want her worrying about me. Of course not, Mummy. Isn't it odd, Brooks? What's that? This photograph of that Mrs. Andrews. Oh, I'm using the newspaper. She looks like such a sweet, motherly-looking woman. Take care, Mother. The way your stomach's acting up, I'd say this is poisonous. Your precious Mrs. Sutton, a lot of the same. That's hardly a joke, Brooks. As a matter of fact, if they were the slightest resemblance, I'd be terrified. But this Mrs. Andrews looks so... awesome and jealous. She's got a bad mouth. Look to the mouth, Mummy, before you trust your fellow man. That's where the true story is written. Death by poison, fiends and murderers, the darkness, the pit, the unholy face of evil. These are things we read about. These are horrors we get at second hand through fiction and films. But they do not really happen to people like me, the suburban gardener or read estate broker. And that was a comfort. If I were to go through life without any great distinction, at least I should avoid any great terror. So I told myself as I left the office for lunch. I was a little nervous to begin with, so I had some boiled fish and a custard pudding. The wrenching pain seemed gone entirely and I became positively lightheaded as the bogey of illness and doctor's bills ceased to haunt me. I bought a bunch of bronze chrysanthemums for Ethel just by way of celebration. And I got home at the usual time, 7.10. I was a little dashed by not finding Ethel in the sitting room, still holding the flowers. I went down the passage, tore the kitchen door and opened the door. I seemed to have startled you, Mrs. Hutton. Yes, yes, she did. I didn't hear the front door go. Where's Mrs. Mummy? Not feeling bad again, is she? Well, sir, she's got a bit of an headache, poor lamb. I made her lay down and took her up a nice cup of tea at half-past four. I think she's dozing nicely now. That was very considerate, Mrs. Hutton. Oh, it was turning out the dining room the done it, I think. I asked her not to overdo, but I know how she is, sir. She gets so restless. Can't seem to bear to be doing nothing. Yes, I know. She's such an accurate little person. This illness is very hard on her. Well, I'll just run up and have her peep. She'll am disturbed if she's asleep. Want me to put the flowers in a vase? No, I'll take them up to her first. By the way, what are we having for dinner? Well, I had made a nice-taken kidney pie. Oh, pastry. I don't know. Oh, you'll find it beautiful and light. And it's made with butter, sir. You haven't said you've found lard indigestible. I'm sure it'll be most excellent. It's just... Well, you've seen Mrs. Hutton. I haven't been too well lately. Something with a stomach upset. Is that so? Yes. Do you have any idea what it might be? Oh, I'm sure it's nothing out of my kitchen, Mr. Mummy. No, no, I'm sure it isn't. Well, I believe I'll live through it. Staken kidney is just fine. Now I'll run up and look at my wife. I tiptoed up and opened the door carefully. At first I thought Ethel was asleep. She lay snuggled under the eyelid on and looked very small and fragile in the big double bed. And she didn't look at all well. It wrenched my heart to see her face so pale and wasted and the doctors couldn't seem to find her ailment at all. What could be the insidious disease that had done this to her? Nervous breakdown, they called it. But I wasn't satisfied with that. It must be something more. I came closer and she stirred on the bed and smiled at me. Hello, darling. Hello, sweet. How are you? I got tired and head achy and Mrs. Sutton packed me off to bed. You've been doing too much. You know what the doctor said about resting. Yes, I know. It was foolish of me. Oh, Edward, such lovely flowers. I thought it would cheer you up, Ethel. A little spot of color. Darling, you are good to me and I can't have been much fun for you lately. Really, I could cry. Ethel. Don't tire of me, Edward. I'll get well, I promise you. Of course you will. Oh, that's funny. Me tired of you. Then hand me my robe and I'll come down with you. Much better stay in bed, dear, and let Mrs. Sutton send your dinner up. Oh, but I want to be with you tonight. I've got to be firm with you, Ethel. If you don't take care of yourself, you won't be able to go to the Dharma Society meetings. No idea how anxious everyone is to have you back. The world makes a bean asking after you and saying that they really couldn't go on without you. Very sweet of them to one. Not at all. You're the best of the lot. They need you. Well, perhaps I'll stay in bed after all. Good. Now have you been all day, dear? Not too bad, not too bad. No more bothersome tummy? Well, perhaps just a little one. But it's quite gone now. Absolutely nothing to worry about. Darling, you're sure? Quite sure, sweet. All gone and forgotten. I experienced no more distressing symptoms that night or the next day. Following the advice of a newspaper expert on the subject, I took to drinking a great deal of orange juice. The results were wonderful. It was as though I had never known pain in my life. The next night, we were tired early. I fell asleep almost at once and slept the deep and dreamless sleep of a child. Until about three in the morning, then I was awake, for I had to come back. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Wake up. Please, wake up. Yes, sir. Edward Culling with the metal. What is it? I think I'm dying. I suppose it is different for every man when his time comes. For myself, I can only say that it was like sinking. As though my body were in an insupportably heavy weight, plummeting down into the saft icy ground, sinking deep, deep, deep into the black regions of the earth. I never thought I'd go with it. Now, just follow this pill. Come along now. I know it's hard. You can swallow just once. There you are. Goes to work in a jiffy. I dare say you're feeling better already. Thank you, doctor. Now then, Mrs. Mamre, just a few questions, please. What do you have for dinner? That's what's so baffling. It couldn't have been the dinner. I had the same things to eat instead of Mrs. Sutton. Nonetheless, we have to be thorough about this, if you will. Well then, big swathers and enough pudding. Oh, yes, round there. You're sure about that? And before we went to bed, Edward had a large glass of orange juice according to his new regime. Uh-huh. It seemed to have been helping him so much. There's your trouble. Orange juice is an excellent thing, and so are trotters, but not in combination. Beans and oranges together are extraordinarily bad for liver. Oh, dear. I don't know why they should be, but there's no doubt that they are. I see. Feeling better, Mamre? Yes. It's much easier. I'll send you round a prescription. Now, you stick to slops for a day or two and keep off pork. Don't you worry about him, Mrs. Mamre. He's as sound as a trout. You're the one we've got to look after. No, I was so frightened. I believe my own trouble has been shocked right after. Oh, no, not yet. It hasn't. I don't want to see those black rings under your eyes. The caution light was disturbed, but you make up for it now. Get plenty of sleep. Have you been taking your tonic regularly? Oh, yes. That's right. Well, don't be alarmed about this hulking brooch here. We'll soon have him out and about again. Now, good night to you. Doctor. Yes, Mamre? I'm sorry I had to put you out in the middle of the night. That's why we're about, oh, man. It's nothing. It means a great deal to me. You see, if you hadn't been able to come, I'm sure that tonight I should have died. My diet was bread, milk, and beef tea for the next three days. On Saturday afternoon, though I still felt seedy, I managed to stagger downstairs. Brooks had sent a few papers down from the office for my signature, and afterwards, Ethel sat down with me and we ran over the household accounts together. Then we have a butcher's saddle. That's right. The baker. Right. The dairy. Right. Cold merchant. And the cold merchant. All finished. Then there's Mrs. Sutton. Oh, I almost forgotten. This is the end of the month, you know. So it is. Well, you're quite satisfied with her, aren't you, darling? Yes, Father. Aren't you? Yes, I am. And a warm motherly old thing, too. Don't you think it was a real brainwave of mine engaging her like that on the spot? I do indeed. It was a perfect providence, a turning up like that, just after that wretched Jane had gone off without even giving notice. I was in absolute despair. Was a little bit of a gamble, of course, taking her without any reference. I suppose it was. But if she'd been looking after a widowed mother, you couldn't expect her to give reference. No. What is it, darling? Why do you say no? Well, the truth is, I felt a bit uneasy about it at the time. I didn't like to say anything because we simply had to have some... Well, I didn't much like it either, but after all, it has worked out so well. We're perfectly happy with it now, aren't we? Yes, dear. But just for the record, it occurs to me that we might write to the clergyman back in the parish. You should be able to give her a reference. I'm sure he's an excellent clergyman, but he couldn't tell us anything about a cooking. And cooking, after all, is what she finds. Oh, right. And we are satisfied with her cooking. Then here's a month's wages for our Mrs. Sutton. I'll tell her she's passed with flying colour. And by the way, dear, you might just mention to Mrs. Sutton that if she must read the morning paper before I come down, I should be obliged if she would fold it neatly afterwards. Oh, my darling darling. What an old fussbox you are. But she does fuss it up pretty thoroughly. And by the way, the pages that she folds back and by the way she folds it back, I can tell that Mrs. Sutton is following this poison case as avidly as I am. On Sunday, I felt very much better. Quite my old self, in fact. I had roast sirloin for luncheon with the potatoes under the need. Yorkshire, putting it to this as lightness and an apple tart to follow. After the three days of my envy had died, it was a real pleasure to savour the crisp fat and the underdone meal. I ate carefully, moderately, but with an almost sensuous enjoyment. And then, over coffee, while Ethel was still toying with the food, I took up the newspaper and turned to the account of the woman poisoner. Are you still following those horrible murders? Yes, my dear. What ever makes you so morbid, Ethel? I find it very interesting, Ethel, to see what human beings are capable of doing. I suppose it is interesting. It's a thrilling tool. Because it's so far into the kind of lives we need here in Hamilton. Yes, it's just like a fascinating fairy tale. I say. What is it? Why, Ruxer's right. Right about what? She's gone and dug up Mrs. Andrew's father and her former employer. Oh, Edward. And sure enough, they were both found full of it. Bung full of poison. My head was full of conjecture about this sweet, motherly murderous, this middle-aged cook who mixed arsenic into her delicious lunches and dinners, this Mrs. Andrews for whom the police were looking so desperately. At three o'clock, before the roast beef settling properly, I went out into the garden to put the tulip bulbs in. I got my bag of tulips and a trowel, and then, remembering I still had all my good trousers, I decided it would be wise to take a mat in Elan. The mat had been left last in the corner under the potting shelf. I stooped down and felt about in the dark among the flower pots. Yes, it was there, but there was something else. Something in the way. It looked like a tin. I lifted it out carefully. Yes, of course. It was a tin. The remains of the weed killer I had used the summer before. I looked the pink label, printed in staring letters with the legend, Arcenical Weed Killer. Poison. The blood suddenly began to pound in my temples. I'd been thinking of Mrs. Andrews so long that it came to me with a nasty shock. I was holding in my hands the very same brand of stuff she used to destroy so many poor souls. It gave me the distinctly unpleasant impression that by owning some poison myself, I was directly in touch with important and nasty events. I smiled a little at myself for being so foolish. And then I noticed that the stopper had been put in very loosely. Now, how did I ever come to do a thing like that? What a stupid fool. It would just serve me right if all the goodness had gone off it. Besides, it was so very dangerous to leave it loose like that. I took out the stopper and squinted it into the can. It seemed to be about half room. Then I ran the thing home again and gave it a sharp thump with the handle of the trowel for better security. After that, I washed my hands carefully at the scullery. I am a man who does not believe in taking risks. Just dropped in. My son and I were just in the neighborhood, Mr. Mummary, and we thought we'd have a cup of tea with you. Happy to see you again, Mrs. Welles. Oh, hello, John. How are you, Mr. Mummary? We were talking about the Lincoln Poisoning case, Mr. Mummary. That is, I think, of being doing all the talking. Oh, he's very numb. Thank you, Mrs. Sutton. Just put it by me out for... Very good, Mumm. Will that be all? That'll be all, Mrs. Sutton. Thank you. Oh, not at all, Mumm. Milk and sugar, Mrs. Welles, yes? Oh, with some lemon, please. You'll have milk and sugar, John. Oh, thank you. I see you remember. That's right. Thank you, my dear. I can't help pressing on about it, but there's been nothing else in my head since the first of these murders. I mean, you'll have to take me here. You, Mrs. Welles? Yes, I'm about to raise this, Mrs. Andrews. Oh, I see. And yet, when I look into my own heart and ask myself whether I could take a human life in cold blood, oh, but as a matter of fact, I suppose I could, but it comes down to that. I suppose we all could. Why, if you live long enough, you're bound to run across a few people you'd love to see dead in underground. And if you're pushed far enough, I suppose you simply up and do it. Except that I shouldn't use poison. I'd be able to find some more forthright way of dealing with it. Mother, letting your tea get cold. Oh, I am, darling. Thank you. You know, I tell myself that I'm a strong-nerd person. In fact, my husband tells me the same thing all the time. And still, the thought of this poisoner is running around loose in our neighborhood, gives me a chill. I confess, it's a rather delicious chill, but nonetheless, I'm an easy two. Oh, we've seen a picture, of course, but it's not much of a help. It could be almost anyone. Oh, and now when you stop to think about it... Those floor-sized cuttings, Mrs. Wellbeck. I beg your pardon. I remember you wanted some cuttings. If you care to come down to the garden, I'll get some food right now. Oh, I adore to have some. And they'll fill out my garden so beautifully. Do let's go. Ethel has been getting more and white and tremulous as this horrible woman ran on with her cheerful horrors. As we rose to go, I noticed a really glance past between Ethel and young Wellbeck. Evidently, the boy understood the situation and was chafing at his mother's tactlessness. Mrs. Wellbeck and I went outside together, and I selected and trimmed the cuttings for her. Oh, Mr. Mammeray, if I only had your skin in, why, you've made for yourself a true gardener even here. It's so nice of you to say so. And your gravel paths, they're so fairly immaculate. I simply cannot keep my weeds down. You need a good weed killer, that's all. There's an arsenic preparation on the market that does wonders. That's tough. No, thank you, Mr. Mammeray. I wouldn't have it in my place for a thousand pounds. I'm afraid there's no other way to rid yourself of weeds. Look at the foolhardy. So dangerous to have poison around. It seems to me you're simply opening your doors and inviting trouble. It's not as bad as all that. We keep it well away from the house. But the slightest carelessness... We are not careless people. Except that... Except that what? I just remembered. I have been a bit careless. I found the stopper to the can loose just this afternoon. It was unforgivable of you. There, you see. That's how accidents begin. From something as simple as that. You're fortunate you don't have any little children poking around. I suppose we are, Mrs. Welvett. I suppose we are. When we got back to the house, young Welvett was already on his feet and holding Ethel's hand in the act of saying goodbye. He was a good boy. Anxious to get his mother out of the house with tactful promptness. I went into the kitchen to clear up the newspapers I'd fished out in order to wrap Mrs. Welvett's cuttings. And as I picked them up, something odd struck me about them. Something I had to verify. I turned the papers over carefully, sheet by sheet. Yes, I'd been right. Every portrait of Mrs. Ankles, every paragraph, every line about the Lincoln poisoning case had been carefully cut out. Someone in my own house had gone to all this trouble. Why? It hasn't been too long ago in Edward Mumry's consciousness that Arsenic was only a weed killer, and Mrs. Andrews, the motherly murder suspect, was simply a name in the newspapers. A fear far removed from him and his quiet home in Hammersmith. But a sudden terror grips him now. A terror that's simply a name in the newspapers. A fear far removed from him and his quiet home in Hammersmith. But a sudden terror grips him now. A terror that certainly includes deadly poison and seems also to include the motherly woman who cooks his meal. Now the thing that had been only a vague and uncomfortable gnawing at the back of my brain came boiling up and golfing me. The blood hammered in my head and made me giddy. There was a curious cold lump in my stomach. Someone in my own household. That night I couldn't close my eyes. I had to tell someone about this awful suspicion. But there was no one to tell. Not at all, certainly in her condition. And so I kept it within myself until I reached town next day and could talk to Brooks. Now take hold of yourself, Mumry. Let's not jump to any conclusions. I'm not Brooks. I'm only asking questions that must be asked. Very well. Let's examine the facts once again. If only I had a picture of Mrs. Andrews. The publishing plenty of them only last week. I know. I've tried to recall those pictures. I've tried so hard. But I don't seem to have a very good visual memory. I suppose we couldn't get hold of one at the library. They keep files, you know. You remember you showed me a picture here at the office one day last week. Yes, that's right. And how was it I described her? Motherly, wasn't it? Yes, yes, motherly. That seemed to be about all you could say about her. I've been counting up the time since that poison of Mrs. Andrews disappeared. It comes to just a little more than a month. Yes, that would be my comfort. Very well. A month. And I just paid our Mrs. Sutton a month's wages. Mrs. Sutton. How can I spare her from any shock or anxiety? That's the thing that keeps seeming away at me. You know how ill she is. And you simply must do it on your own memory. You must cope with this monstrous suspicion by yourself. And I must be sure of my ground. Simply to dismiss the only decent cook we've ever had out of sheer blind panic why it would be wanton cruelty to both women. If it's to be done at all, it must be done quickly and arbitrarily without suggesting any of these horrors to Ethel. And then, don't you see, there's something else. If there's anything at all to these terrible suspicions it means Ethel is being exposed every minute that the woman is in the house. Good Lord. Think of that family in Lincoln. Think of the husband dead. And the old father dead. He was blue fast, old boy. She's been here so long, poor darling. I've seen her wasting away before my eyes. Why, Brooks? Why, a nervous breakdown? Why should Ethel be having a nervous breakdown? Or is it something else? Is this woman doing it to Ethel? Slowly, day by day. Is that what it means? Perhaps you should see the police. But it's nothing but the wildest of suspicions. And besides, I feel so very lonely and so tired. It's almost as if I didn't care what happened anymore. Your illness has taken it out of you. Yes. Too bad you can't discuss it with Ethel. I don't want her to be afraid. But perhaps I will. Perhaps she should know. I say, Mamarie. What? These illnesses of yours. When did they begin? I don't know. I think I've always been subject to business attacks, as long as I can remember. No, no, I mean the other ones. The severe attacks. Well, they began about three weeks ago. Three weeks ago, Mamarie? That's right. About three weeks ago. A train seemed forever getting home that night. I came softly into the house, listening to the sound of my own footsteps. It was dusk, and yet none of the lights in the house were on. I moved through heavy enveloping shadows into the sitting room. Ethel was stuck up in a corner of the Chesterfield, leaning back wearily against the cushions. Good evening, darling. Hello, Edward. You look tired, my dear. I am tired, Edward. I seem to be drained and empty. I noticed you didn't sleep well last night. It was probably that woman yesterday with her talking. Lady Mrs. Wellbeck talks altogether too much. How about that horrible case? I don't like hearing about such things. Of course not, dear. And yet— Yet what, Edward? When a thing like this happens in the neighbourhood, people will gossip and talk. It would be a relief if they caught the woman. One doesn't like to think— I don't want to think about it at all. So hateful. She must be a horrible, perverted creature, this Mrs. Andrews. Yes, yes. Quite so. Do you know? I was talking to Brooks about it only today, and he said— I don't want to hear what he said. I don't want to hear about it at all. Of course not, darling. I'm sorry. Oh, Edward, I just want to be quiet. I just want to be quiet. So you shall, Ethel. It's all my fault. The doctor warned me not to disturb you like this. Oh, Edward! Edward, darling! There, there, my dear. Everything's all right. No need for tears? It doesn't concern us anyway. Help her upstairs and into bed. And then, when she had stopped sobbing, and was at last asleep, I came down again very quietly. I was aware of a reluctance to face Mrs. Sutton. But I had to. A plump face to a man, a rise obscured by thick corn-rimmed spectacles. And what was that about a mouth? The tight lips, the hard chin. What was it Brooks had said about looking first to the mouth? Would you be requiring anything, sir, before I go up? No. Thank you, Mrs. Sutton. I hope you're feeling better, sir. No more of that trouble. Quite better. Thank you, Mrs. Sutton. Mrs. Mamrie's not indisposed, is she? I know. She's asleep. Do you think I ought to wake her to bring her a glass of milk? No, no, thank you, Mrs. Sutton. I believe we'll just let her be. And you, sir, do you care for anything? Not a thing, Mrs. Sutton. Oh, it wouldn't be no bother. I'll only take a minute. Not tonight. All right, then. Mrs. Sutton. Yes, sir? Are you aware that my can of arsenic out in the shed had a loose stopper? The garden isn't my department, is it, sir? No. No, it isn't. I didn't know about the arsenic. Very well. I'll be saying goodnight, then. Oh, Mrs. Sutton. Yes? One more thing. Certainly, sir. Nothing, Mrs. Sutton. Nothing. The next few days were the most agonizing of my life. I began the habit of coming down early in the morning and prowling about the kitchen. This only served to make Ethel more nervous. But Mrs. Sutton offered no tomorrow. She watched me silently and with good humor, almost for the amusement. And after all, it was ridiculous. What was the use of supervising the breakfast when I had to be out of the house every day between half past nine in the morning and seven in the evening? On Thursday night, Brooks persuaded me to go to a little bachelor dinner for a friend who was being married. It was in my district, and we weren't out of there until after midnight. By then, it was too late for Brooks to catch a train back to town, so I invited him to come over to my place. The household had long since gone to bed. Mr. Brooks, I don't want to disturb Ethel. Sorry, old man. Your room is just off here. I think you need a fresh pillow, sir. That'll be fine. Hello. What's this? Somebody's writing your notes. Dear Mr. Mamarie, there's some fresh cocoa in the kitchen. It only needs some hotting up, Mrs. Sutton. Where? Should just hit the spot? Yes, indeed. Come along. Let me just get the switch. There we are. I'd better get the cocoa ready. It'll only be a minute. It's quite a show, isn't it? Send him off from marriage and style. Glad to see him getting settled. People ought to marry young. All the more years to enjoy the only real, blessing life gives you. How many years has it been for you and Ethel? Just six. Good years, eh? And they get better all the time. That's the wonder of it. Tony Brooks, how did you happen to miss getting married? I didn't miss it at all, old chap. I've been getting along very well without it. Hello. Our cocoa's ready. And here's my cup. It's just hot enough. Brooks? Yes, old man. Is it just my fancy? Is there something queer about the taste? The taste? It seemed to me... Take another sip, Brooks. Go on. Hold it round on your tongue. Do you taste it? A faint tang? Like metal? Spit it out, Brooks! Spit it out! Don't know. Don't know. What's you're going to do? I've never been in a situation like this before. You ought to take a specimen to the chemist. Have you analyzed it? Yes. Yes, I will. First thing in the morning. But first... Brooks, I want you to come with me. Where to? Just outside, in the garden. I want to see something in the potting shed. I can't see a thing! Just hold on to me. We are almost there. All right. This is the shed. Just about four steps inside. Here we are. Mamery, where are you? Just at your feet, old man. I'm stupid down. Would you be good enough to strike a match for me? All right. There we are. That's fine. Hold it closer. It should be behind these pots here. Yes, it's here. Oh, devil, these things don't burn long. Can you strike another? What is it, Mamery? It's a tin of weed, killer. You mean arsenic? Yes, arsenic. Just look, Mamery. The stopper is loose. I know, Brooks. Want another match? No. It isn't necessary. Why should it be loose, Mamery? That's the question. It is. A specialty since I took the trouble to ram it in as tight as it would go on me last week. Mamery, old man, I don't like to frighten you. Do you see what this means? It simply means there's a murderer in my house. It was there, in that shed that smelled of earth. In my dress, with an overcoat, holding the tin in my hand and facing Brooks in the darkness, that the beast panic seized me in its claws and held me so tight that I could hardly breathe. I felt a sudden impulse to run out into the dark streets of Hammersmith and scream out to the sleeping village the terrible thing I had discovered. Instead, I replaced the tin exactly where it had been. And Brooks and I went back into the garden to all the house. Look, Brooks, see that light? Who's window is it? Mrs. Sutton's. It's terrifying. Is she watching us? Where does Ethel sleep? Our bedroom is right up there. It's dark, thank heaven. If she'd drunk anything deadly, there'd be lights everywhere. She'd call out just as I did the night I was attacked. Yes, of course. What's your plan? Plan? Yes, yes. Plan. I'll get you off to bed. Yes. Then I'll go into the kitchen, wash out the saucepan and make another brew of cocoa. I let it stand in the saucepan overnight. Just to erase suspicions. Then in the morning, off to the chemist. That's right. Remember, you told me last week to move fast. Well, my time's run out. I'm not a man of action, Brooks, but when my life is threatened, when the life of the person I love most is in danger, then I can do it, Brooks. Then I can. When I'd finished in the kitchen, I turned out all the lights and started softly up the stairs. I hadn't meant to wake in Ethel. I meant to keep, but all this from her until it was over and finished. But she must have heard me as I came into the room. Her word? Yes, my dear. How late you are, you naughty boy. Have a good time at your party? Not bad. Not bad at all. So tonight was young Farnsworth's last to the bachelor. His last? He seemed like a lamb already for the sacrifice. You all right? Quite all right. Good. Didn't she suddenly leave something hot for you? She said she would. Yes, but I wasn't thirsty. Oh, it was that sort of party, wasn't it? I sat down on the bed beside her. She was asleep again in a moment. I took her hand and I clutched it tight, so to find death in hell to take her from me. Next morning I would act. I thanked God it was not too late. At eight o'clock in the morning, I stood outside the little untidy shop on Springbank where a weather-beaten sign informed the world that this place of business belonged to B.A. Dimthorpe, chemist. Dimthorpe himself was an aged little fellow, as untidy himself as the shop in which he potted about day and night. I paused a moment before entering. How many times had we sat together in the room at the back? Our chairs tilted against the wall, exchanging views on Greenfly and Club Root? How many lazy evenings we had passed together discussing the passion of our lives, the art of garden. This morning I had to see him on another matter, on the new passion in my life. This morning we should be concerned with the art of murder. I be of assistance. Mama Ray. Good morning, Dimthorpe. What brings you so hurly in the dark? Another prescription for Hethelor? Hethelor's much better these days. It's quite another matter. It'll be light for work, won't you? This is oddly the time to continue the battle of lilacs versus poppies. Dimthorpe? Yes? I wonder if you could do a little job for me. Happy to, if it's within me power. Well, this is very much in your line of work. Well, then certainly. I have here a bottle. It contains a cup of ordinary cocoa. Cocoa? Mama Ray? Yes. I was wondering if you'd be good enough to analyze it for me. And just what is it you want me to look for? I should... I should like you to look for traces of arsenic, if you would. Very well, Mama Ray. Arsenic. This cocoa was left in a saucepan for me at home last night. I found that it tasted very hard and pleasant and metallic. I know, but that's oddly enough. You see, Dimthorpe, I have reason to believe that we have living with us at present the Lincoln Poisoner. I dare say you know the case. A link? Correct! Oh, but, Mama Ray, how dreadful! I have reason to believe that this woman is attempting to murder both my wife and myself. I think I have proof. Your analysis will be the final one. I shall put everything else aside, Mama Ray. You may rely on me. I do, Dimthorpe. I do. And may I congratulate you on your providence and on your intelligence in bringing me this specimen? Thank you. I'll have it ready for you by this evening. And if it's what you think it is, then we shall have a clear case on which to take action. Thank you, Dimthorpe. This evening, then. Righto. I see I'm to pass a very long day. I was a bit late in getting to the office. Brooks was already there waiting for me with a white face and the hushed voice of a conspirator. Good morning. Good morning. How was my work this morning? Yes. I had my call to make. Sleep well last night? Like a log. It's funny, considering. It is funny. You didn't, I gather? No. You've taken care of the matter? Yes. When shall we know? Yes. When shall we know? Late this afternoon. Everything seemed all right when I left the house, had breakfast with Ethel, seemed very well, completely unsuspecting. Did you notice her? I did indeed. Our dear Mrs. Suckwell. Bad mouth. There's no doubt of it. Anything else? Otherwise perfectly normal. That's what gives them away, don't you see? More normal than normal folk. You feel like working today? Frankly, no. Neither do I. Shall we put out the sign? Good idea. We put out the sign saying that we were close for the day because of illness. And we sat together in the office. The noon hour passed and neither of us moved. Four or five times we heard footsteps outside in the corridor, closing before our door and then turning and receding. Neither of us spoke and neither of us moved. I examined an expanse of wall just over Brooks's head and he examined the blank space over mine and the hours passed. Back on Springbank, Dim Thorpe would be bending over his vials and Bunsen burners, moving as methodically as only he could move, extracting the truth from a bottle of cocoa. I told him this was the longest day of my life. Well, Mamrie? Yes, it was four o'clock. I couldn't wait any longer. Good luck, old man. Brooks shook hands with me and I went outside into the afternoon sunlight. I was at Springbank in 20 minutes. Mamrie, is that you? It is, Dim Thorpe. I'm ready for you. Just coming to the bank in case we're disturbed. Right, Mamrie. Right over here. What does it mean? It means that there's no doubt about it. I see. I used Marsh's test. It was an heavy dose. No wonder you tasted it. There must have been four or five grains of pure arsenic in that bottle. Here, take this mirror. I want you to save for yourself. All right. Now, just look closely at this little glass tube. It's a stain, a purple black stain. That's the mark left by the arsenic. Will you ring up the police from here? No, my wife. I've got to get home. All right, leave it to me. I'll ring the police up for you. Oh, go quickly, Mamrie. The local train went so slowly and stopped so often. Ethel Poison dying dead. Ethel Poison dying dead. The wheels strummed harshly in my ears. I jumped from the train before it had stopped and ran out of the station along the road. A strange car was standing at my door. I saw it from the end of the street and broke into a mad gallop. It had happened. The doctor was there. I was a fool. I was a murderer to have left it so long. Then while I was still 150 yards away, I saw the front door open. A man came out followed by Ethel herself. The visitor got into his car and drove away. And Ethel went back into the house. She was safe. She was safe. I could hardly control myself to hang up my hat and coat and go in looking reasonably calm. She had returned to the armchair by the fire and she looked up at me in surprise. There were tea things on the table and she was alive. Edward, you're back early, aren't you? Yes, dear. Business was slack. Somebody beat a tea. John Welbert came by. Oh, young Welbert. Yes, we've been talking over arrangements for the drama society. Darling, I'm so glad. By having a guest here, you were predicted. You were safe. Edward, what are you talking about? You seem so strange. There's something I've got to tell you Ethel. I should have done it long ago. My darling, it's going to be unpleasant, but you must hear it. Oh, excuse me, ma'am. Yes? Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't know you was in. What is it, Mrs. Sutton? Will you be taken to your... can I clear away? Mr. Mummery will be wanting some. You'd better leave it. And, oh, Mum... What is it? There was a young man at the Fishmongers and he's just come from Grimsby. Yes? And they've caught that dreadful woman at Mrs. Andrews. Oh. He did a good thing. Oh, it worried me so to think she was going about like that. But they've caught her. Took a job as housekeeper, she had, two elderly ladies, and they found the wicked Poison Anna. Girl, a spotted earl, get her reward. I've been keeping my eyes open for Amy's self, but it's at Grimsby she was all the time. Thank you for the news, Mrs. Sutton. That will be all. Oh, not at all, Mum. But that's wonderful. And it's all been a mistake. A mad mistake. Darling, I don't know whether to shout or to cry. I certainly must apologise to Mrs. Sutton. We're safe, don't you see? We're safe. But what about the Coco? It's Mr. Dimtholpe. And Marcia's test and five grains of arsenic. What do they all need? Who could have- Who could have what? Ethel. Ethel. Ethel. Yes, Ethel. Do it to me. You fool. Don't you know that it's been well, Beck? That it's always been well, Beck? Something I've never seen before. It's always been there. It's just that you've never looked. It would be the police, Ethel. They've come here for you. Next week, Crossfire. Yes, Crossfire. Robert Young, Robert Mitchum, Robert Ryan, Gloria Graham and Sam Levine playing the roles they created for the RKO Radio Picture. A drama of present-day intolerance in an atmosphere of suspense. And with the performances of Robert Young, Robert Mitchum, Robert Ryan, Gloria Graham and Sam Levine, and with Crossfire, we'll again hope to keep you in suspense. Suspicion by Dorothy Sayers was adapted for suspense by Irving Ravich and was produced and directed by Anton M. Lieder. Ludglaskan is our musical director and conductor, and Lucian Muroek composes the original scores. Next week here, Crossfire, starring Robert Young with Robert Mitchum, Robert Ryan, Gloria Graham and Sam Levine on Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills. One hour of suspense. This is CBS, where 99 million people gather every week. The Columbia Broadcasting System.