 Session. Greed. These are the slow poisons that saturate the most brilliant mind until it becomes dank and spongy. A cavern of foul and nauseous thoughts hidden away from the light of the sun. A secret place where no longer live the clean structures of love or honor or decency. As the twisting roots of destruction dig deeper and stronger, interlocking like the fibers of some malignant cancer. And so in just a moment, the story of the hangman, starring Tom Conway. This is the story of the hangman. The hooded man, skilled in the subtle arts of the hempen moose, the springer of the track. In a small town in the south of England, in a wayside inn, a young man sits at a table, tense, expectant, obviously nervous, and even more obviously held in the vice of some strange and decidedly urgent obsession. Sit down. Oh, I'm excited today. Have you been waiting long? Twenty minutes. What a danger, Nellie. And Alice, she hasn't been feeling well. I couldn't get away. You mean you couldn't sneak away without her seeing you, isn't that it? No, darling. No, that's not true. There's no need to deny it, Nellie. I'm aware that your aunt doesn't approve of me. Oh, it's not you personally, Oliver. It's just that, well, and Alice is frightfully set in her ways. She believes that you should have a steady position, an income. I see. As she prefers that I give up my painting, find a job as a day laborer, a three-pound-a-week clerk, or perhaps a news vendor. Yes, there's a nice steady position. Oliver, you're in another mood. Possibly. Oh, darling, darling, don't let quarrel. It's such a beautiful day. Don't let spoil it. I'm spoiling your day? Forgive me. I didn't mean that. It's just... Well, the things you say, I... What would you like me to say? Say that you understand. No, Nellie. I can't understand. There can never be an understanding at this rate. Meeting in dark corners, afraid we might be seen together as though we were criminals. I know. Nellie, we could put an end to this deceit. We could. I've asked you many times before. I ask you again. Nellie, will you be my wife? Your wife? Who are you? I love you, Nellie. And I love you. You know that. Then... Yes, I'll marry you. Darling, let's leave here. I'll pay the tap and... Oh, Nellie. Oh, of course, darling. Here's the money. And so, Nellie and I were married. A little church just outside the village. Afterwards, we drove home in Nellie's car. She wanted to break the news to Aunt. Nellie was convinced that the old woman would feel differently toward me now that we were married. But she didn't. Her aunt wouldn't even see me. Well, we just had to make the best of it. Nellie had some money of her own, and so we bought a small house in Middlesbrough. It was a quaint little place. Had an attic that we converted into a studio where I could do my painting. Nellie and I were very happy there for a time. Good afternoon, Mr. Copeland. Good afternoon, Mrs. Copeland. And how was my rising young artist coming with his work today? I've started my new and best painting, Nellie. Look, do you like it? Ah, though it seems a little... almost weird. Yes, yes, that's the way it was meant. I'm not nearly finished, of course. I'm just starting to sketch in the background. But it has life to it, hasn't it, Nellie? Yes, it has more than that. It even frightened you a bit. Ah, then it must be good. I hope to finish it in time to take it to the exhibit in London next month. Oh, that reminds me, dear, I'll need some money. Oh, Oliver. Oliver, I've been meaning to tell you. Yes, dear. There isn't any more money. What was that you said? There isn't any more money. It dwindled away steadily ever since we came here. You see, darling, I didn't have too much to begin with, and after buying this house... But I thought there was plenty. You led me to believe there was plenty. Oh, I didn't, Oliver. Really, I didn't. What are we to do now? Well, I've been thinking... I've been thinking perhaps that Alice would be of help. Perhaps she'd change her mind about it if you'd find a position, darling, for just a little while, but I couldn't get straightened out again. You could still pay. I see. So you've turned against me, too. No, darling, no, certainly not. Oh, Oliver, it would only be for a few months. Only a few months? And what of the London exhibit in the meanwhile? I suppose you'd just as soon have me wait until next year to go. No, I want you to go. But I don't see how in the world we can... Afforded? We'll afford it, all right. I'll get that money somehow. I'll get it. I was furious with her. She hadn't led me to believe she was welfare. And now... Now we'd come to this. I left the house and I walked. How far I don't know. I had to think. My entire career might depend on my new painting and the London exhibit. I had to find a way to get that money. Then, that night, in our neighborhood, the thing started. The papers said that it happened close to 11 o'clock in the evening when a woman was walking home alone down Cedar Grove. Yes? Who's there? The woman was found beneath a tree, stabbed to death, and her purse was gone. The following morning, Nelly and I had a caller. Someone at the door. I'll get it. I'm in picture Le Mans, Scotland Yard. I've been called in by the local police for routine check-up in this neighborhood. Who is it? The man from Scotland Yard. Scotland Yard? What's he doing here? Oh, please don't be alarmed, sir. Just a routine check-up. You see, we had a rather nasty bit of business in this neighborhood last evening. Oh, yes. You mean the killing on Cedar Grove? Yes. How did you know, sir? We were just reading about it. Oh. Well, I dropped in to ask you if you've noticed any strangers loitering around this district lately. No. No, I can't say that we have. Well, sorry to trouble you. Necessary thing, though, you know. Oh, of course. I certainly hope you find the guilty party. We usually do. Good morning. Good morning. That wasn't the last I was to see of Inspector Le Mans. Nor was that the last murder. They began occurring with startling regularity. One, two in a week, right under the very noses of the police. Always in the same district. Always a woman. Dead to death, her purse gone. One morning, some 10 days after the inspector's first visit, I was leaving the house when nearly stopped near the door. Oliver. Oliver, you won't be late tonight again. I might be. Why? Where do you go at night, Oliver? Why do you leave me alone? I've told you. I walk. I enjoy walking. Why do you ask me ridiculous questions? I won't ask questions. I won't say a word. You'll only stay here with me at night. I'm frightened. You're killing. They happen all the time now. And always right around us. Oh, really now, Nellie? You're acting like a child. I can't help it. I am. I am frightened. Look, I have a surprise for you, Nellie. Right? Yes. I was saving it, but here. Ten pa? Where did you get it, Oliver? I, uh, sold a painting. The one I call Blue Meadow. Oh, that's wonderful. Yes. Well, the money's all yours, Nellie. I'll be home early. Good night. One second, Le Mans. You come in. Thank you. What brings you by this morning? Mrs. Cochran, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you some questions about your husband. What husband? What is it? No, please answer carefully. These are some things I must know. I understand from the neighbors that you and your husband have been quarreling lately. Is that true? Well, we have a little difference. And your husband stays out evening until quite late. Smith, do you know where he goes, Mrs. Cochran? Yes. He, uh, he goes walking. He likes to get out in the fresh air after painting all day. Oh, he's an artist? Yes. Does his profession afford him an adequate income? Wait. You're not thinking that my husband could have anything to do with... I'm simply asking you some very important questions that you must answer. Does your husband have an adequate income? Well, well, we're comfortable. Ah, I see. Then have you seen him with any extra money? Has he, uh, has he given you any? Well, come, come, has he? No. I see. Well, thank you, Mrs. Copeland. Sorry to trouble you again. Good day. Good day. Yes, it was for the painting. Blue Meadow. Du Bois. We are the youth of this Du Bois art dealer. Mrs. Nelly Copeland. Mrs. Nelly Copeland. Yes? Yes. I'd like some information. Did you purchase a portrait from Mr. Oliver Copeland titled Blue Meadow? Blue Meadow. Was it an original work? Yes. Well, I could not have purchased it then. Are you sure? Positive. I have not bought an original art piece for over a year. Thank you, Oliver. Neighborhood murders strikes home now, and a dark, ugly cloud of fear and suspicion settles in the mind of Nelly Copeland. Her husband, the murderer? Or could it be a mere coincidence? There are reasons, of course, for suspicion. The strange attitudes of her husband, his unaccountable nocturnal meanderings through dark streets, and the headlines of death in the mornings. These thoughts grow in the mind of Nelly Copeland, build, gather momentum, until they become solidified into a powerful obsession in his wife, Nelly, and the house of Middleborough that stands in the shadows of the hangman, starring Tom Conway. Try as she may. Nelly Copeland cannot escape the secret dread that lurks in her heart, as fact piles upon fact, and the stern finger of suspicion points ever closer toward her husband, Oliver. Her husband, that has changed so much, is to be almost estranged. Living alone in a world of his own creating, a world seemingly filled by the apparitions of some inexplainable obsession. Two days later, the London Art Exhibit was but a fortnight away, and my painting, my masterpiece, the one that Nelly had called rather weird, was almost completed. Then a thought occurred to me, my London trip was to be a success, and I'd have to meet people of importance and influence, taking a social affair or two, and yes, I'd need more money. Why was I to get it? Then suddenly I knew, so very simple. Nelly? Yes, Oliver? Nelly, I've been thinking, are there awful London in a fortnight, and well, Nelly, with these horrid jack-the-rope-a-sort of killings here in our neighborhood, I rather dislike the idea of leaving you alone. It would be very nice if you could have your aunt come and visit you. Aunt Alice? Yes. In as much as I'll not be here, she should have no objection to accepting her niece's hospitality for a short while. I shall feel considerably more at ease, Nelly, if you would ask your aunt to come and stay with you. I'll write on Alice and ask her to come. Thank you, Nelly. Nelly scribbled a note to her aunt. At my suggestion, she requested the old woman to come to Middlesbrough on the 15th. I was not due to leave for London until the 16th, but of course I couldn't tell Nelly that. She received a reply in the mail the following afternoon, and Alice would come on the 15th at 6 p.m. I arrived at the station to meet her. The train from Cushing was on time. It was going on eight when I returned home. London would kept you without Alice. Isn't she here? Here? How could she be here? I thought you went to the train. Yes, but I was late. I had a bit of motor trouble. I didn't get to the station until half past six, and she wasn't there. I thought I'd missed her, that she'd come ahead to the house. Perhaps the train was late. Oh, no, I inquired. It was on time. Oliver, you don't think anything could have happened to her? Of course not. It's very likely that she just couldn't get reservations on the evening train. Sometimes happens, you know, and so she's taken a later one. We had just finished our supper when the doorbell rang. It was the boy with the evening paper. Nelly went to the door. The boy, it was quite late this evening. I thought it's strange. Oliver! Oliver! Yes, Nelly, what is it? Oh, a special edition. They found the killer. What killer? The one who's been committing all those murders in the neighborhood. Found him? Let me see that paper. Yeah, boy. Simon Reynolds, 34. Arrested in Wales last night, gave police a full confession this morning for the middle bruh. Jack the Ripper slayings. Wales. Wales, that... That's more than an overnight journey from here. And he hasn't been in this vicinity for days. What, Oliver? Nothing, Nelly, nothing. Oh, the phone. I'll get it. Hello? Hello, is this Mrs. Nelly Coppola? Yes. This is the two-part art gallery. I am calling in reference to that painting you asked me about yesterday, the blue murder. Yes? We did purchases after all. That is my associate did. And you forgot to tell me about it. I thought perhaps you'd like to know. Oh, yes. Yes, I do know. Everything's all right. Everything's just fine. Goodbye. You know, Oliver, I'm so happy. I'm so relieved. I just can't... Oliver? Oliver, where is he? It was awkward to leave the house that way. But I had much time. I drove over to a vacant lot on Sharon Cross Road. Everything was as I left it. Nothing was covered. I decided to park the car on the alleyway in the rear of our house and wait until Nelly had gone to sleep. When the light in her room was finally turned out, I slipped in the house through the back door, went down into the cellar. I took every precaution so as not to wake Nelly, but to no avail, she heard me from upstairs. What do you want, Nelly? What are you doing down there, Oliver? I... it's the hot water heater. It's broken. I was fixing it. What is after two in the morning, Oliver? And if it is, I'll have to fix it sometime, won't I? I'll go back to bed. Nelly, go back to bed. She did as I told her. That was one thing I liked about Nelly. Next morning, Nelly wanted to know where I'd been during the evening. She was more insistent than usual, almost suspicious. But I finally managed to pass it off by mentioning that it was time for me to go to the railway station to see if an hour had arrived. I got to the station rather early, twenty past nine. I went to the window and asked for my reservation on the London train. Then, as I turned to leave, I bumped into the man I least wanted to see. Good morning, Mr. Copeland. Oh, Inspector LeMond, good morning. Taking a trip? Yes, I'm going to London for the art exhibit. Really? Well, I'll be going to London myself this afternoon. Back to the art now that all this nasty business is cleaned up. Yes, well, have a nice trip. Good morning. Good morning to you. Well, rather unsociable fellow. Good morning, Mrs. Copeland. Oh, good morning, Inspector. Will you come in? Thank you. I ran into your husband at the railway station and it reminded me that I had an apology to make. An apology? Yes. I do hope you don't feel too badly toward me for that last rather professional visit of mine, line of duty and all that sort of thing, you know? Of course, I understand. Fine then. Your husband tells me he's going to London. Yes, to the exhibit. He's going to enter one of his paintings. He's really a very good artist. Well, he certainly has the temperament. I started to chat with him at the station and suddenly he just turned and went off in a half and drove away in his car. Drove away? But it isn't even 10 o'clock yet. I beg your pardon. You say he drove away? What time was it, Inspector? Oh, I should say a little before 9.30. But he went there to meet my aunt. We were expecting her on the 10 o'clock train from Cushing. Your aunt? Yes, she was really due in it last evening at 6. Oliver went to the station but she wasn't there. Well, haven't you telephoned your aunt to find out what the trouble was? I thought to last night, but Oliver said she'd surely be in this morning so there was no need to worry. And yet he left the station this morning without waiting. Isn't that rather odd, Mrs. Copeland? Yes, it is. Ready. When did your husband return home from the station last night? When he was home the supper was around 8 and it... Oh! Yes, what is it? Go on. When he went out again, he didn't come home until quite late. He waked me when he came in. He was fixing our water heater and the cellar. Faking our water heater and the cellar at that late hour? Mrs. Copeland, I'd like to have a look at your cellar. Oh, it's right down here. Perhaps you'd better wait up here, Mrs. Copeland. Please don't. Please, I'll come. Better then. And everything appears to be in one moment. I say, hold on a moment. What is it? Here. This section. It's freshly laced cement. And with a thick axle there. Please, Mrs. Copeland. Here? Yes. Thank you. Mrs. Copeland, look here and please try to keep hold of yourself. I'm afraid that what you're going to see won't be very... Oh! Nearly we're up. Inspector LeMond. What are you doing here? I've been waiting for you, Copeland. Waiting for... The cellar door, it's open. Who's been... Your wife and I have been down there. You're under the rest, Copeland. Oh. So you know. Nearly too? Yes. Why did you do it, Copeland? She was old and wealthy. She'd lived her life. Her life, she was of no use to anyone but dead. Your wife would inherit her money and you'd benefit from it. Yes. But why the body in the cellar? Ah, unavoidable circumstances. After I did it, I left her body in a vacant lot on Charing Cross Road. I thought when it was discovered that her murder would be just another one attributed to our Jack the Ripper friend. But, of course, when he was apprehended in Wales, well, my plans had to be altered. I see. Well, I think we'd best be getting along. Ah, ah, one moment. This portrait here, I should like to take it with me. May I? You can see why not. Take it. Thank you. I see the figure. The man is very well done, but the background. But, why, isn't that a gallows you've painted? Yes, it is. Oh, and this really should give you quite a chuckle, Inspector. I call the portrait of a hangman. Isn't it? That a subconscious mind often times reveals inward secrets in the outward expression of art. Oliver used the murky colors of his own mind to mix the oils that spread across that taut canvas that portrays so realistically the cross-ons of the gibbet, the swinging knotted noose, and the stolid remorseless figure of the hangman. And so Oliver Copeland's pathway leads him to 13 steps and terminates with the crash of the trap that shall obliterate forever a mind that lost its free agency in the powerful grip of a greed-filled obsession. In just a moment, I'll be back with a preview of next week's story. For a brief vignette of next week's story, when Peter Van Eyck brings you the narrative of a summer evening, when an enduring obsession was created on the altar of love, when two minds become fused in the common purpose of mankind, you'll find deathless purpose that held high the eternal torch of a great and magnificent love. In next week's story of Obsession, tonight's story was produced and transcribed under the direction of C.T. McGregor in Hollywood.