 Welcome. I'm E. G. Marshall. Welcome to the sound of suspense, the fear you can hear. For the next 52 minutes, we're going to take you into the world of mystery, into the world of terrifying imagination. The story you are going to hear concerns a question which has been asked since the first men on Earth were born and died. Is there a life after death? Is there a way to return from the grave? And if there is, can we come back in the body of a living creature? Even one that has claws instead of fingernails? Here is one chilling answer. Dr. Singh, you have to tell me, could my wife have come back as a bird, a sparrow, something like that? Well, your wife was a rather big woman, Mr. Moresby, and a physicist. How about a snake? A seagull? How about a cat? A great, big, fat cat? A cat! Our mystery drama, The Return of the Moresby's, was written especially for the Radio Mystery Theater by Henry Slesser and stars Patrick O'Neill. I'll be back shortly with Act One. Now here is Act One. Like all murder stories sooner or later, it reaches the office of a daily newspaper. You wanted to see me, Chief? You bet I want to see you, Proudy. Come in and shut that door. I bet I know what it's about. That story I filed on Richard Moresby, right? I got a flash for you, Proudy. This is a newspaper office, not a fiction magazine. You take this story of yours and see if you can sell it to a weirdo digest or something, but get it off my desk. Now wait a while, Max. I know it's offbeat, but I thought I handled it with a kind of a light touch. Stories about murder can't be handled with a light touch, not on this paper. But it's accurate. I mean this is exactly what the guy Moresby told me just before he died. Well, he must have been out of his head. He asked for somebody to hear his story. That's how I got to meet him. I was at the hospital covering that subway accident. No, that story made sense to me. Nothing but nice clear facts, but this nonsense. Please, let me tell you about this guy. Maybe you'll change your mind. All right, what about him? Well, for one thing, he was a real distinguished looking guy. The only thing peculiar about him was his eyes. His eyes? Yeah. They were the palest blue eyes I ever saw on a man. They weren't really blue at all. They were like silver. Big deal. So he had silver eyes. And when he started to tell me about himself, well, I just had to hear the whole story, chief. Yes, I was born in London, but my family moved to the States when I was young. They didn't improve much on the climate when they did. We lived in Vermont. I don't think I was ever warm enough until the age of 24 when I moved to Southern California. We lived on beaches, a superb swimmer, a superior surfboarder, and a terrible bum. It was on the beach at Malibu that I met the woman who was to become my wife. Her name was Una. She was as pale as a gardenia, a gardenia with bones. Una had more bones than any other woman I've ever met. Lovely day, isn't it? I beg your pardon? I said it's a beautiful day. I don't think I've ever seen the ocean look prettier. Frankly, the Pacific always looked a little muddy to me. I wonder if that's what Balboa said when he first saw it. Well, he probably said, what a great place for surfing. Ah, I see you have a surfboard. Yes, as a matter of fact, I think I see a wave that I like. Will you excuse me? I wish I had the nerve to try it. Yeah, you really should. Well, bye now. Maybe I'll ask my chauffeur to teach me. I'm sorry. What did you say? Charles, my chauffeur. He's very good at sports. Sure. You know, come to think of it, that wave doesn't look so good after all. By the way, my name is Richard. Richard Mosby. How do you do? My name is Una. Van Dammeyer. That was her name. As soon as I realized that she was from the Van Dammeyer family, she didn't seem half as bony as she did before. In fact, not only did I become accustomed to Una's appearance, I was even able to tolerate her name conversation. Can't you just feel the mystery of the stars, Richard? Sometimes I feel their vibrations as if they're trying to communicate with me. Do you ever feel that? Well, sometimes, I suppose. I really think we must be one with the universe, don't you? I really believe there's just one great universal soul, and we're all part of it. Don't you think so too? Yes, of course. Right on, as they say. You see what I mean? She talked that way all the time, from the first day of our honeymoon. Well, it was a fine honeymoon, just the same. It lasted a whole year on the beaches of the Caribbean, in the French Riviera. I got browner and browner. Una got freckles. Finally, we returned to our home in Los Angeles, and settled down to a quiet, comfortable marriage. Well, Eric, is that your play? It's sitar music, darling. Oh, it's just so spiritual. What made you buy the record? No, Dr. Singh recommended it. Who? Dr. Singh, at the temple of Metasychosis. You know... The temple of what? Metasychosis. I told you about joining the temple last week. Oh, Richard. Sometimes I think you don't listen to me. Now, as you may know, Southern California abounds in quasi-religious organizations. She'd gone through a number of them without discovering the universal soul at any of their altars. Darling, please come to one of Dr. Singh's lectures. He's such a magnificent speaker. He emits such vibrations. And I went. You see, what an obliging husband I was. It actually turned out to be more interesting than I thought. The temple itself was unpretentious. And Dr. Singh was an impressive man. And when he spoke, I realized why his message had such appeal for Una, because he preached to doctrine that combined eternal life with a love of small animals. The soul is immortal. The soul cannot die. The soul, upon leaving the body, must make its passage elsewhere. There is a science called eschatology, which deals with the last four things. Death, judgment, heaven and hell. It is the most ancient of all sciences. And from its wisdom has come the inescapable certainty of the trans-migration of souls. Yeah, I know it's a bit weird, but stay with it. And where does the soul go? According to the wise men of all generations past, the soul departs from the mouth of the dying. It is consequently a small thing. A bird, a snake, a mouse, a dog, or a hawk, a dog, a cat, an insect. For these small creations of God are empty vessels placed upon Earth for only one purpose, to house the departing souls of humanity so that they need not wander forever in a trackless eternity. Yeah, yeah, it's pure rod, of course. But that's what the man said, and Una sat there and believed every single word. Oh, wasn't he marvelous, Richard? Isn't it wonderful that the soul never dies, that we can all come back as little animals? I'm not sure. I want to come back as an animal. But you'd still be you, Richard. Oh, don't you see? Well, by the way, what was that envelope you handed Dr. Singh after the meeting? The envelope? That was my donation, of course. Your donation to the temple? Yes, to support the work of Dr. Singh, to open other temples around the world. Well, how much money was in the envelope? What does it matter, Richard? I'm just curious. $2,000. To what? To Una. Una, you go to that temple once a week. You always give that kind of donation. Oh, it's all in a very good cause, Richard. Well, in an equally good cause, that of finding out exactly how much of my wife's money was supporting this nonsense, I sneaked a look at Una's checkbooks. The answer astonished me. Not only had my wife put more than $30,000 into Dr. Singh's collection plate, she had also donated some 20,000 more to various institutions for the care and feeding of cats, dogs, and birds. It was so kind of you to honor us with a visit, Dr. Singh. I know how terribly busy you are. On the contrary. You were kind to invite me to your lovely home. Now tell me, Dr. Singh, what determines the kind of animal one becomes when the soul escapes after death? Mrs. Morrisby, that is a question which has baffled Wiseman for countless generations. But isn't it possible to do, well, research? Yes, Mrs. Morrisby. I don't doubt that we could find the answer to such great questions if only we had the proper resources. But unfortunately, that would require money, a great deal more money than the movement has it present. Well, it seems to me you don't do badly. There you are. Hello, Richard. Where have you been all morning? Right here, in my little sewing room. Don't tell me you were sewing. Don't be silly. Actually, I've been composing something. A letter? Oh, something more important than that. Richard, do you realize that I had no last will and testimony? Well, why should you? Healthy young chicken like you? I can't call myself young anymore, Richard. You'll always be young to me, darling. Oh, that's very sweet. But just the same. It's only practical to have a will. Would you read it over, Richard, and see if it... Well, if it sounds legal enough? Certainly. Well, let's see now. I, Una Vandermeier Morrisby, a resident of the city of Los Angeles, residing at eight shared and drive, being over the age of 21 of sound and disposing mind and memory. Darling, this is superb. Well, where did you get the language? Well, to tell you the truth, I copied it out of daddy's will. The one that left you 10 million? Yes. Well, I don't see how you could go wrong. Let's see now. Not acting under duress, menace, fraud or undue influence of any person, whomever, and... Gosh, why? What? You're... you're not serious about this. Oh, about making a will? Well, of course I am. I mean, this bequest, the temple, a mumbo jumbo. What's wrong with it? Now, listen, darling, I told you how important Dr. Singh's work is, but it requires money to carry it on. Tons of money. So the least I can do is to help the poor man as much as I can. But you're giving him 90% of your entire fortune. You still have a million dollars if I go first, Richard. Isn't that enough? No, it isn't. I mean, the whole thing is ridiculous. Don't you realize that man is a fraud? A charlatan? What? For heaven's sake, open your eyes. Don't you realize the simple truth? Your money won't build any temples. It's just going to line the pockets of that turban phony. Richard, what a terrible thing to say. Well, you told me you like Dr. Singh, that you were very impressed by his theory of transmigration. Darling, I was only saying all that to please you, but now I'm telling you that the only thing Dr. Singh is planning to transmigrate is your money and his savings account. And frankly, I'm not going to let him do it. Richard, what are you doing? You're tearing up my will. That's right. How dare you do such a thing? It's my money and I'll do whatever I please with it. Oh, no, darling, I just want you to have a chance to come to your senses. Oh, there's nothing wrong with my senses. I can see very clearly what the real trouble is. If I didn't leave a will, all my money would go to you, wouldn't it? Well, that's really... I'm your husband. You don't have any other element. Well, that's why you're acting this way. It's just plain and simple greed. Oh, no, listen to me. No, it's all right. It's all right. I'm glad you tore up that will, Richard, because I realize now that I was quite wrong. Do you? Yes. It's a mistake to leave only nine million of my money to the temple. I'm going to leave all of it to Dr. Singh. When Una actually drafted that incredible document and called our attorney for a Monday morning appointment, I realized that I had to do something very drastic before the weekend was over. I had to kill my poor misguided wife and make her one with the universe. It's obvious that Mr. Moresby is going to be a very reluctant murderer. The question is, will his reluctance get in the way of his efficiency? We'll get the details when we return shortly with Act 2. Now let's return to Richard Moresby. In order to find him, we'll have to search the highway, for Richard has taken his white jaguar out for a spin. But there he is now. On Saturday morning, I took a little spin in my ex-kayala and did some thinking on the open road. I didn't want to kill poor Una, of course. The whole idea was repellent. But on the other hand, the thought of Dr. Singh spending the fortune that was rightfully mine was even more abhorrent. However, I decided I would make one more stab at a reconciliation. So are living room, too. It doesn't feel like it. As a matter of fact, I've felt like a stranger in this house for the past two days. I suppose that's my fault. Well, you haven't been exactly cordial, have you? I've hardly been home, Richard. I spent all day yesterday at the temple and all morning at the pet rest kennels. And how are all the little souls doing? You just won't stop being a reverent, will you? It's been my money all along, hasn't it, Richard? From the very beginning, you were attracted to my money. Now, darling, if you thought that, you would never have married me. I didn't want to believe it. I don't want to believe it now. Well, now, how can I prove to you that you're mistaken? Richard, do you really want to prove it? Of course I'll do anything you say. All right. Now, I know exactly what you can do. You can let me leave my money to Dr. Singh and the temple. The whole ten million? Yes, because that's the only way I'll know that it's me you love. Well, you can't say I didn't try. But Oona's decision now left me with absolutely no alternative. I was still deeply unhappy about the necessity of taking your life. However, fate was kind to me that very afternoon. Now you're sure that you want me to continue reading, Richard? Of course, darling. Well, I'm sort of embarrassed about this part. It's a paper that I wrote myself. Oh, something you wrote? Yeah, I wrote it this morning. I was going to show it to Dr. Singh. It's a sort of poem. It's called Death. It's a happy title. I hope I can read my own handwriting. Death has become nothing to me. Death holds no fear for me. Come, Death, I welcome you. Lead me to the woods, the waters, the air above the earth. Come, take me, Death. Your touch is kind, Richard. Why do you look like that? Is it really that terrible? Oh, terrible? Oh, no, no, no, my darling, it's beautiful. You mean it? You must give it to me. Oh, no, I must have it. You like it that much? Yes, I certainly do. Oh, well, I'll type it up for you, Richard. No, no, no, I must have the original. Now, just the way you wrote it. Oh, darling, I'm so flattered. What would you do with it? Oh, I'm going to put it in a frame, of course. And I know just where I'm going to hang it. Yes, I could hardly believe my ears. Luna had written her own suicide note and her own handwriting. It was truly karma at work. Now there was no question of failure, and no longer any need for delay. Oh, what a lovely idea this was, Richard. Candlelight dinner for two. Yes, yes, I thought you'd enjoy it. I'm so sweet of you to handle the whole menu with Coke. You spoil me shamefully. I spoiled her just a bit more by bringing hot cocoa tour in bed. Oh, Richard, you shouldn't have bothered. Well, I know how you like your hot cocoa before retiring, only you can't get to sleep without it. No, the Parker could have brought it to me. Oh, no, this is something I had to do myself. Well, I'll drink it down now. Yes, I'm drinking it. Does it taste all right? Oh, it tastes just fine. Now that was very good news, because I'd prepared the hot cocoa myself. And I had no idea whether 25 melted sleeping pills would seriously affect the flavor. Finally, Luna was all tucked in for the night. I went into my study, picked up the poems she had written for Dr. Singh, and brought it to the bedroom. I placed it carefully on the night table beside it. Then I bent over my sleeping darling to see if she was getting along all right. Very quiet, dreadful thing happened. Luna opened her eyes. Richard, oh, Richard. Hush, Hush, darling, now go back to sleep. Richard, I'm sick. No, no, no, my love, no, no, no, you're only sleepy. Coco tasted so strange. I am one who upset you, Richard, but I'm sick. You'll feel much better in the morning, Luna. I promise you, tomorrow morning, you'll be one with the universe. Richard, that paper. What paper, darling? It is my poem, my poem. Dr. Singh, what's it doing? Well, I was just reading it over, darling, that's all. A bottle of my sleeping pills. It's empty. The bottle is empty. What have you done? Nothing, darling, nothing now. Just go to sleep. Coco, you put sleeping pills in it. All of them. Don't try to get up, Luna, please. Don't. Trying to kill me. Trying to murder me. No, no, for heaven's sake, Luna, stop saying things like that. Do you want the servants to hear? Oh, somebody. No, come on, lie down. Lie down, Luna, for heaven's sake. Come on, now, lie down. Lie down. There, now, that's better. You won't get away with it. You won't get away with it, Richard. I promise you. Anything you say, darling? I'll come back, Richard. You know I'll be back. Yes, yes, of course. Just, just welcome death, Luna. The way you wrote in your little poem. I'll be back. I swear it. General was held two days later. It was a magnificent occasion, of course. I gave Luna a farewell that was consistent with her vast fortune. Everything was the best. Poppin', flowers, preacher, everything. Her burial place was one of the choicest bits of real estate at Flores lawn. The only discordant note was the fact that doctors sing and sister don't sing a few words at the service. They were familiar words, but frankly, they gave me a slight benefit show. The body of Luna Morseby is dead, but her soul lives on. The soul cannot die. The soul is immortal. It has left the earthly remains of this woman and has sought the body of a small living thing. There it will abide until the Almighty is ready to choose its next home. More not the end of Luna Morseby, for there is no end. I couldn't help congratulating myself on how well everything had gone. When I called for medical attention the night of Luna's death, the physician was only too ready to declare her a suicide. The police had to be informed naturally and they too agreed with the doctor's verdict. Luna had died by her own hand and she had died without a will. There was simply no question that the matter would be probated in my favor. Suddenly I realized I was not only rich, but a rich willower. What fist is open for me? The devil, look out you stupid mongrel! So I'm trying to get run over. I had bet I was shaken up by it. I mean it was sort of a coincidence, you know? Right after the funeral and all that. I'm very glad to be home again, you can be sure. Excuse me, Mr. Morseby? Yes, Parker? Cook is worried about the raccoon, sir. The what? There's been a raccoon at the kitchen door all morning and Cook is badly alarmed, I'm afraid. I've tried to scare it away, but it keeps returning. A raccoon for heaven's sake? Why don't you just shoot it and make a coat out of it? I was wondering if you wished me to call the game warden, sir. Please, Parker, do whatever you please about it. I'm going to take a nap. Yes, very much so. There's it once undressed and got into bed. It was a warm day and yet, yet I found myself cold. I got out the electric blanket and soon felt very cozy indeed. In fact, I felt so much better that I made a phone call. Hello, may I speak to Rachel? Thank you very much. Hello, Rachel? Yes, who is this? Rachel, you probably don't even know my name, but it's Morseby, Richard Morseby. Huh? Who? You met me at the club numerous times. I'm the rather distinguished looking gentleman who sits at the table on the far right corner. Oh yeah, well that's not my stage. Yeah, I know, I know it isn't, and I've always regretted it. Frankly, I would have enjoyed my lunches at the club even more if you would serve them. Listen, I'm pretty busy right now. Well, what I wanted to find out was if you're busy this evening. Oh, why'd you have a mind? Oh, a little quiet dinner, perhaps? Is that all you had in mind? Why don't we just wait and see? I can pick you up outside the club whenever you're free. Yeah, hell I know it's you. I mean, I'm still not sure which gentleman you are. I'll be sitting at the next K.L. Jaguar. Do you think you'll recognize it? I get off at 630. See you then. Yes, I was feeling very good now. Very good indeed. I will have drifted off into a pleasant sleep except for one thing. The moment I thought a bomb had gone off in the room, then I realized it was nothing more than a bird. A foolish sparrow had dived in, head first into the plate glass window of the bedroom, and now lay stunned on the carpet. I looked at the things fluttering little heart, and I was struck by a terrifying palpitation of my own. The dog, the raccoon, the bird. Good Lord, could one of them have been Una? As Una Moisby returned from the grave, God sense, such things don't really happen, but perhaps we should reserve judgment until I return shortly with Act 3. Now let's see if common sense has returned to our hero. He's doing a sensible thing right now. He's taking a good, refreshing shower. By the time evening came, I was feeling better. All my peculiar notions about Una's animal reincarnation seemed ludicrous as I stood in front of the shaving mirror. I thought about the delicious young woman that was waiting for me at the club. I'd admired Rachel's way with a tray for months, but ever faithful to my wife, I hadn't done more than gaze from afar. But now things were going to be different. Yes, who is it? It's Parker, sir. Yes, come in, Parker. It's all right. Excuse me, sir. A bit of emergency in the kitchen. Well, what is it? A snake, sir. A what? Cook insists that there's a snake curled up in the telephone wire. Oh, that's ridiculous, Parker. Cook says it's there, Mr. Mordby. They do get into the house sometimes. Well, tell Cook she's seeing things. Tell her to stop nipping at the cooking sherry and she'll soon stop seeing snakes. Yes, sir. What was that? I would guess it was Cook, sir. Oh, for heaven's sake, go down and see to it, Parker. I'll try, sir, but I'm not very good with snakes, sir. Well, what do you think I am, an expert? But that wasn't the end of it. Ten minutes later, Parker was back upstairs saying that the snake had left the kitchen and run into the living room. No, I suppose snakes don't run, they slither. It slithered into the living room and was now embracing still another telephone wire, obviously mistaking it for a long lost love. But then another unsettling thought came into my mind. What if the snake... No, no, that was ridiculous. Hello? Hi. Yes, who's this? Rachel, from the club. Oh, yes, Rachel, what is it? Miss Lerly. Yes, fine, I'll be there as soon as I can. In the Jaguar, right? Yes, yes, in the Jaguar. Listen, the reason I'm waking me up at 6 Danny... What was that? So I asked one of the girls I work with to tell him that I got another job. So he likes me to earn extra money. Yes, I see. A few dollars after our date. Yes, of course. As it happens, I have a very full head of hair. But the stressing as Rachel's telephone call was and even more disturbing thought intruded. The snake was in the telephone wire. What if the snake had been trying to listen in on the extension phone? I knew the idea was absurd, but I couldn't help the superstitious shiver of dread. In fact, I was so troubled that I decided to forego my date with Rachel, the waitress. It wouldn't matter anyway. She'd be angry at some man at the club with a cute bald head. The next day, I did the only thing that really relaxed me. I went to the beach. It proved to be an excellent idea. I stretched out on the golden sand and let the sun warm me. I listened to the waves beating against the shore. I listened to the haunting cries of seagulls circling overhead. Suddenly I was aware that the gulls which had been hovering over the water were now hovering over me. Instead of the cries being sad and plaintive, now they seem menacing. I stood up hastily, but the gulls seemed to be increasing in number. I saw their sharp pointed beaks, their raking claws. They were predators, of course. How many times had I seen them swoop into a dive and snatch up some poor fish out of the sea? And there was one sea gull in particular. These beady eyes seemed to be staring at me. It was my imagination. Of course, I wasn't a fish. I was a man, but just the same. I found myself running down the beach, running for dear life. And that's where I knew it was time to see a doctor. Mr. Morty, I'm very pleased that you honor the temple with your presence. I'm grateful that you're willing to see me, Dr. Singh. I realized that, well, you had a disappointment. A disappointment? I'm afraid I don't understand. I know my wife made certain promises to you concerning her will. I believe she mentioned some modest donation. She wasn't in a right mind, of course. I mean, when she took those sleeping pills. Yes, it was very sad. I trust that she has found the peace and happiness that she sought. Frankly, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I mean, about whether you really believe that my wife... Well, that she's some kind of animal right now. But of course I believe it, Mr. Morty. I don't merely believe. I'm positive. When your wife passed from this world into the next, her soul made its escape. Yes, yes, I know how it goes, but what I'd really like your opinion about is what sort of animal do you think she might be now? I told you, Mr. Morty, we have no way of knowing. But can't you take a guess? I mean, you said it might be influenced by a person's karma. Am I quoting you right? Yes, the kind of person she was in life may well determine the kind of animal she is now. Your wife was soft, your wife was gentle, your wife was independent in spirit. Now, what animal does that remind you of? I don't know. I can't think. Then go home and think about it, Mr. Morty. Go home and try to be one with the universe. I went home, and I tried to be one with the universe. And when that didn't work, I tried being one with the bottle of scotch. I was still in the library, asleep in the big leather chair when I heard the noise in the cellar. I simply had to investigate. I looked into the compound that one bare bulb wasn't enough for a thorough search. I found a flashlight and went down the cellar steps. At first, at first there was nothing I could see. But then, it was an empty oil can. Swiftly, my flashlight picked out the culprit. At first, I thought it would turn out to be a mouse, but instead, it was a large, white cat. I never had skulking, cynical creatures. When the beam of my flashlight hit it, the cat froze. I saw it was an alley cat. It's fur shaggy, it's eyes baleful in the light. It was fat, and yet it was bony, too. I said, scat, but it didn't scat. Instead, it started to walk toward me. And I knew for certain what Dr. Singh had meant. I knew for certain I was looking at the reincarnation of my wife. As soon as that hideous operation howled at me, I made a cowardly dash for the cellar door. Once I was on the other side, I remembered the hunting rifle that Una had given me for Christmas. It stood unused in an upstairs closet. I found it, I loaded it, and brought it back to the cellar. I hadn't fired a rifle since boyhood. I stood on the top of the stairs with my flashlight picked out the ghostly white form of the cat. I put down the light, raised the weapon, and squeezed the trigger. The report was deafening, but the recoil was worse. My precarious balance on the top step was lost. I fell to the bottom, and I tried to get up again. But the pain in my right leg was agonizing. I found out later that it was broken. The cat was still alive, and it was regarding me at eye level now. The cat's fur matted with plaster dust. It's eyes filled with rifle. Just as I saw the creature advancing toward me, I screamed. The hand was on the rifle, now grasping it. Too quickly, my panic, my fingers touched the trigger, the rifle went off again. The morsby ended up in the hospital, chief, with a broken leg and a bullet in his hip, and then he died. But I think he was telling the truth. You could see it in his eyes. His silver eyes, right? His silver eyes. And you really believe that the guy's wife came back as a cat to get her revenge? What does it matter? It's still a good story? Sorry, Proudy, I can't okay it. Well, what if I got more details? What if I talked to this doctor Singh, if I went to the morsby cellar and found that cat? And what would you do then? Ask her if she's Mrs. Morsby? I still think it's worth a try, chief. I'll tell you what, Proudy. What are you doing for lunch? I hadn't thought about it. Well, think about buying my lunch. You? There's a pretty good restaurant right around the corner where the morsbys live. Now we can get a bite there and then check out that cellar. So, uh, this is where it happened, eh? Morsby fell from these steps when he fired that rifle. Hey, you can still see the plaster dust where the bullet hit. Yeah, I see it. But I don't see any white cat. It might be hiding someplace. Or it might be a figment of his imagination. Maybe so. Hold it. Did you hear something? No. Listen. There it is. Look. It's a cat, all right. And it looks like it just found its suffer. Oh, that mouse is still alive. Yeah, but not for long. Look at its squirm. He's eating it. Yep. And there goes your mouse. Oh my God. That's about it probably. Never see a cat eat a mouse before? Chief, did you see that mouse? Sure I saw it. But didn't you notice something? Like what? Its eyes. Chief, did you ever see a mouse with eyes like that? They were so pale blue, they were almost silver. And so the cat and mouse game comes to an end. But according to Dr. Singh, there is no end. Perhaps Richard Moresby will have his turn next in another afterlife. I'll be back in a few moments. Do you believe in reincarnation? Do you believe the dead return? We have to believe it. Because here we are. The reincarnation of radio drama. We hope you'll keep us alive by listening again to the Radio Mystery Theater. Our cast included Patrick O'Neill, Marion Seltis, Nick Pryor, and Dan Aco. The entire production is under the direction of Hyman Brown.