 The mutual broadcasting system presents The Mysterious Traveller, written, produced and directed by Robert A. Arthur and David Cogan, and starring tonight two of radio's foremost personalities, Santos Ortega and Anne Shepherd, in Out of the Past. This is The Mysterious Traveller, inviting you to join me on another journey into the realm of the strange and the terrifying. I hope you will enjoy the trip, that it will bring you a little and cheer you a little. So settle back, get a good grip on your nerves and be comfortable, if you can, as you hear Out of the Past. Your name is Joan Morgan, and as you stand looking over Central Park from your penthouse terrace on this beautiful spring day, you can't help but feel you're the luckiest woman living. You're young, attractive, fairly wealthy, and happily married to a Broadway actor. Yes, Joan, there's little more you could ask for. The doorbell rings you run to the door to reach your husband, Keith, who's home from his matinee performance. Hello, beautiful. How's my one and only? Hello, darling. Oh, Keith, no wonder every actress wants to have you for her leading man. Since I'll have you know the only person I kiss like that is my wife. You'd better say that. How was the matinee today? Fine. I got seven curtain calls. Oh, here's the afternoon mail. I picked it up at the desk. Anything for me? I haven't looked it over there. Oh, yes, here's one for me. Three others for you, dear. Let's see. This one's a bill from the hotel management. Darling, we're living beyond our means. Oh, Keith, you're not going to start that again, are you? Well, we have over half a million dollars. I've told you a dozen times I won't touch that money. It's yours, not mine. Darling, it isn't a question of it being yours or mine. It's ours. Joan, I made it clear to you when we got married that we'd have to live on the money I earn. Then what'll I do with my money if you won't allow me to spend it? Well, someday we'll have six children. You can save it for them. All right, darling. I wonder who my letter can be from. You rip open the envelope, Joan, as Keith looks at the rest of his mail. For a moment, you feel as if your heart has stopped and it begins to beat wisely. Over and over, you read the two sentences. A friend from Europe expects you tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock at the Hotel Edgewood. Please bring $25,000 in cash or else I shall be forced to take action. Joan Benedict. Joan, what is it? What's wrong, darling? What did you say? You look so upset. Is it that letter you're reading? Letter? No. No. Well, then, if it isn't the letter, what is it? It's nothing, darling. Nothing at all. It's just that I am a headache. Oh, I'm sorry. Can I get you something? No, Keith. No, no. I'll be all right. All I need is a little rest. Come in, won't you, Joan? Sorry to have kept you waiting. Martin, you must help me. Of course, Joan. You know I'd do anything for you. Sit down and tell me about it. Martin, I'm in trouble. I'm in great trouble. Joan, what is it? What's wrong? I'm being blackmailed. Blackmailed? Yes. By whom? A man named John Benedict. I don't know who he is. But I received a letter from him yesterday afternoon. There's only one thing to do, and that's to go to the police. I'll call the district attorney. No, no, no. I can't go to the police. Why not? This man, Benedict, knows something I can't afford to have exposed. What does he know, Joan? Please, don't ask me. I know that you are my father's best friend, but I can't tell you. Believe me, if it ever gets out, it would ruin my marriage. My life. I couldn't stand to lose Keith. I couldn't. I'd rather die. All right, Joan. I think you're making a mistake, but I'll help you. How much money does this man, Benedict, want? An hour later, you enter a dingy hotel and go to room 14. As Martin opens the door, he reveals a squalid, dimly lit room. For the first time, Joan, you see John Benedict. He's a tall, heavy man with coarse features and a thick black beard. In the half-light, he appears to be about 50. His clothes are a fine English cut, but time and wear have taken their toll. He stares at you for a moment, Joan, and speaks. How do you do, Mrs. Morgan? Won't you please come in? Thank you. This is Mr. Walker, friend. Yes, yes, of course. I trust you will forgive me these dismal surroundings, but alas, I am quite penniless. So you thought it would be an excellent idea to blackmail this lady for funds? I am afraid you misunderstand me, Mr. Walker. I am not forcing this beautiful lady to give me 5,000 pounds. Rather, I am, shall we say, requesting a loan? Yes, but if she doesn't give you this loan, you'll ruin her marriage or her life. It would distress me to ruin anyone's life, but then it also distresses me to live in a pigsty like this. A much more suitable place would be the state penitentiary. Martin, please don't talk like that. Evidently, Mrs. Morgan, your friend is more interested in having a distant reason than in saving you from disaster. I'm afraid you have not revealed our little secret to Mr. Walker. No. No, I haven't. Well then, perhaps if we were to tell him, he would not be quite so eager to imprison me. Perhaps if he knew that at one time you have... No, no, no. Don't say any more. I'll pay you. Allow me to commend you on your good judgment. Martin, give him the money. Give it to him. Very well. Here's your filthy blood money. Thank you. I think you have been very wise, Mrs. Morgan. Very wise indeed. Good day. In the weeks that follow, Joan, you try to forget Mr. Benedict, and the terrifying secret he shares with you, but you aren't successful are you? Everywhere you go, you unconsciously find yourself fearfully looking for him. Life has become tense, frightening. Then one afternoon, while Keith is at rehearsal of a new play, you receive a phone call, a call that sends you in a panic to Martin Walker's office. Martin, I've heard from him again. Benedict? Yes, he phoned an hour ago. He wants $50,000. $50,000? Maybe now you'll have sense enough to let me turn this over to the police. No, I can't do that. You mean you're going to buy him off a second time? Yes, I must. But you can't. What's to prevent his extorting money from you a third or a fourth time? He'll squeeze you dry. The money doesn't matter. Do you hear? Nothing matters but keeping what Benedict knows from Keith. If Keith finds out, it'll mean the end of everything for me. Everything. Good afternoon, Mrs. Morgan. Oh, I see you brought Mr. Walker. And I was counting on a pleasant afternoon. May I take your call? No. Benedict, what do you mean by asking for $50,000? We paid you $25,000. That was supposed to keep your mouth shut. Well, it has. Up to now. But as you can see by this suite of rooms, Mr. Walker, it takes money to live lavishly. Therefore, I shall need more. Well, you shan't have it. We paid you off once. We're not paying you off again. There's a limit to what anyone will pay. Yes, quite true, Mr. Walker. But the limit has not been reached as yet. You swine. If I had my way, I'd call the police and put you where you belong. Mrs. Morgan, I'm afraid you are allowing your friend to go too far. I have but to pick up this telephone, and your world will come crashing down about. No, don't do that. Don't do that. Don't, don't. Martin, give him the money. Put you in. Give it to him. Very well. Here it is, Benedict. But I warn you, you'd better not try anything further. There is such a thing as pushing a person too far. I shall try to remember that, Mr. Walker. Thank you for your advice and the money. You're trembling with fear as you leave Benedict's luxurious suite, aren't you, John? And even when you reach your own apartment, the fear hasn't left you. Weeks pass, life is a nightmare. Every time someone knocks at the door or the phone rings, your heart begins to beat wildly. And worst of all, Keith senses something is wrong. Try to answer, Keith. But I'm much closer to a day. Hello? This is Mr. Morgan's apartment. Yes. This is the stage manager at the theater. Will you please remind Mr. Morgan of the special matinee we're giving today? Yes. Yes, I'll tell him. It was a theater calling, Keith, to remind you of today's special performance. I haven't forgotten. It's only five of two. I still have a few minutes before I have to leave. John. Yes? What is it, darling? What's come over you? Come over me? Yes. These past weeks, you've been just a bundle of nerves. Every time the phone rings or the mail arrives, you begin to tremble. What's wrong? Darling, you're just imagining all that. John, stop acting as though I were a child. I can see something's wrong and I want to know what it is. Keith, please. There's nothing. Who could that be? Double-eyed, I'll get it. No, Keith, I would rather... Look, darling, you have to get to the... Who's taking him so long? Why doesn't he come back? Keith? Who is it? John, what is it? Why did you scream like that? I... I didn't scream. Who was that at the door? That was just a special delivery boy. He brought this special delivery for you. Special delivery? Yes, here. Thank you. Aren't you going to open it? After all, it is a special delivery. Yes. Of course. The Sony went so afraid of a letter. Who's it from? John, what's wrong? Nothing. Don't tell me that. You look as though you were going to collapse. Now, give me that letter. Oh, no, no, please, Keith, don't. I said, give it to me. Yeah, that's better. Perhaps this letter will tell me what's wrong. Well, it's only one sentence. I will phone you at two. There isn't even a signature. Who would know, John? I... I don't know. You must know, else why would you have grown so pale? I'll phone you at two. It's almost two now. I'll wait for that call. Keith, please, you must have faith in me. All these weeks I've had faith, said nothing. Hoping you'd tell me what was wrong. Now I must find out for myself. Well, right on time, just two o'clock. Keith, please, don't answer. Take your phone. Take your hand off the phone, John. Please, Keith, no. I said, take your hand off the phone. Hello? Hello? There was a call hung up when they heard my voice. I suppose you won't tell me who it is? All right, then. I have to leave for the matinee now. I won't be home for dinner, but... When I return after tonight's performance, we'll have this out once and for all. Keith, please. I just can't tell you. If you'd only... Goodbye, John. ...were Keith. If only I could tell you. But I know you wouldn't want me then. How could you? How could you if you... You promised you'd leave me alone. Did I never hear from you again? That was only a month ago. Yes. Ah, but then... I am always making promises. I'm not Keith. You've ruined everything, everything. My husband read the special delivery letter you sent. He answered the phone when you called a few minutes ago. How can I explain? Oh, that should not be too difficult for a clever woman like yourself. Do you want? I'm tired of your playing cat and mouse with me. I intend to call on you at 5.30 this afternoon. I won't pay you another cent to you here. There's no end to your demands. You may expect me at 5.30. No. And do not have Walker there. No, I won't see you. I won't see you. As you can see, I am this exactly 5.30. This is a lovely penthouse you have. It's good to see you without Walker around. How can you do this to me? I've never harmed you. Why do you insist on ruining my life? Why? My dear lady, the last thing I desire to do is to ruin your life. Unfortunately, the world you and I live in being what it is. I am forced by circumstances to live by my wits. If I give you the money now, how do I know you won't be back in another month? Oh, that is very simple. Because after you pay me off this time, there would not be any point in my bothering you again. What do you mean? I mean, Mrs. Morgan, that this time I want a half million dollars. Half million dollars? Yes. If I am not mistaken, that is what the balance of your fortune amounts to. Do you not see? Once you have paid it over to me, there would be no point in my bothering you anymore. Simple, is it not? You must be mad. I? Oh, no, Mrs. Morgan, not I. Come now, you love your husband and he loves you. There are years and years of happiness before you. If he does not learn your little secret, you are wise. You will turn the money over to me. I can't. I can't if I were to withdraw a half a million. He'd find out about it. Ah, but there is always the chance that he won't. You do not do as I ask. I shall be forced to reveal the secret this year. No, no. Yes, Mrs. Morgan, your husband will learn that while you were in England in 1939, you murdered your, uh, sweet... I won't listen. I won't listen. But your husband will. And he will learn that after you committed this murder, you spent the following eight years in an English insane asylum. Think of what the sensation the tabloids will make out of it. And think of what people will say. Your husband would have to divorce. That is not going to help you, Mrs. Morgan. I just got your message at the theater. Where's Joan? What's wrong? She's in a bedroom with Dr. Richards. It seems that she... Here's Dr. Richards now. Doctor, what's wrong? Keith, you must prepare yourself for a shock. What's happened? Half hour ago, one of your neighbors on the floor heard Joan weeping and screaming hysterically. The manager knew I was your doctor and sent for me. But why was she weeping and screaming? She's had a breakdown. A breakdown? Yes. Well, I want to see her. I must. Very well, Keith, but only for a moment. Mr. Walker, I'm afraid you'll have to wait here. I understand, though. Keith, you must keep a grip on yourself. All right. Joan. Darling. Stay away from me. Stay away, both of you. Don't come near me. Doctor, don't you listen to him and recognize me. Yes, Keith, I know. I know who you are. You can't fool me. One of you is Mr. Benedict. Maybe both of you are Mr. Benedict. Yes. I know what you're here for, but I won't let you. I won't let you. She's completely out of her mind. I know you're both Mr. Benedict. You can't fool me. Who is this Benedict she keeps talking about? I don't know, Keith. She feels she's being persecuted by this Benedict fellow. He may be real, and again he may be a figment of her imagination. She's definitely afraid of us. Yes, she sees everyone as this fellow Benedict. I tried to give her a sedative, but she grows violent when I approach. Who can't... Can't you do something for her? I've already sent for an ambulance. She'd be much better off in a hospital where she can have constant medical care. Yes. Come along, Keith. How is she, Doctor? Well, it may be a long time before she recovers. I'm going down to the lobby. Wait for the ambulance. I suggest you two stay here. Keep an eye on her. I've left the door where room open. All right, Doctor. Shouldn't be more than a few minutes. How do you feel, Keith? Tired, if you want to know. It's only natural. These past two months have been quite strenuous for you. But for the half million dollars, and a wife who'll probably never be in any condition to ask you about it, you've done quite well. That's an understatement. Name one actor living or dead who could have given as great a performance of Mr. Benedict as I did. You were superb as Benedict, I admit. Superb why I was magnificent. The costume, the make-up, my accent, simply perfect. I'll tell you what was greatest performance ever given. What a pity you weren't here at 5.30 this afternoon. I'm sure I missed the performance of the age. I outdid myself. You should have heard me. Yes, Mrs. Morgan. Your husband will learn that while you were in England in 1939, you murdered your... uh, sweetheart. That after you committed this murder, you spent the following eight years in an English insane asylum. Ah, it's really a pity I've played my greatest role to an audience of one. Well, yes, Keith, but you were probably the highest paid actor in the world. I'm sure that a half million dollars for two months' work, unless my share, of course, is something of a record. Yes, it probably is. I heard you, Mr. Benedict. You can't fool me. I know one of you with Mr. Benedict. Or are you both Mr. Benedict? Yes. You both must be Mr. Benedict. That's clever. Say that disguise you use, that's clever. But you can't fool me. She must have heard me. But you can't fool me. She must have overheard you. No matter how many disguises you use, I know you. No, no, no, don't you come near me. Keith, she's going to come. Put that gun down. I'm not going to let you tell, I'm not going to let you tell. No, don't you... You... You shut me. Oh, Joe, though, I'm not Mr. Benedict. He's... Mr. Benedict. Mr. Benedict. Never tell Keith now. Never, never, never. Never, never, never. This is the mysterious Trapper again. Did you enjoy our trip? Too bad about poor Keith and Martin. Such interesting scoundrels. That fellow Keith was certainly a remarkable actor, wasn't he? But, uh, like so many actors, Yobo played his role. Uh, with fatal results. What happened to Joan Morgan? Well, the poor woman was committed to an institution where, after several years of treatment, she would cop it completely. However, she still has that deathly fear of the actors. All you'll have to get off here, I'm sorry. But I'm sure we'll meet again. I take this same train every week at the same time. You've just heard the Mysterious Traveller. A series of dramas of the strange and terrifying. The role of the Mysterious Traveller is quite different. The role of the Mysterious Traveller is played by Maurice Tarplin. Others in the cast were Santos Ortega and Shepard and Roger DeCovem. This is the mutual broadcasting system.