 Autolight and its 96,000 dealers present suspense. Tonight, Autolight brings you our suspense play of love and death in a New York penthouse. The well-dressed corpse and starring Miss Eve Arden. Before our play begins, here is a word about Autolight from our good friend, Harlow Wilcox. Hi, Mr. Wilcox. What can I do for you? Well, Sam, my friendly Autolight spark plug man, you can tell me what you think of those fresh, frisky and frolic-some ignition-engineered Autolight spark plugs. They're tops, Mr. Wilcox. Now tell me, if replacing worn-out spark plugs with ignition-engineered Autolight spark plugs, we'll give a car smoother performance, quick starts, gas savings. You bet. What else would you like to know? Well, are Autolight spark plugs made by the same Autolight engineers who design coils, distributors, and all the other important parts of the complete ignition system used as original factory equipment on many leading makes of our finest cars? Why, of course. Oh, and that's why we say Autolight spark plugs are ignition-engineered, designed to perform as a perfect team with your car's ignition system. Sure. Can I tell you more? Yes. Do Autolight spark plug dealers, like you, replace worn-out spark plugs with ignition-engineered Autolight spark plugs, either standard or resistor type? Of course. But you know all about that, Mr. Wilcox. Yeah, but I just love to hear it. But you said it. And I'll say it again, because you're always right with Autolight. And now with the well-dressed corpse and the performance of Miss Eve Arden, Autolight hopes once again to keep you in suspense. She's lying on the couch in my office. Thought I'd just let her alone until you showed up, Captain Roark. My lover is considerate of you, Lieutenant. Here we are. Inside. Are you sure that's her? I'm positive. Where was she picked up in her bedroom? Hell's Kitchen, an alley. She lost her dress in one of the boys Gary's overcoat. What's your name? My name is Ruth Franklin. How old are you? 33. Where do you live? Pickwick Arms on Riverside Drive. Do you drive a car? Yes. A blue convertible. Mediterranean blue. Did you go to school in this city? Graduate school, Columbia University. I went to Stanford. I worked for the Carrington Green Advertising Agency. My secretary's name is P.D. Wright. I'm the murderer you're looking for. Okay. I guess you're Ruth Franklin, all right. I guess I can't blame you for not recognizing me. Did you know that six weeks ago, I was voted one of the 10 best-dressed women in America? Yeah, I read something about it. I always knew that someday I would be. But when it actually happened, it was just as exciting as if it had been a total surprise. The invitation to the buffet luncheon to meet the press came on Friday. I ran right out and bought the most elegant and expensive dress I could find. And when I swept into the luncheon, everyone was looking at me, including the other nine well-dressed women. Percy Hamilton of Radcliffe, a little bald-headed man who moved and looked like a startled chipmunk, met me as I came in. Oh, Miss Franklin, I'm so happy to see you. Right this way, please. You're a little late, you know. Percy, baby, you've confused me perhaps with the debutante. I work for a living. I'm going to put you here at table 13. Oh, pardon me, Mr. Mason. I'm sorry. Mr. Mason, may I present Miss Franklin? How do you do? How do you do? You two are going to be luncheon partners. Well, I run along. You, of course, couldn't be anyone else, but the best-dressed Franklin. I'm not sure I like the way you said that, Mr. Mason. My tone was not meant to imply a personal indictment, Miss Franklin. In fact, it's a commendation. You play your part very well in this racket. Racket? Oh, I always draw the most charming luncheon partners. It was undoubtedly something in your childhood. They made you wear buster brown collars or velvety knickers. I wore dungarees. No, it's just that I have the best prima facie evidence anyone ever had that this is a travesty on good taste and artistic judgment. Before I move to another table, Mr. Mason, I'd be utterly amused to hear one sentence telling me why you feel this way. I'd be happy to oblige. You see, I was picked as one of the best-dressed men. Mr. Mason, for the first time, I'm beginning to savor the sweetness of your judgment. Well, that was the way it began. A little careless banter while we sized each other up. And something in our measurements had meaning. Because despite speeches and cold chicken a la king and news photographers interfering with most of our conversation, we later found ourselves at the Stork Club, analyzing everything from Picasso to paper hanging. Sometime in the evening, he said he had to catch a plane somewhere, but he'd get in touch with me soon. The next morning when I walked into my office, P.D., my secretary, was wearing the smug smile of a girl who had caught her older sister with a boy on the back porch hammock. Seen it yet, boss? The gimbal ads? How were they? I can wait. All right, Seen what? The picture of you and Roy Mason. Mason? I hardly spoke a word to the man. They told me to look at him as if he'd just found a cure for the common cold. Hardly a word, huh? How'd you converse at the Stork Club smoke signals with your cigarettes? P.D., you're very close to being fired. Let me read what some of the colonists say. The most handsome twosome in town last night were Ruth Franklin, the best-dressed huckster, and Roy Mason. P.D., what do you know about him? I'll save you the embarrassment of asking me to get a file on him. I've already done it. Here you are, boss. The life and loves of Roy Mason, assembled by Pete Wright, girl Boswell. All right, tell her. He was a war correspondent, distinguished. He's written two books on world politics, The Long Road of Destruction and the Coming Asian War. I've ordered both of them so you can talk his language. He has a weekly column and a weekly radio program. Yale, 38, Unmarried. Just call me quick. Thank you, and goodbye. I'll just leave these things here so you can drool over them. Have fun. P.D. Yes, boss man? You've had your fun. Now, hands off. I'm going to marry him. I read those clippings through from beginning to end. And when I went home that night, I took both of Roy Mason's books with me. And the following night he called me. And then it was practically every evening. And cocktails and weekends and meals and fireplaces and books and talk and talk. I knew, and I let the papers know, that Ruth Franklin finally found a man who came up to her epic requirements. I had him hooked. Now it was time to reel him in. Roy, I have some news I know you'll be interested in. You're going to run for president? Oh, no, nothing as small as that. I'm going to get married. You're going to get what? Married. Oh? To whom? A man named Roy Mason. I just decided. I'm sorry, I can't. Already engaged. Who is it, Roy? A Long Island socialite, Elizabeth Granger. You know her? No, and I don't believe I'd want to. Oh, Ruth, did you think we were going to be married? Of course I did. And so did every newspaper and columnist in town. I never paid any attention to the gossip columnists. Well, a lot of people do. Oh, Ruthie, now don't take it like this. You must have known I had a life before I met you. I should have known a lot more, I guess, than I do. Ruth, don't lose your head over this. What do you expect me to do? Break down and beg you to change your mind and marry me? I'm sorry, Roy. I'll go home and read an old coward play and get over it. So that's the way it was. I'd saved myself for the one man who had what I had. Brains and guts and talent. And I suddenly found out I'd saved myself for what I couldn't have. I went home, threw his books in the fireplace, and sat down to have a long look at me. And all I found was a big, ugly hurt. Then it was light and time to go to the office. P.D., what are you doing at my desk? Oh, boss. I really didn't think you'd be in today, considering everything. Why shouldn't I be in? One of the best dressed women in America doesn't find out that her boyfriend is a wolf in best dressed clothes every day. That's enough, P.D., get out of here and get to work. All right, boss. But it's happened to all of us one time or another. You should have practiced when you were young, then you'd know more about what happened to you. Listen, you brainless little typist, get out of here. Go on, get out. Okay, I'm going. But I know a good psychiatrist. He has a couch just made for people like you. You know, I could quit, too. The whole office knew about it. It pleased their tight little minds that I'd been caught off guard. Most everyone, including our three vice presidents, found some sort of excuse to come in and see the woman who'd been taken and loved. They were disappointed when they didn't find me planning a sudden trip to London, or enrolling in Helena Rubenstein's charm school. But the lower echelon was even worse, especially the stenographers. They handed me those grief-sharing eyes, usually reserved for 16-year-old girls who'd been jilted by the high school fullback. But by 5 o'clock, I swallowed two aspirin in my pride and called Roy. You've had three cigarettes and two martinis. Any conversation coming up? What is it, Ruth? Newsprint, for one thing. Those nasty little black tracks on those clean sheets of white paper. They came right out and said you'd jilted me. The same way they came out and said we were a torrid twosome. Oh, yeah, it's my fault. How fun them tomorrow and tell them how wrong they've been. You will not. Did it only make me look a bigger fool? Besides, they aren't the only ones. Oh, for heaven's sakes, Roy asked that strange-looking little man to fill my glass. It's empty. Sure. Waiter? I haven't seen one person today who isn't in high glee over the whole thing. And incidentally, you look a little too smug to suit my taste right now. Ruthie, don't. Don't do this to yourself. You're too good a guy. It's easy for you to say. I wish I were in your position and you were in mine. Oh, Ruth. Oh, don't you look at me that way. I'm truly sorry it's embarrassed you. You're distressed now, but it'll pass. How can you marry someone like her? You'll be bored to death in six weeks. Let's not talk about her. What's she ever done to deserve you? Gone to a few parties, made a trip to Europe every year, learned how to play six-hand canasta? Or maybe it's her figure, Roy. Ruth. If it's her figure, remember, somebody pounds it back into shape every morning after those big nights. And if it weren't for several dozen foundation garments... Oh, stop it, Ruth. You've made a fool out of me for some grown-up child who probably never did anything for herself. Servants paid to live for her. Ruth, please. You're raising your voice. People are looking. Let them look. A scene in a cocktail lounge makes good reading, and we always make the papers, don't we? Oh, voice. Will you keep your voice down? Why don't you go back to Asia or someplace and write another book? I hope I never see you again. Ruth. Ruth. I looked foolish shouting after me. I looked even more foolish trying to make a dignified exit through the tears. I'll leave it to me. I did a good job. I went off stage like a second lead in a little theater production. The next day I didn't go to the office. I felt weak and weary and sick all over. And I didn't answer the phone until three in the afternoon. Hello? Me. Oh. I'm trying to get you all day. What for? To tell you that we're friends, you and I. I ain't like the devil to think that you really meant it when you said you never wanted to see me again. I sent you a letter last night, but I'd rather tell you what I said in person. Now look, Ron. I'll let me go on. A woman like you. I was lucky. Ruth, you can send me away all together if you want to, but I'd miss you for the rest of my life, and that's the truth. But you're going to marry her. Ruth, I want to talk with you calmly, decently, honestly. I want you for a friend. Mixing a couple of drinks in my apartment around five tonight. I hope you'll be there. All of a sudden, I saw a way out of everything, and I spent the next two hours getting ready for Roy. I remember I was wearing a new black crepe sheath by Dior and my pastel mink. It was a cold night, but the air made me feel good. Better than I've ever felt. I was politely late. You came. Let me take your coat, huh? It's a little chilly. I think I'll keep it on. Martini? Manhattan? Music, I think. Now a Martini. I already had them fixed. I knew you wouldn't pass up a Mason special. You were rather certain in your pretty speech on the phone, weren't you? I meant it. And I am glad you're here, Ruth. All of that highly-lackered veneer, you're sure your public is all right for them, but it's for me. I'll take you the way I know you. Oh, tell me more. Underneath $40,000 a year and being the best dressed, you're quite a gal. One look told me that. This amounts to a hats-off conversation. Oh, Ruth, we're ready to talk you and I. Let's do it, huh? For the first time since we met, I know all about you. I know what makes you work. And I don't like that one bit, Roy. I don't like being ripped open for the public to watch. You don't understand. Don't touch me. Ruth. Yes, it's a gun, Roy. Ruth. Oh, stop this. You got it all wrong. Put down that gut. Get a doctor. We'll say it was an accident. Stay away from me. I'm a doctor. No. No, it wasn't supposed to be this way at all. Ruth. I wrote you. I stood there looking down at him. He tried to talk again, but he couldn't say a word. And then, all of a sudden, he was dead. The light is bringing you, Miss Eve Arden, in the well-dressed corpse. Tonight's production in Radio's outstanding theatre of thrills. Suspense. Check your spark plugs, Mr. Wilcox. You sure can, Sam, because it pays to have spark plugs checked and cleaned regularly. Helps keep a car running right. Sure does, Mr. Wilcox. And it only takes a couple of minutes for an auto light spark plug dealer like myself. Why, when worn-out spark plugs are replaced with new ignition-engineered auto light spark plugs, you'll get away in a flash for a ride that's smoother than a gigolo's line. Because you'll get smoother performance, quick starts, and gas savings. He's off again? Ignition-engineered auto light spark plugs, you know, are installed right on the assembly line as original factory equipment on millions of leading makes of our finest cars and trucks. Money just can't buy better spark plugs for your car than auto light. You're right, Mr. Wilcox. So friends, see your neighborhood auto light spark plug dealer soon and have him replace worn-out spark plugs with world-famous, ignition-engineered auto light spark plugs. And whether you choose the resistor type or the standard type, you can be sure you're right because you're always right with auto light. And now auto light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage, Miss Eve Arden in Elliott Lewis' production of the well-dressed corpse. A tale well-calculated to keep you in suspense. It hadn't occurred to me exactly what I was going to do after I had killed Roy Mason. I remember, though, I finished my martini, wiped up the spilled drink, and then just sat and looked at Roy lying there on the floor. And then I was aware of someone pounding. Hello in there? What happened? What? Hello? Answer me, somebody. Hello? Is everything all right in there? Oh, hello, Miss. I live in the apartment next door, and I thought I heard gunshots in here. You did? What? Over there. Well, I better phone the police. Is there a phone? On the desk. Hello, operator? Get me the police. Yes, I said the police. Right away, there's been a shooting. I lifted a hand to stop me. Downstairs, I got a taxi back to my own apartment, changed, threw some things into a bag, gathered up my jewelry and what money I had. I took my car out of the garage and drove to the station and caught a train as far as Greenwich. There, I registered under another name at a small hotel. I was going to go on up to Canada the next day, but there was something I just had to see before I left the country. So instead, I caught a train back to New York. Collins, homicide. Sergeant, I wonder if you could give me some information. I'll try, Miss. I'm from the Kansas City Star. I happen to be on vacation in New York, but as long as I'm here, I'm trying to cover the Mason case. Yeah, well... Has Mr. Mason been buried yet or do you... Edgeflower Mortuary, Rosary tonight, burial tomorrow. Thank you, Sergeant. I was at the edge flower early, waiting across the street. It was cold and blustery, but I wanted to see her walk in. I wanted to see how well she could take it. But Elizabeth Granger didn't appear at his Rosary. The next morning, I wore dark glasses and a veil. I went to his funeral, but she didn't. Petey, I've been waiting for you. Boss, don't you know the police are looking all over town for you? Petey, who is Elizabeth Granger? Where does she live? Oh, that. She isn't in the phone book. She wasn't at his funeral. There are no pictures of her in the papers. You know these things. Tell me, please. I can't help you. Nobody can help you now. You're a walking dead woman. Petey, listen to me. I don't want to listen to you. I'm afraid to. I'm afraid I'll end up like you someday. Well-fed, well-dressed, successful, well-known, but dead. I came here for help, not to listen to your opinions. Everything you ever said in your life was a lie. I did your legwork, looked up things for you, verified them, checked them. Well, I checked about you just to satisfy my curiosity. You didn't go to Stanford, a graduate school at Columbia. You were born and brought up in Hell's Kitchen. You went as far as PS432. You hated everything you had and were, and you tried to wipe it out. Petey, you must know. Tell me about Elizabeth Granger. I'll tell you this much. You're not going to have the pleasure of watching her suffer along with you. You know why? Because Roy Mason wrote you a letter that came this morning. I read it, because I never thought I'd see you again. Do you want to know what's in it? Yes, please. It makes you look ten times as foolish as you do even now. He said that there was no such person as Elizabeth Granger. You're lying. He just invented her. Just invented her to get away from you. You're lying. There has to be an Elizabeth Granger. Here's the letter. Look for yourself. It was true. Every word of it. There was no Elizabeth Granger. Roy just didn't want me and had to find some excuse. I walked to the door, wondering what to do, where to go. One more thing, boss. Ten seconds after you're out that door, I'm going to call the police. I didn't answer or look back. I just ran out of the apartment house and found a cab and had him drive me around and around, through streets and down streets and across streets. I scarcely even saw policemen or people. Finally I left the cab and began walking around, trying to understand myself and why I'd killed Roy. And everything that came out of my mind revolted me. I wanted to drink a dozen drinks, a hundred drinks. You sure you're in the right place, lady? Just give me a double bourbon, scotch, triple. I don't care. Well, you're old enough. Hurry it up. Here's my money. Hey, Eddie. Get a load of the dow. How about with any dame dressed like that, come into a place like this? Slummin', what are you, stupid or something? I like to come down where life is rough, where men are men. I've seen lots of them in my day, lookin' for thrills. Yeah. What do you think she came in here for? Thought it was the White House itself? Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. I'll show you how to handle a doll like that by your drink, ma'am. Huh? No, get away from me. Oh, now you don't really mean that. Tony, the drinks on me. Why don't we have it in the booth over here? We can talk, huh? Get away from me! Who do you think you are? All right, Eddie, no sale. She is anyway. She's got no right in here unless she wants to be sociable. She's a bum and you know it, Tony. Eddie, can't you see this is a lady and I go for a walk? Lady? Since when have we had ladies in here? Give me the drink, bartender. Hey, wait a minute. You cheap little bum. Hey, Eddie, that dame, her picture was in the paper this morning. She killed somebody. I ran out of there. It was only a matter of seconds until they called the police, so I just ran. I saw a police car and I ran the other way. Two blocks away, there was another police car at the intersection. I found an alley and ran down and fell along over the garbage can into the dirty foul snow. I couldn't get up and I cried cold tears. Come on, dearie. Come on. What are you doing? You won't need this coat while you're gone. Leave my coat alone. That's all right, dearie. That's all right. Come on, the dress now. My dress! Ruby, help me get it off. You can't take my dress only. I can use a fancy dress like that and you can't wear it in jail. I'll tear it off you if I have to. Cops, grab her shoes, we'll be in. Let's go. Step in your house, lady. You let them do it. Why did you let them do it? We'll get them. Now, come on. Lift up your head. I got to see you. Yeah, that's what I thought. Ruth Franklin. I'm so funny. Suspense, presented by Autolight. Tonight's star, Miss Eve Arden. Hey, Sam, de-dust my windshield. Will you? I can write my name on it. You can write too, Mr. Wilcox? Can I write why I blister blackboards, writing about the over 400 products made by Autolight for cars, trucks, planes, and boats in 28 plants from coast to coast? These include complete ignition systems used as original factory equipment on many leading makes of America's finest cars. Generators, coils, distributors, electric windshield wipers, voltage regulators, wire and cable, starting motors. All engineered to fit together perfectly, work together perfectly, because they're part of the Autolight team. So, friends, don't accept electrical parts supposed to be as good. Ask for and insist on original factory parts at your neighborhood service station, car dealer, garage, or repair shop. And because all Autolight parts are original factory parts, you can be sure you're always right with Autolight. Next week on Suspense, the appearance of the distinguished star of the New York stage in the Metropolitan Opera, Mr. Ezio Pinza, in Aria from Murder. In the weeks to follow, we will present such famous stars as Paul Douglas. Then in one of his infrequent radio appearances, Fred McMurray, to be followed by the first lady of suspense, Miss Agnes Moorhead. All appearing in tales well calculated to keep you in... Suspense! Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, with music composed by Lucian Moraweck and conducted by Ludbliske. The well-dressed corpse was written for suspense by E. Jack Newman and John Michael Hayes. E. Vardon appeared through the courtesy of the Colgate-Palmale Feet Company, sponsors of Our Miss Brooks. And remember next week on Suspense, Mr. Ezio Pinza, in a tale of jealousy and hate on the stage of a deserted opera house. A story which we call Aria from Murder. You can buy world-famous Autolight resistor type or standard type spark plugs. Autolight, stay full batteries. Autolight, electrical parts. At your neighborhood, Autolight dealers. Switch to Autolight. Good night. Winter driving calls for safer driving. The National Safety Council urges you to winterize your driving as well as your car. Keep the windshield clear. Keep a safe distance from the car ahead and pump your brakes. Don't slam them. Be careful and don't skid yourself into trouble this winter. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.