 Have you heard the strange tales of the Whistler? And the Whistler. It was pitch dark. I was feeling my way along the wall. Then it seemed to me that something passed in front of me. Crossed from one wall to the other. I don't think I really heard anything. It was almost more as though I felt it. Another Sunday night and again CBS presents the Whistler. I, the Whistler, know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales, many secrets, hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. And so tonight, I tell you the strange story of patients or the doctor. Have you any idea what a burning desire to practice one's profession may lead to? A man whom I know can tell you of such a desire. He is Dr. James Havett. And he lives with his wife, Barry, in an isolated cabin at the end of a lonely road high up in the Snoqualmie Mountain. The Snoqualmie's are treacherous, especially in winter. Many people find themselves in need of a doctor throughout the year in these mountains. But winter snow, thawing with the spring rains, can also prove treacherous. Treacherous enough to keep a doctor rather busy. Miss, my dear. What are you doing? I was just... What have you there? Just my medical kit. Where do you think you're going? My patient is very badly hurt. I must go to him. You're not set one foot out of this house tonight. Not in a storm like this. But my dear, a man's life may depend upon me. A doctor's place is with his patient, storm or shine. James, did you understand me? I said you're not going out tonight. But Mary, my patient may die. You are not going out. Very well, Mary. But someday you will be sorry. It isn't right to keep a doctor from doing his duty. James. Very well, my dear. That's a strange thing. Mary seems bent on keeping the doctor from doing his duty. And that's too bad. For there are people who need a doctor tonight. People such as the three riding along the Snoqualmie Pass highway, riding there in that car under the jutting buttresses of that place here which hangs dangerously out over the highway, hangs there ready to come roaring down at the slightest provocation. Such provocation, for example, as rain. Rain, the import of which is not immediately apparent to Paul Evans, his wife, Jane, and his mother-in-law, Mrs. Whitken. Anything is awesome at the giant place here would be dangerous to Mrs. Whitken, even though quiet. For she is suffering from an extremely weak heart. A heart which must not be subjected to shock. Look up there ahead. There's a spot. Maybe it'll give the miles to the next town. It can't be much farther. Can you read it, Paul? Oh, wait till I get the spotlight on it. Oh, it just marks that little side road. Oh, Dr. James Harris. What are you supposed adopters doing way up here? You couldn't possibly have any patience. Well, hardly. I bet there's not another house five miles in any direction. Well, perhaps he's retired. Yes, that's probably it. Oh, Paul, that's a slide. Paul, stop the car. Yes, yes. Oh, thank goodness. We're safe. Oh, well, it wasn't too close. Mother. Mother. What's the matter with her? This is Whitken. This is Whitken. She's fainted. Oh, her heart. But Mrs. Whitken is more hardy than her daughter imagined. Five minutes later, Paul has hurriedly turned the car around and drives back up the road to the turn-off marked Dr. James Harris. What is that? The slide. Mother, it's all right. We're safe. We're all right. Oh, I must have fainted. Do you feel all right now? I don't know what... Oh, don't try to talk, Mrs. Whitken. We're taking you to the doctor. Oh, Paul, try to drive more carefully. I'm being as careful as I can, Jane. This isn't much of a road. Does the bumping bother your mother? No, no. Hmm. Bridge up ahead. We're on the right track. See the sign? Dr. James Harris, welcome. Paul, be careful going up onto the bridge. You may jar, Mother. All right. For heaven's sake, don't stop so short. What's the matter? Take a look at that bridge. Oh, but it doesn't look very safe. I'll say it doesn't. Two planks out, rail gone. If you asked me, the weight of the car would have been enough to bring the whole thing down. That ought to be more. Just what I was thinking. Perhaps it happened so recently that... Those aren't new brakes. Now, this bridge has been out a long time. Maybe all winter. And no sign, but Dr. James Harris, welcome. Hmm. What a welcome. Toss on your head in the crick. What if the bridge is being not all winter? Well, how have the people in the house gotten in and out? That's a good question. Well, suppose we back up a little. The right-hand side. Uh-huh. I thought it might be something like this. A way to drive around. We missed it coming up. So it has been a while. Well, they didn't... Well, they haven't even put up the slightest barricade. No. And the feature, do you notice? It's almost as if it were intentionally concealed. Well, let's go on. Hmm? I don't know. Maybe we better not go on. What else can we do? We can't risk going back to the highway. Might be another slide. Anyway, it'll be tomorrow afternoon and we can get the road cleared even if the storm lets up. But maybe Strangers aren't wanted here in spite of that sign. Well, that's the chance we take. But Strangers are wanted. Wanted very much indeed. In spite of any appearance to the contrary. Even though it may seem a long time to wait for someone to answer the door as you three stand there. Funny they'd have a fancy door-knocker like this way up here. Nobody answers. Perhaps there's no one here. It's possible, but I've got an idea. There is. I'll give it another try. Yeah, it sounds like someone's coming. Yes, it does. I wonder if... Hello. Your sign said welcome, so we thought that... The sign is wrong. You aren't welcome here. We don't mean to intrude, but the highway closed off. There was a slide. I heard it. Well, then you know... We wouldn't insist, but my mother-in-law isn't well. We'd like to see the doctor if we could. He's asleep. I wouldn't disturb him. I see. Well... But he wouldn't see you anyway. I'm his wife. I can speak for him. It's mother's heart, Mrs. Harris. It's really serious. So much more the reason not to come when she's not wanted. Well... All right, just as you say, Mrs. Harris. Oh, but we... Come on, Jane. Mother. Mary. Now you see. You see what's happened. Mary. Yes, Jane? Is there someone down there? No, no one. What if that's the doctor? No, there's no one here. Is it a patient, Mary? There's no one here, Jane. Now will you go? You see, you're not wanted. I'm not so sure. Hello, doctor. Yes, there is a patient here. What's that? Who are you? There's a patient here. Will you come down and see her? You fool. All right. I'll go get the doctor. Just a minute, Jane. You mind if we step inside? Please yourself. You'd better take this chair, mother. Thank you. How do you feel now? A little better. Oh, good. They're in the living room, Jane. Here they come. You are the patient. Oh, I hear. Hi, my... My mother-in-law, Mrs. Whitcomb. Doctor, it's... It's my heart. Please don't be alarmed at my appearance. Oh, no, of course not. Dr. Harris was burned several years ago when our house in Seattle was destroyed. Yes. It was a serious fire. We lost everything. Fortunately, we had insurance. But insurance can't bring back old keepsakes. Momentum is accumulated through a lifetime. No. No, that's true. But I saved Evie. Evie's our daughter. Never mind that, Jane. No? Well... Now, Mrs. Whitcomb, about the heart condition. Do you think you could sketch the case hits before me? Half an hour later, Dr. Harris gives Mrs. Whitcomb a sedative and sends her off in the care of his wife to be shown a room where she will be able to enjoy a long and peaceful sleep. Later, when Paul and Jane are in their room, Jane goes out and down the hall. A few moments pass then. Well, Jane. Jane, what is it? What's the matter? Oh, Jane. Darling, you're trembling. I was so frightened. Frightened? What happened? I hardly know. It was so dark. In the hall? Yes. But there was a light on a few minutes ago. Oh, I know. There was when I went out. Did someone turn it off? Yes. Well, maybe they were just closing things up for the night. Oh, no, it wasn't that. They turned it off on purpose. Are you sure? Yes. When I came out into the hall again, it was pitch dark. I couldn't see a thing. I thought I heard a sort of creaking sound. I don't know how to describe it, but it was like, like, forward, being pried up. So I don't suppose I thought of it that way at the time, but it was very slight and I stopped. And then I thought my mind was playing a trick on me, but there wasn't a sound. Just the rain dashing against the window down at the far end of the hall. So I started forward again. I was stealing my way along the wall. And it seemed to me that something passed in front of me, crossed from one wall to the other. I don't think I really heard anything. It was almost more as though I felt it. Felt the person? No. No, not really. Sense, though, I should say. Oh, Jane. Oh, no. No, Paul, there was someone. And just then, just after they passed in front of me, I stumbled. I fell forward. And one hand. Oh, part of the floor was missing. I felt the hole with my hand. Good heavens. I was on my hands and knees, and I felt across the gap. It was only a foot or so. And I heard someone move behind me. I didn't stop to think. I was too frightened. I scrambled to my feet, and I ran. And did the person follow you? I don't think so. I don't know. We'll soon find out. Oh, no, Paul, don't go out there. Please don't. Of course I'm going out there. Get my jacket on it. Lucky I brought the flashlight from the car. Paul, I'm going with you then. I don't think you'd better come. I don't want to be left alone. Well, maybe you're right. All right, come on. Keep back while I open the door. He's down the hall. Not the main. It must have been right about here. There's no gap there that I can see. No. Wait. This section right here. Watch this. Just put it in here. You can lift it right out. Did someone did lift it out? No. No, I'm sure not. What? Mrs. Harris. Don't shine that light on my face. Thank you. That's better. No, I'm sure no one was careless enough to leave this section of floor out. Oh, but it was out. I had... Never mind, Jane. Go on, Mrs. Harris. This is an old house. Once the board fitted so perfectly, it was impossible to see the juncture. There was a little place to cash valuables beneath. This was an earlier owner's idea. I see. Not exactly the place anyone would look for things to be hidden, was that it? I suppose so. The man was very rich, and this is a lonely neighborhood. Yes, it is. You don't have many visitors, do you? No. I gathered that from the condition of the bridge. Oh, yes. The bridge. Well, good night. Good night. How do you like that? Oh, something awfully funny. I think so, too. She walks along in the dark like a cat. You suppose mother's all right? I was just wondering about that myself. Someone else also seems concerned about Mrs. Whitcomb's safety. Mrs. Whitcomb. Mrs. Whitcomb. Yes, who is it? It's Mrs. Harris. Oh, oh, all right. Come with me. But what for? Hurry, hurry. I'm going to take you to a room down the hall. Down the hall? Yes. But why? I don't understand. Never mind. Just come with me. Dean and Paul arrive at Mrs. Whitcomb's door. Mrs. Whitcomb. Mrs. Whitcomb. Paul, why doesn't she answer? Mrs. Whitcomb. Who is it? That's not mother. Who is it? That must be the daughter. Open the door, Abby. No, it isn't. No, no. We're not going to hurt you. You promise? Yes. Yes, of course we promise. You, uh, you are Abby, aren't you? Yes, sir. Paul, scar on your arm. Did that happen when your house burned down? Yes, sir. And what happened after that? Daddy and mother brought me here. Does any company ever come, Abby? Well, sometimes hurt people do. Hurt people? I see. And then what happened? Daddy fixes them. He does? And did he fix you? Yes, sir. Abby, how did you get in this room? It isn't your room, is it? No, no mother brought me here. She said I was to sleep here. Did she say why? She said the sick lady was to use my room. Which is your room, Abby? It's down the hall. Well, Abby, you get back into bed and go to sleep. We'll see you in the morning. Yes, sir. Good night, Abby. Come on, James. This must be the door. Why do you suppose Mrs. Harris moves mother in here? I don't know. But we'll soon find out. Mrs. Wickham! Try the door. There's something wrong. Yeah, maybe you're right. I'm lost. Come on. Don't come any farther. You! Your mother isn't here, Mrs. Evans. Isn't here? What do you mean? Now look here, Mrs. Harris. Say where you are. I have a gun. Please don't force me to use it. All right. But suppose you tell us just what's going on. Where is Mrs. Wickham? I don't know. I just came in here to see if she was all right. She was gone. Do you expect us to believe that? Abby told us you brought her in here. Yes, I brought her here. Well, where is she? She's gone. Gone? Yes. And now you mustn't delay me any longer. I must find Mrs. Wickham. Stand back. Don't try to follow me. Say now, wait a minute. Say where you are. She does look like a cat. Well, come on. Where for? Downstairs. Downstairs? To that room, Dr. Harris has rigged up like an examining room. I've got a hunch. Oh, have you, Paul? Well, the door of the examining room stands a few inches open. There's a light on inside. And a thin golden shaft shines out through the quack of the door into the dark downstairs of the old house. So listen, Paul. Listen to the sound coming through that open door. The sound of someone happily at work. Have a look before he knows we're here. Paul, do you think Mother? I don't know. She's fixing a hypo. There's Mother stretched out on the table. Yes. Come on. What's going on down here? What's the matter with Mrs. Wickham? Why not? Mother. Mother. No, please. You really mustn't. It might be fatal. Oh, maybe he's right, Jane. You mustn't be disturbed to be aroused. Roughly, they have led to shock. All right, all right. Oh, Mother. She'll be all right, Jane. Yes, she will. If you'll just permit me to go ahead. We'll permit you to do nothing. What I want to know is, how did Mrs. Wickham get down here? I carried her. Carried her? Yes. I found her unconscious on the floor in the upstairs hall. And how do you suppose she happened to be out in the hall? My wife may have disturbed her. Your wife is a little odd. Oh, you mustn't mind her. She's just a nervous type. Is that all right? Perhaps she frightened Mrs. Wickham. She'd have meant nothing by it. But with Mrs. Wickham's heart so bad. And then you found her and carried her down here. Is that it? That's right, Mr. Evans. I see. I wanted to care for her properly. You like caring for people, don't you? Oh, yes. Paul, look at Mother. She's stirring. Oh, she's regaining consciousness. You seem disappointed, Doctor. Oh, oh, where am I? Mother. Oh, oh, Jane. If I were to administer the hypotenuse. You keep out of this. How did I get down here? We're not quite sure. Dr. Harris says he carried you. Dr. Harris? Yes. Try to think now. Can you remember what happened before you fainted? Yes. Yes, I... Dr. Harris came to the room. Oh, never mind, Mother. Never mind. Don't try to tell us anymore now. If you'd just permit me, I could quiet you. Yes, I do. You've treated your last patient. No. No, you mustn't say that. You wouldn't interfere with my work, would you? A doctor's work must not be interfered with. No? Wait till I get down to Seattle tomorrow. The authorities. You are... Someones plans are not working out quite right, it seems. Just what those plans are, Paul isn't certain. But he does know that something is wrong, so wrong that he feels he must sit up and keep guard outside one of the upstairs rooms where Jane and her mother are preparing for bed. Now, just lie there quietly, Mother. Jane, I'm... I'm frightened. You must be quiet, Mother. Here, I'll put another cover over you. There now. Feel better? Yes, I... I'll tell you what happened, Jane. All right, Mother. I'd like to know what happened, but please try to be calm. But I feel you must know. All right. All right. Just what did happen? Well, I was here in my room preparing for bed. I heard a noise. And I turned around and found myself face to face with Dr. Harris. And possibly he just came in to check on your condition? No. No, I don't think so. He started walking slowly toward me, and he had the most strange look on his face. Yes? He came closer, and then he raised his arms as though he was reaching out for me. And I... Yes, Mother. Hop in. I guess I must have fainted. I... I don't remember anything more until I regained consciousness down here. Oh, it was a very shocking experience, Jane. Yes, Mother, I know. Now, try not to think of it anymore. I'll stay here with you for the rest of the night. Now, you try to go to sleep. Yes, a very shocking experience. But Mrs. Whitcomb does go to sleep. Sleep from sheer exhaustion. And eventually Jane sleeps too. Outside the door, Paul doses. Then awakened. The storm has ceased, and it's quiet. Quiet, that is, until... That's a familiar sound, isn't it, Paul? It's coming from that window. There, now you can see better. That half-moon cast a dim light from behind the scurrying clouds. But enough for you to see what's happening on the roof of the wing to the left and below. The doctor seems very busy up there. Busy, piling bundles of faggots against the upper wall of the house. And what's that? He's pouring something over the faggots. It's kerosene. Do you hear anything, Paul? No. Your wife and her mother are still asleep. It's all right to leave them now, Paul. Leave them and climb out of the window. And if you're careful, you can edge along the eaves to a better vantage point. You'll soon find out... Hey, put that... There, you see, I was too quick for you. Now that I have the blanket torched in my hand, you'll be more patient, won't you? Because if you don't, I'll just touch the torch to the faggots like... Hey! Don't be frightened. If you try to jump down, that's what I'll do. And everything will be shining and crackling. Including you. Of course. And you're responsible. Because you're going to interfere with my practice. So that's it. You know what it means to me to care for the injured, the sick. I've got an idea. It means enough for you to keep you from putting up a barricade at the bridge. Maybe even weaken the bridge on purpose. It means enough so that you try to see to it that my wife would step in that hole in the floor and fall and break her leg. And that my mother-in-law... Yes, it's true. All those things and more you don't know about. But may I have a reason? Sure. The reason is you're crazy as a loan. No. No, that's a mistake. Although I can understand why you made it. No, sir. The world is a fault, not I. I'm not a madman saying that everyone is crazy but myself. I'm saying the world is sentimental. Sentimental? I was a great surgeon once. A great surgeon. Why, it was my very life. I've sacrificed everything to attain my proficiency. You will laugh when I tell you that I was an artist, a pure artist. But that's the truth. Nothing mattered to me but my work, the art of surgery. The house burns then. And I was disfigured to just see me now. And you know what happened? They didn't want me anymore. My skill was unimpaired but they didn't want my skill. Because they couldn't tolerate my appearance. So that's it. And now that you've set away my last refuse. Stay back from those faggots. No. You've left me no choice. Stay back or I'll jump. I'll jump down there. Jane! No! Get back from the window! Mrs. Harris! Put on that gun! Put it down! Do you know what you're doing? Yes, I know. I know very well. What else could I do? Mrs. Harris was right. What else could she do? Her husband had finally driven her to the last extreme. She had seen his inept care disfigure the little daughter from a burn scar that would mark her the rest of her life. She had seen him so happy and doing that he'd begun to think he was a real doctor. In support of this belief, he'd made up a story about being a great surgeon before having been scarred by fire. Then he'd begun to invent ways of getting people injured so that he might have patience to care for her. She'd stood all these things. But when she saw him lean toward the kerosene-soaked faggot, torch in hand, she realized that he had lit the fire which had burned and disfigured both himself and the child. And so she shot him, bringing to an end 18 terrible years of life as the wife of a hopelessly crazy pyromanian. BS has presented The Whistler. No music for this production was composed and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. Tonight's story was written by William Pyfield, directed by Ted Bliss, and came to you from Columbia Square in Hollywood. Next week, same time. I, The Whistler, will return to tell you another unusual tale. Good night. This is CBS, The Columbia Broadcasting System.