 Welcome, Weirdos, I'm Terran Marlar and this is Retro Radio Sunday on Weird Darkness. Each week I bring you a show from the golden age of radio, but still in the genre of Weird Darkness. I'll have stories of the macabre and horror, mysteries and crime, and even some dark science fiction. If you're new here, welcome to the show and be sure to subscribe or follow the podcast so you don't miss future episodes. And if you're already a member of the Weirdo family, please take a moment and invite someone else to listen in with you. Spreading the word about the show helps it to grow. If you're here because you're already a fan of nostalgic audio and print, you'll want to email WeirdDarkness at RadioArchives.com. When you do that, you'll get an instant reply with links to download full-length pulp audiobooks, pulp ebooks and old-time radio shows for free. That email address again is WeirdDarkness at RadioArchives.com. Coming up it's an episode from Murder at Midnight. Murder at Midnight was a 30-minute show featuring macabre tales of suspense, often with a supernatural twist, and created by some of Radio's top writers and voice actors. In 1946, Lewis G. Cohen, Inc., a transcribed programming house, transcribed as just an old term for recording, created a series of crime-fiction dramas slotted for late-night listening. It had one of the higher production and cast costs for syndicated programming for that time. The host was Raymond Morgan, who delivered the memorable lines of introduction over Charles Paul's effective organ theme. The series is known to have probably started April 19, 1946. Murder at Midnight was issued by several transcription services, and the show titles and show numbers were different on all of them. Being syndicated, though, stations could broadcast the programs in any sequence on any day of the week. For our purposes tonight, we'll be listening to the episode The Man Who Was Death, which aired March 14, 1947, a story about a mad sculptor determined to capture the image of death. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into the weird darkness. Yes, this is the place for it. Deep down under the city, under the earth, the concrete cold and damp is the stone of a mausoleum. The question is, which one of them shall it be? You, sir? You with the gray hair in the briefcase. Allow me to introduce myself. I... Midnight, the witching hour when the night is darkest, our fears the strongest, and our strength at its lowest end. Midnight, when the graves gape open and death strikes. How? You learn the answer in just a minute, in The Man Who Was Death. At now, murder at midnight, tales of mystery and terror by masters of the macabre, our story by Robert Newman is The Man Who Was Death. It's late afternoon in the studio of Jan Rolf, the sculptor. The rays of the setting sun come through the smoke-filmed glass of the skylight at an angle, casting long, dark shadows on the dusty floor. His face intents. Rolf stands before a more-than-life-size head of gray granite, cutting away some of the hard stone, then pausing to examine his work. It's still not right. I still haven't got it. And I don't know where I've gone wrong. The eyes. They would be brooding and half-closed. But shouldn't they be all-seeing? Let's try it. Just a second. What is it, Aline? I told you I wouldn't be able to get here until late, Mr. Rolf, that I was going to be modeling for Clayton in the early afternoon, but you said it didn't matter. Oh, yes, I forgot. If you don't need me, don't feel like working. No, no, it's, it's, it's, it's all right. Maybe it would help if I worked on something else for a change. Come on in. Something else? Oh, that, that head. Is that the first time you've seen it? Yes. You always kept it covered up before. It looks very powerful. Powerfully? Go on over to it, closer. Tell me who you think it is. All right. It's, well, it's a man. Pretty big man. A man. I knew it wasn't right. But if that's all you get out of it, where, where's that mallet? Mr. Rolf, what are you going to do? This, I'm going to smash it! Almost six months' work, but there! Do you know what that was supposed to be? Death! I will already do something no artist has ever done before. Show mankind the face of death. Mr. Rolf, I, I don't think I feel like modeling this afternoon. You're frightened. Why? I don't know. The, the whole idea of it. You too. What I wanted to show was the beauty, the peace that lies in death. Death's strength and inevitability and, wait a minute. I'll phone you tomorrow, Mr. Rolf. I said, wait! It's, it's beginning to come to me. What was wrong? To do a study portray something you've got to understand it inside and out. You, you've got to know how your subject thinks, feels, project yourself into it. To do a study of death, I've got to know all those things about him. I've got to become death. And that means... Mr. Rolf, no! No! You can't! But I can, I mean, I must! How can I understand death? Become death? If I don't... kill. Miss Craig? Yes, Nancy Craig. I'm Jordan, Harold Jordan of homicide. Imagine you know why I asked you to come down here to the morgue. They, they said it had something to do with my roommate, Aline Moffat. Is, is she? If you think you can take it, we'd like you to make the identification. I think I can. Ah, good girl. She's right here under the sheet. Ready? Yes. Aline, how did it happen? I'll cover her up. How do we trace the laundry, Mark? We're pretty sure we know who she was. How did it happen? She was found in the river. But she was dead before she went in, strangled. Murdered? But why? By whom? We don't know. We thought you might help us with that, too. Tell us what you know about it. There's not much to tell. She was a wonderful girl. She came from out of town, out west somewhere. She, she wouldn't know it from the way she looks now, but she was beautiful. She used to do modeling. Any boyfriends? Oh, no one in particular. She went out with a lot of different men, everyone liked her. It's what I can understand. Who did she model for? A few photographers, but mostly painters and sculptors. Let me see. There was Jensen, Clayton, Roth. As a matter of fact, I, I think she was posing for both Clayton and Roth. Better this time. Much better. Things I can put into it that I never knew. Never felt before. Now let's see. No, still not right. Still something missing in. Not just a shade of expression, but something basic. One of the keys to the whole concept. But what? Haven't I played Death's role? Killed just as he does? Haven't I? Wait, that's it. Of course. Is that how death strikes? Without thought? On the spur of the moment? No. He picks and chooses. Decides just who shall die and who shall not. What's missing is the consciousness of power. The knowledge that there is no appeal from death. That he is the supreme authority. And that means that, yes, I must kill again. And this time. Who? Who's that? Can we come in and talk to you for a minute? Why, yes, of course. Just a second. Police. They don't know anything. They can't know. But I better cover this up. Yes. I'm Jordan of Homicide, this is Nancy Craig. Sorry to bother you at this time of night. No bother at all. Please come in. Thank you. I'm, uh, I'm investigating the murder of Miss Craig's roommate, Eileen Moffett. Murder? You didn't know? No, I never read the papers. The last time I saw her, two or three days ago. Well, it happened just two days ago. We've been checking back. We have an idea that you may have been one of the last people to see her alive. If there's anything I can do to help, anything at all. But you tell us what happened when you did see her last? Of course. She was due here at three o'clock, but actually came at about five. She said another artist had delayed her. Clayton, that's right. I had already started working on something else, and since she looked so tired, I suggested we call the whole thing off. She seemed pretty happy about it, left, and I'm afraid that's all I know. Uh, was there anyone else here? Anyone that actually saw her leave? I'm afraid not. You see, I'm the only tenant in the building who lives here, and I'm afraid everyone else had gone by then. Well, that sounds pretty straight to me. I guess that's that. Thanks very much, Mr. Off. Not at all. I'm afraid I haven't been much help. But if you can think of anything I can do... We'll keep in touch with you. And in the meantime, well, maybe you should start reading the papers just every once in a while, huh? Right. I hope you read them to my friend. Especially tomorrow's papers. Because I have a feeling that there just might be something in them that will interest you. And a fine small rain. Yes, this is how he would move, walking slowly through the darkness, searching, weighing, selecting his victim. I beg your pardon, sir. Could you tell me if that's the uptown subway over there? Why, why, yes. I believe it is. Thank you. Thank you very much. Not at all. Subway. What better place to make my choice than there? Deep under the earth, the concrete cold and damp as the stone of a mausoleum. Thank you, my friend. Thank you. Yes, this is it. This is the place. The tunnel of dark is a yawning grave. The platform edge like the verge of infinity. And this is how he must feel. Studying, selecting which one of you shall it be. You, madam, with the worn coat and the draggled hat. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you know what's in my mind? Don't be afraid. It won't be you. You, young man, with the books and the glasses. No. Then what about... My friend has suggested this. My prosperous-looking friend with the grey hair and the briefcase. Don't look up at the track so impatiently a train is coming. But so am I. Good evening. I beg your pardon, sir, but I'm afraid... Oh, I didn't recognize you at first. Well, you're the chat. Directed you down here, yes. But I felt that you should know exactly who it was you spoke to. Allow me to introduce myself. I am dead. What do you mean? What are you doing to me? Let go! Let go! Quiet. The man who is death steps back from the edge of the platform as the train grinds to a stop. A woman screams. Somewhere in the distance, a clock strikes twelve for... Murder! Midnight! Back to the story of the man who was death. It's late the next afternoon, and Jordan is alone in his bare cubbyhole in police headquarters when there is a knock on the door. Um... Mr. Jordan? Oh, hello, Nancy. You don't seem very happy to see me. I am, and I'm not. It's a nice change to have someone as pretty as you come down here. On the other hand... You haven't gotten anywhere with Aline's murder. No motive, no clue, no nothing. I'm afraid we're liquor. But you can't be. You can't give up. I'm sorry, Nancy. I don't like it either. But, well, it happens sometimes. But you can't let it happen. Not in this case. You're pretty well wound up, aren't you? How about letting me take you out by your death? No. I am upset, yes, but... What's the matter? Oh, maybe it's nerves. I don't want to get down to the morgue the whole atmosphere around the case, but... Would you think I was mad if I told you I... I felt that some horrible power was abroad? The death himself was stalking through the city? Hmm. You and Mrs. Dolan. Mrs. Dolan? Who's she? Well, that accident in the subway last night, a guy who fell or jumped in front of a train. Didn't you read about it? No. Well, Mrs. Dolan was one of the witnesses, and she swears that just before it happened, she went all goose pimples, felt as if death was breathing down the back of her neck, and that she was going to die. It's true, Hal. I know it is. I mean, well, that's exactly how I felt. I can't remember just where or when, but sometime during these past few days, I felt that I was in the same room with death myself. Hmm. Now, like you said, it's probably nerves. Strange you've been under. Just the same. It's kind of a funny coincidence. Maybe I'll go see Mrs. Dolan, talk to her. Do you want to come? I don't believe so, Hal. Somehow I feel we're awfully close to the answer. If I could just remember where and when it was I felt that way, that I was in death's presence. I think I'll go home. Okay, Nancy. I'll call you there after I talk to Mrs. Dolan, and, uh, well, maybe we'll find that we really have something. Ah, just a little more off the cheekbones. Get the gone feeling of a skull under the flesh. Oh, no, it's still not right. Still something missing. What is it this time? Didn't I stalk and select my victim? Didn't he recognize me for what I was? Death himself. And didn't... wait. Of course. It's never just the victim alone who knows fears and fights against death. It's all of society, medicine, science, the police, all of man's resources from time immemorial lined up against death. And he still triumphs over them. That is the secret and the measure of his omnipotence. That is the last missing element. And that means that I must kill yet again. And this time, not just the victim, but the whole world must know it, and be powerless to stop me. This time, who's that? Who's there? Nancy. Oh, yes, just a second. I'm awfully sorry to be bothering you again. That's perfectly all right. Isn't Mr. Jordan with you? No, I came alone. Well, it was a little experiment I wanted to try. Oh, please come in. Thank you. Just what was this experiment? It, uh... Well, it was probably pretty silly, but I had to try it. Thinking back, I had a queer feeling that... What's that? That bust, something I'm working on. Something I hope will be my masterpiece. Do you like it? I'm afraid I... No. Oh, it's awful. It's terrible. It was here that I felt it. Here in the studio and... and you... Yes, Nancy. It was I who killed Eileen Moffat, and also a grey-haired gentleman with a briefcase in the subway last night. That... that piece in the paper, Mrs. Dolan... Exactly. You see, that bust over there is a study of death. And to do a study, you must project yourself inside your subject. That meant I had to become death. Where are you going? Out of here, you're mad. No good, Nancy. No good. I locked the door when you came in. You can't. No good, either. We're five stories up. And all the other tenants have gone. You came here at a very opportune time for me. I had just decided I needed one final victim. And I'm afraid that's going to be... you. Never forget it, Mr. Jordan. It was pretty late, about 12 o'clock, and it was raining. There were only a couple of people on the subway platform, three or four. I was standing by myself, not thinking about anything in particular, when suddenly this feeling came over me. Now, what kind of a feeling? Oh, a feeling that this was the end. A feeling that death was standing there, right close behind me. I got so weak and shaky that I thought I was going to faint. I shut my eyes and leaned against one of the posts, and that's how it was that I didn't actually see the accident. Well, did you turn around when you had that funny feeling? Did you notice whether there actually was anyone standing behind you? I did. There was just a young fellow with glasses, and another man, kind of strange-looking now that I think of it. Strange how? He was about 35 or 40, pretty big. I guess it was his hair. He wasn't wearing any hat, but he was almost white and very long and bushy. What? Did he have a thin face, a gaunt, and deep-set eyes? Well, yes, I think he did have. Do you know him? I'm not sure. If I do, then I may know a lot of other things, too. Good Lord. Nancy. What? I've got to get out of here. Just a second, young fellow. Where do you think you're going? In there. No one's going to...hand-to-hand. Oh, there you are, Jordan. Where the blazes have you been? What do you mean? What's going on? A devil of a business. A lunatic in the top floor studio there. He phoned headquarters, asked for you. Said that he had a girl there, that he was going to murder. Said that he wanted us to know, even though there was nothing we could do to stop him. We thought it was a gag at first. Well, what are you doing about it? Everything that can be done. I've got men all around the building, up in the roof across the street, outside his door. Can't you break down the door? Sure, and finish her off quick. He said that if we tried it, he'd bash her brains out with that big hammer that he's working with. But there must be something at Tommy Gunn from the roof across the street. He's got her right in front of him, so that if you got him, you'd get her too. I tell you, there's nothing, absolutely nothing anyone can do. You're wrong, Hanrahan. There's just one person. One thing that can stop him. What's that? Death. You're getting impatient, my dear. Why are you doing this? You know you can't get away with it. Get away with it! Do you think I care that it matters to me whether I live or die when I finish this? I'll never be able to surpass this, but neither will anyone else. I know now how death must feel, and I've caught it forever for all men to see in stone. Yes, friend Rock. You have. And you've made me very proud. What? Who's that? I don't know. Even though I've been on your mind for months now, even though you're just finishing my portrait? You? Where? Where are you? Where would I be? Everywhere. Outside in the hall. Down in the street. Here in the studio with you. Can you be seen? I must see you. I must... Very well. Walk this way. Over and towards the door. A little further. A little further. All right, here I am, Prof. Maybe I don't look the way you thought I would. Yes. Now drop that matter and get your hands out. It was you. And I thought... Get him up, Prof. I said. That's the way you want it? It's okay, baby. It's all over now. Have you loosened a minute? Yes, break the door down if you want to come in. I'm busy. Oh, you got him. I talked to him through the vent pipe from up on the roof. I figured that he was crazy enough to do all the things he did do. He might be crazy enough to believe death could pay him a visit. When I had maneuvered him far enough away from Nancy here, I jumped through the skylight. Oh, look. Good. Good Lord. What is it? That... That bust he was working on, he said it was a study of death. And in a way, I guess it is. Because it's a self-portrait. Two men and a girl staring down at the body of the dead sculptor, lying next to his weird masterpiece. But is it possible that there is still someone else in the studio an unseen presence that has been there since the clock first struck 12-4? Murder at midnight. Remember to be with us again when death walks through the darkened streets while the clocks strike 12-4. Murder at midnight. The part of Jan Rolf was played by Frank Barons. With music by Charles Paul, Murder at Midnight was directed by Anton M. Lieder. I'm Darren Marlar and I'll see you next week for Weird Darkness' Retro Radio Sunday.