 We present one of America's top radio rebroadcasts of a program dedicated to the mysterious, the unusual, and sometimes the supernatural, a program of... This is the truth. Do you understand? The truth. It must be the truth. It has to be. I, Robert Wensley Graham, a doctor and psychiatrist by profession, do hereby of my own free will and volition. I'll be a little deepest regret. Make the following full and complete statement relative to that all but unbelievable series of events which has brought such disaster and misfortune to my house, particularly to my poor wife, Isabelle. It had its beginning, properly speaking, some two months ago to be exact on the evening of July 25th. We were in the drawing room, Isabelle at the piano, practicing as she said. Around Jane and I on the opposite sides of the room. Isabelle, what's the matter? I don't know. I can't seem to keep my mind on anything anymore, even my music. Nose. Nose. Isabelle. Yes, Robert? I don't wish to distress you, but it's been going on for quite a little while now. It's not getting any better. I know. Let's not discuss it, shall we? We should let me prescribe treatment for you. I could prescribe something for her. You can do remarkable things now with just the common old drugs under proper control. Drugs? It's not drugs that she needs. It's to get out of this house for a while. It's to get back to the concert stage where she belongs. It's work. Hand Jane, please. I'm sorry. I don't believe in beating around the bush. You're an artist. You've got talent. There's no sense in you trying to subordinate yourself to somebody else. Hand Jane, that's enough. I'm not subordinating myself to anyone. Really, Hand Jane? You mustn't interfere, you know? Robert doesn't want me to go back on the stage. Darling, it isn't that I don't want you to go back. I'm proud of you. You know that. It's only because I think... because I know that going back to a professional career in your present mental condition would be terribly humble. I know, Robert. I know you're right. After all, I'm a doctor. It's my business to know these things. I get it. Probably the hospital. Hello? Hello? Yes, it's Dr. Graham. Oh, yes. Who? When would you like to see me? All right. Fine. No, no, no, no. Trouble at all. Well, I'll be expecting you. Goodbye. Who do you suppose that was? Roger Holcomb. Do you remember the case? Roger Holcomb? I remember it. Of course you do. The fellow was brought back from the dead as the newspaper's put it about a year ago. Oh, yeah. Well, he really was dead for four full minutes as far as medical science was concerned. Then they brought him around. It was nine days wonder at the time. What did he want to see you about? I don't know. Something to do with his experience, obviously. He was in a terribly agitated state. He'd been walking up and down in front of the house for an hour trying to get up courage during the bell. Finally, phoned from the corner drugstore. Why the poor man? Why in the world should he do that? He hang sighed in neurosis. They hounded him, you know, in the most shocking way. He got out of the hospital. There were no specialists, movie agents, just plain fakers. People trying to find out if he remembered anything of the four minutes. He's supposed to be dead. People just trying to exploit him. Must be Holcomb now. Take him into the office. Dr. Graham? Yes, you're Roger Holcomb? Yes. Come in. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holcomb. Yes, sir. You come this way, please, my office. Can I just sit down anywhere? Lie down on the couch if you like. You're tired. I am tired. Tired. Give me your hand, please. For heaven's sake, there's nothing wrong with my pulse. That's all you think it is. I'll go. Why did you come to me, Mr. Holcomb? You know my history? Yes, most medical men do. Up until your disappearance. Most medical men do, all right. When they tell me I'm crazy. Do you think you are, Mr. Holcomb? I see. You like all the rest. Let go of me, please. Just a minute, Mr. Holcomb. You came to me for advice. Just to tell me your story. Well, I was told you used specialised strange cases. Things that other men can't explain. That's true in a way. You know what happened when I got out of the hospital? Yes. Followed me, questioned me, hounded me day and night, trying to find out if I remembered anything. I'd experienced anything beyond the grave. Yes, I remember that. Well, then you remember that my answer was always the same. But I remembered nothing. But I knew nothing. Well, I was wrong. Oh. What did you experience during those four minutes? I don't know. But it must have been something. Something I don't even dare to think about. How do you know this? Well, it happened the first time on a boat trip, which I'd taken to recover my health. I found myself chatting with a woman who was seated at my table in the dining saloon. She found occasion as such women often will to mention her age. She said, after all, I'm not yet 40. And then it happened. What happened? Well, from somewhere, came crashing into my mind a certain knowledge of the exact day and year of that woman's birth. And with it, a compulsion to speak out. A compulsion which I could no more have resisted than I could have resisted breathing. I said, Madam, you were born in May, weren't you? May 30th. And she looked at me and thought to astonish me. We'd never even seen each other before in our lives. And said, yes. And then I added the date, the year 1900. See, she was well over 40. She'd lied to me innocent enough thing. But I had known the truth. And I can force to speak. And I have never seen her. This phenomenon is heard often? More times than I can remember. Every time a direct lie, no matter how trivial, is part of it. In my presence, I suddenly know the answer to that lie. I know the truth. And I'm compelled to speak it. And this condition has existed only since your... It's my four minutes beyond the grave yet. Quite. It is though, in that brief time, I glimpsed eternity. If I'd seen reveal all truth of all the ages, I can never tell you how horrible that thing is. I found this man, even the most honest of men, lived by lies. Tell me, you have a family, friends who are understanding? Oh, for heaven's sake, doctor, don't you understand what this has done to me? Yes, I had a family and friends. Girl, I was going to marry. Today I'm an outcast. Pariah. I'm shunned, feared. I'm hated. Yes, hated. Mr. Holcomb. Mr. Holcomb, I believe that this condition is very real to you. It crosses you very real anguish. I want to help you. Do you think you can? I'm confident that I can. I suppose you could arrange to stay with me here at my home for a matter of weeks or months, if necessary. Well, I'll do anything. Anything in the world would be a normal man again, but... But what? Dr. Graham, I... I can see that you still don't believe me. I beg of you. You don't know the terrible responsibility I'd be to you. I'd be like a spy, like some inexorable prosecutor from another world. Mr. Holcomb, let me worry about that. All right. Is there anyone else in your household who might object? Oh, no, there's only my wife and her aunt. I have your own quarters. It'd be quite comfortable, I assure you. I'm sure I'd be... It's a lovely house, but I've seen a bit... Yes, I'm rather lucky. I'm interested in research primarily. Not much money in that, you know, but... A couple of years ago, I came into quite a nice inheritance. I also went with it. What is it? What's the matter? The inheritance was not yours. But your wife's. The house is your wife's. You were penniless. I don't know why I lied to you. Pride, I suppose. I'm sorry. I told you I couldn't help it. No, no. I'll go now. Please. Mr. Holcomb, my fault is the small matter. But you see now that I... I want to help you. Do you believe me now? I believe, Mr. Holcomb, either that you are far more ill than I realized or that I didn't want to come. You and I are adventuring into a realm ever before explored by mortal men. It was utterly fantastic. Yet it was true. I checked the facts again and again. He could not possibly have known it yet. He knew. Could you imagine what this meant to a man of science? If I could fathom the depths of Roger Holcomb's mind, I could make a contribution to the body of scientific knowledge absolutely without parallel in modern times. I'd be more famous than Pasteur or Ehrlich. To remain the problem of Isabel, I was aware of the danger, of course, I was acutely aware of the peculiarly delicate balance of her mind at that time. But the fact that the presence of a man like Roger Holcomb might be seriously detrimental to my rather well-conceived plans for Isabel. I believed I could control the situation. I was determined to proceed. Actually, Holcomb's presence made itself felt almost immediately. The first incident came... Isabel, please stop that playing and listen to me. And Jane, you know Robert said I mustn't talk about it. That it's bad for me. I don't care what Robert said. But he's my doctor and my husband. And I'm not sure that he should be either. Hey, Jane. I don't know much about psychiatry, but I do know that making trouble between a husband and a wife... I'm not making anything that isn't there already. And you know it. Good heavens, girl. Look at yourself. Look what's happened to you since your marriage. I've been sick. He's made you sick. That's ridiculous. Maybe it's just that he's afraid of losing you. Maybe he's even afraid of losing your money. But I'm absolutely convinced that whether he's meant to or not, he's made you believe there's something the matter with you that isn't. And, Jane, I simply forbid you to talk this way. Then now he brings this psychopath into the house. And don't bring Roger into it. He's Robert's patient. It's Robert's work and it's none of our business. What about your own work? It doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. And, Jane, you simply don't understand. Robert is my husband. I trust him and I love him. Nothing can ever come between us. I destroy anything. I kill anyone who tries. Isabel. Isabel, do something before it's too late. Do what? Get away. Leave him. Divorce him. Anything. Oh, I hope we're not interrupting. Of course not, darling. Hello, Roger. Hello, Isabel. Good afternoon. How are you feeling, Roger? I think it would be better if we didn't discuss our states of mind at the door. Oh, of course, I'm sorry. Well, would you like me to play something for you? You know, I think I'm beginning to get the feel of it again. Really, I do. You're sure we haven't interrupted some conversation? Of course not. We were just discussing how helpful you've been in getting Isabel back to her work again. Roger. No. No, you're not. You were telling Isabel to divorce her husband. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Roger, come back. Isabel, is that true? You brought him in here deliberately. Is that true? It doesn't matter, I suppose. You've known how I felt for a long time. Yes, I'm afraid I have. Robert, it was also silly. She didn't mean it. I did mean it. But I did mean it. I'm sorry, Isabel. But I've been under this roof too long as it is. Oh, Jane, you're not leaving us. It's best, Isabel. Yes. Yes, I think it's unquestionably best. The best that you go at once. She left us, of course. I'd always believed that Jane exercised an unfortunate influence over Isabel. I did not dream that it reached such a point as this. Yet this incident gave me my first insight into the relationship which was destined to develop between Isabel, Roger, and myself. The first and most obvious result was that within a matter of weeks, Isabel was to lose every friend she had. We became further estranged as each day passed. It was difficult to speak of even the most casual things with this strangely terrifying specter of truth. Always at our elbow. Situation reached its inevitable climax the evening that Leopold Sorenski, the famous conductor of the Los Angeles Symphony, was to call on Isabel with the resumption of her professional career under his auspices. Give a great deal of thought to that evening. It had to be handled with a great... Robert, you will help me, won't you? Of course I will, darling. I don't know whether you realize how important it is to me. I have nothing but the music now. I've been working so hard. It's pain sometimes half the night while you're asleep. I've heard you. Sometimes it seems that with the pianos all it's helping me to keep my sanity. Darling, I want you to let me prescribe something for you. The time we face this thing, you're trouble, I mean. Robert, does he have to have dinner with us tonight? Roger? Isabel, you know how I stand on that. Oh, yes, but just this once. I eat even once, Isabel. I keep him in his room like a spoiled child and they have guests. Isabel, it might undo everything I've accomplished in weeks. Oh, of course. You're right. Roger, come in. Robert, I was wondering if I might excuse you just the night. You're having dinner with us, Roger? Must I? You know you must, Roger, and you know why. Why, Roger, don't you want to meet the great Leopold Sorenski? He's really a wonderful person. Yes, indeed. I would very much. You know, I made my debut with him in 1934. I did a concert with him every year until my... until I... Isabel was very talented, you know. I was? I am. Oh, Roger, I'm going to play with him again. He wants me to open the season in November. Can you imagine what that means to me? I'm so glad, Isabel. And Robert has finally given his consent. Haven't you, dear? I'm sorry. What was it you said, Isabel? I said you'd given your consent to my saying with Sorenski. Why, Isabel, you... you know I don't want you to think that I'd ever stand in your way. I know, dear. Roger, I'll do the Emperor Concerto. And you will come to hear me. You do want to, don't you, Roger? Please, Isabel, don't ask things of me that... What's the matter? What's the matter with both of you? You act as though you thought I wouldn't be able to appear. As though the whole idea were hopeless or something. Isabel, please. I am going to play. I'll be better than I ever was. You know I will, don't you? Don't you? Of course, Isabel. You play wonderfully. Roger. No, Robert, you... you're very certain that Isabel will be prevented from ever playing again by death. Death? Oh, Isabel, forgive me. Forgive me, please. My death? No. Oh, no. Please, Roger, it's not true. Tell me it isn't. Roger, answer me. Answer me. Roger, do you hear me? Answer me. Answer me! When Sorenski arrived, I told him it'd be quite impossible for Isabel to leave her room. The concert was cancelled and, indeed, to my knowledge, she's never touched the piano since that day. By now, to even the most casual observer, it must appear only natural that Isabel had every motive for a desperate, almost paranoid hatred of Roger Holcomb. This much was clear to me. The rest not yet. But one thing from any point of view was certain. I had to keep Roger and Isabel apart. Perhaps what I feared was indeed inevitable. I honestly did not think it's so at the time. As a precautionary measure, I prescribed a drug for Isabel, which she had last consented to take. I gave her her own supply she'd administered to herself, as I had directed. Roger. Yes? It's Isabel. What do you want? Let me in, please. No, please. Please, it's terribly important. Roger said so. I know. But he said it would be all right this time. You still? Yes. Yes, please. No, what do you want? I want to talk to you, that's all. What about it? It's not important. Roger, why don't you ever leave your room anymore? Aren't you guess? Do you think I hate you? Isabel, I don't know what to think anymore. You do, don't you? I warned him. I told him it would happen. Now I'm going mad at him. I think he'll be anguished. But Roger, I don't. You must believe me. I know what it's been like for you having me here. Roger, you see, for the first time in my life, I think my husband is wrong about something. Wrong? Yes. Don't you see? He's been worried about both of us. And so this distrust has grown up between us. Well, I don't distrust you, Isabel. You've been more wonderful than even I'm afraid. But you're afraid of me. And that amounts to the same thing. And it's bad for the both of us. It's hurting both of us. I often thought I wanted to come here to beg your pardon. Oh, you don't have to do that. We're both sick. But I think if we saw each other sometime, if we talked the whole thing out, it would help us both. Well, does Robert think so too? No. Then he didn't tell you it was all right to see me. No. I lied to you. You what? I lied to you. You lied to me. And it didn't happen. Isabel, don't you see? I am getting well. It didn't happen. I know. I don't think it does happen anymore. Except for Robert. It's Robert. What makes you think it all? I don't know. Something about the way he acts. The way he hears. Oh, but it is Robert. He is curing me. Then perhaps you shouldn't have come up with it. No, no, don't you understand. We must be each other. We must talk. No, listen. Robert, something's happened that I must say. Please, you're completely overwrought. Oh, but Robert, if you want... Yes, yes, yes. Isabel, why did you do this? I'm sorry. You have to have a sedative right away. Isabel, get the bottle from your room. Mine? Yes, yes. Please, hurry. Hurry. Robert, she lied to me. Yes, yes, I know. But, Roger, I must absolutely forbid you to talk. Now, you must trust me. All right. Later, I want to have a long talk with you. Of course we shall. Of course we shall. I thought I'd have to do it, too. I'm glad you did. The other one's misled someone. Will you give it to him, please? I? Yes, I'm sorry, but this is upsetting. You're rather bad in my hands of shaking. Robert, I'm terribly sorry. No matter now. Give him the hypodermic. Knee up around him. That's right. Be clear. Thank you. Leave us now, please, Isabel. All right. How are you feeling now, Roger? Well, I'm fine, Robert. I think I'm better than I've been in mud. I know you're better. I was so upset to see you. Well, you're just so fine, Robert. I can't tell you all my reasons now, but you must trust me and believe in me. Oh, I do, but... Only that I'm afraid of your health. Roger. No. You're afraid of murder. What? Murder. Roger, listen to me. Roger. Murder. Roger, what are you talking about? Roger. Roger! It was clear to me now. I knew I must take immediate action. I knew that the most terrible consequences might result if Isabel were alone with Roger in for a moment. But he knew that he'd said so. There was no other explanation. I thought it through most carefully, and yet no plans are perfect. No man is infallible. Isabel! Robert. What are you doing? Nothing. Don't lie to me, Isabel. I'm not. You were coming from Roger's room. No. No, I swear I won't. Isabel, don't you understand that you're sick? If I've insisted on these things for your own good, it is. No, Isabel. Why do you try to tell me that? Is it... Roger? Roger? No, it couldn't be. It is. He's dead. Hypodermic by his side. The drug, your drug, your hypodermic. But it's only a status here. Send it in large enough quantity. It's fatal. You knew that. Oh, Robert, don't listen to me. Isabel, why? Why I warned you... Robert, look at me. It's Isabel. It's your wife. You can't... Oh, no. Where are you going? Come back. I'm going to call the police. Perhaps the most terrible decision a man ever had to make, even though it did come not as a shock to me, even from my point of view as a scientist was terrible enough. Yet it had to be done, and I had done it. I did not speak to her as we waited, and she made no further attempt to appeal to me. She seemed utterly stupefied. Perhaps as a result of the drugs she herself had been taking. Perhaps because she suddenly realized she was hopelessly trapped. When the police arrived, I told the story with a little emotion. Oh, it's the bottle. My wife's, of course. They both belonged to it. Is that true, Mrs. Graham? Yes. Dr. Graham, do I understand then that you are formally charging your wife for the murder of Robert Holcomb? Well, you could hardly expect me to do that, could you? I'm simply telling you the fact. You said she hated Holcomb, and you knew it. My wife has been mentally ill for some time, and many people can testify to that. You plead insanity, of course. Dr. Graham, I can't tell you how sorry I am, but the things you have told me add up to only one thing, as you yourself obviously recognize. Yes. Your wife, Isabel Graham, murdered Roger Holcomb. What did you say? I said your wife, Isabel Graham, murdered Roger Holcomb. I murdered him. I tried to make it appear that Isabel had done what I killed him. No man is infallible. Yes, I killed Roger Holcomb. And he himself revealed the truth. I'd planned to dispose of Isabel for many months. I'd never loved her. I'd loved only science. I wanted her money, and Holcomb found it out. That was the risk I ran. But any chance lie in his presence, either by Isabel or myself. Bring out the truth, and it did. I had no alternative once he'd discovered that or to kill him. Easy enough to throw the blame on his adult. I had not counted on that terrible compulsion for the truth. That strange affliction of Roger Holcomb's power over me. Did it transfer itself at his death to me? Or was it fitted that it had to end this way? So close as Lazarus walks, starring Orson Wells, tonight's tale of the fence. This rebroadcast is a presentation of the Armed Forces Radio Service.