 Good evening, friends. This is your host to welcome you through the creaking door into the inner sanctum. Well, when picnicking over the weekend, found a lovely, restful, woodsy place. Oh, this beautiful, so quiet, you could hear a party drum. And quite a few tears. The sun was so hot that one of our party melted to the ground. I'd always wondered over that waxen look about Charlie. Still, it's an ill wind because Charlie had his usefulness at that. Came the deep night, we ran a string through him and played marbles by candlelight. Tonight's inner sanctum mystery, pattern for fear, was written by John Robert and stars Everett Sloan in the role of Ludwig with Cameron Prudhomme as Larabee. And now for tonight's ramble in the never-never land. We're in the Avalon Lounge, a fashionable metropolitan restaurant. A waiter approaches a table secluded behind an arrangement of tall, potted plants. A lone patron sits at the intimate circular table for two. Your order, sir. If you please, I will take your order. You know what I want, Ludwig. Caught you unawares, huh? I had forgotten you in five years of one forget. And I'll reintroduce myself. Captain Larabee, Ninth Precinct. Did you read the morning papers, maybe? I can recommend our lobster Newberg, the recitation. The page one headline says that Guthrie Stewart dropped dead of a stroke. Men die, Captain Larabee. Every day men die so that new life... I thought maybe with Guthrie Stewart dead and gone now, you'd want to talk about things. You were wrong, Captain Larabee. I have no wish to talk. And in that case, I guess I'll just have to make myself comfortable and wait right here. You are just wasting your time. I don't think so, Ludwig. You're still suffering something in silence. Guthrie Stewart died without a word. But there's an envelope somewhere now and it's way over here to you. An envelope? Yes, it's coming by a special messenger. The envelope reads to be delivered on Guthrie Stewart's death. Don't look so befuddled. Stewart's lawyer tipped me off about that envelope fifteen minutes ago. I said I'll wait, Ludwig. What I really mean is we'll wait. We wait, the policeman and I, in a grim watch for the messenger soon to come. Captain Larabee doesn't say it, but I am his prisoner. The restaurant fills up with people. And my mind sinks back five years to the same table for two hidden behind the plants. I remember a conversation I overheard by chance and the terror that came out. Are you absolutely clear on what you are to do? The lady murders my business. Very well, repeat my instructions again. Okay, I'm up there on the terrace outside his bedroom holding a submachine gun. When the 1130 train comes around the curve, I shoot the kill. You empty the machine gun into his bed. Understand? You empty it. You don't just want him killed, huh? There must be no chance of his surviving this time. This time? So you tried it before, huh? Yes. Here. The address is on the slip of paper. Read it, memorize it, and then destroy it. When do I get paid? Tomorrow at six. Here at this table. I'll leave first. I watched her leave the restaurant. A heavily veiled woman in black whose face I could not see. A man was to be murdered by a killer for hire. A killer with a cold businesslike look. I watched him read the address, tear it to bits, drop it into the puppet plant, and then push the bits of paper under the earth. When he left, I recovered the bits of paper and pieced them together. The victim was Gusry Stewart. The address was Hevermeyer Heights in the suburbs just outside the city. A man's life was in my hands. The murder was to be at eleven thirty. At ten, I was in Gusry Stewart's library, warning him. But he was only amused and his wife, too. So I'm to be murdered in my bed, eh? At eleven thirty when the train goes around the curve. Well darling, somebody's undoubtedly heard you snore and has finally decided to take drastic action. Well, you'll make a charming widow, Alan, if it all comes true. But it is true, Mr. Stewart, you joke foolishly. I overheard them plotting. See, I have here the pieces of paper the killer threw in the base of the plant. Look! That's my name and address, all right. But what does it prove? I'm in the phone book. Anybody could jot down my name and address. Anybody? What did you say your name was again? Ludwig. Ludwig Heller. I am a waiter at the Avalon Lounge. You think, perhaps, I wrote your name down. The way you look at me, I see you think I am a crank. Even crazy, perhaps. Well, frankly, Ludwig, I don't know exactly what to think. You have no enemies? Not even one, so far as I know. I heard her speak. A voice lasting for blood. Your blood, Mr. Stewart. And I saw him. A man without a heart. A cold machine that kills. You are to die, Mr. Stewart. Hey, hear that. The train, close to your home. Just as I heard her say. Yes, Larsen makes jokes, but when the 11-30 train goes around the curve, you are going to die, Mr. Stewart. A man's life was in my hands. But I couldn't make the victim believe in his own approaching death. I went to the local police station to a Captain Larrowby. There, I blurted out the story once more. I waited while he talked to Guthrie Stewart on the telephone. Yes, I got it. Yes, I understand, Mr. Stewart. Sure thing, I'll do just as you say. Look, you, um... Ludwig, Ludwig Heller. Look, Heller, I relayed what you told me to Guthrie Stewart. But I told you it was of no use to do that. He just laughs at it. He's not laughing anymore. As a matter of fact, he's hopping mad right now, and his misses too. Hopping mad at you. At me? At you. He says if you keep peddling that fish story around, he's going to prefer charges of malicious persecution. Prefer charges against me? Right. In fact, he left it squarely up to me. Now, you're to promise me you'll go about your business, whatever that is. I'm to clap you in the clink for observation. He thinks I am crazy. Be sure of it. As a matter of fact, from the looks of you, I'm not sure you're not crazy either. Now, are you going to do the sensible thing? Yes. Yes, Captain Larrowby. I will go home. The sensible thing. Go home. 11 o'clock. In 30 minutes, a man would die, and his blood would stain all the rest of my life, because I was powerless to save him. The sensible thing. Go home, the police captain had said. But I did not go home. I had to see death look deep into its face. I returned to heaven my heights to wait silently at the shadows on the terrace and watch. He was there too. The killer and his machine gun. A black executioner waiting and ready. But Godfrey Stewart lived. I saw them in the pale moonlight on the terrace. A shaken man and a frightened woman, both in their nightclothes, armed and unharmed, seeking the assassin, but afraid to search for him. A moment later, I overheard him on the telephone talking with great excitement to Captain Larraby. I don't want any publicity on it. But an attempt was just made on my life. Yes. Someone machine gunned my bed while the 1130 went around the curve. What? I wasn't in my bed. A dummy was machine gunned. I fixed the bed close to make it appear that I was in bed, just in case. Just in case that lewd, big person was really telling me something. I melted into the night like the killer had. Godfrey Stewart was safe. I had been spared his death. The sensible thing now was to go home. But I was to have another moment with the police that night. Walking along a tree-shaded road to a bus stop, a police car suddenly flew toward me and I was over to halt. You there! Stop! But I didn't stop. Instead I ran. I don't know why, but I ran like the wind. Still I ran faster than the plastic broken behind me. I found a neck of wood and hid. I lay face down in the earth for hours, listening to the night. And then, just before morning, I started back to the city, sneaking along the back roads like... like a fugitive. A curious thing had happened to me. That night, the deep guilt I was sure the killer must feel had transferred itself to me. Ludwig the waiter sure got himself one big tip to a slaughter. Poor Ludwig, his errand of mercy got in the bum's rush over the stewers. What do you do with a character who laughs at an advanced notice of his own death that somebody has? Strangle him on the spot, I say. That way he'll positively believe you the next time you're around. Yes, a murder in time certainly saves a lot of wasted breath. Tell a course he's dead and you'll ever dispute it for a minute. Let's worm back into the story. The next evening, I went to the Avalon lounge to my job as I always did. The police hadn't called or got restored. It was as if there had been no night before. But there had been a night before. The same two were at their table again behind the tall palms as they had agreed to be. The heavily veiled woman in black and the hired killer. Five years have passed. But I can remember that conversation I overheard worth forward. Bungler, Stuart is alive. I sprayed the bed full of holes like a Swiss cheese, maybe 20 bullets. But he wasn't in the bed. Someone was. Where I stood, I could see a figure all curled up. Well, you've got to do it all over again. Okay, tell me where and how. Listen carefully. He will be at a shorefront casino in Norwalk tonight. He will motorboat there from Rye and then back the same way. You will wait at his landing pier. When he ducks, you will have your second chance. What do I do? Wait all night at the pier? No. He always returns home close to midnight. Which landing pier do I wait at? Number 19. It's Stuart's privacy. The motorboat he drives has a black eagle painted on it. Will he be alone? He usually is. Uh, do you have a face behind that man? Don't ever try finding out. Gus Lee Stuart's life was in my hands a second time. As if I had been a pointed keeper of his destiny. He was there too with the fog curling around me just before midnight on the docks facing the Long Island Sound. I hid, but as before the executioner stood in the fog and missed, not 20 yards away from me waiting. There were midnight chimes. And on the water moving closer, the sound of a motorboat returning to dock. The black eagle on the prow was hardly distinguishable. And then a figure stepped out from the boat to the pier. I saw the killer move and I screamed, Stuart! Look out! There is a gunman! He was in a heap on the pier. A white figure. I ran to him and kneeled down to see if life had gone completely. Mr. Stuart! Mr. Stuart! That's not his name, no big... You are alive! Very much so. But... but he... By pilot, Jameson, he got the bullets evidently intended for me. You get a pulse? No, I don't think I do, but I'm not experienced in such things. Then let me. He's alive. I'll call an ambulance. No, I will. You go home. Oh, but I... Go home, Ludwig. It's better that you do for both of us. It is better for you that I go home? Yes, I'd like this treated discreetly. I'm an investment broker, quite an important one. I know. You know? Yes, I know a great deal about you. That's odd, since I have been giving your destiny in my keeping, in my hands, I have familiarized myself with things about you. The next day, a heavy Manila envelope came to the restaurant for me from Gossley Stuart. The letter told me about his investment business, his social position, his fear of scandal and things. Besides the letter, there was a check, a $2,500 check for me. The police didn't come until the next night. Captain Larraby took me to the station house. Gossley Stuart was there and Mrs. Stuart. Captain Larraby was trying hard to understand things. Ludwig, who were you before you began waking on tables at the Avalon and before you started to overhear murder plots? I was just myself in the world. Don't quit that kind of talk. I meant, what were you? A waiter. I have always been a waiter. Do you have a mental history somewhere? If you have, better talk up. Might help you out of a jam being mentally irresponsible. Okay, don't talk up. Mrs. Stuart. Yes, Captain Larraby? On this sheet, I have some of the speeches written. The speeches that Ludwig claims he's overheard that woman make. Now, please read them in your own natural speaking voice and read them like a woman bent on getting somebody murdered. Captain Larraby, you're dead! Look, Mrs. Stuart, no dramatics, please. I'm just doing a job. Now read them, please. Very well. You empty the machine gun into his bed. Understand you emptied. There must be no chance of his surviving this time. Oh, Captain Larraby, must I go on? No, no, that's enough. Is it the same voice, Ludwig, or almost the same voice? No. The voices are entirely different. You can say that positively? Yes. Also, the other woman was taller and much stouter. Okay, that's that. And I'm not surprised. I'm sorry, Mrs. Stuart. No, you should be. Put your hands out, Ludwig. Put my hands out? That's right. Bracelets for you. Ludwig Heller, you're under arrest for attempted murder. I was sent to a mental ward for observation. There were tests, doctors examining me for weeks and questions. And one day again, Captain Larraby came to question me once more. I found these certificates in your room, Ludwig. They're yours, aren't they? Yes, they are mine. Common stock certificates in the Guthrie Steward Investment Company. Fifty of them worth a hundred dollars a piece on their face. That's five thousand dollars. Where'd you get five thousand dollars to invest in stocks? It was my life savings. From waiting on tables? Yes, from waiting on tables. The stocks took a drop, a big drop. These certificates are worth about twenty cents on the dollar today. I know that, Captain Larraby. Yes, a bear market did it, some people think. A lot of big fellows squeezed a lot of little fellows, maybe. Is that how you figure your life savings were wiped out, maybe? Maybe. Guthrie Steward's market operations cost you your life savings. Isn't that how you figured it? Isn't that why you came around telling him his life was in danger? To get time, get money out of him for saving his life? Maybe even kill him in the end anyhow? I am tired, Captain Larraby. I want to sleep now. You're not going to answer? I wish only to sleep now. Doctor! Okay, stall. Don't confess you toted that machine gun up to that terrace. It was you firing away on that pier. Play tired, play sick. Even beat the rap that way. You still face charges for extorting $2,500. We've got your dead to rights on that. No, Captain. I had sent the $2,500 back five years ago. I went from the hospital to jail for months without bail while the police tried to build a case. In the end, there was no evidence and I was freed. Free to be watched through the years. Like tonight, here in the Avalon Lounge, Guthrie Stewart is dead. But Captain Larraby sits with me as we wait for a messenger to come. The Ludwig Heller? Yes, I am Ludwig Heller. I've got an envelope, please. Sign here, please. I'll take that letter, Ludwig. It's from the grave. The envelope reads Ludwig Heller on my death. Guthrie Stewart. Now let's see what's inside. You know what's inside, maybe, Heller? Yes, I think I know. In a second, we'll both know. Doesn't say much. Does it say, thank you, Ludwig, from the bottom of my heart? Yes. Yes, it says exactly that word for word. Guthrie Stewart thanking you? What for? I have here in my pocket a letter for you, Captain. It was sent to me five years ago. It's a check that I returned. Guthrie Stewart told me to gift this letter to you. Any time I wished. I wish now. Here, Captain. Dear Captain Larraby, Ludwig Heller's story is the truth. The whole truth. The woman plotting my murder is Ellen, my wife. Not out of hatred, Captain, but out of sickness. A mind that has never been strong. She lives in darkness. And I, too, because of her. If I can keep this secret, I can live and perhaps help her. The Ludwig Heller can endure for me. And carry my burden even for a while. Ellen will be hospitalized and we both will hope. The Ludwig Heller has the strength. Now you understand, Captain Larraby? Those stock certificates I found in your room. We put them there for you to find, Captain. Guthrie Stewart and I. You did that? You took the kind of rap you did for Guthrie Stewart? For a fellow human in distress. Yes. You let yourself be slapped around, hospitalized, jailed, hounded day and night for years, all for an absolute stranger? For a reward, Captain. A great reward. Ellen Stewart was pronounced cured six months ago. I am not too young in years, but it has fallen to me a mere waiter on tables to bring a new life into the world. The life of Ellen Stewart. Ludwig. Yes, Captain Larraby? Let's... let's shake hands. Stop in at the Avalon Lounge, anybody, for the town's best service-seller corps. Ha-ha-ha-ha. Love's better, Ludwig. A man with a heart of gold and a terrifying knack for business. Other people's best services. Big hearted Ludwig. Borrowed Guthrie Stewart's troubles and almost lost his own interest in living. Ha-ha-ha-ha. Well, that suggests tomorrow. I overheard this one while eavesdropping on a short-order cook in a chapsiway restaurant. Fool who not mind own business, always get the business. Ha-ha-ha-ha.