 Playtime in the afternoon in Suffolk, England, 1676. The game, a croquet as it was played then, heavier mallets because they were lead-weighted, wider wickets and leather-covered balls. The thought you just heard was a pretty one, made by Guy Marcy. And now a friend of his, John Nims, leans over to line up his shot. Beautiful shot. And now John's cousin, Roger, kneels down to fight his shot. Careful player, lines it up and... Which was Guy Marcy, muscular man hitting Roger over the head with a lead-weighted mallet, killing him. Tonight, I report to you on Roger Nims, how he, low-dead, won the game. Crime classics. A series of true crime stories taken from the records and newspapers of every land, from every time. Your host each week, Mr. Thomas Hyland, connoisseur of crime. Student of violence. And teller of murders. Now once again, Mr. Thomas Hyland. In the English off the coast of Suffolk, and the English were retaliating. The latest and greatest naval war of the 17th century was being fought. The war which gave to history Thomas Golding, who demanded only a flaming deck and clean cutlass. And above these battles, white cliffs above, was the castle of the Nims family. And the Nims' cousins used to sit and watch the skies being lighted with a shock of sea battle. They watched because they believed this must superior to taking part. They were rich and had paid other men to fight the Dutch in their place. Roger and John, lads of 20, orphaned both. And when there was no fighting to watch, they would have sports. Play croquet. Pretty cousins. Pretty, pretty, a rippie rollie. And truth and mark me twice. I've won again. It'll be when you'll take Guy Marcy into a game. I could die happy. Oh, speak not of dying. It's only jetting. Yet each thing you wish. You say if you could have it, you would die happy. I want to hear none of it, so let me speak of it. Cousin, cousin. Good cousin to worry of me. And why not? Responsibility that you are to me. Responsibility? Me to you? Seven me how? How wealthy you are. All that's in it, and the land, and the thunder, let yours. Only because you are kind to me. All the wealth is yours, and it's your name. But if I should die before you... It will be mine, this castle, and all that's in it, and the land... Cousin John. I know. The will you've made to me. Good cousin. Kind. Cousin John. Yes, cousin. I've changed it again. The will. The will. Changed it. How? Or should I have children, then all my estate, and all my wealth to them? Or he or she? Oh, only fair. For if I had children, then I would be a father. And as father, I would get to my progeny. Cousin Roger. Yes, cousin John. Is there anything on your mind, cousin Roger? Last night, dear cousin, and you will be happy for me. I met a maid. Oh? A duck, a bun some maid. Lully with pinky cheeks, and throat of soft and white, and hair of radiant. I met you this maid. I saw her in the village green. And spied this maid with courage that would make you blush. Tell me, she played a croaky on the public green. Oh, and she had a slingest to her wrist. And I spoke to her. And we played a game. And after went walking, oh, and she told me her name was Mary. Mary of Southolt. And you've heard of the maids of Southolt, cousin. The marrying maids of Southolt. Yes. Another game, cousin. Very well. Losers first, I've heard it said. You've heard it said indeed. So bring your mallet, cousin, and we'll have joyous games. Too bad. Roger won again. So they sacked mallets and went inside. If cousin Roger noticed that cousin John hardly touched his loser's cup, he didn't say a word. Nor did he protest too much when John announced he was going out. The tumbling, I go, cousin. I've not done it for so long. But speak my name in the tavern and data bonnie, oh? But her tumbling, cousin John did not go. Instead, he went down to Southoltown and inquired of a maid named Mary, she who did a sly thing with her wrist at croquet. And he found her at her home in a wisteria grove, foot to treadle, and spinning. I did not want to interrupt your spinning, Mary, but your brother said it was all right to do, saying as he did that you're too much at the wheel. You say your name. John them. Of Roger names. Mother to mean our dad was to father of him, that is so, brother and sister of plain parent. Cousin, though. Without dad, and living too. Be seated then, for this is a fortunate time. Fortunate? How? Well, as my foot was to treadle and round the wheel, the ghost spinning flat to thread. My thoughts were of your cousin. Then what respect? How he charms. It's a fondness, Mary, you to him. So much fondness. Poor Mary, poor lad. How? You had thought of marrying to him and having children of it? Yes, these thoughts came, and why do you say poor Mary, poor lad? Because my cousin is mad. Mad? He thinks himself all manner of beast, even to birds. What are you saying? The curse of my family, which came to his side from his father, then before him his father's aunt. Oh, you might have heard, yet the truth. Therefore entertain no thoughts of loving my cousin. Oh, no, I shall not. Then goodbye, dear girls. Oh, you need not, girls. But you were so ardent and gave me hope. Hope for what? That you would wed with me and come and live with me in my castle, and soon small names about children to it. No, Roger. Poor Roger, dear Roger. Go, Roger. A woman from wedding his cousin. Therefore, dissuading from becoming mothers. Keep the money and the family. And the family was big enough as it was. But cousin John didn't reckon with springtime. It was May, and the girl's name was Hannah. And Roger aspired her walking all down the beach, gathering cockle shells. For my garden, sir. And what is your name, pretty maid? Hannah. Hannah. Oh, to the name, that's for sure. And your are the names of the big and tall couple there. And how are you knowing that? Have parted hair, kind of spied you at the wicket. Barefoot Egyptio. I? Egyptio, with black eyes, a flash, and the trinkets in your ears, and tourney hair. I must go now. Hmm, flirty. Too, I must. And why? Because it's time you should ask me where I be night, and you have not asked me, so I should go. And where do you be nights, Hannah? Why are you asking? A man has a duty. What talk are you making? To settle down, to have him wife, to plant trees, to have children. You were asking where I be nights. There's a cottage in the uplands, back and up the side of the rise, where grandmother Fadion keeps her lamb. It's where I am. It's where I'll be. Doesn't that you come in his stead? Not in his stead, young miss, but earlier. My cousin Roger is in the garden under the moon, eating grass. Oh, what joke is this? No joke until last a day, for he has madness in him. What? Yes. He had told me of you earlier, young miss. And surely he spoke well of your beauty, and true of it. Of your eyes, and throat, and tourney hair. But of his sudden madness, he told you nothing. No. No, he did not. But he told you he wished to marry and have children, right? All right. This is in itself a madness, for he has a wife in Wales on those wild shores, with six children. Oh! No, I must go. He's mad. That's a sub-drama. Good night, young miss. Roger wanted nothing more than to get married and have children. Cousin John couldn't afford it. Each time Roger would meet a maid and make known his intentions, John would meet the same maid and declare that Roger was mad, or already married, or a secret criminal of unspeakable deed. It is even said that Roger Nems made his intentions known to none other than Dame Mae Bellamy. And she had considered him quite sincerely, as she did all things. Until, of course, she had a little chat with Cousin John. Which, of course, may be the very reason Dame Mae locked herself up at Forbrook, never to feel sunshine again. Yet, Cousin Roger was not stunted. I feel it, Cousin. This month, I will find a girl to wed. I'll travel on donkeyback, read my palm for a penny and set it. And for a week now, I've dreamed of a dear face I've never seen before. Yet consider this, Cousin. So many of the damsels all about have refused you. Seventeen? Then give it up and be bachelor. A man should take a wife and plant a tree and have a child. I'd say give it up. Never. Which was where if them talk to John, once Roger got married, chances would shoot up that he would become a father. As a father, he would have an heir. And when Roger would have an heir... I'll be disinherited. Drink your ale and do not take on, so, friend John. But here me guy, Marcy. The wealth he has, it could be mine. Aye, there's proof in that. That's how rich he is and each new girl wants to wipe him off. And I'm weary. Yet if he does not marry nor have children, you will inherit. If I are to listen. I have told you this, friend guy. A toast, then. Ah! A toast. Major Cousin should drop himself down dead. This instant and now, before he takes wife, before he becomes father, before... Got down dead. Maybe not this minute. Nor too nice. But whenever... And you would have the wealth immediate. And good drinking companion and croquet companion you would share. I'd want to. And you would. We'll see. I cannot wait till tomorrow. A sunny day and the dew was hardly off the grass before the cousins were lined up in front of the starting pole. Cousin John had brought his friend, Guy Marcy, muscular man, good croquet player. Whatever he aimed at with his lead-weighted mallet, he hit. Classics and your host, Thomas Hyland. It's at the mention of the name Cromwell. A peculiarly small court, by the way, since the Great Plague, which was just now over, was no respecter of position. Two 14 couriers, including the fabulous Lady Vickers, had perished together in the Great Fire. And, as I have mentioned, there was that war with the Dutch. The war was going abadly and the populace muttering at the high taxes. This is the time, too, you'll remember, when Queen Catherine was accused and, when not indicted, had set a style. England on her way up. And in the sunny meridians that encompassed Suffolk, there was a game in progress. Have your mind to catch the truth. Here you are. Now, friend John, make your wicket. Would I could from this life? I'm for the middle wicket. Yes, you are, dear cousin. Then now. No. Fumbly. You're a bad shot now. Now you're out of position, cousin. Well, don't rub me with it. Take your shot, Roger. Oh, and how it rolls for the back wicket. Wicket. Oh, wicket. Oh. It did. It's as filled your heart as any I have seen about. Sadio. All right. My cousin is skilled in many things. The damsels are way to the buckets. There'll be no more damsels. What are you saying, cousin? There's a surprise I have for you. What surprise? Go on with the game and I'll tell you. The shot is Guy. Guy has had his shot. Now, what surprise? What are you saying of no more damsels? I met her one last night. Our final one, dad, of the name Priscilla. And we love each other so quickly. Our love of poets. We marry on Broom Wednesday. Broom Wednesday is tomorrow, cousin. I know it. Tomorrow is bliss. It's the day when I come into family. And who knows how many there'll become, Nicholas, for Priscilla with one of triplets. My congratulations, then. Is your shot, cousin? Aye. Well, we'll get well, Roger, then. What is a difficult shot? Aye. Difficult shot, indeed. Cousin, Roger. Cousin, now. Yes, would you say, Guy? I'd say it. As I swung and how he was kneeling there, I knew it. Now we need dispose of him, Guy. The pond would seem a likely place. Aye, but yet... Yet what? I've heard eventually they've closed. Those who dead are placed in water come at last to the top and are discovered. Not those who dead are placed in water and are fosters to the bottom. Not those. I could not do it. I could. Will you? I'll must if no one to know what happened this day so that you can live in the east wing of the estate with peace and ease of mind. I'll must if I want all that. And lungy and strong swimmer did this, according to a foley all the day I have here. They did strip him of his clothes, taking first from his hand the tightly clenching mallet, which he had been using for gaming. Then they did carry him to a great and darkling pond in a lone field. And taking him under the water at its deepest park, Guy Marcy did drive two stakes through him, thereby pinning him down so that he would never become a floater. Then they did bury his clothes. And thus doing these wicked kitties without torturing their souls on the rack of their consciences, Guy Marcy did go to the east wing, which now he claimed as his. And John Nems proceeded immediately to make the cattle, and all that was in it, his. Beautiful spinning wheel, as it turned. Mary. Mary. I wanted to show it to you, Mary, to show you this spinning wheel. Here at Nems Castle, since the day I called on you to tell you of Cousin Roger's darkness. Cousin Roger has gone to America, you know. To do good there, I've heard. Yes. And now the castle is yours. Yes. Mary. Yes, John. I didn't know more about giving you a hand. Yes. Now come to me. John? Yes, Douglas. Who's the spinless wheel? You, Mary. As you come here each day, there's much flax. I don't think of it. Yet come to me for a moment. So rich you are. Is that not so, John? Yes. Dear John, how rich? As rich as ever a fellow can be. How rich is that? Oh, as a treasure chest and sparkling jewels and goldie things atrole the treasure. The secret trove at the bottom of a pot. I made a joke that there's no chest of treasure nor a trove. I scarce know when to believe you, John. Believe me now, there is no treasure nor a trove. Believe me. Oh, dear John. I made a joke. I believe you. I believe you, John. Listen to me, Mary. All those hours spinning at the wheel spin your brain too, I'm telling you, as I always said it would. A regular treasure chest with goldie things and sparkling jewels, he said. I know, I know, at the bottom of a pond. At what pond? I ask you that. But how many ponds are there near to the Moons Castle? I'll ask you that. Scummy pond and deep and black and cold it is. Treasure trove. And you want me to swim to the bottom of it and have a look. Go back to your wheel. Will you do it? Yeah. Go back to your wheel. Then go deep for me. Treasure, let's see what you see. There at the bottom I'd better float a foot from it. What a man. Full grown and floating a foot from the bottom of a pond. High as he was and impaled as he was. Sister, sister, foul and worker ghouls. Treasure trove indeed. What do you mean? Treasure trove indeed. Him with his cousin going to do good in the American. Treasure trove indeed. Constable caused the bottom of the pool to be searched. It took the authorities two days to extricate the body from where it had been staked. Watchers to the operation were many, including two lads who looked down on the scene from the East Tourist of Nems Castle. Two game-sters, croquet players, friends. If we fled, John, that we cannot, the crowds that surround the castle they would tear it to shreds. Then what should we do? I don't know. I do. Good. Dear friend. Give ourselves up. What? The gaming thing. The right thing. True. The game is lost. Therefore. True. He beat us. True. My cousin Roger, so dead, has won the game. Nice moment when Roger was brought up. They explained what happened. They were brought to trial, found guilty. Pressed to death by rocks of increasing weight. Their refusal to protest in the face of adversity brought applause and favorable comment from all. McThomas Highland will tell you about next week's crime classic. Roger Nems, tonight's crime classic, was adapted from the original court reports and newspaper accounts by Morton Fine and David Friedkin. The music by the early 18th century composer Charles Abison was arranged and conducted by Bernard Herman, and the program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. Thomas Highland is portrayed on radio by Lou Merrill. In tonight's story, Ben Wright was heard as John, Alistair Duncan as Roger, and Richard Peele as Guy. Featured in the cast for Betty Harford, Ellen Morgan, and Gary Montgomery. Bob LeMond speaking. There again is Thomas Highland. Next week, Dover, New Hampshire in the year 1842, we will concern ourselves with a carnival, an alcoholic, and a wild beast. It's listed in my files as New Hampshire, The Tiger, and Brad Ferguson. What happened then? Thank you. Good night.