 Liptin tea and Liptin soup present in a Sanctum mystery. Good evening friends of the Inner Sanctum. Here's your host at the creaking door. Through these portals pass the world's most horrified people. What's the matter? Did my happy medium start to you? Sorry, I keep them around to get in the right spirit. Oh, by the way, if you feel a cold thin sliver of steel across your neck in the next half hour, sit perfectly still. Someone's got an edge on you. Gracious, Mr. Host, I'm afraid I'd have to move fast. Oh, Mary, you must sit still. You wouldn't want to lose your head. Well, I'll remember your advice, Mr. Host. But right now I have some advice for our Liptin listeners. You know, a teapot can't talk. But if it could, I think it would tell you the same thing that I do about making tea. I think it would probably say the most delicious tea is the tea with the most flavor. And I'll bet it would cast its vote, as so many folks do, for Liptin tea. Because Liptins has that grand brisk flavor, the flavor that's so different from other teas. The flavor that fills your cup with pleasure. You'll taste a world of tangy, full-bodied goodness in Liptins. It's tea at its tastiest. So make that next part of tea you brew at your house, Liptin tea. And now here's a little tale of horror that speaks for itself. The Edge of Death. Written by Frederick Mepho and starring Larry Haynes in the role of Ralph. We're going to tell you of a night Satan played a game of murder along a deserted strip of Manhattan's waterfront. For his sport, he chose two friends. For his victim, a woman. At the weapon he suggested, he had long ago placed in the hands of another murderer. The weapon was a long, slender, graceful rapier which first drew blood at the hand of Rasputin, the mad monk of Russia. Den! Den no breath! Open up! Den! Den! Well, come on in, man. What's the matter with you? You're soaked, no hat, no coat. Den, you're my best friend, my only friend. You've got to help me. I just got back from Chicago. I was going to drop over to your shop a little later. You? You got back too late. You could have helped me. Now, it's too late. What's the matter, Ralph? What have you done? Well, what's that in the package? Well, it's the antique sword I gave you when you were married. Ralph! The second steel always looks different. Coated with blood. Ralph, you fool! You didn't... Yes. I just pierced a woman's heart with that rapier. About 15 minutes ago. Warned you about your temper ever since we were kids. You almost killed me once, dear, remember? You warned me about my hobby too. You said I had a psych... Psychosis. That's what we psychiatrists call it. Your unnatural love of steel blades. Your worship of ancient weapons and tempered steel. Well, it's off balance. There's nothing in the world more beautiful than a piece of true hand-forged steel. It's an art as old as man. Yes, I know. We've been over all that before, but now you're a murderer. And I want to know everything that happened. It's too late, Den. I only came... Maybe I can dig something out of you that might help your defense. Ralph, close your eyes. Close your eyes and let your mind wander. Tell me the first image you get. Tell me every detail. No matter what. I see the wedding. Here at your house. The guests have left. Ingrid is blonde and beautiful and white-sat. She's standing beside me. And you come toward me with a pen. It was so good of you to make such a beautiful wedding for us. You are the best, best man ever. Maybe the best, second best man ever. Ralph was best today. You gave me some stiff competition. I've got another wedding present for you, Ralph. I waited until now to bring it out because I didn't think the others would understand. Here, open it. Do you like it, Ralph? Is it a good one? It's the most beautiful right here I've ever seen. The balance and the lines. Magnificent steel. Isn't it wonderful? It will be the very nicest sword in your collection, darling. As well as your last. Oh, yes, yes, Den. I promised Ingrid no more auctions. And he'll keep his promise this time. I'm going to change, darling. Won't take me long. All right, darling. Hurry. You really like that blade, don't you, Ralph? I like it. It's beautiful. Where did you find it? I saw it yesterday in a small, junky antique shop in the village. Little Russian fellow runs it. Did he tell you anything about the blade? I mean where he got it? No, but he said it was Russian. He said the hilt was black lacquer on rosewood and the steel was superior. He said something there. He mumbled on about wanting to get rid of it before the full moon. I doubt it. Anyhow, we finished by saying that whoever owned it would have evil luck and failing to get rid of it before the full moon would die by violence. I'll take it back to him if you like, Ralph. No, no, not on your life, Den. But, uh, don't mention that nonsense to Ingrid, will you? I remember all that myself, Ralph. I left for Chicago that night. Now, what's the next thing that comes to your mind as important? Well, about three weeks ago, I was working on some knives in the shop. Ingrid had left. I was alone. The shop door opened and she was there. She was there. Who robbed? Stasher. She was beautiful. Tall. White as marble. Dressed in black. And... beautiful. I beg your pardon? What did you say? I'm sorry. You said beautiful. There's no way. You said beautiful. There's no cause to be embarrassed, I've heard you said before. Well, what can I do for you, Miss... Kassoff. Stasher Kassoff. You own something that I would like to buy. What is it? A rapier. A Russian rapier. I saw it in your window as I passed. It's not for sale. Oh. Really? Are you sure? I will pay you well. Say, a hundred dollars. Sorry. Very well. Perhaps you might change your mind. Hmm? Here. Here is my card. Come and see me if you do. Well, thanks, but... Shall we say before the next full moon, Ralph? If it weren't for that bloodstained rapier on the table, I'd say you were lying. How could this woman know your name or anything about the legend of the rapier? I know how. But what happened then, Ralph? I've handled steel all my life. I've forged it, pounded it, tempered it, ground it to raise a wedge, and I've never cut myself. When she left, I put the rapier to the stone. And as I worked, I kept seeing her eyes in the forge fire, glinting with evil beauty. I kept hearing her voice. I turned suddenly to see if she was there. My trip, the rapier fell and I fell against the upturned point. Pull it out. Straight out. Oh, no. No, I can't do this. All right. I'll do it then. Oh, it was all blood. God's not bad. It just passed with a flesh called after birds. Oh, those stupid knives. Why don't you get rid of them? Well, England phoned. They cut down on me. The dead means certainly that my fate was tied to Stasia Kossoff's. The death was lunging at us with Rasputin's rapier. And I was unarmed. I told England about the woman. I told her about Stasia's offer of $100 for the blade. I shouldn't have. And to turn down $100 for it, Ralph, that's the limit. England, I can't expect everyone to understand some things about my character, but I do expect you to try. I think I do understand, Ralph. I think you didn't want to sell that thing because you want that woman to come back. That was your first quarrel, Ralph? Yes. There were lots more. Things got worse. The quarreled a lot. And it wasn't England's fault. I was changing. I kept thinking of Stasia. Her eyes mocked me. I tore up a card in anger, but I'd memorized the address. It was an old Dutch mansion on Litmus Street. I had to see her again. There was a light in the house. And oddly enough, the front door was open a bit. I rang a long time, but no one answered. I obeyed an impulse and walked in. There was a coal fire going in the high-ceiling living room. The cast dancing shadows on a life-sized oil painting above. A cold hand gripped my heart when I saw that painting. It was the painting of a man in a monk's habit. And his gnarled hand rested on the hilt of a jeweled rapier of exquisite beauty. Yes, the man in the picture is long dead. But his mad spirit is in this room. It laughs from within you, Ralph Vitkun. It has seized your body. Stasia. You know, if I were Ralph, I wouldn't be seen dead with somebody else's spirit. You can't tell what will happen to a man when the spirit moves in. Goodness, Mr. Host. That sword has certainly brought Ralph bad luck. Yes, ma'am, it can't even trouble right up to the hilt. And we're only halfway through the story. Yes, there's still a lot more excitement to look forward to. And I think looking forward to things is so much fun. For instance, imagine you're brewing up a pot of Lipton tea. Well, you know there's enjoyment ahead just as soon as that water starts bubbling in the tea kettle. The very sound of it is warm and cheerful and friendly, like Lipton's itself. And then when you lift that cup to your lips, oh, there's such a deep down satisfaction in Lipton's brisk flavor. Because it's so mellow and satisfying, brimming with lively, full-bodied goodness. Yes, all those little promises of enjoyment are completely fulfilled in your first delicious sip of brisk-flavored Lipton tea. Well, you certainly have a point there, Mary. But now, back to Ralph Vidkin as he tells his friend the events leading to the murder he's committed tonight. He's telling of his first visit to the strange house of Stasia Cutoff. So the Cutoff woman convinced you that the spirit or the ghost of Rasputin had taken possession of your body, and you fell for it. Well, I fought against believing it, Tendon. But it did explain so many of the strange promptings that had been stirring me all up inside. She say anything more about it? No. I turned to face her. She was a smiling column of white beauty. She is a black satin. Ms. Cutoff, how is... Stasia. Call me Stasia. How is it, you know my name? What do you know about the rapier? Does it matter? You have changed your mind, perhaps, about selling me your rapier? No, I came to ask you about it. You came because you are confused. We will discuss it. But first, let us have some tea. Yes? I examined the room while she was out of it. On the wall across from the fireplace were five oil paintings. All of them portraits of men. At first I thought the light was playing tricks. It wasn't. Each face was painted with closed eyes. Each was a study in sleep. Or death. You like my painting? Come and sit down. We'll have tea and talk. Who are those men you painted, Stasia? The five men you see in those paintings. Each own the rapier you now possess. Good Lord. Then they're dead. And the dates on the paintings. Those are the dates on which they died, Rolf. Each on a day of the full moon. Each kept the rapier beyond the time he should have. More tea? Stasia's eyes were eager and wide. My ears began to ring. I recall setting the cup down. I remember Stasia's voice. I remember Stasia's voice a long way on. This is all so fantastic, Rolf. Are you sure it wasn't something you dreamed? Something I dreamed. No, she drugged me. It was no dream. Those portraits were no dream. The painting of Rasputin was no dream. They were there when I woke. Stasia was gone. The fire was out. There was no near the lamp. It hadn't been there before. I shuffled toward it. It was a fresh painting on the easel. I stared at the face before me. Its eyes were closed in sleep. The face was mine. There was a date painted in them. It was January 15th. Yes, that's tonight. I couldn't find Stasia, so I dashed out of the house cursing like a madman. It was four in the morning when I reached home. Ingrid was waiting for me. She was crying. Where have you been? Why? What difference does it make? You've been to see that Kosovo woman. Yes, yes, I've been to see that Kosovo woman. I had to. I'm losing my mind, Ingrid. Something's trying to kill me. That woman knows about it. She knows how and when it'll happen. The funny thing is, I don't care anymore. I don't care. Troll, where are you going? Back to the shop. Back to that cursed rapier. In the shop, I tried to reason the thing out. I was toying with the rapier. It's a tiny green speck on the black hilt. But, idly, I picked at it with my thumbnail and the chip of lacquer snapped off. The hilt was supposed to be wood. But here. It was what looked like a large emerald. My heart pounding, I chipped and picked at the lacquer until bit by bit I uncovered the most dazzling and richly wrought collection of jewels I'd ever seen. Set in solid gold were pearls, rubies, emeralds, and a magnificent star sapphire. This was the bejeweled blade that Rasputin held in his hand in Stashe's painting. This was Rasputin's wrinklier. I returned to Stashe's house. Like the first night, the door was ajar. Like the first night, I walked in. I walked into the living room. I looked about. Nothing had changed. Nothing that is except that mine was the sixth painting, now hung beside the others. And the art easel already had a fresh canvas. Stashe was already painting a new portrait. The face was indestined. But the date was clear. One lunar month from tonight. I gave up and walked home with the rapier under my arm. I was drizzling and foggy along the waterfront. And I was sick and inside. I kept hearing Stashe's voice locked in my brain. Away out. Well. There's no way out as long as either of us lives. Past that little blind alley. You know the one about a block away from my shop. I decided to trick her. I stopped short. I spun around and caught sight of a woman in black as she darted into the alley. It was Stashe. And there was no exit from that alley. I tipped her to the entrance and leaped into its shadow so all I could see was a large empty carton against the far wall. She had to be behind that. I gripped the jeweled handle of the rapier until it burned my hand. Only one searing thought in my tired mind. Stashe must die. And drew the needle pointed steel back. Aimed at where I judged a heart to be. And thrust her body slumped forward. I let a match to see her face. But it... It wasn't Stashe Kasoff I had killed. I mean he did it. Killed her. A psychological masterpiece. He told me the whole story of my office ten minutes ago. He killed her thinking it was you. And now that she is gone, you are happy. You will love me and forget her then. Oh, perfect, perfect. She, she picked that stupid fool instead of me. Now she's dead and he'll die too. Oh, Denton, I am so glad. I would do anything for you. Everything went like clockwork. This rapier I found in your attic. The, the legend I made up. The faulty paintings of former owners. Your flirtation. Perfect, perfect. The perfect murder I've done it. Did my acting please, you Denton? Oh, you were magnificent, but... There's only one weakness to my plans, Stashe. What is it? When Ralph is picked up, there must be no way for anyone to find out that you and I know each other, Stashe. I know and no one will know, darling. Ralph's fingerprints are still on this rapier. He'll be electrocuted for one murder. Might as well be for two. Denton! I'm sorry! I heard everything you said, Denton. But I didn't have to, I knew. Now don't move. The gun is faster than the rapier. How did you know Ralph? Something I said tonight. No. No, something I saw. Stashe loved you. The painting I saw on her easel tonight, the one I told you she'd begun, was your portrait. The only way I knew was because, as an artist, she was conscious of the scar on your forehead. She painted that in first. The scar you gave me as a kid? Oh, you've a lot more brains than I gave you credit for, but at least we'll burn together. Sorry, Denton. I'll have to decline that honor. Ralph! Ralph, am I too late? Ingrid! Ingrid, no, you're... you're dead. Everything you told me at my house tonight was a lie. No, Denton. Your plan almost worked. I told you the truth. Except... except for the part about murdering Ingrid. You... you should have studied psychiatry, Ralph. I did, Denton. I had a good teacher. You. Going home soon, darling? You seem so far away, Ralph. Is anything wrong? No. No. I've been thinking about Denton. Odd the way things turned out. He made up that story about the rapier and its longing to Rasputin, and its owners dying on the night of the full moon. You don't believe it, do you? No. But what he thought was a cheap blade turns out to be a priceless treasure. It matches the one Rasputin held in his hand in the painting. That was coincidence, darling. Come on, now put your work away. Let's go home. It's late. Such a beautiful night, Ralph. Let's walk home. All right. You know... you know that painting Starship started of Denton, the one that gave us part away? Yes. It had a date on it. I wonder what ghostly hand guided a brush as she wrote that date. Why? The date she wrote was today's. But there's a full moon. And tonight was the night Denton was electrocuted. Well, wouldn't you say that's a story which gets down to fine points? Happy ending, too. As you get a ghost to ghost hookup between Starship and Denton, Ralph and Ingrid get an exhibit A worth a few bucks and go back to the old grind. Well, I'm glad Denton's plot didn't work. Yes, Mary. But if it had, Ralph would have had a plot of his own, you know, in a cemetery. After all, that's one of the best-selling plots I know. Nonsense, Mr. Hose. If you think that's the kind of thought we want to leave our Lipton listeners with, you're quite wrong. Here's a much better thought for folks to carry away with them. Tomorrow, when you visit the grocers, get a package of Lipton tea. Buy it, try it, and see if you don't agree that Lipton's brisk flavor gives you extra enjoyment. Oh, yes, there's a great treat in store for you. When you first taste Lipton's full-bodied zestful goodness, ask your grocer for a package of Lipton tea tomorrow. And our friends, in case you're wondering, we do have a moral for tonight's story. It's short and sharp. Knife can be beautiful. If you keep your temper and look out for people with an axe to grind, they may be trying to get ahead of you. Oh, by the way, this month's Inner Sanctum Mystery Novel is The Pavilion by Hilda Lawrence. And next week, the makers of Lipton tea and Lipton soup bring you another grisly Inner Sanctum tale directed by Hyman Brown and titled The Confession. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with Stausea and Denton. Yes, they've got the concession for hand-forged hinges where it's hotter than the hinges of... until next Tuesday then. Good night. Pleasant dreams. Got tomorrow's meal on your mind? Well, how about letting me make a suggestion? Now, here's a real main new masterpiece that the whole family will love. It's Lipton's noodle soup, a Lipton soup chock full of wonderful fresh-cooked chickeny goodness. Lipton's noodle soup is prepared with ease, ready to please in just a few quick minutes. It's economical, too. It costs less and makes lots more than canned soups. So ask your grocer for Lipton's noodle soup makes. And don't forget to tune in next Tuesday night for another Inner Sanctum Mystery. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.