 the master of mystery and adventure, William M. Robson. The human mind is an organ of infinite complexity and of infinite potentiality. This delicate and mysterious organ, when it is healthy, can create beauty, work miracles, and envision God. But when it is shocked, disturbed, and unbalanced, its capacity for horror and evil is equally limitless. It is of such a mind our story is concerned. The mind of a woman who lets her imagination run away with terrifying results. Listen, listen then, as Miss Hillary Brooke stars in A Week a Go Wednesday, which begins in exactly one minute. Let's figure out how to become president of the United States without being elected. All it can be done, all right? See, all you have to do is have a special job in Congress or be a member of the cabinet. Now, naturally, you have to meet the other qualifications of age, birth, and residence. The law determining the order of presidential succession specifies that after the vice president comes the speaker of the House, followed by the president pro-ten of the Senate. Then, if for any reason these people are no longer available, the cabinet members are set up in line to take over the White House duties. The first one is the Secretary of State, followed by the secretaries of the Treasury and Defense. Then come the Attorney General, the Postmaster General, and so on down the line through the secretaries of Interior, Agriculture, Commerce, and Labor. Then, if that list is used up, the only thing is to have an election. But so far, the need has never gone beyond the vice presidency. And now, a week ago Wednesday, starring Hillary Brooke, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. My husband and I had quarreled that Wednesday morning. I've tried to remember why, but I can't. Anyway, I wasn't in any hurry to get home after work that day, that Wednesday. So I sat for a while on a bench in Central Park. The sky had a dirty face, and the tall buildings around the path looked almost too white. I watched the evening happen quickly, because it was going to rain. I started to come down, doing my crying for me. And I started to run. I knew suddenly that I wanted to go home. And I wanted Harry to be there, so I could put my arms around him and tell him how much I loved him. And that I was sick because I hadn't kissed him goodbye that morning. I nearly fell running up the narrow stairway to the third floor. Apartment 3B, I was nervous. My hand was clumsy or thumbed, and the key wouldn't fit. It dropped to the floor. I stooped to pick it up. As I did, the door opened. Harry. Oh, Harry. Yes, what is it? It was a stranger in our apartment. A small, dark woman with eyes like two shiny brown buttons and a pinched little face. She was wearing a flowered apron, and she was holding a soggy dish towel. Well, well, what do you want? I can't stand out here all night. I'm cooking supper. There must be some mistake. What apartment did you want? 3B. Well, this is 3B. But it can't be. You see, I live here. Whoever you're looking for, I can't help you much. We've only been living here a few days. Living here? Yes. What's the matter with you? You're closed. They're soft and wet. The rain, I got caught in the rain. What are you talking about? It isn't raining. It is raining. I ran. I ran all the way because there was thunder and lightning. I don't know if you're drunk or crazy. Maybe both. We had a thunderstorm last Wednesday. It ain't rained again this past week. Wednesday? A week ago? Oh, no, no, I... You even look so good. Come on, you better come in and sit down a minute. What is the matter with you? I must have got a chill when I got caught in the rain. Only you say it hasn't rained for a week. You sit right down here. I'll get some water. Now, don't move now. Bummer, not ready, the company's coming. I sat on the sofa. Harry and I had talked last night about having the spring in the middle cushion fix. Oh, I did last night. I ran my hand over the top, cautiously afraid, and then stopped as if I'd suddenly taken hold of a live wire. My fingers curved over the lumpy roughness of a pillow with a broken sprain here. Yeah, I'd make this. Over the rim of the glass, she watched me. I sipped the water slowly as I looked around the room. There was a little table near the window where we could see the morning begin on Central Park while we had breakfast. And the buildings freckled with tiny lights in the evening while we had dinner. There was a rug with a worn spot in it in the fireplace. But our wedding picture was missing from the mantel. And in its place was a cheap blue vase. There. There, better? Feel better now? Yes, yes, thank you. You don't look so good to me. You better call a doctor when you get home. Home? You want me to call a cab for you? Where do you live? I don't know. Now? We're looking for someone when you came. Friends of yours? What's their name? I'll see if I can find them for you. Friends? Yes, just friends of mine. Harry and Mort Haskin. Good friends. Haskin? But don't you read the papers? Yes. But you must know. Know what? Well, about the murder, of course. In a moment, we continue with the second act of... Let's take just about a minute to talk about three little words which mean a great deal to people all over the world. Monarchy, oligarchy, and republic. The first of these, monarchy, means rule by a single person such as a king or queen. The second, oligarchy, refers to a form of government in which the power is in the hands of a few such as Russia's Kremlin. But to us here in the United States, the most important of the three little words is the third, republic. A republic is a state in which the balance of power rests with the people as a whole and is exercised by representatives elected by the people and responsible to them. A republic is a free, popular government in which there are no classes having any exclusive political privileges and in which the voters are guided by constitutional authority. The importance of a republic is recognized by the constitution, which in Article 4 says that the United States shall guarantee to every state in this union a republican form of government and shall protect each of them against invasion and domestic violence. That's how your American constitution works. And now, a week ago, Wednesday. We moved in a couple of days after the murder. My husband didn't like the idea. He put an apartment in an apartment these days and I said to him, Charlie, it's a vacancy. So what if there was a murder? A murder? Tell me about it. Where have you been for a week? I'm not so sure myself. He looked like such a nice young man, too. At least in his pictures. Oh, who are you talking about? Harry Haskin, of course. Harry? Yes, it happened right in that kitchen. The murder weapon was an ice pick. Ice pick? Isn't it awful? And everybody says they seem so much in love. Well, you never can tell about those things. She's so young. They say pretty, too. Do they? Do you know them well? Yes, very well. Oh, sure, I'm sorry. It had to be me to break the news to you if they were friends of yours. You said it's in the paper. Can I see it? Sure. The paper's been pulling nothing out for almost a week. She was right. The headline screen doubted me. Ice pick murder awaits conviction. And there was a picture of Harry. Harry, my husband. I tried to read more, but I couldn't. I kept hearing his voice. Don't you know I do anything in the world for you, darling? Don't you know I love you? Love you. I don't remember leaving, running down those stairs and out the door. I just remember finding myself on the street again, half walking, half running. And then I was back in Central Park again. From out of nowhere, a little boy on a scooter came carrying around the bend. He turned sharply to keep him running into me. I watched him lose his balance. Cappled over him, fell in the pathetic little heap on the ground as me was beating. And I ran over to pick him up. I bent over him. My arms outstretched to lift him to his feet again. And then I realized I was dead. I'd been murdered by my husband almost a week ago. I was dead. And I knew I did not touch this chap. I was afraid for him. And so I ran again. Lady King. And I ran faster and faster, so I couldn't hear him anymore. And then it was later, somehow, and really dark. And I was tired, so very tired. I found myself back on that bench again. The same bench I'd been sitting on earlier that evening. No one was around. I stretched out and tried to sleep. And I suppose I must have. The next thing I knew it was morning. I sat up, stiffly, and smoothed out the wrinkles in my skirt. I wondered where I was going to grow, what I was going to do. I tried not to think of Harry, where he was now. Maud? Maud? Oh, Maud, darling. Harry! Oh, golly, baby, I've been worried sick about you all night. Oh, Harry! Oh, my darling, I'm sorry about yesterday. Come on, let's go home now. Home? Look at your clothes. They're still damp from the rain last night. If you get sick, I'll never forgive myself. How do you feel? Are you all right? Yes, yes, I'm all right. Good. Come on, then. His big hands supported my arm. And as we left the park, from the entrance on 72nd Street, a little bar in the scooter came tearing round the bend. In just a moment, we continue with the third act of... How would you like to be a successful farmer? Naturally, all of us would like to be successful in anything, particularly in our chosen field. But say you are a successful farmer and you have one or two successful neighbors. However, there are other neighboring farmers who, for one reason or another, are not successful. Farmer Adams was hit by a flash flood coming out of the hills. And Brown and Fisher, though they're hard workers, just don't have the knowledge to make a farm pay off. What would you and your successful neighbors do? Would you sit back and allow the other farms to go under, no matter what hardship it might cause to the families? Would you say, let them fail. We'll buy them out when they're broke. Perhaps one of your neighbors might say that, but would you? Or would you go over and help Adams rebuild his farm? And would you go over to Brown and Fisher and say, look, neighbor, you're not planting the right thing here. It's not right for your soil. Let me show you what you can plant. Of course, unless you were greedy, that's what you would do. Throughout the world, that is what the food and agriculture organization is doing. It is an agency of the United Nations, which is man's best hope for the world's welfare, peace, and justice. And now, three of a week ago Wednesday. The problem was just the way it should be. The worn spot on the rug, the crack in the base of the lamp, the wedding picture on the lamp, and the woman with eyes like two shiny, brown buttons was gone. There was just Harry and me. Are you hungry? I am a little. Harry? What? It was raining last night, wasn't it, Harry? It was raining, I'll say it was. What a storm. It was raining. It was raining hard. Oh, Harry. Sweet, don't, please, don't, don't. You're home now. Don't cry, this is Harry. This is your home. No, please, don't. We ate breakfast near the window so we could watch morning begin over Central Park, just like other mornings. He smiled at me and I tried to smile back. He leaned across the table, his eyes steady, serious, watching me. Why was he being so kind? Why should he be so good to me? What was the thought behind those eyes? Watching me, watching me. Was he already planning how he would murder me? I love you. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, it dropped. Don't worry about it, just a cup. I'll get a broom, I'll sweep it up. No, don't bother about it now. You just come here to me. No. What? I mean, I'd better sweep it up. I went into the kitchen, glad to be alone for a minute, safe for a minute. I knew with the dull, sick realization that I was afraid of my husband, afraid of Harry. You want me to do it for you? No, I can do it, I'll sweep it up. No, Maude, don't go into work today. Stay home and rest, you don't look well. I'm all right, I want to go into work. All right, you're sure? Anything you want. He was being good to me again. Too good to me. Anything I wanted, anything, anything. Why? I didn't trust him, he was too kind. His lips said sweet things, but what was on his mind? I love you. Do you? Well, don't you know I do? Yes, yes, of course I do. I don't remember what happened in the office that moment. I could only think of one thing. One thought kept repeating itself, repeating. I'm afraid of Harry, I'm afraid. My husband is going to kill me. I know because I dreamed it last night. It was a warning. My husband is going to kill me. I'd fallen asleep on a park bench and had a dream, that was all, just a nightmare. Nothing more sinister than that. I was bored, Haskell, and I was married to Harry who loved me. I was just another girl who'd had a bad dream. The afternoon dragged all too slowly. I knew Harry had been concerned when he left me that morning. I wanted to tell him I was all right. I was all right now. I'd let a silly dream play tricks with me. I'd behave like a fool, afraid, afraid of Harry. I almost laughed out loud, but I felt more like crying. And at last the day was over, and I was on my way home to the man I loved. And this time I knew I wasn't dreaming. This time I could run, run fast, all the way from the subway to 69th Street and home. Harry would be there. I climbed one flight, two flights. Out of breath and hurrying, one more, one more. Excuse me, Miss, do you know where I can find the landlady? Was that woman? A small, dark woman with eyes like two shiny, brown buttons. I said, do you know where I can find the landlady? What? What did you say? You live here? Yes, yes. Well, tell me then. Did you happen to know if there are any vacancies? Vacancies? No! No! Hey, where are you going? Harry! There was a woman in my dream. She was the woman who had been living in our apartment. What was she doing here? Maybe it had been more than a dream. Maybe I was thrown ahead into seven tomorrows to next Wednesday. Maybe by then she would have our apartment, just like in my dream. And I'd be dead. Darling, is that you? Yes, yes, Harry. Got a kiss for me? That a girl. You're home early. I hurry. Did you? So did I. I missed you. I've got a surprise. What kind of surprise? We are going to celebrate, you and me. We're going to have a private party, a reunion. Now, you just wait here. I'll only be a minute. I kept thinking, not a dream, not just a dream, but a warning. A warning. Oh, but that was silly. It couldn't be it. Sounded. I heard the sound. And I began to shake all over. I walked into the kitchen. And Harry was bent over a small boat. I could see his muscle under his shirt move up and down. His arm rose and fell again and again. And in his hand, he held an ice-pink. Bod, what is it? What's the matter? Nothing, nothing. What are you doing? Icing the champagne, darling. We're going to celebrate. I wish you hadn't come in, though. You spoiled the surprise. I'm sorry. Oh, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters as long as you are here. He put the ice-pink beside the bowl and took me in his arms. And while he kept telling me he loved me, I was looking at the ice-pink, thin and sharp. The ice-pink, spoiled a surprise. Yes, I'd spoiled it. He thought he was going to kill me. But I wasn't going to let him. I wasn't going to let him. Oh, darling, how I love you. I love you. I'd sputter the lying words in a soap before he could say them again. I'd been warned. And I wasn't going to let him do it. I reached out and felt my fingers creep around the handle of the ice-pink. I was strong and safe now. The dream wasn't going to come true. I'd make sure. I held it tightly, raised it behind it back, poised like a serpent, ready to strike. Ready? Ready. Oh, darling, I love you. I don't know. His arms still around me grew limp. Come on. I felt them slide heavily, big hands dragging at my body. Come on. His fingers clutched my belt and tore a thumb. And then he fell, still holding it in his hand. He lay still at my feet, a red circle of blood on his wife's shirt. And in that circle, the ice-pink. No one saw me leave the house. All I could think of was, not me, not me. It wasn't me lying dead with an ice-pink in my back. I'd been cleverer than he. I had done it first. I stumbled into the park and wandered aimlessly. Every once in a while, I'd hear his voice. And I put my hands over my ears to blot it out, but it was no use to keep coming back. Nothing matters as long as you are here. I ran to get away from it, but the voice followed me. You're going to kiss for me? That a girl. I'd dropped from exhaustion somewhere in the park and slept all night on the grass. In the morning, I remembered, but I was too sick to care. I was sorry I woke up. I didn't ever want to wake up. But I started to walk again. I kept on walking until I couldn't go anymore. With a bench, I sat down. Someone had been there before and left a newspaper. I picked it up and read it. And then I knew, as big and bold as life, for death, it mocked me. The words, ice-pink murder, jumped crazily on the page. And Harry's picture just had been in my dream. Only this time, I read on. Harry Haskin dead. Murder. Police searching for wife Maud Haskin. And then I realized, Harry never planned to kill me. Harry loved me. I had tried to run away from a dream, just a dream. And instead, I made it clear. And now Harry was dead. I wanted to tell you how it was for me. Great. The dream has come true. Wednesday again, isn't it, Father? I've confessed. I don't care what happens now, because I must pay for what I've done. Will you pray for me, Father? Oh, we could go Wednesday. I wonder if she's there. The woman with eyes like two shiny brown buttons reading about me in the paper. I wonder if she's in the apartment now, reading about my execution. Man Robeson's production of A Week Ago Wednesday by Winifred Wolfe. Supporting Ms. Brook in A Week Ago Wednesday were DJ Thompson, John Daener, and Dick Beals. Listen. Listen again next week when we return with another tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.