 Suspense, and in black, here again to introduce Columbia's program, Suspense. Heading our starring Hollywood cast this evening is Mr. Richard Dix, who appears as a United States Naval Officer, who found himself in a remarkable predicament on what should have been an uneventful flight from New York to Philadelphia. As fellow passengers aboard the airliner, on Miss Gale Page is a girl named Monica, and Mr. Montague Love, who plays that aged and domineering millionaire Silas Naylor. The story by John Dixon Carr, called Death Flies Blind, is tonight's tale of suspense. If you have been with us on these Tuesday nights, you will know that suspense is compounded of mystery and suspicion, dangerous adventure. In this series, our tales calculated to intrigue you, to stir your nerves, to offer you a precarious situation, and then withhold the solution until the last possible moment. And so it is with Death Flies Blind and the performances of Richard Dix, Gale Page, Montague Love, and our other players, we again hope to keep you in suspense. The Guardia Field Municipal Airport of New York. The Guardia Field, vast behind its white buildings. On a gray spring afternoon, when rain splashes across the runways, dims the sky, and spatters on the wings of a great silver-painted airliner, waiting beyond. Already as the limousine bus from the New York terminus slowly draws up to the waiting shed, you can hear the loudspeaker. The big limousine bus besides its driver contains only two persons. One is a tall young man in United States Naval Uniform, with the stripes of a lieutenant commander around his sleeve. The other is a tall and dark-haired girl, with a face a little frightened in the blue. Night 72, New York to Los Angeles, plane ready to take off at gate number six. Have your tickets ready, please. Fred, that can't mean us. Now, take it easy, Monica. We're not too late. They won't go without us. No, I mean, it says New York to Los Angeles. That's right, Monica. But we're only going to Philadelphia. You're still right, my dear. I range for a special stop at Philadelphia. It won't take long, and then they go on nonstop from there. But that's just it. Who's going on from there? Oh, you'd be surprised. This airport bus must hold 20 people, but there's nobody in it except ourselves and the driver. Who's going on to Los Angeles or anywhere else? We're going to tell you about that, Monica. All right, sir. Up under that shed and out the door on the other side. Oh, got your tickets ready? Yes, I've got them. All set, Monica? Rain is certainly coming down. Do they take off when it rains like this? Oh, miss, a little rain don't bother them. What does bother them is unsettled weather at other places. You mean it's perfectly safe? They never take off, miss, unless it is safe. You better hurry up now. There's the plane, Monica. Shall we run for it? But I'd rather not run, if you don't mind. Aren't getting nervous, are you? No. I know it's stupid of me. I've flown before. It's just for those few seconds before the takeoff. You're moving and the motors have been idling. All of a sudden they start to roar. The plane races ahead and the roar gets louder, and suddenly you think, am I ever going to get down alive? Now look here, my dear. Oh, I'm sorry, sir. There's nothing to worry about, you know? Of course not. I'll be good. It's just this dismal day, and the ghostly bus without any past jizzing. I said, look. Where? At the plane. They've got all the windows covered inside with a little gray curtain. Oh, that's all right, Monica. It's only a wartime measure. Wartime measure? Yes. Just keep those curtains closed for some minutes after taking off and forelending. So no one can make maps or take pictures of our airports. Anything could happen with their cars. No. And what's more, if you're worried about your fellow passengers, look over your shoulder. Well, there are some people coming through the gate. Yes. You see the little gray-haired man or the big fella on each side of him? The secretary dashing around them like a destroyer and a convoy. You know, I've seen that gray-haired man somewhere before. You've seen his picture? That's Silas Naylor, the third richest man in the world. Those two big fellas are your bodyguards. Does he need a bodyguard? Well, I'm not more than most of us, I imagine. I don't like that. Oh, nonsense, my dear. Come on. I'll up the steps to the plane. Give your name to the air hostess to the door. That's it. Good afternoon, miss. May I have your name, please? I'm Monica Vail. You're the air hostess. That's right, Miss Vail. Take any seat you like. And you, sir? Anzlo, Lieutenant Commander Fred Anzlo. Oh, yes, Commander. We've had instructions about you. Happy to have you with us, even if it's only as far as Philadelphia. Thank you. May I take your overcoat or your briefcase? Only the overcoat, please. I'll keep the briefcase. Friend, look there. What is it now? That man you called Mr. Naylor's secretary. Light-haired man, rather good-looking. He's sprinting towards his plane as fast as he can run. Well, you'd better be careful on that slippery surface. He certainly has. Air hostess, air hostess, air hostess, air hostess, air hostess. Look out, man. Look out, man. Watch your step. Look out. All right. Are you all right? Here, let me help you up. I'm all right, thanks. Perfectly all right. Air hostess. Yes, sir? My name is Michael Shepherd. I'm Mr. Naylor's secretary, and I think there must be some mistake here. Mistake, sir? Yes. When Mr. Naylor travels, he's in the habit of booking every seat in the plane to ensure privacy. Yet we seem to have two extra passengers. Well, I'm afraid that's my fault, Mr. Shepherd. Indeed, sir. Then would you and the young lady be good enough to take some later flight? I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't do that. No, and why not? Maybe I ought to explain, Mr. Shepherd, that Commander Anslow had last-minute orders to join his ship. He and Miss Vale have priority as far as Philadelphia. Philadelphia? Must we stop there? Only for a few minutes, Mr. Shepherd. This is outrageous. Mr. Naylor is traveling in a sense on government business. So am I, old man. The neighbor he often does. That doesn't alter the principle of the thing. I don't want to seem ungracious, you understand. Mr. Naylor is always glad to help our brave soldiers and sailors. I love them, Michael. Now, choir will now sing him number 242. But this time you've gone too far. I shall appeal to Mr. Naylor himself. Mr. Naylor, Mr. Naylor. Yes, Mr. Shepherd. I can hear you. What is it? This is Naval Officer, sir, and the young lady. Oh, I know, Shepherd. I know. Isn't the plane big enough for all of us? I was only following your orders, Mr. Naylor. You asked for privacy. All right, Shepherd. What I'm asking for now is less noise. Lieutenant Commander in the Navy, eh? That's right, Mr. Naylor. Often another fishing trip, I suppose. That's just exactly right, sir. Have you ever had a suspect yet? No, never. Well, I have. 20,000 a year I've had paid doctors. And what do they give me? This stump. I'm not surprised you got priority, Commander. But I am a little surprised about the girl. She's my fiancée. Mr. Naylor, Miss Vale. Meet the rest of my family. These two bruises here, including the one with the mouth over, and my bodyguard, Mr. Cohen. I'm pleased to meet you, Commander. How do you do, huh? This is Mr. O'Reilly. Glad to know you, Commander. How are things going? Hey, Cohen, can't you ever get tired of playing that mouth organ? Stand away from the doors. I want to close it. Will everyone please stand your seats and fasten the seat belts? Are we ready to take off? Yes, in just a moment. Shepherd. O'Reilly. Cohen, come along to the front of the plane. Yes, sir. Oh, we'll sit in the back here, won't we, Fred? Yes, yes, of course, I, um... Fred, is anything wrong? No, no, of course not. Why, what could be wrong? Then you'd better sit down. We're starting to move. That's good advice, Commander Onslow. But I must ask you, Miss Vale, not to touch the curtain on the window. How soon before we can open the curtains? As soon as we're well away from New York. You see that illuminated sign, no smoking, fasten seat belt? Yes, quite a bother. When the lights and the sign go out, you can open the curtains and smoke as much as you like. Now, if you'll excuse me, certainly. You didn't try to fool me, Fred Onslow, I saw. You saw what? I saw you pick up that scrap of paper one of those men dropped. Why, that wasn't anything, Monica. May I see the paper? No. Why not? Well, because, uh, because I'd rather you didn't see it, that's all. There is something wrong, isn't there? Look, Monica, let me repeat over and over. What could be wrong? I've heard Silas Naylor, an internationally famous figure with a group of trusted attendants. Here's an ACA plane as safe and dependable as the old grey mare. All the same, I... All the same what? I wish I hadn't brought you along. I wish there was some kind of an emergency cord like a train so that you could stop this plane. 40 minutes. The great silver plane throbs against dead quiet. It's warm and stuffy in the cabin, despite the hissing ventilator. Dim white reading lamps shine down on a double row of cushioned chairs along one side and a single row of cushioned chairs along the other. A head above the closed door to the pilot's controlled cabin, the red glowing sign still warns against opening those curtains. Aft in the plane sits Commander Onslow, his eyes fixed on the clock under that illuminated sign. Monica. Yes? It's not exactly all right. But why do you say that? Because we should have been in Philadelphia five minutes ago. At least we should have been circling over the field. And we're not? No. But we're still 10 or 12,000 feet up, if the pressure on my eardrums count for anything, and traveling like a bat out of Hades. Weather's delaying us, I guess, huh? Maybe it is. It's awfully bumpy, isn't it? Yes, a little. Makes you gasp for breath in your stomach. That was a bad one. Not getting air sick, are you? I don't think so. I wish I had some of that chewing gum they gave you. A ring for the air hostess. She'll bring you some. I did ring the bell, Fred, and there's no answer. Oh, she's busy in the pantry back there, that's all. She doesn't hear you. Here, I'll get you some gum. No, no, wait. I'll go. Sure you're all right. I want a part of my nose anyway. Besides, you're going to have company. Our Mr. Shepherd is weaving along this aisle as though he didn't like air pockets either. Well, thank the Lord, one of that party's a wake-up there. I thought they were all dead. Don't say that. Say what? Dead. A spooky plane with everything so quiet and dead itself. Remember how the pilot walked through a while ago and looked around and walked right back to the control cabinet? I didn't notice him. It was like a ghost. I'll be right back. I say, Commander Anzor. Yes, Mr. Shepherd? Uh, mind if I sit down? Not at all. Go ahead. Fact is, Commander, I want to apologize. No, that's all right. Forget it. I'm not such an ill-mannered guy. I must have sounded. It's no joke, you know, taking care of the chief. I've got to go ahead like a cyclone so that everything would be quiet when he gets there. And it's a great responsibility, too. I can imagine. I go on these long trips. There's the chief half asleep and O'Reilly reading detective magazines and coin with his mouth organ. Doesn't that mouth organ bother the old boy? No, he likes it. Especially when Cohen plays the old square dances. Chief's a great man in his way. I was just wondering about that. Wondering what? Is it true... Stop me if I'm talking out of turn. Go ahead. We can trust the Navy. Is it true he's offered to design and build at his own expense a fleet of underwater cargo boats, submersible freighters, up to 5,000 or 6,000 tons, that are due away with the submarine menace altogether? Where did you hear that? It's a rumor. Is it true? Yes, it's true enough. You see, Mr. Shepard, I'm one of the few people who believe that that plan is practical. But there must be a lot of people who would like to see Mr. Naylor put out of the way. There are, Commander. Only they can't get at him. You're quite sure of that? Dead sure. Hitler himself isn't better guarded. Why, you could no more shoot poison the chief than you could... What is that? What happened? Monica! Is anything wrong? It's all right, sir. It's only a noise in the pantry. We'll see to it. Monica! Monica, pull yourself together. What's wrong? That air host is Miss Lee. Well, what about her? She's lying back in the pantry among the broken dishes with her head all over blood. Somebody beat her over the head and left her there to die. Somebody? Yes. But nobody's gone back to the pantry. Nobody's gone past the success... Except the pilot, the copilot of this plane, remember? Excuse me, Mr. Shepard. I'm going to open the curtains on that window. Do you think it's wise, Commander? We were told not to. No, we were told a lot of things. I'll just take the responsibility of... Good Lord! There, there, Monica. Mr. Naylor, Mr. Naylor! Yes, son? What's up? Draw the curtain on your window and take a look down. If O'Reilly and Cohen have got guns, they better keep them handy. Yes, sir. So, now, why? Because we're not flying west. We're over the Atlantic Ocean now and headed straight out to sea. Gray water, thin clouds, must be miles and miles away from land. We are miles away from land. Does anybody here know anything about First Aid? I do, Commander. I started medicine the old days. Then you better go back and look after the hostess. You join Mr. Naylor. Steady, Monica. I'm all right. It's this horrible blind feeling, that's all. Air pocket, look out! See you, Commander. We're over the ocean. What the devil's going on here, eh? You are being kidnapped, Mr. Naylor. That's my guess. Kidnapped, did you say? Ah, come off it, Commander. We ain't as dumb as that. The pilot and the co-pilot of this plane are fakes. They've replaced the real officer. On a dark day like this, with their raincoat colors turned up, they could have gotten away with it. And hijacked us straight off the airfield. Is that it? Yes, I'm afraid so. The hostess must have spotted one of them and knocked her out. Then what about the airport? Wouldn't they know what the plane was missing? Well, not until we failed to show up at Philadelphia. The pilot would report by radio telephone about 15 minutes out of New York. But after that, silence. Excuse me, Commander. You say these two fake pilots are still aboard in that compartment there with the closed doors? Yes, that's right. Well, what are we waiting for, Corn? Do we get to work on them? You said it, Bonnie. Wait a minute. Wait a minute, both of them. You wouldn't be trying to stop us, would you, Commander? The one thing we don't want is a gunfight 12,000 feet up. Can any of you fly a plane? No, not one of us. So if anything happens to those two pilots, how are we going to get down? I see, young fellow. Well, what are you going to do? First of all, we'll try wrapping on the door. Have your gun ready. You can count on that, sir. Fred, Fred, listen to me. Be quiet, Monica. Has this anything to do with the scrap of paper you picked up off the floor? What scrap of paper do I have? Never mind, sir. By this door, it's unlocked. Unlocked. Now, don't take any full chances, young fellow. The way I always did when I was your age. Stand to one side when you open that door. The colonel will rightly take care of it. Good Lord. Well, the control cabin is empty. There's nobody at the controls. We're flying without a pilot? Yes. See that stick move back and forth? As though a ghost had hold of it? What did those crooks do? They set the automatic controls. It's a gyroscope attachment that keeps her steady. And then they must have bailed out. And what's going to happen to us? Well, you see, Monica, the fact is... Go on, Fred. Tell me the truth. I'll know if you don't. Well, we'll go on until our gas runs out or until the storm hits us. Then we'll dive into the sea. It's a good way of killing Mr. Naylor, as any. I see, son. Have we got any chance at all? Frankly, I don't know. Where do I get a look inside of that control cabin? Oh, remover there. So then, stop it. Stop it! Yeah, Mr. Naylor? Stop paying that infernal mouth organ. Well, if you must play it, play something cheerful. Yes, sure, Mr. Naylor, sure. How long do you think it'll be before... Quiet, Colin! Here's the commander back again. Well, young fella, the radio telephone's out of order. We can't signal. Fred, what about those patrol ships? You said they're 200 miles out to watch for unidentified aircraft. Won't they see us? They've seen us already, I expect. They'll send for an army fighter plane to investigate, but what can it do? Yeah, shoot us down, maybe, huh? That's fine. If only somebody could fly the plane. Well, nobody can skip us, so think of something else. See, Mr. Naylor, I was wrong. Wrong, son, about what? One of your party, and I can guess which one, dropped a torn piece of paper. There was a line of writing on it, probably the end of some instructions. Well? Those instructions ended, you should land just as your fuel fails at 7 o'clock a.m. You should land just as your fuel fails at 7 o'clock a.m. But that might not have anything to do with the sun. What made you suspicious of it? Because it was written in German. In German? Quiet, Cohen, I can't hear myself think. Okay, okay, Mr. Naylor, I'm sorry. I thought the fake pilots were kidnapping you, maybe abroad. There's not enough fuel for that, is there? Well, if there's enough fuel for Los Angeles, then there's enough for Europe. Well, that won't work. They bailed out and left us to crash. Excuse me, sir, but it's getting black as pitch out there. I think there's a storm coming up. What happens when that hits us? That hits us. Plenty, O'Reilly. Plenty. Yeah, well, I was afraid of that. If only somebody could fly this plane, I could navigate it. Navigate it? Yes. You have to learn aerial navigation in my business. You have enough figuring. I might even set a new course and try the automatic controls on it. No, I don't dare handle the ship. Wait a minute. I know a way out of this. Well, then speak up, Mrs. A 90-mile wind gonna hit us any minute. The air hostess, of course. Miss Lee, what about her? I remember reading somewhere that most air hostesses get flying instructions when they've been with the company for, well, a given length of time. You know, Miss Vale, that's true. There was a girl of interairways who told me the same thing. And if this one can even make a try at landing a plane, we may get back to New York yet. I thought you said she'd been knocked out. She is, and badly hurt, but there's just a chance that maybe she's... There's Shepard coming back from the pantry. Anybody got a drink? It wasn't very pleasant back there. How is she? You know, we were just wondering if Miss Lee might be in any shape to pilot the plane. Pilot the plane? Why in blazes should she pilot the plane? There's no time to explain now, Shepard. But we're bound for David Jones unless something's done. Couldn't she do it? No. Not even if we, uh, revived her? Not of all the doctors on Earth stood at her side. Why, but I... I don't think you understand, sir. Miss Lee has just died. Singing of wind above the clouds, then storm with a white eye of lightning at the windows, losing height, gaining it again, blown off her blind course, flung partway back again, always racing forward on a flight to nowhere. Late afternoon, evening, night, the steady throbbing of motors like a pulse beat inside the head. Towards morning, the storm dies away. In that dim cabin, there is exhaustion of nerves. The hands of the clock stand at a quarter of two in the morning. Monica? Monica? Wake up. What? It's Fred. I'll keep your voice down. Yes, for a couple of hours. They say condemned criminals sleep on the night before their execution. Where are the others? They're counting down. The father used to say to me, where are you, Riley, to see? Did you ever see a band chief? A band chief, to see? Is the old woman to let you know when you're gonna die? Right down you two. I'm sorry, Mr. Neal. No offense, chief. And the man play a quiet game of solitaire without somebody gapping all the time? Like nine on red dead. Listen, Monica, and listen carefully. My first idea was right after all. What are you talking about? There's somebody aboard this ship who can fly a plane. There is. I proved it by the automatic controls. How? If those controls had stayed as they originally were, the sidewinds would have blown us clear off our course. But we're still on our course. That shows that somebody's been sneaking in there and setting us right again when we do stray. And you mean... I mean, we're headed for somewhere. We're being taken somewhere. But we may outwit this gentleman yet. Out with who? Are you talking back there? I'm sorry, Mr. Neal, our Monica's just waked up. None of us can feel very much like sleeping anyway. You're all right, son. I admit it. Come up here and join me, will it? With pleasure. Chief, we're serving this twice in this card game. But I still can't make it come out. Oh, what's the use pretending anyway? We know we're in for it. It's this waiting that gets you. Yeah. Yeah, that goes for all of us, Mr. Neal. What I'm dreading is... is the minute when those motors choke and go dead and we start whirling down. Down. Down. What does it sound like, Commander, when... when motors conk out? I've never heard it, Mr. Neal, but I imagine it sounds like... Listen. I imagine it sounds like that. We're losing height. I could feel it. Well, Colin, I guess this is the payoff. Yeah, you said it. Look here, Mr. Neal, we can't be out of fuel. It's too early. Look at the clock. It's only five minutes to two o'clock. I beg your pardon, old man. It's five minutes to seven o'clock. Seven o'clock? Are you crazy? No. Haven't you forgotten the cross ocean changes in time? By George the Commander's right. European time is five hours ahead of our time. You don't believe me? Just notice that it's getting daylight outside. I was thinking of that message. You should land just as your fuel fails at seven o'clock a.m. Stand perfectly still, all of you. Eh, what's got into little, large, heartless eyes? I'll show you what's got into me, my friend. Yes, I rather thought you would. I shall go into that control cabin. Follow me if you like. I shall sit down at the controls and I shall bring this plane safely to the ground. Safety to the ground? Where? In Germany, of course. Germany? Don't pull a gun, Colin. If you plug him, we're all done for. That is good advice, Mr. Colin. I might add that we're getting closer to the ground every minute. For the love of... do I take control? Yes, go ahead, but we're following you. Follow by all means. All right, let's get comfortable here. I take up my position, so... There's fog below, can you see? Well enough, Miss V. Well enough. We must go down rather quickly. And I can't help if it's somewhat rough on your ear. Fine, what's the idea? The idea, dear Peter, is to bring you and your plans for a submarine freighter to a country which will appreciate them. Then those two fake pilots? They were colleagues of mine. Unfortunately, if they had remained, your plug-uglies would have started a gunfight, and none of us might have got him. Well... So they left by parachute. And I brought you safely without blood or toil into the boundaries of the Third Reich. You're going down too fast, man, or take it easy. I'm perfectly in command, thank you. Look out! The trees! They're coming straight up at us! Are you all right, Monica? Are you all right? Yes. Only a bit shaken up. We're all okay here, Skipper. Shall I give this guy the works now before they come to get us? No, don't shoot. Let him alone. That also is good advice. And now, my friends, my mission has ended. I stand up on the pilot's chair. I throw open this glass hatch. And to all Germany, to all the world, I cry. This is not a stolen plane. In terms of land on the field, number 21. Heil Hitler! So strike me blind and pertain to another one. Yes, first through Daltes and all this bloke. What do you suppose they want over here? English. Why are you speaking English? Why, Kotlin? It's an even abacus we've gotten this country. This isn't England. Oh, yes it is. Better climb out of here with your hands up. But it can't be. I followed the course laid down on those instruments. Unfortunately, old man, I altered our course last night. Keep back, Shepard, or you may get a bullet in the head yet. Your instructions were all right, but they didn't tell you about the five hours difference in time. When we got to the right navigation point, I let the fuel out of the tanks and made you think we were landing in Germany. You know, there's nothing like having a good Nazi for a taxi driver, is there? And so ends death flies blind, suffering Richard Dix with Gale Page and Montague Love, tonight's tale of suspense. This is your narrator, the man in black, who conveys to you Columbia's invitation to spend this half hour in suspense with us again next Tuesday, same time when Mr. Paul Lucas will star in the suspense play called Mr. Markham, antique dealer. Ladies and gentlemen, on the following Tuesday, May 18th, Mr. Charles Lawton and Ms. Elsa Lanchester will be with us in one of the most famous of Agatha Christie's thrillers, the ABC Murders. Williams Spear, the producer, Ted Bliss director, Lud Bluskin and Lucian Mahuic, the conductor and composer, and John Dixon Carr, the author, collaborated on tonight's suspense. This was the Columbia Broadcasting System.