 Suspense! Tonight Suspense brings you an all-star cast of Hollywood's finest radio players in 100 in the Dark. But first, wherever hospitality is a gracious art and entertaining is the last word in luxury, the first name in wines is C-R-E-S-T-A, B-L-A-N-C-A, Cresta Blanca Cresta Blanca Yes, that's Cresta Blanca wines, a symbol of perfect taste, of gracious living. To pay your guests a sincere compliment, distinguish your holiday dining by serving a fine Cresta Blanca California burgundy or sautern. When you pour these proud Cresta Blanca wines from the finest of the vines, you enjoy the best. Shenle's Cresta Blanca wine company, Livermore, California. And now, Shenle brings you Radio's outstanding theater of thrill. Suspense! Presented by Roma Wines, that's R-O-M-A, Roma Wines for your enjoyment. Tonight, Roma Wines of Fresno, California presents 100 in the Dark, a study in suspense, produced, edited and directed for Shenle by William Spear. Oh, that was a fine meal. Me for the club any time. Yeah, we can all sit here, Quinnie. Oh, yes. You just drop that chair for Mr. Peters. Hey, well, Mr. Peters. Thank you. You all know Peters? This is Mr. Steinjahr. How you do, Peters? I don't know you. Mr. the Guardian. I believe we've met. Oh, you know each other. And the one who just drove your chair, Mr. Rankin. Oh, all right, thanks for the chair. Well, I guess we're all acquainted. Ah, now, to get back to our table discussion, Quinnie. Oh, yes, yes. But how about some coffee? All of us, eh? All right, all right. Oh, John, John. Well, now, Steinjahr, as I said, there are only a half dozen stories in the world. Now, what is more to the point? There's every... Yes, sir. Oh, yes, yes. Coffee, John. Anything else, anybody? No. No, I'll just have some coffee. Yes, sir. Now, let me see. Where was I? Oh, yes, yes, yes. Human relations are so simple and yet so fundamental that they can be eternally played upon, redressed, and reinterpreted in every language, in every age. They remain inexhaustible in the possibility of variations. Well, that's true, of course, yeah. That's very possible. Well, now, you take the eternal triangle, two men and a woman, or two women and a man. Its variations extend into the thousands. And, right, Rankin? In a way. In a way, sir. Oh, good, John. Yes, yes. Just sit them right down there, please. I'm afraid we can't see eye to eye, Quinny. I don't know. I believe there are situations, original situations, that are independent of your human emotions, that exist just because they are situations, accidental and nothing else. As for instance. Well, I... I can cite an ordinary one that happens to come to my mind. Yeah. Now, in a group of five men, such as we are here, a theft takes place. One man is the thief. Which one? Well, now, I should say... Yeah, but now, I'd like to know what emotion that interprets, and yet it certainly isn't original theme. It's at the bottom of the whole literature. Oh, not the same thing at all. I could answer the situation you give can be traced back to the commonest of human emotions. Curiosity. Yeah, I think Quinny has you there, Rankin. Why, the whole art of a detective story consists in this statement of the problem. Why, anyone can do it. I can do it. Steingall can do it. Oh, no, I don't... I don't believe even you can do it. Very generous of you. The solution doesn't count. It's usually banal. It should be prohibited. What interests us is, can we guess it? Yes, I suppose that's true. Every crime expresses itself in the terms of the picture puzzle that you feed your six-year-old. It's only the variation that's interesting. Well, the well-known instance of the visitor at the club and the rare coin, for example. Of course, you all know that one. No, I don't. Oh, well, it's very well known. Seems a distinguished visitor is brought into a club. Dozen men say, president, dinner, long table, you know. Conversation finally veers round to curiosities and relics. One of the members then takes from his pocket what he announces is one of the rarest coins in existence. Passes it around the table. Well, the coin travels back and forth. Everyone examines it. And the conversation goes to another topic. Oh, say the influence of the automobile on civilian life or some such intellectual club topic, you know. Well, all at once the owner calls for his coin. And it's nowhere to be found. Ah, yes. Everyone looks at everyone else. First they suspect a joke. Well, then it becomes serious. The coin is immensely valuable now, mind you. Who has taken it? The owner's a gentleman. He does the correct idiotic thing, of course, laughs. Says he knows someone's playing a practical joke on him that the coin will be returned tomorrow. Well, the others refuse to leave the situation so. One man proposes they all submit to a search. Everyone gives his consent till it comes to the stranger. I refuse to allow my person to be searched, says he. Very firm, very proud, very English. And I refuse to give the reason for my action. Well, there's another silence. The men eye him and then glance at one another. What's to be done? Nothing. There is etiquette. That's that magnificent inflated balloon. The visitor evidently has the coin, but she is their guest and etiquette protects him. It's a nice situation, eh? The table's cleared. A waiter removes a dish of fruit. And there under the ledge of the plate, where it had been pushed, is the coin. Well, that's not the way I heard it. Then now explanation. Yes, of course, of course, of course. Solutions always should be. But at once everyone is profuse with apologies. Whereupon the visitor rises and says, now, gentlemen, I can give you the reason for my refusal to be searched. There are only two known specimens of the coin in existence, and the second happens to be here in my best pocket. Of course, the story is well invented, but the turn to it's very nice. It's very nice indeed. Yes, well, I knew that story. The ending, though, it's too obvious to be invented. The visitor should have had on him not another coin, but something absolutely different. Something destructive, say, of a woman's reputation. And a great tragedy should have been threatened by the casual misplacing of the coin. Don't you think so? Well, I've heard the same story told in a dozen different ways. Oh, it's happened a hundred times. It must be continually happening. I know one extraordinary instance. In fact, the most extraordinary instance of the sort I've ever heard. Why beat it, you rascal! I see you've quietly been letting us dress the stage for you. It's not a story that will please everybody. Why not? Because you'll all want to know what no one can ever know. Oh, there's no conclusion, then. Yes and no. As far as it concerns a woman, however, quite the most remarkable woman I've ever met, the story is complete. My heart concerns a woman. A woman. And a crime. A crime of thievery, such as we've been discussing. A crime of thievery, yes. Quite a story. I think, yes, I have just time before I catch my train to tell it to you. For Suspense, Roma Wines are bringing you 100 in the dark. Roma Wines' presentation tonight in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills, Suspense. Suspense, Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills is presented by Roma Wines. That's R-O-M-A, Roma Wines, selected for better taste. From the world's greatest reserves of fine wines. Next week, Americans everywhere will celebrate Thanksgiving. And in millions of homes, families and friends will give a toast of thankfulness with better tasting Roma California wines. That's because Roma Wines are America's favorite wines for festive occasions, as well as everyday enjoyment. So glorify the flavor of your turkey with gold and hue, delicate Roma Saturn. Or enjoy robust, full-bodied Roma Burgundy, the perfect flavor mate of your favorite roast. No matter what you're planning for Thanksgiving dinner, there's a fine Roma wine to make every morsel at taste delight. Remember, because Roma Wines taste better, more Americans enjoy Roma, that's R-O-M-A, Roma Wines, than any other wines. And now, Roma Wines bring us back to the Artists and Writers Club, where five club members regaling themselves over after-dinner coffee are settling down to hear a story told by a guest, a certain Mr. Peters. His is a narrative well-calculated to keep his listeners in suspense. Before I start, I wonder would you ask the... John, I believe... Oh, John, yes, yes. John, John, come here. Yes, gentlemen. John, I have a train to catch. Would you be good enough to get me out of here in exactly 15 minutes? In 15 minutes, sir. Thank you. Well, you have our attention, Peters. It concerns a woman. Do I know the woman? Possibly. Uh, probably, I should say, but no more than anybody else. Oh, an actress. Well, what she's been in the past, I don't know. A promoter, I suppose, a better describer, a very feminine woman, and yet, as you shall see, with an unusual, instantaneous, masculine power of decision. Oh, Peters, you're destroying a story. Your preface will bring an anticlamax. Well, you shall be the judge. Of course, it should be particularly interesting to you, because I believe most of you are acquainted with the people involved. The names are, of course, disguises. All right. Mrs., uh, well, uh... Mrs. Rita Kildare inhabited a charming bachelor girl's studio, very elegant of the duplex pattern, in one of the buildings just off Central Park West. She, uh, knew pretty nearly everybody in that indescribable society in New York that's drawn from all levels and poses but one condition for membership, and that is to be amusing. That's a good phrase there. She, uh, had a certain amount of money. She knew a certain number of men in Wall Street Affairs, and her studio was furnished with taste and even distinction. She was of any age. She might have suffered everything or nothing at all. In this mingled society, her invitations were eagerly sought, her dinners were spontaneous, and the discussions, though gay and usually daring, were invariably under the control of wit and good taste. On the Sunday night of this adventure, she had, according to her invariable customs, sent away her Filipino butler and invited to an informal chafing dish supper seven of her more congenial friends. At seven o'clock, having finished dressing, she put an order her bedroom, which formed a sort of free passage between the studio and a small dining room with a kitchen beyond. Then, going into the studio, she struck a match and was about to light the candlesticks, which illuminated the room. When the bell rang and a Mr. Flanders, uh, broker, compact, nervously alive, well groomed, was waiting as she opened the door. Well, you're early. On the contrary, dear lady, you are late. Well, in any case, hello, and come on inside. Here, let me, let me take your thing. Uh, thank you. I'm the first, I suppose. Well, of course. And since you are, you can be a very good boy and help me light these candles. Delighted. Who's to be here tonight? Oh, the, the inners, Jacksons. Oh, I thought they were separated. Not yet. How interesting. Only you, dear lady, would dream of serving us a couple on the verge. It is interesting, isn't it? Assuredly. Where did you know Jackson? Oh, through the wearings. Jacksons are rather, uh, well, doubtful person, isn't he? Let's call him a very sharp lawyer. Oh. They tell me, though, he's been gambling pretty much. Indeed. And how about yourself? Who, me? I'm a bachelor and if I lose my shirt, it makes no difference. Is that possible? Probably even. Who else is coming? Well, uh, Maud Lyall, you know her. I don't think so. Oh, you do too? You met her here some time ago, a journalist. Oh, yes, yes. I'd forgotten. And, uh, Mr. Harris, a clubman is coming. And the Stanley Chievers. Stanley Chievers? Mm-hmm. Are we going to gamble? Well, don't tell me you object. That is certainly not. Only the Chievers, they play quite a game. Well united and they have an unusual streak of good luck. By the way, it's Jackson, isn't it, who is so attractive to Mrs. Chievers? Quite right. Oh, what a charming party. And where does Maud Lyall come in? Oh, don't joke. She's in a desperate way. Mm-hmm. And young Harris? Oh, he's to make the salad and cream the chicken. Mm, I see. I see the whole party. I, of course, am to add the element of respectability. Of what? I apologize. Yes, that's better. No one, of course, knows who's coming. No one, of course. The, uh, Stanley Chievers entered a short fat man with a vacant fat face and a slow moving eye. And his wife, body-able, nervous, overdressed and pretty. Uh, Mr., uh, yes, Mr. Harris came with, uh, Maud Lyall, a woman, straight, dark, Indian with great masses of somber hair, thick, quick lips and eyes that rolled away from the person who was talking to her. The Enos Jacksons were late and still agitated as they entered. His forehead had not quite banished the scowl nor her eyes the scorn. He was the type that never lost his temper but caused others to lose theirs. Mrs. Jackson seemed fastened to her husband by an invisible leash. You looked at her curiously and wondered what such a nature would do in a crisis with a lurking sense of a woman who carried with her her own impending tragedy. As soon as the company had been completed and the incongruity of the selection had been perceived, a smile of malicious anticipation ran the rounds, which the hostess cut short. Well, now, now that everyone is here, this is the order of the night. Now, you can quarrel all you want. You can whisper all the gossip you can think of about one another, but, but everyone is to be amusing. And also, also everyone is to help with the dinner. Nothing formal and nothing serious. We may all be bankrupt tomorrow, divorced or dead. But tonight, tonight we will be gay. That's the invariable rule of this house. All right? And as for me, me for the cooking apron, Harris, Harris, please, you go to the kitchen and bring in the order. Right, your honor. May I be of any help? Oh, thank you, Maude, darling. Of course, Mrs. Cheever. Yes, dear. You might come along, too. Oh, come on. You can come in. Hey, tell us. Now, oh, darling, Maude. Yes. Please, tie me up in back, will you? Oh. There you are. Fine. Now, to get these rings off, soap and water. All these things to do it's a... Ooh. There we are. Your rings are so beautiful. We like them. Thank you so much. They're very nice. There's only one there that's very valuable. The sapphire. It's beautiful. Let me see. Oh. It must be very fennel. Mm, it cost 10,000 six years ago. It's been my talisman ever since. For the moment, however, I am cook. Well, are you going to leave the rings out like that? Of course, silly. Temptation. Oh. Now, I am the cook. Maude Lyle, you are the scullery maid. Harris is the chef, and we're under his orders. Mrs. Chiefers, did you ever feel onions? Good heavens, no. Well, there are no onions to peel. All you'll have to do is help set the table. Under their hostess's gay guidance, the seven guests began to circulate busily through the rooms, laying the table, grouping the chairs, arranging the flowers, and preparing the material for the chafing dishes. Mrs. Kildare in the kitchen ransacked the icebox and, with her own hands, shredded the chicken and measured the cream. Landis! Landis! Now, you carry this in carefully, mind you. I'll guard it with my life. Oh, good boy. Oh, jeavers, stop watching your wife and put that salad bowl on the table. Everything ready, Harris? All set. All right. Everyone now! She went into her bedroom, took off her apron, and hung it in the closet. Then, going to her dressing table, she drew the hatpin around which were her rings from the pin cushion, and carelessly slipped them on her fingers. All at once, she frowned and looked quickly at her hand. Only two rings were there. The third ring, the sapphire, was missing. Stupid. She returned to her dressing table. Immediately, she stopped. She remembered quite clearly putting the hatpin through the three rings. She made no attempt to search further, but remained without moving her fingers slowly drumming on the table. Her head to one side, her lips drawn in a little between her teeth, listening to the frown to the babble from the outer room. Who had taken the ring? Each of her guests had had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time that she'd been busy in the kitchen. Too much time before the mirror, dear lady. Well, it's not blanders. Then she reconsidered. Well, why not, though? He's clever. Who knows? Oh, I've got to think. To gain time, she walked back slowly to the kitchen. Her head bowed and thought her thumb between her teeth. Oh, you on earth are taking them. She ran over the characters of her guests and their situations as she knew them. Strangely enough, at each, her mind stopped upon some reason that might explain a sudden temptation. Oh, well, I'll find out nothing this way. That's not the important thing to be just knowing about. The important thing is to get that written back. And slowly, deliberately, she began to walk back and forth, her clenched hand beating the deliberate rhythmic measure of her journey. Five minutes later, as Harris installed his chef over the chafing dish, was giving directions, spooning the air, Mrs. Kildare came into the room like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been made with scarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it at the same moment to the little nervous start. Heavens, dear lady. You came in on us like a Greek tragedy. What is it you have for us? A surprise? I have... I have something to say. Mr. Enos Jackson. Yes, Mrs. Kildare. Kindly do as I ask you. Certainly. Go to the door. Go to the door. Please. Lock it. Lock it and bring me the key. Well, we're going to the game. All right, here you are. Thank you. Now the bedroom door. Would you do the same thing? Of course. It's a new game. Thank you, Mr. Jackson. Mr. Cheever. Yes? Would you blow out all the candles, except the candelabrum on the table? Blow out all the candles? Except the candelabrum. For goodness' sakes, Mrs. Kildare, what is it? I'm getting terribly worked up. Mod Lyle. Yes? Put the candelabrum on this table. Here. Oh, no, no, wait a minute, please. Mr. Jackson. Yes? First, clear off the table. I want nothing on it. But, Mrs. Kildare... That's it. Now put down the candelabrum. That's the last candle. All right. Now listen. My sapphire ring has just been stolen. Oh, you're joking. What do you mean? No, the ring has been taken over the last 20 minutes. I'm not going to mince words. The ring has been taken and the thief is among you. Stolen? But, Mrs. Kildare, is it possible? Absolutely, Mrs. Cheever. There's not the slightest doubt. Three of you were in my bedroom when I placed my rings in the pincushion. Each of you has passed through there a dozen times since. My sapphire ring is gone, and one of you has taken it. Well, that's quite true. I was in the room when she took them off. The sapphire ring was on top. Now listen. I'm not going to mince words. I'm not going to stand on ceremony. I'm going to have that ring back. Now, my dear lady. Listen to me. I'm going to have that ring back, and until I do, not a soul shall leave this room. I don't care who's taken it. All I want is my ring. Now I'm going to make it possible for whoever took it to restore it without possibility of detection. The doors are locked and they'll stay locked. I am going to blow out the remaining candles in the candelabra, and I am going to count to 100 slowly. You'll be in absolute darkness. No one will know or see what is done, but if at the end of that time the ring is not here on this table, I shall telephone the police and have everyone in this room searched. Am I quite clear? Everyone take his place about the table, please. That's it. I will do very nicely. Now I will blow out the candles and count 100. No more, no less. Remember, either I get that ring, or everyone in this room will be searched. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40. 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50. What was that? 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60. 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70. 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78. 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100. Mr. Cheever, Mr. Cheever, you may give it to me. Well, well, now that that's over, we can have a very gay little supper. Harris, will you help me light these candles, please? There you are, gentlemen. Well, I say, Peter's old boy, that's not all. Absolutely. You mean the story ends there? The story ends there. But who took the ring? What, it was never found out? Never. No clue? None. I'm not sure I like the story. It's not a story at all. Permit me, it is a story, and it is complete. In fact, I consider it unique because it has none of the binalities of a solution and leaves the problem even more confused than at the start. Yeah, well, I don't see. Oh, of course you don't, my dear Anken. You do not see that any solution would be commonplace, whereas no solution leaves a true intellectual problem. How so? Well, now, observe. Now, each person present might have taken the ring. There was Flanders, a broker, just come a cropper, Maud Lyle, a woman on the ragged side of life in desperate means. Either Mr. and Mrs. Cheever suspected of being card shops, by the way, a very good touch, that too, Peter's. Mr. Innes Jackson, a sharp lawyer, or his wife, about to be divorced, even Harris, concerning whom very cleverly, Peter's has said absolutely nothing to make him quite the most suspicious of all. There are therefore seven solutions, all possible and all logical. But beyond this is left a great intellectual problem. How so? Well, was it a feminine or a masculine action to restore the ring when threatened with a search, knowing that Mrs. Kildare's clever expedient of throwing the room into darkness made detection impossible? Was it a woman who lacked the necessary courage to continue, or was it a man who repented his first impulse? Is a man or is a woman the greater natural criminal? That's simple, Quinnie. A woman took it, of course. On the contrary, it was a man. For the second action was more difficult than the first. Oh, man, certainly, the restoration of the ring was a logical decision. Yeah. I recognize most of those characters, Peter's. Mrs. Kildare, of course, is, all of you say, an extraordinary woman. The story is quite characteristic of her. Klanders, I'm not so sure of, but I think I know him too. I'm positive, I do. Did it really happen? Exactly as I've told it. The only one I don't recognize is Harris. You're a humble servant. What? You, Peter's, you were there. I was there. Pardon me, gentlemen. What is it, John? What is it? Mr. Peter's, sir, your train. You told me to remind you, sir. Oh, thank you. Thank you. I didn't know it was so late. Well, are you gentlemen pardoning me? Oh, certainly, sir. Yes, of course. Yes. Nice to have met you all. Hmm. Curious chap. Extraordinary. Now, uh, I wonder, I wonder if we're wondering the same thing, gentlemen. And so closes 100 in the dark. Peters was played by Howard Duff and the other club members were Joseph Kearns, Frank Albertson, John McIntyre, Dick Ryan, and Horace Willard. Teresa Marshall was Rita Kildare, and at her party were Jeanette Nolan, Wally Mayer, Mary Jane Croft, Jerry Hausner, and Grace Gillan. Tonight's study in suspense, presented by Roma Wines. That's R-O-M-A. Roma Wines, America's favorite wines. If you could see how Roma California wines are grown, you'd understand why they are America's favorite wines. First, you'd see how Roma selects and presses only the choicest grapes. Then, how Roma master ventures with ancient skills and unmatched wine making resources, guide this luscious grape goodness unhurriedly to tempting perfection. Finally, these better tasting Roma wines are placed with other mellow Roma wines to await later selection for your enjoyment from the world's greatest reserves of fine wines. This is Truman Bradley with a suggestion for making your Thanksgiving dinner even more enjoyable. Top off the meal with glasses of fruity Roma port. Roma port is a truly distinguished entertainment wine, ruby red, full bodied, clear as a bell. Be sure to ask for Roma. That's R-O-M-A. Roma Wines, America's largest selling wines. Thank you. Tonight's Suspense Radio Play was adapted by Jack Fink from a short story by Owen Johnson. Suspense. Produced and directed by William Spear for the Roma Wine Company of Fresno, California. This is CBS The Columbia Broadcasting System.