 Don't be too sure about that Wentworth. What do you mean? Don't forget that skeleton there. He was once a man, too Until he was trapped in here or murdered. What of it? Oh, nothing. Nothing except this. Midnight. The witching hour won that night his darkest. Our fear is the strongest and our strength at its lowest end. Midnight. When the gravescape open and death strikes. How? You'll learn the answer in just a minute then. The line is dead. And now, murder at midnight. Tales of mystery and terror by radius masters of the macabre. Our story by Bate Blau is, the line is dead. The gash in the green lawn of Brookside Memorial Park awaits the body of Albert Lockridge, scientist and explorer. There are few who have followed him to his last resting place, for Albert Lockridge was not one who was prodigal with his affection. And so, beside the yawning grave, stands his wife, Lenore. Albert. Finishing the short service, the minister says, And so, unto dust, you are now committed. You may lower the casket. Strong hands grasp the straps attached to the coffin. The pulleys sing their discordant dirt. A strange melody, hurried over the soft weeping of Lenore Lockridge. Suddenly... Let's knocking. Knocking at the coffin. Albert! Albert! Raise the casket! Raise the casket! Yes, sir. It's all right, isn't he, Dr. George? He seems to be, but... But what? Well, you can't play me if I'm a little hesitant in giving my opinion. You mean you're not sure that he'll... that he will? Yes. Oh. After all, Mrs. Lockridge, my position is a little awkward. I signed the death certificate, feeling certain that your husband was dead. And now I'm naturally reluctant to predict just what course his convalescence will take. I think I understand. The only thing that really matters is that my husband's lying in his bed at home and not in the cold, black earth of Brookside. Isn't that true? You're a very sensible woman. Albert will get better. Probably, but we'll have to watch his heart. His heart? These strange spells when his heart seems to stop, when I thought it had stopped. Each attack is an added strain. But the strain of regaining consciousness in the coffin he withstood that with even a healthy person might not have. He's a hard person to kill. Oh, thank goodness for that. Well, this time it was a pretty close call. If he'd come to even ten minutes later, Mrs. Lockridge, no one would have ever known. Is that you? Albert, the doctor says you'll be fine if you'll only rest. I can't rest. I've got to ask you a question. Dear, you've been through so much, too much for any one person, so save any questions you may have. No, this question can't wait. That sealed envelope, Lenore. The one in my desk. The one I'm supposed to read after your... Yes, yes, after I'm dead. Lenore? Lenore, you haven't read it. Have you? No. No, Albert. I'd plan to read it after the funeral, just as you told me to. Sure. You haven't read it? Of course. Forget it for me. I want to see for myself. Albert, no, you've so little strength. But I must know. You will? I must know now. Because if you read it, I'd want to live. Albert, I swear, I swear I haven't. Please believe me. You saw it? No. Look at me. You can see I'm telling the truth. Look at me. Yes. Yes, I think you are telling the truth. Thank you. Mr. Lockridge, another few days and we'll have you out of that wheelchair. Sometimes I wonder why you go to all this trouble with me, doctor. It's my job. Yes. But there's so many people who really enjoy life and yet die. Twice now I've been pronounced dead, only to return to life, almost reluctantly. Reluctantly? Yes. You tried awfully hard to get out of the coffin. The sheer horror of being buried alive. I've always been terrified of it. Since childhood? Yes. My nurse locked me in a closet whenever I misbehaved. I always thought I'd be left to die there. Oh, it's not the fact of being death that bothers me. It's the fear of being buried alive. It's the choking, the futility of crying out. It would be a horrible way to die, but... Excuse me, doctor. There's a Mr. Burton here to see you, Mr. Lockridge. Good. Show him a nurse. Nurse, take our patient out on the Sun Forge. I'll send his visitor there. Lockridge? Sadam, Mr. Burton. Thank you. Nurse, if you don't mind... Not at all. If you need me, just call. Now, Mr. Burton, as I understand your business... I'm a telephone engineer, specializing in special types of telephone systems. Yeah. Perhaps you read about me in the paper. Yeah, sure I have. You're the guy who came back from the grave. Yeah, I'm the guy who came back from the grave. And it strikes me, Mr. Burton, that an occasion might again arise when I might want to do the same thing. That's why I called you. Come again? Sometime, a doctor again may pronounce me dead. Perhaps I will be, perhaps I won't. And if I'm not, I'd like to feel that I could call for help. I don't get it. Mr. Burton, in case it should happen again, I'd like you to install a private telephone from this house to my grave. Or you must promise to keep the phone installed and in working condition for a year after I'm buried. A year? Darling, that doesn't make any sense. Will it stop and go? Hard of mine doesn't make any sense, either. But, Albert, a year... The first time, my heart stopped for six hours. The next time, nearly two days. Who can tell? Well, a week, a month, perhaps. I think I'm asking very little. Well, then think of me, darling. Think of waiting day in and day out for the ring of that telephone. Think of the jumping at every stray bell, at every noise. Darling, you're condemning me to a slow death, like being in a grave above ground. I still think my request is a modest one. And the least that a wife who loved her husband would do for him. Albert, don't start that again. After all, I shall be in my grave. Perhaps. Perhaps I shall be waiting too, waiting for help that will never come. Will you please stop this morbid talk? Nothing else seems to be on your mind lately. Besides, it's terribly late, almost midnight. When death comes to a man slowly, he gets time to think about it. Too much time. Stop it, please. It seems to me that you are only too anxious to get rid of me. Albert, how can you even think such a thing after... I've been a good wife, haven't I? Yes, but you might have made Oliver a Wentworth and even better one. Albert, please, please don't bring that up again. What would have happened if Oliver had come back from that expedition with me? I don't know. You would have married him, wouldn't you? Perhaps. I don't know. How can you say that? You were engaged to him, weren't you? An engagement doesn't always mean marriage. You didn't tend to marry him, didn't you? Of course I did. What of it? You know I intended to. And you only changed your mind because he was killed. That's why you turned towards me. Well... I was nothing in your life. You were very sweet to me, Albert, then. I could see that you loved me in your peculiar way. I appreciated everything you did for me. Appreciate it. Oh, Albert, why dig, dig, dig, looking for a source? But it's not fair to me or to you. I was nothing in your life as long as Oliver was alive. What are you trying to prove? All the time we've spent together, I've played second fiddle to Oliver Wentworth. Look, Albert Lockridge, when we married, I said I'd put all thoughts of Oliver out of my mind while I've done it. At least... At least? At least what? You mean you've tried, but you couldn't. I knew it. I knew it. You've never loved me. He's always been in your heart. What are you talking about? You just said it. If I had died, you would never have given me another thought. But all the time, here, in my own house, he's been living his own memory, haunting you, haunting us. I can't go on like this. I just can't go on. I've struggled with him long enough. Albert! He's got to go. No matter what I have to do to crush his memory. I've got to kill it. I've got... Albert! I've... I've got to kill it. I've got to kill it. Albert! I've got to kill it. Albert! Albert! Albert! Now, slowly. No, I... Slowly? I don't think... I can make it. Of course you can. Of course you can. You've got to... Oh, but I can. I... Sure. Absolutely, Mrs. Lockridge. And this time, the two heart specialists agree with me. But, Doctor, in view of what happened before... We've tried to take that into consideration. But even so... Can't you postpone signing the certificate? I'm sorry, Mrs. Lockridge. My colleagues and I all agree that your husband is dead. There can be no delay. Very well, Doctor. Thank you for everything. Goodbye, Mrs. Lockridge. Goodbye, Doctor. Hello? Mr. Burton? This is Mrs. Lockridge speaking. My husband died yesterday. He's to be buried tomorrow at Brookside. Will you please be there as he desired to... Install a telephone in his grave? A man who was afraid. Not of death, but of being buried alive. A telephone to a sealed grave. And the great beyond. Will we hear from Albert Lockridge again? Before the clock strikes 12 for... Murder! All back to murder at midnight, Anne. The line is dead. One... one minute. Good evening, Mrs. Lockridge. It's awfully nice of you to call. I was worried about you. Oh, I'm all right. I'm fine. I couldn't come to the funeral. I tried to phone you, but... The phone's disconnected. So they said. And so I came over. I rang the bell several times. No answer either. Finally, I knocked. I've had the doorbell disconnected, too. You mustn't cut yourself off from the world like this, Mrs. Lockridge. Believe me, doctor, that's not my intention. As long as I stand guard at this telephone, I want to be sure that the only bell that ever rings in this house is the one that tells me that Albert's not dead, that he's still alive there in his coffin, that he needs help. You're really going through with this? He asked me to. It doesn't seem too much. No, you're only deluding yourself, Mrs. Lockridge. Believe me, waiting this way is only a perverse and completely futile sort of morning. I know you can't understand. I can't. But I do know that this morbid watch will only deepen your grief, prevent you from making any kind of adjustment to his death. What difference does it... You're a young woman, Mrs. Lockridge. You have a whole life ahead of you. All the more reason for spending some of it as he wanted me to. Doctor, my husband was not the sort of person who inspired affection. I know. But in his odd, sometimes unaccountable way, he did love me. Now that he's gone, no one on Earth holds any fond memories of him but me. A heavy responsibility, Mrs. Lockridge. Still, you must take care of yourself. I will, doctor. Assume that he is dead. Mourn him, as you will. But don't live in a state of suspended animation. For instance, if he's left to will, don't put off reading it. There are some papers which I was supposed to read after his death. They're in a sealed envelope in his death. Read them. Read them immediately. No, not yet. You should. Perhaps they'll contain some message of comfort. Get the envelope now. Not now, Dr. George, but very soon. Just a moment. Yes? Oh. Oh. Lenore. Well, no. No, it can't. It is. I know I shouldn't have come just like this without warning. But I thought... I've always thought... That I was dead. Yes, I know. That's what Albert told me, and you never came back. No. Why? It's a long story, Lenore. A story you were to hear. You know that Albert died yesterday? I know. That's why I came. Why didn't you come sooner when he was alive? Were you afraid to meet him? I was afraid to meet you. Me? Why, Oliver? By the time I returned, you and Albert were already married. What even so? We both would have worked. I wonder. You see, I knew you thought I was dead. No good would have come of such a meeting. But now... Now everything is different. Different? Yes, of course. I loved you then. I love you now. Oliver. I've come back for you. Oliver, you don't understand. How can I even think of such things today? Lenore, I had to come. I've waited so long. I couldn't wait a day longer. Can't you see? It's useless even to think about that now. He may still be alive. I know. No, it's not right just because you do not today. I was afraid you'd think so. Lenore, I wanted to avoid this, but now I see I must tell you. Lenore, neither of us knew Albert Lockridge. After all, Oliver, I've lived with him. I still don't think you have a real in you. I never did, even though I worked with him for many years. That is, until the day we stood in the great hall of the old Aztec temple. The temple we found in that last expedition. The one from which I was not supposed to come back from. So we're trying to find a door to an inner chamber. There must be an opening here somewhere we went with. Whenever he has taken a temple ever found, there was always a room near the altar. He used to keep ceremonial objects. I know, I know. Now, wait a minute. It sounds like a little hollow here. Now, what about that slab on the floor? What about it? You think that it might certainly sound different? If I were an Aztec priest and I stepped on it like this... We went with a door. We found the door. Solid stone. And still working after all these centuries. Let's take a look inside. You got the flashlight? Yes, take the hammer. Right. It's not very pretty. It is a human skeleton, isn't it? Yeah. Probably trapped in here and left to die. Ugly death. Look, Lockwich. Those dishes. Swing the flashlight over. Gold. Solid gold. There are more over here. Look, stacks of them. We found the treasure. Wait a minute, Lockwich. Let's get this straight. In the first place, I don't think we'd be let out of the country with these gold plates. We can melt them down and smuggle them out. Melt them down? These things are priceless. Besides, the university sent us here. The gold belongs to anyone. It's there. No one ever has to know. Oh, yes, they do, because I'll tell them. Huh? It's all very well for you to play the heroic fool. You've everything you want. What the devil do you mean? You know perfectly well. You've got all the money you need. Besides, you have Lenore. What's she got to do with it? You do have Lenore, haven't you? You act as if I took her from you. You were afraid of me? Oh, Lockwich, don't be an idiot. Lenore would no more look at you than... Oh, wouldn't she? She'd marry me if you went in the way. I know it. You fool. It's just being friendly to you because I asked her. We'll see if you wind around. But I am around. And as far as the gold plates are concerned... I said, we'll see. After all, that skeleton there, he was once a man too. Until he was trapped in here. What of it? Oh, nothing. Nothing? Nothing except... I was there in the dark. Flashlight, the gold plates gone. Left there to die. Trapped behind a stone door. Oh, no. No. When Albert Lockwich closed that door in his heart and his twisted brain, there was only one intention. Murder. How did you get out? By luck more than anything else. I had the hammer and I knew where the stone latch was. I started chipping away at it. To this day, I don't know how long it took me, but when I finally got out, I was a sick man. Exhausted. And by the time I was well enough to travel, come home here, you were already married. And he told me that you'd been killed by natives. Of course that was a lie, but... Oliver, I still can't believe that your story is completely true either. But why? A man who's been the victim of an attempted murder would see that the murderer was punished. You didn't. Didn't even try to. Well, Lenore, how could I? He was your husband. Well, why should that be? Could I brand you as the wife of a murderer? Loving you as I did, as I do, I had to wait. But now let's forget this horrible past. I can't, no matter how I feel I can't. After all, there's no proof. Lenore, don't you believe me? It's not just that. Don't you see? At any moment, the telephone may ring, telling me that he's alive. If I knew your story were true, perhaps I'd feel differently, but... Now my place is here. I must stay here. Lenore, please. If you feel any love for me at all... Will you go, Oliver? Please. If that's what you wish. Yes, Lenore, I'll go. But remember, I love you. I don't know why it should matter now, but I still hope you told the truth, Oliver, for then. The papers in the sealed envelope. I promised Dr. George I'd read them. Lenore, there are many things on my mind as I sit writing this last word to you. Many things which no human mind should have to bear without telling another. As I look over my lies, I know now there's been an inquiry. I've never had a straightforward human emotion enacted on it. My work has been a sort of shadow play which gave my hollow existence an outward tinge of reality. No friend has really touched me, for I cannot be reached. I married you more out of perverse vanity than love. And yet, perhaps because of your loyalty, some spark of love has been kindled in me. Bear this in mind when you go out to the garden. For there, underneath a sundial, you will find a treasure of gold which should take care of you when I cannot. I had intended to use this gold myself, but I could not because it might incriminate me in the murder of Oliver Wentworth. Before I ask questions, would you? The murder of Oliver Wentworth. Then his story... his story was true. Oliver! Oliver! Oliver! Gone! Well, he can't have gone far, and if I hurry... Oliver! A telephone ringing, ringing in an empty house. A man who is not dead lying in his coffin fighting for breath and waiting, waiting for an answer that will not come. A fitting payment for... Murder! To be with us again when death stands waiting in a newly dug grave, and the clocks strike twelve for... Murder! The parts of Mr. and Mrs. Albert Lockbridge were played by Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Edward Johnson. With music by Charles Paul, Murder at Midnight was directed by Anton M. Leder.