 Welcome, Weirdos! I'm Darren Marlar and this is Retro Radio Sunday on Weird Darkness. Each week I bring you a show from the golden age of radio, but still in the genre of Weird Darkness. I'll have stories in the macabre in horror, mysteries in crime, and even some dark science fiction. If you're new here, welcome to the show and be sure to subscribe or follow the podcast so you don't miss future episodes. If you're already a member of this Weirdo family, please take a moment and invite someone else to listen in with you. Spreading the word about the show helps it to grow. If you're here because you're already a fan of nostalgic audio and print, you'll want to email WeirdDarkness at RadioArchives.com. When you do that, you'll get an instant reply with links to download full-length pulp audiobooks, pulp ebooks, and old-time radio shows for free. That email address again is WeirdDarkness at RadioArchives.com. Coming up, it's an episode from Murder Clinic. Murder Clinic was a short-lived radio anthology series that each week adapted a detective story from some generally well-known mystery writer, including Edgar Wallace, Carter Dixon, Agatha Christie, G.K. Chesterson, Stuart Palmer, and others. Tonight, it's an episode from September 22, 1942, a tale based on a story by Hubert Putner entitled The Scrap of Lace. Now bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into the Weird Darkness. Murder Clinic, stories of the world's great detectives, men against murder. Each week at this time, W.O.R. Mutual turns the spotlight on one of the world's great detectives of fiction and invites you to listen to the story of his most exciting case. Tonight, Madame Rosika's story in The Scrap of Lace. Good evening, Madame Story. Your being at Murder Clinic is certainly a novelty. You're surprised to see a woman detective, that's right, and even more surprised to see a very beautiful detective. It's a queer business for a woman. Most people think so, Mr. Knight, but you see, being a woman gives me one great advantage. My adversaries usually underestimate me. Yes, I suppose they would. Now, what's the tale you're going to tell us, Madame Story? It's called The Scrap of Lace. I chose it because it seems to me so unusual a crime. A strange story of jealousy and death. Of course, you know the great family of Kruger, who ruled New York society for generations. When Mrs. Peter John Kruger III died, her mantle descended as a matter of course to Mrs. Peter John Kruger IV. This beautiful and charming young woman, Mimi by name, inherited not only her mother-in-law, Scepter, but also Teresa de Guion. Teresa de Guion was the first and certainly the greatest of social secretaries. The story begins one summer morning at Karris Woods, the enormous and rather monstrous Kruger estate in Upper Westchester. Mimi and Teresa de Guion were together in the breakfast room. Oh, Teresa, must we go to that del dinner at the brand-sums tonight? I think I'll call it off. Mimi, you simply can't do that. The dinner's being given for you. I was most insistent that I'd be consulted about the other guests. After all, my dear, you have certain responsibilities. Your mother-in-law, Mrs. Kruger III, was I know. She was a parallel of the social virtues. She didn't mind being bored to death. Oh, Mimi, you are so lax. What would you do without me? You worry too much, Teresa. You're living in the past. Your little assistant Louise Mayfield could possibly take over very well. Louise? Louise Mayfield? That's quite that giant. My dear, Teresa, she's 21 and very competent. After all, you trained her. Yes, and I am very fond of Louise. She's like a daughter to me. But take my place. Surely you're joking, my dear. Oh, yes, yes, of course. You know Mimi. I'm a bit worried about Louise. She's been acting very odd lately. This party she's going to tonight. I have no idea of where it is. Well, who her hostess is to be? Well, wherever it is, she'll have a better time than I will. You know, Teresa, I shouldn't be surprised if Louise has been acting strangely because she's trying to keep away from my handsome cousin, Jack Roecliffe. She doesn't seem very grateful to you, Teresa, for arranging to marry a morph to Vera McPeak. Jack Roecliffe and Vera McPeak are a splendid match. He has family, position. Vera is young. She can be molded. She can be torn. Oh, certainly, yes. And her father has 100 millions. But I don't blame Jack for straying from the fold. Louise is very lovely. And I found Vera a very trying guest. In fact, I find it all very trying. Oh, there's Louise. Louise, we're in the breakfast room. Come in here, my dear. Good morning, Mrs. Kruger. Mrs. De Guillaume, did you want me this morning? No, Louise, I did. Teresa insists we go to this dinner tonight. Jack and Vera are going with us. We'll be leaving around 7. Tell Jack, won't you? Must I, Mrs. Kruger? Mrs. Kruger has asked you to deliver a message. Do so, my dear. Jack, I came only to tell you about the dinner. Louise. Please. Must we go through all this again? Why don't you leave me alone? Because I'm mad about you, Louise. Can't you understand? I'm in love with you. I want you to marry me. You. Marry and support a wife. Don't be silly, Jack. It does sound silly, doesn't it? But I'm changed, I tell you. You've changed me, Louise. I love you. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. And what about Vera McPeak? No, Jack. I'm afraid you've been bought, paid for, and delivered. Vera won't let you go so easily. I'll tell her tonight that I'm through, Louise. I'll meet her at the dinner and tell her, and then I'll come back here to you. Come back if you like, Jack. Good. I'll be back at about. But I won't be here. Where are you going, Louise? Why don't you tell me? It's another man. I know it's another man. Who is it? Who is it? Nonsense has gone far enough. What I do is my own business. Do you understand that, Jack? No, it's my business. You're mine, Louise. Do you hear? You're mine. I'll have you when no one else will. Jack, let go of my wrist. Louise, tell me. You're hurting me, please. Louise, I want to know. Let me go. Well, Jack, bill banking passes at the servants, I see. Perhaps it's just as well you saw. You might as well have this out now. Shut up. I can handle this. It's pretty easy to see what Miss Mayfield's little game is. She thinks she'll marry into the great Kruger clan. Well, let me tell you, Miss Mayfield. Jack hasn't got a cent to his name and never will have. Vera, please. I understand perfectly, Miss McPete. I assure you, I have no ambitions in Mr. Roker's direction. Quite the lady, aren't you, Miss Mayfield? Well, what's your step? Sure, I know what you all think of me. Volga. Common. But let me tell you, we common Clay McPeaks from Pittsburgh know how to get what we want. And we know how to keep it. Think that over, Miss Mayfield. Think that over. Yes, come in. Miss Louise. Madam Kruger has sent me to help you dress for your engagement. Come in, Lou. How thoughtful of Mrs. Kruger to send you, Cézanne. Have they gone? But we, Zika, she left long ago. Oh, don't you see, we're not happy. Mr. Jack, you say nothing. And Mademoiselle is fiancee. The ugly one, she. Oh, you see, she's very angry. Even Madame, she wants not to go. Well, let's not think of them, Cézanne. I'm happy, and I'm going to have a wonderful time. Now, Mademoiselle is very charmant. Very lovely. It is a treat you go to, Miss Pat. It is for your young man that your eyes shine so. Maybe. You're too smart, Cézanne. But how do you think my young man will like me? How do I look? Oh, rubbish, mademoiselle. You eat you up. You are so lovely. Cézanne, you are a darling. Yes, yes. A letter from Miss Mayfield. Oh, thank you. It is a letter for you, mademoiselle, for me. What a thick one, isn't it? How lovely. What an exquisite handkerchief. Who could have sent it to me? Madame Cluever must have sent it. It is one of these six you bought in Paris. It is perfect, mademoiselle, for your costume, Miss Pat. Oh, it's lovely. What a darling, Mrs. Cluever is. You wish she is more generous. You'll carry this, no? Of course. Shall I put she sent the perfume and it, mademoiselle? No, thank you. I'll do it myself, Cézanne. Oh, just put that bottle of Godinia perfume on my dressing table, please. Oui, mademoiselle. Now you can go, Cézanne. I won't need you anymore. Merci, mademoiselle. Bonne voir, mademoiselle. Good night, Cézanne, and thank you. Oh, it's so lovely. One more drop. Years of experience, Mimi. I have never had to cope with anything so, so sordid. Tell me, Racer, how can you think of appearances with Louise, that beautiful child, lying in there dead? But I must think of them. After all, Dr. Plummer refuses to sign a death certificate. That dole farfel with his hints of foul play. Maybe he's right, Vera. What do you mean, Jack? What do you know of Louise Mayfield's death? Well, I... Stop strangling you two. Dr. Plummer was kind enough to give us 36 hours. He's risking a great deal going as far as that. Oh, why doesn't Madame Storey get here? Are you sure you acted wisely in calling her in, Mimi? Well, it was either she or the police. You said she had a reputation for discretion. Madame Rosika Storey and Miss Bella Brickley. Thank heaven you're here, Madame Storey. This is a terrible situation. Terrible. Oh, but let me introduce you. I am Teresa de Guillaume. This is Mrs. Peter John Kruger, the first. How do you do, Miss McPeek? Hello. Mr. Roque. How do you do, Miss Roque? It was good of you to come so quickly, Madame Storey. This unfortunate accident is likely to create a dressing scandal for Mrs. Kruger. Accident, Mr. Guillaume? From what you told me over the phone I gathered Louise Mayfield had been murdered. Nonsense. We don't know that, Madame Storey. Nobody does. We only know Louise is dead. Poor child. We found her when we returned last night from our dinner party. It is nonsense, Teresa, and you know it. Madame Storey is perfectly right. You'll be very foolish to ask her help and not give her all the facts. What facts, Mimi? Just because that old fossil of a Dr. Plummer won't give a death certificate? You ask me. It's a nice little scheme to get you to hire this Story Woman and split whatever she can manage to get out of you. That's an interesting idea, Miss McPeek, though I must confess that so simple and clever a scheme would never have occurred to me. But surely Dr. Plummer offered some other reason for refusing a death certificate? Yes. He says... Oh, it's impossible, but he says Louise was as fixy as... No fool. There isn't a gas outlet in the house. How helpful of you to know that, Miss McPeek. You won't mind, will you, if I check for myself? I don't mind what you do. What's the use of all this? We've nothing to tell. All of us were at a dinner party 20 miles from here together. When we got home after 11, we found Louise... Well, that is Miss Mayfield dead. I see. Mr. Guion, when you phoned me, you said something about some missing object. Yes. Suzanne the maid insists a lace handkerchief came in the mail for Louise, as she was pressing to leave. When we phoned her, the handkerchief had disappeared. Very interesting. Suppose I start then by questioning this maid, Suzanne. Maybe she can tell me more about this missing handkerchief. Good morning, Bella. Good morning, Madam Story. Typing last night's notes, I see. Yes. Say, you look worried. What is it? Oh, how can one look out at that peaceful garden and realize it in this house? There's someone carrying the mark of cane on this soul. And you believe Louise Mayfield's death was not a natural one. That she was murdered? No doubt of it. Bella, that girl was asphyxiated. Oh, how horrible. So, you know what I'm saying? How horrible? So young, so full of life. Yes, isn't it? And it's our job to find out who killed her. Have you finished typing those notes you took at our intemnable interviews last night? Not quite. I'm almost finished. Well, then I think I'll step out in the terrace. Maybe the fresh air will help me think. Something is bothering you. Yes, Bella, what happened to that lace handkerchief Louise Mayfield received in the mail? I'm sure that was the thing that killed her. I must find it. Well, you'll call me when you're through with those notes, please. Madam Story, you come out and shame the flowers and dim the sunlight. Do you always make such pretty speeches even so early in the morning, Mr. Roecliffe? Ah, beautiful lady. You remember my name. Yours would be a difficult name to forget, Mr. Roecliffe. Hmm? Thanks to the Rotical Viewer in the Picture Magazine. Oh, that. You know, I had no hope of ever meeting you. I can't aspire to your circle. Much too clever. Hmm. It all depends. I should say that you were quite clever enough for your own purposes, Mr. Roecliffe. I'm just a lightweight. Oh, I wonder. Now, see, you're standing out under her window. There is Miss Mayfield's room up there, isn't it? Yes. Well, that was her room. Ivy clad walls, old English ivy. Sturdy and strong, too. I wonder why the vines are so torn and broken. Oh, are they? I hadn't noticed. You loved Louise Mayfield very much, didn't you? Yes. I loved her more than anything in life. And she? Oh, why should she care for me? What am I? Nothing but a waste room. She was in love with someone else. I know it. I could tell. But if I'd known who it was, I... Why didn't you tell me, Mr. Roecliffe? You'd left your dinner party and came back here last night. How did you know that I did? I didn't. You've just told me. Thank you. There, you see, I told you you're too clever for me. What time was it when you got here? Well, I don't know. It was about 9.30, I think. I see. You came around back here in the garden. You saw a light in her window, called her, got no answer. And you climbed that ivy up to her window, didn't you? Well, who saw me? Nobody, as far as I know. That broken ivy tells its own story, but not all of it. Tell me, what did you do when you got up there? I suppose you're thinking that I killed her. I wouldn't blame you if you did. I don't care much if you do. I've got nothing... Please, please, Mr. Roecliffe. I'm sorry. Well, I went in and found her lying there on the floor dead. Then, like the coward I am, I got scared. How could I explain my being there? So I climbed down again the way I went up and drove back to Quaker Ridge. I suppose you don't believe me. Suppose I say I reserve judgment. No. Will you give me the handkerchief that you took from Louis Mayfield's hand? And you're a wizard. How did you know that? It's obvious. I suppose that you took it as a remembrance of her. Yes, I did. It was the last thing she touched. Here it is. Madam Story, could you come into the office a moment? Certainly, Bella. We'll continue this talk later, Mr. Roecliffe. Will you excuse me now, please? So this letter was pushed under the door. Did you open it, Bella? No. I saw it was addressed to Louis Mayfield, so I called you. I see. Oh, it's postmarked by Roecliffe. Here's a notation on the envelope and pencil. And a very literate correspondent, Bella. If you want to buy any more info about this letter, we can make a deal. I'll drop around at eleven. Well, may have longed to wait. Now, let's read the letter. Darling, I can hardly wait till Tuesday night when I'll see you again. I'm moving heaven and earth to arrange things, so we'll be together for always. All my love, dear, it's signed J. J? That must be Jack Roecliffe. In the light of what we know of their relationship, does it sound like Jack Roecliffe? No, it's stupid of me. But the initial. It could be the J stands for John, Peter... Peter John Kruger. This must be our mysterious correspondent now. Come in. Well, ladies, there I am. Johnny on the spot, like I says. Do we do business? You're the Kruger chauffeur, aren't you, Mr. Roecliffe? You're against a name, chauffeur and bodyguard. I'm sure you're efficient in both departments, Mr. Gargan. But, uh, why the bodyguard? Well, it's like this. The Krugers are important people, see? They're likely to be bothered by cranks and not around desirable citizens, yet. Then he's protection. And the guy that can protect him. Yes, I can see that, Gargan. But now, um, about this letter. Yeah, that's right. Well, do I sing it, don't I? That depends on your song, Gargan. First, tell me. How did you manage to get hold of this letter? Well, it's like this. I always get the mail, see? And I always deliver it. But yesterday Mrs. Kruger and the old aimer were with me. I go in and get the mail, and I look through it to see if there's something for me. And I see this letter. Well, when I come out to the car, Mrs. Kruger says, give me the mail. I hands it to her. And when I get it back, this letter ain't with the others. Well, I don't take much about it till last night when this mayfield aimer's bumped off. Then I'll be in a smellerette. And this morning, I does a little moochin' around. And here it is. Very graphic, Gargan. How's that? Oh, skip it. Now, what further information have you to give us, Gargan? I can tell you who sent that letter to the Mayfield aim. So, how much? Half a G. Five hundred dollars? That's an expensive song, Gargan. Ah, nuts. You can put on the expensive count. You're right. Nuts it is. The five hundred dollars are yours. Tanks. Here you are. Now, who sent this letter to Louise Mayfield? Well, there was no one to do that. Gargan, Madam Story, is he dead? Yes. The shot came through that window. But why? To keep him from telling us who sent that letter to Louise. Help me put him in that closet over there. Brzeke, I won't let you. You can't. You've got to report it. If I report it now, the police would interfere with all my plans. I need twenty-four hours. You're risking your reputation. We've taken risks before. But this is concealing a murder. Why do you need twenty-four hours? To learn the secret of this, Bella. Why? Well, that's one of Mrs. Kruger's handkerchiefs. No, Bella. It's the handkerchief. The one Roe Cliff found on Louise Mayfield's body. I'm staking my reputation on this little scrap of lace. Madam Story, Potter is back. Oh, that's good, Bella. Did you bring back the handkerchief and the laboratory report? Yes, here they are. Hmm. Just as I thought. Oh, what a horrible use was it, a lovely thing. This handkerchief was the murder weapon, Bella. But how could it have been? Because our murderer knew that Louise Mayfield used gardenia toilet water. But can we find out who sent it? I'd rather think we can. Bella, get those four lace handkerchiefs that Suzanne got for me for Mrs. Kruger. What are you going to do now? Now, my dear Bella, I'm going out to present a noose to a murderer. Mr. Roe Cliff, I wanted to return this handkerchief to you for safe keeping. I'll want it back tomorrow morning. I don't know how at present. But I feel this handkerchief will be the means of proving who killed Louise Mayfield. So, guard it carefully. Well, I'll do that. You can depend on me, Madam Story. Thank you, Mr. Roe Cliff. Ms. McPeak, the greatest proof that I'm not against you is that I'm going to ask you to keep this handkerchief for me. The most important piece of evidence I have. I have no assurance the murderer would not kill me to get it back. But it would never be supposed that I'd given it to you to guard. Will you keep it for me until tomorrow morning? No, don't worry. I'll keep it safe. Thank you, Ms. McPeak. Mrs. Kruger, what I came to see you, Chief. Well, it's not. It's the handkerchief. It's the one that was sent to Louise Mayfield. Where'd you get it? Well, I can't tell you that now. But I'm afraid it was the cause of her death. Oh, how horrible. What I'm going to ask you to do is to hold it for me just until tomorrow morning. But, Mr. Guion, you can help. What is the real situation, Madam Story? Oh, I wish I knew. I suspect that I have no proof. I can go no further without the assistance from the chemists. Whom do you suspect? Oh, you know. I'm afraid I do. Well, what I want you to do is to keep this dreadful handkerchief for me until tomorrow morning. Mrs. Kruger, I've asked you, Mr. Guion, Ms. McPeak and Mr. Roe Cliff, to meet me here this morning in order that we may determine who murdered Louise Mayfield. Who murdered her? What do you mean? You know, Madam Story, you know who killed her? I believe I do, Mrs. Kruger, but I hope to prove it. I know that laced handkerchief was sent to her through the mail was the murder weapon. Perhaps that can tell us something. May I have the handkerchief, please? Why, certainly. Oh, here you are. Why, I thought that... Why, I say, what is this? So, a trick. That's right, Ms. McPeak, a trick. But one only a guilty person need fear. But really, Madam Story, I'd rather just turn... Yes, Madam Story, please take the handkerchiefs one at a time. Mark each in pencil with the initials of the person from whom you receive it. May I have the handkerchiefs, please? One at a time. One at a time. All right. Now, Bella, spread them out on your desk with the initials turned face down. As you've probably surmised, none of you had the original handkerchief. That has never left my possession. Here it is. But I don't understand. This handkerchief in my hand is impregnated with a deadly poison. When moistened with alcohol, it releases a lethal gas, which is instantly fatal. May I remind you that perfume is 90% alcohol. And a young girl about to go out on a romantic trist would inevitably moisten it with perfume. How horrible. Yes, Mr. Guillaume, I agree with you. But surely you don't suspect any of us. Why not, Ms. McPeak? I found that a murderer is usually actuated by fear. Fear of what the victim might do to them. All of you face that fear as far as Louise Mayfield was concerned. But one of you feared so deeply that you dared risk murder to protect what you had. You feared loss of position, prestige, supplanting by a younger, more attractive girl, loss of all that had made life worth living. That one person alone knew what the fatal handkerchief contained. I gave each one of you what you thought was that handkerchief. I was curious to see what disposition you would make of the evidence. Bella, yes? Please examine those four handkerchiefs carefully. And when you've done that, tell me if any of them have changed since they left our hands last evening. Yes, this one has been washed. Washed? Read the initials on it. T-D-E-G. Teresa. Teresa! Keep away from her. Keep away from me, I say. Keep away from me. I'll shoot! Karen, she's shot herself. Oh, it's all my fault. Poor Teresa. Poor things. She was old. She couldn't stand it. She just couldn't stand it. No, Mrs. Cougar, it wasn't your fault. It was better so. The end of a passing world. Exit an era. You have been listening to Murder Clinic. Murder Clinic, the W-O-R mutual series which brings you each week one exciting case. One member from the select band of the world's great detectives. Next week, Murder Clinic will bring you Sir Henry Merrivale, known to his host of admirers as H.M. in Death in the Dressing Room. This famous detective finds a brilliantly clever pickpocket and discovers an even more clever murderer. Tonight's detective was Madame Rosika's story, played by Elizabeth Morgan. Original music was composed by Ralph Barnhart and conducted by Bob Stanley. This program was an international exchange feature over the coast-to-coast network of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Fails told on Murder Clinic are adaptations by authors Lee Wright and John A. Bassett. Murder Clinic is produced under the direction of Elvin Flanagan. Frank Knight speaking. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System. Thanks for listening to this week's Retro Radio Sunday episode of Weird Darkness. If you haven't done so yet, be sure to subscribe or follow the podcast so you don't miss future episodes. And if you like the show, please share it with someone you know who also loves old-time radio and pulp audio. If you want to hear even more, drop an email to WeirdDarkness at RadioArchives.com and get an instant reply with links to download full-length pulp audiobooks, pulp e-books, and old-time radio shows absolutely free. That's WeirdDarkness at RadioArchives.com. Weird Darkness is a production and trademark of Marlar House Productions. Copyright, Weird Darkness 2023. I'm Darren Marlar, and I'll see you next week for Weird Darkness' Retro Radio Sunday.