 And now, tonight's presentation of Radio's outstanding theatre of thrills, Suspense. Tonight, we bring you a story of one of the most notorious murderers in the annals of crime. It is based upon police and court records. We call it, A Story of Poison. So now, starring Mr. Joseph Kearns, here is tonight's suspense play, A Story of Poison. Dr. Cream, there was nothing I could do. I'm sorry. Terribly sorry. I tried everything. You? You tried everything? Sorry? I did what I could. It was too late. Don't go in now. Oh, but I must. Oh, yes, I must see her. I'm sorry. Oh, Emily. Emily, baby girl. Emily. Emily? Why, Doctor, she's dead. Come away. I'll attend to things. You don't understand. She's dead. I wasn't with her. I didn't know. Oh, Emily, my love, my girl. Doctor Cream, please. Get her. Oh, no, no, no. She can't be. My life, my all. Emily, Emily, Emily. That was Emily. She left me with an income of 400 pounds a year. It's rather extraordinary how long it took her to die. To look at a girl, you'd never have thought it. She was thin, sickly, but in possession of what must have been the constitution of an ox. I'd been poisoning her steadily for six months, and certainly expected her to die within three. Oh, it was a case history for the medical journal, and so I wrote them a paper about it, anonymously, of course. Inspector Wehring. Sergeant Diggs. Oh, why did they forward it to the yard? There's a manuscript. Oh, what's the matter with that? The medical journal. Oh. I'll put it on my desk. I'll be there in half an hour. Right. Three weeks after Emily died, I made arrangements to move to London. There was no trouble, but then I hadn't thought there would be. The good doctor had made out a certificate based upon the history which I supplied. I had decided upon a refined intestinal disorder which bore a magnificent Latin name, and closely paralleled the symptoms brought about by the poison administered. So much for the late and unlamented Emily. Oh, I'm sure as hell you found this room most suitable, sir. Uh, doctor, Dr. Cream, Dr. Neil Cream, ma'am. Oh, and nice. I've another boarder who's a doctor. Well, very nearly. A medical student, don't you know? Mr. Bridgeman, ever such a nice gentleman. Really? You find a very refined atmosphere in my house, doctor, and scrupulously clean, very scrupulous. Yes, I'm sure of it, Mrs. Minns. I think this will do quite nicely. May I ask, doctor, how long you plan to allow us the pleasure of your company? Oh, I'm afraid I have no idea, Mrs. Minns. You see, I've only just arrived from Hull. My, uh, my wife died there a month ago. Oh, how sad. How terribly sad. I thought that here in London I might forget. Oh, you look understanding. You, uh, you do understand, don't you? Oh, poor dear man, of course. Oh, my, how I understand. I'm a widow myself, only my daughter Daisy and me. How I do feel for you. You're so kind. Not at all, I'm sure. You will join us for tea, won't you? I should be delighted. Thank you so much. I'd found a boarding house in Bloomsbury off Tottenham Court Road. The proprietress, Mrs. Minns, was a tall, bony sort of woman, a type that I particularly despised. Not all nourishing to a man of my disposition. Now the daughter, she'd mentioned, I hope would be a better prospect. But, uh, I knew that I would have to be careful there. After unpacking, I went down to tea. Oh, oh, oh, I say I'm awfully sorry. I mean, I didn't mean to... Oh, that's quite all right, I'm sure. You must be the new boarder, Dr. Creen. Yes, yes, I was just coming in for tea. Oh, oh, they're waiting for you. Oh, really? Oh, excuse me, I've got to put the kettle on. Night's day off, you know. Oh, may I help? Oh, that's very nice of you, I'm sure. All right, come on. Daisy Minse was not a beauty by any means, but there was a spark, an honesty, good humor that I found most enjoyable. Oh, we got on famously, but it was too soon to think about Daisy. Perhaps later. It was the evening of the fourth day after my arrival in London that I met Mildred Vickers. It was at a pub in Hammersmith. She was a sweet little thing. Large brown eyes, rosy cheeks. Oh, perhaps encouraged by a touch of rouge, but altogether delightful. I must say that I flattered her with the tensions not usually received. Flowers, dinner, the theatre. She was very grateful. Grateful until one night, two weeks later. Oh, hold it. I'm tired. You? Yes. Goodbye. Thanks very much. Goodbye. I wanted to tell you earlier tonight. I can't see you anymore. You can't. Oh, oh, no, you're joking. I'm not. You've been a duck. We've had a lovely time, but it's finished. My young man's coming home tomorrow. He found me this morning from Southampton. His boats come in. You're young man. You're young man. You'd like to go loud. Oh, Millie, Millie, you'll be the death of me. Come on, let's go inside. You can't. I'm serious. It's like you said. Laughs and all sorts of fun. It's over. Be a good boy. Come on, get inside. Stop it. Don't you go pushing me. Oh, Millie, Millie. I'm sorry I didn't mean to lose my temper, but the way you told me you know it's such a shocker. I thought you were joking. I'm sorry. Millie, I am. Oh, no, I'm very, very fond of you, Millie. I'm very fond. You know, a chap gets fond, and then... Oh, well. One last kiss, Millie. One last kiss. Of course. I knew you'd be sport about it. Oh, Millie, Millie, I can't let you go. I can't. You cry, too. Millie, let's talk it over. There's nothing to talk. We'll sit quietly and talk. I promise I'll make no trouble with you. I just want you to understand. I'm tired. Oh, please, is it too much to ask? One drink, and you listen to me, one minute go, I'll go. I'll go quietly, no bother, all serene. I'm sorry. Don't son's ever so sad, but my young man's coming in. Oh, will you stop talking about your young man? Oh, Millie, no, no, I didn't mean that. I'm not angry. Oh, now, please, look, sure. Now, there's so much I can give you. Oh, I'm not young anymore, but you'll find me attractive, don't you? Don't you? Now, what are you smiling about? Why are you laughing, Millie, Millie? Oh, no. Millie! Oh, stop your shouting. Think about the police on me. No, no, no, no. You want me to go. That's right. Well, I'll be as good as my word then, Millie. No, no hard feelings. Of course not. Silly. Farewell, drink. Not for me, thank you. Oh, just a splash. We'll drink to your young man. Wouldn't he just laugh if he knew? Yes, wouldn't he just? You ought to find yourself a nice window. Someone like you can settle down. I mean... Yes, I know what, I know what you mean, Millie. Here we are. Oh, thanks. Now, up it like a good boy. Millie, I suppose I really should tell you that I don't care about you at all, but nonsense I was saying before I didn't mean it, you know. I don't quite understand why I said anything. You're not worth it, you nasty... Oh, yes, it burns, doesn't it? But it doesn't hurt long, though. You annoyed me terribly, chucking me over. It's not that I cared because of you, but me. Oh, thank you. It won't be long. I just want you to know. Can you hear me? I just want you to know that every time we've gone to a public place together I was ashamed. Ashamed to be seen with something like you. Good night! For the next two or three nights I stayed in at the boarding house. I don't think that I felt well. At least I couldn't sleep at all. My sleep was not all restful. I had dreams, frightening dreams. I remember just before I dropped off to sleep one night soon after Millie was taken. But I thought to myself, oh, dear, I must speak to Mrs. Minnes about that cooking. All that heavy stuff. The cream will wake up soon. It's all right. Anything that matter? Oh, I hope you forgive the liberty, sir. I'm afraid you're having a nightmare. Sounds as though you were being murdered. Murdered? You thought I was... Oh. Did I say anything? You screamed, sir. Oh, is that all? Well, it sounded... Well, I'm awfully sorry. Oh, no, no, it's quite all right. It's very good of you to be concerned. Oh, yes, you're that young medical student Mrs. Minnes told me about, aren't you, Mr... The Bridgeman, sir. Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Bridgeman. Well, we shall have to have a chat one day soon. Lunch, perhaps. Are you specializing? Oh, I haven't made up my mind yet, doctor. Oh, yes, good, good, good. Lots of time for that, eh? Yes. Well, I think I'd better get back to bed. Well, I'm awfully sorry to have troubled you. Oh, not at all, sir. Good night. Good night, good night. I wonder, is he lying? Did I say something? Did he hear it? I wonder. Oh, prost! Two weeks had passed. I was safe. Nobody knew, nobody. Unless Mr. Edward Bridgeman, the medical student, I'd taken him to luncheon two or three times. We'd talked medicine for the most part. But I don't know, we had a way, a way of looking curious, knowing. I decided to write the letter to Scotland Yard. Commissioner, as Inspector Wehring here, I think we've got something more on that poison case in Holland, Millivickers. Now, no, no, a letter. It reads, to whom it may concern, I have information which can lead to the arrest of the person responsible for the murder of Millivickers and Hammersmith. Is it worth 3,000 pounds? If so, leave the money at the pillar box on the corner of Kensington and Earl's Court Road. A plain wrapper would do. And it's signed, O'Brien, Private Detective. Yes, sir. Yes, we'll see to it right away. It was aggravating not to be able to learn whether the police had accepted my offer. I could have used the money, but other more important things were occupying my time. Mr. Bridgeman, oh, how I loathe bright young men. And I had a feeling that he was watching me, cleverly and carefully. I had to put a stop to that. He knew that was certain. So I took the following him. As far as I could make out, he didn't voice his suspicions to the police, but there was a girl. He met her from time to time, and one day when they were having tea together, I think he saw me, because from where I stood outside the tea shop, I saw Mr. Bridgeman lean across the table and talk rapidly to his sweetheart. That would have to be taken care of. It was a week later. Oh, I beg your pardon. Yes? You must think me awfully rude, but aren't you Edward Bridgeman's young lady? Well, yes, but I don't mean... No, no, no, no, we haven't met. Edward's told me so much about you. I saw you together as I went by on the bus last week. You were coming out of a tea shop. That's right, in Oxford Street. Yes. Well, look, Sheryl, I wanted to meet you for so long to talk about Edward. Oh? Well, I mean, well, you are going together. Well, I suppose so, in a way. Exactly. I'm frightfully fond of him. I've spoken to some colleagues of mine in the profession to understand. Your Edward has a future, I think. Oh, that's sweet of you, Mr.... Doctor, Dr. Cream. Oh, of course he's spoken of you. You're staying at the same boarding house. Yes. Well, I hope he said nice things. Yes, but you know Edward, he doesn't talk much about anybody. Does he? Yes, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Look, do you think we could go somewhere? I mean, a spot of tea with a cup of drink? Oh, please, it's really important. To Edward. Clever little devil, but a rotten actress. You know Edward. He doesn't talk much about anybody, does he? Of course I could see through her plan perfectly well. Trap me into an admission of guilt and then call the police. But I was ready for that. It was a little sad. I didn't even know her name. She had a pretty face, pretty figure, but no name. Just Mr. Bridgeman's young lady. It was dark when we walked along the quiet road leading to her house. I'd been the perfect gentleman and had escorted her home. She died behind a hedge convulsively within three minutes. I made sure that there was no outcry, nobody heard, nobody saw and nobody cared. Except perhaps for a medical student. To whom it may concern. Ask Mr. Edward Bridgeman, who lives in Mrs. Min's boarding house off Tottenham Court Road, what he knows about the murders of Millie Vickers and Joyce Hamilton. He killed them both. I offer this information greatest, a O'Brien private detective. Yes? Good evening, Dr. Creen. Oh, hello, Daisy. Come in for a chat or is it a sore throat? Neither. Mum asked me to ask you something. Oh? She wonders how long you'll be staying. Oh, I'm perfectly happy. I hadn't thought of moving. Why? I don't know. Oh, Daisy, Daisy, I want to talk to you. Tell me, have you have you read about the murders, the poisoners? Well, who hasn't? What do you think, huh? I don't. Mum says he's one of those... Yeah, well, you know. Oh. Well, shall I tell you a secret? What? Now, you won't tell me. Oh, of course not what. Well, I think I know who the murderer is. Really? Have you told the police? Well, yes, I wrote them a letter. I told them who it was. No. Oh. Come here. Edward Bridgeman. Oh, you're pulling my leg. Two days, but no, I'm not. But how do you know? Now it's bombing. No, but I know I do. Oh, Dr. Cream, you are a one. I should know better than to listen to you. You're always joking. Tom, I could have killed her. She thought it was a joke. Oh, there'd been so many things to tell her. Clues, proof, everything to help her get rid of the medical student, and she wouldn't listen. Then after she'd gone, I was afraid. I was afraid she might remember. Don, I could have killed her. It was Saturday, two days after I'd posted the letter to Scotland Yard. I thought I'd take a walk to Hyde Park and was leaving my room to go downstairs when the front doorbell rang. Good afternoon, gentlemen. Mrs. Mim. Yes. We're from Scotland Yard. I'd like to have a word with Mr. Edward Bridgeman. Does he live here? Well, yes. Well, to come in. Is anything wrong? Is he at home? In the throwing room, I think. Shall I call him? If you don't mind. I'm not at all, I'm sure. Oh, Mr. Bridgeman. Yes, Mrs. Nens. Mr. Bridgeman? Yes. I'd like to speak to you if you don't mind. Oh, what about? Is there somewhere that... Oh, afternoon, everybody. Oh, hello, Doctor. Nice day. I thought I'd take a walk. Go to the cinema with Agnes. Lummy lover duck. Police. Now, run along, Daisy. Don't be home late to Mr. Bridgeman. Come along, Daisy. I'll walk along with you. You were right all the time, Doctor. I didn't think I'd believe you. What did you say, Miss? Oh, it's a little joke of ours. Nothing at all. Come along, Daisy. I can't wait. Just a minute, sir. Miss, do you know something about this? Of course I do. Dr. Creme told me. He wrote a letter to you about Mr. Bridgeman. He told me, didn't you, Doctor? Dr. Creme. He wrote a letter to us. Signed A. O'Brien. Bridgeman's your man, sir. I wanted to spare him the humiliation. That is your man. I told Daisy. I thought he might try to harm me, and I... It's all right, Mr. Bridgeman. I don't think we shall need to trouble you. Come along, Doctor, if you don't mind. There are a few questions we'd like to ask you with the yard. Oh, of course. Of course. Having set down this case history, my own, let all know that what I did, I did in honor and right. No human power has the right to condemn me. Those that died died because of their own misdeeds. I have been merely the instrument of justice. For this, I cannot hang. Neil Creme, M.D. Dr. Neil Creme, it's time. It won't hurt, will it? I can't stand pain. It won't hurt, will it? Suspense. In which Mr. Joseph Kern starred in tonight's presentation of A Story of Poison. Next week, The Story of Betrayal and Retribution on Devil's Island. We call it The Stool Pigeon. That's next week on Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by Anthony Ellis, who wrote tonight's script. The music was composed by Rene Garaghan and conducted by Wilbur Hatch, featured on the cast for Paula Winslow, Tita Purdom, Virginia Gregg, Herb Butterfield, Ben Wright, Raymond Lawrence, and Ellen Morgan. Thursday night on most of these same stations, listen for the haunting sound of the Whistler as he once again walks by night. Your reward will be mystery fare well off the beaten track. Your reward will be another rattling good Thursday thriller on The Whistler at the star's address. Stay tuned now for George Herman with the news followed by Disc Derby. Join the FBI in peace and war Wednesday nights on the CBS Radio Network.