 Suspense! An hour of suspense! A full 60 minutes at this time with the distinguished actor director Mr. Robert Montgomery as your host. Tonight our star Mr. John McIntyre, our story Donovan's Brain, a suspense play produced, edited and directed by William Spear. Mr. Montgomery. The man across the table was talking about shaved heads and electricity and I was listening. I'll have to admit it, I'm pretty much of a layman when it comes to things like that. I imagine you are too. But the man I was talking with was a specialist. I sought him out after we decided on our suspense play for tonight, as you know we're doing Donovan's Brain, and the man across the table who discussed shaved heads and electricity with such final authority was an eminent brain surgeon. Now I don't know very much about the human brain, I have one and I use it occasionally I hope, but I leave the clinical knowledge up to the brain specialists like the man across the table. To this man of science I posed the momentous question, what about the brain? And he started in. Your brain, he said, is something less than two and a half percent of your total body weight. There's no relation between the weight of your brain and your intelligence. There's no relation between the size of your brain and your intelligence. So we threw out size and weight and talked about what you could tell about a person's intelligence simply by looking at his brain. And it develops you can tell quite a lot by looking. An intelligent person's brain is more complex in appearance than a stupid person's. It has more grooves and depressions, convolutions he called them. Well that was all right with me. I was nodding my head in agreement when it occurred to me quite suddenly that this didn't mean very much, not really, because I can't look at somebody's brain, even if I wanted to. You can't either. We have to depend on other ways of judging people's intelligence on how they act, what they say, what they do. The brain specialist told me about that too. He said the brain acts as a storehouse for our knowledge. It also is the power that directs that knowledge. So when we act, we are merely putting direction to what we know. How a man acts the direction he takes is his own decision. It's an individual matter. And that interests me. The highly intelligent, highly moral lawyer and the deceptively crafty, highly immoral crook may well have the same amount of knowledge, but the way each directs his knowledge is entirely different. Why? Psychological fiber. That's what the brain man called it. Your psychological fiber is either weak or it's strong, so far as the pressures of living are concerned. If it's strong, the worries, the fears, the tragedies of life can't throw you off your course, can't influence your direction. But if it's weak, these same worries and fears and tragedies take on exaggerated proportions. You lose your sense of direction and the result is fixation or obsession or insanity. Our play tonight is concerned with the brain, the man who directs it and what happens to his psychological fiber. It is the story of Dr. Patrick Corey and Donovan's brain, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. As I sit now outside my laboratory door, writing under the heading experiment 87, this final entry in my casebook, I know that these are the last words I shall ever write upon this earth. I neither ask nor expect forgiveness now or hereafter. And for those who seek some explanation, I refer them simply to this casebook. Let them read it carefully. From its first entry on that ill-starred day of December 5, today I bought a small cappuccino monkey from an organ grinder. The animal trembled with fear when I took it into my laboratory and when I tried to pet it, it bit me. But I had to make it trust me completely. Fear causes an excess secretion of adrenaline, resulting in an abnormal condition of the bloodstream which would throw off my observations. So, I petted bananas and raw egg. And finally, the creature laid its head against my shoulder. I stabbed it with a surgical lancet between the occipital bone and the first cervical vertebra. It died instantly. Well, David, what do you think of it? Well, it's pretty amazing, all right. You see what I've done, don't you? Well, I think so. You think so. Good lord, don't you know? Well, after all that, I'm only a second-year medical student. What of it would I? I was a second-year medical student. Who is it? Dr. Schratt is here to see you. Oh, well, let him come in. Come in, doctor. Thank you. Patrick didn't realize who it was. You know my son, David, of course. Of course, of course. How are you, my boy? Fine, thanks, doctor. Well, Patrick, how did it work? As usual, I see. Patrick, you didn't eat the lunch I sent into you. Or the breakfast, either. I tried to get him to, mother. Well, terribly busy, Janus. But you've got to eat there. I know, I know. What is it this time, Patrick? A brain. What? A brain, a brain, a monkey's brain. Oh. Well, what about the brain? Well, I'm trying to see how long I can keep the tissues alive. Is that it, in that jar? Mm-hmm. Considerably more to it than just a jar, though. You want to see how it works? Well, is it still alive? In a way, yes. It's a fairly simple device, actually, doctor. It's a variation on Carell's mechanical heart. See, the brain lies in a bath of blood serum. These rubber arteries are fixed to the vertebral and internal carotid arteries of the brain. And the blood substance is forced through the cycle of willis to feed the tissues. And over here, I've installed a small pressure pump that forces the blood circulation. See? But how do you know it's alive? Well, that's very easy to determine. The brain, when functioning, gives off infinitesimal electrical impulses. And they can be measured. As a matter of fact, I've hooked the encephalograph to a small amplifying system. The brain impulses can actually be heard here. Turn it on. Quite effective, isn't it? Yes. Yes, it's effective, and it's wrong, Patrick. It's terribly wrong. I've tried to tell him, Dr. Schrott. He's trying to discover things that that no man should discover. It's warping his whole nature. He's in here night and day. We hardly even see him anymore. Mother's right in the way, Dad. You're killing yourself with these. Would you leave us, please, Janice? You too, Dave. Oh, dear. If you please, Dave. It's wrong. It's wrong. In heaven's name, what's wrong with you? Oh, you and your mechanistic philosophy. Trying to reduce life to a mere matter of chemicals and test tubes. The origin of life is from a higher domain than that, Patrick, and you're your propaneate. Your hands are shaky. Do you have another hard night, Dr? You can taunt me if you like. I've made a mess of my life. That's true. But I wouldn't have a part of what you're doing for all of the success in the world. Oh, nonsense. You can't stop the progress of science. Every discovery of whatever kind is a step forward. If I can prove that the brain can perform certain functions outside the body, who knows where we may be able to go from there. How do you know that that thing in there doesn't feel pain? How do you know it isn't writhing in agony? Brain tissue itself is insensitive. You know that, Dr. But as to the feeling, look, I'll switch on the encephalograph. Notice the faintness of the amplified alpha rays. Notice the comparatively slow rate of pulsation. Now, notice what happens when I tap on the glass jar. Why? It feels. It thinks. Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but it certainly shows marked reaction to an external stimulus. I wouldn't believe it possible. Well, the trouble with you is, Schratt, you really don't believe in science. Yeah, well, have it your own way, Patrick. But when you can manufacture love and sympathy and kindness in a test tube, well, I'll be back. Are you leaving? Yes, yes. Patrick. Yes. Do me a favor. Shut off the pump and let that poor thing in there die. Let it die? Yes, yes. Why, if it were within my power to grant, that little brain would live forever. December 10. I'm utterly exhausted from lack of sleep, but the events of the past five days have been of such tremendous importance that I must set them down while every last detail is still fresh in my mind. For I've had no time to make an entry in the second in this record since the day last week. It seems months ago now, when I had my first partial success with the brain of the capuchin monkey. At that time, however, it seemed that I was doomed to disappointment. In spite of all my efforts, the brain of the monkey ceased to live at 12.14 at night. Tired and disheartened, I lay down to sleep on the cart in my laboratory. But at that very moment, fate was contriving in a currents which now seems destined to have the most profound effect not only upon my own existence, but perhaps upon that of all mankind. It's Dr. Schrott. Schrott? What in the world does he want? It's two o'clock in the morning. There's been an accident or something. He's pretty upset. What of it? Where is he? He went outside again. He's at the laboratory door. Well, all right. Patrick, oh, thanks, heaven, my boy, thank heaven. What's the matter? There's been a plane crash on the mountains. Only one of them left alive. I brought him this far, but he needs immediate operation. That's your job, your county physician. Patrick, Patrick, it's multiple fractures of both legs. The arteries are severed. The legs will have to be amputated. You're not in any shape to do the job. Well, that's not my fault. Take him to the Phoenix Hospital. I'm not going to take the responsibility. It's too far. We'll never get there in time. Now, Patrick, please, please, it may mean a man's life and... Yes, and your job as county physician, huh? I'm not thinking of that, but he's an important man. William H. Donovan. Donovan? The Wall Street Donovan? Yes. Oh, you've got to help me, Patrick. Well, what are his chances? About even if we hurry. I'll bring him in. Thank you, Patrick. Thank you, my boy. You better get some things on, David. You may have to help. Oh, sure, Dad. Oh, David. Thanks. Yes, Dad. Don't say anything to your mother. I don't wish you to be disturbed. Sure, I know. Well, use the laboratory table before you go put the instruments to the sterilizer. And don't forget the jelly saw. Oh, right. Oh, but... But what? Oh, I thought the jelly saw was only used for brain surgery or not always. Don't worry. They're bringing him in from the car now. Oh, put him in here now. Here, here. Now, here, here. Careful, please. Put him right there on that table, please. Yes, Doctor. Easy. Better get yourself a gown and gloves, Doctor. Right over there. You won't have time to scrub. Thanks, Patrick. Thank you. Bad, isn't it? Pulse rapid? Hard? Really thin? I wasn't sure we'd even make it to here. Oh, David. Oh, yes, Dad. Half CC of adrenaline, David. One to one thousand into Venus. Right. Do men can go now? Is there anything else? No, no, thank you. Patrick, Patrick, don't you... I'd rather we were alone if you don't mind. Oh, good night, then, Doctor. Good night, and thank you. Now, David. David, if you'll remove the blanket from his legs. That's it. Mm-hmm. There, you see. Fortunately, a far stranger got to him right after the crash and had sense enough to put a tourniquet on each leg, but even so... We've got it. What's that he's saying? Something like, sure, sure, sure. He said it over and over. That's funny. He's got a foreign accent. He's an Armenian, I think. He changed his name to Donovan. I hadn't realized he was deformed. Well, it doesn't show as much in his pictures. Patrick, I think we ought to begin. There's no use amputating those legs. No use? He'll be dead anyway by morning. Well, won't he? Well, I suppose you're right, Patrick. You know I'm right. But still, we ought to try. We can't refuse to operate just because... We are going to operate. Sir, reins, please, David. The large one. Here you are, Dad. And it's 30. Would you give it, Dr. Schrupp? Here, right, right. Scalpel, please, David. And the Jilly song. Jilly song? Patrick? Well? No. No, I won't let you. After your performance tonight? But he's still alive. Precisely. My mistake with the monkey was that he was dead. I don't intend to make it again. Come, come, David, to Scalpel. Are you out of your mind? You're taking your man's life. I'm giving him life. Donovan won't die anyway. I mean, he would die, of course. But for a while, at least. Donovan's brain will live. You'd better hurry. They'll be coming for the body pretty soon. You can go now, David. I think I will, then. David, you understand, of course. Yes, I understand. Not a word to your mother or to anyone. I understand. Patrick, will the Scalpel... I bandaged the whole cranium. It looked like any head injury. I hope nobody gets any ideas about an autopsy. For the coroner, you can stop that. You drive a hard bargain, don't you, Patrick? Better sign the death certificate before they get here. You know this is blackmail. Want a drink? You don't have to do that. I'll sign it. I'm sorry, but it was a chance that comes once in a lifetime. William Donovan has one of the greatest minds. Has one of the greatest brains in the world today. And now you have it. It's madness, Patrick. You think I won't succeed? Succeed in what? Turn on the encephalograph. Yeah, simple alpha waves. No different from the monkeys. You can't take a human brain out of its body and expect it to function. That never occurred to you that the brain might simply be asleep? I sleep, certainly. Operation like this is a severe shock. Now, tap on the glass. Good lord, Patrick. Tells to waves it was asleep. You woke it up. It's actually conscious. Yes. There are three of us conducting this experiment now, Shroud. You and me and William Horace Donovan. December 17th. I moved my bed into my laboratory, but I scarcely slept in six days. There can no longer be any doubt that the brain responds like a sensitive seismograph to vibrations near it, including the sound of my voice. Yet I have found no method of communication with it. I have devised a simplified Morse code consisting of taps on the glass container together with voice vibrations. December 22nd. Shroud has come to stay with me. Half out of the feeling that he shares with me a common guilt. Half out of scientific curiosity. But I have scarcely seen him, and both David and Janice have been avoiding me. Not that I really care. I have been tapping out my code on the side of the brain's container endlessly, day and night, over and over a thousand times, so that a baby could learn it if the brain can't. I sleep only when the brain itself falls into a exhausting slumber. When it wakes again, I resume my tapping. What's the matter? Come, something the matter? I want you to see something. Patrick, you look like a ghost. Where are we going? Back to the laboratory. I can't believe it myself. I may have been dreaming. Delirious. What happened? Come, come on. You hear that? The delta waves. See, it seems disturbed. It seems disturbed. You've got to check my observations for me. If my reasoning is wrong, tell me. I can't be sure of anything anymore. Yes, Patrick, yes. Now, listen carefully, doc. You know I've been trying to communicate with the brain in code. Now, if I were able to cause a distinctive pattern of the brain's delta waves by a specific command in code, if the brain responded with the same pattern of sound each time I issued the command, it would prove that I had succeeded in communicating with the brain, wouldn't it? Yes, Patrick, yes. I think it would. No. Donovan. Donovan, if you understand, think three times of the word, talk. Three times, talk. Talk. It answered. It spoke at yourself just as I did the same word three times. Donovan. Talk. Talk. Talk. Then I'm right. It's true. Patrick, this thing has learned to talk. December 23rd. Schwarz romanticizing, of course, the delta pattern is so infinitely complex that it would be utterly impossible ever to break it down into specific words. Yet that it understands me that it's trying to communicate with me is certain. Schwarz suggests mental telepathy, that I try to make my mind a blank, as the mediums call it, while at the same time increasing the energy content in the plasma that feeds the brain in the hope of stepping up the brain's electrical potential, as one would step up the power of a radio station. But natural telepathy is nonsense. But the feeding theory intrigues me. I shall try it. December 31st. Notice today for the first time two distinct nodules of new brain cells on the frontal lobex. Electrical potential is increased to 510 microvolts. I've begun smoking cigars, although I've always hated them before. Nerves, I expect. January 6th. Nodules still growing. Electrical potential 1450. But with no observable results, I've lately felt a compelling urge to know more of Donovan's life and have collected every available scrap of information about him. Strange man, ruthless, actually evil in many ways, but nonetheless an extraordinarily brilliant mind. Patrick! Patrick! Wake up! Patrick! What is it? I thought I ought to wake you up, Patrick. You were moaning in your sleep and talking. Talking? What did I say? I'm not sure, but your voice was so strange that... Janice! Janice, what's the matter? Oh, that's nothing. I was dreaming. That's all. Janice woke me up. Patrick! Patrick, let me see your hand. No, no, no, no, no. The other one. What about it? You're not left-handed, are you? I know. Then why have you got ink on the fingers of your left hand? I don't know. Well, were you writing anything tonight? No. You must have been, Patrick. Here it is, right here on your desk. Uncense. Wait, let me see it. Well, you've been writing his name. Will you make start of him? Shrout! That's not my handwriting. What? What? Well, don't you see what it means? The brain has communicated with me. Patrick, you don't... Look here. Look at this magazine article. He's the reproduction of his signature. And he was left-handed, too. It says so here. It is. It's exactly the same. What a fool I've been. Look at this picture. Smoking a cigar with his left hand. I wondered why I'd suddenly started smoking cigars. The same brand, too. Janice. Janice, try to remember what you heard me saying just before you woke me tonight. Now, think. Patrick, I... I can't believe... Think, Janice. All I heard was something like, sure, sure, sure... Sure, of course. Don't you remember, Shrout? He said it that night. It was the only thing we ever heard him say. It was an expression of his. It tells about it in one of the articles, too. It... it wasn't your voice, Patrick. You see? Right, Shrout. The brain has grown. And it's strong enough to influence not only the higher functions, the frontal lobe, but the speech centers, the motor centers of another brain. Patrick, Patrick, if this is true, then your experiment has been successful. It's ended. Ended? Why it's only become? Patrick! Don't you see what this means? Patrick, listen to me. What? Janice, what? You've got to stop. Stop! I can't stand it any longer. Can't you see where it's led you when you cut yourself off from your family, when you neglected your health and began having fits of temper and were like... Like someone I hardly recognize as the man I married. All that I tried to understand. But don't you see what you've done? You're a murderer, Patrick. A murderer! Janice! David told me the whole thing. The poor boys have insane himself from worrying. Insane? What do you mean by that? What I say! You killed Donovan. Maybe he wouldn't have lived anyway, but you killed him. And now this... this thing has gained such power over your mind that it can make you do things you don't even know about. For all you know, it can make you do anything. Anything! You've got to choose, Patrick. Janice, please. I suppose you're right, but I'm utterly exhausted. I can't even think anymore. You've got to think. Give me until tomorrow. Let me sleep and then tomorrow I'll do something, I promise. All right, Patrick. But if you don't do something, if you don't destroy that thing, I will! Listen! Listen! Oh, I hate it! Janice, it's almost as though it had hurt you and we're raging at you! This way, please, Dr. Corey. But Patrick, why are we going in here? A psychiatric team? I told you I'd do something, darling, and I forgot an idea. You mean having yourself psychoanalyzed? Something like that? Something like that. I'll tell you about it later, dear. First, I want to talk to this man alone. Dr. Zanger, this is Dr. Corey. Oh, how do you do, Dr. Corey? I've heard something of your work. Oh, yes. Oh, and this is Mrs. Corey. Oh, of course, excuse me. I'm happy to meet you, Mrs. Corey. Thank you, Doctor. Won't you come into my office, Doctor? Yeah, Janice, would you mind waiting here in the reception room? I'll be out in just a moment. Well, certainly, dear. In here, please. Well, Doctor, she seems quite normal. I had expected from what you'd told me on the phone. Yes, I know, but I can assure you, deeply as it pains me to do so, that she is quite insane. Oh, I see. Paranoia. She's always been a little jealous of my work, but lately, she's developed the most extraordinary illusion. She thinks that I've created some sort of monster in my laboratory that controls my actions. Yeah, I have heard of such cases. It was a great shock to me. I thought of you at once, of course. I'm putting a complete in your hand. Well, it is a little unusual, but since you are yourself a medical man, I know you'll do everything you can. Yes, you definitely wish then to commit, huh? Yes, you have the paper. Here they are. Just your signature will be enough. There you are. You keep me informed. Naturally, naturally. Well, goodbye then, Doctor Corey. We will do what we can. Mrs. Corey is staying with us, Ms. Wilcox. Yes, Doctor. It's all right, Mrs. Corey. Captain? Just come inside with me, please. Dr. Bill, how do you wish it to be handled? Sure, sure, sure. I'll take care of it by the week. The checks will be signed William H. Donald. January 15th. It's nearly a week now since Janice went away. I cannot understand how she could have left me just when I needed her most. When I tried to question Schratt or David about it, they only look at me strangely and change the subject. Clearly, they too are in on the conspiracy. Sometimes it seems the only person I can trust is Donovan, the brain. It communicates with me more freely now each day. I know it has some great plan in mind for me, for both of us. And I'm waiting, patiently waiting. Donovan, I'm listening, Donovan. Don't be angry, Donovan. I'm trying to understand. I'm listening, Donovan. I'm listening. Tonight's full hour of suspense, Mr. John McIntyre appears as Dr. Patrick Corey in William Spears' production of Donovan's Brain. Tonight's study in suspense. In just a moment, we will return with act two of suspense. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. And now, back to our Hollywood soundstage and your host for suspense, Mr. Robert Montgomery. At the outset of experiment 87, we were concerned with a man of science who had a wife and a son whom he loved and who loved him. He was a gifted scientist, dedicated to his work, and he signed his name with his right hand, Dr. Patrick Corey. That was before Donovan's brain. That was before his psychological fiber weakened against the force of a powerful obsession, and with this weakening, his power to direct his knowledge has become twisted. Now we look again at Dr. Patrick Corey, man of science. He has alienated friends and family. He has had his wife committed to an institution. His entire life has become a thing contained in a vat, controlled by pounding electric waves, and he signs his name with his left hand, William H. Donovan. And now with John McIntyre as Dr. Patrick Corey, and with act two of Donovan's brain, we again hope to keep you in suspense. January 16th. It is now six weeks, exactly 42 days. For six weeks, by artificial means alone, I have kept alive a human brain completely detached from the body, floating in the bath of serum, nourished by a synthetic blood plasma fed through its arteries by an electric pump. It has remained alive, not only alive, but I have succeeded in communicating with it. For I have even induced new growth of brain cells and so tremendously increased its mental faculties that by sheer brain power alone, it is actually able to communicate its thoughts to me. And each day, my communion with that living, pulsing mass of gray matter that was the brain of William Donovan becomes stronger and stronger. Even now, I sense it striving to reveal some plan to me. Something so truly world-shaking in its implications that only such an organism developed to a point thousands of years ahead of its time could ever have conceived it. So far, I sense this only, but soon I shall know. Indeed, I shall be a partner in its execution. What a fool I was ever to have considered for a moment my wife's demands that I end the experiment. It's because I refused, of course, that Janice left me a week ago without so much as a word of explanation of farewell. Even my son David and my assistant Shrodd are privy to this conspiracy to thwart me. For what I asked about Janice, they pretended to know nothing or seek to avoid my questions. The brain will live and hear it now. Its delta waves quite audible over the amplifying system I've arranged for it. Almost as though it were calling to, trying to speak to me. The brain will live. Donovan. Donovan, what is it? What are you trying to tell me? Go on, Donovan. Go on. I'm listening. Go on. Who is it? What do you want? We want to talk to you, Dad. I have no time to talk. I'm busy. Please open the door. Patrick, it's important. Go away. I tell you I'm busy. Please, Dad. Can't you leave me alone? All right. All right. Thanks. Now, what is it? Patrick, won't you come into the study with us for a few minutes? Whatever you've got to say, you can say right here. You know I can't leave the laboratory. Dad, it's only that we wanted to talk to you in private. Don't tell me that you're afraid of this poor mass of brain cells. No, it's not that, Dad. Never mind, David. At least turn that thing off then, will you, Patrick? What difference would that make it could still hear, couldn't it? All right. Well, what is it? It's... it's about Mother. Oh. So she put you up to this, did she? I thought the truth would come out sometime. Dad, listen. She tried to stop this experiment from the beginning. She thought she could blackmail into quitting by leaving me. And she still does. And now she's using you as a go-between. Patrick, please, listen to me. I've heard enough. We haven't heard a word from Janice. We don't know where she is. That's what we came in to talk about. Oh, have you? Well, how should I know where she is? Because... because you were the last person seen with her, Dad. I was. Don't you remember, Patrick? You took her into town with you. You wouldn't tell any of us why. Oh, yes. Of course. For a moment I'd forgotten. But what of it? Don't you remember what happened then? Well, of course I remember. She left me, that's all. Well, where, Dad? Where did she leave it? What were you doing? Hey, I... I don't know. We were in some big public building. It's the city hall. Courthouses, taxes or something. And the next thing I knew, she simply disappeared. Is that all? Didn't she say anything? Didn't she... didn't she at least tell you why she was going? Do I remember what she said? It's been a week and more. I've hardly slept. And you know I've been working night and day? Yes, that's just it, Patrick. What do you mean by that? Patrick, you say that this, the brain communicates with you, tells you things about its past life, suggests thoughts. Well, if the brain can make you think things, why can't it also make you forget things? Leave me alone. Dad, are you sure... Are you sure you don't know what's happened to Mother? No, no, I tell you. Don't you see what you might have done? In Heaven's name, stop now while there's still time. Get out of here! While there's still time to help Janice, if there is. While there's still time to help yourself, Patrick. Shut off the courage. Let the brain die. Kill it, Patrick. Kill it! Get out! Both of you! Get out! Get out! January 18th. The brain continues to communicate thought fragments more and more easily. But nothing further on what I have come to think of as the plan. I am now sleeping a great deal. But my dreams are becoming increasingly troublesome, although I am at a loss to analyze them. Most frequent is a sort of vast cosmic ballet, presided over by the colossal figure of a young man whom I seem to recognize. And yet, I never see his face. It is though the entire population of the earth were moving past him in review at his command. Help me with the straw. It's not... No, no, David. Don't let him touch me. Don't let him touch me. It's all right now. Here, here's a glass of water. Well, what's the matter? You're trembling all over. I... I can't... What are you looking at me that way for? You look frightened after death. Death? But what happened here anyway? I came in and found you on the floor with your hands around your own throat. But it hadn't been for me. What? Why is your luggage all packed? I was going to leave. Leave? In the middle of the night? Why? Because I... Few spots. It's been opened. It was you, Shroth. You were going to shut off the current. You were going to kill that brain. Patrick, you tried to strangle me. What? It's true, Dad. That's why I had to slap you. But that's absurd. I came in here and I found Shroth with his hands around his own throat. He was strangling himself. Dad, please think a minute. Nobody can strangle himself. Look at these marks on my throat. You think I could have done that? No, it's not possible, and yet... It's true, Patrick. True. Then I tried to shut off the current. I was afraid for you. But as I opened the fuse box, I heard the delta waves in the laboratory suddenly become stronger and louder than I'd ever been before. And then... And then I... Yes, yes. When the brain knew you even spoke in Donovan's voice, Patrick. His voice? Yes, that recurring phrase of his. Sure, sure, sure in his very tones, his very accent. You've created a monster, Patrick. It has the power to make me commit murder. Patrick, what about Janus? Shroth, you... You don't think I... I couldn't have done a thing like that? You couldn't have done what you did tonight if you'd been yourself? No, no, I... Even hypnotists can't force a man to do it. Don't worry about it now, Patrick. It's probably all right. We'll try to find it tomorrow. We'll do everything we can, but first... Dad, don't you see? Dr. Shroth was right. You've got to destroy him. Maybe... Maybe then I could remember it. Yes, the brain must die. Pull the switch in the fuse box. It will only be a matter of seconds, then. Yes. You've got to, Patrick. Shroth, they can't move. Come to me. Pull the switch. Spurlize this, Patrick. The brain won't let itself be killed. Then it has the power to live on. On to commanders as long as we live. Come and do anything it wants. To kill, murder, and... What are we going to do? Listen! The brain! It's laughing! February 2nd. Shroth has left. He had to, of course, for his own protection of nothing else. Before he left, I swore him to eternal secrecy. And he's going to die. The very thought that any harm might have come to her through me is enough to drive me, almost mad. As for David, he's strong enough to prevent any untoward accidents. And he's volunteered to stay with me. He'll sleep at night, behind locked doors. We must devote every faculty we possess together and independently to finding a way of destroying the brain. Perhaps while it sleeps, although it seems to have developed, tremendous powers of the subconscious, which operate even in sleep, a recurring dream, then our oppressive sense of some further task to be performed continues. Janice were only here. Even her presence, I know, would help immeasurably to combat this fearful thing. A terrible thought crosses my mind. Could Shroth have left if the brain had not, for some reasons of its own, actually wanted him to leave? February 2nd. February 6th. My thoughts are less and less my own. The dream of the young giant bestriding the earth, the figure without a face, pursues me now even in my waking hours. Increasingly, I seem to live in a world of evil fantasy. Beepled and controlled by the mind of William Donovan. And worst of all is the obsession that there is some fateful role not yet revealed to me. But I have been assigned to play in it. But I've not given up hope. I must destroy the brain. The possibility has occurred to me. I must give it more thought. If Janice were only here. Much time. My darling. How are you Patrick? Well, well enough. But Janice, where have you been? Where have I been? Yes, well you had no idea. I've been have crazy worrying about you. Uh huh. Schratt found me. Janice, why did you leave me that day? Why didn't you at least tell me? Where did you go? I was with friends. Did Schratt tell you anything? No. Nothing special. Janice, I know I haven't been a very good husband these last months. I haven't been very kind or considered or even civilized. I haven't been myself Janice. I know Patrick. But if you'd only known how I missed you after you left. How I needed you. I need your help Janice. I know Patrick. I came back to help you. But... But what? Where's Davis? Oh he's asleep in the next room. Ever since... Lately he's tried to make it a point to sleep only when I didn't. Try to keep an eye on things. Patrick, I'm going to help you. All I can. Any way I can. I'm going to. But first... I want to take David away. David? Because I don't think it's good for him to be here. I don't think that you... Then Schratt did tell you. Yes Patrick. He did. Oh Janice. Janice. I don't know what to do. My mind is only half my own. Lately I don't even know what I'm... Whether I'm someone else. It's like some frightful nightmare. Only I don't wake up. I'm afraid I'll never wake up. My poor dearest. Janice. You... You do love me still. Yes Patrick. It's the only thing I am left Janice. It's what I've counted on and clung to. And that somehow out of your love. You'd find a way to help. No one else can. I know. Poor old Schratt didn't even dare to come back. I don't want to torment you. It's only that. Perhaps we can find a way. If we know all the facts. What Janice? Don't you really know where I was? No. How could I? Don't you remember? Where you took me? Where I took you? You took me to a psychiatric clinic Patrick. You had me committed. Oh Janice. No Patrick. Not you. Donovan. It was because I tried to make you stop the experiment. Killed the brain. As you left me there. You even spoke in Donovan's voice. Sure, sure, sure you said. I thought they were the last words I would ever hear you speak. Oh Janice, forgive me. Forgive me. I didn't persuade anyone I was sane. After what you told them. Everything I said only made them think I was mad. I'm not mad. Am I Patrick? I'm not mad. Janice will be gone for some three hours. I have sent her into town for Dr. Zanger, the psychiatrist. Maybe he can help. But now I'm overcome with the thought of the humiliation. I shall have to suffer when other medical men become aware of the position I am in. It will be the end of my career, my reputation, all my hopes. It's folly to think that Zanger would keep it to himself indeed. He would have no right to. I can bear it if I must. But another way, a possibility came to me yesterday. And I've been thinking it over. There's no harm in trying it in an event. I must try. I have three hours. What type, you know? Matter of fact, I don't think I do. Why? Well, no matter. We can easily find out. David, I think at last I know a way. To kill a brain? Yes, it's simple. Perfectly natural. And yet nine chances out of ten is something Donovan would never have known about. I do it myself, but unfortunately my blood type is the same as his. A transfusion? Of course. I have to replenish the blood substance periodically anyhow. It's about time to do it again. I've always used my own because it was the same type as his. The different type, the right type. You mean the wrong type? Yes. Given the wrong type, the brain will die. Yes. It sounds possible. I'm sure of it. I know it. But suppose the brain knows, it knows other things. I thought of that. It's a chance we'll have to take. If you're willing. Of course I am, Dad. Then we'll take a blood sample now. Come to the laboratory. If only I have the right type. The rather the wrong type. If you haven't, we'll find someone who has. Maybe Schratt. Down there on the table you would want to turn again. On your arm? There. I'll put it on. This small syringe will do it. Now. Go ahead. I'm ready. David. Don't watch me. It'll be easier if you don't for me. That's a funny one. Coming to you. Well, doctors are never quite as steady with members of their own family, you know. Ready? Sure. You all right? Yeah, yeah. I'm all right. We threw in just a second. You... Getting it all right? Yeah, just a second now. Dad. I'm sleepy. We'll be over in a moment. But... What's the matter? Why am I so... Sleepy? You'll be all... So sleepy. So... So... So... That is what unesthetic is for. To make you sleep. I was somewhat surprised to find the instrument sterilized and already lying out. But I worked more rapidly and skillfully than ever before in my life. I made an incision just below the hairline. Laying back the scalp as far as the base of the skull. I trapanned the cranium at two centimeter intervals working back and downwards to the upper edge of the occipital bone. With a genie saw, I cut through the connecting bone structure and removed the entire top of the cranium placing it in a saline solution to preserve it. I made a semicircular incision with an enduro matter laying it to one side exposing the brain. As I dissected out the facial auditorium pneumogastric nerves beneath the medulla oblongata I became conscious of an insistent clamoring. Something like a mounting hysteria in the distant reaches of my mind. Almost as strong as the irresistible compulsion that drove me on. But my hand did not falter. With a sure stroke I severed the spinal cord just below the first cervical nerve. As I make this last entry with that awful guilt upon my soul even now I cannot fully comprehend how it has been possible for any man. By mortal or immortal means to be driven to such a crime. Even the divinity himself did not demand of Abraham that final sacrifice of expiation when he with his only begotten son ascended the Mount of Olives. Perhaps Schrat is right. Perhaps there is indeed in man some spark of the divine that will allude our test tubes and our laboratories until the end of time. Perhaps that is the one thing that even Donovan did not foresee. I only know that at the instant my son died under my own hand I was set free. At that instant I saw and understood for the first time that monstrous plan born in the brain of William Donovan it was the plan I had glimpsed but never grasped in the recurring dream. Donovan did aspire to the domination of the world and were those tremendous mental faculties that I myself had given him it was literally within his power to become the absolute ruler of all man. Only one thing was lacking a body. A young strong body into which those ever growing brain cells could graft and to fix themselves gone perhaps for centuries. He chose the body of my son and now at last too late I am free to destroy this foul thing of my creation. I know it as surely as I know that my own life must be the forfeit. The brain also knows I can hear the disturbed erratic oscillations of the delta waves coming through the laboratory tomb but there is no room left now for fear. I shall take the six steps from the desk where I am writing across to the laboratory door how often I have taken them in happier times. I shall open the door close it behind me for the last time and right finish to the mortal life of Patrick Artichore and the brain of William Horace Donovan. May others learn from the record I leave here the lesson I have learned from it and profit by it and for the things I have done may God have mercy on my soul. The bodies of Dr. Patrick Arthur Corey and his son David were found in Dr. Corey's own laboratory early today. Young Corey had apparently died on the operating table as a result of a delicate brain operation performed by his father. In the case of Dr. Corey there was nothing to indicate the cause of death but medical authorities who viewed the body including the famous Dr. Gustav Zanger gave us their opinions that he might have died of a shock as the result of the unsuccessful operation on his son. A curious feature of the case was the fact that numerous pieces of tissue identified as being from a human brain were found scattered about the laboratory floor while a larger section of brain was found in the midst of an elaborate apparatus heavenly part of a scientific experiment. Medical authorities stated however that they were unable to explain the nature of the apparatus and that the brain itself was in such a state of decomposition as to indicate that it had been dead and slowly decaying for at least two months. Dr. Corey is survived by his wife Janice. She was committed to the county in Salem for the insane late this afternoon. Burial of Dr. Corey and his son will be at the Mount of Olive Cemetery for a superb performance as Dr. Corey. Our appreciation and thanks to John McIntyre. Tell me something if you were going to make a room in your home available for renting would you accept this man? He's personable in manner and appearance and he pays well. He's alone, no wife, no children, no pets. He owns a Bible, reads it and quotes from it freely. He asks only to live undisturbed in a room. There, I think that's about all. No, there is one thing more. He has one abiding dislike. He can't stand sin. Well, how about it? Would you rent him a room? I suggest you wait to answer. Yes, I strongly suggest you wait until next week when I appear at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Bunting as the lodger from the famous novel by Mary Bellick Lownes. The story may currently be seen in the Universal International Production Ride the Pink Horse. John McIntyre may soon be seen in the 20th Century Fox Production Northside 777. Donovan's Brain by Kurt Zodmak was adapted for suspense by Robert L. Richardson was produced, edited and directed by William Spear. Lud Glaskin is our musical director and conductor and Lucian Morrowak composes the original scores. Next week here Robert Montgomery as the lodger on Radio's This is CBS The Columbia Broadcasting System.