 Mystery House. Mystery House, that strange publishing firm owned by Dan and Barbara Glenn, where each new novel is acted out by the Mystery House staff before it was accepted for publication. Mystery House. Well, Barbie, I don't know that I understand the title of the story we're trying out for a Mystery House novel this week. You mean the composite killer, Dan? Yeah. Does it refer to several different people who combine forces to commit a murder? No. Haven't you ever seen a composite picture? Well, to be honest with you, I don't know. Oh, of course you have. In the movie magazine. Well, I'm not a movie magazine reader. Detective stories are more in my line. Well, an artist takes maybe Dorothy Lamar's eyes, and Alexis Smith's nose, and Ann Sheridan's hair, and Hedy Lamar's ears, and Bay Davis' mouth, puts them all together to make a composite picture of someone who never existed. Well, I see what you mean, Mrs. Glenn, that picture's a fake. Well, it's not exactly. Every part of it is true to life. But... But put together, it doesn't spell truth. Well, I'm a solid fact man myself. I like authentic information. For example, listen to this. Okay, places everybody. And set the scene for tonight's story, will you, Tom? The composite killer. Tonight's story opens in the office of Captain Hedges, police detective. A slender, aesthetic, if cynical young man sits across the desk from the captain, sizing him up. I suppose you wonder why I asked the chronicle to send an artist over to headquarters, Mayny? My not the reason why, Mon Capitan. Where the chronicle points its finger, there go I. I had your papers yelling at us about not solving the Dorothy Lattiman murder. Don't tell me you're sensitive, Mon Capitan. I always thought only artists were sensitive. Artists who aren't quite good enough to make the grade and end up by hacking away on a newspaper. He said you were the best man in their art department. They dammed with faint praise. He said you have imagination, Mayny. A severe criticism. I tried to hide it. We're pretty close to solving that murder. Now, I know. The police are working on secret clues and feel that the murder will be apprehended within the next 24 hours. The chronicle carried that one day before yesterday. There's nothing secret about our clues. This killer ought to be a cinch to catch. He left so many clues, he might just as well left his calling card. And you're just holding off to make it look like a hard catch? Mayny, we've got everything except our man. Now, the Lattiman girl was a beauty. She had so many boyfriends we know we're never going to get to all of them. What we've learned, she was a gold digger. Sounds like a sweet kid. Had a beautiful apartment, fine clothes, good jewelry. She had a string of jobs you could write pages about. None of them requiring any real work. I've been looking for that kind of a job for years, Captain Hedges. She was as cold and heartless as any human being could be. She was playing for big game. She finally found it. You mean the letters you uncovered that showed she was going to marry Wilton Morris III? Yeah. Has it ever occurred to you that she might have been in love with the boy in spite of all this money, Mo Capitan? Sure. We found a couple of her girlfriends who said that she told them that Wilton Morris was strictly a dope, but in the right money bracket. I love mystery stories, Captain Hedges, but how does all this concern me? We've narrowed things down, Manny. The logical assumption is that Dorothy Latiman was killed by a disappointed or disgruntled suitor, somebody who couldn't stand to see her marry Wilton Morris III. Well, we start with the assumption that the murderer was, uh, well, an attractive-looking person. If he didn't have as much money as Wilton Morris, he had to be attractive to be in the running. Captain, you amaze me. A detective who's a student of human nature. The murderer got into the girl's room from the fire escape through a very narrow window. He had to be thin to make it. Hmm. Attractive thin. Now, we've tested the street level part of the fire escape, and you'd have to be at least six-two to reach it and pull it down. I think I see what you're driving at. Several people saw a man loitering near that fire escape at one o'clock the morning of the murder. Can they give you a description? All together too much description. We've talked to three people, and they disagree on most points. But their descriptions checked in a couple of respects. The man had a long, thin face. They were all three positive of that. Yes, I know the type. His hair was dark. We can't be sure what color, but dark. Go on. And all through the people who saw him were a little frightened at one thing, the way this man stared at them. I don't blame him. I get the idea that he had small, deep-set sharp eyes. Eyes with a brazen look. Two of the people said that they... Pardon me, that they might have known more of what he looked like, but his stare got their goats. They looked the other way. He looked them in the eye, and he made them turn their heads the other way. The eyes are important, always. The marks on the girl's throat indicate that he had a stubby hand as hard as iron. She fought like the devil and never had a chance. The fingers don't tell me much. No. Well, to me, hands like that on a tall, slender man indicate a tough, muscular neck, too. Smart boy, Mon Capitaine. I'd have missed that. While he was strangling her, she clustered his face. At least, that's the only reason I've been able to figure for the bite on her forearm. Here is a print of the marks. Hmm. Small mouth, but big teeth. Right. Now, you're catching the spirit. Here are photographs of three suspects. Three men that we've connected with the girl. Any one of them who could answer what little description that we have. Hey, my apologies, Mon Capitaine. I'd always thought the gendarmerie were rather stupid. You know what I want, then. You want a composite sketch of these three guys, a blend of all three. Right. With enough of each one in it so that when he sees the picture in the paper, he thinks it's close to being him. Hmm. Could be done, I guess. But it'll be quite a trick. I've talked to your managing editor. They'll start a build-up on the picture in tomorrow's paper. It'll run in three days, if you can have it finished by then. Every day until it runs, the paper will carry a front-page box saying, coming. An artist's conception of the Dorothy Latiman killer created in cooperation with the police department. See what the Latiman murderer looks like. Don't miss it. You think this will do any good? Aside from publicity? This was an emotional murder. And I'm going to grate the killer's nerves to the breaking point. With your help, Mini. It's a deal, Mo Capitan. Oh, it's you, honey. I thought that... Oh, Jed, you don't need to be so fussy about your old picture, covering it up like that when I came in. I don't care about seeing it anyway. Oh, it's not that, honey. It's... some headquarters. Nobody's to see it till it's ready. Going to eat midnight lunch with me tonight, Jed? You haven't asked me. Well, matter of fact, honey, I'm not going out to lunch tonight. I'm working right through on the picture. But it isn't supposed to run till day after tomorrow. Sorry, honey. That's the way it is. This thing's important and, well, kind of dangerous. Oh, you. Drawing a portrait dangerous. The daring young artist, Jed Maney. Go ahead and laugh, but I'm working under orders, and I'm going to follow them. But, Jed, you're really serious about this stunt, aren't you? You're always poking fun at everything we do around the Chronicle. I've got to hurry, honey. If I expect to get this thing done by closing time, I... Oh, all right. I won't bother you. I never thought I'd have a picture for a rival. Oh, it's not that, honey. It's just... Oh, nuts. Can't you give a guy a break when he's busy? Well, if that's the way you feel about it... Oh, don't be sore. Tomorrow night, I'll give you loads of attention. I'll scrape and bow... You do nothing of the kind, not after the way you evacuated the last couple of days. As far as I'm concerned, you'll still be busy. Good night. Oh, just a minute. Oh, why didn't you go ahead and kiss her, Maney? I wouldn't have minded. I never did like an audience smoke, Captain. Isn't it pretty stuffy in that clothes closet? Yeah, stifling. I'm dying for a smoke. Why not go ahead and have one then? No. I'm going to go back into hiding. Sooner or later, the murderer is going to call on you. And I'm going to be here when he does. So, back to my home. I think I'll use suspect number three's ears. They're the largest. Who the devil are you? Wilton Morris III. I read about this composite picture thing and I thought I'd drop in and see how you're getting along. Maybe I could help you. Well, well, well. Wilton Morris III. I've always wanted to meet a real-life millionaire. And you're so young and tender, too. Isn't it a little late for you? No need to be nasty. I thought maybe I could help you. Dorothy was going to marry me, you know. So, they tell me. You mind if I take a quick glance at how you're coming along? Get away from that drawing board, Third. What? Really? Don't give me that hi-hat, either. I've had orders. Nobody's to see this thing till it's finished. But I'm not a suspect man. Great Scott, I was going to marry the girl. Does anybody in Kingdom come once a murderer caught its eye? Sorry, Mr. The publisher of The Chronicles, a good friend of Dad's. I could get permission to look, I imagine. Guess again, Buster. The publisher doesn't have a door-gone thing to say about this. No, but, Hank, and I'm just trying to help. I'm from the lower classes, Third. Having a millionaire help me would knock my nerves all to pieces. Really well, have it your way. But if you don't want my advice, what was the idea of calling me? I left a rather charming party to come down here. Calling you? I didn't call you. Your secretary did, though. She said you wanted to see me if it was convenient. I don't have any secretary, Mr. Third. That's a pretty bun-store-store. But I'm quite serious, meaning. Oh, I get it. You've got me down here to get a good look at me. You're going to try to work some of my characteristics into your picture. Well, there are libel laws to come... Say, you aren't nervous, are you, Mr. Third? Nervous? Why should I be? I simply dislike the idea of notoriety. And if that picture bears the slightest resemblance to it... You're scaring me half to death. But if you're all through, I wish your title back to your party. I'm busy. Very well. But I'd be careful if I were you. Well, now, what do you think of that, Mon Capitan? You're parked down in my area. Always practically out of the building by now. I'll close the door so you can come on out and straight. Oh, oh, you again. You don't need to act so disappointed. Wasn't that Wilton Morris who just left? The Third. Well, that's odd. My phone rang a few minutes ago and a girl asked if he was here. I thought it was some crank, but she must have known. A girl? Well, Connie, would you recognize her voice if you heard it again? Maybe. Why? The guy claimed somebody called and asked him to come in here. My secretary. But you don't have any secretary. Hey, hey, just a minute. Hello? Looking for someone? Is Wilton Morris here? Come on in. Thank you. Oh, but I thought... Why he isn't here? Why didn't you tell me? I didn't say he was here, darling. I just asked you to come in. See, what is this? The idea of closing that door. I don't... I don't know what you intend, but you're going to answer a few questions. What? Oh, really? This is... I never heard of such a thing. Excuse me. Just a minute. You're not leaving here until you've answered a few questions. Who are you anyway? I know that it's any business of yours. But my name is Harriet Cardley. Just a second. I haven't been a society reporter around here for two years for nothing. Oh, your honey, Horze, you covered my debut for the Chronicle. Yeah. And I also remember that you had yourself a man-sized crush on Wilton Morris III about that time. Really, Miss Horze? If you... You don't deny it, do you? I won't dignify it with a denial. I don't suppose you'll bother denying that you called my desk a few minutes ago to see if the boyfriend was here. I like that. I got a telephone call to meet him here. There's something awfully funny about the telephone service around here tonight. If you're insinuating that I'm lying... I know. Pop will talk to the publisher who's a friend of his and get us candy. You know, I have a hunch the police may be wrong on this business. What? They're assuming it was a man who killed Dorothy Latiman, a jealous suitor. But a jealous suitor would have lost every chance he had by killing the girl. Wouldn't he have killed Wilton Morris instead? What are you trying to... What I'm getting at, sister, is that maybe somebody else has a yen for Wilton III. It kind of makes sense. You're insinuating that I didn't... That's ridiculous. I didn't even know the girl. If I were the police, I think I'd want a lot of answers from you. I say, if I were the police... Jed, what are you shouting about? Captain Hedges! Captain Hedges! It's Captain Hedges. Is he dead? Just a minute. For the love of heaven, stand back. Open the door in the window, quick. What's the matter? Let me get this thing out of here. What is it? A time bomb in the closet loaded with poison gas. Call the police, quick. Well, but hadn't we better... I'm staying right here with this picture. Evidently, someone wants it pretty badly. A poison gas time bomb. Neat idea. Quiet, unobtrusive, efficient. The question is, who put it in the clothes closet of Jed Mayne's office? Well, we'll find out in the second act of tonight's story. And now, act two of the composite killer. The time is four o'clock in the morning, and the chronicle office is pretty much deserted. A light still burns in Jed Mayne's little office. The policeman who stayed here, Jed, did he do much? Asked a lot of questions, took the measurements of the clothes closet. Wanted to know who could have seen Captain Hedges come into my office. But how did he get in? I didn't know he was here. His being here was the reason I didn't want to kiss you, remember? I was embarrassed. What? You crazy girl. Bashful at this late stage. All right, you're forgiven. When you and the charming Harriet left the police station, how was Hedges getting along, did they say? No, but they didn't seem to hold out much hope. They said it was just luck he wasn't dead when we opened the clothes closet. Neither Harriet nor Wilden III went near that clothes closet while they were here. I can't figure out... Almost anybody could have left that time bomb, Jed. You're never here during the day. You never locked your office. But it still doesn't make sense. The police put out a lot of publicity about this picture you're doing. The murderer could have walked in and planted that bomb any time after six o'clock last night. Yes, but nobody knew Hedges was there. The murderer was probably watching this place like a hawk. Put yourself in his place. All this swoop to do about the killer's picture, Captain Hedges in charge of the investigation. That's easy to figure. I won't rest easy till I get that picture finished and into the hands of the engravers. What, Jed? You don't mean you're going ahead after what's happened? Of course I'm going ahead. It's more important now than ever. What does the picture look like, Jed? Sorry. But it wouldn't hurt to let me see it. I know how to keep a secret. Have I ever let you down? You'll see it in the chronicle. But I'll just take a quick look. Get away from that drawing board. You heard me. I'm not fooling, honey. Jed, you... you ax... You almost frightened me. After what's happened, you should be frightened. I'm not trusting anybody up to and including you. Well, you surely don't think... Somebody's committed a couple of murders, honey. I'm not anxious to be added to the list. I'm sorry to be so rough about it. I'll probably apologize tomorrow night, but for now, that's how it stands. Well, I... All right, Jed. That's the way you feel. Going home? No. I'm going to finish the picture. What the devil's the idea of getting me out of bed to come down here at 4.30 in the morning, Mayny? I didn't think you'd be in bed yet, Mr. Third. And you seem so terribly, terribly anxious to see my latest work of art. You see, the picture's finished. But you know, I don't think you're going to like it. Here. Why? Wait a minute. Recognize yourself, Mr. Third? Well, I've... It isn't the picture of me, and yet it is. That's right, Mr. Third. It takes a clever artist to make a picture like that. You and yet not you. But close enough so anybody would recognize it. You. You think I killed Dorothy Letterman? I know you did, Mr. Third. Indirectly. Oh, no, no. You're on the wrong crack, Mayny. I didn't kill her. I don't know who did. You don't, Mr. Third? Not even now? What? I killed her, Mr. Third. Captain Hedges knew it. He knew it all along. Oh, you... You're joking. You couldn't possibly... When Hedges told me that Dorothy Letterman had held a lot of different jobs because of Doban Ola. I knew. I wasn't picked to do this picture for my artistic genius. He was playing with me, waiting for me to get excited and make a slip. He was a smart cookie, even if he did underestimate me. What do you mean about the jobs? Dorothy was an art model at one stage of her career. She quit because a certain poor artist got too serious. Bothered her too much. And you killed her. The only thing in the world that ever interested her was money. She was responsible for my taking this stinking job to try to get enough money to rent a little apartment and get married. You must have been extremely fond of her to kill her in such a brutal fashion. The funny part of it is, Mr. Third, I didn't intend to kill her. I couldn't believe her story about her engagement to you and I went up to talk to her. She laughed at me, made fun of me. I went crazy, crazy mad. I wanted to hurt her as much as she was hurting me. I'd say you hurt her more, at least more permanently. Oh, no. But there was real satisfaction in grinding my fingers into that lovely throat. Yes, but your name was never mentioned as a suspect. Yes, but your name was never mentioned as a suspect. I took every present she'd ever had from me. Every letter. I erased myself from her apartment. I planted the fire escape business. I gave the police plenty wrong clues. But some way, Hedges caught on. He didn't have proof. But he knew. Why do you tell me all this? Because I want you to understand what it's all about. Why you're being framed. I'm framed? You think you can convict me of a murder you committed just by drawing a fantastic picture of me? Hardly. You really are mad. The picture's going to take care of you, all right. You are going to be convicted. I'm not much worried. You've been here before tonight. It's established that you came here to look at the picture and I wouldn't show it to you. Yes, but what does that have to do with it? What are you up to? Those telephone calls to you and your Harriet will be checked, of course. A public stenographer made the calls, Mr. Third. She got her instructions over the phone and was told to send a bill to me. I don't know a thing about it. At least that'll be my story and it'll stick. You think those calls will convict me of a murder I didn't commit? You are batty. Batty like a fox. Being an artist is useful in more ways than one. I know my anatomy pretty well. I'm talking sense. I put this drawing board over in the corner. See? Very interesting. It'll get more interesting as it goes along. Now, I lay this knife on the board. Just so. The handle presses against the wall. See? What do you think you're going to do? Incidentally, that knife is from your cabin up at the lake and it's loaded with your fingerprints. Now I scooch down. Have to be sure to hit exactly the right spot. Look out. Oh, it's a good trick, isn't it? Yeah, it takes nerve, plenty of nerve. But when you're fighting for your life, you have nerve to spare. Let's see. Yes, that's exactly right. Now, I back into the blade of the knife. Firmly. Steadily. You fool, you'll kill yourself. I can't let you commit suicide. I won't kill myself, third. But it'll be close. I'll be right back and close to the spine. It worked, third. Just like I planned. You're through. You're licked. Where's the telephone? Who you calling, third? Doctor? Doctor of police? I won't do you any good. Won't you see? Me, me stabbed in back. Your knife, your picture on the drawing board. Your picture, the killer. I say you came in. Saw picture and stabbed me. But why should you try to do this to me? Why? You had nothing but money to offer. You stepped in with your money and tore down all my hope. I hate you. I thought you were in love with a pretty little society reporter, Honey Haas. She was, she was just around. I had to cover up somewhere. That was an act. Honey, honey. He got me. I'm gonna die. Hospital quit. He saw picture. He stabbed me. You'll need your strength. Hospital quit. Get police. Police to arrest him. You don't seem to realize, Jed. I've heard your entire scene with Mr. Morris. Well, how do I thank heavens, Ms. Haas? After what had happened, Jed, when you insisted on staying and finishing that picture, I was frightened to death. Frightened for you. For you, understand that? I was afraid the murderer would come in and try to kill you. You've been here all the time. Yes, because I thought I loved you. I was standing by with a revolver. Great help. Captain Hedges. We've got a little stuffy in that closed closet. There's nothing more to hear anyway. But you, poison gas. Hospital. Hey, teach you how to look out for yourself on the force, Mayny. I looked that closet over pretty thoroughly. I found the gas time bomb. No, it went off. I watched it. When the spring was ready to release, I held a match up to the jet, a lighted match. You knew all that time. Yeah, but I couldn't prove anything. There's a lot of difference between knowing and proving. I didn't figure you were strong enough or cool enough to stand up under pressure, so I turned it on. Hadn't we better get him to the hospital, Captain? Yeah, I suppose so. Not that we're doing him any favor. Quite right, Mon Capita. I knew right from the start you were... a sharp guy.