 And now a tale well-calculated to keep you in suspense. You know the feeling? You've run half a block for a bus and the door slam shot in your face. Sure, you know the feeling? Anger, frustration, indignation. All out of proportion to the importance of what's happened. So you're a couple of minutes late for dinner or a business appointment. Nothing irreparable. Now try this one. You're chasing something 2,000 miles away. You're not sure where it started or when it stops. And if the door slams in your face, somebody's gonna die. Somebody you love very much. I don't want you to know that feeling. I don't ever want to know it again. Listen now to Act 1 of Seeds of Disaster, starring Bernard Grant and written especially for suspense by David Hill. And listen, can I talk you into staying the extra week? No, I don't think it's a good idea, Les. This way I'll have time to get the house ready. You know, aired out and cleaned up little... You could have your mother open up the house for us, couldn't you? Well, I'd have to send her the key and then... Well, what about Penny? She'll be ready to come home from camp this weekend. You know, we've been here in Puerto Rico over two months now. Yes, you're right. It's just that it's been so much fun having you along on one of these trips. I just hate to see it end. It's been more like a vacation in business. But vacation's over. Now come on and help me finish packing. Help you finish? Are you kidding? You've already used up all the luggage. Well, I have to make room for all the souvenirs. I never saw a trunk you couldn't stuff a little fuller. Now come on, I need your muscles. Help me close it. All right. Well, hey, look who's back. Well, hi there, kitty cat. Oh, I wish I could take you back with me. Look at her, Les. Almost thinks she knows I'm leaving. I guess she senses she's losing her number one meal ticket. I've got a suspicion you leave the door ajar, just to let her into the room. Well, you'd better promise me to see that she gets her milk while you're still here. And he's... Fine, I did it. I told you this trunk was too full. I've spilled that whole box full of junk. Hey, come back here with that, you. Let's catch it. Oh, me? Give me that. Come on. That might look like lunch, but my wife claims it's... Don't let her out the door. No matter she's younger than I am. Oh, never mind. You'll catch her in the hall. So I'm one present short. Well, I tried. What was that thing I did the ten-yard dash for? A bean bracelet, was it? No, I'm not sure exactly. The local artisans make them out of seeds or beans or nuts or something. Whatever they are, they make up into very pretty jewelry. You bought enough of it. There's still a box full here. Well, you know how it is. Everybody's going to want some. There's a set for Penny and the kids next door. Oh, darn it, though. Now a set's broken up. We can pick one up on the way to the plane. No, I've been trying all week to get another set or two. I guess the bean season's over or something. So what? It's not a matter of life or death. Funny, all the words you toss off in complete innocence can bounce back and churn up on the pit of your stomach. 24 hours after my wife left for home, that life or death line crashed back into my head and tied my insides into a fluttering knot. Oh, I'm sorry, senorita. I didn't know you were cleaning the room. I'll come back in a few minutes when you're finished. No, no, senor. It is done. I was about to leave. Did the senora have a safe trip? Matter of fact, I just picked up a wire from her at the desk. She said the flight was great. Well, no, I'm glad. Thank you. By the way, I'll be away for most of the day, and, uh, look, if I leave you some money, will you see that the little cat the senora became so fond of gets her milk? Oh. My wife will have a fit if I tell her I forgot. Oh, I am so sorry, senor. I recall now the senora did display a fondness for the little animal. Oh, I'm glad it happened after she left. You're glad. What happened? The little cat. She's muerte, dead. What? I found her in the hallway only this morning. But how did that happen? Oh, and cannot tell for sure, senor. There were no marks. Perhaps she found something to eat that was poison. All right. What do you think in a case like that? What do you do? I'll tell you. You think the worst. You remember a little great cat with a bracelet of pretty seeds in her mouth. Then you think of your kid a couple of thousand miles away all flushed and excited over a present, a present of those same pretty beads. And in the same thought, you remember how she puts things in her mouth, too. Pencil erasers, dolls, little rings, and bracelets. You rationalize a little, then. You tell yourself you're jumping to conclusions. A thousand other things might have killed that cat. But you remember about telephones, too. You don't have to take chances. You call. It takes maybe a couple of minutes for your call to go through. But it seems like an hour, even though your watch says no. Time's up. Call's placed. You wait for somebody to pick up a phone 2,000 miles away. It does not answer. Would you wish me to try again? No, no, no. Keep it ringing. If you wish. I sat there for a full five minutes listening to the ring of a phone I knew wasn't going to be picked up. But you die hard in a case like that. You keep hoping against hope that you're going to hear one of those rings cut off by the click and hello that will take the bulldozer weight off your chest. But five minutes are enough. The ringing starts to wear on your nerves like the ancient Chinese water torture. Pam wasn't home. Chances were she'd already left to bring our daughter Penny home from camp. And chances were, too, she'd taken the native jewelry with her. I knew Penny and I knew my wife Pam. If it was new and you could wear it, you didn't waste any time before trying it on. Maybe those seeds had killed a cat. Maybe they hadn't. But you don't take chances like that. I tried a few more calls. No good. I had to reach Pam before she reached Penny. I figured the local police might have better ways of doing it than I. So, in your midst, let us be certain there is cause for alarm. And these seeds, you would know them again? Yes, I'm sure I would. In here. They resemble those, perhaps. Yes, yes, exactly like those. Then, senor, you are correct. We must take every means to ensure they do not reach the hands of children. Lopez. Lopez! Si, Lieutenant Garcia. Un momento. Now quickly, senor Mills, you will please give sergeant Lopez such information as will be needed by your state police. No, I can't. I can't. You can't. You understand what we are attempting to do, senor. Yes, of course I do. You want to alert the police of my state and have them stop my wife's car. Sure you can provide us with the license number, description, probable route. Lieutenant Garcia, my wife doesn't drive. Then how would she reach this camp for children? By bus, I guess. That's how my daughter got there. Well, you know, it's more simple. The bus is easily sighted by highway police. What bus would she have taken? Don't you understand? I don't know. I don't have any idea what time she left. I don't even know the name of the camp. Don't you think I would have called the camp if I knew? Senor Mills, how can we help you if you give us nothing to work with? I don't know. I don't know. How do you find thieves and killers? Do they leave descriptions of their cars and where they're going? The Senor Mills, he makes a good point to Lieutenant Garcia. Perhaps. But it is also a fact that it often requires more time to catch a desperado than is now allowed as Lopez. Please, Senor Mills, we understand you are upset, but try to think clearly. We ask only for a clue. See, were you not in contact with a child for the two months you have been here? Yes, of course. Pam's my wife's mother visited Penny every other weekend, and she wrote us regularly. Did she ever mention the name of the camp? She might have. I don't remember. My wife made all the arrangements for the camp, and she joined me here. The mother-in-law, did you call her? Yes, right after I tried to get my wife. There wasn't any answer there either. She probably wrote up with my wife. Neighbors? Would they know? I tried them. All they know is that Penny's been away at camp. They couldn't even tell me the name. Had the Senora Mills given any of this native jewelry to them as yet? That's one of the reasons I called everybody. She hadn't. Why do you people allow poison to be sold on your streets anyway? Senora Mills, be reasonable. We did not know. The seeds come from a variety of native plants, and as soon as we learned of the danger, all such articles were confiscated. Senor, once more I ask you, is there nothing you can tell us, however remote, that may help to locate your wife and try it quickly? Nothing. Tell me. Tell me the truth now. Can those seeds kill a child? Answer me. Can they kill a child? Yes, Senor. They can. In a moment, we'll return for the second act of suspense. Four cars left out at night or in unheated garages. Don't ask for trouble. Ask for DuPont, Xerex antifreeze. Winter time is trouble time for many of us who leave our cars out at night or in unheated garages. So don't ask for trouble. Ask for DuPont, Xerex antifreeze. Xerex outlasts winter. It protects your car against sudden drops in temperature all winter long. It won't boil away even during a warm spell. And Xerex has an exclusive rust inhibitor, MR-8, that protects all engine metals, including aluminum, against rust and corrosion. So for safe, dependable protection, do as millions of motorists have done for over 20 years. Ask for Xerex antifreeze. It's made by DuPont. Remember. Four cars left out at night or in unheated garages. Don't ask for trouble. Ask for DuPont, Xerex antifreeze. I was asking for help, but I wasn't given much. Garcia and Lopez kept asking questions. They were trying, so was I, but we weren't getting very far. The same picture kept running through my mind. It was Penny. She was sitting in a bus somewhere. There was a bracelet around her arm. A brand new bracelet with different pretty little seeds. And there was a string of them around her neck, too. She had that pensive look she gets. The loop of the necklace was lifted up to her mouth. Between her teeth. And she was biting it. Listen, we've got to do something. We can't just sit here. We've got to do something. See, Senor Lopez, perhaps there is something he has forgotten and does not know about. See, Lieutenant. Go with Senor Mills to his hotel room. Search it thoroughly. Perhaps there is something. But there wasn't much in the hotel room. At least we were doing something. There were some of my clothes in the closet. Shirts and socks stacked in the bureau drawers. Pam had left me one suitcase, but it was empty. Garcia and Lopez were doing everything they could from their end. The descriptions of Pam and Penny had been wired to the state police. If they were seen, they'd be alerted. But we didn't put much hope in that possibility. Telephone lines were being kept open to my home in the apartment of Pam's mother. As soon as either of them returned, they'd be warned of the danger. But would it be too late? Lopez spied a small pile of pocketbooks and magazines in a night table drawer. Suspense stories. Pam was always reading suspense stories. What is this? Huh? Oh, short stories. Magazines. No, no, no, no. Someone has marked a place in this one. This is the letter. Let me see. Well, Lopez, it's from Pam's mother. Uh, a loud, Senor, please. All right. Dear Pam, I just returned from seeing Penny. She's brown as a little berry and having a wonderful time. Huh? The camp is beautiful. The facility is wonderful. Oh, she doesn't mention the name. She might, she might keep reading. They are trying to cure Penny of biting her nails. But you know Penny. And, and things in her mouth. Here, give it to me. It is true. There is nothing here. What am I going to do? Huh? What? What? Senor Mills, this helps nothing. Please. I'm sorry. Senor, I have ninjas of my own. Believe me, I understand, but we must work now. How? Look, look through your wallet. Maybe, just maybe there is something I hid. No, I've done that. Then do it again. All right, all right, all right. Uh, your money, eh? Trapper's checks. Identification. Credit cards. Papers, junk, junk. Ah, you're too quick, Senor Mills. A picture. It is your little girl, is it not? Uh, Pam's mother sent it to us a couple of weeks ago. Then it is important. Ah, can't you see? There is some kind of sign in the background with writing. Huh? Dear Lord, you're right. But it is too hazy and too small to make out anything. Nevertheless, we will have it in large. Quickly, we take it to a photographer. It had been only an hour since the realization of danger had stabbed into my mind. We had been racing against an incalculable margin of safety. For all I knew, my wife had only now reached the bus that would take her to Penny's camp. Then again, she might be well on her way, even there, possibly on her way back. Yet I was certain there couldn't be too much time left. I thanked Heavens for Lopez. He was coming up with angles I'd never thought of. The photographer looked at the snapshot, and he shook his head. I will try, but I do not know. Why? A dozen times you have done such things for us. See, but always with a negative or much better print. At first I must make a copy of this already poor picture then enlarge it big. I do not know. It's got to work. We've got to be able to see what that sign says. I will try, Senor. I cannot put in what is not there. The photographer worked fast. He made a copy negative, developed it, and printed it still wet. But just waiting for the image to come up in that tray of developer seemed like an eternity. What is wrong? Nothing is wrong. It takes a moment. There, the picture begins to appear. We fix the image quickly now. Well, give us some decent light. Please, please a second. The image must be at least partially fixed. Here, I give you light. Oh, Lopez, Lopez. That is the best you could do. I am sorry. I can make out none of these words. I am sorry. I held no great hope. I am sorry. Lopez, I'm scared. I'm scared to death. What's left? I don't know, Senor. I don't know. There must be something. Let me get to a phone. Let me call again. Don't be foolish, Senor Meals. Lieutenant Garcia's had a man on the telephone every second. He would immediately notify us if someone returned. The time. Look at the time. I'm not going to want to hear the news, Lopez. It's been too long. You do not know that. Senor Meals, quickly. The senora would have paid the fear of this child's camp by means of a check, huh? Why? Yes, of course she would. You're right. It's in the hotel room. Come on. Five minutes. That's all it took us to get back to the hotel. But there was plenty of time to wonder. I had asked Pam to leave me our checkbook. Sure, but the payment to Penny's camp had been made out more than two months before. Was it still the same pad of checks? Had Pam made the stub out completely, she didn't always. And if I found the right stub, what would it say? Payment for Penny's camp, huh? Another blind alley. I don't think I breathed. From the instant the checkstubs began flipping through my fingers. And then... Point of woods. Point of woods. Point of woods camp. That's it. Lopez, it's here. The phone. Quick. In short minutes, Lopez had pinned down the necessary information for reaching the camp. In seconds, a line was through. Why they don't answer? Please. Oh, please. I got something. Hello? Hello? Yeah. Point of woods camp? Yeah. Sorry, it took so long to answer. The phone blows outside. Please, please. This is important. Vitally important. You have a child there named Penelope Mills. What's that name? Mills. Mills. M-I-L-L-S. Penelope Mills. Sorry, mister, but there's a pile of kids right outside and you're making so much racket. I can hardly hear myself. Send your Mills. Perhaps it is my accent. Give it to me. Now listen to me. There's a child named Penelope Mills at your camp. Oh, you sound different now. Hey, just hang on for a minute while I close the door here. No, no, no. There's no time. Please, listen. Don't leave. No, don't at all, mister. Oh, what a force. Now go on, mister. They got a little quiet now. You've got a child there named Penelope Mills. She's to be picked up this morning by her mother. Oh, I'm afraid not, mister. He must have gone off easy a half hour ago. Look, what bus did they catch? Well, I know how they went off in a private car. I think so. Well, what kind of a car? What make? What year? Can you describe it? I can't tell one car from another. Anything else I can do for you? Mister, you still on the line there? There it was. And for me, that was it. Watching Lopez trying to get some sense out of the phone after I had dropped it was like a great big anti-climax. He managed to talk with somebody more responsible, but it didn't help. Param had picked up Penny. She had signed her out. They'd gone. And they hadn't used the bus. A bus might have been picked up on the road and stopped. Well, how do you get police to stop a car? You can't even describe. I tell you, it is not hopeless in your meals. Believe me. Listen, don't you think I want to hang on to hope? That's all I've got. But even you're out of suggestions. True. I can see nothing more to be done from here, but we know comparatively little about the toxicity of the seeds. We know they'll kill. But we do not know how quickly or in what amount. Your wife and child, they are on their way home. We know now that it is only about an hour's drive. Now, when they arrive, there can well be time to rush this child to the hospital. But it's been more than an hour. Why doesn't somebody get there and answer the phone? Many reasons. Perhaps the traffic was heavy. Ah, Lieutenant Garcia, is there any news? Lopez, how long have you two been in here in Senor Mills' hotel room? Oh, about a half hour perhaps. What is wrong? Eh, such fools they are. Senor Mills, two times your wife has attempted to reach you by telephone while you're away. Did she leave a message? She left a number. I have taken the liberty of having the call placed. Why did no one give us this information? It seems if one does not pick up messages at the desk here, no one worries whether or not they are delivered. Have you got the number she left? See, Senor, it is plain she did not call from either her home or that of her mother. The number is unfamiliar. Perhaps it means something to you, Senor. No. No, it's not even our town. Oh, dear God, maybe it happened. Maybe it happened on the way. Eh, Senor, perhaps it would be best if I spoke. No. No. Give me the phone. Hello? Yes? Penny. Pam. How is Penny? Well, fine. I'm sure she's fine. Why shouldn't she be? She was wonderful when I last saw a few hours ago. Pam, isn't she with you? Didn't you pick her up from camp? Yes, but I got a ride with the gallows. You remember those friends of mine? Can't you get to a simple fact? Where's Penny now? Les, will you give me a chance? The gallows drove me to the camp and then back to their summer place for the weekend. All right, yes. Penny's been out on the lake all morning. Now, for Pete's sake, will you tell me what you think might be wrong with Penny? You got me ready to scream. Pam, listen to me now. Do what I say. Yes? Get Penny right away. Take her to the nearest hospital and be sure to take those native seed things with you for them to analyze. Les, those seeds are packed in the trunk. Yeah. What did you say? Well, if for some reason it's those seeds you are worried about, they're locked in the trunk. You forgot to give me the key. I haven't been able to get her clothes out. Oh, thank God. Now, how does that make it all right? Les, answer me. What's the matter with you? Everything's all right, Pam. Everything's all right now. You know you just almost scared me to death. I know. I know, dear. I know. But believe me, it could have been worse. Suspense. You've been listening to Seeds of Disaster starring Bernard Grant and written especially for suspense by David Hill in a moment of word about next week's story of suspense. What does a certain comedian think started him on the road to success? How does the front page Washington Newsmaker regard his early days in the political arena? What do some of the nation's best-known personalities feel about those who shaped their careers? On the CBS Radio Network Weekday feature Personal Story, you hear the answers in the words of the people themselves. Personal Story, here at each Monday through Friday at this address. Suspense is produced and directed by Bruno Zorato Jr., music supervision by Ethel Huber. Heard in tonight's story where Connie Lemke is Pam, Ralph Camargo as Lopez, Bob Dryden as Garcia, Deli Sonnenberg as the maid, Guy Rapp as the photographer and Barbara Kassar as the operator. Listen again next week when we return with Witness to Murder, written by Francis Rickett. Another tale well-calculated to keep you in. Suspense. World Action or Neighborhood. Expanded CBS News covers them all on the CBS Radio...