 And now, AutoLite and its 60,000 dealers and service stations present... Suspense! Tonight, AutoLite brings you James Mason and Pamela Colino in Agatha Christie's, where there's a will. A suspense play, produced and directed by Anton M. Leader. Friends, have you ever been in a dilemma, I mean in a fix, like having to get started in a hurry and your motor won't turn over? Well, what you need is an AutoLite-stay-full battery, that dandy dynamic battery you can definitely depend on. Why, by Cornelius, an AutoLite-stay-full battery needs water only three times a year in normal car use? You can say bravura for that aquapura. Plenty of extra liquid reserve. Yes, siri. And it has extra plates in every cell. That means longer life and stronger life. What's more, those plates are protected against loss by fiberglass insulation. I can't say enough about AutoLite-stay-full batteries. Those marvelous marvels with more liquid reserve than Hollywood has stars. So, get wise, get an AutoLite-stay-full. Remember, you're right with AutoLite. And now, AutoLite presents James Mason and Pamela Colino in A Tale Well Calculated to Keep You in Suspense. And now, Mr. Jepsen, you really must let me make you a whiskey and soda. I have some excellent scotch. Never mind that, Ridway. I've come to find out when you can raise ten thousand pounds. I see. Yes, I see. Well, Mr. Jepsen, ten thousand pounds is a great deal of money. It's what's needed to cover your notes. Yes, that's right. But you know, Mr. Jepsen, you might just let me write you one more IOU and try again. Your luck's run out, Ridway. Well, I wasn't much of a gambler anyhow, was I? Perhaps it's just as well I've learned my lesson. How long, Mr. Jepsen, would you say I have to raise the money? Four weeks. I see. Four weeks. And if I should fail to raise the money? Hmm? I see. Well, you make yourself very clear, Mr. Jepsen. But then perhaps all's not lost. Mrs. Harter, my aunt, has had the foresight to draw up a new will, making me her heir. The money was to go to a niece, my cousin Miriam, but now a new will's been drawn up. Aunt Mary finds me a much more satisfactory than poor Miriam. The very spirit of solicitude I am. Forever inquiring about her health, about her poor, weak heart. Four weeks. Is that right, Mr. Jepsen? That's right, Ridway. Or else. I see. Or else. That's when it began. That, plus the fortunate circumstance of the new will in my favor, decided me on my plan. Now murder wouldn't look right. Nobody else living in the house but Aunt Mary and I, and Elizabeth, the maid. And since I would benefit by forty thousand pounds, no, murder would not look right. Besides, I was fond of Aunt Mary. Well, a day or so after Mr. Jepsen's visit, there occurred to me a rather whimsical idea for a practical joke. The first thing was to determine the degree of weakness of Aunt Mary's weak heart. And so I arranged an appointment for her with Dr. Menel, the heart specialist in Harley Street. Just a pleasure, Mr. Ridway. Thank you, Dr. Menel. Now, Mr. Ridway, as you requested, I've gone over your aunt, Mrs. Hart, thoroughly. Yes. And there is a heart weakness. How dreadful. But not terribly serious, Charles, Dr. Menel says. But my poor dear Aunt Mary. Dear Charles. Naturally you're shocked, Mr. Ridway. But with the least care, she'll live to be ninety, I should think. However, her mind must be kept well distracted. Mind distracted? Yes. Distraction for the mind and no sudden shocks. That's most important. No sudden shocks. I see. Well, thank you, Doctor. Not at all. Out this way, my private exit. No use going through the waiting room again, eh? Well, good day, Mrs. Hart, eh? Good day, Doctor. Goodbye, Doctor. Oh, I'd say, Ridway. Yes? I minimized her aunt's condition just a bit. Didn't want to alarm her. You, uh, understand. Yes, of course. But what I said about no shocks, no frights. Most important. A good fright might very well carry her off. I see. I see. Well, eh, thank you, Doctor. The next step was the radio. Aunt Mary must have a radio. But, Charles, you know I don't care for new fangled things. We've got on quite well without a wireless. I don't see why we should have one now. But don't you remember what Tectomanel said, Aunt Mary? The mind distracted, well distracted. Those were his very words. You know, I'm only thinking of your heart. I know you are, dear Charles. That's better, Aunt Mary. That's more like yourself. You are a comfort to me, Charles. Thank you, Aunt Mary. Now, about the radio. But really, Charles... No, no, no. You really ought to trust my judgment. I'm a bit of an expert on radio, you know. Before the war, I even had a small sender station of my own. Some of the equipment's still in one of my boxes somewhere about. So, you see, I know. But the waves, Charles. The electric waves. They might affect me. There's no more electricity about it than there is about an electric light. Radio waves aren't electric. But, Charles, I must say it makes a frightful noise. We'll have it tuned in a minute. Here we are. What is it? It's Spanish, Aunt Mary. Madrid, propaganda. There's France. What do you think of that? You can tune in the whole world, the whole world. You see, Aunt Mary, radio waves converging from all over the world on this little box from Madrid, Paris, New York, and beyond. Beyond. Who knows how far beyond. Well, I must say, Charles, you're quite poetic about it. Am I? Yes. Yes, I suppose I am. That was the first inkling I had that my little practical joke was going to be fun. The acting and coaxing poor dear Aunt Mary along, bit by bit. Every evening, she'd sit by the radio, listening to the news on the BBC Home Service and the classical music on the third program. Then, one morning, I attached a wire into the radio while she was still in bed, ran it along under the carpet into the small ante-room of the sitting room where the radio stood, took the hand microphone left over from my amateur sending days and hooked it to the other end of the wire, and everything was already. That evening, I backed the car out of the garage and started off for my regular Wednesday evening of bridge. But I drove only a short way, then parked behind a hedge and walked back to the house. I let myself in the side door and went into the small room of the sitting room where Aunt Mary sat alone listening to the radio. It was the third program, a program of Beethoven. I opened the door the slightest crack, the moment had come and I felt my heart beating with strange emotion. I saw in my mind's eye Aunt Mary in the dimly lit sitting room and I almost felt the mood she must be feeling as she sat dreamily immersed in the shifting strains of music. I picked up the microphone and... Mary, can you hear me, Mary? This is Patrick. What? This is Patrick, your husband speaking, from the other side. I am coming for you soon. Will you be ready, Mary? Patrick? Will you be ready, Mary? Patrick! For Suspense, Auto-Light is bringing you James Mason and Pamela Collino in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills Suspense. I spent Washington's birthday telling my young nephew the story of George Washington. What a great man he was, how he always told the truth. Well, it was nice to hear, though. This younger generation should know about George Washington. And to illustrate, I told him how I always tell the truth about Auto-Light's day full batteries. Those marvelous, wonderful, get-up-and-get batteries with the extra reserve of water. Why, son, I told him a camel is practically dehydrated compared to an Auto-Light's day full battery. Because an Auto-Light's day full battery needs water only three times a year in normal car use. But, Hono, you were telling your nephew about George Washington. Always tell the truth, I told him. Like I tell the people about the punchy power for peppy performance packed in an Auto-Light's day full battery because of that ample sample of H2O. Yes, by Cornelius, I told him an Auto-Light's day full battery needs water only three times a year in normal car use. That extra liquid reserve means longer life and stronger life. I told him about the fiberglass insulation between plates that adds months to the life of an Auto-Light's day full battery. I'm sure the kid learned a lot about George Washington. But wait, here's suspense. And now, Auto-Light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage James Mason, who will be joined by his wife Pamela Collino in where there's a will, a tale well calculated to keep you in. Suspense! After I'd spoken with the voice of Aunt Mary's dead husband, I waited a moment, then very cautiously I looked into the sitting room. Aunt Mary was sitting bolt upright, transfixed. Then a sob broke from her as she looked toward the radio, which was now innocently transmitting the BBC third programme again. I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing. But Aunt Mary said nothing about her experience. So I was obliged the fourth morning after that at breakfast to say casually. Oh, I say Aunt Mary. Yes, Charles? I was just wondering. Last evening. Yes, Charles? Aunt Mary, who's that funny old boy up in the spare room? The picture, that is. You know, the picture over the mantelpiece, the old boy with the beaver and the side whiskers? Well, really, Charles, your tone is most disrespectful. I'm sorry? It's your Uncle Patrick, Charles, my late husband. Oh, I say, I'm sorry. I had no idea. After all, I never did know him, Aunt Mary. Very well, Charles. You see, I wondered. It was queer. Queer? What's queer? Are you trying to say something, Charles? Oh, no, no, no, not really. It's nothing. Nothing that makes any sense, I mean. I wish you would tell me what it was that made you ask me about the picture of your Uncle. Well, if you will have it. I fancied. I saw him. Saw him? The man in the picture, I mean. Looking out of the end window when I was coming up the drive last night. What? Yeah. And later on I happened to drift into the spare room and there was the picture up over the mantelpiece, the same man. It's all quite easy to explain really. I expect subconscious and all that. You must have noticed the picture before without realizing it and then just fancied the face in the window. Aunt Mary, is something the matter? Charles, my husband's face. Did you see it in the end window? Well, yes. Why? Only that that was Patrick's. Your late Uncle's dressing room, Charles. The very absurdity of the story I made poor Aunt Mary believe was the fun. The clever roundabout way I played my role. The following Wednesday night I pretended to play off to go and play bridge again. I concealed myself in the room of the sitting room just as before, took up the microphone and spoke from the other world in the same suporical tones. Mary, on Friday I shall come for you. Friday at half past nine. At half past nine. Do not be afraid. There will be no pain. Be ready, Mary. When I came into her bedroom the next morning, Aunt Mary was speaking to Elizabeth in a most business-like manner. Now, here you are, Elizabeth. I want you to take this letter I've written. Yes, ma'am. I wrote it last evening. If anything should happen Friday evening. You understand me? Yes, ma'am. Friday evening. But that's my night out. So it is, and you go right ahead. However, if anything shall have happened by the time you get back on Saturday, I want this letter delivered to Dr. Mail. Yes, ma'am. Now, the top left-hand drawer of my bureau. It's locked. The long key with a white label. Everything in the drawer is ready. Ready, ma'am? For my burial. Oh, ma'am, what are you saying? I thought you was in a site better health. Come on, that Elizabeth. Don't be maudlin. Come on. Elizabeth. Did I ever tell you how much I've left you in my will? Oh, no, ma'am. Well, I can't seem to remember it was 50 pounds in the old will, but did I raise it to 100? Well, at any rate, I want you to have 100 pounds. I'll have to look into it. But if anything should happen before I do, then Mr. Charles will see to it. Did I hear my name mentioned, dear Aunt Mary? Oh, good morning, Charles. Yes, I was just saying to Elizabeth, I don't know if I've left her 50 or 100 pounds, but if anything should happen to me, it's to be 100 pounds. I must say, that's a gloomy thing to be thinking about. Oh, Mr. Charles, sir, she's been carrying almost awful just now. What's this? That's enough, Elizabeth. You may go now. Yes, ma'am. Yes, ma'am. Well, now, just what in the world is all this about? Suppose you tell me just what's going to happen to dear Aunt Mary? Charles, what do you plan to be doing Friday evening? Friday evening? Well, as a matter of fact, the Ewing's asked me to go in and play bridge. But if you'd rather, I stayed at home. No, no, Charles, actually, I'd prefer to be alone. Well, just as you wish. You know, I think I'll have Mr. Hopkinson send me the will. I want to find out about the request to Elizabeth. It's either 50 or 100 pounds. The rest, dear Charles, of course goes to you. Yes, dear Aunt Mary, whatever you say. Friday evening? I'd picked that night because I knew it was Elizabeth's night off and I wanted to be sure there's no one about. Friday evening, at eight o'clock, I drove away, waited for an hour to elapse, then slipped back into the house. I looked through the crack in the door and saw Aunt Mary sitting in the high-back chair beside the radio. As I listened, the nine o'clock news ended and a program of music was about to begin. It was a quarter-bast nine, 15 minutes till the appointed time for the arrival of the dead Patrick. This time, I did not touch the microphone. I went upstairs, opened a camper chest of old clothes in the spare room, took a tube of spirit gum from my pocket and bent forward intently in front of a mirror. Sharp on the instant of half-bast nine, there was a fumbling at the outer door of the house. And the front door slowly opened and then there were slow, halting footsteps along the short hall to the sitting room where an old woman waited. The sitting room door opened. The time has come, Mary. Patrick! A practical joke had worked to perfection. Aunt Mary's poor old heart couldn't stand the strain of seeing her dead husband, Patrick, arrive in person to carry her off into the spirit world. I stepped over the body, which had fallen dangerously near the burning fire in the grate. I took the poker and thrust some folds of paper that were lying in the ash into the fire to bring up a blaze, and in the blaze burned the false beard and side whiskers. I detached the wire fixed into the radio and took wire and microphone upstairs. I undressed and replaced Uncle Patrick's old-fashioned suit of clothes in the camper chest in the spare room where I'd found it. Then I dressed again and went off to play bridge at the Ewing's. Two days later... It's Hartus. I mean, this was Mrs. Hartus' residence. Oh, just a moment. It's Mr. Jepsen, sir. All right, I'll take it. You may go, Elizabeth. Yes, sir. Ridgeway here. Anything wrong? Not yet. I just wanted you to know that I read about it in the daily standard, Ridgeway. A pity about poor dear Aunt Mary, don't you think, Mr. Jepsen? A pity left. I haven't forgotten. Once the newspapers announced my inheritance of 40,000 pounds, I'll have no difficulty borrowing. And then I'll pay up. Good. And I send you to the same place you sent to your Aunt Mary. You understand? Or maybe it wouldn't be quite the same place, Ridgeway. Now that you've got murder on your soul... understand? I understand, Mr. Jepsen. And then, that evening, Dr. Manel came to the house. I really did think you'd want to see this. You say Elizabeth brought it to you? Yes. She said it was one of Mrs. Hartus' last requests that she do so. As a matter of fact, I do seem to remember... yes, and I do recall seeing her give Elizabeth some such envelope as that. You've read the content? That's what's queer. Here, suppose you have a look for yourself. All right. Tonight, Wednesday at 9.15, I have distinctly heard the voice of my dead husband. He told me that he would come for me on Friday night at 9.30. If I should die on that day and at that hour, I should like the fact made known so as to prove beyond question the possibility of communicating with the spirit world. Mary Harter. What do you make of it? I hardly know. It's a coincidence to say the least. She did die at nearly that very hour, 9.30 Friday night. I don't understand. In the circumstances, an autopsy is desirable, you understand. Purely as a matter of form. Yes. Yes, of course. Why not? Of course, everything must be done according to form. What's the matter with you, Charles? Have you lost your sense of humor? Finally, five days later. Mr. Hopkinson is here to see you, sir. Thank you, Elizabeth. That'll be all. Yes, sir. Good morning, Mr. Ridgeway. Fightful morning. Mr. Hopkinson, about Mrs. Harter's, uh, my aunt's, uh, will. I did not quite understand your insistent messages to me, Mr. Ridgeway. You seemed to be under the impression the late Mrs. Harter's will was in our keeping. Well, yes, I've often heard my aunt say as much. Well, quite, quite so. It was in our keeping. Was? That is what I said. Mrs. Harter wrote to us, however, asking that it be forwarded to her. There seemed to be some haste to the matter. At any rate, we got it out to her at once. She would have received it on Friday, the day of her death. I do seem to remember her making mention of it. Something about the bequest to Elizabeth. She wanted to check the amount. It must be about the house somewhere then. Elizabeth has been through Mrs. Harter's personal effects, I believe. Yes, just a moment. I'll call him. Elizabeth! Yes, Mr. Charles? Elizabeth, come here a moment, please. Yes, sir. Elizabeth, when you went through Mrs. Harter's things, was her will among them? No, sir. You're sure, Elizabeth? Yes, sir. You see, I know what it looked like. The poor mistress had it in her hand the very evening of her death when she sent me out. You're sure of that? Oh, yes, sir. She pointed out that about the 50 pounds to me, sir. She said that she'd told you to give me the other 50 pounds. Not that I mentioned it to press you, sir. No, no, no, of course not. The will was in a long blue envelope, sir. Quite right. The same blue envelope, Mr. Charles, sir, was lying on the radio table by her chair the morning after, but empty, sir. It was the envelope in which I dispatched the will to your aunt, Mr. Ridgeway. Mr. Ridgeway, was there a fire in the great town Friday evening? Yes, of course. I see. What are you driving at, Hopkinson? I'm afraid, Mr. Ridgeway, only one conclusion is possible. Your aunt sent for her will in order to destroy it. What? Yes, Mr. Ridgeway. But why? Why? You, uh... you had no disagreement with your aunt, Mr. Ridgeway? Not at all. We were on the most affectionate terms right up to the end. Of course. Quite. Mr. Ridgeway, you will understand. Under the circumstances, we would have bledged to investigate. Investigate? What do you mean? It happens that there is a former will of Mrs. Harder still extant. By it, Mrs. Harder leaves everything to her niece, to your cousin Miriam. To Miriam? Yes, but... As for the more recent will sent by me before her death to Mrs. Harder, it must have been burned in the great... Burned? It was burned. Mr. Charles, can I get you something? No. No, I'll be all right. You may go on, Elizabeth. Yes. I'll run along, too, Mr. Ridgeway. If there is nothing further. No, I'll, um... I'll telephone her. Quite. And yet there would seem to be little use for that. We've notified your cousin Miriam of her inheritance. As a matter of fact, I'm surprised you didn't know all this yourself. You see, we sent word round to the press yesterday. Well, um... Good day, Mr. Ridgeway. Good day. I remembered some folds of paper that I thrust into the fire to make it blaze up and burn the false beard and side whiskers with which I'd frightened an old lady to death. And then I remembered something falling. A paper. A will. From an old woman's fingers as she stood frozen in terror to near the fire. I saw the fire again consuming something... consuming the will. Oh, my cleverness! Your maid said you weren't in, but I thought she was lying. I don't like liars, Ridgeway. Mr. Jepson... I read the papers. I read who's going to inherit your aunt's money. I don't like liars. But I did think I was going to inherit, or... or why would I have killed her? You killed her? Of course. Oh, so you did kill her. How many times do you want me to say this? I believe that'll do. All right, Inspector. That's what I wanted you to hear. Come in. What? Bring in the maid, too. That was very clever of you, Mr. Jepson. I must confess, I had my doubts. Now, Mr. Ridgeway, you'd better come along. But I was only joking. No, woman. Yes, sir. You heard Mr. Ridgeway say he killed his aunt. I did, sir, but he must have been joking. Never mind. That's enough. By the way, Mr. Ridgeway, you'll be interested in knowing, I'm sure, that we checked with Dr. Menel on the autopsy. According to his report, your aunt's aunt was so weak she could not have lived another month. What are you laughing at? That's your joke, old man. Oh, your joke. Yes. It's just funny, isn't it? Very funny. Thank you, James Mason and Pamela Colino, for a splendid performance. Now, Harlow Wilcox. Friends, auto lights stay full batteries, need water only three times a year in normal car use. And they're made by auto light men who make over 400 products for cars, trucks, airplanes, and boats in 28 auto light plants from coast to coast. Yes, sir, E, auto light also makes complete electrical systems for many makes of America's finest cars. Batteries, spark plugs, generators, starting motors, coils, distributors. All ignition engineered to fit together perfectly, work together perfectly, because they're a perfect team. So, folks, don't accept electrical parts that are supposed to be as good. Ask for and insist on auto light, original factory parts at your neighborhood service station, car dealer, garage, or repair shop. Remember, you're always right with auto light. Now, here again is... James Mason and wife... Pamela Colino. I hope you both enjoyed being on suspense tonight, and especially you, Mrs. Mason, even though the part of Elizabeth was small. Oh, yes, it was a lot of fun. You see, James and I learned a long time ago that it's not how loud the part is, but how much fun you have playing it. Besides, next time, Tony Leader has promised to find a script for me, in which James can play a butler or a cat or something. How about that, Mrs. Mason? I'm looking forward to it. And we're looking forward, too, to next week, when Joan Fontaine will star in The Lovebirds, another gripping study in... Suspense. James Mason and Pamela Colino have just completed the book, The Cats in Our Lives. Tonight's suspense play was adapted from the Agatha Christie story by William Feifeld. Music was composed by Lucian Morawek and conducted by Lud Gluskin. The entire production was under the direction of Anton M. Leader. Now, here is great news. Beginning March 1st, suspense on television may be seen in many areas of the country, Tuesdays at 9.30 p.m. ET. You can buy auto-light electrical parts, auto-light resistor spark plugs, auto-light staple batteries at your neighborhood auto-light dealer. Switch to auto-light. Good night. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.