 Suspense. And its producer, the master of mystery and adventure, William N. Robson. Good afternoon. We are honored to bring you on this first program in our new Sunday time. One of today's most talented actresses, Ms. Sarah Churchill. Starring in one of yesterday's most chilling tales, The Signalman by Charles Dickens. More often than not, a classic suffers in transition from one medium to another. The transcribed play you are about to hear is an exception to this generality. The late great writer-director Irving Reese in his adaptation has given a dimension to the story of the late great Charles Dickens never imagined. We suggest that you might find it interesting to read the Dickens story after listening to this, the re-stramatization of The Signalman. Starring Ms. Sarah Churchill. A tale well calculated to keep you in. Suspense. It had smashed by like a wounded monster screaming in pain and disappeared into the dark tunnel. In those brief seconds, I'd relived the emotions of my childhood. I still trembled with the child's terror and fascination that had surged through me the many times I stood here 20 years before. Nothing had changed. The steep, dripping, wet walls of jagged stone that led down to the tracks. The gloomy mouth of the tunnel. The small Signalman shack huddled against the side of the cutting. Even the job was held by the same man they had told me in the village. He stood there in the glow of an angry sunset, furling a signal flag around a short pole. I called to him. Hello! Below! Instead of looking up at me, he turned tensely to stare toward a red signal light that glowed at the mouth of the tunnel. Hello! Below there! He finally turned. Slowly it seemed to me, even fearfully and looked up. He stared at me unanswering. I was afraid the suddenness of my call had unnerved him. I tried to compensate by being overly casual. Hello! I would like to speak to you. Is there a path I can use to come down? He stared silently a while longer, then finally pointed his flag to a spot in the cutting embankment. It was a zigzag path with small footholds cut through the clammy stone. A track seemed a mile below, but I was determined to get down. Midway I sensed a vague vibration of earth and air, like a sound that could be felt but not heard. I tried to fight down a fear that suddenly gripped me. The air was filled with a violent pulsation. It seemed to have a force that could draw me down. I suddenly threw my hands up to my eyes as though to shut out some terrible sight. And then I flattened myself against the jagged rock and clutched her. With this uncontrolled childish reaction, I could see the signalman still staring at me. I climbed down the rest of the way quickly and carelessly. I walked towards him with a casual smile. He watched me expectantly. I made me say, I used to live in the village. I was anxious to speak to you. I'm sorry if I startled you when I called out. Why did you use those words? Those words? I hardly remember. I think I shouted hello below there or something to that effect. Not to that effect, Miss. Those were the very words. I know them well. Admit those were the words. All right. I admit. Why did you use them? Well, you were below. I wanted to attract your attention, so I called hello below there. Seems logical, doesn't it? I miss. If you had no other reason. What other reason could I possibly have? I thought you would tell me. Oh, I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have come down. I think I've frightened you. Now why would you think that, Miss? Well, you stared at me as though you had a dread of me. I miss. I was doubtful whether I'd seen you before. Well, if you have, it was when I was eight years old, standing on that bridge over the tunnel up there. I used to love watching the trains. Well, then my family moved to the city. This is my first visit back in twenty years. You don't believe me. I'm not certain. Where could you have seen me? Don't you know? Since I'd been away for twenty years, I... Oh, there! By the red signal light at the mouth of the tunnel. That's why you turned and stared there when I first called. I miss. What would I be doing up at the signal light? I don't know. I wish... No, it's a mistake, Miss. I haven't been well. What is it you wish to speak to me about? Well, I'm... I'm a writer. I wanted to interview you. Me? Why, Miss? Well, my magazine does a weekly biographical piece on interesting people and unusual occupations. It's called Close-Up. I miss. I've read them. You have? You seem surprised. Please, perhaps. Well, that one's so unsophisticated as I... I really didn't mean that. Well, there's a bit of a fire in my shock. It'd be more comfortable for you there. Won't you come in? Yes. Thank you. My, this is a lonely pose. Visitors must be rare. I miss. The branch superintendent makes an annual inspection. And that's all. Except for... Yes? Come in. I was snogging comfortable. Most of my waking life is spent here. I've tried to make it pleasant. And you've succeeded. You were speaking of visitors, just as we came in and... I put this chair nearer the fireplace. One chills out there. I say. You have a fine collection of books. Aye. They've given me much companionship in the long nights. Pretty weighty companion. Gibbons, decline and fall. Burton's anatomy of melancholy. Darwin's... We did a surprise you again, Miss. May I be frank? I'll have to be if I'm to succeed with the article. My editor is only interested in... Odd. Well, the unusual. And the level of my reading seems above the level of my station. Not many people in any station these days. Welcome now, Miss, to as you call for frankness. All right. Why would a man with a mind capable of absorbing these subjects... stay on a desolate job like this? Well, you see, when I was a young man, I became very interested in the natural philosophies. I set my course, I studied hard, planned the future. And then I... I ran wild, Miss. I misused my opportunities. I went down. And I've never risen again. Oh, I've no complaint. I've made my bed. It's too late to make another. Maybe you gave up too soon. No, no, no, Miss, no, no. There are forces beyond us that shape us. One must know when not to resist, Miss. Oh, I might have bloodied myself a while longer, but I knew... I took this position 34 years ago. And you've never regretted. Oh, no. Not until... Until what? Won't you please tell me? You first tell me what brought you here. But I have. Well, you said nothing of what made you think of this place. Specifically, there are many places and people... Well, I told you. I used to come here as a child. The trains frightened and fascinated me. I've always remembered it vividly through the years. I promised myself that one day I would come back and do a story on it. Good subjects aren't easy to find, you know. Why did you choose just now to come? These ideas germinate in a writer's mind for a while and then an impulse. And you were drawn here. You say that as though mystic forces were involved. It was much simpler, I assure you. I've been working hard. I decided that a few days in the country would do me good. I plan to use them profitably by doing a story on you. But you might have come to that decision last month or last year. Well, that's true. But I can't see why you attached a special significance to the fact that I... Why? Why did the frighten you so? Wouldn't you think I might outgrow that silly childish fear? If I was drawn here, as you say, I guess it was to see whether I had. The modern psychiatrists would say it was a desire to relive a childhood experience. I miss. There are many answers. Philosophers have even speculated on the possibility that the future can intrude on the memory as well as the past. But surely you don't believe that. I believe only in the evidence of my five senses. May I ask, why did you go to the door? To check the tunnel light. But does it need to be checked so often? You did before we came in. Why are you staring at me so? Was I staring at you? Please, something is preying on your mind. Can't you tell me? The fire needs staring. You're avoiding my question. There's nothing here, miss. You're coming was a mistake. An old man in a railroad tunnel, it would require considerable imagination to make an interesting story of that. What exactly are your duties? There are responsibilities more than actual work, miss. Exactness and watchfulness are required most. Seeing that the signals operate, turning the switching handle now and then. Listening to the telegraph ticket to see if the post is wanted. Not much else. The hours weigh heavily through the night. It's very difficult to impart, miss. Very difficult to speak of. Now if you ever make another trip, I'll try to tell you. Yes, yes, of course. And I will have to make several trips before the story takes shape. When may I come again tomorrow? I miss, if you wish. Thank you. I will be back tomorrow evening. You won't have any difficulty getting back up. No, it was only that first trip, darling. I'll show me white light till you reach the top. Thank you. Well, I'll say good night now, miss. Good night, sir. I wish you a pleasant one. I regret that I... I understand. I miss, I think you do. May I ask you then when you get to the top? Don't call out to me, I beg of you. Don't call out. I won't. And when you come tomorrow night, please don't call out. Of course not. Good night. And may I ask one parting question? Certain. When you came down the pub earlier tonight, you suddenly threw your hands up to your eyes. Like this, as though to shoot out some dreadful sight. Why? To that uncontrollable, childish reaction. Like I said, I thought as though the train would draw me down. I covered my eyes like a child, not to see it. You had no feeling that the action was conveyed to you for some reason. No. Why should it seem otherwise? Because there's been someone at the red light at the mouth of the tunnel each night for a week now, holding its hands up to its eyes like that, as though to shoot out some dreadful sight. And you've actually seen it? Every night. Was it there tonight when you went to the door? Yes, I saw it quite clearly. Who was it? In a moment we will return to tonight's story of... Suspense. The Signalman, starring Miss Sarah Churchill. The quiz is as exciting as quiz can be, but what is even more exciting on Strike It Rich is the human interest. For Strike It Rich is the quiz show that gives folks an opportunity to win cash prizes for over the cause. And what could be more exciting than that? Get in on the human interest every Monday through Friday when CBS Radio says Strike It Rich on most of these same stations. We continue with The Signalman by Charles Dickens, with Miss Sarah Churchill and Ben Wright. A tale well calculated to keep you in... Suspense. I returned the next night as the distant clocks were striking nine. The Signalman waited for me at the bottom of the cutting with his white light shining. We walked silently to his shack, and it didn't sat down by the fire. I didn't wish to press him, so I said nothing. He stared at the burning embers for a moment, and then turned to me. I'm going to tell you, Mrs. Best I Can, what troubles me. I'm glad. I mistook you for someone else last night. That troubles me. The mistake? The someone else. Who is it then? I don't know. What does it do? Well, this time it stands with its left arm across its face. The right arm is waved violently this way. As though to say, for God's sake, clear the way. You've heard those words? Oh, no, I'm not certain, not about those specific words, but I have heard it called before. When? Well, one moonlight night, about a year ago, I was sitting here when I heard a voice cry. Hello! Below there! That's why you were startled when I used the word. I must. Well, I ran to the door, and I looked out, and I saw this... This someone else standing up there by the red light near the tunnel, waving its arms, I just showed him. The voice was hoarse, shouting, and he cried, Hello! Below there! Look out! Look out! I caught up my lamp, and I ran towards the figure, calling, What's wrong? What has happened? Where? When I got to the light, it was gone. Did you see where? The tunnel was the only place it could go without passing me, who I ran into the tunnel for 100 yards or so, and I searched around with my life. Then I run back here and I telegraph both ways, and alarm has been given. Is anything wrong? And the answer came back both ways, all's well. Of course. Now I'm going to take advantage of last night's permission to be frank. You've been here more than 30 years, haven't you? Huh? It isn't the most cheerful place in the world with that moaning wind through the tunnel, the wild harp it makes of the telegraph was. It's understandable that you could have the illusion you've heard a call, and anyone staring at the dark long enough as you did from the door could imagine seeing something. You've let it prey on your mind so long, it seems real. I was not... I was not finished, Miss. I'm sorry. Within six hours after it first appeared, the main line flyer crashed and derailed at the far end of the tunnel, and within ten hours, the dead and the wounded were being brought through the tunnel over to the spot where the figure stood. Coincidence. A tragic, remarkable coincidence. But don't you see that... There is more, Miss. Please forgive me. Six or seven months passed, and I recovered from the surprise and shock when, one morning, just as daylight was breaking, I looked towards the red light, and I saw it again. Did it cry out? No, it was silent. It didn't wave its arm? No, Miss. No, it leaned against the post, with both hands covering the eyes, like this, as though to blot out some terrible sight. That's why you asked me why I had put my hands to my eyes as I came down the path. I must, you called out the words it used the first time, and you covered your eyes as it did the second time. Go on, please. For that very day, as a train came out to the tunnel, I noticed a confusion of hands and heads at one of the coach platforms, and something waved. I saw it in time to flag down the engineer. He applied his brakes, but the train drifted past here about 100 yards. As I ran up to it, I heard terrible screams and cries. A beautiful young woman had fallen between the cars, and she was brought in here. She died on this very spot between us. How horrible. But I still don't see it. One final word, Miss, and you'll judge how my mind is troubled. It came back a week ago, and ever since it's been there. At the light? Aye. It covers its eyes. It waves its arms. It shouts, For God's sake, clear the way, clear the way. I've no rest or peace for it. It calls me many minutes together in an agonized manner below there. Look out, look out. It stands waving at me. It sounds the telegraph ticker. Did it sound the ticker last night while I was here? Twice. I assure you it was your imagination. The ticker did not sound last night. No, I've never made a mistake after that, Miss. I don't wonder that you failed to hear it, but I heard it. Do you hear it now? Aye. What is it saying? It is unclear. It only warns. It doesn't say against what. If I only knew what it meant. What is the danger? Where is the danger? There is danger overhanging somewhere on the line. Some terrible calamity will happen. Please, you mustn't let yourself go. What if I telegraph danger on either side of me or on both? I can give them no reason for it. I'd get into trouble and do no good. They'd think I was mad. And this is the way it would work, Miss. Message, danger, take care. Answer, what danger? Where? Message, don't know, but for God's sake, take care. They'd displace me. What else could they do, Miss? Your sanity's sake. And for the sake of the lives that are dependent on you, you must listen to me. When it first stood under the danger light, why didn't it tell me where the accident was to happen, if it must happen? Why didn't it tell me how it could be averted if it could have been averted? And when on its second coming it did its face, why didn't it tell me instead she's going to die? Let them keep her at home. If it came on those two occasions only to show me that its warnings were true, and so prepare me for the third, why not warn me plainly now? And I, Lord, help me a mere signalman on this solitary station. Why not go to somebody with credit to be believed and power to act? Why? Why? I can help you, but you must face realistically what I have to say. Will you try? I, I'll try, Miss. These accidents have shaken you deeply. You feel guilt about them, even though there was nothing you could do. You've let it prey on your mind until you imagined someone tried to warn you. I saw and heard that someone... Even the senses can deceive when the mind is under stress. Men dying of thirst on the desert imagine lakes and hear running streams. Oh, Miss, the bodies of the dead were real enough. I'm speaking of what you imagined after the accident. If you let me, I'll prove to you step by step that the spectre existed only in your fantasies. How can you prove that in the face of what I've just told you? By appealing to the intelligent reasoning portion of your mind. Listen. You were positive when you first saw me that I was the spectre that you saw the light, weren't you? You used the same words. Well, now listen carefully. I appealed to the intelligent, well-read, reasonable man. Three words. Hello below there. I was more than 100 feet away at the top of the embankment and you were here below with darkness falling. And three words made you positive you would see me before. Can't you see you were trying to fit something to what you already believed? But then you put your hands to your eyes. Where the proof? You have allowed yourself to believe some disaster is about to befall. When I covered my eyes because of a childish fear, you fitted that to what you already believed. Oh, no, the telegraph took a moment. Would you at any other time? Or would anyone at any time believe that a telegraph ticker could sound in a room this small and be heard by one person and not the other? But I told you. Now the most important proof. You said that when you went to the door last night it was there by the red danger light. I, it was. Will you come to the door with me now and tell me if it is still there? Do you see it? It's not there. And I'm going to prove to you that it never was there. I studied the light from the top of the hill before I came down tonight. The post is at least seven feet high. The light is shielded with a hood. Even if a person stood directly under it or in front of it, they would be in complete shadow in darkness. You couldn't see that person from this door and you couldn't see that person if you walked within a few yards of her or him or it. I'm going to walk up the incline now to the light and prove it to you. I walked up the inclining tracks toward the red light at the mouth of a tunnel. A chilled dank wind had an edge like a cold knife. When I got to the light post, I stood directly under it. No portion of the red glow reached me. I was lost, completely in the dark. I saw the sickle man silhouetted in the yellow light of the doorway. Hello! Can you see me? Hello below there! Can you see me? Walking toward me. And tell me when you can see me. Step between the rails of the northbound track on a line with the red signal light and walk toward me. Suddenly the icy hand of my childhood dread gripped me. There was a vague vibration of the earth and air far behind him coming up the great fast. I could begin to see the glow of the locomotive's light. He walked as though in a spell. Can you hear me? Oh, he wouldn't hear me. I was rooted to the gravel. I threw my left arm up to my eyes and waved my right arm vertically below the... After it was over, they found me. Both of my hands up to my eyes to shut out. The terrible... Miss Sela Churchill starred in Irving Reese's adaptation of Charles Dickens' story, The Signalman. Wait. Wait a moment for a final and important word from Miss Churchill. Listen. Listen again next Sunday afternoon when radio's outstanding theatre of thrills brings you Vincent's price in three skeleton key. A tale well calculated to keep you in... Suspense. Suspense is produced, directed and taped in Hollywood by William N. Robeson. Mr. Ben Wright supported Miss Churchill as The Signalman. The orchestra was conducted by Wilbur Hatch, Ray Kemper and Gus Bayes with Doc Bennett at the microphone controls. And here once more is today's star of suspense, Miss Churchill. Thank you. It has been a pleasure to be a guest of suspense as it is always a pleasure for me to be a guest in your country. I do hope you will permit me a word to you, my host. One of the greatest privileges we English-speaking peoples enjoy is the franchise. From that distant day, Sharon's rested the Magna Carta from King John at Runnymede. To the day after tomorrow, we have cherished and fought for and even died for the right to vote. So please, exercise your vote on Tuesday. Vote as you think, but vote. Stay tuned for five minutes of CBS News to be followed over most of these same stations by indictment.