 The mutual broadcasting system presents Murder by Experts, with your host and narrator, Mr. John Dixon Carr, world-famous mystery novelist, whose books have been translated into 17 languages and have sold over 10 million copies, and author of the recently published detective novel, The Low Suspicion. Good evening. This is John Dixon Carr. Each week at this time, Murder by Experts brings you a story of crime and mystery, which has been chosen for your approval by one of the world's leading detective writers. Tonight, our guest expert is the noted mystery writer, Miss Helen Riley. From her vast knowledge of the field of mystery, Miss Riley has selected a fast-moving taught drama by Maurice Zim. And now we present William Zuckert in Return Trip. Our scene, a small, plainly furnished hospital room, late at night. The patient, a man in his late 30s, is flat on his back, staring up with pain-filled eyes at the ceiling. He raises his head slowly as the door to his room is open. Nice. Yes, there's someone to see you. Yeah? This is Superintendent Andrews of the State Institution. Oh, what have you got there? I've set up a recording machine out in the hall. Careful of the wire, nurse, when you close the door. The doctor said not to keep it. Yes, I'll make it as brief as possible. You may go now, nurse. Very well. Do you mind if I hook this microphone at the head of the bed? Suit yourself, fella. Well, it was a choice between a recording machine and a stenographer, and I figured that in your condition. Well, who said I was beefing? Go on, ask. Ask your questions. I have only one question. What happened? You mean I can tell this in my own way? That's great. Had an uncle once, you know, that was a writer. He wouldn't have gone near this kind of a story, though, with a 10-foot pen. No, he went in for happy endings. Uncle Mort wouldn't even have liked the beginning of this story. It was kind of dreary-like up there at the asylum that afternoon. There'd been quite a snowfall the week before, and as far as the eye could see, everything was a dirty gray, like a corpse that's been waiting too long for the undertaker. Well, around 4 o'clock, it got so dark, the lights had to be turned on in the institution. Then the wind started moaning like a lonely band shee. Fine day for a murder, as the fellow said. Well, there were three passengers sitting in the bus when I went outside for the return trip. Two men and a woman. Maybe I ought to call her a girl, because she wasn't much more than that. Anyway, these three passengers all had returned tickets, and I went down the aisle, collecting them. Driver, how soon do we start? Right away, miss. We're two minutes late already. These little jerkwater bus lines never keep you their schedules. Now we'll never get out of these mountains before that blizzard lets loose. Can I have your ticket, please, mister? You really think there'll be a storm? Can't fail. Lady, when they have snow up in these Godforsaken mountains, by this morning on the bus coming up, a man was telling me about the time. The windbag was sitting right across the aisle from the girls' second row from the front. Halfway back in the bus sat the third passenger, all huddled up in his overcoat. He didn't open his trap. Well, that was the picture as we swung out onto the highway for the return trip. And this guy in back of me seemed to be itchy to start a conversation with somebody as soon as we got rolling. Might as well get acquainted, miss. 50 miles before we get the civilization. John Willard's the name. I said. Oh, I beg your pardon. Were you speaking to me? Oh, yes. I'm afraid I was thinking of you. Oh, sure. Sure, these visits, the institution, always depressing, aren't they? This is my first time. Oh, some friend? My husband. That's too bad. I hope. What's that? Some kind of siren. Yeah, that's the asylum alarm, all right? What that means? One of the inmates must be playing hide and seek with the keepers. That happens every once in a while. Gosh, what if it's my brother? Oh, is he the bustin' out kind? Oh, it sort of upsets him to see one of the family. But then we don't come to see him, and it's simply to see him even more. I see what you mean. Do they always catch them? Well, they'd tell me the place has never lost a customer yet. A moment ago, I was praying that it wasn't Jim. But now I don't know, even if they had to. Well, it would be better than seeing him as he was today. Anything would be better than seeing him. Hey, that's a police siren. Sounds like they're almost on top of us. Yeah, there they are. Look out, they're going to pass us. There's nothing. They're flagging me down. All right, now just keep your seats, everybody. Guards. With rifles. We're looking for somebody. Yeah, we heard the asylum alarm. See anyone along the road? No, not even a jackrabbit. Officer, who is it you? Greg, Steve Greg. Oh. That's a relief. Holly, take yourself a walk down the aisle. Keep your rifle ready when you look behind those back seats. Are you kidding? Hey, when was this coming out party? I don't know. Maybe as much as a couple of hours ago. Does this Greg have a gun? I can't guarantee he hasn't. It was a file that sprung him, a tiny steel file. Must have been working away at the bar since the day he was committed a month ago. His day was short. Nobody back here. Now check the gents for identification. I know how it is, driver. Can't take chances. Oh, of course not. He is mine. OK. I didn't really mean that. Your name, Frank Caniston? You're going to raid, catch it. Friendly, Cass, ain't you? You know, that's the first peep that passenger has let out. I was beginning to think he was a deep mute. Yeah. Well, here, driver, you can have the stuff back. Oh, thanks. What about you, mister? It's OK. Holly, his name's John Willard. I checked his identification. OK, Doug. Come on, then. Let's cram. We got to find Greg before he finds anybody. Yeah. Driver, you can turn around and go back. Go back. Why? Look, this Greg is a killer, a ruthless, senseless killer. What I mean is, when the mood strikes him, he strikes. Oh, what's that got to do with us turning back? Didn't I tell you this guy kills even without reason? Now he's got plenty of reason. He's got to get out of these mountains, but quick. If he's down the road, there are a lot of ways he could stop a bus. I say turn back. Put that blizzard's lab a break any minute. We could be snowbound up here for days. If I had to spend even one night in that institution, so help me, they'd have to keep me there. Listen, driver. Now just a second, Mr. Willard. You're just one passenger. There are three. What about you, miss? Well, whatever you say. Mr. Keniston? I say keep going. That settles it. Hurry up, Denton. No, wait. What does this killer, Greg, look like? Hide about 5 feet 10. Wait about 165. Dark hair, brown eyes, 37 years old. Denton, get the lead out of your britches. But I still think they were the two. We warned them, didn't we? Now, if they meet up with them, it's their funeral. Yeah. Well, we can take care of ourselves, fellas. Well, after the guards left, I really set that bus to Roland. Out of the mirror up above the driver's seat, I could see that the girl was plenty scared, but she had nerve. I'll say that for her. Willard, the windbag across the aisle from her, gave up trying to draw her into a conversation. And as for the third passenger, Keniston, sitting half ways toward the back, he kept acting like a clam afraid of losing its oyster. Might as well have had locked your, if you get what I mean. Well, we hadn't gone more than another mile or two before the wind started to rise. Kept it up until you thought all the devils in hell were trying to break loose. Got black as the inside of a tomb until the snow started to fall. But with that wind whipping it around, it didn't exactly fall. It was a real howlin' blizzard. This is getting on my nerves. What have we got here anyway, a collection of zombies? Somebody say something. I was just going to say. You were going to say the weather is rotten. Yeah. And she can say that again. No, that isn't what I was going to say. No? Hurrah. That'll give us two topics of conversation. We'll save the weather for later. Well, go ahead, lady. I can't think of a better antidote for the screaming memies right now than your voice. It occurred to me why the guards asked for identification. Yeah? The description of Killer Greg, 5'10", 165 pounds, dark hair, brown eyes, 37 years old. So what? It's a remarkable thing. That description would fit you, Mr. Willard. Oh. And Mr. Keniston. What's that? Me? And for that matter, the driver. Say, now look. Hey, come to think of it, all three of us could fit that description. So could a million other men. Forget it. Forget it. Hey, Keniston, what's eating you anyway? First, you sit back there like a mummy, then when you finally do want to. I don't happen to feel like talking. Yeah? Personally, the more I think of what she said, the more remarkable it becomes. Yeah. She's got something there. Only remarkable isn't the word. Mr. Willard, what are you thinking? This man, Greg, may be insane, but he's not Tom. Oh, no. Put yourself in his place. He knows he hasn't got a ghost of a chance making his getaway in that hospital clothing, see? So he borrows the wardrobe and identification of some stranger. You follow me? We're way ahead of you, Willard. Because it wouldn't be difficult for a killer. Say not. But that still isn't the end of his problem, see? He's fighting against time. He's got to get out of these gut-forsaken mountains down to civilization before they can throw a noose around the whole area. And he knows that if he's brought back alive, he'll be wearing a straight jacket until he's as old as Methuselah. Got quite an imagination, Willard. Thanks. Now, the odds that Greg will be able to get himself transportation are mighty slim, except for this bus lie. So let's suppose. You got a great imagination, all right. You got it all figured out. It's a bit too bad, if you ask me. Remember, please, you're the one who was so dead set against turning back. Really, Keniston? Well, I'll leave it to the lady here on the driver. Do I look insane? Well? Search me. There were times, long periods of time, when Jim didn't either. As my husband, I mean, that was the terrible part of it. He would be just like the old days, and we'd be so happy together, and then all of a sudden, without warning, he would... It's Ketterston's been acting crazy, not me. I'll bet I wouldn't take a half a dozen psychiatrists to prove that he's... Hey, an avalanche! It's coming down on us! Hold on! Ah! After the avalanche struck, I sat there, gripping the steering wheel, sort of stunned. And there wasn't a sound except for the wind. And it was muffled by the snow barrier that packed us in. Even on the far side, the bus was buried up to the middle of the windows. Well, all this was only a matter of seconds, I suppose. And then suddenly, the quiet was broken by the most gargoyle racket. Was as if somebody had up and given the signal for my passengers to go completely crazy. Get me out of here! Now take it easy! Get me out of here! Look out, Willis! Got an axe! The axe! Take it away from here! Go with that axe! Well, I did it. He's the one! He's the one! Lucky, I saw him grab the fire axe from up on the rack. It's what the district attorney likes to call a lethal weapon. And then some. Step back, he's coming to... Yeah, time up. Yeah, you'll find a rope in the dashboard. Compartment, get it for me, huh? Orch, you for this? You will. I was going to smash a window, so we could get out of here. Oh, yeah? Sure! What'd you think? Oh, so that's... Here's the rope, driver. Thanks. You can't do that! You can't tie me up, you fools! I'm not Killer Greg! Maybe... Maybe he isn't. Maybe. But like the guard says, we can't take chances. Now, if you're innocent, Misty, you can prove it to the authorities. If we ever lived that long, have you forgotten that we're trapped here by an avalanche and a blizzard that could go on and on and on? Just the same... Stop, stop! This is ridiculous. What do you mean, Miss? Well, it's just that there's no proof that Killer Greg is on this bus. Well, if you put it that way, I... It's all my fault, and I'm very sorry. My only excuse is that I was so upset by seeing Jim, my husband. I still say that, Willard. No, no. We've got to start acting like rational human beings. You let poor Mr. Willard up from that floor. All right. But I'm warning you, Willard, no funny stuff. Snap out of it, driver. We've got to get out of this mess. Hand me that axe. Do I look that dumb? All right, then use it yourself! We're going to smash a window so we can crawl out. Willard, what makes you think the windows won't open? Huh? Then open one. What for? To let in the blizzard? But we've got to get out of here. Not me. Take a bear to make even a city block in that blizzard. But we can't stay here. Why not? We're not freezing yet. Driver's right. Our best chance is to sit pat until the storm lets up. But what if it doesn't? Even when the weather clears, we can send out a party for help, huh? Yeah, or maybe a road clearing crew will come to our rescue. Yes. I suppose that's the same thing to do. Wait here. Well, how about you, Willard? You also decided to do the... same thing? I don't like that crack, Caniston. One more like it. Now, look, we're not starting that again. That's going to be a long night. Just as well make ourselves comfortable and try to get some sleep. Sleep? Cut it out. Miss, you, uh... you take the back seat. That's the only one that runs the full width of the bus. You can use your lap rope for a quilt, huh? All right, driver. I, uh... want to apologize again to everyone for the way I behaved. Casting suspicion. Forget it. Forget it. Need any help? No, no thanks. I don't know what came over me starting that idiotic talk. Look, please... What? What's the matter? Why are you staring at the floor? Well, say something. Look. A file. A tiny steel file. One that... Not to the avalanche hit. There was a mad scramble. One of you lost it, then. One of you is... Greg. Killer Greg. Well, we just let her wear herself out, kicking and banging on the door. Nobody said a word. Willard and Keniston just stared at me and at each other. By and by, the girls stopped her fussing to stand and stared at the three of us in rotation. But it made your flesh crawl. And outside, the blizzard was getting worse, if possible. Finally, I reached into the watch pocket of my pants and brought out the old timepiece. What... what time is it? Uh, broke the crystal. Still says a quarter to four. It's five-thirty. It's only an hour and a half since we started out. Only an hour and a half. Five-thirty in the afternoon. And at the very best, we're stuck until morning. Fourteen, sixteen hours. Might as well be forever. Now, look, Miss, we just got to make the best of it. I still think you ought to go back to the rear seat. And sleep? If you can, yeah. Willard, the driver and myself will be keeping a rather, uh, close eye on each other in the light of recent developments. You'll be all right, especially if you take that axe away from the driver. Huh? Let her have it for her protection. Sure. Let her have it. You'll give it to me. Okay. You, uh, holding on to the file, too? Of course she is. The file could also be, uh, lethal weapon. Well, she took the axe and the file back to the rear seat with her, and we all sat down to wait. Have you ever fought against sleep, with the cold numbing you and the wind lulling you? You know, sometimes even the fear of sudden death can't win against those odds. Time and time again, the girl's eyes would close just for a second. Then they stayed closed longer, her head nodded and her body slumped over against the corner of the seat. I got up and started down the aisle. Caniston, can't you see she's asleep? Where are you going? Her lap robe slipped to the floor. I was gonna pick it up and cover her so she wouldn't freeze. Any objections? I'll do it. I don't know who you want, Caniston. Go ahead, driver. Now, you see, Caniston, Willard thinks I should do it. It makes it two to one. Help me! Help me with this, Wildcat! Get that file away before she jabs my eyes out! She was like a devil on a pinwheel. I was lucky to tear loose before she did any more than nick me about the face. Afterwards, when Willard told her what I was up to, she apologized, but I didn't go near her again all the rest of that night. Well, about five o'clock, the blizzard stopped and at seven, the sun managed to break through. We held a council of war. We can't send out for help. Why not? Don't you see, Mr. Willard, if we split up the men, whichever of you is Greg, would have too good an opportunity, whether he goes or stays. Well, you could go alone. I'd never make it. We could all go together. How about that, driver? Well, I'd rather stick with the bus, Caniston. But before we decide anything, let's get out and look around. We got a window open on the far side of the bus and crawled through the girl first. She was still clutching the ax and the file. Come here and look. Another few yards and we'd have escaped the avalanche entirely. We can shovel our way out. I'm sure we can. Well, there were two shovels in the tool compartment at the tail guard of the bus. That only let two men shovel at a time with the third man getting a breather, meanwhile. And it took a lot of shoveling. What's the matter, driver? Did you hurt your hand? Nothing much. Feels good just to take off these stiff leather gloves. Looks to me like you've got some blisters on that right hand. Thumb and first two fingers. Say, Caniston, are you shoveling or talking? We'll never get out of here at this rate. Well, it's your turn anyway. I'm tired. Not as tired as Willard looks. I'll relieve him. No, no, no. It's all right. Can you keep going yet for a while? Okay, then, Caniston. Let me take a turn. I know I won't be much help, but I can at least try. No, you're a mountain guard. I'm sure you could do as well as Caniston. Or is Caniston? Why? Caniston was making a mad dash through the snow. Willard dropped his shovel and tore after him. I yelled for Willard to let him go, but I don't think he even heard me. For a while it looked like Caniston was going to make it, but then he floundered and fell in the snow drift. And before he could get underway again, Willard nailed him. He'll stay put for a while. What did you do? Knock him out? What else was there to do? I knew all the time it was Caniston. You think he was running away? Proves it? It's the same as if he confessed. He knew it was his last and only chance. Well, what are we going to do with him now? Tie him up. And we're getting him in the bus out of here. Hey, I wonder if there's a reward? In no time at all, we had the bus clear and headed for civilization. Those snow-covered mountain roads weren't exactly my idea of a speedway, but I gave the motor the gun. Willard and the girl didn't take their eyes off Caniston. I kept watching him, too, out of the mirror over the driver's seat. He looks like he's coming, too. Don't worry, driver, those knots I made in the rope won't give. Besides, I'm keeping the axe handy just in case. He's opening his eyes. Watch him now. Watch him. Yeah. Yeah, watch me. And listen to me, too. Shut up, Caniston. I'll stop this bus and put you out for good. Not before I've had my say. Willard, you too, lady. Why do you think I tried to make a break for it? That's easy. Don't kill her, Greg. You fools. You're blind stupid fools. Was it my watch that had its crystal smashed at a quarter of four yesterday afternoon? So it was mine, so what? At a quarter of four yesterday afternoon, Killer Greg waylaid the real driver of this bus and took his place. What? Oh, no. That's how the crystal came to be broken. Shut up, Caniston. You can't talk your way out of this. It could be a coincidence. Sure. That's what I thought, too, a coincidence. Until I noticed the blisters on the thumb and first two fingers of the right hand. A file would make blisters like that, on the right hand of Killer Greg. Look at him. It's true. Greg. Greg! Don't come a step closer, any of you. You make the slightest move. I'll crash the whole lot of us. Don't do it, Greg. Stop the bus. We won't do anything. It was a perfect plan. It had to work. If only that avalanche hadn't come along. Well, I'll still make it. I'll still make it, even if I have to kill us. That turn! Well, I said, when you record in machine, huh, Super? You got it all, huh? Yeah, I'm right back where I started from. The asylum. Anyway, I outlived those three. I outlived those three, didn't I, Super? Killer Greg, that's me! So the curtain falls on return trip, which was chosen by guest expert Helen Riley, whose latest thriller is Staircase 4. Next week at this time, Murder by Experts brings you a story of a woman who awakened from a nightmare to find reality even more frightening, as selected for your approval by one of America's leading detective writers. Until then, this is your host, John Dixon Carr, hoping you'll be with us next week at this time. Turn Trip was written by Maurice Zinn. In our cast were William Zuckert and Shepard, Roger DeCoven, Frank Behrens, and Alan Manson. Music in our program is under the direction of Emerson Buckley, composed by Richard DuPage. Murder by Experts is produced and directed by Robert A. Arthur and David Cogan. All characters in this week's story were fictitious. Any resemblance to the names of actual persons living or dead was purely coincidental. This is Phil Tonkin speaking. This is the world's largest network serving more than 500 stations, the mutual broadcasting system.