 Suspense. Radio's outstanding theater of thrills brings you an hour, a full 60 minutes of suspense. Tonight, our star, Mr. Edmund O'Brien. Our story, The Blind Spot, by Lois E.B. and John C. Fleming. A suspense play produced and directed by Anton M. Leader. It sometimes happens with men and institutions who deal only in facts, formulae, and the cold logic of scientific deduction. They often underestimate or overlook the unpredictability of the human element. They may covet reason and disregard instinct and emotion. Tonight, against the background of Rogers International Research Institute, Pulse of the Nation's Opinions, we meet Eric Strange, Leland Rogers, Mona Bartlett, and Gregory Rome in a dramatic combination of logic and fear. And now, with the performance of Edmund O'Brien as Eric and with The Blind Spot, we again hope to keep you in suspense. Each of us has a blind spot, some of many. Blank walls in our minds or memory or opinion, walls which we cannot penetrate and so are held back, or because we can't or won't understand, we try to draw away from the world, run from it. Because the blind spot has made us afraid. I started writing books about this during the war, maybe you read or heard about the blind spots by Eric Strange. Well, whether you have or haven't, there's little bearing on what I'm about to tell you. I mention it simply by way of introduction, not to myself, but to fear. Yes, it was the blind spot of fear in the mind and heart of Leland Rogers that led to, well, I'm getting ahead of myself. Perhaps it's best that you meet Leland Rogers and see him as I did that day when I went to his suite in the Park Central Hotel to settle a business matter. It wasn't our first meeting, but in a way it seemed to be. Whereas I pressed the buzzer and the door opened, I found myself looking at a different Leland Rogers, a man completely changed for me by his look of sheer terror. Well, Eric Strange, Eric Strange, how do you know where to find him? Your secretary, Mr. Rogers, she said... Mona, she had no right to tell you where I... Your partner is worried about you, so is your partner, the whole staff. You know, Rogers, when you first approached me as a possible client, I was invited into your office, offered cigars, drinks... I'm sorry, Strange, come in. Thank you. Never did like to hold a conference in a hotel hallway. But there's to be no conference, understand, Strange? I thought I made it clear we can't handle the survey for you. Now, I suppose if I suggested that Rogers International Research could be sued for breach of contract, I might not be offered a chair. You have grounds for a suit, of course. Sit down. Thanks. Much better. Now, Rogers, what's it all about? Why did you really call things off? It's exactly like I told you on the phone, Eric, no mystery about it. Albert Leblanc, our European supervisor, was killed yesterday in a crash at the Borgé Airport. Hmm, too bad for the supervisor. His organization of our overseas offices was a one-man miracle. That was a mistake, of course, won't happen again. But in the meantime... The survey on my book is impossible. Quite. Well, your partner, Jim Carr, now... Yes, he doesn't agree, I know, but Carr isn't running that end of the business, Strange. He shouldn't have even been talking to you. He just happened into the office while I was with your secretary. You seem quite upset. Yes, he's always upset, but whatever he had to say means nothing. I suppose not. But he was enthused over the plans you people have. He's always enthused. However, in this case, I was myself. You know that. Yes. That's what confuses me, Rogers. You seem so anxious to establish the validity of the book's premise. I believe in that premise, Mr. Strange. I believe every word of your book blind spots. I agree that the American has the highest natural demand for freedom and guards that freedom with unequal personal responsibility for national welfare. The survey could have proved that belief. I know, I know. Or proved it to be wrong. You know, in that event, had we discovered my premise to be arrogant assumption, I intended that this would be the last edition of Blind Spots. I understood your intention. People without freedom are happier without facts. Yes, yes, however, Mr. Strange, you're under the circumstances with my organization powerless to conduct an immediate survey. I don't see what you said. Sit down, Mr. Rogers. What? I said, sit down. Or better still, fix us both a drink. Because I'm not leaving. Now, see here, Strange, you're wasting your time. I've told you it's all off. I've given you a good reason. You can take your business to universal surveys or sue me for breach of contract. I don't care. I care, Rogers. I want to know who threatened you. Threatened? I should have warned you months ago. This would be a nuisance item you'd have to figure on with my survey. There have been no threats. Not at all. I think there have. I've been threatened regularly since the first edition of Blind Spots. First by radicals who call the book reactionary, then by reactionaries who suggest I'm proposing revolution. There have been no threats. No threats, Strange. It's simply that my key man LeBlanc in our foreign office is that this very moment, is alive as either one of us. What? What are you saying? What you've been saying is more important. A call came in while I was at your office. Miss Bartlett took it. It was from LeBlanc. You let me lie, Strange. Yes, because it made you feel easier. It might make it easier for me to discover what kind of fear you're living with. This doesn't change anything. We're not handling the survey with or without a reason. Nothing helps your kind of fear but action, Rogers. If it's free for all, I'd like to get in. But you care to fix those drinks? Tell me about it? Strange. Were you ever so afraid? It was like leprosy. You felt your mind, your body rotting away. Once, sitting on the ground during a war that sometimes seems like it didn't happen. It was a length of barbed wire in front of me, day after day, night after night. One day I tried to walk through the wire. They pulled me off and I tried again. And again. After that I had some kind of fever. Now it's your turn. I'll get the drinks. I'll need one telling you this. You might need one listening. Interesting, Rogers. All of it. And where is this little black book? Right here. Looks harmless enough. Lots of people carry them. You just use it for memoranda? That's right. Dates, places, stray ideas I want to jot down. Certainly nothing unusual about that. But the last four pages of the book, take a look strange, read those last four pages. Just one line to a page. That's right. And not one of them seems to make any sense. Now you know why my partner, my doctor, even my secretary are beginning to guess. I don't understand. Why did you write these things? Would you say that I did write them? Hand writing's the same or a very clever imitation? Exactly. I wrote all the previous pages, those last four I didn't. Oh, perhaps you will know. Oh, no, no, no, I didn't write them and forget them. After the first two entries, I mentioned this to Dr. Whitehouse. He explained it. Said I'd had the book on my bed table and wrote it in my sleep. That would be my guess, too. And quite possible, except that after that, I left the book at the office. The other two messages I found on different afternoons during the last few days, I didn't write them. Perhaps it's the work of a practical joker. Someone else. Oh, no, strange. I have other aberrations, too. They began soon after the first message in the book, such as, I hear the telephone ring. Well, there's no one on the wire. I answered doorbells. There's no one at the door. One night, I woke with a spotlight in my face. No one was in the room. You found the third message yesterday? Yes. I called you that our deal was off. Lucky, actually. How did it be for your survey to have it come out later that the head of the research organization was off his rocker? Not good, but I think. Not good. Let's leave it at that, strange. Wait a minute. This weather report clipped at the last page. You found it this way? This way. The reports is generally clear with rising temperature and the entry. It will still be gloomy when you go home. Funny. The combination mean anything to you? Yes, it means something to me. It means I'm going to die tonight. That's ridiculous. The writer of these notes would be a superstitious person, strange. Today is the 13th. I don't make sense, do I? No, you don't. Delusions. Good night. You have no idea who the writer of the messages might be. I know who it is. He's in my office, and he has every reason to kill me. But I don't know how to identify him. If I did, I might not be afraid. Blind spots again. They're with us all, as I suppose so. Look, strange, I've told you more than I intended to. Now, get out of here, will you? You've got a lot at stake in that pole of yours. You know, maybe I figure there are things even more important than four-nation poles. People, they're troubles. People like you, Leland Rogers, a man who is once strong enough to build a great organization from nothing. Will you get out? You've got to fight, Leland, and I'll help you. There's nothing I like better. Good Lord Strange, didn't you hear me? I said, get out! Why? If I wanted a bodyguard, I'd hire one. You've done it. And for free. This is my own mess. Why do you want to get yourself into it? I don't. Never do. Look, this is strictly business. Tonight, I bodyguard for you. Tomorrow, you throw away that little black book in the ash can and go on with my survey. I don't know what to say. You're sure you can't identify this man? The Burnham Detective Agency in New York is working on it for me. If I can break through this fog, maybe I can give them more to go on. Blindspot in your memory? Something like that. Maybe if you told me the whole story, it might show up. It might. Only I, well, it, embarrassing. It's a long story. We have a long evening on our hands. It's only 7.30. 7.30. You had to be somewhere? Oh, no, no. It looks strange. Eric, that's better. I've decided that I can trust you. Thanks. I think I'll take a shower, climb into a robe. Then I'll tell you the works. Everything, yes. Go ahead with your shower. I'll wait. You went into the other room to change. I could hear him moving around. Then a few minutes later, he turned on the water and the shower. I couldn't help feeling sorry for him the way he seemed to be dodging shadows. He'd been in there about 10 minutes when the phone rang on the desk. Shall I get it, Leland? He didn't seem to hear me. I wasn't sure if he'd want me taking his calls, but I took a chance. Hello? Mr. Strange? Yes? For me? Yeah, he was called out on an appointment. Mr. Rogers is right here. He turned off the shower. The shower. All right, clerk, I'll take care of it. Leland Rogers had given me the slip. I didn't know how long he'd be, but curiosity and an unusual interest in this unusual man held me right there in his hotel suite. I turned off one shower, turned on another, with the seltzer water and the liquor cabinet. That, together with a few magazines and some interesting pen sketches on the wall, kept me occupied for some two and a half hours. Then I thought I heard Rogers at the door. It wasn't locked, and I sat back waiting for him to come in. He didn't, but someone else did. A very expensive-looking young lady with ash-blonde hair the right amount of jewelry and, from the average male viewpoint, the right dress. She entered the room slowly, then acted almost as frightened as Rogers had when she caught sight of me. Oh. Good evening. Let's just say a friend of Leland Rogers. You're very strange. I've seen your picture in the papers. All right, I'm very strange. And you are? Well, I... A friend of Leland Rogers. Yeah. He isn't here. I'm expecting him any minute. Well, I'd better not weigh. Perhaps I'd better not weigh. No, no, really. Mr. Rogers didn't even know I was coming. I'm sure he'd be furious if I'd interrupted anything. You see, he wasn't really... I... I'm taking calls tonight. Excuse me. Yes? Mr. Strange? Speaking? This is Lieutenant Manix, homicide. Homicide? Yes, Lieutenant. Tells me you've been with Mr. Rogers part of the evening. Yes, I have. Stepped out a while ago. I expect him back soon. Oh, no. When did it happen, Lieutenant? How? Found him making his rounds. Single shot did the job. Will you come over or shall I... I'll leave right away. Our mutual friend Leland Rogers was shot to death. Happened in his office. I'm going over there. You'd better come with me. No, no, no. I can't do that. Why not? Well, I... I can't get mixed up in anything like this. Maybe you already are, Miss... Milner. Gerald Milner. Listen, Mr. Strange, you must believe me. I... I only met Mr. Rogers once before. How do I know? That wasn't an hour ago in his office. Well, I haven't been out of the hotel. We live here, too. We have the suite on the floor above. We? My, uh... My husband and I. Oh. Well, I see. And he, uh... Well, he wouldn't like this. He wouldn't understand. I guess not. Have, uh... Have you been up there with him for the past few hours? No. No, I was low. Well, then how do I know that you... Oh, it's easy to prove that I didn't go out. Just check room service. I've sent down for things all evening. I... I was bored. That, I believe. Oh, please, Mr. Strange, now you won't implicate me. I'll, uh... check the room service. Ah. Police Lieutenant John Manix was a very efficient gentleman. When I pulled up at the downtown office of Rogers International Research, a lone police car was parked at the curb. I learned that the others, including an ambulance and Rogers' own car, had already been driven off. My cab rolled in behind the police car. I got out, paid the driver, and entered the building. They were expecting me. My elevator boy on the trip up was a heavy-set sergeant. He took me straight to Leland Rogers' office. Manix had made a few other calls. Rogers' partner, Jim Carr, was there together with an older man who Manix immediately introduced. Mr. Strange, Mr. Fogarty, are you? You've met Jim Carr? Oh, yes, yes, we've met. Yeah, Mr. Fogarty is more or less a silent partner in the firm, but under the circumstances... I'm only silent so I can listen better, Lieutenant. I know what's going on. Know all about Strange, his survey, how Leland felt about it. Did you know he wanted to call it off? What? That's the way it was, Mr. Fogarty. Changed his mind all of a sudden. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen. No, he was very determined. I... I don't understand. I don't understand at all. Either of you know any reason why he would have come down here than that? Pure impulsiveness, maybe. The worker, Lieutenant, lived for this office, his business. We all do, Mr. Fogarty. Hmm, I suppose. He had been actually usually lately worried, like he had things in his mind. Leland always had things on his mind. But he did behave oddly, Lieutenant. We've been worried about him. And the rest have, I haven't. What are you getting out, Lieutenant? Suicide? Right, unless one of you might be able to suggest an enemy. Leland had no enemies. Everybody loved the boy. I wouldn't go that far. Here now, Carl. The man's dead. Don't you say anything... Gentlemen, gentlemen. I believe there's something I should tell you. Go ahead, Strange, unless I'm mistaken, you were the last person to see Rogers alive. You are mistaken, Lieutenant. There was a hotel clerk. And if this wasn't a suicide, there was also his murderer. I stand corrected. Thank you. Now I'll tell my little story, or rather, Leland Rogers' story. That's all there is to it, Strange. Isn't that enough, Lieutenant? The man was terrified. Poppycock, Mr. Strange. Leland was never terrified by anything. That isn't quite true, Mr. Fogarty. I told you he'd been acting odd. He was carrying no little blank book when we found it. Naturally, a murderer wouldn't leave it to the mercies of a handwriting expert. But you saw this book? I saw it. They could be the simple explanation that Rogers had some sort of a lopsided idea that he didn't want his death to look like suicide. Could be. You don't think so? I don't think so. I've been in the business a long time, Strange. I've been writing about people for a long time, Lieutenant. I think I know when a man shows genuine fear. And of course, you have the added advantage of being the last brand of cinema. Me? Yes. And the hotel clerk? Lieutenant. Yes, Mr. Conn? I saw that book myself many times. Rogers always carried it. His idea book. Jotted down ideas he got at odd times. Strange, can you recall the wording of those unusual messages? I think so. There were four of them, one to a page. The first was at dawn, the sun casts long shadows. Huh? Go on, the other three. The horse lost a shoe while our bells were still ringing. And the third was turned down the blind spots pole. And the last, it will still be gloomy when you go home. There was a weather report attached to that. Nonsense. Nutty is a fruitcake. You know, Lieutenant, we all tried to get Leland to take a vacation. His secretary, Dr. Whitehouse. I didn't have any idea it was this bad car. Why didn't he know he was cracking up? Sell out before. Before he made the rest of us go broke? Lieutenant, there won't be a lot of fuss made over this, will there? Research group can't stand a lot of notoriety, you know? If you would see your way clear to keep things as quiet as possible. And let the police get the notoriety? I didn't mean that. I'm afraid we'll have to face the fact that the lieutenant isn't hired to keep things quiet, gentlemen. He's here to try and discover why Leland Rogers is dead tonight, instead of alive. Check. Maybe I can even pull a murder out of this and get myself a raise. One more thing, where do I get hold of Rogers' relatives? He has none that I know of. I'll give you his secretary's address. She was the closest to him. Oh, Lord, all the organization needs now is some relative popping in and trying to take over. You threw with us, Lieutenant? For the present, Mr. Foley. Then I'll say, good evening. Coming, Carr? All right, with you, if I may. They seem more upset over themselves than their partner. They do have a lot to lose, Lieutenant. That story Rogers told you. What do you think now? No known enemies, no relatives? Carr and Rogers had very opposite views on how to run the business. What do you mean, Carr? Just thinking. How do you figure this fogey? Seems like a nice old gent. Yeah, a little blue bit. Well, fine time of night to be waking up a young lady from her beauty sleep, but I'm going to talk to that secretary. Do you want to come along, Strange? So you can keep an eye on me? I didn't say that. No, matter of fact, I'm bursting to go. If you hadn't asked, I might have been over there so fast I'd have answered her door for you. That sounds like a man almost fast enough to be here tonight and back at that hotel in time to answer my phone call. Why don't you check with room service? I might. What's so funny? Oh, nothing, Lieutenant. Nothing at all. Let's go call on Miss Mona Bartlett. Panix was all right. I found that out as we drove across town. He was just a hard-working fellow anxious to do his job and do it well. I liked him, but I didn't share his growing theory that this was a simple case of suicide. We reached Mona Bartlett's apartment after climbing a steep flight of terracotta steps to a handkerchief-sized landing. Almost immediately, we heard the soft slap of Marcuson's coming in response to our ring. I almost didn't remember her when she opened the door. In white robe and slippers, her hair hanging to her shoulders, she was slight, childlike, a totally different creature from the formidable, efficient office guardian of the late Leland Rogers. Come in, please. Jim Carr called me. He told me what happened. Oh, I'm sorry. Do sit down. Thank you. I'm sorry to disturb you. Disturb me? Here, here, Miss Bartlett. You sit down. Sorry, but when Jim called, I felt like I was in the middle of a bad dream. I kept thinking it, but now you're coming here. Jim must have told you Lieutenant Manix wants to contact the next of kin. He thought that you. I really can't help you much there. Mr. Rogers wrote to no relatives. Mentioned none to my knowledge. Yeah. He was a long wolf. Maybe in his room or in a safety deposit box there'll be something. Oh, one more thing. Do you know of any business appointment he had tonight? No, I don't. Could have been meeting any one of the 80 people in the office. Do you know of any man in the office that he might have been afraid of meeting? No. Then there were the hundreds of past and present clients of the concern. Look, I'll give you the key to my desk, Lieutenant. You can check our appointment books. Thanks. Don't think I'll find anything, but you never know. Wasn't there a doctor you wanted to talk to, Manix? Dr. Whitehurst? Yeah, that's the name. It's Hildale 7757. I'll try him. Well, that's about all, Miss Bartlett. Unless, of course, you know of any enemies he had. No. You had no idea he was contemplating suicide. What is it, Miss Bartlett? I should have known that. What? Well, there was an assignment paper. He dictated it to me about a week ago. Said it was confidential. What was it all about? His voting shares of stock in the company. He assigned them to Jim Carr. Huh? I remember he said this would be until a certain situation was cleared up. You had no idea what that situation was. No. Carr knew about the assignment? He still doesn't. It's in Mr. Raj's safety deposit box. He said that no one, not even Mr. Carr, must know. Well, he'll know now already. Yes, he will. And say, how did those two get along? Different ideas, but they complimented one another. Both knew it. The company meant everything to both of them. OK, thanks, Miss Bartlett. See you tomorrow. Are you all right? I will be. Would you? Could you stay for a few minutes? Of course. Go ahead, Mannix. I'll get in touch with you. You won't have to, Strange. We're always around. You'll find the liquor in the cupboard above the sink. And? And Jim Carr wanted you to call him back. After Mannix left, if possible. Know what he wants? I can guess. Never approved of calling off the survey on your book. That's my guess, too. I'll sleep on it. Call him in the morning. Whatever you say. Come on. Oh, he was a powerhouse. He was the heart and soul of that business. He'll all be lost without him. I'll be lost. Oh, I don't think told someone about that assignment. Oh, no, no, please, please take it easy. That's the bad part about a thing like this. Everybody thinks about what they might have done. Chance's arm is Bartlett there. There wasn't anywhere you or anyone could have stopped him. Do you believe that? Yes. She buried her face in my shoulder. I could smell the fragrance of her skin feel the convulsive movement as she cried it out. She stayed there until her breath grew even again, peaceful, her taut body relaxed. Then abruptly, she pulled away from me, stood up. I must I want to call Greg. Greg? Greg Rome. He's one of our research workers. Mr. Rogers thought a lot of him. Oh, of course. Thank you very much, Mr. Strange. Not at all. You want me to call a taxi for you? No, I won't. Good night, Mona. Operator, I want to put in a call to San Francisco for Greg Rome at the Wilkins Hotel. That's right, Greg Rome. I went down the stairs wondering if I wasn't being a little foolish about the whole matter. I tried to tell myself that I ought to tab that story of Rogers for what it probably was and accept Manix's ideas about the case. I guess I just about decided that way as I came out of the building and stepped off the curb. That's when I heard the car come roaring around the corner behind me. Look out. What are you doing? In tonight's full hour of suspense, Edmund O'Brien stars as Eric in The Blind Spot, adapted for radio by Joel Malone. Tonight, study in Suspense. He will return with act two of Suspense. This is CBS, The Columbia Broadcasting System. Back to our Hollywood soundstage, an act two of The Blind Spot, starring Edmund O'Brien. Eric Strange has known fear. And this night, he has seen the brilliant mind of Leland Rogers overpowered by fear, a fear that has cost his life. Now it is Eric's life that is in danger. This man whose business it is to deal in facts has been driven by instinct and intuition to dismiss the verdict of suicide against his friend Leland Rogers in favor of murder. And this course has led him into the path of a swerving automobile. And now, with Edmund O'Brien as Eric and with act two of The Blind Spot, we again hope to keep you in suspense. It was irrelevant, seconds, minutes, hours. But when the first bright thread of consciousness broke through the pattern of darkness, I had the feeling that I hadn't been knocked out for long. A damp night air chilled me as I lay sprawled on the sidewalk. I got up slowly, wondering why I was still alive. I discovered one thing for sure. Someone had wanted me out of the way badly enough to risk his own neck in jumping his car over an 18-inch curbing down the corner where the car must have been parked. Waiting for me, I found something else. Three cigarette stubs. One was still warm. I jumped like a jackrabbit while I thought it was my friend coming back. It was just a cruising cab. I must have looked pretty frightening to the driver. You all right, buddy? Yes, yeah, great. Take me to the Park Central Hotel. The Park Central? Hey, look, when I see guys picking up cigarettes, but I don't pay... Here, here, I got plenty of money here. Get going. Yeah, get going. I'm going all right. Going nuts. Why, why, you've been hurt. You ought to see the other car. Look, I was going to stay here with Leland Rogers. Oh, yes, sir. We'll give you the room next to his suite. The police are up there now. Oh, Lieutenant Manix is... He's having Mr. Rogers' rooms locked up. The boy will take you up, Mr. Strange, and if you want anything... Just ring? Yes, sir. What happened, Strange? Is that a kissing? Yes. Yes, the angel of death. I don't mean Miss Bartlett. Lieutenant, when I came out of the building, somebody tried to run me down. Well, hit-and-run drivers. Ah, they're bad out here. You're too logical, Lieutenant. I could grow to hate you. I tell you, the man was waiting for me. I found cigarette stubs. One was still warm. It'll be cool before you can get into court as evidence. Let's say you're a hit-and-run driver, huh? I'm not talking to you anymore. Find anything next door? Another thing. And Mac just called from headquarters. Only fingerprints on Rogers' gun were his own. Want to say somebody wore gloves? Okay, I'm too knocked out to argue. I'll run along, Eric. You better get yourself some sleep, and maybe tomorrow? Yes. Decide that I know what I'm talking about. Maybe I've already decided. I doubt it. You're the stubborn type. Think so? Definitely. We're getting all about the cases of right now. That must have been a Cadillac, a big one. Sorry I accused you of playing post office. It's all right, Knight. Post office, maybe that's it. Come on, come on. Which board? Get me the post office. I want to speak to the postmaster. Sorry. Since the time never was too good. I'll try him a little later. The post office hunch was a wild one, but I followed it through. He was there bright and early talking to the supervisor. Would you repeat that request, Mr. Strange? Certainly. I want a list of people who've applied for post-box rentals in the last two weeks. Right. I hate to turn you down, Mr. Strange. I know about your work for the State Department, but what the devil do you want for those names? A friend of mine was corresponding with a Burnham Detective Agency in New York. I don't think he would have wanted his correspondence to go through his office. We couldn't open any letters, you know. I know, I know, but there probably aren't any. I just want to know if he rented a box. Look, I checked with Henley upstairs. Oh, well, that's different. Why didn't you say so? Well, let's have a look here. Last two weeks, eh? Mm-hmm. Only one name. Lance Martin. Box 208. Lance Martin? Perhaps he... Look, I'll be back. You've been a big help. Thanks a lot, and... Hey, where do you think you're going? I'm terribly sorry, I'm in a hurry. You certainly are a big help. Yes, I have to make a New York call. The call was to Pete Starr, my agent, the man who'd do anything for me for 10%. I asked him to check somehow with the Burnham Detective Agency, see if they were working for a Lance Martin and Beverly Hills Post Office Box 208. All I could do was wait on that. So I made another call, then headed down to the research office to keep an appointment with Jim Carr. He'd taken over, but good. He was sitting in Roger's chair, dictating furiously when I walked in. And if this emergency division of authority between the board members and myself results in a more balanced and scientific control of RIR, I see no reason why the system should not be made permanent. I... Oh, didn't hear you come in strange. Sorry if I interrupted, Miss Bartlett said... Oh, it's all right. Sit down. Tight that much up right away, Miss Atkins. Yes, sir. I caught that last paragraph about your dividing control. It's a method I've always advocated. It's an excellent time to install it after that assignment of Roger Starr. Well, yes, yes. Strange, you don't suppose that assignment might cause anybody to wonder... Have they any cause, too? I shouldn't have mentioned it. Strange, I hope you never know what it feels like to kill a man. What? These pills I have to feed myself for ulcers, nerves, everything in the book. I'm killing myself, Strange, slowly but surely. Oh. Oh, this business. Mr. Carr, I'd better ease one of your worries right now. We'll go ahead with my survey. When can you start? Why, right away, Strange, immediately. I'll start things humming. There'll be 700 men out asking questions about your book within 24 hours. Fine, I'll be at the hotel if you have to check on anything. I'm expecting a long distance call. Very good, and thank you, Mr. Strange. Thank you very much. Be assured that I... that will do a job for you. Crossing the hotel lobby toward the desk, I happened to glance into the cocktail room. I saw a familiar reflection in one of the big mirrors and back with a bar. In fact, two familiar reflections. I went in, sat down beside Mona Bartlett. Mr. Strange, hello. Hi. Eric Strange, Gregory Rowe. How are you, sir? Greg just got in from San Francisco about 20 minutes ago. Really? Well, he must do it with mirrors. What? We ran into each other in the post office this morning. The post office? Oh, you must be mistaken. I... I must be. I'm a lucky girl, Mona. If anything should happen to this boyfriend, you've got his exact twin to turn to. All you have to do is find him. Just a mix-up, Strange. Chances are the fellow was... Doesn't even look like you're sure. Probably smokes a different brand of cigarettes, too. Just what are you getting at, Strange? Sorry, I'm... I'm always suffering from, uh... blind spots. Have to dash, Mona, expecting a call. But everything... I rode up in the elevator, wondering vaguely where Greg Roem fitted into the picture, and just what time he had arrived from San Francisco. But I didn't have long to think about it. They'd given me the room next to Leland Rogers Suite. It was supposed to be locked up on police order, but I could hear someone moving around in there. I went out on the balcony, found that it connected with his. A few moments later, I was looking through a pair of French doors and a pair of legs. They belonged to Cheryl Milner. She saw me, almost passed out, then changed her mind and came over to let me in. Eric, what are you doing here? That's a funny question, Cheryl, but I haven't time to laugh. What's the idea? The idea? I lost a ring when I was here with you, and I thought I'd better get it back. My husband wouldn't... Wouldn't understand. I know. Where's the ring? Uh, right here. Then you're through looking around, better get out the way you got in. Just how did you get in? The bell, Captain. I... Bride. Yeah. They're so obliging here, so understanding when a lady's in distress. So is room service. I... I don't know what you mean, Eric. Oh, really, darling. Excuse me, don't you see what this can do to your alibi? Oh, I never thought... I'm not so sure that... My call. Look, you better get out of here. I'll talk to you later. Please, dude. Go on, go on. Hello. Hello, Eric. This is Pete. Pete, do you get what I wanted? Yeah, I think so. Fourth, they found that she died in an asylum for the insane 10 years ago, brought there by the police. I see. Wonder if Rogers was ever married. What? Uh, nothing. Keep talking. A letter in her be treated right. It was signed by her son, Darryl Martin. There's no trace of the boy before or since. Pete, I think we've hit it. Her son, Rogers' son, he'd be grown up now. It's the man he was afraid of. It's all right. That could have been a maiden name, don't you see? No, I don't. What's it all about, Eric? Have him time. Write your book about it later. He deserted them, left them. What a motor. Huh? Oh, coming, coming. Mona, I thought you were... I have to see you, Eric. I made an excuse. Sure. Come on in. I haven't long, but I had to know what you were driving at downstairs. About Greg, I mean. Meeting him in the post office this morning? You didn't, of course. I met his plane, Eric. Why are you protecting him? In love with a guy? I don't know. I've known him ever since college. I guess he's... Well, he's always sort of dependent on me. Big fella like that? Oh, you don't know him, Eric. He's been hurt inside, I mean, by things that have happened. What kind of things? Eric, he... Greg once killed a man. Killed a man? It wasn't his fault. It was an accident. But please, I didn't come here to tell you about that. Then why did you come here? Eric, I... I like you very much. I wish you'd give this up. Except Lieutenant Manix's theory before... Before what, Mona? I have a feeling that something might happen. It almost did. I tangled with a hit-and-run driver when I left your place. What? It's all right. Manix's pedestrians are on their own in this town. But, Mona... Yes? Won't you tell me when Greg really got back in town? I've told you all I'm going to. How old is Greg? About 26. But... Where are his folks? Have you ever met them? No. No, I never have. You won't tell me any more about his accident. Where'd you two go to school? San Carlos College. That seems like such a long time ago. Stop it, will you? How do you think you make me feel? I'm 35. I was a lovely angel. Eric... You will get out of this. Leave Greg alone. I'm sorry, Mona. I want to be very sure about the guy you marry. I didn't say I... No. Nobody's a habit now that he's said it. Yes. He wants me to marry him right away. Don't. Please, Mona. Just give me a couple of days. Maybe you'll ask. I have to get back down. He'll wonder what... You won't promise? I can't, Eric. I'm too mixed up. Come here. What? I'll mix you up a little more. Eric, I... Maybe... Maybe to confuse you enough to wait. Maybe a lot of other reasons, Mona. We'll talk about it when I get back. Where are you going? Right now... To college. Dean Spear at San Carlos College was a man who lived by a routine. It didn't include sudden, unannounced visitors. And after my long flight up there, it appeared that I might not get to see him. A lady came to my rescue again. The dean's housekeeper. She's read my books. Didn't like them, but thought all writers were romantic figures. She said she had a plan. She disappeared. A few minutes later, the dean came ambling out of his study. Strange. You're the author of Blindspots, eh? That's right, sir. Have a chair. May I commend you, young man? You have the rare gift of making facts plausible. Even our freshman read you. Thank you, dean. My housekeeper, Mrs. Wilkins, tells me you're considering a post in our economic department. Oh. That woman always does things the hard way. Didn't she think I'd talk to the author of Blindspots? She doesn't like the books, sir. She's stupid. Kind and harmless, though. So, what did you have in mind, Mr. Strange? An ex-student of yours. Gregory Rome. What about Rome? I... Well, I'm going to Greece, you see, for the State Department. I'm picking up two assistants. Rome's name was suggested. Now, if you could add your recommendation... I can't. I suggest you contact Roger's international research. He works for them. Well, naturally, I had Leland Rogers on my list, but since his violent death... Violent death? I thought suicide came under that category. In any case, since I can't ask him, I thought perhaps the man who must have suggested Rome for the job in the first place... I didn't suggest him. If anyone did, it was our honor student here, Mona Bartlett. Then you refused to put in a word for Rome? I resent your asking it. I resent your forcing me to blight a man's career. Rome may have fought his way successfully out of a bad beginning, but confound it strange. After our experience with him here... There was an accident of some sort that I'd like to... I don't mean that. That was during a wrestling match. Rome killed his opponent. The athletic board dismissed it. Blamed it on inexperience, the result of imperfect wrestling technique. I'm sure he was blameless in that instance. It might have happened to anybody. But there was something else. There was indeed. A shocking, premeditated act of violence. That's why you reacted so little, and Rodgers, so as I... It is. To be explicit, strange, we expelled Rome for something just short of murder. Gone? On a certain spring evening during his junior year, Rome, way-laid and brutally beat his professor of public opinion measurement, left the man a mass of bruises, lacerations and a concussion. We found him only just in time. What motive did he have for the attack? But that's exactly the point. He had none whatsoever. He told a preposterous story of the professor making improper advances toward Rome's fiancee. A charge described as ridiculous by the girl as well as by the professor. I see. Why didn't the professor prefer charges? He had no wish to bring notoriety on either the school or his family. What about Rome's parents? Couldn't they shed any light on his actions? As I recall, the boy was an orphan. I see. Say, he didn't have any grandparents, did he? Name of Martin? I see no reason to pursue the matter further, Mr. Strange. I do not recall names. And I have no intention of doing anything at all that might help Gregory Rome into a position of trust. Good night, sir. The dean went back to his routine, and I headed back to the airport. I'd had to lie, but I'd learned plenty about the past of Gregory Rome, and it wasn't pretty. Flying down the coast, I felt as if I was trying to push that plane at greatest speed. My mind, my heart, my body were all tensed and driving it forward with the terrible realization that Mona Bartlett might, at that moment, be with this madman, might even be deciding to marry him. It was all clear now. Rogers, knowing there was a son somewhere, a boy he'd never seen, hadn't even known about when he'd left the mother to be committed to an asylum. When he learned it, realized from those notes that it was someone in his own office, a fear had hidden. I didn't blame him for being afraid. I shuddered thinking about Mona, the way she'd somehow believed in Greg all these years. Champion, remained faithful in spite of everything. I had to get back. I had to get back. Mr. Warren Town, if you want this hack to go any faster, drive it yourself. It's all right. It's deserted out here. I don't care. Well, look, turn left at the end of the block. Or a partner's right around the corner. See the car in front. Stop right behind it. OK. He's here. Hey, that's the car. That's the car that hit me. What are you talking about? Never mind. Look, driver, here's $10 for you. Now, pick up Lieutenant Manix, homicide division, police headquarters. Bring him here on the double. Oh, Mr. Take it from me. Don't go mixing with the police. Tell him. And look, go up there and talk it over with a peaceable. And then you just say blind spots. He'll come. Now go on. OK. My turn towards the apartment started inside. Wasn't easy, but I had to realizing Mona was up there with him. As I went up the steps, my head kept spinning with a jumble of things I'd heard about the man I was about to face, a madman, an ex-wrestler who'd killed one of his opponents. I wondered how his next opponent would make out. Hello, Greg. Hello. I want to see Mona. You want to see Mona? Sure you do, you post office Johnny. All the men I'd like to see, Mona. Glad you're here, strange. Glad you went to San Carlos. Now you know what's coming. Greg, not here if we go over the stairwell. Try to drag her into it. Just because she had a date with him that night, you won't, I won't let. Greg, stop it. Stop it. Leave him alone. Stop it. I can stop. Mona. Mona, you shot me. Sorry. I was trying to. I know. Where is he? He's still out. He struck his head on the stairs when you're hitting him. Did you call the police? No. Eric, please. He suffered enough. You know, you know who he is. He told me tonight, that horrible childhood. Can't you see why he had to make Roger suffer as he'd seen his mother suffer? I'm sorry for Mona, but we've got to turn him in. He's a homicidal maniac. Come on, help me to the phone. No, Eric, no. Listen, we'll have to put him away ourselves, quietly. This is no time to drag this thing through the courts. Why? Why isn't it the time? You're a survey darling, a murder trial now with everything, everything coming out. Eric, you've got to think of yourself. You have to go on being a success. Like Roger's? Greg was right. I'm very fond of you, Eric. Please. Please, for my sake. Don't call the police. Mona, Mona, don't you realize what you're saying? We can't decide this thing you're talking crazy. That's when it hit me. Greg's words suddenly came bouncing back. Words that changed everything. Wiped away the last blind spot. Try to drag her into it, just because she had a date with him that night. Mona, you, Daryl Martin, a girl's name, your name. I gave you a chance, Eric. I could have fired again. It wasn't an accident. You meant to hit me, then you lost your nerve. I love you, Eric. I really do. No, I'm asking you to play this my way. Will you? No. Then I'm glad I won't have to shoot you again, Eric. You're bleeding badly. Very badly. That should do it. I won't have to shoot you. Greg, Greg, he was just a foil of someone to fool me. To help me? Yes. And at full roaches, Greg was an orphan, the right age. And after his wrestling accident, he was shaken. I kept him that way. Oh, it's crazy rotten. And that professor, I go to deem into that. He was so jealous of me, Eric. Poor fool, he didn't have a chance. What about me? My mother? Did we have a chance? But Mona, Mona, to destroy the lives of others. To get to Leland Rogers, I'd do it all over again, every step. Holds entries in his book. Effective, too, weren't they, Eric? You know, they almost drove him out of his mind. But why me? You wouldn't stop. I beg you to remember. And this was to look like Greg's doing. Still can. It's his gun. And if you're not alive, to challenge me. Oh, Lord Mona, please get compressors, and stop the blood die. No, Eric. I won't have to shoot you again. I'm so glad. The guy can't go out on me. And you won't have too many apologies. Can I talk to him, Dr. Whitehurst? Now, take it easy, all of you. Mr. Strange, this is Dr. Whitehurst. You're in a hospital, huh? Hospital? Where? Mona, what about? She's dead, Eric. She shot herself when we pulled up in front. Oh, you're the funny thing, though. She called the emergency hospital for you. No. Something. Talks young Greg here into a jealous rage, and gets him to try to run you down, shoot you, self, changes a mind, saves your life. I guess it's a woman's privilege to change a mind. Yeah. By the way, Eric, what about young Greg here? What do you want us to do? Oh, hello, Greg. Mr. Strange, uh, I. She had quite a hole on you, didn't she? Yes, I didn't know what I was doing. I was so much in love with her. You'll get over it. And don't feel too bad. I had the same blind spot. Thanks, Mr. Strange. Hey, Dr. Whitehurst, could the patient possibly take a phone call and say it's urgent? I don't know. How do you feel, Strange? All right. I'll plug in right here. Hold the receiver for you. Thanks. Hello? Mr. Strange? Yes? Cheryl Milner. Hi. Hi, yes, sir. Horrible old hospital. I'm just done. Yeah, I'll bet. And I'm tired, honey. Too tired. I'm afraid you better call room service. Edmund O'Brien for a magnificent performance as Eric. And to Jeff Corey, Bruce Kamman, Francis Cheney, Paul McVeigh, Ralph Moody, Bud Widdham, Martha Shaw, and Bill Alley, our thanks for your fine support. Next week for Suspense, the lives of three persons cross in an atmosphere fraught with the fears of a doting mother. The story title holds the premise of our play. It is aptly called Life Ends at Midnight. So join us next week, then, when with Life Ends at Midnight, we again hope to keep you in suspense. Mr. O'Brien may soon be seen in the Universal International Production, another part of the forest. The blind spot by Lois E.B. and John C. Fleming was adapted for radio by Joel Malone and was produced and directed by Anton M. Leder. Lud Gloskin is our musical director and conductor. Lucien Morrowak and Rene Garagank composed the original scores. Listen again next week for Life Ends at Midnight on Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills. Suspense! In this weather, most of us have a yen to get out into the country. Well, this year, enjoy it. Don't destroy it. Forest fires do destroy miles of countryside every year. And nine out of 10 forest fires are man-set, started through carelessness. That's another way of saying that nine out of 10 forest fires could have been prevented. When you go into the country this spring and summer, take a few simple precautions. Crush out cigar, cigarette, and pipe embers. Snap matches in half after using. Drown campfire, stir the ashes, and then drown them again. And before you start a fire anywhere for any purpose, find out what the law about fires is in that locality. Don't you be one of the guilty ones to turn the destructive rampage of fire loose in our forests this spring. Be careful and help avoid forest fires. This is CBS, where 99 million people gather every week, the Columbia Broadcasting System.