 Lipton Tea and Lipton Soup presents Inner Sanctum Mystery. Welcome to the shadowy borderland of the squeaking door, all you hearty adventurers. Into the land of the grisly, ghastly, gruesome, horrid, shocking and monstrous. I mean Inner Sanctum. Of course I assume that we're all old friends here, but if by any chance there's a stranger among us, perhaps I should state the purpose for which we are here assembled. Our object is to make your spine tingle and your hair stand on end. That's right. When we're through, you'll discover that a fiend indeed is a fiend indeed. Heavens, you stop talking so scary. Our folks will tune us off their radios. Oh Mary, I'm just trying to scare them into the chill, so they'll have to drink Lipton Tea. Well that isn't necessary at all. For a great many years, people have been enjoying Lipton Tea without any persuasion from you. That famous Lipton flavor has won the praise of tea experts all over the world. And you know folks, these experts describe the Lipton flavor by saying that it's brisk, B-R-I-S-K. Now brisk means that Lipton Tea always tastes fresh and full-bodied. Yes, tangy and vigorous. Never flatter, wishy-washy. That's why I always say you don't know how good tea can be till you know how good Lipton's is. And now friends, let's go from tea to terror. Yes, the title of tonight's story is Terror by Night. It's an original radio play by Amel Tepperman. Tell me, have you ever been alone with fear? Alone in the night and frightened? Well here's Anne Shepherd and the role of Linda Dixon to tell us what happened to her. It was a Friday night and I think I was already a little nervous as I drove north into the mountains. It was the first day of my vacation. I started from the city early enough to arrive before nightfall, but my car was six years old and developed motor trouble. So now I was driving through the night with fifty miles more to go. And I was tired and nervous and irritated. And then I heard that siren in the distance. At first I couldn't place it. And then I remembered the state prison was somewhere in the vicinity. A siren. That meant... That meant a prisoner had escaped. He reached over and turned on the radio. They were broadcasting an alarm. I repeat, motorists are warned to be on the lookout for Lee Hartley who escaped from the death cell at state prison at 9.15 p.m. He has five foot ten dark haired, regular features, no distinguishing marks. Hartley is a confirmed killer. He is believed to be armed. Beware of Hartley. He would rather kill than eat. And that man was loose. I stared ahead at the lonely road spinning toward me through the wind here. It has been established that Hartley was helped to escape from the outside by a sweetheart, Helen Hearn. A red-headed woman just as vicious as Hartley himself. It is thought that Hartley and the Hearn woman may have separated after the escape. All motorists are warned to beware of a dark-haired man and a red-haired woman. Alone or together. My hand was shaking a little as I turned off the radio. I looked in the car mirror and shivered. I too have red hair. A storm coming up and I was driving into it. And the night was black and I felt small and lonely and frightened in the car. Then I saw in the mirror the headlights sweeping up behind me a car. It had come out of nowhere. It was pulling alongside cutting me off. I crawled behind the wheel and then watched the door of that other car open. A man stepped out. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a state trooper. You're driving all alone, Miss? Yes, officer. Sorry I scared you. We're stopping all cars. Where are you heading for, Miss? Oh, I'm going up to Seven Lakes Hotel. That's near Carstairs. You see, I started out late from the city and I'm having motor trouble. Yeah, sure. Can I see your driver's license, please? Oh, yes, my driver's license course. Here, I've got it somewhere in my purse. I seem to be all fingers. That escaped prisoner Hartley. What about him? Oh, well, I heard the prison siren. Then it came over the radio about Hartley and his red-haired girlfriend. See, you've got red hair, too. You don't think I'm that woman? You find that license yet? Well, I'm sure it's in here. So many... oh, here I've got it. Here's my license. Thanks. What time do you see you left the city? About five o'clock. Took you a long time to get this far. Well, I told you I had motor trouble. Oh, sure did. Okay, Miss Dixon, here's your license. You can go ahead. Thank you. Oh, darn. There it goes again. Or motor trouble. No, it's the same thing. The mechanic said it might happen. There it started. You want to get that fixed first chance you get? It's late, so all the service stations are closed. There's one that's open all night about two miles up the road. You better stop there. Bill Slater's place. He's a good mechanic. He'll fix you up. Tell him Joe Nesbit sent you. Thanks, I will. Listen, Miss Dixon, you be careful. Don't stop to give anyone a lift, man nor woman. Don't worry, I won't. The night closed in on me again, but I didn't feel quite so nervous knowing that the trooper was somewhere behind me on the road. And Bill Slater's service station ahead. In a few minutes I saw the lights on the service station. I swung into the open space in front of the pumps. I stopped. There was a rumbling of thunder and the west storm was moving up fast. There was another car, a coupé parked at the pump. But there wasn't anybody in it. And I didn't see any attendant around either. I pressed the horn button. No one answered. No one came out of the office. Still no response. Everything seemed so quiet and suddenly ominous. I found myself shivering. I had a curious feeling that someone was watching me. I've got to get away from here fast. It started when I worked. It started. No, it started. The wrong time I sat behind the wheel. Listening. Listening for the sound of footsteps. Stealing up behind the car. There were none. Then I could bear it no longer. I had to get out of the car. I had to see what was in that office. I opened the door of the car and stepped down on the gravel. Anybody in there? No answer. I clenched my fists and stepped inside. There on the floor at my feet lay the body of a man. His mechanics jumper was stained red with blood. And his throat was cut from ear to ear. How long I stood there I'll never know. I was petrified. Unable to move. Unable to take my eyes from the bloody body. Someone coming downstairs. He must have been hiding somewhere upstairs. I've got to get away outside. I don't want to run. That other car, the coupé, I could jump into that. Yes. If I could reach that coupé before he comes down. Anything wrong, sister? Too late. Anything I can do for you, sister? Yes, it's my car. It won't start. I thought someone here might help me. Sorry. There doesn't seem to be anybody around. That's my coupé over there. I stopped for gas and no one came out. So I went in and looked around. Did you find anyone? There isn't a living soul in there. Oh. You look kind of tired. Oh, no. No, I'm all right. My name is Taylor. John Taylor. I'm Linda Dixon. Linda Dixon, huh? Glad to know you. Travelling far tonight? Well, I'm going to Carsh Stairs. A seven-likes hotel. They're expecting me. Now, what do you know about that? What? Carsh Stairs is the town I'm heading for, too. Isn't that a coincidence? Yes, I'm sure it is. Your car won't run. Tell you what, we'll put your baggage in my car and I'll give you a lift to Carsh Stairs. You can send for your car in the morning. Oh, no. I'll have your bag switched in a jiffy. Please, no, I would rather not. We are all switched. Ah, come on. Get in here. He took my arm and helped me into the coupé. His hand was strong. His grip was hard. It hurt me. There you are. Snug as a bug in a rod. We'll drive away into the night, leaving behind us the dead man in the service station. From where we sit, it looks as if pretty Linda Dixon has gotten herself into an awful jam. And believe me, she's shaking like jelly. My goodness, that poor girl. And just think this is supposed to be her vacation. Why, Mary, she's in the country now, isn't she? In fact, it looks to me like she's going back to the soil. Horizontally. Oh, dear. Why do you always look on the dark side of things? Seems to me you're always pessimistic. Of course, lots of folks feel that way at times, like when they've been working too hard and they're tired. But you know, I think there's nothing better than that down feeling than a good hot cup of Lipton's. The tea with the brisk flavor. That brisk flavor really perks you up. You see, that word brisk, B-R-I-S-K, is just another way of saying that Lipton tea tastes full bodied and vigorous. Yes, tangy and spirited. Never flat or wishy-washy. So try Lipton's reel soon, won't you folks? Well now, let's go back and see how pretty little Linda Dixon is making out. All alone in the car with a strange man. But after all, she shouldn't be too scared of him. He's just a felon who needs a friend. The storm broke a few minutes after we left that service station. We drove through sheets of rain. I sat stiff and tense beside the man who called himself John Taylor. He had both hands on the wheel. He stared out through the windshield. My eyes focused on something on his right hand. It was a stain, a small stain, but it was wet and rare. I couldn't take my eyes off it. What are you looking at? What? Oh, nothing. Nothing tall. Think I'll turn on the radio. Did you know there's been a jail break? Five foot ten, very dark hair. Don't be fooled by his pleasant manner. He is a killer by instinct. Killer by instinct. I looked at the man beside me. Helen Hearn is a clever and dangerous woman. Five foot three, red hair, very pretty. I caught Taylor looking at me out of the corner of his eye. What are you looking at? Is that your hair? It's red. The street of lightning. And looking out of the rain swept window, I glimpsed a signpost. The lightning illuminated the sign, and my heart skipped a beat of what I saw. That sign we just passed. What about it? Well, it, it, uh, said Kerhawkson ahead. We're going the, the wrong way. What we should be on the cost is, not on the Kerhawkson road. Funny. Must have taken the wrong turn. Well, aren't you going to turn back? Sure. Whatever you're saying. We'll turn right around and go back. We're in the ditch. In the ditch? It's no good. She won't budge. Well, it looks like we're stuck here for the night. You look scared. Oh, no. Um, I think I'd better get out and walk. Perhaps there's a house nearby. Walk in this weather? Oh, I don't mind the weather, really. I don't. You can't walk in this storm? Well, uh, nevertheless, I'm, I'm, I'm going to try. Not on your life. Staying right here, till I get the car out of the ditch. Get pneumonia walking in this storm. But I will. Let's see. Where's that flashlight? Oh, here we are. Got some tools in the trunk compartment. You stay put. Stay right where you are. I heard him open the trunk in the back. I listened for further sounds. But there was nothing. I didn't hear him moving here. I didn't hear any tools. I had to find out what he was doing. Slowly, carefully, I got my door open. I stepped out into the ring and sneaked back to the rear. I saw him there. Not moving. In front of the open trunk compartment. Fending over with a flashlight in his hand. The ray of light was focused on, on something curled up inside. It wasn't baggage or tools. It was a woman's body. Just then he saw me snap the flashlight off, but not before I caught a glimpse of red hair. Then I must have fainted. When I came to, I found myself seated inside the car again. My face and hair were wet. My clothes were dripping. John Taylor was driving. His face as he stared ahead through the night was dark and bleak. The storm was over. Night was quiet. Oh, so you're awake again? I, I don't feel well. Is it because of what's in the trunk compartment? She's dead. I told you not to get out of the car. What are you going to do with me? What do you think? Please. Sorry, sister. I've got to take your medicine. Oh, no. Do not make any trouble. I'll try to make it as easy for you as I can. They say that when a person loses all hope, subconsciously he seeks refuge in sleep. That's what must have happened to me. I must have dozed or perhaps I fainted. I don't know. But I awoke with a start at the sound of breaks. I sat up straight and saw that we stopped in front of a small field stone house. Why are we stopping here? I'm out of gas. Oh. Come on. We're going in. Then on the door I said, Roger Bryce, MD. In the spark of hope. I'll do the talking. Is that clear? Uh, yes. Where's the bell? Oh. Must be awake. There's a light in the parlor. How'd it do? Good evening. Dr. Bryce? Yes. Can I help you? I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, doctor. But my sister and I were heading for Costes and we seem to have gotten lost. And we're out of gas. Oh, sister. He was passing us off as brother and sister. Now I knew why he hadn't cut my throat as he had that service station lens. He was carrying me for protection. I was his passport through the police court. I'm afraid I can't be of much help to you. I'm seven miles from the nearest town. And I haven't any spare gasoline. Come in, won't you? Why? Yes. Thank you. We will. I wonder if I could offer you my hospitality for the now. That would be imposing. Not at all. I have two rooms that aren't being used. Really. Oh, come. I insist. I'd hoped for a chance to talk to Dr. Bryce alone. Just a word to warn him. But Taylor never left us alone for a minute. He insisted, insisted, insisted coming into my room to make sure he said that it was comfortable enough for me. Then he took the doctor by the arm and went out with him. Good night, sis. And sweet dreams. I was alone. Free of the presence of John Taylor. I had another lease on life. I waited. My heart pounding. Give them both a chance to retire. Then I slipped off my shoes. And in my stocking feet, I stole across the room and inched my door open. Slowly, carefully, I stepped out into the corridor and turned right toward the doctor's room. What's the matter, assistant? You weren't thinking of going anywhere, were you? I wanted a drink of water. A drink of water, huh? In case you didn't know it, there's a water pitcher on your dresser. Well, I didn't see it. Good night, sister. I turned around and went back into my room. It was no use. If I attempted to warn Dr. Bryce, Taylor would probably kill us both. I turned out the light in my room. I knew he was watching my trances. Then I lay down on the bed. How long I lay there, I don't know. Perhaps I slipped, perhaps not. But I heard that slight creak as my door began to inch open. The blood chilled in my veins. Slowly the door came open. I lay fascinated, unable to move. Immediately I saw the outline of the hand and the knife it held. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. Slowly he came toward the bed. Now he stands over me. He raises the knife. I rolled over on the bed just as the knife flashed down. I fell off the bed and cowered in a corner. That horrible figure came around the bed after me with a knife. I had no strength to think, not even to hope. All the life seemed to have gone dead in my veins. And then it was over. Who, who had won? In the dark I strained my eyes to see. There was a vague shape on the floor. And another, weaving around the room, who, which one was it? Doctor, Dr. Bryce, is that you? No, Linda. It isn't Dr. Bryce. It's I, John Taylor. John Taylor. Standing there at the light switch. And on the floor lay Dr. Bryce unconscious with a long gash in his head. I had to hit him with a water pitcher. My eyes turned to Dr. Bryce. I saw the knife still ripped in his right hand. That's Hartley, Linda. Lee Hartley, the killer. It was he who came in here with a knife? Right. I was down the cellar just now. The real Dr. Bryce is down there. Dead. And this fellow posed as Bryce when we came to the house. Then, then you, you're not Hartley. Oh, isn't that rich? All the time you thought I was Lee Hartley and I thought you were Helen Hearn on account of your red hair. The, the body, the, the body, the red-haired woman. That's Helen Hearn. This fellow must have killed her back at the service station and stuffed her body in my trunk apartment while I was inside. That all happened last summer. In time I think I'll manage to forget that night of horror. But it won't be soon. Sometimes in the night I dream that I, I see that awful figure with the knife poised above my throat. And I wake up screaming. But then John takes me in his arms and holds me tight and tells me that everything's all right. You see, I'm Mrs. John Taylor now. Oh. You know, a happy ending. As for Mr. Hartley, that pleasant killer, he got what he deserved. Yeah, some people never know when they're well off. He should have stayed in jail where they never raised your rent, where they make no charge for meals or for electric current. You see, when you're in jail, everything is free, except you. You know, Mr. Host, that's the first happy ending we've had in a long, long time. And I must say I enjoyed it. Ah, those lovebirds shouldn't have gotten married. It's bad for business, Mary. Now when she wakes up screaming from her nightmare, she reaches for her husband instead of a hot cup of ellipt and tea. Well, I'm glad she has a husband to comfort her. There are plenty of other occasions, Mr. Host, when Lipton's tea is welcome. And I don't mean just at mealtimes either. Lipton's is grand between meals. And, of course, it's the perfect beverage to serve when friends and neighbors drop in to visit you. Yes, I guess that's why more people serve Lipton tea than any other brand. And now a word of caution to all amateur detectives. They say that if you give a criminal enough rope, he'll hang himself. If you give some criminals enough rope, they might tie you up. Oh, by the way, this month in a sanctum mystery novel is Puzzle for Wantons by Patrick Quenton. Yes, and next week's in a sanctum story directed by Hyman Brown and brought to you by Lipton Tea and Lipton Soup. Next week's story is about a lonely man who falls in love with a mannequin in the store window. Oh gee, fellow wants a real girl. So he tries to make her come to life. And what do you know? He finds he has to kill her first. Well, now it's time to close the squeaking door. So, good night. Pleasant dreams. Ha ha ha ha. Folks, these busy days we all want to save time when we prepare meals, and yet we don't want to sacrifice that good homemade taste. Well, the answer to that is Lipton's noodle soup. You see, Lipton's takes no time to prepare and yet it has a real fresh cooked chickeny flavor. Yes, it tastes just like the chicken noodle soup you'd make right in your own home. Lipton's is economical too. It costs less and makes more than canned soups. So folks, don't forget to serve Lipton's noodle soup. And don't forget to tune in next Tuesday night for another inner sanctum mystery. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.