 Lipton Tea and Lipton Soup present Inner Sanctum Mysteries. Come on in friends, into the Inner Sanctum. This is really a lovely place. It's kind of dark and cobwebby, but then the maid hasn't been around for some time. Now she was playing the numbers. Then her number came up. Why, through these portals pass some of the nicest people in the world. True they're rather boring, but after all they are deadheads. And I'll take a good old redhead deadhead any time. Why, Mr. Host, are you finally admitting that you like the ladies? Well, of course, Mary. Don't you know some of my favorite ghosts are girls? But I do wish they weren't so vain. Why, I know one who has pleats in her shroud. Not only in the front, but in the back too. Just in case she should turn over in her grave. Oh dear, there you go talking nonsense again. I like talk that makes sense. Good common sense, like the things the tea experts say about Lipton Tea. For instance, they say that Lipton's has a brisk flavor. That's the truth, because Lipton's does taste fresh and tangy and full-bodied. Never wishy-washy. And then the experts say that that brisk flavor makes all the difference in the world when you're sitting down to a cup of tea. And folks, that's absolutely right. That brisk flavor is the reason why Lipton's is such a comfort. Why it actually makes good food taste better. Yes folks, you just don't know how good tea can be till you've tried Lipton's. So buy a package of Lipton's and taste what you've been missing all this time. And talking of time, friends, may I take a few years of your life? All right, get ready to hear a gory little story entitled Boomerang. It's an original radio play written by a couple of Australian Bushmen named Michael Sklar and Richard Manoff and stars Martin Gable in the role of John Keelay. So, hitch up your chair, switch off the lights and look out. Help me! No one hurt me. No one came. I lay there watching the blood ooze from the wound. My chest was on fire. The flesh where the bullet had ended was torn, shredded and in my back there was a kind of numbness. I screamed, ah! Help, help! But no one answered. I was utterly alone, helpless, watching my life dripping drop by drop to the floor. Then the blackness closed in. When I regained consciousness, two uniform patrolmen were bending over me, looking frightened and puzzled. Suicide, Riley? Either that or murder. Their voices seemed to come echoing over an aching void. I wanted to tell them how it happened. I wanted to tell them about Bill Sloan and Helen and the airplane. I was frantic. I had to tell them. He's trying to say something, Ranny. Poor guy. He can't talk. He's too far gone. I couldn't talk. I'd lost too much blood. My tongue was thick like cotton. My lips moved, but that was all. It was all shut up inside me. They would never know how it had happened. Riley, it looks to me like murder. Murder, yes, it was murder. And if only I could have spoken I would have told them about my nervous breakdown, about the sanitarium. That's where it began, back there in that plushy prison. I was locked up behind that big wall, and my wife and my partner, they had the chance to discover each other. And then when I came out, the doctor said I was cured. They were full solicitude, and all the wild suspicion was building up inside me. I was already suspicious that day. I caught them by surprise. I'd come directly home from my regular visit to the psychiatrist, instead of returning to the office. Bill was there in the living room with Helen. My partner and my wife laughing together. I closed the front door silently. The rugs muffled my footsteps. I entered the room suddenly, wanting to see their faces when they saw me. What, what darling? Hello Helen. John, how did you have to come home in the afternoon? Why aren't you at the office? I was thinking of asking you that question. Bill made some flimsy excuse, but I caught the look of guilt on his face. He was a bachelor, smooth with words, successful with women. And I was beginning to believe he had succeeded with my wife. Oh, I had evidence. There was the time a few nights later. Helen and I were going up to bed. As we passed the umbrella stand at the foot of the stairs, I noticed something. Helen, just a moment. This umbrella, it's Bill's. Oh, is it? Yes, it is. What's doing here? Well, he must have forgotten it when he was over the other day. Take it out of the office in the morning, will you darling? I made no reply. We continued up the stairs and went to bed. I waited until Helen was asleep, crept out of bed and down the stairs. There was the umbrella. I reached out my hand, afraid to touch it, but I had to. The umbrella was still wet. It had rained that afternoon. I said nothing about it the next morning. Oh, I was suspicious enough, but I told myself I had to be absolutely sure. And then, that next night, it happened. Helen went out after dinner, saying she had an appointment with her hairdresser. As the door closed behind her, I picked up the phone and dialed the number. Hello? Crescent Beauty Salon? Alberta, this is Mr. John Keeler. I'm calling for my wife to verify her appointment for this evening. Mr, she has no appointment for this evening? No, I was sure. Bill and Helen were together. I struggled to control my emotions. My head was whirling. I felt ill, weak. My heart was pounding in my chest. The room began to spin. First the floor lamp and the chairs, finally the tables whirling around my head. I needed air. I forced myself out of my seat, stumbled across the floor of the window and threw it open. The stars, too, were spinning, chasing each other in a mad race across the sky. I sucked the fresh air into my lungs and slowly the stars resumed their normal positions. I drew my head back into the room and then it struck me across the nostrils. Gas! The room was full of gas. Yes, I found one gas jet open in the kitchen stove. I fought against the logical conclusion, struggled against it all that night and into the next day, but I could no longer stand it by mid-afternoon. That open gas jet last night had been no accident. I was planning to have me put out of the way. Well, two could play at that game. I also could commit murder. I worked out a plan. First, the business trip to Buffalo that I'd been putting off for weeks. I could use that as my alibi. I called my secretary. Yes, Mr. Keeler. Miss Jackson, I've decided to go up to Buffalo tomorrow. Could you get me a drawing room on the five o'clock train? I'll call the railroad station right now, Mr. Keeler. A few minutes later, she called me back. I had the train reservation. So far, so good. I went to the bank and from the bank to the airline terminal. What can I do for you, sir? I want a seat on the Rochester plane, the plane that leaves New York at 9.30 tomorrow night. 9.30? What is the name, sir? Dunham, Roger Dunham. You're a lucky man, Mr. Dunham. It's the last seat on the plane. Roger Dunham. That assumed name would prove my alibi. The details of my scheme were falling into place. I went home and the dinner told Helen I was leaving for Buffalo tomorrow. Tomorrow? Must you go tomorrow, John? Can't it wait? I've been putting this trip off too long already. I'll leave straight from the office and come home the next afternoon. Well, you're being a little inconsiderate. I'll be all alone here overnight. Are you afraid? No, but... Well, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll ask Bill to come over and keep you company tomorrow night. How that be? Why... Why, that'll be fine. Another car in place. Another gear meshed. Now one last piece to move and the engine of my revenge would be complete. Yes, it was revenge now. Revenge for what those two had done to me. Oh, hello. It's a good idea, John, to spend business with pleasure. Pleasure? You've been rather tense lately. The change of the scene will do you world some good. I'm sure it will. How about Helen? Can you make it tonight? Tonight? Yes. Yes, sir. I'll be over after dinner. That day passed like a dream. With me, the sleepwalker in the center going through all the motions correctly but waiting for the evening. For I wasn't hunted now. Now I was the hunter. A little past four o'clock that afternoon I left the office and took a cab to the station. I went directly to my drawing room and as the train pulled out I called for the porter. At midnight, sir? Just to glass the milk, porter. Warm milk. And don't bring it before midnight. Still, then, I've got a lot of work to do and I don't want to be disturbed. Just as you see, sir. I gave the porter an unnecessarily large tip to make sure he'd remember me. Now, when the train stopped to change engines at harm an hour later it was raining, thumb-stopping. I pulled my hat down over my eyes raised my coat collar around my face and became just another shadowy figure hurrying to get out of the rain. I crossed the platform unnoticed and ten minutes later I was on a train going southbound returning to New York. I picked up my car at the parking lot and drove out to my house on the cliff. Parking on a side road I climbed up the hill on foot by now the rain was coming down in sheets. Lightning split the sky and thunder crashed around me. I could see the light from my house perched to the edge of the cliff. Now, Bill's car was parked on the driveway pointed downhill. Light came from the living room. I crept through the shrubbery through a window. There they were, Bill and Helen my partner and my wife sitting side by side on the divan heat drinking my whiskey comfortable and warm while I, the unwanted, was standing outside in the storm how I hated him at that moment. I went back to Bill's car crept beneath it and went to work. The sound of the storm covered the noise of my tools as I disconnected the brakes and I was finished and none too soon for suddenly the front door opened and Bill stood framed in the light of the doorway with Helen behind him. Prepare the night for it but we'll never get another chance like this one, Helen. Well, all right, but come back quickly, Bill. I'm nervous. Oh, nothing to be nervous about. John is halfway to Buffalo by now. The perfect opportunity to go over our plans with Bates. All right, go ahead then, but hurry. I'll have Bates back here legit. Bates. Bates. He was going to fetch Bates, but he was only a hired killer. I laughed inwardly as the car got started. I could see Helen watching it as it picked up speed on the steep downgrades. Something was wrong now and she knew it. Bill, not so fast. Too late, too late. The car was roaring downhill out of control charging for the lift of the cliff. There was a crash and a smash through the car. Bill! Oh, poor Bill. I always say, protect me from my friends and I'll take care of my enemies. That's a nice guy, too. Who would have thought he'd go falling for a cliff? But there you are. There's no accounting for taste. There's no accounting for the people in this story, that's what. Such terrible people. Oh, Mary, wait till you meet Bates. He's a boy. He's really going to make our characters dance. Yeah, he's going to put them in the groove. Oh, do I mean grave? You don't know what you mean. And it seems to me, Mr. Host, that life is complicated enough without you making it more so. Well, look at what I had to do yesterday. Clean the house, do the Monday wash, and cook three meals in the bargain. Yes, and you'd be surprised at the big help I got from Lipton Tea. You see, when I had a moment to relax, I'd make myself a cup of Lipton's. Such an easy thing to do. It did me a world of good. That brisk flavor makes Lipton such a cheering, satisfying drink. It really perks you up. It's never wishy-washy. Of course, I know that lots of folks serve Lipton Tea at mealtimes, and serve it to their guests too, but friends, you really should try helping yourself through the day with a good hot cup of brisk-flavored Lipton Tea. Yes, treat yourself to Lipton's when you've got a moment to relax. Well, don't relax yet. First, let's go back to that tiff on the cliff where John Keeler has just killed his business partner. I'm just itching to know what's going to happen to his wife. She's standing by the shattered fence, peering down the side of the cliff into the darkness. And John, he's creeping up behind her. Look out, Helen. He's dead, Helen. It's a sheer drop of 400 feet to the bottom. John! I thought... John, you said you were going to Buffalo. I am going to Buffalo, Helen, after I finish my business here. Well, Bill, the car just... It's a pity about the brakes. They must have come disconnected. Disconnected? Accidents will happen, Helen. John... John, you killed it. You and Bill thought you would pull the wool over my eyes while I fooled you. Stay away from me! I'm going to throw you over the cliff. I'm going to send you to join your lover. You can't do this! Tomorrow they'll find your bodies. They'll think you were thrown clear of the car when it crashed. They'll call it an unfortunate accident. No, no, please! Careful, Helen. You're at the edge. There's nothing behind you. John, John, don't touch me! Goodbye, Helen. If I had any feeling at that moment, it was a feeling of satisfaction. I, the failure, had committed the perfect crime. My scheme was flawless. I walked down the hill to my car, changed my clothes and drove to the airport. As Roger Dunham, I boarded the plane for Rochester at 9.30 that night. Just as I planned it, we arrived at that city while ahead of my train. I was waiting when the long line of sleeping cars pulled in at the Rochester station platform. I boarded the train. My drawing room was just as I had left it at Harmon. I sank down in a seat. I removed my coat and shoes. I looked at my watch. It was midnight. Uh, come in. Uh, big pardon, sir. It's midnight, sir. Oh, midnight? Oh, thanks for bringing the milk. It's lukewarm, sir, just like you asked for it. Thank you, Potter. In Buffalo, I went to my usual hotel. Checked in, went to sleep. Oddly enough, I slept well that night. A deep, dreamless sleep. In fact, I overslept. For when I awakened, it was broad daylight and the phone was ringing. I, uh... I struggled out of bed. Lifted a receiver. Uh, hello. This is the long-distance operator. I have a New York City call for Mr. John Keeler. This is Mr. Keeler speaking. One moment, please. Here's your party. Mr. Keeler? Yes? Mrs. Jackson, I've just arrived at the office. Mr. Keeler, I don't know how to tell you. The police. What about the police? They're here in the office. They want you to return at once. Mrs. Keeler, what's going on there? Mr. Sloane and your wife. Both of them are dead, Mr. Keeler. Dead? Mr. Sloane's car went off the cliff near your house last night. The accident was discovered this morning. Accident? You said it was an accident. It must have been an accident, Mr. Keeler. She thought it was an accident. Now, if only the police thought likewise. I told my secretary I'd take the first plane back to the city and I hung up. A few hours later, I reached New York, and hurried to my office. There's a detective waiting in your office, Mr. Keeler. A detective? He said he had to see you. A detective. This was the test. I pulled myself together and opened the door to my office. Mr. Keeler? Yes. I understand you're from police headquarters. Jerome is the name, sir. Assistant inspector. How do you do, sir? We won't take up much of your time, Mr. Keeler. It's an open and shut case. How do you mean that? Well, stormy nights, slippy road, bad breaks, obviously an accident. Very sorry. I nodded at the detective. And all the while, I was laughing inwardly. He sat there, the very symbol of the law, and offered me official sympathy. No question of clues, nothing of a look, nothing to fear. Not now. I, the weakling, had committed the perfect crime. Yes, Mr. Jackson? Mr. Keeler, there's a man out here to see you. Send him away. He won't go. He says you don't know him, but it's extremely important. What's his name? His name is Bates, Mr. Keeler. William Bates. Bates? I had killer. I told my secretary I'd see him. I went into the outer office. Bates was sitting on one of the chairs with an open briefcase on his lap. He was a big man. Tough looking. I read the news in the morning paper, Mr. Keeler. Too bad. That was a tough break. Yes. Yes, it was. I didn't know if I should go after you now, but, well, after all, I'm a businessman. My time is money. I'm sure it is, but why tell me about it? You certainly don't expect me to pay you. Why not? They're your plans. My plans? Look at them. Here they are. Well, they've even got your name on them. I didn't know what I could trust my ears. Whether I could believe my vision. Bates drew a roll of architectural drawings out of his briefcase and shoved them at me. Look at them. There it is in your partner's handwriting. Plans for the new Keeler house. Who are you? I told you. My name is Bates. I'm a building contractor. Your partner and your wife insisted that the old job had to be done in secret. In secret? They said something about you having just come out of a sanitarium. They wanted the whole thing to be a big surprise. My mind was railing. The secret meeting was that led me to suspect Bill and Helen. Those meetings were to go over the plans for a house. My house and Helen's. I had killed my best friend and my wife. Inspector Jerome, I want to confess. I killed them. I killed them. Killed them? Killed who? Don't look at me like that. You know who I'm talking about. My partner and my wife. I killed them last night. Now I'm ready to take my punishment. Now calm down, Mr. Keeler. You've had a hard time. We realize this thing has been a great challenge. What are you talking about? The homicide squad doesn't jump to hasty conclusions, Mr. Keeler. We've made a thorough checkup on your background. What's my background got to do with it? Well, we know you spent three months in a sanatorium recuperating from a nervous collapse. Now on top of that, there's some unfortunate accident. It wasn't an accident. I killed them. We checked every movement you made since you left the office yesterday. Then you must know. We know you took the five o'clock train to Buffalo. The porter on your pullman had no trouble recalling you. He even told us how he brought you a glass of milk at midnight. You were a good 200 miles away from New York when the accident happened. The detective went away, shaking his head. Ha, sympathetically. My mind was in a turmoil. I had committed the perfect crime. And it had boomeranged. I went home. The house on the cliff was empty. Everywhere I looked, I saw Helen. Her photograph on my desk. Her red tipped cigarette still in the ashtrays. Two half-empty cocktail grasses side-by-side on the living room table. There was desolation in the house. Emptiness, loneliness. And it would be like this for the rest of my life. But there was one way out. I always kept a loaded gun in the desk. I took it out of the drawer and in my hand. Here was my punishment. This time I couldn't fail. I placed the gun against my chest and pulled the trigger. I fell by the desk and lay there where I am now. Staining the carpet with my blood. I was dying and I was glad of it. And then I remembered the plane. The plane reservation to Rochester. I could tell the police when they came and they could check that and they would know that I was guilty. But they came too late. They bent over me. I tried to tell them. I tried. I tried. Riley, he's trying to say something. Yeah, cool guy. It's too far gone to talk. Now I'm lying here on the carpet, waiting to die with my guilt locked up inside me. I can see a new figure among the police. A man civilian dressed with a small black bag in his hand. How long has it since this man was discovered in this condition officer? About half an hour, Doc. He's in very bad shape. Will he live down? Will he recover? Yes, he may recover, but only partially. Partially? How do you mean, Doc? Notice his inability to move so much as a finger. Notice how only his lips move. Trying to form words without being able to speak. The bullet must have injured his spinal cord. This man is paralyzed. Totally paralyzed. So now I know. I'm paralyzed. I'm not going to die. And yet I can see the policeman moving carefully about the room. And I hear them speaking softly. As one speaks in the presence of the dead. So I've failed again for the last time because I know my fate now. To live in this living death alone with my guilt. Forever. That is my punishment. Poor old John Kele. Who would have thought his spinal cord could have tied him up in knots. Nuts are nice for John. He started out as a keeler, tried to be a keeler dealer, but got all wound up. Mr. Hose, let's forget about that awful story because there's something really important I'd like to talk about. The makers of Lipton Tea and Lipton Soup want me to remind all you folks of a debt that must be paid to our servicemen. A debt that can be paid in part by buying and continuing to buy victory bonds. You know, I think the best reason for buying bonds was given many, many years ago by one of the great statesmen of all time. By Abraham Lincoln when he said, let us strive to finish the work we are in to bind up the nation's wounds to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan. To do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations. Yes, folks, that's just what we're helping to do when we invest in victory bonds. So keep on buying all that you can, won't you? And our friends, for those of you who like morals with your drama, here's one for tonight. Never mix your partner's business with your pleasure, for if you do, he may consider it a pleasure to give you the business. By the way, this month's in a sanctum mystery novel is Devil in the Bush by Matthew Head. 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 genius, a photographer who believes that death will be beautiful. So he only takes pictures of people who are in the throes of dying. It's enough to make your camera a shutter. Naturally, he has to arrange his models, arrange to have them die. So next Tuesday, bring along the kiddies and we'll make it a nice family picture. And now it's time to close the squeaking door. Well, good night. Pleasant dream? Folks, cold weather and hot soup just seem to go together. And Lipton's noodle soup is the soup of the season. Yes, Lipton's is blessed with a fine chickeny flavor and it has real fresh cooked goodness. It tastes just like the chicken noodle soup you'd make right in your own kitchen. The only difference is that Lipton's takes almost no time at all to prepare. So if your family likes chickeny tasting soup that's brimming with tender golden egg noodles, then don't forget to ask for Lipton's noodle soup. Yes, friends, and don't forget to tune in next week for another Inner Sanctum Mystery. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.