 Suspense, and the producer of radio's outstanding theatre of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure, William M. Robson. Recognize that melody? Of course you do. How many countless happy dancing evenings have come to a close with good night, sweetheart. But for $64,000, do you know who wrote it? And what you might well ask has all this to do with suspense. Well, it's a tuneful way to introduce the star of the upcoming story, Ray Noble. That's right, Ray Noble, who wrote Good Night, Sweetheart. For years, along with everybody else, we have thought Ray Noble was a very funny fellow as he bandied his egg-headed wit against the wooden-headed quips of Charlie McCarthy and Mortimer Snurd on the Edgar Bergen show. So when Mr. Noble came back from London for a short holiday in Hollywood, we wrote a play for him and persuaded him to assay his first dramatic role. Listen, listen then, as Ray Noble stars in The Star of Thessaly, which begins in exactly one minute. What is one of the most honored symbols of dedication to freedom? It is the Navy Distinguished Service Medal, a gold bronze medallion depicting the American eagle encircled by a blue enamel band containing the words, United States of America Navy. It is surmounted by a white enamel star with a gold anchor in its center and is attached to a blue ribbon with a narrow gold stripe in the middle. On the medallion's reverse side is a trident and the legend for distinguished service. The Navy Distinguished Service Medal ranks as the third highest decoration the Navy can bestow. It is a prize worthy of the supreme achievement needed to earn it, a symbol of selfless service during the height of a crucial emergency. Down through the years, United States military decorations have proved to be an inspiration for greater accomplishment in all branches of service. Our Navy's Distinguished Service Medal and the men who have earned it carry on this great tradition to inspire sailors of the present and the future. And now, Mr. Ray Noble starring in The Star of Thessaly, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. The adventure began under the classic circumstances dear to the hearts of the writers of British short stories and presumably their readers. That is to say, it was a foggy November night in London and a group of us were gathered before the crackling fire in St. Bottle's Club in the West End. There were, as I remember, Sir Eustace Twining, Christopher Rexham, Colonel Thorndike, just home from Inja, and one other. Now, who could that have been? Oh, yes, it was I. Captain Anthony Chumbly-Smith, OBE, DSC, recently retired and presently unemployed. Rarity weather. Beastly. Monstrous. Absolutely monstrous. Oh, it's not quite that bad, Sir Eustace. The vulgarity of it. The sheer downright vulgarity. Who? This Bounder here in the Tide. What Bounder? This Bounder, just listen to this personal notice on the front page. For hire, retired Captain Queen's Hussars, Oxonian, superior intelligence, superb family connections, will go anywhere and do anything for a price, reply Box 322, etc. Gentlemen, what is England coming to? Sounds like a rather enterprising chap. Enterprising? He's a traitor to his class, Sir. Offering his services like an ordinary domestic? Oh, it pays to advertise, Sir Eustace. Really, Chumbly, is there nothing sacred to parade one's college, one's family, to flaunt one's military service? Here, here. Oh, I don't know. As a matter of fact, I'd like to have a talk with this chap. Oh, really? Yes. My company has the most delicate situation on its hands, the kind of thing we can't entrust to the ordinary detective type. It requires tact, diplomacy and all that. Do go on, old boy. Well, it involves a star of Thessalon. And what might that be? A diamond which our company has insured for a quarter of a million pounds. I say. Well, it's worth much more, of course, though you'd never know it. It looks like a big pebble that one might find on the beach at Brighton. It'll uncut, you know. Oh, why? Well, the owner, Socrates Melaus, is not only one of the wealthiest men in Greece, but he's also one of the most eccentric. He carries a star of Thessalon, his person as a pocket piece. Of course, we run no great risk on the diamond so long as Mr. Melaus remains in bed. In bed? Oh, yes, yes, he's an invalid. And his villa in Athens is quite competently protected by the local police. However, it has become necessary for him to travel to Paris for an operation. And the old boy insists on carrying the diamond with him. I need somebody just like your advertising friends who you assist. No friend of mine, sir. Zermatt is suave enough to try to dissuade Mr. Melaus from taking the diamond with him on the trip. And failing that, someone resourceful enough to go along on the trip and see that it is a stolen. That's quite an assignment. Yes, but remunerative. What box number did that chap mention in the times, so you used it? Oh, box 322. But no need to contact him there, Rexon. As they say in the American cinema, you've just got yourself a boy. What? Are you saying, sir, that you inserted this notice? Quite right, so you used it. Shame. Shame. It's worse than going into trade. Oh, but much more profitable and infinitely more exciting, what? 36 hours later, I presented myself at Socrates Melaus Villa on Mount Leicobet as overlooking Athens. A moustachioed guard in a white pleated ballet skirt showed me into the old man's room. It was like a museum with a bed. Around the walls were ancient figurines of marble and terracotta and whatnot. And in the bed was a mummy, dried and wrinkled and yellow. Since it moved and spoke, I assumed it must be Socrates Melaus himself, and so it was. I know why you have come here, and I wish you would go away. I will, sir, as soon as you've agreed to place the Star of Thessaly in a safe deposit box. This star is my talisman. I am never without it. Look, Mr. Melaus, it's not only unwise. It's actually dangerous to go traveling around Europe with 250,000 quid in your pocket. No, nonsense. Nonsense, I say. This star is only a piece of crystallized carbon. Look at it. It's just a little rock. Yes, sir, but a highly publicized little rock. You must leave it behind. Never! I like the feel of it. I like to know that it's in my pocket. I am never without it. Very well then. I'm afraid you'll never be without me until I can deliver you safely in Paris. Senseless idiocy. I have a nurse to take care of me. Nursing schools don't teach the kind of care I'm speaking of. I can't read myself of you, eh? No, so not unless you put the Star of Thessaly in a safe place while you're away. Very well. We leave tonight at ten o'clock. What is your name? Captain Anthony Chumley Smyth. Did you ring, sir? Did I ring? Yes! This is Captain Smyth. He's travelling to Paris with us. His name is Hippolyte. Oh, how do you do? Delightfully. Make reservations for him on the same carousel hours. Yes, sir. All right, Captain Smyth. I don't think we have anything further to discuss. No, sir, I suppose not. Show Captain Smyth out, Hippolyte. Yes, sir. This way, please. I'll see you on the train, Mr. Maylath. I hope not. Your employer seems to be a man of pretty strong likes and dislikes. He's more than that, Captain. He's selfish, ungrateful and downright mean. I've given him the best years of my life. And I don't even have his thanks to show for it. Crying shame, isn't it? I tell you, Captain Smyth, it is the end. Well, I'm awfully... Hey, wait a minute. Out there in the gut. I say, what an exquisite creature. Oh, her. That's Kula. Is she his nurse? Good heavens, no. Kula's his granddaughter. I am his nurse. In a moment, we continue with the second act of... Suspense. Another visit with Joe and Daphne Forsythe. Overhead the moon is beating. Hold it, Daphne. Hold it. Oh, hi, Joe. Guess what, honey? I'm trying out for the operetta. As what? A singer. You could have fooled me. I was just practicing one of the songs. Well, I don't think you quite fit the role. Why not? Well, if this version of the student prince is like the version I know, that particular number is sung by a tenor. Oh. Not that you don't come close, but I think you better stick to being a housewife. But I want to be a singer. Daphne, honey, a singer you'll never be. I could take lessons. Yeah, but lessons cost money. Money better invested for us in savings bonds. You and your old savings bonds. I can't help it, honey. I just can't get over the way those savings bonds pay off. Four dollars for every three. That's what I call an investment. What good do they do me now? A lot. The money we put in America strong and protects you and me. No bonds, maybe no operetta. Ever think of that? I still want to be a singer. Well, when those bonds start bringing in the green, if you still want to sing, they'll pay for the lessons and more. Good. Gee, if those bonds mature as fast as you say, I better start practicing now just so that I'll be ready. Overhead the moon is being... Daphne. Daphne, did anyone ever tell you you have a bad voice? Everyone. And now, starring Ray Noble at two of the Star of Thessaly. Later that afternoon, with time on my hands, I wandered up to the Acropolis to pay my respects to the ruins of ancient Athens. And there, as the setting sun streamed through the columns of the Parthenon, I discovered I wasn't alone on the hilltop. Leaning against one of the pillars was a beautiful dark-haired girl whom I was sure I knew. If I didn't, I certainly wanted to. I beg your pardon, but haven't we... Excuse me? I have a feeling we've met somewhere before. I think not, sir. Oh. But then may I correct that lamentable situation? I'm Captain Anthony Chumley-Smiles. I'm glad to meet you, sir. I'm Coulomb. Melis? Yes. How did you know? That's when I saw you. You see, this afternoon I visited your grandfather and I saw you in the garden as I was leaving. Oh. Yes. I wanted so to beat you, but your grandfather's nurse ushered me right out of the house. Oh, that hippolite, that nasty little man. Absolutely, the sailor Least. And what may I ask brings you up to the Acropolis all alone. Oh, I come here often at the end of the day. It is so beautiful. It certainly is a... Oh, wait a minute. What is it? I thought I saw a man's head peering down just from up there on the roof of the apartment. Oh, you must be mistaken. No. The toilet was probably a bird or your imagination. Perhaps so. It is getting dark. But what say we go back down the hill and have a cocktail? Oh, I'm afraid I can. I must go home and finish my packing. Oh, packing? Yes. I'm leaving for Paris tonight. With your grandfather? Yes. Oh, wizard. Utterly smashing. I beg your pardon. Well, I'm going to be on the same train in the same car, in fact. How nice. So if I may, I'd like to see... Get me a car! Oh, what was that? A large marble fragment of ancient Greece. I hadn't taken your arm. Just then it would have splattered me all over the Acropolis. But who could have done it? Your bird. Or that man I imagined I saw up there on the roof. Come on, let's get out of here. Unlike Lord Baron, I have no desire to be buried in the Isles of Greece. But a quarter to ten that night, a curious procession entered the train shed of the Athens Railway Station. It was headed by Socrates Melaus in a wheelchair pushed by a perspiring Hippolyte. After then the lovely coulour. And bringing up the rear yours truly, carrying his own bags. The old man ignored me. The male nurse virtually snubbed me. But this didn't concern me too much as soon as I caught up with coulour. Good evening. Oh, Captain. I thought perhaps you had changed your mind. Oh, about taking this train. Dear goddess, once I learned you were to be a fellow passenger, Hercules himself put a... She yanked me to one side as a huge porter, pushing a heavy cart of luggage grazed by me and shoved on through the crowd without a buyer leave. Following him was a short, headless bull-nick man, evenly the owner of the cart full of luggage. Oh, such a careless fellow. If you hadn't pulled me aside, you'd have broke my legs with that truck. That would have been a regrettable accident. I don't think it would have been an accident. Ah, here we are, the Paris car. You know, that's curious. What? Do you see that man tipping the porter? Oh, my hit-and-run porter, yeah. I think I have seen him someplace before, just today. Seeing that one twice in one day is once too many. Now I remember. He was up on the acropolis earlier this afternoon before you arrived. Oh, he was. An idea say he was still there after we left. What do you mean? I'll tell you when I'm certain. There was a pattern here, and it was beginning to emerge. The bull-nick man with the hit-and-run porter also been on the acropolis shortly before that chunk of greasy's glory had scored a near miss on my skull. And now he was travelling in the same car with me. It was all very well to be sockered his meal-ass bodyguard, but at that moment I would have liked very much to have a bodyguard for myself. But things looked better in the morning as our through-car joined the Orient Express at Salamika. The bull-nick man hadn't emerged from his compartment and what disturbed me more, neither cooler. So I breakfasted alone. And then as the train sped west towards Italy and the Alps, I went forward to pay my respects to the boss. Yes? Oh, Captain Smite. How's Mr. Males today? Quite well. Who is that, Hippolyte? Captain Smite. Send him away. Oh, come now, old chap. I'm not here by choice, you know. How are you feeling? Very well. How should I be? Everything all right? Certainly. The Star of Thessaly is right here in my pyjama pocket. If that's what you mean... Good. That's what I mean. The next day and a half were dull. Oh, very dull. Cooler remained in her compartment, pleading a migraine. The bull-headed bull-nick man stayed in his for reasons best known to himself, so I stayed in mine. Except for meals and the periodic and unwelcome check-ups I made every few hours on the whereabouts of the Star of Thessaly. Then on the afternoon of the second day while the train was snaking upwards through the Italian Alps, I was idly leaping through some magazines I had picked up in the Belan station when the train attendant came in. Excuse me, Signore. What do you want? Well, we come as soon as we go to Simplon Tunnel. I'm going to turn on the lights. Oh, the Simplon Tunnel? Yes, Signore. The longest tunnel in the world. 12 miles all up a hill. She's taught in Italy and she come out in Switzerland. My, my. Well, thanks for the travel, old chap. What, Signore? Nothing, just thanks. Oh, please, please, Signore. A moment later, the Orient Express was swallowed up by the Simplon Tunnel. A moment after that, the door of my compartment slid open again. And there stood my bullet-headed bull-neck neighbor pointing a very efficient German Luger at me. Now, Captain Smitey, we'll get down to business. Who are you? There's of no importance. And what is the business we're going to get down to? The business of you leaving the train right now. Oh, come now. It's dark out there in the tunnel. Lower that window. Well, and let all the smoke in. Lower it or... All right, all right. Don't get so excited. There. See? Smoke. Very annoying. Now, out of the window. House! Look, before I do, would you mind telling me why? You are in my way. I beg your pardon? Before the train emerges from the tunnel, I intend to help the star of Hesely. Oh, I see. You weren't by any chance crawling around the roof of the Parthenon the other night, were you? Of course. And, of course, you paid the porter to try and run me down in the railway station? Of course. And each time that girl saved you. But nothing can save you now. Out of the window with you. While I had kept him talking, the compartment had been filling with train smoke. I had been calculating the lurch of the car. Now, I turned towards the window slowly, waiting for the car to lurch once more. I braced myself at the window. The car gave a jerk, throwing bullnecks exactly off balance. I well grabbed his gun arm, thrust my knee into his middle and rolled over. Unfortunately, the train lurched a little more than I expected. And poor old bullneck kept going right on through that window. I tore out of my compartment and down the corridor to mail us this room. The light was out. If the light wasn't there, the old man was lying on the bed, breathing shallowly, obviously dope. I felt in his pajama pocket and I felt around the bedclothes. It was nowhere. It was gone. The star of Thessaly was gone. In just a moment, we continue with the third act of suspense. Memo on medals. Information about our military awards and decorations. The awarding of American medals had its beginning during the Revolutionary War. Certain military and naval commanders were presented gold medals to commemorate their victories. The first medal in our nation's history was given to General George Washington after he had forced the British to evacuate Boston. That medal is now in the Boston Public Library, where it was placed on exhibit in 1876. 100 years after the historic event it commemorates. Technically, early medals were not decorations in the strictest sense. They honored both the victorious event and the officer in charge. Also, they were not designed to be worn, as later medals were. Therefore, they were presented in a suitable case for safekeeping. What we now know as the Purple Heart Medal was originally a badge of cloth material specified in Washington's establishing order to be a figure of a heart in purple cloth or silk edged with narrow lace or binding. Foreign decorations and medals are worn to the left of all American decorations. They are never worn alone, but must appear with at least one American medal. Few tributes are as meaningful and as cherished as the awards and decorations of our armed forces. And now, starring Ray Noble act three of the Star of Thessaly. The Star of Thessaly was gone and the man who had planned to steal it was gone too. Who else was after it then? Of course, there wasn't much time. I sent Cooler in to look after a grandfather and I started to search the car compartment by compartment. By the time I was halfway through, the train was out of the tunnel and slowing down for Swiss customs inspection. I heard a door open at the forward end and saw a figure slip out of the WC. It was Hippolyte. He threw open the vestibule door and dropped off the train stumbling as he hit the gravel of the roadway. I jumped after him, but he was on his feet and running, his left leg limping badly. I nearly caught up when he turned suddenly. I saw the gun in his hand and dived in a flying tackle as it went up. All right, hippy old boy. I want two things from you. That gun. Please, please let me go, Captain. And, and the star of Thessaly. Let me keep it, Captain Smite. He does not need it. He has millions. Let me keep this star. You know that it would probably kill him to lose that diamond. It is only a pocket piece to him. He owes it to me. I've given him the best use of my life. Let me keep this star, Captain Smite. Please let me escape. Come on, hippy. Crying will get you nowhere. You are just a heartless brood, Captain Smite. Yeah, I know. Let's go, sport. Tony, where have you been? I've been so worried. Is he still asleep? Yes, he hasn't moved. Good. What are you doing? Putting the star of Thessaly back in his pocket. It was, uh, misplaced for a little while. Oh, and Cooler, I'm afraid you'll have to take over as your grandfather's nurse. Why? Where is he pulling out? Well, he fell in love with the Alps, so he's topping over for a while in Switzerland. Dreadful weather. Beastly. Hello, evening, chaps. Hmm? Oh, uh, evening, chumlee. Well? Well, aren't you going to ask me about my trip? Trip? You've been away. Yes, I... I thought I hadn't seen you about for a few days. Dreadful weather we're having, isn't it? Oh, uh, yes. Beastly. Suspense. In which Ray Noble starred in The Star of Thessaly. Written, directed and produced by William N. Robeson. Supporting Mr. Noble in The Star of Thessaly were Lillian Bayef, Ben Wright, Jane Avello, Byron Kane, and Abraham Sofaire. Listen. Listen again next week. When we return with another tale well calculated to keep you in... suspense. Suspense has been brought to you through the worldwide facilities of the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.