 The weird circle. In this cave, by the restless sea, we are met to call from out the past stories, strange, and weird. Bellkeeper, pull the bell, so all weird circle. The trial from murder. That's the title of tonight's weird circle story brought to you by Ogden's. From the pen of the noted author, Charles Dickens, the trial from murder provides excellent story material for a smooth radio adaptation. Speaking of smoothness and adaptability, you'll find Ogden's fine cut, a smooth roll your own cigarette tobacco. And if you look for a product that's completely adaptable to the smoker's taste, well it's simple to make smoking satisfaction come true with Ogden's. Yes, on all counts, Ogden's provides genuine smoking enjoyment. You'll find Ogden's easy to roll, delightful to smoke. Yes, easy to roll, delightful to smoke. And now the Ogden's Playhouse presents the trial from murder by Charles Dickens. Out of the past, phantoms of a world gone by speak again the immortal tale, the trial from murder. Here we are, Mr. Trelawney, new town jail. Ah, gloomy old place it is, sir. Watch your step getting out. Thank you, Derek. I can find you a place up at one of those garret windows, if you like. Then you can see the hanging. Oh no, Derek, I didn't come down here to watch the hanging of Peter Cook. Then begging your pardon, sir, I don't understand. Well, it's hard to explain. It's as though some strange force has urged me to come here today. I've felt it ever since the trial ended. Well, sir, I for one never did believe all that rubbish they were whispering about you during the trial. Supernatural powers, Mr. Trelawney can read the witnesses' minds. Why, there never was a more practical man than you, sir. Form into the jury, I tried my best to be fair, Derek. But I can't think back on the trial without a shudder. It was a nightmare, an ugly dream. Oh, look, sir, the flag is up. Your Peter Cook is dead. Yes. And suddenly a great weight seems lifted from my soul. Strange. Why, I feel happy for the first time since it all began. Robert Blackwell has just come out to the prison gate, sir. I think he's coming over here. Even a great lawyer like Blackwell couldn't stop you from hanging Peter Cook. Oh, this is a fortunate meeting. I've long wanted to talk to you. It's Mr. Trelawney, isn't it? Yes, Mr. Blackwell, I'm at your service. Even though you'll never persuade me Peter Cook wasn't guilty of murder. He was, sir. He was. Confessed at the last minute. I was completely taken in by a scoundrel. Disagreeable business, the whole thing. Would you care to join me for a stroll? I'd be delighted, Mr. Blackwell. That will be all, Derek. I'll be home for dinner. Yes, sir. I suppose there are many questions in your mind. Mr. Trelawney, from the moment you appeared in the jury box and my client leaped to his feet screaming that you must be challenged, I felt you were the key to the whole mysterious business. I was. Through no fault of my own. In a way, I was a puppet moved about by forces that can't be explained in any logical way. I've long wanted to tell the whole story. Just what I was hoping for, my friend. I've long wanted to hear it. I warn you, Mr. Blackwell, you won't believe me. You'll laugh at me. Call me crazy. Not at all, Mr. Trelawney. Now, here's a quiet little part. Let's rest on this bench while we chat. All right, sir. As I was saying, Mr. Trelawney, I have every reason to believe you implicitly. Then you have more faith in me than I had in myself. Do you know that after the trial, I went to a specialist? And it was with relief that I heard him say that I was sound and body and mind. Excellent. And now a confession from the counsel for the defense. I had you checked on, sir, after several incidents that seemed unbelievable, you understand? That you are a well-known bank director, respected and admired. A man of character and integrity. Not given to imagination and fancy. Oh, I'm flattered. But was that sufficient proof? Perhaps not. However, on four different occasions during the trial, I was startled by a sense of someone standing at my elbow. A weird sensation. The sort of a chilly presence that made the hair stiffen at the back of my neck. You may recall that during my summation, I lost my place and glanced quickly in back of me. You certainly looked startled. There was no one there, of course. But there was. It was John Talbot. John Talbot? The dead man? The man murdered by Peter Cook. I saw him frequently during the trial. But my good man, such things don't happen. I told you you'd call me crazy. But it was as much a fact as two and two make four. And at least, Mr. Blackwell, you've given me a motive for telling my strange story. First, let me tell you that I don't follow crime stories in the daily papers. And it wasn't until much later that I discovered that this first incident took place before Peter Cook was even suspected or arrested. I was standing by the window in my apartment overlooking the park. Derek, my servant was in the room at the time. Shall I lay out your evening clothes, Mr. Trelawney? If you will, Derek. But first, take a look out this window. Something strange going on. What is it, sir? Do you see that man approaching from Berkley Street? The one with his collar turned up. Yes, sir. He seems to be in a bit of a hurry. What's the way he keeps glancing in back of him? That man thinks he's being followed. I'd say he acts a bit frightened, sir. You're right, Derek. And now I see the reason. Good heavens. What a peculiar-looking chap following him. No wonder he wants to get away from him. Where, sir? Stand over here. You can see him now, Derek. No hat, his hair blowing in the wind. He has the whitest, most unhealthy-looking face I think I ever saw. I don't see him, sir. Well, you must be blind, Derek. He's practically in front of the window now. Look, look. Oh, he sees us. And he's pointing at the chap with his collar turned up. I don't like the look in his eyes, Derek. He must be a madman. Doesn't he look mad to you? I'm sorry, sir, but I don't see a soul. What's that? I don't see anyone there, sir. You must be crazy, Derek. He's moving away now, but looking back over his shoulder and still pointing. Are you quite sure you're feeling well, Mr. Trelawney? If you're trying to be annoying, Derek, you're succeeding admirably. Is this your idea of a joke? No, sir. I'm very sorry, sir. May I draw the blinds? Please do. Let's have no more of this nonsense. Serves me right for not minding my own business. Yes, sir. What's that? I mean, no, sir. That is, shall I lay out your evening clothes? Yes. Yes, I'll change in the dressing room. It's warm there. Derek, did you leave the dressing room door ajar? No, sir. I closed it tight to keep the heat in. Well, it's ajar now. Wait a minute. I have a feeling there's someone in there. That's impossible, sir. You'd have to go through this room to get there, and we'd have seen anybody who did so. Yes. Yes, you're right, of course. Look, look, and remember. Derek, did you hear something? No, sir. What is it? There's someone in that room. Open the door wide. Yes, sir. There. You see, Mr. Trelawney, there's nobody there. If I may say so, sir, your image... What's the matter, Derek? I... I don't know, sir. All of a sudden, I felt cored. Sort of a chill came over me. You... you didn't see anyone in there when I opened the door, did you, sir? I... I thought I did, just for a flash. It was the white-faced man I saw on the street a moment ago. And that's the truth, as you recall it, looking back? I'm certain of it. Moreover, Derek came to believe me. That chill of death that he felt convinced him. It's odd that neither one of us connected the incident in any way with the summons for jury duty that he brought to me at breakfast the next morning. As a busy man, I was merely annoyed with what I thought would be some dull civil case. But several days later, I arrived at the courthouse. I remembered so clearly the dim, gas-lit passageways to the court. I remember that black, heavy fog hanging like murky curtains outside the great windows. I think I moved as one in a dream until you and the prosecutor started examining the jurist. As I stepped into the box, I remember your client, Peter Cook, meeting you to his feet. I demand that you challenge that man who's with me. He'll hang me, sure. I would have failed trial. I demand that you challenge him. Please, please, Mr. Cook. Your Honor, I ask your forgiveness for this outburst. My client is unstrung. With your permission, however, I will examine the juror. Your name, sir. Hugh Trelawney. Do you know the defendant, Peter Cook? No, sir. Never saw him before? I believe I saw him in front of my home several days ago. He was being followed at the time. At least he looks like the man I have in mind. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that you're under oath, sir. Now, my client seems to believe that you are prejudiced against him in some way. Is that true? I know absolutely nothing about him. So far as I know, I've never spoken to him or read anything about the case. I have no personal interest in the matter whatsoever. Your Honor, my client, Peter Cook, seems to have been a bit hasty in his remarks. I feel he's made a mistake. I withdraw my challenge. And this incident, which you'll recall, Mr. Blackwell, was the first inkling I had of any connection between the scene in front of my home and the trial. Naturally, at that point, I felt a tension had been centered on me unfairly. It wasn't until the prosecution had started its case that I discovered the further link. The prosecutor was speaking at the time I recorded. The state submits this locket as exhibit A. I shall ask each juror to examine it carefully. There are several interesting points about it. First, it contains a picture of the deceased John Talbot, who the prosecution will seek to prove was foully murdered by the defendant Peter Cook. Now secondly, I'll ask you to notice that the case is bent, as though it was stepped on and crushed during a struggle. Later, we will bring witnesses to prove that this locket was found in the effects of Peter Cook carefully hidden from the sight of man. I, Mr. Foreman, will you take a moment to look at this locket and then pass it on to the next juror? Yes, sir. Thank you. The picture has been identified as that of John Talbot. Naturally, he was younger when the... I say, is there anything that matters, sir? This picture gave me quite a start. It looks very much like the man I saw following the defendant on the street in front of my house the other day. May I request that the juror confine himself to the examination of the prosecution's evidence? His remarks are irrelevant. The more so, since John Talbot died some three weeks ago. I begged the court's pardon. I was younger then, and my face was not then drained of blood. But quick, a glass of water, someone, the foreman is fated. No, no, no, no. I'm... I'm all right now. It was just for a moment. Let me have the locket again. Take the picture out. You're from the locket. Just a moment, Mr. Foreman. What are you doing? Stop that at once. You're destroying the evidence. I'm sorry, sir, but there's something on the back of this that I must see. There. Do you see what it is? No, Mr. Foreman, I do not. It's blood, sir. Dried human blood. In Charles Dickens, we meet a writer of many facets and strange parallels. An author with a faculty of applying his genius to all fields of plot from a tender, romantic turn to such a story as we hear tonight. The story of a juryman invested with incredible and supernatural powers of judgment. Friends, the judgment of the Canadian Roll Your Own Smoker's jury regarding the excellence of Ogden's fine-cut tobacco has been unanimous. Yes, ask the person who likes to roll his own cigarettes to name his choice of tobacco, and it's almost certain that his verdict will be Ogden's. You see, Ogden's has been pleasing the majority of Roll Your Own Smokers making new friends right down through the years. Try Ogden's. Taste the rich mellow goodness of tobaccos that are sun-ripened for absolute smoking satisfaction. You'll find Ogden's easy to roll, delightful to smoke. Yes, easy to roll, delightful to smoke. Back now to Hugh Trelawney and the trial for murder. Trelawney has found that of all those concerned in the trial, he alone can see and hear the ghost of the murdered man, John Talbot. As foreman of the jury, his questions have revealed important evidence against the defendant, Peter Cook. Right now, he's explaining to the prosecutor how this mysterious voice guided the course of the trial. And so you see, Mr. Blackwell, how the rumors of my so-called supernatural power started. How I was drawn into the horrible affair almost against my will. Even you look startled when I pride out the picture of poor dead John Talbot. Naturally, Mr. Trelawney, naturally. You seem to do it without any apparent reason. Of course the fact that the locket had been found among Peter Cook's things meant nothing. Everyone knew they had been friends, but finding dried blood on the back of the picture tied Peter Cook to the scene of the killing in the mind of all your fellow jurors. Miss, I see that now. At the time, I was only doing what the voice told me to do. Now, this voice, at any time during the trial, did any of your fellow jurors see or hear the murdered man? There was no doubt that the murdered man, this ghost of mine, made his presence known to others and myself. Other jurors told me afterwards that they had awful dreams in which the figure appeared and told them that Peter Cook must die. It was this fact that kept me sane. As long as others felt some disturbance, I knew it was not my imagination leading me astray. For instance, nearly every night of the trial, I saw his ghastly figure at the tavern. But each night that I saw him, some juror would awake, screaming a fear to tell of dreaming of John Talbot. But as long as I was the only one who actually saw or heard him, I could not risk my reputation by speaking up. It must have been a horrible week, sir. Then you do believe my story, Mr. Blackwell? I do, sir, and I'll tell you why when you finish it. Well, it was after you started the defense of Peter Cook that I began to hear the voice more frequently. You, of course, recall your star witness, the young woman who lived in the same building as Peter Cook and John Talbot. I do. Her name was Alice Hawkins. She started out as an excellent character witness for my client. But you soon put a stop to that. I remember the afternoon when you first started questioning her. I heard the voice several times as the testimony went on. It seemed impossible that others could not hear it too. But I know now that no one did. Since she was your witness, I recall you were using a gentle, friendly method of questioning. Tell us again, my dear, how long you have known the defendant Peter Cook? Over two years, sir. And you say that in all that time, you never knew him to do an unkind act. Was he on good terms with that unfortunate man, John Talbot? Well, they were very friendly, sir. Of course they had little arguments, but it was all very friendly. But you never saw an open act of hostility. Is that correct? He tried to kill me on Easter Sunday. What was that? May I ask the jury to pay more strict attention, please? It suddenly seems very cold in here, Your Honor. Quiet, please. Now, in short, Miss Hawkins, you never saw signs of anything except friendship between the two men? Mr. Cook is a good, fine man, sir. She loves him. She would lie for him. Are you witness, Mr. Prosecutor? May I ask another question, Your Honor? I object, Your Honor. The foreman of the jury has constantly interrupted this one. Your question seems to have had an important bearing on this case so far, Mr. Trelawney. You may speak. Just two things I'm impelled to ask. First, isn't this young lady in love with the defendant? Second, didn't the defendant make an attempt on the life of John Talbot on Easter Sunday last? I object, Your Honor. Miss Hawkins, please answer these questions. And remember, you're under oath. Are you in love with Peter Cook? Well, what if I am? Is there anything wrong with that? Well, it makes you a rather doubtful character witness, I should say. And more important, what about this other attempt on John Talbot's life? That's a lie. What's a lie? Nobody tried to kill him. Well, what did happen then on Easter Sunday? He almost met with a bad accident. How did it happen? All three of us had gone to church. Afterwards, we decided to climb to the cathedral tower for the view. On the way down, John Talbot slipped and fell. If he hadn't caught all of the railing almost immediately, he would have... He would have plunged to his death. Is that correct? Yes, sir. But it was only an accident. I'm sure it was. And did the friendly relations you've mentioned continue after this accident? Well, not exactly. And why not? Tell us the reason. No, I won't. I won't tell you anything more. Oh, my dear girl, a man has died. Another man is on trial for his life. You must tell us everything you know, or you'll find yourself in a very unhappy position. Now, you've already hinted that friendly relations were strained between the two men after this time. Why? He accused Peter Cook of pushing him down the stairs. But he didn't do it. I'm sure he didn't do it. Well, you, Trelawney, you have set them on the path of truth. It was at this point, Mr. Trelawney, that I had my agents look into your background. Two simple questions from the foreman of the jury, and the prosecution starts to upset my whole defense. Naturally, I didn't suspect the murdered man was working at your elbow. Did he actually call you by name? That was the first time, Mr. Blackwell, and though I was familiar with that ghostly voice by then, it gave me a start, I can tell you. Nevertheless, I believe Peter Cook would be a free man today instead of dangling at the end of a rope in Newton jail if it hadn't been for the next day, Mr. Trelawney. Yes, I'm inclined to agree, Mr. Blackwell. Your suicide theory was built up ingeniously with the doctor's testimony. I know you believed it to have been a fact at the time, because there was a ring of sincerity in your voice. You will note, gentlemen of the jury, that everything Dr. Croydon has said points to suicide. John Talbot the deceased was an unhappy man. He had come mistakenly to believe that his friend, his best friend, had made an attempt on his life. He knew that he had lost the woman he loved to that friend. The good doctor has shown how the wound could have been self-inflicted by a man holding the razor in his left hand. We know John Talbot was left-handed. And in that case, it makes it possible that he did commit suicide. Your Honor, I beg of you to let me speak. Again? Your Honor, if the foreman of the jury has deeper knowledge of this case, I ask that he be made... Mr. Blackwell, I have no knowledge of the case other than what I've heard here in this room. But I am impelled to ask that young woman, Alice Hawkins, that she be recalled in question further. She can tell us whether or not it would have been possible for John Talbot to meet his death by his own hand. The clerk will recall the witness. This is most irregular, Your Honor. Your Honor, if it will further justice, I'm sure my learned colleague, Mr. Blackwell, will have no objection. I'll cross-examine after you finish with your witness, Mr. Blackwell. I have no questions, Mr. Prosecutor. I am confident she can throw no further light on the case. Very well, Mr. Blackwell. Now, Miss Hawkins, is it true that the deceased was left-handed? Yes, sir, he was. He wrote letters and performed all the regular little routines of life with his left hand? Yes, sir, he did. Well, then I failed to see what the foreman of the jury... In other words, Miss Hawkins, he could have easily cut his own throat with his left hand, couldn't he? Well, speak up, my girl. No, sir. It would have been impossible. You have done well, Your Honor. You have done well. You see, sir, it was this way. I don't think anyone knew about it but me. John Talbot was very sensitive about it. Although he was left-handed, there were many things he did only with his right hand. One day he told me he had an accident while a boy, and though he could still write and use his left hand, he could never lift it above his shoulder. And so, Mr. Blackwell, as you recall, the trial came to an end. The jury withdrew to the great room in the tavern to reach their verdict. I remember the strange feeling that came over me as the discussion went on, as though I was becoming less and less Hugh Trelawney, and more and more the voice of the murdered man. The little vestrimon, Mr. Jones, was the only one who was still voting, not guilty. I agree, Mr. Trelawney, it couldn't have been suicide, but would Peter Cook have killed him just to keep him silent? Peter Cook has been proven a man of violent hate. I know all that. I know that he was about to marry Alice Hawkins and that he had another wife in existence. I know that the dead man had threatened to expose him, but is that enough? Always keep in mind that John Talbot loved Alice Hawkins, too. When he found out that Cook was leading her on, his reaction would have been violent. His threat to expose Peter Cook would have caused strong hate between them. I still don't see the picture. Who blew out the candle? Light it quickly. I wish I were out of this business. Hugh Trelawney, talk to this man. That's better. Why couldn't they give us more than one candle? It frightened you, too, Mr. Trelawney. You're quite as a ghost. Listen carefully, Mr. Jones. I'll try to set the picture for you. Morning. It might have been the morning of the murder. Peter Cook came to my room. Peter Cook comes to John Talbot's room. He threatened me. He threatens Talbot's life unless he changes his mind about exposing him to Alice Hawkins. I loved her. He loves her deeply. To hear Peter Cook speak of her lightly infuriated him. He tells Peter Cook that he intends to reveal him as he is. A man already married who intends to wreck her life by this despicable trick. A man petty means selfish with murder in his heart. The room is tense with hate. The fury of frustration burns in the eyes of Peter Cook. He sees the razor near a tanner, takes but a moment. With the strength and quickness born of hate, he moves. The morning sun looks in. Looks in on the lifeless body of John Talbot. It's uncanny. You might have been there yourself. Well, your whole story, even your voice, sounded different. Yes, I can see it now. So clearly that it frightens me. Look, I'm shivering. The very coldness of death is in the air. Let us give the verdict quickly. Peter Cook is guilty. We filed back across the street into the old courthouse. Across the street in the rain, with a growl of thunder in our ears. The dim, gaslit courtroom was deserted except for the officials and the judge. I stood in the jury box, my heart pounding, my mind reeling. Your verdict, gentlemen. Guilty, your honor. Peter Cook will die. You are free, you Trelawney. You are free. And my life has been perfectly natural and normal since I heard the words, You are free, you Trelawney. You are free. Strange, strange. And although Peter Cook never saw or heard this presence, he knew he was doomed from the day you stepped into the jury box. He knew he would be found guilty. He did, Mr. Trelawney. He did. In the confusion that followed the verdict, the judge and I were the only ones to hear what he had to say when sentence was pronounced. Did it have to do with my strange part in the trial? It convinced me that a supernatural force had been at work since the beginning. When the death sentence was passed upon him, Peter Cook said to the judge, Your honor, I knew I was a doomed man when the foreman of my jury came into the box. I knew he would never let me off because, before I was arrested, he somehow got to my bedside in a dream one night. Walk me and put a rope around my neck. From the time warn pages of the past, we have brought you the story, The Trial for Murder. Bell Keepers, Call the Bell. As we come to the end of another weird circle story brought to you by Ogdens, here's a reminder till we meet again at the Ogdens Playhouse one week hence. There's a full week ahead during which smoking enjoyment will make your working and leisure hours brighter. If you roll your own cigarettes, make sure of getting the most out of your smoking by turning to Ogdens. Yes, follow the rule of the smoker who knows a good thing. Make your choice, Ogdens, fine cut tobacco. You'll find Ogdens easy to roll, delightful to smoke. Yes, easy to roll, delightful to smoke. Next week at this time another weird circle story, The Werewolf by Frederick Marriott. Be sure to join us. If you smoke a pipe, why not try Ogdens Cut Plug? It's a delightful, smooth, pipeful every time.