 And now, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. A tale of two men who are one. In just a moment, Stranger with My Face, starring Bernard Grant, and written especially for suspense by Alan Sloan. The lively crowd today agrees. Those who think young say Pepsi, please. They pick the right one, the modern light one. Now it's Pepsi for those who think young. So go ahead and pick the drink that lets you drink young as you think. Yes, get the right one, the modern light one. Now it's Pepsi for those who think young. So you're walking along the street, minding your own business, except for an occasional glance and an occasional pretty girl. But it isn't the occasion, never has been, never will be, so what's the use? Sufficient under the day is the boredom thereof, and why oh why oh why doesn't something happen? So you might as well stop at the new stand and pick up the papers, grab the usual quick one at the usual bar, look out, look out, look out, look out! You want to get the taxis license? Oh, oh. Give him air. Come on, give him room, he's coming too. Easy, easy, Mr. Hip. Let me help you in the curb. Talk about your close calls, Mr. Hip. Hey, what, what happened? Where am I? Where's my hat? Now what happened? You was reaching for the papers I was handing. You're the mob shoved in, the taxi sides wiped you. If I was you, I'd go straight to the doctor and see if everything's still in the right place. But, but, but this isn't my hat. Well, believe me, mister, it's the one that come with the head you're still wearing. Fine way to start the day. Yeah, ain't it though, it's a real close call. Start the day? Mister, you sure you're all right? Those are the evening papers. And you owe me 14 cents. 14? Since when? Times and trips, seven apiece, like any evening paper. The times and tribune are morning papers. Not in Chicago, mister. So there you are in a strange city. With a lot of strangers minding your business. And a strange sound of the police whistles. And a strange big star in the cops' uniforms. And strange names on the buses, Boulevard, Horst, and Staten. No, no, no. What you need is something familiar to cling to, like a, like a shot glass of bourbon. So up the street you find a tavern. You sit down at its totally strange bar. And a totally strange bartender greets you with... Evening sir, you're a usual. My, a usual? Ah, what's that? Always a kitty. There's scotch on the rocks, so don't sound. Your impulse is to say I hate scotch. But you don't say it. Something, now that you've discovered where you are, Chicago, something makes you want to know when you are. The newspapers will tell you. July 13th, 1961. Yes sir, all day. Scotch or no scotch, you make it do. You swipe the warmth of the stuff, clawing its way down the taste. It leaves like old iron in your mouth. You lift the glass of soda. The bartender moves away. And a stranger in the mirror drops his glass. Oh, I'll clean that up, Mr. Morris. Bartender, yes, sir? Don't think I'm drunk, but do you know me? Do I know you? What do you mean, do I know you? Do you know who I am? My name. Why, sure, Mr. Morris. Well, you're Mr. Morris, one of my regulars. Mr. Morris, one of your regulars. Well, tell me, what's my first name? Well, I've heard your friends, sir. I've heard them call you Mr. Morris. No, no, no, no. My first name, please. Why, they call you Chuck. I guess it must be Charles. Look, Mr. Morris, if you're not feeling well, I... Wait, wait, wait. When I sat down, you asked me if I... if I wanted the usual. And you served me... Scotch, like always. How long is always? Well, let's see, it must be two, three years. You've been coming in nearly every day around this time. And it's always scotch on the rock, soda on the side. Two, three years. And this is Chicago? Yes, sir. July's 13th, 1961. Yes, sir, all day. Yeah, very funny. Would you like to hear something really funny? Very, very funny. Why, sure, Mr. Morris, anything for a lad. Then laugh at this. As far as I know, this isn't Chicago, it's New York. It isn't July 1961, it's March 1957. And it's morning, it's not evening. What funniest of all? My name isn't Morris. And it isn't Chuck for Charles, it's Walters. Edward, Eddie, Ed Walters. And this will kill you. You will die laughing. That isn't me in the mirror. I never saw that face before in my life. Up the street is a cheap hotel. Well, they don't care what name you register under. But the face in the mirror upstairs is still a stranger's. With its gray hair, heavy rimmed eyeglasses, and mustache. Impossible. Who am I? You're on a jet from New York. And as the arches across the miles of Manhattan, things begin to come back, except that there's something missing. Somewhere, something you almost don't want to remember. Try as you may. Let's see, let's see, let's see. Let's take it from the top. That morning, you left your apartment. Mr. Walters, nice day if it don't rain, huh? Morning, Frank. Going on a little trip, huh, sir? How'd you know? I've seen the bags of that sort. Oh. Oh. Well, look, Frank... Yes, sir? If, uh, if anybody calls this morning, don't let them disturb Mrs. Walters. She isn't feeling so well yet. Right. And if anybody asks about me, well, frankly, I'm sneaking off to Florida to play golf and fish, you know. But if anybody asks, I'm out of town on a business trip. You don't know where I am or when I'm coming back, right? Sure thing. Hey, gee, thanks, Mr. Walters. With that kind of dough, I've never even seen you in my life. So far, all clear. Capital Grand Central Station, all clear. Trained to Chicago, heading ultimately for... Heading for... Los Angeles? Portland? Vegas? No. No, that you can't recall. Or for the life of you while you're left. After seven years. Seven years with the wrong woman. And her men. And her bottles. And her yakity, yakity, yakity, yak. But still, you can't really remember much beyond arriving in Chicago and walking down a dark street. Wait, wait. It's all coming back now. Mr. Yes? You got a cigarette? Ah, well, sure. Here, help yourself. Thanks. Match? Oh, yes, yes, yes. Oh, uh, wait a minute. Here, here's my lighter. Thanks a million. Yes. Nice lighter. Yes. Expensive. Look, if you don't mind... I'll take the satchels, too. Boy, this is an outrage. Nah, just a stick up. Don't make waves. Put them up and keep them up. How, in the night over that night in Chicago, it comes back his hard-expert hands going over you. Finding your wallet, finding your watch, taking every last penny, taking your train tickets, cleaning you up, holding the gun on you while he stopped for your bags, and then... I don't like you, mister. Turn around. Oh, please, I'm a stranger here in town. I don't know a soul here. Ah, shut up. That must have been when it began. A slugging in the dark. And then awakening to find you had nothing to remember yourself by. When a stranger found you in this parking lot come morning. Are you all right? I think so. Oh, no. Oh, my... Well, let's have a look. Hey, you're lucky you're alive, man. You've been mugged pretty good. Look, I'll tell you what. My office is next door. I suppose you come in and get cleaned. No, no, no, I... I was going someplace. But I can't remember. All right. If it isn't too much trouble... if you want, since you do the same for me, you'll feel better with some coffee and a shave. Come on, on your feet, fella. Oh, by the way, my name is Shaw. Clifford Shaw. I'm in real estate. Well, I'm... I'm... My name is Morris. Charles Morris. Oh, I get it. Morris for that building across the street. Charles for the station. It doesn't matter, fella. I'll still stake you to a breakfast. No, no, no, you don't understand. I don't know my name. I don't know where I am. Or who I am. Or anything. I just don't remember. Anything. And that, as the jet winds into its glide path for a while, there's all you can piece together about how you became Chuck for Charles Morris. How he made a new life, who helped, what he did, all gone. And is useless to you now as yesterday's newspaper. What you want is to find out the state of the life of the man you really are, Ed Walters. The state of the life and the state of the wife of. Home. Where the times and the trips start the day. Or morning papers. Should you phone first? No, no, she's probably still climbing the walls over this morning's argument. No, not this morning. Four years ago. Better, better just walk in on her. Surprise, Helen. Surprise. Taxi. Same lobby. New elevators. Automated. Button suppress. Depress 14. Three. What did you read once about amnesia? Five. Nature's healing way of helping the mind. Forget. Seven. Forget something the mind recoils from remembering. Nine. A knock on the head is only the trigger to forgetting. Eleven. What did you want to forget? Fourteen. Play it cool. Just the truth. You've been sick. You've been away. But you're better now. Brand new start, Helen. And when she opens the door, smile. Smile. She used to like your smile. Now. Fourteen. Why didn't you think of flowers, stupid? I'm sorry. I was expecting someone else. Maybe you've got the wrong apartment. This is 14. No, no, no, it's all right. Some friends of mine used to live here. I've been away. I realize it sounds silly. I wanted to surprise them. I'm sorry to have embarrassed you. We all do silly things. Maybe I can help you. The superintendent re-addresses the mail when people move. Maybe they left a forwarding address. I'll call it. She leaves the door open. You can see the familiar hall. The jog that leads into the living room. And suddenly. Suddenly you want to get away. Why? You don't know. You can't remember. But it's too late. Well, I think I can help you. You're really very kind. I hate to trouble you. Oh, heavens, no trouble. The way people move around in this town, it's a wonder anybody finds anybody. And tear things down. The address, please. I'm sorry. It's 695 East 53. East 53. 695. Mr. and Mrs. Porter. Was that the name? Porter. Thank you so much. Thanks for nothing. Porter. Walter's Mrs. Edward J. No, no, no, no. Wait a minute. She could have moved down after you left. Sure. Why keep up that big place by herself? Yes, she moved. And the porters took the apartment. Dead end. What now? Downtown to the office to pick up right where you're left off. What for the same old grind? Cook up the deal, swing the deal, foul up the deals, and worse, walk around wondering when you're going to run into her with another man. The way you... The way... Wait a minute. Porter, Porter. No, no, no. Must be a new one. And maybe she married him. Well, sure. Sure, that's it. She's married again. Grab your hat, Mrs. Porter. Here comes Charlie. No. Ed. I'm getting mixed up again. 695 East. Ooh. Coming up on the world by golly. Remodeled brownstone and all that. $75,000 worth of decorating on a $25,000 frame. I wonder what he does, this Porter. Well, you'll find out. Yes. Mrs. Porter. Yes. I, uh, I wonder if you can help me. I was given your name and address by the superintendent and the department house you used to live in. Just a moment. May I ask who you are? Do you have any identification? Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me. Here's my card. Charles Morris, real estate. Chicago? What's this all about? It's a legal matter, Mrs. Porter. You see, my firm represents an estate in Chicago. Very complicated holding. Chicago, Washington, New York. Well, to make a long story short, I will locate the Walders, Mrs. Walders, to be specific, who lived in your apartment, 14C, before you. I still don't understand. You see, Mrs. Walders is one of the people who signature my firm needs to clear up the estate, uh, New York-wise. Oh. Well, how can I help you? Anything you might tell me about them. Do you know by any chance where they went after they moved out of 14C? Of course not. All we were given to understand by the real estate agent was some kind of trouble between them. No, just trouble. If you really want to find out, I should think you'd go to the police. Well, I don't know. I'd hate to do that. I'll bet you would. The nerve of you coming here like this. I think I know what the trouble was between the Walders. Men like you want to be put away. Dead end. One having left open friends, the bets, the markers, parents, they might know, they might help. But then again, they might not. Who would know? Who would know? Who would help? Something happened back there in 57, back there in 14C. Who would know? I should think you'd go to the police. Maybe she had something there. The real estate story is your best card. Yes, sir. Missing persons like on the dorm. Now, how do you say? Well, I hope so. You see, it's, uh, it's rather complicated. Not at all. Sit down, sit down. My name is Charles Morris. I'm from Chicago. Here's my card. Real estate. Yes, sir. My firm is involved in an estate problem, but some of the titles of the individual parcels aren't clear. Now, there's a Mrs. Edward Walters. Walters, right. Middle initial J. Listed as one of the title holders of a problem parcel. We just can't seem to find it. No, I've checked the former address's friends. Can't locate it. Just dropped out of sight. Happens every day. So I thought it might simplify matters before engaging a private investigator if I came to you. All right, let's throw a check into it. Sam. Another cop at a typewriter swings around. Sam, give me a search on Walters. Mrs. Edward J. What's her first name? Well, that would be Helen. I'll take the missing. Oh, sometimes a missing person is wanted for some crime somewhere, so we file them both in here. Oh, I see. But I doubt that. Well, you never can tell. Never hurts to make sure. I'm going to take a minute to double-check. And... Wieckowski, Wal-Wallis, Walton, Wal-Walters? Walters. With an S. Walters. Nope. Nobody here by that name, Mr. Morris. Yeah. Nothing under Walters with an S. Sorry. Let me see what Sam's got under the water. Oh, that's all right, Sergeant. I suppose I'll just have to... All your horses. We might have something here. Well, I'm a little pressed for time. I said hold on a minute, Mr. Well... All right. You sit there with two New York cops minding your business. The way the sergeant said hold on a minute. That was no request. That was a... a command. What a fool thing to do. What a fool place to come to. What if... What if Helen had done something wrong and you had to pay for it now? They're looking at you. The sergeant and the other cop. The younger cops coming toward you. Passing you. Going to the door. You're stopping. Mr. Morris. Yes? We find a card here. Yes. Walters is the name. With an S? With an S, yeah. Mrs. Edward Walters? No, sir. Mr. Oh, well, that's a step in the right direction. I'll look him up. You don't understand, Mr. Morris. This is a wanted... Mr. Walters. Edward J. Age 38. How old are you, Mr. Morris? 35. Height 5 feet 11. Hair black. Weight... Wow. I don't have to go through the whole thing. There's a picture. No mustache. No glasses. No crook cut. But even so... It says something else on the card. You don't know what it says on the card. One word. One word, Mr. Walters. All right. I'm Walters. But I've had amnesia. I really was Charles Morris for four years. I just wanted to find my wife. I can't remember anything. What does it say on the card? You had amnesia? That's a weird story. How can you make him believe you? Or say I'm the other cop standing with us back to the door. And you are looking straight into a police positive 38. And it is looking straight at you. And it is not wobbly. But everything else is... is getting wobbly. It's hazy. Strange. Forget-ish. Your head. What's happening? You'll never find your wife, Mr. Walters. It says here you're wanted for murder. Hers. Now come along quiet, Mr. Walters. That's best. Sam, mind the store. Now I know. What do you know? Well, I was trying to forget. I killed her. Yeah. That's what it says here. Where? On the card. Dad, you better not talk. Anything you say, Mr. Walters. Come on. Let's go down the hall. You called me Walters. Walters. Morris. Have it your way. But who is Walters? My name is Morris. Sure it is. Let the caller on him, Sam. Let the head drinkers figure this one out. Look. My card. I'm Chuck Morris, Chicago. Where? How did I get here? What city is this? What do you want with me? Why do you call me Walters? What do you want with me? My name is Morris. Morris. Morris. Suspense. You've been listening to Stranger With My Face starring Bernard Grant and written especially for suspense by Alan Sloan. In a moment the names of our players and a word about next week's story of suspense. Am I glad this day's over. 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