 AutoLite and its 96,000 dealers present... Suspense! Tonight, AutoLite presents transcribed a murderous revision. The story about a man who made a recording of a violent death, starring Mr. Richard Widmark. Hi, Hap! Meet the team. Where? Why, right under your car's hood, Hap! The AutoLite electrical system, the family team of precision-made units including the coil distributor, starting motor and the other parts that make up the complete AutoLite electrical system, used as original factory equipment on many leading makes of our finest cars, trucks and tractors. Well, what does this team do, Harlow? Why, Hap, it goes to work for you every time you press the starting switch, sound your horn, or play your radio. The AutoLite electrical system does all that, huh, Harlow? Right, Hap, because all its units are related like a family team by AutoLite engineering design and manufacturing skill for the smoothest performance money can buy. So friends, when your AutoLite-equipped car needs replacement parts, insist on AutoLite original factory parts because from bumper to tail light, you're always right with AutoLite. And now, with a murderous revision and the performance of Mr. Richard Whitmark, AutoLite hopes once again to keep you in suspense. What did you want to see me for? Oh, Chris, come in, sit down. Do you, uh, get to hear the show Sunday? I don't like to listen to the show. Why not? Because I don't, that's all. Hey, Mr. Goodwin, I put some zip in that closing scene. I want you to hear it. I've got the playback ready. Hand me that record, Mark, part two, will you? Thanks. I don't know, Chris, I don't make you come to rehearsals. You don't have to sit in the control room all day. The least you can do is listen to the show at home. Well, listen to this now. George, honest, I didn't mean it, George. Get this, Chris, get this. Do you mean to say that you didn't really mean it when you told my brother you didn't love him? You forget, Doris, that I heard you every word while I was hiding behind the Davenport. The night my mother was here. George, I beg you, don't do this thing. Put down the gun, George. This is only what you deserve. Made for the last time, Doris. You tricked me for the last time. What did you change it for? What was wrong with the ending the way it was? Why did you change it? I'll just take it easy, Chris. I'll tell you why I changed it. Because it was wordy and repetitious. It didn't tell the story. The boys upstairs? The boys upstairs. Yeah, that's just what I thought. The boys upstairs. They do everything but breathe for you. Did it ever occur to you that maybe people are wordy and repetitious? Chris, I'm trying to tell you the scene the way you wrote it. Just didn't play. Yeah, that's right. All the trade cliches. Drag them out. It didn't live. It didn't play. It didn't make the right goose bumps. Come out on your left elbow. How did you ever get into this business? Who ever lets you into a radio studio? I'll tell you what's wrong with you. What you need is a good psychiatrist. Don't you tell me I need a psychiatrist. Let go of me. I said, let go. Why, you're nuts. Now, you listen to me. For two years now, I've turned out a murder a week for you. Week in and week out. A murder a week. I eat murder. I talk murder. I dream murder. And for what? Every time I turn in a decent script, you chop the heart out of it. Your contract's up next week, Chris. You've got only one more script to do. Well, write it and get out. You'll get better than a script. You'll get everything you deserve. I'm gonna show you what a real murder sounds like. I'm gonna show you if I have to kill you to do it. Good evening. This is a recording of an actual murder. The first, as far as I know. Not written, not rehearsed, but well-planned. It is respectfully dedicated to Mr. Ken Avery, editor and producer of the radio program, Murder Please. This is my last show, Mr. Avery. I'm delivering it to you in its entirety. Cast, music, everything. The events and persons are absolutely real. It's gonna be a great show, Mr. Avery. You'll hear everything but the climax. I'm speaking into a microphone concealed in my desk, concealed with the other recording equipment I've rented for the occasion. The music you hear is coming from a high-fidelity phonograph at my side. This program is produced, edited, directed, engineered and plotted by Christopher Turner, whose only claim to immortality is this single half-hour. And now, Mr. Avery, the leading characters in order of appearance. The murderer, Christopher Turner. The catalytic agent, your daughter Lois. The victim, your son. And now, please to begin. Murder Please. Hello, Ken. This is Chris. I hate to bother you at home, but I wanted to apologize for the way I acted. Could you drop over to my office right away? Sorry, Chris. Now put up with your little insanities for two years now. Temper tantrums, insults, coming in stewed to the gills. Two years of that was plenty. I see. You won't change your mind. Not a chance. Maybe you can find somebody more patient than I am. Good luck. Thanks, Ken. Thanks a lot. Lovely opening scene, Mr. Avery. Thank you. Exactly what I wanted you to do. You just threw away your last chance to save your life. Good work and excellent performance. Well, if you won't come up to my office by invitation, which I suspected you wouldn't, there's still another way. The telephone book. Listen, Mr. Avery. The sound of the flipping pages. Your daughter's phone number. Here we are. Hello, Lois. It's been a long time, but you don't even know who this is. This is Christopher Turner. How are you? Fine, just fine. Well, how do you like living alone? It's all right, I guess. Rather be living with the folks? No way. Yeah. How's the writing coming? Scripts so far and every one of them has been rejected. I don't know what's the matter. Well, the reason I called was your dad and I had a talk this afternoon about you. He thought maybe I could pass on a few tips. Oh, I wouldn't want to bother you. Oh, now, this isn't an obligation on my part, Lois. I like to help young people. Say, what are you doing this evening? Well, you see, here's the point, Lois. This is the only free night I'll have this week. Things are sort of piling up. And maybe you're doing some little thing with your writing that I could straighten out in the evening. Well, all right, Mr. Turner. Good. You know where my office is? I don't think so. It's right across from the broadcasting studio. It's the Brown Building, room 208. I'll be right over. Fine. And bring your scripts with you, huh? I will. I certainly appreciate this. Not at all. Bye. Bye. I'll be right over and bring your scripts with you. I certainly appreciate this, not at all. You see, that's how people talk, Mr. Avery. Let's see what else. Oh, yes, sound. Door opens. Gun taken out. Click of breach. Whirl of chamber. Bullets inserted in chamber. Six. Gun in drawer and drawer closed. And now we must wait. You see, Mr. Avery, fate is a better dramatist than either. Just when things start getting dull, the phone rings. Hello. Hello, Chris. Hank. Oh, what's up? I tried your place all night. I tried your sister's place. Finally, I called your office. I wouldn't let myself believe it, but here you are slaving away for old man Avery again. Say, when are you going to tell him to go take a fly in a week? I did that just today. No kidding? Yes. Well, congratulations. From here on in, nothing but bigger and better things. Yeah. Say, there's a rip-roaring poker game going on over here. Just room for one more sucker. What do you say? No, I can't tonight. I'm doing my last show. Oh, forget it for one night. Why don't you? Live a little. Thanks, Hank, but I can't. I'm coming over and get you away from that typewriter if I have to use force. No, I can't, Hank. The show's Sunday. Look, I got a script due tomorrow. You don't see me knocking myself out. Let him wait. Listen, Hank, you can't come over here. Don't you get it? Sure thing. Well, take it easy. Call me for lunch or something. You bet. Sorry, boy. Bye. Bye. It was close. Good scene, though. Lois Avery is just driven up in front of the building. She's getting out of the car carrying her scripts. She wears a cardigan sweater, tweed skirt, flat shoes. She's young. She's very pretty. A girl with everything to live for. Now she's disappeared into the building. In a moment she'll knock on my door. And then you'll see for yourself how youth resists the threat of death. And this, Mr. Avery, would be the proper dramatic moment to end Act One. It's bringing you, Mr. Richard Widmark, in A Murderous Revision, tonight's production in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills, Sal Spence. Hey, Hap, better turn on your lights. Best doing their own. Thank you. And thank auto-light. Why, Harlow? Because in your auto-light-equipped car, the lights as well as the power for your radio and power to crank your motor are all provided by the auto-light electrical system. It has to be good, huh, Harlow? You bet, Hap. And that's why complete auto-light electrical systems are used as original factory equipment on many leading makes of our finest cars, trucks, and tractors. And that's good enough for me, Harlow. You bet it's good, Hap. And that's why it pays to treat your car's electrical system to a periodic check-up at your authorized auto-light service station or the dealer who services your make of car. You can quickly locate your nearest authorized auto-light service station in the classified section of your telephone directory. Or by calling Western Union by number and asking for operator 25. And remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with auto-light. And now, auto-light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage Mr. Richard Widmark in Elliot Lewis' production of A Murderous Revision, a tale well-calculated to keep you in suspense. Act two. This is Christopher Turner once again, Mr. Avery, bringing you by transcription the first recording of an actual murder ever made specifically for broadcast. The setting? My office. The music? Recorded. The time? Night. The victim? Yourself. Your daughter has just entered the building. And so concludes the usual resume with which we begin the second act of every murder-please program. I hear footsteps in the hall. Your cue, Lois. Sound, knock on door. Come in. Hi, Lois. Come on in. Thanks. I brought the scripts with me. Wonderful, wonderful. Sit down. I hope I'm not putting you out. I always tell Dad to stop imposing on my behalf, but I guess he'll never learn. Now look, you're here because I want you here for no other reason. Cigarette? No thanks. This is a nice office. It serves. Just a hole in the wall, but quiet, nothing fancy. I like it. Well, how long have you been scribbling? Six months, Mr. Turner. Let's just make it crisp. What sort of things? Murder mostly. Somebody told me that's what sells best. That's true. Well, let's just start talking about murder. Maybe something interesting will come out. Question number one. Why do you think people kill? Lots of reasons, I guess. Money, love, revenge. Not really. Only for survival. They kill for money only when money means life. Their idea of life. They only kill for love when life depends upon that love. They only kill for revenge when life is intolerable without it. You see? That's very interesting. Could you kill? I don't think so. Well, maybe you could. Here. See? A gun. And loaded. Please put it away. Take it. No, I'd rather not. It's very obedient. It won't fire unless you press the trigger. Take it. Now point it at me. Please, I... Now think. One touch of your finger and you kill me. One little touch. A very delicate instrument, the trigger. There's a sense of power there, you feel it? I'm afraid. Fear, yes, but exhilaration, too. Like the second drink. I feel it, yes. All right, you can give it back to me now. Well, so much for the murdery. Now, what about the victim? Afraid of death? Sometimes. What is death to you? Death? I don't know. No idea? Emptiness. Blackness. Nothing. Is that so terrible? Yes, because you really don't know. Like the dark. Do you know any more about death than you do about me? You? Yeah. Well, I know you work for Dad. Yes, but you've never even spent one hour with me. Once at lunch, you and your father sat down with me, yet you come up here alone. How do you know you can trust me? I suppose I don't, really. Look at this. Please put it down. It makes me terribly nervous. Do you have any money? A little. How much? Ten dollars, maybe some change. Give it to me. Here. Why did you give me the money? Because you asked me for it. No, because you were hoping I'd put down the gun. And if I'd said a kiss, one kiss, and I'll put down the gun, what would you do? I suppose I'd... I suppose I'd give it... But a kiss, that would be harder to give, wouldn't it? Yes. Kiss me. There. Thank you. I'll put down the gun. Please. I know it's a lesson in writing and all that, but it scares me. No. But you said you would. I said nothing of the kind. And if I had said it, you'd have been foolish to believe me. You can't trust a man with a gun. You feel helpless, don't you? Yes. While you could give me money, there was hope. While you could give me love, there was hope. But if all I wanted was revenge, there'd be nothing you could do to save yourself. Nothing. I told you that right now, right this moment, I'm going to pull this trigger and blow you to bits. Tell me, what would you say? I try to talk you out of it. What would you say? I wouldn't know what to say. Then I'd shoot. I'd tell you about the electric chair. Very little threat to a man about to kill. Later, maybe, when he's running away, then he'd think about consequences, but not now. Now it's only kill. Now, what else? What else would you say? I'd beg him. He wouldn't listen. I'd plead with him. I'd say, please don't kill me. And if he still wouldn't listen? Then I'd die. Hello. Bet you don't know who this is. I can't place the voice. Try. I haven't the slightest idea. Remember San Francisco and the Italian pizza and the cigarette holder? Vaguely. Who is this? I hate guessing games. Harriet. I know at least 18 Harriet's. Harriet who? Crawford. Oh. I just came in. I thought maybe you could meet me for a drink. I don't know a single solitary soul in town. How did you happen to call here? I shouldn't tell, I suppose, but Hank said you were working late at the office. Hank, huh? He gave me the number and said to be sure to call. Bless his heart. What was that? I said bless his heart. Well, I'll call you tomorrow. Yeah, you do that. Well, bye. I guess I'd better get going. Why were not even started yet? Well, if you don't put down that gun, I'm going. I don't like it. Sit down. I want to tell you a story. Now listen. Please. Please sit down. Now, this is just a sample plot. You can have it if you want it. It's about a writer who had great novels in him, great plays. But he was broke. So for the sake of a place to stay and a meal to eat, he started turning out radio mysteries. He turned them out until every drop of originality was squeezed out of him. And all the greatness he might have been ate into him because he'd leave nothing to the world, nothing but scripts to be swept up by studio janitors after the broadcast. Well, the writer made his decision one day. He'd do a last radio play, and play with an actual murder the only chance he had for permanent survival. And he selected as his victim the man who had ground him into the dust. He selected his editor and producer, Ken Avery. Please. I like you. I like you very much. I wish this could be happening to almost anyone but you. Get to the phone. What? The telephone. What for? You're going to call your father. No. No, I won't do it. You'll call your father and you'll tell him to come up to my office. Now pick up the receiver. No, wait. I'll do it. Now take the phone. Tell him. It's ringing. Take it. Dad? What are you calling this time of night for? Something the matter? No, nothing. Lois, something's the matter. Where are you? Home? No, I'm at Mr. Turner's. Turner's? His apartment? His office. I don't feel very well. Come and take me home. I don't feel well. Here, give me the phone. Hello, Ken. Yes? Chris? Yeah, Lois came up tonight to discuss some script she wrote, but she doesn't feel very well. You better come and get her. I'll be right over. Sit down. We haven't got very long to wait. Twenty minutes have gone by. I hear the steps in the hall. There's sure plotting steps of her father, Mr. Ken Avery. The climax, ladies and gentlemen, of the listening audience I address to you. Mr. Avery will never hear this portion of the entertainment. Come in. Lois, are you? What is this? Sit down. There's a chair reserved for you. Lois, what's been going on here? Tell him, Lois. He's going to kill you. He's going to kill both of us. Close the door. Chris, put that thing down. Somebody's liable to get hurt. What's the matter with you? Drinking again? Nothing to drink. Very sober. Sit down. Chris, are you crazy? Good lying. Perfectly in character. The inane cliche from the mouth of the great producer. You see, Ken, everything is being recorded right now. Your voice Lois' mine. Sit down. Recorded for what? For posterity for the show next week. You will have the honor of appearing on your own program as the murder victim. Let me show you. Right here in the desk. You see, it's a recording machine. I've stopped watched every second. It's been running exactly 25 minutes. You always made it a rule to plan the climax for 26.30 so you could have room for a final commercial. Well, that's just what I'm doing. According to my timing, you have about one minute and 30 seconds to live. All right, Chris, that's enough of the phony dramatics. I'll give me that thing before somebody gets hurt. Stand back. I wouldn't want to mistime the climax of the show. This won't make a show. You won't have much editorial power, Mr. Ravery, after a few seconds. There's the agency. They wouldn't put this thing on the air. No, why not? You plan to kill me. From the beginning. There's the trouble right there, Chris. There's no twist. Oh, yes, the twist. Right. The surprise ending. You told the audience to expect the murder to be successful. But our shows have to have some kind of surprise for the audience, Chris. You know that. Where's the twist? Still the editor right to death's door. All right, Ken, perhaps you can provide the surprise ending that's going to save your life. I don't have to. Oh, you provided the twist yourself, but you didn't know it. And yet the twist was part of the story all the time. Where, Mr. Editor Ravery? You, you, Chris, you're the twist. Me? That's right. You're a flop, Chris. You're so used to dreaming on paper you can't live anymore. You wrote about love because you never had it. You wrote about fortunes and you're still two bits. You wrote about murder, but you, you haven't got the guts to pull a trigger. Now give me that gun. You think I won't shoot? I know you won't. Give me that gun, you hack. What did you say? I said you were a hack. Now give me that gun. Stay away. Give me that gun, you hack. No, I'm not. Stand. Let go. Let go of my hand. Rub it, I said. Rub it. Let go. Chris. You always like to... It's all right, Lois. Dad, take me home. The records. They're all we have to clear us. As soon as I see what's on those records. Oh, oh, this must be part one. Let's see. The recording of an actual murder, as far as I know. Not written, not rehearsed. Spends. Presented by AutoLite, tonight's star, Mr. Richard Widmark. Friends, this is Harlow Wilcox again to remind you that AutoLite is the world's largest independent manufacturer of automotive electrical equipment. In 28 plants from coast to coast, AutoLite makes over 400 products for cars, trucks, tractors, planes and boats. These include complete electrical systems, a complete line of ignition engineered AutoLite spark plugs, both standard and resistor types. AutoLite batteries, including the famous AutoLite, stay full. AutoLite also makes automotive wire and cable bumpers and hubcaps, electric windshield wipers and many more. All are backed by constant AutoLite research and are precision built to highest standards of quality and performance. So remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with AutoLite. Next week on Suspense, our star will be Mr. Victor Mature, as a man who made his living as an assassin. A tale we call Black Jack to Kill. In weeks to come, we shall also present Mr. John Hodiak and Mr. Herbert Marshall, all on Suspense. Suspense is produced and transcribed by Elliot Lewis, with music composed by Lucian Morrowick and conducted by Lutt Gluskin. The murderous revision was adapted for suspense by David Ellis from a story of S. Lee Pagostin. In tonight's story, Kathy Lewis was heard as Lois, Joseph Kearns as Ken, Charlotte Lawrence as Harriet and Jerry Hausner as Hank. Tonight's appearance of Richard Widmark was made possible through the kind permission of 20th Century Fox Studios. Mr. Widmark may soon be seen in the Technicolor production, Red Skies of Montana. In the location of your nearest AutoLite service station or your nearest AutoLite spark plug or battery dealer, phone Western Union by number and ask for operator 25. Switch to AutoLite. Good night. This is the CBS Radio Network.