 Letton Tea and Letton Soup present Inner Sanctum Mysteries, starring Boris Karloff. The Inner Sanctum? This is your host. Welcome again through the squeaking door to another session of mystery, murder and madness. Oh, excuse me if I don't get up but I'm all worn out. Yes, I've had a hectic few days with an old friend who just blew into town. He's one of those earnest souls who insists on doing everything for himself. Consultations with the monument makers, the grave diggers, fittings of the coffin maker. Yes, quite a busy body. But then we only die once, you know. Ah, these friends of yours, they're such unhappy people. They never seem to enjoy life. Never seem interested in any of the quiet, peaceful, good things of life. For instance, what's the use of telling one of your spooky characters about Lipton Tea? They wouldn't like it. But other people enjoy that brisk Lipton flavor. They settle back in an easy chair and say to themselves, hmm, Lipton certainly has a rich, hearty flavor. Never the least bit wishy-washy. No sirree. But would a ghost appreciate Lipton's? Indeed he would not. And it's lucky Lipton's is made for real live folks who like good things. Or else it wouldn't be the world's largest selling brand of tea. Mary, you've been very hard on my friends. Very. And they won't like it. But then most live folks don't enjoy being scared to death. And that's just what's going to happen to you tonight. Our story is called The Corridor of Doom. It's an original radio play written by Robert Newman. And our star tonight is a man who gives even me the shakes. The famous star of stage, screen and radio, Boris Karloff. Have you thought about death lately? Not the fact that it's inevitable that it must come to all of us someday, but rather how it will come. Do you think of it as a sleep and a waking, of a sudden transition from one state of being to another, or to a state of non-being? John Clay was one of those people who never thought about it at all, until he found himself walking down that dim and endless passage which, but suppose we let Boris Karloff in the role of John Clay tell you about it himself. If your blood pressure will take it, put out the lights and come on a little trip down the Corridor of Doom. When I woke up, I had no idea of where I was or how I'd gotten there. I was lying on a hard, white bed in a clean, white room. There was a dull pain in my abdomen. Touching it tentatively, I felt a bandage. So that was it. An operation, but for what? And where was I? At that moment, the door opened. And she came in the good afternoon. Or is it evening? Whichever you prefer. It doesn't matter. My name's Clay, John Clay. Yes. And yours? You can call me Nadar. Exactly. Where am I? In what hospital? It has no name. What? That's ridiculous. I have to speak to Dr. Rogers. If you'll get him for me, please. There is no Dr. Rogers. At least not here. Then who operated on me? And for what? Listen, I'm not a well man. I have a very bad heart. Will you get someone who can talk to me? If you wish. I'll call Dr. Stone. Chill crept through my bones. It wasn't cold. It was fear. Unreasoning and abysmal fear. The door opened again. And there stood a heavy set man. His hair flaked with gray. And with him, my son-in-law, Alex Bartlett. Alex, I can't tell you how glad I am to see you. Hello, Father. Why are you standing out there? Why don't you come in? I shouldn't advise it, Mr. Clay. And why not? And why? Was it you who operated on me? Yes. I'm Dr. Stone. Why wasn't Dr. Rogers called in? He's taken care of me for years. There wasn't time. It happened during the night. Acute appendicitis. And even as it was. Even as it was? What? And why are you dressed that way, Alex? All in black. Well, it's customary. After all, you are my father-in-law. Of course I am, but... Now, look, Alex. You've got to stop being so mysterious. You know about my heart, what any sudden shock will do. I don't think you need to worry about it any more, Mr. Clay. And as far as the mystery is concerned, this initial period of adjustment is always a little difficult. Difficult? Do you realize what it's like lying here, helpless, completely isolated, as if I were all alone in the world? Or isn't there someone I can talk to? Some of the other patients? Not just yet. When the time comes, you'll meet them. But look, Doctor, I can't stand much more of this. I can't. If I don't find someone who really cares about me, who treat me like a normal human being... My dog. How about my dog? What do you think, Doctor? Yes, that's possible. We'll see what we can do, Mr. Clay. Come along, Bartlett. Yes, Father? You'll be back, won't you, Alec? I don't know. I'll try, but it's difficult. Very difficult. Then don't go, Alec. Don't leave me here all alone. Come back. Come back! I waited and watched. Watched and waited. Then the door opened and there was the Doctor again. There was a small, thin-faced man this time wearing the white coat of an orderly and carrying a black box with a handful. My dog! You brought my dog. All right, Martin. Give it to him. Yes, sir. Come on, carry. Come on, boy. Get up. Wake up. Why, what's the matter? Carry! He's not asleep. He's dead. You wanted him, Mr. Clay, but... but why didn't you tell me? When did he die? How old was he? Eleven and a half. Maybe twelve. Pretty old for a dog. That's probably why he could come. What do you mean? What are you trying to do to me, don't you realize? I'm a sick man. Easy, easy. I won't take it easy. I won't stay here another minute. I'm leaving right now. Oh, well, we'll see about that. You're getting yourself all upset for no reason, Mr. Clay, making it very difficult for the rest of us. Martin. You'd better let me have some of that bottle there. About 10 cc's. The red medicine? Yes. I don't want any medicine. I won't take it. Now, please, Mr. Clay. I won't, I tell you. No, I don't want the... Oh, it's awful. Salty. It tastes like... Yes, but I think you'll find that it will make things much easier for you. Very much easier. Yeah, you're doping me out. That's what you're doing. Putting me to sleep. You... You think that when I wake up, I'll forget about everything. Yes, Mr. Clay. You'll forget about everything. Everything. Somewhere deep down under the earth. It was a passageway, stone flagged and with stone walls, and I was walking slowly down it in my bare feet. I could feel the chill of the cold stones through the thick layer of dust. The passageway stretched ahead of me endlessly, and suddenly, I noticed that there were doors set into the walls on either side, closed doors, and on each door there was a name, Abel, Abercrombie, Abington. Where was I? What was this place? What was behind those awful ominously closed doors? Something seemed to be drawing me on, on down the terrible passageway, Addison, Agar, I could feel the cold creeping up my legs higher and higher, my heart pounding faster and faster, and suddenly I knew knew where I was and where I was going. Knew what was waiting for me there ahead of me down the passage. No, it's hurting all my will. I turn, cry to go back, with a worry in my ears. I was falling through the darkness. Falling, falling. In my eyes, I was in that cold, white room again, clutching the blankets with trembling hands. How do you feel now, Mr. Clay? You cried out, sir, as if... A dream, the most awful, horrible nightmare I ever had. A dream? The doctor will be very interested. Would you care to tell me all about it? Oh, I don't even want to think about it. It was about your former life? Former life? I shouldn't have said that I meant. Here, where are you going? You can't go, you can't, Martin, help me. Oh, don't you realize that if I do stay here, if I dream that dream again, listen, I was in a passageway, an endless, eternal passageway like a corridor of doom. It stretched on and on to infinity with doors, closed doors on either side, and on each one of the doors in alphabetical order, there was a name. A name of all those who had died since the beginning of time. I was walking down that corridor on my bare feet and... Why? Why are you looking at me that way? You mustn't talk about that. You mustn't, do you hear? But you ask. You didn't dream that dream, you couldn't have. And you've got to get it out of your mind. We will help you. We'll give you a massage. That should make you relax. The alcohol, Martin, right over there. A massage, you think that'll help? A stone. Try something else. I see. Now what? What are you staring at? Your feet. And the soles. Dust. Gray dust. Dust, like the dust in the passage. The corridor of doom. And that means... It wasn't a dream. It means... I was really there. Dirty feet on those nice, clean sheets. No wonder our friend the nurse seems so upset. Or was that the reason? Maybe she was just disappointed that he still hadn't told her about his operation. That always has them in stitches. Great, big stitches. Like the ones they take in a shroud. Mr. Host, I'm afraid I just can't believe this story. I can't believe that it really happened. You said so, Mary. You think Mr. Clay got that gray dust in his feet because he has feet of clay? There you go again. Always looking on the discouraging side of things. I really do believe I'd rather talk to cheerful folk like those nice young men and women who sang that new Lipton T song when I was at the studio. Sing a song of Lipton's. Yes, that's the way people ought to feel about tea. Because you know, when you're feeling discouraged or tired, there's nothing quite like that brisk flavor of Lipton T to perk you up. Yes, brisk means that Lipton's is never wishy-washy. No, no, no, sirree, as they say in the song. So when you've had a busy afternoon or maybe when friends drop in for a little talk, pour yourself a cup of cheer with brisk flavored Lipton T. It's got a special flavor that always tastes like home. And it always tastes like more, too. Well, now I think it's about time to take another little walk. Yes, down the corridor of doom. Will our star Boris Karlov? And by the way, don't be concerned about getting too tired because you'll only have to walk one way. That's the nice part of a trip like that. You don't have to worry about coming back. I lay there staring down at my feet. No, it had not been a dream. But there on my feet was the thick, heavy dust from the corridor of doom I had been there, walking down its awful silence, not in my mind, but in the flesh. My heart clenched like a dicey fist that I threw the blankets aside, started to get up. Mr. Clay, what are you doing? Where are you going? Can I go? But you can't get up. You can't leave. Oh, let me go. I can click help me. Please, Mr. Clay. Oh, I haven't sleep. Let me go. Don't you realize what this means? If it wasn't a dream, and if I stay here, go down to that horrible place again. We've got to make it quiet down. Some more of that medicine, Martin. Another 10 C C. Right. Oh, no, no more of that. It's here, Mr. Clay. You must take it. You must. It will make you sleep. Sleep so soundly that you won't be able to go down there again. No. All right. Give it to me. You stay here, Martin. I'll go get Dr. Stone and tell him. Better, Mr. Clay. I don't know. Dark red taste. It's like, yes, I know. And he makes me sleep. My eyes get heavy. Have you been here for a long time, Martin? No, not long. What is it like outside of this room? It's strange. Like no place else. And the other patients. What are they like? They're strange, too. Listen, Martin, I'm a rich man. You're the only friend I've got here. You've got to help me. Whether you're rich or poor doesn't matter. As for helping you, that's what I'm here for. You've got to stay here. Watch me. Every minute. My heart. I don't think it'll stand like that. My first sensation was one of cold, numbing cold, creeping up my limbs. I reached for the blankets, couldn't find them. And I opened my eyes, and I was there again. Back there in that awful endless passage, that corridor of doom. The same stone wall, stone floor, covered with a thick layer of dust. The same doors with a name on each one on both sides of it. But now. Now I was up to the bees. That one there, Baba, next to it, Babbit, and then Backer. I tried to cry out, but I couldn't utter a sound. I tried to stop, check myself. My muscles didn't respond. Slowly, heavily, I continued walking on down that endless passage. Past Badger, Baffin, Bagley, past the bees and towards the seas. Towards a door with my name on it. My heart, pulse, pounding with terror. My breath, rust in my throat, convulsing me, I clutched at the walls, forced myself completely around. Then, as if I were fighting against a roaring gale, I drove myself back. One step I took, two, three, and I stumbled. I was falling again, falling through darkness, complete, absolute unending. Before I opened my eyes, I knew what I was. Back in my room, the sheets crumpled in my sweating hand. I lay there for a moment. I knew that this was my last chance. I couldn't decide knew what I was. Back in my room, the sheets crumpled in my sweating hand. Slipped out of bed, dipped over the door of the room, opened it a crack and peered out to hospital corridor. And sitting at a desk half way down at the nurse. Could I slip past her? Then, on a table next to the door, I saw the telephone. A telephone! Someone would save me, take me out of this place. Beating it up quietly, I dialed my daughter's number. Bartlett's wife. Oh, thank you. Hello? Jane, it's your father. Listen, you've got to help me. You've got to come and get me. I'm at the hospital. Alex knows where... Hello, is anyone there? Yes, can't you hear me? Didn't you hear what I said? It's your father. Jane, Jane! He heard her, but she couldn't hear me. Something wrong with the phone, her phone. I've got to get hold of somebody, somebody, but who? Dr. Rogers? Oh, I might be out. Come in while I'm phoning. Oh, I know, of course. Hello, police? This is John Clay of Riverside Road. I'm at the hospital. I don't know where, but... Can't you hear me, officer? For heaven's sake, listen. It's a matter of life and death. John Clay at a hospital. My son-in-law, Alec Bartlett, can tell you where. No! Officer, officer, listen, don't hang up. Don't! Officer, officer, hello! Anything the matter, Mr. Clay? Uh, just tone. Your telephone is... There's something wrong with it. No, Mr. Clay, there's nothing wrong. Not with the telephone. But I tried to make two calls. Two different numbers, and... I know. And you should have known. Nurse, all of them. You should have known what. Why couldn't they hear me when I could hear them? Why? Yes, Dr. Stone. We'll put Mr. Clay back into bed. I'm awfully sorry, sir. I only went out for a minute. Come on, Mr. Clay. No, no, leave me alone, please. Mr. Clay, please. You know that, don't you? Yes, I know. Doctor, I won't have to go back down there again, will I? Down to the collider? That's not up to me. All right, nurse. I think we're ready for another dose. The final one. Yes, doctor. No, Dr. Stone. No, not that red medicine. Not again. I'm sorry, but you've had a lot of time. All the time we can give you. No, I won't take it. You know what it means, doctor. I'll go back down there again to the corridor. It'll be to the letter C. To the place where my name is. If you won't take it by himself, perhaps you'd better help her, Martin. Yes, sir. No, no, no, I won't, Dr. Clay. Again, I knew what I was before I opened my eyes. I could feel the dust under my bare feet and through the dust the biting chill of the coals stones. I was there, back in the corridor, walking down its silent length past the blank closed doors. But the names of the doors now they were all seized. Cabot, cat and cahoon. On I walked, the beating of my heart, the pounding of my pulse loud in my ears, on down the passage. No longer even trying to fight against what I knew was in it. On past Cameron, Chelsea, Chisick and then, suddenly, terribly one door. A door with my name on it, gaping, waiting for me. I tried to stop to turn, but my legs carried me forward up as but two doors away. I could see into it now, see that it contained nothing, absolutely nothing, not even a coffin, just stone walls and a flat stone stab. I was turning, turning to step over the threshold. I made a last massive effort, but she won't have it to stop me. All right, Martin, pick them up. Yes, sir. Is it all over? Hello, Bartlett. In at the death, eh? I don't see if there's any pulse, of course, but I should think it is all over. It is stone, but not the way you think. Well, Clay, he's not dead. No thanks to you. All right, get them up, both of you. Here, Mr. Clay, let me help you. All right, Martin, I'll be fine from now on. But how? Don't look so surprised, Alec. Mr. Martin is a detective. I hired him some time ago. You see, I had a feeling that something was wrong when that railing broke accidentally and I took that bad fall, so I decided I should investigate. You can't prove it. You can't prove anything. The first results of Martin's investigation showed me what bad financial shape you were in, and it was then that I realized that you had actually been trying to murder me to get hold of my money, so I faked that story of having a very bad heart. You mean that... I thought it would give you the idea of trying something more subtle and less dangerous, and it certainly did. But you still can't prove anything, not a thing. No, don't you worry about that. Come back here, Bartlett. You'll never have a chance to prove it. Come back, Bartlett. You shot him, killed him. Well, I couldn't have. I fired up in the air to get him to stop. Come on. I don't understand it. I've got a mark on him. But he is dead. He was the one who had the bad heart. That's what gave me the idea of pretending. Good heavens, look. At what? This hallway was supposed to be the corridor of doom. When I reached the door with my name on it, I was supposed to die. Look. Look at the name on that door there. The one right next to him. Bartlett. His name. So what? Nothing, Martin. Nothing at all. Now, where do you think old Dr. Stern got the idea for that little alphabetical graveyard? That's right, for me. Huh? You don't believe me? Then come on home with me tonight, and I'll show you the one in the cellar of my house. What's more, I'll show you a door and a neat stone slab with your name on it. Nonsense, Mr. Host. Mr. Clay just explained that the whole thing was a hoax. And I'm not going to sit here and hear you say otherwise. Well, then don't sit. Stand up and we'll take a walk, Mary Bennett. Yes, back to your name. Back to the bees. Baker Bartlett Bennett. You don't scare me. Yeah? Well, how would you like it if we went to the elves and found a door marked Lipton? Oh, well, that's fine. Inside, we'd find a wonderful, friendly beverage, Lipton's, the tea with the brisk flavor, the tea that's welcome at all hours of the day. Yes, the largest selling brand of tea in the whole world, Lipton tea. And now a word of advice. If you should wake up tonight with a sudden chill, find yourself walking barefoot down a dusty stone corridor with doors on both sides of it. Don't get excited. Just insist on a doom with a view. By the way, this one's in a sanctum mystery novel is The Whistling Legs by Roman McDougal. Yes, and next week's inner sanctum story directed by Hyman Brown and brought to you by Lipton Tea and Lipton Soup. Next week's story is about women. Yes, two women who like to be treated rough, choke them to death, shoot them, murder them. They'll love you for it. And who do you think is going to be their boyfriend? Hmm? That's right. Boris Karlov. Boris Karlov will be with us again next week because who else could love such women? Oh, if you're in a tender mood, tune in next Tuesday. Until then, good night. Pleasant dream? Looks, it's wonderful how quick and easy cooking can be these days. I guess some of you remember when it used to take half a day to make a pot of chicken noodle soup. But now we have Lipton's noodle soup mix. You might say Lipton's takes no time at all to prepare, and yet it has a fresh cooked chickeny taste, a real old-fashioned homemade flavor. Yes, and it's brimful of tender golden-aid noodles. Lipton's is grand for quick meals, and it's also a perfect beginning for the most elaborate dinner. So don't forget to serve Lipton's noodle soup. And don't forget to tune in next Tuesday night for another inner sanctum mystery. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.