 Now, Roma Wines, R-O-M-A, made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. Roma Wines, present. Suspense. Tonight, Roma Wines bring you Mr. Paul Henry, a star of the Angel of Death, a suspense play produced, edited and directed for Roma Wines by William Spear. Suspense, Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills, is presented for your enjoyment by Roma Wines. That's R-O-M-A, Roma Wines, those excellent California wines that can add so much pleasantness to the way you live, to your happiness and entertaining guests, to your enjoyment of everyday meals. Yes, right now a glass full would be very pleasant, as Roma Wines bring you Mr. Paul Henry, in a remarkable tale of... Suspense. December 31st, New Year's Eve. I shall identify myself as John Forsythe, my true name, as I have no reason to fear it's being known, or to assume one of a different character. My early life has no place in this narrative, save only to point out with the utmost objectivity that I've always been possessed since my tenderest youth of extraordinary intellectual powers. As witness, my acquisition at the age of 16 of degrees from not one, but three of the leading universities of Europe, where, despite my British nativity, I spent my formative years. But this fact has no special significance, other than as it applies to those events which were set in motion on another New Year's Eve, in London, 15 years ago. For it was on that evening, as I had planned some weeks before it should be, that I stood outside a door and listened for confirmation of the relationship I knew existed between my best friend and my wife. Oh, darling, darling, darling. No, no, no, it's all right. Pam, it's all over now. Yes. Are you happy? Yes. Now that we've decided, yes. Almost for the first time since I can remember. I know, darling, and I suppose we should feel sorry for him, but I can't, not after the way he's treated you. Raymond, what do you suppose he'll do? It doesn't matter, darling. Tomorrow we'll be on the Atlantic Ocean, and within a month we'll be on my uncle's plantation in Brazil, where he couldn't find us if he looked for 100 years. No, I suppose it doesn't. Now how long will it take you to pack? Oh, an hour. Well, I ought to be back by then. I've just got to pick up the tickets and join a few things. All right, hurry, darling. I will. Goodbye, darling. Goodbye. Good evening, my dear. John! Why? What's the matter, Pamela? You look as though you'd seen a ghost. Why, nothing. You startled me, that's all. You said you were going out of town for the holidays, and you don't usually come in by the back door. You needn't be alarmed. I shall be only a moment. I, uh, forgot something. Can I get it for you? Your anxiety for my every wish is touching. But no, thank you. By the way, Pamela, have you any last words? Any what? We may not see each other for a while, you know. What are you talking about, John? What's the matter with you? Oh, my dear, sometimes I wonder if I merit you out of infatuation for your beauty, or pity for your stupidity. Oh, John, please. Pamela, where do you suppose we shall all be, say, within the month? Oh, does it really matter so much? No, no. I suppose it does not. Within the month, I was on trial for their murder. You are Henry Jenkins, part of the Crown and Lion, number 17, Buxton Street. I'm yet when, sir, I am. Henry Jenkins, so long... Thank you. Now, will you kindly repeat the word spoken by the prisoner in the dock, while in your place of business several weeks ago? Yes, sir. Well, about two weeks ago, one night, Mr. Forsythe there, who's a steady customer of mine, sir, although he's not what you call a sociable man. Yes, yes, yes, yes. Well, sir, all me other customers had gone out, and I was asking Mr. Forsythe to leave also, just so I could close up my shadows, you know. When all of a sudden he looks up at me and he whispers kind of horse-like, you know. Jenkins, I did it. I finally did it. Well, not knowing what he did, I naturally asked him what he did. And what did the prisoner tell you, Mr. Jenkins? He said, sir, wanting me... Wanting me to keep it quiet, I found them together and I killed them. And then he laughs in a crazy way in ads and Jenkins. I hid the bodies where no one will ever find them. That's what he said, sir. So help me, it is. I saw him burning what looked to be a lot of bloody clothes. In the furnace it was, and he didn't try to hide them either. Just stared at me kind of odd-like and went right on as brazen as you please he did. He told me he wasn't worried at all. He said that two of them won't never get away together, except if they are dead. I heard him say it on the stair landing one night and several other times in their rooms. Pamela, he says, if you don't stop leering at Raymond Tillitson with those evil eyes of yours, I'll see that two of you in your graves are warned. The court feels that it is its duty at this time, again to remind the prisoner that he has so far made nor allowed to be made by counsel in his defence, no cross-examination of witnesses, to the charge is made by the prosecution of any kind and that this attitude can only result adversely to his cause. The prisoner is therefore once more given opportunity at this time to make such a battle. Does the prisoner wish to do so? No, Your Lordship. I do not. Does the prisoner wish to make any statement of any nature whatsoever in his defence? I should merely like to ask the prosecution one question, Your Lordship. Yes, what is it? Has the prosecution found the bodies? Well, the prisoner wishes to know if the prosecution has yet produced the bodies of the alleged victims of the crime for which he is on trial. No, Your Lordship, we have not. That is all. To kill them had been my plan and my intention naturally, but not in the usual stupid way such things are done where men gamble their own lives against the lives of those whom they destroy. Every faculty of my intelligence revolted against such a thought and so for me the gambler's risk was needless. So I had planned it. It was therefore without fear a question that I stood before the court to hear the verdict, which in all the writing of it I had contrived against myself. Order! Order! John Forsythe, the court has given most careful consideration to the fact that the bodies of the named victims have not been presented to this court as due evidence and a surety of murder, a fact which admittedly must alter the circumstances of guilt. But this crown court, no matter how deeply it desires to aid you, cannot but recognize the fact that you have allowed every shred of evidence and element to point to you as a cold-blooded killer. Under such circumstances, questionable though they may be, I can do only as the King's law directs me to do, tempered with the mercy of His Majesty's court. I hereby sentence you to no more than twenty and no less than ten years at hard labour for the suspected and willful murders of your wife, one Pamela, Felice Forsythe, and one Raymond Elton Tillotson, and may God protect the crown and the jurisprudence of this court of His Royal Majesty. Ten to twenty years. It was perhaps a bit more than I expected, but I was content. And it may be that there was even the trace of a smile upon my lips as I left the courtroom. Certainly it was justified if only by the looks of awe and admiration turned in my direction by the spectators. Clearly they recognized my genius, and I knew they were thinking of the countless lesser men who had failed in their efforts to hide even one dead body. Whereas I, apparently without effort, had successfully hidden two. For Suspense, Roma Wines are bringing you a star, Paul Henry, to the Angel of Death by Alan Cameron. Roma Wines' presentation tonight in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills, Suspense. Between the acts of suspense, this is Truman Bradley for Roma Wines. With the holiday excitement over, most of us are glad to enjoy evenings at home again, taking it easy and economizing. What a perfect time to serve Roma California Sherry. Yes, glorious gold and amber Roma Sherry adds so much to happy hours at home, yet costs so very little. More Americans every day make Roma Sherry first call for dinner. You'll find Roma Sherry ideal for entertaining too, delicious anytime. For Roma Sherry is a happy mellow wine with tempting fragrance, satisfying natural sweetness, and superb nut-like taste. Roma Sherry, like all Roma Wines, is a true wine, unvaryingly good always, crushed from choicest grapes, grown in California's finest vineyards, then unhurriedly, guided to tempting perfection by Roma's ancient winemaking skill, bottled at the winery. Get Roma Sherry tomorrow, now selling at lowest prices in years. Incist on Roma, R-O-M-A, Roma wine for uniformly fine quality at low cost. Remember, more Americans enjoy Roma than any other wine. And now Roma Wines bring back to our Hollywood soundstage Paul Henry as John Forsythe in The Angel of Death, a play well calculated to keep you in suspense. It was thus that I began my prison term, and my association with William Waters, a shallow-phased ill-favored little man who was to be my chief source of amusement and mental exercise for a long time to come, and to illustrate still further the inevitable triumph of the higher intellect over all obstacles and surroundings. So, you're the great John Forsythe, eh? You have heard of me, then? Not half, I haven't. The luckiest beggar that ever cheated the Angman. Luck? There is no such thing as luck. Now, now is it your sitting here safe and sound, and out as free as air in 15 or 20 years instead of stretching your neck at the end of a rope, eh? I'm here because I choose to be here. That is all. Because you choose to be... Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho! Ah, tell me, Forsythe, just between the two of us, how did you do it? By using my brains. And has many another tried that before and been caught up with? Simply because they did not really have any brains to start with. Ah, it's luck, I tell you. Bad luck, like mine. You wonder here the worst bit of luck that ever ruined a man's life. If you wish to call it that, why not? It was like what happened to you in a way. The sweetheart, Agnes, her name was, with the biggest, bluest eyes, all the prettiest little thing you'd ever hoped to see. And you killed her. I didn't mean to. It was the usual, you know. I had caught her dead to rights, but she laughed at me. It was the trouble. Threw it in my face, she did. Next thing I knew was something snapped. When the head cleared, there I was, sitting on the floor beside her, crying like a baby. And her lying there with her pretty blue eyes, tearing out of her head. Her pretty mouth all twisted. Red marks there on her throat. The marks are the two very hands where I'd strangled the life out of her. You weren't unlucky. You were stupid. You killed her without planning it. And what did you do with the body? Cemented her into the wall of the cellar. And the bloke next door at a gas heater exploded and blew out the old, runny wall between us it did. The time I got home, there was firemen and bobbies all over the place. And there was Agnes, what was left of her, lying right out in the middle of the cellar floor to see the truly intelligent man foresees every possibility and guards against it. Oh, good. Oh, good foresee a thing like that. I could. You could. I stand before you as the living proof of it. In 10 or 15 years, I shall be free because I'm intelligent, whereas you will rot and die here because you are stupid. Pretty clever, aren't you? Now, just about everything there is to know, don't you? No, no, no. Not everything. But quite a lot of things. For instance, I know something about that cough of yours. Oh, what about it? The color of your skin, the look about your eyes, the way you breathe. I hope you're not afraid to die, Waters. Babish, what you talking about? Have you ever heard of retribution, Waters? What? The inevitable fate that pursues and at last destroys the criminal mind. Vengeance, you might call it. Oh, rot. You don't think anything's going to happen to you or me, do you? Not to me, Waters. For the intelligent man foresees and prevents even that. But to you, Waters. Most certainly to you. Oh, indeed. And who's going to do all this? Oh, he's known by various names, Waters. But best known as the Angel of Death. Retribution, the Angel of Death. Observed, wasn't it? But a most purposeful absurdity for the intellectual stimulus so necessary to remaining mentally alert during the prison years ahead was here delivered into my hand an experiment and one almost impossible under any other conditions. And William Waters would be my guinea pig. An experiment to determine just how far a man might succeed through sheer superiority of intelligence in breaking down and destroying the mind and the body of another but a simple power of suggestion. I suggested nothing directly. Nearly a word here, a glance there. Drops of water, wearing away the stone. I've got a fever again tonight. No, no. A touch perhaps, but that is all. My head feels hot. Why does that blasted cough, what does it? No, no. You mustn't worry about it. It's every very, very bad for people with your condition to worry. What condition? What condition, John? Oh, why nothing, people with a cough like yours, people who feel, well, you know, indisposed, that's all. Oh, what's that book you're reading lately? Just a book, a scientific book. And I got from the prison library. What sort of a scientific book? General book on medicine, things like that. Well, let me see it. No, no, no. Yeah, give it here. You won't understand. Oh, please, give it back to me. You wouldn't be interested. Oh, you had it open in this place here, didn't you? This is what you was reading, ain't it? Well, yes, among other things. You book, you book, you book, you book your lozies. You said what I got, John? You back your lozies or don't be silly. There's nothing seriously wrong with you. John, you got to tell me. You got to tell... I don't want to die. You're not going to die. If you take care of yourself. Oh, but why should it come to me? I've always been healthy. I'm not old yet. Of course you are not. You're just imagining things. You're imagining things. You're worrying too much. That's all. What makes you think I'm worried? Oh, I don't know. Sometimes, you know, when you're asleep, tell me, do you ever have dreams? What sort of dreams? Oh, about the past or... Oh, you mean... you mean about... Yes. Do you ever dream you see her lying there on the floor with her eyes bulging out of her head and her mouth all twisted and her tongue all black and swollen and your fingers digging into the throat? Stop it! Stop it! He seems somewhat disturbed in his mind this evening, God. Oh, he's mourned, eh? Oh, that reminds me. Doctor said we was to try to prevail on him to get out of his bunk tomorrow and get out so I'd get a little exorcise and fresh air. Oh, you tell him, eh? Yes, yes. What was you too much in about? He was just telling me what the doctor said about you. Oh, what? Well, he wants you to stay in your bunk and get plenty of rest. The time was drawing near, I knew. The time for what I had planned as the culmination of my experiment Waters was having periods of definite delirium, but I waited. I waited for them to become more pronounced. And then, one night, when I'd listened to him tossing and muttering for hours in his bunk, I crossed over in the darkness. Oh, no, no, no. Wait, no, it ain't time yet. I thought it was the game yet. No. William Waters. I've come for you, William Waters. What? She sent me, William. She sent me. With her eyes staring out of her head, with her black, swollen tongue. I'm the angel of death. Oh, no, no, no. I had to hit him. The man is out of his mind. He thinks I'm some angel of death or something. There you go. Come on now, then, Waters. What's the matter with you, eh? Suicide! You! It's you what's done this to me. I told you. It's you. He was out of his head. It's you what's done it to me. I'll see it now. Come on, now. Come on, now. Kill the whores. I'll get out of here. It was interesting while it lasted. And I've always believed that, given a little more time, I could have ended my experiment successfully. But I had other plans to make now. Plans for the day when I would be free. And at last it came. At last I was walking away from the prison gate a free man. And now began my search. It was not difficult. It led me at last to Paris, to a small apartment, where I went tonight, December 31st, New Year's Eve. Yes? Good evening. Well, good evening. Did you wish to see someone? Don't you recognize me? Well, I do, of course, but are you a friend of Penn's? I am indeed. Who is it, darling? But a friend of yours, dear. A friend of both of you. John. Yes? In fact, your husband, my dear, and Raymond's best friend. John, it's been 15 years, yes. You only returned to Paris recently, didn't you? Yes. A short time ago. And you never knew that I was convicted in sentence to prison for your double murder, did you? Murder? Oh, that was quite as I planned it. I knew where you were, but the authorities did not. John. But perhaps you have heard of a curious legal technicality which provides that the man cannot be convicted twice for the same crime. So, you see, I've already paid for your murders. And now I've come to collect an ancient death. Put down that gun. I then walked calmly from their rooms. I made no effort to hide my face, my trail, or my identity. I can now defy every element in life and in law. After 15 years, I've committed the crimes for which I have already paid my debt to society. I shall mail this letter to the police who may give it to the newspapers, who whoever wants it. Although it is now a matter of indifference to me if the world remarks upon my cleverness or my patience. For my life is complete. No man has ever known such happiness. John Forsythe. Yes, yes. Come in, Madame Leclerc. I have a letter now ready. I wish you to mail for me. Come for you, John Forsythe. Waters. I'm not Waters any longer. How did you get out? They said I was insane. So I hadn't been responsible when I killed them. And then they said I was cured, sane again. And then they let me out. But there was one thing they never knew. They never knew who I really was. What are you talking about? That's why I've come for you, John Forsythe. Me? I am the chosen messenger of an higher power. Look here, Waters. Die, John Forsythe! And the story ends with a newspaper clipping. Let me read it to you. Paris January 1st. This gay metropolis spent one of its quietest New Year's Eve's in recent years. In all greater Paris, there are only two recorded deaths by violence, both of which by a strange coincidence occurred within a few yards of each other. The first was the fatal shooting by an unknown assailant of an Englishman, John Forsythe. The second victim, unidentified, had apparently leaped from a window or roof of the same dwelling occupied by Forsythe. Police were at a loss to explain a weird black silk robe and cape worn by the man. John gave Leclerc Concierge of the building alleges to have heard a voice repeating an English phrase, I am the angel of death, just before the suicide leap. However, this can hardly have any bearing on the case, since the said phrase was undoubtedly uttered by New Year's revelers in the neighborhood. Suspense. Presented by Roma Wines, R-O-M-A. Made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. How much more pleasurable any meal becomes when Roma Wine is served. Yes, a fine table wine such as Roma, California Burgundy, makes any food taste better, brings out all the flavor, lends romance and friendly companionship to the meal. America's famed hostess Elsa Maxwell says, my simple secret for gracious and enjoyable dining is to serve my guests Roma Burgundy. It's so easy to make your meals more delicious, more exciting, as Elsa Maxwell does. Because Roma Wine costs so little, anyone can serve it often. Compliment your next dinner with the fruity fragrance and appetizing pecan taste of red, robust Roma Burgundy. Get Roma Burgundy tomorrow, now selling at the lowest prices in years. And you get extra saving when you buy Roma in the half gallon and gallon size. No wine but Roma offers you so much for so little. Insist on Roma, R-O-M-A, Roma Wine. Made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. Paul Henry appeared through the courtesy of Warner Brothers Studios and will soon be seen in their production devotion. Next Thursday, same time, Roma Wines will bring you Mr. Phil Terry, a star of suspense, radio's outstanding theater of thrill. Produced by William Spear for the Roma Wine Company of Fresno, California. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.