 And now, tonight's presentation of radio's outstanding theatre of thrills, suspense. Tonight, the story of a man who felt that he had to prove himself, had to go to any length to make people believe him. Anthony Ellis stars in his own adaptation of Elizabeth Bowen's telling. The chapel was a ruin. Roofed by daylight, floored with lawn. In a corner of the gardener had tipped out a heap of cut grass in the lawnmower. It smelled stuffy and sweet. Outside, beyond the ragged arch of the chapel, there was sunshine. But not here. Terry looked up, feeling shy, noticing suddenly surprised the blood on his hands. Embarrassed all at once at the idea of anyone coming. His brain was ticking like a watch, remembering. Remembering Josephine. Homecoming from Ceylon a month ago. That first interview with his father in the study, so heavy with solemnity. Sit down, Terry. Thank you, father. Well, so you're back with us. That penny? I suppose you rather expected it. No. Matter of fact, this time I didn't. I hoped you'd make a go of it. Sorry. You mind telling me what happened? I shouldn't mind at all if I knew. I thought things were going all right. Then they let it from the office. I buy Ceylon. Hello, England. I didn't hear quite the same thing. Oh? Mockridge, from London, told me that you'd been shirking on the job. Insulin to the plantation manager, that they simply had no choice. But to give you this act. Well, it wasn't as bad as that after all I... Look here, Terry, it's gone too far this time. When your mother was alive, I tried to understand. You were trucked out of school, 14, you remember? In Cambridge. Your mother was who I suppose she met well, you being the youngest boy. I think if I'd had my way with you, though, it would have been better. But now I've been kicked out again. Your mother's dead. She won't protect you anymore. You're going to have to grow up now. Do you understand? Yes. Have you any plans? I don't know. Oh, Father, if I could think things out, I know I could do something. You've said that before. But I could. Or perhaps out. If I had a chance to study, listen to me. And take that filthy cigarette out of your mouth when I'm talking to you. Sorry. I'm fed up with you, Terry. Your brother and sister are shamed. We all are. Why the devil can't you be a man? School's finished. You're 24. I will not tolerate a slacker in my house. I warn you, this is your last chance. You can have a couple of weeks to get settled. Then I'll try to find you something in the city. Rather, that's awfully decent of you. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for my own self-respect. And the memory of your mother. Yes, Father. We shan't mention the still-on incident again. I think you'd better go upstairs now and get dressed for dinner. And remembering in the now high, cold world of the Trapple, Josephine. The first meeting after he'd been home for only four days. Josephine, with her chest not heard, gently fraying that face that he had loved, yet been unable to visualize during those eight months away from her. And a warm, lazy afternoon, a sound of tennis drifting across the lawn. Josephine. Charles has a marvelous serve, don't you think? Yes. He's good. I'm afraid I've never been able to stand up to him. Well, John, for that matter. Oh, you don't practice. Oh, is that it? I thought perhaps it was just, um, not much good at it. Oh, Rod. Josephine. You know, it's the funniest thing. All the time I was in Ceylon, even when I wrote you, I simply couldn't remember what you looked like. It's hard, isn't it? I'm sorry I didn't write to you. I've been terribly busy. No, and it doesn't matter. I can see you now. Shall we go down to the court? I'd love a game when they finish. Josephine. Yes? Do you believe in me? What a strange question. No. No, it isn't. It's important. Do you? I think you're a very nice young man. Don't say it that way. How would you like me to say it? I don't know, but not like that. Not as though you were talking to the gardener. Oh, don't be silly, Terry. It's not silly. I know I'm not much good. Clumsy. And I thought it was my eyes. You know, I used to drink whiskey to help. Really, I did. For a little while it did help. I could do things cleverly. I wasn't clumsy anymore. Then suddenly the whiskey didn't do any good. I wanted to make people proud of me. You, Josephine, I've always wanted that. If only you wouldn't take yourself so seriously, Terry. If you'd try and... Well, I don't know. Behave like a man. I am a man. I love you like a man, not a little boy. Oh, Terry. I could do something if I had the chance. I'm sure you could. If I thought that you cared, I could do anything. I need somebody. You to believe in me. Terry, dear, I'm very fond of you. You know I am, but... No. No, no, don't say anything now. I'll show you. I'll make you proud of me. You'll see. All right. Now do be a darling and try not to look so intense. I'm going to see how the game's getting on. Come along with you, Lyce. Remembering, with the sharp quick call of a bird, John, nine years older, a barrister, promising young barrister, Charles, six years older, making a place for himself in the Conservative Party, or I think big yet, but with a gleam of Parliament in his eye, and he'd get there, and everyone said so. Terry wanted to feel close to both of them, understand, be understood. He'd always wanted that. Catherine, his sister, 20 with an anxious, methodical mind, loving life and gossip. They were together one evening a few days later, discussing plans for the party. Perfect, did it. Besides, he's always asking me to marry him. Right, strike out, Percy, break. Who else? Josephine's coming, isn't she? Yes, Terry. Josephine's coming. You know, I think our little Terry has a crush on Josephine. Don't be vulgar, Charles. Haven't you, Lady? I like her. Yes. Break your heart. She broke mine while you were away. Oh, stop it. We've got to get on with the list. Charles, were you? Pots about her. Absolutely and forever. I don't know. He's teasing you, Terry. No, I don't think he is. Oh, Terry, don't be a fool. Of course he's teasing. It's not a very funny joke. Oh, good Lord. I thought Salon would have toughened your skin a bit. Look here, if you two want to fight, do it after we've finished. Yes, my lord. Terry, on. You can manage without me, I think. He's a sensitive soul. What on earth does matter with him? No, you know he's like that. Why do you always beg for trouble? I'm sorry. I thought perhaps he'd changed a bit. I'll go and apologize. Mind if I... Yes? No, come on in. Sit on the bed if you like. Oh, right. Found a gherka regiment in the village today. Quite nice, don't you think? Oh, my head, Terry. You're not still playing with lead soldiers. Well, why the devil not? My hobby, what's yours? I'm sorry. I came to apologize for what I said before. No, you don't have to. I understand. It was not true. You know I was teasing about Josephine. No, it doesn't matter. Terry, you are keen on her, aren't you? He's a decent soul. I know, but, well, you're... You're not too serious, are you? I mean, you're not in love with her or anything like that. Oh, what ever gave you that idea? I wasn't sure. She's a decent soul, but not for you. Oh? Why do you say that? Josephine likes to have fun. I don't think she's ready to settle down. What does that mean? What I said, that's all. You're saying she runs about? No, no, no. Just if you are in love with her, I wouldn't want to see you hurt. Well, thanks very much, but don't worry, I can manage. Righto. Only being brotherly. All serene? Of course. Good. Want to come down for a nightcap before you turn in? No, thanks. I'm rather tired. Good night, then. See you in the morning. Remember, there's a shaft of sunlight touch the tip of the upturned shoe. The night of the party. Bright moons, swirl of evening dresses on young bodies. Warm, scented air, music, dancing, couples laughing, kissing and the security of shrubbery. Josephine. Lovely. But as he watched her, he began to understand what Charles meant when he spoke of her, and he didn't want to understand. He danced one dance, and then she was always gone, and Terry went looking for her. He found her in the old chapel, and with her was an indistinct figure, a man vaguely known, somebody's friend. I didn't think we came out here to behave. Besides, if you do go back, poor little Terry will be for you. Oh, no. Take your choice. I haven't got one, I'm afraid. And then you hear. That floor. Right through her. She damages the truth. She killed mine. Do something. And remembering last night. All night thinking it out. Sometimes taking a drink, but mostly walking alone in the shrubberies, avoiding the others. He was not angry. He kept saying, I must not be angry. I must be just. I must not be angry. I must be just. All night, then, he walked alone in the garden, and as the light began to grow in the sky, he stepped through the French windows and took down the African knife from the dining room wall. He'd always wanted that African knife, and then he'd gone upstairs, shaved, changed into channels, put the knife into his blazer pocket and sat on the window sill in his room waiting for the sun to come up. Waiting and thinking. No one but I can do it. She ought not to live with this flaw in her. She really mustn't. I must see that she doesn't. You are listening to Anthony Ellis, starring in his own adaptation of Elizabeth Bowen's Telling, Tonight's Presentation in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrill's Suspense. Tomorrow night, the FBI in Peace and War looks into the strange case of the go-getter on CBS Radio. It's a thrilling G-man hunt involving the machinations of a used car dealer who has his own methods for undercutting competition. Don't miss the details over most of these same stations tomorrow night. When the star's address presents, the FBI in Peace and War. And now we bring back to our Hollywood soundstage Mr. Anthony Ellis in Elliott Lewis' production of Telling, A Tale Well Calculated to Keep You in Suspense. He had the collar of her dress. Terry remembered, sitting on the window sill, watching sunlight brighten and broaden from the yellow agitation behind the trees into swathes of color across the lawn. And later it had all been arranged for them. He fell into, had his part in some kind of design. He went downstairs to the dining room where the family was gathered for a late breakfast. Morning, old boy. Spampled eggs? Oh, no thanks. Do you good? Didn't see much of you last night. Have a good time? Yes. Now, wasn't it a lovely party? Mmm. Sit down, Terry. Care for me and give him a cup of coffee. Where's Josephine? Oh, she's already had her breakfast. What a girl. I don't know how she does it. I've got her head like a melon. Where is she? Here's your coffee. You look done in, Terry. Feel all right? Yes. Morning, you lazy people. Morning. Morning. Who wants to play a game of tennis? Oh, my. Would you like to go for a walk, Josephine? Why, I'd rather... Oh, all right. You'll have some breakfast before you go out. No, thanks. Why the devil do you stuff your pocket so full, Terry? That jacket isn't going to be worth a brass farthing. You'll have to get it pressed. Oh. Oh, come on, Terry. Don't listen to him. He's jealous because he hasn't got that casual look. Oh, no. I had a lovely time last night, didn't you? Did you see Marilyn when she fell in the pond? I thought Charles would have a fit he lost so much. I didn't see that. Oh, he must have kept your father apart the night. I hope he didn't mind. Oh, what a heavenly morning. It is, isn't it? I saw it again. How on earth could you get up so early? It must have been five. I didn't go to bed. Oh. I like it here in the chapel and queue. Yes. It's quiet. There's one chance to think even to make things right. You know what I mean? Let's go on. No. Not for a minute. Josephine, I saw you here last night. Did you? Not mad. I suppose you enjoyed yourself. Why did you let him kiss you? Oh, poor little Terry. Don't be tiresome, darling. Do you believe in me? Oh, yes. I believe, Terry. I understand. Now, be a good boy. Will you... Will you kiss me? Ow! It was cigarette ends scattered last night by the couple who had come to the chapel to kiss. Terry noticed a charred cigarette stump in Josephine's hair by her left ear. It showed through. He thought... She's never forgiven me for that. She mentioned my dirty nails once. They were dirty. He picked the cigarette out of her hair and threw it away. She lay now with her feet and lower body in the sunshine. The sun was just high enough. Her arms flung out wide at him, desperately, generously. On her face, with a dazzled look, her blood quietly soaked through the grass, sinking through to the roots of it. You've done the right thing. What do you feel now, Josephine? You believe in me now? On his way to the house, he stooped down and dipped his hands in the garden tank. Someone might scream. He felt embarrassed at the thought of somebody screaming. The red curled away through the water and melted. I've done something. Who's there putting the furniture back in the drawing room? I wish you'd go and help. It's getting those big sofas through the door and the cabinets. Well, I'm putting the music away. I don't suppose she'll be able to marry now. Nobody will marry her. Oh, don't mumble, Terry. What? Do you know where Josephine is? No, I haven't the slightest idea. Now, go on, Terry. Please help. Catherine, do you know what happened down on the chapel? Catherine, what would you do if I killed somebody? Laugh. If I killed a woman? Laugh harder. Do you know any women? She had not wanted to be cruel, but he'd spoiled something for her. Last night, she had gone to the chapel. She had been kissed. And now his talking about it had changed everything. She supposed he must have seen her and was being nasty about it. Might even tell father. He'd always been like that. She found herself not liking Terry at all, almost hating him. Terry went to the drawing room and helped to move the furniture. If it was Terry's fault, they scratched the paint on the wall with a heavy cabinet. We've scratched the paint. It's my fault. It's nice of you to say we, though. I wonder if you'd say we killed him. Perhaps you'd better help with the bars and things, old man. All right, Charles. But you should have seen the blood on my hands. John, we'll have to move this rug out of the way. Right on. John, can I talk to you for a minute? As soon as you finish here, I'll get a move on, Terry. We'll be all morning. He helped until he broke a piece of delicate mison. Then they sent him out. The servants who were helping as well smiled tolerantly. He went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Cook was preparing a roast for dinner. He watched for a moment or two. You're very good at that, Cook. Thank you, Mr. Terry. I think I wouldn't be. Oh, everybody to his trade, Mr. Terry. I'd probably make a good butcher, though. Not you, Mr. Terry. I remember when you cut your finger once and you screamed for an hour at the sight of the blood. I don't anymore. Hell, that's nice. You'd never believe it if I were to tell you. Yes, all right, sir. Cook, do you ever read murder mysteries? Sometimes. Did you read the one about a woman who was stabbed to death by a man? It was in a chapel just like ours, and the funny thing is her name was Josephine. Isn't that a coincidence? Now, Mr. Terry, I'll have to ask you if you finish your coffee to leave my kitchen. I have a lot of work to do, and there are gifts coming for dinner. But it's true. I'll run along now, sir. Yes, Cook, I'm sorry. He wandered out and into the hall. On the table were two letters come by the second post waiting for Josephine. No one he thought ought to read them. He must protect Josephine. He picked them up and slipped them into his pocket. I say, what are you doing with those letters? Nothing. Oh, well. The Josephines I saw them before. I know. I'm taking them to her. Oh, you know where she is? She's in the chapel. Why? John, I want to tell you something. Later. I've got to go into the village for some things. John, she's in the chapel. Good. You take them to her. John, I've killed Josephine in the chapel. Let's go. Take them along to her. John hurried ahead, not listening, not turning round, only hearing Josephine's name. He went into the smoking room and banged the door behind him. Terry thought, oh, yes. They're a fine man, my brother. A fine man with a muscular back. But you couldn't have done what I've done. You've never kissed Josephine. He sat on the second step of the staircase, sat there gripping a baluster, shaking with exaltation. Josephine. Josephine. Josephine. Josephine. The study door panels had always looked solemn. They bowed with solemnity. Terry had to get past to his father. He chose the top left-hand panel to tap on. Come in. What do you want, Terry? I'm busy. I wanted to talk. Talk about my future. I suppose, my boy, that you really have got a future. Well, sit down a minute. I'll just finish this letter. There must be some kind of a future for me, mustn't there? I should certainly hope so. You've been giving it some thought? Yes. What about marriage? We haven't talked about that. You know, a nice girl might do something for you. Settle you down a bit, eh? Anybody in mind? No. Nobody? It's a thought. In the meantime, we've got to find you something in the city. That was the idea, wasn't it? Yes. There might be an opening at your Uncle Victor's bank. Well, very good figures for you. Look here, Father. I've got something to show you. That African knife. What about it? That African knife. It's here. I've got to show you. What about it? Wait just a minute. It was here. I did have it. I brought it to show you. I must have it somewhere. You remember the African knife? What's the matter with you, Terry? It isn't here. I haven't got it. It's lost. Perhaps I dropped it on the grass. I remember wiping it on the grass. I had it then. It's gone. I've lost it. I've lost it. What do you mean? What are you trying to tell me? I'm not so fair as it is. She'll be angry at me. Answer me. Terry! What are you trying to tell me? In which Anthony Ellis was starred in his own adaptation of Elizabeth Bowen's telling. Later tonight continue this week's serial story of the case of murder and the poison fangs with Mr. Keen, tracer of lost persons. Mr. Keen will be working on this one the rest of the week and a thriller it is too, as you know, if you've heard this week's developments up to now. Don't forget it. CBS Radio brings you another half hour one episode of Murder Mystery, the case of the date for murder Friday night on most of these same stations. Next week, the story of a murder in which no gun was used, nor knife, nor blunt instrument, nor poison, nor supplication, nor force of any kind. And yet, a man was murdered. It's called destruction. You may hear it next week on Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with music composed by Lucian Morrowick and conducted by Lud Bluskin. Featured in tonight's cast were Ben Wright, Herb Butterfield, Ellen Morgan, Betty Harford, John Daener, Richard Peele, and Florence Walcott. And remember, next week, Morton Fine and David Friedkin's new Suspense play, Destruction. As a policeman really finds it, 21st Precinct on the CBS Radio Network.