 This is The Man in Black, here again to introduce Columbia's program for Spendings. Our distinguished star this evening is that delightful gentleman, Mr. Roland Young, playing as author of detective novels who invented his best plot when his life was at stake. With Mr. Young to play his long-suffering secretary is Miss Peggy Conkler, a story by John Dixon Carr in a somewhat lighter mood than is our habit and called The Customers Like Murder, is tonight's tale of suspense. If you've been with us on these Tuesday nights, you will know that suspense is compounded with mystery and suspicion and dangerous adventure. In this series, our tales calculated to intrigue you, to stir your nerves, to offer you a precarious situation, and then withhold the solution until a last possible moment. And so with The Customers Like Murder and the performance of Roland Young, we again hope to keep you in on a hot summer night in a village on the east coast of England. A famous writer of detective stories is dictating to his secretary. You have all heard of Mr. Gerald Hockstone, celebrated author of Murder on the Wolfe, Acronite at the Admiralty, who shot the Prime Minister, and other thrillers which have held us past the midnight hour. You have followed the exploits of Pendleton King, diplomat detective. Gerald Hockstone lives a quiet day of deal with his friend Dr. Robert nearby in case he should need medical knowledge. And his pretty, if somewhat pert Canadian secretary, Mr. Patricia Phillips. Gerald Hockstone would be a happy man, even in wartime, if necessary. You got all that, Mr. Phillips? Yes, Mr. Hockstone. Good. New paragraph. Yes, Mr. Hockstone. At the head of the great vanquishing table, comma, the Lord Chief Justice staggered to his feet, full stop. His face was a ghastly whitish color, and his eyes had become grassy. Is he drunk, Mr. Hockstone? No, Mr. Phillips, the Lord Chief Justice is not drunk. Sounds pretty cock-eyed to me. For your information, Mr. Phillips, the Lord Chief Justice has just been poisoned with curare because he discovered the identity of the master criminal. Is that clear? Yes, Mr. Hockstone, but I wish you wouldn't do it. Do what? Well, in the last four books, Mr. Hockstone, you have shot the Prime Minister, killed the Lord Chancellor with an axe, poisoned the Home Secretary, and blown up the First Lord of the Admiralty. Why don't you stop picking on the poor government and murder somebody else for a change? The Lord Chancellor, Mr. Phillips, was not murdered with an axe. No, Mr. Hockstone? Definitely no. He was beamed with a great seal and found dead on the wool sack. And there's another thing, Mr. Phillips. Whether you talk like this because of a dense vacuum what we will charitably call your mind. Really, Mr. Hockstone? Or whether you are really making out what you might define as potcracks, I don't know. But I don't want any more of it to you here. Just as you please, Mr. Hockstone. I... Oh, Lord, where was I? His face was a ghastly whitish color and his eyes had become glassy. Sounds like me. All right. A single choking cry escaped his lips, comma, and his body crumpled to the floor full of stuff. New paragraph. With one swift stride Pendleton King had reached the fallen man. Mm-mm. He can't have done that, Mr. Hockstone. Who can't have done what? Pendleton King. What about him? Well, on the last page you had him sitting at the foot of the table. So he can't get there in one stride unless you want him to sail across the room like a kangaroo. There are times, Mr. Phillips, when you'd like to poison you with curare and dance on your grave. I was only trying to help. All right. Change it. Change it. Strike it out. With hardly a second delay, how's that? Comma, Pendleton King had reached the fallen man. Full stop. New paragraph. Quote, I feared it, comma. Close quote. He muttered. Full stop. Quote, note the rigidity of the muscle. Exclamation point. Note the characteristic odor of your curare, which... That won't do, Mr. Hockstone. Why not? Curare hasn't got any odor. Now there, Mr. Phillips, you've really gone too far. But I can't help that. It's true. If you will permit the small vanity, I am noted for the correctness of my medical knowledge. Who is murdering the Lord Chief Justice, you or I? You are. But you might murder him properly. Curare hasn't got any odor. I say it has. And I say it hasn't. I propose to settle his rather childish dispute by going next door and asking Dr. Roberts. Will that convince you? Curare hasn't got any odor. In any way, the Lord Chief Justice wouldn't be mixed up in any such silliness as this. Silliness, eh? Yes, I said silliness. Read your evening paper. The Lord Chief Justice is sentencing some American gangster who got involved in a robbery over here. That's the sort of thing he really does. You're very fond of these gangster reports, aren't you? Yes, I am, because they're real. Real? Fuck! Don't you say far to me. It's merely a remarking, Mr. Litz, with your usual ingenuity who sidetracked the argument. I am going to see Dr. Roberts. That's not necessary, of course. My own knowledge of poison is as great as that of any doctor. Doctor, far. And finally, it kindly don't say far to me, either. When I return, Mr. Litz, I hope to find you in a better frame of mind. Please observe that I, at least, have been able to keep my temper. Excuse me. Good evening, Mr. Hawkstone. Good evening, Mr. Roberts. May I come in? Of course. Mind the blackout curtain. Isn't it hot and stuffy tonight? Rather close, yes. Is the doctor in? I'm afraid he isn't, Mr. Hawkstone, but I expect him back any minute. Oh, out on the call? No, I'm almost certain he isn't, because that's his medicine case and stethoscope there on the table. I think he's just gone up the road to get some tobacco. Do you mind if I wait? Not at all. But you will excuse me if I run along. I promised Mrs. Anderson I'd drop in there. It turned around here again, and I'm terribly late already. Don't let me detain you, Mrs. Roberts. Go right ahead. I'm afraid you'll have to wait in George's consulting room. I've got most of the house dark, so I could keep the windows open. You know which room it is? Yes, yes, I could find it blindfolded. Oh, and I wonder if you take the medicine case and stethoscope and drop them in the consulting room. George is so careless, he lets them lie about anywhere. Medicine case? Stethoscope, yes. As a matter of fact, I've always wanted to hang one of these things around my neck, like this. Look almost like a doctor, don't I? Good night, Mrs. Roberts. Good night, Mr. Hawkstone. See you later. Well, what I write is silly news, eh? And I don't know anything about poisons. And I call them Miss Phillips and Philip Patricia. Ah, here we are. Now, where's that light switch? Good Lord. Come on in, Doc. Close the door. Who the deuce are you? You want to keep healthy, Doc, just to what you're told. Come in and close the door. Is that by any chance a revolver you're pointing at me? It's a cigarette case. I'm warning you. Oh, I'm hanged. I've done it a thousand times in stories, but I never thought... Don't drop that junk you carry, Anita. You're going to need it, Doc, when you come along with me. Come along with you? Where? Just to see a guy, that's all. Oh, wait a minute. You don't think I'm the doctor? Now, look, Doc, I ain't got any time for gag, see? The boy says to bring you, so I bring you. There'll be a very sick man out there if you don't go. There'll be a very dead man out there if I do go. I'll tell you what, man, you're making a terrible mistake. Ah, look, Doc, my name is Hawk Stone. I live next door. I'm not a medical man, and I never... Somebody's coming. Miss Phillips. Now then, Dr. Hawk Stone, just look here in the encyclopedia. So you're a doctor, huh? That's done. It's just a real old-fashioned kettler, ain't you? Now, you keep quiet, lady. You know what's good for you. I know you. I've seen your picture. You're a big, lowy miller. I'm sure that's him. Listen, Mr. Hawk. Big, lowy miller and slaps Kelly. Slaps Kelly is the gang leader. We're supposed to be friends of this gangster who's on trial in London now. But I hadn't heard they were in England. No, lady, neither is anybody else. No, well, for it. Who is this same doctor? No, she's my secretary. She doesn't know anything about this. She seems to know too much about it, if you ask me. Come on, lady, you're going with us. Going? Where? Just for a little ride, lady. Just for a little ride. Far out from the village in flat and mirey swamp land where pools of stagnant water gleam under the moon stands the old Rutherford house. It is a desolate place on the track of field-martial-gurings bombers when they cross the coastline. But there are no searchlights here and no guns. Only the heat on the glimmering marshes and the decaying weather-bordied house is a motor-car approaching. Drive straight ahead, Doc. Right around to the back of the house. Remember, I still got this ride against the back of your neck. As a matter of fact, Louis, I'm rather enjoying this. Paul accepts the murder. What am I there? We ain't going to bump anybody off. Maybe not you, old boy, but I am. Just wait till I get to your patient. I don't see how you can joke about this. I'm not joking, Mr. Lipps. If Louis won't tell us what's wrong with the patient... Never you'll mind the patient, Doc. You just drive around here. Yeah, whoa. So, right here. Oh, so this is the enchanted castle, eh? Climb out of here. Walk ahead of me over to that house. Come on, Mr. Lipps. That's right, lady. Yoto, come on. Hey, hold on, Doc. Grab a Canada's cleaning floor here. You can help me carry it in. Cleaning floor, eh? Yeah, there's no cancer, but if I can carry one, then I need my other hand for this ride. Come on. Come on, we ain't got all night. Get it out of the back seat. The profession is a little out of my line of duty. What do you want with the cleaning fluid? A bunch of suits get all messed up so I quaint them for them. I play nice mate and everything around here. Come on, now. Straight ahead. Stop asking questions. You've got this place blacked out, Louis. If the police don't get through the area, it won't will. Forget it, Doc. We got this place so sealed up they can hardly breathe inside. In here? That's right, lady. Go ahead. How close it door? I can't see, old boy. Which way? Here. Set that can down and follow me. You're told, lady. Now, right here where the quaintons hanging over the door. Now, I want you to make the box. So I open the quainton like this. Howdy, Doc. Come right in. Glad to see you. I've been expecting you. Glad to see you, old man. I imagine you're the celebrated Mr. Kelly. That's me, Doc. Slaps Kelly to you. Glad to see you're taking this nice and friendly. Louis, what's the idea of bringing in the dame? You couldn't help it, boy. She says nice. She was wed him. And she knew who I was. She did, eh? I don't know anything. All I want to do is to go home. That's all right, sister. You'll go home all nice and friendly. As soon as I've had a little talk with the doctor, I'll talk about what? Well, we're not what you might call comfortable here, Doc. We've got flashlight, canned food, plenty of liquor, portable radio that works on a battery. You know what I mean? I said to talk about what? Well, that's it. That's what I'm going to tell you. We pulled a snatch, see? You pulled a snatch. He means they kidnapped somebody. That's right, sister. You speak English. May I ask who was snatched? Well, I'll tell you, Doc, because it'll have your big laugh. The guy we snatched was the big shot. You called the Lord Chief Justice. You snatched the Lord Chief Justice. Well, you're at bed, Doc, and it's cracked toast. They're in the room right over there. Shut your trap, Larry. I didn't mean nothing, boys. I was only trying to... You hear me? Say shut your trap. Okay. But, look here, what was the idea behind this snatch? Well, I'll tell you, Doc, we got a pal, see? Well, Dominic Pirelli, his name is. He's up on a Grand Largeny rap, and Pirelli don't like blamey jails. He don't like them at all. Besides, the dirty little rat owes me 14 Gs. So what do we do? Snatch the Lord Chief Justice, apparently. But why? Because the mouthpiece back home tells me long ago that a man can't be sentenced except for the judge that tried him. And the Lord Chief Justice is the judge who tried Dominic Pirelli. Is that it? That's right, Doc. But it ain't the main thing. This Chief Justice is a pretty important guy, see? So what do we do? We write to the cops and say, now, look, we got the old bird in a place where you'll never find him, and if you want to keep things nice and friendly, just spring Dominic Pirelli. Bring him. Turn him loose. Sure. Spring Pirelli, and you'll get the old judge back in one piece. If you don't do it, you'll get him back with his head as full of holes as a Swiss cheese. And we're not chitin'. This is horrible. I can't stand it. Take it easy, sister. Take it easy. You know, Slap, I admire you tremendously. You do, Doc. Why? Because you've invented a crazier idea than I ever did. Just what do you mean with that crag, Doc? You don't honestly think the government will make a bargain with you? I sort of think they will, Doc. I sort of think they will. But what if they don't? It'll be just too bad for a lot of people. You know what I mean? Well, wouldn't I like to give that judge a corn over? Louie's got a son of a grudge against the old guy, Doc. Wouldn't you have? Louie's temperamentals, see? He gets bored easy. So he says to the old guy in his clerk, he says, can he play poker? Just as sure. So they play poker from six in the evening to five in the morning. And what do you know? If the old judge don't win all Louie's dough. They're wrong in a call-back on me. That's how they've done it. They're a couple of crooks. Are you accusing the Lord Chief Justice of playing poker with Mark Chaud? He won my daughter, not a blower. Okay, boys. How did I blame Louie much? The things I've had to take from that judge. Well, that's where you come in, Doc. I was just wondering about that. Which of one of them is... That? Nobody hurt. Not yet. Then what the devil do you want with me? I want them kept quiet so they don't keep trying to escape. We can't get tough with them not until I get Pharrellie and my 14 Gs. And I want you to give them a hypodermic or something that'll keep them out cold for two days. Can you do that? Well, I... Yes, I... I don't know. I suppose I could. Those folks know for having sakes. Be careful. What are you used to dope them? Well, under the circumstances and considering all the factors involved I think I should use... I should use morphine. I mean, you got any morphine in that black satchel? Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes. Any morphine. I always go about equipped for these little emergence. Well, then open the satchel. Go on and open it. Well, there you are. It doesn't look bad, does it anyway? Now then, Doc, which one of them bothers the one that has a morphine in it? I think the fact is that... Come on, come on, which one is it? Listen, boss, Lowy, how many times do I have to tell you to shut up? Yeah, but it's the midnight news. The news on the radio. You said you wanted to hear it. It's after midnight now. Why didn't you tell me? It's all right, boss. I switched the radio on. Well, then keep quiet, all of you. A couple of seconds now you're going to hear some mighty sweet news. I wonder... So do I. Quiet. Hey, that's us, eh? Quiet! The kidnappers, stated superintendent Hadley of the CID, seemed to entertain a belief that sentence can be passed on a criminal except by the judge who tried him. Whatever may be the law in certain American states, this is not the case here. Dominic Forelli, alias Dominic Stevens, was today sentenced by Mr. Justice Stoneman to 14 years hard labor and this evening entered dark maltrision. Why, that's... One moment, please. For some more, you're totally... Hey, Carey. Carey, he says, why does a ghost in his mouth is twisting back as though... Here is a bulletin just received. Scotland Yard flying squad cars assisted by the constabulary of a county for obvious reasons cannot be named, are closing in on the two kidnappers, believed to be men already wanted in the United States for murder. That's just... But anyone who has any further information about these men whose descriptions follow, communicate with New Scotland Yard, telephone number Whitehall 1211... Just wait till I get my hands on it! That's right, boss. Everything's all right now. I turn it off. I turn it off. Do more than turn it off, Louis. I fix that thing. I wait until I throw it, boss. Hey, don't bust the radio! Hey! Oh, you hadn't run the bust of the radio, boss, now it can't get any nose! We've had on here lately. Come on, put that light out. I want to look out the window. Oh, there. Closing in on the gate. Patricia, you see, I can't call you that. Why couldn't you have called me that weeks ago? Oh, well, putting that aside, I thought it was half a joke. But I'm not joking now. I intend to get that rat face festive if the last thing I ever do. It probably will be. But how are you going to? First Pendleton King, my dear. He's got all the world's greatest... For real, you hear? Fourteen thousand, that's gone! And the cops on our tail while we stand here yapping. You heard what that radio said, Louie! Yeah, I heard it all right. Look, boss, we better lamb out of here while we're at the car, Louie. Before we go, we settle things with the old guy in the yellow roof. Come on, get away with it, Louie. This is England. They'll hang you. So what? We've got to murder a rat face in the state, ain't we? And I just as soon as the hang is free. What about you, Louie? You said it, boss. Let me take this right of mine and stick it against the back of the old guy's neck. No, no, no, no, right. That's too easy. Easy? Sure. One slug and it's all over. This guy rates special treatment. And that's where the doctor comes in. You know anything about poisons, Doc? I know a good deal about poisons. The customers like murder. What's that? Oh, nothing. Got the slogan in my profession. Look, Louie, do you remember the time Johnny Prescoe was running the old Third Avenue social club? Yeah. And Mike Delaney talks out of turn. And they feed him some white stuff called... Strict 9? Oh, yeah. And sit around and light cigarettes him. Watch him die. It took four hours, Doc, and you could hear the rats screaming as far as 81st Street. Now, wait a minute. That's you? I can't. I will see. You got any of that white stuff, Doc? Well, I... Come on. You've got something in that bag that'll make the old guy squeal now, haven't you? Why, yes, I suppose I have, but... Listen, get this sure. You can do it the hard way, Doc, or you could do it the easy way. If Louis gets the work on you, maybe you'll be smarter to hand the stuff over right now. What do you say? I... Listen, boy. Listen. What's the matter, sir? Troubled by the heat? It is hot in here with all the windows sealed up. That sounds like planes. It is planes. British planes squandering to put the heat on Germany? No such luck, old boy. German planes coming to bomb us. About... About a dozen Hankels flying 20,000 feet up. Mm-hmm. They keen here, Miss Phillips. Say, I'd say not over 15. That's the first way, is that? There'll be another wave in a minute or two. But you needn't be alarmed. They're going somewhere else. They only... Doc, Louis! Doc! The way I heard you forced them under the table already. Only a little visiting card, is that, and fully a quarter of a mile away. Put out that light, William. Pull that curtain back off the window. Yeah, that's right, sir. See what you can see. Okay. They can't see a thing. The sky's as black as pitch. Oh, look over there! Well, what is it? It's a light, boy. Funny kind of a white light. Up there over the tree. It's not very steady. It starts and then dims. And then it starts and dims. Only a basket of incendiary bombs, Louis. Incendiaries, eh? What is it, Jerry? Have you got an IBM? Louis, this is just what we've been waiting for. Those Scott and Yard cars are going to get held up until we can settle things with those guys in the other room. Come along with me. Why don't you two bloggers get smart? Jerry! What's that? You don't want to have your neck cracked on a rope, do you? Or burn in the electric chair back home? What are you getting at? Why not take advice from somebody who's been killing people in a professional way for 15 years? I'm not in the mood for gags, Doc, but keep on talking. This law chief just isn't in his car. What do they look like? Well, a judge is a little guy with a bald head like me. And the other one is a big guy with a punch-drunk pan like Louis. Why? I thought so. I've seen that photograph. When the next wave of planes comes over and it will, why shouldn't an incendiary bomb hit this house? You mean you think I ain't too safe here? Be quiet, Louis. Go ahead, Doc. In other words, you leave the law chief just in his car tied up in the other room. Then all you have to do is to set fire to the place. Justice cheated, Meddington gangsters, die and blaze. Jerry Hawkstone, have you gone crazy? They may catch you eventually, yes. But it'll give you a few days' start. Hey, maybe you got something there, Doc. It's got to look good. This house must go up like a piece of paper in a furnace, past any possibility of being put out. Yeah, and that's the catch. Why so? This house is in the middle of a swamp, see? It's as damp as your own climate. You couldn't make it burn with a blowtorch. Oh, yes, you could. Aren't you forgetting the cleaning fluid? Cleaning fluid? In that other room, you've got two gallons of cleaning fluid. That's benzene, the derivative of petrol. Soak every inch of the floor of that room with it every inch of it, mind, and the place will go up like tinder. Well, it's worth a try, Louis. Turn on your flashlight. Okay, boss. And, uh, what about you two, Doc? After us? We're accessory laundry. Are we likely to talk? Try to put a couple of slugs in them for us and drop them on the road. What's one or two more bumps in a spot like this? Maybe you're right at that. Well, anyway, Doc, thanks for a swell idea. You heard what the Doc said, Louis, get going with that cleaning step. Both of you would better do it. I'm warning you. Oh, why? You hear that? Because there isn't much time. Here they come. You can't have the fire stopped off the last wave of planes that have gone over. Well, maybe you've got something there, too. But I'll just take a little precaution first. What are you going to do? These are handcuffs, sister. Two of the neatest pair of cuffs we ever swiped off a dumb cup. Now I'll just lock your arms around the back of the chair, like this, and the Doc's arms around the back of his chair, like this, and we'll get going. Come on, Louis, do the curtain. Okay, I'm coming, boys. Bye-bye, Mr. Hawk Stone, and your lady front. Be saying you're in a funny pepper. Or in a morgue. Move below now. They must have everything in there soaked with that benzene by now. Jerry, I know you can't be completely crazy. Many thanks, my dear, for the qualification. You're right. They have soaked the place with benzene. And if they strike a match before... I know, I know you've got some kind of a scheme, but do you think it'll work? I don't know, my dear. I thought of it once for a story. Oh, you and your story. Me and my story, as Louis will put it, may save our hides yet. But suppose it doesn't work. Then we're done for. What are you trying to do? There's a place to mess with, boys. Listen, Patricia, it's not working. But it's got to work. What's got to work? Four, no, five minutes. At least they've been pouring out that benzene an inch at a time all over the... Listen, it's working, Patricia. I think our friends are lit. No, no they're not. Slap's coming back. You've lost the game, Slap. You're finished. It's the benzene fumes, old man. To pour out all the cleaning fluid in an airtight room like that one is practically a certain death. You know, Slap, you ought to learn more about crime. No, you won't, Slap. You can't reach your gun. The fumes have got you. You can't move your arms or legs. Your eyesight's going. In one second more, you'll be... Got him. Dead to the world. You mean... It worked, Patricia. It's practical. It worked. Are you trying to tell me that you've killed those two men? Not necessarily. Listen. That sounds like cars. Probably police cars. They're just about to be sensationally rescued, just like fiction. Jerry. Jerry. Come on in and get us your luggage. Don't talk like Louie or we'll get a bought through the head yet. Yeah, that is a thought. We're prisoners. We're victims. This way, please. It's a Sergeant. And I was never so glad to see a uniform in my life. Hey, now, hey, now. What's going on in this place? Louie Miller knocked out in that room? Blimey. If it's not Slap's, Kelly knocked out in this room. Just a couple of mugs, I polish off Sergeant, all in the day he's worked. You mean they did? They'll be all right if you drag them out in the open air. Oh, you, I recognize you. You're the rider who was kidnapped tonight. Yes, and you will find the other snatchies in that room. But first of all, have you got a key that will unlock Regulation Police handcuffs? I certainly answer, and I'll get you loose in a jiffy. Never mind me, Sergeant. Never mind my handcuffs. Get this lady free. She's the one I'm concerned about. You know that awfully kind of you. It's something practically chivalrous. Chivalry, my eye. There you are, young lady. Have you got your notebook and pencil in that handbag? You don't want me to take dictation now. A true artist, madam, takes no account of time or place. Are you ready? Yes, Mr. Hockstone. Well, you admit now that my part is practical. Yes, Mr. Hockstone. Now then, the income tax murder by General Hockstone, Chapter 1. But, Mr. Hockstone... Just as Big Ben was striking midnight, a hooded face looked into the window of the luxurious study occupied by the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Full stop. The hooded figure chuckled as it softly lowered inside the window, a large tin of peeling food. New paragraph. The Chancellor himself was hard at work devising a new scale of income tax. But, Mr. Hockstone, that's a completely different story. I thought you were going to murder the Lord Chief Justice. I haven't do any professional taste. How can I murder the Lord Chief Justice? I just saved his life. And so ends the customer's like murder, starring Roland Young with Peggy Conkland. Tonight's tale of... Suspense. This is your narrator, the man in black, who conveys to you Columbia's invitation to spend this half hour in suspense with us again next Tuesday. Same time, when our story will be the dead sleep lightly. William Spear, the producer. John Deet, the director. Bernard Herman, the composer-conductor. And John Dixon Carr, the author. Collaborated on tonight. Suspense. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.