 And now, tonight's presentation of Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills, Suspense. Tonight, we bring you a story of two men forced to live together in the frozen north. We call it, A Study in Wax. So now, starring Mr. William Conrad and Mr. Stacey Harris, here is tonight's suspense play, A Study in Wax. It was late October when the radio shack burned down. We never did decide whose fault it was, maybe Cabell with his cigarettes, maybe me. Anyway, I guess the whole thing began when we lost the phone transmitter and receiver. Cabell and I had been set up to the northwest territory by the Canadian Geodetic Survey people. It was a long job, and the biggest part of it for Cabell was the loneliness. It wasn't that he was moody or anything like that. I think he wasn't used to being out of touch with people and things he was accustomed to in the cities. Now, I was the opposite. I kind of liked the loneliness. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, we were a strange couple to hit it off the way we did. And when he got seven months to spend alone with another man, well, he got to be sure of each other. Now, we thought we were, until after the radio was gone. That day it burned, we stood in the snow watching the embers glowing and the wisps of smoke rising into the cold sky. That's gone. Well, we still got the code sender just in case. I'm going to miss the programs, the music. You know, I tell you, we could send a message to the base if you like and ask them to fly out another receiver. Oh, no, no, no. I know McLeod. He'd boil, waste the money, probably take it out of our pay. You know, we'd deal with that. That's all right with me. Well, you're a hearty soul. You know, I don't think you'd mind if you had to stay alone for seven months. It'd be dull. I wouldn't have anybody to beat a chess. Say, Jack. Yeah. If it was my cigarette that burned the shack, I'm sorry. Ah, forget it, forget it. I may have done it myself. Forget it. In November, we'd done pretty well as far as work was concerned, but Cabello was getting jittery. We had a weak stretch where we couldn't move out of the camp. It was around 30 below outside and blowing 60 miles an hour. Cabello had read most of the things that we'd brought along and was sitting at the table trying to beat a solitaire game. I was all in the gun. Ah. Now the odds are against you every time. Don't I know it. Oh, how I wish this weather would ease off. Yeah, well. Hey, I got an idea. Now what? What do you say we open our Christmas presents tonight? Our Christmas, but it's November. I know. I know, but I bet there'll be some books in there. I told my folks to pack some books. Well, what'll you do when you finish them? I don't know, but I got to do something. I wish we had the radio. Look, we can send a message. If McLeod wants to cut our heads off for burning up his property, you'll have to come up here to do it. If not, well, maybe you'll be feeling good and send it. No, it's worth a try. It's not you, Jack. We talked, played chess, and it's swell, but I just missed the outside. I feel... Yeah, yeah, I know. Okay, how would this sound? Radio shack burned aground. Can you send new receiver? Have only small set on fixed channel. Well, couldn't you say emergency? Oh, that'd go over big with McLeod. We miss Canadian and U.S. mystery shows must continue to hear them in order to keep up our work. Uh-uh. We better leave it as it is. All right. Here we go. Oh, McLeod's gonna love this. The reply from McLeod came back the following day. It was long, involved, and said what could have been said in one word. No. You know, our chief was a very careful man and believed in others following his example. Therefore, if our radio was gone, it was our fault, and the next time we should be more careful. And that was that. The weather let up a bit, and we got some work done. It was still terribly cold, but it didn't bother us now that the wind had gone. I, uh, noticed that Cabell was much quieter after our request for the radio had been turned on. I began to get a feeling as though he blamed me for it. So a week before Christmas, we'd just finished supper. I said, uh, Larry, about those Christmas presents. What about them? What do you say we open them, huh? Well, I thought you didn't want them until Christmas. Well, I've changed my mind. What's the matter? You trying to be nice to me? I can take this as well as you can. You know, I don't need you feeling sorry for me. I'm not sorry. I don't give a good stink one way or the other. I'm just saying if you want to open the packages now, it's all right with me. They're yours. It's not my business. Oh, forget it. Do what you want to do. You open yours up too? Sure. Okay. He got a hammer and started to pry open the case. Our families and friends had done their shopping in August and we put their gifts together in the case. And at the sight of those colorful wrappings, Cabell began to smile. He was back in touch again. They were little things, but a label, a scratch of handwriting, and the feel of something different was blotting out his loneliness, that great far coldness outside. Come on over. Okay. It doesn't feel like books. It wouldn't pack them like this, would it? Oh, it might. Hey, look! Hey, look! Look what we got! What is it? It's a phonograph! Here, I'll take it. And as a whole stack of records, there must be of all the lousy, crummy luck. Oh, what's the matter? Look, they're broken. Oh, that's a shame. All of them? No, no, wait a minute. There's one. It's two of them, okay? Oh, that's good. Ha, ha, ha! Listen to this, will you? A variety of bugle calls. What? No, I mean it. A variety of bugle calls. Look, it belonged to my father. I remember him playing it for me when I was a kid. Oh, well, what's the other one? Oh, that's great. Saber dance, catch a train. It's one of my favorites. Oh, no less brown or anything like that, huh? No, just a... That's right, I forgot you. You don't much like classical music, do you? No, not much. Oh, that's okay. Come on, let's take a listen to that bugle call thing, huh? That ought to be something. Thank you. Oh, wait till I tell my sister about that fancy packing job of hers. I've heard that one a thousand times. No, army days. We got a lot of laughs out of the old record. Played it a couple of times and had a couple of drinks. You know, I tell you, that phonograph, even with only two records, it made a lot of difference to us. The strain seemed to be gone. Then Cabell put on his Saber dance and got lost in it. Well, to me, it wasn't much. It was all cluttered up with a lot of noise that hurt your ears. He must have played it a half a dozen times while we unwrapped the rest of the things. There were a lot of books and magazines, and that was good. I figured we could stretch him out for at least three months, which would take us into March. But the next day turned bad again. A blizzard came down. And we stayed inside until the day after Christmas. And Cabell, he was like a kid. He smoked cigars, drank brandy, listened to his record, and read. In 10 days, he'd read every single thing. Then he had nothing to do but listen to his record. That's great. Look, you're not going to play it again. Just this one part. Look, I don't mind not listening to it for a while, huh? Try the bugle calls. They're quieter. You want to learn to appreciate good music, Jack? You're missing something. Well, maybe I will, but not from that. No, this is beautiful. Well, not to me. Now, will you let it go for a while? Sure. Sure, if you feel that way about it. How about a game? Um, no, no, not right now. Thanks. I want to finish this article and read it. Read it? Oh, yeah, I would. It's not much. That guy never could write. Oh? Well, I think it's pretty good. Depends on what you used to reading, I guess. And what kind of a crack is that? Nothing. It just depends on what you used to reading it, so... Does that make me a lowbrow? You said it. I didn't. You, uh, better check the oil outside. I did it yesterday. It's your turn. Uh-uh. I did it this morning. And this weather, we do it twice a day. Remember? Yes, sir. Are you trying to be funny? No, I don't like the way you said it, that's all. We're both in charge, not you or me. Nobody gives orders. Here's, we share the responsibility. Okay, then do your share. All right! All right, I'm going out to check the oil, but not because you say to do it, you know, but because I want to. Well, good for you. When I think of it now, we sounded like a couple of kids. And I can't even remember what it was that set us off. But I'll never forget what happened because of that day. You don't easily forget a thing like death. You are listening to A Study in Wax, tonight's presentation in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Drills. Suspense. This is a new sound in the history of mankind, the sound of atomic energy. The crackling comes from a model atom smasher, similar to large models used in treating deep-seated cancer and sterilizing foods and drugs. Sounds like this one, and the stories behind the sounds, are the subject of CBS Radio's current program series called The Age of the Atom. The peaceful uses of atomic energy open endless possibilities for us all. Hear them discussed by leading atomic scientists and specialists from all over the world on CBS Radio's Age of the Atom program series, now being broadcast by most of these stations. Consult your local listings. And now, we bring back to our Hollywood soundstage Mr. William Conrad and Mr. Stacey Harris, starring in tonight's production, A Study in Wax, a tale well-calculated to keep you in suspense. For the next few days, not the way we used to, I mean, just conversations that was necessary to do our work. And that was it. He didn't play his record, either. New Year's Eve Day, we got a couple of messages through in code from our families. And I guess we both felt pretty bad. Cabello was trimming the oil stove when I decided to try to make things up. Say, Larry. Yeah? Look, about that business the other night. I'm sorry. It's my fault. We were kind of silly, you know? Yeah. Well, we had to bust up then. There's still three months to go. Three long months before the ship comes back. Yeah, no. Oh, well, thanks for not playing the record. It's okay. The wind had stopped. It gets in my nerves. You know, I got something good for that. Oh, what's that? Something that toasts the New Year. Champagne! Hey, what an idea. That's wonderful, Jack. Oh, we'll stick them outside for a couple of minutes and cool them off. Yeah, go to me, I'll go. That's cool, aren't there? You know the best thing for you and me to do tonight is to get roaring, stinking drunk? Champagne with brandy chasers. Right. Happy New Year, Larry. Same to you, Jack. We got drunk. We got red-eyed drunk. And we talked about women and ourselves and our dreams. And it was sloppy and it was great. The kind of haze you get when it doesn't matter and you're feeling good about everything. It was fine. Until Cabell decided it was time to hear some music. Jack, I want you to really listen to this. Really listen. That's coscuturine. Now, you make some all look sick with this stuff. I want you to listen to this. No, I don't want to hear that thing. Now, don't put it on for me. I don't want to hear it. I know, but if you just listen once, give it a chance. That's it. You don't have to listen now. Come on. There. Do you hear the rhythm? That's great. That's great music. That's really great. Now listen, women. That's a lot of music. It's a lot of noise. Now shut up! You're not listening! Don't tell me to shut up. La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la. You don't understand good music. That's just a matter with you. You just don't understand. I understand. Get away from the machine, Jack. Get out of my way. Come on. It's pushy, Fran. And I'm gonna kick your brains out for that. Yeah, I'm sick of you. You're not gonna hear any more of this again. Not as long as I'm here. Put it down. If you don't, I'll... I'll shoot you and I'll put the record down. I got sober. I might never have had a drink. I was so sober. Cabell had reached up for one of the holsters that hung near the door. And he wobbled to his feet. The gun held tightly in his hand. There was blood running out of his mouth and down his chin. I just stood there and I put the record down on the turntable. You were gonna break it, weren't you? Weren't you? Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Well, I knew you were. Just because it gives me pleasure to listen to it and you don't like that. Well, I want to listen to it and you don't. All right? You get outside. You're crazy, Cabell. Go on. I'll kill you for doing that and I'll get outside. I'm already below out there. I'm freezing. I'm gonna kill you. Do your good. Now go on. Get outside. All right, let me get my things. No! Listen to me. You're drunk. You don't know what you're doing. I'm gonna die, you hear me? I was crazy. Crazy drunk. I went around to the back trying to get away from the wind, but it wasn't any good. There wasn't anywhere to get away from it. I've seen what happened to men caught out in the open this way and I knew how quickly it could happen. And I jumped. Anything to keep moving. And all the time, I couldn't believe it was happening. I don't know how much time went on. Maybe it was a minute. Maybe it was 10. I heard him calling. Then through the flurries of powdered snow blowing off the roof, I saw Cabell standing in the doorway. And I saw the gun still in his hand hanging by his side. I got the cold. I only knew that Cabell had gone mad. He was gonna kill me. Somehow I had to get him away from the cabin, get him outside where I'd have a chance. I waited for a minute and then... Larry? Larry, over here, Larry! Over here! I knew he'd heard me. And I saw him move out from the doorway. This way! Here! And I moved back behind a hammock. I thought I might be able to make a wide circle and then double back to the cabin before he knew what was happening. So that I couldn't see. And I tripped and fell. And my hands bare didn't feel the coldness of snow any longer. He must have seen me. He was closer now, close enough to shoot. And I tried to run, stumping, falling. And then it was easier. I was going downhill, but he was behind me. And then there was something different in the feel of the ground under me. It wasn't ground anymore, not snow. It was ice. I was on the shore and I was going out under the frozen sea. I began to imagine that I could feel the movement of the sea under me. And suddenly it didn't matter anymore. I didn't care. I couldn't run. I wanted a wide dog. I wanted a little of ice. I was eight feet away from him. Watching, waiting for him to shoot. From the dark ribbon that split the ice grew wider and wider. A semi-circle of ice had cracked away. It wasn't very big and it was drifting out away, away. And the ribbon was no longer a ribbon. And in that moment I knew that he hadn't wanted to kill me. I'd been wrong. You! Larry, son, you can make it! Come on, Larry! Faster after that. And then I couldn't see him anymore. He was lost in the blackness. I got back to the cabin. And I remember getting the transmitter switched on, sending a message through. I got the flashlight and my furs on. I don't know how long I was down there on the ice, shouting, looking. But I knew he was gone. I'd never see him again. But in the gray morning the planes came. And for two days they searched until the weather forced them back. And that was all. They flew me back to the hospital. Maybe I'll lose my hands. Maybe not. They're not sure yet. Doesn't matter anyway. A suspense in which Mr. William Conrad and Mr. Stacey Harris starred in tonight's presentation of a study in wax. Next week the story of a man who found that murder was not the only way out of his problem. We call it The Beatle and Mr. Bottle. That's next week on Suspense. It was produced and directed by Anthony Ellis, who wrote tonight's script. The music was composed by Leith Stevens and Rene Garaghan and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. Listen while you work. Harry Mason is here on the CBS Radio Network.