43-03-23_The_Customers_Like_Murder.txt

This is the man in black, here again to introduce Columbia's program, Suspense. 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 Conklin. A story by John Dixon Carr in a somewhat lighter mood than is our habit and called The Customer's Light Murder is tonight's tale of suspense. If you've been with us on these Tuesday nights, you will know that suspense is compounded of mystery and suspicion and dangerous adventure. In this series are tales Calculated to intrigue you, to stir your nerves, to offer you a precarious situation, and then withhold the solution until the last possible moment. And so, with the customer's life murder and the performance of Roland Young, we again hope to keep you in the head. 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 Wolfpack, Acolyte at the Admiralty, Who Shots the Prime Minister, and other thrillers which have held us past the midnight hour. You have followed the exploits of Pendleton Keane, diplomat detective. Gerald Hockstone lives quietly at Beale with his friend Dr. Roberts nearby in case he should need medical knowledge. And his pretty, if somewhat pert Canadian secretary, Mr. Patricia Phillips. Gerald Hawkstone would be a happy man, even in wartime, if he were not. Have you got all that, Miss Phillips? Yes, Mr. Hawkstone. Good. New paragraph. Yes, Mr. Hawkstone. At the head of the great banqueting table, comma, the Lord Chief Justice staggered to his feet, full stop. His face was a ghastly whitish color, and his eyes had become glassy. Is he drunk, Mr. Hawkstone? No, Miss Phillips. The Lord Chief Justice is not drunk. Sounds pretty truck-eyed to me. For your information, Miss 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. Hulkstone. But I wish you wouldn't do it. Do what? Well, in the last four books, Mr. Hulkstone, 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, Miss Phillips, was not murdered with an axe. No, Mr. Hawkstone? Definitely no. He was beamed with the Great Seal and found dead on the Wolf Tech. And there's another thing, Miss Phillips. Whether you talk like this because of a dense vacuum in what we will charitably call your mind. Really, Mr. Hawkstone? Or whether you are really making out what you might define as heart cracks, I don't know. But I don't want any more of it, do you hear? Just as you please, Mr. Hawkstone. I. 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 stop. New paragraph. With one swift stride, Pendleton King had reached the fallen man. He can't have done that, Mr. Hawkstone. 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, Miss Pitty. And I should 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's delay, how's that? Comma. Pendleton King had reached a fallen man. Full stop. New paragraph. Quote. I feared it, comma. Close quote. He muttered. Full stop. Quote. Note the rigidity of the muscles. Exclamation point. Note the characteristic odor of your curare, which. That won't do, Mr. Hookstone. Why not? Curare hasn't got any odor. Now there, Miss 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. Gerard hasn't got any odor. I say it has. And I say it hasn't. Listen, Miss Phillips. I propose to settle this rather childish dispute by going next door and asking Dr. Roberts. Will that convince you? Gerard hasn't got any odor. Anyway, 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? Ha! Don't you say, ha, to me. I was merely remarking, Mr. Little, with your usual ingenuity, you can sidetrack the argument. I am going to see Dr. Roberts. That's not necessary, of course. My own knowledge of poisons is as great as that of any doctor. Doctor Farr? And finally, kindly don't say farr to me either. When I return, Miss Phillips, 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. All right. Go on. See if I care. Oh, excuse me, but. Good evening, Mr. Hawkstone. Oh, good evening, Mrs. Roberts. May I come in? Of course. Mind the blackout curtains? My, 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 a 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's her neuralgia 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, yes, I could find it blindfolded. Oh, and I wonder if you'd 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. I look almost like a doctor, don't I? Good night, Mrs. Roberts. Good night, Mr. Hawkstone. See you later. Oh, what I write is silliness, eh? And I don't know anything about poisons. And I call her Miss Sidditch instead of 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 do what you're told. Come in and close the door. Is that by any chance a revolver you're pointing at me? There ain't no cigarette case. I'm warning you. Well, I'm hanged. I've done it a thousand times in stories that I never thought of. Don't drop that junk you're carrying either. 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. To see a... Oh, wait a minute. You don't think I'm the doctor. Now, look, Doc. I ain't got any time for gags, 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. Yes, there'll be a very dead man out there if I do go. I tell you, old man, you're making a terrible mistake. Now, look, Doc. My name is Hawkstone. I live next door. I'm not a medical man, and I never... I've never... Somebody's coming. Miss Phillips. Now, then, Dr. Hawkstone. Just look here in the encyclopedia. So you ain't a doctor, huh? That's done. It's just a real old fashioned kitter, ain't you? You keep quiet, lady. You know, it's good for you. I know you. I've seen your picture. You're a big Louie Miller. Very smart thing you got here, Doc. I've. Listen, Mr. Bush. Don't take it easy, Miss Hush. Big Louie Miller and Slats Kelly. Slats Kelly is the gang leader. We're supposed to be friends of this gang student on trial in London now. But I hadn't heard they were in England. No, lady. Neither has anybody else. No, well thought it. Who is this same, Doc? You're nice. No, she's my secretary. She doesn't know anything about this. You seem to know too much about it if you ask me. Come on, lady. You'll go on with us. Going? Where? Just for a little ride, lady. Just for a little ride. Far out from the village, in flat and miry swampland, where pools of stagnant water gleam under the moon, stands the old Rutherford House. It is a desert. Excellent place. And the track of Field Marshal Gurling's 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 boarded house as a motor car approaches. Drive right ahead, Doc. I'm out of the back of the house. Remember, I still got this rod against the back of your neck. And matter of fact, you and I are enjoying this. All except the murder. What murder? We ain't gonna bump any 20 yards. Maybe not you, old boy, but I am. Just wait till I get at your patient. I don't see how you can joke about this. I'm not joking, Miss Sillips. It really won't tell us what's wrong with the patient. Never you mind the patient, Doc. You just drive around here. Here, whoa. So, hi, here. Oh. So, this is the enchanted castle, eh? Climb out of here. Walk ahead of me over to that house. Come on, Miss Sillips. That's right, lady. You two, come on. Hey, hold on, Doc. Grab a can of this cleaning fluid here. You can help me carry it in. Cleaning fluid? Yeah, there are two kinds of it. 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 box, Jake. Professional, this is a little out of my line of duty. What do you want with the cleaning fluid? The boss's suits get all messed up, so I clean them for him. I play nursemaid and everything around. Come on now, straight ahead. Stop asking questions. You've got this place blacked out, Louis. If the police don't get you, the air raid warden will. Forget it, Doc. We got this place so sealed up, you can hardly breathe inside. In here? That's right, lady. Go ahead. I'll close the door. I can't see, old boy. Which way? Here. Set that can down and follow me. You too, Lighty. Ah, right here, where the curtain's hanging over the door. Now, I want you to make the barge. So I open the curtain 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. Slats, Kelly, to you. Glad to see you taking this nice and friendly. Millie. What's the idea of bringing him to Dane? I couldn't help it, boy. How? She's as nice, see? She was with him. And she knew who I was. She did, eh? I don't know anything. All I want to do is to go home. Ah, 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. A talk about what? Well, we're not what you might call comfortable here, Doc. But we've got flashlights and canned food, plenty of liquor, portable radio that works on a battery. Then we manage to get along. You know what I mean? I said a talk about what? Well, that's it. That's what I'm gonna tell you. We pulled a snatch, see? You pulled a snatch? He makes it. 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 you a big laugh. The guy we snatched was the big shot you call the Lord Chief Justice. You snatched? The Lord Chief Justice? We shot that, Doc, and his clerk, too. They're in the room right over there. Such a trap, Louis. I didn't mean nothing, but I was only trying to hear me say such a trap. Okay. But look here. What was the idea behind this snatch? Well, I tell you, Doc, we got a pal, see? Well? Dominic Ferrelli, his name is. He's up on a grand larceny rap, and Ferrelli don't like glimy jails. He don't like them at all. Besides, the dirty little rat owes me 14G. 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 Ferrelli. 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 get 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 Ferrelli. Spring him? Turn him loose. Sure. Spring Ferrelli, 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 kidding. This is horrible. I can't stand it. Take it easy, sister. Take it easy. You know, Slev. 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 crack, 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? Why wouldn't I like to give that judge a coin over? Louis's got a sort of a grudge against the old guy, Doc. Why wouldn't you have? Louis's temperamental, see. He gets bored easy. So he says to the old guy and his clerk, he says, can you play poker? Just as sure. So they play poker from six in the evening to five in the morning. What do you know? If the old judge don't win all Louis' dough. They're running 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 Card? He won Mark Dough, doesn't he, Louis? Okay, boy. Not that I blame Louis 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 them is hurt? There's 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 Ferrelli and my 14 G's. And I want you to give them a hypodermic or something that'll keep them out cold for two days. Can you do that? Why, yes, I don't know. I suppose I could. Oh, no, for heaven's sake, be careful. Now, what do you use to dope them? Well, under the circumstances and considering all the factors involved, I think I should use, uh... I should use morphine. Have you got any morphine in that black satchel? Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Plenty of morphine, huh? I always go about equipped for these little emergencies. Well, then open the satchel. Come on, open it. Well, there you are. Dozens of little bottles, anyway. Now then, Doc. Which one of them bottles is the one that has the morphine in it? Aye, the... The fact is, Flats, I... Come on, come on. Which one are they? Listen, Forrest. 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. That's after midnight now. Why didn't you tell me? It's all right, Coach. I switched the radio on. 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, Henry. Quiet members, stated Superintendent Hadley of the CID, seem to entertain a belief that no sentence can be passed on a criminal except by the judge who applied 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 Dartmoor Prison. Why, that? One moment, please. Oh, cross the hall, you two! Take it easy, Porch. Take it easy. Kelly, he says, why does it ghost? And his mouth is twisting back as though. Here is the bulletin just received. Scotland Yard flying squad cars, assisted by the constabulary of a county which, 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 what's up. For anyone who has any further information about these men, whose descriptions follow, communicate with New Scotland Yard. Telephone number Whitehall, 121. Wait till I get my hands on it. That's all right, Porch. Everything's all right now. Turn it off. Turn it off. Come on, turn it off, Louis. I'll fix my thing. Hey, what are you going to do, Borch? Hey, don't bust the radio. There. Oh, you hadn't earned the bust of the radio, Borch. Now we can't get any news. We've had on here, Zachary. Come on, put that light on. I want to look out the window. Oh, they're closing in. Patricia, you see, I can call you that. Why couldn't you have called me that weeks ago? Oh, well, putting that aside, I thought it was just half a joke. But I'm not joking now. I intend to get that rat-faced slats if it's the last thing I ever do. It probably will be. But how are you going to? Spindleton King, my dear. Oh, really? There are 14,000. That's gone. And the cops on our tail while we stand here yapping. You heard what that radio said, Louis? Yeah, I heard it, all right. Look, boss, we better lamb out of here one at a time. Oh, wait, wait, wait. Before we go, we settle things with the old guy in the yellow roof. You can't get away with it, Louis. This is England. They'll hang you. Oh, what? We got a murder rap, a face in the States, ain't we? And I'd just as soon hang as find it. What about you, Louis? You said it, boss. Let me take this rod of mine, stick it against the back of the old guy's neck, and... No, no, no, no. No rods. That's too easy. Easy? Sure. One slug and it's all over. This guy rates special treatments. And that's where the doctor comes in. You know anything about poisons, Dirk? I know a good deal about poisons. The customers like murder. What's that? Oh, nothing. That's a slogan in my profession. Look, Louis, do you remember the time Johnny Pretko was running the old Third Avenue Social Club? Yeah. And Mike Delaney talks out of town? And they feed him some white stuff called strychnine? Oh, yeah. And sit around and light cigarettes? Watch him die. It took four hours, Doc, and you could hear the rats screaming as far as 81st Street. Now, wait a minute, Slats. You can't. I can, huh? We'll see. You got any of that white stuff, Doc? Well, I might. I might. I might. 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 it's. Listen, get this, sure. You can do it the hard way, Doc, or you can do it the easy way. Louis gets to work on you. Maybe you'd be smarter to hand the stuff over right now. What do you say? I. What's the matter, Slats? Troubled by the heat? It is hot in here, with all the windows sealed up. That sounds like planes. It is planes. British planes going over to put the heat on Germany? No such luck, old boy. German planes coming to bomb us. About, uh... About a dozen Heinkels flying 20,000 feet up. Mm-hmm. They're keen here, Miss Phillips. Say, I'd say not over 15. That's the first wave, Seth. There'll be another wave in a minute or two. But you needn't be alarmed. They're going somewhere else. They only... Only a little visiting guard, Flats, and fully a quarter of a mile away. Hold on, that light's right, Lola. Pull that curtain back off the window. Yeah, let's watch that. See what you can see. Okay, good. No, it's light, Henry. Lock, tight. They test their thing. Described blackish pitch. Oh, look over there. Well, what is it? It's a light, Flats. Funny kind of a white light. Up there over the trees. It's not very steady. It starts and then stems, and then it starts and stems. Only a basket of incendiary bombs, Louis. Incendiary, eh? What is it, Jerry? Have you got an idea? Louis. This is just what we've been waiting for. Those Scotland Yard cars are going to get held up until we can settle things with those guys in the other room. Come along with me, Doc. Why don't you two blogs 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 Lord Chief Justice and his clerk, what do they look like? Well, the judge is a little guy with a bald head like me. And the other one is a big guy with a punch drunk tan, like Louis, white. I thought so. I've seen their photographs. When the next wave of planes comes over, and it will, why shouldn't an incendiary bomb hit this house? The manufacturer ain't too safe, sir. Be quiet, Louis. Go ahead, Doc. In other words, you leave the Lord Chief Justice's clock tied up in the other room. Then all you have to do is to set fire to the place. Justice cheated, Mezzington gangsters die and blaze. Jerry Hawkstone, have you gone crazy? They may catch you eventually, yes. But it'll give you a few days' trial. Hey, maybe I 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, a 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, too, Doc? Afterwards? We're accessories, aren't we? Are we likely to talk? Better put a couple of slugs in them, Porch, 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 to the cleaning ship. Both of you had better do it. I'm warning you. Oh, why? Hear that? Because there isn't much time. Here they come. You can't have a fire stop after the last wave of planes has gone over. Well, maybe you 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 cop. Oh, 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, Louie, through the curtain. Okay, I'm coming, Sports. Bye-bye, Mr. Lockstone. On your lighty fun. Be saying you're in a funny piper. Going to morgue. Ha ha ha. Ha ha. It won't be long 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 it faced like a match. 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 Oh, you and your story. Me and my stories, as Louie 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 you missed, boy. Listen, Patricia, it's not working. But it's got to work. What's got to work? Four, no, five minutes. Must be at least that. They've been pulling out that benzene an inch at a time all over the. What's that? What's the matter? Listen, listen. What's that? What's the matter, you big one? Can you stand up? Something's got me, boy. It's working, Patricia. I think our friends are lit. No, no, they're not. Slats is coming back. What? What trick are you? Try to pull, Doc. Put some air with Uri. Put some air with me. You've lost the game, Slats. You're finished. Oh, I'm finished, Slats. It's the benzene fumes, old man. To pour out all this cleaning fluid in an airtight room like that one is practically certain death. You know, Slats, you ought to learn more about crime. That's what a rush, you've got. No, you won't, Slats. 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 cards. Oh, the police cards. We're just about to be sensationally rescued, just like fiction. Jerry. Jerry? Yes, you too. Come on out of there. Come on in and get us, you lug. Don't talk like Louis, or we'll get a bullet 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? Louis Miller knocked out in that room, and blimey if it's not Slatch Kelly knocked out in this room. Just a couple of mugs I polished off, Sergeant, all in the day's work. You mean they're dead? They'll be all right if you drag them out in the open air. Oh, you. I recognize you. You're the writer who was kidnapped tonight. Yes, and you will find the other assassins in that room. But first of all, have you got a key that will unlock regulation police handcuffs? I certainly have, sir, 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's 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. The true artist, madam, takes no account of time or place. Are you ready? Yes, Mr. Hokestone. Well. You admit now that my plot is practical. Yes, Mr. Hawkstone. Now then, The Income Tax Murder by General Hawkstone, Chapter 1. For Mr. Hawkstone's. 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 cleaning fluid. New paragraph. The Chancellor himself was hard at work devising a new scale of income tax. For Mr. Hawkstone, that's a completely different story. I thought you were going to murder the Lord Chief Justice. Haven't you any professional taste? How can I murder the Lord Chief Justice? I just saved his life. And so ends the customers 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 Dee. The director, Bernard Herrmann, the composer, conductor, and John Dixon Carr, the author, elaborated on tonight's suspense.