Suspense.
Tonight Columbia brings you as a guest our Peter Lorre, one of the screen's past masters
of the art of suspense.
Suspense is compounded of mystery and intrigue and dangerous adventure.
In this series, our story is calculated to intrigue you, to stir your nerves, to offer
you a precarious situation, and then withhold the solution until the last possible moment.
Tonight, for instance, Mr. Lorre plays for us a doctor, a husband, with something dark
and terrible on his mind.
Was it murder?
And if so, can this at last be the really perfect crime?
We trust that while you are wondering, we shall keep you in suspense.
For Suspense tonight, CBS presents Till Death Do Us Part by John Dixon Carr, starring Peter
Lorre.
Late one night in December of 1941, a man and his wife sat beside the fire in their
country cottage.
This man, look at him, a professor of mathematics, stout, middle-aged, guileless as a child.
In the remote corner of England where he lives with his pretty English wife, they say of him,
jolly decent fellow, you know, for a foreigner.
Isn't he?
Always a smile for everybody and so polite.
That's why it's such a shame about his wife and that young American.
There hasn't been anything between them yet, I'm almost sure.
But if the American stays here much longer...
I tell you.
A happy man, this professor Kraft.
His cottage in the country is rather isolated, three miles from the nearest house, no electricity
or central heating or telephone.
And on December nights like this, a great wind comes rushing off the Sussex Downs.
It rattles at the windows, growls in the chimney, and makes unsteady the oil lamp on the table.
But Irwin Kraft sits before the fire in a snug book-lined room, and across from him,
sewing, sits his young wife, Cynthia.
A domestic scene, a very domestic scene.
Oh, my pet, this is wonderful, isn't it?
Oh, so nice and cozy.
How I enjoy our little home.
It's a pleasure to be indoors on a night like this, isn't it?
Yes.
Did my darling have a good day?
Just about as usual.
No adventures, huh?
Not exactly.
I walked into the village.
Walked?
Oh, I really blame myself for burying you out here.
I ought to get you a car.
That's not necessary, thanks.
Come now, come.
Did something happen to upset my little pet today?
No, no, no.
You know, darling, I look at you and I marvel.
You marvel at what?
At a wife who can actually blush, yes, with a skin so fair, and a conscience so transparent
that she can actually blush.
I wasn't blushing about...
About what?
About anything you might be thinking.
It's your horrible habit of putting everybody else in the wrong.
Oh, but the neighbors don't think that about Poppercroft.
Neighbors don't have to live with you.
I do.
And you mustn't scratch either.
Not when we are so snug here, so cozy, in a kettle on a fire's nearly boiling, and no
rum is ready, and the lemon juice and the sugar for her medicine.
Oh, and must I drink that stuff?
I don't like rum.
But you have a cold, darling.
I haven't got a cold.
Really, I haven't.
Darling, twice today I heard you cough.
You are going to take your medicine, Cynthia, and take it here and now, and not offend your
clumsy old husband by refusing.
Why do you keep on treating me like a girl of 16?
I love to treat you like that, Cynthia, because... because I cannot fathom your thoughts.
You lock up your thoughts.
And that is a dangerous English habit.
You see, thoughts accumulate and won't be stifled, and sooner or later, when you least
expect it...
Well, look out, the kettle's boiling over.
So it is.
Oh, and please, lift it down from there.
Of course, of course.
I apologize.
I apologize, my darling.
There.
For a second, you know, you almost frightened me.
I frightened you?
I suppose it's foolish.
Well, here we are, my dear.
Here we are.
Now, see, I put two tumblers on the coffee table.
And now, a spoon in each, so that the heat doesn't crack them.
My dear, must you give me so much rum?
Can't I have the small one?
But we have to cure that cold of yours, Cynthia.
Now comes the lemon juice.
Yes.
And now comes hot water to the top.
Here we are.
And two lumps of sugar for each of us.
There you are, darling.
Now let's drink up, huh?
Owen, listen.
I didn't hear anything.
I did.
It came from that cupboard over there.
It sounded like your accordion.
Oh, that's nonsense, darling.
That's nonsense.
There.
There it is again.
Well, that's only the wind.
Or perhaps a rat that got into the cupboard.
Owen, I'm terrified of rats.
Go and kill it, would you mind?
Oh, you really sit very heavy, labors my sweet, for one of my weight.
Well, if you insist.
All right, all right.
Well, I'll take a good heavy poker from the fireplace.
And of course, it means a little trip through the cupboard.
Owen, never mind.
You haven't changed your mind, have you?
It had probably run out across the floor.
Come back.
It wouldn't run very far, I'm sure.
Well, again, if you insist.
I can't think what's the matter with me tonight.
No?
No.
You're sure nothing upset you in the village today, huh?
Certainly not.
How about this young American, that fledgling doctor?
What's his name?
You mean Dr. Craig?
That's it, Dr. Craig.
Dr. Craig.
Didn't someone say he was leaving today for London and then back to the States?
I believe so.
That's what Lady Randolph told me.
And you didn't say goodbye to him?
Certainly not.
Well, that wasn't kind of you, darling.
That wasn't friendly.
What's the matter?
Don't you like my nice hot rum drink?
No.
But you would give me no peace till I do drink it.
That's right, darling, that's right.
Now take it down like a good girl.
I'm keeping you company.
See?
Oh, how pretty she looks with her yellow hair in the firelight and her red mouth and her
light little hands.
Very pretty.
Oh, there is just one other thing, Cynthia.
I gave you a letter to post this afternoon.
Did you post it?
Yes.
Registered?
Yes.
And did you notice till the letter was addressed?
Everybody notices the address on an envelope.
It was to Sir Mr. Hatherby at Market Shepherd.
That's right.
But I don't know who he is, if that's what you mean.
Oh, Mr. Hatherby is the coroner of this district.
The coroner?
That's right, that's right.
But is there any reason why you should be writing letters to the coroner?
Well, there will be.
Tomorrow morning, we have been just drinking poison, my love.
Why did you drop your glass, darling?
I don't believe you.
No?
This will interest you, Cynthia.
You were a trained nurse and weren't you a...
You see, the poison was aconite, monk shoot.
No.
Yes.
Homegrown in our own little garden.
Even a one-sixteenth of a grain has been a fatal dose.
There's no telephone here, no car, not even a neighbor.
Exactly, my angel.
Take your hands off me.
Let me get out.
No, my pet.
In about five minutes, you see, the first symptoms will come on.
Symptoms?
Yes.
Our throats will grow dry.
Our eyes that will turn dim.
No.
We'll lose the use of our limbs.
Well, there are convulsions before the end, I believe, but we won't feel them.
Let me up.
If you try to hit at me, angel, you'll upset that lamp.
And, well, if you upset the lamp, this cottage would go up like tinder.
We don't want to burn to death, do we?
Irwin, why are you doing this?
Why are you doing it?
Why?
Do you think all Papa Craft is blind, my pet?
If I can't have you, Cynthia, nobody else is going to have you.
You mean Jim Craig?
So it is Jim Craig.
That was nothing.
My tongue slipped.
A cynic would say, my dear, that your foot slipped.
Do you think I don't know what happened the other night at the schoolhouse?
Schoolhouse?
Yes, the Market Shepherd Schoolhouse at Lady Randolph's little concert in aid of the war
relief.
Nothing happened, I swear it didn't.
No?
No.
Oh, then it was coincidence, I suppose, that you and that Dr. Craig didn't arrive until
the concert was nearly over.
Yes, yes it was.
We didn't go there together.
No?
We met in the little hall outside the auditorium.
It was just as you were finishing your number on the accordion.
I beg your pardon.
Oh.
I'm sorry.
I almost bumped into you.
Isn't that Mrs. Craig?
Yes.
Good evening, Dr. Craig.
We seem to be late.
Very late, I'm afraid.
I was detained on a case.
I didn't feel like coming here at all.
Just a moment before I open that door for you.
Won't it look a little funny, our arriving here together?
Funny?
Why should it?
There's no reason at all, only Cynthia listened to me.
Do you know, Dr. Craig, that's the first time you ever called me by my first name?
I did want to have a word with you somehow.
Of course, you've heard the news.
What news?
We're on the radio for the past couple of days.
We're too far out to get much news, and my husband isn't interested.
He isn't interested?
He isn't interested in anything but himself.
Rather, you didn't talk that way about my husband.
I'm sorry.
Would you push the door open a little?
And in conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure we've all enjoyed our friend Professor
Craft's musical numbers on the accordion.
And the vicar's conjuring tricks.
And little Miss Linshaw's spirited recitations.
It only remains for me to tell you that the collection for this little entertainment will
amount to this.
But yes, Colonel Thompson, what is it?
Colonel Thompson's going across the platform in rather a hurry.
Looks like an announcement of some kind.
Ladies and gentlemen, your attention.
We have just received some late news by the nine o'clock bulletin.
I think I can guess what it is.
Following yesterday's declaration against Japan, the Congress of the United States today
declared war against Germany and Italy.
No applause, please.
I think I can say that these things go too deep for applause.
We entered a war lightly and we have learned.
But before the vicar ends this meeting, I shall ask the orchestra to play us the song
numbered 83 in the book.
A song we know is dear to the hearts of all Americans.
Close the door, Symphony.
Jim, this doesn't affect you.
Naturally it does.
You won't be leaving England?
Probably in a very short time.
You'll be needing doctors.
But does a formal declaration of war make any difference?
What does it mean to you?
What does it mean?
I can't explain it, Cynthia.
It's all in that song.
If they're going to need me, I'll go back.
But can't you do just as much good here in England?
I don't know.
That depends on what the Army says.
And doesn't anything depend on what I say?
We haven't got much time, Cynthia.
That crowd will be out in a minute.
Yes.
And we won't admit it, will we?
Admit what?
Admit how we feel about each other.
I haven't said...
Nor I.
I was only talking about what we were thinking.
No.
We won't admit it.
You say you can't explain about the war.
I can't explain about this.
Don't try.
It's better this way.
Erwin's been very good to me.
He's such a childlike person.
Yes.
Everybody likes him.
Oh, he has his tempers.
And he's not easy to live with sometimes, in spite of what they think.
But I can't do anything to hurt him, because he'd never do anything to hurt me.
Never.
Never in the world.
A very fair estimate of my character, too.
That's exactly what I said about you.
So you are in love with that fellow?
I admit it now.
Yes.
Tell me, darling, do you feel anything yet?
Feel anything?
I mean, dryness, muscular contraction of the throat.
Yes.
Oh, I thought so.
I won't die.
I won't.
And how do you propose to stop yourself?
Your only chance would be to reach the village infirmary, and I'll see to it that you don't
get there.
But what if the poison takes you before it takes me?
Then you can't stop me.
But it won't, darling.
You seem terribly sure of that.
You see, the amount I gave you, as you perhaps noticed, was more than I gave myself.
I'm going to follow you, my little pet, into the dark, where there are no Dr. Jim Craig's.
But not too quickly.
I shall still have most of my faculties, Cynthia, when your convulsions are already beginning.
I wonder if you will.
Why do you say that?
Your legs don't seem any too steady.
I don't know.
It must be the heat of the fire, perhaps, or it's very hot in this room.
Cynthia, Cynthia, darling, listen to me.
Yes, Irwin?
There is a copy of Taylor's medical jurisprudence over on the shelf there.
Please, please get it for me.
I'm afraid you'll have to get it for yourself, my dear.
And is it if you can.
I'll get it.
Mind the lamp, Irwin.
We don't want the house on fire, just as you said yourself.
I'll mind the lamp.
Listen to me.
You know, some people's systems are intolerant to poisons.
They experience in minutes what ought to take hours.
Does it hurt, Irwin?
Does it hurt?
Yes.
But you'll find out soon enough, my pet, because you'll never make three miles to the village.
Never.
You think not?
I know it.
And just remember, I shall be waiting.
Waiting?
Out in the dark and cold, where there is neither marriage nor giving in in marriage.
I'll be waiting for my little pet to come and join me.
I shall be waiting.
Irwin.
Oh, I hate you.
I loathe you.
I'm afraid of you.
But I don't want you to die because of me.
And yet you are dead, Irwin.
But I'm not going to join you.
I've never prayed much, Irwin, but I'm praying now.
Whatever comes over my wits and makes my senses weak, give me strength enough to get to the
village.
Just give me strength enough to get to the village.
An empty room now, except for the motionless figure by the fire.
The great wind enters through an open front door and makes the lamp shake dangerously on
the tables.
The whole house creaks.
Otherwise it is very quiet.
Suddenly the corpse sits up.
Professor Kraft looks pleased, doesn't he?
Very pleased, very alert, as he moves over to a certain cupboard door.
Well, and now I think the real fun can begin.
Patience, patience, patience, my friend, while I open the cupboard door.
Well, there we are.
I hope you haven't been too uncomfortable, Dr. James Craig.
I'm all right, thanks.
So you managed to get the gag out of your mouth, huh?
I managed it, yes, just now.
I'm too late.
Well, you are still securely tied up, I'm glad to see.
You know, you gave me several very, very unpleasant moments, young man, when you got your foot
on that accordion.
Did I?
Well, Cynthia thought you were a rat and wanted me to kill you.
You know, she shows very good sense sometimes.
I could hear both of you talking, thanks very much.
Of course you could, of course.
Excuse me, please, I forgot.
It's like I could see you, too, through a crack in the door.
Well, you were intended to see us.
But now, come on, first of all, I'll drag you out of here.
Yes, let me take you.
Now we can sit down and have a nice, cozy little chat.
How much aconite did you give Cynthia?
How much?
Oh, about two grains.
Two grains?
Well, then she can't possibly...
No, she can't possibly live until morning.
But she can live long enough to testify that she saw me die.
And how much poison did you take yourself?
I?
None.
None at all?
No, none at all.
But you mixed those drinks out of the same materials I saw you do it.
Well, but there wasn't any poison in the rum, young man.
You see, two lumps of sugar steeped in aconite were dropped into Cynthia's gas.
I marked them, and I didn't make a mistake.
Can you see the beginnings of Papa Croft's plan?
Why, you...
You see, Cynthia left the door open, my friend, and there is a very strong wind blowing tonight.
Well?
Just observe how it lifts the table covers, flutters the magazines, makes the lamp tremble.
I shouldn't be surprised, you know, if one of those lamps blew over.
A fine crash in a sheet of flame.
And when they come here tomorrow morning, after Cynthia's testimony in my letter to the coroner,
they'll expect to find at least a few charred bones among the ruins.
And of course, they must find some remains.
Whose remains?
Yours.
Yes, you've got me tied up pretty well, haven't you?
And now you see...
Now comes the best.
You were last seen going towards the railway station, to London, and then to America.
Nobody, nobody will inquire after you.
Except Cynthia.
That's right, except Cynthia, who will be dead.
That I waylaid you and brought you here while Cynthia was in the village will not be known
to our good coroner.
And I shall disappear.
What do you think of it, young man?
I think it's rather good, huh?
You're going to let me burn to death?
Yes, and I shall enjoy the necessity.
By the way, too bad you missed my performance at Lady Randolph's concert.
It was very nice.
But then I think you were otherwise occupied.
You could call it that.
Occupied, I think, in making love to my wife.
You hurt my vanity, young man, and you are going to suffer for it.
I never made love to your wife.
No?
No.
But I don't suppose you could possibly believe that.
Are you already begging for mercy?
Now come on, now come on.
Are you begging for mercy?
No, I think not.
Dr. Craig, I don't like the way you are taking this.
I really don't.
Don't you?
No.
You ought to be afraid.
All decent men should be afraid, and no man is heroic when he sees death coming.
But you are as white as a plate.
Can't eat your rice off me.
And you seem to be expecting something.
Maybe I am expecting something.
You are?
Well, I think I can persuade you to tell me what's on your mind, my friend.
If I use the poker out of the fire?
You see, you see, I am a mathematician.
I leave nothing to chance.
Do you hear that, Professor Craft?
A car has stopped out in front.
Well, they won't come in here.
But of course they will.
It's probably the Home Guard.
Look, you fool, you have left the front door standing wide open in a blackout.
Don't be childish.
Do you think to upset me with that?
Something has upset you.
Take a look at yourself in a mirror.
Nothing.
Nothing can upset my plans now.
Everything is ready.
My clothes and my money are in a stable.
This place, this pretty little cottage will be a furnace.
All I have to do is, all I have to do is pick up that lamp, you see, like this and something
is wrong with me.
You're not acting this time, are you?
You're not pretending now.
You, you swine.
What have you done to me?
I have done nothing to you.
You, you have done something to me.
I can feel it.
There, there is sweat all over me.
My, my throat is choking.
This way, Lady Dandel.
Through the gate and up the path.
That, that sounded like, like my wife's voice.
It was Cynthia's voice.
What is wrong with you?
A person would think you were drunk.
I'm sorry.
Lady Dandel, stopping me in the road and asking to be taken to the infirmary at 80
miles an hour and then finding there was nothing wrong with you.
But, but it can be.
It is impossible.
Oh, but it is.
You see, your plans didn't include the fact that Cynthia doesn't like rum.
Remember, you poured a very large drink for her and a small one for yourself and you filled
both glasses with hot water.
Oh, remember when she got, got you to leave her and come over to this cupboard?
She changed the glasses then.
You're the one who swallowed the poison, two grains of aconite.
No, no.
Help me, please help me.
Nothing on earth can save you.
Help me, please.
In the name of please, please help me.
Nothing on earth can save you.
Please.
No, you won't.
Then, then I'll show you.
I'll take you with me.
I'll take everybody with me.
Where are you going?
I'll, I'll get that lamp.
I'll take you with me.
I look at you.
You can't even see.
You're blind.
You're staggering straight into that cupboard.
I'll take you.
I'll take you with me.
I'll take you.
Jim, Jim, what are you doing here?
Come in, Cynthia.
Come in and take a look at the man who died twice.
And so ends Till Death Do Us Part, starring Peter Lorre.
That story of suspense.
Columbia presents these tales of mystery and intrigue and dangerous adventure for your relaxation
and enjoyment.
Next Tuesday, there'll be another in this series, same hour, 9.30 Eastern wartime.
Mr. Lorre was starred as Professor Kraft.
He was supported by Alice Frost as Cynthia, David Gothard as Dr. Craig, and Mercedes McCambridge
as Lady Randolph.
William Spear, the producer, John Dietz, the director, Bernard Herman, the composer, conductor,
and John Dixon Carr, the author, are collaborators on suspense.
This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.