demons
Suspense.
For you men and women in the armed forces of the United Nations, we present one of America's
top spine tinglers, a radio rebroadcast of a program dedicated to the mysterious, the
unusual and sometimes the supernatural.
A program of suspense.
The producer of Suspense asks you to almost believe that the following is true.
Very well.
Standing beside me surrounded by two guards is a man who in a few short hours is to be
put to death in the electric chair.
His last request to the warden was that he be allowed to speak on this program and reveal
what he calls some startling information.
The warden naturally turned to us and we at once complied, anxious at all times to do
anything, however strange, that will hold our listeners in suspense.
Ladies and gentlemen, this broadcast will never be completed.
I'm going to tell you a story.
The story involves a number of famous and influential people here as well as abroad.
These people have received warning from me and I am sure all of them are making it a
point to listen to me now.
I shall not name these great, these rich, these influential gentlemen until my story
is over.
They will recognize the story, they will remember me, they will take the necessary steps for
my reprieve.
I shall expect a full pardon and safe conduct to a neutral country.
These are my terms.
I shall expect word of this to be brought to this studio during this broadcast.
But as I have warned you, this broadcast will never be finished.
You will never hear those names.
It is certain my price will be paid.
I am presently under sentence of death for my activities in the matter of refueling German
submarines in the Caribbean.
My full confession has been reproduced in the popular press.
You have read it and you know the details.
It is the least ingenious of my exploits and my first failure.
So much for it.
The story I shall tell you tonight occurred many years ago but concerns, as I have said,
many now living.
It will interest you, I hope.
I know it will interest them.
Very well then.
On the 3rd of June 1925 in Liverpool, a man who gave his name as Mr. Louis Caratel asked
to see Mr. James Bland, the superintendent of the London and West Coast Railway.
He was a small man, this Caratel, middle-aged, darkened with a stoop so pronounced that it
suggested some deformity of the spine.
He was accompanied by a friend, a man of imposing physique from his war.
The complexion was probably either a Spaniard or a South American.
Turned out later that his name was Gomez.
On peculiarity was observed in him, he carried in his left hand fastened to his wrist by
a strap, a small leather dispatch case.
No importance was attached to this fact at the time but later events endowed it with
much significance.
Mr. Caratel was shown to Mr. Bland's office while his companion remained outside.
How do you do, Monsieur?
My name is Louis Caratel.
Yes, sir.
What can I do for you?
I have just arrived from Central America this afternoon.
It is extremely urgent that I reach Paris without a moment's delay.
Paris, eh?
That's too bad.
You just missed the London Express.
I am not interested in the London Express.
Could you provide me with a special train?
Yes, I think that could be arranged.
It's quite an expensive proposition.
Money is of a small importance, Monsieur.
Time is everything.
If you can arrange a special for me in a hurry, you may make your own terms.
There you go.
Mr. Hood, will you step over here a moment, please?
Yes, Mr. Bland.
Mr. Hood here's our traffic manager, Mr. Caratel.
Mr. Caratel.
Hood, I want you to arrange a special for him.
He's going to Paris.
How's the line?
Can you fix him up in a hurry?
Yes, I believe so, Mr. Bland.
The line is clear through Manchester and engine 247 at the Rochdale is on the tracks now.
It could be ready, say, in 15 minutes.
Good.
Who's available for the trip?
Engineer Smith, sir.
And I can put James MacPherson on as conductor.
Well, there you are, Mr. Caratel.
Simple as that.
Tender everything right away, will you, Hood?
Yes, sir.
This man, Mr. Smith and...
MacPherson?
MacPherson.
Are they trustworthy?
Oh, yes.
Of course.
MacPherson has been with the company for years.
I'm sure Smith, although new, is an expert engineer.
Me?
Thank you, monsieur.
I am deeply indebted.
You have been most considerate.
At 431 exactly by the station clock, the special train with Caratel and Gomez steamed out of
the Liverpool station.
The line at that time was clear and there should have been no stoppage between Manchester.
At a quarter after six, considerable surprise and some consternation was caused among the
officials at Liverpool by the receipt of a wire from Manchester to say that the special
had not yet arrived.
An inquiry directed at once to St. Helens, which is a third of the way between the two
cities, elicited the following reply.
To James Bland, Superintendent Liverpool, special passed here at 452, well up to time,
dows of St. Helens.
The wire was received at 640.
At 650, a second message was received from Manchester.
No sign of special was advised by you.
And then 10 minutes later, a third, more bewildering.
Presume some mistake is the proposed running of special.
Local train from St. Helens, time to follow it, has just arrived and has seen nothing
of it.
Kindly wire advice it.
Manchester.
The matter was assuming a most amazing aspect.
Although in some respects, the last telegram was a relief to the authorities at Liverpool.
If an accident had occurred to the special, it seemed hardly possible that the local train
could have passed down the same line without observing it.
And yet, what was the alternative?
Where could the train be?
A telegram was dispatched to each of the stations between St. Helens and Manchester, and the
superintendent and his traffic manager waited in the utmost suspense at the instrument for
the series of replies.
The answers came back in the order of questions, which was the order of the stations beginning
at St. Helens.
Special past here, 5 o'clock.
Collins Green.
Special past here, 6 past 5.
Earlstown.
Special past here, 510.
Newton.
Special past here, 520.
Kenyon Junction.
No special train has passed here.
Barton Moss.
Hood, this is unique in my 30 years of experience.
I can't understand it, Mr. Bland.
The special has gone wrong between Kenyon Junction and Barton Moss.
And yet, there's no siding between the two stations.
Special must have run off the rails, jumped the track.
But how could the 450 Parliamentary pass over the same line without seeing it?
There's no alternative, Hood.
Absolutely must be so.
Possibly the local may have preserved something which may throw sunlight on the matter.
We'll wire to Manchester for more information, and to Kenyon Junction with instructions that
line be examined intently as far as Barton Moss.
The answer from Manchester came within a few minutes.
No news of missing specials.
Driver and guard of local train positive.
No accident between Kenyon Junction and Barton Moss.
Line quite clear, and no sign of anything unusual.
Manchester.
This is lunacy, Hood.
Does a train vanish into thin air in England in broad daylight?
The thing's preposterous.
An engine, a tender, car, five human beings, and all lost on a straight line of railway.
It's impossible.
A month elapsed, during which both the police and the company prosecuted their inquiries
without the slightest excess.
Mr. Bland, at the end of this period, offered his resignation.
It was accepted.
The affair remained unsolved.
A reward was offered, and a pardon promised in case of crime, but they were both unclaimed.
Every day the public opened their papers with the conviction that so grotesque a mystery
would at last be solved, but week after week passed by, and the solution remained as far
off as ever.
Then a new and most unexpected incident occurred.
This was nothing less than the receipt by Mrs. McPherson of a letter from her husband
James McPherson, who had been conductor of the missing train.
The letter, which was dated July 5, 1925, was posted from Mozambique, Portuguese East
Africa, and came to hand up on the July 14th.
My dear wife, I've been thinking a great deal, and I find it very hard to give you up.
I try to fight against it, but it will always come back to me.
I send you some money, which will change into 20 English poems.
This should be enough to bring you here.
Things are very difficult with me at present, and I'm not very happy, finding it so hard
to give you up.
So no more at present.
From your loving husband, James McPherson.
For a time it was confidently anticipated that the letter would lead to the clearing
up of the whole incident.
As directed, Mrs. McPherson sailed to Portuguese East Africa.
She stayed in Mozambique for some time, but heard nothing from the missing man.
Finally she returned to Liverpool, and so the matter stood, and has continued to stand
right up to the present moment.
Incredible, as it may seem, nothing has transpired during those 18 years which has shed the least
light upon the extraordinary disappearance of the special plane which contained Mr. Carl
Attil and his companion Mr. Gomez, and McPherson, the conductor, Smith, the engineer, the fireman
named Slater.
But now, after all this time, I shall clear up the entire affair, and unless I hear from
those so highly respectable gentlemen who were my employers, and who are completely
implicated in the crime, unless I hear from them before I'm finished, their names will
be revealed on this broadcast.
Take final warning, gentlemen.
You know I mean what I say.
If you are smart, you are at this moment arranging my reprieve.
Just to remind you, time is short, you have just six minutes.
Now for the interest of my other listeners, I shall resume the story of the lost special.
In a word, there was a famous trial in Paris in the year 1925, perhaps you recall it, in
connection with a monstrous scandal, scandal in politics and finance.
How monstrous that scandal was can never be known except by such confidential agents as
myself.
At stake were the honor and careers of many of the chief men of Europe and the United
States.
A secret committee was formed to manage the business.
Some subscribed to the committee who hardly understood what were its objects, but others
understood very well.
They can rely upon it that I have not forgotten their names.
You think I could forget your names, gentlemen?
You pillars of the community, great, rich, respected, honorable men.
You remember that day in May 1925, the fashionable country club, remember?
And the golf game that was played there that spring morning.
Ladies and gentlemen, that was the strangest golf game ever played in the history of this
world.
Oh, Grach, look at that drive.
I've been playing badly all morning.
You topped it, Senator.
Perhaps you're a little nervous.
I beg your pardon?
May I join your game?
Well, I'm not sure that we should...
Not sure of what?
Of me?
I promise you, gentlemen, you can be very sure of me.
I'm the man you're supposed to meet.
The distinguished congressman here can vouch for me.
Yeah, he's the one all right.
This is the Lerniak.
Mr. The Lerniak, may I present...
My name is not really the Lerniak gentleman, but I am sure that bothers you no less than
it does me.
Besides, there is no need for introductions.
I know everyone present by sight and by reputation.
My drive, I believe.
Thank you.
Not so good.
Two hundred and what, about 50 yards.
I hope I'm not going to continue in this way.
You're sure we can talk safely here, Frank?
Please set your mind at ease.
We shan't be over heard in the middle of a golf course.
There is no convenient hiding place here for dictaphone, even in the rough, where I notice
you're playing the greater part of your game, Senator.
You must be nervous this morning.
I know, but I don't like it.
I don't like it at all.
Well, it's not the superlative course you are accustomed to on your own enormous California
estate, sir, but it's going to have to serve our particular purpose.
Oh, by the way, let me compliment you on the way you've had your syndicate of newspapers
handle the recent strike situation and the editorial which appeared under your own signature
this morning.
It's well calculated to stir up trouble with the labor.
Please, please, let's get on with our business.
Yes, I...
Mr. The Lerniak...
Thank you all service, sir, and may I suggest we continue our game?
I know the absence of caddies is an inconvenience.
Mr. The Lerniak...
Certainly.
In June, a month from now in Paris, there will be a most important trial...
Ah, yes.
...during its progress.
Pardon me, are you referring to the Sarinski trial?
Yes.
You know about it, then?
Well, certain interesting details.
I know something about my business after all, to keep myself informed about these matters.
It is not for nothing that I am known as the most...
Let me continue, please.
This trial, I'm speaking in the utmost confidence you understand.
This trial could, if certain evidence were introduced, could have a very serious effect
upon the prestige and standing of some most important men.
In fact, it could even...
You're shivering, Senator.
You find it cold out here?
No, no, no.
Get on with it, Frank.
Get to the point.
For heaven's sake, please.
The evidence which one man could bring to the trial could ruin these men.
Without it, the trial will collapse for want of facts.
But if this one man arrives in Paris, I...
But evidently, you do not wish him to arrive in Paris.
No.
Gentlemen, you have come to the man.
This sounds indeed like the sort of thing which no one in the world can manage with
such skill and success as myself.
I must admit, however, that my services come rather high.
Well...
It's only natural since there is only one...
The money makes no difference.
We have formed a group, a committee, and we have the command of an unlimited amount of
money.
Absolutely unlimited, you hear?
We will name people and places now.
Who is the gentleman whose appearance in Paris would cause such regrettable embarrassment?
His name is Caratel, Louis Caratel.
He knows everything.
He has papers, documents, all the evidence.
Yes, yes, I understand.
Where is this Monsieur Caratel at present?
Well, he's sailing from somewhere in Central America within the next two days.
That much we know.
Good, good.
Central America.
I have an excellent man down there in Central America.
This Caratel, you know anything about him personally, his personal habits?
Well, very little.
He's a small man, dark.
He has a bodyguard, a great big bruiser named Lopez Gomez or something like that.
Let me see, from Central America, that would be the Americano Tropicana.
Those are my ships.
You do.
The trips all commence at Liverpool, I believe.
That's where the ships dock and our famous trial is to begin in three weeks.
That would mean that Monsieur Caratel would go directly to London, and I imagine that
once there he would be heavily guarded, since it can be no surprise to him that you gentlemen
are not without connections in the British capital.
That's good, clean thinking.
See, this is not so simple as some of my other exploits, a simple assassination.
There's your ball, sir.
You're playing a Don Lapp 38, aren't you?
Yes, yes, to be sure, yes.
Quite.
As I said, a simple assassination, the usual clumsy job will not do here.
The documents might, after all we found, the bodyguard might survive somehow, and then
we have accomplished nothing, not so.
Are you going to play?
Yes, yes, of course, of course.
Topped it again, I'm afraid.
Shall we proceed?
I already have three plans in my head, gentlemen.
I have a plan for nailing him at the Central American port from which he embarks.
I have a plan for his disposal aboard the ship.
But in each of these cases, I, de Lerniaque, will be unable to be present, so there is
the chance of failure.
I will think of a third plan, gentlemen.
I shall sail immediately to Liverpool on my way there, sitting on the deck in the May
sunshine.
I shall conceive my third plan, it must be something special, something very special.
There I am.
Is this your famous water hazard?
Well, I think a number seven iron will do it.
And thus I undertook to bring about the complete destruction, or Monsieur Caratelli's bodyguard
companion Gomez and his documents.
Plan one was already out the window as I found out the next day.
De Lerniaque, White Sulphur Springs, Virginia.
Baby Lou, unable sleep last few nights, have sent him to visit Aunt Henriette.
Will rejoin him on 21st.
Love, Jenny.
This telegram from Matagalpa conveyed to me the information that Caratelli, possibly
sensing danger, had moved from his hotel and gone to stay with friends until his ship sailed.
So it was impossible to carry out the idea of the fire in the hotel.
His ship leaving on the 21st was the Henriette.
On my fourth day at sea, I heard from a...
De Lerniaque, Baron Carrier, ship to ship communication from Henriette, proper canine
line.
And at Grace, your box of chocolates.
Louise has given up candy for Lent.
Grace still wants us all together for 29th birthday party.
Will be really special.
Ralph.
This meant that poison had been given to Gomez, the bodyguard, in an effort to get him at
least out of the way.
He had been unable to succumb to it.
He'd thrown off the effects.
And it was evidenced by the report that we would all be together on the 29th.
Now Caratelli had refused to eat the food containing the poison.
So much for plan two, which was not worthy of me anyway since there was always the possibility
of the bodies being found in the ocean.
The man Gomez was carrying the documents in a dispatch case strapped to his wrist.
And I must tell you something now.
I was glad.
Glad, mind you, that we had failed so far.
For the plan I had conceived on the night I arrived in Liverpool was so magnificent.
So absolutely unprecedented in the annals of crime that I owed it to myself, to my employers,
and to history to carry through.
The inspiration came from the words in the code telegram which indicated that Caratelli
would arrive in London and hire a special trainer to convey him from Liverpool.
My British agent Mr Moore and I contrived to buy over several officials of the railway.
Now here begins the story.
First the division head who helped us employ James McPherson, whom we contrived to be the
conductor of any special train we designated.
Then further at a sum that would make them independent for life we bought over an engine
driver named Oswald Smith and the fireman John Slater.
These men we arranged with the division head would be assigned to whatever special train
was hired by Caratelli.
On the afternoon of June 3rd as I was sitting in my room at the inn at Barton Moss, the
call I had been awaiting came through.
It was McPherson reporting.
Hello Mr Delanyak, we shall be leaving in a few minutes.
He's hired the special.
Good.
Smith will be engine driver and Slater fireman and of course I'll be in charge.
What about Moore?
Will he be aboard?
Afraid not sir.
He gave them quite a story about having to reach his sick wife and all, but Caratelli
would have none of it.
You said though sir that it didn't matter.
It doesn't matter.
What time will you pass Kenyon Junction?
Let me see sir, if we leave the next few minutes we should be there at 5.10.
5.10.
It's a 49 minute run sir.
45 minutes.
I can make it, but delay all you can before you start.
Yes sir.
I guess it's all up to you from now on.
Best of luck sir.
Here they come sir.
Goodbye.
And now I went to work.
Everything had been prepared for days before and only the finishing touches were needed.
The side track just before Borton Moss leading to the abandoned Harty's mine had once joined
the main line, but it had been disconnected when the mine had been worked out some years
before.
We had only to replace a few rails to connect it once more.
With my small but competent band of workers we had everything ready well before the special
arrived.
When it did arrive it ran off upon the small sideline so easily that the jolting of the
switch points appears to have been entirely unnoticed by the two travellers.
So now I have our special train upon the small line which leads or rather used to lead to
the abandoned mine.
You will ask how it is that no one saw the train upon this unused line.
I answer that along its entire length it runs through a deep cutting and that unless someone
had been on the edge of that cutting he could not have seen it.
There was someone on the edge of that cutting.
I was there and now I will tell you what I saw.
The moment the train was fairly on the sideline Smith slowed down the engine and then having
turned it on full speed ahead he and McPherson was slated as the fireman sprang off before
it was too late.
It may be that it was this slowing down which first attracted the attention of the travellers
but the train was running at top speed before their heads appeared at the open window.
Makes me smile to think how bewildered they must have been.
What a catch must have come to their breath as it flashed upon them that it was not Manchester
that was awaiting them but death.
The train was now running at frantic speed rolling and rocking over the rotten rusty
line while the wheels made a frightful screaming sound on the corroded surface.
I was close to them and could see their faces.
Caratel was praying I think.
There was something like a rosary dangling out of his hand.
The other Gomez roared like a bull but was drowned out by the incredible noise of the
train.
He saw me standing on the bank when he realised he couldn't be heard.
He beckoned to me like a madman tearing at his wrist and hurling the dispatch box out
of the window in my direction.
Of course his meaning was obvious.
Here was the evidence that they would promise to be silent if their lives were spared.
It would have been very agreeable if it could have been done so but business is business.
Besides the train was now so much beyond our control as it was very much.
He ceased his howling and gesturing when the train rattled around the curve and they saw
the black mouth of the mine yawning before them.
They were struck silent by what they saw and yet they could not withdraw their heads.
The sight seemed to have paralysed them.
I had wondered how the train running at a great speed would take the pit and I was much
interested in watching it.
One of my colleagues who had joined me there thought it actually would jump it and indeed
it was not very far from doing so.
It leaped into the air and seemed to hang suspended for a moment.
The funnel flew off into the air and then the van, the car and the engine were all smashed
up into one jumble which choked the mouth of the great Brit and something gave way in
the middle and the whole mass of iron, coal fittings, wheels, woodwork and cushions crumbled
together and crashed into the mine.
It was perfect.
The deep muddy water standing in the bottom of the pit 200 feet below responded to the
intense heat of the engine boilers.
It hissed loudly and blew great bubbles of black mire into the air.
At the same time the walls of the pit loosened by the impact of the train as it struck the
opposite side, gave way and a mighty avalanche of rock and dirt thundered down upon the rapid
of the train as it settled to the low, pissing side and was covered forever by the mud and
mire, the vapor hanging in the air shredded off into thin small wisps and all was quiet
again in the hearty mine.
And now having carried out our plan so successfully it remained only to leave no trace behind
us.
A little band of workers at the other end had already ripped up the rails and disconnected
the sideline replacing everything as it had been before.
We were equally busy at the mine.
The lines which led to it were torn up and taken away then without flurry but without
delay.
We all made our way out of the country, most of us to Paris, my English agent to Manchester
and MacPherson to East Africa, a word in passing about MacPherson who was foolish enough to
write to his wife and tell her to meet him in Mozambique.
And naturally we took steps to ensure that this meeting would never come about.
I have sometimes thought it would be a kindness to write to Mrs. MacPherson and to assure
her that there is no impediment to her marrying again.
But of the loss special let the English papers of that date tell how thoroughly we had done
our work and how completely we had thrown the cleverest of their detectives off our
track.
You will remember that Gomez threw his bag of papers out of the window and I need not
say that I secured that bag and brought them to my employers.
It may interest my employers now however to learn that out of that bag I took one or two
little papers as a souvenir of that occasion.
I had no wish to read the information obtained by these papers but it is now, oh it's less
than a minute before my broadcast is over and I have received no word.
It is the final hour.
I see at the other end of the studio the engineer waving his hands at me that my time is almost
up.
Well I gave you warning you had your chance gentlemen.
Very well now I reveal your names and the first name I reveal is that of Charles Potter.
Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen they're trying murder.
I want you to hear these names quickly.
I know you will avenge me.
The names are.
Beams.
After him, there he goes.
Delania, Delania can you hear me are you all right?
Hey Bill play something quick will you?
Theme curtain music anything.
And so closes the last special by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle starring Orson Welles.
Tonight's tale of suspense.
This rebroadcast of suspense was produced in the United States of America.
Thank you.