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Salud.
For your health, senora.
Roma wines toast the world.
The wine for your table is Roma wine made in California for enjoyment throughout the
world.
This is the man in black here to introduce this weekly half hour of suspense.
Tonight from Hollywood, we again bring you Mr. Orson Welles in the second of two consecutive
performances starring Mr. Welles as the protagonist of Kurt Sjodmak's novel Donovan's Brain.
The producer of suspense and its sponsors, the Roma Wine Company of Fresno, California,
felt this story so unusual that it merited more than our usual time.
So in somewhat of a departure from established radio formulas, we are bringing you the story
of Donovan's Brain in two parts.
Part one you heard last Thursday and tonight you will hear part two, the completion of
Donovan's Brain.
But before we raise the curtain on our suspense play, let's for a moment wish ourselves a
way to Havana, Cuba, seated at a table in the fashionable Hotel de Nacional de Cuba.
Near us a group of Cubans are entertaining an American visitor.
Our American has just remarked that in point of great enjoyment, the Cuban Roomba is one
of America's most delightful imported dances.
And then raising his wine glass, the Cuban host responds, then we have perhaps discharged
some part of our debt to you Americans for this wonderful tasting wine that gives us
such great enjoyment.
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It is Roma Wine.
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So many millions made this discovery for themselves that Roma wines have long been America's largest
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But these millions discovered something more.
In Roma wines they discovered an easy and expensive way to increase the delights of
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So cost to you is only pennies a glass for R-O-M-A Roma Wines, made in California for
enjoyment throughout the world.
And now with part two of Donovan's Brain and with the performance of Orson Welles as Dr.
Patrick Corey, we again hope to keep you in suspense.
As I sit now outside my laboratory door writing under the heading Experiment 87, this final
entry in my case book, I know that these are the last words I shall ever write upon this
earth.
If I seek some explanation, I refer them simply to this case book.
Let them read it carefully.
Perhaps they may then in some measure understand if not condone the awful circumstances under
which I have been driven to the most appalling crime against God and nature that it has ever
been the fate of mortal man to perpetrate.
August 24th, it's now six weeks, exactly 42 days since I began the experiment.
For six weeks by artificial means alone, I have kept alive a human brain completely detached
from the body floating in a bath of serum nourished by a synthetic blood plasma fed
through its arteries by an electric pump.
It has remained alive, not only alive, but I have succeeded in communicating with it.
I've even induced new growth of brain cells and so tremendously increased its mental faculties
that by sheer brain power alone, it has actually been able to communicate its thoughts to me.
And each day my communion with that living pulsing mass of gray matter that was the brain
of William Donovan becomes stronger and stronger.
Even now I sense it's striving to reveal some plan to me, something so truly world-shaking
in its implications that only such an organism developed to a point thousands of years ahead
of its time could ever have conceived it.
So far I sense this only, but soon I shall know.
Indeed, I shall be partner in its execution.
Not a fool I was ever to have considered for a moment my wife's demand that I end the experiment.
It's because I refused, of course, that Janice left me a week ago without so much as a word
of explanation or farewell.
Even my son David and my assistant Shrater privy to this conspiracy to thwart me, for
when I ask about Janice, they pretend to know nothing.
They seek to avoid my questions.
But the brain will live.
Yes, I can hear it now.
Its delta waves quite audible over the amplifying system I've arranged for it, almost as though
it were calling to me, trying to speak to me.
The brain will live.
Donovan?
What is it?
What are you trying to tell me?
Go on, Donovan.
I'm listening.
Go on.
Who is it?
It's me, Patrick and David.
What do you want?
I've no time to talk.
I'm busy.
I'm sorry.
Go away.
I tell you, I'm busy.
Can't you two leave me alone?
All right.
What is it?
Patrick, won't you come into the study with us for a few minutes?
What have you got to say?
You say right here, you know I can't leave the laboratory.
Dad, it's only that what we wanted to talk to you in private.
Don't tell me that you're afraid of this poor mass of brain cells here.
It's not that, Dad.
Never mind, David.
At least turn that thing off then, will you, Patrick?
What difference would it make?
It's still here, couldn't it?
Well, what is it then?
Well, it's about Mother.
So she put you up to this, did she?
I thought the truth had come out sometime.
Dad, listen.
She's tried to stop this experiment from the beginning.
She thought she could blackmail me into quitting by leaving me, and she still does.
And now she's using you as a go-between.
That's true, isn't it?
I've heard enough.
I think listen a minute, won't you?
We haven't heard a word from Janice.
We don't even know where she is.
That's what we've come to talk to you about.
Oh, have you?
Well, how could I know where she is?
Well, because you were the last person seen with her, Dad.
I was.
Don't you remember, Patrick?
You took her into town with you.
You wouldn't tell any of us why.
Yes, of course, the more I've forgotten, but what of it?
Well, don't you remember what happened then?
Of course I remember.
She left me, that's all.
Where, Dad?
Where did she leave you?
What were you doing?
I don't know.
We were in some big public building, city hall, courthouse, taxis or something.
Next thing I knew, she'd simply disappeared.
Is that all?
Didn't she say anything?
Didn't she at least tell you why she was going?
I remember what she said.
It's been a week or more.
I've hardly slept.
You know, I've been working night and day.
Yes, that's just it, Patrick.
What do you mean by that?
Patrick, you say this.
The brain communicates with you, tells you things about its past life, suggests thoughts.
Yes, yes.
Well, if the brain can make you think of things, might it also be able to make you
forget things?
You're out of your mind.
Dad, are you sure?
Are you sure you don't know what's happened to Mother?
Now I tell you, no, I don't know.
But Patrick, don't you see what you might have done?
What?
Heaven's name stopped now while there's still time.
Get out of here.
While there's still time to help Janice, if there is, while there's still time to help
yourself.
Shut off the current.
Get out.
Let the brain die.
Kill it, Patrick.
Kill it.
Get out, both of you.
Get out.
August 26th, 1929.
August 26th, the brain continues to communicate thought fragments more and more easily, but
nothing further on what I've come to think of as the plan.
I'm now sleeping a great deal, but my dreams are becoming increasingly troublesome, although
I'm at a loss to analyze them, most frequent as a sort of vast cosmic ballet presided over
by the colossal figure of a young man whom I seem to recognize, yet I never, never see
his face.
It's as though the entire population of the Earth were moving past him in review at his
command.
Sure, sure, sure, sure.
Now.
Do it now.
Now.
Sure, sure, now.
Help me, someone!
Shut up!
Shut up, Janice!
David!
Head to death.
Never mind, I hear.
Help me with Shradd.
He's fainted.
No, no, David.
Don't let him.
It's all right now.
Here's a glass of water.
It's the matter you're trembling all over.
I...
You're looking at me that way for you.
Look how frightened after death.
Dad, you...
What happened here anyway?
I came and found you on the floor with your hands around your own throat.
Damn men for me.
Why is your luggage all packed?
I was going to leave.
Leave?
In the middle of the night?
Why?
Because...
The fuse box has been opened.
You're going to shut off the current.
You are going to kill the brain.
Patrick, you tried to strangle me.
What?
That's true, Dad.
That's why I had to slap you.
That's absurd.
I came in here and found Shradd with his hands around his own throat.
He was strangling himself.
Dad, please, think a minute.
Nobody can strangle himself.
Look at these marks on my throat.
Do you think I could have done that?
It's not possible, and yet...
It's true, Patrick, that I tried to shut off the current.
I was afraid for you.
But as I opened the fuse box, I heard the delta waves in the laboratory suddenly become
stronger and louder than they'd ever been before.
And then...
Then...
Then I...
Yes.
Then the brain knew...
You even spoke in Donovan's voice, Patrick.
Donovan's voice, his voice.
That recurring phrase of his.
Sure, sure, sure.
In his very tones, his very accents.
You've created a monster, Patrick.
It has the power to make me commit murder.
The brain... the brain must die.
Pull the switch in the fuse box, Patrick.
It will only be a matter of seconds and then...
Yes, I... I... but I... but I...
You've got to, Patrick.
Shrot, David, help me.
I can't move.
Come with me.
Pull the switch, honey.
Shrot, David, go on.
You... you too?
It's paralyzed dispens.
The brain won't let itself be killed.
Then... then it has the power to live on.
And on.
To command us as long as we live.
To make us do anything it wants.
To kill. Murder.
Dad, what are we going to do?
Listen.
The brain...
It's... it's... laughing.
Laughing.
September 7th.
Shrot has left.
He had to, of course, for his own protection, if nothing else.
Before he left, he swore to eternal secrecy,
and was going to try to find Janice.
The very thought that any harm might come to her through me
is enough to drive me almost mad.
As for David, although he's strong enough
to prevent any untoward accidents,
I don't know, he's volunteered to stay with me.
He'll sleep at night behind locked doors.
We must devote every faculty we possess together
and independently to finding a way of destroying the brain.
Perhaps while it sleeps.
Although it seems to have developed tremendous powers
in the subconscious, which operate even in sleep.
The recurring dream, the now oppressive sense
of some further task to be performed, continues.
If Janice were only here, even her presence, I know,
would help immeasurably to combat this fearful thing.
Terrible thought crosses my mind.
Could Trotter have left if the brain had not,
for some reasons of its own, actually wanted him to leave?
BAND PLAYS
September 10th.
My thoughts are less and less my own.
The dream of the young giant bestriding the earth,
the figure without a face, pursues me now,
even in my waking hours.
Increasingly, I seem to live in a world of evil fantasy,
peopled and controlled by the mind of William Donnellan.
BAND PLAYS
SIRENS
Sure, sure, sure.
It's not much time, but time enough.
Time enough.
Sure, sure, sure.
Time enough.
Sure, sure.
Hello? Who is it?
Patrick?
Janice! My darling. Janice.
Hello, Patrick.
Sweetheart. How are you, Patrick?
I'm well enough, I'm well enough, but Janice, where have you been?
Why did you leave me that day? Why didn't you at least tell me?
Where did you go down here?
I was with friends.
Did Sraat tell you anything?
No, nothing special.
Janice, I know I haven't been a very good husband these last months.
I haven't been very kind, very considerate or even civilised.
I haven't been myself, Janice.
I know, Patrick. My poor darling.
If you'd only known how I missed you after you left, how I needed you.
I need your help, Janice. Terribly.
I came back to help you.
But... But what?
Where is David?
He's asleep in the next room.
That is, lately he's tried to make it a point to sleep only when I didn't.
I'm trying to keep an eye on things.
Patrick, I'm going to help you.
All I can, any way I can.
But first, I want to take David away.
David? Why?
Because I don't think it's good for him to be here.
No?
I don't think that you...
Patrick, I don't want to torment you.
It's only that perhaps we can find a way if we know all the facts.
What, Janice?
Don't you know, really, where I was?
No, how could I?
Don't you remember where you took me?
I took you...
You took me to a psychiatric clinic.
You had me committed to a madhouse.
Janice!
No, not you, Donovan!
Donovan.
It was because I tried to make you stop the experiment.
Yes.
Kill the brain.
As you left me there, you even spoke in Donovan's voice.
Sure, sure, sure, you said.
Sure, sure.
I thought they were the last words I would ever hear you speak.
No, Janice, forgive me.
Forgive me, baby.
I couldn't persuade anyone.
I was sane.
Oh, sweet.
After what you told them.
Everything I said only made them think I was mad.
I'm not mad, am I, Patrick?
I'm not mad, am I?
Janice will be gone for some three hours.
I've sent her into town for Dr. Zanger, the psychiatrist.
Maybe he can help, but now suddenly I'm...
I'm...
I'm overcome with the thought of the humiliation I shall have to suffer
when other medical men begin to suffer.
I'm...
I'm overcome with the thought of the humiliation I shall have to suffer
when other medical men become aware of the position I'm in.
It'll be the end of my career and my reputation, all my hopes.
It would be folly to think that Zanger would keep it to himself, indeed.
He'd have no right to.
I can bear it if I must, but another way of possibility occurs to me.
And I've been thinking it over.
There's no harm in trying it in any event.
I must try.
I have three hours.
David? David?
Yes, Dad?
David, what's your blood type? Do you know your blood type?
As a matter of fact, I don't think I do. Why?
No matter. We can easily find out.
David, I think at last I know a way.
To kill the brain?
It's simple. It's perfectly natural.
Only at nine chances out of ten is something Donovan had never known about.
I'll do it myself. Unfortunately, my blood type and his are...
They're the same.
Of course, I have to replenish the blood substance periodically.
Anyway, it's about time to do it again.
I've always used my own because it was the same type as his,
but if yours is a different type, the right type, David.
You mean the wrong type?
Yes, you've given the wrong... The brain...
The brain will die given the wrong type.
Yeah, it sounds possible.
I'm sure of that. I know it.
But suppose the brain knows...
It knows other things.
I've thought of that. It's a chance we'll have to take if you're willing, David, my boy.
Of course I am, Dad.
Then we'll take the blood sample now. Come into the laboratory.
I only have the right blood type.
Sure.
Rather the wrong type.
If you haven't, we'll find someone who has, maybe...
Maybe Schrad.
Now, lie down there on the table, David.
We want to turn a care in your arm here.
I'll put it on.
Go ahead. I'm ready.
David, don't watch me. It'll be easier if you don't.
For me.
That's a funny one. Coming from you.
Well, doctors are never quite as steady with members of their own family, you know. Ready?
Sure.
Here we are.
You all right?
Yeah.
I'll be through in just a second.
You're getting it? All right?
Yes. Sure. Sure.
Just a second now.
Dad, I... I'm sleepy.
You'll be over it in a minute.
But... what's the matter?
Why am I so... sleepy?
You'll be all right.
Sleepy...
So...
Sleepy...
Sure. Sure. Sure.
That's what an anesthetic is for.
Make you sleep.
I was somewhat surprised to find the instruments sterilized already laid out,
but I worked more rapidly and skillfully than ever before in my life, I think.
I made an incision just below the hairline, laying back the scalp as far as the base of the skull.
I trepan the cranium at two centimeter intervals,
working back and downwards to the upper edge of the occipital bone.
With the G. Lee saw, I cut through the connecting bone structure
and removed the entire top of the cranium,
placing it in saline solution to preserve it.
I made a semi-circular incision in the dura mater,
laying it to one side, exposing the brain.
As I dissected out the facial auditory and pneumogastric nerves to free the medulla amrigata,
I... I...
I became conscious of an insistent clamoring,
something like a mounting hysteria in the distant regions of my mind.
Almost as strong as the irresistible compulsion that drove me on.
But my hand did not falter.
With a sure stroke, I severed the spinal cord just below the first cervical nerve.
MUSIC
As I make this last entry with that awful guilt for my soul,
even now I cannot fully comprehend how it has been possible for any man,
by mortal or immortal means, to be driven to such a crime.
Even the divinity himself did not demand of Abraham that final sacrifice of expiation.
When he, with his only begotten son, ascended the Mount of Olives...
Hm. Perhaps Schrot is right.
Perhaps there is indeed in man some spark of the divine that will elude our test tubes and our laboratories
until the end of time.
Perhaps that is the one thing that even Donovan did not foresee.
I only know that at the instant my son died under my own hand, I was set free.
At that instant, I saw and understood for the first time that monstrous plan
born in the brain of William Donovan, of which I was to be the instrument.
It was the plan I had glimpsed but never grasped in the recurring dream.
Donovan did aspire to the domination of the world.
And with those tremendous mental faculties that I myself had given him,
it was literally within his power to become the absolute ruler of all mankind.
Only one thing was lacking, a body, a body, a young strong body into which those ever-growing brain cells
could graft and affix themselves to live on and on perhaps for centuries.
He chose the body of my son and now, my son, at last too late,
I am free to destroy this foul thing of my creation.
I know it as surely as I know that my own life must be forfeit.
And the brain also knows.
I can hear the disturbed, erratic oscillations of the delta waves coming through the laboratory door.
But there's no room left in me now for fear.
I shall take the six steps from the desk where I'm writing this across to the laboratory door.
And how often I've taken them in happier times.
I shall open the door, close it behind me for the last time,
and write finesse to the mortal life of Patrick Arthur Corey and the brain of William Horace Donovan.
Me others learn from the record I leave here the lessons I have learned so bitterly and profit by them.
And all the things that I have done, may God have mercy on my soul.
Phoenix, Arizona, September the 15th.
The stories of Dr. Patrick Arthur Corey and his son David were found in Dr. Corey's own laboratory early today.
Young Corey had apparently died on the operating table as a result of a delicate brain operation performed by his father.
In the case of Dr. Corey, medical authorities gave us their opinion that he might have died of shock as a result of the unsuccessful operation on his son.
A curious feature of the case was the fact that numerous pieces of tissue identified as being from a human brain were found scattered about the laboratory floor,
while a larger section of brain was found in the midst of an elaborate apparatus, evidently part of a scientific experiment.
Medical authorities stated, however, that they were unable to explain the nature of the apparatus,
and that the brain itself was in such a state of decomposition as to indicate that it had been dead and slowly decaying for at least three months.
Dr. Corey is survived by his wife Janice. She was committed to the county asylum for the insane late this afternoon.
The burial of Dr. Corey will be at the Mount of Olives Cemetery.
And so closes Donovan's Brain, Part Two, the completion of two half-hour presentations of Kurt's Yod Mac story presenting Orson Welles, a star of Suspense.
Suspense is produced and directed by William Spear.
Did you know that these Roma wine suspense dramas are setting a record for the millions of delighted listeners they are attracting?
We want you to feel that by tuning in the suspense program every week, you can count on real radio enjoyment.
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Mrs. Orson-Wells, next week Mr. William Spear tells me, and he'd like me to pass the information on to you,
that suspense will bring two exceptionally fine artists, Miss Ida Lupino and Mr. Vincent Price,
in a play by one of radio's outstanding authors, Lucille Fletcher.
I want to hear that, and I know you will too.
Money invested in war bonds now helps ensure a healthy, prosperous post-war America,
the kind of America we will want for our children as well as ourselves.
Don't forget then, next Thursday you will hear Ida Lupino and Vincent Price in Suspense!
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