Now, the Roma Wine Company of Fresno, California presents...
Suspense!
Tonight, Roma Wines bring you the suspenseful play called
My Own Murderer, starring Mr. Herbert Marshall.
Suspense is presented for your enjoyment by Roma Wines.
That's R-O-M-A, Roma Wines.
Those excellent California wines that can add so much
pleasantness to the way you live, to your happiness and
entertaining guests, to your enjoyment of everyday meals.
Yes, right now a glass full would be very pleasant,
as Roma Wines bring you a remarkable tale of suspense.
And with the drama called My Own Murderer,
and with the performance of Mr. Herbert Marshall,
Roma Wines hope indeed to keep you in...
Suspense!
I was never really much attracted by Alan Renick,
even before he murdered Baines.
It had been a raw March day, and I returned home at about
half past eleven in the evening to find Alan Renick
waiting at my doorstep.
Hello, Dick.
Alan, what on earth are you doing here?
It's a long story, old boy.
Aren't you going to ask me, you know, is it your habit
to keep people waiting on your threshold?
Well, give me a chance.
After you.
I say, this is cozy.
Yeah, just about right for a bachelor who never entertains.
I dare say it wouldn't do for you at all.
I wouldn't be too sure of that.
Just one bedroom.
There's a spare, but I've never used it.
Not very hospitable, are you, old trout?
I've never had it in the occasion to be.
Well, you have now.
What's on your mind, Alan?
I'm coming to that.
Remember Baines, my butler and valet?
Wage there?
Well, Baines turned out a bad penny,
tried to blackmail me, as a matter of fact.
Blackmail?
Yes, he got hold of some letters written to me by a lady.
A married lady.
You dig?
You guessed it.
Since you're my legal advisor,
you may as well know the whole story.
They were from Anita Kilner.
So you bolted, warned her, and put the police on him.
The police?
No, I couldn't afford to do that.
One couldn't very well produce Anita's letter.
And you paid Baines the blackmail he wanted?
Certainly not.
Then what?
I'm afraid I lost my temper.
Oh, good Lord, you don't mean to say there was violence?
Of course there was.
You don't think I could let a reptile like that go on living?
Let me get this straight.
You're trying to tell me that you...
I beat his brains out with a poker.
You murdered him?
I suppose that's what the police will call it.
It happened this afternoon around 3 o'clock, I think.
If I'd only known sooner.
Probably too late now to fix up an alibi for you.
You'll think up something, won't you, Dick?
You always do when I'm in a jam.
And in the meantime, I can hide out here, can't I?
What possible good will that do?
They'll track you down here sooner or later, and then we'll both be in the soup.
No, Alan, you'd better get yourself up.
Then I'll see what can be done about getting you off.
First we can mess you up a bit and plead self-defense.
Is that the best your devious legal mind can dream up?
At the moment, yes, I'm a little tired.
Well, I'm not going to cooperate.
I'm going to stay right here till you figure out a way to get me clear of this.
Alan, be reasonable. For your own good, give yourself up.
Is it my own good you're thinking of?
Or is it because you're afraid you'll be caught harboring a criminal
and lose your filthy law practice?
Yes, I will, Dick.
What are you doing?
Telephoning the police.
Put that phone down.
It's best this way. Believe me, Alan.
I've already committed one murder this evening.
I've nothing to lose by committing another.
Aye.
Sorry, wrong number.
You're really afraid of me, aren't you?
Now, perhaps. Tomorrow I could turn you in with no risk whatsoever.
But I don't think I will.
There's a good fellow.
I'll let you stay here, Alan.
I'll save your neck for you, too.
Why, this sudden change of heart.
You've always thought me rather a worm, haven't you, Alan?
Oh, I say, Dicko.
You were the dashing man about town.
Your estepades and your law of the extravagance
and your women running after you.
I was just a dull fellow trapped in a musty law office.
Now your very life depends on me.
I suppose that's why the situation appeals to me.
It's an adventure, if you like.
Well, I don't.
I dare say not.
It won't be pleasant for you cooped up in this little flat
with no one but me to talk to.
Well, after all, it's only temporary.
You may not like some aspects of it, even for a little while.
You'll have to do your own laundry, of course.
I say.
Checking laundry is a favorite police trick.
And no lights will be turned on in the flat when I'm not at home.
You mean I've got to sit here in the dark?
You can go into the kitchen or the bathroom.
There are no outside windows in those rooms.
Oh, and, um, talking of the kitchen,
I think you ought to have your meals there, even when I'm in.
You will serve me in the dining room.
Look here, do you think I'm your servant or what?
As a matter of fact, it's only fair you should be,
since I can't hire any help so long as you're here.
Wouldn't it be simpler and more matey if we both did?
I'm not used to dining in the kitchen.
Neither am I.
Then the sooner you practice, the better.
The future's not going to be so simple for you as the past has been, Alan.
But after all, you're very lucky to have a future at all.
Eh?
Well, Dick, whatever it is, one thing is certain.
I'll have you to thank for it.
But I warn you, Dick, if I do hang,
it won't be only for Bane's murder, but for yours as well.
For suspense, Roma Wines are bringing you as star Mr. Herbert Marshall,
as Richard Sampson, with Norman Lloyd as Alan Reinick,
in My Own Murderer by Richard Hull,
which is Roma Wines presentation tonight of Suspense.
Between the acts of suspense, this is Truman Bradley for Roma Wines.
Mention the name Elsa Maxwell, and you picture a famous hostess.
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And now it is with pleasure that we welcome back to our Hollywood sound stage
Mr. Herbert Marshall, who as Richard Sampson in My Own Murderer
continues a narrative well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Should Alan Winnick prove to be my own murderer, as well as Baines's,
this document will serve as his death warrant.
If not, then I should make good use of it anyhow.
This then is what I decided to do.
I was to keep Alan Winnick and hide him where he was, in my flat.
I had a plan for effecting his escape,
but it was more than a month before I had an opportunity to start it in motion.
He came quite unexpectedly on the course of my almost daily visits to the Old Bailey.
An insurance case preceded mine on the court docket,
and I was forced to wait while a revolting red-headed doctor rambled on with his testimony.
That red hair of his really fascinated me,
but not as much as his medical bag which lay on the bench before me.
But when he stepped down from the box, I was already on my way out of the courtroom.
Hey, hey, stop that man. He's stolen my bag.
What's this? What's this? What's the trouble, doctor?
That man, the one with the tallish-out glasses, he's made off with my kit.
What did you say he took?
A black leather bag, you know the type, with my name on it.
I'm afraid he's lost in the crowd by this time, sir.
But if your name's on it, could you identify him if you saw him again?
Well, of course I could.
He had on tallish-out glasses, and he had a bad mastoid scar just under his right ear.
All the time he was talking to the policeman, I was standing not more than five paces away,
lost among the curious crowd that had collected about them.
I left the room with the crowd and held a cab.
When I'd taken what I needed from his bag, I threw it with its remaining contents into the ever-useful Regents' canal.
Its owner's name stamped on the outer side of it was as revolting as his red hair.
Jeremiah Bloggins.
Now my plans for Alan's escape swung into motion.
Our chief accomplice was a woman friend of Alan's named Margaret Farley, whom I knew to be the most intelligent of his acquaintances.
Hello, Dick. Where's Alan?
All right, Alan, you can come out now.
Well, it's high time.
Hello, Margaret.
Alan. Oh, Alan, my poor, poor darling.
Long time no see. But you're still the prettiest girl in the world.
Look, I'm sorry to interrupt this touching little scene, but there's not too much time.
Shall we discuss our plan?
Yes, of course.
Well, in essence, this is it.
Alan's going to die.
What do you mean by that?
I say, isn't that rather extreme?
Not literally, of course. The point is to arrange a bogus death of some sort.
To get you declared legally dead, and then you'll assume another identity.
That has possibilities. Well, what about the body?
Well, I'm afraid I'm crossed back on the old expedient of the suicide note.
The clothes left on the riverbank and the body that's never recovered.
Later, you're declared legally dead. It's a very old plan.
And rather unlikely to deceive the police for that reason, don't you think, old boy?
Or we'll admit later on, if necessary, that it was a put-up job.
What's the good of that?
Don't you see? If the police ask too many questions, Miss Farley here will admit being a party to a bogus suicide.
But stick to her story that you were really drowned by misadventure while trying to carry out your plan.
I think it has possibilities, Alan.
Where is this hellish swamp that I'm supposed to swim?
Well, I've been studying maps of the English coastline.
We should choose the mouth of a river, but the tidal currents are strong enough to sweep the body out to sea.
Not too broad a channel, so that it can be easily swum when the tide's at low ebb.
And not too near to town or village, so there'll be no unwanted witnesses.
So I grow a beard, swim the river, put on different clothes, and become Jeremiah Bloggins or somebody for the rest of my life.
Huh? How did you happen to mention that name?
Jeremiah Bloggins. Why not? Good a name as any. Don't you think so, Margaret?
I don't think this is quite the time for facetiousness, Alan.
Well, all right. So I become Jeremiah Bloggins. That's better than hanging.
But what will Jeremiah Bloggins do for money?
Well, you could make out a will in favor of Margaret here or whomever you have in mind.
Oh, I suppose I could have been on you to make things stick legally.
Well, I'm putting myself in a position where you could easily blackmail me if I didn't.
He has a point there, Alan.
Now, we'll need another Confederate. Somebody to look after you when you get to the other shore.
You could leave a car there, of course, but the effect of the cold water...
Well, I think it's safer to have somebody waiting for you on the other side.
Who will it be?
That actress friend of Alan's, Anita Kilmer.
That woman? Well, how can you suggest such a thing?
Now, Margaret, it's true that Anita's a fool and rather a tiresome one.
I don't know whether Dick told you, but her letters got me into this mess.
Baines was trying to blackmail me for them, and that's why I killed him.
But it's right. I need someone, and I can trust Anita because of those letters, if for no other reason.
Heavens, what a scheme. Everybody's in a position to blackmail everybody else.
Yes, that had already occurred to me.
That's exactly why this plan can't possibly fail.
The river mouth we finally hit upon was near Muteford.
It was Margaret Fowley's choice, and it was a good one.
Still, I was afraid to trust everything to her.
So I decided to drive Alan down there and to leave him as soon as I saw him safely in the water.
Margaret Fowley was to meet us there, and Anita would be waiting on the other bank.
It was at times a revolting journey down to Muteford that night.
The trouble with you, Dick, is that you like managing people.
Mark my words, one day I shall be a free man again, and then I shall try and repay you for some of the things you've made me put up with.
Cleaning up after you, making me say yes, Dick. Certainly, Dick. Of course. Dick.
I was quite used to point out to you that what I did was not only for your own good, but absolutely necessary.
Incidentally, I shouldn't be smoking quite so much if I were you.
I'd like to do some swimming tonight, remember? You're hopelessly out of condition.
How I should like to give you just one on the job?
Just one? Seven is your usual number, isn't it? Isn't that what it took to kill Baines?
You are an utterable swine. If you weren't driving the car, I'd give you something to remember me by.
I shan't forget you easily as it is.
Oh, forget what I said. I'm all on edge. It's a devil of a cold night, too.
Did you bring that black coffee I asked you to? Where's the thermos?
There on the back seat. Help yourself.
Thanks.
Filthy coffee. I should have made it myself.
Better save a little for just before you go into the water.
Well, Margaret's bouncer brought some, too. I'll just finish this off.
Oh, bad as it tastes, it's making me feel a lot better.
I thought you'd never come. Oh, Alan, you poor boy. We would pick the coldest night in the year.
Nonsense. I feel marvelous, marvelous.
Well, I brought you some hot coffee. It's here in this thermos.
I'll just put it in before I dive in. Will, come along. Let's get going.
I wish he wouldn't rush things so. He'll wear himself out before he gets in the water.
If I know Alan, he's whistling past the cemetery. Hope he doesn't lose his nerve at the last moment.
If he does...
You mustn't imply things like that about Alan. Besides, I don't know that I could bring myself actually to push him.
You must. You know what he is, and tonight he's especially difficult.
All right. I'll do whatever seems necessary.
I don't know what's come over me. I feel positively numb.
Really, it's much too cold. Haven't we better try another night?
Now, Alan...
I can't, Margaret. I'm afraid it's too cold.
Here. Here's the thermos.
Here, drink this, darling. It'll warm you up.
Oh, filthy stuff.
Go on. Drink it up.
There. I feel terrible. I've never been so cold in my life.
Now, go on, Alan. Be brave. You were always that.
No. Now, look, darling. Really. No, don't. I... No, don't. Please, don't.
No.
Yes?
Mr. Sampson?
Yes?
It's Anita.
Oh, yes?
I'm calling from the inn near Muteford.
I waited all night, but Alan never showed up.
Are you sure you waited at the right spot?
Of course I did. Do you think he didn't get a cross?
I don't see why not. It was even narrower than I expected.
I could have swum it myself.
Now, look, you'd better go on home and act as if you hadn't been away.
And don't telephone me again. I'll let you know the moment I hear from him.
Day followed day with no word from Alan.
I had no alternative but to assume that he had drowned there in the estuary that night.
The body had not been found, but then we had deliberately chosen a place
where the tides could be alleged to have carried it out to sea.
The uncertainty was a little distressing.
I had not forgotten his threat to come back and even score with me once he'd got free.
And tonight came an unpleasant little scene which is not to help my frame of mind.
It began with Anita.
I know you're angry at me for coming here, Mr. Sampson,
but I've simply got to talk to someone.
You ought not to have come down here. It isn't safe.
Safe? You're a nice one to talk about safety.
You think Alan's safe now?
I don't know.
I don't believe you care.
He trusted you, and you've let him down.
How widely he ever trusts himself to a brute like you.
You and your plans and your cleverness.
Where are they all now?
And you sit back and tend it with what you've done.
Why don't you interrupt your panegerec for a moment, Anita? I'd better answer that.
You listen to me first.
Oh, well, I shall see about that.
Well, seems to be a gathering of the clan.
Oh, it's you, Mrs. Farley. Well, I want to talk to you too.
So you missed him.
He didn't come.
I did my part. Did you do yours?
Well, I did my best, but I don't know.
I ought never to have let him go, considering how cold and miserable he was.
I ought to have stopped him.
And why didn't you?
Because you had a preconceived idea put into your head by this conniving group of an attorney.
He planned it all, and now he isn't going to turn a hand to find Alan and help him if he needs it,
because it might jeopardize his filthy little law practice.
Well, I'm going to do something about it.
I'm going to the police and tell them the whole story.
Has it occurred to you that the police can't possibly help anyone in this case
and may possibly harm all three of us?
And if Alan is alive, you will inevitably do him harm.
Yes. Yes, he's right. I pushed him in. I pushed him in.
Don't be morbid. You did what you could with excellent intentions.
Are you going to clear your conscience by getting two other people into trouble? Are you, Anita?
I confess I'm not too keen on helping Margaret to be a martyr for Alan.
How dare you! It was you and your hysterical letters that got Alan into this mess.
And wouldn't it be ironic if they ended up by being published anyway?
That would be a fine tribute to Alan's sacrifice, especially if he is dead and gone.
What are you driving at?
I have those letters. I'm not going to demand a price for them like veins, but at the same time...
You dirty blackmailer.
I am merely forcing you to do something for your own good.
Just like giving a patient morphia to prevent him doing an injury to himself.
Morphia?
What figure of speech, but I think you understand what I mean.
Morphia.
After the women had gone, I thought over the conversation, particularly that part of it in which
Margaret Farley repeated the word morphia. I think she knows.
But even if Alan's body is recovered and they find what he really died of,
they can never make an accusation. They have to prove possession of the morphia.
And no one in the world can do that.
I meant to call Anita Kilner and sound her out, but I find that I don't even know her married name.
Not that it matters, considering what went on with Alan behind her husband's back.
In any case, I can depend on her letters to keep her mouth shut.
On reading this over, I find that in my marshalling of the facts in this case,
I have omitted one possibility. Far-fetched it's true, but there is one person whom I should set about finding
if I were acting for the crown in this case.
I refer to that abominable, truculent, redheaded doctor with a ridiculous name.
Yes, Mr. Sampson.
I'm leaving the office for the day, Chatsworth. Will you put these files in my briefcase?
Oh, yes, sir.
And will you please get out Renwick's file? His will goes into probate tomorrow,
and I want to study it at home tonight.
Very well, sir. By the way, that gentleman is still waiting in the outer office.
What gentleman?
Oh, I must have forgotten to tell you. He came in with a lady just a moment ago. Dr. Bloggins.
Bloggins?
Jeremiah Bloggins.
Peculiar name, isn't it? Beg pardon if it's a friend of yours, sir.
No, no, not especially. You see I was in?
Yes, I'm afraid I did.
Chatsworth, if you ever become a solicitor, be sure your office has two entrances.
Shall I send him away, sir?
Jeremiah Bloggins.
I dare say he'd be unpleasantly persistent. Better let him come in.
Yes, sir. Will you be needing me, Mr. Sampson?
Yes, you'd better sit down. I want you to take down a statement.
Yes, sir.
Won't you come in, please?
Thank you. Hello, Mr. Sampson. I want you to meet...
Dr. Bloggins. Yes, we've met before.
Oh, strange you should have been the one to bring this about, Anita.
I always thought Margaret Farley the cleverer one. Or should I speak so frankly?
Dr. Bloggins knows everything, Mr. Sampson.
Yes, I know. But just for the record, are you ready to take down that statement, Chatsworth?
Yes, Mr. Sampson.
Very well. I murdered Alan Rennick.
Well, just a moment, Mr. Sampson.
Please don't interrupt. Yes, I murdered him. And why not? He was a killer.
He forced himself on me and turned himself into my private property.
He might indeed be called my own murderer.
My motive? Well, perhaps one day the world will learn that the strongest compulsion to murder is hatred.
I hated Alan Rennick. And I planned his murder brilliantly.
I'd counted on the sea, holding Rennick long enough for the traces of Morpheus to have gone.
I very can't be responsible for the treachery of the elements.
Only one man had the evidence to convict me.
And the odds against his being found and brought face to face with me were so slight that I'd risk it again.
I'm not sorry I killed him.
Even now I'm able to say that it's been a great adventure, requiring courage and daring beyond Rennick's wildest imagination.
I have proved which of us was the better man.
You have all that, Chatsworth?
Yes, sir.
Oh, add this note at the bottom.
In view of the customary bumbling and obtusiveness of the Crown Prosecutor, it'll probably be necessary to state that his case will be greatly facilitated by calling as his first witness Dr. Jeremiah Bloggins.
Oh, look here, perhaps I'm obtuse, but why on earth are you trying to involve me in your beastly murder?
Huh? Ha ha. Ha ha. What do you say? Do you mean to say you don't recognize me?
Why, no, why should I? Anita, why did you bring this man here?
I thought you knew. He's my husband.
After Alan's body was found, I decided to tell him everything. We simply came here to get the letters.
And, and you don't even remember me? Ha ha ha. When your bag was stolen while you were testifying at the Old Bailey.
Well, so you're the blighter who did that. Good heavens. That's where you got the morphia. Out of my bag.
Yes. I suppose I could get you with accessory after the fact, but that would only confuse the Crown Prosecutor.
Well, on the whole, I'm rather glad it worked out this way.
After all, as Nanky Poo says in the micado, there's much to be said for the advantage of having it done by the public executioner.
And so closes my own murderer, in which Roma Wines have brought you as star Herbert Marshall with Norman Lloyd in tonight's study in Suspense.
Suspense is produced, edited, and directed by William Spear.
Before Mr. Marshall returns to the microphone, let me say a word for Roma Wines, the sponsor of Suspense.
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This is Herbert Marshall.
It's been a great pleasure as always to make an appearance on Suspense, a show which is such a very great favorite with all of us.
Mr. Spear has just been telling me about next Thursday's broadcast and it sounds like one of the very finest of the year.
It's a probably wonderful story by W.F. Harvey, August Heat.
And in it as your star will be Ronald Coleman.
Now if you'll permit me a most important word.
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We're on our way to Tokyo.
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Your dollars.
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Get extra bonds, big ones, during the mighty seventh.
Next Thursday, same time, Mr. Ronald Coleman will be your star of Suspense.
Presented by Roma Wines, R-O-M-A.
Made in California for enjoyment throughout the world.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.