Suspense.
Tonight's Suspense brings you an all-star cast of Hollywood's finest radio players,
in 100 In The Dark.
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This is Shenley's Cresta Blanca Wine Company, Livermore, California.
And now Shenley brings you Radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Presented by Roma Wines, that's R-O-M-A. Roma Wines, for your enjoyment.
Tonight, Roma Wines of Fresno, California, presents 100 In The Dark, a study in suspense,
produced, edited, and directed for Shenley by William Spear.
Oh, that was a fine meal indeed.
Me for the club any time.
Yeah, you can all sit here, Queenie.
Oh, yes, yes.
If you'll just draw up that chair for Mr. Peters.
There you are, Peters.
Thank you.
You all know Peters?
Oh, this is Mr. Steingarl.
How do you do?
Glad to know you.
Mr. DeGaulia.
I believe we've met.
Yes, how are you?
You know each other.
And the one who drew up your chair, Mr. Rankin.
How's the chair?
Well, I guess we're all acquainted.
Now, to get back to our table discussion.
Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes.
Oh, how about some coffee?
All of us, eh?
Oh, fine.
Oh, John, John.
Well, now, Steingarl, as I said, there are only half a dozen stories in the world.
What is more to the point, there's every...
Yes, sir?
Yeah.
Oh, yes, yes, coffee, John.
Anything else, anybody?
No, not for me.
I don't think I care.
Yes, sir.
Now, where was I?
Oh, yes.
Well, human relations are so simple and yet so fundamental that they can be eternally
played upon, redressed and reinterpreted in every language, in every age.
They remain inexhaustible in the possibility of variations.
Well, that's true, of course.
Yeah, well, that's very possible.
Fair now.
But you...
Take the eternal triangle, two men and a woman or two women and a man.
Its variations extend into the thousand.
That right, Rankin?
Well, in a way, yes.
But...
Oh, yes, coffee.
Yes, yes, set them right down here.
I'm afraid we can't see eye to eye, Quinny.
Now, I believe there are situations, original situations, that are independent of your human
emotions.
They exist just because they are situations, accidental and nothing else.
Now, as for instance...
Well, I...
I've sighted just an ordinary one that happens to come to my mind.
Well?
Now, you're taking in a group of five men, such as we are here.
A theft takes place.
One man is the thief.
Which one?
Now, I'd like to know what emotion that interprets.
And yet, it certainly is an original theme.
It's at the bottom of the whole literature.
No, no, no.
Detective story.
I can answer that the situation you give can be traced back to the commonest of human emotions,
curiosity.
I think we have to do that, Rankin.
Yes.
Why, the whole art of a detective story consists of the statement of the problem.
Why, anyone can do it.
I can do it.
Steingalt can do it.
Rankin, I believe even you can do it.
Yes, thank you.
The solution doesn't count.
It's usually banal.
It should be prohibited.
What interests us is, can we guess it?
Yes, I suppose that's true.
Now, every crime expresses itself in the terms of the picture puzzle that you feed your six-year-old.
It's only the variation that is interesting.
You know, the well-known instance of the visitor at a club and the rare coin, for example.
Of course, you all know that one.
No, I don't.
I don't.
Very well known.
Seems a distinguished visitor is brought into a club.
Doesn't men say present at dinner, long table?
Conversation finally veers around to curiosities and relics.
One of the members then takes from his pocket what he announces is one of the rarest coins
in existence.
Passes it around the table.
Coin travels back and forth.
Everyone examines it.
And the conversation goes to another topic.
Who say the influence of the automobile on civilian life or some other such intellectual
club topic, you know.
All at once the owner calls for his coin.
There's nowhere to be found.
Yes, yes, precisely.
Everyone looks at everyone else.
First they suspect a joke.
Then it becomes serious.
The coin is immensely valuable.
Now, who has taken it?
The owner, as a gentleman, does the correct idiotic thing.
Of course, laughs.
Says he knows someone is playing a practical joke on him.
And that the coin will be returned tomorrow.
The others refuse to leave the situation so.
One man proposes they all submit to a search.
Everyone gives his consent until it comes to the stranger.
I refuse to allow me person to be searched.
He is very firm, very proud, very English.
And I refuse to give the reason for my action.
Well, there's another silence.
The men eye him and then glance at one another.
Now, what's to be done?
Nothing.
Oh, nothing.
There is etiquette, that magnificent inflated blue.
The visitor evidently has the coin.
He is their guest and etiquette protects him.
Oh, nice situation, eh?
Well, the table is clear.
A waiter removes a dish of fruit and there,
under the ledge of the plate, where it had been pushed,
is the coin.
Well, I heard a different explanation.
Yes, of course, by now, explanation.
I know, I know, I know.
Solutions always should be.
At once, everyone is profuse with apologies.
Whereupon, the visitor rises and says,
now, I can give you the reason for my refusal to be searched.
There are only two known specimens of the coin in existence.
And the second happens to be here, in my best pocket.
Eh-heh-heh.
Of course, the story is very well invented,
but the turn to it is very nice, very nice indeed.
Well, I do like that story, but the ending,
the ending, though, is too obvious to be invented.
I think so.
The visitor should have had on him, not another coin,
but something absolutely different, something,
well, destructive, say, to a woman's reputation.
And a great tragedy should have been threatened
with a casual misplacing of the coin.
I've heard the same story told in a dozen different ways.
Oh, it's happened a hundred times.
It must be continually happening.
I, uh, know one extraordinary instance,
in fact, the most extraordinary instance
of the sort I've ever heard.
Why, Peter, you rascal.
I see you've quietly been letting us dress the stage for you.
Well, it's, uh, not a story that'll please everyone.
Oh, why not?
Because you'll want to know what no one can ever know.
It has no conclusion, then, huh?
Uh, yes and no.
As far as it concerns a woman, however,
quite the most remarkable woman I've ever met,
the story is complete.
Ah, it concerns a woman.
A woman and a crime.
A crime of fever, as such as we've been just now.
A crime of fever, yes.
Quite a story.
I think, uh, yes, I, uh, have just time
before I catch my train to tell it to you.
["Suspense and Romer Wines"]
For Suspense, Romer Wines are bringing you
100 in the Dark.
Romer Wines presentation tonight
in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Suspense, radio's outstanding theater of thrills,
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That's R-O-M-A, Romer Wines, selected for better taste
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That's R-O-M-A, Romer wines than any other wines.
And now, Romer wines bring us back to the Artists and Writers Club,
where five club members regaling themselves over after dinner coffee
are settling down to hear a story told by a guest,
a certain Mr. Peters.
His is a narrative well calculated to keep his listeners in...
Suspense.
Er, Quinney, before I start, I wonder, would you ask the, er, John,
I believe his name?
Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes.
Er, John?
Yes, gentlemen?
Er, John, I have a train to catch.
Would you be good enough to get me out of here in exactly 15 minutes?
In 15 minutes, sir.
Thank you.
Well, you have our attention, Peter.
It concerns a woman.
Do I know the woman?
Possibly.
Er, probably, I should say, but no more than anyone else.
Ah, an actress.
Er, what she's been in the past, I don't know.
A promoter would better describe her.
A very feminine woman, and yet, as you shall see,
with an unusual, instantaneous masculine power of, er, decision.
Oh, well...
Peters, you're destroying your story.
Your preface will bring an anticlimax.
You shall be the judge.
Of course, it, er, should be particularly interesting to you,
because I believe most of you are acquainted with the people involved.
The names, er, I shall use, of course, are disguises.
No!
Mrs... er, well, er...
Mrs Rita Kildare inhabited a charming bachelor girl studio,
very elegant of the duplex pattern,
in one of the buildings just off Central Park West.
She knew pretty nearly everyone in that indescribable society in New York
that is drawn from all levels,
and it imposes but one condition for membership,
and that is to be amusing.
Ah, good phrase that Peter, good phrase.
She had a certain amount of money,
she knew a certain number of men in Wall Street affairs,
and her studio was furnished with taste and even distinction.
She was of any age,
she might have suffered everything or nothing at all.
In this mingled society,
her invitations were eagerly sought,
her dinners were spontaneous,
and the discussions, though gay and usually daring,
were invariably under the control of wit and good taste.
On the Sunday night of this adventure,
she had, according to her invariable custom,
sent away her Filipino butler
and invited to an informal chaffing dish supper
seven of her more congenial friends.
At seven o'clock, having finished dressing,
she put in order her bedroom,
which formed a sort of free passage between the studio
and a small dining room to the kitchen beyond.
Then, going into the studio, she struck a match
and was about to light the candlesticks,
which illuminated the room.
When the bell rang and a Mr Flanders,
a broker, in fact, nervously alive, well-groomed,
was waiting as she opened the door.
Well, you're early.
On the contrary, dear lady, you are late.
Well, in any case, hello, and come on inside.
Here, let me take your things.
Thank you.
I, uh, I'm the first, I suppose.
Of course.
And since you are, you can be a good boy
and help me light the candles.
Delighted.
Who's to be here tonight?
The Enos Jacksons.
Oh, I thought they were separated.
Not yet.
How interesting.
Only you, dear lady, would dream of serving us
a couple on the verge.
Well, it is interesting, isn't it?
Assuredly.
Where did you know the Jacksons?
Through the wearings.
Uh, Jackson's a rather doubtful person, isn't he?
Mmm, let's call him a very sharp lawyer.
Oh.
They tell me, though, he's been gambling pretty much in deep.
Oh, how about yourself?
Who, me?
I'm a bachelor, and if I lose my shirt,
it makes no difference.
Oh, is that possible?
Probable, even.
Oh.
Ah, who else is coming?
Oh, Maud Lyle.
You know her.
No, I don't think so.
You do, too.
You met her here some time ago.
A journalist.
Oh, yes, yes.
I forgot.
Mr. Harris, a club man, is coming.
And the Stanley Cheevers.
Stanley Cheevers?
Uh-huh.
Hm.
Are we going to gamble?
Well, don't tell me you object.
Certainly not.
Only the Cheevers, they play quite a game.
Well united, and they have an unusual streak of good luck.
Say, by the way, it's Jackson, isn't it,
who's so attractive to Mrs. Cheevers?
Quite right.
Well, what a charming party.
Mm-hm.
And where does Maud Lyle come in?
Oh, don't joke.
She's in a desperate way.
And young Harris?
Oh, he's to make the salad and cream the chicken.
Oh, I see the whole party.
I, of course, am to add the element of respectability.
Of what?
I apologize.
That's better.
No one, of course, knows who's coming.
No one, of course.
The Stanley Cheevers entered, a short, fat man
with a vacant fat face and a slow moving eye, and his wife,
voluble, nervous, overdressed, and pretty.
Mr. Yes, Mr. Harris came with Maud Lyle, a woman, straight,
dark, Indian, with great masses of somber hair,
held in a little too loosely for neatness,
with thick, quick lips and eyes that rolled away
from the person that was talking to her.
The Enos Jacksons were late and still agitated as they entered.
His forehead had not quite vanished the scowl,
nor her eyes the scorn.
He was of the type that never lost his temper,
but caused others to lose theirs.
Mrs. Jackson seemed fastened to her husband
by an invisible leash.
You looked at her curiously and wondered
what such a nature would do in a crisis,
with a lurking sense of a woman who carried with her
her own impending tragedy.
As soon as the company had been completed
and the incongruity of the selection had been perceived,
a smile of malicious anticipation
ran the rounds, which the hostess cut short.
Well, well, now everyone is here.
This is the order of the night.
You can quarrel all you want.
You can whisper all the gossip you
can think of about one another.
But everyone is to be amusing.
Also, also, everyone is to help with the dinner,
if you please.
Nothing formal and nothing serious.
We may all be bankrupt tomorrow, divorced or dead.
But tonight we'll be gay.
That is the invariable rule of this house.
All right?
Thank you.
Come on.
Now, me for the cooking apron.
Ophairus, you are to go into the kitchen
and bring in the hors d'oeuvre.
Right you are.
May I be of any help?
Oh, thank you, maud, darling.
Of course.
Mrs. Cheever?
Yes, dear.
Oh, you too?
Oh, do you want me?
Yes.
There now.
Oh, darling, please tie me up in the back, will you?
Oh, yes.
There you are.
Fine, thank you.
Now to get these rings off.
Soap and water always seem to do it.
Oh.
There.
Your rings are so beautiful.
Oh, thank you.
They're very nice.
But there's only one that's very valuable.
The sapphire.
It's beautiful.
Oh, let me see.
Oh, it must be very valuable.
Mm-hmm.
Of course, 10,000 six years ago.
It's been my talisman ever since.
For the moment, however, I am cook.
Wait, are you going to leave the rings out like that?
Of course, silly.
Temptation, you know.
Oh, now I am the cook.
Maudlisle, you are scullery maid.
Harris is the chef and we're all under his orders.
Mrs. Cheever.
Did you ever peel onions?
Good heavens, no.
Ha ha ha ha.
There are no onions to peel.
All you have to do is help set the table.
Well.
Under their hostess's gay guidance,
the seven guests began to circulate busily
through the rooms, laying the table,
grouping the chairs, arranging the flowers,
and preparing the material for the chafing dishes.
Mrs. Kildare in the kitchen ransacked the icebox
and with her own hands shredded the chicken
and measured the cream.
Flanders?
Oh, please.
Flanders.
Yes?
Here, carry this in carefully.
Now don't.
I've got it with my life.
Oh, good boy.
Oh, Cheever, stop watching your wife
and put that salad bowl on the table.
Everything ready, Harris?
All set.
Good, all right, all right now.
Everyone, everyone sit down.
I'll be right in.
She went into her bedroom, took off her apron,
and hung it in the closet.
Then going to her dressing table,
she drew the hat pin around which were her rings
from the pin cushion and carelessly
slipped them on her fingers.
All at once she frowned and looked quickly at her hand.
Only two rings were there.
The third ring, the sapphire, was missing.
Stupid.
She returned to her dressing table.
Immediately she stopped.
She remembered quite clearly putting the hat pin
through the three rings.
She made no attempt to search further,
but remained without moving,
her fingers slowly drumming on the table,
her head to one side,
her lips drawn in a little between her teeth,
listening with a frown to the babble from the outer room.
Who had taken the ring?
Each of her guests had had a dozen opportunities
in the course of the time that she'd been busy
in the kitchen.
Too much time to think about it.
Time before the mirror, dear lady.
Well, it's not Flanders.
Then she reconsidered.
Why not?
He's clever.
Oh, I've got to think.
To gain time, she walked back slowly to the kitchen,
her head bowed and thumped between her teeth.
Who has taken it?
She ran over the characters of her guests
and their situations as she knew.
Strangely enough, at each her mind stopped
upon some reason that might explain
a sudden temptation.
Well, I'll find out nothing this way.
That's not the important thing to me, dear sir.
The important thing is to get that ring back.
And slowly, deliberately,
she began to walk back and forth,
her clenched hand beating the deliberate rhythmic measure
of her journey.
Five minutes later, as Harris installed his chef
over the chafing dish, was giving directions,
spoon in the air, Mrs. Kildare came into the room
like a lengthening shadow.
Her entrance had been made with scarcely
perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it
at the same moment with a little nervous start.
Oh, Ms. Kildare, you came in on us like a Greek tragedy.
What is it you have for us, a surprise?
I have something to say to you.
Mr. Enos Jackson.
Yes, Mrs. Kildare.
Kindly do as I ask you.
My sir. Go to the door.
Go to the door. Please.
Yes.
Lock it and bring me the key, please.
Some kind of a game.
There you are.
Thank you. And now the bedroom door.
Would you do the same?
Of course.
Thank you, Mr. Jackson.
Mr. Cheever.
Yes.
Would you blow out all the candles,
except the candelabrum on the table?
Blow out all the candles?
Except the candelabrum.
For goodness sakes, Mrs. Kildare, what is it?
I'm getting terribly worked up.
My nerves.
Maud Lyle. Yes.
Put the candelabrum on this table.
Here. No, no, wait a minute.
Mr. Jackson. Yes.
First, clear off the table, please.
I want nothing on it.
Mrs. Kildare.
That's it.
Now, now, please put down the candelabrum.
Well, that's the last candle.
All right.
Now listen.
My sapphire ring has just been stolen.
What?
Oh, you're joking.
Why, why, why?
What do you mean, Mrs. Kildare?
The ring has been taken within the last 20 minutes.
I'm not going to mince words.
The ring has been taken and the thief is among you.
What?
Mrs. Kildare.
Stolen?
But, Mrs. Kildare, is it possible?
Absolutely, Mrs. Cheever.
There's not the slightest doubt.
Three of you were in my bedroom
when I placed my rings on the pincushion.
Each of you has passed through there a dozen times since.
My sapphire ring is gone and one of you has taken it.
Oh, I don't know.
Oh, that's quite true.
I was in the room when she took them off.
The sapphire ring was on time.
Now listen.
I'm not going to mince words.
I'm not going to stand on ceremony.
I'm going to have that ring back.
Now, dear lady.
Listen to me.
I'm going to have that ring back
and until I do, not a soul shall leave this room.
I don't care who's taken it.
All I want is my ring.
Now, I'm going to make it possible
for whoever took it to restore it
without possibility of detection.
The doors are locked and they'll stay locked.
I am going to blow out the remaining candles
in the candelabrum
and I am going to count to 100 slowly.
It will be in absolute darkness.
No one will know or see what is done.
But if at the end of that time
the ring is not here on this table,
I shall telephone the police
and have everyone in this room searched.
Am I quite clear?
I just can't believe it.
Everyone take his place about the table, please.
Excuse me, please.
That will do very nicely.
Now, I will blow out the candles and count 100.
No more, no less.
Remember, either I get that ring
or everyone in this room will be searched.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,
eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,
seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty- One, twenty two,
twenty-three, twenty four, twenty five,
twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty,
fifty-five, fifty six, fifty seven, fifty eight,
fifty nine, fifty five, fifty six, ninety seven,
57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78,
79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99,
victory 100, execution 100, roll call 100, Divine
and there
there you are gentle like i say it is a boy that's not all
absolutely story and that story ends there
but uh... who took the ring
what was never found out never
no clothes
i'm not sure i like the story
that's not sorry at all permit me it is a story and it is complete
in fact i consider it unique
because it has none of the abilities of a solution
leaves the problem even more confused than at the start
i don't see of course you don't like iraq and you do not see that any
solution would be commonplace
whereas no solution
needed to intellectual problem
also
in the first place
i would have the situation actually happened not what is in itself a
military reality
peter's has told it in a masterly way the brutal which is that he may be this
it's a good
each person present might have taken the ring and as a broker just come up
proper
mod lial a woman on the ragged side of life in desperate means
either mister mrs cheever suspected of being caught chopped
and a very good touch that to be just
mister enos jackson a sharp lawyer or his wife about to be divorced
even harris concerning whom very cleverly peter's is that absolutely
nothing to make him quite the most suspicious of all
there are therefore seven solutions all possible all logical
but beyond this
is left a great intellectual problem also
was it a feminine or a masculine action to restore the ring when threatened with
the search
knowing that mrs killed as clever x
begin to throw in the room in the darkness
made detection impossible
or was it a woman who lacked the necessary courage to continue
or was it a man who repented his first impulse
is a man or is a woman
a great natural criminal that's simple clearly a woman don't have gone on the
contrary was a man
for the first action was more difficult
first man certainly restoration the ring was a logical decision i recognize most
of those characters features mrs killed their courses all you say
extraordinary woman
stories quite characteristic
friend is a not quite sure what i think i know him to
i'm positive i do
that did it really happen
exactly as i've told you know what i don't recognize it
harris
your humble servant
you peter's
you were there
on the general always uh... what is it done
mr peter said you're trained
you told me to remind us thank you i don't know so i can
you don't want me
uh... yes of course
i sort of much of all
curious chap
short
i wonder
i wonder if we're wondering the same thing gentleman
uh...
saucepan
and so close as one hundred in the dark
peter's was played by howard duff and the other club members were joseph
kerns frank albertson john mcintyre dick ryan and harvest willard
therese a martial was really killed there and at her party were janet no
lind
while a mayor mary jane croft jerry housen and grace gillian
tonight study and suspense
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