And now, Auto Light and its 60,000 dealers and service stations present...
Suspense!
Tonight, Auto Light brings you Mr. Danny Kay in The Too Perfect Alibi, a suspense play
produced and directed by Anton M. Leader.
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And now, Auto Light presents Danny Kay in a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Prince Charming.
That's what Jack called me.
And when he said that, something clicked inside of me.
I remembered how in fairy tales, the good prince always married the princess, and they
lived happily ever after.
Yes, happily ever after.
Except that first there was the ogre that had to be taken care of.
They were spending the weekend at my house in Croton, with Catherine and Jack.
The girl I loved and the fellow she loved.
Oh, I admitted I was stupid to let myself in for it, but I just couldn't help myself.
I had to have Catherine near me.
She was the loveliest thing on God's earth.
Slender and blonde, the flecks of the purest gold in her hair, and eyes just as green as
the sea.
Jack was what the girls call a beautiful hunk of man, a one-time football hero.
But now he was a clerk in a sports shop, a nobody.
And why Catherine was so mad about him, I'll never know.
After dinner Saturday night, we sat out on the terrace and looked out on the huts and
a half mile away.
Everything was quiet, peaceful.
Jack, shall I tell him?
After all, he is our best friend.
Sure, honey, might as well.
Tell me what?
We're getting married, Monday Sam.
Married?
Hey, I'm the one who should look like he's going to face a firing squad, not you, Sam.
I'm sorry, kids.
It was just such a surprise, that's all.
How about it, Sam?
Will you be the best man?
Sure, of course I will.
Oh, good.
And congratulations, both of you.
Thank you, Sam, dear.
You know, you're the sweetest, kindest, nicest, best-hearted person I've ever known.
She means outside of me, of course.
Well, I do not, Jack Stewart.
If it weren't for you, you big lug, I might even be marrying Sam on Monday.
Hey, say, I just thought of something.
You like my place up here in Croton, don't you?
Like it.
We love it.
Well, then it's yours.
Wait a minute, Sam.
I'm giving it to you for your wedding present.
Oh, Sam.
You always pick up the check, don't you?
What do you mean, Jack?
Everything you do makes me look cheap.
You give Catherine a job and pay her twice what I make.
You give us free theater parties, free dinners and free weekends in the country.
Now you want to give us a free house.
Now, look, Jack, you've got me all wrong.
I just want to give you kids a good start, that's all.
I want you two to be happy.
Just like in the fairy tales, eh?
The Prince and the Paupers and good old Sam as Prince Charming as always.
Well, no thanks.
That was when I got the idea, when he called me Prince Charming.
That was when I remembered about the Prince, the Princess and the ogre.
And you know what happens to the ogre and all the fairy tales, don't you?
You remember that, don't you?
He dies.
And he dies because the Prince kills him.
Catherine left with Jack and I was miserable.
I paced the floor for hours.
All I could think of was that today was Saturday and on Monday noon she would marry him.
Two more days and she'd be lost to me forever.
I couldn't let it happen.
I wouldn't.
I had to get rid of him.
All I needed was a weapon to defend myself with after I killed him.
An alibi.
A strong, unshakable alibi.
A perfect alibi.
It took me all night and gallons of coffee to figure that one out, but I did it.
And the first thing Sunday morning I phoned Jack in New York.
I persuaded him not to hang up on me.
Well, what do you want?
Jack, ever hear of the Allegheny Sporting Goods?
Did I ever hear of J.P. Morgan?
Well, a friend of mine owns Allegheny.
So?
And he needs a sales manager.
I've arranged an appointment for you first thing tomorrow so you can get the job before
you get married.
What?
It pays 20,000 a year and you can buy your own wedding presents.
Are you serious?
Does he know I'm only a clerk?
Well, it's just a matter of selling yourself, Jack.
If you're free tonight, I'll be glad to give you a few pointers on the best way to approach
him.
Look, Jack, I'm going to a party in town tonight and if you can meet me around 10.
Here's the address, Jack.
365 East 56.
I'll wait for you near the corner.
Okay, thanks.
Just one thing, Sam.
Don't tell Catherine about this, will you?
You see, in case I get the job, I'd like her to feel I got it on my own.
You understand, don't you?
Sure.
Of course, Jack.
Oh, thanks, Sam.
See you tonight at 10.
My hands were shaking so hard I could barely reach up to wipe the perspiration from my
forehead.
I was scared stiff.
I was frightened because I had intended to ask him to keep it a secret from Catherine.
Instead he'd ask me.
Everything about my alibi was working out perfectly.
I drove to town.
I went to the State Street ticket office and bought a ticket for the Staten Island ferry.
Then I went uptown to my apartment.
I had lots of time so I decided to treat myself.
There was a nice, thick, juicy steak in the icebox and I fixed it just right and rare.
As I sat at the table enjoying the steak that cut like butter, I got an idea, a good idea,
just the thing.
Eventually it was time to go to the party.
Boy, Sam Rogers, where you been keeping yourself all summer, you dog?
Morning is still on my mountain up in Croton.
Hi Sammy.
Hi.
I spoke to everyone I knew and a few people I didn't know.
I made certain that practically everybody saw or talked with me sometime during the evening.
Hello Sam.
Where are you rushing off to, Frank?
Hey, want to hear the nine o'clock news?
Oh, oh the news?
Do you mind if I join you?
Not at all.
Come along.
We listened to the news until 9.15.
Then I got involved in an argument over Soroyan's new play.
Of course he's mad, Sam, that's why he's so wonderful.
Before I knew it, it was time.
One minute to ten.
I slowly smiled my way toward the door and edged my way out of the noisy crowd without
anyone noticing.
I walked casually through the open door.
Once outside I quickly walked away from the house toward the corner.
I stepped under a tree where it was dark to wait for him.
Well, well, I was just in time.
A car turned the corner.
I stepped out the flag and froze.
It was a police squad car.
Hey, why don't you watch where you're going?
My face was drenched when I stepped back on the curb.
For the first time I realized how easy it would be to make a slip.
This time I made sure it was Jack's car before I stepped out.
Park here, Jack, under the tree.
Okay.
Sorry I'm late, Sam.
The ferries were jammed and on top of that I had an argument with Catherine.
Oh, what about?
All the usual, you know.
First she brought up your house again and then she was jealous about some girl I kidded
with on the beach this afternoon.
Didn't mean anything, but you know Catherine.
We practically had a slugging match in the restaurant.
She'll be over it by morning.
Which reminds me, Sam, I'm awfully sorry about the way I blew my top last night.
Oh, that's all right.
You're still gonna be my best man at the wedding, aren't you?
Oh, sure, Jack.
I'll be your best man.
Oh, that's wonderful.
Catherine was right, Sam.
You are the nicest, sweetest guy we've ever known.
Oh, forget it, Jack.
Now suppose we sit in the back seat of your car and talk about your new job.
Okay?
Get in.
Okay.
And do you know that was the last word he ever said?
Okay!
There he was lying in the back of his car sticking up out of the middle of his back
was my favorite steak knife.
For Suspense, Auto Light is bringing you Mr. Danny Kay in Radio's outstanding theater of
thrills, Suspense.
Say, Hap.
Let me read you a wonderful Christmas thank you note I got from my Aunt Susie in Maine.
Why, I didn't even know you had an Aunt Susie, Harlow.
Well, you just listen to this, pal.
Dear Barlow.
Huh?
She never could get my name straight.
Thank you so much for those wonderful Auto Light Resistor spark plugs you sent me for
Christmas.
Harlow, you didn't.
Listen now, Hap.
She says, Cousin Charlie, he's your third cousin, once removed on your mother's side,
you know, told me that Auto Light Resistor spark plugs are those popular new spark plugs
that have a built-in resistor.
And he said they have an extra wide gargspap.
What?
She means spark gap, of course, that helps make your car run slick as a kitten on skis.
I see where you inherit your famous figures of speech, Harlow.
Ah, let's see.
So Cousin Charlie replaced my old narrow gap plugs with my new wide gap Auto Light Resistor
spark plugs, and right away I could see what makes people rave about them so much.
I declare my car idle, smooth as silk, runs better than a scared jackrabbit with a tail
wind.
And honestly, Barlow, I've been saving gas.
Wow, Susie's got me woozy.
So friends, when it comes to spark plugs, be smart, be choosy.
Take your cue from Susie and mosey on down to your nearest Auto Light dealer tomorrow
and get your car a brand new set of those wide gap Auto Light Resistor spark plugs.
Remember, you're always right with Auto Light.
You said it, Harlow.
And let's get back to suspense.
And now, Auto Light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage, Mr. Danny Kaye as Sam in A Too
Perfect Alibi, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
After I stabbed him, I watched him slump to the floor of the car.
And that's all there was to it.
The ogre was dead.
And now the prince and the princess could live happily ever after.
I pushed his feet into the car and slammed the door.
I locked the car with the keys I found in the condition and put them in my pocket.
Then I eased myself back into the house.
I picked up the thread of conversation just as if it had never been broken.
That's the name of the game, kid, gin.
You never should have held on to those two kings, Johnny boy.
Okay, son.
Suppose you stop gibbering and play this card shark yourself.
He's got those things hypnotized.
Well, just step to one side, John.
And I'll show you a few tricks an old yogi named Gunga Gin once taught me.
I played gin all evening with Frank Bostwick.
And though I never did like him very much, somehow I felt warm and friendly towards him
now.
Good night, darling.
Then around 12-ish the party broke out.
I waited till practically everybody else left.
Then I bid my host good night, got into Jack's car and drove off.
I got to the Staten Island Ferry, slept just before 12.30.
I was lucky.
The traffic was still heavy.
Nobody would notice me.
I took out the ticket I bought in the afternoon and drove aboard.
A moment later we started across the bay.
I could breathe again.
I checked off another point in my alibi.
If they ever faced me with a night shift ticket agent, he would have to swear he'd never
have seen me or sold me a ticket in his life.
It was so easy, I felt like laughing.
I turned and looked at him lying on the floor in the back.
He wasn't fighting me anymore.
My alibi had him beaten all the way down the line.
Suddenly two things happened to me at once.
I saw the knife, the knife sticking out of his back.
The ticket collector.
I'd forgotten about him too.
I couldn't afford to have anyone remember me on this boat.
I had to get rid of that knife.
I had to act fast.
In spite of the sick feeling in my stomach, I leaned over the seat and yanked the knife
out of Jack's back.
His head jerked around and grinned up at me.
I looked around for a piece of paper to wrap the knife in.
There wasn't a scrap anywhere, anywhere.
I pulled out my wallet, grabbed two or three bills and covered the blood dripping blade
in the bills.
I got out of the car, jammed my tickets under the windshield wiper where he had to see it.
And I scrambled through a maze of bumpers and fenders till I reached the rail.
My heart sounded like a bass drum.
I leaned on the rail and looked into the black water.
Then I dropped the knife over the side.
Hey, I saw you do that.
What?
Did you...
Don't you know it's against the law?
What is?
Dumping paper into the harbor.
You could get arrested for that, mister.
You better watch your step or something.
Thank you.
I kept my head turned away from him so he couldn't get a good look at me.
He'd never recognize me in a court of law.
No, sir.
Anyway, he'd forget all about me five minutes from now.
My alibi was still 100%.
I got back into the car.
When we landed, I drove a few blocks in.
I left the car in front of the house and walked back to the ferry.
By the time I got home an hour later, I'd lost all my fears.
I felt wonderful again.
I went right to bed and slept soundly for the first time in weeks.
I slept so soundly, in fact, that they stood there ringing my bell for five solid minutes
before they woke me up.
I opened my door and saw two detectives standing there with an invitation to visit Inspector
Vanelli of the New York Homicide Bureau.
Then I remembered about last night.
Inspector Vanelli was a slender, swarthy man who looked more like a successful businessman
than a police officer.
Do you know Jack B. Stewart, Mr. Rogers?
Certainly.
Why?
He's been murdered.
His body was found at nine o'clock this morning in a parked car on Staten Island.
What?
I can't believe it.
This was his wedding day.
He and Catherine were going to be married.
Mr. Rogers, what was your relationship with Catherine Gilpin?
Inspector, I think I ought to tell you right off that I'm probably your best suspect.
You are?
Yes.
Catherine turned me down for Jack.
That probably gives me the best motive in the world for killing him, doesn't it?
Well, suppose you let me decide who had the best motive.
Okay, Mr. Rogers?
Okay.
All right, now the best place to begin is at the beginning.
He kept me there hour after hour while the police stenographers crammed their pads with
notes.
Finally, late in the afternoon, one of the detectives hurried in and whispered something
to him.
Inspector Vanelli's hard face broke into a rocky smile.
Okay, Mr. Rogers, you're clear.
But I don't mind telling you now, I was sure it was you.
Really, Inspector?
Why have you changed your mind?
Well, we have 35 affidavits from responsible people swearing that you were at a party between
9.30 and 11.30 last night, and that's when Stuart was murdered.
That settles it.
You've got a perfect alibi.
I could hardly believe it.
It had been so easy.
Only yesterday the girl I loved was miles away from me, unattainable.
Today she was mine for the asking.
No more rivals, no more competition.
Gradually she would forget Jack and turn to me.
It would take time, I knew that.
But I had plenty of time.
I could wait.
Catherine phoned me the next morning, and suddenly I didn't have any time at all.
Sam, Sam, they've arrested me for Jack's murder.
They've what?
They've arrested me.
But they can't.
It's just a stupid mistake, Catherine.
Look, I'll call my lawyer and we'll get you out of there right away.
But we couldn't.
In New York you can't bail out a person accused of murder.
What could they possibly have on her?
It was ridiculous.
But the thought of Catherine in prison was pure torture for me.
My attorney suggested I retain Simon Blade, a shrewdest criminal lawyer in the state.
Blade investigated every detail of Catherine's story.
Finally, after two of the longest weeks of my life, he called me in.
All right.
Now here's the district attorney's case, Mr. Rogers.
She and her boyfriend had an argument in a public place, a restaurant.
They argued about two things.
One, she wanted to take your country house for a wedding present, but he didn't.
Two, he made a little goo-goo eyes at some blonde on the beach and she burned up.
She tells him he's cheating on her.
So then he burns up.
He tells her go marry somebody else and walks out.
Yes, yes, but how do the police know all this?
They have witnesses, Mr. Rogers, witnesses.
Now she says that after the fight she went home alone and cried on her bed.
But the DA says she ran after the boy, rode out into the country with him and stuck a
knife in him for calling off the wedding.
Her words as good as his, isn't it?
Certainly, certainly, and she's prettier than the DA too, but well, I'm not finished.
It seems that the management of the restaurant bought two dozen new steak knives that week.
Steak knives?
Yes.
The girl and the boy had steak for dinner and the next morning one of the new knives
was missing.
The police took a sample knife down to the morgue and it makes a perfect fit with the
stab wounds in the cadaver's back.
Now all we have is her word that she didn't do it.
And there's only one person in the world who can prove that she's telling the truth.
Who?
A corpse with three holes in it.
On the day of the trial, I sat with Simon Blade and waited for them to bring Catherine
in.
And when she came in, she looked so young and so, so lost.
I had all I could do to keep myself from jumping to my feet and telling them the truth.
Then she saw me, her eyes lit up and she smiled and I smiled back.
And somehow I felt sure it would all come out right just as I had planned it.
Simon Blade was wonderful in that courtroom.
One moment ringing sympathy from the jury for Catherine's pale face.
The next frankly exploiting her sex with a knowing eye.
And when he strutted before a terrified witness, his barbs always hit the bull's eye.
And how did you know, sir, that the knife was missing from your restaurant?
We counted.
We counted them and found one was missing.
You count your silver, huh?
Yes, sir.
What's the matter, Deimos?
Don't you trust your customer?
Blade forced Deimos to admit that customers walked off with knives, forks and spoons every
day, that several persons had steak that night and that anyone might have taken that knife.
Everything was going along fine.
And then the district attorney exploded a surprise in our laps.
Do you recognize this handkerchief, Miss Gilpin?
Yes, sir.
It's mine.
It's yours.
And would you please tell the jury what made these stains on your handkerchief?
What?
Blood.
Blood?
They're blood stains, but you mustn't think...
Blood?
Whose blood?
Jack's.
It's Jack's blood, but I'm not guilty.
Order!
Order in the court!
If there are any more such disturbances, I shall order the courtroom cleared.
Proceed, counselor.
So Miss Gilpin, you admit this is the blood of Jack Stewart?
Yes.
He had a nosebleed.
He always had them when he was excited.
I loaned him a handkerchief...
A very convenient explanation.
Shall I tell you, Miss Gilpin, what I think the real explanation is?
I think you stabbed Jack Stewart, then in your jealous rage you struck again and again.
Then calmer, you noticed that your hands were covered with blood.
His blood!
No!
You wiped them on the handkerchief.
This handkerchief, Miss Gilpin...
No!
And went to dispose of the body.
No, no, no!
Oh, the DA was very convincing.
And the jury thought so too.
Because when they came in after eleven hours, they found Catherine guilty of murder in the
first degree.
We appealed the case and lost.
I pulled every string I could to get a commutation from the governor.
It was hopeless.
I had to face it finally.
I had killed Jack so I could have Catherine, but I couldn't have her now and I didn't
want to go on without her.
I went to the DA and told him everything.
Mr. Rogers, are you trying to tell me that you killed Stewart to keep him from marrying
Miss Gilpin?
That's right.
Since I can't have her, I might as well confess.
Will you arrange to have her released?
Look, Rogers, I know exactly what you're trying to do, but I've got no time for heroes.
I've got thirty-five sworn affidavits in my files which prove that you couldn't have killed
Stewart.
I've got my conviction and so far as I'm concerned, this case is closed.
You wouldn't believe me.
And Catherine's execution was only a week off.
I went to the newspapers with my story, but they wouldn't believe me either.
One of them did send a reporter with me to see the people who were at the party that
night.
Sam, it's wonderful what you're trying to do, but I can't lie about it and I won't.
That was the kind of answer I got everywhere I turned.
Then I tried to find the two policemen who passed as I left the house and the man who
had seen me throw the knife off the ferry, but it was useless.
I couldn't find one person who would believe me, not one.
The next day I made a last attempt to see Catherine.
They wouldn't let me.
But late that afternoon I received a note from her.
It was heartbreakingly full of all the things we planned and now would never do.
And what hurt me most was the part where she said...
I heard all about it, Sam, and I love you for it.
I love you for your foolhardy attempt to save my life at the expense of your own.
Jack once called you Prince Charming, but he never dreamed what a prince you really are.
Even she.
Prince Charming.
Even Catherine wouldn't believe me.
And that was harder to take than all the rest.
And you don't believe me either, do you, friend?
Well, Mr. Rogers, it's very hard to...
Shh.
Listen.
It's 12 o'clock all over again, isn't it, Joe?
Why don't you go home like a good fellow, Mr. Rogers?
I can't sleep, Joe.
I just can't sleep.
How can I sleep when nobody will believe me?
Joe, why do the innocents always suffer in this world?
Catherine was innocent.
Why did she have to suffer?
Oh, you got it all wrong, Mr. Rogers.
The innocents don't suffer, but the guilty, they're the ones.
Take you, for instance.
Supposing you really was guilty of Jack Stewart's murder and supposing she paid for your crime,
why, you'd have two lives on your conscience this very minute, Mr. Rogers.
And then you'd have been suffering for those two lives ever since the night she went to...
Yes, you're right, Joe.
You're right.
It is the guilty who suffer.
Say, Joe, how about that fella?
Him?
He's been coming in here these 10 years now telling the same story to anybody who listens.
10 years?
Sure.
Well, I suppose he's gone now, another bar most likely, to pick up a conversation with
somebody else like you and live through it all over again.
But about what he said, do you really think he killed him?
Mr. Rogers?
Him?
Not on your life.
Why, he's a prince of a guy.
Thank you, Danny Kaye, for a splendid performance.
Mr. Kaye will return in just a moment.
Hello, your Aunt Susie must be mighty cold up in Maine this time of year.
Cold?
Why, up in Maine way, it's so cold they use icicles for and irons.
And do those wonderful Auto Light Resistor spark plugs feel the frigid finger of freezing
temperatures?
Not on your life, because Auto Light Resistor spark plugs consistently give you smooth,
dependable, on-the-spot performance.
And remember, friends, only Auto Light offers car and truck owners everywhere the sensational
advantages of resistor-type spark plugs.
So with millions of car owners switching to Auto Light, why don't you?
Because you're always right with Auto Light.
And remember, Auto Light means spark plugs.
Ignition-engineered resistor spark plugs.
Auto Light means batteries.
Stay full, batteries.
Auto Light means ignition system.
The lifeline of your car.
And now here again is Mr. Danny Kaye.
Thank you very much.
I feel a little better now, anyway.
It's been a great pleasure for me to be here on Suspense, ladies and gentlemen.
I'm especially grateful to Tony Leader for letting me play the kind of role which you
and I don't usually associate with me.
It was a lot of fun.
If you can call being a murderer fun.
Well, next week, radio's outstanding theater of thrills will bring you Dana Andrews and
a famous story by Cornell Woolrich.
If the dead could talk.
Another gripping study in Suspense.
Danny Kaye will shortly be seen in the Warner Brothers Technicolor production, Happy Times.
Tonight's Suspense play was written by Martin Stern with music composed by Lucien Moraweck
and conducted by Lud Gluskin.
The entire production was under the direction of Anton M. Leader.
In the coming weeks, Suspense will present such stars as Robert Montgomery, Fibber McGee
and Molly, Ronald Coleman, Jane Wyman and James Mason.
Make it a point to listen each Thursday to Suspense, radio's outstanding theater of thrills.
And next Thursday, same time, hear Dana Andrews in Cornell Woolrich's If the Dead Could Talk.
Remember, you're right with auto light.
So switch to auto light.
Good night.
This has been CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.