Auto Light and its 98,000 dealers bring you Mr. Lloyd Nolan.
In tonight's presentation of Suspense.
Tonight, Auto Light presents a true story of crime and punishment.
The fame of this actual case rests with the singular qualities of its characters.
The detective is no better than ordinary and the killer is a man without a future.
The story is called, The Man with Two Faces.
Our star, Mr. Lloyd Nolan.
Hello, Mr. Wilcox.
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How's the advocate of those able, admirable, and advantageous Auto Light spark plugs?
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You sure are, Sam, and that's why I tell car owners to bring their cars into you for a spark plug checkup.
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And now, Auto Light presents, The Man with Two Faces, the documented story of an actual crime starring Lloyd Nolan, hoping once again to keep you in suspense.
They dug him up on my birthday. He was six feet tall and four feet under. It was just an accident.
They were digging in a cellar and they found the buried packing case. They hauled it out and opened it.
Inside the case, they found a steamer trunk. They opened that. He was jammed inside, doubled up, his knees against his chest.
All he had for company was a pile of quicklime. He was wearing a blue suit, a big smile, and two holes in his skull.
The best dressed skeleton you ever saw.
My name, Palachek Gus R. Detective Lieutenant, badge number 1416.
I've been a cop for the city of Cleveland for 19 years. The last 14 of them, I've worked out a homicide.
I'm not a child of hidden. I'm not a Sherlock Holmes. I'm strictly average.
I try to make it with what I've got. If that doesn't do, they call for a smarter man.
They should have had one around the day they dug up the skeleton.
We completed our preliminary investigation at the spot where the packing case was uncovered. There wasn't much.
I drove back downtown to check with a medical examiner.
Hey, Sam, how's it going? Oh, hi Gus. Happy birthday.
It sure is. You about done with him? Just finished. Don't envy him.
Find anything at all? No question it's a homicide. Where'd they dig him up anyway?
Basement of an empty building out on Euclid Avenue. Hey, by the way, how long would you say he's been dead?
About three years. They had to dig him up on my birthday. There's a few things here that might help you.
What's that? Possible description of the victim. It's only partial. I figured it out from the skeleton.
Size of the bones, general structure. What else? This piece of bridge work here.
Put in a little leg work. You might find the dentist who made it. You go through the clothing?
Here's the label that was sewn inside the coat. Custom tailor since 1885, 10th near Parkway.
That's it. Dead at least three years. That's the way I figured three years. Looks like a long hike for you, Gus.
Let's hope it's not for nothing.
As I say, masterminds don't run in our family.
I have a tough enough time figuring a homicide that's three hours old, let alone one that's gone on for three years.
With me tracking a killer, strictly hammer and saw work. I grab what I figure is the strongest lead and start hiking from there.
The next day I checked with the custom tailors who had their label on the suit we find on the skeleton.
This suit here? That's right. It's got your label on it. You remember who you sold it to?
What's the matter? Is this some kind of a joke? I don't pound a pavement for lairs. What are you talking about?
This isn't my suit. It's a fake. Huh? Look, my whole life I never made a suit like this. It's a fake.
Somebody took my label and sewed it into a cheap store suit. You sure of that?
Naturally I'm sure. Here, look. Yeah? Look at how it's made. This is not hand stitching. It's stitching made by a machine. Cheap store suit.
The label on the suit was an obvious plant. Something the killer figured throws off the track.
This being true, then why did he leave behind something as telltale as a piece of bridge work in the mouth of his victim?
I had another talk with a medical examiner. We double checked the victim's remains.
I don't see what we're going to prove from this piece of bridge work.
Say, what's the average number of teeth a man has? Full grown male? 32.
And how many did you count in the victim's mouth? 31. Only had one extraction of molar. I could tell that.
Oh, I see what you mean. Only one tooth pulled. Yet he had a bridge loose in his mouth with four molars in it. That's 35 in my book.
Yeah, three more than any normal man could possibly have. Yeah.
Well, why would the killer plant a piece of bridge work? What for? When I find him, I'll ask him.
That made two phony plants the killer had made, the piece of bridge work and the suit label.
I looked for one more. I found it. The victim's hair had remained intact. It was dark brown and gray. I took a couple of specimens and had them checked.
Someone's playing games, Gus. How do you mean, Doc?
A specimen of the dark brown hair. It's fine, silky texture. Uh-huh. Gray hair's thick, coarse. Big difference.
Possibly could have come from the same head? Not a chance in the world.
Three phony plants. The bridge work, the label, and the hair.
I began to wonder about the packing case and the steamer trunk the skeleton had been found in.
The trunk was a cheap mass-produced item, three years worth of mildew wrecked any chance of picking some kind of a lead from it.
The packing case which contained the trunk was a little different. There was block littering on one side of it.
It spelled out the name of George Gallagher.
Below that, it read Harrisburg Avenue, but where the street number would have been, the surface of the packing case had been scraped away.
I started to work on the packing case angle. I had the manager of one of the factories in town that makes them look at the case.
It wasn't standard size. It was a custom-made job, built to hold the murder trunk and nothing else.
That's when the leg work began, weeks of it, months. February, March, April, May.
I covered every factory that made packing cases for a hundred miles around. It got me nothing. I kept at it.
June 5th. I checked the small box factory about 50 miles south of town. The manager's name was Higgins.
Let's see now. I thought I recalled it. Huh. Oh yeah, here it is.
The same dimensions I gave you, Mr. Higgins?
Exactly. An odd-sized case. That's why I remembered it. Yeah, this is it, all right.
Did you take the order for it?
No, Carl did. Carl Pearson. He was the other clerk.
How do you mean, he was?
Well, Carl's dead, poor fellow. Sick for a long time. He passed away three, four months ago.
What do you have the name of the man who ordered the case, Mr. Higgins?
Right here. It was George Gallagher. Yeah, Gallagher.
And you people delivered the packing case?
Uh-huh. That's right.
Where?
Harrisburg Avenue, at number 6913.
The first real break in six months, it had finally arrived.
I felt pretty good about things on our way back to the city. The feeling didn't last long.
When I got to the right block on Harrisburg Avenue, I found out that the delivery address for the packing case did not exist.
6913 Harrisburg Avenue was a vacant lot.
I started canvassing every house in the neighborhood. No one had seen a packing case of any size delivered anywhere near the vacant lot.
It took a week of climbing stairs, pushing doorbells before I found a neighborhood gossip who claimed that she had seen the packing place delivered.
Her name was Emma McKenzie.
Why, yes, of course I remember it. I remember seeing it standing there that day.
Standing where, Mrs. McKenzie?
Well, right at the front of that empty lot down the street.
Large packing case. Half of it blocking the sidewalk.
Oh, it certainly made me mad.
Well, how do you mean mad? What made you mad?
Well, there were a couple of nails sticking out of the case.
And on my way to the store that afternoon, I happened to pass by it and my coat got caught on one of the nails.
My good black coat. Oh, it made a terrible rip.
I see.
Yes. I turned to this young fellow standing next to the case, and I really told him.
I remember very well. It was just last year.
Excuse me, ma'am, you said last year?
Yes, that's right. Happened about a year ago. Well, maybe a little longer.
You're sure that it wasn't two or maybe three years ago?
Oh, no, I remember distinctly. At the most, I'd say it couldn't have been more than, well, 14 or 15 months ago.
Well, now, this young fellow that was standing next to the packing case, you remember, you happen to remember what he looked like, ma'am?
Well, not in any detail, no. He was tall, though, on the thin side. And he had buck teeth, I remember that.
Use foul language.
But how old would you say he was?
Oh, not more than 28 or 30.
Uh-huh. Now, how about his hair? You remember what color it was?
Why, yes, it was blonde.
When I finished talking to Mrs. McKenzie, I didn't know where I stood.
Either I was wrong about the killer's hair being dark brown or gray, or else there was more than one man mixed up in the homicide.
And more important, the case was only one year old.
So somewhere along the line, the medical examiner made a mistake, a big one.
Maybe it was the quicklime that threw him off, I don't know.
The important thing was he was wrong. So the basement of the building wasn't vacant at the time the body was buried.
I checked back with the owners of the building and found out that at the time it was occupied by a laundry that had since gone out of business, the White Star laundry.
The owner and manager turned out to be Amiron Wagner.
I finally located him and his home on the south end of the street.
The night of the 4th of July. It was a big gray house set well back off the street.
Wagner was an Austrian immigrant, pleasant, cooperative.
I interviewed him in the dimly lighted living room.
It was a hot night. Outside you could hear the kids with their fireworks.
What can I do for you, Lieutenant?
It's just a couple of questions for you, Mr. Wagner, trying not to hold you up.
Oh, that's all right. I'm not going to get into any trouble.
What is it you wanted to know?
You owned and operated a laundry in the basement of a building downtown on Euclid Avenue, is that right?
Yes, that's right. We are out of business now though, have been for some time.
You closed down about 12-14 months ago?
Yes, that's right. We didn't have much luck.
I'd like a straight answer, Mr. Wagner. Did you ever know a young fellow by the name of George Gallagher?
Mr. Wagner?
Yes, I know the boy. I guess I should say I knew him.
You tell me anything about him?
Well, he came to me one day asking for a job.
George did. I thought he was a nice looking fellow. He was tall and blond and clean looking.
I hired him as a night watchman in the laundry.
He seemed to like the job. We got along fine together.
Uh-huh, go ahead.
One night I went back to the laundry to get my briefcase. There were some tax papers that I wanted.
After I got them, I went down to the basement to say good night to George.
He met me on the stairs. He had a crazy look on his face.
I didn't know what was wrong with him. I didn't know if he was drunk or what it was.
What did he do?
He screamed at me, go back, don't come any further, come down here and I'll brain you.
I got out as fast as I could. I thought he'd been drinking.
You happened to see what he was doing down in the basement?
No, no, no. He had a shovel in his hand. That's all I remember.
All right, what happened? Did you fire him?
I didn't have the chance. He left that night. He never came back.
Did you read in the paper about the body that was dug up from the basement?
Yes.
You think Gallagher's responsible?
Well, I don't know what else to think. I can never forget it.
He came up the stairs toward me, screaming at me, holding that shovel, screaming.
And his hands.
Yeah?
Both his hands.
Covered with blood.
Auto Light is bringing you Mr. Lloyd Nolan in The Man with Two Faces, tonight's presentation in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
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And now, Auto Light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage, Mr. Lloyd Nolan, in Elliot Lewis's production of The Man with Two Faces.
A true report, well calculated to keep you in suspense.
I talked to Myron Wagner for another hour, but I got nowhere.
He was sure that time and date he'd seen George Gallagher in the basement of the laundry, and he was sure he'd seen blood all over Gallagher's hands.
He couldn't give me any idea who the victim might have been, and he didn't know a thing about Gallagher's possible whereabouts.
I asked him why he didn't report it at the time, and he told me he was afraid the bad publicity might hurt his laundry business.
The next break came in early October.
We found a pawn shop in the downtown area that had loaned $20 on a watch to a George Gallagher almost 22 months before.
The watch had never been redeemed.
It had a name engraved on its back, Albert L. Henderson.
The city directory had an A. L. Henderson listed at a Hanford Street address.
I checked it out.
A dark-haired woman who identified herself as Mrs. Henderson answered the door after the preliminaries I showed her the watch.
Yes, my husband's watch. Where did you get that?
Where's your husband now, Mrs. Henderson? Is he home?
No. I don't know where he is.
Well, when do you expect him home? Can you tell me that?
Well, no. You see, he's gone. He's got in some trouble. He ran away.
When was this, ma'am? How long ago?
Oh, about two years. Two years in November next month.
He was partnership in business. He stole the money. He ran away.
You have any idea where he is now, Mrs. Henderson? You ever hear from him?
No. Never. No letters, nothing. He went away one day. He never came back.
Uh-huh. Who told you about your husband stealing the money? His business partner?
Yes. Mr. Hoffman. Myron Hoffman. Senoist man. Albert was lucky to have him for a partner.
I don't know why he did that.
Now, about this watch, Mrs. Henderson, did your husband ever pawn this watch at any time?
What? Pawn his watch? Oh, not Albert. That's the last thing he would let go.
One thing I can't understand. Why didn't you ever make an attempt to find your husband?
File a missing persons report.
Why should I want to find him? Thief. No good. Let him stay missing. I don't want to find him.
This business partner of your husband's, ma'am, this Mr. Hoffman, where can I get in touch with him? Do you know?
No. I guess I don't. He went away, I guess, I think, a year ago, maybe longer.
You got any idea where he might have gone?
Well, I don't know. He seemed to talk a lot about New York City. I never asked him, but I thought that's where he came from.
They were always talking about New York City, him and John.
Who's John?
That's Mr. Hoffman's nephew, John Mueller. He worked for my husband and Mr. Hoffman in the business.
Oh, I see. Well, I'd like to locate them if I could, ma'am. Can you describe Hoffman and his nephew for me, please?
Well, I guess Mr. Hoffman was about 50, 52, gray hair, about my height, 5 feet, 6 inches.
Ah.
His nephew John was tall, little 10 maybe. He had blond hair. He was a young fellow, about 30 years, I think.
Now, you're sure of that description, are you?
Oh, yes. They came here to the house for dinner a few times, both John and Mr. Hoffman. I knew them.
Would you give me a description of your husband?
Albert? Well, he was a big man, as tall as the nephew John, dark hair, gray eyes, 43 years old. He was a heavy man, 180 pounds, I think. Why do you want to know, officer?
How about your husband's teeth, Mrs. Henderson? At the time he disappeared, did he still have his own?
Oh, yes. Albert had wonderful teeth, strong.
Uh-huh. Did he ever have one of his teeth pulled out, you know?
Yes, just one. Why?
I guess that does it.
Does it? Well, this makes no sense. I don't think I like this.
No, ma'am. I don't think Albert liked it either.
The next day we got out on all points bulletin on Myron Hoffman and his nephew John Mueller, alias George Gallagher.
We finally tied in the last piece of evidence.
The day after I took a train for New York City, I spent the better part of a month there, legwork, phone calls, more legwork. It didn't go for nothing.
December 13th I took the train back to Cleveland. Next morning I checked in with Captain Rogers in charge of homicide.
How'd it check? How'd it go? Good trip?
Eh, tired. I think we made the grade, Captain.
What's the story?
I got enough here to start a novel. Here's page one.
Yeah?
Mr. Henderson's business partner, Myron Hoffman. He's from New York, all right. He's got a record there long as you're on. Bunko, forgery, narcotics, grand theft, robbery, everything but murder.
Here's a collection of his mugshots.
Oh. None of them too recent.
No, I know. That's the only drawback. Last one taken 12 years ago. It's pretty interesting, though. Here, take a look at those profile shots.
Yeah. A whole lot of difference in the world.
See? Left side of his face. How about that? Looks pious enough to pass for a saint.
Huh. Queer one.
Put it next to his right profile shot of him. It's swear it wasn't the same man.
Looks like the worst thief in the world.
Not a bad advantage, huh? Saint on one side, thief on the other, two on one.
Well, what does it mean?
All right, let me lay out the rest of it. Now, this Hoffman's nephew, John Miller, he used that George Gallagher alias.
Yeah.
I found his sister. She told me she hadn't seen her brother for three years. So I took a flyer.
I got the name of Mueller's dentist from his sister, looked him up, showed him the bridgework. We took off the skeleton. He identified it.
He made it for John Mueller, Gallagher, five years ago.
All right. Oh, where does that leave him?
I'm still guessing. Now, nobody gives up their bridgework, not without a struggle, anyway. I think we've got another body to look for.
Yeah, fair guess. Hoffman and his nephew killed Henderson.
Then Hoffman killed the nephew, took his bridgework, planted it on Henderson's body and buried it. Anything to throw us off the track.
That's my guess.
The owner of the laundry, Myron Wagner, that story of his about the blonde kid, the shoveled blood on his hand, kind of makes a liar out of him, doesn't it?
No big change.
What do you mean?
He was a liar long before we met him.
December 15th, my birthday, one year right to the day.
I left the office, got in a car and drove to the south end of the city. I pulled up in front of the same gray house, got out and walked up the stairs to the front door.
The name on the bail box was still the same, Myron J. Wagner.
He answered the door himself, ushered me into the same dimly lighted living room. He was calm, relaxed, perfectly at ease.
It was very good of you to come, Lieutenant Palachek. The early evening, good time to visit.
It's not a social call, Mr. Wagner. A few things I want to talk to you about. You want to get your hat and coat?
My hat and my coat? What is it you mean?
We want you downtown, Mr. Wagner. A couple of questions we'd like to ask.
Questions? About the Gallagher boy, you mean? I told you everything the last time you were here, Lieutenant Palachek.
Now look, Mr. Wagner, this happens to be my birthday. I got a family. I want to get home early tonight. I'll put it straight to you.
Put it straight?
Yeah, I'll draw you a road map. Now for a whole year I've been pounding my feet east, west and south in the city and out of it.
I'm not a smart cop, Mr., but I can still put one and one together. It adds up to you, Wagner.
Now how about the hat and coat?
It adds up to me, Lieutenant Palachek. I don't think I understand.
Number one, your name's Myron Hoffman, not Myron Wagner.
We've got your mug shots, your prints and exemplars of your handwriting from New York to prove it.
Number two, you killed Albert Henderson and buried him in the basement of that building where you had your laundry.
And besides that, it's odd, though, and you killed your nephew, too.
You, uh, you assume this or you have proof? Which one?
Ninety percent proof. Your hair, Wagner, I'll bet on it. Same kind that was planted on Henderson's body. Same color, same texture.
There's a bum bet, Mr., right from the start. Why'd you try?
You... you want me to get my coat?
Yeah, I'll go with you.
Hey, uh, I'm just curious, Wagner. You want to turn on the overhead lights?
Yes. My face. Is that it?
Lord. Good Lord.
There are two sides to a face, Lieutenant. Look at both of them. You will find one of them is good.
We'd better get your coat.
Uh, just one thing. My friend Henderson, my nephew John, as you say, just as you say, a bum bet. Why did I even try?
Hey, Wagner. What's the matter? Wagner!
The deputy coroner got there a half an hour later. He ran a fast check on Wagner and he put his money on a heart attack. The autopsy confirmed it.
Later on I tried to explain what it was like, I mean, standing there and watching Wagner's life suddenly drop out of him.
He turned to start for the door when his hands went up to his chest. I reached for him, but not in time.
He straightened out on the floor. That's when I noticed his face.
The left side. The side that made him look like a saint. It was changing in front of my own eyes.
The whole face, the whole side of it, fading all into one. Like a thick brown stain over the skin.
The same look as the right side of the face, dirty, dark, twisted. It was all there. It was frozen into his eyes and his mouth.
All the evil in the world in one face. I saw it happen. I saw it with my own eyes.
Suspense! A true story presented by Auto Light. Tonight's star, Mr. Lloyd Nolan.
This is Harlow Wilcox speaking for Auto Light, world's largest independent manufacturer of automotive electrical equipment.
Auto Light is proud to serve the greatest names in the industry. They are members of the Auto Light family,
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Next week, the story about a group of brave men who risked their lives in a desperate effort to save their fellow man.
The true story entitled Arctic Rescue. Our star, Mr. Joseph Cotton. That's next week on Suspense!
Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with music composed by Lucian Morawick and conducted by Lud Bluskin. The man with two faces was adapted for Suspense by James Moser from the recent book, Alan Hines Murder.
Featured in tonight's cast were Jeanette Nolan, Martha Wentworth, Tom Tully, Ralph Seddon, Joseph Kearns, Lou Merrill and Eddie Fields.
Remember next week, Joseph Cotton in Arctic Rescue.
You can buy Auto Light resistor or standard type spark plugs, Auto Light staple batteries and Auto Light electrical parts at your neighborhood Auto Light dealer. Switch to Auto Light. Good night.
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