Auto Light, episode 98, Ronald Coleman in tonight's presentation of Suspense.
Tonight, Auto Light brings to life one of the most famous detectives in literature as
we dramatize E.C. Bentley's classic novel of deduction, Trent's Last Case, our star
Mr. Ronald Coleman.
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No, the other one.
Thanks.
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Well, they do look alike, Hap, but there's a big difference.
This one is ignition engineered.
That means it's built by Auto Light, the people who really know spark plugs.
What makes you say that, Harlow?
Why, Auto Light makes complete electrical systems specified as original equipment on
many leading makes of our finest cars.
That means that Auto Light engineers specialize in ignition.
And because spark plugs are the very heart of a car's ignition system, they just naturally
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I guess I better be mighty sure I get only ignition engineered Auto Light spark plugs
from now on, eh, Harlow?
Right, Hap, because when you have ignition engineered Auto Light spark plugs in your
car, truck, or tractor, you have the finest spark plugs money can buy.
So friends, be sure you get the very best by insisting on standard or resistor type
ignition engineered Auto Light spark plugs.
They're world famous for quality and performance, and they're made by the world's largest independent
manufacturer of automotive electrical equipment.
And remember, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Auto Light.
And now, Auto Light presents E.C. Bentley's Trent's Last Case, starring Mr. Ronald Coleman,
hoping once again to keep you in suspense.
The last case to which I, Philip Trent, applied myself in the field of criminology and detection,
occurred in the spring of 1910.
I must acknowledge that the intricacies of the crime were worthy of the brain of Sigsbee
Manderson.
This colossus among financial giants had manipulated power and wealth in every corner of the world.
He centralized industries of continental scope, smashed families and fortunes, and along with
each dollar, he accumulated an enemy.
When Sigsbee Manderson was murdered, the world lost nothing worth a single tear.
The day of his death, Sir James Malloy, publisher of the London Record, asked me to cover the
case for his paper.
I agreed and immediately took the train to Bishop's Bridge.
Trent?
Philip Trent?
Wait for an old man.
Why Mr. Couples, by all this miraculous.
How are you?
Oh, it's Philip.
Reckless.
I expected you'd be down to Bishop's Bridge to write about the murder.
Well, that's rather a colorless way of stating it.
I should prefer to put it that I have come down in the character of avenger of blood,
to hunt down the guilty and vindicate the honor of society.
Families waited on at their private residences.
Famous turned your head.
This tragic affair will not blend well with your lightheartedness.
Ah, now Mr. Couples, you have more than a bystander's interest in the case.
I have indeed.
Come now, you didn't do the great man in.
Mabel Manderson is my niece and there are some things you will learn which may prejudice
you.
I wanted you to hear them from me so your good judgment would not be impaired by gossip
or malicious tongues.
Good.
So you're going to walk to the Manderson place with me?
Oh, much too far to walk.
I'll take you in my motor car.
Oh, now, now, you will go slowly, won't you?
Oh, very slowly.
You get in, I'll crank the engine.
Now, how about your niece?
My niece had been married to Manderson for five years.
They got along rather well despite the difference in their ages.
She was just eighteen when they married and he was close to fifty.
Several months ago, for no apparent reason, he began to treat her miserably.
He was surly, contentious and insulting.
When she could bear it no longer, she turned to me.
I offered to speak to him, demand an explanation for his outrageous behavior.
Why didn't she speak to him herself?
Mabel is the most gentle and even-tempered person.
She wanted to avoid a bitter squabble.
A rare woman indeed.
I tried to see Manderson for a week.
When I finally did catch up with him, I was doubly angry for his shabby treatment of his
wife and for avoiding me.
And did you get any satisfaction?
He refused to discuss the matter.
In the presence of witnesses, I'm afraid I made a rather rash statement.
I expressed the view that men such as he did not deserve to live.
I wouldn't worry about that, Mr. Couples.
That opinion seems to be universal.
The strange thing is, why your niece married Manderson.
Oh, yeah, here we are.
Would you mind opening the gates, please?
No, no, no, this will be fine.
I'd like to nose around the grounds a bit, unless you want to drive in.
No, no, no, no, I'm staying in town.
If you should want me, I'm at the Hotel Royal.
Thank you for the lift, Couples.
I passed through the gates and walked the path between tall walls of hedges.
A gap in this green wall took me to a gravel track that led to the small gardener's cottage.
Someone was poking about as they were looking for something.
My approach startled the fellow.
This is private property.
What are you doing here?
My name is Trent, and you, John Marlow.
Oh, yes, Secretary to Mr. Manderson, I believe.
You seem to have lost something.
Perhaps I can help you look.
No, I was just hoping I could find something here, something that the murderer may have
dropped.
This is where Manderson's body was found.
Ah, and have you found anything?
No, I really didn't expect to.
I've just been so, so upset, bereaved, devastated by the master's death.
Frankly, no, I'm limp, that's all.
I've been up all night driving, haven't had any sleep.
You should, you should do your driving during the day.
Mr. Manderson had sent me on an urgent errand to Southampton just before he was killed.
Oh, then you weren't around when the deed was done.
I have accounted for myself to Inspector Merch.
But now that your employment here has come to an abrupt end, do you plan on leaving Bishop's
Bridge?
Mrs. Manderson has asked me to stay, to clear up various papers and loose ends.
Oh, well, then I shall see you about.
You shall.
Mr. Trent, I would like to offer a suggestion.
Snoop around if you must, but leave Mrs. Manderson alone.
I've already heard that she's the most fragile creature.
But have no worries, Mr. Marlow.
I am gentle as a bird.
When Marlow left me, I potted about the uncut grass which still showed where the body had
lain.
Then I started towards the large house.
There was a man standing in the open French doors of the study.
Why, Trent, come in, come in.
Ah, me, trois-zeve-zots.
I did think for once I was the head of Scotland Yard, and now here again is the largest officer
in the entire force already filling that prime position.
How are you, Merch?
Earning my wages, Trent.
Ah, then you've arrested the bloke.
What done the old fellow in?
Good work.
No, I didn't say that.
It'll take more than you or me to put the cuffs on anyone in this case.
Oh, come now, what about the butler?
And the upstairs maid, the cook, the gardener?
Why, the place must be teeming with likely suspects.
That's the trouble.
Nothing was not what I'd call a lovable chip.
Too many suspects.
Why, why, some bloke could have come here from Tanganyika or Timbuktu, pulled the trigger,
and then gone home, easy as you please.
The gun hasn't been found?
No.
I have the bullet here, a.32.
Ah.
Such a small bullet to have ruined such a large brain.
Any powder burns?
None.
The gun was fired from a distance of about five feet.
The medical examiner has fixed the time of death at about midnight.
Where's the body?
At Ackerman's Mortuary in town.
I have a photograph here, taken where the body was found.
Let me see.
The best dress cops I've ever seen.
Except for the shoes.
The shoes?
Well, they're very expensive and practically new.
I'd like to see them if they're about.
Everything Mr. Manderson was wearing when he was killed has been returned to his room.
I suppose it'd be all right if I went up and sniffed around.
Of course.
I'll lead the way.
I've gone over everything thoroughly.
I don't know why you're so interested in the shoes.
Merch, don't you think it rather strange that Manderson was dressed meticulously when he
was shot, hair parted neatly, tie in place, waistcoat completely buttoned, yet the laces
of the shoes were untied?
Perhaps his feet bothered him.
I have terrible pains with...
Could robbery have come into it, you think?
Anything missing from Manderson's pockets or from the house?
No.
As a matter of fact, Manderson's wallet was overstuffed with about 5,000 pounds.
That's more than pocket money, even for a millionaire.
There was also a pouch of valuable uncut diamonds in one of his pockets.
No robbery is certainly out.
This is Manderson's room here.
Good diamonds, eh?
Has anyone guessed at their value?
About 10,000 pounds.
Well, good heavens.
Don't you think diamonds are worth that much?
Yes, yes, but I'm more impressed by the array of shoes in this wardrobe.
Why, there must be 50 pairs if there's one.
Aha, this is what I want.
How could you tell that those were the shoes Manderson wore last night?
Well, look here, there's a tear near the tongue.
Well, as I said, they must have been a bit tight for him.
Now, why would he with 50 pairs to choose from, select the one pair that pinched?
You know how it is.
I've become attached to an old bathrobe, much too tight for me.
Yet I, I favor it over a new one that the wife gave me on my birthday.
It's odd, very odd.
Merch, I wonder if we could have a look at Marlow's room now.
Certainly, it's just down the hall, but Marlow's in the clear.
He left at 11 last night, an hour before Manderson was killed.
He got to the Bedford Hotel in Southampton at 6.30.
Couldn't possibly have made the drive in less than seven and a half hours.
What was the errands Manderson sent him on?
He was to meet Mr. Harris and give him a package,
some big secret business affair of Manderson's, I imagine.
And Marlow delivered the package and returned to Bishop's Bridge?
He returned without making the delivery.
Harris didn't appear.
You might at least knock before intruding.
Oh, I'm sorry, Marlow. I thought the room was unoccupied.
No offense, Mr. Marlow. Trent here is working on the case.
He might call this visit an official police business.
I've told you all I can. If you don't mind, I'd like to nap.
Marlow, when you first went to work for Manderson,
did he require a graduate of Oxford?
All he wanted was a capable secretary.
But you were at Oxford.
I was.
Marvelous place, Oxford.
Gave us a great school and a fine style of shoe.
By the way, Marlow, what size shoe do you wear?
Inspector, if you don't remove this gentleman,
I shall report this to the authorities.
Oh, come off it, Mr. Marlow.
Let's indulge Mr. Trent in a question or two.
I wear size 10C.
Thank you.
Marlow, have you any idea what was in that package for Mr. Harris?
No.
Where is it now?
A messenger came for it this morning.
Do you have any idea who this Mr. Harris may be?
Have you ever met him?
No.
Mr. Manderson had many private business arrangements
about which I was kept in the dark.
I was his secretary, not a business partner.
Isn't it rather odd that an American would
hire an English secretary?
Well, not at all.
Maybe.
Mrs. Manderson is English.
That is why Mr. Manderson lived in England a good part
of the time.
He wanted his wife to feel at home among her own people.
And I assume you did your part in that regard.
I beg your pardon?
I beg yours, Marlow.
Well, take your nap and pleasant dreams.
Inspector Merch went off to complete arrangements
for the inquest, leaving me alone in this marble mausoleum
of a house to wait for Mrs. Manderson.
I then sent a telegram to Oxford University
and requested an immediate reply to my inquiries
about John Marlow's undergraduate activities.
Then I wrote my first dispatch for the London Record,
setting forth everything I knew, but keeping to myself
those suspicions which I hope would soon be confirmed.
Since Mrs. Manderson didn't appear,
I decided to have another look at the garden as cottage.
But a compelling thought turned me instead
towards the sound of the sea.
Standing at the edge of the cliff,
I watched the beautiful movements of water,
the wash of a light sea over broken rock.
And then, then my heart seemed to stop.
Close to the point where the cliff dropped sheer,
a woman of remarkable beauty was sitting,
her face full of some distant dream.
I knew who this woman must be, Mabel Manderson.
She was at once everything that poets and painters
have tried to express with pen and brush.
Yet this woman, who appeared to be devoid of evil
and incapable of murder, this woman,
whose husband's death had made her the wealthiest of widows,
wore on her lips a faint, yet unmistakable smile.
Auto Light is bringing you Mr. Ronald Coleman
in E.C. Bentley's Trent's Last Case,
tonight's presentation in radio's outstanding
theater of thrills, Suspense.
There's one thing I've learned, Harlow,
and that's to make sure I get ignition-engineered
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Well, you've learned a mighty important lesson, Hap,
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And now, auto light brings back to our Hollywood soundstage
Mr. Ronald Coleman in Elliot Lewis's production
of E.C. Bentley's Trent's Last Case,
a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
To continue my narration of the peculiar circumstances
surrounding the death of Sigsby Manderson,
the last case to which I, Philip Trent, applied myself,
the sight of Mrs. Manderson at her sanctuary on the cliff
had a most unsettling effect on me.
I returned to the house and nervously paced the floor of the study
for I don't know how long.
When the door opened and my name was spoken,
I stared stupidly.
Mr. Trent, I am Mrs. Manderson.
You are Mr. Trent, I believe.
I believe, yes, Mr. Trent.
Please sit down, Mr. Trent.
I would like to help you in any way I can.
Thank you.
I'm sorry for inflicting myself upon you
at this tragic time, Mrs. Manderson,
but I have just a few questions.
Last night, did your husband retire at the usual time?
Yes, at 10.30.
Then sometime after 11, I heard him move about in his room,
which adjoins mine.
I called and asked him if anything were troubling him.
He said no, he was just a bit restless
and would ask Mr. Marlowe to take him for a drive to relax his nerves.
And did the drive with Marlowe bring the desired results?
Well, I thought so.
At about midnight, I heard my husband return
and asked if he felt better.
He replied that he did,
and that he'd sent Marlowe on an errand to Southampton.
I see, thank you.
Your uncle, Mr. Couples,
mentioned that Mr. Manderson behaved strangely towards you
in the past month or so.
Well, he did, rather.
I put it down to the pressure of business
that it's begun to tell on him.
And was he of a very jealous nature?
He had no reason to be jealous.
There were no quarrels, differences of any kind?
Not quarrels, really.
My husband liked to spend money.
I never learned to. My needs were modest.
I've long feared that the large amount of cash
my husband always had on hand was an invitation to burglars.
And was he in the habit of carrying a pouch
full of diamonds in his pocket?
He often bought expensive jewels for me,
but they were kept in the safe.
Since they were not put to use by me,
perhaps he had decided to dispose of them.
Of course.
I know this must be a harrowing experience for you, Mrs. Manderson,
but you do want your husband's murderer brought to justice.
I will help in any way I can.
I didn't think I would learn anything by attending the inquest,
so while it was being held, I strolled to the telegraph office.
Yes, sir?
I expected a telegram yesterday.
I wonder whether it has come in.
What is the name, please?
Trent. Philip Trent.
Trent. It does sound familiar.
Why, of course.
A batch of telegrams was delivered to Mrs. Manderson last night.
Sympathy messages, you know, the poor thing.
Yours went out of the house along with the others.
You're sure of that?
Why, look here. The delivery book.
You can see it's signed by the person who received it.
Thank you. Thank you very much.
The receipt bore a signature in a clear hand.
John Marlowe.
I found myself at the cliff again,
and each crashing wave was like a hammer blow on my heart.
I was certain of the contents of the telegram.
Only one thing was not clear, and that was a motive.
And each time the answer tried to insinuate itself into my mind,
I consciously pushed it away.
I could no longer look at the case impersonally.
After the first sight of Mrs. Manderson sitting on this very rock
while she gazed at the sea,
I knew that she could be motive enough, innocent or not,
for any deed, good or bad.
This came for you last night.
What? Why, what, what?
Why, you're in the habit of skulking up on people?
I, I almost lost my footing.
Be more careful. It's a long way down.
Well, what are you, uh, waiting for?
Surely you don't expect me to thank you for withholding my telegram since last night?
You weren't here.
You didn't expect me to chase over the countryside looking for you.
All right. Uh, thank you.
I imagine you'll be leaving Bishop's Bridge, Trent.
The inquest jury returned a verdict of murder by persons unknown.
Inspector Merch believes the crime was committed by a crank.
You're a veritable storehouse of information, Marlow.
And now if you'll excuse me.
When Marlow left me, I tore open the telegram.
Response to your inquiry, John Marlow, member of Dramatic Society.
Excellent in roles calling for disguise and vocal impersonations.
Ah.
I knew what I had to do
and I approached my task with the deepest pain and gloom.
Mr. Trent, I didn't realize you'd come in.
Forgive my playing. The piano is my only release.
No, no, please continue.
I, I've...
Aren't you feeling well?
Perhaps some brandy.
No, no, no, thank you, Mrs. Manderson. I,
I've written the story of this case and addressed it to the publisher of the record.
It's all here in this envelope.
It contains certain things which I have concluded about your husband's death.
Things not suspected by anyone else.
Mrs. Manderson, I am not free to suppress this evidence on a mere whim.
I want the truth.
Are you asking me if I perjured myself at the inquest?
Since I have a passion for truth, I do not attend inquests.
But you knew why your husband changed his attitude towards you in the month or so preceding his death?
What have you found out?
I want you to tell me.
All right.
He knew that I was weary of life with him.
The constant parties, business conferences, scheming, complicated plans for amalgamations, corporations, which went on constantly.
I couldn't ask him to pass a butter at dinner without getting the latest market prices on that commodity.
I refused to attend his dinners. I wouldn't pay hostess any longer at his dull parties.
That is why his attitude changed.
There was no talk of divorce?
None.
Did you plan to continue living with him?
Why? Why do you ask me that?
I know that your husband became contemptuous of you because of John Marlowe.
There you have the envelope.
Send it to the record or withhold it as you choose.
I'm done with this. This is my last case.
I watched her trembling hands tear open the envelope and extract the story.
The story that told how Marlowe had shot Manderson at eleven o'clock, had impersonated him at midnight,
had worn the dead man's shoes to cover up his own footprints,
and had been in such haste that he neglected to tie the laces when he returned them to the feet of the murdered man.
I dared not guess how deeply Mrs. Manderson was involved in the plot.
Besides being the motive for it, I wanted to be done with the affair
and get as far away as possible from the woman who now stood so near to me.
I can't send this off, Mr. Trent.
I'm sure you have good reason.
The best. You are wrong.
Impossible. I can prove that Marlowe masqueraded as your husband.
Oh, listen, please. My husband sent Marlowe off to see a man who never existed.
In the package addressed to the mythical Mr. Harris with my husband's wallet with five thousand pounds and the pouch of diamonds.
He intended only to wound himself and then had Mr. Marlowe arrested for theft and attempted murder.
Like you, my husband suspected there was something between Marlowe and me. There never was.
Oh, Mrs. Manderson.
When Marlowe started to drive off, he heard the shot and drove back.
My husband was dead, a suicide.
He realized then what my husband had planned.
He replaced the wallet and diamonds in the pockets, then borrowed the shoes for reasons you guessed.
They were torn because Marlowe's feet were a little too large for them.
But you said you had seen Manderson at midnight.
I said I had heard his voice. Marlowe's a good impersonator. He was trying to protect himself and me.
Now, Mrs. Manderson, I couldn't have been that far from the solution.
You were even further away, Trent.
Why, couples.
Manderson was not a suicide.
What?
I killed him.
This is too ridiculous.
I was out walking that night. I saw Marlowe drive off.
Then I came upon Manderson just as he was about to shoot himself.
I tried to stop him. We struggled. And during the struggle, the gun went off accidentally.
How could I have been so wrong?
I think I know why. Your talents must be better suited to reporting than the detective business.
My dear Mrs. Manderson, I couldn't agree with you more.
This eye-bow shall be Trent's last case.
[♪triumphant music playing on the radio.
[♪music playing on the radio.
Suspense.
Presented by Auto Light, the night star, Mr. Ronald Coleman.
This is Harlow Wilcox speaking for Auto Light, the world's largest independent manufacturer of automotive electrical equipment.
In 28 plants from coast to coast, Auto Light makes over 400 products for cars, trucks, tractors, planes, boats, and industry.
These products include dial indicating and recording thermometers, bumpers, die castings, and batteries,
such as the famous Auto Light Stay Full, ignition engineered Auto Light spark plugs, both standard and resistor types,
voltage regulators, wire and battery cable, Auto Light bullseye sealed beam units,
and Auto Light original service parts for all Auto Light electrical systems.
Auto Light is proud to serve the greatest names in the industry.
So, from bumper to tail light, you're always right with Auto Light.
[♪triumphant music playing on the radio.
Next week, we combine fact and fiction. The fact, the murder of Mary Cecilia Rogers.
The fiction, Edgar Allan Poe's solution of that crime, the mystery of Marie Roget.
Our star, Mr. Cornell Wilde. 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,
Eddie Bentley's Trent's Last Case was adapted for Suspense by Oliver Gard.
Featured tonight's cast were Ellen Morgan, Joseph Kearns, Richard Peel, Gloria Ann Simpson, and William Johnstone.
And remember next week, Mr. Cornell Wilde and Edgar Allan Poe's The Mystery of Marie Roget.
You can buy Auto Light standard or resistor type spark plugs, Auto Light original service parts,
and Auto Light Stay Full batteries at your neighborhood Auto Light dealers.
Switch to Auto Light. Good night.
This is the CBS Radio Network.
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