Auto Light and its 98,000 dealers bring you Mr. Cornell Wilde in tonight's presentation
of Suspense.
Tonight, Auto Light combines fact and fiction.
The fact, the murder of Mary Cecilia Rogers in New York City.
The fiction, Edgar Allan Poe's solution of that crime, which he called the mystery of
Marie Roget, our star Mr. Cornell Wilde.
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Mary Cecilia Rogers was murdered in the vicinity of New York City in the summer of 1842.
It was still an unsolved crime in November when the Mystery of Marie Roger was published.
The author, Edgar Allan Poe.
It paralleled in every essential detail the murder of Mary Rogers.
Poe wrote it far from the scene of the atrocity with only the newspaper reports of the day.
Nevertheless, the subsequent confession connected with the murder of Mary Rogers confirmed not
only the killer named by Poe, but all the chief details by which he arrived at his identification.
And now, Auto Light presents transcribed Edgar Allan Poe's Mystery of Marie Roger, starring
Mr. Cornell Wilde, hoping once again to keep you in suspense.
Good evening.
My name is Dupin.
I should like to extend an invitation.
Regard first a certain event which truly occurred in New York City on a warm summer night in
1842.
Secondly, I invite you to employ your imagination and displace that same event intact with all
of the essential facts to a cobbled old world Paris on an identical warm and fragrant summer
night in the same year.
Lastly, and most interesting, I should like to invite you to attend that event.
It is a murder.
The general design and the mental character of the atrocity, indeed the first knowledge
of its occurrence, came to my attention on Wednesday night, the 25th day of June.
Who is the Prefect of Police?
I am, Monsieur.
Dupin?
Yes, Monsieur.
Oh, thank you for coming, Monsieur.
I wasn't certain my messenger would find you.
This way, Monsieur.
Please.
The Andre, Andre de Lantern from Monsieur Dupin.
She died harshly.
Yes.
Beaten, choked, frowned.
Yes, quite harshly.
She was beautiful, Monsieur.
Once perhaps, yes.
Still, Mademoiselle What.
In life she had a name, in death she must also have a name.
Any of you?
I have asked, Monsieur, but none of them know her.
But her clothes and jewels say she was known, Dupin.
Good clothes, torn and disordered, her terrible struggle, but good.
And the jewelry, not expensive, but tasteful.
This woman, in my opinion, Dupin, was known.
And loved, Monsieur the Prefect.
No doubt.
Dupin, Dupin, this is why I sent for you.
I've been through these things before.
The newspapers will write stories, the reporters will make conjecture.
Although there is no name for her now, there will eventually be a name.
And then, Monsieur, I will be called upon to produce her assassins.
There is so little to go on.
The eyes of the public will be upon me.
My honor is at stake.
And my honor too, Monsieur, if I am involved in the investigation.
Dupin, listen.
There is a fund at the Prefecture, a sizable fund, which I am authorized to use when circumstances
arise.
And for your services, I am willing to make a direct and liberal proposition.
Dupin, you will help me find the answer to this woman's death.
I cannot refuse.
No form about the mouth, as in the case of the merely drowned Monsieur.
Here, bruises, impressions of fingers.
It was a fanguration by hand and by this cord, Monsieur.
Yes.
Doctor.
Yes, Dupin.
An ingenious knot in that cord, don't you think?
This is a slip knot, a sailor's knot.
Sailor's knot, which was found in water.
Why did she die, Monsieur?
For her beauty, perhaps, for her love, her hate.
It was Sunday.
Hmm?
Observe, Doctor, there are no marks to prove she was weighted and then shaken loose.
Yes, she quit life on Sunday, murdered in the dark, thrown into the river, unweighted.
Monday, Tuesday, she remained as a corpse will on the bottom.
And then on the third day, tonight, as a corpse will, she rose and the fishermen saw her.
It is the way of corpses violently made, sir.
Not only violent, but quick, near the river bank somewhere.
For what assassins could carry a burden like this long undiscovered?
From a dark bridge, perhaps.
No, no, too much light and people.
There had to be a boat, Doctor.
If she was dropped from a bridge or pushed in from the shore, the current might press
her aside to be caught in the vegetation of the shallow water.
She was murdered on the bank and then taken out to her grave in a boat.
And there had to be a man who knew how to handle a boat in the tricky current.
Who is there?
It is I, the Prefect.
I have someone who thinks he may know her.
Hmm.
Come in, Monsieur.
Ahead of me, please.
With your permission, Doctor, Monsieur Dupont.
Monsieur Beauvais, Monsieur.
How do you do?
Monsieur Beauvais has been searching since Monday for news of a Marie Roget.
Mademoiselle Roget is an employee of Monsieur Beauvais.
Correct, Monsieur?
Correct.
I am a parfumer.
I called on her mother, Madame Roget, Monday when Mary did not appear at my shop.
Madame informed me that Mary had left Sunday morning to visit her aunt at Rue des Drômes.
She has not yet returned.
I see.
And what else?
I cannot say, Monsieur.
So far I have ascertained that she never arrived at Rue des Drômes.
And indeed, no one has seen her since Sunday.
Can you describe Marie Roget?
But of course, dark hair, almost black, dark eyes, tall, young, vibrant, a woman, Monsieur,
of great promise.
Jacques Saint-Tustache, the last to see her, mentioned to me that Mademoiselle was a frock
of fine muslin, deep blue.
I knew it well.
A bonnet to match goes with it.
Je parle.
Who is Jacques Saint-Tustache, Beauvais?
Monsieur Saint-Tustache is the accepted tutor of Marie Roget.
He lodges and takes meals at the pension kept by Madame Roget.
He was to have gone for his betrothed at dusk Sunday and to have escorted her home.
In the afternoon it rained heavily and supposing that she would remain at her aunt's, he did
not think it necessary to keep his promise.
She has stayed there under similar circumstances.
And where is Jacques Saint-Tustache at this moment?
Searching and anxious as I am for Marie Roget.
It is three days since Sunday.
Four days really, but three that Marie Roget has been considered missing.
Your search is tardy.
I know, Monsieur.
Well, I am at your mercy.
She has disappeared twice.
Ah, the first time she disappeared was about three years ago.
Her mother, her friends were unable to account for her disappearance.
I was distracted with anxiety and terror.
Did you notify the police?
In that case, immediately, Monsieur.
But suddenly, Marie reappeared one fine morning after being absent a week.
She was in good health and held with somewhat the sad and air.
She explained she had spent the missing week with her relative in the country.
Madame Roget, who was and still is infirm, recalled this to be a fact.
And the matter was forgotten, until now.
So you did not call the police the second time she disappeared?
What has happened once can happen again.
What did happen that week she was away?
I do not know.
I do not honestly know.
But you doubt the story of visiting a relative?
I will not say.
Show him what we have, Doctor.
If you will kindly step over here, Monsieur Beauvais.
No, Monsieur Beauvais, if you please.
Do you know this woman, Monsieur?
It is her.
It is Marie Roget.
It is her.
Poor little Beauvais.
Poor Marie.
Why does Beauvais cry, duain?
The girl only worked for him.
He has not told us all.
He is suspect, duain, and I will have a word with him.
Say.
But, duain, why does he weep for a shop girl, a cruisette who has promised to another?
He weeps for youth and beauty.
Yes, Monsieur?
I am Dupin, Madame Roget.
May I come in?
Oh, come.
Come.
No, no, please sit, Madame.
I understand you are not well.
I have been invalid ten years now.
I will not consume a great deal of time.
May I ask, did your daughter often visit relatives in other distant parts of the city?
Often.
And stay overnight?
Often.
With your approval, Madame?
She was and has been free of me since her sixteenth year.
That is a very frank answer, Madame.
I can tell you nothing of what has happened to her.
She leaves me on a morning with no enemies I know of.
And do you know of her friends?
I understand the intention of your remark.
You refer to those besides Jacques.
No, I know of none.
I understand that Jacques Saint-Eustache keeps rooms here.
That is true?
Yes, but he is no longer here.
He left once he was informed of Marie's death, where I do not know.
But surely he understood that we would be by to question him?
He was beside himself with grief.
I cannot blame him.
I see.
Oh, I have been of no assistance where I would like to be.
And yet I knew something that morning.
I knew she would not come back to her mama again.
You knew she would not be back, Madame?
Did she take clothes, bid her a longer goodbye?
How did you know?
I knew.
I knew, Monsieur.
Death was very close to her that day.
If you knew this, Madame, why did you allow her to venture out?
I stop her?
No, no.
If it is not met, Death will arrange a meeting.
If the meeting had been here, Death might have visited me too.
And I am yet afraid to die.
Auto Light is bringing you Mr. Cornell Wilde in Edgar Allan Poe's The Mystery of Marie
Roger, tonight's presentation in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
I got him, Harlow.
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And now, auto light brings back to our Hollywood sound stage Mr. Cornell Wilde in Elliot Lewis's
production of Edgar Allan Poe's The Mystery of Marie Roger, a tale well calculated to
keep you in suspense.
DuPin again, you will recall the event we have been attending in Paris.
I invite you now to keep in mind the solemn fact that Marie Roger died violently.
And her lover Jacques Santostache is missing.
Where she died, who administered her death, for what reason remain to be known.
Attend at this point another event, if you will, which was arranged by that zealous and
righteous man, the prefect of police.
Thank you for coming DuPin.
You have located the lover Santostache.
Santostache?
Oh, he is unimportant, I assure you.
Somewhere right now he drinks and tries to forget.
But what I have here is important, most important.
Madame Dulac, if you please.
Good evening, gentlemen.
Good evening.
This is Madame Dulac.
She has something of interest to tell you.
And I have something of interest to show you.
Good evening, madame.
I have maintained this tavern many years, right here, close to the bank of the river.
No, no, no.
No fear with me, madame.
I have no authority to do anything but respect your person and your thoughts.
What is this information?
I saw a young woman here some day.
Monsieur said it was Marie Roger.
It was, definitely.
Just a moment.
Sunday, madame.
Yes.
Mid-afternoon, later perhaps.
Where?
Right here in my tavern.
She arrived accompanied by a young man of dark, swore the complexion.
The two remained here for some time.
On their departure, they took the road through some thick woods that way.
Toward the river, du par.
And this is a secluded neighborhood.
Go on, madame.
Go on.
Soon after they left, a gang of miscreants made their appearance at my place of business.
They behaved boisterously.
They ate and drank without payment.
Then left and followed the route of the young girl and the young man that same way.
I see.
About dusk, the same gang reappeared and we crossed the river in great haste.
I see.
And you are certain it was Marie Roger?
Never fear.
My men spoke with an unnoticed driver, a man named Valence, who knew Marie Roger.
He claims he saw her cross the Seine on the Sunday afternoon in question with the swarthy
man who fits the exact description of madame.
And what else, monsieur?
I will show you.
Come.
I followed him through the back of the tavern into the thick woods which lined the Seine
at that point.
He stopped when we had come to a close thicket, within which were three or four large stones
forming a kind of seat with a back and footstool.
Note du Parme, a white petticoat here, here a silk scarf, parasol, gloves, pocket handkerchief,
inspector handkerchief du Parme.
Thank you.
You note the name Marie Roger embroidered there?
Yes, yes.
So this is the place she met her death.
Well, of course it is.
I have found it.
Look, look, the earth is crumpled where she struggled and over here, here a bush is still
broken.
Every evidence of a terrible struggle.
And here, here, the fence has been taken down and the ground shows that some heavy burden
was dragged along it toward the river.
Well, come, come, look for yourself.
What say you now?
I am wondering.
Wonder?
Well, we have facts now, sir, important facts.
Do you recall a strip of one of the unfortunate girls' petticoat had been tied about her mouth
probably to prevent her screams?
I do.
This was done by fellows who had no pocket handkerchiefs.
Miscreants du Parme, miscreants such as those who visited Madame Duloc's tavern and later
went the same way as Marie Roger and her companion.
There are many such gangs about here.
All we have to do is locate them.
And I know how to do that.
That night, the shrill cries of the Paris newsboys proclaimed the prefect's resolve.
He offered a reward of 20,000 francs and a full pardon for any king's evidence.
It was an accepted conclusion that Marie Roger had been waylaid and slain by a gang of miscreants
in the vicinity of Madame Duloc's tavern.
Ah, well, are you defeated, Monsieur du Parme, now that I have solved the mystery of Marie
Roger?
No, Monsieur.
Ho, ho.
I have doubled the reward.
Soon one of the miscreants will come forward, then you'll see.
40,000 francs should be temptation enough.
Twenty thousand was temptation enough.
No one will come forward, Monsieur.
A gang such as it's hoped for would be composed of men who have never seen more than a hundred
francs at one time.
Twenty thousand would bring all of them if, if they had any knowledge of Marie Roger's
murder.
Oh, they're just waiting.
You know that.
Waiting.
When each is in jeopardy because of the other.
Ho, ho, ho.
We shall see du Parme wait.
It was one man.
Huh?
A man who dragged the body of Mademoiselle to the river's edge.
A gang, even two men, could have carried it.
Oh.
A gang would have lifted it over the fence easily instead of taking a fence down as it
was taken down.
One man labored hard.
Well, my conjecture is as good as yours.
Are you talking of Saint-Eustache?
No.
He is quite unguilty.
Monsieur, allow me to point out that the newspapers, the police, all have identified themselves
with what apparently happened.
We must consider what did not happen.
First, a gang did not set upon her and murder her.
Secondly, Marie Roger had no intention of visiting her aunt at Rue des Drommes when
she left her mother-in-law last Sunday morning.
Du Parme, if you have confident information, explain yourself.
I have the same information as you.
Nothing else.
You said she had no intention of visiting her aunt that day.
Why do you say that?
Monsieur, consider what might have happened if her intended Jacques Saint-Eustache had
called for her at her aunt's and discovered she was not there, that she had not been there
all day.
He would have been chagrined, suspicious, angry.
Saint-Eustache would have been all these.
Nothing for Marie Roger to worry about when she returned home.
But nothing to worry about if Marie did not intend to return home.
Well, a point to consider, perhaps.
Go on.
Consider that she kept a rendezvous instead.
This we know, a rendezvous with a swarthy man.
We have been told that by two witnesses who saw him.
Now, Monsieur, I ask you, as I have asked myself, did this swarthy companion allow Marie
to be slain before his eyes?
Or was he himself slain trying to help her?
If so, where is his body?
Well, he left her before she was set upon, obviously.
Did he leave her alone in such a dark district?
They quarreled.
Indeed they did.
Another question.
Marie Roger's death is known everywhere in France.
Why has he not come forward to help us clear up the mystery?
Many reasons.
Perhaps he is married.
He's left.
He's uninformed.
He has a swarthy complexion, a sea complexion, a well-attested fact.
Now, accumulate that with the cord that was tied about her neck in a sailor's knot.
Monsieur Dupin, I have not the sl...
And the need of a skilled boatman to handle a boat on the river to dispose of the body.
But it could be anyone.
No, it could not.
What?
Marie Roger was a gay, not an abject girl.
No common seaman for her.
An officer, a naval officer, monsieur.
Like the one who might have led her into a false elopement the first time she disappeared.
Three years passed.
The approved time for a French man of war to consume encircling the globe.
The officer returns, thinking of the same coquette, Marie Roger.
The same bargain.
What he has managed to do once, he can do again.
Marie meets him Sunday for this purpose.
Then she thinks the better of an elopement and refuses to accompany him.
Santa Stash has captured her love.
Her former lover slays her in quick anger.
He drags her body to the river, commandeers a boat.
Where do I find him?
On whatever ship has arrived from the world cruise.
His name?
What is his name, du Par?
Enquire for the name of the young officer who has applied for leave to get married.
But there must be many such among a ship's complement returning after a long cruise.
Agreed.
But, monsieur le Prefect, there is only one naval officer who has returned to his ship
without a bride.
Andre!
We leave at once for the naval yards.
It has been an interesting evening.
And now I issue a last invitation, my friends.
I invite you to retain all that you have heard and employ this time, instead of your imagination,
your sense of reality.
The title of Marie Roget of Paris was truthfully Mary Rogers of New York.
Let your reality move you back to New York City on a winter day some months after the
event described.
In the darkening afternoon inside a gray stone building, I invite you to attend another event
I think you will find significant.
Ensign Robert Bryant Wilson, you have been found guilty of the murder of Mary Cecilia
Rogers.
It is the judgment of this court that you be hanged by the neck until you are dead.
This evening has been a life tones day but there's no dole.
There's no one to change these지만ches, on this day not a single man will go to court
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Next week, one of the most terrifying half hours ever presented on Suspense,
a young couple and a mad woman, and what happened to them on a country road.
Our star, Mr. Frank Lovejoy, that's next week on Suspense.
Suspense is transcribed and directed by Elliot Lewis, with music composed by Lucian Morawick and conducted by Lud Gluskin.
Edgar Allan Poe's The Mystery of Marie Roget was adapted for Suspense by E. Jack Newman.
InterNight's cast, John Boehner, was heard as the prefect of police.
Others in the cast were Lou Merrill, Jeanette Nolan, Paula Winslow, William Johnstone, and Edgar Barrier.
And remember, next week, Mr. Frank Lovejoy in On a Country Road.
You can buy Auto Light state full batteries, Auto Light original service parts,
and Auto Light standard or resistor type spark plugs at your neighborhood Auto Light dealers.
Switch to Auto Light. Good night.
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