WEBVTT

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And now, tonight's presentation from radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.

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Tonight, the story of a murder, deliberate, cold, motiveless, in which we will examine

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its effects on our protagonist.

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The story is called, The Earth is Made of Glass.

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Good morning, Dr. West.

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Oh, good morning, Miss Adam.

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I've brought down the night charts from the fourth floor.

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Ah, now look the more.

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What sort of night did you have?

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Fairly quiet, Doctor.

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No new cases.

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There were.

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I don't know where you'd put them.

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Well, we have one vacant bed this morning, 436.

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Mr. Steele?

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Yes, he died about 4 a.m.

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Surprised he held on that long?

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I thought you might be upset, Doctor.

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I mean, the day supervisor, Miss Rosenberg, told me you and Mr. Steele were either related

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or very close friends.

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No, no, not at all.

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Mr. Steele suffered certain delusions.

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Just before he died, he asked me to give you this, Dr. West.

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It's some kind of diary or journal.

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He said he owed it to you, that it was in compensation.

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Very well, leave it on the desk.

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I'll ask who is in charge of settling his estate.

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All right, Doctor.

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I looked at the first few pages.

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Very strange.

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Oh.

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Well, I'm going off duty.

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Very well, Miss Adams.

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I'll see you tomorrow.

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Yes, Doctor.

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The Journal of Richard Thomas Steele.

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Strange.

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He tore out a good many pages.

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Everything up to July 26th.

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That's only a month ago.

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Why on earth did he leave it to me?

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Who do you think I was?

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Poor devil, there was certainly something torturing him.

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July 26th, an extremely depressing day.

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From early morning on, the air was hot, heavy, sticky.

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I stayed indoors.

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I stayed indoors with the blinds drawn, spent three and a half hours arranging and cataloging

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a new shipment of books.

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I must say I gloated over the volume of bacon, gold leaf uncut, 1836, a treasure.

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In the afternoon, I ventured out to play chess with Elliot.

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He's an uninspired player and a worse conversationalist.

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I'm appalled that a man of Elliot's pretensions still wallows in 18th and 19th century thought

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patterns, twaddle and sentimentality.

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He's totally out of step with the times, blindly determined to keep his mind closed to any

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developments in science.

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It was so apparent in that argument we had over Ralph Waldo Emerson.

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I noticed he had a volume of Emerson's essays, a cheap reprint, and I thumbed through it.

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There was one paragraph in the essay called Compensation, which especially annoyed me.

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I must have snorted because Elliot was instantly on the defensive.

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When I asked him if he actually believed such claptrap, he fairly leaped at me.

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Certainly, I believe there's compensation, Richard.

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Tit for tat, measure for measure, love for love.

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Whatever a man does comes back to him.

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Good for good, evil for evil, so that if I should commit a crime, I would of necessity

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be punished?

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In one way or another, yes.

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You mean that I would in some way suffer in compensation for my evil deeds?

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Isn't that what Emerson says?

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I want to know what you believe.

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I believe what he says.

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Well, let's read what he says.

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Discounting the poetry and all the emotional overtones, Emerson says, commit a crime and

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the earth is made of glass.

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Commit a crime and it seems as if a coat of snow fell on the ground, such as reveals in

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the woods the track of every partridge in fox and squirrel and mole.

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You cannot recall the spoken word.

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You cannot wipe out the foot track.

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You cannot draw up the ladder, so as to leave no in-letter clue.

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Some damning circumstance always transpires.

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The laws and substances of nature, water, snow, wind, gravitation, become penalties

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to the thief.

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Well, Eliot.

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Beautiful, isn't it?

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Don't be evasive, Eliot.

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We're discussing his theory.

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Well, I don't see how there can be any argument.

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We know...

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We know a good deal more than Emerson, you old fellow, especially about the laws and

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substances of nature.

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They surely haven't changed.

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No, no, but we've taken them into the laboratory.

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We've tested the substances and we've mastered the laws, put them under our control.

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The scientific method, Eliot.

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White cancels out every word your friend Emerson wrote.

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The scientific method.

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Is it an open sesame to all knowledge?

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Does it make us gods?

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There are still mysteries we can never fathom, Richard.

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For instance, the mysteries in ourselves.

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In our souls?

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Yes, in our souls.

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Whatever it is we have that cannot be weighed or tested, yet which manifests itself in every

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good or evil thing we do.

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Say you commit a murder.

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Say I do.

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A perfect crime.

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For I grant you that a man of your intelligence can outwit the police.

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Nevertheless, you could not escape from...

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Well, let's call it your conscience.

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But say I commit a laboratory murder.

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What?

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Let me put it this way.

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To catch a murderer, the police first set out to discover some connection between the murderer

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and his victim, which leads them to the motive for the crime.

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And when a murderer is caught by his own conscience, it is also through his connection with his

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victim, his emotional connection.

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But in a pure abstract murder, one occurring in an emotional vacuum, the two participants

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would be connected only by the unadulterated act of killing.

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But isn't every man connected first of all with himself?

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I mean, a man renders judgment on himself.

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In his soul, I would say.

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With superstitious claptrap, Elliot, apparently you're completely unable to grasp my premise

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that theoretically, a laboratory murder is entirely possible.

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Why not actually?

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It would be very interesting to test the theory and find out.

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July 28th, the weather continues warm, humidity high.

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This is the last summer I shall spend in New York.

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Today, I roamed around my library, read a little, thought a great deal.

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It's odd how I keep referring back to my conversation with Elliot.

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Abstract murder, a laboratory murder.

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I jotted down one or two theoretical points today.

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An amusing project in such hot weather.

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What utter nonsense to think of conducting a laboratory experiment and writing on paper.

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Boy, it's a contradiction in terms.

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The core of the scientific method is to prove theory in life.

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So, let us proceed actually to create a pure murder.

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A murder committed, as I said to Elliot, in a material and emotional vacuum.

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A murder of someone with whom I have no connection, whom I have no possible reason to kill.

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But I will decide how to choose my victim after I've made all the other preparations

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and have purchased the necessary equipment.

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Gloves, sir.

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What kind of gloves?

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Oh, any kind of gloves.

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But I mean, what do you want them for?

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Driving, gardening?

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I want gloves I can use for almost anything.

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Oh, well, now we call these utility gloves.

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Oh, yes, those are excellent.

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Yes, what size, sir?

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Any size, medium.

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Now, these look just about...

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No, no, no, I don't want to try them on.

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I'll pick them as they are, just wrap them up.

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You know, I'm very fond of a genuine old-fashioned hardware store like this one.

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Lots of people tell me that, sir.

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Anything special you're looking for?

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No, I suppose I'm just browsing.

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Oh, yes, sir.

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What are those, ice picks?

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Yes, sir.

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Oh, quite a selection.

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Screwdrivers and...

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Oh, there's something I want.

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A knife?

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One of those.

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Well, to be fair with you, sir, those are pretty poor knives.

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That's why they're marked down.

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Too big for paring, too small for carving.

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Just knives.

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That's about it.

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With the best possible recommendation, I'll take one.

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A meaningless knife, all-purpose gloves, knife and gloves new, factory-made, uncontaminated

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by human association, smelling only of the harsh impersonal machines which turned them

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out.

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My first safeguards against the intrusion of emotion.

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And now to complete my plans.

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Who will it be?

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I must never see his or her face.

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I must not know his or her name, age, occupation, thoughts or desires.

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I must come into contact with this victim as casually as though we were blown together

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by the wind.

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There can be no selection, no volition on my part, except the elementary volition necessary

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to raise my arm to kill.

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July 30th, the exact record of what has occurred.

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But I must write it down now while it's fresh in my mind.

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I'll be absolutely precise and objective.

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Very well then.

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At exactly 10 p.m. tonight, I left my house, wearing the new gloves and carrying the knife

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in my right-hand coat pocket.

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I walked an undetermined number of blocks, turning corners at random, taking care to

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observe no street signs or landmarks.

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I observed only one thing, that there were many people on the street.

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In fact, I became aware that I was pushing through a rather dense crowd.

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I walked on with difficulty, but not once did I allow myself to become conscious of

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the exact nature of my surroundings.

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Then at last, I found my progress through the crowd blocked by what I can only describe

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as a human back.

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I raised the knife and drove it into the back with all my force.

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I continued walking without haste, pausing only a fraction of a second to hear,

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He's dead! He's dead!

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He's dead, yes.

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I paused just long enough to hear, thus confirmed my unqualified belief that without any possible

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consequence to myself, I had taken another human being's life.

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You are listening to Mr. Joseph Kearns in Sylvia Richards' Study and Motive, The Earth

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is Made of Glass.

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Tonight's presentation in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.

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This is Flag Week, when all patriotic organizations urge all patriotic Americans to display their

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stars and stripes.

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Your flag hanging on high tells all who pass that America truly is one nation indivisible.

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Give new glory to old glory by showing your country's colors during Flag Week and on all

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patriotic holidays, national and local.

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And now, we bring back to our Hollywood soundstage, Mr. Joseph Kearns, in Elliot Lewis's production

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of The Earth is Made of Glass, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.

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August 1st.

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All day I felt enormously stimulated, elated by the success of my experiment.

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The very intensity of the sun outside my study has added to my feeling of well-being.

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Tomorrow, I shall complete my notes on this extraordinary and I'm sure valuable psychological

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study.

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Today, I shall relish to the full my mood of achievement.

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How I regret that I can't tell old Elliot.

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I can picture the disbelief and horror on his face if he knew.

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Compensation, oh tut-tut, Mr. Hammerson.

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August 3rd.

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Yesterday I was unable to write in my journal because of the excessive heat and because

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I suffered from a headache and a vibration in my ears.

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Today, I'm forcing myself to write to have on record the final control in my experiment,

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my laboratory murder.

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To assure complete ignorance of the identity of my victim, I have read no newspaper and

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will not read any for a period of two or three weeks.

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Nor will I hold conversation with anyone apt to be morbidly interested in murder, as reported

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in the tabloid press.

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August 4th.

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The heat is unbearable and all day I have felt that odd heavy vibration in my head.

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Now also on my arms and body.

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It is almost constant in a one-two, one-two rhythm.

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But sometimes it's a sound as well as a vibration like the distant sound of the sea.

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I must consult a doctor.

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Last night I was kept awake by the throbbing in my head and toward morning I was subjected

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to a new agony.

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Very softly at first, but louder and louder like voices heard in delirium, my head became

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filled with an almost hysterical babbling.

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Not for an instant have the voices stopped or even paused.

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I simply keep time with the reverberation of my heart.

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August 8th.

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I have no need to consult a doctor for I know the nature of my illness.

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Last night, trying to drive the unspeakable uproar from my brain, I turned to music.

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But when I put the record on the machine, Schnabel's recording of Beethoven's F minor

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Sonata, the Appassionata, the sound in the voices rose to a bedlam, shrieking, round

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out the music.

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And then I knew, in spite of every precaution, my laboratory murder had not taken place in

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a vacuum.

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Two things had penetrated my shield.

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First, the voices echoing in my ears, the fragmented speech about a concert, are the

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same voices I heard in that crowd, rising again and again to the climax of a woman's

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life.

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And the pulsing sound I hear when I drove that knife home into a beating heart, its

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vital rhythm, the mighty leap and contraction of the heart's muscle on the blade of the

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knife, was transmitted back to me through my hand and remains indelibly recorded in

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the heartbeat of my own blood.

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August 11.

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During the past hour, the incessant hammering of sound has receded, but I know this respite

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will be brief.

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Now, while I'm able to reason, I must discover where I erred and act swiftly to correct my

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error.

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There's no turning back.

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The death I caused is an accomplished fact, and each day I remember something more.

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Today, suddenly, like a photograph imprinted on my brain, I saw the black collar of his

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coat, his gray hat, and between his clipped, silky reddish hair.

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And I had and still have an insatiable desire to turn his head around to see his face.

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Perhaps there is only one course for me to take, to reverse my plan, learn everything

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about my victim, every possible detail, create for myself a total portrait, and then discard

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it in its entirety.

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Learn his name, age, address, all the statistics of his life.

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Why, beg your pardon, Miss, where are the newspaper files?

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What dates did you wish to see?

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The week of July 30.

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Which paper?

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The times, I'll stop with that.

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Oh, just a moment.

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I want them for the whole week.

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Yes, yes.

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Well, here are all the copies for July bound, and these loose ones are August, so far.

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Oh, thank you.

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Now, don't take them out of the reading room and return them to the desk when you're through,

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please.

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Yes, thank you, I will.

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I opened the bound volume near the end and immediately saw his picture, page one, center.

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The photograph was blurred, but without reading a word, I recognized him because he matched

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his hair.

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I mean, his face went with the back of the head I had seen.

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But before I could read the headline above the picture, someone spoke to me.

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Pardon me, but may I look at that for just a moment?

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Oh, it couldn't be.

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Standing at my shoulder, smiling, young, apparently as alive as I.

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But it was.

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He was there.

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He, my victim.

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The face in the paper and his face were the same.

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I swear they were the same.

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I'm sorry to bother you, and the girl at the desk told me you had that volume at the time.

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Yes, yes.

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There's an item I wanted to see in the July 30 issue.

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I'd wait, but I have to catch a train.

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If I'm late, my wife worries.

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You know how it is.

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If I am late, my wife worries.

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That night he was very late.

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Somewhere she's still waiting.

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Waiting.

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Is that what he wanted me to know?

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Oh, but this is madness, hysteria.

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It's merely coincidence that the man in the library looks so much like him.

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He's dead.

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I know he's dead, and the dead neither walk nor speak.

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I must believe that.

18:09.480 --> 18:22.040
And I must go back to the library and find out where he lived, who and what he was.

18:22.040 --> 18:23.040
August 15th.

18:23.040 --> 18:24.880
I'm beyond all human help.

18:24.880 --> 18:30.160
I can confide the terrors I live with only to the pages of this journal.

18:30.160 --> 18:34.240
Today I went to Riverside to a quiet street where he had lived, Treeline Street, running

18:34.240 --> 18:35.960
down to the Hudson River.

18:35.960 --> 18:39.560
I walked past his house, number 246 Palisades Road.

18:39.560 --> 18:43.160
A young woman on the front porch was trimming a morning glory vine.

18:43.160 --> 18:47.360
I ached to speak to her and ask her name, but the words stuck in my throat.

18:47.360 --> 18:48.360
I walked on.

18:48.360 --> 18:50.880
Then at the next corner it happened again.

18:50.880 --> 18:55.040
I had paused at the curb when he came up behind me.

18:55.040 --> 18:58.000
Pardon me, did you see the bus go by?

18:58.000 --> 18:59.000
The bus?

18:59.000 --> 19:02.960
Yes, the bus for Columbia.

19:02.960 --> 19:03.960
Say what's wrong?

19:03.960 --> 19:04.960
Are you ill?

19:04.960 --> 19:05.960
No, no, no, I'm all right.

19:05.960 --> 19:07.960
You look like you're about to faint.

19:07.960 --> 19:08.960
I'm all right.

19:08.960 --> 19:09.960
I live right near here.

19:09.960 --> 19:10.960
If you want to lie down...

19:10.960 --> 19:11.960
No, no, no, please, I'm all right.

19:11.960 --> 19:12.960
My house is just down the block.

19:12.960 --> 19:13.960
No, please, no, I...

19:13.960 --> 19:14.960
Well, it's up to you.

19:14.960 --> 19:20.440
I can't make you come, but I hate to see you suffer needlessly.

19:20.440 --> 19:31.320
August 20th.

19:31.320 --> 19:34.200
He doesn't like to see me suffer.

19:34.200 --> 19:39.600
Yet because of him, there isn't one day, one hour when I'm free from despair and fear.

19:39.600 --> 19:42.800
Yes, I accept him now.

19:42.800 --> 19:44.080
The dead do walk and speak.

19:44.080 --> 19:45.920
At least one dead man does.

19:45.920 --> 19:49.200
Whether actually or in the madness of my brain, I do not know.

19:49.200 --> 19:54.080
I only know that if I venture out of my house, inevitably he finds me.

19:54.080 --> 19:58.440
Sometimes he follows at a distance, sometimes waits ahead of me in beckons, and sometimes

19:58.440 --> 20:02.480
he meets me face to face as he did two days ago.

20:02.480 --> 20:04.960
I was going home and I stopped at the corner drugstore.

20:04.960 --> 20:06.440
Evening, Mr. Steele.

20:06.440 --> 20:07.440
Malded?

20:07.440 --> 20:10.320
No, no, I'll have a cup of coffee.

20:10.320 --> 20:11.320
Sure thing.

20:11.320 --> 20:13.320
Yeah, this stool's vacant next to this gentleman.

20:13.320 --> 20:14.320
Thank you.

20:14.320 --> 20:15.320
Oh, no, no.

20:15.320 --> 20:16.320
Go ahead, sit down.

20:16.320 --> 20:17.320
Sure, sit down.

20:17.320 --> 20:19.320
I won't bite you.

20:19.320 --> 20:20.320
Here's your coffee.

20:20.320 --> 20:21.320
No, Joel, I changed my mind.

20:21.320 --> 20:22.320
Look, fella, if it's something about me...

20:22.320 --> 20:23.320
What's wrong, Mr. Steele?

20:23.320 --> 20:24.320
What do you want with me?

20:24.320 --> 20:25.320
Tell me what you want.

20:25.320 --> 20:26.320
Me?

20:26.320 --> 20:27.320
I don't want anything.

20:27.320 --> 20:28.320
Then why don't you leave me alone?

20:28.320 --> 20:29.320
Somebody you know, Mr. Steele?

20:29.320 --> 20:30.320
Apparently Mr. Steele thinks he knows me.

20:30.320 --> 20:31.320
I do.

20:31.320 --> 20:32.320
Oh, I do.

20:32.320 --> 20:33.320
Maybe so, Mr., if you say so.

20:33.320 --> 20:34.320
But if you know me, it sure wasn't from this life.

20:34.320 --> 20:35.320
Must have been some other incarnation.

20:35.320 --> 21:00.360
That was the evening of the 17th.

21:00.360 --> 21:04.280
And yesterday I'd started down the subway steps at 53rd Street.

21:04.280 --> 21:09.640
After looking all around to make sure he was nowhere near, I'd only gone a few steps when

21:09.640 --> 21:11.880
I felt my arm jostle when I turned.

21:11.880 --> 21:12.880
Oh, pardon me.

21:12.880 --> 21:13.880
Please, what do you want?

21:13.880 --> 21:14.880
What?

21:14.880 --> 21:15.880
What do you mean?

21:15.880 --> 21:17.560
Why are you following me?

21:17.560 --> 21:20.000
I looked and I didn't see you, and then suddenly you struck my arm.

21:20.000 --> 21:21.560
Maybe it's just fate or something.

21:21.560 --> 21:23.040
Anyway, I said I was sorry.

21:23.040 --> 21:24.880
Then have mercy on me and go away.

21:24.880 --> 21:26.880
Look, you don't own the subway.

21:26.880 --> 21:29.080
Please, please, please, I beg of you.

21:29.080 --> 21:32.080
Okay, okay, since my face seems to give you the willies, I'll be big-hearted.

21:32.080 --> 21:37.760
I'm in no hurry, got all the time in the world, so I'll wait and take the next train.

21:37.760 --> 21:38.760
Will that help?

21:38.760 --> 21:40.120
You know it will.

21:40.120 --> 21:55.600
I don't know and don't want to, but run along now before I change my mind.

21:55.600 --> 21:57.600
August 26th.

21:57.600 --> 22:00.880
What will you have, quote God, pay for it and take it?

22:00.880 --> 22:05.200
Well, I have paid and I must now take.

22:05.200 --> 22:10.720
For the day I learned the cure for all my pain and torment, the day the course I have

22:10.720 --> 22:12.960
to take is clear.

22:12.960 --> 22:16.720
Today on a deserted path nearing Fifth Avenue, I saw him again.

22:16.720 --> 22:18.840
He was coming directly toward me.

22:18.840 --> 22:19.840
I waited.

22:19.840 --> 22:22.840
I didn't even try to escape.

22:22.840 --> 22:28.200
Oh, wait, I must ask you.

22:28.200 --> 22:29.200
Ask me what?

22:29.200 --> 22:31.080
Well, there's one question I have to know.

22:31.080 --> 22:33.640
I'm not sure I understand.

22:33.640 --> 22:35.680
We don't have to play games or pretend.

22:35.680 --> 22:36.680
I accept you.

22:36.680 --> 22:37.680
You're real.

22:37.680 --> 22:39.560
Yes, I guess I'm real enough.

22:39.560 --> 22:41.440
And only you can give me the answer.

22:41.440 --> 22:42.440
Why me?

22:42.440 --> 22:44.160
Please, I can't stand much more.

22:44.160 --> 22:46.280
Can't you see?

22:46.280 --> 22:47.520
You look sick.

22:47.520 --> 22:48.520
If you want me to help you, I'm...

22:48.520 --> 22:51.360
There's only one way you can help, only one way.

22:51.360 --> 22:52.360
Just answer me.

22:52.360 --> 22:53.360
Well, okay.

22:53.360 --> 22:54.360
Go ahead, I'll try.

22:54.360 --> 22:55.360
Do you believe in compensation?

22:55.360 --> 22:59.920
What do you mean by that?

22:59.920 --> 23:04.720
I mean if someone does evil, if I have done evil, must I get evil in return?

23:04.720 --> 23:07.880
Well, say it again.

23:07.880 --> 23:11.360
Do you believe in good for good, evil for evil?

23:11.360 --> 23:14.560
Look, what about killing?

23:14.560 --> 23:16.480
Well there's all sorts of killing.

23:16.480 --> 23:18.320
In the war I killed several people.

23:18.320 --> 23:21.800
Oh, but senseless killing, killing with no reason.

23:21.800 --> 23:24.120
What's the compensation for that?

23:24.120 --> 23:27.840
You asked a pretty complicated question of a pretty simple guy.

23:27.840 --> 23:31.640
The only thing that comes to my mind right now is what it says in the Bible, an eye for

23:31.640 --> 23:34.640
an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

23:34.640 --> 23:36.320
That's... that's what you believe?

23:36.320 --> 23:38.920
Well sure, I guess that's what I believe.

23:38.920 --> 23:57.080
Well does that answer your question?

23:57.080 --> 24:02.520
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, command.

24:02.520 --> 24:06.400
The price asked by the only one who can ask it.

24:06.400 --> 24:14.880
Well, I'll pay, for I've learned that no event between two human beings can happen in a vacuum.

24:14.880 --> 24:19.400
We're all enmeshed, bound together through our blood in a pulsing net.

24:19.400 --> 24:25.560
And if one of us does violence to another, he does violence to himself.

24:25.560 --> 24:26.920
Very well.

24:26.920 --> 24:27.920
This price I'm glad to pay.

24:27.920 --> 24:28.920
I'm glad to die for his death.

24:28.920 --> 24:29.920
There's no other way.

24:29.920 --> 24:36.920
Hello Mr. Steele.

24:36.920 --> 24:46.680
Are you awake?

24:46.680 --> 24:49.600
Where am I?

24:49.600 --> 24:50.600
In the hospital.

24:50.600 --> 24:51.600
How do you feel?

24:51.600 --> 24:52.600
Hospital...

24:52.600 --> 24:53.600
Oh, but I must...

24:53.600 --> 24:54.600
I have to die.

24:54.600 --> 24:57.800
Not if we can keep you from it.

24:57.800 --> 24:58.800
I have to.

24:58.800 --> 25:00.240
You did your best.

25:00.240 --> 25:02.440
And what a silly way to do it with a butcher knife.

25:02.440 --> 25:05.080
I tell you, you have to let me die.

25:05.080 --> 25:06.800
Where's the doctor?

25:06.800 --> 25:09.800
Now lie down, lie down Mr. Steele.

25:09.800 --> 25:11.200
The doctor will be here in a minute.

25:11.200 --> 25:12.920
I have to make him see.

25:12.920 --> 25:13.920
I promised.

25:13.920 --> 25:14.920
You promised?

25:14.920 --> 25:15.920
Oh, here's the doctor now.

25:15.920 --> 25:16.920
Dr. West, I'm having a little trouble.

25:16.920 --> 25:17.920
Trouble, Miss Rosenberg?

25:17.920 --> 25:18.920
What seems to be the matter?

25:18.920 --> 25:19.920
You...

25:19.920 --> 25:20.920
Forgive me.

25:20.920 --> 25:21.920
I'm sorry.

25:21.920 --> 25:22.920
I'm sorry.

25:22.920 --> 25:23.920
I'm sorry.

25:23.920 --> 25:24.920
I'm sorry.

25:24.920 --> 25:25.920
I'm sorry.

25:25.920 --> 25:26.920
I'm sorry.

25:26.920 --> 25:27.920
I'm sorry.

25:27.920 --> 25:28.920
I'm sorry.

25:28.920 --> 25:30.400
I tried to do as you said.

25:30.400 --> 25:31.400
I tried to die.

25:31.400 --> 25:36.400
Tell her please go away and leave me alone.

25:36.400 --> 25:41.400
I promise I'll die.

25:41.400 --> 25:46.720
Miss Adams?

25:46.720 --> 25:50.640
Yes, Dr. West?

25:50.640 --> 25:52.200
Did you finish reading his journal?

25:52.200 --> 25:53.200
Yes, doctor.

25:53.200 --> 25:56.200
It's a weird document.

25:56.200 --> 25:57.720
It certainly is.

25:57.720 --> 26:00.040
What made him think you were the man he killed?

26:00.040 --> 26:01.040
That was the nature of his illness.

26:01.040 --> 26:03.360
He had a fixed delusion.

26:03.360 --> 26:06.160
He looked at me and saw someone else's face.

26:06.160 --> 26:07.160
How strange.

26:07.160 --> 26:10.920
Yes, but there's something stranger still.

26:10.920 --> 26:13.680
When I finished reading this, I called the police and checked.

26:13.680 --> 26:14.680
About the murder?

26:14.680 --> 26:17.560
Yes, and there was no such murder as he described.

26:17.560 --> 26:20.760
Not on July 30th, not ever.

26:20.760 --> 26:22.040
He didn't kill anyone?

26:22.040 --> 26:25.480
He never drove his knife into a living back.

26:25.480 --> 26:28.720
But Richard Steele killed in his mind.

26:28.720 --> 26:30.880
You mean just because he thought of killing?

26:30.880 --> 26:33.400
No, he went further than that.

26:33.400 --> 26:34.880
He selected his victim.

26:34.880 --> 26:35.880
Who?

26:35.880 --> 26:37.520
The man whose picture was in the paper.

26:37.520 --> 26:38.520
I looked it up.

26:38.520 --> 26:43.680
It was on the front page of the book review section, a photograph of an author.

26:43.680 --> 26:45.320
Someone he wanted to kill?

26:45.320 --> 26:50.400
Yes, and even for that crime, because he wished for someone's death.

26:50.400 --> 26:52.800
The earth was made of glass.

26:52.800 --> 26:55.120
There was full compensation.

26:55.120 --> 26:56.120
Whose death?

26:56.120 --> 26:57.120
Who was it?

26:57.120 --> 27:02.440
The author of a new biography called Ralph Waldo Emerson and Our Times.

27:02.440 --> 27:04.520
And who was it by?

27:04.520 --> 27:21.760
The author was Richard Steele himself.

27:21.760 --> 27:29.720
Suspense, in which Joseph Kearns was starred in The Earth is Made of Glass.

27:29.720 --> 27:35.560
Next week, the story of a man with no imagination who found it necessary to cause the violent

27:35.560 --> 27:37.180
end of a life.

27:37.180 --> 27:42.240
It was written by the winner of the Edgar Allan Poe Award, E. Jack Newman, and it's

27:42.240 --> 27:46.000
called Sequel to Murder.

27:46.000 --> 28:03.920
Next week on Suspense.

28:03.920 --> 28:08.640
Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with music composed by Lucian Morowick

28:08.640 --> 28:11.440
and conducted by Lud Luskin.

28:11.440 --> 28:15.920
The Earth is Made of Glass was written for suspense by Sylvia Richards.

28:15.920 --> 28:20.720
In tonight's story, Joseph Kearns was heard as Mr. Steele.

28:20.720 --> 28:26.160
Featured in the cast were Whitfield Connor, Charlotte Lawrence, Herb Butterfield, Jerry

28:26.160 --> 28:36.920
Hausner, Paula Winslow, and Junius Matthews.

28:36.920 --> 28:55.440
And remember, next week, E. Jack Newman's new Suspense play, Sequel to Murder.

28:55.440 --> 29:00.240
When four noisy people give one noisy party in a Baltimore home, two of the four wind

29:00.240 --> 29:01.500
up at the morgue.

29:01.500 --> 29:06.000
It's an unsettling bit of business that interested all of Baltimore just a few years ago.

29:06.000 --> 29:10.400
And CBS Radio's Crime Classics weighs the available facts for you tomorrow night on

29:10.400 --> 29:12.240
most of these stations.

29:12.240 --> 29:17.880
Hear all about the death of a Baltimore birdie and friend on Crime Classics tomorrow night.

29:17.880 --> 29:36.480
You can join the FBI in peace and war Wednesdays on the CBS Radio Network.

