And now, tonight's presentation of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense.
Tonight, the story of a man who felt that he had to prove himself, had to go to any
length to make people believe him.
Anthony Ellis stars in his own adaptation of Elizabeth Bowen's Telling.
The chapel was a ruin, roofed by daylight, floored with lawn.
In a corner the gardener had tipped out a heap of cut grass from the lawnmower.
It smelled stuffy and sweet.
Outside beyond the ragged arch of the chapel there was sunshine, but not here.
Terry looked up feeling shy, noticing suddenly surprised the blood on his hands, embarrassed
all at once at the idea of anyone coming.
His brain was ticking like a watch, remembering, remembering Josephine.
Homecoming from Ceylon a month ago, that first interview with his father in the study, so
heavy with solemnity.
Good on Terry.
Thank you father.
Well, so you're back with us.
That penny, I suppose you rather expected it.
No, matter of fact, this time I didn't.
I hoped you'd make a go of it.
Sorry.
You mind telling me what happened?
I shouldn't mind at all if I knew how things were going all right.
Then the letter from the office and bye bye Ceylon.
Hello England.
Hello.
Hello England.
I didn't hear quite the same thing.
Oh?
Markridge firm from London told me that you'd been shirking on the job.
Insolent to the plantation manager, that they simply had no choice but to give you the sack.
Well, it wasn't as bad in after all I...
Look here Terry, it's gone too far this time.
When your mother was alive, I tried to understand.
You were chucked out of school, 14, you remember?
In Cambridge.
Your mother was... I suppose she meant well, you being the youngest boy.
I think if I'd had my way with you, though, it would have been better.
But now you've been kicked out again.
Your mother's dead. She won't protect you anymore.
You're going to have to grow up now. Do you understand?
Yes.
Have you any plans?
Right. I don't know.
Oh, Father, if I could think things out, I know I could do something.
You've said that before.
But I could. Or perhaps art.
If I had a chance to study, listen to me.
And take that filthy cigarette out of your mouth when I'm talking to you.
Sorry. I'm fed up with you, Terry.
Your brothers and sisters are ashamed. We all are.
Why the devil can't you be a man?
School's finished. You're 24.
I will not tolerate a slacker in my house. I warn you.
This is your last chance.
You can have a couple of weeks to get settled,
and I'll try to find you something in the city.
Father, that's awfully decent of you.
I'm not doing this for you.
I'm doing it for my own self-respect and the memory of your mother.
Yes, Father.
We shan't mention the Ceylon incident again.
I think you'd better go upstairs now and get dressed for dinner.
And remembering in the now high cold walls of the chapel,
Josephine, the first meeting after he'd been home for only four days.
Josephine, with her chestnut hair gently framing that face that he had loved,
yet been unable to visualize during those eight months away from her.
And a warm, lazy afternoon, the sound of tennis drifting across the lawn.
Josephine.
Charles has a marvelous serve, don't you think?
Yes. He's good.
I'm afraid I've never been able to stand up to him, or John, for that matter.
You don't practice.
Oh, is that it?
I thought perhaps it was just that I'm not much good at it.
Oh, rot.
Josephine, you know, it's the funniest thing.
All the time I was in Ceylon, even when I wrote to you,
I simply couldn't remember what you looked like.
It's odd, isn't it?
I'm sorry I didn't write to you. I've been terribly busy.
No, it doesn't matter. I can see you now.
Shall we go down to the court? I'd love a game when they finish.
Josephine.
Yes?
Do you believe in me?
What a strange question.
No. No, it isn't. It's important.
Do you?
I think you're a very nice young man.
Don't say it that way.
How would you like me to say it?
I don't know. But not like that.
Not as though you were talking to the gardener.
Oh, don't be silly, Terry.
It's not silly.
I know I'm not much good. Clumsy.
And I thought it was my eyes.
You know, I used to drink whiskey to help.
Really, I did.
For a little while, it did help.
I could do things cleverly. I wasn't clumsy anymore.
Then suddenly the whiskey didn't do any good.
I wanted to make people proud of me.
You, Josephine, I've always wanted that.
If only you wouldn't take yourself so seriously, Terry.
If you'd try and...
I don't know.
Behave like a man, I suppose.
I am a man.
I love you like a man, not a little boy.
Oh, Terry.
I could do something if I had the chance.
I'm sure you could.
If I thought that you cared, I could do anything.
I need somebody.
You to believe in me.
Terry, dear, I'm very fond of you.
You know I am, but really I...
No, no, no. Don't say anything now.
I'll show you.
I'll make you proud of me, you'll see.
All right.
Now, do be a darling and try not to look so intense.
I'm going to see how the game's getting on.
Come along if you like.
Remembering, with the sharp, quick call of a bird,
John, nine years older, a barrister,
a promising young barrister,
Charles, six years older,
making a place for himself in the Conservative Party,
or I think big yet, but with a gleam of parliament in his eye,
and he'd get there, and everyone said so.
Terry wanted to feel close to both of them,
understand, be understood.
He'd always wanted that.
Catherine, his sister,
20, with an anxious, methodical mind, loving life and gossip.
They were together one evening a few days later
discussing plans for the party.
Oh, I think he's a perfect idiot.
Besides, he's always asking me to marry him.
Right, strike out, Percy, break.
Who else?
Josephine's coming, isn't she?
Yes, Terry, Josephine's coming.
You know, I think our little Terry has a crush on Josephine.
Don't be vulgar, Charles.
Haven't you, lady?
I like her, yes.
Break your heart. She broke mine while you were away.
Stop it, we've got to get on with the list.
Charles, were you?
Pots about her, absolutely and forever.
I didn't know.
He's teasing you, Terry.
No, I don't think he is.
Oh, Terry, don't be a fool. Of course he's teasing.
It's not a very funny joke.
Oh, good Lord, I thought Salon would have toughened your skin a bit.
Look here, if you two want to fight, do it after we've finished.
Yes, my Lord. Carry on.
You can manage without me, I think.
He's a sensitive soul. What is the matter with him?
You know he is like that. Why do you always beg for trouble?
I'm sorry. I thought perhaps he'd changed a bit.
I'll go and apologize.
Mind if I...
Yes?
Oh, come on in. Come in.
Sit on the bed, if you like.
Right.
I found a Gurkha regiment in the village today.
Quite nice, don't you think?
Oh, my head, Terry. You're not still playing with lead soldiers.
Well, why the devil not? My hobby. What's yours?
I'm sorry. I came to apologize for what I said before.
You don't have to. I understand.
It's not true. You know, I was teasing about Josephine.
It doesn't matter.
Terry, you are keen on her, aren't you?
He's a decent soul.
I know, but... well, you're...
You're not too serious, are you?
I mean, you're not in love with her, anything like that.
Whatever gave you that idea?
I wasn't sure. She's a decent sword, but not for you.
Oh? Why do you say that?
Josephine likes to have fun.
I don't think she's ready to settle down.
What does that mean?
What I said, that's all.
You're saying she runs about?
No, no, no. Just...
If you are in love with her, I wouldn't want to see you hurt.
Well, thanks very much, but don't worry. I can manage.
Righto. Only being brotherly. All serene?
Of course.
Good.
Want to come down for a nightcap before you turn in?
No, Max, I'm rather tired.
Good night, then. See you in the morning.
Remembered, as the shaft of sunlight touched the tip of the upturned shoe
the night of the party.
Bright moons, swirl of evening dresses on young bodies,
warm scented air, music, dancing,
couples laughing, kissing in the security of shrubbery.
Josephine.
Lovely.
But as he watched her, he began to understand what Charles meant
when he spoke of her, and he didn't want to understand.
He danced one dance, and then she was always gone,
and Terry went looking for her.
He found her in the old chapel.
Then with her was an indistinct figure, a man vaguely known,
and somebody's friend.
Yes.
No.
No, no.
You ruined my nightcap.
Isn't that what it's for?
To lure the beasts on?
Let you behave. I'm going back inside.
I didn't think we came out here to behave.
Besides, if you do go back,
poor little Terry will be poor.
Oh, no.
Take your choice.
I haven't got one, I'm afraid.
Then here.
That floor, right through her.
She damages truth.
She kills souls.
She's killed mine.
I must do something.
And remembering last night.
All night thinking it out.
Sometimes taking a drink,
but mostly walking alone in the shrubberies, avoiding the others.
He was not angry.
He kept saying...
I must not be angry. I must be just.
All night, then, he walked alone in the garden.
And as the light began to grow in the sky,
he stepped through the French windows
and took down the African knife from the dining room wall.
He'd always wanted that African knife.
And then he'd gone upstairs, shaved, changed into channels,
put the knife into his blazer pocket,
and sat on the windowsill in his room,
waiting for the sun to come up.
Waiting and thinking.
And then he went back to his room.
Waiting and thinking.
No one but I can do it.
She ought not to live with this flaw in her.
She really mustn't.
I must see that she doesn't.
You are listening to Anthony Ellis
starring in his own adaptation of Elizabeth Bowen's telling.
Tonight's presentation in radio's outstanding
theater of thrills, Suspense.
Tomorrow night, the FBI in Peace and War
looks into the strange case of the go-getter on CBS radio.
It's a thrilling G-man hunt involving the machinations
of a used car dealer who has his own methods
for undercutting competition.
The FBI is investigating the case of the go-getter
on CBS radio.
It's a thrilling G-man hunt involving the machinations
of a used car dealer who has his own methods
for undercutting competition.
Don't miss the details over most of these same stations
tomorrow night when the Star's Address presents
the FBI in Peace and War.
And now we bring back to our Hollywood soundstage
Mr. Anthony Ellis in Elliot Lewis's production of
To Keep You in Suspense.
A breeze stirred the collar of her dress,
fairly remembered, sitting on the windowsill,
watching sunlight brighten and broaden
from the yellow agitation behind the trees
into swathes of color across the lawn.
And later it had all been arranged for them.
He fell into, had his party in some kind of design.
He went downstairs to the dining room
where the family was gathered for a late breakfast.
Morning, old boy. Scrambled eggs?
Oh, no, thanks. Do you good?
Didn't see much of you last night. Have a good time?
Yes. Now, wasn't it a lovely party?
Mmm. Sit down, Terry.
Catherine, give them a cup of coffee.
Where's Josephine?
Oh, she's already had her breakfast.
Oh, what a girl. I don't know how she does it.
I've got a head like a melon. Where is she?
Here's your coffee.
You look done in, Terry. Feel all right?
Yes.
Morning, you lazy people.
Morning. Morning.
Who wants to play a game of tennis?
Oh, my.
Would you like to go for a walk, Josephine?
Why, I'd rather... Oh, all right.
You have some breakfast before you go out.
No, thanks.
Why the devil do you stuff your pocket so full, Terry?
That jacket isn't going to be worth a brass farthing.
You'll have to get it pressed. Oh.
Oh, come on, Terry. Don't listen to him.
He's jealous because he hasn't got that casual look.
I had a lovely time last night, didn't you?
Did you see Marilyn when she fell in the pond?
I thought Charles would have a fit. He laughed so much.
I didn't see that.
Oh, he must have kept your father up half the night.
I hope he didn't mind.
Oh, what a heavenly morning.
It is, isn't it? I saw it for the first time.
How on earth could you get up so early?
It must have been five.
I didn't go to bed. Oh.
I like it here, in the chapel, don't you?
Yes. It's quiet.
You just want a chance to think, even to make things right.
You know what I mean? Let's go on. No.
Not for a minute.
Josephine.
I saw you here last night.
Did you? That man.
I suppose you enjoyed yourself.
Why did you let him kiss you? Oh, poor little Terry.
Don't be tiresome, darling. Do you believe in me?
Oh, yes, I believe, Terry. I understand.
Now, be a good boy and go...
Will you kiss me?
Everywhere, cigarette ends.
Scattered last night by the couple who had come to the chapel to kiss.
Terry noticed a charred cigarette stump in Josephine's hair.
By her left ear, it showed through.
He thought...
She'd never forgive me for that.
So fast, did he?
She mentioned my dirty nails once.
They were dirty.
Oh, she'd never forgive me for this.
He picked the cigarette out of her hair and threw it away.
She lay now with her feet and lower body in the sunshine.
The sun was just high enough.
Her arms flung out wide at him.
Desperately, generously.
On her face was a dazzled look.
Her blood quietly soaked through the grass,
sinking through to the roots of it.
I've done the right thing.
What do you feel now, Josephine?
Do you believe in me now?
On his way to the house, he stooped down and dipped his hands in the garden tank.
Someone might scream.
He felt embarrassed at the thought of somebody screaming.
The red curled away through the water and melted.
Hello, Katherine.
Oh, Terry.
Katherine.
I've done something.
They're putting the furniture back in the drawing room.
I wish you'd go and help me.
It's getting those big sofas through the door and the cabinets.
I'm putting the music away.
I don't suppose you'll be able to marry now.
Nobody will marry her.
Don't mumble, Terry.
Do you know where Josephine is?
No, I haven't the slightest idea.
Go on, Terry. Please help.
Katherine.
Do you know what happened down in the chapel?
Katherine.
What would you do if I killed somebody?
Laugh.
If I killed a woman?
Laugh harder.
Do you know any women?
She had not wanted to be cruel, but he'd spoiled something for her.
Last night she had gone to the chapel.
She had been kissed.
And now his talking about it had changed everything.
He must have seen her and was being nasty about it.
He might even tell Father. He'd always been like that.
She found herself not liking Terry at all.
Almost hating him.
Terry went to the drawing room and helped move the furniture.
It was Terry's fault.
They scratched the paint on the wall with the heavy cabinet.
Oh, blast. We've scratched the paint.
It's my fault.
It's nice of you to say we, though.
I wonder if you'd say we killed her.
Perhaps you'd better help with the bars and things, old man.
All right, Charles. But you should have seen the blood on my hands.
John, we'll have to move this rug out of the way.
John, can I talk to you for a minute?
As soon as we've finished here.
I'll get a move on, Terry. We'll be all morning.
He helped until he broke a piece of delicate mison.
Then they sent him out.
The servants who were helping were well-smiled tolerances.
He went to the kitchen to have a cup of coffee.
Cook was preparing a roast for dinner.
He watched for a moment or two.
You're very good at that, Cook.
Thank you, Mr. Terry.
I think I wouldn't be.
Oh, everybody to his trade, Mr. Terry.
I'd probably make a good butcher, though.
Not you, Mr. Terry.
I remember when you cut your finger once
and you screamed for an hour at the sight of the blood.
I don't anymore.
Oh, that's nice.
You'd never believe it if I were to tell you.
That's all right, sir.
Cook, do you ever read murder mysteries?
Sometimes.
Did you read the one about a woman who was stabbed to death by a man
who was in a chapel just like ours?
Funny thing is, her name was Josephine.
Isn't that a coincidence?
Now, Mr. Terry, I'll have to ask you
if you finished your coffee to leave my kitchen.
I have a lot of work to do and there are guests coming for dinner.
That's true.
Oh, run along now, sir.
Yes, Cook, I'm sorry.
He wandered out and into the hall.
On the table were two letters come by the second post
waiting for Josephine.
No one, he thought, ought to read them.
He must protect Josephine.
He picked them up and slipped them into his pocket.
I see.
What are you doing with those letters?
Nothing.
Oh, well, they're Josephine's. I saw them before.
I know. I'm taking them to her.
Oh, you know where she is?
She's in the chapel.
Why?
John, I want to tell you something.
Later.
I've got to go into the village for some things.
John, she's in the chapel.
Good. You take them to her.
John, I've killed Josephine in the chapel.
That's right. Take them along to her.
John hurried ahead, not listening, not turning round,
only hearing Josephine's name.
He went into the smoking room and banged the door behind him.
Terry thought...
Oh, yes.
You're a fine man, my brother.
Fine man with a muscular back.
But you couldn't have done what I've done.
You've never kissed Josephine.
He sat on the second step of the staircase.
Sat there gripping a baluster, shaking with exultation.
Josephine.
Josephine. Josephine.
The study door panels had always looked solemn.
They bowed with solemnity.
Terry had to get past to his father.
He chose the top left-hand panel to tap on.
Come in.
Arthur.
What do you want, Terry? I'm busy.
I want to talk...
talk about my future.
I suppose, my boy, that you really have got a future.
Well, sit down a minute.
I'll just finish this letter.
There we are.
There it is.
Well, there must be some kind of a future for me, mustn't there?
I should certainly hope so.
You've been giving it some thought?
Yes.
What about marriage? We haven't talked about that.
You know, a nice girl might do something for you.
Settle you down a bit, eh? Anybody in mind?
No. Nobody?
It's a thought.
In the meantime, we've got to find you something in the city.
That was the idea, wasn't it?
Yes.
There might be an opening at your Uncle Victor's bank.
No, no, you...
Well, very good figures for you.
Look here, Father.
I've got something to show you.
That African knife.
What about it?
That African knife. It's here. I've got to show you.
What about it?
Wait just a minute.
It was here.
I did have it. I brought it to show you.
I must have it somewhere.
You remember? The African knife?
What's the matter with you, Terry?
It isn't here.
I haven't got it.
It's lost.
Perhaps I dropped it on the grass or by the tank somewhere.
But I remember wiping it on the grass. I had it then.
It's gone. I've lost it. I've lost it.
What do you mean?
What are you trying to tell me?
I don't know where it is.
It's still been hanging there.
Terry, answer me.
Terry!
What in the name?
It's your sister. She's outside.
Katherine! You all right?
Katherine!
Oh. I only wanted to show it to him.
Katherine!
It's true to me, Father!
She's down in the chapel. She's dead.
Somebody's killed her!
Oh, my God.
Terry, what are you trying to tell me?
Nothing.
Suspense, in which Anthony Ellis was starred in his own adaptation
of Elizabeth Bowen's telling.
Later tonight, continue this week's serial story
of the case of murder and the poison fangs
with Mr. Keen, tracer of lost persons.
Mr. Keen will be working on this one the rest of the week.
And a thriller it is too, as you know,
if you've heard this week's developments up to now.
Don't forget to subscribe to our channel.
And if you haven't already,
you've heard this week's developments up to now.
Don't forget it.
CBS Radio brings you another half hour,
one episode murder mystery,
the case of the date for murder, Friday night,
on most of these same stations.
Next week, the story of a murder in which no gun was used,
nor knife, nor blunt instrument, nor poison,
nor suffocation, nor force of any kind.
And yet, a man was murdered.
It's called destruction.
And you'll hear it next week on Suspense.
Suspense is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis,
with music composed by Lucian Morawick
and conducted by Lud Bluskin.
Featured in tonight's cast were Ben Wright,
Claire Butterfield, Ellen Morgan, Betty Harford,
John Danaer, Richard Peel, and Florence Walcott.
And remember, next week,
Morton Fine and David Friedkin's new Suspense play,
Destruction.
Action as a policeman really finds it.
The first precinct on the CBS Radio Network.