Come in. Welcome. I'm E .G. Marshall. Welcome
to the sounds of suspense. To the fear... you
can hear. I have a story for you about a writer,
a writer of books. We all know what it is to
read a book. We all read. Sometimes to learn,
sometimes to pass the time, sometimes to experience
a life unrelated to our own, and sometimes to
surrender ourselves to the fantasies of a person
we have never met and will never meet. But what
is it to write a book? Ah? That's another thing
altogether. But what difference does it make?
All the difference in the world. Well, it's not
as if it were real. It is real. Don't you see
that? Well, I mean, it's not real life. It is
real life. It's a life more real than yours or
mine or any life that anyone will ever live.
How can you say that? It's just a book. Our mystery
drama, Three Women, was written especially for
the mystery theater by Elspeth Erick and stars
Ruth Ford. I'll be back shortly with act one.
What is a book? Two, three, four hundred pages
of words lying side by side in rows. That's all.
Words we all know. Many of them we use. Nothing
mysterious about the words themselves. But they
are not thrown helter -skelter on the pages,
are they? No, they lie there in a certain order,
each one following on the one before. And who
prescribed that order? Who put this word here
and that word there? A writer. And this is the
story of a writer named Stephen Lake and the
book he wrote. Yes? Does Mr. Lake live here?
Yes. Is he home? Yeah, he's home. Could I see
him? Well, he's working. Could you tell him please
it's mr. Higgins to see him Higgins. I'm a publisher
Look, could I step inside? It's terribly cold
out here. I guess so He really is working isn't
he I mean I hear him it's typewriter you're a
publisher you say yes, that's right If you just
tell him you can go on up up. Yeah up that ladder.
That's where he works up there. Oh Thank you
You get to the top, just bang on the trap door.
Where? Yes, thank you. Bang hard so he'll hear
you. Yes, all right. He heard you. Mr. Lake,
I'm Albert Higgins. Albert Higgins. Not from...
Yes, from Higgins and Hart. All right to come
up the rest of the way? All right. Well, I should
say... Can you make it? Can I help you? I think
I can. Yes. Here we are. I can't believe it.
Mr. Albert Higgins. Very same. This is where
you work? Yes, it's the only place I can get
away. I live with my wife and my mother -in -law.
That was my mother -in -law who let you in. Well,
it's nice and secluded up here, anyway. May I
take your coat, Mr. Higgins? Oh, thank you. No,
actually, I think I'll keep it on. You're cold.
It's awfully cold outside. I think it's even
colder in here. I get where I don't notice it.
You have a stove, I see. Yes, but sometimes I
forget to put wood in. Just a second, I'll get
it going again. That's a real old Franklin stove,
isn't it? Genuine article. I haven't seen a Franklin
stove in years. They're great. If you remember
to keep them lighted, please sit down, Mr. Higgins.
All right. Well now. I'd better explain what
I'm doing here. I'd sure like to know. My secretary
handed me your manuscript just as I was leaving
the office for the weekend. We have a little
ski lodge up here, my wife and I, right up the
road from you, as a matter of fact. Yes, I think
maybe I've seen it, right off Route 7, about
a mile north. Yes, that's it. Well, I was coming
up by myself, and on the train I read your book.
When I got to the lodge I read it again. I like
it a lot. Except for one thing. What's that?
You've made one grievous error, Mr. Lake. Or
may I call you Stephen? Call me anything. What's
the mistake? You've killed off the most attractive
character in the book. You mean Clarissa? You
can't do that, my boy. Why, nine -tenths of the
book's appeal is the charm of that girl. She's
another Scarlet O 'Hara. You can't spend 200
pages making us fall in love with this marvelous
creature and then poof, just like that, have
a die on us, go out of our lives. You just can't
do that. But I have to. You don't have to at
all, Stephen. You've written a marvelous book.
I want to publish it. All I want from you is
10 new pages. The last 10. Write me ten new pages
at the end and let Clarissa live. I can't I can't
Now Stephen that isn't asking much. It's everything
I can't do it. She has to die. She has to why
does she have to die because Because if she doesn't
die, I don't know what will happen to me It's
me. Well, get your boots off. Dinner ready? Just
about. You call Stephen? He gets so wrapped up
in his writing. No, he's not wrapped up now.
Listen to him. He's thinking, Mama. He's walking
up and down to help him think. Well, he can't
be putting words down every single minute. He's
been walking up and down like that ever since
that man left. What man? Was somebody here? Well,
Mr. Higgins. Higgins? Albert Higgins? From Higgins
and Hart? I believe he did say he was a publisher.
Oh, mama. It was our last hope. You know, every
other publisher turned down Steve's novel, and
he sent it to Higgins and Hart. But Mr. Higgins
was here? They were up there together for about
15 minutes, and then the great Mr. Higgins came
tumbling down the ladder like the devil himself
was after him. Very red in the face. looked at
me like everything was my fault and catapulted
out of here. You didn't ask Steve what happened?
Loretta, when have I ever asked Mr. Genius -type
novel writer Stephen Lake anything? If he feels
like telling me, he'll tell me, which he never
does. I'm going to find out. Good luck is all
I can say. Stephen? It's impossible. Absolutely
impossible. Stephen! Impossible, Clarissa. I
can't... Darling, are you all right? You just
get home? Mrs. McGinnis wanted her windows washed.
Darling, Mama said... I don't want you washing
windows. Stephen, Mama said there was a man here
today. Mr. Higgins? Albert Higgins. He really
was here? He has a ski lodge up the road. He
didn't just... Drop in, did he? What did he want?
He read my book. He wants to publish it. Oh,
Stephen! Why didn't you say so? He wants me to
change it. Does he want you to change it a lot?
Completely. Oh. Would that be a lot of work?
The last ten pages. He wants me... He wants me
to let Clarissa live. Is that all? Oh, Stephen.
What do you mean is that all? Clarissa is supposed
to die. It's all been decided. She has to die.
I can't let her go on living just to please Mr.
Higgins. But it's not just Mr. Higgins. Oh, Stephen,
I wasn't going to tell you yet. Not for a while.
But I can't go on doing housework for other people
much longer I never wanted you to do housework
for other people but pretty soon I won't be able
to I'm I'm going to have a baby Stephen You're
not You You must be wrong. Oh No, I'm not wrong
Not about this. You must be with Stephen aren't
you glad? Just a little bit and coming right
now. What with Mr. Higgins wanting to publish
your book. Why in the spring we'll both be having
babies. You'd be having your book and I'd be
having... I can't let Clarissa live. I can't
do it. She has to die. Just the way I wrote it.
She has got to die. Stephen, you're frightening
me. I'm sorry. What difference would it make
if you let Clarissa live? All the difference
in the world. Just not as if it were real. It's
just a book. It's not just a book. Loretta, I
can't talk about it anymore right now. Well,
you'll think about it, won't you? About rewriting
it? I'll think about it. Well, Mama says dinner's
almost ready. I'll be right down. Well, don't
be long. I won't. Clarissa. Clarissa, I can't
let you live. Oh, yes you can, darling. I can't.
You can do anything you put your mind to, Stephen.
Anything at all. You're such a great man, darling.
You can do anything. Absolutely anything at all.
You know you can. Mr. Higgins, this is Stephen
Lake. I have to see you, sir. No, right away,
if that's possible. I'll come to your place.
Yes, it's better that way. In an hour. All right,
sir. I'll be there. Oh, that's my sweet Stephen.
My dear love. My own brilliant boy. My Stephen.
I'm glad you called me, Stephen. I must say I
was a trifle perturbed at your outburst this
afternoon. It seems such a little thing, I was
asking, to kill off a character like Clarissa
in the last ten pages when you've spent the entire
book constructing her, her magnetic personality.
It's not right. I have to do it, sir. But it's
cheating, leading your readers up the garden
path. I'll tell you something which perhaps I
shouldn't, but anyway, I discussed with my wife
the possibility of a sequel to this book. using
the same central character. Clarissa? It's a
shame to waste a character like that on one book.
There should be another, and perhaps another.
How can we do that if you kill her off at the
end of your first book? Mr. Higgins, I've been
writing for seven years steadily. I've never
sold anything. Six years ago, I got married.
My wife, Loretta, has been working as a domestic
all these years, and her mother... goes out every
day to do other people's laundry. I haven't brought
in one red cent in all that time. But now you
will. Lots of red cent. The house we're living
in. That's an abandoned one -room schoolhouse.
We bought it a year ago with every cent we had
in the savings bank. Four hundred dollars. At
a county auction. The room where I work used
to be the place where they stored supplies. We
got the Franklin stove from a junkyard. If you
want the truth, we stole it Young writers never
have it easy Stephen. My wife has never complained
never once She's scrubbed the other women's floors
She's washed their dishes and dusted their furniture
and scar their bathtubs and polish their silver
in view of all this I should think you'd jump
at the chance to have your novel published. I
do jump at it I am jumping at it only I can't
let Clarissa live. She's got to die ten pages
from the end of the book. But that's unreasonable.
Don't you think I wanted her to live? Don't you
think I kept her alive as long as I could? You
think I wanted to kill her? I had to. I can't
for the life of me see why. Because... Because...
I'd fallen in love with her. Come now, Stephen.
Deeply. hopelessly, irrevocably in love. Now,
now, my boy, I've been a publisher a long time.
I've talked to dozens of authors. They all fall
in love with characters they've created. It happens
all the time. Clarissa isn't just a character.
Well, of course she is. She didn't exist before
you created her, did she? She exists now. Good
heavens, man, she came out of your mind. She
has no life except the one you gave her. Maybe
she did come out of my mind, but now she's got
a life of her own. Well, in a manner of speaking,
of course she has, and I want to prolong that
life, Stephen. I predict great success for Clarissa,
and for you. You and Clarissa are one, you might
say. No. No, we are not one. We must ever be
one. I want her dead. And out of my life. On
my word, I can't follow you. Mr. Higgins, if
Clarissa is allowed to live, I shall desert my
wife. Dessert your wife? My wife is going to
have a baby. Well then, why on earth would you
desert her? Because I love Clarissa. I love her
with the kind of love I never knew existed. A
love that has more power over me than I have
over myself. I can't fight it. I can't escape
it. It haunts my waking hours and my dreams as
well. Those last ten pages of the book weren't
easy to write, Mr. Higgins. But I had to write
them. I had to free myself somehow from a love
that was destroying my soul, my life! I don't
think you're quite sane, Stephen. Neither do
I. Suppose... suppose we were to publish the
book as it is. Oh, if only you would. And Clarissa
dies. What then? Why, then... she'd go back to
being a character in a book. And if you let her
live? Then... then I would follow her. My life.
My body, even my talent would belong to her.
I myself would belong to Clarissa and to her
alone. Everybody talks about love, but nobody
does anything about it. Now here for the first
time we have a man who wants to do something.
He wants to kill the lady. It may not be the
perfect solution, not one to be universally recommended.
Still, it's something. We'll be back shortly
with Act Two. It was an American writer who said
it, and not so long ago. Novelists, whatever
else they may be, are also children, talking
to children, in the dark. Listen with me now
to the second act of three women. Stephen is
talking to Clarissa, a character he created in
one of his books, In the Dark. Clarissa, I can't
let you go on living. But I want to, Stephen.
Of course you want to. We all want to. But I
want to so badly. And it's your fault, Stephen.
Why is it my fault? Because you gave me such
a wonderful life in your book. I enjoy it so
much. I can't bear the thought of giving it up.
Neither can I. Neither can I. To have had a life
like that, and then to die ten pages from the
end of the book. I know, I know. When the book
is published, you'll be dead. I don't see why,
Stephen. I really don't. Because till now it's
just been you and me, and this room, and words
on paper. But after the book is published...
What will it be then? It'll be something that
sells for $7 .95. $1 .50 in the paperback edition.
My goodness, you're counting on a big sale, aren't
you? Just hoping. But it won't have a big sale
if you kill me off, sweetheart. It might. What
was that? Who came in? Probably my mother -in
-law. She gets home early to get dinner ready.
Will she come up here? I don't think so. She
hardly ever does. Oh, then let's talk some more
about how much you love me. She is coming up
here. Oh, bother. Well, we'll talk some more
later. I am not going to let you kill me off,
Stephen. It's too cruel. Uh, just a minute. All
right, come up. Of course, Mother. Give me your
hand. What a place! How do you stand it? I like
it. It's cold, too. Your fire's gone out. You
been working? Oh, no, not much. Well, what have
you been doing? Figuring something out? Well,
trying to. Figuring out what to do with the last
ten pages of your novel? More or less. Stephen,
it's not up to me to tell you what to do. Then
don't. I don't know one book from another, but
this book of yours, it's a novel, isn't it? It's
a novel. About made -up people, right? Yes. So
what's the difference? You can do what you want
with made -up people. They can live as long as...
as long as you're alive to write about them.
True? Is that true? Yes, yes, that's true. So,
if Mr. Higgins says you should let this character,
this Clarissa, go on living, what's the difference?
Let the lady live. Who cares? Also, and I don't
mean this as a reproach, we can use the money.
Believe me, I know that. So, if a little lady
is worth more alive than dead, I say let her
live. Yeah. Not a lot of work. The way I understand
it from Loretta, I mean, you don't have to write
the whole book over. Just the last ten pages.
Well, what's that? You can knock that off in
no time. Well, I better be getting on down and
get dinner started. It'll be ready in about half
an hour. I'll be down. Oh, darling. Darling,
yes. Yes, sweetheart. The cold hand I held wet
with my tears. Oh, Stephen, that's beautiful.
Stirred ever so little. The fingers moved faintly
in mine. Oh, Stephen, yes! That was a very good
dinner, Mother. How would you know? You hardly
tasted it. Well, what I did taste was awfully
good. Nobody's going to eat anymore, I'll clear.
Let me help you. Oh, don't be silly, Mama, and
I'll finish up. You go back to work if you want
to. Well, all right. I guess I will. Poor Stephen.
He looks awful. He hardly eats anything anymore.
I had a talk with him today about changing a
book. What did you say? I said, what's the difference?
Character in a book can be alive or dead. Who
cares? Stephen cares. Oh, why should he? Oh,
mama. He's a writer. Writers care about these
things. It has something to do with, um, artistic
integrity. You think maybe somebody's putting
things into Stephen's head? Artistic notions,
things like that? Who would do that? Mr. Higgins
wants him to change the book. I wasn't thinking
of Mr. Higgins. I was thinking of... Some woman.
What woman? I don't know what woman. I don't
suppose I should say this, but lots of times
I hear him talking up there. Oh, Mom, Steve talks
to himself all the time when he's trying to work
things out. This isn't talking to himself. This
is talking to somebody. There's a big difference.
And another thing that... That mattress he has
up there, it looks to me like there's two people
been lying on it. Mom! All right, all right,
all right, all right. I told you I shouldn't
say it now. I'm sorry I did. He didn't seem very...
happy about the baby. I should have kept my mouth
shut. Oh, that's all right. You finish up the
dishes. I'm going up to talk to him. Don't say
I said anything. Don't tell him we've been talking.
I won't. Yeah, just a second Not disturbing you
am I of course not I didn't hear the typewriters.
So Stephen Do you love me? What kind of a question
is that? It's the kind of question wives are
always asking even if they never say the words
Yes, I love you Are you glad we're going to have
a child? Yes. Yes, I'm... I'm glad we're going
to have a child. Well, ask a straight question
and you get a straight answer. That's the way
it should be. So, I'll ask you another one. Why
don't you want to change the book? Rita, I...
I just don't. Well, it's not a straight answer.
I know it isn't. I just... I can't. Steven, I'm
going to ask you another straight question. Are
you interested in some other woman? Interested?
No. Because if you are, I'll go away. I don't
want you to go away. I'll go away and have the
baby someplace else. Until you get over this
other woman, then I'll come back. Or if you don't
get over her, I'll stay away. Oh, Loretta. Steven,
can you swear to me that there's no other woman
in your life except me? Can you promise me that?
Loretta, I swear to you, I promise you that I
love you. That I love you, that I want you for
my wife for always, for as long as we live. I
guess I'll have to be satisfied with that. It's
the truth? All right. I'll let you work now.
Oh, I thought she'd never leave. Please, Clarissa,
I don't feel like talking to you right now. Why
didn't you tell her about me? How could I tell
her about you? She wouldn't believe me. Nobody
would. Darling, you know what I was thinking
while Loretta was going on and on about herself
and you and the baby she's going to have? I was
thinking, why don't I have a baby? Oh, not in
this book, of course, but later on in some other
book. I'll have this perfectly gorgeous child
who'll have my sweet disposition and your marvelous
brains. How about that? Mama, I asked him if
there was somebody else. Another woman. Oh, well.
He said he loved me and wanted me for his wife
for as long as we live. I still hear him talking
up there and it certainly sounds to me like he's
talking to somebody. Who do you suppose that
is? One way to find out. Oh, Mr. Higgins. Come
in before you freeze to death. Winter's closing
in on us. Sure is. How are you, Mr. Higgins?
Fine. Fine. I thrive on the cold. Mrs. Lake,
your husband's in, I hope. He's up there. Working,
I guess. Has he talked to you about, you know,
about Clarissa, keeping her alive? He just says
he doesn't want to. All right to go up and see
him? Oh, sure it is. Good luck, Mr. Higgins.
Thank you. Oh, Mr. Higgins. Okay, just talk to
you for a few minutes, Stephen. I guess so, sure.
I thought I'd like to see how you're getting
along. I'm not. You haven't done any work? None
at all? Oh, a few pages. They're over there next
to the typewriter. Okay, may I have a look? If
you want to. Mr. Higgins, if you're here, talk
to me about letting Clarissa live. I most certainly
am. I'm not sure I can take it anymore. My mother
-in -law is talking to me about it. My wife talks
to me about it. Stephen, this is very good so
far. The hardest thing of all is Clarissa talks
to me about it. Do you know what she wants now?
She wants a baby. My baby. We could probably
work in a baby later on. Mr. Higgins, if Clarissa
has a baby, am I going to love it more than Loretta's
baby? Stephen, these pages are very good. Now
write the last couple of pages. I've got... To
kill her off, Mr. Higgins, and never write about
her anymore, never! Now, Stephen, stop it! Calm
down and try to be reasonable! I can't be reasonable!
I love my wife, Mr. Higgins. I want to live with
my wife and our child. I can't live with her
and Clarissa, too. No, Mr. Higgins. Clarissa
has to die just the way I wrote it in the first
place. If she dies in this book, then I can't
write about her anymore. And if I don't write
about her anymore, she won't exist. Steven, I
won't publish the book if Clarissa dies. I've
put it to you straight. Don't you think you owe
it to your wife, to your mother -in -law, to
yourself, to make this little concession? Concession?
What will happen to them if you don't? What will
happen to them... if I do? Money is the root
of all evil, and killing is certainly evil. Yet,
here we have a man who wants to kill and is letting
himself be talked out of killing for money. It
leaves us with the perplexing question, what
is evil? Maybe we'll find out when we return
shortly for Act 3. Pity the poor novelist alone
with his thoughts his visions his conceits his
fancies His only solid substantial companion
his typewriter Steven What is it Clarissa? Everybody
wants me to live except you I know I know and
you're the one who loves me. I know nobody else
even knows me except from reading the book, and
that's not really knowing. Clarissa, I wish you'd
let me work. How am I doing? You're living. Just
barely, but you're living. I thought I was, because
I was feeling so warm and loving about you. I
know the only reason you're keeping me alive
is for the money. You can't fool me, Stephen.
If there was a way to kill me and still make
the money, I bet you'd take it. There ought to
be a way Clarissa you've given me an idea. Oh,
it makes me very happy if I've given you something
You've given me everything. It's about time.
I gave something back to you Mr. Higgins Stephen
Lake Yes, I have an idea. I have to talk to you
about it right away. Can I come to your house?
Well, that's all right. I have snow shoes. I'll
be there in say half an hour Thanks, Mr. Higgins.
What kind of an idea have you got? Never you
mind. I'm coming with you. No, I don't want you
tagging along. I want to tag along. Where are
my snowshoes? Right there. Now, what's this big
idea you have to tell Mr. Higgins? None of your
business. Is it about me? As a matter of fact,
it is. Then it is my business. Steven, you're
not going to kill me off, are you? I thought
that was all decided. Are you? Now, my idea is
this, Mr. Higgins. I'll finish up the book just
the way you want it. Good, good. Clarissa stirs
and comes to life. Whatever it was she was dying
of, she only went into... coma etc etc i'll work
it out i'll give you a book in a couple of days
maybe by tomorrow good then if you still like
it oh i like it it's yours only i wanted in my
contract that whatever money the book makes goes
to my wife i want her to get all the proceeds
but it's your book why i just happen to write
it that's all and writing it i nearly ruined
my wife's happiness in my own I don't want any
money for that. Stephen, it seems to me that
you're simply feeling guilty about your feelings
for Clarissa. I am. Guilty as hell. And about
the other books, the ones after this one. You're
not going to tell me you don't want any of that
money either. I want somebody else to write those
things, not me. You're joking. Mr. Higgins, I've
got to get Clarissa out of my head. And the only
way to do that is to put her into somebody else's
head. Let somebody else keep her alive, not me.
Well, uh... I suppose we could find a ghostwriter,
but... At least let me have those last ten pages
with Clarissa alive. Mr. Higgins, you'll have
them. Tonight. My, you are busy, aren't you?
Very. You're working on the new ending to the
novel, aren't you? That's right. And I get to
live and live and live and live... Clarissa,
it's cold in here. Why don't you do something
useful like putting some wood in the stove? I
don't know how. You don't know much, do you?
Enough. Okay, I'll do it. Make a nice big fire
and then we can sit and talk about what's going
to happen next. What do you mean by next? In
all the other books, the ones you're going to
write after this one. Now blow on this fire,
will you? Oh. At least you can do that. Okay.
Go on, tell me about the other books. I don't
know anything about the other books. Would you
like to hear some of my ideas? Not really. Well,
that's enough. You can stop blowing. It's caught
fire. Ah, that feels good. I think the next novel
ought to be in Venice. Clarissa, I have made
a deal with Mr. Higgins. When I finish these
ten pages, thereby keeping you alive, I shall
turn them over to him to replace the original
ten, and then I shall write no more books. No
more books about you, anyway. But Mr. Higgins
thinks I'm wonderful. He wants lots of books
about me. He's going to get lots of books about
you, but they won't be written by me. But who
will write them? A ghost. A ghost? I don't want
to be written by a ghost. I'm part ghost myself.
Oh, he'll be a real live man. A ghost writer.
That's what they are called in the publishing
business. But it won't be you? Definitely not
me. But it will be a real live man. Yes. Now,
if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to
work. I wonder, will he be as handsome as you?
Handsomer, probably. I wonder, will he love me
the way you do? For his sake, I hope not. I wonder,
will I love him? Why should you love him? Why
not? You never loved me. That's the way you wrote
it. I couldn't love anyone. Except yourself.
But he might write me differently, mightn't he?
He shouldn't. He should follow the character
exactly as I've set it down in the first book.
But if he falls in love with me, he might want
it changed so I could fall in love with him.
It would be so much more convenient for everybody.
Clarissa, you wouldn't. Wouldn't what? Fall in
love... Fall in love with the ghostwriter. Would
you? How should I know? Well, you... You wouldn't
have his child. You wouldn't do that. I think
I'll put another piece of wood on the fire, or
would you rather do it? Clarissa, would you have
his child? There. Oh, look. That's a nice fire.
Lovely. Answer me! Would you have his child?
Well, Stephen, if that's the way he writes it,
I guess I'll have to. Stephen, what are you doing?
Oh, no, no. You're not going to have his child.
No. Stephen. You're going back to where you were
in the original. You're going to die ten pages
from the end of the book. You're not going to
burn the new pages, Stephen. You're not. Don't!
Help! Help! Someone help me! I'm on fire! Help
me! The quilt! Get me the quilt, please! Help
me! I'll get it, Mama. Mrs. Lee? Mr. Higgins.
It's Mr. Higgins, Mama. Oh. I haven't seen you
since the funeral, Mr. Higgins. Thank you for
the beautiful flowers. May I come in for a minute?
Why, of course. Come in. Would you like a cup
of tea, Mr. Higgins? I was just about to put
the kettle on. Thank you. No, Mrs. Lake. I haven't
wanted to intrude before this on your grief.
Such a terrible accident. Mama and I can't figure
out how it happened. You know, Stephen knew that
Franklin stove so well. He'd used it for years.
And then... It was like it sort of blew up in
his face. Mrs. Lake, he was working on the new
ending for the novel when he... when it happened.
At least I think he was. I don't know for sure,
Mr. Higgins. He promised me I'd have the new
pages that same night. He acted as though he
couldn't wait to get started. Then I imagine
that's what he was doing. Mrs. Lake, would you
mind if I'm not intruding? Could I go up and
take a look? You see, if I can find them, I can
just substitute them for the original last ten
pages, and we can go right to work. I think we
might be able to publish the book this spring.
Why, that would be wonderful. At least. You'd
have a little money coming in. Stephen would
have liked that. So is it all right if I take
a look? Why, surely. You don't mind if I don't
go up there with you. I haven't wanted to somehow
since the fire. No, no, no. That's quite all
right. I'll go up by myself. Trap door's not
locked, Mr. Higgins. Make it all right? Yes.
Thank you. Fine. Oh, I suppose I should have
cleaned up that place, but I just couldn't. No
hurry. When the time comes, I'll do it. Never
entered my head to look for those ten pages.
Oh, never mind. Mama, if he finds the pages and
publishes the book, and if it's a success, that'll
be nice, won't it? Mrs. Lake. What is it, Mr.
Higgins? You found them? I found something. I
found these. These ten pages. Oh, thank the good
Lord. All neatly stacked beside his typewriter.
Oh, I'm so glad, Mr. Higgins. Glad? Have you
read them? Well, no. Well, listen. Lovely, gorgeous
Clarissa lifted her beautiful head. She wasn't
dead after all. Well? But that's not the way
Stephen writes. I could hardly believe my eyes.
That creamy complexion was beginning to pinken.
Pinken? There's no such word as pinken. My adorable
sweetheart had only fainted and wasn't dead at
all. My goodness, but I was happy. Now I ask
you... Stephen didn't write that way at all.
Nothing like that. Then who did? Who did write
this awful trash? Mr. Higgins, you don't... Think
that well somebody wrote it is typed on his typewriter
You You don't suppose it is possible that Stephen
Went mad and wrote this awful stuff while he
was unbalanced Mr. Higgins if Stephen was a certified
lunatic. He couldn't write ten pages like those
there Do you want them to keep for any reason?
I don't think so. Well, I'll take them home with
me and burn them. Mr. Higgins Does this mean
that that there won't be any book at all why
I? Hadn't thought I would so like to have a book
of Stevens published Tell you what we'll do mrs.
Lake. We'll go ahead and publish the original
version the one where Clarissa dies You say something
no sounded like a ghost kind of It really does
sound like a ghost. Must be the wind. Well, I'll
be getting along. And don't you worry, you two.
There'll be a little money coming in. It's still
a good novel, even with Clarissa dying. Too bad,
though. I'd hoped Clarissa would have a long
and happy life, but such is fate. And the moral
of the story is, what is the moral of the story?
How's this? Lie if you like, but never believe
your own lies. Or, the man who fools himself
is a fool indeed. Well, something like that.
You figure it out. I'll be back shortly. The
gift of youth is ours for just a little while.
Fame is capricious, and money slips through our
fingers. Health is a godsend subject to recall.
Even the venison of love can elude us, or it
can wither in our hearts. But the blessings of
imagination, ah, they belong to us forever and
ever. Our cast included Ruth Ford, George Petrie,
Elspeth Eric, Joan Loring, and Roger DeKoven.
The entire production was under the direction
of Hyman Brown. This is E .G. Marshall inviting
you to return to our Mystery Theatre for another
adventure in the macabre. Until next time, pleasant
dreams.