Come in. Welcome. I'm E .G. Marshall. Welcome
to the Sound of Suspense. Welcome to the fear
you can hear. Welcome to the world of terrifying
imagination. The subject of the story you're
about to hear is murder. But the subject is also
time. We've all heard of killing time. But have
you heard about using time to kill? You will
in the next few minutes when Mr. Owen Layton
himself tells you his most ingenious scheme for
getting rich quick by means of sudden death.
Owen, for heaven's sake, what are you doing here?
You're supposed to be in Paris. I thought I'd
surprise you, Harry. And I seem to have done
exactly that. By the way, I met your charming
dance instructor coming out of the house. Although
I'm quite sure he didn't see me. But I don't
understand. How could you possibly have returned
home so soon? I was in a terrible hurry to see
you, darling. I simply couldn't wait to see you.
And do this! Our mystery drama, Sea of Troubles,
was written especially for the Mystery Theatre
by Henry Schlesser. and stars starts crosswords.
I'll be back shortly with act one. Our spine
tingler begins across the sea in the delightful
city of Paris. They say that you can sit at a
sidewalk cafe on one of these streets and sooner
or later meet everyone you've ever known. Well,
now we're going to introduce you to someone who
you don't know, but whose acquaintance you will
enjoy making. His name is Owen Layton, and he
prefers to tell you his unusual story in his
own words. I arrived in Paris at ten o 'clock
that morning, but I didn't leave my hotel room
until well after four. I knew my brother Gerald's
habits only do well. He'd probably be sleeping
until noon. I knew where he would be at 4 p .m.,
of course, at Patrick's Café on the Rue de Montparnasse.
Everyone loved Gerald and Patrick's because he
was famous for always paying his bills. With
my money, of course. Bonjour, monsieur. Bonjour.
I chose a table well to the side, but my appearance
still attracted considerable attention. And why
not? with my ruffled English tweeds, a long grey
beard and the style of Ulysses S. Grant, a pair
of crutches to keep my monstrously bandaged foot
off the Parisian asphalt. I must have been quite
a sight. Well, what do you know Owen for the
love of Pete? Hello, Gerald. I'm glad you were
able to recognize me under all his hair advantages.
Now, how are you? What's the matter with your
foot? Never mind about that. Give me a look at
you. I haven't seen my kid brother in over a
year. You know something? You look more French
than ever. Ah, yeah, come on now. Let's hear
about that foot, Owen. Ah, in the beard. When
did you grow all that shrubbery, huh? Well, I
got the idea from you. Last time I was in Paris.
This thing? Yeah. Ah, this is nothing compared
to you. Now listen, the last time I saw a beard
like that, it was on a $50 bill. I guess it got
a little out of hand. I'm thinking of trending
it, as a matter of fact. More like your style.
Well, I'll introduce you to my barber. Hey, do
me a favor, Gerald. Finish this perno for me.
I shouldn't be drinking with my foot. Well, what's
your foot got to do with it? It's the gout. You
remember, I wrote you about it a few months ago.
I had an attack just before I sailed to Europe.
Well, how's your painting coming along? You sold
anything yet? Well, anything I sold is my watch.
As if you didn't know. Yes, I know. You came
to Paris to starve in a garris. But you look
pretty well -fed to me. Oh, speaking of that,
how was Harry? Speaking of which? Oh, the money
I sent you, or being well -fed? You know what
I mean. Oh, and how is she? Still the same? No.
She's more of the same. She's richer than ever.
She's fatter than ever. She's also meaner than
ever. Well, she couldn't be too mean. Not if
she let you grow that beard. I still don't see
why you wanted to grow it. You always made such
fun of mine. I had my reason, Gerald. It was
part of my plan. Plan? What plan? Why to kill
my mean fat wife, of course So this is your Garrett
is it pretty luxurious for a starving artist,
isn't it? It's not bad and all those canvases
Some even have paint on them. Well, don't tell
me you're really working Owen I know you're no
saint, but I don't think you're wicked enough
to Do what you said. Strangle Harriet? No, Gerald.
I'm wicked enough. Just not foolish enough. My
wife's money will be precious little good to
me in prison. Now, don't tell me you've got some
kind of a foolproof scheme, Owen, because there
is no such thing. Now, no matter how clever you
are, there's always someone cleverer in the detective
novels, perhaps. Now sit down before I kick you
with my gouty foot. I've got five pounds of bandage
there. It makes quite a weapon I don't understand
what you meant about about gout. It's the very
cornerstone of my plan. I Have established a
medical history of the disease if questions arise
later Question. Yes about the bandages Owen,
I have never seen you like this. You're really
talking wildly about those crutches, the beard,
all this crazy talk about killing people. You're
not crazy at all. It's a beautiful, rational
scheme. And one that you will be eager to see
succeed. Owen, what's happened between you and
Harry? Well, nothing, son. It's been a gradual
change. Perhaps the inevitable result of advancing
years. You know... I was considerably younger
than Harriet when we married. Now it seems I'm
not young enough. Oh, wait a minute. Are you
cutting me off? Are you going to stop sending
me money? Nothing of the kind. As long as my
income can support it, you can continue to develop
your artistic talent. The question is, how long
will my income continue? It's been 10 years since
I married Harriet. The difference between our
ages is suddenly not so great. Harriet is discovering
that there are younger men in the world. In fact,
there's one particular one she's fond of. You're
joking. He's a dancing instructor, as a matter
of fact. She met him when I had my first attack
of gout. I couldn't move for a month while Harriet
indulged herself in non -domestic pleasures like
dancing. What to talk about? Killing her? Killing
her carefully, Gerald. with due regard to the
risks involved. Actually, I thought of the answer
when I was flat on my back. I had plenty of time
to think then. About what? A unique phenomenon
of the modern age. The magnificent paradox of
trans -oceanic travel. Travel? Yes. A ship makes
its journey in some five days. A jet plane takes
only a few hours. But you hate planes! You've
never been on a plane in your life! Yeah, that's
right. They terrify me. But what does all this
have to do with killing Arians? Everything. For
you and I, brother, are going to put that transatlantic
paradox to use. We're gonna prove that the difference
between a ship and a plane is a lovely way to
commit murder. It was almost two weeks later
that Gerald and I stood on the dock at La Havre
and looked at the trim lines of the SS Empress.
She wasn't exactly the largest vessel lying at
anchor, but on that particular Saturday, she
was certainly the busiest. That was fine with
me. The more excitement on the pier, the less
noticeable Gerald and I were as we made our way
toward A deck. Our progress was slow, since I
never really managed to use those crutches. Finally,
we made our way to stateroom G, and as the door
finally shut behind us, I collapsed on the bunk.
I looked at my younger brother's face and felt
considerably better. Poor Gerald. His complexion
was so pale white against his reddish beard,
now fuller by two barberless weeks. Relax, Gerald.
Everything's gonna be all right. I wish I had
your confidence, Owen. Now let's take care of
the passports first. And then we can call the
steward. All right. Here they are. Ah, good.
Now we have to do this very carefully. With infinite
patience, I set about the delicate task of removing
the small photographs from both passports. I
was as precise as a jeweler. Then I squeezed
glue from a tiny tube and replaced them. One
bearded face substituted for the other one. Yes,
my brother and I look quite a bit alike, despite
the secure difference in our age. Owen, are you
sure nobody will notice? Now, you're not supposed
to tamper with these passports. Yes, that's true.
And I understand it's also a crime to kill someone.
Nevertheless, that's exactly what I planned to
do. Now, let's ring for the steward. All right.
The man who answered our ring was a perfect delight.
An aging cockney with a thin crest of white hair,
the mouth of a pixie, and the squitty eyes of
a myopic. The latter, of course, was going to
be a blessing. Everything all right, Mr. Layton?
Yes, everything's just fine. Your name, Mr. Hawkins?
Yes, sir, that's me. Sir Porkins, at your service.
Mr. Porkins, I'm afraid I'm going to be something
of a burden to you on this voyage. As you see,
I'm in England. Yes, sir, your poor foot, sir.
Exactly, my poor foot. As a result, I'm going
to be forced to take all my meals in here. So
you'll have to arrange matters with the dining
steward. I trust that can be arranged. Oh, yes,
sir, don't you worry none about that, sir. Nor
will I be spending any time on deck. The least
bit of roll is extremely painful for me. So,
I'll remain in my stateroom until we reach port.
What a pity, Sheriff. It's all right, it's all
right. I've got a great deal of business to take
care of between here and New York. I'll have
enough paperwork to keep me busy. So if you'll
just bring me my meals and keep me from being
disturbed, you'll be doing your job handsomely.
All right, understood? Oh, yes, understood, Mr.
Maiten. See you later, then, Mr. Paulkin. Oh,
yes, sir. We were lucky. He seems like a cooperative
old geezer. Yes, but be careful. Always keep
your door locked so he can never enter without
knocking. And every time he brings you that tray,
make sure that you're either dozing or buried
in papers, understand? Understood. Well, when
I think about what you're gonna do in New York
while I'm on board the ship I know what I'm going
to do in New York There's going to be a pleasure,
but you're so cold -blooded about it Owen You
are going to kill a human being. No, I never
said that I said I was going to kill Harriet
There she is in her lavish New York townhouse,
thinking about nothing but her dancing lessons.
While aboard the SS Empress, two men are plotting
her demise. Of course, we're not yet certain
how Owen Layton plans to get away with murder.
Even if he does fly to New York and his brother
sails in his place, we'll simply have to wait
until I continue shortly with Act Two. Now let's
return to stateroom G on A deck of the SS Empress.
It's almost sailing time. The first all visitors
ashore warning has been sounded on all levels
of the great ship. But in stateroom G, of course,
the warning has a special significance because
now the visitor has become the passenger, and
the passenger has become the visitor. But let
Mr. Owen Layton speak for himself. Listen to
me, Gerald. And listen very carefully. For Pete's
sake, Owen, we've been over this a hundred times.
But now I'm seeing it for the last time. You
must do exactly what I've said. Exactly. The
smallest variation can cause total disaster.
I promise you. I won't move from this stateroom.
I'll be a good little rabbit in my cave. Yes,
that's exactly what worries me. Your rabbit -like
tendencies. Don't expect me to enjoy it. I think
of all those cute little bunnies strolling around
on the deck. Just forget they're there, understand?
Let me get this bandage off my foot. Five days.
And don't forget the six nights. You'll manage,
all right? Won't be any fun, will we? Yes. Neither
would it be any fun to fill gas tanks in Hoboken.
Not as much fun as living on the left bank with
those Parisian beauties of yours. All right,
all right. I know. And don't forget, who's really
doing the hard work, Junior? Including that plane
trip tonight. For me, that's the worst part of
it all. Listen, how high do those buddy things
fly? Oh, 30 ,000 feet, I think. Oh, it's preposterous.
There, the bandages are off. Now, let's get them
on you. By the time the next hall ashore sounded,
the transformation had been made. The bandages
were on my brother's foot, and the crutches were
lying snugly beside his bunk, and I was all set
to leave. With Gerald's great weed coat belted
around me with Gerald's hat on my head I strolled
to the visitors gangplank and left the SS Empress
to its business In a way it was fortunate that
I dreaded air travel so much The thought of being
carried about some 30 ,000 feet inside the monstrous
machine parked at the Gate 7 on Orlick Field
was completely engrossing. For this reason, I
overcame many nervousness I might have had upon
confronting the immigration authority. The official
merely glanced at the photograph and my passport
book, snapped it shut briskly, and handed it
back. Mr. Gerald Robin Layton was on his way
back home. I don't recall much about the flight.
I remember about 10 minutes of sheer terror when
we took off on what seemed like a ridiculously
short runway. I know there were several more
hours of alternating fright, numbness, and drowsiness,
helped by liberal amounts of alcohol. And then
there was that agonizing half hour following
the captain's announcement of our approach into
Kennedy International Airport. And wonder of
wonders. I was safe. The only one in danger was
my wife. It was midnight in New York and I climbed
into a taxi and gave the driver on destination
Grand Central Station. In the terminal I deposited
my single piece of luggage in a public locker
and took still another taxi to the street where
Harriet and I had spent the last four years of
our marriage. The brownstone was an imposing
building from the exterior, but Harriet's money
had made it possible to scoop out the interior
and transform it into a duplex of cunningly modern
design. I had spent several happy hours in this
house, about seven or eight, I think. It was
one -twenty in the morning by the time I arrived,
and the traffic had gone from the quiet streets
of Sutton Place. The street was empty. The shades
of the building's opposites had all been drawn
against the night. I felt certain that no one
saw me quietly insert the key into the lock of
the front door. I went quietly upstairs to the
bedroom. It was empty. But that was no surprise.
It was Saturday night. Presumably, I was in Paris.
Therefore, Harriet was on the town, probably
in the company of her dance instructor friend.
In a way, I was glad that she was running true
to form. It helped me feel justified in taking
the drastic course that I was about to take.
About 20 minutes later, I heard the front door
opening again. Oh, my feet. My feet. You danced
my little doofies off tonight. You... you Fred
Astaire, you... Well, that's what you're paying
me for, Mrs. Leighton. That's what you think,
lover. Well, speaking of... Oh, no, stop it now,
Douglas. No, stop it, you brute. You mean I don't
even get a kiss goodnight? Tomorrow night, maybe.
Right now, I just want to go to sleep. I thought
you looked a bit preoccupied tonight. Is anything
wrong? No. Unless you count her cable for my
husband. Well, he's still in Paris, isn't he?
He sailed on the Empress. He'll be here in another
five days. Ah, that's too bad. Isn't it? He can
stay tomorrow, all right? I'll count the hours.
Good night, my princess. Good night. And then
Harriet started up the stairs. I picked up the
pretty blue vase that adorned her dressing table
and placed it behind my back. Hello, Harriet.
Oh, and for heaven's sake, what are you doing
here? You're supposed to be in Paris. I thought
I'd surprise you, darling. I seem to have done
exactly that. But your cable, you said you were
taking the Empress. She won't arrive for days.
Actually, I changed my mind about taking the
ship. I flew instead. You? You were never inside
a plane in your life. No, this is always the
first time, isn't it? For everything. But why?
When you're so terrified of flying? Because I
was in a hurry, darling. I simply couldn't wait
to see you and do this. No! It was a shame about
the bays. It cost a small fortune. A really distasteful
parking now. As you may have gathered, I'm a
man of fastidious taste. But when you have five
days to lose, you can't afford the niceties.
I knew it would be easier to lose myself in a
region of the city where the lower depths are
at their lowest. And so I discarded my British
suit, my Italian loafers, and my continental
manners. In an old pair of slacks and heavy wool
shirt, I made my way to the Bowery. My first
act. was to join a shambling, silent line of
vagrants outside the clothing relief agency.
And I emerged with a costume superior to anything
I could have invented. A moth -eaten sweater,
a double -breasted jacket with a shredded lining,
and a thousand unironable creases. And then I
bought a bottle of Sauternes for 98 cents and
rented a bed in a hotel called Miller's for 75
cents a night. And then, the next day, in a steam
-filled diner where the coffee tasted like antiseptic,
I picked up a mud -stained newspaper from the
dirty tile floor. There on the second page was
an item which gave me an appetite, even in that
place it said, woman found murdered in East Side
Brownstone. Ah, but the smaller headline beneath
it was even more delicious. It read, dancing
teacher held as suspect. It wasn't something
I planned or expected, but, well, why not? Why
not? Say, I think I'll have some more of that
coffee. And then the five days were over. It
wasn't very far from the Miller Hotel to the
docks. The first glimpse I had of the Empress's
beautiful bow on the horizon thrilled me in a
way I had never known before, but I couldn't
stand about and admire it. I had things to do.
I made my way as unobtrusively as possible back
to Grand Central Terminal. I removed my luggage
from the locker, and then in the washroom I shaved
and changed into clean clothes. Then I went down
to Pier 16 to greet the arriving Empress. I knew
that Gerald would be among the last of the passengers
to appear. But then there he was, wearing my
green plaid topcoat with a collar pulled around
his throat, wearing my Homburg hanging low over
his eyes. He was using my crutches too, and not
very well. But with his foot so heavily bandaged,
he still made a convincing cripple. Owen? Owen!
Over here! Sure, you know for a minute. I didn't
think didn't think you'd make it. Well. Well,
how was it? How did everything go fine fine?
Look, we can I get rid of these crutches? They
are killing never mind the crutches. What about
the steward? Mr. Paulkins? Did you see him before
you left the ship now? I managed to avoid him.
I didn't even tippy me there just as you said
good Now get into that car. This isn't your car.
Is it? It's a rental car to get inside so we
can switch clothes a rental car Wow, weren't
you taking the chance? I rented it in your name,
Junior. Don't worry about it. You really thought
of everything. Owen, I have to give you credit.
Now just give me my clothes and that bandage,
and fast. And so we made the switch, as before.
By the time I stepped out of the rented automobile,
I was dressed in the Homburg in the green -clad
coat. And the bandages were back where they had
originated. In fact, the crutches seemed like
old friends as I hobbled back to the entrance
of pier 16. I spotted the ship's petty officer
emerging from the passenger exit. Pardon me,
sir. Yes, sir. What can I do for you? Well, it's
rather embarrassing. You see, there's a steward
that I meant to take care of before I left my
stateroom. He was very kind to me. What's his
name? Porkins. He's an old fellow. Very nice.
I hated to miss him when I left, but somehow
I did, in all the excitement. Yes. Old Mr. Parkins
was more than pleased when I handed him the two
fifty dollar bills. There were actually tears
in his eyes. Oh, this is most generous of you,
sir. Most generous. Well, you took very good
care of me, Parkins. I know. I was a nuisance.
Oh, no, sir. You were never. Why? Oh, I hardly
even saw you, sir. Well, still you brought me
all my meals and so forth, didn't you? Well,
I was glad to do it. She glad to be of service.
And I hope you'll be back on the Empress with
us soon again. I intend to be, Porkins. Yes,
you can be sure of that. As soon as I knew that
Mr. Porkins was remembered properly, and that
he remembered me properly, I knew that everything
was going to be just fine. I told my younger
brother to drive his new car to the village,
find himself a small apartment, and lay low.
And I took a taxi to my home. I knew there would
be company waiting for me. Ah, Mr. Layton? Yes,
I'm old Layton. Who are you? My name is Lieutenant
Farley, Mr. Layton, New York Police Department.
Police? What's the matter? My husband robbed
or something? I'm sorry we couldn't meet you
at the ship. We knew you were coming back today,
but we thought it would be easier to meet you
here. and break the news to you. What news? What
are you talking about? Bad news, I'm afraid.
Maybe we better go inside. Yes, come in. Of course
I knew exactly what the bad news was going to
be. Now all I had to do was to keep from laughing
out loud. We seem to have been witness to the
perfect murder. Owen Layton can't be blamed for
the murder of his wife and for the most natural
reason in the world. Owen Layton wasn't in New
York when his wife was murdered. Owen was on
the high seas. Just ask Mr. Porkins or anyone
else aboard the SS Empress. But before we congratulate
Mr. Layton on his cleverness, Why don't we wait
until I return with Act 3? Owen Layton is a happy
man today. Despite the fact that he is all alone
in the reconverted brownstone on Sutton Place,
the smile never seems to leave his face. Even
as he hobbles towards the front door to answer
the insistent chimes, his bandaged foot and crutches
don't seem to bother him in the least. In fact,
one has the impression that despite the tragic
loss of his wife, Mr. Layton will never let anything
bother him for the rest of his life. Ah, evening,
Mr. Layton. Oh, hello, Lieutenant. I didn't know
you were coming by tonight. Oh, it's all right,
I hope. Yes, of course. Come in. Oh, thank you.
You were a bit too broken up the other day when
we had a talk about, well, about that terrible
thing that happened to your wife. Well, I'm sure
you don't blame me, Lieutenant. It was a great
shock. Here, let me take your raincoat. Raining
outside, is it? Yeah, a little. Frankly, it was
my decision not to send a radiogram to the ship.
About your wife's death, I mean. It didn't seem
right to... break the news to you that way. Well,
that was very considerate of you, Lieutenant.
We knew you were aboard the Empress because of
your cable. Yes, but you were right not to tell
me when I was aboard. It would have been very
helpless feeling knowing that there was nothing
I could do about it. And that's what I thought,
too. At any rate, I suppose you've had some time
to, well, think about what may have happened.
No, no, Lieutenant. The truth is, I still don't
understand. That man who killed her, everyone,
what was his name again? Douglas Denton. Oh,
yes. Not his real name. He called himself that
at the dancing school, but he was born Bernard
Eubank. I, uh, I take it you didn't know Mr.
Denton. No, no. I never met the man before in
my life. And why would he want to kill my poor
Harry? Well, actually, he's still denying that
he did. How can he? From what I've read in the
newspaper, well, you seem to have caught him
red -handed. Well, no, not quite that good. We
knew that he'd been, well, he and your wife had
been seeing each other during your visit abroad,
and that they'd seen each other that Saturday
night. She was killed. In fact, he was seen in
the vicinity of your house by several witnesses,
not more than ten minutes from the time when
we estimated she was bludgeoned to death. I'm
sorry, that's a little too graphic, I know. It's
all right, Lieutenant. I want to know the details.
I really do. One detail we don't know is why
he would have done such a thing. I mean, frankly,
we have Mr. Denton Pegg as a rather small -time
jiggle hole. I'm sorry to tell you that, too.
It's all right. I'm sure Harriet wasn't to blame.
I'm sure that man just did whatever... Jigalow's
dead and made a fool of her. Did your wife do
that sort of thing often? I don't know. I suppose
she's made a few mistakes, which of us hasn't.
Well, now, if you could be more specific... No,
Lieutenant. I'm sorry. I want Harriet's killer
punished, Lieutenant Farley, but not at the expense
of scandalizing my wife. I'm afraid that scandal
won't be easy to avoid. We know she was having
an affair with Mr. Denton. He's admitted that
himself. But I don't give them any reason to
break a vase over her head. Yes Unless she had
decided to end the affair, of course Well, it's
one possible theory, of course. Didn't you say
you found my cable to her about coming home on
the Empress? Yeah, that's right. Harriet didn't
know I expected to return from Europe so soon
Perhaps when she informed her jig her friend.
Mr. Denton. He got angry. Yeah, that's possible,
too He might have just acted impulsively. Yes,
Lieutenant. I'm sure it happened just that way.
They quarreled. In your bedroom? Very well. In
our bedroom, yes. They quarreled. And he picked
up the vase and he struck her. Somehow, I can't
believe it was cold blooded or premeditated.
No matter what the man is, Lieutenant, I hope
the law isn't too harsh with him. I'll tell you
what wasn't easy. It was the waiting. I had to
wait for the outcome of two legal actions, the
verdicts of both the criminal and the probate
courts. But I had every confidence that human
and fiscal justice would be done. And then, one
night, a little more than two weeks after my
return... I beg your pardon. It's Sheila. God,
I feel terrible not calling you before this,
but I just found out what happened. I read the
whole thing in the paper, a bad issue. Oh, and
you poor thing, you must be in a state. Are you
sure you're calling the right number? Of course
I am. At least that's the number in the telephone
book, 815 -5555. Well, you certainly have the
right number, miss, but I believe you have the
wrong party. who you are and why you think you
know me. regarding my wife's estate. Oh, before
you say anything else, will you listen to me?
Yes, that's why I'm calling, to listen to you.
To see if there's anything you can say, anything
at all, that will mitigate my intention of coming
right over there and strangling you. You've got
to understand how it was, Owen. I was a prisoner
in that state room, a virtual prisoner. Yes,
and that was the idea. I told you never to leave
that room. unencumbered and will soon be very
very rich your friend Sheila isn't going to give
up that easily she's going to track me down she's
going to try to renew our little shipboard romance
and do you know what will happen when she does
know that she spent all that glorious week with
another man and how long you suppose it'll take
for to a sea voyage. And I knew that my idiotic
younger brother had left me no other choice.
The minute I was off the phone with him, I was
on again, this time to my very obliging travel
agent, who told me that passage aboard the Empress
was indeed possible. But for the first time in
my shipboard travels, I couldn't get a stateroom.
Couldn't even do better than be deck. But it
was an indignity I was forced to accept. This
time... My cabin steward wasn't an amiable gentleman
like Mr. Pawkins, but a gruff, uncommunicative
type who made no promises of devoted service.
But then I wouldn't require much service. For
one thing, I no longer needed my bandages and
crutches. As far as the world is concerned, my
troublesome gout was healed. Oh, pardon me, sir.
Yes? Aren't you the gentleman who sailed with
us a couple of weeks ago? That Pawkins chap?
Oh, oh, yes, that's right You were the officer
who helped me find the steward. Yes, everything
worked out all right there. Yes, everything went
fine Unfortunately, I couldn't get such good
accommodations this trip. Well, it's a shame
sir But then I don't think we'll have as easy
a crossing of it this time Why not a little bit
of rough weather ahead they say oh fine. That's
all I need But rough weather ahead or not At
four that afternoon, the Empress pulled slowly
away from the pier, and I admit that I breathed
a heavy sigh of relief. That evening, I was taking
a nap before dinner when someone knocked on my
door. Who is it? Must be unfriendly neighborhood
steward. Yes? Hello? Oh, I'm sorry. Was there
something you wanted, Miss? Well, I've made a
mistake. I thought this was Mr. Layton's cabin.
What it is. I'm Mr. Layton. Oh, but you're not
Mr. Owen Layton. That's the party I was looking
for. But I am Owen Layton. Well, that's an interesting
coincidence. I mean, two people would have the
same names and even look a little bit alike.
Although, well, the Owen Layton, I mean, is quite
a bit younger. I don't know what in the world
you're talking about. I saw your name on the
passenger list, but the man I mean. Well, he's
about your height, and he has a beard like yours,
but he's... Well, he's not you. And who are you?
My name's Sheila. Sheila Ross. Sheila. I met
Owen Layton two weeks ago, right on this ship.
And now suddenly there's another Owen Layton
going the other way. There's something very fishy
going on here. You're mistaken. I swear you're
mistaken. Listen, mister, whatever your name
is. I don't know what this is all about. I don't
know why there are two Owen Leightons going back
and forth on this ship. Well, well, what's so
strange about that? I mean, why are you going
back and forth? Me? Because I have to. Because
it's my job. I'm a social director. You mean
you work on the Empress? That's right. Right
now. I'm going to work on finding out what this
is all about. I stood rooted to the cabin floor
listening to the melancholy sound of the ship's
whistle, warning the seas ahead that we were
on our way, heading straight for troubled waters.
As you have heard... Owen Layton's perfect murder
had the customary imperfection. But at least
he'll be able to enjoy one last ocean voyage
before the authorities send him up the river.
Isn't it nice to see Justice Triumph? Oh, beg
your pardon, to hear Justice Triumph. You will
hear more out of me when I return shortly. We
hope you enjoyed tonight's voyage. We hope you'll
be aboard next time the CBS Radio Mystery Theater
takes you on a trip to all points mysterious.
As you know, we have every means of transport
available to us, from ships... to trains... to
planes. And isn't it wonderful to realize that
we didn't use a drop of gas or oil? Our cast
included Stats Cotsworth, Earl Hammond, Breiner
-Rayburn, Dan Ako, and Ian Martin. The entire
production was under the direction of Hyman Brown.
And now, a preview of our next tale. Suddenly
just the faintest whisper of a sound, like something
dragging. Hey, who's there? Do you think you're
frightening me? This is E .G. Marshall inviting
you to return to our mystery theater for another
adventure in the macabre. Until next time. Pleasant
dreams.