Once Upon a MidnightA presentation of the American Broadcasting Companydedicated to the hardy listenerwho favors a tale spiced with mystery and imagination.What time is it in your house?Eight? Nine? Ten?Set the clock ahead. Make it twelve.Midnight's the time for these stories.And now here's your host, the noted director and producer,an expert guide along the path of dark adventure,Mr. Alfred Hitchcock.It was not until several weeks after he had decided to murder his wifethat Dr. Bickley took any active steps in the matter.Murder is a serious business.The tiniest slip may be disastrous.And Dr. Bickley had no intention of risking disaster.This was to be the most delicately perfect of all perfect crimes.Suspense, shock, murder,all the makings of a spine-tingling mystery dramain the hands of a past master of theatrical illusion,Alfred Hitchcock.We of the American Broadcasting Company believe this new serieshas the opportunity of becoming the most importantand distinguished of its kind in radio.Mr. Hitchcock will appear in every program as the narratorand will personally supervise the writing and directionof each highly dramatic tale.It is our good fortune that Alfred Hitchcockhas an enormous interest in radio.In fact, the idea of this series originated with him.This is important because it means we have the great asset of a starwith a personal enthusiasm in making the seriesa reality.It is a true milestone in radio.The musical score is handled by Felix Millsin a new and effective way.Instead of using music simply as a bridge between scenes,each episode will be especially scored for dramatic value.The music used to make plot points,to add impact to the action and sharpness to the dialogue.We feel that in every way this new radio seriesoffers an unusual opportunity to combine broad popular appealwith truly distinguished radio treatment.We leave it to you to judge.You were saying, Mr. Hitchcock,that murder is a serious business.Oh, yes, and murderers are serious people.You know, one thing that has always fascinated me about criminalsis that when you walk down a street,any passerby might be a murderer.They don't all wear black mustaches.I imagine most murderers behave just like mild, ordinary peopleuntil suddenly one day they turn and stab you in the backor drop a lump of cyanide in a friend's tea.I think this idea must have intrigued Francis Iles, too,for the murderer in his story, Malice of Hawthorne,the Dr. Brickley I mentioned, was certainly an ordinary person.A little fellow, lightly built, around 38, I imagine.Sandy hair, bit thin on top, small sandy moustache.You've seen him.On top of a bus, perhaps.Or you've met him on a train.Or if you'd lived near Wyvern Cross in England a few years back,you might have met him in the village,starting out on the morning rounds of his patient,Good morning, Dr. Brickley.Good morning, Mrs. Templer.Morning, Doctor.Morning, Miss Dean.Lovely morning.Lovely.Ah, Brickley.Mr. Torr, good morning.Ah, morning.Good morning, Dr. Brickley.Good morning.How's your mother?Better, thank you.Ah, splendid.Morning, Doctor.Good morning.Morning, Mrs. Cheeby.Mrs. Harvard.Lovely morning.Lovely.Listen to the way he says lovely morning.I must say I do enjoy a cheerful murderer,although when he got home, Dr. Brickley wasn't always quite as cheery.I suppose his wife, Julia, was what you would call a battle axe.Anyway, she was a lot older than Brickley,almost an old maid type, I suppose.Probably would have been if Brickley hadn't married her.Really, Edmund, really.You might have been considerate enough to come home a little earlier,today of all days.How can Florence get on with her workif you keep her waiting to wash up your lunch things like this?Sorry, Julia.Had to get through my patients, you know.Well, of course.Do you want some more of that cold joint?Just a glass of beer, I think.Edmund, you have far too much to do to sit here drinking beer.Thank you.Have you forgotten we're having guests?No, my sweet.Besides, you know how beer makes you perspire.Oh, the tours will play tennis, of course.You'd better put the net up first.You know how it sags during the first half hour.Then there are the two tables to be taken out and the chairs.And I think you'd better put the awning up in the sun.And after that, you'll have to...My dear, I don't think I should be able to get all those things done.My dear Edmund, they've got to be done.Have you finished?I'm waiting.A bit of cheese, I think.You've no time for cheese.Then I suppose...I'm finished.Just as well we don't give tennis parties every day, isn't it?Oh, I'm glad you mentioned it.The court will have to be rolled.What?The tennis court, Edmund.Wet it down and roll it.But then I'll have to remark all the lines.Well, of course, Edmund.But I don't...Now, Edmund, don't stand there.Get about it.Dear me, it's a pity I can't be in a dozen places at once to see to everything myself.Yes, dear.Well, that was a typical day at the Bickleys.Except on this particular day, the weather and tempers were hotter than usual.Horsey, love.A game, isn't it?Edmund, Mr. Torr has nothing to eat.Oh, here we are.Sandwich, Mr. Torr?Oh, I believe I will.And how is old Mrs. Parrott these days, Doctor?I guess she's been ailing, eh?Well, Mrs. Parrott, I might say...Edmund, Miss Rattray will have a sandwich.Of course.Miss Rattray?Thank you, Doctor.You were asking about Mrs. Parrott.Oh, yes.As a physician, it's my opinion...Edmund!Edmund, not there, please.Don't sit there.That's Gwynfred's seat.She'll be back in a moment.Oh.Don't sit there.Try another.Edmund, they're a ball short.Benji's hit one into the gooseberry bushes.Oh, did he?Well, go and look for it, Edmund.Don't let your guests do it.It's all right.I'll get him, Mrs. Bickley.No, Benji.Let Edmund.Oh, hurry, dear.Yes, dear.And so poor old Bickley put his head in the gooseberry bush looking for a tennis ball.Just as he was about to *** it with a hot and clammy hand,he heard himself a subject of conversation.Did you hear the way she ordered them about?Awful, isn't it?I'm hanged if I speak to a dog like that.But then I imagine a fellow like Bickley rather enjoys it, eh?Oh, Benji.Well, you know as well as I do, he didn't enjoy it, especially when people laughed.All he could do was to clench his teeth and stare down into the bush.I can't stand this.Not much longer.I can't stand it.I wished you were dead.I wish...I wish I could kill her.By the way, I'd like to stop a moment and tell you about a secret little weakness Bickley had.Every night he would soothe himself to sleep with what he called his visions.Little extravagant pieces of imagination in which Bickley was always a person of supreme importance.Sometimes it was Bickley the great painter or Bickley the great composer.Regardless of the...He was always great, always a hero.He'd pull up his knees under the blanket, snuggle his head deeper into the pillow and then say to himself,Well, what shall we do tonight?I think I'll play for England.I think I'll beat Australia.Bickley the great cricket player was his favourite vision.He'd bat for more than ten hours.Amazing!Australia trying every bowler they had.No use.The man's too good.The match went on and on until Bickley had broken the world record by scoring 501 runs.Stupendous!At the finish he was carried from the field on the shoulders of his fellow players.The idol of the cheering thousands.The man of the hour.But all was smiling and modest when the Prime Minister said solemnly,Bickley, you have saved England.Well, naturally by this time Bickley was fast asleep.But those wild thoughts he had when his head was in the gutter.Showed a bright voice.and with hisERTES he was soon believed to be al hadid,living under the banner of thebear army.In England.ME.How could I kill her?For nights and nights he did not play cricket once.Then an extraordinary thing happened.A thing that got poor old Bickley mixed up more than ever.He fell in love.She was a newcomer to Wyvern Cross, a Miss Madeleine Cranmere,who'd taken up residence at the old hall,a huge castle-like affair on the hill.She was a girl of about 23, not pretty in the least,except for her blue eyes, which were quite beautiful.Bickley had never met her,until the afternoon he was summoned to the hall professionally and very hastily.Dr. Bickley, I'm Madeleine Cranmere.So sorry to keep you waiting.Not at all, Miss Cranmere.I've spent a very enjoyable few minutes looking over the hall.I've never been up here before.It's beautiful, isn't it?Ah, lovely. Perfect example of old Tudor.Oh, yes. I wouldn't know.That carved-over mantle, for instance.Quite authentic, and fortunately not spoiled by restoration.How interesting.You seem to know a lot about that sort of thing.Oh, no.Before you leave, I must show you the whole place.That's very kind.Not really. Actually, it'll be you who'll be showing me.Will you have tea, Doctor?Tea? Well...Please do.Vera?Dr. Bickley will stay for tea.Dr. Bickley stayed quite late for tea.They talked of a hundred things.Art, mostly.It came out quite naturally that Dr. Bickley sketched a bit, or tried to.And Miss Cranmere was positive he must do wonderful work.From art, they passed to other topics, and it was amazing how identical were their views.There wasn't a lull in the conversation until almost six o'clock.Well, that's a good thing.I suppose I should be running.Yes.I've had a most enjoyable afternoon.Shall I confess something, Doctor?I haven't spoken to anyone like this in... in weeks.You see, I live here by myself.Except for the servants, of course.Already, I'm finding life a little lonely.Oh.But you're coming back to sketch the hall. You promised.It's a privilege, Miss Cranmere.Well...Well?Miss Cranmere, you called this afternoon.I mean, the message you left at the house.Oh. Oh, yes.I don't sleep well, Doctor.Hmm. Any particular reason you can think of?No. Just nerves, I think. You know.Of course. High strung?I suppose I am.Well, we shall certainly have to take care of that.I'll write a prescription at once.Thank you, Doctor.Doctor Bickley came away from the hall that evening, and other evenings, too, feeling ten years younger.These nights, as Bickley snuggled into his pillow to begin the happy journey into imagination, he had a new vision to lull him to sleep.Not merely life without Julia, but life with Madeleine Cranmere.Madeleine Cranmere always at his side.Madeleine Cranmere smiling beautifully.Always helpful and understanding.Madeleine Cranmere, his life companion.His soul mate.Madeleine the fair.Madeleine the lovable.Madeleine the lily maid.That girl, Madeleine Cranmere, is getting herself talked about.What's that, Julia?You must have heard me, Edmund. You weren't asleep.You were sighing.Are you in pain?No, no. I suppose I've been thinking.I said that Madeleine Cranmere is getting herself talked about.Really? Well, people around here will talk about anyone.I don't mind them talking about her, but I don't like to see the Bourne family name dragged in the mud.Bourne?Denny Bourne. He's been seen up there several times lately.You mean they're talking about her and Denny Bourne?Don't shout at me, Edmund. What's the matter with you?Well, I think it's abominable. Just because a young man has tea once or twice with a young lady, Lord, beats me how these things get about.But they do get about, Edmund.And other things, too.So it seems.Is Miss Cranmere in good health, Edmund?Why, I imagine so.Then why do you have to see her every other day?Now, look here, Julia. If you're insinuating that I...Keep your voice down. I have a violent headache.You needn't bother to pretend with me, Edmund. I know you too well.Normally, I don't interfere with your amusements. But in this case, I warn you, I will not permit it.Julia, I won't stand this sort of thing. Even from you. You don't know the first thing about Miss Cranmere. If you think for one moment that she's...Edmund! Do you imagine yourself in love with this girl?No, I... No, I do not. I think your beastly insinuations are...Thank you. I have no wish to hear. Now, will you kindly give me something for this headache? It's horrible.Julia...And in future, will you please stay away from the hall?This was awkward. Bickley had to go up to the hall that next afternoon. Otherwise, he couldn't finish that portrait he was making of Madeline.He certainly found himself between the devil and her deep blue eyes.Is it finished yet?In a moment. Just turn toward the light again, Miss Cranmere.Now, that's it. Now, if I could just...Oh, Lord!What is it?It's no good. I can't get at you. Not the real you.I'll throw it in the fire.No, please. May I see it?If you want to. But it's not good, really.Hmm. Clever.You really think so? I say that. It's wonderful to hear you say that.Very clever.Oh, I say.I don't see what you mean by not being able to get me. I think it's exactly like me.Oh, yes, it's like you. But that isn't the point. I was trying to get at you. I mean, sure.Show where you differ from everyone else. I mean, your expression. The way you hold your head. That lovely, deep look in your eyes. Your wonderful, wonderful...I think I understand.Madeline, I suppose you know what I'm doing?Yes, I know.I'm making love to you.Yes.Madeline.Oh, Edmund.Edmund, please go. Go at once.Not now.Oh, please. Don't you see how wrong it is? How stupidly, inalterably wrong. You have a wife, Edmund.Yes. Yes, I have a wife.That night in bed, Whitley had the most important of all his visions.He began to see very clearly how Julia would die.Murder is a serious business. A tiniest slip may be disastrous.It was Julia herself who put the final plan into his mind.For the past five years, Julia had been subject to headaches,which the doctor sometimes treated with a mild injection of morphine.The first part of his plan was almost childlike in its simplicity.He would give Julia her headaches with the aid of a drug he had read about in a medical journal.Corrective for uric acid diathesis.Drug is no longer used, not only because of its prohibitive price, but because it tends to produce violent headaches.Next morning and every other morning at breakfast thereafter, Julia received a generous dose of this drug sprinkled lightly over her grapefruit.It was certainly a bit of luck that Julia had a passion for grapefruit.Oh, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear.Well, I'll have to get along. Lots of cases this morning. Goodbye, Julia.Oh, dear.What's the matter?Headache.Oh, bad?Blinding. The worst ever.Oh. Well, perhaps you'd better lie down for a while. I'll look in on you at lunch.I can't lie down. It'll only be worse. You'd better give me something before you go, Edmund.Give you what, my dear?Whatever it is, you always give me. I can't stand this.Julia, I've thought for a long time that these headaches of yours were just the result of being, well, run down.Now it looks to me like something organic.Well, what?That I can't say. But if they go on, I shall have to take you to see a specialist.You'll do nothing of the kind, Edmund.The headaches went on and the treatment went on. Headaches, morphine, headaches, morphine.By the middle of January, Julia was getting a good five grains a day. So far, so good.Oh, Dr. Bitley. Come in, Doctor.Is Miss Cranmer at home, Vera?Yes, sir.She's in the drawing room with Mr. Bourne.Oh, Bourne.Dr. Bitley, good afternoon.Miss Cranmer.Well, how are you, Bitley?How do you do?Denny's just leaving. You won't stay for tea, Denny?I'm sorry, I can't.Well, Miss Cranmer's been showing me your sketches, Bitley. They're not bad.Thanks.You must like the old place up here.Very interesting, architecturally. Only trouble with these old places is that they're not very sanitary.How's that?Plumbing's very bad.Oh, Dr. Bitley, really?Well, it is. Regular typhoid trap up here.Doctor!Well, thank you, Miss Cranmer. I've had a marvelous afternoon.Come again soon, Denny.Right. Dr. Bitley?Afternoon.Edmund. That wasn't very clever of you.Wasn't it? What's he doing up here? I don't like him.Come and sit down, Edmund.You haven't answered me, Madeleine.This is the tenth time I've run into him in the last month.Edmund, are you so blind?Blind to what? All I see is that you've constantly encouraged Denny Boone to make this place a sort of...Of course I've encouraged him. Because of you, Edmund, don't you see? I have to let him come.I don't mind people talking about him and me. Let them say what they want. But I couldn't stand it if...if they talked about us, Edmund.Madeleine, forgive me.Darling, don't ever be cross.Be cross with me, please, darling.Madeleine.I don't think you realize how difficult it is, Edmund. A girl like me in love with a married man.I know. It's difficult for me, too. I've tried to think it out clearly. I even spoke to Julia.When?Oh, a long time ago.You told her about us?Oh, no. Certainly not.I should hope you wouldn't. What did you say to her?I asked her for a divorce.She wouldn't give it to you?She refused, absolutely.You see, Edmund. You see how hopeless it is.No. No, it isn't hopeless. Give me time, that's all.Time? I seem to have a great deal of time, don't I?Madeleine, look at me. You love me, don't you?You know I do, Edmund.How much do you love me?Edmund, what a strange question. How can you ask?Because I've got to know. I've got to know, Madeleine.I love you. More than I could ever tell.Thank you, Madeleine.Well, that satisfied Bickley. But he realized now he'd better get a move on.My dear, I can't do it. I just can't.I merely asked for relief, Edmund.But I gave you a grain, my dear, just before dinner.I know. Now my head's worse than ever.But it can't go on, Julia.What can't?All this morphia. Very bad for you, you know.You... Well, you're coming to rely on us.Will you kindly put what you mean into plain words, Edmund?Well, to put it bluntly, it'll become a habit.If you're hinting that I've become a drug fiend...Really, Edmund, what nonsense.Kindly come to the surgery and give me an injection at once.No. If you want any more injections, you'll have to change your doctor.I can't administer any more. For your own sake, Julia.Well, that night Julia slept very soundly.Bickley crept slowly down the stairs to the surgery.Quietly he opened the drawer which contained the morphia serene.Hmm. It had recently been used.Julia was following the course prescribed.She was now addicted to morphine, self-administered.Part one of the plan was complete.Now for part two.He sent a letter to Julia's brother and sister in a nearby town.Just what is this all about, Edmund? Is Julia ill?I'm afraid it's more serious than that, Hilda.Well, let's hear the worst and get it over with.What's the matter with Julia?Well, not easy for me to tell you this.But I felt as her brother and sister you had a right to know.Julia's... she's addicted to morphine.Morphine?You mean Julia takes dope?While you're visiting here, make some excuse to see her forearm.You can manage it, Hilda.You'll notice that the arm's almost covered with tiny punctures.Morphine. It's incredible.A dope fiend. Well, that would be a nice thing to get around, wouldn't it?We'll have to keep this hushed up, Edmund.Naturally.But I wanted someone else to know.I, uh, I feel better somehow.You must admit that Bickley had done a very neat job up to now.By the time the brother and sister left, they were ready to swear that Julia was a drug addict.As he saw them to their car, Bickley was rubbing his hands in cheerful anticipation of the next step in the murder.He called it part three.The overdose.A few mornings later, Julia rose from breakfastwith the worst headache ever.Bickley's face was almost comic in his effort to conceal his delight.This was the time.This was the day Julia would die.He locked up the morphine carefully, then went out on his morning calls.At noon, he returned home secretly to find Julia still suffering horribly.Good.He went to the surgery, unlocked the medicine cabinet,counted the grains of morphine into his hand.One.Two.Three.Four.Five.Six.Seven.Eight.Nine.Ten.Eleven.Twelve.Thirteen.Fourteen.Fifteen.Fifteen grains.Half would have been enough.Hurry, please, Edmund.Hurry.Yes, dear.Yes, dear.With his gloved hands, he filled the syringe, surprised at the steadiness of his fingers.At the last moment, he had another flash of genius.Uh-uh.Will you hold this syringe for me?Just a moment, Julia.Thank you.Oh, the clever devil.Her fingerprints on the cylinder.And then, in all fairness, we must say it,Bickley gave his wife one last chance.I'll take that syringe now.Julia, for some time past, I've wanted to ask you something.Will you reconsider your decision about divorcing me?No, Edmund, I will not.I'm not a child, Julia.I know my own mind.I'm in love.Love with Madeleine Cranmer.I've known it for months.And nothing would persuade me to divorce you for her.The girl's no good, Edmund.No good at all.That's absolutely final?Absolutely.Hold out your arm, Julia.Oh, thank you, Edmund.Go upstairs, Julia.Go up and lie down.Now, let's see.What does Miss Tumper say about the tragedy?Why, what is the tragedy, says Bickley?Julia will be dead in 20 minutes.No one knows you came home, leave the house, go on your rounds,be seen on the street, and establish you were not herewhen the tragedy took place.Be seen, Dr. Bickley.She'll be dead in 20 minutes.Be seen in the village.Good afternoon, Dr. Bickley.Good afternoon, Mrs. Wright.Dr. Bickley.Ah, Mrs. Templer, lovely afternoon.Lovely.Good afternoon, Doctor.Benji, how's your leg?Oh, perfect.Good.Afternoon, Mrs. Cheevy.Mrs. Harford, lovely day, isn't it?At the precise moment that Julia left this world,Dr. Bickley was at the other end of the village,sounding old Mr. Tracy's heart.He wished Mr. Tracy's heart didn't sound so much like a clock ticking.It made him nervous.Twenty minutes from 12.30.That's ten minutes of one.She's dying.She's dying right now.Julia's dying.His heart is beating.Living.Beating.And hers is stopping.Dying.Stopping.Here.What's wrong, Doctor?Is the old ticker on the blinker?Oh, no.No, Mr. Tracy.It's fine.You'll live, I think.Bickley didn't go home.Better let his maid make the discovery.What to do in the meantime?What about going up to the hall to see Madeline?When he arrived, he found another guest barring the doorway.It was Denny Bourne.I don't understand this, Denny.Where's Madeline?Isn't she here?She isn't feeling well, that's all.She's up in her room, lying down.I'll go up and see her.I don't think you should.As a matter of fact, old boy, I think you'd better not come up here at all from now on.Really?And why not?Well, it's only decent, you know.After all, with Madeline and I just becoming engaged.Engaged?You and Madeline?Engaged?Well, then she didn't tell you.Oh, she promised she would.I don't believe it.Why, you young fool.Oh, no, let's not.After all.Get out of my way.Now, see here.Get out of my way.Madeline.Edmund, you shouldn't have tried to see me.Madeline, look here.This is all nonsense, of course.No, Edmund, it isn't.I thought it all out.We couldn't go on.You don't love Denny Boone.You couldn't.Edmund.Listen to me.This is what you're going to do.Edmund, my shoulder.You're hurting me.Listen.You're going downstairs this minute and break this thing off.Tomorrow, I'm going to London to buy a special license.You're coming with me.We'll be married.In three days, we'll be married.Let me go.Are you mad, Edmund?You have a wife.A wife.My wife?My wife is dead.Dead.Denny?Denny?Denny?Shut up.Shut up, do you hear?Denny?Denny?Dr. Pickley.Dr. Pickley, sir.Vera, Miss Cranmer is hysterical.Get me some cold water.Yes, sir, but the telephone, sir.You're wanted at once.It's Mrs. Pickley, sir.She's...Oh, it's very bad news, sir.Hi.I...I'll take the call.Oh, Dr. Pickley, what have you done?Have you put a noose around your neck, doctor?You were not supposed to know your wife was dead.You hadn't been home.Are those nights and nights of wonderful visions to be wasted?Thrown away by one careless word.Oh, Dr. Pickley, how could you?What a coincidence.You're just a woman, beautiful.You're a woman.You're a woman.You are.You are.You are.You are.There you have the first episode of Malice Aforethought.We'd like to leave you with one more fact which makes us feel that this series is destinedfor a really outstanding success.That is the popular appeal of the psychological mystery.The box office success of Alfred Hitchcock's psychological mystery films.Here are some of them.Rebecca.Spellbound, 39 Steps, Suspicion, Foreign Correspondent, The Lady Vanishes,all names known throughout the country to millions of movie-going Americans.The consistent success of the Hitchcock films is not accidental.It is based on two things.One, Hitchcock's creative genius as a director and interpreter.Two, and this we believe is important to you,the obvious trend of public interest today in the psychological mystery.I'm terribly sorry we're not able to finish the story this week.As Bickley might say, telling a murder story is a serious business and it takes a little time.Please bear with us and just wait until next week and let's see what happened to old Bickley.You think he'll get away with it? I wonder.This is the Blue Network of the Americas.American Broadcasting Company.