The Unsuspected

---

Mr. Grandison's residence.

Oh, hello there.

Is my wandering husband

home, by any chance?

No. I haven't seen

Oliver since lunch.

I'm all alone here-

Thursday, you know.

Who?

No...

Oh, no...

No. Please! Aaah!

Hello, Roslyn?

Hello, Roslyn!

Hello?

This is the operator.

Your party's hung up.

Shall I try them again?

Did you get the house? What?

Oh. Oh, no.

No, there wasn't any answer.

Let's get out of here. All right.

Waiter?

What time is it?

About 9:
30.

I mean, exactly.

Exactly 9:
37.

Waiter, if my husband does come,

Tell him we've gone

on to the Pelican Club.

Yes, ma'am.

Come along, lover.

"Tragedy strikes again. " What?

"Last week, Victor Grandison's"

attractive young

secretary, Roslyn Wright,

committed suicide at the Grandison

Estate in Croton, New York.

"The genial commentator, long

noted for his interest in mysteries,"

confesses that the tragedy

has him completely baffled.

"Mr. Grandison was doing

his weekly mystery broadcast

in the New York studio

at the time of her death."

Was our show that bad?

Poor Roslyn. I liked her.

I wonder why she did it.

You'd better watch your step.

Oh, don't worry about me.

I shall die at

The ripe old age of 90.

With my grandchildren

at my bedside...

If I can find

a grandfather for them.

Stand by.

On the nose.

This is the United

Motor Company...

Starring your genial host,

The renowned writer,

art collector,

and teller of strange tales...

Victor Grandison.

Good evening,

ladies and gentlemen.

Grandison speaking.

Tonight, I bring you

from the files.

Of the nation's unsolved crimes

the story of

one of the most brutal

and yet the most cunningly

conceived murders ever committed,

a murder of rare delicacy

and wondrous ease

that was called... suicide.

Yes, suicide,

the police called it,

Yet the murderer

walks among us... free.

But is he really free?

Can he escape from

the evil that he has done?

No. By day, it follows

him like his shadow.

At night,

the cold hands of death

awaken him from

a thousand nightmares.

And so,

day and night, he is driven on,

with the dead forever

haunting him, pursuing him.

Or perhaps

he isn't running away,

but is in hiding

in some dark hole,

listening with terror to the

voice of his own conscience-

a voice that tells him

over and over

that the hunter

has become the hunted,

that there's no escape

for one who has

committed... murder.

They say that drowning men

relive their lives in seconds.

The guilty, too, relive their

crimes a thousand times a day...

At every unexpected sound, at

every glance that turns their way,

and at a thousand fears

that have no form.

The guilty must go on and on,

Hiding his evil behind a mask-

The calm and often smiling mask

of the unsuspected.

Yes, the unsuspected is

anywhere, everywhere...

So be on your guard.

He might be the man

who calls you "Friend,"

who visits frequently

at your home.

He might even be someone

who comes often to my own home.

And while I pride myself

on being an amateur detective,

Even I might easily be fooled.

And yet, his day of

reckoning must come.

He is tormented by fear...

That someday he will

make one false move, one slip,

That will betray him.

And when he does,

the lightning

Of justice will strike...

the unsuspected.

Victor's the only man I know.

That can turn my blood

to ice water.

Let's have another drink.

We could all be Murderers!

Check the glasses, Kent,

and open up some more wine.

Some more wine.

Hello, Mary. Oh, professor!

Dr. Edelman, I'm so glad you could come.

It's thrilling having

a psychiatrist here.

It's very difficult

to think of you

professionally, Mrs. Keane.

Just don't open up

all our secret doors.

What's hidden behind

yours, Althea? Ghosts?

No, Mr. Donovan. There's

nothing a ghost could do for me.

Let me know when Mr. Grandison

gets here, will you, please?

Yes, miss. Uh, don't drink too much.

Oh, excuse me.

Louder and gayer, Lover!

I like your style

Say, I think it's marvelous

Good evening, sir.

Good evening.

Excuse me, madam.

There's a gentleman...

Oh, thank you.

Pardon me, lover.

It's the most thrilling party!

Having fun? Oh, yes!

Good evening. I'm-

Yes, I know.

You're Victor Grandison's

niece, Mrs. Oliver Keane.

Althea.

My name is Howard-

Steven Howard.

I have some bags in the cab.

Bags, sir? But, uh - yes, sir.

You brought luggage?

Do you plan to stay?

Obviously.

I'm here to see Mr. Grandison.

What do you want to see

Mr. Grandison about?

Quite a large party, isn't it?

Would you care to meet anyone?

No.

Not very appetizing.

It's Victor's birthday.

Once a year, his friends

crawl out of the woodwork.

This year,

it's a surprise party.

Will he be surprised

to see you?

I like matches. You

never have to refill them.

And when you're

through with them,

you simply throw them away...

Like people.

Why hasn't Victor

asked you here before?

Probably because

we've never met.

He's not expecting you?

You're a very curious woman,

aren't you, Mrs. Keane?

You are going to tell me.

Maybe. What will you trade?

A drink?

Brandy.

Thank you.

You glued to this spot?

Home is where the heart is.

Very amusing.

You're drinking

too much, as usual.

How much, my love, is too much?

Regard my excellent balance.

Look, no hands!

My mind lose its razor edge?

Do I slur my words?

Do I forget anything?

Not a single, solitary thing

of all the things

I'd give so much to forget.

No, I'm still conscious.

Therefore, my sweet,

far from having had too much,

I've not had enough yet.

The least you could

do is stay sober.

While we have guests

in the house.

I'd then be free to dwell

on our sacred marriage vows,

Which you, my love,

hold in such light esteem.

Oliver, you talk too much.

I'll be quiet.

I'll just sit and bask

in cowardly splendor.

"Thus, conscience doth

make cowards of us all."

Here.

Thank you.

You seem interested.

Fascinated.

You know, it's very much like Mateo

in his middle period.

Who painted it?

My husband,

in his sober period...

Before he married me.

It's lovely.

It's so alive.

She's dead.

Matilda Frazier, Victor's ward.

She was on the freighter that

was burned at sea last month.

And Victor's secretary

committed suicide last week.

There's no connection.

I didn't say there was.

She was beautiful.

She drank too much milk and

her seams were always straight.

You didn't like her.

Frankly, she bored me.

She was sweet, shy,

unforgettable.

I can understand why

you didn't like her.

You knew Matilda?

I was married to her.

Don't drop that.

Now you know what

I'm doing here...

And I've earned this.

Oh... That's impossible.

Is it?

She was in love with-

With your husband Oliver.

She told me-that

and other things...

That you married him

just a few days

before she was supposed to.

I know quite a lot

about you, Althea...

Quite a lot.

Man:
Quiet, everybody.

Here he comes now.

Surprise!

Who thought up this torture?

Rate this script:2.0 / 1 vote