Generic Radio Workshop Script Library (BACK)

Series: The Fat Man
Show: Murder Is the Medium
Date: Jul 22 1949

CAST:
VOICE
ANNOUNCER
2ND ANNCR
THE FAT MAN, dry-humored tough guy
MRS. HARRIET REYNARD, wealthy wife
MR. OSCAR REYNARD, meek husband
MR. POUISSAN, the cultured rug dealer; Middle Eastern
ANGELA, his tough-as-nails assistant; working class American
SALAH, the medium, Pouissan's wife; Middle Eastern

VOICE:

When your stomach's upset--

MUSIC:

STING

VOICE:

Don't add to the upset!

MUSIC:

WARM HARP GLISSANDO

VOICE:

Take soooooothing Pepto-Bismol and feel good again.

MUSIC:

HARP OUT

ANNOUNCER:

There he goes, into that drug store. He's stepping on the scale.

SOUND:

COIN IN SLOT

ANNOUNCER:

Weight, two hundred thirty-nine pounds.

SOUND:

CARD EXPELLED

ANNOUNCER:

Fortune ... danger.

MUSIC:

STING AND OUT

ANNOUNCER:

Whoooooooooo is it?

FAT MAN: The Fat Man.

MUSIC:

FAT MAN THEME ... THEN UNDER--

FAT MAN:

To most people, a zoo is a collection of four-footed animals. But there's one menagerie I know of where the inmates walk on two feet. In the first cage, for instance, you'll find the Giant Forger, whose specialty is writing other people's names. And in another iron cell, you can inspect the genus pickpocket -- known also as the "Little Dip" -- who can sometimes prove that the hand is quicker than the eye. But the prize exhibit is a hopped-up character with a nervous twitch in his forefinger. He prowls alone when he looks for prey, and he's known for his taste for -- murder.

MUSIC:

STING ... THEN UNDER--

ANNOUNCER:

That's the Fat Man --- a fast-moving criminologist who tips the scales at two hundred thirty-nine pounds -- brought to you by the Norwich Pharmacal Company, Ltd., makers of Pepto-Bismol, Unguentine and other fine drug products.

MUSIC:

UP AND OUT

ANNOUNCER:

When you overeat or eat too fast, you're looking for trouble with your digestion. That's no time to add to the upset. Instead, try a better way, a gentle way. Take sooooothing Pepto-Bismol. Yes, when you're bothered by heartburn, nervous indigestion or other common digestive disturbances, Pepto-Bismol promptly helps to calm and quiet the upset. It settles and sweetens it. You feel good again. Next time you eat too much or too fast, you can do something for that uneasy, uncomfortable feeling. Try soothing Pepto-Bismol. That's right, when your stomach's upset, don't add to the upset. Take soooothing Pepto-Bismol and feel good again. (PAUSE) And now, from New York, THE FAT MAN, starring J. Scott Smart in "Murder Is the Medium."

MUSIC:

INTRODUCTION ... THEN BEHIND FAT MAN--

FAT MAN:

(NARRATES) The Reynards, Oscar and Harriet, were a typical suburban pair, except that Oscar was six or eight years younger than his over-upholstered spouse. He was a meek little guy in a seersucker suit, while Mrs. Reynard looked like the vice-president in charge of production for the Hillsdale Sewing Circle.

MRS. REYNARD:

I'm Mrs. Harriet Reynard, Mr. Runyon, and this is my husband, Oscar. My second husband, that is. My first husband, Melvin, was, uh, supposed to have died two years ago.

FAT MAN:

(DRY) Isn't it official yet?

MR. REYNARD:

Of course, Mr. Runyon, but Harriet has been--

MRS. REYNARD:

(INTERRUPTS) Oscar. You promised to let me tell it to Mr. Runyon in my own way.

MR. REYNARD:

I'm sorry, my dear.

FAT MAN:

Eh, what's the story, Mrs. Reynard?

MRS. REYNARD:

About four weeks ago, Oscar and I happened to wander into a rug shop on the Lower West Side. After we looked at the owner's wares, he invited us into a back room to meet his wife.

MR. REYNARD:

An attractive woman, Mr. Runyon, with an, uh, interesting face--

MRS. REYNARD:

(INTERRUPTS) We were told that she had occult powers and could bring the dead back to life. Then she asked us if we wanted to attend a manifestation.

FAT MAN:

You mean a séance?

MRS. REYNARD:

She didn't call it a séance, but I suppose that's what it was. At any rate, we returned that evening -- just out of curiosity -- and I spoke to my dear departed husband.

MR. REYNARD:

Now, Harriet--

MRS. REYNARD:

It's true, Oscar, you were there. It was Melvin's voice and I saw his face light up in the dark right in front of me.

MR. REYNARD:

I'll admit she's right, Mr. Runyon--

MRS. REYNARD:

Oscar thought it was some kind of a trick and asked me not to go there again. But I couldn't resist and I went by myself without his knowledge. I saw Melvin again--

FAT MAN:

(SKEPTICAL) Hmmm.

MRS. REYNARD:

He seemed to be sitting in an office, dictating a letter to a stenographer.

FAT MAN:

(DRY) How was business?

MRS. REYNARD:

What?

FAT MAN:

Eh, skip it. Go on, Mrs. Reynard.

MRS. REYNARD:

Well, on this second visit, I received a message from Melvin, asking for a little money to tide him over. I couldn't refuse, Mr. Runyon, and live with my conscience. After all, it was Melvin's money I inherited and besides--

FAT MAN:

How much did he ask you for?

MR. REYNARD:

Five hundred dollars! Can you imagine that? And Harriet was fool enough to give it to them.

MRS. REYNARD:

(REPROVING) Oscar. (TO FAT MAN) It wasn't much, Mr. Runyon, and neither was the fifteen hundred he asked for later. But now, I'm beginning to think I may have made a mistake.

FAT MAN:

(EVENLY) Mm hmm.

MRS. REYNARD:

The last time I went there, on Wednesday night, I was told that Melvin was bankrupt and he needed twenty thousand dollars in a hurry. That was when I decided I ought to have some outside advice.

FAT MAN:

You still think you spoke to your first husband?

MRS. REYNARD:

I wouldn't have accepted Melvin's voice alone as final proof. But I saw him, Mr. Runyon -- right in front of me. And I wouldn't mistake the face of a man I'd been married to for fifteen years.

FAT MAN:

When's your next rendezvous with Melvin, Mrs. Reynard?

MRS. REYNARD:

Today at six.

FAT MAN:

Is that when you're supposed to shell out with the twenty grand?

MRS. REYNARD:

I was told to bring it all in cash.

FAT MAN:

Have you made the withdrawal?

MRS. REYNARD:

Not yet. But I have five hundred dollars in my bag.

FAT MAN:

Mm hmm. Let's have that.

MR. REYNARD:

(SURPRISED) In advance? Isn't that unusual, Mr. Runyon?

FAT MAN:

Keep your shirt on. I'm not in that much of a hurry for a fee.

SOUND:

MONEY COUNTED OUT BEHIND--

MRS. REYNARD:

Here you are. Five one hundred dollar bills.

FAT MAN:

Good. (CONCENTRATES ON MARKING THE BILLS) Now, just a minute here--

MR. REYNARD:

(PUZZLED) What are you doing, Mr. Runyon?

FAT MAN:

(ABSENTLY) Mmm, marking these bills. There. (HANDS OVER MARKED BILLS) All right, Mrs. Reynard. Put them back in your bag and hand them to the medium when you see her. Then leave the rest to me.

MR. REYNARD:

Just what do you intend to do?

FAT MAN:

(DRY) Communicate with the spirit world, Oscar, and get a receipt from Melvin for Mrs. Reynard's dough.

MUSIC:

TRANSITION ... THEN BEHIND FAT MAN--

FAT MAN:

(NARRATES) The rug shop was a murky little joint that reminded me of an Asiatic bazaar. The walls were covered with oriental rugs and I could smell the pungent odor of strong aromatic coffee someone was brewing in the rear. The proprietor was a thin little man whose accent I couldn't quite place, but I knew it wasn't far from the Persian Gulf. His manners were impeccable and his smile was full of teeth while he clasped his skinny hands in a gesture of greeting.

POUISSAN:

It is my wish to serve you, sir.

FAT MAN:

Oh, are you the owner?

POUISSAN:

Mr. Pouissan, at your command.

FAT MAN:

I'm shopping for rugs.

POUISSAN:

Ah, we make a specialty here, sir, of rugs. You are perhaps familiar with Oriental rugs?

FAT MAN:

Eh, in a sketchy way.

POUISSAN:

Then permit me to make a few suggestions in my humble manner. The finest rugs, as you might know, come from Persia and, uh, this is a perfect example. Feel its texture, sir.

FAT MAN:

(FEELS RUG) Mmm. Just like a kitten.

POUISSAN:

It is a Kashan -- a notable weave. Observe the striking red foundation with its floral designs and exquisite lines.

FAT MAN:

Yeah, it reminds me a little of an Isfahan.

POUISSAN:

Ah, an Isfahan. Then you do know something about weaving. The Isfahan is a rare treasure indeed -- creations of genius from the sixteenth century. But only a few choice specimens are now in existence, and they're worth a king's ransom.

FAT MAN:

Yeah, you've got quite a display here, Pouissan.

POUISSAN: The very best.

FAT MAN:

Must take quite a bit of lettuce to make a collection like this. Looks to me like it's worth a lot of dough.

POUISSAN:

Oh, they are here on consignment only, my friend. And all I receive is a commission for the sale. But, uh, you do not appear very interested.

FAT MAN:

Oh, why don't you let me browse around for an hour or so? I - I like to take my time.

POUISSAN:

I would be most happy to permit it, sir, but unfortunately I must close the shop at six. My wife is conducting a manifestation at that time.

FAT MAN:

Oh, your wife is a medium?

POUISSAN:

Well, she does not call herself a medium, but she communicates with the spirit world.

FAT MAN:

That sounds interesting. Uhh, any chance of getting in?

POUISSAN:

Is there some dear departed loved one you wish to contact?

FAT MAN:

(DRY) Oh, dozens of them.

ANGELA:

(CALLS, FROM OFF) Pouissan? (APPROACHES) Pouissan--

POUISSAN:

Ah, Angela, my dear. (TO FAT MAN, AN INTRODUCTION) Uh, my assistant, sir.

FAT MAN:

How do you do?

ANGELA:

(TO POUISSAN) Your wife wants to see you.

POUISSAN:

Oh, thank you, Angela. (TO FAT MAN) Excuse me for one moment, sir.

FAT MAN:

Surely.

ANGELA:

(BEAT, SUSPICIOUS) Who are you?

FAT MAN:

The name is Runyon.

ANGELA:

What are you doing here?

FAT MAN:

Shopping.

ANGELA:

(SKEPTICAL) You're not looking for rugs. You're looking for trouble.

FAT MAN:

Well, buy that, too, if necessary.

ANGELA:

Is this a raid?

FAT MAN:

Not exactly.

ANGELA:

There's no law against conducting a meeting in this state.

FAT MAN:

But there's a law against fraud, sweetheart, and it's still on the books.

POUISSAN:

(OFF) Pardon me, sir.

FAT MAN:

Yeah?

POUISSAN:

(OFF) My wife has requested that you join us inside. Show the gentleman in, Angela.

ANGELA:

(TO FAT MAN) You'd better get out of here while the going's good.

FAT MAN:

And miss a chance of communicating with the dead?

ANGELA:

Suit yourself. But look out you don't end up on their side.

MUSIC:

TRANSITION ... THEN BEHIND FAT MAN--

FAT MAN:

(NARRATES) She led me to a room in the back that was windowless and smelled as stuffy as a tomb. There were a number of folding chairs lined up against the wall, the kind they use in funeral parlors. And behind a bare desk, her face as rigid as a mask, sat an Oriental-looking woman. We were joined by Oscar Reynard and his wife about five minutes later, but we gave no sign of recognition. And as Pouissan shuffled to the center of the room, I could feel the tension mounting like the approach of an electrical storm.

POUISSAN:

The light, Angela. Put it out, please.

SOUND:

LIGHT SWITCH

POUISSAN:

Now we are ready to begin. We are waiting, Salah.

SALAH:

(HALTING, IMPRESSIVE) We are gathered here together this night again to make contact with our friends in other world. Is there anyone here who wishes to talk to one of the departed?

MRS. REYNARD:

I do.

SALAH:

Identify yourself, please.

MRS. REYNARD:

Harriet Reynard.

SALAH:

And who do you wish to see?

MRS. REYNARD:

Melvin Bishop, my late husband.

SALAH:

(TRANCELIKE) Melvin? Melvin Bishop? Do you hear me? Return to earth and make your presence known. (WEAKLY) Melvin--? Unhhh.

POUISSAN:

(CONCERNED) The contact is difficult, Salah?

SALAH:

Very - difficult.

MRS. REYNARD:

But you promised me he'd come.

SALAH:

(STRUGGLES) I am sorry, Mrs. Reynard, but it's quite impossible--

MRS. REYNARD:

(QUICK, STARTLED GASP) Look! It's Melvin! There he is, Mr. Runyon -- above her head!

SALAH:

(SCREAMS)

SOUND:

CHAOS AND CLATTER! AS DOOR OPENS AND SHUTS AND PEOPLE RISE AND CHAIRS ARE OVERTURNED

FAT MAN:

Put on that light!

MUSIC:

STING ... THEN BEHIND FAT MAN--

FAT MAN:

(NARRATES) It happened so fast, I didn't have a chance to make a move. The face of a man of sixty appeared behind the medium, hazily at first, then much clearer -- like solidifying smoke. The next thing I knew, someone brushed past me quickly and I heard the door open and close as I groped for the light, but Oscar beat me to it. And when the light went on, I saw him standing near the switch while his wife had passed out completely in her chair.

MR. REYNARD:

(TENSE) Harriet? She's fainted.

MRS. REYNARD:

(WAKES, MOANS)

FAT MAN:

She'll be all right. Looks as thought the rest of the party decided to call it a day.

MRS. REYNARD:

I saw him. It was Melvin. Now you know that I was right.

FAT MAN:

I'll show you what you saw, Mrs. Reynard. Come over to this wall.

MR. REYNARD:

What is it, Mr. Runyon?

FAT MAN:

Look.

SOUND:

CRINKLE! OF PAPER PULLED AWAY FROM WALL

MRS. REYNARD:

Why, there's a hole in the wall.

MR. REYNARD:

Covered over with transparent paper.

FAT MAN:

And there's a camera inside the hole, worked by remote control. A roll of movie film and a little ingenuity goes a long way as far as suckers are concerned. And, as for his voice, I-- (STOPS SHORT, SEES SOMETHING) Oh. It looks as though something new has been added. Move away from that desk, Oscar.

MRS. REYNARD:

(STARTLED GASP) It's the medium, Mr. Runyon. It's Salah. On the floor behind the desk.

FAT MAN:

With a ten-inch stiletto stuck in her back.

MUSIC:

CURTAIN

COMMERCIAL:

[OMITTED]

MUSIC:

THEME ... THEN BEHIND--

ANNOUNCER:

Now, let's catch up with -- THE FAT MAN.

MUSIC:

INTRO, THEN BEHIND FAT MAN--

FAT MAN:

(NARRATES) The police sent out a citywide alarm for Pouissan and his girlfriend. But three days went by with practically no result. Then, I got myself a bright idea. I put an ad in all the papers that must have read like a winning lottery number to a rug dealer -- because I offered to sell a genuine Isfahan for exactly one hundred bucks. I listed my phone, address, and my apartment number, but I didn't include my name. And, for a day or so, I was flooded with fancy offers. I just about figured that Pouissan was wise to the gag when I got another call. And as I put on my best international accent, I recognized Pouissan's dulcet tones at the other end of the wire.

POUISSAN:

(FILTER) Hello?

FAT MAN:

(DISGUISED, ACCENTED VOICE) Yes?

POUISSAN:

(FILTER) I am calling in regard to an advertisement in the papers.

FAT MAN:

Oh, the rug.

POUISSAN:

(FILTER) You say it is an Isfahan?

FAT MAN:

Oh, the genuine article.

POUISSAN:

(FILTER) Then why do you wish to sell it so cheaply?

FAT MAN:

I am selling a rug, my friend, but not a history of how I obtained it.

POUISSAN:

(FILTER) I see.

FAT MAN:

Do you wish to inspect it?

POUISSAN:

(FILTER) If you please.

FAT MAN:

My address was included in the advertisement.

POUISSAN:

(FILTER) Will you be home within the hour?

FAT MAN:

I shall be most delighted.

POUISSAN:

(FILTER) And I shall be most pleased to visit your house.

MUSIC:

TRANSITION

SOUND:

KNOCK ON APARTMENT DOOR WHICH OPENS

POUISSAN:

(SURPRISED) Mr. Runyon!

FAT MAN:

Hello, Pouissan. Come in.

SOUND:

FOOTSTEPS IN ... APARTMENT DOOR CLOSES

FAT MAN:

Make yourself at home.

POUISSAN:

(CONFUSED) But the, uh, name downstairs in the mailbox-- It was Turkish.

FAT MAN:

(DRY) Uh, don't tell anybody, but he's the guy who sells me my towels.

POUISSAN:

(REALIZES) It was a trick.

FAT MAN:

And a pretty obvious one. I didn't think you were dumb enough to fall. Now, just raise your hands above your shoulders, sweetheart, like a good little man.

SOUND:

A FULL BODY PAT DOWN

POUISSAN:

But I - I have no weapons, if that's what you are looking for.

FAT MAN:

No extra stilettos to spare?

POUISSAN:

You think I killed Salah?

FAT MAN:

(SARCASTIC) Oh, no. Of course you didn't. She died of a heavy cold.

POUISSAN:

But I didn't even know what had happened in that room until I read it in the papers, Mr. Runyon. I - I swear that is the truth.

FAT MAN:

Then what was your hurry to scram out? And don't tell me you had a date with your dentist.

POUISSAN:

I was pulled out.

FAT MAN:

(SKEPTICAL) By one of Salah's ghosts?

POUISSAN:

By Angela.

FAT MAN:

Incidentally, where is she?

POUISSAN:

Angela?

FAT MAN:

Now, don't stall, Pouissan. I'm way ahead of you.

POUISSAN:

I don't know where she has gone.

FAT MAN:

(IRONIC) That sounds very convincing. Okay, try this one. How did you get a hold of that film of Melvin Bishop?

POUISSAN:

What film?

FAT MAN:

Oh, brother. Now we're really getting cagey.

POUISSAN:

I know nothing about a film.

FAT MAN:

Or a camera. And how about those old Dictaphone records you used? Don't tell me Melvin made them after he was buried?

POUISSAN:

Oh, you are trying to confuse me. I don't know what you mean, Mr. Runyon.

FAT MAN:

Okay, I'll explain it to you in a different way. Up to now, all you faced was a fraud rap. You might have gotten a year or two in the clink. Or even a suspended sentence for a first offense. But homicide is a different story.

POUISSAN:

(PLEADS) But I didn't murder her, Mr. Runyon. What shall I do? Tell me how to save myself. I'm an innocent man.

FAT MAN:

Where's Angela, Pouissan?

POUISSAN:

If - if I tell you where to find her, will I go free?

FAT MAN:

Well, that all depends. But if you don't give me a lead, you haven't got a chance.

POUISSAN:

Very well, Mr. Runyon. I will take you to Angela.

MUSIC:

TRANSITION ... THEN BEHIND FAT MAN--

FAT MAN:

(NARRATES) We got into my car and drove downtown to a section near Greenwich Village, then parked near one of those Gypsy hangouts converted from an empty store. A phrenologist's skull was pictured in the window along with a giant human hand. And inside at a small table, with a bottle of hooch in front of her, was Angela.

SOUND:

DOOR SHUTS

ANGELA:

Pouissan?

FAT MAN:

I see you double in brass, baby. How's the palm-reading business?

ANGELA:

(RUDE) What do you want?

FAT MAN:

I'd like to have my fortune told.

POUISSAN:

Angela--

ANGELA:

(SHARP) Shut up! So this is what I get for being loyal to you. You double-crossing little stool pigeon!

POUISSAN:

But he said it was murder, Angela. And he told me they'd give me the electric chair.

ANGELA:

I hope they do! I hope you sit there, Pouissan, and fry!

FAT MAN:

Maybe you'll be sitting on his lap, sweetheart.

ANGELA:

You've got nothin' on me. I didn't kill Salah. Why should I?

POUISSAN:

Because you hated her.

ANGELA:

Why, you lying, little--!

FAT MAN:

(A WARNING) Ah, ah, ah, ah! Temper, temper.

ANGELA:

How many times did you make a play for me behind her back?

POUISSAN:

(PROTESTS) This is not true, Mr. Runyon!

ANGELA:

Not much it isn't, you hypocritical, little fake!

POUISSAN:

No! I treated Angela as a daughter. And, as far as my wife was concerned, I never knew until the other night that she was a fraud.

FAT MAN:

You mean you attended those phony sessions and played it straight?

POUISSAN:

I believed my wife had occult powers because I am a superstitious man. Whatever was done was done without my knowledge.

ANGELA:

(DERISIVE CHUCKLE) This jerk was so dumb his own wife didn't trust him. And I felt sorry for him. Like a dope, I tried to save his rotten hide. But from now on, he's on his own. He can worm his way out of this one all by himself.

FAT MAN:

You've got a little worming of your own to finish, sweetheart.

ANGELA:

Don't threaten me. You've got nothin' on me but a misdemeanor.

FAT MAN:

You don't say?

ANGELA:

All right, so I did figure out the moving picture stunt, so what?! It was Salah who collected the dough. And it was Salah who also held out on me for my share. But I fixed her wagon.

FAT MAN:

With a ten-inch knife.

ANGELA:

I didn't touch her! All I did was work the movie camera when she didn't expect it. I knew you were a private dick and so did she. We were supposed to let this act go flat that night, so you couldn't get any evidence. (MERRILY) Too bad that room was dark. I would've loved to see her face when I flashed that picture on the wall.

FAT MAN:

Where'd you get a hold of it?

ANGELA:

(MOCKING) Wouldn't you like to know?

FAT MAN:

Believe me, sweetheart, I'm gonna know.

ANGELA:

You can take me into custody -- and you can question me from now until the cows come home -- you won't be able to hold me for murder and you know it.

FAT MAN:

How much you getting paid to keep your mouth shut?

ANGELA:

Plenty. A lot more than you can afford to pay to open it up. And there's no question about my getting the moola this time, handsome. Because this time, I'm on the receiving end alone.

SOUND:

POURS DRINK, BOTTLE ON GLASS

ANGELA:

Here's luck, ya oversized flatfoot! (DRINKS, EXHALES) All good for me and all bad -- for -- you-- (CHOKES, GASPS, DIES HORRIBLY)

SOUND:

GLASS, BOTTLE AND CHAIR KNOCKED OVER AS BODY FALLS TO FLOOR

POUISSAN:

(SHOCKED) Mr. Runyon! Mr. Runyon! Runyon, what has happened to her?

FAT MAN:

She's dead, Pouissan.

POUISSAN:

Dead?

FAT MAN:

That bottle of booze must be loaded with poisoned dynamite. She said she was on the receiving end and she wasn't kidding.

MUSIC:

TRANSITION ... THEN BEHIND FAT MAN--

FAT MAN:

(NARRATES) I put in a call to headquarters and left Pouissan with the body. Then I hopped into my car and started for Mrs. Reynard's suburban home. I didn't bother with the doorbell, but entered through the service entrance in the basement and found my way upstairs to the first floor. The house was dark which suited me fine and I used a pocket flash to browse around. But ten minutes later, as I was going through a study desk, I suddenly found out the place wasn't as empty as I thought it was.

SOUND:

LIGHT SWITCH

FAT MAN:

Oh, good evening.

MR. REYNARD:

(HARDER, TOUGHER THAN BEFORE) What are you doing in my house, Mr. Runyon?

FAT MAN:

Didn't the butler announce me, Oscar?

MR. REYNARD:

I can't believe it. Can it be possible that you're nothing but a common thief?

FAT MAN:

Oh, stop. Where's your wife?

MR. REYNARD:

She's ill in bed. I was turning in myself when I heard a noise down here so I found my gun and decided to investigate.

FAT MAN:

Well, relax, Oscar, and put the gun away. You know I didn't come here to steal the silverware.

MR. REYNARD:

Well, why did you come?

FAT MAN:

I was looking for some film.

MR. REYNARD:

Film?

FAT MAN:

Movie film. Was the late Melvin Bishop an amateur motion picture fan?

MR. REYNARD:

That's something I couldn't tell you.

FAT MAN:

Well, then maybe Mrs. Reynard can.

MR. REYNARD:

I told you she was ill.

FAT MAN:

Yeah? What's the matter with her?

MR. REYNARD:

The shock of the medium's murder was a little too much.

FAT MAN:

Well, she can spare me a couple of minutes. I won't be long.

MR. REYNARD:

You insist on seeing her?

FAT MAN:

If it's all right with you.

MR. REYNARD:

Very well, Mr. Runyon.

FAT MAN:

Oscar?

MR. REYNARD:

Yes?

FAT MAN:

Don't you think we'd both be a little more comfortable without that gun in your hand?

MR. REYNARD:

I'm perfectly relaxed.

FAT MAN:

Yeah, so I notice.

MR. REYNARD:

My wife is on the floor above. We'll use those stairs. You can proceed to her room, Mr. Runyon, and I will follow -- right behind.

MUSIC:

TRANSITION ... THEN BEHIND FAT MAN--

FAT MAN:

(NARRATES) We slowly climbed the staircase to the upper floor and Oscar nudged me into the room with the barrel of his gun. His wife was in bed, propped up on a couple of pillows, and I noticed a glass of milk on a table right next to her. She looked a little startled when her husband and I walked in, particularly when she saw the gun in Oscar's hand -- and the unusual expression on his ordinarily timid face.

FAT MAN:

Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Reynard.

MR. REYNARD:

I found Mr. Runyon in the study downstairs -- prowling through the house.

MRS. REYNARD:

(PUZZLED) Well, I don't understand.

FAT MAN:

Well, you will in just a minute.

MR. REYNARD:

Mr. Runyon would like to ask you a question, Harriet.

FAT MAN:

It's already answered. That moving picture film the medium used belonged to Melvin Bishop. And it came from here. I found more just like it in the study desk.

MRS. REYNARD:

But how did they get hold of it?

FAT MAN:

Well, that's what I was trying to figure out. It could have been stolen; by Angela, for instance. But that theory was eliminated when Angela was.

MRS. REYNARD:

Eliminated?

FAT MAN:

The girl is dead, Mrs. Reynard.

MRS. REYNARD:

(GASPS)

FAT MAN:

She had a visitor a few minutes before I spoke to her. He brought a bottle of poisoned whiskey and a proposition to keep her mouth shut. She accepted both -- and crossed herself off my list.

MRS. REYNARD:

But that's incredible!

FAT MAN:

Your husband made a bargain with Salah, the medium, to fleece you of a little dough.

MRS. REYNARD:

(INCREDULOUS) Wha--?

FAT MAN:

He gave her the film and a couple of Melvin's old Dictaphone disks. When Melvin asked you for the money, the voice was dubbed in. But it wasn't hard to do with a perfect model on a record.

MR. REYNARD:

(EVENLY) The man is mad, Harriet. Absolutely mad.

FAT MAN:

On the night I went to Pouissan's, Oscar got in touch with Salah. He told her a private detective was on his way and had to play it down. She was going to do just what he asked her to when Angela decided to throw a monkey wrench in the works. Oscar thought Salah was crossing him so he knocked her off.

MR. REYNARD:

Don't you think you might [?]

FAT MAN:

[?] it's as good as in the bag. You're the only logical nominee who happens to be left, Oscar. You settled that when you settled with Angela.

MR. REYNARD:

Yes, I settled with her the way I intend to settle with you, Mr. Runyon.

FAT MAN:

Only I'm not blackmailing you, Oscar. I'm putting you in the chair.

SOUND:

POW! FAT MAN PUNCHES MR. REYNARD

MRS. REYNARD:

(SCREAMS)

FAT MAN:

(WITH EFFORT) You oughta stick to poison, Oscar!

SOUND:

POW! FAT MAN PUNCHES MR. REYNARD WHOSE BODY FALLS TO FLOOR

MRS. REYNARD:

(HORRIFIED) Ohhh, you killed him!

FAT MAN:

The only thing that would kill this guy would be a dose of D.D.T. Do you mind if I borrow that glass of milk, Mrs. Reynard? I imagine Oscar prepared it for you with his own little hands.

MR. REYNARD:

(WAKES, GROANS)

SOUND:

SMACK! SMACK! FAT MAN SLAPS MR. REYNARD SEVERAL TIMES IN THE FACE

FAT MAN:

Come on, come out of it, sweetheart. Papa's got a little drink. Here. Would you like to wet your whistle?

SOUND:

TAPPING! OF FAT MAN'S FINGERTIPS ON THE GLASS

MR. REYNARD:

(TERRIFIED) No! Take it away! For heaven's sake, don't put that glass near my mouth!

FAT MAN:

(SATISFIED) That's funny; I had a hunch about that one.

MRS. REYNARD:

What's in that glass, Mr. Runyon?

FAT MAN:

A slight dose of poison, Mrs. Reynard.

MRS. REYNARD:

Poison?!

FAT MAN:

Probably enough to kill a horse. Someone must have given your husband a chemistry set for Christmas. (TO MR. REYNARD) All right, Oscar, up on your feet.

SOUND:

SHUFFLE! AS MR. REYNARD IS HAULED TO HIS FEET

MR. REYNARD:

(WEAKLY) All right, all right.

FAT MAN:

The next time you attend a séance, you'll be sitting in the important chair. And when they pull that switch, mister, you'll contact Melvin Bishop in person!

MUSIC:

CURTAIN

ANNOUNCER:

Before you go to bed tonight, look in your medicine cabinet. See if you have a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. If you haven't, make a note to stop in at your druggist tomorrow morning. With Pepto-Bismol on hand, you're ready to help relieve the distress of acid indigestion, heartburn or that uneasy, upset feeling that follows overeating. Anybody can take Pepto-Bismol anytime. Pepto-Bismol contains no sugar. If you haven't yet tried Pepto-Bismol, ask your druggist. So remember, when your stomach's upset, don't add to the upset. Take soooothing Pepto-Bismol and feel gooood again.

MUSIC:

THEME

ANNOUNCER:

Next week, the Norwich Pharmacal Company presents that fascinating and exciting character, THE FAT MAN, in the adventure called "Murder Rides the Breakers."

2ND ANNCR:

A short while ago, a traveling salesman threw his cigarette butt out of the car window as he sailed along listening to his car radio. It was a dry day; there was a breeze-- Well, you know the rest. The cigarette set fire to the dried grass, caught some twigs, then spread along the roadside till some low branches burst into flame. Then another breeze sprang up and the big fire started. But the traveling salesman had gone from there. He never realized that his carelessness had caused a forest fire. You're not like that salesman. You never throw lighted butts out of the car windows -- do you?

MUSIC:

LONG STING ... THEN OUT BEHIND--

ANNOUNCER:

THE FAT MAN is brought to Canadian listeners by the Norwich Pharmacal Co., Ltd., Toronto, Canada. Herb May speaking. This is the Dominion Network of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.