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This is the Relic Radio Show, Old Time Radio Entertainment, still standing the test of time from relicradio.com tired of the everyday routine? Ever dream of a life of romantic adventure? Want to get away from it all? We offer you escape. Escape designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight we escape to the prison island of New Caledonia and to the murderous conflict between one of the prisoners and the monstrous Monsieur de Nou, official executioner. As John Russell tells it in his terrifying story, the Red Mark, we breathe in, breathe out, inhale and exhale, and we are therefore considered officially as living privately. However, and always with a snarl deep in our throats, we call ourselves the living dead. We sleep without resting, wake without desire, reap without pleasure, and work without hope. Some of us work in the mines, some in the copra sheds. I myself am a barber. But all of us wear the same straw sandals and the same rough canvas jackets. And we are never allowed to forget that this is the penal colony of New Caledonia, that we are convicts, and that France is on the other side of the world. Hello, Jim. I'll be sure. You startled me. I didn't hear you come in. You were daydreaming. Ah, you know how it is. I know how it is for you. But, Dumai, for me, the dreams are at an end. My life as a convict is at an end. You have your ticket home? Of course I have my ticket. I have only eight more days to go. 8? 3 weeks on the ship, and then France. Freedom, wine, music, the theatre. Shut up. Oh, sorry. Dummy. You are my friend, my very good friend. But don't talk to me about France. I'm really sorry you're leaving in eight days. But I will be here for 13 more years. I know. I assume you wish to be shaved. If you'd be so kind. Be seated. Uh. Oh. Dumai, look. What? Out the window there, coming across the compound. Ah, yes, they sure do know. And his ugly little assistant. Bomb Beast. The vultures. It's no matter for concern. If one has a prison, one must have an executioner. Oh, careful with that soap. Monsieur Duneau is neither flesh nor foul. Neither a convict or an official. Master of the guillotine. He a dog? A pig. But such easy work. If one has a strong stomach for merely pulling the cord on the guillotine. Only three or four times a year, he's permitted a house of his own, even a wife. He's a corpse. He should be buried with a stake through his heart. I hate him. Ignore Him? He's nothing. An old bag of bones. He's the devil himself. Devil, huh? Dumai. If he were the devil, he would not be the stupid fool that he is. Ignore him. I tell you, I do. Ignore him. Can't be done. Careful with that razor. I'm sorry. Are you trying to become an executioner yourself? Be sure there's something you know about Monsieur Duno. Tell me what it is. Look, do mind. You will say nothing until next week, until I've sailed. Nothing. I swear it. All right. I trust you. You know his wife? Of course. You mean that little girl? Yes. From the fishing village down the coast. Zelie, her name is. What about her? Do you not agree that she's beautiful? That marriage is a sacrilege? True, but you can't blame her. Monsieur De Nou bought her from her family. It's disgusting, of course, but is she not beautiful? I. I don't pretend to be a judge of these things, you know she is. Well, what about her? You ask. Do I have my tickets to France? Yes, yes, but not just one. More than that. I have two tickets. Two? Zelli is going with me. Sure. You're out of your mind. No, but I would be if I left here without her. But can you not imagine what that man will do to you? He will do nothing because he knows nothing. He's a stupid fool. But, my friend, you're young and you've forgotten France, Paris. The world outside is full of beautiful women. It's foolish to run this risk for Zelie when there will be others waiting for. I love her, you love her, and she loves me. I'll try to make her happy. Make her forget. She's never been happy, Dumai. And she's a girl who ought to be very, very happy all the time. Now, if your hand is steady again. Get on with my shave, Will. I saw that my little friend Bijou was in dead earnest. Right or wrong, foolish as he might be, he met every word he'd said. And suddenly I realized how much alike they were, he and Zeli, the child bride of the executioner. They were both small and slim, with lively eyes and mouths that were quick with laughter. They even looked alike. Across the compound, Duno was talking with his jackal of his servant as they promenaded a gaunt, black garbed monster. He was the only convict among us who never wore the shapeless gray canvas clothes. I glanced at the two of them now and then as I went on shaving. Bijoux, wondering what they talked about, what they dared to Talk about in the bright, clean light of the sun. That hideous pair of devils. Master. What is it, Bomby say? The little one who smiles too often. Bijot. What about him? In the barber's. There. He's being shaved. Do you assume the fact to be of some interest to me? I only mentioned it. Hardly necessary. I was already aware the Bijou was there in the barber's hut being shaved. I'm sorry, master. In fact, I am aware of several things that stupid little Bijou thinks are secrets. Being shaved, is he? We have a blade that could give him a closer shave, eh, Bombast? Oh, yes, master. So close that he would never need another one. An interesting idea. Very interesting. I think Vijo has made rather serious error in not realizing my cleverness. A mistake that may very well prove later. Zelly. Who is it? Your husband, my little one. Your old, old husband. You were expecting someone else, perhaps? No, of course not. But you're home early. Did I surprise you? Well, I. I enjoy surprising you, my dear. Do you mind? No. But dinner won't be ready for another hour yet. I'll start it at once. An hour? What is an hour when we have a lifetime together, Eh, Zelie? Yes, sir. Even though I am an old man. Old enough to be your. Your father, eh? You do not answer me. I. I don't consider you old, sir. Thank you. Then we will have many more years together, no? But of course, sir. And we must make good use of those years. We must do things, eh? Anything you wish. Then why not begin with a small trip up the coast? I can easily get permission. Whatever you say. Good. Then we shall leave the first of next week. Next week? Yes, my dear. Why not? But next week. Eight days from now, the boat stops here. M. Really? I had forgotten about it. But what could that possibly have to do with us? Well, letters. There may be letters for you from France. And your papers. You know how you love your papers. Ah, you were so considerate of my welfare, Zelie. Try to be, sir. You must love me very much. I said you must love me very much. Oh, of course. Say it. What? Say that you love me very much. I love you very much, sir. Pretty. So unfortunate. You must always address me as sir. Much too formal. It means nothing. It's only a habit. You must do something about that habit. I'm going out while you prepare dinner. Zeri. I must see Bombiste about the little matter. You'll be back soon. But of course. How could I bear to be away from you? Not to see you or touch you for even One single night. Goodbye, silly Bumbast. Yes? Oh, yes, Master Bumbeast. Are you aware that we have not worked in some time? True. Not for a long time. Too long, eh, Brown Beast? Oh, yes, master. Much too long. I'm Beast. In view of that treaty between the government and the jungle tribes, the prison officials might be very displeased if a native should be murdered. But of course, the officials are leaning over backward to avoid trouble. And what do you think would happen to a man who murdered the native? Junk. Surgery. Precisely. Has somebody killed a Canuck? No. At least not yet. Not yet. Do you happen to know where our little friend sleeps at night? The handsome Bijo? I. I think it is in barrack number 12. Could you find his bed in the dark? Yes, master. But if it is a matter of slipping a knife between his ribs, there are much better places than the barracks. Why not in the jungle, where it may seem that a native. Please, Bombeast, please. Oh, I'm sorry, master. You are not going to slip a knife between Bijou's ribs. In fact, my little Bomb Beast, quite the contrary. Jamai. Jamai, Wake up. Wake up, Jamai. Quiet. Quiet. All right. Bijo. Bijo. What do you want? Why are you awake? Jimay? Something has happened. I'm not sure what it is. Oh, what do you mean? I awoke a moment ago. Some. Some sound, I think. Jamai, I have something here to show you. What is it? Bijoux? Wait. Strike a match. Look. He was holding a convict's jacket in his hands, made of gray cotton canvas. The number on the pocket was 2232. Bijou's own number. And the whole front of the jacket was splattered with bright red blood. In just a moment, we will return with the second act of escape. But first, most people like to know what to expect. But on at least one CBS show, a great part of the fun is in what turns up on the spur of the moment. That show is Groucho Mark's Great Quiz. You bet your life. Heard every Wednesday night on most of these same CBS stations. Now we return you to the second act of escape. The brief time before the match flared and went out. Seemed like minutes. I grabbed Bijou by the arm and lay still, listening in the darkness, straining to hear whether anyone else may have been awakened. There was no sound. The other men slept on. My sandals. Feel them? They're wet. Yes. They've been worn outside somewhere within the last hour. And to my. My knife has blood on it too. Bijou, tell me quickly. Where have you been? What have you done nothing? I've been asleep. You've not been out of the barrack? No, I swear it. Dumai. What is this? What does it mean, Bijou? I think it means that someone is more clever than you. Wait. What is it? The prison dogs. Listen. Yes, they're coming this way. Jimay. Are they after me? Who else? But what am I going to do? Well, first we must dispose of these bloody clothes in the jungle. I think we. You're going to help me? Of course, my friend. Come. I have a plan. Quietly now, be sure and quickly, we threaded our way among the sleeping convicts to the rear of the barracks. Near the back door, I saw a pair of old, worn rope sandals. I grabbed them and took them with me. And then we raced across the hard, beaten earth of the compound, cursing the bright moon overhead, and plunged into the black thicket of liana and mangrove and fern, into the jungle. For half an hour or more, we smashed our way through the soggy tangle of undergrowth, crashing into trees, tripping into vines, roots sprawling full length on the swampy loam. But always we staggered to our feet again and ran on and on and on. Where is. Where's that stream? We must be very close now. I saw it here somewhere last spring. But this is not last spring. Streams do not move about. Keep on. We'll never find it in this darkness. There will be a path of moonlight. The trees are open above the stream. No, Bijou. Go on. But do mine. It's no time to stop now. Wait. Listen. I think the dogs are closer. No, but they soon will be. Come on, Jeremiah. We must find that stream. And then, minutes later, we did find it. Dead tired and dripping with sweat from the steaming heat of the tropic night, we stumbled over a low hummock and saw the blazing white path of moonlight ahead of us, almost at our feet. We slid down the shallow bank, dropped to our knees, and then all our brave hopes died out of us. Dumai. Dumai. The stream is dry. Sure. I tell you, last spring it was a torrent. It filled these banks so high, higher than my head. Try not a trickle. Listen. They're coming closer. Run, Dumai. Run while you still can. No. Look. I brought another pair of sandals from the barrack. Here, put them on. The dog shall not have the scent of this pair. Quickly now. You put on those sandals, then circle back to the barrack. They'll never know you left. I can run no farther. I'll wait for them here. Be sure I cannot leave you here to don't be a fool. Put on those sandals. Hurry them before it's too late. And later, there's something I'd like for you to do for me. Here. The tickets to France. Get her to Zelie. Help her get away from him. If only there was some way to kill him. It would mean nothing. Tell her to go to the Andre Mare in Lyon. They will take care of her. Go now. All right. Is there nothing else? No. Then goodbye, Bishop. Goodbye, my friend. Tell her I love her very much. Being a convict, I was of course, not permitted to attend the trial of my friend Bijou for the murder of a native. There were two convicts present, however. Two star witnesses who palmed the Bible reverently and swore to having seen Bijoux commit the murder. Two demons from hell, Monsieur Denou and Bombiste. The trial was over in less than two hours. The verdict was not surprising, the sentence inevitable. Convict Bigot, you arise and face the council. Have you anything more to say in your defense? Nothing I haven't said before. I'm innocent. I've killed no one. Then this council of the Penal colony of New Caledonia, sitting as a special court of the Republic of France, finds you guilty as charged. As commandant of this prison, I order you to be taken to the compound of the camp at daybreak of the second morning following. And there, in the presence of your fellow convicts, to be guillotined. I. The night before the execution, I stood outside Bijou's cell, rolled cigarettes and handed them to him through the barred window. The guard dozed somewhere on the other side of the hut. After all, my friend was to die in the morning. No one could escape from this place. And there was no reason for caution. Tell me, Dumont, silly, how did she take it? Is she all right? I could only see her for a moment. It was dangerous. I gave her the tickets, but she says she will not leave you. I, who will be leaving in the morning at daybreak. Does she expect a miracle? Probably because she is in love with you. She's very upset, of course. Nearly out of her mind. Poor little savvy. I hope it goes well with her. France. Bijoux. Is there nothing at all I can do for you? Some song? Nothing. The Republic has been very thoughtful in all the details. In a bottle of red wine with my last meal. The vintage was atrocious. And look. They've even left me the black hood which I wear to the guillotine. I suppose I'm to make sure of the size or get used to wearing it or something. My friend would you like for me to send for the priest? He was here, but I sent him away. I thought he would need a good night's sleep since he's supposed to accompany me in my ordeal. Oh, not, of course, to the extent of getting his head cut off. You understand? How can you make jokes about a thing like this, my friend? How can I do anything else? The game is over. Should I pound my head on the wall and scream like a madman? Quiet. Someone is coming. Michelle. Michelle, are you there? It is Sally. What? Salie, over here. Who is it? Jumai. Come here by the wall. Let's not waste time, silly. Go away from here. Quickly, before they find you. Be quiet, dear. Here. The key to his cell. Let him out. The guards asleep. Where did you get this? From my husband, after he went to sleep. Hurry, please. But it will help nothing, only cause trouble for you. There is no time to argue. Hurry. I took the key and slipped around to the entrance of the hut. The fat guard dozed in a chair with his hands folded on his paunch. I moved past him, tiptoed to the door of Bijou's cell, fitted the key in the lock. I held my breath, but nothing stood. Bijou came out of the cell without a word. They slipped past the guard and met Zelie by the wall of the hut. The three of us skirted the moonlit compound with a grim black shadow of the guillotine in the center of it. Without raising any alarm, we finally reached the edge of the jungle. Zelie clung with a desperate grip to Bijou's hand and wept sometimes. But gradually it became clear to all of us that there was no answer, no escape. Bichot might swim to the ship lying in the harbor, but with a prisoner at large, it was sure to be searched before it sailed. The coast in either direction was too well guarded, and that left only the jungle in the hills beyond. Hills swarming with savages who were quite aware that the head of an escaped convict delivered to the commandant was good for a bolt of bright red calico. But in our despair, the jungle seemed to offer at least some forlorn hope. And so it was decided. Bijou would try to reach the western side of the island and from there, Australia, while Zelie would sail on the ship when it left in the morning and wait for word in Lyon. One thing was fortunate. She had brought the clothes Bijou had planned to wear to France. We could leave his convict garb in his cell and stop any trail. This time there would be no dogs. Three hours before dawn, after a Long kiss for Zeli and the hand grip for me. Bichot turned and struck into the jungle, and Zelie broke into tears. He has no chance. The knaves are bound to find him and kill him. Monsieur Dumas, you know he has no chance. He's very clever, Zelie, and brave. Of course there's a chance. I think he knows they'll kill him. I think you'd only been kind to me. You're only speaking foolishness. You must be brave too, you know. Brave? I could do anything for Michel. Except lose me. Well, you're likely to do that if we stay here any longer. It's too near dawn now and we have to take those clothes back to the cell. You must go home and be ready to slip aboard the boat. Only a few days ago, I was so happy. For the very first time in my life, monsieur, we were going away on that boat, little Bijou and I. And now I cannot go on living without him. I cannot bear to live without him. As was the custom in those days, we knelt bareheaded, over 400 of us, on the hard packed dirt of the compound, facing the guillotine. The morning sun burst suddenly over the eastern rim of the sea, its blood red color fitting for the business at hand. The commandant of the prison stood only a few yards from me and just beyond him, fussing over their hideous machine, those two vultures of evil, Monsieur Dunou and Bombist. The stage was set, the audience was ready, and only I knew that the star actor would not make an appearance. Is everything in readiness, Monsieur Danu? Quite in readiness, Monsieur le Commander. Very well. Bring out the prisoner. I looked toward the cell hut and waited, keeping my face as blank as all those around me. And then a priest and a guard stepped out of the hut and came toward us. And walking between them, wearing the gray convict's uniform and the black hood of the condemned, was my little friend Bigot. One moment of shock, and then I suddenly understood his apparent agreement with our plans. A few hours earlier, he had reasoned that by this time Zlie should be aboard the ship that had waited only for the tide to sail. She would not know of the execution for months, a year or more, perhaps. And by then she would be settled safely in prison. France. And so Bijou had come back to face his death. Place the condemned prisoner on the rack. Yes, master. Of all of us in the compound that morning, the man who was to die seemed the least afraid and the least concerned of any, though the hideous black hood covered his face and head to the shoulders. No hood Nor prison clothes could hide the almost jaunty swagger of his walk. That swagger spoke a reproof to the justice of the prison court, sneered at the blood stained evil soul of Dunou, and gave courage and hope to us who knelt on the ground. I am ready to proceed, Monsieur le Commandant. Is it your order that this prisoner be executed? It is. Proceed, Monsieur Denou. Bombish. Raise the knife, I think to the very top. To the top, master. The eyes of all of us, officials and convicts alike, followed the heavy blade moving slowly up the guides fascinated. Some of us snarled or cursed, some of us trembled. But only Monsieur Dunouve smiled to himself. So intent was my gaze that I hardly noticed the native who pushed past me carrying a leaf wrapped bundle and walked up to the commandant. Here. What is this? What are you doing here? We bring him one fella head. Allah Semi you give him one piece calico. We've had no escape here long time fella. Here no chop chop bush. Allah see me bring him one fella head you. Look. Monsieur Duneau, holding the release cord of the guillotine in his hand, smiling, still had not noticed. The native fumbled with his package and suddenly out rolled a human head. One that was impossible to mistake you. But. But this is the head of the convict Bijoux. Then who in the name of heaven was the prisoner on the rack? Monsieur Denou. Stop. No. Stop, monsieur. That was not bigot. Here is his head. Look. Not Jo. Who is it you have killed? Pull off the hood and see. No. No. I'm afraid, Monsieur Danou. Remove that hood. And then suddenly. I. I knew it was not necessary for me to see who Monsieur de Nou had executed. Little Zelie had taken the place of bigot on the guillotine and now had joined him in death. Escape is produced and directed by William N. Robeson. Tonight we have presented the Red Mark by John Russell, freely adapted for radio by Les Crutchfield and Manny Grotnik. Featured in the cast were Bill Conrad as Dumai, Harry Bartel as Bijou, Will Gear as Monsieur de Nou, Barbara Whiting as Zelli, Junius Matthews as Bum Beast and Paul Fries as the Commandant. Special music was arranged and conducted by Del Castillo. Next week you are in command of an English destroyer sailing to join the north sea patrol in October 1914. It is midnight, and from the coast of Flanders comes a desperate signal for help which you want to ignore, but which destiny forces you to answer and to become the man who won the war. Next week we escape with one of the most Famous stories of the First World War. Robert Buckner's classic and unforgettable tale, the man who Won the War. Goodbye then, until this same time next week, when once again we offer you escape. Bing Crosby's got a wonderful lineup of guests on his CBS show this Wednesday. Tomorrow night on most of these same CBS stations, it'll be the Firehouse five, plus two, plus three Andrews Sisters plus plus Durbingle himself. Be listening, won't you? Now stay tuned for the latest adventures of Philip Marlow, which follow immediately over most of these same stations. This is cbs, the Columbia Broadcasting System. Tonight we again present the famous Mr. Chameleon of Central headquarters in his most famous cases of crime and murder, brought to you by the makers of Bayer Aspirin. For those who do not know who Mr. Chameleon is, we give a quick sketch of his character. Born of a well to do family and a college man, he tried from childhood to live up to the name he bore Chameleon by taking on the color of whatever situation in which he found himself appearing in endless guises, finally entering the police force where he became known as Chameleon, the man of many faces. The underworld's most dreaded man. Throughout this series, the listener will invariably know who Mr. Chameleon is, no matter in which disguise he appears. But the criminal he's tracking seldom does. Tonight we give you Mr. Chameleon and the case of the Blood Stained Dollar Bill. Our story opens in the apartment of Hubert Van Dyke, a luxurious bachelor apartment in the smart East 60s. But the sprawling body on the floor of the attractive living room has been dead for many hours. Detective Sergeant Dave Arnold is saying to Mr. Chameleon, that fabulous detective whose ability to disguise himself is known and feared throughout the underworld. It was shot sometime during the early morning, Mr. Chameleon. Coroner places it between one and two. No one heard the shot, but there are only three other tenants and they're away for the weekend. Well, I'm surprised that Hubert Van Dyke stayed in town, Dave, instead of spending the weekend with some of his sporty friends. Could it be that Sylvia Sutherland was in town too? Mr. Chameleon? You think that Sutherland girl had something to do with this murder? Think? I'm almost positive. She'd been seen constantly with Van Dyke, just as she went steadily with Archie Clyde before he was found murdered six months ago. To say nothing of that guy who used to be your. Who was shot to death in a waterfront hotel last week. Mm. Dave, that chauffeur and Archie Clyde, when they were found, they were Each clutching a dollar bill. Not this one, though. There's no dollar bill on this Van Dyke guy. No, Look, Dave. Protruding over the top of his vest pocket. A dollar bill. And it's stained with blood. Holy smoke. What is this, Mr. Canary? I don't know, but I'm going to find out. I'm going to get the goods on that girl, Sylvia Sutherland, if it takes me a year. Nor five years or ten. Dave, she is incredible. Beautiful, from a respectable family. Travels around with a wealthy, fast, young crowd. Yet her name has been linked with three murders. She's mixed up in something very evil. She's a smart baby, all right. One of the smartest criminals we've ever been up against. Yes, she is. And this dollar bill, what the devil is that supposed to symbolize? That girl is a complete mystery. And I don't like mysteries. At least I don't like the kind I can't solve. Sylvia Sutherland really gets under your S.K. doesn't she, Mr. Chameleon? Dave, I dream about her. I positively dream about her. Well, nothing to do except question her again. Mr. Chameleon, don't you ever get bored with this questioning routine? I should think you'd begin to find it pretty tiresome. I'm beginning to find you Pretty tiresome, Ms. Sutherland. Oh, do call me Sylvia. We're old friends by now. Why, this office of yours at Central Headquarters is like a second home to me. Ms. Sutherland. That motto of yours hanging on the wall. The innocent must be protected, the guilty must be punished. It's such a noble sentiment. I agree. And the guilty are punished. Ms. Sutherland may take a little while, but they haven't a chance. I suppose you mean by that that I haven't a chance? All right, Mr. Chameleon. If I'm a criminal, an evil doer, a murderess, prove it. Miss Sutherland, you are amazing. For months you have been seen in the company of Hubert Van Dyck. Van Dyck is found murdered, and yet you were as hard and unmoved as if Van Dyck were a stranger. Maybe I've learned to be hard, but you've certainly learned your lesson. Well, I guess I'll have to pay another visit to your guardian. Poor Mrs. Clarkson. She must be tired of seeing me, too. Aunt Edith can't help you, Mr. Pameen. She knows nothing about Hubert's murder. She can't even give me an alibi. I told you I had no alibi. I went to a midnight movie last night. All by yourself? All by myself. I saw Broken Dreams at the Colony Playhouse. And it Was very sad. I cried my eyes out. I'm delighted to hear that you're able to cry, Mr. Comedian. I suppose you won't believe me when I tell you that I was in love with Hubert Van Dyck. If that is true, Ms. Sutherland, all I can say is that it's a great misfortune for any man to have you fall in love with him. Archie Clyde, for instance. He was murdered too. Harry Peters, the chauffeur. Not that you loved him. He was simply your employer. But it's a great misfortune for anyone to even know me. Apparently, yes. In that case, Mr. Chameleon, aren't you worried about your yourself? If you want to see Aunt Edith, we better get started. She's addressing a meeting of her literary club today. Ms. Clarkson, I'm sorry to bother you again, but your niece, Sylvia Sutherland, is in trouble once more. Third time within a year. She's been connected with a murder, and the police want to know why. But, my dear Mr. Comedian, I've told you before, My niece's life is her own. It breaks my heart, but there seems to be nothing I can do about it. You raised her, didn't you? Her parents died in an automobile accident when she was 2. I did my best to raise her, but apparently my best was nothing too good. And I'm sure that you did everything you could, Mrs. A very lovely home. Oh, it's that wealthy, dissolute crowd she goes with. Mr. Chameleon, will you hand me that cotton, please? I beg your pardon? That ball of crochet cotton on the table. Oh, yes. Thank you very much. I'm crocheting at Doily. I crochet a great deal. I find it good for my nerves. Where was I? You were talking about Sylvia's dissolute friend. Oh, yes. Well, the only one of her friends I really like is that sweet little Helen Brown who works at the Colony lending library right around the corner. What about Hubert Van Dyke, man who was murdered last night? Did you like him? Definitely not. He drank far too much. Same with Archie Clyde. Oh, really, it's very sad. And your former chauffeur, Harry Peters? Not Mr. Chameleon. Really? Surely you don't believe that my niece had anything to do with that? I discharged Harry for drinking and impudence. I discharged him, in fact, at Sylvia's request. But she certainly had nothing to do with his death. I disagree. Now, really, Mr. I disagree. Because when their bodies were found, all three men were holding dollar bills in their hands, or at least two of them. Were. The third dead man had a dollar bill protruding from his pocket and frankly I. What? Oh. What is it? Martha, this is my housekeeper, Mr. Chameleon. Martha Stevens. Yes, we've met before. Oh, of course. Well, what is it, Martha? That girl was just here. That Helen Brown from the lending library. She wanted to see Miss Sylvia. I wouldn't let her. Why not? Miss Sylvia said she had a headache. She went upstairs to lie down. But Helen Brown, she said she had to see Miss Sylvia tonight. She said it was important. Oh. Well, in that case, I'd better go upstairs and give Sylvia the message. Wait for me, Mr. Cornelian. Don't worry, I will. What's that joke? Whistling? Oh. You still here? Martha, that is. Who is Sylvia? What is she? You familiar with it? Yes. Really? Very beautiful room. Took good care of it, Martha. I do. Mrs. Clarkson likes beautiful things. Yes, that's quite evident. Martha, where was Miss Sylvia last night? What? Where was Miss Sylvia last night, let's say between midnight and three in the morning. What do you want to know for? Can't you leave her alone? You cops make me sick, counting her like you do. Where was Miss Sylvia between midnight and 3am? She was right here with me. You mean here in this house? You sure about that? Yes. She came downstairs to the kitchen just about midnight. We sat there talking until after three. And you needn't look at me so funny, Mr. Chameleon. I'd swear to that in court. So you see, Dave, Martha the housekeeper contradicted Sylvia Sutherland's alibi. And one of them is lying. Or both of them are lying. Sylvia made a slip for the first time. She should have seen to it that no one would contradict her story. Maybe it's the break you've been waiting for, Mr. Chameleon. Maybe. This girl is certainly involved in criminal activity. She's been so infernally clever. She's fooled all of her friends and literally gotten away with murder. What about this Brown girl we're going to see now at the lending library? You think she can tell us anything? I would be surprised. She's evidently close to Sylvia. The only friend or aunt approves of it. Dave. What's the matter, Mr. Kelly? It was the Colony lending Library, wasn't it? Yeah, there it is. Right here. Yes, I know, but the place is dark. It's closed up. Yes, it's dark and the door is closed. Well, it isn't locked. Take it easy, Mr. Chameleon. Anyone there? Miss Brown. Miss Brown. Wait. I've got the light switch. Holy smoke. Miss Brown. At least, I presume it's Ms. Brown. Yes. Her initials on her belt buckle. H.P. who's she? Pitt. Mm. Apparently someone came up behind her and struck her on the head. Dave, look. In the left hand, a neatly folded dollar bill. There were no fingerprints on the dollar bill, Commissioner. Just as there were no fingerprints on the one we found on Van Dyke. That it was in Helen Brown's hand. The mark of the killer. The victim, as usual, is a friend of Sylvia Sutherland's. Did you check on the dead girl's background, Chameleon? Yes, indeed. Poor little Helen Brown was just an average girl, obviously dazzled by Sylvia Sutherland's glamour. But she was being used, Commissioner. And my guess is that lending library is being used for some purpose. Who operates it? Very nice couple named Holly. They were horrified. Naturally, their murder is something that takes place only between book covers. Which reminds me, Commissioner, Harry Peters, the chauffeur who was murdered in that ratty little waterfront hotel, you recall what he was doing when the killer entered his room? I. Yes. He was found sitting up in bed. He'd been reading, Commissioner. The book fell to the floor. We attached no importance to it. But it was impounded, of course. I want to see that book. You think it came from the Colony Lending Library? Yes, Commissioner. The hall is a reopening the library in a couple of days. Don't you think that the police might be able to persuade them to hire a man to succeed Helen Brown? And that man would be you, Chameleon, in disguise? Well, yes. Who else? I'll take the name of Wilbur Wilcox. Rumpled hair, rumpled clothes, pasty skin. Plus a perpetual cold in the head. Yes, well, that does it. You may be walking into a hornet's nest, Chameleon. Yes, I think so. I hope so. If you can only put the finger on that incredible Sutherland girl. By the way, where Sylvia Sutherland is concerned, I have a brand new theory. From now on, Commissioner, everything I do will be based on that new theory, Mr. Chameleon. And the case of the blood stained dollar bills continues in just a moment. Perhaps you've never taken anything for the relief of ordinary headache because you think that what you take might have an ill effect on you. In that case, remember this. Of all pain relievers, none can match Bayer aspirin's record of reliability. Its record of use by millions of normal people without ill effect. In addition to reliable relief, Bayer aspirin also gives you fast relief. Within two seconds after you take it, it starts disintegrating. You can prove this by dropping a Bayer Aspirin tablet in a glass of water. You'll see it start to disintegrate before it reaches the bottom of the glass. And what happens in the glass happens in your stomach. And that's why genuine Bayer aspirin brings you relief so quickly. So for fast relief from headache, neuritic or neuralgic pain, take advantage of the 2 second disintegrating action Bayer aspirin gives you when you buy. Always ask for it by its full name, Bayer Aspirin. Never by the name Aspirin alone. Get the 100 tablet bottle and you get Bayer Aspirin tablets for less than a penny a piece. And now back to Mr. Chameleon and the case of the blood stained dollar bills. It is several days later and the Connolly Lending Library has reopened its doors just a few minutes before. Inside is Mr. Chameleon, the famous detective, disguised as Mr. Wilcox, the librarian. Mystery novel. Mystery novel is nothing but trash. People should be forbidden to read such rot. Morning. Do you mind closing the door, please? I can't stand drafts. Okay. What could I do for you? Detective novel, no doubt. You're the type. Yeah, and what's wrong with detectives? You should know, Detective Sergeant David. You should know. You should know, Mr. Chameleon. I didn't know you. I thought you were some kind of an assistant librarian. Wilcox requires no assistance, Dave. He's quite capable of running this place by himself. Did you get them an answer to that wire to Claremont, Wisconsin? Yeah, yeah, here it is. Another thing, Mr. Communion. You were right about the book. The one that Harry Peters was reading when he was murdered. It came from this lending library. And what's more, I think. Watch it, Dave. Customer. Oh, hello, Ms. Sutherland. Well, if it isn't Detective Sergeant Arnold. Where's your friend, Mr. Chameleon? You look lonesome without him. He's on a job. You mean he's no longer interested in me? Oh, I'm hurt. Or could it be that he knows when he's failed? Chameleon? He doesn't know the meaning of the word fail. Then he's more of a fool than I thought he was. Oh, good morning. Are you the new librarian? Yes, I am. Is that door open again? I'll close it. Thank you. What could I do for you, Miss? Sutherland. Sylvia Sutherland. The notorious Sylvia Sutherland. Oh, yes. Or hasn't word reached the bookworms here at the lending library that I'm a dangerous woman? I beg your pardon? Oh, never mind. I'm returning this book. It's due today. The Devil's Brew. The devil's Brew. Are you taking out another book? This other Lily? Not now. Detective Sergeant Arnold. Yes, Ms. Sutherland? There's one thing your friend Mr. Chameleon was right about. He wouldn't believe this, but I was very fond of Helen Brown. Apparently, I do bring tragedy to everyone. I know, Ms. Sutherland. Wait. Wait a minute, will you? No, let her go, Dave. You don't want me to tailor, Mr. Chameleon? No, stick around. And let's take a look at this book that she's just returned. Devil's Brew. Suppose we shake it. Nothing concealed in the pages. But I don't know. Who's this? Looks like Santa Claus. Yes, doesn't it? Good morning. Good morning. Good morning. It's a beautiful morning, isn't it? Makes you glad to be alive. Yes, sir, it certainly makes you glad to be alive. And do you have a book called the Devil's Brew? The Devil's Brew? Yes, yes, but it isn't in right now. Oh. Oh, are you sure about that? Yes, certainly I'm sure. But it may be in later. Excuse me. Can I introduce you in something else? No, no, I want that particular book. I'll tell you, I'll stop back in about an. Well, good morning again. Has the book come in yet? The Devil's Brew. I have it right here for you. Oh, that's splendid. My name is Hilton. J.M. hilton, East 61st street, and thank you very much for holding. Oh, you're very, very welcome, Mr. Hilton. Okay, Dave, don't let him out of your sight. Right, Mr. Mayor. And call me the minute that anything develops. I'm closing up the bookshop in half an hour. After that, you'll find me at Sylvia Sutherlands. My dear man. Oh, I'm sorry. What was the name? Wilbur Wilcox. God bless you, my dear. Mr. Wilcox, I don't quite understand why you insist insist on seeing my niece. Because, Mrs. Clarkson, it's a matter of grave importance. But does Sylvia know you? Oh, by the way, could I trouble you for that ball of crochet thread? It rolled under your chair. Oh, yes. There you are. Thank you, my dear. Mama used to crochet. Really? Oh, how sweet. I find it wonderful for the nerves. But are you a friend of Sylvia's? No, Auntie, he's not a friend of mine. Oh, Sylvia, my dear, I didn't hear you come in. Martha told me there was someone here. But he's not a friend of mine, Aunt Edith. He's the new librarian at the Colony Lending Library. Really? Well, why didn't you say so, Mr. Wilcox? Because I have an unpleasant duty to perform, Mrs. Clarkson. Excuse me. What sort of an unpleasant duty? Something to do with me, no doubt. Yes. Ms. Sutherland, you have been defacing one of the books that you borrowed from our library. You marked several of the pages. You drew circles around the page numbers. I had quite a hard time erasing them. Erasing them? Yes, I'm afraid the mark still showed when I gave the book to an old gentleman. Mrs. Clarkson? Yes, Martha? There's a telephone call for a Mr. Wilcox. Mr. Wilcox? Oh, that's you, isn't it? You can take it on the extension phone here, Mr. Wilcox. Oh, thank you. I'm sorry to trouble you, but this call was important. A matter of life and death, so to speak. Hello? Speaking. Yes. You mean the numbers correspond with. I got it, Miss Sylvia. Schmuck. I want to hear this. You did? Fine, fine. Okay, Dave. I'll carry on from there. And what was that all about, Mr. Wilcoff? If you don't mind my asking. Not at all, Ms. Sutherland. On the evidence just received, I hereby arrest you for the murders of Helen Brown and Hubert Van Dyke. You can't arrest Sylvia. My niece can't be a murderess. Ms. Sylvia never killed him. She never harmed anyone. Then who are you to arrest me, Mr. Chameleon. You're Mr. Chameleon, that horrible detective? What? The detective? But he's nothing of the sort, Sylvia. His name is Wilcox. He said so. No, Mrs. Clarkson. Your niece is quite right. I am Mr. Chameleon. Then why did you pose as Mr. Wilcox in that lending library? Because, Ms. Sutherland, that lending library was a clearinghouse for your particular racket. I don't know what you're talking about. And I didn't kill Helen All Hugh Hubert, either. I'm sorry. I'm taking you with me to Central Headquarters. Well, Are you coming, Ms. Sutherland? No. No, she isn't. I'm the one who killed him. I killed all of them. Harry Peters and Archie Clyde, too. Sylvia didn't know it, but they were a bad lot, all of them. Even little Helen Brown, the librarian. Yes. Yes, they were all of them bad Foreigner. I had to protect her. I had to look out for her. You take a great interest in Sylvia, don't you, Martha? Why? Why such a personal interest? Never mind that, Mr. Chameleon. Just take me to prison instead of her. I'm the one who killed him. I'll swear to it. Will you also swear, Martha, that you're the head of a narcotic ring? What? What was that? Act so surprised, Sylvia. You Know perfectly well that you smuggled narcotics to your wretched friends. No, I. I didn't know. Oh, come now, my dear. Hubert Van Dyke found out about it. That's why he was killed. Harry Peters was one of the agents who distributed the stuff. Helen Brown. She discovered your trick of marking the book pages, so she had to be silenced too. No. Detective Sergeant Arnold trailed the old man who picked up that book. The devil's brother. And he went straight to a bus terminal. In that terminal there are lockers. And he chose the three lockers whose numbers correspond with the marked pages in the book. And in those various lockers he placed packages of narcotics. I didn't know. I didn't know. Whereupon he locked the lockers and hid the keys underneath a bench in the waiting room, fastening them there with wads of chewing gum. Later, you or one of your gang would go to the terminal and pick up those drugs. I tell you, I didn't know. And not only that you abused your Aunt Edith's kindness. The narcotics were concealed where, do you think? In the center of the balls of crochet cotton, which you presumably bought for your aunt, only to use them for smuggling purposes. Sylvia, you didn't. You didn't do a thing like that. Oh, how awful. How perfectly awful. Stop play acting, Edith. What did you say, Martha? I said stop play acting. You can't let Sylvia be arrested for something she didn't do. If you won't tell Mr. Chameleon the truth, I will, Mr. Camellia. That's enough, Martha. Quite enough. And Edith. Edith, put away that gun. I've always told you, Martha, what would happen if you were stupid enough to speak out of turn. Well, now it's going to happen. You mean, Mrs. Clarkson, that you intend to kill your sister and your sister's child with that gun? The way you coldly kill those others who threatened your safety. Mr. Chameleon, you said Martha's her sister. And your mother, I imagine. Sylvia. What? Quite right. You've been right about everything, Mr. Chameleon. Too bad for you it worked out like this, with nothing and no one between you and this guy. Edith, you're not going to kill him? No, not just yet, Martha. Sylvia comes first. Sylvia. And then you. And last of all, that great Mr. Chameleon with a dollar bill in the hand of each of you. A dollar bill? You remember, Martha, years ago, a dollar was all that stood between us and complete starvation. Before I learned that. Before you learned that you had a first rate criminal mind, Mrs. Clarkson, and could hid a narcotics ring? Yes, and it paid off. Well, he's given me all this luxury and no one's taking it away from me. And Sylvia goes. Dave, don't shoot that woman. I want to take her alive. I knocked the gun from your hands, Ms. Clarkson, and now I have. But where's Detective Sergeant Arnold? I didn't know he was here. He isn't, Ms. Sutherland. I wanted to take Mrs. Clarkson's eye off you. And give me time to get the gun. You work. Don't move, Mrs. Clarkson. You've got me covered. What can I do? Well, just let me put the handcuffs on you, that's all. Oh, just a moment. I have something I want to slip in. The bracelet on your right arm. A brand new dollar bill. I still can't believe it, Mr. Chameleon. Martha's my mother. Well, your aunt, Mrs. Clarkson, took you from her when you were a very small child. Sylvia. We got a detailed report from Clermont, Wisconsin, the town where they were raised. Your aunt always bullied your mother. She threatened constantly to harm you unless your mother kept up the pretense of being a servant. Then later, your aunt used you to cover up her evil traffic. She used you to carry messages, even narcotics. I realized something was wrong. That's why I was so bitter and defiant and happy. But I never dreamed that she was doing anything so horrible. Yes, I know. But, Mr. Chameleon, why did you keep after me? Why did you keep calling me a criminal? Well, your aunt was a very clever woman, Sylvia. I wanted to divert suspicion from her mind that she was the one. Well, now that it's over, will you make a new life with your mother? I'll do everything I can to make her happy. Mr. Chameleon. Mr. Chameleon. May I come in? Yes. Yes, indeed. Martha, come in, by all means. There's someone waiting here for you. Your daughter. And with these words, Mr. Chameleon concludes tonight's murder case. There's nothing as important as fast relief. When you have an ordinary headache and millions who want very fast relief, use Bayer aspirin. For Bayer aspirin is ready to go to work almost instantly. Within two seconds after you take it, it starts to disintegrate. And that's why relief comes so quickly. Remember this. And remember too, that Bayer aspirin is one thing you can take with complete confidence. We say this because no other pain reliever can match Bayer aspirin's record of reliability, its record of use by millions of normal people without ill effect. So for fast and reliable relief, use genuine Bayer aspirin and when you buy, ask for it by its full name, Bayer Aspirin. Never by the name Aspirin alone. Get the 100 tablet bottle and you get Bayer Aspirin tablets for less than a penny a p. Listen. Next Wednesday night at the same time for Mr. Chameleon, the man of many faces in Mr. Chameleon's pet murder case. The part of Mr. Chameleon is played by Carl Swenson with dialogue by Marie Balmer. From the original story by Frank and Anne Hummert. Music directed by Victor Dr. Arden. Your announcer is Howard Clayney. Listen, everybody. Thousands of laboratory tests on scores of individual teeth show that new Lion's Toothpaste actually gets teeth brighter. Two and a half to five and a half times brighter than any of the five leading brands. Brighter by far than any other toothpaste. And the reason is that it's not just another old toothpaste with an added ingredient, but is completely new and radically different in formula. A new kind of toothpaste that cleans without soap and polishes without chalk. So get more brightness in your smile. Go to any drug or toilet goods counter and ask for Lion's toothpaste. Mr. Chameleon, the new mystery drama, will be heard in another performance next Wednesday night at this time. This is cbs, the Columbia Broadcasting System.