Is that you, darling?
Good evening, Mr. Allen.
- For two, wasn't it? - Yes.
Right, over here, sir.
All right, sir?
- Yes, I'm waiting for Ms. Bridges. - Very good, sir.
- Good evening, sir. - Good evening.
- Hello, Hugh. - Good evening, Ronnie.
Oh, excuse me.
- You're very late. - I apologise, Alycia.
- I demand an explanation. - The office.
- Isn't Jonathan coming? - No, he sends his apologies.
I'm afraid you'll just have to put up with me.
Waiter!
Is that a friend of yours?
One of my writers.
He looks lonely.
Ask the gentleman sitting there if he'd care to join us, would you?
Certainly, sir.
- Useful? - In certain directions.
He's good looking.
Hmm.
Listen, may I present you, Allen. Hugh, this is Mrs. Jonathan Roach.
Care to join us?
I am waiting for someone.
- Won't you wait here? - Thank you.
- I understand you're a writer. - Yes, I write unpublished novels.
- Oh, not all of them. - He's just being kind.
Ronnie once published two of my books,
and he's regretted it ever since.
- Nonsense. - I'm sure he hasn't.
- Would you like to dance? - I'd love to.
- You mind, Ronnie? - Not at all.
I'll entertain your guest when she arrives.
Waiter!
I think you're...
You first.
I was going to say you're the most beautiful woman in the room.
And I think you're the most beautiful man.
Except for Ronald Parker.
What are you working on now?
A think called "Murder by Morning Post".
Sounds dreadful, doesn't it?
Why is it that so many writers choose murders for a subject?
Well, it's supposed to be commercial,
but I'm bound to say I haven't found much evidence of it.
I think the people should have practical experience
of what they write about.
Why don't you try a romance?
Thank you, Mrs. Roach.
You're welcome, Mr. Allen.
Two other gents used to call on her quite a lot, sir.
Do you know their names?
Yes, Mr. Jonathan Roach, an author.
- A what? - He writes books.
- Oh right, Roach. Anyone else? - Mr. Hugh Allen.
He's the one what sent the flowers.
- What time did they arrive? - About half past seven.
I didn't bring them up right away, because I...
Because what?
Well, I usually pop around the corner to wet my whistle, sir.
That's when I saw Mr. Parker's car.
What time did you get back?
- Quarter to nine, sir. - Hmm.
Rather a long whistle, wasn't it?
- Was the car gone then? - Yes, sir.
Hello. Could I speak to Mr. Parker, please?
Oh. Would you happen to know the telephone number?
Thanks, thanks very much. No, no, no messages.
He's at the Flamenco Restaurant. Shall I get him?
Go ahead.
Mr. Parker call here much?
He used to drop Ms. Bridges, on the way from the office.
What was she, was she a secretary?
I believe so, sir.
Flamenco Restaurant?
I understand you have a Mr. Ronald Parker dining with you tonight.
Could you call him to the phone, please?
Okay, you can go.
All right, the inspector will call for you if he needs you.
Most of these are signed "Hugh".
Hello. Mr. Parker?
Yes, Ronald Parker speaking.
Yes, I know her.
What's that?
I'll be there in about 20 minutes.
You must be very proud of your husband.
- He's a genius, isn't he? - That's what he tells me.
Hugh, were you expecting to meet Jeanne?
Yes, I was.
I'm afraid she won't be coming.
I've just had a phone call from the police.
- Is something wrong? - I think there must be.
They've asked me to go to her flat right away.
Can I come along?
No, I think it would be better if you stayed here,
if Alycia doesn't mind.
Of course I don't mind.
I'll be back soon as I can. Excuse me, Alycia.
I believe he'd been seeing a lot of her, recently.
He had a date with her tonight at the Flamenco.
How do you know?
He was waiting for her when I met him.
Where were you and Mr. Parker before you went to the Flamenco?
- At my office. - What time?
Oh, nine o'clock. I had a lot of work to catch up on.
- Anyone with you? - No.
You say Miss Bridges left at her normal time, which was?
5:30
- And you didn't see her again? - I told you, I was working.
Of course. So, you left the office at nine.
You mind telling me what your car was doing here at 6:30?
- My car? - Your car.
The porter saw it outside the block.
Oh yes, of course, I had to collect some papers from my flat.
I called by here to ask Miss Bridges to do a letter.
There is a letter in the typewriter, sir.
Well.
Why did you tell me you didn't see her again?
I completely forgot. Was stupid of me.
As a matter of fact, I've had rather a lot on my mind lately.
- Business worries. - All right.
I'm sorry to have kept you so long.
- Good night. - Good night.
Most people were at dinner.
And the porter was having a snifter at the local boozer.
"With love, from Hugh."
What a lovely idea of yours.
It's a bit less crowded than the Flamenco.
My host isn't going to be very pleased with us.
You could always say that you came over faint.
- Do you like this place? - Oh, it's perfect.
Do you come here to write?
Sometimes.
That girl you were waiting for this evening,
aren't you curious to know why Ronnie had to go to her flat?
Yes and no.
Well, if you waited, you'd have found out.
If I'd waited, I wouldn't be here now.
- Are you in love with her? - In love?
Yes.
Do you usually ask girls to dinner that you don't like?
I didn't say I didn't like her.
- I'm too inquisitive. - And I'm too obvious.
As a matter of fact,
Jeanne and I were meeting for the last time tonight.
I think we were both pretty relieved.
No tears, then.
And no ties.
I'd like you to read one of my books, if you could bear it.
Will you send me one?
I've got a better idea.
Why don't you come and fetch it?
I was too obvious.
- Morning, Jonathan. - Good morning.
You were in rather late last night, weren't you?
Quite late.
- Did you enjoy the concert? - No, it was noisy.
The concert?
The rabble who were supposed to be listening to it.
Anything new in the paper.
Yes, Parker's secretary's been murdered, Jeanne Bridges.
No!
My old friend Inspector Thornton is in charge of the case.
I wonder who did it.
- You knew her, didn't you? - I did.
Good heavens, I'm supposed to be at the theatre in half an hour.
I shall have to rush.
I'm going to London, shall I drop you off?
Thank you.
Extraordinary things, these.
To help them keep me alive, all of them put me underground.
I'll get the car.
- What was she like? - Who?
- Jeanne Bridges. - Oh, she loved life.
- Most people do. - I hate it.
I hate anything that hangs by a thread.
You've been feeling much better lately.
I wouldn't say your life hangs by a thread.
You mean you only hope it does.
Was there anything very special about her?
She was unusual.
- Attractive, I'm sure. - Generous.
- And intelligent? - On the contrary.
I rated her intelligence even lower than I do yours.
Thank you... my dear.
- You want me to pick you up? - No, thanks.
- Hello, Thornton. - Could I have a word with you?
You can talk to me while we're rehearsing.
My new play should interest you.
Police inspector turns out to be the murderer.
All right, on stage everybody. Just principles, please.
- Morning, Jonathan. - Morning.
All right; now Henry;
you're discovered, back to the audience, looking out of the window.
Georgina, you enter from the left.
Naturally, you're surprised to see him.
Start your speech after he's lit his cigarette.
Vivien, your scene will start as soon as you see Georgina...
Have you discovered Jeanne Brigde's murderer yet?
- No, not yet. - When did it happen?
We weren't able to pinpoint the time,
but it must have been soon after 7:30 last night.
- All right, Jonathan? - Yes, all right.
Terrible. I was with her myself in the afternoon.
Do you happen to remember the exact time?
About six.
You mind telling me what you did after you left her?
Yes, I went into the park and fed the pigeons.
Did you meet anyone there who might have recognized you?
They all did.
They're absurdly tame at this time of year.
One of them even sat on my shoulder.
- No, no, what I mean is... - Shh.
I didn't expect to see you.
I had to come back.
After we talked last night,
everything seemed so final, yet so incomplete.
Mr. Banister, do you mind raising your voice?
- This is not a bedroom scene. - Yet so incomplete.
Darling, you must listen to me.
Miss Thompson, you are not trying to escape
from a piece of cheese, believe it or not.
- Dearest, please... - Miss Thompson!
What the hell is it, now?
Miss Thompson, you're a woman of spirit, a living flame.
You're in love with this man, and yet you're repulsed by him.
- Mr. Banister. - Yes?
You know how she feels towards you,
so try and employ a little more delicacy.
Your amorous advances should be a little more wary,
and a little less like a grizzly bear
at the height of it's eastoral cycle.
I beg your pardon?
Oh, it's mating season. Now, do it again.
Yes, Mr. Roach.
I didn't expect to see you...
Are you still here?
Did you meet any friends?
My friends are out of London.
- All of them? - Both of them.
Will you, please, raise your voices a little?
Darling, you must listen to me...
- Acquaintances, then. - None that I know of.
You didn't return to Miss Bridges' flat?
No, after the park I went to a concert at the Albert Hall.
I arrived, er, let me see, about eight o'clock.
The end of the first movement.
I sat in the cheap seats, I always do.
Got any idea of who did it?
When you left the girl, did she appear worried
or upset about anything?
No, she seemed in excellent spirits.
People usually are when I leave them.
What sort of life do you think I've had since I married you?
Do you ever stop to think of the kind of life
I could have had if I'd never met you?
The opportunities I'd missed?
Can you tell us anything about this girl's character
that might help our investigations?
Yes, she had no brains,
but a sort of low animal cunning which served her just as well.
Have you been able to discover a motive?
Not yet.
If you know of anything that might help us,
I'd be awfully grateful if you gave me a ring at the Yard.
- Good day. - Goodbye.
Miss Thompson, could you manage a little feeling in your voice?
It will assist the audience to endure the expression on your face.
Difficult, I'm sure.
- Nice chap. - Charming.
- What next? - Hugh Allen.
Hi!
Hi, there.
- Good morning. - How did you get here?
Your most excellent butler let me in.
Oh.
- What's the time? - 10:30.
Have you seen the morning paper?
Yes, I have.
Poor Jeanne. She didn't deserve that.
People don't deserve to be murdered as a rule.
The people I write about always do.
Have you ever tried writing beneath the surface?
From your heart?
I wasn't aware I had one... until last night.
What happened last night?
I met you.
Is that all?
I mean, all that happened?
I didn't murder Jeanne Bridges.
I didn't ask you.
I thought I'd make the point quite clear.
- Is this one of yours? - Yes.
"Gail Warning", can I take it?
When you go.
- I'm going. - So soon?
I can't wait to read it. I'm suppose to be a good critic.
If I don't like it, I'll advice you to sell motorcars.
Tell me, are you attracted to me
or just fascinated by my literate potentialities?
A wise woman let's a man guess what she thinks.
Would you like to hide under the sofa?
Thank you, no. I'd feel so foolish is somebody looked.
Whatever you do, don't say, "I was just leaving."
I shall know what to say.
- Mr. Allen? - Yes.
Inspector Thornton of Scotland Yard. May I have a word with you?
- Won't you come inside? - Thank you.
- Oh, er... this... - Excuse me, I was just leaving.
Well, Mr. Allen, I'll read your book
and I may give you a telephone call tomorrow morning.
If you're still at large.
- Do sit down, won't you? - Thank you.
I understand you were a friend of Jeanne Bridges.
Yes.
I suppose you're aware that she was murdered last night.
Yes, she was going to have dinner with me.
What time did you arrange to meet her?
- Eight o'clock. - At the Flamenco?
Yes.
- Where were you before then? - I was driving up the country.
Bray.
What time did you leave there?
About a quarter to seven.
Take you about 45 minutes to get to town, wouldn't it?
No, longer.
I had a slow puncture,
I had to keep on stopping to put more air in the tyre.
I had no spare.
Hmm, I supposed you passed a number of garages
that could have changed the tyre for you.
Most of them were closed.
Can you think of anyone who might have seen you
- on the road about 7:30? - No, I can't.
- Is it important? - It could be.
May I ask you a personal question?
- Were you in love with her? - No.
The orchids rather suggested you might have been.
Did you ever quarrel with her?
- Yes, frequently. - What about, another man?
- Yes. - Who was it?
She wouldn't tell me. That's why we quarrelled.
Oh, I see.
- Is there anything else? - Yes.
Were you aware that she was a convicted blackmailer?
Yes.
Thank you.
- Good day. - Goodbye.
The porter found her at 10 to eight,
when he delivered the orchids.
There are three men who can't establish an alibi
during the 25 minutes in which she was murdered.
Now, Roach was somewhere between Hide Park and the Albert Hall;
Parker was in his office alone;
and Hugh Allen was driving from the country.
They each knew Jeanne Bridges,
and each had an opportunity of killing her.
What do we do next?
We have three men to watch.
And I think their behaviour is going to be very revealing.
Thank you, Pierce.
What are you reading?
"Gail Warning", by Hugh Allen.
- Allen? - Do you know him?
I've heard of him.
- Through Parker? - Probably.
- Where did you meet him? - Parker introduced us.
This isn't at all bad. Would you care to read it?
No, thanks.
His style reminds me a little of some of your early work.
Before you decided to become an intellectual snob.
Alycia, are you deliberately trying to annoy me?
Not at all.
Then don't compare a down-and-out hack
with one of the field marshals of British literature.
Oh, he isn't down-and-out by any means.
Have you made up your mind yet about the BBC broadcast?
- I've decided not to do them. - Why not?
I don't like broadcasting.
Seems a pity to waste all that material.
The BBC are offering you a lot of money, Jonathan.
- That's unusual. - Will go towards your income tax.
What an inducement.
Anyway, I don't like the stories. They're old and dated.
- The BBC liked them. - Naturally.
And they don't know you wrote them.
I submitted them under a pen name.
You what?
Yes, I was curious to know whether
they'd recognize great writing when they saw it.
Apparently they did.
- What name did you use? - Merrill.
Hmm.
If you don't want to do the broadcasts,
let's get someone else to do them.
- Who would you suggest? - It doesn't really matter.
- Is staff an answer? - Nonsense.
- Or an actor. - An actor?
Well, then how about a writer, an unknown?
There must be dozens who'd jump at the chance
of broadcasting for a field marshal of British literature.
Alycia, I'm keen to know why you pursue
my business interests with so much affinity.
Business is the only thing we have in common, Jonathan.
And after all, you made me your manager.
Good night, Jonathan.
Darling, that's wonderful!
- Mind you don't fall in. - Of course I won't.
Hurry up, slow coach.
I'm just going to tie up.
I've got the radio playing.
You don't need the radio.
Oh, heavenly.
And we met only three days ago.
What is it?
Jonathan?
Leave him.
- Do you really want me to? - Of course I do, darling.
I love you.
But...
But?
- I can't ask you. I'm a failure. - Don't say that. It isn't true!
But it is true.
Look, I read your book.
- Do I have to sell motorcars? - No. Seriously,
not as long as you can write books like "Gail Warning", it's good.
Needs a little more work, but it's all there.
- Well, Parker didn't think so. - Parker doesn't know.
I want you to meet Jonathan.
Why?
I've an idea.
Trust me.
I'll race you.
What time is dinner?
Madam has asked for it to be served at eight o'clock, sir.
Right.
Tell me the bad news. The truth.
If you take things easily, you might live for five years.
- But if you don't... - How long?
- Three months, at the outside. - A man can do a lot in 3 months.
I want you to carry on with the digitalis,
and get this prescription made up.
To take in the event of an attack, I'll give it to Pierce.
- What is it? - Lepenthy.
But see that you don't exceed the dose.
You know, you're a terrible trial to me, Jonathan.
- Am I your worst patient? - Oh, by far the worst.
- I like distinction in everything. - Quite incorrigible.
If you change your mind about the work, I...
I won't.
- Good night, Jonathan. - Good night.
Well, that's that.
What did Dr. Forrest have to say?
He said my expectation of life is as small as my ego.
Small? Then you'll live to be 100.
You wouldn't like that, would you?
- I haven't thought about it. - Why don't think about it now?
- Jonathan. - Yes?
Try not to force a quarrel.
My dear girl, nothing was further from my thoughts.
I came in to talk to you about Hugh Allen.
Parker spoke to me about him this afternoon.
Did he?
Parker thinks he's worth watching.
I'm sure he'll benefit from your interest.
Yes, I'm sure he will.
I might give him that BBC job we talked about.
Take him under my wing, so to speak.
I can watch him closely. Under my wing.
- Good evening, sir. - Good evening.
Hello, Hugh.
How are you?
Tell my husband Mr. Allen's here, will you?
Very good, madam.
- Nervous? - Shaking like a leaf.
Darling, I'd thought you'd fallen.
Seriously, Jonathan's read your book;
he'll take the trouble to pull it to pieces.
He may be unbearable, he'll patronize you.
Try to put up with it, for my sake.
Ah.
Jonathan, this is Hugh Allen, my husband.
Hi...
You'll have to excuse me until dinner time, I'm very busy.
Perhaps you'll look after our guest.
- You are dining with us? - Oh, certainly.
I wouldn't miss Mr. Allen's dinner conversation for the world.
He looks like he might be rather scintillating.
Besides, I'm anxious to learn something about you.
What's that, sir?
I want to find out if you've ever read a book,
I've just discovered you haven't written one.
Excuse me, won't you?
- Unbelievable, isn't he? - That's putting it mildly.
Come and have a drink. You'll need one.
Of course your powers of description are practically non-existent,
and you may not be a very acute observer, Mr. Allen.
You should open your eyes occasionally.
And what about character?
Oh, your strokes are much too broad.
No finesse, no light and shade.
I'm not saying your work entirely lacks promise.
Thank you.
Mr. Parker's here, sir.
Ask him to wait, will you, Pierce?
- He's in the study. - Thank you.
Weren't you going to speak to Mr. Allen
about the broadcast series, Jonathan?
Oh yes, Parker suggested you might be suitable
to broadcast a series of stories of mine, at a nominal fee.
Are you interested?
Er... yes.
Alycia will arrange the terms. How many of them are there Alycia?
Twelve.
The BBC want to broadcast them over a period of 12 weeks,
and as I personally don't want my name connected with them,
we've chosen a pen name. What was it, Alycia?
- My maiden name. - Oh, yes, Merrill.
What made you think of that?
I tried to think of something I associate with happiness.
Anyway, in order to avoid complication,
you're unaware of the name of the author.
- Is that understood? - Quite.
Care to look after Parker for me, would you, Alycia?
- I'll see you in a few minutes. - Very well.
You're an admirer of beauty, Mr. Allen.
I hope so.
I suppose you're thinking how lucky I am to be
in possession of a wife as lovely as Alycia.
- Yes, I suppose I was. - Naturally, Mr. Allen.
You're human, it's your only asset.
Have you ever thought whether or not
I appreciate my good fortune?
I wouldn't presume to.
Surely, we men of letter can disclose our thoughts
to one another without encroaching on personal feelings.
Frankly, I don't know whether you appreciate your wife or not.
Oh, but of course, I never show it.
I always suspect men who admire their wives in public
are beating them in private.
I can't imagine anybody beating Alycia.
What a charming compliment.
I wish I could think of nice things to say about people,
but I never can, while they're alive.
After they're dead, it's easier.
And speaking of the dead,
what made you break off your engagement to Jeanne Bridges?
I wasn't aware that you knew her.
It's surprising the people I know.
I was her father confessor, she told me how unhappy you made her.
- We were never officially engaged. - Really?
Jeanne led me to believe the contrary.
Still, women are like that, aren't they?
Well, I must go and see what Parker wants.
Alycia will join you in the drawing room.
It was nice of you to speak to my husband about Hugh Allen.
- Thank you, Ronnie. - I try to please, Alycia.
- Good evening. - See you later.
- I'm in deep water, Jonathan. - I know you are.
Who told you?
Your late lamented secretary,
who had blackmailed you over some little falsification
she'd found in the company's books.
I was most interested to discover that my codirector
had joined the criminal classes.
- I need £3,000 Jonathan. - To cover up with?
I borrowed the money thinking I could pay it back.
Oh yes, they all do,
and Jeanne, who was a very clever little girl,
discovered you hadn't paid it back.
I wondered when you were going to ask me to help you.
If the books were audited, I'd be arrested for fraud.
Jolly bad luck.
- Will you help me? - Why should I?
- I was counting on you. - Is that a good reason?
We've been friends for a long time.
I mustn't make crime too easy for you.
Might start you off again.
No, I'm sorry, Ronnie.
Extraordinary girl, wasn't she? Amazing courage and resource.
- I'm glad you think so. - You mustn't be bitter, Ronnie.
Remember the old superstition:
if you speak ill of the dead, they'll arise and slay you.
Sorry you can't stay.
By the way, that was a good idea of yours
to have Allen broadcast these stories.
I've decided to let him do them.
- Jonathan, I... - Goodnight, Ronnie.
Parker asked me to say goodnight.
He's feeling rather depressed. Business isn't so good.
Here are the first three scripts.
You better take them home and read them.
- Thank you. - And don't alter one single line.
To deliver you from temptation,
I shall send you the others one day before each broadcast.
As to the name of the series,
as this was entirely your idea, Alycia,
we'll call it the "Voice of Merrill".
All right?
Tonight, representing the first of a series of 12 original stories
written by a modern author who prefers to be anonymous.
The stories are brought to you by the Voice of Merrill.
I am the Voice of Merrill.
I'm going to tell you a story which might be yours or mine.
I wonder how many times in our lives we use the word "if".
If I had done this, how different things would have been.
If this had happened or that,
the whole course of my existence might have been altered.
So it was with Helen Selby.
Fate sat in a corner of her life like a spider;
spinning the curious web
that devised tragedy or success or failure,
according to it's will.
I found the door of Helen's apartment austerely closed,
as though determined to share no responsibility
for the tragedy it concealed.
You're very quiet, darling. This is a celebration.
I was wondering how all this was going to help my career as a writer.
- It will, I promise you. - But how?
Leave it to me.
- Anything else worrying you? - What do you think?
For the first time since I've known him,
I even feel sorry for Jonathan.
He's a very sick man. We have all our lives.
To us and to your success.
Mr. Merrill.
This is the third of a series of stories
brought to you by the Voice of Merrill.
Life started to ebb from a body that had long since begun to die...
I am the Voice of Merrill.
Louise was the loveliest woman I had ever seen.
Her voice was like a gentle whisper.
Her beauty came into my life like a radiant light.
I could see her now,
silhouetted against the endless sky,
listening to the first footfalls of her lover's approach.
Turn it off, Pierce.
- Do you follow that program? - Yes, sir, it's most interesting.
- Beautifully written. - Oh, beautifully, sir.
The style reminds me of yours,
although hardly up to your standards.
You have been listening to the Voice of Merrill.
Another Merrill fan, eh?
Yeah, he's pretty good, I've been trying to place the voice.
Hugh Allen.
- What's that, sir? - I said that is Hugh Allen.
Oh, really?
Well, I managed to find Jeanne Bridge's banking accounts.
Has that girl got some nom de plumes.
Nom de what, sir?
Come now, Baker, that means other names.
Make me an appointment with Ronald Parker in the morning, will you?
Right, sir.
Every successful writer should have a secretary.
Jonathan hasn't got one.
Only because they can't stand him.
To hear you talk, anyone would think I wrote the Merrill stories.
Would they?
I wonder what goes on in that genius brain of yours.
Wait and see.
I can't really afford a secretary.
- You won't have to. - I'm not going to let you pay.
It's time you got down to some really serious work.
I'll find you a secretary.
It'll stop you of thinking of anything else.
I'll choose her with great care. I don't want any rivals.
Hello, Mr. Allen's secretary speaking.
Oh, Mrs. Roach.
Yes, Mr. Allen's just here.
Hello?
Hello, Hugh? Everything all right?
Oh yes. Yes, yes, fine.
What time are you through at the BBC?
Well, rehearsal's at 11. I think about one.
I'll pick you up.
- And darling... - Yes?
I love you.
Oh yes, I think so, too.
Goodbye.
More fan mail has arrived for the Voice of Merrill, Mr. Merrill.
I mean, Mr. Allen.
So confusing. Also more inquiries about you personally.
Everybody's just dying to know who you are and what you look like.
They'd get quite a shock, wouldn't they?
They certainly would, Mr. Merrill. Mr. Allen.
£3,000 are deposited in your name, Mr. Parker.
Do you mind telling me why you gave your secretary so much money?
- It was a loan. - Did she offer any security?
- I didn't ask for any. - Really?
And she didn't say what the money was for?
No.
Tell me, had she access to the funds accounts?
Yes, she had.
Well, then in view of her record,
you have no objection to the police examining them.
I'm sure there's no need for that.
Are you?
Well, we'll see.
There he is.
Hold it, Mr. Merrill.
Thank you.
Hello, there.
Anything wrong?
I was wondering why I'd just been photographed by the press.
Were you...?
I'm afraid that was a little premature.
- What do you mean? - I'll tell you.
- Matey, aren't they? - Yeah.
The highway to success is filled with men
being pushed along by women.
- I could do with a shove myself. - Oh, go on, get in.
When did you first think of this?
Does it matter?
Are you really suggesting that I should claim the work as my own?
Only if Jonathan dies.
- I can't do that. - Why not?
For the simple reason I didn't write the Voice of Merrill stories.
But you will have written so much by then.
The important thing is that when
another like "Gail Warning" comes out,
it'll be noticed because you already have a name.
Oh, that's all very well.
A name's gonna take you years to establish in the ordinary way.
But if Jonathan finds out...
Jonathan doesn't want his own name connected with the Voice of Merrill,
so we wouldn't be robbing him of anything.
What about Parker? He knows I didn't write the stories.
I'll handle Parker.
All I want you to worry about is your writing.
Except when you're with me.
- Madam back yet, Pierce? - No, sir.
- Excuse me, sir. - Yes?
On the front page, isn't that the gentleman
who dined here a few weeks ago?
- Yes, it is. - Thank you, sir.
Alycia.
I'd like a word with you.
What is it?
I'd been hearing quite a lot about our program lately.
It's astonishingly successful, isn't it?
Yes, it is.
The stories must be better than I thought.
So difficult to be completely objective about one's own work.
Anyway, I've decided to let the public into our little secret.
I propose to announce that I'm the author.
- But you can't do that. - Can't?
I mean, the whole reason for it's success is that it's anonymous.
The public are intrigued, mystified.
Anonymous, really? Do you call that anonymous?
I suppose you knew nothing about it, did you?
No!
And nor did your friend Mr. Allen
posing like a 5th great matinee idol.
No, Jonathan, he didn't...
Oh no, Mr. Merrill, author of the Voice of Merrill.
I suppose he was unconscious when that was taken.
Well, what do you expect him to do?
- Wear a mask? - No, I don't!
I expect him stick to the contract, or is that inconvenient?
Will it stifle his chances of riding
the primrose path to success on my back?
You must be mad, anyone would think he'd disclosed his own name.
And why didn't he? It's the next logical step, isn't it?
Or are you waiting until after I'm dead?
Let me go.
I know I'm not Hugh Allen.
If I were to die tonight,
you'd rush to prove he didn't write the stories, wouldn't you?
It'd be worth while cheating for, wouldn't it, Alycia?
Answer me!
Take your hands off me!
I'm sure he wouldn't be opposed to having the success
and prestige of a genius grafted onto his own gildy talents.
You and my colleagues with the mud,
since you would have shown him the way?
Do you deceive me?
Alycia, my medicine, on the dressing table.
Quickly.
- How many? - Two drops.
Hello, may I speak to Mr. Roach, please?
Master was taken ill last night, sir.
Dr. Forester's given instructions that he is not to be disturbed.
I see.
Would you care to speak to Mrs. Roach, sir?
No thank you Pierce, I'll, I'll phone later.
Dr. Forest is still with the master, Pierce?
Yes, madam.
He'll have to remain quiet for a long time.
I understand, madam.
Oh, by the way,
I think I should disconnect the telephone
in his room when he's asleep.
- We don't want to disturb him. - Very good, madam.
Hello, who's speaking please? Oh, Mr. Parker, just one moment.
I'm sorry, Mr. Allen's in a conference.
I'll tell him Mr. Parker rang.
That certainly isn't right way to treat publishers, Mr. Allen.
Especially when they start running after you.
Oh, really. Hello?
Just one moment, I'll see if Mr. Merrill can speak to you.
It's the Standard.
Tell him I'll get in touch with them.
I'm sorry, I'm afraid Mr. Merrill's in a script conference.
Is there anything I can do, I'm his secretary.
You'll call again. Goodbye.
Hello?
I couldn't possibly interrupt Mr. Merrill at the moment.
Oh yes, writing a play, a novel, and a further radio series.
I beg your pardon?
Oh, I'll ask him for you. Goodbye.
- Morning, Ms. Quinn. - Morning, Mrs. Roach.
- I thought you were out. - No, I wasn't out.
The telephone simply hasn't stopped ringing.
It was all too silly.
By the way, that was the Echo.
They wants to know what Mr. Merrill
did in his spare time.
If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to lunch.
Alycia.
Mrs. Roach, you won't forget to telephone
the tabloid press about Mr. Allen's stories.
They're awaiting a reply for their proposals.
Thank you, I won't forget.
What stories?
A collection of the Voice of Merrill series.
I'm arranging publication under your real name.
You're not serious.
Darling, I know what I'm doing.
It'll be months before they come out,
and by that time, Jonathan maybe...
Oh for heaven's sake, let's drop this whole fantastic idea.
- We can't gamble on... - Why not?
- Why, because... - Look:
Jonathan had his worst attack last night.
The doctor doesn't think he can survive another.
I know the idea was to wait,
but now, the newspapers are almost onto it.
It'd be foolish to go back.
You have organized the whole thing perfectly for me, haven't you?
Do you really mind so much?
Have you forgotten Parker knows?
Parker has too many worries of is own to bother about us.
Darling, look at me.
I'm not really a hard, designing woman, I love you.
And I just want you to have everything
that you want for yourself,
- success... - Of course, I want success,
but I want to get it on my own merits, not Jonathan's.
But you will.
All I'm trying to do is to save you from being worn out
and frustrated by the long climb to the top.
Can't you see that?
Ooh, once you're there, you have the talent and ability to stay.
Does it matter how you get there?
Come on, darling, I know I'm right, believe me. Look.
Look at these.
Fan mail letters for the Voice of Merrill.
They're coming into the BBC at the rate of hundreds a day.
Jonathan must be very pleased.
Why should we have to talk about Jonathan?
- Well, after all, Jonathan... - Jonathan, Jonathan!
Alycia!
I'm sorry.
I've got to go.
I thought you were lunching with me.
No, I forgot to tell you. I'm lunching with Sir John Gregson.
We're going to talk about a new series for Radio Normandy.
They'll pay you very well.
So you better start to work.
And remember, keep to the same style of writing.
We'll lunch tomorrow, my darling.
And one day soon, all the days of our lives.
I trust you have a good appetite, sir.
I could eat a horse.
- Just as well, perhaps. - Excuse me, sir.
- Probably that fool Parker. - Yes, sir.
- The master is in his room, sir. - Thank you, Pierce.
How are you feeling, Jonathan?
Stop asking damn silly questions. Sit down, I want to talk to you.
You must be furious about Allen. You'll expose him, of course.
It looks to me like a deliberate...
Stop chattering!
You know I loathe the sound of anyone's voice but my own.
I've been thinking about your little financial problem,
and I've decided to help you.
I should be extremely grateful, Jonathan, but you see...
On one condition.
Oh stop wandering about man, get a chair and sit down!
Under no circumstances, either now or in the future,
will you reveal to anyone that Allen's claim
to be the author of my stories is not true.
Not true?
N-O-T, spells not.
- But I don't understand? - You don't have to.
Bring me that chair.
But surely you're not going to...
I'm not going to let him get away with it.
I'm still very much alive, and have plenty of time
to work out Mr. Allen's punishment.
Before I give you this check, I want your solemn promise.
Hugh Allen wrote the Voice of Merrill.
If that's the way you want it, Jonathan.
That's the way I want it.
I don't know what you have in mind.
I want him to have his hour.
I want him to open his gullet and swallow the whole Milky Way.
The higher he climbs, the harder he'll fall.
- And I want you to write a letter. - A letter?
To Hugh Allen.
For that, you're getting £3,000
to put things right at the office.
So, the police need never know that Jeanne Bridges
had been blackmailing you.
And they'll never realize what an excellent motive you had
for murdering her, will they?
Jonathan.
- Should you be up? - Of course not, dear.
According to Dr. Forest, I should be pushing up daisies.
But I certainly don't intend to do that just yet.
Which I'm certain must be quite terrifying for you.
Incidentally has Allen done anything about
that preposterous claim of his?
- What preposterous claim? - Alycia.
Oh, you mean the photograph?
Yes, I'm sure he'll try and do something about that.
When, next year?
Whenever he's finished reading the series.
Hmm.
I suppose you would prefer him
to make his own little confession, wouldn't you?
Yes, please Jonathan.
Unless I should happen to die in the meantime.
Then it wouldn't be necessary, would it?
I can see that's the uppermost thought in your mind at the moment.
- Oh, Pierce. - Sir?
Tell me, what would you do
if you were suddenly informed you only had a short time to live?
Speaking quite impersonally, you understand, Pierce.
I trust so, sir.
A fascinating position in which to find oneself, don't you think?
A little eerie, sir.
However, I suppose one's natural instinct
would be to do something a little daring, sir.
Depending upon how much energy one could expend in the process.
Speaking for myself sir, as a complete nonentity, as it were,
I would be inclined to perform at least one small act
of national service.
And of what would that consist?
It would entail the shooting of at least
two prominent cabinet ministers, sir.
I am convinced the only thing deterring a number of persons
from a similar cause is the fear of the consequences.
- If one could remove that. - I see your point.
May I be permitted to inquire what you would do, sir?
Of course, Pierce.
I should write my greatest story, probably to be read after my death.
It would be about a girl with three men friends.
- She deceives each one in turn. - Oh yes, sir.
Yes, and she irritates one to such an extent
that he decides to teach her a sharp lesson.
- So, he shoots her. - Indeed, sir.
You won't forget your medicine, will you, sir?
No, all right.
- Morning, Mr. Allen. - Good morning.
- What is it? - It's from Parker.
"Mr. Jonathan Roach has requested me to take care
of the last remaining story in the Merrill series.
I will therefore pass to the BBC for approval in the usual way,
and deliver it to you in reasonable time
before you are due to go on the air."
May I see?
"Go on the air. Mr. Roach has informed me that the BBC
and general public are to remain permanently
under the impression that you are the original author of this series."
I wonder what Jonathan...
If he's trying to humiliate me, he's chosen a funny way of doing it.
Rip apart this letter.
Do we have to use his story?
Why can't we use the one I've written?
I'm afraid it's not quite good enough, darling.
What's wrong with it?
You can do better when you're not quite so worried.
I see.
Of course you can.
Alycia, Jonathan's waiting for me to read
the last story in the Merrill series before he breaks me, isn't he?
Perhaps.
But darling, he might do anything. He's quite unpredictable.
He hates me.
He hated me from the very first moment we met.
What are we going to do?
I won't let him break you.
Alycia!
I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'll think of something.
Listen to me.
Don't call me. I'll get in touch with you.
Oh, Pierce. I want Mr. Parker to have this by tonight.
- I'll see to it, sir. - Thank you.
Thank you, Pierce, I forgot my key.
Master's in the study, madam.
- Isn't it your night out? - Yes, madam.
You can go whenever you like. I shall be in for the evening.
Thank you.
You won't let the master forget his medicine at eight o'clock.
Just two drops.
Where's Pierce?
It's his night out. He went off early.
I told him I'd get your medicine for you.
It's all right, I've taken it.
- You took your medicine? - Yes.
When does Allen do his last broadcast?
This Thursday.
I suppose he's told you I've decided not to expose him as a fraud.
He has.
Kind of me, don't you think?
- Unusual of you. - Yes.
Instead, I'm going to prove that he murdered Jeanne Bridges.
Why do you say he murdered her?
That's not quite the point. I said I was going to prove he did it.
Oh, I see you don't appreciate the irony of the situation, Alycia.
I'm afraid I don't.
Nor the pleasures of uncertainty
of not knowing what's around the corner, perhaps.
If that's a pleasure, I've certainly had it since I was married to you.
You should be congratulated.
Most women find life rather dull after five years of marriage.
You can't say that about ours.
No, Jonathan, ours was never dull.
Good night, Jonathan.
Good night.
I told you to keep away. What did you come here for?
I came to stop you.
Hugh.
This will haunt us the rest of our lives.
He had a heart attack.
You must always think of it as that.
Yes.
We'll always think of it as that...
I'll telephone the doctor.
You must go before he gets here.
Whatever you do, wait for me to get in touch with you.
Go.
New Style Standard. Paper.
Thank you, sir.
Read all about it, famous author dies.
Paper.
New Style Standard.
"Dear Parker, I have cause to believe that for a reason,
of which you must be aware, my wife is planning to murder me.
In the circumstances, I think it would be advisable
to take the necessary steps to ascertain
beyond doubt the cause of my death.
Yours truly, Jonathan Roach."
He says: "For a reason of which you must be aware."
What is that reason?
- Anything to do with Hugh Allen? - I believe so.
I happen to know that Mrs. Roach is in love with him.
- Any other reason? - Isn't that enough?
Well, if you subscribe to the view
that love justifies murder, I suppose it is.
After all, a number of people have thought so.
A man suffering from cardiac,
liable to pop off at any moment,
and a wife who feels that moment may never come.
It's interesting. Quite interesting.
Well, thank you, Mr. Parker. You'll keep in touch with us, won't you?
All right.
- Order a car, Baker. - Yes, sir.
You haven't forgotten your appointment
with Addison Publications, have you, Mr. Allen?
- What time is it for? - 11 o'clock.
Yes, I had, I should tell him I can't make it.
- Has Mrs. Roach telephoned this morning? - No, she hasn't.
Will you get her for me, and I'll take it in here.
Very good.
Inspector Thornton's here, madam.
And Mr. Allen, to speak to you on the phone.
Thank you.
I'll ask them to hold the line.
Good morning. I'm sorry to trouble you at a time like this,
but from information received,
I'm compelled to ask for an autopsy on the body of your husband.
Purely a formality.
- What information? - I'm afraid I can't disclose that.
Have you any objections?
Then I'll make the arrangements.
I won't trouble you more than necessary.
Hello, Alycia?
Hugh?
I had to phone, is everything all right?
Yes.
Yes, of course everything is all right.
You sound worried, are you sure?
Quite sure.
Listen, darling.
I may not be able to see you broadcast tomorrow.
Why not?
There's so much to do here, you know.
Arrangements and things.
I shall be listening to you, of course, as usual.
Alycia, if anything should happen, you'll let me know, won't you?
Of course I will, my darling.
Don't worry.
- Good evening, Ronnie. - Good evening.
Your script.
Thank you.
- Allen. - Hmm?
Now that Jonathan is dead,
I think the least you can do is tell the truth.
Well, if you feel so strongly about it, why don't you?
Because I gave Jonathan a promise not to expose you.
- What was his object? - I don't know.
Whatever it is, I have to respect it.
I'm sorry, Ronnie.
Well, I hope you enjoy your triumph.
And I hope it won't be too short-lived.
What do you mean?
You haven't heard about the autopsy?
Auto...
The police have reason to believe
that Jonathan may have been poisoned.
They've ordered an autopsy.
You look as though you know the result already.
You're on the air in five minutes, Mr. Allen.
Hello. Hello, Tom?
- Come in. - It's Mr. Allen.
Hello?
Alycia, I've just heard.
Now, listen to me, whatever you do, don't talk to the police.
I'm going to them myself after the broadcast.
No, darling!
I shall say that I quarrelled with him over the stories,
and saw the chance to put that stuff in his glass.
No, no Hugh.
Oh, I wanted it to happen as much as you did.
I knew you were going to do it. I could have stopped you.
But you did try.
- Mr Allen, they're waiting for you. - Right.
Alycia.
Hugh. Hugh, darling, no!
Hugh.
I'd like to see Mrs. Roach, please.
Inspector Thornton to see you, madam.
Show him in.
I have to inform you, madam,
that the autopsy ordered on your late husband
showed that he died from natural causes.
I shan't have to trouble you any more.
Good day, madam.
Hugh!
Pierce!
Madam?
What are you doing?
I was removing a stain from the carpet, madam.
I think the master must have dropped
his port wine glass before he died.
The Voice of Merrill, number 12.
Written and told by Hugh Merrill.
I decided to kill Jeanne not through jealousy,
an emotion I've always deplored,
but because of the insults she levelled at my intelligence.
That I could never forgive.
Her excuses, her miserable protestations of innocence,
would scarcely have annoyed me,
had they not been accompanied by the impertinent assumption
that I would accept them.
How dare she.
I had known about Jeanne's lover for some time.
He was a writer, like myself.
Oh, please hurry.
I laid my plans very carefully.
I parked my car some distance from the block of flats,
and walked the rest of the way.
I'd passed no one I knew.
It was dark when I reached the street where she lived,
the kind of night that suited me well.
Cold and black, with few people abroad.
I walked slowly, measuring my tread,
and feeling the pain of my aching heart.
I made my way into the front entrance boldly,
because I knew the porter would not be there.
I had thought even of so lowly a creature
as the night porter.
Jeanne was barely important enough to kill,
she was certainly not important enough to hang for.
As I drew near to her room
and heard the sound of cheap music that so typified her.
I felt only one moment to recoil, and then it vanished,
at this last glimpse of feminine complacency.
Is that you, darling?
I looked at the vase she had knocked over,
and the water dripping into the open handbag.
And somehow, I caught from this
the strange sense of foreboding for someone.
I wondered if it was for me.
You've been listening to the voice of Merrill,
written and told by Hugh Merrill.
A vase, with water dripping into an open handbag.
- Good heavens... - He has told an almost
parallel story with the Bridges murder.
And he's disclosed something in her flat
that only the murderer, apart from ourselves,
could possibly have known about.
The Voice of Merrill's got some explaining to do.
BBC.
Mr. Allen.
- I was coming to see you. - Oh, were you?
We found your story very interesting.
Based on fact, wasn't it?
- On personal experience. - No.
Are you sure? You wrote it, didn't you?
No, I didn't write it. It was written...
It was written by Jonathan Roach.
This gentleman can prove it.
Are you prepared to say
Hugh Allen did not write the story he's just broadcast?
Well?
No, I'm not prepared to say.
Mrs. Roach can prove I didn't write it.
In that case, we better have a word with her.
Do you mind coming along to the Yard?
You too, sir, if you don't mind.
Could I have your autograph, please, Mr. Merrill?
Me too, please.
Thank you.
Thanks very much.
Hugh!
Don't say anything to them.
Everything was all right after all.
Of course.
Keep trying... my love.
God bless you.
There's something I should explain to you, Inspector.
All right.