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The Thrill Hunter No. K

The Thrill Hunter

No. K

circa 1942



CAST:

ANNOUNCER

GEORGE MORTIMER, American

WARBURTON, British

RASUL

GRACE, British

CLYDE, British / VOICE, of Brother Tserin

LAMA

NATIVE VOICE, unintelligible

and various other VOICES




... The following script is one in "The Thrill Hunter" series, stories told by George Mortimer, ex-cowpuncher, ex-actor, ex-Texas Ranger, ex-member of the French Foreign Legion, ex-almost anything you can think of. Working with him was interesting, but it took time. George couldn't sit down with you in your office and tell you a yarn. Office furnishings somehow made him nervous and threw him into a mental blackout. To get a good yarn out of George, you had to hang around with him, drink with him, and listen. In the course of twenty-six weeks I picked up some very swell yarns and some very large hangovers. Now go on with the story.

--John Eugene Hasty, 1943





THRILL HUNTER . . . .  . No. K


30 Minute--Dramatic

__________________


ANNOUNCER: The Thrill Hunter!


(ORCHESTRA . . . THEME)


ANNOUNCER: George Mortimer--world adventurer, ex-Texas Ranger, and former member of the French Foreign Legion--relates another tale from his colorful career. And this evening his story's about--what would you call it, George? Magic?


MORTIMER: Well--I don't know whether you'd call it magic, or something else--although I did study magic in India, with Raymond, the Great. And I've seen a lot of things that looked--well, supernatural. But after you investigated long enough, you found out they were all tricks. A lot of them mighty clever--but tricks just the same. During the time I was in India, I never saw but one thing that couldn't be explained. And that's the story I'm going to tell you. Now you probably picture India as a tropical country--jungles--man-eating tigers--cobras--intense heat--and the rest of it. I'm going to give you another picture of India. A mountain--north of the city of Tassgong--an elevation of about eighteen thousand feet--where even in the summertime the roads--if they can be called roads--are thick with snow. Over this pass, one afternoon, came a party of English people. Three of them--in addition to the servants. They were an official whom I'm going to call Warburton--his wife--and a young theological student. This fellow Warburton was a petty, officious, bullying sort--a type of public official whom you run across in almost every country in the world. He had planned to cover a certain distance by nightfall--(FADING)--and now, although it was late afternoon--


SOUND: (HOOFS PLODDING THROUGH SNOW . . . FAINT TINKLE OF A BELL . . . HOOFS STOP--EXCITED MURMURS OF NATIVES OFF MIKE)


WARBURTON: Rasul! Rasul! What in damnation is the matter up there? (CLUCKS TO HIS HORSE)


SOUND: (ONE HORSE AT WALK--MURMURS FADING IN)


WARBURTON: What's the matter here? Get that horse onto its feet.


SOUND: (MURMURS STOP)


RASUL: I think it has hurt its leg, sahib.


WARBURTON: Nonsense! It's just lazy, that's all. (DISMOUNTS) Here--give me that bridle. Come on--get up here--get up.


SOUND: (CLATTER OF HOOFS AS HORSE ATTEMPTS TO RISE)


WARBURTON: Get up here! Go on--(KICKS HORSE)--go on--. You lazy beggars--get him on his feet.


SOUND: (MURMURS--CLATTER OF HOOFS AS BEFORE)


GRACE: (FADING IN) But Howard--he's trying to get up.


WARBURTON: You go back where you belong, will you? I'll attend to this. Come on--get up!


CLYDE: The poor beast is hurt, Warburton. Look how that leg is twisted under him.


WARBURTON: M'm'm. . . . I suppose we'll have to take the pack off of him, and put it on the other horses.


GRACE: But Howard, they're overloaded already--we've come such a way since morning--and they're so tired. Can't we camp here?


WARBURTON: We're going as far as Tahno tonight.


CLYDE: I don't see how we can do it--with a lame horse.


WARBURTON: Then we'll shoot him.


GRACE: Oh, no--no, Howard--you--you couldn't do that. You--


WARBURTON: Will you keep out of this, please? I fancy I can attend to it, without your advice. Rasul!


RASUL: Yes, sahib.


WARBURTON: Have your men get that pack off of him, and distributed on the other horses.


RASUL: Yes, sahib. (GIVES INSTRUCTIONS IN CHINESE TO OTHERS)


SOUND: (NATIVES MURMUR--CONTINUES AS BACKGROUND)


CLYDE: I tell you you're making a mistake, Warburton. It's no use killing a horse, just because he's gone a bit lame. He'll probably be all right in the morning.


WARBURTON: Rasul--bring me my rifle.


GRACE: No, no--Howard--please--please, dont--


WARBURTON: Rasul--get my rifle.


RASUL: Yes, sahib.


CLYDE: Mrs. Warburton--perhaps, we'd better go back and wait.


SOUND: (MURMERS GRADUALLY FADE . . . FAINT WIND--CONTINUES AS BACKGROUND)


CLYDE: (FADING IN) Look how the color of the peaks have changed in the sunset. I wonder how many sunsets there have been since the world began. They must be very old--and very wise--these mountains. What if they could talk and tell us what they know--the very secret of life, itself.


GRACE: I've heard that they can impart their knowledge to those fitted to receive it.


CLYDE: They are like life, itself--changing, yet changeless--birth--and death--and re-birth--the eternal round of the Wheel.


SOUND: (SLIGHT PAUSE IN DIALOG--WIND SWELLS A TRIFLE, THEN FADES TO LOW MURMUR)


GRACE: Clyde.


CLYDE: Yes.


GRACE: You love me, don't you?


CLYDE: Why--why, I--!


GRACE: Clyde--we must tell the truth--both of us. I have to know--now. We're--we're out of the world, somehow, up here. We don't have to lie and dissemble any more. We don't have to act according to its petty deceits. We're--beyond all that . . . Clyde--I love you.


CLYDE: Grace!


GRACE: Do you love me?


CLYDE: Yes! I do! Oh--I can't tell you that. I don't dare! I'd be a cad--a coward--!


GRACE: Those are only words, Clyde--little, hypocritical words, with which we make a chain to bind ourselves. You aren't a cad--you know you aren't. You're fine--and strong. Oh, I want you to be strong. I want you to be strong enough to break your chains--and my chains--and take me away.


CLYDE: You--you mean away from Roger?


GRACE: Yes. I think the mountains have imparted to me some of their knowledge--the knowledge that we have a right to be happy--that our lives are our own. I've never realized it before. I've only thought what I was told to think--done what I was told to do.


CLYDE: Oh, you--you can't be in earnest.


GRACE: But I am--I am--dreadfully in earnest. Clyde--you're not afraid, are you?


CLYDE: Not for myself. I don't matter. But you do--you matter more than anything in the world. And you can't--you can't do it. You couldn't face a scandal. You couldn't stay here--you couldn't go back to England--


GRACE: We wouldn't have to. We could go to America. No one would know us--no one would ever find out. And we could be so happy there.


CLYDE: Yes--we could.


GRACE: Roger will be returning to Calcutta soon. We'll wait till he goes--then we'll leave. We can catch a boat at--


CLYDE: No--no, that won't do. We've got to be honest in this thing. We can't sneak away like thieves. I'll tell him.


GRACE: Oh, no--!


CLYDE: Yes. Don't you see--we've got to. We must face him--and tell him. It's like you say--we don't have to lie and dissemble any more. I'm going to tell him--tonight--as soon as we make camp.


LAMA: Have you lost your way, my children?


GRACE: (GIVES A LITTLE SCREAM)


LAMA: I am sorry if I frightened you.


CLYDE: Why, Grace--it's a Lama--from the monastery. . . .


LAMA: It is getting dark--and you were so busily engaged that you did not see me approaching, I fear. Have you lost your way?


CLYDE: No--oh, no. Our party is on ahead. We are going to Tahno.


LAMA: To Tahno?


CLYDE: Yes--yes, we'll camp there tonight.


LAMA: You cannot go on. It is getting dark. You will lose your way.


CLYDE: Oh, we have guides--and we've been over this trail before.


LAMA: One must pass over the same trail many times before one knows it. And in these mountains after dark, one comes upon strange, twisting paths--and hears unholy voices.


CLYDE: Oh--I fancy we'll have no difficulty.


LAMA: The wrong path is always difficult. For out of today, tomorrow is made. And if today is error, tomorrow will be error--and the next--and the next--until the end of time. Universes decay--and out of their elements new universes are formed--and the wanderer must continue to wander.


CLYDE: Uh--yes--quite right, sir.


LAMA: Good night, my children. Om mani padme hum.


CLYDE: Good night.


SOUND: (WIND ALONE FOR INTERVAL)


GRACE: Clyde--where did he come from?


CLYDE: Why, up the trail there, I suppose.


GRACE: No, he didn't. I was looking at the trail all the time. There was no one near us. And all of a sudden he was here--standing here--. Who was he?


CLYDE: Why, I told you--a Lama--a Buddhist priest--there must be a monastery near here.


GRACE: There isn't. There isn't a monastery within fifty miles of here. You know there isn't.


CLYDE: Well, those chaps go long distances, at times--and walk with almost incredible rapidity. I've heard it said that they induce a sort of hypnosis--practically hypnotize themselves--and travel by what amounts to walking in one's sleep. When they wake up, they're there. (WITH A LITTLE LAUGH) Not a half bad way of traveling.


GRACE: And what was he talking about--what did he mean?


CLYDE: Why, you heard him--he thought we might be lost--warned us about getting off the trail.


GRACE: I don't think he meant that.


CLYDE: What else could he have meant?


GRACE: He asked if we were lost--if we were taking the wrong path.


CLYDE: Yes, of course--


GRACE: He said out of today, tomorrow is made--and out of tomorrow the next--and the next--until the end of time. (MUSING) Until the end of time.


WARBURTON: (FAINTLY) Grace! Grace! Clyde!


CLYDE: (CALLING) Coming!


GRACE: You'll--you'll tell him?


CLYDE: As soon as we make camp. (CHANGE OF VOICE AND FADING) By Jove--its commencing to snow.


SOUND: (BACKGROUND--LIGHT STAMPING OF HOOFS--CASUAL TINKLE OF BELL)


WARBURTON: Where in damnation have you been? Don't you see it's getting dark?


GRACE: We were only around the bend of the trail.


WARBURTON: I've been shouting for you for the last ten minutes.


GRACE: We came as soon as we heard you.


WARBURTON: Huh! Don't think I don't see through your little trick. Trying to delay us so we'll have to camp here. Well, we're not camping here. We're not stopping till we get to Tahno--if it takes all night.


GRACE: You don't know how anxious I am to get to Tahno.


SOUND: (WIND BEGINS TO INCREASE)


CLYDE: Yes--we're very anxious.


WARBURTON: Well, don't stand there, Grace--get on your horse. Looks like we're in for a blizzard. Rasul!


RASUL: (OFF) Yes, sahib.


WARBURTON: Start 'em off. (LIGHT STAMPING AS WARBURTON MOUNTS) Whoa--whoa, you--


RASUL: (OFF--GIVES ORDERS IN CHINESE TO START)


SOUND: (STAMPING OF HOOFS--LIGHT JANGLE OF BELL--MEN SHOUTING. . . . STAMPING SETTLES DOWN TO A STEADY PLODDING--RHYTHMIC JANGLE OF BELL. THIS ALONE FOR INTERVAL--THEN WIND AND HOOFS GRADUALLY FADING)


MORTIMER: Two hours later. Pitch black darkness. A howling, shrieking storm.


SOUND: (WIND--ALONE FOR INTERVAL--PLODDING HOOFS AND JANGLE OF BELL FADING IN AND CONTINUING AS BACKGROUND)


GRACE: I--I can't go on any farther.


CLYDE: We've got to go on. We've got to reach Tahno. Everything depends on that--the rest of our lives.


GRACE: I know. . . . Where is he now?


CLYDE: Up at the head of the column with Rasul.


GRACE: This doesn't look like the trail, Clyde. We're lost. I know we're lost. We've taken the wrong path.


CLYDE: We're all right. In this storm, you can't recognize the trail. (SLIGHT PAUSE) We're taking the only path there is to take.


SOUND: (HOOFS AND STORM ALONE FOR INTERVAL. HOOFS STOP. FAINT BABBLE OF NATIVES)


GRACE: Why are they stopping? Oh, why don't they go on?


CLYDE: Wait a moment.


WARBURTON: (FAINTLY) Hello back there!


CLYDE: Yes.


WARBURTON: (FADING IN) You'll have to dismount and lead your horses.


CLYDE: What's up?


WARBURTON: The trail ahead runs over a ledge, and it's covered with snow. We don't know how wide it is. Somebody has to go over it on foot first.


CLYDE: (DISMOUNTS) I'll go.


GRACE: (OFF MIKE--HALF WHISPERING IT) No! Clyde!


WARBURTON: Better let Rasul do it. This wind is blowing a gale, and there might not be much of a ledge there.


CLYDE: (FADING) Let's have a look at it anyhow.


GRACE: Wait. (DISMOUNTS) Wait--I'm coming, too.


SOUND: (MURMURS FADING IN)


WARBURTON: (FADING IN) There it is. Covered with snow, it's hard to tell whether it's wide enough to cross. I wouldn't attempt it. If you lost your footing--well, there wouldn't be much left of you by the time you hit the bottom of the canyon.


CLYDE: There'll be no danger if I take a rope, and keep close to the inside edge. . . . Rasul--have you got a rope there?


GRACE: (FADING IN) Clyde--you--you mustn't. We'll wait till daylight. You mustn't--


CLYDE: We've got to get to Tahno.


WARBURTON: You keep out of this, Grace.


GRACE: Oh!


CLYDE: All right--(FADING)--wish me luck. (PAUSE--RATHER FAINTLY) It seems wide enough here. (FADING) Wait a moment now.


(PAUSE)


WARBURTON: How is it there?


CLYDE: (VERY FAINT) Still wide enough for the horses. . . . Wait a moment.


GRACE: Roger! Look up there! Roger!


WARBURTON: What?


GRACE: A snow slide. Tell him to come back. Tell him--


WARBURTON: Good lord! Clyde! Clyde! He doesn't hear me. Clyde!


SOUND: (NATIVES MURMUR)


WARBURTON: Come back! Clyde! For--


GRACE: (SCREAMS)


SOUND: (SNOW SLIDE ... IT SWELLS TO A MIGHTY ROAR . . . THEN FADES)


ORCHESTRA: (IN FULL . . . THEN FADE OUT)


MORTIMER: I talked with Mrs. Warburton many times after what happened that night in the mountains. I was a frequent visitor at the Warburton home . . . sort of a friend of the family--that is, if anyone could be a friend of a selfish, egotistical man like Warburton. But we seldom spoke of that morning when I first met the Warburtons--that morning when riding over the pass with my own party I came upon them, and they told me that a man named Clyde Jerome had fallen over the edge of a cliff. One evening, I sat in their home, talking to Warburton, and listening to Mrs. Warburton at the piano--


SOUND: (PIANO SOFTLY BEHIND FOLLOWING)


WARBURTON: --That sort of thing might go in England, but not here in India. The white man's burden, you know. We've got to maintain decency and dignity, or the whole country will go to pot. I say--care for a spot of brandy?


MORTIMER: Oh, I don't mind if I do.


WARBURTON: If you'll pardon me, I'll get it. (FADING) I don't trust the servants with the key.


SOUND: (DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES. PIANO ALONE FOR INTERVAL--STOPS ABRUPTLY)


MORTIMER: Don't stop. That sounds mighty pretty.


GRACE: (OFF) Oh, I'm tired of playing. I'd rather talk. Mr. Mortimer, have you ever been to the Buddhist monastery near Tawang?


MORTIMER: Well, not exactly, ma'am--I've ridden past it. Why?


GRACE: I want to go there--want to see it. Roger is so busy that--that he can't possibly get away to go with me. I wonder if you'd mind.


MORTIMER: Why, I'd be glad to.


GRACE: You see--I--I have a rather special reason for going. Oh, I know you'll think it's silly, but--but--. Well, when Clyde Jerome was killed--something strange happened to me. I--I haven't told it to anyone, but--you remember, you came riding up the trail--(FADING)--just--just after they'd found him.


(FLASH BACK)


SOUND: (HOOFS AND JANGLE OF BELL--FADING IN)


WARBURTON: (FAINTLY) I say--hello, there!


MORTIMER: Wait a minute, Jan. . . . Whoa! . . . Whoa!


SOUND: (HOOFS AND BELL STOP)


WARBURTON: (FADING IN) I wonder if you could give us a little help. We've had a rather nasty accident up ahead. Chap went over the edge of the cliff.


MORTIMER: Fell!


WARBURTON: Swept off the ledge by a snow slide.


MORTIMER: I'll be right with you. (DISMOUNTS) Is--is he--?


WARBURTON: Dead. Tremendous drop. Happened last night. We weren't able to do anything until daylight. Oh--my name's Warburton.


MORTIMER: Mine's Mortimer. Wait--I'll have some of my boys come up.


WARBURTON: That won't be necessary. My own boys have found him at the foot of the cliff. They're bringing him up now. I'd like to have you--well, as a witness. I'm the only white man in the party.


MORTIMER: A friend of yours?


WARBURTON: An acquaintance--chap named Clyde Jerome.


MORTIMER: You stay here with the horses, Jan.


WARBURTON: (FADING) You see, it happened last night in the storm. We were riding up the trail--


SOUND: (MURMUR OF NATIVE VOICES FADING IN--GRACE, CRYING SOFTLY)


RASUL: (SHOUTS IN CHINESE) Over this way--bring him over this way.


NATIVE VOICE: (VERY FAINTLY, SHOUTS SOMETHING UNINTELLIGIBLE)


WARBURTON: (FADING IN) Hurry--can't you?


RASUL: We are hurrying, sahib. The trail up the cliff is slippery. (SHOUTS IN CHINESE) No--no--not that way. Over here.


NATIVE VOICE: (VERY FAINTLY--SHOUTS BACK AS BEFORE)


MORTIMER: Here--let me have a hold of that rope.


WARBURTON: Better let them do it.


MORTIMER: That's all right. . . . Now! . . . Again! . . . Wait--tell that fellow down there to brace himself against that boulder.


RASUL: (SHOUTS THESE INSTRUCTIONS IN CHINESE)


MORTIMER: All right, once more. . . . Now! . . . Again! . . . Again!


SOUND: (MURMUR OF NATIVES CONTINUES AS BACKGROUND)


MORTIMER: Get him under the arms there, while I hang onto this rope.


RASUL: I have him, sahib.


MORTIMER: All right, once more. . . . There we are.


GRACE: (FADING IN) Clyde--Clyde! Oh--Clyde. (SOBS)


WARBURTON: You'd better get back.


GRACE: No, no--I want to see him--I want to see him.


MORTIMER: If I was you, ma'am--


GRACE: I've--I've got to! Clyde! . . .


MORTIMER: She's fainted.


WARBURTON: (FAINTLY) Rasul--bring some water.


MORTIMER: (FAINTER) Here-- We'll take her over there.


SOUND: (MURMUR OF NATIVES FADES ENTIRELY OUT--WIND FADES IN AND CONTINUES AS BACKGROUND. GONG SOUNDS FAINTLY. ITS REVERBERATION SWELLING AND FADING SOFTER EACH TIME UNTIL THE SOUND FADES ENTIRELY)


CLYDE: Grace. (A PAUSE) Grace--don't you hear me? I'm calling to you.


GRACE: Clyde! Clyde! Where are you? I can't see you. It's so dark--dark. Where are you?


CLYDE: Here, Grace.


GRACE: Give me your hand--stretch out your hand. It's so dark.


CLYDE: No. I can't touch you. You must listen to me, Grace. I have only a little time to talk. Can you hear me?


GRACE: Yes--yes!


CLYDE: I loved you, Grace.


GRACE: Oh, Clyde--where are you? Why can't you come to me?


CLYDE: I loved you--but I was wrong in loving you.


GRACE: No, no! No, no! It wasn't wrong. And we could have been so happy--so happy.


CLYDE: We would never have been happy. I know that now. Happiness could never have come from wrong. It was better that I died.


GRACE: No, no!


CLYDE: The error of one day must be paid for in the next--and out of today, tomorrow is built--and the next--and the next--unto the end of time.


GRACE: Can't I see you--can't I ever see you again? Clyde! Clyde!


CLYDE: I must go now.


GRACE: No--not yet--not yet!


CLYDE: Goodbye, Grace.


GRACE: Don't go. Don't. Let me look at you--let me see you just once more. Oh, Clyde--isn't there anything--anything left for me?


CLYDE: (FAINTLY) Can you hear me, Grace?


GRACE: Yes--yes, I can.


CLYDE: Go to the monastery near Tawang. (FAINTER) Goodbye.


GRACE: Clyde! Another moment. Clyde!


CLYDE: (VERY FAINTLY) The monastery near Tawang.


GRACE: (SOBS)


SOUND: (GONG SOUNDS AS BEFORE--WIND GRADUALLY FADES OUT)


(SLIGHT PAUSE)


MORTIMER: (ON CUE FROM CONTROL ROOM) Now a woman might faint, and come out of it with the impression that she had talked to a dead man. There is nothing particularly unusual about that. And, of course, there was no question that Clyde Jerome was dead. As I say, it was some months after the accident that Mrs. Warburton told me about this, and asked me to go to the Buddhist monastery with her. I didn't have any notion what she intended to do there--but, anyway, I went. It was late afternoon when we arrived--a Buddhist religious ceremony was taking place.


SOUND: (BEATING OF TOM-TOMS FOR AN INTERVAL--THEN FADE SOMEWHAT AS THE LAMA SAYS--)


LAMA: Om mani padme hum.


VOICES: (IN RESPONSE) Om mani padme hum!


SOUND: (DRUMS SWELL AND CONTINUE ALONE FOR INTERVAL--THEN FADE AS BEFORE.)


LAMA: Om mani padme hum.


VOICES: Om mani padme hum!


SOUND: (DRUMS SWELL AND CONTINUE ALONE FOR INTERVAL--GONG SOUNDS--DRUMS STOP)


(MURMUR OF VOICES)


GRACE: Come on--it's over now.


(MURMUR OF VOICES GRADUALLY FADES)


GRACE: Lama. . . .


LAMA: Yes--Mem-sahib Warburton.


GRACE: Why--why, how did you know I'm--?


LAMA: We sent for you.


GRACE: But I--I don't understand. I received no message from you. I--


LAMA: When the proper time had run its course, we sent for you--and you came. And you, sahib--you are from a far-away country. And you will return there soon.


MORTIMER: Why, yes--yes, I'm going back next--. Say, how did you know--?


LAMA: That is well--for what you will hear today is best not to be repeated in this country. You will come this way.


SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS . . . FADING)


(CHANGE ACOUSTICAL CHARACTERISTICS)


SOUND: (HEAVY DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES)


LAMA: This corridor is dark. If you will follow closely behind me--(FADING)--this way.


SOUND: (HARP . . . FAINTLY . . . DISSONANT CHORDS. . . . IT FADES OUT)


GRACE: I--I thought I heard music--jangling--out of tune.


LAMA: That was the echo of yourself, mem-sahib. Wait here in the chapel. I will send Brother Tserin to you. (FADING) He will be here in a moment.


SOUND: (HEAVY DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES)


GRACE: Mr. Mortimer--did you hear that music?


MORTIMER: Why, no--I didn't hear anything.


GRACE: I--I wish we hadn't come.


SOUND: (HEAVY DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES)


GRACE: Wait!


SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS . . . SLOWLY FADING IN)


VOICE: I am Brother Tserin.


GRACE: Yes-- Oh, yes.


VOICE: Mem-sahib, you are at war with your life--you wish to change that which cannot be changed. For today is made out of yesterday--and yesterday cannot be altered.


GRACE: I--I don't understand. What do you mean?


VOICE: You were in love with a man, and now--


GRACE: Now he is dead.


VOICE: Now he is in another phase--another plane--of existence. He must live out his life on that plane as he lived it out here--as you must live out your life here.


GRACE: But why--why do you tell me this?


VOICE: Because you refuse to let him go--you refuse to let him live out his life in another plane. You refuse to give him up--even though for you he does not exist any more. And because of that refusal, he is handicapped--retarded --held back. You must let him go. You must put him out of your mind--out of your thoughts.


GRACE: I could never do that. Never! What difference does it make? He is dead--dead! I saw him when they brought him up from the bottom of the cliff--cold and white in death.


VOICE: There is no death--a man is born and dies--and is born and dies--and the wheel turns eternally.


GRACE: I don't believe that. He is dead--death took him from me. But I won't let his memory go--it's all I have!


VOICE: Even though he wished you to release him?


GRACE: But he wouldn't--he wouldn't. He loved me.


VOICE: Mem-sahib, if he asked you to release him--?


GRACE: What do you mean? He is in his grave.


VOICE: And if I could bring him back from his grave?


GRACE: Oh, why do you talk like that? You are only tormenting me. He is dead.


VOICE: You have not answered my question, mem-sahib. If he should come and show himself to you--show himself as an appeal to you for his release--then would you believe? . . . Would you?


GRACE: (SLOWLY) Yes! Yes! If you could bring him out of the grave--if you could prove to me that he wants me to forget--then--then I would believe--then I would give him up.


VOICE: Grace.


GRACE: (CATCHES HER BREATH) That--that voice.


VOICE: Grace.


GRACE: No, no! You--you are trying to trick me. A trick of the voice--that's all! A trick!


VOICE: Grace--look at me.


GRACE: Come closer. I cannot see. In the dark I cannot-- Clyde! . . . Oh, Clyde!


SOUND: (ORCHESTRA . . . FADES IN ... UP . . . AND OUT)


MORTIMER: (ON CUE FROM CONTROL ROOM) The sun was still shining when we left the monastery and turned homeward. That was the last time I saw Mrs. Warburton--for, shortly afterwards, I went to England. So there's the story. I have no explanation for it. I don't even ask you to believe it. But I believe--I am certain--that the man we saw in the monastery was--Clyde Jerome.


SOUND: (ORCHESTRA ... UP TO FINISH)

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