Radio mirror (Nov 1937-Apr 1938)

CHARLES MARTIN Editor's Note: This is the second in this series of broadcasts presented m fiction form which are based on Thrill of the Week, the highlight of each Tuesday night Philip Morns program over the NBC-Red network. Written and directed on the air by Charles Martin. Thrill of the Week ^f * VZ 1£ "**' deSeWeS * »~«< ^d THOMAS CARMAN was working unusually late in his office. The president of a large western canning company doesn't often make a speech before he Prison Reform Society, and when he does probably ^ Pnson Reform Society doesn't expect him 0 a" ty\h n Suddenly Eva screamed. The faint light of the stars had gleamed on the steel blade Tom held. Then she heard a choking gasp. worth remembering. But Thomas Carman was a man who preferred, when he did anything, to do it well or not at all, so this afternoon he had ordered his secretary to get in several books on the subject, a handful of currentevents magazines, and all the different newspapers she could lay hands on. y He'd already gone methodically through the books and magazines making notes as he did so, and was now lookfare 3 Pf 6rf Heavy-set stolid, with a pale wide face and a neatly clipped white mustache, he was a picture a he <??['• rejP^ctable ™d self-respecting business man t?me S L ^ °Ver the sheet of newsprint. By this time, he knew exactly what he was looking for; the report ILLUSTRATED By OREN R. WAGGENER of a concrete case of prison brutality. Probably, he knew, he wouldn't find it, but the papers sometimes Publl!,n.e(J such things, and one would give his speech the added point it needed. Suddenly he leaned forward in interest. Judging from the headline, here was the very thing. "LIFER ACCUSES GUARDS OF BRUTALITY. "DALLAS, Texas— A Texas ranch owner, serving a lire term in the prison here,, today accused his guards ot mistreating and beating him. Doctors, visiting the man in the prison hospital, said that he may die of his injuries. "The prisoner, William C. Turner ..." Thomas Carman's hand, where it held the paper, began THE DRAMATIC BROADCAST STORY OF A MAN DOOMED TO DEATH FOR THE MURDER OF SOMEONE WHO STILL LIVED to shake; he read the line once more. His lips .soundlessly formed the words, "Bill Turner . . . Bill Turner . . ." over and over again. It couldn't be the Bill Turner he had known, so long ago! Quickly he read the remainder of the brief report, down to the last line of all. Then, his eyes staring in horrified amazement straight before him, he leaned back in his chair, pressing his trembling hand against his cheek, watching the peace of his life for the last twenty-two years crumble into chaos. Because there it was, right there in the paper: "Turner was convicted in 1914 of the murder of Thomas Carman, Texas rancher." fHEN they were growing up to. gether in that small Texas town, Tom Carman used to call Bill Turner "Fuzzy." It was a nickname that seemed to fit, somehow. Small and inoffensive, with a shock of silky straw-colored hair, he was the sort of boy you'd give a faintly derisive nickname to. Not that there was ever any harm in Fuzzy Turner. He just wasn't very bright. For instance, he had a passion for grapes. Once, when he was a kid, he'd been caught stealing some. He loved to see them hanging in rich, fat clusters from their stems, their smooth skins dusted with purple or green. As he grew older he used to tell Tom that the grapes were full of the earth's blood. Well it was a harmless enough delusion, and Fuzzy grew ud to be a good worker. He had a way with animals, he understood them, and when Tom became a man married a sirl from the North, and decided to go into the cattle business, he asked Fuzzy to join him in the venture. ••We're startin' small," he told (Continued on page 93)