1 The Hands of Death

The Sare Book.
Once again the keeper of the book is ready to unlock the ponderous volume in which is
recorded all the secrets and mysteries of mankind through the ages. All the lore
and learning of the ancients. All the strange and mystifying stories of the
past, the present, and the future.
Keeper of the book, what tale will you tell us this time?
First, I must unlock the great padlock which keeps the sealed book safe from praying eyes.
Now, what story shall I tell you? I have here tales of every kind. Tales of murder,
of madness, of dark deeds, and of events strange beyond all belief. Here's a tale
for you. A dark story of two brothers. One of them killed because he could not
help himself. The other one was interested in murder too, but in a very
different way. The title of the tale is The Hands of Death. Here is the tale as it is
written in the sealed book. It began in San Francisco on a night of thick
suffocating fog. A young man hurrying homeward turns a corner and bumps
abruptly into a huge figure striding toward him. Oh, excuse me. Fog is so thick
I didn't see you. It's all right. Tell me, do you live here? Here in San Francisco?
Why, well yes I do. Do you know where Edward Morlock lives now? Why, no I, no I
never heard of him. Now if you'll excuse me. Wait. But I've really got to get home.
I just want a light from your cigarette. Oh, of course. Here, I'll hold it for you.
Just hold it like that. What is it? What's the matter? Nothing. It's nothing.
It's my hands, isn't it? They frightened you. No, no it's, it's nothing. My hands, they
disgusted you. No, no of course not. They frightened you because they're not like
other people's hands. No, no, let go of me. Are you sure you that? I thought I was a
freak. Let go of me. You're crazy. I'm not crazy, do you hear? I'll show you. No, no.
I'll show you.
So, the Phantom Strangler is at work in San Francisco.
Jennings will be interested in that. Oh, yes, Jennings? The postman just brought
this package, sir. Oh, package, eh? Give it to me. Yes, sir. Now wheel me over to the
window. Of course, sir. This is close enough, Jennings. This package, I suppose you
noticed it came from my agent in New York. Yes, sir, I did. Then perhaps you can guess
what's in it, eh, Jennings? No, sir, but I have no doubt it's another nice addition
to your collection of objects having to do with famous murders, sir. Yes, indeed, a
nice addition. But speaking of murders, have you seen this morning's San
Francisco paper yet? No, sir. Well, look at these headlines. Read them out loud.
Playboy murdered in fog. Phantom Strangler breaks victim's neck. Then he's
back. Your brother Kane is back. Yes, back in San Francisco looking for me. And he'll
keep looking for you. And if he finds you, he'll kill you. Yes, he's dedicated his
life to that purpose. And all because he feels I cheated him out of his share of
the money our father left us. Oh, it's a great pity. Yes, sir. Of course, we know
the truth. Quite so. As you say, we know the truth. However, I hardly think Kane
will find me here. No, sir. So we'll forget about him. Jennings, tomorrow
afternoon a neighbor is dropping in for tea. A neighbor, sir? Yes, Inspector
Tennant, the head of the local police force. He's coming to view my little
collection. Of course, sir. He may bring a friend with him. So have plenty of
everything. Yes, sir. Well, that's all. What are you waiting for? Excuse me, sir. I
I wanted to speak to you about this check you gave me yesterday for my month's
salary. Well, what about it? It's for the usual 500, isn't it? Yes, sir. But you see,
Mr. Morlock, I've been thinking in these times I ought to have more. More? Just how
much do you consider your services worth, Jennings? Shall we say a thousand a
month? A thousand a month? It's quite reasonable, I think. After all, if I were
to tell the authorities all I know about your father's will and how it happened
that the entire fortune came to you and none to Kane. Never mind, Jennings. I'll
make out another check. Thank you, sir. But be careful you don't drive me too far
or you may regret it. Oh, I think I'll be safe enough, Mr. Morlock. After all, confined
to that wheelchair as you are, you need me. That's enough. I'll get your check
later. Yes, sir. Very good, Mr. Morlock. So you're getting greedy, are you, Jennings? I
must find some way to discourage you. Yes, some way to discourage you. The next
afternoon, Edward Morlock, the strange crippled collector of murder relics,
enjoyed himself thoroughly playing host to police inspector Tennant and Mr.
Norman Smith, the criminologist friend of his. He began by showing them his latest
acquisition, the one that had come by mail just the day before. And now,
gentlemen, look. A cashmere shawl? Yes, but no ordinary cashmere shawl. Until last
month, it was owned by two very old sisters who lived in a dingy house in
Baltimore. In Baltimore? Yes. You mean that's the shawl? Exactly, gentlemen. That's the
shawl with which the two old ladies were strangled by a sneak thief. Well, I'll be
darned. It's a prize worthy even of my collection, which is, I flatter myself, the
most complete of its kind ever assembled. Funny hobby, I'd call it. Every man to
his taste, Inspector. Murder is your business, but it's my hobby. Now, if you
just pull back those curtains there, the rest of my collection is on the shelves
behind them. These curtains? That's right. Well, I'll be jittery. This is most interesting, Mr.
Morlock. Yes, I knew you'd think so. Look there on the wall, an authentic headsman's
axe. It was used in the brutal murder of the Baron de Morley, an ancestor of mine
in the 15th century. And right there below it is the blood-stained dress
sworn by one of the victims of Jack the Ripper. And on the next shelf, you see... And so there, gentlemen, you have the
highlights of my collection. How do you like them? Well, that's the sort of thing
you're interested in. I'll say your collection does seem complete. It is,
indeed. In fact, there's really nothing missing except perhaps a murderer and a
victim. What did you say? That the only thing missing from your collection is a
murderer and a victim. The most interesting thought, Mr. Smith. And after
all, why not? Why not what? Oh, excuse me, Inspector, I was just thinking out loud.
Oh. Well, I'm afraid we got to go now, Morlock. Ain't, Smith? Yes, you're right,
Inspector. It's been a great pleasure having you, gentlemen. And I do hope
you'll call again. Yes, Mr. Morlock, you rang? Yes, Jennings, before you help me to bed, I want you to
mail these letters. Yes, sir. They are to major newspapers in San Francisco and
contain a message to be inserted in their personal columns. A message? Yes, to my
brother, Kane. We used to communicate this way in the past. But, uh, what? Here is a copy of the
message. You may read it. If the gentleman with the unusual hands will visit his
brother in Santa Villa, he will learn something to his advantage. You're
inviting him here? Exactly. You've decided to play safe, to trap him and turn him
over to the police? Oh, that's clever of you, Jennings. Yes, very clever. But you've
already proved you're clever, haven't you? Now just take these letters out and
mail them. And soon, quite soon, I think, we shall be seeing my dear brother Kane
again.
And now for the rest of my story. The hands of death, as it had
written in the sealed book. After Edward Morlock had put into effect his plan to
bring his brother Kane to him, he sat in his wheelchair and waited,
seeming much amused at some secret thought of his own. One day passed, then
two, then three, and then the newspapers carried strange new headlines.
Extra! Read all about it! Phantom Strangler in Los Angeles! Extra! Read all about it!
So brother Kane was in Los Angeles last night, Jennings. He's getting closer.
I shouldn't be surprised if he arrived here tonight. I don't like it. Oh,
nonsense, Jennings. You know you've got nothing to fear from Kane, unless of
course you're so careless as to make some remark about his hands. I know, but he
intends to kill you. I think I'll be able to control him. I want you to bring me a
glass of milk. Kane is very fond of milk. Glass of milk? With a triple dose of
sleeping powder in it. But I don't understand. Never mind, just do as I say.
What's that? I imagine that's Kane now. Kane? Here already? Quick, I'll let him in.
You get that glass of milk ready and bring it in when I ring. Yes, sir. When
you ring, sir. Oh, come in, Kane. I've unlocked the window.
Yes, I'll come in, Edward, now that I've found you at last.
Well, I'd hardly say you found me, Kane. I sent for you. It's the same thing. Now,
I'm where I can put my hands around your throat at last. I'm going to kill you.
Do you hear? Kill you. Kane, sit down. Sit down. I want to talk to you.
All right, I'll sit down. You can't change my mind. Tell me, Kane, how many people have you
killed since you got out of the penitentiary? Seven. Seven murders? They looked at my
hands. They were disgusted. I didn't kill them. My hands did. You hear? I didn't want
to kill them, but my hands killed them anyway. Why, of course I understand. Your
hands, your great-grandfather had hands like yours, you know, Kane. Don't talk
about it anymore. Of course not, Kane. But you must be hungry. I'll ring for
Jennings. He'll fix something for you. Yes, I am hungry. But please, Kane, don't
startle the poor fellow. You know, he's very much afraid of you. Why? Why is he
afraid of me? It's your hands. He says they give him nightmares. My hands give
him nightmares? You mustn't blame him, Kane. He can't help it. My hands give him
nightmares. Yes, sir. I brought you a glass of milk, Mr. Moorlach. My hands frighten me.
Oh, thank you, Jennings. Just put it down here. Yes, sir. Why are you looking at me
like that, Jennings? I'm not looking at you, Mr. Kane. You're looking at my hands.
They upset you. They give you nightmares. No, no, no, Mr. Kane, that's not true.
I'll show you. I'll give you a reason to be afraid of my hands. Mr. Moorlach, help me.
I'll show you. I'll show you. No, you're kidding. Help.
Oh, there. That'll teach you to be afraid of my hands. You can let him go now, Kane.
He's dead. My hands. They've killed again. Yes, he's dead. Oh, you've been very
wicked, Kane. I didn't want to kill him. My hands did it. My hands, you hear? You must
be quiet now, Kane. You must rest. I didn't want to kill him. Here, drink this milk,
then lie down and rest for a while. We'll talk some more in the morning. All right.
I'll drink it. I'll take care of everything. That's right, Kane.
Lie back and sleep. Sleep soundly. So you would blackmail me, would you, Jennings?
And you would kill me, would you, Kane? But I've been too clever for both of you.
Hello. Hello, police headquarters. Connect me with Inspector Tennant, please. I want to report a murder.
And so there you are, Inspector. Kane was in the penitentiary for assault with intent to kill.
Apparently, he escaped since then. He's been seeking for me, meaning to kill me.
Good heavens, more luck. Then he's the strangler who's been doing all these killings.
Yes, I'm afraid so. Oh, and I never guessed until he showed up tonight to kill me, because he thought,
you see, quite wrongly, that I had cheated him of his inheritance. Jennings bravely came to my
rescue and Kane throttled him. Then I tricked Kane into drinking some drugged milk and, well,
there you are. But why, you man? Why? Why did he kill all these people?
Because of his hands. His hands?
Well, you saw his hands. Tremendously strong. Not hands at all, really, but more like demon's claws.
Kane is morbidly sensitive about his deformity. When he feels someone is frightened by his hands,
he kills them just like that. It's a good thing we got him at last.
You can take him along now quite safely, but be sure to keep him well locked up,
Inspector, and don't let anyone get within reach of his hands.
A few weeks later, Kane Moorlach entered the lethal chamber of the state penitentiary.
Edward Moorlach, the condemned man's invalid brother, was one of the few spectators.
Kane Moorlach, with his last breath, cursed his brother and swore that someday he would be
avenged. Then he died. The following day, Inspector Tennant and his friend Norman Smith
paid Edward Moorlach another visit.
Oh, good evening, Inspector and Mr. Smith. It's very kind of you to stop by tonight.
We dropped in to see how you were making out, Mr. Moorlach. Thought maybe,
what with your trip yesterday and the shock that perhaps you might be...
No, no, no, no, no, I'm quite all right, thank you. What must be must be. You see,
I am a philosopher.
You have somebody looking after you?
Yes, Philippe, a Filipino boy, is taking poor Jennings place. Oh, and gentlemen,
that reminds me. I have something here that will interest you.
Something that'll interest us?
Yes, here on the table beside me, this jar.
Oh, a burial urn, isn't it, Mr. Moorlach?
Exactly, and in this burial urn are the ashes of poor murdered Jennings.
Jennings ashes?
Yes.
You mean you're going to keep them with you?
Oh, of course, gentlemen. I was very fond of Jennings, very fond. What more fitting
than that I should keep his ashes to remind me of his years of faithful service.
Besides, well, I can always look upon them as part of my little collection.
Your collection?
Yes, Inspector. It was Mr. Smith here who pointed out that complete as it was, it lacked
both a murderer and his victim. Well, here are the ashes of the victim.
Great heavens.
That's rather a unique item, Mr. Moorlach.
Yes, indeed, an item any collector would be proud of. But the really choice addition to
my collection is here in this box which just arrived. Would you care to look at it, gentlemen?
What in the world?
Well, I'm not an maiden guess. I'll lift the lid and see.
Merciful heavens, a pair of hands. The hands of your brother Kane.
Exactly.
I can't believe it.
But what is so strange about it, gentlemen, there are the ashes of a murdered victim.
Here are the unique and terrible hands that throttled him. Where in all the world will
you find a collector who can boast such items as these?
You must be mad.
Moorlach, did you plan all this from beginning to end?
Plan it, Mr. Smith. But how could I?
You're quite mad.
We could never prove it.
You could prove nothing. Nothing.
Inspector, I think we'd better go.
Yes. Come on, let's get out of here before I do something I'd regret. Call again any
time, gentlemen.
You'd be upset, weren't they, Kane?
Upset by your hands, your great, strong hands that are going to become the prize items of
my little collection, the distorted hands of a murderer.
Oh, how cold they are. And yet I can almost feel the murderer strengthen them still.
You wanted so badly to close your hands about my throat, didn't you, Kane? But it's too
late now. You're dead. And your hands are dead, too. Lifeless.
Would you like to see how your hands look at my throat here? I'll place them there for
you. See how nicely they fit around my neck. Just as if they...
No. No. Let go of me. Your hands. They're choking me. I can't breathe. I...
Morlock, what is it? Where are you?
Inspector, look. They're on the floor.
Good Lord. It's Morlock. No. No, it can't be. His brother's hands had clutched around
his throat. They've strangled him.
And that is the story of the hands of death as it is written in the sealed book. Edward
Morlock was quite dead when they found him with his brother's severed hands about his
throat. But they called his death heart failure. For who would believe that two dead hands
by themselves could wreak the vengeance that Kane Morlock swore to have before he died?
And perhaps it was heart failure. Perhaps Edward Morlock, thinking he felt the hands
move, died of sheer terror. You'll have to decide for yourself which is true. The answer
is not written here. But the sound of the great gong tells me I must lock the book once
again. One moment, keeper of the book. What story from the sealed book will you tell us
next time? Next time? Are you sure you want to know? Perhaps
my next story will be about you. For I have here all the stories that ever happened and
many that have not yet come to pass. But I'll find one for you in just a moment.
And now, keeper of the book, have you found the story
that you'll tell us next time? Yes, yes, I found one. It's a story about a man who
found the secret of immortality, of life everlasting, and how he tried to use it to make himself
master of the earth. The title of the tale is The King of the World. Be sure to be with
us again next time when the great gong heralds another strange and exciting story from the
sealed book. The sealed book written by Bob Arthur and David Kogan is produced and directed
by John McGregor.