Amazing Death of Mrs. Putnam

I was afraid for a moment that you had forgotten our appointment. Why, you almost scared me to death. And that won't do after all the pains I've taken to scare you.

You remember me, don't you? On your host, on behalf of the makers of Carter's Fills, and you ought to be my guest tonight in the mysterious circle of the inner sanctum. Come in, friends, won't you?

Thank you. Take that chair with the fire. Good. And you'll become accustomed to the dim light in a moment. Uh, uh, uh, don't get too comfortable because we'll have you out of that chair with prunes, with chills, shivers, and quivers.

Hahaha. You're on our side, aren't you? You better be. But don't worry. Instead of the art criminals haunting us, we're going to haunt them. We're going to scare the daylights out of them. Yeah. Welcome, then, friend.

Welcome to the mysterious circle of the dinner-thinking. And listened with weird and stranger tale as ever was told. The amazing death of Mrs. Putnam. The night is dismal. A light shines uncertainly in the room of a large gloomy mansion.

Suddenly a sobbing hysterical woman slams the door shut, rushes to the telephone. Get the police quick. The police quiet quietly. Oh, hurry. Please, hurry. Hello? Hello? This is Mrs. Putnam. You've got to see me from them. They'll kill me.

What's that telephone? They're going to kill me. I'm being murdered. Where are you? This is Jeff Hanson for the set quarters. Place the call, the jump came through to it. Hurry! That's funny, Jeff. You hear what I heard, Porty?

I sure did, unless we're both having the same dream. Oh, the Porty? Yes? Yes, operator. Hanson, Jeff Hanson. You have? That's well. Right, the thumb, Porty. Yes, you. Yes. The Putnam house. Maple Street. Thank you very much.