Not Quite Perfect AFRS Myst Phs

Hello, creeps. Yes, this is private Z, opening the doors of the Mystery Playhouse again. You know, there are many types of crime and detective story, but one of the favorites concerns the perfect crime motive.

A crime so clever, so foolproof, that the criminal will not be detected. But man's not a robot. He's a delicately balanced mechanism, The emotions sometimes betray him. Such is Stanley Morgan, whom you meet tonight in the story.

Not quite perfect. Long after midnight in a New York apartment, a man hunches over a typewriter. Nearby on the floor lies the still body of a woman. The veins on the man's forehead stand distended and his hands are wet with sweat and he writes.

I, Stanley Morgan, make this confession of my own free will. All my life had been a coward, Nefalia. The only thing I ever succeeded at was murder. I'd once thought of myself as a potential playwright.

And yet this story here is the first and last I'll ever write. And this wouldn't have been written if I had not met Esther. Lovely, desirable, exciting woman. She was everything a man could want a woman.

and she was practical and materialistic too. Oh, Stanley, you're so amusing. Charging around like a white knight, begging me to marry you and share your poverty. Don't laugh at me, Esther. I'm not a complete fool.

I know we've got to have money to be happy. A lot of money. But even if we had money, Stanley, you need a divorce, first. And your wife will never give you one. Well, anyway, promise me you won't marry Bob Randall.

Not this year, darling. I might have parted with my wife Margaret many years ago if her father had died and left a fortune in trust for her. Living under the spell of all that money destroyed any ambition I might have had, and heaven knows, there'd be a playwright you, you gotta have ambition.