Back for Christmas

Suss, Fence. And the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, William and Robson. We pause now in this gase of all seasons for a little murder. We interrupt the pleasing flow of hot warming greetings and ageless hymns and carols for a slight case of Exoricide.

We turn our attention from tinsel and gay ornaments and strings of colored lights to blood. as Herbert Marshall stars in Back for Christmas. The tale well calculated to keep you in. Happy Mrs. Carpenter? Deliriously, Professor Carpenter.

Well then how about another glass of champagne? Nothing goes better with a happy bride than a glass of bubbly. Nothing? How about a happy husband? That you have. To us? To us, forever. Donnie. Oh Herbert, I'm afraid it's all a dream and I'll wake up in a minute to find myself back in that

drab little bookshop in Leicester Street, searching for obscure volumes for absent-minded professors. So that's what you thought of me. Oh, not you, Herbert. You were different. I felt it the first time you came into the place.

Pre-monition, second sight. You knew at that minute, I suppose, that I would whisk you off to America and make you my wife. Well, not exactly. But I'm awfully glad you did. Do you think you like America?

I love it. I thought perhaps after this lecture tour is over, I might try to find a connection at some college or other and just stay on. What would you say to that? I say, wherever you are, it's where I want to be.

Now who in the world? Who is it? Bow boys. Just a minute? Yes, what is it? A letter, sir, or a Mrs. Carpenter. Mrs. Lippie have it. Yeah. Thank you, sir. letter for Mrs. Carpenter. Her but you were a widower, wouldn't you? I mean Hermione isn't still alive. Well, I don't know. But that letter, no one back in England knows that I'm