Voice of Death

James, Dr. Weir. Good evening. Come in, won't you? Why, what's the matter? Who you've seen with the nerve is perhaps the cemetery outside this house is obtituted. But there are things far worse than cemeteries.

For instance, a woman with murder in her heart is in my story tonight. The story I call the voice of death. My story, the voice of death, begins in the snow-covered wilderness of Canada. In a high narrow canyon, a man and woman on skis sit resting on the trunk of a fallen tree, catching their breath.

Blanche, I can't tell you how sorry I am, and Uncle John didn't leave you or anything in us, Will. There's nothing to be sorry about, Gerald. After all, I was only your Uncle John second cousin.

Well, I only wished Jane and Dan had taken it as well. They certainly were downcast after the reading of the will this morning. Naturally. They were your uncles niece and nephew too, and they had hoped to share this day with you.

You can't blame them for being disappointed. No. I suppose not. We'd better be starting back to the lodge. I can see you're a little uneasy about being in this canyon. Well, isn't it a bit dangerous being here?

Look at the way the snow's piled up above us on both slopes of this canyon. There was a snow slide we'd be buried alive. This is that dangerous? Of course a loud noise, if someone shouting might start a slide.

Come on, love. There's some sort of scientific explanation for that, isn't there? I mean, vibration set up by the voice. Yes, that's right. I've bought and stood outside the mouth of the canyon and started snow slides in here by shouting.