Broken Chain

I am the Whistler, and I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales, hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak.

And for another strange tale by the Whistler, each Wednesday evening at the same time, the Whistler brings you an unusual story of conflict and emotion. Tonight, the broken chain, but had first occurred to him six months ago.

And of course, he'd shut it a little and cast it out. Of course, Arnold Stanton, respectable businessman, citizen taxpayer, would be horrified at such an idea. So he went back to his routine and resolved never to let himself think about it again.

But in spite of him, the thought did come back two weeks later. Then only a week after that. Then it more frequent interval than till he found it popped into his head at least once every day.

It was worse on weekends, when he had to be with Evelyn all the time. When her helplessness, her utter dependence on him for everything, rose up and almost smothered him. By now the thought didn't seem so horrible anymore.

It had attained a kind of normal logical quality, and he found he liked to dwell on it, like a problem in mathematics. In short, Arnold Stanton was ready to murder his wife. Yes, Evelyn. Did you miss the bird?

Sam Moore drove me home. Oh, of course. It is Monday. Yes, Evelyn. It's Monday. Prior, darling. I think you've been working too hard. That's better. You know, we ought to take a little vacation a day or two.