Strange Tales (Old Time Radio)
Jul 6, 2026 · 0 min · 11 segments
This week on Strange Tales, Appointment With Fear brings us a story by John Dickson Carr titled, *The Speaking Clock*. This episode aired April 13, 1944…
[dramatic instrumental music] [spooky instrumental music] This is the story of a man who commits murder and gets away with it.
Does the idea shock you? Do you believe that justice must always be done? But you and I needn't be cynics to know that justice is very seldom done in this world.
Innocence flinches.
Guilt is childish and bland.
Innocence is imposed upon.
Guilt can compass all things, even a successful murder.
And I know this because, [laughs] because...
Because I was the murderer, you ask? They would hardly tell you that if you inquired at Scotland Yard.
I was the victim.
[dramatic instrumental music] In Bond Street, not far from Piccadilly, there used to be an establishment which, in a less fashionable part of town, would have been called a shop.
On the windows, in letters as discreet as a visiting card, were the words, "Charles Markham, antique dealer." 40 years ago, far back it takes us, this antique shop, despite deep carpets and crystal chandeliers, was a dingy place.
It rustled with the ticking of 100 clocks.
It was shadowed by damascened armor and the colors of tall tapestries.
And late one summer night, when the shutters had long been closed on the windows, a four-wheeler drew up at that door in the gas-lit street.
[door opening and closing] That's all, cabbie.
You needn't wait.
Very good, miss.
Good night.
Good night.
[clock ticking] [doorbell ringing] He must be here.
He must be.
[doorbell ringing] I won't go back to that place.
I'll kill myself first.
Now, look here, old man, you needn't...
Hey.
[dramatic instrumental music] [spooky instrumental music] This is the story of a man who commits murder and gets away with it.
Does the idea shock you? Do you believe that justice must always be done? But you and I needn't be cynics to know that justice is very seldom done in this world.
Innocence flinches.
Guilt is childish and bland.
Innocence is imposed upon.
Guilt can compass all things, even a successful murder.
And I know this because, [laughs] because...
Because I was the murderer, you ask? They would hardly tell you that if you inquired at Scotland Yard.
I was the victim.
[dramatic instrumental music] In Bond Street, not far from Piccadilly, there used to be an establishment which, in a less fashionable part of town, would have been called a shop.
On the windows, in letters as discreet as a visiting card, were the words, "Charles Markham, antique dealer." 40 years ago, far back it takes us, this antique shop, despite deep carpets and crystal chandeliers, was a dingy place.
It rustled with the ticking of 100 clocks.
It was shadowed by damascened armor and the colors of tall tapestries.
And late one summer night, when the shutters had long been closed on the windows, a four-wheeler drew up at that door in the gas-lit street.
[door opening and closing] That's all, cabbie.
You needn't wait.
Very good, miss.
Good night.
Good night.
[clock ticking] [doorbell ringing] He must be here.
He must be.
[doorbell ringing] I won't go back to that place.
I'll kill myself first.
Now, look here, old man, you needn't...
Hey.
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