 Tired of the everyday routine? Ever dream of a life of romantic adventure? Want to get away from it all? We offer you... Escape! Escape! Designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Escape! Brought to you by your Richfield Gasoline dealer and the Richfield Oil Corporation of New York. Marketers of Richfield Gasoline's motor oils and other petroleum products. Look for the Richfield Eagle on the cream and blue pumps. Tonight we escape to Berlin and the story of an occupation GI trying desperately to break through a web of death that is being spun around him. As Morton Fine and David Friedkin tell it in their exciting story, pass to Berlin. Greta was laughing. For me, there was no joy in it anymore. I looked the window at Berlin, spread out like a half-buried skeleton. Berlin after a war, shock-carved and jagged concrete, reflected in the window of Greta. Greta standing behind me with a drink in her hand. Oh, Schatz! Oh, Lipchen! Oh, drink, you drink! Oh, drink with me! So, you're born! No, no, forget it, Greta, will you? No, such a pretty name, Ed Sawyer. Such a handsome face, but such a frown. Now, come, come, make Greta laugh. That's all Greta wants, to laugh a little, to forget her loneliness. Sure, sure, laugh and forget, just the two of us. Me and Greta and let the rest of the world go by. Well, you made your loneliness, baby. You and Hitler. Oh, you! I'm funny, huh? A real funny man, huh? Oh, great, I should have met you a long time ago. Great, I like you, soldier boy. Well, nurse a broken heart, kid, because I'm leaving. Like that, leaving. Greta remembers when you said, love to her. Yeah, I remember too. Only now I remember why I'm in Berlin wearing a soldier suit. American! American is his swine. Can be bought, American soldier. The conqueror from the cigarette democracy. Now, just dream it, kid. Dream your dream about how an American soldier was once nice to you. Right now, that's all. Wait, wait a minute. Come on, Greta, get out of my way, will you? Oh, Greta is sorry. See, look, look, Greta is sorry. She's sorry. Please, don't go. Well, the mood moves you real fast, kid. All right, so now you're sorry. Oh, kiss me, big soldier boy. Handsome soldier boy. Come on, I said, out of my way. Oh, dirty American, huge red swine. You murderer of my country. You democracy weekly. Oh, I could kill you. Well, listen, I said, get out of my way. Get out of my way. For a second I stared where she'd fallen motionless. Her head lay against the lead piping in the wash basin. I watched a small pearl of blood squeeze through her lips. Then it died too. Then I remembered fingerprints. I'd handle two things in that room. Greta and the highball glass. I smashed it to the floor and ground it with my heel. Outside it was raining. That was a break. Because the rain had washed away the human rubbish that litters the Berlin pavements at night and no one saw me leave the house. I walked, turned some corners, walked some more. Then a splash of neon smeared across the wet pavement. I looked up. A theater for the amusement of GIs and the rehabilitated natives. I bought a ticket and went inside and found a seat. Ladies and gentlemen, the headline attraction of the evening. The most astounding mind-reading act of the century. Direct from London, the great Stanley and his lovely assistant Mona. Mona who sees all, knows all and tells all. Ladies and gentlemen, there are those among you who will disbelieve what you are about to witness. To these I say only wait. I will descend among you, walk down the aisle and here I ask one of the audience for some small object whose description is known only to himself. Do you have such an object, sir? Yeah. Yeah, I got some. You call that something? Well, that's about it for you guys. Hey, yeah, here, give me a reading. Thank you. Thank you. Mona, what is it that I hold in my hand? It is, it's something that has come from far away. An envelope first marked Vincent's Indiana. Correct. An envelope first marked Vincent's Indiana. Mona? I listen, Stanley. What precious thing do I hold in my hand now, Mona? Stanley. Reach into the spaces beyond space and tell me what do I hold in my hand? A locket. Yeah, yeah, that's right, a locket. A golden locket and inside there is a strand of golden hair, a child. Yes, that's the hair of my child. Oh, they were good, the great Stanley and Mona, slick, poised and professional. Two glittering phonies who knew the star and they kept it up. Mona. Do not lose your concentration. Now identify this object. Stanley. You must, Mona. You must. There's darkness here. Only darkness. Something stands in the way. There's a murderer here. A murderer. They rang down the curtain and I sat there until the next act came on. Sat there and knew there was no way anyone could have guessed about Greta. No way, it was just a cheap rotten dramatic trick to suck the audience in and it had worked. Some of the audience was laughing, others were obviously affected by it. Moronic idiots with their mouths open and their eyes uneasy. And me? Well, maybe I was being naive ridiculous, but I had to find out. I waited until the audience began to give attention to a tired blond singer. There was a door to the left of the orchestra pit that led backstage. I slipped from my seat and headed for it like it was my business. I walked down a corridor. There were cells on each side tagged with performers' names. Mona's door had a star on it. The star was gilped and the gilp was peeling. She was taller than I thought. Her face was delicate with an almost wistful expression, but it was her eyes. Gray and soft as if the color had been strained through gauze. Yes? What is it? I came back to congratulate you on your performance, Mona. That's quite an act. That's real big time. Thank you. Only your phony. You are, huh? Please go away. It's real phony, isn't it? You're a man whose words are like acid in the hands of a child. If you do not scar yourself, you will scar others. I do not wish to speak with you. You're not even English. Oh, no, don't close the door on me. Please. Yeah, that's better. You're not English, huh? Are you American? Come on, where are you from, Mona? You know, you've got a fair act there. That guy who caused himself a great Stanley. It was not an act. Oh, then why did you say there was a murderer in the audience? I don't know why. Well, then you were kidding. I felt his presence. There was a murderer. You still feel it? Yes. Mona, there's a cab waiting to take us to the hotel. Hi, Stanley. Good evening, Sergeant. This gentleman knocked on my door. Well, I'm glad you did. It's always a pleasure to meet a soldier. A medical corpsman by your shoulder patch, I see. Welcome. Oh, thanks. Would you wait for me in the cab, Mona? I'll only be a moment. Do not belong. I need you with me. You saw the extraordinary performance, Sergeant. Saw your head, saw your... I consider it an honor that you should take time to come backstage and express your appreciation that a hard-bitten GI should become a convert to Mona's miraculous powers. Are you kidding me? Or am I kidding you? No, no, no, no, no, no. We don't have to kid each other, do we? We fellow-sophisticate. However, the others out there, well, perhaps they were fooled. It's amusing to kid them. Also, one lives this way. Well, you and Mona should check on each other. She tried to make me believe your act was on the level. Well, Mona is my wife, and she's loyal to the illusions that I create about her. Ah. Well, then that murderer bit was... phony. Oh, naturally, but effective, don't you think? Yeah. How did you think of it? Oh, an inspiration, Sergeant. Saw your... Saw your... An act such as ours needs one piece of sensationalism to shock a new audience, and we have it, don't you think? Yeah, you got it. Oh, uh, just one thing, Stanley. Of course. Tell Mona something for me, will you? Of course. Tell her her eyes are the most beautiful I've ever seen. Oh, she will be pleased. She's blind, you know. His smile held, and the smile was phony, like their act was phony. I knew now I had nothing to worry about, so I left. I went back to my room in the Garmish Hotel, stood on the balcony for a while, watching the fingers of light from the temple-half play against the sky, lighting it up fitfully, disappearing. And far away, Silhouetted the hulk of some broken building that's caught now in the beacon and then lost. I watched it, stared, and then I saw it. Outlines of some structures blasted by bombs, but it's like a scaffold of gallows. Precisely that. And something else, a figure, detached itself from the shadows, a figure of a man, scavenging among the rubble of the torn buildings, and he stopped and over his head, the gallows. The man and the gallows caught against the night. I went to bed, closed my mind to all of it. Toward morning I had a dream. I dreamt I was standing in a stolen yard and I was watching some men, some blind men, and they were building a scaffold. Then I was awake and I jumped out of bed. I saw what the hammering had been. Nailed in my door was a shroud, a shroud for a dead man, and pinned to it under a single white carnation, a small white envelope. Adlon Flores said, and on the other side some writing, in memory of Ed Sawyer it said, I'd cursed because thou hast killed. What does the word xylene mean? To a scientist the word xylene means a super-octane gasoline component, one of the highest octane gasoline components ever discovered. To a motorist using richfield gasoline, xylene means new flashing power on the toughest highway grind. Xylene means new high antinoch that gives you a quiet running motor and new lightning acceleration to snap you out ahead in busy traffic. Why? Because today, every gallon of richfield gasoline contains xylene. What's more, your richfield dealer offers you a choice of two great richfield gasoline with xylene. Select richfield ethyl for best results in highest compression motors or richfield high octane at regular price for the average car. Each contains xylene. Each is a champion in its class. Stop where you see the richfield eagle on the cream and blue pumps. Get richfield high octane or richfield ethyl gasoline containing xylene. One of the highest octane components ever discovered. And now, we return you to Escape! Good morning. I may do something for you sergeant. Yes you can. You're fortunate sergeant. Just this morning, just arrived this morning fresh cut camellias. Flown in from Italy. No flowers. A shroud. Talk to me about a shroud. A shroud? My heartfelt condolences sergeant. A shroud, of course. A shroud that was delivered to the Garmish Hotel room 312 this morning from your shop. Yeah, yeah, of course. I remember such an order. I pray it met the requirements. I'm crazy about it. Why was it nailed on my door? Why? I do not understand. I didn't order it. Who did? Early this morning sergeant. By special post. In order for a shroud and a wreath with instructions for their disposition. Who wrote the order? Who gave these instructions? That I do not know sergeant. It was a typewritten unsigned and more than a sufficient amount of American money to take care of everything. I thought somebody who wished to remain anonymous. Well, here's some more American money. Now tell your boy to tear that thing off my door. Yeah, but sergeant... Tell him, florist! I left him there. Nobody knew why I'd killed him. Nobody. I went back to the hotel to think about it some more to try and think it away. Myself to home, kid. I knew you wanted to see me. He wore a derby hat and a tight overcoat with a moth-eaten fur collar. Cheeks, ruddy eyes, red rimmed and a replica of his nose could have been bought in a carnival supply house. Oh, jolly. A jolly fat punk with a mission. Sit down, kid. Take a load off the brain. The man is here who will take care of everything, just like the corpse that died in the good old USA. Who are you and what do you want? Yeah, take one. That's my car. I can see it from here. It's real pretty. Now what does it say on it? Joseph Skarn, it says. That's my name. Mortician, it says. That's my business. What? Puzzles here, huh, kid? I just got to tell you about Joe Skarn. That'll explain me to you. What's that, will you? Yeah, well, see, back in the States for the war, this was my career, Mortician. That's funeral director. Then they demobilized me right here in Berlin. Now this is the break I've been waiting for all my life. We're better to pursue the career, Mortician, than right here in good old Berlin. Come on. Get out of here, will you? Don't push me, kid. I'm going to make the final arrangements for the funeral. Funeral what funeral? Nobody's dead. Well, this overt joys me tremendously, son, but look, about the cast. Look, look, this is a joke, isn't it? A gag. Isn't that what it is? Something the boys who came on pass with me cooked up? That's it, isn't it? Come on! They send you here. That's it, isn't it? Come on, will you? Take your hands off me, soldier boy. You got the hysteria. Come on, who sent you here? Come on! A letter. A letter this morning with money and instructions. Britain, no signature. Oh, you peak. Yes, yes, that's right. It said to come to this hotel room and make arrangements to receive the body. Look, whose body? Well, the letter said the body of Ed Sawyer, Sergeant, Army of the United States. It said Ed Sawyer was about to die. It said he was going to be executed for murder. All of a sudden there were no more words, but there was no sound. Even when the foes of his fat face moved into a chuckle, I got nothing. He was out of focus, all blurry. I ran past him and out onto the street. Took me an hour to push my way through Berlin's derelict scarred alleys to Greta's rooming house. If someone in that house recognized me as a murderer, I would know it. No matter how he tried to hide it, I would know it. Face him. Face him and take it from there. That was what I had to do with... Bitte? Bussball and Zee? Have you ever seen me before? Kid me all you croats know English when you need it. Have you ever seen me before? Come on, talk, will you? That's the big loss! Heinrich! Heinrich! Come and see Schnell! There's all that. We get what's missing. What do you want, Sergeant? That's better. Our papers are in order. Everything in our house is as you Americans have ordered. Don't fret yourself, Dad. It's just that I have a feeling I've been to this house before and I've got to find out. Is this some kind of a drunken joke you're playing with us? Just tell me if you've ever seen me before. Ah, you're sick. Please go away from us. Yes, that's right. I'm sick. It happens like this lots of times. Amnesia, you know it's the war. Now look at me. You're sure you've never seen me before? We are sure, Sergeant. Come and sit down. Wait a minute. Will you come and sit? Your other guest. Can I see them? What is the need, Sergeant? One has been drunk for three days. One has stayed drunk for three days more. Another else and I have not seen for a week. And the third is in the morgue. This morning she was taken there dead. Yeah, yeah, dead. Ah, that leader. Always she gave us trouble. Yeah, Elsie? Please, Doctor's questions. Yeah. Sergeant Sawyer. Sergeant Edward Sawyer. This is Stanley speaking. The great Stanley. Will you do me the honor to meet me at 11.30 tonight in the tear garden in the Seekers Alley? The statue of Frederick the Great would be a charming spot. Charm me over the phone, Stanley. I don't like the cold night air. It can be healthful. Bring penicillin with you. Bring what? Penicillin. They're so desperate here in Berlin they pay fabulous wads of money for it on the black market. I'll ask you for it. You'll bring more. For an American soldier in the medical corps it's so easy. You going crazy, Stanley? Oh, my dear Sergeant. A murderer. A murderer does not question another sanity. Him all other beings are insane. Haven't you found it so? How would I know about murderers? Ask Greta. Greta? How did you find out about her? Oh, my dear boy. When you were so curious about a murderer after the performance you told me when you permitted the grisly humours of the shroud and casket to force you to revisit the scene of death. You followed me. Yes, of course I followed you. Each of your flights of terror was more and more promising. And when you went to the rooming house I made inquiries. They told me of the lonely girl who'd been murdered and he was very accommodating. You're still there, Sergeant. I'm still here. But then I can expect you then at 11.30 to give me time to change after the performance. Sure. Sure, 11.30. I'll be glad to do you the honour, Stanley. Now he made it easy for nothing he'd let me know who it was I had to be afraid of. Stanley. A great Stanley. And Mona with a pale, lovely, blind eyes. Boy, what an act they had. I wondered how many times their sensational finish had paid off like this. How many murderers had handed themselves over to Stanley and Mona on a platter for nothing? But I could change all that. I could get off the hook real cheap. I could fix it so Mona and the great Stanley would let me rest in peace for nothing. No, not for nothing. Just the price of an admission ticket. There were about 30 people in the theatre, most of them soldiers. The opening act was on when I got there and slid into a seat. A family of French juggers whirling shiny hoops on every loose piece of anatomy on the stage. Stanley and Mona were next to closing so I figured I had about an hour. I waited until the French were balancing everything but the prosinium and then when they had everything in the air I used the same orchestra entrance to backstage. The door to Mona's dressing room was open. The room was dark. I eased inside just as the next act came hurting down the corridor still hooking up their costumes. I brushed against a mole he couldn't that hung from wooden rings. I pulled it back, hid behind it and waited. Still I cannot understand why you must leave me tonight Stanley. What is so important at 11.30? Through the dim light of the corridor I saw Mona walk into the room and sit down at her dressing table. Stanley was right behind. He was reaching for the light switch when my hands found his mouth and his throat and I began to strangle. My fingers dug into his flesh and I crushed his breath back into him. He made no sound. There was only the soft laughter that seeped through the theater and his soft throat in my hands. Mona's soft voice. Why do you not answer Stanley? Is it a rendezvous? Stanley? Stanley what is it? Why are you so silent? Stanley? Stanley! Suddenly your fingers were on my face frightened and quick like the wings of a wounded bird. Then slowly they began to search the empty air for the dead Stanley. She turned in her blind eyes, stared right at me and I brushed her aside and ran down the corridor. An old dormant sat reading a newspaper at the state store. I couldn't get out that way without her seeing me. Only one way back through the theater. I started up the aisle and then I knew I was doing the wrong thing. There was an MP at the head of the aisle a corporal from the MPs that braided the white spats in the club. In this tiny audience, if I left in the middle of the act, he'd remember me. So I sat down on the row that was the most fear. When I looked back at the end of the act there were other MPs standing at each exit. Then the curtain rose. Mona stood there with a man you see on every street standing in the corner. Mona stood there with a man you see on every street in Berlin, a German policeman in the natty German police uniform. Ladies, I told your wife you were working late at the office, didn't I? She walked away at the aisle coming closer and closer. And you said bought an escape from KP duty. And now there is a gentleman in this row. My fingers reveal he has a medical call to show the patch. Come on, take your hands off of me, will you? Come on, one side, will you? Come on, soldier, move it, will you? Come on, let me out of here, will you? Come on, guy, move! Hey, Mona, Mona, what are you waiting for? Tell us a soldier's secret. Come on, everybody. Oh, stop, will you? Stop! They held me there laughing. The others all turned in their seats to stare. The German cop pinned me back in the seat. And then Mona's fingers reached out and trailed across my face. Linger. They were the fingers of death. They were cool and gentle. Almost a caress. This is the man. This is the murderer. Spring weather is hard to figure. Cool one day, summer heat the next. Those quick temperature changes are tough on you. It's tough on your car too, unless it is properly protected. Don't take chances. Get Richfield All Point Safety Service now before damage is done. Get the protection that a careful All Point lubrication job from chassis to motor can give your car. In addition, Richfield All Point Service includes a safety check and proper care of all likely trouble spots such as the battery, spark plugs, tires and radiator. Drive into the Richfield Gasoline and save yourself time and trouble by having all the necessary spring servicing done at the same time by a man who knows how to do it right. And while you're there, ask for Richfield's informative new 32-page baseball book. It's free. Ask for your copy while the supply lasts. Escape is produced and directed by William M. Robson. And tonight has presented Past to Berlin by Martin Fine and David Friedkin. West where Stacey Harris, as Sergeant Sawyer, Peggy Weber Asmona, and Ben Rider Stanley, special music arranged and played by Ivan DeMars. Next week. You are lying on a small knoll in the prairie west of the Platt River. In a few moments Dawn will herald the attack of the encircling Apaches. An attack of such fury that for you, no escape. Next week at this time, the Richfield Oil Corporation of New York invites you to escape with an exciting tale of the old west. As James Warner-Bella tells it in his thrilling story, Command, be listening. Goodbye then until the same time next week when once again we offer you escape. Tom Hanlon speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.