 The Adventures of Christopher Wells program, formally scheduled at this time, is now broadcast at a new time on Tuesday evening. Tune in for the Adventures of Christopher Wells next Tuesday and every Tuesday at 6 30 p.m. Pacific Standard Time. You're alone in Paris. Unable to speak the language. Unable to cope with a gigantic conspiracy which seeks to convince you that you are mad. You are the victim of a plot from which there is no escape. Escape. Produced, directed and tonight written by William N. Robeson and carefully contrived to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight we escape to Paris at the time of the Great Exposition and one of the recurring legends of our time, an Alexander Wilkett's version of the story of the vanishing lady. Another cup of tea, Bruce. No, thank you, my dear. I just light up my pipe now and have a look at the evening standard. I'd like another, please, Mother. All right, Alice. Only one sugar, dear. We must watch our figures, you know. What nonsense. A growing girl like Alice needs plenty of sugar. See, Mother Daddy approves. Perhaps, but Mother is still boss. Yes, Mother. There's a dear. Mother. Yes, dear. I've been thinking. Yes, dear. I've been thinking about my grandparents. Oh. I know all about Daddy's parents. How grandfather Stanley commanded to Dreadnought at the Battle of Jutland. It was not a Dreadnought, Alice. It was a heavy cruiser. Oh, yes. Heavy cruiser. And he got to V.C. and how grandmother Stanley was a volunteer at the Worcester Lodge when the Zeppelins came over. I know about your father, too, and how he died in India from his wounds and how gallant he was at the Khyber Pass. But, Mother... Yes, dear. You've never, never told me anything about grandmother Winship. Haven't I? No, and I'd... I'd like to know something about... Bruce. The child, 16. I think it's time she knew. But, Bruce... And you'd probably feel better to get it off your chest. What, Mother? What is it? Well, my dear, I've never talked about your grandmother because I... I've always half-believed that, someday, somehow, she would come down our garden walk and... I know it sounds silly and explain where she's been for the last 20 years. Why? What happened to her? I don't know. And I don't suppose I ever will. Cynthia Darling, if it's going to upset you... No, Bruce, you're quite right. It would be best to get it off my chest, as you put it. As you know, Alice, I was born and brought up in India. And I was about your age when my father was killed in the Khyber campaign. Mother decided to leave India for good and return to her old home in Warwickshire. However, since it was necessary for her to go to Paris to attend to some details of my father's estate, she decided that we should leave the P&O boat in Marseille and proceed by train. You may imagine the timidity with which we, too, unascorted ladies, travelled across France, without the slightest knowledge of the language and without, indeed, the assurance that we could find a hotel room in Paris, though we had telegraphed for reservations from Marseille. You see, the Great Paris Exposition had just opened and the city was jammed with visitors from all over the world. You may imagine our relief when we arrived at the Grand Hotel Universelle and heard the clerk speak in quite understandable English. Welcome, welcome. You will please to sign the register, air and air. You have our reservation. Oh, indeed, yes. Most fortunate madam that you telegraphed, for I have reserved for you the last room in the house. Oh, I'm so relieved. Yes, Cynthia. You may as well learn now to sign a register for yourself. Oh, yes, Mama. Where do I write? There in that line. Oh, yes, I see. Voilà. You are fatigued from your journey, no? I shall have the boys show you to your rooms at once. Chasseur, chasseur. Oui, monsieur. Le Parpement 642 pour mademoiselle et madame Winship, tout de suite. Bien, monsieur. This is your baggage, madame? Yes, these six. Le voilà bagage, il y a six pièces. Cynthia, you'd best carry the little one with me. Medicine in it? Yes, mama. Thank you. I'll take that one. The little red one. Travia. This way, ladies. Keep your eye on that porter, Cynthia. I don't trust this Frenchman. Oh, ma. I don't think he'll make off with our things. Here's the lift. Vois-y, madame. Vois-y. Oh, I do wish we could have gone straight on to Southampton. But you'd only have had to come back across the channel to see the solicitor, ma ma. We really saved time this way. I suppose I mean I wish we hadn't come to Paris at all. Such a sinister place. Oh, ma ma. Voilà. Le troisième. This way, ladies. To the right. Attendez. Eh bien. En 338, 340, 342. Oh, voilà. Entrez, ladies. Thank you. Oh, what a lovely big room. And look, ma ma. French windows and the park out there. No, thank you. Here. Merci. I look at the window over there. And those beautiful, beautiful bridges. Oh, mother. It's something out of a book. Yes, my dear. That's the trouble with Paris. It's so attractive. But underneath, it's evil. And look at the furniture. The guilt clock. Oh, ma. Oh, ma. Oh, ma. Oh, ma. Oh, ma. Oh, ma. Oh, ma. Oh, ma. Oh, ma. Here's the guilt clock. And this lovely marvel table. Oh, ma ma, everything is so... so French. I'll be very glad to be on my way to where everything's English by this time tomorrow. Now, come away from that window and help me get into something comfortable. There's a deal. Yes, ma. Of course. I don't know when I've been so tired. I just can't seem to catch ma... Mama. Mama, what's the matter? Mama, speak to me. Here. I'll get you up into the bed. There. Now, let me loosen your corset. Here. Here, mama. Here are the smelling salts. Breathe deeply, darling. Mama, the telephone. I've got to get a doctor. Hello, operator. Will you please send a doctor up to room number... Oh, let me see. Number 342. Pardon? What did she say? Will you please send a doctor to room number 342? A doctor? A doctor? Oh, yes, a doctor. Yes, ma'am. Right away. While I waited for the doctor, I did everything I could to think of to bring my mother back to consciousness. I massaged her fingers and toes. I put wet clothes on her forehead. I waved the smelling salts under her nose. But she lay silent and white and unmoving like one dead. Only the quick shallow movement of her breast assured me she was not. And all the time another anxiety possessed me. What if this doctor could not speak English? How should I tell him the circumstances of mother's unexpected fainting? How should I understand his instructions for treatment? I'm sure it was not long, although it seemed like an eternity before he arrived, accompanied by the manager of the hotel. And to my great relief, they both spoke English. The doctor felt mother's pulse took her temperature and did the usual things that doctors do. Then he turned to the tail-coated hotel manager. Do you speak French? Not a word. Are you sure? Absolutely. Then I can speak in my native language. Sir, it is a very serious matter. Do not be alarmed when I tell you. This woman has arrived from the plague. She has only one hour to live. I do not need to tell you. While they talked in this language, I couldn't understand. I looked from one face to the other, trying to read from their expressions how serious my mother's illness was. But they were as casual as though they were ordering dinner. Finally, I could stand it no longer. They must. You must tell me. What is the matter with her? Your mother is ill, yes. Seriously ill. It is a collapse. Due perhaps to the strain of traveling, however, a week or two of absolute rest will... A week or two? We were to go on to England tomorrow. That would be out of the question. She cannot be moved for at least several days. Right now, she must have a complete rest. The next 24 hours will be critical. Oh, mama. Oh, mama. No, no, no. You must not break down, too. I need your help. Yes, doctor. Immediately I need some medicine. Will you fetch it for me? I... Yes, but... I must not leave your mother for a moment during these critical hours. Here, I will write down this address and a little message to my wife. Your wife? Yes, I have the medicine already prepared at my home. It will be faster to go there for it than to a pharmacy. There are a few chemists who have the ingredients. But... Couldn't you telephone? Alas, I have no telephone. Well, then it... A messenger, perhaps. Oh, mademoiselle. You do not know Paris en Fête with the exposition opening. Nowhere can you find a real liable messenger. They are all selling souvenirs. No, mademoiselle. You will accomplish the errand more rapidly yourself. Ah, voici l'adresse. Here is the address 24B's Rue Val de Grasse. And here is the message to give to my wife. But I don't know Paris at all. I'm a total stranger here. I'm sure the manager here will give the necessary instructions to the cabbie. Indeed, I will. If mademoiselle is ready. Before I quite knew what was happening, I was seated in a ricketed taxicab outside the hotel with the doctor's message clutched in my hand. While the hotel manager gave a valuable direction to the cabbie. I would be a little bit too big to think about this trivial life. Go to the little bar. Take the track, the most circuitous. And above all, do not be back in less than two hours. Understood? Understood. Well, it is arrangement, mademoiselle. Jack here is one of our most trusted cabbies. He will get you to the doctor's house. I'm back in safety. Oh, thank you so much, sir. And you will look after mother, won't you? Oh, indeed I will. Of that, you may be sure. When we left the hotel, we crossed a huge square with statues around it and turned into a wide avenue which led up a gentle incline at the top of which was a huge arch. But before long, we turned off to the right into narrower streets. It must have been 20 minutes later when we turned into another wide boulevard and I saw another huge arch up ahead. Or was it the same? Oh, was it the same arch? Driver! Mademoiselle? Haven't we passed that arch before? Look, mademoiselle, here is the arch of Triomphe. The ball will be made. Driver, I don't want a sightseeing tour. I want to go to this address directly. Don't you understand? Please, now take me there at once. In fact, it is better to be patient, mademoiselle. Paris is a great city, you see. At last, we turned into a narrow street and pulled up before a grim grey house. The blue enamel sign on the wall read number 24 piece. I jumped out of the cab almost before it stopped, rushed up the three stone steps and pulled at the brass bell knob. Hurry, hurry, please. We? The doctor sent me for some medicine. Here, please read this. Retain this young woman as long as possible. It is of the greatest importance for the future of Paris and even of France. Oh, come in, mademoiselle. Thank you. The doctor's wife stood there reading and rereading the note as though she didn't understand it. And until I thought I would scream, oh, please, please hurry. Get the medicine, it's my mother, she may be dying. I must get back to her, please hurry. I see you. She pointed to a chair. And slowly walked down the hall and closed the door behind her. I waited. And waited. And I wondered. Wondered about the time the taxi had taken to get here. About that arch that looked so familiar. And I was torn by the hundred nameless anxieties that taught to you when your nearest and dearest is ill. And then I heard something that froze my blood. A telephone. A telephone clearly ringing somewhere in the house. But the doctor had said he had no telephone. That was the reason I must come all the way for the medicine. No, it couldn't be in this house. It must be next door or across the street. Of course, that's where the sound was coming from. But no. It was the voice of the doctor's wife answering the phone. Oh, no. No, what monstrous plot was this? I felt my scalp crawl with terror. Brain pounded my head felt as though it would burst. I wanted to scream to run out of this awful house. To run all the way across Paris to the bedside of my mother. Voilà, mademoiselle. Oh, thank you. Thank you. Au revoir, mademoiselle. Now driver, please. Please, in the name of your own mother, hurry back to the hotel as fast as possible. Please. Bah oui. Au revoir, mademoiselle. Roulant. But my pleading was of no use. Either it was misunderstood or ignored. We crawled across Paris just as slowly as we had come. And I was certain I saw that same white arch three times. But at last we crossed the great square with the statues in it. And I knew we were close to the hotel. Please, please, hurry. Au revoir, mademoiselle. Just beyond the great square, we turned up a narrow street, which shortly ended a wide circling in the middle of which was a tall slender monument. The driver swung around the monument and pulled up before the entrance of the hotel. Reached back and opened the door. Voilà, voilà, mademoiselle. I jumped out of the cab. And then I saw the sign over the entrance. It said, hotel Ritz. Driver, you've taken me to the wrong hotel. I'm staying at the Grand Hotel Universal. I don't understand what you're saying, but will you please take me to the Grand Hotel Universal? Oh, you stupid, stupid man. Can't you understand? My mother is ill. You've taken more than two hours to get me to that doctor's house and back. Can't you understand my mother is sick, perhaps dying? Madame, mademoiselle, the business doesn't work out. So, here's my money. A small group of people. I looked around. A small group of passengers by had stopped and were listening curiously to the argument. Then they joined in and started taking sides. Everywhere I looked for foreign faces, strangers, enemies. And then, shouldering his way through the crowd, I saw a bare-headed young man in trees with a pipe planted in his teeth. And before I had a chance to speak, I knew help had come. I say, having some trouble? Oh, thank heavens, you're English. All right, sure. What seems to be the matter? I told him rapidly as I could. And he paid the mule-ish cabbie. Oh, merci, Monsieur. Popped me into another cab. And five minutes later, we walked into the lobby of the Grand Hotel Universal. The manager was behind the desk. My mother, is she all right? I beg your pardon? My mother, Mrs. Winship in 342, is she all right? Uh, mademoiselle must be mistaken. There is no Winship in 342. What? 342 is occupied by Monsieur Auguste. No, I, uh, a prominent guest. But don't you remember me? I'm Cynthia Winship. Two hours ago, you put me into a taxi to go to the doctor's house for some medicine for my mother. I am afraid that mademoiselle is mistaken. I have never seen her before in my life. Well, look here, what is this? No, listen, I swear it to you. It's just as I say. We signed the register less than three hours ago. We got in on the train from our say. Well, let's have a look at the register. I'll show you I'm in 342. Where is the register? It is there, mademoiselle. You may see it for yourself. See, today's date. 14 guests registered, but I don't see any mademoiselle or madame Winship. Do you? No. What have you done with my mother? What have you done with my mother? Please, mademoiselle. You have done something with her. I demand you know what have you done with her. Please, mademoiselle. I demand you know what have you done with her. We'll get to the bottom of this. Perhaps mademoiselle is mistaken. Perhaps she is registered at some other hotel. No. This is the hotel. The grand-view universal. You... You were standing there when we arrived. You handed my mother the pen with which she registered. You came to the room with the doctor. You put me in the taxi. Wait a minute. What is it? That bell boy there. He carried our baggage. He'll remember. Do you remember the luggage of my mother? In number 3, 4, 2, 7. No, mademoiselle. No, mademoiselle. There were six pieces. Don't you remember? You wanted to take them all and I insisted on carrying the jewel case. It was a little red one. No, mademoiselle. This is the first time in my life that I see mademoiselle. This is never sorry on this life before. But this is monstrous. It's impossible. My mother is somewhere in this hotel. What have you done with her? What have you done with her? How do you feel, Miss Winship? Better, thank you. This soup was very nourishing. Won't you have something else? Salad, a bit of roast? Thank you, no. A cup of tea, perhaps. Certainly. Gasson? Monsieur? Pour mamezette. Monsieur. I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Do you realize I don't even know your name? It's Bruce, Bruce Stanley. I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Stanley. It's a pleasure, Miss Winship. Mr. Stanley. You believe me, don't you? Of course I do, Mr. We did register at that hotel. We were in room 342. I can even describe the furnishings. There was a big window that went from the ceiling to the floor. Well, every hotel room in Paris has windows like that, Miss Winship. Oh, they do? Yes. Well, in this room the draperies were plum-colored. There was a marble table, a black marble it was, and a gilt clock. It had run down. The hands had stopped, I remember, at 20 minutes past 3. The walls were covered in rose brocade and the bedspread was a washed-out yellow. Oh, if I could only get into that room, you'd see I'm not making this up. I'm not. I'm sure you are. Perhaps I can find a way to make them let you in the room. Oh, can you? Yes, I... I'm with the embassy, you know, undersecretary sort of thing. I, uh, I believe the British Empire has enough influence to change the mind of an obstinate Paris innkeeper. Then let's do it, right away. Well, I... I'm afraid the might of Britain can't move that fast. It's past dinner time. But tomorrow we'll see. Tomorrow? But I must get into that room tonight. I have no money. No way to sleep. Well, we can do nothing with the people at the hotel. You saw that. We'll just have to be patient until tomorrow. I'm... I'm sure I can find a room for you tonight in a posse on near the embassy. You're so very kind. How can I ever thank you, Mr. Stanley? Well, you... you might begin by calling me Bruce. Thank you, Bruce. Thank you, Cynthia. Oh. Oh! What is it? I just thought of something. The doctor. The doctor? Yes, the one the hotel manager brought in to look after mother. I still have his address somewhere here in my purse. Yes, here it is. Oh, we must go there immediately. He can tell us about mother. You see, 24-beast Ruvaldi grass. Well, that's not fine. It's just off the Boulevard Rass by near the Luxembourg. How long would it take to get there by taxi? Well, about 10 minutes. But it... it took over an hour this afternoon. Well, Mr. 24-beast Ruvaldi grass. Well, here we are. Yes, this is the place. Attendez, mon vieux. Ah, très bien, monsieur. The house is dark. Ah, it's quite late. Well, I don't care. We've got to find out tonight. Qui est là? Qui sonne? Where is he? There at the upstairs window. Eh, monsieur le docteur, c'est mamoiselle Stanley. Elle veut vous questionner à propos de sa mère. Stanley isn't going to vomit with her Stanley. He says he doesn't know her. But he must, he must. Doctor, don't you remember this afternoon? You sent me to your house for medicine for my mother. Je ne comprends pas l'anglais. He says he doesn't understand English. Oh, the liar. The dreadful liar. He does. He speaks perfect English. I... I'm sorry, Cynthia. Oh, Bruce. What am I going to do? What am I going to do? If it hadn't been for Bruce, I'm certain I should have gone out of my mind. He found a room for me at a pension near the embassy, where I spent a sleepless night of anxiety, almost beyond endurance. Bruce called for me at half past ten the next morning and took me back to the hotel. To my surprise, the attitude of the manager had changed completely. Of course, mademoiselle main, spectrum 342. We are only too glad to convince mademoiselle that her mother is not and never was in the Grand Hotel universelle. Why, I... I, personally, will escort you to the room. This way, please, to the ascenseur. Oh, Bruce, that terrible man. That horrible, horrible... Cynthia, don't let him upset you. Monsieur? Reuxième étage. Monsieur. Now remember what I told you last night, Bruce. You'll see. Plum-colored draperies, black marble top table, rose walls, and a gilt clock with a hand stopped at 20 minutes past three. You'll see. Yes, mademoiselle. Voilà. Le troisième. This way, gentlemen. It was room 342. You wish to see mademoiselle? Yes, that's right. Third door to the right. So? You see, Bruce? I know where it is. Yes, mademoiselle. Et ruya. Voilà. Enter, please. Now, Bruce, you shall see the yellow bedspread. Oh. Not quite the room you just described in the elevator, mademoiselle. The drapes are royal blue. No. A little dusty, I fair. I must have this room renovated. You see, there is no marble top table. No. The clock, as you notice, is running. No. And right on time, it seems, the walls are not rose-brocade but yellow-flowered wallpaper. No. Mademoiselle, you see how thoroughly mistaken you are. No, no! They tried to make me think I was mad. They succeeded. I remembered nothing until I awoke in my aunt's house in England two weeks later. Thanks to Bruce, who never left my side during those terrible days when my sanity hung in the balance. Well, that's the story, Alice. That's why I've never been able to talk about your grandmother's winship. Oh, mother, how horrible. Because all these years, I've clung to the foolish hope that somehow she'd come back and tell us herself what happened. Oh, you poor dear. You may as well dispel that hope forever, Cynthia. What? Since you've at last brought yourself to discuss your mother's disappearance, I think it's time you knew the true facts. Bruce. Your mother died 20 minutes after you left the hotel on that fool's errand for the doctor. Oh, no. She died of the bubonic plague. She'd caught it in India before she sailed. The doctor recognized the symptoms the moment he examined her. He told the hotel manager in French in your presence. They agreed that the matter must be kept completely secret. If the news leaked out that there was a case of plague in Paris, the city would have been emptied of visitors and the exposition would have been a failure. Oh, Bruce. The conspiracy of silence began in the hotel. The bellboy was paid to claim he never saw you. The taxi driver was paid well to take you to the doctor's house by the most roundabout route. The note to the doctor's wife advised her to detain you as long as she could. And the taxi driver added his own imaginative touch by returning you to the Ritz instead of the universe. I shudder to think what might have happened if I hadn't come through the Place Wendôme just then. But you didn't know. Not then. When did you find out? Next morning. By then the conspiracy had grown to international proportions. The embassy had been advised. If the exposition was a failure, the Frank would fall. The pound sterling would be affected, that sort of thing. I knew when we went back to the hotel, you would not find your plum drapes and rose-colored walls and black marble top table. And you let me go through with that? What could I do? I was acting under orders. I knew that the hotel had completely fumigated and redecorated the room overnight. And everything was in readiness to repudiate your story. I had to let the last act of the dreadful farce play to its dreadful end. Mother. What did they do with Mother? Her body was removed from the room less than 30 minutes after you left it. And immediately burned. Why? Why didn't you tell me this years ago? Why did you let me go on all this time? This is the first time you've ever mentioned your mother since then, my dear. Alice. Yes, Mother? There's a new issue of the Tatler in the library, dear. Wouldn't you like to look at it? But, Mother, I want to... Now, dear. Want to have a talk with your father. Escape. Produced and directed by William N. Robeson has brought you The Vanishing Lady by Alexander Wolcott. Produced for radio by Mr. Robeson. Cynthia was played by Joan Banks. Bruce was played by Haver... Hi, Haverback. The hotel manager and cab driver were played by Ramsey Hill. The musical score was conceived and conducted by Cy Fuhr. Next week... You are deathly afraid of snakes. And between you and a fortune, between you and escape, beyond the white jaws of a deadly cotton mouth. Next week, we escape with Irvin S. Cobb's famous story, Snake Doctor. Good night, then, until the same time next week. But again, we offer you... Escape. With CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.