 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 for you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight, you are swimming for your life in the dangerous waters off the Florida Gulf Coast. About to be smashed by a launch carrying a vicious criminal who must kill you or die himself. An unsure 500 yards away, the police are waiting to arrest you for murder. And there can be no escape. All right, buddy. This the end of the line. Thanks for the ride. Don't mention it. Compliments to Miami Police. Now, you see that sign? Yeah, I see it. Read it. It's a matter, don't they teach you cops to read? I said, read it. Miami, city limits. Good. See that you stay on the other side of that sign. We don't take kindly the bums down here. I tell you, I'm not a bum. I came down here to take a job. Sure, sure. You guys always have jobs. That's why you come down and sleep in our city parks as soon as it gets cold up north. Well, now get going. And keep going. Don't come back. Don't come back, he says. Fat chance. One night on the streets and you're a vagrant. They give you a cot in the city jail and some coffee and spud nuts in the morning and a scorch you out of town. Every step I took was away from that place, and that was all right, too. They could have their sunshine and their orange juice. All I wanted was a ride north. Anywhere north. But one after another, cars passed me up until my thumb got tired. I walked almost all the way to Fort Lauderdale. I got a ride into Pompano, then I hoofed it again. It was getting hot. Took off my jacket and carried it. It was near Delray Beach that the big new Nash sedan swooped down around the curve from the opposite direction, and suddenly it blew a tire. The car swerved, careened across the white line and was coming straight at me. It jumped out of the way and ran my heart pounding like crazy. And then the car stopped miraculously right side up with some driving. I walked back to it. There was a red-headed girl in the driver's seat and a man beside her. The man's face was cut. Darling, you're bleeding. You're barred. That's nothing. I just hit the windshield. Can I help? Yes. You can change the tire. If you do it fast, there's five bucks in there for you. You all right? That's just a cut. It's nothing. Look, we're in an awful hurry. Oh, sure. Where do you keep the tools? Here. Here's the key. I'm sorry. I scared you. I couldn't help it. The car got out of control. You sure know how to drive. Oh, look at that tire. It's a mess. Will it take long to change it? No, not very. Oh, it's certainly lucky for us that you were right here to help us. Where are you going? I was trying to hitchhike. The only ride I got was on the back of a fish truck. Where are you hiking to? Any place but Miami. What's wrong with Miami? Oh, nothing. It's a great town. But the cops don't like you if you don't have a job. I should think a good-looking man like you could get a job. Seems to me that... Hey, sir! I'm coming. A good-looking man like me. It's funny, she should say a thing like that. And that was what I was thinking about her. She was beautiful. She was the most alive person I'd ever seen. And yet, she was controlled like a member. As I worked on the car putting on the spare that cost more than the suit I had on my back, I got the wishing that I could afford a car like that. And a girl like that. And I wondered about the guy it all belonged to. He was used to being waited on, you could see that. He sat in the front seat and the girl sat close to him. Every now and then she'd look back at me and smile. Couldn't hear what they were talking about. And I was glad. Because I suddenly didn't want to know what he said to her. Ah! A jerk, that's me, a daydreaming jerk. How are you coming? Oh, I'm through. What's your name? It's Joe, Joe Mazurka. Would you like to go to Miami with us, Joe? I can't go to Miami, not without a job. That's what I mean. You want a job, don't you? Well, fixing tires? No. I've been talking to Mr. Rez. If you really want a job, he has one for you. Are you kidding? He has a job for me in Miami? Would you like that? Oh, boy, would I. Then put the tools away. Come on, let's go. Wait a minute, wait a minute. There's something I want you to know. I had a job. I came down here to take the job as swimming instructor at the Bay Club. But I was a day late and the job was gone. Oh, so that's how you got those shoulders. Hmm? Swimming. Well, I just wanted you to know that I'm not a bum. Of course you're not a bum, Joe. Whatever made you think I thought you were. And we haven't got all day. Come on, he's getting impatient. Yeah, but the job, what kind of a job is it? Mr. Rez will tell you about it on the way in. But I... You want to go to Miami with us, don't you? Yeah, I sure do. Then come on, let's go. It's this way. I'm a writer. Oh, sure, Rez. William Rez. You're the guy who wrote Break It Open. Did you read it? No. No, I've been on the go and I don't have much chance. But you've heard it. Oh, everybody can read English. It's her to you. Your name's in every bookstore window. Yes, my name, but not my face. And that's the job. I don't understand. We see, if they find out that Bill, Mr. Rez, is in Miami, they'll hound him to death. That's the way it is when a writer is successful. The public thinks they own him. They expect him to be clever at cocktail parties and he's invited everywhere. He hasn't... Well, what's wrong with it? Well, nothing, but it doesn't leave him any time to write. Ender's trying to tell you that I hate people. All this social claptrap. I want to be left alone so I can work. I still don't see how I fit in. Well, you'll be me. That's how you'll fit in. You'll be Bill Rez. I'll be you? All right. Let's put it this way. You'll be my alter ego. There'll be two of me. You'll handle the social end while I lock myself in someplace and write. But I don't look like you, not a fit. What's the difference? Nobody knows me down here. Yeah, but... Look, do you want the job or don't you? I don't know. It's a pretty crazy job. It pays a hundred a week in expenses. A hundred a week? It wouldn't be hard, Joe. Not with me helping you. Yeah, that's right. And that could help you. I could see you from time to time. Well, I can tell you what to say. I'll act. You would? You'll take it, won't you, Joe? That's a crazy job, all right, but I'm a crazy guy. Sure, sure. I'll take it. They coached me all the way into Miami. I memorized facts about him. Where he went to college, what he ate for breakfast, how he felt politically. But there was one thing he didn't tell me, and it was the one thing I couldn't ask. What was his relationship with the girl? That's what I wanted to know more than anything else. We passed the city limits sign, went on into Miami on Biscayne Boulevard, and pulled the car up near a cab stand. Now, you're sure you got it all straight? I think so. All right, hand them. Give them some money. Oh, yes. Here, Joe. Thank you. $500. Yes. I want you to buy some good clothes and a couple of good traveling bags. You're a successful writer, remember? You've got to look good. And check in at a good hotel. The Rony Plaza. Yes, that'll be fine. Rony Plaza. Aren't you coming with me? Oh, you'll want to get settled first, Joe. Get yourself a haircut and a manicure. I'll see you tonight. But what if I should have to get in touch with you before that? Why? Why would you want to get in touch with her? Oh, well, you know. Ask some questions about you in case something comes up all of a sudden. All right. If you need me sooner, you can call me. 99730. Give me your pen, Bill. But don't bother us unless you have to. No, I won't. And, Joe, you'd better pick up a copy of Mr. S's book. It might be rather embarrassing if you didn't know what it was all about. They drove off and they left me standing there with my head full of facts on the life and times of Bill Res, but not one fact about her. I didn't even know what her last name was. Well, that'd be time for that. I did like they told me. I bought some clothes in the suitcase. I got a haircut and manicure, and I bought the book. Funny. A few hours before, I'd been a vagrant. No job and no money. Now I was set up in the swankiest hotel in Miami. Mr. Res? Oh, yes, yes. I'm George Cole. I'm the public relations man for the hotel. This is Walter's, our photographer. Glad to meet you, Mr. Res. How are you? Well, come on in. Oh, thank you. Well, we're certainly excited to have you here at the Rooney Plaza. Well, thank you. We were, frankly, pretty surprised when you checked in. Is that so? We knew you were in Miami. You know how those things get around. Miami's really just a small town. But you have the reputation for being such a recluse. Well, you know how... Governor, if you'd let us release a little publicity on you. Well, uh... Oh, we'd like to take some pictures. Well... All right, sure, sure. Go right ahead. Take all you want. Now, let me see. How about, um... How about over here by the window? This be all right? Oh, yeah, that's swell. I'll hold it a minute, will you? Oh, it's certainly nice of you to be so cooperative. I'm glad to. Ah, got it. Now then, over this way, please. Oh, Walter's, I think it would be good to get one of him autographing his book. I took the liberty, Mr. Res, of breaking up a few copies. Would you autograph them for some of our guests? Yeah, all right. Have you got a pen? Oh, certainly, here. There, now, that's just fine. Hold it. Oh, thank you very much. Would you autograph this one to Herman and Betty? To Herman and Betty. Yeah. Oh, shall I get it for you? Oh, no, nothing. I'll answer it. Are you Bill Res? That's right. I'm Arnold Springman. What can I do for you? Do for me. That's funny. I beg your pardon? So you don't even remember my name. Springman. Arnold Springman. Think hard. What do you want? You ruined my life, you destroyed my future, and now you don't even remember my name. It's all it meant to you, isn't it? Sensationalism. Muckraki. What do you care if you break a man so long as your book sells? You've got the wrong idea. I guess we better be going, Mr. Res. Come on along, Walters. No. No, you wait. I want witnesses. I want the world to know that I'm the one who got rid of Bill Res. Now, wait a minute. I'm gonna kill you. Kill? Oh, no. Put that gun away. Don't shoot. Don't. Oh, oh, oh, Mr. Res, are you all right? Oh, yes, I'm all right. Oh, my, oh, my. It took a lot of courage wrenching that gun away from him like that. You ruined my life. When you get the house detective and get this guy out of here. Oh, yes, sir. And you get out, too. Oh, yes, yes. Don't send anybody up to my room again. Understand? Yes, nobody. No, sir, I'll come along. You. Operator. Operator. This is the operator. This is just... This is Bill Res in 416. Get me, uh... Let me see, uh... 99730. Yes, sir. Thank you. Busy. Now, call me back when you get it, please. As I waited for the operator to get hand on the line, I leafed through Bill Res's book. The name Arnold Springman hadn't meant anything to me, but on page 5, it began to mean a lot. He was a small-time political campaign manager. Crooked his a broken finger, and Res's book had exposed it. That's what the book was, an expose of dozens of politicians, large and small, and every one of them had plenty of reason to get rid of Bill Res. Dozens of potential killers. I realized the spot I was in, I was the clay pigeon for a political muckriper. Hello. 9730, for you now. Oh, thank you. Hello. That's your Res? Oh? This is Louis. Well, let's hand it there. You got the wrong number. This is Louis. Operator. Operator. Yes, sir. That was the wrong number. Dial it again, please. 99730. Right away, sir. Oh, hold it for me. Is this 99730? Yeah, this is 99730. Is Bill Res there? Never heard of him. Are you sure there isn't a girl there by the name of Henda? Tall, slender, red hair? Look, buddy, the dames have invaded for... But she gave me this number. Buddy, for my... I couldn't believe it. But why not? If I was sucker enough to hope I had a chance with her, I deserved the mess I was in. Well, no law said that I had to stay in it. Even for a hundred a week, would I stand still and let Bill Res' enemies take potshots at me? I grabbed my hat, my new $15 hat, and I walked out of the room, took the stairs to the lobby, and went out the side door of the hotel. It was at the corner I heard the news board. Dead. Paper, Mr. Latest Edition just hit the street all about the rest murder. Yes, yes. Give it back. Hey, y'all, thank you. Extra read all about it all for kill Bill. Bill Res, dead. In just a moment, we will return you to the second act of escape. But first, suppose Junior has got the telephone wire with your pet jackknife or kitchen shears. That's no reason for not listening to sing it again. Of course, if your phone is okay and Dan Seymour does put in one of the big calls to you, there's the chance that you'll win $51,000 in prizes and cash. But sing it again is more than prizes. It's a solid hour of tuneful, riddle songs and hit music, highly entertaining in themselves, with Alan Dale, Bob Howard and Eugenie Baird. And it's heard on most of these same CBS stations. So be listening this Saturday, won't you? And now for the second act of escape. I stood there holding the newspaper that said the man I was impersonating had been murdered. I was on the spot and I knew I had to do something fast. But suddenly it was done for me. Joe! Joe! Over here, Joe! Hender! Hurry up, get in. I'm blocking traffic. I tried to get you that number you gave me, 99730. That's a pool room. 99730? Joe, no, it's 99703. Well, anyway, he's dead. The news boy's yelling that he's been murdered. I didn't dream it would work out like this. Who killed him? I don't know. A lot of people hated him. I know that. One of them took a shot at me. At you? Did you tell anyone you were Bill Ress? Did I tell them? Of course I told them. I signed the register. I autographed some books. They took my picture. Oh, that's terrible. But you told me to. I know, I know. Well, what does it mean? I'm all mixed up. Well, they don't think you did it. You can't go back to the hotel. Where are we going? Mata Cumbi. They won't find you there. Mata Cumbi, what is that? It's an island, one of the keys. Wouldn't it be better if I went to the police? I haven't done anything wrong. You impersonated another man. You signed his name. And now he's dead, murdered. How will that look for you? Yeah, but that was my job. You were there. You heard him hire me. You can tell him that. Well, can't you? No, Joe. That's just the trouble. I can't tell him anything. I don't get it. Why not? Bill was married. No, he was going to get a divorce, but he was still technically married. Who's going to marry you? Yes. But nobody knew about me. I never met any of his friends. Nobody ever saw us together. As far as the world is concerned, I don't even know Bill Ress. You see, Joe, I wouldn't be a very good alibi for you. I've got to keep out of this mess, too. I see. I was still mixed up as we drove south on the overseas highway across the twisted chain of islands that is the Florida Keys. The air was fresh and sharp off the sea. The sun was just setting. Riding there besides this gorgeous girl, I couldn't honestly say that I was sorry Ress was dead. In a cock-eyed sort of way, I was glad. It was at an isolated spot on one of the islands that she pulled off the highway into a deserted lane that ended in a dock. There was a corrugated sheet metal shack at the end of the lane. She pulled the car into a shed. This is lower Matacumbi. Doesn't look like much. And there's the yacht out there. Yacht? Well, didn't I tell you we're going out in the yacht? But you said we were going to stay at Matacumbi. This is still Florida, all the way down to Key West. You'll be safer on the yacht. It belongs to a friend of mine, Ernie Christiel. He'll take good care of us. Yeah, but where is it going? Oh, it isn't going anywhere. Ernie gets seasick, so he just keeps it at anchor all season. Oh. And how are we going to get out to it? That's strange. The speedboat was supposed to be waiting here for me. Well, come on, let's go into the saloon. I'll phone them. The sheet metal shack was an honest to goodness saloon. Sawdust on the floor, pictures of boxers over the mirror-chip beer mugs. The only actual modern note was the radio, and that was an all-at-water kent. The saloon was presided over by a talkative Cuban. Sir Ves, you want another glass, maybe? No, no, thank you. I'm just waiting for the lady to make a phone call. Then better you have, Sir Ves, when a lady goes into a phone booth, goodbye, you wait. I like radio music. I like fish fishing. What do you like? Well, I... Amberjack, they call me. Amberjack is good guy, good fish. But the born fish, I like best. News bulletin. The police... The born fish is a top-medical... ...built young man of about 26 or 28 who has been posing publicly as the author. He was last seen at the Romney Plaza Hotel where he was wearing a great flannel suit and a dark red tie. He is about six feet tall, muscular with light-wavy hair and dark eyes. The police are watching every avenue of escape out of Florida. If you have any information leading to his whereabouts, please notify your local police. Yeah, the police all the time look for somebody. Gray suit, dark tie. Could be anybody. Could be you. Yeah. I like to be police. All the time ride the motorcycle, go fast like anything. Joe. Yeah, yeah, I'll be seeing you. Come again, young fellas. Always got plenty of service. Joe, come on, the motorboat's here. Henda, I'm gonna go to the police. Joe, you can't do that. Why, Henda, why? Did you kill him? Did I? Of course I didn't. Why do you ask that? Well, then you've got to come with me. You've got to make him believe me. But I can't. Oh, here comes the man Ernie sending him with the speedboat. Come on. Oh, no, Henda, you've got to help me. Are you ready to go, Henda? Yes, Chuck, we're ready. No, when I've gone back to the boat. I don't take orders from you. I'll get lost. Don't be stubborn, Joe. He came to get us, and we're going with him. Well, maybe you are, but I'm going back to Miami. Oh, no, you're not. What? What do you mean, Chuck? Sure, glad to. Feel better, Joe? Oh. Would you like me to get you a drink? No. Come on, relax. Don't get up so fast. It'll make you dizzy. You can quit being charming. You made your point. We're on the yacht. Now, isn't this better than going to the police? It's so quiet out here. So peaceful. So you'll kill him. No, I killed him. What? I said I killed him. Well, I must be losing my mind. You're supposed to be dead rest. Not rest. My name is Cristillo, Ernie Cristillo. Cristillo? But you're the guy that hired me to double for rest. That's right. Maybe I better straighten you out. I killed Bill Rest this morning at Delray Beach. Reason? He was writing a new book exposing the narcotics syndicate. Matter of fact, it was to be my biography. Delray Beach, of course. That's where the news boy said he was killed. That's where you were coming from when you picked me up this morning. Right again. I killed Rest and I disposed of his longhand notes on the new book. Why'd you drag me into it? Why'd you bring me here? Very simple. To give the police a definite suspect. Rest is impersonate, are you? Hendo was to pick you up later tonight, but they found Rest's body soon we counted on. She just made it in the nick of time, don't you think? So I was your red herring, huh? We got the idea while you were changing the tire. It worked fine. Oh, sure, it worked fine. Why'd you have to pick on me? Who is he anyway, a joker on the road, a guy without a job of ag, huh? You're getting emotional, Joe. You think you can hold me? You're crazy. Are we? By now some smart newspaper man has his byline on a story explaining why you did it. Well, suppose you tell me why I did it. Maybe you've been impersonating Rest for a long time. He caught up with you and you killed him. That won't stand up. What about that book of his? It's full of names of people who'll be happy to see him dead. That's true, but you've run away, Joe. That's the most damaging fact of all. You've run away and the police will keep looking for him. And they won't find you. There had been just the three of us on deck and now I was conscious of others. Two or three men, including the one who had slugged me, they were securing the motor launch to the deck. Even as they worked, I could feel them concentrating on me. It was like waiting for someone to give a signal. What's that, what's that noise? The anchor. The anchor? Was sailing? Right out to sea. Now last voyage, Joe, way, way out to sea. The engine started up and the yacht began to move nosing into the Atlantic. I looked back at Matacumbi Key at the overseas highway silhouetted against the dusky scy. A little fishing boat innocently anchored near the reefs. Only a couple of hundred yards away. That's all there were, a couple of hundred yards. There was one wild crazy chance I took it. Stop him! Get him! He's dead! Diving overboard! Hold it on! Jump on after him! There was one thing I knew how to do. It swim. I could just get to the reefs before they could get that boat in the water and come after me. I was less than fifty yards off the reefs now. Fifty yards from the little fishing boat. I looked back. Just as that motor launch hit the water, the rest was in it. And he came right at me. He was going to cut me in two. I swam faster. A few more strokes I'd be at the fishing boat. I could already see the guy in it. I looked at that motor boat. Get away, get away from it! I grabbed a hold of the fishing boat's gun, and I swore to avoid collision. You crazy jerk! You won't kill somebody! Hey, look at that. He's out of control. He's heading for the rocks. Crazy nut. He'll crack up. What a mess. Give me a hand up, will you? You know that guy almost killed you. Yeah. You all right? Oh, I'm great. Just get me to the police. Here he is, Lieutenant. What a mess. Look, I tell you, I didn't do it. I didn't kill anybody. I was hired by Ress. I mean Cristilio. Cristilio and that girl. They picked me up on the highway. They were both in her. Relax. Take it easy. Quiet. Cristilio is dead, and the coast guard picked up the girl. Oh, did she tell you? Sure. She talked. They always talk. Oh, I was afraid you wouldn't believe me. Well, when they booked you, we thought you could have done it. That crazy cock and bull story you told about working for them. But when we checked the blotter, we knew you couldn't have killed Bill Ress at all. Oh, you know? Well, sure. Well, when are you guys going to learn to come to the police when you get into trouble? When you all along, you couldn't have killed him because the murder was committed between 6 and 8 a.m. You were right here in the Miami jail until after 8.30. Oh, then... Then I'm free? Well, sure. Like a bird. Thanks. Regan? Yes, sir? Okay. He's all yours. Uh, what do you mean? Come on, buddy. Let's go. Oh, no. Hey, wait. Come on, I said. Okay, buddy. See that sign? Yes. I see the sign. It says Miami City Limits. That's right. Now... Now, wait a minute. I know. You want me to stay on the other side of that sign. Is that it? Yeah, that's it. Now, get going. Keep going. And don't come back, yeah? Of course, the next time, you'll probably get yourself in some real trouble. Escape is produced and directed by William M. Robeson. Tonight, we have presented Danger at Matakumbe by John and Gwen Bagney. Featured in the cast were Frank Lovejoy as Joe, Marie Windsor as Henda, and Ted DeCorsi as Russ. Also heard were Rick Vallon, Robert Clark, Harry Bartell, D Tatum, Jerry Hausner, and Larry Dobkin. Special music was composed and conducted by Del Castillo. Next week... You are the prisoner of Mr. Three from the land of one. You're being driven like an animal toward the giant spaceship from which you know there can be no escape. Next week, we escape to the forbidding valley of the Infernal River high in the Peruvian Andes, a valley from which no traveler has ever returned as T.S. Stribbling tells it in his science fiction classic, Green Splotches. Goodbye then, until the same time next week when, once again, we offer you... Escape! Whether your hair is long or whether it's short, musically speaking, that is, you'll get a kick out of that hour of music with Vaughn Monroe and Gene Autry heard on most of these same CBS stations every Saturday night. Vaughn is here with the five top tunes of the week as chosen by Variety Magazine, and Gene Autry comes riding with the best in western music and song. CBS Cordially invites you to join Vaughn Monroe and Gene Autry every Saturday night. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.