 Suspense, which is usually heard at this hour on Thursday nights, is taking its customary summer holiday. Suspense returns to the air eight weeks from tonight on Thursday, September 1st. You are drifting on the glossy surface of a burning tropical sea, trapped aboard a flimsy raft, with three murderous companions from whom you cannot escape. We offer you Escape, designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight, we take you to New Caledonia in the South Pacific, not far from the town of Noumea, a French penal colony as notorious as Devil's Island, and a trip that staggers the imagination, as John Russell told it in his gripping tale, The Fourth Man. The raft stood to open sea. A man of pandanus leaves her for its sail and a paddle of wood for its helm. Its flooring was woven of reeds and bamboo sticks and rested on triple rows of bladders. It was light, elastic, fit to ride any weather, and it carried four men. Three of them sat huddled together at the far end. Their bodies were blackened with dried blood. The hair upon them was long and matted. They wore only the rags of convex blue canvas uniforms. On wrist and ankle, they carried their mark, the dark wrinkled stain of the mannequins. There was Dubose, doctor, leader, man of the world, murderer. Friends, the thing is done. And Feneru, forger, ladies' man, weakling, cowered. Yes, we got away all right. And the one known as the parent, leaf and cutthroat. So far, so good. And by way of celebration, gentlemen, may I offer you cigarettes? Cigarettes? Oh, doctor, you are a marvel, a magician. Oh, look at them, white and precious, or they'll just come from the package. How did you do it? Every six months there are about 75 escapes from Numea. Not more than one succeeds. Ours would be that one I knew. So, three weeks ago, I bribed the night guard for these very cigarettes so that we might sit here, my friends, as we are doing and celebrate. I want a light. Ah, a light for the parent. Ah, doctor, so wonder. He thinks of everything. He gives us cigarettes, matches, and our freedom. Wait till you've got your two feet on a pavement again. That will be the time to talk about freedom. Oh, to wear starched collars again. To stroll with a girl clean and fresh from a bath down the Place de la Concorde. Suppose we get a storm? It's not the season of storms. Just the same. Suppose we get a storm. Barokit, my friend, you must not be so impatient. We were convicts back there, festering and oblivion. Now we stand on the rosy threshold of the big round world again. We are men raised from the dead. Suppose we get a storm? You've got the gift for a speech, doctor. But where is the ship that was going to meet us here? This is the day is agreed. It will meet us. These wind will blow us to China if we keep on. We can't lie any closer to shore. Don't forget there's a government launch at Torian. I doubt that the native trackers have given us up. Careful, Barot. They'll eat you yet. I have heard about that. Is it true, doctor, that the natives keep all the runaways they can capture to fatten on? They prefer the reward. Still I doubt if they've entirely lost a habit of cannibalism. Piece by piece, Barot. At first they'll sample you, and then they'll make a skew of your brains. They won't to miss a thing. Shut up! The filthy brutes. I almost forgot we have one of them with us. The fourth man was steering the raft. He sat crouched in the stern, his huge dark hands holding the steering paddle. He was motionless, like an idol, his eyes on the empty sea. The fourth man on the raft. You are looking at a knack, my friends. You will see nothing superior, no line of beauty to redeem the low angle of the forehead, the knobby joints of the body. Nature has stamped him with a mark of inferiority. He set the final seal himself with that twist of bark about his middle and the prong of pig ivory through his nose. Nonetheless, he is a man, and there's a price on our heads. He could be taking us where he liked. Calm yourself, Feneru. This is a very simple animal, an infant, really. Does that mean he couldn't double-cross us? It does. He's bound by his duty. I made my bargain with his chief of the river, and this one is sent to deliver us on board our ship. That's the only interest he has in us. And he'll do it? That is the nature of the native. I don't trust him. Not for a minute. The brute. The animal. You! It's you I'm talking about, you filthy brute! Ah, ah, save your breath, Harrod. He speaks no language, only a few noises, a few signs. I... I don't feel right on the same raft with that. Me? Ah, me, I'll just stretch out a little under these mats. Yes, we should all sleep a little, conserve ourselves. When we awake, she'll be there, the ship, our saucy little topsoil schooner, a mass standing out against the sky. We'll be on our way to France. Sleep, my friends. The two younger convicts dozed under the heat of the day, but not Dr. Dubose. He stood once again to sweep the skyline under his shaded hand. His plan had been so careful, so precise. He had counted absolutely on meeting the ship, the small schooner, one of those flitting half-piratical traders of the Cobra Islands that can be hired like cabs in a dark street for any sinister enterprise. But there was no ship. And there was no crossroads where one might sit and wait. Good morning, doctor. It's afternoon tomorrow. Yes, it is. I slept like a corpse. And where is the ship, doctor? It was going to be there when we woke. I'm thirsty. I'm dying with thirst. So are we all in our room. Where's the flask? I am roasted in the sun. I'll have to roast some more. This crew is put on rations. What are you talking about? Where is that water? I have it here. Yes, so you have. You think it is yours? It is ours, parrot. I want a drink, doctor. Think a little, parrot. Now we have to guard our supplies like reasonable men. We don't know how long we may be floating here. So that's how you talk now. You don't know how long. But you were sure enough when we started... I'm still sure the ship will come. She cannot stay for us in one spot. She'll be cruising to and fro until she intercepts us. We must wait. That's good. Wait. And in the meantime, what? Fry here in this heat, our tongue hanging out while you dealers are drop by drop. No, the man does not live who can feed me with a spoon. Laugh, you scum! But you're in this too, venero, with this captain who thinks of everything and still puts to sea without provisions. Go on. Laugh again. I wasn't laughing, parrot. True. That bad piece of work for a captain of runaway. Unless she would die very speedily, we must guard our water. And whose fault is it? Mine. I admit it. But then, here we are and here we'll stay. We can only do our best what we have. All right, doctor. Do your best. Give me a drink. You may have your share, of course. Be warned. When it's gone, don't come to us to venero and me. What is fair is fair. My drink. Very well. That's simple, fool. One simple. This way, we should have enough for three days, maybe more, with equal shares among the three of us. Yes, that's right. There are only three of us. Ah, were you thinking of him, venero, of our pilot? He looks somewhat like us, doesn't he? But his body is never known clothes or his feet shoes. His mind is never known a single thought. Look at us three, gentlemen. You, venero, a forger. You, para-tasif. I, Dr. Dubois, a murderer. Yet we are civilized men. This is a savage animal. Our provisions are only for men. What are Americans, Chinese, Italians, Arabs, Latin Americans and other citizens of the world doing today to make life better for you and your children? Next Sunday night on most of these same stations, CBS presents an hour-long dramatic account of this work in the world today. Written by Norman Cohen, citizen of the world stars Lee J. Cobb. Be sure to hear it next Sunday night. And now, we return to the second act of escape and tonight's story, The Fourth Man. Three men awoke to their second day on the raft. They looked and saw the far-round horizon, the empty desert of the sea in their own shadows that slipped slowly before them over its smooth, slow, heaving. The land had sunk away from them in the night. The trap had been sprung. As the savage sun kindled upon them with the power of a burning glass, a calm fell, an absolute calm. The air hung, waiting. The sea heaved and fell and polished undulations. And the sun shone. They crawled to the shelter of their mats, gasping, shriveling. While the fourth man, the savage, the beast, sat silent and unmoving. The water, the world of water, was slacked and thick as oil. Ah, how lonely it is. Dr. Dumos, where is your ship? The saucy little schooner. Those were your words. Well, where is it? It will come. Suppose your friends leave you to rot here, doctor. Leave Parrot and me to rot here. That would be a joke, eh, doctor? To wait for a ship that will never come? My friends will not fail me. Why? How do you know, eh? How can you be so sure? Eh, there is a safety vault in Paris full of papers to be opened at my death. Those papers contain confessions. No, gentlemen, no. My friends will come. They will come. That savage canak. What? What? He does not join us. He does not look at us. He sits on his heels in the way of the native with his arms hugging his knees. He sits at the stern motionless under the shattering sun gazing out into vacancy. Whenever I raise my eyes, I see nothing else, only this canak. He seems to be enjoying himself quite well. Yes, I was thinking so myself. The cannibal, the savage. He doesn't seem to suffer. How does he do it? Has he no feelings? I've been wondering. Maybe that his fibres are tougher. We have had water, and he has not. And yet, see, his skin, his flesh and voice. His belly, fat as a football. Don't tell me the savage is thirsty. Is there any way he could steal our supplies? Certainly not. Suppose he has his own supplies hidden. What? We'll see. Search the rat. Yes. Look under the mat. No, nothing. Nothing. You were mistaken. He has nothing hidden. You are wrong about him, doctor. When you say he has no understanding, there is one thing he knows and knows well. Pain. Don't hit him. Stop. There. Scum. That will teach you not so chippant how are you. Not so happy with your luck. That will make you feel... Come. Come back, my friends. Back under the mats. The glare of the sun is not so bad there, cop. So the days dragged by. The second and the third. And now it was the fourth day. And still there was no breeze. And still there was no ship. Doctor, what do you stare at? Savage. Look at him. Look at us. We are dying. Our powers are ebbing. And he... Naked, wild, brutish. He has yet to give the slightest sign of complaint to weakness. Yes. Yes, it's true. The night he stretches out and sleeps. Through those long hours when we wrestle and fight with despair, he sleeps like a child. And in the morning he resumes his place aft and changed, fixed. A growing wonder. Doctor, is this a man or a fiend? A man. He's a man. No, a miracle. Oh. He's a man. A very poor and wretched example of a man. You'll find no lower type anywhere. Look at his cranial angle the high years. Heavy bones of his skull, he's scarcely above an ape. Then what? He has a secret. A secret? But we see him. Every move he makes, every minute. What chance has he for a secret? What kind of secret? Oh, I can't say. Perhaps some method of breathing, some strange posture. He uses to cheat the sensations of the body. Such things are known among primitive people. Who knows, knows. We can know. We can find out. Ask him? Ah, it's useless. He will not tell. Why should he? We scorn him. We give him no share with us. We abuse him. So he falls back on his own expedience. He remains silent as he always has been. As he always will be. He never tells the secrets. They are the means by which he has survived from the depth of time. And by which he yet may survive on all our wisdom and dust. There are a number of ways of learning secrets. I know them all. Ah, useless. He could stand any torture you might invent. If you saw how he behaved before. No, that's not the way. Talk. I am tired of all this talk. Kill him and throw him over. Let's be rid of this thing. We gain nothing. Then what do you want? To win. That's what I want. To win. To beat him at the game. For our own sakes. For our own racial pride we must. To outlast him. To prove ourselves. We are his masters. To be better. Brains. By better organization and code. Watch him. Watch him, my friends. So we can trap him. So we can find out and defeat him in the end. Watch. I'll watch you all right. You old windbag. I am not sleeping anymore. And leave you alone with that bottle. Bottle. Bottle. I've been meaning to discuss our rations with you. Have you? We're running very short. I'm afraid we must take a cut again. And what are we done to now, doctor? Half a thimbleful. No. We must keep our wicks. I say no. And we'll put it to a vote. You say no, I say yes. Feneru. Yes. Yes. Anything but give me mine now. Then it's a half a thimbleful for Monsieur Feneru. Your share, Feneru. More. More. Or I'll die. More. No more today. You must. You must, doctor. I say no more today. Shit. Ah, shit. Where is it? Doctor. The bottle. Yes, the bottle. He's drinking. Look at him. Killed him with that oar. What about the bottle? There's some left. You caught him just in time. And you caught the bottle just in time. I did. Seems I did. And there is no ship. There will be no ship. We are done. Because of you and your dirty promises that brought us here. Doctor Lyre. You're getting closer. Unless you want this bottle broken over your head. No. I wouldn't want that. Just think, parrot, parrot. Why should you and I fight? We can see this troubled through and win yet. Yes. This weather can't last forever. Besides, there will be only two of us to divide the water now. Yes. It is true, isn't it? Yes. Feneru kindly leaves us his share. An inheritance. All right. I take mine now. My share. Right now, if you please. Later we will see. So be it. Here. Your share. Many thanks. And now, Feneru's share. Me, please. As you say. And now, another, another good doctor. Three. That's enough, parrot. No, doctor. It's not enough. Now I take the rest. I'll kill you if you don't. Thank you. You see, I have manners, haven't I? And I have wisdom, too. Because I'm a very wise man. I toast you, doctor. Man wins. That was a bright idea. The best. Oh. The best man wins, our parrot. You forgot I'm a doctor, didn't you? The water you would kill for has killed you. Man cannot go without water for four days and drink his fill and still live. Go on, parrot, gasp out your worthless life. Why, I laugh. The best man always wins, parrot. The best man. So, made the best man wins. Yes, doctor. Feneru, you, you. You forgot my knife, didn't you? My knife. You forgot me lying at your feet while you divided myself into water. Gave me up for dead, didn't you? But I, Feneru, will outlast the two of you. Feneru. The best man. Always wins. Feneru, you fool. The water. It's running out, parrot. I toast you all the time, not ten miles away from us. No, that come, such a misfortune. Well, what are they, the passengers? They're all dead. One is stopped to death, another his skull crushed, the other fried by the sun. All dead. Well, then, all the better, they'll cost nothing to feed. But how? Hogs' heads, my friend. The hogs' is in the after-hold. Fill them nicely with brine, and there we are. I do not understand. You're dull, Mato. Very dull. The gentlemen's passage is all paid before we left Sydney. I contract you to bring back three escaped convicts. Well, so I'll bring them back in pickle. So, if you'll go back, Mato, and bring them aboard for the trip, I'll be much obliged. Very well. There is a fourth man under half-captain, a canock, still alive. What will we do with him? A canock. There's no word in my contract about any canock. Leave him there. He's only a savage. And so, Dr. de Beauce and Feneru and the parrot went aboard for the long trip to their beloved Paris. Their bodies pitching and rolling gently in the huge vats of brine. On the raft, the fourth man raised his head slightly as a wind freshened from the west. He watched until the schooner turned, shaping away for Australia. Then he spread his sail of pandanus leaves and headed the raft eastward, back toward New Caledonia, back toward home. Feeling somewhat dry after his exertion, the native plucked a hollow reed at random from the rushes on his raft. Slowly, lazily, he stretched himself at full length in his accustomed place at the stern. He thrust the reed down into one of the bladders underneath the raft and drank his fill of sweet water. He had a dozen such storage bladders remaining, built into the floats at intervals above the waterline. Quite enough to last him safely home. Escape is produced and directed by Norman McDonnell. Tonight we have presented The Fourth Man by John Russell, adapted for radio by Irving Ravich and narrated by Larry Dobkin. Featured in the cast were Joseph Kearns, Ben Wright and Barney Phillips with Jack Krushen and Wilms Herbert. Special music arranged and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. Next week... You are deep in the remote hill country of Afghan, face-to-face with a fierce pave and warriors trapped into a hopeless fight from which there seems no escape. Next week we escape with Rudyard Kipling's famous story, Drums of the Four and Aft. Be sure to tune in at this same time next week when once again we offer you... Escape. Casey, crime photographer, is another top-ranking CBS sleuth who's taking no time out for vacation this summer. You can hear his adventures over most of these same CBS stations just a little later tonight. This is Tip Corning speaking over CBS The Columbia Broadcasting System.