 And now, tonight's presentation of Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrills Suspense. Tonight, the story of man who makes his escape from the most dreaded prison in the world. We call it, The Man with the Steel Teeth. So now, starring John Daener, here is tonight's suspense play, The Man with the Steel Teeth. It began on the evening of April 29th. I was seated in my box at the Bolshoi Opera in Moscow, listening to a particularly fine performance of Boris Goodenoff, when I felt a slap on my shoulder. Policeman, let's go. What? What do you want? Let's go. I'm a policeman. What? Look here, what's this all about? You are under arrest. Arrest? What are you talking about? Bomb. There were two other men with him, big men. In a moment, I found myself escorted down the corridor, down the grand staircase, and out into the dark street to a black limousine waiting in front. No one said a word as we sped through the streets, the men on either side of me staring straight ahead. Then we rounded a corner, and in a second I knew our destination, Dubyanka Prison, home of a thousand ugly secrets and the dread MVD. We swung down a long ramp and came to a stop at a huge, unguarded bronze door. Inside, I was taken through another door and steered down a long corridor. It was the cell block, and I was a prisoner of the Soviet secret police. Thank you, thank you, Comrade Lieutenant Golovi. I am now in Africa. I ate a leg. Now, just a minute. I've been here two days without a word as to why I've been arrested. I want an explanation. I'm an accredited correspondent. My papers are in order. You know that. Now, what about it? I gave up. They had no intention of dealing with me until they were good and ready. I could see that. I watched the man behind the desk, Inspector Golovin of the MVD, and a small, round little man in a badly fitted gray suit. Gold-rimmed spectacles magnified his brown eyes. And when he smiled, his full lips uncovered the most fantastic set of stainless steel teeth I ever laid eyes on, full uppers and full lowers. Then the morning feast was over. Dear Luttrel, how pleasant to see you again. Again? We've never met. You know it. I see we shall get on very well. Why am I here? A legitimate question. You are here to confess. Confess to what? Shall I read it to you? You... You have written my confession? No, no, no, no, my friend. These are the charges. Only the charges. The confession is up to you. With my help, of course. You are interested? Go on. From the office of Mags Golovin Inspector, this is a Moscow-Ranty-Berry First Officer. No, this does not concern you. Attested to by the following officers of the People's States, it does not concern you. Ah, subject. Considering the activities of one Arthur Henderson Luttrel, correspondent of WNA, citizen of the United States of America's resident of Moscow, three years hereafter called accused. One. That on the morning of August 21st, 1952, the accused was observed by witnesses in an exchange of objects with Asa Regine engineer, former member of the Ukrainian People's Agriculture Cooperative, while standing near North entrance, the workers' palace. A little man droned on, unreeling paragraph after paragraph of nonsense. Names of people I've met as a reporter or an official function on the street or anywhere. Names of people now dead or awaiting execution. It wasn't until this thought came that it dawned on me what my crime might be. And in the last paragraph, Golovin confirmed it. That Arthur Henderson Luttrel is accused of the crime of espionage and the encouragement of sabotage. That, by the use of personal influence, he contributed to the deviation of 12 individuals since convicted, sentenced and in four separate instances executed for crimes of treason against the state. Well? Very clever. Nothing clever, my dear friend. Merely a recitation of facts. Do you or do you not confess? Do I trumped up deal like this? No. Not on your life. On your life, Mr. Luttrel. You have been asked the question, my dear boy. Do you or do you not confess? Go to the devil. Is churras. Confess. No. Confess. Then they tried psychological persuasion. The method to wear me down to the point of exhaustion when I would gladly sign anything in exchange for a night's sleep. You will confess. You will read from this paper. Then you will sleep. No. You will read the following. The charges brought against me are true. I am guilty of sabotage. Read it, Mr. Luttrel. Read it. I am guilty of sabotage and the use of personal influence. Go on, go on. Then you will sleep. And you... No. No, it's not true. It's not true. And I awoke to find myself back in my cell. Then I... I noticed something was strange. Something different about my cell and unnatural stillness. It took an effort to focus on the moment. Then I saw what it was. My cell door was open. Just a crack. But it was open. It had always been closed and double locked each time I was returned from questioning, but... Now it was open. Reason told me it was another way of torturing me as it was a trap. But I had to try. Cautiously, I stepped out into the broad corridor and I moved past the line of cells. If I could reach the bronze doors. The bronze doors. Outside. Escape. And then I was standing before the open door of the office. It was empty. No gullivine. Nobody. In the corner behind the desks to the coat rack. On it hung an overcoat and a black hat. I took them and I put them on. Walked out to the bronze doors. I was outside. Except for a black limousine that stood across the parking area the place was deserted. Nobody. My first thought was the embassy. If I could get to the embassy I'm safe. I looked again at the limousine. An official car of the NVD. Trying to be as casual as possible I went over and looked in. The ignition keys were there. I got in quickly. And stepped on the starter. I drove carefully. Alive to the fact that the city had a thousand eyes. It was early morning. Few cars were on the streets. And suddenly the welcome sight of the embassy came into view. It loomed large and took shape as I approached. There was a car parked in front of the main embassy entrance. I pulled up behind it. I was about to set the handbrake. When I saw something that turned my blood to water. Not 40 feet from me. Leaning against the stone post of the entrance gate. It was a man in an overcoat. He was absorbed with a small hand mirror. In which he was examining his teeth. Probing here and there with his forefinger. It was Expector Golovin. You are listening to The Man with a Steel Teeth. Tonight's presentation in Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrill's Suspense. Tonight's performance of Suspense is the final broadcast at this time. Beginning next Tuesday night be sure to listen for Suspense at a new hour. With new mysteries well calculated to keep you in suspense. Remember beginning next week on most of these same stations. Radio's Outstanding Theatre of Thrill's comes to you Tuesday evenings. Suspense Tuesday nights at the stars address from now on. And now we bring back to our Hollywood soundstage. John Daener starring in tonight's production of The Man with a Steel Teeth. A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. Back out into the street. In the rear view mirror I saw Golovin go to his car and start after me. I was in a panic. At the corner I turned left and headed toward Red Square. Then began a dodging game that took us through the west section of Moscow and into the industrial suburbs. Time after time I was sure I had lost Golovin but he would seemingly materialize out of nowhere and fasten himself to me. But on and on and on until we neared a bridge. The right. And picked up speed. And in a while found myself in open country with Golovin nowhere in sight. I had lost him. Or he had lost me. What differences would make? I had no chance of ever getting back to the embassy. Now the MVD would be there waiting for me with a color guard so I just drove on. On the strength of an MVD identity card I found in the pocket of my overcoat I obtained gasoline at a small town and I continued on westward. I drove steadily the rest of that night and all the next day. Late the following night I reached the outskirts of Warsaw and the time had come to abandon the MVD car. It had served its purpose but by now the entire secret police undoubtedly was alerted to watch for me so I left it at the side of the road and started walking. In half an hour I was at my destination to the apartment of an old friend. I was on the ragged edge. I needed rest. Who's here? Hello Maria. Oh, Chicago, you're in good. Yes, yes, come in, come in. I'm very tired. Sit down here, my darling. Oh, it feels good. I will make some tea for you. Oh, such a surprise to see you, my Chicago. What has happened to you? I live not in Moscow. Oh, of course you're not in Moscow. You're here. Why are you here, Chicago? Chicago, already you're sleeping. That is good. Good morning. Oh, Chicago, finally you wake up. But it is not morning, it is two o'clock in the afternoon. How do you feel now? You sleep good? Oh, seven. You're going to stay awake now? I give you a cup of coffee. An angel. Oh, never mind the angel talking here. Thanks. First cup of coffee I've had in two months. Now you must tell me, Chicago, what has happened? Where do you come from? Where do you go? Old Cotton Eye Joe. Old which? Your question is where do you come from, where do you go? Like old Cotton Eye Joe, it's an American folk song. Oh. Never mind. Sit down, Maria, and I'll tell you. I have missed you, Chicago. And when you came in last night, I was very happy. You're still as beautiful as ever, Maria. But I am wrong to talk this way to you. Everything was finished two years ago, and so it must remain. I still think we were fools. Forget, forget. Now, you're in a lot of trouble, huh? Yeah, a lot. You talk in your sleep. What did I say? Oh, I could not understand everything, but you keep on killing a man. Or Golovin. Golovin, yeah, that is the name. You must hate him to kill him so much. Well, he gave me a lot of trouble. Oh. What do you look like? Oh, he's a small man, he's quite small. Maybe a little fat? Yeah. Does he wear glasses? I really talked in my sleep, didn't I? No, no, but there is such a man outside in the street who looks like that. Wait, wait, I go look. He's still there. Come look, but be careful. Don't let him see you across the street. You see? Oh, he has been there all day. He was there this morning. He's an inspector for the MVD. MVD? I've got to get to Berlin. Yes, you must leave Warsaw. Maria, can you help me? I think so. I know someone. Can he be trusted? Yes, you know my brother, Bronislav. But he's with the communists. Oh, I shall let you decide that when you meet him. Remember to use the pistol only as a last resort. So, go over your carts again and we shall see if you know them. A personal identification card. Gasoline ration card. ID badge where I work. Inspector for State Fisheries. State Fisheries. Travel permit and they work record. Good, good. Now we go. Maria, I don't know how... Not a word from you. You saved my life, Maria. I'll never forget. So, give me a kiss now. Come, come, come now. Let us go. Goodbye, my beautiful Chicago. Goodbye. Bronislav led me down the stairs, not the back door to the alley where his car was parked. There was no sign of Golovin, a relief to be sure, but still a surprise since both of us half expected to see him. Maria's brother had done a first-class job arranging my escape. From Warsaw to Berlin was a cruise, clear sailing all the way. And it was a lovely summer night when we arrived in Berlin. We drove as near to the line dividing the sectors as we could. I got out, there was a handshake between us, and Bronislav was gone. I started walking to the end of the street. The end of Soviet influence. Ten yards away, I rounded a corner and... Good evening, Latrel. Golovin. The little man blocked my path so I couldn't get by. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets, a frightening smile on his face. So, now it is the end of the road for us. No, Latrel, for a while I thought this moment would never come to pass. But now it is all over. As he spoke, he withdrew a small pistol from his pocket, balanced it casually in his hand and continued talking. This was the end for me. Don't you think, Latrel, I allowed you to escape, so... So that you could shoot me at the end of the road, quite the saddest, aren't you? I allowed it so that I could make my own way here. Look, don't play games, Golovin. Games? No games. This entire thing was planned for my escape. Your escape? Mine. By following you I could give the impression that I was only doing my duty by pursuing an escaped prisoner, a prisoner who, by chance, you understand, led me to here. You still do not believe me, do you? And I just don't get it, that's all. Latrel, in my country it is bad life. Soon my colleagues would have seen the things I could no longer hide and then would come the purge, the purge of me. I had to leave before that could happen. So, now. And I find it kind of hard to swallow, I'll tell you that. Here, take my gun. Take it. Now you believe? So come, my dear boy, we cannot stand here. Let us go across the road. You see, I need you to vouch for my story when I am questioned. One thing, Golovin. Yes? What would you have done if you had found that your colleagues were closing in on you? I would have seized you immediately and taken you back to Lubyanka. You were never exactly what you would call safe, Mr. Latrel. You were my insurance. Yeah. This is the American sector? It is. My territory now. Then we must save the military police and I give myself up. Yeah. Yeah, I guess they would like to have a talk with you. So now, my dear boy. No, wait, wait. Wait a minute, Golovin. Wait? A lot of reasons. You figure them out. My knuckles hurt. They were bleeding. Golovin sat on the pavement looking stupid. My turn to go and, as I did, he took his hand from his mouth. His full lips hung slack, revealing his steel teeth, bent grotesquely out of shape. I shuddered and went to find the military police. Suspense. In which Mr. John Daner starred in his own story, the man with the steel teeth. Next Tuesday, the story of three women and their vigil of death. We call it Waiting. That's next week on Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by Anthony Ellis. Music was composed by Leith Stevens and Lucian Marwick and conducted by Lud Bluskin. Featured in the cast were Maria Palmer, Edgar Barrier, Jack Krushen, and Robert Boone. Crime photographer clicks against criminals Fridays on the CBS Radio Network.