 of mystery and adventure, William M. Robeson. 29 and a half hours ago, off San Pedro light, 41 sleek ocean-going yachts crossed the starting line on the 21st Trans-Pacific Honolulu Race. Tonight, this great blue water sports event is the scene of our story of suspense. Written by Sam Pierce, a man who should know his subject, for he is not only the official news correspondent of the race, but a member of the crew of the schooner, Queen Mad. To all the contenders of the Trans-Pacific, our best wishes for good luck and good sailing. And our fervent hope that nothing happens to them as frightful as Mr. Pierce has imagined in his story. And now, blood is thicker, sparring Mr. Everett Sloan, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. Plan as plans go, there's a girl, Vanessa Evans. She's young, very pretty, built like you dream, and you dream some jaunty dreams. And most important, she's loaded with money. Left to her by her papa, who also left her oil wells, cattle ranches, and a 70-foot ocean racing schooner, which Vanessa sails with magnificent skill. The plan, right to marry Vanessa and her money and her yacht. You've sailed with her every weekend for the last two months, and now she's invited you to crew on the Honolulu race. And although your yachting experience has been limited to a few weekends on friend's boats, you've always been able to talk a good game. And with as willing a listener as Vanessa, who could steer a wrong course, as they say in Yachting Circle? So now it's the day of the start. And as you swing jauntly aboard the sleek 70-footer, your spirit is sorry. You feel every inch the gentleman sailor your carefully selected wardrobe makes you look. Now welcome aboard, Mr. Farley. Thank you, Captain. Morning, Mike. Vanessa, boy, don't you look wonderful. Thank you, sir, she says. Hi, Skipper. Mike. We can take off any time now, dock's aboard. We all here, Vanessa, crew complete. We're all here, Mike. But there's been a little change in personnel. Charlie Edmunds had his appendix taken out the night before last night. You're not kidding. So I've asked my cousin Hugh Guthrie to sail with us in his place. I'd like you to meet him. Hugh, this is Mike Farley. My cousin Hugh Guthrie. Oh, very glad to know you, Mike. Thank you. Vanessa was telling me you've done quite a bit of sailing on the East Coast. I thought perhaps we might have done that. I made the Bermuda races a couple of times. Ah, fine race. What boat? The Quintana. Quintana. Mike raced on her in 1952, the year she won. Yes. You done much sailing, Hugh? I used to sail a good deal with Vanessa's father. Hugh's one of my smarter type cousins. He handled all of Dad's business affairs. He handles them for me now. Oh, I see. You, uh, from out here? Oh, no. I ten-star back in New York. Hugh flew all the way out just to make the race with us. I was glad to find an excuse to get away for a while. And who could ask for anything nicer than sailing with a first-class skipper like Vanessa again, particularly on a boat like the Segway? You've sailed on the Segway before? Failed, though. He knows they're like a book. Well, that's a relief to me. Charlie and I were teamed up as watch partners. We would have worked the four-deck and the puppet. And that's no place for a gringo. You may have to bring me up to date on a few things up there. But I think I'll remember most of the race. Oh, I'm sure you will. Excuse me, Miss Evans, but the crew are all present. All the gear is stowed. I wondered if you'd like to be getting on the way pretty soon. Thank you, Pete. I think we can go any time now. Yeah, fine. Stand by. Let go of the lines. Mac, you take the spring line. All right. Mr. Farley, you're stationed forward. You can let go of the starboard bow line. OK, Pete. And Mr. Guthrie, you're forward with Mr. Farley. You watch Vanessa as she backs the segue out of the slip into the channel. And you can't help wishing that Charlie Edmonds was your watchmate instead of Vanessa's kiss and cousin, Hugh Guthrie. Breakwater now, beating slowly to windward. The breeze is fresh, even in relief, point firmened. And your uneasiness about your plan and the complications Vanessa's cousins you might present fade out in the anticipation of the most exciting of all moments, the start. 45 trim ocean racing yachts of all sizes and rigs, white-hulled, black-hulled, mahogany-hulled, niting through the long, gentle swells of the Catalina Channel, maneuvering with a skill that is born to blue-water sailors. Abroad the segue with Vanessa Evans' slim, strong hands almost caressing the wheel, you know the excitement. Share it with every other sailor on every other boat as the seconds kick away and the navigators boys continue to countdown. If I hadn't been looking, I would have thought your father was at the wheel. Thank you, Pete. Beautiful start, Vanessa. I don't think you had more than two seconds to spare. I thought for a minute we were going over the line too soon. I was scared, Mike, really scared. Oh, you handled her like a master. And we're doing great. Look, I don't think there's more than two boats ahead of us, maybe three. The cutter isn't going away for us, though. You'll weather us all the way to the west end of Catalina. But once we get around, we can really put some sail on, see what she can do. And we're pointing higher than that catch over there, leading her to the catch. Now, right over there to stop it. Oh, the yaw. No, she's a ca... Oh, oh, yes, of course, she's a yaw. Unless, of course, they've changed things around up here in the west. No, no, no, she's a yaw. It's just sort of a mental block I have. Never can remember which is which. It's an easy enough mistake to make for a bluewater sailor. Oh, come on, Mr. Nepali. Vanessa, and she's looking intently at the compass, avoiding your eyes. And you look at Hugh Guthrie, and he doesn't avoid your eyes. And you know that you made your first bad mistake. And he knows it, too. So far, you haven't made any more mistakes. But you know that Vanessa's cousin Hugh hasn't forgotten your slip. You know he's watching and waiting for you to make another one. And you're certain that next time he won't let it go, not this boy. But there are moments aboard the Segway, rare but wonderful moments when you're alone with Vanessa out on the pulpit, a tiny, fenced-in platform on the forward tip of the bow sprit, with nothing but the sound of the wind from the bowway. Beautiful from anywhere, like a skipper. Mike, if I ask you something, will you get angry? Of course not, darling. I couldn't be angry with you. It's about you and Hugh. What about you and me? Well, I don't know what it is, Mike, but... But from the very first day of the race, you've been standing off watching each other. There's something between you. What is it, Mike? What's happened? Well, as a matter of fact, Vanessa, I felt it, too. Mike, you don't like him, do you? Well, I don't dislike him. I don't think he likes you, Mike. He's been pumping me about you, about your parents, where you were raised, what votes you've sailed on. Well, I'm flattered by his interest, but why is he so concerned with me? Because he's my guardian, Mike. Your guardian? Why, he's only a couple of years older than you are. I told you he was one of my smaller-type cousins. Daddy liked him, wanted it that way. So, uh, he controls your money? He controls everything dad left for me. And your heart, Vanessa? I control that, Mike. Well, let me. Why are we talking about things that don't matter? Who cares about your money? That old cousin of you have it, if he wants it. Who cares about anything but us, Vanessa? Us? That's all that matters. Mike? I don't care what happens as long as we have each other. Oh, Mike, darling. You stay out on the pulpit after Vanessa leaves, and you try to digest this new and unpleasant piece of news. So cousin Hughes, Vanessa's guardian, a legal guardian, and you think of what a little thing will oust up your plan. Just poor old Charlie's affiliates. Why not cousin Hughes? You and he share the midnight to four a.m. Watch out here on the pulpit every morning. Sailors have gone overboard before, out here at night in the dark, a quick push, an unfortunate, terrible accident. It's the only way out. You know you have to do it. The only question. Seven days out, midway between from the sea coming at you in long-rolling swells, the tops blowing off, feathering into the night. The bow of the segue seems like a giant fucking bronco. Lifting high, only the funds back in, pulpit and all. You and you are wearing your floatation gear. Small but efficient life jackets that inflate when you squeeze the handle of a CO2 bottle. But you know that Hugh will not stay afloat once he's over the side. You remove the little steel air bottle while Hugh is eating dinner, and in its place, you insert it an empty one. And one thing more. You fix the lifeline fastener on the pulpit so it's ready to be opened at the right time to provide a convenient exit for cousin Hughes. A broken fastener on the lifeline, they'll say. An accident. An unfortunate accident. Pulpit with you when you're ready. But before you do anything, you have to know how much he knows about you. You have to. It's almost a compulsion. I had quite an interesting talk with Vanessa the other day. Is that so? Yes, we talked about a lot of things. Mostly about you. Said she didn't think you liked me very much. I may have given her that impression. He said you've been asking a lot of personal questions about me. That's right. I did ask some questions. Why? Because I don't believe a word you say. Just because I made a few small mistakes like calling a yaw a cat? Oh, the business of the yaw really had very little to do with it. There were so many other things. For instance, for instance, your framing as a crew member on the Quintana and the Bermuda race of 1952. It was the year you sailed on, wasn't it? That's correct. Well, despite the amazingly factual quality of your story, you were not on the Quintana in 1952. You can prove that, of course. Quite simply, you're a good student, Farley. You've obviously done a lot of reading on ocean racing. But you made a mistake in the Quintana story and a rather bad mistake. You mentioned the names of the crew, but you left out the name of Hugh Guthrie. If you sailed aboard, how come you left that one name out? Because you weren't on the Quintana. Direction. I seem to have a knack for being a last minute replacement. On this race, it was for old Charlie Edmunds under the name of Kirby Meston. He was on the Quintana. It was printed in the official crew list. Yes, but he was not aboard. He broke his leg on the very morning of the stock. And I, lucky Johnny on the spot, happened to be there to see an old friend off who happened to be the skipper of the Quintana. I replaced Kirby Meston. That's impossible, Farley. You're a bit of a liar. And I don't trust liars. Particularly when they're moving in on someone very dear to me. Then this, then this. I thought you were offering it to keep your little cousin's future happiness. In fact, I warned Vanessa about you. You don't want me to marry her because you want her. I'm going to tell Vanessa the truth about you. I won't tell her anything because you are not going anywhere except over the side, old thing, so... You're going over now! As you start over, but the fastener you, Doctor, carries away, and you feel a sharp, carrying pain as a hook-like end of it rips through your hand. Then you're alone in the water, watching the segue as she rushes on into the night. You inflate your life vest. Then you see you're off in the distance, the spreader and deadlines come on, and you hear the voices, hurried, frantic, as they get the sails down and try to bring the segue around. And you know your plan is finished. But you're alive. And that's all that matters now. You're alive. And they're coming back to pick you up. Blue-gray fin cruising slowly, almost indifferently, slicing through the black water, a scant ten feet away from you. And you suddenly remember the recent stories in all the newspapers of killer sharks and what they can do to a swimmer. They lie very still. That's what they said to do. And you watch. Cruises away. And you start to breathe again. Circles. Seems to flutter in the water. And pick up speed. And you raise your hand in a futile gesture to ward it off. And you suddenly know you're not going to make it. Your hand sliced to the bone from the hook on the lifeline is bleeding. And you remember the sharks are attracted to blood. It's the thing that makes them attack. And you open your mouth to cry out because you're pulled down through the blue-black water. And something has you in a vise of razor-sharp teeth. And then you do scream with the last breath you have. Everett Sloan starred in William and Robeson's production of Blood Is Thicker, written by Sam Pierce. Supporting Mr. Everett Sloan in tonight's story were Kathy Lewis, Laurence Dobkin, Bill Quinn, and Sam Pierce. Listen. Listen again next week when we return with Mr. John Lund starring in Eyewitness. Another tale well calculated to keep you in.