 wonder if prices will ever come down, set up with the post-war world, want to get away from it all. We offer you escape. You are standing at the edge of an enchanted grove, lured by a soft caressing voice inviting you to destruction. You have nearly sold your soul to an ancient goddess from whom you must escape. Escape. Produced by William M. Robson and designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Today we escape to the African Veldt and an enchanted shrine of great antiquity as John Bucken told it in his weird story, the grove of Ashtarot. We stumbled on to the place, Lawson and I, during the second day after we left Tarki. We'd travel on horseback some 40 miles or so through typical African Veldt, lush and green with plenty of game and good hunting. It was late afternoon when we topped a rise and saw before us a small plateau of such beauty that we both reigned in and sat staring at it, not speaking for some moment. A tiny sparkling stream wandered through the verdant meadow grasses and at the edge of the plateau tumbled in a crystal waterfall down to the plain below. Graceful clumps of strange trees grew here and there and bushes blazed in a riot of bloom had seen nothing remotely like it in all the miles we'd come. It stood alone, proud and lovely, an alien island in a sea of tropical jungle. Great heavens, John, in your whole life have you ever seen anything like it? If some artist had designed that plateau, placed every tree and bush by hand, it couldn't be any more perfect. It's almost weird, isn't it? Yeah. It shouldn't be here. It doesn't belong. But there isn't a plant growing over there that's like any we've seen in the rest of the jungle. Probably a difference in minerals in the soil, something of that kind. It's more than that. They're not even the same varieties. It's true that one grove standing alone there near the edge, I've never seen trees that slender and fragile in the bark. It looks like silver velvet. Silver velvet. That's quite an idea, John. Yes, I guess it isn't that. Anyway, those doves seem to like it. They never stop circling over that one particular grove. Probably nesting them. A flock of white doves circling over a silver grove. But, you know, there's something vaguely familiar about that. Yes, there is. John, can you make out some kind of a dark shape there through the trees over to the center of the grove? Yes. Yes. Come on. Let's right over and take a look. No. Not now. Why? I mean, you'll have plenty of chance to see it later. What are you trying to say? John, I'm going to build a home here. A home? Out here in the middle of the jungle miles from... I'll build a road in from Taki. I've got money enough and no one but me to spend it. I've always wanted to live in Africa. Always, Larson? Or for the last five minutes? It doesn't matter. Somehow, even though I'd never seen it, I've dreamed of this spot all my life. I've got to live here. Wanted to live here, I mean. But so quickly, at least think it over first. No, I don't have to think it over. I know what has to be done. John, it's here that I built my tabernacle. I couldn't understand Larson giving into this sudden foolish impulse. It wasn't like him. But there was nothing I could do. I left him at Taki the next day and returned to the matter of fact world of business in London. And it was three years before I saw him again. Three years before I returned to Africa to find that he built a manor house in the jungle and equipped it with all the conveniences of the English countryside, of which not the least was travels, his butler. May I be so bold to say it, Mr Bucken? It's very good to see you again, sir. You bring a breath of old London out of this heathen foreign country. Well, thank you, Travis. It's good to see you again. This is some different from the old granite front on Grosvenor Square, isn't it? Indeed it is, sir. The great many things are different. Yes. Mr Larson's turned this jungle clearing into a paradise on Earth. If you'll pardon me, sir, I think paradise is not quite the word. Hmm? Oh, well, perhaps I'd better tell the master you arrived, Mr Bucken. He's been lying down. Oh, not he'll lie. I'll tell him you're here, sir. Travis left the room and I waited alone, wondering at the strangeness of this manor. I had finally decided it must be induced by homesickness. I looked about me as impressed by the austere magnificence of the library as I'd been by the grounds outside. There was an imposing mantle piece of ebony at one end and on it was placed an object elegantly fashioned of alabaster in the form of a half moon was curiously carved with signs of the zodiac. There was something compelling almost unearthly about it. Fascinated, I reached out my hand. I should not touch that about you. Huh? Oh, Larson. I didn't hear you come in. Oh, yes, sir. Oh, fine, Larson. Couldn't be better. You? So, we sit down? Yes. Thank you. Wonderful thing you again, oh man. Been wanting to get down here for the last three years, but you know how it is in London. Time gets away from you and the first thing you know. Oh, yes, of course. Uh, cigar? No. No, thank you. Not now. When I finally did get the chance, I couldn't even wait for an answer from you. I sent a wire and then followed it right on down. Yes, surprise me of it. I haven't had a visitor here for the last two years. Oh, well, didn't that explain why Travis talked the way he did? I thought it must be. What do you mean, Travis talked the way he did? What did he say? Larson, what's wrong with you? He didn't say anything. Well, it's better enough. I'm afraid I... Look at it. I'm sorry, Chuck. I haven't felt very well the last few days. Well, that explains it. I say, at least you seem to be eating all right. You're actually getting a bit plump. Actually, I'm fat. Gross, flabby, and obscenely fat. Is that what you really mean? Well, no. I was only joking. Never mind. Uh, what do you think of the place, Chuck? The place, right? It's amazing. It's beautiful. No one could ever believe it without seeing it. I... I doubt if there's another place like it anywhere in the world. You're right about that. There isn't another place like it anywhere in the world. Oh, that reminds me. I... I notice you left the grove as it was without bothering it. Tell me, did you ever find out what it was we saw that afternoon? Yes. Yes, John. I found what it was. Well? John, I haven't overseer your name of McJobson, quite a confident man. I want you to leave with him in the morning. Take a three or four day hunting trip. He knows the country. He'll find you plenty of games. Oh, but I... I came here to see you. I... I'm fighting about a fever. It happens every so often. I'll be all right by the time you get back. Oh, now, wait a minute. If you're sick, I'm certainly not going to run. You'll do what I tell you. I'm sorry to talk this way, but I know what has to be done. All right, Lawson, whatever you say. Good. Settle it. Relieve me, John. I know what's best for me. Yeah, I'm sure you do. Another thing, John, that carving that sits on the mantel, I must ask you not to touch it. It's quite old and rare. I should not like anything to happen to it. The night when I retired, I found it impossible to sleep. I tossed fitfully trying to think of some reason for the great change that came over my friend in these past three years. Drugs, drink, actual sickness, either physical or mental? No, none of them gave any complete answer. My windows looked out across to the turf, and I saw the grove of strange trees. It was based now in the moonlight by a soft silvery haze. Even now, in the middle of the night, the flock of doves circled in the air above it, gleaming white from wing and breast as they wheeled in the shats of moonlight. I dozed off finally to wake up suddenly in that brief hour before the first light of dawn. I happened to glance from the window, and in the fading moon glow saw a figure approaching the house. It drew nearer, and I saw it was Lawson barefooted wearing a white dressing gown. Shortly, I heard his weary steps past my door, and afterward the house was silent. I lay there wide awake. Lawson had been coming from the direction of the grove. Good morning, Mr. Bucket. Oh, morning, Mr. Johnson. Oh, sit down, sit down. Thank you, sir. Now, in regard to that hunting trip we talked about earlier, I can offer you a choice of two or three... No, no, never mind. I'm not going on any hunting trip. But last night we decided that... That was last night, Mr. Johnson. Tell me, how long is Mr. Lawson been sick? Oh, it comes and goes. Happens about once a month like this. He's not the man that he was when I first came here. Do you have any ideas about what might be the matter? I? Well, what are they? If I told you what was in my head, you'd think me lost. Why don't you wait until tomorrow? You won't need to ask. It's the full moon, the nest. Full moon? What does that have to do with it? You'll find it in the Bible. Read the 11th chapter of the second book of Kings. Who tells that? In the library and summed it open to the passage he'd mentioned, I read through it once without understanding. And then, one sentence seemed to leap out from the page. For Solomon went after Ashtaroth, the goddess of the Sidonian. Ashtaroth. Ashtaroth, of course, Ashtaroth! Goddess of the ancient east. The strange rituals held a dark fascination for the children of Israel over and over, luring them away from their fierce prophets to worship at her shrines. The white doves of Ashtaroth circling the shrine of her silver grove. Right, then the grove at the end of the turf must hide a lost shrine dedicated to her worship. But what of Lawson? Did his blood carry one fraction from old Israel with the same ancient weakness to hear and answer the call of the goddess? Did he become an acolyte of Ashtaroth? What weird rites did he perform in the grove at night? And then I remember tonight the worship of Ashtaroth had always reached its climax on the night of the full moon. Lawson did not appear all day. And that evening, after dinner, with jumps in the night, took up our watch on the dark calendar, looking into the windows of the library. We'd been there at least an hour. Look, Dr. Lawson, he just came into the library. I see him. Hey, what's he after? I suppose he wants the little figure on the mantel. We watched him take the car to have the moon of Alibaston and slip it into the pocket of the robe he was wearing. Then he turned and left the room. In the moment he came out the front door and walked off across the turf in the moonlight. He'd best give him a bit of a start and then follow it. No, he'd see us for sure in that moonlight. Uh, do not think so. He'd not look back now, sir, if there were ten of us following. But, Dr. Lawson, what is it all about? You've read the book. Yes. Yes, it's the ancient goddess Ashtaroth, but what is the ceremony? What does he do? And what is it that made him the way he is? The ceremony he'll be seeing, Mr. Buckins. As to what has made him like he is? It's just an evil thing and all the while he knows it to be evil. He's trying to help himself and he knows that too. Yes. I think I see what you mean. When that bit going now, he's gone into the grove. We crossed the turf quickly and passed into the black and silver shadows of the Moonlit Grove working our way carefully toward the center. The only sound at first was the piping of the doves circling high over the lacy branches above our heads. I saw as we approached that the center of the grove had been cleared to form a small circular arena was covered with smooth turf. And standing in the middle of it was a cone of rock 30 feet high, a smooth sharp tower of stone that pointed up to the tops of the trees. And then I saw Lawson. He stood by the base of the conical tower. His arms uplifted. The symbol of the hat moon bound to his forehead. Enchanting words with meanings I could not even guess. No Lawson threw off his white robe and began a curious kind of dance. Moving around the foot of the cone and a worn path beaten in the turf. The same path he must have followed many other nights before. He moved faster and faster, muttering now and again a wild cry. We stared and tranced at the circle of moonlight. And as he danced, a strange new sound slipped into my consciousness, an earthly melody that seemed to come from the tower, from the trees. Or may perhaps have been born within my own mind tricked by the magic fantasy of moonlight, shadows, and perhaps madness. It brought to me one vivid thought of the warm soft lips of an unseen goddess, of lips in carnadine, whispering gently and sensuously across the reeds of a penpipe. I stirred uneasily, felt the quickening of my pulse. I tried to resist it, Mr. Bucken. There's only a thing of evil cloaked in a false beauty. My jobs and herdo felt it too. Then it was more than a trick of my own senses. Something in me thrilled to the call of the weird melody. I wanted to rush out and throw myself at the base of the stone tower to dance as Lawson was doing. To spend all eternity in adoration and worship of the beauty of Astral. No, Mr. Bucken. Drift what is done to him. Fight it, lad, fight it. I lost all knowledge of time. The dance had grown swifter and fiercer. The moonless figure and the clearing moved faster and faster, faster reading and gyrating in tempo to the crazy rhythm. My blood was pounding in my throat, my ears ringing. The music surged through my brain in ever-mounting waves of incandescent sound. Now I was beyond reason, possessed by an overpowering frenzy when... The cock crow. Then the grove was deathly still. And at the foot of the tower, Lawson lay unconscious. Hey, Mr. Bucken. Good. It was a near thing. Travers got a couple of sleeping tablets into him. He'll not be waking up before tonight, at least. Mick Jobson, I suppose you know what we have to do. I'm well aware of what should be done, sir, but I have no idea how to do it. I think I do. I shall take full responsibility, but I'll need men all we can get. The natives will no go nearer the place. But there's some 30 white men on the tobacco farm a few miles back on the bush. But they're what, a highway? I'll pay it just get them. Would you mind telling me what you're proposing to do, sir? Yes. Something that may sound as mad as Lawson himself. I'm going to deal with that grove the same way King Josiah did. Hey, it comes back to me vaguely. Here it is. And the high places that were before Jerusalem, which Solomon, the king of Israel, had builded for Ashtaroth the abomination of the Sidonians, did the king defile. And he break in pieces the images and cut down the groves. Both the altar and the high place he break down and burned the high place and stamped it small to powder and burned the grove. I test the word of God. They'll need dynamite, but I have plenty of it down at the workshop. I'll go after the men first. We should be ready to start by nine o'clock this morning. It was just past nine when we entered the grove, carrying axes and a couple of shotguns and driving several teams of oxen. A light breeze had sprung up in the branches of the silver trees. We took care of the doves first, shot them one by one until we'd killed them all, 27, then piled their white bodies at the foot of the pointed rock. Then the men set to work with the axes, chopping through the slender trunks of the trees. I stood by the stone tower of the high place of King Solomon and watched while the work went on. Gradually, gradually born perhaps in the sighing wind, a strange fancy crept into my mind. Fancy'd I could hear a voice coming from the tower, from the trees. This voice was soft, warm and pleading. Can the spirit within you not hear and feel? The heart of all sorrow was in that voice and the soul of all loveliness. Distant, tenuous, with all the bodiless grace of a goddess older than time and desire. God knows that I am beautiful, and once gone, I'm gone forever. I could not believe that I was imagining this soft and lovely voice. I felt a sudden and overpowering adoration for this exquisite creature who whispered in the breath of the wind. I wanted to call out to the men, order them to stop desecration of a home in sanctuary. Then I thought of Lawson of what he'd become and I fought back the impulse. How can you judge who knows so little one who is part of the whole divinity of nature? No. No, I won't. I can't listen to you. No. Please, no. It's got to be done. It's got to be done. I can't. I can't. What are you saying, Mr. Bucken? I couldn't quite hear you. Oh. Nothing. Nothing at all. Well, I'm ready to put the dynamite around the tower here if you'll move back a little way. But, Jopson, but Jopson, perhaps, perhaps we could leave the tower. Maybe it's enough to clear the grove. It's not enough. The book says and their children remember the altars and the groves by the green trees upon the high hill. No. No goodness, Mr. Bucken. The heat of the voices, the wind, every last tone must be destroyed. He is a stern man and a cruel man and his words are vile with hate. No. Please, may only this one laugh of course. No. These two boxes of dynamite close together, man. Easy now. No. Even now it's not too late. I... I walked away slowly. The piles of tree trunks were burning now. The smoke swirled in the wind. I would leave this place tonight. Yes. This place forever. Then write a note for Lawson. Telling him of what I'd done. And I was very tired. There's yet time. The thing once done can never be undone. And once gone I can never return. I... I knew... I knew that my act, John told me all these things. I knew that this act that I'd committed had saved Lawson. It saved his life and perhaps his reason. And yet I wondered if by and so doing I was not driving from its very last refuge on earth. Something that was so there and lovely. If perhaps I was not destroying a very beautiful thing. A very beautiful thing forever. No! And I heard the sweet voice no more. My face was wet with tears. By William M. Robeson, directed by Norman McDonnell. Today brought you to the Grove of Ashtaroth by John Buchan. Adapted for radio by Les Crutchfield with Paul Freese as Buchan Bill Conrad as Lawson Kay Brinker as Ashtaroth Raymond Lawrence as McJobson and Eric Snowden as Travers. Music was conceived by Si Fuhr with Eddie Dunstetter at the console. Next week when you're tired from working all week when the weekend offers little diversion next week at this time when your problems seem just too much for you we offer you escape. Next week we bring you another exciting story of high adventure. This is CBS where 99 million people gather every week the Columbia Broadcasting System.