 Suspense, which is usually heard at this hour on Thursday nights, is taking its customary summer holiday. Suspense returns to the air three weeks from tonight on Thursday, September 1st. You are with three men in a jungle plantation on the rubber coast of Borneo. You know that one of the men is a desperate criminal whom you've come to arrest, but you don't know which one. You have to find him before he can save himself by killing you. We offer you escape, designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight we escape to a Borneo jungle in a tantalizing search for a murderer, as LG Blockman told it in his famous story, Red Wine. As the rusty little tramp crater bumped against the rickety wharf, I dropped from the rail under the planking and for the first time felt the humid heat roll out of the jungle like steam from the back door of a Turkish bank. I'd come a long way. Six days before, I'd stepped off a float in San Francisco Bay. I'm aboard a Pan-American clipper headed for the South Pacific. Two days later, I'd boarded the mailboard in Batavia. And now, Tan Yong Semai, sweltering and half forgotten, last outpost in the rubber coast of Borneo. Here's a long journey, but here would now might be end of it. I'd come to arrest a murderer. I crossed the beach and walked up the path of crushed shells leading to a low bungalow at the edge of the jungle. The freighter would lie at the wharf for four hours, plenty of time for me to get the thing over with and be back aboard when she sailed. I was expecting danger, of course, but no real trouble. I'd done jobs like this before, so I stepped confidently up on the porch and met Herr Kurt, controller of the Tan Yong Semai district. Yeah, yeah, I am in here, Kurt, the controller. What is it I can do for you? I have a letter of introduction here from the governor general. Here you are. Yeah, yeah. Mr. Paul Veneer from the United States. The governor promised me a cooperation. So I see. Cooperation? That's good. But he doesn't say cooperation in what? I've come here after a killer, Mr. Kurt. Oh, Diox maybe? Headhunters? No, no, no. This one's a civilized killer, an American. One in San Francisco for murdering his wife. His name is Jerome Steaks. Oh, I see. Won't you sit down, Mr. Veneer? Yes, thank you. Won't you come? Buy a copy. That's where my car. I'll bring it right away. We will have coffee in a moment. Oh, nice of you, but maybe I'd better pick this guy up first. I'd hate to miss the boat and have to lay over five days. You are acquainted with this Steaks, Mr. Veneer? No, I've never seen him. But you do have photographs. No, I'm afraid not. This was a very clever killer. He apparently took great pains to see that he was never photographed. He carefully eliminated all the fingerprints as well. What are you driving at, Mr. Kurt? Well, simply this. There is no one in my district by the name of Steaks. Oh, no, of course not. He wouldn't be using his own name. There is an American here, though, isn't there? Three of them, Mr. Veneer. Employed as foreman on the Cotter Rubber Plantation. Well, according to my information, Steaks came here from Batavia about six months ago. We all arrived six months ago on the same boat. The Cotter Company is just going back into operation. I see. Well, according to the people who've seen him, your own Steaks is a man about 35 years old of medium height and slight build. Pale complexion with black hair and moustache. Amazing. Any one of these men might fit that description. Except that all are clean shaven and heavily turned from tropical sun. Furthermore, Mr. Veneer, all three of the men have light blonde hair. Copy. Shoot at the scene, Tuomasa. Good. Pour our two cups, Wong. I'll have Wong bring your baggage up from the wall, Mr. Veneer. Yeah, thank you, Wong. It appears your business may take a little longer than four hours. I'm certain of the information I got in Batavia. I know the man's here. Then the problem resolves itself into a matter of identification. Boli piki zikaran. No, an hour's talk with the three of them ought to do that. I doubt it, Mr. Veneer. The swarms here at Tanjung Samara are infested with fever. It's always hot like now. And the jungles beg their swarm with long-tailed true snakes and deadly cobras in the river's crocodiles. So? Men rarely come here unless they're running away from something, trying to lose their past. I think you'll find all three men have manufactured stories. So how is one to choose? Well, I am... Moreover, according to this letter, I'm authorized by the governor to assist you in arresting and extraditing Jerome Steaks, one man, not three. Hmm. So it's up to me, huh? Or do not misunderstand me, Mr. Veneer. I will cooperate with you in every way. But I think it will be a very hard thing to identify this man you have never seen when he doesn't wish to be identified. I don't know. Sometimes it's easier to identify a man from his personality than from his physical appearance. And the personality of this man, Steaks, is something out of the ordinary? For a woman on a rubber plantation, yes. I doubt if all three of these men can be aristocrats. And in a sense, that's what Steaks is, a cosmopolitan. Lived all over the world, always associating with top society. He's a lover of fine foods and wine, speaks French and German fluently. He's a gourmet, a bon vivant. A man of perfect taste and clothes and manners. And a murderer. Yes. And a murderer. When the three men return from the clearing this evening, I shall be happy to introduce you to them. Though it's quite probable they are aware of your identity already. What do you mean? Jungle grapevine. Before you stepped off the wharf, my houseboat told me that you were a detective. Undoubtedly, the same information has reached the clearings by now. I see. So in other words, the murderer probably knows who I am and what I'm here for. But I haven't the slightest idea of who he is, huh? Exactly. It's quite an interesting thought, isn't it? More coffee, Mr. Vanier? Mr. Vanier, I would like you to meet Mr. Doran. Hi, Mr. Vanier. And this is Mr. Wilmerding. I'll save you the trouble, Kurt. My name's Preil. Glad to meet you. Same here, Mr. Preil. You might as well drop that, Mr. We don't use it much around here. I'm Preil, that's Doran and Wilmerding, and you're Vanier, if it's all the same to you. Sure, sure, Preil. Why not? Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a number of things to do. Bring Mr. Vanier to my bungalow for dinner. We'll celebrate having a guest at Tangyong Samar. Oh, sure. We'll see you. Well, uh, here, Kurt, tells me all three of you are Americans. Well, I don't know whether I'm still one or not. Haven't been to the States in seven years. Seven years, huh? Then you're an old-timer here, Doran. Oh, not here, Australia. Oh, don't let Doran get started, Vanier. He'll spend two hours telling you how he lost his shirt trying to raise sheep down under. Well, if I had either money or sense, I wouldn't have come to this thinking home. Oh, I wouldn't say you fellas had it too rough. I've been noticing those empty bottles there in the shop. What do you mean, Vanier? Well, here, Piper Hydezic, 1936, that's good champagne. Boys are living like gourmets. Connoisseurs. Oh, you're overrating us, Vanier. Those empty bottles were already here when they came. Just never got around to throwing them out. Prey only is the only connoisseur in a bunch. He can tell you anything you want to know about wines. Yeah, or about anything. I'll dry up just because a guy happens to know a little more than somebody else has no reason to keep riding him all the time. I wish you knew some way to make ice. I'm getting plenty fed up with warm beer day in, day out. Yes, that would get pretty tiresome. I think I'd switch a champagne or a chablis or something. Hmm? Come again? Well, Wilmending, I didn't necessarily mean those in particular, but there aren't quite a number of wines that are even better warm than they are chilled. Ah, the wrong place, Chum. We wouldn't know what to do with them if we had them. This is strictly a beer and gin crowd. There'd be no kick on that if we had some ice to go with it. Oh, I wouldn't give for a cold, frosty bottle. Oh, relax, Wilmending. You'll make me thirsty. Oh, what do you say to some music? Oh, music? There's, uh, one of you play some instrument? Sure, sure, Prey. He's terrific on that phonograph over there in the corner. Only trouble is he thinks three o'clock in the morning is the greatest song ever written. Well, I can see that leading to quite an argument, and particularly if you're a lover of the classics. Oh, no, no, no, no. I don't go for that long hair stuff. But I would like to hear a fast number once in a while. It's less than 10 years old. Yeah, you ought to see that collection Prey'll dragged up here from Batavia. Strictly from the gay 90s. Uh, Prey'll, uh... You don't by any chance have a number called il ya un metrier dans sa maison? What's that, some Italian opera? No, no, it's French, approximately. Well, come on, Prey'll, translate it for us. You claim to be an expert on the French language? Well, it's worded kind of funny. It's like poetry. Oh, sure, sure. That last word, though, that maison, that means house, I know that. That's too bad. I thought maybe Jerome Sticks might translate it. It refers to him, of course. Sticks. What are you talking about? A sentence reads, there's a murderer in this house. Well, so you're finally coming out in the open, huh? Yeah, we heard you were a detective. Yeah, that's right. So what about it, Sticks? You want to give up now or try to go on with your act? Wait a second, Vernier. I get it now. You're after some killer you've never seen named Sticks and you figure one of us is it, huh? Yeah, that's right, Prey'll. And the guy you're after is Wilmerding. Are you crazy? Whoever heard anybody with a name like Wilmerding unless they made it up. Made up nothing. I got a passport to prove it. What are you trying to do, Prey'll? Turn attention away from yourself? I got nothing to hide. It's either you or Durant. What? Listen, you can leave me out of this right now. There's plenty of people in Australia that can tell you who I am. Unfortunately, though, there's nobody in Tanyang Samar who can tell me for certain who any of you are. But one of you is a murderer. And by the time the boat gets back here, since I'm obviously not going to be able to tell you the details in an hour, I'll know which one. Now, either I'm going to take Jerome Sticks back to San Francisco with me, or I'm going to kill him trying to. You can count on it. Well, what do you say we go on over to Kurt's bungalow and have dinner? That's Wilmerding's room there. Durant sleeps here. And Prey long down at the end. Oh, yes. And this is the guest room. At least the only guest room is usable at the present. It looks all right. Well, it's used for the time you're here, Mr. Vanir. Do all of these rooms open out under the porch? Yes, the veranda, as we call it. There's no way to lock this door, I suppose. Unfortunately, no. And anyway, the windows are covered only by mosquito netting. It makes another interesting situation. Does it not? Yeah, I suppose interesting is the word for it. I assume, Mr. Vanir, that you have not been able to identify your man by his personality. No, whichever one of his sticks is putting on an awfully good act. Most likely they're all acting to a greater or lesser extent, which of course makes your problem exceedingly difficult. That's right, Mr. Kurt. You did say a man rarely came here unless he wanted to lose his past. And yet you're here. Yeah. Yeah, that is true. But then, I am only a servant of the government and have little choice where I am sent. Well, good night, Mr. Vanir. I sat there in the lamp light for a long time after Kurt left, trying to figure things out and getting nowhere. Gradually the night breeze brought the smell of the jungle into the room. Rich, exotic, fragrant as a midnight orchid. As disturbing as the scent of danger. Or maybe... maybe it was danger itself, I was smelling. The heavy knife missed my throat by two inches, put it into a bamboo partition and stuck there quivering. I dropped down on the floor and slipped my 38 out of its holster. I could hear nothing but the rustle of palm patch along the eaves, little creaks from the potties underneath the bungalow, and the soft night sounds from the jungle. Finally, I slipped my shoes off, pulled the knife out of the wall and dropped in my pocket. Moved to the door and stepped quietly out into the veranda. It was empty. Across the railing, the fringe of undergrowth was dappled in silver moonlight, and nothing moved. I paused quickly at the three doors and from each heard the sound of snoring. One of the men was faking, but which one? I reached the end of the porch when my eye caught a slight movement in a banana clump a few yards from the steps. Someone was hiding there. I moved swiftly, holding the gun ready, and came within a few feet before I could make out a shape in red and white sarong. And shape was right, complete with dark, tumbled curls and a flower behind one ear. It was a girl. Please, Don. The gun. You are going to shoot me? No, no, no. Relax, Sonny. I was looking for somebody else. And now you have found Milana, so you are disappointed? Ah, pleasantly surprised. Milana, huh? In your language, it means flower of love. It's the perfect fit. Are you blooming out here all alone? I do not understand, Twan. I mean, did you see anybody moving around up there in the brand a while ago? Only you, Twan. I became frightened and ran to hide. Frightened? Why? I should not be here at night. I mean, let us talk of something else. All right, Milana. The moon, for instance? Oh, yes. Look, is it not big and soft and warm? Yeah, all of that. Twan, you like Milana, perhaps? Definitely. Why do we not go somewhere else? Along the beach, perhaps? Would like that? Well, I... I afraid Mr. Vanir is too serious minded for such things, Milana. My dear. Well, Mr. Cat, join us, won't you? Thank you. Milana, go to the bungalow at once. I'll go. I'll go immediately. She has no business being out alone at night. But, Mr. Vanir, is something wrong with your room? Is it not comfortable? It was, until this flew in through the window. A knifer? Yeah, a throwing knife. You ever see it before? Oh, yeah, yeah. It is one of the collection there in the bungalow. The three Americans throw them at targets every evening and wager on the results. I believe Mr. Doran taught the other two. What about you, Mr. Cat? Do you ever bet with them? It would be too easy. Watch. I learned to throw a knife in Java many years ago. And Milana, I suppose she's an expert at it, too. Milana knows nothing of knives. Her greatest accomplishment is that of making friends too easily. I see. Just who is she, anyway? Does she live here? Yeah, she lives here. She is my wife. Your wife? Exactly. My wife. Good night, Mr. Vanir. I stood there in the moonlight and watched him walk toward his bungalow. My simple task was fast becoming involved. When I finally turned in that night, I undressed in the dark, pushed the bed up to block the door and prop the chair against the windowsill and lay down on the floor. I kept trying to fit some theory together to account for the things that had happened. When I drifted off to sleep, I was no nearer any answer than before. I woke up with the first light of dawn and for a full minute was ready to predict a peaceful day. Then I turned my head slightly and saw it. On the floor, against the wall, 18 inches from my left hand, its eyes opening and unmoving, lay a long tail, one of the deadliest snakes in Borneo. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead, ran to the corners of my eyes, not daring to make any sudden move, I slid my right hand slowly up behind me, found my gun under the pillow, the snake moved slightly, and I froze for one long minute. Carefully, I brought the gun over until I hit the ugly head centered above the foresight. Then... Who fired that shot? I did, sir. Didn't hear him. Hey, cop, what's all the shooting about? I fired a nod to Ryan. It's Mr. Vanio fired. What's up, Doran? Yeah, what was that noise? I guess Manny is doing a little target practicing. Come on, guys. Just a minute. Just a minute. I'll let you in. Mr. Vanio, you all right? Sure, Kurt. Come in. I had an early morning visitor. There on the floor. A long tail. Did he bite you? No, he didn't. What the devil's all the racket about? Oh, a snake, eh? That's funny. What's funny, Doran? A long tail womaning. I just killed one here in my room. There's plenty of them around, but I never heard of one crawling into a room before. I'm not sure it did crawl in. Got an idea it may have been dropped in through the mosquito netting there at the window. Yeah? By whom? By a guy named Jerome Steaks. Ever hear of him, Doran? Oh, that again. Why don't you pick up Wilma Ding? He's your man. Oh, sure. I always carry a couple of snakes around in my pocket, just for luck. What I want to know is who carries this around in their pocket for luck. That's one of our nines from the living room. We throw them at a target. I know. Only last night, I was the target. Oh-ho. Then, praise your boy. He's an expert. Wins every time we play. Oh, dry up, Doran. One more crack like that. Okay, relax. Nobody knows anything about these accidents. They just happen, huh? Well, here's a warning to whichever one of you is Steaks. The next time, you'd better cover yourself and through being a clay pigeon. From now on, it's going to be a lot tougher. A whole lot tougher. That day passed, and the next, and I got exactly nowhere. And the third day, I managed to search the men's quarters and found nothing. Mainly, I'd hoped to find some kind of a bleaching agent. Steaks was described as having black hair while all three of these men were blond. Furthermore, I was convinced after three days of observation that all three were naturally blond. Things didn't fit. They didn't add up. I saw Nalana several times, but had no chance to speak to her. When her caret was with me, she'd pass without a glance. But if I was alone, she'd manage a quick, provocative smile that sent shivers down my spine. By the fourth day, the tension among us was grown almost unbearable. Steamer was due the next evening on his return trip to Batavia. I needed a break of some kind. Had to have one. And it came at dusk when I dropped in my room to change for dinner. Close the door. Quick, turn. Speak softly. It is I, Nalana. Nalana, what in the devil are you doing here? To see you, turn. Does that make you unhappy? No, it doesn't. Well, I doubt if her caret would think much of the idea. He must not find out. But I wish to ask you something. All right, honey, shoot. It is true that you look for a man who has killed a woman in your United States? Yes, that's right. A man who now names himself by another name? Yes. Nalana, do you know? It is perhaps the same one that I saw. Do you know who it is? I saw the knife thrown to her and I was outside by the edge of the... Quiet, quiet. Is there someone? It's her, Kurt. He's going in the living room. I'm very frightened when I must go. No, no, wait. I've got to know what you're going to... There is no time now. Tonight, when everyone sleeps, wait by the tall palm of the edge of the clearing. I will come. All right, I'll be there. Nalana has done foolish things to her. But tonight, she will fix it all good. You come. I waited for a long time in the shadow by the palm tree and watched the moonlight sift down through the shaggy fronds. But two hours passed and she didn't come. Waiting there, though, in the jungle night, a plan began to form in my mind. A long shot true enough, but one with possibilities. I needed luck to work, but I'd come to the point where I had to count on a little luck. At any rate, I decided to start the ball rolling the next morning after breakfast. Now, wait a minute, Vernear. Let's get this straight. I thought I put it straight enough to ran. I said the hunt's off. The boat's due in tonight and when it leaves, I go with it. You can relax. Oh? What changed your mind? Our sweet disposition? Exactly the opposite, Wilmerding. Every one of you acts as gillies the next one. And yet, in five days, I haven't been able to find a single characteristic in any of you that fits the description of Steaks. I don't think he's that good an actor. So, I'm going back to Batavia and pick up the trail there. Well, at least you finally got some sense in your head and decided to believe what we told you the first day you were here. Oh, no, no, Doran. I didn't say that. Now, I doubt very much if any of you guys is who he claims to be. I wouldn't be surprised if Doran, Wilmerding, and Prail are all phony names, but that's not my business. Now, I came here after Steaks. I decided now I made a mistake and that's that. Oh, great. You come in here and push us around for a week and then decide it was all a mistake. I'm sorry, Prail. And I'm going to try to make up for it this evening. See, I'm throwing a dinner party at Herakurt's bungalow before the boat leaves tonight. You're all invited. Well, now, that's pretty decent of you, Vernier. I'll get some food and drinks from the captain as soon as he docks. If you're as fed up with rice truffle and warm beers as I am, you'll be ready for a change. Good. Good. Then it's all settled. And I can promise you at least two surprise dishes. Maybe three if you care for it. Oh, Kurt, come in. Come in. I was wondering whether any of you had seen Alana this morning. Not me. No, I don't know. Why? What's wrong here, Kurt? I'm rather concerned about her, Mr. Vernier. She hasn't been home since early last night. I had a couple of ideas about that myself. Ideas I wish I didn't have. As soon as the rest of the bunch went about their business, I began my own search for Alana. It was nearly dusk before I found her. And then I said nothing about it to anyone. But sitting at the table that night while the dinner party moved along, I kept thinking how she'd never smile again. How she'd never walk in the moonlight again. Because somebody had cut her throat. Story along the same lines, but I never heard that one before. What a dinner. Boy, after six months on rice truffle, I could go crazy over food like this. Yeah, when you throw one, Vernier, you really throw it. Save the credit, boys. This is only the beginning. Beginning? Where can you go from here? Right now, for instance, roast boar. All right, Wong. Bring it over. You like me put here for you? No, no. I wonder if you'd mind carving, Hekert. Not at all, Mr. Vernier. I shall be happy to. Place it here, Wong. Boy, I haven't had roast boar since Australia. You know, we used to go pig sticking all the time. Even the smell's enough to drive you crazy. Man, you said it, Preil. You haven't seen anything yet. The boar's the main day, so the two surprises go right along with it. All right, Wong. Bring it out. That's not much, sir. Already, I bring... Careful, careful. Now, don't drop it. Yeah, thanks. Well, there you are. Well, is it some kind of wine? Not some kind. Chambertin, vintage 1911. Unquestionably, one of the finest red wines that exists in the world today. Holy smoke, where'd you get it? I found out on the trip in, the captain of the steamer had a few bottles. Took a lot of talking to get one out of him, but here, I'll open it up one. Maybe the glasses? Sir, I promise, sir. It's already here on Cyborg. Good. Well, boys, you may go back to warm beer tomorrow, but you've got the best tonight. All right, Wong. Now, show him the second surprise. Here's one big bucket. Ice. Real honest to gosh, cracked ice. Boy, I haven't seen a chunk of ice for six months. I thought you'd go for that one. All right, Wong, serve the wine. Thank you, sir. It was pretty amazing to find 1911 Sambertown and a little tramp freighter down here in the South Pacific. Stop so rare, it's hard to get it at any price. Maybe so, but that ice is what gets me. Yeah, that's it, Wong. Dump plenty in mine. I want to freeze my tongue. Wong, stop that. What the devil are you doing? What's the matter with you? I mean, I... You mean you're well aware of the fact that ice kills the bouquet of Sambertown. Isn't that it, Steaks? Steaks. You mean Wilmeding is... Once agor may, always agor may. You were very clever, Wilmeding. Clever enough to keep your hair dyed black for years so you could become a natural blonde if you ever had to make a getaway. Clever enough to permit no photographs to be taken. But not clever enough to keep still and let me ruin a bottle of wine. Easy with those hands. Don't try reaching for a gun. Let him reach for it, Mr. Vanir. Cad, no. Put down that knife. Look out, Vanir. He's going for his gun. Good. I've warned the... Excuse me! Good Lord Curt, you've killed him. I'm sorry you do not have a prisoner to take back with you, Mr. Vanir. But I, too, found Nelana's body. I knew you had been there. I saw your footprints. I'm sorry, Cad. Then she had... Yes, Nelana had been seeing Wilmeding. I'd guessed it was one of the three and apparently she found out he was Steaks. Yeah, I know. That was what she was going to tell me. Only he didn't give her a chance. She was young, Mr. Vanir. Foolish, perhaps. But I... I loved her very much. Look, he knocked over that bottle of wine when he fell. He was pouring out all over the place. Yeah, brother. What a mess. Yeah, Dorian. It's quite a mess. Only one thing, though. Not all of it is... red wine. Escape was directed this week by Richard Sanville and tonight brought you Red Wine by LG Blockman adapted for radio by Mort Lewis and Les Crutchfield with Willard Waterman as Paul Vanir. Featured players were Robert Boone, Marion Richmond, Larry Dobkin, Vic Perrin, Wilms Herbert and Clark Gordon. Music is conducted by Wilbur Hatch. Next week... You are standing at the doorway of the Cabinon Tassier Creek up on the ridge the bloodhounds have caught your scent and between you and a fortune, between you and escape, yarn the white jaws of a deadly snake, a cotton-mouth moccasin. Next week we escape with Irvin S. Cobb's ironic story, Snake Doctor. Be with us next week at the same time when once again we offer you Escape, tip-corning speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.