 You are lost in a London fog, uncertain whether the figures looming around you are real, or creatures of your imagination, and somewhere in the wet greyness lurks a murderer, from whom you must escape. Escape, produced and directed by William N. Robson, and carefully contrived to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight we escape to a fog-shrouded city, and the terror of a shell-shocked mind, as Algernon Blackwood describes them in his ghostly story, Confession. There was no doubt about it. The woman was dead. Her cheek was cold to my touch. The head of the long sharp hat pen protruded from her breast above the heart. She was dead. Murdered. And I stood there by the bed, my brain whirling crazily. I was alone in an empty house, with a murdered woman. And then suddenly fear flashed across my brain and cleared it. I heard the door below open and close. Footsteps. Someone was coming across the downstairs hall, onto the stairs. Coming up. Up here. In a moment I would be discovered. In a moment someone would walk into this room and see me standing over the body. In a moment my escape would be cut off. Quickly I slipped across the hall and into another of the empty bedrooms. I leaned against the closed door, breathing heavily. Listening to those steps come closer. Would he look into any of the other bedrooms first? Would I be discovered here? He passed my door and went into the room, straight in, close the door behind him. Then he knew where to come. I waited a moment, waited for some sound, some gas, but discovery. There was none. Then he knew what to expect. I must escape quickly before he came out of that room. I started down the stairs, carefully, to avoid any sound. And suddenly the door of that room opened. The beam of a flashlight set down the hall. I took the stairs three at a time, burst open the front door, and fled into the street, fled into the sanctuary of the fog. How long and how far I ran I do not know. I could see nothing, feel nothing but the clammy dampness of the fog. I don't know whether he was still following me or not. I ran out of sheer terror, up one street, down another, with no idea of where I was or where I was going. Perhaps I was running in circles. Perhaps I would run right back to the house. Well, I stopped. I leaned heavily against the wall. My hands were shaking as I raised them to my perspiring face. I held them there to steady them, ran them through my wet hair. My hat. I didn't have it. I'd left my hat back there in that room, on the bed beside that dead woman. And it had my initials in it. Nearby a street lamp formed a fuzzy ball of yellow in the enveloping murk. And now a figure loomed suddenly beneath it, just as she had materialized so short a time ago under another streetlight. Or was it the same one? Was it she again? Was it he, the one who was following me? Was it real at all? Perhaps it was only a creature of my madness. My dear sir, you're ill. Hi. Oh, hero, let me help you. Why, you're almost ready to fall. Yes, sir. Thank you. Yeah, just lean on my arm. Yes. You are real, aren't you? Well, I don't understand. I say you're very near collapse, you know, and I happen to be a doctor. Luckily, too, you're just outside my very house. Come in for a moment, won't you? Why, you're very kind. Yes, I will if it's not too much trouble for you. None at all, my dear chap, please do. Within five minutes I was seated in a comfortable chair before a toasting fire, sipping a hot cup of tea. I could feel my nerves relaxing, but the traces of my illness must have been clear on my face, and the host observed your problem is shell shock, isn't it? Why, yes, how did you know? I'd been in the service, and I'm a doctor. Of course, I only meant I'm supposed to be recovered, or almost. But I got lost in the fog, felt ill suddenly. Terrified, you know? I know. You should never have been out in the night like this. If you got far to go, you better let me put you up. You're very kind, very kind indeed, but I don't want to be in any trouble. No trouble at all. I'd like to be of help. The least we veterans can do for each other. Ah, the blasted war. Thank goodness it's over. Not English, are you? No, Canadian. I haven't been demobilized yet. I'm still in the Army Hospital at Regent's Park under the care of Dr. Henry. Ah, yes, yes. Very good, man. I'd say he's done well by you, up till tonight, I mean. Yes, of course we had no idea there would be a fog. I still get in a panic when I feel all alone. Well, that's usual, but then there was something more than that tonight, wasn't there? What do you mean? Simply that you've had rather severe shock quite recently, haven't you? How did you know that? My dear chap, I'm a doctor. My business to know. You were in much too agitated a state when I found you, for me to suppose it could have been done simply by the fog. And if I may hazard another guess, I should say it would be a relief to you and wise as well if you could unburden yourself to someone who would understand. Am I not right? Someone who would understand. That's just it. I doubt if there is anyone like that. It's so incredible. The more incredible, the greater your need to tell it. Repression in cases like yours can be dangerous, as you must know. You think you've hidden it, but it bides its time and it comes up later causing a lot of trouble. Confession, you know. Confession is good for the soul. Yes, I suppose you are right, but it is so wildly unbelievable since where strangers, my belief or disbelief can make no difference. And I think I can promise you in advance that I shall believe all you have to say. Well, I've got to tell somebody about it soon anyway. Cigarette to help with telling? Thank you. Thank you. Well, I'd better start back at the very beginning of the adventure then. It started today at the sanitarium. I've been there for some months and today when Dr. Henry called to check on me, I knew it was coming. Well, young man, you're as fit as a prize here for a twice as frisky. The diet here must agree with you. I have no complaints, doctor, but if I'm well again, then I'd like to get back into circulation. Will you listen to him, nurse, rushing things as usual? You'd think he didn't like us here. The way he bothers us to let him go into town, I'm sure of it, doctor. He's getting so healthy he's bursting at the scene. There you see. How about it, doctor? Can't I just have a day or an evening in town? What's the great attraction in that dirty place? Some girl, no doubt? Well, yes, that isn't a way. I met her in France. She's a Red Cross girl. She's invited me to stop in for tea if I'm up in London. Well, it's just that I'd feel human again seeing a girl having tea, a cigarette, chatting. That's all. Young man, I not only approve of your day in town, I'm prescribing it. It'll do you good. You've got to start getting used to society again anyway. And you think I can manage it alone? Why not? You get around the neighborhood by yourself well enough, don't you? There's nothing so very different about London. Certainly nothing to be afraid of. No, of course not. Call the young lady and find out the directions, where to get off the underground, what turns to taken so on. Go in the daytime, return before dark. No danger of getting lost. It should be simple. Nothing to it. Do you good? Then this means I'm getting better. I'll be able to go home soon. There you go. Rushing things again. But yes, I think perhaps we're on the last leg. That'll be all, nurse. Yes, Dr. Henry. Now, tell me young man, what about your friends? No, doctor. I think they've deserted me. I don't see them anymore. No more ghosts. No more dead comrades stopping in for a chat. Good. For how long now? Oh, several weeks at least. I can hardly remember when I last saw one. Thought you saw. Yes, thought. Of course, in the dark room at night, sometimes the shadows... That's not quite the same thing. Lots of wild people fancy they see the shadows move at night. Especially after they've been reading some penny drift. Yes, I suppose so. At any rate, you can distinguish between the real people and the unreal now. And that's a big step considering how you were a few months ago. Well, it's only when I feel completely alone, cut off that the old panic begins a little, but not as much as before. Many people don't like to feel alone and cut off, but they can fight down that panicky feeling, nip it in the bud. So will you in time. But I must warn you, a severe shock could undo all our work. By all means, avoid shock. Avoid shock, he said. Very funny, isn't it? But who could have known then what would happen? How could I have suspected as I went about planning my day in town, my holiday? I called the girl, arranged our tea party. I was to be at her little house in Morley Place at four. Wood's instinct should probably manage it better than any Londoner. Yes, I'm sure I will. It's near South Kensington Station, then. Exactly. You'd change at Piccadilly Circus without leaving the underground station and come to South Kent. That's three streets left from there, then two right, one more left, and right again into Morley Place. It's really not far. Oh, I'll find it all right. Now, don't go to any great bother. Oh, you just leave that to me. This is a special occasion, you know. Till four, then. Thanks. And so it all started out as a cheerful adventure, and everything went well into the city. I made my change underground at Piccadilly, took the local to South Kensington Station, and there I came up at surface again. And when I walked out, I stepped into a solid, opaque blanket of white fog. I could hear the traffic, the rumble of the city around me. I could hear footsteps, an occasional muffled voice, but I could see almost nothing. This is how a blind man feels, then. The only objects of relief from that dreadful enveloping grey wall were an occasional blur of yellow from a street lamp, or a motor car headlight, a glimmering patch from some big-lighted shop window here and there, and the figures, the figures of other people passing by, dark and floating and indistinct. Or were they people? Might they not be those phantom figures again, just like the ones that haunted me before I went into the sanitarium? Ghostly blurred figures of dead comrades from Dunkirk and Abbeyville and the mud of Belgium. Here comes another one. I can hear his cane tapping. Look closely now, make sure. He looked real enough, didn't he? They are real, I'm positive of it, and I'm not alone. They're all around me. But even as I told myself this, the old panic was growing inside. Here now, old fellow, you've got to get hold of yourself. Next one comes along, speak up. Speak up to him, ask him the way to Molly Place. Ask, can you put me on the trail to Molly Place? Just like that. You'll see. Here now, here he comes. Ask away. Big pardon, can you put me on... I say, is this right to the tube station, you know? I'm utterly lost. I want South Kingdon. Why, yes, I have just come from there straight along, I think. Oh, thanks awfully. But I say, can you put me on the trail to Molly Place? He's gone. Well, no matter he was real enough, he spoke up like a real person, all right? Maybe the next... Oh, I say, I beg your pardon. Oh, I am frightfully sorry. I didn't see you and you standing still. I'm afraid I must be lost. Can you direct me to Molly, please? Oh, dear, I think you've missed your turning. You'll have to double back straight and maybe two and take the first turn to the right and go one street and then double back two and then left again on your turn. I say thanks. That was first right and then... She's gone. Disappeared. Like a ghost. The panic was rising in me. They were real people, yes, but they appeared and disappeared so disconcertingly quickly. And when I turned off down the main street, there were fewer of them, I turned again. And again. But I couldn't remember the directions. Suddenly, I knew I was lost. And now I was in some little backwater where passes by were rare, where no one came, where I was alone. Now the panic swept over me. I stumbled on a curb, my cane swept empty air. I felt the icy pavement. I was shaking so that I couldn't rise to my feet. I crawled across the open space of the street on my hands and knees. Only when I crossed the curb and felt a warm wall could I stand up again. And then I stood there, shaken and frantic. Molly Place must be very close, a little Red Cross girl waiting with her warm fire and hot tea. But where? Where? Suddenly in the yellow blur of a nearest streetlamp of faint darkening of the fog caught my eye. It was not a figure this time. Only the shadow of the pole grotesquely magnified. No. No, it moved. It came toward me. It was a figure, a woman. It came right up to me. Fear gripped me and then I remembered the doctor's advice. Don't ignore them. You must real speak to them and go with them. You will soon prove their unreality then and they will leave you. And so I gripped the wall behind me and spoke to her. Lost your way like myself, haven't you, ma'am? Do you know where we are at all? Molly Place, I'm looking for. Where am I? I say you're more frightened than I am. May I help you? I'm lost. I've lost myself. I can't find my way back. Same here. I'm terrified of being alone too. I've had shell shock, you know. Let's go together. We'll find our way together, eh? Who are you? Name's O'Reilly. Canadian. I'm going to have tea with a friend in Molly Place. What's your address? Do you know the name of the street here? I came out suddenly. Unexpectedly. I can't find my way home again. Just when I was expecting him to. I say steady, ma'am. He may be there now. Waiting for me this very moment. And I can't get back. Any idea of the direction, ma'am, any at all? We'll go together. Listen. I hear him calling. I remember. Wait, ma'am. Wait. Don't leave me here alone. I'm going with you. Wait! She was running fast through the fog. It was all I could do to keep up with her. But I thought I must not lose her or my own nerves will go to pieces. How she found her way in the fog, running so quickly, I didn't know, but I kept close on my heels, running hard. I could smell a faint perfume in the air trailing behind her. A faintly familiar odor, but not pleasant. And then suddenly she stopped and turned into the gate. So suddenly that I almost bumped into her. Oh, is this in? You found it in. May I come in with you for a moment? Perhaps you'll let me telephone my doctor. Doctor? Yes, Dr. Henry at the Army Hospital. I'm in his care, you know. I must get back in time. For him, I must. He's coming to me. I say, ma'am. But she turned and walked out of the house. For a moment I hesitated. This woman was acting very strangely. But no matter if she was at least real and I needed help, quickly I followed her up the steps across the porch. The door was ajar. She slipped through and I followed him to the dark house. It was so dark inside I couldn't see anything at first. I stopped, groping. But she went on quickly easily as if she knew the way. She was ignoring me completely. I heard her steps across the hall. Go up the stairs quickly. I waited and listened. She walked along the hall upstairs. And now the hair on my neck felt as if it were rising. Was she, after all, another of my figures? Was she unreal too? I heard her open the door upstairs. Go in and close it after her. Then there was silence. Profound silence. And I was alone in the dark unoccupied house. The white covered furniture in the hallway loomed like ghosts. And there was no sound. I felt my panic coming back. But she was upstairs. And at least she was companionship. I groped my way up the stairs. Along the upstairs hall. There was no sign of life. Where are you? I want to help you. Which room are you in? There was no answer. But as I put my hand on a table to steady myself, I felt something. It was a candle stump. With a gasp of relief I took it up and lighted it. I could see a little. One by one I tried the bedrooms. They were dusty and unused. The furniture covered the mattresses rolled up on the beds. They were all alike. Until I opened the last door. Instantly I knew this was it. I smelled the perfume. Only now I recognized it understood why it was unpleasant to me. It was the smell of a hospital of chloroform. And there was the woman. Her dark fur coat wrapped around her. Her jewels just showing at the neck. And she was stretched out on the bed motionless. Instantly I knew she was dead. In the next instant I thought I would go mad. The blood on her face was congealing. Her skin was cold. I knew then that she'd been dead for an hour at least. And that what I saw in the street was not real. This was the shock that Dr. Henry had warned me to avoid. And what happened then? I heard the door open up downstairs. Someone came in. The one she'd been expecting no doubt. And suddenly I realized the danger of my being found there beside a woman who had obviously been murdered. I slipped into another bedroom and when he went into that room with her I slipped out and crept downstairs. I stumbled and he heard me and I came out. I ran down and out into the fog into the street and away. How long I ran or where I don't know. When I was exhausted I stopped. And then you came and found me. Well, what do you think? Tall tale, isn't it? Yes. Strange but not incredible. I see no reason to disbelieve anything you've told me. Things equally remarkable, equally incredible happen every day in a big city. I know from personal experience. Oh, I could give you many instances. But the woman I saw her and yet she was already dead. Such things are hard to explain. Perhaps cannot be explained except of course your mind in its present state may still play tricks on you. Perhaps you saw a woman in the fog and followed her. You may have missed her and only thought you saw her go into that house. But what about the dead woman? She was real enough. Perhaps, perhaps not. She too may have been just fantasy. You may never have left the street. No. No, I'm sure of that at least. I must believe it. She was real and the man who came up the stairs was real. If I didn't believe that I think I should go mad. Yes, perhaps that is important. Then let me see. Have you any proof of what you saw? Something perhaps that you carried away with you? None. But wait. I left something there. My hat. I left it on the bed beside her body. My initials were in it. And so if it was all real I shall be getting a visit from the police one day soon. Perhaps. And then I'll know. And I'll be charged with murder. I don't think so. You think the police would believe this fantastic story? As I told you, many strange things happen in a city like this. For instance, I knew of a similar case many years ago. Strangely similar case. Almost a coincidence. Would you like to hear it? Yes, I suppose so. It happened during the last war. A colleague of mine, a surgeon now dead, married a charming girl, young and beautiful. He was wealthy and they lived comfortably for many years. They seemed happy together. Then came the war and he went overseas. His income was stopped, of course. The big house closed. His wife found life not so pleasant as before. And somehow she blamed her new hardships on him. You see, she was devoid of imagination, without any power for sacrifice. But she was still young and beautiful. The inevitable young man came along to console her. He was rich. He planned to go off somewhere. Only by chance the husband came back from overseas suddenly. Just in the nick of time. Well, he should have let her go. He was well rid of her, I'd say. Well rid of her, yes. Only he decided to make the riddance final. He decided to kill her and her lover. You see, he loved her. He planned the time and place carefully. They met he knew in the big house, now closed. He waited for them there. The plan failed, however, in one important detail. She came at the appointed time, but without her lover. She found death waiting for her. Completely painless death. The lover did not come. The door being left open for him. The house was deserted and it was a foggy night, like tonight. But he did not come. Instead, a stranger came. I... And where was the surgeon, all this time? Waiting outside. He concealed in the fog. He saw the man go in and he followed him to kill him. But the man was a stranger. He came in by chance, like you, to shelter from the fog. I think that I should... Why? What is the matter, sir? I really must be going. Of course, if you wish. Thank you for your kindness and hospitality. It's been a pleasure, young man. I enjoyed your story. Although I confess, I expected one little different. Your coat. Thank you. I'll walk with you to the door and give you the directions. Ah, you're in luck. I think the fog's lifting a bit. Doctor, may I ask... Your friend, the surgeon. Was he ever caught? Ah, that's the part of the story I don't know. He was clever enough so that I doubted it. Unless he told somebody, made a confession. I see. And even so, unless that other person had some proof. Oh, by the way, you can't walk about in the fog without a hat. Here, it's an extra one of mine. You needn't trouble to return it. Thank you. Thank you very much. I went out of his consulting room with a hat on my head. In ten minutes, I was at the tube station. It was only there that I permitted myself to take off the hat and look at it. It was my own. The hat I had left on the bed beside the dead woman. Escape is produced and directed by William N. Robson. And tonight brought you Confession by Algernon Blackwood adapted for radio by John Dunkel. With Bill Conrad as O'Reilly, Ramsey Hill as the Doctor and Peggy Weber as the Woman in the Fog. Music was conceived and conducted by Cy Fuhr. Next week... You are trapped in the dark maze of the native quarter of Mozambique. A dead man at your feet, with police closing it around you. And beside you is a girl with whom you must escape. Next week, we escape with Percival Gibbons' fast-moving adventure Second Class Passenger. Good night, then, until this same time next week when again we offer you... Escape! This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.