 Started your Christmas shopping yet? Worried about where the money's coming from? Want to get away from it all? We offer you escape. You were seated around a green felt table with a dozen desperate men waiting for the turn of a card. If it's the ace of spades, you will be next. And you desperately desire the impossible. Escape. Produced and directed by William M. Robeson and carefully plotted to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight we escape to London of the last century. A London of gas lights and handsome cabs. A London where a gentleman still valued his word of honour above his life. A London of which one terrifying incident is recorded by Robert Louis Stevenson and his unforgettable story, the young man with the cream tarts. Oh, bored? Oh, rather. City seems to awful little amusement tonight. Well, bottoms up. Let's be on our way. Righto, your help and yours. Gentlemen, please have a cream tart. It's absolutely free by condiments. Madam, will you honour me? Well now, what's this? Young man with a tray of cream tarts. He's giving them away. Perhaps one of the turns on the bill. Perhaps. Shall we go? Here's let's. I pray you accept this confection for if you do not, I am bound to eat it myself. You must be crazy. I was never more sane. I do. There's nothing for it. My twenty seventh tart since five o'clock. Now there are but two left. You, sir. Yes? Will you so far honour an entire stranger? Truly excellent pastry. I should know I've eaten enough of them. It is not the nature of a gift that is important, but the spirit in which it is offered. The spirit, sir, is one of mockery. Mockery? And whom do you mock? Myself. However, my purpose at the moment is not confection, but rather distribution of these cream tarts. Won't you and your friend dispose of the last of them? Yes. Yes, on one condition. If my friend and I eat your last two cakes, we shall expect you to join us at supper. Supper? It's a horrible thought. I've already eaten two dozen of these pastries. Very well, then we shall omit supper. And become better acquainted over a bottle of wine. I'm uncertain whether my repugnance for these two remaining tarts or the attraction of your invitation compels me. But I accept. Excellent. Then let us finish off your pastry and seek a more quiet place. How about Michel's in Soho? Splendid. Shall we go? Excellent wine and two excellent friends. I drink to your health. And we drink to yours. I'm sure you will understand my curiosity. But you are curious. Naturally. Although I suspect that your story is probably a silly one. Indeed. You may rest assured that we are two of the silliest men in England. My name is Godal, the awfulest Godal, and my friend here is Major Alfred Hammersmith. I like you, Mr. Godal. I'm true Major Hammersmith, though I suspect those are not your right names. It is of no importance. Exactly, nor is my name, so I will not divulge it. Although I see no reason why I should deny you my story. It's brief and foolish. Pray tell us, then. It's an off-told tale. The oldest fortune which I squandered in the usual ways at cards, the horse races in Paris. Then two months ago I met a young lady exactly suited to my taste in mind and body. My heart melted. I was in love too late. Yesterday my solicitor warned me that I had but a hundred pounds left in the world. Forty of these I used last night for a special purpose. And I have agreeably spent the day disposing of the remaining sixty pounds in his foolish manner as I could devise. And the future? The future has been taken care of by the forty pounds. Is it not odd that we three should have met by the nearest accident in so large a wilderness as London and be so nearly in the same condition? Yes. Major Hammersmith, I was thinking the very same thing. What's this? Are you two also ruined? Is this bottle of excellent wine the last folly, like my cream tots? Very nearly so. I'm perhaps a week behind you. I still have a few banknotes in my wallet, however. Here now, this bill will take care of the bottle of wine and the others I throw into the fire. Oh, no. You shouldn't have burned all of them. You should have kept forty pounds. Forty pounds? Why? Why not fifty or seventy? For to my certain knowledge there were more than a hundred in his wallet. It was only just forty pounds he needed. But without them there is no admission. The rule is strict. What do you mean? I have not yet completely emptied my pocketbook. You are not fooling me. You are indeed ruined, men, like me. Oh, indeed. Could you muster eighty pounds between you? Well, let me look in my wallet. Yes, eighty and a little over. Then you're indeed most fortunate. Forty pounds each is the initiation fee of the Suicide Club. The Suicide Club? What the devil is that? The Suicide Club is death's private door. It's the ultimate convenience in our modern world. It exists for unfortunates like us. Those to whom the painful agony of corrosive poison is distasteful. For those whose courage fails them when the cold muzzle chills the forehead. For those whose fear of drowning is greater than the compulsion to die. For these sensitive misfits the Suicide Club ranges every detail. If you are truly tired of life I will introduce you tonight to a meeting and I can assure you that within the week you will be relieved of the burden of living. What do you say? It's more serious than a cream tart and I suspect more palatable. More serious, certainly. So I wonder if you would give Mr. Goodall and me five minutes alone to discuss it. Certainly. I shall wait outside. Your Highness, this adventure must stop here. Nonsense, Colonel Geraldine. I propose to see this through. See it through to what? Death? You forget your obligations. Not only to yourself but to your country. Prince Floresel of Bohemia cannot risk... Tonight I am plain, Mr. Goodall. And so I propose to remain. And please remember, Colonel Geraldine, under no circumstances are you to betray my incognito. But your Highness... We have survived graver adventures than this one promises to be. And now, Colonel Geraldine, let us pay our bill in a company our young wastrel to. Death's private door. Here you are, Governor. Box court. Gentlemen, we have arrived. Here you are, Cabbie. Keep the change. Oh, thank you, sir. Come on. Well, Mr. Goodall, Major Hammersmith, there is still time to change your minds. Lead on, sir. My mind's made up. And mine. Follow me then. Just dark as a tomb. An apt and concise simile. Here we are, gentlemen. At death's private door. Shall we enter? Pray let's. You may hang your things in here. If you'll be good enough to wait, I shall call the President. Of all our farries, this is the wildest and most dangerous. I'm beginning to believe you're right. Let me beseech your Highness... Do not forget you are my aide-de-con. Not your father. Yet I am responsible to the King for your well-being. Colonel Geraldine, you're not afraid. Certainly not for myself, but for your Highness. The President will see you in his office. I have vouch for you, but you must give him honest answers. The indiscretion of a single member might lead to the dispersion of the society forever. He can't afford to take that risk. Follow me. In here. He's waiting for you. Good evening. I am told that you wish to speak to me. We have a desire, sir, to join the suicide club. Sir, you've made a mistake. This is a private house, and you must leave it instantly. We have come here upon the invitation of a friend of yours. He's already told you of our desires. And believe me, sir, when one has come this far along the path, one is not likely to be turned away and certainly will tolerate little rudeness. Permit me to assure you, either you will oblige us in the matter or you'll regret ever having admitted us to the premises. Well, now, that's more like it. This is no place for men not yet desperate. I believe you, sir. But what of your friend? My reasons are even more cogent than Mr. Goodall's. I, uh... I was cash-shared out of my regiment last week. Why? Cheating at cards. I see. And you, sir, what is your reason for being tired of life? An adulterated laziness. Don't trifle with me, sir. You must have a better reason than that. I have no more money. And I'm much too lazy to come by any. Hmm. If I did not have a great deal of experience in these matters, I would turn you down. But I have learned that the most frivolous excuses for a suicide often cover a deep and lifelong desire for self-destruction. Thank you for your understanding, sir. Very well. To business. I shall read you the oath of membership to which you will each subscribe. I swear to obey without question the instructions of the president of this association, or any of his appointed deputies. Realizing that desirable death could scarcely be a penalty for violating this oath, I am aware that any violation will be met at the discretion of the president by those means deemed suitable by him. Namely, excommunication from the church, loss of whatever honor still attaches to my name, and or, when necessary, violent reprisals against my bereaved family. In full knowledge of the sacredness of this oath, I subscribe my name. Well, gentlemen, you are in a position to enforce those penalties. I am. Hand me the pen. My friend. The pen, please. Major Hammersmith. Thank you. That will be 40 pounds of peace, please. Here you are. Thank you. And now would you like to join the members in the smoking room? Indeed we would. This way, please. Just make yourself at home. Everyone's quite informed of him. If you'll pardon me, I have some other matters to attend to. Come along, Major. Let's mingle with the company. Your Highness, be quiet. Oh, there you are. You've got in all right, I see. Naturally. You'll never regret it. I'm sure we shall. You care for a game of bellards or perhaps some mists? No, not immediately, thank you. I'd like just to wander around and listen to the conversation. You'll find it most revealing, you understand? She had always stood in the way of anything I wanted to do, and I don't care if she was my mother. She crossed me one time too often. You may be sure that I would never have joined this wretched club if I had not read the origin of the species by Darwin. I could not bear to be descended from an ape. Certainly I have. There are some men who cannot abide the restrictions of the monastery, and after the abbot discovered me, there was nothing I could do. It's incomprehensible to me. Why, this talk, this boasting, the self-justification. If a man has made up his mind to kill himself, let him do it like a gentleman. Be done with the matter. As I told you, there are some of us more frightened of the act than of the result. There's only one man in this room who does not seem to be in a state of hysteria. Who is that, Mr. Godot? The gentleman sitting on the devan. Oh yes, yes, Mr. Malthus. Would you like to meet him? Yes, please. His others are too obvious. There's nothing very subtle about Mr. Malthus. He looks like death himself wearing thick eyeglasses. Let us discover for ourselves the reason for his relaxation. Mr. Malthus. Eh? I should like to present two new members, Mr. Godot, and Major Hammersmith. How do you do, gentlemen? How do you do? It's a pleasure, sir. Eh, won't you sit down? You come us. You come us. I envy you the novelty of your first visit. You will learn to relish it if you're spared. Why, my dear sir, this club, gentlemen, is the temple of intoxication. If my health would permit it, you may be sure I would be here more often. For this is my last dissipation. Believe me, sir, I have tried them all, all the vices. People trifle with love and ignorantly call it man's most powerful passion. Nonsense, sir. Nonsense. Fear. Fear is the strongest passion. It is fear that you must trifle with if you wish to taste the intense joys of living. Envy me, sir. Envy me. I am a coward. How, sir, is the excitement so artfully prolonged? Oh, of course, of course. I must tell you how the victim for every evening is selected, as well as the member who is to be death's high priest for the occasion. Great heavens. You mean they kill each other? The guilt of suicide is removed in that way. I, or my friend, or you, any of us, might be selected this evening to murder another man. Exactly. But how have they escaped the attentions of the law? Ah, the ingenuity of our president knows no limits. The departures always appear to be accidental. It's monstrous. On the contrary, my dear major, it is godlike. Oh, yes, yes, of course. But Mr. Malthus, I am still in the dark as to how the members are selected for the evening's work. Oh, of course. I forgot to explain. But I see that the others are filing into the card room now, and the play is about to begin. You shall see for yourself. Will you lend me the help of your arm? I'm quite paralyzed, you know. Oh, of course. Thank you. Ah, this is the moment for which I live. The quintessence of poignancy. The ultimate of passion. Coming here as infrequently as I do, I've savoured this bitter taste of fear longer than the others. But my turn will come. Who knows? Perhaps night. But how is it done? Tell us what to expect. Oh, it's so simple. The president deals from an ordinary deck, playing cards, and each man turns up his card as he receives it. The ace of spades, the card of death. The ace of clubs designates the official of the night. The murderer. If you like. Here are three chairs together. Happy. Happy, young men. You have good eyes and can follow the cards. I can only make out the faces. Is everyone here? My friend, we still have a fighting chance to escape. Quiet. Let us play the game. Attention, gentlemen. Three clubs. Jack of Hearts. Ten of diamonds. King of clubs. Queen of hearts. Three of spades. Nine of clubs. Six of spades. It's our young man of the cream tarts. He's drawn the ace of clubs. I came here to be killed, not to kill. I wanted that. Gentlemen. I must caution the members against such unseemly adversities. I don't want that. Since the ace of spades has not yet turned up, I will continue the deal. Eight of hearts. Seven of clubs. King of diamonds. Jack of spades. Ace. Eight. Mr. Malthus. That concludes the play for the night, gentlemen. Will the member who drew the ace of clubs come to my office for his instructions? Yes. Good morning, Roderick. Good morning, sir. Oh, I shall have my breakfast in bed this morning. Yes, Your Highness. And Colonel Geraldine has been waiting for you to awaken me. Oh, very well. Show him in. Thank you, Your Highness, sir. Colonel, His Highness will see you now. Good morning, Geraldine. Sleep well. Not too well. Did I dream it or were we initiated into the suicide club last night? Seems like a nightmare. It was a nightmare. But you didn't dream it. Here. Look at this. The morning paper. Melancholy accident. This morning, about two o'clock, Mr. Bartholomew Malthus of 16 Chepstow Place, Westburn Grove, on his way home from a party at a friend's house fell off the upper parapet in Trafalgar Square, fracturing his skull. Death was instantaneous. Mr. Malthus, accompanied by a friend, was engaged in looking for a cab at the time. If ever a soul went straight to hell, it was that poor paralytic. Yes, at least he's dead and out of it. But think of our young man of the cream tarts. Last night that lad was as innocent as you and I. This morning he is a murderer. Thank heavens we're safely out of it. Are we? No. You're not going to return. I must. You are infected with a passion of fear just as poor Malthus was. Perhaps. Whatever it is. Tonight, once more, we take our places at the table of the suicide club. Good evening. Good evening, Mr. Goodall. Back again to try your luck? Yes, indeed. And Major Hammersmith? Good evening. You are to be congratulated, sir, on the matter of Mr. Malthus. Very neatly handled. Thank you. But I shall miss poor old Malthy. He was a man I could talk to. Yes, your bereavement must weigh heavily upon you. Indeed it does, sir. But then it's all in the game. And now you will pardon me. We will sit down to play directly. The fiend, the foul fiend of hell. Steady, my friend. Once more, let me plead with you. Leave this evil house before it's too late. Sorry, tiresome tonight. Oh, here's our young friend of the cream tarts. Good evening, old chap. Oh, Mr. Goodall, Major Hammersmith. Oh, how I wish I'd never brought you to this infamous place, oh, leave. Leave while your hands are still clean. But our oath. We could not go back upon our oath. Well, renounce it. Forget everything. Let them do their worst, but leave. Leave before it's too late. If you could have heard the old man scream as I pushed him from the parapet, the crunch of his brittle bones as he furried to the pavement. Yes, I perceive the dealing is about to begin. Shall we go in? Yeah. Mr. Goodall, if you have any kindness in your soul, wish the ace of spades for me tonight. There's nothing left for me but to die. Attention, gentlemen. Three of hearts. Queen of spades. Ace of diamonds. Times around, and neither black ace has come up. We are just 13. This at the table. This fourth round. This will, this will tell the tale. And I am next to last. Only four more guards. King of spades. Pray for me, Mr. Goodall. Pray for me. I have one chance in three. Pray that I get the ace. Six of diamonds. I have one chance in two. My friend, don't. Silence. Ace of spades. Very well. That concludes tonight's play, gentlemen. Oh, Mr. Goodall. I'd give a million if I had it for your luck. I would sell you this card for much less if I could. Well, well, Mr. Goodall, my congratulations. I am pleased to have met you, sir, and to have been in the position to do you this trifling service. At least you can't complain of delay. Yes, yes. And now before I leave forever, I should like to ask a question. A purely hypothetical question, of course, since I am not a man to go back upon my word. But you wonder what would happen if you did. If, upon the turning of the card, you had changed your mind and now wished to live? Precisely. Suppose my friend, Major Hammersmith, and I elected to ignore our oath. Suppose we began by tearing this place apart. You wouldn't even get started. The guests themselves are desperate men, but if they did not stop you, the servants who were even more desperate would. You would never leave this house alive. I see. Well, it was purely an academic question. Naturally. Very well then. What are my instructions? You will proceed along the strand in the direction of the city and the left-hand pavement until you come upon a black carriage with drawn curtains. In this carriage will be the member who was tonight drawn the ace of clubs. My executioner. Your collaborator and suicide. You will enter the carriage and he will continue your instructions. Please have the kindness to obey him in every detail. The authority of the club is vested in his person for the night. I wish you a pleasant walk. Thank you. But first I must say farewell to my friend, Major Hammersmith. I regret that is strictly against the rules. No farewells. Too disturbing for the still living members. You will leave through this side door to the workroom. But I must have... We won't have any trouble now, will we, Mr. Goodall? No. No, of course not. Your coat and hat. Your stick. Thank you. Again, Mr. Goodall. A most pleasant walk. Death's private door. Why didn't I listen to Geraldine before it was too late? What is this? My instructions are to meet the coach in the strand. You'll take this coach right now. Go on fire. Take this one away. Your highness will pardon the violation of his person. Geraldine. Oh, my friend. It was quite necessary under the circumstances. As soon as you turned up the ace of spades, I slipped out of the house to prepare for your escape. But how did you manage it? When I realized I could not dissuade you from attending the club tonight, I retained the services of a certain capable and reliable private detective. But his secrecy has been bought and paid for. His men are now raiding this suicide club. The members will be removed to your townhouse, where it remains for you to pass judgment upon them. That I will gladly do. And with the utmost dispatch. What have they brought us here for? They didn't look like Scotland yard men to me. What difference does it make? Perhaps this will be a quicker way out. Gentlemen. Why, that's my friend Major Hammesmith. His Royal Highness Prince Floresel of Bohemia. Why, that's Mr. Godot. Always thought there was something odd about those two. Gentlemen. Tonight, we have removed you from a house of death, to a house of life and hope. Those of you who have come to your present condition, through lack of fortune, who receive employment and remuneration from my treasury, those who have been driven to this unnatural solution of their problems, by the agonies of guilt, must find amnesty from a power greater than mine. Power that eternally promises the forgiveness of sins, no matter how grievous. Only one of you is truly evil, and him I shall deal with myself. Where is he? Where is the president of the club? Colonel Geraldine. Why, he should be here, Your Highness. Well, begon Your Highness's pardon. Who's this man, Geraldine? The chief of the detectives. Yes? What is it? Was you referring to the sallow chap with the sword whiskies and the black suit? Yes, that's the one. The president of the suicide club. Where is he? He ain't here. Why not? Well, when we broke into the little office down there at the club, we found him sprawled over the desk with a little empty bottle in his hand. He'd committed suicide. Escape is produced and directed by William M. Robeson, and tonight brought you The Young Man with the Cream Tarts by Robert Louis Stevenson, adapted for radio by Mr. Robeson, with Paul Freese as Prince Florizel, Bill Johnstone as Colonel Geraldine, and Barton Yarborough as The Young Man. The special musical score was conceived and conducted by Cy Fuhrer. Next week? After you've put in a tough day at the office or leaning over a hot stove, when your four walls seem to be closing in on you, next week when you want to get away from it all, we offer you escape. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.