 Family Theater presents Robert Young from Hollywood the Mutual Network in cooperation with Family Theater presents the unknown. Now to introduce the drama here is your host Robert Young. Thank You Larry Chatterton. Family Theater's only purpose is to bring to everyone's attention a practice that must become an important part of our lives if we are to win peace for ourselves, peace for our families, and peace for the world. Family Theater urges you to pray. Pray together as a family. And now to our drama the unknown with Lamont Johnson as Richard, Betty Lou Gerson as Estelle, and J. Develo as Henri. You remember what happened to Estelle Beecham? Alright, Lady Beecham. Anyway, you remember reading about it last fall? You probably think as a lot of other people do that Estelle Beecham died a stupid pointless death right in character. I don't think anything could be further from the truth. You'd have had to know her, only for a few short days as I did to understand why I feel this way. Perhaps I should begin by telling you the reason I was in Paris last fall. I'm one of those GIs who never came home after the war. I thought I was gonna be a writer. I may yet, although I haven't written much, but I have friends in Paris, like Henri, who now and then get me some work translating one of their poems or stories. That's what I thought it was about when Henri phoned me to meet him down at the chigger that evening. Ah, dick dick, seat yourself, seat yourself. Thanks, Henri. How's it go? Like this, like that. What are you going to eat? I've eaten. Today? Ah, twice. Two meals. My check came in. Dick, why don't you go back to Ohio and help run the shoe company? Then it would be weekly salaries instead of quarterly dividends. Also it would be eight-hour days instead of three months siestas. Always you make yourself out a loafer. No, no, ask my landlady. In Ohio you would see your family. In Ohio I would also see my uncle who cannot see me. You always do this, Henri. What's this job you have for me? Well, it is not much. It never is. I always take it. Now, what do I translate this time? Play, poem? A story. And you do not translate it, you write it. For the English edition of my paper. Ah, what's it about? Well, like me, on this job you will be a journalist, a reporter. And since we must leave Paris for some weeks, I can understand you're not wanting to take the assignment. Ah, I take it. Forget Ohio. I'm not going back to the shoe company. I take the job. It will involve some physical discomfort. I thought it was going hungry. But you said you had eaten twice today. To make up for yesterday. Mm-hmm. And how is the novel going? It's going into the bottom of the trunk as soon as I can get you to tell me what this job is. All right, all right, all right. Do you know what is a speleologist? Ah, I know the birds who do their mountain climbing upside down. Then inside out. They are cave hunters. And after they find a likely cave, they explore it as far down as they can go. But I can't imagine why. What does it we do? We go along with this expedition of crazy people and take pictures and write the story of what they find in the caverns. Where are the caverns? South. Somewhere in the Pyrenees. We don't leave until Monday. So you have plenty of time to back out. Now look, Henri, if there's someone else you'd rather hand this job. No, no, no, no, no. The office wants an American for the job. No, no, because if there is someone you can go right ahead. How come an American? Well, because of the woman in the expedition, she is an American. Well, anyway, she was an American before she married Sir James. And my paper feels that the human interest angle for American syndication would be stronger if it were handled by someone from her own country of her own generation. Someone who remembered her. Remembered who? Lady James Beachum. I spoke to her on the phone from the lobby of the Reeds this afternoon. Very gracious. Oh, what hour is it? Oh, 9.36. Why? Well, she promised to be here at 9.30. I never heard of Lady Beachum. There she is now. The tall brunette coming past the bar. No, no, no, no. Sit down. I don't know. Of course you do. 15 years ago, everyone in America knew her. Her maiden name was Estelle Pierce. And of course, just as it would have for you, that name, Estelle Pierce, rang a familiar bell. I remembered this stunning, not quite beautiful young woman who was the New York debutante of the year, the rage of the Ivy League, and the delight of anyone who saw her picture on the cover of a magazine back in the late 30s. I watched Lady James Beachum, a Estelle Pierce, still as stunning as ever, thread her way toward the alcove where Henri and I were seated. Uh, Mr. Lejean? Lady Beachum, I am enchanted. So glad you could come. This is Mr. McLaughlin. Richard McLaughlin, the American I told you about. It's a pleasure, Mr. McLaughlin. Lady Beachum. Oh, please, sit down. Thank you. I'm afraid I won't be able to stay long. Oh, too bad. Something wrong? No, just one of those things that always seem to happen at the last minute. Professor Blanchett has come down with some kind of virus. We have to scout a replacement for him. Oh, I shouldn't think you'd have much trouble there, considering all the publicity and store for the expedition. You sound as if you don't approve, Mr. McLaughlin. Then your interest in this, Lady Beachum, is purely scientific? Oh, don't talk a lot, Mr. McLaughlin. I'm no scientist and you know it. I'm... I'm an ex debutante. And cave hunting promises you a little stimulation, unlike a few fast sets at Forest Hills. Is that how it looks to you? How else would you expect it to look? No different. And at all, one reasons is good as another. Well, Dick, how does it feel to be going first class with a few thousand francs in your pocket and a full stomach for a change? Very unfamiliar. What time do they make up these beds in these compartments? Beds? Not yet nine in the evening and you want to retire? Ah, what else is there to do? Well, we might go up to the lounge and keep Lady Beachum company. Yeah, is that where she is? Dick, this is Henri. You don't have to put on this surprise look for me. I have eyes. I know what is happening to you. Keep it to yourself. That's what I'm doing. But why? She seems to feel pleasantly toward you. She is Lady Beachum, which means she's got a husband somewhere. But she is a widow. Her husband, Sir James, was killed during the war. Oh, she doesn't know I'm alive. But you must consider these things, uh, they take time. No, there isn't anything there. Not for me. Maybe not for anyone. You know, Dick, she is a very strange person. Always going someplace. Always seems running from something. Loneliness? No. Even before her husband died, she ran. She smiled more then, but still it was hop, hop from place to place almost as if she were, well, almost as if she were running from life. Yeah, I guess we've all done a little of that. Dick, do you know what I would do if Lady Beachum bothered me the way she bothers you? No. All right, don't worry. What would you do? I would go up to the lunch car and start an idle conversation. As I walk forward through the train, I made a strange admission to myself. I probably wasn't in love with Estelle. I... Well, like her, I was chasing unreality. I was thinking this girl is Estelle and if a man came back to America, to his hometown in Ohio, married to her, it wouldn't matter what he'd been doing for the last eight years. He could spend the rest of his life on that now. He'd never have to go near the shoe company. Richard, I missed you at dinner. Yes, sir. I ate early. Sir Don. Thanks. And how is the syndicated article going? I haven't started it yet. Won't your public be clamoring for something if you don't get a move on? Haven't you got us mixed up? I don't have a public. Still trying to figure it out? Figure what out? Why I want to go down in the caves. I hadn't really thought much about it. Oh, I'm sorry if I sounded rude. You're right. I am still trying to figure it out. Has it occurred to you that I might not know myself? No, it hasn't. I'll tell you something. This expedition started out like every other junket I've ever attached myself to. For lives, for fun, to pass the time. And now? Now I... I don't know. I'm afraid of those caves. Then why go into them? I can't explain it, but I have the feeling that I have to. You mean you have the feeling that you'll find something there? It's a little like that. You know, I was sent to some very fashionable schools as a girl, and yet I never learned how to look for things. Maybe you didn't know what you were looking for. More likely it's because I never had to look for anything. Whatever I wanted was always placed within easy reach. Might be an explanation for your wanting to go down into the caves. What? You can't exactly call places thousands of feet below the earth within easy reach. Maybe that's why they fascinate you. Is that what you're going to put in your article as my reason for going on this expedition? Not if you don't want me to. As a matter of fact, Big, I do want you to. It's logical. It's completely in character. Sure. It's perfectly perfect. If you're willing to overlook the fact that it's not true. Why do you say that? Because it isn't. But as close to the truth as I've been able to get, all I'm looking for is peace and I find it by forgetting myself. Put that in your article and stop trying to analyze me. I've already stopped. Oh, of course. And I suppose that means I've been neatly figured out and catalogued all in five minutes. I don't know. It's taking a little longer than that. You don't know a thing about me, McLaughlin. I think I know what you're looking for. Oh, wonderful. Well, then perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me what it is or where it is. That would be even better. Where is it, McLaughlin? The will of the wisp I've been chasing. Is it down in the caves? Yes. If we mean the same thing. Dick, do you have a name for it? Maybe not a name you'd agree with. Well, I suppose we wait until you decide you found it. Then we can compare notes. We reached Belle Partia a little before six the following morning as the sun was breaking over the ridge of mountains to the east. Just before evening of the second day, the expedition, six men including Henri and myself, and Estelle, arrived at the entrance to the network of caverns the party intended to explore. And by the following afternoon, we were well along in our descent into the dark world below the earth. Richard, do you know what I think? What do you think, Henri? I think I was a fool to come along on this subterranean goose chase. I kind of like it. You like being lowered on that cable bumping against slimy worlds of rock a hundred yards down through the darkness? I can't say I thought much of that part, but now that we're down here, I'm glad I can. Bless your light around. What is there to see? Stalactites. Icicles of stone. If you have seen one, you have seen them all. You never prove it by that gang of pothollers up ahead of us. They're fools. You know, I have no patience with fanatics, and this is the word to describe your Lady Bichon. No, I don't think that is exactly the word. She's looking for something down here, Henri. Dick, Dick, look. Up ahead, the lights have stopped moving. We stumbled forward, realizing as we drew closer to them that the exploration party was standing at the edge of a gaping crevasse perhaps 50 feet around the rocky vault above it curved back like a grotto. It was the end of the line. There was no other way to go but down. I don't remember the technicalities of the discussion that followed, but the net of it was that Estelle wanted to make the descent immediately while the Dutch geologist insisted that it was impossible without the aid of another winch. I don't even remember the precise arrangements Estelle and her colleagues made about going to get the other winch, but a few moments later they'd gone, leaving her, Henri, and I standing on the ragged edge of the crevasse, staring down into the yawning darkness below. What do you think is down there, McLaughlin? More limestone. What else? More caves, more water, more white cockroaches. No. There's something more. There's mystery in all that blackness. And the key to the mystery? Sounds as if they're ready to lure the winch down the shaft. Would you mind going back to help them, Mr. Lejean? No, not at all, Lady Beatrice. And please call up for them to bring it down slowly. We don't want it damaged. Oh, wait, wait. I will tell them. Dick, hand me that cable. What are you going to do? I'm going down alone. You're crazy. Now, don't be melodramatic. It's perfectly safe. Cables anchored at the other end. Now, please, Estelle, you wait for the others. Let that Dutchman go down ahead of me. Why not? You're not a trophy collector. What's the difference who goes first? All the difference in the world. Don't you understand? Don't you know why I'm down here? Why I've driven myself here? Yes, but it doesn't have to be done this way. For me, yes. It has to. All my life I've been running. I've been afraid and now I know it's got to stop. But why must it stop here? Because here I am. And here I have to face it. Estelle. I've got to go down. If I don't, there'll never be another chance for me to break out of this cage I've built for myself. Now, do you understand? Yes. Will you steady the other end of that cable while I go over the side? All right. Keep it taught. Estelle, be careful. Don't worry, I will. Can you see anything? A scream? Oh, sure. Hold on. What? Can you see the river? Can you reach the entrance to the cave from where you are? I mean, this hole goes deeper? Another 25 or 30 feet? Estelle, I don't think you ought to go any further. But you want to, have you? Whenever the memory of the few moments that followed floods back over me, those words of Estelle's always come with it. Please, Dick, I have to get in there. The girl who never in her life had to reach out for anything was at the last striving with all her might to enter a great lost cavern that reminded her of a cathedral in which water burst forth from a rock. I can never recall what thoughts I had as I fed those last few feet of cable down to Estelle. Perhaps I was remembering the girl on the cover of the magazine 15 years before. Perhaps our conversation on the train to Belpesh. Perhaps none of those things. All that stands out in my mind now is the moment when I realized something had gone wrong with that cable. Yes, Estelle, hold on. The cable snapped beneath me and released the silent, unprotesting weight at the end of it. For a moment, the shock of what had just happened left me numb. I couldn't bring myself to look down, even though I knew I'd see only bottomless darkness. So I lay there, slumped on the edge of the crevasse and listened to what seemed an eternity. Until at last I knew that Estelle Pierce was dead. At the end, in her own way, she found some part of what she was looking for. She would have called it courage. Courage to live, even though she may not have known it until the end. It was really more than physical, personal courage that she sought. It was the same thing that all troubled people who roam the earth or under the earth or who search the sky are seeking. Estelle was looking for the source of all courage. The feeling she found at the last, wanting so much to live, yet plummeting down in the darkness toward eternity. I think she found an even greater courage. A courage we cannot muster alone. The courage to face death, the unknown, unafraid. I think that must have happened because remember when the cable snapped, it was... Hi. Not she. Who cried out in fear. This is Robert Young again. Just the other day I heard a friend of mine liken prayer to a blind man's stick. And I can see his point. Who of us hasn't seen the wonders a blind man's stick can perform? It makes every face the face of a sympathetic friend, every arm the aiding arm of a neighbor. There are a few things that can pacify the clamor of automobile drivers at a busy intersection. But I've seen the blind man's stick do it. Traffic signals or a policeman's club haven't a hundredth of its power. In Times Square on Michigan Boulevard at Hollywood and Vine, I've seen the look it can bring to the faces of drivers who an instant before would commit mayhem for just an inch of territory. That little white stick seems to make everyone say, there but for the grace of God, go I. It silences every selfish thought and prayers like that. It gives us courage, confidence, direction, hope. It can pacify the clamor of an angry heart. It makes us recognize every man as a brother and neighbor. It helps us to pick our journey through life's darkness avoiding obstacles in our path as we tap our way toward a goal that our minds tell us is and must be there. Although it is often hidden from our eyes. And the unifying force of family prayers especially needed in our times for the family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. From Hollywood, Family Theatre has brought you the unknown. Robert Young was your host. In our cast were Lamont Johnson, Betty Lugerson and Jay Novello. The script was written by John T. Kelly with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and was directed and transcribed for Family Theatre by Lou X. Landsworth. This series of Family Theatre broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who feel the need for this type of program, by the mutual network which responds to this need and by the hundreds of stars of stage, screen and radio who give so unselfishly of their time and talent to appear on our Family Theatre stage. To them and to you, our humble thanks. This is Larry Chatterton expressing the wish of Family Theatre that the blessing of God may be upon you and your home and inviting you to be with us again next week when Family Theatre will present the payoff starring Victor Moore. Ralph Edwards will be your host. Join us won't you? Family Theatre will be heard at a new hour, 9.30 p.m. Eastern Time. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.