 Tired of the everyday grind, ever dream of a life of romantic adventure. Want to get away from it all? We offer you escape. Escape, designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. You are crouched in the center of a barren room, the heat of the tropics numbing your brain, your bare hands bleeding and torn. While facing you, his giant hands reaching for you, is the brute of a man whose life depends upon his killing you. Listen now, as escape brings you John Russell's unusual story, Jetsom. The pub known as The Crown and Anchor was much like any of its fellow establishments along the Sydney waterfront. It was noisy and ill-lit and always crowded with a cleontel that worked hard at being boisterously happy. The liquor was cheap and potent and quickly available. At The Crown and Anchor there was a little something for everyone. New acquaintances, male or female, old friends to be met and, of course, arguments. Those wonderful, time-consuming, liquor-bred arguments. What was that again? I say and I say again. You bloody English think you won the war yourself. Well, that's a filthy thing to say. Or maybe you won it yourself in your pretty little spitfire. Well, at least I didn't spend my time mucking about in the desert with Montgomery. I know you do. Big, lumbering clothes. The fleet here almost just collapsed. Here, give me an elf. We'll chuck him out in the street. Now, sitting in the waiting room of Morley and Son's solicitors, Junior's Peabody couldn't remember to well everything that had happened. He remembered The Crown and Anchor and the man with a scarred face and waking at dawn on the cobbled street face down in the gutter. But he wasn't too clear on the reasons for it all. We'll see you now, Mr. Peabody. Good morning, Juniors. Sit down. I'm sorry about not keeping our appointment the other day, said John. It was almost two weeks ago, Juniors. Yes, I'm sorry, sir. I wanted to see you because I've had another cable from your father. Yes, sir? Sent along a letter of credit drawn on the amount of 50 pounds. From what he says in the cable, I don't think he expects you to come back to England. But the last time I wrote, I said I'd be home. I said I'd work for him there. Yes, I don't think that's of much interest to your father anymore. Would you care to see the cable? No. No, thank you. Now, he also has instructed me to advance you no more money under any consideration. Oh, I'm not to be a remittance man after all. Juniors, do you have any plans? I have no plans. What about your commission? Who can use a 35-year-old flyer when they can't even hold a rum glass steady? Yes, and that's something else, Juniors. This drinking of yours... This is going to be a lecture, sir John. Well, in a sense, yes. Now, ever since the war, you've done your best to become an alcoholic. Why? Why does anyone drink? Well, may I tell you why I think you do? The war. You're still fighting it. Still in the Singapore prisoner of war camp. And you were a good officer and a good pilot, I'm told. You could have gone on if you'd let yourself. Why can't you forget what's behind you? Forget what you went through. Others have? This is a lecture, isn't it? Well, you came to Australia at the war's end. You've done a lick of work since. Now, really, sir... But if, as well as you could, and the money your father sent out here, you've held only one position in all that time and that you managed to keep for just three weeks. I was out sick in a hospital. Well, you were dead drunk in a back street house. I was out sick. Call it what you want. But don't use the war as an excuse for your own shortcomings. No, it must be very fine to be successful and smug and righteous. No, I won't. I'm sick to teeth of men like you and my father. Preaching, moralizing. I'm tired of the lot of you. Now, if you'll be good enough to give me that letter of credit, I will get out of your office. Now, you're talking like a child. The letter, please. Here. Junius, where are you going? For as long as my money holds out, Sir John, I shall be at the noisiest, filthiest and most enjoyable bar in Sydney. And that was the start of a most colossal binge for Junius Peabody. The entries were badly blurred, but he could trace himself up through Brisbane, Port Moresby, Macau. There were assorted voyages and counter voyages, women's faces, and the cloying aroma of heavy perfumes. There was a hectic session when he and an Norwegian schooner captain hit the bank at Phantan and swore eternal friendship amid champagne baskets. And it was this same captain who landed him finally, the champagne baskets having been emptied, on a small island. And it was on this island that he found a bar where a tall, cynical white man by the name of Bendermare cashed in the remains of the dwindling letter of credit for the last magnificent splurge. And now, weeks after leaving Sydney, Junius awoke on the wide sandy beach watching the dawn spread over the butternut sea. Oh? Hmm? You don't happen to have a flask or anything handy about you. Oh, if I had one, it would be empty. Shame it is. I've a notion I'm about to have the Phantods. The what? Phantods. You know the creepers. Oh. Yeah. I could use a bracer myself. On the Sydney duck. Your name's Peabody. That's right. It wasn't half a party you gave last night at the Bendermere's. Bendermere's? It seems to me I was sewn out at the last night. Is that right? That's right. You was, and me, and the big Dutchman, Willems. But it was your fault you started playing chuck-farming among his bottles with a bunch of copper spikes. I've never seen a man old his liquor worse. Well, I paid for it, didn't I? My money and Heavens know you had your share of it. Well, Lord Love, you chum that. I did. Hey. She and he threw us out. I suppose your credit's gone. I imagine. Sydney. Yes? What is this place? This is a beach, chum. And the island's too footy. And what the devils feel feuty? 3,000 miles from the nearest pub. Oh. Well, I... I did have some cufflinks and things. I wonder what became of them. Oh, yeah. Oh, you got any smokes left? Oh. Yeah. Thanks. Thanks. Well, you're on the beach now, matey. That's for certain. And you won't like it, you won't. Do you? Me, I'm used to it. You never did a day's work in your life with them soft hands. You was probably a gentleman. But you're a beachcomber now, matey. A lousy beachcomber. And you needn't expect me to do no begging for you, for I won't know fear. Juniors turned and examined the features of the Sydney duck who was hunched on the sand beside him, the prominence of the nose and upper lip, the thin pink ears, the jutting teeth that gave him the feeble ferocity of a rat. And at the same time, he was conscious of himself only in a different way. Here was Junious Peabody, washed up on the beach at the far edge of the world, like any other bit of useless jetsom, to stay and to rot. Pretty low. Oh, it ain't so bad nobody starves here, that's one thing. You can always fall in with a wedding or a birthday or something. Or maybe you come across a new chum with a bit of brass, some flat who's willing to stand the drinks. Like me? Oh, there's plenty like you. The pearl fishing brings them in, you see. When they're stony like you, they usually take a job till they get a chance to get away again. That is, if they're able to do anything at all, what can you do? That's a good question, Sidney. Well, what can you do? I can fly a Spitfire and I'm a good judge of French brandy. That's not much, is it? Not much. Hey, hey, what's the game? What are you doing? Going to take a swim. Have you had yours yet? Morning bath on the beach at Fufuti. You can't tell, Sidney. You might like it. Ah, gone. Can't prove that water ever helped anybody. Hi. You really are going in. Yes, I really am. Keep an eye on my things, Sidney. Oh, right, you are, my lord. Out the bath ain't too cold, my lord. Oh, oh, oh. Juniors walked down the sand alone to the water's edge and stood looking out to where the sun sent a long, glittering path toward him across the morning sea. And he was suddenly conscious that he made an ugly figure under the clear light. He moved out into the water till it reached his knees. Then something bumped against his shin nearly tripping him. He could see the object floating nearby. It was a rough lump of some substance, grayish-brown, the size of a boy's football. He picked it up to the touch it was greasy. Sidney, Sidney Duck. What? Come down here to the surfer minute. I'm close enough now. This was floating about in the water. I think I know what it is, but I can't quite believe it. Don't you know what what is? This, sit up and have a look at it. Hey, boy, the great lord had it. It's the stuff. Look at it, all smooth and greasy like. Oh, we ain't struck it rich nor nothing. Oh, no, not much. But shouldn't there be an odor, a perfume? That comes later when it's not so fresh like anybody else would know it. Hey, what could this be but... ...ambigress. Worth nearly two pounds and a half. Right here on for foodie. Here, let me take a feel of it. Two pounds and ounce. Ambigress was right as rain. And there must be eight, ten pounds here. And half of it's mine. What? I say half of that's mine. They don't have been palling along with you. Wasn't I here? It's a fair debate. I want me half. You're half? Nothing small about you is there? No, my lad, this is my insurance of this island. I'll give you whatever I don't need. Oh, now, Mr Peabody, you wouldn't forget an old friend who came to your side when you was on the beach, would you? Why, you dirty old windbag. You'd just be happy if you get anything. Mr Peabody, I know a gentleman like you will do the right thing. Yes, well, don't you worry, Sidney. You'll just let me... Now, lie cozy, Mr Peabody. It's a real shame to see a gentleman like you lying all stretched out in the sand, but since you're there, I'll just relieve you of this insurance of yours. And now, I bid you a respectful good day, Mr Peabody. In just a moment, the second act of escape. But first, tomorrow night and most of the same CBS radio stations hear William Powell in a startling anti-communist drama titled The Man Who Cried Wolf on Suspense. Tomorrow night on CBS radio. And now, back to escape. Why, Juniors Peabody, hadn't been killed by the Sidney duck's blow at the base of his skull was hard to understand. But it was only a matter of minutes later that he presented himself at Bendermere's saloon and general store. It was the only place Juniors was known on the island of Fufuti. And Bendermere was the local authority. He was at once the best-loved and the best-hated individual, being police, landowner, merchant, trader, and purveyor of bad alcohol. Juniors stood a moment, trying to get his breath, and then... I've been robbed. So? The property of mine had been stolen. Money? This was... No, not money. Then what do you care? What are you talking about, man? Where's this property you lost? That's not important to you. I want to know if you're going to do anything about it. No. Why should I? You're the only authority on the island. That's right. Who was the man who stole from you? Sidney duck. He hit you and ran off? Yes. I could help you, but I won't. I've seen too many of your kind here on the beach, drift stuff that gets washed in. Oh, not worth it. All right, I'll do this myself since you won't help. Are you going? I don't know, but this island isn't so big I can't find the Sidney duck. You go alone to retake this property of yours? Since I must, yes. You're a fool. They'll probably kill you. Well, they'll probably...they? Those that live at Tenpo Head, that's where the Sidney duck will be now. That's where they all go when they must hide, because of some minor lawlessness. The Sidney duck has something of mine, and I'm going to get it back. And when I do, I'll be in to see you to talk business. I still think you're a fool. Bender me a last night. You cashed in the last of my letter of credit. That's right. You were glad enough to help me then. You had money. That's the only drive you have. Money? It's the biggest. But let me tell you more. I don't mind helping a man who is worth something. A man who wants to help himself, but you, I know you're kind. You're filled with rum and useless. You're jetsom. You always will be. You're very sure, aren't you? I know you're kind, pitying yourself, thinking no one understands you or your problems. So you swill in rum in order to hide. You always will. I'm going out to Tenpo Head, and I'll be back. I'll give you a drink if you get back. It took the better part of two hours for Junius to work his way over the lava cliffs and crevices, knife-like and treacherous, to Tenpo Head, for what was better known as the rocks. And here, his fingernails bleeding, his clothes torn, Junius finally found the Sydney duck and Willems. They were seated on a small ledge, half hidden by pandanus leaves, overlooking the blue Pacific feet below. Between the hulking German and the little Sydney duck was the prize. His prize. The gray-brown ball now enclosed in a torn fishnet. Empty-handed, there was no way to take the ambergris from the two of them. Junius crouched low behind the foliage, thinking. And then a plan came to mind, so simple that Junius smiled. He hid the foliage and stooping clutched the filled net with one hand. Then, before the two startled men could more than cry out, he dove into the ocean 30 feet below. Pandemia! You were out in the storeroom, and I... Peabody. That's right. I'm back. So I see. But not in good condition. It'll do. You needn't stare. What are you doing, customer now? As how? Ambergris. My property. Over ten pounds of it. What? Was it this, the Sydney duck robbed you of? That's right. And you went out to the rocks to get it back from him yourself? From them. Villains, the German, was with him. By yourself? You did this? Look, there's the stuff. Now about that business proposition. Concerning this? Right. They don't have that much about me. Suppose we say a standing credit for a thousand drinks instead. I want money, not liquor. It amounts to the same thing. By the time you drunk yourself to death, I'd simply have the money back again. No, it doesn't, because I'm going to leave this island. And to do that, I need money. So let's talk business, Bendemia. Not yours to sell you, runny thief! Mr. Bendemia, this man here, this Peabody Rob, me and my partner, Williams, is that what's lying on your counter there. If you want to do business, it should be with Williams and me. Yeah, that's right. That's ours. Now, what do you give us? I have been told it's not yours. Sydney, you're a lying little cheat. You know, that's mine. I found it. That belongs to the Sydney duck. That's a lie! Don't take me out! Oh, quiet! All of you. Oh, Mr. Bendemia, after all, it's our word against this, and that there are two of us. But what if two of you are lying? How do you suggest it be? How do you suggest it be, settle? Fight for it. Yeah, fine. We'll go outside the three of us, and whoever comes back in, it's... it's rightly theirs. Ah, good. A minute I set foot outside that door, you'd have a knife in my back. Oh, you don't sound as brave as you did before, Mr. Peabody. Not against the two of them. I'm not a fool, that's all. Against the... one, perhaps... Williams? Why not? After all, you could kill Sydney with one blow. You must hate people. Just weaklings. All right, I'll fight. And if I win, I'll buy from you. Sydney, sit down in a chair where I can keep an eye on you. Yes, all right. There are no rules. Go ahead. You're big and stupid, Williams. As long as... Not that's enough for you, no? Huh? And so you see, it is easily settled. Sydney, duck. Get your friend out of here. I have business to discuss with you. I'm sorry, Mr. Peabody. I'm sorry, Mr. Peabody. I'm sorry. Get your friend out of here. I have business to discuss with Mr. Peabody. You feel better now that you are bathed and whole again, huh? Let's get on with it. I want money for this stuff. I want to leave this place as soon as possible. You can only get off this island then and how I allow you. You see, mine is the only boat. The likely Jane. You can see her through the window there. Apprendi. I had my final drink in this place last night through me out. Sure. Quite. Well, just in case. Now, let me suggest my plan. The island of Nukava, which I own, is well planted with coconut crop. However, Nukava is on the edge of the earth, the farthest corner and the loneliest and the driest. There are 12 Kanaka boys there, but I need an agent, someone to trust. Why do you tell me? A white man could live there if he wanted to and if he were fit to live at all. Of course, once he was there, he'd be stuck for a year on a coral gridiron. There's not a drop of anything to drink. Save water. And that is brackish. Look, Benjamin, what about this ambergris? I've got more than 10 pounds of it. Will you buy it? You can't very well take it anywhere else I'll make you an offer. I'll buy this lump of stuff from you and I'll buy it either two ways. I'll give you a half interest in Nukava and you go there at once to take charge as agent or else. Here is the first of your brandy and I'll keep you perpetually drunk as long as you last. Nukava. Once you're there, Peabody, there's no escape. You will sit and fry. Why do you offer me a choice like this? It doesn't use me. Because I please, because... Ah... I know what you'll do. I've been watching many of your sort all my life. And I know just what I worth. Drift on peaches, scraps, trash, jitsum, regeneration, rotten, drivel. You can't save yourself any more than you could lift yourself by your own bootstraps. It suits me to prove you this way. There's your stinking brandy on the floor to say that you're wrong, Bendemia. You lose. Oh, so? Yes. I'll go to Nukava. As my agent? Yes. You'll stay and run the island for a year. Yes. If only to prove there are some scraps thrown on the beach that are worth something. Eh... So I see. The likely Jane will sail within an hour. Yes. I'll be aboard. An hour or so later, as Bendemia watched the likely Jane set a course for Nukava, there was a smile on the face of that remarkable man. Curiously, unlike that of a loser's chagrin, he was still smiling as he went back to his storeroom to put the place to rights. There was a clutter of odds and ends of cargo from one of his suitcases. Which had upset the day before while hauling cargo out to his schooner. Most of it had been salvaged by his Kanaka boys along the shore. But a certain tub containing tallow had lost a part of its contents. However, he was able now to restore the missing tallow. A large lump weighing perhaps 10 pounds or so. Under the direction of Norman McDonnell, Escape has brought you Jetson by John Russell, adapted by Norman McDonnell and starring Ben Wright. Featured in the cast where John Daener is Bendemia, Lawrence Dobkin as Sir John, and Charlie Lung as The Sydney Duck. The narrator was Edgar Berrier. Editorial supervision is by John Meston. And the special music is by John Meston. And the special music for Escape is composed and conducted by Leith Stevens. Next week You are standing in inky blackness looking up a long flight of stairs at the top of which looks something unbelievably evil. While in the moving shadows behind you coming closer to you is the sound of the sound of the engine in which you is the shadowy figure of something that could only come from a nightmare. So listen next week when Escape brings you Anthony Ellis's terrifying story I Saw Myself Running On CBS Radio here Robert Q. Lewis filling in for Arthur Godfrey who's off on an Air Force mission. On Monday through Friday mainstays here on CBS Radio popular art link letter holds the reins. Don't miss them tomorrow on most of these same CBS radio stations. This is Roy Rowan speaking. America now listens to 105 million radio sets and listens most to the CBS Radio Network.