Tired of the everyday routine? 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! It's time to escape with an exciting story of men and women whose dramatic lives will carry you beyond the horizons of the ordinary scene to a fascinating world of secret enterprise, strange experience, unforgettable adventure. The charmed world of Escape! Tonight we escape with the most unusual story of suspense and terror in occupied Paris. As Marcel I.Mate tells it in his unforgettable tale, Crossing Paris. If you had been in Paris during the occupation by the Nazis, the filthy Bausch, you would have seen a lot of interesting things. You might even have caught a glimpse of me stealing through the streets at night as inconspicuously as possible for a man carrying a heavily loaded valise in each hand. These valises were lined inside with canvas to prevent the leakage of any telltale drops of blood. And they belonged to my employer, Monsieur Jamblier, in whose cellar the original butchering was accomplished. Often I worked with an assistant carrier, usually Letambeau. One winter afternoon I set out to meet Letambeau at the Café Voltaire on the Boulevard de la Bastille. The trees were bright with frost and the day seemed dying of cold. It was nearly dark when I reached the Café Voltaire and went in. I went straight up to the bar. Pierre Pierre, what will it be? You look cold enough for a brandy. I can drink brandy in any season, so can Letambeau. Yeah, this will warm your bones. Letambeau was in. He said to tell you he isn't free tonight. Is he free? Curse him! How can he behave like that? He has no respect for his work. Respect for what work? Who is this Letambeau? Respect for what work? Oh, peace, peace, Monsieur. I'm talking to the bartender. It's no affair of yours. I'll teach you who's affair it is. He put his glass down and staggered up to me, fist raised. At the same moment, a huge man with a head like a ram, he calmly stepped around from behind me, caught the drunk's chin in his big hand and pushed him backward with a powerful thrust. I guess. I get it now. The police always travel in pairs. We're not police, you idiot. Yes, policemen all over them. Well, well, then let's go, my lad. Pay for our drinks now and we'll report to the station for duty. Pay up and let's be off, huh? I don't know why, but I paid. And then, still laughing, the big one hit me by the arm and we started out. He was a rough fellow, probably a laborer. Dressed as he was in a spotted shiny suit and a dark turtleneck sweater, the tight blonde curls that rained his huge head gave him the appearance of a great ram. When we reached the street, the night was already black with high icy winds. Oh, that was a squalid scene. The man was drunk, but I could have handled him. I carry a knife, you know. You didn't have to interfere. Oh, I enjoyed it. Well, anyway, you probably saved him from being cut up. But I didn't realize you were going to cut him up. My apologies, Monsieur. You are a bloodthirsty brute. What do you do? What? What is your trade? Oh, this and that. I manage. Look here, you're a strong fellow and if you're not afraid of a little risk, I can give you a job tonight as my assistant. It pays well, too. How much? Oh, four hundred francs. Ah, you're on. But you don't even want to know what it is? You're an assassin. Of course not. I'm a man of honor above all. What difference does it make? You're an odd type. All right, then, let's turn off here. First, we must go to the Rue Paul-Eveau. Our work starts there. Good, good, but let's walk faster. I'm cold. Who is it? It's me, Pierre. Who's the other one? Le Tambour ducked out on me tonight, so I've asked my friend Grangeal here to take his place. He's all right. Hurry, then. You're late. We followed Monsieur Jean Blier across the cellar to a thick table where stained white cloths cover a shapeless form. He proudly removed the shroud, revealing a whole hog which had been cut neatly into a dozen portions. Then he stood back and allowed us to feast our eyes. He's a beauty. No? How much does he weigh? Two hundred pounds, but divided into four valises. You manage him all right. Ah, it's easy to see you've never carried a hundred pounds of black market pig about Paris. You're wasting time. Hand me a valise under the table. There. Where does it go tonight? To Montmartre. The butcher shop in the rue Goulencourt, number 43. And one thing now. To arrange his deliveries, he must have the meat there by 2 a.m. If you are late, he will not accept it. But Montmartre... It's no distance for a young man like you, but... How much are you giving us? Now, Pierre, a bargain is a bargain. But Montmartre, that's a different matter. You know perfectly well I can't risk keeping the pig here, and it's too late to get anybody else to carry it. I'm carrying two hundred pounds of black market meat all the way across Paris in the dead of night, with the police lying there in wait for us at every turn along the way. All right. All right. You'll get fifty francs more. I want respectable pay for my work. Not just a tip. Five hundred then. But not a soume or... It is hard work, and it involves great risk. Six hundred francs. Monsieur Javelier, tell me. Is this really number 45? Why do you ask that? For no reason at all, because I know the answer. Monsieur Javelier, 45 roues polyvores. Who is this man, Pierre? Dongey, you will do me the courtesy of keeping your mouth shut. I do the talking here. Now, you agree then to six hundred francs? Monsieur Javelier, 45 roues polyvores. My share will be a thousand francs. Are you mad? Don't pay any attention to him. He's my assistant. So, you just give me two times six hundred francs, and I'll settle with him later. All right. In here. Take it. I can't have you here all night. Javelier, 45 roues polyvores. Now my share will be fifteen hundred francs. Javelier stood as if frozen, his jaws clenched. The ram was not even looking at him. But instead he walked nonchalantly around the cellar, examining the foodstuffs stored there. He spied a string of sausage hanging on the wall, jerked it off, stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. Then he found a large paper sack and burst it with the end of his index finger. A stream of lentils ran out through the hole and onto the floor. Monsieur Javelier, 45 roues polyvores. Give me two thousand francs. Or shall I wreck this place? Javelier looked at him fearfully for a moment. Then he pulled a fat billfold from his pocket and handed two notes of a thousand francs each to the ram, who pocketed them firmly and caught a third one on the fly. I started toward Grongeville to make him return the money. Let him alone. I can't afford a roue here. I don't want a roue, but after all he's my assistant. And this is my cellar. I paid out enough money to have peace here at least. You can settle with him later. Right now we've got to finish packing the releases. It's late. All right, all right. You're the boss. Come on, let's get it done. I'd postpone this whole thing if I could. We went back to the table and finished wrapping and fitting the sections of pork into the releases. Grongeville sat across the cellar on a wine barrel, eating a thick slice of ham he'd found. When we were packed, he got up, came over to pick up his two releases. This apparent willingness seemed to impress Javelier. And when we reached the door, he stuck a pack of cigarettes into the ram's pocket. That's for the two of you. For the trip. Cigarettes at night, a fine way to get our souls picked up. Come now Pierre, don't worry sir. I have to have 2,000 francs more. Not a shoe. Not a single... Give me 2,000 francs for heaven's sake. Javelier, Javelier, 2,000 francs. Stop it, stop it, stop it. You left the police on us. You blackmailer here. Take them and go. But shut up in the name of Mary. Shut up. Open, open the door. Let's get out of here. I'll settle with you later my fine friend. Javelier, Javelier, I now have to have another 2,000. Quiet, quiet, quiet. I tell you stop it. Now don't you dare pull anything like that again. What's the matter with you anyway? Do you want to go to jail? I'm warning you now. Don't you dare try to shirp at me or I'll pinch your head off and let you bleed. Well, I don't want any trouble but after all I've given you a job. This is my work and you should have some respect for it. Ah, that's for your job. Ah, I've got it. Yes, yes. Come on little one. Let's get it over with. Come on. Come on I said. It's the obligation of all of us to participate in the effort being expended to protect democracy. Our national security and the current United Nations police action in Korea demands that the size of our armed forces be increased. If you're between the ages of 17 and 34, support the United Nations police action by enlisting in the United States Army or Air Force. Men are vitally needed for important jobs in all departments of the Army and Air Force. Strength is needed in the Far East. To have strength requires manpower. Young men who are eligible for selective service have the vigor and imagination that are necessary for an effective Army and Air Force. Volunteer to serve your nation. Be a part of the Army and Air Force and take part on your own team of young men. See your local recruiting sergeant and volunteer to enlist today. Do it now. Yes, if you're between 13 to 34 enlist in the Army or Air Force now. This Grand Gilles was a sinister character. He'd blackmail Jean Blier out of 5,000 francs and then threaten me with I don't quite know what. Still there was nothing to do but follow him. It was too late to get anyone else to help me carry Jean Blier's black market pig to Montmartre. Besides, when I start a job, I finish it. A frozen wind whistled down the Rue Port-Revo, stiffening our fingers on the Valise handles. We walked slowly with heads down. Where do we cross the river? We'll have to go up to the Île Saint-Louis. Too near the railway station down here, too many police patrols and German soldiers around. Well, let's hurry then. My hands are turning to stone. The oily water in the Seine was black as coal, and along the banks the bare trees stood bleak and spectral. Finally we reached the Île Saint-Louis, and with a cord turned into the first side street for a moment's respite from the paralyzing north wind. It's a wonder that air doesn't freeze. Why in the name of heaven do you work at this job? I make my living this way. Every man to his trade. Well, it's not much fun. Plowing around in the night with Valises full of lead, your face cracking with the cold. And all for the benefit of a thieving rascal like that Jamblier. You made out all right with Jamblier. Oh. You want some of it? If it had been just between you and Jamblier, all right. But I'm the one that brought you there. In my work I am strictly honest. Let us go. Wait just a moment. Now tell me, how much can you get for pork in the black market? Forget it. Seventy-five francs a pound? Forget it, I tell you. I'm sure we could sell Jamblier's pig at seventy-five francs a pound. That would give us thirty thousand francs. Fifteen thousand a piece of easy money. So instead of killing ourselves in this... Listen, a patrol. Stand absolutely still. Not a sound now. Oh, fine. Very good. Thank you, nice man. You can only have a cigarette when it's cold. You know we can't smoke, can't you? But help to warm us a bit. That was close. Come on, let's get out of here. Follow me in hurry or we'll never make it by two a.m. We walked along silently. The moon was still hidden, but the night had grown lighter and consequently more dangerous for us. After a block or two, I suddenly sensed that Grand Gilles was no longer behind me. And turning, I saw him halfway across the street, heading toward a line of blue light that framed the doorway of a cafe. I'm going to get a shot of liquor. Come back here, you fool. You can't tell me that stuff in there. I won't be long. He was already opening the door. Don't curse him. No telling what he was up to now. But in any event, I couldn't leave him there with Jamblier's pork. So I crossed over and followed him inside. Several men who looked like clerks were playing cards at the table. The proprietor's wife sat knitting a sock behind the cash register and looking suspiciously at Grand Gilles, who was already standing at the bar, one foot resting on his valises. Proprietor, give us some mulled wine. This is my closing time. Give us some mulled wine. You're not running into my place with the police at your heels, are you? Give us some mulled wine. No, no, don't cause a row with me. Mulled wine, proprietor, mulled wine. Shut up, Grand Gilles, shut up, I tell you. If you quiet down, Monsieur, I'll get it for you. Oh. Oh. Thank you, Madame. The proprietor's wife went out through a low door at the back and Grand Gilles turned instead at the four clerks who had stopped their card game. You! All right. There are four of you sitting there. You're half-starved on rotten carrots and sawdust pudding. You're smoking corn silk, all of you. And there's enough good fat pork in these valises to make you rich. Well, what's to keep you from making off with it, you know? Well enough we're in no position to report it. In the name of Heaven, Grand Gilles, come to your senses. Get out of here, you filthy paupers. Get out and howl against the black market, you rabble scum. What good does it do to make laws if they're not respected, you blaggers, anarchists, disloyal Frenchmen, all of you. Stop it, Grand Gilles, have you lost your mind? Maybe you don't care what happens to you, but I do. You don't say. You there, proprietor. Where did your lobster of a wife go? I can't wait all night. Get us some brandy. Get us some brandy, I said. One then. One, but please no more. It's past closing time already. Ah. Ah. Here's to you, little Pierre. You who are as timid as a girl, but whose charm I cannot resist. Your valises full of pork that these cowards refuse to take. I will carry as far as Loave on foot, on my knees, for you. Here is your mulled wine, monsieur. Oh, but you have... Give it to me, madame. Give me your pitcher of mulled wine. She approached him with hesitation and placed the pitcher on the bar. The ram reached out, seized it with both hands and heaved it with all his strength against the wall itself, when it was scattered on the belly of a full bar. The unhappy couple dared not even turn their heads to ascertain the damage. Excellent, excellent. Yes. And now, my valises. Come, little Pierre. I wish never to see these wretched people again. Baboons, I ignore you. I erase you from my memory forever. I followed him out wondering how in the world I could keep this monstrous madman from getting us picked up by the police. The moon had come out now and the centre of the street looked like an arrow of brightness, while the shadows along the sidewalk offered dangerous possibilities of surprise. Grangile threw away his cigarette as we approached the first street crossing. We had just reached the opposite curb when a man's voice rang out from the dark only three yards in front of us. Stand where you are. No tricks now. What are you carrying in those polices? Before taking that tone, you'd do well to identify yourself. It's the police. You saw me well enough. The police? Well, I'm certainly glad we ran into you. I've been looking for somebody to show us how to get to the Rue Sévigné. You're going away from it. I think... You don't tell me. Did you hear that? The Rue Sévigné is behind us. Well, then we'll just have to turn back. Later, perhaps. Right now you're going with me to the station. Oh, may we rest a moment first? We've walked a long way looking for the Rue Sévigné. Perhaps I can explain... No need for that. Come along now. I put my valises down anyway thinking it would give me a chance to talk him out of this. And the ram, bending his knees slightly, put his down also. And then suddenly straightened up, smashing the gendarme on the jaw with his huge fist. The poor man doubled to his knees and fell flat. Grand Gilles bent over him for a moment, then grabbed his hat and threw it into the middle of his feet. The visor shone there in the moonlight. Well, let's go. That was smart. As soon as he comes to, he'll grab his whistle. In five minutes, all the police in the Arrondissement will be after us. That would surprise me. I have his whistle in my pocket. Air raid alert! Now what will we do? We don't dare go into a shelter with this meat. I live only two blocks from him. Come on. In spite of carrying a hundred pounds a piece of that cursive pig, we ran all the way. But at last, with bursting lungs, we made it. I stopped a moment inside the door to catch my breath before climbing to the top floor where he said he lived. The ram went on ahead, and his door was open when I finally arrived. Come in, come in. I'll have a fire going in the stove in a moment. It was a large, comfortable studio. I set my valise down near the door and stood there until Grand Gilles drew a blackout curtain over the window and turned on the light. There were several easels in the room, and on the table near the window were spread out a number of drawings and paintings. Surprised. You... you're a painter? Yes, yes, I'm a painter. You did all those? I sell most of them around Montmartre. But since the German occupation, amusingly enough, not always for money, I barter. Only last week, for example, I sold a woman wearing nothing but high heeled shoes and an opera hat. And you know what I got? A ham. Ah, but here's one I've been commissioned for that'll bring a hundred thousand francs. Do you like it? No. Because it's the portrait of a Nazi? Perhaps. And because it's no good. You're still angry with me, aren't you? I... I don't know what to think of you. What would you like, then? I'm going to eat something. The stove had commenced to blow, so I sat down in a big, easy chair next to it and soon became drowsy in its pleasant warmth. And then a bell started ringing somewhere and woke me out of a sound sleep. Ron Sheenal speaking. Ah, Suzy. I'm sorry I couldn't make it. No, Pierre Martin, I would... No, no, you don't know him. Pierre Martin is a little gutter rat who works in the black market. Yes. He gave me a job, the poor idiot. Oh, I had great fun, great fun. Wore dirty clothes, played the role of a tough, a Satanist thief. Oh, it was very amusing, I assure you. What? So that's it. Oh, no. Slumming. He was slumming, mocking me, making fun of my work, laughing to himself all the time. I'll show him. Pierre, Pierre, such tempered little one. Oh, now, don't be angry. You dog, and I thought you were hard up. I wanted to help you. And you, the gentleman, treating himself to a taste of what I suppose you call the underworld, like a stinking tourist. Is there a reward out for you, Pierre? It's stealing, that's what it is. You should have left the work to a man who needed it. You, you have no honor. No, no, no respect for work. You're a filthy rat. Oh, but I have, I have. Come over here. Look, I drew a portrait of you while you slept. Perhaps you will like this picture. I don't even want to look at it. What do you think I am? Me, I earn my keep. I work hard. You, you and your Nazi, hundred thousand franc commission, you've done everything to make trouble for me. My work is amusing, eh? Well, I'll show you what I think of you. Here, what are you up to? I ran across the room to the easel that held the portrait of the Nazi, punched my knife into it as a cop, and ripped out the room. I was about to slash it across the middle with Bernfield's huge body smashing into me, and we fell heavily to the floor. He had me by the throat. I was slowly choking my life out with his thick fingers. I began to beat the floor, and agony in my open heart. When suddenly I struck the knife with one hand and seized it, my eyes were turning back in my head as I slashed out at his wrists. He then had a howl and sat back watching the blood drip from one hand. I was two weeks to move, so I lay there holding my knife over my chest, pointing it at him. Suddenly his eyes went white with insane rage, and before I could move, he threw himself on top of me again. And then rolled over in a faint moan. My knife had been driven straight into his heart. His legs twitched a little, and then they still... I looked at him unbelievably. I had never killed. I never wanted to kill any man. Then I covered my face with my hands. Oh! Two hours later, faint with exhaustion, I had delivered all four releases to the butcher shop in Montmartre. All right, I've waited. It's all there. Of course it is. I'm a man of honor, Monsieur. I can see that. You made it on time, too. But didn't you have an assistant? I understood from the start... It seems that my assistant, Monsieur, did not really need the work. I was forced to dismiss him. Well, anyway, you made it. Oh, yes, I always finish any job I start, Monsieur. It was only then that I remembered that Grand Gilles had said my name to his girl over the phone, and that my portrait sat waiting for the police in his studio. I put the 5,000 francs which I had taken from his body into an envelope, and addressed it to his emblai. I dropped it in the mailbox, and walked slowly down to the big market of Les Halles. It was almost dawn when I reached it, and the heavily loaded push carts were stacked up in the side streets, smelling of green vegetables and berries. The gutters were slippery with garbage, and the lonely woman in pink satin pumps with staggering weirdly through the filth at the end of an all-night's house. I sat down on a curb, and watched her, and said to myself, we none of us do what we wish to do. Believe me. The Army and Air Force is proud of its soldiers and airmen. Today's members of the armed forces have finer training, better equipment than ever before, and a strong, flexible defense of intelligent young men and women. We in America can maintain this effectiveness only by building strength and remaining strong. To have strength requires manpower, and men are vitally needed to support our forces in the Far East. You young men eligible for selective service make for the vigor, flexibility, and imagination that are necessary in an effective Army and Air Force. If you're of draft age and haven't yet received notice to report for pre-induction physical, volunteer to serve your nation now. Be a part of the Army and Air Force. Stop in at your nearest Army and Air Force recruiting station today and get the details. Volunteer your services now while you can still choose. Don't delay. Enlist today. Escape is produced and directed by Norman MacDonald, and tonight has presented Crossing Paris by Marcel Aimee, adapted for radio by John Meston and starring J. Novella with Bill Conrad. Featured in tonight's cast were Howard McNear, Barney Phillips, Edgar Barrier, Vivi Janis, and Paul Fries. Special music was arranged and played by Ivan Dittmarz. Music Starting next Thursday night over most of these same stations, radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense, will return to the air. As its first star, Suspense presents Mr. Pat O'Brien in a thrilling story entitled, True Report. Remember, radio's prize-winning mystery program, Suspense, returns to the air next Thursday night. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.
