Tarzan Escapes

All right, tie her up.

Make her fast.

Pull her in, boys.

Leave those.

They don't even know where they're

taking themselves yet. Get it moving!

Ask him.

Pardon me, my good man,

but we're looking for the residency.

We better be careful. They probably belong

to some fighting tribes in the interior.

Here, here, here. Go on, you blighters.

Off it. Go on. Off it, off it. The very idea.

That's the only language those

poor heathens understand, sir.

Herbert Henry Rawlins,

at your service.

Thank you so much.

We're looking for the residency.

Residency or resident?

Resident. Righto.

It so happens his nibs

is at my employer's compound...

...checking out a shipment

of wild animals.

Well, sir, how was merry old

England when you left it?

- Well...

- Yeah, a bit of all right, eh?

You, miss, how do you find

your first go at Africa?

Grim enough, I suppose. But look at me,

making you answer a lot of questions.

I'll bet you're just tired of talking. Well,

anything you want to know, just ask me.

- Well, there was one...

- Oh, here we are.

Excuse me, governor. Two young people

from home wanna see the resident.

I'm the resident.

Masters is my name.

How do you do? I'm Eric Parker.

- This is my sister, Rita.

- How do you do?

Miss Parker, you're not exactly

a usual sight around these parts.

Nor any parts, for that matter, I should

say. My name is Fry. Captain Fry.

No, you fool!

Can't have my pet ripped up

by a common cat.

- Your pet?

- Yes, over there in that cage.

Like to see him?

He doesn't look like

he needed protection.

Oh, no. He'd make short work

of a common leopard.

Color of their hide seems to get

into their dispositions.

- He's too valuable to be mauled, though.

- I'm terrified of him.

Even with these bars

between us.

Don't you worry, Miss Parker.

I designed that cage myself.

Duralumin.

I'll guarantee it'll hold anything.

We won't keep you any longer

from your business.

Well, it's nothing private, Captain Fry.

Rita and I are just looking for

something called the Mutia Escarpment.

Is that all?

My dear boy, perhaps you'd like us to

arrange a visit to the craters of the moon.

I don't know what you're laughing at, but

I assure you, it's a serious matter to us.

In Africa, the most serious matter

is always the noonday sun.

Yes, it makes ladies and gentlemen

talk a bit barmy-like.

Especially until they get a bit

climaxed to it.

Since we seem to be so ridiculously green,

perhaps you would point out what it is.

Well, first, the single approach

to the Mutia Escarpment...

...is said to lie through

the Gaboni country.

A cheery lot, the Gabonis.

- I've never seen one. Have you, Fry?

- No.

Although I've seen victims

floating down the river...

...after the Gabonis finished with them.

- Bring some drinks, Rawlins.

- Yes.

Only the largest

and most completely equipped safari...

...could hope to fight through.

And as you say, that's beyond

the means of most people.

In the second place, from the native

rumors of the escarpment...

...I should judge it quite impractical

for even a large party.

They say it's like a long cloud

in the distance.

Sheer cliffs 1000 to 1500 feet in height

and running out of sight in either direction.

Bomba, limes.

But isn't there always a third place,

Captain Fry?

Oh, yes, I was coming to that.

In the third place, no safari native

could be induced to disregard the juju.

- What's juju?

- Black magic, taboo, anything forbidden.

Oh, dear. Really.

When you've lived as long in Africa

as Captain Fry, Miss Parker...

...you'll realize

that there's a certain amount...

...of truth underlying

all native superstitions.

What is the nature of this

particular superstition?

- Well...

- A race of great apes. With a leader.

A very capable leader, too, with power

of life and death over the entire jungle.

The oddest thing,

according to these stories, is his color.

- His color?

- White.

Blimey. A white gorilla?

Do you believe this?

Well, I believe that up there, where

no white man's ever been before...

...waits someone, or shall we say,

something...

...mysterious and formidable natives fear.

A thing that doesn't want to be disturbed.

There you have it, Miss Parker.

Cliffs, savages and the taboo.

A combination nobody could beat.

But one man did beat it, Mr. Masters.

A white hunter named Harry Holt.

Oh, yes, I remember the fellow.

Claimed to have discovered

the Elephants' Graveyard, didn't he?

Yes, Holt's real motive then

was very much what ours is now.

Mr. Masters,

we have reason to believe...

...that our cousin Jane is alive

at this moment...

...above the Mutia Escarpment,

living among the great apes.

There you are, governor. The monks have

been known to carry off a native woman.

Yes, but the leader isn't an ape.

Now, Holt was quite clear on that point.

The leader is a man, a white man. And

Jane is staying there by her own wish.

Admitting this extraordinary story

to be true...

...would you be good enough

to explain...

...what you hope to accomplish

even if you should find your cousin?

Well, you see, our father and Jane's father

had a third brother, Uncle Peter.

He was extremely wealthy

and rather difficult.

When he took it into his eccentric old head

to die last spring...

...he left half of his fortune of nearly

a million pounds...

...to the London University for

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