 Signal gasoline. Let every traffic signal remind you, you do go farther with signal. Yes, you do go farther with signal. The signal oil company and your neighborhood signal dealer bring you another curious story by the Whistler. Tonight, danger is a beautiful blonde. I am the Whistler, and I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. Danger is our next-door neighbor through all the days of our lives, and sometimes we meet it in a most casual way. Take, for instance, Van Stevens, young, unmarried, an engineer with a construction company, temporarily employed on a defense job in a small coast city and bored in his strained surroundings. It started casually that Saturday night after he came out of the movie. It was early, a beautiful night, and he had no desire to go back to the drab hotel room just yet. But there was no place else to go, so he just strolled down the main street of town, slowly, leisurely, pausing on a corner to light a cigarette and puff it slowly. He noticed the car because it was one of those big, slick-looking convertibles, the kind he wanted when the war ended. The second time it went by slowly, he saw her. She was very nice, young, blonde, lovely. He waited. Back around the block, she came, and this time she pulled up to the curb near him and stopped. Hello? Hello. He's opened the door before and now. I know. In other words, isn't it a beautiful night for a drive? Well, isn't it? Yes. That's what I said. You weren't going somewhere important? No, no, not at the moment. In fact, I was faced with a rather gloomy prospect of going back to a lonely hotel room. And it is a beautiful night for a drive. I suppose it was on the golf course at Beirut. What? Where we met. That's as good a place as any. Yeah, only I've never been there. But I have a good imagination. I remember so well those evenings at Monte Carlo, and you'd say to me, Van, you must sit beside me at the casino tonight. You'll bring me luck. You called me Van in those days, remember? Never Mr. Stevens. And I used to call you... Where was it I used to call you? Well, it might have been Darling, Martin. But yes, it might have been at that. Or maybe the mystery woman. Beautiful, fascinating, and unpredictable. Especially unpredictable. That's not very flattering, Mr. Stevens. You might have said especially beautiful. Yes, I might have, and meant it. Okay, you win. You're not only beautiful and fascinating and unpredictable, but you're too fast a worker for me. How come? How come what? All this. You're not happy about taking the drive with me, Mr. Stevens? I'm delirious, but why me? Well, you're not unattractive, you know? Yeah, but baby, didn't your mother ever warn you about picking up strange men on the street? My mother was rather unusual, Mr. Stevens. And she taught me that when I wanted something, there was only one thing to do. Go out and find it. Okay, who's kicking? Drive on, baby, drive on. Elvan, you never know what's going to happen to you on a Saturday night in a strange town, do you? You relax on the upholstered seat of the convertible and watch this blonde young lady as she drives. It's just about too good to be true, especially when she pulls up in front of a beautiful home close to the sea, a regular mansion and says... Would you like a drink? You're driving. Come on, we'll go in. This is the swankiest roadhouse I ever saw. Not a roadhouse. I live here. Come on. Inside it's even more unbelievable. This layout cost a hundred thousand anyway. There's probably twice that on the walls and art treasures. And as she helps you out of your topcoat van, you say... Not a bad little place to hang your hat. We like it. Probably have two or three more scattered around the country? No, just a cabin up at Anderson Lake. I got it. You're not worrying much about any wolves howling at your door. Not that kind, anyway. Touche. Hey, isn't that a Picasso? Oh, you're interested in art, Mr. Stevens. Well, at times, yeah. We should take a look around. We have some very nice paintings scattered all over the hall. You think we can find our way without a guide? There's no one else here. That's what you mean. We have only one seventh left, and this is her night off. Cozy, isn't it? Whole place to ourselves. All fifty rooms. Oh, it's not... Take a look as soon as we have that drink. The tour starts. Room after room of rich furnishings. Only you're not thinking so much about the beauty on the walls, but more about the beauty walking beside you. Finally, you're standing in her room and she's saying... I did this one all by myself. I studied interior decoration. Very nice. You're not looking at the room, Mr. Stevens. I don't have to. To see a beautiful sight. Thank you. Yeah, excuse myself for just a minute. Sure. Sure. Take your time. So you relax on the satin upholstered shea's lawn. If this is a dream, you say to yourself, just let me go on dreaming forever. And then you open your eyes again and there she is. But she's changed her clothes. I'm sorry to take so long. Okay. I see you changed into something more comfortable as they say in the movies. You like it? What man wouldn't, baby? Nice perfume you're wearing. You like it? I like everything about you. I'm glad. Don't go away, baby. Well, you'd do something for me. Anything you ask, baby. Look under them. Under the bed? I'll play a game. Just lift up the cover there. Okay. Hey! I thought you said we were alone. We are, Mr. Stevens. Because you see the gentleman under the bed is quite... ...bad. With a prologue of tonight's story, Danger is a beautiful blonde. The signal oil company brings you another of the strange tales of the whistler. Now, before the story continues, a word about a boy who's mighty important to you. A boy in uniform. Maybe he's your kid brother, your son, your husband, or that friendly kid who lived down the street. Today he's in a hospital in the Philippines, says shattered arm and a cast. But a Red Cross worker is writing the letter he wants to send home. Or he's been wounded on the battle front and is receiving a life-saving transfusion of blood plasma secured by the Red Cross. Or he's a prisoner of war in a German camp and, oh, so grateful for the boxes of food furnished by the Red Cross. Yes, in a hundred ways, our boys in uniform depend on the services of the Red Cross. And because the calls for those services are greater than ever today, the Red Cross needs your help more than ever. Give all you can now during the remaining Red Cross week. And when you do, remember, you're not giving to the Red Cross. You're giving to the most deserving guy you know, G.I. Joe. And by the way, there's another friendly way you can make life more pleasant for our G.I. Joe's right here at home. When you're driving and you see a serviceman on leave waiting for a ride, pick him up. Remember, short lifts make longer leaves. And now, back to the Whistler. Well, Van Stevens, you really got yourself into something, didn't you? And not exactly what you expected. A strange girl picks you up on the street, takes you to her swank home, leads you to expect something romantic, and then shows you a dead man hidden under her bed. And now she's saying to you... All you have to do is help me hide permanently. If the place out in the garden with the newly turned earth wouldn't be noticed. But I'm not much good at digging graves. Oh, baby, you can count me out. I don't know how this guy happens to have a hole in his head and I'm not asking any questions, but count me out on any part of it. You said you'd do anything for me. Yeah, but I don't go off the deep end for any woman. Oh, no, lady, pardon me, but I'll be seeing you. I think you'd better wait, Mr. Stevens. Oh, ask what you mean. I didn't think there was enough to that outfit you're wearing to hide a gun. I warn you, I know how to use it. How can I doubt it with the evidence staring me in the face? Good. And if you'll just pick up our late departed friend I'll show you the place. Yes, you really got yourself in for something, Van. And there's not much you can do about it now. Not with that gun in your back. So you'll pick up the corpse and carry it downstairs and out into the garden. She gives you the shovel and shows you where to start digging. There's just enough light from the deserted street to see her standing over there with a gun on you. You look around. There's no house within shouting distance. There's a gas station down the street and it's closed. In the back of the garden there's a drop-off and a royal running on down to the sea a few hundred yards away. You're stuck, Van. And then the awful thought comes to you. What will she do with you? She can't let you go to spill the story. There's only one answer and you remember something she said. Make it plenty big. And you know she meant big enough for two. You'll be in there too, Van, yes. Unless you do something. And so you do it. A shovel full of dirt right in her face. A shovel full of dirt in her face knocked her off her feet, eh, Van? And at the same time you were rolling down the arroyo through the brush and cactus over the rocks until you landed at the bottom. Then you take off for the beach running. There are no shots, no footsteps following you. And you're away, free. Down the beach to town, catch your bus into the hotel and fix up your scratch-face and hands. And now decide what to do. Go to the police? Yes. Probably you should. But you're not going to. Not just yet, are you, Van? Because you can't get that blonde face out of your mind. And you want to be sure before you do anything that will send her up to the gas chamber. That kind of thinking has gotten many a man in trouble, Van. But you go to bed and get a fitful night's sleep. Next morning, Sunday, you're up early, but there's nothing in the paper that you get with your breakfast. Nothing at all. You hadn't really expected anything. But when you get down to the desk, you find there's something in your box. There's nothing written on the envelope? You say a young lady left it here last night? Late last night. She told me to put it in your box. All right. That looks awfully green. One crisp hundred dollar bill. And no note? No nothing? No. I wish I knew your secret, Mr. Stevens. Yes, Van. You wish you knew the secret, too, don't you? Now, more than ever. $100 to keep still, and it's pretty obvious there'll be more if you live up to the bargain. But play it smart, Van. Find out more about this girl. You don't even know her name. Catch a bus. Ride out along the beach to the last stop. Walk on from there till you spot the house sitting back from the beach. There's a police car sitting out in front of it. Better stop in at the gas station. Maybe you can find out something there. Hi. What can I do for you? You run out of gas or something? No, I was just walking. I saw there was some kind of excitement around here. Oh, yeah. Lots of it. More than we've had in a long time. They found a body down on the beach this morning. Huh? Somebody drowned? Maybe so. But he got a bullet hole through his forehead first. Murder, huh? Looks that way. Yeah, the cop's been going through the neighborhood with a fine-tooth comb. Well, they don't know who he was. Oh, sure, sure. Everybody knows him. Alfred Hamilton. Snooty young society guy. He lives not far from here. Over in that house? Where? Oh, Ridgely's? No, no. He used to be over there a lot, but he didn't live there. Well, I noticed there was a police car out in front of that house. Yeah, yeah. That's all part of the excitement. Not only is this friend of Ridgely's bumped off, but Doris is missing. Doris? Yeah, Doris Ridgely. Old man Ridgely's daughter. That's Ridgely the art collector, isn't it? Sure, sure. You know, he's about the richest guy in town. Nice old offer. And Doris, his daughter. I remember I've seen her blonde. Isn't she good-looking? That ain't the word for that kid, brother. She's a doll. She's beautiful. Yeah, but rather hard-spoiled. Doris? Nah, why? There ain't a nicer kid in town. Yeah, and she's missing, too. Well, she might even be in the drink herself. Only her car's gone, too. They think she murdered this guy, Hamilton? Oh, how should I know what they think? Only, if you ask me, she couldn't have. She's too regular. When was this guy murdered? Oh, last night. And I can tell you exactly when. Ten minutes to eight on the nose. Well, how can you be so sure? Because I heard the shot. Of course, you know, I didn't think anything of it at the time. But I did notice what time it was because I was just getting ready to close out. Did you tell the police that? Oh, sure, sure. Where'd the shot come from? Well, how should I know? It was just a noise. Maybe from the house over there, maybe from the beach where they found him. Tell me something. This is very important. Yeah? Was Doris in the house when you heard the shot? You know, that's funny. The cops asked me that, too. Nah, she wasn't there early in the evening. But she came by and went in sometime. I can't remember whether it was before or after I heard that shot. Like I said, I didn't pay too much attention. You see, it was about the same time. Thanks, thanks a lot. Hey, hey, who are you anyway? Nobody important. So long. Now, how do you like that? Who do you suppose he was? Now you're on to something, Van. You think you've got something figured, don't you? Doris didn't murder Hamilton at all, did she? She was covering for somebody else. And you've got to find her and bring her back. Why you, Van? Why should you get mixed up? Love, maybe? But anyway, where could she be? The police don't know. How should you... But wait. What was it she said about a cabin in the mountains? Yes, at Anderson Lake. Okay, Van. The bus station can probably tell you how to get to Anderson Lake. Anybody here? Yes, sir, young fella. What can I do for you? Got everything your body needs here at Anderson Lake. I'm looking for somebody, Pop. I thought you might give me directions. I'm the person to come to. Can tell you about anybody in Anderson Lake. Who you looking for? Doris Ridgely. She's got a cabin up here, hasn't she? Yep. How do I get there? You don't. Huh? Why not? Wouldn't do you no good. Well, why not? Nobody there. But I'm sure Doris is up here, and I've got to find her. Well, if you've got eyes in your head, you wouldn't have to go to no cabin. What? If you just look across the street over there, you'll see her car in front of Jake's Cafe. She's inside eating. Okay, Pop, thanks. Yes, she's in Jake's Cafe, all right. And you wait and watch until she finishes eating and comes out. And as she gets into the convertible, you slip around the other side and open the door. Hello, baby. Nice day for a drive, isn't it? Don't reach for your bag. I'll take it instead. And I'll just take a look inside, too. Just as I thought, the gun, you still got it. Well, I'll just keep it this time if you don't mind. Look, Mr. Steeve. Just a minute, baby. I'll do the talking. First, I'll give you this $100 bill back. Even if I had a price for this sort of thing, it wouldn't be 100 fish. That's all I had last night. I said even if I had a price, I don't. I'll keep my mouth shut until I'm ready to talk, or you are. Don't you think I have anything to talk about? Look, baby, I don't know much about this, but I know a lot more than I did last night, and mostly I know a good kid when I see one. If you're really in trouble, I'm sorry, but I don't think you are. I don't think you killed us, Heal Hamilton. I think you're covering up for somebody who did. No. I'm not. I killed him. He was threatening me. He was threatening to tell something about me. I killed him. It's all of his tool. I don't believe you. All you did was try to get me to help you cover up somebody else's wound. No, my own. Okay, so you're not ready to talk yet, so let's go for a drive like last night. I notice you got a bandage on the chin. That's why I had to clip you. I didn't like the prospect of sharing that hole in the ground with that stiff. Oh, you mean you thought I... Oh, no, I never intended to shoot you, no. Well, how'd you think you'd get away with it then? Just let me walk away to tell the cops? I don't know. I don't know. Okay, okay, keep your chin up. Of course you didn't know. You were mixed up in something you knew nothing about. You couldn't have killed this guy, Hamilton, anymore, and you could have killed me. Come on, come clean. Yeah, I can't. Look, whoever this is you're covering up for, they'll be found out eventually anyway. And probably they had good reason for what they did from what I hear about Hamilton. And the jury will take that into consideration, but now you've got to get yourself off the spot. And me too. We're accessories to the murder now. I know, I know. Why are you doing this? Why did you come here? Come here. Does that answer your question? No. No talking now. Come on, start driving. We'll be back in town in two hours and we'll settle it all with the police. Feeling pretty proud of yourself, aren't you? The strong man of action coming to the rescue of the lovely lady. And she's grateful, you can see that. The way she smiles at you, weekly, wonderingly, but maybe later when it's all over. Stop dreaming, Van. You're almost there. You're back in town and driving down one of the main streets toward the police station when suddenly Dara's puts on the brakes and you wheel up beside a squad car. Hey, what's wrong, baby? Not a squad car? We want to go to the police station. What are you doing? Officers! Officers! Yes, ma'am. Arrest this man. He's one of her murder. Be careful. He's got a gun. But that's not all of tonight's story. The whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending of tonight's tale. Meantime, let me ask you a question that's mighty important to drivers today. How many miles per gallon of gas are you getting these days? If you're among the great majority of drivers who don't know the answer to that question, then here's a point well worth remembering. For years, more and more western drivers who keep close track of their gasoline mileage have been switching to Signal, the famous Go Father gasoline. And what's more important, the switch to Signal has actually increased since gas rationing. And here's why. Although certain gasoline ingredients have gone to war, Signal's standard of quality still guarantees you the very finest gasoline that can be made today. And Signal still places the emphasis on mileage. Naturally, no company can promise you all the flashing performance you found in pre-war gasoline. And we can only hint at the brilliantly improved Signal gasoline you'll be able to buy after victory is won. But what you're interested in today is getting the most possible miles from every ration coupon. And for that job, you'll find Signal Go Father gasoline your best buy today. And now, back to the whistlers. Well, Van Stevens, that will teach you to trust a woman and a dream about love and such things. You have lovely young Doris figured into an innocent heroine, and now she's turned into a villainousness trying to pin the murder on you. At the police station, you're both up in front of the chief of the homicide bureau, and you can hardly believe your ears. Yes, they were both at my house last night. They left together. I heard a shop, and when I went looking, I found Mr. Stevens standing over Alford's body down on the beach. But I tell you, I didn't kill him. It's all a lie. I know you didn't kill Hamilton, Mr. Stevens. But I saw him. Sometimes he wanted trying to frame an innocent man, Miss Ridgely. No, you didn't either. You might as well stop all this because you see we know who killed Alfred Hamilton. Oh, no. No, no. He didn't do it. Oh, please, you've got to believe that... Miss Ridgely, if you think it was your father who killed Hamilton, you're mistaken. Mistaken? Yes, because we have pretty conclusive proof that Hamilton's death was a suicide. And if you hadn't messed up the evidence by trying to destroy the body, it would have been much easier. I don't understand. I'll explain. When you came home last night, you found Hamilton on the floor of the study, shot through the head, with your father's gun on the floor beside him. Yes, that's right. You immediately thought your father had killed him. But why? Because Hamilton had been blackmailing Ridgely for years. It's how he lived. We needn't go into why, because the suicide closes the case. And it will never be made public. Thank heaven. But why did he commit suicide? Your father finally had evidence against him and was prepared to expose him. Mr. Ridgely told Hamilton that about 7 o'clock last night, then left him in the study and came down here to police headquarters to turn in the evidence. Hamilton feared exposure more than Ridgely did, and shot himself with your father's gun that he found in the desk. He was a pretty weak sister to try as tough a racket as blackmail. You shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. We were called when your father got home, found blood on the floor, and you'd gone. It all began to make sense when we found the body and the gas station attendant gave us the exact time of the shot. We knew where Mr. Ridgely was at that time. He was here. We checked back and found that you, Miss Ridgely, couldn't have arrived until shortly after the shot was fired. The condition of the wound almost proved suicide. And I have a report here that adds the last word. They've just found Hamilton's fingerprints on the gun that you and Mr. Stevens have been carrying around. So, the case is closed. I can't believe it. Technically, I could hold both you and Mr. Stevens on a charge of obstructing justice. But I suppose you've learned your lessons, and not much would be gained. So, you're free to go. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Thank you. You will probably be called in for the coroner's inquest. But until then, Miss Ridgely, I've called your father. He's waiting for you at home. Thank you very much. Well, baby, it was nice. I owe you an apology. Maybe now we could have that drink. Look, baby, you're a nice kid. You're beautiful. Fascinating, all those things, especially beautiful. But, baby, if you ever see me walking down the street, just go on by. Please. Next Monday at 9 o'clock, the whistler will bring you another strange tale. The curious story of death marks the double cross. The whistler is broadcast for your entertainment by the marketers of signal gasoline and motor oil and fine quality automotive accessories. This program, directed by George W. Allen, with story by John Dunkel and Hazel Lytle, music by Wilbur Hatch, is transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Bob Anderson speaking and suggesting you let every traffic signal remind you, you do go farther with signal gasoline. Yes, you do go farther with signal. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.