 Tonight, windfall. Or I walk by night. I know many strange tales, many secrets hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Presently, I'll tell you about nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. But first, a word about the growing battery shortage and what to do about it. Because of increasing needs of our motorized army, it looks as if this winter's battery shortage will be even more acute than last year. When one out of every four cars needing a new battery couldn't get one. Well, fortunately, most batteries can be made to give extra months of service if they're given the care that your signal gasoline dealer is prepared to give yours. One, distilled water must be maintained at the proper level to prevent warping of the plates. Two, terminals must be chemically cleaned of corrosion and protected with lubricant. And three, to make sure that you won't find your battery dead some morning, the amount of charge should be determined occasionally by a hydrometer test. Should your present battery be too worn to take a recharge, now is a good time to find that out. While most signal gasoline dealers still have a limited number of deluxe quality signal batteries on hand. Guaranteed by signal oil company up to two years of service. So make sure that the battery shortage won't cripple your car. Have your battery serviced this week by your neighborhood signal gasoline dealer. And now, the whistler. Sometimes it's hard to believe what a difference a single day can make in a man's life. Yes, or even less than that, an hour or even a minute, because fate can move in a split second. In the case of Robert Bradley, for example, if you'd happen to wander into the Silver Dollar buffet down on Third Street any afternoon prior to this September 1944, any afternoon during the racing season, you would have seen him there. A thin, pale, nervous young man with a handful of form charts and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. You would have seen Robert Bradley, probably a forgotten. That is, unless he owed you money, as he did most of the bookmakers in San Francisco. But at 1144 on the night of September 6, 1944, fate turned the wheel. The steering wheel of an automobile speeding along the road which skirts the cliffs overlooking the sea across the Golden Gate in Marin County. In the split second, Robert Bradley changed from a nobody into a somebody. You ought to be, I was sound asleep. This is Emery Todd. Not Uncle Mike. Is Jerry? No, you must be wrong. I'm sorry to have to give it to you this way, Mr. Bradley. But it's essential that you appear at my office at 8 o'clock this morning. There are certain changes to be made in your uncle's will. You would have remembered him after the night of September 6. You'd have recognized him, of course, from his picture, which appeared in the morning papers alongside that of Gerald. Under the headline reading, Death of Gerald Bradley leaves cousin heir to fortune. It's a windfall, isn't it, Robert? And you can certainly use the money. But you seem rather unhappy about it there in Mr. Todd's office. Yes, you thought the world of Gerald, didn't you? Uh, Mr. Todd, is it necessary that we do all this today? I'm hardly in the mood. Of course, of course, I understand how you feel, my boy. And I'm sorry. I was fond of Gerald, too. Your uncle's condition is extremely precarious. Oh, nonsense. Uncle Michael lived to be 80. That's precisely the point. I have just talked with Dr. Blaisdell. He gives your uncle a week. Must you be so, so practical? I'm afraid I must. Law is a very practical business, Robert. And you must remember we haven't much time. Now, my secretary has a few more papers here for you to cite. Eh, well, Mr. Todd, let's get it over with. We'll see Uncle Mike. He'll be happy to see you, sir. It's been so long, you know. What do you mean? Well, you haven't been a regular visitor here, sir. Well, I will be from now on. I might remark that it's very thoughtful of you, sir, now that Gerald's gone. It was an awful shock to the master, you know. Yes, yes, I know. You'll find Miss Pritchard upstairs. No, who's that? The nurse, sir. Oh, yes, of course. How do you do? I'm Robert Bradley. Yes, Mr. Bradley. How's Uncle Mike? Dr. Blaisele was here just an hour ago. It doesn't look so good, I'm afraid. The doctor can't understand what keeps him going. And I can't understand why they told him about Gerald. They must have known it would be too much for him. There was some legal reason, I believe, something about his estate. Oh, yes, I've been to that once already. I want to see him. I'm sorry, but Dr. Blaisele left orders. No, don't give a hang for Dr. Blaisele's orders. He needs me, and I'm going to see him. Uncle Mike. Uncle Mike, it's Robert. Eh? It's Robert, Bobby. Jerry, he's gone now. There's no one now except you, Bobby. You're going to be proud of me, just like you were of Jerry. And you're going to get well, Uncle Mike. You're going to get well. I'm not going to get well. Listen, there's not a man on Montgomery Street who'd say Mike Bradley couldn't get anything he really wanted. That's all you need. Don't you see? You've got to want to live. It's more than that. No, no, it isn't. It's all in your mind. You have me now. Remember that. And between us, we're going to lick it, no matter what the doctor says. Oh, Robert and old Michael are going to fight it out together. Yes, and it's just what Michael needs. Someone who cares about something beside that $2 million estate of his. It's not long after Robert deserts the buffet on 3rd Street for Michael's mansion in Hillsborough that the old man appears to pick up a little to take more of an interest in life. Dr. Blaisdell is amazed. Well, I can't understand it, Robert. I tell you, his heart's breaking like a frid. Oh, I knew we could do it. But what have you done? I've just given him a little confidence. That's all. I tell you, no one can fight when he's surrounded by a flock of lawyers waiting for him to kick off. But his heart's gone. He can't last another week. Oh, that's what you said three weeks ago. Yes, yes, I know. Well, maybe you're right, doctor. But I'm going to stay with him in his house until the end. As far as he knows, well, he's getting better. Understand? Well, I must say I admire you, my boy. Yeah. Now, let me see. Here are a few things you want to know just in case of nerve-soft duty. Yes, here we are. Now, keep these pills handy in case he has a critical attack. All right. But now a word of warning, boy. They're extremely dangerous in excess of three grains, particularly to a man in your uncle's condition. He has a violent attack during the night. Just give him one three-grain tablet. No more. The only thing that'll snap him out of it. More than one tablet is liable to carry him off. I understand, Dr. Blazon. I'll see to it that everything's... Uh, Mr. Robert, there's a Mr. Harris of the Associated Insurance Company on the telephone. Shall I tell him to call back? Uh, yes. No, no. I'd better talk to him. Excuse me, doctor. Yeah, all right, my boy. This is Robert Bradley speaking. This is Mr. Harris, Mr. Bradley. There are a few points in your policy I think we'd better talk over. Oh, I see. Shall I come down or...? No, no. Was it something about... about coverage? Yeah. I'm afraid it's not going to protect you against all risks. But you told me it was watertight. Oh, something's going to answer my premium. Oh, well, perhaps I'd better come up to San Francisco. We can meet for lunch today, say, in the lobby of the St. Francis. That's fine, Mr. Bradley. All right, I'll meet you in an hour. The cullure that Robert was so disturbed about a mere insurance policy, maybe it was because it forced him to leave his beloved Uncle Mike's side for the first time since Gerald's unfortunate accident three weeks ago. He drives the 25 miles into San Francisco and an hour later strolls casually into the crowded lobby of the St. Francis Hotel. He picks up a newspaper at the stand in the lobby, seats himself on the lounge in the center of the room and opens his paper to read. Hardly enough, he seated back to back with another man reading a paper. I told you never to call me down there. It's been three weeks. What are you doing hiding out on me? I've got to stay there until he kicks off. Understand? No, that may be too late. What do you mean? They're beginning to wonder. About what? About what Jerry Bradby was doing in Marin County the night he had an appointment at Berkeley. Well, that's your worry. It's going to be yours if I get much hotter. What are you getting at? 25 grand. Don't be stupid. There's nothing until he kicks off. Understand? There's got to be. There's got to be. I've got to get out of town. I tell you, that takes dough. They can't suspect it. They don't know a thing. I've seen them start this way before and end up in the green room at San Quentin. Just get me the dough, that's all. But fast. You are listening to The Whistler, brought to you by your friend, the Signal Oil Company, marketers of famous signal gasoline, your best buy today. Remember to let every go signal remind you, you do go farther with signal gasoline. So your friend Mr. Harris, or should I say, Candy Monahan, is worried about your insurance coverage. It seems he couldn't foresee that it wouldn't cover a few suspicious minds on the homicide squad. And it didn't clear up a few questions about Jerry Bradley's death, questions that didn't have answers. You watch the papers now very carefully, looking for a sign that the police suspected your windfall might have been brewed artificially by your friend Candy for a fee of $25,000. And you began to wish you would let matters lie instead of ingratiating yourself so thoroughly with Uncle Mike. But didn't Dr. Blaisdell himself say you were responsible for prolonging his life? You're waiting for him to die now, almost openly, because Candy can't be put off much longer, and yet he continues to linger. Here's your tea, Uncle Mike. I'm sorry I'm late with it. I was reading the paper, sort of forgot about the time. Reading the paper, anything about Gerald? Gerald? Of course not. I just wondered where you'd bring me the paper once in a while. You know, Dr. Blaisdell thinks you ought to concentrate on getting well. You better stick to those magazines I brought you. Wonderful what a cup of tea will do. You're feeling better today, aren't you? Oh, perhaps. A good deal better than I did on the first day you came here, I can tell you. Well, the doctor can't understand, or he's done it. Can you? What? Understand how I've done it? Well, I... I hope I've helped a little. Why? Well, what do you mean? We may as well lay the cards on the table, Robert. You're quite aware of your position as my heir since Gerald's death. You didn't care a hang before that time. Since then you've given up gambling and become model nephew. Or should I say model heir? Why? Well, I... I thought you'd need me. Nonsense. Robert, we may as well know that there's another alternative in making you sole heir. What? What? Don't jump, my boy. During the past few weeks I've become intensely interested in Mr. Woodford. From Mr. Todd's office? Mr. Todd sent him here. He's Secretary of the Home for Cripple Children. A very worthy institution. For a worthyer than you, my dad. Now take away the key things and... let me get some sleep, huh? After all, you're vitally interested in my constitution. Robert doesn't sleep much that night. Lying there, staring at the ceiling, thinking. It begins to look like the past might not be so rosy after all. But maybe at its end you'll find the little green room at San Quentin. With a very worthy charity richer by two million dollars. Something has to be done about it. Besides, the butler has just told you that the insurance man is waiting again to see you. You fool. What are you doing here? I had to. They were asking more questions. Like what? Like that whiskey bottle I played in the car. The front of the guy at Swastilita who sold it to me. I'm having a firecracker, I tell you. I had a two-day's understanding. Just two days to scram. You're going off hat cocked. Oh, tell me what I'm doing. I know, see. I just might make it if I beat it now. It is a long chance. Listen. Five minutes after he kicks off I'm good for 50 grand at any bucket shop in town, but not until. Give me one more day. You've been here to meet us now for a month. I'm going one way or the other tonight. Get this thing. If I could down your corn with me. If I had to use this. Put that gun away. Just remember that. We're both going over Niagara Falls in the same barrel. Yes, Robert. There isn't much time. It's one way or the other tonight. And this thing that looks so easy is getting pretty complicated. With Uncle Mike acting so strangely as if he suspected the truth about Gerald. The will. You've got to find out about the will. But how? Wait a minute. Wait a minute. That pretty girl secretary in the lawyer's office who helped you fill out the papers. You might ask her out and... Yes, that's it. But someone's on the line. You're about to hang up when you remember the tension up there in Michael's room. Over the matter of your nephew before. Delcate it, wait until tomorrow. Layed out for you on a silver platter. Wasn't just a hunch. Maybe Uncle Michael has seen the newspapers. Or maybe Green, that fishy-eyed butler. And in just one hour you'll be a nobody again. Just another dead beat with a flock of debts. Trying to borrow a two-spot to put down on the next race. Just one hour, Robert, unless... Unless Uncle Mike happened to die in that hour before Todd gets here. Yes. What about that? What about the little green room at San Quentin's? Remember what Candy said about both of you going over Niagara in the same barrel? Yes. Uncle Mike must die. But how? Sit down, Robert. Sit down and think this one out clearly. Can't be any slips this time. Wait a minute. Those pills. That's it. The nurse has gone for the night. Just time for his tea, too. Couldn't be better. Where are the pills? Oh, yes. In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Uncle Mike, what are you doing out of bed? I didn't want to bother you. Father me? Well, that's what I'm here for. Just wanted to hit the drink. Doctor Blazer would raise the roof. Here, let me help you. I am a little weak, a little dizzy tonight. Well, it serves you right. Getting out of bed that way. There you are. Thanks. Now, how about some tea? I don't know. Ah, you just want to be coaxed. Now, don't go away. I'll have it for you in ten minutes. So, Robert goes downstairs to make the tea. Stopping first to get the little box of pills out of the medicine chest in the bathroom. Now for the tea cup. How many, Robert? The doctor said that one might be fatal. Two ought to do it. Better make sure. Put in three. That's nine grains. He is stronger than usual tonight. So he won't taste it. And don't quite feel his tea cup. So he'll be sure to drink it all. There. Now, back up to the bedroom. You still have 40 minutes to go, and there's plenty of time. Nine grains shouldn't take long, should they? We're on to Mike. Right out of the kettle. I'll get the tray here. Nothing like a hot cup of tea. Bet you sleep like a baby. Oh, maybe you'd better sit up, huh? Here, let me fix the pillow. Hey, you can't go to sleep on me like that. Oh, that's what the tea's for. Come on, I'll give you a hand. Uncle Mike. Uncle Mike. It was too good to be true. Yes, almost as if he did it on purpose, just to tease you. Driving you almost frantic and then quietly dying all by himself at the very last minute. That was a windfall, too, wasn't it, Robert? Now you hurry. Throw that cup of tea down the washbasin, rinse out the cup, and put it back so if the nurse saw you bring it up, it'll be there. Then call Dr. Blaiso quickly. Everyone must be here to see it, and to see that he did it by himself. It only takes the doctor a few minutes to get here and look at Uncle Mike. Come at last. Did he cry out or anything? Well, I didn't hear a thing, Doctor. I just came in to bring him some tea a few minutes ago and found him lying there quietly as if he'd fought him at least. Yes, that's just about what he did. I guess it's just as well. He'll never know now about Gerald. What do you mean? You've seen tonight's paper? No. Gerald didn't die by accident, Robert. He was murdered. What are you talking about? Well, he was murdered in San Francisco by a man by the name of Monaghan. But I thought, uh, Marvin Conte. Yes, yes, so did I. He drove in there and pushed his car over the cliff. Uh, this Monaghan, he's, uh, confessed? Didn't get a chance to. He chose to shoot it out with the police in the San Francisco hotel. Oh, I see. That's all there is to it, Robert. Another windfall. You can't lose now. No one left to give it away, no loose ends. You can rest easy now with a close call, but there's nothing to worry about. Or is there? I'm about to go out. Uh, uh, yes. Not from headquarters. This gentleman, I think you know. Oh, yes. Hello, Dr. Blazoo. Good morning, Robert. I think you'd better come along with us. What for? I don't understand. You're under arrest for suspicion of murder. Well, you see now, Robert, you see I'm the one who found the evidence. Evidence? Oh, I don't understand. How could you? I realized right away that your uncle had died from the effect of poison. I wondered if it might have been the tea you brought. The cup had been washed clean, but a few drops had spilled on the saucers. Just a few drops you didn't notice, but it was enough. When analyzed, it showed the presence of the drug. But he didn't drink the tea. He died of the poison. And when I looked for the pills I gave you, I found that six of them were missing. You didn't have to use six. Three would have been enough. But I didn't. I only put in three. I saw them earlier in the bathroom. Must have taken the other three of you himself. That's what killed him. He didn't drink the tea. He didn't. I didn't kill him. I wanted to. I attempted to. But he was already dead. I doubt it was a jury who believed that. Come on, son. Let's go. The Wesley will return in just a moment with a strange ending of tonight's story. Meantime, I think you'd enjoy meeting Jim Henry of San Jose, California. Another typical signal gasoline dealer whose permanent business for 13 years has been making cars go farther. The same thoroughness that makes Jim Henry's streamlined signal station a model for cleanliness goes into every job he does. As a result, his growing list of regular customers ranges from the private cars of two local judges to an 18-ton truck. And I might add, not only does that 18-ton require the most exacting types of lubrication, but its operator has made Jim Henry's signal station his lubrication headquarters for 11 years. Well, friends, it's just such thorough conscientious service as Jim Henry gives that's making more and more drivers switch to signal gasoline dealers these days. When cars have to last, naturally signal dealers, being in business for themselves, have more incentive to do a better job. After that, signals finer lubricants, and you have a team that just naturally helps cars go farther. Why not put that team to work for your car? Drive in and get acquainted with your neighborhood signal gasoline dealer. And now, back to the Whistler. And so, the little green room at San Quentin lay at the end of the path, after all. Robert found lots of time to think during the next few months. To think about what might have happened if he hadn't decided to brew that cup of tea for Uncle Mike. He was a pretty good prisoner, almost to the last. When he heard something that started him talking to himself, staring wild-eyed at the warden who brought his food, shrieking out in the middle of the night. He discovered, you see, that Uncle Mike had disinherited him on the third day after Gerald's death. That those few weeks of kindness had finally changed his mind. And that he had called Mr. Todd on the night he died to reinstate Robert as his only heir. We'll bring you another strange tale by the Whistler. The Signal Oil program is broadcast for your entertainment at the Signal Oil Company. Marketers of Signal's famous Go Father gasoline and motor oil and by your neighborhood Signal Oil dealer who is at your service daily to keep your car running for the duration. The Signal Oil program produced by George W. Allen with story by Harold Swanton and music by Wilbur Hatch is transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Bob Anderson speaking for your friend, the Signal Oil Company and suggesting once again that you let every Go signal remind you that you do go farther with Signal Gasoline. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.