 And now, stay tuned for the program that has rated tops in popularity for a longer period of time than any other West Coast program in radio history. The Signal Oil program, The Whistler. Signal, the famous Go Father gasoline. Invite you to sit back and enjoy another strange story by The Whistler. For extra driving pleasure, the signal to look for is the yellow and black circle sign that identifies signal service stations from Canada to Mexico. And for Sunday evening listening pleasure, the signal to listen for is this whistle that identifies the Signal Oil program, The Whistler. I'm 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. And now the Whistler's strange story, The Hermit. The storm made it all seem ghostly somehow, unreal. Ben's face at the window, the worried frightened look in his eyes. For a moment Harvey Wilson considered giving it all up and heading back to town in the railroad station. But the storm decided this too. It was getting worse, and with his clothes already half soaked, Harvey Wilson was in no mood to give up. He called out again insistently. Come on, Ben, open up. It's your old friend Harvey, Harvey Wilson. Ben, for goodness sake, I'm just stopping through. You're going to make me go clear back to the station. Ben, that's better. I thought you weren't going to let me in. Well, what do you want? You've no reason to call on me, Wilson. Reason, reason. That's the trouble with the world. Always have to find reasons to call, excuses to visit. The old milk of human kindness is almost dry. I was just passing through, Ben. Are you going to let me stand out here till I'm drenched? All right. Come in. Well, nice fire going. Let me move there quick. Better, much better. Harvey Wilson. All right, now really why did you come here? Just let me get this with Kodall. Like I said, it's passing through. Ben, heading up north. Still a salesman. Still on the road, are you? That's right, Ben. Same old line. Yeah, I remember. You think what all the rest of them do, don't you, Harvey? What? How about the money? All that money I'm supposed to have embezzled. You'd know plenty about it, Harvey. You talked to people from the company, heard how they fired me. Ben, that was years ago. It's not too many years ago. I know what you're thinking. That I've been afraid to spend it and I still haven't. I think no such thing. You always were a sly one, Harvey. Just passing through. Just took you this long to find me, that's all. Ben, let's get one thing straight, right away. I don't think you had anything to do with taking that money. Yeah. You don't believe me, do you? I'd like to. I'd like to think somebody will believe. But you don't. Go ahead, say you don't. I can see you, Ben. I know you. Maybe you do, Harvey. I think I know you. Always did. You haven't changed much. Certainly not around the eyes. Still eager, aren't you? Now, let's be friends. It's only for a few hours. Till morning, eh? You want to stay overnight? You really don't mind. I do, but it's all right. I'll put you up, Harvey. Just this once. Ah, there's a good friend. You're all right, Ben. I always knew it. And you won't be sorry. No, sir. Well, Harvey, you found him. Your old friend, Ben. He's living like a hermit here, isn't he? Afraid to spend the money he embezzled. But you're sure he has it, aren't you? And that it must be hidden somewhere in this old house. You wait a couple of hours after he shows you upstairs to a room. Then when you're sure he's asleep, you let yourself out. Slip quietly down the hall to the stairs. The fire is still throwing a good light. And you move around the room, searching systematically. Checking the floorboards, the walls, when suddenly... Ben. Yes, Harvey. Your friend, Ben. You believe me. You're like all of my relatives, the people who work with me. Stay away from me, Ben. Oh, you're getting out of here. I'm putting you out. Ben, I warn you. Put it down, Harvey. That's my collection, my collection. I'll use on you. We put it down, I say. I'll put it down all right. Harvey, no! You put the heavy book end on the table. Stare down at the floor where Ben fell. And you realize he's dead. That you killed him. It's a terrible feeling at first, isn't it? And then you begin to wonder if you didn't expect something like this from the first. You want that money, don't you, Harvey? And you came here to get it. You can stay as long as you wish now, without worry of interruption. With an effort, you drag Ben's body behind a heavy sofa in the far corner of the room. Then go over to the fire again. You're standing there alone when you suddenly hear footsteps. Who is it? Who's there? Huh? Who... Front door wasn't locked. I... You just walked in? I didn't mean to startle you, but the rain was... Uncle Ben. Of course you don't remember me. I wouldn't remember you. I was a child when... You're... Joan Benton, your niece. Uncle Ben. Yes? Didn't you get my telegram? Telegram? Yes, I sent it yesterday, Uncle Ben. I've... I've come to spend a week with you. As Jimmy Duranty would say, everybody wants to get into the act. At least judging by the number of limericks you whistler fans have been sending in since I started reading them a few weeks ago, a lot of you are certainly getting a kick out of the idea. So to make it even more fun, we're going to send a signal coupon book good for $20 worth of signal gasoline to every whistler fan who sends in a limerick that I read on this program. I understand this is not a contest. That $20 signal coupon book is merely a token of our appreciation of your interest. But your real fun comes later after your friends hear your limerick read on the whistler. If you'd like to try it, just write a five-line limerick about signals famous go farther gasoline. Such as this. There once was a driver named Archibald Fry, who bought the wrong gas, and of course he ran dry. Said he in disgust as he missed the last bus. Next time it's signal go farther, I'll buy. On your limerick, be sure to print clearly your name and address and then mail it to this address. The Whistler Signal Oil Company, Los Angeles, California. Signal, signal, signal gasoline. Your car would go far with go farther gasoline. And now back to the Whistler. It's a shock, isn't it, Harvey? The suddenness of it all. Joan's arrival moments after you killed her uncle Ben Mastiff. And now Joan thinks that you're her uncle Ben. And she's come to spend the week here at the house. You could send Joan away, but you decide to let her stay. At least until you've been able to think it all out and find the money you're sure that Ben stole. Carefully, you get her out of the living room and show her upstairs to a room. Now, Harvey, you've got to move Ben's body. You decide on the cellar as the safest place. It's a struggle moving him that distance, but you manage it. Carry him into a small furnace room down there. And you close the door of that furnace room, step back carefully, avoiding some freshly dug holes for new water pipes, and then... Huh? Who is it? Joan, I thought I said... Don't come down here. I'll be up. Fine thing bursting into my house, wandering around. Just trouble, that's all. Relatives just trouble. Uncle Ben, please. Can't we go in and fix the fire and talk a while? I'm just dying to talk to you, Uncle Ben. Please. All right. For a while, Joan. We'll talk. You didn't count on this, did you, Harvey? And your nerves can't take it much longer. The girl wants to talk, and not just for a while, like she said. Only fortunately, she does nearly all the talking, and it fills you in on Ben's family, his brother, Joan's father. Still, it's hours almost dawn before Joan finally decides to go to bed. Then you continue the search, and you wonder about Joan. Why she came here after not seeing Ben since early childhood? Wonder if her parents know she's here. She seems a nice girl, doesn't she, Harvey? Young, exciting. You almost wish you could talk to her, see how she would react to the truth. And you're still wondering about it as you hear the clock striking in the front hall. 6 a.m., and you've found nothing. Wonderful breakfast, my dear. You're an excellent cook. Thank you, Uncle Ben. I did have a little trouble getting everything together. You know, finding things. I didn't want to disturb you. Very good jam, Miss, don't you think? You must be terribly fond of jam, Uncle Ben. Goodness, I never saw so many jars in any one cellar. Cellar? Why, why yes. That's where I got this jar. Shouldn't I? Oh, it's quite all right. I couldn't find any jam in the cupboards here. May I have the sugar, my dear? Here you are, Uncle Ben. Yes? What's going on in the cellar? What? The floor. All that digging, those holes. Oh, that, I... Well, I've been having some trouble with the water pipes, you see. Oh, I thought it was something like that. More toast, Uncle Ben? It was close, wasn't it, Harvey? And later you have cause for more concern. Writing a letter, my dear? Just a note to Mother. You know how she worries. Promise I write as soon as I arrive here. Telling her all about your trip, eh? That and about you. Oh. Joan, my dear. Yes? I wonder if I might add a post-cript to your mother. Oh, would you, Uncle Ben? Just a few lines at the bottom of the letter, if you don't mind. Of course I don't mind. Here. You have no intention of adding just a few lines. No. It's just a precautionary measure, isn't it, Harvey? You read the letter quickly to make certain that she hasn't written anything to give you away. But you're quite safe, aren't you? It's just the type of letter you'd expect a girl like Joan to write. The, uh, having a fine time variety. And she's quite lavish in her praise of charming Uncle Ben. Very good. Here you are, my dear. But aren't you going to write anything? Such a beautiful letter. What could I say? Why don't you just add, Uncle Ben says hello. Hmm? Well, all right. That evening, the opportunity to continue your search of the house presents itself. It's difficult to do much during the day, isn't it, Harvey? With a girl Joan always around you, you have so little time alone. You leave Joan at her bedroom door, say goodnight, and then hurry down the hall to your own room. Sitting in the darkness, you wait till finally the whole clock strikes eleven. You tiptoe down the corridor, pass Joan's room, hurry down to the library. As you're about to open the door, you hear someone moving about inside. Looking for something, my dear? Help you? I hope you don't mind going through your desk like this. I was just looking for some writing paper. I seem to have used all mine. I see. Have you found any? Yes. Here. It's all right if I take it, isn't it? Of course, Joan. Of course. Thanks. Well, goodnight again, Uncle Ben. Good night. As you watch the girl hurry from the room, the thought suddenly occurs to you. It's possible she's playing the same game you are, Harvey. Yes, it's possible she isn't really Ben Masters' niece at all. That she knows about the money too, and is here to get it. You wait patiently until you're certain that she's sound asleep. Flip quietly into her room. Locate her suitcase and take it out into the hall. Inside you find a letter. A letter addressed to Mrs. Paul Gates. Yes, Harvey. Mrs. Paul Gates. Not Joan Benton, the name she told you. Another name. The following morning, after another night of fruitless searching for the money. You're starting down to breakfast when you overhear Joan talking softly to someone on the telephone. You hurry forward, quietly straining to listen. No, he doesn't suspect a thing. I've got to ring off now. He may hear me. Yes, I'll be careful. Bye. Dartled me, Uncle Ben. Oh, sorry. Have a nice sleep? Not too nice? No. Oh, nightmares? Is it something? As a matter of fact, it was a nightmare, Joan. I had dreamt you turned out to be someone else. Not really my niece at all. Oh, really? Fantastic thing. You were here to steal my money. I became so angry when I found out I wanted to kill you. Uncle Ben. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm frightening you. That bacon smells good. Would you like scrambled eggs this morning? Fine, Joan. Fine. You watch her closely during breakfast, but she betrays no sign of fear. Breakfast over, you leave her in the kitchen, hurry down to the cellar and continue your search for the money. But the money isn't to be found. Then upstairs, as you walk along the front hall, you hear sounds from the den and decide to go down. What are you doing, Joan? Just tidying up. You shouldn't be moving that heavy furniture, child. Oh, it's nothing really. You don't mind, do you, Uncle Ben? My sort of taking over, doing things. I'm afraid you're not a very good housekeeper. No, don't suppose I am, Joan. It's a smart move on her part, isn't it, Harvey? If she's really looking for the money. Cleaning house gives her the perfect opportunity to search each room carefully. You collect every piece of furniture. After she's gone, you begin to move the pieces of furniture back into place. And then it happens, suddenly, quite by accident. As you slide a small bookcase into place, one of its edges strikes the wall sharply. A section of the paneling gives away and swings back on rusty hinges. Quickly, you slide the bookcase out of the way and then you see it. The small wall safe, unlocked and empty. Joan got here before you didn't, she Harvey. You whirl around, hurry from the den, and as you step out into the hall. Oh, Uncle Ben. You stop suddenly. Joan is standing by the front door and there's someone with her. Uncle Ben, this gentleman's car ran out of gas. He wondered that he might use the phone. I want to call the signal station down the road. Well, of course, my dear. Right ahead, young man. The lucky thing for me, I stalled practically outside your door. It's hard to disturb you. Quite all right. You turn, walk back into the den and close the door, trying to act unconcerned. Then you hurry to the den window, see the young man's car parked off the road behind a tree. You slip into a raincoat, hurry outside. At the car, you find the key still in the ignition. You turn it on. The gas gauge shows that the tank is half full. And then something else, the registration on the steering post. Paul D. Gates. I knew it. Yes, you're certain, aren't you, Harvey? Paul D. Gates, the girl's husband. Her partner in a clever roost to take Uncle Ben's stolen money. You consider taking the car and running. But the thought of the money holds you. You came here for it, didn't you? You're going to get it at any cost. The man at the station is sending someone out right away. You don't mind if he waits here a while, do you, Uncle Ben? No, no, no, of course not, my dear. I'm sure they'll be along soon. You know, hurry anyway. I'm rather enjoying the conversation that you need. Well, get on with it then. You don't mind if I sort of horn in, do you? Well, I... no. No, of course not, Uncle Ben. You sit back in the easy chair, watch them closely. Listen to them make idle chatter. They're clever, aren't they, Harvey? Cool and clever. But they're not clever enough to fool you. You're certain that Joan has the money. You're just waiting for the opportunity to slip away. But they're not going to, are they? And as the minutes tick by, a plan begins to take shape in your mind. Finally, you decide to put your plan into operation. Joan, my dear, perhaps the gentleman will enjoy a cup of tea. I'm sure I would. Oh, don't go to any trouble. Oh, it's no trouble at all. I'll just be a few minutes. Smoke? Yes, thank you. Good cigars, these. You'll like them. Have them made special. Light? Thank you. Hey, this is a good cigar. Glad you like it. Say, are you by any chance interested in Chinese art? Well, I never thought much about it one way or the other. But I must say you do have some beautiful things here, sir. I think so. Now, take this pair of bookends, for example. Ever see anything like one of these? They're beautiful. They're heavy, too. Yes, quite heavy. A friend of mine sent them to me from... Oh, isn't that the service truck from the gas station? What? Out front, you can see it there from that window. Where? I don't know. You stoop quickly to drag the unconscious Mr. Gates out of the way and then freeze, fascinated as you stare down at the floor. The bookend Harvey from old Ben's collection. It smashed as you dropped it after striking Gates a glancing blow. And you see that it's filled with currency and large bills. So you found old Ben's hiding place. He did take the money and hide it. And now you have it. Look, a Ben. Huh? Oh, Joan. It's all right. You can drop the act now. What have you done to him? Your friend is out for a while, my dear. The money? You have it? Yes, most of it. I imagine there's a good deal more on that other bookend. No wonder they were made so large. I don't understand why you hit him. You're a very clever young lady, Joan. Or rather, Mrs. Paul Gates. Yes, clever. But you don't fool me one bit. What? You and your Mr. Gates. I suspect it from the start. You better sit down, my dear, while I decide what to do with you and your husband. This money is mine. And I'm keeping it. A word to gamblers. I mean those of you who are gambling with your own life and the lives of your passengers by trying to squeeze that last thousand or so miles of wear out of smooth, old tires. You know, of course, that smooth tires are unsafe. They don't stop as quickly. They skid. And they puncture or blow out more easily. In fact, records show that in one year almost 6,000 vehicles involved in fatal and non-fatal accidents had either punctures or blowouts. But so much for what you stand to lose. The next question is, what do you save by gambling on old tires? Well, right now the answer is nothing. In fact, it's actually costing you money. Because now signal dealers are giving today's biggest trade in allowance for old tires. What's more, the lead tires your signal dealer is now selling are made of coal rubber, tough and still further, with patented fill black O, and actually give 30 to 40 percent more wear than ever before. So it's just penny wise and pound foolish to keep driving on smooth old tires. It's time to find out how little it will cost to trade your unsafe old tires for safe new lead tires at Signal Station now. It's time for the showdown, isn't it, Harvey? And you congratulate yourself. You were smart enough to see through her plan, weren't you? You're certain she was after the money. That she planned to get help in taking it from you. Sent for her husband and partner, Paul Gape. But he can't help her now, can he? You've taken care of him, he's unconscious. And now you're going to take care of Joan. You watch her as she stares at you puzzled. So, you did take the money. You had it all the time. Not all the time, my dear. Yes, you did. I believed you told everybody at home that you were too nice to have stolen anything ever. What are you talking about? Paul is my husband like you discovered. We were passing through town and I decided to look you up. Now, don't give me that, you came for the money. Here, what are you doing? I can make him more comfortable while we talk. Poor Paul. You might have killed him in your anger. All this mistrust in the world. I thought mother and dad and Uncle Frank were all wrong about you. They're stubborn like when they disapproved of my marriage to Paul. I thought we were too misunderstood people. That's why I looked you up. Well, you stop this crazy act. It isn't an act, not with me, only with you. You're a thief, just like they thought. You see? Phone them. You, you'll ask someone else to come here. Here's the whole family. Mother, dad, my brothers. I thought we'd have a reunion. I'll try to understand one another. That's why Paul was stalling you, waiting for them to get here. Just a minute, don't come in. Yes, all of you, come in. Mother, dad. What's all this? What happened to Paul? Uncle Ben did it, dad. Uncle Ben? He hit him. Knocked him out. He thought we were after his stolen money. But where is he, Joan? Where is Uncle Ben? What did you say? Your mother said where is Uncle Ben? If this man isn't Uncle Ben, I... I can't tell you. You'll have to ask this imposter. Or maybe... In that case, we better call the police. Let them ask him. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program, the Whistler. Each Sunday night at this same time. Brought to you by the signal oil company, marketers of signal gasoline and motor oil, and fine quality automotive accessories. Signal has asked me to remind you to get the most driving pleasure, drive at sensible speeds, be courteous, and obey traffic regulations. It may save a life. Possibly your own. Featured in tonight's story were Ed Begley and Betty Moran. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Ben S. Hunter, music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. The Whistler is entirely fictional, and all characters portrayed on the Whistler are also fictional. Any similarity of names or resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Remember, at this same time next Sunday, another strange tale by the Whistler. Your announcer has been Marvin Miller. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.