 The Whistler. And now the Whistler's strange story. Shakedown. Marty Lindquist's lifeguard sat on the sand in front of the Swank Beach Club on Pelican Bay. It was a cold gray morning, and he huddled in his bathrobe counting the days until his next paycheck. His eyes swept over the deserted beach. He hated the slack season, the dull months, the time between. Board women who wanted swimming lessons, companionship. Women who found him attractive and had money to spend. As he rose to his feet and started for the locker rooms, a voice reached him. A voice from the veranda. Marty turned and saw the owner of the Pelican Bay in, motioning to him. Moments later, Marty walked into the office of his employer, small dapper Harry Evans. Sure, Mr. Evans. Sit down. Thanks. What a day, isn't it? Small boat warnings are down. Guess it'll clear tomorrow. It's January. For sure. Anybody on the beach yesterday? They'd know. Or? Well, it's been foggy, cold for swimming. It'll be that way for a long time yet. I've been thinking, Lindquist, I may have to let you go. Now, wait a minute, Mr. Evans. Business can't be that bad. In those pretty well evenings, this has nothing to do with business. Oh, what is it then? That girlfriend of yours? Was it her idea? Let's leave Miss Johnson out of it, shall we? Take my advice. I said that's enough. Okay. It's your problem. You're a great one to hand out advice, Lindquist. All you ever think about is women. I can get money out of this one, find an angle with that one. You never worked an honesty in your life. Don't worry about me. I got ideas. I know. And that's one reason why you're likely to lose your job here, unless you straighten out on a listen, Mr. Evans. That's all I had on my mind for now, Lindquist. You'll have to excuse me. I'm rather busy. Oh, yeah, sure. The thought of possibly becoming an unemployed lifeguard in January frightens you. The following morning you arrive at the club a bit earlier than usual. Hours before the other employees come to work. There's a lot to be done in the locker room tidying up. That might impress Mr. Evans. As you enter the deserted locker room, you notice the far door. The beach door swinging loosely on its hinges. And you move to shut it against the cold. And then you stop out near the water's edge. You see the solitary figure of a man. Skinny legs shivering beneath a heavy bathrobe. As he turns, glances nervously toward the clubhouse. You see it's Mr. Evans. And then near his feet you see something else. A bright yellow bathrobe tossed on the sand. There's only a moment to puzzle over. Then you hear it. The cry of a woman out in the search. Evans whirls and stares out over the water and does nothing. Then his shoulders tighten. He ducks his head and hurries up the beach. His eyes darting from shore to sea. A moment later, he disappears into the clubhouse. Quickly you tear off your jacket. Straight through the breakers and swim toward the cry for help. Okay, I'm coming. All right. All right, now take it easy. You're okay. Let go. Let go. You want to pull us both under? I said let go. That's better. I'll act. You'll be okay. You fight your way through the heavy surf back to the beach. And carry your shapely burden up on the sand. She's uh, effective, isn't she, Marty? And you make a quick guess at her financial standing. You wonder if perhaps your luck hasn't changed. As you carry her toward the locker room, you also wonder why Harry Evans deliberately left this girl to drown. You can put me down now. I'm going to take you inside. No. No, I'm all right. Really, I am. I'm giving the orders, lady. I feel so foolish. I'm actually a very good swimmer. The water's cold. Back east. I do it all the time. East, huh? You just get in? Yes. Please, I'm all right. Put me down. Locker room's right over there. I'll dig up some blankets. Well, if you insist. I insist. Maybe you'd better try to find my husband, too. Married, huh? Do you mind? He can wait. Strange. He was around here a moment ago. Perhaps you know him. He owns the Pelican Bay Inn. Harry Evans? Private life was when he was friendly with an attractive blonde from Beverly Hills. Now this girl from the east, the girl you've just rescued from drowning, says the key is Mrs. Harry Evans. And you wonder why he ran away when he heard her call for help. Was it cowardice, Marty, or was it something else? Minutes later, Evans suddenly reappeared, now fully dressed in a business suit. He seems upset, concerned over his wife's condition. A doctor must be consulted. Yes. And he insists on driving her into town. So you're left alone at the club. Yeah. What's that? Marty Lindquist. How are you, Evelyn? He's out, Miss Johnson. I know a lot. What do you want me to tell your boyfriend? I'll just tell him his favorite blonde called, huh? I'll do that. As you replace the receiver, a smile crosses your face. And you wonder about the phone call from Harry Evans' girlfriend. Wonder if it's just a coincidence that it came so close on the heels of that near tragedy on the beach a few minutes ago. An hour later, when Evans returns to the club, you let him do the talking. I want to thank you for what you did for my wife, Lindquist. It's all part of a day's work, boss. She okay now? Uh, yes, she's okay. I took her back to her apartment. Her apartment? I see. By the way, Evelyn, uh, Miss Johnson called. Oh. You're supposed to call her. Thank you. Uh, by the way, your wife told me that, ordinarily, she's a pretty good swimmer, Mr. Evans. Yes, yes, she is. Funny how those things happen, isn't it? Uh, you a good swimmer? Reasonably. Why do you ask? Oh, I just wondered. It, uh, it was a piece of luck having you around. Yes. Wasn't it? See here, Marty. I'd like to thank you in some substantial form. No, no, hurry. I'll be around. Won't I? Uh, yes. Look, I'm afraid I was a little hasty some of the things I said yesterday. I, I owe you an apology. I understand. No hard feelings. No hard feelings. Naturally, in addition to some reward, uh, well, uh, your job here, don't worry about it. Oh, I won't. I won't worry about it at all. How many more, Mr. Evans? You're certain you have the upper hand now, aren't you, Marty? And the next step will be easy. You always play better in hearts. Evans was careful not to tell you where his wife was staying. But then, you know the name of his doctor and, uh, doctors have nurses. It doesn't take long to get the information you want, does it? And late that afternoon, you're on the house phone at the Beverly Plaza. Uh, this is Marty, Mrs. Evans. Marty? Uh, the guy who swims. Oh, yes. Yes. Well, just call to see how you felt, always. You're a special case. I, um, I wish I could thank you in some way for what you did, Marty. How about buying me a drink? I'm downstairs in the bar now. Well, you'd a lot of women, Marty. Oh, my share, I guess. Do, um, do many of them buy you more than one drink? Professional secret. I didn't mean to sound insulting. Well, he's looking at you. And you. What do you see? Well, you're attractive. Uh-huh. And very sure of yourself. I find it pays. Good thing, don't you? Want some more? Only I wouldn't go too fast. Trying to tell me something? Just that I love my husband, that's all. You know, I had no idea he was married. None of us did. Well, it's natural, I suppose. I've been living in the East, and he wanted to come out here, build the Pelican Bayland. You're a separated? Oh, no. No, it's just that we have so many properties, and... Yeah, that's what a blonde named Evelyn told me. Oh. Ah, don't give me that, you know. All right. It's ridiculous to pretend, I suppose. He ever mentioned divorce? No. No, of course not. But you have an idea he'd like to, uh, get rid of you? Get rid of you? What do you mean? Well, that's why you came out here, isn't it? To stop... Please, I'd rather not discuss it. Sorry. Guess I'm just too curious. But I like you. I wouldn't want to see you get hurt. Yes, you are the man who saved my life. I mustn't forget that. What was that crazy idea of yours to go swimming on a day like... It, uh, was your idea? I...no, it was... What difference does that make? You should have had someone with you. My husband was with me, for one dip. Later, he got cold, came back in before it happened. Uh-huh. Marty, what is it you mean? What are you driving at? Nothing. Uh, whether you'll have another date with me, maybe. Please, there's something I should know. I'm a good dancer, that is. Marty. Maybe... Maybe you'd like to divorce him someday. I thought I told you I loved him. Sure. They all say that. It's part of the routine. You have known a lot of women, haven't you? Uh-huh. But I'm not so bad, Mrs. Evans. And... If you do want to leave him, I can help you get the right sort of deal. So that's it. You'll sell to the highest bidder. To the highest. Suppose... Suppose I did have a date with you. I'd like it. So would you. All right. I'll think about it. Maybe tomorrow night. Well, Marty, it's working out perfectly, isn't it? But Mr. Evans is the one you think should pay. Yes. Because you're sure he's not just a coward. You're certain you know what he wanted to happen out there on the beach this morning before you pulled his wife out of the surf. As you return to the club, you're excited, trembling. And it's not because of the chill evening wind from the Pacific. It's what you're doing, Marty. Planning a shakedown. The biggest shakedown of your life. You stopped near the inn gate. Notice a car parked in the darkened driveway. Then you hear voices. All right. Please, Evelyn, don't worry. It'll all work out. Now you run on home. Oh, I can't help being a little nervous, Harry. I just don't want to leave you. Sure, sure. But you run on. I'll fool you after 10. Well, I'll be over by then. Yes, it'll be over. I told you it's better this way. This is my job. She doesn't expect. No. I just asked her to come out after dinner for a talk. For my place at Malibu. I'm going to pick her up at nine. I'll be careful, won't you? I will. After this morning, I want to get it over with more than ever. All right, Harry. All right. You call me. Yes, yes. I'll phone you after it's over. A quarter of an hour later, you're back in your room at the boarding house. You don't bother to turn on the light as you stretch out on the bed. Stare at the ceiling and think. The clock on the nightstand at your elbow ticks on and on. As you try to make up your mind, it's only 7.30. You can warn her, can't you, Marty? Tell Mrs. Evans what you overheard. Tell her you're sure her husband is going to try to kill it. Or you can let her keep the appointment and cash in. You can be there when it happens a witness. And you can blackmail Harry Evans for the rest of his life. The hands of the clock on the nightstand move quickly. And you struggle to reach a decision. And then you hear footsteps down the hall. Mr. Lindquist! Mr. Lindquist! Yeah, what is, Mrs. Scanlon? Mr. Lindquist, how many times have I told you to stop having people phone you here? Oh, a million times. Well, you want it on the phone now. And I'd appreciate it if you'd hurry. I'm expecting a... Who's this? How should I know? She didn't give her name. Why didn't you say so? She could have stand around here yammering. Hello? Marty? Yeah, who is... Betty Evans. Oh, not at all. What's the matter, Mrs. Evans? I... Call this on. Ready to go out there? I said this afternoon I... I was just needling you, that's all. I don't give it a second thought. Sure, go on out with him. Maybe you'll be able to straighten things out between you. Well, I don't know. Now don't worry about it, Mrs. Evans. I'm sure everything will work out fine. Just fine. You've asked many things of women, haven't you? But this is the first time you've ever asked one for her life. It's all clear in your mind now, isn't it? There's nothing to do but wait. Wait until it's time for Harry Evans to pick up his wife at nine o'clock. And take her out to his lonely cabin at Malibu. And kill her. You return to your room, stretch out in the bed again. The hands of the clock move slowly now, don't they, Marty? And you try not to think of the things that could go wrong. The back of your neck grows damp with perspiration. Finally, you drag a heavy suitcase from under the bed. Open it. Take out the service revolver and pocket it. Moments later, you pass your landlady in the hall busily engaged in a telephone conversation. You hurry down the street to the little lunchroom in the corner. You've got to be certain that Mrs. Evans is going to keep her appointment with her husband. Hello, Claire. I'll give you some change, huh? Sure. Going to dine with us tonight, honey? No, no, I'll skip it. I haven't seen you much lately, Marty. Where you been? Oh, busy, you know. Sure, sure. Who is she this time? Haven't you heard? I'm through with women. Sure, sure. I, um, get off in a little while, Marty. That's fine. You can go home and curl up with a good book. Give me the change, huh? Oh, pleasure. Thanks. How you like? Oh, hello, Roscoe. How's business? Picking up, I'd say. Picking up. Hey, Claire. Yeah? Hey, Clark, right? Sure. Five after nine. Thanks. It's on your watch again, lover. Yeah, yeah. Good laugh over it, suckers. Oh, sweetheart. Not anymore. Little Marty's off the beach from now on. Ordinarily, it's a 20-minute ride out to Harry Evans' cottage at Malibu. But you make your cab driver get you there in 15 minutes. You've got to be at the cottage before Harry Evans and his wife arrive. And you are. Yes, Marty, you're in time for it all. See the two of them enter the house. Hear the angry, shouted words that you can't quite make out over the sound of the surf. And then, quickly, you move across the porch to the French window. You see Evans return to the living room. The gun's still in his hand. You watch him as he picks up the telephone and dials. Then, gone in hand, you slip inside. His back is toward you. He doesn't see you approach. As you move quietly across the rug, you glance quickly into the adjoining room and see Mrs. Evans sprawled out on the floor. That's right, Evans. What? No, no, no. I'm all right. That I'm thinking about. You can put the phone down, Evans. Marty. Linquist, what are you doing here? I want to talk business, Mr. Evans. Big business. Now put the phone down. Now the gun. What's the idea? The idea is you won't have to think of me as a small-time beach lizard anymore. I'm a big boat. I'm a big boat. I'm a big boat. I'm not going to think of me as a small-time beach lizard anymore. I'm a big boy now, having the biggest shake down you ever heard of. What? Yeah. And I want a hundred grand to start with. That ought to take me off the beach. Huh, Mr. Evans? This is your big moment, isn't it? The payoff. Ever since you rescued the lovely Betty Evans from the Winfrey surf in front of the Pelican Bay Inn and saw her husband ignore her call for help, run away, you were sure you were on to something big. And tonight when you heard Harry Evans ask her to come to his cottage at Malibu, you were certain he was going to kill her. A quarter of an hour ago you heard it all, the quarrel was shot. And then you saw Evans come into the living room, the gun in his hand, heard him talking to his girlfriend Evelyn Johnson on the phone. And you saw Mrs. Evans sprawled out on the floor of the adjoining room. Now that you've explained your proposition to Harry Evans, what you've seen, what you know, and how much it's going to cost him, he sits in a daze staring at you. You've got it all figured out. I didn't take much figuring once I caught on. Too bad I saved her from drowning, huh, Evans? You didn't save her from anything. No, I found that out just now. This time you succeeded. And I was here to witness the murder. Lucky for me, wasn't it, Evans? You're lower than I thought, Marty. Sure, but my price comes high. Now like I said, I'll take a hundred grand to start with, Evans. And I'll keep my mouth shut. You're not getting a nickel out of me. You don't think so? Suppose I call the cops. Go ahead. I'm not kidding. Neither am I. There's the phone. Well, why don't you dial? Look, Evans, you don't want me to call the cops. Maybe I put the price too high. Uh, let's say 50 Gs. No Gs at all, Marty. You see, you made one bad mistake this morning on the beach. You didn't know it, but my wife was faking out there. She was trying to get me into the water so she could pull me under. Evans, I want my dough. You don't think I'm sucker enough to fall for a story like that, do you? I don't care whether you fall for it or not. It's true. That's why I asked her out here tonight so we could settle things. I was tired of her trying to kill me. Save your breath, Evans. You killed your wife. I heard the shot. I saw you with a gun in your hand. No, Marty. I didn't kill her. She fired that shot you heard at me. All right, buddy. Drop it. What? Drop the gun. That's better. Don't try anything, sonny. You might get hurt. Watch him, Mac. Okay. You're Harry Evans? Yes. Sergeant Merle, police department. Got a call from a woman. Evelyn Johnson said there was some trouble out there. Evelyn called you? Uh-huh. Well, it's a good thing she did, officer. My wife just tried to kill me. I grabbed the gun before she could fire again. I had to knock her out, but she'll be okay. She's in there. Seems to be coming around. The hand test will show she fired the gun. You'll be sure you make those firing tests, officer? I think he's lying. I don't think he is, but we'll make the firing tests all right. However, we don't need to make any test as far as you're concerned. Everybody knows what blackmail is. And just a couple of minutes ago, I heard your pitch myself. The Whistler, previously released by CVS, the Columbia Broadcasting System for our listeners in the United States, has been rebroadcast for our servicemen and women overseas.