 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, transcribed for Christmas by the Signal Oil Company to enable the cast and the entire production staff of The Whistler to enjoy Christmas Day at home with their families. Signal the famous go farther 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 for the Signal Oil Company, The Whistler's strange story, letter from Cynthia to the holiday staff on duty at the small hospital on the outskirts of a small town on the coast of Southern California. Christmas night was much like any other night. Not quite of course for the spirit of the season was in the air. A tree austerely but beautifully decorated in a motif of silver and white stood majestically alone in the center of the reception lobby. The attractive receptionist at the desk who doubled on the switchboard at night glanced eagerly at a dozen festively wrapped packages. And presents left for earlier in the day by various members of the staff. From the church across the street the soft melody of a Christmas carol floated through the open window on the far side. The sound of footsteps descending the stairs on the right caused the girl to glance up. As one of the newer doctors who were serving his internship strolled casually to the desk. Thought I'd come down for a little breather. Kind of slow tonight, Petty. Is that bad for Christmas night? What do you want from Santa Claus anyway, Dr. Andrews? A couple of emergency app and deck to me? No, I didn't mean that. I just meant it's kind of... Oh, sure, I know. And it suits me fine. I got two hours sleep today and eight hours in front of me here at this desk. Oh, that's bad, Pat. You'll never see your grandchildren if you keep that up. People were dropping in all day long. You know how it is Christmas day. Oh, I did, Dr. Peters. Thanks for the nice present. You're welcome. Good night, Doug. Good night, Neil. Yeah, Petty. It's like I said, a guy like you needs eight hours sleep a day. Did you get eight hours sleep today, doctor? Ten. You would. You know, you're an odd man, Dr. Andrews. Odd? Well, how do you mean? I mean, I don't know. You act like there's something bothering you. Like there's something on your mind all the time. Oh, maybe there is. Hell, everybody has things on their mind. You could still go out and dance, have fun, like the other doctors do. The single ones, I mean. Too busy. I'm still an intern, you know. Make it sound like a sentence. Yes? Outside line? Yes, sir. Oh, here, doctor. I almost forgot. Maybe this pretty pink envelope will change your viewpoint. A letter. When did this come? I don't know. I just came on duty 10 minutes ago. Well, why didn't you open it? What? Doctor Andrews, your hands are trembling. I believe your viewpoints changed already. Yes, Neil, your hands are trembling as you recognize the handwriting. Read the return address on the envelope. The address of lovely Cynthia Walker. She's out of your life now, isn't she, Neil? No. She'll never be out of your life, will she? You're just out of hers. You walk across the lobby and choose a chair near a light and stare into space for a moment. The memory of that last moment with Cynthia crowding every other thought from your mind. It isn't pleasant to recall, is it, Neil? The unfortunate accident that cost you your reputation, your position, and the love of Cynthia Walker. At the very beginning of your career as an intern in an important hospital. You remember Cynthia's thoughtless, angry words that followed? Yes, looking back to that day more than a year ago, it's hard to believe now that a few hours could have made so much difference in your future. But they did. And as you try to read the words on the scrap of paper, Cynthia's letter in your hand, you know that one man is responsible for it all. Charles Arthur Bennett, the man who lied when the truth would have cleared you. Charles Arthur Bennett, the man who called himself your best friend. The sound of an ambulance wheeling into the receiving room below shatters your train of thought. Across the room, a yellow light flashes on the switchboard. You turn quickly back to the letter, but your thoughts are blurred and you know you won't have time to finish your letter before you get the call your sure is coming. Yes, doctor. Yes, doctor. I'll make up the registration card right away. Dr. Andrews. Yes. Yes, Pat. Admitting room. No, Miss Stevens is busy. 412 is ahead of relapse. They're taking the emergency to the third floor. Dr. Graham wants you to go to the third floor drug room. What kind of accident? Car crash, traumatic and hemotractic shock. Patient very weak. Dr. Graham wants you to prepare injections of surreptamine and sacralin. Take them to the operating room third floor. All right. I was afraid we might have one of these before the day was over. You get any details? No, only it was an automobile accident. The man's unconscious, but according to the identification card in his wallet, his name is Charles Bennett, salesman. Who did you say? Bennett. Charles Arthur Bennett, Los Angeles. Because this is Christmas Day, Signal Oil Company has asked me to skip the regular message about Signal Gasoline so that we can enjoy a few extra chuckles over Christmas limericks sent in by you Whistler fans. Tonight's first $20 Signal Gasoline book goes to Mrs. E. Morro of La Jolla, California for this limerick. Said Santa when boarding his sled, this year I'm using my head. It's Signal for me. I'll go farther. You'll see. And over the rooftops he sped. Signal, signal, Signal Gasoline. North car will go far with go farther Gasoline. Tonight's second $20 Signal Gasoline book goes to Victor Ehrman of Long Beach, California for this limerick. A child asked his father one day how St. Nick went so far on his sleigh. The wise father replied he can take that long ride cause his reindeer drink signal, they say. Signal, signal, Signal Gasoline. North car will go far with go farther Gasoline. Our only regret is that Signal could not have added a $20 coupon book to every Whistler fans Christmas stocking. But we do hope that yours was filled with all the good things you wanted and more. Yes, Neil, it's a shock, isn't it? To realize what's happened. For more than a year your resentment of Charlie Bennett has smoldered. And now the girl at the switchboard tells you that he's here in the hospital where you're now interning. The victim of an automobile accident. That you have to prepare the drugs that might save his life. Might save his life. As you hurry up the stairs along the hallway to the laboratory, your thoughts go back to that night more than a year ago. The circumstances were quite different then, weren't they, Neil? Because although you didn't then realize it, that night you were at the mercy of Charlie Bennett. The night which began at a birthday party for Charlie Bennett more than a year ago at the home of a mutual friend. But as far as you were concerned, there were just the three of you. Cynthia, Charlie, your best friend and you. Yes, Neil, things were much different then. Oh, it's a wonderful party. I wish I didn't have to leave right in the middle of it. Well, if you must, you must. I'll drive you home. No, darling, I've already phoned for a taxi. Now this is the first time you've been off duty from the hospital in a long time. I want you to stay here and relax and have fun. Okay, but I might get into trouble, you know. I trust you. You're a big boy now. Or I wouldn't have told you I'd marry you. Have you told Charlie? No. No, not yet. I'll tell him tomorrow. I don't want to seem conceited, but well, telling him tonight that I'm going to marry you, it just might spoil his birthday party. Yes, it would. By the way, where is Charlie? Oh, he's around over in the corner, I think. That island completely surrounded by the ocean of blondes. Well, I wouldn't think of invading that territory just to tell him goodnight. You tell him for me, will you, Neil? Sure. You really have to go. Oh, I'm afraid so. Jane's only in town for the night, and I don't get to see my sister very often. My taxi ought to be here by now. Now it's your night off, dear. You have fun. You interns don't get out of that hospital often enough. And besides, the champagne is wonderful. Anything you say, darling. Reluctantly, you see Cynthia to a cab and come back to the birthday party for Charlie. You take Cynthia's advice too, enjoy a little champagne, make party talk with other friends, and you do have a good time, Neil. You relax for the first time in weeks. In another hour or two, most of the crowd is gone, and finally, you even convince Charlie that it's time to go home, and in the lobby going out. Why don't you leave your car here, Charlie, and go home in style, like I am. What do you mean in style? Leave your car here. Get a taxi. Hi. What's the idea? I can drive. Oh, don't tell me the good doctors in his cups from a little champagne. Oh, no, no. Not really, but I just don't want to do any driving, that's all. Well, you don't have to do any. A little bit of champagne didn't bother me. Look, tell you what. We live close to each other. We'll use your car, and I'll pick mine up tomorrow. I'd sure rather take a taxi. Oh, aren't any taxis around anyway. There's a stand about three blocks away. Not at night, Neil. Well, besides, you'll need your car to get to the hospital in the morning. Come on, Neil, boy. I'm okay. All right, if you're sure. Let's go. But take it easy now. Once in the car, you make one more effort to talk Charlie out of driving, but to no avail. You're getting a little weary of the slight argument, so you let him drive your car. And after the first few blocks, you decide you have nothing to worry about. Charlie seems to be driving satisfactorily, slightly over the speed limit, but everything seems to be all right until he suddenly turns a corner sharply. That's the last you remember for a little while. When you open your eyes, you feel a dizziness, a dull pain at your temple, and someone's talking somewhere. Come on, fella. That's it. Come on, boy. Come on. Here. Are you hurt? Hurt? Oh, no. I'm not upset. No, not much, I guess. Just a bump in the head. And that lamppost made quite an impression on your car, though. What's the idea of driving like that? Oh, me too. But Charlie was driving. Oh, Charlie was driving. Yeah, he's gone. He sure is absent. Say, you're a little on the woozy side, friend. Charlie, where's Charlie? Come on, chum. That's enough about Charlie. Now, how much have you had to drink anyway? I've had much to drink. Look here, officer. Charlie was here. I know he was here. No one was here, chum. I heard the crash around the corner and came straight here. No Charlie, no nobody, just you, and the little man who wasn't here. But he couldn't have gone. Charlie! That's all, chum. We got a swell place downtown where you can sleep on it, huh? It's like a nightmare, isn't it, Neil? You're bewildered and confused by what's happened. It's all a mistake, isn't it? A horrible mistake. And Charlie will show up soon and explain everything. Then you're booked at police headquarters and spend the rest of the night pacing back and forth in jail. Finally, in the early morning, someone is there to put up your bail. Hello, Cynthia. Hello, Neil. I came as quickly as I could. Thanks. Thanks for springing me. Come along, Neil. I'll drive you home. How did you find out I was here? The whole story is in the morning papers, and it mentions your connection with the hospital, too. I suppose so. Dr. Rogers called me about it. He was quite concerned. Well, he ain't even a bin. We'll get this whole thing cleared up in no time. No time at all. Oh, I hope so, Neil. Sure. As soon as I see Charlie Bennett. Charlie? Yeah, you'll tell him what really happened. He was driving the car. It was all his fault. I was just... What's the matter, Cynthia? Why are you looking at me like that? I've already talked with Charlie. Well, he told you then how it really happened. Charlie said he wasn't with you last night when it happened. He took a cab. He went home alone. It leaves you stunned, doesn't it, Neil? You're certain there must be some mistake, but once Charlie understands how much it means to you, he'll realize what's happened and tell the truth. It's too late to prevent the unfavorable publicity for the hospital, but at least you could be cleared in Dr. Rogers' eyes and in Cynthia's. You see Cynthia safely home and then take a taxi directly to Charlie's apartment. He isn't there, but the desk clerk lets you in and you settle down to wait and to think. Nearly two hours later, a key sounds in the door. Neil, pal, why don't you tell me you were a coming agent. What awaited? I didn't plan on it. The desk clerk let me in. You talked to Cynthia on the phone this morning, didn't you, Charlie? Cynthia? Yeah, I cracked the door naturally. She was worried about you. Naturally. And what did you tell her? Oh, that's what's worrying you, huh? Well, I didn't really mean to do it, Neil, but I had to. Want a drink? No. Mind if I have one? Look, Charlie, I'm trying to give you a chance to explain. Okay, okay. No reason to get sore. You lied to Cynthia. Why? Well, I told you I had to. You know, as a salesman, I have to drive a car to make a living, Neil. What's that got to do with it? Only everything, that's all. Look, Neil, I didn't bother to mention it to anyone, but I was in a scrape three weeks ago. I got hauled up for driving under the weather. I got off with a fine and a warning that time. Wait a minute. You mean you deliberately let me take the rap for your accident last night? I tell you, I couldn't help it. Do you know what a spot this has put me in? The hospital has a reputation they're pretty jealous of, you know. Sure, and I've got a job. And so have I. I think you'd better put down that drink and get your coat on, Charlie. Why? Because you're coming with me to explain to Dr. Rogers. Then we're going together to see Cynthia. Oh, what good would that do? It's all over now, Neil. You mean you're refusing? I mean, I went home in a taxi last night alone. Told my story once, and I don't see anything that gained by changing it now. Suddenly it occurs to you that Charlie has a more important reason for lying. His job is only part of it. He's always wanted to marry Cynthia, too, despite your long friendship. He believes that anything's fair in love or war. It's as simple as that. And when you out of the way, he's sure you'll have a clear field. And Cynthia, after all this, what about Cynthia, Neil? You have to be sure. Can you be sure of Cynthia now? Neil, I just can't understand it. You don't believe me, do you? But you do believe Charlie. Why would he lie about a thing like this? Because with me out of the way, he thinks he could marry you. Neil, I've known Charlie for years. He wouldn't do a thing like that. Besides, he's your best friend. Oh, yeah, yeah. He's proved that, hasn't he? Neil, aren't you forgetting that Charlie wasn't found in the wreck that you were? You all alone. Your story is, well, it's too fantastic. The police don't believe it. And Charlie says it couldn't have been that way. And you, Cynthia, what do you say? Oh, Neil, what can I say? Do you think I want to believe this? And Dr. Rogers, the hospital, what do they say? Naturally, I resigned. I couldn't do anything else. I don't blame them for what they think, getting at them. But I know I'm right. Never mind, Cynthia. I guess there's no use in going over all that again. Neil, you're not going. No, why not? I don't seem to be getting anywhere. What's going to happen, Neil? Will you... Well, do you think you'll be able to get an internship somewhere else? I think so. Just as qualified as I ever was. My previous record was good. And I've learned a lot. Sorry, this has been too much for you, Cynthia. I haven't said that... You wouldn't consider marrying a man you didn't believe, would you? I want to believe you, Neil. More than I ever wanted to believe anything. Well, maybe you will someday. Maybe you'll learn the truth. When you do, let me know. You'll be able to find me. Yes, it all happened more than a year ago, didn't it, Neil? You cut off all contacts with your friends in Los Angeles. You've often wondered if Cynthia ever married Charlie. And every time you've wondered your hatred toward him has grown deeper. You've often thought of killing him, haven't you? Yes, often. And now on Christmas night, more than a year later, in a small, out-of-the-way hospital. Fate places the life of Charlie Bennett squarely in your hands. The switchboard operator has told you that he's in the operating room unconscious, seriously injured in an auto accident. And you've been assigned to prepare the medication, which will spell life or death for him. Just a little too much, or not quite enough. It's almost too easy, isn't it? Not the slightest suspicion will be attached to you. You smile as you enter the drug room and find another intern there. What's the emergency, Neil? Car wreck. You assisting? No, just preparing the syreptamine and sacrilin shots. That must have been a pretty bad accident. I afraid so. You ever stop to think about the power of these drugs? Just the right amount means almost certain recovery. And too much or too little? Oblivion. Do you always get this philosophical at Christmas? No, no, but I guess this case made me think about it more than usual. You see, I know the guy. Oh, friend? You said it. What a friend. Kind of an unusual situation, isn't it? A very unusual situation. You know, friends, we of Signal Oil Organization feel mighty proud and pleased that you have invited the Whistler into your home so regularly throughout the year, and especially on Christmas Day. For all of us of the cast, I want to express our own sincere appreciation too. During the seven consecutive years that the Whistler has been broadcast by Signal Oil Company, many of us have had the pleasure of celebrating Christmas with many of you a number of times. And believe me, we feel it a real honor that you consider us a part of your entertainment family. Tonight, on behalf of Signal Oil Company and the independent signal dealers who serve you, in the states of California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Nevada, and Arizona, I want to say we hope that your Christmas has been a merry one. May your new year be filled with peace, prosperity, and the good health with which to enjoy the many blessings of living in the good old USA. Well, Neil, the die is cast, isn't it? You've donned your sterile mask and gown and prepared the injection, carried them to the operating room where you placed them on the instrument tray, without even a glance at the mask sheet-covered patient. You know Dr. Graham's not a dismissal and quietly leave the operating room, where Charlie Bennett's chance for life or death lies squarely in your hands. You never dreamed you'd have such an opportunity, did you, Neil? After removing your mask and gown, you return to the hallway, wait by a window near the operating room as the melody from the church again drifts in through the window. You wonder whether you're glad or sorry at what you've done. Then you remember the disgrace Charlie Bennett brought on you, your shattered hopes, the happiness you might have had with Cynthia, and you know the answer. Even if you could, you wouldn't change the situation in the slightest. You pause under a ceiling light and decide to finish Cynthia's letter. And now as another Christmas approaches, I realize how hasty I seemed in my judgment. Suddenly your heart beats faster. As you realize she's still Miss Cynthia Walker. You can almost hear the words as the melody of her voice haunts your memory. But you were even more hasty in your action. You're suddenly me know where you were. Told me once a woman loves in spite of the man's weakness, not because of this, remember Neil, you turn away, stare out the window. Suddenly you're horrified and ashamed that you, a doctor, bound by the sacred oath of Hippocrates have allowed your hatred for Charlie Bennett to bring you to the point that it did. Finally the door to the operating room opens. The steel form as wheels silently passed you. You continue to stare out the window. You light a cigarette and wait for Dr. Graham to emerge from the operating room. As he opens the operating room door and enters the hallway, you walk slowly toward him. How's the patient, Doctor? Well, the patient's going to be all right. Glad you were around. Seraptimine's a godsend. May I have a cigarette, Andrews? Oh, sure, Doctor. Wish Seraptimine had been available when I first started practice. Matter of fact, I wish I were young like you, just beginning. You'll be a great doctor one day, Andrews. Will I? I'm sure of it. You're honest. Duty comes first with you. Why, you could know more evaded than commit murder. No, I guess I couldn't. But I almost made a terrible mistake a little while ago. A mistake that could have been fatal to your patient. But you didn't. No. No, and I don't think I'll ever be tempted to make a similar mistake again. I'm sure you won't, whatever it was. Now, the practice of medicines in your heart, above everything. Yes, I guess it is. Oh, it is. I've always known that. That's why I appointed you. Thank you, Doctor. Now, when can I speak with Mr. Bennett? Oh, any time you wish. He's lying down in my office. Bennett wasn't seriously injured, just to knock out temporarily. He was driving the car. You mean someone else was... Oh, our patient was the young lady with him. It seems they were on the way out here to the hospital to see one of our interns. She'll be okay. Doctor, who was she? Her name's, um, Walker. Cynthia Walker. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program, the Whistler. Each Sunday night at this same time. Brought to you by Signal Oil Company, marketers of signal gasoline and motor oil, and fine automotive accessories. Remember, if you would like the fun of having your friends hear a limerick of yours on the Whistler, the address to which to send it is the Signal Oil Company, Los Angeles 55, California. All limericks become the property of the Signal Oil Company. Those selected for use on the Whistler will be chosen by our advertising representatives on the basis of humor, suitability, and originality. So, of course, they must be your own composition. Featured in tonight's transcribed story were David Ellis, Isabel Jewel, and Paul Freese. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Edward Bloodworth, 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. Marvin Miller speaking for the Signal Oil Company. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.