 The Whistler, another signal mystery. Tonight the signal oil company, marketers of signals famous, go farther, gasoline and motor oil, bring you another in a series of strange tales by the Whistler. A story of revenge and ironic justice set against the background of eerie beauty and sudden death. Listen to the last of the Devereux. But first, an interesting fact. Last week, 100 motorists were asked how long since your front wheel bearings were repacked. Believe it or not, 72 out of the 100 didn't even know wheel bearings are supposed to be repacked, which will probably account for 72 cases of wheel bearing trouble at a time when car parts are hard to replace. You see, front wheel bearings aren't lubricated every thousand miles like the rest of your car, but every 10,000 miles car manufacturers say front wheel bearings must be removed, cleaned and packed with fresh grease. It's a precision job because the bearings must be adjusted so as not to bind yet not be too loose. That's why it's a good idea to have your neighborhood signal dealer do this important job for you. He not only has the needed tools and special wheel bearing grease, but because he's in business for himself, you can count on him to do a conscientious job that will keep your wheel bearings happy for another 10,000 miles. Yes, 72 out of 100 didn't know it, but repacking your front wheel bearings is a mighty important way your neighborhood signal dealer can help your car go farther. And now? And I know many things for 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. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. In the Bayou country of the Deep South, a land inhabited by the descendants of early French settlers, stands an ancient mansion called the Cypresses. Owned for generations by the aristocratic Devereux family, the plantation boasts acre upon acre of sugarcane, bending to the warm river breeze, and life goes on much as it has in the past. Beauty is everywhere, but danger too, like the treacherous morasses which lie beneath innocent flowers. Paul Vertel, who is definitely not aristocratic, has long wanted the Cypresses for his own, hopelessly it seemed. But time's changed. Paul is now rich, and today, as the heavy door of the Devereux mansion opens, he believes his ambition is about to be realized. Yes, sir? I'm Paul Vertel. I'd like to see Monsieur Devereux. Yes, sir, if you'll kind of step inside, sir. Yes. Master Devereux has been right-polled lately. The doctor says he can't have no shock of no kind. I hope y'all ain't going to worry none. That hardly concerns you. Yes, sir. Master Devereux, this year's... Paul Vertel, you must have been expecting me. Yes, Monsieur, that will be all, Matthew. You sure you don't want me? It's quite all right. Yes, sir. Please be seated, Monsieur. May I pour you a brandy? My visit isn't social. I've come about to... The foreclosure. Yes, this is your last day to redeem the property. It is now three minutes until four. If you can pay me $15,000 by four o'clock, I shall have to take possession of this estate. What do you want with my land, Monsieur Vertel? You're no sugar planter. You're a trader. Yet you've taken great pains to buy up every note I've given in the last five years. Notes that I've had no trouble renewing? Cypresses took my fancy. I have the habit of getting what I want. Wasting time. I assume you're unable to pay the money, therefore... Your assumption is not correct, sir. Not correct. Only a few minutes ago, I completed arrangements for a loan. The money has already been placed to my account. Two minutes still remain before the deadline. I'll write you a cheque. I don't think you will. What do you mean? A minute and a half. If you haven't paid me the money due, the Cypresses will be my property. I've counted on having it here. I won't be cheated out of it now. I'm an old man and a sick one, but I am going to that desk to get out of my way, or I shall ring for help. You won't be able to. This is Devereux land. You won't get your filthy hands on me. I warned you. It's you who should be warned. Take the Cypresses, but its ghosts will haunt you. Its wine will sour in your glass. The river will rise up and cover the land than you. You, Paul Vertel, will sicken and wither and die. I wonder, Harold, if your curse is as dead as you are. Who's there? Who are you? I can't... What have you done? The sun shining in those windows. I couldn't see. Who are you? Is he... Is he dead? I don't know. Well, yes. Yes, he is. Matthew. Matthew. He must have been in his heart. We were just talking and he suddenly collapsed. Here he is, Miss Anne. Oh, Lordy. Lordy. Master... Master Devereaux. I know who it was. I knew it was this gentleman who... Call Dr. Carson. And Matthew... get Charles and carry him to his room. Monsieur Devereaux. But how very fortunate for Paul Vertel, now the new master of the Cypresses. Paul is quite pleased with the way things are going. By nightfall, a Dr. Carson has already signed the death certificate. An inquest would have been such an annoyance. Then, too, there is this Miss Anne, young and fascinating. Miss Anne, who, at the dinner table, identifies herself as Anne Martin, the Devereaux's housekeeper with a strong love for the Cypresses, its gloomy old house, and its swamps. Now, what do you intend to do with the Cypresses, Monsieur Vertel? Sell it at a handsome profit? Oh, no. I intend to live here, mademoiselle. When a man has spent 20 years fighting a highly unsympathetic world, he sometimes longs for a gentler mode of living. I mean to find it here. I believe there's an old family saying that only a Devereaux can be happy at the Cypresses. I found that old family sayings of even less vitality than the old families would say them. I didn't know if you planned to stay, Monsieur Vertel, but I had a room prepared for you. I'm afraid there's no choice. I was, unfortunately, all too aware that Devereaux couldn't meet his obligation, so I made arrangements accordingly. An agricultural expert will be here first thing in the morning. I begin to understand your success in the world. Oh, but here's Matthew with some port wine. You'll find it very excellent. To the new master of the Cypresses. And new life for a dying house. Monsieur Vertel, your wine. Ah, clumsy. Please forgive me. You didn't drink the toast. The clock, it struck four times. Is there anything odd about... Oh, see what you mean. It's seven. That's strange. I've never known that clock to be wrong before. Master Devereaux died at four o'clock. It's his spirit of wonder. Matthew, you better go back to the kitchen. Yes. These old servants. Oh, but you seem tired, Monsieur. Would you like to go to your room? Oh, yes, I believe I would. It's been a trying day for us all. I'll show you up. It's at the head of the stairs. Thanks. That's a spooky place. You'll find it so. Oh, mademoiselle. Yes? Don't suppose you've made any plans for yourself, that is. No, I haven't. Everything happened so quickly. I'll have to find another job, of course. Hope you'd consider staying on here for a while, at least. All right, Monsieur, if you wish it. Well... Someone will have to make arrangements for the funeral. There are no relatives. You're more than repaying any debt you owe Monsieur Devereaux. I want to do what I can. Oh, here's your... Good Lord, Devereaux. Oh, I must have made a mistake. He looks quiet and peaceful in the candlelight. Lying there so still. Yes, his troubles are all over, if that's what you mean. Miss Anne, you take that gentleman out of here. Take him out before harm comes to him. Who's that? It's just Charles, Monsieur Devereaux's man. He's sitting up with his master's body. Please take that gentleman out of here, Miss Anne. It's all right, Charles. Shall we go, Monsieur? By all means. And so Paul Vertel becomes master of the cyclists. He's not superstitious enough to believe in a dead man's curse. And he should now be very happy. Particularly since lovely Anne Martin is so friendly and helpful during the next few weeks. But there are other things which are not so pleasant. And as Anne and Paul drive a horse and buggy down a plantation lane one afternoon, Paul is somewhat... This is a crazy idea, Anne. Paying a state visit to a negro village. No, it isn't. If you want their loyalty, you must get to know them. Take an interest in them. I suppose you're right. It's just that I don't feel too well today. I'm headache and generally out of sorts. You've been taking quite a... Oh, yes, religiously. That is the hard work you've been doing the past three weeks. Not to mention the worrying. Small one of the way things have been going. Cain almost ready to harvest and then the mill breaks down. It'll be running in time. And the weather. There's rain in the air. That storm might ruin everything. Oh, poor you. You're determined to be a pessimist. Perhaps. That house doesn't help grim, moldy old ruin. If I believed in ghosts, I'd say it was haunted by legions of dead devils who go around blowing that dank breath down your neck. Oh, there's a village now. Almost as dismal as everything else around here. I seem deserted. I wonder... And what are those silly decorations hanging in front of the houses? Has there been some kind of a celebration? No. No celebration. Are you... You look worried. Those decorations you call them. What about them? The charms. Bits of cloth and sticks and heaven knows what else. Well, there, boy. That'd be quiet. It would be. That's what is it? The door of that cabin there. It moved. Yes, it's open. Oh, Charles, it's you. Where is everybody? Why didn't you come out to see us sooner? Well, come on, speak up, man. Answer, mademoiselle. The colored folks say, all go away as soon as they find out Mr. Vertel. He'd come here. They don't want no truck with nobody. They've got to curse their death on him. So that's why they put the charms out. Yes, sir. The charm to protect the cabin from the evil while they go. Stop talking like an idiot, you impudent fool. I've got a good mind. You ain't going to do nothing, Marcel Vertel. Use of fear. You've got a trouble enough on your soul, and you ain't got much time left. I've got much time left. Man, get me out of here. Get me away from this lunatic. We're listening to the Whistler, another signal mystery, brought to you by your friend, the Signal Oil Company. Marketers of signals famous. Go farther, gasoline and motor oil. A few days have passed since the visit of Paul Vertel and Ann Martin to the Negro village. And the aged retainers warning that Vertel hadn't much time left. The death by a dead man's curse was near. But today, Ann has persuaded Paul to accompany her on a picnic in the woods. Perhaps in the hope that it will rouse him from his melancholy mood. Come on with that picnic basket, slow folks. You're a fine country gentleman, out of breath already. I've spent a long time since I've spent an hour trampering through woods as thick as these. Why are you leading me? Oh, it's not much farther. You're such a lovely spot. Grass is soft as a park lawn. You'll adore it. It better be mighty wonderful. You'll see. Oh, Paul, look. A redbird. We can make a wish. I doubt it would do me much good. Of course it would. Redbirds are absolutely dependable. I'll give you my personal guarantee. All right, I've made it. Would you like to know what it is? To tell you won't get it. Ann. Paul, don't hold me down. Ann, Ann, darling, I want you to marry me. You do? I realize you've only known me a short time. Even if you don't love me, I promise you won't regret marrying me. Somehow, I don't think I would. Then you will. You will marry me, Ann? Yes. Oh, Paul, Thunder. And look at those dark clouds. Ann, Ann, please. It's going to rain any minute. We better get back to the house. Oh, after dragging that basket all this distance. I hope we can have our picnic at home. If everything's not soaked. Come on. I know a shortcut to the road. Paul, are you sure you're going in the right direction? Looks like we're heading into a swamp. You see that little hill over to the left? Yeah. The road's just beyond. Hurry, I'll tell the drop of rain. Can't keep this up much longer. I'm winded. I... Paul, here. Take my hand. Oh, the slime. It gives me the creeps. You're all right now. Lucky you didn't sink very deep. Stay on the path. So these balls will like quicksand. Oh, it's a horrible place. We'll soon be on solid ground. Not much further now. I hope not. Hey, what's that on top of that hill? It's a marker of some kind, I guess. Oh, I don't remember anything of that sort around here. Well, there's a mound of earth there beside it. And a few steps we'll be able to make it out. It seems to be a grave. Only, only... It's open. I don't understand a grave out here in the middle of nowhere. Well, let's go on, Ann. I've caught my breath. I'm curious. And a marker all right. A tombstone. Something's written on it. There's still enough light to read by if we go closer. Looks like the earth's freshly turned. The grave's empty. Well, don't read it, Paul. Huh? Let's go, quickly. I can scarcely see it. Here will lie the mortal remains. Paul, no. The mortal remains of Paul the tail. Now doomed. Soon dead. Drink the coffee, Paul. Take this quinine capsule with it. You've got an attack on malaria. Yes, of course. I guess I'll hold myself. Those chills. Let's get that doctor here to see me, Ann. I've been trying to reach him on the phone. This is mighty poor weather for even a doctor to go sash in, Ronnie. To keep up like this, that old river gonna back right up in the bio. I know as soon as them chickens started flapping... That'll do, Matthew. Yes, Miss Ann. Seeing that grave... Try not to see me. I'll try. Here, Ann, give me a hand, will you? Oh, I don't know what's going to happen to me anymore. To me or anything. Poor darling. All these ghastly warnings. I'm as sane as any man. I realize they're only trying to frighten me, but still I don't want... I understand. Anyone at all would be unnerved. You always understand. You've always been my friend here. My only friend. I'm glad if that gives you comfort. You said you'd marry me, Ann. There's more of a risk now financially, at least. The rain keeps up. The cane will be ruined. You think that would make a difference? No, no, no. That's why I don't hesitate to ask you. Ann, marry me right away. Will you tomorrow? We can drive into town and find a justice of the peace. Not sandwiching. Oh, wherever you wish. We can't have a proper honeymoon now. I'm needed on the plantation, but we can have a wedding reception and invite the neighbors for miles around. They can't refuse. Well, we can be gay. Gay for the first time in weeks. What are you saying? But you're ill. The malaria. Oh, no, it's nothing. I'll be all right. Would it be proper? It means it's half an hour. Oh. It'll be just a month tomorrow since it's your devil's day. Of course it'll be proper. Besides, I'm supposed to be doomed. Well, marrying you will be my answer. It'll be my defiance. You're sure? I'm very sure. Ann, with you beside me, I'll fear nothing. Because you're strong and brave. You'll be my protection. Yes, Pa. I'll be your protection. He feels that he's beaten his jinx now, that he'll have nothing else to fear. The next day, in a town not far away, he and Ann are married. The ceremony is performed by a magistrate, with strangers as witnesses. Afterward, they drive back alone to the Cypresses, while the rain pours down and the rising river spreads beyond its banks. Oh, Madame Battelle, here's your home and your first party with guests who've come to help you celebrate. Oh, there, oh. Carl's, Matthew's. The pounded wire isn't one of them here to take care of this horse. I'm not going to wait. I'll come with you. It's the father door. I don't understand. There's no one here. No servant, no guest, no one. But why? The guest didn't care to accept your invitation. Nonsense. Oh, it's this terrible weather. The servants have gone away because they're afraid. It doesn't like you to talk that way, Ann. Now, let me take you closer. You were afraid last night? That's not true. Ever since we had the place to ourselves, we may as well go in the parlor. See? Everything's been arranged for the reception. A wedding key, flowers, even champagne. I see. You're suddenly very glum, my dear, and you were so gay a little while ago. Oh, it's this house that depresses me. It's like a tomb. It means someone's going to die when a dog howls like that. But you're not afraid, are you, Paul? I'm here, you know. Your protection. Why do you keep implying that I'm afraid? Because you're trembling. It's the malaria, do you hear? There's nothing else. Wait a minute. There's a note on the desk, on the ink stand. There's no one who will be writing us notes. No. Let me see. Here. I, Paul Vettel, being about to die, wish to find peace of soul, I therefore confess that I came into possession of the estate known as the Cypresses by fraud. That's true. And by the murder done with my own hand, I'll rob a desk. Stop it. It's handwriting. It's not yours. You mean you'll find it familiar? It's, it's Mr. Devereux. Devereux, it can't be. The dead don't write. It's a forgery. It's a forgery. Unless... Yes. Unless Devereux is alive. Yes, that's it. That's it. He must be alive. It's, it's all in some ghastly joke. That's what it is. You'll find no comfort in that thought. Robert Devereux is dead. I saw him buried. Then, then... Your confession isn't time. No, no, no. It's not going to be. No, this is a trumped-up fantasy to frighten me. But it's failed. It's failed miserably. Yes. Of course. Come on. Let's have some champagne. We'll have a toast. Toast to all your cursed Devereux clan. May they rot in eternal perdition. Sour. And what are you laughing at? You remember when you first heard it? Don't talk like that. Don't talk like that. Why not? Surely you're not, right? The lights. What's happening? They've gone out, hon. The lights. And you're alone in the dark. Alone with that cursed Devereux clan. One alive. The other's dead. And, and what are you trying to do to me? You remember Robert Devereux's last words? Take this, I present. But its ghosts will haunt you. Its wine will sour in your glass. The river will rise up and cover the land. And you, you, all their tail will sicken and wither and die. You. You. Yes. I'm Anne Devereaux. Daughter of a man you murdered. But you married me. Because I knew you were going to die. And that when you did, the Cypresses would come back to me. Your wife. You, you managed all this trickery. Can you be sure it's just trickery? You lied. Cheat. You're worse than I am. You've been haunted by ghosts, Paul. Let me get my hands on your shoes. The Cypresses wine has soured in your glass. Where are you? The river is rising. Its water is covering the land. I trusted you. You sicken and withered. And you will die. The storm wants to see the finish, Paul. You shall not die. And you won't escape me by running out into the storm. You'll have to be fast to catch me, Paul. And the malaria's taken your strength. They've got strength enough to strangle you. Just a few feet away. You can see my white dress. My wedding dress. Yes. I see you. Do you still want to kill me, Paul? Yes, I want to kill you. I'm almost within reach of your hands. This should have been more careful. You should know your own lack. Always shall be. The river will cover it. But when the waters recede, the pain will grow again. Tall. Tall. Green. The whistler will explain these strange happenings in just a moment. Meantime, here's an interesting incident called to our attention by Ms. Norma Oberyorgie of Long Beach, California, who writes, While returning from a trip recently, my motor heated up so I was afraid something serious was wrong. When I mentioned this to my signal dealer, he said, wait a minute. Soon he was fussing around under the hood with a brush. It seems I'd driven through a swarm of insects and they clogged the radiator grill. When he finished brushing out the insects, my car was running as cool as ever. It's really great to trade with a signal dealer like that. Yes, friends, it is great to trade with dealers who give not just the service you ask for, but also the service they know your car needs to make it last. That's why so many folks are switching to signal stations. They know that when a man's operating his own business, he naturally tries to please you better, so you'll come back again. And these days, when our present cars have to outlast the duration, such conscientious signal service can spell the difference between the one and every 12 cars that will go off the road this year and those that will go farther. Now, back to the whistler. And so Anne Devereaux got the Cypresses back in the family. Yes, she'd tricked Paul Vertel using every means at her command to break him in body and mind. She had an ally in the malaria, of course, but Anne even helped that along by giving Paul capsules of plain flour instead of quinine. Unfortunately for them, people can't store up as much hatred as Anne did without hurting themselves. And that's why when they found her after the storm, she was still laughing quite insane. This is a broadcast for your entertainment by the Signal Oil Company. Marketers of signals famous go farther, gasoline and motor oil. And your neighborhood signal dealer had your service to keep your car running for the duration. The whistler was produced by George W. Allen, music composed and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. This program is being transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Next Sunday night at 7.30, the whistler will bring you another signal mystery till death do us part. Bill Pannell speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.