 That whistle is your signal for the signal oil program, the Whistler, rated tops in popularity for a longer period of time than any other West Coast program. And signal gasoline is tops too, tops in quality. It takes extra quality, you know, to give you extra mileage. And signal is the famous Go Farther gasoline, available wherever you see the signal circle sign in yellow and black that identifies independent signal dealers from Canada to Mexico. 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 shadow. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. And now the Whistler Strange Story, letter from yesterday. Seating by the window of the streamliner as it sped through the night toward Los Angeles, Arthur Wilson seemed like any average middle-aged businessman. But there had been a time when Arthur Wilson was something else, somebody else, Jack Foley. And though it had been 25 years ago, Jack Foley now Arthur Wilson would never forget it. The plaintive whale of the train whistle drifting back at him now somehow recalled that other time and place exactly as if it were now this moment. Perhaps it was because another whistle had marked the time when it all began. The night that Jack Foley was given a chance to reach out to grasp a new life that night 25 years ago in a prison machine shop. Clean up the shop. Right. Well, Dave, that about does it. This truck's practically got a new motor in it. Yeah, she's in fine shape, Foley. Come on, let's get this stuff cleaned up for the way. Foley. Yeah? The ignition keys. Hand them over. What? Look, I don't want any trouble. Give me the keys. I'm getting out of here. Prison break? Well, now, wait a minute, Dave. Shut up. It's all set. Everyone's on harass to buy the delivery gate. I'm picking them up with this truck and we're getting out. You want to come along? Hey, what? Make up your mind foley fast. The guard will be coming back here and I got to take care of him. What do you say? It happens suddenly, doesn't it? A chance for freedom thrust into your hand. You have three more years to serve on your sentence for manslaughter. A sentence that was the result of a moment of blind, unreasoning anger. You still feel it was unjust, don't you? That the judge's decision was too harsh. And now, in an instant, it's up to you to make your own decision. Come on, Foley. You're coming along, aren't you? The guard's on his way back here now. All right. I'm with you. Let's go. Dave, the guard back there. You should have gone easier with him. Maybe I should have let you do it and killed the guy, eh? Are you sure this is going to work? Stop worrying, will you? I told you I took care of everything. Look up ahead. It's Evans and Harris waiting. And there's the gate guard out cold. You better slow down, Dave. The alarm. They'll never get us now. Swing on, you guys. We ain't stopping. There's a one-way ride and none at all. You're on a train now. It was a very different ride you took that night. But when it was over, you were a free man. And Jack Foley Convict became Arthur Wilson, hardware clerk of Medford. Later, Arthur Wilson proprietor. You were never recognized or challenged. And now, many years later, you're able to journey toward Los Angeles to attend the wedding of your daughter, Sally. The trip is uneventful, calm. The hour before the storm. But you have no way of knowing that. And on an evening a week later, you're thinking only of Sally as you dance with her at the home of Mrs. Alice Terhune Franklin, mother of her fiance, Stephen Franklin. Oh, Dad, isn't it wonderful? I'm so happy. I know you are. You sure? I guess I do. The best part of the whole thing is you're here. You think I'd miss it, dear? My only daughter. To think in four more days you'll be married. I wish mother could have been here. Yes. So do I. Do you like Stephen? Of course. He's a great kid. Your future mother-in-law seems very nice, too. Mrs. Franklin? She's swell, Dad. Come on, let's go join Stephen. He's in the library. You can't leave that man of yours for five minutes, eh? I'll leave him later for a dance with you. All right, dear. Just bringing you back to you, Stephen. Thank you, Mr. Wilson. Enjoying yourself, sir? Yes, I'm doing fine. I bet you do a lot better with a little refreshment. Oh, Jameson. Yes, sir? What'll it be, Mr. Wilson? Creme de menthe? A stinger? What about you, mother? A stinger sounds exciting, but just a small one, Jameson. And please have him to serve the sandwiches. Yes, ma'am. And you, sir? A sting will be fine for me, too. Bring them out on the terrace, Jameson. I want Mr. Wilson to see the way we've lighted the garden. Oh, now be careful of mother, Mr. Wilson. Dangerous woman. Now you two run along and dance. Sally, take him away. I'd love to. That son of mine. He's a fine boy. Yes, he is. Here, we can go this way. Oh, thank you. This is nice. Yes. And it was a good excuse. I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Wilson, alone. Oh? This is rather difficult for me to talk about, Mr. Wilson. But, well, quite frankly, I'm concerned. Now, I don't want you to think it's because we don't all love Sally. We do. But, um... But what, Mrs. Franklin? Well, you've run a hardware store, Mr. Wilson, in Medford. Anything wrong with that? Oh, no, no, not at all. I'm sure that it's a very fine store. But, um... But before that, who were you? What did you do? Who? Who was I? Well, what I mean is, we know so little about you. Sally herself doesn't even seem sure. I only wondered if you... It's quite natural that you'd wonder, Mrs. Franklin, but I can set your mind at ease. I was brought up by an uncle. Ran away like so many youngsters did in those days. Went to sea for a while. Oh? And your uncle? Where is he now? He's dead. He was my mother's brother. As for my father, well, I scarcely remember him, but... Mr. Wilson, I don't mean to recall unhappy moments to you. I know you must think I'm terrible, but you see, my son... I think I understand. I feel the same way about my daughter, Mrs. Franklin. I'm proud that she's marrying Stephen. Thank you. And I'm sure you can see that I would at least inquire so that the children shouldn't make a mistake that they might regret. No regrets, Mrs. Franklin. No reason that there should be. Believe me. Very well, Mr. Wilson. We won't discuss it any further. And thank you. After all, the important thing is that Stephen is going to marry a fine girl. I'm glad you feel that way about Sally. Oh, I do. And now, if you don't mind, I'll just go back in. Stephen knows that I've been worried, and I want to tell him that everything is all right. Well, thank you. Can I hear a few minutes? Oh, yes, you, by all means. It's so nice and quiet that it gives a person a chance to think. Yes. Oh, and here's Jameson. You can serve Mr. Wilson here, Jameson. Yes, ma'am. I'm just going back inside. I'll take mine. Thank you. I'll be along shortly, Mrs. Franklin. All right. Your drink, sir? Oh, yes. Thanks. Thinking of something else? But it doesn't matter. I think it would, sir. To her. What are you talking about? Delightful woman, Mrs. Franklin. Pleasant. Friendly. But very, very devoted to that son of hers. All she has in the world, you know. Aren't you being a little presumptuous, Jameson? Presumptuous? Oh, no, sir. Not at all. I wouldn't dare be presumptuous to one of Mrs. Franklin's guests. She could cause a lot of trouble, you know. To anyone who wasn't right in line. You're a little confusing, Jameson. I don't suppose you've been sampling these stingers. No, sir. I never drink when I've got business on my mind. But I don't want to be confusing. I want to be perfectly clear. She was asking questions, wasn't she? Wanted to know all about you. Oh, say here, Jameson. I'm talking, sir. You'd better listen quite carefully if you know what's good for you. Because I could break up your daughter's marriage in a minute. Mr. Jack Foley? Jack Foley? Yes, sir. We know the gentleman, don't we? Now shall we talk about him? Or do you think Jack Foley'd prefer to go back behind those prison bars? With the prologue of Letter from Yesterday, the Signal Oil Company brings you another strange story. By the Whistler. Now here's good news for you drivers who will be needing a new battery this winter. Did you know that there's now a new, finer battery which lasts up to two and a half times as long as ordinary batteries? I'm referring to the new Signal Deluxe Battery, which is guaranteed for a full two and a half years on a service basis. The secret of this amazingly long life in Signal Deluxe Batteries is their improved design all rubber separators, the finest type known to battery engineering. But longer life is only part of the story. In addition, Signal Deluxe Batteries deliver up to 35% more power and require water far less frequently. So much for their quality. But how about price? Well, considered on a per month basis, which is really the only way to figure battery costs, Signal Deluxe Batteries actually costs less than many ordinary batteries. No wonder drivers with an eye to economy, as well as those who demand tops in performance, are both heading to Signal Service Stations for a Signal Deluxe Battery, the new, finer battery, backed by a full 30 month guarantee. And now back to the Whistler. It was a sudden thing again, wasn't it Arthur? Like the moment of anger that resulted in your sentence for manslaughter, more than a quarter of a century ago when you were still Jack Foley. The sudden decision you made a few years later to join in that prison break. And now this startling recognition by a servant in the home of your daughter's fiance who calls himself Jameson. He can destroy everything, can't he? Your daughter Sally's coming marriage, your business in Medford. He can even brand your whole life as a masquerade. And tell them all who you really are and send you back to prison. Jack Foley, my old classmate. And I'm not mistaken. I've been very careful, Jack. My name is Wilson. Arthur Wilson. Sure. And mine's Jameson. Now it is. Used to be Sanders. Remember me? Three cells down from him. Same section. Number 34192. I don't know what you're talking about. I've lived in Medford, Oregon for a quarter of a century. I never heard of you. Oh, come now, Foley. Put on your thinking care. My name is Wilson. I never saw you before. I would have contrasted in memory. Boy, I recognized you instantly. But it's understandable. I was a very young man. And you only knew me a short time. You left us rather suddenly, Jack. Stop calling me that. Sorry, sir. That better? You know, I had a call on you, Lucky. Lucky Jack Foley. Now Arthur Wilson. Successful businessman. His daughter about to marry into one of the best families in the state. What are you after? The memory's getting better, isn't it? What is it? What are you after? Is this some sort of blackmail pitch you're giving me? Now, you know, that's an interesting thought. It might be, if I were the man you think I am. The man I know you are. How long have you worked here, Jameson? Or Sanders, if you prefer. Six months or so? You must be out of your mind. Do you think for one and that the Mrs. Franklin or anyone else would take your word for it? No, sir. Certainly not. Then what are you driving at? Why all these ridiculous suggestions, Jameson? Sir, I have what is known in the trades as a black on white. Surely you remember Professor Slips Dolan, Dean of Forgery. He was in another section, but in the apartment just below. I'm getting tired of this, Jameson. Great man, Professor Dolan. Any written document was a black on white. I, um, have such a document. Regarding Foley? Regarding you, sir. Yes. The light's very good out here. I'll show it to you. Just remember the light's also too good for you to start anything. You seem to think of everything. Take a look at this and you'll really think so, sir. Yeah. The letterhead will convince you, I think. Look at it. Bureau of Identification, Washington, D.C. Department of Fingerprints. The Bureau of Identification sent my fingerprints to you. Oh, no, sir. It was the other way around. I sent your fingerprints to them. But... It was quite simple. My training, you know. I'm sure that as a hardware merchant, you were grateful, shall I say, to our armamater for your work in the machine shop. I've used my training and photography to advantage many times. Taking fingerprints is a very simple process. Hold on, James. Where did you get my fingerprints? Oh, they're all over the house, sir. Naturally, as a servant, anxious to please, I'd go all over the house. I picked up your prints the first night you were here. Water glass, wine glass, night fork. Then I sent the photographs off to Washington. It's incredible. But true, huh? The answer here arrived this morning. The fingerprints of Jack Foley escaped convict, and Mr. Arthur Wilson hardware merchant are exactly the same. Amazing coincidence, don't you think? What are you going to do? It's a question of what you're going to do, Jack. For me. Call me Wilson, Arthur Wilson. Gladly, Mr. Wilson. You'll cooperate then? My daughter is getting married in four days. What is it you want? Oh, I'm very common as a blackmailer. I want money. Twenty thousand? Twenty thousand dollars? You might as well ask for a million. I haven't had more than two or three thousand dollars in the past two years. Oh, come now, a prosperous hardware merchant. I don't even own the store, Jameson. Most of the stock is on consignment. You'll have to sell things much faster than you ever did, won't you, old chap? I can't raise that much money, Jameson. Now, I'm the one who's getting tired. You'll raise it Foley every dime, no more, no less, and I want it by Tuesday at four o'clock. Two days? That's impossible. What am I going to do? I'm going to the police. You're right ahead, and I'll go to Mrs. Franklin with this letter. That'll wreck both our futures. Then I, uh, I haven't got my daughter's happiness to worry about. Tuesday at four, sir? I've got to have a chance to think, at least. Certainly, sir. As I suggested, put on your thinking cap. Good evening. Pleasant chats. Very pleasant chats. There it is, Arthur. I understand that places your future in your daughter's happiness squarely on the block. It's all over if you don't meet Jameson's request for the money. And you haven't the slightest idea where you're going to get it, even part of it. But you have to try. The next morning from a booth in a neighborhood drug store, you put through a call to Walter Reynolds, president of the Medford Grain Exchange Bank. Hello, Walter. This is Arthur Wilson. Something's come up. Well, I can't go into details over the phone, but, uh, I've got to raise some money. Certainly, Arthur. It's an unusual amount, but when I... I'm sure we can take care of it, Arthur. We'll be glad to credit your account with a couple of thousand. Well, it's more than that. I need twenty thousand, Walter. I know it's a great deal, and I... Well, I figured that banking with you for over twenty years meant something. It does, Arthur. Of course, I just agreed to a couple of thousand, but my personal endorsement would make it five thousand. Five... five thousand? Is that better? I'll wire it to you down there if you have the interstate trust and savings. Five thousand. All right, then. Thanks, Walter. Thanks a lot. It doesn't mean much, does it? Added to your checking account, and the few travelers checks you're carrying, it's still a total of only sixty-five hundred dollars. Jameson said twenty thousand. And you know that's his price for delivering you the letter from the Bureau of Identification that will bring your past to light. You put through another call to your closest friend, Ward Weston, only to discover that he's away on business and can't be reached. It's sixty-five hundred or nothing, isn't it? And the next morning, returning from the interstate trust bank, you tell yourself that you're going to get that letter. Later, you're nervous and trembling as you face Jameson in the library. You brought the money, have you? Look, Jameson, give me a break. Will you if you only realize... The money for him, or I'll start talking. You can't. You can't do that. Can't I? Sally, her happiness. You can't do this, Jameson. It would ruin everything for her. I understand, Foley. I really wouldn't want that to happen. And it won't, as long as you hand over twenty thousand. Well... I wasn't able to get it. You weren't able to... All right. How much did you get? Sixty-five hundred. Sixty-five hundred? Well, that's absurd, Foley. Not even half what I asked. Keep your voice down and stop calling me Foley. Oh, I should have told you. We're practically alone. We went down town. Stephen's out with your daughter. You're not going to destroy our happiness, Jameson. I want that letter. Now, don't get impulsive. I'm not full enough to get careless, you see. A gun? What's that for? Detection. I know I'll have brought you... a temper, your sudden way of doing things. They put you in jail, got you out. I don't want anything to... Shut up, man. That gives me an idea. All right, my old classmate. Drop it. Drop the gun. Drop it. Break my arm. Well, Arthur, after all these years, you've done it again, haven't you? You stand over in the rage, slipping away into fear. You didn't try to kill Jameson, but you could never prove it if you were found here. You shake your head trying to clear your senses. The letter. You must get that letter. You stoop down, rummage through his pockets, and then turn the start out of the room. That's when you realize what Jameson meant when he said you were practically alone. There's a frightened girl standing there, killed of the maid. Her eyes wide, moving back and forth from you to the silent figure on the floor. No, Hilda. It was an accident. You've got to believe me. I saw it from the hall, with my own eyes. It was self-defense. I had to do it, Hilda. You've got to tell them that. The door. Someone's at the door. That's a stall, Hilda. Try to send them away. I've got to have time to think this off. I'd like to see Mr. Jameson, please. I am from police headquarters. Mr. Jameson? He's Mr. Wilson. That's Mr. Jameson on the floor. He's dead? Yes. Mr. Wilson there just killed him. I saw it with my own eyes. I did. Well, what do you know? I come to pick up a blackmailer and catch a killer right in the act. He stole a letter from Mr. Jameson's inside pocket. I saw him when he'd done it, with my own eyes. Let's have it, Wilson. Bureau of Identification, Washington, D.C. This letter must have meant a lot to you, Wilson. Come on. Let's go. The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. Meantime, two points. It'll pay every driver to remember if you want to be sure of the tops in quality when you buy gasoline. One. In gasoline, it takes extra quality to go farther. And two. Well, is the famous Go Farther Gasoline? Yes, it's a fact. Mileage is the best yardstick of gasoline quality. After all, there's only one way any gasoline can give you quicker starting, faster pickup, and smoother power. That's by helping your motor run more efficiently. And when your motor runs more efficiently, naturally you see proof of it on your speedometer. In Mileage, the very thing Signal Gasoline is famous for. That's why we're so proud of Signal's Good Mileage, which has made Signal Gasoline known from Canada to Mexico as the Go Farther Gasoline. And it's why we say to be sure of the tops in gasoline quality, there are just two things to remember. One. In gasoline, it takes extra quality to go farther. And two. Signal is the famous Go Farther Gasoline. Now back to the Whistler. Well, it's all over, isn't it, Arthur? Your long years of living a double life, the end of the masquerade is Arthur Wilson, the name you took up some 25 years ago when under your real name, Jack Foley, you escaped from prison. And now, in a sudden moment of blind rage, you tried to disarm the butler, Jameson, who had known you in prison, a man who was blackmailing you, threatening to expose your almost forgotten past, and the struggle for the gun had ended with an explosion. And death. After a sleepless night in your cell, you're taken to the office of District Attorney Grant. Your one thought is for Sally. Yes, your daughter's approaching marriage means more to you than any punishment which the District Attorney might have in mind for you. As he faces you across the table, you barely understand his words. You're thinking only of protecting Sally and her future happiness. I sympathize with you, Mr. Wilson. Blackmail's a dirty business. But you should have let us handle it. The minute Jameson or Sanders wrote that letter to the FBI, it was all over for him. For him? That's right. Those boys down there never overlook a bet. Any time they get a suspicious communication, they look into it. In this case, they naturally examine Sanders' note for fingerprints. His prints were in a dozen different spots. Sanders' prints? Sure. On both the letter and the envelope, he mailed it in. From there on, it was a cinch. We've been looking for Sanders for a long time. When the bureau tipped us off that the butler Jameson was Sanders, I sent one of my boys out to pick him up. If you waited a few minutes, he'd been out of your hair. You should have come straight to us, Wilson. I can see that now. Mr. Graham, could you keep this out of the papers? Keep my name covered for a couple of days until after my daughter's wedding, then I'll play any hand you deal. Your daughter's wedding? Yes. Being married? Oh, yes. I guess you haven't seen the morning papers. Your daughter eloped to Las Vegas, Nevada, with young Franklin yesterday afternoon. Yesterday afternoon? Yeah. Somewhere around three o'clock, about an hour before you killed the butler. Seems the kids didn't want all the father, all of a big wedding, and just took things into their own hands. Married. That's wonderful. Wait, does Mrs. Franklin know about me? My pastor? Oh, yes. She's retained her personal attorney to represent you. She's sure it was an accident. And Sally and Stephen. She's satisfied? She's quite happy. Thinks your daughter's a great girl. Too bad you've always been so impulsive, Wilson. You'd have been a lot better off you'd have come to us right away, even if it meant finishing your jail sentence. I know. But I just had to have that letter to Jameson from the Bureau of Identification. My daughter's happened. You... didn't read that letter, did you? No, your man took it before I had a chance. Take a look at it. Dear Mr. Jameson, regarding the fingerprint photos accompanying your inquiry as to the further identity of one Arthur Wilson, please be advised that information of this kind is available only to duly authorized agencies for the enforcement of the law. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program of Whistler. Each Sunday night at the 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 Tom Collins. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Edward Bloodworth, and music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Remember at the same time next Sunday, another strange tale by the Whistler. This is Marvin Miller speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.