 The signal oil program, the whistler, that whistle, is your signal for the signal oil program, the whistler. I am 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. Yes, friends, it's time for the whistler, rated by independent research the most popular West Coast radio program. And remember, let every traffic signal remind you, with new signal gasoline you do go farther than ever. Look for the familiar big yellow and black circle sign that identifies those popular signal service stations throughout the West from Canada to Mexico. And now the whistler's strange story, Solid Citizen. Worthington Potter was a solid citizen, cultured, able, and above all else, dignified. For dignity was Worthington's keyword, New England dignity, back bay Boston dignity, the right clubs the proper friends close from Brooks Brothers. For some years he had acted as financial manager for Althea Kendall, a wealthy Boston widow who thought Worthington was a fine man, wise in the ways of commerce. Unfortunately, she was not entirely correct. Worthington, while long on dignity, was short on financial genius. A regrettable situation, since in his capacity of financial manager, he had occasion to handle large sums of money for Mrs. Kendall. Oddly enough, this is what brought Worthington to Mrs. Kendall's on what was to prove a rather crucial visit. You've been so quiet all afternoon, Mr. Potter. Are you worried about something? I was hoping I could conceal it, Mrs. Kendall. You have a strange power over me. I've been conscious of it always. Strange power? Mrs. Kendall words are hard to find at a moment like this. Oh, really, Mr. Potter? Right. Our relationship during the past ten years has been, I trust, as pleasant for you as it has been for me. Well, of course, Mr. Potter. You're a charming woman, Mrs. Kendall. Why, Mr. Potter? You must admit that there have been moments when my impetuous nature came very nearly, forcing me to cast aside all business to forget my position to hold you in my arms. Mr. Potter, you, you felt like this for some time. Since the moment I first laid eyes on you, Mrs. Kendall, you will forgive me, won't you? I fear my heart has got a little bit better of me. Please, Mr. Potter, don't feel that way. I admire you for saying it. Mrs. Kendall, Althea, will you do me the very great honor of... Of what? Worthington. Of becoming Mrs. Potter? Oh, Worthington. I don't know what to say. Will you, Althea? Well, a girl has to have time to think, Worthington. One can't decide so suddenly. Don't think, Althea. Listen, listen to your heart. I must have time. I'll let you know when you come next Friday. Say it now, Althea. No, no. I must get hold of myself. Next Friday, Worthington. Next Friday. Too bad, Worthington. Next Friday. Seven days of waiting. And you've got to know now, don't you? Particularly after the phone call you get from Stratton, your broker, that afternoon. I can't understand it, Stratton. Don't you see, man, I've given you every cent I have. I can't advance more money. I'm sorry, Potter. You have to sell you out. You can't do that. I... I'd be ruined. How much do I have to put up? Ten thousand. This afternoon. Ten thousand. Mark, it's barely holding. Ten thousand will jack it up for the time being. But... but listen, Stratton. Uh, Potter. How dare you? Sorry, Al, but we sell you out. And it isn't your money, is it, Worthington? It belongs to Althea Kendall. Somewhere you've got to find... ninety-five hundred dollars. At two thirty that afternoon you're in the vault of the bank, going over the contents of Althea Kendall's safe deposit box. Yes, it's a desperate measure, but you're ready to try anything. Stock certificates, bonds, mortgages, but nothing negotiable. Nothing you can turn into ten thousand in cash. Then suddenly you recognize something in the bottom of the box. An earring. A very old one with an emerald in the center surrounded by small rubies. You remember now, the mate to it was stolen years ago. And Althea has left it in the vault ever since undisturbed. There'd be no reason in the world for her to get it out again. It'll probably stay there till she dies. Yes, Mr. Potter, I thoroughly agree with you. It's a very fine piece. Please come to the point, Mr. Graves. How much will you pay for it? Let me examine it again. Yes, it's a genuine Italian renaissance without a doubt. Perhaps even a cellini. Looks like his work. It's a tragedy, of course, that you've lost the mate. The matched pair would bring at least a hundred thousand, perhaps even more. A hundred thousand? Yes, but for the single earring, though, I'm afraid ten thousand is the best I can do. Very well. Just one thing, Mr. Graves, if you haven't sold it, I'd like an understanding that I can buy it back in, say, a week or ten days. I'd agree to pay you your profit, of course. That is fair enough. My price will be twelve thousand five hundred. I must warn you, however, that I won't hold it if I find a buyer. I understand, Mr. Graves. I'll let you know the moment I want it now. About the cash? Yes, yes. Go on, Stratton. The ten thousand got here in the nick of time, Potter. But you're going to need the rest before you're through. How much? Fifty thousand, roughly. You think the market will hold until, say, next Friday? I don't... I'll get them, Stratton. I'll get them. With the prologue of Solid Citizen, the Signal Oil Company brings you another strange tale by The Whistler. This Thursday, July 4th, you'll be celebrating Independence Day, 170 years of independence for America, the land for folks who love the independent way of life. Today, with more and more returning veterans expressing a desire to get into business for themselves, there's a tremendous rebirth of that independent spirit. And that's good because independent businessmen are capable of great things. For instance, not long after World War I, a small group of young Westerners formed their own oil company, Signal Oil Company. In the face of what seemed overwhelming competition, these determined young men succeeded in bringing to Western motorists the first anti-knock gasoline at regular price. They sold signal gasoline only through independent service stations, just a handful of them at that time. But motorists liked signal products, liked them so well that the signal organization grew and grew until today independent signal dealers serve seven western states from Canada to Mexico. Now, obviously, there must be good reasons why so many motorists have switched to signal. You can discover these reasons for yourself by just stopping at your own neighborhood signal dealers. There you'll find the tops in gasoline and automotive lubricants backed by signal's 15-year tradition of quality. And you'll enjoy more thorough, more conscientious service because signal dealers being in business for themselves have an incentive to serve you better. A fine example of the American way of doing business that has made and kept our land such a great place in which to live and make a living. And now, back to the Whistler. Worthington, your good name is at stake, isn't it? Your dignity, your social standing, your honor, it all depends now on one thing. Each day you watch the stock tick as nervously. Each day you breathe a sigh of relief when the exchange closes and the stock is held. Yes, Worthington, only one thing can save you. Alfie has answered to your proposal of marriage. Somehow you live through until Friday and hurry out to Althea's home. Althea. Worthington, it's good to see you. The suspense was unbearable, Althea. You have no idea what I went through. There were several times when I almost gave in. I even had the receiver off the hook at one point. For I'm so awkward at this sort of thing. Why, Worthington, not at all. I think you're rather skillful. I thank you, my dear. It's very kind of you to say that. You do love me, don't you? Althea, you'll never know how much I need you. I've come to the crossroads, Althea. One way leads to you, to your love, to the happiness we'll find together. The other way too, to loneliness and misery. Althea. Yes, Worthington? You have decided, haven't you? Yes, Worthington, I've decided. It was a dreadfully difficult decision to make. I couldn't make it alone. You went to someone? Franklin came to the house, of course, on his weekly visit. My heart, you know. Oh, yes, your heart. He didn't entirely approve. That's ridiculous. Your heart, you know. My heart is not very good, Worthington. He was a little alarmed about my excitement. I see. I think we should be entirely frank, don't you, Worthington? Why, of course, Althea. The doctor suggested that perhaps it was my money you wanted. That's outrageous. It's labulous. How dare he insinuate such a thing? What did you tell him? I told him to leave the house. Why, I should think you would. You see, that was the day I decided to marry you. Althea, darling, I knew you would. It's all right for us. Just a minute, Worthington. Eh? That was three days ago. You haven't changed your mind? There must be a power somewhere, Worthington, to take care of lonely old ladies. I don't understand. Do you recognize this, Worthington? Why, it's an earring, isn't it? Yes, an earring. Where did you get it? I can understand why you're curious. And Mr. Barkley brought it to me yesterday afternoon. Barkley? In response to an advertisement I've been running in the collector's magazine for years. Ever since one of the pair was stolen, they were very valuable, you see. My first husband bought them for me in Italy. Of course, I went to my safe deposit box immediately to get out the mate to it. I see. Naturally, marriage is out of the question, Worthington. I have no alternative but to expose you for the cheating, lying imbecile that you are. You wouldn't dare. You wouldn't dare disgrace me, do you hear? Do you understand that? You're not going to toss any of the gutter after ten years. I won't allow it. I won't be disgraced. And held up as a laughing stock. I'd kill you first. You stupid, stumbling old hag. Do you think I'd marry you? Yes, it was your money, your filthy pile of gold. I've taken it for years. That's all I wanted. I bowed and scraped and groveled in the gutter for you. And you're not going to open your mouth, you hear? Yes, I'd kill you. I'd kill you in a minute. Right now, if I had to. What's the matter? She's dead. I didn't touch her. Her heart? Yes. The doctor was right, the excitement. Her heart. Yes, Wellington, she's dead. It was too much for her heart. Your knees give way and you sit there crazily on the floor trying to gather your wits, wondering what to do. And then gradually you become conscious of something sharp in your right hand. The earring. The hair in your right hand is your reputation, Worthington. Your dignity. You're holding $100,000 in your right hand, providing you can get the other one. The mate to what you sold to Mr. Graves. Quietly you get up from the floor, walk to the telephone and call Dr. Strickland. You'd better get over here right away, doctor. I'm afraid she's gone, the excitement you know her heart. The doctor is satisfied with your explanation. Stay until he finishes the examination and completes the death certificate. But you're impatient, aren't you, Worthington? The earring is burning a hole in your pocket. And the moment you can get away, you hurry downtown to Mr. Graves' jewelry shop. I'm sorry Mr. Graves is out, Mr. Potter. Well, I tell you, this is urgent. It's a matter of life and death. I've got to get the mate to this earring. Well, I can tell you about that, sir. He sold it a few days ago to a man named Stryker. What? Who is Stryker? He left the shop in Trinidad, Port of Spain. He left Monday night by plane for Miami. Where is he staying? I believe he's at the Bishop Hotel. When is Mr. Graves coming back? I could not say. He was very indefinitely. Very well. You may tell him he can contact me at the Bishop Hotel in Miami. Where are you going? To get that earring. Good day. Hello? Now listen, Stratten, I am only going to tell you once. Sell 500 shares immediately regardless of the market and the cash ready for me in half an hour. Yes, Worthington, time is everything now. You're gambling for high stakes, aren't you? It's an eight-hour flight to Miami, but you don't relax for a moment. And long after midnight, you're hurrying again, this time in the lobby of the Bishop Hotel. A clerk is undue thing. Please hurry, will you? It's very urgent. I have no time to lose. Stryker, you see? It's spelled with an I or a Y. Eight heavens, I don't know. Try both of them. All right, sir. C. Mahoney, Robertson, Seville, Stanley. Ah, here we are. Elgin on Stryker, spelled with an I. I don't give a hang of how it's spelled. What Romansian? He was in 418. Checked out five days ago, Tuesday, I believe. Oh. Oh, but I have this forwarding address here if it'll help any. What is it? Number 22, Admiralty Road, Port of Spain, Trinidad. It's going to take you another precious day, Worthington, but you can't turn back now. Somehow you'll live through the plane trip to Port of Spain. Somehow you'll arrive at Mr. Stryker's curio shop on Admiralty Road. The clerk is very accommodating. Oh, yes, sir. Of course I recognize the earring. It's a handsome piece, isn't it? Please, please tell me where is Mr. Stryker? I'm afraid he won't be back for a day or two. Been out on buying triple lot lately. I see. You say you recognize the earring? Recognize, of course. Can you an Italian Renaissance? Our friend, I'd say it was a cellini. You know, if you ever made to his... Mr. Stryker has no make to it. Oh, no, sir, no, sir. Not anymore. What do you mean? Well, he sold it to a Mr. Boulanos in Miami. Back to Miami, Worthington. Back to the northbound plane. And the address of Mr. Boulanos the clerk gave you. You're tired now, aren't you? Very tired. And there's something else. A terrible, stabbing suspicion in the pit of your stomach. You have a premonition of what's coming the minute you take the earring and show it to Mr. Boulanos. Why, yes, of course, Mr. Porter, it's the same piece. I bought it from Stryker and sold it to a Mr. Barclay. Barclay, yes, Barclay. Yes, it seems a woman in Boston had been advertising for it for some time. Barclay, of course, had been on the prowl after it for years. I believe he intended to sell it to her. Is there anything else I can do, sir? No, nothing. So that does it, Worthington. The bubble has burst. Ridiculous, isn't it? You're sure now, Worthington. The earring you've been chasing is the one you hold in your hand. So there's no way you can save your honor. But there is a way to preserve the last vestige of dignity. You stop at a pawn shop in Miami and calmly buy a 38 revolver and then return to the Bishop Hotel. There's a telegram waiting for you, a message from Stratton, discreetly suggesting that in view of the approaching audit of Mrs. Kendall's estate, it might be well for you to produce the missing funds. But it doesn't matter now, does it, Worthington? You go up to your room and lock the door. Place the revolver and the earring before you on the desk. Take out a sheet of paper and begin to write. Therefore, in view of the approaching situation, I made every effort to procure funds to cover. This failing I have determined to take the only honorable way out and I trust that the above facts will justify me, at least in part, and preserve a bear's shred of honor to my memory. The earring slips off the desk as you write, but you don't even bother to pick it up. Calmly, deliberately, you seal the envelope and address it to the executor of Althea Kenyon's estate. And then, just as you pick up the revolver... Blast it and made it a train like this. Yes? I've come to Cleanson. You don't have to do it later. I'm very busy. I'm sorry, sir. I won't get another chance. I tell you I... There's another thing, sir. The clerk told me to tell you there's a registered package for you at the desk. What? Yes, sir. It's quite valuable. He says he told me... You never mind. Just go on. Go in and do your cleaning. I'm going down to the desk. Where is it? Where is it, man? Hurry! Yes, sir. I put it in the safe just a moment. It was insured for such a large amount. I thought it... Will you hurry? Yes, sir. Now, let me see. Ah, here we are. It seems to be from Boston. Give it to me quickly. Now, why do they tie things so duly tight? Ah, there we are. Ah, a letter. Sorry, Mike. The clerk misinformed you. The earring was not sold to Stryker. I had gone out to show it to a client. On the afternoon you arrived, Stryker purchased several other items, but not the earring. In view of our agreement, I enclose it here with and will expect your check on the amount of $12,500 by return meal regards Albert Pete Graves. Where, where is it? Ah! There were two of them after all. At last. I've got it. The Whistler will be back in just a moment with a strange ending of tonight's story. Meantime, a word about a photograph that should interest every driver. Perhaps you saw it in the full page color add on new signal premium motor oil that appeared in yesterday's American Weekly Magazine or in recent issues of pictorial review this week or Sunset Magazine. At any rate, this unretouched photograph showed two pistons taken from two identical motors, each of which had been driven for 79,000 miles. The only difference between them was that one motor used today's finest straight motor oil, while the other used signals, amazing new type lubricant that combines 100% pure paraffin base with five scientific new compounds. But man, what a difference in those pistons. By actual test, there was only one sixth as much carbon and one third less cylinder wear on the piston using new signal premium motor oil. Yes, those five compounds in new signal premium oil really make a difference in the way your motor runs. So for a sweeter running motor, switch now to signal premium oil. And now, back to the Whistler. Well, Worthington, it was a wild goose chase, wasn't it? An error on the part of Mr. Graves' clerk since you flying to Trinidad for nothing. The second earring was in Boston all the time, but you don't care about that now. The point is that at long last, you have both of them. The $100,000 is almost in your hands. The honorable name of Potter will soon be unimpeachable just as it always was. You stand at the hotel desk, excitedly holding the earring Mr. Graves sent you in your pocket for the other one. Then you suddenly remember, you left it on the desk while you were writing your letter and a half minute your back at your room. Not. The maid's gone. Let's see, left it on the desk. It was here. I left it. Oh yes, it fell to the floor. Must be here. Couldn't have disappeared. Let's see, it was there on the desk, it must have dropped so. Where is the confounded thing? Maybe under the radiator. No, no, not there. Perhaps the bed. Where is it? It must be here. It must be. What's that? Oh, the maid, of course. The vacuum cleaner in the room next door. Mr. Potter, you gave me a terrible... Get out of my way. I said get out of my way. Give me that vacuum cleaner. There we are. How do you get inside this thing? Oh, please, Mr. Potter, you'll get dirt all over the room. Get out of my way, I said. Lasted things stuck. They'll no matter use a knife. Oh, don't rip the bag, Mr. Potter. Oh, please. Don't worry, I'll buy you a new one. There we are now. Mr. Potter, you're getting dirt all over. Quit your bawling, it's here, I know. Somewhere in the filth. Somewhere. It's got to be here. But it's not. What are you looking for? A gold earring set with an emerald here. Here, like this one. I'll make to it. You haven't seen it, have you? Don't lie to me, you little gutter snipe. You stole it, didn't you? No. Didn't you? No, I didn't. You found it on the floor of my room. Where did you put it? Answer me, you little heathen. Where did you put that earring? I don't know. You'll tell me the truth. I have to wring it out of your ear. You hear? Where did you put it? Where? No, not that gun. Don't shoot. Answer me. What did you do with it? I'll kill you out of this. Put that gun down. Put it down, that guy said. What's the matter with you? Let go of my arm. Get him out of here. Put it down. Good work, butter. There was nothing else I could do. He would have killed her. He's dead. That's all right, Ernestine. You don't have to worry, butter. I saw the whole thing. Yeah, thanks. I guess we'd better put him on the bed. Give me a hand, though. Yeah, sure. There we are. Pick up the earring, Ernestine. Such a pretty one. Easy enough. There we are. I'll call the police. Hello? Hello, operator. Will you connect me with the police department, please? He scared me to death. Yeah, I wonder what it was all about. It was awful. Look here. Just finished writing a letter. I guess the least I can do for a poor guy is mail it from. I thought he was killing me. Ernestine, maybe you'd better sit down for a while, huh? What's the matter? Look, they're in the bed by his foot. Huh? Well, I'll be. It fell out of his trouser cuff when we laid him down. It's the mate to this one. The other earring. Next Monday at 9 o'clock, the Whistler will bring you another strange tale. The Whistler is broadcast for your entertainment by the marketers of signal gasoline and motor oil and fine quality automotive accessories. And by your neighborhood, Signal Dealer. Featured in tonight's cast were Norman Field and Leora Thatcher. This program produced by George W. Allen with tonight's story by Harold Swanton, music by Wilbur Hatch, is transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Is your signal for the Signal Oil program the Whistler? This is Marvin Miller speaking, reminding you to look for those familiar yellow and black circle signs that identify those popular signal oil stations throughout the west from Canada to Mexico. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.