 presented by the United States Air Forces in Europe. 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. And now the Whistler's strange story, stolen letter. As Susan Hayes, ambitious but none too successful young actress, approached the old-fashioned iron gate entrance to the home of an uncle she'd never seen. Its appearance gave her a feeling of foreboding. She shivered slightly, and instead of entering the gates, Susan drove a hundred feet or so past the gate. Stopped beside one of the few electric light posts lining the lonely road, and reread the strange letter from her uncle she'd received a few days earlier. My dear niece Susan, since I have only a few weeks left to live, I should like very much to see a little of you before I go. Poor darling. My last will names you and my nephew, your cousin Hillary Weston's equal beneficiaries. But in recent months, Hillary has proven not only unworthy but dishonest as well. I've decided therefore to create a new will, naming you as sole beneficiary, or dividing my estate equally between you and some worthy charity. However, before writing a new will, I should like to know a little more about you. Of course. I would therefore appreciate it if you could arrange to spend two or three weeks as my house guest, arriving as soon as possible, affectionately Lewis Denton. You place the letter in your purse. Decide you owe it to your uncle to spend at least a few days in his home. Then you enter the grounds. But after meeting your cousin Hillary, being shown to your room and dining, you begin to regret your decision. For your presence in the house is obviously distasteful to your cousin, and your uncle's secretary, Patricia Meadows. Why can't I see Uncle Lewis this evening, Hillary? At least tell him I've arrived. I'm sorry, Susan, but I have orders from the doctor to give Uncle his sedatives. I gave him one at seven and it's past nine now. Furthermore, he's not to be disturbed. It might make him restless. I see. Well, tomorrow morning we'll do just as well, I suppose. Patricia will take you to see him in the morning. She's been Uncle's secretary for nearly a year now, right, Patricia? Yes, but I couldn't make a go of it as an actress. I decided to become a secretary. I may have to do the same thing. I'm an actress too, but so far I haven't said any words on fire. It was planning on going to New York after leaving here. Sleeping? Oh, horribly. If you two will excuse me, I think I'll retire. I'm awfully tired. You retire to your room, but you're unable to sleep, aren't you, Susan? You have a feeling of uneasiness, almost frighten. You get up and take your last two sleeping tablets, but you're still restless. Finally, at a little past two in the morning, you fall into a light sleep. In what seems like a few moments, you wake with a start. Certain you heard someone leave your room and close the door. You sit up in bed, wait a few minutes. Decide you were mistaken that it was merely the curtains blowing in the breeze. Next morning, at a little past eight, you're awakened by a knock on your door. Yes? May I come in, Miss Hayes? Oh, Miss Meadows? Yes. Of course. Come in. Miss Hayes, I'm afraid I have bad news for you. Yes? Your uncle died in the night. Oh, no. It's hot. Well, the doctor seems to think that, well, that he may have died from an overdose of sleeping tablets. Over... But I thought Hillary... Well, Hillary gave him his one nightly sedative at seven o'clock. But the doctor says his appearance definitely indicates that, well, that someone must have given him some more later on. More? But who? Well, that's what the sheriff wants to find out. He's downstairs now. He wants to talk to you as soon as you get dressed. Miss Hayes, Hillary here, Mr. Western, that is, tells me you're an equal beneficiary with him under the terms of your uncle's will. That's what my uncle wrote me, sheriff. He also tells me that your uncle was intending to write a new will, eliminating you and leaving everything to Hillary. What's going on here? Hillary told you that? Yes. Then he didn't tell you the truth. My uncle wrote a letter and asked me to come and visit him here for a few days. He also told me quite definitely that he was very disappointed in Hillary. That he decided to write a new will, naming me a sole beneficiary and eliminating Hillary. You have that letter? Yes. It's on the dressing table in my room. Go get it. Never mind. I'll go get it, Miss Hayes. You say you left the letter on your dressing table, Miss Hayes? Of course, sheriff. I read it over last night just before I went to bed. It was no letter of any kind in your room, Miss Hayes. But I did find something else. Empty bottle marked sedative. Take only as prescribed. An overdose might prove dangerous. You're certain of one of two facts, aren't you, Susan? Either your uncle died a natural death, or Hillary deliberately administered a fatal dosage of sleeping tablets to bring about his death before he had an opportunity to change his will. You tell your story to the sheriff over and over again, but he doesn't believe you. And you admit to yourself that in his position you probably wouldn't either. Hillary has lived in your uncle's home since he was a small child and has known the sheriff since boyhood. Everyone in town knows Hillary. You are a stranger, an outsider. You're surprised when the Crenwood sheriff leaves without placing you under arrest. There's just nothing else I can say, sheriff. I had the letter and now it's gone. Well, I think I found out all I can this morning anyway. There's nothing to do now but wait for the medical report. If Mr. Denton died from an overdose of sleeping tablets, I'm afraid it looks rather bad for you, Miss Hayes. But look, I told you, I took the last two sleeping tablets in that bottle myself. Why should I want to kill my uncle? I've never even seen him. From what Hillary here says, your motive was pretty clear. But I tell you, I don't know anything about what my uncle had in mind. All I know about him was in the letter he wrote me, which has been destroyed by whoever killed my uncle if he was killed. Too bad you can't produce that letter, you say your uncle wrote you. Might have helped your position a great deal. Whoever killed my uncle destroyed that letter. You're suggesting some specific person? Yes. Whoever had the most to gain from my uncle's death. From what Hillary says, you did. Anyway, you'll be hearing from us after we find the results of the medical report. I'll be back in three or four hours. Naturally, I expect all of you to remain in town. Of course. Bye, Sheriff. Bye, Hillary. Miss Meadows, Miss Hayes. We'll all be here, of course. Naturally. Well, I think I'll ride with you, Sheriff. I've got a lot of things to do in town. I'll be back in three hours or so, Patricia. Take care of the situation. Of course, Hillary. You're in a bad spot, Miss Hayes. Hillary lied to the Sheriff, Patricia. Uncle Lewis wasn't planning on cutting me out of his will. He was planning on making me his sole heir, cutting Hillary out. Hillary says your uncle told him just the opposite. He was lying. It was all in that letter, my uncle wrote. But you can't find that letter. No, of course not. Because it was stolen from my room last night so Hillary could build this horrible frame against me. After he took the letter he gave Uncle Lewis to set it up, it killed him. I know he did. I don't know what happened, Miss Hayes. But I do know that if I were you, I certainly wouldn't be here when the results of that autopsy are known. You mean run away? Run away, yes. But that would be the same as a confession of guilt. Not necessarily. At least you'd have some time on your side. If things stand now, if your uncle really was murdered, you have it a chance. Everyone will believe Hillary. The police, the judge, the jury, everyone. That's why I want to help you. What do you mean? How would you help me? Well, look, you wouldn't dare to drive your own car. You'd be picked up in an hour. But I could drive you to the station and you could take a bus to San Diego. And then you could take a plane to New York. And if you need money... I don't have enough money. Look, why are you doing this? Because I think it's the only sure way to keep you out of the gas chamber. You really believe it's that bad? As it looks now, yes. Of course, in time, I have a hunch you'll get a break. But I hate to run out. But I guess you're right. All right, I'll be ready to leave in 10 minutes. Good. Now, no matter what happens, I'll manage to stall them until you're on your way to New York. And in New York, no one will ever even know what happened out here. I'll be right back. Karen Layton, Sandusky, Ohio. Were you expecting any mail preceding your arrival, Miss Layton? No. Let's see. We have a small single on the 12th floor. That'll be fine. I'll only be here a few days. Here you are. 12.02. Boy, show Miss Layton to 12.02. Thank you. What is there a beauty parlor close by? Right across the street. Madame Dana's. After being shown to your room, you phone Madame Dana's beauty parlor and make an appointment for an hour later. Then you return to the lobby, buy an afternoon paper, buried in an obscure spot on the fifth page. A small headline startles you. West Coast actress, sawed in Desert Wealthy Uncle. It's a brief column, as you read on your certain Patricia Meadows, whatever her motive, gave you sound advice when she urged you to disappear. The autopsy proved your uncle was killed by an overdose of sleeping tablets. And the case Hillary belt against you was perfect. And you're certain you would have been tried and found guilty had you remained in Crenwood. Now you must make certain that Susan Hayes is never found again. And your visit to the beauty parlor is an important step in that direction. Where a brunette hair dye marks the end of Susan Hayes. And the real beginning of Karen Layton, doesn't it? No recent pictures of your out. You've never met a New York agent. So you decide to try and begin a new career as an actress. The change in your appearance seems to bring about a change in your luck, doesn't it? You call on dramatic producer Brad Williams, where you're hired as an understudy for the star of his current show. Eight months later, you're the star of a new Brad Williams production. A smash hit after six weeks on Broadway. It's the realization of all your dreams, isn't it? For days at a time, you forget Crenwood, your uncle, that you were ever Susan Hayes. Then one Wednesday, you're sitting in your dressing room following the midweek matinee. Yes? Oh, tell her to come in. Hello, Miss Layton. How do you do it? I'm afraid I don't know you. I'm Patricia Meadows. And I do know you. Miss Hayes? Miss Hayes? Susan Hayes. You know, Susan, you shouldn't have appeared on that television show last week. I recognized you instantly, even with the black hair. You were all mixed up. Miss Meadows, is it? Patricia Meadows, remember? Secretary to your late uncle, Louis Denton. And you're still Susan Hayes. Well, I'd recognize you anyway. Really, I don't know what this is all about, but Karen Layton is not only my professional name, it's my real name. Have it your way. But I'm wiring the sheriff of Crenwood County that I'm certain I've found missing Susan Hayes, wanted on suspicion of murder. Goodbye, Miss Hayes. Oh, wait a minute. What is it you want from me? Very little, really. Just get me established in show business. You're a big star now, and I've always wanted to be one. Well, naturally, I'll be glad to help in any way I can, but you can manage what I want very easily. I just want to be your understudy. My understudy? I could learn a lot watching you, I see. And then in a few months, I'll become ill and you'll take over the part. That is a possibility, isn't it? What makes you think you could play the part? I can play the part. You'll have to audition. Brad Williams, the producer, isn't easy to please. Neither am I. Can you arrange an audition soon? I think so. In fact, I'm sure I can. You will? Yes, I will. Good. I'll be grateful to you forever, Miss Layton. You're bringing your thing to my dressing room. Well, it'll be my dressing room next week, Bonnet. Next week? Well, you've only been understudying me for a month. But I know the part backwards. No, Patricia, it's too early. Maybe another month or two. You know, Karen... Well, lately you haven't been looking very well. Even Brad's noticed it. He mentioned it to me only yesterday, after a subtle hint from you. Perhaps. How can I possibly explain to Brad that I'm ill? He'd insist on his own doctor examining me. Oh, you'll think of something. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to have me notice by the Crenwood police that I found Susan Hayes. Oh, I guess you will. And you're right. I'll think of something. And you do think of something, don't you, Susan? I'm certain now that Patricia Meadows was Hillary's accomplice in the death of your uncle. And you know that as long as she is alive, your career, perhaps your life, is in jeopardy. So you make your decision, don't you, Susan? As soon as you're certain Patricia has left the theatre, you walk directly to the office of Brad Williams. Hi, Karen. Hello, Brad. What have you got in your mind? Everything okay? Yes and no. Oh, oh. What does that mean? Brad, would you mind too much if I left the show for a couple of weeks? Not Patricia Meadows played a part. But why? Oh, I know I haven't been feeling well. I don't know what's the matter, but I'm just tired, that's all. If I don't rest for a couple of weeks, I'm honestly afraid I'll become ill. Have you seen a doctor? Oh, of course. There's nothing wrong with me, but I know how I feel, Brad. I've just got to rest for a couple of weeks. Well, of course, honey. You mean a lot more to me than the show. You mean more to me than anything. I do. You know you do. This isn't a very romantic place to tell you, but I love you, Karen. You're sure? Of course. I've loved you for months. I want you to marry me. Go for two weeks. Oh yes, more than ever now. I'd like to have Patricia take over Monday. But I'll make a deal with you. If you would just let me have your mountain lodge Sunday. I'll take Patricia up there and rehearse her all day. It's a deal. I'll call her right away. No. Now let me call her. I'll phone her this evening. Like I told you, you win. I told Brad right after you left. You're taking over the pot Monday. I thought you'd think it's something. Brad wants me to rehearse you all day Sunday. He suggested we drive up to his mountain lodge and work all day, okay? That's me. I'll be ready about eight Sunday mornings. I'll pick you up. Now you've not only your career to think about, your freedom, there's Brad too. And whatever happens to Patricia Meadows, you brought it on herself, didn't you? Yes, you're calm as you work out your plans for Sunday afternoon. When you're sure Patricia will have a fatal accident and be out of your life forever. Sunday afternoon, a few hundred feet from Brad's lodge in a grassy mill overlooking a cliff with a sheer drop of 200 feet. You and Patricia are working hard on stage business as Patricia goes through line after line of dialogue. Perfect. Wasn't I woke all right that time? Yes, but when you read that line, I love him. I can't do without him. I just can't. You should take about five steps forward and beat more slowly. Oh, well, you ought to be holding his picture too. Okay, I'll hold my purse for a pop. Uh, I'll do it perfectly this time. And now you watch. I love him. I can't do without him. I just can't. It's going exactly as you planned, isn't it, Susan? She's only 10 or 12 feet away from the cliff. A quick run forward, a hard push, two at the most while she's off balance. And your worries are over. You drop your script and start forward. And stop. You can't do it, can you, Susan? No, you can't kill. Patricia turns back towards you. Was I all right? You were excellent. I thought when you came over so quickly, I did something wrong. You're lucky, Patricia. I was going to push you off the cliff, kill you. I'd planned it ever since I'd arranged to bring you up here. I didn't think you had it in you. I haven't. But the game's over, Patricia. I'm going to the police and tell them everything. You'll be charged with murder. Maybe. Maybe not. When I tell them you've been protecting me all this time, and they start questioning you and Hillary, I have an idea things might turn out a little differently than you think. Now, wait a minute. What can you gain by going to the police? You're the only one who knows who you are. Now look, now just forget about leaving this show. I'll just stay on as you're understudy. And sooner or later, I'll get a prayer. You've gotten your last break as far as I'm concerned. I'm going to the police and tell them everything. Oh, no, you're not. I'm not going to lose after getting this far. With you out of the way, I'll be a star in a year. You're going over that cliff. No, Patricia, be careful. Remember trying to seize the hand of Patricia Meadows. A feeling of falling into space, then black emptiness. And now as you slowly open your eyes, you hear a voice. Karen? The voice of Brad Williams. At first as though it were thousands of miles away. Karen? Then it comes closer. Closer. Where am I? You're in the living room with the lodge and you're all right. But it's a miracle you didn't fall over that cliff. You were only a few inches from the edge when you fainted. Bucky thing, I decided to run up and see how you girls were getting along. Otherwise, you might have rolled over. I didn't, Paul. You merely fainted, darling. We had quite a time bringing you around. You were up for nearly an hour. A type of shock, according to the doctor. Did she? I'm afraid she did, darling. Over the cliff. Oh, Brad, I tried to save her. Honestly, I tried to grab her hand, even at the last. That was obvious to the police from the way you were holding her purse. It was in your hand when we found you. I'd have to tell you this, Brad. I had planned to kill her. But when the time came, I just couldn't. Of course you couldn't. You couldn't kill anyone. Don't even talk about it. It's close. He was trying to push me. I said not to talk about it. I'm all right. Why didn't you tell me the police were looking for you? You knew all of them. Not until just now. Patricia left the whole story in her purse. Lucky you held on to it when you tried to save her. You mean she left a confession? A newspaper clipping. Six months old. Your cousin, Hillary Weston, confessed to killing your uncle in an audit of his book, showed thefts that only your cousin could have committed. Weston broke down, told everything. He gave Patricia 5,000 to persuade you to run away. Make it look as though you'd done it. Waiters, she decided to capitalize on your success. You mean I've been hiding from nothing? Well, not exactly. The police have been looking for you so that the money your uncle left, you can be turned over to you. Incidentally, darling, I didn't realize I was marrying an aris. Listen next week when once again the United States Air Forces in Europe present The Whistler.