 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. The famous Go Farther gasoline invites you to sit back and enjoy another strange story by 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. Danger is a beautiful blonde. Like anyone else, Van Barkley gave little thought to the precarious nature of everyday living. Had he had occasion to probe the fact, he might have acknowledged that danger is always present and that it can strike quite suddenly. Only Van Barkley wasn't thinking about such things. Perhaps he was too restless to care. A young engineer unmarried can get restless. Working in a new, strange city, he can get lonesome, too. Van Barkley was one or the other, or both of these things on a Saturday night when he came out of a movie and went for a stroll along the Santa Monica Palisades in preference to going back to his hotel room. On a corner, he stopped to light a cigarette. That's when he first noticed her. The car was big and convertible. He cruised by him, came back around the block, moving slowly. The third time around, he was standing on the curb, staring openly at the girl behind the wheel. She was very nice, young, blonde, considerably more than attractive. And she was looking at him just as obviously. Hello. Hello. Have you opened the door before? No doubt. Um, in other words, isn't it a beautiful night for a drive? Well, isn't it? Yeah. Yeah, that's what I said. You weren't going somewhere important. Oh, no, no, not at the moment. In fact, I was faced with a rather gloomy prospect of an evening at a hotel alone. Good. But it is a beautiful night for a drive. Um, I suppose it was on the golf course at BRS. What? Yeah, where we met. Oh, well, that's as good as place as any. Yeah, only I've never been there. Yeah, I'd have a good imagination. Let's see. Oh, then I remember so well those evenings at Monte Carlo, and you'd say to me, Van, you must sit beside me at the casino tonight. You bring me luck. You called me Van in those days, remember? Never Mr. Barclay. And I used to call you, uh, what was it I used to call you? It might have been darling. Mightn't it? Yeah, it might have been at that. Or maybe the mystery woman. Beautiful, fascinating, and unpredictable. Especially unpredictable. Oh, that's not very flattering, Mr. Barclay. You might have said especially beautiful. Yes, I might have. Okay, you win. You're not only beautiful and fascinating and unpredictable, but you're too fast a worker for me. Now, how come? How come what? All this. You're not happy about taking a drive with me, Mr. Barclay? I'm delirious. But why me? Well, what have I got? You're not unattractive, you know. Yeah, but baby, you never saw me before. How do you know what I'm like? Perhaps I like to take chances. Oh. Didn't your mother ever warn you about picking up strange men on the street? My mother was rather unusual, Mr. Barclay. And she taught me that when I wanted something, there was only one thing to do. Get out and find it. Uh-huh. Okay, who's kicking? You'll pardon me if I pinch myself. This is something I wouldn't have believed. Sort of like an angel from heaven dropping in your lap. I'm no angel, Mr. Barclay. Interesting girl, isn't she? Anything can happen on a quiet Saturday night. As you look over at her, the motion of the car moving her hair excitingly. You ask yourself if you might not be dreaming. And the dream gets a little better, doesn't it? As she swings into a long, curving driveway and stops before a big, sprawling house and smiles over at you. Would you like a drink? Sure, you're driving. Well, then come on. We'll go on in. Hey, this is the swankiest roadhouse I ever saw. It's not a roadhouse. I live here. Come on. It's even more unbelievable, isn't it? The big hall, lush carpets and on the walls a treasure in fine art. Hey, this is not a bad little place to hang your hat. Oh, hang it then. We like it here. You'll probably have two or three scattered around the country. No, just a cabin at Bass Lake. I gather you're not worrying much about any wolves howling at your door? Not that kind, anyway. The guy that owns this must be a movie producer. My father. And he's not a movie producer. He's just an art collector. Perhaps you'd like to take a look around. We have some very nice paintings scattered all over the house. Do you think we can find our way without a guide? There's no one else here. That's what you mean? We only have one servant now, and this is her night off. Well, cozy, isn't it? The whole place to ourselves. All 50 rooms. It's not that bad. We'll take a look as soon as we have that drink, I promised you. You feel like pinching yourself, don't you, Van? This is the kind of thing that just doesn't happen. But it's real. She's real. And she's even more attractive than she looked in the car. And it isn't the cocktails you've had. Finally, she leads you into the library. You like this room, Van? Yes, very much. Always wanted something like this. The right sort of library is good for a man. I designed it myself. Oh, even though interior decorating. Well, you're pretty complete. Thank you. Van, fix yourself another drink that the counter's over there. I'll be right back. Take your time. This is all very pleasant. Yes, Van. Time means nothing to you right now. You fix another drink. Sink into the big leather chair and relax. When you open your eyes a few minutes later, she's back, smiling down at you. Hello. Hello again. Oh, I see your glass is empty. Well, that's easily remedied. I'll pour you another one. This is nice work if you can get it. Nice perfume, you worry. You like it. I like everything about you. Good. Then you won't mind doing something for me, will you? Anything short of murder. Walk over here. To the closet? Yes. Yeah. Now, open the door. There's something I want you to see. Okay, I'll play games. Hey, I thought you said we were alone. We are, Mr. Barkley. Because you see, the gentleman in the closet is quite dead. This wonderful west of ours is certainly filled with exciting places to visit. If you like mountains, you'll see two of America's most thrilling ones, plus a convincing demonstration of Signal Ethel's ability to minimize shifting when you drive up toward Washington's majestic snow-laden Mount Rainier or Oregon's pointed conical Mount Hood. Perhaps you prefer to see great works of man. None is more impressive than Grand Coulee Dam. And you'll be impressed, too, with the way Signal Ethel's smooth, effortless power makes those long stretches of highway approaching Coulee seem so much shorter. Of course, many of you would rather take your vacation fun in a big city. That's where you'll appreciate the way Signal Ethel's peppy pickup and alert performance keep you out front of city traffic. But mind you, you don't have to wait till you go on vacation to enjoy the premium grade of Signal's famous go farther gasoline. Whenever you want the best performance your car can deliver. That's when you want Signal Ethel. More than you bargained for, isn't it, Van? Yes. When you stepped into the car at the invitation of the beautiful blonde, you didn't realize what kind of a ride was ahead. It was like a dream, wasn't it? Going to her home, having cocktails, relaxing. And then in the library, the closet. Fantastic, Van. Your mind spins. Almost unable to cope with the situation as you stare down at the quiet figure of a dead man on the floor of the closet. You scarcely hear the girl beside you. You'll help me, won't you? What did you say? All you have to do is help me hide him permanently. Now, wait a minute. There's a place out in the garden where some newly turned earth wouldn't be noticed. You can count me out. I don't know how this guy happens to have a hole in his head and I'm not asking any questions, but count me out on any part of this deal. Well, you said you'd do anything for me. Yeah, but I don't do off the deep end for anybody, especially a girl. I just met a girl who's in the habit of keeping dead bodies lying around. Ah, lady, pardon me, but I'll be seeing you. I think that you'd better wait, Mr. Barkley. Oh, yeah, I see what you mean. I see you're wearing a gun, too. And I assure you, I know how to use it. How can I doubt that? With the evidence staring me in the face. Good. Let's pick up our late departed friend and come with me. I'll show you the place. You know that business about your being no angel? I'm just about convinced. You're in, deep. And there's nothing you can do about it. Not with a gun in your back. You carry the body downstairs as she demands. Go out into the garden. There's a shovel. Start digging. Like I said, dig it big. Sounds like a beach near here. The PR drops off to the beach, but never mind. We've got other things to do. Now dig it deep and wide. Yeah. Okay, dig. You dig, Van. But with each shovelful, you tell yourself over and over that you're next. Dig deep, she said. Dig. And you're sure it's so there'll be a grave for two. Unless you do something fast. Fast and sudden. A heavy shovel full of dirt in her face knocks her off her feet. At the same time, you're leaping clear, racing for the drop-off at the back of the garden. It's a wild, frightening scramble down through the rock and brush until you hit the beach, running hard. There are no shots, no footsteps. You're away, Van. Free. Far down the beach, you work your way back to the highway. Catch the bus for town and the safety of your hotel room. You're too upset to decide what to do that night. You want to call the police. But the memory of that blonde hair and those pale blue eyes stops you. You want to be sure of her guilt before doing anything that might send her to the gas chamber. You turn in without deciding. Next morning, when you go downstairs, the desk clerk hands you an envelope. Good morning, Mr. Barkley. Good morning. Oh, it's a smell. A young lady left it late last night. There's nothing written on the envelope. As you just told me to put it in your bag. Oh, thanks. Wow. That looks awful green. Yeah. $100 bill. No note, no nothing? No. Wish I knew your secret, Mr. Barkley. You'd like to know that secret yourself, wouldn't you, Van? Now more than ever. $100 to pay for your silence. You catch the bus again. And as you approach the large house where you left the girl the night before. There seems to be quite a few people around. At the gas station on the corner, you'll find out why. All set, Mr. Armstrong. Anything else? Well, that's all, Joe. Thanks. What can I do for you, Mr.? Run out of gas or something? Oh, no, I was just walking by and I saw there was some kind of excitement around here. Yeah, yeah. More than we've had in a long time. They found a body down on the beach this morning. Oh, somebody drowned? Well, maybe so, but got a bullet hole through his head first. Oh, a murderer? Yeah, looks that way. Guy named Alfred Hamilton lives right up the street. Over in that house? Oh, Ridgely's? No, no. Used to be over there a lot, but he didn't live there. Well, I noticed there was a police car out front, I thought. Oh, that's part of the excitement. Not only is this friend of Mr. Ridgely's bumped off, but Doris Ridgely's missing, too. Doris Ridgely? Yeah, Mr. Ridgely's daughter. And that's Ridgely, the art collector? Sure, sure, you know. He's about the richest person in the neighborhood. Nice man, too. Yeah, and Doris, his daughter, I remember. I've seen her blonde. Isn't she good-looking? Yeah, there isn't no word for that girl. She's a peach. She's beautiful. Yeah, but rather hard, spoiled. Doris? Ah, why, there isn't a nicer girl in town. And I ought to know, I've been taking care of a car ever since she started to drive. And I sure hate to see her mixed up in anything like this. Missing, too. She might be in the ocean herself, only her car's gone, too. They think she murdered this Hamilton guy? I don't know. But if you ask me, she couldn't have. She's too regular. And if she did, she had a good reason. Hamilton was no good. Never could understand why Doris and old man Ridgely put up with him. Just Doris and her father lived there? Yeah, Mrs. Ridgely died a while back. Gosh, I hope they find the girl OK. Just about kill the old man if anything happened to her. Uh, when was this guy murdered? Last night. And I can tell you exactly when. Ten minutes to eight on the nose. How can you be sure? Because I heard the shot. You know, I didn't think anything of it at the time, but I did notice what time it was because I was just getting ready to close up. Would you tell a police officer? Oh, sure, sure. Where'd the shot come from? Oh, how should I know? It was just a noise. Maybe from the house over there, maybe from the beach where they found him. Oh, thanks. Thanks a lot. Say, who are you anyway? Oh, nobody important. So long. As you walk away, you feel sure about one thing. The Doris didn't murder Hamilton at all. She was covering for somebody else, wasn't she, Van? And you've got to find her and bring her back. But where? Where is she? It hits you suddenly. The cabin, she mentioned. Yes, at Bass Lake. You decide quickly, Van. Next stop, Bass Lake. What can I do for you? Can't you have a thing here, buddy? Needs, groceries, notions, drugs, fish and tattoos. I'm looking for somebody, Pop. I thought maybe you could give me some directions. I'm the person to come to and tell you about anybody in Bass Lake. Who are you looking for? Doris Ridgely. She's got a cabin up here, hasn't she? Yep. Well, how do I get there? You don't. Why not? Wouldn't do you no good. Why not? Nobody's there. Oh, well, I'm sure Doris is up here and I've got to find her. Well, if you got eyes in your head, you wouldn't have to go to no cabin. Huh? If you look across the street over there, you'll see a car in front of Ducey's lodge. She's inside, eating. Oh, okay. Thanks, Pop. Yes, she is in Ducey's lodge. And you wait outside until she comes out. As she gets into the convertible, you slip around the other side and open the door. Hello, baby. It's a nice day for a drive, isn't it? Mr. Barkley. Now, don't reach for your bag. I'll take it. I'll take a look inside, too. Yeah, just as I thought. The gun. You've still got it. Well, I'll just keep it this time if you don't mind. Look, Mr. Barkley. Just a minute, I'll do the talking. First, I'll return this $100 bill. Even if I had a price for this sort of thing, it wouldn't be $100. It's all I had last night. I said even if I had a price, I don't. I'll keep my mouth shut until I'm ready to talk. Or you are. What makes you think I have anything to talk about? Look, I think I know a good kid when I see one. If you're really in trouble, I'm sorry, but I don't think you are. I don't think you killed this heel, Hamilton. I think you're covering up for someone. No. No, I'm not. I killed him. He was threatening me, threatening to tell something about me. So I killed him. I don't believe you. All you did was try to get me to help cover up somebody else's word. No, that's not true! Okay. Okay, so you're not ready to talk. Come on, let's go for a drive. Well... You know, I'm sorry I had to smother you with that shovel full of dirt last night. But I didn't like the prospect of sharing that hole in the ground with Hamilton. You mean you thought I'd kill you? I never intended to do that. Well, how did you think you'd get away with it then? Just let me walk away to tell the cops? I don't... I don't know. Okay, baby. Of course you don't know. You're mixed up in something you know nothing about. You couldn't have killed this guy, Hamilton, any more than you could have killed me. So, come on. Come on, come clean. I can't. Now, look, whoever this is you're covering up for, they'll be filed out eventually. Probably they had a good reason for doing this from what I heard about Hamilton. But now you've got to get yourself off the spot and me too. We're accessories to the murder. I know. Mr. Barkley, why are you doing this? Why did you come here? I'll show you why. Does that answer your question? No talking now. Start driving. We've got to have a little talk with the police. Van, you found her, and she's grateful you can see that. The way she smiles at you, weekly, wonderingly. And perhaps later, when it's all over, you can pick up the dream where it left off. You think about it as you drive back to the city with her. Then as she swings the big convertible into San Vincentie Boulevard, she suddenly slams on the brakes, pulls up beside a police squad car. Hey, what's the idea, baby? We don't want a squad car. We want to go to police headquarters. Officer! Yes, ma'am? Arrest this man. He's wanted for murder. And be careful. He's got a gun. You can't believe it's happening, can you, Van? But it is. And later at police headquarters, your dream has turned into a nightmare as Doris pours out a wild story to the captain of the homicide bureau. They were both at my house last night. They left together, and then I heard a shot. When I went looking, I found Mr. Barkley standing over Alfred's body down on the beach. He'd taken his wallet. What? You'll find it in his pocket now. The officer already has the murder gun. Are you kidding? I haven't any wallet. I don't have any. Easy, easy now. Well, seems you do have a wallet, Mr. Barkley. You see, Captain? Oh, but look, she put it there, slipped it into my pocket while we were driving. This is Hamilton's wallet, and this is the same caliber gun that killed him, Barkley. Well, I tell you, I didn't kill him. It's all a lie. Oh, hello, Ridgely. You sent for me, Captain. Yes, thanks for coming right over. I'm glad I did. The lad's telling the truth, Captain. He didn't kill Hamilton. Dad! It's no use, Doris. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but you can't perfect me. Dad, please. Please don't say anything. I said it's no use, dear. You can release them, Captain. This young man and my daughter. I killed Hamilton. He was no good. I... I shot and killed him. We're fascinated to hear that this week is National Save the Horse Week. I'd suggest that we motorists start a week, too. Call it Save the Engine Week in honor of that wonderful new signal motor oil that reduces engine wear due to lubrication, 50%. New signal premium motor oil. Really, friends, the things this remarkable new lubricant can do for your car are a little short of miraculous. With new signal premium, your car should keep its like new pep and power twice as long. With new signal premium, your motor should run twice as many miles before needing an overhaul due to engine wear. And if your car isn't already an oil eater, with new signal premium, you should continue to enjoy low oil consumption twice as long. Best of all, signal gives you all the extra protection of this heavy-duty type oil at no increase in price. Good reason to decide right now that you're going to make your next oil change a change to new signal premium motor oil at a signal service station. Well, Van, your adventure has brought you dangerously close to a charge of first-degree murder. And now at police headquarters in the office of the captain of homicide, the surprises are hitting you like punches from a fighter, aren't they, Van? First, the attempted frame against you by the girl Doris, and now out of the blue her father facing the police, admitting that he killed Hamilton. You stare from one to the other, wondering and waiting. And then Doris breaks the silence. But, Dad, you couldn't have killed Mr. Hamilton. Why couldn't he? He just confessed. It's good enough for me. He confessed to protect me. Dad had no reason. He could have had the best reason in the world. Blackmail. That was Hamilton's racket. Blackmail? That's the answer, Doris. Hamilton had been bleeding me for a long time. A few days ago, I got the evidence to clear myself and expose him. So you sent for him and told him. He got tough and I shot him. I had to, in self-defense. Look, officer, you found the gun in Hamilton's wallet on this man right here. What more do you want? I tell you, I never saw this gun in my life until last night. No use, Doris. It happened exactly as I said. No, Dad, I know you didn't do it. There's only one way you could know, Miss Ridgely. Yes, Captain. There's only one way I could know. I tell you, my daughter's lying. Mr. Ridgely is right, Captain. Oh, hello, Lieutenant. Find anything? Plenty. His daughter is lying to protect him. We know from the gas station attendant's testimony that the shot that killed Hamilton was fired last night at 10 minutes to eight. Now, we've checked every move of Miss Ridgely's. And at 10 minutes of eight, she was seen buying a package of cigarettes at the corner drugstore. Well, then it was Mr. Ridgely. No. Mr. Ridgely left Hamilton in his living room last night to somewhere around seven. After telling him, he was going to expose him to the police. At 10 minutes to eight, Mr. Ridgely was seen having a drink at a bar near Woosher. So, Barkley, you did take Hamilton's wallet. What's your gun? I tell you, I never even heard of any of these people. No, it wasn't young Romeo here either. Oh, go on. Alfred Hamilton committed suicide. What? Yeah, that's right. There's no doubt about it. Potter burns on his face. He was left-handed. The angle of the bullet in the left temple shows the wound was self-inflicted. Paraffin tests on his hand proved beyond a doubt that Hamilton fired a shot a few seconds before he's dead. I guess when he realized Mr. Ridgely was going to expose him to the police, he just couldn't take it. Oh, good work, Lieutenant. Now, Mr. Ridgely, you'll come into my office. The Lieutenant now will show you the reports. Of course, Captain. We'll wait in the car, Dad. I'll be alone in a minute, Doris. Well, baby, you gave me a nice ride. A very nice ride. Honestly, Vanna, I'm terribly sorry, but I was worried crazy about Dad. But do you think we could have a drink again sometime? Maybe. Now, look, you're a nice kid. You're beautiful, fascinating, all those things. Especially beautiful. But, baby, if you ever see me walking down the street again, just drive on by, please. This'll be your signal for the signal oil program and The Whistler each Sunday night at this same time. And before you start your vacation trip, be sure to ask your signal dealer for a free copy of Lane's Guide, a booklet prepared by an independent travel organization to help you find good eating and lodging places. While no pocket-sized booklet can include all the good hotels, motels, and dining places, Lane's Guide covers a representative selection in hundreds of cities and towns, and a copy of this handy publication is yours free at Signal Station. Here in tonight's story were Bill Foreman, Hi-Avaback, Michael Ann Barrett, Earl Lee, Charles Calvert, and Bill Boucher. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by John Dunkel and Hazel Leitell, 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 to tune in at this same time next Sunday when the Signal Oil Company will bring you another strange story by the Whistler. This is Marvin Miller speaking for the Signal Oil Company. Stay tuned now for the Horace Heights show, which follows immediately over most of these stations. This is the CBS Radio Network.