 presented by the United States Air Forces in Europe. 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. The Whistler will return in just a moment. At first, this message from the United States Air Forces in Europe. Swimming can be fun. Swimming can also be deadly. For the summer months coming on, most of us here in USA will be doing a great deal of swimming in pools and lakes, as well as at the beaches throughout Europe. Therefore, it might be worth repeating the following rules of caution put out by the USAFE Ground Safety Office. First of all, learn to swim. Your base probably conducts swimming classes. If not, virtually every swimming area has an instructor. Never swim alone. Swim in a safe, authorized area. The presence of lifeguards usually indicates the place is safe for swimming. Before diving, make sure the water is deep enough and that there are no hidden objects. Recognize your limitations. Don't try to over swim your ability or condition. Wait at least an hour after eating before going into the water. Don't swim when overheated or tired. Don't depend upon an inflated tube to hold you up. It can slip away. Don't run or horse play around pools. If in trouble in the water, try to remain calm. Assume the face up floating position. If your boat camp sizes, don't swim away from it. Most small craft will float even when filled with water. If you think about swimming accidents you've heard of, chances are you'll find one or more of these rules were broken. Observe the rules and you'll have a happy and safe summer. And now, the whittler's strange story. Gentlemen from Oxford. On his return to America from Oxford University, Hugo Hayden expected to step into a top level business position. But after several months, Hugo was still waiting and his funds dwindled to almost nothing. Hugo began to wonder, and it does seem strange, doesn't it, Hugo? You're certain you have as much as most and more than many. Yet no one has even approached you with a type of proposition you consider on a par with your background and personality. And then one day an idea strikes you. You decide to gain fame and fortune by writing a novel. You put everything else aside, and to your own surprise, finish it in little more than four months' time. Next day, you take the manuscript to an old classmate, Michael Baldwin, president of Michael Baldwin Publishing Governor. Three weeks later, you're back again. Well, come in, Hugo. Hello, Michael. How do you stand it in this stuffy place all day? It seems stuffy to me. I like it. You do? To each his own? Well, shall we? Yes, of course. Sit down. Sit down. Thank you. Well, what about ex-flight? Oh, yes. Your novel. Well, as you know, I read it very carefully. You certainly handle words brilliantly, Hugo. Thank you. Thank you. That leaves us with only one question. How much? Well, I don't think we... I mean, I don't... You can't give me as much as I expect. Well, I can be reasonable. Shall we start with a thousand-dollar advance and work from there? Hugo, I was trying to say that I don't think we can possibly publish your novel. What did you say? It's good. It's a first try, but brilliant words just aren't enough. You need real feeling, good characters, and something worth saying. And just, where do you get off and try it? I don't want to argue, Hugo. You have my opinion, and you're free to try another publishing house if you want to. That's precisely what I intended to do. But for old times' sake, I think I'd better set you straight. You'll only make a fool of yourself if you submit that novel anywhere else. Believe me, Hugo, I'm telling you the truth. Good afternoon, Mr. Aiden. Where do you be? I see the Footlights Club welcomes me with open arms. Glass of beer. Can you cover the purchase price? George, tell me, did you marry the boss's daughter? Or do you like torturing starving writers? Miserable little actresses and insane painters. I do my job near beer, and that'll be 20 cents, please. Here you are. Excuse me, please. These bar stools are rather close together. Yeah, they don't waste a square inch. It's also friendlier that way. Bartender, Martini, please. Yes, ma'am. You seem to be looking for someone. Just a familiar face or two. Oh? You're an old obituary of this Bohemian den? I was. Many years ago. Martini, ma'am. I'll take care of it, George. Charge her to my account. You may have graduated from Oxford, Aiden, but as far as this place goes, you're just another guy. Thanks, George. That's all right. I'll pay. I'm sorry. I guess I'd better be shoving along. You don't have to. I understand. I've been broke, too. Tell me, are you really an Oxford man? Yeah, yeah. Man of letters, philosopher, raccoon tour, and bum. What do you do? Not really. Marvelous. Oh. Unpublished. You? Singer. Must be good. I'm afraid not. What's your secret, then? That's real nink you're wearing. I'd rather not go into it. What about your name? Can you reveal that? Just Babs. Babs? Working in San Francisco? No, and please don't ask me where. All right, I won't. I'd like to invite you to dinner and the theater afterward, but as you know, my cash is low and my credit poor. Well, let me invite you then. Oh, but I... I'd like to. And you can return the favor someday when your ship comes in. Well, in that case, I accept gratefully. That cabbie would slow down. We're almost at your hotel. Hugo, I want you to know that I enjoyed this evening very much. So did I, Babs. Tomorrow? I shouldn't. Don't say no. All right, Hugo. Tomorrow. Almost morning. We've been working around this park for hours. Have you minded? No. No, not at all. But it is time I crossed the street and went inside the hotel. When will we see each other again? After a long time, I'm afraid. I'm leaving today. You can't. I know I've only known you for two days, but... I'm in love with you, Babs. Honestly, I've never felt this way before. I know. I know how you feel. I feel the same way, but it will fade. It has to. Why? Why does it have to? Remember, no questions. For neither of us, we promised. What shall I say? A meteor streaked across my sky and died? Amazing. If it isn't Hugo Hayden, gentlemen and scholar. How have you been all night? They bet. Where else? I hope the llama launched an extra million. It's about to pay me, Saturday. Six months back, rent, phone and electric bill. The novel didn't sell, Judd. Oh. Now what? I don't know. Better think of something quick. I'm low and dull myself. Now, look, Hugo. You don't have much of a chance around here with your bills and your reputation. Why don't you blow this town? Maybe you're right. Tell me something, Judd. You cover the nightclub beat for that yellow sheet you work for. Ever come across a girl named Babs? A singer? What does he look like? Long, dark hair, trim figure, small scar and her forehead below the hairline. Oh. Babs Wickston. Yeah, I know her. You did? Not much of a singer, but it's real nice to look at. I heard she hooked up with a nightclub outside of some small town a hundred miles or so down the coast. What town do you remember? I don't know. Ocean View. Yeah, Ocean View. That's it. Why? We're early, but... Hello, Babs. Your apartment's lovely. Mind if I come in? What are you doing here, Hugo? Chasing that meteor across the sky? I told you to forget about me. Take my advice. Get out of town before you get yourself killed. You stand there blinking foolishly, don't you, Hugo? Babs Wickston, the girl you were so certain was thinking of you as you were thinking of her. Stand staring at you, cold and hard, threatening you with death. You just can't believe it, can you? Finally, you recover your wits and try to appear casual as you slip into an easy chair and light a cigarette. Now... what's this all about, Babs? I told you I don't want any questions. Please leave, Hugo. I've come a long way to see you. I think I deserve an explanation. I'll write to you. Hugo, please. Who's this man Bert you've been expecting? Oh, I... he asked for it. Did you ever hear of Bert Morgan? You mean the big guy behind the rackets? Yes. The big guy behind the rackets. What say to you? I sing at his club. He considers me his girl. Put that in the past tense. You're my girl from now on. Hugo, you don't know what you're talking about. Bert expects to marry me. I told him I would. If he even suspected I was interested in you, something would happen to you within a week. Did you ever read T.S. Eliot's poem? This is no time to quote poetry. Hugo, please listen to... Fine. I'd like to meet the gentleman. Charlie. I got something for your baby. You put them in the bottle at the end. Bert, they're beautiful. I never saw so many roses at one time in my whole life. Hell, when old Bert does anything, he does it rough. Who's this guy? Bert, this is Hugo Hayden, an old friend of mine. We went to school together when we were kids. Glad to meet you, Bert. Same here. Hugo's been away in England studying at Oxford University. Oh, yeah, I heard of the place. What are you doing here in town, Mr. Hayden? Bert, he's just passing through. To where? Oh, L.A., maybe. Wherever I find a job. The fact is, I'm flat broke. Oh, that's too bad. What's your racket? Hugo's a writer. Sounds interesting. And Babs tells me you're a pretty big man. You wouldn't need anyone, would you? A private secretary, maybe? Well, that might add some of the boys a laugh at that. Me, having an Oxford man doing odd jobs for me. You know how much schooling I had? I couldn't guess. I got kicked out in the sixth grade. Is that the secret of your success? Maybe. One thing for sure. I got plenty of sugar. You had me there. What about the job? I don't know. Is he all right, Babs? Yes. He's all right, Bert. Okay, you're on, Hayden. See me at the clubface thing in the morning. Oh, much obliged. Well, in that case, I better find a place to stay. I got you figured as a pretty Navy guy. I like Navy guys. But don't push it too far. Get me? Yeah. Yeah, Bert. I get you. Yes, you understand him perfectly, don't you, Hugo? And you're certain he wouldn't hesitate to kill you if he knew your real reason for being in town. But as the weeks pass, you see Babs as often as possible. Try to persuade her to leave town with you, marry you, and gamble on the future. But while she risks Bert's jealous anger by continuing to see you secretly, she refuses to break off with him and each meeting ends with her urging you to forget him. And then late one evening while Bert is away on one of his frequent business trips, you drop by Babs' apartment. Another martini? No, thanks. Babs, I'd like to talk to you. All right, Hugo, what about? About you and me? Haven't we been over that often enough? But we're in love. We can't keep away from each other. Not as long as we're in the same town, maybe. That's why I keep telling you to leave here and forget about me. Is that all I mean to you? Hugo, you forget. We can't just wish and have things the way we'd like them. We live in a real world, not a dream world. What's the real world? Bert Morgan, gangster? It's my real world. But it doesn't have to be. Listen, darling, why don't we just pick up and leave here? Get married or... And live on the royalties of your unpublished novel? I could get another job. Hugo, Hugo, you're sweet. And if I were 18, I'd probably listen to you. Even now, if you'd proven yourself as a writer or I was a top singer, I'd be willing to gamble. But I won't deliberately walk back into certain poverty because of a romantic feeling toward you. But a man like Bert Morgan... Don't tell Bert too short. I like him. He's good to me. And when he became engaged, he made me his sole heir. If anything ever happens to him, and in his business it can anytime, I inherit his string of nightclubs. Everything he's got. I intend to marry him this summer. But Babs continues to see you at every opportunity, doesn't she, Hugo? And as the weeks pass, you're certain that sooner or later she'll see things your way. Break off her engagement to Bert Morgan. Then one night, the thing we've been dreading all these months happened. As you're about to start for Babs' apartment, your phone rings. Hello? Hugo, is that you? Yes. Oh, my Kevin, you're still there. Don't come over tonight. Why not? I've been counting on you. We're being watched. Are you sure? Yes. Now meet me tomorrow at the club. Be at my dressing room before the first show. We'll talk then. Goodbye, Hugo. Bye. Me, Hugo. But Babs, are you sure you're not imagining things? I never imagine things. Bert's show for Roy was parked a half a block from my apartment all night last night. Then Bert knows about us. No. No, if he knew, you wouldn't be around. He only suspects. Then what are we waiting for? Let's get in your car and leave all this. We can't even make it to the state line. Why not? Roy has been on my heels all day. He has that limousine parked outside the club right now, watching and waiting. All right. I'll phone the police and demand protection. What? Protection? Protection for the rest of our lives? Not for me. I don't want to live that way. Well, it's suicide to stay here. Not for me. It isn't. For you. What do you mean? I mean, we're finished, Hugo. I'm going to ask Bert to transfer you to another one of his clubs. Down south. Babs carries out her threat, doesn't she, Hugo? She urges Bert to send you to another city. But strangely, Bert refuses. He explains that you've become very valuable to him. A day after an out-of-town trip, Bert himself, unknowingly, gives you the answer to your problem. Hello, Hugo. Hello, Bert. Anything happen while I was gone? Yeah. The man with the load of new slot machines came by. He wouldn't unload without your signature. I told him to come back in the afternoon. At all? Three or four phone messages. What kept you so long? Oh, that dumb chief Martin. Hold me at the headquarters for questioning this morning. Oh, about what? Somebody's trying to move in here with an extortion racket and Martin figures I'm behind it. Extortion racket? Well, didn't you see it in the papers? I don't read the local papers. Well, here, take a look. Now you have the answer, don't you, Hugo? If Bert Morgan were out of the way, everything else would fall into place. Babs would not only marry you, but she'd also inherit Bert's nightclub's cash and everything he owned. And now you know the way to eliminate him, don't you? You carefully study the photograph of the ransom note appearing in the paper. It's made up of printed words cut from newspapers and magazines, pasted together on a sheet of plain paper. It takes you less than half an hour to cut the necessary words from some of your own magazine to compose a note of your own to Bert Morgan. If you want to live, give me five grand in small bills. Put them in a shoebox and leave it at the old shack near the railroad station. Don't go to the cops. That's a warning. Ex. Right, does it? Then, in the same way, you address an envelope to Bert. It's a post office. Flip your note into the mail slot. Next morning, when you arrive at the office, you find Bert pacing the floor, talking with police chief Martin. Chief Martin? This murder no came in the morning mail and I want to know what you're going to do about it. Excuse me, am I interrupting anything? No, come on in. You're Mr. Morgan's secretary? Chief, you'll go ahead and say the name. You're an Oxford man, are you? Right again. Are you kind of nervous when it's somebody out to get you for a change, Humbert? Oh, don't worry. We'll lend him. We'll lend them all. Sooner or later. The first step worked perfectly, didn't it, Hugo? The police now believe that Bert's life has been threatened by an unknown extortionist. And you are certain your next step will be equally effective. You compose another note. The words again, cut from your magazine. I saw the police chief go into your club. I told you I'd kill you if you went to the law. I meant it. Stay away from the law. This is my last warning. You realize that you must move before the real extortionist is discovered, don't you, Hugo? And you decide on the following Tuesday night. The night when the cook and Roy at Bert's chauffeur and bodyguard are off duty. You're sure Bert will be alone until he leaves the house to pick up bags sometime around midnight. At a little past 11, you slip another printed note into your coat pocket and walk rapidly to the house of Bert Morgan and press the doorbell. Who's there? It's me, Hugo. What's the matter, Hayden? I have to see you for a few minutes, Bert. Sure, sure, come on. Now, what's on your mind, Hayden? Just one thing, Bert. This. Everything worked out exactly as you planned, didn't it, Hugo? The police found the extortion note you had planted next to Bert's body as you were sure they would do. They request your presence as headquarters, ask a few routine questions and allow you to return to your work. You hear nothing further from them and within three weeks, you're running a club for best, the recognized owner since the reading of Bert's will. Then one morning, police chief Martin drops into the sea. Excuse me, Mr. Hayden. Oh, certainly, chief Martin, come in. What can I do for you? Well, I've got a right unpleasant job to do, I'm afraid. Oh, what's that? I'll arrest you for murder, Mr. Hayden. Murder? That's right. I got the report back from the crime laboratory down to the state capitol late yesterday. What report? The report that proves you killed Bert Morgan. You remember that note we found next to Bert's body? Yes. Well, at first, that note looked just like the other extortion notes people were receiving. But Bert, for a while, the other extortionist killed Bert. Well, of course he did. Oh, no, he couldn't have. Why not? Because Bert was the other extortionist. Oh, he put on a great act, especially with you, but we were pretty sure it was him all along. We found the papers and magazines he'd cut the word from in his briefcase and overnight bag. Bert. That's right. Now, getting back to the crime laboratory, they found out that the words and the notes that Bert got, including the one we found by his body, were all cut from four different magazines. The literary quarterly magazine called Modernistic Poetry, International Philosophy, and Newest Novel Review. So what? That doesn't prove anything. The local newsstands don't carry those magazines, Mr. Hayden. And there's only one person in town who subscribes to them. The killer of Bert Morgan. You, Mr. Hayden. Join us again next week when, once again, the United States Air Forces in Europe presents The Whistler. This is Air Force Sergeant Don Cormace. The Whistler has come to you through the worldwide facilities of the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service. This is the American Forces Network, Europe.