 And now, stay tuned for the program that is 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. Help, signal, signal gasoline. Signal, the famous Go-Farther gasoline. Invite you to sit back and enjoy another strange story by The Whistler. For extra driving pleasure, the signal to look for is the yellow and black circle sign that identifies signal service stations from Canada to Mexico. And for Sunday evening listening pleasure, the signal to listen for is this whistle that identifies 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 shadow. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. And now The Whistler's strange story, final decree. As the two hunters made their way along the base of the canyon, neither was aware of the figure standing well hidden in the trees on the ridge above them. When Gordon Weller reached the small creek, he turned, looked back at his friend Dr. Perriman puffing up the path behind him. Gordon grinned and picked his way across the creek and started up the mountain. As he circled a huge boulder and came into a clearing, at the sound Dr. Perriman stopped suddenly. An expression of horror crossed his face as he saw Gordon Weller stretched out on the path before him. Gordon! Gordon! Are you hurt? No. No, I guess I'm all right, Doc. Great. Scott, you gave me quite a jolt. Here, let me give you a hand. Thanks. Thanks. I heard the shot. I saw your phone. I just stumbled, that's all. Lucky thing I did. What? Look at that tree there. That branch. Still swaying. The bullet must have nicked it. Good Lord. Shot came from somewhere up along that ridge. Crazy fool. I tell you, Gordon, some of these idiots who go hunting, I have a good mind to chase up there after whoever did this. No, never mind, Doc. I... Well, I just like to go up there and give him a piece of my mind by George. Hey, you don't suppose it could be anyone in our party, do you? No, I don't think so. They're on the other side of the mountain. That shot could have killed you, Gordon. If you hadn't stumbled what you did... Sure. Sure. Come along. Let's go back to the lodge. But, Doggone, I'd like to go... Don't get excited. It was just an accident. But you know it wasn't an accident, don't you, Gordon? It was another attempt on your life. You're certain of that. And you didn't tell your friend, Dr. Perriman, that a split second before the shot was fired. You caught a glimpse of reflected light high on the ridge. The rays of the sun striking a rifle barrel, perhaps. And instantly you dropped to the ground. Hours later, back at your lodge, high in the mountains, all your guests are assembled in the huge living room before the massive stone fireplace. The Farleys, Bill Kenny and his new wife, Betty, the Wilson's Dr. Perriman, and, of course, your wife, Joyce. You enjoy entertaining, don't you, Gordon? The smart parties in town. The weekends here at your fashionable mountain lodge. Yes, you like having your friends around. The feeling of security that goes with it. I tell you, Joyce, this husband of yours is lucky to be alive. Well, Gordon leads a charm life, didn't you know? Nothing could ever happen to him. I was a close one, all right. Charmed life, Joyce? Perhaps it's just that I'm careful. Say, who do you suppose that fool was up there on the ridge? Did know there was anyone else hunting in this neighborhood on the other side of our own little group? Didn't see anyone. Hey, Joyce, you were over there on the ridge for a while. Did you see anyone? No, I didn't, Betty. Not a soul. I'm telling you, it's getting to be quite dangerous up around this neck of the woods. If the season goes by without somebody getting killed, I certainly hope something can be done about it. Any suggestions, Doc, like bulletproof suits of armor for all hunters? Wonderful. Well, perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad idea. Wasn't a friend of yours killed up here last year, Martin? Oh, you know, Martin Benson. Eh, yeah. Yeah, that's right, honey. Well, are we all just going to stand here holding our drinks? Why don't we... Toast, huh? To our host and hostess, the happiest married couple I know. Oh, Billy. Outside of us, baby. To the wellers, then. Joyce and Gordon. Thanks, thanks. Now, I'd like to drink to you, darling. To you and your miraculous escape from death. Thanks, Joyce. You were lucky, weren't you, Gordon? Not lucky, darling, as I said before. Just careful. You watch Joyce as she smiles at you and then turns and walks away and mingles with a guest. A quarter of an hour later, you manage to slip away. Hurry into your den. To the cabinet where you keep your gun collection. Opening it, you remove a dueling pistol. It takes only a few minutes for what you have to do. Then you step out on the terrace and stroll casually along the flagstone walk, puffing quietly on a cigarette. Them voices from the garden reach you. No. Sure, baby, sure, so you didn't know. But look, we don't mention the name Martin Benson around here. Okay, I'm sorry. Just that Martin was Gordy's best friend. They were pretty close and Martin's death sort of knocked Gordy for a loop, that's all. Okay, but from what I heard. And what have you heard? Well, Billy, maybe this Martin Benson wasn't such a good friend after all. What do you mean? Well, wasn't there some talk about Martin playing around with Joyce and Gordy never knew about it? That's enough, baby. Well, that's what I heard, Billy. Okay, okay, forget it, so Gordy never found out and it's just as well. They've known all along, haven't they, Gordy? About your wife, Joyce, and your best friend, Martin Benson. But not once did they suspect that you were aware of that romance. That you were responsible for Martin's death. It had all been so simple getting rid of him, hadn't it? A hunting accident. Martin killed with his own gun. And there had never been any question about that accident. Never a question in anyone's mind except Joyce. Somehow she knew, didn't she, Gordy, that you would kill Martin, the man she really loved and she was going to make you pay for it with your own life. You knew long ago that you couldn't run away. She'd follow you to the ends of the earth. And you decided there was only one thing to do. Stay with Joyce and get rid of her before your luck ran out. That evening in your den has your guest look over your gun collection. Goodness, I've never seen so many guns in all my life. This isn't all, Betty. Gordy's got another room full in town. He's just mad about guns. Here's a new one I picked up a couple of weeks ago, Bill. How do you like it? Hey, that's a beaut. Real old dueling pistol, huh? Oh, boy. Let me see it, Billy. Hey, hey, don't grab like that, baby. It sure is heavy. It isn't loaded, is it? Oh, don't worry, Betty. Gordon's very careful about things like that. Golly, I don't see how anybody could fire this. You couldn't very well. Not the way you're holding it. Why, Gordy? Here, I'll show you. You wrap your hand around it like this. Uh-huh. That's it. And this finger goes around the trigger. That's it. Well, look at that. I hardly touched it. Well, that's what they call a hair trigger, baby. Clicks off just like that. Hey, what's the matter, Gordy? Nothing. Nothing at all. Well, it's a good thing it wasn't loaded. Gee, it was pointy right at Joy's. Here. There's it was. Wasn't it, Gordon? Huh? Oh, Joyce. Darling, you're neglecting our guests. What are you doing out here on the terrace? Oh, I just wanted a breath of air. We've all decided to run down to the village for a while. Want to come along? No, no thanks. I think I'll stay here if you don't mind. All right. We won't be long, darling. Don't get lost. By the way, Gordon. Yes? I thought you were the careful type. What do you mean? Do you generally keep loaded pistols in your collection? Of course not. That dueling pistol you were showing Betty a little while ago. It was loaded. What? That is, it was when I first looked at it before dinner. I took the bullets out of it then. Good thing I did. I might have been killed. I guess this is your lucky day, too. Yes. We've both been lucky today, haven't we, darling? I wonder whose luck will run out first. Apparently, we really started something last Sunday when we read Ed Steen's limerick about the out-of-gas driver on Signals' new billboard. For this week from Riley Staples of Los Angeles, we received this limerick. There once was an actress whose name was Eileen, who ran out of gas and missed her big scene. She's now washing dishes, and oh, how she wishes, she'd use signal to go farther gasoline. Signal, signal, signal gasoline. Your car would go far with go farther gasoline. Poor Eileen. Well, fortunately for you, your choice of gasoline may not make such a sudden difference in your career. But we certainly do know that switching to signal can make a big difference in your driving pleasure. For with your very first tank full of the famous go farther gasoline, you'll begin to enjoy the swift, sure pickup and smooth, silent power that go hand in hand with Signals' good mileage. So the next time your gas tank gets thirsty, treat your car to the gasoline that's packed with gold. Fill up with signal and go farther. The pattern is clear, isn't it, Gordon, for the struggle between you and your wife, Joyce? When Martin Benson died, it didn't end anything. Rather, it was the beginning of the quiet tension, the terror. You knew long ago that there would be no running away. A divorce from Joyce wouldn't settle anything. She'd follow you anywhere. She wants to kill you, doesn't she, Gordon? Somewhere, somehow, someday, she'll kill you. If you don't kill her first. It's been touch and go for so long now, hasn't it? Between two would-be killers who appear to everyone else as a comfortably happily married couple. But now another way occurs to you, Gordon. A frame up against Joyce. Something to get her out of the way. If only you can make it look as if she tried to kill you. Give her the opportunity and then take advantage of it. You start to set this up in a conversation with your good friend, Dr. Perriman. Oh, come now, my boy. The idea that someone is actually trying to kill you is ridiculous. Fantastic. I don't think so, Doc. And you wouldn't either in my position, but, well, you were along right behind me when that shot came whistling out of nowhere on the ridge yesterday. Of course. A careless hunter, an accident. You said so yourself. Yes, but I've been thinking about it, Doc. Thinking about some other accident, too. What? You remember several months back on the lake, my motorboat, the explosion? I was lucky to get out of it alive. Well, yes. Then a month ago, coming down the ridge road, my car suddenly going out of control. Hitting that telephone pole was the only thing that saved me from going over. The road is dangerous. Hairpin curves and the way you drive. Fortunately, I wasn't speeding. See here, Gordon. Do you mean to tell me that? Yes, then yesterday in the canyon. But who, Gordon? Why? I don't know. Who would want to kill you? You're not disliked? Your friends, your wife, all loyal, devoted? I wonder, Doc. I wish I could believe that all the way. You can, Gordon. You should. Try, of course. I'm telling you all this because... well, because of the kind of a friend you've been. I wish you'd remember this conversation, Doc. Frankly, I'm worried. Certainly, I'll remember. I'll keep my eyes open, naturally. But you don't believe such things are possible. You know, I... I didn't say that. Look, let's stop this talk, Gordon. You've got me worried now. And that's all you want for the moment, isn't it, Gordon? To have Dr. Perriman concerned. Later, his suspicions will be easily aroused. Suspicions against joy. Because of what you're going to do. You wait now. Casting around in your mind for some plan of action. The frame. It suggests itself a few days later at the lodge. Just a small thing. Involving an open gas jet on the gas heater. Gordon. Gordon, are you all right? Said he shut that thing off. What? What is this? What's wrong? I... Say, isn't that gas I smell? You bet it is. And you better have something done about this jet. It's much too loose. Something must have fallen against it. What's happening? Oh, it isn't anything. Oh, yes, it is, Doc. Gordon was asleep here in the chair, and that gas jet was open. How do you suppose... Well, it's very loose. Could have been an accident. Oh, it's dangerous. Oh, let's stop worrying about it. Just an accident. Don't you think so, Doc? Yes. Oh, yes, of course. What's the matter, darling? You're all right. Sure. We better have this heater fixed. That's all. It's all the jet's loose. Really? I can't understand it. Well, we must have it attended to right away. Yes. You better, Joyce. The look in Joyce's eyes is what you want, isn't it, Gordon? She isn't thinking of having the gas jet fixed. Not at all. She's thinking of what a convenient way this could be. After all, the guests have seen it. Very convenient. And you smile to yourself, deciding that you'll help her along with her plan. The following evening, you put it all in motion. It begins as your guests prepare to leave for a party at a neighboring lodge. Look, I'm sorry to back out at the last minute this way, but I've got a headache. A bad one. Oh, yes. I'd better stay here. Just take it easy. Get some rest. What about you, Joyce? Coming? Of course, Betty. That isn't as good. He'd rather I stay here. No, there's no need for that, Joyce. I'll be all right. You run along. You rest in. Maybe a little nap, hm? Are you good? Yes, yes. I'll, uh, stretch out in the den. Well, come on, kids, let's go. Uh, you want to come along on our car, Joyce? Uh, no, no, I'll take mine. I have some things to get in the village first. You run along. I'll join you at the jealousons later. Okay. Let's go. You watch them as they leave. Your guests enjoy. A moment later, Bill Sedan roars past the lodge, starts down the grave. Joyce's neat little convertible right behind her. She's up to something, isn't she, Joyce? The way she suggested that you rest so all of them could hear. You wait quietly in the den, wait for Joyce to come back. As you know she will. Then, in here, Joyce. You don't seem surprised, darling. That you came back? No, I knew you'd be back. I thought perhaps you'd change your mind about going over to the jealousons. I only wanted to see if... I still have my headache. Would a drink help? Why, how thoughtful of you, dear. Yes, it might help very nicely. I'll take the couple. Let me. No, no trouble. Thanks. You know, Gordie, sometimes you're hard to figure out. Oh, and you're not at all. That sounds okay. Merely appraising. Joyce. Yes? What sort of sleeping pills did you pick up in the village? Sleeping pills? Whatever you're talking about. Here, your drink. Joyce, you're getting careless. Clumsy, am I? You wouldn't want to exchange drinks now, would you? Certainly. Here. That is fine. You anticipated that one, of course. Did I? Let's stop the game, Joyce. I know what you're up to. What am I up to? You want to put me to sleep. I'm just sitting here, resting as you put it. Then somehow the gas jet finds its way on again and I'm the unsuspecting accident victim. No one will know that you ever came back here from the village. You went directly over to the Jealouson's party. You have it all figured out, don't you? Yes, and it won't work. I guess not. I wouldn't expect such a careless, clumsy sandwich. Cheers. Really afraid, aren't you, Gordon? Yes, but not of you. I'm not afraid of you anymore, Joyce, not in the least. Sounds ominous. I might as well tell you how ominous. I intend to take an overdose of sleeping pills and turn on the gas. Suicide? How nice of you, Gordon. Not suicide. Attempted murder. What are you talking about? You do have a box of sleeping tablets in your purse, don't you, Joyce? I... Of course. I'll only borrow a few. Put the box back in your purse after I've seen you on your way. You're out of your mind. Not quite, but it has to look good, Joyce. Your attempt on my life. You're a fool, Gordon. I'm afraid we'll both have to check our plans, Roy. Not me, Joyce, but you will. You see, in a few minutes, you're going to have an accident. Your car is going off the road with you at the wheel. I see. I'll be found that way with a box of sleeping tablets in my purse. The ones they'll believe you slipped into my drink. Oh, I fully intend to take them, you know. Then just at the right moment, I'll call the hospital. They'll find me here unconscious, the gas on, but they'll find me just in time. After my car accident, you mean? That's right, Joyce. You have been thinking overtime, haven't you? You know, Joyce, you're forcing me to do this. Am I? If you'd only tried to understand. Understand murder. There was no other way. You could have given me a divorce when I asked Roy. I didn't want a divorce. You knew I loved Martin. You knew I thought you knew you did. But everything I had, I thought you killed him and made it look like a hunting accident. But you didn't get away with it, Gordon. You cheated the law, but you're going to pay just the same. I'll make sure of that. I'm sorry, Joyce. I hate the idea of punching that beautiful jaw, but you leave me no choice. You carry the unconscious Joyce down to her car, place her on the front seat next to you, then you start down the ridge road, and as you reach your sharp curve, you'll leap clear. Goodbye for good. Back at the lodge, you pour yourself another drink, dissolve the sleeping tablets in it, then you drink. You step over to the gas jet on the heater and turn it on. Sitting in the big easy chair, the telephone at your elbow, you wait. The minutes tick by. You find yourself becoming drowsy. Then you're sinking into a warm black fog. Be as married couple I know. You shake your head. Try to clear the haze from your mind. I wonder whose luck will run out first, darling. You're breathing heavily now. The walls are closing in on you. The room seems to be swaying beneath you. The black fog sweeps in again, and you fight to keep your eyes open. Now, Gordon, now is the time. You can't wait another moment. You'll reach for the telephone. It's going to be close, isn't it, Gordon? Everything's going just the way you planned it. I will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. Do you want a pleasant surprise? Then the next time you're near a signal service station, drive in and ask the dealer how much trade in allowance he'll give you for your old tires. The chances are your signal dealer will make you such a generous offer that you'll see the wisdom of trading for safe new tires now. But what's more, the new tires on which signal dealers are giving this big allowance are not substandard second line or third line tires. They're first line Lee tires. You know what that means. For 47 years, Lee of Khan Shahakan has made only one quality the finest of first line tires. In Lee tires, for instance, you get not only coal rubber, but Lee toughens it still further with patented fill black holes. This is typical of the built-in extra quality that is making today's Lee tires actually give 30 to 40% more wear than ever before. That's why it's real news when you can save money on tires like these. To remind you of this opportunity, there's now a sign outside every signal station which says, Biggest allowance for your old tires on top quality Lee tires. Drive in where you see that sign and find out from the signal dealer just how little it will cost you now to enjoy carefree summer driving on safe new Lee tires. The small crowd around the wrecked car included the party guests. Only Dr. Perriman wasn't there as Joyce's lifeless body was lifted from the crumbled mass of glass and metal. The guests were shocked, spoke in low, nervous tones to one another, horrified by what had happened in the space of a few hours. Presently, a police car returned to the scene. Dr. Perriman and the sheriff stepped out and hurried down the path to join the other. Doc, I thought you went up to get Gordon. He's up at the lodge, Bill. Well, Gordon's dead, but... What did you say, Sheriff? Accident, I guess. The gas was turned down in his den where we found him, rolled out on the floor, his hands still clutching the telephone. He must have tried to phone for help, Bill, but he didn't have a chance. What do you mean? The telephone lines were down. When Joyce's car crashed down the bank, it knocked over a telephone pole and all the phone lines along with it. Let that whistle be your signal to the signal oil program the 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 speed, be courteous and obey traffic regulations. It may save a life, possibly your own. Featured in tonight's story were John Hoyt and Betty Lou Gerson. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Joel Malone and Adrian John Doe. 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, at this same time next Sunday, another strange tale by the Whistler. F-I-G-N-A-L Signal Signal Gasoline Marvin Miller speaking. This is CBS for Columbia Broadcasting System.