 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. Signal! Signal, the famous go-father gasoline, invites 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'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 The Whistler's strange story. Smart girl. She looked beautiful standing there by the window. Part of it was because she knew how to look beautiful and more important when to look beautiful. For the tired businessman Ruth Walker was like a tonic, a refreshing vision of loveliness. And at this particular late hour, Charles Harrison was particularly tired, particularly susceptible. He smiled over at her just as he had on many occasions before, and Ruth smiled back just right. The relationship of employer and secretary always changed in that moment. Here at her apartment, Charles' mind left the pressing urgencies and business back at the Club Formosa, the gaming tables, the crowd, and everything. What Ruth? Did you drink, Charles? Ah, thanks, Ruth. I love being here with you. You're wonderful. You know, if you keep saying that, you might convince me. Then I'd be unbearable, darling. Oh, no, not you. Charles, know what day this is? Should I? No, men never do. Women shouldn't expect them to. How'd you drink? Perfect. All right, Ruth. What day is it? A year ago today I walked into the Club Formosa after a job. There wasn't one open until... Until I walked in, saw, and then there was. A year. Right to the day? Right to the day, child. Salute. Charles. Yes? It's been wonderful. Only one thing missing for me, anyway. Oh? Not having you all week, darling. 24 hours of the day, 365... Ruth, I thought we agreed long ago not to discuss that. I'm sorry, it's just... Let's not spoil anything, Ruth. There's no chains holding either of us. Only that I love you. All right. But you know I can't do anything about that. It's been agreed that if you should meet someone, some young man... I don't want to, ever. It still doesn't alter the simple fact that I'm married. That half of the Club Formosa belongs to my wife. If you want to go on status quo, we go on. If not, Ruth... I'm sorry, child. Of course, I shouldn't have said anything. I wish you hadn't, Ruth. I really do. Well, Ruth, even after a year it's moving too fast, isn't it? Charles is still cautious on guard. You're not even sure that you haven't spoiled your original plan. You're still wondering about it after Charles has gone when... You shouldn't have come here like this. Easy, baby. I saw Charlie boy leave. Close the door. I want to have a talk with you. It's late. No, no, no. It's early. Early in the morning. Just relax. What about chair? Only Charlie boy's been sitting in it too long. What do you mean by that? Why don't we go to work on him? What's holding things up? I'm getting sick and tired of waiting around. You're always in a rush. Yeah, and you're always taking too much time. Look, you got enough on the guy. When do I drop around and threaten to tell his wife? I'll tell you when. You told me that six months ago. Say you wouldn't have something else on your mind, would you? Like what? Like deciding you'd make a better deal for yourself by marrying Charlie boy and cutting me out of the deal. That's ridiculous. I don't think so. You had plenty of time to work on it. Well, I'm warning you, sweetheart. I don't try it. I could really jam things up for you. Tell Charlie boy a lot about little Ruthie. Fred, you don't really think that I double- Just see that you don't. I'm not stepping out, not now. I need dough and I need it quick. You don't move pretty soon. Charlie's gonna learn a lot. All right, all right. But you'll have to wait until I figure the best way to handle it. I'm as anxious for some real money as you are. Then make it snappy. I'll have a little talk with Harrison. How about a drink, huh? Sure, Fred. Sure. You leave Fred going to the kitchen for some ice. It's more of an excuse than anything else, isn't it, Ruth? Because Fred came so close to the truth in thinking you might try to take the easier way with Charles. Marriage. The way to get everything you wanted. Fred is going to be difficult to manage from now on, isn't he? He could ruin everything between you and Charles. Somehow you've got to stall him. Get some money for him. The sooner, the better. And suddenly a thought occurs to him. The more you think about it, the more certain you are that it's an excellent idea. You'll hurry back into the living room. Here's your drink. Thanks, honey. Fred. Yeah? I've been thinking. You want money and I want money. I know how we can get plenty in a week. I keep talking. I don't like the blackmail idea. Charles might not go for it either. Too dangerous for both of us. You got a better idea? Much better. A hold up. You're nuts. Besides, I'm not interested in chicken feet. Does 20,000 sound like chicken feet? 20,000? Listen, Fred, I'm the only one who knows this. Every Friday night Charles brings the proceeds of the club home with him. It's usually around 20,000 dollars. He banks it on Saturday morning. What are you trying to pull? Do you expect me to believe he's that big a chump? He's not as big a chump as you think. He figures everybody would think the same way you do. Nobody would ever get the idea he'd be carrying all that money around with him when there's a perfectly good safe at the club. He's not so dumb at that. Well, tell me more, baby. When he gets home, he always drives his car into the garage under the apartment house. It's usually after one in the morning. The garage attendant's gone by then. Look, how about sweetening my drink up? All right. Hey, honey, you got any cigarettes? In the desk drawer. Oh, thanks. Does he always carry as much as you said? Yeah, I like that. I like that fine. Ah, thanks. Ah, that's better. Well, what do you say? Well, it's dangerous, Ruth, but it's worth a try. How about next Friday night? Next Friday night's perfect. The sooner the better. We split 50-50? 50-50. But no rough stuff. He doesn't carry a gun. Don't worry. I'll handle it. Just leave everything to little old Freddy. It's a perfect setup, isn't it, Ruth? And you're confident everything will work out just as you have it planned. You're confident stays with you until the following Friday. Then as evening comes and the hour for the holdup draws near, you're calm, not the least bit nervous. Fred knows exactly what he's to do, and so do you, don't you, Ruth? A few minutes before midnight, you leave the club and hurry to the corner drugstore. I can't give you my name. There's no use trying to trace this because it's a public phone. What's on your mind, lady? Uh, a robbery. It happened tonight in a few hours. Someone is going to try to hold up Charles Harrison in his garage at the Parkview Apartments. A few weeks ago when we announced that we'd send a $20 signal gasoline book as a token of our appreciation for every limerick read on the Whistler, we expected to use only one on each program. But some of you Whistler fans have been thinking of such good limericks that we felt you'd all get a kick out of hearing them. The signal has asked me to skip the regular commercial and instead read two limericks. The first $20 signal gasoline book is being sent to Mrs. Mary Cutts of Portland, Oregon for this limerick. A skeptical fellow named Star tried out every gas in his car. On business or pleasure, his mileage he'd measure and found signal better by far. No signal, signal gasoline. Your car will go far with no further gasoline. Tonight's second $20 signal gasoline book goes to Eldon L. Collins of Santa Barbara, California for this limerick. Said a thrifty young driver named Martin, I buy signal gas in a carton. It doesn't take much for its mileage as such that a savings account I am starting. No signal, signal gasoline. Your car will go far with no further gasoline. Well, that's all we have time for tonight, friends, but our thanks to all of you who sent in limericks. Listen for more lucky limericks next Sunday. You know it's a perfect setup, don't you, Rue? Your frame against Fred. It's only a matter of hours now and you're certain that he'll be caught by the police when he attempts to rob Charles Harrison. Then he'll be out of your way for a long time. Years. You can have all the time you need to win Charles over. Make him see things your way. When you reach your apartment after leaving the club, you pace the floor, tense, nervous, and then shortly before two in the morning, you have a visitor. Great. What's the matter, baby? You're looking at me like you didn't expect me back. Oh, no. No, it's just... Never mind that. Just get me a drink. It's straight when I need it. Fred, what is it? Something go wrong? Yeah, everything. And I didn't get the dough. What happened? Harrison got rough. He's a big guy and not easy. Well, he's dead. Dead? I told you... Skip it. Who told him? That's what's bothering me. I don't know what you mean. He acted like he knew. That's all. Like he'd been tipped. He had a gun on him. I don't see how. All right, so you don't see how. That's good enough for now. Fred, no one saw you. You got away from the apartment. It didn't happen at the apartment. I changed my mind. I was hiding it back at Harrison's car when he drove away from the club. Lookie, you're going to get me that drink. All right, all right, Fred. As you leave to get his drink, you begin to add it up in your mind. The police must have tipped off Charles. Instructed him to drive into the garage as usual. Not to take the money, but to carry a gun. You hope that Fred doesn't read the fear in your eyes as you return from the kitchen. You find him standing by your desk, looking at your tiny pearl-handled revolver. There's a strange look on his face. Not a, Fred. Not a? Nothing. I was just looking at this gun I used, baby. Why? Charles pulled a gun on me tonight. It looked a lot like this one. Now, this didn't, this desk drawer the other night when I got those cigarettes, I was just checking to make sure it was still there. You didn't think that. Yeah, that's what I was thinking. It's a good thing for you I was wrong. Just forget it. Forget it? Were you handled it as a murder charge now? We missed this time, that's all. Hey, wait a minute. That's coming this way. Such a nerve you're imagining. No, I'm not. I've got to get out of here, but I'll be back. If I were you, Fred, I'd get out of town fast. Yeah? Maybe you're right, Ruth. We'll see. The moment he's gone, you rush to the window. Look down into the street. See a police car pull up in front of your apartment house. But it's just routine, isn't it? And you've got to face them. React the way they expect you to. You wait. Finally, the dreaded moment arrives. Miss Walker? Yes? Lieutenant Lewis, homicidal. May I come in? Well, yes, of course. Sorry to disturb you with this hour, Miss Walker, but... What's wrong, Lieutenant? I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. It's about your boss. Mr. Harrison? Yes. There was an attempted holder. He was killed. Oh! Oh, yes. Let us sit down, Miss Walker. You sink down into the chair and cover your face with your hands. You play your part well. The grief-stricken secretary shocked by the news of the tragedy. You answer every question in a straightforward manner. Finally, the officer is finished. Satisfied that you're in the career. Well, I guess that's all for now, Miss Walker. And I may drop around again in a day or so. Depends on how we make out. Just routine, you understand? Yes, of course. Good night, Lieutenant. It's over, isn't it, Ruth? When you breathe a sigh of relief as the police Lieutenant leaves, he doesn't suspect a thing, does he? As the days go by, it seems evident that the police have no clues to the identity of the killer of Charles Harrison. Much less to your part in the crime. So you go on working at the club. You hear nothing from Fred, and decide he must have played it safe and left town. This is more than you'd hope for. Someone else takes Harrison's place. And in the weeks that follow, you become very well acquainted with your new boss, young, good-looking Bob Faraday, Charles Harrison's brother-in-law. Uh, Ruth. Where is Mr. Faraday? Look, uh, you want to go over these blues for me? I can't make much sense out of them. Of course. Raid sis made a bad mistake turning this place over to me. Nonsense. Mrs. Harrison knows what she's doing. You'll get on to it. I don't know, thank heavens you're around. It's just as in my line. What is, Mr. Faraday? Horses. Don't tell me you never heard of Faraday farms. Of course, but I didn't know that you... Boy genius. I tended to seek them. I have the best trainers in the business. Is that so? Hmm. Seems to me I had a rather sad experience with a horse of yours named Melanie D. at Santa Anita not long ago. Uh, the track was, like... except the alibi. Sure. She's running it down mine now, and if you'll take a tip... Uh-uh, thanks. No, really, she's ready. If you could just see her. Wait a minute. I'll prove it to you. How about going down tomorrow? Watch a workout? I'd love to. In the morning? Sure. Oh, really? You seem to forget I'm just a poor working girl. And I don't get home till one in the morning. Well, tonight I promised to have you home by 10. Oh. Well, good night, Teddy. You're getting the night off. Have dinner with me. And we're going to a decent restaurant. Get some good food for a change. Traitor. I'll buy the food. All right. You're rather pleased with the way things have turned out, aren't you, Ruth? Losing Charles, the opportunity of marrying a wealthy man was a shock to you. But now there's Bob Faraday, your new boss. Certainly as wealthy as Charles Harrison, younger, single, and handsome. Yes, you're attracted to Bob, aren't you? And it's quite evident he's very interested in you. In the next few weeks you spend more and more time together. The track. Moonlit rides on his boat. Dinners at quiet, out-of-the-way places. And you find yourself becoming quite fond of it. Charles' death is almost forgotten now. And so is Fred Markle. By now, you're certainly took your advice. Left town. And you'll never hear from him again. Yes, each date with Bob drives the memory of Fred Markle farther away. Oh, look at him. Look at him. He's wonderful. All is forgiven. With all that money I had on her to win, what else? Hey, you know we're not doing badly today. That's our fifth winner. We can't miss, darling. I just feel lucky. All right, let's see you pick the next race then. It's not easy, Mr. Faraday. One of your boys asked me to give you the message. You wanted it at the table. Oh, all right. Excuse me, darling. I'll be right back. Meet you at the bar. How's that? Fine. This seat taken, Miss? Oh, yes. Fred. I've been watching you. You won a lot today. I'm going to need some dough, baby. Get out of here. Leave me alone. Five grand ought to do for a starter. Where can I get that kind of money? Are you crazy? Bobby Boy is pretty well-heeled. Don't you ask him? What? Fred, I can't do that. Oh, sure you could. Sure you could. Tell him it's for a sick relative, huh? You're out of your mind. I won't do it. Look, I've been doing some thinking, baby. So we're both on a hook. Okay, I can make trouble for you, and I will. You could make trouble for me, but you won't. I'm willing to gamble on that. Fred, listen. Figure it out for yourself. You turn me in, and you lose everything. On the other hand, you play ball with Freddie, and you stand to become Mrs. Bob Parody. That's what you want, isn't it? So you can blackmail me for the rest of my life. It's better than working for a living. Suppose I drop around your apartment tomorrow night, say, around 11. You'll have the dough? Well, I'll be waiting. And here comes Bobby Boy on the inside. All right, all right. I'll try, but please go now, Fred. Right. I'll see you around 11 tomorrow night. Oh, there you are. Oh, well, that didn't take long, darling. No, it's nothing important, really. One of my trainers, Sam Perry, got a little excited over the way a fair-haired boy was acting up. Oh? Nothing wrong with him at all. Thinking about Fred, you're trapped, aren't you? You haven't the courage to go to the police and Fred knows it. He'll keep coming back again and again for more money. And you're certain that Bob Faraday will find out sooner or later. You don't want that to happen, do you? Bob means everything to you. And you're going to hold on to him at all costs. Now you've got to think, Ruth. Find some way to get rid of Fred. See, Dave, Dave's usually pretty good with his tips. This one looks mighty good. I've got just the answer, Ruth. Homicide. What? Homicide. The horse we're going to bet on in the next race. Homicide? It's your thing, darling. You can't miss. That's it, isn't it, Ruth? Homicide. You're certain it's the answer to everything, the one way you can get rid of Fred Markle for good. You know he's the only link between you and the murder of Charles Harrison, the only threat to your future happiness with Bob. The next night, back at the club, you plead a headache, leave early, hurry back to your apartment, and then a few minutes after 11. It's my girl. You're home. Come in. Thank you. You came up the back way? Haven't I always? Don't worry, honey. I wouldn't want to make Bobby Boy jealous. You know me. I wouldn't want to ruin things between you, as long as you play ball. That's very kind of you, Fred. Got the dough? Yes. Five thousand wasn't it? It's over here in the drawer. That's the way I like to do business. No fuss, no... What's the idea? That gun's liable to go off. It will, Fred. What are you doing? Just calling the switchboard downstairs. The clerk's testimony will come in handy. Wait a minute. What's going on? Get me the police quickly. Give me that. No, stay away from me. Stay away! Miss Walker. Yes? Miss Walker, what's happened? A man pushed his way into my apartment. I shot him. I think he's... he's dead. You know, I was thinking the other day, if automobile engines were made of glass, a lot more drivers would switch to signal premium compounded motor oil. Because through the glass, you would see how the scientific compounds in this improved type signal oil helped to keep wear down and performance up. In a cylinder head, for instance, where temperatures rise to around 3,000 degrees, you would see how one of those compounds makes signal premium stand up under heat, keeps it from breaking down and forming harmful gum or varnish. Around the piston rings, you would see how another compound in signal premium actually removes carbon. And down in the bearings, you would see how still another compound prevents corrosion. Yes, if automobile engines were made of glass, you'd see the many things that signal premium does for your motor, besides just lubricate. In short, you'd see why, if you want to keep that like-new performance in your motor longer, you should get your next oil change at a signal station. Get it changed to signal premium compounded motor oil. It was easy, wasn't it, Ruth? Everything went exactly as you planned. Your timing was perfect. Phoning the desk clerk at just the right moment. He overheard the brief struggle in your apartment. Your frantic plea for the police and then the shots. Now Fred Markle is dead. And with the desk clerk's word to back you up. Even Police Lieutenant Lewis believes you kill Fred in self-defense. You're certain, too, that the last link between you and the murder of Charles Harrison and the threat to your future happiness is Mrs. Bob Faraday. It's been eliminated. Late the following morning you're having coffee in your apartment window. Lieutenant. Morning, Miss Walker. May I come in? Yes, of course. I, uh, I brought your gun back. My gun? I didn't even know you'd taken it. Whenever there's a fatal shooting, we always take the gun to ballistics. Routine, you know. I do have a permit for it, Lieutenant. Yes, I know. We checked that. You, uh, keep it in your possession at all times? When I don't have it with me, I keep it in the desk drawer there. I, what's this all about, Lieutenant? Miss Walker, you're going to have to come down to headquarters with me. Now. What, what for? Murder. Murder? What you said last night, you said it was self-defense. I'm not talking about last night. I'm talking about the murder of Charles Harrison in that attempted hold up a few weeks ago. Charles Harrison? Well, I wasn't anywhere near there. How could you possibly... The gun you used on Fred Markle last night. Your gun, Miss Walker, is the same gun that killed Charles Harrison. My gun killed Charles Harrison. That's right. The listics prove it beyond a doubt. But it couldn't have been...unless... Fred, as he took it, the night he got the cigarettes from the drawer... What's that? Nothing, Lieutenant. Nothing at all. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program, the Whistler. Each Sunday night at this same time. Brought to you by the Signal Oil Company, marketers of signal gasoline and motor oil, and fine quality automotive accessories. Remember, if you would like the fun of having your friends hear a limerick of yours on the Whistler, the address to which to send it is Signal Oil Company, Los Angeles, California. All limericks become the property of Signal Oil Company. Those selected for use on the Whistler will be chosen by our advertising representatives on the basis of humor, suitability, and originality. So, of course, they must be your own composition. Featured in tonight's story were Mary Lansing, William Conrad, and Ira Grossel. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen, directed by Sterling Tracy, with story by David H. Ross, 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. Marvin Miller speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.