 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. Hey! Hell! Signal! Signal Girl! 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 knife. 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. Poor Henry. It's an even mile from Miss Whitehead's house, brooding somberly on the cliffs above the English Channel to the village. Ellen Lovelock had walked it often. But on this misty waterlogged morning, she lagged a few paces behind her employer who marched determinedly down the southern path in her shapeless British tweed, her chin jutting out aggressively beneath her beak-like nose. Ellen was worried. The affair of last night had infuriated Miss Whitehead, and she was determined to see it through to the finish. An attitude she made amply clear to the village constable two minutes after she and Ellen arrived at his office. The point is simply discomfort, then later I told her this morning over the phone. Last night, at approximately 12 o'clock, a prowler broke into my home. Yes, yes, I see. I heard him moving about in the sunroom, so I decided to investigate. You hear him, Miss Ellen? No, Fred, I didn't. She sleeps like a corpse. But weren't you right next door to the sunroom, Miss Ellen? Yes. Will you to allow me to continue? By all means, Miss Whitehead. Very well. As I was saying, I heard this creature moving about. I hoped the sunroom determined to catch its blaggard in the air. But unfortunately, he heard me coming and leaped out the window. This man... Are you certain it was a man? His footprints were clearly visible in the mud below the window this morning. Isn't that right, Ellen? Yes, yes, that's right, Miss Whitehead. I see. Was anything missing? No. Unfortunately for his purposes, I chose to read late and heard him. Well, it's hardly likely he returned. I agree with you, constable. On the contrary, it's very likely. Now that he's possessed an Arabid inventory of the contents of my sunroom, it's highly probable he'll return very soon. He's after grandfather's painting. I'm positive. Oh, this prowler, Miss Whitehead, it's apparent he was well acquainted with your habits when you retire ordinarily and so on. Quite a pair of... I'd say this attempt to steal your grandfather's painting, well, it has certain characteristics of an inside job. Are you accusing my secretary here? I'm accusing anyone, Miss Whitehead. I'd like very much to question your chauffeur, Henry Macklin. My chauffeur? Good heavens, why? Because he happens to be a man with a prison record. Just how did you happen to know that, Mr. Pinnair? After I talked to you on the phone this morning, I phoned your secretary back to question her about Henry Macklin. Ellen, what right did you to tell her anything? Because I asked her specifically. She was suspicious of him. I'm sorry, Miss Whitehead. So am I, Ellen. I placed a trust in you. You violated it. Leave me only one thing to do. Good, Miss Whitehead. Let's not have a scene. When you return to the house, I'll give you two weeks' pay and you'll have noticed. Miss Whitehead, you're discharging the girl? Exactly. But that's unfair. If only you'll listen to me... Mr. Pinnair, I must remind you, this is none of your affairs. Now, you'll please approve this permit. I'm going to purchase the revolver. Just like that, Ellen. Three years of service as Miss Whitehead's secretary. Three years of daily battle with the jutting jaw and icy gray eyes ended in a snap of the finger. The old lady, coldly precise, snatches up her revolver permit and strides out of the office. Constable Finley engulfed in the guilt complex tries to make sympathetic noises. But he succeeds only in looking embarrassed. And you, Ellen, hurry out into the street to see where Miss Whitehead is. As you do, Miss Whitehead's car pulls in at the curb. Henry Macklin is at the wheel. Good morning, Miss Ellen. What are you doing here, Henry? Oh, thought the old girl might want me to drive her back to the house. She would have called you, Henry. Just so I'm going into the gunsmiths with that look on her face. What's up? Nothing that would interest you. You'll excuse me, Henry, I have a... Won't you ride back, Miss Ellen? Thank you, no. Uh, Miss Ellen? Yes? I was just thinking. There's an American film at the cross tonight. I was just wondering if you... Sorry, Henry, I have an engagement. Oh. You walk away, leave Henry staring stupidly at you. At the corner you turn, hurry down the street toward the ram's head in. As you move past, the figure detaches itself from the misty bulk, falls in step behind you. Ellen? Not here, Matt. Down to the beach, then. Go ahead. I'm sorry, Matt. Of all night, she had to take it into her head to read a book. So the old girl is buying a revolver, eh? Good thing she didn't have one last night. She's probably as efficient at offhand shooting as she is at everything else. I suppose everything's ruined. Oh, no, my dear. I'd admit our plans will have to be changed, but we're not giving up. I've spent a lot of time tracing down those paintings, and I'm not quitting now. To try to steal them again, that would be dangerous. Not particularly. You say she rarely looks at them. And even in the frames, they're small enough to fit in an average-sized trunk. They'll bring at least 100,000 pounds. Are you certain, Matt? Well, the old girl didn't give me much time in that sunroom. But apparently they're the ones all right. The mayor, a couple of brogels, and the others are mixed 17th-century Flemish and Dutch minor masters. You still think they can be sold on the open market? They're not catalogued. I told you, Ellen, they were smuggled off the continent into England during World War I. After some very clever chap covered them with a resistant shellac and overlaid them with those stupid still lifes of fruit and potted plants. Matt, couldn't you... I mean, go to see Miss Whitehead, offer to buy them. Oh, now, really. You know how she feels. Never break up a private large gallery. Dear Loom, they belong to the old grandpapa. What's the matter? Darling, I've just thought of the most wonderful idea. Henry Necklin, is it? Henry. Of course. He's the one to throw the police off our trail. Constable suspects him already. Yes. Yes. You know, Ellen, that's a rather interesting thought. He's stolen before. We'll do it again. He'll do anything for me, Matt. I'm sure of it. You still make arrangements to smuggle the paintings into France. There's a boat skipper in London who'll help me out for a fee. Just think, darling. A hundred thousand pounds. And below it all to Henry. Rather nasty trick to play on the latter day. Poor Henry. Again this week, you Whistler fans have sent in some really choice limericks. So once again, signal has asked me to skip the regular commercial in order to present $20 signal gasoline books to three of you as tokens of our appreciation. The first one tonight goes to Alice Ray of Portland, Oregon for this limerick. A thrifty young fellow named Joe when asked how he saved so much dough said with signal, my friend, you go farther no end. You can bank on that, brother. I know. Signal, signal, signal gasoline Your car will go farther, go farther gasoline Tonight's second $20 signal gasoline book goes to Alan N. Sharpe of Los Angeles for this limerick. There once was a farmer named Green who improved on his milking machine. Using signal for power gets more milk per hour. And half of the stuff is pure cream. Signal, signal, signal gasoline Your car will go farther, go farther gasoline Tonight's third $20 signal gasoline book goes to Evelyn Eddington of Fontana, California for this limerick. Said Jack, not a cylinder's hidden. When I bought this old crate, I got bitten. Said Jill, with a grin, you weren't taken in. Prize signal, shield her like a kitten. Signal, signal, signal gasoline Your car will go farther, go farther gasoline Well, that's all we have time for tonight, friends, but our thanks to all of you who sent in limerick. Well, Alan, poor Henry is going to have to face the music, isn't he? And only two days after the scene in the constable's office of planning with Mack, you have a general idea how the tune will sound. Henry Macklin, with a prison record at Dartmouth, stepped off the straightened narrow, burglarized the home of his benefactor, stealing, among other things, a collection of nondescript Victorian paintings from her sunroof. Henry is the perfect owl, the most reasonable suspect, and with 100,000 pounds waiting for you and Matt in the art markets of Paris, the decision to use Henry wasn't difficult. Yes, it's right here. Help me, I'm in the button. It can turn all down. While they insist on putting buttons where only a contortionist can reach them, I'll never know. Oh, thank you. I'm going to lie down for a while now. The court is a stopping by for me at six. The garden club banquet at Stone Ridge, you know. Oh, it's just a motor trip. This is weathering with this beastly coal I know I'm getting. Well, I really don't think I should go. Oh, you shouldn't miss the banquet. I don't believe it'll rain. Well, we'll see. We'll see. Wake me at five. If I do go, I'll spend the night at Stone Ridge. Stay with Helen Whitney. I haven't visited with her in quite a while. Hello, Henry. Oh, hello, Miss Helen. Just cleaning up the carburetor over here. Henry, I've come to say goodbye. Goodbye. You're not going, Miss Helen. I'm afraid so I've taken all on myself. Oh, now come. It's no use, you know. I don't mind leaving her really. She is an ill-tempered old girl. But I do mind leaving you. Hey. I wasn't going to say anything, Henry. Somehow now that the time's come, I just can't go without telling you. Telling me what, Miss Helen? That that I admire you very much. Miss Helen. Please, Henry. Let me not make it anywhere. I never knew. I thought you'd think I was foolish. Foolish, Helen? Please. I'm going back to London. I'm going to try to find a new line. Start all over again. You can't go now. It will be difficult. I don't have much money. I don't really know how I'll manage it. I've made up my mind. Maybe we'll need to get in there. I hope so. You will. So help me. It's never in London. I'm not staying at the door for no reason. The door? Yes, I know where it is. I've got to go now, Henry. I just couldn't hear from that. I almost forgot what I came for. Miss Whitehead's mistake is the keys to the vault in the library. She thought it might have fallen behind one of the cushions in the car. Oh, that's strange. She's a strange old lady. She thinks she'd be more careful with it. You know, there must be a couple of thousand pounds of valuables in there. A thousand pounds? Huh. I'll kill her, supper. The way his eyes light up, Ellen, tells you he'll do exactly what you expected. You leave Henry, move off the garden path and around to the garage window. Watch him paw frantically behind the cushions of the car. Find the key where you just left it and then look around furtively and slip it into his pocket. The old lady is still asleep as you walk to your room. Open your trunk and hurry around to the sun room close by and unlock the door. One by one, you take the paintings from the wall and put them in the trunk, all ten of them, with a stupid, rude, imparted plant beginning to peel off, showing what lies underneath. A hundred thousand pounds, Ellen. Over four hundred thousand dollars in American money. For the moment you stand there looking into your trunk, it's golden cargo, and then... Knock, knock, knock. Just a minute. Miss Ellen, I just can't let you run off like this. It'll all work out. Really, it will. Let me go with me. I told you I'd made up my mind, Henry. What is he not right? It's not look here now. You see, Henry, I'm all set up. Now what do you say? Let's get busy here. You can help me with the trunk. I won't have it. That's what I won't... I'm going, Henry. That's all there is to it. Come on now. Let's move the trunk down a bit. Then I have to run down to the village and arrange for the expressions. By the way, do you find the key to the safe? What? No, not yet. Oh. Well, Miss Whitehead will want it tomorrow. She's taking her valuables into town. She's a little worried that prowl over the other night, you know. Henry's denial of finding the key assures you of his intentions. And now you've made it clear to him that tonight is his only chance. Promptly at five you'll awaken Miss Whitehead. Reminder that the Courtney's will be calling for at six. It's upsetting when she tells you she's decided not to go to the garden club bank that she intends to remain in bed for the rest of the evening. But going downstairs you realize that Henry will still have the opportunity to rifle the safe. And that's all that's important. You go on to the village, giving him the run of the lower part of the house. You wander through the village for almost an hour and then contact the express. Well, yes, Miss Lovelock. I suppose we could run out and pick up the trunk. What chain will it arrive on in London? Expect field gadget on the 728. I'll put it into Paddington station at 8.50. Oh, God. If you'll excuse me, have a telephone call from me to London. I'll be back shortly. Right. I'll finish up here while you're gone and then we'll run out and get your things. Hello. This is Miss Lovelock. I'd like to speak to Mr. Matthew Graves, please. Mr. Graves, hold on a moment, please. Surely. Hello, Matt. This is Ellen. Everything going well? Yes. I'm sending the trunk on in. It will arrive on the 8.15 Paddington station. All right. Captain Vogel, Melissa K. Thorpe. Right. For a little shaker, stop for a moment to compose yourself. Now that the moment has come, you begin to wonder if you haven't been too sure of yourself or Henry. And then you dismiss the thought. You kill another half hour before returning to the Expressway. You're sure now, aren't you, Ellen, that once the way was open, Henry moved in the right direction and made your plans foolproof. At seven o'clock, as the baggage man turns off the highway, down the road to the old house, it's dark as you expected. You're sure, Miss Whitehead is asleep, that Henry has had the opportunity he needed to rob the safe and leave. Miss, what do you want? A pull-up right here is put to the stairs. Oh, dear. Hello, Lady Elm. Yes, in her room. She's not well. Oh, that's luck. Bad enough, sliding around on a night like this without her to contend with. Do you have my key? Yes, here it is. After you, Miss. The trunk's there by the library door. You turn on the light, then. Of course. The Expressman doesn't know the new smile. Watch him ease the trunk up, down the stairs, hoisted onto his truck. You close the door, then as you step back into the library. Miss Ellen. Henry, what are you doing? I've got it all arranged for us, Miss Ellen. What? Henry, you've been at the safe. That's right. Look, look over 600 pounds, and a good bit of jewelry beside. You won't have to worry about money anymore. Henry, you did this for me. Oh, you shouldn't, you shouldn't. I'll make it to you and I, Miss Ellen. They'll never catch us. No, no Henry, it's all wrong. That's why it will happen. Don't worry about her. She's gone. Gone? She said she was going to stay in bed or anything. She changed her mind again. Decided to go to Stone Ridge after all. It's strange. Strange or not, that's what she did. Over over myself. No, look Miss Ellen, I'm taking this money and jewelry. Nothing's going to stop me. I should, Henry. I should stop you. But I can't. Now it's all my fault. I'm responsible for this. Henry, go. Go quickly. Keep the money, the jewelry, but run. Run, Henry. I'm not going without you, Miss Ellen. Please, I won't tell her so long. Go on. We'll run together, Ellen. No, it's better this way. I'll meet you in London. The Dawkins Hotel. Please, Henry, you must go. I'm not leaving without you. That's final. You stare at him angrily, confused. His being here, his refusal to leave without you ruins everything, doesn't it, Ellen? Somehow you've got to get it away from the house. Frighten him in the run. You move quickly to the telephone desk where Miss Whitehead keeps a revolver. If he thinks you're going to turn him in, he'll run, won't he, Ellen? Now what are you doing? Oh, a gun, is it? Henry, I'm giving you a last chance. If you don't go now, I have to call the police. Now you wouldn't do that to Henry Maclin, would you? Henry, I'm warning you. Stay away from me. You're in this just as deep as I am, Miss Ellen. Up to your pretty neck in this affair. Get back, Henry. Give me that. You fool. I didn't do it. You stare down at him, shocked, realizing slowly that he's dead, that you've killed him. More than that, Ellen, you've ruined everything. Henry will be found here now. And how will the missing paintings be explained? And suddenly it hits you. Henry could have had an accomplice. Yes. Someone who was here with him when you came in. Someone who rushed past you, fled with the paintings under his arm. That's it, isn't it? You're sure it'll work. Sure they'll believe you. Yes, they must believe you, Ellen. The quarter of an hour later, when Constable Finley answers your frantic call and rushes to the house, you're sure that your story rings true. You've safe him in and found Henry at the ballroom. Yes. It's the only moment after the expressman left with my baggage. Nice drawing, isn't it? I was terrified, Mr. Finley. And the other man rushed past me out the door. I didn't get a good look at him. And somehow you remembered the gun. Yes, I knew Miss Whitehead had a revolver, the new one. You faced Henry. That's right. I was shocked. I couldn't believe he'd do a thing like this after the way she took him in and gave him another chance. All I could think of was calling the police. I started to pick up the phone. He lunged at me. Well, it's pretty clear what he was after. Henry had Miss Whitehead's money and jewels on him. As for his accomplice and the paintings, we'll send an alarm out on him right away. Let's see now, you'd plan to leave for London tonight's train. Yes. You realize, of course, that we might have to keep you here awhile. Keep me? It's terribly important that I leave for London tonight. It's bad and it's a new position. I see. Of course, Mr. Londoner. Well, I suppose I could take your deposition. The inquest, have you given us a formal statement exactly the way things happen? I'll be glad to do it, Mr. Finney. I'd like to help you under the circumstances. All right, Miss Lovelock. We'll drive you down to the constabulary. I'll call the corner. You'll have someone take your stick. Oh, by the way, Miss Whitehead will have to be notified. Where is she? Henry's headed over to Stone Ridge for the Garden Club banquet. She'll be back tomorrow. Good. I'll see you first thing. You accompany the constable to the village. His office. Attend to the deposition. The procedure is brief and official. And you wait nervously as the constable reads it over and finally looks up at you. Well, I should say everything seems to be in order, Miss Lovelock. Oh, fine. I'm through now. All right. Sorry I'd be put to all this inconvenience. Now, a pleasant journey to London. And now, a tip for you drivers who want to keep that light new performance in your car and also keep repair bills down. Be sure to protect your motor with the improved type signal motor oil that won't break down under heat. Signal premium compounded motor oil. Because it combines 100% pure paraffin base with scientific compounds, signal premium does things for your motor that oil alone cannot do. One compound, for instance, was specifically developed to prevent the formation of harmful gum and varnish. Another compound in signal premium actually removes carbon. And still another compound protects costly bearings from corrosion. So why trust the protection of your modern motor to old-fashioned oils when you can now get this improved type signal oil that does so much more than just lubricate? For your next oil change, change to signal premium compounded motor oil at a signal service station. So you're in the clear now, aren't you, Evan? And even through your nervousness on the train trip to London, you find that you're pleased with yourself. Everything is going so smooth. In London, you hurry to the baggage office. There's only one thing left to do now. Claim the trunk addressed to Mack and have it taken aboard the ship bound for France where you'll meet him. The age of little expressmen attending the freight office seems to look at you oddly as you make inquiries about the trunk. For the moment later, he's nodding his head painfully. Oh, yes, Miss, it's here. If you could step around to this door. Yes, she is Inspector. Inspector. That's right, Miss. I'm Maitland, Scott, and you're. We got a call from a constable Finley. Seems he wanted you detained. Detained? I made my statement. So you did. But it didn't include quite everything. You didn't explain about the trunk. The trunk? Why, it's here. Yes, we found that out from the express company. We've already opened. Oh. By the way, who's Matthew Graves? What does he have to do with this? He arranged to ship the trunk across the channel. But it was all a mistake. If you'll let me, I can explain. Can you now? Let's see if you can. You know, this was all rather clumsy of you, Miss Loveluck. Constable Finley started adding things up when he found some of your personal things and a batch of paintings on the ground outside the library window. What? Yes, he went back to the house after he put through a phone call to Stoneridge. Learned that Miss Whitehead wasn't there. Had never been there. Not there. But Henry told me. There we are, Miss Loveluck. Can you explain this? Look inside your trunk. Arthur. That's why Henry lied. He killed her. Oh, come now, Miss. Let's not try to blame poor Henry for everything. This is one murder you're going to have to explain. 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 accessory. 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 55, 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 Peggy Weber, John Hoyt, Verna Felton, and Ed Begley. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen, directed by Sterling Cracy, with tonight's story by Harold Swanton, 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 two persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Remember, at the same time, next Sunday, another strange tale by the Whistler. Marvin Miller speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.