 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, 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. Brief pause for murder. He couldn't recall the exact moment when it ceased to be a thrill to beam brightly at a microphone and announce this is Roger Wixen speaking and inviting you to tune in next week at this same time. He was sure now, though, that the glamour and magic of radio had gone out of his life the moment he'd married Tisha. Yes, and she'd taken a lot of other things out of his life too. Things like pride and confidence and self-respect. And Roger couldn't recall either the precise instant he decided to kill Tisha. When the helpless, frustrated hate for her blotted out any pangs of conscience. Left him frankly admitting to himself that all he wanted were the moment and the means. Of course, there was no plan in his mind in the night of the dance at the country club. No plan, just a decision. He'd come home first after leaving her there with Trent Crandall. And it sat alone in the living room patiently waiting for her. It was after two when the door opened and she called back to Trent. Wait it up for me, how sweet of you. Not at all, I was just catching up on my reading here. Trent's new book. He'd be so flattered, darling. I had to fall back on something simple. I started on the Rover boys, but I got stuck on the big words. That's why you waited up, isn't it? You thought up a clever remark all by yourself and you wanted me to hear it. I only want to tell you, Tisha, that I think you're being very stupid. You mean about Trent? Right. It makes no difference to me if you want to play footy with San Francisco's most distinguished visitor. But our fellow citizens have a way of talking, you know. If you're implying the Trent... I'm not implying anything. Why don't you join us some evening? Play chaperone. Trent Crandall is a celebrity, Tisha. Whatever he does is news. If it got back to his wife, she might possibly misinterpret. She just might assume there was more to your association with Trent than a healthy interest in his books. There is. I love him. And it doesn't concern Mrs. Crandall at the moment she's on her way to Reno. I see. And of course it doesn't concern me either. It shouldn't. When his divorce is granted, I'll be leaving you naturally. There it is again. What? Facial expression number 2A, the inscrutable smile. You were wearing it at the club tonight. The other expected to see the other one. Patient suffering, I believe it's called. Good night, Tisha. You're glad I'm leaving, aren't you? That's why you smile. Maybe. Of course you will have to get along without my money. I said good night, Tisha. Just good night. No recriminations? You know, I couldn't sleep a wink if I thought you were brooding over something. Why, of course not. You were brilliant tonight, Tisha. I enjoy being sneered at in front of a room full of people. Oh, and it was an inspiration. You're calling my boss the program director of a peanut whistle. Mr. Gladney is an incompetent, offensive stuffed shirt. Oh, I shouldn't I tell him so, even if he is your boss. Very well, Tisha. Is that all? That's all. All right, darling. This is Mrs. Roger Wixon bidding you good night. So Tisha leaves and you sit alone in the living room thinking. You've discovered a very important thing, haven't you, Roger? The reason you've given yourself a wanting to kill her is gone. She's going to leave you of her own accord and marry Trent Crandall. But it doesn't seem to make any difference, does it? Nothing matters, not even her money. You're going to kill her because you hate her. That's all the reason you need. But how, Roger? How? The next morning, shortly after you arrive at the station, you run into another announcer in the corridor. Hi, Ron. Jerry. How was the thing at the club? Oh, all right. I hated to miss it. That's funny. I thought I saw you there. Probably heard me. I had the dance remote last night from the Cedars. Oh, yeah, that's right. I heard you. We tuned in over at the club. Very simple. On the air from the Cedars, can't be at the club, but the club can't be on the air from the Cedars. Conclusion, Jerry wasn't there. Guy can't be in two places at the same time. Get it? Yeah. Yeah, Jerry. I get it. 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 Serian Bessinger of Santa Monica, California for this limerick. There once was a man named Ben Bow, whose gas tank would always run low. Now he saves that bother, and likewise goes father, with Signal, Ben Bow now saves dough. Signal, Signal, Signal gasoline. North Carolina, Harvard, North Carolina gasoline. Tonight's second $20 Signal gasoline book goes to L.F. Washburn of San Diego, California for this limerick. There once was a driver named Schuster, who's getting more miles than he used her. Since Signal he's tried, his car is his pride, and Schuster's a Signal gas booster. Signal, Signal, Signal gasoline. North Carolina, Harvard, North Carolina gasoline. Tonight's third $20 Signal gasoline book goes to Mrs. James T. Blackestone of Laverne, California for this limerick. There once was a trusty old steed, who drank Signal gas with his feet. They thought it would kill him, but instead it did fill him with pep and astonishing speed. Signal, Signal, Signal gasoline. North Carolina, Harvard, North Carolina 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. Well, Roger, it doesn't matter that Tisha plans to leave you, does it? The decision to kill her has been part of you who longed that nothing she does will ever change it. So you don't think of the why of it anymore, just the how, and part of the how took shape in your mind when Jerry Edwards explained that it was impossible for him to be both on the air from the cedars and at the country club at the same time. Something to think about, isn't it, Roger? And that evening, as you're doing your news broadcast, you'll find something else to think about. Halfway through the show, we're solving the housing problem. Oh, uh, here's a late bulletin. Police in this city went on 24-hour duty tonight, launching an all-out effort to capture the so-called whipcord strangler who claimed his third victim last night. The crime followed the grimly familiar pattern. Mrs. Dorothea Echler was found dead in her apartment early this morning. Medical reports indicate death had been caused by strangulation with a cord or thong. As in other cases, the apartment had been looted. Police warned residents to take special precautions. You hope your listeners will attribute that catch in your voice to refulsion at the horrible crime. But it's something quite different, isn't it, Roger? Another part of the how. You've decided now that Tissue will die in a way that will point to the whipcord strangler as the only suspect at the very moment that you are broadcasting from the studio. It'll have to be a recording, of course. So, there's another big problem. How can you get one of the station engineers to play a recording of your voice at the right time and to keep his mouth shut no matter what happens? That stops you, doesn't it, Roger? For three more days it stops you, then fate steps in again. Mr. Gladney, the program director, stops you in the hall and called you over to meet a new employee. I'll meet our new engineer, Wixen, Vern Cummings. Hello. How do you do? We're working with you on the night shift. Say, I've seen you somewhere before, haven't I? Why, I... I don't think so. Your name is Cummings? Yeah. Yeah, that's right. Cummings. Well, I've got to run along. Explain the setup to Cummings, will you, Wixen? Oh, you bet, Mr. Gladney. You know, I'd swear I've seen you somewhere before. Must have been a couple of other guys. Haven't you got a station break coming up? Yeah, let's do it. As you give the station's call letters and the time signal, you watch the new engineer through the glass of the control room. Try to imagine what he'd look like without the moustache, with a face a little less drawn, and then something clicks. You do know him. Six years ago at another small radio station in the Midwest. You cut off your mic and the smooth voice of the network announcer booms from a loudspeaker over your head, using a program of dinner music. When you re-enter the control room, Cummings is showing elaborate interest in the dials on the instrument panel before it. Say, Cummings. Yeah, I... I'm sure we've met before. I don't know. There are lots of faces like mine. Not exactly like it. What's that? You just might be a guy who used to know back in Kansas City, worked at the same station. Look, I tell you, you're wrong. Cut the speaker, will you? I can't hear myself. Cut it down. That's better. Look, I'm new here, and I don't want to be rude, but I've got to study this panel layout. Now, do you mind? Sure, sure. I'm sorry, Cummings. I didn't mean to bother you, but you look just like a guy I used to work with in Kansas City six years ago. Only his name was, uh, Spore. Vern Spore. My name's right up there on my license. You see right up there? Why don't you take a look? Hmm. Vern Cummings. Vern Spore. You know, you and this guy could have been brothers. Well, okay. I guess I'll write to the boys back at the station in Kansas City and ask if they know what became of Vern. Wixen. Huh? Wait a minute, huh? Okay, Wixen, you win. I'd like to talk to you. Sure. Look, uh, you were always a pretty good guy. How about forgetting you ever knew me, huh? Well, I don't see why now. You're all at your business. You, uh, probably heard about that jam I got into. It was after you left. What happened? Well, I needed some dough, and there was some beat-up equipment around the station. I figured the stuff would be good for a few bucks, and I, uh, made a deal with the guy. We got caught. Well, that was tough. You're in the clink. I had to change my name when I got up. Uh, what about the license? Uh, a friend of mine fixed it up. I see. You, uh, won't say anything. Why should I? Thanks, Wixen. Gosh, when you walked in tonight, I thought I'd die. Have you ever found out about my record? Sure, sure. If there's anything I can ever do for you. Sure, Verne, don't worry. I'll call on you. So that's all there is to the how, isn't it, Roger? Cummings is your man. He'll play ball any time you ask him. All that remains now is when. The answer to that comes unexpectedly the next evening when Lieutenant Krasner of the police department comes into the station to ask a favor. Oh, hello, Lieutenant. Not at all. Come on in. Thanks. Just been talking to Mr. Gladney. He suggested I see you about some announcements on the police benefit next week. Thought maybe you'd do them for us. Sure, be glad to. When do you want them to start? Tonight, if you can. Let's see. I've got them right here tonight, huh? It's pretty short to notice. The schedule's pretty full. Oh, here they are. Here, I know we're throwing you a curve, but as you probably see by the papers, it's been pretty tough these days. Are you mean the strangler? Yeah, it's been pretty rough. Pretty rough guy. You're not telling us anything? Oh, your wife home alone while you're working here? Yes. Tell her to keep the windows locked. That's the way the guy gets in. You mean you think... Nobody knows where he'll strike next. It doesn't pay to take chances. Got any leads? I got a hunch or two. I think we'll get him. I hope so. What about the announcement? Let me check the schedule. Oh, here. Here we are. First time we can give you is the station break at 10 tomorrow night. Is that soon enough? I guess it'll have to be. You'll do it yourself? Yes, it'll be on my ship. Thanks a lot, Wixen. I'll tell the boys at headquarters. We'll be listening. And that does it, Roger. The wind is complete too. Police Lieutenant Krasner is going to hear you read that announcement tomorrow night at 10 o'clock. Along with his friends down at headquarters. And who could ask for a better alibi than that? Late that night when you and Vern Cummings are alone at the station, you walk to the control room. He's turned off the annoying loudspeaker as usual when the boss isn't around. He glances occasionally at the dancing needle on the volume indicator to assure himself that the network program is going out to the listeners. How'd I sound on the 9 o'clock news, Vern? Okay, why? Do you notice anything different in my voice? Be frank, I tried to give it something special tonight. How'd it sound? Like I said, I thought it was good. What's cooking? Look, can you keep something under your hat? Try me. I'd hate to have the old man find out, but I got a chance to go to Hollywood. Go to Hollywood? Yeah, a friend of mine with an agency down there thinks he could use me. I'll make more dough on one broadcast than I make no week here. Oh, that's great. That's just great. You're going big time, huh? Well, it's not definite yet. That's why I don't want anything said about it around here, anybody around here to know. You're the only one I've told. I just got a wire from the guy. He's flying in from the east tomorrow night. I'll only be in town for a few hours. If I didn't have to work, I could drive out to the airport and talk to him, but, well, I gotta work. Why not trade chefs tomorrow night and I don't want anyone else to get wind of it? Oh. Want the guy come up here, drive in from the airport? Oh, you don't ask guys like that to drive in from airports. No, I guess I'm sunk. After all, you can't be in two places at once. Yeah. It's, uh, pretty important you meet this guy, huh? Oh, sure. Might be big time. I'll forget. No, no, wait a minute. Wait a minute. What time does he get in? Well, his plane arrives at 9.55. 9.55? Let's see. 9.45, we've got a band on the net from Hollywood. 10, we take Murder Manor from New York. Yeah, but there's a station break at 10 and that police announcement, the time signal. I'm sunk because I gotta be in front of the mic for 30 seconds. What are you talking about? Let's record it. Huh? Sure, we can do it tonight, right here in the studio. You give the call letters, the time signal, your announcement. I'll pay the record for you tomorrow night at 10. That means that you can leave here at 9.45 and you won't have to be back until the 10.30 break. It gives you 45 minutes. What do you think it'd work? Well, why not? Yeah, but suppose Gladney finds out I left the station, I'd get killed. How's he gonna find out we'll be alone here and after I play the record, I'll destroy it. Fine, you're a genius. There's your mic, my boy. Okay, you all set? Yeah, we're just about ready. I'll go and I'll cue you from the booth. Right. Froggy. This is KTUX. It's 20 seconds before 10 p.m. Friends, here's a chance for you to show your appreciation. Uh, Rodge. I'll hold it a minute, will you? What's the matter? Look, I just got an idea. Why don't you start over and purposely make a mistake and then correct it? Make a mistake? Why? Well, it's simple. You give the wrong time and then correct yourself. It'll sound more like than ever that you were actually here in the studio, you see? Nobody had ever dreamed it was a record. It's a good idea. Okay, let's try it. All right, watch me for cue now. This is KTUX. It's 20 seconds before 9 p.m. A correction, 10 p.m. Friends, here's a chance for you to show your appreciation for the men who protect your homes and your loved ones 24 hours a day. It's done, isn't it, Roger? The record is made, ready to go. And you know you can count on Vern Cummings to come through for you. The next day is the big one, but you manage to go through your normal routine at home during the morning and early afternoon. As usual, you don't say much to T-shirt. Only enough to discover that since Trent Prandle is left for Hollywood, she'll be home all evening, alone. 9.30 that night at the station, you call... I just thought I'd remind you, Lieutenant, your announcement goes on in half an hour. Yeah. Yeah, I think it'll do the job all right. At 9.45, you give the station call letters and start out of the studio. Okay, I'll see you before 10.30, Vern. Okay, Roger. And don't forget to bust that record if you ever found a... Don't worry about it, I'll carry the secret to my grave. You're careful to take the back streets home, keeping well within the speed limit. There's only one person in the world who'll know you're going to be in two places at the same time tonight. And you know Vern Cummings won't talk, no matter what he suspects. It wouldn't be healthy for a man with a prison record to expose himself to suspicion as a possible accomplice. 10 minutes later, you've left your car in an alley up to the back door of your apartment. You reach into your coat pocket? Yes. The leather thong is still there. Hello, Tisha. What are you doing home so early? Scared me to death. I just thought I'd drop by and see how you were doing. You know, I've often wondered if you miss me, Tisha, during these long lonely evenings. Answer my question, Roger. Why aren't you at the station? Is something wrong? I just got tired. So I came home. What are you talking about? Tired, Tisha. Tired of station breaks and tired of you, Tisha. I'm tired of the farce you've made out of our marriage if you can call it a marriage. Roger, what do you mean? It wasn't really marriage, was it, Tisha? It was only a means for you, a way you could ease that frustrated black heart of yours when Trent Crandall married somebody else right under your nose. Why are you looking at me like that? Yes, Tisha. I'm tired of humiliation, of ridicule, of being used for a doormat, playing the clown for that crowd of stupid sophisticates. Roger! Roger, well, what are you going to do? Can't you guess, Tisha? Can't you make one small guess, darling? If you've done any mountain driving during the recent warm spell, you've no doubt seen a lot of cars that had overheated and were stopped to cool off. When this happens, most drivers worry principally about the water that has boiled out of their radiators. What they should worry about is the oil in their expensive engines. The reason, many motor oils break down under extreme heat and form harmful gum, varnish, and carbon. Fortunately, however, this type of damage is something you won't ever have to worry about if your motor is protected by signal premium compounded motor oil. That's because, in addition to its 100% pure paraffin base, signal premium is fortified with scientific compounds that do important things for your motor, which oil alone cannot do. For instance, the oxidation inhibitor in signal premium compounded motor oil specifically prevents the formation of gum and varnish. The detergent compound actually removes harmful carbon and the viscosity index protector preserves signals premiums rich body, even when the temperature goes up, up, up. In other words, signal premium does a lot more than just lubricate. So if you want to keep repairs down and performance up, remember to make your next oil change a change to signal premium compounded motor oil. Remember where to get it at Signal Service Stations. Well, Roger, it's over now, isn't it? Tisha is dead and you're free, but half an hour to get back to the station. You leave her there on the floor, put on a pair of gloves and move quickly about the apartment, dumping the contents of drawers all over the room, then into the bedroom where you open the window. Yes, Roger, it must look like a typical whip cord strangler crime with robbery the obvious motive. The dance music coming over the radio covers any noise that you might make. But then suddenly the music stops. You hear the announcer interrupt and begin reading a bullet. What? Oh, it can't be. No, no, there's no time for that. The other ballaby. That's the one you'll have to depend on now. You're rushed back to the radio, it's just 10 o'clock. If Vern Cummings hasn't bungled, you've still got a chance. Your hand is shaking so violently you can hardly turn the dial of the station frequency and then 20 seconds before 9 p.m. correction, 10 p.m. As your own voice comes over the speaker, you begin to relax. Just a dozen other police officers are listening to it down at headquarters. It doesn't matter how Tisha died or who did it. The fact remains, a man can't be at two places at the same time. And die for your protection. For your protection. For your protection. For your protection. For your protection. Let that whistle be your signal for 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. Remember, if you would like the fun of having your friend's hero 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 are humor, suitability and originality. So, of course, they must be your own composition. Featured in tonight's story were Frank Nelson, Mary Lansing and William Conrad. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen directed by Sterling Tracy with tonight's story by Lou Houston and William Foreman, 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 Coll-