 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. Signal, the famous go farther gasoline, invite you to sit back and enjoy another strange story by 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 shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. And now for the Signal Oil Company, The Whistler's strange story, The Lady with the Knife. It was only three in the afternoon, but the hotel cocktail lounge near the railroad depot in Omaha was buzzing with customers caught there between trains. In the darkness of the corner booth, Morley Carr sat with a portly gentleman in the salt and pepper suit. His name was Sam Wilson and he loved to talk. Morley, on the other hand, loved to listen. Yes, in his kind of business, he often found it profitable to strike up an acquaintanceship with an overindulgent stranger in a bar. And the minute he saw the man in the salt and pepper suit, Morley smelled money. China? Do I know China? Listen, mister, I know China like the palm of my hand. You spend a lot of time there, Sam? Six years, and so. I've been fired off every English-speaking newspaper in the Orient. Gentlemen, I'm a pair of tall ones. Ah, that's great. Tell them we get working on two more. That'll be $1.20. Oh, here you go. Let me go. No, no, no. This is my party. Here you are, waiter. Keep it changed. Thank you, sir. Oh, now, Sam, you shouldn't have done that. It was my round. Oh, forget it. I like you, pal. I like the way you talk, like the way you wear clothes. Now, if I had the crust I'd offer to buy that checkered-over coat you got. Oh, here, where'd you get it? I got it in London. Ah, I thought so. I could pick that check out of Times Square in the rush hour. Very distinctive. Um, what are you planning to do now, Sam? Retire. Oh, that takes money. I got it. Right here in my pocket. Yeah, it's funny, isn't it? I beat my brains out for 20 years in the newspaper business. Never make a dime. Then bingo, my card comes up. And old Sam has the key to a quarter million bucks right in his pocket. A quarter million? Yeah. Just like the song, eh? Let me see, how's it go? I'm always chasing rainbows, watching clouds drift by my schemes. It's like, oh, I don't feel so hot, pal. Oh, my head. Well, that's that. Waiter. Yes, sir? Would you help me get Mr. Wilson upstairs to his room? Looks like the party's over. It sounds a little fantastic, doesn't it, Morley? But it's worth looking into. A quarter of a million dollars, he said. And something about the key to it in his pocket. The waiter helps you get him to his room, lay him on the bed. And you walk down the hall a few doors to your own room, already thinking of the approach you're going to use on your new friend Sam when he comes around tomorrow. Ten minutes later, you hear voices and movement down the hall that brings you to your door. You open it quietly. That noise, wonder what's going on? Came from Sam's room. A girl leaves Sam's room, passes close to you as she hurries down the hall. You get a good look at her. Black hair, a pretty face, but hard. As soon as she turns the corner, you'll run down the hall. Sam's door is still unlocked. He's still on the bed, Morley. Right where you left him. But now there's a knife in his back. A second later, you see the reason. His inside coat pocket. The one he patted when he talked about the key to the quarter million. Is empty. Oh, uh, Dorman. Yes, sir? I'm looking for a young lady, black hair and a fur jacket. Did you see her leave? Oh, yes, sir. She got into a taxi only a minute ago. Taxi? Which one? Do you know the driver? I don't know his name, sir, but this is his regular station. He ought to be back in a few minutes. Thanks. How about a driver? Did you see her? A black-haired dame and a fur jacket. You know, it's tough or hard to remember sometimes. Oh, all right here. Maybe this will help. Thanks. As a matter of fact, I do remember now. Took her to a hotel on the other side of town, picked up her baggage and brought her back to the station. She got on the 706 for San Francisco. Pulled out half hour ago. You got a good memory. I'll be back in five minutes. Wait here for me. Right. Where to? The airport. Some Whistler fans with whom I was talking before the program started said to me, Marvin, we're not doubting your word, but you say such wonderful things about signal ethyl. It's hard to believe any gasoline could be quite that good. Well, frankly, friends, I'm hoping you won't just take my word for it. I'm hoping you'll be so intrigued you'll want to find out for yourself. For instance, if you're skeptical when I tell you about signal ethyl's trigger-quick starting, there's an easy way you can prove it. If it sounds too good to be true when I enthuse about signal ethyl's peppy pickup, there's an easy way you can prove it. And if it seems too much to expect, that signal ethyl will let you purr up hills in high while other cars shift and clatter, there's an easy way you can prove it. How? Why by driving into any signal service station and treating your car to a tank full of signal ethyl? When you bear down on the accelerator pedal and feel that sweet, sweet performance, my bet is you'll say that Marvin Miller was sure right about signal ethyl. Well, Morley, if there were any doubts in your mind about the key to the quarter million Sam Wilson was prattling about, they're gone now. His body lying on the bed in that Omaha hotel, that empty pocket in his coat, and above all, the lady with a knife all tell you that it's real. That if you play it smart, part of that quarter million is yours. That's why you're standing in the terminal in San Francisco now as the passengers from the 7R6 from Omaha come down the ramp. A minute later you see her, follow her to a cab, and hear her direct the driver to a hotel on Etty Street. Yes, sir. Say, I heard a friend of mine was registered here. The name's Bradley. Here, I'll check the guest list. If you will, thanks. Take a look. He don't seem to have a Bradley registered. No. Not here, huh? Well, thanks. Not at all. Lucille Lacey, room 402. You saw it, didn't you? The last name on the register. Lucille Lacey, the lady with a knife. Directly across the street there's another hotel, a small one, a little ragged at the edges. You take a room, then station yourself in the lobby where you can keep an eye on the entrance of the Brighton across the street. And during the next few days, you follow Lucille Lacey everywhere. But it's not until the fourth day that she makes a move that means something. A pawn shop on Third Street, run by a man you know, a man named Cardoza. You wait in the store entrance until you see her leave, then walk across for a word with him, a furtive cautious man with a nervous habit of doodling on a scratch pad as he talks to you across the county. He ain't a little bit like old times, Molly. Haven't you been back in town? Just passing through, Cardoza. How's business been? I'm getting by. Oh, just getting by. That's all. You, uh... looking up all your old friends? No. No, I'm here on business. Big? Yeah. When? I don't know yet. Can you take care of me? Maybe, uh... I ought to know more about this business. Maybe I'll leave it at that for the time being. So long, Cardoza. Don't take any wooden diamonds. Well, Morley, you know a good deal more than you did before. Cardoza's main stock in trade is jewelry, and this time it's $175,000 worth. At least that was the figure Cardoza was doodling on his scratch pad. It's the biggest thing you've ever run across. You're really careful with Miss Lacey now. Watch her like a hawk. The next day you follow her to a shabby office south of Market Street. You watch the entrance until she comes out, and then hurry across the street and up a flight of stairs. Faded guilt lettering on a frosted glass door tells you who Lucille was calling on this time. Zack Chambers, Private Investigator. Looking for somebody, mister? I'd like to talk to Mr. Chambers. The boss is ninja now. You want to leave your name? No, no, that's all right. I was supposed to meet a young lady here, Miss Lacey. If she comes in, would you...? Oh, yeah, she was just in. Coming back at three o'clock. You think Chambers will be back before then? He's better. I haven't been to lunch yet. I see. Look, if you don't mind, I'd like to wait. I haven't anything else to do. Go ahead. You'll find a chair in his office. Chambers? My secretary tells me you've been waiting a couple hours. Look, we've got about 20 minutes, Chambers. I'll get right to the point. I want you to do me a favor. I'm not exactly in the habit of doing it. There'll be a fee in it for you. Of course, a good one. Yeah? You got an appointment with a girl at three o'clock. I have? Yeah, your secretary told me. She talks too much. It's all right. I've been following this girl for some time. What? No, no, it's nothing like that. I'm a friend of her husband. She ran out on him. And this is different. She really loves the guy. She's just, well, she's just mixed up. Aren't they all? I promised him I'd talk to her, and so far I haven't found the opportunity. Doesn't she know you? No, that's what gave me the idea. You're way ahead of me, pal. I'd, uh... I'd like to take your place, Chambers. When she comes here to talk to you. Oh, now wait a minute. There's really nothing wrong. You know how people pour their hearts out to strangers, and it's a perfect chance to talk her into going back to her husband. Uh-huh. Well, what do you say? Oh, I can see your point. It seems like a neat way to get to her, huh? What, uh... What was it you said about money? What's your usual fee? 30 a day on expenses. Only, uh, this is a rather unusual case. Shall we make it 50? Yeah. Yeah, let's. What do I do? Where's your secretary? I'll keep her out and stay away yourself for a couple of hours. Oh, uh... We're gonna hang my coat. That closet in the corner. Hmm. 50 bucks for doing nothing. That's not bad. Of course, sir. There isn't a chance I won't get my... Come back at five, I'll give you the money then. That is, if she keeps the appointment. Okay, pal. Uh, one more thing. Yeah? You're a very interesting liar. You sit behind Zach Chamber's desk, thumbing a magazine, waiting, and then just before three o'clock. I'm Miss Lacey. Your secretary... Oh, I know Miss Lacey. I've been expecting you. Have a chair. Thank you. A cigarette? No, no thank you. Mr. Chambers, I... I'm worried. I don't know exactly how to explain it. The first thing I'd do is relax, Miss Lacey. Certainly nothing can happen to you here. I'm not so sure. He's not following me, Mr. Chambers. A man. He's been following me for days. Oh. Any idea why? Not the slightest. You know, of course, Miss Lacey, for me to be of any real help, you'll have to take me into your confidence. I'm telling you all I know. Did you, uh... get a close look at him? No. No, he's been too careful. He's tall. Bought your bill. Where's a checked overcoat? I checked. Well, that should help. Just what do you want me to do? If you could find out his name, where he's staying. And that's all you want? That's all. Okay. I'll see what I can find out, Miss Lacey. Oh, where can I reach you? I'm staying at the Brighton. Brighton check. Do you suppose you could have something on this by tonight? Possibly. Will you be in? Yes, all evening. And how much will you want? Oh, yes, the fee. Well, I usually get 30 a day on expenses, but you're asking me to work pretty fast. Okay, Miss Lacey, let's say 50 dollars. That ought to cover everything. 50 bucks. Okay, pal. All here. How'd you make out? Oh, we had a nice talk. It's like I told you. She's a confused girl, oh, sure. Yeah, and I'll be running along. Thanks for the cooperation. Thanks for the fee. Yeah, wait a minute. You forgot your overcoat. Oh, oh, yeah. Hey, you like that checked coat chambers? Yeah, it's a knock-up. It's yours. The lady. She doesn't like it on me. That's why I came here to tell you. But, Mr. Chambers, you're sure it was the right man. Well, could I miss with that checked overcoat anyway? I didn't have to look very far. He came up to my office right after you left. He followed me there? That's right. Who is he? He's a pretty big guy, Miss Lacey. Name's Morley Carr. Carr? No. How do you mean he's big? International jewel thief. Anything that comes along has money in it. Big money. I see. You know, I'm beginning to think that $50 deal I made with you was too cheap. You may need some help, Miss Lacey. I'm not asking for help. What's he after? He tried to sound me out about you or rather buy me out. He offered me a deal. Where does that leave us? I figured I'd talk to you first. Of course, he's coming back and I have to tell him something. You can tell him you're not for sale. Oh, but I am. You don't have to tell me how big this is. With Carr in it, I know it's big. Too big for anyone to handle alone. You might as well admit that right now. Well, maybe you're right. Have we got a deal? Well, something has to be done about Carr. Why don't you leave that to me? No. No, just give me some time. I've got to think. When's he coming back? Tomorrow night. I've got to go one way or the other before Thursday morning. Why? Oh, never mind now. When I decide what I want you to do, I'll get in touch with you. Okay. Oh, see, mind if I take the paper along? I haven't read it. I'm through with it. Thanks. So long, boss. Good morning. But you're in the home stretch now. The newspaper from Lucille's room folded open at the page covering steamship arrivals with a check mark opposite the entry SS President Grant Pier 37, Thursday, A.M. It's important to stay close to Lucille now. And there's a way to do that, isn't there, Morley? It's brazen, but it's sure. Early Thursday morning, you call her. Miss Lacey? Yes? Zach Chambers. What do you want? I just called to tell you not to worry anymore. That man in the checked overcoat, he's been taken care of. What do you mean? Just that. Your worries are over. What did you... Hello? Hello? And that's what Gertrude said to you. But they're pretty silly, Donald. I didn't say any such thing. Hey, what's wrong here? Hi, sir, I'll reconnect you. Hello? Hello, Mr. Chambers? Yeah, somebody's cutting on us. Did you hear what I was saying about... Not on the telephone. Come over here right away. Sure thing, boss. You shouldn't have been so careless on the telephone, Mr. Chambers. Well, I might have been talking about a fuller brushman. But you weren't. Let's forget it. Well, you're going somewhere. Why? Bags. All packed. Oh, I just decided to move, that's all. You, uh, check out yet? Not until morning now. What about our deal? You decided anything? I, uh, I guess you're right. It's too much for me to handle alone. You're smart. Are you gonna let your hair down? Take a look in that desk drawer. There's something you ought to see. Okay. And you see it the minute you open the drawer. Sam Wilson's wallet. And on top of it, a baggage claim check stamped SS President Grant. You smile. Glance up at the mirror over the desk. Just in time to see your razor arm behind you. A knife in her hand. No, you don't. Don't, Amelia. Not a chance, you little... Always a knife with you, isn't it, baby? Always a knife. For a moment, you stand there trembling, staring at the body of Lucille Lacey. Then you walk slowly over to the desk. Pick up Sam's wallet. And the baggage check. SS President Grant. B-102-38. You have it now, Morley. The key to the whole thing. A baggage check marked with a number in the name of a ship. One more thing now. As you let yourself out of Lucille's room. Do not disturb. 15 minutes later, you're waiting at the baggage window at pier 37. The clerk looks at the baggage claim check. Walk slowly past the rows of bins. And finally settles on a small black box. There you are, sir. It just came in on the grant. One portable typewriter. A typewriter. That's yours, isn't it? Let me look at that check again. B-102-38. Oh, yeah. Yeah. That's right. Thanks. Thanks very much. Seabrook Hotel. That's on Eddie Street, isn't it? That's right. You can't wait any longer, can you, Morley? As the taxi cab weaves through traffic, you open the portable typewriter case on the floor where the driver can't see. There's nothing here. Wait a minute. You turn the typewriter over and get out your pocket knife. Poke at the bottom of the case. The point of the knife suddenly finds a soft place. Ah, here we are. The lining comes off, revealing a cotton pad underneath. You pluck it out. And the bottom of the box seems to burst into flame. Diamonds. Holy cow. What a payoff. The automobile battery you buy this winter may have to last a long time. You can't wait any longer. It'll last a long time. You can be sure it'll last if it's the extra long-life signal deluxe battery built to last up to two and one half times as long as ordinary batteries. That's right. Signal deluxe batteries are guaranteed for two and one half years on a service basis. What's the secret of this amazingly long life? It signals micro porous all-rubber separators which have been called the greatest battery improvement in 20 years. Because these unique separators hold twice as much acid solution between the plates, you get up to 35% more power from a signal deluxe battery. That spells quicker starting plus plenty of power to spare for your radio and other electrical gadgets. Yet this dependable trouble-free performance actually costs less per month because of that 30-month guarantee. Even less than you think. For signal dealers will trade in your old battery and your old credit terms are available. So this time play safe. Go to a signal service station for the battery you get and then forget for two and one half years the signal deluxe battery. Well, it began with a hunch, didn't it, Morley? With a solid sure feeling that the man in the salt and pepper suit back in that bar in Omaha had money. And it paid off on a dock in San Francisco when a baggage clerk put a fortune in smuggled diamonds into your hands. As the cab pulls up in front of your hotel, you know the important thing now is the time that you have to be out of town before Lucille Lacey's body is discovered in her hotel room across the street. The lobby is almost deserted when you enter. A tired looking gentleman is reading the paper in a chair near the window and the clerk as usual is wrapped up in his magazine. 308, please. Oh, yeah. And get my bill ready. I'm checking out in ten minutes. Just a minute. Yeah? This is the man. 308. Huh? What are you... All right. Keep your hands on the counter. Take a look, buddy. Headquarters. Oh, look, I don't know what you... Is this the guy who made the call, clerk? Yeah, the one the operator told you about what you called headquarters. Smart girl. The operator? Yeah. It was hours ago. You got kind of gabby, didn't you? Something about taking care of the guy and the checked overcoat? Oh, well, that was only a gag, officer. I was kidding. You see... You got a queer sense of humor. A guy named Zeke Chambers was found dead in an alley this morning. You what? With a knife in his back. Know anything about it? Knife? What are you trying to... And he was wearing a checked overcoat. The papers hit the streets an hour ago. Listen, listen, officer. I don't know anything about it. When I called her, I was kidding. You see, I was... Who were you kidding? A lady at the Brighton across the street, room 402. Made a note of it right here on the register. Listen, you gotta let me explain. I don't think you're with killing that guy. We'll get to that later. Later? Yeah. At the moment, I want to see how your girlfriend across the street took the joke about the guy in the checked overcoat. No. No, wait a minute. You can't... Come on, come on, mister. Let's go over and talk to the lady in 402. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program The Whistler each Sunday night at the same time. Signal Oil Company has asked me to remind you that there's an easy way we can all help to make this holiday season happier for ourselves and others. Drive at sensible speeds, be courteous, and obey traffic regulations. It may save a life, possibly your own. Featured in tonight's story were Bill Foreman, John Daener, and Betty Lou Gerson. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Harold Swanton and Joel Malone, 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 for the Signal Oil Company. Stay tuned for our Miss Brooks starring Eve Arden, which follows immediately over most of these stations. This is CBS The Columbia Broadcasting System.