 And now stay tuned for the mystery program that is unique among all mystery programs. Because even when you know who is guilty, you always receive a startling surprise at the final curtain. In the Signal Oil program, the Whistler. Signal, the famous Go-Farther gasoline, invites 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 Doctor's Wife. The Boston firm of Benikey and Woodruff, dealers in antiques, art objects and rare books, has welcomed scholars and collectors into its long, narrow and dimly-lit showrooms for over 100 years. And since 1850, the same motto in neat gold letters on the plate glass window reads, a firm of integrity. But Charles Benikey, one of the present owners of Benikey and Woodruff, is too restless a man to follow in the traditional footsteps of his forebears. Even now, though his policies have brought the firm to the brink of disaster, Charles remains self-assured and unruffled. As he enters the showrooms late in the afternoon, walks back to the office of his partner, Paul Woodruff. Oh, there you are, Paul. Yes, here I am. Well, I did some good. Did you forge another letter by Keats, or was it Shakespeare this time? Lower your voice. What for? Because if I had to spend the next ten years in jail, I assure you, you will be in an adjoining cell. Thanks. Okay, what happened? They proved the Keats letter was a forgery, but they couldn't prove we, or should I say, I did it. But in as much as we guaranteed the letter in the bill of sale... Never mind the fine print. How much? The judge awarded them $100,000. $100,000? You know what that means? We're through. Now, look, I told you five years ago when you started working in this dirty racket that I didn't want any part of it. But you never objected to sharing the property. That's a lie. I objected then, I object now. I never wanted to get rich quick. Forget it. We've got to get busy. Oh, doing what? Putting the stock up for auction and filing the bankruptcy papers? Not quite. I still have the genuine Tupo first edition of Bonelli's Fables locked away. Huntington Library offered $200,000 for it. That was last month. They'll go even higher this month. I have a very unpleasant surprise for you. Another copy has turned up. Somebody was pulling your leg. Ours is the only copy in existence. Was? As you very well know, there were several copies turned out in the original printing. Another one has reared its ugly little head. Oh, it's a forgery. Yeah, sure, sure. That's the first thing you'd think of. Well, it's not. It's an infrared check on the watermark, and Huntington says it an exact duplicate of ours. Unmarked, perfect in every respect. Original Italian version, Bonelli's Fables, F-Tupo Press, first known printing, issued February 13th, 1485, complete with the woodcut boarders. Do you want any more? Who has it? Elkin Arthur, London, is the agent for the book, but is still in possession of the guy who discovered it. Dr. Roger Brookhurst lives in some London suburb. What do they want for it? Elkin Arthur figures they can swing the deal for around $50,000. Ridiculously low. We have to get hold of that book. How? Even if we had $50,000, which we don't, thanks to you, Huntington already has an option on it. You seem rather pleased about the whole thing. As a matter of fact, I am. Even if I have to lose my shirt, at least I'll be through with you and your shady deals. Not just yet. I'm leaving town for a month, possibly longer. You'll remain in charge of the shop until I get back. Who says I will? I needn't remind you that in the eyes of the law you're quite as involved in the so-called shady deals as I am. I would strongly urge you to remain at your coast until I return. Where are you going? London, of course. And I'm not coming back until I get that other copy of Bonnelly's Fables. Three days later, you're aboard a world airline clipper completing your trip across the Atlantic, aren't you, Charles? You lose no time sightseeing in London, do you? And after finding yourself in a quiet, fashionable apartment, you immediately put through a call to Dr. Roger Brookhurst. Dr. Brookhurst's office? It's Dr. Brookhurst's residence. I'd like to make an appointment to see him. The doctor's no longer receiving patients. Oh, well, I'm not sick. I wish to see the doctor on a business matter of extreme urgency. Oh, please. I've come all the way from America to see him. This is Gerald Kimberley, Dr. Brookhurst's secretary, and... Charles Benicke. Please, I'm sure. Forgive me, Yvonne. My head is splitting. I must be going. I'm sorry about... I'll take care of it, Gerald. Don't worry. Well, then, goodbye, Yvonne. And good day to you, sir. Are you the doctor's daughter? I'm his wife, but that is a compliment. Oh, the truth. For all Americans like you. In the presence of a beautiful woman. In that case, I had better take you upstairs to see Roger immediately. Well, if you insist. I want to warn you. He's been an invalid for some time, stomach disorder. It makes him very short tempered. I understand. Oh, Roger, the gentleman who phoned is here. Oh, yes, the American. Show him in. How do you do, doctor? Not very well. Sorry. Well, sir, what is this urgent business that brings you to my door? Your copy of Bonelli's Fables. You see... No, I don't. Now, look here, sir. I don't care if you came all the way from the North Pole. I have had quite enough of book buyers, book sellers, and book traders. My agent is Elkin's Arthur, 84, Channing Cross Road. Consult him if you care to, but kindly leave me and my household alone. Well, I did tend your... Oh, no fault of yours. I try not to judge him, but cooped up with him day in and day out. Well, it's just... Can't you ever get away? No, I can't. It's no fun by yourself. Well, why don't you let me... Oh, no. I didn't mean to hint. After all, you're a complete stranger. All the more reason. Someone has to show me around London. I couldn't. Oh, nonsense you can and you will. Let me take you out dancing somewhere after dinner tomorrow night. You can get away, can't you? Yes, but... Would you really want to? Oh, very much. Well... All right, I'll do it. Thank you. But I'm certain that neither of us will regret your decision. Keep on. You know the sound effects they use for radio are mighty interesting. For instance, supposing I were to broadcast that message you see on Signal's cartoon billboards. Next time, go farther with Signal. Well, if I said that same thing over a film or microphone, here's how it would sound. Next time, go farther. On the other hand, through the echo chamber, it sounds like this. Next time, go farther with Signal. But really, friends, the important thing is not how you say something, but what you say. And the important thing to you drivers is that from Canada to Mexico, Signal has become famous as the go farther gasoline. After all, in order to give you such good mileage, today's Signal has to help your engine run more efficiently. And when your engine runs more efficiently, naturally you also enjoy quicker starting, peppier pickup, smoother power, more of the things that make driving more fun. So to be sure of both driving economy and driving pleasure, just be sure to fill up next time at a Signal station. And next time, go farther with Signal. It looked very bad when you first arrived in London. With Dr. Roger Brookhurst, the owner of the only other first edition of Benelli's fables, in very ill health and equally ill nature. It seemed as if you'd be completely unable to talk him out of his copy of the book, which you must have to ensure the value of the one which you and your partner in America now possess. But the doctor's wife is going to make a difference, isn't she? You two get along beautifully the first night that you take her out, don't you? Dining in a secluded restaurant, dancing afterwards. And then a romantic stroll along the Thames. You don't even mention the precious book until you're riding home together in a cab. I don't know when I've enjoyed myself so much. Oh, it has been a splendid evening. You know, I can't see how a woman of your beauty endures that. But don't say it. I am married to Roger. It's not his fault. Well, all the same. I don't want to thank you about it. Very well. This evening has been very strange. I feel as though I'd known you for years. And I've missed you for years. Charles, I... I... What are you trying to say? Nothing. Let's keep it light and gay. All right. Let's discuss the subject you've avoided all evening. I can't think of any. Remember I came to London to get my hands on a rare book? Oh, that. How do you know I haven't taken you out for a purpose? I have had fun, just to say. Oh, you little idiot. Tell me, has your husband told you anything about the value of his Bonelli's fable? No, he never discusses business affairs with me. It's worth quite a lot of money, you know. Really? Yes. As much as 10,000 American dollars. That much? Honest? That's right. You see, Yvonne, the next Friday, and then the weekend after that. You're sure she's in love with you, Charles. And you're sure she loathes her husband. But you have to find a way of bringing it out into the open and taking advantage of it to get that book. Luck is with you there, isn't it, Charles? Or on Wednesday evening, as you walk hand-in-hand down a quiet lane, Yvonne turns to you. You won't think I'm vicious, Charles, if I... I know you're not. It's about Roger. I can't stand it another minute. Day in and day out, jailed in that old house with that nagging invalid. I'm sorry. It's not his fault. But you can't help what you feel. It's true. I can't. I'm young and I want to taste life. Of course you do. You care anything about me at all, Charles. Don't lie or pretend, please. I love you, Yvonne. You're not just saying that to get hold of that old book, are you, Charles? Yvonne, the book is important to me. I'm short of cash at the moment and the client I represent will give me a handsome bonus for getting it. But, well, it has nothing to do with my love for you. You don't have to explain. Oh, darling, what can we do? Why don't you take the confounded book and run off with me? The devil will take it off. I want to. I wish I could. Why can't you? This scandal would kill my family. Well, sometimes, Yvonne, we have to... No, Charles, it won't work. There must be some other way. If I could get a divorce, I... Oh, that's impossible, isn't it? Under the circumstances, yes. But you've got to help me, Charles. There is another way. What do you mean? It could be done quickly, safely. No one would be the wiser. No, no, Charles. Your husband is in a great deal of pain, Yvonne. No, not murder. Well, forget I mentioned it. Perhaps we'd better say goodbye. No, wait. How... how would you... we do it if we decided to do it? I assume Roger uses sleeping pills. Yes. A few extra in his glass of milk or tea. And... And it could be all over. Yes. Roger could leave a short note behind, explaining why he did it. But it's handwriting. I've spent a good part of my life studying original manuscripts and letters. I'm something of an expert on handwriting. I see. Oh, but I'm afraid, Charles. I'm very afraid. Come here, darling. Please hold me close, Charles. Hold me tight. A few days later, Charles, as you sit in your lounging jacket reading a French novel, the phone rings. Hello? Charles? Yes. What time? Eight. All right. No, of course not. I'll take every precaution. I'm afraid you wouldn't come. You know I wouldn't let you. Did you get everything? Yes, and here. These are his letters? Yes, and they're recent, too. Good. Here's his ten. Is this his usual stationery? Yes. Let me do a little practicing on this scratch pad. Yvonne? Yvonne? Yes? Yes, Roger? Is there anyone down there in the sitting room with you? Not really. Now what does that mean? Is there anyone down there or not? I heard voices. Only a neighbor? What does he want? Just to... But you might tell your neighbor that subscriptions are available at the strength. Yes, Roger. And bring up my tea, please. In a moment. Now? Maybe we shouldn't go through with it. Slip the sleeping tablets into the tea. What about the note? Are you sure? It'll be perfect. All right then. Yvonne? Yvonne? Coming, Roger! Drinking the tea now. The note? How's this? I've been a burden on my wife long enough. Forgive me. Roger Brookhurst, MD. Good. Charles, perhaps you'd better keep away until after the funeral and me in quest. Yes, of course. I'll miss you, darling. I miss you too, Charles. I hate to bring this up at a time like this, but we must be practical. Perhaps I ought to sell the book for you immediately. You'll need ready cash for the funeral expenses. Oh no, Charles. They might ask about it at the inquest. Give me a week. Certainly, darling. Shall we arrange for a place to meet? What about our pub off Piccadilly Circus? Ah, just the place. A week from today. Four o'clock be all right? Yes. Anything else? No. I only hope I can stand the ordeal. When it gets bad, think of us in America married happy together. I will. And now upstairs, do you suppose he's... Yes. We'd better have a look. The days that follow seem endless, don't they, Charles? You scan every edition of the newspaper, but all you find are short paragraphs in the back pages, stating the simple facts of Roger's death. You fight to keep from phoning Ivan, and the week finally passes. You find yourself at last in the pub off Piccadilly Circus for the four o'clock appointment with him. You wait for her nervously, and suddenly she's there, sitting down beside you in a black gown. Charles, I don't dare stay very long, but it is good to see you. Everything go all right, Yvonne? Yes. Nothing suspicious at the inquest? Nothing. Ah, good. Did you bring the book? No. Well, why didn't you? I got a sharp cablegram from my client, and I'll need his bonus to book passage for the both of us. Well, I couldn't help it. There were a million details tomorrow, Charles. I promise. Well, I'll meet you in the morning. Better make it afternoon. Why? Well, because, Telle, the book is in the Bank of London, and I have to get all sorts of papers signed and seal proving I'm me, and that Roger was my husband, and that I have a right to his bank vault. Ah, all right. At three, the Bank of London. Mm-hmm. I'm sorry. I'll see you tomorrow. You're not cross with me. No. You still love me. Oh, you know I do. Bank of London. You feel much better, don't you, Charles? You're certain that tomorrow afternoon you'll have your hands on the only other original printing of Buonelle's fables? You feel a little sad about poor Yvonne, but you don't let it bother you too much. You leave the pub and walk to the world airline's office. Can I be of service, sir? I wish to book passage back to America. Boston. Oh, yes, sir. We have a flight leaving tomorrow night at nine. I'll take it. How many in your party? Um, one. As you're about to get your ticket, you'll suddenly hear a familiar voice from another ticket window close by. Two for Paris. Yes, they'll do. I'm in a hurry. Here. You can only catch a glimpse of her back, but you're sure it's Yvonne. Your ticket, sir? Hold it for me. That's all right. I'll be back. You rush out after her, but she disappears into a waiting car and drives off. Desperately, you look up and down the street. Cabbie! Cabbie! Off in yank? Bromley suburb. And step on it. Amber and street, if you don't mind. I'll show you. Get going. You have the driver let you off a block before Yvonne's house and walk the rest of the way. As you approach, you see Gerald Kimberley, the late Dr. Brookhurst secretary, drive off in a roadster loaded with suitcases. You're afraid you're too late, aren't you, Charles, as you rush inside the Brookhurst residence. I'm out of the safe. Hello, Yvonne. Charles. Surprised? Yes. I didn't think you could do a thing like this after all we went through. Didn't you know? I thought that lady loved me. No crocodile tears, Charles. I was on to your game from the first. What do you mean game? Oh, come off it, Charles. Imagine trying to tell me the book was worth $10,000 when poor Roger was giving it away at $50,000. You knew. All the time, you knew. What did you take me for anyway, an innocent little fool? Well, now you know much better. I'll take that book. Oh, no, you won't. You'll get out of here. Gerald and I are going away together. And if I have any more difficulties from you, I shall call the police. You wouldn't dare. Why not? As I remember it, you forged a suicide note. Hey, listen, Yvonne. This is wrong. I love you, Yvonne. Don't laugh. Besides, if it were true, it would do you a little good. Gerald and I have been in love for years, but he couldn't bring himself to do away with Roger. So that's why you let me. You used me. That's right. I'll take that book, Yvonne. No, you won't. Let go of me. Too bad, Yvonne. You could at least have had your life. And Gerald. To have nine lives were once used as a basis of comparison for things which are supposed to last a long while. But today, Pussy is a piker compared with the new Lee Super Deluxe tires. Here's what I mean. For extra long mileage, Lee toughens long-wearing cold rubber still further with patented high abrasive fill black O. And for extra safety, extra protection against blowouts or road hazards, Lee reinforces the carcass with double life rayon cord. No wonder Lee of Konchehaken, for half a century maker of first line tires, dares to back these famous nationally advertised new Lees with a double guarantee. Guaranteed for life against effective workmanship and materials. Guaranteed 15 months against all road hazards. When you consider that Lee charges nothing extra for all this extra quality, and dealers are now giving generous trade and allowances on old tires, you can see why more and more drivers who want to be prepared for what's ahead are going to signal stations and Lee tire dealers for the tire with nine lives. Lee tires. It was over quickly, wasn't it, Charles? With Yvonne dead, you were able to take the book, dispose of your gun, and leave the house without being seen. Then you hurried to the transatlantic telephone and talked to your partner in Boston. Give him some hurried instruction. You're certain you can expect to visit from the police probably soon. And after talking with your partner, you're sure you're prepared for them, aren't you? Yes. You own an identical copy of the book. It's a matter of public record in book catalogs throughout the world. You're sure all you have to do is say that this is your copy of Benelli's Fables. Both volumes are identical, aren't they? Even the printing errors, the flaws in the photography. And no one can know that your copy of Benelli's Fables is locked in the safe of your office in America. It's a risk, but only a slight one, which you will have to take. You jump with the sound of a knock on the door. You wonder if it can beat a police so soon. Quickly, you slip the stolen book from your briefcase and put it in the desk drawer and lock it. Coming. Coming. Yes? Who are you? I'm Inspector Cramer of Scotland Yard. May we come in? Oh, please do. Sorry for the delay. I'm just quite all right. And, sir, I am here about a murder. Murder? Yvonne Brookhurst was found shot to death two hours ago. Why? Oh, this is a shock. Rare volume was stolen by the murderer. Oh, Benelli's Fables. Yes, yes, sir. We understand from Mr. Gerald Kimberley that you were most anxious to get the book. I certainly was. It's an original edition. I have the only other copy. I have it with me, as a matter of fact. Your ownership is a matter of official record, if you care to investigate. How do you happen to bring your copy with you as valuable as it is? Oh, with both copies in my possession, I could ask and get any price for either. Or both. I'd hope to sell them, either here or at home. Yes, and it still seems strange. You're more than welcome to communicate with my partner in the States, Inspector. He'll verify everything I've told you. The fact that this is our copy, the reasons why I brought it with him. I'll come to that. Meantime, and may I see your copy? Yes, of course. Here you are, Inspector. It's interesting. Tell me, are you familiar with the book at all? Oh, certainly. I read it twice a year. It gives me a chance to brush up on my Italian. Good. Are there any identifying marks in the book? Let's see. Yes, it turned to page 32. Last line. The capital letter is missing on the first word. Any others? Mm-hmm. The donkey, beautiful woodcut on the margin of page 50. Yes. The donkey's eye is missing. Mm-hmm. Mr. Benicke, I shall have to arrest you for the murder of Yvonne Brookhurst. This is not your copy of the book. It's the Brookhurst copy. What do you mean, Inspector? What I said, you've never read this book, nor has anyone else. The two pages you mentioned are still uncut. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program, the Whistler, each Sunday night at the same time. Meantime, signal oil company and the friendly independent dealers who help you go farther with signal gasoline hope you'll remember. Regardless of what gasoline you use, you'll enjoy more miles of happy driving. If you drive at sensible speeds, obey traffic regulations and avoid taking chances. You may even save a life. Possibly your own. Featured in tonight's story were Bill Foreman as the Whistler, Les Tremaine, Alice Reinhardt, John Daner, Herb Rawlinson and Donald Morrison. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen with story by Meyer Dolinsky, music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. The Whistler was entirely fictional and all characters portrayed on the Whistler are also fictional. The entirety of names or resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Remember to tune in at the same time next Sunday when the signal oil company will bring you another strange story by the Whistler entitled Man on the Run, in which a killer takes dangerous and breathtaking chances in an attempt to elude pursuit. Marvin Miller speaking for the signal oil company. This is the CBS Radio Network.