 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. Just 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. For Sunday evening listening pleasure, the signal to listen for is this whistle that identifies the Signal Oil program, The Whistler. And I know many things before 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. Appointment for murder. This evening was crisp and dark, with only a handful of winter stars overhead, remote and distant. But the street itself reflected a quiet warmth as Harold Ellis turned into it. Slowly, resolutely walked past the trim well-kept houses that lined either side. Farther down the block, the lights of his home reached out in the darkness. His home in Valerie's. But Harold wasn't looking ahead with the light of his home tonight. His gaze was detached, expressionless. This thing had been on his mind for two days. This thing in Valerie's. Their marriage has been drifting for some time now, and he wasn't sure when he'd stopped loving it. With a quiet breach, his in Valerie's, as quiet as the street on which they live. He told himself long ago that he'd never leave her. It had something to do with honor, Harold's idea of honor. But this other matter, this thing, something had to be done about it right away, tonight. Yes, dear, it's me. You're late, Harold, almost an hour. Yes, I know. Sorry, Valerie. Is everything all right? I want to talk to you, Valerie. Of course, Harold. Valerie, I went to the bank yesterday to put some papers in the safety deposit box. Harold, I... Let me finish, please. The bonds are gone, Valerie. Seven thousand dollars worth all we had. I want you to tell me about it. Oh, Harold. I've wanted to, I've tried to, but I didn't know how. What did you do with the money? I lost it. Gambling? Yes, Harold. Gambling. Oh, don't ask me why. I didn't want to lose our money, Harold. But I did. I just couldn't help it. I thought you were all true with that. I, I thought you were... Sure. I thought so, too. But, well, I guess I'm not. Harold, what are we going to do? Nothing. There's nothing to do, except forget it. The money's gone now. Wait, Harold. That isn't all. I still owe the casino five thousand dollars. I have to pay it by the end of the week or... But we can't. We don't have five thousand dollars, and we won't have it by the end of this week or next... We just won't pay it, that's all. We have to. Cregan won't stand for it. I don't know what he'd do if we didn't pay it. Cregan? Kurt Cregan. He's one of the owners of the casino. Harold, you've got to see him. Talk to him. Make him give us time. I don't want to see him. It wouldn't do any good. You must, Harold. Don't you see? It's our only chance. Right, Harold? Please go. Please. Please do it for me. All right, Dahlery. All right, I'll go. I'd better phone. Make an appointment for you. See if you can make it tomorrow night. Around eight. The following evening at eight, you arrive at the casino. It's like another world to you, isn't it, Harold? A sudden maze of fables, some intense, harried. Others flushed with frantic, unreal smiles. A man who greeted you at the door is motioning you toward another door at the back of the casino. And you follow him. You did say you wanted to see Mr. Cregan. Not Mr. Layton. Cregan. Kurt Cregan. He's the owner, isn't he? He's one of them, Layton's the other. It's Mr. Cregan I'm looking for. OK. This is his office. Mr. Ellis to see you, Mr. Cregan. Come in, Mr. Ellis. We'll be off, then. OK. You look around the office, Harold. Not at all what you expected. It looks like the office of any well-established business executive, doesn't it? And Kurt Cregan is a surprise, too. He might be a business executive or a professional man. He's a dumb, Mr. Ellis. Tall, attractive, graying at the temples. He looks you straight in the eye and smiles like the family doctor, perhaps. Only one thing about him seems out of the ordinary. You notice he's wearing gloves. Skin tight gloves. You stare at him and Kurt quickly answers the question that you haven't asked. The gloves seem strange to you. Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to stare. Forget it, everybody does. Dr. Zorders, trying to be the skin irritation. Hope to get them off soon. Now, then, Mr. Ellis. It... Well, my wife, I understand she owes you $5,000. That's right. Would you care for a drink? No. No thanks. About the $5,000, Mr. Cregan, I can't pay it. I don't have it. I don't know much about these things, but I... Well, I just can't pay it, that's all. Well, Mr. Ellis, gambling bets are no different than any other kind. When they're incurred, they have to be paid. When we owe the customers, we pay them. We expect them to pay when they owe us. That's just good business, don't you agree? Well, yes, it's good business, all right, but... I just don't have that kind of money. I see. Tell you what I'll do, Mr. Ellis. By the way, are you a gambling man? No, I'm not. Well, even so, I think you'll agree this is fair. Suppose we cut for a high card, you and I. If you cut the high card, the debt is canceled. If I cut it, you'll have to pay me the $5,000. Now, even if you lose, you're no worse off than you are right now. How about it? Well, I... I don't know. I mean, this is a straight deck. You can look at it if you want to. Oh, no, no, it isn't that. It's just because I... I'm giving you a chance, Mr. Ellis, that's all. A chance to cancel the debt. I don't often do that. But I'm a gambler. In your case, I want to give you a break, because you're on a hook through no fault of your own. All right, Mr. Cree. Go ahead, Kat. As you say, I have nothing to lose. Okay. There you are. Ten of spades. Your turn. Okay. The Queen of Diamonds. Well, well, you win, Mr. Ellis. The debt's canceled. Well, now how about that drink? Yes. Yes, I think I will have a drink now. Thanks, Mr. Creegan. Good. Good. Scotch and soda, okay? Fine. Just fine. Hell, I don't mind telling you, I... I feel much better now, Mr. Creegan. Oh, here's your drink. Thanks. Oh, excuse me, Mama. Oh, Jerry, come in. Oh, I didn't know you were busy, Kirk. I'm not busy, Jerry. Mr. Ellis and I were just having a drink. Come on in. All right. This is Mr. Ellis. Mr. Ellis, my partner, Jerry. How do you do? How do you do? Sit down. Join us, Jerry. This is a celebration. Mr. Ellis just won $5,000 from me. Well, congratulations, Mr. Ellis. You're a lucky man. Thank you. Yes. Mr. Ellis is a very lucky man. But you, Jerry, you're unlucky. Hey, watch it. No, you're not so lucky, Jerry. I'm taking over the club as of now. Why did you... You... You shot him. No, Mr. Ellis. I didn't shoot Jerry. You did. I did. No. You... You shot... You shouldn't have shot my partner, Mr. Ellis. Now I'm afraid I'll have to call the police. Our signal gasoline book goes to Earl Dixon of Salinas, California for this limerick. After hearing the whistler one night, we tried signal and to our delight. We find that our car now goes farther by far, which proves the announcer is right. No, no gasoline. Your car will go far. We'll go further gasoline. When tonight's limerick writer said he had tested signal's mileage and found the announcer right, it was mighty sweet music to my ears. Yes, although signal has long been famous as the go farther gasoline, we're always happy to hear when someone puts signal to the test. For we know that in addition to signal's good mileage, he'll also discover quick starting peppy pickup and smooth power. That's because mileage and performance naturally go hand in hand. You get all the things that makes driving more pleasure. When you switch to signals, the famous go farther gasoline. You can't believe what you've seen, Harold. You can't even move. You just sit there riveted to your chair. Kurt Kreegan has just fired two shots at his partner, Jerry Layton, and killed him. You saw that, Harold, but Kurt says that you killed Jerry. You're frozen with shock. All you can do is sit there staring at Kurt, who smiles down at the automatic in his gloved hand. Then smiles quickly at you, and then suddenly tosses you the gun. Now, Kurt, catch this gun. Now, little man, your fingerprints are all over the murder weapon. No, you did it. The gloves. Yeah, the gloves. They don't leave prints. You killed one man, Alice. You're going to kill me, too. No, I didn't. Go on. You got the gun. Pull the trigger. Shoot me. Just like you shot Jerry. No, I didn't. Then myself. You're about to shoot me, too. Go on. Pull the trigger. That was a blank. The parenthesis of your hands will prove it. And now, killer, I'll have to knock you out. Kurt lunges at you, swings a blow that crazes your cheek, and then falls off balance against the desk, stumbling. Panic seizes you. You look around the window. Must lead somewhere, Harold. Yes, a fire escape. A landing right outside the window. You've got to run, Harold. That's all you can do now. Run. Stumbling, you'll make your way down the fire escape. Then along the dark alleyway. Hey, get that guy. Stop him. Harold, all you can do is run. Run into the night until finally you stagger into a darkened doorway to catch your breath. As you stand there and watch the first drops of rain hit the sidewalk and hear the distant rumble of thunder, you realize that you've left your hat and overcoat back there in Kurt Kreegan's office. That will help to incriminate you, won't it? Just as the pistol will with your fingerprints on it. And it's your hand that has the microscopic gunpowder blasted into the skin. The paraffin test will show that you will not Kirk fire that gun. Turning up your collar, you move away. Walk for hours in the rain, wondering what to do. Finally, just before dawn, you wander into a cheap little hotel on the waterfront. The lobby is deserted. At the desk, you ring the night bell. As you stand waiting, your eyes fall on a midnight copy of the morning edition. Gambler shot by irate husband. Please seek insurance, man, for murder of Jerry Leighton. Dead man's partner tells of quarrel over gambling and debt. What's on your mind, Mr. What? You look up from the paper. A man, unshaven, sleepy-eyed, wearing a soil-grey bathrobe approaches you. I, uh, I'd like a room, please. Okay. You got any luggage? No. You have to pay in advance. How much? Back and a half, front room. Here you are. Okay. Here's the key. Thank you. Uh, Mr. Tech, you had it registered. Oh. Just sign your name here. Yours or anybody else's, I am particular. Just as long as you sign a name. Uh, that's fine, Mr., uh, Farnsworth. Hey, by the way, where'd you get the fat lift, Mr. Farnsworth? What? The fat lift. You've been in a fight? Oh, my lift. No, no, I... Room 219, one flight up. Three doors down the hall on your left. There's in the room you stretch out in the bed and lie there, staring up at the ceiling. It's hard to believe this has happened to you, Harold. It's like a nightmare. The police at the city are looking for you. They charge murder. And they'll never believe it was a frame-up, will they? You close your eyes and listen to the sound of the city awake. The storm. Wonder what you're going to do. Presently, you get out of bed, stand by the window, and watch the grey dawn approach. And then, suddenly, your attention is drawn down to the street below. A police car pulls into the curb. A man hurries out of the hotel to meet it. You recognize the desk clerk. Quickly, you flip into the hall. Start to the stairs and realize the police will be coming up those stairs. Then, at the far end of the car, do you see a window? A sign over it, a fire escape. As you hear footsteps on the stairs, you look around frantically. See a door a few feet away and slightly ajar. You don't know what's on the other side, but it's your only chance. Find yourself in a lemon pot. Leave the door open and crack. Hear the footsteps coming down the hall and recognize the clerk's voice. Yeah, yeah, suddenly it hits me, see? I read in the papers about the parallelist guy and suddenly it hits me. He said to the description, all right, one big check in. A few hours ago. Say, is there a reward out on this guy, huh? No, there isn't. How do you like that? You watch them through the crack in the door on the hall and turn into the corridor and disappear. Quickly you slip out of the closet. Down the stairs, through the lobby, out into the street. Hey! Hey, you're not there! You glance up, see the policeman leaning out of the window of your room. You turn and break into a run. That was close, wasn't it, Harold? For a moment you were trapped. You make your way to the railroad yard and find an empty boxcar. For the rest of the day you remain there huddled behind the big packing cases and not daring to move. You know the police are out there somewhere in the railroad yard looking for you. You wait for darkness and a chance to slip away. That evening under cover of darkness you move along the back street and finally walk into a drug store and step into a phone booth. You can't go on hiding and running forever, can you, Harold? You don't know what else to do. You've got to talk to someone. Someone who could help you. You wonder, don't you, Harold? Wonder why you're dialing this number? Why you turned instinctively to Judy for help and not your wife? Judy, Mr. Fleming secretary, a girl at the office. A girl who has suddenly become something more than just another one of the employees. This is Harold. Harold Ellis. Harold! Harold, sorry if I woke you. No, no, it's all right. I wasn't asleep. Where are you? At the corner of Grove and Fifth. I'll drive by and pick you up. No, Judy, wait. You don't know quite what to say, Harold. You should turn yourself in, I suppose, yet. The police wouldn't believe me. Can you blame them? But you didn't kill Layton. Harold, I wish I knew what to do. Maybe it is simple as well-running. Harold. Yes? Whatever you decide. I'll help you any way I can. Money, my car. Here we are in my apartment house. Come on, Harold. No. No, Judy, I'm not going with you. What's wrong? I can't do it, Judy. It isn't right. I can't implicate you in this. Oh, Harold, I don't care. Well, I do. I don't want you to get mixed up in this mess. Goodbye, Judy, and thanks for everything. No, wait! I get to ride a little park. It did me some good. Judy, I'm tired of running. I know what I've got to do. You're going to give yourself up? Yes. But first, I'm going to have a little talk with Kurt Kreegan. So long, Judy. Yes, Harold, you know what you've got to do. You've got to get to Kurt Kreegan alone and make him talk. You're not certain just how you're going to force him to tell the truth to the police. But he'll tell them, Judy, he's got to. The following night, after long, endless, sleepless hours of hiding, fading and sinking, you decide to make your move. You hurry over to the parking lot and back to the gambling casino. Look over the cars and carefully examine the registration cards. You find Kreegan's dark convertible. He's into the back and lies flat on the floor. Then pulling the auto-robe over you, you settle down to wait for him. But the sleepless hours have caught up to you, haven't they, Harold? Somehow you've dozed off. And when you rouse yourself from your heavy slumber, the car is in motion. You stretch your cramped leg, try to sit up. The car suddenly comes to a stop. You pull yourself up. Watch Kurt as he walks away. And then as you look around, you realize he's walking up the path to your house. And you watch him as he enters. You know you shouldn't take the chance of being seen. The police are watching your house. But you've got to find out what Kurt Kreegan is doing there. If you get out of the car, hurry around to the side of the house. Kitchen window is open. I just wanted to see you, baby. You hear voices. You shouldn't have come. Relax, sweetheart. The cops aren't covering this place anymore. Harold wouldn't be stupid enough to show up here and they know it. All right, all right. You shot Jerry Layton. Why didn't you hold Harold at the club until the police got there? Well, he was a little too fast for me. They'll get him. He's a dead pigeon. It'll all work out just the way we planned it, baby. Are you sure? Well, what do you mean? I think you've played me for a sucker, that's all. And now that you've got what you want, but you really want it all the time, the club, all to yourself. You're going to walk out on me. Well, baby, how can you say that? Because I... I just found out you've been going around with another woman. Oh, no, honey. You deny it? You're all wrong, believe me. All wrong, well. You move away from the kitchen window, Harold. You hurt enough, haven't you? Besides, you can't take the chance of staying around your house any longer. Valerie and Kirk, they planned it together to frame you for murder to get you out of the way. It's all quite clear now, isn't it? Her story of losing $5,000, making the appointment for you to meet Kirk at the club. You move quickly around to the back of the house, to the porch. Only a few feet away from you now, Harold, is the closet. And in that closet, you're old hunting rifles. You can use it, can't you? Kill them both for what they've done to you. Suddenly, you stop one foot on the step and stand there in the darkness room. Then you close the door again and turn away. You can't do it, can you? In spite of what they've done to you, you just can't kill. And you can't go on running. An hour later, you decide the only thing to do is to turn yourself in. Yeah, okay, right, Lieutenant. That guy's gonna drive me. Now, what can I do for you, sir? I... I want to get myself up. Oh? My name is Harold Ellis. You've been looking for me. Harold Ellis, eh? Yeah. Yeah, we sure have been looking for you, Mr. Ellis. Because many of you drivers will be buying a new battery before the cold spell ends, here's a word of wisdom. When you compare the cost of various batteries, remember this. The important thing is not the first cost, but the cost per month, which of course depends on how long the battery lasts. Measured by that yardstick, one of today's most economical batteries, is the new Extra Long Life Signal Deluxe Battery. Instead of being guaranteed for only 12 or 18 months like ordinary batteries, the new signal deluxe batteries are guaranteed a full 30 months on a service basis. And so that you'll enjoy quicker cold weather starting, signal deluxe batteries deliver up to 35% more power because their improved type micro porous all rubber separators hold twice as much acid solution between the plates. I think there are just two reasons why, before you buy any battery, you'll be wise to get your signal dealer's trade-in offer for your old battery plus his convenient credit terms. Prove it for yourself that on a per month basis, it actually costs less to enjoy the quicker starting and long dependability of today's finest battery, a signal deluxe battery. It was a shock, wasn't it, Harold? I was learning that your wife Valerie and the gambler Kirk Cregan had planted together to frame you for murder. As you listened outside your kitchen window and heard them talking about it, you wanted to kill them both, didn't you? Yet somehow you couldn't. So you hurried away and finally you'd made up your mind to give yourself up. Now you stand in the police station facing the desk sergeant. Yeah, we've been looking for you all right, Mr. Ellis? I don't suppose anyone will believe me. I didn't kill Layton. We know you didn't. What? We've already got Layton's murderer. You have who? Kirk Cregan, the gambler. He's at the emergency hospital right now. Pretty bad shape. He confessed. But why if he was in the clear if the police were looking for me? He got into an argument with his girlfriend. You're... Sorry, Mr. Ellis. Your wife. She stabbed him with a kitchen knife. Valerie? Yeah. When the officers walked in on her, your wife broke down, told them everything. Everything? That's right. The whole story of how she and Cregan framed you. That makes me feel better. I'm glad Valerie finally told the truth. There wasn't much else she could do. The boys had her in custody a few seconds after she'd stabbed Cregan. She didn't have time to make a getaway. She should have realized the police would be watching the house looking for me. Nope. That's a funny thing. We hadn't been watching your house at all. Then how did it happen that police got their... One of your neighbors called. Tipped us off that you were there looking in the kitchen window. We came after you and found your wife and Cregan. 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 automotive accessories. Remember, if you would like the fun of having your friend Tiro Limerick of yours on the Whistler, the address to which to send it is the Signal Oil Company, Los Angeles 55, California. All Limericks become the property of the 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. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Gil Thomas, 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 the same time next Sunday, another strange tale, by the Whistler. 228,000 disaster victims received aid last year from the Red Cross, so that no unfortunate person will be turned away this year. Let's all give enough when we're asked to give to the Red Cross. Marvin Miller speaking for the Signal Oil Company. By the way, Whistler fans, if you didn't hear Jack Benny's parody on the Whistler this afternoon, be sure to tune in his repeat broadcast at 9.30 tonight over the same station. This is CBS The Columbia Broadcasting System.