 And now, stay tuned for the mystery program that is unique among all mystery programs. Because even when you know who's 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. 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 for the Signal Oil company, the Whistler's strange story, the Oriana Affair. It was quiet at three in the morning, very quiet. Only the soft lapping of the water of Euport Bay against the sides of the yacht Oriana. Nothing more. Only the nervous breathing of the man with the knife, Ralph Fenton. There was no such sound from his victim, the man on the floor of the cabin. No, the knife had stopped that, and still Jim Gunther forever. Ralph Fenton, standing over Gunther's body, turned suddenly, reached for his overcoat in his hat, glanced around the cabin, hurried up the companion way, and then stepped down the gang plan, tossing his knife into the water as he hurried ashore. It's in the papers the following morning. Pleasant reading for you, isn't it, Ralph? You feel safe and secure as you dress, have breakfast and go downtown to the office. Because of Gunther's position, everyone is talking about the case, and you join in, naturally. Confidently, and discussing it blandly with Edna Sloan, the district attorney's secretary. Well, quite frankly, Edna, I think Gunther had it coming. You know, a political pressure man pulling strings, making the puppets jump to hold their jobs. I say we're better off without him. Even threatened to frame you once, didn't he, Ralph? Oh, not seriously. As assistant to the district attorney, well, I'm a small-time target, Edna. Well, Gunther concentrated on bigger games. Like, uh, maybe the district attorney himself? Mm-hmm, could be. Hey, speaking of the boss, what did he have to say about it? Mr. Ainslie's still having his say. He's with Lieutenant Reese in his office. They're questioning a suspect, Tony Ferracci. Ferracci, huh? Well, they're working fast. They got to run across the hall and give a listen. Oh, I'd take it easy, Ralph. Mr. Ainslie wastes very little love on you. It's mutual. I'll save all mine for you. Oh, sure. See ya. Morning, Chief. Hmm? Oh, thank you. Well, didn't expect to find you alone. Edna was telling me that you had... Yes, I had to let Ferracci go. Oh. Alibi, huh? So, another suspect bites the dust. I'm not worried. Now, murder always makes one mistake. Lieutenant Reese? Yeah, Chief? That girl out there in the reception room. Did you get a look at Ferracci on his way out? She did. He's not the one. All right. Bring Miss Robbins in, will you? I want to talk to her. Right. Who's this Miss Robbins? A witness. She saw the killer leaving Gunther's yacht last night. She what? Says she can point out the man to us if she ever sees him again. This way, Miss Robbins. Chief, you don't mind. I've got some things to do. Stick around, Fenton. I want you in on this interview. You're going to work on this case. Want to see me, Mr. Ainsley? Yes, Miss Robbins. We do. Won't you come in? Tonight's $20 signal gasoline book goes to Mrs. Frederick Davis of Glendale, California for this limerick. A frugal young lad from this city spent so much on his car towards a pity. He tried signal one day, now he's saving his pay and his car purrs as smooth as a kitty. Signal, signal, signal gasoline Your car will go far when go for the gasoline Our congratulations to Mrs. Davis for her clever way of describing the good mileage you enjoy with signal. The famous go farther gasoline. Too bad a limerick isn't long enough to include all the benefits you notice when you switch to signal. I mean signals quick cold weather starting, signals peppy pickup, signals smooth responsive power. For its effect, mileage and performance go hand in hand. To enjoy both, fill up with signal. The famous go farther gasoline. It's a shock, isn't it, Ralph? You were so certain that you left the yacht Oriana unseen after killing Jim Gunther. And you were sure that as assistant district attorney you would be able to follow every step of the investigation so no one could surprise you. And now in district attorney Ainsley's office you're confronted with a startling information that there was a witness. Someone who saw a man hurry down the gang plank. Someone who can identify Gunther's murderer. She's here in the district attorney's office, a Miss Paula Robbins. You're trembling, aren't you, Ralph? You want to run but you can't. You look away as Miss Robbins enters and try to edge over to the window and keep your face averted from a direct view. Just sit down, won't you, Miss Robbins? Thank you. Now, Miss Robbins, about Ferracci. You're certain? Oh, yes. And he's not... He's not your man now. Now, you're positive, of course, that you could make the identification. Why? Well, that will be most helpful to us. You know that? Yes, I know. Is this another suspect? Oh, no, I'm sorry. Miss Robbins, this is Ralph Fenton, one of my assistants. Oh, I see. How do you do, Mr. Fenton? Miss Robbins? No, as I was saying, Miss Robbins, I... Miss Robbins. What? Oh, sorry. I was thinking of something else, Mr. Angel. She looks straight at you, doesn't she, Ralph? Almost threw you in a glanced at penetrating appraising. Then she smiles, turns away, and says nothing. But you're certain there was recognition in her eyes. Yet she didn't say a word. Why, you ask yourself? Why, Robbins? Why? Later that morning in a tiny cafe across from the city hall, you sit in a corner booth, having coffee with Edna Sloan, the DA secretary. You learn a little more about Miss Robbins, don't you? Not much, but a little. Oh, yes, Mr. Angel is counting pretty heavily on Paula Robbins. But how does he know that she was even around Edna? What would a girl like that be doing around the other three o'clock in the morning? She owns a boat, not a very big one, lives on it, ties up not far from the Oriana. She was coming in late last night, or early, take your pick. She'd been over to Catalina. She had just brought her boat in, had tied up, and she saw the murderer run ashore and... speaking of the devil, she's over there by the door playing the pinball machine. Yeah, that's who she is. Uh, let's go Edna, huh? Gotta get back. Hello, Mr. Fenton. Oh, Miss Robbins. And Miss Sloan, isn't it? That's right. Hello. Well, what do you know? Look at this. Don't you think I'm a lucky girl, Mr. Fenton? I've hit the jackpot. Oh, so you have? Yes. You must have brought me luck. If I saw you often enough, I'll bet I'd hit the jackpot lots of times, don't you think? Well, Ralph, there it is, out in the open. Her answer, her reason. You no longer have to wonder why Paula Robbins didn't identify you in District Attorney Ainsley's office. Her silence will cost something, won't it, Ralph? Yes. And from the look in her eyes as she faces you, it might cost a great deal. You stare at the girl for a moment. The expression in her eyes, the faint, curious smile on her lips. She knows, doesn't she, Ralph? Yes. She saw you leave Gunther's yacht last night. Yet back there in the office, she didn't identify you as Gunther's killer, and you wonder why. The rest of the morning you debate about having down to the docks to see Paula and talk with her. But you can't make up your mind what to do. Late that afternoon, the District Attorney does it for you. He sends you back to the scene of the crime, Gunther's Yacht, with Lieutenant Reese on a routine matter. As the two of you reach the pier, you see Paula Robbins aboard a small boat, docked not far away from Gunther's Yacht. You tell a lieutenant to go on ahead, and then you hurry toward the girl. Hello. Hello there. Hi. Mind if I come aboard? Come in. Nice little job you've got here. I like it. Been expecting you, Mr. Benton. Oh, really? Yes. You both know who killed Gunther, don't we? I'm afraid I don't follow it. Oh, of course you do. You know I saw you leave the yacht last night. Oh, you're mistaken. Matter of fact, I've seen you many times before. Visiting Gunther. Oh, official business. It was always in trouble. Oh, on the contrary, he was never in trouble. As long as he had a boy in the DA's office, you. You seem to know an awful lot, Miss Robbins. You got to be quite friendly with Jim Gunther. He used to brag about some of those fast deals he was pulling. I knew he couldn't do it alone. Had to have help from the right places, so I put two and two together. All right, Paula. What do you want? Money. Money? I'm not interested in your money, Ralph. What? I already have a nice bank account and a steady income. Then what do you want? Well, let's say your friendship. Yeah, that's it. Your loyalty. Devotion. I don't understand. It's quite simple. A girl like me never knows when she'll need a friend in the DA's office. I think we should get better acquainted real soon. Morning, surgeon. Got a little job for you. Oh, sure. Check with the Motor Vehicle Bureau. Driver's license made out to Paula Robbins. I'm interested in the fingerprints. Right. Well, yes, I'd planned to. I'm not sort of expecting you at the dock today. Well, I've been rather busy the past few days. Oh. So-so. No new developments. Such a lovely evening. Why don't you drive down here? Take me to dinner. Well, fine. I'll drive by the boat and pick up in an hour or so. I would never imagine that an assistant district attorney would dance so well. Well, thanks. By the way, how do you like it here? Very smart club. I like expensive places. One meets such interesting people. And speaking of interesting people. See someone you know? Over there, sitting alone. Bruce Engels. Well, well. No way. No of him. Paula Pony. Speedboats. A lot of money. His wife has all the money. She's a charming girl. Oh. Bruce has a good thing there. Let's go over, shall we? All right. I think you will enjoy meeting Bruce. Hello, Bruce. What? Oh, Paula. Don't get up, darling. Oh. This is Mr. Fenton. Mr. Engels. Mr. Fenton. How do you do, Mr. Engels? Mr. Fenton is our assistant district attorney, Bruce. The assistant district attorney? Yes. He's a friend of mine, isn't that nice? Yeah. That's real nice. I think so. Well, Bruce, give my regards to Della. And do drop by the boat. See me soon, won't you? I'll do that, Paula. Good night, Mr. Fenton. Good night. He doesn't look very happy. Bruce has a lot on his mind. His wife. He'd hate to lose her. Is he in danger of losing her? She ever found out how he spent some of her money. Well, she wouldn't like it. Let's have a drink before we go back to the dance floor, huh? All right. Paula, is Bruce Engels that steady income you mentioned to me the other day? What makes you think that, darling? I checked up on you, sweetheart. The Orleans police informed me that you've done a little time. Blackmail a three-year rep. That's right. But she didn't serve out your full term. You were released after one year. One year. You see what I mean, darling? About having friends in the right places. In New Orleans. As well as here. A clever young woman, isn't she, Ralph? And it's obvious, quite obvious now. Why your friendship is so valuable to her. In the weeks that follow, you see her frequently. There are more dinner dates, nights at the theater, boat rides along the moonlit waters of the California coast. And then one morning, the district attorney drops into your office. He holds a letter in his hand. Fenton, uh, and the Orleans police just sent some additional information, and Paula Robbins. I wasn't aware of the fact that our office was investigating her. Oh, well, I just thought it might be a good idea. Well, it was, Fenton. So Miss Robbins was sent up for blackmailing. It's very interesting, very. And according to this report, she's picked up in other cities several times. Released, lack of evidence. Seems to me, blackmail is quite a business with Miss Robbins. All right. What do you want me to do? Nothing. I'll handle this matter from now on. Oh, now look, just because the girl has got a record of... All right. If she's clean, she won't get hurt. But I'm going to check up on the girl just the same. You never can tell what might come of it. May I, Fenton? You're thankful, aren't you, Ralph, that Paula's out of the district attorney's reach for the time being at least. On a three-day cruise off the coast of Lower California, and she won't be back till Saturday, you tell yourself you'll have to watch the district attorney closely in the days that follow, and be on hand at the docks to warn Paula when she returns from her trip. And then, Saturday morning, as you arrive at the office, you're relieved to learn that the district attorney is already left for his lodge in the mountains to spend the weekend. Later in the afternoon, as you're about to leave, Edna, the district attorney's secretary, calls you. What is it, sweetheart? The boss just phoned in from his lodge. He wants you to bring this up to him right away. The gun profile. Me? Oh, now look at that. That's what he said. He wants you. All right. All right. It's a two-hour drive up to the district attorney's lodge, an isolated spot in the wild mountain region east of the city, and you arrive there shortly before dark. You're curious, aren't you, Ralph, and wonder why he wanted you to come up with a gunther file. It all becomes quite clear to you a few moments later. I've had Lieutenant Rhys checking the movements of the Robbins girl back to the night of the murder fountain. He's given me a complete report. I see. You've been very friendly. You've been seeing quite a bit of the girl, haven't you? I suppose. She's rather attractive. She's a convicted blackmailer. And I have a hunch she's still working at it. What do you mean, Chief? Like I said, it's just a hunch. But she might be blackmailing Gunther's killer. Well, you have no evidence, of course. I've had her bank account checked. She's deposited several large sums of money in that account. Two very heavy deposits have been made since the Gunther killing. Uh-huh. So, what are we going to do? I don't know yet. I want to check the Gunther files again. I want to think about Miss Robbins some more. But I have an idea I'll ever picked up. Ever picked up? On what grounds? Well, maybe Miss Robbins frightens easily. Maybe when she's faced with a murder rap, she'll open up. Murder? Oh, now look, Chief. You know she couldn't have killed Gunther. That's right. That's right. A woman couldn't have done the job. But I want Gunther's killer, Fenton. And I think Paula Robbins knows who he is. Really? Yeah, but I want to be sure before I make a move. I want to think it over very carefully. Oh, of course. I sure don't blame you. And in the meantime, Fenton, here's some advice. Stay away from Paula Robbins, understand? Let me handle it. As you leave the lodge, get into your car and start down the road to the main highway. You're certain you know what the District Attorney will do, aren't you, Ralph? In a matter of hours, after he's thought it all over, he'll call headquarters and give the order to have Paula picked up. And there's no way you can reach her in Warner. But you know there must be some way you could prevent the District Attorney from making that phone call. Suddenly an idea strikes you. You stop the car and then turn your spotlight on the trees that line the road. The light plays along the phone line strung from tree to tree up to the lodge. There is a way you can prevent the District Attorney from making that call, isn't there? Yes. And it doesn't take you long to rip out the telephone wires and disconnect the service to the lodge. It's almost 10 o'clock when you arrive at the docks and hurry aboard Paula's boat. Ralph, gotta talk to you, Paula. DA's getting smart. Very smart. Knows about your record? Just check your bank account. So? I'm not sure, but he's likely to have you picked up. That order won't come through for a while yet. I took care of that. What do you mean? He's over at his lodge in the mountains. I ripped down the phone lines. Gotta get out of here. Why? He's gonna try to hang a mirror wrap on you, that's why. So you want me to run? Every cop in the country looking for me. No thanks. I'll stick around. He doesn't have a thing on me. Look, he can make it real rough for you. You don't know the DA like I do. When he gets through with you... Are you afraid I'll talk, Ralph? Tell all? Listen, Paula. Don't worry. I won't breathe a word. I tell you, Paula, you don't know the DA. And you don't know little Paula. He won't make me talk. I wish I could believe you, Paula, but I've got to be sure. My career, my whole life is in your hands. Wait a minute. What's the... I'm sorry, Paula, but I can't take the chance. Ralph! No! It's all over suddenly, isn't it, Ralph? And Paula is dead. You slip quietly out of the cabin, make your way in the darkness along the deck. And then... Miss Paula, that's you, Miss Paula! You stop in your tracks, recognize the voice. It's the old man who hangs around the docks. As he comes toward you... Hey there! Hey! You whirl, race around to the other side of the boat. Slip into the water. Hiding under the pier, you wait for a chance to escape. In a few moments, the docks become alive with people and excited voices. The old man has discovered Paula's body in your trap. Yes, the police are right on the job. And as your body numbs with the cold water, you realize that you're no longer the assistant district attorney hunting the criminal. You're the one that's being hunted. You realize that you can't stay here any longer and you start swimming as quietly as you can for the pier several hundred feet away. And then, as you reach it and start up the ladder, you've gotten away safely again, haven't you, Ralph? You slide in behind the wheel of your car. In the distance, you can hear the excitement, the confusion. They've lost you in the night. So long, gentlemen. Better luck next time. You've heard me talk about the more thorough, more conscientious service that cars get at signal stations because signal dealers are in business for themselves and have a personal interest in pleasing you. Well, typical of this are the extras you enjoy when you have your car lubricated at a signal service station. First of all, signal dealers don't take any chance on memory when it comes to the many lubrication points on your car. Instead, they check against Signal's factory-recommended lubrication chart, which clearly shows every part. Then they use nine specialized signal oils and greases, so each part will get the exact type of protection it needs. And finally, just to make doubly sure, not a single part has been overlooked, they check each part again, which is why it's called Signal Double Check Lubrication. Now, that's the kind of loop job you want if your car is to give you the long, trouble-free miles that were built into it. And that's the kind of lubrication you get from friendly, independent signal dealers. A miraculous escape, wasn't it, Ralph? And you're certain that no one will be able to identify you as Paula Robbins' killer. Yes, Paula's dead now. And she'll never be able to tell the district attorney that she saw you leave Gunther's yacht the night he was killed. You're in the clear now on both counts. And you congratulate yourself as you race back to your apartment. Once there, you slip up the back stairs unseen. And as you reach your door, unlock it. You notice the smear of red paint on your coat sleeve. You probably got it from Paula's boat. You'll have to get rid of that coat, won't you? Get out of your wet clothes. But you're not worried in the least, are you? Even if the district attorney should suspect you, and you're almost certain he will, it will be impossible to prove that you were involved in Paula's death. You push the door open and then stop. The lights are on in your apartment. Hello, Mr. Fenton. Am I glad to see you. Lieutenant Race, what are you doing here? The apartment manager let me in. I told her it was important. Somebody bumped off Paula Robbins. The killer got away by swimming across the... your clothes, Mr. Fenton. They're wet. Well, I... What's this smear on your coat? It looks like paint. Oh, that's nothing. I... Now, wait a minute. I think you ought to know we got worried that the killer smeared himself with paint getting away. Maybe the district attorney had something when he was worrying about you running around with Paula Robbins. I ran around with Paula Robbins. Now, there may be another guy loose around town with wet clothes and paint smeared on him, but I doubt it. I'm going to have to hold you for the killing of Paula Robbins. Why did you have to come here, Race? Well, when I heard that the Robbins girl had been murdered, I figured someone at the DA's office ought to know about it. I wouldn't have come here, Fenton, if I could have reached the DA himself. But when I tried to get a call to him at the lodge, I couldn't get through. The operator said the telephone line to his lodge was down. It's too bad for you. 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 automotive accessories. 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 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. Featured in tonight's story were Bill Foreman, Tom Brown, and Virginia Gregg. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Adrian Jondo, music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. The Whistler is entirely fictional, and any characters portrayed on the Whistler are also fictional. Any similarity or names or resemblances of persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Remember, at this same time next Sunday, another strange tale by the Whistler. This is Marvin Miller speaking for the Signal Oil Company. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.