 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 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. Guilty conscience. Sitting by the window of the streamliner as it sped through the night toward Los Angeles, Arthur Wilson seemed like any average middle-aged businessman. But there had been a time when Arthur Wilson was someone else, Jack Foley, convict. And though it had been 20 years ago, Jack Foley, now Arthur Wilson would never forget it. The plaintive wail of the train whistle drifting back at him now somehow recall that other time and place, exactly as if it were this moment. Perhaps it was because another whistle had marked the time when it all began. The night that Jack Foley was given a chance to reach out to grasp a new life. That night, 20 years ago, in a prison machine shop. I told you guys, clean up the shop. Right. Well, Dave, that about does it. This truck's practically got a new motor. Yeah, she's in fine shape, Foley. Yeah, well, come on, let's get this stuff cleaned up. Foley? Yeah. Ignition keys. Hand them over. What? Look, I don't want any trouble. Give me the keys. I'm getting out of here. You're not. Oh, now, wait a minute, Dave. Shut up. It's all set. Evans and Harris are at the delivery gate. I'm picking them up with this truck and we're going out. You want to come along? Hey, what's holding it up back there? Make up your mind fully fast. That guard will be coming back here and I got to take care of him. What do you say? It happened suddenly, didn't it? An unexpected chance for freedom thrust into your hand. You had three more years to serve on your sentence for manslaughter. A sentence that was the result of a moment of blind, unreasoning rage during which you killed your partner in an argument over $10,000 missing from your joint account. You knew where that money was, didn't you? Because you'd stolen it, put it safely away in another city, and once you'd made good your escape, you were certain you could get your hands on it. You had only an instant to make your decision. Finish your sentence or take a chance toward immediate freedom. Come on, Fully. You're coming along, aren't you? The guard's on his way back here. All right. I'm with you. Let's go. Dave, the guard back there. You could have gone easier with him. Maybe I should have let you do it and killed the guy, huh? You're sure this is going to work? Stop worrying, will you? I told you to care of everything. Look up ahead. Evans and Harris waiting. And there's the gate guard out cold. You better slow down. Dave, the alarm. I'll never get us now. Swing on you guys. We're not stopping. This is a one-way rider. Not at all. Now you're crossing the country again, this time in a deluxe train. A very different ride than the one you took that night 20 years ago. But when it was over, you were a free man. And with the help of the $10,000 you stole, Jack Fully Convict became Arthur Wilson, Bayview retail store proprietor. All through the years, your identity was never questioned. And now, many years later, you're able to journey toward Los Angeles to attend the wedding of your daughter Sally to Stephen Franklin, heir to the Franklin Fortune manufacturing interest. The prospect of a wealthy son-in-law carries interesting possibilities, doesn't it? The trip is uneventful, calm, the hour before the storm. But you have no way of knowing that. And on an evening, a week later, you're dancing with your daughter Sally at the palatial home of Mrs. Alice Franklin, mother of Sally's fiance, Stephen Franklin. Oh, Dad, isn't it wonderful? I'm so happy. Yes, that's pretty obvious. I guess I do show it. But the best part of the whole thing is you're here. You think I'd miss it? My only child's wedding? Do you like Stephen? Of course. He's a great kid. You know, his mother seems quite nice, too. Mrs. Franklin, oh, she's swell, Dad. Come on, let's go join Stephen. He's in the library. You can't leave that man of yours for five minutes, huh? I'll leave him later for another dance with you. All right, dear. Here we are. Oh, there you are, Sally. Hi. I thought I'd lost you, bringing her back to you, Stephen. Oh, thank you, Mr. Wilson. Say, enjoying yourself, sir? Oh, I'm doing fine. I'll bet you'd do better with a little refreshment. Jameson? Yes, sir? What'll it be, Mr. Wilson? I've come to mon, a stinger. Oh, what about you, Mother? A stinger sounds exciting, but just a small one, Jameson. And have Hilda serve more sandwiches. Yes, madam. And you, sir? A stinger'll be fine for me, too. Bring them out on the terrace, Jameson. I want Mr. Wilson to see the way we have the guard enlightened. Oh, now be careful of Mother, Mr. Wilson. A dangerous woman? Very. Oh, you go on and down. Take him away, Sally. I'd love to. Come on in. That's son of mine. Yes, he's a fine boy. Yes. Here. We can go out this way. Say, this is nice. Yes. And it was a good excuse. I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Wilson, alone. Oh? This isn't easy for me to talk about, Mr. Wilson. But, well, quite frankly, I'm concerned. Now, I don't want you to think it's because we don't all love Sally. We do, but... But what, Mrs. Franklin? You run a retail store, Mr. Wilson, in Bayview. Yes. Well, that's all we know about you, your background, your family. Even Sally doesn't seem to know. I only wondered if... Well, it's quite natural that you wondered, Mrs. Franklin. And I can set your mind at ease. I was brought up by an uncle. I ran away like some of the youngsters did in those days and went to sea for a while. Oh? Your uncle, where is he now? He's dead. He was my mother's brother. As for my father, well, I scarcely remembered him. And, of course, you know that I've been a widower for ten years. Oh, Mr. Wilson, I didn't mean to recall unhappy moments to you. I know you must think I'm terrible, but... Oh, my son... I think I understand. I feel the same way about my daughter, Mrs. Franklin. I'm proud that she's marrying Stephen. Thank you. I know you can see where I would at least inquire that the children shouldn't make a mistake they might regret. There'll be no regrets, Mrs. Franklin. No reason that there should be. I promise you. All right, Mr. Wilson. We just won't discuss it anymore. And thank you. After all, the big thing is that Stephen is marrying a fine girl. Well, I'm glad you feel that way about Sally. I do. And now, if you don't mind, I'm going in. Stephen knows I've been thinking about this, and I'm going to tell him it's all right. Well, thank you. Uh, mind if I stay out here a few minutes? Oh, do, by all means. It's so quiet and nice. Gives a person a chance to, uh, to think. Oh, and, uh, here's Jameson. You can serve Mr. Wilson here, Jameson. Yes, madam. I'm going back inside. I'll take mine. Thank you. And I'll be along shortly, Mrs. Franklin. All right. Your drink, sir? Oh, yes, sir. Thanks. Thinking of something else? Well, yes, I was, uh, it doesn't matter. I think it would, sir, to her. What are you talking about? Delightful woman, Mrs. Franklin. Pleasant, friendly. But very, very devoted to that son of hers. All she has in the world, you know. Except money. Aren't you being a little presumptuous, Jameson? Presumptuous? Oh, no, sir, not at all. I wouldn't dare be presumptuous to one of Mrs. Franklin's guests. She could cause a lot of trouble, you know, to anybody who wasn't right in line. You're a little confusing, Jameson. I don't suppose you've been sampling these stingers. No, sir. I never drink when I've got business on my mind. But I don't want to be confusing. I want to be perfectly clear. He was asking questions, wasn't he? Wanted to know all about you. Now, see here, Jameson. I was talking, sir. And you'd better listen quite carefully if you know what's good for you. Because I could break up your daughter's marriage in a minute. Jack Foley? Jack Foley. I think you know him. I think we both know him. Don't worry. Now, shall we talk about him? Or do you think you would prefer to go back behind those prison bars, Mr. Foley? You're hearing and reading a lot these days about exciting new-type automobile engines that deliver spectacular performance. And at the same time, more miles per gallon. Because they're scientifically engineered to operate more efficiently. Well, friends, that's exactly what Signal Ethel, the premium quality of Signal's famous go farther gasoline, is scientifically engineered to do. To help the engine in your car operate more efficiently. Yes, Signal Ethel is scientifically engineered to give you trigger-quick starting the instant you touch the starter. Signal Ethel is scientifically engineered to give you brilliant pickup and pep that puts more fun into driving. And Signal Ethel is scientifically engineered to give you smooth, quiet power to take you down highway or uphill with relaxed ease. So whether your car is one of the dynamic new high compression jobs or a vintage model, if you want to enjoy the best performance it's capable of, fill up with the Signal's super fuel that's scientifically engineered to help your engine deliver its best. Fill up with Signal Ethel. It was a sudden thing again, wasn't it Arthur? Like that moment that resulted in your sentence for manslaughter more than 20 years ago when you were still Jack Foley. The sudden decision you made a few years later to join in that prison break. And now this startling recognition by a servant who calls himself Jameson in the home of your daughter's fiance. He can destroy everything, can't he? Your daughter Sally's marriage. The opportunity such a match will afford you, even your business in Bayview. He can even brand your whole life as a masquerade. Tell them all who you really are and send you back to prison. Jack Foley, my old classmate. And I'm not mistaken. I've been very careful, Jack. My name is Wilson. Arthur Wilson. Sure, and mine's Jameson. Now it is. Used to be Sanders. Remember me? Three cells down from you, same section, number 34192? I don't know what you're talking about. I've lived in Bayview for 20 years and I never heard of you. Oh, come now, Foley. What on your thinking, Captain? I've told you my name is Wilson and I never saw you before. My, what a contrast in memory. Why, I recognized you instantly. But it's understandable. I was a very young man and you only knew me a short time. You left us rather suddenly, Jack. Stop calling me that. Sorry, sir. That better? I ought to call you Lucky. Lucky, Jack Foley, now Arthur Wilson, a successful businessman. His daughter about to marry into one of the wealthiest families in the state. What are you after? Oh, your memory's getting better, isn't it? What is it? What are you after? Is this some sort of a blackmail pitch you're giving me? Now that's a very interesting thought. It might be if I were the man you think I am. The man I know you are. How long have you worked here, Jameson? Or Sanders, if you prefer. Six months or so. Well, you must be out of your mind. Suppose now I happen to be Jack Foley. Do you think for one minute that Mrs. Franklin or anyone else would take your word for it? Oh, no, sir, certainly not. Then what are you driving at? Why all these ridiculous suggestions? Sir, I have what is known in the trade as a black on white. Surely you remember Professor Slips Dolan, Dean of Forgery. He was in another section, but in the apartment just below. I'm getting tired of this, Jameson. Great man, Professor Dolan. Professor, any official document was a black on white. I, uh, have such a document. Regarding Foley? Regarding you? Yes. The light's very good out here. I'll show it to you. But just remember, the light's also too good for you to start anything. You seem to think of everything. Take a look at this, and you will really think so. Sir. Here. The letterhead will convince you, I think. Look at it. The Bureau of Identification, Washington, D.C. Department of Fingerprints. The Bureau of Identification sent my fingerprints to you. Oh, no, sir. It was the other way around. I sent your fingerprints to them. But how could you... It was quite simple. My training, you know. I'm sure that as a retail merchant, you were grateful, shall I say, to our alma mater, for what you learned of merchandising in the prison in Camasane. I've used my training in photography to advantage many times. Taking fingerprints is a very simple process. Slow down, Jameson. Where did you get my fingerprints? Oh, they're all over the house, sir. Naturally, there's a servant anxious to please. I go all over the house. I picked up your prints the first night you were here. Your water glass, wine glass, knife, fork. And then I sent the photographs off to Washington. That's fantastic. But true. The answer arrived this morning. The prints of Jack Foley, escaped convict, after Arthur Wilson, retail merchant. Are exactly the same. Amazing coincidence, don't you think? What are you going to do? It's a question of what you're going to do, Jack. For me. Call me Wilson. Arthur Wilson. Gladly, Mr. Wilson. You'll cooperate then. My daughter is getting married in four days. Now, what is it you want? Oh, I'm very common as a blackmailer. I want money. Twenty thousand. Twenty thousand dollars? Well, you might as well ask for a million. I haven't had more than two or three thousand dollars in the past two years. Oh, come now, a prosperous retail merchant. I don't even own the store, Jameson. Most of the stock is on consignment. You have to sell things much faster than you ever did, won't you, old chap? I can't raise that much money. Now, I'm the one who's getting tired. You'll raise it for them every dime, no more, no less. And they want it by Tuesday at four o'clock. Two days? Well, that's impossible. You know what I'm going to do. I'm going to the police. Go right ahead. I'll go to Mrs. Franklin with this letter. That'll wreck both our futures. But then, I haven't got my daughter's marriage to a millionaire to worry about. Tuesday at four, sir? There it is, Arthur. A demand that places your future in your daughter's wealthy marriage in the balance. You feel certain it'll be all over if you don't meet Jameson's request for the money. And you haven't the slightest idea where you're going to get it, even part of it. But you have to try. The next morning from a booth in a neighborhood drug store, you put through a call to Walter Reynolds, Bayview Bank Executive. Hello, Walter. This is Arthur Wilson. Oh, yes, Arthur. What can I do for you? Well, something's come up. I can't do any details over the phone, but I've got to raise some money. Certainly, Arthur. It's an unusual amount, but... Well, I'm sure we can take care of it, Arthur. We'll be glad to credit your account with a couple of thousand. It's more than that. I need 20,000, Walter. 20,000? Well, I know it's a great deal, and I figured that banking with you for over 20 years meant something. It does, Arthur. Of course it does. That's why I just agreed to a couple of thousand, but 20... I can only go so far. Look, Arthur, if it'll do any good, I'll add my personal endorsement and make it 5,000. 5? 5,000? Is that better? I'll wire it to you down there and take care of the interstate trust and savings. 5,000. All right. Thanks, Walter. Thanks a lot. It doesn't mean much, does it? Added to your checking account and the few travelers checks you're carrying, it's still only a total of $6,500. Jameson said 20,000, and you know that that's his price for delivering you the letter that will bring your pass to light. You put through another call to your closest friend, Ward Weston, only to discover that he's away on business and can't be reached. It's 6,500 or nothing, isn't it? Tuesday morning, returning from the interstate trust bank, you tell yourself that you're going to get that letter. Four o'clock that afternoon, you face Jameson in the library. Well, Holey, you brought the money, have you? Look, Jameson, give me a break, will you? The money, Holey, or I'll start talking. Look, I'm not thinking of myself. It's... It's a traditional speech, Holey, you are thinking of yourself. The things you'll get out of your daughter's marriage into the Franklin family. Well, do I get the money? Well, I... I wasn't able to get it all. You weren't able to... All right, how much did you get? 6,500. 6,500? Why, that's not even half of it. Keep your voice down and stop calling me Holey. Oh, I should have told you. We're practically alone. Mrs. Franklin went downtown. Stephen is out with your daughter. You shouldn't have told me that. You're not going to spoil all this, Jameson, for me, anybody. I want that letter. Now don't get impulsive. I'm not fool enough to get careless. You see? A gun. I haven't forgotten about that temper of yours. Your sudden way of doing things. It put you in jail and got you out. It won't do you any good now. Won't it? Nice of you, Jameson. Nice of you to bring your own gun. Fool it! Well, Arthur, after all these years, you've done it again, haven't you? You stand over in the rage slipping away into fear. You wanted Jameson out of the way. You were willing to go to any lengths to get that letter. As you shake your head and fight to clear your senses, you realize that you must get the letter and then get rid of Jameson's body, or at least get away from the house before his body is discovered. You stoop down, rummage through his pockets, even take his wallet so that it will seem to be a robbery. Then you start out of the room and stop to find yourself staring at an eyewitness that downstairs made. Hilda. You shot Mr. Jameson. No, Hilda, it was an accident. You've got to believe me. I saw you from the hole. No, I didn't. I had to do it, Hilda. You've got to tell him that. The door. Someone's at the door. Stall them, Hilda. Try to send them away. I've got to have time to... No, you killed Mr. Jameson. I'd like to see Mr. Jameson, please. I'm from Police Headquarters. He's in there. Mr. Jameson? He's Mr. Wilson. That's Mr. Jameson on the floor. Mr. Minner, he's dead. Yes, Mr. Wilson there just killed him. I saw him do it. Well, what do you know? Come to pick up a blackmailer and catch a killer right in the act. He stole a letter from Mr. Jameson's inside pocket. Let's have it, Wilson. Hmm. Bureau of Identification, Washington, D.C. That letter must have been very important to you, Wilson. Come on. Let's go. If you really want to protect your car, then the motor oil for you is Signal's amazing new heavy-duty type oil that reduces engine wear due to lubrication 50%. Consider just four of the important extra ways new Signal Premium motor oil helps to keep your car young. One keeps oil rings clean and free. Two controls and reduces such harmful engine deposits as carbon, gum, and varnish. Three prevents sticking of hydraulic valve lifters. And four stops acid corrosion and rust. Result maintenance costs are kept down, down, down. And performance is kept up. So if you're still using lazy old-fashioned oil that merely lubricates, it's high time to make a change for the better. Change oil next time at a Signal service station. Change to new, harder-working Signal Premium motor oil that reduces engine wear due to lubrication 50%. Well, it's all over, isn't it, Arthur? Your long years of living a double life. The end of the masquerade is Arthur Wilson, the name you took up some 20 years ago when under your real name, Jack Foley, you escaped from prison. And now you've killed another man, a man who knew you when you were in prison, a man who was threatening to expose your almost-forgotten past. After a sleepless night in yourself, you were taken to the office of District Attorney Grant. I sympathize with you, Mr. Wilson. Blackmail's a dirty business. But you should have let us handle it. A minute Sanders, or Jameson, as he called himself, wrote that letter to the FBI, was all over for him. For him? That's right. Those boys never will look a bet. Any time they get a suspicious communication, they look into it. In this case, they naturally examine Sanders' note for fingerprints. Sure. They were on both the letter he wrote and the envelope he mailed it in. They were looking for it. We've been trying to find Sanders for some time. When the bureau tipped us off that the butler Jameson was Sanders, I sent one of my boys out to pick him up. If you'd waited a few minutes, he'd have been out of your hair. You should have come to us, Wilson. Yeah. I guess some guys never learn. Could you keep this out of the papers for a couple of days until after my daughter's wedding? I guess you haven't seen the morning papers. Your daughter eloped to Las Vegas with young Stephen Franklin yesterday afternoon. Yesterday afternoon? Yeah, took her plane at 3 o'clock. About an hour before you killed the butler. Seems the kids didn't want all the fault or all of a big wedding. They just took things into their own hands. Well, at least I didn't mess up her life. That wasn't your fault. No, I suppose not. Well, I figured I just had to get hold of that letter to Jameson from the Bureau of Identification. You didn't read that letter, did you? Well, no. Your men took it before I had a chance. I'll read it for you. Dear Mr. Jameson, regarding the fingerprint photos accompanying your inquiry as to the further or firter identity of one Arthur Wilson, please be advised that information of this kind is available only to duly authorized agencies for the enforcement of the law. 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 now that school days are here again, it's even more important to drive at sensible speeds, be courteous, and obey traffic regulations. It may save a life, possibly a child. Featured in tonight's story were Bill Foreman, Jess Kirkpatrick, Gene Bates, Betty Blythe, Ted Osborn, Lamont Johnson, and Herbert Lytton. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen with story by Edward Bloodworth, music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted 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 to tune in at the same time next Sunday when the Signal Oil Company will bring you another strange story by the Whistler. Marvin Miller speaking for the Signal Oil Company. Stay tuned now for the Horace Height Show, which follows immediately over most of these stations. This is the CBS Radio Network.