 Listen at the end of the following program for an important announcement regarding change of time. Have you heard the strange tales of the Whistler? I've got to get away from it all. For a year now it's been nothing but murder, murder and death. How much do you think a man can stand? Saturday night and again CBS presents the Whistler. No many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales, many secrets hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. And so I tell you tonight, the odd story of the blank wall. A thin, bespectacled little man paces nervously up and down the floor of his office, up and down, back and forth. He runs his hands nervously through his hair. Time after time he cleans his glasses, lights cigarette upon cigarette. The tension increases with every passing moment. This man is fighting against time, time. With him every second counts, every minute becomes an eternity. Yes, this man is up against a blank wall. Suddenly he stops and in sheer desperation he almost screams at the man facing him. I can't, I can't, I can't go on any longer. I won't. There's a limit to everything. I've come to the end of my rope. You made a deal with me, Wilson. So far you've done very well. But you can't back down now. It's too late. I've done everything you've assigned to me. But don't you understand? It's tearing me to pieces. It's wrecking my nerves. I can't eat. I can't sleep. It's too late to quit, Wilson. You've gone this far and I warn you. You can't pull out now. Murder, murder, death. How long do you think I can go on doing such things? How long? You'll go on and on until we're through with you. I won't. Yes, you will. Furthermore, you'll like it, Er. Well, you know what'll happen. What do you mean? You know what I mean, Wilson? If you think you can walk out on me after all you've done, considering what you know about everything here, well, you've got another thing coming. I'm afraid. Afraid of what? Afraid I'll lose my mind. You won't. For the last six nights now I haven't been able to close my eyes. All I can see is poor Gregory Hellman. Hellman? Yes, a wake or a sleep. All I can see is his body buried in the cellar. Two weeks ago it was John Henderson dying in agony. I wake up in the middle of the night screaming. Oh, nonsense. On the surface I'm a quiet, gentle person. No one around me knows the awful things that go through my mind. That's what I'm afraid of. What? All that I'll suddenly go haywire. Look, Grisken, you've got to let up on me for a while at least or I'll crack up. All right, Wilson. All right. We'll give you a rest. You will, Grisken? Yes. After this one. What? Which one? Olivia Martin. Olivia Martin? Yes, Olivia Martin. Oh, what's wrong? I thought I'd worked that all out. Oh, the plan's fair, but there are a couple of loopholes, Wilson. And one thing we don't want is a loophole, right? We've never slipped so far. We can't afford to now. Well, all right. I'll check on it. I'll straighten it out. And make it airtight, Wilson. And then, then can I get away from everything for a while? If you plan it so that Olivia Martin takes the rep for everything, then I see no reason why you can't have a rest from all this. All right, Grisken. I'll do my best, but... But what? Is there anyone else who could work it out? No. Only you, Wilson, and you'd better start now. Understand? Yeah. Yeah, I understand. I'll be back around 5.30, and I'll expect a foolproof plan. I mean one with no holes in it. So long, Wilson. Yes. Well, Wilson, you're on the spot, aren't you? You heard what the boss said. No loopholes, no slip-ups. And Olivia Martin must take the rap. But just how are you going to plan this murder, Wilson? Olivia Martin, Olivia Martin, husband Fred Martin, wealthy advertising executive. How? How? How can I work it out? Oh, you can do it, Wilson. You can do it. You've planned things like this before, and the one who really did it was never caught. But Olivia Martin is, is innocent. You're very clever. You can concoct something and make everyone believe it, whether it's true or not. Yes, but what? I, I'm up against a blank wall. Come, come, Wilson, a professional killer, a murderer. One who knows all the tricks up against a blank wall. Yes. There, there must be some way. Yes. Why don't you plan this one in reverse? Look at it from the standpoint of the detectives. Start with the moment Olivia is accused, accused and trapped. Then reverse, Wilson, and work backwards. Yes, yes. I'll start with Olivia when she's caught. That's right. Now, supposing it's this way. Suppose Olivia Martin had returned to her home in New York. The plane she was flying crashed, and her husband's secretary, Doris Hammond, was killed. Now, Fred Martin, Olivia's husband, who has been living at his club, goes home to question Olivia. Hello, Olivia. Fred. Oh, Fred, it was terrible. I can't imagine. I'm sorry, Olivia. I don't know what happened. All of a sudden, my motor went dead. I couldn't find a clearing any place. I thought I saw a place, but it was more trees, and with no motor, I couldn't pull up in time. Where were you going, Olivia? Well, well, after you left for the club, I got to thinking things over, and I just couldn't remain another night in this house alone. So I decided to go to my sister's in Detroit. I see. Poor Doris. I was never so shocked in my life. Fred, I'm so sorry. So terribly sorry. No, no. Get hold of yourself. You couldn't help it. I know how you must feel, Fred. I'll certainly miss her. Can you ever forgive me? Of course, Olivia. I never want to fly a plane again. Never. Tell me, how did Doris happen to be with you? Where was she going? Well, she said she wanted to visit a friend in Buffalo, asked me if I'd drop her off there. How did she know you were flying that way? Well, I went to your office and told her I was going to Detroit and asked her to draw some money for me. I told her I'd be glad to put down in Buffalo. I can't imagine why she'd leave the office in the middle of the week to visit friends out of town. Maybe she had some business to attend to on the side. Olivia, are you telling me the truth? What do you mean? Have you told me the real reason why you wanted to leave town? Certainly. Are you sure you weren't carrying out a plan? Plan? Didn't you have a definite idea in mind when you wrote that note to me at the club? Yes. You seem to have forgotten the note. Why don't you tell the truth, Olivia? Aren't you running away from something? Running from what? Why don't you tell the truth? Yes. Yes, I did make up my mind to do something terrible. I was going to kill her. And myself. But after I mailed the note to you, I seemed to come to my senses. I couldn't go through with it. So you decided to forget the idea and go on to Detroit? Yes, I swear I changed my mind about killing her. I just couldn't be a murderer. You expect me to believe that? I know what you think, the note and everything, but I didn't do it. The note is certainly evidence against you. Where is the note? You must destroy it, Fred. Don't tell anyone about it. What time did you talk to Doris at the office? About noon, I think. And you mailed the note the night before? Yes. Left town at five? Yes. What did you do in the meantime? I can't remember. I'm so confused. I went shopping for a while. Are you sure? I changed my plan to kill her by the time morning came. You're going to have a hard time proving that. It's the truth. The police think you did kill her. Police? What do they know about it? They were waiting for me when I got back from Boston. They'd already found the note at my club. That's where you made your big mistake, Olivia. But I... The detectives are here now. I want to talk to you. Come in, Captain Evans. Thank you. Olivia, this is Captain Evans. Good morning. He'd like to ask you a few questions. Yes. It's true that your husband left you a few days ago. The idea that you were to get a divorce? Yes. You believed that your husband was in love with another woman? I did. Do you know who that woman was? I did. After he left you, did you write this note to him? Yes, I wrote it. But I didn't mean it... The next day you got some money at your husband's office. And at exactly five o'clock you took off in your plan. Yes, but I changed my mind. I couldn't go through with it. Where were you between noon and five o'clock? I went about town. I really don't remember what I did. Can you prove where you were during that time? I don't see how I could... What difference does it make where I was between noon and five o'clock? It makes a lot of difference. Because it was about that hour that Rita Bartow was stabbed to death in her apartment. Rita Bartow? The head of the art department? Yes. The weapon has not been found. There were no clues, excepting your note to your husband. Rita Bartow? I don't understand. Rita Bartow was the other woman, the woman your husband was in love with. I'm sorry, but you got yourself in a tough spot. Come along, Mrs. Martin. Well, there you are, Wilson. Conclusive evidence against Olivia Martin is the murderer of Rita Bartow. Olivia will never be able to prove where she was between noon and five o'clock when she took off. Rita Bartow was dead, stabbed, no weapon found. But why should Olivia kill Rita Bartow? Because Olivia knew her husband was in love with another woman. That's what she said in the note. That's right. What about that note? How can I manage that? Oh, you can do that easily, Wilson. Someone as clever as you are can arrange you the tale like that. Now, let's move back to the day of the plane crash. The day when Doris Hammond, Fred's secretary, was killed in the plane flown by Olivia. Olivia, we are presuming, has told Fred that Doris was going to visit friends in Buffalo. Now let's see what happened between New York and Buffalo. How far have we come now, Mrs. Martin? Well, I don't know, about 75 miles. That was quite a storm back there. Hope we don't run into any more. I don't like a plane during a storm. I don't know anyone who does. Doris, aren't you just a bit upset over this trip? What do you mean? Just that. Do I seem upset? Yes. Is something preying on your mind? Yes, there is something bothering me. A guilty conscience? What? Isn't that what it is? What are you talking about? Are you looking forward to a nice visit in Buffalo? Well, I don't consider it a visit. It's part of my job. A very pleasant job, too. I'm sure you'll miss the job and its attending interests. Working late at night, several nights a week. What do you mean by that? Why should I lose my job? Your job isn't all you're going to lose. What? Fred isn't in Buffalo. Where is he? I don't know, but wherever he is, you'll never see him again. Put this plane down. Let me out. You're mad. I'm going to put it down. Straight down on its nose. What? Fred won't think you're so attractive the next time he sees you. You can't do this. You can't. Put that key back in the switch. I won't. I won't. Give me that key. Pull up! Those trees! Pull up! No! They hit the treetops, and when a farmer who sees the crash reaches them, he finds Olivia thrown clear of the wreck and still alive. Doris, of course, is dead. Not bad so far, is it, Wilson, but now what? Now this should happen after five o'clock when Doris and Olivia took off in the plane. Now what should happen between noon and five o'clock? Yes, that's the period Olivia can't account for. All right. Let's go back to, say, two o'clock, two in the afternoon. One of your own choice characters, Wilson, who has been working in Fred Martin's advertising agency as an artist, has just returned from an errand, an errand on which he's been sent by Doris Hammond. Remember that. Doris Hammond. And the character is Jack Mallory. Jack Mallory, where on earth have you been? Do you know what time it is? Two o'clock. Oh, uh, I'm sorry. I got to talking, and I didn't realize they are. What about the art layout? Did we just select one? Oh, yes, this one. She made a couple of changes in it. What change? Oh, nothing important. Just wanted this section here set up in red. It stands out better. Hmm. Yeah, so it does. Well, uh, I better put this through right away. Sorry to have been so late with it. I'm glad you got back with it before I left. Left? Mm-hmm. Where are you going, guys? Mr. Martin Ford, he wants me to join him in Buffalo. Something important has come up. Buffalo? I thought he was in Boston. Yes, but he had to run over to Buffalo in a hurry. Oh, Buffalo? Mm-hmm. Oh, that's strange. What's strange? Hmm? Oh, well, uh, I mean his being in Buffalo. Oh, what's strange about it? Oh, I don't know. I suppose it could be in Buffalo. What's the matter with you, Jack? Well, nothing. Nothing at all. You lean over here. What? Why? A little closer. Hmm. Well, what's the matter? Well, of all things. I've seen everything. He's actually had a drink. You have all people. Well, I don't approve of it as a rule, but I walked back from Rita's place. I got my feet a little wet in the rain. It felt kind of chilly. I thought I was catching cold, so I stopped in the bar and the way back, and I had a drink. Well, I hope you don't get sick. I can't afford to have you and Rita both out. No, no, that's right. There's lots of work to be done this week. Take off that top coat. It's damp. Let me have it. I'll hang it over the radiator. Well... What's wrong? I wondered if you'd do this. You spilled ink on the front of your coat. Yeah? Well, what do you know? That's a fine thing. I just got it yesterday. Oh, I must have done that over at Rita's when I blocked that section in red. You ought to get it out as soon as possible. Uh, here, hand me that towel from the closet and dampen it. Oh, don't bother, Doris. I'll have it cleaned tomorrow. I'll get some of it out now. Thanks. Oh, certainly hard to get off. That's probably dried in by now. Strangest ink I ever saw. It doesn't seem to be ink. More like blood, if you ask me. Blood? Let's see. That is strange. Uh, let me see that art layout. Hmm. It does seem a little darker than this on the card. Oh, maybe the cloth has something to do with it. Perhaps. Better let the cleaners worry about it, huh? What time are you leaving, Doris? In a few minutes. I'm flying from the airport around five. Well, good luck, Doris. I'll see you in a few days. Thanks, Jack. Take care of yourself. And lay off the liquor. That's bad stuff to get started on. Are you kidding? What do you think? For a few moments, Doris stands staring after Jack as he passes through the door to the outer office. She picks up the towel, studies it for a second, then tosses it into a desk drawer and leaves the office. Now, Wilson, what happened preceding the incident we've just worked out? Well, suppose it's arranged that Olivia Martin visits her husband's office and calls on Doris, her husband's secretary. Good afternoon, Miss Salmon. Oh, how do you do? I'd rather hurry. I have a number of things to do this afternoon. Help you? I'm quite busy yourself. Yes, my work always doubled when Fred leaves town. Fred? Yes, Mr. Martin. Oh, yes. My husband. I suppose it does seem strange for an employee to call him Fred. But for some reason I've gotten into the habit and can't seem to break it. He doesn't seem to mind, however. Is that so? After all, you're like... like one of the family, aren't you, Miss Salmon? Yes, I've been here for several years. You've been Fred's private secretary for how long now? A year. Pleasant work, is it? Oh, you've no idea how absorbing this business can be, Mrs. Martin. I realize that it must have a certain amount of extremely interesting moments. Well, you should drop around here more often, Mrs. Martin. How right you are. Things might have been different. Different? Yes, I... I mean, if I had taken an active interest in the business. Well, at times it gets rather dull waiting at home. Especially on long evenings when one's husband has to stay in town on business. But I... I mustn't take up your time with personal problems. I want you to have a check drawn to me for $500. Very well, I'll attend to it at once. Have you heard from Fred since he left? No, I haven't. He phoned me this morning. He did? He left an important paper at home and he knew I was flying to Detroit tonight to visit my relatives. Yes. So he wants me to drop it off for him at Buffalo. Buffalo? I thought he was in Boston. He was. But he had to rush over to Buffalo. Some unexpected business came up. He says he needs you very badly. He wants me to come to Buffalo? Yes. I told him I'd notify you and bring you with me. I'll be leaving the airport about five. Well, I'll meet you at the airport. Is there anything in particular he wants me to bring? No. Nothing but the paper he left at home. Very well, I'll be at the airport. Do you mind flying, Miss Hammond? No, not at all. That's good. I'll see you at five. Well, Wilson, so far so good. Doris, the secretary, has been killed in a plane piloted by Olivia. Prior to that, Jack Mallory returned from a visit to Rita Bartow's apartment with a stain on his coat. And shortly before that, Olivia talked to Doris in the office. Now, what happens while Olivia is wandering about town till five o'clock, the time she took off from the airport? Well, it was after two o'clock when my man Jack Mallory, who was working in the art department, returned from Rita Bartow's apartment with the art layout. Doris had sent him there about noon. All right. Now, let's see what happened while he was at Rita's. Hello, Jack. Doris phoned me. Said you were bringing that layout over. Oh, yes, Rita. The client wants you to pick out the one you want to use for the display. I know. How do you feel? Oh, all right. I just didn't feel like coming to the office today. Oh, well, Doris said you were ill. Had a bad call. Oh, no, not too bad. I'll be all right tomorrow. No, I see. Well, here are the layouts for next week. Which one do you want? Well, I'd planned on this one. But I think you should make this section in red. Mm-hmm. I see. Well, that's easy. I'll fix it up in a jiffy. A little standout better that way. We'll run this other one for the week following. OK. You look mighty lovely, Rita. Thanks. Where are you going all dressed up? Shouldn't you be in bed? Why, I've got to go out of town this afternoon on that Henderson deal. I... Well, I wanted to put it off till next week, but, well, Mr. Martin insisted that I get it settled as soon as possible. You shouldn't be running around too much, darling. Well, I don't really have a cold. It's that sinus trouble again. Uh, why don't you try a change of climate, Rita? Change of climate? Uh-huh. Yes, you can take that job in California. Quit Fred Martin after all he's done for me. Fred Martin isn't the only advertising man in the world. No. Why, don't you think you'd like California, Rita? I've always wanted to go there. I've had an idea I could do very well. Some nice jobs in the movie art departments. Well, I'm not interested in movies. I've thought about going out there and settling down. Buying a nice little home and really enjoying life. Well, I should a bachelor do all that. You...you have ideas about getting married, Jack? Yeah. Yes, I have, Rita. Well, good. I'm glad to hear it. Uh, what time's your plane, Rita? At two. How about a little lunch while you're waiting, huh? Very well. Well, leave your bag here. We'll pick it up later. All right. I've got something important to talk to you about, Rita. Important? Yeah. I got a nice raise this week. Well, that's fine, Jack. I want to ask you a question about you and me. Yes. Well, go ahead. No. No, not now. Come on. We'll talk about it during lunch, huh? Now, we know, of course, what Jack had to say to Rita. That's obvious. Marriage. But if Rita was ill, why was she leaving for an out-of-town appointment? Well, the next step is the most important. Remember, Wilson, Olivia and her husband, Fred, had come to the parting of the ways, and Olivia wrote a note. Yes. That was the part that made the whole thing logical. The part that afforded a perfect setup for me. Olivia was pacing the bedroom floor long past midnight when Fred came home and knocked on her door. Now, Olivia, you awake? Yes. Come in. I thought you might be asleep. Sleep? How could I sleep? Well, it's one o'clock, isn't it? Yes, Fred. I really didn't realize it was so late. You don't usually bother to see if I'm awake. Don't I? For the past two months, you've gone right under your own room. Yes, yes, I guess I have. Get your business settled? Yes, I had quite a bit to attend to. Have dinner at the club? Oh, yes, the club. Then why didn't you answer my call? I had you paged. They said you hadn't been there this evening. Perhaps I hadn't arrived yet. Really? Well, I think I'll turn in. Good night, Olivia. Why don't you say it? Say what? What you came here to say. What makes you think I had anything particular to say? I've known all evening you were planning to tell me something when you got in. Well, that's nonsense. I've known for months this was coming. I know what sort of business detained you. A woman. What? At first I believed your stories about working late. But as the weeks passed and I realized you were growing cold and the whole thing became clear to me, then I knew you were evading me that you were lying. Go on. We've been married ten years, Fred. I've done everything humanly possible to make our marriage a success. Have you? I think I have. That's your opinion, Olivia. Oh, Fred, I'm just sick all over. I've tried not to believe it. Oh, let's not have a scene, Olivia. Please. What do you expect me to do? Laugh it off. No, not you, Olivia. Certainly not you. I suppose you'll say it's all my fault. I'm to blame for everything. I haven't said anything. Then why don't you? Why beat about the bush? You came here to say something? Say it. Very well, since you put it that way, I will. I'm going out of town tomorrow on business. I'm sending my things to the club. When I return, I intend to live there. Fred. Now wait a minute, Olivia. I haven't finished. I want you to get a divorce. On any grounds you please. Desertion or whatever you wish. Divorce? Do you mean that? I do. Very well. If that's the way you want it, there's nothing else I can do. No, Olivia. Nothing. Good night. There you are, Wilson. That was what led up to Olivia's writing the note to Fred at his club. The note that made this whole thing possible. She mailed it the following night. That note was the complete evidence against her, Wilson. What does it say? Fred, the very thought of losing you, the thought of divorce, the thought of giving you up for another woman is more than I can bear. The shame, the disgrace, the scandal of it all would, I know, drive me insane. Regardless of what you may think, I refuse to accept the responsibility of the failure of our marriage. I know who caused it and I know who she is. You'd never be happy with a woman of her type. You'd be throwing your life away. I refuse to give you up to her. And so I have made a decision. Goodbye, Fred, Olivia. Now, Wilson, because of that note, Olivia will be accused of the death of Rita Bartow because Rita was really the woman her husband was in love with. She thought it was Doris, Fred's secretary. She lied to Doris when she said Fred had asked her to bring Doris to Buffalo. Fred wasn't in Buffalo. Olivia planned to crash the plane and kill herself as well as Doris. But Olivia survived only to be accused of the death of Rita. Actually, you fix it so that your choice character, Jack Mallory, killed Rita when he learned that Rita was really going to Boston to be with Fred Martin. And the ironical part of it will be that Olivia killed the one person who knew about the odd stains on Jack's coat, blood stains. Yes, Doris will be the only one able to clear Olivia and place the guilt on Jack Mallory. But Doris will be dead. It works out perfectly, Wilson. You're not up against his blank wall now. The murder is perfect and no one will ever know who really did it. That is, no one but you and I. It's wonderful. Airtight, not a single loophole. I've got it, Grisken, not a slip up on the whole thing. I knew you could do it. I've never figured this one out. I tried a new slant. I started at the end and worked backwards. Backwards? Yes. Well, just so it works out, okay? What does it matter? Now, look, Grisken, you said if I figured this one out that I could get away from all this for a while. I know, I know. Well, then how about it? Okay, Wilson, I'll give you a month on one condition. Oh, what's that? That you really get out of town. What do you mean, Grisken? I know that other outfit's been after you. I know they've offered you a better deal. But if you try to walk out on us now, well, I don't think I need to say any more. How about a raise when I come back? A raise? Okay, Wilson, that's a deal. You'll get a raise. But if you know what's good for you, you'll be back here in exactly one month. Yeah, yeah, sure. I understand. I'll be back. Why am I not going to leave you? You know, I wouldn't think of such a thing. And maybe while I'm gone, I'll figure out some new tricks. Yeah? Well, mm-hmm. Enjoy yourself, Wilson, because you're going to be a busy man when you get back. We've got a... Well, this is going to be a busy season for murders. So long. Yeah. So long, Chief. The boss was perfectly satisfied with the way Wilson worked out the details of the job. And Wilson was more than pleased, too. Of course, all I did was to suggest a plan he used once before. Only I suggested it to him in reverse. And the strange thing was he didn't even recognize his own plan. Yes, Wilson had used this one before. He used it last year, about six months ago. November, to be exact. But neither he nor the boss were aware of it. In other words, a plot is just as good work backwards as it is forwards. Oh, by the way, I should mention now that Wilson was not an employee of Murder Incorporated, and Griskin is not against a chieftain. No. Wilson, well, Wilson was really a top writer for a detective story weekly. And Griskin was the editor of the magazine. Poor Wilson was just up against a blank wall. So I thought I'd help him out. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Beginning next week, the Whistler will come to you at a new time. Friday night at 9. Remember, next week, Friday at 9 p.m. Original music for this production was composed and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. The Whistler is written and directed by J. Donald Wilson and originates from Columbia Square in Hollywood. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.