 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-father gasoline. Invite 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. Whirlwind. The first blue of evening shade at the eastern sky, and the lights began to blink on in the city of the angels. In a comfortable Beverly Hills apartment, Lionel James stood before a full-length mirror, completing his tedious ritual of dressing for the night's activities. While across the room, his wife, Edith, sat patiently appraising him, and then sat up rigid as an ambulance blared through the street below. Oh, I wish they'd find some other street to travel on. Here's a trifle annoying. You're leaving soon? In a few minutes. Oh, uh, what'd the doctor say? Nothing much, Lionel. To stay quiet as much as possible. It's good advice. Regaining your strength after a burst of appendix takes time. I know, but staying in so much is driving me to distraction. I wasn't so lonely when the Hubbards were living upstairs, but now... I'm moving in in a few days. Oh, good heavens, what was that? Alley cat. Oh, certainly getting sensitive to noises. I jump at the sight of sound. Well, another few weeks. Oh, uh, my tie look all right. Fine. Why do you have to leave so early? I have an interview scheduled with a new actress. Lionel, you won't like this, but staying here in the apartment night after night alone, I can't help wondering how you really get along with these actresses. No, I don't like it. I don't like it at all. And I thought I made it clear that there's one thing I will not tolerate, interference in my professional life. Oh, I'm sorry, dear, forgive me. Now, run along and don't you worry about me. Well, try not to. And you try to keep cheerful. Once you're in the cab, you ride into another world, leaving Edith and her humdrum existence behind you. And it's an exciting world you move into at night, Lionel. Hollywood's bright sunset strip, filled with glamorous debutantes and flashy cigarette girls, of millionaires and cramps, of hot jive and dreamy love ballads, and here you are undisputed king. Your daily column, Nightlife, by Lionel James is a must for a million Angelinos. In it, you can make reputations or break them, and either way is all right with you. The first stop on your night beat, as always, is Mike Gorman's Club 400. That's a nice crowd, Mike. Danny's had trombone packs him in. You think so? He's got a reputation in spite of you. Oh, well, we'll see, Mike. Wanna bet he doesn't last? Oh, lay off. Well, Lionel, why don't you get the guy a break? All right, so he took a dame away from me. He still plays good trombone. Tiny and I can handle this between us. One of these days, Lionel, somebody's gonna let you have it, but don't count on it. I guess not too much to hope for. This way, please. Hey, Mike. Who is he? Who's who? You know, Don Welho, I mean. The vision followed by that toothpick. Huh? Huh. Never saw him before. Haven't, huh? It's funny. Waiter's taking him to center ringside. That's your table, Mike. Well, what of it? They're friends of mine. All right, so I'd like to meet your friends, Mr. Gorman. And don't I know why. Two months ago, it was that little soloist. Last month, the new cigarette girl. Mike, I want a meter. Look. Look. They've just been married six months. I want a meter, Mike. Now. Mike Gorman, protector of family and fireside, huh? Oh, that's just dandy. All right. I'll introduce myself. And by the way, catch my column tomorrow, Mike. Club 400's on its way out. Please, Lionel, let her alone. She's nice, I tell you. Out of my way, boy. You bother me. OK, Lionel. You win. Ever since we came out from Texas, my wife's been dying to meet you, sir. Really? Oh, that's quite a compliment. Well, I'd sooner go without breakfast than miss one of your columns. Well, you're the first reader who's preferred me to ham and eggs, Mrs. Thomas. Oh. Well, since you seem to know all about me, let's find out some things about you, huh? Now, tell me, what brings such a charming couple to our wicked city? Now, if it were up to me, we'd still be in Texas. It's all my fault, Mr. James. Mr. James? I prefer Lionel. All right. Shelly and Jim, for us then. Fine. Now, what was all your fault? I'll come into Hollywood. You see, I like to sing. Really? Well, I'm not very good. I wouldn't believe that, Lionel. I wouldn't be here if she weren't any good. As I was saying, I like it in Texas. I'm making out right well. But Shelly hears yearning for footlights and excitement. Well, what woman isn't? Well, I want to see Shelly happy. After a little when she gets tired of high-living, we'll go back to Texas and settle down. Are you being very sensible, Jim? He's being wonderful, but we don't know how to start. That's a fact. We're still staying at the Ritz. Don't even have an apartment yet. Oh? Well, there's a happy coincidence. We have a vacancy right above us at the Beekman Arms. It's an apartment hotel, but very nice. Manages a friend of mine, too. I talked to him in the morning. Honestly? Of course. Well, now, I must say, that's very kind of you, Lionel. Very kind. Nothing. Glad to do it. Now about Shelly's career, huh? I'd like to arrange an audition, Jim. And that's how it all began, wasn't it, Lionel? Like the harmless beginnings of so many flirtations of yours. And as usual, everything moves smoothly and quickly. Shelly's audition the next afternoon and won her an instant booking at the exclusive Grotto Club. Shelly could really sing, and her success was immediate. And you share the success with her. Mold it to your own liking with daily comments in your column. During the next few weeks, the two of you go to parties, late shows at other clubs, and share quick snacks together. And then one night, you and Shelly are driving home from an after theater party. It's such a wonderful time, Lionel. Too wonderful. What? I'm not going to see you anymore, Lionel. Oh, you don't mean that, Shelly? Yes, I mean it. It isn't right, and I'm not going to be dishonest anymore. Isn't it a bit late to play the girl scout? Oh, don't talk that way. Why are you stopping? To look at you, Shelly. Lionel, I wish you hadn't done that. You're making it harder for me. She's been so fine. So wonderful to me. How do you feel, Shelly? Inside? I don't love him anymore. I love you, Lionel. You drive to the Beekman Arms in silence, park the car in your garage, and walk silently into the apartment building with Shelly. You can't quite tell what she's thinking. You've never seen her like this. Mechanically, you see her to her door. She puts the key in, quietly unlocks it. But before she opens it, she turns and looks at you. I've made up my mind, Lionel. Oh, about what? We've got to be honest. I'm going to tell Jim about us, and you've got to tell your wife. Oh, now wait a minute. Let's not rush into anything. I've got to be honest, Lionel. Oh, Shelly, be sensible. Why not wait a while? We'll see how things work out. No, I won't do that. Jim and I promised each other that if it... Please listen to me, Shelly. Now, let's be mature about this. I'm being mature. Either you love me or you don't. Do you? Oh, isn't that a fine question? Then you should tell your wife. But, Shelly... And I should tell Jim, and that's what I'm going to do. Now, look, Shelly, maybe later on... No, Lionel. I'm going to tell Jim right away. Right away? Yes, tonight. I just can't keep on with... Just wait a minute. You can't talk me out of it, Lionel. I'm telling Jim everything tonight. Good night, Lionel. No, Shelly. Shelly! If you're using tomorrow's holiday for a drive somewhere, it's also a chance for you to have some extra fun making a little experiment. You know, of course, that from Canada to Mexico, Signal is known as the famous Go Farther gasoline. So if you power your car tomorrow with Signal, you're sure of good mileage. But you've also been hearing me say that outstanding performance goes hand in hand with Signal's famous mileage, because today's Signal gasoline helps your motor run more efficiently. Well, to prove for yourself how right this is, just try using nothing but Signal gas for tomorrow's trip, and then notice three things. As you touch the starter, notice how quickly your motor springs to life. As you slip your motor into gear and step on the gas, notice that proud pickup. And as you soar up hills and down highways, notice that smooth, quiet Signal power. Wonderful, isn't it? So good, in fact, that I'm going to make a little bet. As you head back home from a day of really happy driving, your name will already be on the growing list of drivers who won't be satisfied with anything less than the famous Go Farther gasoline. Signal, that is. Well, Lionel, when Shelly slammed the door in your face, she left no doubt about her intentions. You hadn't planned on a showdown with Jim about Shelly, had you? True, Shelly's charms delight you, but the thought of doing the honorable thing has never once occurred to you. And you hope that Shelly herself has somehow changed your mind about telling Jim. You purposely avoid both of them for the next few days. And then one late afternoon, you're at the office writing the next day's column. Somebody to see you, Mr. James. I'm too busy to see anyone. Sorry to intrude on your work like this. Huh? Oh, oh, it's you, Jim. All right, scram, kid. Oh, sit down, Jim. Shelly told me. Yes. Well, you understand, Jim, I had no intention. I'm not here to blame you, sir. Huh? I'm worried about Shelly. I guess I imagine she's quite upset. That's not what I mean. She's in love with you, Mr. James. I understand you've declared your love for her. Well, naturally. Are you planning to marry Shelly? Well, yes, certainly, but I... When? Why, as soon as possible. Unfortunately, though, my wife's recovering from a serious operation. How long will it be before she's well? Oh, some time yet, but it's not only that. Dr. Bills and one thing and another. I'm rather heavily in debt. Divorces and settlements are expensive. I can take care of that. I got plenty of money. Oh, look, Jim, why are you so concerned with a woman who wants to leave you anyway? I'm in love with Shelly. And I'm gonna make sure she's treated right. You know, I think Shelly's in love with you, too, Jim. After all, this is just a momentary infatuation. Oh, sir, Shelly's not like that. Look, I'm busy right now, Jim. Maybe we can talk about this at length some other time. There's nothing more to say. I noticed by your columns that you lack quotations. Well, I have one I'd like you to keep in mind, sir. He who sows the wind, reaps the whirlwind. After Jim's visit in his veiled threat, you decide to wash your hands of the whole affair. You don't call Shelly anymore. You even avoid the grotto club where she sings. And instruct the telephone operator at the newspaper office to say that you're out, should she call you. But it isn't that easy, is it, Lyon? A week later, you step out of the newspaper building and look around for a cab. Hello, Lyon. Huh? Oh, Shelly. How are you? Don't see much of you since you left, Jim, and moved out of the apartment? I'd like to talk to you. Yes, of course. We must have a long talk, but you don't mind right this minute. I want to talk to you now. Well, I really only have a few minutes, but if you insist, there's a quiet bar on the corner. I'd like to know what happened, Lyon. Oh, it's clear now. Your impulsiveness broke up our rather pleasant friendship, that's all. Friendship? I thought you were in love with me. Well, I was, in a manner of speaking. I want straight answers, Lyon. Are you still in love with your wife? Is that it? I've never been in love with Edith. She's a good, stable influence on me, makes her comfortable home, and above all, she doesn't ask too many questions. Don't think I gave up Jim, but... Really, my dear, I advise you two to kiss and make up and go back to Texas, huh? I could never do that now. Huh? Suit yourself. You don't care. You just don't care what happens to me, do you? You won't get lost, Shelly. Most women would gladly give up their husbands and sing at the Grotto Club. Well, gotta go now. If you ever want any plugs in my column, just let me know. That ends the episode, as far as you're concerned, doesn't it, Lyon? You make a note to observe more caution with your next pleasant friendship. And for the next week, you move confidently once more in the glamorous circle of Hollywood nightlife. And then, one day, your editor called you at home, and says it's important that you come to his office immediately. Oh, John, what's so all-fired important? Sit down, Lionel. All right, I'm down. What's the pitch? Quite a pitch, Lionel. I'll make it quick. I told you a few months ago to stay away from other women. And I told you that was my business. Yeah, it was your business. There's been too much talk, Lionel. You're through. Wait a minute. You're trying to tell me... I've told you you're through, fired. Two weeks notice. This is it. You must be out of your mind. I don't need your lousy job. There isn't a paper in this town that wouldn't snap me up in a minute. And just tell me one thing. Who's behind this? Nobody but you, Lionel. I've told you to knock it off before, and you wouldn't listen to me. You're lying. Somebody pretty big must be out to wreck me. And I think I know who it is. You're certain Jim Thomas is behind it all, aren't you, Lionel? No matter how much your editor denies it, you're sure it's Jim. As you receive rejections from the other newspapers, you're more certain than ever that behind it all is Jim. You're desperate now. You even call Shelly, but she won't talk to you. Finally, you decide to go to Jim Thomas himself, still living in his apartment, above yours. It's Lionel James, Jim. I'm sorry. Jim was right, Lionel. You have reaped the whirlwind. Then you're out of big time journalism. No stars to interview. No longer any nightclubs for you to cover. And so for the first time in years, you're spending a quiet evening at home with Edith, who knows you've lost your job, but doesn't know why. Stop worrying, Lionel. Paper can't be that short-sighted. They'll forget about it in a week or two and beg you to come back to that column. Well, we'll hope so. I'd rather like having you home for a change. I don't have to tremble every time a shutter bangs or the floor creaks. That's good, dear. Oh, Mr. Thomas is home. Hear him up there? On time, as usual. Listening to Mr. Thomas has become a little hobby of mine. How's that? By the way, whatever happened to Mrs. Thomas, I never hear her. Mrs. Thomas? Oh, they're separated. They must have gone to her head. Well, I'm sure it wasn't Mr. Thomas' fault. He's such a nice man. Regular habit. I thought you said you never met Mr. Thomas. I haven't. But I know his habits a lot better than I do yours, at least for the evening hours. Oh, how's that? Well, I told you, by listening to him walk. He can't keep a secret from me. What time is it? Uh, 11 o'clock. Time for his nightcap. The lobby bar sends up a drink every night at 11 sharp. He's going toward the door for his drink. Now he's opening the door, taking the drink and tipping the waiter. Oh. Well, makes you so sure I can't hear anything. Neither can I with this waiter, but one of them has a voice like a fog horn. Very interesting. Yeah. Uh, anything else you can deduce from Mr. Thomas' footsteps? Quite a bit. Shh. He's taking the drink straight to the bedroom. He goes to bed this way every night. He takes one shoe off. Takes a long sip on his drink. I can count to ten slowly. And then, yeah, you see? Yes. Very clever observation, Edith. I never realized Mr. Thomas had such interesting and regular habits. The idea comes to you as suddenly as a whirlwind. You begin to formulate a plan for Jim to wreak the havoc of it. Yes. You tell yourself that with Jim Thomas out of the way, you'll manage somehow to regain your position as a top columnist. And thanks to your wife, Edith, you know just how to do it. The next evening at 10.30, you leave your apartment comfortably dressed in soft, rubber-soled shoes and go downstairs to the lobby bar. Take a seat toward the end of the bar and drink the drinks for room service. And chat pleasantly with a bartender until a few minutes before 11. Excuse me a minute, Mr. James. I've got to mix up a hot buttered rum. Stand in order. Of course. Hot buttered rum, huh? By the nice nightcap. This customer thinks so. Won't go to sleep without it. Really? Do I know him? You might. Let's write above you. Tell her from Texas. Good tipper. There she is. A little more clove and we're all set. Ah, looks good. Certainly hope he enjoys it. When the bartender turns away, you empty a small envelope of powder into the drink. Then sit back and watch as the bellboy comes to pick it up. Then disappears into the elevator with Jim's nightcap. You wait until he returns with the empty tray a few minutes later. You have to work fast now, don't you, Lionel? The poison paralyzes instantly and death follows in about an hour. And you intend to be far away from the hotel before Jim is dead. You take the elevator to your floor then walk up to Jim's apartment. Let yourself in with a past key that served you so well before with another of your pleasant friendships who lived in the same building. In your rubber sole shoes, you quickly and quietly search through the apartment until you find Jim's typewriter. You'll find it in the bedroom. Jim is still conscious, but you don't let his presence disturb you. You, Lionel, help. Call a doctor. I'm poisoned. I can't breathe. I can't move. You insert a sheet of paper into the portable. Put it in your lap to deaden the noise and vibration. Everyone I know forgive me. I just can't take Shelly back and I can't live without her. Goodbye. And now all you need is the signature. It's a perfect suicide. You take Jim's driver's license from his wallet lying on the dresser and carefully copy the three letters. Jay, that's it. That does it. Poison my drink. Lieutenant, kill me, Lionel. Do it, Lionel. You didn't give me much choice, old man. I'm afraid the harm is already done. You should have chosen your enemies more wisely. Lionel. Again and again tomorrow, holiday drivers away from home will be asking the question where's a good place to eat? So to help travelers find a happy answer and to help travelers are offering free, a 20 page booklet of selected eating and lodging places in 350 cities in town throughout 16 western states. Included in this handy pocket size booklet is such useful information as whether prices are low, medium or high, whether the lodging place offers facilities for swimming and in the case of motels whether kitchens are available. Perhaps you also need a map. There are also helpful extra features such as a traveler's radio log to show you where to tune in your favorite network programs as you travel. Plus a list of interesting places to visit and in the larger metropolitan areas signal street maps are also used for the asking. These three free items, incidentally, are just a few of the thoughtful services you'll find at those friendly independently operated stations where you fill up with signal. The famous father gasoline. You weren't the one who reaped the whirlwind, were you Lionel? You smiled to yourself confidently as you placed a do not disturb sign over Jim Thomas' door and quietly leave the apartment building. Your certain Jim Thomas' death will be recorded as a cut and dried case of suicide. You spend the rest of the night until two in the morning playing poker with them all friends. And when you get back to your apartment who's that? Me, Lionel. Oh, am I glad to see you, Lionel. There's been a murderer loosing this apartment house. A murderer? Yes. I was listening to Mr. Thomas upstairs. I heard him take one of his shoes off and drop it to the floor. I counted to ten, like I usually do while he takes a sip of his drink. Never mind the details, Edith, get to the point. Well, after I counted to ten, I waited for the other shoe to drop. Nothing happened. It did seem strange. And then I heard him moaning. I rushed upstairs and pounded on the door. You? You went up there? Well, I certainly did. I saved that poor man's life. You what? When I couldn't get in, I called the manager and the house doctor. And Mr. Thomas is alive with his wife at his side because I called him in time. Someone was trying to murder him in cold blood. Mr. Thomas knows who it is and so do the police. They wouldn't tell me who it is, but I'll find out. Police department. Yes. Yes, my dear. I'm sure you'll find out. Soon. It may save a life. Possibly your own. This is a video 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. Marvin Miller speaking for the Signal Oil Company. This is CBS The Columbia Broadcasting System.