 And now for the signal oil program, the Whistler. The mystery program that is unique among all mystery programs. Because you know who's guilty. You see his every move. You know his complete plans, even his innermost thoughts. Yet the final curtain always brings a startling surprise. In the signal oil program, the Whistler. That whistle is your signal for the signal oil program, 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. Yes friends, it's the Whistler for tops in entertainment. And for the tops in gasoline quality, it's signal. It takes extra quality, you know, to give you extra mileage. And signal is the famous go farther gasoline. So look for the signal circle sign in yellow and black that identifies friendly independent signal stations from Canada to Mexico. And now the Whistler's strange story. Uncle Ben's widow. From the veranda of the Crestview sanatorium, nestled high on the Mount Tamil Pice slope, Monica Dawson looked across the low rolling hills to the bay in San Francisco beyond. Presently the faint sound of a bicycle bell reached her ears. The sound of a dog barking. Moments later, the rider appeared along the narrow dirt roadway and then wheeled into the hospital grounds. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she peered through the haze, watched the dusty figure on the bicycle approach. And then suddenly she sat upright in her chair. There was something familiar about the man in the khaki trousers, the yellow t-shirt, the knitted cap. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. Her head began to throb again. Minutes later, she heard his footsteps approaching and a cold wave of fear swept over her. Mrs. Kittridge? Yes? I-I am Amy Schlegel. Schlegel? I-I'm sorry, I don't seem to... Of course, you do not remember me. I-I was there on the road the night of your motor accident. It was-it was I who summoned help. I see. You know, you almost ran over me shortly before the accident occurred. Yes. Yes, I remember you were the man on the bicycle. That-that is right, Mrs. Kittridge. Tell me, how are you feeling? Much better, Mr.... Schlegel, Amy Schlegel. Wanted you to know I'm grateful for everything? Of course. I only wish I could have done more for your husband, I mean. There was nothing anyone could do. He died instantly. He was dead when I found him, yes. But then that was quite some time after the accident occurred. Mr. Schlegel? Yes? The accident occurred only a few minutes after we passed you on the road. I heard the crash and hurried to the place where your car had gone off the road. I-I could see your car at the bottom of the ditch. I, um, also heard voices. I'm afraid you must be mistaken, Mr. Schlegel. Oh, no. I heard voices. And I waited, Mr. Kittridge. Why, Mr. Schlegel? There is a saying, something comes to one who waits. May I sit down, Mrs. Kittridge? It's such a warm day, isn't it? Much warmer than... He knows, doesn't he, Monica? He knows what really happened the night your husband met his death. You lean back in the chair while a little man drones on. But you're not listening. Your thoughts go back to that moment three weeks ago when it all began. Began with a flirtatious toast in the cocktail lounge of a fashionable hotel in downtown San Francisco. As you sat at the table admiring your reflection in a mirror, you noticed the man sitting at the table next to you. He, too, was admiring your reflection as he raised his cocktail, tipping it in a toasting fashion. You were instantly aware of his identity, and you decided it was time to go to work on this prosperous-looking gentleman. Hello. I'm sorry I had to use something quite so obvious as an excuse to get acquainted. It wasn't exactly original. A last desperate effort. I've been trying to attract your attention ever since you arrived. This is a hobby of yours? No, on the contrary. You're the first one I've ever seen in a cocktail lounge that I've cared to meet. I don't suppose you believe that. No. My name is Benjamin Kithrich. May I buy you another one of those, uh... Oh, perhaps you haven't had dinner. My name is Monica Dawson. You may buy me another one of those. Made up your mind about dessert, Monica? You know, you're a very persuasive man. A little while ago I let you buy me a drink, and here we are having dinner. The French pastry is excellent. Oh, sorry. I have to watch my figure, you know? Hmm, it's quite a... I'll, um, have it been a decade instead. Is this a vacation for you? Well, in a way, with Brad gone, I... I can have my little, uh, fling, so to speak. Brad? Oh, I haven't told you about Brad, have I? You see, I'm president of the Kithrich Steamship line, and Brad's my nephew. He's, uh, vice president. He does all the work, thank heaven. He's a whirlwind. All work, no play. Married to his job, all that sort of thing. Obviously, he doesn't endorse occasional relaxation. No, I'm afraid not. He sounds delightfully crew cut. Pork pie hat, tweeds, a pipe, a dalmatian named Boy. Where's he now? Working out in the gym? Hmm? No. No, he's, uh, doing a little troubleshooting at one of our foreign offices. He'll be back in two weeks. Then, uh, your vacation will come to an abrupt end? Ah, yes. And no time off for goodbyes, you know? Oh, now, Monica, I'm afraid I've given you a bad impression of Brad. Really, he's quite a lad. I'm terribly fond of him. He knows more about the shipping business than I do. Well, you'll love him. I'm sure I will, Ben. He sounds just my type. Well, don't worry, Monica. We have two weeks to have a lot of fun. A lot can happen in two weeks. Then, I'll drink to Ben. This was a wonderful idea, Monica. Wonderful. Haven't you ever taken a handsome ride through the park before, darling? Nope. Never occurred to me. Uh, Monica, the last two weeks with you have been wonderful. Do you realize our wonderful times are just about over? Your Brad will be back in a few days. Yes, yes. Have, uh, have you really been happy with me, honey? Of course, I have. Monica. Yes, darling? Monica, would you, would you marry me? Ben. Would you, Monica? Well, I, I don't know. We could start making plans right now. Be married the day Brad gets back. Would we have to wait for Brad? You mean you'll... Oh, money, money. I've loved you since the day we met. But I, I never dreamed you'd ever consider marrying me. Well, I haven't said yes, darling. Well, Brad will be home by the end of the week. He can be my best man. Why couldn't we get married right away and surprise him? Well, I, I don't know. He, he'd feel bad about it. I, I really should tell him first. You're afraid of Brad, aren't you? Oh, that isn't it at all, Monica. I just want to do the right thing. For you, you really don't believe that I... Brad, we'd better get the whole thing, Ben. Brad probably wouldn't approve of me, anyway. Oh, look, Monica. I don't give a hoop whether Brad approves or not. It's none of his business. You'd marry me even if he tried to stop you. You have nothing to say about it. I can make my own decisions. We're getting married right away. With the prologue of Uncle Ben's widow, the Signal Oil Company brings you another strange story by the Whistler. You know, when a manufacturer is enthusiastic about his own product, well, you just naturally expect that. But when users are enthusiastic, that's the real proof of the pudding, which explains why here at Signal Oil Company fall is our favorite time of the year. It's the time when folks who have been on vacation trips and have had a good chance to test their mileage write us about the results they've had with Signal, the famous Go Farther gasoline. For instance, Mr. E. R. Strobe of Los Angeles writes, I just completed a trip of almost 4,000 miles much of it mountain driving. And not only did my 47 Chevy take the tall ones in high, but I averaged 19 and one-third miles per gallon. No wonder Signal is called the Go Farther gasoline. Well, to Mr. Strobe and all the rest of you who have written in about your experiences with Signal products, we want to extend our sincere thanks. And to those of you who have not yet joined the ever-increasing family of Signal users, may I make this suggestion? Cry just a few tankfuls of Signal gasoline in your car that its honest performance and its good mileage prove to you what Signal users have long known. That to get the tops in gasoline quality, there are just two things to remember. One, it takes extra quality to go farther. And two, Signal is the famous Go Farther gasoline. And now back to the whistler. It was easy for you to make Ben Kittridge fall in love with you, wasn't it, Monica? It was like playing a dull game of charades with Ben never guessing that your only interest in him ended with a Kittridge fortune. Yes, it was all so easy to marry Ben. However, you're a little worried about Brad, aren't you? And that night as you sit across the table from Brad at a dinner party, Ben is giving an honor of his return. You wonder what Brad really thinks of his new aunt. How about another drink, Brad? Why not? This is a celebration, a double celebration. Order the drinks, will you, Uncle Ben? Monica and I are gonna have this dance. We are? Well, that is if Uncle Ben doesn't mind. Mind? Of course not. Run along, you two. Mind, mind, mind. Excuse us, will you please? You know, I was a little afraid when Ben and I went down to the pier to meet you this afternoon. Afraid? Why? Oh, I thought perhaps you wouldn't approve. Really? Well, it's gonna take me a little time to get used to the ideas being married. Been a bachelor all his life. I never thought he would marry, especially someone... Someone young enough to be his daughter? I was going to say someone as beautiful as you, Monica. Is it difficult for you to say that, Brad? No. You are quite beautiful, you know. And you approve of Uncle Ben's selection? Of course. Any reason why I shouldn't? Well, I suppose some people would think I married your uncle for his money. What's so funny, Brad? I don't see why people should think that, Monica. Uncle Ben has no money. Having a nice time, Monica? Wonderful, just wonderful. Where'd Brad wander off to? Oh, he ran into some friend of his. Over there at that table. What do you think of Brad? You've charmed him completely. But I'm afraid you won't have a chance to get better acquainted for a while. He's off on another trip to Central America in a few weeks. Then why didn't you tell me the Kiptritch steamship company was floundering? Floundering? Where did you get that idea? Brad? Well, he didn't say it that way exactly, but he did say you have no money. Darling, the steamship company is worth approximately $12 million. Brad was probably referring to my personal fortune, or I should say lack of it. Lack of it? What do you call $12 million? That money isn't mine. It's a fortune that's been handed down from one generation to the next in our family. I merely manipulate the money in the interest of the firm. But don't you have any money of your own? Very little. Oh, I get a salary with an occasional bonus. The stipulation in grandfather Kiptritch's will allows only a set amount to be paid out each year. Living expenses, upkeep of the family, home, so on. All profits go back into the business. Well, that's hardly a fair arrangement. Well, it isn't for any of us, except Brad. He's the last of the Kiptritches. Is that some kind of distinction? $12 million worth. He gets every cent of the inheritance. No strings attached. I see. So Brad gets it all. $12 million. He can have it. The money, the company, everything. Everything. What do I care? I have you money. Yes, and I have you. You've made a mistake, haven't you, Monica? Brad's the one you should have married. Yes, it was a bad mistake. During the weeks that follow, you manage to see quite a bit of Brad. And then one evening as you return from a dinner party in San Francisco with Ben, a tailor-made opportunity presents itself. Ben, must you drive so fast? These mountain roads are dangerous, and you've been drinking too much. Don't see why you insisted on coming this way. It's a shortcut, Manny. When we reach the signal oil station at the bottom of the grade, we'll turn into the main highway. Well, be careful. There's a man on a bicycle up ahead. I see him. You almost hit him. Now, Manny, I know this road like my own pocket. Come on, give me a kiss, eh? Oh, stop it, Ben. Watch the road. Ben, watch where you're going. There's a curve ahead. Ben, look out! My back, Manny. My back. Can you crawl out of the car? No. No, I can't get out. Get help, Manny. All right, Ben, if I get this... Hey, Manny, get help. Get up on the road. Get up on the road. There's a car coming. You're just standing there. Please stop a car. I need help. Yes, Ben. I know you do. Monica, you're deliberately letting me die. It's been a long time you stand there, motionless, staring at your husband, pinned beneath the car, listening to him beg for help. Finally, he stops calling you. An icy hand closes around your heart, as the realization of what you've done sweeps over you. Your head begins to throb and the picture before you becomes blurred, hazy, and then suddenly your knees give way and you crumble to the ground. Monica, how do you feel? Dickly slept the clock around. Ed, what am I doing here? You're at Crestview Sanatorium. They brought you here last night after the accident. You were pretty well shaken up, but everything's going to be all right, Monica. All you need is a little rest. Ben, where's Ben? Where is he, Brad? Where is he? He's dead. You play the part of a grief-stricken widow so well, don't you, Monica? No one would ever suspect you didn't even try to save Ben's life. And now with Ben out of the way you're free to concentrate on Brad and the entire Kittridge fortune. It's easy to convince Brad that you need him to help ease the unhappy memory of your husband's sudden death. And he postpones his business trip to Central America. In the week that follows, Brad is a daily visitor and with each visit you become more and more certain he's falling in love with you. Yet there seems to be an invisible barrier between you. Brad's loyalty to the memory of Uncle Ben prevents him from telling you how he feels. And then one afternoon if Brad is pushing your wheelchair through the hospital grounds. Monica. Yes? I'll be leaving in a few days. The trip to Central America? Yes. Do you really have to go, Brad? I'm afraid so. I've put off the trip as long as I dare. How long will you be gone? Six months probably. I wish I didn't have to go, Monica. I'd much rather stay here with... Well, there... there are so many things to do here at the main office since Uncle Ben... Yes, I know. This is far enough, Brad. I think I'd like to walk a little now. Monica, do you think you should? Of course, I'm all right. You're so silly being wheeled around in this thing. Give me your hand, Brad. All right, but Dr. Fenway won't like it if... Oh, Dr. Fenway. You see, I... Monica, what's the matter? Oh. There you are. All right, better. I felt a little dizzy. I was going to faint. Are you sure you're all right? Yes, of course. It's a good thing you caught me. I might have fallen. Why don't you sit down? No, I... I like this much better. Why? Why don't you, Brad? What? I know you want to. Why don't you kiss me? A moment later, you watch Brad as he turns and hurries away. You've finally broken through the barrier, haven't you, Monica? Yes. The rest of the way will be easy. But you haven't much time if Brad has to sail to Central America in a few days. As you continue your stroll, you plan your next move. And a quarter of an hour later, as you pass beneath the window of Dr. Fenway's office, you hear voices. No, what do you mean? Don't worry, Mr. Kittridge. I'll take care of everything. You understand how I feel about this, Doctor, but it's of what most importance that I sail for Central America. I have already made arrangements to leave tonight. I understand. Thank you, Doctor. You'll talk with her in the morning? Yes, I'll explain everything to her then. Though Brad has suddenly changed his mind, sailing tonight for Central America is running away from you, isn't he, Monica? After that tender little scene on the veranda, when he held you in his arms, kissed you, he's afraid to see you again, afraid because he's in love with Uncle Ben's widow. Quickly, you hurry back to the veranda, and as you do, a reckless plan begins to take shape in your mind. But then you'll have to be reckless if you want to trap Brad in the Kittridge fortune. Now, as you sit on the veranda, a few minutes after the arrival of the man on the bicycle, the man who has come to blackmail you, your confidence, your plan won't fail. But you'll have to take care of Mr. Schlegel first. Will you come to the point, Mr. Schlegel? The point? Oh, yes. You see, Mrs. Kittridge, I am an artist, a painter. I thought perhaps you would care to sit for a portrait. How? How much? You may not believe it, but I am considered a very fine painter. How much, Mr. Schlegel? $5,000. Well, then I also have some beautiful paintings, landscapes, beautiful landscapes. Perhaps you would like to buy a few. The price, I assure you, would be most reasonable. Mr. Schlegel, there are people coming out now. I can't talk to you. Later perhaps, this evening? No. You'll have to give me some time. I don't have the money now. Maybe a week. Very well. We'll make all arrangements then. Good afternoon, Mrs. Kittridge. In a week we shall meet again. Yes. You will have the money then. I'll have the money, Mr. Schlegel. But you won't get a cent of it, Mr. Schlegel, not one cent. The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. But now, since the hot weather that we usually have at this season tends to make ordinary motor oils break down and cause carbon, wear and corrosion, I thought this would be a good time to tell you about an improved type motor oil specifically designed to protect your motor against these abuses. It's signal premium compounded motor oil, the finest lubricant ever offered by the makers of signal, the famous Go Farther gasoline. Naturally, signal premium compounded motor oil has 100% pure paraffin base, the finest money can buy. But in addition, signal premium contains scientific compounds that make it do what no regular oil could ever do. While you drive, these compounds are busy doing many jobs, such as washing out destructive carbon, gum and varnish, neutralizing the acids that corrode costly bearings, keeping the oil from losing its body or from excessive foaming. When you can now enjoy all these extra benefits, why be satisfied with lazy old fashioned oil for your modern streamlined car? For extra driving pleasure, longer life for your car, choose the improved type signal oil that does so much more than just lubricate. Stop at signal stations for signal premium compounded motor oil. Your guarantee of a sweeter running motor. And now back to the Whistler. Three days out of San Francisco, the freighter Isham Kittridge plowed through heavy seas, a few hundred miles off the coast of Central America. It was a simple matter, wasn't it, Monica? With your position as a member of the Kittridge clan to persuade Captain Driscoe to let you hide aboard. To surprise your beloved nephew Brad when the ship was several days out at sea. And now it's too late for Brad to do anything when he discovers you're on board. A few minutes later, you slip into his cabin to wait. You're not worried about Slagle anymore, are you, Monica? No. Once Brad is yours, completely yours, you know he'll stand by you. You're certain he won't believe Slagle's story should the little man decide to make trouble. A quarter of an hour goes by as you wait in Brad's cabin, and then you hear voices outside. Here to join me in a night, Captain Mr. Kittridge? Oh, thanks, Captain, but I think I'll turn in. By the way, I'm expecting an important radio ground where you instruct me when it arrives. All right, sir. Good night, Captain. Hello, Brad. Monica. Come on, darling. Don't act as though you've seen a ghost. Monica, you shouldn't be here. Why not? I think it's a splendid idea. I just couldn't stand that sanatorium another minute. You didn't see Dr. Fenway before you? Oh, we wouldn't have approved, I'm sure. Monica, why did you wait so long to let me know you were on board? Oh, I had to, darling. I had to wait till we were out far enough so you couldn't send me back. Now, we're miles at sea. Three days, at least, from the nearest port. It's too late for you to do anything. Yes. It's too late to do anything. Oh, Brad, darling, don't be angry with Monica. Be nice. I'm such a horrible headache. I just couldn't bear it if you weren't nice. Oh, Monica, you don't understand. The afternoon before I sailed, I had to talk with Dr. Fenway. He'd consulted a brain specialist about your case. The report had just come in. Brain? Brain specialist? Actually. Monica, your head was injured in the auto accident. The report confirmed Dr. Fenway's findings. Subduro hematoma. Hemorrhage of the brain. What? What does that mean? Brad? Answer me. They were planning an immediate operation. It would have cured you. But any delay, even a few days, means death. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program, the Whistler, each Wednesday night at this same time. Brought to you by the Signal Oil Company, marketers of signal gasoline and motor oil and fine quality automotive accessories. Signal has asked me to remind you to get the most driving pleasure, drive at sensible speeds, be courteous, and obey traffic regulations. It may save a life, possibly your own. Featured in tonight's story were Betty Lou Gerson, Theodore Von Els, and Jeff Chandler. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen with story by Jim Lainer and music by Wilbur Hatch and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Remember at this same time next Wednesday, another strange tale by The Whistler. Marvin Miller speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.