 And now stay tuned for the mystery program that is unique among all mystery programs. Because even when you know who is guilty, you always receive a startling surprise at the final curtain. In the Signal Oil program, The Whistler, transcribed by the Signal Oil Company, to enable the entire production staff of The Whistler to spend the Christmas weekend at home with their families. Signal, the famous go farther gasoline, invite you to sit back and enjoy another strange story by The Whistler. I'm The Whistler, and I know many things for I walk by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. And now for the Signal Oil Company, The Whistler's strange story, Christmas Gift. Christmas was only a few hours away, and Mary Winston couldn't help but marvel that its spirit could reach down and touch a cheap nightclub like Pete's Cantina on the outskirts of Panama City. Sitting alone at a table, she gazed at her tawdry surrounding. And then from the bar at the far end of the club came the strains of a Christmas melody, a melody which brought back memories of happier Christmas Eve. Yes, the Christmas spirit is undying, isn't it Mary? You watch the strolling solo as Sailor Reynolds nods as he comes closer and passes your table. It's been three months now since you were hired as a singing hostess at Pete's Cantina. Three months that you've been billed as Candy Porter with no one, not even the proprietor knowing your real identity, Mary Winston. At long last as Candy Porter, you seem to be safely away from your past. As the music ends, you look up, aware suddenly that Pete Gardena's the rolling, heavy-set proprietor is approaching your table. Candy! Candy! Look, there's an American gentleman just came in, he wants to buy you some champagne. Champagne, you hear? Please, I'm not in the mood tonight. Okay, this looks like a pig spender if he wants to buy champagne. All right, all right. You turn and see the tall, heavy-set American approach and suddenly you become tense. After a year of running away, you've learned to spot his kind in a moment, haven't you, Mary? You're certain he's a detective. And now you have to fight to remain calm as he approaches. Sit down, Mr. Fontaine. Sit down! Sure you don't mind, Mrs. Porter? Of course not. Thanks, and in that case I will. I'll go get the champagne, I'll keep you more nice. Eleven years old, too. Cigarette, Mr. Fontaine? No, thanks. You don't mind if I do? No, no, of course not. Oh, here. Light. Thanks. Well, this is very unusual for me, spending the Christmas season so far away from home. Mm-hmm. How come? Business. Important business. Couldn't it wait? No. This business means a lot to me. People I work for. He-he-he. This is the, uh, what you say, the bubble water. From Marseille, thirteen years old. You said eleven. That was from love. This is even better. Now I put him back in the ice. If you want some more, just call Pete. I've got more just like him. Well, I guess it's a few hours early to say, Merry Christmas, Mrs. Porter. So I guess I'd better just say, uh, good luck, huh? Thanks. He is hoping you find whatever you came here for. Oh, uh, I've already found what I came for. You see, I came for you. Merry Winston. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. It's ironic, isn't it, Merry? A sorry Christmas gift after all the months of hiding. Running from one town and then another. Using a different name in each place, but never your own. Merry Winston. These past three months you've been known as Candy Porter. Singing hostess in Pete's Cantina here in Panama City. And now this detective sitting across from you has called you by your real name. Merry Winston. And you can't run, can you, Merry? Facing Fontaine, you decide there's only one move you can make. That you've only one card left. But if you play it wisely, carefully, it might prove to be an ace. You say you came here after me, Mr. Fontaine? Mm-hmm. I don't know what you mean. I think you do. And if I were you, I'd be ready to leave all us Anglers in the morning, Miss Winston. Like the billing says, my name is Candy Porter. I know what the billing says. I know what it said in Brooklyn when you were billed as Doris Tramp. And Denver when you were billed as Gladys James. But when you took a powder out of Los Angeles a year ago, you were Merry Winston. You know, it's strange you're mentioning Merry Winston. I was even thinking about her when you came in. A lot of other people have mistaken me for Merry Winston. We could have passed between sisters. She was my best friend. I could tell you a lot about her if you feel like listening. Sure. I'll listen. Go ahead and talk if it'll make you feel any better. We can't get away until tomorrow morning anyway. The more you tell now, the less you'll have to tell later. Thanks. You see, Mr. Fontaine, Merry Winston was just a good kid who got a bad break. She was in love with a swell guy, but scared to death of a hoodlum. It's an unusual story, Mr. Fontaine. It was an unusual story, wasn't it, Merry? It began a year ago at a Christmas party given by your employers, the Southwestern Manufacturing Company in the pink room of the Swank Wilchester Hotel. And you were the hit of the evening. You sang three songs and went over big. Your friends from the office hadn't known of your talent. But they all agreed you were fine and when the party was over you were feeling good. It's so good you decided to drop into the hotel cocktail lounge. Make a phone call or two and have a nightcap by yourself before going home. When you finish your phone and you walk to a vacant stool at the bar. Gotcha, soda. Make mine the same, Bill. Gotcha. I, uh, heard you sing tonight. You were terrific. Thanks. What's the matter that he stands you up? He's on the phone. And, uh, no. I guess he didn't stand you up. Didn't he? He's on his way here right now. Lucky guy. Here you are, folks. I'll take it out of here, Bill. $1.80 out of 10. Well, now look here, Mr. Oh, take it easy. It's practically Christmas. What's the harm in my buying you one drink? Like I said, I liked your voice, Miss Winston. Thank you, Bill. You were detective or a mind reader. Oh, you mean your name? It wasn't any trick to find that out. I just asked one of the boys I saw dancing with you. My name's Joe Collins. I see you've never heard of me. Should I? Oh, now I get it. You're a professional talent scout and want to get me into the movies. Nope. I'm a gambler. Uh, disapproved. Why? Live and let live's my motto. And that's exactly what I'm going to do right now. What? Live my life and let you live yours. Good night, Mr. Collins. Just think I can tell the girls of the office tomorrow I met a real live gambler. Uh, wait a minute. You could tell them a lot more than that if you believed in your voice as much as I do. Really? Mm-hmm. You've heard of Domingo's out on Sunset, haven't you? It's an undercover gambling club, isn't it? It's more than a gambling club. It's a slow floor show. A lot of big people go out there. People that, uh, count. And all intimate friends of yours, I'm sure. No. But I know quite a few. Some who could push you right to the top with that voice of yours. Mr. Collins, this is the oldest line I ever heard. It's not a line, but, uh, skip it. Go on home. Listen to the radio. Eat candy. You can have a terrific time. If you go to Domingo's with me, you can't tell what might happen. You might have to meet a couple of show producers and maybe even sing. So, um, play it safe. Go on home. Maybe dull, but you'll always get to work on time. Is that all you have to say? Yeah, that's all. Except, uh, nighty night. W-wait a minute. Yeah? Could we be back early? We'll leave any time you say it. Well, uh, what are we waiting for? Well, now you're making sense. I'll call a cab. Well, never mind. I have a car. It's parked right around the corner. Joe Collins used just the right approach, didn't he, Mary? You realized you were being a fool. But as the hours passed, you told yourself your fears were groundless. Joe treated you with perfect courtesy. Introduced you to several people, including the producer of the floor show. You even sang a number which was well-received. Later, you watched the gambling for a while and then proceeded to the silver room to enjoy the second floor show. Afterwards, you had supper in the main dining room and watched the guests dancing. Joe... Then suddenly, you've had enough. Joe, do you mind if we leave now? I said we'd leave any time you said. What hit you, the music? I guess that's it. Another guy? Another guy. My fiancée, Dr. Frank Wilson. What happened to, uh, Dr. Wilson? He's in Korea. Marine? No army doctor. It was his car we drove out here in. Oh, that's too bad. We could have had a lot of fun. Well, shall we go? Please. Hop in unless you want me to drive. No, I'll drive. Good. We'll probably be safer that way. As you drove toward your little apartment on Clinton Avenue, you were glad your reckless little adventure was nearing its end. Everything had been fine so far, but you couldn't throw off a feeling of uneasiness. For a few miles, Joe said little, and then he seemed preoccupied, and you were relieved when he finally broke his strange silence. Say, uh, Mary, would you mind stopping for a minute at that drive-in? All of a sudden, I got an awful headache. Maybe I can get some aspirin there. I doubt it, but we'll give it a try. You can keep the motor running while I'm gone, huh? I'll only be gone a few seconds. Okay. Get going. Joe, you shot him! I said get going fast. There's a gun in your ribs, baby. You just saw what happened to one guy that crossed me. Did you kill him? I don't know. You... Oh, why was I such a fool? Turn right at the next corner. A car's been telling us for the last five minutes. I'm glad. I hope it's a prowl car. It'll save me the trouble of phoning the police. I said turn. Yeah, he didn't turn, baby. You know, you shouldn't have said what you did about phoning the cops. Nobody but me and you knows about that drive-in job. You just better pull over and park. We've got a couple of things to talk over. I said pull over! Joe, don't kill me. I know you can do it easy, but I'll never tell about tonight. That's the way you feel now. An hour from now, you'll feel different. Oh, no, I won't. On my word of honor, I'll make a deal with you, Joe. I'll trade you my silence for my life. I swear I won't talk about it ever. You sound like you really mean that. Oh, I do mean it, Joe. I swear it. I swear it. You're swearing at him. Yes, Joe. I swear it. Well, I'm not being very smart, but I'm going to take a chance. You drove the getaway car, so I guess that makes us partners anyway. You know, partner, we ought to have a lot of fun together. Now, how about dropping me off at my place, huh? Tell me where to go. We've got about six blocks from here. Just turn to the right. After you dropped, Joe, and reached your apartment, you were so weak you could hardly stand. You literally fell in the bed. You tried to sleep, but sleep was impossible. Early the following morning, you heard the news boys shoving the morning paper under your apartment door. You hurried across the room and looked at the front page. The headlines and stories sickened you. A driving manager shot in the tempted holdup dies. An identified man and woman seemed fleeing from scene of crime in dark green 49 model sedan. Pedestrian leaves he can identify car. There it was, Mary. Your situation looked hopeless, didn't it? You felt you must keep your word to Joe Collins, but you knew you must never see him again. Only one avenue seemed open to you. You had to leave town and disappear. You dressed hurriedly, packed a few belongings, withdrew your savings from the bank, and by noon were on an eastbound plane for New York. You decided to take advantage of your voice and become a professional entertainer. The first few weeks you auditioned almost daily with negative results. But finally, after three months, you were singing at the Golden Lion, a prosperous little nightclub in Brooklyn, New York. After a shaky start, you became a featured performer under the name of Doris Trent. As the weeks went by, your work improved. You became sure of yourself, and one night you noticed Vern Shield, famous musical comedy producer in the audience. His presence seemed to inspire you and you went over better than ever. Afterwards, in your dressing room, you wondered what he thought of your voice. You were certain that your visitor was Vern Shield. Weren't you, ma'am? Come in. Well, long time no see, Mr. Trent. Doris Trent, it says on the program. Joe. I'm surprised you recognize me. I thought you'd forgotten me. All right, Joe, you found me. Now what's on your mind? You double-crossed me, baby. You're crazy. That's why I left town, so I wouldn't even have to talk to anybody. You wrote the police, though, didn't you? Oh, you're wrong, Joe. I didn't write to anybody. It had to be you. It couldn't have been anybody else. After you left, they picked me up for questioning. It wasn't me. I'd kept my word with you, Joe. Yeah? Well, there's one way you can convince me. How? Marry me. Tonight. Marry you? Mm-hmm. That way I'll be sure of you. Wives can't testify against their husbands. Besides, I'll know what you're doing all the time. Look, Joe, I... I've got to do my show. Let's talk this over in the morning. Tonight, we'll go on up to Connecticut. Go ahead and do your show. Only if you've got any ideas about calling the cops, don't forget you drove the getaway car. And in case anything happens to me, there's a written confession in my pocket telling exactly how you helped me pull the job. Now, we use your boyfriend's car. How you kept the motor running, waiting for me. You've thought of everything, haven't you? Everything, so don't try anything. Now, go ahead and do your show. I'll wait for you here. You started down the hallway, turned toward the powder room, offstage. Suddenly, you re... You realize what a fool you've been. But you made up your mind not to keep on being a fool, didn't you, Mary? Knock with that wall telephone just five steps ahead of you. Operator, get me police headquarters and hurry. Better hang up quick, baby. I mean, quick. I had a hunch you'd try to double-cross me now I know for sure who wrote that note to the cops. Didn't you, honest? I didn't... You just tried to call him, didn't you? All of a sudden, I've lost interest in getting married. I'm just gonna take a little ride. Now, come on, baby. No, no, I'm not moving a foot. Not an inch. You let go of my arm! Hey, what's going on here? The wrong door. Is this guy bothering you? Yes, yes, yes. You want to date me? Tell him to leave, will you, Eddie? Well, maybe I better take him into the office and call the cops. No, thanks, Eddie. There's no need for that. He's just another wolf. Tell him to leave. That's good enough. You heard what the lady said, Bob. Start traveling. Okay, Pop. Anything you say. I'll see the lady later. I'll be parked right across the street. Miss, friend. You should have let me call the cops. I would have if he hadn't had you covered with a gun. Oh, I see. Gee, thanks, kid. I guess you saved my life. Excuse me. Look, Eddie, I've got to get out of town in fares. After what you just did for me getting you out of town as a cinch? Grab some clothes while I phone my wife. I'm bringing you home. We'll go out to rear entrance. My car's on the lot next door. Tomorrow I'll call a friend of mine in Denver. He'll put you to work right away. You better change your name, though. That'll be easy. I'm getting used to it. So, Mr. Fontaine, that's where I met Mary Winston. In Denver, the hi-hat club built his baddest chains. She was there for quite a while, room with me. Then she left. Just like that one night. When a waiter told her some guy wanted to interview her for a magazine, she figured it was Joe Collins again. At the last I have saw her. That's the end of the story? That's the end. And Mary Winston told you all of it? Well, we were close friends. I'll say your word. You don't believe me, do you? If you were in my position, would you believe a story like that? No, I don't suppose I would. With Santa's arrival only two days away, who can help being in a whimsical frame of mind tonight? Whimsical about such things as how Santa can travel so far in one night? Well, maybe here's the answer. A child asked his father one day how St. Nick went so far on a sleigh. The wise father replied, he can take that long ride cause his reindeer drinks signal, they say. Well, I decided to check this story with Santa himself. And now I can report to you. Said Santa when boarding his sled. This year I'm using my head. It's signal for me. I'll go farther. You'll see. And over the rooftops he sped. Now, as you've no doubt guessed, in addition to letting you in on Santa's mileage secret, there's also a moral to this story, which is... The gas used by Santa, my lassie or lad, is also the gas that is best for dear dad. With signal, dad's car will not only go far, but give top performance the best to be had. Well, Mary, it looks as though you've lost, doesn't it? That your show wasn't good enough. The man across the table, the detective, you're certain has come to take you back to Los Angeles. To stand trial for a murder you had nothing to do with doesn't believe you. You're certain, too, that the jury in Los Angeles won't believe you, not after you're running away. Your phony names, your present name, your phony names, your present surroundings, you're sure Joe Collins has been captured, that the authorities have read his confession, that he's trumped your last card, ruined forever your hopes of eventual reunion with a man you still love, Dr. Frank Wilson. Yes, Mary, it looks as though you've lost, but you're going to play the game through to the end anyhow. White Christmas. If Sailor Reynolds knew what that song did to you, the memories it brings back, he'd play something else. Wouldn't he, Mary? Fontaine gazes into space and drums his fingers silently on the table. You watch him closely, await his next words. How long did you say you'd been here? I didn't say, but I got here about three months ago. You like it here? No. That's what I figured. Look, Miss... Cigarette, Mr. Fontaine? Yeah, thanks. Line? Mm-hmm. Thanks again, Miss Porter. Did you say... Porter? Not that you said your name was, didn't you? That's what the billing says, too, isn't it? You mean you believed me? You sounded straight to me. Well, it looks as though I came a long way for nothing, doesn't it? Sailor, I'm kind of glad I came. I always figured that confession they found on Joe Collins' body was a phony. Joe Collins? Joe Collins did? Yeah. The Brooklyn police got him one night about five months ago. A woman called the police from a little next to the Golden Lion Club. She hung up before they answered the phone, but the Brooklyn boys decided to investigate anyway. One of them spotted Collins in a car park across the street. He got figure happy, and that was that. Joe Collins... Finns. Right. Well, Miss Porter, if you ever run into Mary Winston... I'll tell her all about the Christmas gift I got from this world detective named Fonte. No, I'm just a private detective, Miss Porter. But the police gave me the tip that you... I mean, Mary Winston might be working here. Oh, then they knew the... A man named Wilson hired me for the case. A doctor, Frank Wilson. Frank Wilson? There he's out of the army now. Still very much in love with Mary Winston. Doesn't care where she's been. Just wants her to come back and marry him. He must be quite a guy. Yeah, he's okay. Now, incidentally, do you think you'll ever see Miss Winston again? Yes, I do. Well, do you think she might come back to Los Angeles sometime and clear things up with the police? Make the doctor happy? I'm sure she will. Someday. You see, a girl like Mary gets to feel a little soiled after working around in joints like this. She'll probably want to spend a year or so and clean the surroundings. Maybe out in the desert. Sort of freshening up before going home. Seeing anyone she cared about. Yeah. For what you said, I expect she would. Well, I might as well be getting along. Merry Christmas, Miss Porter. Happy New Year. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program The Whistler each Sunday night at this same time. Signal Oil Company has asked me to remind you. There's an easy way we can all help to make this holiday season happier for ourselves and others. Drive at sensible speeds, be courteous and obey traffic regulations. It may save a life, possibly your own. Featured in tonight's story were Bill Foreman as The Whistler, Betty Lou Gerson, Bill Conrad, Bill Boucher, Marvin Miller, and Brett Wood on the harmonica. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen with story by Ed Bloodworth, music by Wilbur Hatch and was transcribed and transmitted overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. The Whistler was entirely fictional and the 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 this 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 our Miss Brooke starring Eve Arden, who follows immediately over most of these stations. This is the CBS Radio Network.