 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. Tonight, France Drive, it's the Whistler Strange Story, undercurrent. The sea was smooth and the ship, the SS Java Queen out of Vancouver for San Francisco, was moving calmly through it, and in the vernacular, all was well. But not so with a certain member of the cargo ship's half-dozen passengers. No, Chris Horton was anything but calm. For as he hurried along the deck, he knew that something was wrong, very wrong, and he intended to find out about it. He was determined to do so when he bumped against the deck steward carrying a tray of food. My fault, sir. I wasn't looking. Uh, where are you taking that tray? Why, uh, to Mr. Ashcroft's cabin. Good. You ought to be the one person on board this ship who knows what he looks like. What he looks like? Well, certainly. But I just came from Ashcroft's cabin. There's a man in there who claims he's Ashcroft. Now, I know he isn't. What, what do you mean, sir? I've been bringing him his meals ever since they sailed. Not a very good sailor, you know, who would come on deck. I'm sure that... Okay, take a look right now. Find out what that guy in there is up to. You watch the steward walk away, Chris. Knock on the door of Ashcroft's cabin. Presently, it opens. The man inside takes the tray. And a moment later, the steward is back at your side. Um, I don't get you, Mr. Horton, unless you're trying to pull my leg. Well, you're all mixed up, sir. That's Mr. Ashcroft, darling. I know it is. Well, Chris, you thought the steward was going to agree, didn't you? But he's confused you even further. You paced the deck for a long while, thinking things out. Finally decided there's only one thing to do. And you hurried toward the captain's quarters. Come in. Captain, I'd like to talk to you. It's very important. Of course. Come in, Mr. Horton. Shake hands with my friend, Mr. Ashcroft. What? We're just having a little drink. Oh, you do, Mr. Horton. What did you want to see me about? Nothing. I guess it can wait. I'll talk to you later. It's a shock, isn't it, Chris? A terrible puzzle. A ship moving through a calm, smooth sea. But with a weird undercurrent, Chris crossing in your mind. Because you know that the ship's captain and the deck steward are making a horrible mistake. Or they're deliberately lying. You stop suddenly, realize you're passing the radio shack. And there's someone inside you can trust. Reg McKenzie, a nice youngster. He could send a message for you, Chris. But to whom? And then your gaze falls on the ship's bulletin board. A tight brick and sheet of paper. The news from shore. There's a brief paragraph. The sensational development in the Siletti murder case in San Francisco. And instantly a name comes to your mind. Stoddard, Lieutenant John Stoddard. A well-known police detective. A man known to you only by reputation. You hurry into the radio shack. Reg, huh? Oh, hi, Mr. Hawton. I want you to send a message for me. Here. Hey, five dollars. You can earn it. You got a message blank? Yes, sir. Thanks. John Stoddard, Hall of Justice, San Francisco. SS Jabba Queen docking tomorrow 10 a.m. Meet me, Chris Hawton. Yes. SS Jabba Queen docking tomorrow 10 a.m. Meet me, Chris Hawton. Sure, I'll get it off right away, sir. You feel better now, don't you, Chris? Release. Why don't you start down the companion way towards your own cabin? A thought strikes you. Makes you hesitate and turn. Slowly, you make your way back to a position where you can observe the radio shack. Yes. Sure enough, Chris. The radio man, a yellow message blank in hand, leaves the radio shack and goes straight to the captain's quarters. Now you're certain, Chris. They're all against you. And your message to Police Lieutenant John Stoddard has been turned over to the captain and will never be sent. In your cabin, you pace the floor and wonder and worry for hours into the night. And then as you decide to step out on deck again. What the devil? I'm locked in. It's a terrible night you spend, isn't it, Chris? A prisoner in your own cabin. Unable to get out. You get help from the other passengers. You stretch out in your bunk. It means you've only dozed off and then it's morning. You hurry to the porthole, look out, and see that the ship is docked. The cargo is being lowered away. You turn and start pounding on the door and shouting frankly. Let me out of here! Something wrong, Mr. Holt. Wrong! I was locked in like this. What's going on here? Why, the door wasn't locked, sir? Perhaps it just jammed a little. Jammed? Sure. Maybe it was just jammed. Moments later you hurry ashore. Hope frantically that the man who called himself Ashcroft hadn't disappeared. And suddenly you spot him just a few feet away about to enter a taxi. You hear him give the driver a hotel address on Fulton Street and ride hurriedly away. You carefully note the address he gave and then rush to a drugstore near the docks. Yes. Linda, it's Chris. I just got in. Oh, Chris, what's happened? Why didn't you get in touch with me? Listen, baby, something's gone wrong. We better not talk now. Come to my apartment tonight. Oh, all right, Chris. But... Tonight, I said, eight o'clock. Hello, Linda. Chris, it's Chris. Take it easy now. I've already fixed you a drink. I can use it. Maybe you can use another when you hear what I've got to say. You better sit down. I did it, baby, just like we planned. I killed him and set it up to look just like suicide. But when I went back to his cabin a few hours later to... Well, to discover the tragedy, his body was gone. Gone? Yes. Somebody else was in the cabin. A stranger, Linda. A guy I never saw before. He was posing as your husband. Said his name was Ashcroft. How could he? I don't know. But the sword backed him up. The captain, everybody. But why, Chris? What does it mean? I don't know, Linda. But we better find out. Quick. In just 30 seconds, the Bustler will continue tonight's story. Don't be half-right. Use Yousafi. For example, how long would you say a nautical mile is? 3,040 feet? No, that's only half-right. Brush up on your marine navigation. Tell your I and E officer you want to study with the United States Armed Forces Institute. Yousafi. It's easy. It's simple. If you don't want to be half-right, use Yousafi. And now back to The Whistler. It's a terrible puzzling thing, isn't it, Chris? The events on shift board. The discovery that someone, a stranger, was posing as Frank Ashcroft, the man you murdered. Now back in San Francisco, sitting in your apartment with a victim's wife, lovely Linda Ashcroft. The two of you share the shock. There at one another with eyes filled with questions. It's a horrible twist of circumstances on the aftermath of your perfectly planned murder. A plan that had its beginning some three months ago when you first met Linda, newly arrived from Canada, to find a home in San Francisco for herself and her wealthy husband. Now you're both caught in the undercurrent of a deadly mystery. Ashcroft is dead. You know that, Chris. You killed him with your own hands. But there's another man, a stranger in his place. What? What are we going to do? We're going to find out what he's up to, Linda. Before I called you this morning, I heard him tell the taxi driver to take him to a hotel in Poulton. You don't think you should go? Go there. I do. And right now. Come on. There's the hotel. Let's... Wait a minute, Linda. What's the matter? There he is. The guy getting into the cab. He doesn't even look like Frank. We'll just tag along and find out where he's going. In the park, Chris. Yeah, I know. What are you going to do? I'm going in after him. Chris. Relax, relax, honey. I'll be all right. Wait here for me. You hurry into the park. Down the darkened path after him. And then up ahead, a street lamp. Under it, sitting on a park bench. Another man. There's something familiar about him, isn't there, Chris? Yes. It's the ship's steward. Just then you see the man you've been following. Walk toward the steward. You move quickly through the trees. Circle behind the park bench. And listen. Sit down, Mr. Ashcroft. You can forget that now. What's wrong? We've got a little talking to do, Mercer. The captain's been thinking it over. You know, smuggling aliens into the states is risky, isn't it? Yes, yes, yes, yes. The captain thinks that job we did for you is worth a little more money. A bargain, sir. A bargain. I paid what you asked. Right. The regular fee. But you got special treatment. First class accommodations, meals. And on top of that, we furnished you with a set of identification papers. All neat and proper life. You know, we took a big chance dumping that suicide overboard. How much do you want? Well, the captain figures Ashcroft's papers are worth at least $500. That's crazy. Okay. And hand them over. We can always use them. No, no, no, no. Wait a minute. If you'll meet me here tomorrow night, I'll have the money for you. Sorry. I'll have to have it now. Tomorrow night, you might not show up, myself. You might be halfway across the country. No, no, no. I wouldn't do that. Why should you stick around San Francisco? You don't know anyone here. All your friends are in the east. You must be all arranged to join. Look, I... I got it. Now, let's have the money now. All right. It's all quite clear to you now, isn't it, Chris? The conversation you've just overheard explains a lot of things. You know exactly what happened aboard ship last night and why. And now as you hurry back to Linda, you know you've nothing to worry about and a plan is already beginning to take shape in your mind. What happened, Chris? Relax, baby. We're in great shape. Great shape. What do you mean? Our friend just met the ship's tour. You mean the same one? Yeah. Seems like the captain of the SS Java Queen in his voyage are running a nice little rocket. Smuggling aliens into the state. A man who was posing as your husband is one of their clients. A guy named Mercer. I don't understand. Oh, it's simple, Linda. The steward went down to your husband's cabin, found him dead. Right away, he gets a bright idea. He removes all identification from the body, dumps it overboard, and sets up this man Mercer as Ashcroft. That seems like such a risky thing to do. Not particularly. The steward must have known your husband had no friends aboard. Besides, he stays in his cabin all the time. It's a perfect setup. What are we going to do now? I think I've got that figured out, too. This guy Mercer doesn't know anyone here in town. How about your husband? Anyone know him? No, not a soul, I'm sure. Go out, God. Now, suppose something happened to Mercer. An accident. He's carrying your husband's identification papers. An accident? A fatal accident. The police find him. You identify him as your loving husband, Frank Ashcroft. Oh, no, Chris. No, let's forget it. Let's forget the whole thing. Look, how are we going to get our hands on your husband's estate if we can't turn him up dead? There's got to be a body. First thing in the morning, I'll call the police. That's what my husband missing. Something in a few years. Seven. He'll be declared legally dead. Sure. But I don't want to wait that long, Linda. Don't you see? The setup is perfect. You're the only one in town who can identify your husband. He didn't carry any insurance, so there won't be any investigation. Chris, I'm afraid. Don't be. I've got a thing. Leave everything to me. The perfect setup, isn't it, Chris? An opportunity you can't afford to miss. You turn the car around. Drive back into the park. Drive down the road past the park bench. It's empty now, but up ahead, you see Mercer walking along the side of the road. Your foot presses down on the accelerator hard. What are you going to do? Take it easy, Linda. I said I'd handle it. No, Chris, no. We don't have to do this. No, we do, baby. Sure we do. Good evening. Is Mr. Ashcroft at home? No, he's not. Are you a friend of his? Well, in that way. The ship board acquaintance, you might say. We met on the Java Queen out of Vancouver. She docked this morning. Let's see. Is something wrong? I'm Sergeant Holmes, police. Mr. Ashcroft is dead. Dead? Get in and run, Axe. It happened a couple of hours ago in the park. Wrong. Oh, horrible. Came by to pick up Mrs. Ashcroft. Figured downtown to make the formal identification. I see. You know, I just can't believe it. Ashcroft dead. Only last night, we sat around, had a few drinks with... Sergeant. Yes, maybe you can. You can help with the identification some more. I'm sure Mrs. Ashcroft won't mind. Mrs. Ashcroft? Mr. Harden? No, Mrs. Ashcroft. Oh, thank you. Yes, that's all. I'll have one of the boys drive you back home. Oh, never mind. Oh, of course. Chris. I'll just leave the field. Get a new car. You know, I've been very well acquainted with your husband for a few days aboard shipments at Ashcroft. This is a fine man. Wonderful person. I'm sure it could have become great for him. Great. Sure you would have liked it. Strange, really. I feel as though I've known him for many years. Feel a lot of pain as you've been with Ashcroft. Sure, he's gone now. He's lost something. Something. Two of our hometowns and rightly so. In this brief moment before we continue with our program, we'd like to offer a salute to one of our hometowns in America, Minneapolis, Minnesota. The 17th city in size in the United States, Minneapolis is the manufacturing, wholesaling, retailing, financial and educational center of a vast region. And as Minnesota is the land of 10,000 lakes, Minneapolis is the gateway to that great recreational area. Inside the city itself are 22 lakes which offer fishing, boating, canoeing, and sail boating in summer, ice boating and skating in winter. That's just a part of the Minneapolis park system that covers almost 6,000 acres. Minneapolis includes much of the history of America and its own history. It has seen French fur traders, British soldiers, Indian battles. 130 years ago, the government established a flour mill there. And today, Minneapolis is one of the outstanding flour milling centers of the world. It is also the largest distributing center for tractors and agricultural implements in the country. The people of Minneapolis are proud of its history, its beauty, and its progressive community spirit. They are also proud of the park Minneapolis has played in the building of America. And now back to the Whistler. You're certain you're in the clear now. You and Linda aren't you, Chris? Yes. She's just identified Mercer's body, the hit-and-run victim, as Frank Ashcroft's her husband. It'll all be over in a few days. It'll be a quiet funeral, a private funeral. Linda will inherit the Ashcroft estate, and the two of you will share it together. Now, as you follow the police sergeant out of the moor, Linda holding onto your arm tightly. A man suddenly appears in the doorway, blocking your path. Good evening, Sergeant. Good evening, Lieutenant. I understand you brought in Mrs. Ashcroft. Your man name is Horton. Yes, sir. This is Mrs. Ashcroft. Well, well, well. You and Mrs. Ashcroft. This is a surprise. Last time I saw you and Horton here, the two of you were in a big hurry, Mrs. Ashcroft. Just a minute. What is this? You know, you're a hard guy to trail, Horton. I've been trying to catch up to you since this morning. When I went down to the boat, they told me you'd already gone ashore. The boat? Well, you got your address there, but you hadn't been home all day. When I came back tonight, you were gone, but the doorman was very helpful. He was driving away in a yellow convertible. License number IR7305. Oh, all right, but I still didn't see him. I almost caught up with you then, but I lost you in the traffic on Fulton near the main entrance to the park. I picked you up again in the park, just when you ran down Ashcroft. What? By the time I got through him, he was already dead. You beat it out of him. Finally, I find you here. You've been trailing me. Why? My lieutenant started. He sent me a radio grant from the SS Java Queen to ask me to meet you when she's done. Remember? Richard and tonight's transcribed story were Bill Foreman of the Whistler, George Neese, Gene Tatum, Jack Moyle, Gil Stratton Jr., Jack Edwards, and Chef Minkin. The Whistler directed by Gordon T. Hughes with music by Wilbur Hatch is produced by Joel Malone and transmitted overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service.