 Signal Oil Program, The Quizler. No, for the Signal Oil Program, The Quizler. 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 checked into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. Yes, friends, it's time for The Quizler. Rated by independent research, the most popular West Coast radio program. And remember, let every traffic signal remind you, with new signal gasoline you do go farther than ever. Look for the familiar big yellow and black circle sign that identifies those popular signal service stations throughout the West from Canada to Mexico. And now The Quizler's strange story, stolen murder. Ken Bratterick and Tom Barton had grown up together and were fast friends until Ken married Helen Johnson. Helen had never liked Tom, not only because he was pasty-faced and sickly, but principally because of his influence in keeping her husband, Ken, in St. Augustine, Florida. According to Tom, they were going to write great American novels and bring the world humbly to their door. But Helen had other ideas. They led her to her brother, who was an important literary agent in New York, and she wangled a job for Ken as copywriter in a small Manhattan advertising agency. And so on that night of February 23rd, they were ready to say goodbye to Florida and to Tom Barton. Thank heavens, Ken. This is the last time we'll drive down this street. Look at it. 11 o'clock and everybody, absolutely everybody in bed. Yeah, I suppose. But you know we're liable to miss this old town after we've been in New York a while, don't you? Oh, can that again? For heaven's sake. I can't help it. If Tom would only go along with us, it'd be different. Tom, Tom, will you do me a favor and forget Tom? When we got married, we were going to travel and meet people and do exciting things. Well, this is our chance. Sure, sure. This is our chance. Okay, here we are. We say goodbye to Tom and that's that. Be glad to get this over. Well, come with me, aren't you? Do I have to? It's the least you can do, Helen. All right, all right. It'll make you feel any better. Look to me as if he's already in bed, like the rest of the dear citizens. He's probably in back working on his book. Look, Helen, try to be halfway decent to him, will you? Of course. Funny. I don't hear him. What? Suppose he had one of his attacks? He's probably only sleeping. I don't know. Door's unlocked. Tom? Hey, Tommy! Tom! I don't like this. Wait a minute before you wake up the neighbors. Look, coming up the wall. Huh? Oh, Tommy. Hey, we were beginning to worry about you. Ken, Helen, what are you doing here? Why do you like that? We leave tomorrow and you ask me. Tomorrow? Oh, I forgot. Tom, hey, what's the matter with you? All right, Helen, I'm going to get some water. Here, you better sit down on the steps. How are you, Ken? I'm all right now. Oh, the devil, you're all right. Tom, this is crazy. What you need is a good specialist. You can't go on like this. Now, if you'd only use your head and come to New York with it. New York? Well, sure, there's plenty of room in the car. We could get a good doctor for you and find out what this is all about. Yeah. How is he? I guess you're right, Ken. You are right. I will go with you tomorrow. You will? Oh, that up, boy. Helen, don't you hear that? Tom's going with us. Yes, I heard. Here. Thank you, water. Oh, you won your point, didn't you, Ken? Tom came to New York with you. But somehow after six months in the city, that doesn't seem to matter anymore. No, other things concern you now. Your dark, stifling apartment, your dreary job, your salary that will barely pay the bills. Helen's scolding and scolding. And Tom? You don't even see him. He's convinced he's going to die. And he sits in his little room frantically writing day and night. Writing the great American novel, remember? And then late one night he calls and insists that you come down to see him right away. It's nearly midnight when you get there. Well, guess, Tommy, you're sick again, right? No, no. Sit down, Ken. I've got something to tell you. Have you seen Dr. Hansen? No, it's not that. But that's why you came to New York in the first place. Listen, Hansen's the best there is, and you haven't even been near her. Look, I'm sick of doctors. Anyway, it's too late now. Don't say that. It's true. And I want to talk about it. Ken. Yeah? I finished it. Finished it? My book. No. Yes. But you're going to be surprised. It's not the kind of thing we always talked about writing. It's a mystery story. Oh, great. Well, I decided since I didn't have much time, I decided I'd write a book that would sell fast and mystery sell fast. So that's it, Ken, and... Well, would you take it down to Helen's brother? Helen's brother? Yes. You said he was one of the biggest literary agents in New York. Oh, yeah. Well, if he likes it, he can get it read fast and published fast. If I just send it in cold, it'll take weeks, maybe months. I haven't got time to fool around. Oh, it's... I'm lucky if I last a month. Listen, will you cut out that kind of talk? If it'll make you feel any better, I'll take it to build a morrow. Well, not tomorrow. It's in longhand. It'll have to be tight first. Oh, that's all right. Listen, I know where I can get a rush job done. Oh, swell. Now, listen, kid, you take care of yourself and just leave it to me. Oh, thanks, Ken. Thanks a million. And so you take poor, sick Tom's book and you get on the bus to go home. You decide to glance through it. But after the first page, you can't put it down. Your ride past your stop excited and amazed. Tom has done what all good writers do, written about the places and people he knows. He calls the town in his book, Centerville, California. But it's St. Augustine, Florida, down to the last duffer sitting in the square. Somehow you manage to get home and toward dawn as you turn the last page, it hits you. This is a bestseller. This book needs money, fame. But Tom, Tom's going to die. And he hasn't any relatives. Such a pity, isn't it? All that money and fame and nobody to enjoy it. Hello, Tom. Uh, how are you? I'm all right. I was going to call you. They'll like the book quite well, but he thinks you should do a little rewrite. Rewrite? Feel terrible. The book was good just as it stands. Oh, it is. Except for a few minor points. Uh, look, Tom, I've been flaking. You know that little cabin Helen and I rented in June up in Connecticut? Yeah, what about it? Well, I can get it for you cheap. It's kind of a dump, but it's way off by itself. If you get up there and spend a couple of weeks rewriting some spots and... Yeah. Well, suppose I call the real estate agent right away and then Saturday I'll drive you up. Well, thanks. Thanks, Ken. Oh, forget it. After all, what are friends for? That's a question, Ken. What are friends for? Tom is grateful, of course, when you make all the arrangements and drive him up to Connecticut. He appreciates it when you spend the day helping him get comfortable in his new surroundings, and he doesn't suspect anything. But what would he say if he knew copies of his manuscript had gone to the publisher with your name on it, his author? Yes. What would he say if he knew you had stolen his work, perhaps the last work of his lifetime? What would he say if he could see you now in the office with Helen's brother? A thousand dollars, Ken, and that's just the advance. I don't know why the devil Helen never told me you could write like that. Well, you know, it takes time to get going. You're going now, all right. I don't know if I ought to tell you this, but... Uh, what's up? Well, I sent copies of your story out to Hollywood, and I got a tip-off. It's just great finds so far, but one of the studios is interested in the book for their biggest star. Pictures? Oh, my gosh, I never dreamed of... Think about the characterization of the victim DeWitt was out of this world. In fact, all the characters. Oh, gee. When will you know, definitely. Probably tomorrow. Better stay by your phone because we want to close the deal quick. And if we get the answer I think we'll get, you're practically a rich man. Call from Bill, uh, on your book. Uh, where are you, anyhow? I'm... What do you mean? Oh, make sure. Dr. Hansen. Tom, for the love of Mike, what are you talking about? I'm sorry. And... And what, Tommy? The oil company brings you another strange story by the Whistler. When you look up and see a sleek airplane streaking across the sky, it's interesting to consider how modern engineering has not only made today's planes fly faster and perform better, but also get far better mileage. That's interesting because in much the same way, science has increased the mileage of signal gasoline by increasing its performance. You see, when science rearranged the atoms in gasoline molecules to put improved performance into new signal gasoline, they not only gave you quicker starting, faster pickup, and higher anti-knock, but by helping your motor perform more efficiently, they also made new signal gasoline go farther than ever. Well, that's an important point to remember. It's the same qualities in gasoline that get extra driving pleasure from your motor that also get extra mileage. That's why Signal says, look to your speedometer for the best proof of gasoline quality. It takes extra quality to go farther. And Signal is the famous Go Farther Gasoline. And now, back to the Whistler. You've signed contracts, you've accepted money on the stolen book, Hollywood Beckins. Or is it the penitentiary? Well, perhaps you can squeeze out of the hole with the law, but not with Helen's brother or with Helen. The disgrace can scandal the humiliation. You can almost hear Helen nagging you now as you hang on to the receiver half days. Nagging, nagging. Ken, are you still there? Oh, oh, sure, Tom, yeah. Oh, I thought you hung up. Well, no, it's just the news. I'm so happy for you. I don't know what to say. Listen, there's something for me. Get your book back, Tom. Yes, no, it's not ready for publication. I've written a lot of new material. No, I mean, I'm not sure I can get it. But it's important to me, sir. No, you can't do it. Didn't the doctor tell you to stay there and rest? Then you can't start running all over the place right away. The noise of New York and all, Tommy. Listen, I'll bring the manuscript up to you myself on Saturday. Meanwhile, you stay right there. You sure you can? Yes, I'll get it. Don't worry. Listen, I'll see you Saturday. Okay. And Tom? Yes? We'll take the day and celebrate the good news, huh? Maybe a little hunting? Oh, son of a gun, it's good to see you, boy. Hey, boy, you look great. Oh, really? I can hardly believe it, but I've gained three pounds already. Three pounds? Yeah, well, come on in. Come here. Yeah. Yeah, that's three pounds, and you look good. I never felt better in my life. It's great. Well, here, sit down. I was watching for you down toward the road. Huh? I guess I got lost. I came a back way. You mean you walked all the way from town? Yeah, I thought the walk would do me good. Oh, is that my book? Yeah. Yeah, good. Wait. Hmm? This is just my original in longhand. What about the copies? You had typed. Oh, I didn't think you'd want that. Look, I want all the copies. These revisions. Okay, okay. I'll send them to you after I get back. Uh, Helen said to say hello. How is she, anyhow? Fine, just fine. He's been bothering her a little. In fact, I was glad for an excuse to get out of town myself. Then you are going to spend the day? Spend the day? Sure. We're going after rabbits, aren't we? You know, like the good old days down in St. Augustine? Well, I don't know if we'll really find any rabbits. Don't remember seeing one since I've been up here. Put no harm in looking. So, uh, you've got your shotgun up here, haven't you? Uh-huh. It's on the mantle. I'll get it. Oh, unless you want to rest a while. No, no, no. Let's get it all. Let's get all the fresh air we can. I don't get out much, you know. Okay. We can't go far, though. Doctor's orders. That's right. We won't go too far. Here's the old Betsy. I guess we're all set then. Ready? Sure. Been kind of warm up here the last couple of days. Well, walking up that road, I sure felt it. I bet. What do you say? This way, down by the meadow? Uh, no. Let's go back in the woods. I saw some rabbits there in June when we were up. Okay. Ken. Uh, yeah? Something to matter? Something in your mind? No. No, I was just thinking. Tell me, it's been a long time since we've done this, huh? Yeah. A lot's happened. Uh, gunloaded, Tommy? No, not yet. Fine thing, hunting rabbits with an empty gun. You know, Ken, you don't look so well. No? You ought to give up that job and get one up here in the country. Hey, there's one over there. Yeah. Yeah, I see him. Get a beat on him. Well, you're not the man over there. Looks like a beauty. Yeah. How's that for a shot? Good, going. Nice and fat, too. Well, we'll have rabbits, too, Ken. In you go, old boy. Oh, come on, Ken. When I want rabbit around, there's bound to be a million more. Yeah. How about me taking the gun? I want to try my hand at knocking over a rabbit. Oh, sure. There you are. Thanks. Now, listen to me close, kid. Tom, I want you to forgive me. Forgive you? What for? Tom, I'm going to kill you. Oh, no. Tom, I have to. It's your book, Tom. It's a great book, and they're publishing it. It's a bestseller. It'll make a fortune. What are you saying? You said you got my book back. You said... I stole it. You stole it? I thought you were going to die. You thought so? You told me just a few weeks. Yes, but... And all that money, Tom. I couldn't resist it. I stole the book in my name. But... And now you're going to live. But you can't. I can't help it, Tom. But I can't let you live. Ken, wait. Listen. You can't do it. You won't get away with it. Listen to me, Ken. You can't do it. Ken came all over, and you put the gun under the body just as you planned. But you're weak in the knees, and you don't know if you can get back into town unseen in that. And then suddenly you find strength you didn't know you had. Because through the brambles of the sound. Hey! And the voice. Hey! You die for the embankment of a little scream and press yourself hard against the ground behind a rock. You can see him now. That's all, kid, carrying a shotgun. And you hang onto your heart as he stops, looks at the body, and gazes slowly all around. Then he suddenly leans over, fumbles a Tom's jacket a moment, picks up the rabbit Tom's shot, and thinking it under its belt, hurries off in the direction he came. And you, Ken, you lie there wondering if you'll ever breathe freely again. Now that not only will the book hit the stand tomorrow, but... Oh, come on, Bill, will you stop teasing? But the contracts were finally signed in Hollywood yesterday. Ken, you're a rich man! Oh, Ken! $50,000! $50,000! Yeah, not a carrot in the world. And did you see the publicity in this morning's paper? What breaks we're getting? The lead column in the Times book section. No. Hey, that's wonderful. Haven't seen the papers yet, but... Oh, well, I'd rather hope to have. Well, Bill, what's the matter? I'd hope that this wouldn't have to spoil the good news, but... Your friend Tom Barton... Tom? I might as well give it to you straight. He was killed by a shotgun out near Fairfield. Oh, no. They only found the body last night. Oh. Ken. Suicide? No, they thought that at first ill health. But a doctor out there says he was in good spirits. He had every chance of recovery. The doctor? Then an accident? Worse than that. From the position of the gun and the body, they suspect murder. No. But look, Ken, it's nothing for you to worry about. You don't want to let it spoil the success of your book. What was it you were thinking about, Ken? Breathing easily? No, no. Not yet you can. The delay in finding the body gave you some hope. But now you know exactly what will happen. Question is best friend. Do you know anyone who would have reason to kill him? You have to go out to Fairfield to identify the deceased. And again, to answer more questions and more questions. Bill tries to comfort you with reports of great sales for the book. But every breath is still like a knife in your throat. Then the coroner's verdict. That's something to wait for. Isn't it, Ken? Look, Ken, I know how much Tom meant to you. Cut it out. I don't want to talk about it. Well, you don't have to snap my head off. You'd think the coroner's verdict can make a difference. It won't bring Tom back. Helen, for heaven's sakes, will you shut up? Will you please, please just once keep your mouth shut? Oh! All right, Ken. To the fourth. Well, don't you want to answer it? It might be news about the verdict. That's what you want, isn't it? No. I mean, answer it. Answer it, will you? Yes. Yes. Who is it, Helen? Bill. Yes, Bill. It came through. He was a kid. Helen, what is it? Tell me. Tell me now. The coroner's verdict, Ken. A young kid that picked him up trying to pawn Tom's watch. He admitted being on the scene of the shooting and taking the watch from Tom's jacket. Confess the whole thing. Confess the whole thing. What, Bill? He testified that no one was there, so it just had to be accidental? The jury couldn't reach any other verdict, huh? Accidental? Accidental? Helen! You want to talk to him, Ken? Oh, no. I'll call him... No, wait. Yes. I will talk to him. I think it's time the three of us went out somewhere to celebrate my book. We'll return in just a moment with a strange ending of tonight's story. Meantime, a word about that extra something you get when you have your car serviced at independently operated signal gasoline stations. I'm talking about that feeling of confidence and well-being you have as you drive out, knowing that your car has been thoroughly and conscientiously taken care of. You see, signal dealers, being in business for themselves, do go out of their way to give you the kind of job they're proud to stand back on. When they lubricate your car, for instance, here's what signal dealers do to make sure not a single point is overlooked. Instead of relying on memory, they check each point against signal's lubrication chart, which shows every lubrication point on your car and specifies which of signals in specialized oils and greases each part should have for long, trouble-free service. But they don't even stop there, no sir, just to make doubly sure they check each point again, which is why it's called signal double-check lubrication. That's the kind of service you want these days when your car has to last until who knows when, and that's the kind of service you get from your friendly dealer-owned signal service station. And now, back to the pristler. The whole chain of events that began on that night to your left St. Augustine with Helen and Tom has come to an end. And as much as it surprises you, you find that you can breathe easily. You can breathe deeply the refreshing air of success and security. No more sleepless nights, no more prying, no more questions. Well, no more, that is, except from the publicity men who are eager to make the details of your life into interesting reading for their column. Well, I think that should give you all you need, Mr. Daugherty. Good writer can always make something out of nothing, can he? Oh, sure. Sure, of course, Mr. Broderick. But there are just a couple of details about your life in St. Augustine. Can't you give him that bill? I've got some work up. Well, no, Kim. He wants exact dates and... All right. What do you want? Well, let's see. You left St. Augustine about a year and a half ago. I don't suppose you remember the exact date. Matter of fact, I do. It was February 23, 1945. Uh-huh. Well, that's all I needed. That's the exact date that Donald Juey or Donald DeWitt disappeared. DeWitt? DeWitt? Say, what is all this? Again, I might as well tell you now that Mr. Daugherty isn't a publicity man. He's from the St. Augustine police. Police? Look, this is somebody's idea of a joke. Joke? Mr. Broderick. The minute someone called your book to our attention, we recognized the localist, St. Augustine Florida, not the center of Little California. Well, what about it? We recognized the murder victim is Donald Juey, not Donald DeWitt. We followed the directions in the book down to the last detail, and it led us straight to Juey's missing body. Only the actual murderer, the author of that book, could have known where it was hidden. Murderer? No. So that's why he changed his mind about leaving Florida. That's why he didn't want the book... Look, then, you'd better not say any more until we get you an attorney. But for the life of me, I'll never know why you did this. To sit down and write about an actual murder, like the confession of a dying man. Like... like the confession of a dying man? That's funny, Bill. What you just said is very... funny. I've been reminding you to look for those familiar yellow and black circle signs that identify those popular signal oil stations throughout the west from Canada to Mexico. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.