 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. Yet, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. Tonight, it's the Whistler's strange story, a present for Ricky. Congrats. The spotlight subtly changed from white to a delicate blue, and the Small Night Club Orchestra slid into three-quarter time as the dance team began their waltz. The Croydons, Clyde and Marie, had held top-filling at the club for almost a year, and it was well-deserved. Drinks stood unnoticed on the table. Conversations stopped. Everyone now was watching the Croydons, or rather, Marie Croydons, slim, graceful, blue velvet Marie. Smiling as she spun across the floor, poised for a moment, and floated effortlessly back to Clyde's waiting arms. The customers loved it, felt that there was a first-time look about it, even in the way they murmured to each other as they swayed gently together in three-quarter time. You're on your toes tonight, each one. Oh, you, why did I wrong for a change? Take it easy. If I have to prop you up on another turn, I'll spring. Yes, the customers loved Clyde and Marie, husband and wife, quiet maturity and breathless beauty. And at the same time, on the other side of the room, a theatrical agent named Stanley Craig appraised the Croydons a little more critically. You like air, eh, Stan? The girl's good. She just needs a young apartment. The old boy slows her up. See what I mean? Well, that's been. That's just too old for her to kill in the act. You wouldn't be fixing to cut him off with the ankles, would you? What do you mean? You just might be promoting the lumber expert you just picked up as a new partner. Name's, uh, Ricky, eh? What if I am? He's the boy who can do it. He's young, Mike. He's got looks and youth. You see what I mean? All right, Marie. Let's get it over with. Get what over with? Your nightly speech. That crack you made out on the floor. Oh, that. Yes, that. You like my hair this way, Clyde? I'm waiting, Marie. Oh, forget it. I don't want to go through it all again now. I think it's time we had it out. Listen, Clyde, why are you trying to kid yourself? You know it can't go on like this. I don't know. You just got a pretty good hand. You mean I got a good hand? You might as well admit it. I don't think that's quite fair. Well, it's true, Clyde. I'm getting tired of popping you up, covering up your fumbles, tying my hair in my mouth every time we go into a- Now wait a minute, Marie. You wait a minute. Maybe you'll like it. Maybe we better have it out right now. When I pick you up, you would nothing. Get her, bug-champion of West Washington Heights. Why, in five years- Don't give me that loyalty, Fitz. I've heard it before. If you really want to talk about loyalty, let's talk about your first wife. You forgot about her in a hurry, didn't you? Sure, she was too old, throwing up the ass. It didn't matter to you then, did it? No. Sorry, baby, I gotta get rid of you. I know it's tough, but it's show business. Off you go to Reno. What makes you think I'm old? You're forty. Well, that's too old for me. That incidentally is not just my opinion. We're talking about it in the trade. Who's talking about it? People ought to know. Telling each other I'd be on top. Had a partner, these bones didn't creak. You got somebody in mind? I might have. Well, forget it. I have no intention of letting you go. If there's a partner or there's a wife. You're too much. Without me, you would be right bottom billing at a third rate for less in Jersey City. That has nothing to do with it. All right, give me a better reason. Over there, on the table. The roses? The roses. That's the reason, Marie. These roses night after night. The same card, Ricky. Who is Ricky, Marie? One of the customers who likes my dancing. Is that all? So far? I think you're in love with him. That's what's behind all of this stuff about my dancing, isn't it? You love this guy, and my dancing is as good an excuse as any to... Who is he, Marie? Ricky. The name is Ricky. What's his last name? It's none of your business at the moment. I think it is. He's a dancer, isn't he? Yes, inspector. He's a dancer. And we might as well end the third degree right here. You're planning to team up with him, aren't you? Don't get away with it. I won't let you. My career doesn't mean anything to you, does it? Only when it affects mine. That's why you married me, isn't it? For the effect I have on your career. You married me for the same reason. Maybe I did, but the reason is gone now. I don't need you anymore, Clyde. I need Ricky. Now you know. First handle the whole thing reasonably, shall we? We'll wind up here in another week. I'll finish up with you, and you can... Then I can find myself another clutch. Now that it takes too long, I can't start all over again now. I guess I'll have to start at the other end with Ricky. I'll look him up tomorrow. You don't even know who he is. That's a pretty good idea, who his agent is. That ought to get me somewhere. Stan Lake Craig, isn't it, Marie? How did you know? Stan Lake Craig, theatrical agent. You shouldn't have left his card on your desk yesterday, darling. Clyde, why don't you do anything to Ricky? You do love him, don't you? All right, I love him. For the last time, what's it gonna be? Ricky or me? I've already told you. Nothing can change a child. This is our last week. All right, all I wanted to know. In just 30 seconds, the Whistler will continue tonight's story. Don't be half-right. Use you, Soffie. For example, would you say that the use of calendars goes back 1200 years? No, that's only half-right. Brush up on your ancient history. Tell your I and E officer you want to study with the United States Armed Forces Institute. Use you, Soffie. It's easy. It's simple. If you don't want to be half-right, use you, Soffie. Now, back to the Whistler. Her mind is made up, and you know Marie well enough to realize that nothing you can do or say will change it now. And everything she said was true. Without her, you're nothing. There'll be no more top buildings at a thousand a week in expensive night spots. No more polite applause from the cafe society crowd. No more penthouse apartments. Nothing but a seat on the sidelines, while Marie and Ricky drift across ballroom floors, on and up to the top. Get early the next morning when you leave your apartment by the private elevator. And 20 minutes later, you walk up a flight of creaky stairs to Stanley Craig's office in the West 40s. Yes, sir. What can I do for you? You're Stanley Craig? That's me. Pull up the chair. Thank you. I thought I might be a little early. Hey, I didn't recognize you for a minute. You're Clyde Croydon. I saw your act again last night. Really? Yeah. Good act, too. Thank you. What can I do for you? Answer a few questions. Sure. Clyde, too. You manage a dancer named Ricky? I see what you're getting on. Yeah, I manage him. No boy specialist, no numbers, and sign dolls. We find dancers. That's what Marie tells me. They make a great team, Mr. Craig. Ricky, Marie. She's not at liberty, Mr. Craig. She's my partner and my wife. I must admit this sort of thing going behind my back. But I'm sure she resents it, too. That's not what Ricky tells me. Well, Mr. Croydon, you've been in the game long enough to know what youth means in a dancing. I don't think you're being very fair to me. If she goes for it, I guess Ricky will be a new partner. There's just nothing you can do. I would like to talk to him if you don't mind. Sure. Just say when? Today. Where is he now? Out in the park somewhere. He walks for two hours every morning. Good for the legs. Alone? You had to find another guy who would knock off eight miles in the park before lunch, don't you think? Yeah, he's alone. Well, does he come here after his walk? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Might be a couple of hours. I have all morning. OK. There are new varieties on the desk. You'll be alone here, no one to bother. Thank you. Uh, it is, man. Sure. Oh, Mr. Croydon. Yes? No hard feelings? Right. No hard feelings. No Clyde, no hard feelings at all. Just the amazing realization that's not one minute ago as you talked to Stanley Craig, you calmly, unemotionally, coldly decided to murder your wife, Marie. There was no shock to it at all. If it is that it's been there all the time in the back of your mind, waiting to be formulated into thought. Yes, Clyde, you are the man at Craig's office alone. Ricky is walking in the... Marie is at home alone. You realize that something like this might not happen in a thousand years. If you're going to do it at all, Clyde, you've got to do it now. On the top of the file cabinet, you find a package of Stanley Craig's letterhead on his desk about her typewriter. In your pocket, the card signed Ricky that came with the flowers. And most important, in your mind, an idea. Marie, my darling, it is useless to try to put this into words. I've told no one of your decisions to stay with Clyde because I know it isn't final. That you love me and always will. That the only future for either of us is together. You finish the note and at the bottom of it, after all my love, you carefully copy Ricky's signature from the card. On the desk is a sharp letter opener with Stanley Craig's name on it. That's part of the tool card. You put it in your coat pocket, ready when you need it. Now, back to your department. You still have over an hour and you know Marie will be alone. Hello, Marie. Oh, where are you been? You know where I went. Did you see him? Ricky. Who else? He wasn't there. I think he was taking his morning walk in the park. Remember when we used to walk in the park together, Marie? You're breaking my heart. I want to show you a letter. Huh? Yes. Read it. It's addressed to you. Marie, my darling, it's useless to try to put this into words. I've told no one of your decision to stay with Clyde because I know it isn't final. If you love me and always will. Oh, but Clyde, this is ridiculous. Go on, Marie. Read the rest of it. Hmm? Me too. Always will. If the only future for either of us is together, you must believe me, darling. I'd rather die than have it any other way. I'm coming to your apartment tomorrow morning at 11. You must decide this once and for all. All my love, Ricky. The matter, Marie. Oh, Clyde, that's the funniest thing I've ever read in my life. What are you doing? It's a present for Ricky, darling. I'm afraid either. What are you doing with that letter? Open it. It's going to the chair, Marie. For your murder. Come with me, Clyde. Clyde, please. Please. Oh, Clyde. No. Still around, Mr. Croyde. Yes, still around. I'm beginning to wonder if Ricky will show up at all. Anybody call? Not unless they called while I was out stretching my legs, walked around the block a couple of times. Sorry, I had to wait so long. Oh, that's all right. It gave me a chance to think things over. Is that good or bad? I think it's good. I decided it's wrong for me to try to stand in the way. If this looks like a break for her and Ricky, I think they deserve a chance. I was hoping you'd see it that way. Thanks a lot. Well, I'd better be going. Tell Ricky about that when he comes in. Sure. They're going home? Yes, I think I'd better tell Marie. Police headquartered. This is Clyde Croyden. I live in the penthouse at 1232 Warwick Place. 1232, that's right. Please send somebody up here as quickly as you can. My wife has been murdered. Feel better, Mr. Croyden? I think so, Sergeant. That's quite a letter we found on the waste basket. What do you think of it? I didn't know what to think. You knew what was going on between this man and your wife? There was nothing going on. It was all in his mind. What do you mean? Look, I've never seen this Ricky. I don't know who he is. All I know is that he started sending Marie flowers after every performance. He had some crazy ideas. She was in love with him. It was ridiculous. She hardly knew him. And what about the dance band? That's part of it too. He thought she'd leave me and team up with him, don't ask me why. But she laughed at him. That's as good a motive as I've seen in 20 years. You know, it's a wonder he didn't leave a confession note right on the table. He left everything else. First-class motive, the letter in the waste basket, the knife that his manager's name on it from the butchers outside. And yet, with all that, after practically shouting from the house cops that he'd killed her, he carefully wipes his prints off the knife. Honey, how a murderer's mind works, isn't it? Yes. It's hard to understand. By the way, Mr. Croydon, this is only a formality, of course, but it was you yesterday morning. In Craig's office waiting for Ricky to show up, Craig seemed to think she'd go for him as a new partner, and I finally decided to go down and settle it. Have any words? I just told him if it was all right with Marie, it was all right with me. I knew, of course, how she felt about him. Where was Ricky at the time? Walking him apart, exercising his leg. Alone? I guess so. There it is again. I bet the guy hasn't even got himself an alibi. Have you talked to him yet? The boys are looking him up now. Did they ask me, Mr. Croydon? That guy's a dead pigeon. All of us are proud 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, Cleveland, Ohio. The seventh largest city in the United States. Cleveland was founded in 1796 by General Moses Cleveland, chief surveyor for a land company. His employers bought 3 million acres in what is now northern Ohio, paying 40 cents an acre. Just by way of comparison, an acre in downtown Cleveland today would bring some 2 million dollars. It is an important great lake shipping point in the site of iron and steel manufacturing. Other Cleveland products include paint, varnishes, electrical appliances, chemicals, and automobile and airplane parts. It is well known for its cultural developments also. The city owns and operates its own dramatic theater, and the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra is widely acclaimed. In the Cleveland cultural gardens, a mile-long strip of park area, more than 30 nationality groups represented in Cleveland's population are creating gardens as memorials to peace. 120 years is a short time in the world's history, but during that time, Cleveland has taken its honored place in the building of America. And now back to the Whistlers. Well, Clyde, all it took was a little nerve. You're over the hump now, all ready to act as number one witness for the prosecution in the case against Ricky. Tomorrow the story will break into papers, and the notoriety that public sympathy over your bereavement should make it easy to pick up a new party, one who'll keep you in the top spot in Penthouse Apartments with private elevators. Yes, Clyde, you can relax now. You've decided it's all over. Oh, Sergeant. Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Croydon. I was about to go to bed. Anything wrong? We've got Ricky. Oh, good. Yeah, just finished questioning him. Mind if I come in? Not at all. Well, we checked the note against Craig's typewriter. That's where it came from, all right. Then it looks like you've got a cake. No, through us a curve. For a while. What do you mean, for a while? Until we found Ricky. He claims he didn't write it. Lord, what did you expect him to say? In just a minute. I'll show you what I mean. Come on in with him. Mr. Croydon? This is Ricardo Montez, also known as Ricky. He did it. He killed my wife. He wrote the note. No, sir. Wait a minute. That's what I mean about the note, Croydon. The boy doesn't know a word of English. We checked that, too. But there was another thing about that note that really tied it up, Croydon. If he could have written it, he'd have signed it in his own handwriting. But it was his handwriting. It was his name, but the florist's handwriting. They were Bill Foreman as the Whistler, Vic Perron, Gene Bates, Harry Bartell, and Jack Moyle. The Whistler, directed by Gordon C. Hughes. The music by Wilbur Hatch is produced by Joel Malone and transmitted overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. The Whistler was entirely fictional and all characters portrayed on the Whistler are also fictional. Any similarities of names or resemblances to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This is Dan Trubberly speaking and reminding you to listen again next week for another strange tale by The Whistler. This is the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.