The Whistler, another Signal mystery. Tonight, the Signal Oil Company, marketers of Signal's famous Go Farther gasoline and motor oil, bring you another in a series of strange tales by The Whistler, a story of revenge and ironic justice set against the background of eerie beauty and sudden death. Section two, the last of the devil. But first, an interesting fact. Last week, 100 motorists were asked, how long since your front wheel bearings were repacked? Believe it or not, 72 out of the 100 didn't even know wheel bearings are supposed to be repacked, which will probably account for 72 cases of wheel bearing trouble at a time when car parts are hard to replace. You see, front wheel bearings aren't lubricated every thousand miles like the rest of your car, but every 10,000 miles, car manufacturers say front wheel bearings must be removed, cleaned and packed with fresh grease. It's a precision job because the bearings must be adjusted so as not to bind, yet not be too loose. That's why it's a good idea to have your neighborhood signal dealer do this important job for you. He not only has the needed tools and special wheel bearing grease, but because he's in business for himself, you can count on him to do a conscientious job that will keep your wheel bearings happy for another 10,000 miles. Yes, 72 out of 100 didn't know it, but repacking your front wheel bearings is a mighty important way your neighborhood signal dealer can help your car go farther. And now? I am the Whistler and I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales, many secrets 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. In the Bayou country of the deep south, a land inhabited by the descendants of early French settlers, stands an ancient mansion called the Cypresses. Owned for generations by the aristocratic Devereaux family, the plantation boasts acre upon acre of sugar cane, bending to the warm river breeze, and life goes on much as it has in the past. Beauty is everywhere, but danger too, like the treacherous morasses which lie beneath innocent flowers. Paul Vertel, who is definitely not aristocratic, has long wanted the Cypresses for his own, hopelessly it seems. But times change. Paul is now rich, and today, as the heavy door of the Devereaux mansion opens, he believes his ambition is about to be realized. Yes, sir? I'm Paul Vertel. I'd like to see Monsieur Devereaux. Yes, sir, if you'll kindly step inside, sir. Yes. Master, Devereaux's been right-polled lately. The doctor says he can't have no shock of no kind. I hope you all ain't going to worry him, none. That hardly concerns you. Yes, sir. Master Devereaux, this year's Paul Vertel. You must have been expecting me. Ah, yes, monsieur. That will be all, Matthew. You sure you don't want me? It's quite all right. Yes, sir. Please be seated, monsieur. May I pour you a brandy? My visit isn't social. I've come about the... The foreclosure. Yes. This is your last day to redeem the property. It is now three minutes until four. As you can pay me $15,000 by four o'clock, I shall have to take possession of this estate. What do you want with my land, monsieur Vertel? You're no sugar planter. You're a trader. Yet you've taken great pains to buy up every note I've given in the last five years. Notes that I've had no trouble renewing? Cypresses took my fancy. I have the habit of getting what I want. Wasting time. I assume you're unable to pay the money, therefore... Your assumption is not correct, sir. It's not correct. Only a few minutes ago I completed arrangements for a loan. Money has already been placed to my account. Two minutes still remain before the deadline. I'll write you a cheque. I don't think you will. What do you mean? In a minute and a half, if you haven't paid me the money due, the cypresses will be my property. I've counted on having it here. I won't be cheated out of it now. I'm an old man and a sick one, but I am going to that desk to get out of my way or I'll call for help. You won't be able to. Mrs. Devere-O-Land, you won't get your filthy hands on you. I warned you. It's you who should be warned. Take the cypresses, but its ghosts will haunt you. Its wine will sour in your glass. The river will rise up and cover the land and you. You, Paul Fattel, will sicken and wither and die. I wonder, Devere-O-Land, your curse is as dead as you are. Who's there? Who are you? I can't... What have you done? The sun, the sun shining in those windows. I couldn't see. Who are you? Are you Devere-O-Land? Is he dead? I don't know. Well, yes, yes he is. Matthew, Matthew. It must have been his heart. We were just talking and he suddenly collapsed. Here he is, Miss Ann. Oh, Lordy, Lordy, Master Devere-O-Land, I know who it was. I know it was this gentleman of yours. Come on, Dr. Carson, and Matthew, get Charles and carry him to his room. Poor old Monsieur Devere-O-Land, but how very fortunate for Paul Vertel, now the new Master of the Cypresses. Paul is quite pleased with the way things are going. By nightfall, a Dr. Carson has already signed the death certificate. An inquest would have been such an annoyance. Then too, there is this Miss Ann, young and fascinating. Miss Ann, who at the dinner table identifies herself as Ann Martin, the Devere-O's housekeeper with a strong love for the Cypresses, its gloomy old house and its swamps. Now, what do you intend to do with the Cypresses, Monsieur Vertel? Sell it at a handsome profit? Oh, no. I intend to live here, Mademoiselle. When a man has spent 20 years fighting a highly unsympathetic world, he sometimes longs for a gentler mode of living. I mean to find it here. I believe there's an old family saying that only a Devere-O can be happier than the Cypresses. I found that old family sayings have even less vitality than the old families which say them. I didn't know if you planned to stay, Monsieur Vertel, but I had a room prepared for you. I'm afraid there's no choice. I was unfortunately all too aware the Devere-O couldn't meet his obligations, so I made arrangements accordingly. An agricultural expert will be here first thing in the morning. I begin to understand your success in the world. Oh, but here's Matthew with some port wine. You'll find it very excellent. To the new master of the Cypresses. And new life for a dying house. Monsieur Vertel, your wine. Clumsy, please forgive me. You didn't drink the toast. The clock, it struck four times. Is there anything odd about... Oh, see what you mean. It must be nearly eleven. That's strange. I've never known that clock to be wrong before. Master Devere-O died at four o'clock. It's a spirit of wonder. Matthew, you better go back to the kitchen. Yes. These old servants. Oh, but you seem tired, Monsieur. Would you like to go to your room? Oh, yes, I believe I would. It's been a trying day for us all. I'll show you up. It's at the head of the stairs. Thanks. That's a spooky place. I suppose a stranger would find it so. Oh, Mademoiselle. Yes? Don't suppose you've made any plans for yourself, that is. Why, no, I haven't. Everything happened so quickly, I'll have to find another job, of course. Hope you'd consider staying on here for a while, at least. All right, Monsieur, if you wish it. Someone will have to make arrangements for the funeral. There are no relatives. You're more than repaying any debt you owe Monsieur Devereux. I want to do what I can. Oh, here is your... Good Lord. Devereux. Oh, I must have made a mistake. He looks quiet and peaceful in the candlelight, lying there so still. Yes, his troubles are all over, if that's what you mean. Miss Anne, you take that gentleman out of here. Take him out before harm comes to him. Who's that? It's just Charles, Monsieur Devereux's man. He's sitting up with his master's body. Please take that gentleman out of here, Miss Anne. It's all right, Charles. Shall we go, Monsieur? By all means. And so Paul Vertel becomes master of the Cypresses. He's not superstitious enough to believe in a dead man's curse, and he should now be very happy, particularly since lovely Anne Martin is so friendly and helpful during the next few weeks. But there are other things which are not so pleasant. And as Anne and Paul drive a horse and buggy down a plantation lane one afternoon, Paul is somewhat querulous. Oh, this is a crazy idea, Anne, paying a state visit to a Negro village. No, it isn't. If you want their loyalty, you must get to know them, take an interest in them. I suppose you're right, it's just that I don't feel too well today. Headache isn't generally out of sorts. You've been taking quite a lot? Oh, yes, religiously. Then it's the hard work you've been doing the past three weeks, not to mention the worrying. Small wonder the way things have been going. Cane almost ready to harvest, and then the mill breaks down. It'll be running in time. And the weather. There's rain in the air. Bad storm might ruin everything. Oh, Paul, you're determined to be a pessimist. Perhaps that house doesn't help grim moldy old ruin. If I believed in ghosts, I'd say it was haunted by legions of dead Devereaux who go around blowing that dank bread down your neck. Oh, there's a village now. It's almost as dismal as everything else around here. I seem deserted, I wonder. And what are those silly decorations hanging in front of the houses? Has there been some kind of a celebration? No, no celebration. You look worried. Those decorations you call them. What about them? The charms, bits of cloth and stakes. And heaven knows what else. Oh, there, boy. Deathly quiet. It would be. Paul. Yes, what is it? The door of that cabin there. It moved. Yes, it's open. Oh, Charles, it's you. Where is everybody? Why didn't you come out to see us sooner? Well, come on, speak up, man. Answer, Mademoiselle. The colored folks, they all go away as soon as they find out, Mr. Fowler. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. They all go away as soon as they find out Mr. Vettel had come here. They don't want no truck with nobody that got the curse of death on him. So that's why they put the charms up. Yes, sir. The charm to protect the cabin from the evil while they're gone. Stop talking like an idiot, you impertinent fool. I've got a good mind. You ain't gonna do nothing, Master Vettel. You's a fiat. You got a trouble enough on your soul and you ain't got much time left. I ain't got much time left. Ann, get me out of here. Get me away from this lunatic. You are listening to The Whistler, another Signal mystery brought to you by your friend, the Signal Oil Company, marketers of signals famous, go farther, gasoline and motor oil. A few days have passed since the visit of Paul Vettel and Ann Martin to the Negro Village. And the agent retained his warning that Vettel hadn't much time left. The death by a dead man's curse was near. But today, Ann has persuaded Paul to accompany her on a picnic in the woods, perhaps in the hope that it will rouse him from his melancholy mood. Oh, come on with that picnic basket, slow folk. You're a fine country gentleman, out of breath already. It's been a long time since I've spent an hour tramping through woods as thick as these. Where on earth are you leading me? Oh, it's not much, Father. It is such a lovely spot. Grass as soft as a park lawn. You'll adore it. It better be mighty wonderful. You'll see. Oh, Paul, look, a redbird. We can make a wish. I doubt it would do me much good. Of course it would. Redbirds are absolutely dependable. I give you my personal guarantee. All right, I've made it. Would you like to know what it is? To tell you, we'll get it. Ann. Paul. Don't hold me to something. Ann, Ann, darling, I want you to marry me. You do? I realize you've only known me a short time. Even if you don't love me, I promise you won't regret marrying me. Somehow, I don't think I would. Then you will. You will marry me. I promise. I promise. I promise. I promise. I promise. I promise. I promise. I promise. I promise, Ann. Then you will marry me. Oh, Paul, thunder. And look at those dark clouds. Ann, Ann, please. It's going to rain any minute. We'd better get back to the house. Oh, after dragging that basket all this distance? We can have our picnic at home. If everything's not soaked. Come on, I know a shortcut to the road. Are you... are you sure you're going in the right direction? Looks as though we're heading into a swamp. You see that little hill over to the left? The road's just beyond. Hurry, I felt a drop of rain. Can't keep this up much longer. I'm winded, I... Oh, Paul, here, take my hand. Oh, the slime. It gives me the creeps. You're all right now. Lucky you didn't sink very deep. Stay on the path, though. These bogs are like quicksand. Oh, this is a horrible place. We'll soon be on solid ground. It's not much farther now. I hope not. Hey, what's that on top of that hill? It's a marker of some kind, I guess. Only I don't remember anything of that sort around here. Well, there's a mound of earth there beside it. In a few steps we'll be able to make it out. There seems to be a grave. Only... only... It's open. I don't understand. A grave out here in the middle of nowhere? Well, let's go on, Anne. I've caught my breath. I'm curious. It's a marker, all right. A tombstone. Something's written on it. There's still enough light to read by if we go closer. Looks like the earth's freshly turned. The grave's empty. Oh. Tell Regent Paul. Huh? Let's go, quickly. I can scarcely see it. Here... will lie... the mortal remains... Paul, no. The mortal remains of Paul the Tell. Now doomed... someday. Drink the coffee, Paul. Let's take this quinine capsule with us. We've got an attack of malaria. Yes, of course. I just can't hold myself. I'm a little chilled. I'll have to get that doctor here to see me, Anne. I've been trying to reach him on the phone. This is mighty poor weather for you and the doctor to go sashaying around in. If you keep up like this, that old river's gonna back right up in the bayou. I know it soon as them chickens started flapping their wings. That'll do, Matthew. Yes, Miss Anne. Oh. That... seeing that grave... Try not to think. I'll try. Here, Anne, give me your hand, will you? I don't know what's going to happen to me anymore. Me or anything. Poor darling. All these ghastly warnings. I'm as sane as any man. I realize they're only trying to frighten me, but still... I understand. Anyone at all would be unnerved. You always understand. You've always been my friend here, my only friend. I'm glad if that gives you comfort. You said you'd marry me, Anne. There's more of a risk now, financially at least. The rain keeps up, the cane'll be ruined. You think that would make a difference? No, no, no, that's why I don't hesitate to ask you. Anne, marry me right away, will you? Tomorrow. We can drive into town, find it just as the piece. Not San Michelle. Oh, wherever you wish. We can't have a proper honeymoon now. I'm needed on the plantation, but... We can have a wedding reception and invite the neighbors for miles around. They can't refuse. Why, we can be gay. Gay for the first time in weeks. What are you saying? But you're ill, the malaria. Oh, no, no, it's nothing. I'll be all right. Would it be proper? I mean, this house and all. It'll be just a month tomorrow since you see your devil, don't you? Of course it'll be proper. Besides, I'm supposed to be doomed. Well, marrying you will be my answer. It'll be my defiance. You're sure? I'm very sure. And with you beside me, I'll fear nothing. Because you're strong and brave. And you'll be my protection. Yes, Paul. I'll be your protection. Paul feels that he's beaten his jinx now. That he'll have nothing else to fear. The next day, in a town not far away, he and Anne are married. The ceremony is performed by a magistrate with strangers as witnesses. Afterwards, they drive back alone to the cypresses, while the rain pours down and the rising river spreads beyond its banks. Well, Madame Battelle, here's your home and your first party with guests who've come to help you celebrate. Oh, oh, there, oh. Carl, Matthews. Founded Wires and one of them here to take care of this horse. I'm not going to wait. I'll come with you. Oh, now what? Try the door. What? I don't understand. No one here. No servant, no guest. No one. But why? The guests didn't care to accept your invitation. Nonsense. Now, it's this terrible weather. The servants have gone away because they're afraid. I don't like you to talk that way, Anne. Now, let me take your coat off. You were afraid last night. That's not true. Since we have the place to ourselves, we may as well go in the parlor. See, everything's been arranged for the reception. A wedding cake, flowers, even champagne. I see. You're suddenly very glum, my dear, and you were so gay a little while ago. Oh, it's this house that depresses me. It's like a tomb. I mean, someone's going to die when a dog howls like that. But you're not afraid, are you, Paul? I'm here, you know. Your protection. Why do you keep implying that I'm afraid? Because you're trembling. It's the malaria, do you hear? There's nothing else. Wait a minute. There's a note on the desk with the ink stand. There's no one who'd be writing us notes. Oh. Oh. Let me see. Oh. Here. I, Paul Vettel, being about to die, wish to find peace of soul. I therefore confess that I came into possession of the estate known as the Cypresses by fraud. It's the truth. And by the murder done with my own hand of Robert Decker. Stop it. His handwriting is not yours. You mean you'll find it familiar? It's... It's Mr. Devereux. Devereux, it can't be. The dead don't write. It's a forgery. It's a forgery. Unless... Yes? Unless Devereux's alive. Yes, that's it. That's it. He must be alive. It's all in some ghastly joke. That's what it is. You'll find no comfort in that thought. Robert Devereux was dead. I saw him buried. Then... Then... The confession isn't time. No, no, no. It's not going to be. No, this is a trumped-up fantasy, the frightening. But it's failed. It's failed miserably. Yes. Of course. Come on. Let's have some champagne. Come on. We'll have a toast. Toast to all the accursed Devereux clan. May they rot in eternal perdition. Wine. Sour. Anne. Anne, what are you laughing at? That clock. Yes, Paul. The clock. Do you remember when you first heard it? Don't talk like that. Don't talk like that. Why not, Paul? Surely you're not frightened? The lights! What's happened? They've gone out, Paul. The lights. And you're alone in the dark. I'm not afraid of anything, Paul. I'm not afraid of anything. The lights. And you're alone in the dark. Alone with that cursed Devereux clan. One alive. The other's dead. Anne. Anne, what are you trying to do to me? You remember Robert Devereux's last words. Take this, I present. But its ghost will haunt you. Its wine will sour in your glass. The river will rise up and cover the land, and you, you, Paul Vettel, will sicken and wither and die. You, you! Yes, I'm Anne Devereux, daughter of the man you murdered. But you married me. Because I knew you were going to die. And that when you did, the Cypresses would come back to me, your wife. You, you managed all this trickery. Can you be sure it's just trickery? You lied, cheat! You're worse than I am. You've been haunted by ghosts, Paul. Let me get my hands on your throat. The Cypresses' wine has soured in your glass. Where are you? The river is rising. Its water is covering the land. I trusted you. You've sickened and withered, and you will die. You see, even the storm wants to see the finish, Paul. I shall not die. And you won't escape me by running out into the storm. You'll have to be fast to catch me, Paul, and the malaria's taken your strength. I've still got strength enough to strangle you. I'll kill you. I'll catch you and I'll kill you. Paul. Over here, Paul. Just a few feet away. You can see my white dress, my wedding dress. Yes, I see you. Do you still want to kill me, Paul? Yes, I want to kill... What's the matter, Paul? I'm waiting. I'm almost within reach of your hands. Miss Quicksand. I... And I'm sinking. Paul, dear. You should have been more careful. You should know your own land better. Where there is land... Anne, help me. Help me, Anne. What's the matter? You have nothing to fear. You're not going to die. You said that yourself. Help me. Help me. You didn't help my father. Anne. Anne, have mercy. You had no mercy. Anne, please. Anne, please. This is... Devereux land. All we shall be, the river will cover it. But when the waters recede, the canals grow again. Tall, tall, tall and green. The Whistler will explain these strange happenings in just a moment. Meantime, here's an interesting incident called to our attention by Miss Norma Oberjorgie of Long Beach, California, who writes, While returning from a trip recently, my motor heated up so I was afraid something serious was wrong. When I mentioned this to my signal dealer, he said, wait a minute. Pretty soon he was fussing around under the hood with a brush. It seems I had driven through a swarm of insects and they clogged the radiator grill. When he finished brushing out the insects, my car was running as cool as ever. It's really great to trade with a signal dealer like that. Yes, friends, it is great to trade with dealers who give not just the service you ask for, but also the service they know your car needs to make it last. That's why so many folks are switching to signal stations. They know that when a man's operating his own business, he naturally tries to please you better, so you'll come back again. And these days, when our present cars have to outlast the duration, such conscientious signal service can spell the difference between the one in every twelve cars that will go off the road this year and those that will go farther. Now, back to the Whistler. And so Anne Devereaux got the Cypresses back in the family. Yes, she tricked Paul Vertel, using every means at her command to break him in body and mind. She had an ally in the malaria, of course, but Anne even helped that along by giving Paul capsules of plain flour instead of quinine. Unfortunately for them, people can't store up as much hatred as Anne did without hurting themselves. And that's why when they found her after the storm, she was still laughing quite insane. The Whistler is broadcast for your entertainment by the Signal Oil Company, marketers of Signal's famous Go-Farther gasoline and motor oil, and your neighborhood signal dealer, at your service to keep your car running for the duration. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen, music composed and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. This program is being transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Next Sunday night at 730, the Whistler will bring you another Signal mystery, till death do us part. Bill Pannell speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
