And now stay tuned for the mystery program that is unique among all mystery programs because even when you know who's guilty you always receive a startling surprise at the final curtain in the Whistler. I am 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. Yes friends, it's time for the Whistler, rated by Independent Research, the most popular West Coast program in radio history. Now the Whistler's strange story, till death do us part. Roy Layton's quarters in the cheap boarding house were anything but inviting. And from where he sat on the edge of the sagging brass-posted bed, Roy's view of the outside world was a dismal one. The assortment of unopened bills and collection notices in the nearby wastebasket held their grim message too. They told him that he'd have to be moving on soon, change his address. The one that he wanted but had given up hoping for wasn't there. Never would be, he reasoned. And the knock on the door, rousing him from his mental fumblings, could mean only one thing. The landlady and her oft-repeated demand. I'm back again, Mr. Layton, to ask you once and for all, do you have the rent money? I know, I know. You know that the minute I hear from my uncle... You've been saying that for months now. The minute you hear from your Uncle Morton in Mexico. Well I'm tired of that too. Tired of hearing of an uncle that for all I know might not even exist. Oh, you're so sweet. A real doll. I'm sorry about the rent. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going out to get a breath of air. Good night Mrs. Buzacqueli, I'd appreciate it if you'd fix the latch while I'm out. I'll fix the latch. Oh well, it's sharp, that's what I'll do. As you leave the house and start walking toward Vermont Avenue, you're pretty sure that this time your landlady means what she says. It's tough, isn't it Roy? Things never seem to go right for you. You'd like a drink, then decide you'd better skip it. Conserve the few dollars you have left in case your landlady craves out a threat to lock you out. Then you remember Angelo's, a second rate cocktail lounge a couple of blocks away, where as late as yesterday your credit was still good. But once there you find things have changed Angelo's too. Matt, the bartender is even slower than usual in coming over to you. Sorry kid. And when he does... No dice. Huh? What are you talking about, Mac? I didn't even order. Well I thought I'd save you the trouble. Angelo's has no more stuff on the cuff. But Mac, I haven't run up a bill on him, at least not a big one. Yeah, Angelo knows that, but he wants to keep it that way. I'm sorry kid, I just work here, I want to keep on working here. In that case you'd better get busy and fix my friend a drink. You don't mind, do you, Roy? Roy? Roy Lathan. That is your name, isn't it? Sure. How did you know? Well I know quite a little about you. Been checking up. What's his name? Oh, Mac? Mac, yes. Mac, you'd better get started before all your eyes melt. A pair of scotch and sures. Oh sure lady, sure. Say now wait a minute. Why should a good looking strange guy... Now Roy, don't go saying things you don't mean. Besides, I don't have to be a strange gal. Not if you know my name. It's Linda. Linda McKelvey. So? So, uh, don't you think it's kind of pretty? Maybe. Anyway, these drinks are. Set them down easy, Mac. Yeah. And since I'm drinking with a lady, trot out a couple of cocktail napkins. Okay, okay. Thank you, Mac. Skip it. To us, Roy. Hmm? Sure, to us. Hmm. It's okay. Very good for a place like this. You look like you could afford better. What brought you around? You. Me? Oh, oh sure. Now look lady. Linda. Hey Linda, look, I'm just sitting here minding my own business. But unable to do anything. So that's my business too. And mine. Roy. Roy, I've been checking up on you. Quite a while. And you fit my picture very nicely. And, uh, you do need five thousand dollars. Yeah. I need five thousand dollars. Oh, I get it. Santa Claus finally got my letter and he sent you to bring it. Ha ha. Nothing like that. Nothing altruistic. Big word. You are out of place here. So are you, Roy. I've got five thousand dollars that says you are. Um, going to listen to me? How can I help it? Go ahead. Roy. Roy, I'm, well, I'm used to nice things. Hmm. I like money. My share, I mean. Maybe even a little bit more. Ha ha. I guess I'm just not a very nice person. Not many of my friends are. But I'm still listening. Fair enough. Oh, how about going somewhere else, huh? Hmm? My car's parked outside. Okay, lady. Linda. And you'd better get used to it. It's as bewildering to you as it was to Mac, isn't it, Roy? This girl, Linda McKelvey, dropping into your life from nowhere. Talking in circles and buying rounds of drinks. You wonder when the dream will turn into a nightmare. When she's going to give you the name of the bank she once held up. But it's nothing like that, is it? And sitting beside her in the car, you finally get the complete picture. It's a little fantastic. You want her to repeat parts of it, and then it's all quite clear. You really mean it? You want me to marry you, and you'll pay me five thousand bucks? Now, is it such a difficult assignment? No, no, but, uh... But you still can't see why, huh? All right, I'll run through it again. As many times as you want to hear it, Roy. I've got to have a husband. A legal, honest-to-goodness man about the house. And you've got to have him, me, by this certain date you mentioned. Yes, my 25th birthday, two months from now. It's all simple enough. My late uncle was eccentric. Narrow-minded, opinionated. And rich. Very rich. According to his will, if I marry on or before my 25th birthday, I inherit over a quarter of a million dollars. And if I don't, everything goes to charity. And you are your favorite charity. I certainly am. But why me, Linda? You could have lots of guys. I don't want lots of guys. Oh, now wait a minute. You don't know me for madam. All right, Roy. I'll tell you the truth. I love someone else, but I made the mistake of falling for a married man. And his divorce won't be final for six months. That's too late to meet the demands of the inheritance. Oh, that's different. You want to eat your cake and have 250 Gs. Well, something like that. Well, Roy? I marry you, we make it look good, and then later we get a quiet divorce. Exactly. You're $5,000 richer and nobody's the wiser. Once I've got the money, there's nothing anybody can do about it. What do you say, Roy? I say I wish I had a rich uncle. Mine, he doesn't even answer my letters. Yours leaves you a quarter of a million bucks. Why, that $5,000 will give you a new start in life, Roy. And until we're divorced, why, you'll dress well and live quite comfortably in Mr. and Mrs. Roy Layton's apartment. Well, must I unbended me? Find the preacher, honey, I'll do anything for money. Flatterer. The wedding a few days later isn't what every boy and girl dreams about, is it, Roy? But the hollow words the pair of you speak are just as binding in a legal sense. And you drive off swiftly as Mr. and Mrs. Roy Layton. You even have a sense of elation in the new clothes you're wearing. And returning to Linda's top floor apartment, twelve floors up in the best part of town, makes it complete. More complete than either of you expected. For as you step from the elevator and she opens the door to let you in. Oh, good magic, Ray. Oh, little one. What the devil? No, no, Linda, dear, don't come in. He must carry you, carry you across his threshold. Oh, yes, well, Roy? Oh, of course. Great, great. That's better, much better. And now we'll all just scoot right along, Mrs. Layton. We just didn't want you two to arrive without any reception at all. Why, that's awfully nice of you to know, Miss Prentiss. Not at all, I enjoyed it. Also romantic. This is Roy, my husband. Nice to meet you. You'll forgive us, won't you, Mrs. Layton? We just wanted you to know your neighbors are happy for you. Why, of course, it was nice of you all to think about it. Well, we'll be running along. Good night. Good night. Good night. And drop in and see us any time, Mr. Noh. Good night. Good night. Phew. Well, how did they get in here? Mr. Noh manages the apartment. Oh, well, incidentally, it's some layout. As I told you, I like nice things, Roy. Yeah, yeah. You know that Miss Prentiss, we'll have to watch her. She's an inquisitive type. Hmm? Wait. She can help us in a way. Her balcony adjoins this one. It won't hurt a bit to let her see us out there once in a while looking over the city. My arms around you, a few fervent kisses. Got the idea? Just for Miss Prentiss, yes. Well, anyway, this beats stevedoring in Frisco, working in the Oklahoma oil fields, digging around Mexico when Uncle Mort was wildcatting. Well, make yourself at home, Mr. Layton. Okay, Mrs. Layton, I'll do just that. It's all going smoothly, isn't it, Roy? Just as Linda planned. As the weeks go by, you meet other people in the apartment. People Linda had met before she married you. They seem to like you. And most of all, they approve of the match. Linda assures you there'll be no trouble in having her uncle's lawyer accept it all as completely genuine. As the weeks pass, both play your roles well. And then late one afternoon, you hear some excitement in the hall and rush to the door. Oh, you poor dear, you might have been killed. I'm all right now. Really, I am. You'd better lie down, dear, as soon as you get inside. That fool, he wasn't even looking where he was going. What is it? What's happened? I'm all right now, Roy. It was nothing at all. She was backing out of the garage. Another car hit her. Well, thanks very much, you two, but please don't bother anymore. Roy can take care of it. I'll carry you into the bedroom. You don't have to carry me, Roy. I'll be all right. Poor dear. Maybe I'd better call a doctor. No, Roy, I'm not hurt. I'm just shaken up. I don't think it's bad. It's only, well, it could have been so much worse. Just think, Mr. Hinton, what would you have left if anything really happened to her? Yes. Yes, what would I have? It's a terrible thought, Miss Prentiss. Terrible. And now back to the Whistler. Miss Prentiss' question planted an interesting thought in your mind when she asked you what you'd have left if anything happened to Linda, didn't it, Roy? In the days to follow Linda's near-accident, you often ask yourself the same question. What would you have if anything fatal happened to Linda? And the answer is very attractive, isn't it, Roy? You'd have a quarter of a million dollars. As Linda's husband, you'd inherit her money. But there's an easier way than murder, isn't there, Roy? A safer way. If you can make Linda fall in love with you, you'll be able to share her money. It's worth a try. You plan your campaign very carefully. Carry it out with all the charm at your command. Then one evening while the two of you are out dancing, you suggest a breath of air and lead Linda from the dance floor to the beautiful terrace outside. May I have a cigarette, Roy? Why, sure, sure. Here you are. Thanks. Thanks again. Oh, isn't it a beautiful night? I just love it out here. Linda. Yes? Linda, I've been thinking about this little act we're putting on. You've been doing splendidly, darling. Uh-huh. Yes, the happy devoted husband head over heels in love with his pretty bride. Yes, yes. Only now, Linda. Now it's no longer a night. What? What do you mean? Isn't it quite obvious? You're... you're in love with me? Oh, so much in love with you, Linda. Now wait, Roy. I know, I know. It wasn't in the bargain to fall in... fall in love. I have fallen in love, Linda. I couldn't help it. Roy. Oh, now look. Look, I'm really not such a bad guy. I'm a good dancer. I wear my clothes well, in perfect health. Oh, I do have a few faults. That's true, but... Roy, Roy, I'm not in love with you. But you... you could be, darling. No, Roy. Please don't. Oh, Linda, Linda, darling. Let me go, Roy, please. I shouldn't have kissed you. I know that, but Linda... Look, we made a bargain. Now let's keep it that way. Oh, but Linda, please. I mean it, Roy. Okay. Okay. I'm sorry, but that's the way it's got to be. Yeah. I'm sorry, too. Very sorry. She means it, doesn't she, Roy? And you're certain there's nothing you can do to make her change her mind about the divorce? I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I'm not sure. What would you just find about the divorce? There isn't time. Linda has told you the money from her inheritance is already deposited to her credit at her quizz. And in a week or so, the two of you will be on your way to Reno, and that quiet divorce. Now there isn't time to make her fall in love with you, Roy, but you decide there is time for something else. The next day, Linda leaves before luncheon to spend the afternoon at her lawyer's office, fishing up her affairs. Long after she's gone, you pace the floor of the apartment, searching your mind for a plan, a way to kill Linda, make it appear to be an accident. Early that afternoon, you're in the bedroom looking around when... Hello? Roy? Yes? This is Amelia Fleming. Oh, Mrs. Fleming, how are you? I'm splendid, thank you. Is Linda home? Why, no, no, she isn't. I don't expect her back until after five or so. I see. Well, it was nothing important, really. Well, I'm sure she'll be back around five. Why don't you call her then? You'd better have her call me. I'd probably call her while she was in the bathtub. Oh, don't you worry about that. Linda generally takes the phone right at... Yes? Roy? Oh, yes, yes, Mrs. Fleming. I'll tell Linda you called and have her phone you. Oh, that's fine. Bye. You stand there for a moment, staring at the telephone in your hand. Then slowly you replace the receiver, walk back into the living room. A plan has suddenly emerged, hasn't it, Roy? A telephone, a loose wire, and a bathtub full of water. You've read of it happening, and you're sure there's no reason why it can't work. And by the time Linda returns shortly after five, you've arranged everything. You wait until you hear the bath water running. Then you call out to her in the bedroom. Linda? Yes? I'm going out for a few minutes, fresh out of cigarettes. Can I get you anything? Not a thing, Roy. Oh, I'll be back soon. No hurry. I'm going to soak in the tub for a while. What? You walk down to the corner drug store, wait over a cup of coffee for five minutes. Then you step to the phone booth, but there's someone inside. You look at your watch and return to the counter. Five minutes go by, and then ten. And then the booth door opens, and the woman who had been monopolizing the phone walks away. There's still time, isn't there, Roy? You're certain of that. Linda will still be in the tub, the phone on the stand within easy reach. When she answers it, the loose wire will pull away from the receiver. You fall into the tub of water. Hello? Linda? Linda? That does it. Slowly you walk back to the apartment, but instead of going on up to your apartment on the twelfth floor, you stop at the manager's apartment and ring the bell. Yes? Oh, Mr. Layton. Mr. Knowles, I wonder if you'd do something for me. Of course, of course. Well, our refrigerator's been acting up a bit lately. I'd like you to have a look at it if you don't mind. Me glad to, Mr. Layton. I hope I'm not taking you away from your dinner. No, nothing like that. Come on, let's go up and have a look at it, eh? It seems like it's been running a lot more than it should. Is that so? Well, we just see what's wrong. Yes, come in, come in. Linda? Linda, your home darling? Oh, that's funny. She should be around. Linda? Yes, Roy? Why, what's the matter, Roy? Oh, nothing. I'm just a little worried. Oh, good evening, Mr. Knowles. Good evening, ma'am. I asked Mr. Knowles up to have a look at our refrigerator, Linda. You know it hasn't been acting right. Oh, hasn't it? No, no, it hasn't. Well, I'm awfully glad you're here, Mr. Knowles. I was about to come downstairs to ask you to call the telephone company. Something rather startling just happened. It scared me to death. Well, watch that, ma'am. Well, I don't know what you're talking about. Well, I just got out of my tub when the phone rang. It was on the stand in the bathroom. I picked up the receiver and by the way, I just slipped out and fell into the tub. Say, we'd better see about that right away. Good thing you weren't in the tub when it happened, Mrs. Layton. Well, I should say so. I might have been electrocuted. It didn't work, did it, Roy? And Linda is still very much alive. Somehow you managed to cover your disappointment, act properly concerned over the near tragedy. You've got to find another way now and there isn't much time left. It's after dinner that the idea comes to you. Perfect, isn't it, Roy? And this time you'll make certain. While Linda is busy in the kitchen, you slip out onto the balcony, take a wrench, and loosen the bolts on the handrail. If Linda leans against the rail, your problem is solved. Not a light push, just the slightest jar will accomplish your purpose. And Linda's money will belong to you. At the sound behind you, you drop the wrench into the flower box and straighten up. What are you doing, Roy? Oh, nothing. I'm just looking for my cuff link. I must have dropped it here somewhere. Oh. Oh, Roy, I... I meant to tell you, I... While I was downtown today, I, uh... I made plane reservations for tomorrow. We'll be leaving in the afternoon, four o'clock. Oh, I see. So this is our last evening here. I'm afraid so. Well, I'm going to miss all this, Linda. You won't change your mind, I suppose. I mean, about us. No, Roy. I won't change my mind. All right. Well, say, how about a drink out here on the balcony, huh? One last look at the city of Los Angeles together. Why, Roy, I think that's a wonderful idea. All right, you just stay right here, Linda. I'll get the drinks. I'll say, well, drink. The Whistler will return in just a moment, with a strange ending to tonight's story. And now back to The Whistler. There's little question of the suspect's guilt. To Police Lieutenant Cosgrove, it was a clear case of murder. The victim had been deliberately pushed off the 12th-story balcony. Lieutenant Cosgrove knew that. And before long, he'd know the motive, too, as he paced slowly back and forth in the small room at police headquarters. He felt certain that a full confession was close at hand. Finally, he stopped pacing, sat down in a chair facing the suspect, who was sitting rigid and tense, trying to avoid the lieutenant's gaze. Look, you might as well break down and tell us what this is all about. You know, Miss Prentiss, who lives in the apartment next to yours, saw you push your victim off the balcony. All right. All right. Why, Mrs. Layton? Why did you do it? It's a long story. All right, take your time. Perhaps it isn't such a long story at that. You see, I was born in Los Angeles, lived here until a few years ago, when I took a job in Mexico. And up to six months ago, I was secretary to a man there named Morton Layton. Layton? He any relation to the deceased? Yes. Yes, he was Roy's uncle. He died about six months ago. Before that, he'd been trying to find Roy. Roy wrote him several letters before he died that Morton Layton never knew about them. I...I destroyed them. Why? Because I didn't want them to get together. And then when...when old man Layton died, I came back to Los Angeles, where I knew I'd find Roy and marry him. And married him because you thought... Well, I never knew it. He never knew that he was a missing heir. You see, his uncle struck it rich in Mexico. He left him a quarter of a million dollars. I was trying to get that money for myself. As Roy's widow. All music for The Whistler, composed and conducted by Wilbur Hatch, and is the property of Herman Music, Inc., ASCAP, Hollywood, California. Broadcast rights granted solely to Audio Arts Productions, La Mirada, California. .
