Signal Gasoline, the gasoline that does go farther. The Signal Oil Company presents The Whistler. The Signal Oil Company and your neighborhood signal dealer bring you another curious story by The Whistler. Tonight, murder on paper. 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 stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. Well, to begin with, I'm not telling this story. No, Fred Wallace is telling it. Fred Wallace is a writer of detective stories for pulp magazines, and this is the best story he's ever told. Yeah, go on, Fred. Continue your dictation. You were a writer and a police reporter, and you never held a job very long. Just why was that, Fred? I was a victim of the ponies. I couldn't stay away from the racetracks. I was hitting the 40-year mark, and I was down at Hialeah Park in Florida when I met a gorgeous blonde from California named Lita Martin. Her friend Vera Durant. This Vera was a widow who was tossing money around and having the time of her life. She wasn't too pretty, not as pretty as Lita, but her husband had left her a half a million dollars. That made up for it. What more could I ask? Am I taking too much time? All the time you want, Wallace. Well, by the time the Hialeah meet was over, Vera and I were married and on our way to her place in Los Angeles. Santa Anita was closed, but Hollywood Park was about to open, and I'd figured on running a stable and a string of ponies. I didn't mention the subject until we'd pulled out of San Bernardino. What's the matter with the idea, Vera? I thought you were crazy about horse racing. I had a lot of fun at Hialeah, Fred. I enjoyed watching the horses run. You want some money, didn't you? A little, but I didn't go for that reason. My friend Lita insisted I spend the season in Florida just to get my mind off things. Well, you certainly seem to have a good time. Now that I think of it, it seems silly. It's gambling, and I don't approve of gambling. What? Well, that's certainly news to me. The way you threw down hundred dollar bills, I thought you were an old timer at it. It's my first time at such a place. Fred, darling, there's no reason why we can't go to the races once or twice. Once or twice? I know you've been able to get by on your gambling, but you're 40 years old. It's time you settled down and accomplished something in a bona fide business. Business? What do I know about business? But I know horses, and with a good string I can clean up. Fred, darling, there's no need for you to clean up. All you need to do is learn the business my husband left me, and to be able to take care of them. Oh, a chemical plant? Are you kidding, Vera? I'll speak to Mr. Adamson tomorrow. It's the right job to start you on. And you'll find it most exciting when you get into it. Okay, honey, I'll try. Well, Fred, you weren't exactly conscious of it at the time, but that was when you got the idea for all this. You could pick horses, but you couldn't pick women. Once Vera got home, she was entirely changed, wasn't she, Fred? She was all business and hung onto nickels like they were $20 bills. What a change. But I went to work in the chemical plant at $75 a week and tried my best to like it. I was bored stiff. And finally I located a bookie and started playing the horses again. One day I got a bit too deep and I borrowed some dough from a guy. When I stalled him a little too long, he threatened me. He was a well-known gangster, and I got frightened. I went home during lunch hour to see if I could wangle some extra dough from Vera. But Vera, honey, a thousand dollars isn't going to break you. You act like you didn't know where your next meal was coming from. You have a salary of $75 a week, Fred, and a car, and all your living expenses are free. Any sensible person can certainly get along on that. Sensible or not, I need a thousand bucks now and I gotta have it. Why? All right. I borrowed that much from a guy to place a little bet, but I picked the wrong guy. He turned out to be a gangster. He's put me on the spot. Don't be so corny on the spot. You won't let me have the money? That's childish non- I'm not kidding. This guy's serious. But do you care? No. You got more money than you can ever use, and what good will it do you? None. You're a cheap little penny-pinscher. You better go, Fred. Back to the plant. What good is your money? No good. You don't enjoy life and you never will. Please. What good is a lot of money if you can't use it? You might as well have a bunch of rocks in the bank. You're a stingy, selfish, self-centered tightwad, Vera. Do you hear me? Stingy, selfish, and miserable. I gave her the works, but when she pranced out of the room and slammed the door, I knew she meant it. And I knew, too, that I'd overplayed my hand. Then I got to thinking about what I'd said. That her money was no good to her and that she didn't enjoy life. All kinds of dough and she didn't enjoy life. That's what I was thinking that day on the train. If she didn't enjoy life, why should she go on living? With a prologue of tonight's story, Murder on Paper, the Signal Oil Company brings you another of the strange tales by the Whistler. But before we go on with the story, let's consider carbon, that word you hear so often in connection with automobile motors. Well, just what is carbon and what does it do? Well, coal is carbon, so is soot. Some motor oils form the hard kind of carbon in the cylinder head, gradually building up a thick, hard crust that causes knock, loss of motor efficiency, lower gasoline mileage. It can even cause costly repair bills. That's why the solvent refining of Signal 4-Star Motor Oil is doubly important to you at this time when you want your motor to last out the duration and you want all the miles you can get from ration gasoline. You see, because of solvent refining, which is the latest, most costly process known to oil engineers, Signal 4-Star Motor Oil actually forms less carbon, and it's soft soot-like carbon that tends to blow out with the exhaust gases. Thus, by keeping your motor cleaner, more efficient, solvent-refined Signal 4-Star Motor Oil does two important things. One, aids longer motor life, and two, helps your gasoline go farther. So for your motor's next refill, ask your neighborhood signal gasoline dealer for your best buy today. Signal 4-Star Motor Oil. And now, back to the Whistler. That's when the whole thing crystallized, wasn't it Fred? It was as clear as a bell. As a writer, you'd plotted a hundred murders where the killer was always caught. This time, you'd shuffle them all together and plot one where the killer would never even be suspected. You didn't have the plot yet, did you? But I knew I was going to kill my wife, Vera. I grabbed my hat and left the house, got into Vera's convertible coupe, and started driving. I headed out sunset toward the beach. I don't know why, except maybe I didn't want to go back to the plant. And Vera had a beach house at Malibu. I pulled up in front of it, got out, walked down the side of the house toward the beach, sort of aimlessly, started to flop down on the sand. I didn't see Vera's friend, Lita, stretch down on the beach next door. Fred! Fred, hey! What? Oh, hi, Lita! What are you doing down here at this time of day? I don't know, just mucking around. Oh, yeah? Well, come on over here and sit down, Fred. I won't bite you. Yeah? Okay. I knew I shouldn't have done it, but I sat down close to her. Too close. And when a guy gets that close to a gal like Lita Martin, well, it's like sticking your nose over a can of ether. Are you afraid of me, Fred? Afraid? Not in the least. Why? Oh, I don't know. Something's wrong with you. A domestic problem, Fred? No, a business problem. Business? Oh, you're worried as much about the business as you are about the North Pole. I'm going to the races this afternoon. Want to come along? No, I haven't time for that sort of thing. Besides, Vera doesn't approve of it. I've got a lot of work to do at the plant, and she'll expect me to make a report to her this evening. Oh, that's good. I'm glad to hear that you're making such an effort to learn the chemical business. But it's certainly a mystery to me. What is? How you ever took up with a girl like Vera in the first place. Vera and I are very happy. You really love Vera, and not just her money? What a thing to say. Of course I love her. What's wrong with Vera? Nothing's wrong with her. She's one of my best friends. But you and Vera are as much alike as night and day. At least you were. You get a kick out of everything, Fred. Vera is such a type-wad that she never enjoys anything, except making money. She's never really enjoyed life. How could she? What? Well, she has everything to make life livable, but she'll never enjoy a minute of it. Yeah. When are you going back to town? What? Oh, I'm going back now. Oh, good. You can take me in. I'll tell the maid I'll go in with you. I'll change in just three minutes. Ah, you don't mind taking me in, do you, Fred? Why, no. It's a pleasure, Lita. Glad to. And it was on that ride back from the beach that you got the idea, wasn't it, Fred? A few blocks from the beach, you realized the convertible was pulling hard to the left. You stopped on an incline and found the valve in the right front tire was leaking. You jacked the wheel up to change, but you didn't pull the emergency brake on hard enough. The car slipped off the jack and started to roll, but a call to Lita and she grabbed the emergency, eh, Fred? That gave me the idea, how to get rid of Vera. She planned to go up to a mountain place that evening because the first snow had fallen, a perfect setup. But I needed a witness for what I was going to do, so I worked it so that Vera invited Lita. About an hour before we left, I put the leaky tire back on the wheel, then loosened the bolt on the emergency brake to where it would just barely hold when pulled all the way back. I dropped a couple of sleeping tablets and Vera's tea just before we left. Vera sat in front with me and Lita in the rear with the luggage. After we passed the crestline turnoff, I picked a spot on a downgrade. I pulled off to the side facing a five or six hundred foot drop. I stopped, eased the handbrake back all the way. It held just barely. What's the matter, Fred? I put that tire back on the wheel. I thought I'd fixed it, but it's almost flat again. I can feel it. I'll have to change again. Oh, well, can I help you? No, thanks, Lita, but I can handle it. Hmm, I guess Vera's sound asleep. Hand me the jack and that wrench under your feet. Okay. I'm in a bit of a hurry now because I didn't trust my job on that tire. Thanks, Lita. I'll have a change and a jiffy. I jacked up the right front wheel till it just barely cleared the ground, removed the hubcap, applied the lug wrench and I was all set to throw the car in motion. I wanted to get Lita out of the car on the opposite side because she was to be my witness if I needed one. Uh, Lita, bring me that flashlight beside you. I guess I'll need your help after all. It's dark out here. Yes, Fred. As Lita slammed the door, I gave a terrific pull on the lug wrench. The car rolled off the jack and went into motion. I yelled just for effect, but it was only a few feet to the edge. The car shot over, hit a ledge about 20 feet below and then crashed on down to the bottom. I stood there looking down, acting as though I was paralyzed. Then I turned around with a horrified look on my face and let out a terrific groan. But...but Lita wasn't there. She disappeared. I was frantic. I screamed into the dark, Lita! For no answer. My witness had disappeared. You were terrified, Fred. You stood there trembling in the dark, screaming for Lita as though she were a mile away. Then it came to you. You grabbed the flashlight and shot it around and down on the ledge below. And there was Lita, on the rocks of the ledge and blood on her face. I knew then how she'd got there. She jumped on the left running board to grab the emergency brake and gone over with the car. That's what I hadn't counted on. Lita wasn't supposed to have touched the brake. Only this afternoon she'd pulled it on. Now when it didn't work, she'd know for sure that it had been tampered with. She could tell them that the accident was no accident. I picked up a rock, started down to the ledge to give her a good bash on the head. But a car pulled up, Fred. Vera, your wife, was dead. But they rushed Lita to San Bernardino. You never left Lita's side for three days because your witness was now a good prospect for state's witness. When she came to. But I thanked my lucky stars when she regained consciousness. She knew me, but she couldn't seem to remember just what had happened. I was awful sweet to her. I told her my own private version of the accident. Fred, what happened? Don't you remember, Lita? No. All I can recall is a terrible crash. Nothing more. The tire went flat and I stopped to change it. I jacked the wheel up and started to remove the lug nuts and it slipped off the jack and rolled over the cliff. Well, where was I? Vera was asleep in the front seat and you were sitting in the back seat. You must have been thrown clear when the car hit the ledge. Or maybe when you saw the car rolling you tried to jump out. Perhaps that's what saved you. Poor Vera. She didn't have a chance, did she? No. What do you mean? Well, didn't you say she was asleep? Did I say that? Well, yes. That's right, she was. Well, at least she didn't suffer. She probably never knew what happened. Lita, you can't remember a thing about what happened? No, I can't seem to remember just what it was all about. It's all very hazy. But did the doctor tell you? Tell me what? Well, he said my loss of memory was only temporary. At least he hoped so and maybe in time, he didn't say how long, but that in time everything will clear up. In a way I hope that won't happen. Why? I'd rather not know any more about it than I do. For your own sake, I hope. I mean, I hope you never remember about it. It was too gruesome. Lita. Yes, Fred? Look, it was all my fault, darling. It was pure negligence on my part. I should have put a rock under one of the wheels. There's nothing that can be done about... about poor Vera now. But you're going to be all right. And I want you to know that I'll do all in my power to make up for it. It's my duty. It's the least I can do. What are you getting at, Fred? It'll be my duty from now on to take care of you, Lita. Vera would want it that way, I'm sure. Fred, I don't understand. Later on, we can be married and I'll always stay right by your side. After all, you and I always thought a great deal of each other, didn't we? Are you trying to say that I'm paralyzed or something? No, darling, not that. But haven't you looked in the mirror? I think that... Lita, as soon as you're out of here, I'll spend every dollar Vera left me. I'll have the best plastic surgeons in the country and you'll be just as beautiful as ever. Fred... You are listening to The Whistler, brought to you by your friend, the Signal Oil Company, marketers of the famous Signal Gasoline, your best buy today. Remember to let every go signal remind you, you do go farther with Signal Gasoline. Well, everything Vera had was left to you, wasn't it, Fred? But you dumped it all on the market, including the plant and all the real estate. I'm sorry, Fred, but I'm not going to give you a big deal about the money. You had no servants because you wanted her all to yourself, didn't you, Fred? I watched her like a hawk because I wanted to be around if she should regain her memory. But after a while she got to acting kind of strange. I had to ask funny questions about what happened that night, I mean. The cloud was beginning to clear up, is what I figured. It was getting on my nerves. And I knew for sure that if it cleared up and she remembered about grabbing for that break, the whole thing would come out. She'd know that I'd killed Vera. Then one afternoon... Fred, I've just had another one of those terrible dreams, nightmares. Nightmares? Since when have you been having nightmares in the afternoon? I've had several of them. It's terrifying, Fred. I... I can't understand why I always dream the same thing. I seem to be driving a car at fast speed. There's a high wall in front of me. I grab the handbrake and pull and pull, but the car won't stop. And just as I'm about to crash, I wake up in a cold sweat. Are you dreaming or is it just your imagination? Why do you say that? If you've got something on your mind, why don't you say it? I don't know what you mean, Fred. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm not upset! Oh, I forgot to tell you, dear. There was a man here to see you this afternoon. He said he'd drop by later. Yeah, what man? He said his name was Jenkins. He owns the garage in the village. Jenkins? What about him? Well, it was something about your brakes. I think he said your brakes were loose. He said he'd come by later. Brakes? I don't know what he's talking about. I've never had my car in his garage. The only connection I had with him was when he hauled that wrecked convertible up the... What's the matter, Fred? Nothing. Maybe I'd better run down to the village and see Jenkins. Why? How do I know until I get there? Yes, Fred, you don't like the looks of this. Rush down to the garage at the village and see Jenkins. See what he's told later. See what he's found out. Oh, yes, yes, Mr. Wallace. Well, I got a little bill here for $18 that I can't overlook. Then I had something I wanted to tell you about the Chrysler convertible, the one that went over the cliff. What about it? Well, you know I hauled it up the hill and took it to my shop. I've looked it over and that can be fixed up. I told you I didn't want it fixed up. Junk it. Junk it? Well, you'll have to sign this pink slip over to me. I'll sign it, give it here. But I want it junked. Yes, sir, but I can only get a hundred for it as junk. All right, junk it and you keep what you get for your trouble. I don't want anything. There you are. But what I wanted to tell you was... Yes? I know why it rolled over the cliff. Why? The emergency brake wouldn't hold. I know that. And that's something I can't understand. Handle pulls all the way back to the last notch and the brake line barely touches the brake drum. I can't understand that. I can. The brake lining was worn. It was loose. The brake was loose? But the lining wasn't worn. What? It couldn't have been. I relined all the brakes for your dead wife last summer. And I cinched up the emergency to where it had worked when pulled only halfway back. That's what this $18 bill's for. Well, then the bolt on the brake must have worked loose. No, no, no. I checked on that. The nut was screwed clear to the end of the bolt. But it still had a cotter key in it. I've never made a mistake like that in my life. Well, then how would it get loose? I don't know. I don't know. Unless somebody loosened it on purpose. Maybe somebody had it in for you. The only thing I could think of... As I was telling your wife on the phone... What? I said as I was telling your wife. Talked to my wife about this? Yes, yes. Didn't she tell you her code? How much did you tell her? Well, I tried to explain about the brake... You have no right to talk to my wife about such things. But I just thought you ought to know. Yes, of course. I just meant that you shouldn't have bothered my wife about it. She's been very nervous since the accident. I try not to mention it to her. Oh, well, I'm sorry. It's all right. Only we're both trying to forget the whole thing. Sure, sure, Mr. Wallace. So just send me a bill and I'll mail a check. And just forget about this. Oh, sure, I'll get the bill for you in just a minute. Never mind, I have to hurry. I have to get home right away. Well, Fred, Jenkins stumbled onto the evidence, didn't he? He doesn't seem to suspect anything. But he talked to Leta. Leta, whose memory is returning. Now she knows what happened. All the way back, my mind was going a mile a minute. Leta knew. And I had to make my plans quickly. Plans to get rid of her. I drove in the back directly into the garage. I guess that's why I didn't see the car parked in front. When I rushed into the house, Leta was standing in the hall waiting for me. Oh, darling, I was hoping you'd get back. So you knew all the time. I don't know what you're talking about. But whatever it is, it'll keep. Right now, come in the living room. But it won't keep. The game's up, Leta. Jenkins told you, didn't he? Didn't he? Well, he said something about the brakes on the convertible, but I... That's not all. He told you why they didn't work, why the car went over the cliff, didn't he? Fred, listen, the sheriff's office... Oh, so you got the sheriff's office in on it, too. Well, what were you waiting for? Why didn't you turn me in long ago? You knew about the brake. You probably even knew about me putting the leaking tire back on and jerking the car off the jack. My only mistake was in not letting you go over the cliff with Vera. Now, it looks like I'll have to do that all over again. Fred... As if you didn't know. Now I'll have to take care of you. I don't think so, Wallace. I think I'll have to take care of you. What? Fred, I tried to tell you. The sheriff sent a deputy out to see me and... Oh, you did trap me, you dirty... Fine, Mrs. Wallace. I've heard all I need to... You won't catch me. Fred, don't! Stop, Fred! The Westler will bring you the rest of the strange story in just a moment. Meantime, Signal Oil Company wants to pass along this important war production board warning about the shortage of auto batteries. Due to increased military requirements, WPB announces 40% fewer new batteries will be produced for civilian cars during January, February, March. You know what that means. More and more cars that need new batteries will have to make the old one do. So play safe. Keep your present battery working for you as long as you can by seeing that it gets the regular attention it needs. That means stopping at your neighbourhood's signal gasoline dealer every two weeks for his complete battery check-up. He'll add distilled water to restore the safe level and remove destructive corrosion from the terminals. If your battery seems run down, his hydrometer test shows whether it needs recharging. And your signal dealer is equipped to give you a quick, thorough recharge job. All this is part of your signal complete go-father service. Every car needs it more than ever today. See that your car gets it by stopping at least every two weeks at your neighbourhood's signal gasoline dealer. And now, back to the Whistler. MUSIC And what happened then, Fred, after you ran out the door? I saw the deputy's car, but I didn't see the other guy, the driver, until I ran past and there was a gun in my face. I took a wild poke at him, but he just slapped me on the side of the head with the gun barrel. When I woke up, I was sitting here. Yes, Fred. Sitting in the sheriff's office, and now you're speaking into a microphone, making a record of your confession. You may have been excellent at plotting murder on paper, but when a man's emotions become involved with the real thing, it isn't so good. You see, you were perfectly safe. You'd committed the perfect crime. Neither Lita nor anybody else suspected a thing till you yourself divulged it. And the sheriff's deputy has just told you that all he came by your place for was to return Vera's purse, which a couple of boy scouts had found in the brush for the accident that occurred. Yes, it was just nerves, Fred. Nerves. That's all. Well, I guess that'll be my last murder plot for a long while. Yes, Fred. I can assure you that the gentlemen at San Quentin will see to that. Next Monday at 9 o'clock, The Whistler will bring you another strange tale. The curious story of murder is legal. The Whistler is broadcast for your entertainment by the marketers of signal gasoline and oil and fine quality auto accessories, and by your neighborhood signal dealer. This program, directed by George W. Allen, story by J. Donald Wilson, music by Wilbur Hatch, is transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Bob Anderson speaking and inviting you to listen next Monday night at 9 when... The Signal Oil Company presents The Whistler. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
