The signal oil program, the Whistler. That whistle is your signal for the signal oil program, 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. 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 in seven western states from Canada to Mexico. And now the Whistler's strange story, the Master Touch. It had been 20 years since Charles Carter polished a pair of shoes. He thought about those 20 years as he sat alone in his bedroom, working on them, sponging them off carefully with saddle soap, making sure that not a speck of the gummy red clay that covered them remained. Red clay, sticky, stubborn stuff that clung to them like glue. They were beautiful shoes, handmade, custom built, the kind of shoes you'd expect a successful businessman like Charles to wear. He was proud of what he'd accomplished in those 20 years. As he worked on the shoes, he thought of the brutal poverty he grew up in, the resolution he made as a kid that someday he'd have more money than he could spend in a lifetime. The way money became a god to him, pushed him up the ladder from factory worker to top executive, and left him still dissatisfied wanting more. It never mattered how he got it, so long as the money was there. And now the biggest opportunity of his life had arrived. He cleaned the last bit of red clay from his shoes and waited. Yes? Charles? Yes, Amelia, what is it? Charles, I didn't want to bother you, but... Oh, it's nothing, Amelia. What is it? Could you come over, Charles? I'm terribly upset. The police are here. Police? Good Lord, Amelia, tell me what's the matter? I don't know. I'm afraid you are right about... Henry, that's it, isn't it? They think so. Amelia, it doesn't matter a hoot whether or not that caretaker was a favorite of your father's. I tell you, the man's dangerous, and you've got to get rid of him. Oh, please don't discuss it now, Charles. Can you come here? Of course. Henry, the caretaker at Greenacres, Amelia Rankin's beautiful estate. You've told her he's vicious and irresponsible, haven't you, Charles? That perhaps it isn't safe for her to be living alone there with him, and she appreciates your interest. You are interested in Amelia, aren't you? Yes, in Amelia. And, incidentally, in the fact that she's chairman of the board and holder of the controlling interest in the company you work for now that her father is dead. So you're concerned about Henry, the caretaker, when you arrive a half hour late. Amelia, what's happened? Oh, Charles, I'm so glad you could come. And who is this, Miss Rankin? Oh, my name is Carter, officer. I'm general manager of Miss Rankin's firm. Now, what's happened? Charles, somebody tried to kill me tonight. What? Just a minute, Mr. Carter. If you don't mind, I'd like to continue with the caretaker here. Oh, of course. Now, Henry, two hours ago, someone stood outside on the grounds and put a bullet through Miss Rankin's bedroom window. Don't look at me. I've been with the family ever since this place was built. He trusted me, he did. He trusted me even more than he did. Oh, Henry. It's true, I did. That's why he said I was to stay here. Call me alone into his room just before he died. Who? Mr. Terrance, her father. I see. Now, Miss Rankin, you say you'd been reading until about nine o'clock? Yes. I got up when I'd finished and walked past the window. There was a crash of glass, that's all. Henry, what were you doing with this gun? I've always had it. Mr. Terrance told me to always keep it handy. Any idea why one of the shells is discharged? Someone must have took it while I was asleep. And then walked out on the ground, shot at Miss Rankin, returned it to your house and left. Why not? Miss Rankin, do you know of any reason why Henry would do a thing like this? No, I don't. We checked it in. Find the place? Yeah, found the spot where he stood and fired the shot. Checked the footprints against Henry's shoes. Match? What'd I tell you, officer? It was someone else. He didn't say that. He said the prints didn't match. Maybe it was someone else and maybe you're just smarter than I think you are. Stan, what about the prints? Are they clear? Couldn't be better. Soft spot there, it's made to order. Kind of gummy red clay. Well, they've gone at last. Will you believe me now, Amelia? I tell you, that man, Henry, isn't safe. We don't know, Charles. You must think this over carefully, Amelia. It could happen again. But I can't let him go. He was right about father. Well, you don't have to let him go. What am I going to do, Charles? Amelia, perhaps what you need is someone here to protect you. Maybe you're right. Music With the prologue of The Master Touch, the Signal Oil Company brings you another strange story by The Whistler. You know, friends, we of The Whistler cast think you're just about the swellest listening audience that ever turned a radio dial. And tonight we've got more reason than ever for thinking that. Remember, last month I told you that in January's radio survey, The Whistler received the highest popularity rating in all radio history for a West Coast program. Well, tonight I have in my hand the results of February's survey. And you've done it again. Yes, for the second consecutive month, The Whistler is way out in front of any popularity rating ever given a West Coast program. Naturally, this makes all those friendly signal dealers who bring you The Whistler mighty happy. In fact, there's only one thing I can think of that could make them any happier. That's if next time your car needs gas, you try just one tankful of new signal gasoline. My bet is that once you try Signal's power-packed new super fuel that now helps you go farther than ever, you too will join the ever-increasing swing to signal, a swing that has made the signal organization grow in just 14 years from a mere handful of stations in Southern California to a network of dealer-owned stations serving seven Western states from Canada to Mexico. And now, back to The Whistler. That was the master touch, wasn't it, Charles? You were sharp enough to see the opportunity the minute-old Terrence Rankin, president of Rankin Industries, died and left the controlling interest to his lonely, frustrated daughter, Amelia. In the weeks that followed, you worked slowly and carefully to gain her confidence. And when that sharp, analytical mind of yours sensed the friction between Amelia and Henry, the caretaker, you knew what your next move would be. The red clay is dried now on the path where you stood and fired the shot through the window, purposely missing her. And the weather has changed, suggesting an afternoon walk. Just the two of you, Charles, you and Amelia. Isn't it lovely out today? It was so nice of you to ask me to come. Yes, it is lovely. All this and you, Amelia. Please, Charles. Why not? If I think you're lovely, why shouldn't I say so? Because I know it isn't true. I wish it were. The world is full of beautiful things when one's in love. You don't mean that. Why must you always say the same thing? You know, sometimes I feel as if you don't trust me. Oh, I do, really, I do. Maybe I'm being presumptuous, huh? Not you, Charles, ever. I'm glad of that. I want you to have faith in me. I know. It's just that since Mother and Dad died, it hasn't been easy. I've been on my own and, oh, I've had everything, but I haven't, really. I've had to be so cautious... You mean Henry, huh? No, not exactly. It's just that when you have money, too much of it, you're always meeting people who pretend to be friendly when all they want is to get their hands on the money. It makes people like that, Charles. Isn't money that important? It has a terrible fascination for some people. If I thought a lot of someone and I found his motive was that, it would hurt him terribly. Of course it would, Amelia. But you don't think that I would... You know I'm not thinking of you. You've been so sweet and kind to me. I've never been so happy, even though I am so alone. You don't like being alone, do you? It's frightening sometimes. You do need someone, Amelia. With Henry there and the things the way they are, you ought to have someone to take care of you, to look out for everything. What are you trying to say, Charles? I'm asking you to marry me. Do you really mean it? Of course I do. Oh, I'm so happy. Yes, Charles, that was the master touch. It's the biggest deal you ever swung, isn't it? And it is a business deal. Dollars and cents cash on the line. The only difference is that it's accomplished in a church, that the dotted line is on a marriage license, that the witnesses are wedding guests instead of company executives. But the plan has only begun, hasn't it, Charles? And like everything else you do, it has to be perfect. You have to take your time, move cautiously. So it's three months after you and Amelia are married before you decide to move again. Charles? Yes, Amelia? Come over here and sit beside me. I was going into the library, Amelia. I have a reference to look up. I'll only be a moment. All right. What's on your mind? These few months we've been married, have they been happy for you? My darling, what a question. They've been the happiest months of my life. You've been more than kind to me. You're keeping something from me. What is it? When you go to the factory in the morning, I like to watch you leave. I can see you from the bedroom window. I hope you don't mind, Charles. Of course I don't. It's a little like saying goodbye a second time if I can see you drive away. Why, that's charming, Amelia. After Henry took the car out of the garage for you this morning, he went back to his cottage. Well? Henry's little dog usually goes back to the cottage with him. But he didn't go back this morning. Henry's dog? But... When you drove away, you ran over him. It looked almost deliberate. Why, Amelia, I had no idea. Henry was brokenhearted. I'll have to speak to Henry about it. I didn't see him. Amelia, I swear I didn't. Good heavens, I know what that dog means to you. I thought perhaps you were worried about something and didn't realize what was happening. Worry? You've been acting so strangely the past few days, as if you had something terribly important on your mind. Why, I... I don't understand, Amelia. I know what it must be like, married to my money. What do you mean? Don't you... Oh, outside, in a way, doesn't it? Amelia, you mustn't feel that way. Just the same. From now on, everything I have is yours and everything you have is mine. That's the way marriage should be, don't you think? Please, darling, I... Money isn't so important, Charles. Happiness means much more. I found that out. I called the lawyer this afternoon. There'll be some papers to sign and then I'll feel better. Oh, I wanted so much to marry someone who wanted me and not my money. You do believe in me, don't you, Amelia? You needn't ask me that. I always will. You hate her for that, don't you, child? As usual, she's done the honorable thing, signed over all she has to you, making you wonder whether the rest of the plan is worthwhile. You were stunned by it, weren't you, child? The money is yours now and you can stand pat. That is, if you're willing to spend the rest of your life with her. When you face that question, you realize you're going ahead with the plan. It's been boiling around in your brain too long, hasn't it, Charles? So now you're going to kill her. That's why you walk up to the desk of the Roosevelt Hotel in North City the next afternoon. North City, a hundred miles away from Greenacres and Amelia. Yes, sir, may I help you? My name is Charles Carter. I have a reservation. Just a moment, I'll check. Aye. Yes, sir, room 241. Oh, I asked the clerk for something at the back of the building. I have some reports to write. I'll need quiet. Well, you'll find this satisfactory, I'm sure. Soundproof and in the rear. I'll be typing all afternoon, possibly late into the night. I don't want to be disturbed under any circumstances. Yes, sir, I'll tell the operator. Oh, and would you tell the maids too, please? If they hear me typing inside, then not to come in. If you say so, sir. I'll have a boy take your bag. It looks heavy. Excuse me, clerk. Oh, I'm sorry, I was looking the other way. Clerk, I've decided to take that room you were holding for me. Lane is the name, 385. All right, Mr. Lane, just a minute, please. Oh, here's the boy, Mr. Carter. You can go on up. Thanks. Well, Charles, it's underway. And you're a little jittery. Was it unusual that Mr. Lane, the man who bumped into you at the desk, was the same man who looked at you peculiarly when you almost ran into him at the entrance of the hotel? You finally decide that it's natural, that you're on edge, imagining things. Five minutes later, alone in room 241 at the back of the hotel, you open your bag and take out a small portable phonograph with a repeating attachment, connect it, put on a special record and listen. Yes, Charles, you're busy typing on a phonograph record. You watch it repeat a couple of times, satisfy yourself it's working perfectly, then sneak out of the room, down the back stairs and out the trade entrance at the rear of the hotel. In a bar around the corner, you find a telephone and put in a long-distance call to Johnson, your personnel manager at the factory. You surprised us, Mr. Carter. We didn't know you were going to North City. How long will you be there? I came down to look over the new assembly line. Got in about two hours ago, had the car checked over. I'm going to the plant in the morning. Everything all right? Well, there are those reports that you took with you. The auditors are coming tomorrow. Well, I didn't have a chance to check them over last night, Johnson. I'll have them ready by morning. Yes, but if you're in North City, I... I'll be coming back as soon as I check the plant. I want to arrive at the house around 11. Why don't you and I meet there? And then I'll give you the reports. All right, Mr. Carter. 11 o'clock. Good afternoon, Roosevelt Hotel. Will you ring Mr. Charles Carter's room, please? Just a moment. Oh, I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Carter isn't receiving any calls. But this is important. I'm the superintendent of one of his plants. I'm sorry, sir, if you'd care to leave a message. He is there, isn't he? Yes, sir. He's quite busy, though, and requested not to be disturbed if you leave a message. No. I'll call back later. The clerk is a first-class man, isn't he, Charles? Follows instructions to the letter. You're positive now that no one can get through to you. That no one will go into the room as long as the typewriter is working. You're on the last lap, Charles. On your way to the back alley where you left your car, you stop at a drug store and pick up a small bottle of liquid. That's for Henry to help him sleep better. Henry is a rather important part of it, isn't he? Two hours later, you're driving up the road to Greenacres. But before you get to the house, you turn off the road and leave the car in a wooded section, hiding it from the highway. Then you walk up to the house and find Amelia in the living room. Oh, oh, Charles, it's you. I didn't hear you come in. I didn't mean to startle you, Amelia. Where's the car, Charles? Why do you ask that? I didn't hear you drive up. I had a little trouble with it. Left it down the road. I'll have Henry look at it. And not tonight, Amelia. It's late. Yes, I thought for a while you might not be coming home. I'm having a glass of wine. Won't you have one with me? Thanks, I will. You look hot and tired. Did you walk far? Oh, a couple of miles, I guess. Here, this will make you feel better. Thanks. That is good. I am tired for some reason. Johnson called about noon. He was looking for some reports. Yes, he called me. I made a trip to North City. He wanted to look over the new assembly line, having some trouble with the hoists. But I thought they straightened that out last week. Oh, it's a technicality. Let's not talk business tonight, dear. I'm not up to it. Oh, forgive me, dear. More wine. Please. Oh, that's fine. Why don't you run up to bed, Amelia? I want to take a bottle of bourbon over to Henry. Tonight? Well, I'm going to try to make it up to him about the dog. He'll feel better over a drink. Well, don't sit up till all hours, will you? No, no, Amelia. I'll be right back. Let me pour you another drink, Henry. Aren't you drinking none, Mr. Carter? Oh, we've been drinking wine, Mrs. Carter and I. They don't mix so well for me. How come your ovary have poor old me drinks this time of night? Well, Henry, I feel so rotten about that dog. You know, I want you to know if there's anything I can do to make it up to you. You never offered me a drink before. If only you'd do it now. It ain't like you. Left by changing the spots that way. You never think about nobody but yourself. Anybody else should have stopped. You run right over, stubby, and I'd see now. I'm trying to tell you you're wrong, Henry. And that ain't all. Here, here. Have another drink. Let me fill your glass. Don't want another one. Don't want nothing from you. Oh, drink that and go to bed. You'll feel better in the morning. Take in a bottle, will you? Well, it's empty. Could have brung a full one. You've had enough, Henry. More than enough. Yes, Charles, that's more than enough, isn't it? The dope liquor will keep him asleep and harmless. Until the hue and cry is raised in the morning. You pick up Henry's hatchet and gloves from the wood pile... at the back of his cottage and hurry back to the house. Oh, that lamp. Charles! Yes? What happened? Nothing. Nothing, dear. I bumped into the lamp. Turn off the lights before you come up. All right. You stand there for a moment, Charles. At the last minute, with a hatchet in your hand, you begin to waver. What are you waiting for, Charles? What's the matter, Charles? What? Why don't you come up? I think I'll read a little while, dear. Go to sleep. I'll be up pretty soon. Yes, get yourself together, Charles. You want to give her a chance to fall asleep, don't you? You're safe now. Henry's in a drunken stupor. He can't wake up. And after it's over, you'll plant the hatchet in Henry's cottage... along with the gloves, just as you did with the gun four months ago. There'll be no question this time. No footprints in the red clay path. And who'll believe poor, confused Henry... and his story about the drinks you gave him... with you visibly typing on a report in a hotel room a hundred miles away? A few minutes later, you see the light go out at the top of the stairs. And you sit there in the living room until you're sure Amelia's asleep. Then, holding the hatchet tight in your right hand, you start up the stairs. There's Amelia on the bed. You do hate her, don't you, Charles? You try to steady yourself. Forget the pounding in your head and walk over to the bed. Well, Charles? Amelia! You can stop striking the bed, Charles. I'm not in it. I'm over here by the window. The Whistler will return in just a moment... with the strange ending of tonight's story. Meantime, a question. Which of these parts could your car get along best without... the water pump, a universal joint, or a steering knuckle? Well, the answer's obvious. Without even one of its vital parts, it's a complete disaster. You can't even imagine what it's like to be a whistler. Well, the answer's obvious. Without even one of its vital parts, your car couldn't run. That's why when your signal dealer lubricates your car, he takes no chance of overlooking even one part. It's for that very reason that he uses Signal's famous lubrication chart... which shows every lubrication point on your car... and specifies which of Signal's nine specialized oils and greases each part should have... for long, trouble-free service. It checks each part against this chart not just once, but twice... which is why it's called Signal Double Check Lubrication. This is typical of the more thorough, more conscientious service your car gets... from dealer-owned Signal stations. Nowadays, when cars that are already old must keep on serving you... until there are enough new ones to go around... I'd say this is another mighty good reason for today's swing to Signal. And now, back to the whistler. Well, child, the master touch wasn't quite enough. You stand there bewildered as Amelia switches on the light. The shot through her window four months ago... the careful, gradual cultivation process... the marriage, the alibi in North City. It all seems ridiculous, doesn't it, child? And you're too dumbfounded to say anything. You can put the hatchet down, child. You won't need it. What are you doing? Nothing. I was looking out of the window. The moonlight's beautiful. You can see for miles. Isn't that your car down by Miller's Pond? It's hidden from the road, but I can see it clearly from here. You fool! No, Charles. I said you wouldn't need the hatchet. What's going to stop me, Amelia? What I have to say. Won't you be any good to stall? I've come too far for that. Yes, much too far. You see, Charles, I know everything you did today. I hired a detective to follow you several days ago. He was waiting for you at the Roosevelt Hotel when you arrived. I talked to him on the telephone just before you came in tonight. His name is Lane, isn't it? Yes. That's the name he used. Well? He told me you were rather a good typist. And I told him that you couldn't type at all. So he went into the room. It was a clever way to establish an alibi, Charles. But I wasn't sure until he told me about the bottle of sleeping drug you bought in North City. Get to the point. It's pretty ridiculous, isn't it? My believing that out of all people there was one whom I could believe in. Where's your detective now? Outside? No. He did his work. I dismissed him. You mean we're alone? Yes. You expect me to believe that? It doesn't matter whether you do or not. Remember our agreement, Charles. Everything I had was yours. Everything you had was mine. So when you decided to take my life... Quit simpering. If you think you can talk me out of it... I said it doesn't matter anymore, Charles. Nothing matters now. You see, the wine we drank together tonight was poison. Next Monday at 9 o'clock, The Whistler will bring you another strange tale. The Whistler is broadcast for your entertainment by the marketers of signal, gasoline, and motor oil, and fine quality automotive accessories, and by your neighborhood signal dealer. This program, produced by George W. Allen with tonight's story by Robert Foster, Army of the Armed Forces Radio Service. That whistle is your signal for the signal oil program, The Whistler. This is Marvin Miller speaking, reminding you to look for those familiar yellow and black circle signs that identify those popular signal oil stations in seven western states from Canada to Mexico. This is CBS, The Columbia Broadcasting System.
