The signal oil program, the Whistler. 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 signal oil program, the Whistler. Rated by independent research, the most popular west coast program in radio history. In gasoline, you know, it takes extra quality to go farther and signal is the famous go farther gasoline. So look for the signal circle sign in yellow and black that identifies signal service stations from Canada to Mexico. And now the Whistler's strange story, the sheriff's assistant. Friday was the climax of a terrible week for Willard Rowley. It was a week of decision and in all of his 45 years, Willard had shunned decision like the plague, but he was forced to face it now. Nan Parker would never take it lying down. He knew she'd force a showdown the minute she discovered the real reason he told her their affair was over. That Grace Rowley, Willard's wife, had unexpectedly inherited a half million dollars. His whole future was at stake and the end of the week found him desperate. He was known to readers of the little magazines as a clever writer, but now the famous Rowley Whip had failed him. When he tried to write, he found himself inventing explanations. When he tried to sleep, he outlined thin denials. His writing, of course, had earned him more fame than money and he realized now that for everything, almost down to his cigarettes, he was dependent upon his devoted wife. It's ten o'clock, Willard. Oh, the country's just beautiful. I do wish you'd get up and go for a walk with me. Oh, please, Grace, don't be hearty at this uncivilized hour. What have you got there? The mail. Willard, you haven't touched your breakfast tray. I'm not hungry, Grace. Where's my newspaper? Well, here it is. Myra forgot it. Oh, I have to speak to that maid. Willard, what use is there in having a country home if you don't enjoy it? You haven't been yourself all week, staying in bed all day alone in your room. I'm not feeling well, that's all. What's in the mail? Here's a memo from Finch. The profile you're writing is six days overdue. Well, he can wait. But you've hardly done a stroke of work all week. Oh, really, Willard, Finch offered you the best price ever and until the inheritance comes through... Oh, that again. I tell you, Grace, I'm not a machine. And as for Finch, if he wants quality in his articles, he'll just have to wait. Now, please have the maid clear this away. I hate cold food staring me in the face. How about I'll walk? Oh, perhaps, after I look at the newspaper. I... I do wish you'd tell me what's wrong with you, Willard. And as Grace leaves, Willard, you almost wish you could tell her. It would be quite a scene, wouldn't it? Her stunned silence at first, then mounting rage as you calmly informed her that for two years now you'd been seeing Nan Parker secretly, that only a week ago you and Nan had planned to run away together. But there are reasons why you can't do that, aren't there? A half million of them. You pick up the paper, hurriedly scan the first page, and grow suddenly tense as your eye strikes an article in the left-hand column. Local resident Eris, Grace Rowley, named beneficiary in world of distant relative. It's only a matter of time now, Willard. The minute Nan Parker sees that article in the paper, there'll be a showdown. And the thing that strikes home as you sit there is that Nan Parker holds all the cards. Sorry. One word to Grace and it's all over. You stare at the article, hoping Nan will be reasonable, knowing at the same time that Nan Parker is Nan Parker and that nothing will change her. And then... Yes? Well, darling, I've missed you. A week is such a long time. You shouldn't call me like this, Nan. I told you that I... I had to talk to you. You see, Willard, I'm leaving Ralph. Your what? Yes, we had another exhausting quarrel and I told him we were through. I'm awfully sorry, Nan, but you see, it doesn't concern me now. Oh, but it does. What do you mean? I want to see you, Willard. We have a lot to talk about, you know. That isn't possible. We agree. See you soon, darling. Real soon. Nan, Nan, listen. Wait. Oh, Willard, aren't you dressed? I thought we were going for a walk. Oh, Grace, I wish you'd remember to knock. How can I work with everybody crashing in here? I'm sorry. Ralph Parker's car is in the drive. I tell Myra to send him up. Parker? What does he want? I don't know. It's odd, isn't it, Willard? The Parkers almost seem to be avoiding us lately. That does it. I shan't be able to write a line. Next door, neighbours buzzing in and out of here like mosquitoes. I wouldn't call the Parkers that. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Next door, neighbours buzzing in and out of here like mosquitoes. I wouldn't call the Parkers exactly next door. Oh, here, Willard. Slip on this dressing gown. Oh, no, no, not that one. You know I can't stand wool next to me. Oh, yes, the sensitive skin. I forgot. Is it OK if I walk right in? Well, it seems to be. Oh, good morning, Ralph. You're quite a stranger. You know how it is with photographers. We practically have to live in a dark room. What's the old man doing in bed? The entire world, except you, Parker, knows I do my best writing in bed. Sit down, Ralph. I'll move the typewriter. Oh, never mind, Grace. She's only come to insult me. Let him stand. I won't be long, really. I just came to talk to Willard a minute. To me? What about? Nan. About Nan? Oh, well, Grace, it's quite obvious the battling Parkers have been at it again. Perhaps you'd better go. I suspect this is private. Oh, not at all. I just assumed Grace stayed. Oh, Grace, I'd rather you left. What's the matter, Willard? Something you don't want me to hear? Oh, no, no, but... All right, Parker. What is it? I'm pretty worried. Oh? Nan and I had another row. Maybe you've heard. How would we have heard? It's all over town. She, uh... She says she's going to leave me. I'm very sorry to hear it, Ralph. I love her very much, you know. I... I don't think I could go on without her. Oh, of course. Well, I... I just wanted to tell you that I took the liberty of parking an automobile in that old shed of yours next to the highway. The tractor shed? What on earth for? Well, it's a new car. I had it on order for months. You see, tomorrow's Nan's birthday and... Well, I... I thought I'd give it to her then. Oh, a peace offering. Maybe my last one. That would be a pity. Your battles are the only interesting thing about either of you. Willard, please. It's all right, Grace. It seems to be the general feeling around here. Well, I'll be going along. And thanks about the car. Oh, not at all, Ralph. Wish me luck, eh? I'm sure it'll work out, Ralph. I wish I were sure. Bye. Goodbye. Poor man. He never knows where he stands with that woman. What makes you say that? Well, I hate to repeat rumors, Willard, but I've heard it so many times. Rumors? What rumors? Well, they're saying Nan has been interested in some man right here in this town. What? That has been going on for over a year. Oh, why, there. That's ridiculous. Perhaps. But you know how I feel about those things, Willard. Maybe old-fashioned, but if I were Ralph and I discovered something like that, I'd send her packing in two seconds. Yes, Grace. I know. I know. Oh, come on now. Let's get out for our walk, shall we? No. No, I've changed my mind, Grace. I... I've got to work. Finch is having a fit. I shall probably stay in bed all day. Again? Willard, would you tell me what's wrong with you? It's not natural for you to be like... Oh, Grace, if you plague me with analysis now, I shall go mad. Now, go fix over an old hat or something. I've got to work. But it's not work, is it, Willard? The brittle front, the sharp tongue, your rudeness to Ralph Parker. All of it a feeble attempt to cover the fact that you're a man. To cover the fact that you're afraid now. That you can feel Nan Parker standing over you with an axe. And like a little boy, you turn to your bed as the safest place you know. For the next hour or two, you peck away at your typewriter, trying to finish the profile you promised Finch. But you can't keep your mind on it. And then a sudden strange noise makes you look up. A perfect picture, darling. Typing away all comfy and cosy. Nan, what are you doing here? Oh, don't be alarmed. No one knows I'm here. I slipped in through the back door. I told you I couldn't... There was a time when you were delighted to see me at any time, Willard. Give me a cigarette. I haven't got one. And don't be arch. It doesn't suit you. Then I'll be direct. We're going to discover New York together, Willard, just as we planned. And I told you that's out of the question. Well, I admit you stopped me. One day you were mumbling something in my ear about the sudden flight of summer hearts. And the next day you were devoted to Grace. It didn't make sense until this morning. I suspected you'd read the paper. You're not going to shake me because Grace is suddenly rich, darling. Don't ever think it. You're a phony and a heel, but I'm fond of you. And I'm used to getting what I want. I... I'm considering going to Grace and telling her the whole thing. Oh, stop. Stop it! Stop it! Oh, you're wonderful, Willard. Let's go down together and tell her, shall we? I... I said I was... I was considering it. You considered it a week ago and rejected it. Because you know Grace would toss you out the window in those beautiful figured pajamas the minute she heard of it. Now be practical, dear. You're either going to New York with me, just as we planned. Or I'm going to Grace with the whole story. No alternative. Not one little alternative, darling. It's all decided. Now be an angel and fix me a drink, will you? Yes, Willard, fix Nan a drink. But as you move to the sideboard, you know there's no way out now, is there, Willard? She's clever and determined, just like you. She knows your wit, your shrewd dramatics. You desperately force your mind for some dodge, some persuasion. But you know it's too late for that now. And as you pour the amber liquid into the glass and reach for the seltzer bottle, your thoughts begin to move like chain lightning. There must be something else, some way to silence her when everything else has failed. Something. And at that point, Willard, standing there, friendly glass in hand, you cross the narrow social threshold and start down the dark stairs of murder. Darling, do I get a drink or are you going to stand there forever? What? Oh, sorry, coming up. Here you are. Thanks. Nan, when did you plan to begin our little excursion? Tonight. Why so soon? Well, I told you I'm leaving well. We can slip away tonight quite easily without being seen. He'll be in his dark room until 12, tied up with his photography. Alone in his dark room? Mm-hmm. Yes, it will be simple, Willard. I can meet you at the tractor shed next to the highway. You probably know Ralph with the new car there. He's giving it to me for my birthday. Isn't that convenient? Yes, that's very convenient. What about the keys? They're in the drawer of his dresser. I found them there this morning. I see. What time shall I meet you, Nan? How about nine? No, no, later. The New Haven bus goes by at nine. We won't want to be seen. Make it, uh, make it 9.30. 9.30 it is. Skol, darling. To us. To us. With the prologue of the sheriff's assistant, the Signal Oil Company brings you another strange tale by the Whistler. But now, since this spring marks the 25th anniversary of Signal Oil, let's look tonight at some of the changes these 25 years have made in gasoline. In quality, today's signal gasoline is by far the finest ever made. Yet the price of the gasoline itself, not counting taxes, is almost one-third less today than it was 25 years ago. Ever since the beginning of the war, while prices of many items have skyrocketed, prices of gasoline have been kept as low as possible. For instance, here in Southern California, since 1940, the general cost of living has increased 53 percent, while the retail price of gasoline has increased only 13 percent. Or in other words, since 1940, the general cost of living has gone up four times as much as the price of gasoline. That's why we say when you drive into your signal gasoline station and say, fill her up, remember you're not only getting tops in gasoline quality, you're also getting one of the most remarkable values your dollar still buys today. And now back to the whistler. Well, Willard, it's quite a problem, isn't it? Nan Parker so persistent, your wife Grace so devoted, and now so rich. But there's a way out, and oddly enough, Nan herself placed it squarely up to you, as the two of you stood over a friendly drink in your room this afternoon. It's all there now, with Nan's husband Ralph in his photo lab all evening, with a new car in the tractor shed near the highway, with Nan insisting that you meet her there tonight. And best of all, your wife Grace knows you plan to stay alone in your room working, and you're sure she'll never disturb you. No one will know you left your room even for an instant, except Nan, and after your meeting tonight. She won't tell anyone anything. Shortly after nine, you throw on a dark overcoat over your pajamas, slip past Grace, reading in the library and out the back door. It's nine twenty-three when you see the glow of Nan's cigarette in the darkness of the tractor shed a quarter mile from the house. Nan? Oh, darling, I'm so relieved. I... I was afraid you might not be sensible. You're sure no one saw you? Oh, of course. Nobody will suspect a thing until they see the note. Note? You left a note? Well, after all, I just couldn't disappear, could I? Oh, you fool. What did you say in that note? I said I couldn't tolerate Ralph another minute, and that I was leaving him. What did you say about me? Well, darling, should I have mentioned you, I didn't think it was necessary. I just packed my bag... Answer me, Nan! Are you telling me the truth? What did you say about me? Yes, stop shaking me. I didn't say anything about you. Naturally, I assumed you'd tell... Willard, what are you wearing under that coat? You can't go away dressed like... I'm not going away, my sweet. And neither am I. My sweet, and neither are you. Willard, what is all this? What do you mean by... Willard, Willard! She stumbles backward as you lunge at her. And as the two of you struggle, you're vaguely aware of a crash as a metal can topples from its shelf. It's done now, Willard. You stand over a weak knee, shaking. And a second later, you're surrounded by flames. Her cigarette falling into the dry straw on that upset can of gasoline. As the fire spreads quickly across the floor of the shed, you hear another sound. The New Haven bus. Oh, good Lord, it's late. Yes, Willard, the bus. And the load of witnesses you thought had gone by. You can't make it back across the open field now. There's only one way. You bend down, snatch the ignition key from Nan's hand, slide behind the wheel of the car, and put your foot on the starter. Hey, you in there, what's going on? Yeah, there's a fire. There's a man in there. Yeah, he might crack at the guy, maybe crazy. Come on, folks, we gotta give him a hand. Here, there's a car in there. Here he comes, look out, look out! Look out! Look out! Why is that, Mr. Gray? What is he driving right off? He didn't even stop. What's the matter with him anyway? Hey, somebody get over to that service station there and call the fire department. We gotta stop him. Okay, I'll go. I'll get the extinguisher from the bus. Might do a little good with it. Look, inside there's somebody on the floor. It's a woman! Hey, Jim. Yeah? While you're at it, call the sheriff. You're thankful they didn't see your face, but there's no more careful planning now. You're improvising, doing whatever you can to escape. You know you've got to get rid of the car. You roar up the road past your house, past Parker's, and swerve off in a deep thicket and jam to a stop. A moment later, you force your way out, the twigs and underbrush scratching your face, knocking your hat off, forcing you to stop for a terrible moment and hunt for it on hands and knees. At last you find it. Push your way out of the thicket and start across the field. It seems an eternity until you reach the back door of your house and grab the doorknob, and then stop frozen as the kitchen light snaps out. Is that you, Mrs. Rowley? Yes, Mara. I'm just fixing a couple of chalkers to take up to Mr. Rowley. Oh, no! I hope you can get him to take it, ma'am. He's looking poorly. Oh, yes, I'm very worried about him, Mara. It's not him so at all, sitting up there listening to the radio. It's just not like him. Listen! My stars! What's that? It's the fire hall in the village. Oh, get me some cups and a tray from the dining room, will you? Certainly. You're trapped outside that kitchen door, Willard, with a fire horn splitting the night. Grace about to go to your room with a cup of chocolate, and worse than that, a car pulling up to your front door. You hold your breath in agony. Oh, never mind, Mara. I'll get it. Thank goodness. You grab at the chance, bolt through the kitchen and up the stairs to your room. There's just time to toss the overcoat and shoes into the closet, tap off the radio and get into bed before Grace is at the door. Willard! Uh... Oh, what is it? Something's happened, dear. May I disturb you? All right. I'll turn on the light. Oh, Willard, the tractor shed caught on fire. They just put it out. There's a man downstairs. Oh, the shed? That fire trap? Oh, I knew sooner or later... You'd better get out of bed, dear. There was someone inside or something. The sheriff's on his way over. The sheriff? He wants to talk to us. Well, I... I'd better stay right here and wait for him. Willard, why would the sheriff want to... I don't know, Grace. I haven't the slightest idea. You brace yourself, Willard. Get set for the questions you know are coming. And above all, you refuse to get dressed and go downstairs. You want to be in bed, don't you? So the sheriff will get the right impression. So there won't be any cause for doubt when Grace tells them you were in bed when it all happened. When the sheriff arrives, you're ready. I simply can't believe it, Sheriff. Nan Parker trapped in our shed. Why, it's terrible. Poor Nan. She was such a dear friend. I didn't say she was trapped in the shed. One whole side of it was open, you know. Oh, yes, that's right. Of course she couldn't have been. What? How else could she... She was murdered, Mr. Rowley, before the fire ever happened. What? That's the way I got it figured. But I don't understand, Sheriff. Why in the world would... Yes, why indeed. Why, Nan was a very fine person. I, uh... I thought you folks might be able to help us on that. Wait a minute. Yes. I think I know what you're driving at, Sheriff. How? Yes, they were always fighting. Willard! I'm sorry, Grace, but it's no secret. Everyone called him the Battling Parkers. Yes, so I've heard. This time, I think she was trying to leave him. There was a suitcase... Grace. Grace, you remember what he said this morning? He couldn't go on without her? I can't believe this. Ralph... It isn't easy to believe such things about our own neighbors, Mr. Rowley, but it does look bad for Parker. He hasn't even an alibi. Just the story that he was alone in his photo lab all evening. I guess you don't need much else to go on, Sheriff. Maybe not, but I have an assistant on this case. An assistant? Yes. Gonna wait for a few developments before making the arrest. Wait, but Sheriff, with a murderer on the loose, I don't see why... Don't worry, Rowley. The way I figure it, I'll have a perfect case against this murderer by sometime tomorrow. The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. Meantime, a timely word of warning to you drivers. With summer just around the corner, you'll be driving more and faster. That means that if you want to keep performance up and wear down, your car needs thorough scientific lubrication protection. In short, it needs a signal spring changeover. What's the recipe? Well, first your signal dealer will drain your motor of sludgy winter-worn oil and refill with that amazing new type signal lubricant that actually keeps motor six times cleaner, reduces cylinder wear one-third, signal premium motor oil. Next, he'll limber up the chassis with a signal double-check lubrication. We call it double-check because your signal dealer always checks every point twice to make doubly sure not a single part is ever neglected. And finally, he'll refill the transmission and differential with the proper summer weight lubricant. Man, a car just can't help feeling peppier after a spring tonic like this. So give your car a break this week. Stop by your signal service station for a signal spring changeover. And now back to the Whistler. MUSIC Well, Willard, nothing to do but rest and wait now. It all points to Ralph Parker, doesn't it? You can't understand the sheriff not arresting him right away, but you can't press it too far. They'll add it all up, Willard. Ralph's car hidden in the thicket, the fact that he and Nan quarreled the afternoon before she was found dead in the burning tractor shed, her suitcase indicating she planned the runaway from Ralph, and his feeble story that he was working all evening alone in his photo lab. They'll never believe that, Willard, and he hasn't any real alibi, only a strong motive. Quite different from your position, with Grace and Myra the maid ready to swear you haven't been out of bed for days. But you still find it difficult to sleep, don't you, Willard? Murder doesn't rest easy on the mind. It's nearly three in the morning before you finally doze off, tossing feverishly, anxious and bothered, something irritating you. When you open your eyes, it's almost noon, and someone's knocking on your door. Willard? Willard? Never mind, Mrs. Rowley, I'll go right in. But, Sheriff, this is an imposition. Willard can't know any more about the case. He hasn't been out of his room for a week. I know all about that. Willard, dear, the sheriff wants... Willard. Willard, what is it? Your face. What's happened to your face? Numbly you put your hands to your face, Willard. Then for the first time in your life, you know sharp climactic fear. The real end of your terrible week. Willard! I told you I had an assistant, Rowley. Pretty effective worker, huh? Grace! Grace, don't let him... It's no use, Rowley, it's all over. And, uh, you caught yourself. If you got out of bed a little more often, you'd have known better than to drive that car into the biggest thicket of poison ivy in Douglas County. Whistling Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program, The Whistler. Each Monday at 9. Brought to you by the Signal Oil Company. Marketers of signal gasoline and motor oil and fine quality automotive accessories. And now a word from Signal to all veterans. Congress has designed your National Service life insurance to fit your peacetime needs. Changes have been made in the GI insurance laws offering each individual veteran economic security for the future. Visit your nearest Veterans Administration office for complete details. And remember, if you have dropped your GI policy, it is not too late to reinstate. Music Featured in tonight's story were Joseph Kearns and Margaret Brayton. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen with music by Wilbur Hatch, story by William Engvik, and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. This is Marvin Miller speaking for the Signal Oil Company. Whistling This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. Music
