The signal oil program, the Whistler. That whistle is your signal for the signal oil program, the Whistler. That whistle is your signal for 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 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 give you extra mileage. And signal is the famous go-farther gasoline. So look for the signal circle sign in yellow and black that identifies friendly dealer-owned signal service stations from Canada to Mexico. And now the Whistler's strange story. Eighteen Bowdoin Lane. Like everything else in Edgar Merkel's life, the decision to take the cottage at Cape Defiance for the summer was carefully thought out in advance. Spring had a great deal to do with it, of course. It seemed that each of the fourteen springs he'd spent teaching penmanship at Grosvenor Academy had been a little harder to bear than the one before it. The warmth and greenness and beauty outside pointing up the drabness around him, his helpless, hopeless longing for excitement and adventure and escape. For in spite of the shabby tweed suit, the weak chin, the squinting nearsighted eyes, Edgar Merkel was a romanticist, an imaginative of great and wondrous things. A knight of the round table wrapped up in a wheezing little body and delivered twelve centuries too late. But he decided now it was going to be different this spring. And that, of course, is what lay behind his decision to take the cottage at Cape Defiance. Robinson Realty Company, Robinson speaking. This is Mr. Merkel. M-E-R-K-L-E. I am calling about the cottage at Cape Defiance, Mr. Robinson. Oh yes, Mr. Merkel. I spoke to the owner this morning. You can have it on the fifteenth. I see. I told him it might be a little early for you, that your school semester wasn't over until the end of the month. Oh, that'll be quite all right, Mr. Robinson. I plan to send my wife down for a while beforehand. Oh good. The rent will be eighty a month. That includes something for the caretaker, of course. Caretaker? Well, you know, the fellow who keeps an eye on things around there. His name's Hiram something or other. Oh, of course. Now, let me make sure of that address. Eighteen Bowdoin late. Eighteen Bowdoin Lane. Thank you, I've got it down. Edgar dear, I don't want to seem unreasonable, but I think this thing is getting out of hand. Why do you say that, Edith? This whole business of summer on the Cape, I think we're being quite extravagant. Oh, eighty a month is very reasonable. But why do we have to hire a maid on top of that? It's very simple, dear. I want it to be a vacation for you, too. It's only fair. Well, I'm not so sure. I talked to Freddy this afternoon. Edith, why must you always discuss these things with your brother? When it involves my money, Edgar, I have a right to talk to anyone I choose. Freddy can't understand it at all. He says it doesn't make sense. Now, why, after spending fourteen summer vacations at home, do you suddenly decide on a seashore cottage with a maid? Edith, if I told you, your money isn't involved at all. Why, I wouldn't believe it. It's true. I've been very careful this past year, setting aside a little each month out of my salary. Edgar, you... I mean, you're paying for it? Why not? I owe it to you, my dear. With that heart of yours, I think you need a rest more than I do. Why, Edgar, I... I don't know what to say. Then don't say it. Now, I think you better start getting your things together. We're due down there, day after tomorrow. And what about this maid? Well, I interviewed several, decided on a young girl named Flora. She'll be here tomorrow evening and drive down to the Cape with us. All right? I suppose, but I still think it's terribly extravagant. But it's not extravagant at all, is it, Edgar? It's a kind of investment. And like all good investments, there's a promise of reward. Part of the investment is Flora, of course. Edith doesn't know it, but the decision to take the cottage on the Cape was made six months ago, when you first met Flora and decided after careful investigation that she was ideal. A mousy, unattractive little being who came to idolize you in her own peculiar way. You're busy at your desk when Flora arrives the next evening. You listen to Edith quizzing her in the hallway and then sit up expectantly as Edith finally comes in. Flora's a nice girl, Edgar. I'll admit, I'm glad you engaged her. I'm afraid I'm in for one of my spells. My heart's beating fit to burst. Oh, sit down by the desk, dear. Yes. Why, your hand is wet with perspiration. Of course it is. I do hope there's a good heart specialist on the Cape. I've already checked it. There's an excellent one, a Dr. Gordon. He's taking a vacation nearby. Edgar, what in the world are you doing with this map? Oh, it's not really a map, my dear. It's a chart of the waters around the Cape, put out by the Coast and Geodetic Survey. It shows the direction and velocity of the tides and currents. Since when have you been interested in ocean currents? Oh, it's a fascinating subject, Edith. I've calculated that anyone unfortunate enough to be swept out of the cove there will turn up for, oh, ten days, or maybe two weeks. Sounds very unpleasant, Edgar. What's in this package? Something I thought you'd need. I picked it up today. Wow, Edgar, I don't know what's gotten into you lately. You're so thoughtful and... Oh, stationary. Yes, you'll be wanting to write, and oh, oh dear me, there's a shower coming up. I wonder if it's the one forecast for tomorrow. Huh, it's glossy too. You know I hate glossy paper, Edgar, and it isn't enough to last me a week. Oh, you must be mistaken, dear. It says on the box. I can see what it says, but you've been cheated. Now, close that window. The stationary's blowing all over the floor. Oh, I'm sorry, dear. Help me pick it up. No, you'd better do it while I run upstairs and close the other windows before it rains. How could you be so clumsy? Stupid nagging millstone. Edgar, Martha, I don't like this cottage or anything else about Cape Defiance. Listen to that. The storm's going to break any minute. Who are you writing to, dear? Oh, my dear, I'm telling you what a wonderful view I have from the desk window with a street sign stuck right in front of it. Oh, come now, idiot. It's not as bad as all that. What happened to Flora? Oh, she's gone to the grocery store. Why? I wanted to mail this letter for me. Well, we can mail it on the way, dear. On the way? Have you forgotten our walk? Walk? Good heavens, Edgar. It'll be pouring in a minute. Oh, it's only a short way to the boathouse. I have something down there you'll want to see. Oh, can it wait until tomorrow? No, we'd better leave right away, dear. Come now. It'll only take us a few minutes. You seem so strange lately, Edgar. What's all this business about a surprise? I don't see why... Excuse me, dear. Hiram? Yes, Mr. Merkle? Would you come here a minute? This is the man who looks after the cottages. I want you to meet him. Sorry, Mr. Merkle. I didn't recognize you. You're cold. I'm quite nearsighted, you know. Of course. Hiram, I want you to meet my wife. Oh, howdy, Miss Merkle. We're going to take a walk down to the boathouse and back. Is there a mailbox around? I have a letter here. Right down the corner, ma'am. Better get a move on you, though. Them black clouds, they're sure rolling up. I'd like a word with you before I leave. Can you finish clipping that hedge before the storm? Not if I stand round here talking. Glad to have met you, ma'am. See you when you get back. Come, my dear. Hiram's right. We don't have much time. Here we are. Careful, dear. Goodness, it's so dark. Wooden planking runs around the sides of the boathouse, but be careful. It's all water in the middle. I wish you'd tell me what's on your mind. I don't like it here at all. The far end is open to the cove, you see. They used to run the launch right in here. Is the water that deep? Oh, my goodness, yes. With a very treacherous undertow. See, at this very moment, the eptide is sweeping out to the cove. Eight miles an hour, to be exact. I can hardly see a thing, Edgar. Let's go back. But what about my surprise, Edgar? I don't care about it now. What is it, Edgar? A boat or something? Most interesting surprises in life are intangible, Edith. Edgar, my dear, if I didn't know you better... Oh, you're shivering, my dear. Here, let's put that coat on, shall we? Thrown around your shoulders that way. Oh, thank you, Edgar. Now, let's see. Edgar! What are you... Edgar! Let go of me! Not this time, Edith. Not this time! No! Edgar, help me! I can't swim! Do you think I'd overlook that detail, my dear? With the prologue of eighteen Bowdoin lanes, the Signal Oil Company brings you another strange story by the Whistler. But now a question for you drivers. In gasoline, which do you consider more important, mileage or performance? Well, don't bother to answer that question, because mileage is the result of the same features a gasoline must have to give you superior performance. You see, to put that thrilling knock-free power back of your accelerator, signal gasoline must help your motor run more efficiently. And when your motor runs more efficiently, naturally you get better mileage. That's why Signal says, in gasoline it takes extra quality to go farther. And that's why we're so proud of the fact that Signal is the famous go-farther gasoline. Now, back to the Whistler. Yes, Edgar, a lot of thought went into your investment in the cottage at Cape Defiance, the summer vacation you planned for Edith. But outside of the months you spent carefully cultivating flora was simple, a few pennies for a weather forecast and a set of coastal tide maps, eighty dollars in advance on the cottage, a cheap box of glossy stationery. That's all. And as you watched the black water swirl out into the cold, you know it was a wise investment. Yes, you're free now, Edgar. There's time and money and a wide horizon ahead of you. And most important of all, Edith is gone, lost in the black water back in the boathouse. Over here, Flora. Edgar, Edgar, are you all right? Fine, my dear. I thought I heard a call out. Did you do it? Please, Flora. Mrs. Merkel met with an unfortunate accident. That's all. They'd believe that, Edgar. The Coast Guard and all. Why don't we just tell them that? They'd never suspect... Flora, you're forgetting. There's a brother, Freddy. But Edgar... If Freddy thought it happened while I was here, well, we simply couldn't get away with it. You know best, Edgar. I think so, my dear. It has to be the way we planned. Edgar, when this is all over, we'll get married, won't we, and travel around the world like you said? You're the only person who ever treated me like a human being, Edgar. I'll do anything you want me to. Poor little Flora. Now, put Mrs. Merkel's coat over your shoulders. We've got to walk back to the house. But, Hiram... Hiram's more near-sighted than I am. He saw my wife's coat come down. I want him to see her coat go back with me. All right. You needn't worry. He's working on the other side of the house. He couldn't have seen you come down, my dear. Oh, no. It's just that... Don't be afraid, Flora. Come along now. You must end about this week. Oh, yes, Edgar. I've gone over and over in my mind. See that the letters are mailed to me in proper order. Uh-huh. And be friendly with Hiram. Uh-huh. You know, talk about Mrs. Merkel with him, and once in a while, let him see her moving about the house. Oh, I understand, Edgar. I'll wear a coat and stand with my back to the window. Fine. We'll pass Hiram soon now. Oh, keep the coat pushed out from you a bit, Flora, with your arms. Mrs. Merkel is... was somewhat stouter than you, my dear. Well, you got Mrs. Merkel inside just in time. Yes, indeed, Hiram. I hope this weather don't frighten her. It won't. She's tired, though. Going to lie down. Uh, Hiram, I want you and Flora to keep an eye on her while I'm away. Say, that's right. You've got to go back to town. Only long enough to conduct my final examinations. Well, you don't have to worry, then. I'll be right around. Of course. Uh, Mrs. Merkel will probably be writing me. I know you'll take the letters into the village. Sure thing. You just go right ahead, Mr. Merkel, and don't think about a thing. Another thing! But there are things to think about, aren't there, Edgar? Yes. The house back in the city is all yours now. But you can't relax in it, not yet. Not until these extra days of life you've created for Eden are over. The forged letters from the Cape arrive on schedule. Flora is doing very well. Almost as well as you did in writing them. Almost, but not quite, Edgar. Your fourteen years teaching penmanship, added to your years with Edith, make the letters little masterpieces of accuracy. The style is there to perfection, and every line is what she herself would have written. All the complaining, the fears about her health, everything. You pen your reply to each in turn, consoling and dutiful. It's working smoothly until the sixth day, Edgar, the day before the final letter is due. That evening brings a surprise to your door. Freddie! That's right, Edgar, you're getting brighter. Well, do I stand outside all night? No, no, come in, Freddie. I'm sort of busy, you know, going over exam papers. I know, same old rut. Edith is not home. No, she's at the cove. I got a letter from her. Oh, yes, she wrote you the day we arrived. Not only wrote, Edgar, but invited me down. I'll stay over and we'll drive down together in the morning, okay? All right, Freddie. Now, how about a drink? Do you have something in the house? Just some cherry. Cherry's fine, Edgar. I'll get it right away. Yes, Edgar, you get the cherry right away. Because it's the only thing that can prevent Freddie from insisting on an early start in the morning. And that can't happen, can it, Edgar? Not with the postman arriving around ten with Edith's last letter, the one that's so very important. You'll find some sleeping powders in the medicine cabinet. Manage to drop them into the wine glass without arousing Freddie's suspicion. A few hours later, he's asleep in your room. He remains asleep until very late the next morning. In fact, he's just sitting up in bed when you come in with the letter. Freddie, this letter is for Edith. What of it? She's not herself. There's something wrong, Freddie. She... Oh, no. What is it? Let me see that. She's threatening to kill herself. Suicide? Edith? Well, this is crazy. Well, there are so many things she could do down there, that rugged thing. Good Lord, Edgar, you don't think she means this. Get dressed, Freddie. We've got to get down there right away. I just can't see her doing anything like that. Please, Freddie. If anything happened, I'd never forgive myself. That's right, Sheriff. Flora and I seen her just before breakfast. All right, I am. Is that right, Flora? Oh, yes. She went for a walk. Poor Edith. What about your men, Sheriff? Any luck? They're dragging the cove. But the undertow down there at Ebb Tides might be strong. Peculiar currents along this coast, you know. Bodies swept out wouldn't be washed ashore for at least ten, maybe fourteen days. You all agree she was mighty low in spirit, Jim? Well, she sent me several other letters besides the suicide note. I'll show them to you. Good, I want to see them. So will I. Oh, not that I mistrust you, Edgar. It's just that there are some things I don't understand. But you're not worried about Freddie, are you, Edgar? He's smart, suspicious, but you're prepared for that. The next day you give the letters to the sheriff, confident that there'll be no questions raised by his experts. It's twelve days later when the discovery of Edith's body washed onto the beach brings you back to Cape Defiance and the cottage in Bowdoin Lane. Freddie is talking to the sheriff in the living room when you arrive. I don't give a hang what the hired man says, or that girl either. She could be working with Edgar. Maybe they both are. That's a serious charge, Mr. Excuse me. Oh, howdy, Mr. Merkel. Glad you're here. Your brother-in-law has a theory. You bet I have. I don't think Edith committed suicide, Edgar. I think you killed her. Well, that's interesting. Don't smile, Mr. Merkel. He's not joking. But isn't it a little ridiculous under the circumstances? I haven't seen Edith since the day I brought her down here. I know. I checked her. He got around it some way. I tell you. What about the letters? My handwriting experts... Letters? Don't be an idiot. He's a handwriting expert himself. He could write letters from George Washington. I want to see those letters, Sheriff. Take it easy. I've got them right here. And what did the experts say? Frankly, they don't agree. One says they're definitely your wives, and the others, sure they aren't. Oh, Sheriff, I tell you, the whole thing's perfectly clear. Anyone can figure... Really, Sheriff? I mean, at a time like this, must I be subjected to... Now wait, Mr. Merkel. If your brother-in-law here has a theory, it's not going to hurt us to listen to it, is it? Well, I... Naturally, he doesn't want to hear it. But I can give it to you in a nutshell. All right. I'm listening. Okay, get this. Edgar brings Edith out here and pushes her into the water. He has the tides all figured in advance. But that's not all. He writes the letters to himself in her handwriting and has someone mail them. That makes us think Edith was still alive after he got back to the city. He's got a perfect alibi. You see how simple it is. Oh. Well, Mr. Merkel, what do you say to that? I... Sheriff, I don't think it even deserves an answer. I do. It's an interesting theory. It's clever. Thank you, Sheriff. And it fits all the facts. You bet it does. Why, I... Except for one detail. But... what? A kind of detail all amateur meddlers like you overlook, Freddy. You see, we not only had those letters checked for handwriting, we also had them checked for fingerprints. And? And that knocks your theory right into a cocked hat. Mrs. Merkel's fingerprints are all over every one of those letters. But I tell you... You've told me enough. Now, if I were you, I'd offer Mr. Merkel an apology. Thank you, Sheriff. You don't know how much your faith means to me. The Whistler will return in just a moment with the strange ending to tonight's story. Meantime, I have some surprising facts for you drivers who wonder whether the kind of oil you choose for your motor really makes any difference in the way your car runs. In an actual road test, two identical cars were run over 70,000 miles, one using today's finest straight motor oil, the other using Signal Premium motor oil, the new type lubricant that combines 100% pure paraffin base with five scientific compounds. When these motors were torn down for inspection, the one using Signal Premium oil had only one-sixth as much carbon deposit and one-third less cylinder wear. And what does this mean to you? Well, less carbon means that your motor runs quieter, smoother, and less cylinder wear means more power. Good reason, I'd say, for making your next oil change a change to Signal Premium motor oil. It's your guarantee of a sweeter running motor. And now back to the Whistler. Music So every investment involves a risk, Edgar. But the cold, clear thinking behind your investment in the murder of your wife at Cape Defiance reduced the risk to almost nothing. Attention to detail is what did it. Little details like buying a gift of glossy stationery and then dropping it on the floor so your wife's fingerprints would appear on every sheet. You're quite proud of yourself, aren't you, Edgar? And there is an irrepressible glow of triumph in your face as you watch Freddy sitting in the corner, pouring over the letters, you so carefully prepared just before you killed her. The sheriff is leaning against the desk by the window, watching him, too. Of course, I'll want those letters, Sheriff. They mean a great deal to me. I reckon they do. No reason why you can't have them when your brother-in-law is through reading them. They were the last thing she wrote, sitting right here by the window. Yep. Hired man said he saw her here a couple of times while he was working outside. I suppose I'll always have a special feeling about Cape Defiance. Poor Edith, in her state of mind, sitting here by this window, looking out there at that lonely cape. I remember how it annoyed her, that... What's the matter, Mr. Merkel? Something wrong out there? No, no, it's nothing. A shock, you know. Yes, Edgar. What's wrong? Nothing at all, Freddy. No? What about that view, Edgar? You didn't spend much time looking out this window, did you? Please, Freddy, I... Or was it just that you had other things to think about? Like what was going to happen after you killed Edith. What if that dumb little maid would stand up on the grilling by the sheriff? And the letters. Oh, no, no, that was one part of it you were sure of. What are you driving at this time? I was watching Edgar, the way he jumped there at the window. Go ahead, Edgar. Tell him what you saw. Nothing. I didn't see anything. Don't tell me. It was the street sign, wasn't it? Quite a shock, eh? I don't know. I... But you should have known, Edgar. Here you are, sheriff. Here's the only letter Edith actually wrote, sent to me the day she arrived. Incidentally, that was the day she died, wasn't it, Edgar? Look here on the back of her letter to me. 18 Bowdoin Lane. How's it spelled? B-O-W-D-O-I-N. Yes, the correct spelling. The way it is on that sign out there. Now, Edgar, maybe you can tell us why it is you spelled B-O-W-D-E-N on every one of the letters Edith is supposed to have written to you. Would she have written it that way, sitting at the desk here with B-O-W-D-O-I-N on the street sign staring her in the face? Or maybe you'd better tell us how you wrote those letters, eh? B-O-W-D-O-I-N B-O-W-D-O-I-N Let that whistle be your signal for the Signal Oil Program, The Whistler. Each Monday at 8. Brought to you by the Signal Oil Company. Marketers of signal gasoline and motor oil and fine quality automotive accessories. The signal has asked me to remind you to get the most driving pleasure, drive at sensible speeds, be courteous, and obey traffic regulations. It may save a life, possibly your own. Featured in tonight's story were Don Morrison and Martha Wentworth. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen with music by Wilbur Hatch, and by Jack Kelsey, and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. This is Marvin Miller speaking for the Signal Oil Company. NBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
