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. And signal gasoline is tops too, tops in quality. It takes extra quality, you know, 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, Curtain Call. Somehow standing there at the bar, glass in hand, Martin Elliott found himself thinking that even his wife, Julia, had her good points. He looked across the room of the restaurant at her, sitting there alone and in a strange wave of generosity, almost forgave her for the wedding he had to go through, the honeymoon he had to smile through, the two years of marriage he had to live through afterwards. Yes, it had paid off now. He was no longer Martin Elliott, a hopeful juvenile standing hat in hand in front of the desks of a sordid Broadway producer. No, not now. All afternoon, the casual remark he dropped during lunch at Brunelli's had been hustling around the Broadway hangouts like a genie, sitting at a hundred tables, leaning on a thousand bars between noon and six. Until now, as he stood in the pleasant gloom of Raymond's, he was at long last important. Ah, Martin, my boy. Hello Cecil. Let me be the first to- You're the 28th in the last half hour. Congratulations anyway. It's all over the stem, you know. Yes, sir. Hamilton Tevis, the great Tevis himself, is writing a starring vehicle for Broadway's most promising juvenile. Play off, Cecil. And you know what? Your heritry morns for only one reason, my boy. You're looking for just the right character man. And it just so happens that I'm at liberty at the moment. Oh, Martin, for heaven's sake, stop being such a rotten snob and say hello to your secret sorrow. Jesse, darling. Now look here, Martin. Hamilton Tevis always writes an old witch into his comedies. And I mean to get the party with someone's dead body. Give us a little time, Jesse, old girl. Hamilton's only been working on it a few weeks. Hurry him up, my boy. He's your wife's brother, isn't he? Walk right into the Sanctum Sanctorum and tell him he'd better get a move on. After all, Jesse, I have- Skip it, Cecil, skip it. If it works out, we'll get in touch with him. How do you like that? The brush. I'll say. It's nothing new to you, is it, Cecil? Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll get back to Jewett. Will! I'm sorry I left you alone so long, darling. I wasn't alone long, dear. My friend Gordon Tucker's here. Oh, where is he? Getting rid of his hat and coat. He has wonderful news, Martin. He reached Hamilton by phone an hour ago and the contract's all set. Signed? Oh, better yet, it's in the mail. Oh, Julia, darling, did I ever tell you what a wonderful brother you have? Sometimes I think that's why you married me. What, uh, what else did Gordon say? Oh, there might be a picture contract after the play. He's working on it. Oh, maybe the guy's a real agent after all, huh? Just think, darling. Now, you won't have to take that awful stock party offered you in Boston. Yeah. Yeah, get a match, Julia. Uh-huh. Here you are. Oh, thank you. We can go away together now, Martin. All by ourselves. I wired for reservations this morning at that little hotel at Lake Louise and... Oh, wait a minute, honey. Wait a minute. You're not serious. Why not? Oh, I can't run off just now. But, Martin, you promised. I can't help it, darling. You said we'd take two weeks together as soon as you got... But the play, Angel, the play. There'll be a lot of advance publicity and I... That's Gordon's job, Martin. But I've got to be around now, beautiful. That's all there is to it. This is the big chance. Sure. Sure, Martin. And now that I've got it for you, isn't there some other way I can help? Or is there? Now, wait a minute, Julia. Listen to me. Julia! Oh, Lord. Will I do, Mr. Barrymore? Oh. Hello, Gordon. Sit down. Thanks. Caught the last few lines of that scene. Ah, Julia's a saddened sh... I wish times weren't so tough. There was a day once when I only worked for honest heel. Yeah? You, uh, got a match, Gordon? Yeah, sure. And some free advice. Don't kick Julia around too much, Martin. If she talked Ham Tevis into writing that play around you, she could talk him out of it just as easily. Ah, she'd never do that. I'm not so sure. Tell me something, Martin. If Tevis had laughed at you when you made that pitch about the play, how much longer would you have stuck with Julia? Oh, about five minutes. Hmm, maybe I was a little hasty. You are an honest heel. Okay, Gordon, okay. Now, suppose we get down to business, huh? You didn't come here to discuss my moral shortcomings. What about the contract? I made it pretty tough. I want it that way. Does it guarantee that Tevis will write the play? Right. I'll have it in my office tomorrow morning. You know, sometimes I think you almost earn your 10%. Sometimes I wonder if you earn your 90. By the way, what do you want me to do about that Boston job? That's a silly question. Tell him I'm not interested in second leads. Ah, Martin, you're a whole new girl. Well, that's life. Yesterday a bum, today Julia Tevis's husband. Martin! Martin! Julia! Over there, phone booth. Come on. Come on. Excuse me, please. Let me through with it. Come on, get out of my way. Oh, Martin. Julia, darling, what is it? What is it? What's the matter? I was just talking to Julia. She just screamed and collapsed. Bartender, give us a brandy. Martin, I can't believe it. I can't. What is it, Julia? I was calling Hamilton at his cabin. Hamilton? Why? I was so angry and upset. I didn't know what I was doing. Oh, forgive me, Martin. Julia, will you tell me what is wrong? I was going to ask Hamilton to reconsider. About you? Oh, you didn't rate him, Julia. No. No, Martin. I talked to him about it. I talked to him about it. I talked to him about it. I talked to him about it. I talked to him about it. I talked to him about it. I talked to him about it. I talked to him about it. No, Martin, I talked to a doctor. A doctor? He said, my brother's dead, Martin. Hamilton's dead. With the prologue of Curtain Call, the Signal Oil Company is bringing you another strange story by the Whistler. But now, since most of you will be driving somewhere over this coming Labor Day weekend, I'd like to pass along a tip for you motorists. Wherever you travel throughout the Pacific Coast states, from Canada to Mexico, you'll discover that Signal is known as the go-farther gasoline. Now, naturally, we're mighty proud of that reputation. But even more so, we're proud of what makes Signal's famous mileage possible. The extra efficiency Signal Gasoline gets from your motor. That also means more thrilling, knock-free power for your car, more driving pleasure for you. Yes, that's right. Performance is the result of the same features a gasoline must have to give you extra mileage. That's why Signal says, to be sure you're choosing the gasoline that stops in quality, there are just two things to remember. One, in gasoline it takes extra quality to go farther, and two, Signal is the famous go-farther gasoline. Now, back to the Whistler. Yes, Martin, Hamilton Tevis is dead, and the play he was going to write for you, the one thing that distinguished you from a thousand other aspiring juveniles, the thing that made success a matter of months instead of years, that's dead too. A heart attack, the doctor said, and that's the thing you're mourning at Hamilton Tevis's funeral. Not the man, Martin, you're in mourning for your career. Oh, Martin, darling, I need you so much now. I know, Julia, I know. Yes, Martin, you've thought a lot about Julia. She looks her age in black, doesn't she? But you're much too good an actor to give Julia the slightest hint of how you really feel, Martin. She has no way of knowing, of course, that the minute Hamilton Tevis died, you made a decision. Late that night, you tucked Julia into bed with extra tenderness, gently closed the door to a room, take the suitcase you'd already packed out of the closet, and just before leaving, you lay a note on the mantle of the living room. Dear Julia, when you read this, please don't phone or write. Please try to understand. I know what I'm doing is best for us both. I'm taking that job in Boston. Goodbye, dear. Bye. And two hours later, you're walking toward the door of your compartment on a night train to Boston. Right here, sir, compartment C. Oh, that's fine. What are they, uh? Thank you, sir. The bill's right handy if you want any. Okay, okay. Uh, at the wrong fidget hole, founder? Well, this is compartment C, isn't it? Thought it was B. I'm afraid not. The porter just took... Well, I'll be. Well, I'm sorry, mister. I'm supposed to be next door. Here, let me help you store those bags. Oh, no, never mind. Why, it's no bother at all. Now, there. That ought to do it. Hardy's the name. Howard Hardy. Didn't catch yours. Uh, Martin Elliott. Pleased to meet you. You a traveling man? That's my line, you know. Plumbing, Republic pipe and fittings. Maybe you've heard of us? No, no. Head office in Boston. You a Bostonian? No, New York. You got a match, Hardy? Well, here. Take my lighter. You said you're a traveling man? I didn't say. I'm an actor. An actor? Wait a minute. Elliott. Well, you're the guy. Why, I've just been reading about you in the morning paper here. Say, too bad about your brother-in-law. Yeah, yeah, look, I've just come from his funeral, Mr. Hardy. I'm very tired. If you don't mind... Too bad. I'm sure it'll be a great play. Play? What do you mean? The one terrorist finished just before he died. Well, you won't have to worry about the box office. My wife and I will be there with the bells on. Good night, Mr. Elliott. See you for breakfast in the morning, huh? Yeah, fine. Just fine. It's all there, Martin. In the theatrical section of the morning paper, Mr. Hardy left on the seat of your compartment. Shortly before the Tevis funeral today, Agent Gordon Tucker revealed that a rough draft of the playwright's new comedy to star Martin Elliott had turned up in his personal effects. Production would probably be arranged this fall as scheduled through Tevis' sister, Julia Elliott. You stand there looking dumbly at the paper, peeling the wheels under your feet, and then... Mount Vernon! This is Mount Vernon! As the wheels of the train slow to a stop, your brain is spinning faster and faster, raging at Gordon Tucker, sure now that he kept the news of the play from you on purpose, that he'd finally decided his 10% wasn't enough. There's only one thought in your mind now. To get through to Gordon and find out what's at the bottom of it. You fumble for a coin, walk into the phone booth on the station platform, drum your fingers impatiently while you wait for the connection. Brexford Arms? This is Martin Elliott. I want to speak to Gordon Tucker, please. I'll see if he's in. Local for New York City leaving on track six. Local for New York on track six. Look, Miss, hurry it up, will you? I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Tucker isn't in. But you're not thinking of Tucker, Martin. As the rage dies down, you remember Julia asleep, the note on the mantle. Julia's going to produce the play now, Martin. If you can get back in time, if you can destroy that note, you slowly hang up the phone and open the door. Local for New York City leaving on track six. Then you hurry across the platform to the New York local. No time to worry about the other train and your baggage on it. Fortunately, you're barely out of the city, and if you're lucky, you can be back at your apartment in an hour. It's two in the morning when you slip into the darkness of the living room. Move silently to the mantle. Grope for that all-important note. And then as your hands fumble against the cold stone... Julia. Hello, Martin. You let me know when you go out. I thought you were asleep. Everything's all right, Julia. Martin. Yeah. Have you a match? No, I haven't. Here, take this. Thank you. I want to burn something. But that's just a note I left here. Really? I haven't read it, Martin. Oh? Well, there's nothing in it. It just said that I was going over to... Never mind, Martin. See? All burned up. Goodbye, Martin. Now look here, darling. We... This morning, Martin, you left your suitcase in the hall closet all packed. Of course I wanted to surprise you about going away together. The suitcase isn't there now, Martin. But I can explain, darling. And who told you about the rough draft of Hamilton's play? Isn't that what brought you back? Wait a minute. How did you find out, Martin? You mean you knew about it all the time? Gordon told me. You didn't say anything. Would it have made a difference if I had? Julia! There's no use shouting at me, Martin. Julia, you knew. You knew and you didn't tell me. You just let me... Run out? Yes, Martin. I was... You were like me, Martin. The two of you. You and Gordon making a fool of me, cutting me down. Stop. Trying to ruin me. No, Martin. Letting me come crawling back so you could kick me like a runaway dog. Martin, let me go. You poor, sick, miserable old... All right, Julia. I'm sorry I let my temper go. I shouldn't have done that. Here. Let me help you up. Julia. Julia! You didn't mean to do it, did you, Martin? No. But that doesn't change anything. Julia is dead. Lying at your feet where her head struck the heavy andions by the fireplace. It's like a dream, isn't it, Martin? But as you stand there shivering, your brain awakens from the dream. It begins to tell you that this is the way out. This is what you really wanted to do all the time. Only you didn't have the courage. The play will be yours now, won't it, Martin? Because you're Julia's heir, just as she was Hamilton's heir. So now all you have to do is get away from the apartment. Prove somewhere that you haven't been back since this morning. And then you remember, Martin, your baggage on the train to Boston. If you could be on that train miles from New York, you couldn't possibly be linked to the murder. Northern Airlines flight three, now loading at East Gate. Well, that's my flight. You in a hurry, mister? I said I in a hurry. Well, usually when folks travel by air. Yeah, yeah, I know. Well, it's just that you look like an old-timer there, travel, like it might be routine stuff, you know? Oh, well, yes. As a matter of fact, I do more flying for my company than any ten salesmen I've got. Oh, salesmen, huh? Uh-huh. How'd you like to sell something? Well, I'm afraid I don't know what to... Your seat. Your seat on the plane. For a fare plus $50. What? Oh, well, now look, it isn't that tough to get on a plane anymore. Well, don't you see, the flight is so loud, it's the last one to Greenbrier until tomorrow, and I just have to get there. I... well, I want to surprise my wife. Oh. Now, how about it, mister? This trip is just routine to you, and $50 extra to spend here in town. Mister, you've got yourself a deal. There's nobody I want to surprise that much. Oh, that's... well, that's well. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I'll meet me in Greenbrier right on time. Oh! Oh! Yes, yes. Seven o'clock. We'll be coming into Boston soon, sir. Wake up, sir. Oh, oh, thanks, Port. I'll get dressed right away. Oh, taxi. Yes, sir? The Hawthorne Theatre, please. Hawthorne Theatre, yes, sir. Well, Martin, it's working perfectly, isn't it? You were never missed from the train. The porter will remember calling you in the morning. You even had breakfast with the talkative Mr. Hardy. And now, back at the theatre, you're just slipping into your rehearsal costume when the tragic news comes to you from New York. What? My wife murdered? Sorry to have to break it to you over the phone, Mr. Elliott, but we wanted to reach you right away. Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course, Lieutenant, but... such a shock. Yes, I know. Tell me, Mr. Elliott, on your way up there, you got off the train at Mount Vernon. You made a phone call. I checked with the switchboard operator at Gordon Tucker's apartment. Yeah, yeah, of course, I made a call. And then got back on the train, right? Of course. All right, I hope you can prove that. That's all for now, Mr. Elliott, but I think you'd better get back here to New York. I'll leave right away. I... I want to be there, Lieutenant. I... I wouldn't be worth anything here. Not after this. MUSIC The most difficult role is ahead of you now, isn't it, Martin? But you're confident that you can play it successfully. Confident that they won't suspect you. That no matter what questions the police lieutenant asks, you will have the answer. Back at the apartment, you square your shoulders before entering. Take a deep breath, the same as you do before an entrance to any scene. And then you step inside. Marty. Well, hello, Gordon. They got in touch with me. I came right over. He's here, Lieutenant. Huh? Oh, hello, Mr. Elliott. Lieutenant. My name is McElroy. Sit down, Mr. Elliott. Marty, on some things the lieutenant can't figure you out, I said I'd try. Oh? Just how am I supposed to express my appreciation, Gordon? I get this straight, Marty. I don't want anything. All I want to do is give you a nice white reputation. Now, look. Did you or did you not kill Julia? I certainly did not. I say it and I mean it. Okay, Marty. All right, Lieutenant. Mm-hmm. Let's just step in the other room here, shall we? Wait a minute. Isn't that where Julia was? Oh, do I have to go in there? It's only the living room now, Mr. Elliott. And there's somebody who ought to know you in here. Remember him, Marty? Oh, the porter on the train, sure. I thought you'd need a good witness, Marty. I had the lieutenant locate him for us. Oh, that's fine. Thanks, Gordon. All right, save it. Williams. Yes, sir? This is Mr. Elliott. He was on your train last night. But what about this morning? Do you remember seeing him? Why, uh, I don't know, sir. What of course you do. You woke me up. You called me as we were coming into Boston. I wake so many people up, Miss Elliott. I don't know. You could have been on the train. But I can't lie, sir. You couldn't really prove it by me. Well, that's right. I'll get it. Look, you've got to remember. I told you I'd get dressed right away. Don't you remember? I came out later and I went into the dining car. I had breakfast with another passenger. I didn't see you, Miss Elliott. It might be, but I didn't see you. Oh, the man's name was Hardy. Oh, Lord, I can probably never locate him now. Hardy! What in the world? Elliott! Ha-ha! Surprised to see me, old man. Didn't think I'd take you up on that offer to drop in, eh? Oh, am I ever glad that you did. You, uh, you two were on the train to Boston together? Sure. I should say so. Uh, you know, what is it? Something wrong, Elliott? Oh, no, no. No, nothing is wrong. Just tell him we were on that train, Hardy. Tell him. All right, wait a minute. You've got identification, Mr. Hardy? Identification? Of course. Here. Driver's license, road membership. And you were on that train? Of course. At least three people on that train who knew me. And Elliott was aboard, too. We talked last night, had breakfast together this morning. You bet we were on that train. I could prove it to anybody. Just proving it to the lieutenant here is enough, Hardy. Thanks. Thanks a lot. The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. But now, since many of you will be making the acquaintance of new service station operators while you're away on your Labor Day trip, I'd like to pass along to you tonight the experience of another driver who recently did just that. I refer to Mr. D.W. Wheeler of Los Angeles, who writes, After listening to one of your broadcasts, I decided to try some signal gasoline. The station I drove into was in Maywood, California, and is owned by Mr. Lloyd Rader. He not only gave me the gasoline, but without my asking for it, Mr. Rader also checked the water, oil, tires, battery, and washed the car windows. Everything was done with such apparent desire to please that I'd like to say this. If all signal dealers are as courteous as Mr. Rader, and all signal products are as good as signal gasoline, then signal stations should multiply a great deal. Well, to Mr. Wheeler, I want to express our thanks for those kind words. And to the rest of you, I'd like to explain. There's a reason why you find more conscientious service at signal stations. You see, because signal dealers are in business for themselves, they have a personal reason for giving you the kind of service that will keep your car happy and keep you a satisfied signal customer. For the best way to discover what I mean, plan now to make signal stations your headquarters for gasoline, motor oil, and other automotive services and accessories while you're away on your Labor Day trip. And now, back to the Whistler. Music Well, Martin, it was a breathless, frightening moment, wasn't it, when the water failed to recognize you? Couldn't remember for sure if you were on that night train to Boston. It almost collapsed your careful plan, made useless your desperate flight to intercept the train at Greenbrier after murdering Julia. Though Lieutenant McElroy was staring at you accusingly, Martin, the whole thing almost mirrored in his eyes as he thought it out. And he'd have broken you down for sure if it wasn't for the sudden appearance of a man you never thought you'd see again, Hardy, the talkative salesman, the man you met on the train last night and had breakfast with this morning. He pulled you out of it, didn't he, Martin? And now you're thankful that he talks so much, for everything he's saying makes it safe for you as you stand there in the apartment listening to him with Gordon and Lieutenant McElroy. Yes, sir, I could prove it to anybody. I got into his compartment by mistake, didn't I, Elliot? That's how we met, Lieutenant. Introduced ourselves. I see. And then he wanted a light for his cigarette. Well, I guess we don't have to have all the details. You've been very kind, Mr. Hardy. Yes, yes, and I hope you're all satisfied, gentlemen. That's right, Elliot. Give it to him, old man. Killed your wife. What a very idea. We all make mistakes, Mr. Hardy. You made a big one, Lieutenant, suspecting my friend Elliot. Like I said, I could prove it to anyone he was on the train with me. I think you have already. Well, if there's any doubt about it, I'll tell you what brought me here. They seem to be pretty well convinced. Remember I said he wanted a light? Well, I gave him one. I lent him my cigarette lighter. That one right there on the mantle. He carried it off with him. By mistake, of course. Wait a minute. Well, $100 that lighter. Company gave it to me. Cop's salesman of the year. Wouldn't want to lose it. That's why I came after it. Well, that clear everything up. It certainly does. Doesn't it, Martin? Well, I... Yeah. Yeah, Lieutenant, I guess it does. However, I'm afraid we can't return your lighter right away, Mr. Hardy. You see, it's a very important piece of evidence of murder. Your lighter was found right beside Mrs. Elliot's body. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program, The Whistler. Each Wednesday at this same time, brought to you by the Signal Oil Company, marketers of signal gasoline and motor oil and fine quality automotive accessories. Signal has asked me to remind you to get the most driving pleasure, drive at sensible speed, be courteous, and obey traffic regulations. It may save a life, possibly your own. Featured in tonight's story were Tony Barrett and Virginia Gregg. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen with story by Robert Eisenbach and Jackson Gillis, music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. This is Marvin Miller speaking.
