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. But first, we want to thank you Whistler fans for your loyalty that has now put the Whistler into top place among all programs broadcast to the Pacific Coast. Yes, according to the latest Pacific Coast Hooper ratings, the Whistler has more listeners than any other program, barring none. Well, friends, you can't imagine how much this good news thrills us. With this tribute from you, the signal oil company and those of us who helped produce the Whistler can't help being inspired to bring you ever better stories that will keep the Whistler your favorite program. And now the Whistler's strange story, the bridge on Black Mountain. Delbert's mind wasn't on his work, but then it really didn't have to be as assistant to the curator of the Prescott Museum. He knew his field. He'd conducted this lecture so many times during the past 15 years that it was automatic, like the chimes on an intricate Swiss clock. At three o'clock, a lever clicked over somewhere in his mind. There were a few preliminary buzzes and the chimes began. They weren't really chimes, of course. They were Delbert's comments to the visitors assembled in the museum's tiny lecture room. Thanks so much for the musket and the pilgrim room. And now here we have samples from the Indian exhibit, another gracious endowment of the National Historical Institute, contained here as the finest collection of arrowheads in the entire city. The Egyptian exhibits came next, then the Aztec and Maya relics, followed immediately by the Incas, Irocanians and Patagonians. But Delbert's mind was elsewhere. As he talked and looked at his audience, he was in a kind of daydream. There was beautiful music. There was a dance floor surrounded by tables with waiters in starched white jackets. And across from him, she was sitting, almost ethereal in a filmy, organdy dress. This is so thrilling, Delbert. I never dreamed anything could be so wonderful. It's shabby, Miss Francis, compared to you. Please, Delbert, not Miss Francis anymore. Louise. Louise. Oh, I'm so proud of you, Delbert. Oh, it was nothing, nothing at all. You're curator now, curator of the Prescott Museum. And more than that, Louise, I'm free now, free to say something that's been on my mind ever since the day I first laid eyes on her. Oh, Delbert. I love you, Louise, above anything else in life. I've hoped, I've dreamed that someday, somehow... You don't have to say it, Delbert. Will you? Would you? Yes, Delbert. Yes. And the daydream is as automatic as the lecture, Delbert. The dream that someday you'll be curator. That someday Miss Francis will look upon you as somebody. It's been that way ever since the day she came to work as secretary to the curator, Dr. Prescott. And as you drone on... These are samples of arrowheads from Dr. Prescott's own collection, the finest in the state. Notice, please, the method of chipping, the pattern... Mr. Reed. Oh, excuse me a moment. Louise, was there something? Louise. Oh, I mean, I mean Miss Francis, I'm sorry. Mr. Reed, I didn't know you cared. Oh, it's nothing at all. Sure now? Yes, of course. Too bad. Some girls have all the luck. I'm sorry I interrupted your lecture, Mr. Reed, but there's something you ought to know. Yes? There's a gentleman here to see Dr. Prescott. Oh, did you tell him Dr. Prescott's on his vacation? I did, but that didn't satisfy him. He still wants to see Dr. Prescott. But he's a hundred miles from here, Miss Francis, up at his fishing lodge at Black Mountains. It's impossible. Well, that's just what I said, but he still insists. Who is he? Gorman. Mr. Carl Gorman of the National Historical Institute. Good heavens. I thought I'd better ask Frank Spiegel to drive up to Dr. Prescott's cabin and bring him back. That's a good idea. The doctor doesn't have a telephone. And Mr. Gorman is pretty impatient. He wants me to haul out the papers. Papers? He says he's going over them with Dr. Prescott. What papers, Miss Francis? Oh, attendance records, receipts and expenditures, the figures on the loan exhibits and shipping and repair charges. What concern is that of his? Well, I guess he figures the Institute is footing the bills. They have a right to... Well, yes, yes, of course. I'd better talk to Mr. Gorman by all means. You can't. He's gone. Be back tomorrow. Oh, I see, I see. Miss Francis, forget about asking Spiegel to run up to Dr. Prescott's cabin. This is so important, I'm going up there myself. It's three hours to the cabin from town, Delbert. The last ten miles on a winding one-way road up Black Mountain. And every foot of the way you can hear the world falling down around your ears. Your hopes for the curatorship of the museum. Your love for Miss Francis. Everything. You tell yourself that somehow Dr. Prescott will understand. Keep thinking of the little kindnesses you've done for him over the years. The time you loaned him your car. The trees you chopped down for him on the narrow road up to the cabin. The rickety bridge just before you get there. The one you helped him repair just last summer. Perhaps you'll remember these things, Delbert. Perhaps now that you're faced with destruction, with the loss of the career you've been fifteen years building, Dr. Prescott will remember and understand. You watch the doctor carefully as the two of you sit face to face across the table in the rustic room over a cup of coffee. So Gormans have to us at last. It's a horrible thought, but I guess I'll have to drive down and see him. It would seem so, sir. Blasted nuisance. The Institute on our trail wanting us to account for every penny of their blood money. Delbert, museums should be run by taxes, same as battleships and sewers. You're absolutely right, Dr. Prescott. Nink up, Delbert. We'll go and see the man. Oh, Dr. Prescott, there's something you really should know before you see Mr. Gorman. I think I know what you mean, Delbert. No, I'm afraid you don't, sir. It's about certain expenditures during the past year, the loan exhibits. As you know, I've handled them. Yes, Delbert. Well, I think I've done a pretty good job, sir, but in going over the papers the other day, I noticed a shipping bill, the Kansas City exhibit. It's a bit high. I see. You run across it with Mr. Gorman, I know. It's perhaps fifty dollars more than it should have been. I'm glad you told me, Delbert, because you see, it saves me telling you. It's a nuggly job firing a man who's been a good employee for fifteen years. I don't understand. Of course you do. You padded the Kansas City bill by $147.16. The Chicago freight charges were $72.08 more than they should have been. There are a dozen others. Dr. Prescott... You needn't explain, Delbert. I have a complete file on the whole matter in my safe at the museum. You must know I plan to let you go as soon as I return from my vacation. I'm sorry, Delbert. Excuse me a moment now. I'll get my coat. It's just as you feared, Delbert. It's gone now. All of it. Your job, your career, and most of all, Miss Francis. Dr. Prescott just doesn't understand. You stand there bewildered, waiting for him to come back into the room. Then you see Dr. Prescott's keys lying on the table, not ten feet from you. The keys that will open the safe in his office. Almost without thinking, you grab them, shove them into your pocket just in time. I can't seem to find my jacket. Oh, I don't see it around. Never mind. Here it is on the chair. I hope you understand, Delbert. If I didn't think so much of you, I'd have brought it up before this. But it's too late now. You see, I kept hoping that each one would be the last. So did I. I decided it wasn't too important, to me at least. I won't be curator much longer, Delbert. I'm getting old. Of course, I'll continue as chairman of the board, but going to pass on active leadership to a younger man. I didn't know, Dr. Prescott. Nobody knows, Delbert. Now, I'd better get things straightened up around here before we go. Dr. Prescott. Yes? Perhaps I'd better run on ahead. My car's a little slower than yours. Of course, Delbert. Well, goodbye, sir. Goodbye. No hard feelings, eh, Delbert? No, sir. No hard feelings. There's a numbness inside you as you close the cabin door, walk through the damp darkness to your car, and drive away through the tall, dark pines near the cottage. You wish Dr. Prescott weren't such a fine man, because you know that you'll never stand by and let him expose you without fighting back somehow. And as the wheels of your car rumble out across the flimsy bridge, spanning the ravine below the cabin, it comes to you. On each side of the bridge, there's a kingpin joining the two main supports. On the far side of the bridge, you bring your car to a stop. Look under the seat until you find a heavy wrench. It takes only a few seconds to climb down and out along the supporting timbers you yourself help put in. And as you start working at the kingpin, joining the two main supports, Dr. Prescott's words come to you over and over again with each turn of the wrench. No hard feelings, eh, Delbert? No hard feelings, eh, Delbert? No hard feelings, eh, Delbert? There. No, Dr. Prescott, no hard feelings at all. With the prologue of the bridge on Black Mountain, the Signal Oil Company is bringing you another strange story by the Whistler. But now, a word to you drivers who want to be sure you're getting the tops in quality when you buy gasoline. Just consider the facts. There's only one way any gasoline can give your car superior performance, faster pick-up, smoother knock-free power, and all that sort of thing. That's by helping your motor run more efficiently. And when your motor runs more efficiently, naturally you see proof of it on your speedometer in better mileage, the very thing that signal gasoline is famous for throughout the West from Canada to Mexico. That's why we're so proud of Signal's good mileage, and it explains why we say to be sure of the tops in gasoline quality, there are just two things to remember. One, it takes extra quality to go farther. And two, Signal is the famous go-farther gasoline. And now back to the Whistler. So you've done it now, Delbert. For the first time in your life you've fought back. You are a great man. You've been through a lot. You've been through a lot. You've been through a lot. You've been through a lot. You've been through a lot. You've been through a lot. For the first time in your life you've fought back. You arrive home at midnight, confident that Dr. Prescott will not show up in the morning to expose you. Confident that the bridge with the kingpin carefully removed from the main supports will be your ally. And as you drop off to sleep you can see it all. The sickening sag as the weight of Dr. Prescott's car moves out onto the span. The crunch of timber. The terrible deadly drop to the rocks below. And for you, safety. And perhaps, yeah, perhaps even the curator ship, Delbert. But then that part can wait. At least until the following evening when you keep a dinner appointment with Dr. Gorman, apologizing of course for Dr. Prescott's absence. You know, I simply don't understand it, Mr. Gorman. Something must have delayed Dr. Prescott. I was certain he'd be here. It's embarrassing. Yeah, it's very annoying. And I don't mind telling you, Reed, I'm sick of delays. The fact is the National Institute is just about through paying the bills for that museum of yours. I thought perhaps that was the reason for your visit, sir. Yeah, too much waste. A few cents here, a few dollars there. You've gone over our papers? Went over the general ledger with a microscope. Found at least a thousand dollars in unsupported expenses. Oh, I see. Well, but surely you don't think Dr. Prescott... A captain is responsible for his ship, Reed. I mean, Prescott was a good man once, probably still the best man for chairmanship of the board. But as far as the actual administration, he's getting careless, forgetful. Such a shame. Business is business. Institutions like ours have to be run on a business basis or they go under. Waiter? Yes, sir? Check, please. Very good, sir. You're leaving, sir? Can't hang around all week. You make some sort of an explanation to Prescott or... Better yet, I'll dictate a note to him. You mean you're going to tell him he's relieved? No, no, I can't go that far. Under the Articles of Incorporation, he still has final say so, but I can plainly suggest that he appoint a younger man in his place. And use the threat of withholding Institute funds to make it stick. But that won't be at all necessary, sir. No? No, that is... Well, I don't know if it's my place to tell you this. Well, well, out with it. Dr. Prescott told me last night, sir, he intends to retire. Retire? Oh, good Lord, man, why didn't you say so sooner? Well, I suppose it was modesty in a way, Mr. Gorman. You see, he asked me to succeed him as curator. Yes, so you decided to take all. And now there's just one last detail to look after. Upstairs in Dr. Prescott's office you feel in your coat pocket. The keys to his private safe are still there. And inside the safe you find a dozen neatly typed sheets. The full record of the unsupported expense items Mr. Gorman had mentioned. The papers poor Dr. Prescott had prepared as a basis for your dismissal. At least he'd been decent about one thing, Delbert. Your name was not mentioned, but the facts were all there. You scratch a match, start toward the fireplace, crumple a newspaper, throw it in, and then... Hello, Delbert. Sorry to butt in, old boy, but... Looking for someone, Spiegel? Don't look so glum, Del. I just came up to congratulate you. It was supposed to be confidential. I've gotten near to every keyhole. Bet you were surprised. Well, it did sweep me off my feet. You and I, the two of us. What? Yeah, knocked me over, too. You see, Prescott told me only yesterday that I was set up for the job of curator. You must be mistaken, Frank. I once wrote a thesis on the human memory, Delbert. But you're too young, Frank. That's why he picked me. Said we needed some young blood around here. Frank, surely... Frank, you've made this all up, haven't you? Out of the whole cloth. You've had the cloth for bad taste. Never mind that, now. Delbert told me a different story, and I'm curious about the reason. That's why I'm going home and get my car and drive up to his cabin right now. But he isn't there. He's on his way down. Maybe. Maybe not. But that man's never been late for an appointment before in his life, Delbert. And I'm gonna find out why he's a full day late this time. So long, Delbert. See you when I get back. It's quite a shock, Delbert, to be confronted with the end of the world twice in 24 hours. It's clear now, isn't it? It'll be your word against Frank Spiegel's. And you're not a gambler, Delbert. You glance down at the sheaf of paper still in your hand, pause a moment, and then move quickly to the typewriter. Memo. I'm gonna go and get my car. I'm gonna go and get my car. I'm gonna go and get my car. Memo to Delbert Reed. Believe attached papers, self-explanatory. As new curator, it will be your job... An interoffice memo, Delbert. One that won't require Dr. Prescott's signature to appear quite valid. You finish, fold it, and attach it to the other papers. The record of your trivial thefts on which Prescott so decently neglected to put your name. Ten minutes later, you walk in the back entrance of Frank Spiegel's apartment a block away. And as you mount the rear stairs to the fourth floor, you're running it over and over in your mind. Four floors above the street, Delbert. That's over 40 feet from Siegel's window to the pavement. It should be enough. Wow, Delbert. I thought you'd show up. Decided to go along with me, huh? Well, no, Frank. I merely want you to see something before you leave. Huh? What's that? A few papers. Here in my briefcase. There's a note here. I think it explains... Ah, here we are. Let me see. Oh, yes. Memo from Prescott, huh? To Delbert Reed. Believe attached papers self-explanatory. As he turns toward the light to read the memo, you take Dr. Prescott's heavy onyx paperweight out of your side pocket. Slowly raise your arm. Hey, what the deuce? We must both see that Spiegel... Mr. Reed? Yes? Joe Hannigan, police department. Police? Yeah. Mind if I come in? Why, no, not at all. Sure clabbery weather tonight, Mr. Reed. Bad for accidents. You mean there's been an accident? Just a second. I've got some notes here. Eh, now let's see. Spiegel. Frank Spiegel. Frank? What happened? You don't mean... I don't generally work this late for nothing, Mr. Reed. He's been hurt? He's dead. Good heavens, how did he... He took a nosedive from the window of his apartment. What? Frank? Why, I can't believe it. Let's see now. At 9.25, you were alone in Dr. Prescott's office. Quarter to ten, Spiegel goes into the building. That's right. He came to see me, Mr. Hannigan. That's what the nosy old biddy across the street figured. And then right after that, Spiegel leaves the building and walks toward his house. Now... Yes? What did you two talk about, Mr. Reed? Frank and I? Well, I don't think it... Oh, we just talked. All right, all right. If it's personal, suppose I tell you. It was about his sticky fingers, wasn't it? Well, I... I don't think it's up to me to... But it is. Go on. Well, Mr. Hannigan, I just couldn't understand how any man could be so mean and small and petty as Frank. I was shocked. That's what I thought. I found the papers in his apartment. He'd lifted 20 bucks here, 40 bucks there. That it? None of us ever suspected that is until the audits were made. Mm-hmm. How do you suppose Spiegel got hold of those papers? Oh, I gave them to him, Mr. Hannigan. You may as well know it now. I decided the fair thing was to give him all the facts and let him have a chance to defend himself. Very decent of you. How did you get them? They were in Dr. Prescott's briefcase. I see. According to Miss Francis, his briefcase is kept in the safe. You've talked to Miss Francis? That's right. She told me that briefcase is always kept in Prescott's private safe. Well, I guess. How did they get out of the safe this time? What? Oh, is that what's puzzling you? Yeah. Well, it's really very simple, Mr. Hannigan. I have the keys. Dr. Prescott loaned them to me when I came back the other night. Here. See, now, here's the key to the safe. This one opens the briefcase. I believe you... Yeah. Well, Mr. Reed, I guess that winds it up for now. You'll be around in case I... Oh, of course, Mr. Hannigan. You realize, too, that if you want corroboration on any of these things, that Dr. Prescott will be available. I hope so. I understand from Miss Francis that he's taking his time about coming back to town. Oh, but he'll be here, Mr. Hannigan. I'm sure of it. You can always count on Dr. Prescott. Yes, it's gone beautifully up to now. But there's still one thing that can destroy you, Delbert. Still one terrible question. And the answer lies at the bridge on Black Mountain. Yes, Delbert, you must make sure. If, by a bare chance, the bridge held, if Dr. Prescott somehow survived the plunge. But you try not to think of that now as you...as you guide your car again up the narrow dirt road to the doctor's cabin. You're close now, Delbert. The bridge is just around the next turn. Hey! Hey, you! Stop! Stop! Hey, for gosh sakes, mister. You nearly killed yourself. What do you mean? The bridge is out, smashed to smithereens. There's a car down there at the bottom of the ravine. What? Yes. Terrible, ain't it? The minute the weight of the car hit that bridge, why, down she went. I guess you may as well turn right around, mister. There's no getting up to the top of that mountain tonight. Was it something important? Important? Well, it... Yes, I suppose I thought it was, but... Well, then, if the bridge is out, I guess... I guess that settles it, doesn't it? The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. Meantime, may I have a word with you about the prevention of cruelty? Back in the horse and buggy days, you know, there were laws to keep drivers from beating their horses. Too bad there isn't a law today to keep drivers from beating their motors with old-fashioned straight motors. But I'm sure you've heard of the law. It's a very common law in the country. It's a very common law in the country. It's a very common law today to keep drivers from beating their motors with old-fashioned straight motor oils that cause excessive carbon wear and corrosion. After all, it's unnecessary today to put up with those old bugaboos that up repair bills and cut down performance thanks to that new type signal oil that combines pure paraffin base with five scientific compounds, signal premium motor oil. In the primitive tests, with today's finest straight oils, signal premium motor oil actually kept motors six times cleaner, reduced cylinder wear one-third. And what does this mean to you? Well, less carbon means that your motor runs quieter, smoother, and less cylinder wear means more power. So to keep your car's performance young, make your next oil change a change for the better. Switch to the new type signal oil that's your guarantee of a sweeter running motor, signal premium motor oil. And now back to the Whistler. Yes, Delbert, the bridge is out. See it for yourself as you peer through the rain at the small gathering of lanterns on one edge of the ravine, as you note in the dim flickering the tangled mass of broken planks and beams. And as you move up to the little group at the brink to look down at the smashed car and the storm-swell torrent far below, you know for certain that the bridge on Black Mountain has done its job. The Dr. Prescott, poor man, is happily out of the way, but the new position as curator of the museum, Miss Francis and a new life, are yours. You turn to leave the group. Excuse me, please. Where? Mr. Reed. Oh, Hannigan. Didn't expect to see you up here this time of night. Sure is a mess, isn't it? Yes, yes, it's a shame. I didn't see you in the crowd. I came up to see Prescott. Oh, yes, of course. Lucky I wasn't coming the other way. On that side I wouldn't have had a chance. How's that? I said I wouldn't have had a chance to jump if I'd been coming the other way. That's my car down there, you know. Your car? Sure. Ask Dr. Prescott here. He climbed down on a cross to get over to this side. Dr. Prescott? That's right, Delbert. Dr. Prescott, I... Hmm. You better have more to say than that, Delbert. The doctor and I have had a long talk. I know now that Frank Spiegel didn't steal that money. And he didn't commit suicide either. You made a terrible mistake, Delbert. Terrible. I don't understand. Last night you said you were going to drive down to see Gorman right away. I know. But I couldn't. You see, I couldn't start my car. You should have thought of that, Delbert, when you stole all of my keys. 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 speeds, be courteous, and obey traffic regulations. It may save a life. Possibly your own. Featured in tonight's story was Joseph Kearns. 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. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
